"Elizabeth!" Maxwell threw his arms around his sister, in firm hug, "I was so worried."

Ysabeau swallowed thickly as the warmth of his embrace blanketed her body and she tensed as the contact. Her gaze briefly connected with the elven apostate. He motioned to her with a slight nod and she hesitantly placed her palms against the human mans back, but her back remained stiff as a board.

"I... I am alright, brother."

"What happened? Solas said your magic was attacking your body." He pulled away and searched her crystal blue eyes, for something, anything.

"I'm not human, how can I even begin to behave like one."

"A demon from the fade had... tried to posses me." She blinked as she recalled the lie that Solas had fabricated for her, "Its hold was stronger since we went through the fade physically."

"You must, or else you will find out how Maxwell Trevelyan reacts to his sister dead and a spirit now inhabiting her body."

"A demon? I felt no demon." Maxwell blinks.

Solas nodded, affirming her statement, and stepped forward, "It had not yet possessed her, but it was keeping her from waking, Herald, she is correct."

"Herald? I thought your name was Max." Her head tilted and she frowned as if consulting her memories.

Maxwell laughed at his sister, who he thought was joking, "With how often I am called 'Herald' I might as well change my name, but its what everyone has been calling me since this... mark-" He holds up his glowing palm as Ysabeau tries to follow his words, "-can close rifts."

"Rifts? What rifts?" Her eyes shifted to look at Solas.

"There was an explosion at the Conclave, I'm sorry Izzy, looks like the mages aren't free yet." Max explains instead of the apostate, his tone is apologetic and he frowns, "Do you not remember anything either?"

"Use the few memories that are left in the body to your advantage, learn how to be Elizabeth as best as you can."

"I-" She inhales slowly, her mind racing to come up with a lie on the spot. In her peripheral, she can see Solas freeze and inhale sharply, "I actually don't remember much of anything, Max."

Blue eyes that matched her own widened, "What do you remember?"

"I-" She frowns and sifts through Faeya's memories.

A womans smile, paired with loving touch, a soothing song. She used to braid her hair. Children playing. Flames. A tower. Fear, so much fear. Death. Fear. Hide.

The woman swallows, "I remember Mamae... Us as children and my magic. I remember the Ostwick Circle and-" She pauses with a wince, her head aches and throbs.

She does not see Solas' odd look at the elven word, but as he notices her struggle and Maxwell's frown. He steps forward quickly, "Perhaps... whatever took your memory in the fade, did more damage with her."

Maxwell nods and sighs, "Don't worry Izzy, we'll get our memory back together. I'm just glad you remember your mom, she was a good woman." Ysabeau opens her mouth, there is a blank, something she knows that he doesn't. She wants to correct him, but shuts her mouth quickly, something stops her. Something cold and nerve racking. Her stomach growls audibly and Maxwell laughs, she frowns upset that her stomach would dare make such a sound.

"I'm not surprised that you are hungry, they gave you this elfroot mixture through a glass dropper, but I don't imagine it was filling." Maxwell is still smiling, "I'll go get you some food, so stay put." The door is closed quickly behind him, to not let the cold air in.

Ysabeau tilts her head, but smiles, "He is overwhleming, but oddly familiar. Are all mortals like him?"

"No, they are not. He is one of a kind, for sure," He laughs at the quirked eyebrow that Ysabeau gives him, "If you do not mind, I have a question about your- I mean Elizabeth's mother."

For some reason, the woman stiffens, his question makes her uncomfortable. She wants to growl at him, but she scolds herself softly and nods. It is not her mother he asked about, its Elizabeth's.

"You called her mamae, was she an elf?"

This was the question that was making her body tense, she knows because it makes her angry even being asked. She cannot help the frown on her face, "Yes, mamae was an elf."

Solas blinks as she claims the woman as her mother and shifts his stance, "Then you and the herald do not have the same mother?"

"Neither of them are mine! Why should I care for them!" A woman's voice, shrill and angry.

"Because you are my wife! That makes them yours." A man's, dangerously filled with anger.

"Hah! That boy may be yours, but that little bitch is niether of ours and you know it!"

He had slapped his wife for that comment and Elizabeth had forced herself to hide a gasp. She had ran to her mother, demanding answers and-

Ysabeau flinched at the memory and the pain it caused, "We... We do have the same mother, its different fathers I think..."

"Then the herald is elf blooded?" It would change everything, perhaps it could even explain why the mark had not killed him.

"Yes..." She blinks back the pain in her brow, and pressed a knuckle to the spot of pain "But... he does not know and... I dont want to tell him."

Solas' eyes widen and he sighs, "I see, who is your father then?"

"I-" She winces again as flashes of color brighten her inner eyelids.

"Mamae! Tell me," Elizabeth is panting, crying, and sweating from the run, "Is Max... your son?"

The woman is dark skinned and her shoulders are covered in thock curls, she stops washing the laundry with a gasp. She has a beautifully intricate vallaslin, that dedicates her to Mythal, "Da'lan! Where did you hear this?"

"Father- He-" She frowns as she stumbles over the word, unsure, "Is he even my father?"

The woman inhales sharply and drops the scrubbing brush, it clatters as she rushes for her child, "Ma lath, please understand. That man... I- Serah Trevelyan is-"

"Who is he?" The girls eyes were sharp, "Who is my father?"

Blue eyes are wide and she sighs softly, "He-"

"I-I can't remember," The dark skinned woman squeezes her eyes shut with a hiss.

Solas frowns and steps forward, "Does your head hurt?"

"Very much so, I think its the memories..." She admits, but she cannot hear her own words over the throb under her skin.

The elven apostate breathes a deep sigh and his aura reaches to touch hers as he extends his hand. His hand gently falls to rest against the back of her neck. His hand glows a gentle green as a pleased sigh fall from the elf-blooded woman's lips. For some reason... Ysabeau did not mind his touch, she did not dwell on it.

The cool air was on her neck again as his hand left her skin and the door to the room creaked as it opened.

"I know you hate oatmeal. but it was all they had and you better eat," Maxwell entered the room talking, a bowl in hand.

Ysabeau scowls at the lumpy pale substance in the bowl as it is placed in her lap. For some reason nausea settles in the bottom of her stomach.

She crosses her arms and glares stubbornly at the herald, "No... I won't eat this."

Solas watches, throughly humored, as the herald stares down his sister who is actually a spirit that could easily be double or more his age. "As your elder, I command you to eat that."

She opens her mouth to argue about how much she doubted it, but shuts it just as swiftly as she opened it. She shifts her gaze back down to the bowl, her lip quivers.

"But-"

"No, eat."

Solas coughs to cover a chuckle earning a sharp glare from the woman. She sighs and finally takes a bite, it does not taste too horrible, she realizes.

"Oatmeal again?" Elizabeth pokes the thick substance with a fork.

"Could be worse, could be nothing." A voice, familiar, it sparks happiness and warmth. Its a males voice.

"Would almost prefer that." She smiles as he laces her fingers with his.

She swallows thickly as the oatmeal leaves a sour taste in her mouth. Every day she- no, Elizabeth used to eat oatmeal in that cold tower

Maxwell's expression softens at her wince, "How do you feel?"

An undeniable urge to calm him fills her and she tries fir a smile, "I-I feel fine, Max-"

A knock on the door gathers their attention, Max opens it to reveal a woman with short red hair, hidden beneath a purple hood. She wore leather armor, adorned with chainmail and a purple hood thrown over her head.

"Herald, you cannot just dodge my agents whom were sent to collect you, with a quick 'spending some bonding time with my sis, leave me alone'." She crossed her arms and glared, but her lips twitched with amusement.

Maxwell sighed, "Okay, okay..." He turns to sister, "I'll be back later, Solas if she is feeling up to it, would you be comfortable showing her around?"

Solas smiles, "It would be my pleasure, Herald."

The Herald leaves the room with the woman and Ysabeau sighs softly, she sneers at the oatmeal and puts the rest of it on the table next to her.

As she pulls her body back to the cot she turns to look at the elven apostate, "What is the herald exactly?"

Solas inhales deeply, "The Herald of Andraste, it is a title founded on the Chantry's holy figure. Her name was Andraste and she was said to be the bride of their Maker. They granted this title to Maxwell Trevelyan for stopping the growth of the Breach, due to believing that Andraste guided him through the fade."

Ysabeau blinks and nods, "Thats... interesting, to say the least and what is the Breach?"

Solas shifts uneasily and walks to the door, "Come, it would be easier to show you."

The elf blooded human nods and throws the blanket off. Her bare feet press into the floor and she stands carefully as to avoid aggravating her injury. Her hands press into the bandaging that wraps around her ribcage as her wound twinges painfully, regardless of her carefully movements. The elven apostate pauses at her attire, his gaze lingering for a moment before he clears his throat and walks to the wooden dresser. He digs through it for a moment and pulls out a dark blue woolen sweater.

"Put this on, you are not wearing a proper shirt and given that the majority of this town is devout in their faith to the Maker. You may make a sister faint." Solas smirks softly at the thought.

"It covers my skin, though, surely this is more than enough..." She frowns as she catches the sweater that he throws at her. She was wearing a thin strapped top that did not pass her sternum, but bandages covered the rest of her torso.

"It is... meant to go under clothes." He coughed to hide his blush, "Its called undergarments, for that reason."

"Mortals are so odd... wearing clothes just to put more clothes on top of it. Pointless," She turns the sweater around in her hands and turns back to look at Solas, "How do I... wear it?"

Her-Elizabeth's memories told her nothing of wearing clothes.

He frowns, appearing conflicted, but steps closer regardless. He takes the sweater from her and rolls it in a specific way, all while holding eye contact. He pulls the sweater down over her head and directs her arms into the sleeves. Ysabeau tilts her head curiously, examining his focused gaze and his features. Her eyes slid over his features, taking in his high cheekbones and the slight freckles that adorn them. She examines the scar on his brow and the color of his stormy grey eyes as he pulls the shirt down over her bandages. He was careful to not aggravate her injury, but when his fingertips skimmed againat her skin, she shivered. His eyes connected with hers and suddenly he was three steps away from her, heading for the door.

Crystal blue eyes blinked curiously and she tugged her long hair free while watching the elven male open the door. She was quickly grateful for the thicker clothing as the sting of the cold air whipped past her. She pushes her hair away from her face and blinks past the snowflakes that land on her eyelashes.

"The Breach is a tear in the veil, that was caused by the explosion at the Conclave." Solas frowns up at the green tear the swirls with the clouds, threateningly. "It was growing until, the herald closed a rift at the base of the Breach... but rifts remain scattered all across Thedas or so the spymasters agents say.

"I see... It sounds dangerous to spirits of the fade." Ysabeau meets his stormy grey eyes, the green from the breech reflecting her her eyes, "Does it not?"

The elven apostate nods, "Yes, it is."

She sighs softly, upset with this revelation, "And you think Max can close this Breach, with the mark on his hand?"

"Not as it is, no..." He watches as she sits on the stone wall next to the steps, facing away from the Breach now, "But if we receive the help of mages or even templars then... maybe. I hope, anyway."

Dread pools in her stomach at the mere thought of templars, her face paling.

"I hope Max goes to the mages, I don't think I can be around templars."

She can hear Solas step closer and his hand touches her shoulder, "Are... Are you alright?"

"I'm not sure... just the word-" She sighs and runs a hand over her brow, "It brings about such fear, I don't understand..."

"And no memories came with the feeling?" Solas is frowning.

"No..." She breathes out slowly.

The elven apostate holds out a hand for her to take, "Come, perhaps we can find you some better food, instead of oatmeal."

Ysabeau laughed softly, it was pure, the sound of her distress fading, "Please, I hate that stuff as much as she did."

Solas determined in that moment, that he quite liked her laugh.