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The wind whipped against Ellana’s face, tendrils of hair falling from her tight bun flying about her head. Winter in the Frostbacks was cruel and unforgiving, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The sturdy apprentice armor that she still wore from her excursion to the Western Approach provided a great deal of insulation, especially since they were designed for Storm Coast weather, yet a different cold pierced through her. It made its way to her very heart, squeezing and stabbing with every beat. Clan Lavellan had perished and it was her fault.
Back when Solas had first let the Inquisition to Skyhold, high up in the heart of the Frostback Mountains, a letter had arrived from the southern Free Marches, begging for help from the Inquisition. They were aware that the Inquisitor was of their clan so Keeper Istimaethoriel herself sent word that a group of bandits had been attacking the encampment. The Dalish were a nomadic people, so they had tried to pick up everything and move to another location, but with the bandits, they couldn’t get very far. Naturally, Ellana jumped on the chance to help them. Clan Lavellan was her home, the people her family. Inquisition soldiers were sent to gather the elves and get them safely into the borders of the city of Wycome.
Another letter arrived, however, after Ellana had saved Crestwood from the undead. The Duke of Wycome had been killed for his mad efforts to kill Elvhen people, city elves and Dalish alike, but the terror was not over. The humans of the Free Marches had heard stories of elven savages from fleeing nobles and were retaliating, therefore carrying on the Duke’s legacy. Keeper Istimaethoriel begged the Inquisition for aid once more, saying they would be slaughtered if there was no interference.
Ellana feared for her clan, and for the city elves of Wycome, and wanted to go to the Marches herself, but Darkspawn attacks and Venatori warriors in the Western Approach called for her attention as well. In the end, Ellana chose to tackle the Approach with Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne, leaving Josephine to use her diplomatic connections to try to reason with the people of the Marches. In the days before leaving for the Approach, Josephine had scarcely left her office as she worked to cash in favors to save the Inquisitor’s clan.
Ellana and her companions had made their way quickly and effectively though the Western Approach, sealing Darkspawn tunnels, fighting off quillbacks and giant spiders, and even stumbling upon and stopping a Venatori group’s failed attempt at using time magic in the Still Ruins. By the time the four mages reached Skyhold that afternoon after their fairly successful trip, six weeks had passed and Ellana was eager to see if word had yet arrived from Wycome. The moment the group had come through the gates to the Inquisition’s keep and she saw her advisors waiting for her in the courtyard, she knew something was wrong.
Ellana was rushed into a meeting in the War Room where it was revealed through a letter from a Lady Volant of Wycome that a “tragic misunderstanding” had occurred and most of the elves had been slaughtered by Marcher soldiers. The nobility who now had complete control of Wycome had promised that reparations would be made after finding out the former Duke had been influencing the attacks with red lyrium, but that didn’t matter. The entirety of Clan Lavellan had perished in the carnage, leaving Ellana without a home and without a family. Without thinking, she immediately fled from the War Room, away from her concerned advisors, away from prying Orlesian nobles, away from anyone who might try to talk to her. She found herself at the top of the mage tower eventually, taking solace in the silence and the cold wind fluttering around her. There, she broke down for the first time since gaining her mark back at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
Hours passed and Ellana had sat herself in the corner closest to the outer edge of Skyhold so she could watch the snow drifts move around in the wind. The tears had stopped much earlier, but still her heart ached with grief and guilt. If only she had gone to Wycome first! Surely the Western Approach could have waited an extra two weeks…
The panel leading back into the mage tower was violently shoved open and a familiar face popped up, visibly relieved when his eyes set on Ellana curled up in the corner. Commander Cullen pulled himself to the roof, armor absent for once. Cautiously, Cullen approached the elf and gestured to the empty space near her.
“May I?” he inquired, not daring to take a seat without her permission, fearing she would run off again. Hesitantly, Ellana nodded, and Cullen took a seat next to her.
They sat together in silence for a few minutes after his arrival, both looking out at the vast expanse of the mountains around them. The sky was still stained green from the aftermath of the first Breach, casting an eerie green glow on the snow. Cullen absently noted that green of the sky was the same green as the Anchor on Ellana’s left hand. She claimed the mark didn’t hurt, but the Commander had seen her scowling at it enough times to know that wasn’t completely true, no matter how many times she assured them she was fine. Finally, her voice broke the silence, pulling him from his thoughts.
“I’m sorry I ran off earlier. It wasn’t very inquisitorial of me.”
Cullen shook his head quickly as he watched her with sad eyes. “You’ve no reason to apologize. We ambushed you with the news. The letter from Wycome arrived three weeks ago. We would have sent word but—“
“You didn’t want to distract me from the task at hand in the Approach. I understand,” she assured at his dejected look. “I would want me at my best as well.”
The Commander stayed silent, not quite wanting to admit to the selfishness of the advisors. Josephine had argued tooth and nail, telling them the Inquisitor had the right to know that the clan that raised her was dead, but he and Leliana outnumbered her. They feared she would try to run off to the Marches the moment she learned the news and, knowing her companions, they would have followed, leaving all sorts of unspeakable horrors left unattended in the Western Approach.
“Solas found me earlier, you know,” Ellana said, though it came out as more of a whimper. “He saw me come up here and after hearing the news himself, wanted to make sure I wouldn’t hurl myself from the tower.”
He flinched inwardly at the mention of Solas. Lately, he had been getting the impression that the apostate elf had a special interest in Ellana and it made Cullen all sorts of uneasy. “He…respects you a great deal, Inquisitor.”
Ellana scoffed and looked back out at the mountain, shaking her head. “I may hold Solas’s respect, but he cares not for my feelings. He stayed with me for at least an hour, telling more stories of his travels in the Fade to calm me, then told me he was sorry that I had lost my family, but felt no sorrow at the loss of such a large clan of Dalish elves as if that’s something you should say to someone who is grieving.” Hot tears once again began to fall down her face, running over her vallaslin and burning her chilled skin. “A few choice words sent him storming away.”
Cullen bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Not even a tragedy like this could keep her from being her crude, wonderful self. “I saw him when I passed through the rotunda earlier. He was positively fuming. What’d you say?”
She shrugged absently. “Elven curses, angry yelling… It probably wasn’t the best idea to anger an apostate, but he seems to like me well enough to not set me on fire.”
At this, Cullen chuckled, albeit rather quietly. “You seem to be in a brighter mood than before. Are you feeling any better?”
Ellana sighed and finally looked at the Commander. He looked so worried for her, with his sad eyes and hunched back. “Not really, no.”
The Commander frowned but didn’t speak. Solitude had been a great help for him after watching his fellow Templars die at Kinloch Hold and he had hoped it would help Ellana now, but evidently not. The situations had been wildly different, of course, with Cullen being left in a state of paranoia for many weeks after the event, but they had both lost people who were family to them. He had grown up with the Templars since age thirteen and they were his only family, and Ellana had been raised by the rest of her clan after her parents had been accidentally killed by hunters when she was eleven. But he supposed everyone coped differently.
“My clan is dead, Cullen,” she brokenly stated. He could see the tears fall more frequently while she spoke. “The people that raised me are dead and it’s my fault.” She held her hand up to silence him when he opened his mouth to argue. “No, it is. I chose to go to the Western Approach instead of save my clan. If I had been there, I could have reasoned with the Marchers. I’m the Inquisitor, they would have listened to me!”
“No, Inquisitor, they would have—“
“Creators, don’t tell me I’m innocent in this!” she barked, jumping to her feet. “It was my decision that led to their deaths! All of those lives, Dalish elves, city elves, they’re all on me! Their blood is on my hands!”
“Inquisitor—“ Cullen interrupted again, following her to his feet, but was once again cut off.
“Stop!” She ran her shaky hands over her face, trying to calm herself before saying something more she may live to regret. “I think I’ll go to my quarters.”
“Inquisitor, please—“
Ellana started off towards the panel down to the tower, trying not to stumble over her feet in her grief. “Thank you for the company, Commander. I shall see you at tomorrow’s meeting.”
Cullen, in a moment of panic, reached out and grabbed the Inquisitor’s hand, letting out an exasperated, “Ellana! Maker’s breath, listen to me!”
She spun around to face him, briefly angry at the touch, but mostly shocked that someone besides Solas had spoken to her in such a way. Everyone was usually to afraid to upset the Inquisitor. This, however, was not a great reaction for Cullen, who was expecting her to keep walking and had nothing else prepared to say. He dropped her hand and floundered for words for a split second before reciting the only thing that came to mind.
“Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”
Ellana stared at him for a moment after he finished the verse, lips pursed and brows drawn together. “Goodnight, Commander,” she said quietly, and gently took her hand from him, leaving him alone in the cold.