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I open my eyes to find myself on a familiar path, standing in the center of the street leading to my cabin. Haven’s front gates shelter against the gusts of wind filtering from the frosty peaks. Confusion probes at my mind. I don’t remember walking here. The pale cascade of sunlight marks it as early morning, as does the lack of passersby. The sweet mountain breeze fills my lungs. No matter how many years pass since leaving my hometown and its swamp humidity, I can never get enough of the bliss of fresh air.
This morning seems so quiet. So peaceful. I dismiss my unease as leftover grogginess.
The sound of footsteps from behind catches my attention. I recognize their owner by the cadence, light and long strides, before turning to face him. How strange it is to be so familiar with someone I met weeks ago.
Solas walks in my direction from the path to the trebuchets, hands tucked behind his back and a sense of ease in his posture. He dons a small smile as he stops beside me, tilting his head to beckon me to the fork in the road leading to the market. He looks almost…happy, and it’s infectious. I fall into step beside him.
“You wanted to talk…here?” I ask as we ascend the steps to the square.
Amusement crosses Solas’ expression.
“Did you have somewhere else in mind?”
“I guess not,” I reply, puzzled. Am I missing something? “What did you want to talk about?”
“How do you find being Inquisitor?” Solas inquires, resuming our course in the direction of the chantry.
I puff out a breath.
“Honestly? Very weird. I’m not used to my opinions being so damned important to everyone. It’s just…a lot.” I breathe deep, feel the fresh layer of snow sink beneath my feet. “It’s easy to forget the little things sometimes.”
“I know what you mean,” Solas agrees. “It is a heavy burden, but you have shouldered it well.”
“I appreciate that,” I admit, letting out a relieved little laugh. We pass through the double doors into the chantry, the sound of the wind replaced by the echoes on stone. I meander through the main hall, unsure of which one of us is supposed to be leading the other. At least it is quiet. Where are all the chantry sisters, come to think of it?
But before I can voice the question, I find myself staring into the dungeons on the lower level, gaze catching on all the empty cells. No one has cleaned the chains. Several are coated in rust or perhaps blood that has yet to fade.
“Why are we here?” I ask, suppressing a shiver.
Solas must notice my discomfort; he draws closer, shifting my attention to him.
“This is where it all began, is it not?” Solas’ gaze wanders to the center of the floor where I first awoke in Haven. The cuffs that once held me lie open and discarded. “I could scarcely believe someone survived the blast after they brought you here. I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor,” Solas recounts. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing.”
I glance at Solas, studying the pensive line in his brow.
“What were you looking for?”
“An explanation, a timeline of events, something to answer my questions and Cassandra’s. You were a mystery,” Solas explains. His tone is matter-of-fact, but the probing quality to his gaze is back. “You still are.”
I’m flattered, I start to say, but suddenly the memory of cold fear upon waking filters into the present. Pressure digs into my wrists, loud voices and the sound of drawing swords—
“Ellana,” Solas calls me back. One of his hands gently clasps mine and the flashback recedes, taking the fear with it. I squeeze Solas’ hand in return before he releases me. “Haven is a comfort to you, and yet you fear it. Why?”
I read the concern in his gaze and look away.
“I’m not a fool, Solas. For all the people keep calling me Inquisitor, I see the strings that root me right back to this spot. Power doesn’t grant the immunity most people think.”
A hint of sadness tints Solas’ smile.
“That is true,” he says. “Come, we need not linger here.”
I gratefully trail behind Solas as he leads the way back upstairs and out into the sunlight. We stop in the chantry courtyard once again, leaving me no less puzzled about our conversation.
“Why bring this up now? I don’t have any better idea of what happened than you do,” I ask.
“Because I wish to understand,” Solas says absently, and I have a feeling most of his train of thought got lost on the way to his mouth. “You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. And although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra. Or she in me. I was ready to flee.”
His candidness catches me off guard. He always seemed so knowledgeable about the Breach and its mechanisms; I never would have guessed he came so close to leaving. The idea of not having met Solas seems unfathomable now.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you stayed,” I say, offering a soft smile.
Solas meets my gaze and returns it.
“So am I.”
Warmth floods my chest at how easily the admission passes his lips. Solas appears to notice the weight of it the same moment I do; his smile loses its playfulness, his gaze dips to my mouth. The air charges with something I can’t name and all I can think about is how close we are and how the heat of his body would be a welcome shelter against the cold.
Solas turns away and the moment dissipates. Dammit, I can feel my ears turning red. I struggle to regain my composure as Solas gestures at the Breach on the distant horizon. I wish I could see his expression.
“I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then—” Solas breaks off and faces me once again, locking his eyes on mine.
The memory returns so strongly that I can almost feel Solas’ grip on my hand as he plunged it into the first rift. Hope and confusion mingle so completely I no longer know if they are my feelings or his.
“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” Solas murmurs, an echo of our first conversation. He takes another tentative step towards me, close enough now that I notice the faint canvas of freckles on his cheeks. The charge in the air returns in a snap. Twin pools of dark blue search my face, looking for something so fervently and yet the question never forms on Solas’ parted lips.
Impulse guides my hand to rest gently against Solas’ cheek. He goes still, eyes widening.
“What are you searching for?” I ask helplessly.
Solas’ shallow breaths mist against my palm. His gaze softens and he leans into my touch, sending my heart thumping wildly in my chest. He reaches out to me in turn, fingertips brushing my waist as if asking for permission.
“You change…everything,” he whispers.
I lean forward and press my lips to his.
Solas lets out a muffled gasp of surprise. His mouth is devastatingly soft and his breath like fire amidst the mountain chill but I force myself to pull back after a moment, worried I’ve overstepped. My brain stutters trying to form an apology. But Solas gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, pulls me against him with a single tug of my wrist, and kisses me so deeply that I lose track of everything else.
Solas’ hands find their way back to my waist. There is no hesitation in his touch this time—his fingertips leave trails of goosebumps behind as they rove to the small of my back. He presses one palm flat against my skin, the heat both a comfort and a plea to move closer. I take the invitation and relish the sharp contours of Solas’ features, brushing my hand along his cheek before cupping the back of his neck to angle the kiss deeper. Solas’ breath hitches in response. His tongue presses lightly against my lips and I open to him. But the moment the kiss morphs from eager to something ravenous, Solas pulls back.
I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong. Solas cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine one final time, brief and hard. He takes a step back and shakes his head.
“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right,” Solas says, a subtle tremor in his voice. “Not even here.”
What does he mean, “not even here?” Where else would we be? Confusion addles my already short-circuited mind. But then the truth hits me like an avalanche and my blood runs cold.
“Haven burned,” I whisper. The horror behind the realization shapes the Fade around us until it is no longer snow collecting on the ground but ash. The acrid stench of smoke and something worse taints the air. Flames lick the buildings on the edge of my vision.
“Ellana. Ellana, look at me,” Solas instructs, placing his hands on my shoulders. Worry and something like guilt colors his expression. “The fire has passed. You are safe.”
Trembling and incredibly conscious of the heat in my periphery, I nod. Feelings shape the Fade. So I look at Solas instead, ignoring the flames even as my eyes burn.
“Good. Focus on your breathing,” Solas continues, the calm sea of his eyes a lifeline. “Remember Haven as it was.”
I close my eyes and imagine the laughter and music filtering from the tavern. I imagine those stupid chantry flags waving in the wind and the chanters belting out verses to passersby. I imagine the laughter of recruits and the tang of herbs from the medical tent and the calls of Leliana’s messenger birds overhead. And when I open my eyes again, I realize the fires are gone. Haven buzzes with life around us.
Solas is quiet for a long moment as he takes in our surroundings.
“The little things, indeed,” he muses softly. “Wake up.”