Archive of Our Own

8 years is a long time. More like 10, if she counts the time after Corypheus and before… The revelations. It might be nothing for an immortal, but for her limited life, a decade, a near decade, that is not nothing. When your body inevitably decays, inevitably loses itself and its abilities, even if you do survive the full allocated time, a full decade matters, a lot.

She has seen her best years gone, she has seen the time with a functional body gone, the time to create, to blossom, to be. She knows she still has time, she knows it. But it doesn't make the loss sting any less.

She could have done things anyway. She could have decided to forgo the state of the world, and just live her life mindlessly. She could have tried to assimilate in the human world more, get the education required to be taken a bit more seriously, maybe get a position. Get published.

Could she? Truly? In that world?

No, she couldn't have. The condition of elves, of mages, of women, had to be improved first.

And her body felt far too broken, and she felt far too tired to the depth of her her soul herself.

She could maybe have decided to settle somewhere, or file her edges a bit more to fit back into her clan, find someone else, make children. She could have done that, been happy, used her body's good years to procreate.

But she couldn't even tolerate to look at someone else. The thought of their lips on hers, their breath against her face, the touch of their foreign skin, of their smell, to feel the estranged angles of their bodies against hers… Pure repulsion shook her at the mere thought of it No. She couldn't have done that either.

Became a keeper? As intended? Manage to fit back in enough? Make them trust her enough?

She had seen, the defiance, the hesitance, the hands that extended toward her but never too far, never too close to her, coiled, ready to snap back. She had seen, the looks, the murmurs. The apparent reverence, lined with suspicion.

With "she have been in the outside. Lived with them. Mingled with them. Who knows what she did? What she thinks now?"

Their mythological enemy was an enemy, but it was theirs still. She, she had mingled with the ones on the outside, knowingly.

She herself wasn't certain she could really fit back as expected and needed. Her mother had levelled her with such a disappointed face, eyes sad and disapproving, when, one evening, the lights of the fire at the centre of the camp softly lighting them, hidden in between the aravels. "Maybe I could…" she had said, chancing a glance at her mother.

Never again had she mentioned it, or thought of it.

That left her as a shadow, wandering near her clan, a ghost on the edges of it.

She thought of returning to society, if her clan couldn't welcome her back, better go and make herself useful with the humans. There was something her title and old alliances could grant her, for sure. Friend of the divine, maybe she could…?

Or with Leliana, spy work wasn't her forte, but why not help organise?

Maybe in Tevinter, with Dorian. Of course nothing could be done outwardly, but from the shadows maybe…?

But she didn't want, to go back outside. Face her "friends".

She thought of all her options, trailing behind her clan in their travels. She watched the water of the lakes and river, limpid streams and glimmering ice, the grass turn green and yellow and disappear under snow. She watched all the reds and yellows of autumn, and the vivid pinks, yellows, reds, blues of spring. She followed in silence, contemplating her life and options.

Was it really going to change anything what she did? Was she really going to be the one to succeed where countless had failed? It had been thousands of years. Thousands of tries.

Maybe if she still had the inquisition, as it was, not what the chantry offered. But even then, even an organization like hers, had been so limited. Changing the ruler of Orlais had minimal impact in the end.

And what was done could be undone so easily. Thousands of years of history have the advantage of having seen, and tried, everything and hold all the lessons. Something in their world was so that thousands of years had held as it was.

Could she, broken, tired, alone, devalued, succeed ?

Maybe she should still try, the same way she had heard Hawke's lover was trying with Tevinter. Any lives she'd save would be saved.

Until the veil fell.

She sighed, her breath condensed in the air. The frosty grass crackled under her feet when she shifted. She stepped back, one last lingering glance to the expense of water, glimmering under the sun. Like a mirror, or a jewel. She felt the itch in her finger, the small ants under the skin, the prickle of frost at the tip.

Could she? Had it been long enough for her to try?

Deshana had warned her, she might never be able to practice again. Or not like before, never like before.

She wouldn't know without trying, but trying too early could jeopardize everything.

She turned back, finally, her hand limp at her side, the lake undulating softly.

She received a letter. Words such as "help" and "emergency" and "accident" hastily scratched onto the paper, stains and leaks everywhere. A tear?

Varric wouldn't have taken the risk to send such a letter, in such an unprotected way, if things weren't truly that dire. She sighed, grabbed some paper, ink and a feather, and penned a letter to Leliana. With code, and sent safely, thank you very much.

The answer -also coded and sent safely- wasn't that reassuring. But it was clear, that yes, something was going on, that yes she better go where she had been asked to.

So, go she did.

She lowered her eyes on the child. Face obscured by furs and her hair, so much already, she thought. They'd have something in common then.

They took the long road, the girl strapped to her chest, the hart going steady, sure footed on the mountain path and the snow. She pulled the furs up to her ears, scarf around her mouth and nose. It was slow progress, but progress nonetheless. They'd join the clan in maybe five or six days. Four, if the weather was nice. But this weather was a better option to hide, their tracks erased the moment the hart's feet left the ground.

The baby slept most of it, but sometimes she could feel her wiggle, and gurgle, her bright russet eyes turned up to her.

Luckily she could already eat mashed food or Ellana would be in some serious troubles right now. She didn't really think she'd end up bringing back a baby, she didn't bring halla milk with her. And it's not as if she could offer some herself.

They trekked calmly the first few days, the only noises the ones of the snow crunching, and the mountain echoing, avalanches far away, wild animals, and the wind, always the wind.

Like in Skyhold.

Albeit, without the thudding sound of an army behind and around, the clanking of a forge, and weapons drawn and hit, without the incessant chatter of people, the clinking of plates, noises of buzzing life that were all around whenever she turned.

Friends, servants, advisors, soldiers, everywhere. And Solas, his breath somewhere near her ear, shoulder slotted behind hers, his head at the right height to reach her ear with just a slight tilt, as he spoke of time past, his presence strong and steady at her side. His hand and arms brushing hers, elusive, just a turn, angling his body, and she followed. Just a spin to the side, a twist of the head and she followed. Their edges meeting to fit together better.

It felt like she could do everything, be everything, at this moment. Even with the smothering noises, and the pain in her hand, the pain in her chest, the ache of everything, the weight bowing her spine. She felt like, with his edges against hers, fitting together, she could do it all.

She settled against the hart, back to him, the low burning fire sputtering some sparks, but it was smothered enough that it wouldn't attract attention and would die soon enough.

She wasn't entirely certain they were followed, but the signs had been there that they weren't alone. And that this other presence definitely wasn't just composed of wild animals or wolves.

The hart had struggled on the rocky precarious ground of the higher mountain and small paths where it barely fit. But she trusted him, he had grown up in such grounds, he could handle it. What worried her, but in this vague way where she thought about it without the feeling truly reaching her, was about the altitude on such a young baby. They did it with their own children, so surely, this one would be fine? Or being half dwarf included something with altitude? Varric never suffered them, but then, he had spent decades on the surface. This child had only a few months in this world, but they all were on the surface too.

It wasn't as if they had a choice anyway.

The child rested in a cradle made of scarves and plaids, with some wood on the side to give it a semblance of structure and protect it from the wind, cloth spread on top to form a shelter. It was silent, owlish eyes blinking slowly.

The wind flung itself at her skin, a sting like a whip against her where it managed to pass through the gaps in her clothing. She shivered, she couldn't turn her back to the entrance, she had to keep watch, but there was only so much she could do to shield herself against the winter's mountain wind at night. The thing she called a fire vacillated, embers flying in the air.

She sighed. This was going to be a long night. With only her, this unwanted child, and the hart. But at least the cold and having to keep watch maybe would spare her from her thoughts.

When the wind showed no signs of weakening and even she with her furs and layers started to shiver, she grabbed the kid and took it against her chest. She rocked it softly, trying to bring warmth to her as much as herself. The hart exhaled forcefully through its nose, shifting at her back. It curled its head toward her. She spared him a brush of her fingers on the neck.

If only she still had access to her power like before, a base level warming spell for her, the baby and the hart wouldn't cost much or indent her mana so badly.

Instead she tightened her grip on the fur, dropping her chin to her chest, on top of the child's head.

A very long night.

Every howl, every crack or creak or tumble made her jump, eyes flying open, tightening her grip. The hart was deeply asleep, her only reassurance every time. Until it too started to nervously twitch. And maybe, it was her fault. They were sensitive animals, herd animals. It could have a certain confidence, despite her, in its own perception. But he too, after a while, would foil to her anxiety.

The child, lethargic against her, didn't even stir with her no matter how many times she flinched or jumped in surprise.

What was she thinking? She had no means of defence, no efficient ones, if she was outnumbered by even two or one. No ways to properly protect the child, or even herself. She had never been the best hand to hand, or weapon, combatant. Some clumsy base movements didn't really count. Certainly not as "defence" against hired killers. (No. "not killers" had said Varric. But they could be followed, they could be in danger. They might have to defend themselves.)

She gritted her teeth half against the cold, half against her growing anxiety. Her body was nearly numb, so cold, it felt like detached from her, heavy members to hurl like boulders at enemy. The thing was would she even manage to move them?

She shouldn't have stopped, it hadn't been the smartest move from her. They wouldn't get actual rest, and they made themselves particularly vulnerable. The cold seeping deep into the very marrow of their bones, the spaces in between the tissues, slowly replacing liquids and humors, might even make it all worst.

The great inquisitor, meeting her demise in a cavern in some mountain, rendering a service for someone calling themselves a friend, but like them all, she couldn't help the bitter churn in her throat seeing him, the "friend". But official sources would say 'friend'.

Would her body be found? When would it be found? Would Solas learn of it? Care?

Yes, he would. Not as deep as she hoped, but she knew him well enough to know he would care, if only because of his care for everything.

But would he mourn her?

And what would it be? The end of their story by her death in some mountain? Far away from him, far away from everything and everyone? An hollowed out twig, left crumpled there. She'd have accomplished nothing. Failed, even there, at helping a friend on a personal matter.

Which would solve said matter, she thought bitterly. What had those idiots thought, she cursed them in her mind, a real scowl breaking through on her frozen face.

Her fire was nearly non existent at this point, along with the moon it was enough to show shadows of trees and mountains, shapes moving outside. She tensed when she caught a suspicious one, ready to jump to her feet. If she was fast enough, perhaps, she could…

But who was she kidding. Her whole body sent a flare of pain, joints locked in position. She trembled, once, violently, teeth gritted in pain and effort, before having to collapse back down. The hart moved behind her in a way that sent another spike of fear through her. No, she forced herself to move, stick her shoulder to him, put her whole weight against him. She extended a covered elbow to press, do not move, it said. The animal rumbled and huffed but stayed put.

She wasn't a perfect being, it might be cruel of her to keep him there, but she couldn't handle the thought of being left alone with this stranger baby. She wanted to die with at least one of hers.

When her eyes started to close by themselves, too heavy, weight on her chest and her shoulders, energy spent in shaking and shivering, she heard a howl. Long, loud, resonant in the night, vibrating through her. Her body was suffused with warmth, and she caught some big hulking shape in the trees, strange reddish lights blinking.

But maybe she was hallucinating, with the cold.

She woke up, the hart woke up, the baby too. They all woke up, and stretched their limbs with winces and whimpers of pain. She had to stop several time, breath short, sweat pearling at her forehead and temple, her nape, down her back.

Finally after a while, she managed to move. The hart too. She fed herself, the hart, the baby, and on they went.

They continued their trek down the mountain unencumbered. Signs of potential human presence gone, and wolves howling every night.

Deshanna looked at the baby and her with a mixed of disappointment and pity, and something else that Ellana couldn't place, but actually rather didn't analyse too closely, for it looked too much like hope.

The baby was allowed to stay after numerous talks and concertations. Someone agreed to feed her some milk, take her as long as she was just a baby and a toddler. "But then, it'll be on you!" had she been warned.

Yes, she expected it. She shrugged, thanked the family, and left them to go regain her bed, her real bed. Ignoring the blazing looks on her back and whispers along her path.

She'd like to say her little trip in the mountain had her have some deep realization, some life changing revelation, or make some decisions finally.

It only made her worst, physically. And here goes half of her potential aspirations. She was weary, more than weary, absolutely exhausted to the bones. To the soul, if she still had that. Her pain just increased and increased and increased. Everything stiff, locked, and painful.

A few months after they acquired the baby, she received a message. "I found someone that can help you". She burnt it.

They could all burn and die for all she cared. What else did they want for her? Wasn't her whole person enough?

She received another, through a raven. She put it aside in a drawer of the little writing table she had in their aravel.

She was near the fire, helping stir one of the cauldrons. A shadow stretched near her. "Yes?" she said, after a long sigh.

A sheet of paper appeared in her vision, held to the side of her head. She graced it of a slight tilt and shift of her eyes and a "hm?" but nothing more.

"I have that for you. You should read it." said her mother before unceremoniously dropping the letter onto her side. The handle clanked when it hit the bottom and sides of the cauldron, but she caught the letter before it could fall to the ground. She glared at her mother's retreating form, receiving only a "what?" glance from over her shoulder.

With a sigh and some head shaking she turned it over, reading the sender. Her mouth twisted in a discontent grimace and she glanced up at her mother, a few meters away, engaged in discussion with some members — in appearance —.

Their eyes crossed, her mother gave a slight jerk of the chin, near imperceptible, toward the letter, eyebrow moving too. Ellana scowled but didn't turn, glaring at her. She'd do whatever she wanted with this damn letter.

She put it in a pocket, turning back to her cauldron stirring task, ignoring the weighty gaze of her mother on her back.

It happened again, one evening, members of the clan quietly speaking, washing off the grime of the day. Plates and spoons clanked as they were arranged and passed for the dinner. Some children still played, extending the day as long as they could.

She narrowly avoided such children that were running in between aravels. Someone shushed them but they only giggled and ran farther away, darting around the corner of another aravel. She shook her head fondly, watching them go.

She slowed as she reached the centre of the camp, the big fire casting as big shadows as it lit the people already gathered around it. It reached in between the aravels, the first trees of the woods, and far into the plains at their side. High into the sky too, surely. Could the fade enjoy its warmth too? Or only residue of it?

It was once she was settled, a bowl on her lap, listening to chatters and stories of her clan members that her mother bothered her again. She came to stand near her, again, and just handed her the little square thing with a "I have this for you". In the middle of the clan, with everyone gathered around it, she had no choice but take it with at most a clipped "thank you mother" and her infamous impassive face, then quickly hide it in her clothes.

Someone at her side elbowed her and leaned in, false pleasantries on his face "News from the outside eh?".

"Something like that" she said, before taking a spoonful of her soup, her eyes resolutely on the fire. The annoyance looked at her for a moment, before being pushed aside by someone else, some grumblings, that she didn't try to understand, accompanying it.

She saw him in her periphery, watch her still, but then someone came siting in between them, and she turned to another clan member to start a conversation about the baby — Ashann, she had to remember, Ashann she was named now —.

"Why are you doing that?" she demanded, back in their room in their aravel. She furiously unwind her scarf and coat, throwing them on the back of a chair.

"Da'len" said her mother.

"No! No 'Da'len' me. Why are you doing that?" she spun around to face her mother, out of clothes to take off.

"I am doing this for you. I have seen the letters."

"So what?" she whisper-roared, as low as she could. Aravel's walls weren't fragile, but they sure didn't have sound proofing.

"So I thought maybe you should stop hiding."

"I am not hiding, mother."

"I think you are. I think you are running away, and hiding. You are wasting away. You were supposed to take after me, now you can't do magic at all. Have you tried again?"

"I am not into inflicting pain onto myself."

"Sometimes some pain is necessary to progress."

"Stop treating me like a child!"

"I am not treating you like a child. But it seems you act like one. Only children refuse to act by fear, or cannot handle frustration or some pain."

"You have no idea what you are talking about!" she screamed.

They froze, listening to the outside for a moment. When nothing came, they spoke again in furious whispers. "Then tell me Ellana! I know you are suffering, and I am not asking you to become inquisitor again, or my first. But you are not living, you are wandering like a lost shell. I know things aren't easy but I don't understand why you leave yourself to suffer like that."

"Because I can't do more! I am doing all I can mamae. And I am sorry if it isn't enough for you!"

"I don't think that is true Ellana. You have a remarkable spirit, but you have always found a comfort in self deception I cannot understand."

"There's a lot you don't understand."

"Then help me. Tell me. I will listen."

"Really? Will you?"

She hadn't had nightmares of her sister in a very long while, despite everything that had happened. Losing her friends, losing Solas. And yet, not a hint of her sister's loss in her dreams.

Maybe it hadn't been of her doing, maybe he had tried, in his way, to spare her of this in addition to the rest. But then, why would he let it happen tonight, suddenly? Had he decided finally that she was fine? Had he too grown tired of her mopping and dragging herself around like a torn dirty child toy? Had he decided it was good, he could leave her be? That it was time for her to change and get back on?

Had he just grown tired of her?

She came back to her aravel, weary and tired and very dusty. Her mother was going to have a fit if she didn't take off her outer layers outside first. She was just so tired and achy; a long day of helping with the halla, gathering wood, laundry, sawing and sanding and cutting posts and planks and handles.

Besides, she only was there for a moment, she had to go back outside to finish helping on some menial tasks. Illa had damaged her gloves, and she had a spare one that she would never use again.

She took off her scarf and vest, hanging them over the back of a chair as she made her way to search for her gloves. Last time she caught sight of them they were somewhere around her desk… Or maybe near her bed?

Her gaze passed over the desk, searching for the garment : the paper strewn around, the books half haphazardly piled in precarious towers, notes flying everywhere, half drawn sketches, a ruler stuck out of a pile of drawing sheets. Ink, feathers, wax.

The drawer was shut, like all the others. Top right, nothing marks it as different — that is the goal after all —, filled to the brim with letters once you open it. Some real, some not. Chicken's scratch barely readable, code hidden in all of them.

But this one held unopened envelopes on top of unopened envelopes. Filled with words from all over Thedas, no doubts a lot of "I have a solution for you" or "I know a guy". Some "I have information about him". Everyone wanted her better, everyone wanted their inquisitor back.

She turned her head toward her bed, maybe her gloves were with her clean clothes on the other side of it.

"My friend,

You haven't answered any of my previous letters. I do not know if it's because you are angry with me, or tired of me. I would understand both, I can weight on people. Maybe you hate me, maybe you resent me. Everything is better than imagining that maybe, you just do not care about me… Or think I do not care about you.

How are you my friend? How is your arm going? Do you still struggle to breath? Are you still short of breath at any effort? Do you see better now? Does it still hurt? How is your shoulder?

Are your powers still inaccessible?

How are you feeling?

I am this close to brave the mud and the cold and the mountains to find you and ask you. The only thing holding me back is the fear of intruding and if you hold a smidgen of positive feelings left for me, to have them lost with it.

Although, my worry for your well-being is ever increasing, and soon, I fear it will supersede my worry of losing the possible remnants of your affection toward me.

I hope you are well, my friend.

Dorian,"

"Dorian,

I am fine. I do not have access to my powers. My arm is still missing. If you really want to be covered in dirt you can take a stroll in your city anytime."

Ashann started to form words, or attempted to. "Ha" she said, pointing to the hallas. "Ha!"

"Yes! That's it! Hallas", her adoptive mother encouraged her, face split into a gigantic smile, eyes bright and full of love and pride and wonder. She held the girl up, toward the animals. "That's a Halla, can you say it? Halla".

"Ha!" repeated Ashann "Ha!"

"Yes! Good! You're doing good!" her mother praised her. Lavishing reassurances and encouragements onto her and her slobbering and half pronounced words.

Ellana didn't remember herself at this age, but she did remember her sister and mother. The firm, not unkind, but firm, corrections of their mother. The insistence to get it right. The sober praise when they finally succeeded.

Deshanna had never been one for what she deemed unearned praise. She recognized effort, and encouraged it, but you'd never get even a "good" out of her before you actually did it, and did it well.

Ellana didn't know, what she would do herself, if she had a child. She would adapt to the other person, if they were too stern and stingy with their praises, she would give more. And if on the contrary he was the too praiseful one, she'd be the firm more restrained, parent. Or maybe she'd too, be too praiseful. Or too stern.

It didn't really matter, in the end. It's not as if she was going to have any children now.

It didn't sting too much, she had never not wanted them, but she also hadn't been that particularly wanting either. Her vague imaginations toward the end of their time together were more so fantasies brought on by emotions than real dreams and expectations.

Ashann laughed, high and piercing, her mother laughing with her.

Ellana looked away.

The girl grew, russet eyes, dark curls, a square jaw, and piercing eyes demanding the truth out of you. Round ears, and short height too.

For now it wasn't an issue. Despite their reluctance, the clan had finally welcomed her. Everyone so enamoured with the cute little girl.

But it would become one, eventually. Or the girl would have questions. Or simply a want to learn more of the other cultures. Maybe exposing her to them now could be nice.

But who could she contact? Not Varric, that was for sure. Harding? no. She didn't really make any contact at Kal Sharok that she could just hit with a "Hey I got a half dwarf kid with me, could you like let us visit a little? Tell her a few stories? Teach her the language?". Or maybe she could… but would they even accept?

Orzammar was out of the question, they'd never even consider her. It's not as if she had a lot of other choices.

She fished out a letter from Dagna and sent her an answer.

"I don't know if there's a lot we can do." told her Dagna, bent over her arm. She turned it again, needlessly looking at it. Another inspection wouldn't change what they had seen half an hour ago at the first inspection. She wasn't suitable for a lot of prosthetic. Anything requiring magic was out of the question, here. She could a better non magic one than what she had with the dalish, but that was it for now.

"It's fine. I did not expect much." she said.

Dagna stepped away, watching her with apologetic eyes, bitting her lips. "No, really, it's fine." she said.

As usual, the sleeve of her shirt sent painful flashes as it brushed over her skin. Burning tingles above and below the elbow, irradiating up her shoulder and side. Her chest seized, she tucked her chin to her chest, breathing through her teeth. It was fine, it was fine.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes." she lifted her head again, finishing to put her clothes back on. "Dagna", she said.

"Yes?"

"I have something to ask you."

"So?"

"A better prosthetic can be made, maybe."

Her mother nodded, not looking at her - not that she was looking too -.

She went to Nevarra, following Dorian's advice. "I know it might seem weird, but I am certain they can help you.".

Varric caught her at the harbour. In the middle of a crowd, the marine air strong, birds flying through the sky, in between ship's masts and mainsail. "Look who it is!" came his voice from her side.

"Varric." she said.

"Funny seeing you there. Are you taking a trip?"

"Coming back."

"Oh? Really? And where were you?"

"Have a good day Varric" she said. He stopped her before she could actually leave,only taking a step forward, rushing in with "wait, please". And she did.

"Yes?" she angled her head to look at him.

"We are friend" he said, quietly, assurance forced through, like his smile, but wavering in the hushedness.

"Ah. Our definition of friendship don't really align" she said, acerbic. But she took the step back.

His brows furrowed, the forced smile falling, "then why did you do it?"

"I am not heartless. I saw someone in need and I helped."

He nodded, eyes avoidant, he joined his hands in front of his chest, grabbing his fingers to press or pull at the knuckle.

"How… How is she?" she didn't know if he was even aware he was wringing his hands.

"Fine."

He turned hopeful eyes toward her "really?".

"Yes." She looked around for a moment, all the people, walking, chatting, waiting. The families, on their way to the market, or catch a ship. Merchants, guards, craftsmen, all sorts of people. She saw a few elves, head low, scurrying in the middle of the humans and dwarves there.

"She," she started, angling her head toward him again, but her eyes still away, a boat with an unwound mainsail, mast standing tall in the blue sky, "she has started to speak. She likes the hallas a lot. Her first words were mamae, papae and her brother's name, or a version of it, but her next one was "Ha". For Hallas. We are still trying to get her to say the full word.".

A noise came out of Varric, she pressed a tissue against his sleeve. His fingers pressed hers for a second in passing.

"She likes honey a lot. And flowers. And pumpkin soup. Not the easiest to find, but we can do. She laughs a lot, and is happy. We are taking care of her."

"Yes" he said, a little strangled.

"I thought it might be a good idea to expose her to dwarven culture. Teach her about her heritage, at least."

He scoffed, but without great conviction. "The dalish and heritage…"

She only hummed as a response.

"Not the human side?" he asked.

She turned to him, fully "I am sorry, but I am not perfect. That is a bit too much to ask for."

He held her gaze for a moment, then finally dropped it. "Thank you for taking her in".

"You're welcome."

Deh'ron called for her attention, waving at the edge of the crowd. She nodded to him.

"I have to go. Nice to see you Varric. I wish you the best." She saluted with a bow of her head.

He only gave a short bow back with a low "goodbye", looking at her from the side.

She left him, she was done here.

"And so" Deshanna affected a deeper voice, miming the movements as she spoke "Our heroine drew her sword and jumped, cutting through the arrow destined for her young lord. She rose from the ground, proud and satisfied, and turned to her lord only to find him patting his head frantically, screaming in distress. She ran to him, sword in hand, her whole body thrumming with tension, muscled tensed, ready to defend her lord against any new attackers. She reached him, "My lord! Are you fine?" she asked "Did you get hurt?". She tried to look at his sides, his legs and arms, what if the arrow had struck after all? What if it was poisoned? But she saw no blood. So, she turned to him again. "My lord, please, tell me!" she asked again. His face frozen in horror, he turned to her slowly, took down his hands from his head and brought them to her, shaking and hesitant, mumbling under his breath, tears streaming down his face… But her eyes where on his head, for a long stripe of scalp was showing, all along his side, shaved away by the arrow's passing."

Ashann squealed and laughed, her mother behind her softly laughing and hugging the child. A few other children did too, some hidden against their parents in fear. One even looked close to tears.

Ellana chuckled under her breath, that story never failed.

She sighed, long and low, tension drawing away from her body. The fire cracked gently, its warm glow cast over all of them. Smiles and soft eyes, everyone in a joyful mood. Belly were fulls, fears cast away for a moment. Her jacket, slung over her shoulders, slid a little. She readjusted it, soon there'd be flowers and grass. And fruits, and nuts, and seeds.

Surprised exclamations came from the circle around the fire, then laughs. Little faces upturned toward Deshanna, all leaning forward with eagerness. A few adults were chatting in little groups, mugs of alcohol in their hands. But most were as hanging off Deshanna's words as the youngs. They all knew those stories by heart, and yet, they still sit there, gathered around, eyes shining and body thrumming with anticipation, ready to escape the world and share a moment.

She had missed this, terribly. More than the trees, the endless fields and mountains. More than the freedom, the fresh streams, the feel of the wood underneath her feet, the sound of the wheels and the sting of the wind as they crossed it. More than teaching about the stories, than studying those stories and preserving them. As much as sleeping at night, with her mother, and her sister when she was still alive. As helping the kids, or diverse clan members needing a hand or help.

Wicked grace and other games, sparing, talks after dinner, they had been diverting, they had been nice at time. Campfires in the forest or a field, achy and tired after a day of fighting or adventuring, listening to soldiers, her companions, scouts, various helpers and servant they had taken with them, all exchanging stories and drinks. That had came the closest… But as she sit in the middle of them, a smile on her face, painful, watching their faces with small noses with a divot and round ears, exchanging stories of their world, she'd felt poignantly alone.

Turning to Sera, or even Solas, or other elves' familiar faces had only been a temporary balm to her yearning. One that quiets the pain a while, but ultimately does not truly take it away.

With Solas though, they had… Something different.

Not just with him, of course. She had found new joy, new habits, with others. But none that could feel like those, the ones near her clan. The ones she could imagine herself live, again and again and again until her death.

And maybe it was the situation. Maybe it was because he was, ultimately, the closest to her home. Or the only one offering her a feeling similar enough.

The same way she was the only one to offer something like that for him, he was that for her. They'd forged a practical bond.

Yearning for your home, it's one of the strongest feelings. Of course, one could mistake it for love.

When she dreamt, that night, her sleep was fretful, the wolves howling again and again and again. She dreamt of him, of their time, of the balcony, of the evenings in question, of walking in nature, and cities. Looks exchanged, in the foreign world of the outlanders, set on familiar lands.

She dreamt of when he smiled, when he laughed. Of his eyes crinkling at the corner, of his lids lowering just so when he contemplated something that saddened him. The way his whole body drooped, as if sadness dragged him whole. As if everything in him, every little particles, his soul itself, was taken by the feeling.

The affection, the mirth, the playfulness in his gaze. The nudges and small sarcastic remarks to drag her attention away from watching the humans cities on their land. From the tedious discussions, or the landscapes of desolation. The self satisfied curl to his lips when he did managed to make her smile.

The wolves howled and howled and howled.

The warmth of his mind, of his body, of his heart.

Sharing knowledge and ideas, and encouragements. Listening to her speak of things he, self admittedly, did struggle to follow, at the heights she reached. The same way she did, at time, struggle to follow him. But then, he'd stop, turn around, take her hand and smile.

(Was she disappointing him now? Being so low to the ground?)

The wolves howled. She woke up with the razor blades of guilt in her mouth. Rage bubbling in her stomach, she screamed, throwing her prosthesis across the room. Reckless action, that she'd then pay for, but all she saw waking up, was the red. Red eyes, red blood, stark red, filling both her eyes, even the left one, and with the howls in her ears.

Fuck him. That bastard.

She dragged her achy body around the camp, frowning, throwing glares at her mother if she tried to look in her direction. She reached the eating area grabbing a bowl and spoon with one hand, she collapsed onto a log. She perched the bowl on her knees, lowering her head closer to it, and tried to eat without wasting too much food.

Her mother's eyes burned her back. Shame at her ears. But still, no matter how many spoonful of their clan's stew she put in her mouth, the guilt was there, sharp, iron tang coating her whole mouth.

She thought for a while, dread at her stomach, that her little episode undid what Nevarra had accomplished. When her side started to burn, her skin like peeling off from the inside. The phantom feelings of her powers blazing through her was eating at her. Her muscles tensed and for a while, her breath was cut short again. Everything so tense, and painful, pulling and tearing sensations running through her side, her bones, her organs feeling crushed and twisted too.

Black spots danced in her vision again, her left side falling in shadows.

She laid down on her bed, in the dark, ignoring all of her mother's attempts at conversation. Her lips were too tight, but she started sobbing, fear gripping her body. She couldn't move, or she wouldn't stop. Uncontrollable shaking and trembling, panic tearing through her.

And shame. Terrible shame. If she looked at her mother, at those so familiar green eyes, and she saw, the terrible disappointment, she felt as if she'd drowned in the shame. Taken, like by this avalanche, so long ago. Shame tumbling on her in masses of snow and rocks. Crushing her, as if she was barely a twig.

Ashann came to see her, gave her her plus toy, and her book of dwarven tales. The one they had read together, with the girl's mother, so many times before.

Maybe it was one of Ellana's vision, the ones of her mind, when she was so ill, but she'd sworn she heard her mother read it to her, one evening that she was so sick, plunged in the dark and searing pain tearing through her.

In the end, when she had to see Dagna again to replace her prosthetic, it turned out well.

Apparently, the help from Nevarra extended deeper than she thought… and they could do far more than they already did.

She wasn't an expert here, but when she mentioned the theory to Dorian, he answered her the faster he ever had, his excitement contagious even through the paper, sent from thousands of miles away.

That is, partially, how she ended up walking in the chantry.

Divine Victoria herself welcomed her when she entered the deeper, interior gardens. Standing tall, under the sun, dressed in full regalia. She both looked more imposing than before, and yet, so much smaller.

Where had the proud, hopeful, kind warrior gone?

Were the shoulders carrying the heavy dress and pads the same as before? Or had they shrunk so much under the attire?

She opened her arms, palms toward her, a smile illuminating her face. "Inquisitor, welcome!" she said warmly.

Ellana stopped a few steps away, she bowed her head, her forever impassive face on. "I bid you good morning, your excellency" she saluted.

"Rise. You do not need to observe protocol so much, you are the inquisitor, and a friend."

She bit her bitter smile back, plastering some cordial something as she nodded once, short and sharp. Their eyes met, Divine Victoria familiar russet stared at her, envy and curiosity barely hidden under a veneer or propriety. They darkened a moment, but cleared fast enough. Her craving to know more overcoming all, if Ellana had to take a guess.

"Now, why do I have the pleasure of your visit?"

She extended an arm in invitation as she started to walk toward the garden. Ellana followed, like the attendants that had been waiting near.

The divine quickly glanced at them, but finally turned back forward, simply walking.

"I will go to Nevarra for a while. I wondered if you wanted me to bring you something back from there."

"Something back? What did you have in mind that I could want?"

"I don't know. Food? Some particular craftsmanship." she saw a twitch at the corner of the divine's mouth in her peripheral vision "News of old friends, or family," she finished as if nothing happened.

The divine slowed, barely, for a second. "News of old friends?"

"Hmm. I imagine, not everyone feels comfortable sending tales of their casual daily lives to the divine, no? I don't know if you could even receive such letters."

"Indeed I would not."

"Then, you must terribly miss news of your friends and old acquaintances."

"Hm. Yes. Yes I do. I've been so long without them. Food, even craftsmanship as you call it, I can make them come. But my old friends I so dearly miss?"

"Ah. Not so easy." Ellana agreed. She gave a quick glance side, Cassandra's eyes meeting hers for a long second.

Not too long as to be seen by the attendants. They weren't so close, and, at least in appearance, their attention seemed more on the flowers and the sun and the clouds, or her appearance, than their exact conversation.

Let them look her feet and her leg wrappings, let them look at her clothes.

Her lips curled at the corner, the divine bowed her head a second before looking up, expression smoothing itself.

"I could bring that back to you. Whatever you wish for."

"And why would you do so inquisitor?"

"Aren't we friend?", she turned fully toward Cassandra, stopping their walk. Russet eyes met hers, the envy now eating at it, so full, so big, even her wonderful countenance couldn't fight it.

Ellana just blinked, The Divine searched her face for a second, looked down. "You can leave us" she commanded the attendants, with a dismissive wave of the hand where she held them in front of her.

The two women looked at each others, hesitant for a second. But they quickly turned it into bows and scurried away.

Cassandra turned her attention back to her. They simply stood there a moment, Cassandra searched her face again, desperately, if such a word was allowed to be used for the divine.

But hadn't she learnt it was useless? Hadn't one of her most infamous traits as an inquisitor been her constant unshaken unreadable stone face.

How she could just look at people and submit them without having to speak a word. People are good at tripping over themselves by themselves.

"Come" was all she said before leading Ellana further into the garden.

They stood in an area the divine must believe void of listeners or observers for the moment they stopped, she spun on her feet and bluntly asked "How is she?".

Ellana straightened, arms behind her back, jerking her chin up, and looked around, unaffected. "Ah. She is fine." she said, turning her gaze back to Cassandra slowly as she spoke.

"Well settled in the clan." She paused, watching the devouring want in the divine's eyes. "She likes seeing new places" she started, casual, then added, "We move a lot you know" nearly as if just an afterthought.

"You do?"

"Hmmm."

Her brows furrowed, just a little. "Is that… fine for a child?"

Ellana shrugged, "It's not really as if we have a choice you know…" she sighed dramatically.

"No. I suppose", she chanced a glance at Cassandra from the corner of her eyes, finding her with her head bowed low, a despondent expression on her face.

Could she truly be blamed for the fact her "friend" had apparently forgotten all of her mannerisms?

"Ah, but what could we do about it?"

"I don't know… I don't know…" she sighed, her shoulders dropping underneath her formidable uniform.

"Well," Ellana started, "I might have a few ideas. But I need to think on them for a little while… You know I like to consider every angles of a situation."

"Yes you do…" Cassandra sighed, eyes lost. Her head suddenly snapped up "Do you think your trip would be enough time for this?"

"Hmmm… It could be."

"Ah."

"I could tell you when I'll come back with news of your old friends?"

"You could…" her brows furrowed, her whole face twisting for a second. She lifted eyes to Ellana that had blades of guilt sprouting in her mouth, her stomach twisting, old emotions arose but were pushed out by the tentative hope she saw there, the desperation behind barely hidden. The fear. "Would you?"

"Yes. I will."

Nevarra this time isn't very pleasant. It takes time, and a lot of pain, but in the end, when Dagna and a smith specialized in prosthetics from Kal Sharok come in, it works.

She looks at her arm, translucent green spectral thing, with a small circular port at her arm, insides softly glowing, and moves it.

A few days later, she managed a spell for the first time in what have now been years.

Her mother barely hid her joy at watching her with her ghastly, moving appendage, and the sparks flying off her fingers. Bystanders also expressed their joy, and she ducked her head, embarrassed smile hidden in her scarf.

She bit down on the bitterness rising in her when her mother came to hug her.

"So, what will you do now?" Dah'ron asked her. His head rose and fell in her peripheral vision to the rhythm of his hops.

"I don't know. Am I supposed to do anything?"

"You got your powers back!" he cried excitedly. Hopping like that, he looked like an overgrown bird, with his big head, topped by dark curls, and branch thin willowy limbs flying around, his clothes billowing around him, only added to the whole impression.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I can use it a little again. That is not the same thing."

"But you will progress, you will get better again. And you have a functional arm now!"

"I am still learning to reuse it. I wouldn't call it functional."

He slowed down for a second "Will you become first again?"

"No, I don't think."

"Ah! Good! I mean…"

"I know what you mean, you have a right to be happy."

He nodded, ears and cheeks red, his eyes avoiding hers. Welcome silent walked with them for a few instants, only broken by his hopping and her steps, the chatters of the other clan members strewn around, walking in the forest.

"So… Will you leave?" he stopped, this time, fully. A little ahead of her, he turned slowly on his feet. His eyes rose to hers, tentative and timid, his whole face twisted in an apprehensive grimace, ready to fall at any hints of a positive answer.

She held in a sigh, she tried to soften her brows and eyes as she answered "I don't know. I-"

But he cut her, anxiety spiked in his voice "You don't have to, you know. You could stay here. You could still live with us, like right now. And, you know, I'm not that young anymore. I am maybe not an adult yet, but soon, very soon. And then, I will… I'll be able to provide, for you."

"Dah'ron" she tried.

"I can, I can take care of you. We can be bonded, we can… You can stay, I'll take care of you. You'll have a reason, something to do here and-"

"Dah'ron" she cut, her voice snapping through the air. "No" she said. The inquisitor voice jumped through her without her realization, just like that taking over and speaking through her. Firm, final, and suffering no counter argument.

"But- But- Is it because I'm too young? I'm not a child! I'm nearly an adult!"

"You are a child" the inquisitor continued "And even if you weren't, I would not love you."

"But I do!" he cried. " You don't need to love me, I can live with it, I can be happy and make you happy even if you don't".

"Dah'ron" she interrupted again, softer. "No" Ellana shook her head.

"I heard what happened" her mother told her whilst they were preparing for the evening's tales.

"Hmm. I think everyone did."

"You turned him down."

"Yes. Of course I did" she paused, twisted her upper body "you expected something else?"

"No. Of course not Ellana. He is a child."

"Yes, he is."

"But if he won't always be. Others, are not."

She gratified her of a vague "hmm" but didn't turn away from her task. She was certain she had seen the book not even two days ago!

" He have been in love with you a while. This was going to happen sooner or later."

"Hmm. I know." Under the pile of her technical drawings? But how did it end there?

"Would you have turned him down had he not been a child? Or if he were to ask again in a few years?"

"The lad needs to learn heartbreak, he'll find someone else."

"Maybe. But what if?"

She swallowed, her muscled banded to force herself to keep moving the papers around without a hitch, or a hint of slowing down. "Then I'll say no again."

"Will you?"

"Yes mother. I knew him as a child! You know how many years there are in between us!"

"There are others, without those disadvantages."

She stopped, the paper hitting the desk with a flap. "Why are you bothering me with that? I said no, I will still say no. Can you stop trying to push your own feelings and desires on me?"

"I am not forcing you to anything!"

"Yes you are!" she screamed, spinning on her feet, furor coursing through her. "You always do! You are never happy with me, always this or that. Can't you be content. I did what you wanted! I got my powers back and a better prosthetic? Why do you keep pushing?"

"Because I want better for you! You will not become a first, or even … Something in the human world."

"So what? I become a wife and have children?"

"No!"

"Then what, mother?"

"I want you to have a purpose, something to drive you! "

"Oh by Mythal, can't you let it be? Why should I absolutely need one?"

"You can't just wander aimlessly like that forever!"

"And why not?"

"Because that is not a life Ellana! I won't let you waste your life! I don't know why you're there like that, but I won't let you keep wasting yourself! I can accept that you won't become a keeper, I could even accept you leaving for the shem world for your…" she gestured toward her desk with the technical drawings, diverse calculations and borrowed - stolen - books of mathematics. "Studies. Or to use your influence to help people. But I can't let you do nothing!"

"It is my life!"

"And I am your mother! I care about what you are doing with it!"

"Oh, really? Really? Now you care about me?"

"I always had!"

"No! You cared for your successor and the clan! You cared we didn't embarrass you, and followed the rules, and walked in your footsteps! You care for me if I can be useful to you! Like everyone!" she screamed. Her throat protested, unused to the sustained strained, and the words scraping as they rushed by, a torrent pouring out of her that she found herself helpless to contain.

"What nonsense is that?!"

"That's not nonsense!" she cried, tears bursting out against herself, they filled her nose, her mouth, clogging up her throat.

It ended in sobs, a closed door with a bang, and her alone with only the moving silhouettes of the fire's light on the wall, murmurs of the people around it, reaching her through the heavy silence and her sobs.

They didn't speak for a long time, it wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last. Ellana dragged herself around camp, helping this or that member with whatever they required. The children took off a few of her afternoons for some forest explorations. And always when she came back, some twigs and moss in her hair or mud on her cheek, and a tentatively happy smile on her lips, she caught her mother's eyes in passing. Cool impenetrable green against cool impenetrable green.

The years passed. She visited the Divine, regularly, Dagna, Nevarra a few more times for her treatment. Kal Sharok, where, one day, she brought Ashann. The girl was delighted to see everything she had read about in front of her. Pointing this or that with joyful excited exclamations.

It took her a long time, but she slowly, painful letter by painful letter, rekindled her friendship with Josephine.

She even visited Dorian, sneering at Tevinter, internally, but when he asked after a dinner "I have a draft for a speech I can't figure out. And so many others for some bill propositions and motions and such, I'm totally drowning under work! I wondered, if maybe, you'd like to come help me? Your vision would surely help unclog my mind!"

How could she refuse?

So she started spending more and more time with him, not all in Minrathous. There was a memorable time in one of his secondary residence in the countryside.

Riding in the grand estate, as she contemplated the acres and acres of beautiful land, nearly untouched, it was nearly as if she could hear the cries and supplications of thousands of years ago.

(Was Arlathan, was Tevinter's countryside, truly so naturally red?)

But always, she came back, to drag herself around camp, helping who needed it, staring into space. Ghostly figure wandering around, absentmindedly running her fingers against bark and branches and leaves. Float in lakes, or slide on their icy surface. Walk through plains, and clearing, and hike perilous mountains. Always seemingly there and here, mind more there than here.

Her mother didn't stop her attempts, she answered, each fight followed by an escape, and something happening. Then again.

She wondered how long they would be able to continue this.

"You have been doing a lot" Cassandra remarked during one of their walks. "It is nice to see you rejoin society, participate actively. I know you have been in contact with Dorian, and Josephine."

"Ah?"

"You apparently also visited Kal Sharok a few times?"

"It's a nice place."

"I don't doubt it." She turned toward Ellana, forcing them to a halt, "Ellana, I am not trying to trap you. I am truly glad to see you be so active and engaged in life, with friends, that care about you."

She nodded, a cordial smile on her lips. "Yes."

The Divine advanced a hand, it hovered over her shoulder for a moment, the hesitance in her eyes unveiled for a moment. She touched her, finally, with a soft. "It is good. I am happy for you, truly. You have no idea how it have been to see you so hurt, and now, thriving again-".

She tensed, a jerk of her chin, a tic to the muscle of her cheek. The Divine stopped, her hand stayed on her shoulder but she did retreat, distance back in between them "More… Alive. And proactive, then."

She forced another pleasant smile. Cassandra pressed her shoulder, her eyes unveil one moment longer, apologetic, and understanding in a way that no one had been until now. Her smile shifted, a bit truer, a bit more real, a lot more sadder.

At one point, she answered Leliana too. Her stomach knotted itself over at least three time just the time it took her to open the first letter back after her answer allowing for… information.

It had been weird, how she hadn't felt anything really, agreeing to it. But now, as the letter unravelled, parchment paper crackling softly, letters appearing one after the other, in neat rows of words, her whole body trembled, insides quivering in both exaltation and terrible anxiety.

She tried to swallow it, breathe, relax. He had barely been there since Dah'ron declaration a few years ago, and the dispute with her mother. She saw him hover on the side, but nothing else.

She had cried so much, then. Her mother hadn't understood her sudden shift, from rightful anger to despair and all encompassing sadness. He had came, the first night, after the fight. And, she couldn't really tell, had it been her dream truly, had he participated, but after this dream, with hands on her waist and hips, feelings of a more angular body pressed against hers, the familiar feel of known lips on hers, nearly nothing. Well, absolutely nothing, for a while.

But maybe, as she was so desperately hanging on him, he hadn't been able to stay away so long. That, or it was a convenient way to spy. Make sure she wasn't going after him. That she was still hanging around, aimlessly wandering as this lost shadow. Convenient, for him, no? The great inquisitor reduced to a mere vagabond soul. Harmless.

Maybe it had been it from the start, and she had eaten herself over nothing about what he'd think of her purposeless straying.

Yet, her fingers shook badly as she held the letter and read it. Information poured in her, gliding and slithering in between the knots of her anxiety, only filling her with more tar of shame, guilt, and forbidden despair.

He was absent — of course he was, what did she expect? — but she heard howls, far away, they could be any wolves really, or her own imagination. But they were there, all night long, mournful howls that sounded a lot like crying.

The time passed. She kept going. Half smiles, and small half laughs under her breaths. Half words, and half truths, and half jokes, and half promises, and half bonds. Half nights and half days.

She watched from afar, her clan freer and happier with the changes the chantry allowed. Dorian, growing in his position and love. Ashann grew, ever happy and fulfilled. And Cassandra, with her sad smiles and whispered questions during garden walks. She watched people being comfortable, and people being happy, and people just living their lives.

She would like to say she found fulfilment elsewhere. Found happiness, purpose, her true calling or something. She'd like, to not be one of those fiction heroes, mooning over a lost lover. And maybe it wasn't that, maybe it was the threat to their lives and whole world. Maybe it was the dissatisfaction and unfulfilled - how i twas left. Find better words.- of how it ended. Things left in suspense. Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was her being left there, half filled, on the edge of something great, of something big. Left hanging there, she put her hand under the rope around her neck, held herself. She's not dead, but she's hanging.

So maybe, maybe it isn't so bad. Maybe she isn't truly one of those being that cannot be whole by themselves, maybe she isn't one of those that once deprived from their love just cannot be full ever again.

Or maybe she is. She isn't a half person. She isn't living a half life. But something is missing, something that was there, that could be great. That was great.

Solas said she changed his world, but he also changed hers. And now, world changed, she couldn't fit without him there with her. She was a/her whole piece, but the slot had been changed.