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It was her first dream of the wolf.
Sharanni Lavellan found herself strolling in the Forbidden Oasis. She was completely alone, something that, had she been in the real world, would have caused a small panic. But here even the giant spiders and the cultists were missing. Humming to herself, she splashed in the water, feeling the droplets evaporate quickly in the hot sun.
She might have been there for hours, lazing in the pool, when she noticed some movement in the cliffs above her. The wolf—larger than any wolf she had seen before—stared down at her.
Sharanni closed her eyes. The idea anything here could be a threat was incomprehensible, and she was too comfortable to worry anyway.
She couldn’t explain why, but she woke sobbing the next morning.
It happened again a week later. This time she dreamt she was in the Dales. Halla surrounded her, playful and wild, running with her all across her homeland, as her ancestors might have done a thousand years ago. In the middle of the game, she stopped suddenly. On the other side of the river, she could just make out the wolf, large and black, with glowing eyes.
The halla ignored the wolf in the distance. They pranced around her, gently headbutting her, wanting to resume their game. When Sharanni looked back at the wolf, it was gone.
The dreams continued in much the same way. At first, it was every week. Then, every five days. Every three days…two days…. Finally, every night. And every morning she woke up, heart pounding and sobbing from what her conscious mind considered nothing at all.
“Excuse me, Inquisitor,” Josephine said hesitantly after this had been going on for several months. “But are you well? You look rather drained.”
They had just left the war room. Sharanni’s interrupted sleep had made her rather short with her new spymaster. “I’m fine,” she lied firmly.
Josephine was too polite to argue, even though she was clearly unconvinced. Cullen, however, had no such scruples.
“You’re exhausted,” he said bluntly. “An exhausted general is a danger to her troops.”
She glared at him. “Are you questioning my abilities?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
Josephine took a more tactful approach. “We are only concerned about your wellbeing, my lady. I thought you had recovered from that…incident nearly two years ago. But now you seem just as…lost as you did then.”
Sharanni rubbed her temple. The ‘incident’ was her heart being broken by her now ex-lover. Ever since then, all the Inquisition avoided mentioning his name, as though she would start weeping like a lovesick schoolgirl. Sharanni had finally had enough of that. “It has nothing to do with…Solas.” The attempt might have been more convincing if her voice hadn’t broken on the second syllable of his name. She tried again. “Nothing to do with Solas. I’ve just had some strange dreams. That’s all.”
Any mention of strange dreams put the former templar commander on high alert. “What sort of dreams? Nightmares?”
“Nothing like that,” she reassured him. “They’re just…persistent. There’s a wolf that keeps watching me from far away. And I always wake up tired.”
Cullen did not look reassured. “That sounds like a demon’s work to me.”
“I’m sure they’re just dreams,” Josephine said soothingly. “Perhaps, if you think it necessary, we could discretely ask around for any advice.”
Cullen nodded. “Good idea. If we put out word that we need a Fade expert, I’m sure we’ll find someone.”
Josephine hesitated. “I would rather we got to help from someone we already know and trust. It wouldn’t do for word of the Inquisitor’s illness to get out.”
“Who, then? Our resident Fade expert bolted.” Cullen covered his mouth as soon as he said the words, and both he and Josephine gave Sharanni a wary look.
Except for a flush, Sharanni ignored the blunder. “I’ll write to Dorian about it. And if it gets worse, I’ll go see Vivienne. Will that do? Is there anything else?”
Both her advisors shook their heads, and Cullen quickly backed out of the room.
True to her word, she wrote to Dorian that afternoon. Dorian had returned to Tevinter earlier in the year and it would be some time before she had his response. Which was why, two weeks later, she had arrived at Vivienne’s manor in Val Royeaux. On top of the frequency, the dreams now came with a profound sense of longing and desperation that she couldn’t begin to fathom.
“I was so surprised to receive your note, darling,” Vivienne said, escorting her to the balcony overlooking the harbor. “I had no idea you would be in town. If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared something. A dinner perhaps. Or maybe a ball in your honor. It’s been so long since your last one. Something small and intimate, with no assassins this time.”
“This isn’t for pleasure, Vivienne,” Sharanni said, settling down on an ornate chair. “I need your help.”
“Of course, darling, but that’s no reason we can’t have a ball as well.”
“I need advice. On a magical matter. At least, I assume it’s magical.”
Vivienne sat up, suddenly serious. “Is your mark? I thought it had stabilized when the Breach was closed.”
Unconsciously, Sharanni rubbed her left hand. She kept it wrapped up in an effort to hide the glow, and to stop the gawkers. It had been flaring more often than usual lately, but there was no reason to mention that to Vivienne yet. She didn’t need to complicate the conversation any further. “Nothing to do with the Anchor. It’s just these constant dreams I’ve been having. I wouldn’t want to bother you, but Josephine and Cullen are worried.”
“And you never worry enough about these matters. Tell me what these dreams are about.”
Uncertainly, Sharanni explained. The wolf had been sneaking closer each time, and just that night she had felt its nose brush against her shoulder. When she turned, of course, it was gone.
“The commander may be right,” Vivienne said finally. “This may be a demon. Has it said anything? Tried to tempt you at all?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t even howl. Just watches me.” Sharanni shook her head. “I don’t think it means me any harm. It always feels…sad.”
“It may not mean harm, but that doesn’t mean it won’t harm you. A despair demon, perhaps? Feeding off your heartbreak.” Vivienne tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. “Is it always a wolf? The same wolf?”
“Always.”
“And don’t your people have a wolf god of some sort?”
Sharanni couldn’t help it: she laughed. “You think the Dread Wolf is stalking my dreams? Why?”
“Why not? We know Mythal exists. Why not this Fen’Harel as well?”
“I’m not questioning whether or not he exists. I’m questioning why he would take a sudden interest in me.”
“Don’t pretend to be so modest, my dear. You are Inquisitor Lavellan, savior of the Empire, vanquisher of an aspiring god. Of course an ancient, powerful being would be interested in you.”
“And I’ve been that for almost two years now, and the dreams only started a few months ago. It can’t be Fen’Harel.” She shook her head, still amused. “Mythal only spoke to me after I drank from the Vir’abelasan, but I’ve had nothing to do with Fen’Harel. Except for leaving offerings at his shrines whenever I pass one but I’ve always done that.”
Vivienne sighed. “I bow to your superior knowledge of the elvish gods. But I’m afraid we’re back to the only possibility of it being a demon.”
“It’s not acting like a demon,” Sharanni said, frustrated.
“It could just be lying in wait, dear, until the proper moment to strike. You should know how predators work, being a hunter yourself.”
That night, Sharanni dreamt she was back in Crestwood. It was sunny out—it was always warm and sunny in these dreams—with the lake lapping at her feet. She sat down and looked around for the wolf. It didn’t take long to find it, sitting on the crest of the hill, watching her as always.
Sharanni felt a pang of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach. It was easy to laugh at Vivienne’s theory of Fen’Harel during the day, far away from dreams. But what wolf except Fen’Harel would be that size?
“Are you…?” she asked haltingly. “Are you the Dread Wolf?” Her voice was quiet, but she knew, here in the Fade, it would easily reach up the hill.
The wolf tensed when she spoke. For a moment, she thought it would flee, just like always. Hurriedly, she reached out a hand. “I’m just trying to understand! Why do you keep coming here? What do you want?”
The wolf whined piteously as she crept closer.
“Did you need me for something? I won’t make any promises,” she added hastily, knowing the Dread Wolf’s reputation, “but I’ll listen.” Surely there was no harm in listening.
By then she was halfway up the hill. The wolf whined again and took a step backwards.
“Can you talk at all? What do you need?”
She had reached the wolf. It was panting heavily, staring at her with pained eyes.
“It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.” Gently, she touched its nose with her fingertips.
The wolf sighed and closed its eyes.
Emboldened, she ran her fingers along its snout. “Are you like Mythal? A fragment of a god, carried through the ages? But no,” she corrected herself. “Mythal was killed. And you locked away the other gods, didn’t you? And that’s why they couldn’t help us when the humans invaded.”
Fen’Harel stood up with an angry huff. An angry wolf that size should have been terrifying but Sharanni had to bite back a laugh. The idea that Fen’Harel was actually put out by his own reputation as a traitor was so absurdly comical. It was just so wildly different from the scheming villain so many of her childhood stories painted him as. “Perhaps they wouldn’t have been much help anyway,” she added conciliatingly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being Inquisitor it’s that gods are sometimes more trouble than they’re worth.”
He snorted. This time he sounded almost amused.
“And,” she continued, “when they do help, they ask a lot in return.” She rubbed her temple. The whispers from the Well of Sorrows had mostly faded into the background. It was rather like having a persistent fly buzzing in her ear: annoying at first, but eventually she had to learn to ignore it.
And that was setting aside the fear that Mythal would someday use her in this millennia old quest for vengeance and she, Sharanni, would have absolutely no say in the matter. But that was something else she had learned to try and ignore.
“Which brings us back to the question of what you want,” she said. The effort of stomping down on all those worries made her more curt than she had intended. “You must be after something or you wouldn’t be here.”
He sat back and tilted his head, waiting patiently.
“Are you actually going to make me guess?”
He gave a short bark.
If he had been someone else, Sharanni would have told him to go to the Dread Wolf. “I’m going to figure out what you want,” she told him firmly. “I don’t care how long it takes me and I don’t care how unhelpful you’re going to be. And once I figure it out, I’m going to….” She tilted her own head; she hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. The Keeper would tell her she should try and thwart whatever the Dread Wolf had planned, that whatever he wanted couldn’t possibly be good for the People. But after all that had happened with Mythal, Sharanni was not ready to commit herself one way or the other until she knew just what she was dealing with. “Once I figure it out,” she said, with a dignity she did not feel, "I will decide what to do then."
He began to wag his tail furiously.
She should have been terrified the Dread Wolf was watching her in her sleep. Her Keeper certainly would have been. But Sharanni couldn’t help feeling a trickle of excitement. Trying to discover just what Fen’Harel needed with her was a puzzle, a distraction. It was exactly what she needed.
Before returning to Skyhold, Sharanni went through every potential book in the Imperial Library that might have something on Fen’Harel, just in case the humans knew something her own people had forgotten. Unfortunately, the books were almost exclusively written by Chantry folks, with very interest in the elven gods. She then wrote to her clan, asking them for every story they could remember about him. The Keeper would be surprised; Sharanni had never shown much interest in the gods before. Finally, she compiled all the stories she remembered about the Fen’Harel. Her mother liked to tell those ones often, convinced as she was that her young daughter would someday run afoul of the Dread Wolf.
Truth be told, Sharanni had stopped listening to them after a while. She had never regretted that until now.
The next time Fen’Harel appeared, she would be ready for him.
She did not have to wait long.
The night after she started her journey back to Skyhold, she dreamt she was in Haven. It was filled to the brim with people, all carrying out their duties before that brutal attack when so many of them died. Sharanni, studying their faces, couldn’t help but wonder which ones had survived and which hadn’t, and which she could have saved if she was just a bit faster or stronger.
She blinked tears out of her eyes.
In what seemed to be an effort to make herself as miserable as possible, she wandered through the village to where Solas used to spend most of his time. After all, even a facsimile of him would be better than nothing.
As always, nothing was all she got. Instead of the lean elf pacing back and forth, ready to discuss magical theories with her, Fen’Harel sat, bright-eyed and eager.
Sharanni slumped to the ground. A quick look at the man she had loved hadn’t seemed too much to ask, but she should have been used to disappointment where Solas was concerned. He wasn’t anywhere she had searched, and even Leliana hadn’t found a trace of him. It was as though he hadn’t even existed at all, as though her loneliness from being apart from her clan and surrounded by humans had simply conjured him into being.
“Is this some sort of trick?” she asked coldly. “Or are you trying to get under my skin? There can’t be any other reason why you’d choose to meet me here. If it is a trick, it isn’t going to work.”
His head lowered, Fen’Harel crept forward
She took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. Fen’Harel might have been responsible for betraying the gods and destroying the People, but he wasn’t to blame for Solas breaking her heart. “I’ve been researching all the stories about you. You’re making me guess because coming out and saying why you’re here is too straightforward for a trickster god.” He rested his head in her lap. Absentmindedly, she stroked his ears. “Which leads credence to the idea that what you want isn’t something I’d like. If you’re trying to trick me into it. Which means….” She stopped. Fen’Harel had started licking her hand. She stifled a giggle. “None of our legends ever said Fen’Harel was such a sweetheart.”
The wolf’s tail thumped loudly against the grass.
Sharanni laughed out loud at that. “I guess the Dalish were wrong about that, too! Solas always said….” The wolf beside her went deadly still. She realized what she said and went silent, her hands caressing him almost unconsciously.
Solas had left a hole in her heart and ignoring it hadn’t allowed it to heal. Not when part of her still hoped that someday he would reappear, full of explanations as to why he had disappeared in the first place. He had told her she would understand some day, that what they had was real. But after nearly two years of silence, she found those words weren’t nearly enough to support her. And what could he say to make things better? That he was sorry he forgot to send so much as a note to her? Because after all this time, the fear that it wasn’t real, that he had just been using her to get the orb had grown stronger and stronger. That she had just been a silly girl who had ignored everyone’s warnings about the mysterious apostate elf just because she wanted to know what being loved felt like.
“I miss him,” she said finally. The sentiment wasn’t nearly strong enough but admitting even that much was painful. She had never realized just how much she had depended on his presence until he was gone. “If he was here, he would know just what you wanted.” She swallowed hard. “And he’d probably tell me all the ways the Dalish are wrong about you and how the stories change over the years and how many variations he had witnessed in the Fade and…and I wish I knew why he left.” She scratched the wolf behind the ears. “If he changed his mind about loving me, he could have said something. I would never have forced him to stay if he didn’t want to.”
There was something glittering in the wolf’s eyes, but that must have been her imagination. Wolves couldn’t cry, least of all Fen’Harel.
“I just didn’t think he would ever hurt me this much.”
She shouldn’t talk about Solas; not here, not in front of Fen’Harel. All her people’s stories about the Dread Wolf flooded back to her. They couldn’t all be wrong.
But how could someone curled up so sweetly next to her be so dangerous?
She had no new dreams on the way back to Skyhold. Whether that meant Fen’Harel had gotten what he wanted from her or not, she had no idea. Perhaps her blathering on about Solas had taught him just what her weaknesses were and how he could exploit them. Or maybe he had just been lonely and wanted some company.
Charter greeted her once she arrived. “Inquisitor, Lady Montilyet wants to speak about the upcoming Exalted Council.”
“I’ll see her once I unpack, Charter. Anything else?”
“You received a letter this morning from Lord Pavus. The rest of your correspondence is on the desk in your quarters, but Lady Montilyet said this one was important.”
“It’s not as urgent as she thinks anymore, but thank you.” Sharanni took the letter and went up to the library to read it comfortably.
I received your letter this morning. I hope, for your sake, the dear commander is right and it really is just a demon poking at your mind. The alternative is rather alarming. When all is said and done, a demon is easy to understand and easy to deal with. But…well, you know what dreamers are, don’t you? Mages with the power to control people’s dreams? If that is the case, do not trust this wolf. If this mage’s intentions were purely benign, they could get your attention in a far less sinister fashion. Don’t go to sleep without any wards in place.
I’ll be coming south for the Exalted Council. I know just how much you’ve been pining in my absence. We’ll speak more then.
Sharanni blinked. The idea of this wolf being a dreamer wasn’t one she had even considered. But now, with it stated so plainly, she was kicking herself for not having thought of it. After all, she knew Solas was a dreamer and….
Wait….
Solas was a dreamer….
Something finally clicked in her mind.
Numbly, Sharanni descended to the rotunda one floor below the library. She hadn’t come into this room since Solas had disappeared, preferring to avoid all the memories that silently lay there. His unfinished murals were left untouched, chronicling the events of the fight against Corypheus. And right in the middle of the mural: two wolves flanking the Inquisition’s heraldry. She had watched Solas paint it, ran past it a thousand times to talk to him.
“Oh,” she said.