AN: (*) Two sentences marked with this symbol were paraphrased from the game. Don't worry, they only appear in one scene. :)

AN2: Please be advised that this story contains game spoilers.

Disclaimer: All official Dragon Age characters belong to Bioware and its associates. I make no profit from this story.

A Delicate Matter of Pride

excerpts from Inquisitor Lavellan's journal

Part One

In the beginning there were the Sun and Earth and from their blessed union came Elgar'nan, the All-Father, who is to be revered in all things. - or so our legends say. Yet other legends, from the time-before, when I was a child of Man instead of a daughter of the Elvhen, speak of a grand explosion from which the universe burst forth, like a wraith, begging for shape and purpose.

The speakers' own world was a dying paradise on which Man had held sovereignty for thousands of years.

In truth, there were no others capable of reason. Man was alone in this world barren of magic. But even that dying world was hungry for a touch of the arcane and, through craft or sorcery, through the fabled Eluvians or a breech in the planes, I believe that the peoples of Thedas had found passage there too.

Stories - too coincidental to have been made up - had found their way into the hearts and minds of the men of Earth.

After decades of simple living in the world of man, I died a peaceful death. Paradise did not greet me, neither did oblivion. Instead, it was the comfort of my mother's arms, who hummed soothingly in the near-darkness of our aravel.

I grew up an odd child, prone to asking many questions and then retreating to a quiet corner of the camp to think - brood - in silence. My cousins, Vhenlin, Adhara and Mallis by name, did not shun me but neither did they make any grand efforts of including me in their play.

Though they were my elders by three, five and eight years respectively, I often felt my true age - the age of my spirit as it were, which had clung to this infant body and sought to live again.

My mother had never recovered from my birth, passing into the Beyond not months after. The blood sacrifice stood in sharp relief. I frequently wondered if I was an abomination and the guilt twisted like a rusted dagger. A born murderer...

… and a body-thief too, for my clan had named me Ellana, after my grandmother. Ellana Lavellan.

I believe I was six when I first consciously realised I was in the Fade while dreaming. However, reading of the Fade had not prepared me for the reality. My heart was beating madly while I stood on a half-formed, barren cliffside, petrified.

This non-world shaped of belief, want and desire was utterly wrong. There was no horizon only a dark, gaping void which hurt the eyes. The land itself was shifting under my naked toes, cold sand to sharp, burning rock and back to sand. I was terrified.

A whimper made its way past my tight throat and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to leave it at once, to be protected from it all.

To my mounting horror, the Fade did not eject me. Instead, walls sprung up around me, wrapping tightly, painfully, like a too-small cocoon. I don't know if it was my own fears which gave them life or a 'helpful' spirit, but I screamed and screamed until I woke up.

They told me that the Keeper had been called, for I would not wake up even though I had screamed my throat raw.

She was - and is - one of the kindest, most patient people I have ever known, Keeper Istimaethoriel. Her warm, loving magic worked to clear my body of all lingering ills while she brewed tonics to fix my injured throat and potions to ease my sleep.

Still, that dream had earned me a fear of the Fade which would take years to disappear. Up until my eleventh summer, there had been very few instances where I was aware I was dreaming and every time I had made a conscious effort to wake up. Even if I could have held a smidgen of the power stories tell the half-elvhen Feynriel wielded, time after time I rejected that avenue.

Not only did the Fade feel unnatural to my rational mind, but I couldn't risk confirming that I did have a place there, that I was once a spirit… and that I had ousted the true soul of Ellana Lavellan. I was a coward, perhaps, but I couldn't bear it.

A few months after I had turned eleven, while I was in the forest officially foraging for berries and secretly lazing about, my wool-gathering caused me to stumble and take a nasty tumble down a hill.

Down I went, hitting roots and rocks and young saplings, none of which stopped my fall til I found myself rolling to a stop in front of a mother bear and her tiny cubs. The mother, taking the sudden, loud appearance for an attack, jumped me with a frightful roar.

And magic... saved me. I remember feeling myself passing through the world as if through water - a murky, roiling water where the surroundings did not matter and I had no say in my course at all. I had been pushed by this grand current and dropped by the waves in a sanctuary. The spell had taken me to a nearby boulder, tall - and perhaps most importantly - steep enough to give the bear pause.

She growled and sat on her hind legs, looking for purchase to climb after me, while I clutched my heart and balked at these new complications - angry mother bear and magic both.

With the discovery of my new magic the rift between us children grew wider. Vhenlin and Mallis no longer invited me to impromptu archery contests, nor did Adhara speak quite as freely of her hopes and dreams.

Slowly, I withdrew into my studies and, to fill up any idle moments, I took up carving. Illun, our master craftsman, already had a student but he did take the time to look at my rough whittlings and, in the evenings, would let me sit by his side as he pointed out flaws and suggested ways I could improve my clumsy slashes.

The seasons passed in this manner and, in due time, I had carved tiny charms for each of our gods, to be worn around the neck or strapped to a bracer's leather laces. For myself, I wore a tiny token of June at my right hand and an even smaller carving of the Dread Wolf on my left.

The Keeper thought it a child's whim, to help ward off evil spirits while I slept. Though ashamed at the deception, I let that assumption spread around the clan, so that few would question me later.

In truth, my friend, I had kept it as a reminder that even truthful people might lie from ignorance and that the memories of the Dalish were not as accurate as we had always hoped.

That year I had earned my vallaslin and instead of feeling proud, I remember feeling cold, empty… branded, nor marked. I cut my hair short and kept a fringe, the better to hide the blood writing.

In my studies under the Keeper I listened and and practiced and, when all was said and done, always made sure to remember the stories from the world of Earth.

Five years of magical training do not a master make.

In my own fearful, halting, bumbling way I had made peace with the Fade. I had learnt to call upon it to close small wounds and shield my allies and I had learnt to work with the current, that which was referred in our stories as simply the fade jump or step. But I was still very much a novice.

In fact, when the Keeper requested that I spy on the newly formed Conclave, the shemlen's new answer to the mage-templar war, I could feel my simple, safe world crumbling around me.

I refused but I couldn't really provide Keeper Istimaethoriel with my reasons. What could I say? That if there was an Ellana Lavellan there was bound to be a lord or lady Trevelyan, a Cadash Carta member or a Qunari?

What excuses I mustered seemed weak in her eyes and those of my clansmen. What followed were difficult months where I felt the weight of many a disapproving stare around our camp and the slow cooling of some already tenuous relationships.

In the end, I was still honor-bound to obey her wishes and, from the clan's perspective, matters were dire enough to warrant investigating.

I left.

The Chantry conclave was very difficult to infiltrate, especially for one who had become rusty at handling the workings of… polite society. I stole a servant's clothes at first, and took to serving tables.

It was… disturbing. The shemlen reminded me little of the men of Earth. They were disgustingly rude, both the men and women, and it was a trial to keep up even a veneer of humility.

At the time, it was the sixth day of waiting tables when I thought I had found my salvation. A contingent of mages had arrived from the circle of Ostwick and, as I delivered some drinks, a haughty-looking woman stopped me.

"Maxwell dear" I remember her saying "I've finally caught a serving girl. I swear they're hiding on purpose! Tell her your choice of drink."

A very handsome young man turned to back to look. Tall, fair-faced and with a long, raven braid, he would have been incredibly attractive - but for the sneer.

"Well, it's about time. Three bottles of wine, girl. And don't try to give us any of that cheap swill either. Trust me, we'll know."

"Oi, Trevelyan. It's not from your pocket, make 'er get five, ey?" another called out.

I might have mumbled a "Yes, sers." before hurrying away. They didn't get their drinks but I figured the future-Inquisitor could handle being thirsty for an evening.

My main priority became leaving the Conclave.

If the future-Inquisitor was already here then I would have to get as far away as possible - as soon as possible.

Taking my battered old satchel from where I had stashed it, I quickly dressed in my old clothes, discarding the tattered servant's dress and started towards the servants' exit.

As luck would have it - and damn me for not remembering that one man's good luck is another's bad one - with the arrival of both the mages and the templars, guards had been doubled.

I had to take quite a few detours to avoid notice, ducking in alcoves and sidling into deserted rooms, this way and that, until I was thoroughly lost.

There was no grand entrance. No valorous threats and no posturing at all.

I entered a chamber with my back to the room, keeping an eye on the corridor past which the guards would come any second now.

Instead, I heard a scream behind me.

"You there, help me!" a desperate voice cried out.

I jumped around, terrified, only to see an old woman struggling in the grasp of a foul-looking spell.

"No, no, no..." my mind was chanting. I could see a monstrous man-thing twisting around to pin me with a bored, only barely hateful look.

His lips moved but I couldn't hear him for the pounding in my ears. I tried to will myself to move but my limbs felt heavy and sluggish.

Then this crackling sphere was heading towards my head and, instinctively, I raised my arms to protect my face.

It landed in my grasp and, even as I gripped it tightly, my thoughts were still odd and slow.

"But I was just leav..."

A flash of red.

Darkness.

I woke up in the Fade and felt… heavy. That tiny bit too full, too real for the world around me. As when there is too much oxygen, I felt clumsy and dizzy, moving on instinct alone.

If I was attacked and saved, as in the old tales, I don't know. Even now I can't recall any of it.

The next time I awoke, I found myself bound in heavy irons, hurting everywhere. I tried to go back to sleep or, at the very least, to meditate as the Keeper had taught me.

I failed. Sharp pains would often wreck my left arm, starting at the palm and moving all the way to my shoulder, arching towards my heart, making it hard to breathe without crying out.

Instead, I cried whatever tears I couldn't hold in and clenched my teeth tightly.

Someone would have to come eventually, I thought.

Eventually happened to be hours later, long past the point when my willpower had more than frayed at the edges.

It was now in tattered pieces, and I was screaming - howling really - as I clutched my injured arm.

First came the guards, rushing in and leaving just as quickly with muttered "Maker save us." and "Fucking knife-ears."

The Seeker came what felt, at the time, like ages later.

I don't wish to remember her manhandling, her cutting words and rougher arms. She was a desperate woman, facing the sole survivor of a massacre and a rising demonic threat.

Somewhere between urging myself to keep it together and trying to distract myself from the painful throbbing in my arm, I must have pledged my aid because soon we were marching up the mountain.

I mumbled out loud because, at one point, she turned to address me.

"What do you mean, 'It was Trevelyan's job'? What do you know of that family?" she said, all but ordering me to explain.

"I remember… running from him… the mage. His stupid sneer." I remember saying, pausing every other word to wet my dry, cracking lips.

The thoughts were there - I could feel it - all the hard facts, reasons and decisions but whatever linked them had been torn to shreds. I felt as if I was chasing some fading memory that was growing more and more elusive as I spoke.

The old tales spoke of a demon, that much I recalled. What had that fiend done to me, I wondered. How far had his grasping fingers reached to steal bits of my mind and soul?

"Trevelyan. The… mage. He was supposed to… to… to do what? It was right there… and now I can't recall. ...He'd wanted three bottles of wine. Yes! And his friend wanted… five."

"I'm no shem's damned servant." I added with an indignant air that wasn't at all feigned. I remembered that much - how angry the shemlen's behaviour had made me.

"Maybe… he was supposed to get his own wine?" It sounded true enough but, in my own mind, rang false.

"No, no… that wasn't it. But... I know it was his job…"

I remember catching her arm to have her look me in the eye.

"I had decided it was his job… This... wasn't supposed to happen… Don't you see, I had even changed my clothes… This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen! Get his own drink! I was leaving! I know it!" I hissed, willing her to believe.

"Madwoman." I heard her saying under her breath as she shook her arm free and hurried ahead.

I suppose, looking back, that I didn't make a very good first impression.

I was still trying to grasp those evanescent thoughts when we found ourselves under attack. Us and a handful of brave soldiers who were getting fewer by the minute.

I shielded them as best I could until one of the angry spirits, a nearly-shapeless wraith, came at me.

With a strangled yelp, I wasted no time in fade stepping onto a boulder, then jumping and hiding behind it until the demon, with no prey in sight, ran to torment someone else.

Only then did I peek from behind my rocky cover, whispering soothing words and sending tendrils of magic to bandage a soldier's bleeding leg, another's slashed arm or face as best it could.

The monsters must have taken, by my estimate, nearly an hour to put down. At the end of the fight, we were all tired and bleeding, the soldiers too weary to be muttering about apostates or elves and myself too drained to worry about it.

It may have been my impression, but Cassandra too was slightly less stiff around me and I put it down to having healed her men instead of using my magic to light up the battlefield.

We took little time to rest.

We had little time. When the adrenaline had faded, the pain hit me all the harder. My hand was boiling, my arm burned and the flaming nerves pushed pins and needles into my heart.

When I stumbled onto my knees, Cassandra put a strong arm around her and helped me walk.

She told me later that, at some point, I started muttering in elvish and strange tongues she couldn't understand - doubtlessly the tongues of the men of Earth.

Still, talking helped keep me grounded, even if, at the time, I hadn't realised the reason why the good Seeker wouldn't answer me back.

In due course we came across a rip in the world, a tear made infinitely beautiful by the way it eased my pain the nearer we got to it.

First I could walk under my own power… then I could run… I found myself sprinting towards this new battlefield - to get as close as possible to the thing offering me such blessed relief.

Only to find it surrounded by the same demons as before, ugly, misshapen things, clearly wrong for this world.

I looked around and, noticing allies, I worked to shield them, one by one, fast… faster… the magic seeming so close at hand, almost rushing to obey, wanting… begging to please.

One of the fighters turned to look at me and must have said something to the others, but by then I was focused on renewing the protective magic and mending previous wounds, stepping across the battlefield whenever I could feel one of the demons come close.

These warriors seemed much more competent and, with the veil tear nearby, I hardly felt the exhaustion… If anything, I felt energized.

When it was over, I was giddy with relief, high on the magic that had coursed through me. I was laughing as someone grabbed my arm and thrust it at the tear.

My beautiful tear… Did I really want it closed, I wondered and, as if in response, the rip pulsed with warm promise.

The grip on my arm became painful.

"Close it." someone said firmly. "Now." It was an order that helped firm my resolve. I had to remember that, at present, distance from any of these rifts could kill me. It was… better, easier… to do as they asked.

I sighed and let the foreign magic latched onto my hand grasp reality. It bound it tighter and tighter until - with so little access to the Fade to help keep it open - the tear crumpled onto itself.

I looked at my hand with disappointment. The pain was all but gone… but so was the blessed balm, the arcane fracture that had so enchanted me.

Wasn't this supposed to feel like a grand achievement, I wondered to myself, both angry at the loss and confused at this unreasonable feeling.

"It is done. You have closed the rift."

I looked up to the speaker and blanched.

How would you prepare for meeting a god? Or, if not a god, an immortal? Would you be cocky, my friend, confident in your power and worth? Would you be reverent, awed at the chance given to you?

I was neither, I'm afraid.

Varric tells me that I gave a short, pained moan and swayed, nearly crumpling to the ground if not for Cassandra's quick thinking. She caught me and led me to a nearby rock to sit on.

"You may rest here, Lavellan." she said, strongly but not unkindly. "T'was a wonder you could even fight. I had thought the mark would kill you before we got here. You must have truly wanted to close that rift to support us so thoroughly in that battle."

I hummed noncommittally and though I'm sure at least one person did not share her certitude, he stayed silent on the matter.

Instead, master Tethras came to my rescue.

"So Seeker, it seems you were right to keep her after all. We might yet get to the breach."

Though Cassandra's refusal was both swift and blunt, the dwarf was insistent. He argued and cajoled and I could see Cassandra's resolve weakening.

We were both aware that if the mark pained me again, leaving her to carry me… we would be defenseless. Varric too saw it, for he sauntered up to me.

We must have introduced ourselves and I believe I managed a smile, though how pained or trembling it looked, I am unsure.

Cassandra went on to present Solas as an expert on the Fade, a title which the mage accepted with barely a nod - as if it were his due - and a small smile that, if one looked right, seemed almost mocking.

Swallowing my unease, I stared at him through my fringe. He seemed so strangely alluring. Not traditionally handsome, but possessing some kind of inner fire that - had I not known (or at the very least suspected) his real nature - I might have mistaken for charisma.

I must have stared at him far longer than is polite because he tilted his head in a slightly knowing manner.

"A pleasure to meet you… Solas.." I managed to get out, my voice trailing weakly at the end.

I was left out of the preparations and needless arguing that Varric and Cassandra engaged in as they tried to decide which way was safest across the valley.

While they quibbled over details and fought over strategies, Solas had taken to reading a tome and I, finding a small piece of wood of suitable shape and texture, had taken out my whittling knife.

I hummed as I worked, and gradually lost myself in the simple, repetitive motions until I was calm. I thought of my clan, of my duty, of my new role, what it was supposed to entail… and how I could avoid it.

"I am glad to see that my assumptions about the mark on your hand were correct.(*)" Solas said, breaking me out the reverie. He spoke elvish and while I wasn't sure if he did this to keep our conversation private or to test me in some way, I answered in kind.

"What assumptions were those?" I asked, preferring to mentally label my knowledge as speculation until otherwise confirmed.

"I had deduced that whatever magic had opened the breach in the sky also placed the mark on your hand.(*)" he readily explained.

I turned my hand this way and that, but nothing felt different - the magic was dormant for now. At least I no longer felt quite so sorry at having closed the rift.

"It felt different, that magic." I started, slowly "Not as if it was... sifted from the Fade... It felt more potent." I added, trying to put into words something which still defied my understanding. "Real, solid… happy to be used, willing, yearning..."

"Interesting." he said and I might have seen his eyes narrowing slightly, but if they did, it was gone in a flash. Perhaps a mere trick of the light.

"You've had time to form assumptions about the mark. I assume that means you've had time to study it?" I asked, letting the topic drop.

"Indeed I have - you had been unresponsive for days. I had theorised that the sympathetic magic could be used to affect the breach in a similar, if opposite, way in which the breach is affecting the world." he said with a slight smile, using small gestures to emphasise his point.

"Where one appears to draw magic from the Fade in order to strengthen its cohesion and expand, the other might drain the magic in order to disrupt the pattern and seal the rift."

"A fascinating hypothesis." I acknowledged "...and one I am glad to see proven correct." I added, smiling widely before catching myself and looking down at my unfinished carving.

He made it easy to get drawn in, easy to forget who I was speaking to. I shouldn't allow myself to forget that, I decided. He may have meant well… but I was still stuck with the blighted mark due, in no small part, to his stupid, short-sighted plan.

I frowned as I resumed my carving. On the other hand, harboring ill feelings towards him would do me no good. If what I recalled was true, in so long as Corypheus possessed the orb, we were allies.

Mere ifs and maybes… but I had little else to go on. I sighed deeply, once, twice, three times and tried to bury my resentment.

"I appreciate the help you've offered so far." I whispered, putting as much feeling into my words as possible. "Both to the soldiers and myself. Mages seem to be in short supply these days, especially ones as competent as you appear."

As soon as the words were out, I cringed at how that sounded. By the Dread.. and oh, curse it all, now I couldn't even swear in my own mind.

While I was busy wallowing in self-pity, I heard a light chuckle.

"Have no fear, I shall take that in the spirit it was intended in."

"Thank you." I mumbled, and that was the last either of us spoke for a while.

To my shame, I had no more moments of bravery - reckless or otherwise - as we made our way to the forward camp.

My new companions bantered with each-other in hushed voices, unwilling to risk rousing the animals of the forest or grabbing the attention of any stray demon.

I kept quiet, and observed each of them in turn.

If Varric was scared, he hid it well, teasing Cassandra about all manner of things: her seemingly confident attitude, her battle shouts and - once - even her hair. It may have been his way of dealing with the mounting fatigue or a clever trick to keep her mind off worse things.

Nevertheless, he was mostly successful and while the Seeker's own replies weren't half as playful, she made no effort to mock him or put him down.

Solas… He was the picture of calm. As I was holding the rear, I felt that I could study him in patience. His simple attire worked well to hide any hidden strength. I wanted to say that I could see something more, in the way he walked or held himself: a hint of masked skill, an inconsistency in this assumed persona.

I did not.

I briefly wondered how much power he might have truly lost - or, better said, regained - before shaking my head and dismissing the thought. It was irrelevant. I couldn't single him out, deny him protection in the midst of battle to test any wild theories.

For all intents and purposes, he was as mortal as any of us - as frail and easily broken as any of us. Perhaps more, as he appeared as a simple mage, bearing no arms or armor.

As if sensing my overly contemplative gaze - my shameless staring, more like - he gradually slowed his steps, until he had matched my pace. He said nothing and, surprisingly, his presence was not uncomfortable.

Behind our companions, we hiked in silence as a light snowfall slowly covered our backs in a chilly white mantle.

The peace lasted until the forward camp was in sight. Another rift had spawned near the entrance and I was both relieved and saddened to realize that the magic's beautiful call was so much weaker.

In turn, the fact that I was at all sad frustrated me and I resolved to work the anger out of my system. Finding a discarded shortsword, I put my early weapons training to use.

I would find a demon already engaged in fighting one or more soldiers, shield the fighters and slash at its misshapen body from behind. If - or when - it turned to address the new threat, I would step to another unsuspecting demon.

It was, by no means, an easy fight.

The shades' hides were tough like hardened leather and while a skilled rogue might have found some weak spots, most of the warriors' strikes slid off it, no matter how slow the beasts were to defend themselves.

The wraiths' physical constructs were, by contrast, very easy to disrupt. If one could pin them down.

We were down to seven men standing - counting our own party, another dozen dead or gravely wounded, when I decided to risk experimenting with the mark. I neared the rift and tried to pull on the strands connecting the Fade spirits to their world.

They were horrendously hard to grasp, slippery… vanishing in my hand like smoke and reforming around it.

Still, my will had done its job of enforcing the anchor's own power and I could feel them submitting to the anchor's - my - desire. Curling my fingers as if gently stroking a skittish bird's plumage, I wound the threads tighter and tighter, until I could hear the demons' shrill cries at being thwarted.

They had to pull closer to the tear or risk the stability of their new form. Some did, and ever so slowly clustered near the rift. Others tried to resist and gradually vanished, their magic returning to the Fade as they died.

When all had vanished, I took a moment to peer inside the rift. The Fade was as impossible as I remembered it - and I couldn't even blame the window for distorting the image.

I briefly considered stepping in… would having a body mean that the Fade would affect me more or less? My fear had dulled, my apprehensiveness had not… but it was countered by a mounting sense of curiosity and the dull burn of wanting restitution for past wrongs.

A warm hand on my shoulder stopped any further musings.

"The rift should be closed now."

"I know." I replied, perhaps sullenly.

"And yet you hesitate?"

I did. And if he had noticed anyway, I saw little harm in explaining my reluctance.

"As a young child, I sometimes realized I was dreaming. The Fade was… terrifying. I had discovered an odd, inhospitable, dangerous world. I was scared and it… hurt me." I said, still staring into the tiny window to the Beyond.

"Yet earlier today it drew me in, against all reason and previous fears, like a sweet, long-forgotten song etched in my very bones - or perhaps in this mark I carry... dragging me closer on pain of death. What cursed enchantment could have accomplished such a thing?" I hissed before catching myself and realizing that Solas was pinning me with an odd look.

"We may debate this later, if you wish." he finally offered. "For now, it is imperative that the rift be closed before more demons may be drawn by its presence."

He was, of course, correct to break me out of my fanciful thoughts. This was neither the place nor the time for them. I raised my arm with only a slightly mulish expression.

"I will remember to ask." I said, unraveling the pattern and collapsing the rift.

Chancellor Roderick was an obnoxiously self-entitled, short-sighted shem. On meeting us, even though we had fought and bled with the Chantry's own men, he immediately ordered my imprisonment and execution.

He made no effort to aid us, neither with supplies or in outlining the incursion into the demon-controlled mountains, offering only scornful, belittling remarks which slowed our planning and heightened the already palpable tension.

I hadn't expected such a negative, wholly dislikeable person. The nugget of truth in every story, I suppose.

At some point in the deliberations I excused myself and went to rest on a pallet. They could do as they chose. My last effort to spare myself some pain had landed me with a cursed mark.

Leliana's suggestion that we take a secret path through the mountains worked well for us. We encountered no resistance on the hidden trail and it was only when the stars lit and it became clear we wouldn't be reaching the summit, that Cassandra finally ordered we make camp.

Living in the wilds had granted me some resistance to the cold, but the frigid winter air made me huddle as close to the fire as the others. The aches of the past few days were catching up and my muscles screamed in protest.

Our rations cooled as fast as they had warmed and, together with thoughts about the task ahead, I had very little appetite. Given time to think, all of my worries were struggling to be heard, melding into a ball of dread which settled like lead in my stomach.

I was making pretty little shapes in my plate when Varric spoke up.

"Cheer up, Doe-Eyes. There's only a demon horde in front of us, one behind us and one at the sides. We still have options." he joked, though it did little to lighten my mood.

"I am no warrior, archer or battlemage. I'm a healer, Varric." I answered, trying to keep the bite out of my voice.

"A very welcome addition to any party, healers."

"Let me amend that, I am a healer in training. I can close cuts and mend sprains... superficial comforts."

"And a little light show." he added, wiggling his fingers.

"Ah, yes, the power of this cursed mark… which nearly killed me... and may yet do so." I added, somewhat resentfully.

I gave him no time for rebuttal.

"Make no mistake, I am committed to this course. ...But I've been thrust in a no-win situation and see no reason to be happy about it." I bit out, frowning out at the forest in an effort to avoid looking at Solas.

This worked well enough till the elf decided to address me.

"If the mark is as powerful as it has shown itself to be, merely channeling its power should not drain you of your own."

"Not wholly, at any rate." he slowly, almost reluctantly amended. "Our world wants to run in stable shapes and patterns, to be strong and immutable, while the Fade wishes the exact opposite. Separating two forces which already reject one another's existence would be far simpler than binding them together."

"At any rate, we will not know until we try." Cassandra interjected. "Worrying about it does you little good."

"Closing the breach may well be an easy task." added the elf, whose display of hypocrisy had me pinning him with a hostile look.

"Ifs and maybes." I hissed, gesturing with my marked hand. "Oh, believe me, I am already trusting my well-being to ifs and maybes." I said, thinking of my own reliance on his probable good intentions and our possibly mutual goals.

"I am already running on hope." I added in elvish, trying to make him see my disappointment. Perhaps he did, or perhaps he saw only unreasonable despair, because his features slowly settled into a frown.

"Goodnight." I offered the party and left the fire's light and warmth.

We found a group of scouts holding position in an old ruin early the next day.

I did little in the way of healing, daringly - or carelessly - fade stepping around the open rift that left the demons' flanks open as much as it did my own.

The night's conversation still bothered me.

I chided myself for expecting a God to act as a man, to look at the little people instead of the great picture. I could expect no grand confession of guilt… What I could - with patience and kind words perhaps - obtain was knowledge of the Fade and of the anchor.

Helping conquer my fear of the Fade, being able to step into this realm in one place and come out another… such things would hold a great value of their own, even if the power granted by the mark would only be temporary.

But how does one even begin to coax a God into sharing his secrets, I considered dejectedly, idly looking for the elf I was thinking off.

My speculations were cut short when I saw a great shade ready leap onto Solas' unguarded back. The elf was helping shield a gravely wounded soldier and had yet to renew his own protections.

The hit would kill him, I remember thinking.

I screamed, thoughtlessly fade stepping across the gap, trying to parry the thrusting claws and only partially succeeding. One lodged itself into my stomach and, as he pulled, I felt myself dragged forward towards the thing's twisted body.

I could swear it was grinning.

When I came to, I found myself on a little straw pallet inside the ruins. I spent a few moments simply trying to get my mind in working order. Everything seemed faded and dull. I felt no pain but emotions were hard to grasp for… close, but not quite in range. A very strong potion of healing then.

Carefully, so as not to open any wounds, I tried to sit up. A ratty blanket had been draped over me and I slowly lowered it to check my injuries. It didn't seem that bad.

Faint steps on the stone made me look up. Solas appeared well, mostly unharmed but… angry… annoyed… I couldn't really tell with the potion muddling my thoughts.

"I have bound the wound as best I could." he said in a clipped voice. "You must now heal it."

"It doesn't look too serious..." I said while unwrapping the bandage.

If anything, his tone became even frostier. "You do not feel anything due to the potions we have fed you. At this point, you have more elfroot in your veins than blood."

I nodded slowly, without really paying attention. The wound really did look hideous: cutting halfway across the ribs, the ragged edges stitched as best they could be and with a deep, walnut-sized puncture near the sternum which was still bleeding slightly. Yes, I supposed it did look bad.

"And yet… I don't feel it at all." I dazedly confessed while prodding the area with a finger.

"Heal it." Solas ordered, taking position at the foot of the makeshift bed.

I focused on calling my magic and it answered slowly, reluctantly… As I worked, I mused aloud.

"It doesn't like the fact that I cannot feel it… that I cannot want it..."

"Who?"

"My magic." I said simply, as if that explained everything. At that moment, to myself, it did.

"Why does your magic feel unwanted?"

"Not unwanted." I corrected before listlessly expanding my answer. "This potion… or potions make it hard for me to want anything… to feel much of anything. All of my studies focused on the harnessing the desire to heal, to protect or flee… Asking magic to do something I do not really want is… difficult."

He chose not to answer me, but after a while of watching me work in silence he did inquire.

"Why did you take the hit?"

I blinked up at him. "I need you." He seemed slightly startled and I reviewed my words. "Your knowledge. I had considered my own chances of survival and they seemed higher with you at my side, than without."

"So you leapt in front of a deathblow?" he quipped, raising a brow.

I realized I was supposed to feel some embarrassment at that, and appreciated missing it.

"I was supposed to parry it. My defense was flawed and the mistake my own. Had I been slightly more skilled, I would have deflected both hits and we would not have suffered this delay."

"No one is angry with you."

"You seem angry." I candidly stated.

He took his time in replying.

"I suppose I find it surprising" he finally said "that a person so afraid of death - and so conscious of their own mortality - as you seem to be, would so readily leap to another's defense."

"Foolish?" I asked as I finished bandaging the mostly healed injury. I slowly stood, to face him as we spoke.

His expression was inscrutable. While waiting for his answer, I carefully inspected his features… unmarred, still strong, still alluring. He too was staring, but whether that boded well or ill, I couldn't tell.

He was about to speak when we heard Varric calling out.

"Doe-Eyes, you're up! How are you feeling?"

Up close, the central rift was enormous and the Breach itself too imposing for words. I listened to the others plan as I gazed into the hastily closed gap to the Beyond.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks" Cassandra advised me. "We need you to close this rift."

I nodded my understanding then smiled towards the rift. Although it was ajar, this was the first time I would be actively opening a gate. I licked my lips, trying to quell the dangerous - lethal - desire to step through.

"Solas, do you have any advice on the cleanest way to open this? I would like to make closing it back all the easier."

The elf stepped close to my side.

"Do you see any patterns into its making?" he asked and I silently cursed his vagueness. Still, I made the effort to check. The magic was chaotic, the rift feeling more like a wound than any stable construct. It made sense that it had tried to close itself, albeit improperly.

With no further delays, I set about opening the wound. It shuddered and protested and the gathering magic seemed to be pulling at the Beyond.

I remembered what the stories said about spirits being twisted into demons by the painful, forced summoning into the real world.

"I'm sorry" I whispered. A roar answered, as a behemoth manifested itself.

When the gaping rift's magic had dragged forth no more demons, I made my way to the hole itself.

I willed the anchor to send the magic inwards, as before, to break the link between planes.

The rift resisted and I frowned. It seemed that ancient magic alone would not be enough. I had re-opened this gate against its will and it retreated from my touch.

I began pouring my own will, drawing upon my own strength to power the enchantment. It flinched but started bowing. I pushed and shoved and bullied it into retreating, using the anchor to tear and shred the bindings.

The plan was working, but the construct was massive.

I remember the exact moment when I realized that I couldn't pour as much power as in the beginning: the anchor was doing all it could, my will would get no stronger than this.

The mark's foreign magic was burning up my arm, the flesh tearing under the strength of the channeled spell. It should have been Trevelyan here, a skilled circle mage not an apprentice of little power. I had given it my all and still, it wasn't enough.

Frustrated, I let the tears fall unchecked. How pitiful… to end my second life with such a failure.

Why wasn't I strong enough? I… I.. the thought twisted in my mind like a venomous snake.

I had nothing else to give... but myself.

With my right hand I slowly unsheathed my small whittling knife. Faintly, in the background, I could hear their startled cries and frantic questions… "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?"

In one shape or another… all mages are told of the power of sacrifice...

"You will bow.'" I hissed as I carved open my wound. "Dread Wolf take you!"

Had I been been thinking clearly, I might have laughed at the irony… but magic had accepted the sacrifice and while the wave of power swept across the dying rift, I felt myself slipping…

When I woke up in the Beyond, I thought myself a spirit. There was no pain this time - and I didn't know enough, at the time, to link it to my lack of fear. The Fade seemed like any other foreign land: strange and, so long as you didn't know the inner workings, a bit dull.

How pointless all my worrying, I thought.

I wandered aimlessly, idly considering what to make of my new existence. It seemed simple, relaxing but purposeless.

After a while, I sat on a rock and started humming. Songs of Earth and of Thedas, of man and elf alike.

In time, I felt a spirit watching. It hovered at the edge of my senses and I hummed softer, to spite it. It did have the effect of drawing it closer and I took the chance to introduce myself.

"Greetings, spirit. I am… was Ellana. Formerly of Earth... and formerly of Thedas. What does one do in this place?"

"Greetings, dreamer." it answered in a small, wispy voice. "What were you singing?"

"Dreamer?" I scoffed "I'm afraid you're mistaken, my friend, I'm part of the recently deceased. Half-burned, half-bled to death, I'm sure."

It quivered in place, looking unsure. I could sense its confusion and, after a while, it spoke up - and by that, I mean that I hardly had to strain to hear it.

"No, you're not all here… my… friend."

"But..."

"What were you singing?" it insisted.

"Love songs, for the most part. I will sing them with words if you'll give me a tour." I bargained. I would have thought it happy with the arrangement but it suddenly seemed to wilt.

"I would like that very much… it's been so long since I've heard anything new. But I'm afraid there won't be time…"

"Why no..."

I felt a drop landing on my face and I opened my eyes to see a leaky, slightly bowed wooden ceiling.

"I'm alive." I recall whispering. "I'm alive." I started crying and couldn't find it in me to stop even as I heard a servant entering and then rushing out with cries for a healer.

Said healer followed soon after, looking harried, sounding brusque but handling me with a careful, kind touch.

He checked my stomach, my left hand and arm… and when he could apparently find no cause for the tears, finally asked.

"Alright, what's wrong?"

Between sniffs and hiccups, I did my best to point out the source of my distress. "I'm… alive..."

"Ugh!" he snorted disgustedly. "Maker save me from suicidal heroes!"

"No… you… don't get it..." I insisted, but he was already gone.

It took me hours to come to grips with my continued survival.

I looked at my arm, littered with thin criss-crossing lines... my stomach, sporting a thick, puckered scar… and my hand, the anchor's power still pulsing slowly under the surface.

When I finally mustered enough energy to leave my temporary home, it was already dark outside.

Braziers and camp-fires had been lit throughout the tiny village but I avoided the circles of light, fade stepping behind houses and keeping to the shadows. It would have worked too, if not for Varric sudden arrival.

"Pstt! Doe-Eyes, what's with the skulking?" he stage-whispered "Planning something nefarious so soon? Can I help?"

"Yes, Varric." I retorted, far more quietly. "I have shamed my wild, barbaric ways by acting heroic and must now make penance by killing a dozen innocent kittens."

"Must you?" another asked, and I saw Solas stepping out of a patch of darkness. "The ways of the Dalish have certainly changed in these latter years."

His unexpected appearance took the wind out of my sails.

"Solas..." I whispered. "Dread Wolf" said my thoughts and I could hear the tangled ball of emotions in the words - spoken and unspoken -, even if the others did not.

"I would speak to you of what happened at the Breach. ...May I impose upon your hospitality for the evening?"

"You may." he agreed with a nod.

The meeting with Leliana and Cassandra could have had only one result.

Backed into a corner by Grand Chancellor Roderick, the two had reaffirmed the forming of the Inquisition and to add substance to the somewhat tenuous legitimacy of their claim, they needed the Herald of Andraste to stand with them.

I was terrified of accepting, but terrified even more of refusing and facing Corypheus alone.

For all that they wanted to use me as a symbol, I too needed them as my shield. I had the beginnings of a plan that was so mad, it might just work...

I agreed.

It must have been close to midnight when I knocked on Solas' door. It opened swiftly and he bid me welcome. It was a tiny house, with clean but sparse furnishings… and only one chair.

I quickly settled myself down next to the hearth.

"Please..." he started, gesturing towards the empty chair.

"'Tis not the first time I have sat on the warm earth in front of a fire." I said, waiving the offer as graciously as I could. "Besides, I couldn't deprive my host of his seat, not when I'm here to seek favors and exchange knowledge." I added jokingly.

He huffed a short, light laugh, crossed his arms and even in the flickering light, I could see him peering at me through half-lidded eyes, a smile flitting across his lips.

"Usually, it is the other way around, is it not? Exchanging favors and seeking knowledge."

"Perhaps" I agreed. "But in this instance, the favor would most likely remain unpaid. It's not something I could equal…"

"While in knowledge you could?" he softly interrupted, leaning forward. I didn't have to see his raised brows to sense the disbelief, but I made a point of looking him in the eye as I answered.

"In its usefulness? Yes." I stated as confidently as I could. "Though tonight I came primarily to discuss possible means of entering the Fade?" I said, and while he didn't frown, his face smoothed into a blank mask which boded ill for my chances.

"I would advise you against attempting it. Whenever you've approached a rift, forgive me for saying this, you've alternated between excessive fear, revulsion, anger and delight. Even if there were some means of travelling available to you, such strong emotions could draw powerful demons to your side." he explained, not unkindly.

"...You're right. Or would have been." I agreed, looking down at my lap and toying with the golden embroidery from one of my cuffs.

"After I… disabled the Breach… I found myself in the Fade. I... assumed to have passed... into the Beyond" I said haltingly, trying to swallow back the emotions which the memory evoked.

"I felt little past a... faint curiosity about my new home. ...It wasn't terrifying ...and I discovered nothing exciting all by myself. If anything, I found it rather dull, and after a while, I simply sat while waiting for something to happen."

I snorted. In hindsight, my actions must have seemed ridiculous. Especially if the friendly spirit had been watching me for longer than I had sensed it.

"As I hummed to pass the time, a spirit approached me. It was shy, but welcoming… and very interested in these 'new melodies'. It was the one who convinced me that I was quite alive and merely dreaming. ...I think I would like meeting it again." I smiled in remembrance. "I owe it some songs."

Solas seemed contemplative.

"A spirit of curiosity, perhaps." he mused, idly tapping a finger against his knee. "But if this is your only goal, why go physically in the Fade?"

I shrugged. I wouldn't share all of my reasons but there were things which were true enough.

"I can't control when my dreams start or end… or even if I recall them at all. With so little control, my chances of meeting one spirit out of thousands would be… slim."

"I too have met good friends within the Fade." Solas admitted. "I will consider it."

I would admit to feeling slightly guilty about my deception, but mostly pleased that it had worked.

While we waited for a reply from Leliana's agents, we made forays into the wilds surrounding Haven to practice our skills and develop some measure of teamwork.

Lately, a careful observer could occasionally catch Varric and Cassandra sharing a drink in Haven's small tavern while bickering good-naturedly.

As for Solas and I, our meetings slowly became a nightly ritual. We would speak for hours - though I mostly urged him to share stories of his travels and then listened raptly to each fascinating tale.

It was a month past our arrival in Haven and we were due to leave for the Hinterlands in a couple of days, provided the weather held.

I was curled up in front of the fire when he ended the story about some ancient dwarven clan's forays into darkspawn territory and the naming of their paragon. I had been playing with my carvings, as I was wont to do at home while listening to the Hahren speak, when the sudden silence made me look up.

There was an odd look on Solas' face as he stared at my fingers - no, not my fingers, my tiny little charms.

"I believe I recognise the figures you've depicted. Two of your gods, are they not?"

I bit my lip as I considered how best to answer him… this strange being who was, in spite of both our lies and omissions, slowly becoming a friend.

"They are: June and Fen'Harel."

"The Master of Crafts and the Dread Wolf… I haven't heard of any Dalish elf choosing the latter as his patron. Is he not the one relegated to the outskirts of your camps? How rebellious of you, Ellana." he said, somewhat snidely.

Usually, speaking of my people was still taboo around him. He took our ignorance as a personal slight and I had made little headway in addressing the issue without offending him.

"Yes, the Dread Wolf..." I spoke slowly, measuring my words. "We remember him as the one who banished the gods… and yet we trust him to ward off evil spirits. I believe there was more to it… to him. Is it something I've gotten wrong?"

"Why ask me? Are they not your gods?" he asked sullenly.

Moving closer, I dared to place a hand on his shoulder. He stared at it, as it trembled slightly, but didn't remove it.

"You've certainly endeavored to dispel my ignorance on many other topics and given me good council."

The silence was heavy, but I risked pushing further. "Solas, in the end, it's a simple question, isn't it? I trust June and Fen'Harel both to watch my back. Do you believe I shouldn't?"

He turned his face from me, casting it into shadow.

"Perhaps, in your case, the trust would not be unfounded." he whispered, so soft I could barely hear it.

"Thank you, Solas. I shall keep my carvings then."

I made to leave, but found my hand held in a firm grip.

"You are a surprising woman." He said it clearly, in elvish, holding my gaze as he spoke. "By turns shrewd and naive, cowardly and brave, bold and respectful. I had not expected this. Expected you."

My breath stuttered.

"But the hour is late. Goodnight, Ellana."