Translations at the end.
Wait, why did I start editing this at midnight? Wait, how is it midnight already?
The idea of the Laughing Wolf that I'm using here is borrowed shamelessly from stories of Br'er Rabbit and Aunt Nancy/Anansi. Those confined to a lower caste often come up with trickster stories to...do a lot of things. To teach the value of cleverness and misdirection. To teach that even a creature hunted and reviled might actually be good and worthy of praise. To teach children how to determine who to trust, and what kind of evasions to use with those who can't be trusted. Since the elves already had a wolf as a trickster, I imagine he would simply be repurposed by city elves to serve their needs (side note: that designation, "city elf," seems weird to me when you have an agrarian economy - wouldn't most elves actually be working on farms, just like most humans are? or do they actually congregate in cities, regardless of availability of employment, just to be able to form communities?).
The Future of History
In the end, I had no trouble keeping Lisell's first meal appropriately small. After three or four bites, she was so near sleep that I feared she might choke if I continued offering solid food. I coaxed her into another sip or two of broth, and then laid her carefully on the bed, arranging her limbs in the way I had seen her sleep before, the handful of times I had happened onto the opportunity to watch her sleep.
I left the remainder of the meal with the two women who still waited outside with Tamorian, and left also a set of instructions for Lisell's waking so complicated that I was uncertain whether either woman found any sense in them. They did, at least, exchange glances and knowing smirks, apparently finding amusement in my agitation.
On the way back to the work site, I asked Tamorian their names. The younger, who had not tutted at me, was the Esiel he had mentioned when bringing me news of Lisell's condition that morning. The other was Namana, a newer convert who had more or less taken over the breakfast shift in the kitchen by sheer force of personality, and then held it by virtue of her ability to make much out of very little.
Though my people were ever near starvation, sometimes the food supplies I accessed were...unvaried. Few of the Dalish, who might find sustenance and variety in any sufficiently large wilderness, had joined my cause. The stories of Fen'Harel they told each other kept them wary, and they did not suffer at the hands of humans as their cousins in the alienages did.
My afternoon was nearly as unproductive as my morning had proved, for Tamorian could not both stay by my side, taking down notes and results as he usually did, and also move between worksite and manor to keep me updated on my Inquisitor's condition. As I was more concerned with the latter, my productivity faltered. I was, at least, able to lay the groundwork for changing the spells around the manor that disoriented would-be intruders. All they would require now was power and time, and one or more of the other mages could see to it.
I returned to Lisell in the evening. I had, after all, promised her a longer negotiation, and the messages Tamorian carried made it sound like she was already regaining her strength. Besides, it seemed a pleasant manner of closing out the day.
This time I knocked.
"My lady - " I heard through the door.
"Esiel," Lisell's voice said, her tone a warning.
"Lisell," Esiel corrected herself, "you must stay there while I answer the door. Please don't try it on your own."
"Likely as not, it's just Tamorian helping Solas mother-hen me. Let him wait a moment, because if I have to - "
I opened the door, interrupting their conversation - and discovering what it was about.
Lisell sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling as she rested one hand on Esiel's shoulder. Her face lit as the door swung open to reveal me, rather than Tamorian. "Solas!" she said, trying to slide to the floor, but thwarted by Esiel's arm around her waist. She turned to make a face at her companion, reminding me of the girl she had been when we first met.
"Lisell," I sighed, "is this really wise?"
"It will be, as long as I have someone to help support me," she answered, returning her attention to me. "Or, at least, it's wiser than going mad from sitting in bed doing nothing all day."
"Not nothing," Esiel corrected her, her voice gentle. "You ate when you woke, and slept most of the rest of the time. It was important."
"Perhaps," Lisell conceded with a smile, "but also unutterably dull. Since you're so worried about it, Solas, you can help."
Though I still had my doubts, I moved to her side, noticing as I did that the small table that had been wedged into the room held a steaming bowl of porridge topped with a few dried berries. I indicated it with a tilt of my head. "They're almost letting you eat real food, I see."
"Almost," she agreed with a rueful laugh. "Are you here for dinner?"
"I had planned on it," I said, and my gaze fell again on Esiel. "Would you be willing to get me a dish of whatever is being served?"
She ducked her head shyly and bobbed a curtsy. "Of course, Fen'Harel."
"Ma serannas," I said, stepping into the space she had relinquished. Closer, I could see Lisell still wasn't as well as she tried pretending. Her eyes were too bright and, though her face had some color, it was mostly confined to two red spots on her cheeks. The exertion of both sitting up and speaking had made her breath come a little faster. Nevertheless, I judged that anger would be no better than her current plans, and I understood how idleness would chafe - she who had hardly been idle a single moment for at least five years, and perhaps longer.
She put her hand on my arm and slid it up to my shoulder, and I wondered if she had meant it as a caress or if I had merely felt it as one. Leaning on me, she slipped down the bed until her feet touched the floor. Her knees would bear but little of her weight, even slight as it was just now, but I found I did not mind holding her near enough to bear it for her. Quite the reverse. She was as delightful in my arms as she had ever been, and when she glanced up at me, a blush giving her the appearance of health, I had to fight not to bend and kiss her.
"Stop that," she whispered.
"Stop what?" I wondered. All I was doing was holding her upright.
"Stop...looking like that. Like you do." She hid her blush against my neck. "And stop smelling like you, too," she instructed, her voice muffled.
I laughed, even as her breath against my skin gave me shivers. "Vhenan," I began.
"Shhh," she cut me off. "Your voice isn't fair, either."
I had forgotten how it felt, to be loved as though I, as just myself, stripped of all power and context, were desirable. Intoxicating. It made my longing to change the past, to refuse her, an absurdity. There was no world in which I had enough self-control to deny myself this - this feeling of being seen, appreciated, sometimes laughed at, always treasured.
I took a breath, reminding myself that she was, as yet, unwell. And then she slid her hand up my neck, to my scalp, tugging my head down nearer. "Ar lath ma," she whispered in my ear, placing a light kiss on my jaw. Even that I might have resisted had it not been for the small spot of moisture her lips left behind, where she had tasted my skin.
I broke, pulling her flush to my chest, my lips seeking out and finding hers. There was no finesse in my kiss, just raw desperation as I sought recompense for more than four years of self-denial. The small sound she made as her mouth opened willingly, somewhere between a hum and a purr, did nothing to help me regain my composure. I felt the bed in the room like another presence, and fought to remember I could not before she regained her strength, and should not even after.
Had we been left alone longer, I cannot say what might have happened. Lisell's hand tangled in my collar, pulling me as close as she could, but it was only a few moments before I could feel her entire arm trembling with the effort. No doubt I should have ended it then, but I kept telling myself one more kiss, and each time she met me so eagerly that I could not bring myself to pull away entirely.
Then a tap on the door recalled us both to the real world. I had time only to raise my head before the door opened, and Esiel stepped through bearing my meal. She stopped short at the sight of us, no doubt both blushing like adolescents, and then ducked her head to hide a smile. "Fen'Harel, don't forget my la - Lisell - needs to eat," she said, the rebuke well-placed, but perhaps undermined by the current of laughter in her voice.
Acknowledging the justice of Esiel's reminder, I finished helping Lisell to her chair while Esiel laid out my meal. Lisell's face was still red, but whether from embarrassment or laughter I couldn't say, because my discomposure seemed to amuse her. I leaned over the back of her chair as I pushed it nearer the table to murmur, "You did start it."
She looked up at me, making my chest contract with both anxiety and affection. As her blush faded, the continued pallor of her skin once again became apparent. "I did no such thing. You can't look at me like that, all grim and desperately lonely and you, and expect me to remain rational."
I had no response that did not involve once again keeping her from her meal, and so I contented myself with brushing another kiss against her cheek before retreating to the other side of the table, where I would be relatively safe. "Ma serannas," I told Esiel again.
"Sath-sathem lasa...hal...hal…" She stumbled over the unfamiliar words. Many of my converts were trying to learn Elven, hoping for transfiguration in the world to come, though all were aware how unlikely I thought it.
"Halani," Lisell provided for her.
Esiel gave her a grateful smile. "Sathem lasa halani," she repeated with more confidence. "Enjoy your meal."
"I don't know how you do that," I told Lisell once the door was closed.
"How I do what?" she asked.
"It should sound condescending, you offering a word as you did. But somehow you make it…" I shrugged, not quite certain what she made it.
She laughed. "Oh, that's because I wasn't helping her with the language, but rather with her awe of you. She was only stumbling because she was saying it to you. She uses little phrases like that with me all the time without any trouble."
I stared across the table at her. "Awe?"
"Well," Lisell said, dipping her spoon thoughtfully in her porridge while eyeing the stew and bread Esiel had brought, "what use are Elgar'nan or Andruil to city elves? Or even June and Sylaise? Mythal, I suppose, would be worth invoking, if she answered."
"Most city elves are Andrastian," I felt compelled to remind her.
"True, but they have stories they tell of the Laughing Wolf, who steals sheep and chickens, and outsmarts hunters sent to end his reign of thievery. I'm sure many of the tales are adapted from those we tell of Fen'Harel - and it makes sense if you think about it. A god smart enough to trick the other gods into locking themselves away is much more useful to those permanently restricted to an underclass than most of the gods the Dalish worship." She smiled sadly. "Eliwys told me some of the stories. You come out rather dashing."
"The stories the Dalish tell of Fen'Harel are barely related to me - whatever stories city elves tell amongst themselves can have nothing at all to do with me," I told her.
She spent a moment contemplating me across the table before taking another bite. "Actually, I think they capture you with more accuracy than any of the tales I grew up with - at least one facet of you. Like you, the Laughing Wolf is so clever than he occasionally outsmarts himself and ends up in a bind of his own making."
There was too much truth - and pain - in that observation, so I allowed it to stand without comment. "And my converts connect me to these stories they tell?"
"They aren't entirely ignorant of elven history and Dalish ways. So, yes, I think most of them make the connection. Besides - you embody another kind of promise for them." For a long moment she was silent, concentrating on the bowl in front of her. Though I was curious about what she would say, letting her eat was far more important. She took three bites in quick succession and then deliberately put her spoon down. "It is getting harder, remembering to eat slowly," she said with another glance at my stew. "And that smells very, very good."
After a moment of weighing the consequences, I broke off a small piece of bread, less than even one full bite, dipped it in the gravy, and gave it to her. She smiled at me as she accepted. "Still a rebel," she teased, and then ate the morsel, licking a spot of gravy from her fingers before sitting back with a satisfied sigh as she chewed slowly. "All right," she said after a moment, "I will wait to see how that sits with me. Thank you."
"What sort of promise were you referring to?" I asked, reminding her of her words before the immediate needs of the moment had distracted her. The time spent swimming in the politics of Val Royeaux these last years had changed her. Where once she had looked to me to explain the lives and ways of thinking of those outside her own Clan, now I suspected she might have valuable - or at least interesting - insights for me.
Her brow furrowed. "I'm not quite sure how to put it into words." She paused a moment. "Reformers - sometimes they manage to do good. Like Varric, in Kirkwall."
"Or you," I told her, fondness and admiration coloring my tone.
"The only thing of real consequence I have done is giving Leliana my support," she said with a shake of her head. "Which isn't nothing. The Chantry touches many lives, for good or ill."
"You give yourself too little credit," I insisted.
"No," she insisted right back. "I can with some accuracy weigh the good I have done against what is needed. Corypheus - ending the war between mages and templars - these are not reforms. They do nothing to change systems already built and put into motion. They are more likely to patch up such systems, propping them up for good and ill for another generation. Too often I find I must support the status quo because the possible alternatives are all worse - like keeping Celene on the throne in Val Royeaux. The best I could do was a patch to what was already in place, by elevating Briala to a position of power.
"And that is what I mean," she went on. "Your converts see someone like me, and even if they believe in my good intentions, and my ability to see some of them through, I am not offering the change you seem to be offering, one that breaks with history entirely. That is what they want. To cut off the last few millennia dead, and see entirely new systems of governance, of reality, take their place."
One word leapt out at me. "The change I seem to be offering?"
"That's the problem, isn't it?" she said, drawing her legs to her chest in what might have been an unconsciously defensive gesture. "History is never really cut off."
"I think the raising of the Veil - and the lowering of it - mark significant enough changes to be called a cutting off of history," I argued.
"Raising the Veil, you might make a compelling case for. But if you bring it back down and wake those who have slept through the last few millennia, then you are not so much cutting off history as pausing a part of it while the rest continues on. What happens to that part, the part I and the rest of those here have lived in, depends on what dropping the Veil does. Does it kill all of us, erasing this branch entirely, and reinstating the historic patterns that were there before? Does it transform us, and propagate this branch of history by taking power from those who have abused it, and giving it to those who have known nothing but abuse? Will those newly empowered truly leave behind their history once that power is in their hands, forgetting lost friends, lost family, lost freedom, lost dignity?"
She paused and drew her knees in even more tightly, wrapping her arms around them. Her voice dropped, too, to almost a murmur. "Or there is what is perhaps the worst alternative - that we live, but remain as we have always been. And then we will have new masters - masters who had no misgivings keeping their own people as slaves, whose power utterly dwarfs that of the Tevinter magisters at their height." She bit her lip, and when she continued I wondered if she was even speaking to me anymore. "Will they hesitate to enslave us, the bastard children of those they never had any respect for to begin with?"
I wanted to argue, to tell her that, without the Evanuris leading them astray, in the face of the changed world, the People might indeed find it both necessary and wise to renounce the worst of their indulgences. I wanted to remind her of the spirits, how often - far too often - the Veil twisted them into demons, how taking it down would remove that unnatural pressure, restoring them to what they ought to be, allowing them to once again shape the world for the better. I wanted to say it - but she was trembling now as she clutched her legs to her chest, and her eyes were no longer clear or bright. Now she seemed dazed. She shouldn't truly have been out of bed in the first place, and this conversation was, seemingly, a step beyond what her limited strength could bear.
We would not lack time to argue, I told myself, and instead made my words soothing. She let me lift her, and leaned against my chest as I carried her to the bed, but remained upright once I had set her down. "Solas," she said, "whatever your new world becomes, whoever is in it - when they toast you as the god of their salvation, make the end of slavery your first edict. Please."
"No one who saw me ever mistook me for a god," I told her. "But slavery was the first cause I ever took up, and I never abandoned it. I will always use whatever power I have to fight for freedom."
"Good," she whispered, sinking down onto the pillow. When I reached out to smooth her hair from her face, she was already asleep.
Elven translations, by order of appearance:
Ma serannas: My thanks
Vhenan: Heart/home
Halani: Help or assistance
Sathem lasa halani: Pleased to give assistance
