In Search of a Wolf - The Elves of Fen'Harel Book 1 (Dragon Age)

The Dream

At night she rose, restless and unsettled, crossing through the dark courtyards of Skyhold and into the eerily silent throne room. There were of course, the usual pilgrims thronging outside, even at night, and soldiers and scouts were coming and going about their business with quiet earnestness. The outside had a thriving hush to it: bodies drifting, their voices in hushed whispers. Laisa glided through them, ghost-like.

The empty throne room felt like an omen: dim and shadowy, somehow so much more cavernous without is usual audience. She had intended to go into the mage's tower to perhaps see if Arana was awake to chat. Instead her feet led her to Solas's room, mysteriously unlocked once more.

There was something wrong, and she couldn't put her finger on what at first. Finally she concluded that the frescos seemed brighter than normal, almost dancing in the light of her torch. Images seemed to slip from their paint, swirling around her as almost tangible beings: mages and Templars, elves and beasts. 

She had shrunk against the wall in terror, her heart pounding fit to burst. The doors leading from the room had vanished in the midst of the visions, leaving her trapped and vulnerable. That was when the dragon came to life.

It snaked its way into the now colossal room; its eyes, cold and pitiless, fixed upon her. Its scales were dark and it stank of rot and decay. She remembered being a child during the last Blight and being told of the rotted husks that made up their ranks. This smell was similar.

It spread gargantuan wings, stalking towards her, jaws slightly open to expose razor sharp teeth. A scream built up inside of her, but no sound would escape. She had never been meant to be a warrior. She was quiet, well-behaved, a keeper of animals and now, she was to fight a dragon.

As it lunged, she smacked its snout with the torch in her hand, the flames guttering and dying as she did so. The world plunged into darkness as the dragon screeched. Laisa crawled across the stone floor, sweat beading on her brow. 

They were both locked in a blind search, the only light from a tiny window in another room filtering through. She could just make out the dragon's shape in the darkness, but it was scenting her small body. One moment, it almost had her, its jaws clamping down, teeth catching her shoulder, tearing through the skin. She swallowed back her cry of pain, dragging herself backwards. 

But as it closed in towards her, the wolf in the painting also came to life. Solid and grey, wiry and strong, it snapped and snarled at the dragon, putting itself between the beast and Laisa.

As bloody battle raged, she curled herself up to hide, her shoulder painful and bleeding heavily, soaking the top of her tunic. Shivering and afraid, it took her a moment to notice the blue fire of a mage, before the scene abruptly swept away: the dragon and the wolf vanishing as if they had never existed, but her wound left more than real. Torch lights around the walls flickered to life and she found herself lying on the ground in Solas's room once more, all phantasms gone.

"Garas quenathra, da'len?" A soft voice called out to her, "You could have been killed."

"Solas?" Her voice shook. "You shouldn't be here, they're all looking for you. What was that?" She stared up at him, her hair fallen loose, covering the bloody gouge in her shoulder that she lacked the strength to examine.

"Creatures of the Fade, feeding on your imagination." He said, standing a little distance from her, pulling his cloak around himself. "As for me, no one will find me here. Trust me on that."

"The Fade?" She stammered.

"They won't hurt you now. They're not real."

"This is a dream." She realised. "But then, how are you here?"

"It's a gift of mine." He flashed a rare smile, "I wanted to ask you something and this way you won't remember that I asked."

"What is it?" She asked, raising herself onto her knees. She pulled hair sticky with blood back into a clasp behind her head, and heard his slight intake of breath at her punctured shoulder.

"You're injured." He finally closed the distance between them.

"Though not as badly as when we first met." Laisa tried to laugh. "Plus the bruise isn't new." Her cheek was still black from where the noble had struck her. "Some shem tried to take liberties and I refused, and so he hurt me." She didn't know why she told him, but it was oddly gratifying to see the darkening of his expression. "All because I'm small, and I'm an elf."

"And beautiful." He seemed surprised by his own words, shaking his head once. "Let me help you." He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder and closing his eyes. There was a tingling rush and suddenly her shoulder was good as new. Gently, he laid his hand against her cheek. The tingling sensation swept against her skin like a kiss, and for a moment, looking into his eyes, she was shocked at the maelstrom of emotions broiling within her. Her face flushed, and she looked away. "What were you doing here, da'len?" He asked into her silence.

"I guess I was thinking of the paintings." He helped her up. "I spoke to Lavellan here about you, a little."

"She's a good woman." Solas said.

"She misses you. She said...you don't like the Dalish. I thought you were one of us."

"I'm a wanderer, I suppose. As for your people, I've always found them too proud and narrow-minded. I've tried to share truths with them that I have learnt in the Fade, and they have always disregarded me. But I do make exceptions."

"Am I an exception?" Laisa asked, almost smiling. He just smiled back at her. After an odd pause, she spoke, "So what did you want to ask me so badly that you would slip into my dream?"

"It sounds silly now," He looked almost embarrassed, "but I wanted to know where your clan was slain, that I might bury whatever remains were left, and plant the trees. Since, I was in the area anyway..."

"That's so...kind." She didn't know what to say. "The Inquisitor sent people to do it on Arana and Nanin's behalf though, so the seeds are planted."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to know. Oh, and the name of the man who hurt you like this."

She turned her face away, "It was Lord Joffrey of Val Royeaux. He just left and is now on his way to Redcliffe. My friend Malika, and her friend Varric, they humiliated him in secret."

"I see." He replied. His face gave nothing away.

"As for my clan, they're in the Hinterlands." He slipped an arm about her shoulders and suddenly they shifted. The world was open and clean and fresh. He helped her to control the dream, to take them straight to the place her new family were destroyed.

The sound of laughter stopped her in her tracks. A fire blazed merrily and the light illuminated the cluster of aravels around it. Elves, their faces marked by vallaslin, clustered in groups, talking and laughing. 

Arana was chatting away to the Keeper, Nanin staying close to the treeline. Children ran and played games, giggling and shouting. Her little brother, Lemrian, drifted from group to group, smiling. All of those faces she had missed for so long were there: happy and living.

"But they're dead." She whispered, tears in her eyes, "I saw them die."

"This is the Fade." Solas reminded her, pity in his eyes. "These are spirits."

"I miss them." Her heart ached.

"I know how you feel." He slipped a hand into the crook of her arm. "You won't remember this soon." His eyes were sad.

"That seems cruel."

"It's for the best." Solas replied, "It's time to wake."

Laisa, like most non-mages, rarely remembered her dreams. The world of the Fade was largely unknown to her. And yet that night when she woke, heart hammering, she remembered it all.