The sun had already climbed past the treetops when 'Manehn bolted from her sleep, her breathing ragged and burning.
She rubbed her temples and took deep breathes, trying to slow her heart, trying to push the painful memories she had kept down, hidden away, where no one except Cole could see them.
Where she couldn't face them anymore.
The dreams were always vivid when undergoing the Vir Elaravel. She knew this. That is why they waited until the mind was clear and the will was strong, when the tumult of adolescence was fading away.
And it was not the first time she would wake gasping for breath. It was not even the first time she was forced awake by things left unspoken and unhealed.
Cole always asked her to let him help heal her pain. Her pain was still sharp, stabbing, on the surface, stinging, shining, bright and brilliant, so loud he could still hear, though he had begun to lose connection to the Fade.
But he didn't need what remained of Compassion. Everyone could still see it. Her rapid-fire jokes and raucous laughter, her gentle teasing, and even her occasional flirty remark directed at the now Divine Victoria, couldn't mask her haunted eyes.
She could hear their concern all the time. In the way Vivienne held her hand and called her "darling" as she and Dorian examined the slowly growing anchor. In the small pauses between conversation when Sera and 'Manehn sat on the roof, eating the first cookies Sera had made by herself. In the way Bull asked her if she wanted to grab a drink at the tavern, followed by a small chuckle because he already knew the answer.
But eventually, the hurt did heal. What did not heal could be hidden.
Until the Exalted Council.
Until she confronted Solas and learned that the man she had loved was gone, and that The Dread Wolf wore his face - The Great Betrayer and God of Misfortune, who cared nothing for the People. Not enough that he would not sacrifice this world. Not enough that he would not sacrifice her, to attempt to restore what was.
Then the wound of his leaving was ripped open, as sharp as the pain from a flaring Anchor that left her skin sundered and raw and burning.
But the pain of the Anchor would always pale in comparison to the pain she could inflict on herself.
When the sun had reached its highest point, Hahren Ellathim strode over to the tent, grumbling as he ducked into the aravel and settled in front of 'Manehn.
He handed her a small bowl filled with boiled herbs and a small cup of water. She took it with a small nod of appreciation and tore into it, ignoring her revulsion at the stringy, bitter leaves and tepid water that would be her only meal for the next couple of days - a jarring contrast to the sweet meats, petit fours, and abundance of wine that flowed from Skyhold's kitchens.
When she was finished, she looked up at the hahren, his face still scrunched in disgust.
"Aneth ara, hahren" she said, keeping her tone as even as possible.
"Your contempt and your arrogance is showing, seth'len"
"Did you only come here to throw cheap slurs, or do you actually serve a purpose?!" 'Manehn snapped at him, her eyes glinting like daggers as she glared into his sneering face.
"You should worry about restraining that temper of yours. I would have said you should leave and keep your face bare. And be rightfully shamed for your flippant disregard of your culture. But if such a name still hurts, then maybe you aren't completely beyond saving."
He cleared his throat, silencing 'Manehn's attempted protest, and began to speak.
"As Dalish, we are the keepers of lost lore. We are what remains of our greatest Empires. We remember what we were, what we were in our full glory. We remember Elvhenan, and how it was lost to us."
'Manehn shuddered as he spoke. She had heard this story many times, from her old clan's hahren, and from her mother. She told it to the children around the campfire, told the story to her baby sister.
She kept this story close to her heart, a shield to remind her that she was more than knife-ear, more than rabbit. A reminder of what they had lost, and what they wanted to restore. Magnificent wonders like the Temple of Mythal, and the remains of Vir Dirthara. All of it, lost to the Veil.
Wonders that Fen'harel had destroyed. Wonders that Fen'harel was trying to restore. Wonders the elvhen would never see if he succeeded.
"Well, are you going to tell me the story?" Ellathim said, crossing his arms and snapping 'Manehn out of her thoughts. "Or have you forgotten the tale of Elvhenan and our fall so quickly?"
'Manehn laughed, a rueful timbre in her voice, "I know more about Elvhenan and the Fall than you will ever understand. Or believe. Have you seen the remains of our Empire with your own eyes? Have you spoken with our gods yourself?"
She paused. "I could tell you the story, but it will not necessarily be the one you want to hear….."
Ellathim chuckled at her defiance. "Such a fire in your eyes, desperate to shield yourself from your guilt. You've cavorted with the Great Betrayer himself, but you have no secret knowledge. You have mere confirmation. And you have only yourself to blame for your foolishness. "
'Manehn began to quake with fury and clenched her fist tight, but said nothing.
"Our tale is true, according to your 'discoveries'. I always believed because I never forgot myself, my people, and my culture. But your faith and your dedication were always weak. You were not ready. You failed in the truest test of resolve. You were still a child, da'len, not ready for the vallaslin. And everything that means."
She lowered her head, voice reduced to a mere whisper. Ellathim smiled at her capitulation, but his face, which had been locked in a perpetual scowl since she had arrived, softened slightly.
"I am not here purely to berate you. I need you to understand what you have done, who you have harmed, and what you need to atone for, if you should return to the People once more."
'Manehn looked at her arm, the one that bore the Anchor. The one that had been severed, in order to save her life.
Another part of her that Solas had taken away.
She began to speak.
"Before the ages were named or numbered, our people were glorious and eternal and never-changing…."
She recited the mantra, his glowering softened as he listened. She savored this moment, pretending that these words were true and that she could believe as fiercely as he did.
When she had finished, she looked up once more and caught a tinge of a smile at the corners of Ellathim's lips.
"Thank you, da'len," he said, and he crawled out of the tent, leaving 'Manehn with the uncomfortable silence.
Keeper Eshna had even barely entered the aravel later that night, with her herbs and oils, before 'Manehn began to speak.
"He's an incorrigible ass."
Eshna sighed. "Da'len, you're supposed to be meditating on the Creators and the People."
"I can meditate on more than two things."
Eshna shook her head and chuckled. "Just like your mother, "she said, "a smartass, through and through. He's always been an ass, but he means well. Well, he thinks he means well. I could try telling him otherwise, but he won't listen, and he's too old to even try and pretend he will."
She tapped 'Manehn's shoulder.
"I appreciate your being conciliatory in the end."
'Manehn shrugged at the compliment.
"Well, I didn't come here expecting endless ass-kissing and backstabbing."
She paused for a second, reviewing her earlier confrontation, how Ellathim had glowered at her with a renewed viciousness, the extra insults and snide remarks, the way he spat the word "cavorted" at her….
"Did you tell him?!"
The Keeper opened the small vial of oil, and began to rub her hands. "Tell him what, da'len?"
"About what I told you, the rumors….and the truth to them? Did you tell him?"
The Keeper stopped for a moment, her head hanging. "Da'len. He believes it to be true. Whether it is actually true or not is irrelevant to almost all of them. But only he and I know who you are. And we intend to keep it this way."
'Manehn laughed, a sinister spiteful laugh that gave Eshna goosebumps. "That's it?! Unknowingly slept with the Dread Wolf is a greater crime to all of you than Leader of the Inquisition or ally to the Chantry? Or putting the Empress who burned Halamshiral back on the throne and just hoping an Elven Marquise could somehow maybe make her not do it again and maybe give us some rights?"
Eshna tried to speak, but 'Manehn stopped her.
"I can list a whole host of reasons why you should think me a traitor or hate me, even after what I've accomplished, that are better than 'poor judge of character'."
"Then if you know damn good and well that there are other reasons to hate you, then take a damn second and think that maybe, for both of us, that maybe those are the reasons we don't trust you." Eshna said, a slight snarl in her voice.
'Manehn scoffed, "Don't pretend it doesn't play a pretty big part, Eshna. I still remember the oath, you know, the part where I'm supposed to fear and hate him. I did the exact opposite of what, and who, a good Dalish elf does."
Eshna said nothing in response. She took 'Manehn's face in her hands and began to apply the oils, her fingers curled like claws, pressing harder into her skin this time.
"Tonight, reflect on who you are. Born to the People, the last of the true Elvhen. Reflect on what has made you the person you are, what we have taught you and what it means to you, how you will uphold these tenets. Reflect on what makes you Dalish."
She quickly started a small fire. "Remember what you see. Be prepared for what comes next," she said as she stormed out.
A small waterfall and the dampness of the Fereldan countryside. She approaches the cove, guarded by great white halla statues, his hand intertwined with hers. She looks up and see him smiling. He caresses her face and she takes his hands in hers. He pulls her close and holds her, a soft whisper at her ear, tinged with longing and love.
"Ar lasa mala revas."
They kiss, his hands pressed at her back, her hands wrapped around his neck. His kisses linger on her lips and trail down her neck as he holds her closer, tighter, longing for her and loving her and desperate to keep her. She wants this, wants him, loves him more than she thought she could, more than she wanted to…
A sharp pain jerks her from him, and she feels a blade pierce her side and slide between her ribs. She clutches at the wound, oozing hot blood, her shirt drenched in red. He lets her go and she crumples to the ground, her lungs burning. She wants to scream betrayal and vow vengeance but only blood comes up from her lips.
"Ir abelas, vhenan."
She tries to seize him, stop him, but she grabs at empty space as he walks away. She curls up, clasping her ribs, feels her life slipping, her eyes heavy with eternal sleep but she tries to catch a last glimpse. A snarling wolf with seven red eyes stands over her, ready to pounce.
She utters her last words.
"I will stop you."