Chapter Text
Ellana is the eldest.
What exactly does that mean anyway? Not much in the way of things, she supposes, but enough. Enough to be resigned to whatever is the way of those things that just happen, and of course, it is only those things that she can do. It is this, and only this, that will fit her – sewing and sewing and –
She snatches her hand back when she pricks her fingers on a hat pin. I know better, she scolds herself, and tells herself to not even grimace at the pain for such a motion is for those who truly did not deserve the prick. What is a hat maker’s daughter doing with such a silly thought?
Glancing at her step-mother, instead of seeking comfort, Ellana wraps the offended finger up and hides it back in her work.
First is the day the youngest leaves them, and she is glad for her. She deserves no less, does she not? Because she is the youngest, and the young has the most potential. Ellana has no potential, because she is the eldest, and bound in life to be unsuccessful. No, she is morose where her sister is happy and pleasant conversation, full of vibrancy. She does not seem to want to go, no, but it’s because she is young yet and would rather stay with her sisters instead.
And so, Merrill is sent to the old Witch Wynne at the Circle of Magi so that she will learn magic with all her possessions packed into a single box and a handful of silvers to the carriage boy. She cries and clings as they get her on the carriage and her things, but once she is seated she sniffles and lets not one more tear drop from her eyes.
Father is gone, after all, and they must survive somehow.
Ellana supposes their Mother is smart, getting apprenticeships for each of them so that they would be cared for in the absence of their Father. He has only been two weeks buried, though, and it is disconcerting to think that she worries for money first. It is a very adult issue to think on, Ellana concludes, and vows not to judge her for her decision since she is the one who must make it. They, the children, would not even wonder about something like this.
The next is the middle child, beautiful to look at and charismatic, but more so studious. Not as many prospects because she is the middle child, but intelligent all the same. She accepts her fate as it is given to her easily enough, even as her eyes harden with the prospect of it. Knowing something that she did not, of course, as it always is between the three. Despite all of it, she uses a pillowcase to pile her things into, and slips the boy next door a few coppers to help her carry it to the bakery two blocks down.
Velanna turns and makes a small wave goodbye, jaw tight and set. Then she goes, and Ellana has no time to be sad really because Summer’s Day was soon to arrive.
She is to apprentice their Mother in the shop, making hats. But as a hat maker’s daughter, she has been making hats almost her entire life and she does not really need the apprenticeship, not really. The most that she must be taught is how to treat customers.
After the first few days, however, Mother does not allow Ellana on the sales floor and instead puts her in the back in order to have her make more hats. It is just as well, Ellana thinks, because she is the eldest and not as pretty as the others. She does not make as good of conversation as her sister Merrill might have and she certainly cannot charm them like her sister Velanna and so she is better suited to being in the back while Mother tends to the shop.
It continues like this for several days, as they get busier and busier the closer to Summer’s Day that it comes. Ellana takes up listening to the gossip around the sales floor through her curtains that she works behind and talks to the hats in the meantime.
Hawke has taken a lover, they say, a pretty elf of tan skin and iridescent tattoos all over his body that make him look deliciously dangerous. It is because of a particularly beautiful bonnet, they say, and it is the bonnet that her Mother makes her create five more of, and they sell almost immediately that day.
So, this is where she is now, in the middle of the night sewing by mage light in order to finish enough hats for tomorrow’s flock who will assuredly come in for the gossamer aquamarine wide-brimmed hat that Madame de Fer wore at the last meeting of the Council of Heralds. She is not on the Council, of course, but that has never mattered much really when it came to her. Not at all.
A lively pink and a warm ivory flower sewn over the bright yellow silk ribbon. Hunter’s green with a touch of purple and a spray of baby’s breath. Summer’s white with a nautical navy blue ribbon and a bright gold starfish. Pleated silk into the brim of an ivory bonnet, another one mushroom purple-brown-ivory, a mysterious color of beauty and timeless fashion.
“Someone wealthy will buy you and wear you to some outdoor affair,” she says to the mushroom colored bonnet. “Only wealthy people are happy wearing colors like this.”
It seems that the bonnet does not mind being talked to, having not moved or curled or bound. She takes it as good sign and picks up the next hat in order to start forming it around the base.
“You’re going to be a bowler cap, but I will use a lighter fabric than usual to make it dainty and pretty and beautiful.”
The Witch of the Wilds is talked about overmuch, she thinks, when ladies come into the shop and see each other, huddling into the corner to whisper. It is said that even speaking about her may summon her after all. She is a dreadfully jealous creature, they say, with unrivaled beauty and power, one of them to shapeshift into any form she desires. It is possible that you could be speaking to her right now and you would never know. Lying in wait for some minor offense that she could place a spell on you for.
It has been a long time since she has come out of the Wilds, however, and this has alarmed many. There is a war looming on the horizon with the Qunari taking up much space and the Chantry members complaining about people converting to the Qun, the Vicount commanding all of the mages from the entire Free Marches and asking them for defense. He has asked for the famed Wizard Fen’harel to join them, who has apparently not arrived.
The Vicount’s son has disappeared after some heavy disagreement, it seems, and it has been several months before he has returned. They had suspected he had converted himself, and the Chantry Mothers are more than ready to send the Templars after the Qunari. If only they could win. It is a futile effort, everyone knows that, so there is no use. Regardless, they try to intimidate, instigate a fight much further than it needs to be.
Well, that’s what is whispered, at least.
“It is what it is,” she says to the navy ribbon as she wraps it and carefully sews it down. “If I were him, I would not want to go to the Vicount either. He does not seem the most trustworthy of people.”
There is more gossip from the other side of the curtain, she hears, the writer that lives in the tavern in Darktown has begun writing a new book and it is as racy as the last. This time it is based off of the life of the Warden, but loosely.
“It is about time that Serah Varric began another story,” she says to the hat on the molding stand, smoothing her hands over the wet straw. “Though, have we not heard about the Warden enough?”
The days continue this way, and Ellana starts to talk more and more to the hats until she starts to think of herself as a complete, old hag. She doesn’t go outside and she doesn’t even talk to customers now, she does not even visit her sister Velanna. As much as she wants to she can’t get herself to go outside, and she finds more and more work to do in order to avoid it.
“I will go to visit my sister on Summer’s day,” she vows to the crêpe-y gauze hat in front of her as she sews flowers into its side. “Because I should – I can try to be a good sister, after all.”
When the head of the Guard comes and buys the Summer’s white and navy nautical hat, she smiles warmly at the other unfortunate soul. Aveline is a kind person, and she wishes her all the best, even though none of the hats truly fit her. She is too brawny and un-ladylike for these sorts of things, but Aveline picks and buys a hat anyway, and goes on her way with an awkwardness that Ellana only sees in herself, usually.
Perhaps she is an eldest sister, also.
So when the morning before Summer’s Day has arrived and women burst into the shop demanding the white and sea fairing hat, she is perplexed. They tell her that none other than Aveline has been swept away by a handsome beau, a man of perfect hair and perfect muscles. He is also in the City Guard, a particularly honorable one at that, and if that hat can fetch Aveline a beau as him that she is unworthy of, then could they fetch one even better?
At first Ellana bristles. Is it possible that Aveline’s personality was one of nobility? Perhaps it is what drew them together, and not the hat. But she says it to the next hat she makes, and not to the offending woman hovering at the edge of the store. She wishes the store attendant, Orana, would kick her out but she knows just how rude and bad for business that would be. And Mother isn’t here to care for it.
She should be back by now, shouldn’t she?
It is another thing that isn’t her business, really, because what she does is makes hats. And so she continues to work on making a duplicate, but alas since they are made by hand they are never exactly the same, not really anyway, and picky customers can often find the differences. And then she must say, in a practiced nice voice high and not at all pretty, “You don’t want to be a clone of everyone else now, do you? This one fits you much better than hers, don’t you think?”
This settles things enough, usually. The day moves along and she makes more white and navy hats with different anchors, starfish, and seashells as she has until she runs out.
Summer’s Day arrives. It is a fresh sort of day, and there is a festival outside. Instantly she regrets her decision to see her sister today, but Orana has the day off and she does not want to deal with selling hats herself. The sea of people is thick and it waves as if it is on the brink of a storm and it has her standing at the edge of her door for a long moment.
“Maybe if I run…” she says to the grey shawl she wraps about her shoulders, gripping it tightly to her neck. “It is only two blocks, I should be shamed, really. As the eldest sister.”
It is what she does, then, pressing herself against the walls of the shops and catching her breath from the claustrophobic binding of her chest.
A young man stops her halfway, while she was resting on a doorway, pretty and dressed shimmering from head to toe. “Would you like to go to the festival with me?” he asks, with a hand held out covered in a glittering white glove.
Flustered, Ellana shakes her head immediately, her grey dress and her grey shawl definitely not suited to being with this beautiful gentlemen - with his sharp cheekbones and perfectly manicured dreadlocks, his dark green cloak with golden patterns so intricate she could get lost in them.
“Will you allow me to at least accompany you to where you are going? You seem so afraid.”
“Oh no! It’s not far!” she shrieks, and in a billow of red-gold hair, runs away.
It takes longer than it should in order to get to the shop because of pushing through the throng of people, but she makes it, and finds her sister serving cakes over the counter.
“Velanna!” she calls, waving a hand over the crowd.
“Ellana!” Turning, her sister grabs someone close by and whispers to them, and they nod, grinning widely. “Sorry, I’m taking a break!” She says to one of the young men at the counter.
“But I want to be served by you, Velanna!”
“Let me see my sister,” she scolds, all friendly smiles. “It’s Summer’s Day after all!”
It takes some elbowing through the crowd, but she is able to drag Ellana under the counter and through to the back. She pulls a crate over, so that she is able to sit Ellana down, and takes down a sweet cake from the racks. “You’re going to need this. Sit!”
Ellana does as she is told, because it is what she does best. She is looking forward to the sweet cakes, after all, and thought before to buy her own.
“How are you, Ellana?” Fingers skimmed her knees, over the grey dress, as Velanna leaned forward. “There’s a lot of talk about the hat shop! It seems you’re doing very well!”
“Business has been busy, yes,” is all she can say, because she does not really know how well it is going save for how much work she has to do each night and how many hours of sleep she gets.
“You don’t know do you?”
“Know what?”
Velanna sighs.
“Look, look at me, can’t you tell? I’m not Velanna, I’m Merrill!”
There a bit of a gasp, and Ellana reels back with wide eyes and her sweet cake almost forgotten. Of course she is Velanna, however, because she is as pretty as she has ever been and the sweetest face and her – oh her eyes! They are green instead of the brown they shared. Merrill’s green eyes, the eyes of her step-mother.
“How – but – why –“
“You know that Velanna is better suited to learning! Mother only sent her here because she knew she would meet a lot of men and have a suitable marriage.” Her hands waved irritably. “I found a book in old Witch Wynne’s library that taught us the spell and I practiced for a few weeks. Then I asked her if I could come home. She thought I was homesick, most likely, because she’s a sweet old woman if not a little oblivious. Then Velanna went back in my place.”
“But what about you Merrill?”
“I love it here!” Her hands were speaking for her with an enthusiasm that wouldn’t come out of Velanna’s smooth reservation. “I have always been much better with my hands. She’s never thought to look at what we actually are good at, you know. And I know I have aptitude towards magic, but not like Velanna. I didn’t like studying much, you know.”
“Yes, but,” Ellana tries to interject, but Merrill’s voice bowls her over.
“Look at you! What are you wearing? Why have you taken so long to visit me?” She tugs this time at Ellana’s grey dress, and her grey shawl, and looks thoroughly appalled. “Besides, Ellana, she’s working you to death while she goes around having fun. The shop is doing exceptionally well, didn’t you know? She’s going to buy a mansion in High Town soon.”
Ellana mulls over it for a moment, her head lulling to one side. “She has been dealing with a lot lately, with Father’s death and the work of finding us jobs. Of course she would want to do something for herself.”
“Ellana –” Merrill practically snaps at her. “Do you even get a wage?”
“Well, no, I’m… an apprentice.”
“I get a wage, and I’m an apprentice, too.” She emphasizes, a finger poking her knee as she enunciates each word. “She’s making a fortune off of you, and spending it around town buying new dresses and hats from the more expensive shops in High Town and trying to find a new husband. And you don’t even get a wage, Ellie!”
The nickname was distinctly Merrill’s, making Ellana wilt. With a sigh, her head shook a bit, not exactly sure what to do with the information. She hadn’t really taken notice, but Mother rarely came home these days except to deliver the silks for the hats.
“You deserve more in life than just that stupid hat shop,” she finishes, finding Ellana’s hand even with her sticky sweet cake fingers that was somehow finished but she doesn’t remember eating it. “Really, Ellana. You deserve more than that.”
And then Merrill in Velanna’s body had to go back to work. Ellana returned to the hat shop, and even though they were closed for the night, she worked late by mage light to finish a few more before sleeping.
The next day when Mother arrived to deliver the silks, she asked her about a wage.
“Oh of course, I will sort everything out as soon as I balance the books,” with a smile and a hug and some reassurance. It left Ellana satisfied, and she went back to work with new gusto. Maybe Merrill and Velanna were wrong.
But then a week passed before Mother even came back to the shop, and she had never balanced the books in the first place, and Ellana had to revisit the thought and shake it away because the last thing that she wanted to think was that she was getting taken advantage of.
It would suit her though, would it not? The fruitless eldest.
Nevertheless, it begins to bother her, and changes her mood. Orana gets married and the shop is left to her alone, and she is not good with customers, no. So one day when someone brings back their hat and complains, she’s not very good with the response.
The dowdy woman holds one of the nautical hats, its white slightly darkened from whatever she was able to get it into and Ellana can tell immediately that she has not taken good care of it. “It has been two weeks and no man has noticed me in this hat! I want my money back!” she screeches.
And Ellana cannot hold her tongue – what comes out of her mouth is a frustrated jumble. “Maybe it’s not the hat but your face that prevents you from catching your fish,” her hands on her hips.
A gasp, as she raises her nose like the proper society that she is pretending to be, and covers her mouth with a gloved hand. In the summer. Who wears gloves in the summer? “How dare you speak to me that way! I am a paying customer!”
“You mean, a customer who ruins a beautiful hat and demands their money back like an insolent child. A hat will not make you more beautiful, or a better person at that,” she snaps, taking the hat from the woman and stuffing it into the trash.
“You’re refusing me a refund?” the woman exclaims.
“I am refusing you any kind of service. Kindly remove yourself from my shop and do not return.”
She huffs, turns on a high heel, and storms out of the shop with a series of curses. Ellana uses a foot to push the hat further into the trash and suddenly regrets the weight of her ill temper. A rude word, a customer lost, she knows.
But she is the eldest, and it is only customary that she would be the harsh one. All scratchy on the edges.
Of course, when she is in the worst mood she has probably ever been in, that is when her most important customer comes in. She is tall and sleek, in black from head to toe, red here and there and a large brimmed black hat over luxurious white hair. The man who steps in with her looks duly irritated, and she is sure he has a good reason for it since the air around this woman is no less than high maintenance.
“Show me your hats,” she says with a wave of her hand. No chit chat or preamble, at least.
Ellana employs the techniques her mother taught her, giving her the least suiting hat for her first, so once they find the right hat she will have a comparison, a moment of revelation. It is her job to know which hat that is the instant she walks into the store, of course, and Ellana already knows she has no hats at all to fit this woman.
It seems the woman knows this too.
After every hat in the store is placed on her head, the woman grouses, “How dare you pit your hat shop against mine when it is no where near?”
“I have done no such thing!” She had caught Ellana in the wrong mood, after all.
“You have, all over town.”
“Why would you come here –“ the pale, irritated man’s face becomes panicked, but she can’t stop the words anymore. “- when you knew you wouldn’t like anything?”
A sound of disbelief rumbles in the woman’s puffed up chest, as she looks down her nose at her. The wave of her hand, and Ellana knows something is wrong, a strange but slight sensation on her skin. “That will teach you!”
“You are… the Witch of the Wilds?” It is her time to have a disbelieving face, much in the same sort of anger as much as it is a refusal.
“Yes, dear, though I do prefer Flemeth.” With a sharp inhale, her chest inflates more. “You’ve landed into the wrong nest, little bird.” A bit of a warning, Ellana supposes, as she turns and walks out.
Though, what happened to her, she doesn’t know, because she doesn’t feel any different. Ellana begins to examine herself, hands rubbing down her face and finding wrinkles, hands holding up to her eyes and finding veins, and spots and dilapidated wrists and sagging skin. With a sigh she makes to the the mirror in the shop, and finds herself looking at a woman almost ninety years old, maybe, looking back at her with her own brown eyes.
Well, at least the body finally fits, she muses without much sadness at all.