The following fragment contains torture. More delicate readers may wish to keep their smelling salts to hand.

In Dalish lore, Fen'Harel stands accused of tricking the Dalish gods and sealing them away so that they could never again walk among their people.

This fragment refers to two members of the Dalish pantheon: Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, who is the goddess of the domestic arts, and the sister of Andruil the Huntress. Sylaise, the Dalish believe, gave the elves fire, taught them how to weave rope and thread, and to use herbs and magic for healing purposes. The other is Elgar'nan, also known as the All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun and He Who Overthrew His Father. He represents fatherhood and vengeance, and leads the pantheon with the goddess Mythal.

Shame

They were waiting for him.

Time nor tide would slake their thirst for vengeance.

He dreamt about them sometimes. Afterwards he was left shaking and sweat-drenched, his own screams echoing inside his skull.

It was always the same dream.

He was tied to a post, his hands and feet bound, his mouth gagged.

Eyes glowing, they filed past him, forming a perfect circle. In life their pride and hunger for power had kept them from uniting for more than a moment, but now they were all perfectly harmonious in their intention to harm him.

Elgar'nan was the first to speak. Father-usurper, self-styled god of vengeance, he was the most powerful of them all, and the most brutal.

'Trickster. Your pride grows too heavy. We will relieve you of some of its burden.'

The eyes watched him mercilessly. Then Sylaise came forward. She liked to call herself the Hearthkeeper, pretending to be gentle. But her slaves knew well that she was no more gentle than a bear savage with rage. She delighted in making ropes with which to bind the most rebellious of her slaves, slowly roasting them over her famed fire which was kept alight night and day by their brethren. If she had the whim she would heal their burns just enough so that they might continue their work efficiently.

In her arms she carried a wolf-skin, its teeth bared, eyes glazed and legs splayed uselessly, all dignity gone.

Elgar'nan cut Solas's bonds, but he had no time to gather his wits because a moment later he was seized from either side and hoisted face-down onto a stone slab. Deep in the stone he could feel the crackle of leftover magic – blood magic. His arms and legs were tied so that they were spread akimbo, and his head was forced down, grinding his face into the rock, drawing blood.

Then it began.

The process was slow but exact. He felt each sharp entry of the needle, the excruciating tug of thread, then the heart-stopping pain as the needle pulled free of his skin – over and over, until he was trembling and sweating. When he struggled, the needle gored itself more deeply into his flesh, drawing blood. He learned to submit, at last.

Sylaise never faltered until her work was complete, the dead wolf-skin attached to his all too living skin, raw with pain.

Abruptly he was cut free. They jeered as he staggered to his feet, laughing as he lifted a hand to his bloodied face and recoiled in horror at the wolf's paw sewn fast to his arm.

He felt its weight on his head and back, the tail hanging shamefully between his legs.

'And so the wolf is dread no longer.' Elgarnan's sharpened teeth flashed, gleaming with saliva. 'We have taken his pride at last.'

Sylaise wiped her needle carefully on her sleeve. Her face was calm; undisturbed by remorse or pity. She examined her handiwork critically, then looked Solas in the eye.

'Now all who see you will know what you are.'

He would never rest.

He would never forget.