Chapter Text
The Fereldan countryside was not the idyllic paradise she’d been led to expect. Instead of rolling hills and thatched country cottages, Ellana's view was of nothing but rain and impenetrable fog. It did little to distract her from the vast, gnawing unknown of her future.
At first, the excitement of a new position had been enough to soothe her nerves—surely, her situation could not get worse . She’d survived her fair share of dire circumstances, and felt she should be immune to the anxiety of uncertainty.
A night in the village inn, with all the gossip and rumour that entailed, cured her of any such illusions.
When she mentioned that she was traveling alone to Wolvenhall, each and every single person pursed their lips in disapproval. None were shy about their feelings on Wolvenhall’s new tenant.
The point of his ears had made some wonder if he would be an angry sort of politicker, or perhaps would host wild bacchanals under the full moon. Neither was true, yet some ladies in the village were dismayed—they perhaps wouldn’t have minded a bacchanal or two if it meant that the manor would be used for a ball.
But he showed no interest in balls, bacchanals, or indeed anyone or anything beyond his wrought-iron gates.
By all accounts he should have been an interesting man. A rich elf with the twin virtues of mysterious origin and extensive education was an intriguing combination.There were rumors he had served abroad, as had most elves who had made their fortune in the war, though no one could quite say when or where. And then there was his ward, a human boy of seemingly stunted capacity. An elf raising a human was odd indeed.
Yet despite all of this potential, visitors to Wolvenhall reported a reserved and academic man, proud and unfriendly, a man uninterested in accruing any goodwill from anyone. A string of tutors for his young ward reported exacting standards and an icy temper, but nothing interesting enough for scandal. All left or were dismissed in short order.
In the end, anticipation and excitement soured to bored irritation when it became clear the whole estate was dull as dishwater. Thus the town felt justified in their poor opinion of elves and left him alone, a stalemate which seemed to satisfy all parties.
And this was the man soon to be her employer.
At least it would be a quiet life. She could use one of those.
Somehow, the prospect of a solitary life in a massive, ancient fortress did little to quell her nerves.
Wolvenhall’s grand stone facade rose out of the mist as her carriage drew closer. The top floors faded into the fog high above, as though in a half-remembered dream. The grounds were thick with untamed shrubbery and gnarled, leafless trees.
It was a wet autumn, and the roads were thick with mud. The carriage had stuck in potholes twice already that day. She had no issue with helping to pull the wheels from the mud, yet she couldn’t help but think the driver would not have allowed such a thing, had she been a lady with rounded ears.
Frankly, she would have preferred to walk.
But that was what a wild Dalish would do, not a proper governess.
Her thin overcoat was soaked through and dripping mud—not quite the first impression she wanted to make, but at least they had arrived, albeit a day late and past sundown.
The carriage brought her around to the servants’ entrance. It was a far cry from the grand columns and wrought iron embellishments of the front facade. She could hardly make out the door in the darkness, and the stairs leading to it looked like they might collapse at any moment.
The driver flew away without even a goodbye the moment she and her luggage hit the ground, splattering her coat with yet more mud. She could hardly blame him, she supposed, watching the horses fade back into the fog, for even in Wycome she’d heard the eerie tales of Wolvenhall. Blood magic, ancient catacombs, ghosts and spirits beyond counting— the rumors were of infinite variety. The village inn had some especially gruesome stories of its history.
She had presumed it all to be wild imaginings, but now, standing beneath the stone behemoth itself, she found her fingers trembling.
Foolish , she chastised herself, clasping her hands together until they stilled. Ignorant superstition . For her to be frightened of strange magic was bitter irony indeed.
Cringing at the freezing mud sloshing in her boots, she knocked on the door, hesitantly at first, and then when no answer appeared imminent, more insistently.
When she had nearly given up hope, and begun wondering how on earth she would find her way back to the village, the door flew open, making her jump back in alarm.
A pair of pale grey eyes stared at her from the dim entryway. “You’re wet,” a voice whispered.
She could hardly muster a reply. “Yes, I am,” she managed.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a young man, hardly older than fifteen, with a shock of white-blond hair and, somewhat alarmingly, a wide-brimmed hat that filled the doorway. He held a small lamp that illuminated little more than his ragged clothes and the curve of his jaw.
“I’m supposed to welcome you in now, aren’t I?” the boy said, stepping back inside. “Won’t you please? You’re so awfully cold.”
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if she should perhaps instead run the other way.
The boy hefted the lantern up to his face. His skin, pock-marked as it was, held a certain luminosity, and his wide, somewhat frantic eyes were friendly. “Hello,” he said, staring at her as he hefted her single piece of luggage.
“A pleasure,” she said, extending her hand, and then withdrawing it when he merely stared. “And you are…?
“I’m Cole,” he said, turning away and leading her down the dark hallway behind him. “And you’re Miss Lavellan.”
“Oh!” She exclaimed, “I didn’t realize—I’m delighted to be your new tutor, Cole.” What an odd house, that the master’s ward would meet her at the door and not a footman or housekeeper. Particularly at such an hour!
Cole paused mid-step. “You’re not. But you’re not frightened of me, either. It’s nice.” She caught a glimpse of a half-smile beneath the absurdly massive hat.
It was true—how he knew that with certainty, she did not know, but she was not frightened of this odd young man. Perhaps others were—yes, she could imagine the looks he would get in the village—but she’d always found that the strangest folk were often the kindest.
More than once, she’d survived on the kindness of those others would consider mad.
He led her down winding stone corridors that all looked alike, his footsteps oddly light and sure for such a gangly youth, until finally they stepped through a nondescript door into what she presumed was the great hall. Even by the light of Cole’s lantern, she could not see the ceiling.
It was a massive stone rotunda, more akin to an ancient chapel than a foyer, full of statues looming in the shadows. She saw a human man on a rearing stallion; a tall woman in diaphanous robes holding aloft tipped scales; a hound with its nose to a scent, tail alert; a long indeterminate blade, too large for a man to wield. Some pieces were lifelike—fine marble carved by masters—while some were decrepit, ancient things, forged of crude bronze and stone.
It was an extensive collection, spanning centuries, but in the darkness of the hall, they all looked like shadows.
She squared her shoulders against a shiver, suddenly very aware of the way she was dripping mud on what was surely a very expensive black marble floor.
Before them was a massive staircase made of dark stone, branching to the east and west. All else was in darkness. It was so very different from the great houses she’d visisted before, pretty little chateaus of white painted wood, porcelain and soft florals, pastel pinks and goldfinch yellows.
Here, she half-expected an altar of crude obsidian to jut from the floor, old blood cracked in the grooves.
It was a dark thought, even for her, and she shook it away.
“I wonder that you are awake at this hour, Cole,” she said, speaking largely in an attempt to dispel the nerves that gripped her. Darkness was merely an absence of light; she would laugh at herself in the morning, surely, for being frightened of an innocuous art collection.
“Oh, I’m always awake, even when I’m not,” he said, as though that were reassuring. “I don’t mind the dark. It’s easier, in the shadows where there’s no seeing. Don’t you think?”
The manner of his speech was beyond strange, but she had to smile all the same—she had never met someone who thought as he did. “You have a singular mind, Cole,” she replied.
His face brightened. “That’s what he says!”
“He? Who do you mean?”
Cole turned his wide eyes to her, luminous in the darkness. “Solas, of course.”
“Ah.” He led her up the staircase, veering to the eastern wing of the manor. Their footsteps echoed in the vast space. Attempting nonchalance, she asked, “What kind of man is he, your… benefactor?”
Cole’s voice took on an odd cadence. “Better boredom than prying in dark corners, eyes in all the mirrors he doesn’t want seen. Dullness, best kept at a distance, is better than fear. Scared turns to suspicion turns to knowing and then it’s done.”
“I’d heard he was an academic sort,” she said, diplomatically, utterly unsure what to make of his odd turn in mood.
“Oh, yes,” Cole said. “He’s full of columns.”
“And he treats you kindly?” Not twenty minutes into their acquaintance and she was already worried for this young stranger. To be alone in such a large and imposing house, and wandering awake at such a late hour, in ragged clothes...
Cole just looked at her. “He guides me to the shining places,” he said, and, well, that was that.
She dripped her way to the top of the staircase, painfully aware that she was creating extra work for some poor maid in the morning.
Or, perhaps, for herself—the duties of her employment were not entirely clear, and she had been desperate enough not to pry.
The eastern staircase led to a tall hallway lined in tapestries and paintings. Imposing, to be sure, but less so than the great hall below them. Every item was worthy of any museum, yet it was all haphazardly strewn across the walls. She’d seen amateur needlework paid more respect.
She felt immensely plain and small, in her starched brown cottons and damp overcoat, before all that careless finery.
She shook off the feeling best she could. She was to live here for the foreseeable future—it wouldn’t do to be intimidated by the decor.
Cole paused before a doorway. “This is your room. You can have another one, if you want. There are twenty-six.”
“This will do fine. Thank you.”
“I won’t come in. Molly didn’t like that. She screamed at me, and then she left.” Ellana presumed ‘Molly’ to be her predecessor. Cole frowned. “I only wanted some ribbon, for the cats. But she wouldn’t forget.”
“It’s all right,” Ellana said, at somewhat of a loss for words. “Will you go to bed now, Cole?”
“No,” he said. Not argumentatively, but as though he were merely stating a fact. “But you want me to?”
“I’d like that. And tomorrow you can show me the rest of the house?”
His smile was unguarded. “Probably!”
She said her goodnights and closed the door behind her, heaving a deep breath.
By the standards of the rest of the manor it was a small room, but by her standards it was a palace—if a somewhat spartan one.
At school she’d shared a bed with three other girls, cramped and miserable, made all the worse by the way they’d pinched her in her sleep, leaving sharp red bruises. Even little orphans and natural daughters thought themselves above an elf. Afterwards, at her first position, she’d slept in an unused linen closet, and rejoiced at the privacy.
A queen bed sat against the wall, with a cedar trunk at the foot of it and a cherry armoire to the side—how meagre her single bag of possessions would look in such grand storage! There was a sizable armchair as well, and a little writing desk facing the window. Moonlight streamed through gauzy curtains, illuminating the room enough to maneuver by. The fog must have lifted.
She swayed on her feet, the excitement from her arrival draining out of her in one fell swoop. She stripped out of her wet clothes and gloves, setting them to dry by the window.There was a bowl of water on the windowsill, somehow still warm despite the night’s chill, and she gratefully splashed her face and hands, washing away the foulness of the road best she could.
Despite the oddity of her situation, and the thousand questions racing through her mind, she couldn’t resist the charms of a clean bed and a door that actually locked. She blew out her candle and climbed under the covers without preamble, and sleep found her the moment her head met the pillow.
She woke just after dawn—an old habit—and slipped on her one other dress, an ill-fitting thing that had once been perhaps a fetching green, but had since faded into a kind of moldy pastel.
It was clean, in any case.
Last came her ever-present pair of gloves—how lucky she had been that they were not muddied during the journey.
She was shocked to find Cole in the hallway when she emerged—had he not left since he dropped her off last night?—but after a moment she saw that he was looking a little cleaner, and he was in different clothes.
The hat, though, seemed to be a permanent sartorial choice.
He turned when she emerged, a wide smile on his face. “You’re still here!”
“Should I not be?”
He shook his head. “People don’t stay.”
In the light of day the manor wasn’t all that frightening, and she wondered at her odd superstitions the night before. What had seemed like intimidating extravagance in the darkness now looked more like dusty clutter.
“Well, I don’t plan on leaving any time soon. Would you mind showing me the kitchens? I can fix my own tea.”
Cole’s eyes widened. “Oh! We eat breakfast in the room with the birds,” he said, picking at his fingers. “You’re meant to come. He brings jam and bread.” His expression turned apologetic. “No tea, though.”
She boggled. “He’s awake?” She’d never heard of a lord of one of these great houses who ever woke so early, never mind one who arranged his own breakfast.
Cole furrowed his brow. “I can’t see him, so I can’t say for certain—”
She shook her head. “Never mind. I’d be happy to join you.” She swallowed the nerves that threatened to set her head spinning.
Her new employer. The man who could take one look at her and send her packing, back out onto the streets.
And what then? Who would recommend her for a position? Would she return to the orphanage school? Or wander the woods again, and try to find a clan that had never heard the name Lavellan?
Or, worse, he could be cruel and monstrous, and she would need to weigh happiness against poverty.
She startled at Cole’s hand on her arm. It was surprisingly warm. “It’s all right.”
She returned a shaky smile. “Sorry to worry you, Cole. I don’t do well on a lack of sleep.”
“He loves sleeping, too! I know you’ll get along.”
She had to smile a little at that. “I certainly hope you’re right.”
Cole led her down the staircase and through the great hall full of artifacts—these, at least, looked just as intimidating during the day. The bronze spear from the night before glittered sharply, and the marble figures had a certain lifelike glow about them in the sunlight.
The mud she’d dripped on the floor last night was gone as if it had never been.
The parlor was a small annex room off of the central rotunda. The walls were painted with vibrant, wide murals of birds of all different types—cranes, sparrows, starlings, and some she had never before seen but looked as though they belonged in some distant jungle. This must have been what Cole meant by the ‘room with the birds.’
A single long table ran the length of the room, piled high with hundreds of books, more than she’d ever seen in one place before.
“Goodness,” she breathed.
A flutter of movement across the room brought her nerves back in full force. Her employer, hidden behind a newspaper until that moment, folded it and set it down on the table.
He rose to greet her. “Miss Lavellan, I presume?”
He was a tall man, surprisingly so for an elf, with a certain elegance in his carriage. He was bald, though not seemingly due to old age (though he was certainly older than she), and beardless. Despite his elegant posture and grace of movement, his clothing was oddly ragged—the sleeves of his green coat were frayed, and though everything appeared clean and pressed, it was all more than a decade out of style.
She attempted a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solas.”
“Likewise,” he said, with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope that your delayed arrival was not due to any trouble on the road?” His voice was quiet and precise, with an accent she couldn’t quite place.
She winced. “Apologies for my tardiness. This season is poor for travel.”
He glanced away, an odd turn to his mouth. “You are here now, which is all that matters, I suppose. It appears that you have already met Cole?”
She glanced over at Cole, who was carefully inspecting a globe on the table, tracing the borders slowly with his fingers. “Yes. He’s been very kind.”
His eyebrows raised. “Has he?”
She narrowed her eyes, wondering at his tone. “He showed me to my quarters last night, and we had the pleasure of speaking, for a time. I found him to be a singular young man.”
“Singular, yes. Forgive my surprise. It is merely that many are discouraged by my ward’s manner. He has a unique view of the world that some find... discomfiting.”
She glanced again at Cole, who did not seem upset at this description of himself. In fact, he appeared to not be listening at all. “That’s their loss, I suppose.”
“Yes,” he said. It was only when she had his full attention did she realize he had hardly noticed her before. “Lavellan. A Dalish name, is it not?”
She took a deep breath, ready to reel off the speech that she always gave to assure people she wasn’t the Dalish nymph of their imaginations. It was always grating, but she did need employment, and most employers did not harbor warm thoughts for her people.
“Yes, it is. I was born to a Dalish clan far to the north, but I was raised in an Andrastian orphanage, as a teacher and governess. I know the Chant and am fluent in Common, as you can likely tell, and can read Orlesian, and speak it a little. I taught at the orphanage for a time, and more recently worked for two years at—”
He waved a hand, cutting her off. “I have read your recommendation. If you are Dalish, where are your vallaslin?”
Taken aback, she sputtered out, “I—ah, that is—my clan, I wasn’t—” she took a breath to steady her nerves. “I left my clan at a young age. Too young for vallaslin.” Most non-Dalish didn’t even know what vallaslin were, let alone were able to pronounce it correctly.
His eyebrows rose again. “Left your clan? Is that commonly done?”
“No,” she said, wishing she could leave it at that, but his silence prompted her to continue. “It was an unusual situation,” she said, hoping against hope he wouldn’t dig any deeper. “It was a dark time for my clan, and they were no longer…able to provide for me.”
Creators, let that be the end of it!
He sniffed and looked away, apparently satisfied by that answer. “That does sound like the Dalish.”
She was nearly too shocked to be angry. Nearly. “I beg your pardon?”
He clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at her with faint irritation. “The Dalish hide in forests, hoarding their fragments of distorted history, somehow believing they are more than children playing games with shadows upon the wall. I sorely doubt the ancients spent their days herding halla.”
This insult, coming from a fellow elf? Even humans were content to call her ‘rabbit’ and leave it at that!
“Should they recite the Chant and live in human manors, then?” She couldn’t stop the sharp edge in her voice nor the heat rising to her face. Her left hand itched, as it always did when her emotions ran high, and she was grateful she remembered her gloves that morning. “The Dalish aren’t perfect, but at least they’re trying to keep the memory of our people alive. Someone should.”
He seemed taken aback, but pressed on. “This ‘memory’ they claim adherence to is an inaccurate fantasy, which is to say, it is a lie.”
“And who is the arbiter of that— you ?”
Some distant part of herself was horrified. Not ten minutes on the job and already she was insulting her employer!
The rest of her was just angry.
He looked askance at her, eyes narrowing. “For someone expelled from Dalish society, you are surprisingly defensive of their ways.”
Just as she opened her mouth to say something regrettable, Cole cried out in distress. She whipped around, having forgotten he was there in her anger. His shaking hands were clutched to his ears and he was bent over the table, staring into nothing.
“Cole!” Solas was at his side in a moment, and Ellana followed. She wanted to reach out, but Cole shrank away from their approach, and so she forced herself back.
His eyes were clenched tight. “It’s all red and sharp, I can’t…”
Solas’s voice turned gentle. “Listen to my voice, Cole. Focus on what is here.”
“What is here?”
Her heart jumped at the strain in his voice, so far from the soft, almost melodic way he usually spoke.
“Feel the wood underneath your feet. The breath in your lungs. The weight of your hat on your brow.”
Cole gulped in breath and after breath, tension slowly draining out of him. After a few moments, he blinked, expression clearing, though he was still quite pale.
“There you are,” Solas said.
“Thank you,” Cole breathed.
Ellana reached out at last and softly set her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, Cole.” She took a deep breath, ashamed at her temper and horribly certain that all this meant she was out of a job.“And I must beg your pardon too, Mr. Solas. I spoke out of turn.”
But his eyes were on her hand, resting on Cole’s sleeve. After a moment, he looked away, clearing his throat. “The apology is mine to make, Miss Lavellan,” he said, straightening once again, all politeness. He turned to Cole. “Are you all right?”
Cole nodded. “Yes. Pillows would be nice, though. And maybe a cat.”
“You may go to your rooms, then, and rest a while.”
Cole wandered away, leaving them alone in an awkward silence.
She mentally scolded herself, staring at her feet—how could she have been so nervous, and then flown off into a temper like that? Surely he would not want some angry knife-ear around to upset his sensitive ward… and to challenge him so outright? What was she thinking ?
“Is he all right to go alone?” She ventured at last, not meeting his eyes.
“Yes,” Solas said, rubbing at his temples. “He merely needs some time to himself.” He paused. “It seems you have a way with him.”
“Not near as much as you, I’m sure, but I like him, truly.” She wondered if he would let her say goodbye. No, perhaps a clean break was better for everyone.
He sighed, face set with some odd emotion, and for the first time she noticed the purple circles under his eyes and the pale sheen to his skin. Was that exhaustion, or illness?
“I fear your assessment is uncommon, Miss Lavellan, though I am glad to hear it. I think that after all this excitement Cole can be excused from his lessons today, save for perhaps some reading after supper.”
She stared at him, unsure. “Wait—do you mean you’re keeping me on?”
Bafflement was written all over his face. “Your qualifications and references are excellent, and you do not seem to fear taking on a challenging student. The position is yours, if you desire it still. Was that in question?” He tugged at his sleeves, an anxious gesture.
“I thought that, well, since we argued…”
He frowned down at her. “I am not in the habit of punishing those who disagree with me.” He sighed again, brows drawn tight. “It is not a bad thing to have one’s opinions challenged every so often.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “Thank you, Mr. Solas.”
He looked away, stooping a little. “Indeed. Well. To begin, please call me merely Solas. I cannot abide needless formality. Second, I will be working until supper, and do not wish to be disturbed. You may explore the house at your leisure. I only ask that you do not venture into the west wing, as that is where I work. We dine at six.” He turned away to his table piled high with books.
Sensing a dismissal, Ellana left the parlor with a clumsy curtsy, resisting the urge to skip. Certainly, her employer was odd and a little irritable, and her student might be a challenge, but she had a position— not a small thing for an exiled Dalish elf deep in human territory.
She let herself bask in it, for just a moment.