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Nearly half a day passed, and he still wouldn’t wake up.
Ellana had spent most of it in a chair by his side, her eyes resting intently on the rise and fall of his chest, as if anticipating the moment it would finally still. In her mind she replayed over and over the moment he had stepped out of the opening rift, tall and regal and alive, only to collapse in a heap at her feet before they could utter a word between them. After hauling him back to the Lighthouse, she and Dorian had poured every bit of healing magic they knew of into him, not sure how to treat whatever could ail an ancient elf after spending weeks alone in a Fade prison. Emmrich was at even more of a loss, as this was not a case of simple revival. When it was clear they could not wake him, they resigned to waiting it out. “It’s not like he won’t pull through,” Dorian had said, trying to reassure and disarm at the same time. “He’s an Elven god. We know those aren’t easy to kill.”
They were in the master bedroom. She had insisted on staying to watch over him, and had declined the company of anyone else. This wasn’t how she had imagined their reunion would go, but she was determined to be present once he woke, even if with each passing hour her hope dwindled bit by bit.
Was it hope she felt, or dread? She tried not to think too hard about it.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and before she could answer the other Dalish elf she’d met briefly - Bellara, she thinks her name was - stepped in with a tray full of food and drink. At that moment she realized just how painfully empty her belly was, and she wondered how much time had passed.
“Everything okay here?” the elf near-whispered, setting the tray down gently on the nightstand, as if loud noises were even capable of disturbing him. “We figured you might be hungry, and that he’ll be, when he wakes up.” She nodded towards his silent figure. “Well… whenever he wakes up. I guess you can reheat his food with magic if it gets cold?”
“Thank you,” Ellana said, managing a grateful smile. The optimism she showed was endearing, even if Ellana did not share in it. “That was kind of you.”
“No problem. You must need a break at some point, either one of us can take over anytime.”
Ellana nodded, though she knew she wouldn’t take her up on it. “I appreciate it. I will let you know.”
“Alright,” Bellara replied, pausing for a moment where she stood to consider Solas’ form on the bed. She looked like she was figuring something out, like there was something she wanted to say or ask, but Ellana wouldn’t draw it out from her. Finally, as Bellara gave her a warm smile and turned to leave, Ellana looked at what she’d left on the nightstand and noticed something.
“Wait,” she said, as she picked up the teapot sitting on the tray and handed it out to her. “Take this back out.”
“Oh,” Bellara said. “Not a fan of tea?”
“He detests it.”
She seemed to process this for a moment, before taking the teapot from the other elf’s hands. “Funny, I found it in his cupboards. Wonder if he keeps it for guests, then.” There was a joking tone to her voice. As if The Dread Wolf entertains guests here. Ellana couldn’t bring herself to even crack a smile at that. Taking the hint, the other elf turned and left, the still full teapot in hand.
—
The food had indeed turned cold by the time Solas’ eyes finally opened.
Ellana incidentally had her back turned at that moment, having gotten up from her seat in her restlessness to browse the contents of the bookshelf opposite the bed. She didn’t even notice his eyes flutter open, then roam around the room as they adjusted to the light, before finally resting on the back of her head. She didn’t see the moment realization washed over his face, the way his mouth fell slightly open before closing again. She only heard his voice as it finally broke and uttered “Ellana.”
She turned swiftly towards the sound, and froze. For all that she had insisted on being here when he awoke, she was not prepared for the way her insides plummeted at meeting his gaze for the first time in nine years.
He looked like he had been through battle. The times she had patched him up after particularly tough fights with demons in the wilderness came to mind, the pure exhaustion evident then in his face and body as he would collapse on his bedroll by the fire, nothing left in him but a night’s rest. The power he’d gained since… she did not think she would see him like this again.
Finding command of her body, she placed the book she had been leafing through back on the shelf, before moving to sit next to him in the same chair she’d spent the last day in. His eyes followed her all the way, but he stayed silent.
“You look terrible,” she said, just now noticing how his eyes were a different color, brighter at the same time as they appeared heavy, tired. Or were his eyes always that color? There were dark circles underneath, and slight wrinkles over the bridge of his nose and across his forehead. The time that had passed seemed so visible on his face, and she wondered for a moment if he was aging, if he could age, or if she was simply seeing the weight of the burden he had carried for so long.
“You look beautiful,” he replied.
Her gaze shifted away and locked on to the tray still sitting untouched on the nightstand, as his eyes on her suddenly felt stifling. She took a slow and measured breath, weighing all the possible things she could say over in her mind, not prepared for what a comment like that did to her. Here, as he was finally before her, as she had imagined countless times over nearly a third of her life, her words failed her. She felt him watching, waiting for her response.
“You,” she began hesitantly, and rose from her seat, still not meeting his eyes. “You no doubt need a moment to get your bearings. I will let the others know you are awake, and you can join us when you are ready.”
As she turned away to leave she felt a sudden shift in movement from the bed, and a hand came up to grasp her wrist. “Ellana,” he spoke, voice barely a breath. “Don’t go.”
She looked down at the pale hand at her wrist. His grip wasn’t tight, she could easily shrug it off and walk on. Instead she swallowed hard and turned towards him, and before she could stop herself, she said the first thing that came to mind.
“I’ve searched for you, relentlessly, for over a decade, and you have eluded my every move. You would not once let me come close even when you invaded my dreams night after night. And now you wish to talk?”
It was unfair, and she knew it as she said it. He had sat half way up in the bed, leaning on his elbow, the other hand reaching for her. She could immediately see the pain her words inflicted behind his eyes. His grip pulled on her slightly, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted her close or because gravity was pulling his weakened muscles downwards. This clearly wasn’t the same man she met by the eluvian all those years ago, the godlike figure with newfound power who had spoken with such conviction about the path he had to walk, the wants he had to put aside. This was a man who doubted, defeated, who had failed one too many times to be so sure anymore.
“You searched for me all those years,” he began, almost pleading. “And now you would leave?”
She pulled her arm free easily and placed her hands at her waist. In her stance she towered over him - she needed to seem confident now, like she wasn’t almost crumbling inside at hearing his voice once again.
“What would you have me say? ‘I tried to stop you’? ‘Good job releasing the Evanuris’? ‘I thought you said you had plans’?” It wasn’t what she really wanted to say, but by now the anger built up in her was too much, and it was pouring out despite her best efforts to contain it. “Or how about, ‘Thank you for breaking my heart, only for your plans to fail anyway’?”
He sat up proper now, the discomfort visible on his face as he awkwardly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and faced her head on, hands resting at the side of his thighs as he looked up at her. The expression on his face was unchanged - pained, exhausted, remorseful. She had expected him to fire back, to bite with just as much venom as she was giving him, but the self righteousness she knew he had in him was simply absent.
“You are right to be angry,” he said. “I will not make excuses. I wish only…” he trailed off, looking away from her for a moment. It made her uneasy, seeing him so unsure of himself. His gaze met hers again. “For you to stay, for a little while.”
Well, that wasn’t what she expected. When she said nothing, he continued: “I know it has been years. I know I was the one to walk away. I am not asking any more of you than this. Once we walk out of that door, we will have to face what comes next.”
“We are facing it as we speak,” she said, and she still couldn’t shake the venom from her voice. “We can’t just ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“That isn’t what I’m doing,” he said. “If we are to work together against Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain, I would not have you distrust me so.”
“That is a lot to ask of me, Solas.”
“I know,” he said, looking away again, down between where his feet rested on the ground. “That is why I only ask for a few moments, for now.”
Considering this, she looked down at his bowed head and relaxed her arms at her sides. He looked… small, like this. Despite the power she knew lay within him, that would return in a moment once his body had fully recovered, he was still just a man, an elf, bowing his head at someone he once regarded as barely a person. Making a decision, she pulled the chair at the bedside towards herself, sitting down again opposite him. He raised his head to look at her again, a hint of relief in his eyes.
As she poured him a cup of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, he spoke. “What happened when you freed me?”
She handed him the cup. “You collapsed the moment you stepped out of the prison. You’ve been unconscious for almost a day.”
He didn’t drink, not immediately. He seemed to consider what she’d said carefully, as he stared into the surface of the water. “I see. I don’t remember it. Stepping back into this world must’ve shocked my senses.”
“You gave us a scare. We didn’t know if you’d wake up.”
“I apologize for making you worry,” he said, and finally took a sip. He glanced at her again over the brim of his cup, but looked away just as quickly. “I am, at any rate, grateful to you for helping me escape. It would’ve been easier to leave me there.”
This made her lean forward and reach out to make him meet her gaze. “That’s not true.”
Something seemed to change in his expression, a hint of warmth returning to his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. “I am being grim and fatalistic. Unchanged in that respect.”
The joke surprised her. For a moment the new warmth in him seemed to reach out and touch her, as she remembered the time she had accused him of the same thing. A shared moment of recollection. I’m still the same person, he seemed to say. I know what you must think. But I am still the man you knew.
She changed the subject, but pushed further. “Varric found your sketchbooks and gave them to me,” she began, leaning back and crossing one leg over another. “Said, ‘these probably shouldn’t be laying around for anyone else to find’.”
He put the cup back down, regarding her for a moment and clasping his hands in his lap. “I’ve had to become accustomed to others rifling through my private things. I suppose I should be grateful to him for that courtesy.”
“I suppose I should be too,” she said, holding his gaze firmly. “They were beautiful drawings. Lifelike.”
If he felt embarrassed at her having seen them or bringing them up, his face didn’t show it. “Time can pass slowly here.” A cryptic reply. Teasing?
She reached a hand forward and grasped his. She didn’t know why she expected it to feel cold, but she was nonetheless surprised by how warm it felt in hers. “If there is to be trust between us, I need you to start letting me in,” she said, determined. “I am here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was that look again. The small warmth, just barely flushing his cheeks. She allowed herself to treasure it, for now. “I know,” he said. “Thank you.”