Chapter Text
The mark trembled and sparked. Pain laced up Ellana Lavellan's left arm as she struggled to control the energy that crackled erratically, loosing bolts of acid-green magic into the night.
"Watch it!" barked Cassandra, her voice thick with that Nevarran accent. She crossed her arms in disapproval.
"I'm not doing anything," Ellana gasped, panting from the exertion of keeping the mark subdued.
"Clearly, you are," the Seeker replied bluntly. "You need to get that thing under control."
Gritting her teeth, Ellana forced herself to speak calmly. "It's gathering too much energy. With every Rift we close, it gets more wild."
The Inquisition's investigations had led them deep into the Hinterlands, battling mages and templars; demons and bears. They had made camp near the Rebel Queen's Ravine among the dramatic basalt formations. About a month had passed since Ellana had stumbled out of the Fade and was found unconscious amid the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The world had fallen apart so quickly: the murder of the Divine, the Breach, the Rifts appearing everywhere, and now the brutal fighting between factions. And somehow she, a Dalish rogue from Clan Lavellan, had found herself at the center of the movement that could shape all of Thedas.
And the more Rifts she sealed, the harder it was to control her newfound power.
Another flash of the green magic illuminated the night; Ellana and her companions winced. She, Cassandra, and the surface dwarf Varric huddled around a blazing fire, warding off the Ferelden cold. Varric watched her struggle, unusually quiet and frowning with concern; Cassandra seemed more wary and was, Ellana suspected, still distrustful. They journeyed with another elf as well, an apostate called Solas. He was nowhere to be found, which was exactly how Ellana liked him.
"You'll have to tell Solas about this, Herald," Cassandra warned.
Ellana groaned. "No, no - I can manage. I just need some more time to get the hang of it."
"Time is exactly what we do not have," Cassandra said sharply. "Solas calmed the mark once before. Let him help you."
Ellana frowned down at her own shining palm as resentment bubbled up inside her. She'd never disliked another elf so much as the apostate Solas, with his cool detachment and arrogant dismissal of her Dalish identity. She made a point to avoid him as much as possible.
"If you don't tell him, I will," the Seeker continued stubbornly.
Passing her unmarked hand over her tired eyes, Ellana admitted defeat. "I'm sorry… you're right Cassandra. I'll ask him tomorrow, when he returns."
"The woman's got enough on her plate without your nagging, Seeker," Varric interjected slyly. Ellana suppressed a laugh; his pleasant, gravelly voice could always cheer her.
"I wasn't nagging!" protested Cassandra.
The two were still bickering when Ellana tucked into her bedroll and closed her eyes for the night.
***
The next day was successful yet exhausting, even by the Inquisiton's standards. The four of them managed to negotiate a deal with Horsemaster Dennett to procure horses for the Inquisition, and had helped him eliminate the possessed wolves near the farm. Ellana was wiping off the last of the oozing demon-slime from her daggers when Solas approached her, nondescript as ever in his tunic and simple armour, hands held loosely behind his back. Ellana nearly failed to notice him.
"Solas," she greeted him coldly, sheathing her blades with a satisfying hiss.
"What was it that you needed?" he asked politely, by way of greeting.
Their eyes met; Ellana felt the familiar prickle of annoyance. His face was schooled into it's usual benevolent mask, but there was something about the angle of his brow that made her feel as though she were being mocked.
"Excuse me?" she replied with all the ice she could muster.
She had the satisfaction of seeing uncertainty flash in his eyes.
"Cassandra mentioned that you needed my help. She was uncharacteristically vague with the specifics, but I assume it has something to do with your mark."
Ellana turned away to hide her exasperation. Beyond her annoyance that Cassandra had gotten to him first, this kind of comment was exactly why she disliked him so. Solas was always formal and polite - except when demeaning her culture - but it was his prideful confidence in his own superior intellect that really set her teeth on edge.
"Perhaps I was misinformed?" the apostate suggested when Ellana did not respond. He hesitated a moment longer, then turned to leave.
"Wait!" Ellana blurted out. She swallowed her pride and spoke. "It's - it's the mark. I'm having trouble controlling it. It keeps flaring up."
"I can understand how overwhelming this must feel for someone without magical training," replied Solas gently.
"It's just…" She flexed her fingers in frustration. "I dislike feeling… dangerous. Like I could hurt someone if for one second I'm not paying attention."
The apostate nodded. "Quite." He drummed his slender fingers against his staff thoughtfully for a moment. "I can tell you with certainty, Herald, that your mark is stable, for now at least. When we return to Haven, if you desire, I can instruct you to manipulate the Fade through meditation. Perhaps this will afford you greater control."
Lessons with Solas. Delightful.
With an effort, Ellana made her face as smooth and impassive as his. "Your help is appreciated, Solas."
He lifted his chin a fraction - that infuriating superiority - and wandered away, leaving Ellana to seethe in solitude.
***
Ellana had always known that she was not like other elves. Yes, she was slender and willowy as a sapling, but much shorter - she only had a few inches on Varric. Everyone in Clan Lavellan cut their hair short, for practical reasons, but she let her platinum tresses grow long and wild. Even her Vallaslin were different: everyone else had worn theirs proudly in dark ink; she'd chosen a colour so pale that the intricate design only shimmered on her cheekbones. She had unfortunately been mistaken for a flat-ear once or twice because if it.
Beyond appearances, the other elves in Clan Lavellan possessed a sort of dignity, a presence, that Ellana supposed came from their ancestral heritage. She herself possessed as much dignity as a frolicking fennec. While her clanmates were quiet and soft spoken, Ellana was quick to make her opinions known. Where her family was cautious and reserved, Ellana was spirited and passionate. "You must learn to subdue that fire, da'len," her Keeper remarked more than once, but Ellana had never given it much thought. She liked herself the way she was.
All the same, she missed her Clan. She missed sleeping all together in the aravel, she missed the watchfulness of the halla and the feeling of belonging. She missed being noticed for nothing but her impulsive ways, and not the mark on her hand or her pointed ears.
Unfortunately, the only other elf - excluding Sera, who hardly counted - did little to alleviate her homesickness. Solas seemed to irritate her a little more every day.
"It's as if he wants me to fail," Ellana grumbled to Sera and Varric later that evening as they relaxed in The Singing Maiden, drinks in hand. The tavern was busier than ever with the flood of refugees and agents that had been recruited to the Inquisition. Music filled the crowded room, warm and comfortable, as the dust motes danced within the sunset's glow. She found herself retreating here more and more since her frustrating magic lessons had begun.
"Screw him," said Sera with an indifferent shrug. "It's like I told you - his head's crammed up a thousand years ago."
With a sigh, Ellana set her tankard down on the wooden table. "I'd better go. I need to check in with Josephine before bed."
As she began to rise, Varric placed his big, warm hand on her arm.
"Listen for a second, Lucky," he said gently. Ellana settled back down.
"I know Chuckles is a little… different from most people. And yes, he knows everything about everything and that can be annoying as shit. But he's still here, and he's trying to help, just like the rest of us."
Sera snorted derisively but Varric ignored her.
"Just… try not to be too hard on him."
His expression was strangely serious, and a little too understanding. She felt, as she often did, that the dwarf was much more clever than he let on.
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Thanks, Varric."
"No problem," he replied before diving into another tale of the Champion of Kirkwall.
***
"You must empty yourself of emotion, Herald," said Solas sternly.
"I'm trying," Ellana hissed through gritted teeth.
The two of them were seated, eyes closed and face-to face, on the snow-dusted earth a little ways from Haven. The woods were quiet, all sounds blanketed by the fresh powder, and snowflakes drifted around peacefully. They were a picture of tranquility, but inside Ellana was burning with fury.
"You are not trying hard enough," he replied sharply. "You are in turmoil. You must still your mind."
"I'm finding that difficult at the moment, Solas," she spat.
"And I am finding it difficult," he shot back, "To understand why, with your propensity for focus, this is such a struggle."
Ellana exhaled, attempting to push away her frustration. "I am doing the best that I can," she snarled. Her hands shook in clenched fists; they'd been at it for an hour.
"You are in the process of familiarizing yourself with the rhythms of the Fade. For this to work, you must clear your mind of all emotion or demons will consume you." She heard him take a breath. "Try again."
"Creators, Solas, one day I'll give you a lesson in daggers and then we'll see who gets emotional."
The apostate did not reply, but his silence itself seemed smug. Fenedhis, could he wield daggers too?
"Try again," repeated Solas, and Ellana swore she could hear amusement in his voice.
To calm her thoughts, she drew her attention to physical sensations, as he'd taught her. The cold air that chilled her nose and lips with each breath, the icy hardness of the frozen ground, the whisper of leafless trees. She felt her racing heart slow in her chest.
"I'm ready," she murmured.
Numbly, as though from a great distance, she felt Solas' energies begin to guide her consciousness outwards. "Opening your mind to the Fade," he'd explained. Her body tingled strangely - or at least she thought it was her body, for her physicality seemed suddenly much less important.
Before the separation was completed, however, something changed in the physical world. An icy blast of snow buffeted Ellana's face, whipping through her hair, chilling her lashes. For a split second, her eyelids opened just a fraction, and she glimpsed Solas seated before her. And just like that, the emotion came rushing back.
The light had changed; the sun rapidly disappearing behind the Frostbacks, and in it's orange glow… Creators, he was beautiful. The sharp planes of his face were cast in stark relief, highlighting the severe tilt of his brow and the serenity of his closed eyes. As much as she disliked the man, she could not deny -
Solas opened his eyes. It was clear he was not pleased. "You almost had it," he sighed in frustration.
Ellana prickled with irritation, both with him and with herself, for losing control again. Without thinking, she blurted out, "Ir abelas, hahren."
She froze. It had been an automatic response. Solas' face held it's scholarly mask, but she thought she noticed his eyes widen, almost imperceptively.
"Tel'abelas, Da'len," he replied after a moment's silence. "Let's try again."