It happened in a dream, in the Fade that was so tied to his being it was worn like a second skin. Fen'vhenan had invited him to her dreams at his disposal, allowing him access whenever he chose. Tonight was not about choice or desire. This was about need. Because the veil was finally lifted while in the Temple of Mythal. Now she saw him as he truly was. Who he truly was.

The Fade was a strange place, full of odd meanings. When Solas found her, it was not where he had anticipated- if he had anticipated anything. It was an ancient place, hidden in the darkest place of the forest where none should tread; this place he knew well: the Altar of Fen'harel. Yet in spite of the strangeness his Vhenan sat calmly on the edge of the stone, legs dangling over as she inspected it inquisitively and swung her legs slightly.

"My father knew this place," Fen'vhenan commented as he walked near. "He brought me here, and picked me up to sit right where I am now, and he told me my very first story of the Dread Wolf. Do you know know what he said, ma'fen?"

Solas shook his head, adding, "I couldn't even guess da'lana."

Vhenan had a lovely voice when she lent it to tales. Now she raised it slightly and began her explanation. "Arlathan had many wonders, each greater than the last, but they were built on the backs of the people. The Creators were cruel taskmasters, with whips and iron wills. The people hurt and cried, but could not help but submit. Until one day one of the youngest of the taskmasters opened his eyes and saw their pain. Fen'harel.

"Fen'harel chose that day to have no slaves, to keep none as his supplicants. He saw that if they kept pushing the slaves down then it would create a rebellion, but none would listen. So he pledged that day to never forget that actions have consequences, that nothing was given for free. He promised to bring mercy to those in need, but ensure they remembered the price."

By this point Solas had approached and pressed against her, taking a hand in each of his and pushing her down. Her back hit the cold stone, a gasp shuddering through as she fought to sit up again.

"Is it still true that you take no slaves, Fen'harel?"

It was the first time she had spoken the name to him, addressing him. He leaned up and let her have the moment, this one win. "It is true," he assured. "I need no servant, but an equal... That might be a nice change." He pushed once again claiming her mouth with a kiss.

"Hmm. How can I equal you, with your history and your power, ma'Harellan?"

"Because you are my heart, da'lana." His hands sought her hair, running through the silkiness as he considered the next step. "But it will mean we have separate paths. You will always be the Inquisitor."

"And you will always be Fen'harel." Vhenan frowned, but nodded. "Just promise me this isn't a joke, or one of your tricks. I couldn't bear it."

"This is no trick." When he wrapped his arms around her, pulling them both up, his next words echoed. "What we have is real."