Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Coming up after the break, our final guest this evening is Ellana Lavellan, of the Theodosian Journal. If Ms. Lavellan’s name sounds familiar to you, you are certainly not alone. Her article revealing the true identity of the Final Inquisitor was published over three months ago -”

Three months and six days to be exact, Solas thought as he settled into his leather armchair. Not that he was counting.

He leaned back, resting an ankle on his knee and balancing the laptop on his leg while the Bonsoir Val Royeaux! livestream continued to play. Solas had made himself a small drink, which he now perched carefully on the oversized armrest. It was really only a splash across the ice - something to take the edge off - because he found it nearly impossible to watch Ellana do these interviews. She was always somehow both more and less of herself, shining a little brighter than she did in person, but revealing none of her true radiance to the neverending parade of strangers who demanded her time. 

She hated these things. She hated the preparation that went into them - arriving far too early, sitting in a sterile green room, waiting for her turn for hair, for makeup, to change into the increasingly high-fashion ensembles her PR agent chose from shops she could never afford in Val Royeaux. (She had a PR agent now - a woman named Josephine who Ellana liked very much, personally, but whose necessity and presence she deeply resented.) Then, after, she hated the slow adrenaline crash that left her uncertain and irritable for an hour or more, all for an interview that had lasted no longer than five minutes. She would review everything she said over and over again, worried she might have somehow inadvertently made a comment that would draw the ire of Tevinter, Orlais, or both.

Solas knew all of this because he was the person she texted from the makeup chair. He was the one who received photos of Ellana rolling her eyes at the choice of clothing Josephine had made for her, seemingly unaware how arrestingly beautiful she was and how these specific outfits had been selected and tailored to show off each curve of her body. And once the spectacle was over, it was Solas that Ellana called to dissect the questions she’d been asked and the answers she’d given.

He couldn’t quite understand how he found himself in this position, but he was overjoyed by it. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one of her friends who she’d taken into this sort of confidence, though he couldn’t help but notice that if an interview ended at 9:05, his phone would ring by 9:06. 

He felt claimed.

As if to remind him that Ellana was not the first to have declared such rights, his cat, Parchment, wound her way between his feet and yowled softly up at him. She was a stray - grey fur, yellow-green eyes, and a notched left ear - who had wandered into his garden terrace just days after he moved into this house and had made it her home ever since. With a flutter of nerves, Solas wondered how precisely Parchment would take to Ellana when they met in a few hours’ time.

It had been three months and nine days since he’d seen Ellana in person. Understandably, given the unprecedented nature of the find in Boranehnan, she’d vastly underestimated how much time she would have to spend in Denerim to prepare her story, write the follow-ups, and then handle the storm that descended so quickly after. Once that initial burst of activity subsided, she’d been on the road almost constantly for a press tour that saw her venturing through the Free Marches, Antiva, Ferelden, Orlais, and even a brief stop in Vyrantium. Solas, meanwhile, had returned to finish the spring semester. Nearly every waking hour he wasn’t lecturing or dealing with coursework he had devoted to writing the article on the find in the Arbor Wilds that would appear in next quarter’s edition of The Orlesian Historical Review.  

His only consolation came from, annoyingly, the new cell phone she’d convinced him to buy. Though he still preferred a computer for most tasks, he had to admit the overly complicated device had its benefits. Ellana, as she’d promised, had made it completely worth his while. His eyes flicked down to his phone resting on the coffee table. He leaned forward in his chair, tempted - as he found himself tempted constantly, daily, to the point of distraction - to review the trove of images she had sent him.

“And now, please welcome to Bonsoir Val Royeaux! Ms. Ellana Lavellan!”

Solas pulled his hand back and returned his attention to the livestream. The audience in the studio applauded as the camera cut to an entrance on the side of the soundstage. Ellana had not sent Solas a photo of the outfit Josephine had chosen for today’s appearance, so he was entirely unprepared for the sight of her emerging onto his screen.

She wore a black suit, cut similarly to menswear but with many noticeable divergences. The pants were a wide leg that hit below her ankle, showing only a hint of the glossy black heels on her feet. The jacket was similarly oversized, but unbuttoned at the front and rolled at the sleeves to expose a white silk blouse she wore underneath. The neckline plunged about halfway down her sternum, and though the positioning of the jacket's lapels prevented the look from being too risqué, Solas could just make out the curve of her breasts as she moved. She gave the crowd a smile - one which betrayed a hint of nervousness, though he doubted anyone in the studio would be able to recognize it as such - and walked toward the interview set that awaited her.

The hosts - a boisterous older gentleman and a shrewd middle-aged woman - greeted Ellana warmly in both Orlesian and Common as she took her seat. They reviewed the details of the find, with Ellana guiding them through the (heavily edited) story of the Tevinter dig team in the Arbor Wilds who had discovered both a notebook stamped with the heraldry of the Inquisition, and also a portrait depicting the Inquisitor herself.

At this point, the programme offered a split-screen view of Ellana on the left and the portrait of Inquisitor Lavellan on the right. Solas detected the precise moment Ellana noticed the image on the studio monitors - she had learned to control the wince that always wanted to show itself when such a comparison was made, but there was still a tightness at the corners of her eyes that signaled her displeasure.

“By the Maker!” the gentleman host exclaimed. “The resemblance is most striking, n'est-ce pas?” His co-host nodded her agreement.

Ellana’s laugh sounded lighthearted enough, but Solas knew she was steaming under the surface.

“I think it’s somewhat overstated,” she said politely. “People hear that we’re from the same clan and wish to see a connection that isn’t really there. It’s understandable,” she said with a gracious shrug. “But probably not all that remarkable.”

“If you say so, ma chère,” the man said, obviously not persuaded.

“Tell us, what is next for you, Ms. Lavellan?” the woman asked.

“Actually,” Ellana said, with her first genuine smile of the night. “I’ll be taking a break after this.”

“A vacation?” 

“No, I mean a break from these appearances and speaking engagements so I can actually get back to work. Obviously, we all still have a lot of questions about the Final Inquisitor. Learning the truth of her identity wasn’t really an end, but a beginning. I’ll be working with a colleague, Professor Solas of the University of Lydes, who was there for the find in the Arbor Wilds. Our hope is to find new evidence to help contextualize Inquisitor Lavellan within the greater history of the Dragon Age. If all goes well, maybe we’ll be back in another year or so with a book on the topic.”

She glanced over at the camera then, the side of her mouth canted upward in a half smile for just a moment before she looked down at her hands folded on her lap.

Perhaps he was the world’s most sentimental fool, but Solas suspected that might have been for him. 

“Speaking of books,” the lady host said, obviously eager to move on from boring discussions of academia and non-fiction, “have you heard the news about Inquisitive Hearts?”

Ellana’s smile immediately narrowed to something more like a barely-concealed purse of her lips. “Yes.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve heard.” 

It was precisely the sort of clipped answer one wasn’t really supposed to give while being interviewed, but the hosts had enough experience to turn the question back on themselves and provide the information Ellana hadn’t.

“It seems,” the woman said, “that the author of Inquisitive Hearts has written a sequel! Or - non - perhaps sequel is not the correct word for this. But the author’s publisher has announced there will be a new novel about the rule of Inquisitor Lavellan. I believe it is scheduled to be released sometime in the fall?” She turned to her co-host for confirmation, and he nodded. “And the title? Has it been announced yet?”

“Elvhen Glory,” the gentleman host proclaimed, very clearly pleased with the choice.

This was the first Solas had heard of the book’s title and so, he assumed, the first time Ellana was hearing it as well. Josephine’s lessons had paid off. Her friendly expression didn’t waver in the slightest, though the tips of her ears were decidedly crimson.

“Do you think you will read it when it is released?” the woman asked.

Ellana gave her a toothy smile that Solas clearly remembered seeing a few times in Boranehnan when she’d decided that he was being irredeemably stupid. “Oh, I’m sure I will,” she said. “Just like everyone else in Thedas.”

“How wonderful. Well, we must thank you for joining us this evening. It has truly been a pleasure to have you here.”

“Ah but wait,” the gentleman cut in. “Unless I am mistaken, it is my understanding that congratulations are in order.”

“Congratulations? For …?” Ellana asked, her nose scrunched in confusion.

“Yes, is it not the case that you celebrated your engagement while you were in the Arbor Wilds?”

Solas nearly dropped his glass, regaining his grip only just in time to set it down carefully on his coffee table. Parchment, who had fallen asleep on his foot, announced her displeasure at his sudden movement.

“Oh.” Ellana swallowed, apparently taking a moment to access whatever advice Josephine might have given her for a situation like this. In all the interviews she’d done over the past three months, no one had ever said anything about the hoax engagement they’d concocted back in Boranehnan.

“No,” she finally said, the polite but flat smile returning to her face. “I’m not certain where that came from but, no, I’m not engaged.” 

“Ah!” The man smiled suggestively in the manner common to all seedy talk show hosts. “Even better! Do you hear that, mes amis?” he asked, directing his focus to the camera. “The lady is single!” 

“That’s all we have time for tonight,” the woman said. “Until tomorrow …”

“Bonsoir Val Royeaux!” the two hosts said in unison. 

The show’s theme song played and the credits rolled without a cut back to Ellana’s face.

The absence of an engagement does not mean that she is single, Solas thought, staring dumbfounded at the long list of Orlesian names scrolling past. She’s not single, he thought again, this time with more annoyance.  

It wasn’t as if they had precisely defined what was between them. It felt impossibly presumptuous to ask that of her after two weeks at each other’s throats in Boranehnan followed by two nights of incredible sex. And then, once she was on the road and he was back at work, it seemed somehow unfair to ask her to tie herself to him unnecessarily when, most days, they weren’t even in the same country as one another. 

Fortunately, Solas told himself, this was already on his long list of things he wished to discuss with Ellana upon her arrival. Discussion was not the only thing he wanted from her, of course, but it was probably the most important. 

Their agenda for these first two days together was largely set in stone. He would meet her at the train station, they would have dinner at his house, and she would stay the night here. He had no spare bedroom, so he had dutifully offered that she could have the bed while he slept on the sofa, an offer which she had declined in no uncertain terms. In fact, he had never been quite so relieved to hear her laugh uproariously at a suggestion he had made in earnest. 

Beyond that, the museum was hosting a luncheon reception tomorrow at which they were expected to appear, and then they would journey to Markham to make use of the Dalish archives there. Ellana had been in frequent contact with the archive curator, and it sounded as if the materials there might be fruitful enough to provide them a direction for additional research.

But first, he needed to make it through this evening.

The train ride from Val Royeaux to Lydes took only a half-hour. She would be here, in his house, very soon. Solas had offered to make dinner, not out of any sort of overweening pride about his own abilities (he only very rarely cooked for himself) but simply because he had a feeling they would both appreciate the privacy. There were dozens of exceptional restaurants in Lydes, many with charming outdoor tables, and all of which he hoped to introduce her to at some point during the summer … just not today.

Solas had only just finished putting the kitchen in order and making a nervous sweep of the house to confirm that no additional clutter had accumulated since he’d last checked an hour ago, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Ellana: Just waiting on the train to get here. If it’s on time, I’ll be in Lydes at 7:52.

He began a response (I cannot wait to …) , deleted it, attempted another (I have longed to …) , deleted that. Solas huffed in frustration. He so rarely had any issue expressing precisely what he wished to express, whether in speech or in writing, and yet he found it impossible to distill the essence of his feelings into this severely abbreviated form of communication. 

Then he remembered that Ellana would be able to see the telltale pulsing ellipses that indicated he had been typing something. In a moment of panic, he selected the most appropriate emoji to indicate acknowledgement.

Solas: 👍

It was a mistake, he realized as soon as he sent it. Well past the point of aggravation with himself, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and checked his watch. His house was only about a ten minute walk from the train station, but perhaps he should leave now. The alternative was agitated pacing around his living room that was likely to infuriate Parchment and torment him. For both their sakes, he thought it might be best if he took in some night air instead. 

He paused on his way out the door, his gaze catching on the scarf draped over one of the hooks on his coat rack. It was white with a pattern of golden triangles and made from a soft, lightweight wool. He had discovered it shoved into a corner of his suitcase upon his return from the Arbor Wilds. It was still cold enough when he first found it that he wore it daily, Ellana’s scent overwhelming his memories as he crossed from one side of the university campus to the other, when he stopped to buy a baguette on the way home, or when he swept away the snow from his front steps. It had faded slightly over the past three months (and nine days) and, of course, the weather was now too warm to justify wearing it. So instead, it hung in a place where he could see it several times a day and be astonished anew each time.

With only a moment’s hesitation - he could, after all, already feel the warmth of the early summer night’s breeze from his open door - Solas reached for the scarf and hung it around his neck, tucking it under the lapels of his coat. He also retrieved the bouquet of embriums he had selected from the florist’s earlier in the afternoon.

There was a bit of penance in all his preparations, Solas thought as he made his way toward the train station. Their beginning had been rocky, to put it mildly, and then - once they finally managed to get on the same page - it had been a furious and all too rushed affair with none of the simple rituals of a courtship that Solas would have loved to give Ellana and which he felt she deserved. While he certainly did not regret what had happened between them in Boranehnan, he hoped that, in some small way, he could make it up to her now.

As if echoing his thoughts, a street lamp above him switched on in the setting sun, and he paused long enough beneath the sudden light to realize precisely where he was. Lydes was filled with wonderful little shops where one could find practically anything. The antique shop outside of which he now stood was one such place, and also where he had done something incredibly foolish.

He hadn’t really meant to go through the open doors of the shop that day, but some peculiar instinct had drawn him inside. He traversed the tight aisles, unsure what he sought, until he was standing in front of a jewelry display near the cash register. There was not the slightest doubt in his mind as he greeted the owner in Orlesian, selected the precise ring that had drawn his attention, and left the store with it in his pocket. It was only later, when he sat on his bed at home, inspecting the gold band and the stone - a deeper, richer green, not as bright as the mossy-colored one he’d slipped onto Ellana’s finger at Chez Bellise - that Solas realized exactly what he’d done. 

He found a box to keep it safe and then promptly locked it in a drawer in his desk. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t looked at it many times since. But, however enchanted he had been at the time he purchased it, he was not such a fool as to believe offering it to Ellana now was anything short of a disastrous idea. She might actually murder him.

Solas reached the train station far too early, as he knew he would. He walked a lap around the station’s finely manicured grounds, then a second. On his third, he caught the reflection of the swirling vortex in the waters of the fountain outside the station entrance.

Recently, it felt as if the thing was his constant companion for as often as he spotted it over his shoulder. Ellana had been hounded by it also, though she still seemed reluctant to speak too openly about it and without him first inquiring. That, he knew, was his fault. He was still exasperated with himself for having waited too long to share that confidence with her, even when he had noticed the strange disorientation that came over her at the dig site in the Arbor Wilds. 

Dr. Pavus’ occasional emails indicated that sightings of the vortex and other phenomena had increased in Tevinter as well. Given the sudden spike in frequency, Solas wondered if it was now only a matter of time before some invisible threshold was passed and the mystery went mainstream. 

His attention snapped back to the present moment as he heard the single, long blast that signaled a train approaching the station. He hurried back inside, heart pounding in his ears even over the sound of the train’s screeching brakes. He scanned the windows of each car, but they were frustratingly dark from the outside. 

He turned his head as the doors on the second car from the end opened. It was her curls he saw first, now slightly more wind-tossed and tousled than how they’d appeared on Bonsoir Val Royeaux!. He adored them this way - his fingers curled against his palm as he realized that soon he would no longer have to imagine touching them. 

Ellana emerged from the train door, still dressed in the same suit she’d worn for the show. Solas had not prepared himself for that possibility, though he knew she had been in a rush to leave Val Royeaux immediately after the interview concluded. She took a careful step down onto the platform then placed her rolling luggage on the ground beside her. Though the station was crowded with people waiting to take the train back to Val Royeaux to spend their Friday night in the larger city, she looked up and her eyes immediately found his.

She ran.

Though she was considerably smaller than him, Solas still had to plant his feet to stop himself from stumbling backwards as she barrelled into his chest. She released her grip on her suitcase to throw her arms around his neck, and he quickly kicked out a foot to stop its inertia before it could roll across the entire station. 

He barely had enough time to get his hands around her waist (doing his best not to crush the bouquet in the process) before her lips were on his. She was breathless, as he was, and her series of staccato kisses between gasps and laughs left him lightheaded.

“I missed you so much,” Ellana said, her eyes shining.

His doubts fled, his heart infinitely lighter, as he held her head against his chest and kissed her hair. “Three months -” and nine days, he added silently, “- was far too long.” 

Chapter Text

“Your home is …”

Solas waited anxiously for Ellana’s evaluation, trying to see the townhouse through her eyes. The main room spanned the length of the western side of the building. The large, very traditional Orlesian kitchen was the closest to the front door. Past that was his dining table, currently flanked by four chairs and their corresponding table settings, but usually piled high with whatever books and notes he needed for coursework or drafting. Those were all still in his house, of course, just shoved inelegantly into the spare room that contained both his desk and his easel. He had considered moving all the clutter to his office at the university, but decided against it when he realized he might need some of his notes for their work.

Beyond the dining table was his small living room, really just an arrangement of a grey suede sofa and his leather armchair in front of the fireplace. The entire rear wall of the main room was glass - gorgeous, narrow window panes interrupted only by a matching pair of bifold doors at the center. The windows were the reason he had chosen this house. They continued along the entire back wall, including the portion of his spare room that looked out onto the terrace.

It was not an overly large home, and it shared its western wall with the townhouse next door. The dean emeritus who lived there was occasionally up for polite conversation over a glass of wine, but mostly kept quietly to himself. Solas had always been grateful for this, though in recent weeks the arrangement had felt a bit too solitary for his liking.

“It’s really lovely,” Ellana said finally, and to his immense relief. She took a few tentative steps into the kitchen, eyes roaming over every surface. “And … spotless.” She let out a nervous chuckle.

“Is that not the case at your apartment?” Solas asked, delicately.

“Oh, no. I’m sure my apartment is spotless right now because I’ve barely been there in months.” She shrugged a shoulder as she turned back to him. “I was on assignment a lot before all of this, but now? I think I’ve spent maybe a week in that apartment this whole year.” 

Stay here, said the delusional voice in Solas’ head. With me, it taunted. Once the seed had been planted in his mind, it was impossible to prevent his attention from wandering to what that might look like: Ellana typing on her laptop at one end of the dining table while he graded papers at the other; her perched on the countertop in the kitchen, recounting her day while she waited for him to make her a drink; together, wrapped in a blanket, in front of the fireplace in the winter, snow falling softly past the windows.

It was agony to tear himself from the possibilities, but Ellana was now making a slow circle around the main room, her gaze lingering on his art on the walls. 

“These are all the same artist.”

“Yes.

She looked back at him, too much recognition in her eyes. “Yours?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Why don’t I know this about you?” she asked, sizing him up as though he were some great puzzle that she’d only just realized was missing a few pieces.

“I suppose I hadn’t thought to mention it,” he hedged. The truth was a bit more awkward. 

There had been no particular reason to discuss his art in Boranehnan. It was one of many hobbies that interested him, after all. And while his experience with drawing may have helped him to notice a particularly compelling detail in Inquisitor Lavellan’s portrait, he was confident that anyone with enough familiarity with elven script might have discovered the same had they examined the drawing closely enough. It was only after he had returned home that things had turned strange in a way that he was uncertain how to share just yet.

From the moment he’d returned to Lydes, he’d sketched Ellana over and over again. This did not surprise him. He’d watched her so carefully for those two weeks, become familiar with the lines of her eyes and cheeks and mouth, and how the most subtle of movements in combination meant she was pondering what she could do that would vex him the most. Inch by inch he’d learned to read her, and now he wanted nothing more than to commit her to the page.

But each time he drew her it began the same way. Her nose, her mouth, the shape of her jaw. Her eyes later, when he had eased into his focus and could spend the time necessary to get them just right. And then, when he was done, he would sit back, evaluate his work, and discover that he had precisely recreated the portrait of Inquisitor Lavellan. 

At first it had unnerved him. Later, he felt a deranged sort of anger at himself for being unable to break through such a strange mental block. Then, after several failed attempts to sketch what he thought of as Ellana’s face rather than the Inquisitor’s, he turned to another medium. Solas attempted a painting. It had been disastrous. It now sat on the easel in his spare room, taunting him. The face still looked precisely like the portrait of the Inquisitor, but adding color had somehow made it even worse. The rich chestnut hair, fair skin, hazel eyes, even the blush in her cheeks was precisely Ellana. Solas didn’t understand why it had happened, or what it meant, but he knew it would not end well for him if Ellana saw it.

She took a few more steps into the townhouse, now only a few feet away from the door to his spare room which he had foolishly left open.

“You said you wished to change?” he asked, picking up her suitcase.

“Oh.” Ellana turned back toward him and he quickly gestured to the door to his bedroom. “Yeah, that would be great, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” He carried her bag into the room and placed it in front of the bed. “Take your time. I have a few things to finish for dinner.”

“Thank you again for agreeing to cook.” There was a change in her expression now, Solas noted - a hesitant hint of a frown, and something that looked suspiciously like self-doubt. “It’s not easy being around people after those interviews. Or - most people, at least.” 

Stay, the voice in his head roared again.

Solas tipped her head back and pressed his lips against hers. She hid the strain well, but he knew how much pressure she’d been under these past few months. He hoped that here, with him, she might find a moment’s rest.

She sighed against him and Solas felt some of the tension receding from her stiff shoulders. It was a good start.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he told her, his thumb brushing along her jaw. “You haven’t tasted my cooking.”

It drew the smile he’d hoped for and a laugh that, while still too world-weary for his liking, was at least a movement in the right direction. 

Once she’d disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door, he turned back to the spare room. He’d only left it open because Parchment liked to nap in the sunny windows in the afternoons. Stepping inside, Solas removed the painting from his easel and carefully stored it at the end of a line of blank canvases leaned against one of his bookshelves. After a quick sweep to determine Parchment wasn’t currently in the room and he wouldn’t lock her in, he closed the door behind him.

Ellana stared, horrified, at the contents of her suitcase.

She grabbed her phone and pulled up the contact of the only person who could be the culprit. It didn’t even ring before Josephine answered.

“Lavellan.”

“Hey, um, Josie,” she said quietly. “Do you - are you - do you have a minute?”

“Ellana, why are you calling me? Do you not have far more important things you should be doing right now?”

One of the things that Ellana loved about Josephine was how completely impossible it was to argue with her. She had seen Josie bend people to her will with sentences that sounded like politely phrased suggestions, but were definitely orders. It was annoying as hell, however, when Josie turned those same skills on her. 

“Right -  um, well,” she stammered. “About that. So I just opened my suitcase. It’s definitely my suitcase. I didn’t get it mixed up with someone else’s on the train. But none of my clothes are in here. There are clothes in it. They’re just not mine. Do you, uh, happen to know something about that?”

“I left you a card inside with very clear instructions.”

“Yeah, I - OK.” Ellana, in her panic, had failed to notice the envelope tucked against the top layer of clothing. Now, she spotted it and had a sinking feeling that this was a more coordinated attack than she’d initially suspected.

“You’ve found it now?” She could hear Josephine folding her arms over her chest with impatience.

“Yes. I’ve got it. But I was going to take off this suit because you told me not to let it wrinkle. And I’m just trying to find some sweatpants, or a t-shirt, or - oh shit, Josie what is this? I’m not even sure how I would get that on.”

The deeper she dug into the bag the more completely unfamiliar items revealed themselves.

“Where are my actual clothes?” she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

“I have them in storage,” Josephine confirmed. “You won’t need them. I have selected a variety of outfits that will be appropriate for your vacation.”

“Right, but it’s not a vacation,” she said, baffled as to why everyone seemed to think it would be. “I’m working, or I will be, and I would like to be comfortable.”

“There are several options for loungewear as well as outfits that would be appropriate for field work.”

“OK. But - and I don’t want to sound ungrateful here,” Ellana switched the phone from one ear to the other as she rummaged through the seemingly endless layers of clothes. “I’m just a little confused why it matters what I’m wearing when I’m not supposed to be doing any public appearances in the near future. You said you were going to throw in one thing for me to wear to the luncheon tomorrow, not replace my entire wardrobe.”

“As I have explained to you multiple times, you are a public figure now. If you are anywhere other than a private residence, you are making a public appearance. The Journal hired me to ensure you always put your best foot forward and that is precisely what I intend to do.”

Ellana pulled out a set of cream colored separates, one of which appeared to be a pair of shorts that would barely cover her ass and also had slits up the sides of each leg. “We have different definitions of loungewear, I think. And, what the hell is …”

She froze as her fingers found a shocking quantity of lace.

“Josie.” She lowered her voice. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I do not need you selecting lingerie for me.”

“The items I found in your suitcase suggested otherwise.” 

“Great,” she said, now as offended as she was embarrassed. “I’m going to go.”

“Please, read my instructions carefully, Ellana. I have grouped the pieces that are meant to be worn together and labelled which outfits are for which activities. It truly is not complicated.”

She knew the sigh she huffed into the phone was needlessly petulant, but she was past the point of caring.

“Before you go,” Josie continued, “you should be aware that a particularly damaging article about Claude’s latest affair will appear in a publication far less reputable than your own tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, who’s Claude?” 

“The host of Bonsoir Val Royeaux! who asked that completely inappropriate question regarding your engagement.”

“Oh, right!” Ellana hadn’t really paid any attention to his name when they were introduced before the interview. By then, her mind was already on the train to Lydes.

“Oh, but you don’t need to do that,” she said, now understanding this was meant to be revenge on her behalf for some perceived slight. “I know he caught me a little off guard but I thought I handled it well enough.”

“You handled it perfectly. Not rude, but with just enough contempt.”

Ellana couldn’t help but beam into her phone at that.

“It changes nothing, however,” Josephine said. “He attempted to embarrass you. I am only making a suitable response to ensure it does not happen again.” 

“If you say so.” These were the moments she truly appreciated having Josephine in her corner. It almost made up for the fact that she’d stolen all of her clothing. Almost.

“Enjoy yourself, Ellana. It’s why you’re there.” 

Josephine ended the call, leaving Ellana alone in Solas’ bedroom with a suitcase full of clothes she’d never seen before. 

Now that the initial wave of panic had subsided a bit, she realized she couldn’t give a single shit about the clothes before she took a thorough - but respectful, she told herself - look around.

A wrought iron bed took up most of the room - white sheets, a white duvet, and a grey knitted blanket spread across the top. A few chips in the bedframe’s black paint made Ellana wonder if it might be an antique. She had a hard time believing Solas would have allowed a little imperfection like that to go unremedied otherwise, and she’d noticed an abundance of antique stores along the path they’d walked back to his home. 

Everything was clean, spotless like the rest of the house, but certainly not without clutter. A stack of books leaned precariously on the nightstand at the far side of the bed, with a pair of glasses perched on the topmost book in the pile - yet another reminder that there were depths of detail to him that she had yet to uncover. 

There was more artwork in this room as well. It seemed that, while most of his actual furnishings were neutral shades, all of Solas’ walls blazed with color. The compositions were interesting - highly stylized, but with defined figures, recurring patterns. Now that she knew he was an artist, she wanted to examine every brushstroke on every work, comb through each of them for even more bits and pieces of Solas that he had yet to show to her. She wondered again why he hadn’t mentioned it, if it was such a central part of who he was that he’d managed to fill up every wall of the house with his work.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a knock on the door.

“There are empty hangers in the closet if you need them,” Solas said. 

Ellana realized she had taken way too long, between her phone call to Josie and then her very reasonable and considerate first pass of snooping. Though, it wasn’t really snooping if she didn’t actually open any drawers or rifle through any books, she reasoned.

“I’ll be right out,” she told him. “Just had to make a quick phone call.” 

She turned her attention back to her open suitcase and grabbed the first thing she saw - the set of so-called 'loungewear' she’d tossed aside a minute ago. With one final, longing thought for her tattered and oversized Markham University t-shirt, she resigned herself to the inevitable.

Once she’d changed, she hung up a few items in Solas’ closet (yet another potential goldmine of items she so respectfully prevented herself from rummaging through) and turned to appraise Josie’s selection in the mirror above the dresser. 

Oh, Ellana thought. She turned to the side to get another angle and made a few adjustments. When she looked back at her face as she fluffed her hair, she realized she was grinning like a complete idiot. 

Maybe Josie was on to something. She really needed to start giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Ellana emerged from the bedroom entirely ready to make a grand entrance, and immediately halted in her tracks.

The bifold doors to the garden now stood open, revealing a brick patio illuminated by a string of lights stretching from one side of the fence to the other. Solas, his back to her, bent over a small table with two chairs. He had removed his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. The embriums he’d given her at the train station stood upright in an etched vase. 

I have to figure out who at the Journal told him they’re my favorite, she thought, not for the first time. Cassandra was at the top of her list.

A warm breeze swirled its way into the house, carrying with it a faint scent of citrus. She spotted the source of it at the very back of the garden - an orange tree in bloom, a few small fruits already beginning to peek out from beneath its bright green leaves, and white petals raining down as the wind moved its branches.

She watched quietly as Solas placed a plate in front of each chair, poured wine into a pair of glasses, and lit a taper candle. He flicked his wrist to extinguish the match between his fingers, then turned back toward where she stood in the living room.

Ellana needed to sit down. 

Solas needed to sit down. 

A few minutes ago, he had distinctly heard the word “lingerie” in Ellana’s voice, coming from his bedroom. He had absolutely no idea in what context that word had been spoken, in his bedroom, by Ellana, who was presumably making a phone call at the time. He had spent the next few minutes putting the finishing touches on the pasta he’d cooked while also trying very hard not to remember, since he really had not intended to eavesdrop, that Ellana had been in his bedroom saying the word 'lingerie.' 

Focused as he was on making sure each detail of the dinner he’d imagined would match the version he saw in his mind (while also trying very hard to forget the thing he was supposed to be forgetting), he hadn’t heard Ellana’s footsteps on the hardwood. Now, the sight of her had him fighting the urge to grab her hand, lead her right back into the bedroom, and skip dinner entirely. 

It was the shorts. Solas knew enough about himself to understand that the shorts were going to be the biggest problem. Her legs looked longer than usual because the shorts were so, well, short. Then there were the slits up the side, the way they nearly (but crucially didn’t quite) reveal the curve of her backside as she moved toward him. And the color - both the shorts and the tight, long sleeve top that matched them were a light enough cream on a thin enough fabric that he couldn’t be sure whether he was actually able to see through them or if he was imagining things.

“Ready to eat?” Ellana asked with a grin.

Solas gripped the back of the chair closest to him. Regardless of whether it was a trick of the light, he was certainly imagining things.

“Starving,” he agreed, pulling out the chair so she could sit.

Chapter Text

Ellana’s laugh rang through the garden as Solas refilled their glasses.

“Oh, and you’ll love this: apparently Josephine is going to have some awful story run in a gossip magazine about Claude cheating on his wife!”

Solas searched his memory but came back empty handed. “Claude?” He shook his head. “Who is Claude?”

“That’s exactly what I said.” She laughed loudly again, this time with an animated wave of her hands. “He’s the host from Bonsoir Val Royeaux!. The one who asked me about being engaged.” Ellana rolled her eyes as she rested her chin in her hand.

The one who told all of Orlais you’re single, Solas thought. 

“It sounds like an appropriate response,” he shrugged. “Josephine obviously has the matter well in hand.”

“Really?” She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “I thought it was a bit extreme, but I guess that’s why I couldn’t live in Orlais.” 

Solas paused mid-drink, taking that completely innocuous comment like a punch to the gut.

“Thanks again for dinner,” Ellana continued. “Everything was delicious.” 

“You’re most welcome.” He set down his glass, fighting to remind himself that an offhand remark was not necessarily an immovable statement of preference. He was losing the battle.

Ellana stood, gathering up her own plate and utensils, then turning to offer the same to him. “May I?” she asked.

“You don’t need to do that,” he rushed to assure her.

“Of course I do. You cooked. The least I can do is help with the dishes.”

“You’ve had a long day -”

“Solas,” she halted him. “I promise I’m not going to run screaming to the nearest hotel if I have to clean a dish. And I didn’t want to brag about it, but I’m actually great at doing dishes - probably a lot better than you are. One of my hidden talents. I never leave spots and I also almost never drop them.” She paused for a beat, obviously waiting to see if he was going to respond. When he took too long to rise to her bait, she sighed at him. “I’m just kidding. Those were jokes.”

“I realize,” he said as she swept his plate on top of hers and grabbed her glass in her free hand.

“Well? Come on, then.” She bumped his shoulder hard with the side of her hip and that, at last, was shock enough to partially haul him out of his brooding. Her hips swayed just a little more than he suspected was strictly necessary as she made her way back toward the kitchen. Whether that was from the wine she’d been drinking or because she could feel his eyes on her, Solas couldn’t say for certain. From what he’d learned of Ellana, some combination of the two was most likely.

“Where’s Parchment, by the way?” she asked, finishing off her glass before she set their plates in the sink. “I was looking forward to meeting her, but I haven’t seen any sign of her yet.”

“Most likely under the bed.” He was still unhappy about Ellana’s insistence on cleaning up - she was his guest, after all - but he retrieved a bottle of dish soap from one of his cabinets and placed it in the open hand she’d extended to him. “Though, I suppose it’s possible she’s found a new hiding place. She’s not accustomed to visitors.”

“Oh, no?” Bubbles now covered Ellana’s hands but Solas could see that her arms had stopped moving. She cocked her head to the side and fixed him with the now too familiar look that left him feeling like he was about to be interrogated. He braced for the attack. 

“No wild, debauched departmental parties?” she asked, as if this were a perfectly normal thing that might be occurring in his house.

Scoffing, he leaned against the counter beside her. “Lydes is not a large university. There are five people in my department, myself included.”

“You can have a debauched party with five people if you try hard enough,” she responded with an air of disappointment that implied he should have at least considered the possibility.

“The other four are all older than I am. I’m certain they’re fast asleep long before suitable hours for debauchery.” 

“Debauchery can happen at any hour if you try hard enough.” 

He must have given her a particularly reproving glare at that, because Ellana immediately huffed and tossed up her soapy hands. 

“OK, fine. No wild parties with the history department. What about …” She shoved her hands back down into the water and scrubbed at their plates too enthusiastically. “Dates?”

Ellana's eyes slid toward him, clearly watching for his reaction. 

“Occasionally,” he said, very carefully, meeting her gaze. “Not recently.”

“No?” 

A raised eyebrow, an exhaled hmm through her nose. They were here, right at the edge of it, Solas realized. Now was the time to say something.

“And you?” he asked.

“What, debauched work parties?” She shook her head vigorously and looked back down at the sink. “My apartment’s not big enough. And none of my colleagues live nearby, anyway.”

“No, I mean -”

“Oh, you mean dates?” 

Solas had fallen into it so easily that he wanted to strangle himself, and of course Ellana was already smirking at him. She cast her eyes upward, as if accessing some mental catalogue. His grip on the counter tightened as he waited for the trap to close.

“Let’s see. The last real date I went on was one Leliana set up for me. A friend of hers. We had a nice dinner. She was very nice. Probably a little too nice, if I’m being honest.”

Solas had not expected to hear what sounded like confirmation that their spectacularly bad start might somehow be a point in his favor. 

“‘Too nice?’” he asked, just to be sure he wasn’t taking her complaint with undue optimism.

“It wouldn’t have worked. Not enough of a challenge,” she shrugged, as if this were a helpful clarification. “Now, more recently,” Ellana said, “I did think I was going on a promising date a few months ago, but then the guy actually used it as an excuse to tell me he wasn’t interested in me.”

“That is not what happened.”

“I’m pretty sure it was.” Ellana passed him a wet plate and Solas, with more strength than was strictly necessary, ripped a dish towel from the rack on the wall. 

“At least he didn’t commit the unforgivable offense of being ‘too nice,’” he grumbled, trying not to grip the plate with too much force.

“Now, that is true. I certainly wouldn’t accuse him of that.”

Solas rolled his eyes. “Then perhaps he would appreciate a second chance.”

He set the now-dry plate on the counter beside him as Ellana removed her arms from the sink, aggressively flicked off the remaining soap (quite possibly at him, he thought, flinching as water splashed across his cheek), and then proceeded to dry her hands on the towel he was still holding. Once she’d finished, she placed a fist on her hip and shook her head at him.

“Are you serious?”

He was, at this precise moment, extremely serious, despite being forced into the absolutely ridiculous conceit of referring to himself in the third person. He was also now entirely off-balance, having lost whatever temporary certainty he had that it was the right time to define what was between them.

“Yes,” Solas said, indignant. “I - what I’m saying is that I would like a second chance.”

“Solas.” Ellana let out an exasperated chuckle and took a step toward him. “What are you talking about? You don’t need a second chance. I’m here. You’ve got me.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

Her cheeks bright from the wine, she raised herself up on her toes and grazed her nose along his until her mouth was a breath away from his own.

“If you want me, that is,” she said against his lips.

“I want you,” he responded without hesitation, sliding his hands around her waist and then lower, captivated by the feel of her curves beneath the thin shorts. He tightened his grip, fingers curling to grasp where the fabric gave way to skin. “The only thing I can think about is how much I want you,” he confessed. 

Ellana pressed her lips to his then, but only for a second. When he attempted to kiss her again, he felt her pull away slightly - just enough that he had to bend his neck and chase after her mouth. When he caught her, she allowed him to linger a little longer this time, until she pulled away again.

“Well then.” She removed her hands abruptly and broke out of his grasp before he could stop her. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

He stood, fixed in place in the kitchen as she walked past him. His mind raced, pouring over the possible interpretations of what she said, and deeply uncertain as to whether they were on the ‘same page.’ Solas was, therefore, entirely unprepared when she paused behind him, let out an appreciative-sounding hum, and then smacked a hand across his backside. His hips jerked forward and he was too surprised to stop the soft breath that escaped his throat. 

“You really need to relax,” Ellana said, her voice trailing away. ‘’I’ll go grab the wine.” 

Ellana perched on the edge of Solas’ bed, a nearly-empty glass of wine gripped tight in her hand because she was so worried she might drop it on his floor at any moment. She was wonderfully warm, felt just a little bit swimmy behind her eyes, and also so nervous she thought her heart might burst out of her chest. There wasn’t much chance tonight could go any worse than the last time she’d been tipsy around Solas - when she’d accidentally set off a fire alarm after accepting his fake proposal and feeling him up in a public restroom. But, then again, the night was still young.

Case in point, she hadn’t really planned to slap his ass - let alone quite as hard as she’d done - but Solas had just seemed so pouty about something and the best way she knew to drag him out of melancholy was by annoying him, flirting with him, or, ideally, both at the same time.

She also hadn’t intended to begin some deep discussion about whether they were “official” or “exclusive” or whatever word people were using these days, especially not when she’d been drinking. But her mouth, as usual, had gotten a little ahead of her.

The problem was that she really, actually, wanted to make something work between them, but that feeling - let alone the thought of having to express it out loud - was terrifying. Solas’ life was clearly a lot more stable than hers. He had a house, a cat, a job that kept him mostly in the same place for long stretches of time. She had a shitty little apartment, some dead houseplants, and almost never stopped running. At this point, after such a long separation, she wanted him so badly that it was starting to worry her. 

So when they’d gotten close to some kind of actual understanding she’d run again, like a coward. What if he suddenly came to his senses and realized that, regardless of what either of them felt, their lives might just be too different to make it work?

You need to actually talk to him, she thought. As if I haven’t heard that before, she scoffed at herself.

Her phone, which she’d tossed on top of her suitcase and not checked again since she’d changed, buzzed twice in quick succession.

Varric: Hey Magpie. Just making sure you got in OK.

Varric: Saw Claude was up to his usual shit tonight. You did a good job with him. Too bad he was right about the engagement.

That hit a little too close to home and she fired back an annoyed response before she could stop herself.

Ellana: He’s not right about the engagement if I’m not engaged. Getting fake engaged doesn’t count.

Ellana: And I’m fine, thanks. Just … maybe a little drunk. 

Varric: Good, you’ve earned it. Have fun with Chuckles - not a sentence I ever thought I’d write with actual sincerity. 

Ellana: I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to work. Why does everyone keep telling me to have fun?

Varric: Because you haven’t shut up about him for the past three months, Magpie.

Ellana huffed, tossed her phone back onto her suitcase, and turned to the dresser where Solas had left the nearly empty wine bottle before he went back to the main room to close up for the night. She grabbed the bottle to pour herself another glass and somehow sent a small carboard box toppling to the ground. She hadn’t even noticed it sitting on the dresser, and now its contents were strewn all across the hardwood.

“No, fuck,” she whispered in a voice that, even to her, sounded like it was moving a little too slowly, then dropped to her knees to try to put the room to rights before Solas returned.

His feet appeared in the doorway at the precise moment she got her hands one of the little square items that littered the ground. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine making time stretch out in her head or if it really did take her several long moments to drag her eyes up the length of his legs until she was looking at his face. He peered questioningly down at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized immediately. “I, uh, knocked these down. I wasn’t trying to - um. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He crouched beside her. “I should have cleared some of the mess from that dresser.” He picked up another of the photographs and his lips curled into a small smile. “I haven’t looked at these in quite some time.”

Each of the photos had the thick white border that Ellana recognized as instant film from an older style of camera. The one she held didn’t seem to have any particular subject - just a bright, cloudless sky with a few tree branches barely visible at the bottom of the frame. Many of the other pictures were similar: shots of brick walls, some with graffiti; blades of grass gone blurry because the camera was too close; shadows cast across sidewalks. But there were others with a clearer focus that showed images of large crowds holding signs, people with their mouths open wide in a shared chant, and even a few -

Ellana let out a soft gasp as she picked up the photo that caught her eye. She swung her legs around to the side then folded them beneath her as she leaned over to make a closer study of the two faces in the shot. The man on the right side of the frame casually slung his arm across the shoulders of his companion on the left. He was clearly letting out a booming laugh, eyes pinched shut with the sheer force of it, directly into the face of the other man. And that other man …

She hadn’t caught it at first glance, because so much about him was so incongruous with who he was now. But even with long hair, shaved at the sides, and a delightfully messy bun piled atop his head, she found him easily in the shape of his eyes and the sharp lines of his jaw. 

“This is you.” She laughed a little, and heard the waver in her voice - a mixture of excitement and wonder at seeing such a completely different side of Solas.

“It is,” he agreed unnecessarily - she hadn’t meant it as a question. 

“And the other person?”

“An old friend.”

“An old friend or an old friend?” she asked. The begrudgingly fond smile on Solas’ face suggested something a little more affectionate than she’d expect for two people who merely enjoyed attending protests together.

“It varied,” Solas confirmed.

“And what about this one?” she asked as she picked up a photo depicting a large crowd marching down a city street. She turned it so Solas could see as she asked, “Does this have anything to do with that rebellious youth you mentioned while you were stealing a moped?” 

“We borrowed the moped, and we returned it.”

“Answer the question,” Ellana demanded, buzzing with curiosity. 

Solas plucked the photo from between her fingers and examined it a moment before he responded.

“I was very active politically when I was young.”

“What, you mean like, debate club?”

It was just never going to get old watching his face drop as if she’d said the most offensive thing imaginable - which she had, of course, but on purpose.

“I’m so sorry,” she cackled, pressing a hand against his chest. “It was a joke. I’ll stop, I promise.”

“You won’t.” 

“Probably not. But, please, keep going.” 

“There’s not that much to tell. If I recall correctly, this particular shot was taken a few moments before the Police Nationale arrived and things became more … complicated.”

“Complicated?” she repeated, an offer for him to elaborate.

“Violent,” he replied, after a pause.

“So not exactly peaceful protests?” She asked the question she would have asked if she’d been interviewing him.

“I’m sure you know that distinction is unfairly applied.” He answered, Ellana suspected, as he would have if this were a classroom discussion.

“It is, I agree,” she nodded. “But, in light of this information, I do now feel like I should ask whether you’ve ever been arrested.” 

Solas was silent as he worked his jaw.

“Once,” he said finally. “Or twice.” 

“Is it once or is it twice? Seems like the sort of thing a person would remember.”

“Twice.” Another pause. “At least.” 

Her mouth fell open and she shook her head in disbelief. “I should have run a background check on you. Oh, come on,” she protested as Solas raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t look at me like that. Not for personal reasons. Just because you were a part of the story I was writing, obviously.”

“Is that meant to be better? Besides,” he said, gathering a few more photos into his hands, “these were arrests. Not charges. Not convictions. Under Orlesian law, they would not have appeared on your background check.” 

“Interesting, but not my point.” A shocking new possibility suddenly occurred to her. “Did Cass know you during this phase?”

“No. We met a few years later. By the time I was in graduate school I had … softened, somewhat. Or, at the very least, come to see the occasional value of pragmatism.”

I have so much shit I need to ask Cass. And Varric, she thought. Varric, in particular, had once told her this man was boring. She leaned back against his dresser drawers, astonished by everything she’d just learned.

Solas took the lull in her questions as an opportunity to sweep the rest of the photographs back into the box, replace its lid, and set it down on his dresser in between a pile of books and a stack of file folders. 

“Wait a minute,” she said, ignoring the hand he offered to help her stand up. “You accused me of trying to steal from the museum.”

“Yes,” Solas replied slowly, clearly thrown by the change of topic. “Because it looked as though you were trying to steal from the museum.”

“I’ve never been arrested.”

“Your lack of an eventful youth does not preclude you being an antiquities thief.” 

You little shit, she thought, jumping up to her feet beside him - a mistake, she quickly realized, as all the blood rushed to her head. She rested a hand on Solas’ chest as she waited for the room to stop spinning.

“My youth was plenty eventful, for your information,” Ellana snarked back once some of the fog had cleared. “And I wasn’t trying to steal that thing. It was glowing. Or - I don’t know. Shimmering? There was some strange light on it and I was only trying to see what caused it.”

“That artifact was glowing?”

“Yes. The same green as the vortex,” she said, fighting back against the image of the swirling sky - she wanted that memory absolutely nowhere near her tonight. She was feeling fuzzy enough as it was. “But I do not want to talk about that right now.”

“Of course. There is no need to,” Solas assured her. “Though I would like to discuss it eventually. When you feel up to it.”

“That’s fine.” Her hand still rested over his heart, though now it was less to maintain her balance and more because she simply enjoyed having it there. Then, because it just wasn’t worth the effort to fight the temptation, she trailed a finger down his torso.

“Are you feeling any more relaxed yet?” she asked.

“Decidedly not.” 

“Would it help if I slapped your ass again?”

That was really supposed to be nothing more than a joke; she was hoping for at least an eye roll, at best maybe a clever comeback. She had not expected him to flush so instantaneously and all the way to the tips of his ears.

Noted, she thought.

“No,” Solas said after a pause. “Though, if you are so concerned with my relaxation, I would be happy to demonstrate precisely how you can assist.” 

“O-oh?” The waiver in her voice was infuriating but could not be prevented. “Show me,” she agreed. 

It was all the encouragement he needed. Ellana was clasped tight in his arms a second later, and it was impossible to ignore his steady hand on the back of her head, tangling in her curls, as he pressed his mouth against hers. She was not going to have an opportunity to pull another stunt like she had in the kitchen.

She ripped his shirt up out of his trousers and set to work at its buttons while he swept his tongue into her mouth. It was distracted, obnoxious work - blindly trying to get each one of those buttons open while his warm mouth covered hers, his free hand roaming down her back until he once again took her ass firmly in his grasp and drew her against him.

It felt like an eternity before she finally got his shirt open and pressed her hands against his skin. She tore herself from their kiss to move her mouth to his shoulder - to drag her lips across the line of freckles that were now just a little darker than the last time she’d seen them. She spared a thought for the implications of this, imagining just how much more pronounced they might appear as the summer reached its zenith. She was desperate to see it.

Ellana grabbed Solas’ shirt at its shoulders and dragged it downward, momentarily pinning his arms behind his back as she struggled to tug it the rest of the way off. He shook his wrists wildly to help her and finally his hands were free again and grasping at her hips. She turned her attention to his belt buckle, taking several clumsy steps backward as he pressed her toward his bed. 

The backs of her thighs hit the mattress just as she moved her hand to unzip him, but Solas grabbed the hem of her top, pulling it up over her head and off her arms in one motion. He froze then, and Ellana fought the grin that she could feel curling her lips, as he discovered she hadn’t been wearing a bra beneath it. His eyes darted down to her shorts, his unspoken question all too apparent. He then hurled the top over her head and across the room, where it landed with a thud as it hit the wall.

“You really need to stop throwing my clothes,” she told him as his hands went to the waistband of her shorts. “You could just drop them on the ground, like I do with yours. A lot easier to find in the morning.”

“You’re asking for a presence of mind I don’t currently possess,” he mumbled, yanking down her shorts to confirm, as he must have suspected, that they were the only layer of fabric between him and her bare skin. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and the shorts went flying backwards over his head, landing on his dresser. Ellana grabbed the waist of his now-open pants and dropped them to his ankles - demonstrating, she thought, the much simpler alternative. 

“You do see how that’s easier, right?” she asked as she slid her hands to his boxer briefs next. He winced as she carefully eased the elastic of his waistband down over his length, and then rewarded her with a gasp when she leaned over, her face perhaps a little closer to his thighs than it needed to be, and dropped his underwear to the ground as well.

Solas ignored the bait entirely, stepped out of the discarded clothing at his feet, and picked her up with a hand under each of her ass cheeks. Shocked, she let out a yelp as she quickly wound her legs around his waist and grabbed the back of his neck to steady herself. Ellana braced, expecting to end up on her back, but Solas turned them instead. He put a knee up on the bed for leverage, then grunted as he let himself fall backwards and Ellana went down on top of him.  

She got a little lost in his lips then, distracted by the moans he made when she used her teeth on him, and the way his fingers dug into her flesh when she sucked his lower lip into her mouth. There was also some sort of confusing battle happening around her hips. Each time she attempted to slide herself lower on his body, closer to where she could feel him hard and occasionally pressing against her backside, Solas would drag her back up again. When he finally had her high enough that she was straddling his chest, she sat up and gave him a puzzled look.

“Where am I going?” she asked, breathing heavily.

“Here,” Solas answered, gripping her hips and guiding her the rest of the way up his body until she kneeled directly over his head.

The realization of what he intended sent any possible hope of a witty reply fleeing from her brain, leaving her with only the stark clarity this position afforded her. She looked down at his face between her thighs, the way his eyes had darkened, paralyzed by how badly she wanted to begin.

Solas helped her tuck her feet beneath her, so they rested at the precise place where his chest met his neck. With an open palm he patted her twice on her ribs. “If I need to breathe,” he explained.

If? she thought wildly, but nodded her understanding. She tried to regain enough composure to ask him if he was ready, but before she could get a word out, he gripped her ass again and brought her forward to his mouth.

Ellana tried to go slowly at first, to find the right angle and speed to ensure her own pleasure without hurting him in the process, but Solas would have none of it. He pulled her backside insistently, helping her grind her hips back and forth over his lips and his tongue, only finally easing his hold when he seemed content that she was willing to do it herself. 

It was a drastically different sensation than the last time she felt his mouth on her - and that was a moment she’d thought about so many times in the past few months that she’d almost worried a repeat couldn’t possibly live up to her fantasies of it. She was wrong. 

In what little space she had left in her brain for conscious thought as his lips slid across her slick flesh and his tongue pressed up into her, Ellana had a particularly exhilarating revelation. Having him beneath her like this meant that, for the first time, she actually could directly control whether he could speak to her or not. But then, struck by the sudden awareness that he’d barely said a single word to her since they’d landed on the bed, she came to an awful, obvious understanding: she actually liked it when he sparred with her.

“You ..” she bit out in between a roll of her hips. “You said I could help you relax. I’m not sure I’m helping.”

She looked down as his eyes flew open. She attempted to back away and give him enough space to offer whatever provocative reply might spill from his lips. Instead, he merely narrowed his eyes as if she had said something profoundly stupid, grabbed one of her hands with his own, and placed it on her breast. With the encouragement of his fingers over her own, she began to tease her nipple. He only released her once he seemed satisfied she would continue without him, and returned his attention to the matter in front of his face.

She knew she was done for after that. 

Ellana came shuddering against his mouth as Solas held her hips steady. He licked her through her climax as she moaned and gripped the iron bars of his bed, spots dancing at the edges of her vision. 

She was still catching her breath when she felt Solas move his lips to the top of her inner thigh. At first, it was a light kiss, but then it blossomed into something deeper, fiercer, when he sucked her skin into his mouth. She gasped at the sweet pinch of pain she felt, and Solas’ eyes opened again as he released her. They both looked at her leg, each of them simultaneously registering the deep red mark he’d left behind.

“Forgive me,” Solas said immediately. “I should have asked -”

“Don’t apologize,” Ellana said, her eyes fixed on the spot. Do it again, she thought.

As if he’d heard her, Solas turned his attention to her other thigh and made quick work of placing a nearly identical bruise there. When he finished, Ellana found herself completely dumbstruck. Even her thoughts had been stunned into silence. 

Solas shifted beneath her, guiding her feet off his chest and carefully helping her roll onto her back, all while Ellana struggled to make her brain form sentences again.

“Is - is this what you usually do to relax?” she asked as Solas leaned over her.

He smiled and she felt it in her belly - the taut, perilous moment of anticipation before he delivered his counter. 

“Usually,” he said in between still-labored breaths, “I have to imagine you. As vivid as those visions may be, they pale in comparison to the real thing.” 

Ellana fell silent again.

His mouth and cheeks were wonderfully pink, the corners of his eyes pinched in a silent laugh, as he brought his swollen lips down to hers. Once he had positioned himself between her legs, his tip pressed to her center, words came flooding out as surely as if they’d burst a dam.

“I am never more relaxed than when I can taste you on my tongue,” he said into her ear as he dragged himself through her folds and eased into her. “Except, perhaps, when I am inside you.” He slowly pushed into her, then drew out nearly all the way, to punctuate his point. “But to have both at once?” He thrust again, faster this time, and she whimpered in response. “Now, that is far superior to anything I’ve dreamed.” 

Ellana wound her legs over his back as she tightened her grip on his shoulders, her mind now entirely made up: she never wanted him to stop talking.

She eased into the bliss of it then, her eyes rolling back before they closed, focusing on the flex of the muscles in his shoulders beneath her fingers; on the rhythm of his breaths and moans that echoed in time with her own; on the absolute relief she felt to finally be touching him again. 

Time-lost and mind blissfully blank, she helped him chase his release, calling his name in encouragement as she let her words flow freely to tell him, in detail, how good it felt to have him inside her. His shocked gasps and shudders were more than reward, and when he finally collapsed on her chest, breathing heavily through his nose, she allowed herself to imagine how happy she might be if all her nights were shaped like this one.

Some time later, when their breathing had returned to normal and they’d gotten below the blankets, Solas held Ellana tightly to him, her back to his chest, and he spoke again.

“I think we should try this one more time.”

“Only one?” she asked, chuckling. 

“Not this,” he said, running a hand down to her hip and pulling her backside flush against his thighs to demonstrate the distinction he was making. “This, as in, having a real conversation. Without jokes.”

She understood precisely what he was asking and her pulse immediately quickened with worry.

“No jokes?” she repeated, to stall.

“Yes.”

“Great. I can do that,” she agreed, making a promise that she absolutely knew she couldn’t keep.

“What am I, to you?”

Ellana burst into nervous laughter, her mind filled with far too many absolutely hilarious retorts made all the more hilarious because she knew she wasn’t supposed to say them. Behind her, Solas let out an extremely irritated-sounding sigh.

“No, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I know you’re right. I didn’t make a joke but also you can’t set me up like that, come on.”

“Ellana.” He kissed the back of her neck and she stilled, laughter dying in her throat. “You speak your mind in every other situation. All I wish is for you to speak it now. Please understand that I will accept whatever answer you give me. I only want to know if your interest is solely physical, or if there is more you would have from me.”

She hated him a little for being able to put it so prettily, for being able to compliment her even while he asked it, and for dropping a hint that sounded as if he would want to take anything or everything she was willing to give him. Ellana wasn’t sure she had any of that grace inside of herself. If he rejected her a second time (and she was setting aside completely the matter of whether that first rejection had been intentional; it had devastated her and that made it real enough), she was pretty sure she would never be able to look him in the face again.

“I’m not very good at these kinds of things, Solas,” she said carefully, and then, when a heavy silence filled the room, immediately realized she had said the wrong thing once again.

“No, I don’t mean -” she grabbed his hand where it rested on her hip and hurried to explain. “You asked what you are to me.”

Summoning what small reserve of courage she had, she spoke honestly … directly into her pillow.

“You are the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last person I want to see at night. I’ve enjoyed all the calls and texts and everything else, but I’ve been counting down the days until I actually got to be with you again. And you have helped me hold myself together over the past few months. I’m so grateful to you for that, even if I don’t entirely understand why you were so generous with your time when I’m …”

She halted, voice thick in her throat.

“When you’re what?” Solas asked, squeezing her hand.

She scoffed, struggling to find the right word.

“Work,” she said, finally, exasperated with how correct it felt.

Solas exhaled deeply, his arms winding tighter around her torso as he rested his chin against her shoulder. When he spoke, his mouth was at her ear.

“You mentioned you like a challenge? So do I.”

The way his voice dipped when he said it, the feeling of his chest rumbling softly against her back - she felt it from her belly to her toes.

“But you must know,” Solas continued, “whatever faults you imagine in yourself, to me, they are essential pieces of the person who I - who I know to be entirely beautiful and infuriatingly clever. Ellana, being with you is well worth any ‘work’ you might imagine I must undertake. I promise you, it is not ‘work’ at all.”

Heat rose in her cheeks at his compliments and she twisted in his arms, finally finding the strength to face him.

“Thank you.”

He wound a finger into her curls in reply.

“So then,” she said, still hesitant. “What would you say that makes us?”

“Together,” he said with a small shrug.

A grin cut across her face as she realized she loved the sound of it. So much more elegant, and yet also much simpler, than all the complicated titles and terms that had been clouding her mind. Among their friends, and in their public conversations, labels would be assigned - that was inevitable. But now Solas had offered her a word that could drown out all the noise and remind her of what mattered most.

“That’s perfect,” she said. 

“I am … extremely relieved you think so.” For the first time, as she watched the tension ease from his brow and his shoulders, she appreciated just how nervous he, too, had been.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer before,” she apologized, as she understood what it must have cost him to bring it up again.

“You were clear now. That’s all that matters.”

After she’d kissed him enough times to convey a small fraction of her gratitude, Ellana rolled back to her other side and fell asleep in Solas’ arms.  

Head heavy from the first night of sleep back in her own bed, she woke confused in the middle of the night. She had become so accustomed to the sight of a tent above that, for a moment, the luxuries of this room were disorienting. It was the gentle rhythm of his breath on her shoulder that finally reminded her she was home.

They slept as they always did, skin to skin: her back pressed tight against his chest, their legs entwined, one of his hands above her head and the other wrapped just below her breasts. She had no desire to rise; she only wished to savour each moment she had with him until her duties called her forth again. Yet, despite her contentment and the warm embrace of the man she loved in the bed they shared, she stirred.

If the pull had been any weaker, she could not have left him, so tightly did he cling to her in his sleep. But there was a hint of something beyond her windows, a whisper that called her to seek it on the balcony overlooking snowy mountaintops. When she had untangled her limbs from his, she rose, covered only in a fringed shawl that she wrapped around her shoulders.

She took slow, quiet footsteps across the heavy rugs that spanned her quarters until her feet hit stone, thankfully still warmed by the dying embers of the hearth that stood between the balcony doors. The sky had been stained with luminescent rays since she had closed the Breach; the gentle blues and vibrant greens reflected off the snow and drew her gaze upward. 

She felt, now, as if she could almost see the Breach above her again. She flexed her hand, then clasped her fingers tight in her palm. It was impossible. It was sealed. She would know if something had changed. And yet, still, when she looked up at the sky, she thought she might see past it, fall through it, be swept away in its currents.

“Vhenan?”

She looked back over her shoulder, where she could barely make out the shape of him rising from their bed …

Ellana blinked, staggering as the scene in front of her shifted violently. No longer did the stones near the fire warm her bare feet; instead she felt the jarring brush of damp grass and the bizarre softness of flower petals as she stepped backward and fought to keep her balance. Shivering in the night air, now much cooler than it had been a few hours ago, she looked down and discovered she wore nothing at all. She gasped, horrified, clutching one hand across her breasts and the other to the tops of her thighs - an instinctive attempt to cover herself even though she saw no one else and the garden where she stood was entirely enclosed by a high fence.

In the soft moonlight, she struggled to catch her breath and slow her heart. Ellana could not understand whether it had truly been Solas’ voice she heard in her dream - if it could even be called a dream. No dream she’d ever experienced had felt so visceral, so substantial. When the answer was no clearer a moment later, she began to turn back toward the house, only for her eyes to catch on the unwelcome green light spilling down from the starry sky.

The vortex churned above her and her left palm seized in response. There was still pain, but it was nothing compared to what she had experienced when she first woke to her hand screaming in agony in Boranehnan. Teeth chattering against the bizarre sensation and the chill in the air, she clutched her glowing hand and tried to press her right thumb into the center of her left palm, just as Solas had done before, but it provided no relief. 

“Ellana?” 

This time, she knew he was real.

“Solas.” She had whispered his name but when she looked over her shoulder, she knew he'd heard her - he was already running toward the garden, bare as he had been when they fell asleep.

His eyes went up to the sky as he flew out the open doors and onto the patio. Trembling from the panic that had begun to overtake her, she moved her left arm as much as she could, holding it out for him to see, to understand - she wasn’t certain she could form any more words now to try to explain. Thankfully, he didn’t need them.

Solas crossed the remaining distance between them in two long strides and grabbed her hand in his own. It was not delicate, but she was grateful for his urgency when he once again pushed back against the green light that leaked from her palm as if to force it back into her veins. She doubled over in a mixture of shock and relief as his touch poured through her like ice-cold water on a burn. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Solas rubbed his free hand across her back as she took in one deep gulp of air after another. He let her recover a few moments longer before he asked, “Can you walk?”

Ellana nodded, slowly bringing herself upright again. Solas wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him as she let him slowly lead her back inside. She felt him crane his neck upward as she carefully stepped up onto the bricks of the patio.

“The vortex - it’s gone. I think it may have disappeared when -”

“The Breach,” she interrupted, voice shaking but her thoughts now perfectly clear. “It’s called the Breach.” 

Chapter Text

Solas quickly silenced his alarm when it went off at 5:40 a.m., relieved to see Ellana was exactly as she had been when they’d fallen asleep the second time. He’d propped up a pillow against the top of the bed so he could sleep partially upright, while Ellana rested against his chest and he held tightly to her with both hands around her back, in hopes it would be enough to wake him if she attempted to stir again.

They’d talked for a long while once he got her back inside and warmed her freezing body against his own. She explained the dream she had, how real it had felt. It sounded remarkably close to what he’d experienced when he was examining the Inquisitor's portrait in Boranehnan. Together, they’d poured over any possible similarities of the circumstances between tonight and the last time she’d experienced the strange pain in her hand, but with few helpful conclusions. Each incident had occurred at night, begun while she was sleeping, but in totally different locations. In one case she couldn’t recall a dream; in the other she did. 

But there was one variable Solas hesitated to voice and which either had not occurred to Ellana or, he suspected, she also did not wish to speak. One certain commonality between the two incidents was his proximity to her. It was difficult for Solas to ignore that Ellana had experienced no such pain during the time they’d been separated, though he did at least hold on to the small comfort that he seemed to be able to suppress it once it began. But he didn’t understand that either. He had never felt either the desire or the capability to exert his will over any of the other phenomena he saw. Yet something about the light in Ellana’s hand filled him with a strange certainty.

If he were truly honest with himself, everything about Ellana filled him with a strange certainty. He had barely been able to fall asleep after their conversation, his mind building days and weeks and years ahead, tempting him with glimpses of a future far too distant to yet be realized; and then, sending him spiraling back down to reality again beneath the cold gravity of all the bothersome obstacles that might yet stand in the way. He thought of the ring locked up safely in his desk; he remembered her saying she couldn’t live in Orlais.

Solas yawned, quickly blinking his eyes open again as he realized his wandering thoughts had nearly sent him back to a fitful sleep. The entire point of his new morning routine was that he wanted to be able to wake before Ellana did, but now that the moment was finally upon him, he knew he had to let her rest. Delicately, he placed an arm beneath her shoulders and his hand under her head, lowering her onto the pillow as he slid out from under her. 

Ellana woke as Solas slipped out from beneath the blankets. 

She almost reached out to him, but there was something enticing about watching him move in the darkness. A hint of light spilled from beneath the curtains - dawn was rising, but just barely. Why is he awake? she wondered. Then, the thought left her.

As he sat on the edge of the bed Solas reached his arms high over his head, grasping his left wrist with his right hand and pulling until the inside of his elbow pressed tight against his ear. She watched the tension ripple through his neck, his shoulder, all the way down his back as he eased the sleep from his body. Ellana bit her lip, determined not to make a noise, not to interrupt, when Solas grunted softly and released his wrist.

He repeated the same motion on the other side and, her eyes now adjusted to the darkness, Ellana noticed the marks on his back. A trio of thin, red scratches marred the plane of Solas’ left shoulder where she’d clung to him more tightly than she realized the night before. She found a corresponding set farther down his right side, near his ribs. 

She held perfectly still, breathing shallowly, as he stood up from the bed and opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. When he bent at the waist to rummage through its contents, she was afforded a view of him she had not yet seen. It was probably best if she stopped breathing entirely, she thought. Solas pulled a pair of grey sweatpants from the drawer at precisely the same time she realized her hand was resting on her inner thigh.

Slowly, Ellana trailed her fingers back and forth along her skin as she watched him slip on one leg and then the other. He hesitated as he pulled the waistband onto his hips, letting out a second, quieter grunt. Ellana swallowed the gasp that threatened to spill too loudly from her lips as she moved her hand to hover just above her core.

She had seen him so often in suits or other professional attire that she had become used to it - not so used to it that it didn’t still have a profound effect on her every time she watched him slip off a jacket or adjust his tie. But she was at least, generally, prepared for the concept. Seeing Solas in states of half-undress wearing items of clothing that he simply shouldn’t be allowed to own while looking as he did, was deeply unfair. She stared brazenly, determined to appreciate every inch of him.

The waistband cutting across the top of his buttocks was low enough that she could just make out the curve between his cheeks. She nearly lost herself there until her eyes found the furrows that began at his hip bones and then disappeared beneath the grey fabric. Though she had now traced those groves with her own hands more than once, watching as he winced - ticklish - beneath her touch, to see them in this new light had her marveling at him all over again.

It was almost unsettling how much his body seemed to call to hers, how infatuated she had been with him since the moment she first saw him - even if it did take her a disturbingly long time to recognize it as infatuation and not irritation as she’d first believed. Anger, hatred - to Ellana these were cold emotions that pooled in the chest and lungs, hardening over time until they formed a cutting edge she could use against their source. What she felt for Solas was always heat; in hindsight, maybe that was how she should have realized the truth. Whether it was the scorching licks of flame that lashed out during their verbal spars, or the steady, enduring embers of her desire for him that were never so far below the surface they couldn’t be coaxed to a roaring inferno with the slightest look or touch, it had always been fire with him. It was too much to feel too soon, but it had always been too much. She couldn’t explain it; she’d never felt anything like it. 

That fire was all but unbearable now as she watched him in the darkness - as she gently slid two fingers along her folds, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from moaning. Solas stretched again, leaning his neck to one side and then the other. Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest as she touched herself, eyes closing for only a moment as she felt her wet heat against her fingertips. When she looked up again, he had left the room. She pressed her thighs together, trapping her hand between them, and fought against the frustrated groan that was rising in her lungs.

Slowly, and as quietly as she could, she inched her way down the bed, one hand still between her legs and the other dragging the blankets with her. When she was halfway down the mattress, she saw him again - his face illuminated by the harsh light of his cell phone as he stood near the dining room table across from the open bedroom door. She silently congratulated herself for encouraging him to buy that phone - not only for the numerous photos he’d sent her, but also because of the view it now gave her of the rest of his body. Let’s see a flip phone do that, she thought with an absolutely deranged sense of triumph.

From this new angle, Ellana could now see yet another mark she’d left on him, this one a small red bruise on his chest to match the pair on each of her thighs. She didn't exactly recall doing that, either. But it’s only fair, she thought faintly, as she began to rub circles into her clit.

The sweatpants looked like they were barely even on him from the front. They hung so far below his waist that the faint patch of hair beneath his navel was entirely visible and Ellana was once again losing herself in the exposed grooves of his hips. But the worst of it, she thought as she rocked up against her fingers, was just how clearly she could see the shape of his cock, still half-hard from when he’d risen from the bed a moment ago, through the fabric. She closed her eyes again, breathing out as quietly as she could, and rested back against the mattress as she imagined the astounded expression that sometimes came over his face when he was thrusting into her. 

Something landed beside her head with a soft thud. Ellana’s eyes flew open, only to discover her entire field of vision was now obstructed by grey fur. She moved her neck back to get a better view, as her brain sluggishly caught up to what was happening.

“Parchment?” she asked in an exhaled breath. Not the ideal time for an introduction, she thought, tilting her head back and forth, trying to see if Solas was still by the table. “Could you just, please - just scooch a little?” she whispered to the cat, who had now planted herself directly in front of Ellana’s face. The cat neither looked at her nor showed any willingness to move and had, in fact, begun to lick a paw and clean her face with it.

Resigned to her frustrated fate, Ellana flopped her head back on the mattress again, eyes closing as her hand stilled against her thigh. She felt Parchment hop down from the bed a moment later, but the opportunity had passed, her focus was gone. 

With an annoyed huff, she opened her eyes again only to find Solas staring at her as he leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “You’re awake,” he said.

She didn’t bother to answer because it was a completely stupid observation. Obviously, she was awake. But her silence afforded Solas the time needed to take in her bizarre position on the bed - still slid halfway down the mattress with the blankets now tangled around her waist, her chest uncovered and her right arm resting below. She knew what it looked like because it was exactly what it looked like.

“What are you - why are you …” Solas nodded toward her odd position on the bed. “Were the pillows uncomfortable?” he asked, apparently genuinely, as Ellana rolled her eyes. Why was he always so determined to say the most idiotic things at the worst times? Familiar flames rekindled low in her belly, as if in answer. She slowly moved her hand back to rest against her slick skin.

“I was trying to see you,” she said quietly as her fingers found their rhythm again. Perhaps the cause was not so lost, after all.

“See me?” Solas’ gaze dropped to where her hand moved beneath the blanket. “But I wasn’t doing anything.” 

“You don’t need to,” she quickly raised a shoulder, taking in a shuddering breath. “I always want you.”

His eyes went wide at that, his lips parted, the stretch of the fabric at the front of his pants revealing that he was much more than half-hard now.

“Though those fucking sweatpants are not helping matters,” she bit out. It was obscene how clearly she could see the shape of him through the cloth; irrational to think it was more salacious to see him covered and yet still so exposed rather than entirely bare. 

At this Solas seemed genuinely perplexed, his chin dipping down as he looked at himself. He shook his head, not understanding, then took a step toward the bed. He had nearly pulled his hands out of his pockets before she found the breath speak again.

“Stop.”

He froze.

“Stay there, like you were. Keep your hands … like they are.” 

The way the waistband tugged even lower under the weight of his hands in his pockets had her bucking against her own fingers. She was on fire for him. There was no point in trying to hide it and she didn’t want to anyway. Let him see. She’d gone too long without him to deny herself this pleasure one moment longer when it was hers to take. 

His eyes, half-lidded and skin dark from waking too early, roamed from her face to where her hips rolled beneath the blankets, then back again.

“Show me?” he asked, voice trembling as if he thought she might say no. Idiot, she thought affectionately as she tossed the covers away.

The cool air that hit her skin could do nothing to staunch the heat building in her core as Solas’ gaze settled upon her, his eyes caressing with every bit as much weight as his hands would have. It brought her to the precipice; the way his freckled shoulders, his flushed chest, rose and fell as he panted in time with movement of her fingers sent her tipping over the edge.

“I have wanted to see that in person for some time,” he said, hinting at the many nights spent on the phone while they’d been apart. She chuckled, tension finally fading to relief, as she rode out the final shudders of her climax.

Solas waited by the door, the front of his sweatpants now so hilariously strained that she could see the clear outline of the head of his cock pushing the fabric up above the height of the waistband.

“Come here,” she said, sliding back up to the top of the bed.

He crossed to her, pulling his elbows out to the side in a silent request - did she still want his hands in his pockets? She shook her head, laughing again. “You can take them out.”

Solas put his new found freedom to use immediately, picking up her right hand from where she had rested it on her stomach. He brought her fingers to his lips, then took them deep into his mouth. All at once, her body was a bonfire again, every inch of her skin burning to touch his, as he sucked and swirled his tongue.

When he finally released her hand, there was a small crease in his brow. “All this for a pair of sweatpants?” he asked, still confused.

She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.

“You can take them off now,” she said. "I think we're done with them."

Solas had the best of intentions to get Ellana to the museum well before the scheduled start time for the luncheon so that he would now, finally, have an opportunity to show her through the various exhibits and particularly the small collection of artifacts from the Dragon Age. But the morning easily, and perhaps predictably, got away from them. They eventually made it out of bed and out of the house long enough to stop by a cafe around the corner and have coffee. When they returned, they’d each planned to take a shower which, again perhaps predictably, turned into a single shower, which led to another return to the bedroom and then actual, individual, showers sometime after that. Now, they were rushing to make it out the door on time.

“Solas?” Ellana called from the bathroom, where she’d taken up residence for the better part of the past hour. Solas had not previously been aware of just how elaborate of a process it apparently was to dry hair like hers. 

“Yes?” He poked his head out of the bedroom. 

“Could I get your help for a minute?”

He made his way toward her voice, still fidgeting with one of his cuffs. The luncheon was billed as business casual so he had foregone a tie, but he had seen a preview of the guest list when the museum’s board was planning the event. There were enough big names attending that the absence of a tie would be his only concession toward 'casual.' True, his suits were slightly more fitted than was currently in fashion, but he had always preferred the style and had no desire to replace his wardrobe annually merely to chase capricious Orlesian trends.

He rounded the corner to the bathroom and found Ellana with her back to him, guiding a long, hooked earring through one earlobe. “I swear, my jewelry is the only thing Josie didn’t steal from me,” she mumbled to herself.

Her hair was enormous now that it was dry, hanging down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, the curls loose and springing with movement as she turned her head. She wore another pair of wide leg pants like the ones from the night prior. These were paired, however, with a waistcoat that would typically have been layered over a dress shirt and below a suit coat. Ellana wore it alone, as a top. It was black with a thin white pinstripe, the same as the pattern on the pants. 

“Solas?” she said, watching his reflection in the mirror.

“You -” He swallowed. “You said Josephine stole your jewelry?”

“No.” She frowned as if he’d said something deeply ridiculous and Solas suddenly realized he’d lost his train of thought. “I said she stole everything but my jewelry. Replaced every single item in my suitcase.” Ellana let out an irritated sigh as she picked up her other earring from the sink. 

“I see.” That would certainly explain the sudden appearance of last night’s attire. The possibility of additional surprises awaiting somewhere in that enormous suitcase was so overwhelming as to be a bit concerning. 

“Would you mind doing the clasp on this?” she asked, nodding toward a gold necklace with a large oval pendant made of the same mossy stone she typically wore. With a sweep of her hand, she pulled her hair over her shoulder to expose the back of her neck. 

“Of course.” He took the long chain carefully between his fingers, draped it in front of her while she placed a hand over the pendant to hold it in place, then began to work at the clasp. It was a tiny thing, and required more finesse than he currently had, particularly since he could see his fingers trembling slightly. 

Once he finally closed the clasp a moment later, Solas realized he had leaned closer to Ellana. The small curls at the base of her hairline moved with each breath he released, and goosebumps prickled along her neck. He slid his hands down her back, her ribs, then onto her hips as he took a step closer to her.

“Solas,” he heard the warning in her voice even as he brought his mouth to her bare shoulder. “You were just complaining that we’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

“I know,” he said, his frustration twisting it to more of a growl than he expected. He released his hold on her, took a deliberate step back. “And I was right.” 

“Well, I’m ready. Let me just grab my phone and we can go.” She turned, placed a kiss to his cheek, and Solas warred with himself over the desire to twist his neck so that her lips would land on his instead. The hesitation cost him enough time that soon the moment was gone and she was walking past him back toward the main room.

“Oh!” Ellana grabbed his wrist as she was nearly out the door. “Here, let me fix that. Not very business casual of you,” she teased as she quickly fastened the button on his cuff and gave it a little tug to pull his sleeve down past the edge of his suit jacket. “Now we can go,” she said, giving him a quick smile before she slipped out of the room.

With the sound of Ellana’s heels clipping down the hall ringing in his ears, Solas stared at his now-buttoned cuff. 

What an extraordinary thing, he realized. The small details taken for granted after being alone for so long - such as, in this case, the bothersome but necessary task of struggling to button the cuff on one’s dominant hand. 

“Hey Solas?” Ellana called from the other side of the house.

“Yes?”

“Parchment is pawing at the door to your spare room. Can I open it for her?” 

“Go ahead,” he replied, still distracted by his buttoned shirt sleeve. “She’ll want to sleep in the windows while we’re gone.”

What would it take, he wondered. What mountains would need to be moved, what changes would need to be made, in order to persuade her that she might stay here, with him. She obviously adored her job and her coworkers, and she had proven over and over again to be exceptional at it. True, she largely worked remotely, but Lydes was a good deal farther from the main office -

His meandering thoughts were interrupted by a quiet thud from elsewhere in the house. It was just enough of a distraction to snap him back to attention. He unplugged Ellana’s hair dryer, moved her damp towel from the door knob onto the towel rack, and checked his reflection one last time. 

At that precise moment, his reason caught up to him, along with the clear memory of stashing the painting of Inquisitor Lavellan in a not-nearly-hidden-enough spot in the spare room. He dashed out the bathroom door as the realization hit him, stumbling into the large island in the center of the kitchen in his haste. 

Ellana sat at the dining table, preoccupied with something on her phone. She cast a curious glance up at him when he raced into the room, and slid her phone into her pocket. 

“Everything alright? Don’t tell me we need to sprint to the museum.” She checked her watch to confirm.

“No,” he said with a forced chuckle, pulse pounding in his ears. “But we should go now.”

As Ellana crossed to the front door, he took a few slow steps closer to the open door of the spare room. He saw nothing obviously displaced, nothing that might have caused the noise he heard. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps he had imagined it. 

When he turned back toward the front of the house, Ellana slipped an enormous pair of black sunglasses over her eyes and crooked her head toward the door.

“Shall we?”

Informal banquet tables were spread throughout the manicured gardens in the museum’s courtyard. Though their placements might appear random at a glance, Solas knew that, in fact, there had been meticulous discussion to determine each table’s location. There had also been a good deal of nervous bickering among the event’s planners about the possibility of rain and which of the museum’s halls would need to be rearranged in order to accommodate guests if the need arose. Fortunately, there were no clouds to be seen in Lydes and the sun bore down pleasantly - warm, but not overly hot.

Ellana wound her hand through Solas’ arm to steady herself as they walked down the stone steps that led from the museum into the courtyard. He expected her to pull away once they reached the bottom and her heels were back on solid ground, but her hand stayed firmly in place. There was no use fighting the smile that pulled at his cheeks. 

They made a quick circuit of the courtyard as he introduced her to a handful of board members, some of his colleagues from the university who had been invited, and a few of the Orlesian politicians whose embarrassing futility had been the reason Tevinter had strong-armed its way into claiming one of the discoveries made at the Arbor Wilds dig. Everyone, of course, recognized Ellana from the appearances she’d made over the last three months. She was polite about answering their numerous questions, and Solas was only too happy to provide her with a reason to move on each time she pressed the tips of her fingers into his arm - an unspoken and yet easily understood signal that her patience was waning. 

All the while, he’d been working himself up to attempt a particularly tempting introduction. He saw his chance when a familiar face appeared near the buffet table. Solas nodded to the woman as they approached and she waved in acknowledgment.

“Briala. Good to see you again. I’d like to introduce you to my g-”

“Ellana Lavellan!” 

Solas swallowed down the word he’d so carefully coaxed to the tip of his tongue.

Briala grinned as she reached out a hand to Ellana, who slid her sunglasses up onto her forehead before taking it and returning her smile. “How good to finally have a chance to meet you in person.”

“And you!” Ellana dropped Solas’ arm to offer Briala a hug.

“You two know one another,” Solas said, pointlessly, as the two women briefly embraced. 

“Briala was a huge help to me when I was writing my book a few years ago,” Ellana explained. “She had some fantastic suggestions for artists I should contact when I was researching traditional Dalish crafts.”

Briala bowed her head, accepting the compliment with the slightly feigned humility Orlesians loved. “I may not be Dalish myself, but a happy benefit of working at the Archives Nationales is a very robust contact list.”

“And how are things at the Archives?” Solas asked.

“I have, in fact, accepted a new position. It was a very recent change,” she said as Solas began to apologize for his mistake. “They haven’t even published the press release yet. But it is part of the reason I am here today.”

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Ellana smiled. “What’s the new job?”

“I have been appointed as the curator of the Elven Collection at Halamshiral.” 

Ellana let out an impressed hum, and Solas silently agreed. Though Halamshiral was technically a small town to the east of Lydes, the name was mostly synonymous with the country’s premiere art museum. The museum had been built on the location where the Orlesian nobility’s Winter Palace was believed to have once stood in ages past. 

“Félicitations,” Solas offered his polite congratulations, extending his hand. Briala shook it and smiled warmly.

“You’re the perfect person for it,” Ellana added, and Solas watched as Briala’s smile broadened into something much more enthusiastic and genuine. She was obviously thrilled with the appointment.

“You said something about your work at Halamshiral bringing you to Lydes today?” Solas asked.

Briala nodded, then cast a sheepish glance toward Ellana, as if she were about to say something embarrassing or unpleasant. “I am, in fact, here in part to see the portrait of Inquisitor Lavellan.” 

Ellana bit her lip and held her smile well enough. 

“It is not as similar to you as all those talking heads would have us believe,” Briala quickly offered. 

“I know!” Ellana shrugged, entirely willing to take this gracious, but false, concession from Briala. She laughed as she rolled her eyes. “Maybe if more people saw it in person, they would understand.”

“Well, it is my hope that more people will have an opportunity to see it in person,” Briala said. Solas could hear her choosing her words carefully.

“You have something specific in mind?” he asked.

Briala pursed her lips, obviously hesitant. She had information she did not want to give, he was not going to like, or perhaps both.

“My understanding is that your museum is to be formally notified at the start of next week. But, informally, the Ministry of Culture has made the decision to move the Inquisitor's portrait to the collection at Halamshiral.”

Solas took in a slow breath, fighting to hide his disappointment. It was a blow, to be sure. He had no delusions about 'ownership' of the portrait. It was an important piece of Thedosian history and, as such, belonged to no one and everyone. Yet he had delivered it to the museum in quite a literal sense - he had carried it in his hands from the ground where it was unearthed in the Arbor Wilds into the museum’s basement labs. He’d watched as it was tested to prove its authenticity, encased within a frame to protect it, and mounted in the hall that contained other artifacts from the Dragon Age. And each day he’d been at the museum since, he had made the pilgrimage to see her face before heading to his office.

Ellana immediately tensed beside him, hands balled into fists before she shoved them into her pockets. “It’s being moved to an art museum?” she asked quietly.

Briala nodded. “I agree, it makes more sense as part of a history collection. But an argument can be made for either case, and the Ministry is of the opinion that it will be more accessible to Orlesians as well as tourists if it is in a location that is prepared to handle them in greater numbers than Lydes can.”

“I understand the reasoning,” Solas said with far more diplomacy than he felt. “When is the transfer scheduled to take place?”

“It’s still up in the air.” Briala shook her head. “Ideally, the Ministry wants it done before summer is over so it will be there for the peak season crowds. But, of course, there is still much to be done before we are ready for her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Solas saw Ellana wince. She pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes as if it had been a particularly bright ray of sunshine that caused her discomfort rather than, as Solas suspected, the anthropomorphization of the portrait. 

“Obviously, an appropriately grand exhibit space will be designed, and there is already discussion of a gala to be held for her unveiling. I am certain both of you will be on the guest list,” Briala smiled.

“How exciting,” Solas said.

“Can’t wait,” Ellana agreed. She had adopted the even tone Josephine had taught her for interviews, which Solas took as a particularly bad sign.

“If you will excuse me, I must introduce myself to some of your board members. The Ministry expects me to smooth over any hard feelings that may arise due to the transfer. It may be a little simpler if I can make a good first impression.”

“Bonne chance,” Solas offered with a nod of his head. 

“Merci,” Briala shook his hand again quickly before turning back to Ellana. “And you must not be a stranger. I would be happy to speak again, especially as we begin work on the Inquisitor’s exhibit.”

“Of course,” Ellana agreed as Briala grasped her shoulders and they exchanged the friendlier custom of kissing each other’s cheeks.

As soon as Briala was far enough away to be out of earshot, Ellana slipped her hand onto Solas’ upper arm again. This time her grasp was noticeably tighter.

“We need to talk.”

“Are we not already talking?” he asked, reverting to old habits as he heard the familiar tone of warning in her voice. Ellana, however, was not interested in sparring. 

“In private. Now.”

Despite what his fluttering heart might think, this was clearly not meant to be a good thing. Solas shoved down the images that were already springing unhelpfully to his mind and quickly led her back up the stairs into the museum. They passed through several halls before arriving in the corridor that housed the docent offices. He pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked his door, and gestured for Ellana to go inside. 

Ellana was already across the room before he’d even flipped the light switch and shut the door. She leaned back against his desk, crossing her arms over her chest, as Solas fought the urge to sit down or, indeed, to shrink as if he had been summoned to account for his poor behavior. The thought was as inappropriate as his earlier musings, and he tried desperately to stress to himself that the situation was clearly serious. In the end, he remained standing and thrust his hands into his pockets, which brought about yet another unhelpful reminder of the morning’s activities. At this point, the best he could hope was that his thoughts weren’t written plainly on his face.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Ellana said, fixing him with a cold stare. “I promise I won’t be mad. No,” she shook her head. “I can’t promise that. But just tell me the truth so I know how bad this actually is, and we’ll figure out what to do next.”

Solas held himself still and silent, entirely confused and also beginning to see this must be far worse than he had imagined.

“Did you forge that portrait of the Inquisitor?” 

Ellana observed him carefully. Solas was skilled at managing his expressions, but not in every situation - particularly not when he was caught off-guard, and especially not with her. She was confident she would see the truth in his reaction even if she didn’t hear it in his words.

His lips parted as his jaw dropped slightly, eyes going wide. Surprise, Ellana thought. A good start, but it could simply mean he hadn’t expected her to put the pieces together. She needed to see more. 

“Answer the question,” she said, not wanting him to have too much time to come up with a clever lie. 

This time, his brows pinched and she saw him set his jaw as he thrust his hands deeper into his pockets.

Oh, he’s furious, she realized. But the anger was good - also really, potentially terribly, bad in some other ways - but good in the sense that she had probably just wrongfully accused him of something that would deeply insult his sense of professionalism and … oh shit, she thought. Maybe it was just all bad.

“Of course I did not forge the portrait,” Solas said in a low, deceptively even voice that she hadn’t heard from him in quite some time. “What could possibly have made you say that?”

“A few things,” she began, trying to stay calm as she watched his face redden. “Let’s start at the beginning. Where did you go that night in the forest?”

“What?” He frowned, not following her.

“We were separated for a while when we went back to the dig site. I’m not sure how long because things got … confusing for me after that.”

“I - I was only gone for a minute or two. I checked that the guards were on the opposite side of the clearing from us, as I said I would.” 

When he realized that wasn’t going to be good enough to satisfy her, Solas huffed in frustration.

“Ellana, what you’re suggesting isn’t possible. The Tevinter team already had the portrait by the time we went back out there. Alexius and Dorian were speaking about it before they left.”

“I remember that part of it,” she agreed.

“Do you also recall that Dorian mentioned his team was already analysing samples from the artifacts they collected?” 

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Dorian was in on it.”

Solas’ jaw dropped again.

“You cannot possibly believe that,” he bit out.

“I just want to hear the argument against it,” she said, spreading her arms wide in a gesture meant to convey how completely reasonable she was being at the moment. Solas was not placated.

“The portrait was dated independently of Dorian’s team, as you know,” Solas said. “The lab at this museum, as well as a second lab at the University of Lydes, each confirmed that the portrait dates to the Dragon Age.”

She nodded. “And how well do you know the people who work at each of those labs?” 

He caught her insinuation right away and vigorously shook his head. “What you’re suggesting is less a forgery and more an enormous conspiracy. It would require a great many professionals to put their reputations at stake, and to what end? What is the point of this accusation?”

“It’s not an accusation,” she said, even though it certainly was. “I’m asking you now because, with the portrait moving to Halamshiral - a place where it won’t be directly in your sphere of influence - if there is anything unusual about it or the circumstances of how it was found, you’re not going to be able to prevent that from coming out.”

“The only unusual things about the portrait’s acquisition were the coincidence of your presence at the dig, and Alexius’ insistence that the mirror had never been there.”  

“That’s already two things too many, Solas. Don’t you see that?”

“Perhaps, but they are the truth!” he threw up his hands in exasperation. “As to the question of any issue with the portrait itself, it is beyond reproach. Any additional dating performed on it will yield the same results once again.”

She’d given him plenty of opportunities to admit it and he still hadn’t. Ellana steeled herself for what she hadn’t wanted to say.

“There’s a painting of Inquisitor Lavellan in your house and it looks exactly like the portrait.” 

Solas went very still.

She had omitted the other obvious problem with the painting because it had unsettled her enough that she wasn’t certain she could yet put it to words. While the portrait itself was already plenty difficult to look at, seeing the image rendered in color so she could recognize her own hair, her own eyes imposed on those of the Final Inquisitor had been nearly too much to bear. 

“You went through my paintings in the spare room?” Solas asked quietly.

“No, I didn’t.” She couldn’t even be that angry with him for assuming that’s what happened, because she had been about five seconds away from doing exactly that when Parchment saved her the trouble by leaping up on a bookcase and dislodging the Inquisitor’s painting in the process. It had fallen to the ground, practically at her feet, like the world’s most uncanny mirror.

“Parchment knocked it down when I let her in the room,” she explained. “I saw what it was when I picked it up to put it away.” 

Solas let out such a heavy breath that his shoulders drooped as he exhaled. He looked a little less furious now to Ellana’s eye, but his face was no less red.

“I can explain,” he said.

“I hope so. Because you realize how bad that looks, right Solas? It’s not just similar to the portrait they found in the Arbor Wilds. It’s a perfect copy.” She hesitated before saying the rest, the exact thing that had been in her head for the past hour. “It looks like it was done by the same person.”

“I did not draw the portrait that was found at the digsite.” To his credit, he’d managed not to look away from her since they’d entered his office. If he was lying, he was very practiced at it - and that was an entirely different sort of problem.

Against all her instincts, Ellana believed him. 

“Tell me about the painting,” she said.

Solas sank into the chair in front of the desk, resting his arms on his knees.

“I had a dream,” he said. “Not unlike the one you had.”

“When?” Ellana asked. “Last night?”

“No.” A pause long enough to worry her. “In Boranehnan.”

Now it was Ellana’s turn to let out a weary sigh.

“It wasn’t exactly a dream,” Solas clarified. “It was while you were on the phone with Cassandra, explaining what Alexius had done. I was downstairs, reviewing the image of the Inquisitor’s portrait that Dorian sent. And then … it was as if I slipped into a daydream, but I don’t recall feeling tired or distracted.”

Ellana pulled herself the rest of the way up onto the desk and crossed her legs beneath her. Unintentionally, she mimicked Solas’ posture, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hand.

“Why didn’t you say something?” she asked. “That was after you knew I’d seen the phenomena. And after you told me you had as well.”

“It was more complicated. At least that’s what I told myself at the time.”

“More complicated how?” 

Silent, Solas stared not at her but somewhere past her. Ellana tilted her head until she had aligned her gaze with his own and his eyes refocused on her face.

“What happened in the dream, Solas?”

He bit his lip, and Ellana started to understand - he was furious, she was right. But he was furious with himself.

“You will hate this,” he told her.

“I hate not knowing more,” she immediately replied.

“Yes,” he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. “I saw the Inquisitor. She was as she appears in her portrait. She also, unmistakably, looked precisely like you. She had your voice. She spoke to me in your voice.”

Ellana fought the urge to recoil. 

“I was drawing her portrait - the portrait.”

“You were?” 

“I … I saw it from the perspective of the artist. Not unlike how you described your dream last night.”

“Shit,” Ellana breathed as she immediately understood. “You didn’t just stumble upon that word that was drawn in her hair. You saw it happen. That’s how you knew it was there.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed.

“You saw all that, and you can still say that you’re certain you didn’t somehow draw that portrait yourself? What if you lost time at some point, like I did?” 

“It was a daydream.” Solas looked up at her. “It no more makes me the true artist of that portrait than your dream makes you the person who saw the Breach in those mountains.” 

Ellana very much did not want to be the person in the mountains, and so - despite whatever misgivings she might have about Solas’ logic - she was willing to be persuaded by it. She uncrossed her legs and let them fall down against the front of the desk as Solas pushed himself out of the chair and stood in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I should not have kept this from you.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she agreed.

“It is no excuse,” he said as he stepped between her legs and placed steadying hands on top of each of her thighs, “but I know how much you dislike comparisons between yourself and the Inquisitor. I did not wish to cause additional stress by describing her appearance and voice as so similar to your own.” 

“Maybe we’re making too much of it,” Ellana shrugged. “Maybe your mind just filled in the blanks - everything we don’t really know about her - with the person who was closest to you at the time.”

“It’s possible,” he conceded. “But that’s not what it felt like.”

“My mind did something similar last night,” she said, realizing she needed to share with him the one part of her dream she had omitted before. “I think the reason I woke up was because the person in my dream was distracted by something.”

 Solas watched her carefully, waiting for her to continue.

“There was someone - a man - in the bed with her when she … when I opened my eyes. I didn’t see him. He was always behind me. But when I walked over to the balcony, he must have woken up. He spoke and … and I swear it was your voice.”

“What did I say?” Solas asked.

“You said …” 

Vhenan. She could still hear it echoing against those stone floors, caressing her ears like her favorite melody. 

“... my name,” she finished.

Solas was silent for a long moment as he considered this. “Perhaps you’re right,” he finally said. “Perhaps we are taking this too literally.” 

Once again, it was the solution Ellana wanted to hear and so she let it placate her, even as a dreadful little idea wound its way into her mind. When she’d first experienced the blinding pain in her hand in Boranehnan, she’d fallen asleep trying to conjure the memory of the mirror at the dig site. Then, last night, the final conscious thought she could recall was that she would be back in the museum today, back to where everything began with Solas. And that had reminded her of the first time he’d touched her - when she somehow slipped away from herself and reached a hand out to that artifact in the Dragon Age hall.

Different places, different objects. But was there something that connected them? Or was it possible, she thought miserably, that the act of thinking about these things somehow made her more susceptible to experiencing them? 

There wasn’t enough to bring it together yet, she thought as she let the pieces slip back into her subconscious. If there was any truth to the idea that looking at the problem created the problem, she would certainly have ample opportunity to test it over the following days as they searched for more evidence of the Inquisitor. 

Solas was gently rubbing his hands on her thighs from her hips down to her knees - a soothing gesture, but one which she thought was done more absentmindedly than anything else. He was lost in thought as well. 

“What is it?” she asked, resting her hands on his shoulders.

“May I ask for a clarification on something you said at the start?” he said, hands stilling.

“Yes,” she said warily.

“When you thought I had forged that portrait, you said you wanted to know how bad the situation was so you knew what to do next.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I correct in assuming that means you did not intend to expose the portrait as a forgery, if that had been the case?” 

“Sorry, that’s your concern here? Whether - hypothetically, of course, since you told me you didn’t draw that portrait and you had better not be lying to me about it -” Solas opened his mouth to clarify but pushed right past it. “Whether I was going to … what? Retract my story? Report you to the authorities?”

“Yes. Either. Both,” Solas said.

“No! Of course not!” She realized how completely deranged it sounded the moment it came out of her mouth, but it was also definitely true. 

“Why not?” he asked, truly astonished.

Ellana shrugged a shoulder, grabbing at Solas’ jacket to pull him closer. 

“What good would that do at this point? Interest in the Inquisitor is fueling funding for all kinds of projects about elven and Dalish history. And I’d be ruining that, along with both of our careers, based on some hunch? No,” she shook her head. “Like I said, I just needed to know how bad it was so I could figure out what to do.”

“Such as?” Solas crooked an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t have anything concrete yet,” Ellana admitted. “I was just debating what I’d need to say or do to get Briala on board.”

He stared at her, open-mouthed, for a long moment. “I truly did not think it was possible, but I fear I may have underestimated you.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she told him. “We’re in this together, right? Whatever dumb shit you’ve done, I guess it’s my dumb shit now too. And that’s not even accounting for all the dumb shit we’ve done together. Fortunately, you didn’t forge the portrait, so that’s one item to cross off the list. On to the next.”

It wasn’t meant to be a romantic proclamation - if it had been, she probably wouldn’t have said “shit” quite so many times - but Solas instantly dragged her against him, his mouth warm on her neck and her jaw before he caught her in a kiss.

This was not a normal conversation they’d had, Ellana thought, and this was certainly not a normal reaction to such an abnormal conversation, either. She did not care in the slightest.

“This is ridiculous,” she gasped out as he unfastened one of the buttons on her top. 

“I know,” Solas agreed.

“Love the idea,” she said, already imagining herself splayed out across his desk, “but we do not have the time.”

“I know,” he said again as another button came undone.

It would never have stopped if there hadn’t been a knock on the door.

They both froze. 

A few moments later, another knock. And this time -

“Professor Solas?”

Solas let his forehead fall forward against her breasts. “Cole,” he said in a resigned whisper directly into her cleavage.

“Well, get up, then,” she said, pushing at his shoulders. She quickly buttoned her top and slid off the front of the desk.

Solas turned his back to her, definitely made an adjustment to his tight trousers, and then crossed the small office back to the door. He opened it only halfway and stood mostly behind it, bending sideways at his waist so that he could see out into the hallway.

“Hello, Professor!” Ellana heard Cole’s bright greeting. “You said to meet you at the luncheon before we got on the train to Markham. I couldn’t find you in the courtyard so I figured you must be in your office. Hello, Ms. Lavellan!” 

There was no way he could see her, Ellana knew. She couldn’t see him. But as soon as he said her name, Cole peeked his head around the side of the door and gave her a wide smile. He was just as disheveled as the last time she’d seen him, and it looked like he still hadn’t gotten a haircut. 

“Hi Cole.” She held up her hand. “Good to see you again. So glad you’re able to come to Markham with us today.”

She’d completely forgotten she agreed to that when Solas had mentioned it a few days ago. Apparently, Cole had some research interests at Markham University’s library and wanted to join them on the trip. At the time, she had stupidly assumed that whatever they needed to get out of their systems would be out of their systems within the first 24 hours. 

Idiot, she thought again - this time about herself.

“We’ll join you out front in a moment, Cole,” Solas said, already attempting to push the door closed. 

“Do you have your bags with you?” he asked, so obviously happy to help that Ellana was starting to feel bad for wishing he wasn’t there. “I can put them in the trunk. I moved the nug supplies, Ms. Lavellan,” he said, twisting past Solas so he could speak to her again. “My roommates and I built a hutch for them in the garden behind our apartments.”

“I’m sure they must love it,” she replied, feeling tremendously guilty about how much she did not want to spend the next several hours trapped on a train talking about nugs. “But we didn’t bring our bags. We still have to stop back at the house.”

“Sounds good! I’ll just be out front when you’re ready.” He waved again.

Solas finally managed to shut the door the rest of the way, mumbling a “yes, thank you,” as he did. When Cole was safely on the other side of the hallway, Solas leaned back with a huff, resting one foot up against the door. Ellana folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a disappointed frown.

“What?” he asked.

“Be nice,” she said.

“I am.” 

“Try harder.” 

He kicked off from the door as he rolled his eyes, and Ellana suddenly felt she could see very clearly that young man with the shockingly long hair and a penchant for shirking authority figures. It was a side of him, Ellana thought as they straightened their clothes and then made their way out into the museum, that she could enjoy a little too much.

Solas had packed before they left the house and Ellana had only taken a few items out of her suitcase, so there wasn’t much left to be done when Cole dropped them off. Cole was only spending one night in Markham and would then return to Lydes, while Solas and Ellana’s plans were less fixed. Solas filled Parchment’s food bowl to the brim to tide her over until Cole had a chance to stop by sometime tomorrow afternoon. Then he checked that the rest of the doors and windows were locked, put away the dishes from the night before, and found himself hovering at the entrance to the spare room.

True to Ellana’s word, the painting of the Inquisitor rested where he had placed it, against the line of blank canvases. He turned his attention to his desk.

Solas unlocked the middle drawer with a brass key from his keyring and stared down at the small box lined in black velvet. There is no need to bring that, a very wise part of his mind reminded him. You will only worry if you do - both about losing it, and about giving it to her.

Sound advice, Solas thought, as he picked up the box and shoved it into the bottom of his work bag.

Chapter Text

“You are both very tired.”

Ellana took a deep breath through her nose, blinking her eyes open at the sound of Cole’s voice. She slowly raised her head from where it had fallen onto Solas’ shoulder, her neck now stiff from the odd angle. A soft snort beside her told her Solas had dozed off as well. She peered out the train’s window, tried to stifle a yawn, and failed completely.

“Where are we?” she asked sluggishly. The green hills sloping gradually down to the Waking Sea could have been practically anywhere along their journey. They would follow the coastline most of the way to Markham.

“Nearly to Cumberland,” Cole answered from the seat opposite her. 

“Not even halfway,” she muttered.

Solas let out something between a yawn and a groan as he stretched. His arms reached up to touch the luggage rack above them and his legs slid beneath the empty seat beside Cole. “I’ll go get us some coffee,” he said as he stood, squeezing Ellana’s shoulder before he headed off toward the cafe car.

She turned her attention back to the window, but found her view almost completely obstructed since Cole had also decided to watch the scenery passing by. He’d placed an enormous, brimmed straw hat on his head just before they boarded the train and hadn’t removed it since. The combination of the hat along with a slightly stained white t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants that definitely had some hay poking out of the pockets made him look more like a farmhand than a graduate student. Though, Ellana thought as she remembered how rarely she managed to wear anything other than the same pair of sweatpants for several days straight when she’d been finishing her master’s at Markham, maybe she should give Cole more credit for being as put together as he was.

“You were both very tired the last time I saw you, too,” Cole said without turning toward her.  “When I picked you up in Boranehnan.” 

From anyone else, Ellana would have taken that as a very obvious and unwelcome hint that they were well aware what activities had kept her and Solas from sleeping through the night. From the little she knew of Cole, she had a feeling it was basically harmless, if terribly blunt.

“Busy days,” she responded as vaguely as she could, “in both cases. I got into Lydes pretty late last night.” 

Cole nodded, turning to face her. She could barely see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. 

“Did you finish Inquisitive Hearts?” Cole asked. “I wanted to ask you about it on the drive back to Lydes but you were asleep.” 

That trip in Cole’s nug-scented car had been one of the most miserable mornings of her life. He was right that she’d been exhausted. But she’d slept terribly during the drive, nerves twisting her in knots as her mind refused to still. The publication of her article had hovered nebulously in the distance - an event that she knew would change her life, most likely in huge and terrifying ways. But worse was feeling the press of Solas’ knees against the back of her seat. She remembered listening to his steady breathing as she struggled to find sleep with her head propped against the window of Cole’s car. Every part of her was stiff and uncomfortable, but she dreaded it ending when they arrived in Lydes and she had to say goodbye to him with no sure idea when they’d be together again.

For almost a month after that, she hadn’t touched Inquisitive Hearts to finish it. She knew she only had a few chapters left, but that book was now so closely tied to her memories of Solas and their time in Boranehnan that the thought of picking it up again was impossible. She’d only finally given in when Varric, Cass, and Leliana all strong-armed her into it because they were so sick of not being able to discuss spoilers around her.

“I did finish it,” she told Cole. “Quite the twist ending.”

“It was so sad,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Sister Jeanne didn’t choose either of them, after all that.”

“I guess maybe we should have seen it coming,” Ellana shrugged. “Stories that become Antivan operas rarely end well. And Jeanne was a shrewder politician than I gave her credit for - passing over two handsome suitors in favor of a much more powerful prince who we never even got to meet in the book.”

“Romances should have happy endings,” Cole declared with such righteous certainty that she found herself immediately nodding in agreement. 

“Well, my coworkers tell me that a lot of fans of the book imagine that the Captain and the Magister end up together in the end - that they were the real love story,” she offered.

“Oh!” Cole titled his chin up as he considered this, and Ellana finally saw his face clearly. After a moment, he nodded enthusiastically, the brim of the hat flopping back and forth with the movement of his head. “I like that,” he decided. 

“Me too,” she smiled. For no reason at all, she turned her gaze to the exit of their train car where Solas had passed through a few minutes ago. She leaned her elbow on the armrest, chin in her hand, and wondered how soon he’d be back. 

“He was very happy you were coming to visit.” 

She glanced quickly at Cole but he was staring out the window again. She was beginning to suspect the kid had eyes in the back of his head.

“He told you that?” she asked. It didn’t really sound like the sort of thing Solas would say to anyone. She’d gotten the sense over the last few months that he was generally very private, and was especially strict about the boundaries he set with his students - Cole’s occasional chauffeuring and house-sitting being the only notable exceptions.

“No.”

She waited for Cole to elaborate, but after several moments of silence it became clear that he had no intention of doing so. Perhaps it would have bothered her more if Solas hadn’t appeared in the doorway between the train’s cars, three disposable cups balanced in his hands. Ellana felt a smile breaking a little too broadly across her face and sucked in her cheeks to slow it. As Solas carefully made his way down the aisle, she saw a similar expression steal its way onto his lips. 

Vhenan.

A familiar warmth spread through her chest as she remembered the voice in her dream. 

You haven’t even been with him for a full day yet, she thought, furious. Have you lost your mind?

Solas placed the three cups on the table between Ellana and Cole, scooting one closer to Ellana with his pinky finger. He then pulled several packets of sugar from his jacket pocket and deposited those on the table as well before sliding back into his seat.

“Tell me about your research in Markham, Cole,” Ellana asked as she removed the lid from her coffee, resigned to drinking it black. Instead, she found it was the precise shade of light brown she preferred later in the day. She peered sideways at Solas to find him smirking slightly.

Maybe she had lost her mind, just a little. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

“I have some friends at Markham who are helping me find sources on the Circles,” Cole replied. He took five sugar packets between his fingers, ripped open all of them at the same time, and dumped their contents into his coffee. 

“The Circles.” Ellana frowned, trying to remember the little she knew of the term. “Those were schools, or something similar, run by the Chantry, right?”

“Yes,” Cole nodded. “Though, not everyone was sent to learn there.”

“Oh, that’s right. They were for … what, outcasts? People who were dangerous to themselves or their communities for some reason?”

“That is one theory,” Solas mumbled into his coffee cup from beside her.

“But not yours, I take it?” 

Solas didn’t immediately respond, and so Cole jumped in to explain.

“Some people think the Circles were places where magic was taught,” he offered. 

Ellana bit her tongue and fought the urge to look around them to ensure no one else had heard Cole. Logically, of course she understood that she and Solas had been talking around the theory of “arcane realism” every time they mentioned phenomena, the vortex, or, more recently, the Breach. But whatever small concessions she’d made toward the idea, it was another thing entirely to drop the word 'magic' in a public conversation.

“You’re scowling,” Solas told her. She gave him a withering look in reply as he leaned in closer. “Be nice,” he whispered in a clear mimicry of her tone back in his office.

Maybe she’d been wrong to assume that all her irritation with him was actually misguided attraction. He still managed to be plenty irritating even when she couldn’t stop imagining each time they’d been together.

Making an effort to be as diplomatic as possible (both out of fondness for Cole and spite for Solas), she turned back to resume the conversation. “I didn’t realize you were also interested in arcane realism,” she said, lowering her voice. “Is this Solas’ influence?”

“Oh, no,” Cole shook his head. “I’ve always wondered what the world would be like if we could see everything we’ve forgotten.”

“I see why you chose to study history, then,” Ellana said.

“Yes. But magic is more. Magic is the difference between what is and what could be.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, completely lost.

“Just that!” Cole was always enthusiastic, whether the topic was nugs or romance novels, but Ellana could see that this subject in particular appealed to his curiosity.

“If there were magic,” he continued, “everything would be more. Brighter. Louder. Sweeter.”

“But wouldn’t things be more dangerous, too?” she asked. “If people were, I don’t know, flinging fire from their hands?”

“Yes,” Cole nodded his head vigorously again. “Isn’t that what I said?”

Ellana tried to consider this - to give it a good faith chance in her mind. Despite everything she’d seen, she still couldn’t quite make it work for her.

“Haven’t you thought about it before?” Cole asked. “Don’t you wonder if there might have been more?”

“Not really,” she said honestly. “My clan has stories about things like that, of course. Just like every Dalish clan. But it wasn’t something I ever thought could have been real until …” She glanced quickly at Solas, who was watching them intently. “Until very recently.”

“Because being beside him makes you burn brighter.”

Ellana’s head whipped back to Cole, shocked by his overfamiliarity. Despite his bluntness, he had never said anything that struck her as disrespectful. But Cole merely peered at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to answer another question. When she turned back to Solas, his expression was one of neutral curiosity - certainly not what she would expect had Cole actually said something so personal.

“What did you say?” she asked Cole warily.

“I asked what the Dalish stories say about how your clans learned magic. I’ve never read anything about Dalish in the Circles.”

Ellana nodded slowly, trying to regain her composure. That question was not even remotely close to the words she thought she heard. 

“In our stories,” she said, “our clans’ Keepers were the ones with magic, though it’s sort of unclear whether they always had those abilities or if they somehow manifested once they became Keepers. Either way, a clan’s Keeper would pass down what they knew to the person who would eventually replace them.” 

“So only two at a time?” Cole asked. “A teacher and a student?”

“That’s what the stories say.”

Cole leaned back, reaching beneath his hat to brush the hair away from his eyes. “It sounds very lonely,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “In the Circles, there were lots of people, learning together. Friends who became more like family.”

Ellana felt Solas’ shoulder press against hers as he leaned closer.

“Perhaps that was the case in some, or even many, Circles,” Solas told Cole, and Ellana could hear a subtle shift in his voice as he continued. “It is comforting to think of such a supportive place of learning. But we must also remember that many of the surviving records paint a complicated picture of the Circles, especially considering the role of a Chantry-backed military force in their governance.”

Ellana turned from Solas to Cole, watching as he nodded along thoughtfully. She understood how carefully Solas had done it - the sensitivity he employed so as not to dissuade a student’s enthusiasm for what was clearly a very dear interest, while also ensuring Cole was not losing himself in an idealized version of history. She felt herself smiling again, realizing she hadn’t seen this side of Solas’ work before.

As Solas and Cole continued the discussion, delving into greater detail about Cole’s plans with his friends in Markham, Ellana stole a quick glance at her left hand. She could have sworn she’d heard those cryptic words in Cole’s voice a few minutes ago, but as she flexed her fingers she felt no pain and saw nothing out of the ordinary - nothing that would lead her to believe she’d experienced something like her dream from the night before.

She sipped her coffee as the Waking Sea’s deep blue waters flashed past the windows. In a few short hours, she would return to one of her favorite places in the world. She couldn’t wait to show him.

Ellana was practically buzzing with excitement, Solas thought as he watched her reflection in the train window. She’d fallen unusually silent after the brief stop in Ostwick, then turned her full attention to the verdant countryside when the tracks turned north, away from the coast. The foothills of the Vimmarks appeared in the distance shortly before the train fell into darkness and they passed through a tunnel that cut a path through the mountains. When they emerged back into the sunlight in the outskirts of Markham, the city now visible a little ways off, Ellana turned toward him with a wide grin.

“How long has it been since you last visited?” Solas asked.

“Too long,” she said with an eager chuckle. 

The station where they disembarked was much larger than the one at Lydes but also far less ornate. It was a sensible construction of red brick with only a handful of towering archways as concession to aesthetic concerns. They stowed their luggage in one of the station’s lockers before making their way outside.

Ellana invited Cole to join them for dinner but, with his time in Markham so limited, he was eager to meet his friends at the library. Solas felt only slightly guilty for the relief he experienced at Cole’s declination - a feeling which he forgot entirely when Ellana slipped her hand into his and led him down the long avenue that stretched away from the station and into the heart of the city. The sun was warm against his back as it sank down to the horizon, bathing Markham in vibrant oranges and yellows as the buildings cast fascinating shadows across the wide sidewalks. Solas did his best to memorize it all, knowing he would want to paint it when he had the time.

The campus at Lydes was entirely enclosed, contained within a few small city blocks. Markham was far too large for such an arrangement. Ellana guided him through several streets, pointing out the bright green quads that identified areas where university buildings were grouped together and, had classes been in session, where students would congregate on the grasses. She pointed up at apartments built above the numerous shops and restaurants at street level, which were apparently part of the university’s student housing. Solas had visited Markham a few times in recent years, but he had never before appreciated how the city and the university were so delightfully tangled up in one another. 

Though the semester had ended a few weeks prior, the streets were still busy with weekend crowds. Ellana kept his hand clasped tightly in her own as she led him past several promising looking restaurants until she finally came to a halt in front of a boxy, two-storey brick building with white, wooden window frames. A painted sign reading The Ploughman’s Inn hung over the entryway, and a crowd of people spilled out the front door. 

“I’m guessing there will be a wait,” Solas said, but Ellana let out a smug laugh as she shook her head. “Is this not the entrance?” he asked, confused. 

She leaned into him, chest pushed up against his arm, eyes bright and with a smile that suggested to Solas she was about to tell him all the secrets of the universe.

“Only if you don’t know better,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Solas was so completely lost in the look of mischief in her eyes that he nearly stumbled over his own feet as Ellana again grabbed his hand and dragged him onward, this time around the corner of the building and down into an alleyway. 

The moment they passed into the shadows, he pulled Ellana to him, wrapping his arms around the small of her back. She kissed him before he had the chance, her fingers laced at the back of his head as she pulled herself flush against his chest and hips. He grasped her hair, his hand scratching across the bricks behind her head, and desire flooded his body after too many long hours of sitting pressed beside her on the train with no hope for relief.

As he breathed in her scent, Solas wondered if her mind was also on the alley in Boranehnan. He had been desperate to touch her then, too, half-mad from the rage he felt at Alexius for threatening her, and yearning to tell her that all was not lost, that they would find a way to make it right, that he would fix it all, somehow, if she would only promise never to look so lost or hopeless again.

Ellana pulled away, her teeth pressed softly against her bottom lip as the last of the evening’s sun reflected in her eyes. She released her grip on his head, running her fingers along his jaw and then down his neck before her hands settled on his chest.

“I was just thinking it had been too long since you’d last kissed me,” Ellana said, her voice as light as the summer breeze that spun around them. “But what was that for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Solas said. Because you are everything to me, he fought not to say.

They were still a moment longer, Solas wrestling against the torrent of confessions that lay heavy in his throat, until Ellana ducked beneath his arm and nodded to a spot farther into the alley. 

“Coming?” she asked. 

He hurried after her, thoughts trailing sluggishly behind. 

At the midpoint of the alley, an entryway to a cellar stood open, its set of double metal doors popping up out of the ground and folded back to reveal a stone staircase winding downward. From street level, it looked horribly precarious; the steps were uneven and had only a rope attached to a few rings driven into the mortar to serve as a railing. 

“Yeah, people fall down these a lot when they’re drunk,” Ellana confirmed as she followed his gaze. “Oh! And the ceiling gets really low at the bottom of the stairs, before it opens up into the tavern. So, um, don’t bump your head!” 

She said it casually enough, but the slight smirk that curled her lips had Solas’ blood rushing to his cheeks. He was never going to live that down, apparently.

Ellana picked her way carefully down the stone staircase and Solas followed the winding path behind her, ducking low enough that he was nearly bent at the waist by the time he reached the bottom. When the ceiling finally opened up above his head, he stood upright again and took in their surroundings. 

The 'tavern,' as Ellana had called it, was a tiny cellar made of thick stone walls. An L-shaped bar took up more than half of the available space, with uncomfortable looking wooden stools lined up beneath its countertop. There were exactly three tables, each of which was covered with a red and white checkered table cloth and had only two seats. Most of the barstools and all of the tables were already occupied, and the stone walls echoed noisily with the voices of so many people packed into such a small room.

Ellana was darting toward the back of the tavern, opposite the bar, and Solas realized her destination was a corner booth that he had not seen from the entryway. A handful of oil lanterns hung down from hooks on the low ceiling, providing the only illumination in the room. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as Ellana tossed her bag on the tabletop to stake her claim.

She pointed to Solas then to the booth to indicate he should sit down before she hurried over to the bar. He sat, as instructed, moving Ellana’s bag down onto the bench beside him and placing his own next to it. Ellana was already speaking to the bartender, though he couldn’t make out the words they exchanged over the din. He was, admittedly, also distracted by the way she had draped herself over the bar, leaning forward so the bartender could hear her. It left Solas staring directly at her backside, and his mind conjuring the memory of the feel of her skin in his hands.

He pulled himself closer to the edge of the bench beneath him, rested his elbows on the table, and tried to curtail his thoughts. Ellana was back a moment later, placing down a pint glass for each of them. She plopped beside him and shoved against his hips with her own, moving him farther into the corner.

“People used to fight for this booth,” she said as she rested against his side.

“Perhaps they still do, when classes are in session.” Solas curled his arm around her waist. 

“It’s the best seat in the house,” she explained. “You see everyone who comes in the door, but it’s too dark back here for them to see you. Great for people watching.”

And secluded rendezvous, Solas thought, wondering if that had once been part of the appeal as well.

“Food will be here in a minute,” Ellana said as she slid his glass toward him. “I already ordered. There’s only one thing worth eating at The Ploughman. Everything else is terrible.” She gave him an inexplicably proud smile at that pronouncement. 

“What a glowing review,” he said as he raised an eyebrow at her. Ellana merely laughed in reply.

“You’ll see,” she said.

“You’re certain you still wish to visit the Dalish archive tonight?” Solas asked with a glance at the pints. ”We did have an early morning, after all.”

“It’s not a formal visit,” Ellana said, and took a long drink from her glass to demonstrate her point. “And I caught a little bit of sleep on the train. I’m up for it if you are.”

“I am. Though I admit I’m surprised the archive is open so late.”

“Oh, it’s not. But Merrill owes me a favor. Or, more like, a lifetime of favors.”

“Merrill is the curator with whom you’ve been in contact?”

“She is. She also attended Markham around the same time I did. We met during my first trip here, when I was touring the campus. She was actually my tour guide - another Dalish kid from the Marches living in the big city for the first time. We hit it off right away. She was already in her fourth year when I started my first, but we decided to room together anyway.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” Solas said. He had not anticipated having an opportunity to learn more of Ellana’s history, in addition to that of the Inquisitor.

“You should probably know,” Ellana said carefully. “After all that time together, Merrill and I are maybe more like siblings than friends. And sometimes we fight like siblings, too.”

“Are you warning me because there’s something particular you intend to fight with her about?” he asked.

“No, of course not.” Ellana rolled her eyes. “But Merrill is … well, you’ll see.”

Before long, their food arrived - spirited down from the kitchen above via a dumbwaiter built into the wall behind the bar. The bartender waved Ellana over to retrieve it, and she returned a moment later with two baskets, each lined with checkered parchment paper and overflowing with a generous portion of crab legs. 

“These are the best crabs anywhere in the Marches, and - trust me - that’s saying something,” she said, sliding a basket over to Solas. “Now, the way they make them at The Ploughman is a little spicy. And I know there’s not exactly an abundance of this kind of seafood in Orlesian cuisine, so if you need any help -”

Solas waved her off with a chuckle as he rolled up his shirt sleeves. He removed the claw, setting it aside to eat last, then pulled off another leg and began breaking it apart at the knuckles. 

“I haven’t always lived in Orlais,” he told her.

“I can see that,” Ellana said with undisguised interest. She kept an appraising eye on his progress as she started work on her own basket, and Solas had the distinct impression that he had passed some crucially important test.

The crab was excellent, if more than a 'little' spicy as Ellana had described. This, Solas suspected, may have been a test as well. But he understood completely the appeal of a hideaway like this one, and food that required so much effort from one bite to the next that there was plenty of downtime begging to be filled with drink and conversation. With an ease that rarely came naturally to him, Solas relaxed into Ellana’s company.

It was a joy to listen to her as she recounted stories of her years in Markham like she was flipping through the pages of a book he had never hoped he might read. He was hesitant to interrupt, even to ask a clarifying question or encourage her to elaborate, lest he accidentally stymie the flow of information. Her nostalgia, her enthusiasm for the place - they were intoxicating and infectious. By the time they emerged into the lamplit streets again, Solas saw the city through Ellana’s eyes and had been thoroughly charmed by it.

Merrill was a small woman, taller than Ellana but also leaner. Her face was tattooed with the vallaslin, though the markings were partially obscured by her enormous wire glasses. Despite the heat outside, she wore a heavy, possibly handmade cardigan that reached all the way down to her knees. She met Solas and Ellana at the employee entrance at the rear of the Museum of Dalish Arts and Culture and they quickly made introductions.

As Merrill led them down a switchback metal staircase into the archives below, Solas began to wonder if Markham was a city that kept all its treasured secrets hidden away in cellars. He’d caught only a few glimpses of the collection as Merrill hurried them through the museum’s offices and briefly out into the exhibit halls. What he saw was intriguing - a mix of both modern art by Dalish artists and older artifacts displayed with presentations about their historical context. He hoped they might be able to return when the collection was open to the public to explore it at his leisure, but for the moment he had to hurry not to be left behind.

Ellana and Merrill had launched into an animated and extremely fast-paced conversation from the moment they’d come through the door. It continued on, some of it in Elvish, as Merrill swiped a badge across an electronic keypad at the bottom of the stairs. She ushered them into a vast room that must have spanned the entire length of the museum above. The structure reminded Solas of Markham’s train station - red brick again, with an arched ceiling, its wide open floor interrupted occasionally by a large, square column. 

Rack after rack of shelves spread out before them, each filled to the brim with neatly labelled archival boxes. The full collection must be hundreds of times larger than the small portion on display upstairs - and, Solas realized, this represented only the items maintained by the clans of the Free Marches. Clans from elsewhere in Thedas likely had similarly sized archives of their own.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Ellana said as Merrill led them toward a table at the front of the room.

“You’re very welcome, though I’m not sure you're going to like it,” Merrill replied. A single box sat in the center of the table, brightly illuminated by lights suspended from the ceiling. “But I’ve been through everything, and this is all I could find.”

“One box?” Ellana asked incredulously as she approached the table. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I’m sure,” Merrill smiled. “But you’re welcome to do your own search through the items that I catalogued and spent the past three months reviewing because you asked me to. Maybe you’ll find something that I couldn’t.”

Solas clasped his hands behind his back and remained silent. Merrill’s tone was friendly but it was impossible not to hear the barb in it, and he had no desire to get in the middle of whatever was about to happen.

Ellana stared at Merrill, working her jaw.

“Fine,” she said, and Solas exhaled. “You’re right. So what is it?”

“You’re not going to like this, either,” Merrill said.

“Please stop telling me whether I’m going to like it and just tell me,” Ellana replied, her patience clearly waning.

“Well.” Merrill picked up the lid of the box in her hands. “First, it wasn’t provided to the archives by Clan Lavellan.”

Ellana frowned. “But you’re certain it’s relevant?” she asked, echoing Solas’ own thoughts.

“Very much certain,” Merrill said, removing a small, leather-bound notebook from the box. She set it down on the table, revealing the sunburst and sword heraldry of the Inquisition on its cover. 

Ellana put a hand to her mouth and leaned over to give it a closer look as Solas scanned the embossed symbol, searching for the smudged flame on the sunburst.

“It’s there,” he said, hovering a finger over the notebook as Ellana nodded in agreement. “The same imperfection in the stamp as we saw on the book from the Arbor Wilds.”

This book was also missing most or all of its pages, as had been the case with the Tevinter team’s find. The front cover slouched down against the back in a similar manner. Solas resisted the urge to take it in his own hands and see if anything remained inside.

“If Clan Lavellan didn’t give this to the archives,” Ellana said, looking up at Merrill, “who did?”

Merrill gave her an apprehensive look. “Clan Sabrae.”

“Your clan?” Ellana raised an eyebrow. “Why would they have it?”

“I reviewed the paperwork from when it was given to the collection. It is a very old donation - the form was handwritten. The Sabrae representative was interviewed but I don’t think he wanted to say much.”

“And why was that?”

“He was - well, at least according to the notes from the curator at the time, that is - he was afraid,” Merrill said delicately.

“What could he possibly have been afraid of?” Ellana asked, waving a hand over the table. “It’s just an old book.”

“You should understand,” Merrill said, focusing her attention on Solas. “In some of our clans, there is a lot of superstition about certain aspects of our history. These things have faded over time, but some do remain.”

“What are you talking about, Merrill?” Ellana asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Merrill grabbed the edges of her sweater and wrapped it around her midsection as she turned back to Ellana, looking distinctly worried.

“The Sabrae representative claimed that this book had once belonged to a woman from Clan Lavellan. According to his story, the woman was granted asylum with Sabrae after she was no longer welcome with her own clan.”

“She was kicked out?” Ellana said. “Why?”

“Apparently the reasons were not made clear to Sabrae when they first accepted her. Later, there were rumors that she had some … unusual ideas about the gods. Well, about one god, that is.” 

“OK.” Ellana held up her hands as if in surrender. “You’ve got me completely stumped. What the hell does any of that mean?”

Silently, Solas agreed. He couldn’t understand why the Inquisitor, who certainly had ties to the human Chantry, cared about the elven gods at all. Even if she had begun her life in a Dalish clan, wouldn’t her position in the Inquisition suggest a conversion at some point? He couldn’t make sense of it.

“Spit it out, Merrill,” Ellana said when Merrill still hadn’t responded after a long pause. “You’re not going to offend me on behalf of my clan. Just tell me what weird shit this woman was up to.”

Merrill took a deep breath.

“She thought that Fen’Harel was a real person who she spoke to and who visited her in dreams and maybe, perhaps - this part is a little less clear because they wouldn't talk about it directly in the interview transcript - but it sounds like she thought she was romantically involved with him as well.”

When she finished it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

“Fen’Harel?” Ellana said after several long moments.

“Yes,” Merrill replied.

“As in, the Dread Wolf?”

“Yes.”

“So this delusional woman thinks she’s having some kind of relationship with the god who betrayed all the other gods - great taste in men, by the way - and your clan was willing to take her in?”

“According to the man’s story, she was only with Sabrae for a short time. They didn’t know any of this about her until after she’d left them. A few of her belongings remained with the clan. These were stored for safekeeping, and eventually forgotten. Until, many years later, shortly before the items were donated to the collection, there was an accident. A fire broke out in the building where the book was stored. The cause was uncertain, but some blamed a lightning strike. Everything in the building was lost, except for the items that belonged to the woman from Clan Lavellan.”

Ellana scoffed. “And they thought this was, what? The other gods’ revenge on the people who took in Fen’Harel’s lover? Or Fen’Harel playing some trick on them? Or just a generic bad omen?”

“You shouldn’t make fun,” Merrill scolded. “Just because we don’t believe such things doesn’t mean they weren’t very real to our ancestors.” 

“Fine!” Ellana took a step away from the table as she exhaled a huge sigh. She ran a hand across her forehead, clearly trying to process everything Merrill had told them.

“Were there any pages left in the notebook?” Solas asked, both to satisfy his own curiosity and to give Ellana a moment to compose herself.

“Only one,” Merrill said. “And a few scraps from pages that had been torn out. I already have scans of all of them,” she said as Ellana opened her mouth to speak. “I’ll send them to you when we’re done.”

“And any writing on those pages?” Solas said.

“The one remaining full page has a few notations. The scraps each have some letters, but no complete words. The notes appear to be tracking the movements of someone identified as ‘F.H.’ I’m sure you can guess who that is. There are dates and locations. Nothing else.”

Solas rested his palms on the table as he peered down at the book, pointlessly willing it to tell him its secrets. While they certainly had more information about the Inquisitor now than they had an hour ago, none of it struck him as particularly useful. There was no mention of the mirror from the Arbor Wilds, nor anything that would help them gain a better understanding of what role the Inquisitor had played in her time. Instead, they had a new set of clues - entirely unrelated, to his eye - that painted her in an even more confusing light.

“You said ‘belongings.’” Ellana’s voice pulled Solas from his thoughts and back to the present. 

“Yes,” Merrill nodded.

“So what else was given to the collection at the same time as this notebook?”

“There was one other item donated by the same Sabrae representative. But I’ve already looked into it. It’s listed as a craft - an item of jewelry. Not more books or papers.” 

“Well,” Ellana shrugged. “We’re here. We may as well see what it is before we leave.”

“If you like.” Merrill opened the laptop that rested on the edge of the table. Once she’d located the second item in the database, she wrote down a series of letters and numbers on a scrap of paper, then added the name Sabrae to the top. 

“Why don’t you go find it in the stacks,” Merrill said as she slid the paper to Ellana. “I’ll get those scans emailed to you in the meantime.” 

“Alright.” Ellana grabbed the note and walked past Solas, toward the seemingly endless line of shelves that stretched off into the distance.

He turned to Merrill, intending to make polite conversation while they waited.

“I understand you and Ellana were roommates,” he said. Behind him, he heard Ellana’s footsteps slow.

“Oh, yes! We lived together - what was it? Three, maybe four years?”

“Three,” Ellana confirmed, both her voice and her footsteps now coming back toward them. Solas realized that he had perhaps made a mistake.

“That’s right,” Merrill said, her gaze directed behind Solas. “And then again when -” 

She halted abruptly.

“And again when you -” Merrill started, then stopped herself a second time. “Why do you keep shaking your head at me like that?” she asked over Solas’ shoulder.

Solas looked behind him to see Ellana staring daggers at Merrill, her finger drawing a line across her throat.

“I’m not,” she said, freezing in place as she met Solas’ eyes.

“I was going to say that you moved back in with me for a little while when that awful boy broke your heart. You remember?”

Ellana’s eyes shifted slowly from Solas to Merrill, then back again.

“You know the one I mean,” Merrill continued. “He told you he was a pre-med student but he was actually just some townie who set fire to the students’ union that one time.” 

Solas felt his jaw drop at precisely the same moment he saw Ellana’s do the same. He was instantly torn between several options: the fury he felt for an unnamed, unknown imbecile who clearly hadn’t deserved to be anywhere near Ellana, let alone close enough to break her heart; the realization that he could torment her about this endlessly; and the small pang of completely irrational jealousy rising up in his chest over someone she’d dated more than a decade ago.

“Here, Solas,” Ellana said in a cold voice as she shoved the note into his hand. “Go get the box. I need to talk to Merrill.” 

“Oh no, but visitors aren’t technically -” Merrill began to object.

“He’s not going to ransack the place, Merrill. Everything’s labeled and it’s not his first time in an archive. Right, Solas?” Ellana shot him a look that made it clear he was supposed to agree.

“It is my first time in this archive,” he began. Ellana’s eyes widened as she stared at him. “But I’m certain I can find my way,” he agreed, deciding it was better not to push his luck.

“You mustn’t touch anything else,” Merrill told him.

“He won’t,” Ellana said as she grabbed her by the elbow. “Let’s go, Merrill.”

Solas cast only a brief look back over his shoulder as he made his way into the stacks, and saw that Ellana had spirited Merrill away to the small alcove by the door that led back to the staircase. There was already a lot of animated hand-waving happening from both of them. He turned his focus back to the task at hand, holding back a laugh that he knew would do him no favors.

Following the signs that hung from the outer edges of each shelf, he again marveled at the size of the collection and wondered what other mysteries might be contained here. After pausing a moment to get his bearings, he determined that the shelves were organized first alphabetically by clan, then by an alphanumeric system that pointed to a specific aisle and box. He headed deeper and deeper into the basement, searching for the shelves marked Sabrae. 

Solas didn’t realize something was wrong until the lights overhead began to flicker.

He looked back again and saw that the way behind him was now bathed in complete darkness. Only the last few rows of shelves were visible. When he slowly returned his gaze to the path ahead, he found that the sign immediately to his left said Sabrae, and even displayed the letters of the aisle he was meant to find. Letters which … had they always spelled out FEN? He stared down at the paper, scribbled with Merrill’s messy handwriting, scouring his memory for an image of what it had said just a moment ago. It was a bizarre coincidence, and one he felt certain Merrill or Ellana would have remarked upon.

It was then, as he was looking down, that he saw the tracks on the stones beneath him. He lifted a foot, realizing he was standing directly on one of them, and felt bile rise in his throat as a viscous substance clung to the bottom of his shoe.

It was red - a deep crimson that appeared nearly black beneath the ever growing shadows that pressed in upon him. It had to be blood. He knew it from the consistency even before the scent invaded his nostrils. The tracks - the paw prints - were enormous, far larger than the span of his hand, and each ended with a vicious claw. They turned the corner at the shelf labelled FEN and continued down the aisle. Solas followed.

He watched as his feet carried him onward, unbidden. First his right foot, then his left pressed down into the wet prints the great beast had left behind, each footfall echoing with a repulsive squelch as the soles of his shoes sunk down into the congealed blood. At the corners of his eyes, black tendrils of feathery smoke obscured his vision. They curled back, behind, away from him, and Solas had a sense they wound about his limbs before sinking down between the cracks in the stone floor and deep into the ground below. 

At the midpoint of the long aisle of shelves, Solas slowed, then turned. He no longer felt the blood beneath his feet, no longer even felt his feet moving. He closed his eyes and rested back against the cold embrace of the shadows that gripped him, allowing them to propel him onward. Tendrils of smoke coiled around his wrists, placed his hands on the box that was his quarry, and removed the lid.

“We’re dating, Merrill.”

“What?” Merrill’s eyes went wide. “Why didn’t you tell me that? I wouldn’t have said all those things.”

“You don’t need to be saying those things to anybody, regardless of whether I’m dating them. It’s embarrassing!” Ellana put her fingers to her temples, trying to forget the look on Solas’ face that told her she was never going to live this down. “And I was going to tell you. I just hadn’t had a chance yet. It’s all … very new.”

“How new?”

“Last night new.”

“Oh, Creators!” Merrill said happily, as she clasped her hands together. “Oh, but I hope I haven’t ruined anything. He seems like a nice man.”

“You’ve known him for like half an hour,” Ellana said, balking at Solas being described as ‘nice.’ 

“Well, then, you should come stay with me tonight. So I can get to know him a little better!”

Ellana shook her head, now feeling guilty as well as angry. “I appreciate the offer but I think we’re just going to go to one of the hotels downtown. It’ll be good to have some privacy,” she added, hoping to convey her meaning to Merrill without having to spell it out. This was always a losing game. 

“What do you mean?” Merrill asked, as if on cue. “I wouldn’t have you sleeping on the couch, like the old days. I have a guest room.”

“No. Merrill.” Ellana rubbed her hands over her eyes, groaning. “Privacy. You know?”

“Oh!” Merrill put a hand to her mouth as if she was scandalized. “Well excuse me, I thought you said you’d only started dating yesterday.”

“Dating, yes. But …” Ellana threw up her hands in frustration. She was not having this conversation right now. Or preferably at all. “It’s complicated,” she finally finished.

“Well I suppose so,” Merrill nodded. 

Suddenly, they both craned their necks up to the ceiling as a heavy thud echoed somewhere above them.

“Is someone else here?” Ellana asked, lowering her voice to a whisper without knowing exactly why.

“Just the night guard but …” Merrill peered up again, her mouth twisting to a determined frown. “We’ve had a few break-in attempts this month.”

“Break-ins?” Ellana said, shocked at Merrill’s causal tone. 

“Just pranks, I’m sure - students who stay in town to work over the summer and then get bored. It’s probably nothing,” Merrill said, but her hand was already on the handle of the door to the stairwell. “I’ll go check, just in case.”

“Should you go alone?” 

“Ellana.” Merrill rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to defend myself. And I’ll find the guard first.” The door opened with a shriek of its hinges that set Ellana’s teeth on edge.

“Go find your boyfriend,” Merrill said as she slipped out the door. “Make sure he hasn’t gotten lost.”

“He’s not -” Ellana replied automatically, but then stopped - interrupted both by the door closing behind Merrill and the acute realization that he was, in fact. The word had her simultaneously feeling like the world’s most embarrassed teenager, and also like she might just fly out of her own skin because it made her so ridiculously happy. She spun around, biting down on her lip to keep the noise that wanted to spill out of her from leaving her mouth. She had a sneaking suspicion it was going to come out as a giggle, and that was truly the most disgusting thing she could imagine.

She hurried off down the rows of shelves, calling out Solas’ name. Without Merrill’s note, she didn’t know exactly where he’d gone, but she at least knew he should be in Sabrae’s section. When he didn’t respond, she slowed her steps, peeking down the aisles on either side of her. Had he actually gotten lost somehow?

Above her, the lamps flickered several times in quick succession, then sputtered out completely. 

Ellana reached for her phone in her pocket, only to realize she’d left it in her bag that was, unhelpfully, still sitting on the table near the basement entrance. She took a few tentative steps forward in the dark before her conviction faltered.

Pin pricks ran up the length of her limbs as the temperature in the room plummeted. Her shivering breath condensed as it hit the air in front of her face, and she fought against the overwhelming panic that crawled up her spine as she realized that something was very near to her. Deep in the darkness she heard a low growl. 

For a moment she froze, paralyzed by fear. Then, she thought of Solas lost somewhere in the pall.

With a strength and certainty borrowed from a place she didn’t quite understand, Ellana thrust her hands out to her sides as if to throw the shadows away from her. “That’s enough!” she cried.

Every lightbulb in the basement surged to life, burning so brightly that it forced Ellana to squint. Her eyes adjusted as, after a few seconds, the lights gradually returned to their normal level. She waited, listening, but heard no sign whatever it was she’d heard before. The lamps had stopped flickering as well. 

It was then she heard a pained groan somewhere deeper into the archive.

Solas.

She flew down the aisle, checking left and right as she did, calling his name. Her feet nearly slipped from beneath her when she finally saw him, and she grabbed onto the metal edge of the nearest shelf to turn herself and carry her momentum into the aisle where he stood.

Something was very wrong.

“Solas?” 

He showed no recognition of her voice, of his name. He stood with the lid of an archival box in his hands, his head bowed downward, and his shoulders slumped. Ellana slowly moved toward him, reaching out a hand as she did.

“Solas?” she said again, now close enough to grab his arm. His head turned toward her and she gasped in horror.

His pupils were lit from within, shining with a brutal violet fire that made her want to release her hold on him and run. Instead, she summoned all her courage and faced him. 

She could see from his dazed expression that he was gone, that - if he could even see her - he didn’t know her. She ripped her gaze from his ruined eyes, searching the box in front of him for answers. It was empty. 

With no idea what else to do, she took his shoulders in her hands, gently turning him toward her. He moved easily, with no resistance but also no understanding. She cupped his face, softly saying his name again, wishing that her touch would somehow bring him back to himself.

Only then did she see the thick leather cords draped around his neck. 

She hadn’t noticed them against the dark fabric of his jacket, but now she followed their path down to where they ended - wrapped around a large object that lay low against his chest. Though it was discolored with age, she could make out the ridge of teeth that ran along one edge.

A jawbone, she realized. She gripped it in her fist.

Solas’ head tipped down toward hers.

“Banal nadas,” he said in a voice that was not entirely his own.

Ellana ripped the cords from his neck.

All at once, his eyes closed and he collapsed forward onto her. Ellana struggled to keep him upright - to stay upright herself - as his knees buckled and he leaned against her. After a moment where he was nothing but dead weight, he took in a gasping breath and braced himself with his hands on her shoulders.

“Ellana?” Solas said.

It was all she could do to bite back her tears as she heard the recognition in his voice. She pushed against him until she could see his face - his eyes. They were open now, but with no hint of the monstrous fire that had consumed them before. His cheeks were a little paler than usual and his nose scrunched as he frowned, but his eyes were as they should be - grey with faint hints of blue as they caught in the light. 

“Are you alright?” she asked as Solas struggled to stand upright, grabbing the shelving to steady himself.

“I - I believe so,” he said, rubbing a hand across the back of his head. “What happened?” 

Ellana threw her arms around him with entirely too much force, sending him staggering backwards a step or two before he finally caught his balance. She laid her head against his chest, her pulse racing as she tried to assure herself that he was here - real and solid before her. He rested a hand on the back of her head, and she could hear his heart beating in his chest at a pace every bit as fast as her own.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she could have strangled him for it. She was fine. She wasn’t the one whose eyes had been on fire a minute ago. But Ellana was too relieved that he’d come back to her to offer any kind of flippant reply. Instead, she kissed his brow, his cheek, then finally placed her lips against his. 

“I’ll explain in a minute,” she promised. “But I think we should get you out of here first.” 

They found Merrill in the security office upstairs. Solas didn’t quite understand what had happened. He gathered from Ellana’s questions that there had been some possibility of a burglary, but Merrill and the guard had found no sign of whatever had caused the initial concern. Ellana made a quick excuse to say their goodbyes, after first making plans to meet Merrill for lunch tomorrow and then resume their work in the archive. 

On the quiet walk back toward the city center, Ellana explained to Solas what she’d seen when she found him among the shelves in the basement. He remembered none of it.

He understood much better now the frustration she still felt about being unable to remember the mirror they’d seen in the Arbor Wilds. The scene Ellana recounted to him seemed nonsensical. There was no strange feeling in his eyes, nor could he ascertain any specific significance to the words he’d spoken. Most of all, he was annoyed that he’d not even had a chance to inspect the artifact Ellana described - the animal’s jawbone hanging from two leather cords. She’d taken the lid of the archival box from where it fell on the floor and quickly replaced it, then rushed him out of the museum’s basement before he’d even realized he should have looked at the box’s contents.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Ellana asked again, her grip on his hand tight - as it had been since the moment they’d stepped outside.

“I suspect my experience is not all that different from your own at the dig site,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I will admit I’m somewhat confused. It is alarming to have a span of time that I cannot recall. And I’m also quite tired, though that may simply be a symptom of an early morning and a long day.”

“We should pick up our suitcases from the station and check into a hotel,” Ellana said. Solas nodded his agreement.

It was a little after ten o’clock when they finally made their way into one of the hotels that lined the avenue across from the train station. Before they reached the front desk to check in, Ellana stopped at the entry to a small 24-hour-shop at the front of the lobby. 

“If you’re sure you’re feeling alright, do you mind if I pop in really quickly?” she asked apologetically. “It’s just … Josie stole my favorite t-shirt, and I’d like to replace it while we’re here.” She let out an embarrassed chuckle.

Solas had a distinctly complicated relationship with Ellana’s favorite t-shirt. He absolutely adored the sight of her in it, despite the lingering resentment it inspired in him, tied up in his assumption that a t-shirt that large must have once belonged to someone she’d dated in the past. Of course, even aside from Merrill’s comments tonight, he understood that she’d been with other people. In some ways, he even appreciated the unknown partner who had gifted her the shirt originally. After all, Solas was now the beneficiary of that gift, as he’d enjoyed many photos of her wearing it and nothing else during the months they’d been separated.  

“Of course not,” he said.

“I’ll only be a minute. Just don’t faint while I’m gone, alright?”

“I’m not feeling faint,” he assured her, “just tired.” Despite this, he claimed a chair in the lobby and rested his head back against the wall when she hurried into the store.

Ellana emerged a few minutes later, grinning, with her new shirt in hand.  

“I know you haven’t met Josie yet but, if you do, she doesn’t need to know about this.”

“I won’t say anything,” Solas promised. “I’m glad you had an opportunity to replace the old one. Even if this one may not be as sentimental.”

“Sentimental?” she asked, giving him an odd look.

“Presumably it’s not quite the same thing to purchase one for yourself rather than have it given to you by its former owner.”

She squinted at him like she hadn’t understood a single word he’d said. “What are you talking about?”

“The old shirt,” Solas said, suddenly feeling like he was on shaky ground. “Was it not a gift? Did it not belong to …” He trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence, but she was still looking at him like he was saying something ridiculous.

“I just assumed, given its size, that it must have belonged to … perhaps the arsonist, for example?” he said, scrambling for any suggestion that might make him feel even a little bit less ridiculous for having begun this line of questioning in the first place.

Ellana’s eyebrows shot up her forehead as a soft blush spread across her cheeks.

“OK. Well,” she said deliberately. “We don’t need to talk about ‘the arsonist’ ever again. You can just pretend that Merrill didn’t put her foot directly in her mouth. But you’re telling me that all this time you thought that shirt belonged to an ex?”

“I -”

“Wait, were you jealous?” Ellana asked, her eyes lighting up as Solas watched her assemble the pieces all too easily now that they were laid before her. “Really?”

He tried to find the words to protest, to explain that of course he was not so unenlightened and that his actual feelings were far too complex to be reduced down to the narrow concept of jealousy. Instead, he asked a particularly stupid question.

“Why else would you have a shirt several sizes too large for you?”

“Because that’s the point of a sleep shirt, Solas. You buy it several sizes too large for you,” she said as she unfurled the Markham University t-shirt she had just purchased, holding it up over her chest. It hit her mid-thigh, just as the old one had.

Solas was still processing this when his phone rang in his pocket. He startled, then hurried to retrieve it, having no idea who it might be. The only person who ever called him this late at night was standing in front of him. He peered down at the screen, then looked up at Ellana.

“It’s Dorian,” he told her.

Ellana nodded toward the phone, gesturing that he should answer. Solas tapped the button to take the call and put his phone to his ear.

“Dr. Pavus?”

“Solas. Something very strange is happening. How soon can you meet me in Vyrantium?” 

Chapter Text

“Apparently we can be in Vyrantium by morning,” Ellana said as she sat down beside Solas on the bench where she’d left him. She still didn’t care for the obvious paleness in his cheeks, nor the way his head drooped forward like he might fall asleep at any moment. She remembered all too well the exhaustion she’d felt after her run-in with the mirror and could see the same written plainly on his face. He needed sleep.

“A night train?” Solas asked, yawning.

“Yes. It leaves in 25 minutes and there are still seats available.”

“And beds?” 

“Yes.”

“Couchettes only? Or are there private compartments as well?” 

Ellana took his forthrightness as a bad sign. It struck her as the sort of thing he would typically dance around with a little more tact, worried she would assume his reasons for desiring privacy were about something other than ensuring an undisturbed night’s rest.

“Both,” she said, because of course she had already asked. “There are private cabins available.”

“Good,” Solas nodded. “I think that would be the best option.” He leaned forward as if to stand, but Ellana placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. He sank back against the bench and looked at her curiously.

“I can get the tickets,” she told him. “But are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?”

“Dorian said it was urgent.”

“Right. But he didn’t say what ‘it’ was, did he?”

Solas shook his head, then winced. Ellana remembered that dizziness, too. “He didn’t wish to go into detail over the phone,” he said.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Solas,” Ellana said. “That seems really bad. I don’t love the idea of wandering into Tevinter under any conditions, let alone when we don’t know what kind of situation we’re wandering into.” 

“I understand your concern,” he said as he took her hand from his chest and held it in both of his own, his long fingers curling around hers. “But I can’t imagine Dorian willingly leading us into danger.” 

“I can imagine that,” she objected, her eyes on their hands.

“I’ve known him for many years now and, given our mutual interests, we have both been forced into a situation where we need to trust one another in order to ensure the free flow of information between us. He has yet to betray that trust.”

“Right, but that’s how betrayal works, isn’t it?” Ellana countered. “You probably only get one shot, so you better make it a good one.”

After a long pause, Solas dipped his head to her in what felt like the clearest admission that she had won an argument that she had ever seen from him. She hurried to memorize the gesture and file it away, so she could replay it over and over again in her mind whenever she needed it - likely at least a few times per day.

“It is your decision, Ellana,” Solas said with a shrug. “The political situation in Tevinter is concerning but, thus far, stable. My most recent conversations with Dorian suggest that he’s still in the good graces of Minister Alexius and the rest of his political allies. Though he has not spoken openly about his own beliefs, he gives me enough hints to read between the lines, and we both saw the various ways he attempted to circumvent Alexius’ interference in the Arbor Wilds. I believe he is very carefully toeing the line to push back where he can without losing his influence completely, and his contacting me tonight is part of that agenda.

“But more importantly …”

Solas turned toward her and reached down, trailing his hand softly along her jawline until his index finger came to rest beneath her chin. He tipped her face upward until she could do nothing else but stare into his eyes. 

“I promise I would never knowingly endanger you,” Solas said, gazing down at her with such open and earnest affection that Ellana thought it might be less agonizing if she just burst into flames.

Obviously, she heard the problem immediately: the 'knowingly' left open far too many possibilities that she couldn’t ignore. And, besides, that was the entire point she was trying to make - there were simply too many unknowns in this plan.

But the way he was looking at her was so infuriatingly tender, and his finger still resting beneath her chin had her heart racing circles around her throat. He probably knew all that, she thought, and was using those wide, pleading eyes against her. It wasn’t all that different from how he’d spoken to her when she was trying to decide whether to take Alexius’ bribe, and she was about to fall for it all over again. 

She opened her mouth, not even knowing how she was going to respond, and didn’t manage to get out anything other than a fluttery breath that instantly defeated any kind of counterpoint she could possibly try to make. The corners of Solas’ lips curved upward ever so slightly as his thumb came to rest in the dip between her chin and her bottom lip.

This is going to be so fucking inconvenient, she thought. Solas’ plans often had some glaring issues. Someone needed to be capable of pointing this out to him, and it was going to be a huge problem if she could be so easily distracted from doing so.

Solas released his hold on her chin and Ellana caught herself leaning into him, as if to chase his fingers. Now she was just making an ass of herself.

“The more disappointing issue,” Solas continued as if he hadn’t nearly made her drool all over herself in the middle of the train station, “is that we would have to abandon our work at the Dalish archive for the moment.” 

“Well that’s not the end of the world.” Words were just coming out of her mouth now, whether she agreed with them or not.

“No?” Solas raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“We still need to know what Merrill’s found on mirrors and eluvians, but I could ask her to email her results to me for now,” Ellana offered, knowing she was in full surrender. “Obviously, I’d rather be here to review everything in person. But it’s not as time sensitive as whatever is happening with Dorian.”

Solas nodded. “I’m sure you must have been eager to spend more time with her - and here in Markham.”

“Markham’s not going anywhere. And you’ve already eaten at The Ploughman, so everything else will be a disappointment after that.” 

He chuckled obligingly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “I doubt that. I have greatly enjoyed everything you’ve shown me thus far.” 

Ellana simmered for various reasons. 

“Alright, fine.” She reluctantly pushed away from him and stood. “I’ll go buy the tickets.”

“A private compartment,” Solas said again.

“I heard you the first time.” She waved him off as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.  “I’ll get it. Just try not to fall asleep while I’m gone.” 

Ellana hurried back toward the ticketing windows, queueing behind a human woman who was now speaking to the same agent she’d questioned a few minutes ago. The woman was unusually bundled up for an early summer evening in Markham, wearing a black trench coat tied at the waist and a brimmed hat that settled over an elaborate pair of braided buns arranged at the base of her hairline. She turned, ticket now in hand, and her pale eyes briefly met Ellana’s. She gave Ellana a quick nod as she passed by.

By the time Ellana had booked their cabin, it was only a few minutes from the scheduled departure time. The train would stop briefly at the Vyrantium station in the morning before continuing on to Minrathous. 

Solas was typing something on his phone when she returned to him, and she noticed that the woman in the hat had settled on the bench that backed up to theirs.

Something was off, Ellana thought as a shiver ran up her spine. The old paranoia she’d felt in Boranehnan, spurred by Leliana’s warnings, had her reexamining every inch of their surroundings. 

“I let Dorian know we’ll be there tomorrow,” Solas said, looking up from his phone. “Though I did not go into any detail about -”

“We’ll be boarding in a minute,” Ellana cut him off. “Let’s discuss it on the train.” 

Solas must have heard the warning in her voice. He nodded and immediately fell silent. 

Ellana entered their compartment first and was already letting out a long sigh when Solas caught up to her, carrying their bags. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” she said, though her lips were clearly pursed in displeasure as she surveyed the room. It was a fairly standard offering to Solas’ eyes. The double-bunk was arranged along the entire left side of the cabin, with a window taking up the rest of the space on the exterior wall. The beds were narrow, but not the worst he’d seen. A small padded stool was folded up against the wall opposite the lower bunk. When lowered, it would align with a tiny table that jutted out from beneath the window.

Ellana took a few steps forward to allow Solas enough space to move into the room himself and pulled down the shade over the window. “From not enough beds to too many,” she grumbled under her breath.

“I’m sure we’ll make do,” he said, chuckling as he stowed their bags in a recess on the wall.

“Are you? Because it looks like you won’t even fit on this thing.” She gestured to the bottom bunk.

Solas leaned over, placing a kiss to her temple. “It will only be a few hours. And we will probably be asleep for all of it.”

Ellana’s response was a little hum that sounded delightfully noncommittal to his ears. 

“Now,” he said, sitting on the bottom bunk and pushing himself backwards to lean against the wall. “Are you going to tell me what happened back on the platform?”

She placed a finger over her lips before hurrying over to the door of their compartment, then pulling it shut behind her. Once she’d tugged on the handle to ensure it was locked, she kicked off her heels and joined him on the bed.

“I think we’re being followed,” she said quietly.

Of all the things Solas had imagined might be bothering her, this was not a possibility that had occurred to him. He must have allowed his surprise to show on his face, because Ellana was immediately on the defensive.

“Please don’t do that thing,” she said.

“What thing?”

“The thing where I say something completely reasonable, given everything that’s happened to us, and you pretend like I’m being ridiculous.”

“I’m not pretending,” Solas objected.

Ellana stared at him.

“You’re not being ridiculous,” he quickly amended.

“There you go.”

“Is this about the -” Venatori, he mouthed, knowing Ellana’s objections to speaking the name out loud.

She nodded. “Did you see that woman in the hat? On the platform, before we boarded?” 

Solas searched his memories, but what he could recall from the train station was sitting next to Ellana on the bench, losing himself entirely in her eyes when his exhausted mind had convinced him it was the opportune moment to try to convey to her how utterly devoted he was both to her happiness and her protection, and then watching as she walked away to purchase their tickets for a private room he had insisted upon. Certainly there must have been other people on that platform, Solas realized, but he remembered none of them.

“She’s traveling alone, with no luggage,” Ellana said, correctly guessing that he had not noticed the woman in question. “She’s running around in a black trench coat on a summer night in Markham. It’s not cold - but maybe even a bit of a breeze is too much for her if she’s used to somewhere warmer. And the only places warmer than Markham this time of year are in the North.”

He nodded slowly, following her logic though not necessarily persuaded by it. Ellana crossed her hands over her chest as she drew her legs up onto the bed.

“She also didn’t have a ticket. She bought hers right before I did - right after you and I decided to go to Vyrantium. I have a feeling she was sitting behind us on that bench the entire time. Tell me - how many people do you think decide to take a night train from Markham to Tevinter on the spur of the moment with absolutely no luggage?”

That gave Solas pause, as it was clearly meant to - she’d obviously saved her most persuasive argument for last. 

“Did you see her get on this train?” he asked.

Ellana nodded. “A few cars closer to the engine than us, but who knows where she ended up once she was onboard.” 

Solas considered this, wondering if he should perhaps warn Dorian that they might be bringing company with them. But when he checked his phone, he saw that he had not yet received a reply to his last text.

“There’s not much we can do tonight, obviously,” Ellana said. “I locked the door, and we’ll keep an eye out for her if either of us leaves the cabin.”

“Perhaps we,” Solas said, though he meant you, “do not leave the cabin alone.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and Solas fought to hide his smile at her reaction, knowing it would only annoy her more. He enjoyed her independence, and the way she seemingly barrelled through every perceived obstacle with a well earned self-assurance that he found irresistible, if also occasionally frustrating. He wondered if a time might ever come when she would allow him to be useful to her without imagining that it somehow made her less in the process. 

“Fine. We’ll be careful overnight,” Ellana said, ignoring that this was not precisely what he had requested. “And in the morning we’ll just have to see if she gets off with us in Vyrantium or if she continues on to Minrathous.” 

Solas nodded his agreement, knowing this was the best compromise he was likely to get from her.

“You should really be asleep already,” Ellana told him. “You’ve looked like you’re about to keel over since we left the archive.”

He was not overly interested in sleeping, despite the physical and mental exhaustion that was beginning to overwhelm him. There was still much to discuss, as well as the equally urgent matter that it was the first time they’d truly had a moment alone together since he’d nearly bent her over the desk in his office. He was not entirely sure sleep would win out, no matter how much his body seemed to think it needed to.

They each retrieved a few items from their bags before strapping their luggage down for the night. There was an ill-fated attempt to change clothes at the same time; they maneuvered haphazardly as the train, now in motion, swayed gently beneath them. After too many collisions in too narrow of a space, wearing less and less clothing each time, it became abundantly clear that no progress would be made if they continued on as they were. Or - Solas thought as he pressed Ellana against the wall, her hands splayed out in front of her as he dragged his mouth down the back of her neck - perhaps it would be more accurate to say that progress would be made, but certainly not toward sleep.

When they both eventually accepted that changing simultaneously would not be possible in such a confined compartment, their solution proved no less troublesome. Solas retreated to the bottom bunk while Ellana used the small floor space to her great advantage. The waistcoat she wore was already unbuttoned - Solas was fairly certain he had done that but the past few moments were a blur - and so she stood before him with her bra exposed beneath it and the rest of her clothing still mostly on her. She made a tantalizingly slow display of removing the remaining items one at a time while barely obscuring her body with a well placed hand or arm.

As Ellana slipped on a pair of white underwear and then pulled her newly purchased t-shirt over her head, Solas wished he had not offered to go second.

She traded places with him, hovering long enough to place a long kiss to a spot on his neck just below his ear that left him shuddering in response. Then she sat on the lower bunk, crossed her legs beneath her, and looked up at him expectantly. 

“This is not conducive to sleep, which you insisted upon,” Solas told her as he untucked his shirt and began to work at the buttons. His jacket he’d lost some time ago - again, it was unclear to him whether he’d removed it himself or Ellana had but, regardless, it was now laying on the top bunk where it had landed. 

“I could fall asleep right now,” Ellana said, letting out an exaggerated yawn which she quickly covered with one hand. “Not sure what you’re complaining about.” 

Solas released an exasperated huff as he rolled his eyes and turned his back to her. He slipped off his shoes and then his socks, contorting in the small space in what must have certainly been a completely unappealing manner. Ellana didn’t make a sound but it was easy enough to imagine her holding back laughter as he struggled. He removed his shirt next and placed it on one of the hangers provided in the cabin, then did the same with his pants. Finally, he removed his boxer briefs, goosebumps rising on his skin as he momentarily stood naked in the cabin. Though he was not especially concerned with modesty at this exact moment, facing away from Ellana was his only concession to his dignity - if she really intended to insist upon sleep, it would not be helpful for her to see that he was ready for anything but.

“If you think the view is less interesting from the back,” Ellana called out from behind him, “you’re wrong.” 

Solas felt the heat rush from his cheeks down his chest. He gracelessly tugged on a new pair of underwear with one hand, having to brace himself against the wall with the other when the train bumped beneath his feet. He doubted he had imagined a snicker coming from the bunk. After another round of precarious balancing to get on sweatpants and a long sleeve top, Solas finally turned back around.

Ellana’s smirk was written plainly on her face, but her eyes were dark - whether because she was half obscured beneath the shadow of the bunk above her, or for some other reason, he wasn’t certain. But as she surveyed him, he saw something in her expression shift. 

“Here,” she said, scooting forward. “I’ll go up to the top bunk so you can -”

“There is no need,” he interrupted her. His comfort was not the priority; he was not about to willingly surrender only his second opportunity to sleep beside her in more than three months. However he had to twist himself to fit into that bed, falling asleep with her in his arms was the only comfort that mattered to him.

Ellana slid up the bed until she was in the corner where the bunk met the exterior wall of the train, and propped her feet up on the small table beneath the window. “At least lie down, then?” she asked - and it was truly a request, Solas noted. Her voice was much softer than he’d ever heard it, her eyes washing over him with undisguised concern. He might worry about how unwell he truly looked to her were he not so delighted to be the subject of her solicitude. 

He climbed into the bunk, bent his knees so his legs would fit, and - before he quite realized what he was doing - laid his head back on Ellana’s lap. It surprised both of them. Her lips formed a silent oh that had Solas hurrying to sit up again until she rested a hand at the base of his neck, her thumb pressing gently into his collarbone. 

“It’s fine,” she said, and Solas wondered why it sounded as if there was no air in her lungs. They each remained rigidly still for the first few moments, the tension in Ellana's legs mirroring the sensation in his stomach and back as he fought the urge to relax against her fully.

“Could you, um, hand me my phone?” she asked, nodding to where he’d carelessly lain on top of it in his rush to join her. “I just want to make sure Merrill didn’t forget to send me those scans.” 

He murmured a hasty apology and passed it up to her. Ellana sank back against the wall, scrolling with one hand while the other came to rest on the back of his head. Her stomach rose and fell gently with her breathing, though it struck Solas as being shallower than usual. Still with no small amount of disbelief to find himself in such a position, he closed his eyes and listened to the soft taps of Ellana’s fingertips against the screen of her phone.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered some time later.

“What’s wrong? The scans from Merrill?” Solas reluctantly sat up.

“No. Of course Merrill forgot to send them,” Ellana rolled her eyes. “I already texted her about it. This is … uh. Something else. Not bad,” she hurried to explain as he gave her a worried look. “Just … something else.”

He waited, watching Ellana frown as she tucked her hair behind her ears, clearly fighting some internal battle with herself. Finally, she let out a resigned breath.

“I shouldn’t tell you this.”

Solas felt his eyes widen. “You don’t have to,” he offered immediately.

“Oh, I’m going to.” 

Though he had no idea what information he was about to receive, Solas’ heart was already dancing in his chest at the idea of Ellana bestowing a secret upon him.

“I got a file drop through the encrypted messaging app we use for  - wait. Do you know what any of those words mean?” 

Solas huffed as he repositioned himself, leaning next to Ellana against the wall and letting his legs hang off the edge of the bunk. “Yes. In fact, I know what all of those words mean.”

“OK, well it’s not a given. You did send me a thumbs-up yesterday.”

“I panicked,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Yeah, no shit. It doesn't take two minutes of typing to pick out an emoji.” She paused then, clearly watching for his reaction. Solas suspected this was an invitation to clarify what precisely he might have sent had he not resorted to the offending emoji. He kept his mouth resolutely shut, uncertain what might come out of it if he risked saying anything at all.

“Anyway,” Ellana said, narrowing her eyes at him before she looked back down at her phone. “At the Journal, we use this app for messaging confidential sources, for people to send leaked documents - that kind of thing. But what I just got is …”

Solas held his breath until Ellana released a loud laugh.

“Solas, somebody sent me a chapter from the advance review copy of Elvhen Glory.” 

He reached out a hand toward her phone before he could stop himself. “May I see?” he asked as she instantly pulled it away.

“No!” She pressed the phone against her chest as if to protect it. “I shouldn’t have even told you,” she said, still laughing.

“But you have!” Solas objected with more vehemence than he expected. He watched, curiosity nearly unbearable, as Ellana’s eyes began to scan across her screen. “Are you going to read it?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course I’m going to read it. Are you kidding me?” 

Solas inched his way closer until he was leaning up against her side and looking down over her shoulder. She didn’t object, but he immediately realized it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Ugh,” he scoffed. “The text on your phone is too small. I need to get my glasses out of my suitcase.”

“No,” Ellana grabbed his arm before he could stand up. “Sit still. Actually, just - here.” She gently tugged at his arm, encouraging him to reoccupy his position in her lap. Solas immediately followed before she could change her mind. “I’ll read it,” she said.

“Out loud?” he asked, surprisingly scandalized by the idea.

“Don’t get too excited,” Ellana laughed. “It doesn’t look like that kind of chapter. Besides, when I inevitably get sued by the publishing company for telling you about this, at least you can honestly say you never saw the file yourself.”

It was delivered as a joke but, after Ellana’s willingness to conceal the forgery she’d suspected him of making, it was no longer clear to Solas where her definitive line was on the question of legality - or, indeed, if she had one. He settled his head back against her thighs as she began to read.

Elvhen Glory
Chapter 6

Aurora Lavellan climbed the marble stairs to the entrance of the grand chamber. The new shoes were already cramping, unaccustomed as she was to wearing them. She missed the feel of dirt and rocks beneath the soles of her feet. Elven feet were not meant to be restrained in such a way.

Ellana was already making a face at her phone, nose scrunched in disgust first at the immediate appearance of the name Lavellan, and then again at the description of 'elven feet.' Solas thought it best, for now, to refrain from comment.

The preparation for the ball had been intense and torturous, as her friend and advisor Serena helped her make ready. Serena had declared herself no longer willing to let the Inquisitor walk around dirty, scuffed, and in clothes too worn. Nevermind those that were designed for comfort over appearance. She also insisted they do something with Aurora’s hair, which was wild and unwieldy, often with twigs or leaves caught in her wild tangle of red curls. The last straw had been when Aurora was asked to meet with an emissary from Orlais and had appeared with blood on her hands and down her front from butchering a chicken. 

Serena had first thrown her into a hot bath filled with a generous helping of scented petals, oils, and salts and declared Aurora could not leave until she had removed every bit of dirt and grime from her body, including under her fingernails.

Next Serena had barged in (this was fine with Aurora because elves did not carry such ridiculous ideas about modesty as the humans did) and forcibly washed her hair at least three times with another strong smelling soap, before combing it out with oils and creams designed to keep it in a carefully poised updo.

Aurora was then ushered into a well-lit room where she was attacked by a young woman wielding more creams and blushes and pigments that were applied generously to her face, eyes, and lips. When she saw herself in the closest mirror, the Inquisitor nearly screamed in horror, but Serena and the other women gathered around her cooed in encouragement over her new 'look.'

Lastly she was forced into a huge ballgown with an alarming amount of boning and undergarments designed to give her thin elven body an impression of breasts and waist. She could admit the dress was pretty, and it was a far cry from the earth toned, practical clothes she had worn before. It was a beautiful periwinkle blue with gold accents. When taken all together she looked… almost human, thought Serena.

“I don’t understand,” Solas interrupted. “This is remarkably different from the tone of Inquisitive Hearts.”

“I think I see what’s happening here.” Ellana bit back a grin.

“In that case, please explain.” Solas gestured to indicate she had the floor.

“Inquisitive Hearts was written, what, ten or fifteen years ago now?” Ellana asked, and Solas nodded in reply. “The author - what’s her name again?” 

“Cerise V.C. Starr,” Solas answered immediately. “Though that’s certainly a pseudonym, as she has no other published works. At least, until now.”

“Right. But back when she wrote Inquisitive Hearts, it was the kind of romance that was popular at the time. You know what I mean.” She waved her hands above his head as she searched for the right words. “Sort of - raunchy historical fiction,” she finally said.

“I suppose,” Solas agreed apprehensively. Romance was not a genre he read often, or at all, aside from his occasional rereads of Inquisitive Hearts.

“That’s not really as popular anymore. So she wrote something for a more modern audience. Now, it’s all sort of, you know … average young woman gets thrown into royal court that may or may not have magical elements. She meets an unreasonably attractive and otherworldly stranger with a secret and they probably hate each other. That kind of thing.”

“I was unaware you were quite so well-versed in romance novels,” Solas said, raising an eyebrow at her. “In fact, I seem to recall you were quite averse to the genre when we last spoke about it on the way to Boranehnan.”

Ellana’s cheeks instantly flushed a deep pink as she scowled at him.

“First of all,” she shifted her legs beneath his head. “That’s not exactly what I said. I was questioning your decision to assign a romance novel in a history course. But, regardless, once I finished Inquisitive Hearts, Cass and Leliana, and then eventually Josephine too, all had a bunch of recommendations for me. And, well - yeah, OK! I read a lot of them. I was spending every day alone in hotel rooms and on trains and I had a lot of down time.” 

“You don’t need to justify it to me,” Solas said, deeply intrigued by the idea.

“I’m not,” Ellana snapped, though it certainly seemed as if she was.

“Then I shall keep that context in mind,” he said, “if you wish to resume?”

She fixed him with a look that conveyed he was on very thin ice before she found her place and continued.

Thus, Aurora Lavellan, leader of the Inquisition, made her way into the grand ballroom. Shocked murmurations swept through the crowd. She could make out only a few words but was sure she heard some like 'beautiful,' 'breathtaking,' 'civilized,' and 'finally.' 

Every pair of eyes in the room was locked firmly on her, but the most surprising of all belonged to a tall and slender elf leaning against a plinth at the back of the hall. Remus was not expecting this.

“Ah,” Solas said. “The unreasonably attractive and otherworldly stranger.” 

Ellana ignored him.

Where he had once seen a wild and feral forest elf who would have looked quite at home dancing in the moonlight, he now saw a proper lady worthy of the title of Inquisitor. He would not scold himself for underestimating her – clearly much work had been required to present her in such a state – but he was nevertheless struck by the beauty that had seemingly hidden below the surface layers of dirt and tattered leather.

Remus closed his eyes and lifted his consciousness out of himself, raising it to the tall ceiling of the ballroom. He listened, not with his tall and pointed ears, but with his magic.

…Is that even the same woman? I’d like to make an inquisition of my own under that dress. Wow, her assets are way bigger than I thought. I bet she still smells bad. What is she up to with this makeover? She can’t change her bloodline, no matter how much glitter they throw on her. I can just picture her between myself and Ormand. I wonder if she’s trying to distract people from the fact that she’s stupid. Oh that’s a cute color on her. I wonder if they have more finger sandwiches. She’s playing the game properly now. An elf in a gown is still an elf. Why do women have to change to lead? She’s almost too perfect – looks unnatural. Looks aren’t everything; I hope she remembers that. So this is what power does to people. That gown must have cost a fortune…

“And here’s the magic,” Solas nodded. “He’s reading minds, presumably?” 

“Yeah,” Ellana agreed. “You see a lot of that too, and then usually -” She stopped herself, frowning down at him. “Hey. Stop interrupting. There’s not much left.”

Solas held up his hands in surrender.

Remus cleared the voices from his mind and focused his attention on Serena, flanking the Inquisitor on the left. 

I think this is working, Serena thought. She does look great, you did the best you could. You cannot make miracles happen. This is just what has to be done for everyone to take her seriously.

Saving the Inquisitor for last, Remus honed in on her thoughts. All he could hear were his own. That’s curious, he heard himself say. I can’t hear her at all.

He pulled his consciousness back into his body. Curious indeed. He found himself pondering his two newest questions: what kind of power could a beautiful and powerful elf mage wield politically and magically, and why couldn’t he hear her?

Alas, he would have to change his strategy.

“Is that all?” Solas asked when Ellana stopped reading.

“Looks like it,” she said, placing her phone down on the mattress beside her. “Not really enough to guess what the story’s actually going to be about.”

“Enough to guess it wasn’t written by an elf, however.”

“Yeah.” Ellana said with a groan. “That’s painfully obvious.” 

“It’s somewhat difficult to believe this exact version will make it onto shelves.”

“Let’s hope not. And then there’ll be the question of whether the clan tries to object to the use of its name which … they probably won’t be able to do much about it, honestly.” 

“Do you have any idea why someone would send this to you?” Solas asked.

“No,” she shrugged. “None. I don’t report on this kind of thing - except inasmuch as I report on the Inquisitor, I guess. But what they sent just isn’t enough to draw any kind of conclusions yet. Who knows if the rest of the book is anything like this.”

“Perhaps they will send another chapter,” Solas suggested.

“Oh!” Ellana smirked down at him. “Are you already that desperate to know what happens between Inquisitor Aurora and the mysterious Remus?” 

“You will tell me if you receive more?” he asked, now far too tired to mask the eagerness in his voice.

Ellana rolled her eyes. “Obviously,” she grinned.

They settled down into the bunk then, another precarious negotiation of elbows stretching dangerously near to noses and hands resting in places that would make their stated goal of sleeping entirely impossible. Solas finally turned on his side, his back pressed against the wall behind him. His shoulder would not thank him for it in the morning, and his hips were likely to be displeased as well, but it ensured that Ellana could also fit in front of him. She tucked one foot behind his ankles so her knees did not hang off the edge of the bunk.

The position was necessary given the limited space, but also served a second purpose. Ellana had expressed concern that he might be given to strange dreams or perhaps even sleepwalking after what had happened at the archive, and did not wish to risk the possibility that he would attempt to leave the cabin in the middle of the night. Thus, being so tightly entwined ensured that either of them would be instantly alerted if the other shifted too much. An entirely sensible suggestion, Solas thought as he pulled her tighter to his chest.

He had nearly fallen into unconsciousness, exhaustion winning out over the press of her warm body against his own, when he heard Ellana’s quiet voice in the dark cabin.

“Solas?”

“Hmm,” he murmured into her hair.

“Have you read any accounts of what it feels like to … of what magic feels like?” 

He yawned, doing his best to focus on her question and the answers that were sluggishly making their way to the forefront of his mind.

“Regrettably few,” he said after a long pause. “Most of what survives is more practical in nature. Treatises on application. Discussions about new sorts of spells. Almost nothing regarding instruction or theory.”

Ellana was quiet long enough that he wondered if she’d drifted off to sleep. Finally, she let out a pensive sounding hum into the pillow they shared.

“Why do you ask?” he said, desperately curious. 

“There was just a moment, when we were in the archives. I couldn’t find you. And then everything went dark. When the lights came back on … it felt like maybe I did it.”

Solas remained silent, hesitant to interrupt her thoughts. For all the time he had devoted to precisely these sorts of questions, Solas fundamentally considered the problem of arcane realism to be a matter of history. Yes, the phenomena existed in the present, but only as aftershocks of power that had come before. If Ellana had truly experienced something new, a use of that power independent of these echoes, he could hardly begin to imagine the implications.

“I don’t think I can explain better than that,” Ellana said, her voice soft and uncertain. “I just wanted the lights to come on, I felt really sure I could make them come on, and then they did. I know it was probably just a coincidence. Anything else sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t,” he assured her with a kiss to the back of her head. “What if - just for the sake of argument - you tried it now?” he offered. “Turning on the lights in this cabin, for example.”

“I don’t think I could. It was like … instinct. Or emotion, maybe. Not a conscious thought. Besides,” Ellana chuckled. “Just on the off chance that I’m not completely losing it, I don’t think it’s a great idea to experiment while we’re in a vehicle moving at high speed.”

It concerned Solas he hadn’t thought of that himself.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

Ellana woke when the train’s PA system chimed softly to life, announcing they would arrive at the Vyrantium station in one hour. The light filtering through the shade over their window told her it was well past dawn. She hadn’t set an alarm and, apparently, neither had Solas. That was certainly for the best, considering how little sleep they’d both gotten the night before and how badly Solas, in particular, needed it.

She’d slept heavily and didn’t recall any dreams, much to her relief. She hadn’t felt Solas stir at all during the night and, judging from the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, the PA announcement hadn’t woken him either. It was impossible to ignore, however, that not all of him was asleep.

She fought the urge that flooded through her for all of thirty seconds. In the end, she knew it was pointless. He had to wake up anyway - they both needed to dress and wash up before disembarking in Vyrantium. She doubted he would thank her for a few more minutes of sleep as opposed to the alternative. And, most importantly, Ellana had woken up with the image of Solas standing naked in their compartment absolutely seared into her brain. Watching him attempt to undress himself while barely maintaining a fragile grip on his balance and also pointlessly trying to conceal his erection was, appallingly, one of the hottest things she’d ever seen.

Without another thought, she slowly rolled her backside against his thighs. 

His hand went to her waist instantly, slipping beneath her shirt to grip her skin. His breathing was still rhythmic in a way that made her think he hadn’t quite regained consciousness, even though his fingers were already sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear. The idea of his body reacting so instinctively to her own had her arching her back and pressing her hips deeper into his. That, finally, roused him.

Solas inhaled sharply, his hand momentarily halting in its steady progression. For a moment he froze completely, and Ellana reached a hand behind her, gripping the back of his neck, both to ensure him that she was also awake and to give herself enough leverage to pull her body flush against his. His mouth pressed against the spot where her neck met her shoulder blade and then she felt his teeth against her. He held her like that for only a moment - teeth scraping against her back as he sucked her skin into his mouth - but it was enough to steal her breath away, and more than enough to leave her completely unprepared for when his fingers slipped between her folds. He stilled again.

“You - you’re already -” he whispered against her neck.

“Yes,” she exhaled. Her sleeping mind had obviously had similar designs to his. Whether due to forgotten dreams or simply the hard press of him against her, she’d been ready for him since the moment she woke.

In a flurry of spontaneous activity, Solas pulled his pants down below his hips as Ellana threw off her shirt then tugged her underwear down to her ankles, bending forward slightly as she did so and earning a shocked groan from him in response. She could feel herself grinning as she settled back against him, his cock blissfully warm and hard against her ass. He guided himself between her thighs, stalling as he pressed near her entrance. Ellana could just imagine the smug smirk that must be on his face now. She assumed he planned to tease her - to drag himself between her folds while he thought of something clever to say. She wasn’t about to give him that chance.

Ellana pushed herself backwards, slick enough that - whether she had exactly intended to or not - she found herself instantly seated against his hips. Solas got a hand over her mouth just in time to hold back the cry that spilled out of her. Somehow, she had failed to remember a lesson she had learned the very first time they’d slept together: taking Solas all at once was far more of a shock for her than it was for him.

“Shh,” he said in a shaky breath against her ear. It had the exact opposite effect he intended, and she moaned against his palm again.  

For a moment, neither of them moved. Ellana breathed deliberately, through her nose, as his hand remained over her mouth. She tried to acclimate herself to the sensation of him like this, with her legs clasped firmly together: the way it had her feeling so thoroughly filled, the way her arousal was leaking out around him and onto her thighs.

“The walls are thin,” Solas said hoarsely. 

As if she needed him to tell her. As if she hadn’t been acutely aware of every conversation and snore and groan she heard when she’d spent the last few months riding night trains all around Thedas. As if she hadn’t muffled her own cries while her hand was between her legs and she imagined the press of Solas’ tongue there.

The memory had her moving against him, rolling her hips slowly at first as his free hand came to rest between her thighs. As he slowly withdrew and then joined her rhythm, his fingers began their work.

The stretch around him was exquisite - just on the precipice of pain without tipping into it - and she gave herself over to the rhythmic sound of her skin meeting his. She gripped the edge of the bunk to give herself more leverage as she pushed back against him.

Solas whimpered against her neck.

“You … just … said …” she gasped into his hand between thrusts.

“I know,” he hissed. “It’s only …” His breathing faltered erratically, as if he were trying to form another sentence but couldn’t.

Solas slowed his pace, though his hand worked her insistently. She could feel his breath warm against her ear again, still ragged. Mentally, Ellana braced for whatever devastating thing would come out of his mouth next.

“It’s only that you are so tight like this,” Solas whispered. 

It surprised both of them.

Ellana shuddered as her mouth fell open and she panted against Solas’ hand, her own breath warming her cheeks. She laid her head back against his neck, losing herself in his touch - how carefully he heeded the movements of her legs and the rhythm of her breathing. When she came, she rode it out as quietly as she could - which was not at all - as Solas did his best to contain the noises she was making with his fingers pressed tightly against her cheek and this thumb caressing her temple. But she could tell from the labored way his chest rose and fell against her back that he was struggling as well - each spasm had her clenching him tighter than the last. He finally lost his battle with silence, releasing a moan that was louder than any of the noises she’d made. Ellana filed it away - both the sound itself to replay in her mind as often as she wanted, and as ammunition to use against him if he ever tried to claim that she was the loud one.

As soon as she stilled, the last of her climax leaving her thighs now slick halfway down to her knees, Solas pushed away from the wall and flipped her onto her stomach. Her palms went flat against the sheets beneath her. He leaned over her, pressing her legs outward as he settled between them, then guided himself back into her.

His hands came to rest on either side of her head, and she watched in fascination as they balled into fists and his knuckles went white. She traced the lines of his veins with her eyes, from the back of his hand up into his forearm, transfixed by the way his muscles went taut as his weight shifted with each thrust. 

“Promise me,” he said as he kissed his way down her earlobe, “that I can wake up like this every morning.”

“Yes,” Ellana immediately replied. “Except for the mornings when you wake up with your cock in my mouth.”

She buried her face in the pillow, her cheeks on fire and her mouth twisted into a grin, as she felt Solas freeze. It lasted only a second. Then, he was fucking her into the mattress again.

She was glad her mouth was already shoved against the bed as her hands scrambled for something to hold onto. She sunk her fingers into the sheets as Solas drove into her again and again.

He came with a series of unrestrained grunts that were every bit as lovely and also nearly as loud as the moan he’d let out a few minutes before. He collapsed onto her, his head between her shoulder blades and his hands now covering hers. Ellana swore she could feel his heart pounding against her back. 

After a few moments, when his breathing had slowed, he eased himself off of her and helped her turn onto her back. Ellana rested a hand against his cheek as he hovered over her, comforted that the bruise-like circles beneath his eyes were much fainter than they’d been yesterday morning. Her relief to see him with flushed cheeks and his energy restored was overwhelming. The fear from the previous night came rushing back to her as she remembered the crushing despair she’d felt when he stared down at her with no recognition and no feeling - the exact reverse of how he looked at her now. 

His face was so terribly unguarded that she wanted to turn away - as if she could hear the thoughts running through his mind and knew they weren’t meant to be so painfully on display. She warred with herself, wondering if her expression also betrayed so much. When she felt the first pricks at the corners of her eyes, she pulled his face down to her own. He kissed her, but it wasn’t enough - she found herself chasing after him over and over again each time he thought to pull away. 

When she had finally composed herself, or something like it, she released him. She was grateful that he turned his attention to righting his clothing, and then settled his head on her still-bare chest.

“How much time do we have?” Solas asked.

“Not much, now.” She stroked a finger down his ear. “We should get dressed.”

“Yes,” he said, with clearly no urgency to do so.

“I found us a room last night.”

It had been a completely impulsive decision, made while Solas was half asleep with his head in her lap. She couldn't be blamed for it. She’d found an enchanting hotel with views of the Nocen Sea and what looked like an absolutely enormous bathtub. She was already making the reservation, not to mention paying extra so they could check in as soon as they reached Vyrantium, before she allowed herself to think about just how pricey it was and that she wasn’t completely confident it could be justified as a business expense. 

“I figured it would be good to have a place to leave our luggage and get cleaned up,” she elaborated, as if all of this had been a perfectly practical decision.

Solas nodded against her breast. “I will text Dorian again once we get there. With any luck, he will have arrived in the city by then as well.”

“With any luck,” Ellana frowned, “he’s not about to completely fuck us over.” 

Solas chuckled as he finally sat up. 

“If anyone is conspiring against us,” he said with a tone that made Ellana think he still found the whole idea just a bit ridiculous, “they are welcome to try. I cannot see how the odds would be in their favor - certainly not while I have you by my side.”

Ellana’s breath caught and the edges of her vision started to get a little blurry again. She sat up, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her lips to his. 

Better to kiss him than to let him see, she thought.

Chapter Text

When Ellana had visited Vyrantium during the press tour for her article on Inquisitor Lavellan she’d barely seen any of the city. Both the studio where she was interviewed and the hotel where she stayed were located deep within Vyrantium’s business district, a few cold blocks of steel and glass that - as every local was happy to tell her - were in no way reflective of the rest of their city. Unfortunately, since she’d only been there for a little over twelve hours and had spent most of that time horrifically anxious about saying or doing something that might piss off Alexius and his allies, she’d been in no mood to explore.

But on the final stretch of rail into the Vyrantium station, when Ellana pulled up the shade on the window and saw the sun beaming down on the white-capped waves of the Nocen Sea in the distance, she started to realize just how much she’d missed. The train slowed as it entered the city limits, and she could see more clearly the brightly colored buildings nestled into the hillsides that ran down to the coast. The architecture was an odd mix - predominantly Tevinter and yet a little bit Antivan - with plenty of keyhole archways, ornate balconies, and red tiled roofs. The multi-storey structures were several shades of pastel stucco, and each had equally colorful shutters in case of storms. Ellana knew Vyrantium rarely saw bad weather, however, protected as it was in the part of the sea mostly surrounded by land. Of course, this made it the ideal spot for vacationing tourists throughout most of the year and especially in the summertime when the hot temperatures drove everyone outside and into the clear azure waters. That was precisely why the hotel room had been so expensive.

Ellana and Solas stepped off the train a little after 8:30 in the morning. They’d considered trying to disguise themselves in some fashion, but - after an incredibly stupid conversation that had gotten unnecessarily heated (and then resolved itself with an abbreviated make-out) - they finally came to the agreement that it was pointless. There was nothing in either of their bags that would convincingly hide Solas’ bald head and, even if there had been, it would still be impossible to mask his height in a crowd. Instead, they decided to watch carefully for the woman Ellana had seen back in Markham and, if she did get off the train in Vyrantium, ensure they did not lead her to the hotel where they were staying.

Solas would have been the better choice of the two of them to keep an eye out but, much to Ellana’s annoyance, he had not noticed the woman the night before. So, instead, Solas carried their suitcases while Ellana searched the faces of their fellow passengers as they disembarked. Once enough people had dispersed into the surrounding streets, Ellana finally caught sight of her in the crowd. She’d ditched the hat and trenchcoat for more lightweight attire, though her double braided buns and heavily freckled face still gave her away. She was pivoting her head slowly back and forth, and Ellana quickly turned her back before she could realize they were each searching for the other.

“You see her?” Solas asked at Ellana’s sudden movement. 

“Yep. She’s here. And she’s definitely looking for something. Or someone. Or us,” she added, a bit dramatically. 

“Let’s start walking,” he said with a nod toward one of the station’s exits, “and see what happens.”

Once they were outside, Ellana grabbed her sunglasses and turned up the brightness on her phone as she pulled up the location of their hotel. She drew a hand across her forehead, already feeling a few beads of sweat. It wasn’t humid here, like it could be in Markham during the height of the summer, but the sun was already bearing down so intensely even at this hour of the morning that she found herself wishing she weren’t worried about Venatori shitheads and could just run as fast as her feet could take her all the way down to the water. She made a mental note to thank Dorian for choosing one of the most picturesque and romantic spots in all of Thedas for their clandestine meeting - if he wasn’t actively betraying them, of course.

Solas set down the suitcases momentarily as he also retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his satchel. “Any sign of her?” he asked.

Ellana opened the front-facing camera on her phone and angled it so that she could see over her shoulder. The freckled woman was just emerging from the doors on the opposite end of the station from them, and she was already looking their way.

“Still with us,” Ellana confirmed.

“Alright.” Solas picked up the bags again. “Which way is the hotel?”

Ellana nodded toward the street across from them.

“Good.” 

Solas took off in a completely different direction, leaving Ellana scrambling to catch up.

“What are you -”

“This next part will move quickly,” Solas interrupted. “Try to stay as close as you can.”

Though she had absolutely no clue what Solas could mean, Ellana was too caught up in the confidence with which he delivered his instructions to even consider raising an objection. That, she realized, was yet another bad sign.

An archway appeared on their left and Solas abruptly turned into it. Ellana followed, her pace much more frantic than his, and found that they’d entered a grassy courtyard flanked on all sides by apartments. When she glanced down at the map on her phone, she didn’t see anything to represent the entryway they’d just gone through. She wondered how Solas had known to turn there, or if he was operating on some strange intuition she didn’t possess.

He continued on, straight from one side of the courtyard to the other, where she could see an identical archway leading out to another street. “Our friend?” he said, quietly.

She switched back to her camera again. The woman was just now peering around the corner they’d turned a moment ago. Catching her so blatantly searching for them set Ellana’s nerves on edge. “Definitely following us,” she confirmed.

Solas nodded his head, then took a hard right turn as soon as he passed beneath the arch that would lead them back to the streets. 

“She’ll have seen that,” Ellana warned.

Solas nodded again. “Yes,” was all he said.

They continued the pattern three more times, with Solas making sharp turns down apparently random streets, always at the precise moment when the woman had caught up to them just enough to see which way they went next. After the last turn, Solas picked up his pace and Ellana had to jog to keep up with him. With no warning at all, he darted into a propped open door on their right. Ellana had just enough presence of mind to look at the sign outside the building before she followed.

He was going into a restaurant, which would certainly be a dead end.

She opened her mouth to warn him, but Solas was already weaving between the tables, ducking behind waiters who somehow failed to notice. Ellana did her best to follow in his wake, hoping she would go similarly unseen. She was so busy trying to imitate his movements that she almost didn’t notice where he was headed.

Before she could stop him, Solas barrelled through the kitchen door at the back of the restaurant. Mortified, she chased after him.

Solas began speaking in a rapid, uninterrupted stream of Orlesian the moment he entered the kitchen. Ellana squeezed behind him while he was making a show of waving his hands and repeatedly saying “non” as he shook his head and looked around the room in confusion. When the door swung shut behind her, he let out an exasperated series of tsks clearly directed at the cooks who were frantically gesturing at him - completely reasonably - to get the fuck out of their kitchen.

“Non, non, non,” Solas said again as he placed his forehead in his hands like the cooks were somehow inconveniencing him. Ellana had to hand it to him, he was doing a surprisingly convincing impression of a hapless Orlesian tourist.

“Désolé,” he said, shaking his head. Then he pointed over his shoulder at Ellana. “Ma femme nous a perdus. Où est la plage? C'est proche?” ^[1]

She had to learn more Orlesian. She only caught one word out of all of that and it was just the apology at the beginning, but the whole thing sounded so annoyingly pretty coming out of his mouth. Predictably, since they were in Tevinter and not Orlais, everyone else in the kitchen looked just as confused as she felt.

Just as Ellana was certain they were about to be forcibly ejected from the premises, the room erupted in a flurry of furious Elvish. Shocked, she peered out from behind Solas’ shoulder to get a better view of the cooks. There were five of them, all elves, and two wearing the vallaslin. They were yelling now, and all of them calling Solas absolutely filthy names that she hoped - for his sake - were obscure enough Dalish insults that he wouldn’t understand exactly what they meant. She shoved past Solas so she could try to calm the situation herself.

“Ir abelas,” she began as she pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. 

Everyone in the room froze.

“I recognize you,” one of the cooks replied in Elvish. He was an older man who wore Andruil’s vallaslin. “You’re the one who found the Inquisitor. From Lavellan.” A few of the others nodded and murmured in agreement.

Ellana smiled nervously as she nodded; she wasn’t entirely sure whether being recognized was a good or a bad thing, but there was no point in trying to deny who she was now. “And you? Oranavra?” she asked. It was a safe bet - the Dalish clan that lived near the Nocen Sea. 

The man beamed. “That’s right,” he said. “What are you doing here? And with this Orlesian idiot?”

Ellana had no idea what lies Solas had already told, but she made a quick decision to trust that nobody else  in the kitchen knew either. Besides, in her experience, it was best to lie with a good helping of the truth.

“Don’t worry about him,” she continued in Elvish as she nodded toward Solas. “He’s just a nug chewing on felandaris.” She knew Solas wouldn’t understand the Dalish idiom that meant something to the effect of ‘a fool and a problem, but my fool and my problem.’ There were a few snickers from the others, but the old man nodded his understanding.

“There’s a strange woman - a human - who recognized me on the street,” Ellana continued. “She wouldn’t leave us alone and then she started following us. We ducked in here to try to get away from her.”

The man let out a disgusted scoff. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Those shems, taking the loss of their Inquisitor like the children they are. Did she follow you into the restaurant?”

“I’m not sure,” Ellana said.

“You,” he nodded to the boy cleaning dishes. “Go find out.” He turned back to Ellana. “What does she look like?”

Once Ellana had given the boy a description, he squeezed past her and Solas and out into the restaurant to check. The older cook ushered them over to a pair of overturned dairy crates and, despite Ellana’s repeated, but polite, objections, handed each of them a small cup of espresso and a pastry. Introductions were made and, soon, Ellana knew the names and clans of everyone in the room.

She and Solas sat on their crates beside the door that led out to the alleyway, which was cracked open slightly to allow some airflow for the cooks. The pastry was similar to a croissant, but the cooks called it a cornetto and it was filled with an almond cream that was maybe the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. Solas ate his breakfast happily, chatting to everyone in Orlesian while continuing to act like he didn’t speak a single word of Elvish. Ellana did her best not to look at him at all, worried she was going to burst into laughter if she had to think too much about the bemused expression he’d plastered on his face, and equally worried about how much she enjoyed watching the way his lips moved as they formed Orlesian words. 

By the time the boy returned from the front of the restaurant several minutes later, the kitchen appeared to be more or less back to its usual flow, with the cooks calling out instructions to each other in Elvish as they worked through a long list of orders. Ellana and Solas had just finished their breakfast when the boy hurried over to her.

“She was looking in the windows,” he said. “But she didn’t come in. I went out front, just to see where she went. She’s headed west.” He pointed to indicate the direction. Ellana looked down at the map on her phone and confirmed, to her immense relief, that it was the opposite direction from their hotel.

Once Ellana had thanked everyone profusely, Solas made a grand speech in Orlesian and tried to press some money into the hands of the older cook, while everyone else - Ellana included - objected loudly in Elvish that there was absolutely no need and, in fact, he was just being offensive. In the end, Solas left a few bills on one of the counters before Ellana dragged him out the backdoor and into the alley.

When they were a block away, heading back in the direction of their hotel, Ellana finally asked him the question that had been on her mind since he’d first slipped into that courtyard near the train station.

“How the hell are you so good at that?” she asked accusingly. 

“At what?” 

Solas absolutely knew what she meant, but Ellana swallowed down her pride and elaborated.

“It was like you knew exactly where to turn. Have you been to Vyrantium before?”

“Not this part of it,” he answered cryptically.

“So when you were dashing into courtyards and deciding whether to turn left or right at corners, that was all .. what?”

“Instinct, I suppose,” he said with a shrug. 

Ellana rolled her eyes, completely dissatisfied with his answer. It didn’t make a difference, since Solas was still walking a few steps ahead of her and couldn’t see that she was rolling her eyes. But she felt a little better, regardless.

“While I’m flattered you were so impressed,” Solas said, sounding about as smug as a cat, “that was not an especially skillful display on my part. I should have lost her after the second turn, perhaps the third at most. However, I’m slightly out of practice and I’ve never attempted something like that while carrying two suitcases before. It slowed me down more than I anticipated.” 

Ellana tried not to stare at his back, tried to remind herself that this was not objectively attractive behavior - if anything it was a sign of past criminality. She even tried to muster some fury for his obvious vanity. None of it was working. So she forced herself to take a mental tally: he knew how to hotwire vehicles; he’d been arrested enough times that he seemed reluctant to tell her the exact number, or (worse?) he didn’t know it; none of those arrests had resulted in convictions, a feat of which he seemed to be particularly proud; and now he’d revealed that he was extremely skilled at losing someone in a foot chase. 

These were probably red flags. If she asked any of her friends, that’s definitely what they would say. But she had no intention of asking her friends. It was completely pointless.

“It was your expertise that saved us in the end,” Solas reminded her with a glance over his shoulder. 

“That,” Ellana snapped, “was luck. If the kitchen had been full of humans instead of elves, they’d probably have kicked us right back out into the restaurant. If those elves hadn’t been Dalish, we’d probably have been out on our asses, too. And you’re lucky none of them actually spoke Orlesian.”

Solas tripped over a cobblestone and had to momentarily set down their suitcases to catch himself. He cleared his throat as Ellana caught up to him. 

“Well,” he said, throwing a sideways look at her. One side of his mouth was curled up into a smirk, but he was flushing to the tips of his ears for some reason. “How fortunate that we both have good instincts, then.”

Ellana was silent the rest of the way to the hotel, imagining her hands around his neck in two entirely different scenarios.

Solas opened the glass doors beside the bed and took a step out onto the narrow balcony. Their room overlooked a small harbor where about a dozen docked sailboats rocked gently with the tide. This hotel was somewhat secluded, located several blocks away from the modern hotels that backed up to a much larger pier. There, boats filled with tourists from Minrathous arrived daily, enjoying a cruise across the calm waters of the Nocen Sea before arriving at their destination. It had been an excellent choice from Ellana - both for the view and, hopefully, as means to further evade their pursuer. 

Whatever doubts he’d maintained when Ellana first suggested they were being followed were long gone now. Solas had barely caught a glimpse of the woman while he was weaving through the narrow streets of Vyrantium, but he hoped Ellana would be willing to describe her to Dorian. Perhaps then they might at least have a better sense of who was so interested in their movements, and why she would have been in Markham in the first place.

After allowing himself a brief moment to enjoy the sea breeze on his face and snap a few photos of the scenery, Solas retreated back into their room. He retrieved one of the electronic key cards Ellana had set down on the nightstand, only then noticing the names that had been written on the sleeve that contained them.

“Ellana?” 

“Hmm?” she replied from beyond the closed bathroom door.

“Why are the names ‘Aurora and Remus’ written on this envelope?”

Silence stretched out for a long moment before Ellana finally let out a quiet, “Oh,” and then burst into delightful laughter.

“Well,” Ellana said, still laughing as she opened the door, steam spilling out behind her. “I figured, under the circumstances, it was best not to use our real names when I checked in. A suggestion I got from Leliana a while ago,” she explained. “Those were the first two that popped into my head.”

He had suspected as much and was preparing to tease her for it, but his retort died on his lips when he saw her. The outfit she’d selected for today was simple, Solas told himself, and it was increasingly irrational to think everything that came out of her suitcase was designed to wound him specifically. And yet.

She wore a skin-tight, white sleeveless shirt with a scooped neckline. This was tucked into lightweight black slacks, and paired with leather sandals. He was struck by the nearly resistible urge to remove all of it, slowly, while the salt air drifted in through the windows, caressed each new place he exposed, and prickled her soft skin. 

“Look.” Ellana plucked the envelope from his hand and removed the second key card. “The book won’t actually be out until sometime in the fall. No one at this hotel will remember us by then. It’ll be fine,” she said with a casual shrug.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, dragging his eyes back to her face, while trying to remind the rest of his body that it was equally capable of movement. “I’m simply surprised that you were willing to accept any sort of affiliation with Aurora, however limited.”

Ellana groaned as the amusement drained from her expression. “Now you’ve ruined it.”

“Surely you’ve considered what the response will be,” Solas said, uncertain whether he intended to be helpful or twist the knife - and equally uncertain how Ellana would respond. “You’re as likely to be compared to the character in the book as you have been to the Inquisitor.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. At least Ms. Starr did me the favor of not making Aurora look exactly like me.” Her mouth pursed into a scowl that, despite himself, Solas couldn’t help but enjoy. 

Now pleasantly flustered, Ellana grabbed her work bag from where she’d left it on the bed with a little more force than was necessary. The clasps must not have been closed completely and the flap flew open under the sudden force of her movement, spilling the bag’s contents across the bed. She let out an exasperated sigh and glared at Solas accusingly as she began to shove her laptop, wallet, a handful of file folders filled with papers back into the satchel.

Solas, now feeling thoroughly guilty for having goaded her, rushed to help. He reached for her sunglasses, then froze as his hand hovered over something he had never seen before.

“Don’t touch that!” Ellana snapped.

Solas stared down at the object that was now just below his fingertips: a jawbone, wrapped with leather cords. He watched in fascination as his hand slowly descended, even as he willed himself to stop. Before his fingers could make contact with the bone, it flew across the blanket, away from him. 

When he looked up, blinking to clear the confusion that had settled over him, Solas saw Ellana on the opposite side of the bed, the jawbone clutched tightly in her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her face pale.

Solas tilted his head to the side, hardly hearing her question as he suddenly realized what she was holding.

“Did you steal that from the archives?” he asked in disbelief.

“No.” Ellana vigorously shook her head. “No, I borrowed it. I’m allowed.” There was no mistaking the defensive tone she’d taken.

“You’re allowed? To take what you want from an archival collection?” 

“Yes. Sort of.” Ellana paused, wrapping the leather cords around the bone. “The vir sulevanan.”

“And what does that mean in this context?”

“Dalish tradition. The items in the archives are community property - they belong to all of us. We can invoke the vir sulevanan to take temporary ownership of an item in exchange for performing some kind of service or favor for our clan.”

“But your clan was not in possession of this item,” Solas reminded her.

Ellana scoffed. “Just because the box said Sabrae doesn’t mean it belongs to them. If Inquisitor Lavellan was truly carrying this thing around with her, then it’s mine to claim.”

“And what service or favor are you performing for Clan Lavellan?”

“Excuse me?”

Solas repeated his question, though he was certain she’d understood him the first time. She still did not immediately answer.

“Well,” Ellana swallowed. “Arguably, you could say that I’ve done my clan a great favor by reporting on the discovery that the Final Inquisitor was one of our own.”

“True,” he nodded. “So this favor doesn’t have to be negotiated in advance, presumably in front of some large committee of community elders?”

Ellana didn’t respond. 

“Or perhaps approved by, at minimum, the keeper of the clan in question?” 

“Don’t split hairs with me,” Ellana said as she narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s done is done. I pulled it off your neck, it was in my hand, and I didn’t really think about it before I shoved it into my bag. Besides, you’ve been saying how disappointed you were that you didn’t get to see it.”

“I thought the most logical way to remedy that would be to ask Merrill to send you a photo of it - not to steal it.”

“Again, borrow,” Ellana said, biting out both syllables of the word. “We’ll put it back exactly where we found it.”

“Do you know what that is?” Solas asked. He was having a difficult time looking away from the object in her hands. 

“What do you mean?”

He stared down at the bone, his thoughts growing increasingly murky save on one point. “It is a wolf’s jaw,” he said.

She followed the direction of his gaze. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

With a defeated groan, Ellana sunk down onto the bed. “Well isn’t that just fucking perfect,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. “The woman who thought she was in love with Fen’Harel was wearing a wolf’s jawbone around her neck.”

He stared, transfixed, as she carefully ran her thumb along the worn down edges that were all that remained of the beast’s once lethal teeth. 

That Ellana was holding it at all was nearly more than Solas could bear. When she’d said the jawbone was hers to claim, some essential part of that statement rang true within his chest. It was - for reasons beyond his understanding - absolutely hers, a realization which brought with it a bizarre swell of pride. And yet, seeing the jawbone within her hands also filled him with a sense of shame and defeat - as if she had been made to carry its weight because of some monumental failure on his part.

Though it was inanimate, and only a small portion of the creature it once belonged to, Solas could not stop himself from imagining something much different. He saw with terrible clarity as tendrils of black smoke coiled out from the bone until they formed the shape of a great black wolf. The creature towered behind Ellana and Solas could do nothing but watch in frozen horror as it latched its jaws around her forearm, and sunk its teeth in from wrist to elbow. 

Her blood began to spill - except it wasn’t blood, he realized as the substance poured from her arm and stained the white bedding beneath her. In fact, it wasn’t liquid but light - the same harsh green flames that swirled within the Breach now flowed from her veins with the consistency of molten steel. As the wolf held her firmly in its grasp, the points where its fangs pierced her skin cracked and revealed more of the same sickly green infecting the muscle beneath. 

“Solas?” 

He looked up at Ellana’s face, then back down to her hands. There was nothing wrong with them, he realized as she slid the jaw into her bag and out of his sight. 

“Where did you go, just now?” she asked, her cheeks suddenly pale.

“Nowhere,” he said immediately, an intense wave of déjà vu crashing over on him. The reply had been pulled out as if by force - not a conscious choice but a remembered refrain. 

Ellana was clearly unconvinced. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she pushed.

Solas sat beside her on the bed, fighting both to slow his racing pulse and to keep his eyes from lingering on the bag. Though he could no longer see the jawbone, he was certain he could feel it, and the sensation was as irresistible as it was unnerving. 

“I am … having a difficult time being so near to it,” he confessed.

“What are you talking about? It’s been in my bag since we left the archive in Markham. You slept a few feet away from it last night.”

“I was unaware of your theft at the time,” Solas said, prompting Ellana to jab a finger into his thigh. He caught her hand before she could pull it away, then ran his fingers up the inside of her forearm to reassure himself that she was uninjured. She trembled slightly beneath his touch, but her skin was smooth and unmarked. There was no sign of the wolf’s vicious embrace.

“Now that I know it’s here,” Solas said with a nod toward her bag, “I am somewhat concerned I may be tempted to -”

“Don’t put it on,” she interrupted.

“Obviously I wouldn’t do so intentionally.” Solas rolled his eyes. 

“And don’t touch it,” she repeated.

“Again, I have no intention of doing so. But overnight …”

“Oh, shit,” Ellana replied, understanding immediately. She tapped a finger to her bottom lip, as if she were thinking very deeply about something. But Solas had seen this particular trick enough times now to know that he should brace himself for whatever was coming next.

“Well, there’s no other option,” she shrugged. “We’re just going to have to tie you to the bed.”

Solas could sense that he was blinking rapidly, and there was no mistaking the flood of heat he felt in his cheeks. Bracing himself had not been sufficient preparation. 

“I’m kidding,” she said, entirely deadpan, though her eyes danced mischievously. 

“I know,” he quickly replied.

“I think there’s supposed to be a safe in the closet.” She hurried over, bag in hand, and slid open the slatted door. 

“Ah,” Solas said, relieved she had turned her attention elsewhere.

“Here it is,” she confirmed. “Maybe just step out onto the balcony for a minute while I set the combination? So I know you can’t see.”

Solas, grateful for the opportunity to compose himself, did as she suggested. A few moments later, Ellana joined him.

“A wolf’s jaw.” She shook her head. “I really shouldn’t be surprised. And there’s more good news - or some kind of news, I guess. Merrill finally sent me the scans a few minutes ago,” she said, pulling her cell phone from her pocket.

“Would you -”

“I already forwarded them to you,” Ellana interrupted as he began to ask. “But I doubt you’ll be too shocked to hear that one of the places where the Inquisitor was searching for Fen’Harel was Vyrantium.”

“Really?” Solas grabbed his phone from his pocket to review the list himself. It was disappointingly short, less than a dozen items in total. While a few names, like Vyrantium, stood out to him, many of the others referenced temples dedicated to members of the elven or Tevinter pantheons. As few such structures remained standing, it was going to be much more challenging to determine where they’d been located during the Inquisitor’s lifetime.

“This is not as helpful as I’d hoped,” he sighed. “Though the dates are interesting. It seems as though Inquisitor Lavellan was searching for Fen’Harel for the better part of a decade.”

“I noticed that too,” Ellana nodded. “She was in Vyrantium in 9:49 - seven years after the portrait was drawn.” 

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, then crossed her arms over her chest and stared out toward the boats in the distance. When Solas angled his face so he could see hers, he realized she was troubled, the bridge of her nose pinched as she contemplated some unspoken problem.   

“What is it?” Solas asked, placing a hand on the small of her back.

“I just wish I could understand what she was looking for. Tracking down a mythological being - it doesn’t make any sense,” Ellana said quietly. “With every new thing we learn about her, I’m starting to question if the clan is going to thank me at all for bringing our name into it.”

A strangely defensive objection flared to life in Solas’ chest. It seemed somehow unjust to hear Ellana say such a thing, to assume the burden for what they had uncovered. And yet he also felt an odd sort of duty to protect the Inquisitor from such aspersions.

“It can be tempting to assign motivations with all the benefits of hindsight.” 

Solas chose his words carefully, hoping Ellana would understand that he did not intend to condescend or patronize. In truth, he rarely intended to do either of those things, but it was all too tempting to fall into the cadence of a lecture when that was what was most familiar and most comfortable to him. 

“In many instances,” Solas continued, “we are far too willing to believe the actions of an individual or organization were benevolent in nature or, at worst, unintentionally caused harm. Not unlike the assessment you heard Cole make of the Circles yesterday.”

Ellana gave a small nod, her gaze still on the water below - or perhaps somewhere more distant than that.

“But we must also consider the inverse, rare though it may be.”

“Meaning you think I’m being too harsh with her,” Ellana cut in, finally turning to face him.

“No,” Solas quickly shook his head. “I mean only that it is worth considering what we know in context. What knowledge we do have of the Inquisitor was provided by a clan that was not her own. Sabrae’s portrayal had the characteristics of mythology more than history, and perhaps they were angered that she had not shared her full story with them when they first agreed to take her in. It is impossible to say without more evidence; but it is equally impossible to condemn her with only this.”

“Maybe,” Ellana said, though she did not sound persuaded.

“Consider what we do not have,” Solas suggested. “Aside from the notes Merrill sent, we have nothing at all in the Inquisitor’s own hand. We have a portrait of her drawn by someone else. We have letters discussing her and the Inquisition from individuals who may have been either her allies or her enemies. We have accounts of her activities and motivations that cannot yet be verified.”

“I agree it would be much better if we found something she wrote herself, but what if we don’t?” Ellana shrugged. “Obviously, I’d love it if her diary just appeared on my nightstand, but we can’t choose what sources are available to us.”

“No, of course not,” Solas agreed. “But perhaps, until we confirm otherwise, we begin from the position that she was searching for a real person.”

“And how does that work, in your mind?” 

“What we have in her handwriting are only the letters ‘F.H.’ The connection to Fen’Harel was provided by the Sabrae representative.”

“And the wolf’s jaw,” Ellana reminded him.

“Perhaps,” he said, fighting to keep his eyes on hers despite how much the mere mention of the jaw had him wanting to glance at the closet. “Though it is not necessarily a direct connection.”

“Fine,” Ellana conceded. “Then if the person she was looking for was real - not some myth - who was it?” 

“If there is any element of truth to Sabrae’s story, she could have been searching for someone she was romantically involved with,” he offered, thinking out loud. “After all, we have seen some evidence of an individual who was part of her life in that way.”

“The writing in her hair, you mean?” 

“And the man in your dream,” Solas nodded.

Ellana scoffed and shook her head. “I don’t think whatever I dreamed could possibly be described as ‘evidence.’”

“The script I saw drawn into her hair was merely a daydream at first - until it bore weight in reality.” 

It was plain from the way she bit her lip that Ellana didn’t care for his suggestion. Solas suspected he was veering dangerously close to asking her to acknowledge the existence of forces which she still had not yet completely accepted were possible.

“I admit, I don’t know what it would be like to be in your position,” he said. “To be so personally involved with the history I was researching. It must be challenging.” 

“It certainly wasn’t what I thought I was signing up for,” Ellana agreed. “And it’s hard not to feel a bit responsible for her. Like … like she’s a nug chewing on felandaris, honestly” she said, a surprised laugh escaping from her lips.

“Excuse me?” Solas didn’t understand the expression, though the phrase struck him as vaguely familiar. He was, however, glad to see her smiling again.

“Nothing,” Ellana said, still clearly amused. “A Dalish saying.” She leaned toward him, pressing her shoulder against his. “But thanks for the pep talk. I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

Solas hummed softly, enjoying the feel of her weight against him, and let his gaze drift out across the clear waters below. Movement in the distance caught his eye, and he was struck with a sudden idea.

“Dinner tonight -” he began. 

“With Dorian?” Ellana offered. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”

“I had something different in mind.”

Solas moved behind Ellana, slipped his arms around her waist and drew her against his chest. She leaned her head back until it rested on his shoulder, then placed her hands over his own.

“Would you like to have dinner?” he asked.

She tensed in his arms, and, cursing himself for his foolishness, Solas recalled the last time he had asked her this same question.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he quickly amended. “There?” He pointed toward the spot he’d just noticed in the distance, and Ellana turned her head to follow. It was a small collection of dining tables within a stone grotto overlooking the sea. White tablecloths rippled pleasantly in the wind and he could just make out the red blooms of flowers in vases adorning each of the tables. 

When Ellana still remained silent, Solas worried. He had assumed, based on her teasing jokes, that his blunder in Boranehnan had been, at most, an annoyance she’d suffered. But now, with her in his arms, he could feel her hesitation in the guarded way she held herself.

“Allow me to clarify,” he said, turning Ellana to face him. He couldn’t read her neutral expression - an unusual and troubling realization. He hoped that the instincts he’d boasted about earlier would not fail him now.

“I am unequivocally asking you on a date,” Solas said. “Also, if it was somehow still in question, it is an understatement to say that I am attracted to you. The truth is you are so beautiful that there are times when I …”

He faltered, the possibilities overwhelming him both in their number and their gravity.

… when I wonder why I didn’t tell you how much I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.

… when I cannot fathom how fortunate I am that you look at me at all, let alone that I can call you mine.

… when I think I have been waiting my whole life just for a chance to see your eyes change color in the sun. 

She was staring at him; he had hesitated for too long. 

“... when I find myself at a loss for words,” Solas said finally.

“You could have said that in Boranehnan.” Ellana’s voice was too small, her eyes too wide.

“I should have,” he told her immediately. “It was all true then as well.” 

His eyes were on her throat as she swallowed, then her mouth as her lips parted. It was ridiculous, he knew, to be so nervous for her answer when they had already committed themselves to one another. And yet, despite that, this felt like a different sort of question.  

“I’d love to go to dinner with you - to go on a date with you,” Ellana said. “And that’s what I would have said if you had asked me like this last time, too.”

That couldn’t possibly be true, Solas thought. He desperately wanted it to be, but it made no sense to him. She had despised him then. He’d been certain of it. That certainty was, in large part, why he’d been such a coward in how he’d attempted to express his feelings to her. And even when they’d finally clarified that point (in bed, in the middle of the night), he thought it had been a question of thwarted attraction, not wounded emotions.  

She watched him, the corners of her mouth turning upward as she did, and Solas wondered whether he was only just now beginning to see things clearly.

“Don’t think that, just because you did it properly this time, I’m going to stop making fun of you for that last attempt,” Ellana grinned at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Solas promised, his heart in his throat and his hands sliding down her hips.

They were stumbling their way indoors, toward the bed, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Dorian?” Ellana asked breathlessly, already tucking her top back into her slacks. 

“Yes,” Solas groused. He tapped out a quick reply to the text.

“And I suppose he wants to meet now?” She turned to the mirror over the dresser and quickly fixed the spot where he’d smudged her lipstick.

“Yes,” he said again.

Ellana gave the bed an incredibly longing look that made Solas want to toss his phone out the window into the sea below.

“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Let’s go.”

Solas took Ellana’s hand in his the moment they left their room and didn’t let go for the duration of their walk to the cafe where they were supposed to meet Dorian. She kept sucking in her cheeks, far too aware of how much she was grinning, but unable to completely prevent it either. 

She was equally incapable of stopping herself from glancing over at Solas what felt like several times a minute. The casual shirt he’d chosen had a wide, low neckline that exposed his collarbones from the front and a hint of his shoulder blades from the back. That view was already distracting enough before she allowed herself to wonder whether she was imagining things or if there really were several new freckles on his forearms and cheeks, even after just one day in the sun.

What if she started counting the freckles on his body every night before she fell asleep, Ellana considered. That way she would know for certain whether any new ones appeared from one day to the next. 

That is not a normal thought to have, she told herself. That is not a normal thing to do. 

But making a very normal plan to count Solas’ freckles was a welcome distraction from any number of larger problems that were itching at the back of Ellana’s mind. Forefront at the moment was the memory of how that jawbone had slid across the bed, from beneath Solas’ outstretched hand and directly into her own, as if it had been propelled by nothing more than her desire to get it as far away from him as possible. She was going to need to tell him about that - probably sooner rather than later. He had asked for an experiment to see if she could repeat the incident with the lights in the museum’s basement, and the results were pretty definitive. 

It was also hard to ignore that both times she’d apparently manipulated the environment around her in ways that shouldn’t be possible, she’d done so specifically because she feared Solas was in danger. That might be the worst part to try to explain to him, she thought.

They approached the cafe Dorian had chosen indirectly, taking a roundabout route that added several minutes onto their journey. Though they saw no sign of the woman who had followed them from the train station, they weren’t taking any chances. Also, at Ellana’s insistence, they’d agreed to be careful with what information they shared with Dorian - specifically any new information. 

When they finally arrived at the address Dorian had texted Solas, they found it was actually down an alleyway too narrow for them to walk side by side. Ellana reluctantly let go of Solas’ hand as they entered a tiny arched doorway low enough that he had to duck his head to pass through. As Dorian had instructed, they made their way past a small group of indoor tables and then back out into the open air through another door at the back of the cafe. They found themselves in a courtyard that was fully enclosed by the other adjacent buildings and sheltered from the sun by several triangular awnings.

It was impossible to miss Dorian - not only thanks to his wide smile and unforgettable moustache, but because he was the only person sitting in the courtyard. He looked utterly at home lounging at a little circular table with a chilled drink in one hand and a pair of dark sunglasses in the other. Several more glasses awaited them on the table, along with a plate piled high with fruits and cheeses. 

As she surveyed the scene Dorian had prepared, Ellana had the strange impression that perhaps this was not a trap, but a pitch.

“There they are, my two favorite people!” Dorian called out, quickly getting to his feet as they approached. 

He embraced Ellana the moment she was within arm’s reach. For all the suspicions she’d expressed about him over the past two days, she couldn’t help but be caught up in his ever-charming enthusiasm. She hugged him back, grinning against his shoulder. When they’d separated, Dorian extended a hand to Solas. What began as a handshake ended with the two of them hugging as well. 

“I have been absolutely dying to see you, my dear,” Dorian said as he rushed to pull out a chair for Ellana to sit. She noticed Solas’ smile falter slightly at the gesture, though he quickly took the chair beside her. 

“Your article was inspired,” Dorian continued. “Quite an achievement. You should be very proud.”

She braced to hear some reprimand beneath his flattery, but there was none. As far as she could tell, he was being entirely genuine. It was a bit of a shock - she hadn’t directly called out Tevinter for its lack of cooperation in her piece, but she’d left enough clues that anyone with common sense would have been able to see that Minister Alexius had put more pressure on Orlais than was strictly appropriate.

“Now, I must ask,” he said, with a wicked smile. “How are the wedding preparations going?”

Ellana burst into laughter, immediately recognizing Dorian’s good-natured joke for what it was. “Well, if anyone asks, we’re here scouting honeymoon locations,” she replied.

“Vyrantium is certainly the spot for it!” Dorian chuckled, patting the back of her hand. “And what about the cake? Have you chosen a flavor yet?” He leaned into Ellana as if they were sharing a secret, but he didn’t bother to lower his voice. “You must tell me. As I presume I will be the very first person added to your guest list, I feel it is my right to know.”

“Orange zest with a white chocolate buttercream,” Ellana answered immediately, swept up in the repartee. 

All the air left her lungs as soon as she said it. Once again, words were flowing out of her mouth for absolutely no reason and this time she had no idea where they’d even come from. 

While Dorian roared in response, she chanced a sideways glance at Solas and found his lips drawn to a thin line and a hint of a blush creeping down his cheeks below his sunglasses. 

Oh fuck, she thought. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. It repeated like a chorus over and over again in her mind as she grabbed a glass of water and downed half of it in one long gulp. It did nothing to staunch the heat she felt creeping up her neck and toward her ears.

You can’t make jokes about getting married, Ellana told herself. You especially can’t make jokes about getting married when your relationship isn’t even two days old. And while he’s right in front of you. And when you like him enough that maybe you actually might want-

SHUT. THE FUCK. UP, some other part of her brain considerately interrupted before she could follow that train of thought to its terrifying conclusion. She threw back the rest of the glass, nearly choked on an ice cube, and fought valiantly not to let any of what was happening in her head show on her face.

Once he finally stopped laughing, Dorian pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “Oh, Ellana, I have missed your humor. I have no doubt Solas did as well.”

“Indeed I did,” Solas said. Ellana hoped her sunglasses were dark enough to hide that she was looking at him again. Solas leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. She wasn’t sure what to make of his flat tone or the fact that his face was still redder than usual. Maybe it was just from the sun, she told herself. Maybe she hadn’t just scared the shit out of him. Maybe he wasn’t completely regretting asking her on a romantic dinner date. 

Maybe he’ll dump you instead, she thought.

Ellana sank down in her chair.

“Well,” Dorian said, still chuckling a little. “While I wish we could chat about such enjoyable topics all day, unfortunately we do have more urgent matters to discuss.”

“Such as why we are meeting in such a secluded place,” Solas said with just a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Ah. I was a bit worried the two of you might have picked up a third wheel on your journeys,” Dorian replied delicately.

“You know about her?” Ellana asked, leaning forward.

“I knew efforts were being made to keep an eye on you two. I did not know who specifically would be assigned to the task. Can you describe her to me?”

“I can do better than that,” Ellana said. She grabbed her phone and pulled up the clearest of the photos she’d taken earlier in the day. 

Dorian leaned in for a closer look as Solas did the same. “I didn’t realize you were taking pictures of her while she was following us,” Solas said.

“Of course I was,” she replied, wondering why he sounded so weirdly impressed.

“Calpernia,” Dorian said suddenly. “Yes, I’d recognize those freckles anywhere.”

“You know her?” Solas asked.

“Only by appearance, really. She has a memorable face. We run in some similar circles, and we share some … similar interests,” he said with a pointed look at Solas.

“What does she want with us?” Ellana asked.

Dorian hummed thoughtfully as he rested back in his chair. “I suspect she’s supposed to see if you find success where Tevinter has not.”

“Meaning what?” Solas asked, his response clipped.

“Gereon and his team have reached something of an impasse,” Dorian said carefully.

“His team?” Ellana asked. “Does that mean you’re not in charge of it anymore?”

“Observant as ever,” Dorian confirmed with a frown. “After the dig in Orlais, I realized I did not possess the stomach for such work. Though I’ve managed to maintain enough connections with the individuals who used to be part of my team to ensure I’m kept well informed of the current situation.”

“Which is?” 

Ellana couldn’t help but notice that all of Solas’ questions seemed unusually impatient. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes under those sunglasses, even if she couldn’t see it. 

Dorian stroked his chin, as if contemplating how much he should say. She suspected it was more for show than anything else - he’d risked a lot to meet them here, and had clearly broken some of his ties to Alexius. Surely he was already past the point of no return. 

Once enough time had passed that Solas began picking imaginary bits of lint from his sleeve, Dorian rested his forearms on the table and tented his fingers. 

“I suppose you both must have suspected, there was more at the dig site than what you were shown.”

“We know about the other artifact, Dorian,” Solas said brusquely. “The mirror.”

What the fuck happened to not giving him any new information? Ellana thought as she stared daggers at Solas. 

Dorian had frozen, dumbstruck, and she seized the moment to grab Solas’ knee beneath the table. Her intent was to convey that he was giving away too much, but something got lost in translation. Solas yelped, slammed his leg on the underside of the tabletop, and then had the nerve to stare at her as if she was the one who’d done something foolish.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered under his breath. “I don’t even want to know how you know. It’ll be better for all of us if I don’t. What matters is this: Gereon is convinced that thing - that mirror, as you called it - can be ‘activated’ in some manner.”

“Activated?” Solas asked, rubbing his knee. “In order to do what, precisely?”

“I have absolutely no idea, and I doubt Gereon does either. He is relying on dubious theories and cryptic hints in old texts. They’ve tried subjecting it to all sorts of stimuli - electricity, various other substances, even blood from what I’ve heard.”

“Blood?” Ellana asked, disgusted.

“Yes. But nothing they’ve done has worked so far. The artifact remains inert.” 

“Perhaps it always was so. Or perhaps it is damaged beyond repair,” Solas suggested.

“As likely a possibility as anything else,” Dorian agreed. “But now that Gereon is in possession of the thing, I am certain he will not give up hope until he has exhausted every alternative - including biding his time to see if the two of you figure out something he couldn’t.”

“But we don’t have access to the mirror,” Ellana said.

“True. But Gereon is convinced - and I must admit that I agree with him on this point - that there is much more information about that artifact waiting to be discovered. That is why I’m here: to meet up with the two of you, provide whatever assistance I can, and then report back on every detail of our progress.”

Shocked, Ellana turned to Solas. He was frowning deeply now in a way that made her want to scream This is why we shouldn’t have told him anything! She still couldn’t quite make out whether he was looking at her from beneath his sunglasses, so she had to content herself with pressing her foot against his beneath the table. He let out a grunt, or maybe just cleared his throat, then directed his attention to Dorian.

“And you are telling us this because …?” Solas said quietly.

“Because I have no intention of helping Gereon progress his research any farther than I already have, obviously,” Dorian replied, as if it had been a foolish question to ask. “I am devoted to the pursuit of knowledge, but not at the expense of my conscience.” 

“And there’s something you want,” Ellana butted in just in case Solas was at risk of being too easily persuaded by Dorian’s appeals to academic integrity. 

“Yes, but you needn’t make it sound quite so sordid, my dear,” Dorian sighed. “What I’m asking can’t even properly be called a bribe, embarrassing as that is to admit. I’m going to give you information that will help you regardless of whether you agree to help me. I’m just that kind of a soul,” he finished with a smile.

Ellana saw Solas open his mouth - probably to accept the terms without even hearing all the specifics - and immediately cut him off. “Your information first,” she told Dorian. “Then we can discuss the rest.”

Dorian laughed again, but nodded his agreement. “Of course. There is a library nearby with a highly specialized collection. I have visited it many times and know its catalog from front to back. Solas, you know the place I’m speaking of, surely.”

Solas nodded. “I’ve heard of it, though I have yet to visit myself.” 

“Well. One of the librarians there has alerted me to something odd.” He leaned toward them, obviously preparing for a dramatic pronouncement.

“Books have appeared on the shelves that were never there before,” Dorian said ominously.

“... What?” Ellana said after a long moment of silence.

“As I said. One morning my friend found an odd little tome sitting on a cart to be reshelved. He picked it up and didn’t recognize it - unheard of in this particular library since the collection is small and he has worked there for many years. He thought it must have been returned to his library in error, but when he searched the book for some marking that would tell him where it actually belonged, he found nothing. He set the book aside, deciding a patron must have left it behind and would return soon enough to reclaim it.

“But the next morning, there were two more such books. Another few the day after. All told, there are now more than a dozen books that have appeared with no explanation.”

“And what is the subject of these books?” Solas asked.

“Precisely as you might think,” Dorian answered cryptically.

Arcane realism, Ellana thought.

“But the most fascinating aspect of this mystery,” Dorian continued, “is that these books are not merely new to the library here in Vyrantium. They are new to Thedas. Their titles do not exist in any other known catalog. They are not even referenced in other works. We have never seen any hint of them before.” 

“Can you take us there? Now?” Solas asked, already pushing himself up out of his chair.

“This is where Dorian names his price,” Ellana told Solas, reaching out a hand to tell him to sit back down. Maybe it was a bit impolite or uncharitable to say it so bluntly, but she wanted to head off Solas before he just accepted whatever was offered to them because he was so obviously excited by the prospect of new books. 

“Right as always, my dear,” Dorian agreed. “I’ll put it plainly. What I want is my name on the article - or to write the forward of your book, if that’s the direction you go. Either way, I want to be part of what comes next. And I would prefer to help the two of you make that discovery rather than any of the interested parties from my homeland.”

“Maybe I’ve misunderstood,” Ellana said, knowing she hadn’t, “but it sounds like there aren’t any opportunities for you to work on this project in Tevinter now. I’m guessing that everyone interested in arcane realism has been recruited by the … by Alexius and his allies. Is that about right?”

Dorian gave her a somewhat reluctant nod.

“So that leaves the South, and Solas, as your only options to continue your research. Meaning you need him, not the other way around.”

“I am not disputing that point,” Dorian sighed. “Though I had envisioned it sounding a bit nobler in my head.”

“And so why should we trust you?” This time, Ellana felt Solas squeeze her knee. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand as his thumb pressed into the side of her leg. She refused to look at him - both because she was absolutely not going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his rebuke, and because she didn’t trust herself to look at his face while his hand was still on her leg.

“It’s a fair question,” Dorian replied. Solas released his grip on her knee but she could feel his fingertips still hovering, barely resting against the fabric of her pants. She focused all her available attention on studying the individual strands of Dorian’s moustache. 

“I would hope you’d believe me because of the information I provided you in the past and because of my long-standing correspondence with Solas. But, given the situation, I do understand that may not be enough. So, I am also offering myself as a diversion.”

“You mean to throw this Calpernia off our scent?” Solas asked.

“Precisely.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Ellana said. She wasn’t about to be swayed by promises that were lacking in so many crucial details.

“The wheels are turning, Ellana, but I believe I can bring the pieces together by tomorrow. And, in the meantime, I happen to know of a way you two can navigate the city unseen.”

Ellana turned to Solas to gauge his feelings on the offer. Dorian was putting a lot on the table, and assuming the brunt of the risk in the process. Obviously it sounded too good to be true. 

She crooked an eyebrow, asking her unspoken question. Do you trust him?

Solas lowered his hand to her leg again and his touch felt like a plea.

He can’t think about anything except those new fucking books, she realized as his fingers pressed into her thigh. And she was going to say yes, despite her reservations, because she was desperately curious to see them herself ... and maybe also because she wanted Solas to be happy with his new books.

“You have a deal,” Ellana said as she turned back to Dorian. He let out an uncharacteristically nervous sounding sigh.

“What a relief,” Dorian said, reaching across the table to shake each of their hands in turn. “And I could not be happier with the company I’ve chosen. It’s always so interesting watching the two of you work. How much is conveyed without a word. And so impressive that you were able to maintain a professional relationship after your, ah, liaison in the Arbor Wilds. I have seen teams break apart over far less.”

“Oh. Well.” Ellana looked to Solas, stalling as she felt her face flush and she tried to figure out how to break the news. She held her palm out toward Solas, just gesturing toward him, but he immediately seized the opportunity to grab her hand and entwine her fingers with his own.

“Liaison is not really the correct term,” he said as their clasped hands came to rest on top of the table. 

Ellana slid her gaze back to Dorian, who was now grinning as widely as his mouth would allow. 

This, too, was new information that they had agreed they were not going to offer, just in case Dorian reported it back to Alexius or anyone else in Tevinter. Apparently, Solas had forgotten. 

“My mistake,” Dorian said happily. “And now that all our cards are on the table, allow me to show you to the library.” 

Chapter Text

“Remember when we said we weren’t going to tell him about us?” Ellana whispered. 

Solas threw a glance over his shoulder to confirm Dorian was still settling the check somewhere inside the cafe. “Did we?” he asked with a shrug.

They absolutely had, and the way Ellana was staring at him made it obvious she remembered their discussion every bit as clearly as he did. Perhaps he had acted rashly, but the past few minutes had left him in an exhilarated haze.

Ellana’s comments about wedding planning had the cadence of jokes; and yet it was impossible to ignore that she did, in fact, have an immediate and surprisingly specific reply to Dorian’s question about the cake. Solas had also caught the look on her face after she said it. When Ellana blushed that deeply, there was always something worth examining below the surface of her words.

It could be nothing, Solas told himself as he watched her stand from her chair. It certainly was not a sound reason to be so fixated on the velvet box in his work bag.

“Why are you making that face?” she asked, sliding her sunglasses up her forehead.

“What face?” 

“The one where you get all those lines between your eyebrows and then you start to pout a little.”

“I don’t pout,” he told her.

“Oh, you absolutely do.” Without hesitation, Ellana slid directly into his lap, turning sideways so she could throw an arm around the back of his chair. “Or do you really not know that about yourself?”

Solas was very confident that he never made any expression that could accurately be described as a ‘pout,’ but it was hard to remember this as she settled herself on his legs and he wrapped his arms around her waist to steady her. 

“We’ll be at the library soon enough,” she said quietly.

It was true he was beyond eager to see what the library had to offer, but this was not quite the reason for whatever expression Ellana had noticed. He did not correct her.

Ellana pressed her thumb into his lower lip, her fingers stroking the side of his neck, and her eyes lowered to his mouth. He stilled beneath her gaze, his lips parting with the gentle weight of her touch.

Her kiss was soft and slow, a rare surprise when so much between them was still frantic, charged with the desperate energy that had amassed during their time apart. Solas did his best to answer in kind, though he could not stop his fingers from sliding down her hips when she swept her tongue delicately along his upper lip.

“There,” Ellana said as she sat back and once again ran her thumb along his mouth - this time, Solas realized, to rub away a hint of her lipstick that must have lingered. “That’s better.” 

“Well aren’t you two just adorable,” Dorian drawled from somewhere over Solas’ shoulder. “I wonder, how many more moments of stolen affection have I to look forward to between here and our destination?”

“That all depends on how long of a walk it is,” Ellana fired back from her perch on his legs. “Besides, we’re the company you chose, remember?”

“And I am enjoying myself more from each moment to the next.”

Ellana placed a kiss between Solas’ brows and rose from his lap. As she gathered her things, Solas plucked a pair of nectarines from the plate of fruit on the table.

Dorian leaned against the archway that would return them to the cafe’s interior, a picture of mildly inconvenienced boredom.

“If you've made your point,” he said, rolling a hand in Ellana’s direction. 

She looked up at Solas as if she were actually considering the question. He casually tossed one of the nectarines to Ellana, who caught it with a knowing grin and slipped it into her bag.

“I think we have,” Ellana nodded.

Dorian shook his head. “Did I say adorable? I meant insufferable. Now, would you be so kind as to follow me?”

Dorian extended his arms outward, directing them through the archway. Back inside, he led them not to the doors they’d first entered but instead to a shadowed alcove. Solas heard the familiar sound of a sizzling stove somewhere nearby, and he wondered for a moment if they were about to barge into their second kitchen of the day. Instead, Dorian showed them to a heavy wooden door, which he opened to reveal a stone staircase that descended into darkness.

“What is this?” Solas asked warily.

“A way to travel the city unseen, as promised,” Dorian answered. He removed his cell phone from his pocket, turned on its flashlight, and began to carefully make his way downward.

Solas looked at Ellana to confirm she was willing to continue. Unsurprisingly, she’d also pulled out her phone and was already moving through the doorway. Solas followed behind both of them, his hand trailing over the cool stone wall to steady himself as he picked his way down the shallow steps. 

When they had all made their way safely to the bottom, Dorian hesitated. They stood now in a tunnel with arched ceilings and passages leading off in three directions. The stone bricks were worn nearly smooth with age and, Solas suspected, by the steady drip of water he could hear echoing throughout. He couldn’t discern the source of the water but there was, mercifully, no smell to indicate it was anything other than fresh. The floor was just barely damp beneath his feet.

“Who built these?” Ellana asked.

“The city’s elven population,” Dorian replied. “If the stories are to be believed.” 

“Any particular reason not to believe them?” 

“Only that it would be quite the endeavor to build something so expansive with so much material all while successfully hiding it from the humans who owned everything in Vyrantium at that time.”

“Greater feats have been accomplished,” Solas said. “Particularly when those in power have grown complacent.”

Dorian and Ellana both turned to stare at him. Dorian’s moustache twitched slightly. Ellana, however, once again looked as if she wanted to interrogate Solas on the spot. He squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back. Perhaps it had been wise to stop himself before he also mentioned that it also would have been a much simpler task had magic been employed.

“A fair point,” Dorian conceded, with the air of someone who was not especially interested in conducting a conversion about his country’s shameful history at this precise moment. Instead, he abruptly changed topics.

“You know, I first stumbled into these tunnels during my misspent youth in Vyrantium,” Dorian said, tossing a grin over his shoulder as he led them forward. “I was in a hurry, looking to quickly extricate myself from a situation in which a paramour’s partner returned home from a business trip a few days earlier than anticipated. I intended to hide in a coat closet until the way was clear to the front door. But instead I found an odd little passage that led me down here. I didn’t know until much later how lucky I was to have found my way back up to the streets rather than falling down a pit to my death,” he finished with a laugh, which Ellana echoed.

Solas frowned at the walls, far less interested in stories of Dorian’s colorful past than he would have been in a thorough examination of the conditions in Vyrantium that necessitated the creation of the tunnels in the first place.

Dorian continued onward, stopping at each intersection to consult directions in a note he’d saved to his phone. Many spots in the tunnels had no cell reception, he explained, and there existed no complete map of the area, something which Dorian claimed the elves who maintained the tunnels had insisted upon. Solas found it all too simple to understand why they were so protective of the place. It was a labyrinth, he thought with no small amount of admiration for whomever had first conceived of it. It must have been a very useful method to traverse the city for those who did not have the privilege to navigate it freely.

As the lights from Dorian and Ellana’s phones shone on the walls, Solas found himself drawn to the brief flashes of color that occasionally reflected from the bricks. Upon closer examination, he found bits of crushed glass embedded within the stone. Solas wondered whether it served some practical purpose or was purely aesthetic.

“What are these?” Solas asked. He pointed to a black metal sconce mounted to the wall at about his height. He’d seen dozens of them since they entered the tunnels, irregularly spaced along their path.

“Ah, another peculiarity,” Dorian answered. “They look like torches, don’t they? But it’s the damnedest thing. If you try to fit them with any sort of kindling or really anything flammable, the flame will merely snuff itself out.”

Ellana peppered Dorian with questions about the tunnels’ origins and upkeep as they walked. Solas’ mind was elsewhere entirely, unfocused and flitting between topics. He was already imagining the library and the books they were soon to see, guessing at what answers might be within. But his memory repeatedly reminded him of Ellana’s description of the cake, to the point that he swore he could taste the precise combination of flavors she'd chosen on his tongue. Then, his thoughts shifted suddenly to the dinner they would share together in a few hours: what new torturous treasure Ellana might unearth from her suitcase; how much he wished to ensure it was not a repeat of their last such encounter; and whether he should bring the ring with him or leave it safely in the hotel room where it could not tempt him.

Solas took a deep breath to clear his head. He was unaccustomed to his thoughts being so disordered and had lost all sense of what Ellana and Dorian were discussing.

“So, do you think there’s a path that would lead all the way back to our hotel from here?” Ellana asked.

“It’s quite likely,” Dorian replied. “I’m told the tunnels traverse much of the city. Our colleague at the library might be willing to offer more information.”

“Might be?” Ellana caught the ambiguity in Dorian’s suggestion.

“Well, I’m sure he will be once he meets the two of you,” Dorian clarified.

“That sounds a lot like you’re saying we have to do the work to take advantage of what’s supposed to be your end of the bargain.”

“Ah! Here we are!” Dorian exclaimed, obviously relieved to have a distraction from Ellana’s questions. He was focused on a shallow recess in the wall that might as well have been invisible until they were directly upon it. Within was a large steel door that opened with a groan when Dorian pushed on its handle. 

“This is typically barred from the other side,” he explained. “Fortunately, we are expected.” 

They emerged a few moments later, after a rather precarious accent up a narrow, spiraling staircase, into a much more modern-looking vestibule. Dorian opened yet another door at the top of the stairs to reveal a space Solas had long wished to visit.

Vyrantium was a city significant enough to have more than one library, and this one was far from the largest or most impressive in terms of the titles it housed. But what it lacked in significance, it made up in beauty. The collection was contained within one large room, with bookshelves lining the ground floor as well as mezzanines reaching two levels above. A trio of enormous, crystal chandeliers offered more ornamentation than they did illumination; the latter was instead provided by a series of recessed windows situated above the bookshelves on the highest mezzanine. Afternoon sunlight spilled upward toward the plaster ceilings, which were molded into geometric, vaguely floral, patterns.

“Wow,” Ellana breathed as she tilted her head back to take in the scene. Solas smiled as he watched her.

“It is quite striking, isn’t it?” Dorian said with such pride one might think he had built the walls himself.

“And it is the site of numerous … events,” Solas added, “if I remember your reports correctly.” 

“Oh?” Ellana tore her eyes from the chandeliers above to glance between him and Dorian.

“Yes,” Dorian nodded. “Though if we are to delve into such topics, perhaps I might first show you to the meeting room.”

“Who are we meeting?” Ellana asked immediately.

“The librarian I mentioned before. He is a friend,” Dorian said pointedly. “I promise.” 

He ushered them quickly toward the far side of the room from where they’d entered, but not before Ellana asked a question that was also on Solas’ mind.

“Dorian?”

“Hmm?”

“If Calpernia has ‘similar interests’ to you, can we assume she knows about this place, too?”

“Almost certainly,” he answered. “Which is why all the relevant books have been removed from this room, and why we will do our best to remain out of sight while we’re here.” 

Ellana threw Solas a worried glance but didn’t otherwise object.

The meeting room was slightly claustrophobic, with a rectangular table in the center flanked by a few chairs. The walls were filled with more bookshelves, allowing only a narrow space between these and the tables. High on the outer wall were two thin windows, currently covered with shades that blocked out the majority of the light that would otherwise fill the room. The reason for this was immediately apparent - someone had set up a projector that was casting a familiar image onto the empty wall below the windows.

Beside him, Solas heard Ellana take in a quick breath.

Solas, with a great deal of assistance from Cole, had recently digitized the physical map he’d been using for many years to chart the phenomena seen across Thedas. Once it was complete, he had shared it with Dorian in addition to a small but trustworthy group of similarly-minded colleagues. Now, it was plastered upon the library wall. 

A man with auburn hair sat at the tables in the half-darkness, though he rushed to his feet when Dorian opened the door. He was elven and presumably Dalish, judging by the vallaslin he wore, which Solas recognized as representing Ghilan'nain. 

“Ah, Loranil,” Dorian said with a polite smile. “Allow me to introduce you to -”

“Ms. Lavellan,” the librarian said, immediately crossing to shake Ellana’s hand. “I can’t tell you how excited I was to meet you when Dorian said you were here.”

Ellana returned the handshake, but Solas could see her posture stiffen somewhat, obviously preparing for the usual comments about the Inquisitor. 

“Your book on modern Dalish clans is just fantastic,” Loranil continued. 

Ellana’s head whipped toward Solas, her lips pursed in a smug, closed-mouthed smile. He didn’t understand precisely why the librarian’s pronouncement had caused this reaction, but it was clear that it would somehow mean trouble for him.

“Really?” Ellana asked, turning her smile on Loranil.

“I consider it the definitive text on the subject, and I’ve recommended it to more patrons than I can count. Last I heard, it’s taught in Vyrantium’s university as well.”

“You don’t think it’s missing, just as an example, anything relevant from the section on traditional stories?”

Solas’ stomach dropped.

“Such as?” Loranil asked, unaware that Ellana was now playing him as surely as if he were a pawn on a chessboard.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” she said. “I’ve just heard that some people who use it in their classes prefer to add in some supplemental material to cover the stories of the Creators in more detail.”

“In classes on modern Dalish life?”

“Exactly.” Ellana was staring at Solas now, eyes narrowed. “Exactly,” she said again.

Cole must have told her, Solas thought as he fought to keep his expression neutral. Generally, it was better not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d landed a hit.

Loranil looked between the two of them, obviously lost.

“They’re like this all the time,” Dorian shook his head. “Pay them no mind, Loranil. They’ll settle down once you show them the books.” 

Solas shook Loranil’s hand next. Though the librarian knew his work as well and spoke favorably about the map he’d created, it was clear that Loranil’s most effusive praise had been reserved for Ellana. She was grinning again by the time their introductions were complete.

“Forgive me, Loranil,” Solas said as he settled himself at the table. “Dorian has not mentioned your name to me before, nor was I aware he had shared my findings with you,” he said with a nod toward the map. “Perhaps you’d be willing to tell us about your own focus of research, and give us an overview on what it is you’ve found here?”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly presume to do that,” Loranil demurred. “I am an amateur in comparison to you and Dr. Pavus, of course. I’m one of a dozen librarians who maintain this collection. I was just lucky to be familiar enough with the study of arcane realism to know what I was looking at when these books appeared.”

“Mmm,” Solas hummed. He wasn’t certain which he would have enjoyed more: the easy surrender Loranil had just offered, or the opportunity to put him soundly in his place had he pretended at some expertise he wouldn’t have been able to uphold under scrutiny. Solas had just opened his mouth again, deciding the surrender was terribly unsatisfying, when Ellana sat beside him and leaned over. 

“You’re being rude.” she whispered, her lips against his ear. “Don’t take it out on him.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he objected.

“Oh, right. Just like how you don’t pout.”

With a disappointed huff, Solas did his best to abandon the plans he’d been making for Loranil. He could not, however, resist asking Ellana a clarifying question that was now at the forefront of his mind.

“When did Cole tell you?” Solas murmured as he removed his notebook from his satchel.

“The first day I met you,” Ellana happily replied. “During the drive from the train station to the museum.”

Well, Solas thought, recalling the hostility of their initial meeting. That had probably not helped matters.

For the next several hours, Ellana listened with a mixture of curiosity and horror as some of Thedas’ foremost experts in arcane realism discussed the concept with absolutely no euphemisms nor any apparent skepticism. She understood, conceptually, that they were speaking so frankly to make it easier to toss around ideas and hypotheses. It didn’t make it any easier to stomach three grown adults talking with such enthusiasm and certainty about magic. 

Everyone there had seen some version of the phenomena first-hand. Dorian and Loranil occasionally referenced their experiences as they spoke, obviously revisiting similar discussions they’d shared in the past. Solas was more guarded in his approach, speaking in what Ellana recognized as generalizations without ever exactly saying what he had or hadn’t seen himself. She wondered how much even Dorian knew. 

Solas led the bulk of the discussion, his glasses perched at the end of his nose so that he could easily swap between looking through them for reading and looking over them when he addressed his thoughts to the room. It was fucking adorable, and made even worse by how unrestrained his excitement was. He was so natural, so obviously happy, while working alongside peers who were as curious about the topic as he was. It was infectious and devastatingly charming, and Ellana repeatedly found herself with her chin in her hand, staring at him as he talked.

She had to snap out of it or she wasn’t going to be of any help at all.

Ellana had been 'assigned' a small folio for her first reading. Solas had divided up the texts between the four of them so they could get through everything as quickly as possible and then have an initial discussion about what they’d read. The thin pamphlet was titled A Dissertation on the Fade as a Physical Manifestation and, if the date on its title page was to be believed, it was incredibly old - written in 6:55 Steel. She could hardly see how that was true, however, since the text was in absolutely pristine condition. 

The dissertation, along with the other texts that had appeared, were all primarily focused on two concepts: the Fade, and something called the Veil. The Fade was vaguely familiar to Ellana as a Chantry teaching. Dorian colorfully characterized it as something like the ‘primordial ooze’ from which all life was created and to which it returned upon death. But that understanding was drastically different from what was written in the books they were reading now.

The author of Ellana’s folio styled themself as a 'Senior Enchanter,' and they made the Fade sound like an actual place, though, at least according to the book Solas was reading, maybe a place that could only be reached while you were dreaming. Since she’d very recently had the experience of a dream that felt real in ways it shouldn’t have, Ellana absolutely hated that.

The Veil, she explained when it was her turn to present to the room, was some kind of separation between the Fade and the real world. It was clear there had been a lot of fighting over what that meant, and she did her best to examine the various possibilities discussed in her text. 

Ellana attempted to direct her remarks to everyone, but it was impossible to keep her eyes off Solas for long. He sat with his hands folded on the table in front of him, leaning forward just slightly, as if he was hanging off her every word. When she made a point that he must have found particularly compelling or insightful, he nodded encouragingly. It made her feel like she might just be the smartest person who had ever lived. She instantly found herself chasing after those nods and the little hums he offered, completely mesmerized by the force of his full attention on her in this kind of setting.

When she finished speaking and moved back to her seat, Solas smiled up at her.

“That was fascinating,” he said. “Well done.” 

Ellana grinned, tried to sit down, missed, ended up on the arm of the chair instead, yelped as it slammed into her tailbone, and then slowly sank into her seat. Solas regarded her with a puzzled frown.

It was a few hours later when Ellana finally excused herself to take a break. She claimed it was because the meeting room was cold - which it was, since it served a dual purpose as archival storage. But the truth was that her head was swimming and the semi-darkness was making her drowsy in a way she didn’t like. She was ready to be back in the sun. 

Before she left, Ellana grabbed a nectarine from her bag, figuring a snack might help her headache. She headed for the door, trailing her fingers across Solas’ shoulders as she moved past him. He caught her wrist to place a quick kiss on her palm before he went back to his reading. Dorian rolled his eyes.

Loranil offered Ellana directions to a side door that would allow her to leave the library without having to pass through the entire collection room or the main entrance, just in case Calpernia happened to be lurking nearby. The moment she stepped out into the light and felt its comforting warmth on her shoulders, her phone vibrated about a dozen times in quick succession. 

Merrill had been trying to get a hold of her for the past two hours. Immediately, Ellana wondered if the books themselves had somehow been disrupting cell service in the same way some of the other phenomena did. With an annoyed sigh, she tapped on Merrill’s contact.

“Ellana, where have you been?” Merrill asked when she picked up after the first ring. “Is everything alright?”

“Just working,” Ellana assured her. “And everything’s fine. What’s going on?”

“Something strange. Maybe nothing but, well, I do think it’s probably something.”

“What is it, Merrill?” Ellana asked more deliberately, running a hand through her hair.

“Are you alone?”

A chill ran down Ellana’s spine despite the warmth of the sun on her face.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“Good. I’m going to send you something. Check your email.”

Ellana tapped over to her email the second it arrived. She opened the attachment Merrill had sent her - a single page scan - and, all at once, felt the entire world narrow to the words on that page. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she scraped her fingers along the library’s brick wall to steady herself.

“What is this?” she asked, though she was certain she already knew.

“I found it in Inquisitor Lavellan’s book today. The one I showed you last night. It was there, the very first page, still attached to the spine.”

“That doesn’t -” Ellana stopped herself. It was growing increasingly pointless to say that anything didn’t make sense. She had examined that notebook herself. She knew, with absolute certainty, that the first page had not been there last night. Now it was.

She looked down at the scanned image again, her throat going dry as she tried to take in what she saw.

Several lines, written in the same hand as the ones Merrill had sent her a few hours ago. While those had all referenced a date, a location, and the letters ‘F.H.,’ these were different in one crucial aspect. They still contained a date and place, but the final notation said -

“Solas,” Ellana whispered as she read his name. And then she read it again, and again, and again.

Four entries in total, spanning from 9:42 to 9:44 Dragon. Each paired with the name of a city in either Ferelden or Orlais.

“Isn’t that a very odd coincidence?”

Ellana had forgotten she was still on the call when Merrill’s voice nearly made her drop her phone.

“It is a very odd coincidence,” she agreed, hurrying to put her phone back to her ear. “But what do you want me to do about it?” She was trying not to raise her voice but it felt like the only logical response.

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that his name means ‘pride?’” 

“I - what? Yes, of course I do,” Ellana snapped. “But he’s not Dalish. His parents are probably the kind of people who looked at Elvish baby names in some book and picked out one that seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s not his fault.” 

“So you haven’t met his parents, then?”

“No! Why would I?”

Merrill hummed in an annoying way that made it clear she thought she’d made a particularly cutting point. 

“Like I said before, Merrill, it’s very new.”

“But you’ve been working with him since you first went out to the Arbor Wilds, right? So how well do you know him?”

Ellana kicked at a pebble as she scowled into the phone. There was no way she could answer that question. She knew some things about Solas. She knew, for example, where and how to touch him in order to distract him when he got lost in his own thoughts. She’d also been able, from the very first week they’d met each other, to read his face so precisely that they could communicate many of the essentials in complete silence (though it was, admittedly, also a useful skill for those times when she wanted to antagonize him). At this exact moment, however, she was cursing herself for being on her best behavior when she’d been in his house and had the opportunity to go through every one of his possessions. 

Not a normal thought, she reminded herself.

“Well enough,” Ellana finally told Merrill. She knew it was a lie.

“Ellana, I don’t think I like this. I’m not sure what it is, but I don’t think I like it.”

“It’s nothing. It’s a coincidence, like you said.” She wasn’t even convincing herself.

“Are you going to ask him about it?”

“Yes. Obviously.” Nothing in the world could stop her from marching back into the library and doing exactly that.

“I want you to be careful,” Merrill warned.

“Of what?” Ellana asked incredulously.

“Of him.” 

“Oh, come on!” Ellana exclaimed. Solas?! she thought. The same Solas who sent her photos of his cat’s paws a few times a week? Solas, who frequently picked up groceries and ran errands for his nextdoor neighbor, something she probably wouldn’t know about at all had she not once called him while he’d been helping the old man rearrange the furniture in his living room? And Solas, who had carried her to safety when she’d collapsed in front of that mirror in the Wilds? 

What could she possibly have to fear from him?

What about those other things, her mind unhelpfully reminded her. All those red flags you’ve been tallying up?

“I need to go, Merrill,” Ellana said. This, at least, she knew was the truth. Staying on the call any longer would only fray her nerves more than they already were. She wanted answers, and there was only one person who could give them. 

“Fine, but don’t turn off your phone. I want to be able to get a hold of you, just in case,” Merrill said with enough concern that Ellana was starting to feel almost guilty.

“I didn’t turn it off. The reception is just shitty here. I’ll do a better job of getting back to you, OK?” she offered.

After Merrill made her swear to check in later that evening, and then again first thing in the morning, and then again every few hours after that, Ellana finally got off the call. 

It wasn’t until she shoved her phone back into her pocket and put her hand over her mouth that she realized she was trembling.

It could be nothing, she told herself. She’d never heard the word solas used as a name before but that didn’t make it impossible. And maybe the Inquisitor’s notes weren’t actually using it as a name anyway. It could have been anything. It must have been anything except for what it seemed like it was.

Ellana threw open the door back into the library, trying to ignore that her entire body was now shaking like she'd fallen into a frozen lake. The lies she told herself were not persuasive enough to ease the panic rising in her throat.

As her vision adjusted to the dimmer light indoors, a sudden movement caught her eye at a brief interruption in the long line of bookshelves. There was a door, slightly ajar and closing slowly with its own inertia, and Ellana realized with a shock that it was the spot where they’d first entered the library a few hours ago. That door went nowhere, except back down to the strange tunnels.

She hesitated. This could actually be nothing, she reminded herself. A drafty vestibule and an aging latch. But the pause itself was her mistake. It allowed just enough time for her to listen.

Beyond the door, Ellana swore she could hear music. Some faraway part of her brain told her that ‘music’ wasn’t exactly the right word. What she heard was something more dissonant than that. But it was certainly a song of some sort, sad and insistent. 

She looked down and found her fingers wrapped, white-knuckled, around the door’s handle.

Solas, she thought as her feet carried her toward the spiraling stairs, sandals clapping against stone to the song’s tempo. She was supposed to be going back to Solas. But when she reached the steel door at the bottom, it was no shock to find it standing open - not an invitation, but a demand. She passed into the tunnel and watched with only a distant sort of concern as it slammed shut behind her. Now, Ellana stood in darkness, the door’s deafening clang echoing off the stone that enveloped her.

There was a tightness in her chest that she recognized as fear, and yet it didn’t seem to belong to her. She heard her ragged breath and felt the pounding of her pulse in her ears, but none of that was so concerning when she knew her body was simply rushing to match the pace of the song. After a few long moments, once everything beat in synchrony, Ellana felt something deep within her break open.

She might have stood there forever, savoring the sense of potential that thrummed through her veins, had she not noticed the two pinpricks of green light far off in the darkness. They vanished then reappeared a moment later in the same spot.

Her vision went white as she felt a rush of air sweep past her cheek. When she could see clearly again, she realized that one of the sconces on the wall had surged to life, burning now with an eerie green flame. There was something off about it, even aside from the color. It moved like fire, but in slow motion. Its light reflected off the bits of glass in the walls, casting odd shadows down the length of the tunnel.

Another sconce burst to life far in the distance, near where she had seen the pinprick lights a few moments before. Something black and wispy, flicking like an agitated tail, curled around a corner near the torch and disappeared beyond her sight.

She was hurrying after it before she had made any conscious choice to do so. The soles of her sandals slipped along the damp tiles until she slowed her pace just enough to rip off one and then the other. Now, with her bare feet pounding against the stone, she broke out into a run.

Ellana rounded the corner just in time to see another green fire bloom in the distance, and the same tendrils of black smoke escape from her view. She sprinted forward, heart pounding against her chest and lungs burning. Turn after turn, one passage to the next, always the same pattern: a flare of light, a glimpse of black, and the irresistible urge to follow.

She only realized how familiar it all was when she’d lost count of the number of turns she’d taken.

The music in her head faltered, like a musician striking a wrong chord. With an exhausted gasp, Ellana came to a dead stop in the middle of a long passageway. 

“You fucking idiot,” she breathed out, furious with herself as it dawned on her far too late. She’d watched the exact same thing happen to the freckled woman this morning, only then she’d been on the other side of it. 

What had she even been chasing? Why had she come down here in the first place? She couldn’t make sense of it now.

Ellana grabbed her phone from her pocket. She knew, from what Dorian had said, that she wouldn’t be able to call anyone, but she had to check anyway. What she found was worse. The phone’s screen was completely black. Pressing the power button did nothing. It was dead - no reception, and no flashlight either.

She looked over her shoulder, back in the direction she’d come. Of course it was dark. Those torches had probably been extinguishing themselves the moment she ran past one and was on to the next. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she realized how truly, utterly fucked she was: lost in a maze with no way to call for help, barefoot and otherwise unprepared for the persistent chill of being underground, and having put herself in this position for reasons she couldn’t possibly begin to understand.

She let the tears leak out for a minute or maybe longer. Then she clenched her teeth and stood up straight. She walked on in the only direction that was certain, toward the one torch that still burned.

When she reached it and peered around the corner, Ellana saw what had led her here. 

It hovered, its shape dissipating and coalescing as she watched. In the moments when it was most comprehensible, the coiling smoke formed the shape she had expected it to take. She’d braced to be afraid of it but, now, confronted by the creature in front of her, she felt a strange sense of ease.

It considered her a moment, then lazily blinked its luminescent eyes. When they reopened, there were six points of green light staring back at her.

All at once, she remembered the forest. The silence that descended on her as she peered into the enormous mirror, and the face - her face, haloed by the same eyes she saw now - peering back. 

Maybe you’re not you, a voice that sounded like her own had said. 

She staggered under the weight of the memory, bracing herself against the wall to regain her balance. Her left palm flashed with energy and she tripped forward as the stones beneath her hand rearranged themselves, sliding and folding inward until an opening in the wall appeared. 

The creature approached. 

When it paused in front of her, some of its mass surged forward like water spilling over the edge of a cup. Its misty tendrils reached out, swimming circles around her thighs and wrists. Though Ellana was certain the swirling smoke had not actually touched her, her heart quickened as though she’d been brushed by an all too familiar caress. 

The wolf tilted its head curiously, then disappeared into the chasm beyond the wall.

When she followed, Ellana’s mind was entirely her own.

“But I think it’s misguided to disregard the Chanty interpretation entirely,” Dorian said, returning to an argument he’d begun an hour ago. “Yes, of course it’s incomplete at best and fanciful at worst, but you must see the parallels.”

“Such as?” Loranil asked.

“There is a notable similarity,” Solas agreed. “Both the Fade as described in the Chantry’s beliefs and the Fade as described in these texts are places of potential and creation. For the Chantry, that means the source of life. For these authors, it was the source of magic.” 

“Precisely,” Dorian grinned. “And if, for a moment, we accept that the dissertation on the Veil is accurate, then it’s possible nothing has truly changed. The Fade is there. It exists. Magic exists within it. It is merely our perception that has changed.”

“But how would that work?” Loranil said. “Just because you think you can cast a spell, suddenly you can?” 

“No,” Solas shook his head. “That text,” he said, pointing to a thick tome in Dorian’s pile, “was clear on the point that mortals may not influence the Fade, aside from those called ‘dreamers,’ who were rare. What could shape the Fade, perhaps enough to change the very nature of it, were spirits.”

“Whatever they were,” Dorian interjected.

“As enticing as that question is, we must set it aside for the moment,” Solas continued. “If spirits could change the nature of the Fade, it sounds as though they wouldn’t be tempted to do so unless something in the mortal world sufficiently attracted their attention.” 

“So you’re suggesting a threshold would need to be achieved,” Loranil offered.

“Perhaps,” Solas shrugged. “The phenomena have increased exponentially in the first half of this year,” he said, sweeping a hand toward his map. “It is not difficult to imagine that sightings encourage additional sightings and that, perhaps, we are seeing a cascade effect.”

“Interesting,” Loranil said as he sat back in his chair.

“I was thinking ‘horrifying,’” Dorian said. 

Solas sighed as he glanced at his watch. He knew it must be nearing evening now and, loath as he was to consider leaving these books for even a moment, he had not forgotten the plans he and Ellana had made for dinner. She had been gone for some time now, he realized as he checked the time again. 

He flipped over his cell phone, looking at it for the first time since they’d arrived in the library hours ago, and was surprised to find nothing. Obviously Ellana would not have texted him while she was sitting beside him, but he usually at least had a few university emails over the course of a day. 

Dorian, who must have noticed his confusion, pulled his phone from his pocket.

“No service,” he said. “Loranil?”

Solas cursed himself for not having thought to check this first. It took him a moment but eventually he found the icon at the top of his screen that indicated he also had no reception. Meanwhile, Loranil confirmed the same.

“If you’ll both excuse me a moment,” Solas said as he quickly pushed his chair back from the table. “I should find Ellana.” He didn’t wait for their replies before he hurried out the door.

Something was wrong, Solas realized. It hit him in the pit of his stomach the moment he stepped out of the darkened meeting room. He scanned the library, weaving between a few of the bookshelves, but he already knew he would not find Ellana there. Instead, instinct drove him directly to the door leading back to the tunnels below. 

It was open an inch or two, swinging gently back and forth. Solas hurried through, taking the spiral stairs two and three steps at a time. An unexpected pop of color greeted him at the bottom, its deep orange and hints of gold stark against the weathered stones. The nectarine Ellana had in her hand when she left now lay discarded upon the floor. 

Solas threw open the steel door as though it weighed nothing at all and stormed into the tunnels.

Chapter Text

Ellana slipped through the opening in the wall, following in the wolf’s footsteps. Darkness consumed her once again as the green flame behind her extinguished itself. The only sources of light were the six eyes blinking at her a few steps ahead. 

Four new sconces burst to life, blinding her again. Ellana's eyes adjusted slowly, the constant shifts from dark to light only making her headache worse. As soon as the space began to resolve itself in front of her, the creature’s misty form suddenly dispersed. It burst outward into a thousand smokey tendrils that seeped through the cracks between the stones. 

She spun around at the same moment the wall behind her began to move again, bricks grinding as they returned to their original shape. Ellana pressed her palms to the stone, then pounded her fists against it when the energy in her hand failed to flare to life. 

She was alone now and even more trapped than she had been a moment ago. Ellana waited for panic to overtake her.

But as she rested with her forehead against the cool bricks, she found that she was not as afraid as every logical part of her brain was screaming at her that she should be. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

The room where she now stood was furnished. An imposing wooden desk and an accompanying arm chair took up much of the space. A pair of empty bookshelves stood against the wall opposite the desk, with a chaise lounge upholstered in cream-colored fabric arranged in front of them. Covering most of the floor was a large, circular rug ringed with tassels. She hurried over to stand on it, her bare feet freezing after her long sprint across the damp tiles. 

There wasn't a spec of dust to be seen, Ellana realized as she ran a finger across the desk. That was even stranger because the furniture all looked very old - past the point of antique and well into the category of something that belonged in a museum. Each piece was pristine enough for a museum collection as well; despite their age, they had no obvious scratches or other signs of wear. 

One of the torches suddenly surged brighter, illuminating the wall behind the desk. Ellana’s breath caught as she saw what it had revealed.

A mural covered the entire wall. The colors were bright - oranges, golds, and deep blacks - as if they might have just been painted. At the center, directly behind the desk’s chair, was the familiar sword and open eye that had once represented the Inquisition. Flanking it on either side were black, howling wolves.

Ellana moved around the desk to get a better look. She found her gaze drawn to something odd, shining just below the eye of the Inquisition's symbol. At first she thought the artist had somehow made the sword itself appear metallic. But on closer inspection, she saw that a symbol had been painted - if it was actually paint - on top of the mural’s image. It flickered, fading in and out of view, as the green light from the torches danced across it. 

She reached up her hand, curious what material had been used to create something so unusual. When her fingers brushed over the symbol, Ellana’s eyes closed and she drifted away.

Ellana sat at a desk not all that different from the one she had just seen. It was also enormous, but nearly every available surface was cluttered with parchment and books. When her gaze moved upward, she discovered the wall opposite her had been painted with a mural identical to the one she’d just touched. 

She grappled with her confusion. This was not the room where she’d been a moment ago - but where was that? Faintly, she recalled trains and tunnels and a clear blue sea, all too nebulous in her mind to provide a secure tether back to that place. 

The room where she found herself now was huge with rounded walls. It expanded up above her head, though she was having trouble getting her eyes or her neck to cooperate when she attempted to lean back and see just how far away the ceiling was.

Behind her, she heard a gentle, rhythmic noise. It reminded her of sweeping the back porch of the house where she’d grown up.

But she hadn’t grown up in a house with a back porch, Ellana thought with a start. She’d grown up beneath the red sails of Clan Lavellan’s aravels. Her mind resisted the idea, struggling against itself, begging her to believe that both were somehow true.

Panic set in as she tried to push herself back from the desk to look for the source of the noise behind her. She wanted to lift her arms but they would not budge. She wanted to move her neck but it did not turn. Instead, her hands lifted the stack of papers she held and she parted her lips with her tongue, suddenly nervous to speak.

“A Dissertation on the Fade as a Physical Manifestation.” She read aloud the title written in ornate script across the first page. “Is this the one you wanted?”

“It is.”

A shudder ran through her. There was no mistaking the sound of his voice, no matter how few words he spoke. Again she fought with all her strength to turn around, to look at him, but her body wouldn’t do what she wanted.

“Are you sure you want me to read another?” she asked, not understanding her own question. “You’re working even later than usual tonight.”

“I am often awake at this hour. You, however, typically retire far earlier. At the risk of sounding ungrateful for the gift of your company, is there anything in particular keeping you from your bed, Inquisitor?”

Inquisitor. 

She must be in some kind of vision again, though this one was much more vivid than the last. When she’d dreamed herself rising from her bed to look at the snowy skies, she had embodied the Inquisitor fully, with no remaining consciousness of herself. This was much, much worse.

Her body was moving now, though she seemed to be along for the ride rather than in control of it. She rose from the chair, carelessly tossing the folio onto the desk. Something in his words had agitated her enough to spur her to action.

“I understand your insistence on formality when we’re in council or out on the road,” she said. “But it’s really not necessary when it’s only the two of us.” 

She turned around, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the desk and crossing her legs. Informality was a tool she’d learned to wield against him - to lure him in so she could pry his armor off piece by piece. Only once she’d arranged herself to her satisfaction did she chance a look at him.

His back was turned to her but it hardly mattered. She knew his shape well enough, even beneath the strange clothes he wore. Legwraps, the likes of which she’d only seen made by Dalish elders who maintained the knowledge of their oldest crafts, hugged his calves and thighs. His sleeves were pulled past his elbows, granting him freedom in his movements and protecting his light colored tunic from the splatters of paint that dotted his forearms. A paintbrush was balanced loosely between his fingers, and he tapped it pensively as he considered her words.

Ellana warred against herself again: she had always known him like this; he was entirely new. She had explored every part of him; she had touched him only once, only in a dream, and since then she’d known weeks of nothing but denial and frustration. 

He hummed thoughtfully as his arm made a long arc across the wall, leaving rusty pigment as soft as watercolor behind on the shining plaster. “Of course,” he said. “I understand your discomfort with the title. I shall endeavor to set it aside when we are alone. Forgive me for not considering it sooner, lethallan.”

She scoffed. “Where I come from, ‘lethallan’ is still quite formal. I’ve given you my name. You’re welcome to use it.”

“Lady Lavellan, then.” He paused in his efforts, leaned his head slightly to the side. She caught a hint of his profile. He was goading her, glancing sidelong for her reaction.

“The Dalish don’t use human titles, as you’re well aware,” she said, patience waning. “You’re being difficult on purpose, Solas.” 

Saying his name was a revelation. She’d known it was going to happen as soon as she saw him, and yet it still sent her heart to her throat. 

He chuckled faintly at her annoyance.

“Ellana is fine. Just Ellana,” she clarified unnecessarily.

Saying her own name was much worse. She resented hearing it in this place, so far from what she knew, and belonging to someone who had caused her so much trouble.

He sank down on his haunches and dropped his paintbrush into a waiting pitcher of water. He remained there for a few long moments as Ellana watched the tension in his legs and the bounce of his heels. She was familiar with this sort of hesitation. He had made up his mind about something. What that something was remained to be seen. But he had come to a decision and was now steeling himself to follow through with it. 

Solas stood and faced her.

He was exactly the same, from the sculpt of his cheeks to the cleft in his chin and the scar above his eye. He regarded her with that grey-blue gaze just as he had when they’d met on a mountaintop and when they’d met in a museum.

Then she saw the wolf’s jaw hanging from his neck. She had only a second to consider it before he spoke and her world tipped over again.

“Very well,” Solas said, head bowed. “Ellana.” His eyes were on the ground. 

She was grateful he hadn’t looked up at her. Her face would have betrayed everything - the part of her reeling because she was hearing it for the first time, and the other part that knew she was going to make him say it over and over again: whispered into her ear, moaned against her thigh, breathed into her mouth.

“In answer to your earlier question, I have perhaps another hour to work on this section of the mural before the plaster dries. If you are offering, I would certainly enjoy hearing you read the dissertation. It is newly arrived from the Minrathous Circle.”

He turned his back to her again, speaking his next comment into the wall.

“Your insights are always invaluable, and I enjoy having someone with whom I can discuss such things. That is, again, if you do not wish to retire to your bed for the night?”

She had dodged the question once - an easy choice when she had the opportunity to scold him for the use of her title. Now, she had to settle for an indelicate change of topics. She was not ready for him to send her away so easily, nor was she foolish enough to think it was some kind of invitation.

“Before we begin,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask - you’re obviously an accomplished painter. In fact, I was recently given a report by the Inquisition’s archivist - did you know we have an archivist?”

“I did.” He returned to his painting.

“Well, he was very impressed. There was a line I really liked about the ‘measured nature’ of your process. It seems you have an admirer.”

“I believe you were asking a question?” Solas said, brush sweeping across plaster once more.

“Oh, I was. Is painting the extent of your artistic interests? Or are you this proficient in other mediums as well?”

“I enjoy a variety of artistic endeavors.”

“Such as?”

Another pause, this one long enough that a drip of paint slipped from the brush and trailed down his index finger. He crouched again, retrieving a rag from beside the pitcher.

“Drawing,” he said, cleaning the paint from his hands. “Occasionally. When a subject is interesting enough that I wish to capture it fully.”

“Does it help you plan your murals?”

“Not especially. The murals are a separate endeavor. A project for the Inquisition. The sketches are … more selfish in nature.” 

“Selfish?”

“In that they serve no greater purpose,” Solas explained. “They are simply a means for me to catalogue my thoughts and observations.”

“That sounds like a purpose.”

“Perhaps,” Solas conceded.

“Are they … are they private? Or would you be willing to share some of them?”

“With Archivist Banon?”

“With me,” she clarified, annoyed that he’d made her do so.

“Ah.”

Ellana scowled at the laughter she could hear in his voice.

He tossed the rag to the ground, then took a step away from the mural, hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. Though her heart fluttered in her chest, Ellana knew this was another ploy, an attempt to stall for time. He’d already made up his mind.

“There are several sketches in the black book on the desk,” he said, finally. “You are welcome to them, if they interest you.”

She wasn’t certain, from the way he’d phrased it, whether that meant she could just look at the sketches or actually take them. The idea of the latter was exhilarating - that she might be able to lay claim to something Solas had created with his own hands, that she could carry it away with her and study it at her leisure, examining every detail to learn more about him.

But there was no question that he’d given his permission, at least, for her to look. She rearranged his books deliberately, as if she hadn’t noticed the one he’d mentioned immediately upon turning her attention to his desk. Slowly, she told herself, feeling his eyes were on her now.

The leather of the small bound volume was cracked and worn. He carried it with him everywhere - to every meeting and on every excursion. She had assumed it was simply for written notes, which was a prospect fascinating enough that she’d already longed to flip through its pages. But knowing that he had been drawing in it as well was almost more than she could bear. She turned to the first page.

His drawings felt like him. Precise. Expressive. Elegant. The subjects were varied - testament to  the expansive nature of both his knowledge and curiosity. She saw a reproduction of a blood lotus at the edge of a body of water, annotated with notes in his small, careful handwriting. A sketch of a trio of tents with a smouldering campfire in front of them and heavy storm clouds overhead. Pages filled with animals, trees, and mountains in the distance.

But as she reached the middle of the book, the focus shifted. The first hint was an incredibly detailed drawing of the back of a hand, the index finger resting as if turning a page. A few more sketches of the local flora, and then a mouth, the lips indecent with detail. A single elfroot, followed by the swell of collarbones leading to the curve of a neck, rendered with such longing that Ellana could almost feel a hand reaching out for it. Finally, a piece that began at a bare thigh and traveled down a long leg, the bones of its ankle carefully crafted, but the foot left unfinished.

Ellana steadied herself before she spoke, so as not to betray the violent thoughts she was harboring for whomever had posed like this for him. Why had she asked to look? Why had he told her that she could?

“Such a variety of subjects,” she said icily as she stared down at his desk. “These are very impressive.”

“Thank you, but I am uncertain I deserve such praise,” his voice rumbled from over her shoulder, closer than he had been a minute ago. “They lack accuracy.”

She turned her head and found him with his arm resting atop his chair. 

“What do you mean? You’re not usually so humble about your talents,” she said with what she knew was an unkind smile. “Your sketches are obviously beautiful, and they reveal such an intimate knowledge of your subjects.” 

She hadn’t meant for it to sound quite so accusatory. 

“Any understanding I have of this model’s form is entirely theoretical, I assure you,” he said softly.

“They … these are all the same person?” She was suddenly off-balance, unable to hide the confusion she felt. 

“Yes. And they are poor studies indeed if she cannot recognize herself in them.”

She stared at him, unable to break his gaze for a long moment until, finally, her curiosity drew her back down to the book. She flipped to the image of the hand again, searching for anything familiar. And there it was: the scar on the first knuckle of her middle finger. She’d had it since she was a child - a small colorless patch, the reminder of a burn she’d suffered when she’d been roasting marshmallows with her friends and a popping ember had landed on her skin. Or - perhaps that was wrong. Surely it was a consequence of the first time flame had manifested in her hands?

“I -” she began, but faltered, her voice trembling. 

She swallowed and tried again. 

“I doubt you’ve ever seen her ankle. Or her collarbones, for that matter,” Ellana said, dragging her eyes back to his.

“There are many demands on her time. I have not had as much access as would be necessary to make a more accurate study. Thus, I’ve been forced to employ imagination where reference is unavailable.”

She busied herself with closing the notebook, setting it down beside where she sat on the desk, her mind filled with precisely the sort of vivid images he had intended.

“Reference could be made available,” she said once she could look him in the face again. “If you would like an opportunity to fill in some of those gaps in your knowledge?” she said.

“Oh?” His reply was a little breathless - the closest thing she had to a hint of his true thoughts.

“It is an intriguing offer,” he said. “And, given the late hour, I suppose we do have the privacy necessary.” He glanced up at the empty upper levels that loomed above them.

Ellana followed his gaze. They were alone.

She hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. He’d asked for time to consider what had happened between them. Had he finally made up his mind?

“Now?” she asked, certain she had misunderstood and offering him another chance to back away. “I don’t want to interfere with your mural. Wouldn’t the wall dry before you’ve had a chance to finish your painting for the night?”

“It’s not a misfortune if I must scrape away some of the plaster and begin again tomorrow,” he said with a reassuring smile. “My pleasure arises from the process itself, every bit as much as its completion.”

She gripped the edge of the desk so hard she thought her nails might sink into the wood.

“In that case,” she said slowly, “ankle or collarbone?” 

She watched with satisfaction as his eyes roamed over each spot when she offered him his options. 

“It might be difficult to fit both in the same pose,” she reasoned.

“But not impossible,” he replied.

“Not impossible,” she agreed. “But two separate sketches mean two sittings.”

“A better outcome, you are correct,” Solas finally conceded. “Then, for this evening, I would request your collarbone.”

“Done,” Ellana smiled. She loosened the ties at her neck and slipped her shirt down her shoulders until she had exposed precisely as much as she’d promised, but no more. 

“I see now why you did not recognize yourself,” he said, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “My guesses were woefully inaccurate.” 

“You can’t blame yourself,” she said. “Well, I suppose you could. For not asking sooner.”

“Yes,” Solas replied. He leaned over her, close enough that the flap of his tunic brushed against her knees, as he retrieved his notebook and a charcoal pencil from the desk. He opened it to a blank page.

“How should I -” Ellana began. She had blustered her way through the past few minutes, but she was beginning to falter now under the intensity of his scrutiny. She rested her hands on her knees, uncertain how he wanted her to pose.

“Your hair,” Solas said.

“What about it?” she asked nervously.

“Would you be willing to pull it back? It would provide a - a clearer view.”

Ellana pulled a thin strip of leather from her pocket and tied her hair back in a loose bun. When she finished, she returned her hands to her knees. One of her sleeves had crept back up to her shoulder as she moved. Solas pinched the fabric of her shirt between careful fingers as he slid it back into place. His hand did not touch her, even through the fabric.

“Turn your head to the side,” he said. “Looking away from me.”

That was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, though she did realize it might make the process a little easier. Ellana did as he requested, looking over her left shoulder. 

“Relax your face as much as you can.”

She blinked a few times. Licked her lips. Swallowed. Settled into a neutral expression as she fixed her gaze on one of his completed murals. She saw his hand appear below her chin.

“Down slightly?” he requested. 

She did as he asked, and his hand was gone before her chin could touch it. Then he carefully pulled a strand of hair from her bun, moving it forward so it fell across her cheek. She licked her lips again, her throat impossibly dry. 

“Your hand,” Solas said.

“You’ve already drawn it,” she answered immediately.

“I would like to draw it again, if I may.”

She nodded, then flinched as she realized her mistake. Solas brought his thumb just shy of her chin again, encouraging her to tilt her head downward. 

“And remain still,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I know.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Bring your hand to the base of your neck. Spread your fingers slightly.” 

She hurried to follow his instructions. From the corner of her eye, she saw him settle himself into the desk chair.

“Can you hold this pose?” he asked. “Will it be comfortable?”

“I wouldn’t call it comfortable,” Ellana admitted, feeling the hard press of the desk beneath her thighs. “But I can stay like this for a while, at least.”

“Then I must not only thank you for your generosity, but also find some way to compensate you for your inconvenience,” he murmured, his pencil already scratching across the page.

“It’s not an inconvenience,” Ellana said. “Though, if you insist, I’m sure I could suggest a few ideas for compensation.”

The pencil stopped moving.

“We can discuss your terms once I’ve completed the work,” he said. “Conducting such negotiations while I draw might prove too much of a distraction. I would not wish to see your portrait suffer.”

“Hmm.” 

Ellana held back her grin. Solas admitting that he couldn’t focus if he continued the conversation was certainly a victory. 

She sat on his desk for what felt like an eternity. Every part of her was on edge, too sensitive and tightly wound. The slightest draft of cool air that breezed over her shoulders left her trembling. She had been still for long enough that her backside was slowly going numb, save for an occasional spark as her stinging nerves tried to force her to move. The tight press of her thighs as she sat with her legs crossed was nearly unbearable, heat pooling in her core as she overwhelmed herself with thoughts of what might happen next. Her nipples were peaked, rubbing against her breastband with each shallow breath she took. It was impossible to think he did not see.

She knew she must be blushing. It was infuriating not to know whether the same was true for him, or if he was as unruffled as he always appeared. Ellana listened to the soft rasp of his pencil against paper, interrupted occasionally as he paused to look. 

It might have been five minutes or five hours before Solas finally spoke again.

“Would you like to see?”

Ellana turned her head so fast that it pinched something in her shoulder after being still for so long. She ignored it. Desperate as she was to see his drawing, she also ignored the book that Solas held outstretched for her to take. She was only interested in seeing his face.

His eyes were downturned again, hidden beneath long lashes. His lips were parted, breathing quick enough that she could measure it in the rise and fall of his chest. His cheeks were deeply, obscenely red, and the flush had made its way as far down his collar as she could see from her vantage point above him. He gripped his pencil so tightly that she could see the veins in his forearm, pronounced beneath the freckles and specs of gold and orange paint dappling his skin. And she could not resist the temptation to cast her gaze lower, to trace with her eyes the clear shape of his arousal, evident even beneath the layers of clothing he wore.

With one question answered, Ellana finally turned her attention to his drawing. 

It was the Inquisitor’s face. It was her face. She could find herself even beneath the lines of the vallaslin. There was no denying now what she’d refused to see for months. But it was also more than this.

A different pose and perspective - a different drawing entirely than the one they’d found in the Arbor Wilds. And yet it was no less his. It was her face as Solas saw it, carefully and ardently rendered with all the same lines and details as he’d recreated on a canvas in his house somewhere so, so far away from here.

The Solas in front of her extended his notebook another inch closer to where she sat, his darkened eyes slowly moving up to her face. She offered her upturned palms and he placed the drawing in her hands, the tip of his middle finger lightly brushing against hers.

A door screeched open at the opposite end of the room. Solas immediately turned to the side so she could slide from the edge of his desk to the floor. She was grateful that her legs held her when she landed. 

Ellana’s eyes opened.

Chapter Text

Torches flared to life as Solas rushed through the tunnel. There was now more than enough light for him to see something laying in the middle of the passage ahead. He paused for a moment to examine it and discovered one of Ellana’s sandals. A dozen paces farther down the tunnel he found the second.

Solas knelt, grabbing each of her shoes - wondering why he bothered even as he did. If she were truly in danger, surely there were greater concerns than this? He realized, distantly, that he was panicking. He was focusing on what was at hand rather than the overwhelming possibilities of what could have happened to her, alone and unprotected in the darkness. 

How had he lost her again? It had been bad enough in the Arbor Wilds, when he’d foolishly left her and she’d then gone missing. This was much worse. The tunnels, he knew, were treacherous - impossible to navigate without assistance. And the guilt he felt was consuming. She had mattered to him then; she was precious to him now.

Solas forced himself to still, listening. He heard no footsteps or voices, but there was something beneath the tunnels’ heavy silence. He took a few cautious steps forward, turning his head down each junction he passed, searching for any sign of her. The torchlight followed him with its odd green glow.

But that wasn’t quite right, he realized.

The torchlight wasn’t following him. It was anticipating him. Sconces flared to life a few steps ahead of where he stood, and then to his left, down one of the branching pathways. 

Were his thoughts not so completely occupied, he might have wondered why. Instead, Solas began to run.

He didn’t question which way to turn or when. He didn’t doubt that torches would light as he willed. He knew his destination when he found it, and pressed a hand to the brick that gave way beneath his touch, the wall folding inward and leaving just enough space for him to pass through.

Solas didn’t understand what he saw at first. An elegantly furnished room, drier and warmer than the rest of the tunnels. And Ellana, her hand against the wall behind the desk, examining with rapt attention the mural that had been painted there. 

Relief surged through him. The dim light caught on the bones of her cheeks and illuminated the wild curls that haloed her face. Her expression was alert, completely focused on the mural.

When he took a tentative step forward, he heard the stones grind shut behind him. Ellana turned toward the noise. Her eyes went wide.

She crossed the room with purpose in her steps and something darker in her gaze. Now, he could see that her pupils were blown, and all of her was flushed.

She embraced him with enough force that his back slammed into stone behind him and pushed most of the air from his lungs. She stole what little remained when she covered his mouth with hers.

“Are you alright?” he asked when she took a breath.

“I am now,” she said, fisting her hands in his shirt and pulling him closer.

He kissed her, her face cupped in his hands, too grateful that he had found her safe to think of anything else. 

“Ellana-” 

He meant to ask what had happened, why she didn’t tell him she was leaving, how she had found this place. But he only got as far as saying her name before he felt a violent tremor run through her, the hair on her arms standing up beneath his touch.

She lifted herself on her toes and dragged her mouth to his ear.

“Say it again,” she told him.

He hesitated for only a second, but it was still too long. She licked her way up the length of his earlobe.

“Ellana,” he groaned out as she grazed her teeth across the tip. 

She shuddered in his arms and moaned against his cheek. He dipped his hands to her waist and pulled her closer, pressing her hips flush against his. He murmured her name over and over again, captivated by the way it sent a shiver through her each time. 

Her hand was between them, sliding down his chest, his stomach, then lower. Her first few strokes were restrained - two fingers pressing lightly down his length. Then, as she felt him harden beneath her touch, she shifted her position, gripping him with as much definition as she could through the layers of fabric that separated them. His hips stuttered against her. 

“What - what are you -” he managed to bite out as she touched him.

“Just making up for lost time.”

Solas swept his hands beneath her shirt as he understood. She was right. It had been too long. Ages. 

He had wanted her again from the moment they’d finished that morning. The memory of her promise that he would soon wake up inside her mouth had taken up permanent residence in his mind. He could picture so clearly the image of her hair spread out over his thighs that he had to force it from his thoughts before he lost himself.

They’d been interrupted as he tried to take her to the bed in the hotel, he remembered as his thumbs found the bottom of her breasts. And then, he’d spent the entire afternoon marveling as she read and debated, thrilled that she had finally lent her own brilliance to the subject that had long fascinated him.

He buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder. His initial efforts there were coherent enough - kissing and licking, his teeth gently scraping against her skin. But as her strokes grew faster and her grip tighter, before long he was simply panting, open-mouthed, against Ellana’s neck.

Through half-open eyes and with muddled thoughts, he caught a glimpse of the room again. Had there always been a stack of fresh parchment and an inkwell on the desk? Surely he had not missed the vase filled with blooming embriums. Recesses in the walls were filled with candles to provide a warm glow and soften the bizarre shadows the green flames in the scones threw around the room. 

The couch was now piled high with cushions. It was all but begging him to sweep Ellana into his arms and lay her down there, to kiss his way across her collarbones and whisper all the words he longed to say that he knew she could not yet hear. 

But that wasn’t what he wanted, Solas realized, blinking as he struggled to chase the thoughts from his mind.

“Wait,” Solas whispered into Ellana’s neck. 

The space was changing around them, becoming more inviting each time their eyes were turned, tempting them to linger. He distrusted it more with each new offering. The same instincts that had drawn him here now screamed that they should not stay. 

He battled with the part of his mind that was already lost entirely to her touch, forcing his hands to withdraw from below her shirt. He’d sped into the tunnels with absolute certainty she was in danger, that he must get her out. When and why had he forgotten that? 

“Ellana, wait.” Solas gently took her wrists in his hands. She started, then turned her face up toward his. There was something distant in her gaze. He stroked her arms from shoulder to elbow, trying to ground himself as well as her. She looked behind her, eyes going wide as she surveyed the room. After several long, shaking breaths, she blinked, then winced as if she had a headache. 

“What is it?” he asked, brushing a hand through her curls and holding the back of her head. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m fine. I was just … confused. It was like in the Arbor Wilds. When I felt like I could see two things at once.” She paused, struggling to catch her breath. “How did you find me?”

He thought of his flight through the tunnels, the adrenaline still pounding in his veins, and the fear now gnawing at the back of his neck.

“I’m not certain,” he said. “How did you find this place?”

Ellana laughed, but there was a strange edge to it. 

“I have absolutely no idea.”

His head swam with the heady scent of blossoming flowers that filled the air and the heat of their bodies still so close together.

“We should leave,” Solas said. He couldn’t shake his suspicions, nor the odd feeling that something was waiting just out of their sight.

“But don’t you want to -”

“I do,” he interrupted her, not certain whether she was asking if he wanted to investigate the place further, or if she meant something else entirely. His answer was the same, regardless. “But, still, we should leave.”

She frowned, and Solas could see that her chest still rose and fell as fast as his own. He tried not to look. Instead he knelt down, retrieving her shoes from where he’d dropped them when she’d knocked him against the wall. 

“Does your phone work?” Ellana took the sandals from him and quickly slipped them back on her feet.

He reached into his pocket, only to realize it was empty. In his haste to find her, he’d left it on the table in the meeting room.

“I don’t have it,” he confessed, bracing for Ellana to roll her eyes. She did. 

“Well, mine’s completely dead. I just thought we should get a picture of the room - especially that mural,” she said.

Solas looked at the wall behind the desk, only now seeing its distinct shapes and subjects, rather than a spread of color far less important than the woman who’d been standing in front of it. His mouth fell open in shock as he found the sword and eye at the center of the scene. 

“The Inquisition?”

Ellana nodded. “And wolves.”

He scanned the wall again, making note of every detail he could. “I think I could reproduce this without too much difficulty,” he said. “Once we get back into the library.”

The composition of the piece was symmetrical, which would make it far simpler to memorize. Solas focused on the smallest details that might otherwise escape him: the pattern behind the Inquisition’s eye that vaguely resembled links of a chain, the subtle texture of the wolves’ fur, and the specific colors the artist had chosen. The palette was limited but would be simple to duplicate once he was back home. The muted, almost rusty, orange was quite close, in fact, to a color he had mixed recently when he was -

“Solas.”

Ellana caught his jaw in her grasp and directed his gaze to her own. “We should leave,” she repeated his words back to him.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. He blinked, and saw the shapes of the mural like an afterimage behind his eyelids. How long had he been staring? 

“How do we get out of here?” 

“One of the bricks.” He turned to the wall, running his hand over the stones. “I touched one of them and an opening appeared.”

“That’s right.” Ellana took a step closer. “That happened to me, too. I saw the green light in my hand and then when I touched the wall it …”

Solas cast a sideways glance at her and found her staring at the stones in disbelief. Her face was still flushed but he thought he could actually see the color draining from it, her cheeks going pale in the dim light.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he told her. “There will be time to discuss it once we're out of here.”

She bit her lip, nodding, then began to search the stones as well. The longer it took them to find the way out, the more Solas strained against the urge to turn back around. It finally got the better of him and he looked over his shoulder for just a second - only to realize that the formerly empty bookshelves were now completely filled with ancient-looking tomes. Piles of books lined the edges of the room, and a bowl heaped with colorful berries and elaborate pastries rested upon the desk.

“Solas,” Ellana said as she grabbed his hand and pressed it back to the wall. “Stick with me, here.”

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. When that did him little good, he instead decided to focus on one, solid memory in particular: Ellana, at the table across from him on his patio in Lydes. Laughing as they ate dinner together. Her lips on a wine glass. One foot curled up beneath her as she leaned ever closer to him. A petal caught in her hair. 

He pressed his hand onto a brick that was chest-high on the wall. It gave beneath his touch and the stones began to rearrange themselves to form an opening.

“Here!” he yelled, grabbing Ellana’s hand and helping her through before he quickly followed behind. 

They stumbled out into the tunnels, pressing their backs against the wall opposite the one they’d just come through. Solas held Ellana tightly against his side, and together they watched as the bricks shifted and groaned, returning to their original shape. He chanced one final look into the room as the gap closed, but there was only darkness now.

“What the fuck?” Ellana whispered beside him, voice shaking. “What the fuck was that? Those bricks - did you see that?”

“I did.”

“And that room -”

“I think we should move,” Solas suggested, taking her hand. “Better to put some distance between ourselves and that place.”

She nodded quickly and Solas led the way down the passage that would take them back to the library entrance.

“It didn’t look like that - or feel like that - when I first found it,” Ellana said quietly.

“No?”

“It was normal. Well, obviously not normal, but - it was as normal as you’d expect for a hidden room in the middle of - of whatever these tunnels are. Does that make sense?”

It didn’t particularly, at least not to him. But Solas hummed his agreement and nodded anyway, hoping it would encourage Ellana to continue. “And when did it change?”

She let out an annoyed sigh. “I’m not sure exactly. It might have been when I -”

She stopped herself, and Solas saw her glance down at her left hand.

“When you?” 

“Or maybe it was when you got there?” Ellana shook her head. “I don’t know.”

She was obviously omitting something. Solas didn’t press her, but instead tried to get her to elaborate on how she’d ended up in the tunnels in the first place. She spoke hesitatingly, vaguely describing a sound - perhaps a song - that she’d investigated, and a shape - perhaps a creature - that she’d followed. 

With every word she spoke, Solas became increasingly wary of their surroundings. It was clear to him that Ellana had been baited into the tunnels for some purpose - but by whom and to what end, he had no guesses yet. 

They were nearly back to the staircase that would lead them up into the library when she suddenly froze.

“How are you doing this?” she asked, staring up at him. When he wrinkled his brow in confusion, she clarified, “How do you know where to go? And why are the torches lighting our way?”

“Is that not what happened for you?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“I don’t have an explanation,” he told her. “It’s just …”

“Instinct?” Ellana offered, an eyebrow raised in what Solas instantly recognized as disapproval.

“I realize it’s an unsatisfying answer,” he said. “But that does not make it incorrect.”

She didn’t reply but began walking again, halting only a few paces ahead when the scones on the wall failed to light for her. Solas hurried to catch up, filled with an irrational swell of guilt as the green flames burst to life when he passed. Ellana watched with the sort of interest that he knew would mean trouble for him eventually.

He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they found the steel door, holding it open as Ellana passed through first. She hurried over to the steps and sat down on one near the bottom, pulling her phone from her pocket as she did.

“It’s working again,” she confirmed. “The battery wasn't dead. It just didn't work down there.” 

She held the phone up in front of her face with one hand, carefully rubbing at the outer edges of her eyes. It took Solas a moment to understand she must be using her camera like a mirror, and then another moment of staring at the faint streaks of makeup just below her eyes to realize it looked like she’d been crying.

“Ellana,” he said, crouching in front of her and resting his hands on her knees. “What happened in that room?”

“Oh, it’s not -” She made a dismissive gesture and smiled sheepishly. “I just panicked a little bit when I realized I’d gotten turned around down there.”

Solas cursed himself for not checking on her sooner. She could downplay it all she wanted, but it was clear something had rattled her.

“Still,” he said. “What happened?”

Ellana told him, in a halting and noticeably incomplete narrative, how she’d experienced another vision of the Inquisitor. She explained that it was different, that she felt more conscious of herself than she had in her previous dream. She spoke of a huge, round room with a mural just like the one he’d seen. And she mentioned an advisor, someone with whom the Inquisitor discussed one of the very same writings that was now sitting in the meeting room above them.

“Oh, and one really weird thing,” Ellana added with a sudden rush of enthusiasm. Her delivery suggested this was an afterthought, but Solas suspected it might be something more calculated.

“Go on,” he said.

“I have a scar on my right hand.” She raised her hand as if to show him but he shook his head.

“On the first knuckle of your middle finger.”

She lowered her hand slowly, nodding as she gave him a curious look. Solas suddenly wondered whether this was an unusual thing to have memorized about her.

“That’s right,” Ellana said. “I’ve had it since I was young. It’s just a burn from when a bonfire popped and a spark landed on my hand. But when the Inquisitor looked at it, she had a different memory.”

“And yet still a scar in the same place?”

“Yes, but for her, it was from - from using …”

Ellana halted mid-sentence, even her hands freezing in the expressive pose she’d made as she told her story. After a pause, she clenched her fingers into fists and puffed a breath into her cheeks.

“Using what?” Solas asked, lost.

She stared at him as if he were being intentionally difficult.

“I’m sorry, I truly don’t understand,” he clarified.

Ellana leaned forward, elbows perched on her knees and her forehead resting in her hands. “It’s hard to explain,” she said, directing her words down toward the floor. “I couldn’t really hang on to her memory because she was only thinking about it in passing. But she was remembering the first time she managed to - to create fire, I guess. She had summoned fire into her hand and she must have not known exactly what she was doing yet, so it burned her before she could send it back to wherever it came from.

“Do you understand now?” Ellana looked up. “She was thinking about …” Words failed her again.

“You do not need to say it if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“Obviously I don’t want to, but between that, and the torches, and the bricks, how they …” She groaned, exasperated with the situation or, perhaps, herself. 

“I can say it, if you’d prefer,” Solas offered.

Ellana laughed, and it was the first time he’d seen anything that resembled genuine happiness on her face since he’d found her. 

“I’m going to say it, Solas,” she said, still chuckling. “Just give me a minute.” 

He nodded and stroked a hand down her shin. Ellana took a deep breath.

“Magic. She was thinking about learning magic. I guess - I mean, I don’t understand, but I guess it’s real? And not just was real, but is real.”

“I admit I’m still grappling with that particular possibility as well.”

“But that has to be it, right? You saw that room. The ancient furniture that looked brand new. The way it kept changing, adding things. How else can you explain it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I have no idea what that room was.”

“You don’t?” Ellana frowned.

“Do you?”

“I think I have a pretty good guess.” She was once again looking at him as if he should understand far more than he did. 

“Please,” he said, “enlighten me.”

“It’s what the Inquisitor was searching for in Vyrantium. A hideout, and a pretty cozy one at that. Think about it - hidden away in these tunnels. It would be impossible to find unless you knew it was there.”

Solas was tempted to point out that both he and Ellana had successfully discovered the so-called hideout without knowing it existed, but he held his tongue. 

“The way it was giving us whatever we needed or wanted - that would be really helpful if you were trying to stay away from the city as much as you could.”

“I see your point but isn’t it equally possible it’s being used by someone now? What is there to link it to the past, aside from the mural?”

“Did it feel new to you, Solas? Did it feel lived in?”

“No,” he conceded. It had felt, more than anything, like it was waiting - a beast in hibernation. 

“Besides, you can’t set aside the mural. It’s exactly the same as the one I saw in the Inquisitor’s memory. Someone recreated it here. Why would they do that?”

“A fondness for the piece?” Solas suggested. “Or perhaps a reminder of some sort?”

“You saw it. The sword and the wolves together. It fits with everything else we’ve learned.” 

Ellana stared at him as if waiting for him to add something. He wasn’t entirely certain what she expected him to say. 

When he didn’t reply, she leaned in closer.

“Fen’Harel.”

Her eyes were locked on his, and Solas was struck by the sense that he absolutely should not look away, though he had no idea why. 

“You mean you think that room belonged to, or was created by, the person for whom the Inquisitor was searching? The ‘F.H.’ from her notes?” he said, carefully.

“Does that make sense to you?” Ellana asked.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Did you see someone in her memory that might have been the individual we discussed?”

Ellana gave a quick shake of her head, then her gaze was back on the ground. “The Inquisitor spent most of that memory staring a mural,” she said.

“I see.” She hadn’t quite answered his question.

“We should get back to Dorian and Loranil.” Ellana stood suddenly, leaving Solas crouching beneath her. “I don’t even know how long we’ve been gone.”

“We don’t need to stay at the library any longer today, if you would prefer to take some time to rest.” He rose and began to follow her up the winding staircase. “We can make our excuses, then head out for the evening. It’s growing late, and we can begin fresh tomorrow.” 

“Please,” she agreed with a groan. “My feet are killing me and I’ve never wanted a bath so badly in my life.”

Solas tried to laugh, but he was already bracing himself to offer what he knew he should next.

“Given the effects we usually feel after close contact with the phenomena, it might be best to go to the restaurant another day. Perhaps we could have dinner in our room instead?”

“So you’re cancelling the date?” Ellana replied, looking over her shoulder. 

“Well, no - I didn’t mean … that wasn’t …” Solas hurried up the stairs, trying to catch up with her. 

“I’m kidding, Solas.” She rested a hand on his chest as he reached her eye level, still standing a few steps lower than her. “You’re right, we can go some other day.”

She smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Solas immediately wished he hadn’t suggested a change of plans. Perhaps he had achieved nothing but to once again remind her of his foolishness in Boranehnan.

“I think it would be good to have some time alone to talk,” Ellana said.

Chapter Text

Ellana tipped back her head and rested it on the edge of the bathtub. Fatigue was slowly replacing adrenaline, and her headache had never truly left. She was doing her best to organize her thoughts but it was nearly impossible with quite so many of them.

The Inquisitor's name - that was an annoyance more than a problem. The fact that people, the Inquisitor included, were once able to influence the world in a way she could only describe as 'magic' - again, not exactly a problem but definitely the kind of life-shattering realization that might force her to reevaluate everything she thought she knew. The source of those magical energies being a place that even the Inquisitor's contemporaries didn't fully understand - well that could become a problem, and one she'd prefer to leave to Solas, except …

Solas was definitely a problem.

Ellana heaved a sigh as she once again reviewed the conversation she’d witnessed. She’d been caged, locked into what must have been the Inquisitor’s memory without being able to affect it herself in any way. She'd watched their idiotic game - the Inquisitor reading to Solas as he painted, all while he couldn’t even look at her when he said her name. She could have made that woman’s life so much easier. She would have grabbed Solas’ wrist when he moved her chin, pressed his thumb deep into her mouth and then pushed him down into his chair. She would have fucked him within an inch of his life and both he and the Inquisitor could write her an eloquently worded thank you letter, filled with their stupid double entendres, that she’d find in a forest somewhere a few hundred years later.

Shit. Her fingers were pressing against her inner thigh again.

She'd slipped her hand between her legs before the bathtub had even completely filled with water. Her thoughts had been messy, and what she’d imagined even more so. 

She hadn’t shared the full story with Solas because she might need leverage. That’s what Ellana told herself. In the extremely unlikely event that she was dealing with something a lot more complicated than the already very complicated thing she knew she was dealing with, she didn’t want to show her hand too soon.

And maybe, if she was being completely honest, she was also thinking about sneaking back to that room to try to experience another of the Inquisitor’s memories. 

"Idiot," Ellana whispered, closing her eyes.

It was such a bad idea. She probably couldn’t even find her way back again without Solas, and she doubted he’d agree to it after what had happened today. Besides, she wasn't sure she wanted Solas anywhere near that room. She couldn't understand how she'd shifted so suddenly from being nearly senseless with desire to every nerve in her body screaming at her that Solas was in danger.

Ellana was pretty sure Solas had emerged from that room under the exact opposite impression - that she was the one at risk. He'd barely stopped touching her since he found her - clasping her hand in his, or wrapping his arm around her waist. It was almost as if he thought she was going to break away and fly back to the hideout if he didn't hold on to her.

And that was stupid. She definitely wasn't going to do that. Obviously.

But she was just so curious. She knew now what she’d been avoiding for the past two days. The voice in her first dream had absolutely been Solas. He’d been sharing the Inquisitor’s bed by that point, which meant it must have happened sometime after the memory she’d just experienced. And the other Solas had called the Inquisitor vhenan. Had she called him that, too?

And why, if they’d used that word with each other, was the Inquisitor searching for him just a few years later? Had he left her because he wanted to or because he was forced? And if it had happened to them, could it happen to …

Ellana dipped her head below the water’s surface. She blew all the air out of her lungs, felt the bubbles rise past her nose on their way upward, and sank to the bottom of the tub.

Fate is bullshit, Ellana told herself. Nothing is inevitable. Don’t you dare fucking think about how all your scars are the same. 

Before she'd retreated to the tub, Ellana found a copy of the hotel's room service menu and handed it off to Solas. She told him to pick something for both of them, thinking it would provide a distraction while she shut herself in the bathroom and figured out whether she was going to have a breakdown. When she finally emerged, it was clear he had been busy.

He'd opened the doors to the balcony again, inviting in the scent of the sea and the faint hum of music playing somewhere below. Their room's small round table was now filled with covered plates, so Solas had moved onto the bed to work. His laptop was open in front of him and he was scribbling furiously in his notebook when Ellana returned. He halted when he saw her.

Josie had stolen her robe, of course, but at least the replacement was an indisputable upgrade. It was still black, still silk (though a much finer quality than her old one), and it reached nearly to her ankles. She'd left the tie at her waist a bit looser than was either necessary or advisable. As Solas' eyes took in the deep plunge the robe formed on her chest, she reminded herself that this could also be used as leverage.

He closed his notebook, moved his laptop onto the nightstand, and then stood to kiss her cheek. It might have been very chaste and concerned if he hadn't so obviously placed his hand on the front of her shoulder so that his fingers rested on the silk but his thumb traced the top of her breast.

Leverage only works if it doesn't backfire on you, she thought.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better. Well. A little better. What did you order?" she nodded toward the table.

Ellana guessed from the way his face lit at the question, as well as the menu sitting next to his laptop, that he'd very likely researched everything the hotel offered before making up his mind.

Solas removed the covers from the plates, happily explaining that he'd chosen several local specialties, none of which was exactly an entree, but together would provide a good sampling of the region's cuisine. There was pasta stuffed with wild greens and topped with a walnut pesto, and several slices of warm focaccia that shone with oil and smelled like rosemary. He briefly revealed dessert: meringues sweetened with honey and then boiled in milk, served floating atop a pistachio cream. It was apparently an Orlesian dish but one he had never seen prepared with these particular flavors. Solas was so obviously delighted by the idea that Ellana was shocked he managed to set it to the side rather than suggesting they take dessert first.

He pulled out her chair, poured two glasses of wine, and then sat opposite her.

Don't lose focus, she told herself. Distracting him with dinner and a half-open robe was a good idea. Unfortunately, she had the obnoxious weakness of finding his enthusiasm utterly fucking charming.

Ellana stabbed one of the little filled pastas, watching as Solas stared contemplatively out the window. Not for the first time in the past few hours, she tried to reconcile her Solas with the one she'd seen in the Inquisitor's memory. There were obvious similarities, even aside from his appearance and artistic ability. She could imagine her Solas carrying on a very similar conversation to the one she'd seen - and, well, she had, actually, pictured her Solas doing exactly that albeit with a very different conclusion.

Not the point. She viciously impaled another piece of pasta on her fork, drawing Solas' attention back to her as the plate rattled against the table.

"Are you -"

"I feel like I don't know you as well as I should," Ellana blurted out.

Not the fucking plan, she thought. Usually, her plans were very good - really sound. Only when Solas was involved did things start to fall apart a little.

"You don't?" He seemed genuinely surprised by this, maybe even concerned, judging from the way he'd started to frown.

"Well I know a lot, I guess. Or … I'm not sure. Do I?" She hadn't expected him to contradict her on this point and found herself immediately, annoyingly on the back foot.

"More than most," he said quietly.

She didn't know how to reply. Both the answer and the quiet acceptance in his tone made her wonder whether she'd overstepped in some way, or if maybe he just wasn't used to talking about himself. Solas sipped his wine and Ellana gathered all her strength to attempt something that scared the hell out of her.

"Can't your girlfriend ask you a few questions about yourself?"

She got it out without stumbling over the words - a minor miracle. She took a long sip from her own glass, hoping that any flush in her cheeks could be misattributed to the alcohol.

Solas had frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth. After a moment, he set it back down on his plate.

"Of course she can," he said, his voice even softer than it was a moment ago. "What would you like to know?"

"Right, well …" Ellana hesitated.

This is your job. You are good at this, she thought, absolutely furious that she felt like she needed to give herself a pep talk. You have asked much tougher questions to much tougher subjects. Stop being an idiot just because you've seen him naked.

"We can start with the basics. Where did you grow up? How did you become the Police Nationale's most-arrested and least-convicted protester? Just a few ideas."

Solas chuckled but he had clasped his hands in front of him on the table and was ignoring the food he'd been so excited about a few minutes ago. Nervous, Ellana thought, though it could be for any number of reasons.

"I suspect I've made it seem more dramatic than it really is," he said. "Truthfully, there's not much to tell. I lived in many different places, mostly in the North, when I was young."

"Your family moved around a lot?"

He looked down at the table, and Ellana wished she hadn't asked. She'd suddenly remembered Alexius threatening him in the Arbor Wilds - how he'd said Solas had no 'real' family.

"No. I moved often when I was young," he clarified. "I never knew my family. The only thing they gave me was my name. There is a particularly impressive irony to being left in front of a hospital with a note declaring that you should be called Pride."

Ellana was trying not to look completely horrified, but she knew she must be failing. She set her utensils on her plate.

"I didn't mean for that to sound quite so grim," Solas said.

"I'm so sorry, Solas," Ellana quickly replied. "I didn't realize what I was asking, obviously."

"There is no need to apologize," he assured her as he reached across the table to take her hand. "I wouldn't share this with you if I were uncomfortable doing so. It's simply a story I don't often tell, and so perhaps I am out of practice.

"As I have already told you, I've seen many of the phenomena we're now studying for as long as I can remember. At first, I didn't understand that not everyone experienced what I did. I'm sure you can imagine how concerning it was to hear about strange lights in the sky and ruins behind the house that weren't actually there."

Ellana sank down a few inches in her seat, only now understanding the weight of what he'd shared with her the night she'd first seen the green light in her hand.

"I did not intentionally cause trouble when I was young," Solas continued, "but I often found my way into it, regardless. Books interested me a great deal, but sometimes my desire to learn manifested in ways that were difficult for my caretakers. Breaking into a library to spend the night reading there, for example."

"Did you really?" Ellana asked, fascinated.

"I'm afraid so. There was a quite an uproar. The authorities were called. No one found me until the next morning. I was waiting at the librarian's desk to check out a stack of books I hadn't had time to finish overnight. I was moved not long after that."

Ellana put a hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. "Sorry," she apologized again. "The ending of that story is too sad to laugh about but -"

"It is very amusing in hindsight," Solas agreed, smiling.

"Do you remember any of the books you read?"

His cheeks went pink and he busied himself tearing a slice of focaccia in half. Ellana stared, now more curious than ever.

"OK, now you have to tell me."

"I read many books that night," Solas said, obviously stressing this point, "but I do recall it was the first time I read any of the Randy Dowager collections."

This time, Ellana had to put both of her hands over her mouth. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, voice muffled.

Solas shook his head.

"So you developed an early appreciation for romance literature? Is that what I'm hearing?"

He laughed, then rested an elbow on the table and pressed his red cheek into his palm. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that."

"No. It's the best thing you could have told me."

Ellana took a slice of bread for herself, relieved that they'd almost immediately deviated from the questions she'd intended to ask. She might have never heard this story otherwise.

"So what else did you get up to?" Ellana asked.

"Besides the occasional break-in?"

"Is that a joke or did it actually happen more than once?"

"The second time wasn't a library. It was my school."

"Why?" Ellana asked, shocked again.

"I wanted to use the chemistry lab for something."

"For what?"

"I don't really remember. I just know it seemed urgent at the time."

"You're lucky you didn't burn down the school … unless that's the next beat of this story?" Ellana added as the possibility occurred to her.

"That would never have happened," Solas said as if it were a completely ridiculous thing to suggest. "I was excellent at chemistry."

"Oh, of course you were," Ellana shrugged. "You must have been a model student aside from the breaking and entering."

"I was!" Solas happily insisted. Ellana saw how the tension had eased from his shoulders, how he'd noticeably relaxed and sunk into the back of his chair, taking his glass with him. "Any of my teachers would agree."

"I'm sure," Ellana said, grinning.

"When I was finally free to live on my own, I went to Val Royeaux. It was a city and it was far from everything I'd seen in the North, and that was good enough at the time."

"You must have been very young to be in a city the size of Val Royeaux alone. Did you even know the language then?"

"No, not really," he let out a quiet laugh. "But I learned as quickly as I could. I found friends and causes that mattered to me. It was difficult, yes, but fulfilling."

"I had no idea." Ellana slowly shook her head.

"I hadn't told you," Solas replied with more grace than she probably deserved.

"By then, I knew the only thing I wanted to do was teach, though I wasn't certain anyone would let me. But my school record was excellent, I tested well, and I secured recommendations from several teachers - including the one whose chemistry lab I made use of."

Ellana tried not to smile as he was obviously entirely too proud of that detail already.

"So you completed your degree at UVR? I've heard their programs can be very demanding."

"It was, but I enjoyed it immensely - even if most of the university's faculty had noticeable biases."

Ellana rolled her eyes. "I bet that's putting it mildly."

"Probably," Solas acknowledged. "But that was also when I was at my most ... politically active. It provided something of an outlet to the Orlesian narrative I was hearing in the classroom."

"I bet that's putting it mildly, too."

Solas laughed. "Yes, I suppose. It was clear to me I wouldn't be a good fit in UVR's doctoral program. So when the time came, I applied elsewhere."

"Cumberland," Ellana said. It was where he'd met Cass and Varric. "Only the most prestigious history program in Thedas, with a ridiculously low acceptance rate. How many times did you apply?"

Solas cast his eyes down at the table. He slid the bowl of pasta toward her, almost as if he were offering the final bite as an apology. Ellana immediately understood what he didn't let himself say.

"Really? Just once?"

"I was fortunate."

More like brilliant, Ellana thought.

"And it was a good application," Solas added, not quite managing to maintain the humility he'd started with.

Ellana smiled, swirling the pasta through the pesto to collect as much as she could from the bottom of the bowl. Of course everything he'd chosen had been delicious - the flavors bright and fresh, and the wine complimentary.

Solas' stories were just as carefully curated. It was easy enough to find the gaps in everything he hadn't said. She could trace the shape of unthinkable hardship, minimized by humorous anecdotes. Each time he revealed how the people who might have protected him had failed in their duty, he waved it off as either inevitability or some fault of his own. She'd let him get away with it and wouldn't press him on the portions he'd decided not to include. But that did nothing to satisfy the part of her that wanted to track down every single person who'd given up on him so she could tell them just how awful and foolish they'd been.

Solas cleared their empty plates to the side of the table, then uncovered the long-awaited dessert. Ellana refilled their glasses. She had even more to think about than before dinner began, but it somehow felt far less intimidating.

"May I ask a personal question?" Solas said, fetching her out of her introspection.

"Of course. Anything."

It was impossible to think of denying him when he'd been so honest with her. Still, she saw Solas' brow crease. If she didn't know better, she might have thought he'd expected her to refuse.

"Why did you decide not to take the vallaslin?" he said.

"Oh!" Of all the things he might have asked, she certainly hadn't expected that. Ellana dipped a spoon into the soft meringue as she hesitated to respond.

"You don't have to -"

"No, I don't mind."

"I understand, from reading your book, that it's not something everyone chooses to do," Solas offered.

"Right," she nodded. Of course she knew that Solas had read her book - he taught it, after all. But it was still a little unnerving to think about, to realize he'd had a glimpse of her long before they'd actually met.

"I'm not really a 'believer,'" Ellana said. "Trust me, I realize the irony of that given everything that we've seen. But I like proof - stories with citations, not with myths."

"Do you see it as a dichotomy?"

"No. I realize there's plenty of ambiguity in the middle, especially when it comes to history. Less so when it comes to ancient deities," she said pointedly. She paused long enough to give him a chance to disagree, but he said nothing.

"Given my … situation, I felt it wouldn't be honest to take the vallaslin when I'd already made up my mind to leave."

Solas had somehow managed to make it through half his dessert in the short time she'd been speaking. Ellana watched as he started on his second meringue, waiting for him to jump on the opening she knew she'd left exposed.

"Your situation?" he said, finally.

"I was raised by my clan's Keeper."

It was no surprise he knew what that meant, but it still made her nervous to watch as his eyebrows raised.

"Really?"

"Well, I was raised by a lot of people in the clan. That's kind of how it works. But, technically, my home was with Keeper Deshanna."

"You were training to be your clan's First?"

"No. I mean, yes. At least, that was the plan when I was young. But it never got very far."

"May I ask why?"

Ellana let out a small laugh as she shrugged. "I went away to school and I loved it. Markham felt like home to me and I wanted to stay. Part of the reason Merrill and I became friends was because she's also her clan's First. I saw her, working on her own research and writing, and I figured maybe I could do the same thing. The difference between us is that she accepts she'll go back to her clan one day, when it's time for her to take over as Keeper. I realized pretty quickly I didn't want that.

"So I got it into my head that I could do just as much good for my clan outside my community. And I tried that, for a little while. But once I started working at the Journal, I realized I was interested in a lot of other stories, too. Writing that book was kind of my thank-you to Deshanna."

"I'm sure she appreciated it," Solas kindly offered.

"Eh," Ellana grimaced, the memory still a bit raw. "You'd be surprised. Honestly, she saw it for it what it was - an excuse. If I'd already written the literal book on the Dalish, then I could move on and write about other things instead, and Deshanna couldn't fault me for it. At least that was the hope," Ellana shrugged as she slowly pulled her spoon through the thick cream. "Obviously, things don't always work out the way we plan."

Solas was quiet for a long moment, and Ellana found she was nervous to look up at him. She'd had an abundance of family - more than she could name or count. Her clan had guided her, taught her, kept an eye on her, knowing that one day it would be her responsibility to do the same for them. And then she'd left. How would that look to someone whose experience was so dissimilar?

"Forgive me if it isn't my place to say," Solas said, "but I think you're being needlessly harsh on yourself. Most people have a variety of research interests. It's not a personal failing to focus on one over another."

"Well, it kind of is, if you were expected to be Keeper one day."

"A choice you did not originally make for yourself."

"Still."

Ellana rested her spoon on the edge of her plate. She'd returned to visit her clan less and less since she took the job at the Journal. Even their calls had become infrequent. That had only begun to change in the past few months, after the story of Inquisitor Lavellan broke. As with everything related to the Inquisitor, Ellana was conflicted in her feelings about it.

She looked up and found Solas watching her with a curious expression. "Sorry," she said. "Just not something I've talked about much."

"I understand," he nodded. "For what it's worth, I thought your piece exposing the plans of the Denerim government to seize a portion of Dalish land in the Brecilian Forest was some of the best reporting I've ever read. And it is certainly an example of protecting your community, even from outside it."

"You read that?"

"I've read - yes. I read it."

Ellana was shocked. That story was incredibly dense. It had taken her months to research and had only really come together once she'd persuaded a government employee to leak some particularly sensitive documents.

"Thank you," Ellana said, letting out a nervous chuckle. "I'm really proud of that one, actually. It didn't make me any friends in Denerim, as I'm sure you'd guess. And with the Journal's main office there, Cass really had to go out on a limb for me - fight the owners, fight the advertisers. But she's good at that."

"Indeed she is. I'm glad she supported you. You said what needed to be said, despite the risks."

He was looking at her in exactly the same way he had on the train that morning - with too much honesty and too much understanding.

Ellana knew what she had to do.

She stood, gathering her robe around her. "I'm just going to go wash my hands," she said as Solas nodded.

Ellana hurried to the bathroom, then leaned back against the door. Her guilt pressed so heavily on her shoulders that she wanted to sink into the tiles beneath her feet.

She hadn't needed leverage. Solas wasn't some adversarial interviewee who was intentionally keeping things from her. He was supposed to be her partner in this.

Not only 'in this,' she reminded herself.

She'd already decided she was going to tell him the truth. Hopefully it wouldn't take all night to work up the courage to do so.

They exchanged stories a while longer, until the music below their window finally stopped and all they heard was the rush of the sea as it met the shore. Solas finished the last of the meringues, then gathered their dishes to leave outside their room. Ellana divided what remained of the wine into their glasses before she sat on the edge of the bed and steeled herself to speak.

"I didn't tell you everything I saw in the Inquisitor's memory." She forced the words from her lungs before she could stop herself.

He hesitated for only a second, then nodded as if this had been completely obvious. Ellana fought a scowl as she realized she'd clearly been too distracted earlier to sell the half-story as well as she should have.

Solas moved one of the chairs to the end of the bed and sat down in front of her. For a brief second, Ellana faltered - their positions were too similar to her memory of the round room. But then he leaned back and propped up his feet on the bed. It was an unexpectedly casual pose, and when his eyes met hers without hesitation it immediately dispelled the illusion.

Solas tipped his head to the side, inviting her to continue.

"The advisor I told you about." Ellana swallowed. "I don't know how to explain this, but he looked like you - exactly like you. And she called him by your name."

Solas took in a long breath, the bridge of his nose pinched as he thought.

"There's more," Ellana said, worried she would lose her nerve if she waited for him to respond.

She told him everything this time. She explained the Inquisitor's name, the murals, the sketches, every detail she could remember about the other books and items on the desk. She showed him the scan from Merrill with his name written in the Inquisitor's hand.

Then, she recounted the conversation. Her eyes were on her feet and her glass was clutched too tightly between her fingers. She was horrified to realize that she remembered nearly every word.

When she finally finished, she found Solas staring out the window with a perfectly neutral expression, his chin resting thoughtfully in one hand. His glass, nearly empty, was balanced in the other, the stem threaded between his fingers.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Ellana asked.

He still didn't immediately reply, so she poked him in the middle of his foot. Solas yelped, his leg snapping back as he hurried to stop his wine from spilling.

"I'm not calm," he said, moving his feet several inches away from where she sat. "I'm thinking."

"Well do it out loud, please."

"Fine. I suppose my first question is: Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now," Ellana crossed her arms over her chest. "It's only been a few hours. It took you three months to tell me that you had a daydream about drawing the Inquisitor's portrait."

Solas held up a hand in surrender. "You misunderstand. It wasn't an accusation. I am curious why you made that decision."

"I wasn't thinking about it all that rationally," Ellana admitted. "A lot of weird shit happened really quickly and I was doing the best I could. And … it feels stupid to say it now, but for a minute there I just wasn't sure if you knew something I didn't."

"I promise I have told you everything I know." He dropped his legs back to the floor and leaned forward. "I wish I had not given you reason to doubt that."

"You haven't," she hurriedly replied. "And I wasn't - I believe you, Solas." She sighed. "I just wish I understood what the fuck was happening."

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "As do I."

"You're taking this a lot better than I expected."

"No. Not really. I suppose the wine and the exhaustion are making it appear that way. I assure you I will exhibit the appropriate amount of distress in the morning."

Ellana laughed. "I don't want you to be distressed. I just don't think I can handle it if you're not at least half as nervous about it as I am."

"I think perhaps I had prepared myself for something like this," Solas said. "Though I couldn't have explained why I did so."

"You suspected this?"

"No. 'Suspect' is too strong a word." He paused for a moment, thinking again. "It was the familiarity of the drawing that worried me. The way it felt like my own. How easy it was to replicate."

Ellana saw his eyes briefly flick toward something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and was reminded of him scribbling in his notebook earlier.

"The mural?" she guessed.

Solas nodded. "I saw it once, and so briefly. But I'm confident I reproduced it exactly."

"Ugh," Ellana let out a disgusted grunt as she stepped down from the edge of the bed.

"Yes," Solas agreed. "Though I suppose it's a convenient outcome, if I don't allow myself to think too deeply on any questions it raises about autonomy or causation."

"And how's that working for you?" She took his empty glass from his hand.

"Poorly."

Ellana set both glasses on the table, then stood in front of Solas' chair.

"Thanks for panicking with me, even if your version is a little quieter than mine," she said.

"Hmm." He wrapped his arms around her thighs, drawing her close enough that he could lean his head against her stomach. "I wonder," he said, "would it make things better or worse if you explained what precisely is causing your panic?"

"Both, probably," Ellana admitted as her hands came to rest atop his head.

She had a good idea why the Inquisitor and the other Solas bothered her so much - she'd sorted that much while she was submerged in the tub. She didn't know if she could explain it without stumbling, but perhaps it would be easier now that she couldn't see his face.

"I don't understand how they're connected to us," Ellana said, "but it seems obvious they are in some way. And I hate that."

"Why?"

She slid a hand down the back of his neck, her thumb gently kneading the muscle that stretched across to his shoulder. Too late, she realized she was trembling and knew Solas would feel it in her touch. But he said nothing, and after a minute or two, Ellana found that soothing some of his tension had helped to ease her own.

"Because I want what we have to be just ours. Not anyone else's. And not some inevitable thing that caught up to us. I don't want someone else to have made that choice for me. I chose you myself. I want you to be mine."

Her throat was so tight she had to stop, and it felt like a gift - her body failing just in time to prevent her from saying any of the wilder things that threatened to spill out.

She felt the stretch in his neck as he tilted his head up to look at her. Ellana rushed to regain control of her expression. There wasn't enough time. There never would have been.

"I am yours," Solas breathed.

She wondered why it made him blush deeper than she'd ever seen.

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair and grinning as she saw his gaze dip to her chest.

"Good," she said against his mouth before she kissed him.

He weaved his fingers between silk and skin to curl around the back of her thigh. She grabbed his free hand and twisted him toward the bed.

Whatever idiot said patience was a virtue had never experienced a day like the one she'd just had.

The belt that held Ellana's robe closed offered no resistance when Solas slipped a finger through it. She shrugged and the silk pooled with a whisper at her feet. It was a satisfying, if simple, conclusion to a desire that had preoccupied him all night.

Ellana pulled his shirt out of his pants and then turned her attention to his belt. He leaned back against the bed, drinking in the sight of her fair skin and dark, still-damp hair.

His pants were at his ankles by the time he stopped staring at her, and he was only then diverted by his shirt suddenly blocking his view. Ellana pulled it up and over his head, then tossed it over her shoulder.

"A very clever woman once told me it's much easier to find clothes in the morning if you simply drop them on the ground as you remove them."

"She sounds boring," Ellana frowned. She dragged a finger down his chest, stopping as she reached the hair below his navel. "You probably shouldn't listen to a word she says."

"One ignores her at his own peril," he replied, eyes on her hand.

Ellana laughed and pushed him back onto the bed. She climbed up after him and he was on top of her a moment later, sighing her name into her mouth as she hooked a leg over his hip.

He ran a hand down her neck to her chest, but she caught him by his wrist.

"I've wanted to touch you all night," he said, his fingers suspended above her nipple.

"Interesting," Ellana's lips curled into a small smile. "I've wanted to taste you all day."

She took his thumb into her mouth and pressed it between her tongue and her teeth. Solas swallowed a moan.

"I assume that means we're going with my plan?" she said when she released him and he rolled onto his back.

"Your argument was compelling."

She placed her hands on his inner thighs and spread his legs so she could settle between them, sitting back on her heels.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

She quirked an eyebrow, as if she still expected more.

"Please," he whispered.

Her lips were wet as she leaned over him. His head rolled back, chin tilting upward. He fisted his hands in the blanket, eyes closing as he focused on the feel of her hair ghosting across his legs.

"Solas?"

"Yes?" he said, attention snapping back to her face.

She bit her lip as she smiled, then dipped her head as if she was suddenly too demure to speak her mind. He wasn't sure whether he should be aroused or worried by the idea, but his breath caught regardless.

"Can you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Will you look at me?"

Both her question and her voice were terribly gentle and yet they reverberated through his chest.

"Will you keep your eyes on mine while I …" She let her gaze fall to where his cock twitched an inch away from her nose.

"Why would I ever want to look at anything else?" Solas asked, baffled by the thought.

She smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing. There had been a correct answer to her question, and he had given it - a victory so simple it would hardly be worth celebrating were it not for the reward she offered.

Gently, she wrapped her fingers around his length. She made one slow stroke, her thumb applying pressure to his head when she reached it, then she lapped the bead that spilled from his tip. She watched him the entire time. His skin burned with a blush that was slowly spreading down to his hips. 

He thought he had made her a simple promise. But as she stroked him again and again, each time bringing only the head of his cock into her mouth, Solas found he had to fight the urge to close his eyes and lose himself in the sensation of her touch. And looking at her eyes meant constantly battling the desire to look instead at her mouth.

Ellana slowly released him and sat back on her heels. He kept his eyes on hers, fearing she’d stopped because his gaze had dropped too low, greedy as he was to watch her lips stretch around him

"You're so quiet," she said.

"I - am I?"

Solas had no idea if he'd made a single noise in the past several minutes. He might have recited an entire speech without noticing.

"Usually you have so much to say," she clarified.

"What - what do you want me to say?" he asked, desperate to do whatever she wanted in whatever manner ensured her mouth would be on him again as quickly as possible.

"Hmm." She kissed her way down his length. "You could tell me about the first time you knew you wanted me."

His heart pounded against his ribs. He stammered out something in reply but it was only noise and nonsense. Ellana waited, hovering, as he gripped the blanket beneath him.

"Was that too vague?"

She sat up and Solas thought he might have groaned. He tried to speak again but she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"What I meant was, tell me about the first time you knew you wanted to fuck me."

"Ellana. I …" His voice sounded wrong, so breathless that he was beginning to make himself lightheaded. "You don't want to know that," Solas said carefully.

"Well, now I absolutely do," she said with a puzzled smile. Slowly, as if she thought he needed the encouragement, she began to stroke him again.

It was already a bit muddled in his mind. Her touch provided much incentive to continue, but added no clarity. There was a flash in his memory of her arching an eyebrow as he watched her tongue press against her teeth when she pronounced the word 'scintillating.' Of when he snatched her suitcase away from her and their fingers briefly touched. Of the lilt in her voice the first time he heard her speak Elvish. All of which had been on the first day they’d met. 

This brought him to the most undeniable answer, every bit as inappropriate in how premature it was.

"The first night," he said. "When I came to your room."

Solas searched for any hint of recognition in her face, uncertain whether he wanted her to remember the encounter.

"The first night in Boranehnan?"

He nodded, the slightest movement of his head.

"To talk about breakfast?"

"Yes." The rest was there, on the tip of his tongue, but the idea of saying it, out loud, to her …

"Solas. I've never heard you hesitate this much. You're practically making me drag it out of you."

Ellana punctuated her statement with a long, particularly slow, drag of her own. She pressed down on his thigh as his hips bucked upward and his stomach clenched. He felt like every muscle in his body was pulled taut, ready to snap.

"Your thoughts are usually so much clearer."

"Not always," he mumbled. "Not when you’re - not about you."

"Think of it this way: if you keep going, I can keep going. Fair?"

"More than fair," he quickly agreed.

"So tell me about the first night in Boranehnan."

She leaned over and took him in fully then, slowly easing him toward the back of her throat as her eyes closed. The sudden heat of her mouth and softness of her lips were both a shock and a relief.

"It was when you answered the door in your robe. It was barely tied. You were - for a moment, I thought I could see everything. The curve of your neck. The shape of your breasts. Your legs. I was … I have never … I wanted you so badly."

Ellana hummed around his cock and he could practically hear her voice in his head asking, And then?

"I saw you look at me and I thought - I knew it was impossible but I thought that if I took a step toward you, then you might - and if you had … I went back to my room and I couldn't stop thinking about it - picturing it … picturing you. I imagined you changing your mind, dragging me to your bed."

Solas saw her hand slip between her legs and he tangled his fingers in her hair before he could stop himself.

"I -"

Her tongue - she was doing something with her tongue and he wasn't sure he could form words any longer. But he felt her slow when he hesitated, and the rest tumbled out of his mouth.

"I thought about you … I wanted you against the wall, bent over the bed, on the floor. I wanted this - your mouth around me. I knew it would be … And I wanted to make you come on my tongue. I wanted that more than anything."

The indecency of the memory burned his cheeks as he thought of how hard he'd been as soon as he left her room, how quickly he'd taken his cock in his hand when he returned to his own.

There was no hope of speech now but, mercifully, Ellana didn't stop when his words failed him. Her nose was buried against his skin and he wanted to watch that, watch her lips, watch the hand that worked between her own legs. But he was too close to do anything other than throw his head back and lose himself in the warmth of her mouth.

Solas called out her name in warning and she gripped his hips in reply. It was the feeling of her fingers - slick with her own wetness - digging into his skin that finally sent him over the edge. He spilled into her throat.

She kept her hold tight on his thighs as she chased each tremor that surged through him. When he finally stilled, exhaling long sighs through his nose as he tried to catch his breath, she looked up at him and smiled.

Her hair was everywhere. It draped over his thighs as she raised her neck and, as he untangled his fingers from the curls at the back of her head, he saw how unruly it had become. He swept a hand across each of her cheeks to clear the strands that stuck to the corners of her mouth and the edges of her eyes.

Ellana tucked herself into his lap, drawing her fingers down the back of his head and tracing the edges of his ears. Solas wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his chest. He kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue.

"So," she said. "When we first met and I told you to go fuck yourself, I didn't think you'd literally do that a few hours later while you thought about me."

Solas winced, the reality of the things he'd said suddenly rushing back to him as he slowly regained control of this thoughts. "I'm sorry. I-"

"Oh, no. Don't apologize. It's a very pleasant surprise. And, besides," she shrugged. "I had a dream about you that night."

"You did?"

"I already told you this."

"You said you dreamed about me, but I didn't realize it was-"

"That first night? Yeah. And then, when I woke up in the morning … well."

"Did you really?" he asked, fascinated.

"Hmm," Ellana hummed as dragged her nose along his neck then placed a kiss on his jaw. "I had a lot of time to kill while I waited for you to wake up."

He ignored the bait of her mild reprimand, too interested in the rest of her story to argue.

"And what did …?"

"Oh, a lot of the same. Dragging you into the room, getting fucked on every surface. Probably good it didn't happen, in hindsight. There were a lot of breakables in that suite."

Solas chuckled with what breath he had left.

"Maybe I spent a lot of time thinking about you doing one thing in particular."

Her eyes were on his mouth.

"Oh?" he whispered.

"Do you still want to make me come on your tongue?"

Always, he thought.

"Yes," he said. "Please."

Ellana gave him a half-frown, her lips slightly downturned and her nose wrinkled. Again, she was waiting for more. But in this he had no shame to prevent him from speaking freely, and so he did.

"I think constantly about the way you taste," he said. "I imagine spending an entire day with my head between your legs. I want to hear my name on your lips over and over again. So, yes, the answer to your question is of course I want to make you come on my tongue."

She stared at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

"Please," he added.

She had him flat on his back again before he quite realized what happened. Another moment after that her knees were on either side of his head.

Good, he thought, running his nose along the length of her thigh. Whatever initial hesitation she'd shown in Lydes was long gone now. He smiled against her skin when he looked up and found, as he'd hoped, that she was watching him. She lowered herself to his mouth.

The noise she made when he pressed his tongue against her was somewhere between a gasp and a sob. The relief in her voice echoed his own; he groaned against her at the first feel of her warmth on his lips. He wrapped his arms around the tops of her legs to hold her steady, to pull her closer.

He licked into her cunt, laving away the slick from her folds. He wondered - wanted to ask - if taking him in her throat had made her this wet, but his mouth was otherwise occupied. As Ellana settled more of her weight onto him, Solas' focus narrowed to two priorities: making her come hard enough that she would want to ride his face every day, and taking in the minimum amount of air necessary to ensure he didn't pass out before achieving the first. Speaking wouldn't facilitate either of these goals.

He adored the needy hums she made as she rolled her hips over his mouth, the way she rested her palm on his forehead when she leaned over him for leverage. When she reached a hand beneath his head to pull him closer, his nose pressed flush against her. He inhaled her scent and the soft hint of soap on her skin with each shallow breath he could steal.

She released him and he took in a gasp of air, his cheeks and chin now slick with her arousal. Ellana leaned back, her ass settling on the top of his chest as she braced herself with the heels of her hands on his hips. He used the angle to put his tongue inside her, pressing deeper as her head rolled back and a tremor ran down the length of her torso. When she rocked forward, he flicked his tongue across her clit. The muscles of her thighs tensed around him as she rasped out his name. She gripped the back of his head with force, grinding against his nose and into his mouth, while Solas clung desperately to her hips.

She came suddenly, as if she'd had no idea how close she was. He licked her through the spasms that made her legs shudder against his ears, the trilling moans that spilled out of her throat. Solas allowed himself to entertain the notion that he had done that - that he'd caught her unprepared and coaxed her to the height of her pleasure before she could steal it back from the edge. And if he had done it once, he was certain he could do it again and again.

She stayed atop him for another minute, or perhaps more, her fingers stroking lightly from the crown of his head to his brow. Solas lost all sense of time as he rested his forehead against her leg, his world narrowed to the feel of his breath warming his cheeks as he panted against the seam of her thigh. Later, and yet still too soon for his liking, she slowly raised a hip to free him, and he guided her with a hand on her knee.

Ellana laid back on the pillows and Solas placed his head on her chest, his cheek pressing against her breast. The room was silent save for their ragged breathing and the crashing of the waves beyond their still-open window. For once, it seemed they were both at a loss for words.

Chapter Text

Before he'd fallen asleep with his head buried in her chest, Solas had suggested to Ellana that they take the morning off. No alarms, he'd said. They were beholden to no deadlines aside from those they imposed upon themselves. Dorian and Loranil could get a head start on their own. To his surprise, she readily agreed.

He woke once, in the middle of the night, when the sea air turned cold and left him shivering beneath the duvet. He closed the window and looked toward the bed, eager to slip back beneath the covers and press himself against Ellana's warmth. But a familiar feeling turned his head.

The door to the closet was slightly ajar. The safe was inside - locked, he knew. It must be locked. Ellana had locked it and he did not know the combination. Yet an ache in his temples and a scratching behind his eyes told him that if he simply surrendered, he would find the safe open and waiting for him to claim its contents.

"Solas?"

Ellana's voice behind him, too far away. He blinked and discovered he had crossed the room.

"Solas." She whispered in the darkness again and he turned to find her sitting up, watching him. "Come back to bed," she said.

He nodded, the cool air prickling his skin as awareness returned to him. Ellana folded back the duvet and he joined her beneath it.

"Please tell me I don't actually have to tie you to the bedposts," she murmured, eyes already closed.

By the time he'd silently run through several possible replies, none of which felt particularly appropriate given the gravity of the situation, Ellana had already fallen asleep again. Solas wrapped himself around her and slept until morning.

It was long after daybreak when they finally managed to get out of bed. Solas suggested a morning of sightseeing, which made Ellana pout at him like he'd said something ridiculous. They were supposed to be laying low, she explained as if he'd somehow forgotten. It took some persuasion in various forms, but eventually he managed to convince her that there was no reason for Calpernia to look for them in places mostly frequented by tourists. The Tevinter agent would expect them to be in the city for their research ("We are here for our research," Ellana argued breathily while he placed a kiss beneath her ear), and she would know the most logical places to find them would be archives and libraries.

Once Ellana had come around to his idea, she insisted she needed to briefly leave the hotel to purchase 'supplies' - an ominous statement on which she refused to elaborate. She wrapped her hair in a scarf to conceal it and put her enormous sunglasses on her forehead. As she slipped out the door she gave him a pointed look, slid her gaze toward the closet, then back to him again.

"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," she warned him before closing the door behind her.

She was right. It would be stupid to go anywhere near the safe. He wouldn't do that. Obviously.

But just in case, Solas thought, perhaps his time would be better spent in the shower behind a locked bathroom door.

He finished before Ellana returned and then retreated to the balcony. He leaned a hip against the railing and watched the few figures walking near the harbor - certainly workers rather than tourists at this hour. Across the water he saw the grotto restaurant, tables now bare and chairs upturned. There was nothing he would have changed about their dinner last night. And yet …

Solas shook his head. There is time, he told himself. It was a near constant refrain - the reminder that he did not have to rush, he could enjoy each day and each moment. It had not yet quieted his mind, but still he repeated it.

He scrolled back through the photos he'd taken yesterday. The harbor. The library. Side streets and alleys with interesting architectural details that he'd noticed on their way to meet Dorian. One subject was notable in her absence.

There were many photos of Ellana on his phone, but none he'd taken himself. He knew he could, and should, ask her. But after their conversation last night, he worried that any such request would be an unwelcome imposition - especially considering what he wanted more than anything was permission to catch her in candid moments. It was an uneasy thing to think how neatly that aligned with the desires of the man she'd seen in the Inquisitor's memory.

Perhaps a photo of the two of them, to start. It was odd, he thought, to imagine that as the less intimidating request. But as much as he would enjoy a picture of them together, what he truly wanted was to capture the way she pressed her cheek into her palm with her fingers curling back into her hair while she was reading, and the look in her eyes as she appreciated the scenery outside a train window.

There is time, he thought again.

Solas forced himself back to immediate concerns, finally reviewing the texts he'd been ignoring since last night. Cole had returned to Lydes and would stop by the house to see Parchment today. Dorian checked in with him last night and then again this morning, and then sent a third message politely suggesting that Solas should send him Ellana's phone number if she was capable of replying to texts in a more timely manner.

He was contemplating the best way to respond when Ellana returned. She now carried a tote on her elbow and held a coffee cup in each hand. He hurried to the door to assist her, only to see her eyes flick down disapprovingly to his waist.

"You're not dressed," she said.

"What do you mean?" He had pulled on a pair of sweatpants after he got out of the shower. True, he had become distracted and hadn't put on anything else, but he wasn't undressed.

"Never mind." She let out a pained sigh as she held up one of the cups for him to take.

"That's kind of you, but seeing as we woke up later today-"

"It's not coffee," Ellana interrupted him. "No caffeine. I got you something else. Just try it. You'll like it."

He took a sip mostly to appease her, though he was also deeply curious what precisely she'd ordered for him.

"Hmm," he hummed as he realized he did, in fact, like it. Warm, rich but not terribly so, and sweet. "What is it?"

Ellana grinned. "It's just steamed milk, a lot of chocolate powder, and a little bit of cinnamon. They usually make them for children. Not with cinnamon, though. That was my idea."

Solas rolled his eyes more out of habit than anything else. It was impossible to be annoyed by her teasing when he was so flattered she'd chosen something specifically for him.

Ellana deposited her tote onto one of the chairs and began to rummage through her purchases. She placed a few smaller, wrapped parcels on the table and then dropped a triangle of cloth next to them. Solas retrieved this final item and arched an eyebrow.

"What?" she said, catching him out of the corner of her eye. "You said you didn't bring a swimsuit. And I assumed, with you living in Orlais, that you'd be used to-"

"It's not the style that concerns me. It's the size."

Ellana gave him an indifferent shrug. "I guessed. I'm sure you'll manage."

Solas held the suit up in front of himself. "I'm not."

She eyed the obvious inches between the end of the fabric and the end of his hips. "It'll stretch. Probably. Or we can get a bigger - listen," she cut herself off mid-sentence. "We're not even going to the beach today - although we really can't leave Vyrantium without doing that at some point."

"Agreed," he said, dropping the suit back on the table.

"Oh! This is what I was actually trying to find."

Ellana pulled a large canvas hat with a wide brim out of her bag. With a triumphant flourish, she placed it on his head, then steered him toward the bathroom mirror.

Solas surveyed his reflection, the tips of his ears bent slightly beneath the hat's brim. He frowned.

"You've never been more attractive to me than you are in this moment," Ellana deadpanned from behind his shoulder.

"I'm not wearing this."

"Oh, no!" Ellana intercepted his hands before he could pull the hat from his head. "You have to. It's the cornerstone of your disguise. And also very practical - I wouldn't want you to get a sunburn."

She stared at him, doe-eyed, in the mirror.

An hour later they arrived at their destination. They'd taken one of Vyrantium's small, three-wheeled taxis to the trailhead of a walking path near the city's edge. Solas remembered the path as an easy one with only minimal inclines, but that memory could not quite withstand the test of time. Walking the same trail more than two decades later, he thought it would be more accurately described as moderate, perhaps even bordering on difficult.

They were now properly in the foothills of the small mountain range that spanned the southern coastline from Vyrantium to Marnus Pell. This particular summit, the highest within the city's borders, was known in Tevene as the Via Amoris, though some sources claimed that name was taken from an earlier one, the Vir Lath. The translation was the same, regardless: The Way of Love. He'd read numerous stories claiming the origin of this name, each more fanciful (and often tragic) than the last. But Solas elected not to mention either the stories or the name to Ellana, as he had another reason for wanting to return to this place.

By the time they finally emerged at the top of the path, Solas could already feel a slight ache in his calves and thighs. He finally removed the hat from his head and wiped away the sweat from his brow. Ellana tossed him a bottle of water from her bag before she sat on the ground and leaned back against a low stone wall so worn with age it might have stood there since the old Tevinter Imperium.

She had tried to tuck her hair beneath a cap. This was already a losing prospect before their long trek into the foothills. Now it was spilling out from all sides, curls draping in front of her ears and sticking to the back of her neck. She had insisted that they both dress casually, like tourists, and particularly told him he should make an effort not to look so 'put-together.' Supposedly, the hat she'd bought him was meant to help.

She'd also purchased two t-shirts with the city's name on them at a gift shop near the hotel. The shirt she wore was nearly as large as the one she'd given him, and she'd put it over a pair of black cycling shorts that cut off halfway down her thighs. Solas, who had walked behind her as they climbed the trail, found himself too distracted by the view in front of him to spend much time at all looking out on the scenery.

She pulled off her cap, shaking her head and running a hand through the curls that had been pressed flat. Her lips rounded softly as she let out a long breath. Solas thought he could trace the path of that exhale from her mouth through her shoulders, then down her chest.

He wanted a photo of the moment so desperately he felt it as an ache.

He sat down beside her and pulled his phone from his pocket. "Would you mind if I …?" he asked as he angled it toward them.

Ellana chuckled, still catching her breath. "What, now that we're both covered in sweat and our faces are bright red?"

Yes, he thought. He couldn't imagine a time he wouldn't want to remember the sight of her.

He forced a laugh from his lungs, trying to conceal his disappointment. "Of course. I wasn't thinking." He lowered his phone.

"No," Ellana grabbed his wrist. "No, I'm sorry. I was just joking. Go ahead."

He nodded, extending his arm outward as Ellana tilted her head to rest against his. He was unused to framing a shot in this way, especially accommodating for a second person. From the subtle twitches at the corners of Ellana's mouth reflected in the phone's screen, he knew she must be resisting her desire to move his hand herself. But she said nothing and, eventually, he tapped the button to take the shot.

Solas brought his phone against his chest, shielding the screen from the sun with his hand. Ellana, patience apparently at an end, took it from him long enough to do something that made the screen brighter. Together, they studied his work.

He had caught her in a moment where her gaze had shifted from the screen to his face. She'd twisted her neck slightly so her nose was nearly touching his cheek. Her closed-mouth smile felt almost as if it were in motion, as if he could hear the beginning of whatever clever observation perched on the tip of her tongue. He wondered what she'd been thinking.

Ellana pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Send that to me?" she asked.

"I will."

"Thanks." She stood, brushing the back of her shorts.

She wandered the rocky clearing, toward the cliff's edge that overlooked the sea to their north. Bright green shrubs, some dotted with bushy bunches of lavender, covered the edges of the hilltop. Ellana watched with interest as a pair of hawks soared on the updrafts above the water. Solas hurried over to join her, eager to catch an image of the larger of the two as it flew higher, preparing for a dive.

"There are hawks like this in Ostwick," she said. "A little smaller, and the coloring is a bit different, but otherwise they're pretty close."

The mention of the city where she technically lived (not 'technically' - Solas reminded himself) was like an icy knife sliding into his gut. Ridiculous, he thought, to resent a perfectly enjoyable city, and an apartment he'd never seen. At some point, of course she would return, just as his fall semester would eventually begin.

The voice in his head was once again screaming stay too loudly for him to even attempt to make a counterargument.

"Look." Ellana's voice was an excited whisper as she tugged at his arm.

He tipped his head up, following the movement of her hand. The hawk was at the apex of its climb and Solas quickly took as many shots as he could, hoping any of them might be salvageable when he reviewed them. A second later, the bird began its dive, wings tucked tight to its sides.

Ellana peered over the edge of the cliff to watch as the hawk plummeted toward the beach and the unsuspecting gulls below. "They're vicious, aren't they?" she said with a smile that showed her teeth.

"Would you mind if I took your picture?"

He could not have stopped it. It had been torn out of him.

She glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to the scene below. "What, another?" she asked.

"Not exactly. Not with me. Or, not necessarily with me," he explained poorly. He released an irritated sigh and began again. "I'm asking your permission to take your picture whenever I see something I'd like to remember. Not something posed - just when inspiration strikes."

"You mean today, or … ?"

"At, ah … at any time," he stumbled, the request suddenly feeling much larger than it had a moment before.

"Any time?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well," Solas quickly replied, thinking he would assure her that no, he was not intending to take photos while she was in a state of undress or perhaps even more compromising positions. But then it occurred to him that he did not wish to exclude those possibilities either, even if they would require additional negotiation.

"Well," he said again.

Ellana laughed. "You know, I'm not sure I've ever seen you change your mind so quickly before."

"That would be a separate discussion, I think," Solas said delicately.

"Well," Ellana mimicked his tone. "I think you should take whatever photos of me you like whenever you like."

Solas swallowed, then nodded his head.

The possibilities were overwhelming. He wished he'd asked her sooner, perhaps even the moment she stepped off the train in Lydes. He wondered whether, once he had a wealth of images to use as reference, he might be able to paint her - and truly paint her, not the image of the Inquisitor that had been burned into his memory for the past three months and insinuated its way into every piece he'd attempted since then. He cursed himself for not bringing his camera with him on this trip, though he also considered the difficulty of using the university's darkroom to develop his own film if he intended to take more intimate -

"Everything alright?" Ellana interrupted his thoughts.

He blinked. "Fine. Thank you."

She shrugged, as if she were somehow unaware of the value of what she'd offered.

"You said there was something you wanted to see up here?" She looked back to the east, toward the city.

"Yes," Solas quickly agreed. "I'll show you."

They sat on another section of the ruined wall, this one with a clear view of the crescent of buildings that lined Vyrantium's small inlet. Ellana pulled their very overdue breakfast from her bag. She unwrapped a pair of cornettos filled with apricot jam and passed one to Solas.

"So. What are we looking at?" she asked.

"You don't see anything unusual?"

Ellana scanned the city. It was more beautiful from a distance, she thought, especially when distance made it simpler to ignore the problems that simmered below its surface. It was obvious, even from the short time they'd spent here that it suffered from the same inequities as every tourist city. The coastline was dominated by expensive hotels and even more expensive vacation houses, frequented by visitors from Minrathous. The city's actual residents lived on the opposite side of the foothills, well away from any luxuries.

She was turning this over in her mind, trying to connect it back to what Dorian had told them about the tunnels, when Solas asked her again.

"Do you see anything?"

"Nothing unusual," she said.

"And if you look there?"

He traced a line across what seemed to Ellana to be open air - a space over the city roofs. She shook her head.

"Perhaps allow yourself to look past it?"

"Past what?" she asked, then froze as something caught her eye.

She saw it first in the strangeness of the sunlight - the way it reflected off something that shouldn't be there. As her eyes adjusted and she began to understand the scale of the thing, she grabbed Solas' knee and gasped.

"What is that?" she said.

But some part of her mind understood what it was. She had seen illustrations of the Tevinter aqueducts many times, and even a few surviving examples that still curved along the ruins of the Imperial Highway. What she saw now was enormous, a full three tiers of stone arches stacked one on top of the other. Some of the city's taller buildings reached only to the height of the second tier. There was no hint of disrepair; it looked like it could have been built just yesterday. And it was impossible to ignore the most concerning element. There were no pillars reaching down from the bottom set of arches to anchor it into the ground. This aqueduct was floating.

"You can see it now?" Solas asked.

"Mostly," she nodded. "If I don't concentrate on it, I start to lose it. It's the same as those walls in the Arbor Wilds."

Ellana closed her eyes then turned so she was facing away from the city. She thought maybe it would be easier than having to watch reality shift in front of her.

"How did you know about this?" she asked Solas as she opened her eyes again.

"I saw it once when I visited Vyrantium years ago, on this same trail. Unfortunately, I was the only one who could, which made for some awkward conversations," he said with a small smile. "I will admit I'm relieved you can see it now."

"I can," she replied immediately. "Have you asked Dorian? He's obviously pretty familiar with the city."

"Dorian has reported no phenomena of this scope in Vyrantium. I did not even include my own experience in the map of sightings. It felt like too great a claim when no one else could confirm it."

Solas busied himself with taking a bite of his pastry.

"Well you can add it now. I'm confirming it," Ellana said defiantly - though who exactly she was defying she wasn't certain.

"I will," he said. "Thank you."

Ellana chanced another glance over her shoulder. "I don't understand. If that aqueduct was really here, what was holding it up?"

When Solas didn't reply she looked back and found him staring pointedly at her.

"Magic." She rolled her eyes. "No, I get it. But why? This is such a huge project, and it must have taken lot of power to build it this way. It's so much bigger than summoning a bit of fire in your hand."

"I agree," he nodded. "It implies a different scale than those of us studying arcane realism have generally imagined."

Ellana ate her breakfast while she contemplated this, her thoughts on the hideout she'd found yesterday. An idea was taking shape in her mind, if she could just define it a little more clearly.

"The tunnels," she said. "You don't think they were made using magic, do you?"

"The thought had occurred to me."

She let out a huff, nearly tossing the last of her pastry off the edge of the hill when she threw up her hands in annoyance. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Solas shrugged. "I was uncertain, and you were still unable to say the word 'magic' without scowling at the time. It seemed unproductive."

Infuriating, she thought as she bit back a smile.

He brushed a bit of jam from his lip with his thumb and Ellana took in a short breath. She was going to be replaying that image over and over again in her head with embarrassing frequency.

He'd taken his shirt off about halfway through their climb and draped it over his shoulders so casually that she might have screamed if she'd had enough air in her lungs to do so at that point. He had yet to put it back on, which was making her wonder how much more she might actually accomplish in a day if she weren't spending quite so much time dreaming about dragging him to the nearest bed or other reasonably functional surface.

"But if the tunnels were built using magic, whether partially or completely-"

Ellana shook her head, trying to focus her thoughts on what Solas was saying rather than what she was imagining doing to him.

"-then there must be some fundamental difference between their construction and that of the structure we saw in Wilds, or this aqueduct," he finished.

"Right," she said slowly. "That's right," she said again as several pieces suddenly snapped together.

"What is it?" Solas must have heard the recognition in her voice.

"Maybe nothing, not yet," she said. "But you're right - the tunnels, and the hideout too - they're different. They're permanent in a way that the other things we've seen aren't. Why would that be?"

Solas shook his head. "I have only guesses, and none especially well-informed."

"Maybe it doesn't matter why they're different, at least not yet." Ellana stood and crossed her arms. She paced in a small circle as she worked it out. "What matters is that they've been here, under the city, all this time. They weren't hidden, so people didn't forget about them. And if that's the case, there have to be stories about them - who built them originally, and why."

He watched her, nodding. "You want to interview the people Dorian mentioned - the ones responsible for preserving the tunnels."

"Yes, exactly. I need to talk to Loranil - see if he'll give me a list of names."

"He will," Solas immediately replied.

"Maybe some of them will talk to me."

"They will," Solas said again. He caught her hand as she passed by, pulling her between his legs.

"This isn't like Boranehnan," she told him. "We're in Tevinter now. People are a lot less likely to want to talk."

"Hmm." He settled a hand on her hip. "I would not underestimate your powers of persuasion."

"Don't distract me."

Solas called her bluff immediately, removing his hands and holding them out to either side of her.

"OK, well. Distract me a little," she grumbled.

He laughed and drew her down into his lap. His lips were sweet when she kissed him, and his body so warm in the late morning sun that Ellana thought it would be the coziest thing in the world if she could just melt into him so they could stay like that forever.

What the fuck is wrong with you? she thought a second later when she'd had time to process the thought. She grabbed his hat from where it sat on the wall beside him and put it back on his head before slipping off his lap to sit next to him again. He watched her curiously but didn't object.

"You know," she said after pretending to look at the city for a few long moments. "If Loranil does give me a list of people to talk to, I won't be able to spend as much time at the library."

Solas hummed thoughtfully and wound around his arm around her waist. "I will miss your insights," he said.

"You'll have Dorian and Loranil."

"Not the same."

She laughed as his fingers curled down to grip her backside.

"Maybe mornings for interviews and afternoons with you," she mused. "Though I guess I'm going to need to ask Loranil for a lot of directions to make my way around the city through the tunnels."

Ellana did not mention that Solas clearly had no need for directions to navigate the tunnels. While Loranil had provided them when they left the library the day before, it had been all too obvious that the torches on the walls lit the the way toward Solas' desired destination as surely as if they read his thoughts. She didn't bring it up now because she suspected that whatever curiosity Solas might have felt when he first realized the torches were guiding him died away long before they reached the hotel. As each green flame burst to life, Ellana had watched him wince and seen the lines at the corners of his mouth deepen.

"Are you thinking of navigating the tunnels alone?" Solas asked. He didn't object, but she could see from the set of his jaw that he certainly had thoughts on the idea that he wasn't letting himself say aloud.

"Is that your way of asking if you can come with me?" she replied.

"No. I don't wish to impose. I know you prefer to conduct your interviews one-on-one."

That was true, and Ellana supposed she must have told him that at some point she could no longer remember. But there were now two problems. First, working alongside Solas was something she could see herself getting used to - something she wanted to get used to. They would need to work together, perhaps even write together, as their research progressed. But this wasn't the only reason, Ellana admitted to herself. Which brought her to the second problem.

She'd felt the first tantalizing stirrings of it in their final days together in Boranehnan. It had taken them some time and a lot of aggravation to find their rhythm, but once they had, she'd been unable to ignore how natural it felt. She could work well with Solas because he no longer felt entirely separate from her. She imagined swirling their thoughts and words together like stirring milk into coffee and then she scraped her fingertips over the stone beneath her because she was obviously thinking deranged things again.

"I think I'd like it if we worked together on this, actually," Ellana said when her brain had finally returned to something resembling normal function.

Solas turned toward her, surprise written plainly on his face. He had not been fishing for an invitation, no matter how clear it was that he didn't love the idea of her wandering through the tunnels alone.

"Are you certain? Do you think it might make Vyrantium's residents less willing to speak openly with you if I'm also there?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But we can try it and see how it goes. Maybe they'll be comfortable if I vouch for you. And, obviously, if you don't speak so much Orlesian. As in any Orlesian."

He nodded. "I have been thinking I should expand my understanding of the accents and colloquialisms unique to Dalish Elvish."

"Why?" Ellana asked warily.

"Numerous reasons. Academic interest. A desire to communicate better with the people we meet. And, perhaps," Solas said as he leaned against her, "I would like to have a clearer picture of some of the more colorful phrases you use when I'm inside you."

Ellana felt herself flush. "I promise you, they're not that interesting."

"I doubt that very much."

"Well you're certainly not going to pick them up in casual conversation."

“Then you shall simply have to teach me.”

His hand crept further down her ass and all Ellana could think was that the world's ugliest hat had not succeeded in making her want to fuck him any less.

Solas' phone buzzed in his pocket. She started, and they both turned toward the noise.

"Do you want to get that?" she asked when he seemed content to ignore it.

"No."

The phone vibrated again. Then three more times. Ellana arched an eyebrow at him, and Solas pulled it from his pocket with a huff.

"Ah," he said. "Cole."

"He made it back to Lydes?"

"He did. And has sent me nine - or, now twelve," Solas corrected himself as the phone vibrated again in his hand, "photos of Parchment. She appears to be doing well enough without me."

Ellana laughed.

"Would you like to see?" Solas offered, holding out his phone.

"Obviously!"

Ellana scrolled up through Cole's texts to find images of Parchment weaving in between his legs near the front door, a few shots of her eating from her food bowl, and one where she stared out the windows into the garden. Part of her wished they were there, too.

"I meant to ask you," Solas said as she returned his phone. "Dorian requested that I send him your number. He seems to be under the impression that you will respond to him faster than I will."

Ellana snorted. "I wonder what could possibly give him that idea? Just out of curiosity, how long has it been since he asked you that?"

"A few hours." Solas shrugged.

"Yeah. Give him my number. Or, better yet, just give me his."

Ellana fired off a few quick texts to Dorian to let him know where they were, when they'd be at the library, and to ask him to give Loranil a heads up about her plans. He responded immediately, and with obvious relief that she could now be his point of contact.

She also sent off her obligatory every-few-hours text to Merrill. Last night, Ellana had told Merrill that everything was fine, that 'Solas' was an old family name (which could be true, who could say?), and that she'd call as soon as she had time to elaborate. From the tone of her replies it was clear Merrill was completely dissatisfied with all of this, but at least she hadn't reported Ellana missing yet.

They packed Ellana's bag with the scraps from their breakfast. She took one last look at the aqueduct before they turned toward the path that would lead them back down to the trailhead. She was already making a mental list of the questions she wanted to ask the tunnels' caretakers when an idea occurred to her.

"Solas?"

"Hmm?" His voice was muffled as he was finally pulling his shirt back over his head.

"Could you give me Cole's number too?"

"For pictures of Parchment?"

"No. Well - actually, yes, now that you mention it. But I was going to ask him to send me the supplemental material you use when you teach my book."

"Why?" Solas asked, obviously worried by the idea.

"I think it might be helpful for me to brush up on the old stories about the Creators - and everything I can find about Fen'Harel."

Chapter Text

The rest of the week flew by before Solas could fully process its passing. His time was claimed from sunrise to long after sunset, filled entirely with research and learning, thoughtful conversation, and - more than anything else - Ellana. They were exhausted by the time they fell into bed each night, tangled together beneath the sheets.

He measured the days in the photographs he took, their timestamps drawing him irresistibly back to the gestures and expressions that crafted a memory. To scroll through them was to relive each moment with such clarity that he could feel the breeze lingering against his skin and hear the sound of her laughter.

Their mornings began early with only enough time for breakfast to be eaten while they walked. He listened, taking extensive notes to supplement Ellana's recordings, as she carefully questioned the numerous residents of Vyrantium who had agreed to speak to her. It was always fascinating to observe her work - to attempt to guess why any one particular detail among dozens stood out to her as she listened to story after story.

If any of Ellana's subjects were uncomfortable with Solas' presence, they didn't show it. As in Boranehnan, she put them at ease with her earnest interest about their families, their businesses, and what sights and foods she and Solas should experience before they left the city. She made sure to include him, to give him a chance to show that he was equally worthy of their trust.

At first, these sometimes lengthy introductions made Solas nervous. They were on a tight schedule between the sheer number of interviews Ellana needed to conduct and their commitments at the library in the afternoons. On the first day, he'd made the mistake of checking his watch in the middle of an interview, which had earned him a quick frown at the time, and then a discussion after.

"You can't rush it," Ellana explained. "It's important to hear the specific flow each person gives their story, even if it takes longer. If it makes you nervous," she said with a smile conveying her awareness that it absolutely did, "put your watch in your bag until we're done. I promise, I can keep track of the time."

Solas did as she asked and found, unsurprisingly, that she was correct. Ellana had an uncanny mental stopwatch she used to gently wind down a discussion when their time was nearly at an end. Even with the length of the conversations and the need to return to a few people for clarifications, she covered everyone on Loranil's list in a few short days.

In the evenings, when Ellana spread her notes and laptop across the bed, she'd lay on her back with her knees bent as she recorded more thoughts into her phone. (She claimed the position helped her think. Solas had taken more than a dozen photos of her like this and couldn't choose his favorite from among them.) He offered up his own observations from his notes when they were relevant, and slowly a picture began to emerge.

As Solas had initially suspected, the tunnels' origins could be traced to a time when slavery was still common practice in Tevinter. Though none of the people Ellana had interviewed were able to provide precise dates, their consensus was that the tunnels were certainly hundreds of years old.

Beyond this, their stories took a stranger tone. The elves Ellana spoke to were not Dalish. They'd spent their entire lives in Vyrantium and most did not possess any great knowledge of Dalish traditions or folklore. Yet even without the benefit of that history, it was obvious certain legends had permeated the local culture.

Every elven house and business they visited kept a wolf figurine near the door. These were carved from a dark green stone and small enough to fit in the palm of Solas' hand. The origin of the talismans was unclear, but they had been passed down through the generations to those who kept watch over the tunnels.

Ellana, Solas noted, eyed them warily each time she spotted one. When they were alone, she mentioned seeing a similar figure in her room at the Persimmon Halla. She also explained that Clan Lavellan rarely told stories of Fen'Harel. There was some particular superstition against invoking his name at all, a deep-seated belief that speaking of him too much would turn unwanted attention toward the clan.

But the elves of Vyrantium were not telling the traditional stories either. They spoke of a stranger who'd appeared in the city and helped its slave population accelerate construction of the tunnels, a project which had been underway for years by then. Descriptions of this stranger were nebulous - muddled, perhaps, by the centuries that had since passed. Some of the stories described a man, others a woman, and still others suggested the so-called stranger was not an individual but a group of people.

While no one Ellana interviewed ever made any direct connection to Fen'Harel, they were clear that the wolf carvings had been created to remember the stranger. Some even had flowers and candles arranged in front of them - makeshift altars to honor a figure they still considered a guardian of their community.

Both Solas and Ellana were eager to draw conclusions from all they'd learned. It was tempting to try to link the stranger's presence to Vyrantium's more well-known history, specifically the series of rebellions that rippled across the North not long after the Radiant War. But, as they each reassured one another when their conversations grew a bit too enthusiastic, this stage of their research was for gathering information, not making wild speculations. There would be time enough for theorizing when they actually sat down to write.

The situation at the library was more complicated. Loranil was on edge. Two mornings in a row, there were signs that someone had broken into the library overnight. Nothing was missing, as far as Loranil and the other librarians could tell, but doors were open that should not have been, and some books and other items had obviously been disturbed, including in the meeting room their group had been using.

Dorian, normally so unflappable, had begun to show a hint of nerves as well. Solas saw dark circles under his eyes that suggested sleepless nights, and he noted Dorian's frequent trips outside the meeting room to check his cell phone and make whispered calls. Eventually, Dorian admitted to the group that his efforts to dodge Alexius' requests for progress reports were growing increasingly strained. The Minister surely suspected something by now, and the members of Dorian's former team who still had some loyalty to him warned that another Venatori agent had been assigned to keep an eye on them. It was clear, Dorian argued, he needed to make a graceful exit from Tevinter, and to buy Solas and Ellana a little more time in the process.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ellana asked when Dorian explained his plan to leave the city.

(It was the start of a plan more than a plan itself, Solas thought. He had several ideas for how to improve it.)

"It's not as dramatic as it sounds," Dorian assured Ellana. "Yes, I'm leaving my country with none of my belongings and without informing my employer of my departure. But I simply long to take in the sights in Val Royeaux - or, should the Orlesian government decide they are too chummy with Tevinter, then perhaps elsewhere."

He was describing a self-imposed exile, Solas thought. No amount of flippant framing could change that.

"Well, I'm sure it was a difficult decision - and one I respect very much," Ellana said with a seriousness Solas had never heard her use when speaking to Dorian. He seemed equally surprised, staring at her curiously before he finally responded.

"Thank you," he said. "Though I shall have to be very brave indeed if it becomes necessary to make a home in, say, Ferelden."

With Dorian's departure and the concern of a possible theft looming, afternoons at the library took on a somewhat frenzied air. Practical concerns had to be prioritized, and Loranil assigned himself the task of digitizing all the books that had appeared to ensure Dorian would still have access to them after he left the city.

But once the materials were scanned, discussion inevitably turned to whether they should be shared with additional researchers - either digitally or by inviting them to come to Vyrantium in person. Solas found himself in the somewhat unusual position of agreeing with Loranil, who was trying to persuade Ellana and Dorian to his reasoning.

"What if more books appear?" Loranil said. "There are already too many to reasonably work through with only four of us - soon to be three. And, worse, what if the books disappear? We don't know why or how they came to be here in the first place, so we can't be sure they won't vanish again - and who knows what would happen to the scans if they did." He threw out his hands in frustration. "None of this follows any kind of logic."

"More importantly," Solas offered, "is it fair to hoard this knowledge? Is this not a discovery, the same as Inquisitor's identity, that should be shared?" He directed his argument to Ellana. She had spent most of the discussion quietly frowning, with her chin in her palm and fingers pressed against her lips, as her eyes darted toward whomever was speaking.

"I agree in theory," Dorian said, with enough emphasis to make it clear he had plenty of objections. "As the person here most capable of determining whether any of our potential colleagues has ties to Gereon, I would, of course, want to vet anyone with whom we consider sharing the materials."

"At an absolute minimum," Ellana muttered.

"Do you have other concerns?" Loranil asked her.

"Oh, many." She let out a humorless chuckle. "Obviously, I agree with Solas that it's not right to hide away this information. If it can be verified, if there's more of it out there, it's going to completely change our understanding of history before the Radiant War. It has to be shared."

Solas watched her intently, a warmth spreading through his chest.

"But what if Alexius is keeping an eye on the people you're thinking of inviting? It's what I would do in his shoes," she shrugged. "If he notices that every scholar interested in arcane realism suddenly drops everything and runs to Vyrantium, that's going to make it really obvious we've found something important here."

"I agree," Dorian nodded. "Which is why I think we need to proceed with our distraction sooner rather than later."

They decided they would put their plan into action on Friday evening. Dorian would contact Alexius and give him a thorough update on all the progress Solas and Ellana had made in the city. He would explain their research now led them elsewhere, and that the three of them would leave Vyrantium on the last train of the day bound for Val Royeaux. With luck, any Venatori in the city would hurry to follow them.

"Do you see them?" Ellana asked nervously, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. This was only going to work if the Venatori agents believed she and Solas had no idea they were being followed.

"One of them," Dorian confirmed. He adjusted his sunglasses. "He's not making any effort to hide himself, which is good. That either means he's as stupid as I've heard or everything is going to plan. Maybe both."

"Someone you know, then?" Solas said. He pulled along two suitcases - neither of which belonged to him or Ellana - behind him.

"Mostly just his name - Livius Erimond. He lives here in Vyrantium so I suspect he was a choice borne of desperation rather than competence."

"I hope you're right," Ellana grumbled.

"I hope this works," Dorian countered. "There are significantly more moving parts than I originally proposed." Ellana saw him glance at Solas.

"If you've succeeded in attracting their attention, then the rest will work exactly as planned," Solas promised. He was using that tone Ellana had come to know all too well - the one that was both a little too confident and a little too irresistible.

"And there's our other friend," Dorian said. Again, Ellana didn't turn, but she was relived to hear Calpernia had taken the bait as well.

"Good." Solas slowed as they neared their destination.

The station was crowded with weekend travelers, particularly for this train, the last of the day to leave for Orlais. It stopped at the station for a full fifteen minutes to allow for a crew change. The workers who would service the train on this route and then the trip back in the morning were Vyrantium locals - all details they'd picked up during Ellana's interviews.

They stood in a huddle among the crowd, doing their best to appear relaxed as they chatted about nothing. Dorian was particularly skilled at simulating small talk, which made it easy for Ellana and Solas to smile and laugh along. Ellana caught the man she assumed was Erimond staring directly at her - he truly was making no effort to remain unseen - and she was glad for her dark sunglasses so he couldn't see her staring back. Solas wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her slightly so she was more directly facing him and Dorian, with her back to Erimond.

"Remember," he said quietly, "let them see enough to get a sense of you, but not a complete picture. Ideas, not specifics."

Ellana nodded, her pulse hammering against her throat. Solas had gone over this with her several times already, but it was harder to put it to practice when she could feel the eyes of a Venatori agent on the back of her neck.

The train arrived at the platform and they hurried aboard. Ellana and Dorian headed for a booth in the dining car while Solas made a show of slowly weaving his way between the lines of passengers as he carried their luggage toward the private cabin they'd reserved.

"Everything alright?" Ellana asked Dorian as she slid into the seat across from him.

Dorian nodded, his eyes flicking toward the door at the far end of the cabin and then back to her.

"I don't see Calpernia yet. Erimond has taken a table near the door."

Ellana bit her lip. That was good, but it still made her nervous. If Erimond was the less observant of the two, it would be a little bit easier to pass off the most ridiculous part of their plan.

A few minutes later, a bald elven man appeared at the head of their table. He was a few inches shorter than Solas and his build smaller in general, but the suit jacket he wore camouflaged it well. He wore Solas' sunglasses, which hid some of the deeper lines at the corners of his eyes that might give away he was more than a decade older than Solas.

"Ellana," he said with a smile. "Would you like to freshen up?"

She bit back an anxious laugh. Cecilio was the uncle of one of the elves she'd interviewed, and he'd agreed to help in exchange for a round trip ticket to Val Royeaux and a night's stay in a hotel there that Dorian would graciously provide once they reached Orlais.

"I would, thanks," she said before she reached across the table and gave Dorian's hand a quick squeeze. "Have a safe trip," she told him. "We owe you dinner at the fanciest place in Val Royeaux."

"Maybe more than that," Dorian grinned. "But dinner's a good start."

Ellana stood and Cecilio took her seat. She made her way back toward the dining car's exit, letting her attention be drawn to the windows opposite Erimond's table when she passed. She found their cabin, ducked inside, and closed the door behind her.

Solas was spread across the entire bank of seats on the right side of the room, his feet propped against the wall and his back facing the door. He looked over his shoulder at Ellana when she walked in, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She had watched him carefully craft every aspect of this plan over the past few days, and she suspected he was now having the time of his life.

"Thanks again for doing this," she said to the woman sitting on the other side of the cabin. They'd met Gissel on another of her interviews. Ellana didn't think they looked all that similar, but they were about the same height and Gissel also had curly hair, though it was more red than brown. Hopefully their identical outfits would do a lot of the work.

They knew the decoys wouldn't stand up to especially close scrutiny. But Cecilio and Gissel would stay in the dining car only briefly, until after the train departed Vyrantium. Then they would head back to the cabin and remain there until they arrived in Val Royeaux.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Orlais. And catching up on my reading." Gissel smiled as she leaned her head toward the book that sat next to her on the seat. It was a well-worn paperback that looked like it had changed hands many times during its life. The front cover was a stylized illustration of a brunette woman wearing a nightgown with a slit that went up to her hip. She reclined scandalously in the arms of a man with wavy black hair, while a broader, red-haired man watched from behind them. Ellana noticed the title last, but by then she hardly needed it.

"Inquisitive Hearts?" she laughed. She glanced over at Solas, who had turned his head very slightly toward the book.

"Oh, yes," Gissel chuckled as well. "I guess it won't surprise you to hear that nearly everyone I know has been reading it recently. All the copies at the library have dozens of holds on them. My friends and I have been passing around this one," she nodded to the paperback, "for a few months now. We found it at a used bookstore."

Ellana gently tapped Solas' ankle and he twisted in his seat so there was room for her to sit beside him. "I hope you enjoy it," she told Gissel. "It's a … fascinating read." She chanced a sideways glance at Solas and was rewarded by the sight of a tiny hint of pink beneath the freckles on his cheeks.

They thanked Gissel once more and Ellana handed over her sunglasses. Gissel placed them over her eyes before leaving to join Dorian and Cecilio in the dining car. As soon Ellana locked the door, Solas removed his suit jacket.

"You're having entirely too much fun," she told him, watching as his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt.

"I am having an appropriate amount of fun, under the circumstances," he replied with a smile that Ellana could see he was fighting to contain.

"Hmm." She knelt in front of the luggage. "How's our time?"

"Nine minutes. We're on track."

Ellana pulled a large tote bag from one of the suitcases and upended the contents on the seat next to Inquisitive Hearts. She passed Solas his canvas hat, along with a striped t-shirt, linen shorts, and a pair of deck shoes with pristine white soles.

"Inspired choices," he said.

Ellana threw him a look over her shoulder.

"I mean it," he assured her as he unbuckled his belt. "I can't imagine wearing any of this."

She grinned proudly as she removed her shoes. Wardrobe had been her assignment, and finding identical sets of clothes that would work on both them and their doubles had actually been a bit of a challenge. Choosing a second set of outfits that looked like something she and Solas would absolutely never wear - that had been the easy part.

She quickly stripped out of her black shirt and pants, and for a moment they each stood in nothing but their underwear. Solas' gaze dipped to her bra and Ellana bit her lip to hold back a laugh. She'd dug deep into her suitcase that morning and retrieved one of the particularly lacy sets Josephine had packed for her - one Solas had not yet seen - guessing that a moment like this was likely to happen.

Solas took a step toward her and Ellana rested her hand on his hip.

"How much time now?" she asked.

"Seven minutes."

Ellana did the math in her head as Solas stroked a finger down her side. Possible? Probably. Likely? Less so. A good idea? Absolutely not. Worth it?

The answer to that last question was a resounding yes but Ellana hadn't quite allowed herself to think it before her phone buzzed from the seat behind her. She turned to grab it, and Solas seized the opportunity to run his hand down to her thigh.

"It's Dorian," she said as she reluctantly stilled Solas' hand. "He says Calpernia hasn't boarded the train yet. He wants us to check if she's still on the platform."

Solas let out an annoyed huff. "That would be inconvenient." He turned his attention back to the outfit Ellana had given him.

"Sure, if by 'inconvenient' you mean really fucking annoying, given how much effort we put into this whole thing."

She pulled her hair up into a bun and then grabbed her own change of clothes from the seat. Ellana couldn't remember the last time she'd worn so much color, but at least she wouldn't look anything like herself. She'd chosen a pale blue sundress with a pattern of tiny white flowers. She slipped it over her head as she turned around, the soft fabric momentarily obscuring her vision. When she pulled the dress down so its straps fit snug on her shoulders and the hem fell below her knees, she saw Solas had paused with his shorts open at his waist to stare at her.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious in a way she hadn't been when she'd been in nothing but her underwear a moment ago.

"Nothing," he replied as he looked at his watch. "It's nothing," he repeated, his brow pinching as he shook his head.

Why does he like he's trying to convince himself? Ellana thought just as Solas stepped across the cabin and wrapped her in his arms.

He kissed her deeply, coaxing her lips apart until he could sweep his tongue inside her mouth. His hand was beneath her skirt, then on her thigh, then lifting her leg to hitch it against his hip. Ellana pressed her palms against his bare chest as she fought to catch her breath.

"How much time, Solas?" she asked against his mouth.

"Not enough," he exhaled as he released his grip on her leg.

"We have to go." She pushed him back gently. "Get dressed."

He was looking at her like he wanted to do anything but. Still, eventually, he turned around to grab his shirt.

Ellana had a wildly stupid idea.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she reached beneath the skirt of her dress, then slid her underwear down her legs and off her ankles.

Ellana slipped on her sandals and then shoved their discarded clothing into her tote. Solas was pulling his shirt down over his head when she opened the door just a crack so she could see out into the corridor. It was still filled with passengers slowly making their way toward their assigned cabins.

When she turned back to Solas, he'd put on one pair of sunglasses and was holding out the second to her.

"OK," Ellana said as she placed them over her eyes. "Finishing touches." She took a brief look at Solas, then tugged on the bottom of his shirt. "Untucked," she told him.

Solas nodded as he pulled the shirt out and over the waist of his shorts. "Did you see her?"

"Not yet. We need to get a view of the platform."

Solas grabbed their hats - his canvas, Ellana's straw and enormous - then moved to the cabin's entrance. He was nearly pressed against her now, her back braced against the door as he leaned over and peeked through the crack where she'd left it open.

"Before I forget …" Ellana swallowed, trying to clear the lump in her throat so she might be able to make this sound casual rather than giving away that she'd been able to hear her heartbeat in her ears for the past minute.

She raised her hand to the space between them and watched with satisfaction as Solas' gaze dropped down to where her underwear dangled from her middle finger.

"A rain check," she said as she slid them into his pocket and watched his eyes go wide. "For the next available opportunity."

She grinned nervously as she took her hat from him and shoved as much of her hair up into the crown as she could. Solas stared down at his pocket with such intensity that Ellana immediately worried she'd provided perhaps too much of a distraction.

"Let's go." She poked his chest and he let out a shaky breath. "We need to get out of here."

Ellana whipped around and opened the door of the cabin the rest of the way. She grabbed Solas' hand and pulled him out into the throng of people. They needed to get to the back of the train - both for their planned departure and to get the best possible view of the platform. She picked her way down the narrow corridor, her small frame making it a little simpler to duck in between people. She could feel Solas lagging behind her, held back by the crowd like an anchor dragging through sand.

The train's PA system emitted a few friendly chimes before announcing they would depart the station in two minutes. Ellana barreled through the final row of sleeper cabins as people shoved themselves against the walls to make way for her. She slammed her shoulder into the door at the end of the hallway, only then realizing it had a handle.

"Come on," Ellana quickly glanced back at Solas as she fumbled with the door.

He was distracted, flushed, and his hand was in his pocket. Their eyes locked for a second before Ellana turned forward again, dipping her head down so the brim of her hat would hide whatever terribly embarrassing expression was now written plainly on her face.

With all her strength, she forced the handle down and they hurried through the baggage car to the very back of the train. Solas pulled a lever that opened a door on the side of the train facing the platform. A small, steep set of three steps unfolded from somewhere within the door's mechanism. Ellana carefully stepped down onto them, gripping a metal bar near the door as she did. She tossed her hat to Solas before slowly leaning out to peer around the edge of the train.

Calpernia was there, still on the platform, though standing right beside an open door to enter one of the passenger cars. She was near the middle of the train and, luckily, faced away from Ellana. But she was obviously hovering, ready to grab onto the handrail to pull herself up into the car.

Ellana ducked back inside as Solas grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"Still there?" he asked.

She nodded. "I think she's trying to wait us out. I don't understand - what did we do wrong? I thought it all went so smoothly."

"Perhaps nothing. She may simply suspect Dorian is not being entirely truthful and is waiting until the last possible moment to make her decision. Clever," he pronounced.

"Maybe a little too clever," Ellana grumbled. "She'll have to decide whether she's getting on before the engineer closes the passenger doors and releases the brakes, I guess."

Solas nodded. "And this door is manually controlled, so we'll have a bit more time."

"A bit more time to do what?" she scoffed. "Jump?"

"Yes, exactly what I was thinking," he smiled.

Ellana stared at him wide-eyed.

"No. Fuck that. Are you kidding me?"

"We can manage if we move quickly," Solas promised. "When you hear two long whistles, the doors will close and the train will begin to move."

"Oh, you're serious." She suddenly felt all the air leave her lungs.

"Ellana, we only have a few seconds," Solas said. "We don't have enough time to go back into the train and through one of the passenger doors. We either get off now, or we're stuck until we reach the next stop."

"Right. OK. Shit." Ellana huffed out each word with a shallow breath in between. When had their plan suddenly taken a turn that required jumping from a moving train? And why couldn't that development have happened before she decided to remove her underwear?

"You go first," Solas told her. "If one of us needs to jump at speed, I'd rather it be me. Longer legs," he added, as if this was an airtight argument.

"Farther to fall," she shot back.

"Be careful," Solas said as he softly placed a kiss to her temple.

"I'll be fine," she scowled at him. "I'm not worried about me."

The train's whistle split the air around them.

Ellana quickly dropped down the last two steps, then jumped toward the platform just as the train jerked beneath her. The strangeness of the sensation made her feel like she was spinning as her feet hit the ground. She stumbled forward, the weight of her tote bag making her struggle to regain her balance, before she finally came to a stop.

She twisted around to watch Solas, her heart in her throat.

He leapt immediately, and it seemed to Ellana that he hung in the air for an impossibly long time. He still held her stupid straw hat in one hand and she wanted to scream at him to just let it go, as if that would guarantee his safety.

Solas landed on the balls of his feet, his knees bending until he was in a low crouch. Despite the train's momentum when he'd jumped, he somehow managed to stay still with his feet planted firmly on the ground. It was annoyingly graceful (especially compared to her own effort), and for a split second Ellana was struck by the ridiculous thought that it wasn't the first time he'd done something like this.

The train quickly picked up speed as it left the station, its signals echoing through the now empty platform. Ellana ran over to Solas.

"You should have given me the bag," he said, with an infuriating smile.

"You should have dropped the fucking hat," she fired back.

Solas merely chuckled as he looked down at her and placed her hat on her head.

Ellana told herself she was furious with him for being so indifferent to just how dangerous that had been. But she couldn't quite sell herself on the lie. She was definitely feeling some kind of warm, intense emotion - but it probably wasn't fury.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine." Solas bent down and gave one of his knees an experimental squeeze. "Ask me again in an hour or two. By then, I imagine my knees will have decided."

"Well, in the meantime, why don't you tell me just how many moving trains you've jumped off in your life?"

"Three," he answered immediately.

"Including this one?"

"Including this one."

"And why, exactly, did you jump off two other trains?"

"Sometimes, when one hasn't the means to afford a ticket but finds himself aboard anyway-"

"So a stowaway," Ellana said.

"If you prefer," Solas agreed with a shrug that made her want to throw something. "My point is, there are times when a fast departure is necessary."

Exasperation and attraction were still a little too tangled up in her brain when it came to Solas, Ellana realized. She wasn't sure that was ever going to change.

Solas scanned the empty platform. "So Calpernia must have gotten aboard, in the end." He removed his hat and stuffed it into Ellana's tote bag with obvious satisfaction.

"It looks like it. I'll let Dorian know. Cecilio and Gissel should probably make sure she sees them before they go back to the cabin."

She rummaged through her tote to find her cell phone, then quickly texted Dorian. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Solas slide his hand into his pocket again. At first she thought he was going for his own phone until her brain kicked in and she realized which pocket it was.

Ellana held very still, pretending she was reading back through old texts as she flicked her thumb across the screen. She was suddenly entirely too aware of the the soft flutter of fabric against her hips in the breeze.

She tossed her phone in the tote and then hooked her arm around Solas' elbow.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

"Where would you like to go?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure yet. But somewhere close."

Ellana raced through Vyrantium, once again pulling Solas along behind her. They'd seen so little of the city streets since their first day, with so much of their time spent in the damp, gloomy tunnels. She was elated to be out in the fresh air and catch the sun dipping low when it peeked out from behind the buildings they hurried past.

Solas' hand was warm in her own as she led him onward. At times it felt almost like he was chasing after her - if she hesitated long enough at a turn he would suddenly be at her back, his mouth on her shoulder and his hands clutching at her waist until she took off again. The sun had nearly set, people were retreating to the city's numerous restaurants for dinner, and the streets were suddenly quiet.

She found herself on a street lined with art galleries - the sort of pretentious, overpriced little storefronts that closed early in the afternoon and catered to tourists with money to burn. They were deserted now, their pottery and paintings locked up tight for the evening. Ellana darted into an alleyway between two shops with Solas fast on her heels.

They tumbled their way down the shadowed passage. Ellana only made it half a dozen steps before Solas had her pinned against the stone wall, one hand planted above her head and the other fisted in her skirt. She ducked away from him, breaking his kiss to drag him deeper into the darkness.

Finally, she found a shallow alcove - two narrow steps leading up to an enormous arched door on the side of one of the gallery buildings. She saw immediately that the door had been painted shut, perhaps more than once, its dark blue paint chipping away to reveal more colors beneath. She hopped up the stairs, dropped her tote at her feet, and wrapped her arms around Solas' shoulders.

He swept his hands beneath her skirt and pulled her against him. His fingers traced the curves of her ass, kneading her, separating her cheeks so he could slide closer to her core. She could feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of his shorts as he pulled her against his hips.

"You should do this more often." Solas squeezed her like he needed to demonstrate what he meant - like she wasn't completely aware.

"If I did, you wouldn't have a single coherent thought all day."

And neither would I.

He laughed his agreement into her neck and Ellana shivered as his breath touched her. She was already too sensitive, too aware of her skin - her body coiling tight each time her dress brushed unpredictably against places that it shouldn't touch. In some strange way she felt as though his hands had been on her for much longer than the past few seconds - both due to how her nerves were on fire and also how she'd watched him, over and over again, slide his hand into his pocket to feel her lace against his fingertips.

She pressed herself against Solas, clutching at his back, winding her hands beneath his shirt, mouthing at his ear.

"You're right, of course."

"About what?" she asked. Her thoughts had left her.

"Most things," he murmured, and Ellana would have kissed him for that if her mouth wasn't already on his neck and if she didn't want to hear him say more. "But specifically about how … preoccupied I would be. I already spend far too much time thinking about touching you - the last time, the next time, the time after that."

"Well, how much is too much, really?" she babbled, barely thinking, as she trailed her fingers down his ribs.

"True," he agreed. "But it is a different sort of distraction entirely to know that, at any moment, I could slip my hand beneath your dress and touch you here."

He dipped his fingers between her legs, brushing like a whisper over her center, and Ellana gasped into his shoulder as her thighs clamped shut on his hand.

"Sorry," she quickly apologized. "I'm - uh …"

"I see this will be quick," he said, grinning.

"It should be quick, Solas. We're in an alley."

With effort, she spread her legs slightly and Solas stroked her thighs until she could finally stand it without trembling. Only then did he slide his fingers to her core again. He was gentle but it didn't matter - she could feel how wet she was. Each of his touches had her writhing against him, then backing away almost immediately when her nerves told her it was too much.

She lifted her forehead from where she'd rested it on his shoulder so she could see his face. It was a strange vantage point - being able to look down on him from her perch at the top of the steps. Ellana tilted his head back, her thumb pressing firmly into the soft spot under his chin. She watched his neck stretch, saw him swallow reflexively against the pressure, his throat bobbing before he took in a gasp of air.

She cradled his jaw in both hands while she sucked and bit her way along his lips. He moaned prettily when she licked into his mouth, and then the noise changed to something higher, needier, when she slid her fingers down the column of his throat. She settled her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down until he crouched in front of her.

Solas dipped his head beneath her skirt, hooked her leg over his shoulder, and grasped her thigh to steady her. Ellana lifted the hem of her dress just enough that she could see most of his face. The first press of his tongue along her cunt was enough to make her bite down hard on her lip. However deserted the streets may have appeared, she didn't need to announce their activities to the world.

With a distant sort of concern, it occurred to Ellana that perhaps she should be watching the edges of the alleyway for anyone who might find them. But she dismissed the thought immediately, her focus claimed entirely by the sight of Solas between her legs.

His cheek was warm against her thigh as he licked her again - a long motion across the length of her sex and ending with a flick across her clit. Her back arched and every muscle in her body tensed as she fought to keep her balance.

"You won't fall," Solas told her, peering out from beneath her skirt. He brought his free hand to the back of her other leg, his fingers stretching across her thigh while his thumb pressed into the crease at the bottom of her ass.

Ellana nodded, trying to get used to the feeling of being slightly weightless in his hold. She wrapped her hand around his jaw to steady herself, her fingers pressing down into his neck. Solas' eyes darkened and she eased back on the pressure.

"Is this alright?" she asked.

"Yes," he breathed. "More was better."

They stared at each other for a long second before Ellana bobbed her head to tell him she understood. Solas, panting through wet and parted lips, was looking at her like she'd just gifted him the moon.

Ellana gripped his face as she brought her hips forward to him and he licked her again.

She was used to him working her slowly, or as slowly as her own limits would allow. But his strokes were different now - still precise as he focused on all the places he'd learned he could make her break apart in his hands, yet with an urgency that had her bucking against his mouth. By the time he slipped a finger inside of her, and then another, she had released her hold on the hem of her dress to clamp her hand over her mouth. It still was not quite enough, even as her fingers dug into the side of her jaw, to smother the noises she made when she came. Solas held her tight against him, moaning his own pleasure into her skin while she shuddered against him.

"Again," he said.

Ellana was sure she'd misheard, spots dancing at the edges of her vision and her thoughts too confused to settle.

"W-what?" she asked, her voice high and shaking.

"It won't take long."

He declared it with such confidence that Ellana thought her legs might actually have buckled beneath her if he wasn't holding her upright.

Solas curled his fingers inside her, stroking against her inner wall. He licked her again but gently, avoiding where she was most sensitive, and Ellana tried desperately to brace herself. He'd done this to her once before and, much to her surprise then, had been completely right in his instincts. She sank her teeth into the thin skin between her thumb and finger as another wave of pleasure surged through her. She wasn't sure if she was still riding out the first or if this was something else entirely, and she certainly didn't care. All she could think was that Solas touched her body like he'd always known it - like he'd memorized her so completely that every hidden part of her had always been on display for him.

He withdrew slowly and was delicate as he eased her back to the ground. She leaned into the corner of the alcove, her legs unsteady, as she drew in breath after breath. Solas gave a cursory glance to either end of the alley before he opened the front of his shorts.

Ellana's eyes darted down to his cock, the sight of him hard and exposed in the dimming light shocking her back into the reality of where they stood. She turned to face the wall and placed her palms flat against the smooth bricks. Solas flipped up the back of her dress and it landed on her waist. She felt a cool rush of air against her slick skin for only a second before he took her from behind.

The sensation was shockingly warm - his cock hot from being pressed tight within his clothing a moment before, and Ellana's own senses confused by the cold that seeped into her hands as her fingernails scrambled to find purchase between the joints of the stones. Solas put a hand on her waist, gripped her shoulder with the other, and then Ellana once again found her attention consumed by a pointless struggle to stay quiet.

After all, she thought, it hardly mattered if she was silent when the noises their bodies made as they joined together echoed through the alley. She was wet enough that she could hear it each time he pulled out of her, then the slap of his skin against hers when he thrust in again. She knew she must be soaking the front of his shorts. She could feel them against her backside each time she drove back onto him. The thought was so compelling she clenched tight around his cock - to imagine that, when they were done, Solas would walk through the streets with a smile on his face and her slick drying on his clothes.

She was half-delirious with the idea of it when his hips began to stutter against her, his pace relentless as his fingers curled around her shoulder and dug into the space above her collarbone.

Solas' breath was ragged and he let out a low whimper when he spilled into her, his cock pulsing within her cunt. Ellana thought perhaps she said something - his name, a curse, complete nonsense. But she couldn't be certain because her world had been reduced to the simplest of sensations: the chill the stones as she rested her forehead against them, the warmth of Solas' cum as it leaked down her thighs, the faint pain from his tight grip on her skin, the thump of her heart in her ears and between her legs.

He withdrew quickly and they both groaned a little louder than they should have. Solas pulled Ellana's dress back down to cover her backside before she turned around and tried to kiss him - the reality was something more like desperate panting against his cheek. Solas stroked a hand through her hair and cupped the back of her head. Ellana realized her hat must have fallen off.

When they finally let go of one another, Solas scanned the entrances to the alley again before he quickly pulled his shirt up and over his head.

"What are you-"

Ellana was interrupted by his answer - he sunk down again, using the shirt to first clean her and then himself. She watched it all with a shaking hand on his shoulder for balance. Finally, he pulled her underwear from his pocket and Ellana lifted each of her feet in turn so he could slide them up her legs. When Solas carefully smoothed the band so it laid flat on her hips and the lace settled against her skin, it took every bit of willpower she possessed not to throw him down on the cobblestones and begin again.

"Would you hand me my other shirt, please?" Solas asked.

Ellana blinked. Then, her attention snapped back and she grabbed both her tote and her hat from the ground. She found the dress shirt Solas had worn with his suit and handed it to him. It was a bit rumpled and would only look a little ridiculous paired with his shorts, she thought.

Solas threaded his arms through the sleeves and then worked at the cuffs while Ellana began to button the front.

"Shall we head back to the hotel?"

He said it so casually, like they'd just gone out for a sunset stroll around town. But Ellana fixated on the blush in his cheeks that spread down to his exposed chest where she'd left the topmost buttons of his shirt open. She stroked her thumb up the blade of his ear and he leaned into her touch, releasing a shaky sigh.

"What's the rush?" she smiled. "I think we should stop and get dinner somewhere first."

Chapter Text

An alarm that was not hers woke Ellana at 5:40 in the morning. She heard Solas silence it immediately, as he had every day this week, and then his breathing almost instantly returned to the steady rhythm that meant he'd fallen asleep again.

Why the fuck is he doing that? she wondered before she rolled over and grabbed her own phone from the nightstand. She winced as the light hit her eyes and she saw the text she'd received three hours earlier.

Dorian: Calpernia did not get off the train in Val Royeaux.

Her heart began to race as she rolled out of bed and tapped Dorian's contact to call him. He answered after the first ring.

"Ellana?"

"Are you sure?" she whispered as softly as she could while she slipped into her robe and hurried toward the balcony door.

"I waited at the station until every passenger departed that train. I checked with the staff onboard. No one noticed when precisely she got off, but it must have been at some stop before Val Royeaux."

"Shit," Ellana hissed as she eased open the door and took a step out into the chilly morning air. She looked back into the room and confirmed that she hadn't woken Solas - his face was still buried in his pillow and his arm reached toward her side of the bed.

"I'm sorry for calling you this early."

"No need to apologize. I haven't slept yet."

That didn't really make Ellana feel like she needed to apologize any less, but Dorian kept talking.

"I sent our friends off to the hotel bar while I kept an eye out for Calpernia at the station. Erimond did follow them, at least. I'm not entirely certain what that means. It could be my colleagues decided to hedge their bets - one of them in Orlais and the other back to Vyrantium. I can reach out to some friends, try to see if anyone knows -"

"No, Dorian. You've done enough. I think we may just have to accept that it's time for us to get out of Tevinter."

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I truly hoped I could buy you two a few more days." He let out a defeated-sounding sigh. "What does Solas say? Will you have to drag him away from those books?"

"He's still asleep."

She glanced over her shoulder again and found that she was wrong - Solas was sluggishly stirring. He flipped back the duvet and stood, rubbing his eyes as he made his way toward her.

"Get some sleep, OK? I'll text you later today," she told Dorian before they each said their quick goodbyes.

Solas yawned as he approached the door, stretching his arms wide above his head and either oblivious or unconcerned that he was now a step away from walking out onto the balcony completely naked.

"Everything alright?" he asked as Ellana hurried back inside, and stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Come on, turn around." She pivoted him by his hips, then cupped an ass cheek in each hand and escorted him toward the bed.

"What are you do-doing?" he objected, much more awake than he had been a moment ago.

"Are you one of those people who walks around their house naked?"

"What? I live alone." Solas twisted, quickly sitting down on the bed to escape her grasp.

"Is that a yes?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

Solas yawned again and then started working through his routine of morning stretches that Ellana still couldn't quite look at directly. "What's going on?" he asked. "You sounded worried."

"It was Dorian." She sat beside him on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. "Calpernia isn't in Val Royeaux. No one's sure when she got off the train, but it definitely wasn't there."

He paused mid-stretch and exhaled. "Fenehedis."

Ellana blinked in surprise to hear the curse from his mouth. She'd never heard him say it before, and she wondered whether he reserved it for only especially desperate occasions.

"What do you think we should do?" he asked.

"I think we should leave. I hate to say it - I know there's still so much you want to see at the library, and there are a few people I'd like to talk to again. But, without Dorian here, and not knowing where Calpernia is or what she's thinking … I don't know, Solas. I don't like it." She shrugged. "I think we should go home."

Once again he paused in the middle of a stretch and, this time, turned to look at her. Only then did Ellana realize what she'd said.

It's not your home, she thought. You've spent one night there. You're making it weird again.

"I mean your home. Go to your home. In Lydes. If that's not - if it's not too much trouble. For me to go back there. With you."

Maybe one day she'd learn to stop running her mouth when she was talking to him. She was a lot less likely to figure it out while he was naked, though.

"Of course it's not too much trouble," Solas said. "You are welcome to stay as long as you like."

It was just the kind of polite thing people said, but he looked a little like he might mean it. Ellana busied herself with her phone.

"Um," she swallowed. "I should check the timetables for trains this weekend. See what our options are. And I'm going to call Leliana. She'll still be on-shift at the Journal. Whatever she says is probably going to scare me a bit - or a lot. But I'd rather her tell me what the worst case scenario looks like than invent it in my head."

"I can look at timetables," Solas suggested as he retrieved his phone and glasses from the nightstand. "You talk to Leliana. And, perhaps, let me know if you feel like you're starting to panic?"

"Right. Sure." Ellana was still deeply unaccustomed to delegating her work to anyone else, let alone having someone offer to take a task off her hands. She had no idea what to make of it.

"Thanks," she said, belatedly.

"Of course." Solas slid on his glasses and leaned back against the headboard, legs crossing at his ankles. He began to scroll through his phone like that - wearing nothing but the glasses - and Ellana considered the possibility that he might be the strangest person she'd ever met, and that it still didn't make a difference.

She grabbed her phone and returned to the balcony.

The call went mostly as she anticipated, aside from the first five minutes when Ellana couldn't get out any of her own questions because Leliana was grilling her about how things were going with Solas. It was only when she asked where they were now that Ellana had a solid opening to talk about the situation with the Venatori.

"Do you want the actual worst-case or what I think is most likely to happen?" Leliana asked.

"Both, I guess?" Ellana gripped the balcony railing, preparing herself for Leliana's response. "We're just trying to decide if we need to leave, and how quickly."

"You should leave," Leliana replied immediately and Ellana's heart sank. She'd known in her gut it was the right call, but having it confirmed scared her a little, and it was disappointing to think they'd have to leave Vyrantium so soon. Who knew when - or if - they'd have a chance to return after all this?

"The worst possible thing that could happen," Leliana continued, "is for the Tevinter government to decide it wants to detain one or both of you indefinitely."

"OK. Fuck. Thanks for not pulling any punches."

"Stay with me, Lavellan," Leliana said, hearing the obvious panic in her voice. "With the changes in leadership there, and the influence of the Venatori, it's not impossible. But I do think it's unlikely. You're a journalist. Your name is well-known now. There would be an uproar. Cassandra might lead an army herself to get you out of there, if it came to it."

Ellana chuckled mirthlessly. "Right. I get it. But none of that really applies to Solas, does it?"

"No," Leliana agreed. "But that's worst-case. What I think is far more likely is that Tevinter will make things annoying for you. They will deny you access to resources - academic and otherwise. They will continue to have you followed and watched. They may do the same to anyone who helps you, probably more aggressively if they are Tevinter citizens. In short: they will do everything possible to get in the way of your research."

"Right. So we may as well leave because they're going to make it pointless - or maybe dangerous - for us if we stay.

"I don't think it's dangerous - not quite yet. But it easily could be."

"OK." Ellana released a long breath and watched as it condensed in front of her. She had not realized how cold it still was - the sun was now emerging over the water, but it hadn't risen high enough that she could feel any of its warmth. She shivered, then slid back into the hotel room and closed the door behind her.

"Thanks for your honesty, Leli. I know this is going to sound weird, but it makes me feel a little better."

"I get it. You know I like to prepare for the worst, too. And I hope you understand that I'm going to pass along everything you told me to Cassandra so she can be ready to act if there is a problem."

"Yeah, that's fine. You can tell Cass."

"I wasn't asking your permission."

"Well you have it anyway." Ellana gave her phone an annoyed shrug like Leliana could see her.

"Stay in touch," Leliana said before she ended the call.

Ellana tossed her phone across the table with a little more force than she meant. Solas looked up from where he still sat on the bed, the light from his screen reflecting off his glasses.

"How bad is it?" he asked as Ellana sat on the side of the bed.

"Bad. Not as bad as it could be. But get-out-of-town bad."

"Hmm." He nudged her gently with his leg. "You're freezing."

Ellana flexed her fingers, realizing just how stiff they'd become while she'd been holding onto the railing outside.

"Here." He flipped back the duvet and gestured her forward. She slid the rest of the way up onto the bed and settled between his legs with her back against his chest. Solas arranged the duvet over both of them.

"What's the train situation?" she asked.

Solas let out an irritated grunt. He rested his chin on top of her head as he angled his phone so they both could see it.

"It seems there are plenty of incoming trains on the weekends, but not many outgoing. It is a tourist destination in the summer, after all."

Ellana reached a finger to his phone, scrolling through the timetable. "So there's nothing at all direct today?"

"No. Our first option would to be to head north around the mountains, east to Antiva, and then I suppose we could pick up a connection to Markham."

"That's so out of the way."

"Yes. But the alternative is to go to Minrathous and then through the Anderfels back toward Val Royeaux."

"Well that's not happening," Ellana said. "We are absolutely not going to Minrathous, even just to change trains."

"Agreed. But there's nothing that heads directly south until tomorrow. There is a train to Cumberland in the morning, and we could get a transfer to Lydes from there."

"So tomorrow?" Ellana twisted so she could look up at him.

Solas nodded. "Do you think it's too long to wait?"

"I'm not sure. Without knowing exactly how long Calpernia was actually on that train, we can't be certain how soon she could make it back here. But at least Dorian didn't tell Alexius where we're staying, and we still have the tunnels to get around."

It was annoying to think of retreating underground after their excursion through the city streets the night before, but it was undeniably the safer option.

Solas placed his phone back on the nightstand and then wrapped his arms around Ellana while she thought.

"If we only have one more day, would you want to spend it-"

"Not at the library," he said definitively.

"Got it," Ellana smiled.

She was more than a little relieved. She'd expected him to want to make the most of their final few hours in Vyrantium.

"The beach?" Solas asked. "The gardener you interviewed suggested that cove near the path we walked. He said it wasn't as crowded as the beaches in the city."

"Because the water's colder and there are more pebbles than sand," Ellana laughed. "But, yeah, it's a better choice for us. And, tonight … dinner? At the place you picked out?"

"Ah." He bowed his head slightly, his expression something Ellana couldn't quite read. "Only if it wouldn't cause too much trouble."

"What do you mean?" She turned sideways, resting her knees on top of his thigh, so she could see his face.

"It isn't out of the city, like that beach is. It might be more of a risk."

"Well, maybe. I guess. But it was the first thing you wanted to do when we got here. So we should do that," she shrugged.

Ellana saw Solas' eyes dart toward something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze, but didn't notice anything particularly interesting - just her phone sitting on the table and his satchel where he'd left it on one of the chairs.

She didn't have a chance to consider it further before she felt his breath warm against her temple. He stroked his thumb across her cheek and turned her face back toward his.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, of course." She laced her fingers behind his neck. "It'll be fine. Dinner tonight, and then we'll get out of here first thing tomorrow."

There was still something odd in Solas' expression when he looked down at her. Ellana had the sense, from the wrinkle in his nose beneath the bridge of his glasses, that he was thinking very hard about something, but she had no idea what it could be. Then his eyes fell to her mouth and suddenly it didn't seem like it was worth worrying about anymore.

Solas kissed her and Ellana hummed happily against his lips. He pulled away after a moment to slide his glasses off his nose and lay them on the nightstand. When he turned back, his mouth was open against hers as he threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of her neck.

Warm and wrapped in his embrace, Ellana found her fears had melted away with the cold.

By mid-morning they'd eaten breakfast and repacked their suitcases.

Solas tried not to dwell on the pleasant ache in his knees and thighs reminding him of the previous day's activities, nor on the memory of the sensation now burned into his mind of lace wound so tightly around the tip of his finger that it stung. He had tried not to stare as he watched Ellana combine some of her things with some of his things when she realized her suitcase was now fuller than when they'd left. He tried to push down the thought of her saying they should go home and meaning his home.

Most of all, he tried to keep his eyes away from his satchel, where he knew Ellana had caught him staring. He wished he'd left the ring in Lydes. These things were done in an order. One could not simply skip ahead to such enormous questions when he had yet to successfully enact a first date.

But it was here, and he was tempted. Every moment he spent with her only made him more certain of what he wanted and terrified of how easily he could lose it.

"What are you doing?"

Ellana's voice broke him from his brooding and he realized he'd been clutching the entirely-too-small swimsuit in his fist for the past few minutes.

"I'm ready when you are," she said.

She was wearing a bathing suit which Solas couldn't see, as she'd appeared from the bathroom with an oversized linen tunic covering it. It was fine, Solas told himself, that he would see the suit for the first time once they arrived at the beach. He had seen her in less - he had seen her in nothing. There was no reason he should still feel the need to steel himself for the sight.

"I'll be just a moment," he said, going into the bathroom to change.

It was clear, even as he pulled the suit over each of his ankles, that it was not going to work. He was able to stretch it over the bottom of his thighs but certainly no higher. Were he a vain man - which he assured himself he was not - he might perhaps be concerned about Ellana's apparent underestimation of several aspects of his anatomy.

"Ellana?" he called.

"Yes?" He heard her feet approach.

"It doesn't fit."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Let me see."

Solas hopped backwards, his knees screaming in protest, and braced his body against the door. He knew she wasn't going to just let herself in but some irrational part of his mind was certain she might.

"There is nothing to see. I'm taking it off."

The detour to buy a new suit cost them a bit of time, but Solas came away with something more comfortable. The replacement had a square-cut leg that offered slightly more coverage and, most importantly, actually fit him. Once he'd changed, they again took a taxi toward the foothills.

Much to his annoyance, Solas spent the bulk of the drive staring down at his phone. Cassandra had been texting him incessantly all morning. He'd overheard enough of Ellana's phone call to guess that Cassandra would be aware of their situation in Vyrantium, but Solas had other reasons to be concerned.

Cassandra: I just want to know that the two of you aren't in any danger.

Solas: You've obviously spoken to Leliana. She advised Ellana this morning.

Cassandra: Yes. But I want to hear it from you.

Solas: Why? I have far less expertise in this area than Leliana does.

Cassandra: True, but you are THERE. And, you have more at stake.

Solas had no particular counter for that last point, so he didn't respond. Instead, he waited anxiously as he watched the dots that indicated Cassandra was typing again.

Ellana gently poked an elbow into his arm. "More Parchment pictures?" she asked hopefully.

She was so obviously excited by the idea - about photos of his cat in his house - that Solas was telling her the truth before he could think better of it.

"No. It's Cassandra."

Ellana frowned at him in silence, almost as if she thought she'd heard him wrong.

"Cassandra?" she repeated after a long moment. "Like, my boss Cassandra?"

Solas nodded as the phone vibrated in his hand again.

Cassandra: Will you still have a chance for dinner before you leave?

Solas: Tonight.

Cassandra: AND?

Solas: And what?

He was being obstinate and he knew it.

"I didn't realize you and Cass were still talking that much, now that the article's been out for a while." Ellana's eyes flicked down toward his phone but the screen was mercifully dark.

"We have been friends for many years," Solas said, struggling to shove the phone into his pocket on the opposite side from where Ellana sat.

"I know. Just kind of surprised she never mentioned to me that you -"

Ellana's eyes went wide as his phone buzzed again. Solas saw her make an effort to hide her surprise before she turned her attention to the scenery passing by the taxi. He pulled the phone out of his pocket just enough to see the notification for Cassandra's latest text.

Cassandra: AND ARE YOU GOING TO ASK HER?

In the intervening months between the dig in the Arbor Wilds and Ellana's visit to Lydes, Solas and Cassandra had spoken more than they had since grad school. He had been her primary point of contact early on when the Journal needed additional information for Ellana's article. And then, over the following turbulent weeks, Cassandra had become his primary point of contact as he tried desperately to determine how much, if any, correspondence Ellana wanted from him.

Perhaps foolishly, Solas had eventually confided in Cassandra - not the specifics of what had occurred between him and Ellana in Boranehnan, but the truth of his feelings for her. Then, in a moment of absolute madness, he'd told Cassandra about the ring.

Cassandra had made some logical leaps that he'd failed to correct at the time and which would now be deeply awkward to clarify. She seemed to be under the impression that he and Ellana had been together for a while - an assumption which, he reminded himself, was not unreasonable given the purchase. Every day that passed without Cassandra mentioning this to Ellana Solas counted as a blessing he did not deserve.

"She's not giving you a hard time about my call with Leliana this morning, is she?" Ellana asked.

"Not really," he said. "She just wanted to check in."

"Oh. Well that's good," she said, her expression entirely at odds with her words. "Tell Cass I say hi, I guess."

Solas pulled his phone from his pocket, very aware of Ellana's eyes on him.

Solas: The timing isn't appropriate.

He didn't have a chance to set it down on his leg before it vibrated again.

Cassandra: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, SOLAS?

"She says hello," he told Ellana as he silenced the phone.

The taxi carried them toward the Via Amoris, this time continuing past the trailhead and along a road that sloped down and ended near the sea. A few food carts were clustered off the side of the road where they were dropped off. Solas' eyes roamed over a display of colorful gelato, but Ellana was already making her way toward a vendor with lounge chairs to rent. It seemed a small extravagance to Solas, but he had to admit it would make for a far more comfortable day than stuffing clothing and towels beneath them to soften the feeling of the pebbles.

The beach itself was located beyond a small hill that obscured it from the road. They wound their way down the long path leading to the entrance, Solas carrying the rented chairs while Ellana held a hand to her brow, scanning the shoreline as it came into view. The beach was not terribly crowded and the water was beautifully clear.

Suddenly, Ellana froze. Solas was following too closely behind her and plowed into her back before he could stop himself. She turned on her heel as he tried to offer an apology, and her eyes were wide as she stepped past him.

"Ellana? What's wrong?"

She was muttering something under her breath but Solas couldn't quite make it out. In an instant he was on high alert, wildly surveying the beach. He was certain she must have seen Calpernia or some other threat that had made her turn so abruptly. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, Solas hurried after Ellana, pinching one of the chairs between his arm and chest so he could grab her hand.

"What is it?" he said.

"Nude beach."

"Excuse me?"

Ellana stopped and let out a huff.

"It's a nude beach, Solas." She pressed a finger to her temple, beneath her sunglasses. "I cannot believe the gardener didn't think to mention it."

Solas tossed a glance behind him and realized there was, in fact, a good deal of exposed skin that he hadn't noticed when he'd been searching for Venatori.

"Well," he said. "It's not uncommon in Tevinter."

"Yes, I know that, thank you. I'm not from Tevinter. We don't really do that in the Marches. Maybe some topless sunbathing but not …" She waved her hands furiously as she started walking again, stomping her way back up toward the food carts. "Let's go. If we hurry we might be able to catch the taxi before it leaves."

Solas hesitated. Ellana's words had unhelpfully conjured the image of her sunbathing topless to the forefront of his mind.

"Ellana, wait. Wait," he called out, scrambling to keep pace with her. She stopped again, arms crossed over her chest.

"It's not as if it's mandatory," Solas said, then immediately realized this was perhaps not the best argument as he saw her jaw clench. "Some people will still have suits."

"It didn't look like it," she told him. "And how do you know, anyway? How many of these places have you been to?"

"A few," he answered, knowing it wouldn't help to persuade her. "It's not all that uncommon in Orlais, either."

"Orlesians," she said with a roll of her eyes. She began muttering again, though this time Solas was close enough to hear that it was in Elvish. He only caught some what she said but it sounded like a litany of grievances against both Tevinter and Orlais. He wondered whether she counted him among either of their populations.

"We can go back to the city," he offered halfheartedly.

"I already paid for the chairs," Ellana groaned. "And if we go back, I know I'm just going to sit in the hotel room all day and work when the sea is …" she pointed toward the shoreline, "… right there."

"Yes," Solas said. He dropped one of the chairs to the ground, balancing it with his knee, and placed a somber hand on her shoulder. "If only you can summon the courage to walk past a dozen or so people in various states of undress."

"Oh, funny." She wrenched her shoulder from beneath his grasp, but he detected the beginning of a smile in the curl of her lip. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Just think," he added. "Had we been warned in advance, we needn't have purchased a suit for me."

Her eyebrows lifted.

"A joke," he said.

"Are you sure?"

Ellana stared hard at him and Solas fought to appear indifferent beneath her gaze. He had a feeling - and he was fairly confident it was correct - that she had already made up her mind. She simply had not yet admitted this to herself, which was not especially unusual for Ellana.

"Let's go," she said, heading toward the beach. "Don't," she glared at him over her shoulder, "say another word."

Solas snapped his mouth shut, for once allowing his retort to die on his tongue.

Ellana trekked across the beach, finally choosing a spot far away from the other sunbathers. Solas set up the large lounge chairs, covering each with a towel, while Ellana found a hair clip from her bag and fixed her curls at the back of her head.

"Not one person we walked past was wearing a suit, Solas. Not one. Tops or bottoms," Ellana grumbled as she removed her cover-up and draped it over the top of her chair. He might have focused more on the black two-piece suit she wore, were he not still considering the possibility that one or both of those pieces might soon come off as well.

"Really?" he said. "I hadn't noticed." He had, and her exasperated sigh was a more than appropriate response.

Solas watched out of the corner of his eye as she bent over to search her bag for the sunscreen. It had been some time since he last had an excuse to visit a beach, but as he propped up his feet and reclined in his chair he thought that, despite the uncertainty of the morning's revelations and his anxiety about the dinner to come, he might be able to relax this afternoon. He removed his suit and placed it behind his back.

"If Josephine knew I was here, she would murder me," Ellana said, pulling one item after another from the tote and depositing each on her chair.

"Didn't you say Josephine is Antivan? I believe nude beaches are just as common there as they are in Tevinter."

"That's not the - stop telling me how much you know about nude beaches!" She dug deeper into the bag, her back still turned to him, and Solas fought back a laugh as he looked out toward the water.

"Just … I know it's going to sound horribly arrogant," she lowered her voice and he had to strain to hear her over the crash of the waves. "But what if someone recognized me and - I don't know - tried to take a picture?"

"Then they would have far greater concerns than Josephine, I assure you."

"Oh, right." Ellana scoffed. "Between the two of you, I'm betting on Josie. Maybe you could give them a sternly-worded lecture, but she would destroy their life."

Solas was briefly tempted to clarify that he would do far more than lecture in such a scenario, but thought better of it.

"Have you found the sunscreen?" he asked.

"Not yet. Wait." Ellana shoved her entire arm into the tote, then finally emerged with the bottle gripped in her hand. "Got it!" she said, smiling triumphantly as she stood and turned toward him.

"Oh, for fuck's -"

The sunscreen slipped from her grasp and Solas scrambled to catch it before it could land in his lap. Ellana looked down at him, her eyes roaming before they snapped back to his. She scowled at him.

"Sorry, I … so we're just doing this now?" she said.

"You don't need to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"Well we're already on a nude beach so I think that ship has sailed. And, besides, what am I supposed to do, just sit here and look at you?"

"It's considered quite rude to stare, actually," he told her.

Ellana glared at him. "Right." She unhooked the top of her suit and whipped it off. "Fine." She dropped it on her chair as Solas kept his eyes resolutely on her face. "Who gives a shit?" She pulled her bottoms down her legs and Solas decided it would be better to busy himself with the sunscreen.

The next several minutes required many passes back and forth of the lotion, as well as an unnecessarily lengthy negotiation about the logistics of helping to cover each other's backs. Solas twisted sideways in his chair first, and tried to enjoy - but not enjoy too much - the soft touch of Ellana's hands along his shoulders and upper back. When she finished, she handed Solas the lotion and lay on her stomach with her arms crossed beneath her head. He found this process to be somewhat more challenging, requiring occasional diversions to count the pebbles beneath his feet or watch the gulls flying overhead.

When he returned to his chair, Ellana sat up and pulled her knees close to her chest. She stared out at the water with a longing so evident that Solas almost felt as though he was intruding by watching her.

"Do you swim?" he asked, guessing at the reason for her expression.

Ellana frowned at him in the way she reserved for questions she thought had painfully obvious answers. "Are you serious?"

"I was merely curious. There was no judgment if you cannot."

"Do you swim?" she rolled her eyes as she repeated his question back to him. "You must know where Clan Lavellan lives, right?"

He did of course, but he wanted her to tell him, so he merely smiled in reply.

"Outside of Wycome. Right on the eastern shore of the Free Marches. Pretty much as far into the Amarathine Ocean as you can get without being on an island. The only thing we did during the summers was swim."

"If you wish to go into the water, it isn't so far a walk."

Ellana turned toward him, crossing her arms beneath her chest before she leaned against the armrest of her chair. It was a position that made it very difficult for Solas to keep his gaze on her face, but he was determined to do so even as Ellana narrowed her eyes at him.

"I don't need you to talk me into anything."

She stared at him a long moment as she allowed that pronouncement to hang in the air. Then, she put a hand to the back of her head and removed her hair clip, letting her curls fall loose once more. Without another word, she was up and walking toward the water, her back straight and her chin tilted up in a haughty challenge. Solas hurried out of his chair to follow her.

No one else on the beach had ventured into the water and Solas immediately understood why. His first few steps into the foam were frigid. It was too early in the summer for truly comfortable swimming, with the nights still too cold for the sun to make much of a difference during the day.

Ellana forged ahead of him, showing no reaction to the temperature. She quickly cleared the shallows, lifting her knees higher as the water began to slow her momentum. When a wave crested over her, she pulled her hands above her head, brought them together, and twisted sideways as she dove through it.

Solas was not yet so accustomed to the sight of her body as to be able to separate aesthetic from desire. And yet, as he watched her form and noted the stretch of muscle beneath skin, he saw the shape of additional drawings that had not occurred to him before. Mostly, he'd considered her softness - all curves, full and delicate. Now he saw the elegance of these firmer lines and hoped he had memorized them well enough to recreate to his standards.

He quickened his pace, pushing forward until the water hit his chest and forced a gasp from his lungs. He had only a second to catch his breath before a wave rose in front of him and he ducked under it, emerging on the other side colder than ever.

Once he cleared the breakers, Solas saw Ellana in the distance, her head bobbing above the water. He had moved only a few feet toward her before she covered the remaining distance with surprisingly efficient strokes. She popped up in front of him and swept her hair back from her face.

"I knew it," she said as if she'd come to a sudden epiphany about something very important.

"Knew what?" Solas asked.

"You. Wandering around your house, completely naked, all the time."

He stared at her, shocked by the accusation and thrown by what felt like a complete change of topic.

"I do not," Solas objected. "That's not at all an accurate -"

"Poor Parchment," Ellana shook her head with mock concern. "Constantly subjected to your odd, Orlesian sensibilities."

"If anything, Parchment is more Orlesian than I am."

"You get back from class, strip down to nothing, park yourself at your dining table and just grade in the nude, don't you?"

"You've painted yourself a very elaborate picture," he said, blushing. "Quite an impressive amount of detail, based on a complete lack of evidence."

"Uh-huh, well." Ellana thinned her lips and gave him an appraising look. "We'll see how wrong I am."

He scoffed, but it came out as a shudder, his teeth chattering.

"Cold?" she arched an eyebrow.

"It is … bracing."

Ellana gave him a self-satisfied grin. "Feels good to me."

Solas retreated back to shore not long after, leaving Ellana to enjoy the water. He watched her for a little while, then settled back in his chair and retrieved his cell phone from where he'd dropped it in her bag. He dismissed the additional four texts he'd received from Cassandra without reading them and instead made a quick call to reserve a table at the grotto restaurant. If he had learned anything in Boranehnan, it was not to leave weekend dinner plans to chance in a tourist town.

With that particular detail satisfied, he rolled onto his stomach and promptly fell asleep.

He woke sometime later, a bit perplexed by his surroundings and having no idea how long he'd been out.

"Solas," Ellana said. He realized what had stirred him was some combination of her voice and the fact that she was repeatedly poking her finger into his shoulder.

His mind slowly caught up and he rolled onto his side, blinking at the harsh sunlight. He was even less prepared for the sight of Ellana standing over him, her skin radiant and hair still slightly damp.

"You're not going to believe this," she said.

"What is it?" He sat up, gathering his towel around him.

"I just got another chapter of Elvhen Glory."

"Really?"

Ellana nodded as she sat down, and Solas dragged his chair a few inches closer to hers until their armrests were touching.

"Have you started reading it yet?" he asked as he leaned over to look at her phone.

"Of course not. I was waiting for you to wake up. And then you took too long so …" She shrugged.

Solas exhaled a chuckle as kissed her hair above her ear. "Go on, then."

Elvhen Glory
Chapter 14

The interior of the carriage reeked of horse — a thick, musky stench that Remus suspected would cling to his clothes and nostrils for days. The air was stale, thick with the kind of tension that didn’t rise or move — simply settled, like a miasma in the lungs, impossible to purge. It was the best carriage the Inquisition had been able to charter, but it was still far below his standard of travel. 

The Inquisitor shifted in her seat across from him, fingers twisting her gloves with such force it was a miracle the stitching held. Perfectly acceptable leather — wasted. He doubted a Dalish elf had ever even touched something that fine, let alone owned it. Of course she didn’t know how to treat it. Some part of him still struggled to understand how someone so wild could be expected to lead anything, let alone a significant geopolitical force.

He pressed his fingertips into his knees, willing himself to relax. He would not allow her tantrum to make him lose his cool.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet, Inquisitor. Planning your next move, or simply stewing?” he asked, keeping his voice light but laced with mock concern.

“Just weighing my options for where to dispose of a body in broad daylight,” she muttered.

“What’s that?”

Her eyes shot from her gaze out the window to meet his. “Nothing is wrong, counselor,” she glared, “nothing except the company. I simply don’t understand why you insisted on replacing Serena for this trip. Especially after—” she caught herself, her voice tightening, “—after that little display yesterday.”

“It wasn’t a display.” He offered a thin, closed-lip smile — all forced politeness, even in private. “I simply believed your approach with House Marovale lacked the appropriate deference. And let’s not forget, Inquisitor: if your Council hadn’t agreed with me, I wouldn’t be here.”

“You didn’t need to humiliate me just to voice disagreement,” she said sharply. “What was it you called my plan? Emotionally fueled and foolhardy, wasn’t it?”

“It’s my job to advise you. That’s what I was doing — advising. As an advisor.” He tilted his head slightly. “You would’ve started a war. Fortunately, now you have the benefit of my years of diplomatic experience to secure what you would have inevitably lost.”

He watched as a flush crept into her cheeks — anger, yes, but also something electric. He had her thoroughly stirred, and he knew it. He still wasn’t sure why it pleased him so much to wind her up, but it did.

“You made me look short-sighted and naive,” she hissed, her temper flaring.

“With all due respect, Madame, you made yourself look that way.”

Aurora's hand slapped across his face before he could think. The sharp crack echoed in the cramped space — then silence.

They both stared at her hand where it hovered between them, faint threads of lightning crackling from her fingertips like a storm barely contained.

“Ah.” Remus resisted the urge to rub his cheek — she’d struck harder than he thought her capable. He glanced at her hand again, still tingling with magic. “So. The halla does have horns after all.”

They sat in silence for a long while, the horses clomping the only sound. 

Ellana hesitated and Solas strained to look down at her phone.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"No. No, there's a bit more," she said quietly.

"What's wrong?"

Her brow was pinched, Solas noted, and she rolled her thumb down the phone's screen, silently reviewing the last few lines of text.

"Nothing," she said after a minute. "So Aurora slapped him."

"Yes," Solas nodded. "Apparently with a bit of magic thrown in."

"Hmm." She fidgeted in her chair, tapping a finger on the wooden armrest as she began to read again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Aurora yanked her gloves back on, as if she could shove the magic back inside her skin. So much for subtlety. The cat was out of the bag — or perhaps more like lightning out of the storm cloud. She hadn’t lost control like that in years.

And now Remus knew. That made him dangerous. He might see her power as a threat. He might share this with the Council. He might use it.

Until now, no one in the Inquisition had ever provoked her enough to wake the storm that always raged in her soul.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, jaw tight, her stomach twisting. What would he do with this? Expose her? Threaten her? Mock her?

Instead, he just smirked — wry and infuriatingly calm, like someone who’d been handed a secret treat before dinner and planned to savor it slowly.

“Untrained … but gifted,” he said at last, like he was appraising a rare artifact. “Our Inquisitor. Full of surprises, as always.”

Was it too late to deflect? To deny? Perhaps she could explain it away as a trick of the light. Perhaps static. A dry winter on the road could cause such shocks. 

“Or are you really going to pretend we didn’t both see exactly what just happened?” he said, cutting through her thoughts.

She pressed her lips together, frantically searching for the right way to solve this problem.

The intensity of his gaze had softened as he watched her now, his face looking more like a sculptor admiring an uncut piece of marble. 

“I see potential in you,” he said slowly. “Untrained, yes — but not without discipline. You’ve hidden it well. Too well, perhaps. Were you hiding it from everyone… or just from me?”

He tilted his head, voice steeped in curiosity — and something that sounded dangerously close to amusement.

“No,” she breathed, the word slipping out before she could catch it. “I’ve never … told anyone. The only person who knew … it was a long time ago, and I—”

Her voice cracked. The hitch in her breath borne of pure ache came uninvited, ripping through her like a fault line.

He placed a hand on her shoulder — not callous, but practiced. Just on the kinder side of stiff. “There, there, Inquisitor. It’s alright. Just tell me.”

Warmth bloomed from where he touched her, subtle and unnatural, sliding beneath her skin like a balm.

She felt her chest loosen, her heart soften toward him. For one terrifying moment, he felt like an old friend. Like safety.

What was this sorcery?

Her hand shot to his wrist — tight, vice-like — and she wrenched it away from her shoulder like it burned.

“What do you think you’re doing? Are you manipulating me with your magic? Have you absolutely no moral code? You know it’s mages like you that keep people like me from –” She cut herself off, biting the rest back before it could escape. She sounded like the frightened girl she'd been when she first felt power surge inside her — not the woman who now wore the title of Inquisitor. She took a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and for once, he actually sounded like he meant it. “It’s a reflex. I’ve trained myself to ease pain the moment I sense it. I wasn’t thinking.”

She rolled her eyes, the fire back in full. “I don’t need your easing. Or your pity.”

“I can help you control it,” Remus said, calm and maddeningly confident. “If you let me train you, I’ll show you that power doesn’t have to come wrapped in ritual. Mages don’t need to be mystics to be respected — they just need to be effective.”

“You know nothing of the Dalish,” she spat back.

“Did your First turn you away the moment your magic surfaced? Tell you it wasn’t real — that only your Creators could grant such power, and anything else was heresy or madness? That to wield magic without ritual was arrogance?

"Were you warned to keep quiet or be cast out? Forced to hide something you knew could move mountains if only someone had let you try?”

He paused. Watching. Weighing her silence.

“Perhaps I know more than you think.”

She searched his eyes for the usual signs — cunning, superiority, veiled amusement. But this time … nothing. No smirk. No game. Just quiet knowledge.

Aurora had let her naivete fool her before, but this still surprised her. How could he possibly know so much about what it meant to be feared by your own people?

“I’ll think about it,” she said coolly. “And if I agree… maybe I’ll teach you something too.”

She leaned back, just a hint of a smirk. “Like how not to be such an ass.”

"Interesting," Solas said as Ellana rested back in her chair. "So they have a tentative alliance now, I suppose."

She said nothing and Solas watched as she again flicked her thumb down the screen, her expression growing increasingly sour as she read.

"The description of the Dalish -"

"Yeah, not great," she interrupted. Yet Solas had a sense that this was not precisely what was annoying her. He began again.

"Aurora is certainly a very different sort of heroine from Jeanne."

Ellana's eyes slid toward him. "Uh-huh," she said.

"Is everything -"

"It's getting kind of late," she said. "Do you want to order a taxi and we can grab something quick to eat while we wait?"

"I - well, yes." Solas knew he was being deflected but had no clear understanding of why. He thought it was best, for now, to let it happen - Ellana would reveal her thoughts in due course and, in the meantime, he was hungry.

They dressed and repacked her tote, then Ellana watched, her arms folded with an amused smile on her lips, as Solas circled the food carts twice before making his selections. They sat side by side at a wooden picnic table that had been bleached by the sun, waiting for the taxi that would return them to the city.

Solas had chosen another regional specialty he'd read about - little triangles of thin crêpes made with a batter of chickpea flour and olive oil, and topped with more of the local, fragrant rosemary. After, they shared a shaved ice flavored with orange and a hint of something bitter beneath. Solas tried not to fixate on the way Ellana placed the small spoon over her tongue before she slowly pulled it from her lips and passed it back to him.

Ellana spotted the taxi in the distance, her expression pensive as she pointed toward it. She'd been unusually quiet since they walked up from the beach.

"Are you alright?" Solas asked. "That chapter of Elvhen Glory -"

"It's not important." She shook her head as she took his hand in hers. "Let's talk about it later."

"If you're certain."

"I am." Ellana's eyes were on their hands as she traced her thumb over his knuckles. When she looked up at him again, she smiled.

"I don't want to waste one minute of the time we have left here."

She kissed him with the taste of orange and saltwater on her lips, and he loved her.

Chapter Text

Solas paced the hotel room, rolling and unrolling the sleeves of his shirt. They wouldn't sit how he wanted - either too loose so they looked untidy, or too tight so they bit into his arms above his elbows. He sighed in frustration as he yanked his right sleeve back down to his wrist and began again.

He could not recall when last he had been quite this nervous. Ever since they'd returned from the beach, he'd kept an eye on the restaurant in the distance. He watched as patrons filled the tables, then wait staff cleaned them, then they filled again. He shook his wrist to straighten the now wrinkled sleeve, and made another circuit of the room.

His mind would not still. He loved Ellana.

Solas had eased away from the thought more times than he could count, telling himself he could contain the feeling if he did not allow himself the word. It was a pointless lie, but one he'd maintained for longer than he cared to measure - and he had been correct to do so. Now that he'd indulged himself once, he could think of nothing else.

Logically, of course he understood. What other word could possibly encompass what he felt? How could he help but love her? Why would he have bought a ring for someone he didn't love?

He glanced toward the closed bathroom door before retrieving the velvet box from the bottom of his satchel. Too reckless, he thought, even as he turned his back to the bathroom and flipped open the lid.

The ring was exactly as it had been when he'd last seen it in Lydes, the night Ellana arrived. He'd wanted to look at it for days, but had successfully fought back the urge until now. Solas tilted the box slightly, angling it to catch the light so he could inspect the stone.

His theory was correct. The rich green color, cut occasionally by black striations, was remarkably similar to the wolf figurines they'd seen during Ellana's interviews. Unfortunately, he had not inquired as to the type of stone set in the ring when he'd purchased it - his mind had been elsewhere entirely. He would have to wait until he was home to ask someone at the university's Environmental Sciences department to identify it.

Solas snapped the box shut, frustrated to have discovered something which seemed significant but which he couldn't share directly with Ellana. If nothing else, he could suggest the material the wolves were made of might be important, and hope she would be able to get more detail from Loranil. Still, it would be much simpler if he could only tell her the truth.

The drive back to the hotel had been quiet as Ellana, drained from the time she'd spent in the water and the sun, rested half-asleep against his shoulder. It had afforded Solas much time to think, to organize at least a few of the options weighing heavily on his mind. There was no reason, he had decided, to bring the ring with him to dinner. It would only be an appalling repeat of Chez Bellise if his sense left him and he somehow managed to ask her there.

No, Solas thought. Whenever he asked Ellana - which would not be tonight, the timing was not appropriate, as he had rightly told Cassandra - he would do so privately. He stroked a finger across the velvet lid as far too many possibilities competed for his attention.

"Solas?"

He palmed the box, heart fluttering in his chest. She must have been silent when she opened the bathroom door - or perhaps he had been lost in his thoughts again. How long had she been there?

Solas quickly turned toward Ellana, slipping his closed fist into his pocket.

Her hair had been enormous when they left the beach, the waves and wind conspiring to make it look even wilder than usual. She'd tied it back, but several curls had already made their inevitable escape. She again wore the familiar wide-cut pants that Josephine seemed to favor for her. Her top had a square neckline that cut across the swell of her breasts without showing all that much of them, but was cropped to expose an inch or two of her stomach above her waist. Immediately, Solas thought of how he might wrap a hand around her back while they were walking and still be able to feel her skin warm beneath his fingers.

But even this idea was secondary to the revelation that hit him, as violently as a punch to the jaw, when he saw her.

She was all in white. Of course she was.

He fidgeted with the box in his pocket, turning it around in his fist, before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to still.

"You clean up nice," Ellana smiled as she crossed the room. He could detect nothing unusual in either her voice or her expression, but he struggled to clear the lump in his throat before he spoke to her.

"As do you."

"What happened here?" she asked, pointing to his pocket.

Solas froze, neither blinking nor breathing as she approached him.

She clasped his right arm at the elbow, then smoothed the unbuttoned sleeve all the way down to his wrist. Her fingers curled around the edges of his shirt, her nails softly scraping over his skin, and for one horrifying moment Solas was certain she was about to slip her hand into his pocket.

Then, she caught the cuff of his sleeve and glanced up at him. "Need some help with this?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, exhaling all the air in his lungs. "Yes, thank you."

He released his grip on the velvet box and pulled his hand from his pocket, holding his arm up for her.

"Are you OK?" Ellana asked as she folded back the sleeve of his shirt. "You're shaking a little."

"Am I? I must be tired," he said, grasping for an explanation. "The sun."

"Tired?" She raised an eyebrow. "You spent most of the day asleep."

He forced out a chuckle. "Well, yesterday was … eventful."

Ellana went a little pink at the reminder. Thankfully, it was enough of a diversion that she turned her full attention to working on his shirtsleeve. Once she'd folded it enough times that it was even with the other side, she tugged lightly at the edges where it now sat just above his elbow.

"Not too tight?"

"Perfect," he confirmed.

"Good, because we should get out of here." She glanced at her watch. "We're going to have to make the walk above-ground. The tunnels don't really go any farther east than the hotel."

"Right. I should …"

Solas felt Ellana's eyes on him as he hesitated, mentally searching for some place he might stash the ring. If he tried to hide it in the room, he'd have to do it while she watched him - not impossible, but difficult and very risky. He could perhaps find a place in the bathroom, but that seemed much less secure and he would have to hurry to retrieve it after they returned from dinner.

"You should what?" Ellana tilted her head, regarding him too curiously for his liking. "Maybe you did get a little too much sun. Are you sure you're still up for this?"

"Yes. Let's go." He grabbed her hand and headed for the door.

Ellana winced, sucking in her cheeks as she looked at her glass. "Wow. I swear this gets sweeter every time I try it. Stronger, too. That's what I get for ordering something called a 'Frilly Cake.'"

"Yours is too strong?" Solas looked at the identical, cream-colored liquid in his own glass and took another sip. "I'm enjoying mine."

She shook her head in a way that told him she was not surprised.

After a round of drinks Solas was considerably calmer, though his tongue had loosened accordingly.

"When we return to Lydes," he said, leaning forward over the table with the flat bottom of his glass perched only somewhat perilously in the palm of his hand, "there's a new restaurant that just opened a few weeks ago. Antivan. I'd love to take you there. They make a fantastic paella."

"I remember. You told me about that place when you first tried it. Actually, I think you sent me a picture of that exact paella," Ellana laughed before taking another sip of her drink.

"That's right," he nodded. He had done that. He knew it. Why was he still talking, he wondered, as he continued.

"There is also the university campus, and I had hoped to show you more of the museum. I imagine you will want to see the artifacts from the Dragon Age, and it would be my pleasure to answer any questions you have about them, though it is far from the only noteworthy collection. And, of course, there are also the gardens at the old Remache estate, but that is well outside the city itself."

She offered him a small smile, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed slightly as she listened.

"You have a list," she said.

Oh, Solas thought as she set down her glass. She was watching him too closely. Or was it that he was speaking too much? Or too quickly? He should perhaps not have another drink, he thought as he finished off the first.

"I - yes. I suppose I do. If it's too much -"

"No," she shook her head. "No, not at all. I just hope we can cover all of it - you know, before your semester starts."

Solas clasped his hands on the top of the table. The beginning of the fall semester - was that some sort of terminus in her mind? Did she think she would need to leave then or, perhaps, did she want to leave by then? She couldn't envision herself in Orlais - that much was painfully clear. He had already committed to the upcoming year of classes. But if he started looking into open positions immediately, as soon as he was home, he might be able to find something for the following year. Markham was the most obvious choice, but he knew little of their programs or faculty and-

Breathe, he told himself. After a moment, he did.

Everything was perfect, exactly as he'd envisioned, if only he could allow himself to enjoy it. Their table was pressed up against the railing at the grotto's edge, affording them an unobstructed view. The evening sun reflected beautifully off the water, and the restaurant was set back from the sea in such a way as to protect from the worst of the wind. An occasional breeze lifted Ellana's hair and Solas watched that for some time, until it proved too distracting and he turned his gaze to the sea instead. Eventually, that also became a challenge, as he remembered the shape of her cutting through the waves while she swam. He stared down at his hands.

When the waiter took their orders, Solas nodded that he would like a second 'Frilly Cake.' Ellana asked for wine instead and passed what remained of her drink across the table for him to finish.

They hadn't spoken for several minutes - a complete irregularity. The meals they shared now rarely had silences; they were always filled with nearly unbroken discussion. Ellana looked out at the horizon, her hand rubbing forcefully over her collarbone until Solas could see a hint of red marring her skin. He fought off the urge to reach into his pocket, wanting to turn the box over in his hand again to calm his nerves - knowing that actually doing so would have the opposite effect.

"I spent a lot of time -" Ellana began.

"I wanted to ask -" Solas said at the same time.

They let out identical, nervous laughs.

"Go ahead." Ellana offered.

"No." He took a deep drink. "You should continue."

"I was just going to say that I spent a lot of time reading today."

"You did?" He thought back to the morning they'd spent together, the hours at the beach, and the brief stop they'd made back to the hotel to change. "When?" he asked, perplexed.

"At the beach. You were asleep for a while, you know."

Their waiter returned to drop off their drinks and the first course, a salad of marinated vegetables that Solas had been eager to try when he'd looked at the menu earlier in the week.

"Did you read anything in particular?" he asked.

"Yes." Ellana spread her napkin across her lap. "Everything Cole sent me. And, actually, I had Merrill email me a few other sources for comparison."

"On the Elven gods?"

"Right. Mostly Fen'Harel. But I have to say I thought it was interesting you chose Gisharel's stories for your classes."

She was watching him again, and he knew he had not imagined the bit of stress she'd put on the word 'interesting.' Gisharel was a prolific and invaluable source of Dalish history, but a divisive topic among Clan scholars.

"Gisharel was faculty at Lydes for many years," Solas answered carefully. "And then, before he retired, a dean."

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't realize. Did you know him at all?"

"I do know him, yes," he said. Then, because he realized there was no reasonable way to justify not saying it, Solas added, "He's my neighbor."

"Your neighbor?" Ellana bit her lip as she put together the pieces - as he knew she would. "The old man whose groceries you pick up? And didn't you clean his gutters last month?"

"Yes."

Ellana released a low hum. "That's … wow. I'm not sure if I should even tell Merrill. You do know he's a little, um …"

'Controversial' was likely the word she was hesitant to say. Solas was all too aware, which was why he'd avoided mentioning his neighbor by name for as long as he could. Of course, Gisharel now knew much about Ellana and was looking forward to an introduction. Solas had no idea whether he should attempt one.

"I know there are mixed feelings about him among the Dalish clans - his own included," he said.

"Yeah, well, Clan Ralaferin has taken some grief on his behalf. Did you choose him because he's a colleague?"

"No." Solas bristled slightly at the suggestion. "I chose him because his stories are the most comprehensive."

"Right, but that's sort of the problem. I don't care about the debate with the more traditional Keepers as to whether he should have included the apocryphal stuff - and, to be clear, most of what I read about Fen'Harel today would easily fall into that category. But plenty of people have objections to just how much he's been willing to share."

"Do you think these stories should not be shared outside of the clans?" Solas asked more directly than he'd intended.

"I think it's understandable to guard some of your history when a lot of it has been taken from you."

He'd seen her make the argument before, both in print and in person. Now that he knew her, he suspected this was more a repetition of doctrine than her own belief; it was apparent that she'd phrased her response to avoid directly answering his question.

"So you sympathize with the Dalish position," Solas said. "But what is your personal opinion? Do you think, for example, the elves maintaining the tunnels in Vyrantium should not have access to such stories, when they are - in their own way - already deeply immersed in the mythology?"

"Well, your opinion's very clear," Ellana said.

"I'm certain you guessed my opinion from the moment you saw Gisharel's name on the material Cole sent you - if not before."

"I could have guessed your opinion on this within the first five minutes I met you," she grumbled as she pushed a pepper around her plate with her fork. "But the thing is, I'm pretty sure I forfeited any right to talk about it when I decided I wasn't going to be my clan's First."

"I disagree with that premise but, even so - I'm not asking you to make an official statement on behalf of your clan. I'm asking you to tell me because I'd like to know what you think."

Ellana placed her fork on her plate and sat back in her chair. "Fine," she said, crossing her arms.

"Of course I think the stories should be shared. The clans guard them, but that makes them static. There's no room for them to breathe. And so what you get instead is something like we saw here: people who are telling completely new stories, passed down though their own generations. How much more could we understand about what happened in Vyrantium during the Dragon Age if the people here knew more about Fen'Harel? And how might Dalish stories about Fen'Harel have changed if we'd known what the elves here were saying? The separation just guarantees our history will never be complete."

Solas stared.

"Well said," he told her after he'd composed himself.

Ellana rewarded him with such a lovely scowl that he wanted to leap from the table and claim her lips with his. He was, in truth, nearly always ready to do so, but he felt it as a particular ache whenever she looked at him like that.

She held his gaze a while longer until finally giving him an exasperated roll of her eyes and returning her attention to her food. Solas stole glances at her over the rim of his glass as he drank, watching her face slowly soften as she loosed her ire on the vegetables she stabbed with vicious enthusiasm.

By the time the waiter returned with their next course several minutes later, Ellana's cheeks were far less red and she was once again wielding her fork more like a utensil than a weapon. Solas finished his drink as Ellana looked up at him again.

"That wasn't really the conversation I meant to have," she said quietly. "Though I did want some clarification on Fen'Harel and this harellan argument."

"Gisharel's theory that translating harellan as 'traitor' is, if not incorrect, then at least an anachronism?"

"Right," Ellana shifted in her seat. "Based on the idea that it's actually related to the root word that gives us harillen and hellathen."

"'Opposition' and 'noble struggle,' respectively," Solas nodded. He was relieved the words had come to him so quickly - his thoughts were far more sluggish than they had been at the start of dinner.

"So we're saying that hundreds, maybe thousands, of years of history and stories have conspired to slander the Dread Wolf?" Ellana shrugged. "Why?"

"If there is any conspiracy, it's only at the narrative's origin. Gisharel is not implying an ongoing effort on the part of the Dalish to ensure Fen'Harel remains the villain of your stories. He suggests that the groundwork was established long ago, and the current depiction of Fen'Harel is nothing more than the inevitable conclusion."

"Again," Ellana said, more forcefully this time, "why?"

Solas gripped the top of his glass and rolled his wrist, watching the ice slosh from side to side.

"If Fen'Harel stood in opposition to those in power, it would serve them to undermine him - to call his motives into question. Propaganda is an old weapon."

Her eyes widened at the suggestion. "So in this version of the story, Fen'Harel is some rebel hero? And the Creators - the gods - made an enemy of him because they were, what? Unjust? Corrupt?"

"Perhaps," Solas nodded.

Ellana's face turned sullen as she looked out over the water. She seemed genuinely upset by the idea. He hurried to clarify his position.

"I apologize if -"

"No," she waved him off. "There's no need. I don't have some kind of innate loyalty to the idea of the Creators. I can imagine them as something less than benevolent - there are plenty of examples in other cultures of deities that aren't just sunshine and flowers all the time."

"Then what is it that bothers you about this possibility?" he asked.

Ellana scoffed, then heaved a sigh. "The same thing that always bothers me: the Inquisitor."

"I don't follow," Solas said. "How does she enter into this?"

"I'm wondering if there's a chance they were - well. Enemies."

"Who?"

"The Inquisitor and …" She smiled apologetically. "I wish he had a name that wasn't yours."

Solas' head swam. He couldn't explain why, but her words transported him back to their room at the hotel, to the moment when she'd told him that he was hers. He was hers. And, oh, how had he allowed the thought to leave him for even a minute? He loved her. She should know. He should tell her.

"I - why would they be enemies?" he stammered.

"The Inquisitor is part of a huge organization, right? Linked to the Chantry, as far as we know, but also Dalish and maybe followed our gods. But this … this other Solas, if he associated himself with the name Fen'Harel for whatever reason, that's about as anti-establishment as you can get. Pretty clear message. Doesn't that sound like two people who might be at odds with each other?

"We know there's a break between them at some point - a reason she's searching for him. Maybe it was philosophical? A difference of opinions? And all of this right before a massive war that completely changes Tevinter and Orlais - even Ferelden. It's the beginning of the end of slavery in Thedas and, apparently, magic too.

"So if everything you say is correct - if Fen'Harel represents 'noble struggle' - then, well … I'm worried she was on the wrong side of that struggle. Because it doesn't seem like she was with him."

Solas eased back into his chair, frowning even as his heart soared. He loved when she was clever. She was always so clever. He could see how neatly she'd woven all the pieces together, and why the conclusion had rattled her so. He wondered just how long she had harbored the suspicion - whether she'd put on a mask of confidence each day while her mind spun silent judgments about a woman who shared her face. He understood the inclination to bear the weight alone. He hoped he could convince her there was no need.

"Whatever choices she may have made," Solas said, taking Ellana's hand in his, "they do not reflect on you."

"I wish I could believe that so easily." She gave him a sad smile as she gently squeezed his fingers. "But mostly, I just wish I knew - the truth, I mean. I keep telling myself it would be easier to stomach if I wasn't having to guess about everything."

"History always requires some guesswork, in the end. After all, we were not there. We did not see. And even those who did would each tell their story differently."

"That's an interesting way of looking at it."

"Is it all that dissimilar from how you construct a single story out of the many interviews you conduct? In each case, we study only reflections and must infer the original."

Ellana regarded him thoughtfully, twirling a piece of the long, flat pasta around the tines of her fork. It was a simple movement, but Solas found himself so absorbed in the delicate way she spun the handle in her fingers that it made him a bit dizzy. He could not imagine a more enjoyable way to spend an evening than this - the back and forth of stimulating inquiry with a formidable opponent. His life had only looked like this for a little over a week now and yet he no longer wanted to envision any of his evenings without her.

Fortunately, some deep and malign part of his brain reminded him, he had a means to ask for such permanence. It rested patiently in his pocket, its weight against his hip a constant presence and reminder of-

"May I bring you another drink, sir?" Their waiter leaned over the table.

Solas shoved down the thought, furious and then grateful for the interruption. What was he thinking? Not here. Not now. He took a deep breath in and caught a hint of Ellana's perfume as she tossed a hand through her hair. He stared.

"Solas?" she said quietly as she knocked her foot against his beneath the table.

He nodded to the waiter, mostly to get him to leave.

"Are you falling asleep again?" Ellana asked once he was gone.

Solas had to force a smile to his face, but once it was there it seemed inclined to stay. He did not entirely remember finishing his last drink nor, in fact, starting it, and his pasta was nearly untouched in his bowl.

"I am enjoying the company and the conversation immensely," he said, caught in Ellana's eyes.

"And the food?" she asked, glancing deliberately at his bowl.

"Yes, and the food." He looked down at the pasta again and it seemed to him a sudden and marvelous gift that he had barely tasted it before, because it meant he could enjoy it now. He dug in with enthusiasm.

It was another hour before they finally began to make their way back to the hotel - another hour of several additional courses, a shot of espresso with dessert, and finally a small glass of strong brandy for the digestivo. Solas was deliriously happy by the time they left. He'd had one of the best meals of his life and he was in love.

They walked over cobblestones on the path that curled along the edge of the sea, back toward their hotel. It had seemed a much shorter distance when they were hurrying downhill to make their reservation in time, when Solas had been twisted with worry about the night to come. What a fool he'd been.

It was all so simple, so wonderfully clear, he thought as he watched Ellana walking a few steps ahead of him. He jogged to catch up to her, sliding his hand across her back until his thumb crept beneath the hem of her top. He leaned over, buried his nose in her hair, and inhaled her scent.

His eyes must have closed, he realized in a haze as he tripped forward a step or two and instantly felt Ellana's hands around his waist to steady him. He loved her so much.

"You're drunk," she said with a smile.

"I am." He sighed happily as he stood up straight and Ellana cautiously released her hold on him. "Why aren't you?"

"Because I didn't have nearly as much as you did."

"That's right. A wise decision. It was so clever of you. Who else would lead me safely back home?"

He shoved both hands into his pockets, fingers curling pleasantly around the box he found there. He slowed his pace and stepped behind Ellana, then made a tight orbit around her. He turned once he was in front of her, walking backwards up the hill. She watched each movement, neck twisting first to one side and then the other. Solas leaned slightly forward, his eyes on her mouth, convinced he was quite literally hanging onto each word that spilled from her lips.

"If your safety is my responsibility," she said, "then I think I should point out you're definitely going to fall if you keep doing that."

Solas shook his head. "You would catch me."

Ellana let out a short, high laugh. It was nothing more than a pleasant little hum through mostly closed lips that sounded like a drop of water landing in a full sink. He wanted to hear her do it again and again.

"You know, you're actually sort of sweet like this," she said.

"You think I'm sweet?"

He halted his backward movement and she had to stop short to prevent herself running into him. She narrowed her eyes as she looked up.

"It's not normally a word I'd use to describe you, no."

"Ah, but you're wrong. There are so many sweet things I could say to you," he offered, leaning his mouth down to her ear.

Ellana very deliberately sidestepped where he blocked her path forward.

"You can say whatever you like after we get back to the hotel," Ellana told him over her shoulder. "You're moving slower by the minute and I can't carry you."

"I carried you once before. It was most enjoyable."

"Right," she scoffed. "You mean when I was basically unconscious?"

"The circumstances were regrettable. The experience was not."

"If you say so." Ellana looked back again. "I really doubt you could pull it off right now."

Solas scooped her legs out from beneath her mid-stride and swept her up into his arms. She objected with an exasperated gasp as she grabbed at the back of his neck.

"That wasn't an invitation!"

"No. I assumed it was a challenge."

"Well it wasn't that either! Put me down before you drop me."

I would never drop you, he thought, focusing very hard on not wobbling as he carefully eased her back onto her feet. I will never let any harm come to you.

"What has gotten into you?" Ellana asked as she slid her arm off his shoulders and regained her footing.

"You," Solas said.

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks reddening. "Or maybe a lot of 'Frilly Cakes.'"

"No," he put his hands back in his pockets. "That's not it at all."

Ellana looped her arm through his as she looked out over the water. She was silent for a moment before she squeezed his elbow.

"Listen. If I tell you something important, are you going to remember it in the morning?"

"Yes." He wasn't certain whether he was nodding or shaking his head. "I remember everything you say."

"Look at you," she laughed, cupping his cheek with her hand. "You're not going to remember a single thing. That's fine. I'll just tell you tomorrow."

"No." He shook his head and the world blurred. "No," he said again as he guided Ellana toward a bench, holding onto her hips because he enjoyed doing so and certainly not because he needed to for balance.

She sat, watching him carefully like she thought he might fall over at any moment. Solas, determined to demonstrate his steadiness, laid back on the bench and rested in her lap in what seemed to him to be a very fluid and dignified movement. Ellana grunted softly when his head hit her legs.

The stars were spinning in the night sky, and so was Ellana's face until Solas focused on her dark eyes looking down on him. He pressed his temple against her stomach, her skin cool where his felt feverish.

"Tell me now," he said with his eyes half-closed. "The important thing - you should tell me now."

"You're not going to like it."

"Impossible." He rolled his head back and forth only an inch or two - more would be too much.

She sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this - I'm not even sure yet but … I have a bad feeling I might know who wrote Inquisitive Hearts and Elvhen Glory."

"A bad feeling?"

"Yes."

"Who?" he asked, intrigued.

"Varric."

Solas blinked slowly as he reached a hand up toward her face and wound his finger into one of the curls that hung down near her ear. "I don't understand," he said. "Why do you think that?"

"Well. The slap, mostly."

Solas closed his eyes again, trying to access the part of his mind that was good at these sorts of calculations. It seemed to be sleeping. Perhaps it had the right idea.

"Don't you dare fall asleep on me, Solas." Ellana poked a finger into his side and his eyes flew open as his entire body tensed in response. "I am not spending the night on this bench."

"No," he twisted his neck so his mouth was against her skin. "No, you should be in a bed."

"You should be in a bed."

"Only if it has you in it."

"That's the plan, but probably not in the way you're thinking."

Solas chuckled against her stomach. "Tell me more about this slap. I don't see the significance."

He heard her suck in a breath through her teeth. "This is so stupid, but back when we were in Boranehnan, Varric made this bet. He thought I was going to slap you before the end of the dig."

Solas laughed loudly at this, nearly unable to catch his breath. He knew Ellana was laughing as well, from the way he felt her body shaking beneath his.

"It's not funny," she said, though he could hear the grin in her voice.

"Yes, it is. But why is it necessarily a clue that Varric is the writer?" Solas asked. "You didn't slap me."

"I definitely came close a couple of times," she mumbled.

He roused at the idea, the image much more exhilarating than it should be. He thought he should ask her for more detail, the precise moments, but she was already speaking again.

"And there are a few other things. Nothing huge but - mannerisms, the way some of the dialogue is phrased. It's just a hunch, really, but some of it feels very familiar."

"Wait," Solas said, finally beginning to understand what she was suggesting. "Are you saying that you and I are the inspiration for Aurora and Remus?"

Ellana tilted her head and gave him a truly pitying look. Apparently he should have come to this conclusion much faster.

"Are you upset with him?" Solas asked.

"Yes," she said immediately. "Aren't you?"

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know," she shrugged angrily. "It's an invasion of privacy, isn't it?"

Solas laughed again, while Ellana shook her head at him. "I can't say without reading the complete work, but I'd be surprised if either of us is recognizable."

"I think you're underestimating Varric."

"I doubt that." He yawned as he slowly sat up. Ellana's lap was proving far too comfortable a place to rest and, though he certainly would not admit it to her, he was genuinely concerned he might fall asleep if he remained there any longer.

She stood as soon as she was free and offered him a hand to help him get to his feet. He took it, but must have failed to pull himself up quickly enough for Ellana's liking. She yanked his wrist and he was upright all at once, draping an arm across her shoulders because he liked having it there and certainly not because he needed to put some of his weight on her.

"Tethras," Solas mused. "He doesn't know that Inquisitive Hearts is on my syllabus, does he?"

"I definitely mentioned that," Ellana confirmed, as she put a hand behind his back. "More than once."

"Yet another reason to stop teaching it."

As they neared the crest of the hill, Solas focused entirely on his footing. Beside him he could hear Ellana breathing a bit more heavily than he'd expect - the hill wasn't that steep, and she usually had an excess of energy. She was a little slumped beneath his arm, which was odd because he certainly wasn't leaning on her that heavily.

His knees ached by the time they made it to flatter ground and, for a brief moment, Solas could not remember why they hurt so much. The image hit him suddenly: Ellana's dress draped over his head, her taste on his lips, his fingers gripping her firm -

"Solas."

She'd certainly spoken his name as a warning, though he couldn't imagine why. Then he realized his hand was on her ass. With a reluctant sigh, he moved it back to her shoulders and rolled his head to the side to rest it on top of hers.

He stared up at the stars again and, from nowhere, a thought occurred to him.

"A thought has occurred to me," he said.

"Uh-huh?" Ellana grunted.

"I think you may be right about Varric."

"OK. And why is that?"

He lifted his head and it was a mistake, but Ellana pushed back against him when he tilted in her direction.

"At Cumberland, Cassandra edited my dissertation. She asked to borrow some books I used because they sounded interesting."

"Really? Cass somehow forgot to tell me she found arcane realism 'interesting' when I heard her version of this story."

"I wonder why," Solas chuckled, incredibly amused by his own joke. "But she said Varric spent more time reading them than she did. He was fascinated by the Dragon Age, the Radiant War," Solas spread his arms, "all of it."

"So you think that's when he started writing Inquisitive Hearts?"

"Or maybe when he first had the idea for it." Solas yawned. "But then they stopped seeing each other not long after that and -"

"They stopped what?" Ellana froze.

"They stopped … seeing … each other. Oh."

She was grinning wickedly when he turned toward her.

"I knew it."

"Oh," Solas said again. "I should not have told you that."

"Yes, you should have! Varric would never say it outright but he's always hinted. You should have told me months ago when I asked you in Boranehnan."

"Cassandra doesn't want anyone to know. They weren't a good match and it didn't end well - though obviously they've managed to overcome their differences enough to be able to work together."

"Kind of," Ellana muttered.

"When they were both hired at the Journal, I believe they came to some sort of agreement not to speak of it while he's working under her."

Ellana snorted.

"While he's her subordinate," Solas corrected himself.

There was a long pause before they both snorted.

"I shouldn't have told you that either."

Ellana's shoulders were shaking with laughter when she hugged him and placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He adored her. Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight as she smiled mischievously at him. There was something in the twist of her lips that made him think of a cat lying in wait to pounce its prey. Had she ever been more beautiful than this?

"Keep telling me things you shouldn't tell me."

"I love you."

He'd said it so quickly, so easily - simply allowed it to spill from his mouth where it had been waiting impatiently all night. He watched the smile slide from her face and was amused by how little effort it had taken to surprise her - to win at her game. She'd requested another secret, perhaps thinking he did not have one he was willing to offer. He'd been only too happy to oblige.

"What?" she asked in a whisper.

"I love you," he told her again. Even easier the second time.

"You do?"

"Yes. And I-"

Ellana silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Oh. Oh, no. I didn't mean - I don't think you should say any more." Her voice was trembling.

"Why?" he asked, his mouth moving beneath her touch, his hand eager to reach down to his pocket. "There is so much more I wish to say."

He could not understand why she looked so worried. She was staring at him like she had when they'd left Markham - when she'd seemed certain he was about to collapse. It was so kind of her to worry about him. He loved her even more than he had a minute ago.

"I think you're a little too drunk for this, Solas," she said. "Actually, I think we really need to get you back to the hotel."

"You just want to get me into bed."

"I do want that but, like I said, probably not in the way you're thinking."

They began to walk again, Ellana's hand around his waist as he leaned on her shoulders once more.

"I will do whatever you ask," he said happily.

"Can you walk a little straighter? You're too heavy for me to hold like this."

"I will try to do whatever you ask."

The rest was a blur of fuzzy lights and the comforting, but distant sense of Ellana guiding him forward. He panicked once when he felt himself falling, only to then relax entirely when he landed in a soft pile of pillows. For a long while, he knew nothing but the darkness of his eyelids and the lovely, familiar sounds of Ellana's movements around him.

Perhaps he slept, or dreamed, or merely rested there for some indeterminate length of time. When he opened his eyes it was dark. He might have been anywhere, except that he could smell Ellana's skin and feel her hair pressed against his mouth. He noted that he was no longer dressed, and again it struck him how kind she had been to see him comfortably to bed. There was another thought behind that one, but he could not quite grasp hold of it to make it stay - some pointless and faraway concern about something in his clothes she should not see.

His mind stilled as he burrowed his face against the back of her shoulder. One of his hands came to rest above her head and the other wrapped below her breasts. Solas fell asleep certain he heard a voice saying 'I love you,' and thinking that would be a perfect way to end every night.

Chapter Text

The elevator dinged softly as the doors opened. Ellana stepped inside, rolling her suitcase next to her. When it began to descend she squared her shoulders, held her neck straight, and breathed in though her nose - just as she did each time she walked into a studio for an interview. By the time she arrived in the lobby, she felt a bit like she'd put on a suit of armor. She was going to need it, she thought. It was going to be a very long day.

Ellana stopped at the hotel desk to settle the bill, then left her suitcase with the clerk and ventured outside. She just needed a minute to breathe in the early morning breeze flowing up from the sea, she told herself.

And maybe, she thought as she took a few directionless steps out into the street, maybe she needed a minute to think. Just a bit of time to sort through everything from the night before and turn it over in her head - to see how much of it stood up to scrutiny in the light of day.

Ellana chewed her lip nervously. That was going to take more than a minute.

She turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction. A quick walk would be better, she thought. Just a quick walk to go get one last round of coffee to take on the train. A chance to do something simple and normal and easy. Something without enormous questions and decisions and words.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Cassandra: I hope it's not too early to text, and I'm sorry for interrupting your vacation.

Cassandra: I wanted to check in because Solas hasn't responded to me since yesterday.

Cassandra: Leliana has me worried.

Cassandra: I'm sure you're both just busy.

Cassandra: But text me when you can so I know you're alright.

Cassandra: Oh, and how was your dinner last night?

Ellana stared down at her cell as one message after another appeared on her screen. She could practically hear Josie's voice in her head saying, 'We are not dealing with that right now. One problem at a time.' Ellana dismissed the texts without responding and shoved her phone back into her pocket.

One problem at a time, she thought - and the only problem that currently mattered was getting coffee quickly enough to still make it to the station before the train left.

She drew in another long breath, took a few steps in the direction of the café, and was immediately halted by the sound of her name.

"Ellana!"

She turned to find Loranil waving at her from the opposite side of the street. He hurried over.

"What are you doing here?" Ellana asked with as much patience as she could summon. She was on a tight schedule.

"I just wanted to say goodbye before you left. Where's Solas?"

"Upstairs," she said.

"Ah, that's too bad. You'll tell him I dropped by?"

There was something odd about his appearance - dark circles beneath his eyes that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him, and a strange little tick at the corner of his mouth. Loranil was being friendly, as he always was, but Ellana had a sense he was deeply nervous below the polite exterior.

"Listen," he said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "I wanted to give you something."

He grabbed her hand and pressed a small, cold object into her palm. Ellana glanced down and saw one of the familiar stone-carved wolves. She recoiled immediately, but Loranil held her wrist steady, closing her fingers around the figure.

"Keep it close," he said so quietly she could hardly hear him. "Fen'Harel ma ghilana."

"Excuse me?" Ellana wrenched her hand from his grasp, the wolf freezing in her fist. "What do you mean by that?"

The Dread Wolf guides you, Ellana thought as she stared daggers at Loranil. It was phrased like a blessing but was most definitely a curse - one any Dalish knew meant they were being led astray. She stepped away from him.

"Ms. Lavellan," said a voice from behind her.

Solas braced himself with both hands against the wall beneath the shower faucet. He leaned forward, water running down the back of his head and neck before spilling off his shoulders. He'd been like this for far too long, but it dulled the pounding in his temples just enough to tolerate. It was going to be a very long day.

He knew he needed to get on with it. There would be less than an hour now before the train to Cumberland departed. More importantly, he needed to gather the courage to face her.

Ellana had slept through his alarm and he'd thought it best not to disturb her. The night was a blur beyond a certain point, but some memories were too consequential to be forgotten.

He'd said so many things - betrayed Cassandra's trust, made a fool of himself when his mind was too far gone to keep up with the conversation, and spilled every ill-advised, anxious adoration that sprang into his head.

And that was all before he'd told Ellana he loved her.

He'd held it back for as long as he could - all of a few, short hours from the moment he'd allowed himself to think the word to the admission tumbling out of his lovestruck mouth.

Solas wished he could remember the look on her face for some clue as to what she'd thought, but the image simply would not come. She had been shocked - of that much he was certain - and that alone was enough to worry him. Had she been surprised only by his timing, unfortunate as it was? Or was it possible she truly hadn't known?

But surely she'd seen. How could she possibly not know that he was devoted to her? It had been so easy to tell her the truth when he was convinced she already saw it every time he looked at her. And he'd been so certain he'd seen it in her eyes all night, too.

But that memory couldn't be trusted, Solas thought as he finally stepped out of the shower and dried off. Perhaps he'd only seen what he wanted to see. He knew he hadn't heard what he wanted to hear. He couldn't blame her for that, though he wished he knew why.

Had it been too soon? Of course it had been too soon, he reminded himself. Not yet two weeks, no matter what troublesome thoughts had filled his head since Boranehnan.

Had she thought he was too drunk to truly mean it? But that was nonsense, Solas thought. He felt it now as much as he had last night. More. When he'd opened his eyes and seen her there, sleeping beside him, he'd wanted to wake her and tell her all over again.

Or did she not feel the same?

It was the answer he least wished to consider - the one that would be impossible to remedy. The others were already dire enough.

Sunlight spilled through the bathroom window and made him flinch, the pain returning to his head all at once.

Solas wrapped a towel around his waist and wondered how he'd allowed himself to make such a mess of things. He remembered most of the walk back with agonizing clarity. Beyond that, he simply didn't know. Everything after was too hazy to be believed. His nerves had gotten the better of him, as he knew they might. If only he hadn't brought the damned ring.

The ring. Solas stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror, willing himself to remember.

There were vague flashes of Ellana half carrying him back to their room - he wasn't sure how she'd even managed it. He recalled lying back, laughing as she pulled off his shoes, and then …

And then.

Solas emerged from the bathroom to find Ellana no longer in bed - no longer there at all. Panic overtook him as he hastily scanned the room for the clothes he'd worn to dinner. He threw back the duvet and sheets, but found nothing within them. He circled the room and found nothing on the floor. Eventually he discovered them where he would have least expected - neatly folded on top of his suitcase.

Something about the sight made his blood run cold.

Ellana turned slowly, dropping the stone wolf into her pocket and wrapping her hand around her cell phone. She was trying to remember whether she'd left Cass' text open, tapping her thumb blindly over the screen, when she found herself suddenly face to face with the shadow that had stalked her since Markham.

Calpernia stood in front of her, lips twisted in a victorious smirk that made Ellana's stomach turn over. She was flanked by two humans wearing black suits and dark sunglasses. Ellana immediately recognized them as similar in both stature and appearance to the bodyguards who'd followed Alexius everywhere in the Arbor Wilds.

Ellana turned toward the hotel entrance, hands trembling as she pulled her phone from her pocket and tried to step past one of the men. He didn't budge - except when she attempted to go around him and he quickly moved to block her path. From the corner of her eye, Ellana saw Calpernia point at her phone. He grabbed it out of her hand.

"I am a journalist," Ellana said, reverting to the script Leliana had taught her. "And a citizen of the Free Marches. I do not consent to a search." Her voice wavered but her words were clear and loud.

"Noted," Calpernia smiled as the guard handed her Ellana's cell phone. "But we don't need this for now." She made certain that Ellana could see what she was doing as she powered it down, then dropped it into the tote on Ellana's arm. "A pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Calpernia."

"I'm not answering any questions without legal representation."

"It doesn't need to be like that," Calpernia shook her head.

Ellana said nothing for a moment, gripping the handle of her bag where it rested on her shoulder. She glanced at Loranil, but his eyes were on the ground.

"I am a journalist, and I am being unjustly detained." She raised her voice to something just shy of a yell, directing it to the nearly empty street. One or two heads turned her way but, when they noted the black suits surrounding her, they quickly directed their gazes elsewhere.

"Very well." Calpernia took a step closer to her. "If that's your preference, one of my friends here can have a conversation with Loranil until you're ready to come with me."

Before the final word had left Calpernia's mouth, Ellana saw Loranil double over. He gulped like he couldn't get air into his lungs. The guard next to him stood with his hand balled into a fist, but it had happened so fast Ellana hadn't even seen it.

Oh, fuck, she thought, horrified. Loranil was slumped forward and looked like his knees might have buckled if the guard who'd just hit him wasn't also holding him upright.

"Stop it," she said quietly to Calpernia. "What are you doing?"

"Are you willing to come with me? It won't take long - just a quick chat. I promise."

"I don't believe you," Ellana said.

Calpernia's eyes flicked to Loranil. Before Ellana could say another word, the guard hit him again. This time, she saw it. She flinched as Loranil's head fell forward to his chest.

"Wait," Ellana faltered. "Please."

She was shaking so violently she could feel her back teeth chattering against each other. She'd never seen someone hit like that before. "Please," she said again. "Let him go."

"I will," Calpernia said in a soothing, gentle tone that made Ellana's skin crawl. "But first, I need you to take me to the nearest entrance to the tunnels."

"The - the tunnels?" Ellana stammered, her mind struggling to catch up to everything happening around her. Calpernia frowned at her like she was intentionally stalling, then glanced at Loranil again.

"The tunnels!" Ellana said quickly before Calpernia could signal the guards. "The closest entrance is down an alley, just a few more buildings past -"

"I didn't ask you where it is. I said you need to take me there." Calpernia laced her arm through Ellana's. "Lead the way."

Ellana hurried to do as she said, casting nervous glances back over her shoulder. She saw the guards each take one of Loranil's arms in their own, holding him suspended between them. His feet dragged across the ground and he gasped like he might be sick.

They came to a halt in the alley Ellana had tried to describe, in front of the heavy door that led down into the tunnels below.

"This is it," she said.

"Good." Calpernia nodded toward the door. "Keep going."

Ellana panicked, trying to pull away from Calpernia's grasp before she realized what she was doing.

Calpernia sighed. "How much encouragement do you need?"

"Wait!" Ellana cried out - too late.

One of the men grabbed Loranil's shoulders and held him upright. The other struck him across the face. They released him and he fell straight to the ground.

Ellana shrank backwards, only to find herself pressed against Calpernia. She fought back a wave of nausea as she tried to force her eyes to look at anything other than the blood pooling beneath Loranil's head.

She was still staring at him as one of the guards heaved open the door and Calpernia pulled her into the darkness.

"I don't like doing things this way," Calpernia said as she ushered her down the steep stairs. "But it seems I was right to bring a little incentive with me."

Ellana looked at the stones beneath her feet.

"You must understand," Calpernia continued. "I couldn't let you slip away again. I was more than halfway to Val Royeaux before I realized you were no longer on the train. Humor me - when exactly did you get off?"

Ellana kept her mouth shut, bolstered by the smallest swell of pride she felt at Calpernia's obvious irritation.

"Now don't go quiet again or I'll have to send one of the boys back for some more incentive. Loranil has done all he can, but perhaps … Solas?"

Ellana held her face very still, just as Josephine had taught her. "I wasn't on the train when it left Vyrantium," she admitted.

Calpernia let out a short laugh. "You know, I think I actually believe you. Clever. Maybe we could be fast friends."

"Is this how you usually make new friends?" Ellana asked Calpernia.

She laughed again. Ellana hoped that bluster, or maybe humor, would work to her advantage.

"Only when absolutely necessary," Calpernia said. "When they've been avoiding me."

They reached the bottom of the steps and Calpernia looked at Ellana expectantly.

"Now, go on," she said. "Light the torches and show us what you found down here."

Shit, Ellana thought. Calpernia already knew much more than she'd anticipated. She latched onto the thing she wouldn't have to lie about.

"I don't know how to light the torches," Ellana said. "They just snuff out any fire you put in them."

"Well not any fire," Calpernia said. "Not veilfire."

"Veilfire?" Ellana allowed her very real confusion to show on her face.

Calpernia's lip curled in obvious satisfaction. "And to think, Minister Alexius was so certain you're miles ahead of us. But you haven't even grasped the basics yet, have you?"

She reached a hand out toward one of the iron sconces and ran her finger around its edge. For a long while, Ellana thought nothing was happening. Then, the faintest hint of green flame appeared in the bottom of the reservoir. It illuminated Calpernia's face and Ellana saw sweat beading on her forehead - whatever she was doing required immense concentration, effort, or both.

"There." Calpernia exhaled heavily as the torch flared to life.

"How are you doing that?"

Calpernia dabbed her forehead with the back of her hand. When she looked back at Ellana, she seemed genuinely sad.

"You have been greatly limited by your companions," she said, shaking her head. "If you were in Minrathous, with the resources we have at our disposal, you wouldn't have to ask such simple questions."

"What resources?"

"Did you really think Vyrantium was the only place where the old texts had appeared?"

Ellana fell silent, weighing the implications of Calpernia's admission. If it was true - and she couldn't be certain it was - then the Venatori knew much more than Dorian thought they did. Maybe they'd even suspected Dorian might defect and had sent him away from the Tevinter capital intentionally, to keep him far from the most valuable information … and to put him somewhere he would serve as a more effective lure.

"So you didn't know what it was called," Calpernia nodded at the green flames, "but surely you must have seen it before? Or are the elves of this city navigating these tunnels with nothing more than flashlights and their memories to guide them?"

"I don't …"

Ellana blinked, thinking. 'To guide them,' she thought, turning over Calpernia's words in her mind.

Very slowly, so as not to provoke Calpernia's bodyguards, Ellana slid a hand into her pocket. She wrapped her fingers tight around the cold stone of the wolf figurine as she whispered, "Fen'Harel ma ghilana."

The effect was immediate. Veilfire burst into existence all around them, lighting a dozen torches in their immediate vicinity. Calpernia grinned.

"What was that you said?"

"Fen'Harel ma ghilana," Ellana repeated, narrowing her eyes. "The Dread Wolf guides you."

Solas searched through the pockets of his pants and immediately found it - the black velvet box. It seemed impossible it could have remained undisturbed and undiscovered through not only the removal of his clothes but also the process of folding them so carefully. He returned it to the bottom of his satchel with shaking hands.

He sat on the edge of the bed, gathering his thoughts and willing his heartbeat to slow. Where is she? he thought. It was only then that he truly looked around the room for the first time since he'd woken up.

Ellana's suitcase was gone. He saw none of her things on the table or the dresser. The closet was open, revealing the empty safe with its door ajar.

She left, he thought. She found the ring and she left.

There had to be another explanation. She wouldn't do that, he tried to assure himself.

He scanned the room again, and a wave of relief hit him as soon as he noticed a pad of yellow sticky notes on his nightstand, sitting beside his phone. She'd left a note. Of course she had.

But when he grabbed the pad from the nightstand, he found the top sheet blank. Solas flipped through the rest and saw nothing - only a tiny scrap of the last note to be torn away that was still stuck to the adhesive strip.

He checked his phone next. A dozen new notifications from Cassandra, but nothing from Ellana. He pulled up her contact and tapped the call button. It went straight to voicemail.

Something felt off - wrong.

When had Ellana ever slept through his alarm? When had he ever known her to fold clothes rather than leave them heaped over the back of a chair? When was the last time he'd called her and she hadn't picked up?

She left, he thought again.

Every hope he'd foolishly allowed himself, every elaborate plan he'd made - all of it gone in an instant.

Solas grabbed the first clothes he found in his suitcase, stumbling toward the door as he pulled on a pair of pants and tripped into a pair of shoes. He was still struggling to get his shirt over his head when he raced into the elevator.

He had to find her - apologize, explain, say whatever he could to make her stay. He'd been careless; he knew how delicate it was. She'd offered him clarity and honesty their first night together in Lydes, explained her boundaries, and then he'd pushed for too much too fast and now …

Solas flew out of the elevator when its doors opened into the lobby. No one was there, aside from a clerk behind the desk. He hurried out the hotel's entrance.

Solas darted down street after street with no strategy, running first one direction and then back the other. There were few people out so early on a Sunday, but those he saw watched him with unapologetic curiosity.

He was attracting too much attention, he realized as he willed himself to stop and take a breath. It was still dangerous to traverse the city above-ground. He knew that. Ellana would know it as well. Wherever she was headed - and his gut told him it was the train station - she would do so through the tunnels.

Having a plan focused him, though it did nothing to calm his racing thoughts or heart. Solas ran toward the nearest tunnel entrance, his head spinning with half-formed sentences, trying desperately to summon the words that might convince her to stay.

He turned down the alley and froze. In front of the tunnel door, shadowed by the surrounding buildings, a small figure lay face-down on the cobblestones.

He whispered her name. He could barely get it out. It stuck in his lungs and his mouth as he felt his world shatter.

"Intriguing," Calpernia said as she walked alongside Ellana. "If you had to guess, would you say the torches illuminate in anticipation of your movements, or in reaction to them?"

"Do I have to guess?"

One of the guards bumped against Ellana's shoulder in a way that felt more than a little intentional.

Calpernia smiled at her again. "You do."

"It feels more like anticipation," she said truthfully, but without elaborating.

"I was thinking the same," Calpernia nodded.

Ellana tried to keep her eyes down on her feet. That was a little easier than constantly staring at the tendrils of black smoke that awaited her each time they rounded a corner.

It hadn't bothered disguising its shape. The six-eyed wolf sat on its haunches, its smoky tail flicking irritably and leaving thin strands of its form hovering in the air until another flick collected them again. As before, it waited until she approached the end of a passage before it disappeared down the next.

Ellana cast sideways glances at Calpernia, searching for any sign that she could also see the wolf. There was no recognition on her face.

"Where am I supposed to be going?" Ellana asked. The wolf blinked its eyes in the distance.

"Oh, I think you must know," Calpernia answered. "Or have some sense of it, at least? Our sources in Minrathous are very clear that the Inquisitor was active in this area during the Radiant War. We've found dozens of communiqués referencing her."

Dozens, Ellana thought, and that's just one specific set of documents. There were only a little over a dozen books total in the meeting room at the library.

"From what we've read, the Imperium was never quite able to determine its location, but they were certain she had a hideout in the city."

"The Inquisitor had a hideout?" Ellana was too shocked by the idea to stop herself from asking the question.

"Yes." Calpernia's lips twisted to another grin. "Have you seen something fitting that description?"

"I don't know," Ellana said, grateful she was confused enough to answer without having to lie.

"Well, Minister Alexius has an hypothesis. He suspects it may not have been such a coincidence that you were in the Arbor Wilds when the Inquisitor's portrait was discovered. He wonders if the two of you might be somehow connected."

"I don't know what that means," Ellana said. "And as I told him months ago, being from the same clan doesn't make us related, or connected, or anything else."

Calpernia grasped Ellana's upper arm tightly, halting their forward movement. "But surely you'd be willing to conduct a small experiment? In order to discover the truth?"

Ellana's heart pounded against her ribs again as she felt the bodyguards looming behind her. "What kind of experiment?" she asked.

"Simple, really," Calpernia said with a casual shrug. "Close your eyes. Open your mind. Let your heart lead you."

It sounded like complete nonsense to Ellana - the exact sort of thing she might have associated with arcane realism a few months ago. But she wasn't about to tell Calpernia that they were already being led, so she swallowed down the lump in her throat and closed her eyes.

She began to shiver almost immediately. At first she thought it was fear overtaking her again - her body panicking in ways she couldn't prevent. But then, as she felt the warmth of her breath against the tip of her nose, she realized it was simpler than that: she was cold, practically freezing.

Calpernia released her arm and Ellana opened her eyes.

The wolf was no longer at the end of the passage.

Slowly, Ellana cast her gaze back down to the floor. Trails of inky smoke wound their way around her feet and Calpernia's. They continued behind her, past where she could see, ebbing softly like the tide against the shore.

The two men flanking her each took a step closer to the walls of the tunnel, like something had squeezed between them behind her back. Her breath came out ragged as, from the corners of her eyes, she saw the black smoke curl around her shoulders, its tendrils settling over her like individual fingers.

There was something soft that touched the base of her neck, a gentle gust that lifted her hair, and then a sense not of pressure, but presence, coalescing against her back. The cold was still there but no longer so biting; instead, it was the pleasant chill of snowflakes landing on cheeks in the early days of winter. It felt like she was being embraced by someone utterly devoted to her.

"Well," Calpernia said, her breath condensing in front of her face. "I think we can call the experiment a success."

"Wh-what do you … feel?" Ellana shuddered. She'd nearly asked what Calpernia saw, but she was terrified to hear the answer.

"Cold, mostly." Calpernia eyes roamed through the corridor. Ellana saw them land on nothing in particular. "And something else," she added. "Something I haven't felt before."

She turned her attention back to Ellana. "Do you know where we're going now?"

Ellana watched the smoky fingers - or were they claws? - coil tighter on her shoulders.

"Yes," she said.

Solas sprinted forward, seeing blood on the ground, his vision blurring as he went down on his knees beside -

But, no.

It wasn't her.

He could see it plainly now that he was closer.

It's not her, he told himself. It's not her. It's not her.

He knew it was true and yet he couldn't make himself believe it.

Solas placed his shaking hands on the cobblestones and leaned over to check for for a pulse and breathing. Only then did he recognize the shaggy red hair.

Loranil.

Solas pressed gently on his arm while he called out his name. He was met with only silence.

His mind raced as he tried to calm himself enough to decide what to do next. Could he call for help? Should he? Whatever had happened, involving the Tevinter authorities would likely make matters much worse.

It had been well over a decade since Solas had last put such skills to use, but he remembered the basics of the modest training he'd received - just enough to treat minor injuries quickly and get people back on their feet before the Police Nationale returned for another round. He placed a careful hand on Loranil's back and again tried to rouse him.

Loranil coughed suddenly, gasping in air like he was choking. Solas took him by the shoulders and slowly turned him on his side. He grabbed the collar of Loranil's shirt and cleared away the blood spilling from his nostrils into his mouth. Once Loranil's breathing had returned to normal, Solas held his head steady with both hands.

He was losing the chance to find Ellana and persuade her to stay with every second that passed. But he couldn't possibly leave - it was ridiculous to even consider justifying such an action, even more so when he had no way to be certain how severe Loranil's injuries were. He had to get help.

Solas had only just made up his mind to call emergency services, and to bear the consequences of attracting Tevinter's attention, when he felt an odd, tingling sensation in his hands. His palms were very warm, almost as if he'd been holding them over a fire. He watched as the trickle of blood from Loranil's nose slowed and then stopped. Some of the color returned to his cheeks as his eyelids fluttered open. He sat upright all at once, before Solas could stop him.

"Move slowly, Loranil," Solas said. The strange feeling in his hands gradually began to fade. "You lost consciousness. We should get you to a hospital."

Loranil shook his head. He looked a bit dazed but otherwise not nearly as affected as Solas would have anticipated. He hauled himself to his feet and Solas followed, wiping Loranil's blood on his shirt.

"What happened to you?" Solas asked. "Who did this?"

"It was that woman Dorian warned us about. Calpernia. She had two others with her - black suits. They hit me because …"

Loranil hesitated as Solas' breath caught in his chest.

"I'm sorry. They made me tell them where she was staying. They made me take them there. They said they just wanted to talk to her."

Solas' world shrank to the ringing in his ears, the blood on his hands, the tremor of ice that ran down his spine.

"What happened?" Solas said. "Where is she?"

"The tunnels. They took her into the tunnels."

Solas reeled. It was his own fault. His recklessness had driven Ellana out of the hotel and onto the street where she'd encountered the Venatori alone. If they had hurt her as well …

"I need you to come with me," Solas said.

Loranil's eyes went wide. "I can't do that."

"I think you'll find that you can."

Solas peered down his nose at Loranil. For a moment, he thought Loranil would refuse. Finally, he took a resigned step forward.

"Right," Loranil nodded. He looked terrified.

Solas threw open the heavy door and peered down the steps. "And how do they know about the tunnels?" he asked.

Loranil shook his head miserably, and Solas had his answer. He scoffed in disgust.

"I tried to help her, I promise. I told her how to find her way. I just hope she understood."

Something in Solas finally snapped into place. The panic had receded to a dull roar, and the pain in his head was now easily ignored.

"You have to understand, Solas. My family - my sister and her children - they're in Tevinter because of me. I told them to move here from the Dales. It's my fault. Calpernia said she would -"

"Enough. Still your tongue." Solas put a hand on the back of Loranil's neck and drove him down the darkened stairs. "There will be time for you to enumerate your failures along the way."

Ellana didn't recognize anything about the particular passageway where she slowed her steps. It looked exactly the same as everything else. And yet, when she turned to face the wall - when she was turned by a gentle touch on her shoulders - she knew they had arrived at their destination.

The smoke wrapped along her left arm, spiraling down until it twisted around her wrist and lifted her hand toward the correct brick. She pressed her palm to it, green light flashed against stone, and the wall began to peel away.

"Look at that," Calpernia said, her excitement plain on her face and in her voice. "Maybe I was wrong when I assumed you didn't know the basics."

"It's different for me," Ellana said. "I don't have to try," she added with a spiteful smile.

Calpernia didn't seem the least bit deterred. She merely smiled back.

"Good."

Ellana bit the inside of the her cheek, certain she'd made a mistake. She couldn't allow her temper to get the better of her here.

With Calpernia leading the way, one by one they squeezed through the narrow gap in the stones. The room was now as it had been when Ellana first saw it - furnished, inviting, and clean. It did not yet have an excess of pillows or books like when she'd fled from it, but she watched closely for any signs of change.

As Calpernia made a slow circuit around the perimeter, Ellana suddenly felt the warmth return to her body. The smoke pooled at her feet, slithering along the ground until it reformed like a pillar in the corner of the room behind the large desk. It surged for a moment, its mass shifting constantly as if it couldn't decide what form it wanted to take. Finally, it settled into something like the shape of a man - Ellana could make out the contours of a head and torso, though where legs should have been she saw only an unending cascade of black smoke swirling down to the ground before rebounding upward. The figure wore a mantle around its shoulders and a hood that sat low over where its forehead should be. Triangular ears stood high over its head, and the familiar six green eyes hovered over its otherwise blank face.

There was something so familiar in the set of its shoulders - in its height and bearing and the outline of its face. She couldn't look at that. She didn't want to look at that. She closed her eyes and turned away and thought, One problem at a time.

Ellana hadn't realized just how cold she was - her fingertips were starting to go numb.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked Calpernia, rubbing her hands together. "Can I go now?"

Calpernia was peering intently at something beneath one of the iron sconces, her back to Ellana. "Not yet," she said. "Come see this, first."

Ellana didn't budge. One of the guards pressed a flat palm against her shoulder blade and forced her to take a step forward. She looked sideways toward the smoke in the corner, but it did nothing. The form had added more detail to itself - the outline of arms folded over a chest, and the suggestion of a slight tilt, like it was leaning up against the wall, watching.

With no other options, Ellana crossed the room to join Calpernia.

"Do you know what these are?"

Ellana examined the wall where Calpernia pointed and saw more of the strange, metallic-looking paint like she'd found on the mural behind the desk.

"No," she said.

"Veilfire again," Calpernia explained. "But this is a rune. A very old art form first created by your people, at least according to one book we've found. Most are very simple. Only incredibly powerful mages attempted more complex designs like this one."

"But what are they?" Ellana asked, her eyes caught by the way the green light from the torch danced over the shimmering substance below. "What's the point of them?"

"Typically they convey a message or other simple information. But something as elaborate as this one should do more. Supposedly, these tell stories - memories. They allow you to directly, physically experience the sensations and emotions of their creator."

Ellana glanced across to the mural, to the rune she could just make out when the veilfire illuminated it. She thought of the round room, of sitting on that desk, of -

One problem at a time, she thought again. In the corner, the black smoke had further defined itself with a sharp jaw and prominent chin.

"Usually they respond to touch," Calpernia said. She demonstrated by running her hand over the rune on the wall in front of them. "But there's something different about these. Locked, maybe? If you'll excuse so crude a description for magic so delicately contrived."

Ellana said nothing. If the rune was locked, she was certain she knew what Calpernia thought was the key. However badly Ellana wanted answers about the Inquisitor, she'd rather remain ignorant than shackle herself inside someone else's memories again.

"This is where that connection comes in," Calpernia said. "If these runes are the Inquisitor's magic, then -"

"I don't want to do this," Ellana snapped. "Please. Don't make me do this."

"It's the last thing I'll ask of you," Calpernia said softly. "After this, you can go. You have my word."

"As if that's worth anything to me," Ellana spat.

Calpernia glanced over her shoulder and Ellana heard the guards moving behind her. She braced herself, balling her hands into fists and planting her feet on the ground - all the while knowing it would make absolutely no difference. If they wanted to move her, they would move her.

But it wasn't the guard's hands she felt on her back. Ellana trembled as the familiar caress of the wolf climbed up along her spine and wound itself down her left arm once again. It spread its tendrils between her fingers, twining around them until it felt like a second skin. Then it gently turned her hand and placed her palm flat against the rune.

Her eyes closed and she leaned back into its embrace.

Chapter Text

Ellana's legs burned as she ran. She was surrounded by sounds of battle she couldn't entirely comprehend. To the Inquisitor, it was metal clanging and people yelling; to Ellana it was an indecipherable and terrifying roar.

She hurled herself down long, arched corridors and up crumbling staircases as she caught glimpses of a forest through broken stained glass windows. All around her she felt the heavy press of war - people fighting desperately and dying in agony.

The memory suddenly clarified as an elf wearing Mythal's vallaslin swung a long staff in an enormous arc toward her. She dodged out of the way at the last moment, a bolt of lightning flying past her cheek and exploding the stones behind her into rubble.

She grabbed at the staff before he could swing again, gritting her teeth as the force of his movement reverberated through her body. Ellana thought her arms couldn't hold, but the Inquisitor's did.

The elf dropped his staff suddenly, red blossoming on his chest. Ellana watched, horrified, as he fell to the ground. For the Inquisitor, it was an immense relief.

A woman carrying a sword and shield and wearing the symbol of the Inquisition stood where the elf had been a moment ago. Her features were indistinct, as if the Inquisitor had not remembered her clearly enough to replicate. She bowed her head to Ellana, then snapped to attention.

"Where is he?" Ellana heard the words from her mouth and did not have to wonder who the Inquisitor meant.

The human shook her head. "We lost track of him, but last I saw he was headed up. Some of his people - the elves - have turned on him."

"Turned on him? Who are they fighting for now?"

"I don't know, Inquisitor. But they're not with us."

Ellana could feel the Inquisitor's fear, but her voice was steady as she spoke.

"Tell any Inquisition forces you see I've ordered a full retreat. Too much has changed - it's just chaos now. We have to regroup."

It was disaster to admit this. Ellana sensed the Inquisitor's frustration. It was the best chance she'd had in a decade. She was unlikely to get another.

The woman nodded her understanding. "You're injured, Inquisitor. You should come with me."

Despite the aches of old wounds Ellana knew did not belong to her, the Inquisitor's body possessed a strength hers did not. She had not registered an injury before, but now she touched her hip and gasped as pain shot down her leg. There was something wrong, too, with her left arm. It obeyed her but it didn't quite feel like her.

The exhaustion she felt was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It was bone-deep and made every muscle in her body ache as she moved, but it was more than that. Her mind was at its breaking point. And something else within her - some wellspring of energy that the Inquisitor thought of as second nature but which was entirely foreign to Ellana - it had been exhausted too. She'd already given all she had.

"No," Ellana said. "Just tell the Divine … tell her I'll do everything I can."

Which is nothing, she thought miserably. Absolutely nothing.

She ran on, her surroundings once again indistinct - blurred equally by the Inquisitor's pain and her single-minded focus. Eventually, she found herself standing on steps that climbed a high tower overlooking the entire temple. She could see more of the fighting from here but the memory rendered it only as blurred colors - the Inquisitor had not wasted her attention on a battle already lost.

Ellana heard the sounds of another, smaller fight ahead. She continued cautiously, uncertain what awaited her beyond the precipice.

At the top of the stairs, an archway opened into a vast, cloistered courtyard. Much of the stonework was crumbling - both from age and the battle that raged within. Two figures were locked in a stalemate struggle, each throwing magic the other quickly deflected away. Ellana and the Inquisitor had eyes for only one.

He shined golden in the sunlight. His movements were effortless - each gesture precise and delicate. Only their consequences betrayed their true power, but even these were so subtle they would be a challenge to spot had she not seen them hundreds of times before.

When chunks of masonry hurtled across the courtyard, the magic he wielded felt as if he had coaxed them to his aid rather than torn them from the broken statues that littered the ground. The barriers he crafted absorbed the shrieking lightning and boiling flames his opponent threw at him with an unceasing efficiency, as if each spell was no more than a raindrop rippling through a puddle.

Why does he look like that? Ellana thought. How is he doing that? But she couldn't get a second to grab onto her own thoughts when the Inquisitor's were so fierce they overwhelmed her. There were tears first in her eyes, then hot on her dirt-stained cheeks as she vacillated between relief and despair.

The woman he fought was skilled. Her raven-black hair was twisted into the shape of horns on either side of her head. On her brow rested a golden crown with points that curled down around her cheeks. The Inquisitor thought of her as an ally. Morrigan.

She wielded her magic like she was in a brutal sort of dance - a dance she knew backward and forward, each step anticipated and countered. And yet still it looked like a child's effort when Ellana measured it against his.

And it was there, in the Inquisitor's awed gaze that Ellana finally understood.

He had not borrowed the name Fen'Harel. He was Fen'Harel.

That's not possible, she thought, even as the Inquisitor's thoughts pushed back with the truth. He was all the versions of himself she'd known: the man who had drawn her, the one who had shared her bed as he called her his heart, and now …

Ellana needed time. To process. To scream. To be sick. But the memory wouldn't allow her. That wasn't how it had happened. The Inquisitor had already known.

She took a hesitant step forward, then stumbled as the toe of her boot caught on something. At her feet were a dozen splintered pieces of a lifelike statue. She stepped carefully over the outstretched hand that had tripped her, then noticed its head a few steps away. It was an elf, though the tip of one of its ears had chipped off when it fell. Like the man she'd fought before, it wore Mythal's vallaslin.

Ellana's mind recoiled as the Inquisitor's memories forced her to understand. There were dozens of stone statues all around the courtyard, surrounding him, some shattered into pieces but others intact enough to see the truth of what they were - people that he'd turned to stone with nothing more than a thought.

He's holding back, Ellana realized. If he wanted her dead, she'd be dead. Just the like the others at his feet.

"Ah, Inquisitor!" Morrigan called happily. "'Tis good of you to finally join us!"

He blinked and his gaze shifted from Morrigan to her. It was only a glance, and only from the corner of his eye. But it was an eternity in the Inquisitor's memory.

What happened next had all the clarity the rest of the vision lacked. It must have been reviewed over and over again, in agonizing detail, before it was perfectly replicated in the rune.

The courtyard snapped into harsh definition and Ellana noted all the details that had not been there before. Afternoon sunlight casting strange shapes on the ground as it spilled through the ornate arches. An ancient tree, its roots pushing up from the stone floor, its lower branches leafless and singed from magic deflected toward it. An enormous mirror towering behind the battling figures.

The Inquisitor's disgust for the thing settled into her stomach. There was something wrong with it. The magic that roiled across its surface was black and thick - sickly, Ellana thought without understanding why. It shimmered like oil-slick water and the Inquisitor's mind insisted it was death.

She focused then on his face, on the wounds that crisscrossed his cheeks, angry red lines that cut across the freckles she so loved. He was bruised and pale, a gash across one eye and another, deeper, on the bridge of his nose. The rest of his body was covered in golden armor that obscured the damage beneath. But in all ways Ellana saw now what the Inquisitor had been unable to understand before - he too was drained, wounded, with little left to give. Ellana could not imagine the scale of the battle necessary to exhaust the limits of a god, but the Inquisitor was certain he was vulnerable.

In the time it took for him to blink, to shift his eyes to Ellana and then back, Morrigan struck.

Something in her features changed as she lunged toward him, her cheekbones higher, her chin longer and sharper - like the mask of another face had dropped over her own.

Morrigan raised her arm and a bizarre object materialized in her hand. Its red, crystalline form gleamed in the sun.

She wielded it like a weapon but Ellana couldn't understand what sort of weapon it was. The Inquisitor recognized it instantly and Ellana felt panic and adrenaline surge through her veins. She took a single step that somehow carried her across the courtyard and into the fray. Ellana reeled at the sudden movement, and at the sensation of time speeding up again.

She roughly caught Morrigan's wrist and for that one moment, she thought she'd saved him.

Morrigan grinned in her face and Ellana knew.

"I was certain you would not possess the stomach for it, in the end. 'Tis a burden to always be proven right."

She allowed her gaze to travel down the length of Morrigan's arm, to her now empty hand, to the dagger sunk hilt-deep into the side of his chest.

There was no magic left in her veins but she didn't care. She threw Morrigan back, bodily, and watched with furious satisfaction as she fell, her hands scraping on the stones.

"Why?" Ellana demanded as Morrigan quickly sat up.

"He killed my mother. Death is a gentler punishment than he deserves."

Morrigan tilted her chin up with a superiority that made Ellana want to wrap her hands around her throat.

"A time will come when you will thank me for this, Inquisitor."

She threw herself on top of Morrigan, knocking her down again. Morrigan winced as her head slammed against the stones and Ellana fought to pin down her arms.

"You do not have the strength left to fight me," Morrigan said. She wrested an arm free and lazily flicked her fingers. A wave of force hit Ellana in her chest and sent her flying backward. She caught herself on her wrist and felt it twist; she landed on her injured hip and cried out at the renewed burst of pain.

Morrigan pulled herself to her feet. When she placed a hand to the back of her head, her fingertips came back bloody. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Ellana.

"Stand down now and I will spare you," she offered.

"No."

Morrigan bore down on her but Ellana was ready. She grabbed a chunk of stone from one of the broken statues and smashed it into the side of the witch's knee. Morrigan let out a brutal yell before throwing another burst of energy at her.

The magic launched Ellana into the air and threw her across the courtyard. Her stomach turned over in anticipation - she was certain she was about to go off the edge of the tower and suffer the long fall to the forest below.

Instead, she felt the familiar touch of one of his barriers at her back. It gently halted her momentum before she landed safely on her feet. Ellana readied herself to charge Morrigan again, but then she heard the sound of his voice behind her.

"This was to be her victory. The return of her People."

Ellana knew she had to turn, had to look at him. As soon as she did it would be real.

He was still standing. She could not understand how. His arm hung awkwardly around the dagger where it protruded from his side. Beneath his skin, now paler than it had been a moment ago, she could see his veins outlined in a vicious red.

"You have her memories," he said softly to Morrigan. "You know she gave her life in service of this cause - a sacrifice you have now rendered futile."

Morrigan barked out a cruel laugh. "I have more than her memories. I am her will. 'Twas always simple for the Dread Wolf to twist the truth, most so in the stories he told himself."

He faltered, finally, his face falling all at once as Ellana saw the specter of doubt descend like a burden on his shoulders.

"You saw what you wanted to see," Morrigan told him. "I have enacted the justice she ordained."

"Justice?" He scoffed, fury returning a measure of color to his cheeks. "You have enacted vengeance, only. And in so doing you have sullied whatever fragment of her remained within you."

Morrigan took an angry step forward and Ellana put herself between them. She could feel Morrigan's power coalescing around her. She would not have another opportunity to catch her off-guard.

"Snarl if you wish, Dread Wolf," Morrigan said, directing her words over Ellana's shoulder. "You would never have fallen for such tricks in your youth. It seems time - or perhaps something else," she stared into Ellana's eyes, "has tamed you."

Ellana lunged for her throat but only grasped at the air as Morrigan went flying backward. She came to a violent halt, hovering a few feet above the ground with her arms extended at her sides. Blood spilled from the cuts on her hands and the back of her head. It twined up around her wrists, flowed around her body, holding her as surely as if she were chained.

"And you, Lady Morrigan, lack the wisdom that comes with age."

He held her suspended, his magic fueled by the blood that spilled from both his own wound and hers. Ellana shivered as she felt something unfamiliar stir. The Inquisitor's thoughts gave it form: The Veil is going to tear.

"Your mother would never have made such an obvious error," he said. "But if you wish to confront those responsible for her death, I will gladly facilitate an introduction. Join them now, and mete out justice. If you can."

Morrigan screamed as his magic dragged her across the courtyard and through the black eluvian. She struggled for only an instant before the thick, shimmering surface of the mirror drew her in and she disappeared. It flashed, then went inert.

It ends now. Ellana heard the Inquisitor's thoughts. With whatever strength he has left, he will tear down the Veil and there is no one who can stop him.

Again she tried to draw on her own power. Again she found nothing there.

She faced him. If he would do it, he would have to look in her eyes while it happened.

The red in his veins had crept up the lines of his neck now, reaching toward his face. He took in one shuddering breath and then another. He fell first to a knee, then to the ground, barely catching himself on an elbow.

"Vhenan," he whispered.

She knelt beside him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. The Inquisitor was furious with him and she loved him more than she ever had.

"Solas."

Ellana wanted to claw her way back to reality. She did not want to see what came next. She was torn between a sense that she was intruding, a bizarre sort of jealousy she couldn't defend, even to herself, and a dizzy terror as the Inquisitor's understanding of just what he truly was began to seep into her own thoughts.

The Inquisitor laughed - a nervous, desperate, little thing that Ellana knew she'd heard spill from her own lips before. She'd always hated the sound.

"I can't believe it's really you," she said, smiling, fighting against the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

He chuckled softly. The Inquisitor had rendered it perfectly in her memory - the last she would ever hear.

Then he choked, gasping for air and clutching at the dagger in his side. The hilt was a gold circle, embellished with strange and twisting forms Ellana couldn't understand.

"Don't," she said.

"It must come out."

"I don't have the strength to heal you. And from the look of things, you won't be able to manage it either."

"We are beyond such concerns. It must come out. The corruption will spread too quickly otherwise. And that would be …"

He didn't want to explain and she didn't need him to. She understood, at least abstractly, that there would be catastrophic consequences if the sickness now spreading through him took hold.

The Inquisitor's mind mercifully shied away from the act itself. Ellana blinked and the dagger was on the ground beside them. The air thrummed with potential - from the heat emanating out of the dagger, and from the magic inherent to his blood. She swore she could feel his careful mind making the same calculations she had, knowing he had everything he needed to finally bring it all to an end.

"Solas," she said, resigned to a fate he'd first promised years ago. "I won't waste my breath trying to stop you now. So just tell me what will happen when you take down the Veil. I need to know what to do to save as many as I can."

He looked away, shaking his head.

"Please. We have no time left for secrets."

"I know, vhenan. But I …"

He gasped again, and she thought the pain had become too much for him. His shoulders heaved with each shuddering breath he took, and when he faced her again there were tears in his eyes.

It broke her. She released a sob and felt her own tears spilling down her cheeks.

"The Veil must not come down."

"What?" she asked. There was a momentary surge of relief, but it was quickly swept away by the despair she saw painted on his face.

"There was not enough time. The dangers that lie beyond - my preparations are not complete. Without them, there will be chaos. The Evanuris will be free, and there will be nothing to check them. The spirits once trapped beyond the Veil will see only destruction and suffering, and they will twist themselves to match. It will destroy everything of your world and everything of mine."

What could he mean by that, Ellana wondered. That they were from different worlds? Again, the Inquisitor's memory did not allow her a chance to consider this, because the Inquisitor already understood it.

"The Veil is already weak," he continued. "In time, it will fail completely."

The Inquisitor realized with sudden and awful clarity how fragile it all was. The world had been balanced on a knife's edge for longer than she'd been alive and now, finally, the blade had tipped.

"So that's it, then?" she choked out. "Morrigan has doomed us all?"

For a moment he wouldn't meet her gaze. When he looked at her again, tears flowed freely down his blood-stained cheeks.

"No. Not if I strengthen the Veil - if I use the last of my energy to make it permanent."

"Oh, Solas." She cupped his cheek as he leaned into her touch. "No."

Ellana desperately tried to understand, though the words meant nothing to her. It felt as though the Inquisitor was tempted to tell him to do something that would bring about the end of her world simply because he was crying. She hated that a part of her would have done the same.

"There will still be widespread damage," he said. "Tevinter will be most affected. I believe it will take some time before … before it is completely impermeable."

"Completely impermeable." She repeated it because she thought she'd misunderstood. "There must be another way," she said, because she had to.

"There are no better options and very little time."

"No. I don't want you to have to do this again."

"If it is any consolation," he said, offering her a weak smile, "I will not carry the burden of this choice nearly so long as I did the last."

"Don't do that." She stroked her thumb over his cheek, brushing away a tear. "Don't make fatalistic jokes."

"I apologize. I only hoped to see you smile again." He swept a bloody hand into her hair, his fingers winding into the curls at the base of her neck.

The Inquisitor wept and Ellana would have given anything to be free of her torture. She had been right - it was better not to know.

It took too long for her to be able to speak again. She was wasting precious seconds they did not have. But she had to gather what courage she could find for what came next.

"The 'last of your energy,'" she repeated his words. "So it will kill you. Doing this will kill you."

"My death was a certainty from the moment Morrigan struck true. I will not allow myself to be corrupted as the others were, nor will I ask you to deal the final blow. I will take a small measure of comfort in knowing that my death will serve some purpose. Perhaps that knowledge will sustain whatever part of me remains to protect the Veil."

"A - a part of you will remain?" she asked, foolish hope fighting to take hold in her chest.

"Not in a form you will recognize. Nor will it remember you. I will explain what I can, but there is little time left and much I still must say."

Ellana listened, her mind slowly folding in on itself, as they said their goodbyes.

Solas slammed his hand against the wall and watched, ready, as the stones peeled back to reveal the hideout beyond. He threw himself between the bricks as they moved and felt Loranil close on his heels.

He took in the scene before him in a heartbeat. Ellana stood with her back to him, one arm outstretched toward the rear wall. Calpernia was beside Ellana, watching her with a determined curiosity. Despite the two large bodyguards positioned near the entrance, it was the look on Calpernia's face that struck Solas as the greatest threat in the room.

He closed the distance to the nearest suited figure and threw his elbow into the back of the guard's neck. Loranil launched himself at the man's knees and took his legs out from beneath him before Solas had a chance to get in a second hit.

It was not the first time he had seen competence arise from desperation, Solas thought as the man fell to the ground with Loranil scrambling to hold him down, but it was a particularly impressive example. Perhaps his encouragement had been more effective than he'd anticipated.

Solas left Loranil to it and turned toward the other guard, ducking just as a fist went flying over his head. He stood, using his momentum to drive one blow into the guard's stomach and then another to his jaw. The man staggered back against the desk.

Solas heard Calpernia yelling as something slammed against the back of his legs hard enough to send him down to his knees. Another blow between his shoulder blades knocked him forward and he threw his hands out in barely enough time to break his fall. A quick glance revealed Loranil crumpled against one of the bookcases, groaning as he rubbed a hand on the back of his head.

"That's quite enough!" Calpernia snapped from across the room. "This is a delicate process. I do not want her disturbed."

Solas strained against the pressure on his back - the guard behind him was trying to force him all the way to the ground. The other was slowly rising from the desk. He turned his head toward Ellana, but she still faced the wall. There was something strange about her posture - she was leaning back on her heels at an angle that should not be possible for her to remain upright. Her bag must have slipped off her arm and and landed at her feet. Its contents were now spilled onto the rug - her notepad, sunglasses, and …

His hand reached out. The jawbone flew across the room. It landed in his open palm.

His vision clouded immediately, obscured by a mass of black, feathery smoke that rushed toward him.

Wake up, purred a voice inside his head.

Solas stood all at once, every injury and ache forgotten as the guard who held him down slid off his back like he weighed nothing at all. The smoke receded to his peripheral vision, and he saw clearly as Ellana stumbled before she regained her balance. She leaned forward, bracing herself on the hand that still touched the wall.

He exhaled and watched with detached interest as tendrils of black smoke grabbed each of guards by their necks, dragging them against opposite walls of the room. They clawed at the smoke, fighting wildly to free themselves, but their fingers found no purchase.

Solas took a step toward Calpernia and the color drained from her face. He felt a small shift in the air as she held up her hands - a pitiably toothless attempt to draw power into her palms.

He took another step forward and Calpernia shrank back, her shoulder bumping against Ellana's. Solas felt, rather than saw, the guards drop to the ground as the smoke reformed around him, gathering all of itself to drape over his shoulders and curl above his head.

Ellana's hand slid down the wall and came to rest by her side. He froze, watching her, the anticipation unlike anything he'd ever known. Long had he waited to find her, to realize the promises they'd made, to see her eyes meet his as if it were the first time.

Solas tried to understand the words in his mind as Ellana turned.

Her cheeks were wet and her gaze was far away. Tears spilled from her eyes as she took in the blood on his clothes and his hands. Then a smile broke across her face.

"Vhenan."

She spoke with a voice that was not entirely her own. Solas knew it even as a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Even as the thing in his head tried to strangle his doubts.

My heart, it whispered.

Solas stared at her as he struggled to find his own thoughts amidst the chaos. He had made no progress when something plowed into his midsection and he fell to the ground. His fist opened and the jawbone slid across the room.

He gasped violently as the smoke dispersed. One of the guards was on top of him, a forearm pressed against his neck. He strained to look up at Ellana.

Her breathing was wild now, and she was visibly shuddering as her eyes darted around the room until, finally, she looked down at him.

Solas was certain he was not imagining the look of abject horror on her face.

The ground rumbled beneath him and there was a scent in the air like stillness before rain. Then, with a deafening crack, the world ripped itself open behind Ellana's back.

Harsh green light blinded him as it spilled from the tear. It was unmistakably similar to the visions of the Breach they'd experienced, but this was no mere vision. Bizarre noises emanated from the swirling mass - a formless cacophony until he began to find growls, whispers, music, hidden within. Its currents had a gravity of their own, Solas realized, as everything and everyone in the room warped toward their pull.

Calpernia was at the center. She struggled desperately, digging her heels into the rug as she took a step away from the tear, only to be dragged forward once again. The guard jumped off Solas' back in an instant, racing to help her.

Ellana had not moved. She must have heard its strange calling and felt its awful force, Solas thought. But still she stared at him, her face twisted with fear and panic. He stumbled to his feet, taking measured steps toward her, trying to reach her as quickly as he could without succumbing to the vortex's pull.

Yet there was some part of him that ached to peer past the tear itself, to linger in the space beyond it. It whispered a promise of belonging and the warm embrace of a home long forgotten.

He started as the guard nearest to Calpernia fell to the ground, no doubt losing his fight against the same strange forces Solas felt pressing on his own body and mind. Calpernia cried out as the tear pulled her in, her pale skin stained sickly green by its light.

"Help me! Please!" She reached out a hand, fingers grasping at Ellana's shoulder. "Please!"

Ellana blinked rapidly, looking from Solas to Calpernia and the tear behind her.

"Solas," she said, and he understood.

He took another cautious step forward, straining to reach Calpernia. Part of his mind screamed that this was a waste of time that should be spent pulling Ellana to safety instead. But he saw now that she did not struggle as the rest of them had - the tear's gravity seemed to have no effect on her.

Solas grabbed Calpernia's wrist and tugged her away from the light. The moment she was clear, Ellana raised her left hand with her fingers splayed. Solas held his breath as a strange anticipation overtook him - like floating in the sea as the tide dragged the water toward the depths.

Ellana's entire hand illuminated the same green as the tear in front of her. Energy coalesced in her palm, then poured outward. She held herself steady until, suddenly, she clamped her fingers into a fist. The tear exploded outward and a shock wave rippled across the room. She remained unmoved as Solas fought to stay upright.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Calpernia's bodyguards stirred slightly, groaning from their places on the floor. Loranil's eyes fluttered open and he slowly stood up, bracing himself on one of the empty bookshelves.

Ellana turned, her cheeks a deep red and her lips drawn to a thin line. She was angrier than Solas had ever seen. He faltered under the weight of her gaze, everything he thought he might say suddenly rendered small and insignificant.

Calpernia brushed past Solas as she stepped toward Ellana.

"Thank you," she said.

"Fuck you."

Calpernia halted as if she'd been struck by Ellana's words. "I - I understand," she said. "You still have my gratitude. I'll need to report back to Minister Alexius eventually but I will give you an hour - two hours. A head start."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ellana advanced on her. She was the smaller of the two, but the way she carried herself made Calpernia shrink as she drew near.

"You're in no position to bargain. An hour? Two? For your life? How about this, instead: I'm going to leave you here and you can find your own way out of this room and then the tunnels. It shouldn't take you that long, right? You can light a veilfire torch and it only drains you as much as if you ran a mile. I wonder how much effort it'll take to move this wall without me here to do your work for you."

"Ms. Lavellan, please. This is not what I wanted. The things I've seen today … Think of what you could accomplish in Minrathous. Think of what we could learn." Calpernia reached a hand toward Ellana's arm.

"Don't touch me." Ellana swatted her away. "I don't want anything to do with what's happening in Minrathous. You can tell Alexius for me - when you get out of here, that is."

Solas tried to follow their conversation. Veilfire was simple enough to guess - but what precisely was happening in Minrathous? What was Calpernia offering her?

"Let's go," Ellana told him. "Get Loranil." She retrieved her bag and its spilled contents from the ground as Solas pulled Loranil away from the bookshelf, stooping low enough that he could put an arm over his shoulders.

Ellana stared at Calpernia while Solas helped Loranil through the gap in the wall. She came through last, watching with satisfaction as the stones closed behind her.

"Are you certain they'll be able to escape that room?" Solas asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Eventually."

"When?"

"A few hours. More than two."

He wanted to ask how she knew, but her clipped tone made it clear the subject was not up for discussion.

Solas helped Loranil stand on his own as Ellana fished something out of her pocket. She shoved a stone wolf statue into Loranil's hand while she shook her head at him.

"I really don't know if I should thank you or hit you," she said.

"He does not deserve your thanks," Solas assured her.

Ellana frowned at him as they hurried away from the hideout. Loranil split off from them at the first intersection they found, trailing stammered apologies behind him. Solas barely registered his departure, continuing along the path that would bring them closest to the hotel.

His thoughts were erratic. He didn't understand most of what he'd seen, and there had been some deeper strangeness - something inside his mind that was not his own. In that haze, he knew what he'd heard. She had looked in his eyes and called him her heart. He felt like he was waking from a dream.

Now that he was awake, reality came crashing down upon him all at once. She'd been confused when she'd spoken those words, just as she'd been confused the last time he found her in that room. It meant nothing. It was the word he had most dreamed of giving her since he first saw it in the Inquisitor's portrait, and now it meant nothing.

At least Ellana was finally beside him, safe and apparently unharmed. He'd found her but, in truth, she had been the one to free them. He was certain everyone in that room had felt what he had - the way the world trembled as she effortlessly summoned that power. After, she'd spoken with a confidence at odds with the incomprehensibility of the situation. But there was an undeniable authority in the way she bit out her words when she was furious, and they'd all easily bent to her will.

It was something new he'd found to love in her, even as he knew he should not.

When they rounded the next corner and they could no longer hear Loranil's footsteps, Ellana leaned suddenly against the stone wall. She covered her face with a hand and wrapped her other arm tight around her midsection.

"Ellana?"

Solas reached toward her back, then drew his hand away. Would she want him to touch her? Would it help? He hesitated until he saw her shoulders begin to shake, her body wracked with silent sobs. Before he could think better of it, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against him.

"What is it?" he asked. "What happened?"

"I can't," she mumbled into his chest. "Please. I can't do this. Not yet."

He didn't know what she meant. Perhaps he should let her go. He eased his grip on her back to give her space to step away. She didn't move.

"You don't have to," Solas replied, uncertain what else to say. "I didn't mean - are you hurt? Physically? Are you injured?"

"No," she shook her head and he could feel her warm tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. "But you - you're bleeding. What happened?"

"It is not my blood. It's Loranil's."

"Oh."

She looked up at him, her wide eyes sparkling with tears in the torchlight. Solas wished that everything he wanted to tell her wasn't so certain to make matters even worse.

When he thought he could look at her no longer without saying something foolish, he stared over her head at the flames dancing in the nearest sconce.

"We should keep moving," he said. "The train -"

"Oh, shit. The train. It must have left by now."

"I do not have my watch." He hadn't grabbed it in his rush to leave the hotel. "Once we get to the streets, I will check my phone."

Ellana nodded, still sniffling against him. "We have to find another train - the next one that leaves. I don't care where it's going as long as it's out of Tevinter. I can't be here anymore."

"Yes. Of course." That she'd used the word 'we' was an immense relief. Solas had been convinced their journey together would end the moment he found her. One more train ride would at least give him a chance to try to explain himself - if she had the patience to hear him.

Everything looked worse when they emerged into the sunlight. Loranil's blood still stained the cobblestones of the alley, and Ellana turned pale as she spotted it. They rushed back to the hotel, Solas trying to cover the blood on his hands and clothes while Ellana dipped her head low to hide her tear-streaked face.

They returned to the room only long enough for Solas to wash his hands, change his clothes, and collect his bags. Ellana said she would look up the train schedule, but instead she stared out the balcony door, her gaze on the sea, until they hurried back to the elevator. She retrieved her luggage from the clerk in the lobby - an irregularity Solas noted but for which he couldn't account. He'd assumed her things must have been lost, dropped when Calpernia and the guards took her.

It was a relief to find a train already parked in the station when they arrived. It was older and boxier than the ones they'd seen during their travels, and Solas recognized the style as something that was popular two or three decades prior. As soon as he confirmed it was leaving Tevinter, they boarded.

There were no private compartments, so they settled into the emptiest car they could find. The green plaideweave upholstery on the benches was worn, frayed in a few spots, but otherwise clean. Ellana slipped into a seat and rested her head against the window.

Solas stowed their luggage above her. The train was old enough that there were no real racks - just a metal frame bolted to the side of the compartment and strung with a net. He glanced at Ellana as he secured their bags. She looked exhausted, and her gaze was distant.

He slid onto the bench beside her and immediately wondered if it was a mistake. Should he sit across from her instead? He waited for her to say something, give him any sort of guidance, but she remained silent.

He wished he could offer her his shoulder to rest on rather than cold glass.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, still looking out the window. "I guess I wasn't listening. Where are we going?"

"Nevarra. A city west of the capital, I believe. I wasn't familiar with the name." He pulled up the timetable on his phone again. "Hunter Fell."

Ellana turned her head.

"Hunter Fell?"

He nodded.

She began to laugh.

For a second, Solas was relieved. Then Ellana put a hand over her mouth as her laughter grew frenzied and panicked. She choked out a sob, though it seemed she had no tears left to accompany it.

"What is it?" he asked as the train blasted its horn and pulled away from the station.

"Hunter Fell was on the list Merrill sent me - the Inquisitor's list. She went there, too."

Chapter Text

They were less than an hour outside Vyrantium when the storm clouds broke open. What began as only a few drops tapping against the window quickly became a downpour. Solas watched the rain slide down the glass beyond Ellana's face as she stared disinterestedly at the trees outside.

The train to Hunter Fell cut a different path through Tevinter than the way they'd come a week ago. Instead of traveling straight south into Nevarra, it meandered to the west, near the border with the Anderfels. Unfortunately, an older train on a winding track through mostly dense forest meant the trip would take far longer than it should. They wouldn't arrive at their destination until late afternoon. Solas hoped this was still a safer option for them - an inconvenient, lightly-traveled route that might be less watched than the main line. Ellana was right; they needed to free of Tevinter as soon as possible.

She had said nothing more since the train left the station. He'd attempted once, early on, to encourage her to talk but she only shook her head. Solas settled into his anxiety, growing accustomed to the weight of it in his stomach. He tried not to stare at her but it was impossible. He kept a nervous vigil, waiting for a raised eyebrow, the pout of her lips, any hint of what she might be thinking.

But her expression was blank - entirely blank. This, more than anything else he'd seen, worried him. Ellana was many things but she was never impassive nor indifferent.

Eventually, he forced himself to turn away from her. He was not helping; he did not know how to help. The thought was infuriating, and there was nothing he could do but accept it.

Solas rested his head back against the bench's rough fabric and closed his eyes. He focused on the persistent aches in his body - predictable results of the tension he'd carried all morning as well as the falls and hits he'd taken as he'd struggled with Calpernia's bodyguards. The pain drowned out some of the noise that cluttered his own thoughts, though not enough. He knew he would not find sleep, nor did he wish to, but at least the sounds of the storm might do something to soothe his frayed nerves.

When he heard her voice, he hesitated to open his eyes - afraid he had only dreamed her.

"I love traveling in the rain," Ellana said quietly.

She was looking at him. He held very still, waiting for her to continue.

"I don't know if I ever told you that."

"You haven't."

He would have remembered. He would have checked the weather forecast on the days before she arrived in Lydes for any chance of rain. He would have changed all their plans to account for it.

She began to lean toward the window again and Solas was afraid that might be the end of it. He was so grateful just to hear her voice that he found he couldn't waste the moment worrying about what she might say if he persuaded her to continue.

"Ellana? May I ask you a question?"

"What is it?" she said, suddenly wary.

"How did you know what to do to stop that phenomenon in the hideout?"

"I didn't."

Ellana read the confusion on his face and rolled her eyes.

"What?" she said, with a touch of annoyance. "You blame things on instinct a few times a day. Don't I get a chance to do it once in a while?"

"I - yes, of course you do," Solas stammered. "But do you know what it was?"

"A tear in the Veil."

"The Veil can tear?" He searched his memories and wished he could search his notes, but he did not want to risk interrupting their conversation. "We didn't read anything about that."

"This might have been the first one in a few hundred years."

"What causes it?"

He saw her falter, then set her jaw.

"Death. Suffering. A concentration of one or both. And … very strong emotions."

Solas remembered the look on her face after she'd called him vhenan. He would never forget it. Had it been her emotions or his that had caused the tear?

Thunder rumbled outside the window and Ellana's energy turned suddenly restless. She crossed her legs and folded her hands together on top of her knee. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, then balled into fists tight enough that he felt certain her nails must be biting crescents into her palms. Solas thought if she needed a hand to grasp too hard it should be his, but he kept himself still.

Finally, as if she'd come to some crucial decision, she nodded to herself and grabbed her tote from where she'd dropped it on the floor. She pulled out her phone, a pad of paper, and a pen.

"What are you doing?" he asked as gently as he could.

"What does it look like? I'm working."

Solas frowned as he watched her write the date and time at the top of a fresh sheet of paper. "Ellana, you don't have to do this now." He reached a hand toward hers, then pulled back when he realized what he was doing. "It can wait."

"It can't, actually. Solas, I need her out of my head - the Inquisitor," she clarified when he gave her a puzzled look. "This is the only way I know how to do that.

"I've been trying to get it straight by myself, but I just don't think that's happening. So I'm going to start talking, and if you have questions, ask them. I'll record myself, if you don't mind," she said, gesturing toward her phone, "so that I can do this once, and then never tell this story ever again."

He nodded, his heart racing, as he tried to gather his own thoughts.

She tapped her phone's screen and nothing happened. "Shit, she groaned. "I forgot Calpernia turned it off. I'm going to have a million messages from Cass and I really just cannot think about …" She stopped herself and sighed heavily.

"I will text Cassandra," he offered. "I can say you fell asleep on the train and will speak with her later."

"That's fine," Ellana nodded. "Thank you."

She hunched forward, powering on her phone and then swiping away notifications with obvious irritation. Solas slowly typed out his text. He ignored the many others he'd received from Cassandra since last night - he could not fathom trying to explain anything to her now.

When they'd both finished, Ellana set her phone on the table between them and tapped the button to begin recording.

"The hideout in the Vyrantium tunnels was used by the Inquisitor," she said, her tone quiet and neutral. "She added some runes to the walls - relatively rare magic that stored a memory so someone could experience it again later."

"You experienced another of her memories, like the one in the round room?" Solas asked.

"Another memory, yes. But nothing like that one."

Ellana took a deep breath, and then she began.

She described everything in precise and awful detail. She was thorough but detached - simply dictating a story she would transcribe later - as her voice grew softer and more strained the longer she went on.

Solas wanted to do so many things during those long minutes as she spoke. He wanted to ask dozens of questions but he could see the toll it was taking on her, so he held back as much as he could. He pulled his notebook from his work bag, jotting down his own impressions and the minutiae he would examine later, but which were not important enough to risk interrupting her process.

He thought he should comment on how brave she was to recount it at all, as he listened to her explain the very real pain she'd suffered from the Inquisitor's injuries, and the fear she'd felt as her own. He wished he could tell her she did not need to approach such a terrible thing so calmly, but he suspected she was humiliated enough that she'd broken down in the tunnels, and knew she might never forgive herself if she did so again.

He halted her three times. The first was to ask for more description of the appearance of the temple. Might it have been the one in the Arbor Wilds? She clarified as much as she could, but she hadn't been given much detail in the memory, and neither of them had seen the structure in the Wilds clearly enough to be confident in any comparisons.

The second time, he asked her to describe the eluvian, particularly the shape of its frame and general size. He realized quickly that it was larger but less ornate than the one Alexius' team had taken from the dig site. Given the danger Ellana described in the eluvian from the memory, Solas thought that at least in this they'd been very lucky.

And, then, finally -

"What do you mean he was Fen'Harel?"

Ellana did not look at him when she replied.

"The Inquisitor's understanding, which I think was still incomplete, was that he was the person who inspired the legends of the Dread Wolf. He was ancient - she had no idea how old exactly - and immortal, at least in the sense that he didn't age. He used magic very differently than anyone else. It was more natural to him, somehow."

Solas had no frame of understanding to even begin to process her words. It was immediately necessary to set aside the personal nature of the discovery; he had no additional information or comprehension beyond what she had provided and so the link between himself and the man in the past was of no consequence, at least within the scope of the questions at hand. He forced the thought as far into the back of his mind as he could manage, finding a new sense of awe and sympathy for how often Ellana must have had to do the same over the past few months.

"The reality of Fen'Harel suggests -" Solas began.

"It does," Ellana nodded. "I think he might have mentioned them - the other Creators. He used the word 'Evanuris.' Have you ever heard that before? Does it mean anything to you?"

"I've not heard nor read it anywhere I can recall. Were I to guess, based on words with similar construction … leaders, generals, perhaps even mages?"

"But not gods?" Ellana said.

"No. At least, based on current understanding of the language, I would not translate it as such."

Ellana nodded again. "I was afraid you'd say that. If we find a way to publish any of this, that's going to make it a lot more complicated."

Again he noted her use of 'we.' She still envisioned a future where they would research and write together. He would still be near her. The idea encouraged him enough that, for a moment, he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.

"Regardless of whether he considered himself or any of the others gods, I am confused by his role within the Inquisition. Do you know why he was there? And what was his goal? How does this relate to the first memory you saw?"

Solas bit back the other questions that he wanted to ask, realizing he was pushing her harder than he intended. He waited, as patiently as he could, for Ellana to explain.

"He …" Ellana looked at him for no longer than a heartbeat before she turned her eyes back to the waveform on her recording app, now a still line in the silence. "I think I should tell you the rest first," she said. "It might make more sense that way."

She recounted a discussion of whether the Veil would remain in place, and supplemented it with the understanding she'd gained from the Inquisitor that a barrier between the Fade and the real world had not always existed. When she clarified that it was Fen'Harel who had created the Veil originally, and that it had been his intent to remove it - an objective which the Inquisitor opposed - Solas finally began to see the shape of the problem.

The man she'd seen had a plan thousands of years in the making, the stakes of which were apocalyptic. He infiltrated an organization with the reach and resources necessary to help him achieve his goals. And yet somehow, in the midst of that, he'd fallen in love so desperately that he'd confessed the truth of who and what he was to the Inquisitor, and undermined his strategy thoroughly enough that he'd spent the next decade looking over his shoulder as she inevitably caught up to him.

Yes, Solas thought solemnly. That makes perfect sense.

Ellana continued, her words becoming increasingly distant and clinical, as he watched her brow pinch. He tried to imagine what she'd experienced, wondered what state he'd be in if he had seen the opposite - if he'd watched a woman who looked exactly like Ellana die in front of his eyes. If he'd had to say goodbye to her knowing it would be the last time. As his thoughts turned to the moment when he believed it was her he'd found collapsed in the middle of the alley, he quickly realized he did not have the strength to consider it, even as a hypothetical.

"The Inquisitor sat down beside him," Ellana said, "and he tried to tell her as much as he could. He had thousands of years of secrets and only a few minutes to get out a fraction of them at the end," she explained. "She was pretty angry with him for that, but she knew it was pointless.

"He said that dying in that way - using up whatever energy or life he had left - would shatter him. I think he meant it literally. That whatever remained of him - the pieces that couldn't die - they would each be like parts of a whole."

Solas contemplated this, but again found only frustration. He did not feel like a part of a whole. He felt only like himself.

"He was very clear that whatever he became, he wouldn't remember her," she continued. "And then …"

Ellana hesitated, her lips twisting as Solas watched her fight to maintain her composure. He placed his hand beside her leg on the bench, close enough that she could easily take it if she wanted.

"And then," she began again, "it was getting hard for him to speak. The Inquisitor knew it was near the end. And she said, 'I will search for you through all eternity.' Bellanaris. That was the word she used."

Solas frowned, remembering whispers about promises that had drowned out his own thoughts when he'd first seen Ellana's face in the hideout.

"Did he say the same?"

"No," Ellana shook her head. "He said, 'My heart, you cannot promise me eternity.'"

Solas scoffed. "Needlessly pedantic," he said, affronted by the idea that this man would waste his final few breaths on anything other than making sure the woman he loved knew precisely how much he had loved her.

Ellana looked up from her phone and Solas could not be certain, but he thought he saw a hint of amusement pulling at the corners of her lips.

"It was," she agreed. "But I don't think he meant it to be."

"I suppose he was referencing the differences in their natures? His immortality?"

"Yes, that was how the Inquisitor understood it."

"And I imagine she did not allow his statement to pass without argument?"

"No. She didn't."

This time, he knew he was not imagining her small smile.

"Banal nadas. That was part of what she told him. There was more to it than that. I got the sense it was pretty colorful, actually. But what she meant was something like: 'Watch me. I'm going to do it anyway. I'm going to prove you wrong.'"

For all her understandable insistence that she and the Inquisitor were entirely different people, it was impossible to ignore that it was precisely the sort of thing Ellana might say. It took his breath away.

"And that was all I saw," she said. "There might have been more in the rune, but that was the last thing she said before I was back in the hideout. Obviously he must have done as he promised and made the Veil permanent. Then, some time after that, there was no more magic."

"At least until recently," Solas said.

Ellana nodded slowly, then tapped the button to end the recording on her phone.

"They know a lot more than we thought. Calpernia, Alexius, the Venatori - they have a lot of documents and a lot of information."

"But they don't have you."

Her eyes widened in shock, or perhaps fear.

He placed his hand over hers. "It won't be much longer now before we cross the border into Nevarra."

She sat back in her seat, squeezing his fingertips where they curled into her palm.

"This rune carried much more knowledge than the last," Solas said. "Do you have all her memories now?"

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. It was the same as last time - I got whatever she was thinking about. But this happened years later, so she knew a lot more. And she wasn't … distracted like she was the last time. At the end, when it was just the two of them, her thoughts were all over the place. I caught some glimpses of when she first met him, when they were together, and then after he'd left."

She rested her head against the bench and he thought he saw tears in her eyes again.

"Ellana." He leaned into her as closely as he dared. "Are you alright?"

She let out a mirthless laugh. "No. Not at all."

He started to apologize but she cut him off.

"It's fine. I know what you meant." She turned to him. "But I don't know what else to say. It was awful."

He'd watched as she recounted the memory, noting the way her shoulders began to relax, how the color slowly returned to her face, and when her hands finally stilled. It was if the Inquisitor's rune had filled her with poison and she had slowly forced it out. Obviously, some wounds ran deeper.

"Don't look so worried, Solas." She gave him a smile that was all too fragile. "This did help. Being able to treat it like just another book or interview to analyze. Thank you."

He was sitting too close to her now, Solas thought. He did not trust himself.

Ellana's gaze shifted over his shoulder and he turned to see an an attendant pushing a tea trolley through the aisle. The train was antiquated even in its amenities, though Solas was grateful he would not have to make a choice between leaving Ellana and finding the café car.

He realized all at once that he was starving - that Ellana must be starving as well. They'd had nothing since dinner the night before. He selected a bowl piled high with ripe slices of blood orange and mango, and barely refrained from buying one of the fan-shaped pastries coated in cinnamon and sugar.

Ellana shrugged at him when he asked her what she wanted. She eyed the offerings hungrily but was, he suspected, at the particular point of mental exhaustion when even a simple choice was too much to bear. He asked for a second fork - there would be more than enough fruit to share - and two cups of tea. Everything was served in fine ceramic dishes. The tea cups were decorated with large, pink flowers and sat atop matching saucers.

"Foxmint?" Ellana asked as she smelled the steam rising from her cup. "I haven't had this in years. Deshanna used to make me drink it when I was sick."

"Cassandra swore by it as a cure after a night of drinking."

"Every single thing you tell me about Cass makes me think we know two totally different people."

Solas wanted to laugh, but he'd brought them a step too close to discussing the previous night. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he changed the subject.

"Would you mind if I made an observation regarding your experiences in the Inquisitor's memory?"

Ellana brought her cup to her lips, blowing across the surface of the liquid. "Go ahead," she said before she took a sip.

"You have not asked me whether I am Fen'Harel."

She set the cup down on the table so quickly that tea splashed out onto the saucer as she clapped a hand over her mouth. It took Solas a moment to realize she was laughing - or attempting not to laugh as it seemed she'd inadvertently snorted hot tea into her nose. He handed her a cloth napkin.

"You have to warn me before you say something like that," she said, coughing. "No. I haven't asked you whether you're Fen'Harel. Would you like me to?"

"That's not what I -"

"Solas?" she said, clasping the napkin against her chest and staring at him with mock, wide-eyed earnestness. "Are you actually the Dread Wolf? Have you been cleverly deceiving me all this time?"

"Of course not," he snapped.

"Great! Glad we cleared that up."

He rolled his eyes. "I only meant, were I in your position, it is a possibility that would have occurred to me, so I must assume it has occurred to you."

Ellana scoffed, then took another, more cautious, sip of her tea.

"I understand why you would say that, given all the stories about him and the fact that he was immortal in some way. But the actual experience - knowing a little of what happened between him and the Inquisitor - it was very different."

"How so?"

She bit her lip as the first truly happy smile he'd seen from her all day tried to steal its way across her cheeks.

"As funny as it sounds, he wasn't very good at lying to her. But he had her at a disadvantage. How was she supposed to guess something like that? You can't guess a thing when you don't even know it's possible. And then, as soon as she did start to figure it out, he must have known he couldn't keep it secret for much longer. So he ended things with her and he left. By the next time they met, she knew. She confronted him and he admitted it.

"I do realize the irony of what I'm about to say," Ellana continued, "but you're not very good at lying to me either. Or keeping things from me. If you were the Dread Wolf, you'd have accidentally told me by now."

His stomach turned over as he realized what had happened. She'd used his own question to guide him right back to the subject he had clumsily avoided a few minutes before.

"Ellana, he said, "about last night -"

Oh fuck, why does he want to talk about that? Ellana thought as panic rose in her chest.

"What do you even remember from last night?" she said before Solas could continue. She stared down into her tea, the steam rising out of her cup and warming her cheeks.

"All of it."

She was going to be sick.

"Before we returned to the hotel," he added.

She was going to kill him.

Ellana tried to assemble the timeline in her head. He must remember putting it in his pocket. It had obviously been there all night and she'd seen him nervously fumbling with something before they left the hotel room. But it seemed likely that he didn't recall actually giving her the ring.

It had spilled out of his pants when she pulled them off - an unmistakable black velvet box of a specific size and shape. Solas, half asleep, had chuckled when he tossed it to her. She barely caught it as he rolled over onto his stomach, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about how it would be safer in her hands than his.

He fell asleep almost immediately after that. Ellana didn't.

She knew instantly she was going to look at it. Whatever ideas she had about respecting his privacy were no match for this particular temptation.

He couldn't have bought it in Vyrantium. He'd barely been out of her sight all week. That meant he'd bought it even earlier - before she'd arrived in Lydes because she'd been with him the whole time they were there, too.

How long has he had this? she wondered, her stomach lurching, as she opened the box.

Ellana had never spent much time considering what she'd want this sort of ring to look like, so it was a particular shock to see it and realize that it could never have looked like anything else.

She slipped it on her finger and found that it fit perfectly. She stood, took a few hesitant steps, then flew into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. As she braced herself with both hands on the sink and blinked into the mirror, she suddenly realized she was very, very drunk.

It had been easy to ignore when Solas was awake and she'd busied herself with taking care of him. She'd been completely confident then that she was still making excellent decisions. Now, looking at her reflection, she knew she'd been wrong.

Ellana slid fully clothed into the empty bathtub and held her hand up above her, twisting her wrist back and forth so she could watch the stone glint in the light. It was mesmerizing.

She woke up some time later, her neck stiff and her cell phone sitting on top of her chest. She found a drafted text to Merrill with a picture of the ring on her hand and a partially typed caption that said 'im geting m-.'

"Oh fuck that," she whispered, horrified, as she read it again. "Fuck me."

She deleted the text, deleted the photo, and dragged herself out of the bathtub. She lay flat on her back on the cold tiles, waiting for her stomach to settle and the room to stop spinning.

When she finally thought she could stand without being sick, she pulled herself up and went back into the bedroom. Solas was snoring lightly, a smile on his face. She had a nearly irresistible desire to wake him, to climb on top of him, and was already pulling on the duvet when she looked down at her hand and saw the ring again.

She panicked and ran out onto the balcony for fresh air. She ripped the ring off her hand, nearly lost her grip on it, panicked again, and put it back on her finger for safekeeping.

Fuck, she thought. I can't be trusted with it either.

She turned to go back inside but the flutter of white tablecloths in the distance caught her eye. If she squinted, she could just barely make out the now dark restaurant. She traced the path of the road they'd taken back to the hotel.

He told me he loved me right about there, she thought as she looked at a particular spot on the hill, just a little ways past a bench. She'd never seen him happier - an irresistible sort of happiness that had dragged her along in its tide, even as she was convinced he was going to fall on his ass and roll back down the hill.

He told me he loved me, she thought again, and leaned over the edge of the balcony in case she needed to be sick.

When she'd taken in a few deep gulps of air, her head was clear enough to form a slightly more coherent thought.

"He's crazy for buying a ring," she whispered into the night.

You're the one wearing it, said the extremely unhelpful voice in her head.

Ellana stormed back inside and shut the balcony door behind her. For a few awful minutes she thought she'd lost the box, but she finally found it on the floor beside the bed. She pulled the ring off her hand again, put it back in its box, and shoved it into Solas' pants where she'd left them on the bed.

She took a shower. It felt like a long one, though she hadn't looked at the time before she got in. She had just enough foresight to throw her clothes into her suitcase so she wouldn't have to do it in the morning, which was rapidly approaching.

Solas was still asleep and smiling and Ellana found the idea of it unforgivable - that he'd caused her so much chaos with so little effort and had immediately drifted off into blissful sleep while she'd had to listen to her own deranged thoughts go to war in her head.

It was after three in the morning when she finally folded his clothes and set them on top of his suitcase. She hoped that when he saw them there he would assume he'd done it.

She stared down at the neat pile until her vision started to blur and she realized she was wobbling on her feet.

What if he'd asked me? What if I'd been stupid enough to say yes? I might have been stupid enough to say yes, she thought.

What if you kept it? He gave it to you. He loves you and he gave it to you. Why shouldn't you keep it?

The delusional voice in her head was back but, for once, it was making fantastic arguments, Ellana thought as she yawned.

She pulled the box out of his pants again, took the ring, tried it on one last time, and then safely zipped it into a pocket in her tote bag.

She crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped his arms around her, and he mumbled 'I love you' over and over again into the back of her neck. Ellana grinned into her pillow, fought back another wave of nausea, and wondered if there was any chance he would remember any of it come morning.

The train lurched suddenly and Ellana blinked as she found herself still staring down into her cup.

I am so fucked, she thought.

"I should apologize," Solas was saying.

Apologize for what? Her mind offered a dozen terrible possibilities. He remembered the ring. He hadn't meant to give it to her - of course he hadn't meant to give it to her. He hadn't meant to tell her he loved her either. She'd goaded him and he'd said something crazy just to get a reaction from her. He wouldn't do that. Would he do that? No, of course not. But he was obviously having second thoughts now, and he'd barely touched her since they got on the train, and -

"I was nervous," Solas said. "And I drank more than I should have in a misguided attempt to calm myself."

She took another sip of her tea to settle her stomach. The foxmint was helping but even it could only do so much.

"I should not have told you in the way I did."

She drummed her middle finger on her saucer.

"But I love you and it was the only thing I could think of all night."

Ellana's mind blanked.

If she opened her mouth, she was going to start crying again. It had been one thing to hear him say it last night, when he was all carefree smiles and flirtations. It was another thing entirely when, the last time she'd heard it, it had sounded like his voice but was shaped like ar lath ma and had been forced from dying lips. Now, it was so fragile that it was almost brittle - a precious, delicate thing she was terrified she was going to break.

She should be saying something. She should be saying something specific.

She was summoning the courage. She would find it somewhere. Solas spoke again before she could. His tone had gone cold.

"This morning, when I came back into the room and realized that you'd left -"

"I'm sorry about that," she spat out. "I started to leave you a note, but … I don't know. I realized it was a cowardly way to do it."

Solas fell silent again and Ellana finally forced herself to look at him. His head was bowed slightly, his gaze on the table, and he was frowning so deeply that she was certain he must be furious with her.

She nervously tucked her hair behind her ears and grabbed her pad of paper from the table. She feared it was pointless now, the damage was already done, but she had to at least try to explain herself. She flipped over the pad and slid it toward Solas so he could see the yellow sticky note attached to the back.

Getting coffee, it said. Meet me downstairs. I LOVE YOU.

She watched his eyes roam over the words. Carefully, he peeled it away from the cardboard backing.

"I'm sorry," Ellana said again. "I wrote it and then I thought, 'This is not the way I want to tell him.' And then I thought, 'What if he wakes up and he doesn't even remembering saying it?' And then I drew this awful little heart," she pointed to the scribble she'd made on the left side of the note, "and that just really made me want to throw myself off the balcony and into the sea. No offense."

She was speaking too quickly, she thought. Solas hadn't moved.

"I just needed to get out of my head for a minute. So I went downstairs to take a walk, grab some coffee, and instead I ran into Loranil and everything got worse after that."

Solas glanced at her for a second before looking at the note again.

"I don't understand," he said.

Ellana stared at him. She thought she might scream.

"Did you mean this?" he asked. He raised his hand and nodded down at the note stuck to the tips of his fingers. "Is this how you feel?"

"Yes," she snapped, "of course I -"

Solas kissed her, his hands brushing past her ears and into her hair as he drew her mouth against his. Relief, more than anything else, instantly brought tears to her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his back, curved her hands up toward his shoulders, and pulled him as close as she could.

She'd had what was unquestionably the worst day of her life. She'd been kidnapped and threatened. She'd felt more pain than she'd ever experienced, and then it had suddenly disappeared even though her body swore it could still feel the aftershocks. She'd cried so much that she didn't think she had any tears left. And despite all of it, she was blissfully, stupidly happy.

She rested her head against Solas' shoulder, knowing her grip on him was too tight. She loved him and that was terrifying but, really, what was one more terrifying thing?

"I thought I lost you, Ellana," he whispered. "I thought I'd lost you in every way I could lose you."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, slowly shaking her head. She caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye and realized the note that had been stuck to his finger was now buried somewhere in her hair.

"What could you possibly have to apologize for?" Solas asked as he began to carefully untangle the paper from her curls.

"That still wasn't how I wanted to tell you," she sighed.

"How fortunate, then, that you will have another opportunity," he said softly, his mouth close to her ear, "since I have yet to hear it from your lips." He finally pulled the note from her hair and set it down on the table.

Ellana held her breath as he swept his hand along the underside of her jaw and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. She thought he must be able to feel her pulse pounding against his palm as he looked into her eyes.

"I would like to hear you say it."

There was the smallest waver in his voice, like he actually doubted she might do as he asked. But that was nonsense, Ellana thought. He obviously knew he could get her to say anything when he looked at her like that - even if the words weren't already on the tip of her tongue.

"I love you," she said.

Solas smiled.

"Perhaps once more."

"I love you."

He had her pressed up against the window before she knew what had happened. He echoed the words into her mouth as he placed a palm against the glass behind her head.

"Solas," she breathed - an attempt to warn him that, though their carriage was nearly empty, the train certainly was not. Even Ellana was unconvinced by her wavering voice. It did not deter him in the slightest.

Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance, and they both squinted as the train car suddenly illuminated. By the time the ensuing thunder rumbled, Solas had pulled away, his thoughts written plainly on his flushed face.

"Later," she promised, squeezing his hand.

He winced and Ellana suddenly noticed a raw, red scrape and the hint of a purple bruise across his knuckles.

"What happened to you?" she said. "You told me you didn't get hurt."

"I said I wasn't bleeding," he corrected her.

"Oh, now who's being pedantic?" she scowled. "Just tell me."

"Could you loosen your grip slightly?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"We need to get you ice or something," Ellana said as she released his hand.

"I'll be fine in a day or two."

Why is he saying that like he's speaking from experience? Ellana wondered, adding yet another item to her list of red flags. She glanced down at the time on her phone, trying to figure out just how much longer it would be until she could get him off the train and anywhere with a minimum amount of privacy.

"Did you hit someone?" she asked, her mind offering unhelpful images of him doing so in painfully elaborate detail.

"There was a fight," Solas replied cryptically.

"Did one of her guards hit you?"

Solas shrugged. "He tried."

The barely disguised look of satisfaction on his face made her want to kiss him so badly that she knew it would be a terrible idea to actually do so. It would not end there. She needed to touch every inch of him, assure herself that he was real and unhurt and hers.

It had been awful to see him like he was in the Inquisitor's memory - to feel everything she'd felt as she'd known she was going to lose him and there was nothing she could do to change it. But Ellana had maintained her sanity because she'd known that no matter how similar they were, the man she had watched die was not the man she loved. Solas was safe, far away, and if she could only hold on until the memory ended, she would find herself back with him again. She mourned the Inquisitor's loss but knew it was not her own.

Over the past few hours, she'd managed to shed much of the resentment she'd developed for Inquisitor Lavellan. Yes, it was infuriating to constantly be compared to her and dragged into her memories, but seeing what she'd experienced had softened Ellana to her somewhat.

Now, however, she was feeling far less generous as she realized that being caught in the Inquisitor's rune had made her miss something absolutely essential: Solas, who loved her, had gotten into a fist fight and she'd missed it.

Chapter Text

Ellana woke from the best sleep she'd ever had. She'd been worried her dreams would be filled with the violence of the Inquisitor's memories, but she'd found only welcome nothingness with her cheek resting atop Solas' thigh. He'd obviously dozed off as well - she could feel the soft rise and fall of his stomach behind her.

She slowly stretched out her legs from where she'd tucked them beneath her on the bench and removed Solas' hand from her hip as delicately as she could. Rain still clattered against the window but it looked as though the worst of the storm had passed.

Ellana grabbed her phone from the table now that she finally had the courage to scroll back through hours' worth of texts and emails. She responded as briefly as she could to everyone, then sent Leliana an encrypted message through the Journal's secure app.

Can you check if there's a pay phone at the Hunter Fell train station in Nevarra? I'll be there in about 10 minutes. We need to talk. - E

A few hours ago, she would have thought she was being overly cautious at best and paranoid at worst. Now, Ellana was absolutely convinced that every safeguard Leliana had ever taken was completely reasonable.

As she gathered her pad of paper and pen to put them back in her bag, Ellana couldn't help but notice that Solas had left his notebook open on the table. She'd had more than enough snooping for one day, or maybe one lifetime, but the pages had flipped over to expose the inside front cover. The lined paper to the right was filled completely with his small, careful script in black ink.

She allowed herself then to look only briefly at the inside of the cover itself. He'd stuck her note there, right below another that she didn't immediately recognize. When the memory finally came to her, she quickly turned her gaze to the window. She had a bizarre sensation that she was intruding on something private, even though it was her own handwriting on both slips of yellow paper.

That he'd kept something she assumed would have been thrown away the instant after it was read - that he must have carried it with him since their first night together in Boranehnan …

She thought of the months they'd been separated, the nights she'd alternated between crying herself to sleep over him and fantasizing about having him with her in hotel beds, and wondered whether all she'd done was waste time and tears convincing herself he didn't actually want her.

The train began to slow as it neared Hunter Fell, and Ellana felt Solas stir beside her. He yawned, then draped an arm across her shoulders and leaned over her to look out the window.

"Good morning." She twisted to kiss the corner of his mouth and felt his lips curl to a smile.

"Not quite morning, but certainly better than the last time I woke," he replied, his voice still heavy with sleep.

They scanned the scenery outside their window for any sign of the town, but there was nothing to see beyond the dense foliage that crept closer to the train tracks with each passing minute.

"It must be in the middle of nowhere," Ellana said. "Did you ever see this part of Nevarra when you were in grad school?"

"No. We rarely ventured outside Cumberland. When we did, it was to visit either Val Royeaux or Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall? I guess Varric's given you the grand tour, then."

"Such as it is."

Ellana could hear him rolling his eyes. She wondered whether his dislike of Varric's home city had anything to do with his dislike of Varric, or if he just happened to be equally offended by both of them.

"Have you spent much time in Nevarra?" Solas asked.

"Almost none. Cass doesn't give me assignments here, which makes sense. She has plenty of solid contacts who know the people and politics a lot better than I do. And that leaves me more time for the fun articles - you know, the ones that require being chaperoned around little Orlesian towns by history professors with dubious intentions."

"I suppose it would be polite to say I don't recall you complaining, but that would be an all too obvious lie for your exacting standards."

Ellana drove her elbow back into his chest and he responded with a satisfying grunt.

"Well my 'exacting standards' certainly worked in your favor."

"Somehow," he agreed, placing a kiss on the back of her head.

The forest finally parted as the train arrived at a very small station. There was no indoor area, just an open-air platform with a handful of empty, weathered benches. Seeing it now, Ellana was not surprised that only two trains visited daily - the one they currently rode that would make the long trip back to Tevinter as soon as they disembarked, and another that headed east toward Nevarra's capital in the mornings. It would mean yet another night before they could finally return to Lydes, but anything was preferable to spending another day in Tevinter.

The rain had finally stopped, though mist lingered near the ground and in the treeline on the opposite side of the tracks. Solas carried their bags as they stepped off the train, and Ellana guiltily eyed his suitcase, wondering when she might next have a chance to return what she'd stolen.

(Was 'stolen' the right word, she wondered? After all, he had given it to her in a very technical sense. But the fact that she had to specify that he 'technically' gave it to her probably answered her question more than she'd have liked.)

Ellana hurried over to the pay phone she spotted at the edge of the station. It was dotted with graffiti and ripped fliers, but when she briefly put the receiver to her ear she heard a dial tone.

Solas leaned against the wall beside her. He'd found a faded brochure about the town in a display near the ticket booth, and was reading through it with such earnest focus that it brought a crease to his brow.

"Did you find us a room for the night?" Ellana asked.

"I am now," he said, nodding down at his reading.

He was not, strictly speaking, finding them a room now since he could not actually make a reservation by staring down at a piece of paper. And she'd meant had he booked a room online, during the many hours they'd spent on the train, but she suddenly suspected he'd fallen asleep as soon as she had. She thought of his long night of blissful sleep in Vyrantium with a mixture of jealousy and annoyance; then, she considered how urgently she wanted to get him into a room with a door that locked.

"Why are you making that face?"

He was still reading the brochure but must have caught her scowling from the corner of his eye.

"What fa-"

Ellana was interrupted by the pay phone's shrill ring. She picked up immediately and was relieved to hear Leliana's voice, even if it did come through a bit distorted. She gave Leliana the fastest update she could, while omitting everything about runes, strange memories, and magic. She might be comfortable discussing such things with Solas (and even then, 'comfortable' was a stretch), but she definitely was not ready to talk about magic with her coworkers who were hundreds of miles removed from all the weird shit that had been happening.

Leliana struck precisely the correct balance between outrage and practicality that Ellana knew she would. She said she'd find a way to tell Cass that wouldn't result in an international incident, and made Ellana promise to keep updating her - through encrypted messages, of course - until they made it safely back to Lydes.

"And when can we expect you back in Denerim?" Leliana asked.

Ellana tried not to glance over at him. She doubted he could hear Leliana's side of the conversation but it was hard to tell just how much sound was leaking out of the old phone.

Before they left Vyrantium, he'd changed into a thin t-shirt. They were both running low on clean clothes after more than a week away, and given how fastidious Solas usually was with what he wore, she had a feeling this particular shirt would normally only be allowed for bed or maybe working in his garden - neither of which was particularly helpful to be thinking about at the moment.

He grabbed the bottom of the shirt and pulled it up to dab sweat from his forehead. Ellana tried not to let her eyes catch on his stomach, then failed instantly when she noticed another bruise blooming on his ribs.

A miserable, humid breeze passed through the station and did absolutely nothing to alleviate the heat that had settled into her skin.

"Lavellan? Can you hear me?" Leliana called out from the phone. "I said, how long are you planning to stay with Solas?"

"A while," she immediately replied.

It was impossible not to read smugness into the extended silence on the line.

"I need to go, Leliana. But two quick things, first."

Ellana gave her Dorian's cell number so she could let him know they were out of Tevinter. Leliana decided she was going to talk a man she'd never spoken to before into getting a new phone as soon as possible, just in case the Venatori were tracking him. Ellana had no doubt she'd be successful.

Finally, she passed on Loranil's information in the hopes that Leliana would have some contacts who could get him and his family out of harm's way. From what Solas had told her, it sounded like Calpernia had put Loranil in a particularly bad spot.

When she hung up Solas quickly turned toward her, holding open the brochure.

"Hunter Fell has a small museum," he said. Ellana could tell he was working very hard to say it as casually as he could, which meant he actually wanted to go there very badly.

"OK," she replied, her mind already several steps ahead, to the point where they checked into a clean room and she could take a long shower, then determine the true extent of his injuries before she threw him down on the bed and -

"We should visit it."

"Now?" Ellana asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

"It closes in an hour, and we will have left for Orlais before it reopens in the morning."

"So now," she repeated.

"It won't take long," Solas said, and then his hand was on her hip and Ellana wondered if he understood how much that was not helping his case. "It can't take long. As I said, it closes in an hour. I know you must be exhausted -"

"I had a great nap. I'm wide awake." She leaned into him and placed a hand on his chest, willing him to catch her meaning.

"Good, then you must see the appeal."

"Oh, must I?" Ellana gave him a light shove and he stepped out of her way. She headed for the path that curved away from the station and toward the buildings peeking over the trees in the distance. "I must see the appeal of a small museum in a small town?" she called over her shoulder.

Solas picked up their luggage and hurried after her.

"You said yourself the Inquisitor was here. Perhaps something of her visit has been preserved."

"Maybe, but I don't think I can handle more discoveries today, Solas. I don't want to be anywhere near her memories."

"No, of course not," he said as he caught up to her. "That wasn't what I meant. We now know that the runes cause you to experience her memories, and those are easily avoided. I had hoped we might see more tangible evidence of her time here."

"You have high hopes for what's probably going to end up being a collection of photographs of the local bakery through the years."

"Perhaps. But we will not know unless we visit. And if it is as you suggest," he added, "I do find historical photo studies fascinating."

Of course he does, she thought as she watched the beginning of a smirk curl his lip. She had to fight herself not to mirror his smile and lost her battle almost immediately, horrified to discover she no longer possessed any resistance to his earnest enthusiasm, and equally concerned that he obviously knew he'd exhausted her energy to object.

Solas led the way through Hunter Fell's narrow, brick streets, providing Ellana with commentary about the town's history that he had obviously just learned from the brochure he'd read. It was once a much larger city, he explained, but its relevance had faded as the bulk of Nevarra's population converged in the capital city and Cumberland.

They passed down a residential street lined with single-storey terraced houses, each painted in vibrant jewel tones. Black iron lamps with elaborately curled filigree were affixed above the entryways, and many of the homes had porches on their flat roofs that overlooked the streets, sectioned off by railings twisted into unusual shapes. Thick vines wound around the bars, their deep green interrupted occasionally by little white flowers shaped like trumpets.

"Where is everyone?" Ellana asked as they walked down yet another deserted street. She hadn't seen a single person since they left the station with the few other passengers from their train, and they'd all immediately disappeared into the city.

"During the summer in central and western Nevarra, it is common to split the day in two sections," Solas answered in what sounded like an exact recitation of something he'd just read. "Work begins in the morning, then there is a long break in the afternoon for people to rest and escape the heat when it's at its worst. Business resumes in the evening, after sunset."

Ellana, who was not at all used to the humidity of inland cities during the summer, thought this was best idea she'd ever heard.

"Sounds like what we should be doing right now," she said. "Escaping the heat. Finding a bed …"

"You said you were wide awake," Solas replied.

Ellana rolled her eyes. She should have known he would be incapable of taking a hint when the promise of a museum was dangling in front of his nose.

The street opened up into a large square plaza surrounded on three sides by buildings with arched walkways in front of them. A manicured garden with carefully sculpted ornamental trees and a wide assortment of flowers filled the open space in the center, and a chantry stood at its far side. Strings of multicolored flags crisscrossed the entire area, stretching from one end of the plaza to the other.

The air was heavy with the scent of too many florals all mixed together and the steady hum of insects wandering from plant to plant. It almost felt like being caught in a dream, Ellana thought - a town suspended in time that lulled unsuspecting visitors into the same irresistible slumber that had claimed its residents. Even the little colored flags were motionless in the afternoon haze.

"Is there a festival?" Ellana asked, biting back a yawn.

"Night markets are especially popular during the summer months. After dark, vendors will tend stalls here as well as on boats on the Minanter River, which is …" Solas looked around, then nodded toward the chantry. "Somewhere in that general direction. But the museum should be just over here."

He turned toward the west side of the plaza, apparently unaffected by the town's lazy calm. They approached a large building with a painted wooden sign that read Hunter Fell Curios & Curiosities over the door. Ellana was struck by the sense that it was the sort of place that used to be something else - a town hall or maybe a fancy hotel before Hunter Fell became too small to justify that sort of thing.

Inside, there was a docent on duty - a man with a faint Marcher accent who was quick to offer that they could lock up their bags in his office while they toured the museum. He was the sort of human Ellana had difficulty placing; he might be in his twenties or his forties. His name tag identified him as Philliam and he spent the time before they reached the first exhibit assuring them that the museum was the most essential tourist destination in town, especially now that the chantry was undergoing renovations which he described as 'uninspired.'

Philliam led them through the various displays and offered his analysis of the artifacts with a cheerful confidence that Solas seemed to take as a personal affront. When he showed off a piece of embroidery that incorporated green beetle wings into its design and said it was from sometime after the Radiant War, Solas pointedly cleared his throat.

"Has the museum had the piece dated? I ask because most sources agree that species of beetle went extinct sometime in the late Blessed Age, in which case, you may have something even rarer on your hands."

His tone was deferential but Ellana knew this was only for the sake of politeness - it might sound like a question but it was definitely a correction.

"No, you're mistaken," Philliam said cheerfully as Ellana watched Solas' eyebrows rise. "Now, if you will follow me, we will continue to the coin room."

Ellana grabbed Solas' elbow before he could follow Philliam and offer up more objections.

"That man is either a liar or incompetent," Solas growled under his breath. It was all too obvious which he thought was worse.

"Yes, but - how do you even know that? About the beetles?" Ellana asked in a whisper.

Solas gave her a distracted shrug as if to say he was surprised she didn't have this kind of trivia idling in her brain, waiting to be recalled so she could argue with a useless docent who obviously didn't give a shit.

"A few years ago, I read an excellent book on the history of excess in Orlesian fashions. It included an anecdote of a Nevarran noblewoman who wore a gown completely covered with beetle wings to a ball in Val Royeaux. By the author's estimate, the garment used more than a million wings, all of which were hand-sewn by a small army of servants. Apparently, this inspired the Orlesian designers of the time to adopt the wings as a feature in their own creations. The book cited an article that interested me so I read that as well, and then two other papers it cited."

She should have realized Solas would have an entire bibliography of sources at hand.

"All were well-researched, reliable work, and they each concluded that the beetles were hunted to extinction within half a century of the gown's debut in Val Royeaux."

Solas quickly drew even with Philliam, offering increasingly specific and annoyed counterarguments, all of which Philliam was perfectly content to ignore. Ellana trailed them a few steps behind, holding back her laughter.

When Solas corrected Philliam on three different coins in a row ("The marks indicate these king's gulders were minted far later than you suggest …"), she hooked a finger through his belt loop and stopped him from badgering the man into the next room. Solas stared down at her hand, where she had tugged back the waist of his pants just enough to expose a hint of skin at his lower back. Ellana quickly redirected her gaze up to his face.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. "He's probably a volunteer, here in his spare time."

"I am also a volunteer in my role as docent at the museum in Lydes, and I would be appalled if I thought I was spreading so much misinformation to every group I escorted."

"And I'm sure you'd take it so graciously if a visitor in Lydes tried to correct you."

"If they had a valid concern, I would, of course, address it."

Ellana got the impression that he really would have left it at that, had she not tilted her head to give him her most doubtful frown.

"It is unlikely, however," Solas rushed to add, "that visitors to Lydes would find errors in my presentations as I compose them myself, have them vetted by several colleagues in my department as well as relevant others, and then review them twice a year in the event any new research has been published."

She watched his face shift as he spoke - from cold and indignant to a hint of color in his cheeks by the end, either from his frustration with Philliam's obviously inferior methods, or maybe some self-conscious worry that he had over-explained it to her.

Ellana finally released her hold on his belt loop. "Good to know," she said.

"I would not want you to think I am somehow remiss in my duties, even as a volunteer."

He said it so seriously that Ellana immediately burst into laughter. The idea of him being anything less than fully committed to anything he took on was completely ridiculous. However she had teased him in the past (and would continue to tease him in the future, she knew), she loved his attention to detail. Maybe it was a little infuriating at times, but she'd felt the benefits of that attention in many ways and on multiple occasions now, and certainly wouldn't complain about it.

"Trust me, that was the furthest thought from my mind," she assured him. "But you're not going to make any progress with Philliam. I know it won't be as satisfying as correcting someone who's being wrong very loudly, but if it helps, you can just tell me."

"Tell you?" Solas repeated, obviously not understanding her offer.

"Yes. When Philliam's wrong, tell me why. Like with these coins," Ellana said, leading him back toward the display of king's gulders.

Solas wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her against his side.

"Perhaps we should simply dismiss him and say we wish to tour the rest of the collection ourselves," he suggested.

"I'd rather put up with him if it means keeping him in sight - I wouldn't trust him alone in his office with our luggage."

After a moment's consideration, Solas gave her a quick nod.

"You're right."

She was never going to get tired of hearing him say that.

A few minutes later, once Ellana was confident she knew more about Nevarran coins than most Nevarrans, they found Philliam waiting for them in the final exhibit hall. It was a smaller room than the others he'd taken them through and had only a single artifact displayed at its center.

Ellana approached the glass case curiously, her attention immediately drawn to the ornate object inside. It was a mask designed to cover the wearer's full face and had an almost reptilian design, with ridges along the eyebrows and at the top of the cheeks, and the suggestion of scales sculpted into its surface. It was inlaid with an iridescent white gemstone that shimmered where the light touched it, throwing colorful reflections all around the room. The strangest thing about it, however, was the wig of thick, blond curls that flowed back from the mask's edges. It was mounted on a model of a head which made it uncannily lifelike, Ellana thought as she slowly circled the display.

"What is this?" Solas asked, frowning.

"Ah!" Philliam grinned at them, which only made Solas' frown deepen. "Allow me to introduce the Demon Bard of Hunter Fell!"

"Demon?" Ellana asked.

"Bard?" Solas said at the same time.

"Oh?" Philliam said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Is this a story you haven't heard before?" He directed this comment to Solas in particular, and Ellana thought that perhaps she'd been wrong to assume Philliam had been oblivious to his corrections.

When Solas had allowed Philliam's question to hang in the air long enough that it was starting to become awkward, Ellana figured she should probably step in.

"I haven't heard it," she said as the two men stared at each other. She was both genuinely curious about the story behind the mask and also had a vested interest in not spending any more time in the museum than necessary.

Philliam gave her a solemn nod as he put a foot up on one of the low benches that had been arranged around the room. "I am not surprised," he said. "Not all wisdom can be contained within the dusty halls of university libraries!"

"Most librarians would take offense at the insinuation they allow any amount of dust to accumulate on their shelves," Solas countered.

Philliam continued as if he hadn't heard. "The stories of the people are just as valuable, even if academia-at-large would have you believe otherwise!"

"That's not -"

"So the Demon Bard is local folklore?" Ellana interrupted Solas before he could take Philliam's bait.

"Folklore!" Philliam exclaimed, turning his attention on her. "While I'm sure you don't mean to disparage the oral tradition, we must remind ourselves that it is just as valuable as the accepted histories from the likes of Genitivi or Laudine. Why, think if we relegated the Dalish histories to mere folklore!"

Ellana stared at him while she attempted to gather her thoughts. Vaguely, she wondered whether his statement was more or less offensive depending on whether he actually thought she was Dalish. She'd just opened her mouth to reply when Solas cut her off.

"We would love to hear this local history before the museum closes," he said with a sudden graciousness that made no sense to Ellana until she saw him clasp his hands behind his back and look down at her with a smug smile. She scowled back at him.

Philliam cleared his throat dramatically and swept his arms open as he began his tale.

"On a stormy night in Hunter Fell many years ago, a clandestine meeting of ne'er-do-wells occurred at an inn not far from this very spot. Legend says there were five individuals who attended this meeting, though only one would emerge unscathed. Why did they quarrel, you may ask?"

Philliam paused. When neither Solas nor Ellana took his cue after a moment, he continued on undeterred.

"That bit is obscured by the mists of history! Given the reputations of all involved, I like to imagine that a business deal went sour. Backstabbing! Betrayal! Alliances revealed! Double agents exposed! Truly the most harrowing of scenarios!"

Ellana cast a sideways glance at Solas and thought she had never seen his jaw make that exact shape before. He looked like he was focusing every muscle in his face on keeping his mouth shut.

"Friends, though we may not know the catalyst for their argument, we certainly know its tumultuous results! Later that night, one figure emerged from the meeting room - a tall fellow wearing the mask of a dragon," Philliam pointed dramatically to the display in front of him, "and the garb of an Orlesian bard. To this very day, Orlesians are still regarded with distrust by many of Hunter Fell's more superstitious residents!"

Ellana filed away that bit of information as the one helpful thing Philliam had told them. Hopefully Solas had heard enough, even through his annoyance, to realize he shouldn't drop any Orlesian into casual conversation while they were here.

"The Orlesian bard slipped out into the night never to be seen again. But when -"

"Hang on," Ellana said. "If he was wearing the mask when he left, and he was never seen again, how did it end up here?"

She swore she heard Solas snort beside her.

"More details lost to the cruel fog of history!" Philliam replied without missing a beat. "But when the inn's proprietors searched the room later that night, what did they find?"

He paused again, letting his question hang in the air. Begrudgingly, Ellana had to hand it to him - as obnoxious as his presentation was to her, she could imagine it being very entertaining for the right sort of audience.

"Three of the Demon Bard's companions remained within the room. The fourth must have somehow escaped the dreadful fate suffered by the others."

"Which was?" Solas offered with a nod.

"Stone!" Philliam pronounced, his voice echoing through the small room. "All three of them turned to stone!"

Ellana's breath caught in her chest. "What?" she whispered.

"The inn's proprietors found three lifelike - perfectly lifelike - statues inside the meeting room. They were real, heavy stone, impossible for anyone to have carried into position. According to legend, they were rendered more faithfully than would have been within the talents of even the most expert of sculptors, down to the folds in their clothing and the terror in their eyes!"

Reluctantly, Ellana allowed herself to mentally trace the lines of the mask in the glass case. She tried to memorize the lengths and contours, the location of the cut-outs for the eyes, before she slowly shifted her gaze to Solas. She found him already watching her as she imagined how easy it would be to slip that mask perfectly over his nose and brow.

"Where was the mask discovered?" he asked without looking at Philliam.

"That's not … well, fine, I guess I was just about done," Philliam sputtered. "It was excavated near the river, by the docks. They were digging a foundation for a new building and found evidence of an old site. Halted construction for nearly a year. But, as you see," Philliaim said, giving the mask a proud smile, "it was worth the delay. Confirmation that one of the city's most enduring stories was based on fact!"

"What were they building?" Ellana asked quietly.

"Ah!" Philliam clapped his hands together. "Wonderful question with a most satisfying answer. An inn! Or, more accurately, an upscale bed and breakfast catering to the adventurous at heart who wish to experience the finest views Hunter Fell has to offer!"

As one, Ellana and Solas turned to stare at him.

"Would you like directions?" Philliam offered with a smile.

A few minutes later, they'd retrieved their luggage and reluctantly emerged back into the oppressive late afternoon heat.

"He probably earns a referral commission," Solas grumbled, heading toward the river.

"I am so sick of coincidences," Ellana said as she angrily shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. "I can't wait to get back to Lydes where hopefully neither of them set foot during their entire lives."

"If he was truly immortal, the odds of that seem -"

"Solas," she stopped him. "Not helpful."

She'd barely gotten the words out of her mouth before thunder crashed above them and the downpour resumed all at once. They were drenched before they had a chance to take shelter under one of the arched walkways.

"The next time you suggest a detour before we find a hotel," Ellana said as she swept her sopping wet hair away from her face, "I'm going to remind you of this exact moment. And your good friend Philliam."

Ellana glanced over her shoulder to find Solas nodding somberly, his shirt now plastered against his skin and all but transparent.

"I think that's for the best," he agreed.

"I bet … not a single … thing … he showed us … was even … real."

Ellana twisted her wet shirt tighter with each word, sending streams of water into the drain below her, while Solas watched from the opposite side of the cramped bathroom. The corner shower stall was only large enough to fit one of them at a time (Comfortably, he considered), and though the young man who'd checked them in had handed him several extra towels, they'd both hurried to the bathroom to remove their rain-soaked clothes before they could drip onto the wood floor in the bedroom.

When it had become clear the storm was not passing but, in fact, growing worse by the minute, they made the reluctant decision to run the rest of the way to the bed & breakfast. They'd ducked beneath archways and awnings wherever they could but it hardly made a difference. They arrived at their destination as soaked as if they'd jumped in the river fully clothed.

Ellana was furious with Philliam, furious that they'd followed his directions, and furious the bed & breakfast had been nice enough that they'd decided to book a room even knowing he was likely to get a kickback for it. She took her anger out on her shirt, wringing it again as her wet hair fell forward over her shoulders.

She was beautiful like this, Solas thought as he leaned back against the sink to better appreciate the view - her arms tensing with each twist, the scrape of her teeth over her bottom lip, the beads of water that cascaded from her hair down her chest. He wanted that strength turned on him as she pushed him onto the bed, wanted to feel the pinch of his own lip between her teeth, wanted to trace with his tongue the same path of the water trailing between her breasts.

His mind was flooded with possibilities, overwhelmed by the knowledge that he could allow himself to want again - and to want for specific, intriguing things. She was safe; he wanted to keep her so. She was skittish - he'd seen it in her hesitation as she gave him the words he longed to hear; he wanted to draw them out of her again and again, just as he had when she used to deny him the sound of his name when he pleasured her. She was his - an impossible, nearly obscene thought that brought a flush to his cheeks; he wanted her to know it.

"Well?" Ellana glanced sideways at him.

"Well?" Solas repeated, lost.

"Were any of those artifacts authentic?" she asked. "At the museum?"

"Oh." He blinked, considering her question for only a moment before shaking his head. "It would be impossible to say without making a closer inspection, but I saw nothing to suggest any obvious forgery. If they are fakes, they were skillfully made."

Ellana huffed as she went up on her toes and arranged her now slightly less damp shirt over the top of the shower's wall to dry. "What an asshole," she muttered, and not for the first time.

She turned to face Solas, the bra she wore so saturated that he could easily trace the shape of her nipples beneath the fabric. She'd unbuttoned the top of her shorts but had yet to remove them. They clung to her thighs, spilling more droplets of water down her legs as she moved. He wanted to strip them off her with his teeth.

It was this thought, finally, that spurred him to action and sent him into the tight space beside her. Solas made only one attempt to actually remove her shorts with his mouth - it ended rather anticlimactically with them only an inch or two farther down her thighs than when he'd started and Ellana laughing uncontrollably as she watched.

She went suddenly silent when he tugged the shorts the rest of the way down her legs and buried his nose in the crease of her thigh, then sucked a kiss into her skin. Ellana grabbed at the back of his head, pressing him tighter against her until his lips parted to expose his teeth. Her warm skin smelled like rain and soap, mingled with the faint taste of her sweat. When he released her - when she finally released him - he surveyed with satisfaction the mark he'd given her.

They left a trail of clothing behind them as they made their way toward the bedroom a step at a time. Solas groaned as she ripped his shirt up over his head - when his arms were wrenched upward and he felt a sudden pinch in his right side.

"But you didn't get hit." Ellana stared pointedly at a purple bruise stretching a few inches along his ribs.

"It was from a fall," he explained as she frowned at him.

He had the brief presence of mind to grab a towel from the sink, and managed to catch Ellana's hair in it long enough to press some of the excess moisture out of her curls. This was only possible because she was struggling to get his pants off his legs - they stuck to his skin, making the whole process require much more effort and time than it should have.

Once their clothes were fully discarded, Solas grabbed Ellana - one arm below her backside and the other supporting her back - and hoisted her into the air. She wrapped her hands around his neck and clasped her thighs against his sides, and the air left his lungs as her knee pressed against the bruise on his ribs.

He'd thought he would carry her straight into the bedroom, but this plan was instantly thwarted by several obstacles. He'd lifted her too high, leaving his face trapped soundly between her breasts - not an objectionable place to be, but one that made it impossible to see where he was going. The position also provided Ellana with unfettered access to his ear, something she had noticed immediately and was using to her full advantage. He considered trying to adjust his grip on her, thought about expressing the problem out loud, and quickly realized neither option would do much good - Ellana would likely take it as a personal challenge to distract him enough to send them both crashing to the floor.

Solas took a few hesitant steps forward, his progress slowed considerably each time Ellana's knee pressed into his rib cage and her tongue made determined progress along the length of his earlobe. He stumbled up to the wall and braced her back against it, finally giving himself some room to breathe.

"I wanted to take a shower," she murmured a halfhearted objection into his ear as he adjusted his grip on her. It was a ridiculous bluff after she'd spent the afternoon dropping increasingly transparent hints about the designs she had for him, her eyes speaking even more frankly than her words.

"It can wait," Solas said. "I want you like this."

He took her fully into his arms again and carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom - still only a step at a time. He paused to tilt his head back when she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth a sweet pinch of pain to compliment the softer touch of her fingertips along his scalp.

Lightning flashed beyond the sheer curtains that covered their windows as Solas set her down on the bed. The room was perhaps half the size of the one they'd shared in Vyrantium. The bed was also smaller, and yet still had been pushed up against a wall just to fit. The windows stretched from near the ceiling down to the floor and looked down on a small courtyard below. One was slightly ajar, just enough to let in what passed for a breeze in Hunter Fell, along with the sound of the thunder rumbling softly beneath the rain.

He kissed his way down her neck and between her breasts as slowly as he could manage. He wanted to tease and tempt her, but she hitched a knee up onto his hip and gripped the back of his head like she couldn't bear another moment without having him closer. He understood - he also needed more.

He caught her nipple between his lips as he brushed his hand along the smooth curve of her ass and slid his fingers between her legs. Touching her, tasting her - there was a rhythm to it that felt easy in a way few things in his life had felt easy. It was always a relief to have her in his arms, to feel the synchronicity of their thoughts made manifest.

She was trembling in his hands a few minutes later, her back arching off the bed. His cock rubbed against her thigh as he worked her, and he felt the temptation to pull himself just a few inches higher and sink into her soft heat as an almost irresistible ache. Her knee pressed into his ribs as he coaxed her through her release, and pain lit up the inside of his eyelids like lightning while Ellana moaned against his shoulder.

She was upright immediately after, arranging him with his back against the headboard before she climbed astride his hips, facing his feet. He held himself steady as she slid down onto him, but his heart raced as he tried to grow accustomed to the view she had afforded him.

He gripped her waist first but could not resist the appeal of allowing his hands to roam lower, to press his thumbs into her backside until they dimpled her skin. He watched the long plane of her back, the movement of her hair as she rode him, but found his eyes inescapably drawn lower.

It was the sight of her sinking down on him, even more than the feeling, that had him bucking up to meet her. Heat rose in his chest and face and he realized, suddenly, that he was too close.

Solas sat up, grabbing Ellana around her waist and guiding her down onto her stomach in front of him. She twisted her head, looking back at him curiously as he braced himself on her forearms and slipped into her again.

It was over too quickly for his liking, but the feel of her ass against his thighs and the sight of her panting into the blanket was more than he could stand. He pulled out at the last moment, watching with satisfaction as he spilled across her back.

"Impatient," she complained with a grin as she folded her arms beneath her head.

"On the contrary," Solas said, catching his breath. "Every passing moment I am not inside you is a testament to the capacity of my patience."

He kissed Ellana's hair as she laughed, then retreated to the bathroom for one of the spare towels. He returned to find her still staring back at him with an inquisitive look on her face, and was struck again by the sense that she was reading his thoughts.

"We're not done." It was not a question.

"No," he agreed with relief.

He fucked her in the shower next, which proved to be - just barely - big enough for two. In the end it was more of a prelude, thanks to the water and odd angles, but this merely gave them an excuse to return to the bed. He gripped both her wrists over her head and drove into her while she watched him with a strange sort of fascination that sent him over the edge faster than he anticipated. He finished her with his mouth after he'd come inside of her, their tastes mingling on his tongue.

They crawled beneath the duvet and it was then, when they were wrapped around one another and exhausted, that Ellana placed a kiss to his jaw and told him that she loved him. He tangled his fingers in her damp curls and whispered the words against her lips.

They must have dozed off for some time because when Solas blinked his eyes open again, the storm had ebbed to a drizzle and the room was dark. Ellana had rolled over so her back was against his chest, and he found himself hard and pushing between her legs again.

She stirred as he did, rolling her hips so he slid back inside her. He let out a small gasp as she pushed herself back against him.

"Ellana," he said, voice strained. "We should - the clothes. They'll still be soaked in the morning if we don't hang them to dry."

"Mmm," she hummed sleepily into her pillow. "I don't care."

She did, he knew, and would be furious all over again if she had to deal with the mess in the morning, but he loved her all the more for saying it. He clutched at her thigh as he pulled himself deeper within her.

"Do you not wish to see more of Hunter Fell? The night market? The boats? Find some dinner? Or perhaps get some sleep?"

Solas whispered each offering into her ear, smiling to himself as he knew she would refuse them all in favor of staying precisely as they were.

"Everything can wait," she said, and he repaid her with a line of kisses across the nape of her neck. "Fall asleep inside me if you're so worried about it."

"That is … unlikely to happen," he said, the urge to move within her already overwhelming.

"Well, there are alternatives," Ellana murmured, and Solas could hear her grinning.

Chapter Text

It was long after sunset when they finally disentangled themselves from one another. Ellana claimed the bathroom first for a faster, but certainly more effective shower than the one they'd taken before, leaving Solas alone in their bed to replay the evening's events in his mind. It was an ultimately counterproductive exercise. By the time Ellana emerged with a towel wrapped around her, he'd reclined back against the headboard and allowed his hand to slip below the blanket.

"Seriously, Solas?" Ellana dissolved into laughter when she saw him.

He rolled out of bed with a huff, exasperated with himself.

"I was willing to stay put," she choked out once she'd composed herself somewhat. "You were the one who wanted to go out."

"I am aware."

He ran a hand down her hip as he squeezed past her and Ellana made a playful grab for him that he reluctantly dodged. He was starving, truly did wish to see more of Hunter Fell before they left in the morning, and also felt like every muscle in his abdomen and legs was on fire. The sound of her laughter chased him into the shower.

When Solas returned to the bedroom, he found Ellana crouched over his open suitcase. She popped up immediately, her eyes wide and hands clasped behind her back.

"Oh. Sorry," she said, a sheepish smile spreading across her pink cheeks. "I'm, um, basically out of shirts. Is it alright if I borrow one of yours?"

"Of course," he replied immediately, intrigued by the prospect of her wearing something of his, though he had few options left as well.

Ellana chose a white dress shirt that he'd worn at some point while they were in Vyrantium, and which was now wrinkled after spending the rest of the week in his luggage. She cuffed the arms back to her elbows, fastened only a few of the lower buttons, and tied the bottom around her waist, an inch or so above the top of her shorts. She wore a black bra beneath and Solas caught glimpses of it each time she moved, which did not make the prospect of leaving the room any more appealing.

Eventually, they descended the staircase outside their door into the soft glow of string lights that spanned the length of the courtyard at the center of the bed & breakfast. The small space had a tiled floor and was filled with climbing ivy stretching up the walls. Large potted trees would provide much-needed shade during the day for the few metal dining tables where breakfast would be served. Two levels of guest rooms surrounded the space, with a large archway in one wall that led back out to the street.

As quiet as Hunter Fell had been a few hours before, the town was now bustling with activity. The entire outer edge of the chantry plaza was filled with tables and stalls, and the crowd of browsers was large enough that Solas wondered just how much of the town's population had come out for the market. The wares were an eclectic mix - a wide variety of of crafts and artwork, but also tables piled high with both prepared food and raw ingredients.

Ellana made a slow, deliberate circuit, her eyes sweeping curiously over each table as she offered their owners her generous smile. At first, Solas followed her closely, interested to hear the questions she asked while she browsed. But after a few minutes he fell back, watching her from a short distance away. He had missed an entire night's worth of photos thanks to his nerves at dinner, and he would not make the same mistake again.

He caught her with the corners of her eyes lightly creased as she listened intently to the Nevarrans' descriptions of their talents; with a piece of delicate lace pinched between her thumb and index finger as she felt the texture of a nightgown; at the precise moment she slipped one of Hunter Fell's large pink flowers into her hair - a gift, he gathered, from a vendor who had been particularly charmed.

Ellana hurried over to him, threading her arm through his as she pulled him toward the eastern side of the plaza.

"Don't you want anything?" she smiled up at him. "Everything I've seen looks delicious."

"I do," Solas said, happily letting her lead him. "I was distracted."

"I know, there's a lot to see," she nodded. "The woman selling pottery over there told me which stall has the best food in the market. She also said there are boats for hire at the river - you can take your dinner out with you, like a picnic."

He cast a hesitant glance up toward the sky, worried the rain would begin again and ruin what sounded like a terribly romantic evening - far from the sort of thing he would have expected Ellana to suggest.

"Oh, don't worry," she said, following his gaze. "Everyone I talked to said the rain usually stops after dark. We should be fine."

Everyone? Solas thought. He had not paid especially close attention to just how many people she'd spoken to while he was taking photos of her, but it sounded as if she'd made a small survey of the town and had gotten more useful knowledge out of them in the span of five minutes than he'd found in the entire brochure from the train station. He had grown accustomed to her being able to get information out of nearly anyone, though the efficiency with which she worked was somewhat unsettling.

They made their way to the river's edge after Ellana chose a few portable dinner options. Solas had been worried the riverbank would be nothing but mud after the afternoon storms, but it was covered by an elevated wooden footpath. Flat-bottomed boats had anchored as close to the shore as they could, displaying even more goods. Here, Ellana bought one more item for their dinner - a mixture of red wine, sparkling water, and lime juice in a glass bottle, to be poured over two cups filled with sliced fruit.

The rented boats were not quite what Solas had expected. They were similar in shape to the ones used by the sellers - long, with squared ends - but much narrower. There was a platform at the stern where one would normally stand and propel the craft with a long pole used to push off the riverbed. These boats had been modified, however, attached to a long cable several feet above his head that spanned the width of the small river. He eyed the contraption with some disappointment.

"What's wrong?" Ellana asked as she returned from paying for the rental.

"Nothing."

He removed his shoes before stepping in - the bottom was lined with colorful blankets and pillows. It was narrow enough that he could see they would not be able to sit side by side. He took a moment to find his balance then held out a hand to help her step off the dock and into the boat.

Ellana wobbled a little before carefully sinking down to her knees. "What, did you want to punt one yourself?" she asked.

"I would have liked the option."

"In the dark, in a river you've never seen before?"

Solas shrugged as he sat. He was unable to fold his legs - it was simply was not wide enough. Instead, he bent his knees and rested them against either side of the boat, while Ellana easily tucked her legs beneath her.

"As entertaining as that would be," she said, shaking her head, "if you tipped us into the river and I had to walk to our room completely soaked for the second time today, I think you might have to make your way back to Lydes on foot. I could take care of Parchment until you got there."

"I'm certain it would not come to that."

"I'm not," she said as she turned to signal to the attendant.

The pulley system above them began to spin as the attendant worked the crank at the docks and the cables slowly dragged the boat out into the river. Ellana braced herself with a hand on each of his ankles and Solas fought the urge to wince - the slide of her fingers beneath the hem of his pants legs was more than a bit ticklish.

"You have a lot of confidence in your ability to operate any vehicle for someone who doesn't know how to drive," she said.

"I know how to drive."

"You don't own a car."

"No, but I do know how to drive."

"And when's the last time you actually did? Drive a car, I mean - not a moped."

Solas could not recall precisely, so he made his best guess.

"It has been several years."

"So you have no idea," Ellana instantly replied.

"You must know how to drive as well?" he asked, a transparent attempt to redirect her.

"No," she scoffed. "I've driven a car once in my life. It's not an experience I'm looking to repeat."

"Why is that?'

Ellana's nose scrunched as fought some obvious internal battle that only made him more curious.

"This is going to sound worse than it was," she said eventually. "So just keep that in mind."

Solas held his breath in anticipation, the silence between them interrupted only by the squeaking of the pulley as it towed them through the water.

"Like I said, not as bad as it sounds, but when I was around sixteen we stole one of the elder's cars to drive into Wycome."

His raised an indignant eyebrow. "So when you objected that you'd never been arrested, that was clearly only because you were never caught."

"No," Ellana said, holding up a hand to stop him. "It wasn't like that. He didn't even report it. Every Dalish kid has stolen an elder's car at least once. It's basically a rite of passage. And it's not like I hot-wired it. I walked in through his unlocked back door and took his keys off his kitchen counter. I only drove the thing a few miles - until we got to real roads - and then I switched seats with my friend who actually knew what she was doing. Don't look at me like that. You do not get to be scandalized by this," she finished with a irritated flourish.

"I'm not scandalized," he said as the boat began to slow. "Though am I somewhat surprised by the hypocrisy." He smiled as her expression turned sour.

"Hypocrisy?" Ellana glared at him as she gave his calf a hard squeeze. He gasped, jerking suddenly away from her and sending the boat rocking from side to side. She threw both hands out to steady herself.

"Be careful," she hissed.

"It would not have been my fault had we capsized," he said, and received another lovely frown in response.

They'd halted a little more than midway across the span of the river, far enough that the voices in conversation at the shore faded to a distant murmur. Even these were gradually drowned out by water lapping softly against the side of the boat and crickets chirping from the treeline on the opposite bank.

Aside from the lights lining the docks in the distance, the only illumination was provided by a single lantern balanced on the platform at the stern. Once they were still, Ellana placed it between them so she could see her bag and arrange their dinner.

She handed him the wine and Solas began the careful process of pouring it into the fruit-filled cups. Ellana opened two containers that they passed between them: one filled with a chopped salad made with bitter greens and tossed in a dressing flavored with oranges, and another that contained several small turnover-style pastries stuffed with a mixture of diced zucchini and peppers. They ate quickly, both hungry after little to eat all day, and didn't realize until they were nearly done that the zucchini mixture was spicier than they'd first noticed. Solas refilled their cups as Ellana reclined back against the platform behind her.

"So," she mused, "what do you make of that mask? And the Demon Bard?"

"I would want a much more reliable source before I placed too much significance on such an absurd story," he said, recalling the smug look on Philliam's face as he explained the mask's origin. "But I can appreciate the similarity of the bard's power to what you saw in the Inquisitor's memory."

"And we know the Inquisitor was here," Ellana added.

He nodded.

"And that mask really looked like it might fit you."

He was surprised she'd bothered to add 'might.' He'd left the museum with the irritating certainty that it would fit his face perfectly.

"The mask is quite unusual," Solas said, choosing to focus on a simpler problem for the moment. "More elaborate than one would expect for anything other than Orlesian nobility, and yet the dragon is not a heraldic animal seen in Orlais."

"When did that stop, anyway? The masks."

"After the Radiant War, when the monarchy was dissolved." Even the practice of using masks in modern political ceremonies had finally died out over the past century. They were now only worn on rare, special occasions in Orlais - typically at very formal events. Masks were seen primarily as an affectation of the upper class or, in some cases, an ironic nod toward that affectation.

"Just for the sake of gathering information," Ellana said with the sort of mischief in her tone that implied her goal was anything but, "have you ever pictured yourself with long, golden hair?"

"I have not," he said. "Though I suspect that would be the point of such a disguise."

"Hmm." Ellana made a show of considering this as she rearranged her position in the boat, moving her bag and the lantern behind her so she could pull herself closer to him. "Well," she said, winding her free hand around his neck and stroking the back of his head, "that bun you used to have was pretty -"

"I can grow it back," Solas offered without thinking. He could probably grow it back, but he'd been shaving his head for more than a decade and had no idea how long it would take to get his hair to the length it once was.

"What?" She frowned at him. "No. You didn't let me finish. I was going to say I like you much better this way."

"Do you?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "That is, in fact, the precise opposite effect it was meant to have."

"What do you mean?"

"When I began teaching at Cumberland, my doctoral advisor bestowed some helpful advice for discouraging … particular sorts of attention."

It had been an uncomfortable, if informative meeting, Solas remembered. He watched Ellana turn his words over in her head, his stomach clenching as he saw her eyes light with recognition.

"Oh!" She grinned in a way that he was certain would spell problems for him long into the future. "You mean you're too fuckable to be a college professor."

"No," he objected immediately, feeling the heat rising in his face. "That's not at all what I -"

"No, no," Ellana cut him off. "You don't get to walk it back now. Tell me the rest - the tips and tricks from your advisor."

"It was not phrased in the manner you suggest," he said.

"Noted."

She sipped her wine and stared, waiting for him to continue.

"Fine," he grumbled, knowing how pointless it was to argue with her once she had her teeth in something. "Nothing elaborate. Ensuring the office door stays open at all times. Keeping the same hours as a colleague in the same department. Generally making one's self less physically … distinct, or ... appealing, or …"

"Attractive?" Ellana offered, now smiling so widely that he found it truly worrying. "Well shaving your head didn't work, sorry to tell you."

"It hardly matters now," he said. "My advisor frequently stressed that the most effective deterrent for such issues was simply not being single."

Ellana laughed so hard that the boat shook, and Solas pulled her cup from her hand before she could spill it. "Well," she said once she'd recovered, "glad I could help with that, in my own small way.

"Just wait until your students find out in the fall," she smiled, and Solas was suddenly torn between the allure of 'the fall' - a destination several months in the future - and his growing concern about what would come out of her mouth next. "Will there be an epidemic of heartbreak in Lydes, mysteriously centered on your classroom?"

"You joke," he said as he returned her wine to her hand, "but surely you remember how these things work."

"Oh, I do. Absolutely. And I'm here to tell you: I'll fight them. All of them. Stringy little undergrads? You can send me three of those at a time. I'll set them straight."

"Ellana -"

"Listen, if there's one thing I learned from the Inquisitor's memories, it's that apparently I know how to fight."

"That cannot possibly be how it works."

"Oh? So you know how it works now?"

"This is a ridiculous line of discussion," he pronounced as she burst into laughter again.

"Is it?" She leaned forward to kiss his cheek and then was gone again in an instant, before he could catch her in something longer. "How would you like it if the tables were turned?"

Solas knew she was not truly jealous of whatever unwanted attention was levied in his direction by overly familiar, gossiping students who had yet to learn that the reputation he'd diligently cultivated over a decade at Lydes was not a puzzle meant to be solved. The lines he drew were firm and definitive; flirtatious looks and banter were not returned in kind, but instead with the sort of stiff disapproval that would ensure even the most determined individuals left with the certainty that they never wanted to experience an interaction quite so awkward again.

Yet there was an element of truth Ellana did not understand. Part of the reason his reputation stuck was that everyone at his university had become accustomed to his monkish existence. It was not a terribly uncommon thing to find in academia - those who were focused more on their research and teaching than they were on romantic commitments. His colleagues knew very little of his life before he moved to Lydes, had seen him date only occasionally, and took for granted that he was disinterested in finding a partner.

So when he had returned from Boranehnan, and when Ellana's article was published, he found himself thrust into a frustrating new dilemma. She was beautiful, the woman who'd written the story about the Final Inquisitor - his coworkers and friends all agreed. How well did he know her? Were they still in regular contact? What was she like, really? Would she be visiting Lydes anytime soon? Could he introduce them? Would he put in a good word on their behalf? Solas had weathered all of it with as much composure as he could, a measure which varied from one day to the next.

"Ellana, the tables are turned," he said delicately. "You are a public figure. Your image has been broadcast and printed more times than I can now count. Do you have any idea the things I've heard said about you? And that was before Claude told all of Orlais you were single."

Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed just as suddenly in confusion.

"Who's Claude?" she asked.

"The host of Bonsoir Val Royeaux!."

"Oh, Claude?" Ellana rolled her eyes. "Please. He's just an idiot with one more failed marriage now than he had a month ago. And what do you care what Claude says anyway?"

"I don't care what Claude says. I care that …"

Even after a long pause he couldn't finish the sentence, and her smile was catlike when he kissed her, as if she knew precisely why he needed to otherwise occupy his mouth. It was impossible, Solas thought as swept his hand beneath her hair and held the back of her neck, to explain that he'd wanted to claim her before he ever had the right to do so. He could not tell her how often he'd wanted to sneer in the faces of the people who thought they might have a chance with her, how he'd only maintained his poise by reminding himself that he knew the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips, the feel of her hands on his body.

"What was that for?" Ellana asked quietly. She was suddenly serious, and he knew she must have sensed the change in his mood.

"Do I need a reason?"

He worried at first that he'd asked it too brusquely, until he saw in the dim light the way Ellana's eyes had darkened.

"No," she said, and so he kissed her again, his tongue sweeping over hers until she was breathless and flushed, leaning into him as he pulled away. She stared at his mouth as she caught her breath, and it was difficult to tamp down the pride he felt at knowing he could elicit such a reaction. He was not certain he wanted to.

I care that they know she has chosen me, he thought, his fingers trembling against her skin. I want them to know that I am hers.

"So, what do you need me to do?" Ellana smiled. "Ask Josephine to drop a few blind items in the gossip pages in Orlais? 'Hey, that woman whose fifteen minutes of fame are already over has a boyfriend now?'"

Solas chuckled, though he was not as confident as Ellana that Thedas had forgotten her so easily. "No," he said. "Certainly not."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to strike a nerve."

"You didn't. Nothing like that. I think … I think I am simply ready to be home."

It was a strange thing for him to admit. He adored traveling. More than that, he'd found that he adored traveling with Ellana. It was endlessly gratifying to watch her see something new for the first time, to discuss the day's discoveries over dinner, to be surprised how quickly the long hours spent on a train passed with her head on his shoulder.

And yet there was something illusory about this existence. In Boranehnan and now, once again, they met within the transitory daydream of travel. Their time together had been a whirlwind of trains and hotel rooms - temporary spaces that somehow made everything else feel temporary as well.

Ellana replaced the lids on their cups and stowed them, along with what remained of the wine, in her bag. She carefully turned around, slowing for a moment when the boat began to rock, and leaned back against his chest. How odd, he thought, to hold her in his arms and feel the stiff fabric of his own shirt over her skin - odder still to find the scent of his cologne mingling with her perfume when he bent to kiss her neck. He wondered how much she'd guessed from his silence.

"I'm ready to go home, too," Ellana said quietly.

She pulled the lantern closer to her, flashing it a few times to signal the attendant at the shore. As the boat began to move again, making its slow and silent path through the water, Solas tilted his head up toward the night sky. He was intrigued by the number of stars he could see - far more than were ever visible in any of the cities where he'd lived.

He knew, without needing her to say, that when Ellana said 'home,' she did not mean her apartment. The admission was there in the way she nestled into his shoulder, how she placed her hands over his own. If any doubts remained, he had only to consider that she'd spoken the words while he could not see her face - a trick he'd now watched her employ on more than one occasion.

Such declarations came more easily to her when she didn't have to look him in the eyes. It had been selfish, he knew, to insist that she hold his gaze the first time she told him she loved him. But he'd needed it in a way that felt like gasping in air after holding his breath, and he hoped that if he could show her he would not deny her, would not turn away from her, then eventually she might grow to trust him enough to say what she felt more freely.

There, buried beneath that thought, Solas found the clarity to see the rest. He did not merely want to return to his home - he wanted to begin the work of making a home for both of them. He longed for what came next. He wanted all those moments he had imagined when Ellana first set foot in Lydes. He was eager for the establishment of new routines and the simple pleasure of a quiet day spent beside her.

What he wanted was for them to be together - not in this strange bubble of coincidence and circumstance, but in a way that would feel more intentional, more …

Permanent. He allowed the word to linger and did not force it away.

The ring safely hidden in his work bag would need to remain there for now. He could not trust himself to consider it again after what had happened the last time. But with the promise of home quite literally on the horizon - Lydes was, after all, their destination as soon as the sun rose - the familiar refrains that buzzed in his head and worried at his nerves went suddenly silent.

They napped for a few hours and Ellana's alarm woke them shortly before daybreak. She was still groggy - though at this point she couldn't be sure if it was from too much rest or not enough. It had been two days since she'd last had a full night's sleep, and the thought of being able to crawl beneath the cool, clean sheets on Solas' bed back in Lydes was practically the only thing that actually convinced her to get up.

Ellana slipped back into the shirt she'd borrowed from Solas as she watched him reorganize his suitcase. She hadn't been able to find the box for the ring while he'd been in the shower the night before. It was possible she'd checked the wrong pocket or the wrong pair of pants but … she'd checked several pockets and several pairs of pants. The panic she'd felt when she first found it back in Vyrantium was still screaming in her brain, but it had faded to background noise in the face of all the other nonsense she'd dealt with over the past day. Now, it was back at full force.

The box had to be somewhere. She had to find it. But what if she didn't? Then her options were to do something crazy (like maybe drop it on the floor at his house at then hide until she was certain he'd discovered it) or to do something even crazier (like pull it out of her bag now and tell him the truth).

Ellana unzipped the pocket of her tote and peered in. She was relieved, in a horrified sort of way, to see the dark stone glinting back at her, and was once again overwhelmed by the stupid idea that she could just slip it on her finger right now and that would solve all of her problems.

Her thoughts were thankfully interrupted by a knock at the door. Solas frowned as he crossed to answer it, glancing at her as if she would have any idea who could possibly want something from them so early. She shrugged to tell him she was just as confused.

"Good morning!" The young man who had checked them in the night before offered a far too cheerful greeting. She'd paid little attention to him when they arrived, drenched from the rain and desperate to get Solas into a room. Now she noticed there was something in his features that struck her as a bit familiar, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he might be somehow related to Philliam.

"Good morning," Solas replied in a much colder tone.

"Sorry for knocking so early, but I saw your light was on and I wanted to catch you before you left." He held up a leather case with gold fastenings - thin but long, the sort of thing used to store documents. It had faded, maybe from the sun or time, until the leather was mostly beige save for a few dark spots where the original deeper brown could still be seen.

"Here," he said as he offered it to Solas. "I think maybe you left this in the office last night, Mr. Lavellan."

Whatever he said next was drowned out by the renewed screeching in Ellana's thoughts. She'd checked in under her real name since they were out of Tevinter, this man had obviously made a few leaps in logic, and Solas was now gawking with his mouth open and his ears bright red. He turned to her with so much guilt written across his features that she was practically choking on her own tongue from trying to contain the nervous laughter bubbling up her throat. The combination of that and the sight of the ring still sitting in her bag made her feel sick all over again. She zipped the pocket closed and hurried over to the door to save Solas - and herself.

"Uh, no. I'm Lavellan - Ellana," she said. "What is this? I don't think it's mine."

"Well it has your name on it," the young man said. "On the documents inside, I mean."

She exchanged a quick look with Solas, which was entirely pointless because he was still staring at her like she might murder him - and maybe that wasn't entirely off the table, it was hard to say. Ellana unsnapped the fastenings on the case and flipped it open.

There were dozens and dozens of papers inside, each thin, fragile-looking, and filled with looping handwriting in fine black ink. Immediately, she was struck with the sense that they were too delicate to touch, so she pulled the leather pouch open just enough to get a better look at the document on top without having to remove it.

At the bottom of the first sheet of paper was an all too familiar symbol, embossed beside a signature. It was not her writing, Ellana reminded herself - though having to remind herself of such an obvious truth was unsettling enough. The Inquisitor's script was larger and more formal than her own, but it was impossible not to see that they made their Es and Ls in precisely the same way.

"Yes," Ellana said, quickly snapping the case closed again. "It's mine. I must have forgotten. Thank you."

Solas eyed her curiously but said nothing. He held his tongue until after the young man had left and she was hurrying to shove her purchases from the night before into what little space was left in her luggage.

"What is that?" he asked, nodding to the leather case where she'd set it on the bed.

"Letters. From the Inquisitor."

Ellana watched as he stared down at the pouch with the sort of intensity he usually reserved for her when she was at least halfway out of her clothes. It was pointless to be offended, she tried to tell herself, since between this and his insistence on stopping at the museum yesterday, it seemed like something she was just going to have to get used to.

"Letters to whom?" Solas asked.

"I don't know yet. They seem pretty fragile. I didn't want to touch them until you had a chance to take a look."

He held out his hand as if to suggest he was going to look at them now and Ellana sighed at him.

"On the train," she said, pointing at his suitcase to tell him he needed to finish what he'd been doing. "Or maybe back in Lydes if you can find it in yourself to wait that long."

"We'll see," he replied, leaving Ellana certain that the letters would not make it to Orlais undisturbed.

"Weren't you just bragging about your patience a few hours ago?" she muttered under her breath.

They left the room shortly after, and Ellana paused at the breakfast spread in the courtyard only long enough to pour two cups of coffee to take with them, and to grab a few of the fan-shaped pastries she remembered Solas eyeing on the train the day before.

"Don't eat all of these," she said as she thrust them into his hands. "I want to try one."

"All of them?" he repeated indignantly. "You gave me four."

"I said what I said."

They arrived at the station a few minutes before the train did. Despite carrying his suitcase and work bag, Solas had managed to eat one of the pastries along the way. By the time they found a seat and settled in for the first leg of their journey, he'd finished a second.

Their first connection was in Nevarra City, and Ellana was relieved to finally leave behind the old-fashioned train that had carried them from Hunter Fell for something newer and faster. They would be in Val Royeaux in a few short hours, and then Lydes not long after that.

Solas had managed to survive the first leg of the trip without insisting they begin to review the Inquisitor's letters, but they were plainly on his mind. Ellana caught him repeatedly glancing over at his satchel where he'd stored them. He gave up on the charade within twenty minutes after they departed Nevarra City, throwing her a contrite look as he pulled his glasses and the leather case from his bag.

"The paper is thin," he agreed as he experimentally pinched a corner between his fingers. "But I believe it is sturdy enough to risk at least a cursory look."

Carefully, he removed the top sheet from the case and placed it on the table between them.

"The mark of the Inquisition," Solas said, noting the seal as Ellana had. "And the handwriting is remarkably similar to -"

"I don't want to talk about that," she quickly cut him off. "It's not that similar."

He nodded, rubbing a hand across her back like an apology. "No, of course not," he agreed, and she appreciated it, even if she could hear the doubt in his voice.

He peered down at the document, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and Ellana leaned over his shoulder for a better look.

The first letter was dated 9:46 Dragon and addressed to someone called Charter. Ellana pulled up the scans Merrill had sent her to confirm a hunch and quickly found she was correct - the Inquisitor had documented Fen'Harel's presence in Hunter Fell that same year.

Solas nodded absently as she told him, his eyes slowly scanning the paper. "It's a series of updates and orders. Not quite encoded but certainly vague. The names all sound a bit like aliases - this Charter, for example. Do you recognize that name from any of the Inquisitor's memories?"

"No," Ellana shook her head. "But she wasn't thinking about that sort of thing. She was thinking about … him, mostly."

"I see. I suppose that makes sense, given the content of the visions you experienced."

"Not very helpful, though."

Ellana took the pouch from the table and bent it gently - just enough that she could flip through the pages without actually touching them.

"I think all of these might be addressed to Charter, whoever they were. And the dates - the last one on the list from Merrill is in 9:52, so that might be the year she finally found him. The year he died. But the dates on these letters continue past that. It looks like there are a few updates a year, going all the way to …" Ellana allowed the papers to fall so that the last of them was exposed, … "9:59. It's thirteen years' worth of correspondence."

"9:59?" Solas asked, finally looking up from the letter.

"Yes."

"The year the Radiant War ended."

"Well that's probably not a coincidence," Ellana said flatly.

"No."

He reached toward the case in her hand, then pulled his arm back suddenly, as if he'd thought better of it.

"I would very much like to read all of these letters immediately," he said.

"Yeah. I can see that."

"However," he sighed heavily as if it were perhaps the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, "we should set them aside for now. We will need to properly document their order, have them examined by the lab in Lydes, have them digitized - "

"I get it," Ellana stopped him. "There's a ton of work to do before we can even really start to dissect them. But, Solas - I think this might be it. Not a clue, or a breadcrumb to something else. If these documents have even half the information we think they might … this is our book. This is the whole book. We could start working through the letters and then writing as soon as they've been authenticated. I don't know how exactly we're going to explain where we found them -"

"It will be a challenge," he nodded. "But if what we saw in Vyrantium is any indication, there may soon be many such instances of lost materials that have suddenly been rediscovered."

Ellana handed Solas the case then leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table with her chin in her hands as her heart beat wildly in her chest. She watched silently as he slid the letter back with the others and then placed them safely in his satchel, as if they would be less likely to tempt him once they were out of sight again.

"I will call the lab at the university after we change trains in Val Royeaux," Solas said. "It shouldn't be too late - someone should still be there. And then, tomorrow, we can -"

She half tackled him before he could finish, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly that he let out a faint wheeze against her shoulder. She eased her grip slightly as he returned her embrace and nuzzled his nose into her neck.

"I'm sorry," Ellana said when she finally released him. "I just needed a quick second to celebrate. I - I can't believe this is real!"

She grinned at him, laughing and practically lightheaded with excitement. Solas was, as usual, more subdued in his reaction. He smiled as he brushed the hair away from her face and then, suddenly, he was gazing into her eyes with a familiar, though still terrifying, sort of sincerity. It always made her feel as if he could see past every wall she'd built - straight through to the thoughts she wasn't certain she was ready to say. Her heart fluttered in her chest and tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she didn't look away.

"Nor can I," he said.

Chapter Text

There were days - typically when Orlesian politicking and snobbery set his nerves on edge - that Solas questioned why he hadn't moved on from Lydes. He'd found success at his university, measured both by his acknowledged skill as a teacher and the bibliography he'd developed as a researcher. Options would be open to him if he wanted to leave. Yet on days like this one, when dappled afternoon sunlight shone through the leaves of the ash trees lining the avenue that led from the train station to the campus, he was glad he'd stayed.

Ellana pulled along her suitcase beside him. She was tired, as he was, but still her eyes widened with interest when they approached the small cluster of stone brick buildings where Solas spent so much of his time. The classrooms and offices were situated at the top of a hill that sloped gently down to the dorms. It was always strange to see the lawn deserted as it was now - the entire campus suspended as if sleeping, waiting for students to make their unruly returns in the fall.

Solas led the way to the Humanities building, digging his keys from his satchel to open the side entrance. They left their luggage by the door after he pulled it shut - they were likely the only two people there and it would not be bothered. The lab where he would drop off the Inquisitor's letters was in a different building, but he wanted to stop by his office first. He'd made some excuse to Ellana about needing to pick up a few books from his collection, but his true motive was somewhat different.

He found himself unexpectedly nervous as she followed him through narrow corridors and up dimly lit stairwells. He pointed out the classrooms he used most frequently, the offices of his colleagues and the head of his department, acutely aware that so much of his life happened within these walls. She listened with her usual focus, stopping to peek in the window of the door to the lecture hall where he taught most of his undergraduate courses.

His office was as he'd left it when he'd last visited a few weeks ago. Had Solas realized he would next be there with Ellana in his company, perhaps he would have found the time to tidy it. Sagging bookshelves lined three of the walls. These, at least, were well organized. A window that overlooked the university's formal entrance spanned the rear wall of the room. When he'd first moved into this space, he'd oriented his desk in front of it - ideal for establishing an imposing presence for anyone who entered but less so for his ability to enjoy the view when, mostly, his back was to it.

Two chairs were arranged in front of the desk, both stacked high with file folders and more loose papers - something he saw Ellana note with an amused twist of her lips as she surveyed the room. Her eyes roamed over the paintings decorating the few spaces on the walls where he hadn't hung shelves. She gravitated to one in particular - the first he had painted after moving to Lydes. It was a view through the rear windows of his house out to the garden beyond.

Solas hurried behind his desk, setting his satchel on top to obscure his movements as he unlocked the top drawer. When Ellana turned her back, running a finger along the spines of the books on his shelves, he quickly scooped the ring box from the bottom of his bag and thrust it into the very back of the drawer.

"While we're here, I should probably give you this."

He found Ellana approaching him, rummaging through her tote bag as she did. She pulled out a small item wrapped in thick paper and placed it in front of him just as he closed the drawer.

"Sorry I didn't have a chance to wrap it properly," she said, unusually timid. "I just saw it and thought … I don't know. It seemed like something you might like."

Solas stared down at the parcel on his desk, then looked up at Ellana. "A gift?" he asked, his mind struggling to accept the concept. She nodded, nervously biting her lip.

Carefully, he unwrapped the paper and found inside a ceramic sculpture of a cat. It was only a few inches tall and had been glazed grey, with greenish dots of paint for its eyes.

"I figured maybe you'd want to keep it here," Ellana said quietly. "It looks a bit like Parchment. It would be like she's in the office with you - which, I assume, the real Parchment wouldn't actually like all that much."

A small chuckle escaped his mouth as he continued to stare down at the cat. He turned it over in his hands, appreciating the detail and skill that had gone into its crafting. Its form was somewhat exaggerated, with an elongated neck and large, expressive ears.

Lock the drawer, he thought. Lock the drawer before you change your mind.

"Where did you find it?" he asked instead.

"The woman selling pottery in Hunter Fell. Apparently cats are a common subject in Nevarran art. She had a bunch of them but she helped me find one with the colors I wanted."

Solas felt Ellana's eyes on his back as he carried the sculpture to an empty spot at the end of one of his bookshelves, where it would be both safe and visible. He arranged it to face his desk, so he could look up at it and be reminded not only of Parchment, but of her as well.

"Thank you," he said, suddenly realizing he hadn't yet.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes." He turned back quickly enough to see her release a breath and relief wash over her face. "I love it. I love you."

She gasped out an anxious laugh as she shook her head. "I love you too," she said, blushing, "but you're a tough person to pick a gift for."

Solas had not, before this moment, considered the possibility of Ellana presenting him with a gift of any kind and now that he had, he could not imagine anything she could give him that he wouldn't immediately cherish. He caught her hand and pulled her against him, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

"Are you ready to go?" Ellana asked, her voice muffled against his chest, moments later.

"Yes."

He reluctantly released her before even more reluctantly taking his keys from his pocket to lock the top drawer of his desk. It was the right decision. He knew it was. What she had given him already was more than he should have asked. He could wait, and he forcibly shut out the voice in his head that wondered, But how long?

"Shall we?" Solas asked, heaving the strap of his satchel over his shoulder.

Ellana crooked an eyebrow. "Weren't you picking up some books?"

"… Yes."

He turned arbitrarily toward the shelf on the wall to his left. The most reasonable thing to do would be to pull sources on the Radiant War or the Dragon Age, but everything relevant he owned on both topics he'd already moved to his house months ago when he began writing his paper on the Arbor Wilds find. He grabbed two thin books at random, attempted to stuff them inside his bag before Ellana could see, and failed immediately.

"Laudine?" she said as she stared down at his hand.

Why precisely, Solas wondered, had the publisher elected to display the author's name in quite so large a print on the cover? Then, as Ellana snickered, he realized which Laudine text he was holding.

"In the Cadence of the Elves: A Manual of Marital Instruction," she read aloud, or attempted, at least - her speech became nearly unintelligible from laughter as soon as she reached the subtitle. "What … what do you … is this for practical purposes?" she choked out. "I thought you said you needed something for research."

"Laudine was active during the Dragon Age," Solas replied, searching his memory for any details he could recall on the text. "And this particular treatise identified a mistranslation of several crucial words in an older elven source. Given our recent discussion about the difficulty of tracing Elvish root words, I thought it might be helpful."

Perfect, he thought as he reminded himself to breathe. Ellana continued to watch him with a mixture of amusement and what was clearly doubt dancing in her eyes.

"Uh-huh," she said, smirking. "Elvish root words. In a sex manual."

"That is not -"

"Right, sorry. Not a sex manual but a very scholarly work about a sex manual. Definitely not, just a thought, you looking for ways to spice things up in -"

"Definitely not that," he stopped her, resenting the heat spreading down his neck that was certainly undermining his objection.

"OK," Ellana shrugged. "Mind if I borrow it? What?" she protested as he scowled at her. "I haven't read it before. And I want to see if it has illustrations."

With a huff, he handed it over to her - a mistake that allowed Ellana to glimpse the second book that had previously been concealed beneath the Laudine.

"Hmm. And Depictions of Bovines in Free Marcher Art Throughout the Ages," she said, as Solas glanced down at the book - he had no memory of purchasing it, let alone reading it. "Who's Lady Nella de Launcet?" she asked.

His capacity for prevaricating had suddenly reached its limit. "I am … not especially familiar with her," he said. "I purchased that book some time ago and have not yet had a chance to read it. I exhausted my leisure reading while we were away, and I thought I should work through my backlog."

"Cow art. Really exciting leisure reading."

"I expect it will be."

Ellana nodded. "Good thing it happened to be right next to the other book you needed. Laudine. Launcet."

"Yes. It was convenient."

Solas tilted his chin up slightly, peering down his nose at Ellana as she clasped her hands behind her back and glared up at him. They stood in a stalemate for what felt like an impossibly long minute.

"Well," she said finally. "Let's go, then."

An hour later, after they'd dropped off the Inquisitor's letters at the university lab and made their way back across town, Ellana watched with relief as Solas finally unlocked the door of his house. Parchment greeted them from her perch on the kitchen counter, yowling loudly as they struggled to pull their luggage inside.

"She is not allowed to be on the counters. Or the table," Solas said flatly, picking up the cat and depositing her on the floor.

"Does she know that?" Ellana asked, and he (rightfully) ignored her.

Unpacking was a long, cluttered process that was made more even more chaotic by Parchment's desire to sit on every new item either of them pulled from their bags. They made a pile on Solas' bed for dry-cleaning and then quickly found that his laundry basket was not large enough to fit everything that would need to go into his washing machine. Ellana watched carefully each time he checked the pockets of his pants before tossing them onto the bed, but saw no hint of the velvet box.

When they finally finished, Solas opened windows at the front and rear of the house to allow a breeze to pass through. It was a warm afternoon in Lydes and he was once again wandering around in a pair of sweatpants with no shirt, a sight which Ellana was no more accustomed to than she'd been before they left. She sat at his dining table wearing a Cumberland t-shirt he'd found buried somewhere in his dresser. It fell nearly to her knees but she was completely out of clothing at this point and, crucially, it was his.

Solas began the first load of laundry (thankfully comprised mostly of her things) and then sorted through an intimidating looking pile of mail Cole had left on his counter. Ellana rested her legs on the chair at the head of the table as she absently thumbed through the Laudine book he'd been so eager to retrieve from his office. It was regrettably absent of illustrations.

Parchment hopped up on the chair beside her feet, a brush of fur announcing her presence. Ellana did her best to hold perfectly still. She had never owned a pet herself and had little experience with them. While there had been a few cats roaming the community where she'd grown up, they'd mostly kept to themselves and to the various barns and sheds where they found an unending supply of mice to hold their attention. She had a difficult time imagining Parchment - pampered as she appeared to be - having much in common with them.

The cat stared at Ellana, then turned her head toward the tabletop, her intentions perfectly clear. Ellana was suddenly aware that she wasn't sure who should have her loyalty in this situation - Solas, who had just told her precisely where the cat was not allowed to be, or Parchment, who she very much wanted to win over by any means necessary. The cat, obviously sensing her hesitation, took the opportunity to place her front paws on the table.

"Down."

Ellana hadn't even seen Solas raise his eyes from the paper he was reading. Probably an effective, if extremely annoying, trick he'd learned from too many years spent watching students try to cheat off each other's exams.

Parchment slowly, and with a distinctly contemptuous air, removed her paws from the table and placed them back on the chair. As the cat looked over at her, Ellana was struck by the sense that she'd just permanently established herself as a pushover.

"It seems Briala has been busy while we were away," Solas said.

"Oh?" Ellana placed her feet on the ground, eyeing Parchment warily as she did. If she didn't know better, she'd think the cat had somehow gotten them both into trouble on purpose. She crossed to the opposite side of the island counter from Solas, leaning over to look at the thick, square paper he held in his hand.

"An invitation to the gala at Halamshiral," he explained as he gave it to her. "For the unveiling of the Inquisitor's portrait there."

Everything about the invitation screamed Orlesian formality. As much as she liked Briala, Ellana found herself recoiling under the extravagance of gold foil accents and intimidating demands like 'black tie' and 'masks required.'

"Masks? Really?" she scoffed.

"Apparently Briala - or more likely the Ministry of Culture - is feeling nostalgic. They are certainly sparing no effort to make this event as decadent as possible."

"Sounds like you object."

Solas shrugged. "I have grown accustomed to such Orlesian displays, but that does not make them any more palatable. Knowing now what we do of Inquisitor Lavellan, it seems a gauche way to celebrate her."

That made some part of Ellana want to kiss him very badly, an impulse which was both understandable and irritating. Her capacity to empathize with the Inquisitor had certain limits, and certainly didn't extend so far as kissing Solas on her behalf.

"But you'll still go?" she asked.

"I have little choice. I brought the portrait to Lydes. I will be expected to be seen shepherding it approvingly to Halamshiral."

His face fell suddenly, as if something deeply unpleasant had occurred to him.

"What's wrong?" Ellana asked.

"Briala said the Ministry was eager to have the portrait moved as quickly as possible, before the summer tourism season ends. I wonder if it has already been removed from the museum here. I'm certain someone would have thought to inform me, but I admit I have not been all that diligent about checking my email over the past few days."

"Well, you'll see it again soon enough," she offered.

"True," Solas nodded. "Though it will be odd not to pass by it in the museum every day."

"Then it's a good thing you have a backup copy." Ellana tilted her head toward the spare room. It elicited the reaction she'd hoped: an unamused stare from Solas, followed by a weary sigh.

He took the invitation from her hand and read through it again. "It seems I have been given a plus-one," he said. It was a thinly veiled attempt to sound disinterested by a detail that he'd certainly already noticed. "If you wish to accompany me, the night may have at least a chance of being tolerable."

"Tempting. But I probably have my own invitation waiting at my apartment," she said, pausing just long enough to see his brows begin to pinch before she added, "so you should be my date."

"I accept."

"Good." Ellana leaned over the counter to kiss his cheek but either missed or, she suspected, Solas had twisted at the last moment to ensure her lips landed on his instead.

"Since that's settled," she said, "what we should really do is use our plus-ones for people who might actually want to be there."

He considered the suggestion for only a moment before he nodded. "I will need to assist Cole with finding something appropriately 'black tie,' but it would be a good opportunity for him to meet some important people in the field. And perhaps a way to express my gratitude for him keeping an eye on Parchment. Did you have someone in mind?"

"Merrill," Ellana immediately replied. "She's going to hate it, and she's going to spend most of the night talking about how much she hates it. But I know she'll find the whole thing fascinating. And it gets me out of another problem."

"Which is?"

"She really wants to talk to you."

"Why is that problem?"

"She's wanted to talk to you since she saw your name on the Inquisitor's list," Ellana admitted.

"Ah." Solas nervously rubbed a hand over his head. "I can see how that might have caused some confusion. What have you told her?"

"Not much. I've mostly been dodging her, which is pointless - she doesn't give up when it comes to this kind of thing. She's going to have a lot of questions for you, like if you're …"

"Fen'Harel?" he suggested.

"Honestly? Yes."

"That will certainly make the evening more entertaining."

"I'm glad you think so, because the alternatives she's been floating lately have involved either us going back up to Markham to visit her for a weekend, or inviting herself down here to stay at your place. I've explained that you don't have a guest room, but she really doesn't care. At least the museum at Halamshiral is big enough that we can escape her if she starts to drive us crazy."

"It won't come to that."

"It will, Solas. I've known her for years. You've met her once. And she was on her best behavior then."

"That was her best behavior?"

She glared at him, certain he was weighing just how bad of an idea it would be to mention the 'arsonist' again.

"Believe it or not, yes," Ellana said. "She was treating you with professional courtesy because she didn't know we were together yet. You're not going to have that shield a second time. You have no idea what you're in for."

He chuckled as he moved to stand beside her. "Fortunately I will have you to save me should it become necessary."

"I can't save you from Merrill. You're going to need to prepare."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said quietly, but with a preoccupied manner that meant he'd already filed it away as a suggestion rather than what it actually was - a warning.

The source of his distraction became apparent a moment later, when he suddenly wrapped an arm around Ellana's lower back and took one of her hands in his. She found herself abruptly facing him, an inch or two of space between their chests.

"Do you dance?" he asked at the precise moment he raised her arm above her head and somehow guided her into a spin that Ellana wasn't entirely aware she was doing. She steadied herself on his chest when she came to a stop, her toes squeaking on the hardwood. It took her a second to regain her bearings and even then she felt like she melt into a puddle on the floor.

"No," she choked out. "Not like that, I mean. Do you?" Why were there still so many things she didn't know about him?

"After a fashion," Solas answered with the kind of modesty that Ellana had learned was almost always a lie.

"Where did you learn?"

"Orlais. Formal dancing is a common activity at Orlesian formal parties; thus, it was a helpful skill to acquire. You have …" he glanced down at the invitation on the counter, "… a little more than a month to learn, if you're interested."

Ellana's imagination offered an endless supply of images of Solas gliding around dance floors with increasingly gorgeous partners. They had no basis in reality, she told herself. What was much more likely was a bunch of insincere schmoozing with Orlesians who were somehow even more pretentious than he was. Yet for some reason, she was clenching her teeth when she replied.

"I am very interested, actually."

"We can begin now," he smiled.

"Well." Ellana swallowed, the thought of stumbling awkwardly over his feet far less appealing than the prospect of just magically being able to dance with him at the gala. She was perfectly happy to go to the club with friends, but she knew she wasn't nearly graceful enough to pull off something like what he'd just done. It was going to be a ridiculous amount of work, and she was willing to do it, she just needed to mentally prepare for how much of an ass she was going to make of herself in the process.

"I need to call Josephine," she deflected. "She's going to be furious that she only has a month to put an outfit together, and then she'll find something incredible in like a week."

"What will you wear?" Solas asked with obvious curiosity.

"Oh, I have absolutely no idea. That's a Josephine problem."

"I see."

Something even more interesting than Solas dancing occurred to her.

"Do you own a tux?" she asked, and then, before she could stop herself, added, "Do you think maybe you should try it on right now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I typically rent."

"Yeah. Sure. Of course. That makes sense."

Ellana excused herself to pace around the garden and get used to the thought of Solas in formal-wear while she called Josephine. She was, as Ellana had predicted, appalled by what she called 'egregiously short notice' for an occasion that would demand so much preparation. Once she'd recovered (less than a minute later), she assailed Ellana with questions about styles and shapes and necklines. She remained polite, but Ellana could hear her frustration mounting with each indifferent or completely uninformed answer she gave.

Josephine finally pronounced that she would send an email with several options - though Ellana would have much preferred if she'd just made the decision without her. Living out of a suitcase packed by her PR agent had been a forced exercise in trust, and she was surprised to have come out the other side realizing she trusted Josephine more than ever.

"Hungry?" Solas asked as she came back inside, the urgency in his tone making it obvious that he was.

"Very," Ellana answered.

"Do you want to go out?"

"Absolutely not. If it were up to me, we wouldn't leave your house for a week."

His eyes lit at the suggestion. "That could be arranged. Though we might need to buy groceries, at least. There is very little in the kitchen at the moment."

"What's the pizza situation like in Lydes?"

"Abysmal," Solas shook his head.

"Even in a college town?" Ellana sighed in exasperation. "Fucking Orlais," she mumbled. "Alright. Give me a minute to check on the delivery options."

"I have some menus," he said, rummaging through the drawers in his kitchen. Ellana plopped down on the sofa and left him to it, figuring it would be a good use of his time.

Solas offered her a small stack of papers just as she finished ordering.

"No need," she waved him off. "I took care of it. Cole suggested a newer place on the opposite side of town. It's going to take a minute to get here, but all the reviewers with Orlesian names said it was fantastic and all the non-Orlesian names said it was fine."

He blinked down at her, slowly pulling his hand away. He returned the menus to his kitchen before joining her on the sofa.

"I suppose I should ask you for some assistance with this," he said, sliding his phone from his pocket. "It is increasingly obvious to me that I am not using it to its full potential - though I am not interested in it requiring too much of my attention."

"I guess it was a bit unfair to talk you into buying a new phone when I couldn't be there to help you use it. Though you figured out some aspects of it well enough on your own," she said with a smirk.

"There was incentive," Solas agreed.

"Here," Ellana held out her hand and he placed his phone on her palm. "Most important app first - crossword puzzles."

"I don't need games, Ellana." He reached to take it back and she pulled away.

"You don't know what you need yet. Look: you can play against other people - compare your times to theirs. I'll add you as a friend."

This immediately piqued his interest, and he watched over her shoulder as she demonstrated the basics.

"My time's here," she pointed to her screen, "so you know what you're trying to beat."

"And how well do you handle losing?" Solas asked as he draped an arm over her shoulders. "I feel I should ask in order to determine whether I will need to hold back at all."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm a terrible loser, but you won't need to worry about that."

"Your confidence is admirable, but are you certain it's entirely warranted?"

"Oh, I am. I'm great at crossword puzzles. But more importantly, I can type on a phone a lot faster than you." She watched with satisfaction as understanding dawned on Solas' face.

"That does not strike me as a particularly fair competition, or at least not a competition that accurately measures either one's vocabulary or their skill at solving puzzles."

"I know," she said, feigning a sympathetic pout as he frowned at her. "It's going to be so hard for you to win. I guess you're just going to have to learn to use these a little better." She grabbed the hand he'd wrapped around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to his fingertips.

His eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment before he replied. "Perhaps if you would be willing to offer a demonstration?" he said quietly.

Ellana laughed. "Beat me at the crossword first. Then we'll talk."

They played several rounds while they waited for their dinner to arrive. Solas was definitely improving, but Ellana wasn't all that concerned until she got stuck on an obscure clue about the name of an Antivan queen's son and - of course - he somehow knew the answer immediately. She still beat his time, but he was getting the hang of it faster than she'd anticipated.

After they'd eaten their perfectly adequate pizza, Solas reclined on the sofa to read his Laudine while Ellana folded the first load of laundry and started a second. When she leaned over to check on him, she found he was sound asleep with the book resting on his chest. She moved it to the coffee table and silently climbed on top of him. Just before she fell asleep, she felt another brush of fur against her feet as Parchment leapt up to join them.

Ellana groaned when the sound of her ringtone woke her. Solas let out a much more pained noise as she accidentally shoved her elbow into his chest while she tried to grab her phone.

"Sorry," she said, her voice raspy as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. She tapped the button to answer the call and said, "Hello?"

"Good evening, Ms. Lavellan! I would advise you not to hang up. I have something that I believe belongs to you."

Ellana had not heard Gereon Alexius' voice since the last time she had seen him in the Arbor Wilds. She had hoped to never hear it again, and certainly not brimming with such cheerful self-satisfaction.

She shot up immediately, a movement which forced a gasp out of Solas' mouth when her knee somehow ended up directly between his legs. He rolled over onto his side, wincing, as Ellana whispered an apology at him. She placed her phone back on the table, put the call on speaker, and opened the app she used to record her interviews.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I think you already know the answer to that question," Alexius replied.

Solas' eyes darted from the phone to her face as he mouthed, Hang up. Ellana shook her head. "I'd like to make sure we're both on the same page, Minister Alexius."

"What I want is you here, with us, in Minrathous. You obviously had the good instincts to see that Tevinter will be the epicenter of study for the new information we're discovering on the Fade and the Veil. It would make sense to combine our efforts."

They exchanged another look, and Ellana saw her own shock mirrored in Solas' face. Hang up, Solas mouthed a second time, and she shook her head again.

"Get to the point," she snapped. "You said you had something that belongs to me."

"My apologies. I should have explained from the beginning. As I learned from our prior meeting, anything is possible for the right price."

Solas scowled down at the phone and Ellana rested a placating hand on his knee. She said nothing, waiting for Alexius to make his offer.

"My colleagues in Vyrantium discovered something you left behind. Really, it was most fortunate for us. It was on a list of items we had requested to examine at the Dalish archive in Markham, but to which we were regrettably denied access."

Ellana felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach. She leapt from the sofa, rushing over to where she'd left her tote by the front door. Alexius was still talking when she upended the bag, spilling its contents across Solas' coffee table.

The jawbone was not there.

How is that possible? she asked herself. She'd removed it from the safe, put it at the bottom of her bag just in case Solas might be tempted to go looking for it, and then …

And then her world had exploded, and she hadn't given the stupid jawbone a second thought because she was busy escaping from Vyrantium, and trying to process all the shit she'd seen in the Inquisitor's memory, and being so deeply relieved that Solas wasn't hurt, and knowing that her heart was going to burst out of her chest if she couldn't find the courage to tell him she loved him.

Fuck, Ellana thought. She had no idea when she'd lost it. Alexius was still prattling on about how hard he'd fought (probably with Merrill) to get the Markham archive to approve his request. She turned to Solas, realizing she would have to try to explain this to him wordlessly - to ask if he'd seen the necklace at any point since they'd left the hotel room.

But the look on his face said it all. He stared down at the pile of her things on the table, guilt-ridden and unwilling to meet her eyes. She squeezed his hand and he flinched - like he'd already convinced himself she was going to be furious with him - so she held it even tighter to try to tell him he had it wrong.

"It would be easier if you'd just say what it is you have, Minister," Ellana interrupted. "I'm familiar with the archive but I don't know every item in its collection."

"My technicians here in Minrathous tell me it's a jawbone. Specifically, the jawbone of a wolf. I find that interesting, don't you?"

Even a few hundred miles away, she could hear his shitty, smug grin through the phone's speaker.

"Why would I find that interesting?"

"There's no need for games, Ms. Lavellan. Calpernia told me about your appeal to the Dalish god known as the Dread Wolf, and she also described the mural she discovered beneath the streets of Vyrantium. Should you agree to join us in Minrathous, I could show you a number of additional relevant texts. But even with your limited findings, I'm sure you must have drawn the same conclusion I have by now."

There was silence on the line, as if Alexius actually expected her to volunteer what she knew - to engage in some kind of intellectual exchange with him.

"Very well," he said impatiently when Ellana did not reply. "I will spell it out if you need. Some charlatan claiming to be this Dalish god was quite active during the Dragon Age. They caused a good deal of trouble, and appear to have been an ally of your Inquisitor Lavellan."

Ellana bit her lip, swallowing down her panic and disguising it with fury.

"Nice theory," she sneered. "Good luck proving it. You'll have to do it without my help."

"Come now, don't be so imprudent," Alexius scolded her and Ellana thought how lucky he was that they weren't speaking in person. "I know this artifact has some power of its own, and it's only a matter of time before my team determines how to activate it. If you were to aid us, lend us the expertise you showed Calpernia -"

"No. I told her the same thing I'm telling you: I don't want anything to do with your experiments or your research. Keep your stolen artifact. My people are already well aware of how little respect Tevinter has for our history. I'm sure the rest of Thedas would love to hear about your most recent theft."

"Listen to me, my dear," he said with icy condescension. Ellana gasped as now Solas squeezed her hand, his knuckles turning white. "I would consider carefully what you say to me. You've enjoyed much success on the back of the Inquisitor's portrait - a discovery which I hand-delivered to you. I wonder if you and she would still be the media darlings you've become if people knew the truth about her."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ellana asked, too curious to think better of it.

"Your Inquisitor was a radical. An agitator. I have a stack of papers on my desk that grows larger every day detailing the deaths she ordered and the riots she caused. She was no benevolent Chantry sister like the stories imagine. She was just another elf grasping for power she did not understand. She manipulated her people, using stories of the Dread Wolf to spread chaos. In her ignorant meddling, she destabilized the situation between Tevinter and Orlais and caused a war that killed thousands."

Ellana glanced at Solas, wondering if he regretted as much as she did that they didn't have the Inquisitor's letters in front of them right now. Absent that, she did her best to weigh what Alexius had said - to test it against what she'd learned of the woman in question. If it was true, it certainly hadn't been apparent in any of the memories she'd seen.

"I think we're done here," she said curtly. "Release whatever you want."

"Very well. You should know my next call will be to Professor Solas. I intend to make him the same offer, and I anticipate he will be more reasonable, just as he was in the Wilds."

Ellana tried to stop him, but Solas was already leaning over the phone.

"I will spare you the call," he coldly interjected. "My answer is the same."

She glared at him while Alexius fell silent. A second phone call would have been a second chance to pick at the Minister and to see just how much they could get him to admit while being recorded.

"Solas," Alexius said finally. "How intriguing to find the two of you together. I'll admit, I didn't quite believe it when Calpernia told me. After all, Ms. Lavellan's most recent media appearance made it very clear the engagement is off. What an enlightened pair you must be."

Ellana rolled her eyes in an especially exaggerated manner for Solas' benefit. It was obvious bait, and she knew he wasn't stupid enough to fall for it.

He leaned over again and before she could decide whether she should clap a hand over his mouth, he was already speaking in a low and livid voice.

"While Ms. Lavellan is courteous enough to only suggest the publication of your misdeeds in response to such a crude attempt to intimidate her, I assure you the alternatives I offer will be far less journalistic in nature. You have your answers. Do not call this number again."

He tapped the screen and hung up as Ellana flailed her hands at him.

"Why did you do that?" she asked while Solas reclined against the back of the couch with a huff and crossed his arms over his chest.

"He had nothing to offer. He realized immediately that the jawbone was not an effective bargaining tool and was only prolonging the call to see what other information he might glean from us."

"Yes, obviously! But I was hoping to get a recording of him proposing a more explicit bribe or making a more overt threat. He would've slipped eventually - he was getting annoyed with me. Now what we have is a recording of you threatening him with physical violence."

"I did no such thing."

He had the gall to say it like he believed it.

"Solas."

"What I said could be interpreted in a number of ways."

Ellana gave up, leaning back against the sofa beside him and frowning at the sound file on her phone. She still didn't feel like she had a firm grasp on how clever Alexius actually was - he somehow hadn't figured out that their engagement in Boranehnan was a lie, and he always took a blunt approach when it came to his attempts at manipulation. But Ellana had to assume he was at least smart enough to have recorded the conversation, too. Editing out Solas' comment would only make things worse in the long run.

She tossed her phone down on the table, crossed her arms, and leaned back against the sofa, letting out a dejected sigh that sounded all too similar to the noise Solas had made when he'd hung up on Alexius.

"What happened to the jawbone?" she asked him as she stared down at her bag and its contents. "The last time I'm positive I had it is when I left the room in Vyrantium."

The angry red spots on his cheeks faded away as Solas slowly shook his head. He stared down at his feet, once again unwilling to look at her.

"I cannot remember all of it," he said. "I'd forgotten entirely until now."

"Was it like in Markham? Like you'd lost time?"

"I suppose it must have been. I remember seeing the jawbone on the floor in the hideout. You were caught in the Inquisitor's rune, and your bag had fallen off your arm. And then …"

He must have touched it, Ellana thought. How else could the Venatori have realized it had some kind of power? She remembered the awful sight of him in the archive basement and hated that it had happened to him a second time - especially when she hadn't been able to help.

"There is nothing else," Solas said with obvious frustration. "The next thing I can recall is when you turned around and …"

He hesitated again, but this time Ellana could hear that he hadn't come to the end of his memory. He'd intentionally stopped himself.

She thought back to those hazy moments when she was caught in the shift from the Inquisitor's consciousness back to her own. At first she could remember nothing except the limp weight of his body against her side when she finally knew he was gone.

Ellana closed her eyes, pushing back against the flood of images and emotions that were not hers. She didn't want to go back there again. She needed the moments after, and slowly they began to emerge: the slide of her fingers against stone as the rune finally released her from its spell, the slow turn of her feet as she felt the room grow still, and the sight of him standing before her, a promise finally fulfilled.

The memory hit Ellana all at once. His eyes were wreathed in that awful violet flame and the black smoke hovered over his shoulders, coalescing into the wolf's head above his own. There was violence promised in his step as he approached Calpernia. And then all of it fell away when he looked at her.

Suddenly she realized why Solas had hesitated. She winced as she remembered words that were not her own being forced out of her mouth.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, shit." She gripped at the neck of her shirt - his shirt - letting her fist rest against the hollow of her throat. "I remember now. I - I called you -"

"You were not yourself," Solas immediately offered, and it crushed her. He was right but he shouldn't have to say it. He shouldn't have to know that she was so afraid of that word because she was finally beginning to understand what it meant - that her heart would go with him, be with him, always; that it was no longer in her own chest but in his, and how the hell was she supposed to guard it from being broken when it wasn't quite hers anymore?

Solas placed a hesitant hand on her back. "It was a conversation that happened around us. Through us. Not between us."

"And that doesn't make you angry?" she asked. "That they can do something like that - put words in our mouths that we … what about when I want to call you that, and you've already -"

"I've already forgotten it."

He said it so earnestly that Ellana couldn't help the shocked laugh that spilled out of her.

"I know that's not true," she said.

"It could be. If you want it to, it could be true. Why would I want to remember that word spoken by anyone other than you? If you are saying there is a chance I will eventually hear you - not some echo of the past but you - call me by that name, then I can truly say it will be nothing I have experienced before."

She considered it for only a second, then nodded slowly, stunned that he'd so easily found a way to make things right. He'd reclaimed the possibility and newness of it without her needing to explain what she worried she had lost.

"I hope 'eventually' is enough," she said quietly.

"Enough?" he scoffed, his brow furrowed as he peered down at her incredulously. He gathered her against his chest and she leaned back into him, tucking her feet beneath her on the sofa. "Enough," he said again, his voice softer and with a hint of laughter as his mouth pressed against her temple.

Ellana relaxed into his warmth. She was more grateful than she could say and filled with a quiet calm she rarely felt.

"I remember the rest now," she told him. "You dropped the jawbone after I turned around. One of Calpernia's guards tackled you and it flew out of your hand."

"I must apologize," he said. "I should never have reached for it. I cannot recall making a conscious decision to do so, but -"

"It's not your fault, Solas. I'm the one who stole an artifact from my clan - fuck, not even really my clan. Sabrae."

"Borrowed," he said, and Ellana tilted up her chin to look at him, confused.

"Excuse me?"

"You borrowed the necklace from Clan Sabrae. The vir sulevanan.”

She groaned. "That's so sweet but you have to know I was lying to you, right? Not about the vir sulevanan - that's a real thing. But I definitely couldn't just take something from the archives without getting permission first."

"Yes, of course," he rolled his eyes, confirming how painfully obvious her lie had been. "But you've bluffed your way through more difficult problems in the past. It is, I would argue, one of your most captivating talents."

She shook her head in disbelief as he smiled down at her. "You really don't object to me stealing from an archive? You?"

"How did you so eloquently put it? 'Your dumb shit is my dumb shit now?'"

Ellana laughed. "Something like that," she nodded.

Chapter Text

A line of moonlight spilled through the gap in the curtains and cut across Ellana's arm. Solas traced it gently with his fingers as he watched her sleep, careful not to wake her. The last night Ellana had spent in his home, her dream of the Breach had sent her sleepwalking out into the garden. He worried it might happen again now that they were back.

Solas knew that watching her like this was an indulgence he should not allow himself. She had granted him many intimacies, but he worried this was too much; surely she would not enjoy knowing how soft she looked as she slept. Her dark lashes lay still atop her cheeks, and he thought again - as he had the first time he'd seen her like this - that such quiet did not suit her.

Eventually, he succumbed to the steady rhythm of her breathing and the appeal of resting his head on her chest. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his excitement for all that was to come.

In the morning they breakfasted at his favorite café, then bought groceries, then stopped at the boulangerie for fresh bread and a half-dozen croissants. By the time they arrived back home, Solas was overwhelmed by the newness of it all - mundane errands he'd run thousands of times transformed to something extraordinary.

Ellana was content as ever to live out of her suitcase, but he rushed to make room for her. By the end of their second day in Lydes, he'd cleaned out a drawer in his dresser. Two days after that he finished reorganizing the closet in his spare room so she could hang her clothes. Gradually, she filled the space that he made.

Solas learned new things about her each day. She ran in the mornings, listening to music so loudly he could hear it bleeding from her earphones when she arrived home. She enjoyed cooking - a truly shocking revelation, though her abilities seemed to be primarily limited to shellfish (which he understood, given where she'd spent most of her life) and cookies (which he did not particularly understand but certainly enjoyed). She was unable to reach most of what was in his kitchen cabinets, a problem which she solved by loudly calling his name any time she needed to summon him to retrieve something from the higher shelves.

She had almost no experience with pets but was determined to forge a bond with Parchment. Unfortunately, her enthusiasm was hindering her cause more than helping it. Solas thought that perhaps she would eventually learn the same lesson he had - that patience and, occasionally, feigned indifference would serve her much better.

A day passed, and then another. Soon it was a week, and then two.

In the evenings, he taught her to dance.

Solas quickly realized that Ellana was the sort of student who was accustomed to things coming naturally to her, and so she did not handle her mistakes all that gracefully. His repertoire of Dalish curses expanded greatly. His toes suffered. He looked forward to it every day.

He remained uncertain how they would manage at the gala, though not from a lack of confidence in Ellana's ability to learn the steps. She improved steadily, even if it was not fast enough for her limited patience. The issue, rather, was the way their lessons typically ended.

It was impossible to hold her in his arms for so long, to watch her ears go pink as they progressed, to tease her lightly when she misstepped and see a retributive fury crinkle the corners of her eyes, and not want her. It always started the same way - with her inching closer to his chest than the position required, and with him spreading his fingers across her lower back to draw her gradually against his hips. What happened next took varying shapes. They rarely made it quite so far as the bedroom but the sofa was nearby. The floor had proven adequate on more than one occasion, and once - memorably - they put the island in the kitchen to good use. Such diversions would not be possible at the gala itself.

Caught within the happy daydreams of their new routine, they'd managed to put Alexius' threats out of their minds until a Tevinter news story slowly began to make its way to Ferelden and Orlesian outlets. An unnamed source with the Ministry of Culture and Heritage had leaked one letter that would be part of a larger, forthcoming publication. The letter in question was addressed to a Tevinter magister, and contained a very direct threat of assassination should he not immediately surrender his estate to Inquisition forces.

Ellana was annoyed by the irony of it - she complained to Solas that such an academic curiosity wouldn't have received this kind of attention had the Inquisitor not recently returned to the public imagination. They both handled a flurry of concerned emails - Ellana from the Journal and her literary agent, Solas from the Orlesian Ministry of Culture as well as Briala, who had received several sudden cancellations from some high-profile gala invitees. They did the best they could under the circumstances to smooth things over and assure everyone their own research would provide context for the Inquisitor's actions.

Later that week, Ellana told Solas she was going to make a quick trip to Denerim - the first time they would be separated since she'd joined him in Lydes. They both handled it as well as could be expected. Ellana paced the house, debating (mostly with herself) whether she should book a hotel for the pair of them rather than stay with Leliana as she usually did. It didn't matter that she was scheduled for an entire day of meetings at the Journal, with her agent, and a dress fitting with Josephine. She wavered on her decision at least four times (and those were only the ones she expressed out loud) before he finally heard her mumble that she was being ridiculous with an exasperated huff.

Once she made up her mind, Solas immediately called Dorian to schedule a dinner in Val Royeaux the night she was gone. He did this because it had been too long since they'd last spoken at length, and there was plenty of new research to discuss - certainly not because he wasn't ready to spend an entire night alone in the house.

He saw Ellana off to her train in the morning and then spent the rest of the day reviewing the Inquisitor's letters at the university, preferring the hum of voices and bright lights of the lab to the quiet that would await him at home. When he finally returned to his house in the afternoon, he spent an hour in the garden, tearing weeds and pruning the ivy that was always one sunny week away from reclaiming its hold on his fence.

He showered, dressed, and then sat at the table because it was still too early to head to the station. Parchment made several determined attempts to claim his lap and he had to reluctantly wave her off so she wouldn't leave fur all over his pants.

Solas stared blankly out the rear windows, aware and annoyed that he should be using his time to do anything else.

Parchment crossed to the closed garden door with an angry flick of her tail. She circled once, and then several more times before finally settling down on top of a pair of Ellana's sandals that she'd left on the floor.

With a small smile, Solas stood, making a slow survey of his house. She'd left a mug in the sink after hurriedly drinking a cup of coffee so she wouldn't be late to catch her train. A threadbare flannel shirt that he thought he'd disposed of years ago was draped over one of the dining chairs - she'd found it somewhere in his closet and claimed it as her own. When he straightened himself in the bathroom, preparing to leave, he spotted a pair of her earrings on the vanity. The evidence of her was everywhere.

Solas gave the house one last look, murmured a goodbye to Parchment, and closed the door behind him. As he walked to the train station, he told himself he could survive one night.

"Tell me everything."

Ellana burst into awful, embarrassing laughter as Leliana plopped down beside her. The futon in her apartment wasn't all that comfortable but Ellana loved staying there. It always made her feel a bit special - Leliana didn't let just anyone know where she lived, and it was such a cozy surprise to walk through her door and find a place so different from the intimidating image she cultivated at work.

Potted plants - much healthier than the ones that surely must be dead at Ellana's place by now - were scattered across nearly every surface. Much of the decor was handmade, fruits of Leliana's numerous hobbies. There were macrame curtains covering the windows and a crocheted blanket spread across the back of the couch. The main room that comprised Leliana's kitchen, living room, and dining room was faintly illuminated by little, white string lights that hung from the walls.

"I've already told you most of it," Ellana said, carefully scooting back on the thin mattress to give Leliana more room. "And anything I haven't told you … well." She took a sip from her wine glass and shrugged.

"That is so unfair!" Leliana objected with an annoyed sigh. "I listened to you cry about him for weeks."

"I really didn't cry that many -"

"And I pulled you out of that club and took you home when you were making an ass of yourself."

"I really don't remember most of -"

"What was the point if I don't get something in return?"

"Being a good friend?" Ellana offered.

"Not enough," Leliana said with a very serious shake of her head.

"I can tell you about the meeting I had with my literary agent today," she suggested, guessing this might be one of the few things that might actually provide a sufficient distraction.

"Is there an offer already?"

Ellana nodded slowly, having not quite absorbed the news herself. "An advance. From the same publishing house I signed with last time. Apparently the old book sold out all the copies they had left and they ordered a second print run. That, plus the popularity of the article, has them pretty eager to make sure I don't go anywhere else."

"Even with the news out of Tevinter?"

"They're still deciding how they feel about that, apparently," she said, echoing what her agent had told her. "I guess they think a more provocative story could be an interesting angle - Sister Jeanne turned assassin, that kind of thing."

"Maker, what a sequel that would be," Leliana laughed.

"But they're a bit worried, too. They don't want anyone from Tevinter to publish before we can."

"How soon do they want a proposal?"

"Yesterday," Ellana rolled her eyes. "But really, they want it as soon as it's done. I'm already working on it, but obviously it's complicated when we're still sifting through the letters. We're pretty confident the person the Inquisitor was writing to was a high-ranking spy in her organization, so nothing she wrote is straightforward."

Leliana nodded her approval. "You're going to let me edit the proposal before you submit it, aren't you?"

"Let you?" Ellana laughed and took another sip of her wine. "If you're willing, I'd be grateful."

"You should know my motives are entirely selfish. I just want to know more about her."

"She's … not what I expected, honestly," Ellana said. "It looks like her association with the Chantry was pretty limited. Only a year or two, directly. And then a much more informal relationship with the Divine she helped choose - Victoria."

"Who was very controversial, from the little we know of her," Leliana said.

"Yeah … well. She's about to get a lot more controversial. She and the Inquisitor worked together closely, though completely behind the scenes. They were each pushing for reforms for elves and … for some other groups as well. The Divine was able to do it out in the open - lean on the Orlesian court, that sort of thing. But she was also helping the Inquisitor with more covert plans."

"Such as?"

Ellana took a breath before she explained.

"Funding and aiding slave rebellions that were breaking out across Tevinter."

Leliana blinked at her, then made a quick trip to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of wine and refill both their glasses. "Are you absolutely certain?" she asked as she finished pouring for Ellana.

"I will be before I submit the proposal. But, basically, yes."

For the moment, Ellana omitted the more complex details that she and Solas had not yet decided how to explain. The Inquisition had been formally disbanded after only a few years, and yet the Inquisitor herself had a large force at her disposal shortly after the battle Ellana had seen in her memories. The letters made it clear that these were elves once loyal to Fen'Harel, who'd walked away from alienages in the South or escaped their bonds in the North and then risked everything to help others do the same.

The Inquisitor wasted no time after his death. She was issuing letters and orders days after that battle, acting swiftly before his people could disperse. She had a handful of spies within his ranks, as he did within hers, and she somehow convinced (or forced, the language was too vague to be certain) all of them to work together to bring the remaining forces under her control.

They invoked his name frequently, encouraged the use of his symbols, and all the while muddied the truth and made themselves more difficult to track. Their attacks were chaotic by design, a precaution to make it impossible for Tevinter to realize how much coordination was truly happening. Their enemies could not understand if the Dread Wolf was real, nor whether a single person or many held the title. By the time the Radiant War began, the name Fen'Harel was synonymous with rebellion.

"And what has Solas been doing while you've been writing the proposal?" Leliana asked.

"He's been deciphering the letters - figuring out the logic of the vague ones and then actually decoding a few others. We thought at first we'd have to bring in a cryptographer to help but … well, now we don't."

Leliana eyed her curiously. The truth was that Solas had figured out one of the fully encoded letters first. They suspected the cipher had been provided by the spies who once worked for Fen'Harel, since it was only used after the Inquisitor had taken over his forces. It could also explain why Solas had found the code so simple to break - an explanation Ellana hated to consider, no matter how much sense it made. From there, he worked backwards to untangle the ambiguities in the earlier letters. He'd done it all in a little over two weeks while she watched him in awe.

"Is that his?" Leliana pointed at the too large t-shirt Ellana had changed into when they got back to the apartment. She obviously already knew the answer.

"I just grabbed the first clean thing I found in the dryer," Ellana lied.

It had not been in the dryer. It had been in his dresser and she'd packed it specifically because it smelled a little like him and that was horrifyingly sentimental in a way she knew Leliana would find adorable and probably never let her live down.

"I don't believe you," Leliana said, and she was not at all surprised. "So now you need to answer at least one question for me."

"I'm probably not going to do that."

Leliana set her glass on the end table and then held up her hands in front of her. She placed her palms together, and slowly began to move them apart. Ellana nearly snorted wine out her nose.

"Oh come on," she groaned. "How old are you? Stop."

"Stop here? Really?" Leliana hands were a few short inches away from each other. "I'm surprised. That's not how he carries himself in the photos I've seen."

"I am not doing this with you."

"You don't have to say a word. Blink when I get there."

Ellana shut her eyes. "You know I slept with him before we left Boranehnan. It's not like I hadn't …" She flailed her free hand in lieu of finishing the thought.

"That's different. How much do you really see during a one-night stand?"

"Two nights."

"A two-night stand, then."

"Plenty," Ellana admitted.

She could sense Leliana was preparing another salvo of questions when she was saved by her phone buzzing beside her.

"Is that him?" Leliana demanded.

"Yes."

Why was she blushing? There was absolutely no reason for it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"What does he say?"

"Genuinely nothing interesting. He's in Val Royeaux having dinner with Dorian, who apparently didn't make it onto the guest list for the gala. He's just asking if I can talk to the event's organizer about it."

"The gala!" Leliana grinned at the mention of it. "Did Cass tell you she got an invite?"

"She said something about it while I was in the office earlier. Are you going with her?"

"No. I'm covering for her while she's gone. And I might be a bit sad about that if the alternative weren't so interesting."

"What do you mean?" Ellana asked, intrigued.

Leliana lowered her voice to just above a whisper, as if they weren't sitting alone in her apartment. "She's taking Varric."

"Taking him, like … as her date?"

"No, and don't let her hear you say that. She's been very clear that she's doing him a favor - I heard that he practically begged her to go."

When Leliana said things like that, Ellana couldn't help but imagine that she had listening devices planted in every office at the Journal.

"Why does he want to go so badly?"

"He claims it's for research. I don't know what he's working on," Leliana said, anticipating her next question. "But you know Varric. It's probably his next mystery novel."

"Maybe."

Varric had been out on assignment when Ellana visited the office that afternoon, which meant she hadn't had an opportunity to corner him about the Elvhen Glory chapters. She was convinced her instincts were correct, but she still wanted to confront him in person so she could see the look on his face. Varric was too good of a liar - at all times but especially in text - to risk him being able to wiggle his way out of the conversation.

"You're not going to believe this," she began slowly, excited by the sudden realization that she might actually have a piece of gossip Leliana didn't have first. "He definitely shouldn't have told me, but Solas said that Varric and Cass -"

Leliana waved a hand to stop her. "You should not betray his confidence for something I already know."

"Shit!" Ellana slapped a hand down on the mattress and then rushed to steady her wine before it could spill. "Why did everyone know this before me?"

"Because Varric rarely goes a full week without mentioning it."

"Yeah, but I thought he might be lying! Or at least exaggerating a bit."

"That's always a good guess," Leliana nodded, "it just happened to be wrong this time."

Ellana let out an annoyed grunt as she turned her attention back to her phone and tapped out a reply to Solas. Then, the wine or the faint scent of him on the shirt she wore or maybe just the fact that they'd been separated for several hours planted an idea in her head.

"Here," she handed Leliana her glass. "I'll be right back."

"Something important you need to send?" Leliana asked, her eyes focused knowingly on Ellana's phone.

"Just using the restroom if that's alright with you," Ellana snapped as she walked away.

She had only begun to consider her options when Leliana called out to her.

"There's a full length mirror in my room that you're more than welcome to use. The angle will be much more flattering. Just please try not to wake Schmooples!"

Ellana poked her head around the corner, glared at Leliana, then crossed the hall to the faintly nug-scented bedroom and shut the door.

"An embarrassing oversight," Solas said. "The Ministry of Culture should be aware of your work in the Arbor Wilds. You have been modest about your efforts, but I doubt Orlais would have the Inquisitor's portrait at all had you not been there to persuade Alexius."

"I am so rarely accused of modesty I hardly know how to respond!" Dorian smirked as he sat back in his chair. "But if Orlais would like to acknowledge my contributions to its cultural record - particularly since I am currently applying for citizenship here - who am I to complain?"

Dorian returned his focus to the confit de canard he'd ordered. Solas was uncertain how his friend had even managed to get reservations on such short notice. They sat in the restaurant's atrium, beneath a domed roof and surrounded by stained glass windows depicting fields of sunflowers. Solas thought that he should have waited until Ellana could have joined them. She would have loved both the surroundings and the food.

He slipped his phone from his pocket to check if she had replied.

"Ellana has promised to speak with Briala - the curator at Halamshiral in charge of the event," he told Dorian as he read her message. "I would expect an invitation by the end of the day tomorrow."

Dorian laughed loudly in reply and Solas realized he must have sounded as if he were either joking or boasting, neither of which he had intended.

"She does have a unique gift for persuasion, your girl," Dorian said with a grin.

Solas bristled at Ellana being characterized as such, while also wrestling with an equally insistent part of his mind that quite enjoyed the idea.

"I shall have to visit you two after we all make it through this gala business. I admit I'm terribly curious to see the letters you found in Nevarra myself."

"Of course, you'd be welcome. I am not certain how long Ellana will be in Lydes, but -"

"Aren't you?" Dorian regarded him with a smug tilt of his head.

When he didn't immediately reply, Dorian placed his utensils on either side of his plate and shook his head.

"Solas, my friend. From one stubborn bachelor to another, allow me to make an observation. That woman is far more smitten than you are capable of seeing. And you can't see it because you are too smitten to view the situation with anything even approaching objectivity."

Though he was, in the distant recesses of his mind, entirely aware of everything Dorian said, hearing the confirmation from someone else was a balm Solas hadn't quite realized he needed.

"I am obviously aware of her affections -"

"Affections?" Dorian's voice rose and Solas side-eyed the crowded tables surrounding them. "When we met in Vyrantium she was planning your wedding in front of you."

"She was joking. With you."

"She was joking. Until she absolutely wasn't. I know you saw it too."

Solas drummed his fingers across his knee and tried to force the words orange zest and white chocolate buttercream from his thoughts.

"Dorian, I appreciate that you think you're being helpful, but I know her. It's best for me to be cautious. She does not wish to feel as if she is being dragged along by some inescapable tide. She wants to see the shape of her decisions - assess them logically."

"Oh, please," Dorian scoffed and Solas continued on, ignoring him.

"There is nothing logical about insisting she move faster than she is able. It's bad enough that I bought a ring -"

"You bought a ring? Maker's breath!" This time, Dorian was practically yelling and Solas was certain he saw a few heads turn toward their table. "How long has it been?"

"About a month." He would not give Dorian the satisfaction of knowing he could have cited the precise number of days. "Though I bought it before then."

Dorian took a deep drink from his cocktail glass, momentarily stunned.

"I see now I was wrong to think you needed my help, or at least that you needed my help in this way," Dorian said when he recovered. "The two of you are living in a lovely state of delusion and the best I can hope is that you manage to snap out of simultaneously. She'll be fully moved in by the fall and you'll be married by this time next year - and, mind you, those are extremely conservative estimates on my part."

It was extraordinarily unhelpful to hear Dorian saying aloud all the things he wished secretly in his head, particularly when he'd been working very hard to control such impulses.

"I am considering applying to Markham," Solas admitted for the first time to anyone other than himself. "It would be closer to her apartment in Ostwick and her clan in Wycome."

"Well if you're asking for my professional advice …" Solas waved for Dorian to continue, knowing he would do so anyway. "I think it would be very silly to make a move at this point in your career. Lydes has been good to you. You've been good to Lydes. You'll probably end up head of your department as soon as whoever's in charge now decides to retire."

"Perhaps. But Ellana has made it clear she has no desire to live in Orlais."

"Well neither did I and look at me!" Dorian proclaimed loudly. "Dining on Orlesian delicacies in its capital city! Speaking of which, I am going to finish my dinner now, before it gets any colder. And you need to ask her before you do anything stupid."

"Of course I will," Solas grumbled, stabbing a piece of eggplant from his plate.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Solas was caught entirely unprepared for the photo that awaited him. It had been too long since they'd last played such games.

He dropped his fork. It bounced off his plate and then clattered to the ground. He cleared his throat.

Ellana stood in a dimly lit room with her back to a mirror, her upper body twisted so she could look over her shoulder with her phone held near her chin. He couldn't quite make out her eyes - they were downturned, looking into her phone rather than at her reflection. Her lips were pursed mischievously as she studied the image on her screen to ensure it would have the most devastating effect possible.

In her other hand she gripped the bottom of the shirt she wore - was that his shirt? Solas suddenly noticed - and pulled it high enough to expose the side of her breast, a sliver of her torso, and all of her ass. Her legs were just barely open, and he could not determine whether she was truly leaning over slightly or if he simply wanted her to be. Regardless, he could not tear his eyes from her delicate curves, nor the shadowed suggestion between her legs.

He made the mistake of opening his mouth and heard his breath come out in a broken gasp. As he stared down at her image, another message appeared.

Ellana: How's dinner?

"Monsieur?" A waiter hurried over to offer him a new utensil.

"Merci," Solas said absently. He quickly turned his phone over and set it on the tabletop. His cheeks were burning as he adjusted the napkin on his lap.

"Well," Dorian drawled, barely holding back laughter. "I hardly have to guess what that was, do I? Should I give you a moment? Do you need to be excused to … gather your thoughts?"

"No," Solas coolly replied. He took in a long breath through his nose.

"I could hardly blame you if you did. How often do men of our age receive such photos? I speak generally, of course," he clarified. "My unique charms ensure that a number of exquisite specimens are always available on my phone."

"We are not quite so old as you imply, Dorian," Solas said, raising an eyebrow. "And as to your point, you might be surprised to learn this is not an entirely uncommon occurrence for me either."

Dorian guffawed. "And there you have it! Every new thing I learn just confirms what I've already told you. Absolutely smitten, as I said."

"I am not debating the point," he muttered. He grabbed the phone again and Dorian looked delighted.

"Going back for seconds?"

"A reply is warranted."

"Oh, I can only imagine," Dorian said, his eyes widening as if he were scandalized by the idea. He was obviously not.

As Solas typed his response, he realized he'd forgotten that being separated from Ellana did have at least this one enjoyable side benefit.

Solas: Dinner was diverting. How unfortunate that I will have to wait until tomorrow to eat such a tempting dessert.

Solas made the mistake of continuing to text with Ellana while he was on the train back to Lydes, which caused the half-hour ride to feel at least twice as long. By the time he made it back to the house, after jogging down darkened streets in his suit, she'd stopped replying. She had likely dozed off with her phone beside her. He realized with some dismay that he should not send anything else and risk waking her - she would have an early morning to catch the first train back from Denerim.

He paced the kitchen, annoyed Parchment (who clearly resented him for not being asleep in his bed), considered taking a cold shower, and then retreated to the bedroom instead. The thin treatise on cow motifs in Marcher art sat expectantly on the top of the pile of books on his nightstand, but after an hour with its dry prose he found himself no less aware of Ellana's absence.

Solas forced himself to turn off the lights and found his bed suddenly enormous. He stumbled blearily to the sofa where he finally fell into a restless sleep.

Ellana thought Solas looked exhausted when he met her at the station, but it didn't dull the joy she saw on his face. They flew home and made up for lost time as soon as he closed the front door.

It felt like it had been a month since he'd last touched her (which was profoundly stupid - it had actually been a day). She grabbed his hands and dragged them beneath her shirt because what she wanted more than anything was to feel his skin on hers. He smirked as she ripped off his belt with more force than was necessary, then gasped against her hair when she had him free of his trousers a moment later.

In a few short minutes they were naked on his bed, Ellana on her stomach as he kissed his way between her shoulder blades, down her spine, then gripped her ass with both hands and made good on his promise from the night before.

When they were both thoroughly sated, she laid her head on his chest and he spun her hair into little spirals with his finger. He told her about the restaurant where he and Dorian had eaten, and she couldn't wait to visit it with him. She recounted her meetings, and he congratulated her with kisses when she told him about the prospect of an advance.

Later that afternoon, Ellana found Solas sitting at dining table staring intently at the Markham University website on his laptop. She stopped suddenly, struck by an odd instinct that this was precisely what he wanted her to do.

"What are you working on?" she asked, leaning on his shoulders.

"Nothing yet." He said it casually enough but she felt the tension in his back. "I have been periodically checking their open positions."

"Really?" Ellana surprised herself with how much she immediately disliked the idea.

"I am committed to Lydes for the next two semesters, but if I something becomes available, there is a chance I could be in Markham by next fall."

She leaned back against the table beside his laptop so she could see his face. He was entirely serious and, she thought, more than a little nervous.

"You want to leave Lydes? I thought you liked it here."

"It is a much shorter trip to Ostwick from Markham than from Lydes," he said, resting a hand on her knee.

Ostwick? she thought. Over the past few weeks, she'd barely spared a moment to consider her apartment - aside from the occasional guilt she felt about her dying houseplants. But surely he didn't expect her to go back there now?

She'd slept in the same bed for almost a full month. It had been strange at first, accustomed as she was to moving from city to city, one hotel room to the next. But now she loved waking up on her side of the bed every morning, knowing he would be there beside her. She knew his neighbors, and the local shop owners, and everyone who worked at the university labs. She had a favorite coffee cup. She'd filled her phone with pictures of a cat who, at best, tolerated her presence.

"But what about Parchment?" Ellana blurted out the first objection that came to her mind. "I know I read somewhere that cats have a hard time moving, and she's lived here her whole life, hasn't she?"

Solas frowned. "It is kind of you to worry about her, but I'm sure Parchment will adapt."

Ellana nodded too quickly, filled with some irrational sense that she was fighting for her life, while Solas pressed anxious circles into her leg with his thumb.

"I know Markham is a city you enjoy," he said, "and I thought -"

"If I wanted to live in Markham, I'd live in Markham."

It came out much harsher than she'd intended.

"I see," Solas said quietly.

She floundered, feeling like his wonderful house with all its bright windows and colorful paintings was collapsing down on her head. Some part of her mind was still rational enough to tell her he didn't want her to leave, but it was drowned out by the rest screaming that he was dismissing her in the politest way he could manage. She'd tried to be so careful - to only take up space where he had offered it - but maybe even that had been too presumptuous.

But the thought of going back now - of pulling her clothes out of his closet and his drawers, of hearing his voice through a phone rather than a room away, of waking up on her own more often than not - it was more than she could bear. She grabbed his hands, terrified by how the little lines in his brow had turned to deep creases.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

"What I want is to live here. With you."

When he spoke again his voice was so delicate that it made her pulse flutter in her neck.

"You don't want to live in Orlais," he said carefully. "You have been quite clear on that point."

"Well." A nervous chuckle escaped her mouth. "I guess something changed my mind. Like maybe a a few weeks' worth of fresh croissants every morning."

Solas' lips turned upward as if he wanted to laugh with her, but wasn't yet sure if he should do so.

Just fucking say it, she thought, exasperated with herself and remembering what he'd asked of her the first night she spent in his house - to speak her mind, to be honest with him, and to occasionally drop the humor for just long enough to squeeze out the truth.

"Or maybe it wasn't the croissants at all," she said, placing a hand on his cheek.

Close enough, Ellana thought as she was rewarded with the lovely sound of his laughter and the feel of his hands on her waist as he pulled her down into his lap. The breath he had been holding ghosted across her lips when he finally exhaled and then caught her in a kiss.

"You nearly managed it without joking," he said with that annoying trick he had of following her thoughts.

"'Nearly' is probably too generous," she admitted. "But you'll just have to get used to it. We're roommates now."

"Roommates?" Solas arched an eyebrow. "How quickly I've been demoted."

"Honestly, I'm shocked you're letting me stay, given Parchment's feelings about me." Ellana glanced over her shoulder at the cat, who was sitting by the back door with what she interpreted as a distinctly judgmental expression.

"Parchment will adapt, as I said." He brushed her hair behind her ear and turned her gaze back to his. "This is your home as much as mine. It was incomplete without you here."

She hadn't quite allowed herself to see it before now. But as she remembered how relieved she'd felt to step through the door again after only a day away, as she considered how he'd rearranged his kitchen cabinets so everything she needed was now on shelves she could reach, as she thought of the life he'd made here and how easy it had been to become a part of it, she knew it was true.

Chapter Text

"Ellana!"

She sprinted toward the bedroom, certain that either Solas or Parchment must be injured judging from the urgency in his voice.

"What is it? What happened?" Ellana asked as she swung wildly around the door frame.

"Have you seen my cufflinks?"

Solas looked truly distressed as he dug through his closet, pulling out shirt after shirt and tossing them on the bed. She stared at him, quickly adjusting her understanding of just how dire the situation was.

"The way you yelled, I thought it was something serious."

He raised his eyebrows, an expression that looked a bit like betrayal settling on his face.

"Sorry. Sorry." She waved her hands in an apology. "Which pair of cufflinks?"

Ridiculous question to have to ask, she thought, wondering exactly what the version of her who'd first met him a few months ago would think of her current situation. She might kill me, Ellana realized.

"The gold squares. I know I saw them only a few days ago and now …" Solas threw up his hands in frustration.

"Did you maybe wear them when we were in Val Royeaux on Tuesday night?"

They'd been summoned to the capital city for a tense, after-hours meeting at the Archives Nationales with a handful of administrators who were adamant that the Inquisitor's letters should immediately be put into their care (and, therefore, into the possession of the Orlesian government). Ellana sat in furious silence, digging her nails into her leg, as she let Solas respond to their questions with an impressive arsenal of non-answers.

In the end, they'd agreed to make the digital scans of the letters available to the Archives - though they'd neglected to specify when precisely they would do so and the people they'd met with hadn't thought to insist on a deadline.

Briala was waiting for them on the front steps of the Archives when they emerged. She was in town trying to calm a few nervous gala invitees - particularly the ones with deep pockets who the museum at Halamshiral counted on to add to its endowment each year. She stopped them only long enough to deliver the news that had been the bane of Ellana's existence for the past several days. Briala asked her to prepare a short speech for the unveiling of the Inquisitor's portrait.

Ellana had agreed. What other option did she really have, given how charged the subject of the Inquisitor had become over just a few short weeks? Nevermind that she was also trying to finish the book proposal, incorporating both the section Solas had written on their Vyrantium research as well as his and Leliana's edits to the initial drafts she'd given them. Why not add to all of that a speech that would need to be carefully crafted not to piss off any Orlesian politicians, but also didn't give them room to claim Inquisitor Lavellan any more than they already had?

Sure, Ellana had thought when Briala asked. Why the fuck not?

Solas was nodding slowly, obviously recounting the trip just as she was. "I think that's right," he said, finally. "I must have worn them then."

Their final stop in Val Royeaux had been a dinner that was, thankfully, just the two of them. The food was excellent - truly the only good excuse for moving to Orlais if she hadn't also been stupid in love with someone who lived there. A quiet moment for themselves after such a stressful evening had soothed Ellana's temper somewhat. And Solas, as usual, offered a welcome distraction.

She'd never had much patience for romantic nicknames, and she had a feeling Solas had guessed this from the way he was sprinkling little epithets too casually into conversations - almost like he was daring her to voice an objection. Lately he'd been experimenting with calling her my love - and Ellana truly believed it was an experiment on his part, one that he conducted more frequently when he was sleepy or had been drinking. Given the late hour and the wine they ordered, their dinner had been filled with such endearments.

Ellana found the entire idea hilarious and stiffly formal - but also, unfortunately, extremely romantic in a way that made her want to drag him out of the restaurant by his tie. She held back, making her feelings known with a tolerant smirk each time he let a my love fall from his lips, knowing she had a train ride and a walk back to the house before she could do much else about it.

"Then, after we arrived home …" Solas trailed off as he remembered what had happened next.

After they'd arrived home, Ellana had dragged him by his tie, all the way from the front door to the spare room, which they had recently begun to refer to as …

"The office," they said simultaneously.

"I'll get them," she offered.

Now that Ellana had fully moved out of her apartment, they'd added a few pieces of furniture to the spare room to make it more usable for both of them. They'd found a secondhand desk and positioned it beside Solas' easel, facing out the back windows. It was ideal for her to look out into the garden while she worked but also a perfect birdwatching perch for Parchment, which meant the cat now spent much of her day sitting on top of Ellana's closed laptop. Every time she passed the door and saw the cat napping there, it felt a little like a reprimand for not actively working on her draft.

To fill the last empty corner of the room, they'd purchased an enormous armchair that they could just barely occupy at the same time - and that was precisely what they'd been doing after they returned from Val Royeaux. Ellana had removed Solas' cufflinks and set them on the nearest bookshelf before she'd returned to the more important work of removing everything else he was wearing. They were precisely where she'd left them.

She hurried back to the bedroom.

"Here," she said, dropping them into Solas' waiting hand. "Now what are you actually pissed about, because this whole thing -" she gestured at the discarded shirts on the bed, "- can't just be about missing cufflinks."

"No. It's also about that." He pointed angrily at his phone, which was also sitting on the bed.

"You didn't install an app by mistake again, did you? You have to be careful where you click on those ads."

"No," he said with a withering look, as if it were an unreasonable thing for her to ask when he'd done exactly that a few days ago. "I just received two concerning emails. The first was from the Halamshiral trust saying there will be a 'surprise announcement' at the gala."

"Well I hate that," Ellana said. "And it seems like something Briala would have mentioned when we saw her."

"If she were aware of it."

"So what do you think it is?"

"I think it may be related to the second email I received."

The angry crease in his brow suddenly faded and was replaced by something much more hesitant.

"Why are you making that face?" she asked. "Now you've got me nervous."

"The university's Research Director informed me that I am to provide the digital copies of the Inquisitor's letters to the Archives Nationale by the end of business on Monday."

He sat on the edge of the bed, irritably crossing his arms over his chest.

"I guess it was inevitable they'd force a deadline on us at some point," Ellana said with more calm than she felt. "But why is it coming from your university?"

"Because it receives public funding. Thus, the Ministry of Culture has substantial leverage with which to influence its administration. And as the letters were examined using university resources and personnel, it is within the university's purview to decide when to turn over the results of that research."

"Why now?" Ellana began to pace back and forth at the foot of the bed. "Is this just because they're mad we didn't immediately agree to hand everything over after that meeting? What's suddenly so important that they can't wait?"

"There was some allusion to diplomatic efforts between Orlais and Tevinter."

"Diplomatic efforts?" she scoffed. "The Inquisitor is a historical curiosity, not a trade agreement. Why the hell do they care so much about her?"

"Had I to guess, I would say Orlais cares about the letters because Tevinter is forcing the issue. You have already seen how desperate they are to maintain their fragile relationship."

She nodded reluctantly, remembering how little support Orlais had offered Solas in the Arbor Wilds. Then, a much worse possibility occurred to her.

"Wait - you don't think the gala announcement is something about the letters, do you? Maybe Orlais trying to force our hand, claiming they'll be displayed along with the portrait?"

Solas shook his head. "It would be an enormous gamble to announce something like that when they are not actually in possession of items in question."

"Exactly!" Ellana said, now making an increasingly tight and frenzied loop around the room. "If they pull something like that, I'll just throw out my stupid speech and yell 'fuck Orlais' at the top of my lungs instead."

His lips twitched a bit, as if he were fighting back a laugh that he knew would only encourage her. "While that would certainly make for a provocative scene, it is perhaps worth remembering that you are currently living within Orlesian jurisdiction."

"But I'm a Dalish citizen. That makes things a lot messier for them."

"A loophole not available to everyone," he countered, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll be fine." Ellana rolled her eyes at what struck her as an obvious non-issue. "You'll get -"

She abruptly shut her mouth as she came to a halt. You'll get Dalish citizenship through me when we're married, was how that sentence was going to end.

"… through it," she finished flatly. Solas eyed her like she was crazy which was, admittedly, sort of fair.

"What a rousing vote of confidence," Solas deadpanned. "Truly, all my concerns are alleviated."

Ellana fought the urge to tackle him.

"There are other potential ramifications you have not considered. It has been some time since I last reviewed Orlesian law regarding the seizure of personal assets in the interest of maintaining -"

"Excuse me? Seizure of personal assets? They can fucking try!" She could hear herself getting louder. "Do you have any idea how much shit that would cause? Dalish clans don't let these things go easily, especially not when we have our own facilities to study them."

"Yes. I recall your opinions on the subject."

Ellana frowned at him, remembering too clearly his grip on her wrist the first time they'd met. She plopped down angrily beside him on the bed, accidentally landing on one of his discarded shirts. Good, she thought with spiteful satisfaction. Hopefully she'd wrinkled it badly enough that he'd insist he had to iron it before wearing it.

"As soon as I see Merrill, I'm giving her the letters," she decided. "I'll say it's a donation, and she can accept them on the Markham archive's behalf. Then, if Orlais wants them, they won't be fighting with an individual, they'll be trying to steal them from a Dalish-run facility. Surely they won't want to risk those optics, no matter how hard Tevinter leans on them?"

Solas nodded thoughtfully. "It would also bring the Free Marches into the dispute, which - if nothing else - would slow any negotiations considerably. Three separate nations, in addition to your clan and the Dalish governing body that oversees the archive? It would be a bureaucratic knot that would take years to untangle."

"You're going to have to give them the scans, though," Ellana begrudgingly admitted. "They're on your university's server. Even if we could delete them, it would be completely obvious who'd done it. We're the only ones who have something to gain from those scans disappearing, and I wouldn't have the slightest clue how to hide my tracks."

An odd expression crossed his face then, like he was halfway to forming a plan. She had no idea what he might be considering - he certainly wasn't any better equipped to do something complicated with technology than she was. But the last time she'd seen that particular spark in his eyes, she found herself jumping off a moving train a few minutes later.

Ellana interrupted his scheming before he could convince her to do something else vaguely illegal and definitely dangerous.

"I have to get that proposal submitted to the publisher. I was planning to finish it early next week, after we get through the gala, but I don't think I should wait. Do you have that last letter for me yet?"

The scowl on Solas' face answered her question. For some reason, he'd been putting off deciphering the Inquisitor's final letter. It was extremely unlike him to procrastinate about this sort of thing - Ellana had barely been able to drag him away from the letters to eat and sleep when he first started working on them. But he seemed to have some irrational aversion to this last one.

"I don't want to send the proposal without it, Solas. And I definitely don't want Orlais getting a scan of it when we don't even know what it says."

"I understand," he replied, making an obvious effort not to sound too defensive. "I can take a look at it as soon as I clean up here."

"Go now," she countered with a kiss on his cheek. "I'll put everything away. I need to call Merrill anyway and give her a heads up."

Solas reluctantly retreated toward the office, all but dragging his feet as he left the room. Ellana realized too late that saying she'd clean up his shirts meant she'd just volunteered to iron out the wrinkles she'd created. She pushed herself up with an annoyed sigh and got to work.

More than an hour later, he still wasn't finished. Ellana went for a quick jog in the scorching late afternoon heat, hoping to sweat out some of her frustration. She took a shower when she returned to the house, and was already dressed and squeezing the water from her hair when she suddenly heard Solas call out again.

"Ellana!"

This time she knew something was wrong. She followed his voice to the office, where she found him already rising from his desk.

"We have a problem."

Charter,

I agree there is a need for a consistent narrative now that treaties have been signed. My preference is simple: leave his name out of it. Use Fen'Harel as much as you want, in all the ways we already have and more if necessary.

I can hear your objection. Was Fen'Harel not his name as well? But the answer is simply, no. He only ever had one name - the one he gave us.

It is my fault for not being clearer about this. For too long I was also guilty of thinking of him as someone else, a different person entirely than the one who worked beside us all those years ago. But I think, given what he sacrificed, the least we can do is to call him by the name he chose for himself.

Anyone who does not already know his story will be incapable of understanding it in a few generations, perhaps sooner. Already the Veil is so strong that I struggle to summon a flame small enough to light a candle. I suspect even this will be impossible by the end of the year.

This will be my final letter to you. I am leaving in the morning to return to what is left of my clan and to help them however I can for as long as they will have me.

Please convey my wishes to the Divine. If she disagrees, would you make one additional, personal appeal on my behalf? Remind her that his death provided the catalyst that tipped the scales against Tevinter. Remind her that I was there to see it.

The world has the symbol. Leave me the man. Leave me Solas.

Yours,

Inquisitor Lavellan

Ellana sat dumbfounded in Solas' desk chair, grasping the ends of her hair in her towel so she wouldn't drip onto the notepad where he'd deciphered the Inquisitor's coded words.

"Why would she …" she started, then became distracted looking between the scan of the letter on Solas' laptop screen and his notes. It was bizarrely disorienting to read something she knew she hadn't written and yet felt eerily like she might have - and stranger still to see the words transposed into his careful script. "She wrote your name?"

"Well, not my name. Not exactly."

"No, right. I just …" She turned away so she wouldn't have to deal with the letter any longer and found that Solas looked every bit as stricken as she felt. "Are you alright?" she asked, unnerved by the possibility that he wasn't.

"Yes," he said immediately, though it didn't seem true. "I - of course I believed you when you told me he shared my name, but seeing the evidence of it is …"

"Completely fucking awful?" Ellana suggested.

"Disquieting, at least."

"It's completely fucking awful," she mumbled as she briefly leaned her head against his stomach, leaving a damp spot on his shirt when she pulled away. "No one else can see this letter," she said at the exact moment she realized it was true.

"I agree. It is already challenging for some to accept your similarities to the Inquisitor. If they should learn that a person with my name was also a major figure leading up to the Radiant War -"

"It would seem ridiculous. Like we somehow made it all up," Ellana finished. "We'll lose all credibility, and Alexius could say whatever he wanted about the Inquisitor. He could dispute the authenticity of anything we tried to publish. He could even claim the portrait isn't real - that something wasn't handled correctly at the dig site. I'm sure he'd be happy to blame Dorian for it."

"Breathe," Solas said, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder.

She hadn't realized just how much she was spiraling until he stopped her.

"I am," she said - and she was, but barely. "But what are we going to do? I can pull this letter from the originals I give Merrill, but what about the scan?"

"Why can we not simply delete this specific file? If we are leaving the others, it could go unnoticed."

Ellana rubbed her temple, taking in a few deep breaths as she prepared herself to explain to the best of her ability, but also as simply as she could.

"Those scans are on the university's server, which probably backs itself up every so often. Even if we delete the file, there could still be a backup copy that someone could restore. The system might also keep logs of what changes are made and by whom. And since we only have your login, it would be traced right back to you."

"I understand," Solas said. "And there is no way to circumvent either of these issues?"

"There probably is, but I wouldn't know where to start. And those are just the things I know about - I'm sure there must be plenty of other ways it could be tracked."

He was getting that look on his face again - the train jumping one. Ellana eyed him nervously.

"It has been some time since we last spoke, but I know someone who might be willing to help," Solas said.

"You do?" He nodded, and Ellana did her best to set aside the intense curiosity that was itching at her brain, at least until after more important questions were answered. "Do you trust this person?"

"Yes. Well - it varies. But he would never decline an opportunity to obstruct the Orlesian and Tevinter states simultaneously."

She could feel her mouth hanging open but there wasn't much she could do to stop it. If Solas didn't offer some explanations soon, the questions were going come pouring out of her mouth whether she wanted them to or not. He must have recognized this, because he grabbed his phone from his pocket and held up his other hand to stop her.

"Allow me to make the call first, before we lose any more time. Then, I promise I will explain."

He went out into the garden and Ellana moved to the armchair, watching as he paced back and forth across the patio with his phone to his ear. She absently ran her towel over her hair and leaned back in the seat. Parchment hopped up beside her, staking her claim on one of the arms.

Ellana knew she was being even nosier than usual, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene outside. She and Parchment watched Solas flail his free hand as he spoke - sometimes very forcefully - into his phone. Occasionally he'd pause, moving his hand to his forehead or sometimes his waist, like he needed more concentration than was possible while also wandering around. He continued on for at least fifteen minutes, until the sun had set and the string lights flickered to life.

When he finally hung up and came back into the office, Ellana didn't bother to pretend she'd done anything other than stare at him. Even Parchment twisted her head to follow his movements as he collapsed into his desk chair. He looked every bit as exhausted as if he'd just run a marathon.

"That seemed … bad," Ellana observed. "I take it he said no?"

"What?" Solas looked over at her. "He said yes. He's going to help."

"Oh. Well then, what was all the arguing about?"

"Praxis," he cryptically replied. "The same debate we've been having for the past twenty years."

Twenty years? Immediately, Ellana recalled the scattered photos on the bedroom floor the first night she'd come to Lydes - and one in particular of a man with his arm around Solas' shoulders while he laughed in his face.

"It's not -" she began, before Solas cut her off.

"His name is Felassan, and I will explain the rest on the way."

Chapter Text

Ellana sat in the university's darkened lab, the only illumination provided by the computer monitor in front of her. She glanced around nervously, spotting Solas' silhouette through the window on the door. It wasn't unheard of for faculty to be on campus this late, though it was certainly unusual when classes weren't in session. They didn't want to risk being remembered by a security guard just in case any part of their plan went wrong, so Solas had reluctantly agreed to keep a lookout.

And that decision left her alone with -

"Not much longer now," said the voice coming from the single earphone she wore.

Felassan had insisted that Ellana should be the one to get him onto the university's network - a condition which baffled her at first. Solas explained with barely concealed irritation that Felassan was confident Ellana - a person he'd never met and knew little about - would be better suited to the task than he was.

Solas had given her his network login - which was an unnecessarily complicated process because what he'd actually given her was a piece of paper with complete nonsense written on it. At first he'd insisted it was shorthand, but Ellana, who knew shorthand, informed him that his strange mixture of triangles and curlicues was absolutely not that. He clarified that it was his own shorthand, something he'd come up with in his early teens and had used ever since. He made an effort to teach it to her, but it was far too complicated to absorb in the few minutes they spent at the house before walking up to campus. In the end, she simply memorized his password and watched as Solas shredded the paper on which he'd written it into tiny pieces.

By the time they arrived at the lab, Ellana had a hunch she could find a better option anyway. She'd made a quick circuit of the room and found what she was looking for at only the third desk she checked - a yellow sticky note, hidden below its owner's keyboard, with a complete set of login credentials.

She had a feeling Solas might disapprove - not of finding a way to divert suspicion from him, but maybe of sacrificing one of his coworkers to do it - so she decided she wouldn't tell him. She did tell Felassan, however, as soon as he answered the phone and they'd made their initial introductions. He laughed approvingly and then gave her the address of a website to use so he could remotely access the lab computer.

She worried they'd hit a snag when a prompt popped up on the screen, asking for an administrative password, but Felassan easily shrugged it off. "Already have it," he said happily as the box disappeared.

"Do I want to know how you got your hands on that?" Ellana asked.

"I don't know. Do you?"

She didn't reply, because the truth was she was very curious to know why exactly Felassan had an admin password for the university's network, but she also thought maintaining some plausible deniability just in case this whole thing blew up in their faces was a pretty good idea. She watched as he worked - the only real evidence of him a cursor floating across the screen in front of her, and the occasional sound of typing coming over the call as she saw commands and file paths appear too fast for her to follow.

"You are much quieter than I would have guessed, given how personable you are in your interviews," he said.

"Well that's not really me," Ellana answered honestly. "That's just the version of me that exists to survive those interviews."

He hummed thoughtfully. "That can be helpful, but only to a point. It's a dangerous thing, walking among the fools. It's so easy to match their expectations that you might never grow beyond them - like a goldfish that stays precisely the same size as the bowl it's offered. Ask Solas about that sometime."

She fell silent at the obvious insult, not entirely able to gauge whether any of it was a joke. His tone was noticeably darker and yet a strange lilt of humor still lingered in his voice.

"Speaking of," Felassan said, just as suddenly returning to his earlier cheerfulness. "You must have some questions about our mutual friend."

"About a thousand of them," she replied, curiosity easily surpassing caution. "Probably not many you can answer quickly, though."

"Ask me anyway."

"Where did you two meet?"

"At a rally. Well. Technically, a little while after a rally. The police had arrived. Polite words were exchanged, then some less polite words, then some blows. Solas ran and I took off after him. He rounded a corner, I followed a few seconds after, and he punched me square in the jaw. I dropped like a stone. He'd heard my footsteps behind him and assumed I was police. I respected his instincts to strike first."

I'm never going to see him punch anyone, Ellana thought miserably.

"Anything else?"

"Uh … tell me about a time he did something embarrassing."

Felassan scoffed. "Ask me to pluck a single grain of sand from the beach. It would be an easier task."

Ellana burst into laughter before she could throw a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. She twisted in her seat and saw Solas now peering through the door's window at her. She quickly shook her head to assure him that everything was absolutely, completely fine.

"Fair," she said as she turned back to the screen. "But give me one story. The first that comes to mind."

There was a pause, but a very short one.

"We had a few … let's call them improvised devises. Just a bottle filled with a bit of alcohol. He was wearing this enormous, ratty sweater - the sleeves went past his wrists and he'd cut holes for his thumbs to stick out. I told him those sleeves would be a problem but of course he didn't listen. The flames were all the way up to his elbow when I tackled him to the ground and put him out."

"What were you trying to set on -"

"Mythal's bosom!" Felassan exclaimed, throwing off her entire train of thought. "This university hardly has any security to speak of! Are you seeing this? I'm in their payroll files now."

"What the hell are you doing in there?" she asked, leaning closer to the monitor.

"Just seeing if I could get access. And I could! Wouldn't this be interesting to publish, though?"

"Maybe stick to deleting the one file, please." She heard a disappointed sigh from his side of the call. "Are you Dalish?" she asked, still wrapping her head around his outburst.

"Not like you are. I'm a few generations removed from family who lived with a clan. But the curses are an excellent legacy, so I've held onto them."

"Sure, but - just so you know, I've never heard anyone under the age of 70 say that. Everyone says 'Mythal's tits' these days."

"Interesting. But I like mine better. It rolls off the tongue nicely. Much as I imagine Mythal's -"

"OK. Are you done? Because it sort of feels like you're just dicking around now."

"Oh, I've been done since I said it wouldn't take much longer."

Ellana wrested control of the cursor away from Felassan and ended the remote session. "Are you sure you got everything?" she demanded.

"What little there was, I got."

"You didn't make any copies of anything to keep for yourself, right?"

"Who? Me?"

Ellana made a mental note to talk to Solas about never saving anything the slightest bit sensitive to the university's system. "Alright," she said. "Thanks for your help."

"Gratitude? Well that's a bit unexpected, thought not unappreciated. Maybe you're not quite as similar to him as I thought."

Again Ellana was unable to determine whether this was a joke, an insult, or a very deliberate combination of the two. Whatever it was, she certainly didn't think she and Solas were all that similar.

"It's been a pleasure," Felassan continued. "Hopefully we'll have a chance to meet in person one day."

"I think I'd like that," she agreed, if for no other reason than maybe she'd have a better chance of figuring out what he was thinking when she could actually see his face.

"Oh! Ellana? Two more things: You should ask him about that night at the club in Geltberg. He'll know exactly what you mean. Then, tell him I'll be in touch when I need a favor. And that I said that last bit very ominously."

He ended the call before she could reply. She stared down at her phone, suddenly furious with herself that she hadn't thought of better questions.

Solas froze as a beam of light cut across the opposite end of the hallway from where he stood. Someone was shining a flashlight through the exterior door and, while it was not yet pointing in his direction, it could be soon enough if they decided to come inside. He slipped into the lab, holding the door so it shut silently behind him. Ellana peered up at him, her face lit by the screen in front of her.

"Turn that off," he whispered.

"I am." She pressed a finger to the monitor's power button just after the screen displayed a Shutting Down message. "We're finished. What's wrong?"

They both went still as the sound of a door opening in the distance echoed down the brick walls outside the lab.

Solas grabbed Ellana's hand and pulled her toward the tiny storage closet at the back of the room. He went in first, pressing his back up against the shelves, and she followed after him. There was not enough room for them to stand side by side, and so he found himself in the unfortunate position of having her back flush against his chest as she struggled to pull the door completely closed.

"Back up," she hissed through her teeth as she gripped the door's handle and slammed her hips against him.

"I have nowhere to go."

She yanked the handle once more and it finally latched into place, leaving Solas with his back pinched against the shelves and Ellana squashed between him and the door. A metal chain hanging from the light bulb above slapped the side of his head a few times before coming to rest against his cheek.

Solas attempted to adjust his position but only succeeded in shoving something with his elbow that knocked loudly against the back wall of the closet. At the same moment, he heard the door into the lab swing open. A beam of light swept beneath the the small crack at the base of the closet door, then continued on.

Ellana stopped breathing - he knew because he could no longer feel her movement against his chest. His hands came to rest on her hips - a natural place to put them, he assured himself, with such limited space - and Ellana flattened her palms against the door. This was a problem. It introduced too many images - some memories and others vague ideas that did not need to be granted additional clarity at this precise moment.

He tilted his head up to look at the ceiling, trying to make his mind go blank. But as they waited in silence for several long moments, he could feel that it was not working.

Ellana twisted her neck so she could just barely see him out of the corner of her eye. Are you kidding me? he could practically hear her saying as she tilted her head and glared at him.

It is an involuntary, physiological reaction, he tried to convey with an equally exasperated frown. She rolled her eyes before facing forward again.

The light swept past the bottom of the closet door a second time but mercifully did not linger. After another tense minute, they heard the door that led out into the hallway open and then close again. They waited a while longer, until Ellana slowly twisted the handle and eased the door open only a sliver so she could peek out.

Solas felt her body relax before he heard her whisper, "We're clear."

She threw open the door the rest of the way and together they spilled out into the cluster of desks and equipment.

"Are you kidding me?!" she said as she rounded on him.

"It is an involuntary, physiological reaction!" he snapped back.

A moment later he had her reclined on a desk, her back against a monitor that was leaning dangerously toward the wall and her ass rolling over a keyboard that made horrific crunching noises each time she moved, all while she worked furiously at his belt.

"No!" Ellana threw her hands in the air and Solas groaned. "No," she said again. "We have to get out of here before we get stuck in that fucking closet again. Let's go back to the house."

"I have a better idea," he said, stupidly.

"No, Solas, you don't. What could be a better idea than going home and getting in bed?"

Ten minutes later, after a covert flight across the campus, ducking into the shadows between buildings and then making an exhausting climb up three flights of stairs, Solas unlocked the door to his office.

"You were right," Ellana said. "This is better."

Solas had just enough time to lock the door before she dragged him deeper in to the room.

"Better … but still stupid," she clarified in the brief moments her mouth wasn't on his. "The whole point … was not to be seen on campus tonight - ah!" She gasped as he ran his hands up her sides and took her shirt up over her head.

"We won't be seen. The light is off, the door is locked, and the guards are rarely willing to make the climb to this floor."

"Speaking from experience?"

"If you mean the experience of occasionally working late hours, then yes."

She focused her attention on his belt again and, tempting as it was to assist her and hasten the process, it was far too intriguing to watch her fingers at work.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, and he caught a flash of her teeth as she smirked at him. "Maybe it's just me, but I think if we had sex in my office at the Journal, it would be impossible for me to ever get any work done in there again."

"The damage is already done," he admitted. "I spent most of the spring semester imaging you spread across this desk, or bent over it, or beneath it."

"Hmm." Her lips twisted as she fought back a smile. "I have something a little different in mind."

"Does it require putting your clothes back on?" he asked at the precise moment he slid her shorts down her legs.

"No, it -"

"As much as I enjoy removing them, I would prefer if they stay off."

Ellana pressed a hand to his chest and slowly eased him away from her.

"It involves you being a little quieter."

"Quieter?" He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you enjoyed -"

"Oh, I do," she cut him off. "But I wouldn't want you to forget that your mouth has other uses."

She took a few steps back until she was against the front of his desk, then lifted herself up onto it and crossed one leg over the other. This image - Ellana perched in nothing but her underwear, leaning slightly forward as she gripped the desk's edge and issued a challenge with her eyes - was not one of the many he had previously considered. But combined with the echo of her words, it was a scene that was certain to provide a new and troublesome distraction for him when the fall semester began.

"What would you have me do?" Solas asked.

She smiled sweetly before she replied.

"Take everything off."

This was also not as he had anticipated. His daydreams, spurred by the texts and images she always managed to send at the least opportune moments, had always taken the shape of something swift and mostly clothed. He stripped out of what he was wearing as quickly as he could, his goal efficiency rather than enticement, though Ellana offered appreciative hums with each new bit of skin he exposed.

"Good," she said when he was done. "Have a seat."

She tilted her head toward the chair behind his desk. It was an austere thing, wood with no cushions to soften it. He'd chosen it not for comfort but focus - a way to keep his attention on his work. In most circumstances, it managed the job well enough.

Solas crossed the room and eased himself down into the chair, his pulse accelerating as he realized she had followed. She leaned over him until her eyes were even with his, then took each of his hands in her own.

"Keep them here." She angled his arms behind him and curled his fingers around the slats on the back of the chair. "Not quite tying you to the bed, I guess, but it'll have to do for now."

He let his gaze drop to her breasts as he found himself suddenly and mystifyingly unable to meet her eyes. Heat rose in his face and chest so urgently he felt feverish, nearly lightheaded. He mentally searched the contents of his desk - might he have left an extra necktie here? Should he ask her to look for it?

"Solas."

She pinched his chin softly between her thumb and index finger, tilting his head back as she dragged his gaze to her face.

"Whatever it is you're thinking so hard about right now, you don't need to. You can relax. I'll tell you exactly what to do."

He gave her a shallow nod, struggling to disguise the way his breath trembled as he exhaled. Relaxation was not precisely his goal, nor would it have been achievable. But the rest of what she proposed - a sort of deliberate emptiness, a quieting of not only his voice but his thoughts as well - he had been waiting for her to offer something like this. From her amused expression, he suspected she knew.

"Do you remember," Ellana said, her touch light as she moved her fingers from his chin to his lips, "in Hunter Fell when you tried to pull these down with your teeth?"

She hooked a thumb into the waistband of her underwear, then let it snap back against her skin. He nodded, and tightened his grip on the chair as his lips grew ticklish - she was tracing the shape of his mouth with her fingertips.

"I think you should try it again. It should be a lot easier this time, since we haven't been running around in the rain."

"And yet I imagine they will be soaked regardless."

Two of her fingers were in his mouth before he realized what had happened, pushing past his teeth and over his tongue.

"Quiet. Remember?" she asked with a gentle sympathy that made him want to beg her for a third, even as he struggled to take in air through his nose.

The muscles in his abdomen flexed suddenly as a sticky bead of fluid dripped below his navel. He saw Ellana's eyes slide down and for an agonizing moment, he thought she would offer him some relief - dip her head down, slide her tongue up his length and lick him clean. Instead, she looked up at him again and stroked his jaw with her thumb.

"Ready to give it a try?" she asked.

He nodded slowly, the movement difficult until she withdrew her fingers. He took in a few deep gasps of air as she turned her hip toward him and rested a hand on his shoulder for balance.

It was not the angle he would have chosen, had he a say in the matter. While it would be easier to grip the fabric where it cut across her hips, what he wanted was an excuse to run his nose through the curls between her legs or scrape his teeth along the soft skin of her backside. Instead she'd given him a much more straightforward path that was, somehow, more frustrating. The only real challenge was keeping his hands locked on the chair behind him as he bent forward at the waist to reach her.

He made quick work of slipping one leg of her underwear off her hip. She took a step away from him before turning to offer him the other side - as if she knew he'd hoped to press an illicit kiss to her stomach had she been close enough. The second leg was easier than the first, and he barely had enough time to appreciate the odd sensation of fabric between his teeth before her underwear slid down her thighs and fell to the ground.

"Good," she said.

The only light in the room was that which spilled through the small gaps in the blinds that covered the window. But in the dim glow he could just make out her underwear where they'd landed between her feet, and the proof of her arousal glistening on them. As he raised his gaze higher, he found a similar sight smeared across her inner thighs.

Solas looked up at her face triumphantly, shouting the accuracy of his prediction with his eyes rather than his voice. Ellana showed no acknowledgment that he'd been correct, but instead stroked a finger up the length of his earlobe. The sudden touch left him moaning as he leaned into her hand - a reaction which might have undermined his position somewhat.

Ellana smiled knowingly. "Lucky for you, I won't count those noises as speaking." She turned her back to him and glanced over her shoulder. "We'll try something a little harder this time. Do you think you can do the same thing with my bra?"

Solas blinked at her. It seemed unlikely - unclasping the hooks of her bra with his mouth. But the way she'd taken a step toward him, the way she was hovering - he suspected that she intended to sit on his lap while he tried.

He nodded vigorously.

Ellana carefully lowered herself over his legs. He was unprepared when she caught his cock in her hand, his breath hitching as she guided it between her thighs - not so he could slip inside her but close enough that he could feel her warmth sliding over him with any small movement she made. He kept his hands behind him only by reminding himself - constantly - that she'd told him to do so.

She settled her weight on his legs, swept her hair off her back so it hung down her chest, and rested her hands near his knees. "Whenever you're ready," she said, as if this task should be even simpler than the last.

It was not possible, Solas knew after only his first attempt. The angle was strange, even when she leaned forward to help him. His grip on the strap was almost always inadequate, and even when he felt like he'd gotten that much correct, no matter what direction he pulled the hooks did not seem to move at all. His neck was sore and his stomach as well from the constant clench of his muscles as he moved. And all of this was before she began to touch him.

He stilled for only a moment when she slipped her hand between her thighs to push on the underside of his cock, pressing the head up against her clit. "You haven't given up already, have you?" she asked as she rocked her hips slowly forward.

Solas had, absolutely, determined it was a lost cause but was not eager to admit defeat, nor did he want to do so if it meant she might stop what she was doing. He continued, but with half-hearted efforts that mostly involved drawing his mouth lazily over her back, the only point of contact between them that remained within his control. The part of his mind normally so adept at problem solving was now otherwise occupied - enthralled entirely by the sensation of Ellana using his cock to pleasure herself.

He adjusted his hips minutely - the smallest movements he could risk without her realizing - in the hope that she would slide too far forward and accidentally guide him directly inside of her. What would happen then? he allowed himself to wonder. Would she pull away immediately? Or would she sink down onto him, take him in completely, allow him to thrust into her? Could he wrap his arm around her waist and lift her the short distance to his desk, bend her forward and feel the tight clench of her around his cock as she came?

Oh, he realized nearly too late. He was close.

Solas redoubled his efforts on her bra, certain it was a frustrating enough task that it should bring him back from his peak. He caught the clasp in his teeth and yanked his head to the side as hard as he could. Something ripped, Ellana swayed precariously in his lap, and she clamped her hands down on his knees to catch herself.

"It's not happening, is it?" she asked

He placed his forehead between her shoulder blades so she could feel it when he shook his head no.

Ellana sighed in disappointment, then reached behind her back, unhooked the clasp, and let the bra join her underwear at her feet. "You could have given up sooner."

He shook his head no against her back again.

She stood up all at once and he gasped at the sudden rush of cool air against his skin where her body had been a second before. She was smiling as she turned to face him, a finger pressed below his jaw to tilt his head all the way back. He stared up at her as she stepped between his knees.

"You've done such a good job staying quiet."

It was difficult to swallow with his throat stretched taut, but he tried. Again he felt the irrational urge to look away. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her eyes when they were like this - soft with affection but curled in amusement, and so terribly dark. But her words caught him in his chest, then lower, and it seemed a poor expression of gratitude to look up at her and know she could read his desires so plainly. He gripped the chair with all his strength, his arms aching, and willed his face to a neutral expression as he imagined pushing her back and fucking her while she laughed and complained about his impatience.

But he was patient, Solas assured himself as Ellana lifted herself onto the desk once more. He could ignore the throbbing in his biceps and his cock, he told himself as she spread her legs and rested her toes on the arms of the chair in which he sat. He could delay his pleasure until she'd taken hers, he thought as she pulled her ass to the very edge of the desk, offering herself up to him.

"You can use your hands," she said, "but only to touch me."

Solas released his hold on the chair, shoulders screaming as he swung his arms forward and looped them beneath her thighs. His fingers dug into her skin as he dragged her flush against his mouth.

She reclined on his desk, her body spreading out across his things and his space in a way he was eager to watch. He licked a stripe up her center and her wrist twitched, sending a pile of mail he'd been meaning to take home tumbling to the floor. He pressed his tongue inside her and she scraped her nails across the wood until she found a pen to clasp in her fist. He curled two fingers into her as he pressed kisses to her clit and felt her arousal running down his wrist and onto the desk.

Weeks from now, he thought as Ellana arched her back and clenched tight around his fingers, he would sit in this room and do the most prosaic things - answer emails, revise his syllabi, conduct meetings - all the while knowing that she had left her mark on every part of it. He blushed at the idea, just as she muffled a moan with her palm and came against his mouth.

He was on his feet as soon as she was done, pressing himself close enough to her entrance to feel her heat, when she stopped him with a look. She was still catching her breath, pulling herself up to rest on her elbows, as she stared down at him.

It was at that moment Solas realized he'd wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock.

He dropped both hands to his sides immediately.

"Sit down."

Her voice quivered with the aftershocks of her climax, but the authority in it was unchanged.

Solas sat.

"Your hands?"

He gripped the slats of the chair again.

Ellana slid off the edge of his desk. She was trembling, her thighs pressed together and her breasts heaving with each breath she took, as her toes hit the floor.

"I wanted you inside me, too," she said with a dejected sort of pity that had him cursing himself for being so rash.

He bit his lip, inhaling wildly through his nose, as he did his best to convey his contrition with nothing but his eyes. Ellana stroked a finger down his neck to his chest, then traced slow circles around his nipple until it peaked almost painfully.

"You've been so good," she mused. "Maybe I should let you fuck me anyway."

Solas wasn't certain whether to respond. Was her strategy simple or complex? If he nodded, would he be agreeing he had been good, when he had only just failed to adhere to the rules she'd provided? If he didn't nod, would she only tease him longer?

They regarded each other for a long moment. He fought the instinct to buck his hips up into the air each time her nail bit across his nipple.

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "To be inside me?"

This time, he nodded without hesitation. Ellana smiled and the trap closed.

"Then I think you need to beg for it, my love."

So it was payback for the foolish game he'd played in Ostwick. He didn't care.

"Please," he said without hesitation.

She shook her head. "A little more specific."

"Please. I want to be inside you."

She tapped a finger to her lips, narrowing her eyes as she considered. "You can do better than that."

He took in a breath and squeezed the chair slats so tightly that his knuckles burned.

"Ten minutes ago I wanted to be inside you. Now, I struggle to string a sentence together because I can barely think of anything other than how badly I want to fuck you."

"And?"

"And I was a fool to ever pass up such an opportunity."

"You were," she nodded. "But you should stand up now."

He did. With his hands at his sides, he took a tentative step forward to close the space between them. His cock pressed against her stomach and she grinned again.

"That was a lot less eloquent than the sort of things you usually say to me. Are you feeling alright?" She reached up and rested the back of her hand against his forehead as if checking to see whether he was running a fever. He leaned into her touch, too eager by half.

"If you would like me to write a sonnet exalting the perfection of your taste and how I ache to be within you, I promise I will happily do so as soon as I once again have the presence of mind for such a task."

"That sounds more like you. And you should do that, absolutely. But remember - I'm showing you a lot more mercy than you showed me."

"And I love you for it. Now turn around."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Turn around. Please." He whispered it into her ear as he clutched at her waist.

She spread herself face down across his desk. He was overwhelmed by the heat of her when he finally pressed himself against her entrance. He sank into her slowly - one final bit of denial he enacted upon himself - savoring the feeling he'd imagined as he'd sat in that chair and leaked pointlessly down the length of his cock.

When she placed her palms flat and pushed back against his hips, Solas gave in.

He wanted to be closer to her, deeper within her, and so he gripped her waist as he pulled a knee up onto the desk for leverage. She whimpered his name into the wood a little too loudly, his thighs slapped against her ass with a bit too much force, and the desk inched forward with a groan. There had always been stories about this particular building being haunted - with luck, anyone near enough to hear would assume it was a ghost.

He felt as though he were somehow chasing after himself. The sensation was at once ahead of him and then behind, so close he thought he would spill into her with dissatisfying speed, and then suddenly so far he feared it might not happen at all. The time he'd spent painfully aroused and yet tantalizingly untouched had him now struggling against his own release.

Ellana whipped her head back, hair in her face, lips parted and panting. She caught him in her gaze. "I want you to come," she said. "I want you to come for me." And it was impossible to do anything but.

The waves of it rippled through him for what felt like an eternity, until finally his knee slipped off the side of the desk and he allowed his trembling arms to slide out from beneath him. He sprawled on her back, kissing every part of her he could reach.

"Now. About that sonnet," she mumbled from beneath him.

Ellana touched a bit of cold water to her cheeks. Her face was on fire. She'd spent a lot of time dreaming about something like that since they packed up her apartment in Ostwick, but the reality of it was even much more captivating than she'd imagined. She hurried out of the restroom and back toward Solas' office.

An odd sight caught her attention as she passed by one of the large windows in the hallway. She hesitated for a moment, marveling at a strange display of blue and green luminescent rays that shone from somewhere above the clouds. She'd never seen anything like it - though there was something familiar about the colors.

She checked the time on her phone and was shocked to discover it was only a few minutes before midnight. They had to get back home - they were going to have an early morning since they hadn't exactly finished all their preparations for the gala before heading up to campus. They were going to be exhausted.

When Ellana silently opened the door into his office, she found Solas dressed and closing one of his desk drawers. He joined her in the hall, stopping only long enough to kiss her once more before he locked the door behind him.

"So tell me about the time you set your arm on fire," she said as they headed for the stairwell.

"Felassan exaggerates that incident."

"He's intense."

"He's an ass." There was a pause. "What else did he tell you?"

He sounded a bit worried.

"Oh. So many things," Ellana lied. "The story about the club in Geltberg was my favorite, though."

Another, longer pause.

"He told you about that?"

Now she was sure Solas sounded worried. Ellana figured a sympathetic tone would be the safest bet since she actually had no idea what she was talking about.

"I'm afraid he did," she said, "but I'd love to hear your version of it."

Chapter Text

Cole's car had never felt more cramped. Ellana convinced Solas to take the front seat for once, but that left her in the back with the stack of garment bags draped over the seat next to her, Solas' satchel beside her, Cole's backpack on the floor below that, and her work bag at her feet. Thankfully, it was only an hour's drive to Halamshiral, though nothing about her current circumstances made her feel like she would be at a ridiculously fancy gala in a few hours' time.

She leaned her head sleepily against the window, grateful (and somewhat surprised) that the car's air conditioner actually worked. Merrill was staying at a little guest cottage on some farmland just outside of the city. She'd assured Ellana it had just enough space for the four of them to get ready before they made their way down to the museum.

She'd just begun to wonder if she might actually be able to sneak in a nap before they arrived when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered as she stared down at her screen. "Not today."

Solas turned in the passenger seat. "What is it?"

She flicked her eyes toward Cole, to tell Solas she couldn't talk about this directly in front of someone else.

"I can put on headphones," Cole offered cheerfully. He must have caught her reflection in the rear-view mirror.

"No, sorry, Cole. I didn't mean to be rude. It's nothing," she said, turning back to Solas. "We can talk about it later." He did not look appeased.

Against her better judgment, Ellana opened the file and began to read.

Elvhen Glory
Chapter 25

The wind in the courtyard wasn’t unsettling, it was unnatural. Weeks ago she would have thought nothing of it. Now it emanated from her fingertips easily.

Aurora had still not grown accustomed to what she could conjure, not after so many years spent pretending her power did not exist for her own self-protection. She could see now, after weeks of releasing it, it made her lighter. She had been carrying it for so long, bottled up and rotting her from the inside out. 

The wind circled around her, picking up the forest’s fallen leaves and swirling them in a cascade that flitted against the hem of her dress. The glow of Remus’s floating lanterns cast shadows across the floor of the clearing, soft, shifting, and golden. They bobbed gently in the air, suspended by his quiet, casual precision. She envied his control. 

Their training had been an exercise in frustration. The more he showed her, the more powerful she felt, and the more she realized that he was capable of so much more than her. He was a formidable mage, of course, but he was also an uncannily cunning politician, a remarkable tutor, and when he wanted to be, quite a charming conversationalist. Perhaps he should have been the Inquisitor.

And now, the dim light made him look almost soft. Handsome. She banished the thought from her mind, as she had more times than she’d like to admit in the recent weeks.

“Again,” Remus said quietly from behind her. “No more wasting time with the breeze.”

Aurora’s jaw clenched. Her feet planted, grounding herself as the energy built again.

The spell he demanded from her was new, and it terrified her. A binding—elemental and brutal, not designed to maim or kill, but to control. To latch onto a target and seize their will. She hated how it made her feel: powerful but cruel. Like someone who could take what she wanted just because she could. This was not like her, but she could absolutely admit the martial advantage such a spell would provide.

“I said again,” Remus repeated, stepping closer. His voice was cool. “You’re hesitating at the climax. You’re holding it too hard—afraid to let go and let it wash over you. And when you hold back is when it causes catastrophe. Surely you haven’t forgotten the east tower.”

Her face burned at the memory. Weeks ago, she’d aimed a tentative blast at a training dummy and had instead scorched through the upper windows of the tower—setting fire to the curtains and everything above. The soldiers’ quarters had gone up in smoke. She still hadn’t forgiven herself.

“I’m not afraid,” she muttered, hands still raised.

“You are,” he said simply. “And you have reason to be. You hesitate, you doubt yourself, and then you fail. And it is your failure that makes you hesitate. Luckily, this is not insurmountable.”

“Not all of us are blessed with your endless confidence, hahren” she snapped. “Some of us have to learn.”

“But you are learning,” he said, close and calm. His hands gently corrected her posture. She could smell him. Like elfroot and felandaris.

Ellana distinctly remembered a day in the spring when Varric had so casually leaned against the doorframe into her office.

"Hey Magpie. Got a minute?" he'd asked. She'd placed her phone face down on her desk and tried to pretend she wasn't waiting for Solas to text her back as she gestured for him to come in.

He shook his head. "It won't take that long. Just a quick question. I got this fan letter from some Dalish keeper -"

"Who?" None of the current keepers struck her as the sort to send Varric a letter telling him how much they loved his work.

"I, uh, don't remember the name off the top of my head, sorry. But I was going to send them a thank-you and I figured I should use some kind of formal title. You know what I mean?"

"A formal title like … Keeper?"

"Yeah, but isn't there a Dalish word for -"

"Elvish word."

"- an Elvish word for elder or something like that?"

"Oh you mean hahren? Yeah, it's like elder, or teacher. Neither of which apply in this situation. You should just use Keeper. Otherwise you're going to make it really weird."

"Thanks, Magpie. Guess you saved me from putting my foot in my mouth."

She'd waved him off, snatched her phone off the desk, and hadn't given the conversation a second thought until now.

I'm going to kill Varric, Ellana thought. I'm going to murder him in the middle of Halamshiral with a museum full of witnesses.

Then, she got petty.

Felandaris has such a bitter scent that Aurora would be gagging if Remus got anywhere near her. Elfroot smells like nothing at all, which Varric might know if he ever left the city for five fucking minutes since it grows literally everywhere!

She sighed through clenched teeth, felt Solas' curious gaze on her again, and ignored him to finish reading the rest.

Aurora knew Remus was right. She’d been doubting herself constantly lately. As a leader, as the Inquisitor, as a soldier, as a Dalish, and as a woman. She had not been unsure of herself before all of this.

They had been spending more time together than was wise.

What had started as structured instruction had unraveled into long silences and loaded glances—moments that lingered too long, fingers brushing over parchment with too much hesitation to be ignored. She told herself it was about discipline; that he was teaching her control. But lately, she was beginning to suspect it was something else entirely. She’d started watching the way he moved when he thought she wasn’t looking. He’d started making comments that hovered too close to flattery. His eyes lingering on her. She felt a thrill each time.

And with each passing day, she found it harder to tell if she wanted to kill him or kiss him. Or something more.

Their arguments had grown sharper, the silences more weighted. His corrections of her made her blood boil—not because he was wrong, but because it reminded her she was, in a way, seeking his approval. And when she snapped, when she lashed out and saw something genuine and true flicker across his face—hurt, anger, maybe even desire—she felt it deep within her.

It was becoming harder to breathe around him. Harder to think. And the worst part was, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop. Remus had a way of peeling back her layers—not violently, not with cruelty, but with this unbearable ease, like he was finding something more precious, more powerful, the deeper he went. Like he knew her better than she knew herself. She found it unsettling in its intimacy. And she would never, ever tell him so.

She closed her eyes. Pushed the doubt from her mind, and tried to reach within herself for the spell.

It rose quickly—faster than before—swelling at her hands before moving through the air with surprising physicality. The air thickened, charged, like the pressure before a summer storm.

She turned to him and tried to will her consciousness into his.

And in her mind’s eye, she saw him—Remus—walking toward her through the shimmer of heat and power. He looked calm, steady. His gaze locked on hers, unreadable.

Then his hands were cupping the sides of face—firm, powerful. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his eyes searching hers.

And then he kissed her. Desperately, hungrily, he pressed his lips into her as though he could touch his soul to hers. She had never been kissed like that before.

She stiffened, frozen in the first moment of shock—but then her body moved. Her hands flew to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, devouring him. Her fingers gripped his collar, yanked at his tunic, and found the heat of skin beneath it.

He gasped against her mouth as her hand searched lower, below the waistband of his breeches. 

Her mind stumbled.

The spell—had she cast it? She didn’t think she had finished it. Had it worked?

She pulled back just slightly, just far enough to search his face.

His eyes weren’t clouded. He wasn’t dazed. There was no slack-jawed glaze, no emptiness. He looked… alive. Fierce. Present.

“I didn’t finish the spell,” she whispered.

He blinked. Breath heavy. His lips were red, swollen from their kiss. She imagined the crescent marks of her fingernails in the back of his shaved head.

“I know,” he said.

The world fell silent around them.

“Then why—” Her voice cracked.

“Because I needed to,” he said.

Four words. So simple they didn’t make sense.

She stared at him, the air thick with everything unsaid. Her heart hammered in her ribs. Her body still buzzed with the electric memory of his hands on her.

This wasn’t power. This wasn’t magic. This was something far more dangerous.

She stepped away. Her throat tightened. “We can’t.”

“We shouldn’t,” he said, nodding, still breathless.

And then they crashed into each other again, the conjured lights slowly blinking out one by one as they found each other in the growing dark.

Ellana threw her phone down on the seat, furious.

Remus was bald.

"Varric," she snarled.

"Oh! Professor Solas mentioned he would be at the gala," Cole said. "And you work with him, don't you? I'd love to meet him."

Then you better hope you find him before I do, she thought.

"Did you get another chapter?" Solas asked, now twisting nearly all the way around in his seat.

Ellana glared at him.

"Another chapter of what?" Cole asked.

"Elvhen Glory," Solas replied excitedly, and with no hesitation.

"Solas!"

He shrugged at her. "Cole won't say anything."

She rubbed her eyes, the four hours of sleep she'd gotten now feeling even less adequate than when her alarm went off this morning.

"I won't say anything," Cole echoed from the driver's seat. "But you've been reading Elvhen Glory? Are you writing a review?"

"No, nothing like that. And, Cole, I'm sorry to ask, but I really do need you to promise not to say anything about this to anyone else. Solas shouldn't have told you."

Solas rolled his eyes like she was overreacting and she drove a knee into the back of his seat.

"I promise," Cole agreed. "But can you tell me if you like it? Is it as good as Inquisitive Hearts?"

"It's a very different sort of novel," Solas offered diplomatically, rubbing his lower back.

"It needs some work," Ellana added - truly a testament to how much she liked Cole that she didn't want to immediately dash his hopes.

They continued on in silence for a few minutes as he seemed to consider this. Solas leaned over the back of his seat, holding out a hand. She sighed again, then slapped the phone into his palm.

"You mentioned Varric Tethras," Cole said thoughtfully. "Does that mean -"

"We don't know anything for certain," Solas answered as he began to scroll through the file.

"No, I'm pretty sure we do," Ellana mumbled.

She tilted her head back against the seat and tried to calm herself by watching the neat lines of lavender fields passing by her window. It worked for a minute, right up until she heard Solas quietly chuckling at whatever part of the chapter he was reading.

Merrill's cottage sat atop a little hill with a curling brick driveway. It was shaded by an ancient-looking oak tree, surrounded by dozens of pink and purple hollyhocks, and backed up to a pasture occupied by a few horses and one napping donkey. Ellana fell in love immediately.

They spilled out of the car into the summer heat and Merrill wasted no time wrapping Cole in a hug that made Ellana nostalgic for their early days in Markham. She'd been years younger than Cole then, and far more naive. Merrill had been the perfect person to usher her into university life - just rebellious enough to drag her out of her shell and into plenty of trouble, while always ensuring she got home safe at the end of the night.

"Cole!" Merrill said with a broad smile when she finally let him go. He hadn't exactly returned the hug - she'd pinned his arms at his sides - but he looked happy enough at the welcome. "I've heard so much about you I feel like we already know each other!"

"Hello, Dr. Sabrae."

"Oh, there's no need to be formal here. I'm just Merrill. Go on inside," she said as Cole's attention flitted to the animals in the pasture. "It's much cooler in there and I bought a few bottles of lemonade from a farm down the road - or I suppose it's limonade, if we want to be fancy. Oh, dear," she interrupted herself. "Are you Orlesian? Should I stop making those jokes?"

"I don't mind," Cole said cheerily as he scooped up his backpack and headed for the door.

Merrill turned toward Solas, who was now loaded down with all three of the garment bags as well as his work satchel. Ellana held her breath.

"Solas! It's so good to meet you!"

He blinked at her. "We've met."

"Well, yes. But I didn't really know who you were then."

"Merrill," Ellana bit out a warning.

"What? I meant that I didn't know he was your boyfriend the last time. What did you think?"

Solas' gaze darted between them. "Ah, limonade is inside, you said?"

"It is," Merrill nodded. "But let the boy have his fill first. After all, he drove you two up here."

"… Of course," he agreed, with the tone of someone who'd been duly chastised but had no idea why. He adjusted his grip on the bags and then followed Cole inside.

"What are you doing?" Ellana demanded as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Welcoming you to my temporary home," Merrill said innocently. "Did you see the horses?"

"Uh-huh."

"You have nothing to worry about." Merrill looped her arm around Ellana's elbow. "If he's everything you say he is, he'll pass my test with no problems."

"You're not testing him."

"I was only joking. But if I were testing him, you'd have nothing to worry about, right?"

They allowed themselves half an hour to relax. Though the cottage seemed even tinier on the inside, it did at least have a large bathroom with a full-sized mirror. The yard out back was filled with more enormous trees, which had a few hammock chairs strung from their branches in a semi-circle. Cole showed Merrill photo after photo of his nugs and the hutch he'd built for them, while Ellana enjoyed the sight of Solas half-asleep, his head reclined back against the ropes, with one foot tucked beneath him and the other moving just enough to keep the chair in constant motion.

Once his photos were exhausted, Cole wandered toward the pasture to look at the horses and Ellana followed. She figured she was safe to leave Solas and Merrill alone for a few minutes, mostly since he appeared to be sound asleep now, the glass in his hand tipping precariously toward the edge of the chair while condensation dripped down his fingers.

In the end, she and Cole only managed to get the donkey's attention, but it was happy to receive plenty of scratches between its ears after it took its lazy time making its way across the pasture. She was telling Cole a story about one of her clan's halla that escaped its field about once a week (and about all the times she'd had to go catch it), when her phone vibrated again.

Solas: hlep

Ellana whipped her head back toward the swings so fast that the donkey took a few steps away from them and brayed angrily at her.

"I'll be right back," she muttered as Cole made clucking noises at the donkey to try to calm it.

She took off across the grass. Solas was awake and facing Merrill, who had crossed her legs beneath her on the swing and was leaning on her elbows with her chin in her hands.

Oh he's fucked, Ellana thought as soon as she saw that pose. She broke into a jog.

"Hey, what's going on?" she called loudly as she approached them.

"Not much!" Merrill grabbed the sides of her chair and began to spin it slowly back and forth. "Ellana, did you know that Solas has been arrested eleven times?" she asked with a wide smile.

"Yes, I -"

She hesitated as the number registered in her brain. Solas stared up at her with wide eyes and an absolutely guilt-stricken look on his face.

"Yes. I knew that." Her words were directed at Merrill but she was staring daggers at him.

"Oh, good! I just wanted to make sure. Now, Solas, you told me about the first three, but we still have eight more to go."

"I think that's enough for now," Ellana said curtly. "Merrill, why don't you go get Cole? He and Solas can go into town and pick up some lunch while you and I start getting ready."

Merrill swung her chair forward, hopping off gracefully at the top of its arc, and gave Ellana a knowing tilt of her head as she walked away.

Solas attempted to get out of his chair and struggled, rocking himself forward several times but making little progress. Ellana offered him a hand and pulled him up.

"What the fuck happened?" she said. "I was only gone five minutes."

"I don't know." Solas rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know," he said again like he might have forgotten his own name. "That woman is going to make a formidable keeper one day."

"Yeah, no shit. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Merrill and Cole had turned away from the paddock fence and were heading back toward them.

"Once or twice," Ellana hissed under her breath. "You said once or twice."

"I said at least."

"How do you want me to fix it?" Merrill asked as she gathered Ellana's hair in her hands and held it against the back of her head. They both surveyed her reflection in the mirror. "Up? Down?"

"Josephine said it has to be up. You have to be able to see the back of the dress."

"'Josephine said,'" Merrill repeated in a teasing, and completely inaccurate, attempt to imitate Ellana's voice. "It's a good thing you don't always listen to Josephine or you'd still be wearing some stuffy Orlesian label."

When Ellana had invited her to the gala, Merrill had immediately contacted a designer from Clan Tillahnnen to choose a dress. Eventually, Ellana had persuaded Josephine to do the same for her. It was the first time she'd pushed back on anything wardrobe-related but the gala struck her as a good time to make a bit of a statement, even if it was a small one.

"Up it is," Merrill said.

Ellana watched in the mirror as she made a few small braids that would eventually, she assumed, be weaved into some larger composition.

"Merrill."

"Hmm?" she hummed around the hairpins she'd shoved into the corner of her mouth.

"Tonight is going to be really stressful. They have me making a speech."

"Mythal'enaste," Merrill mumbled sympathetically.

"I just need to know I can leave you alone with Solas and you're not going to interrogate him. I don't want to have to worry about the two of you on top of everything else."

"I wasn't interrogating him," Merrill objected as a pin fell out of her mouth. "I was just trying to get to know him."

"You were asking him about his criminal record."

"Well it's good to know he has one, isn't it?"

"I already knew about it. You need to go easier on him - he's a private person."

"Why? Does he have something to hide?"

"No. He's just … used to being alone."

Merrill caught her gaze in the mirror.

"Like … He Who Hunts Alone?" she suggested.

"Stop it." Ellana twisted her neck and the piece of hair Merrill was braiding slipped out of her fingers.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," Merrill said as she tugged the strand of hair with a little too much force and began again.

"I won't," she said - and it felt crazy to realize she believed it. She was always pretty sure she was going to get hurt.

"I don't even understand what you think is happening here," Ellana objected. "You've never believed in any of the old stories."

"There's being skeptical and there's ignoring what's right under your nose." Merrill pinned a few braids in place. "What I remember from the stories of the Dread Wolf is that he always runs away in the end, even if he has to bite off his own tail to do it."

"What the fuck, Merrill? That's an awful thing to say." Ellana tried to turn around again, but Merrill held her head still.

"About the Dread Wolf?" she asked pointedly.

"Don't do that with me. I know exactly what you're insinuating."

Merrill shook her head as she gathered the rest of Ellana's hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. "You're right. I don't believe the old stories are true - at least not in a literal sense. But that doesn't mean they have nothing to teach us. You've been in the middle of something strange that just keeps getting stranger. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I already promised you that weeks ago. And I have been."

They didn't talk for the next few minutes, each of them quietly brooding at the other, while Merrill finished yanking Ellana's hair into place and poking at her scalp with hairpins. Ellana stood to survey the results in the mirror, carefully plucked a few pieces from the front to frame her face, then shielded her eyes while Merrill applied a ridiculous quantity of hairspray.

"So," Merrill said as she made a slow circle around Ellana. "Do you love him?"

"What?"

"You're living with him. Do you love him?"

"Yes," Ellana answered irritably. "I …"

For a moment, she thought she might be able to form some coherent thought about the depth of her feelings for Solas that she would be capable of both admitting to herself and also expressing out loud to another person. She quickly abandoned the idea.

"Of course I love him."

"I suppose that will either make it better or worse," Merrill said, orbiting her again. "Clearer, at least, if things get even crazier for you."

"Will you stop with your ominous keeper bullshit?" Ellana snatched the can of hairspray out of her hand. "'That will either make it better or worse' - you realize that means absolutely nothing, right? It doesn't work on me, I got enough of it from Deshanna over the years."

"Oh, fine," Merrill pouted. "I'm just saying that I'm going to keep an eye on him."

"No. You're saying that you're going to make my life harder because I'll still have to worry about you harassing him all night while I'm already worried about a dozen other things!"

"That's not what I'm saying at all. You worry about your speech. And I'll worry about Solas."

"Fenedhis lasa," Ellana spat.

"Well that would be awkward, wouldn't it?"

Lunch progressed more or less peacefully. Merrill was now being overly polite to Solas (though Ellana suspected she'd been polite and probably a bit conveniently naive with him when they were speaking before). She'd since shifted strategies, asking him completely innocuous questions but liberally dropping the epithet "By the Dread Wolf!" into conversation. It would have been comical if it didn't make Ellana feel like her head was going to explode every time.

When they were done eating, she quietly pulled Cole aside to warn him there might need to be some shuffling once they arrived at their banquet table - under absolutely no circumstances was she going to allow Merrill and Solas to sit beside one another. Then, once she was certain Merrill had returned to the bathroom to get dressed, and Solas had gone into the cottage's small bedroom to do the same, Ellana headed back outside to review her speech a few more times.

She walked along the paddock fence, eventually realizing the donkey had started to follow her - turning around each time she did. It must have forgiven her for startling it before. When she stopped pacing, the donkey did the same. Its ears pricked up as she faced it, and it turned its deep brown eyes on her as she began to recite her speech. She was so focused she didn't hear footsteps behind her.

"Your audience is captivated."

"Yeah, but he's easy to please," Ellana said as the donkey blinked sleepily in the sunlight. "A ballroom full of Orlesians will be -"

She turned and the air left her lungs when she saw him.

It was a three-piece suit. She'd seen him in those before but not like this. Dark green, with a double-breasted vest, and perfectly tailored in a way that felt like a personal attack. The style was mostly traditional aside from a small, embroidered embellishment where a pocket square would normally go. Instead, there was a long stem with pointy leaves, curling up from his pocket and ending in a pair of flowers the precise shape of the ones they'd seen all over Hunter Fell.

It wasn't that she'd stopped breathing. She'd forgotten how.

"I, um," Ellana said, her mouth suddenly dry, "I thought you were going to rent a suit?"

"I was. But you seemed to enjoy the idea of my having one. So I thought it would be sensible to purchase something I could wear for any other events we might … attend."

She didn't know what to say to that, didn't know what to think about that, didn't have the slightest clue how much longer she could go without breathing, when the donkey suddenly brayed behind her and she nearly jumped out of her skin. It forced her to take in a deep gasp of air, which was truly a blessing.

"Don't be jealous," she scolded it over her shoulder as Solas chuckled.

"I was wondering," he said, taking a step toward her, "if …"

He dipped his hand into his pocket and Ellana realized she was now having the opposite problem - she was breathing so fast she was starting to feel dizzy.

"… you could help me with my cufflinks?" Solas finished as he held them out to her.

There was no way to disguise that her hands were shaking.

"Yeah," she said in too high of a voice with too fast of a nod. "Yeah, of course I can."

She fitted the cufflinks through each of his sleeves, becoming a little too absorbed in the way his fingers unfurled gracefully to expose his palm when he offered her first his left hand and then his right. When she was done, she reached up to adjust his bow tie. It was already perfect - if anything she'd probably knocked it a bit askew. But she wanted to do it, and she wanted to run her hands down his chest as if she were smoothing his already perfectly smooth shirt, so she did that too.

"Are you still nervous about the speech?" he asked.

"Well the donkey thinks it's fine, but I can't really trust him to be objective."

"You have nothing to worry about," Solas said as he stroked a finger down her cheek. "What you've written is perfect."

"I hope so. I don't usually get so worked up about these things. Honestly, I might end up directing the entire speech at you just so I don't have to look at anyone else. It's going to be so strange with all those masks. How am I supposed to know what anyone's thinking when I can't see their faces?"

"They'll be thinking you're brilliant. And beautiful."

Ellana was thinking she might burst into flames if her cheeks got any hotter and, really, wouldn't that be a fantastic way to get out of making the speech?

"And if you need to direct your words to me, feel free to do so. I'll be there," he promised.

"Thanks," she smiled. "I'll probably take you up on that." She kissed him and his lips were warm in the afternoon heat, and the scent of his cologne below his collar tickled her nose.

"Cole and I are going to head down to the museum a little early," Solas said.

"Oh, alright. I guess I can ride with Merrill. Are you in a hurry to get there?"

"I'm ready and he soon will be. We'd both like a chance to view the exhibit halls that aren't already closed in preparation for the gala. And, frankly, I thought it might be helpful to get out of the way. Out of Merrill's way, specifically."

"You can't let her bully you. It won't help."

"I shall try to bear that in mind," he nodded. "But I still think it would be best for us to go before she moves onto 'Dread Wolf take you' and waits to see if I'm compelled to act."

"That does sound like something she might try," Ellana agreed.

He kissed her once more before he walked back to the cottage with a sway in his hips that felt intentional, and even more devastating than usual thanks to the cut of his suit. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she anxiously patted the donkey's head and wondered how she was going to make it through the night without losing her mind.

When Solas and Cole had gone, Ellana knocked on the door of the bathroom and found Merrill nearly ready as well.

"What do you think?"

She had to hand it to Merrill - though not out loud, because she was still furious with her. The dress she'd picked was beautiful: champagne with a high neck and capped sleeves, decorated with elaborate bead work of swirling vines and blossoms. The mask she'd chosen complimented it perfectly - gold filigree with mother of pearl flowers at the corners of her eyes, and long gold chains that hung from the bottom to partially obscure her mouth.

"You look amazing," Ellana begrudgingly admitted.

"We'd better get started on your dress. It's going to take some work to get everything in place," Merrill said.

"One thing before we do."

Ellana rummaged through the bottom of her garment bag until she found the box that contained her mask. It had been an indulgent choice, and possibly a crazy one, but it was the first image that had come to mind and then she'd found it wouldn't leave her.

"I'm going to show you this," she said as she dropped the box on the vanity in front of Merrill, "and any comments you have you can get out of your system now. Then I don't want to hear another word about it for the rest of the night."

Ellana pulled off the lid and Merrill erupted in a fit of giggles.

Solas angled his head carefully to look out the museum's window, the feathers that crowned the top of his mask offering a unique challenge as he peered upward. Clouds had settled over the city in the late afternoon, and the sky was strangely viridescent where the light reflected off them. He wondered if it might storm.

Bells rang throughout the museum to signal that the few remaining patrons should make their way to the exits. He crossed the wide hallway that comprised the Portrait Gallery (which was, ironically, not where the Inquisitor's portrait would be displayed) to find Cole beneath a painting of a dark-haired human woman playing a stringed instrument.

The rich blue suit Cole had chosen was probably too eccentric for the event, but it was worth the minor faux pas for the new confidence it lent him. His usually quick, short steps were a little longer, slightly less restless as they'd toured the museum's open wings. Perhaps the mask helped as well, Solas considered. It was shaped like a cat's face, though Cole had removed the tip of one of the ears and painted it to match Parchment's coloring.

"We should see if they've arrived," Solas said.

Cole nodded, giving the portrait one last look before he turned away. "Dr. Sabrae - Merrill - she's interesting. Very kind, but sometimes her kindness bites a bit."

More than a bit, he thought.

"I'd like to talk to her again."

"She will be a very helpful person for you to know," Solas said as diplomatically as he could. "Should you ever request research access to the Dalish archive in Markham, she will almost certainly be the person who reviews your proposal."

"Well, yes," Cole agreed. "But Ellana also said the two of you shouldn't sit next to each other at dinner."

"She's not wrong about that," Solas mumbled as they reached the vestibule.

The Halamshiral Museum had been built to replicate the architecture of the Winter Palace that once stood in the same location, and it had maintained all of its Orlesian peculiarities. Guests entered from a grand staircase that rose from beneath the main level, allowing those who were already present to survey the new arrivals and gossip about their attire and dates.

"So many whispers," Cole said quietly as they both leaned over the balustrade.

"It was built with them in mind." Solas watched anxiously as a small sea of bodies passed below them, drumming his fingers on the marble. "The curvature of the ceiling isolates most conversations to a particular area, muffling noise for all those who are not within it. Though some stories claim each room has a location from which you can hear …"

Solas stilled as every thought and sound faded away.

She was turned away, and so it was the shape of her hair he recognized first, swept up as it had been when he'd last seen her at the cottage, woven with braids and fixed to show the long column of her neck beneath her dark curls. She took another step upward and he realized that most of her back was exposed, the dress cut into a spectacular dip that plunged all the way to her waist. The long sleeves appeared almost suspended at the edges of her arms, waiting to be brushed aside. He drank in the sight of her pale skin, her bare shoulder blades - all the places he'd touched and tasted - contrasted against heavy black velvet.

But it wasn't black velvet, Solas discovered as the light of the chandelier caught her just so. It was an olive green, with fabric so richly made it captured the darkness when she walked in shadow. It pooled at a small train at her feet, and she grasped the skirt in one hand while she held Merrill's arm with the other, taking careful steps up the long staircase.

He took a breath.

When they neared the top of the stairs, she began to look for him. He watched the delicate twist of her neck and noticed, for the first time, the stark edges of the mask on her face. He couldn't see it clearly, not until she finally glanced over her shoulder and found his eyes amongst the crowd.

A wolf's face stared back at him.

A pair of pointed ears rose above her forehead. Golden, swirling lines embellished an otherwise black surface, curving along her cheeks before they ended in a confusing arrangement above her brows - it gave the impression of two additional eyes positioned above each of her own. Four emerald-colored stones twinkled in the light - simulated irises to compliment her true ones, which were obscured and dark beneath the mask. A squared nose covered her own, but he could just make out the curl of Ellana's lips.

That is not yours, Solas reminded himself. The wolf held no particular symbolism nor deeper meaning for him.

Mine, an equally certain part of his mind insisted.

Chapter Text

"A few ground rules," Ellana said, linking her arm with Solas' as she steered him away from the crowd that was slowly making its way toward the ballroom. Cole and Merrill continued on without them.

"Ground rules?"

His tone was equal parts amused and intrigued. Ellana imaged he was raising an eyebrow at her as well, but she couldn't see it. Beneath a row of deep green feathers that hid the top of his head and the tips of his ears, his golden mask was sculpted with a garden of lovely shapes: more of the Nevarran flowers curled around the corners of his eyes and up to his forehead; vines of Arbor Blessing hung from his cheekbones; a field of embriums bloomed across his cheeks and nose. They were each flowers Ellana knew well from the hours she'd spent on the patio behind his - behind their - home.

Ellana had prepared herself for the idea of everyone else in the ball being masked, but not Solas. She couldn't decide whether she hated being unable to see the features she could read so easily, or if it was an exciting sort of challenge.

"Not … like that," she said, wondering what precisely he thought she'd had in mind. "It's just that - well. You probably shouldn't touch my hair. It's going to look ridiculous if it starts falling down."

"Noted."

"And, ah, this situation." She made a series of sweeping gestures over her cleavage. "Can't be disturbed either."

The front of her dress had a deep V-neck to mirror the open back. It didn't cut quite as low - stopping a few inches above her navel - but there was still a lot on display. Narrow strips of lace dyed the same color green as the velvet lined the edges of the V, which might have added some modesty if they weren't basically transparent. She'd been a bit nervous choosing it, more nervous trying it on, and the worst had been waiting for him to see.

"How is it …" Solas began, his eyes catching on her breasts.

Worth it, Ellana thought.

"Oh, so much tape," she said. "It's a nightmare under there. But it's a very carefully constructed nightmare that will fall apart if it gets - ah - jostled."

"I understand. I wasn't planning to -"

"No, I know. Me either, obviously. I'm just being realistic."

Solas stared down at her, his gaze tracing the slit in the front of the gown that landed well above her knee, and it was like she could hear him doing the math in his head. (She'd already done the math in her head while she was getting dressed and had come to the conclusion: probably - upgraded to a definitely if a little ripping was involved. But hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Or come to anything. Because that wasn't the plan. As she'd said.)

"You look … " His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "'Beautiful' has never felt less adequate."

"You can say it anyway. I'll just multiply the meaning by ten, or something."

"More than that."

"A hundred?"

"A thousand. At least."

"Alright," Ellana said, grateful the line of passers-by couldn't see just how red her face must be. "Let's not get carried away. It's just a dress."

"And the mask."

And the mask.

She waited impatiently for his assessment, suddenly worried that she had overstepped in some way she couldn't quite define. He reached a hand to her face, fingertips brushing over the wolf's cheek, when a voice called out from behind him.

"Solas! There you are!"

Cassandra's face was covered but her voice was distinct enough, and Ellana might have spared a moment to say hello or compliment her choice of a gorgeous white suit had she not immediately realized that Cass' presence meant someone else had also arrived.

"Varric," she said as Cass and Solas awkwardly angled their masks to they could hug.

"Hey Magpie. Wasn't sure how we'd find you two with all the masks. Good thing it's easy to pick out the back of Chuckles' head in a crowd."

His mask looked like he'd slapped a white square over his face, albeit a square with an exaggeratedly wide nose. He wore a simple black suit with a red shirt beneath - currently buttoned to the neck, but Ellana suspected that would change fairly early in the evening.

"I somehow missed you when I was in Denerim a few weeks ago." Ellana let a little hint of an accusation creep into her voice.

Varric definitely caught her tone - she saw his shoulders square a bit, like he was bracing for a blow but wasn't entirely sure from which direction it would come.

"Yeah," he said, shifting his weight again. "Shame about that. You look nice."

"You look lovely," Cassandra amended, her small smile visible below the bottom of her mask.

Ellana took a deep breath, preparing her assault, but was stopped short by the feel of Solas' hand on her bare back, his thumb rubbing gently along her spine.

"Good to see you again, Varric," he said. "How long has it been?"

"Ah, Chuckles, I've got a feeling know the exact number of years, months, and days so maybe you should just tell us."

Solas' touch was suddenly a bit heavier, and Ellana was no longer sure whether he was steadying her or she was steadying him.

"I believe it has been -" Cassandra began.

"You must forgive me," Solas interrupted. "It seems our last meeting was not so noteworthy that I have maintained a precise memory of either the occasion, or the date."

"Solas," Ellana intervened before Varric could deliver his own riposte. Solas could have whatever scraps were left, but only after she was done with him. "Why don't you and Cass head into the ballroom? I need to talk to Varric for a minute."

She felt him hesitate, could sense the unvoiced objection in the way his fingertips danced over her skin, but eventually he gave her a slow nod.

Solas offered Cassandra an arm, she politely declined, and the two of them instead walked side by side through the enormous double doors that stood open to the ballroom. Ellana grabbed Varric's elbow ("Ow, Magpie, what the hell? Careful, this suit's a rental.") and dragged him toward a corner of the vestibule.

"What was that about?" Cassandra asked.

Solas shrugged rather than taking his chances with a more overt lie. As soon as her attention was focused on the crowd congregating on the dance floor, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Ellana had a finger pointed aggressively in Varric's face, and while there was no reason to find that so attractive, he absolutely did.

A small collection of tables was arranged around the perimeter of the dance floor, which was sunken down below the level of the entryway. These tables, Solas noted as he reviewed the seating chart near the door, were reserved for the museum's largest donors and other guests of political importance. The rest of the attendees, including Ellana, Dorian, and himself - the three people here tonight most directly related to the discovery of the Inquisitor's portrait - were relegated to the upper level.

It was a slight, he supposed, but not one that particularly bothered him. It would be more comfortable to be less on display, even if it would mean trekking down the enormous marble staircases when it was time to dance.

"You have been avoiding my texts, Solas," Cassandra said, just as he spotted Merrill and Cole at a table in the distance.

"I have not," he objected. "We have simply been busy."

"Busy moving Ellana into your house."

"Did she share that with you, or did you check her employee file at the Journal to see whether her address had changed?"

Cassandra drew back in shock, clearly taking offense at his accusation.

"I would never do such a thing!" she insisted. And then, a moment later when Solas hadn't turned away, she added, "I had to sign off on the address change because she'll be in Orlais now rather than the Free Marches. Different taxes."

"I see."

"I would have appreciated hearing the news from you," she said as they began to move slowly toward their table. "Particularly after you gave me so few details on what happened in Vyrantium."

"I told you. The timing wasn't appropriate."

"I'm aware it had only been a few months then," Cassandra said, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm. "But sometimes you know these things very quickly."

Months …

"Have you and Varric reunited?" he asked.

It was a terribly graceless shift in topics, but Solas was desperate to maneuver Cassandra away from any discussion of precisely how long he and Ellana had been together when he very nearly proposed to her on the way back from dinner at the grotto restaurant. Cassandra immediately removed her hand from his arm.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I am only curious, as you chose him as your date for the evening."

"He is not my date. He is here for research," Cassandra said curtly.

"And what is it that he's researching?"

"You know Varric. He doesn't like to give away too much while he's still in the drafting stages."

Solas couldn't help but wonder whether Elvhen Glory would be receiving some edits before its release in the fall, perhaps with the addition of a masquerade of some kind.

"Do not change the subject," Cassandra scolded, obviously undeterred by his attempt to distract her. "What did you mean when you said the timing was not appropriate? How long had it been? And what are you waiting for?"

Solas was grateful for the mask now - it made schooling his features almost too easy. If he could only resist the urge to place a hand in his pocket, he would have nothing to worry about.

"I KNEW IT!"

Cassandra and Solas both turned their heads toward the sound of Ellana's voice, raised high above the murmur of the crowd.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Varric?"

"Calm down, Magpie. It's not what you think!"

Ellana registered the dozens of heads that had turned in their direction and realized she was on the verge of causing a scene. An annoying problem anywhere else - in Orlais, the kind of embarrassment that would follow her forever. She fought to restrain her temper before she spoke again.

"It seems like you took a bunch of shit from my personal life and shoved it into your newest cash-grab," she said through clenched teeth.

"I wouldn't say it's a cash-grab, exactly."

"Really? You're not just capitalizing on all the new interest in Inquisitive Hearts?"

"Hey, I can do that and write the next great romance classic at the same time."

"'The next great romance classic?' Do you even hear yourself?" Ellana shook her head too forcefully and had to grab the wolf's left ear to steady her mask. "Why would you send me this? What were you thinking?"

"I didn't send it to you. I don't have a death wish."

"Oh, so you absolutely did know writing this was going to piss me off and you did it anyway?"

"Nobody's going to know, Magpie. Listen, you don't write fiction, so you don't understand how hard you have to chase inspiration when it hits."

"Do you mean inspiration or do you mean theft?"

"Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental," Varric recited.

"You are so lucky," Ellana growled, taking another menacing step toward him, "that I'm worried about falling out of this dress right now, otherwise I would - what are you doing?"

Varric had taken his phone out of his pocket and was now typing something.

"Are you taking notes?"

"Inspiration struck," he said, happily tapping at his cell.

"If Aurora's tits pop out of her dress, I promise I will find some way to sue you or kill you or both."

"You can give it a shot, but you know my family - there's always an army of lawyers ready to fight." He shook his head almost sadly at this, like they weren't both openly threatening each other.

She took a few angry steps into the ballroom before a new angle occurred to her and she spun around to face him again.

"You have to know you're going to get eaten alive when that book's published. Did you even think of asking a Dalish writer to review the draft? Or are there absolutely no elves working for your publishing house?" Ellana demanded.

"I asked Sera to give it a look," he shrugged.

"Sera? You let Sera read it?"

For the bulk of the time Ellana had been with the Journal, she and Sera hadn't been all that close. Sera worked in IT and Ellana was out of the office enough that they rarely crossed paths. They'd become a little closer when Ellana returned from Boranehnan in the spring, but definitely not close enough to be comfortable with Sera reading a romance novel based on her real life.

"Yeah," Varric said. "You know she's a huge Inquisitive Hearts fan. She ate it up."

"Is that what she told you?" Ellana suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"She said she loved it."

"And did you give her an advance review copy, by any chance?"

Varric froze mid-step.

"Shit," he said as he let out a long exhale.

"Get your house in order, Tethras. You better hope she hasn't sent those files to anyone else."

"I don't think she - shit," he said again, now sounding truly defeated. "Why'd she even send them to you?"

Ellana had a few guesses. Sera probably found Elvhen Glory absolutely hilarious. She also knew just enough about what happened between Ellana and Solas in the Arbor Wilds to realize what Varric had done. And then she'd sent it either to give Ellana a heads up, or to see her reaction - or, likely, some combination of the two. On her recent trip to Denerim, Ellana had noticed Sera loitering near her office - which had seemed a bit odd since they worked on different floors. She'd probably been waiting to see if Ellana was going to confront Varric, but of course he'd never showed.

"I don't know," Ellana said. "And that's not the point. Why are you doing this? Is it just because you don't like Solas?"

"Oh, come on. I like Chuckles just fine. And Remus is a dashing guy! Insufferable. Tall. All your favorite things."

"Stop it," Ellana hissed.

"You should take it as a compliment, Magpie. It's a love story for the ages."

She hated that phrase and was about to tell him so, when they both turned their heads toward the sound of Cassandra's voice booming from near the dining tables.

"A WEEK?"

Solas cast a nervous glance around the room and found Ellana watching him.

"The ballroom amplifies voices," he told Cassandra, who had set her jaw and was carrying herself like she was about to strangle him. "Even when one is not shouting."

"I wasn't -" Cassandra stopped herself, then lowered her volume considerably before she began again. "I wasn't shouting," she objected. "You told me you'd been together for months!"

"I didn't say -"

"No, I'm sure you didn't say, Solas. But you let me believe it! Maker!" She tried to put a hand over her mouth but found her mask in the way and only became more flustered. "I can only imagine what I said to Ellana before she left to visit you. Are you completely out of your mind?"

Yes, he thought. He had been somewhat beyond the usual boundaries his logic demanded in the weeks leading up to Ellana's arrival in Lydes.

"I apologize, Cassandra. I suppose I was panicking, somewhat."

"Yes, I can see that now." She heaved an aggravated sigh in his direction as they approached their table.

"I am aware I have no standing to ask you a favor at the moment …" Solas began as he saw Merrill's head pop up and her eyes immediately lock on his.

"You don't." And then Cassandra rolled her shoulders and shook her head. "But ask it anyway."

"Merrill - the woman at the table? She is the curator of the Dalish archive in Markham and Ellana's closest friend."

"I see her," Cassandra nodded.

"She … does not particularly care for me."

"Why?"

The absolute indignation in Cassandara's question was a pleasant thing to hear, even if Solas wasn't entirely confident he deserved it.

"I am not certain," he said, and that was mostly true. He felt guilty enough that he didn't want to lie to Cassandra again, but giving her the full context would require him to explain much more than was reasonable at the present moment.

"I will put in a good word for you," she said with an authoritative nod.

"I don't know how much that would help. But if you could perhaps strike up conversation with her, at least until Ellana arrives?"

The last thing he needed was for Merrill to resume her questioning and, this time, to have Cassandra there as an additional spectator.

"Of course."

Unfortunately, Solas realized as soon as they reached the table, the situation was not quite that simple.

Place cards had been arranged in front of each table setting. Cole was sitting dutifully on Merrill's left, and the card on her right was very clearly labeled -

"Solas," she smiled as she pushed out his chair with her foot and patted the seat. "It looks like we're sitting beside each other!"

"Merrill said we shouldn't ignore the cards," Cole told him. "Orlesian etiquette for a party this fancy." She nodded soberly in agreement.

"I was unaware you were so well-versed in formal Orlesian customs," Solas said as he unbuttoned his jacket and slid into the chair.

"Oh? Did you think I was just some naive Dalish girl from the Marches who wouldn't know any better?" Merrill asked cheerfully.

Solas' throat went dry as he watched Cassandra's head swing wildly between the two of them. He waited for her to intervene, but she appeared to be completely dumbstruck - he had obviously not sufficiently prepared her for Merrill's unique blend of ruthlessness paired with a deceptively sunny disposition. Of course, he had also not sufficiently prepared for this, despite Ellana's warnings.

Merrill leaned on the table, a hand on her chin - it was a pose very similar to one he'd seen Ellana adopt on many occasions, always immediately before he was about to be skewered in one way or another.

"So," she said, "what's your earliest memory?"

Solas heard the clip of Ellana's heels behind him - short, quick steps speeding to his rescue - before she appeared in his peripheral vision. She drove her hip into his side and landed heavily on the chair beside him.

"Move, Solas."

"That's his seat," Merrill objected. "Yours is on his other side."

Ellana grabbed her place card in one hand and Solas' in the other and swapped them.

"Not anymore."

Solas slid into the next seat over and Ellana moved fully onto the one he'd vacated. She leaned into him with an exhausted sigh.

"Remind me again how many courses we have to sit through?" she asked as she rested a hand on his leg.

"Seven. With an intermission between each for either dancing or speeches."

"Fuck," she whispered, and he found he could not disagree.

Once everyone had made introductions, they temporarily removed their masks in anticipation of the apéritif that was being served. Solas explained that some Orlesians would elect to leave their masks on for dining - a bit of grandstanding to demonstrate just how frequently they attended such balls - but the easy consensus at their table was that no one cared enough to make such an attempt.

Ellana carefully placed her mask on the table and then pulled her phone out of her clutch. She had to scroll down a good way before she found her conversation with Sera.

Ellana: Talked to Varric. Just wanted to say thanks.

Starving, she shoved a canapé into her mouth and took a long drink from the cocktail it had been paired with it as she waited for Sera to respond.

Sera: dont know what you mean

Sera: but varrics a nob

Sera: let us go on and on about how good his book was

Sera: never told us it was his book

Sera: twat

This was not a motive Ellana had considered, but it sounded like Sera had sent her the Elvhen Glory drafts simply because she was angry at Varric for never telling her he'd written Inquisitive Hearts. Which was actually a pretty good point, now that Ellana thought about it. He'd been in all the chats and office discussions about how much everyone loved the book - had even offered his own thoughts about the bits he liked the most - and had secretly been eating up their compliments the entire time.

Twat, she agreed as she glared at him from across the table.

Sera: anyway

Sera: if you want to say thanks

Sera: for whatever

Sera: you can send me a pic in your fancy dress

Sera: leli said you look hot

Sera: she said its frontless backless

Ellana burst into laughter at that, earning stares from everyone at the table.

"Sorry," she apologized. "Just texting."

"Dorian hasn't sent you anything, has he?" Solas asked quietly.

"No." She held her phone out in front of her, found an angle she liked, and said, "Solas, look up?"

She tapped the button to take the photo at the exact moment he turned toward her, a canapé half in his mouth.

"Not the most flattering picture," he mumbled once he'd finished chewing.

"That's OK. It's a candid." She grinned.

"That isn't …" He trailed off with a sigh, recognizing her bait for what it was, and put his mask back on his face.

Ellana held in a laugh as she sent the picture to Sera. Then she tapped out a text to Dorian, asking where he was, before she replaced her mask as well.

She needn't have bothered, since her question was answered a few minutes later when Halamshiral's bells rang to signal that the event was about to begin.

Dorian sauntered in from the vestibule at the last possible moment - as the ballroom doors were closing - wearing a gorgeous suit with coattails that hung down to his ankles like a cape. The cloth was a rich black brocade embellished with an emerald and gold geometric pattern, but Ellana doubted anyone who turned to watch him cared much about what he was wearing. It was all about what he wasn't.

Dorian's face was bare.

"Didn't realize that was an option," Varric grumbled.

It's not, Ellana thought. Unless you give absolutely no fucks what anyone thinks of you.

She'd never liked him more.

It felt like every head in the ballroom turned to watch him as he made his way slowly to their table.

"Dr. Dorian Pavus." Solas directed his introduction to the entire table, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Dorian took the vacant seat beside him.

"Good to finally see you again," Ellana smiled. "We were starting to wonder if you were coming."

"A fashionably late invitation calls for a fashionably late entrance."

"You don't like masks," Cole observed.

"Absolutely not!" Dorian glanced meaningfully around the table before adding, "Why would I ever want to hide this face?"

Dorian's presence at the table lightened the mood considerably. Ellana still wasn't exactly speaking to Varric, but at least they weren't glowering at each other anymore. Instead, Cole had captured his attention with question after question about his mystery novels. Merrill and Cass were having an animated conversation about archival methods, while Dorian and Solas argued congenially about one of the books they'd read in Vyrantium. Ellana relaxed back into her seat, the bright sounds of her friends' voices shielding her from the sea of judgmental strangers waiting just beyond their table.

Her clutch vibrated in her lap, and she pulled out her phone again.

Sera: who is that

Ellana: Who do you mean?

Sera: baldy

Sera: stuffing his face

Sera: behind you

Sera: who is he

Ellana frowned at her phone, confused. She was relatively certain she'd described Solas to Sera before, but maybe she'd never shown her a picture.

Ellana: That's Solas.

She watched as dots appeared to indicate Sera was responding. Then they stopped. Then they started again.

"Everything alright?" Solas leaned against her shoulder.

"I figured out who sent me Elvhen Glory," she whispered. "One of my coworkers. Just talking to her now."

His eyes darted toward Varric. "You'll have to fill me in when we have a more private moment."

"Don't worry," she nodded.

The bells rang again to announce the conclusion of the first course, and everyone sitting in the upper level of the ballroom turned expectantly toward the tables below. Ellana recognized Briala's willowy figure as she made her way to the center of the dance floor in a teal gown and elaborate silver mask.

Somehow the acoustics of that particular spot on the floor carried throughout the hall so that no microphone was necessary. Briala welcomed everyone to Halamshiral, recognized a few donors in particular, and mentioned that the unveiling of the Inquisitor's portrait would happen at the final break of the night, just before dessert was served.

"Oh, great," Ellana whispered to Solas. "So that means my speech is last."

"It will be the most memorable."

She gave him a doubtful look that she knew he wouldn't be able to see. "Did you mean for that to sound ominous?"

"I was aiming for reassuring," he replied with a tilt of his head.

Her phone was buzzing again, and she checked it as discretely as she could while Briala wrapped up her speech.

Sera: solas like your bf?

Ellana: Yes?

Sera: not really

Ellana: Yes, really??

She set her phone aside and had only a moment to wonder what exactly Sera was so confused about before the next course arrived. She forced herself to take a little more time with this one than she had the last, while listening absently to the conversations that resumed all around her.

The speech is definitely going to be memorable, she thought. She'd given it one final pass while Merrill drove them to the museum, and made a handful of edits that prioritized plain words over Orlesian politicking. There was a not-so-small chance it would be a disaster.

The bells sounded again - Ellana was going to be hearing them in her sleep - to signal the first round of dancing. Her heart jumped to her throat.

Solas stood, buttoned his jacked, and helped her pull out her chair before offering his hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yep. I've just decided that if I'm awful, I'll make sure absolutely everyone in this room knows you're the one who taught me."

"Tempting as I know it must be," he said as he wrapped her arm around his, "please do not sabotage yourself merely for the opportunity to spread word that I am a terrible dance instructor."

"We'll see."

Even with Solas to steady her, picking her way down the slick marble steps in heels and with her train gathered in one hand was nerve-wracking. She was relieved when she reached the bottom - but then the band tuned their instruments, and her pulse was pounding in her ears, and there were so many turns to remember, and what if she went the wrong way on any of them, and why was everything in Orlais so complicated, and what had she been thinking when she'd agreed to do this?

"Ellana."

She looked up and could see his eyes almost clearly now that they were standing face to face and beneath the glow of the ballroom's enormous chandelier.

"Relax your arms, remember?"

Right. She was standing too stiffly. She let go of him for a moment to shake them out and roll her neck, then got back into position.

"Solas." Her voice sounded so small that it was mortifying. "I don't think I remember any of it."

"You will, my love. It will come to you when the music begins. And if it doesn't, we will simply find another way to dance."

He smiled and it was so easy to believe him.

Solas pulled her a little closer just as the band began to play. The beginning was simple enough - just stepping back and forth, swaying a little, moving around in a small circle. Her feet, by some miracle, did what they were supposed to do. Then a funny little move where they held hands and pulled away from each other, and then - Ellana tensed as she anticipated it - the first spin.

He lifted her hand, she took a few steps, and it was over in a blink. The next one was more complicated. She had to raise her arm for him to pass under - a move which had resulted in her smacking him in the face the first few times they'd attempted it at home when she wasn't wearing heels. Fortunately, Solas had quickly realized he needed to bend his knees to compensate. He passed beneath her arm now without incident, and then it was back to the swaying-stepping thing, in a larger arc around the dance floor.

The rest is the same, she thought with enormous relief.

"The rest is the same," he murmured the next time she spun close to his face.

Ellana was sure she must have made a few missteps but it suddenly didn't matter. She couldn't fight the grin pulling at her cheeks. The biggest challenge now was making sure she didn't get too distracted by how elegant Solas was with each of his movements. She was completing her spins a little too quickly, eager to turn back so she could watch him.

She lost it on the final spin, turning entirely too fast, and saw his eyes widen in panic as she set upon a collision course with his chest. He caught her at the last moment, somehow finessing her error into a small dip. The song ended, and Ellana stood upright.

"Shit," she whispered. "Thank you. If I made it all the way to the end and then fell on my ass, I would have been furious."

"My motivations were entirely selfish," he replied. "I can't have all these people thinking I taught you to do that."

"Oh, funny," she scowled as she extricated herself from his arms. "The next time we go dancing, it's going to be in a club. You know - real dancing. None of this formal nonsense."

He sounded all too eager as he said, "Agreed."

"Ellana! Solas! Bonsoir!"

Briala hurried over to them, shaking Solas' hand before she hovered on either side of Ellana's face. It was truly the silliest moment Ellana had experienced yet tonight - the Orlesian custom of kissing cheeks, except both participants were wearing masks.

"I love your dress," Ellana said before she could start laughing. "If you get tired of brushing shoulders with all the elites down here, you're welcome to join us in the cheap seats."

A smile nearly broke across Briala's face, but then something froze it entirely. Ellana sensed a presence behind her, even before she heard the woman's voice.

"I assure you, Madame Lavellan, none of the paid seats at tonight's event were cheap."

She turned to find a tall woman wearing a mask styled to look like moth's wings peering down at her.

"How true," Solas drawled beside her. "The opulence of this gala is self-evident. What a marvelous use of the Ministry of Culture's resources. Surely the expense will be fully recouped … this year."

His sarcasm was so incredibly attractive when it wasn't directed at her.

The woman turned her attention on him - or, at least, Ellana thought she did. The mask covered so much of her face it was difficult to tell.

"And you must be Dr. Solas of Lydes. Briala has spoken so highly of both of you." Her meaning was obvious in her intonation: Briala had been mistaken.

"Ah - Ellana, Solas." Briala stepped forward. "May I present Director Florianne. She oversees the collection at Halamshiral."

"Enchanté," Solas said in a tone clearly meant to convey that no one in history had ever been less enchanted to meet someone than he was now.

"The feeling is mutual," Florianne replied.

Stupid fucking Orlais, Ellana thought. An entire country built on an obsession with passive aggression and double entendre. How did it even function?

The bells rang and now they were her favorite sound. Ellana grabbed Solas' hand and took a step toward the staircase before Florianne stopped her with one last comment.

"I do hope I'll have a chance to speak to you at greater length tonight, Madame Lavellan. I am most eager to see in person the new letters from the Inquisitor that you have uncovered."

"Well, in that case, you're in luck," Ellana said, plastering on her sweetest smile (she knew Solas would complain it was a grimace but he was wrong). "The curator of the Dalish archive in Markham is actually just upstairs. I would be happy to make introductions."

"The … who? I am afraid I do not understand your meaning."

"Inquisitor Lavellan was a member of my clan. Her letters are being stored with the rest of our archival materials in Markham. If you'd like to make a request to view them, you'll want to go through the archive's curator. She just happens to be a close friend."

Ellana watched with cool satisfaction as Florianne's hands momentarily balled into fists before she could recover.

"Perhaps I will do so," she said with barely concealed irritation. "And in the meantime, I shall look forward to your speech. I can only hope it will be as enlightening as this conversation has been."

"Nice meeting you!" Ellana grinned over her shoulder. She tried to give Briala a more sympathetic expression but that kind of nuance was absolutely impossible with the mask, so she just offered a shrug instead.

Ellana tugged Solas up the stairs behind her, his hand clasped tightly in hers as they returned to their table.

"Impressively done," he said as he pulled out her chair.

"I know," she said, maybe just a little too smugly, as she took her seat.

While the third course was served, she checked her phone and found a new round of completely baffling texts from Sera waiting for her.

Sera: pi

Sera: pss

Sera: frigging

Sera: PISS

Sera: wait

Sera: wAIT

Ellana stared down at her screen, trying to decipher what any of that meant, as a plate was placed in front of her.

Ellana: Are you OK?

Sera: maybe

Sera: will be

Sera: looking for smth…

Rolling her eyes, Ellana shoved her phone back into her clutch and decided that was enough texting for the night. Sera was probably trying to find some particularly cruel meme that reminded her of Solas (if she wasn't in the process of creating one herself). Whatever it was could wait until after the gala was over.

She looked over each of her shoulders to make sure there were no surprises waiting behind her before she leaned into Solas and said, "Florianne seems delightful."

"She's from a very old Orlesian family. Very wealthy. Very connected."

"Shocking."

"She's been the Director here for less than a year. Rumor has it, she all but forced her way into the position, capitalizing on the donations she and her family have made - both items to be exhibited and financial contributions."

"Ugh. Everything you say makes me like her even more." Ellana winced as she cut into her vegetable tart a little too aggressively and her knife screeched on the plate. "I hope what I said down there won't cause too much trouble for Briala."

Solas shrugged. "Florianne played the Game. You surpassed her. Any embarrassment she now feels is simply the risk she assumed."

"Well good, because I wasn't being entirely sincere," Ellana admitted. "It's usually worth the trouble to piss off somebody like her."

He let out a small chuckle, then rested his utensils on his plate and slid his chair a little closer to hers. "I am inclined to agree," he said softly, as he swept his hand across the bare skin of her back and well below the velvet of her dress.

"Solas," she whispered a warning as his fingers began to curl around her ribs. "Whatever you're thinking -" and it was very obvious what he was thinking, "- save it for later."

She could see his eyes were on her mouth when he nodded.

"Later."

Ellana decided she was annoyed with the bells again when, this time, they rang to announce it was time for Director Florianne to give a speech. The woman stepped to the center of the dance floor as Briala had and spoke for what felt like an eternity.

From just the little Solas had told her of Florianne, Ellana was completely unsurprised by the content of her speech. A lengthy recounting of her family's history, their likely connection to the Imperial line that once ruled Orlais. A (partial, Florianne stressed) list of the various artifacts she had so generously donated to Halamshiral's collection. So many uses of words like 'legacy' and 'tradition' that it set her teeth on edge. She didn't realize she'd been angrily tapping a fingernail on her champagne flute until Solas rested his hand over hers.

And then, just when she thought it was finally over, Florianne made her surprise announcement.

"I am thrilled to tell you, our honored guests, that there are even more fruits of the joint excavation conducted in the Arbor Wilds. Our colleagues in Tevinter have graciously returned to Orlais an artifact discovered at the same site as the Final Inquisitor's portrait."

Ellana gripped Solas' hand so tightly she felt him flinch.

"This artifact was taken to Minrathous for initial testing, to confirm it would be safe for public display. Now these tests have concluded, and I am most proud to announce that Halamshiral has taken charge of an item of ancient origin.

"While scholars have yet to determine its original use, the item resembles a giant mirror - referred to in some Tevinter sources as an eluvian. With the eluvian's arrival in Orlais, we look forward to continued research efforts that will eventually explain how ancient Tevinter constructed and used the mirror, and why it was discovered on Orlesian territory."

"Eluvian," Ellana whispered, correcting Florianne's abysmal pronunciation. She cast a glance around the table and found Dorian and Merrill staring down at the dance floor with the same open-mouthed disbelief she felt. Solas was looking at her.

"Beginning Monday, the eluvian will be available for public view in Le Requiem," Florianne continued.

"What's that?" Ellana asked Solas.

"It was a private chapel in the original Winter Palace - now reconstructed as an exhibit hall in the museum."

"The mirror has to be there now if they're opening the exhibit on Monday."

"What do you have in mind?" Solas asked carefully.

"Dorian said Tevinter wants to activate it. There's no chance they've given up on that. We need to - I don't know. Find some way to make sure it's unusable. Destroy it, smash it, if we have no other choice.

"I can't explain it, Solas, but I know, I can feel," she said, placing a hand over her heart, "we can't let them use that mirror."

He nodded without hesitation, and Ellana thought that she could kiss him for that if the circumstances weren't so dire and they weren't both wearing enormous masks on their faces.

They hurried out of their seats, but Dorian spoke up immediately.

"Where are you two headed? I believe we have a few matters to discuss."

"I have some thoughts too," Merrill chimed in.

Ellana shared a look with Solas and she knew they'd arrived at the same conclusion: sneaking around with four people would be much harder than sneaking around with two.

"Just getting some air," they said at precisely the same time.

"It's unsettling when you do that," Dorian complained.

"Don't be long," Merrill said, sounding particularly unconvinced.

The sped down the length of the ballroom, hand in hand. Ellana saw a few heads turn as they passed.

"I hope we're not attracting too much attention - leaving just as the main course is being served."

"Ellana."

He said her name like she'd missed something obvious, so she gave him an irritated, "What?" in reply.

"It is a masked gala in Orlais. They will assume that we are doing the same as many others have already done this evening - seeking an illicit rendezvous in the first dark corner we can find."

"Ugh! This stupid country!" Ellana furiously shook her head, having to steady the wolf by its ear yet again.

Solas angled his head slightly as he looked at her, and she could plainly hear his voice in her thoughts.

You would not have objected ten minutes ago.

"Yes! OK! Fine!" she said, throwing up her hands in resignation.

Lightning flashed through the windows and Ellana was momentarily captivated by the odd green shadows it cast on the marble floor, before Solas gave her hand a squeeze and they hurried into the vestibule.

Chapter Text

Peals of laughter echoed through the halls of Halamshiral. Solas felt Ellana slow beside him as she turned toward one of the shadowed alcoves from which the sounds emerged. He caught her hand again, pulling her onward before the two women tangled together in the darkness could notice her attention.

"You weren't kidding," she whispered. "There really is a rendezvous happening in every dark corner."

"Yes, and Orlesian custom is to avert your eyes unless you wish to signify your desire to join."

"To join?" She let out a quiet huff of irritation. Her already limited patience was clearly at its end, and he couldn't help but think it might not bode well for the carefully crafted, exceedingly diplomatic speech she intended to give not long from now.

"Sounds like you're familiar with the 'custom,'" she teased with a knowing tilt of her chin.

The truth was he'd stumbled into the realization a few years ago much as Ellana very nearly had - by hearing voices and unintentionally turning toward them. He'd politely declined their invitation for a number of reasons, foremost that he'd been at a work function and recognized the pair as professors from another department. He assumed that would be the end of it until one of them appeared in his office a few days later to give him a stern lecture about the appropriate etiquette for such occasions. While Solas was truly grateful for the information (it would save him from similar trouble at future events), the method of delivery had been slightly mortifying.

He considered explaining this to Ellana and immediately decided against it, instead offering what he hoped was a thoroughly enigmatic smile. It would be much more entertaining to watch her draw her own conclusions.

She regarded him for only a moment, the pinch in her brows evident even though he could not see it, then said, "Oh, please. You're not that Orlesian. Stop wasting time."

He frowned as he helped her up the staircase at the end of the vestibule, only somewhat annoyed that she'd guessed correctly. "I am not wasting time. But you appear to be enjoying yourself far too much for someone who just insisted on the gravity of our situation."

"And you're not enjoying yourself? You broke into a library to spend the night there as a kid, and you want me to believe you're not absolutely dying to go wander around a closed museum?"

"I can wander the museum in Lydes after hours whenever I like."

She stared at him, hands on her hips, as they arrived at the top of the stairs. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and she grinned in a way that felt distinctly appropriate for the shape of her mask.

"Yeah, but you're allowed to do that," she said.

It was possible, Solas considered, that Ellana understood him a little too well.

She tried the handle of the heavy blue door that usually stood open to grant guests entry into the Royal Wing.

"Locked," she confirmed. "Can you pick it?"

"With what?"

"You don't have your little pouch of tools on you tonight? Didn't you think you might need to hotwire something?"

"Ah yes, if only we had a moped we could crash through the door."

She scowled prettily at him.

"My tools are in my bag. In Cole's car."

He rarely went anywhere without that that pouch, but his suit had limited pocket space and he had prioritized another item instead - a decision he was now questioning, given the night's current trajectory.

Ellana looked him up and down appraisingly. "You could probably kick it in," she determined with undisguised excitement.

"That would be quite loud. And these," he said as he lifted a foot to draw her attention to his dress shoes, "are not the ideal tool for the job."

"What … is the ideal tool?"

"Boots. Preferably with a reinforced sole."

Solas was reasonably certain she said "Huh" in reply, but the sound of it was a bit too breathy and resembled much more closely various noises he'd heard her make under drastically different circumstances. They both found things to investigate that did not require looking at each other.

"The hinges -" Ellana suggested a moment later.

"The door is not an option without tools."

"Do you have something else in mind?"

He did, but he suspected she was going to hate it.

"I hate this."

Solas stood with his back pressed against stone, his feet carefully balanced on the wide ledge protruding from the wall. Ellana leaned from the open window he'd climbed out of a few moments before, staring at the gardens and hedges below.

"You shouldn't look down," he suggested.

"Great advice, thanks."

She didn't move.

"I was unaware you had a problem with heights, or I would not have suggested this."

"I'm fine with heights," she snapped. "At least in normal situations. Climbing out on a ledge that's more than three storeys off the ground is not normal."

"Do you want me to come back?" he offered.

"No. Just … give me a minute."

Ellana ducked inside, then reemerged with a shoe in each hand.

"Here," she said as she offered them to him. "You need to do something with these. I don't have anywhere to put them."

Solas wasn't sure what to do with them either. Finally, he settled on shoving a shoe in each of his pockets. Only the toes really fit, but they felt secure enough that they seemed unlikely to fall out.

"Please, please, do not lose those," Ellana said. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you just how funny these Orlesians would find it if I had to give my speech barefoot."

"I won't lose them," he promised.

Ellana sat on the windowsill, then took several long breaths before she swung her legs around to rest her feet on the ledge below. She steadied herself, then gathered the train of her dress into her fist.

"This is truly - and please understand I don't say this lightly - the worst idea you've ever had."

It wasn't, Solas knew. Not by a long shot. But Ellana had only been subjected to a few months' worth of his ideas, and was operating with a limited sample size.

She slowly rose to her feet, tested her balance, and shuffled a few steps to the right until she was beside him.

"We shouldn't need to go far. We'll round the corner at the end," he bobbed his head to indicate where the wall stopped, "then we can reenter at the first window we find."

"About that reentry part. Do you have a plan for how to get one of these windows open from the outside?"

He had two. The first involved luck and the second involved broken glass.

"Yes," he said.

Solas could feel the weight of Ellana's stare and thought it was best to start moving again.

They crept along the edge of the wall. The corner was the worst of it - a moment of nothing beyond his fingertips and the abrupt disappearance of comforting brick behind his back. But it was only for a step, and then he'd rounded to the other side.

He peered around the corner to watch Ellana do the same. Her hand was trembling where it was outstretched on the stone and she was, again, looking down.

He thought he should call her name, help her refocus her attention, but then a flash of lightning split the sky and the rest was a blur.

She stepped on the hem of her skirt. Her stockinged foot slipped on the velvet. She tipped forward as her hands grasped at the air. And then a cold breeze tickled his fingertips and suddenly Ellana was past the corner with her back pressed against the wall again.

"What was that?" she gasped, her nails scraping at the mortar. "It felt like …"

She was too distressed or too disoriented to finish the thought. Solas took a step toward her, until he was close enough to place his hand over hers. When she looked at him, her eyes were wide and her chest heaved with panicked breaths.

"Let's get inside. Just a few steps more." He hoped.

She nodded shakily, then re-gathered her train in her hand.

Solas continued down the length of the wall, sighing with relief when he felt the edge of the brick make way for a wooden window frame. He held up a hand to indicate Ellana should wait, then twisted to look through the glass. Within the darkened room he could just make out the shapes of statuary lining the walls and a heavy rug covering the floor.

The angle was almost impossibly awkward as he kept one hand on the bricks to maintain his balance while using his other to try to find the seam between the window panes. This task would also be much easier, Solas thought, if he had the pocketknife he kept with his other tools.

He knew he was taking too long. Solas wondered whether the heel of one of Ellana's shoes would be strong enough to break the old glass when he heard her quiet, frightened murmurs a step away from him on the ledge.

"Solas? I think I might have a problem with heights now."

Just when he began to turn toward her, the window swung outward as surely as if it had been pushed from the inside, forcing him to take a step toward Ellana to move out of its way.

"The window is open," he said, blinking at it.

She whimpered in reply.

"I'll step inside so I can help you, but only once you are close enough to grab hold of the window," he said as he sank down to sit on the sill. "Can you do that?"

"Sure, no problem," she said, attempting to reclaim some of her usual bluster. She inched along the ledge until her hands found the glass.

Solas slipped into the room, his shoes landing silently on the rug. He spun around and grabbed Ellana's waist, then lifted her off the window ledge. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he carefully lowered her to the ground.

The moment her feet touched the rug, she buried her masked face against his shoulder and clutched at his back. "You're alright," he said as she shivered from head to toe. "I've got you," he told her again and again, as much for his own reassurance as hers - to force the image of her tilting over the precipice from his mind.

"We can't go back that way," she whispered as she gradually began to still. "I can't do that again. Not in this dress. It tried to kill me."

He choked down a laugh, relieved she could joke about what had happened.

"We'll unlock the door from this side when we leave," he said, absently stroking his fingers over her curls.

"Not the hair," she mumbled, and Solas moved his hand to her back.

A few moments later, once Ellana was finally willing to let go of him, she sat on one of the low benches in the center of the hall. She was still trying to calm herself, Solas saw, with a hand over her heart as she took slow and deliberate breaths.

"When I started to fall, I felt you," she said, peering up at him. "Like you put your hand on my chest and pushed me back against the wall."

He was uncertain how to respond so he merely stated the obvious. "I couldn't reach you. I was too far away."

Ellana shook her head, staring thoughtfully at a statue of a woman with a sword, as Solas pulled her shoes from his pockets. The one on the left came free easily enough, but the other snagged on something. He gave it a more forceful tug and watched in horror as the velvet box spilled out of his pocket, landed silently on the rug, and rolled under the bench on which she sat.

Instantly, he dropped to a crouch in front of her and grabbed her right ankle perhaps a little too suddenly.

"Oh!" Her surprised objection echoed through the hall. "What are you doing?" she demanded in a whisper.

"Putting your heels on," he said as he carefully slid her foot into the shoe.

"I can -" she began to object.

Solas allowed his hand to travel from her ankle a little higher until he had a firm grip on her calf.

"- do that myself," she finished with absolutely no conviction.

"We should not linger here," he said moving his right hand to her other ankle while he cautiously swept his left below the bench. He forced himself to move slowly as he spoke, so as not to risk knocking the box farther away. "I doubt Alexius would have allowed the mirror to be moved from Tevinter without sending some of his own people to look after it."

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked. "How to get to Le Requiem from where we are now?

"In a manner of speaking."

The velvet box slid into his palm. He closed his fingers around it and fought to keep his expression neutral.

"Solas, I'm begging you to just say no if the answer is no. It'll save us so much time."

"I have not been in this wing of the museum in several years," he clarified.

"So, again, the word you're looking for is 'no.'"

He rolled his eyes and placed her other shoe back on her foot. He stood quickly, sliding his hand into his pocket just as the bells rang again.

"Shit," Ellana whispered. "Is that the end of the main course already? What comes after that?"

"Another round of dancing. The interlude that follows dinner is the longest. It's meant to provide a break before the remaining courses are served, as well as an extended opportunity for socialization and other activities."

"Good to know there's a designated spot on the schedule for sneaking off and fucking around in case people haven't already had the chance," Ellana said. "We need to get moving, or I'm not going to make it back for my speech."

Solas offered a hand to help her up, and they quietly picked their way down the long statuary corridor.

"Give me your phone," Ellana said. "I'll find a map online."

"Do you not have yours?"

"Oh, right, let me just check my pockets." She dramatically patted the velvet that hugged her hips. With an exasperated sigh, he removed his phone from his jacket and handed it to her.

The bluish light from the screen reflected off the gems in her mask as she frowned down at it. "You don't have service."

She said this as if it was something he should have already known. He shrugged.

"I haven't looked at it since the gala began."

Ellana sighed and handed the phone back to him. "Try restarting it. I'm going to look for a map, or a sign, or something."

She moved with silent certainty in a direction she appeared to have chosen at random. Solas hurried after her.

"You are lost," Solas proclaimed with hushed irritation as Ellana led them into yet another room that proved to be a dead end.

"It's not my fault this place is a maze!" she protested as she spun around. "You still don't have a signal?"

He checked his phone again and shook his head. They'd ducked past at least half a dozen museum guards, several of whom had been grousing about their radios not working. It made them easier to avoid - the sounds of static announcing their presence throughout the wing. But Solas could not imagine it was coincidence that the last time they'd been near the mirror, all radio signals had failed as well.

"Maybe if we go back to where we started?" Ellana said. "The statuary hall. We could try -"

She snapped her mouth shut at the same moment Solas heard voices from the direction they'd come. She grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to reach for her and pulled him deeper into the room.

Ellana threw aside a heavy blue curtain that she'd peered behind a moment earlier when she'd been convinced (beyond all reason) there would be a 'secret passage' behind it. What she'd found instead, much to her disappointment, had been an alcove with a handful of chairs stacked inside. She dragged him into it now, pulling the curtain across the opening to hide them.

Footsteps, close enough to be at the entry to the room, clacked across the floor.

" … after the last bell," said one voice.

"When is that?" asked a second.

"Still another hour, at least," the first voice replied.

There was an irritated-sounding grumble from one or both of them. Then footsteps again - their words becoming less distinct as they turned away.

"… thought we were going to the nice part of Orlais …"

They're not local, Solas thought as he turned toward Ellana. She gave him a quick nod to indicate she'd heard the same.

"… get past the city and everything smells like cow shit …"

"… backward country …"

The voices suddenly fell silent as another, faster set of footsteps approached.

"What are you doing?"

Ellana took in a sharp breath before she could put a hand over her mouth. Calpernia, her wide eyes said when she looked at him. Solas nodded. He remembered the voice well.

"Get back to your posts," Calpernia snapped. "If I find you idling again, Minister Alexius will hear of it."

Solas and Ellana went perfectly still as the first two speakers made chastened apologies, their hurried steps already retreating. They remained motionless another long minute after, as Solas closed his eyes and strained to hear any noise that might indicate Calpernia was still nearby. When he was certain there were no sounds other than his and Ellana's shallow breathing, he leaned his head toward the edge of the curtain and peered through the narrow gap between it and the wall.

The room was empty.

He took hold of Ellana's elbow. "Let's go."

"Wait. Solas." She put a hand on his chest.

"For what? This is a trap. It must be. And I do not want him anywhere near you."

"We don't even know that he's here," she objected.

"We can debate this all you like when you are safely back in the ballroom."

"What if he's not in the museum yet but he will be? They said something about 'after the last bell.' This might be our only chance to take care of that mirror before he can get in the way."

"Calpernia is here. Now. With at least two of their bodyguards, and quite possibly more."

"Calpernia," Ellana scoffed. "I’ve dealt with her once already. I can deal with her again."

He could not begin to understand her confidence - not when his mind was overwhelmed with memories of the morning when she'd disappeared in Vyrantium, when he'd been so certain she was hurt, or …

Solas tried to force the thought away but it came back again and again, panic rising in his throat. Ellana was determined and it terrified him. He could see it in the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. If she insisted or, worse, called his bluff and ran off without him, he would have no choice but to follow her. Every nerve in his body, every instinct in his heart was screaming that they had to leave.

"Please, vhenan," he said. "I cannot lose you again."

He didn't realize what had happened until he watched her mouth fall open in shock. He hadn't meant to say it - not now, not before she'd had the chance, and certainly not when he was begging her to do as he asked. He thought he should apologize, clarify that it was not a manipulation but a - not a mistake, never that - but an impulse he'd failed to control.

And then, before he could say anything at all, he saw her soften. Ellana raised her hand to his lapel and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. She traced the embroidered flowers on his chest.

"Alright," she said quietly. "Alright. We'll go back."

Solas closed the door behind them, testing the handle to confirm it was still unlocked. They'd stolen silently back through the Royal Wing, dodging the museum guards as well as a few others who were not wearing the same uniform.

Ellana waited for him at the stairs that led down to the vestibule, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the marble floor.

"We need to get to the ballroom," he said.

"In a minute."

The bells had rung twice more as they found their way back to the statuary hall. Once the current intermission concluded, there was only the brief cheese course before Ellana's speech.

"The ballroom," Solas said, more insistently. What he actually wanted was to get her as far as he could from the museum. "Are you certain you still want to do this?"

"Yes." Ellana frowned as she nodded. He knew it would be pointless to argue with her, but at least they could leave the moment she was finished.

He saw her to the ballroom doors, his fingers anxiously tracing the outside of his pocket.

"I will join you in a moment," he said, inclining his head toward the narrow hallway off the vestibule that led to the restrooms.

She nodded again, then placed a sudden, quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He waited until he saw her reach their table, where Merrill had already stood to confront her, before tearing his gaze away.

The restrooms were thankfully deserted - the one part of the museum Orlesians respected as being off-limits for their endeavors. Solas surveyed himself in the mirror, carefully smoothing his shirt where it had become wrinkled, straightening his tie, and removing the bright red stain of Ellana's lipstick from his mouth.

Vhenan, he thought. Vhenan. Vhenan. Vhenan, the sound of the word matching the frenzied beating of his heart.

The bells once again called him from his distraction. He tried desperately to shake off his disappointment at how the night had progressed. There was no need to be impatient yet again, not when so much was at stake.

The gala had seemed a simple answer to the question Solas had been asking himself since they returned to Lydes: When?

He'd seen the answer so clearly in his mind.

He imagined a quiet moment at the night's end. She was on one of Halamshiral's balconies, overlooking the gardens, claiming a breath of fresh air after the evening's excitement. He would steal a moment to watch her - to savor the mask falling away as she became Ellana again, to marvel that she trusted him enough to let him see the truth of herself. He would approach, place a hand on her back, watch her smile at his touch.

He would ask her then. He had no speech prepared. He knew he should after all this time to consider it, but he wished to speak from his heart. He was not nervous like he had been in Vyrantium; or, at least, he was not nervous to tell her what he wanted. He thought she might want it too.

The nerves were for everything else - the maelstrom that surrounded them. He loved that their friends would be close at hand, but he had not anticipated Merrill's distrust, Cassandra's prying, nor Varric and Ellana's simmering feud. The mirror and Alexius' looming presence were complications he had not foreseen, and he was furious with himself for not suspecting that Orlais' and Tevinter's respective Ministries of Culture might be far more entangled than they appeared.

Had he better prepared for meeting Merrill, had he been more honest with Cassandra, had he attempted to mediate between Ellana and Varric instead of escalating things with his own sarcasm …

Had he been more vigilant, had he bothered to dig deeper when Florianne was appointed, had he found a new contact in Tevinter when Dorian fled, had he taken greater caution with Ellana's safety …

But he had been unready and reckless. And now she was here, quite possibly under the same roof as Alexius - a confluence of events that was distinctly his fault.

Solas allowed his hand to slip into his pocket as he left the restroom. After the near-disaster in Vyrantium, he had wanted the ring far from him. It was a way to resist the temptation to ask her, yes. But it also removed the urge to constantly fidget with the box, examine the ring, to use both as a comfort he knew he didn't truly need. This, gradually, had morphed into an irrational sort of superstition: he worried that paying it too much attention would only lead to the same sort of agitation he'd felt the last time, and so he'd forced it from his mind all evening.

Now he could no longer deny himself the reassurance. The night's stakes had shifted so dramatically, and he knew they could not risk a delay after the gala was over for Ellana to find the balcony where Solas would watch her relax into herself, rest his hand on her back, and tell her he wanted to marry her.

There is time, he thought as he pulled the box from his pocket. It does not need to be tonight. It does not need to be here. The vision in your head is not the only possible version of events.

The thought alone was not quite enough to be comforting. So he flipped open the lid, promising himself he needed only one, quick look.

"You were gone for ages," Merrill hissed as Ellana slid back into her seat.

"Do you have a mirror I can borrow?" Ellana asked, ignoring her reprimand.

Merrill pouted but handed over her compact. "Your lipstick is smudged."

"That's what the mirror is for."

Ellana fixed it as best she could with vhenan echoing in her ears, while both Merrill and Dorian stared at her expectantly.

"What?" she snapped.

"The Eluvian," Dorian said.

"Eluvian," Merrill corrected his pronunciation.

"We need to discuss what to do about it. Who we should talk to. What steps to take next to ensure it's actually safe," he shook his head irritably. "Where is Solas? He's the one who knows all this Orlesian bureaucracy."

"He stopped at the restroom," Ellana explained. "He'll be here in a minute."

"Well, that must have been some air the two of you took in," Dorian grinned. "Was a breeze a little too forceful as it rustled across your lips?"

Ellana glared at him before tossing Merrill's compact back to her.

Vhenan. The the softness of his voice when he'd said it …

… the way he'd sounded exactly like that other version of him, when he'd been broken and bleeding.

She grabbed her phone to tell Solas he needed to get back to the ballroom. She couldn't handle both Dorian and Merrill on her own and … she needed to see him. But as soon as she opened her texts, she realized she didn't have service either.

"What's with the reception here?" Ellana directed her question to the table. "I didn't have a problem earlier tonight."

"Yeah, the whole room's grumbling about it," Varric confirmed. "Apparently you can't find a signal anywhere in the museum."

She lowered her voice as she leaned toward Merrill. "Really relieved I memorized my speech."

"About that. Curator Briala stopped by while you were 'getting air.' She said she'll come find you when it's time to walk to the Elven Hall for the portrait unveiling."

Ellana wasn't sure whether it was a compliment to the Inquisitor that an entire gala of guests was being made to walk through the museum to see her face for the first time, or if it was actually just to prevent the portrait of an elf agitator from being honored with even a temporary display in the grand ballroom.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she looked back toward the doors, waiting for Solas to return, and she was startled by Briala's sudden appearance at the table.

"Ellana? Are you ready? We have only a moment before the bells ring. You are to be at the head of the procession, with Director Florianne and myself."

"Oh. Yes. But I need … if I could just have a minute to -"

Vhenan. She looked at the door again.

"I'll go get him, my dear," Dorian offered, and she instantly forgave him for teasing her before. "I'm sure he's lost track of the time."

Solas doesn't lose track of time, Ellana thought as Briala looped an arm through hers.

The bells clanged in her ears and she tried to unclench her jaw. Briala led the way to the vestibule, saying "Pardon, pardon," again and again as they eased through the dense mob.

Ellana lost sight of her friends first, and then even the familiar sounds of their voices were swallowed up by the din of the crowd. All too quickly she was surrounded, no longer able to see far enough ahead of her to search for the dark green of Solas' feathers.

Briala finally maneuvered to the front of the pack, where Florianne was waiting for them. The rest of the walk to the Elven Collection was a blur as Ellana glanced over her shoulders, trying not to flinch each time the thunder cracked.

The Inquisitor's portrait, now covered with a red cloth, was even smaller than she remembered - swallowed up by the scale of the hall. Ellana realized as she approached it that she'd been provided neither podium nor any sort of stage to raise her above the level of the crowd, and wondered who precisely had made that choice.

Florianne placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing just hard enough that Ellana could feel the bite of her nails.

The lights flickered overhead, eliciting a swell of gasps from the hall.

"Ah. A word of advice from an old veteran of such parties? You should keep it brief if you do not wish to lose your audience." Florianne nodded toward the windows as lightning flashed again. "Our guests will be eager to partake of dessert and be on their way before the weather breaks."

Ellana smiled as pleasantly as she could. "Don't worry, Director. This won't take long."

"Bon courage," Florianne said.

Ellana kept her face perfect still as she turned to face the crowd that was still slowly filing in. Directly across from her, glinting green in the soft glow of the chandeliers, was an enormous mosaic. It was not entirely intact, many of its tiles long lost, but the shape was evident regardless.

She would give her speech under the watchful gaze of the wolf.

Chapter Text

"Bonsoir." Ellana greeted the room.

The crowd was ungainly, fidgeting awkwardly as they tried to find the right amount of distance between themselves and their neighbors. Another interesting choice, Ellana thought, to have them remain standing during her remarks.

She was agitated too. She had yet to pick out any of her friends among the sea of masks. Florianne hovered too near her shoulder to ignore. Briala had been forced several steps back, more a member of the audience than an authority. The near constant rumble of thunder was joined now by the harsh noise of rain pelting the windows.

And all of that would have been tolerable, easily brushed aside, if she could just see Solas.

Without the real image of him to cling to, her mind brought her again and again to the top of the temple, to the sight she thought she'd successfully locked away in her memory.

Vhenan, as he fell to his knees.

Vhenan, as his blood stained her hands.

A flash of lightning drew her attention to the eyes of the wolf across from her. There was something vivid about them - something captivating about the way the blue glass of their irises swallowed the light and left her feeling like he was staring straight through her. It was a strange enough sensation to break her free from her spiraling thoughts.

"Andaran atish’an," Ellana said, this time with a broad smile, her voice loud and clear enough to fill the hall.

That caught their attention.

The room stilled as all eyes settled on her. A handful of voices responded with 'aneth ara,' led most enthusiastically by Merrill, who elbowed her way to the front with Cole beside her. The rest of the crowd remained silent.

"A traditional Elvish greeting," Ellana explained. "I thought it would be appropriate, given where we're currently standing."

A few polite and - to Ellana's ears - placating murmurs swept through the audience. She finally picked out Cassandra's white suit, then noticed Varric nearby.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Briala smirking. Hopefully she wouldn't be the only person who realized the double meaning in Ellana's words. It wasn't just that they were in the middle of the Elven Collection, but that they were in Halamshiral - a place which claimed as much Dalish history as it did Orlesian.

She squared her shoulders and began.

"My name is Ellana Lavellan," she said, since no introduction had been given for her. "I'm here tonight because, centuries ago, a member of my clan was given a title by the Chantry. I wish I could tell you more about why she was chosen, or the purpose of that title. But even though we now know what she looked like," she gestured toward the covered portrait, "she's still largely a mystery to us.

"Before we knew her name, the Inquisitor was a figure of constant speculation. That much hasn't changed." She paused to give the audience a knowing smile, and they responded with a courteous swell of laughter.

"I'm sure you've all heard the rumors from … how did Director Florianne put it? Her 'colleagues in Tevinter,'" she said, giving Florianne a demure nod as she lingered on the word.

All she could see of the Director's face was her small pout, which looked decidedly unamused.

Good, Ellana thought, as the crowd tittered quietly. There really was nothing Orlesians enjoyed more than seeing one of their own being made to squirm in public.

"But I'm not here tonight to reassure you the Tevinter story is false. In fact, everything you've heard is completely true."

No laughter this time, but certainly some whispers of interest. The Orlesian guests could smell the first hints of a scandal and were hungry for more.

"Inquisitor Lavellan did threaten to assassinate a Magister. She told him to surrender his 'estate' - a word which probably conjures images of precious jewelry, artwork, palaces. But this was Tevinter, in the Dragon Age. She meant people - she meant his slaves.

"He had more than a hundred of them. So the Inquisitor issued an ultimatum - free them all, or die. He did as she ordered eventually, after some encouragement. When Tevinter's Ministry of Culture leaked that letter without its full context, this is what they wanted you to condemn. But now that you know the real story, it should be obvious that the Inquisitor's actions are far more worthy of celebration than some title that's meaningless to us now."

The room went uncomfortably silent, as Ellana expected they would. It was time to give them the spectacle they wanted.

"Of course, these details weren't included in the version we heard before. And there was something else missing, too: the name of this Magister. An odd thing to hold back - unless it was done to spare someone the embarrassment of being associated with such a figure?"

Ellana had to fight the grin pulling at her lips as she felt the collective intake of breath of the crowd.

"I wonder who might have ordered something like that," she said, "given that the Magister in question was named Erasthenes."

Gasps resounded off the marble, and hushed conversations broke out all across the hall at the mention of the Tevinter First Minister's name.

The proud smile on Cassandra's face made Ellana want to run over and give her a hug. Cass had, once again, taken a risk on her reporting - promised to throw all her resources behind defending Ellana once the piece went up, no matter what the Journal's owners thought of it.

The article should be going live just about now. She'd written it after the Tevinter leak, when she and Solas had meticulously cross-referenced that letter against everything they had. With only a handful of clues, Solas had matched it up to instructions the Inquisitor sent Charter about how to handle Erasthenes, including details of the 'estate' that were missing from Tevinter's version of the story.

After they found the Magister's name, it was easy to piece together the rest. They knew the 'Erasthenes Letter' was the reason Alexius' team went to the Arbor Wilds in the first place. They suspected the letter containing the Inquisitor's threat wasn't a new find, but an old one - that it was the 'Erasthenes Letter.' Dorian had confirmed everything he could, this time on the record.

It might be meaningless, Ellana knew - just a simple case of a politician using his power for a particularly stupid, personal reason. But Orlesians loved the drama of disgrace. She hoped that, if nothing else, it might give their officials a moment's pause before pandering to Tevinter again.

Florianne was at her back now, close enough that Ellana heard her irritated huff before she spoke.

"Let's get this over with, Madame Lavellan," she hissed in Ellana's ear. "You've said your piece."

"Not quite," Ellana whispered. "Or didn't you notice? I still have the crowd."

She was right and she knew it. Now that the initial mumblings were beginning to die down, the eyes of the room were on her again, expectantly awaiting whatever shameful bits of gossip she would share next.

Too bad they're about to get a lecture instead, she thought.

She knew it would only distract her, risk disrupting her momentum, but she couldn't stop herself from scanning the room for him again.

"I'm sure there will be plenty of discussion about whether the Inquisitor's actions were justified. Whether she should have been more diplomatic in her approach," Ellana said, her eyes roaming over the crowd. "All of which will be an inconvenient reminder that we haven't come as far as we'd like to think."

Her heart leapt as she found Dorian inching his way into the hall, his bare face stark among the masks. But then she saw he was alone. His eyes met hers and he slowly shook his head.

That doesn't make sense, she thought despondently. Solas promised he would be here.

Something felt off - wrong.

Ellana was uncertain how she could finish what she knew came next, but she forced herself to continue.

"Someone once told me that we like to think of history as linear. We want to believe we only travel in one direction - forward. That we've learned from the people who came before us, and won't make the same mistakes they did.

"But history isn't a straight line. And when we let ourselves believe it is, we get comfortable. We think we can't regress. We choose poor allies - colleagues," she said, feeling the weight of the room's stare shift to Florianne, "and overlook their misconduct because we don't want to upset them. We forget that progress always requires struggle."

Ellana hadn't told him she was planning to quote him. She'd hoped he might be flattered by the surprise, and had never once imagined that he wouldn't be here to see it.

"I didn't mean for this to be a lecture," she lied, smiling with false humility as the crowd chuckled. "But if you'll permit me one brief language lesson before we all march back to the ballroom to enjoy dessert …

"Halamshiral is, of course, Elvish for 'the end of the journey.' Maybe it's fitting, then, for the Inquisitor to end her journey here, in a place so deeply important to her ancestors. And I hope, when you hear stories of her in the months and years to come, Orlais will safeguard her memory as much as you will her portrait."

Ellana turned toward the covered frame and found Florianne blocking her path. She stood her ground, not about to sidestep for the Director when every eye in the room was on them. Finally, Florianne bowed her head slightly and gestured toward the portrait, making way for Ellana to approach- a movement clearly meant to look as if she were granting permission, rather than submitting.

A plaque was already affixed to the wall beside the frame:

Unknown artist
Portrait of Inquisitor Lavellan, 9:42 Dragon
Charcoal drawing on paper

Not exactly unknown, Ellana thought, as she cast one more glance over her shoulder.

The glint of a golden mask caught her eye as it moved through the crowd.

She choked down a sob of relief. She'd felt her worry multiplying for the past several minutes, but she hadn't realized just how distressed she was until he finally reappeared.

She waited for him to find his way to the front, or at least near enough that she could see him a little better. But when the golden mask finally emerged again, Ellana realized she'd been horribly wrong.

This mask covered its wearer's full face and had a bizarre, conical nose. It moved forward and finally Ellana could see clearly - it was worn by a woman in a blood red gown, her blond hair arranged in a complicated nest of braids at the top of her head.

Ellana was certain it was Calpernia staring at her, even though she couldn't make out the woman's pale eyes from so far away. She was equally certain that Solas' absence was not a coincidence. She let the wrath of that realization flash through her veins, let it wash away the terror that threatened to settle in.

Ellana ripped the cloth off the Inquisitor's portrait, her gaze catching on the vhenan hidden in her hair, then spun toward the crowd. They applauded politely as she took a furious step in Calpernia's direction.

Her foot hit the ground and the marble beneath her trembled.

All at once, the room went completely silent, like the air itself had been stolen from their lungs.

A green flash illuminated the sky and Ellana instinctively threw her arm over her face to protect her eyes. Thunder cracked louder than she'd ever heard, so intense it reverberated through her bones.

Every window in the Elven Hall exploded.

For a long while, Ellana knew only flashes of understanding.

Had it been a long while? she wondered, her cheek cold where it rested on the floor. Or was everything just moving impossibly fast?

People were yelling. She thought she could hear Merrill and then Cass calling her name. Then another boom, not as loud as the first but still terrifying when it shook the floor and threw the hall into darkness as the lights finally failed.

The vortex churned the clouds. In each flash of lightning Ellana saw dozens of figures crowded near the edge of the room - far enough from the shattered windows so as not to be caught in the rain spilling through, but close enough to watch the spectacle in the sky.

They can all see it too, she thought.

She reached toward the storm, trying desperately to summon the memory of how she had affected the phenomenon in the Vyrantium tunnels. She spread her fingers as she had before, focused all her attention on the swirling clouds, willed the thing to close.

A searing pain bit into her palm. Sickly green light shone down the length of her left arm, leaking from the veins beneath her skin. Her nerves were on fire but the vortex remained unchanged. With a defeated grunt, she clutched her burning hand tight against her chest.

The wolf's mosaic had survived the force that destroyed the glass. The white tiles that formed its teeth snarled each time the lightning blazed, and as she centered herself in its eyes, the throbbing in her hand slowly began to fade.

An argument was happening above her head. It took her a minute to realize it was between the two people she trusted least in the museum - and then another minute to realize it was about her.

"I brought her this far," Florianne snapped. "I will take her the rest of the way myself."

"No, Director," Calpernia said, her tone much calmer. "The best thing you can do is be seen dutifully escorting your guests to safety. Help your people. Make a show of it. Maybe then they'll forget that you allowed her to make a fool of you."

Florianne swore as she stomped off, her heels too close to Ellana's temple where it rested on the tile. Ellana winced, groaning faintly as something red appeared in front of her face.

"Get up."

The red was a dress, and the dress was Calpernia, and Ellana remembered at least that much. She struggled - she thought she struggled - against the hand that grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.

They were already moving before the room stopped spinning. And that didn't make sense, Ellana thought. It didn't make sense that everyone else was moving in the opposite direction from them and it didn't make sense that Calpernia was dragging her deeper into the museum.

"Stop," she mumbled. "Let go of me," as she found more of her voice. "Let go!" Her words echoed off the bricks - feeble and so shamefully scared. But it made her angrier, and that snapped everything into sharp and terrible focus.

"Quiet!" Calpernia hissed as they rounded a corner into a deserted hall.