It all started when she first met Varric.
The way he stared made Ellana uncomfortable. She was darker than most Fereldan-born elves, with skin the hue of newly turned earth.
Her silver-white hair, worn short and shaggy, was a little unusual too. Her eyes, the verdant of new spring leaves had turned more than one head since she'd been taken prisoner in Haven.
Her elven face, adorned with the white vallaslin of Dirthamen, suggested that she harboured secrets too.
Varric's next question was even more confusing.
“Are you from Tevinter?”
“No”, said a puzzled Ellana. “I was born and bred in Fereldan”.
Varric's frowning face suggested that he wasn't convinced she was telling the truth.
The way he scrutinised her vallaslin wasn't reassuring either.
“Your tattoos aren't made from lyrium?”
Ellana blinked, brows arching comically. She gaped at the nosy dwarf. First he'd assumed she was from Tevinter. Now he thought her vallaslin was made from
lyrium. Ellana thought he might be a little too touched-in-the-head.
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