Chapter Text
The road leading up to the palace was quiet, winding through the snow-covered city as the hart pulled them steadily onward. The stars above glittered in the deep expanse of the night sky, their cold light illuminating the path ahead. The sled creaked softly behind them, laden with supplies from the journey, and the soft crunch of the hart’s hooves against the packed snow was the only sound accompanying their approach.
Ellana sat rigid in the saddle, the weight of the city pressing down on her with every step they took closer to the palace gates. Her chest felt tight, her breaths shallow as anxiety coiled in her stomach, twisting tighter with each turn of the road. The familiar spires of the palace rose ahead, their grandeur stark against the night, and the sight of them filled her with a sense of dread she couldn’t shake.
As if sensing her unease, Solas shifted behind her. His hand pressed lightly against her hip, the touch deliberate but fleeting, a quiet offer of comfort. She felt the warmth of his palm through the layers of her cloak, and though it couldn’t banish her anxiety, it steadied her enough to exhale softly. She leaned slightly into his touch, drawing what strength she could from the gesture.
The gates loomed before them, tall and imposing, their intricate patterns of silver and gold catching the faint starlight. The guards stationed at the entrance straightened at their arrival, their sharp eyes recognizing Solas and Ellana immediately. Without hesitation, they moved to open the gates, the massive doors groaning softly as they parted to admit them.
Ellana felt Solas sit up straighter behind her, his hand slipping away from her hip as his posture shifted back to one of practiced formality. She missed the touch immediately, the loss of its quiet reassurance leaving her chest feeling hollow. We are here. It begins again.
The hart moved forward, its pace unhurried as it pulled them into the palace grounds. The grand steps leading up to the entrance were illuminated by the soft glow of torches, their flickering light casting long shadows across the courtyard. Solas brought the hart to a stop at the base of the steps, his movements fluid and precise as he dismounted with practiced ease.
Ellana hesitated for a moment, her hands gripping the edges of the cloak tightly as she fought to steady herself. But then Solas was there, his hand extended toward her, his expression calm but distant. The faint traces of warmth she had seen during their journey were gone now, replaced by the mask of quiet authority he wore so well.
“Lady Ellana,” he said, his voice formal but tinged with a softness only she could hear. He helped her down from the hart, his grip steady as her boots touched the snow-dusted ground.
Her heart ached at the distance in his tone, but she nodded, her own mask falling into place as she straightened her posture. “Thank you, Prince Solas,” she replied, her voice composed despite the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.
Solas’ hand lingered briefly on hers before he stepped back, his gaze meeting hers for the barest moment before flicking toward the sled. “I will see to the hart,” he said, his tone cool and professional. “Your belongings will be brought to your chambers in the morning.”
Ellana nodded again, her hands folding in front of her as she fought the urge to reach for him, to hold onto the quiet intimacy they had shared in the cave. But she couldn’t—not here, not now. Nothing has changed. That is what they must believe.
“Of course,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest.
Solas inclined his head slightly before turning away, his movements efficient as he led the hart toward the stables. Ellana watched him go, her heart heavy as the distance between them grew, the walls of the palace rising around her like a cage.
The morning light crept through the palace windows, pale and cold, casting faint patterns on the polished stone floors as Ellana made her way toward the queen’s chambers. Her steps were measured, but her heart raced with every one. The hallways, with their high vaulted ceilings and intricate carvings, felt more imposing than usual, as though they bore witness to the storm within her.
Compassion was perched atop her head, its tendrils weaving gently through her hair, brushing against her scalp in soothing strokes. The spirit radiated warmth, its presence a balm against the unease that coiled tightly in her chest. It had clung to her all night, refusing to part from her side after so many days apart. Ellana had welcomed its closeness, feeling a deep, quiet gratitude for the spirit’s return.
I missed you too, she thought silently, her lips curving into a faint smile despite the dread that weighed heavily on her as she approached the double doors leading to Mythal’s chambers.
The queen’s wing of the palace was still and quiet at this early hour, the faint echoes of her footsteps the only sound in the vast space. The walls seemed to close in around her as she neared the grand doors, her mind racing with questions she didn’t dare linger on. What if Solas is emerging from the room? What if Mythal already knows?
Her gaze flicked toward the door, her chest tightening further at the thought of what might lie beyond. Can I keep my mask in place? The question lingered, heavy and sharp, cutting through her thoughts. She had worn her mask for so long, had perfected the art of hiding her emotions behind a carefully composed facade. But now, with the weight of what she and Solas shared hidden in the deepest corners of her heart, the cracks in her mask felt all the more fragile.
Compassion’s tendrils brushed against her cheek, the motion almost reassuring. The spirit’s light presence wrapped around her like a warm embrace, and she let out a slow, measured breath, drawing strength from its touch. She reached up to lightly touch its form, her fingers brushing against the shimmering tendrils that felt both real and not.
As she reached the doors, she hesitated, her fingers hovering just above the cool metal handle. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat louder than the last as she forced herself to remain still. She had done this countless times before—entered these chambers, faced Mythal with unwavering deference and grace. But now, the air felt different, heavier, as though the queen’s gaze was already upon her, waiting to see if she faltered.
Ellana closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself with another deep breath. She would not falter. She could not. For Solas. For herself. For the fragile bond they had built that she would protect at all costs.
Ellana pushed open the heavy doors to Mythal’s chambers, their ornate carvings catching the faint light of the rising sun. Compassion, sensing the gravity of the moment, vanished from its perch atop her head, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth. She stepped inside, the soft sound of her feet against the polished floors the only sound in the vast, opulent room.
Her gaze swept quickly to the grand bed draped in silken sheets and adorned with intricately woven blankets. Mythal’s form was still beneath the covers, her breathing even, her face half-hidden in the soft shadows of sleep. Relief flooded Ellana’s body, so potent it left her knees weak. She had been bracing herself for the sight of Solas emerging from the chamber, for the possibility that Mythal had discovered more than Ellana dared imagine. But the queen was alone.
Creators give me strength, she thought, exhaling softly as she pushed the door closed behind her.
Ellana moved with practiced precision, her motions calm and deliberate as she crossed the room. She made her way to the adjoining bathing chamber, where smooth stone basins and polished brass fixtures gleamed in the faint morning light.
She turned the handles of the bath, the sound of running water filling the space as the basin began to fill. Steam rose slowly as the water warmed, curling upward in delicate tendrils that carried away the faint chill of the morning air. Ellana reached for the vials of oils and scents arranged neatly along the edge of the basin, selecting the blend she knew Mythal favored—a mix of jasmine and bergamot, with a subtle undercurrent of amber. She poured the oils into the water, watching as the surface rippled, the fragrance spreading gently through the air.
Satisfied, she moved back into the main chamber, her steps light as she approached the tall windows draped with heavy curtains. The thick fabric blocked the early sunlight, casting the room in muted shadows. She reached for the edges of the curtains, her fingers brushing against the soft weave as she drew them back. Light flooded the room in a gentle cascade, illuminating the gold and silver accents of the chamber’s decor.
The faint sound of movement drew her attention, and she turned her head just enough to see the queen beginning to stir. Mythal’s hand shifted against the silken sheets, her head turning slightly as her eyes fluttered open. The weight of her gaze settled on Ellana almost immediately, sharp and piercing despite the softness of her waking state.
Ellana inclined her head, her voice calm and deferential as she spoke. “Good morning, Your Majesty. Your bath is being prepared.”
Mythal’s lips curved faintly as she met Ellana’s gaze, her eyes sharp despite the languid haze of sleep still clinging to her. “Good morning, da’syl,” she greeted, her voice low and smooth, laced with the kind of authority that never needed to be raised to command attention.
As Mythal pushed herself upright, Ellana instinctively averted her eyes, her gaze dropping to the polished stone floor. The queen rose from the bed, the silken sheets slipping away to reveal her bare form. Ellana’s fingers twitched where they rested at her sides, and she forced herself to focus on the movements she knew were expected of her. But even with her eyes cast downward, she could not stop the faint glimpses that reached her peripheral vision: the bruises across Mythal’s pale skin, the telltale purpling marks on her neck and collarbone that disappeared down her chest.
Ellana’s stomach twisted sharply, a wave of nausea rising as the truth of what she saw settled over her. She had witnessed such marks before—countless times, in fact—but now, knowing what she did, they felt like a blade pressed against her throat. Solas had done this. Not out of affection or passion, but because he had been commanded to. The thought burned in her chest, hot and sickening, as she fought to keep her expression neutral.
Do not falter. She cannot see it. She cannot know.
Her movements were smooth as she stepped to the side, retrieving the queen’s robes from their place by the bed. The fabric was soft and thick, embroidered with silver thread that glinted faintly in the morning light. She held it up with practiced ease, her hands steady even as her stomach churned.
Mythal stepped forward, her movements as graceful as a predator, and let the robe settle over her shoulders. “You are quiet this morning,” she remarked, her tone light but carrying an undertone of curiosity.
Ellana’s grip on the fabric tightened briefly before she forced herself to relax, folding the edges of the robe neatly as Mythal fastened it. “It is early, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice calm and deferential, though it felt like the words scraped against her throat.
Mythal let out a low hum, the sound thoughtful, before brushing past her. The faint scent of jasmine and cedar clung to the queen as she made her way toward the bathing chamber, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. Ellana followed at a careful distance, her hands folding neatly in front of her as she worked to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to rise.
The sound of water filled the bathing chamber, soft and rhythmic, as steam curled lazily upward to hang in the air. Mythal stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the polished stone. Without a word, she slipped the robe from her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her feet like water cascading over a rock. She moved with the grace of someone who had never known hesitation, stepping into the tub with a quiet sigh as the warm water enveloped her.
Ellana remained poised, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her gaze respectfully averted. The faint scent of jasmine and bergamot rose as the oils mixed with the heat, filling the space with an almost suffocating sweetness. Mythal settled into the tub, the soft splash of water marking her movements as she reclined, her dark hair cascading over the edge.
“Ellana,” Mythal said, her voice a low murmur, more command than invitation.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ellana replied immediately, stepping forward with practiced ease. She reached for the silver pitcher sitting on a low table nearby, its intricate design catching the light as she filled it with water. Moving to the side of the tub, she knelt gracefully, her movements fluid as she positioned herself behind the queen.
Mythal tilted her head back slightly, exposing the long line of her neck as Ellana poured the water gently over her hair. The dark strands darkened further, gleaming like polished obsidian as the water coursed over them. Ellana set the pitcher aside and reached for the small jar of cleansing paste, her hands moving automatically, though her chest tightened with every motion.
She smoothed the paste through Mythal’s hair, her fingers careful and precise as she worked it into a lather. The queen’s hair was thick and heavy, each strand slipping through her fingers like silk. Ellana focused on the task, letting it anchor her as she worked to keep her expression composed. Her mind, however, roiled with the effort of suppressing the nausea that lingered from earlier.
“How is your mother?” Mythal asked suddenly, her voice calm but carrying the faintest edge of curiosity.
Ellana’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she resumed her work, her tone even as she replied, “She is doing better now, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” Mythal said simply, her tone carrying an air of finality as though her approval had already ensured the truth of the statement. “It was kind of me to allow you to visit her, was it not?”
Ellana’s jaw tightened briefly, though she forced herself to remain calm, her hands moving through Mythal’s hair with practiced precision. “It was, Your Majesty,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the bitterness that threatened to rise. “I am grateful for your generosity.”
“Of course you are,” Mythal replied, her tone almost indulgent as she leaned her head back further, exposing the curve of her throat. “You would do well to remember that generosity often comes with expectations.”
Ellana swallowed hard, the words settling over her like a weight. “I do, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice quiet but unwavering.
She continued her work, her fingers moving with precision as she rinsed the queen’s hair, letting the water carry away the lather. The task was one she had done countless times, her hands finding a rhythm that allowed her thoughts to retreat to the quiet corners of her mind. But even as she focused on her work, the weight of the morning pressed against her, the scent of jasmine and bergamot mingling with the tension that lingered in the air.
You cannot falter, she reminded herself. Not now. Not ever. And so, she worked, her mask firmly in place, even as the cracks beneath it deepened.
The queen remained still, her head tilted slightly back, her dark eyes half-lidded as she basked in the warmth of the water. The silence between them stretched long enough for Ellana to feel a faint, almost fragile sense of calm return.
But then Mythal’s voice broke the stillness, smooth and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “My son has missed you.”
Ellana’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming their work, the rhythm of her motions unbroken despite the sharp jolt in her chest. Falon’Din. “That is kind of him to say, Your Majesty,” she replied softly, her tone carefully even as she kept her gaze focused on the task before her.
Mythal’s lips curved faintly, a knowing smile that carried as much weight as her words. “It is more than kindness, Ellana. He speaks of you often. He admires you.” She paused, the weight of her gaze pressing down on Ellana like a physical thing. “Surely, you must have considered his proposal.”
Ellana’s chest tightened further, her breath catching for a moment before she forced herself to exhale slowly. She knew this conversation would come again. But now, with the weight of everything she knew about Mythal, about Solas, pressing down on her, the question felt more suffocating than ever.
“I have thought on it, Your Majesty,” she replied carefully, her tone deferential but lacking any true commitment. Her hands moved to gather another pitcher of water. “It is not a decision to be taken lightly.”
“No,” Mythal agreed, her tone soft but carrying an edge of authority that left no room for doubt. “It is not. And yet, I wonder if you realize what such a union could mean—for you, for him, for us all.”
Ellana’s fingers tightened slightly around the handle of the pitcher as she poured the water over Mythal’s hair, rinsing away the last of the oils. “I do,” she said softly, though her voice felt hollow even to her own ears. “And that is why I must consider it carefully.”
“Carefully,” Mythal echoed, her tone laced with quiet amusement. She straightened slightly, her dark eyes sharp as they glanced back at Ellana. “Do not take too long, da’syl. My son is patient, but patience can only stretch so far.”
Ellana inclined her head, her expression composed despite the turmoil roiling within her. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady even as her chest ached with the weight of the queen’s words.
Mythal reclined slightly in the steaming water, her movements unhurried, her gaze sharp despite the languid grace she projected. The faint ripple of the bath’s surface mirrored the quiet tension in the air, the weight of her words settling like a stone in Ellana’s chest.
“I believe my son will arrive through the Eluvian today,” Mythal said, her tone carrying the ease of a queen who expected the world to shape itself to her will. She reached for the pitcher Ellana held, her fingers brushing the silver handle as she allowed her dark gaze to linger on her face. “Once he knows you have returned, I am certain he will not delay.”
Ellana’s stomach twisted, though her expression remained serene, her training keeping the turmoil inside from spilling over. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, her voice even despite the ache in her throat.
“You may spend time with him,” Mythal continued, her tone light, almost indulgent. “After all, it is only fair that you come to know the man who so ardently desires you.”
Ellana inclined her head, her hands folding neatly in front of her as though the act alone could steady her. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The queen let out a low hum of approval, the faintest smile curving her lips as she leaned back into the bath. “I am a kind queen, am I not?” she asked, her voice lilting with a note of amusement that made Ellana’s chest tighten further.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ellana replied, the words burning her throat like poison. The lie sat heavy on her tongue, but she delivered it flawlessly, her tone carrying only the deference Mythal would expect.
Mythal’s smile deepened slightly, as if she could hear the weight beneath Ellana’s words but chose not to acknowledge it. “Kindness must be balanced with strength, of course,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “If you accept Falon’Din’s proposal, you will understand this balance. You will be a queen in your own right, Ellana.”
The words struck Ellana like a blow, her chest tightening further as the weight of the queen’s expectations settled over her. Before she could respond, Mythal’s gaze shifted, her dark eyes focusing intently on Ellana’s face. She reached out, her fingers cool and deliberate as they traced the lines of Ellana’s vallaslin, the delicate winged designs etched across her cheeks.
“But even as a queen, you will remain part of my court,” Mythal continued, her voice soft but edged with a quiet power that left no room for argument.
Ellana’s breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest as she fought to keep her expression neutral. The touch of Mythal’s fingers against her skin felt as heavy as her words, each one laced with an authority that made resistance unthinkable.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling beneath her composed exterior.
Mythal’s lips curved faintly, her fingers lingering on Ellana’s cheek for a moment longer before she withdrew her hand, reclining back into the bath as though satisfied. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, the quiet hum of the water doing little to ease the suffocating weight of the moment.
Ellana stepped back, her movements graceful and deliberate, even as her thoughts churned beneath the surface. She knew she would have to endure this—every word, every glance, every subtle claim Mythal laid upon her. But as she bowed her head and returned to her tasks, the weight of the queen’s words echoed in her mind, each one a quiet reminder of the cage she could not escape.
Ellana stood in the grand hall, her hands clasped lightly in front of her as she gazed out at the snow-laden courtyard. The winter still clung heavily to the palace grounds, the thick white blanket unbroken save for the faint trails of the guards’ patrols. Her breath fogged the glass, and she raised a hand absently to trace a pattern against the cold surface before letting it fall again. The faint hum of Compassion and Hope filled the air around her as the spirits flitted nearby, their soft glows illuminating the polished stone floor. They chattered lightly to one another, their tones high and musical, a quiet comfort that soothed her fraying nerves.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind her, drawing her attention. She turned, her robes brushing against her ankles as her gaze landed on Falon’Din striding toward her. He was a striking figure, his long black hair loose and flowing over his shoulders, his eyes bright with amusement even before he spoke. His presence was like a spark in the cold, effortlessly commanding yet warm, his easy confidence drawing the eye without demanding it.
“Ellana,” he greeted, his voice carrying a familiar lilt of affection. “You cannot imagine my delight to hear you had returned. The palace feels whole again.”
His words, while charming, carried no pretense—just the warmth of an old friend. Ellana smiled faintly, tilting her head as he approached. “The snow must have dulled your senses, Falon’Din,” she teased lightly. “The palace hardly changes, with or without me.”
He grinned, coming to a stop just a step too close, though the proximity felt as natural as the snow outside. “It is not the palace I miss when you are gone,” he said, his tone playful but his gaze steady.
Her lips curved, though her chest tightened faintly at the sincerity she could sense behind his words. “And yet you seem perfectly content when I am not here,” she replied, tilting her chin slightly. “Unless, of course, Dirthamen’s company has suddenly lost its charm?”
“Dirtha’s company has always been… efficient,” Falon’Din said, his grin widening as his eyes glinted with mischief. “But he is hardly the conversationalist you are, my lady.”
Ellana laughed softly, the sound light as Compassion flickered closer, its tendrils brushing against her hair in a quiet gesture of comfort. Hope followed, its glow pulsing faintly as it circled Falon’Din, its curiosity evident.
“I missed this,” he admitted, his voice softening just enough to tug at something in her chest. “The way you draw even the most stubborn spirit into your orbit. Truly, it is a talent.”
“You give me far too much credit,” she replied, though her tone carried a warmth she couldn’t quite suppress. “They are the ones who choose to stay.”
Falon’Din stepped closer, his expression softening. “As I do,” he said simply, his voice quieter now, though no less confident.
Ellana’s breath caught, though she quickly smoothed her expression, her hands tightening slightly against the fabric of her robe.
“You are bold, as always,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with amusement, hoping to deflect the moment.
Falon’Din grinned at her words, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischief that had always made him impossible to ignore. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and confident as he came to stand beside her at the window. His presence filled the space effortlessly, the faint scent of frost and cedar clinging to him, mingling with the faint warmth of the hall.
He turned his gaze out toward the snow-covered courtyard, his expression softening. “And how is your mother?” he asked, his voice quieter now, carrying the sincerity that often lay beneath his playful exterior.
Ellana’s chest tightened faintly at the mention, but she allowed herself a small smile. “She is well now,” she replied, her voice steady but warm. “The time at home seemed to help her.”
“Good,” Falon’Din said, his tone carrying a quiet weight that made her heart ache just slightly.
“Have you thought about us?” he asked, his gaze unwavering as he turned to fully face her. “About what I asked you?”
Ellana hesitated, her breath catching as the weight of his question settled over her. She felt Compassion hover nearby, its tendrils brushing faintly against her shoulder, as though offering silent encouragement. Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes seemed to search hers for something she couldn’t give.
“I have thought about it,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “And I think… I am not quite ready to give up the courting just yet.”
Falon’Din blinked, his expression shifting briefly to one of surprise before his grin returned, broader this time, his ears flicking forward in amusement. “Not ready to give it up?” he echoed, his tone playful as he tilted his head. “Is this a clever way of asking me to try harder?”
Ellana laughed softly, the sound light despite the weight of the moment. “Perhaps,” she said, her lips curving into a faint smile. “We have not even walked the city together. Surely that is a requirement before such decisions are made.”
Falon’Din’s grin softened, his eyes glinting with warmth as he regarded her. “Is that all it takes?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “A walk through the city, and you would be mine?”
Ellana tilted her head, her smile growing as she met his gaze. “I said no such thing,” she replied smoothly. “But it would be a start.”
Falon’Din tilted his head slightly, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. Ellana recognized the look immediately—she had seen it countless times before, often preceding an idea that left her either laughing or shaking her head. It was the expression of someone who had just decided to make things far more complicated than they needed to be.
“A start, you say?” he mused, his tone light and teasing. He straightened, his grin widening as though a brilliant thought had just struck him. “Very well, Ellana. I will come to your chambers tonight, and we shall go to the city.”
Ellana blinked, caught off guard by the sudden declaration. “Tonight?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly with disbelief. She could hardly imagine sneaking out of the palace with him, let alone on such short notice. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I am entirely serious,” Falon’Din replied, the mischievous spark in his eyes growing brighter. He placed a hand over his heart, giving her a mockingly solemn bow. “You said it yourself, did you not? A walk through the city is a necessary part of the courting process. Who am I to delay such an essential tradition?”
Ellana opened her mouth to respond, but Falon’Din was already stepping back, his movements quick and deliberate. “I will see you tonight,” he said with a grin, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Be ready, my lady.”
“Falon’Din—” she started, but he was already turning away, his long black hair swaying with the motion as he strode toward the grand doors of the hall.
She called after him, her voice tinged with both exasperation and amusement. “Your Grace!”
He paused just long enough to glance back over his shoulder, his grin widening. “Ellana,” he said simply, his tone light and filled with laughter, before he disappeared through the doors, his soft chuckle echoing faintly behind him.
Ellana stood there for a moment, staring after him, her thoughts racing. She shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her lips despite herself. Of course he would do this. Falon’Din’s charm was as relentless as it was disarming, and though she knew better than to let herself be swept up in his schemes, she couldn’t deny the warmth he brought to her.
The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the windows of Ellana’s chambers, casting long, warm shadows across the walls. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, her steps faltering as her eyes caught on the unexpected sight awaiting her on the bed. A small pile of clothing rested there, neatly folded, with a note perched atop it. The parchment was folded in half, its edges slightly worn as if hurriedly handled.
Curiosity prickling at her, she crossed the room, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric before lifting the note. Falon’Din’s bold, flowing handwriting was unmistakable, each word carrying the air of someone who knew his audience well:
Put this on and meet me in the kitchens.
Ellana arched a brow, her lips curving into a faint smile despite herself. She placed the note aside and lifted the top garment—a loose, plain tunic, its rough fabric clearly intended for a servant’s garb. Beneath it were equally plain trousers, a belt, and a cap to complete the ensemble. She tilted her head, her amusement flickering into something warmer as she imagined Falon’Din’s grin as he prepared this little scheme.
Still, she hesitated, the weight of the day pressing faintly against her shoulders. Is this truly wise? she wondered, her fingers brushing over the coarse fabric. But then, a flicker of her own mischief ignited within her.
Why not?
The decision made, Ellana set the garments down and began to undress. The rich fabrics of her robes slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet as she stepped out of them. The air of the room was cool against her skin, but the warmth of her growing excitement chased the chill away. She slipped the tunic over her head, the rough weave scratching faintly against her as she adjusted the hem. The trousers followed, their baggy fit hiding her figure entirely, and the belt cinched loosely at her waist to hold everything in place.
Finally, she lifted the cap, tucking her long ginger hair beneath it with careful fingers. The thick strands resisted at first, but she worked them into place, pulling the cap low over her brow. When she turned to face the mirror, the figure staring back at her was almost unrecognizable. The clothing hung loose enough to obscure her shape entirely, and the low-set cap shadowed her features just enough to hide the softness of her face. She tilted her head, inspecting herself from different angles. If she kept her movements subtle, her stature unassuming, she might very well pass for a boy—a scruffy young servant scurrying through the palace halls.
Ellana’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile as she adjusted the cap one final time. Mischief flickered in her chest, warm and familiar, a quiet rebellion against the weight she carried every day. What is the harm in one night? she thought, straightening her posture before letting it slump again, mimicking the gait of the palace staff she had observed countless times.
The corridor was quiet as Ellana stepped out of her chambers, the muted light from the sconces casting long shadows along the walls. Her footsteps echoed faintly against the polished stone floor as she began to make her way toward the kitchens. Dressed in the rough garments Falon’Din had provided, her cap pulled low over her brow, she felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.
No one even spared her a second glance. Palace staff bustled through the halls with practiced indifference, their movements efficient and unhurried. Ellana kept her head down, her stride careful as she mimicked their unassuming demeanor. Her baggy clothing obscured her figure, and with her hair hidden beneath the cap, she was just another shadow passing through the grand halls.
As she turned down the hallway leading to the kitchens, her steps faltered for a brief moment.
At the far end of the hallway, Solas emerged from the kitchen, his eyes downcast, his long strides deliberate but unhurried. Ellana froze, her chest tightening painfully. Her heart stumbled in her chest as she ducked her head, pulling the cap lower to obscure her face. She couldn’t risk him recognizing her—not now, not like this. Creators, he is so close.
As she passed him, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, the faint scent of him—parchment and ink—washing over her as their paths crossed. Her chest ached with the weight of missing him, the warmth of his presence so close yet so unreachable. She clenched her hands at her sides, willing herself to stay composed.
Behind her, she heard his footsteps falter, just for a moment, and then continue. She exhaled softly, relief flickering in her chest. But it was short-lived.
“Wait,” Solas said, his voice quiet but firm, cutting through the stillness of the corridor.
Ellana froze mid-step, her pulse quickening as her mind raced. He knows. And he will stop me. She turned slowly, her head still bowed, her cap shielding her face. Her voice, when she spoke, was lower, rougher than usual. “Yes, my prince?”
Solas’ eyes studied her, sharp and piercing despite the calmness of his expression. His hands rested lightly at his sides, his posture relaxed, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made her stomach twist. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying a quiet authority.
Ellana’s mind spun as she scrambled for an answer. “To the kitchen, my prince,” she said, keeping her tone steady and her gaze lowered. “I was sent to fetch something.”
Solas tilted his head slightly, his ears twitching faintly as his eyes flicked over her. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “At this hour?” he asked softly, his tone carrying a note of curiosity. “What could a boy possibly need to fetch from the kitchens so late?”
Ellana swallowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides as she forced herself to stay calm. “Leftovers from the feast,” she said quickly, the lie coming to her in a rush. “For the guards on night watch.”
Solas hummed softly, the sound low and thoughtful as his eyes remained fixed on her. Ellana’s stomach twisted, the weight of his gaze pressing against her like a blade. She knew that hum—calm, measured, and unmistakably laced with suspicion. He knew. She was certain of it.
“And when,” he asked, his voice smooth and deliberate, “do you intend on returning from the… kitchens?”
The pause before the word was slight, but it carried enough weight to make her throat tighten. She forced herself to swallow, her thoughts scrambling for a response that wouldn’t betray her further. “I am unsure, my prince,” she replied, her voice as steady as she could manage, though her fingers curled tighter at her sides.
Solas tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as his ears twitched faintly forward. “I see,” he said, his tone betraying nothing. “And will someone else be accompanying you into the kitchens at this late hour?”
Ellana’s breath hitched, but she recovered quickly, nodding once as she kept her gaze fixed downward. “Yes, my prince,” she said, forcing the words to come calmly. “Another servant.”
Solas hummed again, the sound softer this time, though the tension in the air only seemed to thicken. He took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, and Ellana’s pulse quickened. She kept her head bowed, her cap pulled low, hoping the shadow of it would hide the flush creeping up her neck.
“I find that interesting,” Solas said finally, his voice dropping slightly, enough to make her chest tighten. “Most servants do not require company for such a task.”
Ellana’s mind spun, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t unravel beneath his scrutiny. She lifted her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze briefly before lowering it again. “The kitchens can be… intimidating at night,” she said carefully, her voice low and measured. “I did not wish to go alone.”
Solas’ lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it did not reach his eyes. “A wise decision,” he said quietly. “One should always exercise caution.”
Ellana’s breath caught, her heart hammering as the weight of his words settled over her. The air between them felt charged, as though a single misplaced word could shatter the fragile balance she’d managed to maintain. She dared not move, her mind racing as she tried to anticipate his next question—or worse, his next observation.
But instead, Solas straightened, his expression softening just enough to let her exhale the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Be quick about your errand,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “And do not linger.”
“Yes, my prince,” Ellana replied immediately, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest.
Solas regarded her for another long moment, his eyes lingering on her as though he could see through every layer of her disguise. Then, with a small nod, he turned, his steps echoing softly as he continued down the corridor.
Ellana remained rooted in place for a moment longer, her hands trembling slightly as the tension drained from her limbs. He knows, she thought, the realization settling like a stone in her chest. Of course he knows.
But he hadn’t stopped her. That, at least, was something. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, adjusted her cap, and turned toward the kitchens once more.
The kitchens were alive with the quiet bustle of servants cleaning up after the long day. The scent of fresh bread lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of herbs and the sharper tang of soap. Ellana slipped in through the side entrance, keeping her cap low and her steps light as she moved along the edges of the room. Servants moved about with practiced efficiency, scrubbing pots and wiping down counters, their voices low and muted as they worked.
She wove her way around them, her heart still pounding faintly from her encounter with Solas. She kept her head down, her hands tucked into her pockets to complete the illusion. No one gave her more than a passing glance, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of relief. But just as she reached the far corner of the room, a voice called out behind her.
“There you are!”
Ellana turned sharply, her breath catching as she saw Falon’Din stepping inside from the small herb garden connected to the kitchens. The door swung shut behind him, the faint chill of the night air clinging to him. He was dressed in servant’s clothing as well—loose trousers and a plain tunic, the rough fabric a far cry from the elegant attire she was used to seeing him in. His long black hair was tied back loosely, though a few strands had escaped, framing his face in a way that made him look both out of place and entirely at ease.
“I thought for certain you had been caught,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement as he crossed the room toward her. His grin was wide, his tone light, but there was a flicker of genuine concern beneath his words.
Ellana let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension began to ebb. “Almost,” she admitted, her voice low but tinged with exasperation. She adjusted her cap, glancing around to ensure no one was listening before continuing. “Solas nearly caught me.”
Falon’Din stopped in his tracks, his ears tilting forward in surprise. “Solas?” he repeated, his voice dropping slightly as he studied her. “And you managed to get past him?”
“Barely,” she replied, her tone dry as she crossed her arms. “He asked far too many questions.”
Falon’Din laughed softly, the sound warm and rich, as he closed the distance between them. “Creators, Ellana, you are braver than I thought,” he said, his grin returning as he leaned closer. “Or more foolish.”
“Perhaps a little of both,” she replied, unable to suppress a faint smile despite herself. “But I am here, am I not?”
“Indeed you are,” he said, his voice softening slightly as he looked at her. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he straightened, the grin returning to his lips. “And now that you are, the fun can truly begin.”
Ellana arched a brow, her smile growing as she tilted her head. “What exactly do you have planned, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone light but edged with teasing.
Falon’Din placed a hand over his heart, giving her an exaggerated bow. “My lady,” he said, his voice dripping with mock formality, “you wound me. Do you truly think I would reveal my grand scheme so easily?”
Ellana huffed, crossing her arms and fixing Falon’Din with a mock glare, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed her amusement. “I would hope so,” she said, her tone carrying a teasing edge. “How else am I supposed to know if I should be worried?”
Falon’Din grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he stepped closer, gesturing toward one of the doors leading out of the kitchen. “Come, my lady,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Allow me to show you just how unfounded your worries are.”
He led her through the bustling kitchen, weaving deftly around the servants who paid them no mind, their focus fixed on cleaning up the remnants of the day. The door he chose led into a small pantry, its shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits, dried herbs, and neatly stacked loaves of bread. The faint scent of rosemary and thyme lingered in the air, mixing with the cool dampness of the space.
Ellana glanced around, her brows lifting slightly in curiosity. “And what exactly are we doing in a pantry?” she asked, her voice low but tinged with amusement.
“Patience,” Falon’Din replied, his grin widening as he crouched near the far wall. His fingers brushed against the stone floor as he found what he was searching for—a loose brick near the base of the wall, its edges slightly worn from use.
He glanced up at her, his ears tilting forward in amusement as though savoring the moment. Then, with a quick motion, he kicked the brick with the side of his boot. The dull thud echoed softly, followed by a faint click that reverberated through the room.
Ellana’s eyes widened as a section of the wall shifted, stone grinding softly against stone. A narrow passage revealed itself, the faint scent of earth and stone wafting out as the cool air brushed against her face. The darkness beyond was broken only by the faint glimmer of faintly glowing stones set into the walls, their light barely enough to illuminate the descending path.
“This,” Falon’Din said, straightening and gesturing toward the passage with a flourish, “will take us directly into the city.”
Ellana blinked, torn between surprise and incredulous amusement. “You have a secret passage leading into the city?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with disbelief. “How is it that I am only learning of this now?”
Falon’Din smirked, stepping aside to let her peer into the passage. “I am a creature of mystery,” he said lightly, his tone carrying a theatrical lilt. “But for you, my lady, I am willing to share a secret or two.”
Ellana arched a brow at Falon’Din’s theatrics but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. With a faint shake of her head, she stepped into the passage, the cool air brushing against her face as the faint scent of earth and stone surrounded her. The tunnel stretched ahead, dimly lit by the faint glimmer of stones embedded into the walls, their soft glow insufficient to chase away the shadows entirely.
Falon’Din followed close behind, his presence steady and confident. With a precise kick to the loose brick, the door behind them slid shut with a soft thud, the sound echoing faintly in the enclosed space. Darkness enveloped them, broken only by the faint light of the stones. The tunnel felt ancient, its walls worn smooth by time, the faint hum of magic lingering in the air.
Ellana lifted a hand, summoning a small ball of flame to hover just above her palm. Its warm glow illuminated their surroundings, casting flickering shadows against the walls and revealing the intricate carvings etched into the stone. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the faint smile still lingering on her lips.
“Practical and beautiful,” Falon’Din said, his voice low and laced with admiration as he stepped closer to examine the carvings revealed by her light. “You never cease to impress, Ellana.”
She cast him a sidelong glance, her tone dry but tinged with amusement. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Falon’Din.”
“Oh, I think it might,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening as his eyes glinted in the firelight.
Ellana huffed softly, turning her attention back to the tunnel as she began to walk. The flame hovered ahead of her, casting light just far enough to illuminate their path without overwhelming the ancient magic imbued in the stones. The faint hum of the passage felt alive, the subtle traces of enchantment woven into its very foundation a quiet reminder of the history it carried.
“You know,” Ellana began, her voice light as she glanced over her shoulder at him, “for a creature of mystery, you seem awfully eager to share your secrets.”
Falon’Din chuckled, his steps echoing softly as he followed her. “Some secrets are better shared with the right company,” he said, his tone playful but carrying a warmth that made her chest tighten faintly. “And besides, what good is a hidden passage if I cannot impress someone with it?”
The passage sloped downward slightly, the air growing cooler as they descended. The carvings on the walls became more elaborate, depicting scenes of elven life that felt both familiar and distant—hunters in the forest, healers tending to the wounded, mages weaving spells into the fabric of their surroundings. Ellana’s flame flickered over the images, bringing them to life in a way that felt almost reverent.
The passage opened into a quiet alley, the narrow walls giving way to the soft hum of life in the capital of Arlathan. Ellana stepped forward cautiously, the cool night air brushing against her face as she blinked, her senses overwhelmed by the sudden shift from the dim tunnel to the vibrant glow of the city beyond. Falon’Din followed closely, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her take it all in.
The city was alive with magic, its beauty almost otherworldly in the soft light of the moon. Tall spires reached toward the stars, their surfaces shimmering faintly as intricate patterns of runes pulsed with a quiet, steady glow. Streets paved with smooth stone stretched out like veins, lined with buildings that seemed to breathe magic themselves, their forms elegant and seamless, as though grown rather than built. Overhead, delicate bridges of woven light arched between buildings, their structures humming faintly with enchantments.
Spirits wandered freely, their ethereal forms gliding gracefully through the streets, their auras glowing faintly in hues of blue, gold, and green. Some floated near the ground, brushing against the hem of a passing cloak, while others soared higher, their forms weaving through the lattice of magic that hung in the air like a second sky. The spirits’ voices, soft and melodic, blended with the distant sound of laughter, the faint clink of glasses, and the steady hum of life that filled the city.
Ellana’s breath caught as she stepped out of the alley and onto a broader street, her eyes wide as she took in the sight before her. The buildings themselves seemed to shift slightly under the moonlight, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of magical lamps that lined the streets. Above, the sky was alive with stars, their light mirrored by the enchanted runes etched into the city’s architecture.
“It is…” She trailed off, unable to find words to capture the sheer magnificence of what she was seeing.
Falon’Din tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and amusement as he studied her expression. “Ellana,” he said, his voice teasing but carrying an undercurrent of genuine surprise, “have you never been to the city before?”
Ellana blinked, his question pulling her from her awe-struck silence. She turned her gaze to him, feeling a faint flush rise to her cheeks at how transparent her wonder must have been. “No,” she admitted softly, her voice carrying a hint of embarrassment. “Mythal does not really grant leave… not for something like this. I was surprised she even allowed me to visit my mother.”
Falon’Din’s ears twitched slightly, his expression shifting into something softer, almost pained. “That is… sad,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now, as though the weight of her words had settled over him. He studied her for a moment longer before his signature grin returned, though it was tempered with something gentler. “But you are here now.”
Before Ellana could respond, he reached out and took her hand, his grip warm and steady. The gesture caught her off guard, and her breath hitched faintly as he began to lead her further into the city. “Come,” he said, his voice brightening. “I will show you all my favorite places.”
Ellana hesitated for only a moment before letting him guide her, her gaze flitted from one marvel to the next as they moved through the streets, her heart quickening with every new sight.
The lamps lining the roads glowed softly, their light flickering as though alive, casting a warm golden hue over the smooth stone streets. Spirits meandered between the buildings, their forms weaving through the crowd with an easy grace, some pausing to regard the pair with faint curiosity. The elves who passed them were dressed in flowing robes adorned with shimmering threads of magic, their expressions open and serene as they went about their evening.
Falon’Din led her toward a wide plaza, its center dominated by a massive fountain that seemed to defy logic. Water cascaded upward in graceful arcs, suspended momentarily in mid-air before falling back into a crystal-clear pool below. The fountain’s edges were adorned with glowing glyphs, their faint hum blending with the soft trickle of water.
“This,” Falon’Din said, gesturing toward the fountain with a flourish, “is one of my favorite spots. The magic here is as old as the city itself, a testament to what we are capable of.”
Ellana stepped closer, her hand slipping from his as she moved to the edge of the fountain. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the cool, suspended water. It rippled faintly under her touch, the glyphs along the edge pulsing softly in response.
“It feels alive,” she murmured, her voice filled with quiet wonder. The magic hummed faintly against her fingertips, a sensation that sent warmth coursing through her.
“It is,” Falon’Din replied, his tone carrying a note of pride as he watched her. “The city breathes, Ellana. Every rune, every glyph, every spirit—everything here is connected.”
She turned to him, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. For all his charm and playfulness, there was a depth to him in this moment that she rarely saw, a quiet reverence for the magic and beauty of their world. It made her see him in a way she hadn’t before, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered what it might be like to see the city as he did—through the eyes of someone who had always been free to explore it.
Falon’Din’s grin softened as he extended his hand toward her once more. “Come,” he said, his voice brightening again. “There is more to see, and I promise you, it only gets better from here.”
Ellana hesitated, her gaze lingering on the fountain for a moment longer before she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, and as he led her away, she felt a spark of warmth flicker in her chest.
The outdoor theatre was a marvel, nestled within a deep stone circle carved seamlessly into the ground. Ellana and Falon’Din approached quietly, their footsteps soft against the smooth stone path leading to the seating. The night air carried the faint scent of blooming flowers from nearby enchanted gardens, mingling with the gentle hum of magic that seemed to pulse through every corner of the city. Above, the stars glittered like scattered diamonds, their light reflecting faintly off the polished stone.
Ellana’s breath caught as she gazed down at the theatre’s center. The stage, set into the heart of the circle, was alive with movement and sound. Elves clad in flowing costumes moved gracefully across the space, their voices clear and resonant as they wove the story of a dramatic romance. Magic enhanced the performance, shimmering illusions of light and color creating vivid backdrops that shifted with the narrative—a forest bathed in golden light, a stormy cliffside beneath a roiling sky.
Around the stage, the carved stone seats rose in concentric rings, each tier offering a perfect view of the performance. Elves of all ages filled the seats, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of magical lamps scattered throughout the theatre. The atmosphere was electric, a collective energy that hummed through the audience as they watched the story unfold.
Falon’Din led Ellana to a pair of seats halfway up the circle, their placement offering a clear view of the stage while still feeling comfortably close to the action. As they settled into the smooth stone, Ellana’s gaze remained fixed on the performance below. The actors’ movements were precise, their emotions vivid and raw as they brought the tale to life.
The heroine stood at the edge of the stage, her hands clasped tightly as she cried out to her lost love, her voice trembling with longing. The illusion of a storm raged behind her, the wind tugging at her hair and clothes as rain shimmered around her like diamonds. Across from her, the hero stepped forward, his own expression etched with anguish as he reached for her, their hands inches apart but separated by a shimmering wall of light.
Ellana’s chest tightened at the scene, the raw emotion palpable even from their vantage point. She had never experienced anything like this—a performance that blended art and magic so seamlessly it felt almost real. The audience around her sat enraptured, their collective breath catching as the lovers’ voices rose in unison, their emotions building to a crescendo that reverberated through the theatre.
Falon’Din’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft and low. “You seem captivated,” he said, his tone carrying a note of amusement as he turned to look at her. His eyes reflected the light of the stage, glinting faintly in the darkness.
Ellana glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the play. “It is… extraordinary,” she admitted, her voice quiet but filled with genuine wonder. “I have never seen anything like this.”
For a moment, Ellana allowed herself to sink fully into the moment—the beauty of the city, the artistry of the play, and the quiet companionship of the elf beside her.
Ellana exhaled softly, her chest tightening as the night’s freedom dissolved into the stark reality of the palace. Adjusting her cap and tugging her cloak tighter around herself, she began the quiet ascent to her chambers. The halls were empty at this hour, save for the occasional servant moving silently through the shadows. None of them spared her a second glance, their focus fixed on their tasks.
Her steps were quick but quiet, each one bringing her closer to the sanctuary of her room. Her mind raced with the events of the evening—the beauty of the city, the warmth of the theatre, the fleeting sense of belonging. For a brief moment, she had felt free, untethered from the expectations that bound her, and now the weight of the palace seemed all the heavier in comparison.
When she finally reached her door, she slipped inside with a soft sigh of relief. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the embers in the hearth. She moved to close the door behind her, but froze as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Solas stood in front of the hearth, his back to her, his stance deceptively casual. The faint glow of the dying embers cast his silhouette in sharp relief, highlighting the elegant lines of his form and the tension that lingered just beneath the surface.
Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of him, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as a wave of emotions surged through her—relief, guilt, and something far deeper. “Solas,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He turned at the sound of her voice, his eyes meeting hers, and the weight of his gaze froze her in place. The firelight danced across his features, illuminating the faint lines of weariness etched into his face. She closed the distance between them in a few quick steps, her hand reaching out instinctively toward him. But before she could touch him, Solas raised both hands in front of him, the motion sharp and deliberate, as though to ward her off.
“No, fenor,” he said, his voice low but firm, the endearment trembling with an unspoken weight.
Ellana froze, her hand stilling mid-air, her heart twisting at the quiet pain in his voice. “Solas?” she murmured, confusion threading through her tone as she dropped her hand to her side. She took a hesitant step back, her gaze searching his face for an answer.
Solas hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he lowered his hands slowly. His ears tilted back, a subtle sign of unease, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I cannot,” he said, the words heavy with regret. “Not after… her.”
The room seemed to still at his admission, the faint crackle of the fire the only sound between them. Understanding dawned slowly, each piece falling into place with agonizing clarity. Mythal. Her presence lingered on him, even now, in ways Ellana could not see but could feel in the hesitation in his voice, the weariness in his posture. Her chest tightened painfully.
“You think yourself unclean,” she said softly, the words trembling as they left her lips. “Because of her.”
Solas flinched almost imperceptibly, his gaze dropping to the floor as his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. “She is a force greater than I can defy,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of a truth he had long carried alone. “And in her wake… I feel as though I carry her corruption.”
Ellana’s heart broke at his words, the pain in his voice mirroring the ache she had once felt so deeply herself. The memory of her own refusal to let Compassion help her after Elgar’nan’s assault surfaced unbidden, the shame and self-loathing she had carried like a wound now reflected in the elf standing before her.
“Solas,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She wanted to reach for him again, to bridge the distance between them, but his stance, his words, held her back. Instead, she moved to the edge of her bed and sat down slowly, her hands curling into the fabric of her bedding as she fought to steady herself.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken truths pressing heavily in the air. The fire crackled softly, its faint warmth doing little to chase away the cold knot tightening in her chest. She watched him, her gaze lingering on the way his shoulders hunched slightly, the faint tremor in his fingers as he stood there, distant and untouchable.
“I do not see you as unclean,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady, each word chosen with care. “I see you. Only you.”
Solas didn’t respond immediately, his eyes remaining fixed on the floor. But the faint flicker of emotion in his expression—the way his lips parted slightly, the faint tremble in his breath—told her he had heard her.
His posture was still tense, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides, but the faint flicker of his aura reached out to hers—a tentative brush, a quiet question.
Ellana felt her breath catch, the familiar warmth of his magic stirring against her own. She closed her eyes briefly, letting herself soften, her own aura unfurling to meet his. The intertwining was slow and deliberate, like the meeting of two streams blending into one. His magic felt like the deep woods after rain—calm, grounding, and infinitely layered. Hers, warm and flickering like firelight, wrapped gently around his, cradling him in a way words never could.
Solas exhaled slowly, his shoulders lowering as though a weight had eased from them. Their auras settled together, not pressing, not demanding—just being. For a long moment, they stayed like that, the connection between them a quiet balm to the pain that lingered in both their hearts.
Then, slowly, Solas moved toward her. His steps were careful, deliberate, and though he stopped just short of touching her, the air between them seemed to hum with the closeness of their magic. His eyes roamed her figure, his expression thoughtful as he took in the servant’s clothing she still wore.
“Tell me,” he said softly, his voice carrying a faint lilt of amusement despite the weight in his gaze. “How was your visit to the… kitchens?”
She couldn’t tell if his question was meant as a reprimand or a challenge—or perhaps it was simply his way of coaxing the truth from her.
Her fingers curled against the rough fabric of her trousers. “The kitchens were…” She hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t betray her entirely. “Enlightening.”
Solas arched a brow, his ears tilting forward slightly in quiet amusement. “Enlightening,” he echoed, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge of knowing. “How fortunate you are to have learned so much in so short a time.”
Ellana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her cheeks warming faintly under his scrutiny. “Perhaps,” she replied carefully, her voice steady despite the faint tremor in her chest. “And perhaps it is a skill I will continue to improve.”
Solas’ faint smile deepened, though his eyes remained sharp, searching hers as though trying to uncover every secret she hadn’t yet voiced. “I would imagine so,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet weight. “After all, one must be very skilled to move so freely without being caught.”
The words hung in the air, soft but pointed, and Ellana felt the knot in her chest tighten further. She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze dropping to the space between them as she considered how much he already knew, how much she was willing to share.
“You were waiting for me,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, though her tone carried a faint challenge. “Why?”
Solas hesitated, his expression softening as his eyes lingered on her. “Because,” he said simply, his voice low but steady, “I wanted to ensure you returned safely.”
The weight of his care, though unspoken, was unmistakable. She tilted her head, her voice soft but curious. “How did you know it was me?”
Solas regarded her for a moment, his eyes steady as they met hers. There was no hesitation when he answered, his voice calm and certain. “I would recognize your spirit anywhere,” he said simply, his tone as unyielding as stone, though laced with a softness that sent a shiver through her.
Ellana’s breath caught at his words, a faint warmth blooming in her chest even as her mind scrambled for a response. The way he said it—with such conviction, as though it were the most natural thing in the world—left her momentarily speechless. She dropped her gaze to the floor, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her borrowed clothing as she tried to suppress the strange, quiet ache his words had stirred.
Solas’ eyes roamed her figure again, the loose folds of the servant’s clothing she still wore drawing his attention. His expression hardened slightly, his ears tilting back in a subtle sign of displeasure. “But,” he said, his voice carrying an edge now, “I do not want to see you dressed like this again. And I do not want you going to the servants’ areas.”
Ellana’s head snapped up, confusion flashing across her face. “Why?” she asked, her tone tinged with incredulity. “It was harmless.”
Solas’ jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his posture stiff with restrained emotion. “It is not harmless,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “Servants have been going missing.”
The words hit her like a blow, the weight of them settling heavily in her chest. “Missing?” she repeated, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you mean?”
Solas hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered with something unspoken. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, measured, as though choosing his words with care. “A… servant came to me,” he began, the pause heavy with significance. “He told me that several of the others had gone missing. Disappeared without explanation.”
Ellana’s heart clenched at his words, her fingers curling into the fabric of her borrowed clothing as her thoughts raced. The idea of servants vanishing—those who already lived in the margins of palace life, their absence unnoticed by most—made her stomach twist painfully. How long has this been happening? And why has no one done anything?
Solas continued, his voice steady but laced with a quiet anger. “When this information was brought to the king,” he said, his tone dipping into something colder, sharper, “he did nothing.”
Ellana’s breath hitched, though she wasn’t surprised. Not anymore. The king’s apathy, his unwillingness to address anything that didn’t serve his immediate interests, had become an unspoken truth that hung heavy over the palace. Still, hearing it confirmed in this context—a matter of lives, of safety—made her chest ache with a quiet, simmering anger.
“Of course he did not,” she murmured, her voice low but edged with bitterness. Her gaze dropped to the floor, the weight of the revelation settling heavily over her. “Why would he?”
Solas’ expression softened for a moment as he studied her, his posture easing slightly. “I could not let it rest,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I have spent the last night speaking to the remaining servants. Questioning them to see if they have noticed anything, if they know something—anything—that might explain what is happening.”
Ellana looked up at him, her chest tightening at the quiet frustration in his voice. His dedication, the way he carried burdens that were not his to bear, made her heart ache. He had no obligation to care for the servants, no command to investigate their disappearances, and yet he did so with the same quiet conviction that defined everything about him.
“Did you learn anything?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest.
Solas shook his head, a faint flicker of frustration crossing his features. “Very little,” he admitted. “Whispers of shadows in the lower halls, strange sounds in the night. But nothing that could lead to answers. Only more questions.”
Ellana exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor once more as she tried to process what he had told her. The thought of the servants, already overlooked and undervalued, being taken—vanishing into the shadows of the palace—made her chest ache with a quiet, simmering anger. She thought of their faces, the ones she had passed by without a second thought, and felt a pang of guilt twist in her stomach.
“What will you do?” she asked finally, her voice quieter now.
Solas hesitated, his gaze lingering on her before he spoke. “I will keep looking,” he said simply, his tone carrying a quiet determination. “And I will ensure that you do not end up among them.”
Solas hesitated for a moment, his eyes steady on hers, his aura brushing faintly against hers in that careful, deliberate way he always seemed to hold himself near her. “And that,” he added, his voice soft but carrying a faint edge, “means no more late-night adventures with Falon’Din.”
Ellana blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his words. The subtle weight of them, the almost imperceptible lilt of something deeper—something that felt almost like jealousy—made her chest tighten. She tilted her head slightly, searching his face for a moment, but his expression was calm, his gaze unwavering.
“Adventures?” she repeated, her voice quiet but tinged with a note of challenge. She raised a brow, her lips curving faintly despite herself. “Is that what you think it was?”
Solas inclined his head slightly, the faintest flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes. “A word to encompass… whatever it is that Falon’Din deems appropriate under the guise of courtship,” he said, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable undercurrent. His ears twitched faintly, betraying the tension he worked so carefully to mask.
Ellana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her mind spinning at the quiet implications of his words. There was something in the way he had said it—in the way his gaze lingered on her, in the faint hitch of his breath when he mentioned Falon’Din—that made her heart ache. Does it trouble him? Truly?
“It was harmless,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the quiet storm churning in her chest. “We walked the city. He showed me the theatre. Nothing more.”
Solas studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face as though trying to uncover something unspoken. Then, slowly, he extended his hand toward her, palm up. The movement was deliberate, unhurried, the faint glow of the hearth casting soft shadows over the lines of his fingers.
Ellana hesitated, her breath catching as she glanced down at his hand. She didn’t move immediately, her own hand hovering just above his, the faint warmth of his presence brushing against her skin like a whisper. Her chest tightened, the storm of emotions swirling within her stirring ever so slightly.
Solas exhaled softly, his shoulders lowering as though he had been carrying a weight for far too long. “I do not trust him,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. There was no malice in his tone, only a calm certainty that made her heart ache.
Her brow furrowed slightly as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Why?” she asked, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her chest. “What reason could you have not to trust him?”
Solas hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke. “It is not Falon’Din alone,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I do not trust any of them. And neither should you.”
The weight of his words settled over her, heavy and undeniable. She searched his face, her heart quickening as she took in the quiet intensity of his expression, the way his pale eyes seemed to burn with conviction. “They are kings and queens,” he continued, his tone measured but edged with something sharper. “They hold power over us, Ellana. That power will always create an imbalance.”
Ellana’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as his words struck something deep within her. Unequal. The word lingered in the air between them, carrying a truth she couldn’t deny. She thought of the way Falon’Din had guided her through the city with such ease, the effortless charm he wielded like a weapon, and the quiet weight of her own position in comparison. The freedom she had felt in his company now seemed far more fragile, its edges fraying under the weight of Solas’ quiet certainty.
“Falon’Din is my friend,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Solas inclined his head slightly, his expression softening just enough to dull the edge of his words. “Perhaps,” he said, his tone calm but unyielding. “But he is also the son of a queen and a king in his own. And that will always mean he sees the world differently than you do. Than I do.”
Ellana’s lips parted as though to argue, but the words caught in her throat. Deep down, she knew he was right. She thought of the ease with which Falon’Din moved through the world, the way he spoke and acted as though everything would bend to his will simply because it always had. And in contrast, she thought of herself—how every step she took, every choice she made, felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken rules.
Solas’ gaze lingered on their hands, hovering just shy of touching. The flickering light of the hearth danced over the curve of her fingers, illuminating the sliver of space that separated them. His voice, when it came, was low, quiet, and edged with a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.
“And,” he said, his words deliberate, “I do not like another man courting you.”
Ellana blinked, his admission catching her entirely off guard. The unexpectedness of it, paired with the faint crease of his brow as he kept his gaze fixed downward, sent a rush of warmth flooding through her chest. She bit her lip, unable to suppress the soft laugh that bubbled up in response.
At the sound, Solas’ head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as his ears flattened in faint irritation. “You find this amusing?” he asked, his tone calm but carrying the faintest edge of incredulity.
Ellana shook her head, though her smile lingered as she tilted her head at him. “I find you amusing,” she said softly, her voice light with teasing as she met his gaze. “Solas, he is my friend. You have nothing to worry about.”
Solas’ lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze steady on hers. “I do,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a weight that stilled the teasing warmth in the air. “Because to deny a king…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place—something heavy, unspoken. His voice softened as he tilted his head slightly. “Has Mythal spoken to you about it again?”
Ellana hesitated, the warmth from before fading as she drew her hands back to rest in her lap. “She did,” she said finally, her voice steady but edged with weariness. “This morning.”
Solas’ head tilted further, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly as he studied her. “And?” he prompted, his tone calm but laced with quiet urgency.
“She spoke of what the union could mean,” Ellana replied, her chest tightening as she repeated the queen’s words. “For them all. For the court.”
Solas’ brow furrowed, his ears twitching faintly as he considered her words. “That is… curious,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a thoughtful hum. “For Mythal to be in support of it, of you being married to… it feels—”
“Why?” Ellana asked, leaning forward slightly as she searched his face. “What do you think?”
Solas paused, his expression tightening as he worked through the weight of his thoughts. His gaze flicked toward the hearth, the light of the flames catching in his pale eyes. “What else did she say?” he asked finally, his voice calm but edged with something sharper.
Ellana exhaled softly, her shoulders lowering under the weight of the memory. “She said,” she began, her voice quieter now, “that even if I married Falon’Din, I would still be part of her court.”
The sharp inhale that followed made her heart clench. Solas’ posture stiffened, his ears tilting back as his eyes snapped back to hers.
Solas drew his hand back, the movement slow and deliberate, as though even that small act carried weight. His pale eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer, their depths filled with something unspoken, something heavy and raw. “It is late,” he said quietly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of finality. “I should not stay much longer. If we are seen…” He trailed off, letting the implications hang between them.
Ellana’s chest tightened at the quiet resignation in his tone. She rose to her feet, the movement fluid and purposeful as she stepped closer to him. “You just realized something,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm swirling within her. “And I want to know what it is.”
Solas stilled, his ears twitching faintly as he turned his gaze toward her. His mouth quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You see too much,” he murmured, his tone carrying a faint note of both amusement and exasperation.
Ellana tilted her head, her breath catching at the quiet intensity of his gaze. She could feel the weight of his words, the unspoken truths that lingered just beneath the surface of his composed exterior. But before she could press further, she felt the faint brush of his aura against hers—a fleeting, delicate touch, like the press of lips across her own. The warmth of it settled in her chest, a quiet ache that left her breathless.
“On nydha, fenor,” Solas said softly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of something tender, something fragile.
And then he was gone, his steps silent as he slipped through the door, leaving her standing alone in the quiet glow of the hearth. The warmth of his aura lingered, wrapping around her like a whispered promise, even as the room felt emptier in his absence.
Ellana exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing against her lips as though trying to hold onto the ghost of his presence. The weight of the evening settled over her, the questions he had left unanswered swirling in her mind like embers caught in the wind.