Chapter Text
The worst thing of all is the waiting.
Don’t get her wrong, there have been many things about the past decade that were less than ideal. The former Inquisitor Lavellan – though no one seemed to understand that it was completely fine to use her first name, or at least only call her Lady Ellana rather than use her cumbersome and obsolete title – could fully attest to that.
The Breach, Corypheus, and her perilous quest to create an Inquisition out of nothing? That had been terrifying, but also a completely separate endeavour. She had started with nothing but accusations and a strange power now housed in her body, gone from semi-effective ambassador and spy to chief suspect of a murder most foul... and then to a saviour of the Andrastean religion and leader of a military organisation within months. That year wasn’t what she counted as difficult.
What came after could definitely be classed as such. First, becoming more of a political leader than a military one. That had been hard enough, even with the support of her savvy advisors. For the most part, she had to trade her wandering boots for expensive robes and make nice with the powerful of southern Thedas. Some of whom she herself had put into their functions.
Second, the looming prospect of death as her power began to threaten to consume her. The source of her title as Herald of Andraste, her fabled Fade-touched power, which had sent an ancient Magister into the Fade in pieces, now threatened to devour her just the same. With this in mind, she embarked on one last mission, to answer the question that had haunted her for months.
Third, the conversation that replayed in her mind so many times, it felt like she was rehearsing a play. Running through a field of petrified qunari and coming face to face with her former lover... now revealed in his full terrifying power. The change in his cold eyes when he saw her, an echo of the intense sorrow with which he had walked away from her and left her broken-hearted on the day she had hoped to offer him a future with her beyond their quest together.
And fourth, realising the full extent of how he had manipulated not just her, but events all around them, for his benefit, to atone for his failures before and after his long slumber. Understanding that she had to be the one to stop him, because she was the one who had moved his heart... and then, his taking away the power that made her special, made her appear chosen, made her strong enough to stand against him... to save her life.
The hardest moment of Ellana’s life happened then; fallen to her knees, her arm disintegrating into nothingness at a mere touch of his newfound magic, watching the man she thought to be the love of her life walk away into the eluvian without a backwards glance after he professed to never forget her.
And then, the waiting.
Waiting for her friends to find her. Waiting for them to overcome their shock, greater than even when they saw her bare-faced and teary-eyed for the first time that day. Shock at her survival, at her injury, at what Solas had done to her and for her at the same time. Waiting to see if it was safe to speak to her about what would happen next...
And, of course, waiting for those next steps to materialise.
Because she can’t be at the centre of things anymore. She can’t continue being their standard-bearer in the fight against an ancient god – a true god, not the pretender she had cast down. Not so much because of her injury; Ellana is a mage of significant power, so losing half her left arm doesn’t really hinder her ability to fight. Never mind the fact that Sera and Vivienne, agreeing on something for the first time in their lives, immediately offer suggestions regarding fashionable and practical prosthetic replacements, from a lifelike arm to a crossbow, of all things.
No, it’s because Solas knows her most of all of them. He’s moulded her into what she is, at least in part, given her resources and instructions in ways no one could have anticipated. And also because he took great care to know her once it became apparent that she had resolve, strength, and kindness in abundance, despite the difficult hand fate had dealt her.
She had broken through his apathy to the world, his disdain for modern elves, even nearly shattered his conviction to go forward with his plans. Now that there’s no further blocker in place to prevent him from doing so – apparently, Solas had done something to remove the regret from the Spirit of Compassion’s sight – Cole easily rattles off that the Dread Wolf had planned to tell her everything there in the glade he had taken her to... only to lose his nerve at the final moment and tell her the truth about her tattoos instead. Choosing his desperate plan over their love.
Small moments can make history. They can rewrite destiny. This had been one of them. The putting her into the eye of the hurricane and saving her life once she had calmed it were two others.
She spent a decade preparing for the next one. Changing the Inquisition. Working with Divine Victoria to prepare the world for another war. Seeing her friends and allies disperse but remain in touch with one another as only true companions can.
Being at the cusp of that moment at long last once the letter from Harding comes that they’ve caught Solas’ trail, that it’s happening in Minrathous, nearly feels surreal. She’s older now, wiser, more patient. In that instant, she’s once again the Dalish Keeper’s Second, charging into the unknown completely unprepared.
Yet she’s told to stay away. That Harding and Varric have it covered, that she should trust her agents and not intervene. It feels like they don’t trust her to make the difficult call if needed, simply because she had promised to save Solas from himself in their meeting room in Val Royaux an eternity ago.
“You’re plotting something, Ellie. It’s both adorable and terrifying.” Dorian says in lieu of a greeting when she calls him for their regular chat. He’s her closest friend, her true confidante, and a fellow captive of political power.
Creators – can she really call them such, or is it simply force of habit? – sometimes she wishes she could have been born a man that favoured men, fallen for the dashing Magister Pavus, and not have had people treat her like she may not be going into the hunt for her actual former lover with the clearest of intentions. Goodness knows her life would have been easier for it.
But the love she had for her friend is as true as the romantic one she still held onto for her Solas, as was his in turn for her. They converse through his gift to her ages ago, no matter where duty takes them. She in Orlais, the closest advisor of the head of the Andrastean church despite being Dalish; the Sword of the Divine. He in Tevinter, the head of the Lucerni, trying to reform a society where power was still the only currency that mattered.
“I should be there, Dorian.” she says when she explains the update she’s received. “It doesn’t feel right, to have others do this. Not when I know best what’s at stake.”
“Ah, but there’s the core of it, isn’t it? You’re too close to the problem, shall we say. And he’s expecting you to be there. Hoping for it, maybe. He always had a taste for melodrama.” Dorian points out. He generally tries not to say Solas’ name, not wanting to give him that much respect anymore.
“What if that’s the surprise? That he expects us to send someone else and can prepare for that. That I just be there as a contingency measure.”
“You always ask too much of yourself.” the magister retorts, his eyes gentle. “Do you truly want to do this?”
“It’s been ten years. I’ve learned how to cope.”
“Yes, ten years in which you’ve lived like a nun, barely sleeping in your quest to make the world safe, never mind taking someone else to bed to help you with that. You deserve your peace, Ellie. A reward for all you’ve done and gone through.”
“So do you.” Ellana says softly.
She’s used to this argument, especially his overly enthusiastic suggestions that she reply to Cullen’s letters with something more than friendly politeness. Dorian has always been the former Inquisition commander’s greatest cheerleader, and not just in overcoming his lyrium addiction. He has the best of intentions for both of them, for sure, and he’s politically savvy to boot. It would have been a symbol of great reconciliation: two of the Inquisition’s top brass, a Dalish mage and the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, joined together in a love that transcended their past. It was also another life... not this one, unfortunately.
Dorian scoffs at that good-naturedly. “Bull and I make do as we can, my dear. The old lummox sends his regards to ‘the boss’, by the way.”
“He’s doing well, then?” Ellana, who hasn’t seen the Iron Bull, her good friend and Dorian’s amatus of over a decade now, in a while, asks, happy to change the topic for a moment.
“The Chargers will be making their way to the border in the near future, so I’ll get to see him before the month is up, hopefully.” Despite their separation, the two of them always find their way back to each other. It’s the kind of bond she can only dream of. “In fact... there’s an idea, perhaps. The Inquisitor coming into Tevinter would be a political scandal, assuming you’re not detained at the border itself. But... a member of a mercenary company... an anonymous elf that no one looks twice at... would be quite a different story.”
Bull himself can’t enter Tevinter either, but the Chargers are hardly of note to the authorities. This has the makings of a plan.
“That’s a great idea. Thank you, my friend. Will you-?”
“If you choose to go through with this bad idea that I’m explicitly warning you against... then I’ll be waiting for you myself, of course. I promised you a proper welcome that’d dispel all the barbaric notions about my homeland that make their way down to the South, didn’t I? And after all of this is done and you’ve given the old wolf a few whacks over his snout to set him straight, I expect nothing but an evening full of the best Antivan vintages and laughter as my reward.”
What may sound like a simple plan is really anything but. Back during the Inquisition, no one would have batted an eye to see a heavily-armed Inquisitor leave Skyhold with an entourage of her best warriors, ready to close more rifts and help the simple folk through small deeds of kindness. In Val Royeaux, where she now primarily resides, Ellana is under much more scrutiny.
Diplomatic duties, meetings with the Divine, Vivienne’s monthly salons, luncheons with ambassadors, correspondence with the Crowns of Ferelden and Orlais, the new relationships with Starkhaven and Kirkwall. Making sure the Red Jennies are staying out of trouble while serving as her eyes and ears among the common folk, corresponding with Warden Rainer at Weisshaupt, keeping track of where Cole might be whenever possible. Every step is still observed, every dance and word recounted, even when she’s among allies. Vanishing for weeks on end to travel to Tevinter won’t go unnoticed. Ellana loses a bit of hope each day that her plans are delayed or thwarted.
Until, of course, an unexpected and mystical solution presents itself. Her staff seem very on edge when they come to her office to alert her of an unscheduled visitor, a woman who dresses like a Chasind but commands with the voice of a queen, claiming that the Inquisitor will want to see her immediately.
“Inquisitor Lavellan.” Morrigan comments with the slightest of bows in her direction.
“Ellana, please. It’s been too long for formality.”
She has never been so glad to see Morrigan in her life, even though the witch’s presence usually spells bad tidings. They parted on good terms years ago, with the Witch of the Wilds regularly writing to her to check on how she was absorbing the knowledge obtained from the Well of Sorrows. Outside of work, trying to figure out the odd whisper and improving her elvhen is one of the Inquisitor’s few passions, and the two women bonded over that if little else.
However, this time, there’s something different about the human. And it’s not just the steel crown that frames her pale face and dark hair in a stark fashion. But the crown is something Ellana vaguely remembers the woman’s mother wearing; the echo of Mythal, who had commanded her and forced her to obey with a simple word at their last meeting.
“As you wish, my friend. You must be wondering why I’ve sought you out after all this time.”
“Indeed I am. It’s been far too long since we last spoke. How is Kieran?”
“He is well.” The witch looks happy at the mention of her son. “A man grown now, or nearly, and quite proficient at magic. No nightmares have touched him for years. He wanted to come, but now was not the time or place.”
“He’s welcome to visit anytime he likes. As are you.” Ellana says, remembering the shy copper-haired lad with the soul of an archdemon fondly.
“Thank you, though it isn’t just friendship that brought me to your door today. I came to offer you guidance and aid, as seems to be my role in things.” Morrigan doesn’t speak snidely when she says as much; the offer is genuine.
“That’s always welcome, though I don’t know why you’ve sought me out now, of all times.”
“Because you wish to go after him.” the witch says simply, as if it were obvious. “I’ve felt the stirrings of magic that echoes of Mythal and something else entirely across the Fade and all of Thedas. That can only mean that he’s almost ready to proceed with his plans. And you’re not the sort who’d be content to wait while others do the difficult things, Ellana. You intend to go after Solas.”
Ellana is silent for a moment, surprised by the ease with which Morrigan knows this.
“How would you have felt Mythal’s magic? Has your mother returned to contact you?”
“In a sense.” For the first time, Morrigan looks a little uneasy. “My mother is dead, my friend. Her spirit – and the spectre of Mythal – visited me years ago to impart that knowledge on me. I didn’t share that with you because it wasn’t relevant, but now... now it’s more important than ever.”
The crown and the feeling of ancient magic... another may have needed explanations, but Ellana knows enough to understand what this means.
“She’s transferred the essence to you.” she says, summarising what happened. “Mythal is... within you now.”
With a small smile, Morrigan nods. “Indeed she is. You’ve no need to worry on that account, though. I’m not here to command you to do anything, especially since you’re more than willing to do what she’d ask of you without such compulsion. I’m merely here to aid you, as I said.”
Surprisingly, what bothers Ellana is entirely different to what the witch mentioned.
“So... even now, our goddess chooses a human host. And you accepted her, despite your fears of being erased from your own mind.”
“Twas a difficult decision, to be sure. But, believe it or not, I accepted in part because of you as well.” Morrigan says, surprising the former Inquisitor. “My mother may have influenced Mythal’s decision in who the next host should be, but I’m certain that her other pick would have been you. And, as fitting as that perhaps would have been, you’re needed in this world as you are. For ‘tis not to Mythal that Solas would listen when given the opportunity, but to you. I’m here simply to provide it.”
“How would you know that?” Ellana asks, suspicious that the witch isn’t telling her something.
“Because he killed her for her power, Ellana.” Morrigan says softly, looking a little pained. She didn’t intend to share this, but felt that she must. “To gain the power of a god, the power he lost to Corypheus when he awoke, Solas had to turn to the only vessel remaining in this world that could restore him to his former state.”
“But... he said the Evanuris killed Mythal. It’s the reason he chose to imprison them.”
“He told the truth on that account. The Mythal within me is just part of the goddess, a fragment of her that survived that act of treachery.” Morrigan goes on to explain the true nature of the Evanuris; powerful spirits turned elves, which couldn’t truly die. She’s learned much since merging with the goddess. “She has no more power to give, only advice. And she is convinced that only you can do this... as am I.”
“What does Mythal have to say, then? What stake does she have in this now?” Ellana is a little bolder in her demand now, despite being stunned by these sudden revelations. Her Dalish pride is a little piqued at being chosen by the goddess, despite knowing not to revere her as such anymore.
“’Tis not so much a thought as an impression that I can give you, you must understand. But, if there are words for it, they would be these.” Morrigan takes a breath, almost as if she were to recite a poem written by someone else rather than her own thoughts. “His love for Mythal convinced Solas to do terrible things, distorted Wisdom into Pride, and broke the natural order. But his love for you, Ellana, began healing those wounds, and restoring the essence of what he once was. If there’s anything powerful enough in this world to sway the mind of a fallen god, ‘tis that.”
“He rejected it before.” Ellana’s voice is small, voicing the main argument that others have echoed to her many, many times, not without reason.
“Failure has never stopped you before. You’ve had a decade to grow stronger. He’s had a decade to question and waver and regret... or does he not creep into your dreams like a shadow, watching from afar?” It’s hard to tell if Morrigan or Mythal herself is voicing the question. However, it’s not an unkind one. “Things have changed for both of you. Believe that you have the strength to face him again, as I do.”
This belief fills her with something resembling peace rather than just determination. She can do this, just like she’s done many impossible things before.
“Alright, then.” she says, the Inquisitor coming into her voice. “Where do we begin?”
They journey through the Crossroads like shadows, careful not to be noticed. It’s unclear how many agents there are wandering around there, how many have been swayed to the other side in this difficult time. Many elves left the Inquisition after whispers of their risen god reached their ears; some returned, some didn’t, and it’s not for her to investigate why.
What matters in the end is that they reach the eluvian that takes them to Tevinter, emerging in the centre of Minrathous as if it were nothing. Despite her disguise, Ellana can’t help but be slightly on edge. This is hostile territory to Inquisitor Lavellan, but Flash of the Bull’s Chargers – a disguise she wears even now, with a different hairstyle and fake markings on her face in order to change her appearance accordingly – is but one of many denizens of the great city.
It’s not enough to fool anyone who knows her well, of course. When they meet with Dorian and Maevaris Tilani, the two magisters nearly have a heart attack in public over this brazen plan, but then praise the ingenuity of it. The Bull’s Chargers arrive a few days later, led by Krem, as there was absolutely no chance of disguising the Iron Bull as anything but what he truly was. The mercenaries welcome her among them with ease and embraces, Dalish in particular crafting an exceedingly intricate story about how they’re now two archer sisters among the band. Archers with very conspicuous magical staves, mind you, but archers nonetheless.
The hope is that they’ll be able to watch from afar and help in case things go badly for Varric and his team, who are now hunting for a local investigator. Ellana is made to swear over and over that she’ll only intervene if absolutely necessary, and trust that her friends have things covered otherwise. They must be mindful of not causing a diplomatic incident, after all, as well as potentially making things worse.
Of course, then things insist on going as badly as possible, and she’s roused from her rest a few days after arriving by the sound of demons raining from the sky. Not since Redcliffe has she seen so many of them in one place.
She and the Chargers help people wherever possible, staying out of sight of the authorities, taking down demons and protecting the innocent. Grim turns out to be a great tracker despite only speaking in grunts, setting them on the trail of Varric’s group without being detected. They follow, two steps behind, into the heart of the chaos.
Of course, two steps behind means that they’re two steps too late. They reach the ritual site in Arlathan Forest just in time to rescue a nearly overwhelmed Tevinter investigator from many more demons than expected. She’s more suspicious of the sudden intervention than grateful, but that suspicion turns to astonishment when she spots Ellana and sees through her disguise nearly immediately.
Whatever opinions she may have on this – and she certainly has many, given how high her eyebrows bolt up – have to wait, however. The magic near them is echoing, tearing apart space and time. Ellana can hear familiar voices shouting, though she can’t make out the words of either of them. Varric has seemingly decided to make the same mistake he so vehemently cautioned her against making and is trying to talk down Solas from destroying the Veil.
She’ll give him a talking-to about being a hypocrite later. For now, she nods to Krem, who wastes no time in marshalling the Chargers and taking down whatever demons spawn around them.
“We’ll keep them off you, Ellana. Go!”
Ellana runs like the wind, her feet faster than when dashing out of the Fade after being trapped there with Divine Justinia, her mind clearer and more resolute. She’s almost made it to the stairs where two figures are arguing, wasting time while the world is collapsing around them.
Then, there’s a mighty crash, and a gigantic statue of a god starts to topple. A scream of frustration as Solas catches it with a wave of magic so strong, it should be impossible for a single individual. The magical energy is whipping around her like a gale-force wind, halting her progress, forcing her to take shelter behind a pillar to be able to see.
There’s a strange sensation in her phantom limb. She’s lived without a left arm for so long, she’s almost used to the feelings it sometimes evokes. But it’s different this time; as if she had the Anchor again, with a rift nearby, ready to be sealed and conquered. Except she doesn’t, and she can do nothing when a tear greater than any she’s ever seen opens up behind the figure of the one she knows to be her lost love.
There’s another scream, more primal than before, filled with fear and desperation and despair. A great flash of light, a surge of force. Ellana ducks behind the pillar once more, sheltered by the blast, only to accidentally cut her hand on the stone that crumbles under her skin. When silence falls, she remains hidden, especially when she hears only voices she doesn’t recognise.
“A fine moment to wake up to... to see that rancid Wolf caught in his own trap. I shall remember it fondly when I grind his bones to dust.”
“That can wait another century or two if needs must. The world smells wrong. What has he done to my creations?”
“You’ll create more, as you always do. But come, we must tend to our domain... see the extent of the damage before it can be repaired. Let the traitor rot and stew until it’s his turn to bow.”
To be the first being to hear the voice of her gods is terrifying. To hear what they speak of casts them in an entirely different light to the stories she remembers. Ellana is utterly still, waiting patiently until the two strangers depart; a man wearing a terrifying crown that can only be Elgar’nan and a thing with the barest hint of a woman’s face that she supposes is Ghilan'nain by process of elimination.
Only when it’s safe, when it’s clear that they haven’t paid her more attention than one would an ant on the ground, does she feel safe enough to come out.
The tear in the Veil is gone... as is Solas. She’s come so far only to be met with failure before she’s even begun. That irks her, but Ellana pushes the thought aside. Others need her help, not just her wounded pride.
Closest to her is the fallen body of Varric’s new agent. She’s never met them personally, but Ellana knows the dwarf had talked up a storm about them. Codenamed ‘Rook’, this was Varric’s trump card against Solas’s expectations for whom he’d bring to persuade him to back down. Ellana realises quickly that hers is hardly the greatest failure today.
Rook is... well, it makes her stomach lurch a little bit to see wounds like this up close. She’s no healer, but even an expert would have had trouble fixing a caved-in skull. She can barely tell what they looked like under all the blood and ratty old robes, even if it’s a man or a woman, but one thing is very clear to her. Dead. The blast had knocked them far harder than her, cracked their skull against the stone.
Nearby are two other fallen bodies. The Chargers are coming in, alongside the investigator – Neve Gallus, she introduces herself later, her voice only a little shaken by all the strange things around them – and they wake up Scout Harding as gently as possible. Stitches, their healer, echoes Ellana’s diagnosis. Rook can’t be helped, but Harding seems only lightly wounded by the scuffle.
The dwarven scout’s eyes are as wide as saucers when she spots her, though.
“Inquisitor!” she can’t help but exclaim, then the pain stops her from standing up. “You-you’re- you were meant to stay in Orlais! How-why-? No, nevermind. You’re here. That’s good.”
“The demons are gone, Harding. We’ve got your friend as well.” Ellana says, trying to stay calm. She can take control of the situation. She is, after all, the Inquisitor. “Let us do what we can to help.”
The last body is that of Varric. Ellana approaches him herself, her mind a tempest. If he had only listened to her, let her take the lead rather than risking himself like this, things could have turned out differently. In the end, he made the mistake he had so vehemently cautioned her against, and paid the price in turn.
She applies poultices on his wound herself, with the healer being busy elsewhere. In the field, everyone has to know a little bit about healing, and so she does her best. Miraculously, her comparably paltry skills seem to be enough to awaken the dwarf, who first coughs and splutters, then opens his eyes.
“Ellana!” There’s an echo of something strange in Varric’s tone, not quite himself, as he spots her next to him, but it vanishes quickly, replaced by the dwarf’s familiar tired gruffness. “Well, shit. I should have known you wouldn’t listen to me, Flash.”
She’s the lightning that strikes when a storm is nigh, and he’s always called her such, especially since electricity is the magic that comes to her most naturally.
“You don’t even listen to yourself anymore, Varric. So maybe it’s time you’d listen to me.” she replies, not unkindly. “We need to leave this place and get to safety. The ritual doesn’t seem to have torn the Veil, but I saw two figures emerge. I think they were two of the Evanuris; Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain, unless I’m mistaken. They left now, but there’s no telling if they won’t return.”
“No kidding.” Varric winces, but sits up with her help. “I think whatever weird magic Chuckles used isn’t completely gone, though. You see that?”
There’s a sense of thinness around her, culminating in the flicker of what is but also isn’t quite a rift nearby. Her phantom limb itches to close it, but she doesn’t have the power.
So, instead, Ellana peers through it. There’s something on the other side that looks almost like... a refuge. A dwelling in the Fade that seems safe. And there’s something about it that feels connected to Solas, although she can’t put her finger on how or why.
“Somehow... I think that can help us.” Ellana say tentatively, unsure why she feels that way. “If it’s connected to the ritual, maybe it’ll help us find more clues about what to do next. And also what happened to Solas.”
“I think you’re right. We need to regroup and think about next steps. We can-” The pain stops the dwarf from standing up. His leg seems broken from the fall he took, so Ellana moves to grab him. “Shit. I wasn’t expecting- guess you’re here to carry me again, aren’t you, Flash?”
“You carried me too. We’re here for each other.” Ellana points out. She looks around briefly for the one thing she doesn’t see nearby. “Where’s Bianca? We can grab the old girl before we head off.”
“Bianca’s gone.” Varric says, his voice sounding regretful. “Chuckles did that. I thought I may have to take the shot when I couldn’t talk him down. He didn’t take kindly to that.”
“We’ll recover the pieces, then. I’m sure we can fix her... Davri owes you that much, at least.” Ellana says, ever positive. Now, strangely, it feels more natural to take charge of things.
“Not everything can be fixed. He stabbed me, Flash.” Varric says it so simply, leaving the weight of the words to speak for itself. “I don’t think old bonds mean as much to him as they do to us anymore. Maybe he’s changed... or he was always like this, hiding the darkest parts of him away from us until he couldn’t. I tried to talk him out of this madness and couldn’t. After all this... are you still here to try and do that, Ellana?”
The dwarf generally doesn’t use her name without a good reason. It feels strangely poignant now, even if it’s an odd question to ask at this particular moment.
“I’m here to do what I do best. Disrupt the plans of wannabe gods, seal rifts – literal and figurative ones – and bring together the people that can help me and each other along the way.” Ellana – no, Inquisitor Lavellan – responds, smiling her old smile.
“Of course you are.” There’s a note of contentment in Varric’s voice, which she dearly hopes isn’t the tiredness of the dying. “How could it have ever gone another way?”
After that, Ellana Lavellan leads the charge. She enters the Lighthouse unprepared for it, but also unsurprised by what she finds in many ways. She sees echoes of Solas everywhere, from the frescoes on the wall to the many objects around them. In many ways, she has an easier time accepting this all than the likes of Varric, Harding, and Neve Gallus.
She asks the Chargers to carry messages to Dorian, Maevaris, the Bull, and even Orlais, so that she can figure out how to tell the Divine that her vacation will be longer than expected. Morrigan – and Mythal, for that matter – will no doubt show up when least expected, given enough time.
It’s Rook that hangs in the air the longest. Skinner confirms the death grimly, as if there were any doubt. There’s no saving the fallen agent. Varric is remarkably stone-faced about the passing, but the others are shaken. Having a team member die on a mission is never easy, especially since they’re the one who made the tough call to save them all, while unleashing something catastrophic in the process.
“We’ll send message to Rook’s family.” Ellana promises, meaning every word. “If they need anything, I’ll see to it myself.”
She may not have liked being replaced, but she knows well enough that it hadn’t been Rook’s fault. And they paid for it dearly.
Then, it’s all about ensuring things are set up quickly. Like with Corypheus a decade ago, there’s a sense of urgency, especially since they have far fewer people to recruit under their banners. Varric is firmly out of action due to his injuries, though Harding refuses to be treated like a patient, and Neve Gallus is mostly unharmed. With the Chargers off to do other things, that makes three of them.
Well... four, really. Her injured hand – the physical one – throbs. She’s overwhelmed by the magical energies she’s witnessed, but couldn’t show her exhaustion in front of the others. As always, she has to be the leader, the strong one, the Inquisitor, before she’s Ellana.
She finds herself a quiet room to sleep after making sure everyone is alright. It’s something they all need, something she’s been sorely missing in the past few weeks.
No sooner than her head hits the pillow, she finds herself transported to another time and place. Or rather, just place... it’s difficult to count time in the Fade, even when one tries hard.
But this feels different than the half of spirits she usually roams, even different than the dreams where a great wolf watches her with sadness from across an infinite distance that she can never quite cross.
The world is devoid of colour, filled with only shadow. It’s like the oncoming storm, swirling around her darkly, trapping her in its midst. And if she’s the lightning...
“Vhenan... you should never have come.”
...then the thunder can’t be far behind.
He’s right there, standing across the bottomless chasm filled with thorns and petrified hands reaching towards them. No longer dressed as a hedge mage, but nor as a conqueror. He looks tired, exhausted, even, and sorrow tempers anger in each of his words.
“Hello, my love.” Ellana says in return. She’s gentle, like she were trying to approach a wild beast.
It’s surprisingly this gentleness that makes him recoil a little, though the Dread Wolf regains his composure quickly.
“You would still call me that after-” He straightens his back, attempting to look as powerful as the day when he had crippled her. It only partially works. “I was expecting the other; the interloper.”
“Rook is dead. Their injuries when disrupting your ritual were too steep.”
“Good.” There’s venom in that word, pure satisfaction. “It’s the smallest price to pay for their utter foolishness.”
“That’s unlike you, to be cruel.” Ellana retorts, now surprised herself.
“And you know me so well, to think that I’m not cruel?”
“I do, Solas. No matter what disguise you threw over yourself, I saw you.”
He has no response to that, because any bite would be a lie. “The ritual failed. The magical energies pulled me here afterwards... into the Fade, with no way out. You were at the ritual site too, then, if you’re here. And got injured in the process.”
His eyes scan her, looking for the injury with true concern. That much he can't hide, no matter how hard he tries.
Ellana takes joy in that, but focuses on something else. “You’re trapped? I thought you could walk through the Fade freely.”
“Not like this.” He looks bitter, but not defeated. “And, what’s worse, the Evanuris walk free because of the foolishness of those that tried to stop me.”
“Bringing down the Veil would have caused many more deaths. There were demons everywhere, attacking innocents. Elves and humans and anyone else that got in their way.” Ellana is strangely calm, but that might be because she’s spent years preparing herself for this conversation. “If you had succeeded, there wouldn’t have been any elves left to enjoy your old world restored.”
“You misunderstand. This ritual wasn’t intended to destroy your world. It meant to move the Evanuris to a new prison before their old one crumbled.”
“While everyone died?”
The wolf nearly bares his teeth, but he bites back the instinct. “I had a plan.”
“A plan I asked you to share with me. A plan I may have supported, had you told me all of this years ago.” Ellana argues back, crossing her arms. “Tell me what happened, Solas. Tell me how we can fix things.”
“I’ve already asked too much of you.” he retorts, a shadow passing through his face. “For the sake of what we shared, I cannot ask you for more.”
“Because that would be cruel? I told you it wasn’t in your nature.” It’s a small victory, this. “Varric believes in you too. You still have friends in the world who care about you. This isn’t a path you have to walk alone, nor one you need walk at all.”
“Varric is... mistaken about many things. As are you.” Solas says softly, regret lacing his voice.
“Am I mistaken about it being up to the two of us to stop the Evanuris?” There is no answer, because she knows the truth of the matter already. “It’s time to stop hiding behind half-truths and non-answers, Solas. Not just because I deserve that much, but because you have no other choice. If you’re truly stuck here, no one else can help.”
“What if you’re trapped as well, Ellana? Have you thought to consider that?”
“I remember going to sleep. Helping the others within the Lighthouse. And I’m a mage. I can find my way back to the waking world.”
There’s just the hint of the smallest smile around her lover’s – her opponent’s – lips, an echo of what once was.
“Your intelligence was always one of the most refreshing things about you. Second only perhaps to your kindness to the undeserving.”
“Do you count yourself in that bracket?”
“Entirely.” he says, fully honest for the first time. “In many ways, I destroyed your life, reforging you to be the weapon I needed once I discovered your resilience. You have every reason to hate me.”
“Life is too short for such regrets. Especially if we’re facing more wannabe gods trying to impose their anachronistic views on this world. I can’t forget the past, but I can forgive it. Especially if you promise to help me fix what’s been broken.”
There’s a tenuous sort of peace establishing itself between them, borne of necessity and resignation and... something deeper.
They haven’t spoken about their relationship. Not truly. There are bigger things in the world than that, more pressing issues to discuss. But it echoes in more than just the endearments they still use for each other.
“You told me back then that our love could endure this.” Solas says suddenly, studying her with an unblinking gaze. “How much more can it take before it shatters? How deep a cut will it take to sever the thread binding us?”
“Is that a concern for you?”
“Many will curse my name. I would not have you be one of them, though I’ve given you more reason than most.”
Ellana knows him well enough to be able to read through the non-answer. He would not be asking if he didn’t truly care about her answer.
“You’ve watched me for years. You know who I am and what I stand for. We’ll fix the end of the world together. Then, if we’re still standing… we’ll talk about what comes next for us.”
“Kind, but with the capacity to punish. A spirit of mercy, then. That’s what an ancestor of yours may have been, long ago.” Solas says softly, observing her. “Very well. It’s my turn to wait for your answer, then, vhenan… and I have nothing but time.”
“Do we have a deal, then? I act in the waking world, assembling friends and allies to stop the Evanuris, and you share your knowledge, hiding nothing from me this time?”
A strange expression passes through the ancient god’s face – Regret? Pain? Distaste? Love? All of them? – and he gives her a nod of approval.
“I, Solas, Fen’Harel of the Elvenhan, agree to your bargain, Ellana of Clan Lavellan, Inquisitor of the Second Holy Inquisition.” The way he words it makes it seem like a blood vow rather than simple agreement; a promise that holds distinct weight in both worlds. “I will give you the information you seek, so that you may thwart your enemies, and mine.”
“And I, Ellana of Clan Lavellan, Inquisitor of Thedas, Sword of the Divine, promise to do what I can to stop the Evanuris from taking over our world. I will do so as your ally, Solas, Fen’Harel of the Elvenhan, and bring whatever resources I can gather to this battle.”
It feels like a formal alliance between generals rather than a tentative reconciliation between former friends and lovers, yet it is both of them. It’s the start of something greater, with the potential to disrupt the world almost as much as the evil they face.
“It is done, then.” he says, seeming slightly regretful that he cannot bridge the physical distance between them… whether to shake her hand, embrace her, or kiss her, Ellana truly cannot say. “Let us begin.”