The Dread Wolf

"But not really a wolf," Maera says, studying him. "Something more."

Solas pulls her up with him as he climbs to his feet. He backs away and holds her gaze, transforming. Maera gasps as he towers before her, his many eyes gleaming crimson in the low light.

"Tel'gela em," he rumbles. "I would never harm you." Solas prowls closer and dips his head, inviting her to touch him. Maera reaches up tentatively and he snaps his jaws shut - a hair's breadth from her outstretched fingers.

"Ah!" she cries out, snatching her hand back and leaping away from him. Solas chuckles, low and teasing and her eyes narrow as she clutches her heaving chest. "Oooh!" she shakes her fist at him. "Not. Funny." But he catches the little uptick at the corner of her mouth. "Gara." She utters shakily and again Solas puzzles over the way in which the Dalish have interpreted Elven.

"Ir abelas," he fights to suppress his amusement, "I couldn't resist." By way of apology he crawls submissively toward her. Maera holds her ground and he nuzzles his damp nose against her fist. As she relaxes her hand he presses his head into her palm, rising to his full height. She lets out a high-pitched laugh of nervous excitement.

"My heart is still pounding," she confesses breathlessly and gently runs her hand through his thick black fur. She fondles one soft, pointed ear, eliciting a whine of encouragement. She raises her other hand in a long stroke up his chest, bringing it to rest below his jaw. Solas gives her hand a gentle lick and she giggles with delight. Her hands weft through his fur, clever fingers intuiting exactly the right points to scratch. He sighs under her adept ministrations.

"You are so frightening," her voice is tiny with awe, "and beautiful." His wet muzzle presses against her neck and she shivers. She seems fully aware that his powerful jaws could take hold of her there, tearing the life from her in an instant. Though her eyes are wide he can see no fear, only rapt adoration and it sets fire to his blood. "It's incredible that you can change forms like this."

"We are in the Fade," Solas remarks matter-of-factly. "This place is shaped by thoughts, ideas and dreams. Anything you can imagine you can will into being. You've done so before yourself."

"Not consciously," she frowns, doubting herself, "I don't know." She untangles her hands from his fur and steps back. Maera closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. Solas watches with pride as she shimmers and shifts into a sublime grey wolf.

He cannot contain his laughter now, as familiar mahogany eyes blink open in amazement and her maw splits; tongue lolling out in the most absurd expression of wolf-like joy. She squints in concentration and her tail jerks up and down, causing her ears to twitch with satisfaction.

Solas prowls in a circle studying her, then brushes alongside, nuzzling at the fur of her neck. Maera nibbles at his snout then darts away from him, tossing her head enticingly. She bows and dances playfully, inviting him to give chase. They bound through the forest, leaping over rocks and dashing amongst the trees.

He could have caught her easily, but he enjoys the pretence of the hunt. His savage jaws snap at her hind legs and she yips, tumbling unceremoniously into the dirt. With a groan she reverts to her previous form.

"I couldn't hold it," she says dejectedly, slapping dust from her clothes as she stands. Solas feels guilty for causing alarm and breaking her concentration.

"It's alright," he soothes, shifting into his own elven body once more. Taking hold of her shoulders he gives them a reassuring squeeze, "You surprise me endlessly." Solas hooks a finger under her chin and gently lifts it. She melts into his kiss as he holds her face, grasping his elbows to steady herself. Every kiss with her feels like the first time, so full of passion and anticipation. For all that there was much he still did not know about her, in this she held nothing back. Solas had never known a lover as open and generous as she.

Maera sighs and lays her head against his shoulder. Her palms press flat against his chest as he closes his arms around her. She smells of leather and fur, layered over the subtle scent of earth and conifers. How one might expect the Huntress to smell he supposes. He feels a tremor in his stomach when she slowly moves against him. Her arms snake around his waist as she presses her torso along the length of his. His teeth ache with the urge to bite her, to mark her all over as his. He wants to taste her on his tongue.

"Fen'Harel," she utters as a sudden afterthought and he freezes. "That demon called you Fen'Harel." Maera lifts her head to look at his face. "The Trickster?" Solas' heart sinks; he had hoped she hadn't heard or perhaps did not know the name. He realises now what a futile hope that had been and braces himself for the inevitable.

"I am oft called that," he confesses. "I am no innocent, but I am not the great deceiver the Dalish cast me as." He adds tersely. Maera pulls away from him and he feels instantly chilled by her absence. Delicately she lowers herself onto a gnarled log that lay near his feet. If she is angry or upset he cannot say, but he can see her turning the revelation over in her mind. She absently strokes her lower lip with the side of her forefinger as she contemplates and then she scoffs lightly.

"Something amuses you?" he asks, sounding more acerbic than he would have liked.

"When I think about it now," she says, fishing the wolf's-head pendant from beneath her armour, "it seems quite obvious."

"Much seems clear with the gift of hindsight," he sounds flippant, but his words lay heavily upon him; the weight of ages, filled with solitude and regret. Solas turns his back to her, crossing his arms defensively.

"Tread lightly in the Fade, Da'len, for the Dread Wolf stalks the twisting paths. Maw dripping poison and his hunger boundless." Maera recites the cautionary tale without inflection, but it stings him nonetheless. "I don't even know who taught me this Dalish poem," she muses.

"You have regrets," he states despondently. How could she not? He knows what the Dalish think of him.

"Never. The Dalish legends do not reflect the man I know." Her hand squeezes his shoulder as she steps around him. "Oh Solas, din nulam, ma vhenan." Maera holds his face, echoing the gentle, reassuring touch he had used on her moments ago. Solas grasps her wrists, holding her still as he steps away from her, rejecting her embrace.

"You should," he frowns. "If you knew what I had done, you would hate me." Maera mirrors his frown, hurt and confused by his reaction.

"You don't know that."

"I do, I'm sorry." Solas puts more distance between them, holding his hands up to keep her at bay.

"Solas, stop," she pleads. "Dirtha em banal'ra! Why are you pushing me away?"

"Because I cannot bear the thought of it, to have you look at me with hate in your eyes." To hate him for all that had befallen Elves since the Veil had been raised. His actions had cut the Elves from the Fade, taking their magic and immortality; making them easy prey for humans. The Dalish were broken and scattered because of him. He felt such acute shame - it was monstrous when he stopped to think on it. That he has allowed her to love him, that he has selfishly taken such joy from her, when all the suffering in her life - he was the cause of it.

"You're about to see it," she retorts in exasperation. "If you don't want to tell me, then don't." Her tone is forceful, bordering on anger. "But you don't have to hide yourself away from me."

"I must. If you knew-"

"I'm not talking about whatever it is you've done in the past," she snaps. "I know you are holding back when we…" she gives him a pointed look and he bristles at the accusation. "I can tell. Like you think I will break." Her expression softens as she tries to reach for him again. "But I won't, Solas."

"You're one to talk about hiding," he scowls and she is taken aback. "Who are you? Where do you come from?" Maera shakes her head, stepping back as he advances angrily on her. "The things I've seen you do are beyond the ability of a mere spirit. Yet you never need to wake. There has not been a Dreamer born in millennia that is capable of entering Uthenera. How do you explain it?"

"I can't!" she cries, distressed and shaken by his sudden outburst. The air around her becomes charged as he touches on some truth she buries deep inside. The hypocrisy enrages him.

"Can't, or won't?" he accuses, pressing ahead before sense can give him pause. "How would you know what will break you? You said yourself, you cannot judge what you do not know. You know nothing, ignorant child," he scoffs. Maera's eyes narrow with anger at last, head rearing back as though he had physically slapped her. It has been some time since Solas has seen this look in her eyes; when a curtain seems to fall away to reveal a piercing awareness. It pains him to see the hurt and distrust; having now experienced her air of tender affection.

She shouldn't love him though, he doesn't deserve it. Wisdom had been right, he had allowed himself to forget who he was and what he had done to the world; to his people. Maera deserves better than he, even if she won't admit it herself. Maera's features smooth and then she looks away from him, conflicted.

"Not now," she pleads to the invisible hand that compels her. Petty jealousy rears its head and Solas chooses to embrace it. That she could be distracted in the midst of this, to let her thoughts be drawn to a stranger over him, fills him with spiteful indignation. Maybe it's better this way, she can return to her purpose and move on without him.

And he without her. A part of him rebels even as he thinks it, decrying this insanity. But he lets his guilt and pain drown out the small voice of reason. "Go," he says with finality as the doorway appears. He can see how she fights, trembling as she resists the urge to step into it. Maera's face is stricken with such grief that he nearly falters.

"This isn't finished, stay here, please?" she begs. He refuses to acknowledge her. "Please wait for me." The door swallows her and he can feel his indignation dissipate with it.

Maera had tried to tell him - many times - that even she did not fathom the truth about herself. It angered him to think she was lying to him and in the past he had mistaken her reservation for guile. As he had come to know her better he realised there was always honesty in her expression. Why was it so hard for him to accept that what she claimed was true? Solas turns, striding away. He feels guilty, but he knows he might not have the strength to walk away once she returns.

If she returns, the little voice contests. So what if she doesn't, isn't that what he wants? His heart trembles, betraying him. Maera said she would come back, but she was hurt, emotional. When she calms down, what if she decides he isn't worth it? She had been so accepting and he had thrown it back in her face. After what he had said to her, why would she return to him? It needed to be done though, she is better off without him.

There are worse things than Pride. Solas' steps falter as fear grips him with icy claws. What if something is waiting for her? Something stronger, more cunning than Pride? He was a fool, he was stubborn and selfish and he let her go - No - he had pushed her away and into untold danger. How could he let her go alone? He paces the grove, it feels an eternity since she had gone.

"I'm such an ass!" he admonishes himself, slapping his palm against his head. Solas calls her image to the forefront of his mind, focussing all of his being upon her. He hopes he will be able to come to her, to find her in the vastness of the Fade; that she will let him. Solas breathes in slowly, harnessing his willpower, when a portal flashes open behind him. He turns and the sight of her emerging from its radius steals the air from his lungs.

TRANSLATIONS

Din nulam - No regrets

Dirtha em banal'ra - Talk to me damn it

Gara - To come, to enter. Adopted by younger Dalish as slang for 'fuck'.

Tel'gela em - Do not fear me