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When Corypheus fell, and he left, Inquisitor Ellara Lavellan threw herself into rebuilding Thedas. It seemed like the logical next step. She closed the remaining rifts, sent out troops to finish off the Red Templars, and definitely did not wallow in self-pity. 

It didn’t make sense. Nothing had since that night in Crestwood. 

Leliana tried to be casual when she asked about Ellara’s missing vallaslin, but the Inquisitor had remained evasive, and simply asked if there were any updates around finding him. When Leliana relented and told her that, no, none of her agents had been able to so much as pick up his trail, Ellara moved on to discussing the political landscape of Orlais and Ferelden, successfully distracting her friend, and closest advisor. 

The one small piece of the orb that he had not taken with him when he disappeared sat on the desk in her quarters, a constant reminder that he had been there. He was not a figment of her imagination, or a trick of the Fade. She wrote to the Keeper of her clan, Deshanna, to see if the old woman knew anything of these ancient elven artifacts. But Deshanna had known nothing. A fact that frustrated Ellara as she began to realize just how little her people knew of, well, anything.

Beside the bit of shattered orb, sat a ring. Simple, made from iron, with three small onyx stones set in a line. It had been purchased two days before their fight with Corypheus. They hadn’t spoken in several days, just awkwardly dancing around each other on her way to the Skyhold library, but when the merchant explained the enchantment to her, she could only think of one man. 

And that she had hoped that it would open the door that he had so abruptly closed on the two of them. Instead, when she had gone to take him the ring, to start the conversation again, to make him look her in the eye when he spoke, he had slipped up when he looked up from his stack of books on archdemons, and Tevinter history. 

He had tiredly called her vhenan with a small smile on his lips. 

And just like that, all thoughts of the ring slipped from her mind. Instead, she had only been able to focus on him, clinging to every word that poured from his lips as he awkwardly made small talk upon realizing what he had done to cause her to look at him the way that she had. He had finally excused himself politely, and left the room, and to Ellara, it had felt like all the warmth had been sucked from the castle. 

And then, when she had remembered the silly thing, it was after the fight, after the man she loved stood over the shattered orb and declared that whatever was to come, his feelings were real. Before she could reply, Cassandra had called her name, and she had turned to reply to the Seeker, only to turn back, and find him gone.

It was during their celebration after that she remembered it, and excused herself to her room. There, she held the piece of metal jewelry in her hand and wished that he had had it on him during the fight. If for no other reason, then to know that when he left, he would have taken this one last gift from her with him.

Of all of her companions and advisors, only Leliana and Cole felt brave enough to ask her how she was doing, if she was alright, if she missed him. No one else wanted to broach the subject of the wise elf who had once graced their halls. 

That is until three weeks after the defeat of Corypheus, when she had reluctantly decided to cut through his study on her way to speak with Dorian in the Skyhold library, after a meeting in Cullen’s office, only to find Sera standing in the center of the room, with Solas’s paint-board in one hand, and a paintbrush dangling limply from the fingers of the other as it hung at her side. Ellara had approached her friend slowly and cautiously as she noted the look of distress on the archer’s face.

“Sera, are you alright?”

“I was gonna paint tits on that one,” Sera had said, pointing to one of the figures on the wall. “Done it before. Made a couple of maids laugh when they saw it. But ooooh, he was really angry. Sent him stompin’ into the Herald’s Rest like the whole world was on fire. Told me it was a painting of you I’d ruined. That almost made me feel bad, ‘cept we left the next day, and he had spent the whole time asking me elfy questions until my head hurt as payback. When we got back, he came in here and finished fixing it. Told me not to touch it. ‘Course, I didn’t listen. Almost became a game. I come in here, paint tits on his wall, and then I don’t fuss too much while he asks me stupid elfy questions. At least, not for the first few.” She had smiled half-heartedly at Ellara before her face dropped, “Was gonna do it again, ‘cept he’s not here to fix it this time. Doesn’t feel right to mess it up now. ‘Specially since it’s you, and all.” 

Sera had set Solas’s paint-board down, arranging the brush beside it exactly as she had found it before sitting on his desk, and kicking her feet. “Never thought I’d miss the piss-bag.”

Ellara had smiled, and hopped up next to her friend. “You two always bickered like siblings. It made me laugh every time. Even when you filled his bedroll with lizards, and he spent the entire night plotting his revenge instead of helping me set wards around our camp.”

Sera had giggled and grinned, “That was a good one. Almost forgot about that. That was right after you let me join the Inquisition. I heard him ask Cassandra why I had been allowed in, and it made me mad, like he was saying I wasn’t elfy enough to join up. So…lizards. Figured it was better than bees since I wouldn’t have to listen to him complain about getting stung.”

“You do know he didn’t mean it–”

Sera had waved her off with a smile. “Yeah, I know. When we got back to Haven after the lizards, he bought me a drink and told me he liked the Jennys. What we stood for and all that. So, even if I don’t think he liked me all that much, he…got it? Kinda. He liked that someone was looking out for the little people. Said it was important to have someone like me around to remind everyone that people still exist. That they’re why we’re fighting. He thought the Jennys should work to tear down all the rich tits for good, though. Had to explain that someone else would just take their place. Better to straighten out the ones you’ve got than let someone new and worse take over.” Her smile had slowly faded into an exasperated frown, “I didn’t want him to leave. I just wanted him to stop talking about magic, and the Fade, and elves all the time. He was so elfy.”

Ellara had smiled as she looked over his frescoes, remembering just how disconnected he had been from the culture that had been such a huge part of her until she became the Inquisitor. She had to admit that she hadn’t felt connected to that life since entering the Well of Sorrows, “He was technically less elfy than I am.”

“No,” Sera had said firmly with a frown. “‘S’different. You are ‘cause that’s how you were raised, yeah? He’s elfy because he wants to be. But it’s a different kind of elfy. More like that Abelas we met at that Mythal place. Like old elfy. ‘S’at make sense? You're right, though. He was like having family. Like having a brother I could annoy who would still like me the next day. And…” the blonde quieted, looking down at her hands as her big, blue eyes filled with tears, “I kinda liked having family.”

“You still have me,” Ellara said sadly. “I know I’m not as fun to play pranks on, but you know that I’m always willing to help you play them on others.”

Sera giggled once more and linked their arms together, “You’re definitely more fun than he was. I’ll take you for a sister over him for a brother any day. I am sorry, you know? That you’re hurting. I can’t understand why he left you.” The blonde shook her head and drew her lips into a thin line as she looked up at the frescoes once more. “He loved you. It was obvious. Always following you around and calling you made-up elfy words. Also, do you know how many bad guys I’ve had to kill because he’s too busy being stupid and staring at you all moony-eyed to pay attention to some prat running up on him with a sword? Ridiculous, that one. And then he’d get all mad that I killed someone he was killing, but he was doing it too slow and was going to die, and he didn’t ‘cause they got a face full of arrows.”

The Inquisitor had laughed as Sera continued her rant, grateful that unlike everyone else, Sera had been willing to talk about him at all. They had sat there for hours until Dorian came looking for Ellara, demanding her attention. 

It was days before anyone else mentioned him. Just a casual conversation between Iron Bull and Dorian as they discussed the future. Iron Bull had been expressing frustration at their inevitable separation, and Dorian replied with, “I’m not Solas. I’m not ending this and disappearing. You’ll hear from me so often, you’ll be sick of me, amatus.”

Varric had looked ready to murder them both as he was the only one who noted the pained expression that flitted across the Inquisitor’s face.

When he pointed it out to the other two with a strained, “Sparkles,” Dorian had looked mortified and immediately jumped into a string of apologies that spilled from his mouth so fast, the words were barely intelligible. 

The rogue pulled her aside a few hours later and asked quite simply if she was alright. She had waved him off with a half-hearted smile as she did with everyone most days, but he kept an eye on her for weeks after that. At least, until a letter arrived from Aveline Valen, informing Varric that the Carta were making moves in Kirkwall again, and that, with Hawke still off dealing with the Grey Wardens, he was needed. Varric was reluctant to leave, even with Ellara reminding him that Corypheus was dead. For real this time. He had fulfilled his commitment. 

Even still, Varric stuck around for another month until another letter arrived from Hawke informing him that she had returned from Weisshaupt after helping the Wardens get settled. She and Carver had spent several months getting them set back up before the siblings casually and carefully exited stage left in the middle of the night. Hawke wasn’t taking any chances with leaving Carver around the Wardens for too long. Not after seeing what happened to Clarel, thanks to Corypheus and Erimond’s manipulations. Not after losing Stroud.

But, despite all that Aveline had done for the city in Hawke’s absence, it was abundantly clear that Kirkwall was being held together by the barest of threads, and Hawke desperately needed her right hand to rejoin her. So, the rogue said his goodbyes, and headed home with the promise he would return if needed. 

“Have Charter send me one of Leliana’s birds. Do not ask Leliana to do it,” he told her the day he left. 

Ellara had laughed and asked, “Are you truly that terrified of our Spymaster?”

Varric had given her a very firm, “Yes,” before clapping her on the back and heading out.

It was the day after that Cassandra approached her, uncomfortably asking how she was doing. Ellara had raised one perfect, blonde eyebrow at the Seeker who turned bright pink. Instead of waiting for the Inquisitor to answer the question, Cassandra cleared her throat, and changed the subject, informing Ellara that she and Leliana were due back in Val Royeaux. They had put off the summons from the Chantry for too long, and there was talk that if they didn’t return soon, that Vivienne was being considered for Divine, and several of the Revered Mothers were pushing for that outcome. 

“Vivienne? Our Vivienne?” Ellara had asked, striding over to the window where she could clearly see the mage in the courtyard. Vivienne in all her always-regal glory, was doing what Vivienne always did best; lecturing one of the free mage–who had been minding his own business–about abominations, and how he was at risk to become one because he did not have a Templar to keep an eye on him. Ellara sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I love Vivienne, I do. But she would undo everything that I have done to make Thedas better for mages. That can’t happen.”

“I doubt she would undo everything,” Cassandra had interjected, earning a pointed look from Ellara. 

“She would bring back the Circles, and force mages back into them. She would strip us of our choices. The rebellion will have been for nothing. All of the lives lost won’t matter,” Ellara sighed, slumping down into the chair at her desk. “Fiona and some of the others have discussed the formation of a College of Enchanters–a place where the mages have the opportunity to decide for themselves. They will oversee each other, rather than have another group such as the Templars to monitor their every move like prisoners.”

“Is that how you see Cullen?” the Seeker asked, the slight bite in her voice that was always present when Ellara spoke critically of the Templars all too present. “As a prison guard?”

“Yes and no. I believe that Cullen used to be exactly like that. But he and I have also spoken at length about his time in Kirkwall, and how that has changed his perspective on mages, and the Templar organization. Cullen left the Templars for a reason,” Ellara replied. “But Cullen, himself, will admit that he was not…kind towards mages for many years after the Ferelden Circle fell. Has he changed? Yes. Is he just one former-Templar with a new outlook on people like myself? Also yes.”

“And so what would you propose the next Divine do?” 

Ellara sighed, “Look, Cassandra, I don’t believe in the Maker. I cannot make recommendations to the next Divine on how to lead those of Andrastian faith. But as the Inquisitor who took in the rebel mages as allies, and as a mage myself, I cannot support the return of the Circle of Magi as the only option forward for mages. I know that no matter who becomes Divine, Vivienne will bring the Circles back. But there are other ways to ensure that mages are safe. My clan had our practices, the Avvar have theirs, your homeland of Nevarra has theirs…and they all work better, and are safer for mages and do not make them prisoners for magic they didn’t ask for.” She took a deep breath before adding, “The College of Enchanters will have my full support.”

“And the Inquisition’s by default?”

“And the Inquisition’s by default.”

Cassandra wrung her hands and sighed heavily, “I suppose that means that you will be supporting Leliana for Divine.”

Ellara grimaced before nodding to the Seeker. “Tell me honestly, Cassandra: do you believe you can rebuild the Order of the Seekers and be Divine? Will both the Order and the Chantry receive the support that they would need from you if your attention were divided?”

Cassandra stared at her in silence as she pondered the question, before letting her shoulders drop. “No. I do not.”

Ellara stood and approached her, taking her friends’ hands in hers and smiled, “I don’t believe in the Maker. But I do believe in you and Leliana. The Order needs you. The Chantry needs Leliana. You will both continue to support each other, of that I am certain. And I will support both of you in any way that I can. But I will be supporting Leliana’s bid for Divine.”

“I suppose that is fair,” Cassandra replied, though from the look of sheer disappointment on her face, Ellara highly doubted that Cassandra actually believed that.

Hours later, it was Madame de Fer herself storming into Ellara’s chambers as Ellara poured over scouting reports, demanding to know why she had heard that Ellara would not support her for the Sunburst Throne. 

“Vivienne…” Ellara sighed, setting down the reports as the Knight Enchanter slammed her hands down on Ellara’s desk, fury radiating from her pores despite the calm expression on her face. “I told you before the attack on Haven that you and I would never agree on politics. Are you truly surprised that I cannot support you for the role?”

“So you would support Leliana?” Vivienne asked, a tinge of disgust in her voice. “She’s not a mage. She doesn’t understan–”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Ellara said firmly. “If you sat the Sunburst Throne, what would you do about the free mages?”

A muscle in Vivienne’s jaw twitched as Ellara gave her a knowing look. They both knew the answer. Vivienne had been preaching the return of the Circles since her first day with the Inquisition, after all.

“There would be no free mages, would there?” Ellara asked, wanting Vivienne to say the words out loud. To admit the truth. But the Iron Lady remained silent. So Ellara asked her, “And what of the remaining Templars? The current plan that Commander Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and I have all agreed to is to encourage the Templars to receive treatment for their lyrium addictions, and to help integrate them into other occupations. They are even welcome to join Cullen here.”

Vivienne’s jaw ticked again as she looked away, “And how do you intend to prevent these ‘free mages’ from becoming abominations?”

“Vivienne, have you seen a single abomination within the walls of Skyhold?” Ellara asked, standing as her entire body shook with barely contained rage. She was so tired of this argument. Of trying to help Vivienne see past the Chantry’s teachings. 

It had been insulting enough when Cassandra had said to her that she worshiped “so many gods already, what’s one more?” As far as Ellara was concerned, the Chantry had brainwashed her friends, and Ellara was tired. She was tired when they called her the Herald of Andraste. She was tired of being polite. The only active Andrastian who had never asked her about her faith was Cullen. Even Sera had asked her repeatedly if she believed in the Maker. 

But Vivienne’s insistence that the Chantry practices remain the same, that the Circle’s return, that all mages be forced back into the Circles and that the Chantry have some kind of militia overlooking them…to say that Ellara was tired of that was the biggest understatement of her life. 

To know that Vivienne believed that there were no alternatives, despite working alongside Dorian, Solas, and Ellara herself for over a year, despite visiting with the Avvar and seeing first-hand how they treated their mages…that was the biggest insult of them all. 

Ellara had hope that Cassandra could change with time. Could grow and see past the Chantry’s manipulations. Could understand that belief in the Maker did not have to mean the imprisonment of mages. 

Cullen had been willing to listen when Ellara spoke with him, had declared loudly that the things he had done and said in the past towards mages were “unworthy.” 

Sera still feared mages, sure, but she had also slowly grown. Had–despite her best efforts–listened when Solas and Ellara spoke.

Varric never gave a flying fuck about the Chantry’s opinion of the mages. 

And Leliana had explained that while, yes, she had some concerns, she had seen with her own two eyes that mages were capable of governing themselves. That the mages were no more fallible than the Templars or the Grey Wardens. That, yes, abominations were going to be created. But that mages should be allowed to decide how they are dealt with. 

But Vivienne was stubborn. And even if she hadn’t been stubborn, her desire for power was palpable. 

And Ellara knew all too well that Vivienne, despite their friendship, was willing to sacrifice even her to get the power that she so desired. Ellara was under no illusions when it came to their tenuous friendship. 

“The Circles are necessary,” Vivienne seethed. 

“I won’t stop you from reforming them. I will, however, stop you from forcing all mages to rejoin,” Ellara replied, sinking back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Vivienne, I adore you. But I also know you too well for me to, in good conscience, have a hand in you having that much power. You preach that mages are dangerous. What makes you different?”

“I have the knowledge–”

“–to prevent yourself from becoming an abomination,” Ellara nodded. “Do you worry that that will be my fate?”

“No–”

“Or Dorian’s?”

“Tevinter is differen–”

“Or Solas?”

“Exceptions exis–”

“Hawke?”

“Mages are feared–”

“So are Qunari. Are you afraid of Iron Bull?”

“That is not the same thing–”

“No? Bull did not ask to be Qunari any more than you or I asked to be mages. Is Bull’s strength not terrifying in battle?”

“That’s in batt–”

“Or when he’s drunk, and stumbling around the Herald’s Rest, does his size alone not inspire fear in the patrons who do not know him?” Ellara tilted her head to the side, and met Vivienne’s angry gaze with her own even, exhausted one. 

Vivienne was not angry often. Most of the time, the most negative emotion she displayed was disdain. But with just the two of them in the room, her unbroken, unblinking eye contact conveyed rage. Typically, this would be Ellara’s cue to revert to the diplomatic politician version of herself that Josephine had carefully curated in her. Her desire to prevent conflict left her feeling like she was being pulled in every direction. 

But this conversation needed to be final. 

So Ellara maintained that eye contact, refusing to blink until the Iron Lady did. 

And when Vivienne did blink, she kept her eyes closed as she gathered her composure for a few minutes before opening them and asking through gritted teeth, “You will not prevent the reformation of the Circles?”

“No. But I will be supporting the formation of the College of Enchanters above all else. It’s time for a change in Southern Thedas, Vivienne. I hope you will accept that,” Ellara said with a curt nod. 

Vivienne returned the gesture and turned to leave, stopping at the top of the stairs, hesitation rooting her to the floorboards. 

The Inquisitor smiled and asked softly, “We’re still on for tea with Dorian this afternoon, right?”

“Of course, my dear,” Madame de Fer replied, her usual mask of grace and elegance returning to her features. This was the Vivienne that she wanted people to see. The Vivienne that Ellara called her friend. The Vivienne that didn’t make Ellara wish to tear her own hair out. With a glance over her shoulder, the Knight Enchanter added, “And there will be no talk of politics.”

And there wasn’t. 

The trio of mages instead discussed each of their specialties at length, their preferred techniques for casting, and their preferred staff builds. Dorian gave an hour long soliloquy on why the staff blade he currently had attached to his staff was the best one he’d ever used, as Vivienne and Ellara exchanged amused glances. 

And Ellara tried to hide how much she noticed the empty fourth chair at their table. 

The next morning, after a long conversation with Leliana, the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V left Skyhold and made their way back to Val Royeaux. Less than a month later, Leliana was named Divine Victoria and immediately set out to solidify many of the ideologies that Ellara had exemplified since the beginning of the Inquisition, all with Ellara’s visible and vocal support. 

Starting with the formation of the College of Enchanters. The College was quick to bring in Ellara, naming her among the first Rift Mages, and having her assist in the teaching of as many mages interested in her specialization as possible. Though, Ellara quickly learned she was not a very good teacher. The College flourished quickly with the help of the Inquisition and Divine Victoria, and it gave Ellara something else to focus on for a while. 

Vivienne returned to Orlais, and set about reinstating the Circles, using her connections throughout Thedas to sway as much of the Orleisian nobility as possible to support her cause over the College. 

Ellara would meet up with her for tea or lunch on occasion, when in Val Royeaux, knowing that there were two things she could always count on Vivienne for: that the Iron Lady was always working some angle, and that she would never mention Solas.

Iron Bull and the Chargers never mentioned Solas to her. Dalish almost did, mostly as part of an “elf-to-elf” conversation, but Krem was quick to shut it down, earning him a look of overwhelming gratitude from Ellara. 

Blackwall…was furious. He tried to maintain his composure for months, only ranting and raving to Stablemaster Dennet, or to Sera when Ellara was out of earshot. Said several times he couldn’t understand why Solas would give up the chance to be with “a woman like our Lady Inquisitor.” When Sera mentioned to him that he wasn’t exactly practising what he was preaching, gesturing towards Josephine as the ambassador giggled about some gossip that Maryden the bard had overheard, he had turned red under his beard and stopped talking about the elven mage altogether. Instead, he focused all of his attention on becoming Thom Rainier once more.

The only person who she could not avoid talking about Solas was Cole. He couldn’t help himself. There had been so much that Solas had hidden, using his magic to make Cole forget, something that terrified Ellara. 

After all, how do you make a spirit forget anything?

But the more Cole said, the more confused it left Ellara. Some things she wasn’t even certain were truly about her former lover. 

“He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”

If Solas had not removed her vallaslin, if she was not intimately familiar with the small scar just above his right eyebrow, if she had not kissed that very spot every time she stopped into his study and he was pouring over old books, she would not even consider that that comment was about him. 

But if it was, then who’s vallaslin did he used to wear? Did he remove it himself after learning the truth about the history of those markings? 

Was his the first one he ever removed?

Eventually, most of her companions had left Skyhold, and Ellara found herself alone with her thoughts more than she cared to be. 

It was then that Cullen became an excellent distraction. With Josephine flitting back and forth between Skyhold, Val Royeaux and Antiva, Cullen was really the only constant that Ellara could rely on. The two spent hours pouring over maps and strategies, and discussing the futures of the mages as well as the remaining Templars.

The Commander never mentioned Solas. Not even once. Something that Ellara was eternally grateful for as Cullen instead told her more about the Ferelden Circle of Magi, and everything that happened at Kirkwall, both before and after the rebellion began. She, in turn, opened up about her clan, their history, the ceremony that had given her her vallaslin, and why she had chosen Syliase’s markings. 

“You sing?!” Cullen had laughed when she explained that Sylaise was not just responsible for giving the elves fire, but for healing herbs, singing, and art.

Ellara had rolled her eyes and teased him, “Don’t sound so shocked, Chantry-Boy. I’ve heard you singing your hymns. There just aren’t any other Dalish here in Skyhold that are interested in singing our songs with me.”

“But still, I’ve never heard you utter even one line from a song,” he had replied, incredulously, even as he flushed from her teasing. 

“Would you like to?” she asked, earning fervent nods from the commander as he listened intently. And so she sang Suledin for him, her voice soft and maybe an octave higher than he had expected. Cullen watched and listened, completely enchanted by her voice, an awestruck look on his face that perhaps Ellara would have caught had she not been looking out over the battlements at the valley below them.

She was thankful for his company as she would walk the halls or meander around the courtyard. Eventually, she could recognize the homesickness in his voice, and could no longer deny her friend a chance to return to normal life. It took some time, but with the assistance of his younger brother, Branson, who visited with wide eyes and a sense of naivety that Ellara knew Cullen wished he still shared, she convinced him to go see his sister, Mia, and to meet her family. 

And Ellara was left alone. 

Until the summons from Val Royeaux arrived. 

The Exalted Council. 

The Anchor had been acting up for a few weeks before they arrived in Halamshiral. 

When she reunited with her friends, and learned of all that they had been up to in the two years since Corypheus’s defeat, she thought she could hide her disappointment that a certain elf had not chosen to make an appearance. 

But then the Anchor was killing her, and the Qunari were invading, and Ellara was easily distracted. 

Until she wasn’t. 

Until she was racing through the Crossroads, trying to stop the Qunari plot known as Dragon’s Breath, and all signs began to point towards the involvement of an agent of Fen’Harel.

Until she exited an eluvian, separated from Sera, Thom and Dorian, nearly tripping as she raced after the Viddasala, only to freeze in her tracks as the Qunari warrior was turned to stone, and her former-lover continued walking as if nothing had happened. 

Until she found herself standing before him for the first time in two years. 

“Solas,” she had breathed, both shocked and relieved to see him. But when he turned his gaze to her, all she saw was sadness, and regret. 

“I suppose you have questions.” He spoke to her softly, his hands clasped behind his back, fingers twitching every time she stepped closer to him, as if he wanted to touch her, to hold her as much as she wanted to hold him. 

He revealed the truth of who he was, the history of their people, the murder of Mythal…and in the end, all that she wanted was to go with him. She could not condone his plan. But maybe, if she were by his side, she could talk him away from this insane plan to tear down the Veil. 

Two years of longing that she had hidden by staying busy. Two years of falling asleep, and hoping she would dream of him, and there he was, standing before her once more. She pleaded with him to let her remain by his side, and she could see that he was feeling just as much pain as she was.

The worst was when she could hear it in his voice. 

She wanted nothing more than to knock him out, drag him back to Skyhold, let Iron Bull–who had relied on Solas for strength and friendship after being declared Tal’Vashoth–or Thom–who had bonded with the mage over their shared experiences with war–or Cole–who had been almost equally as heartbroken as Ellara when one of the few people he knew that he fully trusted had disappeared–knock some sense into him, and then refuse to let him leave. Ever again.

She could see the exhaustion on his face, read it in his voice, and the thought that tugged at her the most was how badly she wanted to take him home, and to care for him as he had clearly not been properly caring for himself. And if he would not return with her, then she wanted to be by his side, anywhere and everywhere he went. The very thought of being separated from him again tore through her like a knife, and she hated it. 

She still loved him.

Even as he broke her heart once again when he told her that she could not go with him. 

“I walk the dinan’shiral. There is nothing but death on this path. I would not have you see what I become.”

But she didn’t care. “Let me see,” she wanted to scream. “Just don’t leave me again.” 

Two years apart, and all she wanted was to be back in his arms. 

But he kept his hands clasped behind his back, and remained stoic, keeping her at arm's length and not allowing her to get closer.

And then the Anchor flared and she fell to her knees in pain. Dying. She was dying. She could feel it.

The Anchor was tearing her arm apart. She could feel the magic radiating through her bones and it was agony as her flesh began to disintegrate. 

She didn’t fully hear him when he stepped closer, kneeling before her and capturing her lips with his own, and she forgot how to breathe before she realized he was saying goodbye. 

He saved her life. 

Again. 

By removing the Anchor he once spent days stabilizing as she slept after the explosion at the Conclave. Her arm was a simple casualty. 

And as tears streamed down her face, all she could think about was that damned ring.

Kneeling on the ground, as he walked away from her for the second time, she found herself laughing bitterly as she recalled the stupid iron band, with its three small onyx stones, sitting on her desk in her bedroom at Skyhold. It hadn’t moved in two years. She couldn’t even remember what the enchantment was anymore. Only that it had something to do with spirit magic, and the Fade. 

Tears streamed down her face as she watched him leave, and all she could think was, “If I had just had this one last gift, maybe he would have stayed. Maybe he would have listened.” Maybe he would have trusted her. 

And then he was gone. Again. 

Leaving Orlais after disbanding the Inquisition had been the obvious decision. After all, what is an Inquisitor without an Inquisition to lead? Ellara Lavellan had a much harder journey ahead of her, as she began learning what it was to be a Rift Mage with only one hand. When Sera and Varric presented her with a crossbow prosthetic, she knew it was partially a joke about her awful aim–getting drunk and shooting targets with Bianca back in Haven had taught them that Ellara had every reason to be grateful she was a mage–and partially an invitation from the two rogues.

One invitation, from Sera, to join the Red Jennys and forget for as long as she needed. 

And the other, from Varric, to join him in Kirkwall as he began the search for their missing friend. Scout Lace Harding had already sent word to Varric through Charter that with the Inquisition disbanding, she wanted to help him in his search.

But Ellara knew that she was in no state to be helping Sera help “the little people,” and she would be nothing but a hindrance in Varric’s endeavors, as any mention of Solas had her panicking, scrambling, reaching for any trace of him left out in the world. No. She could not be involved in the search. Not yet, at least. 

So, instead, she accepted a third invitation. 

To join the Chargers. 

Between Ellara learning how to enchant crossbow bolts to actually hit the targets she was aiming at, and her alchemical skills being used to mix various potions, and poisons, it didn’t take long before the Chargers were able to see her less as their former boss, as the Inquisitor, and more as just another mercenary. A task that was far easier for Iron Bull and Cremisius Aclassi. 

They both still called her Boss, though, only when the others were not around. The one time Grim overheard Bull slip up, the cutter had been so confused, he had actually said the word “what” outloud, shocking Ellara to her core, seeing as she had never heard his voice before. 

For almost two years, they traveled together, taking jobs that Leliana, as Divine Victoria, the newly appointed Lord-Seeker Cassandra, or the newly appointed Magister Dorian Pavus sent their way. Occasionally, Vivienne would reach out, attempting to hire them, but the jobs she wanted to hire them for were always in opposition of the College of Enchanters, to which Ellara always replied with warm and polite strongly worded letters explaining yet again that the College had her full support and she would not be moving against them. And after verifying with Iron Bull, she would add, “and neither will the Chargers.”

They fought together, drank together, ate together, but Ellara was always on the outs as the others laughed and enjoyed the spoils of victory. The heavy weight of knowledge and heartbreak keeping her from feeling fully connected to the rest of the team. She thought she hid it well, but they had all known her just a little too long for her to get away with the change in her behavior.

The closer they got to where her clan was settled in the Dales, the more on edge she felt. Dalish thought taking her home would do her some good; bring her back to her clan for a day or two, let her see her family. But she argued against the notion. After all, she knew that the stories she had been raised on by the clan were mostly lies. Propaganda. Falsehoods. 

She could recall Solas’s saddened and sneering words as he had spoken to her all the way back in Haven about trying to teach the truth of the Evunaris to a Dalish clan, only for them to turn on him and threaten him until he ran away to preserve his own life. While Clan Lavellan had accepted most of the things she had written to them about what she had learned, she feared that they would press for more. That they would pry and push and pull until every ache in her soul was laid bare for her mother and aunts to pick over.

No. Better to stay away.

But Dalish was insistent. As were Bull and Krem.

It took some urging, and a few gentle nudges from the rest of the Chargers, but eventually, she relented, and Dalish swiftly arranged for an aravel to come collect the two of them. 

It was nice, at first. To see her parents, her younger brother, and the rest of her family. They knew she was changed, though, her father was quick to dismiss it as her time with the shemlen, and grumbled for hours about her missing vallaslin. 

Her mother, however, asked her softly, as they sat by the fire that night, “Who was he? This man who broke your heart?”

And Ellara lied through her teeth, “Only a man, mamae.”

The next morning, when her cousin, Feylan, took her to a shrine he found in the forest, and Ellara followed silently, believing that the fool had stumbled upon an old halla statue, as he chattered on and on about the Keeper’s lessons on Ghilan’nain and Andruil, she had not expected to find herself face to face with the statue of a wolf. 

The breath had left her lungs as old aches settled in her chest, and she felt her lip tremble even as she fought to stop it. To maintain her composure.

“Keeper Deshanna would be furious with me if she knew that I was visiting here. Fen’Harel ma ghilana! But your letters…you said he wasn’t what we were taught. That he was the leader of a rebellion. We passed an alienage some months back, and all I could think about was how badly we, the elven people, need another rebellion. One against the shemlen,” Feylan droned on and on about everything and nothing. The fool.

She had not been wholly truthful in her letters. 

She had not told her clan of how the Dread Wolf walked among her companions for the better part of a year. 

Of how he had stolen her heart, and taken it with him after saving her life once again. 

And she certainly hadn’t mentioned that elves from all over Thedas were, indeed, rallying behind his cause. If she had, she did not doubt that her cousin would not have been with her clan when she returned.

When Feylan had, rather chipperly, suggested that they return to the clan’s camp, she had smiled weakly and regretfully declined, saying that she was closer to the Chargers’ camp, and that they were expected to head out early. The lie came easily, and as she bid her cousin farewell, she dug through her pockets for a ring that suddenly felt too heavy. 

So as she knelt before his shrine, knowing he would hate it that she was sitting there as if in prayer to him, like he was anything more than just a man, she pulled the ring from her pocket, pressed it to her lips, and then rested it on the wolf’s paw. 

One last gift. 

“Come back to me,” she whispered. “Ir annala for ros, ma vhenan.”

As if it would change anything, as if he might have heard her through the wolf’s statue, she sat in front of the shrine for hours. Until Dalish and Rocky came looking for her in the early hours of the morning, only to find her sobbing silently as nearly two years of heartbreak finally broke through the shell of apathy that she had wrapped herself in. 

She returned to Skyhold after that. Embarrassed by her reaction to a damn statue. 

But that only compounded the problem as she found herself staring at the frescos he had painted, telling the story of the Inquisition. From its creation, to allying with the mages, to saving Celene and having her and Briala rule Orlais together, to stopping the ritual at Adamant Fortress, and allying with the Grey Wardens (an act, that as she recalled, had frustrated him to no end as she rolled her eyes, and listened to him lecture her about Grey Wardens and their sense of duty, only for him to finally meet her eyes and falter as the dreamy look on her face finally resonated with him. He had cleared his throat with every intention of continuing, but she had beamed at him, and she swore she watched all capability of thought leave him, and instead found herself pressed to a wall as he kissed her until she was breathless).

Looking at them again, Ellara noted how similar they were in style to the paintings and frescoes she had seen in the Crossroads. The ones that had eventually told her a new side of the story of Fen’Harel, the ancient elven god of rebellion. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of those he had painted himself.

So she sat in his study each day, and stared at the images that told the story of the Inquisition–of her.

There were none that depicted their story, however. A fact that saddened her as much as she was grateful for it. No one would walk the halls of Skyhold some hundred years in the future, and see the story of how he removed her vallaslin, and called her beautiful in that voice that had made her heart swell, only for him to leave her standing there alone only moments later as her heart shattered. They wouldn’t see her humiliation as she wandered back to Skyhold alone, trying to hide her tears from every soldier she passed, only for Cole to find her and slip his massive hat onto her head, tilting it down to cover her face so that she could get back to her room without anyone else seeing. They wouldn’t see how she locked the door to her room like some petulant teenager, and cried her eyes out for days. Or how when she went back into the field, she refused to take him with her for several weeks until she was forced to because Dorian and Vivienne were both conveniently busy and she needed another mage with her. 

They wouldn’t see Cole telling Solas exactly what was running through her head as he pleaded with the spirit-turned-human to leave this one hurt alone, while Ellara flushed pink and refused to make eye contact with anyone for hours.

But they would also never see the love that she still bore for him. They would never know how kind and wise he was when he taught her, or how he had danced with her at Halamshiral after saving the Empress, or how the first time she gathered the courage to kiss him, it was in the Fade.

They wouldn’t see the hours that he spent telling her story after story of his adventures in the Fade, as she asked question after question just to hear him speak in that poetic way that made her knees weak.

No. They would see the story of the Inquisition, and they would never know that the painter had stolen her heart and ran away with it before he could finish that last fresco.

A rough sketched outline of a wolf standing over the body of a dragon, a sword through its body. 

Knowing what she knew of him now, she wondered if the wolf was him. If the dragon was Mythal’s. Or was it meant to be her and Corypheus’s archdemon?

Without him there to answer the question, she was left with only the explanations her imagination conjured up. 

The worst part was that when she sat in his armchair studying the walls, she couldn’t help but notice it still smelled of him. Of veilfire, and elfroot, and old books, and the paints that he mixed himself. And it was all she could do not to cry.

But the hours of sitting in silence soon had Josephine and Cullen worried. 

So Cole was contacted. 

Because who better to ease her hurts than a former spirit of Compassion? 

And when he came sweeping through Skyhold with Maryden Halewell close behind, her bright eyes and soft voice as welcoming a sight as Cole’s giant hat, Ellara wanted to be better for her friends.

Only…as Solas himself had once said, these hurts went too deep. 

She went with them, watching as Maryden sang in taverns and inns, and Cole flitted around the room, using her singing as a distraction for his small acts of kindness. And when the night would draw to a close, and she would solemnly head off to wherever she was sleeping for the evening, Cole would come up with some new attempt to assuage her pain.

And a year of watching Cole run himself ragged trying to help her heal as she followed him and Maryden back into Orlais in a haze, with the only thing that she was truly aware of outside of herself was the pain that she was causing her friend, had her gently excusing herself from their company as they passed through Ghislain. 

“But you are still hurt. I can help,” Cole had insisted as she had wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. 

“You have helped, Cole. But now I’m hurting you, and I never want to hurt you, lethallin. I must walk alone for a while,” she had explained, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Do you walk the dinan’shiral?” he had asked her softly as she turned to hug Maryden, freezing Ellara in her tracks. 

“No, Cole,” she had replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”

That night, as she camped alone, she heard a wolf’s howl in the distance, too far to have her concerned enough to set more wards than she already had, but close enough to sound mournful when there was no call in reply. And when she slept, she swore she felt his fingertips on her cheek in her dreams. 

Inquisitor Ellara Lavellan was a quiet woman before the events of Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She had always kept to herself, knowing that without the protection of her clan, as a mage, especially an elven mage, she would be viewed with suspicion and vitriol, especially from shemlen. She had always stayed close and quiet, healing the members of her clan from small illnesses, or wounds, and tending the fires as the others went out to hunt, or forage, or trade with the shemlen who would have loved nothing more than to toss her into one of their Circle towers, and leave her there to rot.

But she no longer carried a staff. The crossbow prosthetic attached at her left elbow acted as enough of a focus for spellcasting when she was fighting, that she found the extra weight of a staff unnecessary. 

And with her hood up, and the Inquisition disbanded, it was easy for her to disappear. 

So she did. 

For a time. 

She would stumble upon wolf statues, shrines to Fen’Harel, and find that it was always nearly impossible to pull herself away. 

He would hate it, she knew, to see her sitting before one of these shrines to him as if he were anything more than just a man. He would curl his lip in disgust and demand that she stand, ramble on about “childish Dalish traditions” and the “absurdity of it all,” and tell her that kneeling or sitting before any of these shrines to the “Dalish gods” was beneath her. That worshiping any “god” was beneath her–a tirade she once endured whilst traveling with him and Cassandra, when the Seeker had tried to speak to her about the Andrastian faith once again. Cassandra had stuttered about indignities, and Varric had chuckled a little too loudly, turning the Seeker’s wrath from where Ellara sat, with her fingers curled in her love’s, to the dwarven rogue. 

“Cassandra means no harm,” she had murmured to him gently as he glared at the Seeker. When he had finally turned to look at her, his face had softened immediately, and he had squeezed her fingers tightly.

“I apologize, Cassandra. That was unworthy of me. Your faith is commendable,” he had called after her, earning a nod as she accepted his apology before turning back to berating Varric. Solas had then turned back to Ellara and brought her hand to his lips. “Never kneel to any god, vhenan. You are so much more than them.”

Her heart had soared with his words.

But…even now, even knowing what she knew now about those “gods” that she was raised worshiping, whose markings she used to wear on her face before he removed them so gently, even knowing that the dreaded Fen’Harel was simply a man who hated tea, and loved books, who spent countless hours painting frescoes in his study–commissioning a painter to continue his work when he was out traveling with her, because he couldn’t bare to leave his work unfinished–to tell the story of her and the Inquisition, she couldn’t help but hope. 

Hope that somehow, he could feel her through those shrines dedicated to his worship, could hear her soft prayers that he stay safe so that one day he may return to her.

So she would set wards, and make camp, and lie beneath the unseeing gaze of the ancient carvings, and close her eyes to sleep. 

She spent months training herself to walk in the Fade in her dreams, maintaining her lucidity. To search for him there. Time and time again, she could feel herself being pulled towards him, and knew in the depths of her bones that some part of him was calling to her as she was to him. As if their very spirits were being drawn together by some unseen force.

She would hear a whisper of her name, or “vhenan” on the breeze and know that he could feel her too. 

But he had far more practice at this dance in the Fade. 

And he knew how to keep his distance from her.

Sometimes, she thought she could catch glimpses of him through a thick fog. But he was always gone when she would press forward, hand outstretched, reaching for him.

So with every dawn, her eyes would open, wet with tears as her heart ached with each beat, and she would stand, gather her things, and with a soft whisper of “dareth shiral” aimed at the stone wolves, she would continue on her journey.

Until one evening, at an inn in Val Chevin, an arrow with a red scarf tied to it hit the back of her chair, dragging a smile to her lips for the first time in a year as she turned to see Sera leaning back in her seat, her bow drawn with her feet like an Orlesian court jester as Thom Rainier shook his head and sipped his ale in amusement.

Thom and Sera were quick to distract Ellara from her pain, insisting that she join them on their long journey to Kirkwall from Orlais. Sera finally succeeded in recruiting Ellara into the Red Jennys, and every few days, the two of them would excuse themselves as Thom whittled away in some inn or tavern, pretending he had no idea the kind of trouble they were about to get into, and rush off to help any Friends of Jenny that needed help. 

It took time, but being with two of her most favorite traveling companions outside of the only one she had no choice but to travel without, helped to ease her back into herself. 

Any time she started to drift, Sera was right there, in her face, waving her hands, and snapping her fingers, and shouting, “Inky! ‘Ey! Don’t you go dark on me! You have to stay here, with us. Pissbucket Wolfy-Face doesn’t get to keep you after leaving you like he did. Not when there are little people who need you. And I need you to watch my back. You can’t watch my back if you’re listening for wolves in the dark.”

Or Thom would steady her with a heavy hand on her shoulder and a moment of shared silence to mourn what she had lost. “Funny thing, grief, ain’t it? ‘Specially when what you’re mourning ain’t dead? The thing you need to remember is that grief is mean. It doesn’t care how you feel, or how much better you’re doing from one day to the next. The only thing it does is hurt. You can let that hurt bully you into submission, or you can fight it. Just like you would any other enemy.”

Sera chattered on and on about Dagna, and about the little life that they had built together, and did everything she could to distract Ellara, and would start conversations about inappropriate topics that would soon have Ellara and Thom near tears as they tried to walk through their laughter.

So between Sera’s pranks and endless laughter, and Thom’s steadfast advice, pieces of that grief began to chip away, revealing the woman she had been before him. And for the first time since she walked out of the Crossroads with only one hand, she felt her pain…not lessening, but becoming more manageable. 

By the time the trio made it to Kirkwall, Ellara had even heard herself laugh a number of times, and caught herself smiling more and more often. 

Meeting up with Hawke, Aveline, Donnic, Isabella, Cullen, Dagna, Varric and Harding at the Hanged Man had been the real test. 

And when she had spent the night laughing, and propping Sera up as the archer attempted to out drink the pirate captain, even as Isabella easily cheated, slipping her drinks off to the others anytime Sera got moon-eyed over Dagna, and taking their empty glasses in exchange only to shrug and act surprised that her tankard was empty yet again, Varric declared that it was time Ellara joined the hunt. 

He missed the way she flinched when he said the name of her missing lover out loud, but Hawke didn’t. She had cleared her throat and suggested that maybe, instead, it was time for Ellara to return to Val Royeaux. To work alongside Leliana for a while. 

“While I’m more than certain Divine Victoria can handle herself, I have heard she could use some assistance…distracting a certain First Enchanter,” Hawke had shrugged, earning a groan from both Ellara and Sera. 

“Vivienne is still pushing back against everything that Leliana does?” Ellara had asked, earning a heavy sigh from her former Commander. 

“You have no idea. We’re lucky that Madame de Fer considers us friends. She has made it quite clear that if she didn’t, she would simply crush the College of Enchanters,” Cullen had confirmed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes sweeping across the Inquisitor, as he noted to himself that she looked good. Happier than she had the last few years. 

And so when the night was called, and Thom and Ellara helped Dagna escort Sera to the modest apartment that Varric had gifted them, Cullen then offered to walk Ellara to the inn where she would be staying. 

Perhaps, if Ellara had even once considered that anyone would ever look at her again the way that Solas once had, she would have caught the change in her friend. She would have caught the way that his eyes lingered on her, or the way he choked on his ale several times throughout the night simply because she smiled in his direction. But she didn’t. 

It never even crossed her mind that the Commander would be hoping that she was ready to move on, so when he kissed her, it was a sound of surprise that escaped her, not of pleasure. It took her a moment to understand what was happening, and then another moment to gently, and kindly disengage. As her Commander flushed pink in embarrassment, and begged her forgiveness, she assured him that they were fine, and that perhaps, in another life she could have let herself love him, or at least been open to the idea. But in this one, her heart belonged to another. And it would not be fair to Cullen for her to use him as a distraction from her heartache. 

“Do you think you will ever be free of him?” Cullen had asked her softly when he had turned to leave, rubbing the back of his neck in shame as he avoided her gaze. 

Ellara had looked out towards the Waking Sea, and with a sad smile and a shake of her head, she had said, “No. I think when he left, he had hoped I would be. But he took a part of me I think he meant to leave behind. And I…I can’t sleep without the hope that I will find him in my dreams. That he is wandering the Fade at the same time that I am, and that we may meet again, if only for the briefest of moments.”

The Commander had sighed, nodded in understanding, and pulled her into a gentle hug, before parting ways. 

Ellara had stood outside the inn, overlooking the docks, and she swore she heard a wolf howling on the breeze, the sound mixing with the call of the gulls and the crashing waves. 

The next morning, she had left Kirkwall with Varric.

Ready to hunt her Wolf. 

To find him, and bring him to heel. 

And then to leash him to her so that he could never be out of arm’s reach from her again.

Being kissed by someone who wasn’t Solas had felt wrong. The feeling of wrongness was so strong that it shook off her apathy, and brought about a renewed sense of determination. 

The trail was cold, and faint, but immediately she could spot signs of him that Varric and Harding missed, could feel traces of his magic in the air or the earth, and knew that he had been near. It wasn’t long before her ability to track him through those vague traces brought them closer to him than Varric or Harding had managed to get in years.

But it was never close enough.

Always just five paces behind him. 

She could feel when they were close. 

Like the spirits in the Fade could feel the pull between their hearts, and were pushing them towards each other. 

And then he crossed the border into Tevinter. 

Ellara stood on the edge, knowing that as the Inquisitor, she was unwelcome within the Imperium, and that she would be a hindrance to the search going forward. 

Anxiety ripped through her ribcage as she bid Varric and Harding farewell, making them promise to find others that they could trust in this search. 

Reluctantly, and with much effort, Inquisitor Ellara Lavellan returned to the South. To Val Royeaux. 

She sat at the Divine’s table and offered advice and guidance as the Divine once did for her. And she clung to every letter that Varric sent her. 

But it was on a visit to Halamshiral, when Morrigan gracefully slid into the chair beside her and began speaking of Solas as though the two were old friends and she had not consistently irritated him with her nonsensical chatter about Elvish history as though she knew more than him, that Ellara felt hope for the first time in over nine years. 

“My mother is dead,” Morrigan had said, a soft resignation in her voice, as her eyes trailed across the courtyard to where her son, Keiran, was being taught swordsmanship from a chevalier. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ellara had replied, even though they both knew she wasn’t. 

Flemeth had…not impressed Ellara. Especially when Keiran had disappeared through the Eluvian at Skyhold following her into the Fade. 

Mythal’s avatar or not, Flemeth had been a terrible mother as far as Ellara was concerned, and since Morrigan was her friend, that was her only concern. She cared little for the old woman’s history, only for what the effects of that history had had on Morrigan, and now Keiran. 

Keiran had grown tall. A man now, his nineteenth Nameday recently passed. Ellara had gifted him an old book on the Elven gods, one that she had added leaflets of her own notes between the pages, notes she had caught him, on several occasions, attempting to read over her shoulder, a look of fascinated awe on his young face. Morrigan had been disapproving at first, but melted when she watched her son enthusiastically sit down to begin reading every page several times over. Ellara had enjoyed accompanying Leliana to the Winter Palace if only to spend more time with the young man who was once the vessel for the spirit of an old god. He was a good boy, with a voracious appetite for knowledge. And Ellara couldn’t stop herself from looking after him. 

Solas would have loved to sit and talk to the young man if he had stuck around. Ellara didn’t doubt for a moment that Keiran would have asked him thousands of questions that he would have loved to answer.

“It does mean that you are free, you know,” Morrigan said, glancing down at her nails, as Ellara turned her bright green eyes to meet Morrigan’s shining amber ones. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Of Mythal’s influence. Well…maybe. I’m not entirely certain how it works when one elven god absorbs the essence of another,” the Witch of the Wilds replied, still far too nonchalant for Ellara’s liking. “Though, I suppose, if Solas wished to use that influence, he would have already. Something tells me that if he has maintained Mythal’s connection to the Well, and by extension, you, he will do everything in his power to ensure that you only ever act within your own faculties.”

Ellara had stared at the Witch as her words sunk in. 

“Solas…killed…Mythal?”

“Yes. Shortly after leaving your side after the defeat of Corypheus.”

“How do you know this?”

Yellow eyes flashed with amusement, like a cat toying with a mouse. “Come now, Inquisitor. You are an intelligent woman. You know the answer.”

It hit Ellara harder than the time a rage demon threw her into a wall. 

“But you swore you would never let Flemeth…”

“She didn’t. When Solas absorbed her power, the ritual my mother would have performed to take over my body was rendered useless. But before she died, Flemeth sent Mythal’s memories to me, so that someone would still remember her,” Morrigan sighed, almost wistfully. “You do know that had it ever come to it, and Mythal’s power had been passed to me, I would have released you from the Well’s influence, do you not?”

Ellara nodded quietly. Morrigan knew too well what it was to live under the thumb of Mythal, always waiting for the next card to be revealed. Ellara had never doubted her friend would have freed her, even with the frustration that Morrigan had felt when Ellara had insisted on stepping into the Well instead of her. 

And then it crossed her mind. She had not felt the tug of that ancient knowledge in years. She had dismissed it as her no longer being useful to the goddess with the death of Mythal’s dragon against Corypheus’s archdemon. That the influence of the Well of Sorrows had simply gone dormant within her. That one day she would be called upon again to use that knowledge for some yet unknown purpose.

But now…with these new revelations…

“He released me…” she breathed. 

“You are Mythal’s creature now!”

No longer. 

Whether on purpose–an active decision that he made upon the absorption of the old goddess’s power–or simply a side effect of the decisions he had made, Ellara knew that he knew what he had done. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye, the moment she was released from the Well’s influence, even though she did not feel it, he had breathed a sigh of relief, and it almost made her laugh.

Her ancient elven god of rebellion. Her Wolf. 

He was still hers.

She cleared her throat quietly and moved to stand, excusing herself as her mind raced with thoughts that would need to be put into letters for Varric before she forgot them, only to feel Morrigan’s cool, thin fingers wrap around her wrist.

“Inquisitor. There is more that we must discuss. There are things about Solas that you…do not know. But that you should,” Morrigan insisted. 

Ellara’s chest rose and fell rapidly as her heart desperately tried to beat out of her chest. He was still hers. She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “Knowing me as you do, Morrigan, do you believe that anything you tell me will change how I feel about him?”

Morrigan smiled sadly, “No. If anything, I believe that what I must tell you will only solidify your feelings for him, as what I have to say will only further explain his motivations. And I do believe that you are already quite sympathetic to his cause.”

Ellara looked away from her as her own pleas to him echoed in her mind as she had begged him to let her follow him. But he had forbidden it, had apologized so frequently in that conversation, that “ir abelas” were, at times, the only words she could accurately recall in his voice. She could still feel his hand on her face, the cool metal of his armor, and the sad resignation emanating from those violet eyes that she loved so much. 

“I do not support the tearing down of the Veil,” Ellara stated firmly. That much was true. How could she possibly support something that she had already fought one would-be god to stop? “I only…I understand him. Solas believes that he is responsible for all of the pain of the Elven people since the creation of the Veil. He carries that weight on his shoulders, and his damned pride keeps him from sharing the burden, or even acknowledging that not everything in the world is his damned fault.”

Her fingers curled into a fist, and Morrigan caught her hand gently, cupping it between her own as she looked up at her. “Then we are of the same mind.”

Morrigan stood, and linked her arm with Ellara’s. “Come. Dorian sent you a gift from Minrathous. One I think you’ll very much come to appreciate while we speak.”

And so the Witch lead the Inquisitor into her study, and fitted her new, metal arm to her body, watching as Ellara opened and closed the clinking fingers, amazed by the enchantments, all while Morrigan explained how the Evanuris were once spirits, who became elves when they sundered the Titans. How they created the Blight. 

And Ellara’s heart ached all the while. 

“He wouldn’t have done it, if she had not asked,” Morrigan admitted, speaking of the Lyrium dagger that Leliana’s recent reports had described as being seen either in Solas’s hand, or in a sheath on his hip. 

“When we returned from the Deep Roads, after Shaper Valta…” Ellara looked away, using her new metal fingers to tuck her blonde hair behind one of her long, pointed ears. “...he was quiet for weeks. He…he passed Scout Lace Harding in the halls one evening, and told her that he was sorry that Dwarves can’t dream. She found the interaction so off putting, and confusing that she went to find Josephine to ask if he was always so strange. She hadn’t expected to find me sitting in Josie’s office, and was mortified that I had heard her. But he…he was so quiet for so long, I was starting to think that I had lost him to his thoughts, or to his dreams of the Fade. I had to make him tea and wait for him to drink it absentmindedly just to shake him from his own mind.”

Morrigan chuckled, “I bet he hated that.”

“I got a five minute lecture on his hatred of tea as if I had forgotten the first time he had told me, and hadn’t used it purely for that purpose.” Ellara smiled at the memory. He had been annoyed, and repulsed, and so easily distracted once she had shaken him free of his own thoughts, and he was standing before her, actually seeing her once again. She had smiled throughout the entire lecture, and at the end, when he had, infuriated, asked her what she was so proud of, she had stood on her toes and kissed him, catching him by surprise. Surprise that gave way to a smile, soft laughter, and his warm arms around her, as she welcomed him back to the physical world, as if he had been in the Fade, and not standing before her. And he had sighed and apologized for his distance, and begged her forgiveness, which she had given gladly. 

Ellara blushed at the memory. 

It had been that day that she had known that she loved him. 

He hadn’t wanted to talk about what had had him so lost in his thoughts for so long, and she had respected his privacy, earning her a grateful smile as he had insisted that she sit and spend time with him, pulling out his large armchair and ushering her into it. She had spent hours that evening listening to him talk about the Fade and the things that he had seen there. 

Now, she frowned softly as she realized he had been telling her not of his dreams, but of his life as a spirit in the Fade. 

He had been telling her of his home. 

And her heart broke more. 

How many hours had he spent telling her of the life he had lived, disguising it as visions and dreams, and lives of other men? Hiding who he was from her had taken its toll on him, she knew that. She saw it in the way he struggled to meet her eyes when they had met in those elven ruins when she had come stumbling out of the Crossroads. And when he had…oh the regret in those violet eyes had nearly knocked her off her feet. Her lip quivered at the thought. 

“You’re Fen’Harel.”

“I was Solas first. ‘Fen’Harel’ came later…an insult I took as a badge of pride.”

He had been trying to tell her. 

In that half-truth way that he spoke. 

He had been a spirit of wisdom, twisted into a spirit of pride first. Solas.

What did Mythal do to you, vhenan?

“He wore her vallaslin?”

“Yes.”

Ellara stared at her friend in horrified disbelief, and Morrigan gestured towards herself. “You may speak to me as if I were her, for in some ways I am.”

“Morrigan, I assure you, you do not want that,” Ellara stated firmly, anger boiling inside of her chest. 

“Come now, Inquisitor. Say what is on your mind,” Morrigan insisted.

“No,” Ellara said, her fingers gripping the arm of her chair so tightly, she feared the wood would splinter beneath her fingertips. “Perhaps before…when I was proudly Dalish, and I believed in the stories of the Evanuris, and I saw Mythal as a warm and kind figure from our histories…perhaps then I could speak to you as if you were her. But now…Morrigan, I know too much.”

The witch patted Ellara’s hand and insisted, “Please, Inquisitor.”

Ellara’s green eyes narrowed as the anger inside of her boiled over, “Fine. If that is what you want.” She turned her gaze on Morrigan, who flinched having never seen her friend this angry. “He was a spirit of wisdom. And you twisted his purpose. You turned him away from himself, and he still saw you as a friend instead of what you truly were.”

“He wants to give wisdom, not orders,” Cole had once said in that strange way of his that she had always found comforting, even when it upset the others. She hadn’t known what he was speaking of then. But she suspected she knew now.

Thoughts of Cole swirled through Ellara’s head as she recounted the many arguments she had had with Solas over Cole becoming more human. It hadn’t made sense to her then, why he would push so hard for Cole to remain a spirit. Especially when it was so clear to her and to Varric that that was what Cole wanted. And Solas had been so vague and unhelpful when she begged him to explain his position, only saying that they should not be encouraging Cole to twist from his nature. But that was never how Ellara or Varric saw it. They saw it as helping Cole become more himself than he had been before. But now…now she could understand that what she and Varric saw as a positive for Cole, to Solas, had been merely a mistake. One that he, himself, had already made. That he had been envious of their friend having the option to remain a spirit.

A stray tear slipped from the corner of one green eye, and metal fingers soon swept up to wipe it away. The movement was still too jerky, too rough, and Ellara found herself wincing as she scraped her cheek with newly attached fingers. It would take time to adjust. But already, she felt more herself than she had in a long time. 

“You were nothing more than his Master,” Ellara bit out, her heart pounding in her ears.

Morrigan shook her head and said quietly, “He was my friend.”

“Perhaps. But you were not his. A friend would not have forced him to wear slave markings on his face. Fenedhis lassa! You saw yourself as above him, and you convinced him to do terrible things, things he did not want to do–”

“We were at war–”

“We are always at war!” Ellara shouted, standing as she shook with rage. “Everyone, everywhere is at war in some capacity, whether they know it or not! But he has borne the burdens of your cruel decisions while you have done nothing! He seeks to right his wrongs, even if he is going about it in a way that will only hurt him in the long run! What has Mythal done?! To correct her mistakes? To absolve him of carrying that burden alone?! Nothing! If he had stayed in the Fade, and remained a spirit, he would have become a demon because of her!”

Morrigan stared at Ellara as the Inquisitor’s chest heaved with unbridled rage, her fingers sparking with the storm magic that came so easily to her. Ellara flexed her fingers, trying to dissipate the magic that called to her as she swallowed her anger. She closed her eyes, focusing on one of the many breathing exercises her Keeper had taught her when she was young, only to have it morph into one that Solas had taught her one night, in the light of a campfire not long before the fall of Haven. He had been so patient with her, so gentle as he helped her calm herself after a particularly rough altercation with some Templars in the hills. He had been the one to suggest the make camp when he saw her anger flaring. It had been so clear to him that that was not who she was at her core. He had helped her return to herself, and waved her off when she tried to thank him. 

“We are not our worst moments, Ellara. And you are not your anger.”

“I need to be better,” she had replied, irritated with her lack of self control.

“We all need to be better. But,” he had added with a smile, “if you were to ask me, I would say you’re doing just fine.”

Why couldn’t he believe that about himself?

“Solas, when he was with me, he got a taste of who he had been before he was twisted and misshapen by Mythal’s desires. He was allowed to be the wise elf who could be counted on for practical advice. He was good and kind. And he left because of you! Because he feels he has to atone for your death as though he were the one who caused it! Because he feels responsible for all of the pain of our people since the Veil was put into place. Do you truly not see that Mythal was the cause of all of this pain?” Ellara asked. Her voice was even more unsteady than her legs, which felt as though they were made from that awful pudding that Empress Celene insisted be served with every meal.

Mythal had destroyed him. 

And Ellara wasn’t even certain he knew just how much.

Morrigan reached out and pulled Ellara into a hug as the Inquisitor succumbed to her anguish. As Ellara cried over who her lover could have been if not for Mythal’s interference, the witch held her, stroking her hair and saying to her softly, “You are not wrong. He was a spirit of wisdom, twisted to do as Mythal asked, and so he became one of pride instead. I do see now why you did not wish to speak to me as Mythal. For you, Inquisitor, I will remain Morrigan.”

When she had calmed enough to gather herself, Ellara pulled away from her friend, and took several shaky breaths as she tried to find an excuse to leave, to finish crying over him where no one could see.

But Morrigan stopped her yet again, “Varric is getting close. I have sent word to him. I believe that I know where Solas is headed.”

“Where?” the word rushed from her like a breath from her lungs.

“Minrathous. The Magisters who released the Blight…”

“The Veil will be weak there,” Ellara finished the thought. “Perhaps not as weak as the Breach…but weaker than anywhere else.”

Morrigan nodded. “Varric said he recently recruited someone new to the cause. A young upstart he called Rook.”

Ellara nodded, she knew about Rook. Varric had written her a positively glowing review of the young woman. 

“She’s Qunari, and a little nuts, but she comes highly recommended from Isabela, and we both know Isabela doesn’t like many people. Pretty much just Hawke. She only really pretends to like me. But this little shit kicked the ass of a Rivani noble, and destroyed the artifact he hired her to collect just to piss him off, all because he left her in the ruin they found it in as it was collapsing. She’s resourceful. And funny. I’ve never seen a mage insist on using their fists instead of their magic as often as Rook. I think I’ve seen her throw more punches than spells at this point. You’d like her. Hawke would like her. Maybe that’s why I like her. She reminds me of both of you.

Shit, I think even Chuckles himself would like her. Though she doesn’t seem to like him much.”

“I’ll be heading there myself, soon. By way of Arlathan Forest. There are some Veil Jumpers I’ve been writing to who could use a little assistance,” Morrigan told her gently. “Keiran will stay here, as I’m certain so will you. I know that the Magisterium isn’t exactly…fond of you, or your closeness to Dorian Pavus and Maevaris Tilani. Especially in recent years with you sending both the Chargers, and the Red Jennys to Tevinter to assist our old friend.”

Ellara laughed bitterly. “You think I sent the Jennys? I will happily take credit for Bull and Krem causing a little mischief and mayhem along the borders, though I don’t think Dorian or Bull would appreciate their relationship being sidelined simply so that I could take credit. But I didn’t even suggest that the Jennys move into Tevinter. In the words of Sera, someone small always hates someone big. And Tevinter has a lot of big people looking down on small people. The Red Jennys were always going to end up there. Always.” She sighed with a small smile, “But yes. I will need to stay in the South. But not in Orlais. King Alistair reached out recently. I have been invited to Denerim. Apparently Arl Teagen wishes to make amends since I still have the Divine’s ear. And since Leliana has not been willing to grace their halls in recent years thanks to his behavior at the Exalted Council, there has been unrest amongst the Andrastians in their kingdom.”

The Witch nodded solemnly. “Will you take Keiran with you? Alistair and I have our…differences, but I do not doubt for a moment that he will protect Keiran with his life. And something big is coming.”

Ellara agreed, and three days later when Morrigan left for her journey North, Keiran and Ellara bid their goodbyes to Leliana, and made their way East.  

The Inquisitor taught the young man everything she could as they traveled from Val Royeaux to Skyhold to Denerim. 

It was during their stay in Skyhold when Ellara received word that Solas’s ritual would happen soon. That night, she dreamed of him. It was like looking at him through a fog, and she had the distinct feeling that he was staring back at her, trying to make out her shape in the haze. But every time she reached for him, the fog would pull him further away. 

When she woke, there was a blue, crystalline wolf statue sitting beside her on her bed. When her fingers made contact with it, she knew it was his. It felt like him. 

Like his magic, and his sadness. 

So she placed it in her pack, and then she and Keiran left for Denerim.

The day after they arrived, a letter was brought to her by a solemn courier.

Solas’s ritual had failed. 

The Veil was still up. 

But the two remaining Evanuris escaped. 

Solas was trapped in a Fade prison that he had intended for them.

And worst of all…

Varric was dead. And Solas had killed him.

Rook was taking over the team, and had a tenuous connection to Solas from the prison he was trapped in inside the Fade. 

Ellara wandered into the Hinterlands for several days, mourning loudly over the loss of her friend. Her cries echoing through the hills that they once traveled together, until she was finally able to pull herself together once more, and send word to Dorian through her sending crystal that she was on her way, much to the delight of the Magister. 

She wouldn’t be able to stay long. They both knew that.

Tevinter wasn’t safe for her. 

And she’d have to leave behind Keiran. 

Alistair swore he would protect the boy, and for the first time, Ellara realized that the father Morrigan had always concealed from her, was staring her in the face, and the boy had no idea.

Confirmation came when she pulled the king aside and, rather bluntly, asked. Only for him to flush bright pink and stutter as he tried to excuse himself from the room. But Alistair was easily corralled, since nothing terrified him more than women with any inkling of power, and with his wife still out searching for a cure to the Calling, and no one to come to his rescue (Anora was nearby, but casually ignoring him as she always did in these situations), and therefore no one to hide behind when face-to-face with a rather intense and impassive Inquisitor Ellara Lavellan, he finally relented and admitted that yes, technically, he was Keiran’s father. 

He tried to explain the ritual and the reasons behind it, but Ellara was uninterested. 

So then, it was Anora he was trying to explain to, only for her to stand and loudly declare that there was nothing she could have possibly cared about less than who Alistair had impregnated. 

Ellara rolled her eyes as the king stuttered and desperately tried to continue his explanation as Anora excused herself and retreated from the room. When he finally conceded, realizing that Anora really did not want to hear about the ritual, and turned his focus back to her, Ellara made him promise that he would treat the boy as if he were the boy’s father. Alistair agreed, and right before Ellaran was meant to leave, the Blight took root in Ferelden.

And then Orlais.

And then the Free Marches.

Ellara delayed her travels to instead rush back to Skyhold and, with the assistance of Cullen and Divine Victoria, and soon after King Alistair and his court as Denerim fell, she began turning the castle back into a home for refugees.

Her reunion with Keiran was brief, the young man diving headfirst into helping to shore up the walls, and train incoming refugees on how to fight, after a quick laugh about how the two should have just stayed there to begin with. It was Keiran, who after a long day of work, stopped by Ellara’s quarters to remind her of the eluvian he had once traveled through, into the Fade, pursuing his grandmother. An eluvian that had been locked behind a door just outside the courtyard for several years to prevent anyone accidentally stumbling through it.

A quick letter to Morrigan had the witch returning to the place where the Veil was created to collect the Inquisitor, and teaching her and several others how to navigate the Crossroads once again, making it easier for Charter and a handful of other agents to move refugees from one place to another. Once they had a system in place that seemed to work, Ellara began dropping in where she could, to offer personal assistance. 

Her stop in Kirkwall was…enlightening. Even as Aveline, through all of her grumbling, put aside her frustration and irritation with a certain Prince of Starkhaven to ask for help as she sought to evacuate the city, the Guard-Captain, along with a rather exasperated Fenris, and a very, very tired Hawke, worked to fill her in on the movements of the Blight as the “gods” who had escaped the Fade spread it across the South.  

Aveline, Fenris, and Hawke had exchanged grimaces before Fenris cleared his throat and added in, “I should warn you…Divine Victoria has sent out missives in an attempt to reach you. She is calling for you to return to Val Royeaux.”

Ellara had flinched. She knew that even with the Inquisition disbanded, she still held influence in many circles. And with the return of the Blight, and the threat of “ancient elven gods” in the North, Leliana would need her help, and that there was a good chance that Divine Victoria would call on the Inquisition to reform. 

But–a wolf howled in the distance, beyond the walls of the city, so soft she could barely hear it–Solas needed her, too. Whether he knew it or not. 

“I…will meet with her after I have met with Morrigan and Dorian,” she assured the trio before excusing herself to Sera and Dagna’s apartment. There, she rested and listened to the couple chatter on about what mischief Sera had gotten into while Dagna learned new enchantments from a local, highly esteemed enchanter by the name of Sandal. 

“He doesn’t say much, but he’s one of the best enchanters I’ve ever met!” Dagna declared giddily.

She left early the next morning, with Sera on her heels. 

“What? I’m not following you, if that’s what you’re on about. I have a friend in Nevarra who’s gotten into some trouble. A few of us are headed there to break them out.”

“Break them out? Sera…are you freeing someone from prison?”

“If I say ‘not exactly’ will you drop it?”

Ellara laughed, but assisted Sera and the Jennys with the prison break when they arrived in the capital city, and then saw them out of said city before continuing north.

When she finally made it to Minrathous, the city was overrun with Venatori, and Blight. The Shadow Dragons she had always written to when communicating with Maevaris were exhausted, and overworked. Even though Ellara knew she should be headed straight to the Cobbled Swan to meet with Morrigan, she let Dorian know through their sending crystals that she had arrived and then spent several days working with the Viper and Tarquin, using her alchemical skills to heal as many citizens of Dock Town as she could.

And then she met Rook. 

And the Qunari woman was everything that Varric had said and more. Calm, confident, and very, very fed up with the Inquisitor’s Wolf in a way that made the corners of Ellara’s lips twitch upwards. The way that Rook talked about him reminded her of the frustrated way that Morrigan, and Sera would talk about him. To her. As if they didn’t know that she just found their irritations amusing. 

They would come to her, complaining about him being–in Sera’s words–“too elfy!” or–in Morrigan’s words–“an insufferable, pompous, ass, incapable of accepting that someone else’s perspective might have more merit than his own.” And Ellara would just smile and listen until either woman paused, recognized the dreamy look in her eyes, and rolled their own, shooing her out of whatever room they had found her in so that she could go find the object of their ire, and the object of all of her affection. She would tiptoe into his study, and find him pouring over the same books he’d read a hundred times since their meeting, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek, or the dimple on his chin, and he would sweep her up in his arms and tell her stories of the Fade that sounded like poetry on his lips. And she would sit on that table, or in his chair for hours, her chin in her hand, relishing every little glance he sent her way, as if he were afraid he had bored her.

But he could never bore her. 

Not when everything he did entranced her the way that it had.

The relief that would flash across his face when he would find her still listening, forever a rapt and captive audience, always made her smile. And then he would apologize, “Ir abelas, ma vhenan. I’m sure you have other matters to concern yourself with.”

“Tel’abelas, vhenan. Tell me more. I want to hear it all,” she would assure him, her fingers reaching to curl around his. 

And so he would continue. And Ellara would fall deeper and deeper in love with him with every word.

So, standing before Morrigan and Rook, Ellara steeled herself, awaiting the moment that Rook would tell her the plan to kill him, but it didn’t come. The focus was on Ghilan’nain, and Weisshaupt. She, incredibly reluctantly, gave the wolf statuette to Rook, finding it incredibly hard to take her fingers off of the blue crystal–the closest she had come to feeling him in ten years.

Rook filled them in on everything that she and her team had been up to, including her arguments with the First Warden, and her fears about the Blight.

And Ellara found herself grateful beyond words that Hawke, Carver, and Thom (not that Thom was a true Warden) were all safe in Kirkwall. Even Anders, hidden away in a chantry in Orlais where only she, Leliana, and Hawke knew of his presence, was safe from whatever horrors awaited Rook and her team. 

That night, as Ellara settled into sleep, she thought–for certain this time–that she could hear the gentle whisper of “vhenan” caress her ear. 

She began traveling through the Eluvians into Northern Thedas more frequently, now that Rook’s specialist, Bellara, had been able to fix the one in Solas’s Lighthouse, and was able to connect it to the one in Skyhold. Harding was kind enough to give her a small tour as she passed through the Lighthouse. She even stumbled upon a letter, unmistakably written in his hand, that began with, “Vhenan.” She couldn’t read it at first. It was just too much of him without him actually being present, and Ellara found herself politely excusing herself before returning to Val Royeaux. 

And as Leliana sat beside her, putting aside her role as the Divine to just be Ellara’s friend once more, Ellara sat in a small parlour and read his words as she wiped at her face again and again to keep her tears from staining the cherished page, or smudging his precious words. 

“Vhenan,

I do not know if you will see these words. My ritual is ready, and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this, the world will be as it once was, and you will see that it was necessary. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I hope you come to understand. That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin…you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas…as I wanted.

I regret the pain I caused you. 

What I feel for you will never change.”

Leliana read it several times over, verifying what Ellara already knew; that it was in fact his hand that wrote it. And then the Divine sat with Ellara while the Inquisitor cried over what could have been if he had just stayed like she had wanted him to. Like he had wanted to.

The next time she returned to Minrathous, Solas had helped Rook escape Elgar’nan with a group of Dalish elves who had been captured for a blood sacrifice. And Ellara jumped at the opportunity to grasp this moment, this proof that the man she loved was still there, to explain to Rook that if Rook could just get her close enough to him, she could stop him. She was certain of it. 

So when word came that Solas was out of the Fade prison, Ellara began her final goodbyes. 

It wasn’t that she thought she would die.

But some part of her knew that she would not be returning to the South.

Vivienne, Cullen, Josephine and Cassandra did not seem to understand what she was saying when she spoke to them. Neither did Mother Giselle when she passed her in the chantry on her way to Leliana. The revered mother simply wished her well, and moved on with her day. 

Leliana knew. 

She understood what Ellara was saying before she even opened her mouth to speak. The embrace that they shared as one of her dearest and oldest friends wished her a long, happy life brought her to tears for seemingly the thousandth time since she had met the woman who was now Divine. 

Cole was the first to really understand. He and Maryden stayed with her for an evening as Maryden sang to an audience of two, and Cole simply sat beside her, his hand in hers.

Thom and Sera insisted on coming with her to Tevinter, despite Ellara’s many protests, the pair following her to where Iron Bull and the Chargers were waiting for her just outside of Minrathous, on Dorian’s orders. She relented when Bull pointed out that they could use the help. 

And when they joined the fight in the streets of Dock Town, Elgar’nan’s archdemon, Lusacan soared overhead, and Bull clapped her on the back one last time and headed off to assist some Shadow Dragons who were fighting along the edge of town. And when Sera realized that staying to help Ellara would mean abandoning the little people of Dock Town, the blonde archer burst into tears and threw her arms around her old friend, sobbing a goodbye before running off to help a Crow who had tripped, before firing three arrows in rapid succession into the face of a Venatori magister who was attacking a group of fleeing civilians.

And when Thom saw Grey Wardens and griffons flying into battle, Ellara had kissed his cheek and thanked him for his years of friendship, and told him to please, please, please go find Josephine when the battle was over. Because if Ellara got her way, and got to have her love, then so should he. And he squeezed her on the shoulder one last time, swallowed thickly to hide his own sadness and nodded a goodbye before running in, and holding his shield up in time to deflect a blast from a darkspawn javelineer who was aiming at a griffon that had been knocked from the sky. 

Ellara couldn’t help but smile at the sight of three of her dearest friends doing exactly what she would expect them to do. 

And then she was rushing to find Dorian and Maevaris. 

And then she heard it again, but only this time, it was definitely real.

A howl. 

In pain. 

She looked up to see the archdemon, Lusacan, throw what appeared to be an over-large hyena–like the ones she used to have to fight off in the Western Approach–into a building, and her Heart stopped. 

The “hyena” had six eyes. 

That was no “hyena.”

“Vhenan,” she whispered in horror as she watched her Wolf scramble to his feet and charge forward once more, leaping at the archdemon as if he weren’t bleeding across the rubble beneath his feet. 

Ten years, and this was the closest she had been to him. And her heart was gripped with the fear that he might die before she had the chance to hold his face between her hands again–one flesh, and the other metal–and tell him that she forgave him. That she loved him still. That her heart was his if he would have it. And that if he tore down the Veil, it would be over her dead body. And he would have to be the one to kill her, and that she would force him to look her in the eyes as he did it.

So she pushed forward, and caught up with Dorian and Maevaris as they ushered others into a small sanctuary. Dorian pulled her into a tight hug as she told him that Iron Bull, Sera and Thom were in the city, offering their assistance where they could. He nodded and assured her that Sera was resourceful, and that Thom had survived far worse than whatever he was facing now, and that the Iron Bull was far too thick-headed to be taken down by some darkspawn or Venatori. 

“Just…whatever happens, please, Dorian, I need them to be safe,” Ellara clutched his hand in hers, “I need you all to be safe. We survived Corypheus. I don’t want to lose any of you to, as Sera called him, shit-bucket-moon-god-elf-face.”

Dorian laughed, despite the horrors around them and nodded. “I promise, I will have my people searching for them both when this is all over.”

Ellara nodded and hugged her friend tightly once more before turning to join Morrigan as Rook stumbled through the door, her friend Neve half-consumed by Blight, but with more information as Ellara began to realize why she felt that she would not be returning South ever again.

Because if Solas was to be convinced to link himself to the Veil, to enter the Fade and remain there forever…

Well, she couldn’t let him do that alone. 

“You’ll be heading out when this is all over?” Dorian asked her skeptically as she stared into the fire in the room that they were huddled into. She lifted her gaze and knew he finally understood what was running through her mind. 

“Something like that.”

The necromancer sighed, turning to Rook and offering her a half-hearted smile, and a firm, “You’ve got this.” But when he turned back to Ellara, she had to swallow her tears as she saw them mirrored in his eyes. 

She stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist as the two mages, Magister and Inquisitor, held each other for what could very well be the last time. 

“You have been my dearest friend,” Dorian said to her softly. “I would not be half the man I am today if it were not for you.”

Ellara choked on her tears and hugged him tighter. “Yes, you would. It just might have taken a bit longer for you to see it.” She stepped back and held his face in her hands, a sad smile on her face. “You’re to be Archon, yes?” He nodded. “Good. Do right by my people?”

“I will,” Dorian let out a soft chuckle. “You know…Solas once told me if I wanted to make amends for Tevinter’s past, I would need to free all the slaves in Tevinter. I…never thought I would be in a position to do just that. But…here I am.”

Ellara smiled at him, wiping at her tears before reaching up to wipe at his, making him laugh. “I’m so proud of you, Dorian.”

He gave her a crooked smile and looked out at the people gathered in the room, as Rook and her team prepped to head out once more. “Did you know that they have a dragon hunter amongst them? One who can breathe fire?”

“Oh, Iron Bull is going to be so jealous of that,” Ellara laughed, glancing over at the tall adaari. 

“Oh, he is. I told him he’d best hurry up and get here if he wishes to meet them,” Dorian smiled. “And if he wants to say good-bye to you.” Ellara smiled sadly as Dorian added, “He told me he already had.”

Ellara nodded. “I don’t know what’s going to happen out there, or even if Solas is going to survive this fight–” the building shook as Lusacan and Solas continued their battle, dust from the stone ceiling raining down on a few of the Shadow Dragons huddled in the corner, “–but if he does…Dorian, I can’t lose him aga–”

“I know,” Dorian’s hands fell onto her shoulders as she tried not to cry. The desperate need to be reunited with her lost lover was slowly turning to anxiety fueled by adrenaline. “I just…I’m going to miss my friend.”

A moment later, Rook was heading out with her team, and Isabela was beckoning Ellara to follow her, stopping the Qunari to request one of her team for assistance. Rook turned to Taash, who nodded and stepped up to meet them. 

“Iron Bull will meet up with you shortly!” Dorian called after them as he and Maevaris tore off in their own direction, the mage stopping briefly to look upon his friend one last time. “Good luck, Ellara! And please! Keep Bull safe for me!”

“Always!” Ellara called back, her heart aching as she walked away from her friend for the last time.

And then she was introducing the adaari to Iron Bull, who stared at them, mouth agape before a huge grin split his face and he clapped them on the back, and asked them if they had ever considered mercenary work. Taash squinted at Bull and said, almost vaguely disgusted, “What? No.”

To which Krem replied with a laugh, “Careful. Now the Chief is definitely going to want you on board.”

Ellara shook her head and looked up towards the Archon’s Palace as she heard another howl of pain, her fingers itching with untapped rift magic just begging to be used. 

“Let’s go,” Isabela shouted, urging them all forward. Ellara turned to her and nodded solemnly before racing through the streets with their merry band of misfits. 

And then she was fighting again, killing just a few more Venatori–you know, for old times sake–on her way to her Wolf. Elgar’nan was dead by the time she reached the palace, and Solas was limping towards tears in the Fade, that lyrium dagger in his hand, declaring, “To stop now would dishonor those that I have wronged to get here!”

So she stepped out and asked him, “Even if those you’ve wronged, asked you to stop?” as he prepared to cut away the Veil for good, and she watched as he froze at the sound of her voice. 

He turned his bruised and bloodied face towards her, and she watched his resolve crumble.

She had been right. 

She had always been right.

He was still hers. 

And as the word left his lips like a breath from his lungs–“vhenan”–she knew that she had been right about everything. All those nights hearing his voice in her ear like a gentle caress, or the ghosting of fingertips across her skin, of swearing that she could see a familiar shape in the fog of the Fade as she dreamed…it had always been him. Not physically, but somewhere out there, he had always been reaching back towards her through the Fade. Even if he couldn’t see it yet–and she would make him see–their spirits called to each other. 

Even now, as he looked away from her in shame, stating, “I lied! I betrayed you!” convinced that she could not possibly love him still after all that pain he had caused her…only it was never the lies, or the betrayal that hurt. 

It was him leaving. 

It was him disappearing while her back was turned after the fight with Corypheus. 

It was him walking away as tears streamed down her face in those ruins. 

Those were the acts that had caused her pain. 

But looking at him, seeing him this close, knowing that he was close enough to touch, her pain was gone in an instant. 

Because he was where she could reach him. 

Morrigan swooped in, using Mythal’s memories, and the aspect of Mythal that Rook carried to manifest the spirit of the fallen Evanuris. 

“I release you from my service.”

Anger had boiled inside of Ellara as she watched her lover curl around the dagger in his hands, confronted with the woman who had abused his care for her, had abused his wisdom. But she pushed that anger aside. It was not important. Not now. 

So she stepped closer, and knelt where he could see her, and said the words she wished she had said ten years earlier. 

“Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan.” 

There was pain on his face when he straightened, wiping the tears from his face, and when he agreed, slicing his hand with the dagger and stepping toward the rift in the Fade, she wasn’t having it. Stepping forward to place her hands in his, and informing him that he did not have to go alone. 

Not this time.

Still he tried to talk her out of it. But there was nothing that would ever keep her from his side, ever again. 

So she silenced him with assurances and a kiss, and then followed him into the prison that he had made to hold Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. 

And she immediately understood why he did not want her to see it. It was dark, and filled with shadows, and stone hands reaching up through crevices in the cobblestone. But even with how grim their surroundings were, she felt safe, and whole once more. His magic was everywhere, surrounding her. Everything felt like him.

She could see the shame on his face as he hung his head while she took in their new home.

But Ellara smiled.

And flowers bloomed around her feet as Solas watched her in awe.

“How did you…?” he moved as if to drag his eyes to hers, stopping instead at her neck, unable to look her in the eye despite all that she had promised. He did not want to call her a liar. He knew she was not one. She was nothing like him in that respect. 

Ellara did not speak in half truths. 

The only lies she had ever told…were about him.

But she would never lie to him.

And so she stepped forward and used her flesh-and-bone hand to tilt his gaze further up until those violet eyes that she loved so much finally met hers.

“I spent years exploring the Fade in my dreams. Searching for you, vhenan. Using everything that you had taught me to help direct me. Do you really think that I learned nothing about the magic of this side of the Veil in all that time?” she smiled softly, her thumb settling into the dimple in his chin as her body hummed from the feeling of his skin. “I’m sure my magic will seem like child’s play to you, but–”

“Not at all,” he replied, shaking his head gently as she moved her hand to cup his face and he leaned into her touch. “I have been unable to significantly change anything here since Rook disrupted my ritual.” He paused, his back straightening suddenly as he glanced behind her and then clarified, with a grimace and a soft clearing his throat, “Almost anything.”

Ellara followed his gaze and found a statue in the distance. Curious, but unwilling to relinquish him, she caught his fingers with her own and moved towards it, flowers blooming around their feet as they walked. 

Until the Inquisitor found herself face to face with…herself.

“This place is built from your regrets,” she stated softly, reaching out with her metal hand to touch the stone.

“Yes,” he confirmed, unnecessarily. 

“Do you…do you regret–” she winced, hating that she was even asking.

“No! Vhenan, no!” his arms were around her in seconds as he pulled her back against his chest, “I only regret that I hurt you. It was never my intention. I…ir abelas, vhenan.” He pressed his face into her hair, ignoring his own pain from the wounds he had taken in battle as he breathed her in. “I built this because that regret has haunted me in ways I did not think possible.”

Relief flooded her, and she leaned back into him, sighing contentedly as he held her. She couldn’t help but smile, amused at how much younger she looked in statue form. Until something caught her eye. 

The statue’s left arm…where her hand would have been when she still had it, or where her metal hand now lived on her body, was her old crossbow prosthetic. 

She stepped away from her Wolf slightly and gently touched it. “How did you…when?”

“Ir abel–”

“I know that you are sorry, vhenan. That is not my question. My question is simply when were you that close to me?” she asked, turning in his arms so that he couldn’t avoid the question. “How did I not know? I can recognize the faintest traces of your magic. I should have felt you near. I should have known.”

He sighed and rested his forehead against hers, “Kirkwall, several years ago. I…had been keeping tabs on you through my agents, to help me keep my distance. But when you began traveling with Sera and Blackwall, it became much harder. Something I attributed to Sera’s erratic choices and behavior. I was searching for a relic. My search led me to Kirkwall. The item was no longer there, but it gave me a place to start. And then, I swore I heard Sera laughing.” He closed his eyes as he focused on the memory, “I hadn’t heard her laughter in a long time, but it reminded me of the time the two of you were playing pranks on your advisors and I nearly caught you. I was…drawn to it. If for no other reason than it reminded me of you.”

Ellara nodded. If there was anything she understood, it was being drawn to anything that reminded her of him. “So you followed the sound.”

“Curiosity got the better of me, I admit. So yes, I followed the sound. Imagine my surprise when I found not only Sera, but Blackwall, Varric, Cullen, Hawke, and you. There were others, but I did not know their names, not that it mattered,” Solas reached up to tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “The moment I saw you, I saw nothing and no one else. I followed you from a distance, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. The relic I was searching for was gone. It had been years, and it would be years still before I would find it. And you were right there. I was once again struck with the thought that I could return to your side, and just be Solas, if you would have me.”

“Why didn’t you?” her hands were on his face again. “You were all that I wanted. You still are all that I want. Nothing else mattered to me.” She let out a laugh as tears filled her eyes, “If you had knocked on my door that night, I would have taken you to my bed and refused to let you leave for at least a week.”

The look he gave her was as mournful as the howls of the wolves she once heard in the distance while overlooking the Waking Sea, and she knew before he said the words.

“The Commander…”

“You saw Cullen kiss me…oh, vhenan.”

The pain on his face was unmistakable as he tried to extricate himself from her grasp, to pull away from her and hide in shame once more. But Ellara wasn’t letting him go. Never again. 

“I had no right…I knew that…I wanted you to be happy. And I knew that that couldn’t be with me. Not after all I had done.” Violet eyes turned toward their feet, as Ellara tried to contain her laughter. 

Her Wolf had been jealous.

He had run away to lick his wounds. The thought brought her back to the sound of a wolf howling in the distance, mixing with the calls of the gulls and the crashing waves. Had it really been him?

“Vhenan, yes, Cullen kissed me. But I am guessing you did not stick around to see me politely decline his advances, or hear me tell him that I didn’t even have a heart to give,” she pressed the palm of her hand to his breastplate, and felt him shudder beneath the armor. “Mine was with you. Always, vhenan. He asked if I thought I would ever move on, and I told him honestly that no, I didn’t. In part because I did not want to, and in part because from the moment you took my hand in yours and held it up to close that very first rift in Haven, I have been yours.”

She shook her head and sighed with a smile as she noticed that the flowers blooming beneath their feet were no longer her doing alone.

When she felt his lips on her temple, she leaned into the touch, his arms, strong and sure around her waist as he brought her closer. She looked up at him and frowned softly at the sight of the bruises and blood that marred his face. She wanted to see him clean and cared for again. And she would make sure that that happened.

“Is there somewhere we can go where we can dress your wounds?” she asked softly as he continued to cling to her. 

Solas looked around and sighed heavily, “No. But that does not mean we cannot make one.”

It took him some time to conjure up a place for the two of them two reside, but inside was warm, and there was a fire soon blazing in the hearth as Solas quietly removed his armor, pausing briefly before revealing the expanse of pale, bruised muscle that was his chest and abdomen to her for the first time. He ducked his head again, his face flushing under the firelight, truly unaware of just how beautiful she found him. 

But now was not the time.

She had their whole lives to admire his form when he was not wounded. 

Instead, she gently pushed him down into a chair, and cleaned each of his wounds gently, bandaging those that required it, and stitching a particularly nasty cut just beneath his ribcage that was suspiciously similar in size to the length of one of Lusacan’s teeth. He was a quiet patient as she worked, though she soon noted that one of his hands was always curled around some part of her; her wrist, the hem of her shirt, her knee, or her waist where his thumb rubbed absent minded circles into her skin just above her hip. She hadn’t even noticed that his hand had slipped under her shirt at first, but when she did, she certainly wasn’t about to complain. 

“Did you…seek comfort in others?” he asked quietly and at first she was confused, because he had seen her with their friends, but then his words sank in.

“Are you asking if I slept with anyone?” Ellara asked, laughter bubbling up before she could stop it, and oh how she tried to stop it as his face burned red, and he tried to pull his hand from her skin. She caught his hand, and pressed it back to her skin, her thumb stroking his knuckles as he hung his head. “Vhenan, being kissed by someone who was not you felt wrong. And you have to ask if I slept with anyone?” Her metal fingers tipped his head back, her green eyes demanding the gaze of his violet ones. “My love, there will never be anyone but you.”

He sighed heavily, pulling her closer to stand between his legs, his forehead pressed to her chest. “That is not the life I wanted for you, vhenan.”

“I know, vhenan,” she smiled softly. “But it was the life that I chose.” Her thumb froze on the back of his hand, and she stepped back to lift his hand into view. There, on his index finger, was an iron band with three small onyx stones. “Wh-where did you get this?”

“The ring?” Solas asked quietly, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Yes.”

She had seen it before. 

“I found it,” he let out a small chuckle.

She had carried it in her pocket for years.

“On a shrine dedicated to…well to me, actually.”

She had left it on the paw of a wolf statue.

“It felt silly to take it.”

One last gift.

“But something about it called to me.”

Purchased two days before their fight with Corypheus.

“The enchantment, whatever it had been, was broken shortly after during a fight with a particularly cruel Venatori magister. He was rounding up Dalish clans in the Dales and selling them into slavery,” his lip curled at the memory. “I put a stop to it. But he broke several enchantments on several items in my possession at the time.”

She brought his fingers to her lips, kissing each one as he stared at her in confusion, her smile and her tears leaving him silent and confused as he pulled her into his arms once more. 

“Vhenan?” he asked quietly as her fingers ran over the ring. 

“I don’t remember what the enchantment was anymore. I know it had something to do with spirit magic and the Fade, and that when I saw it, I thought of you.” His breath caught in his chest as she spoke. “We hadn’t spoken in days. I bought it more as an excuse to hear your voice than anything else. But when I walked into your study, you looked exhausted. You had been pouring over every old tome that Leliana’s and Joesphine’s contacts had managed to scrounge up on archdemons, and you were half asleep where you stood by your table. You heard me approach and it was as if we had gone back to the time before the Well of Sorrows, before that night in Crestwood. You called me vhenan and I forgot about the ring in my pocket.”

Both of his hands were on her waist, both clutching her close to him, while keeping her at a distance. 

“I forgot it until the battle was over, and you were gone. We were back at Skyhold, and Leliana was assuring me that her spies were searching for you, and I suddenly remembered it in my pocket.” Ellara let out a soft laugh and pressed a kiss to the small scar between his brows. “I had left it in Skyhold when we went to Halamshiral to meet with Orlais and Ferelden over the future of the Inquisition, so I did not have it with me when I saw you. After I returned home, I saw it on my desk and became so angry with myself for not having it with me that day. As if it would have changed your mind.”

Solas let out a shuddering breath and admitted softly, “It may have. You were always the one thing holding me back. It’s why I refused to let you come with me that day. I knew that you would talk me out of doing what I believed needed to be done.”

She laughed, “And now, here we are.”

“And now, here we are,” he nodded, before moving to slowly stand, his hands never leaving her skin as he guided her back, towards the fire. “You said that you searched the Fade for me?”

She smiled as he maneuvered her into a chair, the firelight dancing off of his pale, bruised skin as her heartbeat sped up. “Yes. Anywhere that I felt…connected to you, I would set wards the way you taught me, and dream of you. Or, at the very least, try to.”

He hummed in approval as his magic wove together a rather soft, warm looking bed, the sound of his hum reverberating through every fiber of her body. If there was anything at all that Ellara could count on, it was the way his pride always swelled when he heard that she had used some knowledge he had imparted to her.

“But the shrines?” he asked, skeptically.

Ellara laughed brightly as she watched his eyes darken and he strode toward her, his gaze sweeping over her. “I knew you would hate it. All I could think was, ‘If Solas catches me here, sleeping beside one of his shrines, I’ll never hear the end of it.’ I think I kept doing it because I was hoping you would find me. I wanted so badly to hear your voice again, that I was willing to endure whatever frustrated lecture you would have had prepared.” She grinned as he pulled her up onto her feet, her hands–one metal, one flesh–landing on his bare chest as he carefully shuffled her backwards, towards the bed; his heart beating beneath her fingers, fast and strong and so beautifully alive. “I prayed to you.”

For seemingly the hundredth time since they had reunited, her words made him pause. Though this time, in disbelief, and perhaps a sense of vague horror at the thought of Ellara praying to…well, anyone. 

Once again, she couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up from inside of her chest as she moved her fingers to cover his mouth before the lecture he was undoubtedly formulating could escape him. “Not like that, vhenan. I prayed that you would be safe,” she murmured, sliding her fingers across his cheek, to the back of his neck as she pulled him ever closer. “I prayed that you would return to me.” Spinning so that he was the one with the backs of his legs pressed to the bed, she pushed him down and slowly climbed into his lap as his arms encircled her waist. “And would you look at that?” she smiled, tilting his head back as she leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow, and altogether over far too soon–but they had forever now, didn’t they? Gently tracing the edge of the bruise beneath his eye, she realized that not only had she smiled more since seeing him again, but every ounce of joy within her was genuine, swelling and filling every part of her. “My prayers have been answered.”

He shook his head as he tried not to laugh, so reminiscent of their first kiss in the Fade, and pulled her mouth back down to his, his kiss far less soft, and certainly not as slow as the one they had just shared. The sound that rumbled up from deep inside of him sent shivers down her spine as he lay her down on the bed, kissing every inch of her as it was revealed to him. 

He was methodical in how he undressed her, taking his time with each piece of clothing he removed from her body. Each time she would reach to try to assist, he would playfully swat away her hands, and kiss her until she was so breathless, and so dazed that she couldn’t even remember which of her hands was real. And when she finally lay bare before him, the heat in his eyes as he swept them across her form before they met hers once more had her toes curling before he even touched her. 

“I dreamed of you, as well,” he murmured against her thigh. “I would seek you out, using all of my understanding of the Fade to catch glimpses of you.”

“I felt you,” she gasped as his fingers traced her folds. “It was like you were always just out of reach.”

He hummed against her skin, looking deeply into her eyes once more. “I will never let you go again.” And then his mouth was on her, his tongue diving between her folds, seeking to learn all of her most sensitive places, and at the first cry of her pleasure echoing around him, his own moan joined hers.

Lips kiss-swollen and parted as she gasped for air, skin flushed pink and warm, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, and her hair spread out all around her, she felt like a mess. But every time their eyes met over her heaving breasts, he looked at her like she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and that thought made her heart pound louder and louder within her chest as she reached for him, wanting to feel him against her.

She tried to reciprocate–she really did–tried so hard to finish stripping him of his clothes so that she could finally have all of him, tried so hard to touch, but as much as she had craved him, had needed him near for the last ten years, it appeared that his need to see her, to feel her, to taste her was far greater as he laced their fingers together and devoured her. Each time she would try to lift herself up to reach for him, he would gently push her back down, keeping her in place so that he could continue his maddening movements, slowly watching her fall apart,

With no one around to hear them, Ellara did nothing to disguise her cries and moans of pleasure. Each sound that spilled from her seemed to spur him on, and earned a replying sound of approval or appreciation from him. His touch poured fire into her veins, one hand clinging to hers, the other with its long, warm fingers spread across her belly, holding her down, holding her to him as he looked up at her. Violet eyes met green and she nearly came undone just from the look of adoration, of possession, of love within them. Every move her body made in response to every flick of his wicked, determined tongue, he followed, never letting her move too far from him.

She clung to the soft blankets beneath her with her metal fingers, afraid of hurting him if she reached for him with that hand, not that he seemed to share her fears; his warm hands, and heated gaze urging her to not stop touching him.

Not that she would. Never again.

As she pleaded for him to crawl up and kiss her, to let her feel him, he simply hummed and continued his exploration of her body, relenting only when he felt her body come undone with a cry of his name on her lips. She held him as tightly as her tired limbs would allow, her bare legs tangling with his, tasting herself on his lips as she grumbled about his too many layers and he chuckled. 

“Please, Solas. I want all of you,” she begged breathlessly, only for him to shake his head and smile. 

“Not tonight, vhenan. Tonight, let me take care of you,” his hands moving along her thighs as his lips moved along her neck.

“Please, my love,” she pleaded, wishing for the first time that he had hair simply so that it would be easier to direct his mouth back to hers as his lips and teeth found the peak of her breast. A rumbling of approval pushed up from his chest as those long, deft fingers found the apex of her thighs, finding her more than ready for him, as if he hadn’t already known. Writhing against him, she gasped and pleaded and he just kissed her again and again and again. 

Twelve years. 

Twelve years she had been craving this. 

Twelve years of desperation and need and so much love came boiling up as she found new strength and pushed him back, relishing the small gasp of surprise that she quickly swallowed as she swung her leg over his middle and pinned him beneath her.

“Please, vhenan,” she pleaded, sitting up, her skin heating as his eyes swept over her body and he swallowed hard. 

“Vhenan,” the word was a prayer on his lips. For a man who hated the idea of anyone praying to, or worshiping him, he certainly had no qualms about worshiping her. She shivered as his hands trailed up her arms to the back of her neck, where he tangled his fingers in her long blonde hair and pulled her back to him with a moan that reverberated down her spine. Her hands slid down to the ties on his pants, and once again, he stopped her as she whined, earning a soft chuckle and a kiss. “No, vhenan.”

Ellara huffed and collapsed beside him, quick to wind her good arm around him as she mumbled into his shoulder, “You are a cruel god, vhenan.”

Solas erupted in laughter, lifting himself on one arm as he ran a hand down the length of her body in appreciation, “I am not a god, my love. Only a man who wishes to be whole when he finally has you. When I finally take you, I want to be healed. I do not want your memories of that moment to be filled with dried blood and bruises,” He kissed her then, soft and slow as she groaned. “You deserve that much, vhenan. You have already given me so much.”

She sighed, her green eyes shining with playful amusement as she pressed herself closer to him, “Sweet talker.”

He wrapped a warm, thick blanket around them both, and showered her face in soft kisses as he whispered soft promises of the life that they would have together now that they were together again. 

Before she drifted off to sleep, she murmured, “Ir tel’him. Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

And if the way his heartbeat skipped beneath her ear was any indication, she did not need him to speak the words back to her for her to be certain that he felt the same.

Ellara had slept in the ten years since she had last seen Solas, certainly. But never, in that time, had she slept quite so well, or so deeply. Only waking once when she felt movement beside her, and when she reached towards that movement, found the bed empty beside her. Ellara’s eyes flew open and she sat up quickly with a gasp, her hands reaching wildly for him.

“Solas?!” she called, panic settling into her veins, until she saw him standing by the fire. He looked up at her, and immediately moved back to her side, not even wincing when she wrapped her fingers around his wrist just a little too tightly. 

“Ir abelas, vhenan. I did not mean to wake you,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. “You were shivering. I just went to stoke the fire.”

Ellara shook her head and pulled him back to her. “If you wish to warm me, hold me closer. Do not leave me. Not again.”

Sorrow filled his violet eyes as he lay back down, pulling her tightly to him, “Ir abelas. Never again.”

The relief that poured from her lungs in the form of a sigh as he pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her could not stop the tears that she tried to hide from him as chants of “ir abelas” were murmured into her ear. 

“Tel’abelas, vhenan. But please, stay where I can reach you–feel you? For now, at least?” she asked softly. The fear that he would disappear again would fade with time, she knew. After all, here, where could he go that she could not find him? 

“Oh, vhenan,” he replied mournfully. “I am sorry for what I have done to you. I swear to you I will never be far from you again.”

She cupped his cheek with her good hand, her thumb running along the edge of one of the bruises marring his beautiful face, “Vhenan, I will not be one of your regrets. This guilt that you feel, release it. Please. If not for yourself, then for me.”

Solas sighed, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again and smiling half-heartedly. “I will try, vhenan. For you.”

And when he kissed her again, she knew that, for once, he was telling the whole truth. 

Their first few weeks in the Fade were much the same, with Solas still struggling to meet her gaze during the day, and at night ravishing her until she was breathless and begging for him to take her, only for him to curl around her and sleep. 

Ellara knew that he struggled with forgiving himself, and so all she could do was prove to him that she had already forgiven him, and that he was worthy of that forgiveness.

So, she spent her days growing flowers in his Fade prison. Flowers, and trees, and a lake. Turning his prison of regrets into a beautiful landscape where he could not escape her love no matter where he turned. At times, she began to feel his frustration leaking through; his anger with himself, and with her for loving him despite everything. But then he would find her, sitting beneath a tree, overlooking what he saw as a cage and she saw as paradise, and she would feel all of that anger and frustration melt away as he watched her. 

“I cannot tell if you take to the Fade, or if the Fade takes to you,” he chuckled one afternoon as he approached her from the small cabin that they had built together. 

Ellara smiled and held her hand out to him, quickly wrapping his arm around her, and resting her head on his shoulder after he had sunk into the grass beside her. “I think it’s a mixture of both. The magic of the Fade likes you,” she laughed, “and I think somehow, that magic knows how I feel about you. And then, of course, I have such a wonderful teacher.”

He laughed and pushed her back into the grass, kissing her softly, “It helps that you are such a fantastic student.”

She grinned and kissed him again, her good hand reaching up to run through the soft, short brown hair that had begun sprouting from his scalp not long after their arrival. He had been so awkward about it at first, saying several times that once they had finished setting up their new home, he would “clean it up.” Until, that is, Ellara informed him that she thought it was cute, and watched as the back of his neck turned pink and he refused to face her for several minutes. From that moment, he had apparently decided that allowing his hair to grow would not be such a bad thing after all. It was just another part of him healing.

She moved her fingers to his brow and gently traced the small scar there with a soft frown. “Morrigan told me you used to wear Mythal’s vallaslin.”

“I…yes,” he replied, his first instinct to deny being overruled by their weeks of re-training his mind and mouth to speak the whole truth the first time he was asked a question, or she sought his confirmation. Gently, he pushed her to lay back before he shifted down her body so that he could lay with his head on her stomach, his arms tight around her as he asked softly, “Does that change your opinion of me?”

“No,” she assured him. “Of course not. I only bring it up because it is a story you have not shared with me.” When her words were met with a heavy sigh, she laughed and ran her hand along his now-healed face. “I’m not demanding that you share it now. Only bringing it up so that you could consider trusting me with it one day.”

He squeezed her body tightly and closed his eyes as he nestled closer to her. “It’s not that I do not trust you, vhenan. It is just…a time in my life that I have nearly forgotten. Perhaps a time best forgotten.”

She hummed softly, and ran her fingers down his face, past his neck to his strong shoulders, smiling at the way his muscles shivered in response to her light touch. “You don’t have to say anything. But I don’t believe that any part of you should ever be forgotten.”

He lifted his head, his chen resting just above her belly button, “You say this as if you have forgotten all that I have done wrong to the world. All the ways that I have wronged you, vhenan.”

“I have not forgotten, my love. I have, however, forgiven you,” she sat up slowly, cupping his face in her hands. “You walk around this place as if I am made of glass, like you are afraid that I will fall to pieces if you are not careful with me. If that is how you see me, then you have forgotten much more of me than I would have ever believed.”

“You are the strongest woman I have ever known,” he replied honestly. “You faced down death on more than one occasion with nothing but your staff and your fierce heart. You were willing to help Cassandra and Leliana with the Breach, even after they accused you of creating it. You traveled through time to free the mages in Redcliffe from Alexius. You were willing to sacrifice yourself at Haven if it meant that the rest of us could escape Corypheus when the Red Templars attacked. I have watched you face down dragons, demons, and giants. You have never hesitated, never balked. I know your heart, vhenan. It is myself that I fear. I have hurt you, lied to you, betrayed you. And you still find it within yourself to forgive me–”

“It was never the lies or so-called betrayal that hurt me, Solas,” Ellara said. “It was you walking away from me. Twice. Once after Corypheus, and then again after you removed the Anchor.” He took a shaky breath as she forced him to confront the truth. “I did not care who or what you were. I mean, I did, of course I did, and I still do. But not anywhere near as much as I simply wanted to be near you. I couldn’t bear to hear your name for years after that last meeting. I would hear wolf howls, and wish that somehow, they were you. Nothing else was ever as important to me as being by your side once more.”

“You were the Inquisitor. You had responsibilities,” he insisted as he skirted around her actual point. “I was nothing but a distraction–”

She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her chest, over her heart and asked, “Is that what our love is? A distraction?”

All of the air rushed out of him as his features immediately softened, “No, vhenan. Our love–your love–is everything.”

“Then why do you insist on this ridiculous belief that I will regret my choice to be with you? When time and time again I have told you that all I wanted, throughout all of our years apart, was to feel your arms around me once more?” she asked, her voice so heartbreakingly soft that he could no longer hide his own tears.

“It is fear, vhenan. I am afraid. I am afraid that you will wake one morning, and realize that you have made a mistake and leave me here al–”

She cut him off with a kiss, searing in its intensity as she pulled him closer. “Never. Please, vhenan, let me ease your fear? Let me show you just how much I love you?”

“But that also terrifies me, vhenan,” he admitted shakily. “I am undeserving of the love you give me so freely–”

Ellara pressed her fingers to his lips, gentle but firm. “You do not get to decide if you are deserving of my love. I decide that. And I have judged you and found you more than worthy, vhenan. And for that, you will have all of me. And I will have all of you,” she smiled as he pursed his lips to kiss her fingers, his tears morphing from those of sadness, to those of gratitude. “If you will have me, of course?”

The sound that escaped his throat had every bone in her body vibrating in response as he lifted her in his arms and began walking them back towards the cabin while she laughed.

“What are you doing?”

“If I am to have you, it will not be in grass. It will be in a bed, bathed in candlelight, where you are warm and want for nothing,” he replied, a look of determination on his face.

She giggled and dragged her nose along the sensitive shell of his ear before whispering to him, “You could take me in the dirt, Solas. And I would be happy purely because I am with you.”

He shivered and picked up his pace, his hands on her body clutching as he carried her swiftly through the door that he quickly kicked shut. Not that it mattered, Ellara laughed silently. There was no one around to see them. To know all the ways that she was about to make this man her own.

Ever so gently, he laid her on their bed, his hands and lips instantly seeking out every inch of her skin that was bared to him as he slowly began to push her shirt up over her head. His breath caught and his eyes darkened as her breasts came into view, the sound making her toes curl as he leaned down to take one of her peaks between his lips and teeth. When she tried to sit up, he playfully pushed her back down, a small growl slipping past his lips as she panted, pleading, reaching for him even as he pinned her down. 

Before his fingers had even slid between her legs, she could feel herself trembling, her thighs quivering as he groaned in approval. She was so close she could barely stand it. And when he slid those long, pale fingers home she keened, her body arching into his touch, his thumb pressing against her sensitive bud as she came undone. But Solas does not stop there. 

No, her wicked Wolf was quick to slide down her body and engulf her overstimulated clit in his warm mouth as she cried out, begging him to take her. He moaned against her folds and she was soon tumbling over the edge again, screwing her eyes closed as she gasped for air. And when her eyes opened again, he was bare before her.

 Fucking finally.

There was a time, after traveling through the Frostback Basin, and meeting with the Avvar, that Ellara, with Varric, Dorian, and Iron Bull in tow, had returned to Skyhold, only to be met with a feast that Josephine had kindly had the kitchens prepare for them. Ellara had been so hungry and tired that she hadn’t known where to begin. She had spent roughly twenty minutes just staring at her overloaded plate as her stomach grumbled, and her mouth watered. 

Looking at Solas now, naked, with eyes darkened with lust as he stood before her, Ellara had that same feeling. Hungry, salivating, and so fucking needy. She swallowed hard, trying to hide just how desperate she was, and sat up, reaching for him.

He was hard and heavy and so warm in her hand she could scarcely breathe from the feel of him as he let out the most delicious noise she had ever heard. Gazing up at him, seeing those violet eyes close as his lips parted and knowing that she was the one making him react in that way as her hand moved along the length of him, had her blood singing. 

“I want you,” she breathed as she scooted back on the bed, taking his hand in hers and guiding him to lay above her. “All of you. Please, vhenan?”

“Yes,” he breathed as he settled between her legs, his hands gliding over her body as he rested at her entrance. And when he finally filled her, after twelve years of longing, she couldn’t help but wonder how she would ever want to feel anything else. If they were to be trapped forever in this prison turned paradise, why should she ever have to be without him inside of her? 

The thought was absurd, and somewhere in the Inquisitor’s mind, she did know that. But as he caught her lips in a hard, bruising kiss, and set a pace so slow she thought he had to be actively torturing her, she also knew that she had never felt so whole.

“Vhenan,” she moaned, breathlessly as he dragged his mouth from hers, down her neck. In ten years, she had found herself missing her left hand occasionally, but never more than this moment, as she dragged her right hand down his back and wished that she could feel him with her other hand as well. He was so warm, and the muscles in his back shivered delightfully beneath her fingertips as she clung to him. 

He moved at that ridiculously slow pace as he covered her in soft kisses, her heart pounding erratically in her chest as she begged for more–harder, faster, “Please, vhenan!”

But her pleas were ignored as he took his time building her up slowly until she was a panting, flushed mess beneath him. 

Solas lifted his head from her neck, and gazed down at her, and if there had been any air left in Ellara’s lungs, she would have felt it all rush out of her. 

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his pace gradually increasing with every second that he stared at her flushed face as she gasped, moaned, and writhed beneath him. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

“Ar lath ma!” Ellara cried as she felt the tension that had been building and building inside of her snap, her legs winding around his hips, pulling him impossibly close.

The pleased growl that slipped from his lips was nearly enough for her to reach her peak again as he relished in the way she fluttered around him, his hips moving faster and harder as she clung to him and desperately tried to re-inflate her lungs. And then it was her turn. 

She gathered all of her strength and rolled them, earning a startled grunt from Solas, quickly followed by a hissing moan as she took him to the hilt inside of her. Always conscious of her prosthetic hand, she used her right hand to prop herself up, shivering when he groaned appreciatively, reaching up to cup her breasts in his hands, as she began to ride him slow and steady. As soon as she was comfortable with the new position, she picked up speed, ensuring that he was fully hilted in her every time she brought her hips back down to meet his. It wasn’t long before he released one of her breasts to grip her hip so deliciously hard that she hoped his handprint would be bruised into her skin forever, and began to rise to meet her, his pale skin flushed a similar pink to hers.

Ellara stared deep into his violet eyes as she came again, her body collapsing on top of his, her arms on either side of his head as he groaned and caught one of her nipples in his mouth and chased his own release. 

She kissed him as she felt him meet that same peak that she met only moments before, quick to swallow every sound that spilled from him as his arms wound around her waist to keep her as pressed as tightly to him as he can manage. Their mouths moved in sync as he kissed her in that way that made her heart stutter, and her toes curl, and then he turned them so that she could settle into the soft mattress beside him. His fingers slid up into her hair as he held her close, peppering her face in soft, warm kisses as they both tried to catch their breath. 

When her body had calmed enough, Ellara opened her eyes and smiled, lightly tracing the sharp planes of his face with the very tips of her fingers. A sigh slipped from her lips as she leaned in to kiss his shoulder, “How dare you make me wait so long for this.”

Solas chuckled and nuzzled her nose with his own, “Was it worth the wait?”

Ellara groaned. It had been. Of course it had been. Every moment she had had with him since they entered the Fade together had been worth the agony of being without him for so long. She cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him gently before nodding and breathing out, “Yes.”

“Ir abelas, vhenan.”

She met his eyes once more and shook her head, “Stop apologizing to me, vhenan.”

“I have so much to apologize for–”

“No,” Ellara sighed, sitting up, and trying not to laugh as his eyes immediately slid to her breasts as she moved to hover above him. “I will not have you spend your days apologizing to me, when you have already more than made up for any hurt I felt from your absence.”

That mournful look that she had seen too many times since their reunion returned to his face but she was quick to stop more mutterings of “ir ableas,” leaning over him and kissing him deeply as she swung on leg over his middle, straddling him carefully. Her hand wrapped around him once more, and he groaned against her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair as she slowly stroked him back to hardness. When she took him back inside of her, she sighed contentedly, feeling whole once more.

“No more apologies, vhenan. Love me. That is all that I need from you,” she murmured, pressing light kisses to his throat and chest as she rocked back and forth atop him. “Love me, and never leave me again.”

“I…” he groaned and flipped them over once more, lifting one of her legs to wrap it around him so that he could reach deeper inside of her. “I can do that.”

Ellara was not new to sex. 

She was no Chantry sister before the Inquisition. 

There had been a young man, only a year or two older than her from a clan that Keeper Deshanna was close to, who had been her first in his aravel when they were meant to be tending the halla. Then the young Keeper from yet another clan, newly appointed and seeking a wife. Her father had hoped that he would ask for her hand, but Ellara had quietly insulted the man when he failed to satisfy her. He had left red faced with streams of curses spilling from his thin lips as he informed Keeper Deshanna and Ellara’s father that Ellara was beneath him. Of course, then there had been a Templar who she hadn’t known was a Templar, and who hadn’t known she was a mage until the deed was done. She had rather awkwardly excused herself from not only the tavern inn that she had met him in, but quickly exited the town and never spoke of the interaction again. And then there was the shemlen she had bedded the night before the Conclave, a man who lost his life in the blast. 

But none of them compared to the way that Solas felt against and inside of her.

Twelve years earlier, she had thought they were building up to exactly this, only for him to pull away from her and disappear. 

Finally having him, finally knowing exactly how he could make her feel, Ellara knew she would never let him go, ever again. 

As they lay beside each other after, she drew soft patterns on his chest as he curled around her, his eyes closed as he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. 

“I do not deserve you, vhenan,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to her skin.

Ellara sighed and stopped him gently, her green eyes soft and sad as she met his, wanting to argue with him again. But she stopped in her tracks and instead took his hand in hers, and pressed it to her chest, just above her heart. “Ask me what I think of you.”

He looked at her curiously, but she pushed him onward, “Really. Ask me.”

Solas sighed, and very reluctantly, and with much wincing, clearly fearing her answer, asked, “What do you think of me, vhenan?”

Ellara smiled warmly, and answered honestly, “I think that you are kind, and patient, and so, very, very wise. And I think that you are the best man that I have ever known.” He took a shuddering breath, and she pressed his hand harder against her skin. “Can you feel my heart?” she asked softly, waiting for him to nod. “Am I lying to you?”

“No, vhenan. You are not lying,” he relented. 

“Look at me, love,” she pleaded quietly, waiting for those soft violet eyes to meet hers once more before continuing. “You were a spirit of wisdom, corrupted from your purpose by someone you believed was your friend.” Solas opened his mouth, and she had no doubt he was about to argue that Mythal had been his friend, but she stopped him. “But when you were with the Inquisition, you were more yourself than you have been these past twelve years. Tell me if I am wrong.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly before winding his arms around her and pulling her into his chest, “You are not wrong.” He sighed heavily, his fingers trailing up and down her spine. “It was easy to be myself with you. You have a wisdom I had not seen in centuries, and I was drawn in by it. That and…” he smiled softly and kissed her brow, “the hope that you inspired in others. And in myself.”

“Your wisdom, and kindness are what drew me to you,” she smiled back. “That and the way you spoke. Every word sounded like poetry coming from your lips.” A small laugh escaped her, “I could never get enough of listening to you speak. I still can’t. Because I love you, vhenan. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. You deserve to be happy, Solas. Please, let me make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, vhenan,” he assured her, pressing kiss after kiss to her temples and forehead. “Happier than I have been since before I…”

“Before you had a body?” she asked softly. 

“Yes,” he replied.

“Would you return to it, if you could? To being a spirit?” 

“I do not know,” he answered honestly, his fingers trailing up her back, across her shoulder, and down her arm, and back again. “I don’t believe it is possible. And because of that, I stopped thinking about it a very long time ago,” his fingers stilled as he nudged her cheek gently with his nose, demanding her eyes meet his once again. “Besides, I would not wish to return to any form where I cannot feel you in my arms.”

Ellara smiled and kissed him softly, sighing happily as she clung tighter to him. “I would be very sad if I could not feel you any longer. But, I would be happy to see you be that happy,” she sighed. “You have been through so much, vhenan. Some things, I don’t even think you realize just how much they have impacted you. I want you here, with me, always. But more than anything, I want to see you happy. Not nervous, and ashamed as you are most days. But really, truly happy.”

Solas sat up, looking down at her with a heated gaze as he pulled the blankets from her body. He groaned appreciatively, and ran his hands from her calves up to her shoulders before tangling his fingers in her hair, and pulling her up to meet him in a passionate kiss. His skilled mouth moved against hers roughly and insistently until she was gasping for air. But he was not so quick to relinquish her, dropping hot, open mouthed kisses down her neck and along her collarbones before he pulled back and stared openly at her flushed and panting body.

“How could I be anything less than happy when you are before me, looking like that?” he breathed, leaning down again to nip at her throat. “You are my happiness, vhenan. And I want nothing more than to fill my days with visions of you.”

Ellara whimpered as his teeth scraped along her jaw, his hands holding her head in place so that she could not reciprocate. “No more apologies,” she gasped out. “You have already been forgiven. If ever you feel compelled to apologize, kiss me instead.”

He groaned and lifted his head to meet her gaze through half-lidded eyes. “Deal.”

The two spent the next several days never straying far from their bed. Each time either of them so much as considered wandering outside of the cabin, the other was there to pull them back. 

And for the first time since they had met, when Solas felt the pull to say “ir ableas” to her, he kissed her instead. That one small act distracting him from his guilt long enough for her to think of a topic that would pull him away from the dark corners of his own mind. 

Ellara cherished every kiss, understanding exactly how hard he was working to assuage a millennia of guilt. 

And when the day came, that he smiled easily, with no apprehension, she was elated. 

But the first time she noticed a crack in the wall of their prison, she couldn’t help the anxiety that settled into her gut. 

If they were free, how long would it be before he left her again?

And when the crack became too large to ignore, and he finally noticed it, she felt that fear ratchet up to an unbearable level. 

But Solas seemed unphased. Comfortable. Content. Happy.

It took her a few days to realize that he had no intention of leaving their “prison,” even if all the walls fell down. She even caught him staring at one of the “cracks” and pouring magic into it, as if to seal it back up. 

“You would stay here forever, wouldn’t you?” she asked him one night as they lay with their limbs tangled together amongst the sheets of their bed.

“With you? Of course,” he replied, pulling her closer to his warmth.

And when the walls of their prison came crashing down several years later, Ellara realized that Solas had finally let go of his regret. Of his guilt. 

They didn’t leave. 

Solas taught her more about the Fade than she ever could have hoped to learn, and Ellara taught him how to heal. They guided each other, hand in hand. 

When he felt ready, he led her to the parts of the Fade he always wanted to share with her. He showed her the war-torn remnants of battlefields, the ruins that once housed royalty, the places tied to the wars that he fought in–that he led the charge through. And at the end of each day, a conjured gondola returned them to their home, where they made love until they physically could not continue. 

Ellara was shocked when it was Vivienne that found them first, having walked through an Eluvian into the Fade with a group of students from the Circle in Val Royeaux for a practical lesson on the Crossroads. Ellara had always suspected that if one of their friends were to find them, it would be Dorian or Rook. 

But it was Vivienne who stared at her, shocked and frozen in place. She was older, with wrinkles around her eyes that were no longer avoidable with her expensively made potions and lotions, and Ellara wondered how much she had changed, how many years had passed, and if he too, looked different to her friend.

She didn’t get the chance to ask before Vivienne, the Ice Queen of Orlais, was melting, breaking down in tears as she abandoned the Circle mages she was with, to throw her arms around the Inquisitor while Solas watched from the door of their cabin. And when Ellara turns to beam at him, his smile is shadowed by some unknown emotion that sparks concern in Ellara’s very bones. 

He kept his distance from Vivienne. 

And Ellara rationalizes it with the thought that the two were never close. 

Vivienne filled Ellara in on everything happening in Orlais–her concerns never really expanding past the borders, but it was enough. She told her of Leliana and Chantry, and Celene and Brialla, and the current state of the Empire. She told her of the effort to rebuild after the Blight. 

But when Ellara asked about their friends, about their former companions, Vivienne hastily shared the news that Josephine had returned, once again, to Antiva and had helped the Crows rebuild the government after the Antaam invasion. Cullen had moved back to Kirkwall, and was not only helping Aveline and Hawke rebuild the city, but that they had built a monument to honor Varric–a statue of the dwarf holding a book in one hand, and Bianca propped up against his shoulder in the other, built just outside of the Hanged Man, where everyone could see. 

With the Seekers of Truth back up and running more efficiently, and with more checks and balances than ever before, Cassandra had returned to the Chantry, to Leliana’s side as the Right Hand of the Divine, something Ellara had been encouraging her to do in the years leading up to her reunion with Solas.

Dorian had ascended to the Archon of Tevinter, and had not only abolished slavery, but was actively punishing anyone caught having ties to the Venatori, or keeping slaves. Apparently, he had been a little too “gleeful” about ridding Tevinter of the magisters who had always been a thorn in the Imperium’s metaphorical side, and Maevaris had had to rein him in before he got himself assassinated. Ellara giggled at the thought, and then nearly collapsed in laughter when Vivienne added that Iron Bull and the Chargers had had to take up permanent residence in the Archon’s Palace because Bull’s nerves couldn’t take Dorian’s recklessness any more. 

Apparently, Krem and Dalish made a point of standing just outside the doors of the Palace during the day as a constant reminder that the former Tevinter soldier, and the elf were both not only welcome in Tevinter, but friends with the Archon himself. Something that they could not stop being smug about any time a magister, or soldier made their way into the palace. Bull, on the other hand, was never far from Dorian’s side, his greataxe in one hand, and a whetstone in the other. Any time a magister got a little too…snippity with the new Archon, the sound of the whetstone sharpening the edge of Bull’s axe would echo through the room. 

The thought of Bull silently threatening a roomful of magisters because they were rude to his lover was endearing, a little terrifying, and also, genuinely hilarious. 

When Ellara asked about the College of Enchanters, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as Vivienne begrudgingly admitted that the College was actually doing quite well. That Fiona and many of the other mages had survived Ghilan’nain’s Blight, and had spent the last fifteen years–fifteen years!–helping to clean up Southern Thedas. Both the College and the Circle had joined up at Skyhold–with Josephine’s help at the start, though she left them to their own devices after they managed to go more than a month without starting a civil war–and had been working with both Empress Celene and King Alistair to rebuild. 

Apparently, after much debate, and given the history of the Circle of Magi in Ferelden, Vivienne and the leaders of the College had agreed–with only a little gentle nudging from one Divine Victoria–to divide their efforts: the Circle focused on Orlais, and the College focused on Ferelden. That is, until Celene became jealous of the work that a handful of College mages were doing, and insisted on trading small batches of mages, which was more than fine with Alistair. He, his Queen (who had returned from the Deep Roads, cured of the Calling, and incredibly confused, as she had been unaware of anything happening on the surface), and Anora were able to find jobs around Redcliffe and Denerim that the College mages had been struggling with, but that were more in line with the abilities of the mages sent by the Circle. 

Vivienne almost even sounded proud of the collaboration between the two factions as she excitedly told Ellara about all of their accomplishments, and their goals for the future, both combined and separate. Though, of course, as was to be expected of Vivienne, there were still traces of disdain in her voice when she spoke of non-Circle mages; a fact that easily brought a small, amused smile to Ellara’s face.

Unfortunately, Vivienne lacked knowledge on where Sera, Thom and Cole had ended up, and what they were doing, but the small amount of information she was able to impart was more than enough for Ellara. And when her students eventually called her to come back to them, the two Inquisition mages hugged and Vivienne promised to return with Dorian or Cassandra or Morrigan sometime in the future. 

Ellara wiped away tears as she watched her friend go before wandering back to the cabin. Inside, Solas sat silently by the fire, a look of quiet contemplation on his face. 

She smiled, and slid onto his lap, earning the softest of smiles as he wrapped his arms around her, and rested his pointed, dimpled chin on her shoulder. 

“You look lost,” she observed quietly. 

“I am not lost,” he assured her, with a soft kiss to her ear. “I simply had not realized just how long we have been here. The Lady Vivienne’s arrival…”

“She looked so much older than when I last saw her. I believe if she let her hair grow, it would have a smattering of greys through it,” Ellara mused. “Of course, that is why she’ll never grow it. Can’t let anyone see any cracks in her perfect visage.”

“And yet, you have not aged a day.”

Ellara turned her face to look at him, her brow furrowed at the sincerity of his words. These were not the words of a man seeking to placate a lover. 

He…

He meant it. 

Looking at him now, Ellara could see that he did not look any older, but why would he? Her immortal lover who was once a spirit shouldn’t age. Should he?

“If you wanted to return to the world beyond the Veil, I would not fault you,” he said quietly, though his arms tightened around her. 

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh!

Guilt.

Strong, heady guilt filled the miniscule space between their bodies, pouring ruthlessly from his pores.

Horror flooded her nervous system as Ellara spun in his lap to straddle him, and cupped his face in her hands, forcing his violet eyes to meet her green ones. “Oh, my sweet spirit of Wisdom,” she murmured before peppering his face with soft, insistent kisses. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

“I saw your joy when you saw her. I’m certain if it had been Dorian, or Sera at our door, you would want to go with them,” Solas said sadly, though he closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her lips pressing softly against his skin.

A small giggle erupted from the Inquisitor, pulling his gaze as she tipped her head back and lost herself to her laughter. When she calmed, she kissed him again, “I’m sorry. I just imagined Sera arriving at our doorstep. She wouldn’t leave unless both of us went with her. The thought of two people she knows and loves living in the Fade…that would be far too elfy of a thought for her.”

Solas cracked a small smile. “I suppose it would be difficult for her to even be here in the Fade to begin with.”

Ellara nodded, “And Dorian knows better than anyone what it is like to be separated from the man he loves for a long time. Now that he and Iron Bull are reunited, I know for a fact that they would tear the world apart if it meant that they could stay together.” She stroked Solas’s cheek gently and added, “I know that I certainly feel that way about you.”

The wise elf pondered for a moment before nodding. “I would not want you to regret staying with me. Here. Forever.”

“Solas, if I regretted one moment of my time here with you, don’t you think the walls of this ‘prison’ would still be intact?”

The two looked around at what was once a gloomy prison. 

In place of stone hands reaching up from the abyss, there are grass hills and blue skies. This portion of the Fade had slowly connected to the rest of the Crossroads, and the ground had solidified. Flowers and trees bloomed easily around them, growing far faster here than they would in the waking world. 

As Solas’s eyes swept across the world around them, taking in how even their small cabin had grown and changed, adding a library for him and an alchemy lab for Ellara, things that neither of them had made themselves, but that the Fade had provided all on its own, he finally saw what their “prison” knew all along: Ellara wasn’t going anywhere. 

The Fade understood her intentions better than he did.

It had made a home for the two of them. One where he could be himself and still have her at his side. 

For the first time in a long time, Solas felt himself relax. 

He felt that knot of tension that had been in his gut since the moment he gave up his spirit form–the same one that had tightened when Mythal died, the one that had gnawed at him since he left Ellara standing alone in the aftermath of their final fight with Corypheus–loosen and ease.

“I love you, vhenan,” he murmured softly, pressing his forehead against her shoulder as he pulled her ever closer. 

“Ar lath ma vhenan,” Ellara replied, winding her arms around him and holding him tightly. 

The two held each other for a long time, simply basking in their closeness. 

Around them, the Fade continued to shift and change slowly, making their home more accessible for friends to come see them. 

When Ellara lay in Solas’s arms that night, her last thoughts before sleep took her, were that of the man holding her, of their life together, and of all the plans they had, the goals that they should achieve.

And, in that moment, feeling him relax against her as he drifted off to sleep, she knew happiness.