Chapter Text
It has been three months, since the Exalted Council. Leiliana returned to the Chantry after the talks, as Dorian returned the same time to Minrathous. Cassandra left yesterday for the Anderfels. Cullen returned to Honnleath and Josephine to Antiva - a month and a half ago, each. Today Varric left for Kirkwall.
Two weeks ago, Cole left to travel with Maryden. Sera left nearly three - supposedly gallavanting through Ferelden. Vivienne is causing a raucous in Montsimmard, as she has been for the better part of two months. Blackwall is leaving tomorrow for Weishauppt.
Solas disappeared.
As I pen this, I'm lost somewhere in Wycome. So near to my clan's grounds, I've considered visiting. There is nothing for me, now. My clansmen are dead. And what of me? A bare-faced First with no one to guide. I hate him. I hate what he's done to me. What I've become.
Creators burn me, I still love him. I can't stop.
I received word from Leiliana two nights ago. How she found me, I'm unsure, but I'm thankful nonetheless.
Elves have begun disappearing. Slaves in Ventus, servants in Val Royauex and even flat-ears in Denerim's alienage. Entire clans have vanished. Something is happening. I have to get to Tevinter. His army is growing - I don't know how much time is left.
I saw him, four nights ago. In the Fade. I'm no somniari, but I somehow managed to find a foothold. A long forgotten memory of a young elvhen playing with her brother. The two wove through the verdant forests predating Wycome, embroiled in a game of some sort. The boy had a red ribbon tied loosely around his arm. The girl endeavored to snatch it free.
How long I watched, I'm not certain. A ripple through the memory was the only thing giving away his presence. He seemed surprised. Rather, I assume he was - I couldn't see him. It was as if he was close, but my vision was blurred. I knew he was there, just on the edge. Just out of sight.
As quickly as he'd come, he was gone.
Now I write by candle light - woke from a dream that left my lungs burning and my heart in my throat.
I'd fallen straight into the Fade. No. Not fallen. Pulled. I'd woken in a lush bed. Twice the size of the grossly oversized Orlesian one I'd had in Skyhold. Few pillows adorned the mattress and a thin sheet covered me.
At first, I'd been confused. Disoriented. A dream, I'd thought. I'd conjured myself a normal dream. I couldn't recall the last time I'd done that.
The room was large and circular. A glass dome top the ceiling. Large doors, reminiscent of those in my Skyhold bedroom, led out to a grand balcony. Even from the bed, I could see the blue of a sea and mountains, dotted with trees, jutting into the sky.
I was dressed in a thin, gossamer gown that fell to mid-thigh. Softer, than my shift, and twice as luxurious. Simple. My hair had tumbled around my shoulders in a mess of waves. I'd grown it out, since the Inquisition had drawn to a close. I had no need to keep it short for battle.
Books littered the tables and floor. Papers forgotten. A dirty quill and open inkwell brandished on a rogue table.
I endeavor to remember every detail. Every nuance. The salty air slipping into the room. The scent of the sheets that smelled of him. But, still, I cannot begin to understand how it took so long to notice him.
Lying in a pleasant sleep, face twisted with a would-be dream, was Solas. He was on his side. Shirtless, but the loose blanket barely covering him revealed he wore breeches. Pale and glimmering like my shift.
At first, I was convinced. I was delusional. Desperate. A demon of temptation or desire had invaded my dreams - offering me a gift a weaker woman would've taken. But I'd been tempted many times in the months after his departure. I'd long since grown used to handling such terrors - knowing boundaries. Never getting too close.
His eyes fluttered open. Their pale blue slipping up my form and locking with my own golden eyes. I was certain I looked as frightened as a Halla corned by a wolf. I suppose that's exactly what I was.
That was my first hint. The demons could never get his eyes right.
A smile had curved a corner of his lips. Elven had slurred from sleep-addled lips. That was what gave him away. His lithe fingers had curled in my hair, bringing me down to press his lips to mine in a chaste kiss.
I know I stopped breathing. I'm certain of it.
He'd rolled atop me. More elven whispered. The voice of the Well had easily translated them. Endearments. Sorrows. Laments. Love. Love. Love. I didn't need the voices to translate that.
I can still feel his hands on my skin. Hear the soft call of vhenan has his lips plied mine. Feel the heat of him against me. See the want in his eyes.
I'd been too afraid to speak. To spoil the moment. To let him know that he had slipped - that it was truly me. But I am selfish. And I am greedy. I let him believe in the fantasy.
We kissed and touched and sighed. His lips barely left mine. Now and then they traveled to my neck - never lower. Even in his fantasy, he would not allow himself more.
Selfish man.
A soft sigh. A whispered apology. Words said that he could not tell me in the waking. Words he never intended for me to hear.
I took it all. Never demanding more. Never willing myself to push the boundary. For, as relieved and happy and desperate as I was for the moment, I knew it would not last. But my memory would. The memory of this place and of the uncapped ink well and the ocean at dawn.
Fen'Harel's home.
When he was done, he willed the fantasy away. I slipped into the waking at the same moment, leaving him unawares.
My name is Ellana Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan and keeper of Fen'Harel's heart. On my life, I will find a way to save him from himself, or die trying. But now I have a secret not even he is aware of: I know where the Dread Wolf sleeps.