Chapter Text
This is starting to get really fucking old, thought Faora as she slowly regained consciousness.
With holes in her memory.
Again.
She huffed in irritation as she took inventory of her body. Blindfolded. Always a lovely surprise. Sounds quiet here. She made a single chirping noise and listened. This space sounds open, at least.
Whatever I’m laying on feels pretty comfortable. I wonder if I could take this home? Wrists feel tight. Bound? And not in a kinky way. That’s a relief. Would’ve been nice if they tied my hands in front of me instead of behind, though.
Faora wiggled her shoulders, then her hips. Pack and belt are gone. Along with my clothes. What the hell am I wearing, then? Satin? Who put this on me?! Where is my breastband?!
Alarmed at her situation, she tried to recall the last thing she remembered clearly. She remembers being with Cole, Solas, and Blackwall exploring some majestic ruins. They were only discovered recently and it didn’t look like the red templars had found it yet. Even if the temple was completely taken over by the plant and wildlife, its pillars still stood as tall and proud as the oldest trees and the mosaics glittered as vibrantly as dew covered flowers. Faora practically danced through the temple halls because it was so beautiful.
Eventually they made their way into the lower chambers, lighting veilfire torches as they went. The very last chamber held an altar dead-center of a large mosaic circle. Something in the air was giving her a crackling sensation in the back of her head, like what red lyrium does to her but quieter. Barefoot and cautious, she stepped across into the circle to investigate what the alter held.
The artifact itself looked like a hand mirror. It’s golden frame was adorned with small jewels, the likes of which she has never seen before. Gently turning it in her palm she could see a series of small gears with more jewels in their centers; a large orange jewel that seemed to represent the sun, a slightly smaller pale grey jewel for Luna, and an even smaller white jewel for Satina. Faora found it astonishingly beautiful.
Her thumb began turning the tiny gears absently as she realized that someone was calling her name. Whoever it was sounded very far away, but when she turned around her vision started getting hazy. And then? Darkness.
The tips of her ears twitched at the sound of footsteps coming from a hallway directly in front of her. Rolling onto her knees, she raised herself to sit upright and to face her captors. Two- no, three people. Barefoot? Elves, maybe? Her ears twitched again as she heard voices approaching along with the footsteps. Whoever these people are, I hope they’re prepared for a fucking storm.
Her captors stopped once they entered the room. Faora had her shoulders squared and sat as tall as she could, facing their general direction defiantly. A low whisper from one of them was followed by padding feet that came around her right side. The mattress sank as the other person crawled over to Faora and tugged at her blindfold and held onto her restraints. Her green eyes adjusted quickly to the sudden change in light and locked onto the remaining two before her.
They were, indeed, elves. But she had never seen elves dressed like these. The smaller elf wore loose robes that were dull in color, but were decorated with simple golden embroidery in an unfamiliar, yet nostalgic, style. His hair was long, but bound in a tight braid that came over his shoulder. Bare-faced.
The other elf, on the other hand, stood a head taller than the other. Brown dreadlocks were tied back and hung past his shoulders, and the sides of his head were shaved down. He wore a dark green tunic that exposed the chiseled planes of his chest, lightly decorated with scars. His sash wrapped loosely around his slender hips, and his legs were covered in fine leather wraps. A mantle of pitch black fur hung around his shoulders, and a lupine mask covered the lower half of his face.
But the most striking feature he had were his eyes. A deep, clear blue that pulled you into its tide while trying to wear you down. Eyes that held tricks and secrets. Eyes that knew how to lie.
Faora fought the fear rising in her chest. She didn’t know how she did, but she knew who this man was. This man that the Keeper told stories of to warn the children of his deception. This man whose statues both terrified and struck scorn in her people. This man who was said to have been a god.
This man was Fen’Harel.
Shit.
Faora and the Dread Wolf stared each other down for what seemed like hours. It took every ounce of control for her not to tremble in his presence. This was Fen'Harel, the fucking trickster god. The guy who locked away the Pantheon. And he was standing before her.
Suddenly he spoke loudly at her. Faora’s brows furrowed at his words. What was he saying? He barked at her again, his tone commanding and intimidating. Is he asking me something? This time he waited for her to respond, eyeing her suspiciously.
Faora lifted her chin defiantly. “You are Fen’Harel.” At the sound of his name, the trickster god’s eyes narrowed and head tilted. “Why am I here?” His eyebrows angled downward in irritation. So he doesn’t speak trade.
She tried again in Modern Dalish. It only seemed to confuse him and drive him to raise his voice. Qunlat frustrated them both and utterly confused the other two elves. Tevene and Orlesian made him stand intimidatingly over her at the foot of the bed. Fed up, she shouted again in trade. “Why am I here, Dread Wolf?”
His eyes took on another expression then. He studied her face, particularly lingering on her vallaslin. He looked down his muzzle at her, seeming to choose his words carefully.
He spoke again, but this time his words were accompanied by a gentle touch to her forehead. Faora’s eyes widened at the sudden feeling of her head filling and her tongue tingling. She gasped and shook her head, trying to alleviate the odd pressure. “Now that you can speak properly, who are you and how did you get into my private estate?”
Her eyes went right back up to his, completely astonished. How did…? She understood him perfectly when moments before she didn’t even know what language he was speaking. Before she could ask, he began again.
“None of my wards were breached, nor did the sentinels detect you until you were well inside my home. Tell me, slave, how did you get in? Why are you here?”
She sneered at his arrogant tone. “To be honest, I’m trying to figure that out myself. Awful habit of mine, waking up in random places.”
The wolf was not impressed. “You try my patience.”
“Mine isn’t exactly lasting forever, either,” she retorts. “How about this; I’m not here to attack you, or to spy on you or your house. In reality, I’m hopelessly lost and I stumbled into a place I’m not supposed to be in. I actually need to thank you for finding me, because I probably would’ve accidentally broken something of value. If you tell me where I am, I’ll be on my merry way and you’ll never see me again.”
He stared down thoughtfully at her. Faora tried reaching for her mana to burn off the ropes and make her escape, but she was still too weak to conjure any flame. All she could do was hope that she was clever enough to outsmart the wolf, biding her time until her mana restored itself.
But at the thought of her magic, she realized that her mark was completely dormant. Not even the faint tugging that she usually felt when she got irritated. Why?
“Unfortunately, useless prattling will not grant you freedom. You seem to be in possession of a kind of magic that is rare to see in other people. I intend to find how you came across it.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “Oh?”
Fen'Harel nodded at the elf holding her wrists, and Faora felt her bonds slacken. The one behind her still held firmly onto her as she tried to jerk her hands free. Instead, the wolf’s fingers gently caressed her bare shoulder and trailed down her left arm. He leaned down to reach behind her, the tip of his mask nearly brushing her nose. Shit. Her defenses were slipping. He was so close now, close enough where she could smell summer rain and incense. Wild and decadent. Familiar and safe. Her lips parted in intoxication.
Green eyes met blue, and his seemed to smirk at her reaction to their proximity. Realization of her actions made her blush all the way to the points of her studded ears.
The wolf chuckled in amusement. “Distracted, little fox?” His hand yanked on her arm and held firmly onto her wrist. The dormant mark flared to life once again and his magic flowed into her, causing her to wince. “Because you still need to answer my questions.”
His voice lowered threateningly low. “How did you get this?” He punctuated his question with another pump of magic, more painful than the last.
Faora cried out in pain and slouched forward. The sharp pain in her hand went back to an annoying prickling beneath her skin as he waited for her answer. She gritted her teeth as she fished for an appropriate answer. Should she just tell him that it was a key to opening the veil? Usually shut anyone up. Might not work since he was a mage, too.
Fuck it.
“Terrible luck and noble impulse.”
Nailed it.
Fen'Harel tilted his head and glared. “So it was by ‘terrible luck’ that you were somehow able to absorb my magic, and by ‘noble impulse’ that you continue to evade my questions?”
The cogs in Faora’s head turned. Your magic? The magic I got from the orb? It was his? Her thoughts spun with the implications this brought on. She could only imagine how powerful the rightful owner of the orb was.
One thing was for certain, and that little voice in her head had been screaming it at her ever since he walked into the room.
This guy is dangerous. I have to run.
I need to run.
Faora’s lips twisted to a wicked smirk. Fen’Harel barely had time to register her change in demeanor before she bashed her forehead into his nose.
There was a cracking noise.
“My lord!”
The hold on Faora’s wrists loosened just enough to tear away and launch herself off the bed. The dress-thing she wore – if it really was a dress and not a long tunic – felt like air as she dodged the second lackey and raced out the open door.
If she wasn’t running for her life, she would thoroughly admire how the sun shown through the intricate stain glass windows. She would take delight in how the colors washed the sparkling marble floor in more colors than she could count. She would gaze dreamily at how the architecture blended perfectly with nature.
Unfortunately, now was not the time to gawk.
Suddenly the air vacated her lungs, her blood filled her skull, and the mark snapped violently with energy. She came to a skidding halt on her knees as she gasped for breath and clutched her head. The air around her felt so heavy. Every inch of her skin tingled until she thought she was burning alive. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs.
What’s happening to me? A spell?
Claws clicked on the marble floor behind her. Faora didn’t realize her eyes were shut until she opened one to look behind her. The sight of a pitch black wolf with many eyes stalking towards her should’ve made her faint, but the pain of the very atmosphere kept her from doing so.
“So the little fox thinks she can outrun a wolf?” he growls mockingly inside her head. Her teeth ached from clenching her jaw to hold back a pained whimper. Forcefully, she rose back up to her feet and staggered further down the corridor.
If she could describe how she was feeling right now, she would say she was hypersensitive. Her ears rang, everything was too vivid, and the air felt tangible and sharp against her skin. Whatever spell this was, it hurt like a bitch and was a pain in the ass to work through. As she hobbled down the corridor she began reciting the Chant of Light in Qunlat, then in Nevarran. Anything to distract herself from the pain.
“Run, little fox. It isn’t a worthwhile hunt if you don’t run,” jeered the wolf behind her. She couldn’t tell if it was her precarious situation or her extremely heightened awareness of the very air around her, but something about his voice was terribly irritating.
“Or are you accepting the fact that you cannot escape me?” His shadow kept on appearing in the edge of her vision when she glanced behind her. Her terror rose with the realization that, eventually, he would catch her. Her fear nudged her feet forward, but Fen’Harel remained on her trail.
“I will catch you, da’len. No matter how far you run, I will catch you.”
The song of her magic blared in Faora’s ears with her rising frustration. Her hands flew to block the noise of his claws and her own screaming. Damn it. Damn it all! Her magic raged inside her like a hurricane and threatened to explode from inside. She needed to get out. Now.
She held her left hand out in front of her and tried to open a controllable rift to jump through, but she couldn’t focus the unstable energy. Her arm stung, her eyes stung, her chest stung, everything fucking stung! Even the sound of claws on marble stung her ears.
“This game is finished, little fox,” he whispered into her head.
Shut up.
Shut up!
SHUT UP!!
She pivoted on the ball of her foot, ever so graceful, and pointed the mark back at the wolf. “Stay the fuck away from me!!”
The energy of the mark blasted a hole into the air before the wolf. More energy than she thought she had. But instead of opening a doorway through the veil, she opened it into a void. Unseen spirits screamed, and Fen'Harel himself froze in surprise.
Faora felt her mana be siphoned out of her through the palm of her hand. Her knees hit the floor hard as she tried to break the stream of energy, crying out with exertion and fear. The edges of her vision began to dull and darken.
She heard a concerned voice calling out to her, calming her. “Da’len!”
She focused on the magic flowing from her hand, focusing on the mark itself. Just like always. Sew it up like patchwork. She winced as she felt the fissure close and tighten back to its dormant state. Slowly, but surely, the hole collapsed on itself and disappeared entirely.
Now it was her turn to collapse. Her limbs felt like lead and her will to move was completely forgotten in favor of her exhaustion. She was still very aware of the danger Fen'Harel posed to her, but urgency turned to apathy as darkness rose to consume her.
A gentle hand cupped her cheek, raising her head off the floor. Her eyes focused as much as they could on the face before her, and what she could make out made her smile warmly. “Solas,” she breathed. “Did you see what I did, ha'hren? I wonder if I could do that again.”
“I rather you didn’t,” he chastised. “For both our sakes.”
Faora giggled weakly and reached up to touch his face. “You’re no fun, ma vhenan.”
Her eyes closed and her breathing evened out to a deep and steady pace. Fen'Harel studied the girl in his arms, turning her words over and over in his mind. A spirit appeared next to him and whispered into his ear.
“No. She will remain here. Lift the cancellation wards,” he commanded. “I will study her in my own quarters. And bring some food and wine for our guest. I wager she will be famished when she wakes.”
The spirit bowed its head in acknowledgement and disappeared just as it came. Gently, he lifted her from the floor and turned back down the hall, skirting the new hole in the floor.
A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the pretty elf sleep in his arms. And how well she fit in them! He had never seen a woman like her before, even among Dirthamen’s slaves. He was sure he knew every elf in Dirthamen’s service, because there was no way he would forget a woman with hair as red as roses.
He shook his head. Curious little woman. I do hope your secrets are as delightful as you are.