They set their sights on Halamshiral.

Of all places for an Elven uprising to begin it seems fitting for it to be the original home of the Dales. And they are all Dalish now, those that survived the chaos of a fallen world, even if they never wore vallaslin or ran with halla. In the end none of the differences mattered when the Elvhen arose from a long sleep, looked down upon their muddled legacy, and found them wanting.

Rumors blow through the streets like wind through reeds, whispers of a movement to bring equality to the Dalish. Such things have spread before, embers that never found a spark, but this feels different. They speak of a strange figure that freed a damned blacksmith from his prison, a wolf that is no friend to the Elvhen. A wolf to challenge Fen'Harel.

All she need do is prove herself first.

"What are you doing? Stop!"

Fen'Lin watches from across the way as the store owner's table is overturned. Glass figurines, dishes, and other designs crash to the ground and shatter into thousands of pieces like colored rain as the two Elvhen dressed in danger smirk with satisfaction.

"No, please!" The Dalish elf is beside himself, hands grasping tight to silvering hair, desperately trying to halt their destruction as they ransack the delicate vases displayed on shelves next. No one from the crowded streets offers to interfere. Only a few even bother to stop at all while most scatter like rats with their heads down.

"Lord Volasile expects your payment by tomorrow eve. He'll be here personally."

"You have just destroyed all my work for the week! How can I possibly pay him now?"

"A difficult situation to be sure." Their laughter follows them as they head down the street and Fen'Lin steps closer to watch the desolate despair rage across the man's face.

"He will be the one to pay," she says. He does not see or hear her, hidden by the cloaking spell wrapped around her body, but she sees him. She has heard the cry of the Elven and has waited too long to set things right.

For a few moments she walks behind the lord's men and takes note of the number of their weapons, their placement, looks for any magical items to enchance their powers. Their final destination is not hers, not yet, so after a few blocks she veers into an alleyway as they continue on towards the Elvhen district. A mask slips over her face, not the massive wolf's head, but a gold one styled in the old Orlesian fashion that covers her from crown to chin. Anonymity is her greatest ally at the moment, but she imagines the day when she will cast it off to show what's beneath. To show him what he has made her.

She climbs over walls, dips beneath tresses, and finds the enchanted entrance to their base beneath Halamshiral's museum. There is something poetic about this choice as well. The Elvhen have done their best to fill the halls above with their version of a perfect history when the reality of their actions sits below their feet. As she finally drops her spell some of the resistance fighters bow their heads or bend at the waist but all watch her in silence, enraptured. It is a different matter when she enters the council chambers.

"You are late," Reiveth accuses before the door finishes shutting behind her. He hides his face beneath a mask as well, scarlet in color, but she can still see how his blue eyes scrunch with exaggerated annoyance.

"They took their time."

"What have you learned?" Briala asks. She does not wear her mask whenever possible having lived in one for too long and her appearance is fearsome enough with the heavy burn marks on the right of her neck and up the side of her face.

"He will be at the glass maker's tomorrow night. Four guards, if we can go by his previous ventures."

"Then it is time to strike."

Reiveth gives a pleased hum, hands rubbing together. "What excitement! The first official maneuver of the Red Knights."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes at his enthusiasm. There have been many like him, aristocrats playing rebellion with delusions of grandeur and glory. Many break when first blood is spilled and the notion of getting hands dirty becomes an unwanted reality. She won't hold her breath in hopes for him staying long, but she has been wrong before.

"Nevaelathsan and I will infiltrate the estate while you tend to Volasile." The last member of her council steps forward at Briala's words. The Elvhen towers over most of them but Fen'Lin meets their colorless eyes that seem to bleed as they reflect the garnet mask. She has never seen Nevaelathsan without it.

"You truly believe she'll be able to handle that many on her own?" Reiveth says.

"Are you volunteering to come with me?" Fen'Lin's smile is sharp, taunting.

Before he can respond with what no doubt is an excellent response, Briala reaches across the table between them for the markers and maps. "Let us review our plans. They must be perfect if we are to succeed."

Fen'Lin spends most of the next day perching atop the houses across from the glass maker's house or walking around the perimeter while her Red Knights move into place on the other side of the city. When the sun touches against the horizon, the shop closes and three figures leave through the door. The owner, a woman and a small boy. A family.

Fen'Lin watches as they embrace, as the father kisses his child's brow and hugs his wife, and forgotten parts of her heart unfurl at the sight, dreams and wishes, memories taken when a wolf tore with unforgiving teeth at the world. The man stands in the middle of the street as his family disappears into the shadows, shoulders shaking with silent tears, for they will be safe from what will come and forever lost because of it.

An hour later Volasile finally graces the cobbled streets with his presence all dressed in finery and gleaming gems, each able to feed a family in this sector for weeks. Four guards follow as she suspected. Not even a fair fight. Fen'Lin pulls the great wolf's mask over her head and climbs down. With her invisibility spell they do not notice her slip through the door just before it closes behind them.

"Lord Volasile, it is an honor to have you in my home."

"My dear Frelen, I wish it could be under better circumstances." The noble Elvhen sits and brings his hands together. "You owe me a great deal."

"I have done all I can to pay my debts. But you…" Frelen glances at the two guards from yesterday. "Certain incidents are making it impossible for me to succeed. If you would only let me-"

"Are you suggesting that I am unfair? Me, who came to you in an hour of need and graciously bestowed mercy?"

"They destroyed all my work!"

"I have heard of no such thing. Find me one person willing to testify to that fact and I will wipe away all of your debts."

Everyone in the room knows it would be a futile endeavor for there is no one willing to face off against this shark when the water is nothing but red. Frelen bows his head.

"Well, well, what are we to do then? I could take your hands but then who would we have in this wonderful city to create such beautiful art?" Volasile turns to the man at his side. "Do you need feet to make glass?"

"There are pedals, I've heard. I doubt one needs their ears."

"I will settle for something else in exchange for the interest you have accumulated." Volasile leans back in his chair and gestures to the men closest to the door. There is a gasp as Frelen's family is dragged through it by three more guards. Seems they did not escape soon enough. Tears cut down through dirt and blood on the wife's face while the son struggles against the grasp holding him.

"Papa!" he shouts and electric anger races through Fen'Lin's veins.

"Your son looks like a strapping young lad. I could make good use of him."

Frelen leaps to his feet, hands held out as if in prayer. "My lord, I will work harder. I will have your coin, I promise. I-"

"And your wife is a pretty little thing. I know of someone who would pay well for her services, but we should make sure of her worth first. Cophar, bring her to me."

"No! Please, I beg you!"

"Enough!" In a cyclone of sparks and fire, Fen'Lin drops her spell and emerges amongst their ranks. "You are not taking anyone."

Weapons are drawn all around the room but do not strike out immediately. She carries none of her own that can be seen and her headdress has even the most stalwart pausing at first. It is why she wears it, although not the only reason. "What is this?" Volasile demands.

"You said if there was one who would vouch for Frelen's claims you would wipe away his debt. I was there. I saw your thugs destroy his work. Now, I do believe that means we are done here. You are an elf that keeps his word, are you not?"

He regards her with scrutiny and weariness, but very little fear. She will change that soon enough. "Indeed. Despite my curiosity you have the air of someone who causes too much trouble. Remove her."

She turns to the boy. "Close your eyes."

And then she is movement, daggers drawn and flashing with fire that makes blood sizzle as she slashes through the Elvhen. They are taller, sturdier, but she has learned how to find the cracks in their armor, to be faster than the spells that leave their lips or the reach of their weapons. She is no weak child to prey upon. With barely a thought she blasts energy at the last two guards and hurls them against the far wall where they crumple and do not get up again.

Volasile hasn't moved from his chair and now there is alarm in his eyes as she stands triumphant before him on a floor slowly turning red. She flicks a dagger through the air and laughs as he jumps and the cast away blood splatters across his legs. "You have no idea the amount of trouble I aim to cause."

"What…what do you-"

"You, however, will no longer bother the Elven with your insatiable greed. You will even truly help them once. Do you want to know how?" She leans forward, bracketing his body between her arms, and the fear she can smell makes her bare fangs.

"How?"

"By sending a message."

Something worse has happened. He can see it in the way Abelas glares at the message in hand, how Merrill chews upon her nails. He knows it is true as Veranna meets his gaze with the promise of violence curling up her lips. The former huntress may have lost some of her bite, but hers is a thirst that cannot be completely quenched.

"Report?" Fen'Harel asks as he comes to stand in front of the wide council table.

"There has been an incident in Halamshiral," Abelas announces. "Lord Volasile was murdered two days ago by an organization calling themselves the Red Knights."

"Why Volasile?"

"Early investigations into his records indicate he may have been extorting several Dalish families and businesses. It seems a case of revenge, but I would not call it something as simple as that. Apparently they tied him up in the main square and shoved his own gold down his throat until he choked."

"Oh my, how awful," Merrill comments.

The former sentinel glances up at her. "Do you really think so? It was done by your people."

"They do not speak for all, certainly not me. How many times must I tell you?"

"Until I believe it. There is more. Witnesses speak of someone wearing a wolf's head leading their forces and calling themselves Fen'Lin." Abelas drops the paper in hand onto the table and an unblinking eye stares at Fen'Harel again. "And this was placed upon his chest. It was her symbol, was it not?"

Merrill gasps. "The Inquisitor! But, she can't be…can she?"

It has been the constant question on Fen'Harel's mind since seeing the markings days ago. "Has there been any unusual activity from the borders?"

"Not that I know of," Veranna answers. "Only a few pathetic shems trying to gain entrance, as usual. If it is her why use a false name but that symbol? It doesn't make much sense."

"It is not her," Fen'Harel says.

"Can you be sure? After all, the body-"

"Many know of the Inquisition's deeds. This is nothing more than a calculated move to garner support with sentimentality by these so called knights. Although, I suspect, it was done to attract my attention and to provide some insight towards their intentions well. The Inquisition sought to save the world by bringing justice upon a dangerous enemy."

"And we are the new enemy." They were always the enemy, a fact discovered too late by most of the Thedas.

Veranna lets out a snort. "Fen'Lin. A little dramatic, don't you think? Send me to Halamshiral. I shall hunt this Blood Wolf down and paint the streets red with her."

"She is but part of the larger problem. This organization must be dealt with before their agenda can take root. Merrill, you will go for now. Speak to the elders and nobles of the city to uncover what they may know."

"Yes, Fen'Harel."

He gives Veranna instructions to see personally to the borders, especially those of former Ferelden. It is impossible for any Inquisition members to enter their lands, but it is possible someone may be corresponding in some fashion. Abelas he tasks with further investigating Volasile's holdings. A cruel death to be sure yet he does not approve of what he has heard of the lord either.

Despite his words, when he is alone within his quarters Fen'Harel seeks her out in the Fade. There are thousands and thousands of dreams floating through the ether, small and large, colorful or dripping with blackness. He would know hers within a heartbeat, that bright, amber color that draws one in with scents of sandalwood and cream. It has been years but he would not forget, can never forget. Fen'Harel sleeps the whole day through, waiting, searching, but she does not come. She is not there.

It is foolish to even consider it, but a tiny seed of doubt has been planted in his mind. Perhaps she has found a way to hide herself from his prying gaze for there has only been one clever enough to thwart his plans with any success. His thoughts of her twist the Fade around him, forming it into a memory. The initial instinct is to lash out and rend it apart before it forms, but he pauses, chest full of things he has not known for years, and for the first time in many years Fen'Harel lets himself dream of her.

He watches through the wolf's eyes as Keela approaches a massive demon. It shrieks beneath a still churning sky trying to settle as the Fade and the waking world finally blend together once again. Demons were inevitable but he prepared his people to deal with them as best they could. This one, however, he knew she would want to see to herself.

Keela stays far back while her companions combat Despair's cold grip. Shields smash, spells sear, swords slice through slick ice. It is a dance he remembers well as one of the Inquisitor's chosen few and he is not lost to the meaning of this location either. It is where they freed Wisdom all those years ago on the banks of the Exalted Plains and he knows it was chosen deliberately. It's why he thinks she hesitates now, burning power barely bigger than candle flame in her palm. He is not the only one haunted by the past.

When Despair lets out a wail as it readies to strike a fallen friend, Keela's fire finally burst to life. He can feel the impact of it ripple through the air from even this distance as it coils around the demon like vines that won't let go. Tearing down the Veil has made her stronger, made them all stronger, but there is something cold about her strength now, darker where once it was almost too brilliant to look upon. But fire is fire and Despair withers beneath it all the same.

What is left when the smoke clears is not dust and bones but a small, broken figure familiar in its big brimmed hat. Keela dismisses her people and when they are gone Fen'Harel sneaks closer until he can hear her voice.

She drops to her knees, her billowing cape hiding both of them for a moment. "Cole, I'm so sorry."

"I'm not. I'm me again." She bows her head forward at that and he feels it too, the pain from words spoken a lifetime ago by another who couldn't be saved. "That was the wrong thing to say. I can't…it's too hard to find the right. A needle in a pile of needles. All you get is bloody fingers. I want to help but there's too much pain. Too much too much too much. I can't help anymore."

"I know."

"Please, before I turn back. I don't want to hurt. I can't!"

She takes a deep breath and lift her arms, fingers flesh and false shaking. Cole glances beyond Keela to where Fen'Harel approaches and the spirit appears unsurprised to see him. For a moment his eyes are that soft, gentle blue that speaks of understanding before they turn to the steel he used to slice through the undeserving.

"Show him. He doesn't deserve it, but it might help. Someday." And then he whispers something that Fen'Harel cannot hear but makes Keela's shoulders jerk and releases a disbelieving noise from her throat. "Goodbye, friend."

"Goodbye, Cole." He turns his face up towards the sun with a warm smile as he drifts apart under her magic. Fen'Harel can feel the Fade accepting back its wayward spirit, taking the broken pieces and already planting them into something new, but it will never be the same. For what became of Cole at the end it is perhaps a blessing.

Fen'Harel stops a few feet away from her and shifts into his mortal form. She does not turn or move and only gazes out into the river as it continues its endless journey. He does not expect her to speak to him ever again, does not believe he deserves it. It is enough to see her alive after the fall and to know Cole is at peace, but he will not part without showing some gratitude for what she has done.

"Thank you. My presence would have only made it worse for him."

Her reply is hard to hear above the river's song. "You did it. You really did it. Even until the last second I thought, I hoped-" She shakes her head. "Cole, Cassandra, Sera, Rylen. I don't even know about the others. You've taken countless lives, the trust of all your friends. Cities and clans, kingdoms and history. You've taken my whole world. You've taken everything that there is. Are you satisfied now, Dread Wolf?"

"It is done." He glances up into the shimmering sky, of Elvhenan renewed, but it does not feel like a victory.

"And now you have your perfect world."

"No, I do not."

She turns her head to find him and his heart pauses as it always does in seeing those golden eyes. They are not as unyielding as he remembers, the edges tarnished by all she has endured from a world torn asunder. From him. "No, I guess you don't."

"Help me restore order, as I have asked," he says before he can stop himself, but if there is one that can bring peace to a shattered world it is one who has already proven capable of bringing another together again. "The others will need your guidance. I did what I could to ensure the survival of many yet they will not heed me. You know this."

Keela gives a cold laugh as she tries to rise back up to her feet. It seems a struggle, no doubt weighed down by her grief, but he doesn't move forward to help her. His hands clench at his sides for he knows his touch is unwanted. Unworthy.

"And do you think they will listen to the Dread Wolf's whore? I failed them all. I could not stop you and I could not kill you even when I had the chance. That final night, I…I had a knife to your throat when you were sleeping but I couldn't do it. I couldn't. I doomed my world just as much as you did."

He remembers. He is awake, wondering what she will do as she hovers above him. There is a spell protecting him from the sharp edge if she tries, but she only sighs, falls back into the bed, and he is not relieved. They should never have come to such bitter ends.

"Why did you stop?" It is a question on his mind ever since.

Keela looks away, bites her lip. He can see the fight within her eyes, the hesitation, and it hurts him as much as the exhaustion on her shoulders. She is vibrant, bold, and he has made her into something less. When she has made her decision she doesn't quite look him in the eye as she pushes back her cape and reveals a shirt stretched over swelling skin beneath.

He has turned the world over, twice, but only now does it feel like it shifts underfoot. Her hand moves across her stomach, slow and gentle, and it is a sight more beautiful than the pieces of Arlathan floating above their heads could ever hope to be. This is what he wants, the dream he has wanted for himself but could never have. He feels like falling to his knees, to know it is right within reach but now forever beyond him.

She glances at him, sorrow and resignation fading the glow of her eyes, and he is nothing but regret. "Will you take this from me too?"

"No!" The word rips from his throat and this time he cannot stop himself from striding forward. "Keela, no."

A hand reaches out to rest against his chest and he wishes he could feel her warmth. Every part of him wants to hold her in turn, to feel the life growing inside, to be somewhere a hundred choices ago.

"Cole told me before, before he…it's a girl."

Keela smiles, a shadow of something once brilliant, and he knows he has lost more than he will ever gain. She moves away, the one to leave this time, and although he cannot feel the touch of her hand he feels its cold absence. He knows that he will never likely see her again, never see this child, their daughter, born and grow, to assist with first steps and first lessons, but he can make sure this world is truly something beautiful for her. For them.

"Wait." He reaches into a satchel at his side and pulls a familiar necklace from it. It glows bright blue as he passes over the smoothed surface and the spell sifts in to replace empty marrow. "I have imbued it with magic. Should you ever require aid, speak my name while holding it and I will come. From this day forward my people will trouble you no further and I will do all that I can to see all of the people flourish in the world remade. You have my word."

"And which name would that be?"

"The one which will forever belong to you. Please," he adds when she remains still. With a sigh she returns to grab hold of the jawbone. Fingers brush, eyes hold onto one another, and in that moment he would trade this world for the one standing before him if he could. She does not linger long after, pausing to speak the last words he hears from her lips.

"Your promises are ashes in my mouth, Fen'Harel."

He wakes to the midday sun shining with body heavy from the weight of memory as he drags himself from the bed. There were no answers to be found in his dreams, only things he has always known and never could escape. But even as a sharp pain squeezes his ribs he is also gently touched by the visions of the experience. He had almost forgotten just how beautiful she was.

Fen'Harel means to make for the washroom to chase away his slumber with a splash of water when something catches his gaze. A space has been cleared on his desk where only a single folded piece of paper now sits and his feet change direction. He knows the quality of the paper, the soft but sturdy type made for drawings, and there is something sketched upon it as he unfurls it but for a moment he cannot comprehend.

A rift crackles and roars above broken mortar and stained snow with two elves standing defiant before it. Quickly, before more come through! His fingers around her wrist as he lifts the mark up into the air and the world shifts – a fact he later attributes to her more than the magic coursing through her hand. In his memory he remembers catching Keela's expression in the corner of his eye, afraid yet curious, determined, but in the drawing she is not looking up at the cracked sky. She looks behind her, straight through him and smiling, and the paper trembles in his grasp.