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Chapter Text

Life changed, and Ellana adjusted.

Her new pen, a gift from Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s endlessly composed—and stunningly beautiful—ambassador, trembled above a half-finished report. The ink refused to flow in the cold, as though it, too, had frozen solid somewhere between her cramped fingers and the parchment. Haven’s winter gnawed through every wall. The braziers sputtered and hissed, but couldn’t keep pace with the mountain wind.

Ellana rubbed her arms and smirked at herself. Perhaps I should put this ‘Herald’ title to use and demand a fire… or a massage? No, I couldn’t.

The thought warmed her for all of three seconds before another draft slithered through the Chantry’s cracked door. Writing would have to wait. She flexed her aching hand, noting how it trembled from the cold and fatigue. How does Josephine manage to sit and write for hours without turning to ice?

The woman’s poise seemed impervious to both frost and exhaustion.

What Ellana admired most, though, was her stubbornness. Josephine’s dedication to her work was inspiring… and infuriating. Eating had become their latest battlefield: Ellana insisted on regular meals, while Josephine argued that breaks were not necessary and someone would deliver something soon, ‘I swear, Your Worship.’ It was a promise she never kept.

“Later” had turned into Ellana herself appearing at Josephine’s door, tray in hand, sometimes three times a day.

When the evening bell rang, Ellana smiled. She blotted her pen, placed it back in its inkwell, and braced herself for the blizzard outside. The air attacked like knives. Even with her hooded cloak drawn tight, the cold stung her skin and stabbed at her lungs. She trudged through the deepening snow to the tavern, where warmth and music rolled out in waves. The smell of stew hit her first, something with barley and turnips, with the faintest hint of smoked ham. Simple, but comforting. Flissa, the Inquisition’s bartender, had set up a station, and Ellana grinned as the shy woman waved her in, always encouraging her to skip to the front. Instead, Ellana waited in line with the others.

She filled two bowls, and after a moment’s hesitation, bought a bottle of Antivan red wine. Not the fanciest vintage, but the Antivan Sip-Sip was what Josephine had enjoyed a few days earlier.

When Ellana entered Josephine’s office, the ambassador barely looked up from the mountain of parchment before her.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Your Worship,” Josephine said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Ellana arched an eyebrow. “You take care of all of us, Josephine, and forget to eat in the process. If I didn’t deliver your meals, you’d flutter away like a snowflake.” She sat the bowls down carefully between ink pots and correspondence. “I brought wine… if you’d like to join me for dinner.”

It was the first time Ellana had suggested spending time together outside of their quick, Inquisition-related meetings, and she realized she was nervous at the idea of it. Battling templars and rogue mages was as easy as breathing, but sharing a meal with Josephine Montilyet made her heart jump.

Josephine paused, pen suspended mid-air as a smile curved her lips. Small at first before it bloomed into genuine warmth. “I would enjoy that greatly. I believe I have some glasses hidden somewhere.”

“Excellent,” Ellana said, maybe too quickly. She removed her gloves and tried to will the nervous energy from her fingers.

Josephine rummaged through a chest, and Ellana let herself watch for just a moment, enjoying the careful grace of the ambassador’s movements, the dark waves of hair meticulously pinned up for meetings, the faint scent of citrus and parchment that followed her everywhere.

“Anything pressing happening? Other than the usual, that is.”

“Nothing major worth noting, Your Worship. I’m in the process of solidifying a trade deal for lyrium. Whether we become better acquainted with the mages or templars, we’ll need a steady supply,” Josephine replied as she continued searching. “Something the Chantry will undoubtedly despise.”

Ellana chuckled. “What else is new?”

Josephine laughed. “Ah, here we are!” She turned and presented two small wine glasses. “Allow me, Your Worship.”

“You can simply call me Ellana, you know,” Ellana chuckled. “It seems unfair that you demand that I call you by your name.”

Josephine shook her head. “I could never, Your Worship! Your status is important. I would never risk tarnishing it.”

Ellana turned, eyes bright in the lamplight. “Not even in private, Lady Montilyet?”

Josephine laughed. “Titles do sound ridiculous on our tongues.” She raised a glass. “To you… Ellana.”

The name rolled from her mouth like silk. Hearing her name on Josephine Montilyet’s lips would forever be the best kind of music.

Ellana clinked her glass gently against Josephine’s and drank, pleased that she genuinely enjoyed the Antivan Sip-Sip. They ate in companionable silence for a time, the quiet broken only by the scratch of the fire and the occasional flutter of parchment. Haven’s storm howled outside, but inside, Ellana had never felt more warm.

–

After being solidified as the Herald of Andraste, Ellana found herself traveling more and more. The endless walking eased slightly when they finally procured mounts from Master Dennet, but with the Hinterlands becoming more ravaged by war between mages and templars, traveling on horseback was becoming a difficult challenge. Beyond that, more rifts were appearing, each one leaving their own bite in the palm of Ellana’s hand.

Sometimes she wondered if the Inquisition had morphed into a courier service for the Maker’s regrets. Letters for nobles. Flowers for graves. All between clashing blades with humans and monsters. It all began to blur, humans becoming demons and demons becoming humans. Ellana’s daggers never knew the difference.

Receiving an invitation to Redcliffe from Grand Enchanter Fiona finally felt like progress, and as Ellana, Varric, Cassandra, and Bull rode into the village, she felt a weight lift and allowed her shoulders to relax.

Perhaps that was her first big mistake.

Chapter Text

Work carried on, but every time Josephine’s stomach growled, she found herself missing Ellana.

It was an absurd thought, she knew. Ambassadors weren’t supposed to grow sentimental about their leaders, let alone the Herald of Andraste, and yet… Josephine caught herself listening for the familiar cadence of Ellana’s boots in the hall, or the lilting tone of her voice when she laughed.

Friendship had never been difficult for her. Diplomacy was, after all, her trade. But what she felt for Ellana had transformed from diplomacy to something charged. The air between them had the weight of a storm waiting to break.

A knock on the door jolted her. “C-come in!”

Leliana stepped inside, her presence quiet but cutting through the air. “Are you alright, Josie? You look flustered.”

“You startled me.” Josephine rose from her desk, smoothing her skirts. “Do you have word?”

It had been nearly a month since Ellana and her party left for Redcliffe. There had been scattered missives, reports of Tevinter involvement, of Magister Gereon Alexius and his twisted alliance with the rebel mages, but nothing had eased the tension that had planted roots behind Josephine’s ribs.

“Yes,” Leliana said as she handed her a sealed parchment. “From the Herald herself. Alexius is defeated, and the mages are now with the Inquisition.”

Josephine nearly snatched the letter from her hands. “And Ell–the Herald?”

Leliana’s mouth softened. “Alive. Tired, but alive. Read for yourself.”

Nightingale,

I’m relieved to report that the mages have agreed to join the Inquisition as allies. I understand this decision may be a cause of concern, but we cannot expect anyone to help us if we don’t allow them to do so on their own accord. Grand Enchanter Fiona is apologetic of the circumstances, but with everything else happening, I don’t believe her decision to attach the rebel mages to the Tevinter Imperium was one of her own doing.

This fight is only beginning, however. Alexius served a master he called ‘The Elder One,’ and while I have no other knowledge of who this ‘Elder One’ is, I do know the consequences we face if we fail. The catalyst involves Empress Celene, who will be targeted for assassination by a cult called the Venatori. Aligned with the Elder One, they will raise their own demon army, and the breach will consume the world as we know it.

I’m bringing a new ally to Haven. His name is Dorian Pavus, a mage of Tevinter and an expert in the strange magic Alexius wielded. The future I saw was… bleak, but we have a chance now to prevent it.

Prepare for my return. I should arrive within days.

And bring wine, the kind that Josephine likes.

The Herald

“Thank the Maker,” Josephine breathed. “They’re safe.”

Leliana nodded. “And with the mages at our side. It’s progress, though I share the Herald’s concern about this Elder One. If he seeks Celene’s death, Orlais could fall overnight.”

“Which would invite chaos,” Josephine said, her voice crisp but low. “They’re already weakened from civil war.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “Then we move quickly. The Herald will want a plan the moment she returns.”

“I’ll see that everything is ready,” Josephine replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Including the wine.”

Leliana chuckled softly as she departed, though her gaze lingered on Josephine’s flushed cheeks.

–

When the horn announcing Ellana’s return echoed through Haven, Josephine’s heart leapt.

She rose so quickly her chair nearly toppled behind her. After a brief, frantic attempt to neaten her hair and smooth her collar, she hurried toward the door of the Chantry, the cold slicing across her face like glass. Villagers lined the main road, craning for a glimpse of their Herald.

Leliana and Cullen already stood waiting by the Chantry doors. Josephine joined them, her heart hammering as hoofbeats drew closer.

And then… there she was.

Ellana Lavellan dismounted in one fluid motion, snow glittering in her red hair. The sunlight behind her made her silhouette blaze like a figure from legend, all hard edges softened by her halo of frost and fire.

Majestic, Josephine thought. Holy. But what she truly saw was something subtler: resolve. The woman who walked into Haven was no longer merely an elf with strange magic and an impossible fate. She was the Herald of Andraste. Perhaps a part of her finally believed it.

“Your Worship,” Josephine greeted, forcing herself into formality. “It is a relief to see you safe.”

Ellana smiled, eyes crinkling. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Lady Montilyet. It’s good to be back.” Her voice carried the warmth of Antivan summer, and Josephine’s composure nearly cracked. She hugged her clipboard like a shield and grinned.

Cullen cleared his throat. “If we’re all here, shall we move to the war room? There’s much to discuss.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ellana murmured as she led the way.

Inside, maps and documents sprawled across the table. Cullen and Josephine found spots on the other side, as Leliana stood at Ellana’s left, silent and sharp-eyed.

“To begin,” Ellana said as she leaned against the edge of the table. “Time travel exists.”

Josephine blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the magic Alexius used. He pulled us into another time, one where the Elder One had already won.” Ellana’s voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her. She remembered the way the sky swallowed the world. It had left her haunted, and the others could see the way it flickered in her eyes.

She continued, “In that future, Thedas fell within a year. The sky bled green. Red lyrium infected everything, and people…” She paused, her throat tightening. “Our people were consumed by it.”

It felt like the room held its breath.

“Cullen died leading what few soldiers we had left,” she continued quietly. “Varric, Cassandra, and Bull were imprisoned in Redcliffe, poisoned by red lyrium. Leliana…” Her gaze drifted to the spymaster. “You were captured. Tortured. Alexius knew of your connection to the Hero of Ferelden and discovered your blood carried immunities to the Blight. He made you his experiment.”

Leliana’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers curled slightly on the table.

Ellana turned away, pacing. “And Josephine—”

The ambassador’s stomach dropped. “Me?”

“You were alive, in the castle, uncorrupted. I found you slumped over a desk in what used to be the royal wing, buried beneath papers. Alexius used you as a diplomat, of sorts… a puppet ambassador to lend legitimacy to his regime. When we freed you, you refused to leave without helping us fight.”

Josephine’s breath hitched.

Ellana’s voice cracked as she went on. “You all died holding the line while Dorian and I escaped to undo the spell. I watched…” She stopped and pressed her fingers to her eyes. “But it doesn’t matter now. We know what we’re fighting for. We know how to stop it.”

Finally, Cullen spoke, softer than Josephine had ever heard him. “You’ve given us a chance, Herald. That’s more than anyone could ask for.” His arms folded. "In the meantime, I suppose we'll have to get the mages adjusted to their new ranks."

Leliana nodded as she recovered her poise. “I’ll begin gathering intelligence on Celene’s court. If the Venatori mean to strike, we’ll need eyes in every corner.”

Josephine drew a slow breath and forced her hands to still. “We’ll need to prepare our alliances. Orlais won’t open its doors easily. The Inquisition will need influence… which rests on your shoulders, Your Worship.”

Ellana exhaled, a weary smile breaking through. “Just tell me when I’m needed.” Her eyes flickered to Josephine. “Please tell me someone remembered the wine.”

Chapter Text

“May I walk you to your quarters, Lady Montilyet?” Ellana asked softly, her voice carrying just enough steadiness to mask the fatigue beneath it.

Their makeshift war room was quiet now that Cullen and Leliana had departed, maps still spread across the small table from earlier planning, and Ellana lingered on their conversations. Words in the thick of wine became heavy, and while the time helped create at least a temporary bridge between her and her advisors, Ellana couldn’t shake her own growing dread.

They’d all shared a glass of wine each, though it had done little to warm them. Yet something had shifted. The air between them had changed. Leliana’s suspicion of her eased slightly, and Cullen’s rigid shoulders softened just a bit. But it was Josephine’s quiet smile, polite, careful, and so human, that cut through Ellana like a dagger. She felt fiercely protective of the ambassador.

Ellana wasn’t sure when admiration had turned into something more dangerous. In the beginning, she’d told herself it was a simple fondness. Introductions with most of her advisors and inner circle had been filled with fear, suspicion, and aimless anger, and while she had grown closer to her newfound friends, many connections were stained by the unknown that surrounded Ellana’s very existence.

Josephine had done nothing but welcome her warmly, and perhaps Ellana’s crush had been born of gratitude for the ambassador’s gentle steadiness. But her experience in Redcliffe lit a spark. There, Ellana had seen what the world looked like without Josephine in it, and it wasn’t a world worth living in.

“Are you alright, Your Worship?” Josephine’s voice pulled her back. “I’m still wrapping my mind around what happened, what you saw. That future…” She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with her clipboard. “I’m so sorry you were put through that.”

They stepped out into the snow, their breath blooming in the cold air. Haven was unusually quiet at this hour. Torches along the main road flickered weakly, their light barely cutting through the fog as gusts threatened to extinguish them entirely.

Inside Josephine’s small quarters, warmth returned in small ways. A soft fire was already prepared, accompanied by the scent of parchment, ink, and Josephine’s own citrus perfume. A small batch of herbs were being dried over the fire, their own scents sending out a soothing air. “Please,” Josephine said as she motioned to the small table. “Sit. I’ll make us some tea.”

“Thank you,” Ellana murmured as she slowly sat. “Josephine?”

The ambassador turned, one hand pausing over the handle of her kettle. “Yes?”

“How do you do it?” Ellana’s voice was quiet, stripped of its usual confident cadence carried by the Herald of Andraste. “How do you bear the weight of everything without breaking?”

Josephine smiled, though there was no humor in it. “I’m not sure that I do. I bury myself in work.” She darkly chuckled. “There’s comfort in structure, in seeing progress made. It’s easier than facing the fear that none of this will ever be enough.”

“You haven’t lost yourself,” Ellana said. “Cullen, Leliana… they’ve been carved down by what this world demands of them. But you… I can’t allow that future to happen.” She hesitated and stared down at the eerie glow pulsing beneath her glove. “I’m afraid that I’ll lose myself before this is over. That the Breach will rip away everything that’s still me. I'm still not sure if I'm the one who should be leading any of our efforts.”

Josephine placed two steaming mugs on the table and sat opposite her. “You won’t,” she simply said. “You lead because you care. You listen. That’s what makes you a leader, not the mark on your hand.”

Their eyes met across the table. Ellana’s throat tightened. “You are too kind.”

“I’m honest,” Josephine softly corrected. “And I cherish these moments with you.”

Ellana’s smile was small and fragile. “As do I.”

For a heartbeat, silence held them. Tea steamed between their hands, and the air around them became heavy with something that felt perilously close to confession.

–

“I’m coming with you.” Josephine’s words struck like a blade against stone.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leliana snapped as she buckled her quiver. “It’s far too dangerous, Josie.”

“I’m not going to break, Leliana, nor do I plan on fighting any demons,” Josephine evenly said, “but I am going. I can’t just sit in safety while the rest of you risk your lives.”

Her golden silks were gone, replaced by a riding outfit that was dark and practical. Her shoulders were covered by a new coat, lined with elegantly-stitched fur. It had been a gift from who Josephine had assumed was someone unknown from Haven. Leliana’s eyes narrowed at the sight. The coat had been requisitioned by the Herald herself nearly a month ago.

“Fine.” Leliana spoke through her teeth. “But understand that I will take no chance with your safety. If the Herald can’t fix the Breach, if anything goes wrong, you are to get back on your horse and come back to Haven.” Her eyes were ice. “And if you don’t, I’m sure Bull won’t mind carrying you back over his shoulder.”

Josephine huffed. “You wouldn’t!”

“You know I would.” The spymaster’s eyes softened. “You are one of the few people I call friend, Josie. I will not lose you.”

The diplomat gazed at her. “I understand. I just… I need to be there. For the Inquisition. For her.”

“You are treading into dangerous territory with this woman, Josie,” Leliana warned.

But she merely smiled sadly. “We already live in dangerous territory, Leliana. I will care for the people in my life as I always do, Ellana included, with or without approval.”

Josephine had read detailed reports of the aftermath of the Conclave, but seeing it herself was horrifying. She hesitated for a moment before stepping past the scouts and carefully making her way down the sloped path toward the crater that had once been the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The silence was unique only to the aftermath of deep tragedy. Snow mingled with ash, painting the ruins in ghostly shades of gray, and the air carried the acrid tang of lyrium burned raw, a harsh metallic scent that bit at the back of her throat.

Stone jutted like broken teeth from the frozen earth, half-buried under drifts of pale dust. What remained of the temple looked more like skeletal ribs that glowed faintly in the reflected light of the Breach. But what hit Josephine the most were the ash-covered casts of people that had been caught in the blast, their bodies suspended in the intimate terror of their final moments, most of them reaching for unseen safety. They were statues of death, forever guarding the ruins.

Josephine’s boots crunched on the glassy surface of melted stone. Tattered banners, once bearing the sunburst of Andraste, hung limply, seared black at the edges. What had once been a holy place was now a hollowed grave, haunted by the people who died there.

She caught the sound of voices ahead, a mix of shouted orders and muffled cries, and quickened her pace. Through the curling mist of snow and smoke, she saw figures clustered near a makeshift camp at the edge of the ruins. Soldiers stood before a single silhouette standing against the light of the Breach.

Ellana’s outline was a smear of shadow, framed by the green light that licked its way up her arm, and when she saw Josephine approaching, she immediately jogged over. “What are you doing here?”

“She insisted,” Leliana said curtly. She adjusted her hood before she turned to take her position. “Try to end this before she gets herself killed.”

The Herald winced as she walked away. “I assume she didn’t approve?”

“Leliana would lock me in a tower if she could,” Josephine said with a small grin as she looped her arm through Ellana’s. “I couldn’t just stay behind.”

Ellana’s chest ached with conflicting emotions. Worry, warmth, and something deeper all tugged at her instincts, and she wasn’t sure whether to pull the woman close or urge her to run away. “Josephine, I’m glad you’re here, but I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Breach. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

“That feeling is not one-sided.” Josephine stopped to glance at Ellana’s face, at the way her freckles trailed over the bridge of her nose, some of them colored by the vallaslin elegantly etched into her skin. She still didn't know what the pattern symbolized. Gold flakes shimmered in the elf’s emerald eyes, and she realized that she was openly staring at the woman. Her eyes darted away as she blushed. “Please be safe down there. You are… very dear to me.”

Ellana nodded, her eyes welling slightly as she opened her mouth to speak. No words came forth. Instead, she pulled Josephine into a light hug and held her close for mere heartbeats before she pulled back and turned to make her way into the ruins of the temple. She paused and turned, a weak smirk on her face. “The coat looks good on you, by the way. I’m glad my measurements were correct.”

Josephine released a bark of shocked laughter and buried her nose in the fur-lined collar, but as she watched Ellana descend the warped path into the ruins of the temple, her heart began to pound with fear. The Breach loomed, vast and seething, its light turning the snow into shards of emerald as the air trembled. Magic hummed malevolently.

The ambassador watched fearfully as Ellana raised her glowing hand and connected with it. She looked so small. Green light consumed her, and her face contorted with pain. Josephine found herself holding her breath, and for a moment, so did the world. The Breach responded, light exploded, and Josephine was tossed backward, her ears ringing as she hit the ground and instinctively curled into herself. The world dissolved into chaos, consumed by swirling shouts, steel, and the smell of blood. Hands yanked Josephine back to her feet as swords were unsheathed. Arrows flew overhead. Leliana’s pale face came into view, her hood blown back from her head, her red locks wild in the wind. “You need to go, Josie!”

“Wait, where’s—” She stood on trembling legs and peered over the edge. In the middle of the crumbled Temple of Sacred Ashes, collapsed on the dusty ground, was Ellana. Above her, menacingly approaching, was a Pride demon. Josephine only knew what it was from her memory of sketches. The terror of seeing one in person made her tremor. She gasped. “Ellana!”

The demon rose above her like a roaring mountain. Cassandra and the others surged forward, blades drawn. Spells cracked through the air. The ground shook with each step the demon took.

Ellana’s face was a mask of pain. She shouted something Josephine couldn’t hear, and the others formed a shield wall around her as she thrust her arm toward the sky. The magic in her mark reacted like thunder, blasting against the Breach with so much force it nearly launched Ellana from her feet. She grit her teeth and pushed forward. Another blast, not as powerful as the first, shook the ground, and many of the demons that had fallen from the Breach faded back into the tear in the sky like dust.

The Pride demon howled and swiped its massive claws, even as it fell to its knees.

“Forward!” Cassandra shouted, and everyone followed. “Do not let it recover!”

Nearby, Ellana was kneeling heavily on the ground, heaving air into her lungs as she gripped her daggers. Josephine’s heart fell at the sight. She’s too tired, too weakened… Maker, please. Get up!

The Pride demon collapsed, and Ellana used her remaining strength to stumble back to her feet. She did it again, her hand pressed against the Breach, and desperately willed it to close. It was her final stand. The mages, all severely weakened, sent every fiber of magic they could conjure, and Josephine watched, her hand pressed to her mouth in horror. Ellana let out a wordless scream as the magic enveloped her.

It was a storm, and Ellana became swept up in it. Her body was dragged into the air, the magic between her hand and the Breach swirling into a charged tempest that made the hair on Josephine’s arms stand on end.

And then suddenly, it was over. As if the world gasped, the Breach was swept up into the sky in a blast of raw power, its eerie green void sewn shut like an angry wound, leaving behind a fresh scar that would forever haunt Thedas.

Ellana’s body was flung backward, striking the ground with a sickening thud.

“Ellana!” Josephine ran, ignoring Leliana’s voice behind her. Snow and ash crunched under her boots as she dropped to her knees beside the elf. Ellana’s eyes fluttered, unfocused, her skin pale against the blood and frost.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Ellana thought she was flying. She was weightless, silent, and the world beneath her turned to mist.

Then the ground struck back.

Her body hit the stone with a crack of finality that ripped the air from her lungs. Dust billowed around her, mingling with the aftertaste of concentrated magic. Something was sharp and metallic on her tongue. Blood. Her daggers slipped from numb fingers as her knees gave out beneath her, and she gasped as she tried to rise. The energy in her left hand screamed in protest.

“Easy! Roll her over gently.” Cassandra’s voice came muffled, as though she were underwater. Strong hands turned her with surprising care. “Herald, can you hear me?”

Ellana tried to answer, but the world was ringing, and her head was filled with fog. She blinked, fighting through the haze until warmth pressed against her cheeks. Soft fingers cupped her face.

“Ellana, please, say something,” came a voice so heartbreakingly familiar it anchored her to the world again.

Her lashes fluttered open. “Josephine…” The words were dry and cracked. There she was: Josephine Montilyet, haloed by the green glow of the wounded sky. In that moment, Josephine looked a lot like Andraste. Ellana’s lips curved faintly. “You’re… a sight for sore eyes.”

Josephine let out a choked laugh that trembled on the edge of tears. “You’re an incredible woman, Ellana Lavellan.”

And then Ellana’s strength gave way. She sank back into the ambassador’s arms, the smell of parchment, smoke, and citrus lingering even as the world turned black.

—

When they returned, Haven celebrated. Josephine had already planned the party.

The Breach was sealed, and though the scar still burned in the heavens like an angry wound, people could finally look up without fear. Music spilled from the tavern as Flissa tried to keep up with drink orders. Laughter tangled with the scent of stew and roasted meat, and barrels of ale were cracked open. The chill that always clung to Haven felt a bit softer that night.

Ellana stood at the edge of it all and simply allowed herself to breathe. Her hand still ached where the mark pulsed faintly beneath the skin.

“Hey, Boss,” Iron Bull greeted, his grin broad as he raised a massive flask. The smell coming from it could strip paint. “Want some? Might kill you, but you’ll die happy.”

She chuckled. “I’ll pass. I think I’ve had enough close calls lately.” She gagged at the stench.

“Suit yourself.” He took a drink and hissed through his teeth.

“So… how are you feeling after everything?”

“Not having a hole in the sky is a good thing.” He groaned. “Demons… I hate demons. And we still gotta kill the one who started this.” Bull took another swig and glanced down at Ellana. “You do good work. I plan to see this to the end.”

She smiled. “Glad to hear it, Bull. We’re lucky to have you.”

Bull followed her gaze across the square. Near a fire, Dorian Pavus was laughing, his breath a cloud of silver mist as Varric gestured wildly mid-story. Something flickered in Bull’s expression, and Ellana watched as he quickly shook it away. “You say something, Boss?” he grunted.

Ellana grinned. “Nothing at all.”

He grumbled and stalked off toward the Chargers, muttering something about keeping them from drinking themselves into a stupor. There was a slight stumble in his step.

Ellana turned her face toward the sky again, staring as the Breach’s scar shimmered faintly above.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” came a voice as soft as snowfall.

Ellana turned, warmth already blooming in her chest. “Never. Please, join me.”

Josephine sat beside her on the cold steps, her fur-lined coat brushing against Ellana’s arm. The ambassador’s presence felt a lot like gravity.

“Is it warm enough?” Ellana asked.

“It’s perfect,” Josephine said as she smoothed her sleeves. “I didn’t realize it was a gift from you.”

“I noticed you were freezing while you worked,” Ellana said, smiling faintly. “I can’t stand writing when my hands are stiff. I thought you might feel the same.”

Josephine’s expression softened. “It’s beautiful, truly. I only hope you didn’t spend too much.”

Ellana laughed quietly. “Let’s just say I used my Herald privileges. It was worth it.”

Josephine bumped her shoulder playfully, and the touch lingered longer than expected. “You were extraordinary out there. Facing that…creature. I don’t think I breathed the entire time.”

Ellana shook her head, her tone light but weary. “I’d rather not do that again. I’ve gotten used to fighting monsters of all kinds, but Pride demons are some of the worst.”

Josephine’s hand came to rest on Ellana’s thigh, hesitant at first. “I’m just so relieved you’re safe.”

“I’m sorry you had to see it,” Ellana murmured.

“I’m not.” Josephine’s voice broke slightly. “Sitting here while you fight, waiting to hear if you are alive… it’s unbearable. I needed to be there, even if I could do nothing but watch.”

Ellana gazed at the ambassador and felt the world melt away. The fires, the laughter, and the music all faded until there was only the woman beside her, golden eyes reflecting the flames. The mark on her hand pulsed. Without thinking, she reached out and timidly brushed the back of Josephine’s hand. The other woman didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, breath catching between them.

There was a finality in the moment, and Ellana found herself teetering on an edge. She leaned in…

And the bell rang. Once. Twice. Then over and over, relentless.

“Forces approaching! To arms!” Cullen’s voice carried over the roar of the alarm.

In an instant, Haven shifted from revelry to readiness. Soldiers stumbled from the tavern, still yanking on pieces of their armor, while scouts shouted positions and archers scrambled to the walls. Leliana emerged from the Chantry, her eyes sharp despite the disarray of her hair. Had she been sleeping?

Ellana and Josephine sprang to their feet, the fragile moment between them shattered as they Joined Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen near the gate.

Cullen’s expression was grim. “One of the watchguards reported. There’s a massive force approaching from the mountain pass.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine demanded.

Cullen’s silence cut through them like ice. “None,” he finally said.

Josephine’s blood went cold. “None?”

Ellana’s heart clenched as she turned toward the darkness beyond the walls, where faint torchlight and eerie red flickered against the snow. No banners, no emblems, just the marching of something horrible and faceless. “The Elder One,” she breathed.

Chapter Text

Ellana was past her limits.

The magic in her hand still ached from the Breach like a wound not yet healed, and yet she stood again on the brink of another battle. She was ready to collapse. Haven trembled beneath the clang of bells. Men shouted orders. The air reeked of smoke, fear, and snow.

She found Josephine amid the chaos and seized her hand, holding tight as she grounded herself in that single point of warmth. “Stay close to Leliana. Whatever happens—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Josephine began, but the next sound drowned her words.

A low, rolling thunder came from the mountainside. Templars, bathed with the grotesque veins of red lyrium, poured down like a living tide, thousands of them glinting beneath the pale light of the moon. Their movements were wrong, jerky and fevered, more monster than man, and the mountain itself seemed to crawl like a slow infection creeping toward Haven’s walls.

Cullen’s jaw went rigid. “Maker’s breath…”

Someone knocked on the gate. “I can’t help unless you let me in!”

Brow creased, Ellana pushed open the wooden door. Standing before her was a figure she hadn’t seen before: tall and gaunt, his hat frayed, his eyes the washed-out blue of an overcast sky. The boy’s face looked too thin, too pale, like someone who didn’t quite belong in his skin.

“The templars come to kill you,” he said softly.

Cullen turned sharply. “Who are you?” His eyes turned toward the army of templars. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“Cole,” the stranger murmured, his voice as soft as the snow. “The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him?” His gaze slid to Ellana, piercing in its gentleness. “He knows you. You took his mages.” Something about Cole made the hairs on Ellana’s neck rise. He spoke as if he stood between worlds, half there, half elsewhere. His words weren’t guesses.

He lifted a thin hand and pointed toward the ridge.

There, looming in the snowstorm, was the Elder One. His form was both human and monstrous, draped in ruinous armor that gleamed with corruption. Eyes that should have been human burned with something older and crueler. At his side, a red templar commander raised his blade, and the army roared in return.

Cullen’s voice faltered. “I… I know that man. Samson. But the other…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “That can’t be the Elder One.”

Ellana forced herself to look away. “Cullen, give me a plan. Anything!” Ellana unsheathed her daggers just as Cullen grasped his own sword.

He blinked and came back to himself. “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” He turned. “Mages, you have sanction to engage! That is Samson. He will not make it easy. Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

Ellana turned to Josephine, squeezing her hand once more. “Get to the Chantry. Stay safe. Please.”

“Ellana—”

But Leliana was already beside her, ushering her toward safety. “Come, Josie,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

Ellana twirled a dagger and sprinted toward the gate. Somewhere behind her, she thought she heard Josephine’s voice calling her name, but she pushed it away and dove into the fight.

—

Ellana fought until her arms went numb, until the mark in her palm burned hot. Blood slicked the ground beneath her boots. Around her, Bull bellowed as he swung his axe. Cassandra fought like the Maker’s own retribution.

The final trebuchet fired, and they all watched as stone crashed into the mountainside. The impact thundered through the valley, bringing down a storm of snow and rock, and for a moment, the world fell silent. Ellana and the others eyed the mountain with wide eyes, only the sound of their harsh breathing lingering in the frozen air. Time suspended, and then cheers erupted.

They’d done it. They buried the army.

Something rumbled, and the taste of victory soured in Ellana’s gut. The air grew hot and wrong as something large blotted out the light of the moon. A dragon descended from the clouds, and the world burned again.

The next moments came in flashes: pulling Flissa from the tavern, dragging wounded through the snow, the dragon’s roar splitting the air. Cole and Chancellor Roderick, wounded from a templar's sword, ushered the last of the survivors into the Chantry as fire rained from above. Ellana stumbled inside, her armor scorched as she coughed smoke from her lungs.

Josephine was there, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands red with blood as she tied a bandage around a soldier’s arm. Her hair had fallen from its pins, curls stuck to her damp cheeks from both tears and sweat. When she saw Ellana, she nearly collapsed with relief.

“Ellana! Thank the Maker,” she breathed.

Cullen burst through the doors, his face pale. “Herald… our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. It cut a path into Haven… it’ll kill everyone.”

Cole’s voice came from somewhere near the back, quiet but sure. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“He wants me…” Ellana’s breath shook.

“He wants to kill you,” Cole replied as he helped the injured Chancellor sit. “No one else matters. But he’ll crush them, kill them anyway.”

Cullen ran a hand through his wet hair, despair heavy in his voice. “There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide…”

“We’re overrun.” Ellana stared at him. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

He met her gaze steadily. “We’re dying, Herald. But we can decide how.” His voice softened into what felt like resignation. “Many don’t get that choice.”

Behind him, Josephine gasped.

“Wait,” the Chancellor rasped. His voice was weak but urgent. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.” He coughed. “The people can escape. S-she must have shown me… Andraste, she must have shown me so I could… tell you.”

“What do you mean?” Ellana could feel her hands shaking.

Chancellor Roderick continued, but he was fading fast. “It was a whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start. It was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know, Herald.” He chuckled bitterly. “If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. You could be more.”

Ellana rose slowly, her resolve hardening like frost. For the first time, she truly felt what the title Herald of Andraste meant. Not prophecy, not divine favor, but sacrifice. Her eyes burned as she turned to Cullen. “Can you get them out?”

“Yes, Herald, but doing this will leave you no escape—”

“No,” Josephine’s voice ripped through Ellana’s heart like lightning. “No. You’re coming with us.”

Leliana placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Josie…”

Josephine surged forward, the trembling of her hands betraying the steadiness of her voice. “You are not dying here, do you understand? You’ve given so much already… Ellana, I can’t—” Her words broke apart, and she clutched Ellana’s arms, shaking. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Ellana lifted a trembling hand to her cheek and brushed away a tear with her thumb. She saw Josephine’s coat tossed on the floor nearby, and silently, she grabbed it and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders. “Meeting you has made all of this worth it, Josephine Montilyet.” She looked to Leliana, whose eyes were bright with fury and grief. “Protect her.”

“On my life,” Leliana swore.

Ellana leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Josephine’s forehead. The scent of her seared its way into her memory. “Your safety is all that matters to me.”

“Ellana, please—”

“Go!”

She tore herself free and ran through the Chantry doors, the cold night air slamming into her lungs. Behind her, Josephine screamed her name. Ellana didn’t look back. She couldn’t. If she did, she would doom them all.

Chapter Text

Josephine was numb.

The silence after the avalanche was agonizing. Even the wind seemed hesitant to move through the snow-choked valley. She sat beneath the weak light of a fire, her gloves stiff with frost. Her heart was hollow. Beneath the mountain, the world was gone, buried under white ruin, and all that remained was the echo of Ellana’s voice as she ran to her death.

When the wind finally whispered through the shattered pines, the Elder One took to the skies on his damned dragon, and with him, their last sliver of hope vanished.

Ellana was gone.

Josephine hadn’t been injured in the evacuation, but something deep within her had been ripped apart. She and Ellana had known each other only a brief time, yet the absence left behind felt like something Josephine could drown in. When she closed her eyes, she could still see Ellana as she turned toward the Chantry doors, a fleeting look of resignation and fierce resolve on her pale face as she sacrificed herself.

The survivors trudged through the snow in a hushed procession. Frost clung to their lashes as they climbed up the treacherous mountain path. Josephine stopped counting after the third body fell, not from wounds, but from exhaustion. They left a new burial ground in their wake.

Only when the dragon’s shadow no longer touched the snow did Cullen order them to stop. The soldiers built makeshift shelters from splintered timber while mages used what lyrium they had left to light fires and heal wounds. Cassandra hacked through a pine with a snarl and dragged its limbs toward the others. “We need a larger fire before we freeze to death. Dorian, can you…?”

Dorian stepped forward, his voice low. “Tell me when.”

“Now.”

A flame bloomed in his hand, roaring into the pile of branches. The warmth kissed Josephine’s cheeks, but it did nothing to ease the cold inside. She watched Cassandra’s rigid shoulders, the way she kept her eyes fixed on the fire as if she could burn away her guilt.

“Blaming yourself won’t bring her back,” Dorian said softly.

“I swore to protect her,” Cassandra hissed. “I should have gone with her.”

Varric exhaled, his breath a cloud in the wind. “You would have died along with her, Seeker. Don’t do this to yourself. She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“How do you know what she wanted?” Cassandra’s eyes burned.

“Because I’ve met a few heroes in my lifetime, and this is a common end to their story,” he murmured. “Ellana was a hero.”

Bull’s deep voice cut through. “Stop.” His eyes flickered toward Josephine, who sat apart from the others, her knees drawn close. “If you want to fight, take it somewhere else. We’ve lost enough for one night.”

Varric’s eyes traveled over to Josephine’s huddled form. “Ah, shit.” He walked over and slumped onto the snowy ground beside her. “I’m sorry, Ruffles.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I didn’t know much about Ellana, but I do know she cared deeply about this team. She cared about us.” He placed a hesitant hand on Josephine’s arm. “She cared about you.”

Josephine couldn’t speak. The fur collar of her coat pressed against her lips, still tinged with Ellana’s scent. She buried her face in it and let herself cry.

—

When the shouts came, she almost didn’t react. The camp had been so steeped in misery that the sound of urgency felt like another cruel cut. There was something dangerous about feeling extremes. In the span of hours, Josephine felt the threat of death, loss and grief, and the sudden rush of intense confusion and relief. When the soldiers began to shout, Josephine assumed that perhaps this was finally the end, that the Elder One and his dreadful dragon had returned to finish the job.

“We found the Herald!”

For a moment, Josephine thought it was a hallucination born of grief. But then Cassandra was running, her sword abandoned, shouting prayers to the Maker, and Josephine was right behind her, wading through the snow until she saw the impossible.

Ellana.

She was half-buried in frost, her hair tangled and frozen and her lips blue… but she was still breathing. The mark on her hand pulsed faintly beneath the snow.

Bull kneeled beside her. “I got her,” he murmured as he lifted her and pulled her close to his chest before turning toward Cassandra. “Tell them to build the fire higher and find more wood. We need to keep her warm.”

The Seeker charged back toward the camp, shouting more orders, but Josephine lingered beside Bull, her eyes glued to the small body in his arms. She ached to hear the elf’s voice, to see her move, to see some sign that everything was okay, but the silence made Josephine stumble. Bull glanced down at her. “The worst is over, Josephine. There’s no way she survived everything we’ve faced only to die here.”

“I hope you’re right,” she whispered.

“Oh, I’m always right.” He chuckled. “One question: am I putting her in your tent?” He laughed when she blushed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Shadows fall, and hope has fled
Steel your heart, the dawn will come…

—

The song began as a whisper, then swelled until it filled the camp. One by one, the weary lifted their heads, and even the dying hummed the words. When Josephine turned, she saw Ellana, propped up near the fire, wrapped in blankets, her eyes barely open as she watched the people sing.

She was the Herald of Andraste, reborn once again.

Faith had always been a polite uncertainty for Josephine, more of a social grace than a personal, spiritual conviction. But watching Ellana, and hearing how the Inquisition sang and kneeled in reverence… something stirred within her. Whether divine or mortal, Ellana Lavellan was sacred.

And Josephine realized with quiet dread that she was falling in love, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“I’ve meant to ask,” Josephine said later, in the privacy of their own tent. “Your tattoo. What does it mean?”

Ellana sat cross-legged as she dabbed at one of her wounds. The edge of the bandage kept peeling away from her skin, and she growled as she tried to make it stick. Just outside, the air smelled of smoke and healing herbs. Josephine sat beside her, hands trembling slightly as she helped with the bandages.

The elf smiled faintly. “It’s called vallaslin. The blood writing of the Dalish. Mine honors Ghilan’nain.”

“One of your gods?”

She nodded. “When we come of age, we meditate on the gods, then receive our marks.”

“Did it hurt?” Josephine traced the curved lines with her eyes.

“It did. But we’re required to remain silent,” Ellana explained. “Cries of pain are considered signs of weakness. It’s one of the first battles we ever face.”

“Why Ghilan’nain?”

“Because she was both beautiful and terrible,” Ellana said with a grin. “She was one of the People, chosen by Andruil. Legend says she was very beautiful and graceful, and she was favored above others. One day, while hunting in the forest, Ghilan’nain encountered a hunter she didn’t know. At his feet lay a hawk, shot through the heart by an arrow. The sight filled her with rage because the hawk was a beloved animal of Andruil.”

She winced as she cleaned a deeper cut on her thigh. “Ghilan’nain demanded that the hunter make an offering to Andruil, in exchange for taking the life of one of her creatures. The hunter refused, and Ghilan’nain called upon the goddess to curse him, so that he could never again hunt and kill a living creature.” She paused and glanced at Josephine. “Should I continue?”

“Yes, please,” Josephine murmured, her eyes bright as she listened.

Ellana smiled. “Ghilan’nain’s curse took hold, and the hunter found that he was unable to hunt. His prey would dart out of sight and his arrows would fly astray. He became ashamed. What use is a hunter who cannot hunt? He swore he would find Ghilan’nain and repay her for what she had done to him. He found her while she was out on a hunt, and lured her away. He told her that he had learned his lesson and begged her to come with him, so she could teach him to make a proper offering to Andruil.

“Moved by his plea, Ghilan’nain followed the hunter, and when they were secluded, he turned on her. He blinded her and bound her, but because he was cursed, he couldn’t kill her. Instead, he left her for dead in the forest.”

“What happened next?” Josephine wondered.

“Ghilan’nain prayed to the gods for help, to Elgar’nan for vengeance, to Mythal to protect her. But ultimately, she prayed to Andruil, and it was Andruil who answered. She sent her hares to Ghilan’nain and they chewed through the ropes that bound her, but Ghilan’nain was still wounded and blind, and couldn’t find her way home. So Andruil turned her into the first halla. She found her way back to her sisters, and led them to the hunter, who was brought to justice.

“Since that day, the halla have guided the People, and have never led us astray.” Ellana paused in thought. “I guess I’ve always seen Ghilan’nain as a symbol of survival and justice. Choosing her vallaslin was an easy one.”

Josephine swallowed. “You see yourself in her.”

Ellana laughed quietly. “Perhaps. Or maybe I only hope to.”

Silence settled over them, gentle and heavy as snowfall. The fire outside crackled. Josephine leaned closer, unable to resist. Her voice trembled. “Thinking you lost was a pain I’ve never known before. I can’t explain it.”

Ellana’s green eyes softened. “Josephine…”

“I care for you,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the elf’s cheek. “Far more than is proper.”

Ellana leaned in. Their lips met, uncertain and trembling. Once. Then again. And again, each kiss deepening, steadier, as though they were reassuring themselves that they were here and real and alive.

Outside, the song still lingered in the wind:
The night is long, and the path is dark.
Look to the sky, for one day soon—the dawn will come.

Chapter Text

Skyhold was majestic.

Even in ruin, it exuded an ancient kind of pride, its broken towers still reaching for the clouds as if unwilling to fall. Wind swept through the mountain pass, carrying the faint hum of a magic that rested there long before them and would remain long after.

How Solas truly knew about Skyhold, Ellana didn’t know. According to him, the fortress had a rich history. During the Divine Age, it was occupied by a Ferelden enchanter who wanted to learn why the site had originally been so important to the elves. Ownership changed hands many times throughout the years, but the last known owners lived there during the Third Blight.

Even in its state of disrepair, Ellana couldn’t believe that such a place could become the Inquisition’s home. It was incredible.

“You speak of this place like you’ve been here before,” Ellana said as they approached the gate.

Solas merely shook his head. “I only know of it through tales and my time in the Fade. History lingers. We’ll be safe enough here as we make plans to stop Corypheus.”

“You’ve saved our lives with this, Solas,” Ellana replied as she took in the sight of the gray stone walls. “Thank you.”

He softly grinned. “Your thanks are unnecessary, Herald. It is you who have saved us, who continues to fight for us. I’m merely here to assist however I can.”

Solas was more of a mystery than Skyhold, a vague codex in a forgotten tome. Ellana never quite knew how to act around him. He, at times, seemed disgusted by her very presence, but kind and eager at others, especially when she asked about his experiences in the Fade. But beyond that, he was a closed book. She lived in the tension between wanting to barrage him with questions and fearing she might break whatever fragile trust existed between them.

“Are you ready?” he quietly asked, and together, they led the fragments of the Inquisition to their new home.

Josephine Montilyet could barely contain her pride.

Beneath the vaulted ruin of the great hall, the Inquisition had gathered: soldiers, mages, and refugees, all pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in reverent silence. Then, with the lift of a ceremonial sword and a single radiant smile, Ellana Lavellan became the Inquisitor.

Josephine’s heart swelled. She was no warrior, no wielder of magic, but she knew about the legendary heroes of Thedas. Ellana was one of them, but she was different, too. Humble, wounded, perhaps, but she burned with the quiet conviction of someone who had lost everything and still chose to fight. She met Ellana’s eyes over the cheering crowd and felt her heart jump. It felt like a rebirth, a new beginning.

A sharp cheer escaped her mouth before she could stop it, and Cullen laughed. For the first time since Haven’s destruction, hope filled the air like music.

When their celebration faded into the steady rhythm of rebuilding, Skyhold began to breathe again. Soldiers helped clear debris as mages tested the wards of the crumbling walls. Leliana's scouts took to the battlements and broken parapets, scanning the mountain horizon for danger. Josephine oversaw the temporary triage tents near the gate, ensuring every surgeon had what they needed to nurse their wounded.

Her hands ached from writing requisitions, but she didn’t mind. Repairing Skyhold had become a labor of hope.

The advisors regrouped inside the throne room of the Inquisition, still littered with heavy debris, but even beneath the fallen stone and moth-eaten fabrics, the vision was there. Prisms filtered through the ancient stained glass windows, and rusted hooks waiting for grand chandeliers squeaked in the breeze. Together, they would make Skyhold a worthy palace.

“What do we do next?” Josephine wondered as they followed the main hall. “We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark.”

Ellana tore her eyes away from the walls of the fortress. “Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter.” Her eyes shifted toward Leliana and Cullen. “Could this be a prelude for war with the Imperium?”

“I get the feeling we’re dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion,” Cullen answered.

Josephine clutched her clipboard. “Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago. What Corypheus yearns to restore no longer exists. Though they would shed no tears if the south fell to chaos, I’m certain.”

“Corypheus said he wanted to enter the Black City,” Ellana added, “that this would make him a god.”

Leliana said, “He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won’t matter if he’s wrong.”

“What if he’s not wrong?” Cullen wondered. “If he finds some other way into the Fade…”

The spymaster continued, “Then he gains the power he seeks or unleashes catastrophe on us all.”

They all fell silent at that.

Ellana shivered. “Could his dragon really be an Archdemon? What would that mean?”

“It would mean the beginning of another Blight.” Leliana’s voice dropped to a whisper, and the whole world seemed to shudder.

Josephine interjected, “We’ve seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself. Perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something different?”

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” Cullen added. “Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can’t ignore.”

Ellana growled in frustration. “Somebody out there must know something about Corypheus.”

Thankfully, she wasn’t wrong.

“I… might be able to help with that,” Varric carefully said as he entered. “I know someone who has personally encountered Corypheus and lived to tell the tale.”

They all glanced at Leliana when she chuckled. “If it’s who I think it is, Cassandra is going to kill you.”

“Yeah, well… let’s not think about that right now.” Varric nervously scratched his head. “Anyway, we’ll be waiting on the battlements when you’re ready… Inquisitor.”

The Champion of Kirkwall wasn’t what Ellana expected.

The woman was nothing like the legends Varric had spun over late-night campfires. There was no grand hero’s glow about her, only a battle-worn calm and a sardonic edge that came from seeing too much in her lifetime. It was strangely comforting. If Hawke could survive the impossible, perhaps the Inquisitor could too.

Reality was simple, sometimes mundane, but it was a comforting realization to Ellana. She knew, in time, her own image would grow beyond the walls of Skyhold and inevitably become exaggerated in history, whether she wanted it to happen or not.

In secrecy, away from spying eyes, particularly Cassandra’s, Hawke, Ellana, and Varric drank and spoke about Kirkwall. For Ellana, it was strange to hear another direct account of the Fifth Blight, to hear what Hawke and her family had been through just to survive. Before, the Champion of Kirkwall had been a figure of destiny, but in reality, Hawke had stumbled into the title, much like she had. They both formed a camaraderie through their unfortunate circumstances.

“I’m just glad I only had to save a city,” Hawke said. “You have to lift the entirety of Thedas onto your back. I don’t envy you, Inquisitor.” Her eyes flickered toward Varric, who was struggling to uncork another bottle of some unfamiliar booze. “Luckily, you have some good people to help carry it.”

“We lost a lot of good people in Haven,” Ellana whispered. “I’m scared that we’ll lose much more before this is over.”

“I know,” Hawke quietly answered. “But you’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison. Corypheus has found his match.”

“Speaking of people,” Varric said as he popped the cork and tossed it on the table. “Have you heard anything from the Rivaini?”

Hawke grinned as the dwarf handed her the bottle, and she took a swig. “Antivan brandy, Varric? This is expensive stuff.” She took another sip and passed it to Ellana. “Last time Isabela and I talked, we agreed that we shouldn’t be tied down.”

Varric snorted, and Hawke smirked, but Ellana could see a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“Well I’ve heard from Isabela, and she’s worried.” He paused and gazed down. “Honestly, if she’s worried then I should be fucking terrified.”

Hawke swiped it away. “I’m sure she’s fine, Varric.”

He nodded. “Still… I can write her a letter. At least keep her updated on what’s happening. Tied down or not, she deserves to know.”

“Thanks, Varric,” Hawke whispered. “With everything going on… I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

The Inquisitor had only heard about Isabela in bits of Varric’s stories. She was still waiting to hear about the Qunari invasion in Kirkwall, and how Isabela played her own role in it. “It does feel like we’re on the cusp of… something,” Ellana added. “I’m not sure what. I just hope this Stroud guy can at least offer some information we can use.”

Hawke nodded as she stood. “Stroud won’t let us down. Speaking of, I’m going to get some shut eye before heading toward Crestwood in the morning. If the Wardens are hunting for him, he won’t be able to stay hidden for long.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Ellana said. “Thank you for everything, Hawke.”

Her mouth twitched. “As if I could leave a friend of Varric’s hanging. Be safe, Inquisitor.”

Varric’s eyes sadly followed her as she left. Ellana watched. “You’re actually worried.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever stopped worrying. This shit with Corypheus… it shouldn’t be happening.” He sighed. “I watched him die with my own eyes. Defeating something that apparently can’t be defeated is… out of my element.” He grabbed the bottle left behind and took a long drink. “This isn’t a good world for heroes. Sorry to be such a downer, kid.”

Ellana waved the apology away. “We would be foolish if we were unafraid.” She hesitated for a moment. “You’re close to Hawke.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he answered. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

She asked, “Then why did you decide to stay here? Why not join her?”

“I’ve thought about it, especially when I remember how terrifying Cassandra is.” He chuckled lightly. “She could melt a wall of ice with her eyes.” He quieted for a moment. “I guess in a way, leaving the Inquisition would feel a lot like running away.”

“You could still help the Inquisition elsewhere,” Ellana pointed out, watching as Varric pondered the idea.

Instead, he playfully smacked her shoulder. “It sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me, kid.”

“I would never.” She grinned. “But it wouldn’t be running.”

Varric nodded. “Hawke is… a force of nature. She gets into trouble no matter where she goes, and with Isabela by her side, that trouble is usually their own doing. She was the Champion of Kirkwall. She sacrificed a lot to save that damned place. I guess I just don’t want her to have to give up anything else for this world. She’s given enough.”

“And yet she’s still pulled into this mess,” Ellana murmured.

He scoffed and took another drink. “Yeah, that’s not a surprise. Anyway, I like it here. The digs are nice, the people are interesting, and there’s always a story to be found. Besides, I care about you too, kid. I got your back.”

“Thanks, Varric.” She paused and watched as Varric poured another drink. She accepted it and took a sip. “So… wanna tell me about the Qunari invasion in Kirkwall?”

He chuckled. “Sure, but we’re gonna need something stronger than this. I’d ask Bull, but I think he just drinks pure poison.”

Chapter Text

Josephine’s patience was unraveling.

Between endless meetings with nobles and emissaries clawing for the Inquisition’s favor, her life had become a blur of signatures and rehearsed speeches. Skyhold was warmer than Haven had been, but the chill of the Frostbacks still crept into her bones. By afternoon, her hands ached from writing, and she found herself stopping often to stretch the stiffness away.

While she stayed behind to negotiate and maneuver the Inquisition's growing influence, Ellana was in danger again. Already, reports were arriving to Skyhold, every one of them talking about the rise of the undead, and the mysterious Fade rift in the lake.

They were both essential cogs in the Inquisition’s growing machine, but Josephine was starting to feel strained. Dealing with people like Marquis DuRellion in Haven had been small fish, and now, she felt like she was swimming with bloodthirsty sharks. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory, but the ambassador was growing tired of the constant requests and debates.

And then there were the letters from Antiva. Specifically, from her sister Yvette.

She adored her younger sister, but Yvette’s curiosity was always suffocating. Every letter brimmed with gossip, conjecture, and increasingly intrusive questions about the “beautiful elven Inquisitor.” Josephine was midway through composing a particularly sharp response when a voice cut through her thoughts.

“You only have yourself to blame, you know.”

Josephine jumped and nearly spilled ink. Leliana stood in the doorway, arms folded, a faint smile on her face.

“Maker… Leliana,” Josephine sighed and pressed a hand to her chest. “You could at least knock before sneaking in like a phantom.”

She smirked, humor glistening in her eyes. “What would be the fun in that?” She glanced at the letter. “I see Yvette’s correspondence continues.”

“Relentlessly,” Josephine muttered.

“She’s taken quite an interest in your Inquisitor.”

“My Inquisitor?” Josephine repeated, flustered.

“Oh, Josie.” Leliana was amused. “She loves to live vicariously through you. It’s obvious she’s trying to determine whether Ellana is spoken for. If not…” Leliana’s smirk sharpened. “She may try to remedy that herself.”

Josephine sputtered. “She wouldn’t dare! Yvette is young, and flighty, and—”

“And fascinated by Ellana, just like the rest of Thedas,” Leliana smoothly finished. “You should understand that better than anyone. You’re the one who has to respond to all of the marriage proposals Ellana receives.”

Josephine groaned. “I’m aware. Please don’t remind me.”

“Do I sense jealousy?”

“N-no! Don’t be absurd, Leliana.” Josephine focused intently on her pen. “The Inquisitor may court whomever she pleases.”

It was a phrase she had told herself too many times, like a thorny mantra. Ellana’s duties had grown since settling in Skyhold, and their private moments had dwindled into brief exchanges and passing glances. Professional distance, Josephine assumed, but the thought still hurt.

Leliana studied her silently. Her eyes softened. “I shouldn’t tease. It’s clear she cares for you, Josie. Everyone can see it.”

“She cares for everyone,” Josephine countered. “She plays Wicked Grace with Varric, she trains with Cassandra, she’s always up in the library with Dorian. Bull and the Chargers have all but welcomed her into their ranks. She’s even started humoring Sera and her awful pranks! The only two people she avoids are Vivienne and you, and that’s because you scare her.”

“To be fair,” Leliana said, “Vivienne enjoys being feared.”

“And you?”

A sly smirk. “Fear has its uses.” Then, with a hint of curiosity. “She’s reserved around Blackwall too. Perhaps because of his… affections toward a certain ambassador.”

Josephine blinked. “You jest.”

“Oh, I never joke about romance in the ranks.”

The ambassador shook her head. “He has been perfectly kind!”

“Kind?” Leliana’s eyebrow arched. “He sends you flowers every week now that the Inquisitor is away. He turns into a Mabari pup every time he’s around you, Josie. He acts as if you two are in ‘la splendeur des coeurs perdus.’”

Josephine’s face turned red. “That’s preposterous! I carry no romantic feelings for Warden Blackwall. Surely, you’re the only one who notices his… feelings.”

“Oh, I can assure you, I’m not the only one. Did you know, Sera gave him a jar of angry bees in retaliation?”

“Bees?”

“For pollination, she said. Or chaos. Either way, he didn’t appreciate the sentiment.”

Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sera is not a credible source.”

“Dorian threatened to ‘Warden’ his ‘Blackwall,’ whatever that means,” Leliana continued. “And Bull got him drunk just to listen to him blabber about the way your stockings travel up your legs. After that, he kicked him out of the Herald’s Rest.”

“He didn’t…”

Leliana gravely nodded. “Cole left black lotus in the stables. Do you know what black lotus smells like when it decays? The stench was enough to convince the stablehands he was hiding a darkspawn as a pet.”

At that, Josephine couldn’t help but laugh. Breathless and red-faced, she relented. “Alright. I’ll… let him down gently.”

“Do,” Leliana said. “It will spare him, and you, further embarrassment.”

Josephine hesitated, her voice softening. “Do you think Ellana’s distance has to do with all this? With me?”

Leliana’s amusement faded. “Partly. She’s balancing an impossible weight. Haven, the Breach, her new title… and you.” She looked at Josephine with quiet empathy. “She has to find a balance between being a friend and maintaining her image as our leader. You’re part of what she must protect. And that frightens her more than any demon.” She paused. “I think she’s afraid of crossing a line.”

“Ellana has always been perfectly respectful,” Josephine argued.

Leliana sadly smiled. “She’s scared, Josie.”

Josephine’s throat tightened. “Maker, I hope she returns soon.”

–

Nightingale,

Crestwood is abysmal.

The air stinks of decay, and the rifts seem endless. We found Hawke and Stroud in a smuggler’s den near Three Trout Farm, but the situation is grim. The Grey Wardens have gathered in Orlais under Warden-Commander Clarel’s command, following what they believe to be the Calling.

Stroud says Clarel intends to use blood magic to bind demons in a desperate bid to end all Blights. Based on the future I’ve seen, we know this will fail. Stroud was exiled for speaking against her and remains in-hiding.

We plan to investigate the tower in the Western Approach where the ritual will take place. Once we’ve secured Crestwood, we’ll return to Skyhold and prepare. Keep an eye on Warden Blackwall. If this Calling is real, he might suffer the same as the others. If possible, it might be a good idea to reach out to the Hero of Ferelden. We may need her before this ends, but I’ll let you decide how to proceed on that front.

Give the rest of the Inquisition my regards, and give word that we should return within a week’s time.

The Inquisitor

Chapter Text

It would take time to plan the expedition to the Western Approach.

Inquisitor Lavellan returned injured. Alive, but battered, and that knowledge alone kept Josephine’s heart lurching between relief and terror. The reports that arrived ahead of her were vague, drenched in evasive phrasing and military brevity. Minor skirmish. Rift explosion. No permanent harm. Words meant to soothe, not to inform.

But when the first horn echoed across Skyhold’s courtyard, Josephine’s composure fractured. She left her desk mid-letter, ink still glistening wet, and hurried down the corridors until she reached the top of the stairs and overlooked the courtyard.

The sight below stole her breath.

Ellana rode through the gates, mud-splattered and pale beneath the torchlight. Her warhorse bore her weight uneasily, muscles shivering from the climb. When she dismounted, it wasn’t with her usual stoic grace but with a stumble that made Josephine’s pulse seize. The elf gripped the saddle until her knuckles turned white, her anchor hand pulsing faintly green in the dim. Bull was at her side before she could fall, and Dorian hovered protectively behind.

“Let’s get her to her room,” Dorian murmured, voice uncharacteristically tight. “She’ll heal faster without an audience.”

“What happened?” Josephine demanded, stepping forward. She searched for Ellana’s eyes, but the woman’s gaze drifted, dazed and unfocused. Blood trickled from a fresh cut above her brow.

Bull grunted. “Fade rift went off under Crestwood. Shook the whole damn valley.”

“Under Crestwood?” The ambassador’s voice cracked with disbelief.

“Guess that detail didn’t make your official report,” Dorian said wryly, though his eyes were heavy with concern. “Come, before she collapses.”

They ascended the stairs together, Bull supporting most of Ellana’s weight. A young guard stationed outside the Inquisitor’s chambers stiffened as they approached. His face went pale at the sight, but Josephine’s sharp nod sent him scurrying for aid.

“Maker’s breath,” Dorian muttered under his breath as they entered. “Are we hiring children now?”

“Many lost their homes to the war,” Josephine said, breathless. “We take them in, offer training and coin. Guarding the Inquisitor’s door is an honor to them.”

Bull gave a low hum. “And a risk, given the number of eyes watching these walls.”

“Guarding the Inquisitor’s room while she’s away has become a source of pride for them.” Josephine paused. “They even compete for the chance.”

The chamber was dim, the stone cold despite the fire Dorian quickly kindled. Shadows licked along the edges of the bed as Bull lowered Ellana onto the sheets. Josephine followed close, fingers trembling as she unlaced the Inquisitor’s boots. Wet leather peeled away with a sickening squelch. Dorian took them wordlessly and placed them by the hearth.

The fire caught at last, filling the room with a gentle, flickering warmth.

“She’s banged up, but it's her head that worries me the most,” Bull said, tilting Ellana’s chin to inspect the wound. When his fingers brushed the lump behind her ear, she hissed sharply.“Boss,” he said softly, “look at me.”

No response.

Then, more firmly: “Inquisitor, to arms!”

Her eyes snapped open, unfocused but alert. Bull exhaled. “Good. Minor concussion. Dorian?”

“I have her.” Dorian pressed glowing fingers to the base of her skull. Magic whispered through the room, a faint shimmer of golden light wrapping around Ellana’s temple. Josephine sat at the foot of the bed, hands clasped tight, afraid even to breathe until Dorian finally withdrew, sweat beading his temple.

"There,” he said, voice gentler. “No fracture. Just a lovely headache.”

Ellana blinked groggily, then rasped, “Told… you I couldn’t swim.”

Dorian’s grin returned, faint but familiar. “And yet you sank so gracefully.”

A knock came. Cassandra stepped in, arms full of fresh linens. “I’ve brought clean bedding. The kitchen is sending soup.”

Josephine rose quickly. “Could someone fetch a medical kit as well?”

“Of course,” Cassandra said, pausing long enough to meet Josephine’s gaze. “She’s safe now. Rest easy, Ambassador.” She made sure to glance at Bull and Dorian. “You two should also change and eat. We all need to recover before the journey to the Western Approach.”

“Ah, yes, the desert. Just what my complexion needs.” Dorian’s eyes glimmered as he peered up at Bull. “Join me at Herald’s Rest? I’ll even try that putrid swill you love to drink so much.”

Bull’s deep laugh rumbled through the room. “I’m not sure you can handle that, Vint.”

“I can handle more than you think, Qunari.”

Bull glanced at Josephine. “She’s in your hands, Ambassador. Let us know if you need anything.”

Once they left, the room fell quiet except for the crackling fire.

Josephine turned to the bed. Ellana was watching her, eyelids heavy, the faintest smile curling her lips. “You’re really here,” she murmured.

“Of course I am. Where else would I be?” Josephine knelt beside her, hands steadying the elf as she sat upright. “Let’s get you out of these clothes before you freeze.”

The process was clumsy and intimate all at once. Josephine’s fingers brushed against cold skin as she unfastened each buckle and button. The air between them thickened as wet cloth fell away. Ellana’s cheeks flushed, and Josephine tried not to notice how her breath quickened when their hands met.

By the time the last of the drenched layers were gone, Ellana stood before her in only her smallclothes, pale and goosefleshed in the firelight. Josephine’s hands lingered at her hips, thumbs brushing faint circles across smooth, chilled skin. She noticed a tiny dusting of freckles that created an aimless path over Ellana’s chest, teasing the swell of her breasts. Josephine wondered how soft that skin would feel under her lips.

A shiver ran through Ellana’s body. Josephine couldn’t tell whether it came from cold or from something deeper.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to step back. “I’ll… give you privacy.”

Ellana’s grin was small, shy. “If you insist.”

When Josephine turned away, the rustle of cloth filled the silence. She allowed herself a single, guilty smile at the sound of Ellana moving behind her.

“You can turn around now,” the Inquisitor said softly.

Josephine did, and nearly melted. Ellana stood in loose loungewear, hair damp and wild, warmth finally returning to her cheeks. She looked impossibly young in that moment, impossibly mortal, and Josephine felt her heart swell at the sight. “You look cozy,” Josephine said, smiling. “You should eat and rest. They’re sending something up for you.”

“I need something else first.”

Ellana stepped forward and pulled her into an embrace.

Josephine froze, then melted into the press of Ellana’s trembling body against hers, into the scent of rain and blood and the faint scent of her own perfume clinging to Ellana’s shoulder. She held tighter, unwilling to let go.

“Sometimes I get so afraid,” Josephine whispered.

Ellana’s breath brushed her throat. “Afraid? Of me?”

“Afraid you’ll vanish,” she said, voice breaking. “If I let go, you’ll be gone.”

Ellana leaned back just enough to meet her gaze. “Then I guess you better hold me tighter, Lady Montilyet.” Her smile was weary but real. “I’ve been distant, and I know it. This title, this power… I’m terrified of what it demands. I don’t want to hurt you. Pulling you close in the middle of this would be cruel of me.”

Josephine’s eyes filled with tears. “It would be cruel of you to push me away. I know the risks. I feel them every time you ride into battle. But you can’t face all this alone, Ellana.” She brushed damp hair from the elf’s face, fingers trembling.

Ellana’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Josephine…”

The ambassador pressed a trembling kiss to her brow. “I need you. And I want to figure out what that means… together.”

“Together,” Ellana breathed. Her hand rose, tentative, to cup Josephine’s jaw. “I’d like to kiss you now.”

“Please,” Josephine whispered.

This time, their kiss wasn’t tentative. All the fear, the waiting, the unsaid longing dissolved into that single, aching point of contact. It was an anchor. If Ellana hadn’t already known she had helplessly fallen in love with Josephine Montilyet, this kiss would have solidified it. Something unspoken between them clicked into place, and Ellana knew no matter what happened next, the two of them were connected.

Ellana and Josephine both let themselves tumble into the sensation, and for a while, everything except the way they touched faded into another distant world.

Chapter Text

Inquisitor Lavellan,

I admit, I was shocked to see your name mentioned in Nightingale’s letter. Unfortunately, as I have little useful information to offer, please accept the accompanying gifts instead. If, in my quest, I find anything that may be of use to you in your fight against Corypheus, I will send it to you immediately.

I have also included a note of a personal nature for Leliana.

I was not there for the death of Divine Justinia, but I know it will have hurt her terribly. Justinia was like a mother to Leliana, and her passing will strike to her very core. She is one of the strongest people I know, even if she does not realize it at times. If she is faltering, I beg you, help her see that.

Yours,

Warden-Commander Amell

—

Sand still clung to the inside of Ellana’s boots from her return from the Western Approach, scratching at her ankles as she climbed the cold stone stairs toward Skyhold’s rookery. The climb felt endless, each step heavier than the last. The air was sharp up here, thinned by altitude and the cry of distant ravens. She flexed her sore fingers, still stained faintly with dust and blood. She was ready for a bath.

The chamber beyond was dim, lit only by narrow slits of daylight. Ropes hung with messages and cages lined the walls. Feathers scattered over the stone floor.

At a small table, Leliana sat hunched forward, her hood drawn low, a single candle guttering beside her. In her gloved hands, she held a letter close to her face, eyes tracing each curve of its ink. Ellana recognized the handwriting immediately, and she wondered what the Hero of Ferelden had written to place such a hopeless expression on her spymaster’s usually stoic face.

Leliana sensed her presence before a word was spoken. She folded the letter quickly, tucking it beneath a stack of sealed missives. “Inquisitor,” she greeted, her voice cool and measured. “You rarely come to the rookery. Is there something you need?”

Ellana lingered a few steps away, unsure if she was intruding on something sacred. “I never had the chance to speak with you after Crestwood.”

“I’ve read your report,” Leliana replied, still not meeting her eyes.

“Yes, but this isn’t about the report.” Ellana hesitated, then nodded toward the letter. “I received my own letter from her, but it was impossibly vague. How is she?”

Leliana’s shoulders softened, but only slightly. “Alive,” she said. “And that will have to be enough. Her work is dangerous, always has been, but it keeps her far from Corypheus’s reach.” She sighed and drew back her hood, revealing tired eyes rimmed with shadow. “Sometimes I envy her for that distance.”

Ellana took a cautious step forward. “If the Inquisition can help—”

“She would refuse it.” The spymaster’s voice turned sharp again. “You cannot aid someone who will not be helped. I’ve learned that lesson more than once.”

A silence stretched between them. The flutter of wings filled it.

“Then if there’s ever anything I can do…” Ellana offered quietly.

“I will let you know,” Leliana said. “Now, what did you truly come to discuss?”

Ellana sat across from her, folding her hands atop the table. “I have suspicions. About Warden Blackwall.”

Leliana’s gaze flicked up, unreadable. “Because he’s unaffected by the Calling,” she said smoothly, “because he guards his past like a dragon hoards gold… and because he has feelings for Josephine.”

Ellana froze. “His feelings for Josephine are irrelevant.”

The faintest smile curved Leliana’s lips. “Are they?” She rose, pacing a slow circle around the table. “You suspect him, though he’s done nothing but serve faithfully. The same could be said for Solas, no? We have no context of his background or how he is so knowledgeable about the mark in your hand. What of the Iron Bull and his connection to the Ben-Hassrath? We all carry secrets, Inquisitor. Why is it Blackwall who has fallen beneath your scrutiny?” Her voice turned soft as silk, but there was steel beneath it. “Tell me, Inquisitor… is it suspicion you feel, or jealousy?”

Ellana’s jaw tightened. “You’re overstepping.”

Leliana leaned back in her chair. “I protect this Inquisition,” she said. “And those within it, especially Josephine. She has a gentle heart that is easily bruised. If you intend to play with it, I will end this before it begins.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a warning,” Leliana said, unflinching. “Interpret it how you like.”

Anger coiled hot in Ellana’s chest. She forced her hands to unclench, but her voice trembled despite her efforts. “You think I would hurt her?”

“I think you could.”

Ellana met her gaze and did not look away. “You may know Josephine’s heart, but you’ve never tried to know mine. I would die before I let harm come to her.” Ellana rose so quickly the chair scraped the stone. “I won’t waste anymore of your time, Nightingale.” Ellana bitingly said. “I would advise you never to threaten me again.”

With a final glare, Ellana turned and disappeared down the staircase, half-expecting to find a dagger in her back. Still sitting at the table, Leliana allowed herself to softly grin as she returned to her reports.

--

She nearly collided with Varric outside the throne room. “Easy there! Where’s the fire?” he called after her.

But Ellana didn’t answer. Fury quickened her pace, and Ellana’s fingers itched for her daggers. Common sense told her to pick a different path, to ask Bull or Cassandra to spar with her, to help her release the swift anger Leliana had conjured. That woman has never liked me. She’s never even given me a chance to prove myself.

The thought that her spymaster believed Ellana would hurt Josephine, and had defended Blackwall over her… Ellana desperately grasped onto her anger, because she knew if she didn’t, that anger would fade into hurt. It was one thing to believe herself to be unworthy of a woman like Josephine Montilyet, but to hear it from another, especially someone so personally close to Josephine… Ellana wanted to curl into herself.

By the time she reached Josephine’s office, her anger was shaking her hands. But as soon as she opened the door, all of it drained away. Josephine sat at her desk, a letter crumpled between her fingers, her expression stricken. Her knuckles were white.

“Josephine?” Ellana rushed forward. “What happened?”

Josephine’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Do you recall what I told you of my family’s fortunes? I’d almost solved our problems. For a while. I negotiated a chance to reinstate the Montilyets as landed traders in Orlais. We could rebuild with that. But when I dispatched paperwork to Val Royeaux… I’ve just learned my couriers were murdered. And the documents restoring my family’s trading status were destroyed.”

The door opened again. Leliana stepped inside like a shadow.

“I made inquiries,” she said calmly. “There is a nobleman in Val Royeaux: Comte Boisvert. He claims to know who ordered the attack. But he demands a public audience with the Inquisitor in return.” Of course she was already aware of the situation. Something about that fact irritated Ellana.

Ellana’s tone softened, though she refused to meet Leliana’s gaze. “If it helps Josephine, I’ll go. But what’s in it for him?”

A small sound of disgust fell from Josephine’s lips as she finally placed the parchment down on her desk and met Ellana’s eyes. “The comte will drop hints at parties he’s to meet with an important visitor. Allies and rivals will take note. Once he’s met you, there will be speculation. The comte will subtly spin reports to his advantage.” She sighed. “He will use us, but if he knows who killed my people, I ask that we indulge him.”

Leliana crossed her arms. “Or he’s lying to draw attention. Men like him feed on proximity to power.”

Josephine met Ellana’s eyes. “I will take full responsibility if that’s the case. I must know who killed my people.”

Ellana nodded, voice steady despite the lingering tension between her and Leliana. “Then I’ll change and prepare to leave. You won’t face this alone.”

She turned toward the door, but not before glancing at Leliana one last time. The spymaster’s expression was unreadable, but something flickered behind her gaze. Approval, perhaps, or relief.

Whatever it was, Ellana didn’t linger to find out.

Chapter Text

Just as the first time she had visited Val Royeaux, Ellana was overwhelmed.

The glittering heart of Orlais was a symphony of excess. The air shimmered with heat and perfume, and the towering spires of the Grand Cathedral caught the sun like polished bone. Its great sunburst banners rippled in the coastal wind, a thousand radiant eyes watching the city below.

Nobles leaned over wrought-iron balconies draped in silk, their laughter as brittle as crystal. Painted masks smiled down at the crowd, concealing the sharpness of teeth. Carriages clattered across cobblestones like armored beetles, their crests flaunting lineages older than most countries. Even the beggars wore ribbons, their rags arranged for aesthetic pity.

Yet, what Ellana heard most was the music.

Lutes, flutes, and harps competed against one another. Voices rose and fell in elaborate harmonies, echoing through marble courtyards and across bridges strung with lanterns. Even the air seemed to hum with the performance of it all.

As she and Josephine walked arm in arm, weaving through the avenues, Ellana tried to focus on the sound rather than the watching eyes. The scents of spiced wine, honeyed almonds, and hot oil from the street vendors mingled into something dizzying. The bells from the cathedral tolled overhead.

“I’ll never understand how anyone can live like this,” Ellana murmured. “Does Val Royeaux ever sleep?”

Josephine laughed softly. “Sleep? Never. The Game doesn’t end when the sun sets, my lady. It only changes hands. To rest is to lose.”

Ellana smiled faintly. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Maker forbid,” Josephine said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Antiva has its share of intrigue, of course, but at least there, people find time to breathe. To live. Orlais makes even leisure a performance.”

“Then I’d rather take the Antivan approach,” Ellana said. “Quiet cafes. No masks. Just… peace.”

Josephine’s eyes softened. “A rare wish. But a beautiful one.”

Their laughter faded as they turned the corner toward their destination: Comte Boisvert’s estate.

It stood like a jewel in the heart of the city: marble walls veined with gold, chandeliers visible even through the tall windows, and gardens trimmed into geometric perfection. Every inch whispered wealth, but not without effort. It was the kind of wealth that shouted its subtlety.

Servants greeted them with rehearsed grace, leading them through a hall so polished it reflected their silhouettes. Ellana’s steps echoed between towering portraits and tapestries heavy with heraldry. She felt out of place here.

Comte Boisvert appeared on the grand staircase, wearing a half-mask shaped like a falcon’s beak. His smile was polite, but his eyes were calculating. “Your Worship, Lady Montilyet. What an honor. Come, the balcony offers the best conversation.”

They followed him through an archway that opened into sunlight and the soft rush of wind from the harbor. From here, the rooftops of Val Royeaux spread like a fan below them, the city’s brilliance almost blinding.

Boisvert gestured to the chairs, delicate and uncomfortable. “Please, sit. It is my privilege to assist such exalted company.”

“I only hope our request does not endanger you,” Ellana said, settling with awkward care.

“Hardly,” he replied with a laugh. “In Val Royeaux, a brush with power is never a danger… only an opportunity.” He took a sip of his wine. “And power, my dear Inquisitor, is what your presence brings.”

Josephine’s expression remained courteous, but her voice carried a thread of steel. “Then I hope this opportunity proves mutually beneficial.”

Boisvert smiled over his glass. “Have you heard of the House of Repose?”

Josephine’s composure cracked. “The assassins’ guild.”

“Indeed.” He reached into his coat pocket, and Ellana’s hand twitched toward her dagger, but he withdrew only a scroll. “My contacts uncovered a copy of a document from their archives. A contract for a life.”

Josephine took it with trembling fingers, scanning the neat Orlesian script. Her face drained of color. “The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montilyets’ exile from Orlais.”

Ellana’s blood went cold. “Eliminate? Then they’re not just after your messengers, Josephine. They’ll try for you, too.”

“I… I am afraid so, yes.” She blinked and returned her gaze to the comte. “Who is sending these assassins?”

Boisvert inclined his head. “The contract was signed by the noble family of Du Paraquette.”

“But that line has been extinct for sixty years!”

“Quite so, but the contract was signed one hundred and nine years ago.”

Ellana stared at him. “Wait, how can a family try to kill you after they died out?” Her head was beginning to ache. Demons, while frightening and dangerous, at least were simple. Contracts and assassinations in a world of subterfuge was something the elf couldn’t begin to understand, but the bottom line was Josephine was in severe danger. Suddenly, the walls of Comte Boisvert’s estate were too small. Every muffled voice inside carried dangerous intent. She yearned to be back within the safety of Skyhold.

Josephine exhaled shakily. “The Du Paraquettes were our rivals. They drove the Montilyets from Val Royeaux. This contract was drawn up over a hundred years ago, but it wasn’t invoked until I tried to overturn my family’s exile.”

“Unpleasant though it may be, the House of Repose is merely fulfilling its contractual duties,” Boisvert added.

Ellana’s knuckles whitened around her chair. “So we destroy this House of Repose before assassins appear at Skyhold’s doorstep.”

Josephine touched her wrist gently. “There may be another way.” Violence was never an option for Josephine, much to Ellana’s dismay in some circumstances, and while the Inquisitor had no problem allowing the ambassador to capably handle sensitive events, this was different. This was a direct, specific threat to Josephine’s life. Ellana’s only thought was to protect.

Josephine could see the way Ellana had tensed in her seat. “The Du Paraquettes still have descendants under the common branch. If we elevate them to nobility, a Du Paraquette could annul the contract on my life.”

“It’s true,” Boisvert said, “but that will take time, Lady Montilyet. Time during which the House of Repose will be obliged to hunt you.” Before Ellana could respond, something changed in his posture. The subtle shift of a man relaxing his mask, the faint curl of amusement at his lips.

Josephine’s tone turned careful. “You are exceedingly well-informed. Your note to us said you’d heard rumors at best.”

Boisvert’s smile deepened. “A bit of subterfuge, I’m afraid.” The man who definitely wasn’t Comte Boisvert swirled the wine in his glass as if he were simply gossiping. “This contract on your life is an ugly business, one the House of Repose deeply regrets. But this is Orlais. Even an assassin’s word is his bond.”

The air in Ellana’s lungs turned sharp. She rose slowly from her seat, eyes narrowing. “You’re not Boisvert. Did you kill the real comte?”

“No,” he responded lightly, setting his wine aside. “But you have my word, I came only to speak. The House of Repose honors its reputation, Inquisitor. We are killers, not brutes. It seemed… polite to inform our targets of the circumstances.”

Ellana’s daggers flashed free with a hiss. “You think I’ll let you walk away?”

“I think you will,” he said calmly. “Because you are wise enough to know that one death changes nothing. And because the lady beside you would rather this not end in blood.”

Josephine stood, voice trembling but clear. “Your honesty is… unexpected.”

He inclined his head. “Orlesian courtesy, my lady.” He turned, pausing just before the doorway. “For what it’s worth, I wish you luck.”

And then he was gone.

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Ellana’s heartbeat pounding in her ears. She turned to Josephine, fury and fear warring behind her eyes. “We need to leave. Now.”

“I’ve put you in danger,” Josephine said softly. Her composure cracked, fear creeping into her voice as her eyes darted toward every shadow in the room. Both were feeling the effects of paranoia.

Ellana sheathed one dagger, but kept the other at her side. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. And I’m not the one who needs protection.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Josephine. “I will not let them touch you. Not while I live.”

Chapter Text

Traveling from Val Royeaux to Jader on horseback would take nearly six days.

The journey wound through Orlais’ gilded decay: ruined villas, half-collapsed aqueducts, and roads so old the cobblestones still bore the grooves of ancient chariots. From Jader, they would take the cable lift that would carry them home to Skyhold.

Josephine had already sent a missive ahead to alert Leliana and Cullen of the situation. Ellana sent her own soon after.

Leliana,

You should be receiving Josephine’s report shortly, if you haven’t already. I understand that she has plans in motion to have the contract against her life annulled. However, I write to you not as the Inquisitor, but as someone desperate and afraid. Do whatever it takes to save her life. I swear to get her back to Skyhold safely, by whatever means necessary.

Ellana

Ellana had been tempted to push their horses harder, but Josephine wasn’t accustomed to such brutal travel. Even so, she never complained, not once. She simply smiled through every aching mile, posture straight in the saddle despite the wind tangling her hair.

Two days from Jader, a small detachment of Cullen's men met them on the road, their armor dulled by dust and salt air. They reported that the House of Repose had been sighted in the region, moving west. Though Ellana refused to relinquish Josephine’s safety to anyone, the presence of the scouts eased something in her chest.

She still wished she’d brought Bull.

That night, as the campfire dimmed to embers, Josephine brushed her fingers through Ellana’s damp hair. They had bathed by the river earlier, and Ellana’s tunic still clung to her skin. Her new leather riding pants creaked faintly when she shifted.

“You’re not sleeping, darling,” Josephine murmured, voice low and coaxing.

Ellana’s eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion pooling beneath them. “How can I? I’ll rest when we’re back at Skyhold.”

“Cullen's men are keeping watch. You can’t protect me if you collapse,” Josephine whispered.

Ellana caught Josephine’s hand, pressing a slow kiss into her palm. “I’ve stayed awake longer than this. Please, for my own sake of mind… I can’t let myself lose focus. Not when your life is in danger.”

Josephine’s gaze softened with something fragile. “What a pair we make,” she said with a small, wistful smile. “I long for the day when we can simply be together, without these heavy worries.”

“You deserve better than this,” Ellana said quietly.

They lay close in the tent, fingers entwined. The night pressed cold against the canvas, but inside, Josephine’s warmth was a soft hearth. Their arrangement had begun out of necessity, but neither had been eager to change it once the guards joined them. Each night, Ellana pitched the same tent, lined it with blankets, and Josephine always followed her inside without question.

It should have been comforting. Instead, it was torture.

Even now, Ellana tried to focus on the rhythm of Josephine’s breathing rather than the scent of her skin or the delicate way her voice vibrated through her chest. She had faced demons and dragons, yet the weight of Josephine pressed so near made her tremble.

“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” Josephine murmured, her lips brushing Ellana’s temple. “We’re surrounded by your guard. Surely that offers you some peace of mind?”

Ellana only looked at her. The firelight caught Josephine’s features, unpainted and unguarded, her hair loose and wild from travel. Without her silks or jewels, she was achingly human. Her tunic hung loosely at the throat, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone. Her usual finery, the armor she wore for her own particular line of work, was gone.

She was magnificent.

Josephine Montilyet could command a room with poise alone. She built peace with words sharper than any sword, and her grace was never armor. Instead, it was bridgework, spun of silk and sincerity. Even stripped of her diplomat’s trappings, her presence filled the tent.

Ellana could no longer resist.

She closed the thin distance between them and kissed her, a fierce, desperate press of lips that drew a startled gasp from Josephine. The ambassador’s hand found the back of her neck, fingers curling into damp hair. The kiss deepened, breath mingling, hunger sharpening. Ellana’s palms slid along Josephine’s thighs, memorizing warmth through soft leather, her voice breaking into a whisper between kisses. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

Josephine shuddered and pulled her closer, all the restraint of decorum gone. “Oh, please…”

Ellana’s pulse roared in her ears… and then she realized it was the only sound she could hear.

No crickets. No wind. No laughter or chatter.

The night had gone silent.

Her instincts screamed.

Ellana tore herself away and grabbed her daggers, spinning just as a blade slashed through the tent wall. Steel met steel, and she barely deflected the strike meant for Josephine’s back. The assassin’s mask flashed in the dim light, eyes like cold glass.

“Get down!” Ellana shouted.

Josephine dropped instantly. Outside, the muffled clash of steel erupted as men fought. Another blade sliced through the canvas, and Ellana lunged, meeting it mid-arc.

He hissed through his mask, “The contract binds us, Inquisitor.” His smile was wide beneath the opening of his mask. He was enjoying this.

Ellana twisted her wrist, disarming him in one motion. “Then let’s see who it kills first.”

Chapter Text

“Ellana!” Josephine’s scream tore through the night.

The tent had become a slaughterhouse, its canvas ripped to ribbons, the air thick with smoke and blood. A strangled cry escaped her as she fought free from the fabric tangled around her legs. Every motion sent her heart pounding harder, and her vision sharpened with terror.

The guards were dead. Their horses gone. Only Ellana remained, a lone figure drenched in blood and moonlight, her daggers flashing as she squared off against two remaining assassins. One corpse already sprawled at her feet, crimson soaking into the trampled earth.

Josephine could barely breathe. Ellana moved like a phantom, feinting left, striking right, her daggers slicing through air and flesh with brutal precision. One assassin shrieked as steel cut deep across his arm, but before Ellana could recover, the other lunged, boot slamming into her chest.

The impact knocked the wind from her lungs. She crashed to the ground, her daggers spinning from her grasp.

“No!” Josephine’s voice broke as she scrambled upright. The assassins turned toward her, their masked faces unreadable. One caught his blade by the tip and twirled it lazily, as if waiting for her to beg.

She didn’t. She met his gaze and refused to look away.

Ellana gasped a wet, broken sound. Her hand, still braced against the ground, began to glow. The anchor flared an unnatural green, brighter and wilder than Josephine had ever seen. Magic rippled outward, hot and electric, as the air warped around her.

“Ell—”

The Inquisitor screamed as power surged through her arm. Light poured from the seams of her skin as she thrust her hand skyward, and the world ripped open.

A sound like shredding metal split the air. Josephine tasted iron, her hair rising with static. The sky had become a wound. Through the ragged tear, she saw the Fade itself: a storm of shadow and color, its edges alive and breathing.

The assassins screamed as invisible hands seized them. Their bodies were yanked from the ground, flailing, their blades clattering uselessly on the ground. They were dragged upward, swallowed by tendrils of dark fog and the hungry whispers of demons.

Then, silence.

The rift sealed with a deafening pop, and the night fell still again. Only Ellana’s ragged breathing filled the air.

Josephine stared, numb, at the still-smoking grass where the assassins had stood. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

Ellana stumbled forward, blood running freely from gashes on her cheek, arms, and thigh. She retrieved her daggers with trembling hands and scanned the dark perimeter, feral and wild-eyed.

“Ellana?” Josephine whispered, voice trembling. She freed herself from the wreckage of the tent and rose unsteadily to her feet. “Darling, can you hear me?”

The glow of the anchor dimmed to its usual faint hue. Ellana blinked, dazed, and then, all at once, she broke. The daggers fell from her hands as she rushed forward, clutching at Josephine, her hands frantically searching for wounds.

“Are you hurt?” Her voice cracked.

Josephine caught her face between her palms. “I’m fine,” she breathed, tears spilling freely now. “I’m safe, darling. You saved me.”

Ellana clutched her as if afraid she’d disappear. “You’re safe,” she gasped, repeating it over and over until her voice dissolved into sobs.

For Josephine, the journey back to Skyhold blurred into fragments: the torchlight of Leliana’s agents arriving hours later, Harding’s quiet commands as Ellana’s wounds were tended, the relentless march through the mountain passes. Ellana barely spoke, her hand locked around Josephine’s as if tethered by sheer will.

When they finally reached Skyhold, dawn was breaking over the Frostbacks. Leliana met them at the gate, her eyes widening as she took in the Inquisitor’s bloodstained armor and Josephine’s pale face. She said nothing at first, only clasped Josephine’s arm.

“Josie,” she said softly. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m safe,” Josephine murmured. “Happy to be beneath Inquisition banners again.”

“Both of you should see a healer,” Leliana insisted, already ushering them up the stairs. “I’ll have meals and baths sent to your quarters—”

“No,” Ellana interrupted, her voice sharp as a blade. “We deal with this now. And send for Solas.”

–

“You opened a rift yourself?” Solas asked later, brow furrowed.

They sat in Josephine’s office, the door locked. Leliana paced behind them like a caged wolf, while Josephine tended to the gash along Ellana’s cheekbone with a damp cloth.

Ellana’s tone was flat. “It wasn’t intentional. My hand felt like it would burst. I let the magic go, and… it tore open the sky.”

Josephine finished quietly, “It pulled the assassins into the Fade. Then it vanished.”

Solas’ eyes gleamed with academic wonder. “Fascinating. This suggests the mark is not merely reactive. It can create rifts. Controlled rift magic, Inquisitor. Imagine the possibilities.”

But Ellana wasn’t listening. Her gaze cut to Leliana. “The House of Repose acted faster than expected. They won’t stop. How do we end this?”

“I can trace the Du Paraquettes,” Josephine began, already rifling through her thoughts aloud. “If they’re elevated to gentry, they can annul the contract. I’ll need a sponsor from Val Royeaux, a judge, and a minister—”

Leliana scoffed. “That could take months. The longer you play the Game, the more time they have to strike.”

Josephine bristled. “You propose a better alternative?”

“Yes,” Leliana said simply. “Destroy the contract. The original lies in the vaults of the House of Repose. If my agents infiltrate and burn it, the assassins lose their obligation.”

Josephine’s tone hardened. “No more bloodshed. Not for me.”

“Don’t be foolish, Josie,” Leliana shot back. “You’re no use to the Inquisition dead.”

Ellana’s voice was quiet, but carried the weight of command. “Your safety is all that matters. We can’t predict their next strike. They may already be within our walls.”

Leliana met her eyes and nodded once. “Then we act swiftly.”

Josephine slammed her hands against the desk. “You’re both insane. There’s a process for this—”

Ellana snapped. “This isn’t a simple process, Josephine, it’s an assassination! I won’t watch you die because of some bureaucratic code of honor!”

Her voice echoed off the stone walls. Solas winced. “Perhaps I should—”

“Yes,” Leliana muttered. “Let’s give them space.”

When the door clicked shut behind them, silence pressed heavily between the two women.

Ellana stood trembling by the fireplace, her face pale, her wounds still weeping through half-dried bandages.

Josephine’s exhaustion made her temper brittle. “You and Leliana,” she said coldly. “You act as if violence solves everything.”

Ellana spun on her heel. “And you act as if diplomacy can stop a blade mid-swing! We nearly died, Josephine. This isn’t the ballroom in Val Royeaux. You can’t negotiate with killers.”

“I can and I will!” Josephine’s voice rose, her accent sharpening with anger. “You don’t get to dictate how I handle my life. I do not tell you how to swing a sword.”

Ellana froze, the firelight flickering against her ashen face. “And when you’re gone, when they slit your throat before you can even speak, will it have been worth it?” Her voice broke. “What of me, then? I don’t care to save a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

The words struck like a blow. Josephine’s breath caught, and then, quietly, she shook her head. “You’re letting your feelings blind you, Ellana.”

“This isn’t a party where you can flaunt how much you know about the Game, Josephine!” Ellana paced the room. “We aren’t rooks on a chess board. Assassins are going to kill you. That’s the only predictable part of this situation. The House of Repose isn’t going to stand by and simply wait for you to finish one of your never-ending checklists.”

“This is over,” Josephine said, voice flat as marble. “I’ll inform Leliana of the next steps.”

The title came out like venom. “Fine. Apologies for disturbing you, Lady Montilyet.”

And before Josephine could reply, Ellana turned on her heel and left, the sound of the door slamming behind her echoing long after she was gone.

Chapter Text

Ellana had stopped counting the number of wounds on her arms.

After slapping on the last bit of salve she had, she left her quarters and drifted through Skyhold’s torchlit corridors until the murmurs of evening faded into the hum of Herald’s Rest.

The tavern was half-empty, its hearthlight catching on tankards and worn wood. The air smelled of smoke and ale and rain carried in from the courtyard. When the bartender caught her eye, he didn’t ask questions, just slid a pint toward her with quiet sympathy.

She lifted the mug, took a slow sip, and sighed.

“You are in pain.”

Cole’s voice arrived like a breath from nowhere. The spirit sat beside her, hat tilted low, his gaze soft and steady.

Ellana managed a faint smile. “Yeah, Cole. I hurt.”

He rocked gently, as if listening to something deeper than her words. “She didn’t mean to raise her voice,” he said. “It spilled out, sharp like glass, because she was afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t see how much you matter. Afraid you’d leave, and it would be her fault.” His voice lowered. “She watched you fight. Screaming, slashing, bleeding until there was only silence. Blood tastes like metal, but Maker, is she beautiful.”

“Cole…” Her throat tightened.

“She’s shaking over her papers,” he went on. “Ink smudged by tears. Writing the same apology again and again. She thinks of the kiss.”

Ellana shut her eyes, pained.

Cole turned his head toward her. “You replay every word too, walking down a hall of broken mirrors. It can still be made soft again. You feel each other, even apart. She’ll hear you. She wants to.”

Something loosened in Ellana’s chest. She turned toward him, a small, genuine smile rising through her exhaustion. “Thank you, Cole.”

“I hope I helped,” he murmured.

She drained the rest of her ale, waved toward Bull and Krem—who grinned knowingly from their corner—and slipped away toward the Undercroft.

–

The following days blurred together, each filled with reports, troop logistics, and long councils about Adamant Fortress. Ellana threw herself into work until her body ached and her mind refused rest. It was easier to focus on demons and fortifications than on the ache behind her ribs.

She and Josephine still spoke, about treaties, about trade, but every conversation dissolved into uneasy silences. Ellana found herself leaving before they had to acknowledge the distance.

When Cassandra found her one night, she was hacking furiously at a training dummy, daggers gleaming in the torchlight.

“You are both fools,” Cassandra announced, crossing her arms. “With the world on fire, you find time for despair over one quarrel?”

Ellana struck the dummy one last time before stepping back, chest heaving. “She knows where to find me.”

“You know where to find her.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ellana muttered.

“Is it not? Everyone can see the affection between you. With her life threatened, we all assumed you would never leave her side.”

Ellana paused, then sheathed her daggers with a sigh. “She doesn’t want me there. Leliana’s guards shadow her every step while she deals with the Du Paraquettes. I’m honoring her wishes.”

Cassandra softened. “Ellana, listen to me. I know I wasn’t kind to you at first, but I call you friend now. And as your friend, I want you to be happy, for however long any of us have. You deserve that.”

Ellana let out a short laugh. “You’ve been reading Varric’s books again.”

Cassandra scowled. “That isn’t the point.”

“I know.” Ellana’s tone gentled. “I’m grateful, truly. I just… I’m out of my depth. Leading the Inquisition is one thing. Falling in love is another. I keep thinking there’s a right way to do it, and I keep getting it wrong.”

“Then do what you always do,” Cassandra said quietly. “Follow your instincts. And remember, you are not alone.”

Ellana looked toward the tower windows, where moonlight spilled down the stone. “Thank you, Cassandra,” she said. “I’ll speak to her. I promise.”

She meant to go straight to Josephine’s office. But instead, she found Dagna waiting by the throne room stairs, bouncing on her toes.

“Your Worship! Just the elf I wanted to see.”

“Were you able to make it?” Ellana’s eyes brightened with curiosity.

“Even better!” Dagna grinned. “Come see.”

—

It was near midnight when Ellana emerged from the Undercroft, grease-smudged and smiling faintly from Dagna’s infectious enthusiasm. The corridors were quiet, Skyhold asleep under a silvered sky. When she passed Josephine’s office, the lamp beneath the door had been extinguished.

Disappointment pressed against her ribs. She nodded to the night guard, scanned the hallway for anything amiss, then retreated to her quarters.

Inside, the fire burned low. She stripped off her boots, loosened her tunic, and sat at her desk. The small wooden box Dagna had given her rested before her hands. Inside lay two simple gold bands: hammered, imperfect, and glinting faintly in the candlelight.

They weren’t what she’d asked for, not at first. Dagna’s project had begun as a new form of a sending stone, one that could instantly send communications and reports without running out of power. But the dwarf’s experiments had twisted the idea into something more intimate: two rings, linked by an enchantment that shared emotions.

If Josephine even approved of the idea.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened slowly, and Josephine hesitantly stepped through. Her hair was down, loose waves tumbling around her shoulders. The sight nearly stole Ellana’s breath.

“I saw your light,” Josephine began softly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Never.” Ellana closed the ring box gently. “Please, come in. Are you well? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing urgent.” Josephine hesitated, hands clasped at her waist. “I’ve made progress with the Du Paraquettes, but that’s not why I’m here.” Her voice trembled. “I’m so sorry, Ellana. For the things I said. For raising my voice. I’ve hurt you, and I wish I could take it back.”

Ellana rose from her chair, the wooden box still in her hands. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have lost my temper either.” Her voice cracked. “The thought of losing you… I can’t bear it.”

Josephine reached up, her gloved fingertips tracing the faint scar on Ellana’s cheek. “And I can’t bear the thought of being the cause of your pain.”

Her touch lingered. The silk of her sleeve brushed Ellana’s skin.

Ellana’s heart clenched. She cupped Josephine’s face and leaned in, their foreheads touching. “I’m so sorry.”

Their lips met, hesitant at first, then desperate, breaking apart only long enough for Josephine to whisper, “All is forgiven. Do kiss me again.”

Ellana obeyed gladly. One arm slipped around Josephine’s waist. The other, still holding the small wooden box, trembled before setting it aside on the nightstand beside her daggers. They stumbled backward until they fell together onto the bed, laughter tangled in their kisses.

Ellana murmured against Josephine’s lips, “Ar lasa mala revas.”

Josephine smiled, breathless. “What does that mean?”

“You are so beautiful,” Ellana whispered.

And she was, her body haloed in the flicker of the hearthlight, eyes shining with something warmer than simple apology. Josephine wanted to ask Ellana what she had whispered to her in their tent, what ar lath ma, vhenan meant, but then they were kissing again, and all concrete thought drifted somewhere of unimportance. For that moment, the war outside ceased to exist. The world was quiet, and whole, and theirs.

Chapter Text

Varric was speaking with Hawke just outside the war room when Ellana approached, their low voices carrying through the vaulted hall.

“You know they eat snails out here?” Varric was saying, gesturing with his flask. “Still, I think… I need to finish this out. If it weren’t for me and Bartrand, none of this would’ve happened. So much for changing our lives.”

“That’s what happens when you try to change things.” Hawke’s tone was wry, though her eyes were sad. “Things change. You can’t always control how.”

Ellana lingered by the doorway, her presence soft as a shadow. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Varric turned, waving a hand through the air as if to brush away the apology. “Don’t be. You ready to do this, kid?”

“No,” Ellana admitted. Then she smiled faintly. “But let’s do it anyway.”

Hawke chuckled as she followed them into the war room. “I see why you like her, Varric.”

Inside, the chamber buzzed with subdued urgency. Maps, correspondence, and a few small glowing shards of lyrium littered the war table. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine stood already deep in discussion, their words ghosting through the air like low-burning incantations.

Ellana’s gaze was immediately drawn to Josephine’s hand. The single golden band glinted on her finger, catching the candlelight like a captured sunbeam.

The matching ring on Ellana’s hand pulsed faintly in return.

Dagna’s invention had been brilliant, if somewhat experimental. The rings weren’t true sending stones, but they carried echoes, ripples of emotion that traversed distance like the hum of a taut string. Josephine could feel Ellana’s heartbeat, and Ellana could feel Josephine’s joy, her fear, her quiet worry, all through faint whispers beneath her skin.

At rest, the connection faded to a gentle hum. But when they focused, the sensation deepened. It wasn’t communication, but something like it. The first time they’d tested it, Ellana had been sparring with Bull when a shock of dread jolted through her chest like an ice bath. She’d barely dodged his swing before bolting from the training grounds, certain Josephine was in danger. The danger of the House of Repose still remained, after all.

By the time she burst into Josephine’s office, mud-spattered and wild-eyed, the ambassador had been entertaining a visiting noblewoman. The poor lady shrieked and nearly fainted as a dozen guards came charging in after their panicked Inquisitor.

The aftermath had been… mortifying.

But the noble, to everyone’s surprise, had found the incident charming. “Oh, the stories these halls could tell!” she’d exclaimed, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Consider me sold, Ambassador. I’ll have the equipment sent to you at once!”

Even now, the memory made Josephine’s lips twitch at the corner. Ellana, standing across the table, felt that small smile echo through their bond.

The rings were still imperfect, and sometimes emotions were difficult to translate. Sadness and weariness sometimes overlapped, fear could feel like longing. But they were learning.

Ellana’s thumb brushed the hammered metal and thought of the inscription lurking on the inside of the band, words written in her own blood.

Var lath, vir suledin.

Our love, our path will endure.

Leliana’s voice cut cleanly through the room, steady and sharp as drawn steel. “Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the Second Blight.”

“Fortunately for us,” Cullen added, “that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do real damage to those ancient walls. And thanks to our Lady Ambassador…”

Josephine’s eyes flicked to Ellana, amusement warming her voice. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers, thanks, in part, to the Inquisitor’s unique talent for persuasion. The trebuchets have already arrived.”

“That’s the good news,” Leliana said. “The bad news… Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test. He may already be raising his army of demons within the fortress.”

Cullen ran a hand through his hair. “Our forces can breach the gate, but if the Wardens are already possessed…” He didn’t finish the thought.

“I found records of Adamant’s construction,” Leliana continued. “There are choke points narrow enough to bottleneck an army. If we move quickly, we can limit the field of battle.”

Cullen nodded. “Then we use the terrain. We might not defeat them outright, but we can cut off reinforcements and clear you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

The weight of the moment pressed down like a storm front. Ellana’s palms felt damp. A quiet pulse through the ring told her Josephine felt it too.

“This will be bloody,” Ellana said softly. “Taking the fortress will cost us good soldiers.”

Josephine stepped closer, her voice gentle but unyielding. “They know the risk, Inquisitior. They know what they fight for.”

Cullen’s expression was drawn, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “It’ll be hard-fought, no way around it. But we’ll get that gate open.”

“It’s possible some of the Wardens might listen to reason,” Josephine added.

“Perhaps the warriors, though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly,” Leliana murmured. “The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death.”

Cullen turned to Ellana. “Our siege engines are ready. The army’s waiting on your command.”

Ellana looked around the table, at the people who had followed her through demon hordes and dangerous magic, at Josephine, whose hooded eyes met hers across the distance with unwavering belief.

Her voice was quiet but certain. “Then we march. Adamant falls today.”

Chapter Text

Skyhold was too quiet.

The stillness pressed against the stones, heavy as snowfall. Every creak of timber, every distant echo of footsteps in the hall, only made the emptiness louder. Josephine buried herself in work.

With the Inquisitor gone, she had taken much of Ellana’s correspondence upon herself. Missives, trade requests, envoy replies, even the same infuriating marriage requests… they piled endlessly, like sand refilling a hole she could never finish digging. Her hand ached from writing, the pen trembling slightly as she signed yet another parchment with usual precision. She needed a break soon, but dreaded the thought of it.

Firelight flickered across the golden band on her finger, scattering light onto the surface of her desk. The hammered metal shimmered faintly, alive, in its own quiet way. Josephine exhaled and sent a wave of reassurance down the bond, a practiced trick of will she still didn’t entirely understand. The warmth pulsed outward, gentle and steady. Be safe, my love. Come back to me.

She hoped Ellana could feel it.

It was a strange thing, loving a woman whose every heartbeat was spent in battle while her own was surrounded by ink and firelight. The dissonance gnawed at her. Ellana was out there in the dust and blood, fighting horrors no mortal should see, while Josephine sat by a comfortable fire, sipping Orlesian wine and listening to the hush of wind through Skyhold’s open window.

The guilt was a quiet rot. Sometimes she thought it monstrous, this luxury, this warmth, while the woman she loved bled for all of them.

Just after Ellana’s departure for Adamant, Josephine had received word: the Du Paraquettes were elevated to nobility, and the contract on her life was nullified. Relief had washed over her like cool water, and she wondered if Ellana had felt it, too. A flicker of calm had swept along the tether between them in reaction.

Now, that thread hummed with something far darker. When Josephine focused, she could feel only anger and exhaustion mixed with a ragged fury that was too large to belong to anything but battle. The connection was never precise. She couldn’t feel physical pain, only its echo, like a dull ache in her chest or the ghost of an old wound. It was a language of emotion, raw and wordless.

As a diplomat, Josephine had always been fluent in people. And so she learned to read Ellana by her feelings.

When Ellana was angry, she closed herself off. She was like a storm sealed behind tempered glass. When she was leading, her emotions often smoothed into sharp, confident focus. Sadness and embarrassment tangled together. Her shoulders would hunch, her gaze dropping to her boots as if the world was too heavy to carry. And when they were alone, when touch replaced words, Ellana easily melted under Josephine’s hands like cream in summer heat.

Maker, how she missed her.

A knock at her door drew her from her thoughts. Josephine set down her pen and flexed her cramped fingers. “Come in.”

Leliana slipped inside. “Nothing yet from Adamant,” she said softly. “I simply wanted to check on you.”

Josephine blinked at the window, startled to see the last of the daylight fading. “Goodness. I forgot to eat.” She smiled faintly. “Would you share a meal with me?”

Leliana nodded and murmured something to the guard outside before joining her by the desk. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ve buried myself in work, as usual,” Josephine admitted, smoothing her skirt. “Which I’m told is still not a healthy coping mechanism.”

Leliana’s gaze drifted toward the ring. “Everything quiet there?”

“Not quiet.” Josephine brushed her thumb along the warm metal. “She’s still fighting. Angry. Tired, but alive.”

The spymaster’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You know I worry about that thing.”

“Because of the blood magic,” Josephine said, anticipating her tone. “Solas and Dorian both confirmed it’s safe. Even Vivienne begrudgingly helped Dagna perfect the enchantment, though she did spend the entire time lecturing them about ‘slippery slopes.’”

Leliana gave a quiet, noncommittal hum.

Josephine studied her for a moment, then said softly, “It isn’t the ring, is it? It’s her. You two have acted distant toward one another. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You don’t approve.”

Leliana sighed and folded her arms. “It’s not disapproval. I think Ellana is… extraordinary.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Leliana hesitated, then said quietly, “Because I know what it feels like to be swept away by a great love. I also know what it feels like to live knowing that at any moment, she can be ripped away.” She stood and began to pace. “Ellana reminds me a lot of her, you know. Solona.” She didn’t mention the Hero of Ferelden’s name often. “Ellana is strong and stubborn… loyal to a fault. She’d give her life to save ours. But when you carry a title—the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, or the Hero of Ferelden—it comes with expectations, and often those expectations demand blood and sacrifice.”

Josephine’s voice softened. “If you knew in the beginning that there was a strong possibility that you would lose her, to death or duty, would you have allowed yourself to fall for her? Would you make the same choices?”

“I will always choose her,” Leliana breathed. “Every day, for as long as I live.”

Josephine returned a watery smile. “Then you must understand how I feel. No matter what happens, no matter what darkness we might face… I choose Ellana.”

For a long moment, silence hung between them, filled with the soft crackle of fire. Finally, Leliana murmured, “I… worry that I let my own fears antagonize the Inquisitor. I may have spoken to her too harshly.”

Josephine arched her brow. “You threatened her, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“My words may have carried… a hint of a warning,” Leliana said delicately. She looked almost sheepish. Josephine’s eyes lingered on her, and she laughed at the sight. The red-haired woman actually looked a bit flustered. “She held her own! She ‘advised’ me to never threaten her again. I was honestly a bit comforted that she bit back.”

Josephine covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. “Both of you are impossible.” A knock at the door interrupted them. “That must be dinner,” she said, rising. She opened the door to find a young elf servant with a tray, thanked her warmly, and sent her away with a generous tip. The scent of spiced lamb and roasted squash filled the room as she carried it back toward the desk.

Then the world tilted.

A sudden, hollow coldness surged through her ring, not a pulse, but an implosion. Josephine’s knees buckled. The tray slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor, silver lids clattering and wine spilling across the rug. It looked a lot like blood.

“Josie?” Leliana was on her feet instantly, reaching for her.

The ambassador choked on a gasp, clutching her chest. “No… no, Maker, please—”

The bond felt empty. Not pain, not death, just total absence. A void where Ellana’s spirit had always been.

A low, raw sound tore from Josephine’s throat, a wail so primal Leliana’s blood went cold. She fell beside her, catching Josephine as she crumpled to the floor.

“Josephine!”

“Gone… she’s gone.” Josephine sobbed, trembling violently.

Leliana turned sharply toward the door. “Guard!”

A young soldier appeared within moments, eyes wide at the sight. “Orders, Nightingale?”

“Go to the rookery and find my agents. Now. Any report from Adamant, bring it here, immediately!”

He sprinted down the corridor, boots echoing like drumbeats.

Moments later, the door burst open again. Varric, breathless, Bianca in hand, slid to a halt and froze at the sight before him: Josephine in Leliana’s arms, trembling, weeping. The tray of what was supposed to be their dinner overturned, the scent of wine and metal in the air.

Varric’s face went pale. His voice rasped out, barely a whisper. “Ellana…”

When the messenger returned, the news confirmed Josephine’s worst fear. The Inquisitor and her companions had fallen into the Fade. They were believed to be lost.

Chapter Text

Ellana was no stranger to nightmares, but nothing she had endured in the past compared to what she saw within the Fade.

There had always been glimpses when she sealed a rift. Sometimes she caught the faintest outlines of shapes, blurred and hungry, pressing against the Veil like fingers against frosted glass. The demons that always emerged were horrifying enough, but now she had seen beyond. Whatever the Fade was, she was physically in it, and nothing good would come from it.

It wasn’t the grotesque creatures or the suffocating dark that shattered her in the Fade. It was the intimacy of the terror. The Fade had stripped her bare, laid open her soul, and whispered her deepest fears into form.

The Nightmare wore her fear like a sickly perfume. It conjured scenes with exquisite cruelty: Josephine turning her back, her eyes cold as she reached for Blackwall instead. Josephine walking away from Skyhold. Josephine smiling with red lyrium blooming from her veins. Josephine limp in Ellana’s arms, her blood soaking through the Inquisitor’s armor.

Each vision left a deep scar. When Ellana’s trembling hand closed around her ring, she found only emptiness. The connection between them had become a hollow ache, an open wound, and she yearned to feel something, anything from it. That emptiness was the Nightmare’s true weapon, and it nearly broke her.

Dorian’s grip yanked her back to her feet before she could fall again. His face was drawn and pale, his usual poise cracking under the Fade’s pressure. “Get up,” he hissed, the tremor in his voice betraying him. “We’re getting out of here.” He pulled her through the distorted landscape, muttering encouragement between gritted teeth even as shadows clawed at his heels.

Behind them, Bull’s silence was unnerving. His greataxe swung with mechanical precision, cleaving through the crawling horrors with each deliberate strike. But Ellana saw the subtle tremor in his arms. He was petrified.

Cassandra’s grief clung to her like ash. She had fixed her gaze on the spectral glow of Divine Justinia, her lips moving in silent prayer. The ghostly light of the Most Holy wavered, her voice guiding them through the warped terrain. For Cassandra, it was a miracle and a wound all at once, proof that her faith was justified, yet this was one loss she would never fully recover from.

Hawke’s silence was even heavier. Only her shouts during battle cut through the dark. Ellana thought she heard a name, Isabela, before Hawke’s jaw snapped shut. Whatever pain she carried, she buried it beneath fury, hacking through demons like she could carve her way out of her own dark memories.

Ellana barely had room to breathe, let alone think about what her own memories might reveal. The fear that she had somehow caused the Conclave’s destruction had stalked her since she woke up with her mark. If the Fade confirmed that, if she saw herself as Corypheus’ accomplice… she wasn’t sure she would survive the realization. The Inquisition would crumble with her.

When they finally emerged, it was like breaking the surface of the ocean after nearly drowning. The air tasted metallic and thin. Every nerve burned. And then she felt it: a surge through the ring on her finger. Terror. Not hers, but Josephine’s.

Ellana gasped, one hand clutching her chest as her knees hit the ground. The link between them cracked with panic so raw it nearly blinded her. Josephine’s emotions pulsed through her like fire through glass, filled with confusion, desperation, and inconsolable grief. Ellana’s breath came shallow and fast. She tried to send calm back through the bond, but all she could manage was a flicker of thought before pain overtook her.

There was no time to collapse. Stroud was gone, left behind to hold back the Nightmare, and the world refused to pause for grief. The Fade’s ripples would reach far beyond this one battle.

“Divine Justinia… or whoever she was, was right,” Hawke said quietly, her face drawn with exhaustion. “Without the Nightmare, the mages are free. Corypheus just lost his demon army. Though as far as they’re concerned, the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.”

Ellana wanted to vomit. “They came out alive. As far as I’m concerned, they can tell whatever stories they like.”

“That’s how legends get started. Or, at least, that’s what Varric always says,” Hawke weakly joked.

Suddenly, silly stories by the fire in Skyhold, with Josephine curled by her side, was all Ellana ached for.

A scout approached at a run, panting. “The Archdemon fled as soon as you vanished. The Venatori magister is alive, though barely. Commander Cullen said you might wish to handle him personally.” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “The surviving Wardens fought with us. Those who weren’t captured helped turn the tide.”

A Warden stepped forward, his armor scorched and dented. “Warden Stroud?”

“He’s dead,” Hawke said, clipped, final.

Ellana stepped forward, straightening despite the pain. “He died striking a blow against a servant of the Blight. We’ll honor his sacrifice, and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens.” She paused and focused on her breath, her bond with Josephine still burning at the back of her mind. The fear had dimmed slightly, but it was still sharp. “Even as Corypheus tried to destroy you from within.”

“We… we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?” Ellana looked at the Wardens, all of them battered, uncertain, and clinging to purpose. Her bones felt hollow. She wanted to sleep. But the words came anyway. “Help the Inquisition. Do not fail again.” Her voice broke on the last word.

Cassandra’s gaze burned into her back as Ellana turned away. Orders spilled from her mouth: find Cullen, send word to Leliana, prepare reports, anything to keep from collapsing under the weight of what she’d seen.

She could still feel the Fade pressing at the edges of her mind, whispering doubts she refused to hear. But louder than all of it was Josephine, her intense emotions echoing across the bond, wordless and terrified.

Ellana closed her eyes and focused on the ring.

I’m coming, Josephine.

The link sparked in answer, a desperate pulse, like the echo of a frantic heartbeat.

Come home. Now.

Chapter Text

On top of everything else, Josephine now faced a forced betrothal.

The words felt foreign, like something uttered in a foggy dream. They sat heavily on her tongue no matter how she tried to rationalize them. Ellana was still not home from Adamant Fortress, and Josephine didn’t know how to even begin to face her. She could barely grasp that she was still alive, and despite the confirmation of Ellana’s return still flashing through their bond, Josephine wasn’t sure she could fully believe it. She needed to see the woman with her own eyes.

Once again, she was trapped within the latticework of “proper” society, its contracts, titles, and delicate threats. She had lived her whole life navigating that world with grace, but now, for the first time, she wanted to burn it down.

If not for the risk to her family, she would have thrown decorum out the nearest window.

Leliana’s tone since learning of her relationship with Ellana had shifted. Softer, though still teasing, it grated all the same. “Just let her duel the man, Josie!”

Josephine could only stare at her. “A duel?” she repeated, incredulous.

“She’s the Inquisitor. No one would dare question her right to a duel for you.”

Josephine’s heart twisted. She could still see the way Ellana had stood over her, poised with no armor, covered in cuts from assassins. If she knew a duel was possible, she would immediately choose to fight. “There’s no reason to duel, Leliana,” she said, her voice clipped. “I already know the process to rectify—”

“Ellana endured the ‘process’ to annul a contract against your life,” Leliana countered. “And it nearly killed you both. Undoing an engagement arranged by your family could take months. Years.”

“I’m aware,” Josephine snapped before she could stop herself.

Leliana arched an eyebrow, her calm demeanor unshaken. “Then you know what must be done. You’ll have to hide your relationship—”

“I know, Leliana.”

The spymaster sighed. “Then let her help.”

If only it were that easy.

Josephine could imagine it: Ellana striding into the courtyard, cloak billowing, issuing a challenge with her steady, dangerous calm. A duel fought under torchlight, steel flashing, and Ellana emerging victorious. It was the kind of scene Varric would immortalize in his novels.

But what if she didn’t win?

What if she got hurt, or worse? What if the Inquisition lost its leader for the sake of Josephine’s own entanglements? The thought was unbearable.

And even if Ellana survived, but lost, the damage to her reputation could be catastrophic. What would happen if anyone reported her relationship with the Inquisitor while she was betrothed to another? No, everything had to be handled properly. Josephine knew this, and yet her heart refused to listen.

Only hours ago, she had been certain Ellana was dead, lost in the Fade. The moment their bond had gone silent, Josephine had felt something inside her shatter. And then, just as suddenly, Ellana was back. Alive. Breathing. Her emotions flared through their link like fire. The relief was still dizzying. Of course, life would find a different way to tear them both down.

Perhaps it was her own fault. She had written to Yvette about her feelings for the Inquisitor. A reckless, foolish act for someone who prided herself on restraint.

And Yvette, of course, had been delighted.

Unlike their brothers, who spent their lives chasing glory across the sea, Yvette reveled in scandal and drama. She yearned for epic stories of romance. For Josephine, always the dutiful one, to fall in love with someone forbidden — and an elven woman at that — was a tale she couldn’t have scripted better herself.

Her brothers, Laurien and Antoine, had written back teasingly, calling her “the family’s rebel at last.” Their parents would no doubt follow with concern wrapped in polite disapproval. But Josephine knew, deep down, they wanted her happy. They would love Ellana.

This contract could ruin everything.

But at that moment, none of it mattered. All Josephine wanted was to see Ellana alive, to feel her warmth again, to confirm that she was real.

A sharp tap interrupted her thoughts.

A raven perched on the window ledge, its eyes glinting like obsidian. Leliana rose with quiet grace and retrieved the note from its leg.

Josephine held her breath as Leliana scanned the message. “They should be here shortly,” she said softly. “Everyone is unharmed.”

Unharmed.

Her knees nearly gave way.

When Leliana passed the letter over, Josephine recognized Ellana’s handwriting immediately

Nightingale,

I know an official report should have already arrived, but none will have given you details of what actually occurred. The mages and Wardens under Corypheus’s spell are now free. In particular, the Wardens are eager to help us in our fight. While corruption could still be a worry, I felt it best to allow them to join us. It’s their fight as much as it is ours. They’re willing to work under guard, if necessary.

Earlier reports of our disappearance are true. During the battle against Corypheus’s Archdemon, we tumbled into the Fade. It was only the instinctive use of my Anchor that saved us from death, but what we experienced in the Fade has forever changed us. I’ve recovered my memories from the Conclave, the details of which you should have already received. I know you were particularly close to the Divine, and I’m happy to speak with you personally when I’ve returned.

Thankfully, we reemerged from the Fade unharmed, but the Nightmare that tortured our minds leaves its own invisible wounds. Stroud is gone. Hawke is returning with us, if only to speak with Varric. Dorian, Bull, and Cassandra are struggling with their own thoughts. It will take a while to recover from the horrors we all saw.

But still, we persist.

By the time you receive this letter, we should be close to Skyhold’s gate. I look forward to seeing friendly faces.

The Inquisitor

Josephine’s hands trembled as she lowered the page. Relief flooded her veins so fiercely it hurt.

To have fallen into the Fade twice, and returned… it was beyond comprehension. And to discover that it had actually been Divine Justinia’s hand that saved Ellana. Not Andraste. Not the Maker…

That truth could fracture the faithful if it ever escaped. Josephine tucked the letter close to her chest. They would deal with that in time.

For now, there was only one thing that mattered.

The horns sounded across Skyhold, echoing through stone and snow.

Ellana was home.

Chapter Text

It was impossible to maintain perfect composure as they climbed out of the cable car and made their way through Skyhold’s gates.

The mountains loomed silver-blue in the morning light, and the wind that always swept through the fortress seemed sharper and cleaner, as though even the air knew something dreadful had passed. Adamant was a stain in Thedas’ history, and an endless nightmare for everyone who fought in its final moments.

To say Ellana was exhausted was an understatement. The Inquisitor slid from her horse and let the reins fall into the stablemaster’s waiting hands. For a moment she swayed, her legs trembling beneath her. The world seemed to tilt, and she had to blink several times before the stones under her feet steadied again.

Behind her, Bull, Dorian, Cassandra, and Hawke dismounted in silence, each wearing the thousand-yard stare of someone who had seen things no one ever should. The air around them was heavy with unspoken things. The Fade still lingered like soot on skin.

Ellana could feel Josephine through their bond, faint but insistent, and the pulse of worry that flashed up the tether was soothing, in its own way. It grew stronger with each step toward the main hall until, when she finally reached the doors of the Throne Room, it became overwhelming.

The great doors opened.

Arms flew around her neck before she even registered movement.

Ellana melted into the embrace, a low, shuddering breath leaving her lungs. “I’m okay,” she murmured into Josephine’s shoulder, though her voice lacked conviction. “I’m… okay.”

Josephine pulled back just enough to look at her, and her heart nearly broke. Ellana was thinner than before, her skin pale to the point of translucence, bruised shadows staining the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Faint scars—some fresh, some older—drew pale lines along her collar and throat. But it wasn’t any of that that frightened Josephine most. It was the fog in her lover’s eyes, the quiet, hollow way she looked past the world as if half of her still wandered the Fade.

Josephine cupped her face, grounding herself in the simple, physical warmth of her. “Maker, Ellana…”

The elf leaned forward and kissed her, slow and desperate, as if to prove she was still real.

When they finally parted, Josephine took her hand and didn’t let go. “Food is already waiting in your quarters,” she said softly. “Shall I…”

“I need you with me,” Ellana rasped. Her voice was hoarse from days of shouting orders, from nightmares she hadn’t yet escaped. “Please.”

Josephine’s fingers tightened around hers. “I’m not sure I could stay away, even if you asked.”

They climbed the familiar stairs together, their steps echoing against the stone. Skyhold felt too still, the usual rhythm of the keep subdued by the tension of waiting. Word of the Inquisitor’s return had spread, but no one dared celebrate yet. Word of the Fade clouded Skyhold like a haunting.

Inside Ellana’s quarters, the fire had already been lit. The couch had been pulled near it, and a tray of food was waiting on the table. The room smelled faintly of parchment and lavender oil, a comfort Josephine had quietly arranged long ago.

Ellana changed wordlessly while Josephine poured them both a glass of wine, her motions careful, ritualistic, as though she feared to break the fragile calm holding them together. When Ellana finally returned, she looked smaller. Her armor was gone, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. She curled into Josephine’s side without hesitation.

“I missed you,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry for whatever pain I caused.” Her gaze fell to their matching rings.

“It isn’t your fault,” Josephine whispered, voice trembling. “Do you know… I can feel when you’re injured? When you fight, I can feel your anger, your determination. And when you disappeared…” Her voice cracked. “It wasn’t just that you were gone, it was as if you’d been torn out of the world.”

“I had been,” Ellana said quietly. “I couldn’t feel you either. And then the Nightmare…”

Josephine brushed a tear from her cheek. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“We lost Stroud. Cassandra and Bull are furious that I spared the Wardens.” She sighed, her shoulders heavy. “After Adamant, everything blurred together. I just needed to get back. To you.”

Josephine pressed her face into Ellana’s hair, inhaling smoke and sweat and the faintest trace of blood. “You’re here,” she said, almost to herself. “You’re safe.”

Dinner passed mostly in silence. Josephine noticed how Ellana’s gaze would dart around the room before settling back on her, as though confirming that this world, this room, truly existed. Reports of the Fade had described its twisting geometry, sketched with inverted mountains and rivers flowing upward, but no written account could capture what it did to the mind.

When the last of the plates were cleared, Josephine helped Ellana to bed. She sat beside her and brushed a hand along her hairline before kissing her forehead.

“Will you stay?” Ellana asked softly. “Just for a little while?”

Josephine’s heart cracked open. “Allow me to change into something more comfortable,” she said. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

The work would pile up, but none of it mattered.

That night, Ellana dreamed of darkness and screaming and the shriek of stone torn apart. But each time she woke, Josephine’s warmth was there as a steady, living proof of reality.

When dawn broke over the Frostbacks, the light that filtered through the curtains was soft and gold. Ellana blinked, then turned her head to see Josephine still sleeping beside her. For a moment she simply watched the curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her breath, and the dark curls haloed against the pillow.

I’m here. This is real.

She reached out, fingers brushing the woman’s shoulder. Warmth. Steady breath. Safety.

Then the memory struck like a blade. Josephine falling, the splash of red—

Ellana sat up sharply, forcing the image away. When her breathing steadied, she turned back to the woman she loved and smiled.

A sleepy moan left Josephine’s lips as her eyes fluttered open. “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning.” Ellana grinned. She had once thought Josephine was most beautiful amid the chaos of travel, but that image faded compared to this: barefaced, tousled, and utterly human. “Thank you for staying.”

Josephine smiled sleepily. “As if I’d stay anywhere else. Besides…” She glanced at the rumpled blankets. “You have the comfiest bed in Skyhold.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Ellana said. “Anytime. Whether I’m here or not.”

A blush rose on Josephine’s cheeks. “I’ll remember that.”

A rhythmic knock sounded on the door. Josephine flinched and instinctively tugged the blanket up, earning a laugh from Ellana.

“It’s just Cassandra,” Ellana said, rising. “I promised to train with her this morning.”

“Do you train like this often?”

“Either with Cassandra or Bull. Sometimes Krem, when he’s willing to wake early. I’m quick with daggers, but brute strength is my weakness. They’re helping me… adjust.” She smiled faintly. “It comes in handy against red templars.”

“Perhaps I’ll come watch sometime,” Josephine teased.

Ellana blushed. “You’d be the most pleasant distraction.” She pulled on her boots, then turned back. “May I kiss you?”

“You never have to ask.”

Ellana leaned down and kissed her deeply. “Would it be too much to ask,” Josephine murmured against her lips, “to remain in bed all day?”

Ellana laughed. “Is Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition, suggesting abandoning all responsibility to hide in bed with me? Scandalous.”

“Oh, hush!” Josephine laughed, swatting her lightly. “Go spar with Cassandra. Join me for lunch?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

When the door finally shut behind Ellana, the room seemed strangely still. Josephine sat for a long moment on the edge of the bed, listening to the distant clang of training swords in the courtyard below. The fire had burned low, throwing thin gold lines across the stone floor, and the scent of lavender oil clung faintly to the air.

Her gaze drifted to the light armor folded neatly over a chair, the daggers resting by the nightstand. They looked foreign here, like relics smuggled into a sanctuary.

Ellana had returned from the Fade, yes, but not entirely. There was something quieter in her now, something tempered by shadows Josephine could neither name nor soothe.

She reached for one of the Inquisitor’s gloves and smoothed the leather between her fingers, tracing the faint, soot-stained edges. It was cold. Empty.

“I won’t lose you again,” she whispered to the empty room, as if by voicing it, she could make it true. The words barely left her lips before a soft knock sounded at the door. Josephine startled, hastily setting the glove aside.

“Come in,” she called, regaining her ambassador’s composure.

Leliana slipped inside, her hood lowered, her expression composed but not unkind. Her eyes swept the room once, taking in the unmade bed and the untouched breakfast tray before settling on Josephine. “You’ve been missed in the war room,” she said gently. “Cullen is pacing again.”

Josephine managed a weary smile. “That man could wear ruts in the stone itself.”

“He worries,” Leliana replied, stepping closer. “We all do.” Her gaze softened, a rare tenderness breaking through her usual poise. “How is she?”

Josephine hesitated. “Alive. But…” She shook her head. “I don’t know that she’s entirely back.”

Leliana nodded as if she’d expected that answer. “Few ever are, after the Fade touches them.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the crackle of the fire the only sound between them.

Finally, Josephine exhaled, straightened her spine, and adjusted her cuffs. “Tell Cullen I’ll join him shortly. I’ll need the latest reports on the Warden situation, and on Orlais.”

Leliana’s lips curved faintly, half amusement, half admiration. “There’s the Josie I know.” She reached for the door. “She’ll be okay.”

Josephine’s voice softened. “I hope so.”

Leliana’s expression flickered—something like understanding, or perhaps old memory—and then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the corridor. Josephine lingered one last moment, glancing toward the window where light streamed across the cold mountain peaks.

Then she turned, smoothed the bed, and walked out to face the day.

Chapter Text

The peace of the morning dissolved the moment Josephine stepped back into her office.

Stacks of correspondence, sealed decrees, and half-signed missives swallowed her desk, but it was the single envelope on top that stole the breath from her lungs. The Otranto family crest.

The letter she had prayed would never come. Confirmation of her engagement.

For a long while, Josephine only stared at it, her reflection faintly visible in the sheen of the red wax seal. She knew its contents before she even broke it open, and yet she could not make her fingers move. Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto, a noble of Antiva, wealthy, respected, ambitious… and now, on paper, her intended.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family. She did. But they had no idea what they had just done. They had no idea who held her heart now.

Ellana’s name alone was enough to steady her and shatter her all at once. Josephine’s hands trembled. She sat behind her desk, the weight of propriety crushing her shoulders. Every possible solution she conjured unraveled the moment it took shape. To annul the contract could take months, even years. It was an eternity in a world teetering at the brink of collapse. Time for them had become a luxury they couldn’t afford.

By the time she had forced herself through even a fraction of her duties, her pen shaking in her hand, the sun had climbed high over Skyhold.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she managed, though her voice was thinner than she liked.

Ellana stepped inside, her hair still damp from training, her movements unguarded, warm. The sight of her alive and real made Josephine’s composure falter.

“You’ve felt nervous all day,” Ellana said gently, crossing to the fireplace and rubbing her hands before the flames. “Are you alright? Has something happened?”

Josephine’s heart clenched. Maker, how could she do this? “Something has,” she began carefully. “I’ve… received some terrible news, and I’ve been trying to find the words to tell you.”

Ellana turned, concern furrowing her brow. “Josephine?”

“I’m engaged.”

The words fell like stones between them. For a heartbeat, Ellana’s expression was blank, the way someone looks when language stops making sense. “Engaged? To… me?”

“No.” The word burned Josephine’s throat. She rose abruptly, pacing to the window. “For the past year, my parents have searched Antiva for a match. They didn’t know about us. Just before you returned from Adamant, they secured a betrothal… to Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto.”

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

“I must find a way to dissolve it,” Josephine continued quickly, words tumbling out like apologies. “But until then… we cannot be seen in a compromising situation.”

“Compromising,” Ellana repeated, the word tasting foreign. “You mean as if nothing ever happened?”

“No, not that,” Josephine said, desperate now. “But it isn’t right to continue while I’m bound to another. I have to end this properly.”

“How long?” Ellana’s voice trembled.

Josephine couldn’t look at her. “I don’t know. Months, perhaps… years.”

Something broke. The distance between them became an ocean.

Ellana blinked rapidly, but the tears came anyway. For a moment, the world folded in on itself, and she was back in the Fade, hearing the Nightmare’s version of Josephine’s voice echo from the darkness.

You think I could ever love someone like you?

This is only the Game.

You mean nothing.

Nothing.

“Ellana?”

She stumbled back, breath shaking. “It’s nothing.” Her hand fumbled for the door.

“Ellana, please—”

“I need to go.”

The words came out strangled. Then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the hall like an echo in a cavern. Outside, the wind knifed through Skyhold’s courtyards. Ellana barely felt it. She climbed until she found the highest battlement, tucked herself into the shadow of the wall, and pressed her forehead to her knees.

Her chest ached. Her hands shook. All the battles she had survived—demons, darkspawn, the Fade itself—and none of it had prepared her for this.

Through their bond, she felt Josephine’s heart shatter, a mirror of her own, until even that tether began to fade. With a snarl, Ellana tore the ring from her finger and threw it onto the stone. It clattered once, twice, then fell silent.

And so, it seemed, had they.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana’s voice came softly from behind her.

Ellana didn’t look up. “Stalking me now, Leliana? Come to gloat?”

“No.” The spymaster’s tone was uncharacteristically gentle. She approached quietly, her boots making no sound on the stone. Her eyes flicked to the ring on the ground. “Josephine told you.”

“Of course she did.” Ellana wiped her face with her sleeve. “And of course you already knew. You should be celebrating. Josephine’s engaged to an Antivan noble. You don’t have to worry about me ruining her reputation anymore.”

Leliana’s expression softened. “We haven’t always agreed, and I’ve had my reservations about you and Josephine. For that, I apologize.” She stooped, picking up the discarded ring. “I care for her deeply… but I also care for you, Ellana. More than you realize. I let my fears cloud my judgment.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ellana whispered.

“It does,” Leliana said firmly. “Your love for her matters. And she loves you in return, whether you believe it or not. She’s hurting just as much as you.”

Ellana’s throat tightened. “It could take years, Leliana. Even if I could wait, I might not survive that long. The Inquisition’s war is far from over.”

“That’s how love works.” Leliana’s smile turned wistful. “I never planned to fall in love with Solona… the Hero of Ferelden.”

Ellana blinked, surprised. “Why isn’t she here? Or why aren’t you with her?”

“I had a duty to the Chantry. To the Divine. And Solona didn’t want to pull me from it.” Leliana’s voice softened. “I think she also didn’t want me to see what the Calling was doing to her. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Ellana nodded slowly. “It’s killing her.”

“Yes.” Leliana looked away, eyes distant. “She’s been searching for a cure for years, but it takes its toll. Loving a hero demands more strength than most can bear. Or a touch of madness.” Her lips curved faintly. “Josephine loves you like that.”

Ellana buried her face in her hands. “Then what do I do? I can’t just order her to end her engagement.”

Leliana’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Josephine is bound by formality. She’ll take the proper route, of course. Endless letters, negotiations, polite rejections… But there is a faster way.”

Ellana looked up, suspicious. “What are you suggesting?”

“Challenge Lord Otranto to a duel.”

Ellana blinked. “A duel? That would cause a scandal.”

“Only if you lose,” Leliana replied. “In Orlais and Antiva it's practically a love letter with a blade. The Inquisition’s leader, fighting for the heart of its ambassador? They’d adore the drama.”

Ellana let out a breath somewhere between disbelief and hope. “Josephine will never allow it.”

“Then she doesn’t need to know.” Leliana smiled, a dangerous glint in her teeth. “And I’ll teach you myself. Consider it my way of making peace.”

Ellana hesitated, then nodded, a spark of fire igniting beneath the ache. If this was what it took to keep Josephine, to love her freely, openly, without shame, then so be it.

She would fight for her.

Chapter Text

The knuckles on Ellana’s left hand bled. Red welts traced her fingers, each one a small testament to how poorly she was taking to the rapier.

“Again!” Cassandra’s command cut through the air like steel. Her rapier gleamed in the torchlight, stance perfect, eyes sharp.

Ellana gritted her teeth and mirrored the pose. Her arm trembled with effort as she lunged, blade thrusting toward Cassandra’s chest, but the warrior flicked it aside as if she were nothing more than a gnat. Before Ellana could recover, an elbow caught her ribs, and the tip of Cassandra’s sword found the soft space over her heart.

“Dueling isn’t usually fatal,” Leliana observed from the side, her tone maddeningly casual. “But there’s always a chance of harm. You need to stop fighting as if you’re carrying daggers. This is about rhythm and grace, not speed and fury.”

Ellana scowled, rubbing her ribs. “It sounds like you’re asking me to dance.”

“That’s exactly what it is.” Leliana’s lips twitched with amusement.

They reset. This time, Ellana waited and studied Cassandra’s movements. When she lunged, she angled her blade sharply, crashing it against Cassandra’s with deliberate force. The lighter sword deflected wide, and instead of resisting the pull, Ellana moved with it, pivoting to the side and cutting across Cassandra’s arm in a clean arc.

Cassandra hissed and stepped back, rubbing the sting.

Leliana clapped once. “Good! Remember, you’re ambidextrous. Defend, strike, switch hands. Let unpredictability be your advantage.”

Before Ellana could respond, the door opened, and Cullen stepped in, shaking snow from his cloak.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he said, eyeing the scattered practice blades. His gaze met Leliana’s. “Has she improved?”

“More than anticipated,” Leliana replied, a hint of pride coloring her tone. “But she still needs work. Have you sent the challenge?”

Cullen nodded. “The courier has already left for Antiva. We should receive Otranto’s reply soon.” He turned toward Ellana. “I’ll serve as your second, if you’ll have me.”

“My… second?” she asked.

“Your witness,” Cassandra supplied. “Each duelist is accompanied by one. They ensure the rules are honored, and intervene if something goes wrong.”

“Though that is extremely rare,” Leliana added smoothly.

Ellana wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “And Josephine still knows nothing?”

“She’s buried beneath treaties and ledgers,” Cullen said with a faint chuckle. “I doubt she’d notice if Corypheus flew overhead on his dragon.” His smile faded as he studied her. “Are you sure about this, Inquisitor? Injuries may be rare, but you’ll still be risking your life.”

Ellana tightened her grip on the hilt. “I’m sure. I’d rather bleed for her than watch her be given away.” She paused and gazed down at her boots. “She should at least have a choice.”

Cassandra’s lips softened into a rare smile. “Then let’s begin again. You are showing progress.”

Training became their nightly ritual.

When Ellana wasn’t traveling with the Inquisition, she spent her evenings in the barracks, sparring beneath torchlight until her arms ached. Cassandra corrected her posture, Leliana drilled her on form and strategy, and Cullen helped her build stamina in battle. Even though the rapier was a light weapon, Ellana could feel the strain in her upper arms and shoulders from posturing, and her calves ached from the stances.

Sometimes, Bull and Dorian drifted in, offering unhelpful commentary and inappropriate wagers. Sera appeared once or twice, pretending to fetch arrows but clearly staying to admire Cassandra’s physique. Cole watched silently from the shadows, eyes bright with innocent fascination.

At this rate, Ellana was amazed Josephine hadn’t yet found out.

One night, after hours of practice, Cassandra placed her rapier aside. “Grab a drink with me.”

Ellana blinked, surprised. “A drink?”

“Consider it a reward. You’ve earned it.”

They walked through the cold courtyard, Skyhold sleeping under a thin veil of snow. The tavern glowed warmly ahead, laughter and lute music spilling from its open door. They chose a small table upstairs at Herald’s Rest, tucked away from curious ears. From where they sat, Ellana could see Sera sprawled across her plush couch through the open door of her private room, legs kicking in the air as she scribbled in a journal. No doubt plotting mischief.

Two mugs arrived, frothy and fragrant, and Ellana found comfort in the familiar taste. Cassandra took a long sip before asking, awkward but sincere, “How are you… holding up?”

Ellana snorted softly. “That’s a loaded question.” She stared into her drink. “I’m managing. Barely.”

She hadn’t been alone with Josephine in weeks. Meetings in the war room were the only times their eyes met, and even then, Josephine kept her distance. Things were professional, polite, and devastatingly restrained.

They had both removed their rings. Ellana still felt the phantom weight of hers, the faint ache where it used to rest. Sometimes she imagined she could still feel the bond, the way it jumped when Josephine was particularly excited about something, almost like the wings of a hummingbird in flight. But there was nothing. Only an aching emptiness.

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. “She asks about you often. She worries.”

“Not enough to talk to me,” Ellana’s voice was sharper than she intended, and she sighed and shook her head. “I know I shouldn’t feel anger toward Josephine. I know this situation isn’t her fault. My reaction to the news wasn’t the best either.”

The warrior’s expression softened. “I was with you in the Fade. Though I didn’t see what the Nightmare tormented you with, I understand the context.” She paused and took a sip. “For what it’s worth, what you’re doing is incredibly romantic. Foolish, perhaps, but romantic. I am rooting for you.”

Ellana arched her brow. “Varric gave you the new chapter of Swords and Shields, didn’t he?”

Cassandra groaned into her drink. “It is literature.”

“It’s smut,” Ellana teased, laughing when Cassandra gave her a scandalized look. “But surprisingly good smut. We should start a book club.”

Cassandra blinked then grinned like a child given candy. “I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

The courier returned three days later with Otranto’s seal.

“He’s accepted,” Cullen announced grimly. “The duel will take place in Val Royeaux, one week from today.”

Ellana’s stomach dropped. “I’m not ready,” she whispered after another failed parry. Her rapier clattered to the floor. “I’m going to humiliate myself, and Josephine by extension.”

Cassandra crouched beside her, hand firm on her shoulder. “Learning a new skill like this is difficult. The only reason I even know how to wield a rapier is because I grew up learning the tradition of dueling.”

“So did Otranto,” Ellana retorted. “Gods… am I a fool for doing this? This is madness.”

Leliana leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Love is always a bit mad, no? You’ve faced demons and gods, Inquisitor. One Antivan noble should not frighten you.”

“You’ve fought through the Fade itself,” Cassandra said softly. “This duel is theater. It’s precision and confidence. You don’t have to win perfectly… you just have to strike true.”

Ellana exhaled shakily, picked up the rapier again, and squared her shoulders. “Then let’s keep going.”

Cassandra smiled faintly. “As many times as it takes, my friend.”

The blades of their rapiers clashed long after Skyhold drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Normally, Val Royeaux was a feast for the senses: bright silks fluttering from balconies, perfume and incense drifting on the wind, the melodic hum of merchants and minstrels weaving through the air.

But today, it was suffocating.

Crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder along the marble streets, craning for a glimpse of the spectacle: the Inquisitor herself, dueling for love.

Ellana adjusted her grip on the reins as she and Cullen rode through the gates. The air felt too tight, too warm. Every eye burned on her skin. “Seems like word has already spread. There’s no way Josephine hasn’t heard about this,” she muttered.

“Then for both of our sakes, let us hope your duel ends before she arrives.”

He was a picture of composure in his polished armor, but Ellana could see the sweat trailing down the back of his neck. The commander hated crowds as much as she did.

Cassandra followed at a distance, hood drawn low, her presence a quiet reassurance. They’d agreed she would remain hidden until the duel began, an ally in plain sight, should things turn ugly. Even though the duel had gone through the proper channels, it would leave the Inquisitor vulnerable.

The heart of Val Royeaux opened before them like a stage.

Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva waited in the center of the grand courtyard, gleaming like a black beetle beneath the Orlesian sun. His suit was tailored to perfection, the padding emphasizing his broad shoulders, every button polished, his boots shining. He looked more suited to a ball than a battlefield.

Ellana, by contrast, wore her travel leathers and dust from the road. She looked more like a peasant than the leader of the Inquisition.

“I am Lord Otranto of Antiva,” he greeted, bowing with exaggerated flourish. “Rightfully betrothed of Lady Josephine Montilyet.”

His smirk was the kind men wore when they believed themselves invincible.

Ellana’s jaw tightened.

“I have heard songs of your exploits, Inquisitor. It’s humbling to make your acquaintance.” He tossed her a rapier.

Ellana caught it midair, twirling the blade once before taking her stance. The weapon sang through the air, light, balanced, and eager.

“I trust the weapon is to your satisfaction?” he asked as he began to circle.

Her eyes sharpened. “It will do.”

He lunged without warning, and the clash of blades rang through the breeze. “I assume your Dalish clan stumbled across a practice sword once, perhaps while chasing rabbits in the woods?”

Steel screamed as their blades met. Ellana parried by instinct, boots skidding over polished stone. She barely blocked a strike that jabbed straight for her throat. He was faster than Cassandra, smoother, even. But he was reckless.

He smirked again. “I’m glad Lady Montilyet isn’t here, exquisite as I’ve heard her appearance to be. Cutting you down in front of Josephine would have given a poor first impression of House Otranto to my bride.”

You don’t have to win perfectly…

She smiled coldly. “Strange. I thought the Otrantos already had enough blood on their hands after cheating the Terrazas.”

The man froze.

“You dare to bring that slander here?” His fury broke through his composure. His next strike was wild. She deflected it easily, stepped in close, and slashed across his arm.

He staggered. “I will personally—”

“Personally, what?” she taunted. “Stab me with a toothpick? Spread gossip at one of your perfumed salons?” Another feint, another strike, this time slicing his thigh. “I’ve faced demons in the Fade, Otranto. You’re nothing more than a child playing soldier.”

Blood darkened his trousers. “You think a filthy knife-ear like you is worthy of her?” he spat. “Your only claim to fame is a title you stole. A Dalish elf as the Herald of Andraste.” He scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Stop!”

Josephine’s voice cut through the courtyard like ice.

The crowd gasped as she emerged from the throng, fury radiating from every step. Her usual gown, deep blue and gold, swirled around her as she strode forward, eyes locked on Ellana. Cullen visibly winced beside the guards. Cassandra tightened the hood around her head and hoped she wouldn’t be seen.

Otranto’s expression lit up. “Lady Montilyet! What an unexpected—”

But Josephine swept past him without so much as a glance. Her heels clattered across the marble as she closed the distance between her and Ellana. She seized the rapier from Ellana’s hand and flung it to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

Ellana wanted the ground to swallow her whole. “Josephine, I couldn’t let them— I couldn’t let you marry him!” “That is not your decision!” Josephine’s voice cracked like thunder.

Ellana glared over her shoulder at Otranto, who watched with a smug half-smile. “If I duel him, any dishonor falls on me, not on your family. I won’t let them use you as a pawn.”

“I would have found a way!” Josephine’s anger trembled beneath her words.

“How long would that have taken?” Ellana’s voice rose, the tightness in her chest finally breaking. “Months? Years? Before Corypheus kills me? Or perhaps after, when I’m gone and you’re left to smile politely beside a husband you don’t love?”

Josephine flinched.

Ellana pressed forward, voice trembling. “Or maybe after the war, in a future where I do surprisingly live, when the Inquisitor retires to play the Lady’s pretty little mistress. The shame of it! The ‘knife-ear lover’ whispered through every noble hall in Thedas.”

Even Otranto had the grace to avert his eyes.

“This was a foolish risk, Inquisitor,” Josephine seethed. “Why do this? Why risk yourself and everything we’ve built?”

“Because I love you!”

The words tore free before Ellana could stop them. Sure, she had whispered the same words in elven. She’d shown Josephine how she truly felt in a multitude of ways. But this was a public declaration, one that couldn’t be taken back without tarnishing her own reputation. The crowd hushed. Her hands trembled. “I love you, Josephine. I’ve always loved you. Gods, you’re all I think about. You’ve become every waking thought, every fantasy in my dream, and every nightmare that haunts me, and damn it, I love you for all of it.” Her fists clenched at her side. “Even through the agony of it all, I love you, Josephine Montilyet.”

For a heartbeat, the city was utterly still.

Josephine’s breath caught, her eyes shimmering. Then she stepped closer. “Ellana…” Her hand rose to Ellana’s cheek, trembling and gentle, and then their lips met. It wasn’t a desperate kiss, but a slow surrender. The world blurred. The murmuring crowd, the scent of roses, even Otranto’s stunned silence, all of it fell away.

When Josephine finally pulled back, her voice was a whisper meant only for her. “I love you.”

Ellana could have sworn the words were an incantation. Every shadow that had haunted her heart, every whisper from the Fade, every fragment of fear, melted into nothing.

Only love remained.

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long while, Ellana felt free.

The road stretched before them in a lazy ribbon of gold and green, the air bright with the scent of wild thyme and dust. Josephine rode beside her, her laughter light, unguarded, mingling with the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves. They had no need to rush. Skyhold could wait. For now, the world was wide and mercifully quiet.

Their small company—Cullen, Cassandra, and a few Inquisition guards—moved easily together. By nightfall, they would make camp, the soldiers tending the horses while Cassandra and Cullen oversaw the fire and the tents. Ellana and Josephine shared a tent without worry, without fear of what others might think. There were no detrimental implications of their relationship anymore. They could be together, truly together, and nothing could stop them. Their love felt like a rebellion.

Nestled close together in front of their own small campfire, Ellana and Josephine simply listened to the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the crickets in the distance. Nearby, a small stream babbled and lapped at the rocks. A chill had fallen over the area, though nowhere near as cold as Skyhold, and the two women took the opportunity to stay close. As if they needed a reason.

“I feel like I must be dreaming,” Josephine whispered as she nuzzled into Ellana’s neck. “At any moment, I’m going to wake up and realize I’ve fallen asleep at my desk once again.”

Ellana smiled faintly. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m still in the Fade, and this is just a cruel trick that’ll vanish.”

Josephine hesitated. “Will you tell me about it? What was it like?”

The question hung in the air. Ellana stared into the flames, her voice low. “It’s hard to describe. In some ways, it feels like a mirror of our world, but it’s twisted and built by the darkest parts of us. Everything is familiar, but turned inside out.” She paused. “Most of our route was shaped by our nightmares. Lots of spiders flooded the paths. I can’t speak of what the others saw, because it was different for each of us, but… I watched Corypheus swallow the world. I listened to his taunts, that I was a false idol, that I was an accident, that I was powerless against him. I watched my clan fall beneath demons, all of them accusing me of abandoning them as they died.”

Her jaw clenched. “I lost you… in many ways. Some were violent. Other times, you simply left.”

Josephine’s breath hitched. “Ellana, I—”

The elf shook her head. “No. It’s good to speak of it. To remind myself what’s real.” She turned to her, eyes reflecting firelight. “I know now the things that Fade-you said were simply my own projections. It was still a bit sharp when you revealed the engagement with Lord Otranto. I think… I think maybe a piece of me returned to those words in the Fade and thought them true.”

“If I had known... I hate that I have caused you so much pain and grief.” Josephine brushed her thumb across Ellana’s cheek, tender. “You’ve carried too much alone.”

Ellana twisted and pulled Josephine into a warm hug. “It isn’t your fault, Josephine. I’ve had a lot of inner demons to deal with. Life hasn’t been a linear path for me.” She pulled away and softly smiled. “I always wanted to be a scholar. From the moment my fingers touched a book, I knew I wanted to absorb things and write about them myself. I fought so hard to be accepted by my clan. I didn’t want to be a hunter or a warrior, but the Keepers were always the knowledge-seekers, and I’m not a mage, so…”

“But they sent you to the Conclave to record it,” Josephine replied. “It must have meant that what you had to offer to the clan was beneficial.”

The woman shrugged. “I like to think so, but realistically, they probably just wanted to spy. And with everything that has happened since… I’ve always been told who I am. A rogue for Clan Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, all highly-esteemed titles in their own way, but I feel like I stumbled into them. I didn’t choose where I was born. I didn’t choose to become the Herald. I certainly didn’t choose to become the Inquisitor. I’ve accepted them, perhaps, but they are words thrown at me from other people.”

“Who would you be, if you could toss everything else away?” the ambassador’s eyes were filled with curiosity.

The elf merely shrugged. “I’m not really sure. The more I think about it, the more I just want to be Ellana: scholar and partner to the greatest ambassador in Thedas.” She grinned playfully.

Josephine laughed. “I can appreciate that. A quiet life with you would be a dream come true, darling.”

“Have you met us?” Ellana teased, laughter bubbling up. “Quiet isn’t in our nature. But steady, perhaps. As long as you’re beside me.”

Josephine peered down at Ellana through hooded eyes, her grin became slightly wolfish. “Now that nothing’s holding us back, you’re not getting rid of me.”

“I can appreciate that, Lady Montilyet,” Ellana quietly teased.

Josephine’s smile softened. “You fought for me,” she whispered. “In front of all Orlais. I still can’t quite believe it.”

“I’d do it again,” Ellana said simply. “I’d do far more.”

For a moment, the air between them shimmered, alive with the unspoken. The scent of Josephine’s perfume, light and citrus, wrapped around Ellana, mingling with the smoke of the fire. Her hand lifted, almost unconsciously, brushing across Josephine’s wrist, fingers tracing the fine bones there before sliding higher, to her hand. Josephine’s breath caught, the sound as delicate as glass breaking.

“Perhaps we should wait,” Josephine murmured, though her body betrayed her, leaning closer.

“Shouldn’t,” Ellana asked, “or don’t want to?”

The fire popped. The crickets fell silent. Josephine’s gaze flicked to Ellana’s lips, her voice trembling. “Kiss me.”

Ellana felt the diplomat’s breath quicken under her thumb, and saw the way Josephine’s lips parted without meaning to. When she leaned in, their mouths brushed, soft at first, tentative. Then again, firmer, until Josephine let out a sound that vibrated straight through Ellana’s bones.

They kissed with a restraint that pulled at its own leash. Josephine’s hands fisted in Ellana’s hair as Ellana’s fingers curled into the fabric of Josephine’s nightgown. The ambassador broke away to breathe, to murmur the Inquisitor’s name like a prayer against her lips. Emboldened by Josephine’s reaction, Ellana trailed her lips lower, tasting the line of Josephine’s jaw, and the vulnerable hollow beneath her ear.

“Ellana,” she gasped, her eyes wide and glittering in the dim light. “If we start… I cannot promise restraint.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

The hesitation was brief. Josephine shook her head. “But perhaps we should retire to our tent, away from wandering eyes.”

As soon as they entered the privacy of their tent, Ellana leaned in and claimed her mouth, the kiss hungry and unguarded. Josephine gasped into it, her hands trembling where they had moved to clutch Ellana’s sleeves. When Ellana pressed closer, Josephine yielded, lying back against the blanket with a shiver.

Ellana followed her down, braced above her, lips trailing fire from Josephine’s mouth to her throat. She felt the woman arch beneath her, a soft sound slipping free as Ellana’s tongue traced a path toward Josephine’s chest.

“Maker,” she breathed, one hand tangling in Ellana’s hair while the other slid down the elf’s back. Her touch was tentative at first, then firmer, her fingertips dragging over muscle and cloth as she tried to tug Ellana closer.

Ellana’s hand skimmed along Josephine’s side, over the softness of her gown until she reached the loosened ties. She lingered there, waiting, teasing until Josephine’s breath hitched and she arched upward again, silently begging. The laces gave beneath Ellana’s nimble fingers. She pulled them loose, slow, deliberate, revealing smooth skin in the flickering light. Josephine shivered again, her lips parting as she yearned for more.

“This… is reckless. The others are still nearby outside,” she whispered, but the words dissolved into a moan when Ellana’s mouth found the newly bared skin just above her breast.

Ellana savored every reaction. The way Josephine’s breath grew ragged, the soft, involuntary sounds that spilled from her throat when Ellana’s teeth grazed lightly, when her hand slipped under silky fabric to splay against warm skin. Josephine’s careful polish was gone now, undone entirely in Ellana’s arms, and the sight of her like this nearly undid the Inquisitor in turn.

Josephine’s fingers found Ellana’s jaw, dragging her mouth back up for another kiss, urgent and deep. She kissed like she was starved, like she’d been waiting too long, and Ellana wanted to give her everything. Her hand explored, slipping beneath the folds of Josephine’s gown, fingers sliding along the line of her thigh, then higher, just brushing the heated edge of where she ached the most.

Josephine’s entire body jolted at the touch, and her breath broke in a desperate plea. “Ellana–” she choked, torn between yes and no, aware that the others were still close by, and yet…

Her legs shifted instinctively, opening for her even as her tongue formed the protest.

Ellana stilled, her hand resting heavy at the juncture of Josephine’s leg, her mouth still at her breast. “Say it,” she whispered against her skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me,” she gasped, and the woman allowed her fingers to move, to lightly press…

Laughter from the nearby camp shot through their tent like lightning. Ellana froze, breathing hard, then dipped her forehead to Josephine’s. They both ached with the force of their own restraint. Ellana kissed Josephine hard, one last time, pouring every promise into it, before easing away just enough to let her breathe. They collapsed together in a tangled sprawl, Josephine’s gown loosened, Ellana’s hands still trembling. Outside, the muffled sound of laughter and conversation trailed late into the night.

“Soon,” Ellana whispered.

Josephine’s uneven breaths filled the tent. “I’m holding you to that.”

For the first time in years, Ellana felt utterly, beautifully alive.

Chapter Text

When they returned to Skyhold, the keep was already a hive of activity.

The Inquisition had scarcely taken a breath before they were tossed into preparations for the Winter Palace in Halamshiral.

Banners were being mended, gowns commissioned, and armor was polished to a mirror’s shine. Servants dashed through the halls with arms full of silk and lace. Skyhold, once a fortress carved from ancient stone, now hummed like a living thing: part war camp, part theatre stage.

And, of course, Josephine was at the heart of it all.

Ellana caught glimpses of her in passing: hunched over correspondence in the library, walking briskly beside Leliana through the courtyard, her voice calm but her expression tight. Their eyes would meet across a sea of motion, one longing glance before the diplomat vanished again into another meeting, another negotiation, another midnight strategy session.

Even when Ellana tried to steal her away, there was always someone else demanding her attention. Cullen with tactical maps. Leliana with coded reports. Vivienne, gliding through the chaos like a swan among geese, insisting that the Inquisitor’s attire be “befitting a woman who stands before the Orlesian Empire.”

The way the mage looked at Ellana made her stomach twist.

Gods, Ellana thought as she scrubbed a hand through her hair. She’s going to put me in a frilly dress.

Ellana tried not to think about what colorful horrors waited for her in the near future. After a night of training with Bull, she bathed and returned to her chambers. The fire had burned low, shadows deepening against the stone, but she was too tired to stir it back to life. Her armor was half unbuckled and her daggers abandoned on the small table by the staircase. Sleep called to her.

But Josephine was already there, waiting.

She sat at Ellana’s desk, her shoulders sagged, tension in every line of her body. The moment Ellana entered, Josephine stood too quickly, her composure cracked, her eyes too bright.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she began, but her voice trembled. “There is still so much to plan, so much work to do…”

Ellana smiled. “And yet you’re here.”

Josephine’s breath hitched. “Yes,” she whispered, and before she could summon the last string of restraint holding her back, she crossed the room in a rush, seizing Ellana’s face between her hands and kissing her with a force that startled them both.

Ellana froze for only a heartbeat, then melted into her, her arms winding around Josephine’s waist as she pulled her close. The kiss was pure fire, all of their agonizing restraint undone in a single, desperate act.

Josephine broke away only to press frantic kisses to Ellana’s cheek, her jaw, her throat. “I think of you every night,” she admitted, her voice low and raw. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you. I ache for you, Ellana, and I can’t…” Her words dissolved into another kiss, deeper, hungrier.

Ellana’s heart hammered in her chest. She had dreamed of Josephine like this for so long, her resolve abandoned, her passion unbridled. She guided Josephine back toward the bed, lips never parting, until they stumbled onto the mattress.

Ellana drew back just long enough to look at her, to see her hair tumbled loose, her bodice half unlaced from her own hurried hands, the silk askew and wrinkled. “Are you certain?” Her thumb brushed Josephine’s flushed cheek. “I’m not sure I can stop this time.”

Josephine’s eyes burned dark with need. She took Ellana’s hand and pressed it to her racing heart. “Don’t stop.”

The words broke the last of Ellana’s restraint. They kissed again, slower now, savoring the heat and the tremble of hands exploring what had too long been forbidden. Silk slid from Josephine’s shoulders while Ellana’s leather was completely unbuckled and forgotten, until there was nothing between them but the warmth of their skin.

Josephine gasped as Ellana’s hands traced down her back and pulled her closer. “Yes,” she murmured against her lips. “Please… never stop.”

Ellana answered with touch, with all of her tenderness and hunger entwined, as the low firelight painted them in a faint, dancing gold. Every sigh, every shiver, every whispered plea carried them further, until there was no more waiting. Only the rhythm of their surrender to one another as Ellana’s hands memorized every curve.

Josephine’s familiar composure, her usual careful poise was gone. She cried out freely when Ellana’s lips closed around her nipple, when nimble fingers traced lower and found her aching and wet.

“Oh, Ellana, yes,” she gasped, half plea, half praise, her hips rolling into her hand as Ellana pressed inside. First slowly, then at a quickening rhythm that stole her breath.

Ellana touched her with aching tenderness and unrelenting hunger, coaxing cries from Josephine that grew loud, broken Antivan words slipping between them like ancient, sacred prayers. Josephine clutched at her shoulders, her nails scoring into her skin, her body shuddering as the tension coiled higher and higher until it broke, spilling over with a sobbing moan into Ellana’s mouth.

Ellana held her through it, kissing her cheeks as she murmured soft words. “I love you, Josephine.” When the other woman finally stilled, Ellana held her close and pressed soft kisses into any skin she could reach.

But Josephine wasn’t content yet. She rolled them suddenly, surprising Ellana with the force of the movement, the woman’s dark curls cascading over her shoulders as she straddled her. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry, before she kissed her way down, down, until Ellana could do nothing but cling to the sheets and cry out Josephine’s name.

Hours passed in a blur of firelight and gasps, of silk tangled around limbs and whispered vows spoken between kisses. Even after they were finally spent, when they should have allowed themselves to drift off to sleep, they found that they couldn’t.

Josephine slipped from the bed and crossed to Ellana’s desk, her bare skin glimmering faintly in the firelight. When she returned, she held a small wooden box. “I have something for you,” she said softly.

Their rings.

“Leliana returned yours to me,” Josephine explained, her voice thick. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to it, especially because of me.”

Ellana swallowed the tightness in her throat. “I should have never taken it off.”

She slid the band back onto her finger, the metal cool against her skin, and Josephine did the same. In that instant, the world stilled. The connection between them flared bright and alive once more. Everything snapped back into place as each other’s emotions flooded the tether of their restored bond, and for a moment, all they could do was hold onto each other as the sensations eventually steadied.

“I’m in love with you, Ellana Lavellan.” Josephine leaned in and pressed a trembling kiss to her lips.

Ellana pulled her close and buried her nose in Josephine’s hair. Outside, dawn crept over the Frostback Mountains, pale light glinting on the snow. They remained in bed until they were eventually summoned, and their mission continued.

Chapter Text

The formal invitation to the Winter Palace arrived.

Saving Empress Celene from Corypheus’s latest plot… that was all that mattered, Ellana reminded herself. Not the finery, not the endless etiquette lessons Josephine would insist on, not the dancing. Maker help me, she thought, the dancing.

She stood beside her advisors in the war room, the great map of Thedas spread beneath their hands like angry scars. The flicker of torches glinted off armor and parchment alike as reports and missives passed between them.

Josephine began, her voice calm but edged with urgency. “I’ve made inquiries into the Imperial Court. The sooner we deal with the threat to the empress, the better. The political situation in the empire is dangerously unstable. It will complicate matters.”

Cullen let out a quiet scoff and crossed his arms. “Everything in the empire complicates matters. It’s the Orlesian national pastime.”

Leliana smirked, resting a gloved hand on the table. “Turn your nose up at the Grand Game if you like, Commander, but we play for the highest stakes—and to the death.”

Josephine’s eyes twinkled faintly as she hid a grin behind her clipboard. “The court’s disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori. We must tread carefully, or we risk losing more than political favor.”

Ellana exhaled. “How is the political climate more dangerous than usual?”

Josephine, ever patient, stepped forward. “The empress is in the middle of a civil war. Her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard, seeks to take her throne by force. Leliana reports that a group of elves has been sabotaging both armies, drawing out the hostilities. Orlais holds Tevinter at bay. All of Thedas could be lost if the empire falls to Corypheus.”

“Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a Grand Masquerade, Leliana added. “Every power in Orlais will be there. It’s the perfect place for an assassin to hide.”

Ellana nodded slowly. “Does Celene know what she’s walking into? Can we send word?”

“I’ve sent messages to the empress, but it’s impossible to know if she’s received them,” Josephine admitted. Her desk had been piled with letters, envoys, and other plans for diplomatic channels. Receiving some sort of a reply from the empress would have made things easier. She continued, “Thankfully, we’ve built a presence in Orlais, one that allowed us an invitation. This is the best chance we have to thwart Corypheus’s plan.”

Ellana sighed, rubbing her temple. “This isn’t going to be a straightforward mission, is it?”

“Nothing in Orlais ever is,” Leliana replied, her lips curving into a shadow of a smile, “even without being attached to the end of the world.”

Josephine tapped the edge of the table. “At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the empress agreed to host the ball. Every faction will be represented: Celene, Gaspard, and Ambassador Briala. One of them is harboring our assassin.”

The names blurred together like ink in water. Ellana felt a knot tighten in her chest. She wished she had tapped a bit more into the recent histories of Orlais. Attending a ball where she would already attract eyes was bad enough, but having to uncover a murder plot in the middle of a political wildfire could become catastrophic. Her palms began to sweat. She wasn’t a master of the Game like Josephine and Leliana. How could she pull this off?

Still, she pressed on, and tried to absorb everything she could. “Tell me about Gaspard.”

Cullen straightened. “He’s Celene’s cousin, once heir apparent before she outmaneuvered him for the throne. The chevaliers adore him. He’s a general, a warrior, and well-loved by his troops. When he rebelled, most of them followed.”

“Aren’t the chevaliers part of the army?” Ellana questioned. “Why would they follow the duke?”

“Most chevaliers are sworn to serve the crown, but that does not give them faith in the person wearing it,” Cullen answered. “The empress has tried to improve relations with Ferelden and Nevarra. The chevaliers see her as anti-military. They believe Gaspard could lead the empire back to their former glory.”

Ellana glanced at Leliana. “And Briala?”

The spymaster stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “An ‘ambassador’ in name only. She commands a network of elven spies and saboteurs in Halamshiral. Celene invited her in a gesture of peace, to court the elves’ favor. That alone is scandalous. But there are whispers Briala is… more than an enemy. A former lover, cast aside.”

Ellana groaned softly. “So we have a betrayed lover, a military usurper, and an empire full of masked nobles who’d stab their own reflection if it meant advancing their station.”

Josephine’s smile flickered. “Welcome to Orlais.”

Ellana shot her a look that earned a soft laugh from the diplomat, one that did strange things to her stomach, given how the last night had ended. “Tell me about Celene herself,” she said, shaking off the thought.

Josephine’s tone softened, almost reverent. “Empress Celene is a reformer. Brilliant, diplomatic, a visionary. But her enemies see her peace as weakness. She has also never named an heir. If she falls, the empire falls with her.”

“And then Corypheus wins,” Cullen finished grimly.

Leliana’s voice dropped low. “My agents report that messages to the empress have been intercepted. Someone wants her isolated.”

Ellana frowned. “Then we go to her ourselves. Warn her directly.”

“We’ll try,” Josephine said, her features drawn with fatigue. “But the palace will be crawling with nobles, guards, and spies. We must appear as invited guests, not intruders.”

“It’s better that we don’t leave this to chance. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, no land is safe.” Cullen adjusted his coat as he peered at the war table. “With Gaspard and Celene’s armies entrenched, we cannot openly march troops to the palace.”

Leliana replied, “My agents will ensure your soldiers get inside, but it must be a few at a time to avoid attention.”

Ellana nodded, though her stomach twisted with nerves. “Understood.” She hesitated, then looked toward Josephine, her tone lightening. “One more question.”

Josephine arched a brow. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“What are you going to make me wear to this thing?”

Leliana’s laugh broke the tension in the room. Even Cullen’s mouth twitched, just a little.

Josephine, though… her smile was equal parts warmth and wicked promise. “Something that ensures every noble in Halamshiral remembers you, mi amor.”

Ellana groaned. “I knew I was going to regret asking that.”

But when their eyes met across the map table, for a heartbeat longer than was proper, regret was the last thing either of them felt.

Chapter Text

The weeks leading to Halamshiral blurred together in a nebulous mass of research, panic, and midnight candles guttering in their holders.

Skyhold’s new library that had been extended in the basement grew to know Ellana’s shadow better than its own shelves. Her table was a sprawl of open books: histories of Orlais, genealogies of noble houses, transcripts of past scandals that had toppled ministers and crowned courtiers. Josephine and Leliana visited her in turns, both acting as tutors in their own right. One coaxing grace and etiquette, the other instructing how to survive a knife in the dark.

“Orlais may present a veneer of opulence,” Josephine began one evening, seated elegantly upon a wooden stool in the library. Other than the growing shelves and book-covered table, the area desperately needed furniture. “But the aristocracy is sustained by a system of relentless one-upmanship. That, my dear, is the foundation of the Game.”

The room smelled faintly of parchment and oil. Leliana lounged near the newly-lit fireplace, legs crossed on a wooden shipping crate, wine glass balanced loosely in her fingers, her hair catching the firelight in flickers of copper. “While opportunists cross words,” she added dryly, “bards strike from shadow. They deal in insinuation, theft, and assassination. Expect a little of everything at the Winter Palace.”

Ellana frowned over the rim of her mug before she took a sip—one of Varric’s preferred ales—and hummed at the richness. “You make it sound like a blood sport.”

“In some circles,” Leliana said, “it is.”

Josephine leaned forward, her voice soft but urgent. “Think of it as a dance, Inquisitor. A grand performance of intrigue, seduction, and ambition. Status and appearance are everything. As the Herald of Andraste, many will seek you out. Some for favor, some for opportunity—”

“—and others to find the quickest way to kill you,” Leliana cut in, her smile as sharp as the dagger at her belt.

Josephine’s sigh was almost fond. “Tactfully put, Leliana.”

“But nonetheless true,” Leliana countered, swirling her wine. “There is only one rule in the Game: everything is permitted, provided you are not caught. Blood flows more freely in its courts than in any battlefield of Orlais.”

The fire popped, and Ellana tried to hide the shiver that crept up her spine. Her pulse quickened in a mixture of nerves, fear, and perhaps excitement. She’d fought dragons and demons, but none of that compared to the thought of smiling through a web of lies.

“You are already capable,” Josephine said, sensing the tremor through the bond that tethered them. “You lead with both grace and intuition. You hear people. You inspire sincere loyalty. These are rare qualities, even among those who thrive in the Game.”

“However,” Leliana added, her tone wickedly amused, “you lack subtlety. You lead with your heart, which is admirable, but dangerous. Masks are not only worn on the face. Trust no one. And when someone flatters you, listen to the words they do not say.”

Ellana groaned. “So I have to act rich and powerful, pretend to be myself but not myself, mingle with nobles, protect the Inquisition’s image, and somehow stop a murder plot that could end the world.” She took a long gulp of ale, but it was turning bitter on her tongue. She grimaced. “I almost miss falling into the Fade. At least killing things there was straightforward. Sort of.”

Leliana chuckled softly. “You’ll have chances enough to stab people, I promise.”

Josephine laughed, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “We wouldn’t send you if we didn’t believe you could do this. It’s not about besting anyone. It’s about appearing to. The Game is perception, nothing more. The point is to make them think you belong.”

“Also worth noting…” Leliana said with faux sweetness, “remember that your relationship with Josephine is now under the public eye. You’ll need to consider how your actions now reflect on the Montilyet name.”

Ellana turned pale. “You mean I have to worry about her reputation too?”

Josephine smiled sympathetically. “It comes with loving a diplomat, I’m afraid.”

“I prefer a fight to this,” Ellana muttered, dragging her hands through her hair. “At least in combat I know who’s trying to kill me.”

“It could be worse,” Leliana said with mock solemnity. “Vivienne wanted you in a dress.”

Ellana grimaced. “I’d sooner take another demon to the face.”

Laughter broke the tension, echoing lightly off the high ceilings of the ambassador’s office. For a while, the Game felt far away, replaced by shared warmth and the faint smell of spiced wine.

—

Hours slipped into night. Papers were stacked, candles burned low, and Leliana finally excused herself to prepare her agents. The world outside had gone still, and snow gathered in gentle folds along the Skyhold battlements. In the quiet that followed, Josephine and Ellana found themselves alone, lingering in the dim light of the fireplace in the Inquisitor's quarters.

“You’re still worried,” Josephine said at last, brushing out her hair by the open balcony. The music from the Herald’s Rest carried up in faint strains in a cocktail of lutes, laughter, and the clink of silverware. It was a sound of ordinary life, something that felt far removed from all the power and peril awaiting them in Halamshiral.

Ellana stood behind her, dressed only in a loose undershirt and smallclothes. The wine had flushed her skin and softened her edges. Watching Josephine sweep her hair over one shoulder was a ritual she had grown to treasure, those quiet, domestic moments before duty pulled them apart again.

Some nights, Josephine would work late, pen scratching across parchment at Ellana’s desk while the elf drifted toward sleep to the rhythm of ink and sighs. When the candles burned out, Josephine would slip under the covers, kiss Ellana’s cheek, and they would lie tangled in the fragile peace they’d built together.

“What will you wear to the Winter Palace?” Ellana asked drowsily. “Or is it another one of your secrets?”

Josephine’s smile curved, soft and teasing. “If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.”

“But you already know what I’m wearing,” Ellana protested, pouting. “Hardly fair, Ambassador.”

“The Game,” Josephine said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before returning to her seat at the Inquisitor’s desk, “is never fair.”

Ellana chuckled, the sound low and fond. “I forget that you once played it yourself. Were you ever a bard, Josie?”

Josephine hesitated, her brush pausing mid-stroke. “I was, for a time.”

Ellana lifted her head. “Truly? You?” She tried to picture it: Josephine in silk and lace, masked and radiant beneath the chandeliers of Val Royeaux. “What made you choose that life?”

“I was attending a university in Val Royeaux when I learned about bards,” she softly answered. Abandoning her pen, she returned to bed and sat on the edge. “There was such an air of romance about them! Stories of secrets, trysts, and fascinating people. A group of us, young gentry from Antiva, decided this exciting life was for us.”

Ellana hummed as Josephine brushed her fingers through her hair. “How did you go from being a wandering singer to an ambassador?”

“It… isn’t a happy story,” Josephine admitted.

Ellana focused her eyes on the other woman, noting the way the brightness in her eyes faded. “You don’t have to tell me if it hurts, Josephine.”

“No,” the woman immediately answered. “No, it’s perfectly fine. During one particular intrigue, I encountered a bard sent to kill my patron. We fought. Or perhaps ‘scrapped’ is the better word. Maker… we were both terrified. We were at the top of a steep flight of stairs. The other bard drew a knife, and I pushed him away from me…” She sighed. “You can imagine the result.” Abandoning her work, Josephine returned to the bed, and sat on the edge.

Ellana reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You were only defending yourself.”

“But it was such a waste, Ellana.” Her voice shook. “When I took off his mask, I knew him. We’d attended parties together. If I’d stopped to reason, if I’d used my voice instead of scuffling like a common thug.” She sighed. “I’ll always wonder who that young man would have grown into.”

“He seemed willing enough to murder you for the Game.”

Josephine sadly smiled. “Perhaps. I feel I’m the last to judge whether or not he would have actually used the blade.”

“I’m so sorry, Josephine,” Ellana whispered. Their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, slower. The kiss tasted of wine and unspoken grief, of two women clinging to one another against the weight of all they’d endured. Ellana cupped Josephine’s cheek, feeling her tremble under the touch, and for a fleeting moment, Skyhold and the Winter Palace and the fate of Thedas all vanished into the quiet between their breaths.

“Do you need to sleep?” Ellana whispered against her lips.

Josephine’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I think I could stay awake a while longer.”

A teasing smile brightened Josephine’s face as she tugged Ellana on top of her. A bare leg slipped between her thighs, and Ellana hummed at the warm contact. Sleep could wait. Outside, snow fell in silence over Skyhold, shrouding the fortress in a hushed white.

Chapter Text

Ellana wished she could disappear.

Outside the glittering chaos of the Winter Palace, the Inquisitor stood alone on the frost-bright terrace, the night alive with torchlight and murmurs. Her breath fogged the cold air as she fidgeted with her cuffs, the stiff black slacks chafing against her skin. Beyond the marble arches, Orlais gleamed in a world of satin and secrets. Masks flashed like stars as nobles drifted past her in pairs and clusters, their laughter ringing sharp and hollow. No one looked twice at her. No one dared.

For all their silks and jewels, Ellana thought, none of them breathe easy, either.

She longed for the quiet of Skyhold’s library, for Josephine’s voice explaining politics in that calm, steady rhythm that could make even chaos sound like strategy. But here, standing amid the perfume and the pretense of Orlais, she felt like a sheep set loose in a den of wolves.

A man’s voice broke her thoughts. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor Lavellan!”

Ellana stiffened. A portly man with a beard as sharp as his smile extended a jeweled hand. “The rumors from the Western Approach are most impressive! They say you battled an army of demons. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.”

“Duke Gaspard,” she said, forcing a polite smile. “Which one was the rightful one again? I keep getting them confused.”

He barked a laugh and didn’t let go of her hand. “The handsome, charming one of course, my lady.” His lips descended toward her knuckles, and Ellana had to fight every instinct not to twist his arm until something cracked.

Then, motion caught her eye.

A hush rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. The air changed.

Josephine Montilyet had arrived.

She crossed the archway with poise so effortless it seemed rehearsed by the gods themselves. The murmuring crowd parted instinctively, as though a queen had entered. Her gown was a living flame, bronze deepening into gold, shimmering like sunlight on aged parchment. Each step sent faint ripples of light dancing across the marble. Her lace sleeves whispered when she raised her hand in greeting, and the Montilyet crest at her throat caught the lantern glow like a drop of honey.

Ellana forgot how to breathe.

Even Duke Gaspard fell silent. His grip on her hand slackened.

Josephine did not need to command the room; she invited it to bend toward her. She was warmth in a place of mirrors. Stillness in a room of noise. When her gaze finally found Ellana, the world seemed to fold inward. For the briefest heartbeat, the Game itself held its breath.

A diplomat’s smile. A lover’s eyes.

Josephine inclined her head with graceful composure, but the faintest curve of her mouth was a secret meant only for Ellana. Then, with perfect ease, she approached. It was then when Ellana noticed the dangerous glint in the woman’s eyes. She lightly kissed Ellana’s cheek. “There you are, darling,” she said brightly, her voice lilting through the hush. “I see you’ve met Grand Duke Gaspard.”

She slipped her arm through Ellana’s, her touch feather-light but steady as a claim. The warmth of her skin through velvet was enough to steady the rogue’s pulse.

Gaspard bowed, though his grin was sly. “Ah, Lady Montilyet. More radiant than rumor. Truly, Orlais is fortunate tonight.”

Josephine’s smile did not falter. “Your words are too kind, Your Grace. The Inquisition is honored to be your guest.”

“I am not a man who forgets his friends,” Gaspard said, his tone oily. “You help me, I’ll help you. I will meet you inside when you’re ready.” He gave a sweeping bow and drifted away, swallowed by the glittering tide of nobility.

Only when he was gone did Ellana exhale. “Gods. You’re majestic, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes. “You are too kind, Your Worship. And may I say: you look beautiful tonight. Dashing, even.” Her eyes lingered, hooded, approving. “Orlais will not know what to make of you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Ellana muttered, though she couldn’t hide the faint flush creeping up her neck.

Josephine’s gaze swept over her again, slower this time. “Oh, I think it’s a very good thing.”

She waited for Josephine to release her arm and disappear in the sea of people, but instead, she began to lead them both to the entrance. “I thought I was supposed to enter by myself. Make a statement, or something.”

“Leliana and I decided that it might be worth it to accompany each other… as lovers.” A soft blush colored Josephine’s cheeks. “If anything, it may relieve you of some unwanted attention tonight.”

Ellana’s lips twitched. “You are the master of this Game, Lady Montilyet.” They made their way up the ivy-lined staircase, and entered the hallway leading to the grand ballroom of the Winter Palace.

Josephine was correct: Orlais didn’t know what to make of Ellana Lavellan. Unlike the jeweled nobles around them, Ellana wore no gown or fragile lace. They stared openly, their painted masks tilting as their jeweled fans fluttered like startled birds. Ellana flowed beside Josephine in a tailored suit of midnight velvet, cut close to her body and lined in gold thread that caught the light with each step. It perfectly matched the shade of Josephine’s gown. Stamped in the velvet, invisible to anyone who couldn’t define it, was the same vallaslin pattern on her face, a design that was unmistakably Orlesian in its precision, but wholly foreign in its spirit. It was undeniably Dalish.

The jacket cinched at her waist, flaring subtly at her hips, with a high collar clasped by a single onyx pin. Beneath it lurked a silken blouse the color of soft moonlight, open just enough at the throat to hint at something soft beneath steel. Ellana’s trousers, while a bit too stiff for her liking, allowed movement without sacrificing grace. Unknown to everyone but her and her companions, Ellana carried two hidden sheaths beneath her coat.

Her hair, what was usually a cascade of pale copper, was drawn back into a sleek braid threaded with black wire. No crown, no mask, just kohl to sharpen her emerald eyes and the faintest touch of rose to accentuate her lips. The Anchor glimmered from her hand, for once not hidden by the cloth of a glove. It was brandished as proof, and as a warning.

“We’ll have to reconnect with Duke Gaspard before we enter the Grand Ball since he is the one who invited us,” Josephine whispered as they walked.

“Do I have time to wash my hands first?” Ellana muttered. “He drools like a mabari.”

Josephine laughed, soft and genuine, the sound grounding Ellana in a sea of silk and deceit. “You, my dear Inquisitor,” she said as they reached the towering doors, “are about to become the Game’s most unpredictable player.”

The guards swung the doors open.

Light and sound flooded out in a sea of music, perfume, and murmured intrigue.

As they stepped through together, arm in arm, the crowd turned as one. Masks gleamed like constellations under chandeliers, and whispers rippled outward in waves.

Ellana stood tall beside Josephine Montilyet and smirked openly at the blatant stares.

Let them look.

Chapter Text

Duke Gaspard drained his glass in one sharp motion, the sharp tang of brandy clinging to his breath as he rejoined Ellana and Josephine.

“Prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper?” He straightened his coat with a flourish. “They’ll be telling stories of this for ages.”

Ellana felt a cold prickle of unease. The hallway to the Grand Ballroom stretched endlessly, each step measured agony. Walls lined with nobles leaned forward with whispers crawling like insects through the cacophony.

“Is that… the Inquisitor?”

“An elf savage, Maker help us.”

“Gaspard’s idea of a joke, surely.”

Josephine’s grip on Ellana’s arm tightened instinctively.

“I suppose the court hasn’t seen anything quite like us,” Ellana murmured, forcing a smile.

Gaspard chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “You’re a woman after my own heart, my lady. Though perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening. This elven woman Briala… I suspect she intends to disrupt the negotiation.”

“There’s a Tevinter assassin on the loose, Gaspard,” Ellana shot back, her voice taut. “Tracking him is my priority.”

His eyes flicked toward her sharply. “Are you serious? That is a grave allegation, my friend. A foreign power meddling now, of all times… I have no doubt this Tevinter is hiding within the ranks of the elven ‘delegation.’ They’re up to something.” He paused at the doors, giving both women a pointed glance. “No matter what, be as discreet as possible. I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains.” He placed his best smile on his face. “We’re keeping the court waiting. Shall we?”

Josephine murmured, almost to herself, “The Game begins now, darling. Keep your guard up.” Ellana’s ears caught the undercurrent of warning and concern as they stepped into the ballroom.

The scene that met them was dizzying: friends, advisors, and nobles crowded behind velvet ropes, each expression a mixture of duty and disdain.

The Royal Herald’s voice rang out, booming through the hall. “Presenting Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. And accompanying him…” Josephine remained close, guiding Ellana’s steps. “Lady Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, of the Lavellan clan. Accompanying her: Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.”

Ellana’s hand brushed Josephine’s as she forced a grin, meeting several eager eyes as the two approached Empress Celene. The herald continued, rattling off introductions of the Inquisition’s inner circle, each title longer and more ludicrous than the last.

“Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court…”

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath…”

“Renowned author Varric Tethras…”

“Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the Circle of Vyrantium…”

“Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi…”

“Warden Blackwall of Val Chevin…”

“Iron Bull, leader of Bull’s Chargers…”

“Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena–”

“Get on with it!” Cassandra barked, earning a quiet laugh from Josephine at Ellana’s side.

The herald flushed. “Um, Pentaghast, fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra… nine times removed…”

Even from their place, lined in a tense procession, they could hear Sera snickering.

“And lastly, Her Ladyship Mai Bhalsych of Korse.”

“Oh, goodness,” Josephine muttered, suppressing laughter as Ellana shook with quiet mirth. Perhaps the ball wouldn’t be so unbearable.

Gaspard stopped before the Empress. “Cousin,” he said, formalities set aside.

“Grand Duke,” Celene replied smoothly, her smile never faltering. “Your presence honors our court.”

“Spare me pleasantries, Celene. We have business,” Gaspard retorted.

Celene inclined her head. “Negotiations will follow the welcoming of our guests.”

Ellana’s stomach knotted as she and Josephine approached. The Empress greeted them with an elegance that made the ballroom feel impossibly vast.

“Lady Inquisitor, welcome to the Winter Palace,” Celene said, her gaze sweeping over Ellana. “Allow me to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes.”

Grand Duchess Florianne stepped forward, powdered and precise, curtsying with exaggerated grace. “An unexpected pleasure. I did not expect the Inquisition at our festivities. We shall speak later, Inquisitor.” Her eyes lingered on Josephine before she drifted toward Gaspard.

Celene’s smile turned to Ellana. “Your arrival is like a cool wind on a summer day.”

Ellana’s fingers twitched. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty. I’m delighted to attend.”

“We’ve heard of your exploits,” Celene said, voice lilting. “They make fine tales. How do you find Halamshiral?”

“Beautiful beyond words,” Ellana replied, glancing at Josephine, who returned her smile with shining eyes. “I could never do it justice.”

Celene’s attention shifted. “And Lady Josephine, wonderful to see you again.”

“And you, Your Majesty. Thank you for welcoming us.”

Celene inclined her head. “Your modesty does credit to the Inquisition. Enjoy the ballroom’s pleasures, Inquisitor. We look forward to seeing you dance.”

Ellana’s hands trembled despite her composure. She leaned toward Josephine, whispering through a painted smile. “I have to dance?”

Chapter Text

Ellana’s head was already throbbing by the time they reached the vestibule.

The noise of the ballroom followed them like a tide. Leliana lounged on a chaise, her eyes sharp and glinting as they tracked the milling nobles.

“What did the duke say?” she asked, voice smooth as wine.

“He’s pointing the finger at Ambassador Briala,” Ellana said, leaning against the wall. Josephine sank gracefully beside Leliana, smoothing her skirts with nervous precision.

Leliana shook her head. “The ambassador is up to something, yes, but she’s not the one we need to corner. The best strike against Celene will come from within her own circle.” Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling, calculating. “The empress dabbles in mysticism. Visions, séances, all manner of foolishness. She keeps an ‘occult advisor,’ an apostate who has bewitched half the court.”

“Should we be concerned?” Josephine asked, brow creasing. The last thing they needed was an unstable mage with influence.

“Perhaps,” Leliana replied. “I’ve dealt with her before. She’s ruthless, capable of anything… but her motives are never clear.”

Josephine shifted uneasily. “Do you think she’s using blood magic to control them?”

“I can’t say. But she’s worth watching.” Leliana rose, already distracted by invisible threads only she could see. “Both leads point toward the guest wing. I’ll have my people search it. You’ll find me in the ballroom.”

As she disappeared, Ellana exhaled. “She’s enjoying this far too much.”

“She’s an avid player of the Game,” Josephine murmured. The humor in her voice was thin, trembling. Ellana felt the anxiety pulse between them like a taut string and leaned down to press her lips to Josephine’s cheek.

“Stay close to our friends,” she said softly. “I don’t like this. If anything happened to you—”

“I’m more worried about you, darling.” Josephine rose, wrapping her arms around her. The kiss they shared was brief and tender, but it lingered, igniting something fragile and fierce beneath Ellana’s ribs. Josephine’s thumb brushed her cheek. “Please be careful. I’m here, however you need me.”

Ellana smiled. “I love you, Josephine Cherette Montilyet.”

—

Lady M,

I need you at my side tonight. The unpleasantness in the royal wing has convinced me there is no safety within the palace. I do not expect my cousin to employ magic, but I would hardly be surprised if he provoked another infestation. Since my court enchanter is not here to assist me, I must rely entirely upon you. There is no one else I can trust.

Celene

—

Lady Morrigan descended the staircase like a shadow wrapped in silk. Her amber eyes locked on Ellana. “Well, well. Who do we have here? The Herald of Andraste herself,” she said, voice low and edged with amusement. “Delivered from the Fade by divine hand, now delivered into the jaws of Orlais. Tell me, Inquisitor, do even you know why you’ve come?”

“I’m here on business that concerns the whole empire,” Ellana said.

“As am I,” Morrigan replied smoothly. “I am advisor to Empress Celene in matters of the arcane.” She gestured to the balcony overlooking the ballroom, where the music swelled beneath their silence. “You’ve been busy tonight. Hunting in every shadowed corner. Perhaps our prey is the same.”

Ellana rubbed at her temples. “If it is, I’d welcome the help.”

Morrigan’s smile curved like a knife. “Then we are of one mind. I recently dispatched an uninvited guest: an agent of Tevinter.” She withdrew a key from her sleeve, the metal glinting faintly in the lamplight. “Found on his body. I cannot linger to discover its use, but you can.”

Ellana accepted it, cautious. “You seem awfully invested in Celene’s safety for an advisor.”

Morrigan laughed softly. “Do I strike you as a bodyguard? If the empress dies, suspicion will fall upon me. And I do not suffer fools or scapegoats.” Her eyes darkened. “Beware, Inquisitor. Not all your enemies bear Tevinter’s mark. Some smile in your company and wait for the music to stop. What comes next will be most exciting.”

—

Behind the jeweled veneer of the Winter Palace, the servant halls reeked of blood. Corpses sprawled where laughter had echoed hours before, and Ellana’s boots tracked crimson through marble corridors. Each clue she gathered, each whispered secret, seemed to twist the web tighter.

Every conversation felt like a duel. Every noble had become a smiling serpent, every word a poisoned blade.

Briala’s whispers, Gaspard’s posturing… everyone promised loyalty, yet each wanted to use her. By the time the bell rang, summoning her back to the ballroom, her patience had frayed to threads.

A hand on her shoulder made her tense.

“Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?” Ellana turned, bowing.

Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons smiled like a cat. “Indeed you can. I believe tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of… a certain person. Come, dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

“Lead the way.”

They stepped into the swirling crowd. Across the room, Josephine stood near Cullen and Cassandra, her eyes locked on Ellana with quiet worry as she stiffened.

Florianne noticed. “Your lover needn’t fear me, Inquisitor,” she murmured. “This is business, not pleasure.”

“Good to know,” Ellana said evenly.

They bowed and began to dance, moving through the steps with practiced grace.

“Tell me,” Florianne said, voice sweetly venomous, “have the Dalish developed a taste for politics?”

Ellana smiled thinly. “Before all this, I was a scholar. I still enjoy history, Orlais included. I do my best to stay informed. My advisors are also a huge help.”

“Refreshing. One would hope the Inquisition’s leaders had a proper understanding of politics.” Florianne’s hand tightened on hers. “Many others here carry their own prejudices of the Dalish, however. Ignorance flows just as much as wine.”

Ellana’s mood darkened, but her smile never wavered. “I’ve heard the comments. I remain unbothered.”

“Good. Someone of your status should make waves. It’s entertaining to watch them squirm.” Florianne twirled and pressed herself closer. “It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations. Yet someone seeks to stain it with treason. Neither of us wish to see the empire fall.”

Ellana tilted her head. “Do we both want that, Your Grace?”

“I hope so,” Florianne purred.

“Agreed,” Ellana returned. “In times like these, it’s hard to tell friend from foe, is it not?”

Lips brushed against Ellana’s ear. “I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard. And have been everywhere in the palace… You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor, and a matter of concern to some.”

“Then I’ll ask: do you see me as friend or foe?”

Florianne’s breath brushed her ear. “A bit of both. You are the court’s newest curiosity… and its greatest concern. Tell me, Inquisitor, do you know who your allies are?”

“I trust the Inquisition,” Ellana said. “Everyone else here plays for themselves.” She created some distance when Florianne’s lips brushed from her ear to linger against her cheek. If this was purely business, Florianne worked a bit loosely.

Florianne laughed, spinning her close. “Wise. In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone.” She breathed. “It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

Ellana smiled as the music swelled. “I thought ‘dangerous machinations’ were the national sport in Orlais.”

Florianne giggled at that. She tugged Ellana close until their lips nearly pressed together. “It’s a shame that I cannot mix business with pleasure, Inquisitor Lavellan. You are a charming woman.”

“You are a beautiful woman, Florianne,” Ellana replied, “but none are as beautiful as my lady.”

Her bond with Josephine pulsed, and as she dipped Florianne in the conclusion of the dance, the crowd applauded. Both women were flush as the dance ended. Their song floated into a much slower piece.

Florianne spoke as she pulled away. “You have little time. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes.” Her eyes fluttered over Ellana’s shoulder and paused. “In the Royal Wing of the garden, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard’s secrets.” Florianne bowed. “I’m sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

“We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” Ellana’s eyes narrowed, and as she watched the Grand Duchess disappear in the crowd, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. The woman was trying to play her.

Josephine intercepted her near the edge of the dance floor. “You’ll be the talk of the court for months,” she teased gently. “We should take you dancing more often.”

“Only if it’s with you,” Ellana murmured, still catching her breath. “That felt more like battle than art.”

“That’s when you know the Game is a good one,” Leliana said, appearing from the crowd. “An interesting dance, Inquisitor.”

Cullen joined them, face grim. “I heard there was fighting in the servants’ quarters. What did you find?”

Ellana exhaled. “Venatori agents. Morrigan helped me reach them. Gaspard’s dagger was among their things, and even Florianne tried to turn me against him. I don’t trust any of them.”

“Florianne and her brother are close,” Leliana said, “but she’d sacrifice him in a heartbeat to save herself.”

Cullen’s jaw tightened. “Then the assassination will happen tonight.”

“Warning Celene will only panic her,” Josephine said. “She’d rather die than be seen fleeing.”

Leliana’s expression was unreadable. “Then perhaps we should let her.”

Ellana’s breath caught. “What?”

“Corypheus wants chaos,” Leliana said calmly. “Even with Celene alive, he might succeed. To stop him, the empire must stay strong. One ruler must emerge, but it does not have to be Celene.”

Cullen nodded grimly. “She’s right.”

Josephine’s voice trembled with outrage. “You can’t be serious. Do you realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?”

Leliana’s eyes met Ellana’s, unflinching. “Sometimes the best path is not the cleanest one, Inquisitor.”

Ellana’s pulse thundered in her ears. This was a game Ellana wasn’t sure she could win.

Chapter Text

The anchor flared, green light carving through the smoke. Pain lanced up Ellana’s arm, but she hardly noticed anymore. It was almost comforting, in a way. At least this she was familiar with.

She, Bull, and Dorian burst into the courtyard, Fade light glinting off shattered glass and arrowheads. Venatori archers surrounded them, bows drawn. Standing before them, cloaked in arrogance, was Grand Duchess Florianne.

“Inquisitor!” Florianne’s smile was sharp as a blade. “What a pleasure. I wasn’t certain you’d attend. You’re such a difficult woman to read. I had no idea if you’d take the bait. Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“At this point, I’d think disappointment was an old friend,” Ellana taunted.

Florianne’s smirk disappeared. “You poor, deluded thing. You don’t know half of what Samson and I have planned. I suppose now you never will.” She glanced at the Venatori archers. “Kill her. Bring me the marked hand as proof.” Icy eyes locked onto Ellana’s. “Maybe I’ll visit Lady Montilyet next.”

Chaos erupted. The battle was swift and brutal in a bloody mixture of Venatori and demons tumbling from the Fade. When it finally ended, the courtyard was littered with fallen Venatori, and the last rift flickered out with a hiss.

Florianne was gone.

Ellana cursed and turned toward the palace. “We have to get back to the ballroom.” The bells tolled, echoing like thunder through the corridors. She ran until her lungs burned, bursting through the doors to find Cullen waiting.

“Everyone’s gathering for the speech,” he said. “We—”

But Ellana was already moving, eyes searching the crowd. On the lower level, near the stairs, Josephine stood in full diplomatic grace, though panic shimmered in her expression.

“I have another dance with the Grand Duchess,” Ellana said darkly.

She cut across the ballroom, fury burning through her exhaustion. The nobles parted around her like a tide. Florianne looked up just as Ellana approached, her smile faltering for the first time that night.

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace,” Ellana said, her tone sweet as poison. “The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us. Remember to smile.”

Florianne’s painted lips trembled. “Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?”

Ellana began to circle her. “I seem to recall you saying, ‘All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.’ When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t keep our appointment. You even framed your brother for a murder you planned yourself. A bold move, really, to gather all your enemies in one room.”

The Grand Duchess’s mask cracked. “You cannot think anyone believes this nonsense!”

But the crowd was already murmuring. Celene’s face had gone still; Gaspard’s hand tightened on his sword.

“I did not wish to,” Gaspard said grimly, stepping forward, “but it seems I have no choice.”

“Your fate will be decided by a judge,” Celene said coldly.

Florianne dropped to her knees, the sobs starting as quickly as her scheming had ended. Ellana stood over her, voice steady. “You lost this game ages ago, Your Grace. You were just the last to realize it.”

“Take her away.”

—

Later, the music resumed as if nothing had happened. The laughter, the glasses, the silk, and more importantly, the masquerade, continued.

Josephine lingered on the balcony, her pulse still too fast. The night air was sharp, scented with frost and candle smoke. Behind her, the Winter Palace sparkled. She was sure Ellana had disappeared in this direction…

She heard footsteps behind her.

“Ambassador,” said a familiar voice, low and roughened by battle.

Ellana stepped into view, her armor scorched, her hair disheveled, but her eyes sparkled.

She turned. The Inquisitor stood half in shadow, the candlelight from the ballroom catching on her braided hair and the vallaslin on her pale face. Gone was the hero of the court. This was Ellana, exhausted but radiant, carrying too much and pretending it didn’t weigh her down.

“You disappeared after the speeches,” Josephine managed. “You shouldn’t–”

“I needed air.” Ellana stepped closer. “I need you.”

The words made Josephine’s breath catch. All the etiquette in Thedas couldn’t have prepared her for the heat in Ellana’s eyes.

“All of Orlais is celebrating inside,” Josephine murmured. “You should be—”

“With them?” Ellana took another step closer. “No. I’d rather be here.” Ellana’s hand brushed her sleeve. Even the slight touch burned.

“Everyone’s just inside,” Josephine whispered as she glanced toward the doors.

“They won’t follow. We’ve earned some time for ourselves.”

The Inquisitor’s fingers slid up her arm, the fabric between them a frustrating barrier. Josephine tried to remember how to breathe. She and Ellana had been together several times since the duel with Lord Otranto, but this felt heated and forbidden. Ellana’s touch trembled as if she were afraid Josephine might vanish before her eyes.

When their mouths met, they were fueled by hunger. Whatever grace Ellana had carried during the Game had disappeared. Josephine’s back met the cold stone of the wall just by the balcony rail, and Ellana’s hand rose to her cheek, a thumb tracing her jaw. Somewhere, someone inside laughed, but they ignored it.

“Ellana,” she breathed, the name falling from her lips like a prayer.

The elf smiled against her mouth, her voice rough despite her teasing. “Shh. They’ll hear.”

That only made Josephine pull her closer, one desperate heartbeat pressed against another, the world shrinking to the taste of her, the smell of her.

The ballroom music swelled again, muffling the quiet gasp that escaped her as Ellana’s lips trailed lower, to her throat, her shoulder… Josephine’s hand found her hair, her heart hammering in her chest as a hand grasped her velvet-covered breast. A strap was tugged off of her shoulder, and Ellana’s lips closed around a freed nipple as her hands curled around the woman’s waist. Josephine grabbed the woman’s loosened braid and tugged her closer.

Ellana straightened, and their lips clashed again, the elf’s hand fumbling with the layered fabric of Josephine’s dress. The ambassador hiked it up as far as she could, and her knees nearly buckled when Ellana’s hand immediately pressed between her legs. “Oh! Oh, Ellana, yes.” She curled one leg around the Inquisitor’s waist, enjoying the way the cool air contrasted with the heat of Ellana’s body pressed against hers.

The Inquisitor swallowed Josephine’s moans as she thrust inside, using her hips for even more power as she set a slow, torturous rhythm. Slivers of sound from inside the palace made them both pause for a moment, and Ellana’s fingers froze mid-thrust, but when the doors remained shut, and no one emerged from the palace, Ellana began to move again.

They both knew they were in a precarious situation. Urgency destroyed Ellana’s patience, and she set a near-frantic rhythm. The back of Josephine’s head dipped back against the stone wall, her eyes snapping shut as she sank into Ellana’s powerful rhythm and let it overtake her. One of her hands snapped to her mouth in a feeble attempt to muffle sounds she couldn’t contain as the other hand clutched the stone rail of the balcony beside her, but as she climbed higher, the urge to scream lingered.

Surely others could hear. They would know what took place on the balcony of the Winter Palace that night, but in that moment, Josephine could only feel herself unraveling beneath Ellana’s talented fingers.

Ellana ripped Josephine’s hand away from her mouth and kissed her as the ambassador came with a violent shudder. She would have collapsed without Ellana’s bracing hand. She tucked her head into the elf’s neck, nuzzling the skin there as she caught her breath. A choked laugh escaped her lips when she felt the way her legs shook. Ellana softly pressed feathered kisses against the side of Josephine’s head as they fought to regain their composure, her own heartbeat pounding in her chest as she eased the woman’s leg from around her waist and softly readjusted Josephine’s ruffled attire.

Josephine smoothed down her dress with shaking hands. Ellana watched her with soft eyes, noting the heavy blush that had colored the woman’s face. “You look beautiful tonight.”

”Surely not at this moment.” Josephine chuckled as she readjusted the strap on her shoulder. “Do you think anyone noticed?”

Ellana smiled and cupped Josephine’s cheek. “After the show that happened inside? I don’t think they could comprehend anything else.” She nervously glanced at her boots. “I apologize if I acted too rashly.”

”This has been the best part of the night, Ellana.” Josephine circled her arms around the Inquisitor's shoulders and pressed herself close. “You did wonderfully tonight, by the way. I’m just so relieved at the outcome.”

“I couldn’t have done any of this tonight if it weren’t for you, Josephine.”

The ambassador chuckled lightly. “If this is my reward for helping, I’ll certainly try to be more helpful in the future.” Music swirled through the closed doors. “Will you dance with me?”

With a smile, Ellana slowly dipped the woman, and for a while they simply swayed with the gentle rhythm.

Chapter Text

Ellana felt the tension humming through Skyhold’s stones. Everyone could feel it.

War was coming.

Every scout report, every late-night council meeting carried the same undercurrent: this was the beginning of the end.

For Ellana, it was a strange mix of terror and relief. The path to Corypheus had been long and bloodied, but it was finally narrowing. There was comfort in knowing her steps had purpose… and dread in realizing there might not be many left.

The days after the Winter Palace were the closest thing to peace she’d known since Haven. Skyhold bustled with strategy and preparation, but amid the chaos there were fragments of normalcy: shared meals, laughter in the courtyard, quiet moments in the garden, even the soft hum of lute strings drifting through the great hall. For a brief moment, Ellana allowed herself to imagine an ending that didn’t require her sacrifice, but she couldn’t hold the vision for long. It slipped through her like smoke.

In the quiet hours before dawn, she wrote. Sometimes it was in her journal; sometimes letters to her clan, her companions, her friends. Each began as gratitude and ended as a farewell. The pages piled on her desk, folded but never sealed. She couldn’t bring herself to send them.

On top of the stack lay the longest of them all, written in a trembling hand. I love you. I’m so sorry.

Gods, Josephine would kill her if she read it, but Ellana couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. A knock broke through her heavy thoughts.

“Inquisitor? The war council is being summoned,” a guard called.

Ellana exhaled, smoothed her hair, and slipped on her coat. Her boots echoed loudly as she descended to the war room.

Cullen was already standing at attention, maps spread before him. Leliana leaned over the table with her usual poise, and Josephine was scribbling notes faster than Ellana could read them.

“After the demon army’s defeat, Corypheus uprooted his strongholds,” Cullen said. “He’s moving south, into the Arbor Wilds. His troops are disorganized. He’s on the run.”

“Good,” Ellana said, her voice steady despite the quickening in her chest. “If he’s retreating, then that’s where we’ll end this.”

Josephine looked up from her clipboard. “But why the Arbor Wilds? There’s nothing there but ruins.”

“Ruins can hold power,” Leliana murmured. “His forces have been stripping elven sites since Haven. Perhaps he seeks another.”

The door opened, and the air shifted. Morrigan entered, her presence a ripple of cold water through the room. “What he seeks is older than ruins,” she said. “And far more dangerous.”

Ellana met her gaze evenly. “Then you know where he’s going.”

“I do,” Morrigan replied, eyes flicking toward the others. “Though, it is best if I show you.”

They followed her through Skyhold’s halls to the overgrown garden. The evening mist clung to the ivy as Morrigan led them into a side chamber Ellana had never explored before. Inside stood a mirror taller than any she had ever seen. Its surface shimmered faintly, yet reflected nothing.

“This is an eluvian,” Morrigan said, laying a hand against the glass. “An ancient creation of the elves… your people, Inquisitor. It connects distant places, even worlds, if one knows how to unlock it.”

Ellana felt her pulse rise. “This… belonged to my people? You’ve restored it?”

Morrigan nodded. “I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbor Wilds, untouched. It proved too dangerous to approach, and thus I turned elsewhere to find my prize. If Corypheus has turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The eluvian would be his.”

“But what does it do?” Cullen asked.

Morrigan only smiled. “A more fitting question would be: where does it lead?”

The mirror rippled. Ellana caught her breath as the surface dissolved into motion, a window of liquid glass revealing shapes beyond comprehension as if staring at an underwater city from the surface. The magic sang against her skin. Whatever this eluvian was, it was incredibly powerful.

“Do not fear,” Morrigan said, stepping forward and vanishing into the mirror’s surface.

The advisors hesitated. Ellana reached for Josephine’s hand, grounding them both. The tremor in Josephine’s fingers mirrored her own.

Together, they stepped through.

The sensation was like falling without moving. Light bent, air thickened, and when Ellana opened her eyes, they stood beneath a pale sky shrouded in fog. Pathways stretched into nothingness, bordered by impossible light. The colors were magnificent. Soft and saturated, it felt like living inside a grand painting. Despite her fear, Ellana couldn’t deny its beauty. What fascinated the group the most were the other eluvians waiting at the end of the various paths, some identical to the one they had slipped through, others cracked and crumbling.

“The Crossroads,” Morrigan announced. “A realm between realms. Once, the elves walked these paths to travel their empire. Now, most of the mirrors are dark… broken, corrupted, or lost. As for the rest… a few can be opened from this side. But only a few.”

Josephine’s voice trembled. “You… discovered this alone?”

“Long ago,” Morrigan said, a flicker of something like fondness crossing her face. “It offered sanctuary.”

Cullen looked fearful and suspicious, likely because he couldn’t make sense of the ancient magic demonstrated in front of his eyes. His thoughts returned to what he knew from being a templar, and the limitations frustrated him.

Leliana’s expression was similar, but Ellana figured it had less to do with the eluvian itself, and everything to do with the mysterious woman who delivered it. It would be interesting to learn of the two women’s past during the Blight, if only to gain an understanding behind Leliana’s distrust.

Josephine looked scared but curious, her need for safety mixing with the infectious drive to absorb more information. One thing they all had in common, though, was the sickly pallor of their faces.

Ellana turned slowly, her eyes tracing the mirrored gates that lined the mists. Some glowed faintly; others were black as obsidian. “It feels like the Fade.”

“Close,” Morrigan replied. “But not quite. A clever mage could tear down the walls between them.”

The Inquisitor's stomach dropped. “And enter the Fade in the flesh. Like Corypheus wanted to do with the Anchor.” She gazed down at her glowing hand and winced.

“He learned of the eluvian in the Arbor Wilds, as I did. He marshals the last of his forces to reach it.” Morrigan stared at the Inquisitor. “You have made Corypheus desperate. We must work together to stop him, and soon.”

Leliana’s voice was quiet. “And if he succeeds?”

“Then he will claim the power of a god,” Morrigan said, her eyes hard as flint. “Or—and this is more likely—he will unleash forces that tear the world apart.”

When the mirror released them back into Skyhold’s garden, the air felt heavier, colder, sharper. The torchlight seemed too bright after the dreamlike haze of the Crossroads.

Cullen and Leliana departed quickly, murmuring orders and plans, their footsteps fading into the keep. Morrigan lingered only long enough to exchange a knowing glance with Ellana before vanishing into the shadows.

That left only Josephine and Ellana beneath the lanterns, the garden suddenly too quiet.

Josephine’s hand was still trembling faintly. “I didn’t know it would feel like that. We were close to the Fade…” She shivered. “Is that how you felt when you fell into the Fade in Adamant?”

“Much worse.” Ellana tried to blink away the Nightmare.

They stood there for a long moment, neither speaking. The eluvian behind them was silent, its surface still rippling faintly as though it was encouraging them to return. Ellana felt its pull even now, almost the same kind she felt every time she reached for the Anchor, every time she brushed the edges of the Fade. It had been a slow realization, noticing that every time Ellana used her new power, it felt like she was leaving a part of herself behind. How many echoes of herself aimlessly wandered the Fade? How much of her truly remained in the waking world?

Josephine noticed the distant look on her face and stepped closer. “You’ve gone somewhere far away again,” she said softly.

“There’s just a lot at stake,” Ellana’s voice faltered. “I don’t know what… if I…”

Josephine’s eyes lingered on the elf’s face. “You can do this, Ellana.”

Ellana smiled faintly, but her eyes betrayed her. “You sound so sure.”

“I have to be.” Josephine hesitated, then reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ellana’s face. “If I’m not sure, I’ll fall apart.”

That confession cracked something open in Ellana. The weight she carried—the unspoken fear, the half-written goodbyes—all of it pressed against her ribs until she could barely breathe. She caught Josephine’s hand and pressed it to her chest, over the place where her heart beat too fast.

“You can’t look at me like that,” Ellana whispered. “Like you’re memorizing me.”

Josephine’s smile trembled. “I already have you memorized.”

The words undid her. Ellana leaned forward until their foreheads touched, the world narrowing to the warmth between them. “If something happens—”

“Don’t,” Josephine interrupted, her voice sharp. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“I have to.”

“No.” Josephine stepped back, eyes bright with anger and grief. “You think writing it in letters will make it easier for me to lose you, but it won’t. I refuse to prepare for your death while you’re still standing in front of me.”

Ellana’s breath caught. “You… you found them.”

Josephine’s lips quirked, bittersweet. “I’m your ambassador, Ellana. I can find anything you try to hide.”

A flush rose in Ellana’s cheeks. “I never meant for you to read them.”

“And yet you left them on your desk, unsealed. I saw my name and I…” Josephine’s voice trailed off. Language had left her. Silence settled between them again, heavy with everything they couldn’t say. Then Josephine reached out, her voice softening. “Come inside. Please. Just for a while. Pretend there’s no war. No Corypheus. No world to save.”

Ellana wanted to refuse, to say she couldn’t afford to pretend. But Josephine’s eyes held that quiet, desperate strength that always undid her.

So she nodded.

They walked back through the corridors of Skyhold together, their steps echoing softly on the stone. In the ambassador’s quarters, candlelight danced across the walls, painting gold against the stone. Josephine set her notes aside, her poise dissolving the moment the door closed.

Ellana stood in the doorway, uncertain. “If I stay—”

“I need you to stay,” Josephine said simply.

And Ellana did.

They spoke little that night. Words would have made it real, and neither could bear that. Instead, they found comfort in the rhythm of each other’s presence. In the way Josephine’s head fit against her shoulder, in the faint scent of perfume, so unmistakably Josephine’s.

Later, back in her own quarters, when Ellana finally drifted to sleep, it was to the sound of Josephine’s heartbeat beneath her ear. She dreamed of the Crossroads, of a thousand mirrored paths stretching into infinity, and wondered which one would swallow her whole.

Chapter Text

They planned for the Arbor Wilds. Skyhold was a rush of movement.

The Inquisitor barked out orders as they prepared. “Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”

“Your confidence is admirable, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said, sweeping beside her, her dark eyes sharp and unreadable, “but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to trespassers. Old elven magic sleeps there. It is a magic that does not forgive.”

Ellana’s gaze snapped to the apostate. “I don’t think we have much choice. Corypheus is already ahead of us, and if he gets his hands on that eluvian…” She sighed. “We’ve embarked on a quest that ends in facing the most powerful monster in all Thedas. It’s going to hurt, but it’s time for Corypheus to learn what it means to be an enemy of the Inquisition.”

Tomorrow, she would ride for the Wilds.

Tonight, she lingered.

After the others left, the war room seemed to hollow around her. Maps sprawled across the table, evidence of everything the Inquisition had accomplished. She traced one finger along a red-marked route through the Frostbacks, her reflection faint in the polished wood. Beyond the windows, wind howled through the mountains, low and cold, carrying with it the scent of snow and iron.

Josephine paused at the door, hesitating before turning the key to lock it. The sound clicked softly. She approached quietly. “You should rest while you can, darling.”

Ellana gave a small, tired smile. “I’m not sure I could. Too much noise in my head.”

Josephine looked at the woman as she leaned against the table. The elf stood in half-shadow, wrapped only in a small jacket, no daggers nearby. The Inquisitor, the woman the world would follow to its end, looked smaller than she ever had. Josephine felt words pressing against her chest, all the things she couldn’t say without falling apart.

Don’t go. Stay safe. Don’t leave me here without you.

But none of them would change what awaited in the Arbor Wilds.

Ellana looked up, her gaze softening. She reached out, fingertips brushing the silk of Josephine’s sleeve, as though memorizing it. The texture, the warmth, the tether to something human.

“You’ll win this,” Josephine whispered. “You always do.”

Ellana gave a breath of laughter, quiet and sad. “You have more faith in me than I deserve.”

“That’s not possible.”

They stood there, close enough that Josephine could feel the heat radiating from her body, could smell the faint tang of elfroot and leather. The world beyond the walls was breaking apart, but here, for a moment, it was still.

Ellana’s hand tightened around hers. “I love you very much, Josephine.”

Josephine’s throat tightened. “And I love you, Ellana. So much.”

Silence fell between them, not peaceful, but honest. Beneath it thrummed the terror of loss and the awareness that love was something the world could so easily take.

When Ellana stepped back, Josephine caught her hand and pressed it to her lips. “Please. Try to sleep. Whatever rest you can find… you’ll need it.”

Ellana nodded. She kissed Josephine’s forehead softly, then turned away. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor until the door closed behind her.

Only then did Josephine let the first tear fall, swept away by her sleeve. She had work to do.

—

Every tremor that rippled through the mountains stole a piece of Josephine’s breath.

When the fighting starts, I need you to get to safety. Promise me, Josephine.

They were miles from Corypheus’s army, but the earth still quaked with distant detonations. Sometimes, Josephine swore she could hear the ghostly echo of battle: the clash of metal, the roar of fire, the dying screams carried by the wind. And she could see Ellana in her mind shouting orders, her daggers glinting in the sun as she defended their soldiers with ferocious grace.

Beside her, Empress Celene stood at the edge of the encampment, staring into the black tangle of trees. Even in her jeweled armor, she looked small before the Wilds. Perhaps they should have evacuated. Having the Empress of Orlais so close to the front was madness, but Celene had refused to leave her people.

For once, even the soldiers cheered her name.

Duke Gaspard rode past with his chevaliers, his thin smile sharp as a blade. Briala had already melted into the shadows with her spies, Leliana among them.

Cullen had departed toward the Well of Sorrows not long after Ellana, and Josephine wondered if the tremors were theirs.

Maker, keep them safe.

“Ambassador Montilyet!” A young scout jogged to her side. “The Inquisitor’s forces have reached a temple, possibly Mythal’s. Your horse is ready, as is Her Majesty’s. Most of the fighting has drawn away, but we shouldn’t linger.”

Celene nodded. “Then our part here is done.”

She turned to Josephine, taking her hands. Her gaze fell briefly to the ring glinting on Josephine’s finger. “Orlais stands with the Inquisition. We will see this through to the end.” She hesitated, voice softening. “When the dust settles… keep her close. Duty speaks louder than love, but sometimes, it is best not to listen.”

Josephine smiled faintly, bowing her head. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Be safe.”

As Celene departed with her guard, Josephine lingered. She mounted her horse but didn’t yet ride. Her thumb brushed the ring, and she closed her eyes.

In the faint hum of their bond, she could still feel Ellana’s presence. Flickering, burning, alive.

She was fighting. And if Ellana was fighting, there was still hope.

Chapter Text

Knowledge begets hunger.

Ellana understood intimately how the pursuit of truth could consume the soul. Standing before the Well of Sorrows, she felt it in her bones: the ache to know. The air shimmered faintly with the hum of ancient magic, soft and mournful. Beneath the surface, the water glowed faintly green, like veins of the Fade bleeding through the mortal world. The whispers pressed at the edges of her mind, a thousand voices murmuring promises of remembrance, of wisdom, of power.

Morrigan stood beside her, eyes fixed on the pool with a reverence that bordered on hunger. “I am willing to pay the price the Well demands,” she said. “I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

Solas’ staff struck the stone floor like a heartbeat. “Or more likely, to your own ends.”

Morrigan’s gaze snapped to him. “And what would you know of my ends, elf?”

“I know gluttony when I see it,” Solas said coldly. “You stare at a feast and salivate. You cannot be trusted with this.”

“Coming from you,” she hissed, “that is almost amusing.”

Vivienne’s voice slid into the space between them, smooth and sharp. “Do not trust her, Inquisitor. She is a parasite, drawn to power as a moth to flame.”

Morrigan’s chin lifted. “Said by one whose motives are as pure as snow. Spare me your sanctimony.”

The tension crackled in the air, bright and dangerous. Ellana could feel the storm gathering behind their words in an endless, weary clash of ambition and fear.

Cassandra’s voice cut through it. “I do not like this. She is far too eager.”

“I do not hide it,” Morrigan countered. “To restore what was lost, I would risk much.”

The Seeker’s expression was heavy with unease. “And what would you do with such knowledge? You could become worse than Corypheus.”

“I can give nothing but my word,” Morrigan said. She turned to Ellana, eyes dark and gleaming. “But of those present, I alone have the training to make use of it. Let me drink, Inquisitor. Let me bear the price.”

Ellana’s gaze fell to the Well. The surface rippled faintly, whispering in an ancient tongue that scraped at her thoughts. She could drink it herself. The temptation coiled in her gut, deep and hot. To understand the elven gods, the Fade, the very fabric of creation… was that not worth any price?

“I could drink,” she murmured.

Morrigan’s tone softened. “You lead the Inquisition. This is not a risk you can take. I have the best chance of surviving this, for all our sakes.” Her hand rested lightly on Ellana’s shoulder. “Let me do this for you. There are others who would suffer greatly if something happened to you.”

Dorian’s voice broke the silence. “Let her have it, if she wants it so badly. I won’t risk losing you to a pool of ghosts.”

Cole tilted his head, his voice small and sad. “So many voices, whispering, screaming. They would be in your head, always. You don’t want them.”

Sera shuddered. “It’s called the Well of Sorrows. Sorrows. Nobody should go swimming in that.”

Ellana closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. The voices around her faded until all that remained was the low, steady pulse of the Well. Knowledge begets hunger. Hunger devours. When she finally spoke, her voice was almost a whisper. “It’s yours.”

Morrigan didn’t thank her, but her relief was palpable. She stepped forward, her expression taut with purpose, and as she drank, the magic flared bright and green, the whispers swelling into a scream. The light crawled up her throat and through her eyes, and for a heartbeat Ellana thought she saw something vast and ancient moving in the reflection of the water.

When it was done, Morrigan straightened, trembling but unbowed. Her gaze was distant, haunted by something only she could hear.

—

There was no rest when they returned to Skyhold.

Maps littered the war table, candles burning low. Ellana stood beside Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine while Morrigan lingered near the back, her figure a pale wraith wrapped in shadow.

Leliana’s gaze flicked between them. “Did you find what you needed?”

“I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, yes. As for matching Corypheus… that is up to you, Inquisitor,” Morrigan answered. Her voice trembled just slightly, and Ellana wondered what echoes were whispering in her mind now. What ghosts now haunted her?

The good news: they finally knew how to end this.

The bad news: they would have to kill his dragon first.

“Then all that remains,” Cullen said, “is to find him before he comes for us.”

“We’ve searched for his base since this began,” Leliana muttered. “He’s always one step ahead.”

“His dragon must come and go from somewhere,” Cullen reasoned. His armor clinked softly as he leaned against the wall, weary but resolute.

Josephine stepped forward, her clipboard gleaming in the candlelight. “What about the Deep Roads? Orzammar might—”

The words died in her throat.

A violent flare of green light tore through the room. Ellana’s body convulsed as the Anchor ignited, wild and uncontrolled. Pain seared up her arm, blinding white, and she collapsed forward with a scream. Josephine caught her, pulling her close, as the others turned toward the window.

Outside, the sky was tearing open.

The Breach was open again.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan whispered.

Ellana gasped through the pain. “He’s in the Valley of Sacred Ashes?”

“You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world.” The apostate was already making her way to the door.

Cullen’s face was drawn tight. “Inquisitior, we have no forces to send with you. We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

Ellana straightened, every nerve trembling, the Anchor still glowing like a brand. “Then I face him alone.” Through the haze of pain, she felt it: fear, sharp and raw, not her own. The bond tugged tight. “Josephine…”

“Don’t.” Josephine silenced her with a kiss, heedless of the eyes that watched. The world might end, but that didn’t matter now. “No words, Ellana. I’ll be here. Waiting.”

Ellana’s hand brushed her cheek, her thumb trembling. “I love you, Josephine.”

“And I love you,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “More than anything.”

Ellana lingered for one last breath, memorizing the woman’s warmth, her scent, the light in her eyes. The world was cracking apart outside, and she silently begged for more time. There had never been enough time.

Then she turned away, the green light still burning in her hand.

Whatever the price… she would not fail her.

Chapter Text

The world was quiet after the end.

Ellana knelt in the dust, her breath shallow, her palm pressed to the sharp ache of a broken rib. The air still shimmered with the echo of the Breach closing, its scar nothing more than a lingering prism of light. The silence was unnatural. Too vast, too hollow. She half wondered if she’d slipped into the Fade again, and this was how everything ended.

But Corypheus was gone. The Breach was sealed.

And somehow, impossibly, they lived.

Solas crouched a few paces away, shoulders bowed as he gathered the shattered remains of the orb. The light had drained from the jagged pieces, and Ellana watched as he simply stared at them in silent grief. She pushed herself upright, wincing as pain flared through her ribs. “It… can’t be repaired?”

He didn’t look at her right away, but when he did, his eyes burned with something deeper than regret. “Even if we could, it would not recover what has been lost.” His fingers lingered on the broken surface, before he set the pieces down with reverence.

Something about him unsettled her. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured. Then, softly, as though it cost him something to say it: “No matter what comes next, know that you have my respect. Always.”

The way he said it struck her like a blade made of sorrow. The guilt in his eyes rooted in her chest, and she wanted to ask what he meant, what he knew. But before she could speak, a voice pierced the haze.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s shout cut through the dust. “Ellana?!”

Ellana turned just as Cassandra appeared, relief flashing across her face. She caught Ellana before she could fall, bracing her weight. “I’ve found her!”

Boots thundered across the broken stone, and familiar faces emerged from the fog. Ellana managed a weary smile. “You’re all safe.”

Sera squinted at her. “You look like one of those creepy dolls. Cut it, and someone else bleeds. Except this time it’s you. We did it though, yeah? Killed Coryphy-tit?”

Cole’s gaze tilted toward the sky, wonder in his voice. “The sky is healed, healthy… whole.”

Ellana turned to look for Solas—

But he was gone.

Only the broken orb remained, its edges catching the dying wind. A strange dread coiled in her chest. Despite their victory, something felt wrong, like a tremor teasing a quake. His absence hummed like a warning she could not name.

She told herself it was exhaustion. Or grief. Or maybe she just missed a friend who had walked away before she could thank him.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Can we go home?”

By the time they reached Skyhold, Ellana could barely stand. The bridge stretched endlessly before her, and her body screamed with every step. One of her daggers was lost, broken in two during the battle against Corypheus, and the other was cracked and jagged in its holster. Her armor felt like a cage of pain.

“Just lean against me, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, tightening her hold. “I will not let you fall.”

Ellana laughed weakly. “Not planning to. But if I do, you have permission to drag me by the hair.”

Cassandra huffed a quiet laugh. “No one would judge you if you collapsed. You saved us all, Ellana.”

She managed a crooked grin. “I didn’t do it alone, Cassandra. You get to be a hero too.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Cassandra muttered, but a smile pulled at her lips.

Dorian, walking on her other side, glanced back at Bull and smirked. “Let’s save the sentimental nonsense for when we’re drunk and bleeding less, yes?” But his eyes softened as he said it. They all had a future now.

When they passed through Skyhold’s gate, a wave of cheers met them. Soldiers, servants, mages, and scouts, all alive, all safe. Ellana felt the world tilt, the sound a blur around her. She looked up and saw Josephine at the top of the stairs.

Her lover stood frozen, hands covering her mouth, tears shining in her eyes.

Ellana barely remembered the climb. She shook hands as she went, smiled through the pain, and held herself together until she reached Josephine. When she finally let go, she fell into her arms, breath catching with relief and agony.

“Where are you hurt?” Josephine’s voice trembled, sharp with fear.

“Not entirely sure yet,” Ellana managed. “Everywhere, probably. Is everyone else safe?”

“Morrigan is in the same shape you are, but Leliana has already moved her to a room for healing,” Cassandra replied.

With Cassandra’s help, they guided her inside. The corridors glowed faintly with lanternlight, the air filled with the scent of smoke and stone dust. By the time they reached the Inquisitor’s chambers, Ellana was trembling.

“Sit,” Cassandra ordered gently. “I’ll fetch the healer.”

Josephine worked quickly, removing Ellana’s boots and armor, hands steady but eyes glistening. The underclothes beneath were soaked with blood. “Maker, Ellana…” She swallowed hard, searching for a clean shirt before the surgeon arrived.

He came running, tools in hand, and Josephine stayed beside her through every needle, every stitched wound, every gasp of pain. Ellana’s hand never left hers.

“It looks worse than it is,” Ellana tried to joke, voice slurred.

Josephine held up her hand, her glinting in the firelight. “You forget… I can feel you, my love.”

The surgeon prepared a potion. “This will dull the pain and send you to sleep. You desperately need rest, Inquisitor.”

Ellana turned to Josephine. “I expect you to rest as well, if I do.”

Josephine hesitated only a heartbeat before climbing into bed beside her, slipping under the blankets as the surgeon packed his tools. She brushed a few strands of hair from Ellana’s face. “Get some sleep, darling. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Ellana drank and hummed as warmth spread through her limbs. The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was Josephine’s tear-streaked smile.

For the first time since the Conclave, Ellana slept peacefully.

Chapter Text

Josephine Montilyet didn’t sleep.

The keep had gone quiet hours ago. Skyhold, once echoing with the scrape of boots and the creak of armor, now slept in a peace that felt new and permanent.

In Ellana’s chambers, the fire burned low, throwing soft light across the room and over the woman who refused to rest.

Josephine sat at the Inquisitor’s desk, her pen long since set aside. She’d spent the early hours arranging the celebration—writing to merchants, ordering wine, dispatching messages to soldiers and scouts—and now, with the final letter sealed and her own exhaustion pressing at the corners of her vision, her eyes caught on a small pile of parchment near the inkwell.

The letter rested at the top of the stack, her own name written in Ellana’s careful, slanted hand. Josephine hesitated before reaching for it. She had already read it once, but now, with Ellana breathing softly in the bed behind her, the letter felt heavier.

She unfolded it again, smoothing the creases with trembling fingers, and read.

Vhenan,

I hope you have no reason to read this. I pray that I am wrong, that this letter ends up in the fireplace or gathers dust among the many other treaties and correspondence, while I’m somewhere nearby, laughing at my own dramatics. Gods, I didn’t want this to sound like a goodbye, but I worry that it is. You have made all of this worth it, Josephine. Becoming the Herald of Andraste, becoming the leader of the Inquisition, facing the monsters that were once a part of my nightmares… I would do it all over again to meet you.

You saw me not as a symbol, not as the Inquisitor, but as a woman. You tempered my fire with your grace, my doubt with your faith. You reminded me that tenderness is not weakness, and that even those who bear the weight of the world may still be held.

If I fall at the Arbor Wilds, know that it was all worth it. Know that somewhere beyond this world in the quiet between the Veil and the sky, I will find you again.

Ir abelas, ma vhenan.

Forgive me for leaving.

Thank you for loving me.

Ellana

Dirth ma vhenan ar lath sa’len. Melava harel vhenan, ar lasa’ma.

Return from the shadows, my heart, and I will find you.

Josephine read the last line again, her lips moving silently over the unfamiliar elven. She pressed the letter to her lips, then folded it carefully and returned it to the desk. Behind her, Ellana stirred in her sleep, a faint sound escaping her as she shuffled beneath the thick covers.

Josephine turned, her chest tightening. “You came back to me,” she murmured softly, though Ellana could not hear her. “And I still don’t know how.”

—

By nightfall, Skyhold was alive again.

The Throne Room pulsed with life and laughter. Music spilled through the halls, sweet and raucous all at once. Somewhere, Sera was already half-drunk, shrieking about underpants and making a scene that had Leliana pretending not to laugh. Iron Bull’s booming voice echoed from near the hearth, Dorian at his side, his hand resting lightly on Bull’s knee. Even Cassandra had softened, clutching her dog-eared copy of Swords and Shields while Varric needled her mercilessly about its “romantic subplots.”

And through it all, Ellana moved like a ghost awakening from a long sleep. The joy around her felt almost unreal. It was too loud, too bright after the void of battle.

A soldier pressed a goblet of wine into her hand. She thanked him absently but didn’t drink. The hall was stifling, her pulse too loud in her ears. The laughter of her companions blurred into the hum of distant music. She slipped away.

Outside, the night air was cold and clean, carrying the sharp scent of pine and smoke. Torches guttered along the battlements, painting the snow in broken light. Ellana leaned against the stone, her breath clouding before her.

“You always vanish when you’re meant to be celebrated,” came a soft voice behind her.

Ellana turned, a smile tugging at her mouth despite the exhaustion. “You found me quickly enough.”

Josephine’s laugh was quiet, the kind that warmed the air. “You’re not so difficult to track, darling. Half the keep watches where you go.”

“Then I should make my escapes more dramatic,” Ellana teased, setting down her untouched wine.

Josephine stepped closer. The torchlight caught in the threads of her gown, gold glimmering against midnight silk. “You should be inside,” she said gently. “They’re all waiting for you.”

“I know.” Ellana’s shoulders sagged. “I just needed a moment to… feel nothing. No eyes. No oaths. Just the wind.”

“You’ve earned that and more.”

For a while, neither spoke. The night was alive with distant laughter, and somewhere in the distance, a flute played through a lively melody Ellana had never heard before.

“Do you remember,” Josephine said after a moment, “not long after we came to Skyhold? You stood out there by the crumbled tower, looking at the scar in the sky. You said you felt like an intruder in your own story.”

“I remember,” Ellana whispered.

Josephine leaned into her side. “Do you still feel the same?”

“No, not anymore.” Ellana turned to face her. The ambassador looked as composed as ever, but there was a shimmer in her eyes. Relief, perhaps, or exhaustion she refused to show the others. Ellana wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Not yet.

“The others will expect a speech,” Josephine said quietly. “A toast, at least.”

“Another?” Ellana groaned. “I’ve already given three.”

“And they were terrible!” Josephine teased. “You can’t leave Skyhold’s final celebration without at least one inspiring line.”

“Then perhaps you should give it,” Ellana said.

Josephine’s laughter was low and warm. “Me? The Inquisition did not follow me into battle.”

“They might have, if you’d asked,” Ellana joked, but her words hung there, too close to something else. Josephine looked away first, her hands clasping at her waist. Ellana’s eyes lingered on her. “I… just don’t know what comes next. I think that scares me.”

“None of us do,” Josephine whispered. “That’s the miracle of it. You’ve given us a future that’s totally unwritten.”

Ellana reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from Josephine’s cheek. The contact was small, almost formal, but it carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said since the battle. Josephine closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

“You came back to me,” she murmured. Her voice trembled as it shook. “Is it too much to ask for no more battles, no more gods or monsters? Just peace. And us.”

“Peace. I’ve forgotten what that feels like.”

Josephine smiled. “I intend to make sure you learn how to enjoy it.”

Their laughter mingled, soft and weary. Ellana lifted Josephine’s hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. “I can’t wait for you to teach me.”

Josephine stepped closer, until their foreheads met, until the warmth of her breath filled the space between them. The torches flickered, throwing gold light across their faces. For the first time since the world began to fall apart, Ellana felt the future waiting. Uncertain, but hers to shape.

Inside, someone began to sing. The melody rose, pure and light, and drifted into the night. Ellana closed her eyes, holding Josephine’s hand as though it were the only thing anchoring her to this world.

Victory finally felt real.

Chapter Text

9:44 Dragon — The Winter Palace

The work of the Inquisition never truly ended.

Skyhold became a place of permanence, a warm home that Ellana had come to cherish, especially in the years that passed after the fall of Corypheus. Many of her companions fluttered away to fulfill their own fates, and while Ellana remained happy for them, each departure left their own unique wound.

Just like the night before their final battle, Ellana felt as if they were on the cusp of something big. When Leliana—now Divine Victoria—called the Exalted Council to the Winter Palace, the Inquisitor felt the invitation settle into her bones like an omen.

‘No matter what comes next, I want you to know you shall always have my respect.’

‘No matter what comes next…’

‘No matter…’

“Inquisitor.” The familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts. Mother Giselle approached, serene as ever, though the years had carved new lines around her eyes. “It has been too long. I hope the years have been kind to you.”

Ellana smiled faintly and took the offered hand. “How have you been, Mother?”

“I spent the last summer in Emprise du Lion,” she replied. “The Dales are healing. Slowly. The fields bloom again.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Your forces were of great help. Baron Desjardins speaks highly of their discipline.” She softly smiled. “Divine Victoria asked that I greet you in her stead. She’s currently attending to the Ferelden ambassador’s… concerns.”

“Concerns,” Ellana echoed dryly. “I imagine they’re many.”

Mother Giselle chuckled softly. “They always are. But truly, the Divine is proving to be… formidable.”

Ellana’s lips twitched. “That’s one way to put it.”

“She has already secured concessions for your cause. You are fortunate to have her support.”

“I’m fortunate to have her friendship,” Ellana said. “And yours.”

The cleric bowed her head. “Many of your friends are here, Inquisitor. I hope you’ll enjoy what time you have before the council begins. It may be the last peace we know for a while.”

Ellana inclined her head in farewell, and Mother Giselle drifted back into the crowd.

Leliana found her next. Or perhaps she’d been there all along, watching. “Ellana,” the Divine greeted, her voice calm but her eyes sharp as glass. “You’ve caused quite a stir.”

“I missed your surveillance,” Ellana said, smiling despite herself.

Leliana’s answering smile was brief but genuine. “Arl Teagan was just reminding me how much Ferelden ‘owes’ the Inquisition. And how little gratitude can be afforded to power without a throne.”

The arl turned at the sound of his name, bowing stiffly. “Inquisitor. An honor at last.”

“The honor is mine, my lord. How fares Redcliffe?”

“Blessedly quiet,” he said. “The land recovers. Slowly, but it does. We still find scars left by the Venatori, but such is the same everywhere. The mayor sends his regards. Redcliffe remembers its savior.” He glanced between her and Leliana. “But I won’t take your time, Your Perfection.”

When he was gone, Ellana exhaled. “He’s frightened of us.”

“He’s frightened of you,” Leliana corrected. “So are most of them. Power makes them uneasy, especially power that answers to no crown.”

“And if the council turns against us?” Ellana asked.

“Then we will remind them what the world looks like without the Inquisition.” Leliana’s tone was soft, but the promise beneath it was sharp.

“I thought you’d left all this behind,” Ellana murmured.

“I left the title, not the purpose.” Leliana’s smile softened. “Whatever happens, Ellana… I am still your ally. Always.”

“Then I’ll hold you to that,” Ellana said. “And Josephine will demand tea.”

“I will also bring the biscuits,” Leliana replied, and slipped away like a shadow at dawn.

—

The Winter Palace had not changed. The chandeliers still glittered with the same cold perfection, and the air still smelled of scented, flowery politics. Yet this time, Ellana found she could breathe a little lighter. Perhaps it was because she had survived it once already. Or maybe because the Game no longer frightened her as it once did, not after gods and demons and the Fade itself.

She let herself drift through the plaza, noting how the crowd parted instinctively around her. The Anchor beneath her glove pulsed once, a quiet, resentful hiss. She pressed her hand into her pocket, jaw tight. Two years since Corypheus’s fall, and still it burned.

Josephine had urged her to come alone, to walk as the Inquisitor, not the woman who once danced on this very floor. The decision had been wise, though Ellana hated how the distance felt. Josephine waited somewhere deeper in the palace, managing introductions and smoothing the rough edges of diplomacy as only she could. Their bond still hummed faintly, and Ellana latched onto it, trying hard not to roll her eyes when Arl Teagan returned from wherever he had been lurking. He was going to be a problem.

“I’m glad you’ve finally arrived, Inquisitor. The crown’s anxious for news,” he said.

“And your thoughts on Ferelden’s position?”

He hesitated. “The Breach is long gone, yet Skyhold’s army remains. Ferelden can’t continue to ignore soldiers on its borders.”

“The Inquisition must have a military arm, Arl Teagan.” Ellana’s jaw clenched.

“In your position, I would want the same. That does not mean it reassures me.” His voice was soft, but Ellana could hear the threat just beneath. “A power without allegiance to either Ferelden or Orlais? Even I see neither of our countries can let it rest.” He paused for a moment. “I won’t keep you any longer. We’ll have words enough when the Exalted Council begins.”

“I’m sure we will, Arl Teagan. I’ll see you soon,” the Inquisitor softly replied as she met his eyes. She silently enjoyed the way he flinched at her gaze. A flicker of concern flashed through her bond with Josephine, and Ellana forced her shoulders to relax. She needed a drink.

She slowly waded through the crowd, allowing her eyes to linger on the people who openly stared. The future of the Inquisition depended on her strength. The Anchor flashed once again, and she kept her fist clenched in her pocket as she walked and tried to ignore the burning sensation that trailed up her arm.

It had been two years since they had defeated Corypheus. Two years since the Breach was permanently sealed. And yet, the Anchor mysteriously remained. With no more Fade rifts and no more demons pouring through the Veil, the Anchor in her hand had become nothing more than a light show, but in the past year, it had become angry. Now, it consumed most of her hand.

“Inquisitor!” The voice cut through the murmur like sunlight through fog. “Finally, a friendly face!”

“Dorian?” Ellana blinked, grinning. “You’re the Tevinter ambassador now? That was conspicuously absent from your last letter.”

He swept her into an embrace before she could protest. “Yes, well, turns out saving the world makes one… visible. This is my punishment for being too charming to ignore. The Magisterium decided it was safer to keep me here, far away from actual influence.”

She laughed, warmth blooming in her chest. “It suits you.”

“Flattery, from the Inquisitor herself? My ego may never recover.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Be warned: Duke Cyril from Orlais is prowling. And, darling, he will corner you. I recommend a stiff drink before that happens. Preferably with me.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Do.” He winked and melted into the crowd, leaving the faintest trail of bergamot and mischief in his wake.

But sure enough, before Ellana could escape, Duke Cyril appeared as if summoned, all powdered silk and politics as he approached. The wide grin on his face was no more comforting than the severity in Arl Teagan’s eyes. They were both on a mission.

The Inquisitor summoned her best courtly smile. Gods help me, she thought. It begins.

Chapter Text

Orlais wanted to tame the Inquisition. Ferelden wanted to dissolve it. And the Chantry—even under Leliana’s watchful eye—wanted to sanctify it and bind it to divine oversight.

Ellana simply wanted to disappear.

If this council was only a preview of what awaited them, she would have preferred another dragon fight.

Her hand throbbed beneath its glove, the Anchor burning like an ember against her palm. Each pulse made her breath shorter, her patience thinner. When she caught sight of Arl Teagan across the council chamber, she imagined how satisfying it would feel to hurl one of her daggers straight into his sanctimonious smile.

Instead, she smiled sweetly and sat.

Josephine was already waiting, her figure polished, perfect, and every curl pinned just so.

Ellana could feel the tension running through her like a wire, though her expression betrayed nothing but grace. They had spent the past week predicting every possible line of attack, every insult disguised as diplomacy, but even Josephine couldn’t account for the sheer arrogance of the men in the room.

“Arl Teagan,” Josephine said, her voice even and musical. “You may address your concerns.”

The Arl of Redcliffe glared at Ellana from his seat. “The Inquisition established an armed presence in Ferelden territory. You outright seized Caer Bronach in Crestwood!”

Ellana clasped her hands before her. “Our goal was to keep more Ferelden citizens from dying, not to seize power.” These were topics she knew he would toss at her. She would not allow herself to be pulled into a heated debate.

He shook his head. “Your help was appreciated two years ago, Inquisitor. Now order has been restored, yet you remain. Invading under pretext of restoring order is exactly what the Grey Wardens did to us centuries ago, and we exiled them!” He stood and addressed the council. “Now the Inquisition is doing the same thing, with the Grey Wardens in their ranks!”

It was Duke Cyril who answered first, his tone dripping with honey. “Your concern is ill-founded. The Grey Wardens have proven their worth time and again.”

“Of course Orlais would say so,” Teagan said with a sneer. “Without the Inquisition, Celene would have neither her throne nor her elven… mistress.”

The air thickened.

“Who Celene keeps company with,” Josephine said smoothly but sharply, “is not a topic of this court.”

Duke Cyril gave a lazy smile. “Rest assured, Teagan, the empire of Orlais will not stand idle if the Inquisition oversteps its bounds. Unlike Ferelden, however, Orlais understands that these were the well-intentioned mistakes of a young organization.”

“An organization in need of a guiding hand,” Teagan replied coldly. “Yours, no doubt.”

The words crackled like fire. Ellana’s temples pounded. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a cautious hand brushed her shoulder. One of Leliana’s scouts bent low and whispered, “Forgive me, Inquisitor. Divine Victoria requests your presence. Privately.”

Across the chamber, Leliana’s gaze flicked toward her, calm and deliberate. Something had happened. Something she didn’t want the rest of the council to see.

Ellana inclined her head, rising. “My apologies. An urgent matter requires my attention.”

Her voice was steady, though through the bond she felt Josephine’s pulse spike. Now? came the echo of panic, quickly buried under discipline.

“Ambassador Montilyet,” Ellana said, “please continue in my absence.”

Josephine blinked once, collected herself, and nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Divine Victoria’s voice rose, smoothing over the tension. “Perhaps a short recess would serve us all. A moment to breathe before tempers unravel further.”

It was granted. The council scattered into hushed clusters. As Ellana turned away, Josephine’s fear pressed against her mind like a heartbeat. Be careful, it said without words. Ellana sent reassurance back, though her hand still throbbed like it knew better.

The corridors of the Winter Palace were too quiet. Shadows bent long across the marble, and the torches flickered like eyes. Leliana’s scout led her swiftly through the gilded hallways and out into the courtyard, no words passing between them until the scent of iron reached Ellana’s nose.

When she saw the body, she stopped cold.

A Qunari warrior lay sprawled across the floor, armor torn and blackened, his massive frame slumped in death. The sigils of the Antaam were visible on his pauldrons.

Leliana knelt beside the corpse. Her robes were immaculate, but her eyes had gone sharp as blades. “The guard said we should both see this. She was correct.”

Ellana crouched. “How long ago?”

“Less than an hour,” Leliana replied, rising. “Bull was as surprised as we are. He swears he’s had no contact with the Qunari since leaving their ranks. He was… displeased by the implication.”

Ellana frowned. “So what does the Left Hand of the Divine see when she looks at this?”

Leliana’s smirk was thin. “A soldier, not a spy. Antaam-trained. Most of the wounds are from magic, though at least two came from steel. He was dying long before he reached the palace.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “But the question remains: why die here?”

Something itched beneath Ellana’s skin, a cold, crawling dread that had nothing to do with politics. “Will Josephine manage without me?” she asked absently, her mind already tracing patterns of blood along the tile.

“Of course,” Leliana said. “It’s all speeches and posturing for the first few days anyway. I’ll stall the council as long as I can, and I’ll have our friends ready, should things worsen.”

Ellana glanced toward the hallway, where the guard waited uneasily. “Nothing at the Winter Palace is ever simple, is it?”

She chuckled dryly. “Maker preserve us if it ever were.” She made her way to the door and ordered the guard to remain. “I’ll find Josephine and update her on the situation. Be careful, Ellana.” Ellana bowed slightly and followed the trail.

Just like her last venture through the Winter Palace, she was led through the halls by blood. The crimson streaks led her to a dead end: a grand mirror veiled in shadow. The air shimmered faintly before it, humming with something old and familiar. An eluvian. Ellana’s hand ached.

‘No matter what comes next…’

Ellana thought of Solas, and entered.

Chapter Text

There was a cut on Ellana’s chin.

It wasn’t deep, just enough to sting when she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand. She scowled and pushed through the doors of the council chamber, reconnecting with Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine.

“One dead Qunari was bad enough,” Cullen said grimly. “Now we’ve got more, and they’re hostile.” His voice was taut, the faint tremor of anxiety rippling through the room.

Josephine’s frustration was visible even in her poise. “This makes no sense. The Qunari may not be friendly to the Inquisition, but they have no reason to attack us.”

“They also have no reason to be here at all,” Leliana murmured. Her sharp eyes flicked to Cullen. “Did you have the eluvian placed under guard?”

“Already done, Your Holiness,” Cullen replied then immediately winced at himself. The title was still foreign on everyone’s lips.

Leliana smiled faintly. “You can still call me Leliana, Commander.”

Ellana sighed and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I just wanted the Exalted Council to go smoothly for once.”

Josephine’s voice softened, though her hand was tight around her pen. “If we’re not careful, the Qunari could undo everything we’ve built. The Exalted Council is already balanced on a knife’s edge.”

“I’m certain you can smooth the nobles’ ruffled feathers while we solve the real problem,” Cullen muttered.

“Not when the Inquisitor walks out in the middle of talks!” Josephine snapped. The words hit Ellana like a slap. Silence followed, heavy and embarrassed. Josephine exhaled, lowering her eyes. “Forgive me. I’m simply—”

“—tired,” Ellana finished for her. Her voice was weak. “We all are.”

Josephine nodded, her tone small but steady. “Our only advantage is that Orlais and Ferelden remain divided. If they unite against us, Divine Victoria will have no choice but to side with them. We could lose everything.”

Ellana met her gaze. “I know we’re asking too much of you, ma vhenan. I promise, we won’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Josephine hesitated, her composure cracking for the briefest moment. “I know, my love. I’ll attend to the Council. Just… be careful.”

—

The plan was called Dragon’s Breath.

And it was an invasion.

“You know,” Varric said, adjusting Bianca on his shoulder, “I already lived through one Qunari invasion. Didn’t love the first, don’t need the sequel.”

Cassandra’s jaw tightened. “Last time, it took an Exalted March to stop them, and even that nearly failed. If they strike again, Thedas may fall.”

“I’ve lived with the Qunari threat all my life,” Dorian added, his grip tightening on his staff. “If this escalates, Tevinter won’t be the only one burning.”

Bull slammed his fist into the wall, teeth bared. “There’s got to be some mistake. The Qunari wouldn’t invade now. It’s suicide.”

Ellana felt sweat trickle down her spine. “We need to get out of the Deep Roads and warn the others… after we detonate the primers.”

“Maybe Red’s heard something by now,” Bull said. “Assuming we make it out without drowning.”

Ellana gave a humorless laugh. “So, who’s going to tell Cullen and Josephine we might be at war with the Qunari?”

No one volunteered.

“Anyone?” she sighed and lit the fuse. “They’re going to kill me.”

—

They returned soaked, smoke-stained, and exhausted. One of Bull’s horns was scorched, Dorian was fuming about the mud on his robes, and Ellana’s mark pulsed with fire that wouldn’t fade. She shoved her hand into her pocket once again and forced her focus forward.

“Dragon’s Breath,” Leliana repeated as Ellana briefed them. “The Qunari always did enjoy their metaphors.”

Josephine frowned. “But what does it mean?”

“Who knows?” Cullen said. “Qunari agents moving through eluvians is bad enough already.”

“I still don’t understand why they accused the Inquisition of serving Fen’Harel,” Leliana said quietly.

The pain in Ellana’s hand made her voice sharper than usual. “I don’t know. We know that Mythal actually exists. It’s possible Fen’Harel is still here in some form, too.”

Leliana’s expression was thoughtful, unsettling. “Then what you saw in the ruins implies that Fen’Harel isn’t just a story. He’s a player.”

Josephine was too distracted to notice anything but the swelling problems of the Exalting Council. “But how does that implicate us? What made them decide that the Inquisition serves this Fen’Harel?”

“Hopefully we’ll learn more after we have stopped them,” Leliana replied.

Cullen snorted. “Let’s see the Exalted Council try to disband us after we’ve saved them from a war.”

“First we must find out what Dragon’s Breath is,” Leliana countered. “Our only lead is the Qunari leader: the Viddasala.”

The doors slammed open.

Arl Teagan stormed in, Duke Cyril at his side. Ellana’s stomach fell.

Josephine jumped to her feet. “Gentlemen!”

“My apologies, Lady Montilyet,” Cyril said smoothly. “There’s been an incident involving one of your soldiers.”

Teagan’s face was crimson. “How dare you? It was bad enough that the Inquisition hid a Qunari corpse from the Council—”

“Orlais would have gladly offered aid,” Cyril added with practiced regret.

“Now your guards are attacking servants! You’ve overstepped your bounds, Inquisitor!” Teagan roared as he marched directly toward Josephine.

Ellana stepped between them, her voice low and dangerous. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, gentlemen. I’ll see to it personally.”

Teagan’s glare could have cut stone, but Ellana found herself wishing he’d make the first swing. “Secrets and lies. Do you understand why we fear your Inquisition? You act as though you alone hold the answers. How long before you drag us into another war?”

Ellana met his eyes and said nothing.

Because another war was already waiting at his doorstep, and she wasn't sure she could stop it.

Chapter Text

Ellana’s blood boiled.

With the guard and servant gone, all that remained was a suspicious barrel and the sense that things were about to escalate.

“Did you resolve the problem with the guard?” Leliana’s voice pulled her attention.

Ellana shook her head. “The guard is the least of our problems. Someone smuggled gaatlok barrels into the Winter Palace.” Her shoulders slumped despite her effort to remain composed.

Leliana placed a hand on her shoulder, eyes sharp and bright. “Smile, Inquisitor. There are many eyes upon us. At least now we know the true extent of Dragon’s Breath.”

Ellana forced a grin. “How are you still smiling? I’m ready to collapse.”

“Years as a bard, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, chuckling. “We cannot show weakness. Enemies may be watching. All they should see is idle conversation between two friends.”

Ellana eyed the bomb warily. “You think the Dragon’s Breath simply involves these barrels?”

“Of course. A surprise attack through the eluvians would have met fierce resistance. But an explosion at the Exalted Council… that would leave the South rudderless, vulnerable to attack. This is what Corypheus should have done at the Temple of Sacred Ashes: strike swiftly, leave nothing standing.”

“Wonderful,” Ellana muttered. “I can pick out some of the language, thanks to Bull’s lessons, but not everything. Orders for barrel placement… ‘When duty has been performed, report to the Viddasala through the mirror marked by a bookcase.’ At least I know where to start.”

Leliana grinned. “Good. While you handle that, I’ll have agents locate the others and neutralize them. I’ll alert my contacts abroad. We must see where else this dragon could strike.”

As Leliana melted into the Winter Palace crowd, Ellana’s composure faltered. The Anchor in her hand stung violently. She ducked into a storage room, yanked her hand from her pocket, and grit her teeth. The mark flared like lightning, hissing and crackling in green light. She bit back a scream.

Only when the pain receded did she return her hand to her pocket, stepping out as if nothing had happened. She had to recruit her friends. The Anchor could wait.

—

Their journey offered more information than Ellana could process: old elves, gods, Evanuris, fragmented histories of a world reshaped by magic. Yet what felt most concrete was the Viddasala, desperate to understand the Veil… and failing. Not even the Archivist in Vir Dirthara could answer her questions.

“Did you notice?” Dorian said quietly. “Your Anchor flares near magic. Elven magic.”

Ellana clenched her jaw. She hadn’t told him it flared constantly. Around elven magic, however, the pain was sharper, as if the power in her palm was trying to repel it.

‘How could the Dread Wolf cast a Veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams?’

‘The Evanuris will send agents. They will save us!’ She remembered the echoes. The facts of history were returning in ways none of them could have expected.

“What is this Veil? What has Fen’Harel done?” Ellana whispered to no one in particular.

The Archivist offered fleeting glimpses, moments of history that raised more questions than answers. If true, the Veil had been crafted by Fen’Harel. The Fade and the waking world had once been one. No records, no legends had preserved this.

The Qunari pressed upon them relentlessly. Unlike the Exalted Council, unlike diplomacy in the Winter Palace, fighting was straightforward. Clear. Necessary.

The Anchor flared again. This time Ellana couldn’t stop herself from screaming.

Cassandra steadied her. “We need to see what’s wrong with your hand.”

Bull frowned. “It’s not getting better, boss.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed, not on the Anchor, but on her face. Worry etched every line.

Ellana wiped her eyes. “It’s… okay. The pain’s fading.”

Sera’s voice shook. “It’s worse, right? You need to… not get worse.”

“I’ll manage,” Ellana said, her voice firm, though inside she was unraveling. More information, more histories, more memories… if fully revealed, the world would shift. Everything would change. If Solas were here, she thought, he’d know. Or at least sense it.

They moved through the next eluvian, exhausted and disoriented, arriving on an inverted island, where the Viddasala awaited, flanked by a group of Qunari warriors.

“Survivor of the Breach,” she said. “Herald of change. Hero of the South.”

Ellana tightened her grip on her daggers. “More titles. How flattering. You’re the Viddasala, I presume.”

“After your actions at the Breach, it is remarkable you remain free among your people,” the Qunari said. “Your duty is done, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic.”

Ellana’s brow furrowed. “The Anchor repairs tears in the Veil. I would think you’d approve.”

“Is that all it does?” the Viddasala asked, scanning Ellana’s shaking hand. “I am no stranger to catastrophe, yet the chaos in the south defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to manage your magic. You’ve proven we should have intervened sooner.”

Ellana’s anger flared. “So Dragon’s Breath is to murder our leaders… just to control magic?”

“Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything?” the Viddasala growled. “The Qun decided your leaders must be removed, and those who toil, spared. And this agent of Fen’Harel,” her gaze burned into Ellana, “has disrupted everything. Lives meant to be spared… lost because of him.”

Ellana shook her head. “Who? Which agent? Why assume they work for the Inquisition?”

The Viddasala waved her soldiers forward. Steel clashed.

We have learned from this place that there lived an elven mage who saw a great wrong and sacrificed all to right it. This mage made the Veil, which protects us from the Fade. This Veil stripped power from his rulers. In his greatest magic, the elven mage became an agent of peace through the Veil.

In our willingness to brace this place, we may discover how the Veil can be strengthened through our own mages. For that, we risk our lives. The saarebas who have joined in this endeavor understand the dangers and have made their choice. Remember the words of Ashkaari Koslun: ‘Existence is a choice. There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom.’

For peace, we will endure any horror here. We will create a safer world, or destroy the old one.

Chapter Text

Josephine paced, and each step rattled Ellana’s nerves.

The diplomat glanced at Leliana. “Your agents confirm there are gaatlok barrels in Denerim’s palace?”

“Yes,” Leliana replied, her tone tight. “And in Val Royeaux, and across the Free Marches. The Winter Palace is not the only target.”

Cullen let out a long, tense sigh. “The Qunari are one order away from destroying every noble house in the known world.”

“There is a bright side,” Josephine said, forcing a flicker of optimism. “Warning the ambassadors will remind them of the Inquisition’s value.”

Leliana shook her head. “Not when the Inquisition is responsible for the threat.” Gods, everything was falling apart.

Ellana’s chest tightened. “What happened?”

“The elven servant handling the barrels confessed. They were working for the Qunari,” Leliana revealed.

Josephine sputtered. “But the servant was Orlesian! That implicates Orlais, not us!”

“The barrels arrived at the Winter Palace on the Inquisition’s supply manifest,” Leliana said, fatigue creeping into her voice.

Cullen slammed his hands against the table. “How are we supposed to fight a war if we can’t even trust our own people?”

“We can’t change what happened,” Ellana said quietly, “only how we respond.”

Josephine’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her voice trembled. “I fought to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council. And for what? To deceive and threaten those we swore to defend?”

Ellana’s brow creased. “Once we locate the spies—”

“This isn’t about the spies!” Josephine’s voice cracked. “You hid the Qunari body. You’ve all but seized control of the Winter Palace!”

“Josephine—”

Cullen snarled, “We did what was right, not what was politically convenient!”

Josephine turned to him, fury sparking in her eyes. “Do you know what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They’re planning to dismantle us as we speak! And perhaps… perhaps they are right—”

Pain erupted in Ellana’s hand.

Her knees buckled against the cold stone as she clutched her wrist. The Anchor flared, green fire crackling along her veins. A guttural scream tore from her throat as her head tossed back, eyes squeezed shut. Tears streamed freely. She felt as if she were burning from the inside out.

Frantic hands grasped her shoulders and cupped her face. “Ellana?” Josephine’s voice pierced through the agony. “Ellana, talk to me!”

When the pain subsided, Ellana opened her eyes. Only anger remained. Her gaze swept over the stunned faces of the people who had once been her advisors, and she absorbed just how fractured they had become.

She hissed through gritted teeth. “Shit.” Rising, she shrugged off Josephine’s trembling touch and staggered back, still clutching her hand. “We save Ferelden, and they’re angry. We save Orlais, and they’re angry. We close the Breach twice, and my own hand wants to kill me. Could one thing in this fucking world just stay fixed?!”

Josephine curled inward, silent tears falling as Leliana’s hand rested on her shoulder in quiet support. Cullen paled as he braced himself against the table. Ellana drew a shuddering breath, forcing her body forward, ignoring the pain spreading like wildfire through her veins.

“I… I need to get to the Darvaarad,” she rasped. “You can fight amongst yourselves once I’m… once I’m back.”

A sharp jolt of fear shot through her bond with Josephine. The diplomat collided with her side, yanking Ellana into a desperate embrace. The anger dimmed, leaving exhaustion that nearly buckled her knees.

“Can you inform the Exalted Council of the danger?” Ellana whispered, blinking through the haze. “If… we fail, they need to know what happened.”

“I will inform them personally,” Leliana replied softly.

Josephine shook her head. “Leliana, I can—”

“Your job is hard enough already, and we have only made it harder,” Leliana cut her off. “This is my responsibility.”

Cullen’s voice, low and steady, reached her. “I’ll have guards ready at the eluvian, in case the Qunari attack the palace.”

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. Ellana met Leliana’s hooded gaze. “Maker watch over you.”

“Take care of her,” Ellana whispered, and in an instant, she was back in Haven, beneath the crushing weight of Corypheus’s first assault. How simple it had seemed then. How new. How fleeting. What had ever happened to the coat she had given Josephine? The thought lingered strangely.

Part of her wanted to stay and curl up into Josephine’s side. Forget the pain. Go see a ridiculous show in Orlais, and pretend the world hadn’t started to burn around them again. But the pain spread through her hand, into her arm, her chest like a cruel countdown. It was relentless. This time, she wouldn’t be able to stop it.

She refused to look at Josephine, knowing she couldn’t handle the panic and grief she would find there. She wanted to say something, anything, even a quiet goodbye, but her jaw locked as her breath trembled. With one last shuddering glance, she turned and left, leaving only devastation behind through the bond.

Chapter Text

They didn’t have much time.

Questions swirled in the eyes of her friends as Ellana emerged from her meeting with the advisors, but she couldn’t find the words to answer. Instead, she forced a pained grin and pushed forward.

“Ellana?” Dorian’s voice was cautious. She turned to meet his dark, searching gaze. “We should talk about this. It… it’s serious.”

Cole’s small voice cut through the tension. “Your hand hurts. The pain pulls you further away. It’s tearing you apart.”

Everyone winced, and Varric gently tugged him away. “C’mon, kid. Let’s wait nearby.”

Dorian leaned closer, voice low. “He’s right, isn’t he? This… this is it.”

Cassandra’s jaw was tight, fists trembling at her sides. Bull’s stare was calm, but fixed on Ellana’s pale, strained face. He stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her back. “You do good work, Boss.”

Ellana murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else, “No matter what happens… it’s been my honor to fight beside you all.”

The weight of her words settled over them, and for a moment, they all shrank beneath it.

Dorian gripped her shoulder, jaw working as he struggled for words. When he finally spoke, his eyes were locked on hers. “Damn it.” His breathing shook. “Let’s do this then. To the end, Inquisitor.”

“Shit, kid…” Varric murmured, but nothing else fell from his lips. His hands tightened around Bianca.

Bull nodded. “It’s been an honor to kick ass alongside you.”

Cassandra’s eyes flickered with a fragile smile. “Thank you… all of you.”

The Anchor flared violently as they moved through the twisting trail of eluvians, pain lancing up Ellana’s arm with every step. She gritted her teeth and ignored it. They had an invasion to stop.

“So about this war…” Varric muttered, voice rough with anxiety. “You know what happened in Kirkwall last time the Qunari got angry. I really hope we settle this fast. I’ve seen all the burning cities I ever want to see.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “Why are the Qunari calling this plan ‘Dragon’s Breath’? What do dragons have to do with assassinating the heads of state? I don’t understand.”

“We thought it was related to the gaatlok barrels,” Ellana weakly replied. “But… I’m not so sure.”

Bull shrugged. “I wish I could say I’m surprised the Viddasala wants to murder everyone… but it makes sense. South tells stories about how corrupt everything is. Who wouldn’t want to kill the evil nobles and save the people?”

The world blurred around Ellana. Each step was agony. The Anchor flared again, and she cried out, toppling to the ground.

“Stay with us, Ellana!” Cassandra’s hands steadied her. “Just a little further. One step at a time.”

And then she saw it. Dragon’s Breath was no metaphor.

Nearby, the Viddasala barked orders at the Qunari spearmen. Her gaze slid past Ellana, locking instead on Bull. A cruel smirk curved her lips. “Hissrad! Now, please.” She commanded. “Vinek kathas.”

Hissrad. Liar. It was Bull’s official title in the Qun.

Liar! Now, please. Attack them.

Ellana’s blood ran cold. She clenched the only dagger she could hold, gripping it until her knuckles whitened.

Bull met her gaze with his own deadly stare, and Ellana felt her heart stop. No. Please, not like this. She glanced at Dorian who was staring wide-eyed at the spy who had become his lover, who had embedded himself into their ranks, into their hearts, just as the rest of their friends had. Betrayal hurt worse than the Anchor.

Bull smiled sadly, perhaps reading the darkness of their thoughts. He turned and met the command of the Viddasala.

He spat at her and clutched his axe. “Not a chance, ma’am.” Beside him, Dorian sighed in relief.

Chaos erupted.

—

Meanwhile, Josephine Montilyet's composure was dissolving. Since Ellana left, she had done nothing but pace, her fingers twisting the ring on her hand as she waited for news. Memories of Corypheus, of chaos and sacrifice, haunted her, but she shoved them away. This was different. There was a finality to the way Ellana had left, and it tore at her heart until she was in tears.

Two years. After everything, their world had only given them two years of peace. It wasn’t fair. They deserved better. Ellana deserved better. She had already given the world so much…

Her mind returned to Arl Teagan, and she sneered at the thought of him. She wondered how Leliana had broken the news. If Ellana died… the Inquisition would crumble, and people like Teagan would feel nothing but relief. All their effort… gone.

The world would lose its Inquisitor. But Josephine… Josephine would lose her entire world.

Through the bond between them, she felt nothing but raw pain and rage. And strangely, that rage was comforting. It meant Ellana was still alive.

For now.

Chapter Text

Ellana was dying. She could feel it seeping through her veins like a poison, swift and unrelenting.

The Viddasala loomed over her, a cruel smile twisting her features. “Dear Inquisitor, your time is nearly spent. You must finally see the truth. Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen’Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well.”

“Whatever you think I’ve done, mass assassination isn’t exactly a moral high ground,” Ellana growled through her teeth.

The Qunari’s sneer deepened. “The South suffers under the poison of the elves’ manipulations, just as you suffer now.” She jabbed a finger at the glowing, angry mark on Ellana’s hand. “You would have died from it, if not for the intervention of one of their chief agents, the same one who sealed the Breach, led you to Skyhold, gave Corypheus the orb, and founded the Inquisition.”

Ellana’s brow furrowed. “Solas… is an agent of Fen’Harel?”

The Viddasala’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not know? We thought you were his ally. He deceived us all. He pushed a dying Qunari into the Winter Palace, and lured you into opposing us. Without him, the South could have been guided to peace. But now… we must take the path of blades.”

The Anchor flared violently in Ellana’s hand, scorching her wrist with heat that made her bones shake. The Viddasala’s gaze locked on her, dark and unyielding. “Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation… Solas will not outlive you.” She turned, gliding into the eluvian, leaving Ellana to clutch her searing hand.

—

Meanwhile, the Winter Palace was unnervingly quiet.

Josephine should have cherished the lull, but the air was wrong. Cold. Hollow. She sat at the edge of their makeshift war table alone, several wooden markers knocked over and aimlessly scattered across maps Ellana had drawn from her time in the Crossroads. Each red dot marked an eluvian Ellana had passed through, some trails leading to more mirrors, and others fading into nothing. Maker, she had traveled through so much. In a tilting stack on the corner were Ellana's own notes, her handwriting had lost all of its previous elegance. These were the frantic words of someone running out of time.

Josephine knew she should be writing her own documents, making plans for the council, finding some way to save the organization they fought so hard to build. The ticking clock in the corner of the room sounded like a hammer to her nerves. She gripped her clipboard, eyes fixed on the candle and the ink, then, with a shout, hurled the board against the stone wall. It shattered, black ink splattering across the floor like oozing blood.

Irritation and fear warred in her chest. She stood abruptly, marching toward the room holding the eluvian. Guards hesitated, then stepped aside as she entered.

Leliana and Cullen were already there, discussing reports. Leliana blinked at her sudden arrival. “Josie, what are you doing? It’s not safe.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but Josephine’s fury silenced him. He exchanged a brief, understanding glance with Leliana. “She has a right to be here,” he murmured.

“And if the Qunari come through?” Leliana challenged.

“Then it won’t matter where I am,” Josephine snapped. “I can’t sit in that room alone, waiting.”

A heavy silence fell.

“Do you… feel anything from her?” the Divine asked softly. Josephine’s gaze dropped to the gold ring on her finger. Emotions trickled through the bond. Pain, mostly, but it meant she was alive. She desperately held onto that knowledge.

“She knew,” Josephine whispered. “When she left… she knew what would happen.”

“She also knew you would wait anyway,” Leliana added gently, stepping closer.

Josephine let out a broken laugh. “And what good is waiting when the world keeps taking her from me?”

Leliana sadly smiled, and while she could empathize, she had no comforting words to offer. Time stretched, measured by the faint hum of the palace.

Somewhere nearby, a door shut, its echo final, distant, and oblivious to what was happening just down the hall. If their team failed, and the Qunari attacked, the Winter Palace would become a prison of death. Josephine focused entirely on the bond, imagining Ellana standing in some ruin, light bleeding from her hand, saving the world once again. The world that demanded too much.

Her hands trembled. “Maker… let her come back.”

The bond flared violently in response, pain striking Josephine like a lightning bolt. She crashed to her knees, shrieking, and Leliana caught her as Cullen drew his sword and positioned himself protectively between them and the eluvian. He glanced behind him, torn between defending the two advisors and rushing over to help. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

“Josephine? What is it?” Leliana’s voice was sharp.

“She’s… Maker, she’s in so much pain!” Josephine sobbed, doubling over. Then, as abruptly as it came, the agony vanished, leaving only emptiness. Ice shot down her spine, and cold spread into her chest. It had been so different at Adamant Fortress, when the Inquisitor fell into the Fade. The loss of their connection then had been ripped away as if it had never existed. This time, their bond bled out, and Josephine could feel the way the woman's life seeped from her, like sand between fingertips. “No… No, Ellana—” She collapsed into Leliana’s arms, shaking with grief.

“Get her out of here!” Cullen barked. “And tell the guards to prepare themselves. Whatever comes through that mirror… we stand ready!”

But they all knew it would be their final stand.

Chapter Text

The grand marble doors of the Winter Palace slammed open with a deafening crash.

Shouts rang out before Josephine could make sense of them. Armor clanged, boots scraped against the polished stone, and then she saw them: Cassandra and Bull, staggering through the hall, supporting something—someone—between them.

Ellana.

Her armor was blackened and cracked, her face as pale as bone, her left sleeve soaked through with blood.

“Maker—” Josephine’s breath caught. She didn’t even realize she was running until her skirts were bunched in her fists, and her feet pounded across the floor.

“She’s bleeding bad!” Bull roared.

The world contracted to sound and motion. Servants scrambled for healers, Dorian’s incantations streaked the air with light, and the scent of blood mixed with the sharp tang of magic. Josephine dropped to her knees beside the table where they laid Ellana, grasping her cold, trembling hand.

“Ellana… look at me,” she whispered. “Please… look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy. “Josephine…” Her voice was barely a breath. Her lips trembled. “Ir abelas… ar souveran.”

Josephine’s heart splintered. “No. No, no, do not say goodbye. You’re home. You’re safe.”

But Ellana kept murmuring, delirious, the words spilling like a fading song. “Ha'mi'inan… ma vhenan.” Her body jerked once in a shudder that stole Josephine’s breath.

Cassandra pressed harder on the wound, her voice sharp, “We need pressure here. Now!”

Dorian’s magic flared, sealing torn flesh with a hiss. “I’m doing what I can! She’s losing too much—”

“Then do more!” Josephine snapped, voice raw with fear. “Please, Dorian…”

Bull’s massive hand pressed against her shoulder, steadying her. “She’s fighting, Josephine. Hold onto that.”

But Josephine only heard the uneven rhythm of Ellana’s breathing, every shallow inhale a knife to her chest. Varric stood sadly beside her, watching with hooded eyes, Bianca leaning against his side. Josephine saw the gold glint in the palm of his hand: Ellana's ring. He must have grabbed it when...

Ellana gasped, her body flinching away from the magic fighting to mend her arm, but then, her breathing steadied and she slumped against the table. The wound sealed under Dorian’s magic, and he sagged with relief, exhaustion written on every line of his face. “I’ve… done all I can. She still needs a surgeon.”

"Solas saved her life by removing her arm, but..." Varric trailed off.

Cassandra shook her head, her face pale. "It was a cruel cut."

Josephine pressed her lips to Ellana’s hand, tears wetting her cheeks as she cried. “Please… do not leave me, my love.”

Outside, the palace rang with oblivious celebration—laughter, music, clinking glasses—each sound a bitter reminder of the fragility of their victory. Josephine clung to the woman who had once again saved the world.

In a faint, dreamlike murmur, Ellana’s lips moved: “Ma sa'lath… dirth ma vhenan ar lath sa’len. Melava harel vhenan, ar lasa’ma.”

Hours passed. Candles burned low, their light flickering and fragile. Josephine had not moved, her hands poised over her like a prayer, afraid that if she looked away too long, Ellana would vanish again.

When the Inquisitor finally stirred, Josephine’s breath hitched. “Ellana?”

A faint hum, rough, uncertain. Then: “Josephine?”

Relief flooded her. “You’re awake,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from Ellana’s forehead. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

Ellana’s lashes fluttered as her eyes slowly focused. “Where…”

“The Winter Palace,” Josephine said softly. “You’re safe.”

Ellana’s gaze drifted down to her left arm, to where the bandages ended in emptiness just above her elbow. For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed. Then, Ellana turned away, her jaw clenched. “I can’t feel it.”

Josephine gripped her remaining hand. “Ellana…”

“Did we win?” Ellana’s voice was thin.

“Yes. It’s over,” Josephine managed, trembling. She pressed her thumb over Ellana’s knuckles, grounding them both. “When they brought you in… you said something. I didn’t understand.”

Ellana blinked, dazed. “I did?”

“You did. I remembered it from your letter before Corypheus’ battle. Dirth ma vhenan ar lath sa’len. Melava harel vhenan, ar lasa’ma. I didn’t know what it meant.”

Ellana’s lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “You remembered?”

“How could I forget? You sounded like you were praying.”

Ellana’s voice was faint, almost a whisper. “I was.”

“What does it mean?”

Ellana drew a shallow breath. “It’s older than we are. Dirth ma vhenan ar lath sa’len… Walk, my heart, in the place of peace. Melava harel vhenan, ar lasa’ma… Beyond death, my love, I will find you.”

Josephine pressed her shaking hand to Ellana’s cheek. “You thought you were dying.”

“I was,” Ellana admitted, closing her eyes briefly against the exhaustion.

For a long, fragile moment, the only sound was her slow breathing. “Thank you for coming back to me,” she whispered.

“I love you, Josephine Montilyet,” Ellana said, a faint smile brightening her pale face. “I’ll always fight to come back to you.”

—

Later, in the Exalted Council, tension boiled over.

“I agree something must be done, but we cannot lose the Inquisition now,” Duke Cyril said over the noise. “We stand on the brink of war with the Qunari.”

“Yes, because this ‘Solas’ provoked them in the first place!” Arl Teagan shouted.

Josephine, pale but resolute, ignored them. What she truly cared about was in another room, and she had no desire to argue further. “The Inquisition did not create this threat. We informed the summit of the danger—”

“The danger posed by Qunari spies inside your organization!” Teagan barked.

Leliana’s voice was cool and sharp. “Without our organization, you would not be alive to complain.”

“If the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organization, not a glorified mercenary band,” replied Duke Cyril, but his eyes flickered toward the Winter Palace doors just as they swung open. Ellana stepped inside, each step slow but deliberate, a book clutched in her remaining hand. Her other arm hung limply at her side, blood still slowly seeping through the bandages. Silence fell.

Josephine’s head whipped toward the sound, and her eyes widened. “Ell– Inquisitor? You should be resting!”

Ellana Lavellan still looked close to death. Pain followed her every step, but Josephine could see the anger in her lover’s stride. She held up a familiar book. “Enough.” The entire court fell silent, whether because they recognized the symbol of the book or because they were simply shocked by the Inquisitor’s physical state.

“You all know what this is,” she said, voice steady despite the pain. “A writ from Divine Justinia authorizing the formation of the Inquisition. We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order. With or without anyone’s approval.”

From the edge of the room, the inner circle of the Inquisition gathered.

“It wasn’t treaties that saved Ferelden. It wasn’t diplomacy that ended your wars. It was people doing what needed to be done.” Her eyes burned into Arl Teagan, and Josephine felt a rush of vindication as he shrank beneath her stare. “Bickering men in a painted committee is not going to encourage peace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save. Again.”

With that, she tossed the book onto the stone floor. The echo resonated through the hall.

“Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.”

Chapter Text

The Antivan Sea smelled of salt and citrus, the morning sun casting a rich gold across the active harbor.

From the Montilyet estate, Josephine could see sails glinting, gulls circling, and far below, the market waking: vendors shouting, carts rolling, children laughing.

Home.

The word felt strange on her tongue after so many years. Her fingers traced the curve of her teacup, now cold, as her mind tried to occupy the stillness the world offered after endless chaos.

A soft creak behind her. Uneven footsteps.

“You’re awake,” Josephine said without turning. Her voice was lighter than she felt.

“I never slept,” came the quiet answer.

Josephine turned. The sight of her lingering injury still hurt, though it should not have surprised her anymore.

Ellana stood by the doorway, hair loose around her shoulders, dressed simply in linen and silk tailored by Josephine’s family. Her left sleeve was pinned above the elbow, and Josephine felt the loss deep in her soul.

“Nightmares?” Josephine asked softly.

Ellana crossed the room slowly. “Dreams,” she said. “Memories.” She paused, flinching as sunlight struck her pale cheek. “They never last long enough to make sense.”

Josephine rose, setting the teacup aside. “Would you like to sit?”

Ellana smiled faintly. “If I do, I may not rise again.”

“You don’t have to,” Josephine murmured, taking her hand. “No one’s asking you to fight anymore.”

Ellana’s eyes softened. “That’s what frightens me.”

Josephine’s heart ached. She guided Ellana to the balcony, to a bench overlooking the sea. They sat together, quiet, letting the hush of waves and the flutter of distant sails fill the space between them.

After a while, Ellana spoke again. “Your family has been kind to me.”

“They adore you,” Josephine said. “I suspect my mother has already started designing a wedding you’d have no patience for.”

Ellana laughed softly. “If that’s your way of proposing, Montilyet, you might need more practice.” She fell silent. “Is… that what you might want? When you’re ready?”

“Oh,” Josephine breathed. “I’ve dreamed of our wedding since the duel, Ellana. My love for you has never wavered. No matter what we’ve endured, you are my love, and I have never doubted it.” She rested her head on Ellana’s shoulder. They stayed that way, simply breathing, letting the sunlight touch them.

The world had been loud for so long. This peace felt unnatural, almost fragile, like the quiet after thunder.

Below, a ship’s bell rang. The newest Montilyet fleet sliced through the sea like a knife. Ellana smiled, truly smiled, at the sight.

Josephine followed her gaze. “The House of Repose sent more men again this week,” she said lightly. “I think they’re offended by how little work I’ve given them.”

“Better to bore assassins than to need them,” Ellana said, chuckling. “We still pay them well, regardless.”

“How very Inquisitor of you,” Josephine teased.

“I’m trying not to be,” the elf replied.

“And… how is that going?”

Ellana’s eyes found the sea again. “Some days it’s easy, and I remember that I’m not the Inquisitor anymore. On other days…” She lifted her right hand, watching the way the morning light caught on the gold ring she had thought to be lost. “I miss my daggers. Both of them.”

Josephine said nothing, simply slid closer and curled her arm around Ellana’s back.

“Do you ever wish we could forget it all?” Ellana asked quietly. She wondered what kind of spirit the Nightmare had been before its corruption, and whether his power of memory loss would have been a balm or a curse.

“I wouldn’t,” Josephine said softly. “Forgetting would mean losing the part of you that fought for us all. You’re still our Inquisitor, whether the title exists or not.”

Ellana’s chest eased with the comfort of that truth. “Thank you, Josephine. Don’t let me forget that.”

“I’ll remind you,” Josephine whispered. “Every day, if I must.”

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of sea and wildflowers. The horizon stretched wide and bright. For the first time in years, Josephine believed it might hold something good.

Ellana tilted her head back, eyes closed. “I used to think peace would be the opposite of chaos, a final silence. But this…”

Josephine smiled, and the waves lapped at the nearby shore. “This is what peace sounds like.”

Ellana turned her gaze to Josephine, and in that look Josephine saw every battlefield, every impossible choice that had led them here. She reached for Josephine’s hand, and Josephine took it without hesitation.

“Dirth ma vhenan ar lath sa’len,” Ellana whispered, almost lost in the breeze.

Josephine’s heart tightened. “Walk, my heart, in the place of peace.”

They stayed until the sun dipped low, two silhouettes against dying light. Ellana thought of how much had changed… how much things would likely change even more, depending on Solas. Disbanding the Inquisition had left them without armies, without banners, but they had become something faster, quieter, more precise. Ferelden, Orlais, Tevinter… none would know the Herald of Andraste lingered. They would stop Solas and save the world again.

Ellana glanced down at her missing arm, then at the darkening sea. Beside her, Josephine curled close, breathing steady, a touchstone in the chaos that remained.

Life changed, and Ellana adjusted.

Chapter Text

The breeze off the sea was sharper than usual, filled with salt that flavored the air.

Josephine stood on the balcony overlooking the harbor, watching the sails flash like pale wings in the distance. Below, gulls called, mixing with the familiar sounds of trade, gossip, and life on the water. Antiva was thriving. It had been five years since the Inquisition had dissolved. Five years since the events that had surrounded the Exalted Council. For a while, the world rested.

She turned at the sound of laughter coming up from the garden. Ellana was tending the herb beds, a wide-brimmed hat crooked on her head, her hands smudged with soil. Josephine’s eyes lingered on the slick prosthetic that extended the elf’s left arm, her heart swelling at the instinctive mobility that had returned to the elf’s movements. Ellana still couldn’t wield her daggers like she used to, but she had started training with a simple broadsword and had become quite proficient at it. When Cassandra visited—more often now than before—the two would connect over books and swords.

Ellana pulled the weeds from the ground and collected herbs in her basket before wiping the soil on her apron. Every now and then, she’d glance toward the horizon, eyes distant as if she were searching for something.

Peace, Josephine had learned, was a habit one had to practice, even after all this time.

“Special delivery,” came a familiar voice.

Josephine looked up to see Varric leaning against the stone archway, a little older, a little grayer, but still wearing that knowing grin. “Maker’s breath,” she said, smiling despite herself. “You never announce yourself like a normal person, do you?”

“Normal’s overrated,” he joked as he stepped forward and revealed a sealed letter. “Thought I’d deliver this one in person. Figured you’d want to hear it straight from me.”

Ellana joined them, still brushing dirt from her palms. “Varric. It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” he agreed, eyes softening. “You look good, Inquisitor.”

“I’m retired,” she teased.

“Sure,” Varric said, chuckling. “And I’m the Divine.”

He handed her the letter. “Harding and I have been poking around the Anderfels. Something’s stirring out there, old Warden business. She’s found someone. A Grey Warden recruit named Rook.”

“A Grey Warden? Why is she so invested in finding Solas?” Ellana wondered.

Varric chuckled. “I think it’s less about finding him and more about getting away from the Order. From what Harding says, the girl’s rash and acts before thinking. It’s gotten her in some trouble with the Wardens, but Harding likes her. Says she has awful luck but she can fight her way out of anything.” He paused and looked out over the sea. “She’s brave. Cares about people. Reminds me of a few people I know.” He playfully bumped Ellana’s shoulder.

Josephine exchanged a glance with Ellana. “So you’re putting together a team.”

Varric shrugged, a glint of pride cutting through his weary humor. “Nothing like the Inquisition, but something leaner. People who can see the world for what it is, and still choose to fight for it. The Veilguard.” He chuckled. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Ellana warmly smiled. If anyone was good at building a team, it was Varric.

“We don’t have the numbers or the backing, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he said. “Maybe this time we can keep things simple.”

Josephine laughed at that. “I don’t think ‘you’ and ‘simple’ belong in the same sentence, Varric.” She sobered slightly. “But if you need anything: contacts, supplies, a safe harbor… you have it.”

“I appreciate that, Ruffles.” He glanced at Ellana. “You could come, you know. Maker knows we could use your help.”

The elf softly grinned. “As much as I miss our antics… I think I should stay here. We’re still working with Leliana to help track Solas down, and there’s still a growing Venatori presence. Besides, it sounds like you’re building a good team. Having the Inquisitor breathing down their necks would cause more distraction than anything.”

“I still had to try.” He grinned. “Take care of yourself, both of you. I don’t know what’s coming, but… the world’s about to get loud again. I’ll keep you updated on what we find.”

When he left, the sun was already setting, the horizon a wash of gold and violet over the calm sea. Ellana watched him go, then turned to Josephine. “Looks like Varric is going to end up in the thick of it. I’m glad he at least has Harding watching his back.”

“He knows how to find the good ones.” Josephine softly smiled. “Are you…” she hesitated, “If you need to go with him…”

Ellana shook her head. “Whatever happens, I don’t plan on leaving your side. We’ll fight for our home, but… I’m done searching for battle. This time, it’s Varric’s turn to be the hero.”

Josephine enveloped the woman, breathing in her familiar scent before she pulled back. “Shall I draw us a bath?”

“I think I would like that very much, Lady Montilyet.” Ellana grinned.

Below them, the sea stretched endlessly, and the stars began to reflect off the soft waves. On the balcony of the Montilyet Estate, golden eyes spying, was a single crow. Its head tilted to the side inquisitively, watching as the two women returned to the safety of their home, before it squawked and flew, its wings carrying it over the ocean and away from the tide.

The End