Uth'shiral was leaning on Solas in earnest when at last the two caught up with the rest of the group, halfway to the inn. Cole appeared at her other side, lending support. The rest of the Dalish remained oblivious to his presence; she wondered if she should do something about that later, when they were in a less dire situation.
While the Inquisitor caught her breath, Solas explained. “One of the guards told the Inquisitor that there are two Dalish elves waiting in the inn. From what I understand, there are Dalish pursuing her who murdered a friend of hers. I do not know the circumstances well,” he concluded, giving Uth'shiral a look that told her he wanted an explanation as soon as possible.
“We are all Dalish, except for you. We can reason with our brethren,” Atisha snapped. “There's no need for us to fear the other clans. More likely, they will offer us succor in our time of need.”
The Inquisitor shook her head, but still gasped for air. Veilfire was creeping up her arm again, and it concerned her that this time the heat of it seemed more distant than before.
“We are not all Dalish,” Abelas corrected, staring down his nose at Atisha. “The vallaslin on my face was never put there by a shemlen. I may admire your tenacity at times, but I am not one of you. I would not put Mythal's justice aside for the sake of convenience.”
“They don't understand,” Cole said to Abelas. “You'll make it worse.”
Abelas looked at Cole, nodded, and then kept his peace.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Mirevas asked, giving a questioning look between Uth'shiral and Abelas.
“Perhaps they will explain later, when we are less concerned about surviving the night,” the Dread Wolf suggested. “We must rest, but with enemies--”
“We're going into the inn,” Uth'shiral said, once her breath had recovered. “No more arguing. There are children with us, and they need a safe place to stay the night. We'll fight if we must, but then... then I need to rest.” She pushed past the remainder of her clan, Solas and Cole following close behind her, and Abelas falling in with them.
A few sparse lanterns on posts lit the path through the town to the inn. The street was narrow, but paved with cobblestones and kept clean for a port town. That didn't prevent the smell of fish from wafting up from the docks—which was not going to lead to a pleasant night's sleep—but at least they didn't have to wade through filth on their way to the inn.
Lavellan hesitated at the door, but, if there were only two, they could be dealt with quickly. Perhaps they were not the Wardens and could be reasoned with. Atisha might be right about that. And, if they had to be killed, there were only two of them, and there were six combat-ready people in her own group, if she counted herself. They would not have time to get a warning out to the other ten elves, and the rest of the night could be spent in peace—although the price of the rooms might go up considerably if things got violent.
It was time to meet her pursuers. Uth'shiral opened the door and stepped inside, Solas close behind her.
The inn was busy, but it seemed to be frequented mostly with locals, slaking their thirst after a long day of hard work on the docks. The smell of sweat, fish, and seawater clung to them as their laughter and chatter mingled into white noise, only the occasional raised voice or guffaw distinguishing itself from the rest. In another hour, most of them would be heading home, perhaps to a bath and perhaps straight to bed before another long, hard day. A bard strummed on her lute as she sang a bawdy tavern song about a lusty sailor and an elven maid. Not the best music for a Dalish woman to enter the room on, Uth'shiral mused.
Few elves frequented the inn; it wasn't clear whether the reason was a lack of welcome, a lack of coin, or a lack of elves. It made the two Dalish much easier to locate, but Uth'shiral would have noticed them even if there had been triple the number of elves there were. Even if they hadn't been wearing ragged traditional Dalish armor, even if they'd been missing their vallaslin, they were as familiar to her as Mirevas, Sorien, Atisha, Halin, and Atish'adhalen.
She gasped; Solas asked, “What is it?” as he readied his staff. Abelas pushed forward, hand on his sword hilt.
Uth'shiral held out her free arm in front of them, shaking her head. Then, having warned her group, she walked forward, uncertain how the two would react. Would they fault her, and put the guilt back upon her shoulders, or would they be as forgiving as the other five? “Bel'eranen? Assanvir?”
“Uth'shiral! It was true!” Bel'eranen exclaimed, standing so quickly that she nearly toppled the table she sat at. Instead, Assanvir's ale sloshed out, dripping onto his lap even as he hastily stood, too. “Here we worried you'd think we were all dead, that we'd be left without a Keeper, and you came back! I told you she'd be back, brother, but you're always so negative!” She embraced Uth'shiral—then saw the others behind her. “Creators bless us all, there are others yet! If we could only recover some of the halla, all would be right!”
Uth'shiral's arm was burning, but she did not dare do anything to extract herself from Bel'eranen's embrace as the other woman freely wept into her shoulder. She patted Bel'eranen on the back to soothe her. She knew what the other was going through. “I'm so glad you survived. I was expecting trouble when I heard there were elves looking for me, but... I am so very glad. It does my heart good to know that some of Clan Lavellan survives.”
“The halla helped us escape,” Assanvir said. “Some of them died for it.” Without another word, he joined the embrace, managing to get ale on Uth'shiral's armor in the process. The Inquisitor didn't care; for the moment, no matter what the Anchor did, or whatever else happened, she was happy.
At last the embrace ended, and the two Dalish in the inn realized that there were five other survivors present. The humans in the inn had begun to stare at this gathering of elves; some were bemused, while some seemed outright hostile. Uth'shiral busied herself by making her way to the innkeeper with Solas at her side while the Lavellan survivors caught up with one another while being offered soothing words by Cole. Abelas trailed behind the two of them, and Uth'shiral wondered whether it was because he didn't want to associate with the others, or whether it were simply that she and Solas were more familiar to him.
“I'm relieved they weren't enemies,” Uth'shiral said to Solas, then focused her attention on the innkeeper. “Good evening, ma'am. Would you happen to have rooms to spare?” She paused, considering. “A hot bath would also be welcome.”
The woman looked between the elves in front of her and the more boisterous group of elves behind them. If she thought it odd that a group of Dalish and apparent city elves were asking for room and board in her inn, she said nothing to that effect. Gold, Uth'shiral supposed, was good no matter whose hands it came from—and the innkeeper was giving her glowing hand quite a long look. “I've got rooms, but I don't have ten. There are five, and two are taken. If any of you are couples, I expect there won't be much privacy. Not unless someone's eager to sleep in the stable loft.” She cleared her throat. “You're the Herald of Andraste, though, so I expect I can give the best room to you for nothing, Your Holiness. The rest you'll need to pay for. Meals, too. I can only give so much without losing coin.”
“If you insist, I'll accept,” the Inquisitor responded. “I appreciate the generosity.”
“The Inquisitor is experiencing difficulties of a magical nature,” Solas said abruptly. “She may find herself in need of my presence to prevent any mishaps.” He looked directly at the innkeeper, not so much as glancing at Uth'shiral as he spoke.
The innkeeper looked sharply between Solas and Uth'shiral, then stifled a giggle behind one hand. “The Herald is of the flesh, and she does have needs,” she remarked. “Still, you might stay apart for just the one night. If--”
“He is not lying to find his way into her bed,” Abelas cut in. “She needs aid that he can provide. He knows more about the magic involved than anyone else. Anything either of them does together beyond that is no one's concern but theirs. Or would you rather your inn burn away in magical flames in the night because you didn't want people to be scandalized at the idea that their prophet is not chaste?” He advanced on the counter, leaning on his hands and looming over the innkeeper as he spoke.
The innkeeper shrank back, eyes wide with fright. More than likely, she'd never seen an elf as tall and muscular as Abelas. He'd made an impression on Uth'shiral, as well, even though she didn't fear him. “Of course! And—the rest of you can decide your sleeping arrangements, between you.”
“Abelas...” Uth'shiral warned. The Sentinel rewarded her with a bemused expression, then straightened himself, backing away from the counter. “I apologize on my follower's behalf,” the Inquisitor said to the innkeeper. “However, I have been having certain issues involving magic. Solas and Abelas are best equipped to help me, but you do have a good point regarding the potential for scandal. I wouldn't want my advisors to be too concerned over my actions while I'm away from Skyhold. Then again, they're probably trying to arrange political marriages for me. Maybe a little scandal would do them some good.”
At some point, the others had gathered closer, because Mirevas piped up behind them. “Atisha and I would be happy to stay in the stable loft. Hay's good enough for either of us, and if we can keep our bows handy, no one's likely to slip up and cause trouble for us in the night. Then Bel'eranen and the children could stay in one of the rooms, and Assanvir, your brother, and the tall one could stay in the other. Everyone's happy—no one's got too many to a room, and you've got your shiny-headed caretaker there to look after you.”
And you and Atisha get all the privacy you could ask for, Uth'shiral thought to herself, then sighed. “That sounds reasonable, Mirevas,” she admitted. She gave Cole a quick look before nodding to the innkeeper. “We'll do this the way Mirevas says.”
“All right then,” the innkeeper agreed, then told the price. It was reasonable, considering the number of people and meals, and Uth'shiral slid the gold over the counter to the other woman. “I'll have someone show you to your rooms,” the innkeeper concluded brightly as she gathered the gold behind the counter. She gestured to a girl, perhaps in her teens, who was carrying a pitcher of ale around the room.
The girl finished refilling a mug, then made her way to the counter. “Yes ma'am,” she said brightly—then glanced curiously at the visitors.
“These people are paying for rooms and a meal tonight. They are with the Inquisition. This one here,” the innkeeper indicated Uth'shiral with her chin, “is the Herald of Andraste herself. Look at the hand. So treat them well. I suppose you remember hearing about her running off and marrying some elf? I'd have thought it's the tall one, from the descriptions, but you know how rumors are. It seems the lucky man is the bald fellow. Let the two of them have some privacy in our best room.”
Uth'shiral's somehow managed to keep her jaw from dropping. She remembered the rumor that had been spread—intentionally—but nothing she had said should have implied that she and Solas were together. And if anyone described Abelas, well, she doubted the stories had him being anything less than a giant, taller than a qunari, by now. She quelled her surprise and simply responded, “Ah, so you've heard.”
Fen'harel looked at her with a puzzled frown, and the Inquisitor knew she was going to have a lot of explaining to do before she could sleep. She suspected she was getting similar looks from the remnants of Clan Lavellan who stood behind her. She felt her cheeks and ears reddening; the Dread Wolf rewarded her with an amused half-smile as he noticed her reaction.
“I'll take my meal in the room,” Lavellan told the girl as she fell in step behind her. She hoped it would spare her the exhaustion of answering absolutely everyone at once.
“Of course! I'm sure you and your husband would like a nice quiet meal together,” the girl answered, then giggled giddily. “Oh I love new couples! So cute! It's so nice to know the Herald is just like anyone else!
“Abelas, would you like to join our meal?” Solas asked.
“I will eat with the others,” the Sentinel declined. “If I am to travel with them, I would like to understand them better. Perhaps I could learn something.” He shared a long look with the Inquisitor. He had done so more than once since they had encountered Solas, and she still had yet to understand what he wanted. Sooner or later, she meant to ask him.
Normally, time alone with Solas would have been the most welcome thing Uth'shiral could think of. Now, however, she suspected he had more questions than she could possibly hope to answer—and some she didn't want to.
They strode up a set of stairs and through a narrow hallway. The three rooms were all fairly close together, with the largest one being at the end of the hallway overlooking the ocean, and she followed the girl into that one. As long as the windows weren't open to the fish smell, Uth'shiral thought it would be a pleasant enough place to sleep. For the time being, she ignored the large beds on either side of the room and sat at the small table, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back into the seat to stare into the darkness where the full moon was reflecting over the ocean.
The girl left with assurances that she'd have hot baths ready for them shortly, then darted out of the room as quickly as if she expected Solas to pounce on Lavellan the moment she vanished.
Fen'harel, of course, did no such thing. He settled into the chair beside of Uth'shiral, stretching out his own legs. “It seems many things have come to pass since last we parted. Someday, I hope you'll tell me of them.”
She had expected questions; his quiet acceptance only made her feel guilty. “I have a lot to tell you. I want to tell you, but I'm worried I'll only make you sadder. I know you're feeling guilty. Don't. I've made my choices for myself, and you're doing something you feel you need to.” She rested one of her hands on top of his. “When you leave, come back to me, if you can. If you come back, I'll tell you.”
“You also know that telling me that much will make me feel guilty,” he mused, a smile twitching at his lips. “Still, it is a reasonable suggestion. If I return, I wish to stay with you. I wish to now, but if I stay...” He shook his head. “I can't. Yet I will remain at least until you're safely back at Skyhold.” Then he leaned over to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Solas... What are we, exactly? Are we even together? If we can't be, then I want to let you go. I want you to be free to do what you need to. I need to be free to do what I need to do. There were survivors. That makes me the Keeper of Clan Lavellan. I need to teach them, to guide them, to protect them. If you helped, we could raise the elves up again. We could--”
“I have tried, Vhenan. They do not want the help of the Dread Wolf.” He sat staring at the sea, just as Uth'shiral was doing, his hand warm and still beneath hers. “I don't know whether I will come back, but I can promise I'll try. It may be better for both of us if I don't return, though. We both have duties, and sometimes, such things cause rifts that can't be healed. Sometimes, people simply change and want different things. A political marriage may sound absurd to you now, but in the future you may find it necessary to keep the Inquisition together. Then I might become a problem for you.”
“I don't think that's likely to happen,” Uth'shiral responded, stroking his hand. “I want to be with you, but you're right: I have duties. I'm the Keeper of Clan Lavellan, or what remains of it, not just the Inquisitor.”
“Are you supposed to remain chaste, then? Is that why you never asked me for sex?” Solas asked, turning his head to face her instead of the view from the window.
The Inquisitor rubbed at the back of her neck. “Well... not precisely...” How was she supposed to explain to him that the only thing that stopped her was the fact that he had never asked? Or that doing so would have been frowned upon by her clan because he wasn't Dalish? Now that she knew he was the Dread Wolf, there was still another layer of taboo against it, and part of her felt terrible that she didn't care about that taboo anymore. Was it really as simple as asking him? Though that wasn't really simple; she'd never been able to muster the courage to do so, and eventually she'd concluded he wasn't as interested as he'd seemed.
“I apologize. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” He freed his hand from beneath hers, gesturing toward the candle on the table and causing a flame to flicker to life. “The girl should be back with food soon, unless she fears she might intrude upon an intimate moment. I would welcome a warm meal, even stewed nug. It has been far too long.”
“Yes, a hot meal would be nice. And then some real rest, for once. Now that I know they haven't caught us, and we're safe in a friendly, well-populated town, well... I intend to sleep as long as I like.” She smiled at the thought, imagining the reactions of the other Dalish if she managed to sleep past daybreak—such a luxury!
“At least try to sleep in the bed for once. The innkeeper might take it amiss if you were found in the floor again. What would that say about the quality of her establishment?” Fen'harel chuckled, his head tilting back in his mirth. Then he looked back toward Uth'shiral with his eyes still sparkling with humor. “Don't worry about me; I'll go to the other room to sleep. If you need me--”
Lavellan reached for his hand again, this time holding it gently in her own, causing him to cut off his own words. “I doubt I'll get much rest sleeping in that squishy deathtrap the humans call a bed,” she grumbled, giving the offending furniture a glare. The thought genuinely did not appeal. “You might as well stay. Then if I need you, you'll be right here.”
She could see Solas's head tilting slightly from the corner of her eye; his lips curved upward into a faint, playful smile. “I suppose I'll manage well enough on the floor,” he said. “If they ask, I'll say we had a lovers' spat.” When she looked directly at him, his smile faded. “If we part ways when we get back to Skyhold,” he told her, “it might be over for good. It might be easier for both of us if we stop trying to be more than we can.”
“If that's when it has to end, and if I may not have much time to live, Fen'harel, I want to enjoy the time we have together while I have the chance.” She leaned close to him, her forehead resting against his only for a moment before he pulled her into an embrace, his lips meeting hers, his tongue exploring her mouth.
Then he pulled away. “This is a bad idea.” She didn't try to pull him close again; such a moment could never be forced. It seemed to her that he'd chosen, and his decision was “not now.” As disappointed as she was, Uth'shiral acknowledged that he was probably right. And yet somehow, that made her want to be close to him even more.
A sharp rapping at the door interrupted them. “It sounds like our meal is here.”
. That chapter had to be so difficult to write. I think my Lavellan would have made the same choice. 
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