Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Varnehn

The moon clung to its place in the sky as Fen'Asha searched the caravans, checking them over for another journey. She looked through the packs and adjusted the sails. The halla were resting nearby in the dark grass.

"Don't look so sad," came a voice. It was Varnehn. He tall for a Dalish, dark hair and dark eyes, so handsome. He stood behind her.

She turned to face him, said his name, let it linger.

"I'm starting to think you prefer these wolves to me," said Varnehn.

"We have to move on," said Fen'Asha. "We've upset the pack..."

Varnehn laughed. "Fen'Asha..."

"It will be a long journey," she fumbled, tracing the collar of his tunic.

"So many of the children grew over the season, ma lath," he said. He embraced her, long arms snaking around her waist, familiar, comfortable. "You may have to sit on my lap..." he whispered.

"You will have to wait..." She laughed and batted him away, eyes bright, playful yet alert. "Our wedding is not..."

"Satisfy my urges now, lath," he said.

"There is work to be done," she said, shaking her head. She was smiling.

"The aravels can wait," said Varnehn. "But I cannot." His hands caressed her, rubbing her back.

She exhaled his name, breath lit by night.

"You are so beautiful," he said.

You are so beautiful...

"Let me inside you, lath," he whispered. "Please." He kissed her. Heat budding into...dissipation.

You are so beautiful...

She turned from him, words echoing like rumbling in a tomb. Something was wrong. Something was missing.

"You do prefer the Wolf," said Varnehn.

She gripped his tunic, pushed him away, shook her head.

"Don't lie to me," he said. "Always running to the woods. Among the wolves. Staring at him." He seized her, pulled her close, pinned her arms.

She struggled against him.

"You...were supposed to be mine," he snarled. "Mine."

"I belong to me," she whispered. She wished she'd shouted it. She wished she'd tossed him against the aravels then and there, thrown him to the ground, run away.

"Mine," he said again. He hissed, his face fading, crumbling, clinging tight to his skull. His lips drew back to disintegrating teeth, eyes drawing darkness without stars.

"No," she whispered. She wanted to shout it.

"Why the Conclave?" hissed Varnehn. "Why him....why him?"

"No," she whispered as he pulled her close, his jaw rattling as his head continued to crumble.

"We could've been happy," he said. "He is a trickster."

"He..."

"He has made you into a fool. His fool."

"I..."

"He is a liar."

"No."

The decaying skull advanced closer and closer still, mumbling and blaspheming. The moon watched. "He is proud," said Varnehn.