Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Fen'Harel

While Fen'Asha felt relatively upright around her friends, she fell into shadow when she was alone. As much as she tried to avoid loneliness, it stalked her each day. Her advisers and acquaintances were in and out of Skyhold with regularity, pursuing their own interests and taking care of certain business.

Morrigan and Kieran said their goodbyes. Varric returned to Kirkwall. Dorian accompanied Iron Bull and The Chargers with increasing frequency. Sera and Dagna were taking a trip to Val Royeaux. Cassandra was swept away by the Chantry. The Inquisition was changing.

Fen'Asha set herself to prayer, to praying with Cullen, to spending time with her prayer stone. She walked the garden clutching it, smiling and nodding at the passers-by. She tightened her grip when she saw the Chantry sisters.

Time passed as it did and the celebration faded. There was ample time for reading and quiet study. There was ample time for eating and drinking. Fen'Asha tried everything to keep her mind from Solas, from the possibilities, from the costs.

But she ventured back, each night. She kept her ritual, wandered through her dreams to the altar and wondered where he was. She wanted to see the Wolf, wanted to ask questions, wanted to know answers.

After another day of frustration, the Inquisitor tumbled into her bed and sleep visited her immediately.

She was pulled to her favoured location and she strode through the water to the steps of the altar, inhaling the warm air. She pulled at her clothing, but it stuck to her. White robes, damp from the humidity.

She took the steps, one by one, and exhaled when she reached the top. Someone was standing there. Someone tall. Someone in dark clothing. Someone...familiar and yet ancient, impossible.

Someone turned slightly when she padded across the final step.

"I knew you would follow," someone said. A masculine voice, a rumble but a familiar cadence.

She watched him, took in his appearance. Black fur clung to him. A wolf pelt, its head pulled over his own. Six red eyes pulled down over his own. A mask, obscuring and defining him at once. The texture of the fur, the softness and tenderness greeting her and averting her. He held her silver wolf in his hand. He dangled it helplessly.

"But I must confess, I did not know you would find me here," he continued.

He turned the offering, nodded. It was appropriate. It was his offering. He was...

"I...have been faithful," Fen'Asha said. "Ever since you delivered us from Haven, I have been faithful."

His head perked up, like he'd heard a distant sound. Prey.

"I have done nothing without thought of your favour," she said. "Fen'Harel."

He continued to listen for the reverberations in the distance, continued to cock his head this way and that, continued to toy with the offering in his fingers.

Fen'Asha watched him. Was he listening? Was he indifferent to her faithfulness? She stepped toward him and felt the ground shudder beneath her feet. She felt her heat rise, her anger. The cost.

"And?" said Fen'Harel.

"I..." she said. She faltered, choosing careful steps now. "I must know. Why was Solas your cost? Why the person I love most?"

Fen'Harel sighed.

"Tell me," she said. Her words grew louder, her steps sturdier. "I must know..."