#ena lavellan

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Inquisiting text posts ft. Esti Lavellan, Ena Lavellan, and @runningwolf62's Brennan Trevelyan.

[runningwolf62]

We Might Fall

Me, miss a chance to name a fic after a song? Perish the thought.

Also a follow up to @wardencommanderrodimiss's fic which you should definitely read.

--

Brennan slipped away, his soft steps would not pull Dorian from his task now, as he poured over tomes and pages, and scraps, for something about the Anchor. Something to buy Ena even a day more.

Even the creak of the door to Dorian’s rooms, a fine suite for an ambassador, did nothing to distract him from his desperate search. Brennan paused for a moment in the doorframe to watch him. Memorizing the way the light from the candles flickered over his face, the frown of concentration, the way he had spent his last day in Skyhold in the rotunda, trying to memorize the frescos, to remember how every step in Skyhold looked.

In case he could never go to his first home again.

Brennan closed the door behind him and made his way away from the rooms. The last thing he needed was for another ambassador to catch him when he was like this. Especially if the rumor was true, and Maxwell had come to represent Ostwick.

Idly, Brennan wondered if Dorian could have his room moved next to him, just so Brennan could flaunt the Dorian in front of Maxwell, and the relationship between them. But whatever petty joy he’d have found in that was minor compared to the desire to never see his brother again. The desire that this life, the one he’d fought and bled for, and built with shaking hands, would be entirely untouched by his family.

So he fled, to dark corners, tucked out of sight, of people, of stars, to finally allow himself to grieve. Where Dorian didn’t have to put aside his own pain to deal with Brennan, crying over a keep and- Yes, he was grieving Ena, but Ena wasn’t- he and Ena weren’t close like how Dorian and her were. He would miss her, and he loved her, but she wasn’t his, the way she was Esti and Dorian’s.

So he needed to grieve now, where they didn’t have to fix him, where he wasn’t hurting them and being one more thing for them to deal with. So he could be there for them to lean on without giving out under their weight.

He’d never had people that depended on him like this, so he needed to get it right. No making Dorian guilty for going back, no making them need to support him, he needed to be the strong one.

He’d promised Ena he’d take care of Esti after all. And if Ena was gone, who was going to look after Dorian but him?

Over his own ragged sobs, he heard the sound of his name, and looked up to find Dorian standing over him.

“Dorian?”

Immediately he was by Brennan’s side, “are you hurt?”

“N-no?” He was too bewildered by the question to fully understand why Dorian was examining him, hands pulling his clothes as though looking for something, “how did you-”

“The candles blew out, I don’t know if it was Cole or just luck, and I realized you were gone. What are you doing out here?”

Brennan wiped at his face with one sleeve, “it’s-”

“Do not lie to me.” Dorian frowned and Brennan flinched. Dorian leaned on his staff, before he offered Brennan his hand, and helped him to his feet. “Please.”

“It’s stupid,” Brennan said instead, which made Dorian frown again, “I didn’t want you to… you were busy.”

“So you left to come have a breakdown where anyone could find you?”

“I was hidden.” Brennan argued, head snapping up at Dorian’s tone, even as he blinked back tears, “I’m-”

“You were where if something had happened, I wouldn’t have found you until it was too late-”

“Nothing was going to happen to me-”

“You don’t know that, and you could have least told me you were going out!”

“You were busy, I didn’t want to bother you!”

“You should have told me something was wrong! I am tired of the people around me refusing to tell me something is wrong!”

“I am trying to help you!”

"You're denying me the chance to help the man I love, and possibly the only person in this forsaken mess I can actually aid!"

Brennan’s breath hitched and he stared at Dorian, how his eyes pierced him, the tightness in his body, Dorian favored fire and fear for his spells but when he was angry Brennan always thought of him as ice. Sharp, cold, jagged, painful to handle.

But ice could be thawed.

"I don't want to fight, amatus." Brennan pronounced the word perfectly, years had taught his tongue to mimic the way Dorian said it, the slight hiss at the end, the one thing he could give him, love in his own language. Because he had chosen another cast out of their family but Brennan had not landed on his feet as Dorian had, much of what he had was others. Even the amulet he'd recovered for Dorian had taken Ena's help. All Brennan had to give Dorian was his heart, which the other man held completely.

Dorian sighed, and with it the tension went out of him, “nor I.”

Brennan took a step towards him, the urge to flee beaten by his desire to see this through. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Dorian looked up, and let out a breath, “I know.”

Brennan offered his hand, which Dorian took in his, tangling their fingers together until their palms were pressed together. “I… I thought, with your father, with Ena, the last thing you needed was to comfort me. That you needed me to catch you.”

Dorian squeezed his hand, “and I do. But I need you to let me catch you.”

“And deny ourselves a chance to be martyrs?” Brennan shot back, a smile pulling his lips, and relief bloomed in his chest to see Dorian mirror it. “If we cannot suffer and be incredibly vocal and dramatic about it Dorian, what is the point?”

“Says the one who fled like a wounded animal rather than allow others to help him.”

Brennan had no response to that, so he simply squeezed Dorian’s hand. They stood in silence, save for the distant sounds of the people gathered for the Exalted Council.

“I am… bad at asking for help.”

Dorian laughed softly, “he says, like I haven’t spent the last two years learning this.”

Brennan preferred to watch their hands than Dorian’s face in response to this. Than admit that his family had made him feel like such a burden he struggled to accept the help Dorian offered at times. But that was how they were, their rough edges rubbed against each other, smoothing them out, working down the jagged edges. Occasionally they caught on the other, but never for long. Not when it felt like their broken pieces fit together.

Dorian gently pulled and Brennan went to him, Dorian’s hands moving to his waist. “Talk to me, amatus.”

Brennan took a deep breath, once he began he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. “I- I can’t go with you to Tevinter.”

Dorian exhaled heavily, “you could.”

“No, I can’t because… We can’t just leave Esti, Dorian. We can’t. Ena said go where my heart took me, but I have to choose between you two, we both know she can’t come with us to Tevinter, and I- Ena asked, how can I just leave her after Ena… I can’t just leave her alone, Dorian.”

“Ah. No, I… I see your point.”

“And then, I don’t know when I’m going to get to Tevinter, because I have nothing. I have a horse Ena gave me, and the clothes on my back. I am not going back to Ostwick.” Brennan swore; he would never give his family the satisfaction of having him crawl back to them, “But I don’t have anything that’s mine.”

“Amatus.”

“So it’s you or Esti, and once again I’m in someone else’s home because once they decide on the Inquisition- I will not serve the Chantry or an Inquisitor that isn’t Ena, and she’s- they won’t let me stay at Skyhold, so it’s Wycome or Tevinter because the other option is the woods-”

“Brennan, breathe.”

The breath Brennan took in response to Dorian’s order was a ragged mess, “and I have… I have to leave one of you alone, and I- it feels like everything around me is being torn apart, and I’m stuck in the middle, watching a storm rip everything around me apart but not touched. So how- how selfish of me is it to ask you to comfort me when your best friend and father-”

Dorian sighed heavily, “you are losing the life you built away from your family. Your older sister. You are very much allowed to grieve for that.” He frowned and studied Brennan’s face a moment, “you have not encountered your brother, have you?”

“No. I think he’s attempting to avoid me, for once.” It was a nice change, given after two years Maxwell’s disapproval no longer whispered in his ears for every perceived mistake. The voice instead felt more like Cole’s. Kinder and more understanding.

“Good. I would hate to be thrown out for setting the Ostwick representative on fire.”

Brennan laughed, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Dorian’s shoulder. “I think he’d drop dead on the spot to see us together. To know someone like you wanted me.”

Dorian twitched slightly, and Brennan smiled. “He wouldn’t understand it. You have so many options, even if you didn’t wish to play pretend, why throw it all away for me?”

“Are you asking as well?”

Brennan shook his head, pulling back to give Dorian a fond look, “no.” He offered a playful smile, “unless you wish to sing my praises. I might swoon.”

“Deflecting is my trick, amatus.”

Brennan pulled Dorian into a hug, to feel his arms wrap around him, warm against his back, holding him close. Dorian always felt so warm, Brennan wished he could stay here, in his arms, forever.

“It’s not fair.” 

“No. It’s not.”

Neither of them elaborated, not when the entire situation was unfair, to them, to Ena, to everything they’d built, everything they’d fought for.

They stayed like that for some time, before Dorian pulled away, to cup Brennan’s face in his hands. “I appreciate the concern for my well being. But next time, please simply ask me.”

“Are you alright?”

“No.” Dorian admitted, letting his hands fall to Brennan’s shoulders, “Maker this… unfair is an understatement.”

Brennan reached up to wrap his hand around Dorian’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over Dorian’s palm where he could reach it.

Somewhere in the distance, Brennan could hear music from some far off corner, too far to make out any of the lyrics, if there were any. “Dorian?”

“Yes?”

“Dance with me?”

Dorian lifted his head, “what? Now? With no music?”

Brennan offered his hand in reply, which Dorian took, the other remaining on Brennan’s shoulder, while Brennan rested his hand on Dorian’s hip. “It’s not as though we’ve had a proper first dance. You lead.”

Dorian’s laugh was more a huff than actual laughter, “eager to follow me, are you?”

Brennan stepped with him, there may have been no music, not even the distant music he’d heard offered anything to dance to, but there was Dorian and that was enough. “I know I said I was leaving, but I love you. And somehow, I will find my way to you. And the Maker himself wouldn’t be able to keep me from your side.”

Dorian shook his head fondly, “Maker, how could I not adore you.” He guided them around, Brennan easily matching his steps, “and it isn’t as though I’ll be far from you. That sending crystal I gave you…”

Brennan almost reached for it, as he was already wearing it, “near to my heart, as always.”

Dorian made a choked noise, even as they didn’t miss a step. “If you don’t stop, I will also start saying syrupy things.”

“You make it easy to dote on you, amatus.”

Dorian made the noise again, while Brennan grinned, awed to watch the great Dorian Pavus flustered by a bit of affection. “We’ve been together for almost three years, Dorian, and that’s all it takes to fluster you?”

“You continue to surprise me, after all this time.” Dorian replied, “I never expected to find someone like you, and then you are so open with how you love. And you look at me like that, it is…”

“I think I know the feeling,” Brennan assured him quietly, “to think something like this, someone like you, was something I would never have.”

They continued to move in an easy tandem, months on the battlefield and years by each other’s side had taught them how to move in sync, letting the world fall away, save for them, dancing beneath the stars.

Dorian looked at him with wonder, “look at you.”

“Hmm?” Brennan looked to him, “what?”

“I rarely get the chance to see you so… carefree.”

The guilt crashed over him instantly, and his smile wobbled, before he forced it back. This was a moment for them, to feel happy, and free, they deserved this.

“We don’t get enough moments like this…” Brennan trailed off, Dorian slowed the dance to a halt, so they stood, alone in the moons’ light.

“What are you thinking, amatus? I see that look, you’re up to something.”

“Marry me?”

Dorian did a double take, and Brennan grinned, “come now, Dorian, you already said yes once.”

“I asked you once.”

“You did say I do.” Brennan pointed out to his husband, “but… It’s rather contradictory of me, since part of why I don’t want to go with you is so that I can’t be used against you.” Dorian winced slightly, but they both knew it was true. Brennan would be a weak spot, especially now that he was a magister. “But, if you’re willing, we could have a more public ceremony than the two of us.”

And a witness and someone to perform the ceremony.

“Yes, though Esti and Ena will likely yell at us when they discover we wed shortly before I first returned to Tevinter.”

Brennan squeezed his hand, “we… we don’t have to tell them. But I was thinking, we should have a ceremony, and we’re all here… and… well.”

“Ah. Yes. Ena.”

She would not be here much longer, she had said as much.

Brennan forced past the sadness, “and I think she would love to officiate for us.”

“Returning to Tevinter, having been wed to another man in a ceremony performed by the Inquisitor, a Dalish elf, is exactly the kind of scandalous note I would love to leave on.” Dorian pulled Brennan into a kiss, “yes, I do believe we could, assuming Josephine doesn’t kill us for giving her one more thing to plan.”

“She might thank us for giving her something that is this low stakes.” Brennan remarked idly, chasing Dorian for another kiss.

Dorian more than allowed it, halting their conversation for several kisses, before he replied, “I don’t know how lowkey she would allow this to be.”

“I said low stakes, amatus. She’s going to chew us both out for making her get us suits with this little warning.” Brennan parted his mouth and then blurted out, “is it more scandalous if the Dalish Inquisitor officiates your wedding, or the Southern Chantry’s Divine?”

Dorian laughed warmly at that, “I do so adore you, for knowing how to delight me. I would prefer Ena, though.”

“Then Ena it will be. We can just have the Divine bless our union, or something ceremonial. You only get married, publicly at least, once.”

Dorian pulled him in for another kiss, “you know I have yet to say yes.”

“As if you could say no to me.” Brennan teased, before Dorian caught his lips.

“You are right. I couldn’t. So, yes it is. We’ll ask Ena in the morning, and then find a way to hide from Josephine.”

Brennan’s chest felt easier, this felt better. A good memory, a proper send off for a dear friend, that she could be included in something they’d want her a part of. He wanted to ask Dorian if he felt the same, if this had lifted some of the pain off of him.

Then again, all he had to do was look at how Dorian was smiling at him to know. 

[solverne-02]

For all the new eyes out there: meet the characters of my long fics, starting with Monachopsis.

Aravae, originally of Arlathan and servant/general of Falon'din, now taken in by the Lavellan clan. She was directly caught up in the war among the Evanuris and she lost everything: her brother(Nuvian), her husband(Rienmar), and her daughter(Estelar). She managed to find her way to Fen'harel, where she immediately swore to help him in any way she could so that he could come out on top against all who had taken her life away. When Solas vanished after the Veil was raised, Aravae lost all hope in life. She went to the temple where her family had been laid to rest and fell into uthenera, where she hoped never to wake again.

Only she did. Lost and confused in this new world, she stumbled about until happening across some Templars. Not understanding them or their power, she was quickly overwhelmed and about to be killed, but she was rescued by Ena'fen Lavellan, or Ena.

Ena brought her to the clan to heal and rest and when it was discovered she was a mage, the Keeper offered her a home if she would be their Second. Aravae accepted, but Ena was ever her only true friend and she vowed to repay the debt she had to Ena for saving her life.

Ena, however, was all but an outcast within the clan. Because of her golden eyes, they all believed she was possessed by the spirit of Fen'harel and he could use her at any point to see through her eyes and spy on them. Even her own parents were hesitant around her. When her father died fighting against Templars, her mother believed it a sign - or a curse - and she starved herself to death, leaving Ena in the hands of her grandmother. But even then, Keeper Deshanna had to intervene to ensure that she was actually being taken care of. Despite her upbringing, Ena is a ray of sunshine and an optimist, believing in the silver lining of most situations...up to a point, at least.

And now, for The Voice of a God, Samahl Lavellan.

Samahl was born into clan Lavellan, but at the age of five, she was caught up in an explosion that robbed her of her hearing. Being such a liability, she was shunned and exiled from the clan. However, her parents refused to just abandon her. They all went together, making way for a city. Along the way, her parents were killed by bandits. She managed to escape and made it to the Denerim alienage, where she was taken in by a kind elderly woman. She was taught to read and write, but in time, the woman passed, leaving Samahl all alone once again.

However, one day, a strange elf comes to the alienage seeking shelter and Samahl offers it to him. Meeting him, Solas, recently woken, drastically changes the course of not only her future, but the future of Thedas. She accompanies him on his journey and becomes precious to him, so much so that she will grow in her own confidence and become a fiercesome leader in her own right. After all, the world was cruel to her...so why should she be kind in return?

---

I am in the process of writing the epilogue for Monachopsis and The Voice of a God has honestly not been touched in quite a long while, but if I can keep this sudden momentum going, I can feel myself coming back to these writings. I'm always around to chat about the stories or the characters, so feel free to drop anything in my inbox!

(All art pieces are by @/hansaera or @/kawereen!)

[izzym-art]

Iselan and Ena Lavellan for @solverne! Thank you for the Ko-Fi :D

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Inquisitor Ena Lavellan leads a very functional organization.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Hold on, in the Brennan is a companion canon. Does Ena have to a) help him do Dorian's romance quest b) then help Dorian do something for him? Dorian just like "my toxic codependent bestie I know you helped my boyfriend get me my amulet back, what do I get him?" "A new last name." "Let's start smaller."

Ena: If I hadn't already gotten him a horse for Inquisition business, I'd say a horse. But there's only so much room in the stables, and I suspect he'd worry about whether he had enough time to take care of both of them.

Dorian: The first problem could be solved if you would relinquish the stall of the dead one.

Ena: The Bog Unicorn is - Dorian, it is the first possessed animal and possessed corpse I've ever met that has not immediately tried to kill me! I'm not just going to throw it out in the snow!

Dorian: It could hardly die any more than it already has. What are you, a Mortalitassi?

Ena: Dorian, you're a necromancer! Don't act like - (pause, sighs deeply) Right. Brennan. So if not a horse - it's not like horses are particularly - a book about them wouldn't tell him much he doesn't already know--

Dorian: I fear you are forgetting the reason why I asked you for your assistance. This is a gift for my - my - romantic partner, and you cannot seriously be suggesting that - oh, hello, Solas, do you need something?

Solas: Pay me no mind. I merely have a delivery for Ena. (he hands her a book)

Ena: What - where did you find this?! I searched the library top to bottom, twice, for any draconology texts that would have even half the detail of this--

Solas: Lady Montilyet has a number of contacts across various universities. I asked her if any of them would be capable of getting you a copy of this volume.

Dorian: I take back what I was saying to you, Ena. You would find an encyclopedia to be a suitably romantic gift, because you both are intolerable.

Ena: (opening the book) Look at the detail on these diagrams, Dorian! I - you're wrong, but we need to focus. Hey, Solas, if you were going to get Brennan a gift, what would it be?

Solas: (at length, clearly considering and discarding numerous options) ...a horse?

Dorian: Can't, Ena won't make room by getting rid of her dead one.

Solas: Ah, the Bog Unicorn.

-

Then after this conversation appeared fully-formed in my head, I was mulling it over some more, I remembered, once again, the Thedas Superman random encounter from Origins. Specifically, that you collect meteor metal and can forge a sword from it at Soldier's Peak. Brennan likes stars, likes astronomy. It doesn't have to be a meteor metal sword, you could give him a rock and he'd probably think it's cool because it's a space rock from a fallen star. Give the guy who's always looking up at the stars something from one of them to hold in his hands.

Which means eventually when someone remembers such a thing exists, the quest is for Ena and Dorian to try to get their hands on a meteor to make something out of it without bankrupting the Inquisition.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

@runningwolf62 I give Brennan a conversation to overanalyze because he’s not used to an older sibling who doesn't suck. Set extremely early on in Inquisition.

---

Even the outskirts of Haven are always filled with activity, a constant bustle that’s impossible to escape unless Brennan wants to get lost in the mountains. (He does not want to get lost and die in the Frostback Mountains.) It’s only gotten worse in the time they were away in the Hinterlands; Cassandra and Leliana’s Inquisition requires manpower, and it has arrived in spades to the site of the Divine’s death and the Herald of Andraste’s rise.

But Brennan is nothing and no one, and even in the flurry he can go ignored. Maybe if he’s lucky, when the horsemaster arrives, Brennan can find some sort of work in the stables, and remain no one but have a purpose in being here. But for now he can stand and look out over the lake and be assured that no one but Esti will stop as they pass him by.

He doesn’t turn when he hears footsteps crunching past in the snow. Then a voice: “Brennan?”

That is not Esti, who, last she said, was going to ask Solas for help with her combat magic. That is Ena, her sister, Andraste’s alleged herald, escaping unnoticed from Haven because half a dozen incompatible rumors of her identity have still not been clarified to the majority of people. All those whispers: the Herald of Andraste is an elf, unless she might not be? Has those tattoos typical of the wild elves, unless she doesn’t? She’s blonde, or a redhead, or a mage - no, there, that’s her, yes I know she doesn’t look like you expect, I didn’t either–

Andraste’s herald is a Dalish warrior with bold red tattoos on her face and a placid smile on her face as she approaches Brennan. He finds it impressive how adept she is at keeping that smile up; it’s the perfect court-smile, one that would be at home in a ball in Ostwick on a noble’s human face. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Those smiles never do.

“Hey,” he says, failing to force his own version of one of those smiles. “Do you need something?”

She exhales heavily, her breath a puff of condensation in the cold air. “Esti mentioned something the other day,” she says, and already, Brennan does not like the course of this conversation. The lead-in, rather than the direct question. I heard from Uncle Irvin - Evelyn mentioned - I recall Maxwell saying something - Mother and Father said that - this, too, is at home in Ostwick, from a noble human’s lips. 

Ena’s tattoos stretch all the way across her cheeks, from her forehead to her chin, and the red ink that touches her lips is the same shade of red as the pigment she uses to color her lips. It’s striking. Brennan is sure his family would hate it. Shit, she finished saying something and he missed all of it, and she’s looking at him like–

“Sorry,” he says, and he is at least able to offer her a sheepish smile this time. “I missed - uh, you were saying?”

She doesn’t sigh, doesn’t shake her head and curse Brennan’s attention span, stupid distractible boy - she’s just looking at him like she’s trying to cut him open with her eyes. “Esti,” she says, putting some emphasis on the word, like she’s trying to make sure Brennan focuses this time, “said that you were here on the Conclave on behalf of your family.”

As if a cloud had covered the sun, the air grows colder. “I…” He’d told Esti that, when she said that she was here on behalf of her clan - she said that she and her sister had split up to cover more ground, that she was ending up down empty corridors because her sister told her to go the opposite way of any Templars that she saw - and Brennan said that he was here on behalf of his family, and he was hiding out of the way because he didn’t want to be here at all, because he was his family’s last resort, because he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, and if Esti wants him as backup so she can stick her nose where it isn’t wanted, he’s happy to provide - what else was he going to do.

He’d said a lot about his family to Esti - it was easy, when he thought they’d be going their separate ways at the end of a week, a month at most if he was forced back to Ostwick and they took the same road back toward Wycome. And Esti had said a lot about her clan, about her sister–

How much did Esti say to her sister?

“Brennan,” Ena says, softly but firmly, like standing calm and confident before a panicked horse. “Have you sent word to your family that you are alive?”

He wonders how cold it would be if she were to push him into the lake. “I - no. No, I - no.”

He told Esti he was from Ostwick, but he didn’t tell her his family name, because it was meaningless to her. Her clan traveled along the coast of the Waking Sea and Amaranthine Ocean, if they weren’t following the Minater River, but she’d never been to Ostwick. And even if she had, she would have left it soon enough, would not have cause or care to remember the names of the noble families situated there. Ena can’t tell House Trevelyan of their wayward son, because she does not know he is the son of House Trevelyan. 

“It’s - it’s better,” he adds, stumbling over his every word, “for everyone, if they think I’m dead. They don’t have to deal with me anymore. They - they can be free of me.”

And I could be free of them. Brennan hasn’t dared think those words before. He could be free of his family, and then - what? Become a stablehand for the Inquisition? A messenger, maybe, ride a horse across Thedas and see all the lands beyond Ostwick, beyond this little piece of Ferelden he’s traversed? Jobs far below his station and status, but maybe it could keep you out of trouble, as if anything could, whispers the specter of Maxwell.

Ena is no longer smiling. “Sometimes I think Esti would say the same,” she says. “That it would be easier for the clan if she weren’t around, or better if she weren’t in the line of succession.”

Esti is what’s called a First, as in the first person to be heir if something happens to the clan’s leader, the Keeper. Dalish leaders are all mages, Brennan knows. The opposite of human noble families in the Free Marches, where any mages would be struck from the line of succession. Maybe it would’ve been better had Brennan been born a mage; he could have been cast out years ago, forfeit to the Circle, and that would be that. They couldn’t kick him out like he was kicked from Templar training. 

“And that isn’t true,” Ena continues. She tilts her head slightly as she looks at him. Like studying him, trying to parse if he is like Esti. 

“I mean no disrespect,” Brennan says, and he hopes Ena understands that he does in fact mean it, that this is not a passive-aggressive game he’s playing, he’s not like that, not like Maxwell and Evelyn, “you don’t know my family.”

Her head straightens, her lips tighten. “No,” she concedes. “I suppose I don’t.”

She doesn’t seem to like that answer. But he’s not sure she understands, either. She teases Esti and Esti groans and tells her to knock it off and Ena just ruffles her hair, but in those moments there’s a smile on Ena’s face that reaches her eyes. And when there are demons, or Templars, or rogue mages, Ena plants her feet firmly in front of Esti, so that claws and blades and spells will strike her first. She grabs Brennan by the collar and yanks him away from a mage’s glyph on the ground and asks him, you okay? She checks on everyone that way, after every skirmish, turns to Solas and Varric and Brennan to make sure they’re all right, as if she isn’t the one bleeding.

Brennan tries to picture Maxwell or Evelyn, hands bloodied by the guts of a ram they felled themselves, so that some refugees wouldn’t go hunger. He tries to picture either of them telling a near-stranger that their family is better with Brennan in it.

“They’re probably just grateful I was the one to get blown up, not my brother,” Brennan says. Ena raises her eyebrows. “Maxwell - my older brother - he was supposed to attend. But he fell ill, and I was sent instead. They’d - they’d probably just be mad, if they knew I’m alive. Because that means I wasn’t even up at the Conclave, I was down here in Haven just…”

Just fucking around. Making jokes about how he didn’t believe in the Maker or Andraste, with a Dalish elf who he joked was a spy, and he helping legitimize her. He can only imagine what Maxwell would say about that.

Ena’s brow is creased, her frown deepening. “Well,” she says at last, “I’m glad your brother was sick, too. So that you were here, and Esti didn’t have to be alone for all those days she thought I was dead.”

This is - is this her not mad? Even if he knew what to say, Brennan’s mouth has gone so dry that he doesn’t think he could speak. She’s glad he was here. No one has ever said that, whether or not they even actually meant it.

“Are you coming to Val Royeaux?” Ena asks after another few moments.

Val Royeaux. Cassandra and Leliana and Josephine think they should go there - have the Herald of Andraste address the clerics who survived the explosion by being so unimportant that they weren’t invited to the Conclave. “Am I allowed?” Brennan asks. He hadn’t thought Cassandra was particularly happy when he and Esti attached themselves to the group going to the Hinterlands to seek out the Chantry mother, Giselle.

Ena shrugs. “Esti’s coming,” she says. “And so is Varric, and he was basically here because Cassandra kidnapped him, and now he’s decided he’s invaluable to the cause. I think Cassandra is more bothered by that than anything about you and Esti.”

“I don’t know that I wouldn’t just make things worse with the Chantry, somehow,” Brennan adds. “Failed Templar, you know.”

“You’re going to be in the company of three elves,” Ena says, “two of whom are mages, and two of whom have very obviously rejected the Chantry.” She taps her finger against her chin, and the red lines of ink there. “No one is going to be looking at you.”

He almost protests - he can hear Maxwell whispering over his shoulder, telling him that Ena is doing important work trying to close a hole in the sky and save Thedas, and therefore Brennan owes her the truth of how his presence will drag everything down. Then he decides that no, she would know better than him how humans are wont to stare, to treat elves like her. Orlais might not know a Trevelyan by sight, but they will know a Dalish elf.

“My hope is that Cassandra can do all the talking and I’ll only be needed as a prop,” she adds, waving her marked hand. That smile of hers, the bland, empty one with hollow eyes, returns to her face. It’s the smile she put on when they met with Mother Giselle. Brennan suspects he’ll be seeing a lot of it. “But you have until we leave to decide.”

Ena turns and takes a few steps to leave, before she abruptly stops short. “You,” she says slowly, “would know your family best to know - would they take great offense to learn that neither you, nor this Inquisition, informed them of your survival?”

“I–” Would they? They wouldn’t, because this is their unfavored son? - They would, because this is still the Trevelyan name? They would, because he is a liability running loose? - They wouldn’t, because he can be the Inquisition’s problem now?

“Think on it, at least,” she says. “If the pot will boil over if you ignore it. Or, tell them that you sent a messenger who never arrived because they were eaten by a demon.” Her lips quirk to the side in a playful smirk.

Brennan can’t help but chuckle. 

“You can hold onto that one,” Ena says, the smile growing wider for a moment before suddenly it is gone. “And if you think your family are the sort who would buy into this ‘Herald of Andraste’ nonsense, and that I might be able to smooth things over, you need but ask.” She dips low in a sarcastic sort of curtsy, her marked left hand flourishing in front of her, her right lifting imaginary skirts though she is dressed in practical woven leathers and furs. “And I will pretend I know the will of their prophet.”

Even if the words are only a token - less mocking than the physical gesture that she has paired with them - he appreciates it anyway. It’s more than he has cause to expect. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Brennan says. “But the messenger story might be better.”

“Mhm. Keep it simple.” She smiles wryly and then nods at him. “See you around.”

“Ah - y-yeah. See you.”

He watches the supposed Herald of Andraste, the will-be savior of the world, mender of the torn sky, make her way back towards Haven, and he wonders if she came out this way for another reason, or only to speak with him.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Not me thinking about how Brennan gets hit with Dorian going back to Tevinter and Ena dying in rapid succession. But what I actually came to ask is does Ena ask him to take care of Esti because she knows her sister's gonna be a mess?

“Dorian,” Ena says. “I need your help.”

“Of course,” Dorian says. “What ever would you do without me?”

The corner of Ena’s mouth twitches. She holds her left hand with her right, her thumb pressing into the center of her palm where the Anchor resides. “I need you to find Brennan, and get him away from Esti in a way that she won’t follow.”

“Oh, is that all?” Dorian asks. “That will be–”

“And I need you to bring him back to me in a timely manner,” Ena interrupts. “I need to talk to him. And you. Without Esti around.”

“You’re making this much less fun,” Dorian says.

“Dorian,” Ena says. “Please.” 

Her voice hitches on the single word.

“All right,” Dorian says, his manner snapping back to sober. “I’ll get him.”

-

Ena drags them all the way down to the pantry off of the least-used kitchen. Cole is waiting there, like Ena asked him to clear the kitchen, or perhaps to find her a location already cleared. “This doesn’t - ah!” She winces and flexes her left hand as it flashes green for a moment. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

“Are you sure that’s all right?” Dorian asks.

“It’s fine,” Ena says.

Cole, sitting on a table next to a few cheese wheels, swinging his legs, staring at the floor, suddenly looks up at her.

“It was glowing like - like you’re closing a rift with it,” Brennan says, “but when nothing is happening.” In the quiet, he swears he can hear it. Not a steady hum, but an erratic crackling like a distant fire, and then it pops—

The bright green light flares for a moment again. Ena hisses softly.

“It hurts,” Cole says. “You brought them here because it isn’t fine.”

Ena stares down at her hand. Curls it into a fist. “Right,” she says. “Actually, I’m dying.” 

“This isn’t all that funny,” Dorian says, his voice hardening to a cold edge because it can’t - it has to be—

“The anchor has been doing this for a while,” Ena says. “And getting worse. And now with the Crossroads, all the magic there, it’s getting–” She curls her hand into a fist. It’s shaking. “It’s going to kill me. Sooner.”

“How - how long is ‘a while’?” Brennan asks. It can’t - it can’t be as bad as she’s saying. It can’t. Someone would’ve noticed. He would’ve - he would’ve seen something. Esti would’ve. And Ena - she’s at the training grounds less, but there’s not a war. She doesn’t do her hair like she used to, with the braid, Esti remarked on that once, but that’s - she needs her hand to braid - to swing a sword - that can’t—

“Months,” Ena says. 

“And you didn’t–”

“You should have said something!” Dorian says. “To me, if no one else!”

Brennan doesn’t know what he should take this remark to mean.

“So you could do what?” Ena spreads her hands. They’re both shaking. “Dorian,” she says, softer now, “there’s nothing you could have done. We don’t know anything about this magic, even now.”

Dorian laughs. It’s sour, and ugly, and bitter, and curdles in the pit of Brennan’s stomach. “Solas does,” Dorain says, and the sneer wraps itself all around the words.

“Well,” Ena says, and her expression has gone still, her eyes forced just a little too wide like if she blinks she’ll cry, “he’s not here, is he.”

Brennan remembers all the times he went down to the rotunda with questions for Solas. He’d always thought that Solas had been so patient with him, the human who’s not even a mage, blundering in trying to understand something so far beyond him. All the times he went down to the rotunda and Ena was already there with questions of her own. Or her books, or Inquisition correspondence and reports, laid out on the floor around her while Solas worked on his frescos, the two of them separate in a companionable silence. And Brennan remembers talking to Solas - after - and how even if the conversation never veered anywhere close to Ena, or wasn’t a conversation about anything at all but just a passing hello, sadness still hung heavy over him.

Either he was the world’s greatest actor, greatest liar, or - what? Or what?

Two years and it’s never made sense. Brennan hasn’t even had half an answer. Ena said once she thinks he must be an ancient elf like those at the Temple of Mythal, but that still doesn’t answer the biggest why. 

Brennan wishes that Dorian hadn’t brought up his name. Ena knows as well as he does that Solas was the only one who could ever have claimed to understand the mark.

He left and now she’s going to die.

“I’m not asking you to try and fix this,” Ena says. “Or even - Tevinter doesn’t deserve you, Dorian, but it needs you. Brennan, go where you will, wherever your heart takes you. I just need you to - to look after Esti. When I’m gone. Whatever else you have to do, promise - promise me you’ll make sure she’s okay before you leave.”

“Of course,” Dorian says softly. Ena smiles sadly, curling her left hand up against her stomach and reaching out and squeezing Dorian’s hand with her right. 

Brennan chokes out a sound like a goat. Then he tries again. “Yeah,” he manages. His head spins. He needs to sit down but if he moves he might just collapse. “Yeah, I promise. But I - if you’re not going to tell her - I don’t think—”

“She’ll find out,” Ena says. “Soon. I’m sure.”

She isn’t asking him to hide it. She doesn’t think she can hide it. She just knows that Esti chafes when she thinks Ena is treating her like a child, but Ena - Ena wants to protect her. Even now. Even after. Make sure Esti’s okay. Make sure Esti doesn’t know how Ena worries. Even now.

“A hammering heartbeat, not yours, louder in the last verse,” Cole says. “Your heart howling through crossroads, closer and calling for you, your hunt almost at its end.”

Brennan doesn’t know what all of that means, but it doesn’t sound very good. Too much of it sounds final. Last verse. The end of the hunt. He really needs to sit down.

“I won’t get any sappier on you now, don’t worry,” Ena is saying to Dorian, and Brennan doesn’t know if he missed words in between. “Heavens forbid. Sooner isn’t now.” She lets go of his hand. “I’ll wax poetic about your virtues once I’m on my deathbed and not before.”

“Oh, well, if you want to sing my praises and tell me how I’ve carried this Inquisition as far as it’s come, by all means—”

“Later!” Ena says brightly, but Brennan can hear where her chipper tone is forced. He’s known her long enough to pick up on that. “For now, I must go speak with Cullen again, and I—” She stops in the doorway. Cole slides off the table. “I know you would,” she says. “Even if I didn’t make you promise. But I - thank you.”

Then before either of them can say anything in turn, she is gone, with Cole trailing after her like a shadow. Silence falls. The crackle of the anchor fades. A door closes across the kitchen. Dorian lets out his breath in a shuddering sigh. Brennan lets his body give up, sinks to the floor, and puts his head in his hands.