Rules: A photo of your OC, 6 or more photos that fit how they are when they are in love, and 3-4 songs.
Thank you @fadetouchedlurker for the gentle tag <3 I love yapping about Evunial <3
This is Evunial in DAI and then a picrew rendering of a modern version of her with her hair down. She always wears her hair up so it doesn't get in the way, and because it's "proper". I originally had her with Dirthamen's Vallaslin but I think Mythal's full Vallaslin hits harder, so she gets those for all future works.
Her tagline is "Everything that Solas could have been". She's an incarnated wisdom spirit who used to be friends with Solas like 10k years ago, and who has followed him through the ages, even though he wasn't able to perceive them any longer. However, this Wisdom is not corrupted by taking a body. Although her life isn't sunshine and roses, she gets to live closely enough to her original purpose so she never turns. Her mother knows she invited Wisdom into the child in her womb, and Deshanna knows too, so Evunial grows up incredibly sheltered, immediately slated as First from birth. She's also treated as a bit of an "oracle", even as a child, and her advice is actually listened to (another reason she doesn't get corrupted). All the expectations weigh pretty heavily on her, though.
She develops a heck of a school girl crush on Solas immediately. They just vibe (unsurprising, since they are two sides of the same coin). He gives her gentle authority but without the pressure of expectation. Loving Solas, to her, is getting the space to be imperfect. Not in a "less-than" sense, but in a "I get to be different sometimes" sense. Only Solas gets to see her with her hair down. And in turn, he gets to be imperfect with her as well. What draws them together even more deeply is the way they seek to understand each other.
Evunial sees Solas as a puzzle that she wants to solve - not because she doesn't trust him, but because she genuinely just wants to understand what makes him act the way he does (gentle, kind, and caring with Cole - bristling, cool, arrogant with Vivienne). For a long time, she thinks it's trauma, which she wants to help him deal with.
Solas on the other hand immediately knows what Evunial is (but not that she's literally his old friend who offered to go join Mythal in his stead). Whenever the Veil is thin, he can see her spirit form in her shimmering through the Veil, and it breaks his fucking heart. He resolves to stay with her and offer his guidance to protect her and spare her his fate - and then he can't help but fall for her because she just feels like home.
SONGS
(this all took me way too long xD)
I'm tagging @blkcat, @teamdilf, @vhen-harel, and @el-las-in if you want to <3
DAI Inner Circle she is closest with: Solas, Dorian, Cole, Varric, Cassandra and Leliana (She is on friendly terms with all other members though)
Those she wasn’t sure of in the beginning, but bonded with later: Cassandra, Cullen, Vivienne, Sera and Iron Bull
Sided With: Mages
Orlesian Rule: Celene and Briala
Grey Wardens: Ordered to Help Inquisition
Well of Sorrows: Despite her strong desire to learn everything she can about Elvhenan, the Old Ways and the Gods, she was extremely suspicious and let Morrigan have the honour
Vallaslin: Removed - She would never choose to keep slave markings on her skin
Divine Chosen: Leliana (Softened)
Fate of the Inquisition: Disbanded | Vowed to save Solas from himself
Veilguard: Reconciles with and joins Solas in the Fade (Atonement)
Pre-Inquisition History
First to Clan Lavellan, Sylvana was a studious child and loved to learn. She paid attention to every lesson, story and legend her Keeper and Hahrens taught her.
As she grew however, her curiosity, wisdom and intelligence caused her to clash with her elders. She sought to delve deeper into the Elvhen myths, and became certain the tales only told some of the story… and that much was misunderstood. Although her Keeper encourages her curiosity and desire to find the truth, Sylvana continues her research in relative secrecy for the sake of clan unity.
When the Mage-Templar war begins and the Conclave is called, Sylvana volunteered to spy on the meeting — she understood the results of which would effect everyone living in the South, if not all of Thedas. Above everything else, Sylvana adores her clan and would do everything she could to keep them safe from harm.
She never would have guessed just how much her life would change after attending though…
Omg, a dragon age oc that isn't a warden, hawke, herald or rook!?
Meet Emerys, my grown up, morally grey, and moderately blighted Solavellan kid. :)
Just been thinking about how the Solavellan ending of Veilguard would fuck up a kid. Like, imagine you’re ten years old, the world is falling apart around you, the gods that you may or may not be related to are trying to destroy the world, and your absent father is the one responsible for it.
Suddenly, you're left borderline orphaned, and the only explanation your ten year old brain can muster is that your mum doesn't love you as much as she loves your aforementioned absent father.
That kind of shit would turn anyone to the blight.
“We’ve searched the undercroft, the barracks, and the courtyard,” an agent of Leliana’s reported from above as Solas tried to bury himself in the book he was reading.
“There’s no sign of her anywhere,” the agent continued, exasperated.
“Just leave her be for a while,” Dorian shouted up at them. “She’ll be back in no time.”
Solas had realized he was dreaming some time ago, when he had found himself in the rotunda at Skyhold, studying the Veil and surrounded by scraps of his old drawings. He had much to do in the waking world; he could almost hear the soft whisper of voices in the room adjacent to the one he occupied, yet he willed himself back into his dream. He focused on the voices above trying to locate Nara. He would see her one more time, perhaps even talk to her, then he would return to his duties.
“She is welcome to have a moment to herself, but there are many things that need her attention.” Cassandra’s heavy armor clunked as she paced back and forth in the rookery. “She’s just been named Inquisitor. We need her now more than ever.”
Solas closed his book softly as he realized what was happening. He remembered how afraid he had been as they searched for Nara after the attack on Haven. He remembered the unbearable guilt that had come over him when Cullen had wondered if she had made it. Familiar pangs shot through him as his concerns in this dream echoed his waking worries.
He stood suddenly, willing the dream forward and wanting to dive deeper into his memory. He exited the rotunda and strode out onto the stairs leading into Skyhold. He searched the stables; Nara’s hart was still grazing peacefully. Her council probably would have assumed she had not left without her preferred mount, but he had noticed the halla missing from its pen. Quietly descending the staircase, he paused at the gate. Soft snow crunched beneath his bare feet as he shifted his weight. He had not known where she was headed; if her destination was far enough, he would need a mount, yet something had told him she had not ventured too far. He carried on, the skin on his feet prickling against the cold snow.
Once he had crossed the bridge and begun the rocky descent from the mountains, the wind calmed and small hooved prints appeared along the path he was following. Smirking to himself, he followed the prints for some time, until he approached a dense wooded area. The missing halla was tied loosely to the root of a tree and any other footprints that may have indicated where the halla’s rider had gone were missing.
Solas gently patted the halla’s nose as he approached, his gaze darting through the woods around him. He tread forward carefully—his senses sharpened as he searched for any sign of life. Leaves rustled in the wind and he could sense some small wildlife in the distance. He came to a small clearing and paused, listening.
“Inquisitor?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.
Before he could react, a blurred, dark shape dropped down from above, landing inches from him. He gasped and stumbled backward, sputtering as he sought to maintain his balance. Nara smiled and graciously stifled her laughter as she straightened before him. Solas’s heart clenched at the sight of her. He studied her mannerisms as he remembered her—the slight arch of her eyebrow, her tightly clenched jaw, the way she pursed her lips to conceal her smile. She moved away too quickly and he automatically turned to follow.
“You don’t have to call me that,” she strode toward her halla, opening the pack strapped to its back.
“It’s your title,” he stopped behind her. Nara snorted.
“It suits you,” he continued. She withdrew a blanket from her pack and he noticed she was sopping wet and shivering slightly.
“Did Cassandra send you?” she asked as she wrapped the blanket around her and sat beneath a nearby tree.
“She is searching for you,” he replied, sitting gingerly beside her. “As is Leliana… and Cullen. Josephine will probably throw some sort of search party if you don’t return soon, although she might have a different idea of what that may entail.”
Nara laughed softly and drew the blanket closer around her. Solas drank in the sound of her laughter.
“I came of my own accord, though,” he continued. “It’s hard to get much done with everyone bustling about.”
“My sincerest apologies,” she mumbled with a smirk, though her teeth were clenched.
Solas turned toward her and sent a spell of heat and air toward her, drying her skin and clothes. She shivered as the spell washed over her and her eyes widened as the loose linens she wore fluttered against her body. Her face flushed and she drew her blanket even closer around her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Solas nodded. He had not seen her like this in so long: joking, open, and easygoing, despite all that she was facing and everything he knew she feared.
“What is troubling you?” he asked. She scratched at the ground beside her and hesitated before answering.
“I… I am afraid,” she answered, keeping her gaze low.
“It is natural to feel fear, given what is expected of you. The Inquisition asks much and anyone would—”
“No,” she cut him off. “It’s not that.”
She paused and bit her lip while trying to form her words. His longing for her was overwhelming, even at the time. He tried to focus on something else and found himself gazing at the feet of the halla.
“It’s…” she began, then stopped herself and rephrased.
“What if I… fail? What if I die? I’m the only one who can close rifts and I may be the only one who can stop Corypheus. If I stand against him and fall, what will they do? I’ve seen the future that comes from that path, Solas. It cannot happen.”
Solas was quiet for a long time. Her greatest concern was not for herself and for her own well being, but for those she would be leaving behind, should she fail. Another sharp pang of guilt echoed around Solas’s chest as he remembered her selflessness. Her resolve and drive had been part of what convinced him to move forward with his plan, yet he was still astonished by her unrelenting spirit.
“This battle is not yours alone to fight. Corypheus has shown his cards, and you’ve the Inquisition’s force at your command. The path ahead of you will not be clear, but you will grow far stronger on the way. You will not have to face him on your own. The loyalty of his troops comes from fear, while our allegiance is to something more.”
“You may be right, but can loyalty win over a power we don’t understand? How can we win against a foe who claims to know far more of our world than ourselves?”
“Do not underestimate how the fire from the resistance you have shown has spread. Your leadership has sparked a chain of hope and you must know you will not be alone.”
She gazed up at him then, and he was speechless. He tried to memorize each angle of her face, but she was too quick for him again and turned away. She fussed with her blanket a moment before wrapping it around his shoulders, drawing him closer beside her as she made sure there was enough excess to cover his exposed feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly, as if she were his only lifeline, as if he were slowly being torn away from her. He felt himself waking up as footsteps approached his room. He fought to stay with Nara in his dream, yet the awakening sounds persisted. She slowly faded from his vision until he awoke, sighing before opening his eyes to whatever it was awaiting his attention beyond his door.
Summary: After consulting with a friend, Ellana and the Inquisition test their theories and move forward with their plan.
Note: Thanks so much for reading! I'm posting this chapter a bit earlier than my usual schedule because I'm going out of town for work and it might be about 3 weeks until I'm able to post more. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! I'll update as frequently as I can, but I'll be traveling and doing a lot of work on the road over the next few weeks, so I might not be able to post as frequently.
Ellana had risen that morning before anyone else and had promptly bolted from the castle. It was Spring at Skyhold and, despite the great altitude, the ground around the fortress was beginning to thaw. She raced down a familiar path she had made toward a nearby creek. Glancing around, she removed a dagger and the light armor she wore and submerged herself in the icy water. The cold shocked her to her core, but helped numb some of her aches and worries. She was quick about it and scrubbed her skin roughly, knowing she would be missed if she stayed away too long. This, however, was a part of her that the Inquisition was not able to store away in a neat box. Although she frequently resisted, the Dalish girl in her still longed for open spaces, the feel of water flowing over her skin, and the rough ground beneath her bare feet. It was all she had known before the conclave and she clung to this part of herself as if it was all she had left.
Glancing upward at the rising sun, Ellana quickly adorned her armor and grasped the dagger she had brought with her. Her ears pricked at the signs of life stirring around her. She longed for her bow and to lose herself in a hunt again, but she could not properly wield it without the prosthetic arm she had lost. She considered her dagger for a moment and wondered if she could manage to take down something small, like a fennic or nug, but the growing light and pressing weight of the day convinced her to return quickly to Skyhold.
Everything was quiet when she arrived. There was still a light frost on the grounds and the morning’s hush bore over the walls. Despite the strange sleeping patterns she had adopted in the Inquisition, Ellana had always been an early riser; she reveled in the stillness and quiet before the day began. She supposed it was her training as a hunter in her Dalish clan that had her waking so early, but she appreciated the solitude and focus from the morning, regardless.
Walking aimlessly across the grounds, she came to the door of the Herald’s Rest. Sensing quiet movement within, she gently pushed open the door.
“Stones,” Varric greeted her warmly as she came through the door. His boots were on one of the tables and he leaned back on a wooden chair with a drink in his hand, despite the hour.
“Varric,” Ellana replied with a smile. With Varric, her smile was always easy and his warm, reassuring presence washed over her. “Isn’t it a little early for a drink?” she asked, although she grabbed a mug from the bar and settled down opposite him at the table.
“Yeah, well, big day, isn’t it?” He retracted his feet from the table and grabbed the bottle of amber liquid, pouring a healthy portion into her mug. “I’ve got a feeling we both might need some extra courage,” he said with a crooked smile.
She simply shrugged, and took a swig of the whiskey. It burned the back of her throat slightly and she held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. This is good, she thought. This is real. She regarded Varric as she drank. He had always been so calm and reassuring, even when they faced things that were beyond his comprehension. She had sought him out first when she knew she was spiraling; he always had a way of understanding what she was going through and calming her, even if he had no idea how to help. They sat in silence for a while as the morning light grew stronger and the sounds of life crept slowly forward. The whiskey warmed her from the inside after her ice-cold plunge and she felt her emotion swell inside her.
“Varric,” she said softly, “I cannot put into words how much I appreciate your help with all this. I know it isn’t easy for you, but you’ve done more for me than you know. I’m sorry if—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off, but his eyes were warm and twinkling in the soft light.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, teasingly. “I knew what I was getting myself into and I knew everyone would be pissed about Merrill. You know me, I wouldn’t have brought them if I thought there were any other options.”
“I know. Cassandra and the others might begrudge you the timing in which you’ve offered your help, but I do not. You protect your friends against what their assistance might cost. I cannot fault you for that. Neither can Cassandra, when it comes down to it. She’s a romantic, you know.”
“Ah yes,” Varric had a faraway look now, “the Seeker has always had a soft spot for age-old emotions. That’s why she isn’t as bothered about you and Chuckles. Star-crossed lovers. It has its appeal; you have to admit.”
Ellana rolled her eyes at him. A familiar sting arose in her chest at the mention of Solas, but it was dulled now by Varric’s presence and the warm effects of the whiskey.
“Do you think they’ll come around?” she asked quietly. Varric sat forward in his seat now and leaned heavily against the table.
“Honestly, I have no idea what they’ll do. I wish I did, but shit…” he ran a hand over his head and clenched his mouth. “If any of them have other ideas, I’m all ears. Until then, I can’t see what other options we have. If it comes down to it, I bet they’ll come around. Between this and the whole world dying, a little blood magic won’t seem so bad. They’ll need guidance, though, and you can’t be everywhere.”
“Blackwall—I should probably call him Thom, shouldn’t I? Anyway, Thom will support us, even if he has some hesitations. Leliana and Josephine will follow orders, if they must, as will Cullen, I think. Dorian and Bull seem apt to help, at least. As for the others, I’m not sure.” Her mind wandered to Morrigan, who had disappeared just as suddenly as Solas had when Corypheus was defeated, and Cole, who she supposed was making himself scarce, although there were still sometimes odd reports that came in, making her wonder if he was still around, helping in his own way. Sera and Vivienne, however, would need convincing.
“Well, it’s a start,” he said, draining the last of his whiskey. “Maybe today’s experiments will convince them. Or maybe it will all go to shit, but either way, we’ll have some answers.”
She nodded solemnly and reached forward, grasping his hand. Ellana was not one to frequently show affection, and Varric looked mildly surprised at her touch, but he squeezed her hand in return and smiled at her. He stood and retrieved their empty mugs, then retreated behind the bar to clean up. She stood and gave him a meaningful look, then stretched her limbs and strode toward the door.
“Oh, and Stones!” he called after her. “When you’re done with your Inquisitor stuff, you’re expected back here tonight for Wicked Grace. Don’t think you can get out of it,” he smiled mischievously. “Tell Curly, too. He still owes me from the last time.” Ellana smiled, wide.
“I’m sure he’s just dying to redeem himself. I’ll make sure he’s informed.”
With a final nod, she retreated from the Herald’s Rest and made her way toward the hall, unsure of what exactly awaited her, but feeling revitalized and focused.
We will have an answer, she thought. At last.
***
Merrill and Leliana had been waiting for her as Ellana strode through the doors of the main hall. Leliana nodded at her as she approached.
“Inquisitor.”
Ellana nodded slightly toward Leliana, then regarded Merrill.
“So, what exactly are we in for?” she asked. “Have you had enough time to prepare?”
“Oh, I could always use more time,” Merrill responded lightly, “but I believe I’m ready enough. Leliana, I assume you have your rune?”
Leliana nodded and retrieved the rune from one of her pouches. Ellana quickly glanced around—a small crowd had gathered, including Varric, who had followed her up, Dorian, Blackwall, and Cullen. Hawke stood far away, regarding everyone solemnly with his arms crossed. There may have been others in the crowd, but she focused her gaze back on Merrill.
“Okay, so…” Merrill began. She grasped her hands, then released them, and shifted her weight back and forth. “The enchantment requires both the runed stone and blood from the one who will wield it. The power of the rune and its reach will depend on the amount of blood drawn.”
Leliana strode forward toward Merrill and presented her rune as well as her bare forearm.
“I’m ready,” she said, without hesitation.
“Hold on a moment,” Ellana glanced around at the growing crowd around them. She found Josephine at the back of the crowd and met her eye. Josephine nodded slightly.
“Merrill, perhaps you could explain more about how the enchantment works and any risks involved? We need to be prepared for anything that might happen,” she said, gesturing around the hall.
Merrill nodded with a knowing smile. This was both a test and a demonstration for the people of Skyhold. They needed to prove there was nothing to fear.
“Of course, Inquisitor. Now, you may know more than I do about the origin of the rune, but as I understand it, they are ancient elven runes that were initially used as a means of punishment. They would block a person’s connection to the Fade and the source of their power. It was a way of making a mage essentially Tranquil, especially since they mostly used blood writing to activate the rune…” She trailed off, looking speculative and staring into the distance.
“Right,” Ellana cleared her throat, “so how will this help protect us now?” Merrill snapped her attention back with a slight blush and glanced quickly around at the surrounding crowd.
“Well, it is supposed to block one’s connection to the Fade, right? And we are anticipating a great surge of power, directly related to the Fade, that will tear down the Veil. The rune should present a barrier, however large we can muster, against this great surge of magic.” Her voice had a practiced ring to it now and she spoke loudly and clearly. She knew these words would carry throughout Skyhold and perhaps across Thedas.
“Anything else we should know?”
“Well…” Merrill picked at a thread on her sleeve. “Blood magic in itself weakens one’s connection to the Fade, but this kind of magic, considering the nature of the runes, could possibly weaken the Veil and even create a rift, if we are not careful.”
At this, Leliana quickly turned to look at the Inquisitor. She hid her emotions carefully, but Ellana already knew what concerned her. Subconsciously, her right hand found the stump of her left arm where it had been severed just above the elbow as the whispers that passed through the crowd did not fail to meet her ears. There were many who did not believe the story that the mark had been killing her and Fen’Harel removed her arm to save her life. In fact, many believed that Solas—the distant, arrogant, and condescending elven mage who did not bother to make any connections with the people of the Inquisition apart from the Inquisitor herself—had reclaimed what had apparently been his mark in an effort to wholly cripple and embarrass the Inquisitor and her forces.
Ellana took a deep breath.
“And, if a rift is created, we no longer have any means of closing it,” she replied in a low voice.
“Inquisitor!”
Dagna rushed forward, followed closely by Sera, clutching a large parcel closely to her chest. Sera smiled and lifted her chin as she approached.
“If I may, Inquisitor, could we have a moment of your time before you begin?” Dagna requested excitedly as she approached. Ellana quickly found Josephine’s eye again and though she looked quizzical, her determined jaw seemed to reassure Ellana.
“Of course,” she responded, gesturing toward the door to Josephine’s office. “Perhaps we can meet through here?” She met Cullen’s gaze and jerked her head, indicating that he should follow, then set off toward the office.
Once inside, Ellana leaned against Josephine’s desk and regarded Dagna, Sera, and Cullen as they each entered the room behind her. Sera, for once, seemed embarrassed and remained close to the door. Cullen was curious and followed Dagna, who stopped right in front of Ellana.
“Apologies for the interruption, ma’am, but you’re going to want to hear this,” Dagna said with a twinkle in her eye. “Dorian sent word to me about your arm after you’d returned and told me your prosthetic had been taken.”
“Bastard couldn’t be satisfied with taking your arm just once,” Sera interjected, rolling her eyes and striding toward the Inquisitor, enough to poke her in the ribs.
“He just had to go and do it all over again. You’d think he missed holding your hand or something. Your left hand.”
Ellana managed a smile through her clenched jaw and elbowed Sera playfully, though it might have been a bit too hard.
“I take it you have something for me, Dagna?”
“Well, yes, that’s just it!” she was working to contain her excitement now. “With a bit of help, I think I’ve managed to craft a new prosthetic for you. It’s a work in progress, but I think you’ll be satisfied with the effects.”
She knelt and unwrapped the parcel. Ellana suppressed a gasp—unlike her other prosthetic, which had been made of dark steel and was rather heavy and bulky, this one was crafted from a white metal and was more slender. Silverite, she thought. Stooping to pick it up, she was pleased to find it was rather light. It had been carved to bear runes that shimmered slightly in the dull light. Frowning, she noticed a few sharp, serrated spikes protruding from the elbow where it would connect to her arm.
“Ah, yes, well, this arm has slightly different abilities,” Dagna said when she noticed Ellana’s interest in the spiked end. “Of course, I can fashion something different if you’d prefer! I’ve been working on this one since the Exalted Council, though, and thought you might need it now, more than ever, considering what we’re up against.”
“Go on,” Ellana urged, still frowning.
“Well, it was based originally on something Dorian said to me, after the Council,” Dagna explained, retrieving the arm. “’Magic is drawn from the Fade, but it lives in the blood,’ he said. You see, this one is mostly hollow, which is why it’s so light.”
As if to demonstrate, she held the middle of the arm out on two of her fingers, balancing it perfectly.
“It’s meant to be a more permanent connection, you see, hence the spikes. They’ll tap into your muscles, nerve endings, and bloodstream to fill out the rest of it. It should feel relatively more normal, once we’ve attached it,” she stopped and grimaced slightly.
“What aren’t you telling me, Dagna?” Ellana asked.
“Well, the arm is runed to amplify any magic it senses within your bloodstream. With all due respect, Inquisitor, you’re no mage, but while you bore Fen’Harel’s mark, it spread past just the mark on your hand. It grew up your arm and I’m told it seemed to consume you for a few moments at the end…” she glanced nervously at the Inquisitor. “The mark might be gone, but I believe some magical traces might still remain in your bloodstream. ‘Magic lives in the blood,’ right? It would explain the spread of the mark and how it overcame you.”
“That… actually makes sense,” Ellana said softly, looking down at the arm. “Solas once said the mark needed time to adjust to me. He asked if it had affected or changed me in any way. I suppose this was his way of wondering how it had interfered with my physical form?”
She looked up and noticed everyone’s surprised expressions. She had not referred to him as “Solas” aloud since before the Exalted Council. She cleared her throat and corrected herself.
“Perhaps Fen’Harel’s mark went deeper than he anticipated. What do you anticipate this new prosthetic will accomplish?”
Dagna recovered quickly.
“Well, I’m not sure exactly. If my hunch is correct, it could restore your ability to control rifts. You’d have the same abilities you had when you bore the mark, although we might need to make a few alterations once we know what we’re dealing with. If not, you’ll still have a fully functional prosthetic arm that should feel as natural to you as your other arm. I’ve already taken your measurements, so you should be able to carry on as normal, and this one will be much more difficult to confiscate,” she said with a slight smirk.
Ellana took a moment to consider this. At first, her missing arm had cost her dearly. As an archer, she could no longer wield a bow. As the supposed Herald of Andraste, she no longer had the mark to heal the world. Yet, she had grown in her role as the Inquisitor. She had learned to fight on the sidelines and had become a stronger player of the Game than she ever thought possible. She knew her leadership behind the scenes was more important now than ever before: convincing figureheads across Thedas to partake in blood magic would be no easy feat. Still, the young Dalish girl ached to have a bow in her hands and a small part of her missed the unquestionable power she had once weilded over the Veil.
“Commander,” she said finally, “would you see if Josephine and Leliana are available to advise on the situation? I’d appreciate your input as well, upon your return.”
Cullen nodded and retreated to find the two. Dagna glanced around the office and Sera leaned against the desk next to Ellana.
“So, I may have passed on some information about you,” Sera said sheepishly. “But I thought it would help! All the big people, strutting around with so much to do. I’m still looking out for the rest of us, meaning you, Quiz. I know… I haven’t been…” Sera trailed off and picked at a hangnail on her thumb.
Ellana was touched. Sera showing any vulnerability was rare and they had been distant lately.
“I appreciate your regard, Sera,” she replied and grasped Sera’s hand. “You look out for me even when I don’t ask you for help, and it means more than you know.”
Sera gave Ellana’s hand a squeeze, then retreated behind Dagna, lightly brushing her shoulder, as Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana reentered the room. Sera and Dagna began whispering quietly as the advisors conferred.
“So,” Josephine began as she gathered her clipboard, “Commander Cullen tells me you might yet be the Herald of Andraste?”
Ellana rolled her eyes.
“I still wouldn’t go quite that far, but it seems I might recover the power to manipulate the Veil, which means I could seal rifts. I wouldn’t move forward without your input.”
“And what risks would the Inquisitor face if she were to recover these powers? The mark almost killed her. Who is to say this new arm wouldn’t do the same?” Leliana leveled her questioning at Dagna.
“That’s fair.” Dagna replied evenly, “I’ve considered that myself. I believe, if the Inquisitor faces danger from the mark, its effects will be the same regardless of the arm I’ve made. If Fen’Harel’s magic still lies in her blood, the arm will not exacerbate it, only channel its power. The arm is meant to enhance what is already there, not tax the wearer.”
“You think the Inquisitor might still be in danger?” asked Josephine. “From what I’ve heard, Fen’Harel seemed certain that removing the anchor would save the Inquisitor’s life.”
Ellana snorted as she came to a sudden realization.
“My apologies,” she stated. “In removing the mark, Fen’Harel may have effectively saved my life, but when have we known him to act preemptively? He stabilized the mark after it flared up at the Conclave and along the way, after it acted up. He probably knew all along what it was doing to me; he even asked about it on a few occasions.”
She laughed bitterly, surprised she hadn’t thought of this before. Wrapped up in her own longing and foolish emotion, she had been slow, unfocused. Silently, she resolved to quash what remained of these emotions that clouded her judgement.
“Perhaps we were foolish in assuming that since he removed my arm, I am free of danger. He probably still anticipated this, which is why he wanted to keep me nearby when he tears down the Veil. I may face the same danger in the future, but I’ll meet my fate when it comes. What do you think of the arm?”
Her advisors frowned in unison, considering this new threat. All three of them started speaking at once.
“Well—”
“If you—”
“That may be, but—”
Ellana pulled a hand through her hair.
“Leliana?”
“I’ll instruct my agents to investigate what they can find in light of this discovery. We may be able to discover Fen’Harel’s remaining plans regarding the mark’s magic. In the meantime, if you’re sure the arm does not pose a greater threat, I have no objection to you acquiring it.”
“Very well. Josephine?”
“I believe Divine Victoria should be notified, both of our recent discoveries and of our plan to move forward with the runes. I’ll be as discreet as I can, considering the sensitive nature of the topic, but a journey to the Winter Palace to meet with her and Empress Celine might be beneficial in more ways than one. Regarding your arm, I agree with Leliana. There may yet be danger, but if you’re sure it will not be furthered by the prosthetic, I have no objections.”
“I see your point. You may arrange a meeting at the Winter Palace as soon as possible. Commander?”
Cullen hesitated when the Inquisitor regarded him. He frowned at Leliana and Josephine, then folded his hands in front of him and lowered his gaze.
“Inquisitor, I—” he faltered. He pulled a hand across his face, then rested it on the hilt of his sword, gazing at the floor.
“If there is magic that lingers from Fen’Harel’s mark, I cannot help but be cautious. Especially now that blood magic may be involved. I don’t believe we fully know what is at play or at stake here, and I cannot give my approval until we’re sure of all the consequences. Still, I’ll defer to your judgement, Inquisitor.”
He met Ellana’s eye for a moment, then they both looked away. In truth, she felt the same way he did, although she did not yet see any other path she could follow. She clenched her jaw as her resolve formed.
“I understand your hesitations, Commander. Dagna, please continue your research into the effects of the mark. If you need further resources, you need only ask. In the meantime, Leliana and Josephine, please move forward with what we’ve discussed. I will postpone our test with Merrill two days, but tomorrow evening, pending any further insight, I will plan on undergoing whatever procedure is necessary to install this new prosthetic. If any of you have any further hesitations before then, I suggest you meet with me promptly. Until then, we should adjourn.”
The tension in the room dissipated as the advisors left, one by one. Dagna nodded at Sera before retreating and Sera strode toward the Inquisitor.
“Don’t think, just because of all this, you’re excused from Wicked Grace tonight, Quiz. Cullen too. Varric’s got a thing going and you know how he is.” Sera skipped backwards out of the room.
“We’ll see you at the Herald’s Rest!” she called before closing the door.
https://archiveofourown.org/users/segadora/pseuds/segadoraSide note: This chapter and a lot of the emotion behind the story I’ve written is completely inspired by buttsonthebeach! I’d absolutely recommend their Hamilton x Dragon Age series (even if you aren’t familiar with Hamilton). They have such a talent for capturing the personas of each character and delivering a plot that is engaging, heart-wrenching, and deeply satisfying. I’ve posted links for their works and tumblr below, please check them out!
Solas paced through his room impatiently, hands clasped behind his back. The image of Ellana’s unconscious body as a few of his agents brought her in—at his request—flashed through his mind and he gritted his teeth. He’d made sure she would be comfortable enough, providing sustenance and a healing potion to ensure her recovery, but the flash of magic he felt when his ward was triggered made his heart flutter in panic.
What would he say? After the day’s battle, he’d acquired the remaining power he needed to tear down the Veil. He overturned a small stone bearing a rune in the palm of his hand. Abelas had stumbled across the magic while searching for an artifact and had presented his finding to Solas. He had stared at Solas meaningfully as the weight of the discovery came crashing down upon him. The rune would act as a barrier against the Veil, guarding its carrier against the raw magic that would be exposed when the Veil was torn and, conveniently, protecting its carrier against its effects. Of course, there was still the concern of the demons that would come rushing through…
“But an accomplished warrior might yet survive,” Abelas had said, his expression unreadable. “Particularly if they were protected by a powerful mage.”
For the first time in over two years, Solas had felt the flutter of hope in his chest. He could never abandon his mission to tear down the Veil and restore the Elvhen, but perhaps he could also save Ellana. The thought was almost too good to be true. In the days after Abelas’s discovery, Solas had found himself imagining Ellana in Elvhenan. He wondered what form her magic would take at first, and how she would thrive with the fade restored. He imagined training her to control her magic and showing her the full benefits of the Fade…
Of course, that was assuming she would still accept him after he tore down the Veil. The spark of hope was all but extinguished as he recalled the look in her eyes as he had finally revealed his plans as Fen’Harel. As he had removed the Anchor—her arm with it—and left her. She had begged him to reconsider and even offered to assist him, but he knew she would not accept the end of her world without a fight. And, truly, he did not want her to follow him down this path. She was too gentle, too caring, too bright. He could not allow her to forgive him for what he had done, what he would do, even if she offered it readily. He did not deserve her compassion or her forgiveness.
Even so, he would do what he could to ensure her survival. He could hardly bear seeing her unconscious and weakened after the battle she had endured. How could he live with himself knowing he had effectively killed her? Abelas’s discovery had given him hope and set his mind more firmly on his path. He would tear down the Veil and Ellana would survive. He could move forward now; all that was standing in his way was convincing her to trust him one last time.
His hands shook as he brought the rune to his lips. Closing his eyes, he whispered into it. Please. Let her comply. Let her live. He pulled the rune away and returned it to the small pouch he had been carrying it in, then rolled his shoulders. He had already kept her waiting far too long. He knew her resentment at being prisoner would only grow with each passing moment. He sucked in a breath and made his way to the rotunda where she was held.
Deactivating the wards and stepping through the door, his heart caught once again at the sight of her. She looked a mess. Stepping into the room, he regarded her. A slight frown crossed his face as he realized she still wore her bloodied armor. She had not accepted the fresh linens he had provided. She had not even eaten all of the food—it looked as if some of it had been smashed against the door—but, thankfully, she had ingested the healing potion. She was at the center of the room, kneeling, her hands covered in blood and dirt. She had a gash that was still healing on her left cheek and she winced as she slowly stood at his entrance. Bruises marred her brown skin and, despite the close shave of her dark hair, matted clumps of her curls formed where it grew longer at the top of her head. His heart wrenched at her haggard appearance; he wished he could have offered her more, but she was still as beautiful and graceful as the day he had met her.
Attempting to pull himself together, he straightened his shoulders and strode into the room. She was standing now and regarding him with a casual, but quizzical look.
“Fen’Harel.”
It was meant as a greeting, but he staggered slightly at the title. It was the first time they met since that day in the Elven Ruins when he had finally revealed who he had been, who he still was. Yet, the formality stung. She had only ever called him Solas, or vhenan… he willed those thoughts away. Surely this was how she must have felt when she entered the rotunda after he removed her vallaslin and he had greeted her again as “Inquisitor.” She had abruptly stopped mid-pace at his greeting, almost tripping herself in the process, then promptly strode out of the room. How he longed to do the same, now that the tables were turned.
“Inquisitor,” he finally managed, his mask in place. “I apologize for your entrapment and the state of your holdings. If we had more to give, we would offer it, but it seems you and the Inquisition have been successful in cutting off our supplies. I assure you, I mean no further harm and, should you wish it, you may leave after our discussion.”
He tried to hide his grimace at his last statement. How he wished, he prayed now that she would stay. A mingled look of mistrust and surprise passed briefly across her face before it became blank once more. The impassive face of the Game, he thought, remembering how Josephine had trained her. Though the formality between them was necessary, he hated that it had come to this. He fought the urge to rush to her, to embrace her, to feel the soft curve of her lips and her hands along his back.
“You seek to bring me reassurance and comfort,” she replied, not meeting his eye. A strange smile crossed her face. “I don’t suppose you’ve finally seen reason and had a change of heart?”
He lowered his gaze, clasping his hands behind his back. His heart plummeted. Before he could stop himself, a whisper escaped his lips.
“Ir abelas, ma vhenan. I—”
“Stop.”
He looked up at her. She met his gaze now and her dark eyes pierced him. He wondered, not for the first time, if she could read his thoughts as the fierceness of her gaze seemed to bore into his very soul.
“Stop saying you’re sorry as if you mean it. If you were truly sorry, you would change your path. What you’re feeling is guilt, and no half-hearted apologies will assuage that.” Her focus did not waver and he staggered slightly at her words. He remembered how he was drawn in by those eyes. He had thought them brown, at first, but when she had pursued him in Haven, asking for his knowledge of the Fade, he had realized they were green. She had appeared to him all sharp edges, darkness, and shadows, but he had grown to recognize the subtle colors—the red tint of her hair, the green tinge of her eyes, the dark freckles upon her cheeks. He shook his head slightly to clear his mind. Despite his wishes, they played the Game now, and she had become an adept player.
She was right, of course. He had no intention of altering his path, how could he? Still, he wavered. He craved the thoughtfulness and understanding she had once regarded him with, though he knew he did not deserve it. He had cruelly taken full advantage of her naivety and abounding compassion. She had seen him as just a man and her indominable focus had all but undone him. Yet, with the overwhelming guilt of thousands of souls bearing down upon him, what choice did he have? Their lives had not been his to give. He could not falter now. He had a duty to the People, to himself, to Mythal…
“You are right,” he conceded softly after a moment. “I have no intention of changing course. However, with the events of our recent confrontation and my final duty to the People quickly approaching, I had hoped to meet with you.” His tone and expression were impassive. Despite the turmoil inside him, the Game was almost second nature to him now. She said nothing but continued to bore into him with her piercing eyes, awaiting a further explanation.
“There is a way,” he began pacing anxiously, “that once the Veil is torn, you would be protected. I could guarantee your survival and my forces could guard you against the onslaught of demons and raiders that would inevitably follow.”
He paused.
“You would live and you would be safe here.”
He stopped himself from adding “with me.” He turned and gazed at her, although meeting her stare was like staring into the sun. He held his breath, praying she would acquiesce. She studied him for a moment, then shifted her gaze back to the floor where she had been sitting.
“Would you expand your protection to the Inquisition?” she asked quietly. “The people of Thedas? There are many who would benefit from your protection, if our world is to burn.” She peered back at him carefully and again felt as if she knew everything he knew, everything he would say. That’s impossible, he told himself, clenching his jaw and willing himself to maintain his composure. He should have anticipated her fierce protectiveness over her friends, her people.
“Such protection is hard to come by, and I’m unsure of whether or not I would be able to expand its reach. I can only offer it to you, and you alone. Still, I have seen what you’re capable of, Inquisitor, and your reach knows no limits. With your survival, you could no doubt ensure the survival of many others. Thus, my offering. What do you say?” He kept his tone light enough, but his heart seemed to want to break out of his chest as it rose up into his throat. He kept his hands clasped behind his back to hide how badly he was shaking, how much he wanted her to consent, how much he needed her, even now.
Her face darkened and his heart sank.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” she spat, strolling away from him to walk along the wall, trailing the fingers of her right hand along the stones, “that you offer protection only to myself in an act of selfish heroism, or that you still view me as a mere tool to act in your stead and ease the way of your dreadful plan.” She scowled and turned back towards him. “Either way, I have no wish to continue to be at your mercy. Release me.” She clasped her hands behind her back in a mockery of Solas’s pose and looked at him with a haughty expression. Panic flooded into him and he felt himself striding toward her. He grasped her shoulders tightly.
“Please, vhenan.” He didn’t dare meet her eye and could not keep the emotion and the sob rising in his throat out of his voice. “I cannot bear losing you,” he begged. “You will be free. Ar lasa mala revas. You could lead the survivors into the new world…”
He trailed off as he felt the anger surging in her. She recoiled from his touch, taking a few steps back.
“How can I be free from Fen’Harel? Through everything you’ve done, everything you’ve lied about, I am still bound to you.” The mask was gone and her face twisted with pain.
“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she whispered, “but today, I wish I didn’t.”
Her words were a slap, and he could not keep the hurt from shocking across his face. There was a brief moment where she wavered slightly on her feet. Recovering, he reached out to steady her, but she brushed him off.
“You told me what we had was real, yet you refuse to acknowledge the actuality of my world, of my people. You tell me of your sorrow…” She trailed off, bending to her right and withdrawing a small dagger from her boot. He was not surprised that she had somehow managed to hide the dagger, but he shifted back. She regarded the dagger causally as she continued.
“I wonder, will you feel this sorrow as you destroy my world? Will you feel the cost, as I have, every moment since you’ve revealed yourself?” She thumbed the dagger’s blade and pressed until a drop of blood beaded her thumb.
Without warning, she straightened and flung the dagger toward him. Gasping, he lifted a barrier around himself instinctually, but the blade met its home in the stone between his feet, vibrating slightly.
Ellana, his vhenan, slumped to her knees before him and tears streamed down her face.
“Kill me,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper as her gaze settled upon the dagger in the stone. “I will never acquiesce to your resolve to burn the world. If you mean to kill them, you kill me as well. You once said you would not have me see what you would become. You were right. If you have any mercy, do it now before I have to see the cost. Please…”
He stared at her in horror, unwittingly stumbling back a few steps.
“You cannot mean… I could never…” he reeled. “How could you ask…” He stopped himself. War raged within him. He could not harm her, but he knew he would have to if she would not let him protect her from himself. He was undone, broken as he crumbled in front of her. She was real. Her world and her people were real. He knew he would bear the weight of every soul he destroyed when he pulled down the Veil. But losing her…
“Vhenan,” he whispered desperately, his voice breaking, “I could not harm you if I tried, and I won’t. The thought is abhorrent. It need not be this way. Stay with me, let me save you. Please.” He begged her, choking back a sob.
He couldn’t bear it. Not this. He had spent every spare moment he had searching for another way, a way to save her. Faces of all the ones he had doomed, both from her world and his own, swam before his eyes. Drawing a shaking hand across his face in an attempt to compose himself, he pulled the dagger from the stone and tossed it away from her. He knelt next to her and pulled her into his arms. He was trembling terribly but he held her tight. For a moment, she was still in his arms and he rested his cheek against her head. She grasped his arms around her and he felt her take a deep breath against his chest. He took in her familiar scent of wildflowers and clove.
Slowly, she began untangling herself from him. She pulled away and rose to her feet, taking a part of him with her. He ached at her absence. He felt hollow, empty.
“You must have considered my death when you weighed the cost of tearing the Veil,” she said, softer now. “You knew the odds already and you judged the price as acceptable. Why not quicken your results? What is my life against those you would bring back into the world?”
“What is your life? You are everything, vhenan. Ar lath ma.” He paused. “It’s true, I had considered… but I searched for another way, I hoped… I found a way to protect you.” His voice shook and a tear spilled from his clenched eyes. He brushed it away with the back of his hand.
“If that were true, you would listen to me and consider my perspective. You call this love… you are single-minded. You deceived me at every turn and pushed me away when you knew I would not agree. This is not love, it is control. If you loved me you would not destroy the lives of everyone I know, everyone I care for.” He could not control the tears now streaking down his cheeks.
“Please vhe—”
“Do not call me vhenan,” she spat, jumping suddenly around him. She retrieved the dagger from where he had cast it aside, quick as lightning. Solas whipped around, slightly disoriented as he staggered to his feet. He was always taken aback at how quickly she could move, darting silently and deadly through her enemies. She stilled, across the room now, and his eyes found her again. She had a furious expression on her face and sparks seemed to emanate from her. She raised the blade above her head, pointed it toward her heart and squeezed her eyes shut.
“NO!” he screamed, his magic surging in a blast that sent her toppling to the ground, although the dagger remained in her grasp. Glaring, she recovered and flung the dagger powerfully toward him once more, this time aimed at his heart. He hurriedly cast a barrier around himself and watched as she bolted to the unlocked door and escaped his view.
Thanks so much for reading! Check out live updates on Archive Of Our Own:
https://archiveofourown.org/users/segadora/pseuds/segadora
After staying awake as long as she could, fearing what she might encounter in the Fade. When she could not keep her eyes open any longer, Ellana slept and dreamed of Varric, Cassandra, Leliana, Blackwall, and Cullen fighting against an onslaught of demons and falling—each as colorfully and horrifically as the darkest depths of her unconscious imagination could predict. The fade-imposed violence was not new to her, but the weight and horror of each of her friends’ demise stayed with her as she cried out in the early morning, pushing away the images of their mangled corpses as she regained consciousness.
The curved walls regained their shape and again she longed for Skyhold and the rotunda that had once held answers to her questions. In Skyhold, she had often sought the rotunda to help explain the chaos around her or at least provide a temporary relief to the onslaught of her duties. She balked at her predictable need for self-assurance. There will be no comforts here, she reminded herself.
Glancing around, she realized that there was a neat package close to the door. Hesitantly, she strode toward it and removed the coverings. Inside, there was a tray of food, warm food, she noted, as well as a pile of linens, an opaque canister, and a singular red phial. She tried to ignore the pangs in her stomach as she first approached the canister—how long had it been since her last meal? She retraced her steps and realized that she had awakened the previous morning and set her path immediately for battle. She hadn’t had any food or water for nearly thirty-six hours and her throat cracked as she contemplated the jug of water. If she was to maintain her strength, she must at least re-hydrate, she reasoned. Still, she heard Leliana’s warnings in the back of her mind and mistrust plagued her. She spent several moments regarding
Carefully opening the canister, she swirled the contents and sniffed. She did not detect any poison—surely if they had meant to murder her, they would have done so on the battlefield. She is to be taken alive, she remembered one of her captors stating. She sighed and took a long swig.
Relief flooded through her as the water cleared the bitter taste in her mouth and she took several gulps before pulling the jug away. Scanning the room, she decided to hide the half-full canister in the drawer of an overturned desk in the room. It was not a great hiding spot, but she worried she would not be offered such comforts later. She then turned her attentions to the pile of linens left by the door, carefully setting aside the red phial. Though she longed to bathe and change from the sweat and blood-stained armor she wore, the cotton garments laid out for her reminded her too much of the simple garments Solas had worn when he was pretending to be a humble apostate. They even smelled slightly of him—pine, elfroot, and earth. Her stomach twisted and she pushed the clothes away. Briefly glancing at the now cooling tray of food again, she focused her attention on the red phial.
Her injuries from the battle that had commenced had yet to heal—her hand crept to her left cheek to feel dried blood and an angry cut left from the rogue who had assailed her earlier. Her body still ached vehemently from the mind blast she had endured and she worried about internal bleeding. Uncorking the vial, she raised it to her nose. The overwhelming scent of elfroot and faint traces of prophet’s laurel were all she could detect. If this is how I am to die, then let Fen’Harel take me, she thought, bitterly, as she tossed the phial back and immediately felt the effects of the healing potion stitching her wounds and healing her aches.
Assuming that he’d meant to kill or subdue her, he would have succeeded already, she surmised. Ellana tore into the still-warm food on the tray. There was warm ram meat and bread, which she tore into first, then, still hungry, she devoured one of the two frilly cakes. Unsure if she was feeling sick due to poison, how quickly she had devoured the food, or the reminder that the cakes were one of Solas’s favorites, she launched the other cake against the locked door and settled back against the wall and watched the door.
Solas must have the artifact, she thought to herself, then corrected herself—Fen’Harel has the artifact. There could be no uncertainty in her now. Without Inquisition soldiers or his own physical weakness standing in the way, he could now tear down the Veil without hesitation. The despair within her surged. What could she do? She had no power to match his; the retreat of her Inquisition and the foolishness of her capture had left her with no army, no leverage, and no options. The solitude of her sorrow threatened to overtake her as the emotion bubbled in her throat and she choked back a sob.
He may have the artifact, yes, but what will you do?
The back of her mind pricked as a foreign, pressing voice bubbled with question.
Will you wallow in despair at your perceived defeat or will you show him what he still might lose?
The voice shook her, blurring the edges of her vision and deafening the emotions fighting for her attention. What did he have to lose? She thought of her world, and the way he had explained it to her.
“It was like walking through a world of Tranquil.”
Solas had not seen value in this world, Ellana’s world, that she had fought beside him to protect from Corypheus. In the Inquisition’s mission to restore the world, he had offered insight, made sacrifices, and even shed blood in their cause. Had these sacrifices only seemed necessary for his own machinations? To restore his power and regain his orb?
Emotion bubbled up in Ellana’s throat. He had deserted her after the orb had been destroyed. He had reassured her and promised her answers after the defeat of Corypheus yet, instead, he had disappeared. When he told her of his original plan to tear down the Veil at the Elven Ruins, something had clicked; he had seen her only as a way to restore his power, a means to an end. He had manipulated her to further his cause. Regardless of the physical toll it cost the Inquisition and the emotional turmoil he had put Ellana through, when the orb was broken and there was no other benefit to pursue, he had left as abruptly as he came—no explanations, no warning, no emotion. The answers he had promised her were still questions that would never be resolved.
Ellana remembered the steely demeanor he conducted himself with since Crestwood, where he had rendered her barefaced and hopeless.
“Harden your heart to a cutting edge.” His words whipped through her like poison.
How could she not? With the threat of Corypheus upon them, she had little time to wallow in his betrayal, so she pressed on, in pursuit of an explanation he knew he would never provide, one she clinged to desperately enough that she had no choice but to fulfill his plans—to defeat the archdemon and the self-proclaimed god in hopes of righting the world and banishing his power. And yet, Solas was unphased and unemotional in Corypheus’s defeat. The only emotion he had expressed was unabashed sorrow at the demise of the orb—his orb—that would have allowed him to destroy Ellana’s world and her with it, to bring his Elvhen world back, regardless of the casualties and chaos that would ensue.
And now?
She sighed and glared at the heavy door that barred her way. She was his prisoner and was at his mercy. She could not change his path nor his mind, let alone his heart. Hopelessness crept back into her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm herself. She needed to remain focused, especially here. She felt a familiar dullness as she slowly regained the steely demeanor she had learned in her time with the Inquisition.
She had been all frayed edges, bright emotions, and bubbling curiosity, before. Leliana had taught her how to stitch herself together, Josephine had shown her how to guard her emotions, and he had quashed any remaining curiosity she held. She was no longer hungry for intellect; instead she sought information as a mere tool. She had finally become the weapon the Inquisition needed her to be. Even now, with no defense against her own fate, she stored away facts that might provide the Inquisition insight. The color of the stone, the inherently elven structure of the ruin, the magic that warded the door.
We have the runes, she thought as she slowly exhaled through her teeth, we have a few artifacts.
We may stop him yet.
Read more at:
https://archiveofourown.org/users/segadora/pseuds/segadora
Ellana shouted across the battlefield when she saw her dwarven friend get overtaken by a group of elf mages. Doing her best to deal with the group enclosing on her, she pulled electric force from the fade-enchanted prosthetic left arm that Dagna had fashioned her and, jumping back and drawing another arrow as she did, she launched a powerful attack that electrified two of the attackers. One of the remaining elves—a rogue—slashed her left cheek and she cried out as she felt her own warm blood dripping down along her face. Twisting her neck, she dodged out of the way as she felt chilled magic brushing past her left shoulder. She knelt and released a long shot that took down a faraway attacker, then jumped again to release a storm of arrows on the last two crowding her. They staggered at her shot and she finished her assault with a few arrows, then wiped the blood from her face as she turned west toward the battlefield.
Breathing heavily, she flexed her prosthetic arm and chanced a glance back at Varric, who seemed to be smothered by elves despite Cassandra and Dorian’s onslaught against them. Cassandra’s bright golden armor glinted in the retreating sun as she laid a powerful blow against a mage on her right, but she was blown back as two more took the fallen elf’s place. Sweeping the field, her stomach dropped as she realized their forces were being pushed back on all fronts. We can’t lose today, she thought. Not when they were so close.
She began firing at the overwhelming group near Varric as she strode toward them, hitting one elf in the neck as a spurt of blood announced his fall, but another quickly took his place. Her next arrow struck the elf in the shoulder. She blinked through the misty haze in her eyes and her throat clenched. If we can just keep pushing, maybe we still have a chance, she thought. Dorian released blinding terror, which seemed to catch a few of the elf mages off guard and they slowed, which gave Varric a chance to throw down some traps and Cassandra lunged. Slowly, they were able to get to Varric, who gave her a weak half-smile, then dropped to his knees.
“Dorian—” Ellana began.
“I know,” he retorted, cutting her off. “It’s a shame your apostate hobo isn’t fighting for us anymore. He was always better with the healing spells.” A look of concentration crossed his face as a feeble healing spell went through Varric. Ellana handed Varric one of the draughts from her belt and he seemed to recover slightly.
“Tell me that was the last of them and we can have a celebratory round now,” Varric said with a grimace, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The group paused for a moment, searching the grounds.
“We will need to call for a retreat,” whispered Cassandra darkly. “If we hope to continue our plans, we still need as great a force as we can manage.” Her eyes found Ellana and Cassandra’s gaze intensified. “We can still fight, after today. We can still win.”
“Fenedhis,” Ellana whispered, pulling her hand across her eyes. “You’re right. Tell everyone to pull back. We will try to regroup.” She tried to sound confident, but they had been trying to recover a powerful elven artifact—one that, no doubt, would give Solas the last bit of power he needed to tear down the Veil and send the waking world into chaos. It had been two years since she had met him in the Elven Ruins. Since he had finally revealed his plans as Fen’Haral, the Dread Wolf. Since he had taken her arm and left her without another thought…
Pushing those thoughts away, she raced forward to cover their retreat. Cassandra is right, she thought, we still have the runes. We may still have time. She fired an arrow into the heart of an elf pursuing a group of her retreating soldiers and sensed an elven rogue behind her. He raised his dagger to strike, but she lifted her left arm—her prosthetic arm—and almost smirked as the dagger collided with the powerful enchantment Dorian had set on it blasted him back. For good measure, she sunk an arrow into his chest, then continued striding forward. Her fingers were raw and her heart pounded in her chest, but she pressed on, leaping back and forth between attacks and providing cover as the rest of their soldiers retreated.
It was then she noticed an elf—no, Elvhen, she corrected, who had been watching her closely at a distance. He was much taller than the elves they had been fighting and carried a certain air of authority and power with him. When she met his gaze, he turned, leapt forward and bounded away from her, toward a crumbling Elvhen ruin. Curios. None of the others had fled from them, especially when her forces were clearly retreating. She exhaled sharply and started to follow the path the Elvhen had set, though he was much quicker than her. Definitely Elvhen, she thought, doing her best to keep up.
She finally approached the ruin and crept forward. She had lost sight of the Elvhen and tried to keep her cover as she carefully turned a corner. Gasping, six or seven Elvhen mages rushed toward her and she did not have time to dodge the full power of a of mind blast that sent her staggering. She felt her muscles fail and she staggered. Shakily, she knocked an arrow and sent it flying as a last attempt before she felt a force of magic freeze her to the spot.
“Na din’an sahlin!” He shouted in Elvhen. Now you die. She watched helplessly as he charged toward her with his spirit daggers drawn and she noted her arrow protruding from his right shoulder. She clamped her eyes shut and her throat closed. Not now, she prayed, not like this, but one of the other Elvhen grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Shaking from the cold that had her locked in place, she pried her eyes open.
“She is to be taken alive.” They looked at her and she felt a whoosh of magic as darkness crept along the edges of her vision. She tried to draw an arrow, to move at all, but the effort did nothing but exhaust her further. The Elvhen circled around her as the spell binding her broke and she fell, unconscious, to the floor.
She awoke, suddenly, grasping at nothing as her right hand clasped in the empty air around her. She reached with her left arm as well, but found that her prosthetic had been removed, along with her bow. Her back ached against the cool stone beneath her and she struggled to sit up, the effects of the magic inflicted on her still wearing off, as she took in her surroundings. It appeared she was in an elven ruin. The walls were well worn with weeds pushing their way through the stone and there were a few tattered pelts and furnishings that held a layer of dust as if they hadn’t been touched in years. There were no windows, only a heavy door through an archway that lead into the round room she was in. With a pang, she realized it reminded her of the rotunda at Skyhold, although it lacked Solas’s murals and the ceiling was almost low enough for her to touch. Not quite a prison cell, but the one point of entry certainly assured she had few options.
Pushing that thought aside, she rose to her feet to assess her condition and consider her next move. Shakily, she strode to the wall and traced her fingers over it, making a circle along the wall as she tried to perceive any weak points in the stone or hidden exits. Finding nothing, she turned her search to the stone floor, hoping for a trace of a hidden compartment, a secret passageway, anything that would lead her out of here. She crouched and scratched at the stone—fade-touched, she realized, and resigned herself to trying the door.
She crept forward, trying not to make any sound as she approached the only apparent escape from the room. She lifted her right hand to trace the heavy wood and, sucking in her breath, she pulled away as frost covered her fingers and a cool, familiar magic washed over her. The door had been warded. Solas, she breathed, stepping back. Steeling herself, she used what was left of her strength to run forward and bash her right shoulder against the door, only to be blasted back by a wave of ice that sent a chill straight to her spine. That ought to get his attention, she thought, rubbing her side and stepping back into the circular room.
Finding a spot where she would be in full view of the door, she slid down against the wall to resume her position on the floor. If he means to keep me prisoner, her thoughts raced and her heart clenched, then… what? She was unarmed and defenseless without her prosthetic against someone who possessed god-like abilities, let alone the command of an army that she had not yet been able to overcome. She fought against the waves of irritation and despair that threatened to overtake her as she considered her new role as Solas’s prisoner. She had been many things in the past years—hunter, knife-ear, Herald, Inquisitor, vhenan… she tried not to think of the implications of the latter as she heard muffled sounds outside the door.
“She has roused. Should we send for Fen’Harel?”
“No. He demanded she be taken alive but did not give further instructions. He knows she has been captured. We await further instruction.”
The other elf fell silent and she heard his footfalls retreating from her door.
So, this was to be it, Ellana thought, with despair slowing the pulse in her veins. I am to await the judgement of Fen’Harel.
