CHAPTER TWO
She awoke alone on a stone floor in a room with a marbled statue of Fen'Harel. At first, she had scooted back in shock, thinking the wolf from before was finally going to claim its prey, but calmed upon realizing it was only a statue. Where in the literal Void am I? This isn't Skyhold. She shakily stood on both feet, making her way around what she could only assume was an altar of some sort, to Fen'Harel.
Pharen scarcely heard the door opening behind her as she stood in awe of the statue. When she turned around, she expected to see Dorian, his arms outstretched and wearing a grin, or even Iron Bull, with a cask of the latest liquor he'd found; what she didn't expect, however, was Solas walking through the door. Is that my Solas? He looks so…different." Different was an understatement. He had long reddish-brown dreadlocks cascading down his shoulder with at least one of the sides of his head was shaven, his skin was sun-kissed in a way that let her know he'd never missed a day outside. He wore robes, but not like he wore the last she saw him; he wore robes that were enchanted and embroidered with the finest of cloths, the colors vibrant but not overly so. Underneath the robes-Oh Creators. She realized, too late, that she was staring. He was speaking a language she did not understand, his arms were crossed, and his eyebrow was now raised appraisingly, a cross between being amused and being highly annoyed.
She cast her eyes down and away from the godlike sight before her. She worried at her lower lip and placed her hands behind her back, a trait she learned from Solas, and blushed slightly, embarrassed and unsure. With her head bowed to him, she heard a rustle of movement. Being fairly certain she and this…man were alone, she hazarded a glance up at him, and was surprised to find his face mere inches from her own. "Dirth ma." He was close enough to her that their breaths nearly mingled, his eyes narrowed in anger; she hated that she was blushing and unable to make eye contact, to someone who looked identical to her heart. She finally found her voice, small as it was. "Tell you what? How I got here? What my name is? I don't know what you want me to tell you, Solas! I woke up here!" The anger in her last statement was unwarranted, but she was beginning to feel fear creeping up her spine.
The Anchor flashed warningly in her hand, which drew him look at it, then at her. Without warning, he grabbed her hand, and drew a rune across it, causing Pharen to hiss in pain. His eyes narrowed on the mark, and drew his index finger across it once more, while whispering some sort of spell she did not recognize. She felt a faint pop in her hand, and let out a string of curses. Once finished, she looked apologetically up at the man, who had his eyebrows raised in faint amusement.
"Do you understand me now?" That voice. I'd know that voice anywhere. Not trusting her own voice, she nodded mutely. "Good. Now, you can tell me three things. One, why do you call me Pride? Two, why do you have a portion of my foci in your hand? And how did you break into my temple when you're very clearly not marked by me? Or are you?" His eyes narrowed accusingly, his voice very near a growl, as though he was struggling to contain his temper. He canted his head to one side, looking very much like a predator that had cornered its prey.
"One, Solas is the name I know you by. Two, this is yours?!" She felt her magic brimming to the surface, fire licking at her fingertips. He did this. Solas caused the breach. All those people died because of him. Her anger was bubbling very close to the surface now, the fire nearly consuming her. "And what do you mean 'broke into your temple'? If you're not Solas, then who are you?!" Pharen attempted to back away to try and calm herself, only to be met by a very solid barrier at her back. His lips curved into what she could only describe as a feral grin; she'd yet to have seen any kind of look like that on Solas. "Tell me, da'enansal, who stalks the Fade while the People enjoy their slumber?"
"N-No, you're not…that's impossible…" she stuttered and then stopped, her breathing hitched. His grin only grew wider as he advanced toward her, albeit slowly. That feral smile was not one of amusement, however; it was a grin that said she was quite literally, backed against a wall. Once he reached her, he brought one finger under her chin to draw her eyes to his own. It was only then that she felt the so-familiar trinket cut into her chest as he pressed himself closer to her. He released her chin to whisper into her ear, causing her to shudder involuntarily. "I am Fen'Harel, da'enansal."
Fen'Harel withdrew, his smug grin still very much in place, and waited for her response. Pharen shuddered once more, this time not from his closeness, but from the sheer power she felt coming off of him in waves. She cleared her throat, unwilling to upset him any further than she already, however unintentionally, had. "My name is Pharen Lavellan, of the Dalish Lavellan Clan. The year is 9:42 Dragon." She looked up at him, uncertain of her own words. "The year is 9:42 Dragon…right?" He shook his head, his grin finally fading. "I am uncertain as to how you got here, da'enansal, but I assure you, I will discover it. You speak a language that is not common here, and are no slave. I wonder, then, why I am unable to remember you."
Pharen shook her head, too many thoughts swimming inside her head. Her brain shuddered to a stop once she began analyzing his last statement. "Wait, what do you mean you can't remember me?" His grin turned feral once more, and she realized at once that she was beginning to fear that smile. "You are marked by the Dread Wolf's scent."
