Chapter Text
She was aware of yelling, aware of the wind getting knocked out of her, then of the wind rushing through her hair.
Then she was aware of nothing.
-
It wasn’t like the Veil; it wasn't like the Fade; there was no bright light ahead of her, no spirit reaching for her hand, no voices calling her name.
It was bleak and blank, and she was alone with the thrumming earthquake of her heart, so much smaller and weaker than a titan’s.
-
The Vir Abelasan whispered to her. She couldn’t quite hear what the whispers were saying. But that was how she knew she was still alive. She was not a whisper. She was not a memory or a ghost.
-
She knew she was awake because she heard a bird chirping. It was still dark, but when she opened her eyes she recognized the predawn light outside her window.
Skyhold.
Had it all been a dream?
She lifted her hand to find it gone. Not a dream then.
Then how did she get here?
She didn’t like the answer her mind supplied.
Her whole body ached as she rose from the bed she’d once slept in every night she’d spent in Skyhold. She was naked—disconcerting—but found her clothes folded neatly on a chair by the window. She did her best to dress quickly—always more challenging now that she only had one hand to lace herself into her trousers with—and quietly, then slipped out the door and through the castle.
There were elves everywhere, preparing for the day—in the armory when she tried to steal armor and a staff, in the tavern, in the gardens. Everywhere—more than she had ever seen in one place at one time. They didn’t take much notice of her, which was a good thing. She walked confidently and smoothly. She knew Skyhold too well to skulk, and she rather suspected that her confidence would be more of a disguise than sneaking. If only her body weren’t aching. She felt like she was hobbling more than walking. Something was wrong with her hips, and her ribs made her feel as though it was Iron Bull hitting her with a stick, rather than the other way around.
She was almost at the main gate and bridge when the sun cracked over the mountains, throwing gentle pink light across the sky and gold across the snowy peaks. She paused long enough to appreciate the beauty of it.
“Vhenan.”
She closed her eyes again.
She was not dead, not asleep, but she was surviving. For the briefest moment, she let herself swim in the sound of his voice, let herself imagine that things were different.
“The mountains are cruel alone, and you are not fully healed.”
“I shouldn’t be here.” She didn’t turn around, didn't open her eyes. Looking at him would break her heart or her resolve or both.
“Facing the mountains alone in this state may kill you. It was only with every ounce of finesse I had that I saved you when you fell, and even so, you must still recover. Come inside and rest, and I promise I will return you to your Inquisition when you are ready.”
Something in his voice made her open her eyes. It was not in his words but in but in his voice that she heard the mask slip—the impassive received neutrality. There was a slight shake to his breath when he said fell, and there was a grief when he promised to return her to her friends.
“I will be fine,” she rasped out. “I can take care of myself.”
“Ellana.”
She couldn’t remember the last time he said her name. Vhenan , or My heart , or Inquisitor , but her name?
She threw his name around left, right, and center, and always had, but this felt unexpectedly intimate.
She stood very still, and it wasn’t until she felt Solas’ grip on her upper arm, just above where, the last time he’d touched her, he’d taken her forearm, that she realized he’d even approached her. “Please,” he whispered.
She’d never really heard him beg before.
It would have broken her heart if it didn’t instead incite fury.
He was always the one deciding. He had decided that they were done, he had decided to leave, he had decided everything else, and now he was deciding that she was to say.
She ripped her arm out of his grip. “Nothing a healing potion won’t fix.” She began marching across the causeway.
“Why do you think you ache right now?” he called after her. “Do you know how many days you slept in your bed before you woke?”
Ellana stiffened. A chill ran up her spine.
“I meant it when I said that it took every skill I possessed to save you,” Solas continued. “And you are not yet fully recovered. It is something just a healing potion wouldn’t fix. If it had been a healing potion, I would have given you one gladly and left you where your friends could find you.”
She swallowed.
It hadn’t been the Veil. It had been something else. Somewhere else. There had been whispers in her mind, but…
She turned to look at him, the question on her lips, ready to be asked, but it died when she saw him.
She would never quite recover from the look of him in resplendent furs, every inch the Elvhen god. For years, she had spent time thinking of him in his simple linens, modest and unconcerned with the world around him, for he spent far too much time in the Fade. But he stood there in silver fur—wolf fur, she suspected. Wolf and ermine and everything soft and warm. What wools he wore were laced with silver thread, and his boots were the finest, softest leather she’d seen on anyone who wasn’t royalty.
He didn’t need any of that to be beautiful, of course, but it didn’t hurt. He had the same brown eyes, the same long face, the same full lips.
There were dark circles under his eyes, as though he had not been sleeping well. Had it drained him to heal her? His face was drawn in a way she had not seen it before. There was a tired sag to his shoulders, even—something that would have made her concerned before she knew the truth of him, when they were still giddy with new love. If Solas could ever have been described as giddy.
“When will I be fully healed?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He replied as though he was holding his breath, as though breathing might make her disappear. “Only time will tell. You broke several ribs, which is why it hurts to walk and breathe. You were lucky not to break more limbs in your fall, though your nose is starting to—”
Her hand flew to her nose. She winced. She hadn’t even noticed it until this moment, but the lightest pressure on it made it throb.
Solas gave her a sad smile. “The bruising on your face has thankfully gone down.”
“How badly is it broken?” It was still swollen—she thought, at least—enough that she couldn’t quite make out the shape of it.
“It will not be unbecoming,” he said. You will never be unbecoming to me , he seemed to say.
She narrowed her eyes. “Can you even tell that now?”
“Perhaps not,” he said carefully. But I know it is the truth. “But it is not so different from how it was, I don’t think. And it was becoming before.”
This time, he did not grab her arm. This time, he extended his left arm as he had before the ball in Halamshiral, when trying to quietly offer her support before she would face the court alone. He waited.
“Vhenan,” he pleaded again.
When did Solas ever plead? She’d never seen his hand shake before, but it was shaking now.
She took his arm, and he led her back into Skyhold.
Ellana was used to eyes on her at this point. There’d been eyes on her ever since the Conclave, ever since the anchor had lodged itself into her hand. But never like this.
She saw one elf lean over to her friend and hiss in her ear. They both giggled.
Were it not for the fact that Solas had covered the hand resting on his bicep with his own hand, she would have dropped hers at once. More than one of his elves was looking between the two of them with interest.
“Do you intend for them to stare at us?” she hissed at him.
“You once wanted to dance with me before all of Halamshiral,” he replied evenly.
“At that point, we were on the same side.”
“I know, vhenan,” he said sadly, then again, more distantly, “I know.”
They entered the keep together, but Solas didn’t let go of her hand as he led her to the back of the great hall, then through the door beside the Inquisitor’s throne—dusty, but still there—and up a set of stairs back to her old bedchamber.
“Is it yours now?” she asked him when finally he released her hand.
“Is what mine?”
“This room. Or do you keep the same quarters you used to.”
He looked at her evenly. “I have slept here some nights, and slept in my old room other nights. It depends how much I miss you.”
Her throat tightened. He reached a hand up to cup her face. His thumb traced just under her eye. “I wish I could heal you,” he grimaced. “I don’t like seeing you battered like this.”
“If you could heal me, I’d be off on my way,” she pointed out quietly, stealing the only moment she’d allow herself when there wasn’t anyone to overhear them.
“I suppose,” he sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were determined. “Rest.” He pushed her gently towards the bed.
A memory flooded her, Solas pushing her towards this same bed, a smirk on his face as he peeled his tunic up over his head, revealing the muscles beneath. Her mouth was dry at the memory, and she was glad that he couldn't see her face as she clambered onto the bed, then twisted around.
She’d spent so much time lacing up these boots before trying to sneak out.
She didn’t know if she could identify the single most annoying part of only having one hand, but laces were right near the top of the list. Sighing, she reached for the knot at the top of the boots and began to pick at it.
In a flash, Solas was at the edge of the bed, fluidly untying the knot and pulling the boots off her feet.
“Thanks,” she mumbled at him.
“Did you steal anything to eat on your way out, or shall I have them bring you something?”
Her stomach answered for her.
Solas rolled his eyes. “You were really well prepared for those mountains, weren’t you.”
“It’s not that hard to kill a mountain hare with one hand,” Ellana huffed, allowing the air to crackle with static around the two of them. “Or to light a fire.”
“But skinning it might have proven difficult.”
She glared at him.
He glared back.
“I suppose I’ve always had a bit of a death wish,” she said at last.
She expected him to retort, or maybe to agree with her wholeheartedly.
Instead, his shoulders sagged and he looked away.
“What?” she asked, but her stomach grumbled and he was already across the room, disappearing down the stairs.
She threw herself back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Resting.
She was supposed to be resting.
It took her all of ten minutes to decide resting was deeply overrated. Just lying in bed? When there were definitely things to do? What a waste of time.
She had just about decided to go find the kitchens herself when Solas returned, leading two young elves who were each carrying a tray of food. They set the table in the corner near the balcony, each of them glancing curiously at Ellana.
Solas moved to the bed and offered her his hand. She got to her feet, ignoring it, and moved directly to the table, settling down in the chair she’d sat in for so many moons.
“Thank you,” she said to them.
“Inquisitor,” one of them said, blushing and glancing at Solas, who had drifted after her and was now standing back, waiting for the two elves to finish setting the meal. “Forgive us, my lord,” she squeaked out nervously, darting back from the table.
“Take your time,” he said to her gently.
The two elves retreated, and he sat across the table from her.
“Stew,” he said, pointing to the very obvious tureen at the middle of the table. “Hare and lamb, I believe. Potatoes,” he pointed to another dish. “And some steamed root vegetables.”
She served herself the stew and potatoes, but when she had trouble getting the vegetables onto her plate, Solas took her plate and did it for her.
“Are you purposefully fostering rumors among your people?” she asked after three bites of the stew. She felt warmer already, the way one did when eating after being very, very hungry.
“Yes,” he replied evenly. “If all the castle knows what you look like, it will be harder for you to sneak away before you’re fully healed. And they are most likely to know what you look like if they see what you are to me.”
“Your sworn enemy,” Ellana joked into a bite of potato.
“Ma Vhenan,” he replied evenly. She wished he would joke with her. It was easier than seeing his doleful expression.
He paused for a moment, his mouth open, weighing his words.
“You are not my enemy,” he said. “You never could be. An adversary, perhaps. But not an enemy. It would not bring me joy to see you and yours defeated.”
“Then why continue with what you’re doing?” she asked at once.
“Because I must correct my wrongs,” he said. “It is as simple as that.”
“Doesn’t sound particularly simple,” she grumbled.
“The correction itself won’t be simple,” he amended. “But the guiding force is very simple.”
“So why are you frowning, then?”
“It is a heavy burden,” he replied after a moment. “Knowing what I have done and what I must yet do.”
Ellana took another bite of stew. She decided there was no point keeping her cards from him at this point. “Our spies told us that you have promised them the return of Elvhenan.”
He inclined his head. “I needed to separate my cause from Briala’s, and it has the added advantage of being true.”
“Have you told them you mean to tear down the Veil?”
He shook his head. “No. I think it would frighten them—understandably so, as it is frightening. But I do not wish to cause them undue stress when—”
“Yes, because it worked so well the last time.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I did not know what I was doing the last time.”
Ellana let out an amused huff. “I meant when you lied to me about your plans.”
His face stilled. “I never lied to you. I took great care never to lie.”
“Omission is still a lie, Solas. And if any of the tales I heard of Fen’Harel growing up were at all true, you know it too.” She tightened her hand into a fist around her fork. “They don’t want to follow a liar. They want to follow hope.”
He gave her a sad smile. “I suppose I could say they deserve it—following a Trickster god.”
“I don’t think they deserve it at all. On the contrary, I think that they don’t deserve it. You are a good and caring man, Solas. Your heart is full of compassion and love. They deserve better than a lie and a myth.”
Solas closed his eyes, laughing quietly. “Not even awake a day and you come for my throat. I’ve missed you, Vhenan.”
“I’ve missed you,” she replied at once. “It wasn’t my choice to be left behind.”
Once again, his eyebrows flew up. “You would have abandoned the Inquisition to stand at my side?”
“No, but if you’d been honest with me, I would have changed your mind by now.”
“I’m sure you would have,” he said, fondness seeping into his sadness. “Don’t you see that was why I had to leave you behind? You shook my resolve too much.”
“I’m shocked you’d like me to stay now, then,” she replied. “If I bend your resolve that much, and you will have my undivided attention now.”
He gave her a strange look.
“A risk worth taking,” he said after another beat.
“Whenever you take a moment to reply, I wonder what lies you’re telling me,” she said, leaning forward for another bite of stew.
“I promise you, it was no lie,” he said. “You merely continue to say things that amaze me.” His gaze softened. “Your indomitable spirit remains strong after all these years.”
“After you tried to break it, you mean,” she bit out.
His face changed quickly. “I never tried to break you,” he said. “Please know that. I tried my best to do the opposite. In that, as in most things, I knew failure. But I sought only to protect you from harm and the inevitable damage that my actions would do to you.”
“So I suppose you could say I think you have terrible judgment and could do with better advisors.”
He burst out laughing and oh, how beautiful it was to see his face light up like that. The tension vanished from his shoulders as they shook, and—
The only time she’d seen him look so young was when they were in bed together, when she had kissed him breathless and drawn his pleasure from him. Then, the weight of the world wasn’t on his shoulders. And now, he was bucking it for just a moment—just long enough to laugh.
“And do you nominate yourself?” he asked when he’d caught his breath.
“I think that would be a conflict of interest,” she replied. “I can hardly advise you when I am also seeking to defeat you.”
“I suppose that’s true,” he said. “I’m sure if anyone could do it, though, it would be you. I trust your integrity implicitly.”
“See? This is why I don’t think you have good judgment,” she said, waving her fork through the air. “I tell you to your face that it would be a conflict of interest, and you decide you know better. This is how you end up in world-destroying pickles in the first place, I’d imagine. All the wisdom in the world won’t help you if you have the common sense of a nug.”
He blinked at her.
“The common sense of a nug?”
“Yes.”
“I am Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. And you call me a nug?”
“Yes. And I think you should go to your room and think about what you’ve done to make me say as much.”
The glimmer of amusement in his eye was extinguished.
“I think of little else but what I’ve done to make you think this,” he said. He got to his feet and made his way to the staircase. “I will, however, leave as you’ve requested. To consider the matter further.”
And before she could say “Solas—stay,” he was gone.