#the Dread Wolf gets some irony thrown at his head by Dalish lore

[crackinglamb]

Afraid

From this prompt list.

Read it here on AO3. ~1500 words, rated T.

Summary: La’vise isn’t afraid of the big, bad wolf.

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La'vise rolled the amulet back and forth in her hands, looking over the etchings on its surface, the stylized wolf head and marks of hard wear along the edges.  She had conquered a fear without realizing it until this moment and it was somewhat bemusing.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Varric asked across the fire, watching her.  They were settled into camp, a good hot meal in their bellies, their armor tended to, the long day done.  

“I was always afraid of wolves, you know,” she said, still looking at the amulet.

“Any particular reason why, other than the obvious slavering and rending teeth reason?” Varric rejoined with a bit of a laugh.  She smiled at the description before rubbing her thumb across the carved wolf's head.  

It was hard to tell just how old the amulet was, but it appeared to be quite.  Its power was diminished, but still present.  Once she'd put it on, none of the remaining wolves had attacked her.  She knew she would keep it.  Even if it was just as a thread of a connection to her roots. The way the head was carved was too reminiscent of the old statue her clan used.  It was like carrying a piece of home with her.

“The Dalish are taught to be wary.  Because of the Dread Wolf.”  From the corner of her eye she saw Solas turn his head slightly from his journal.  He was listening, but didn't appear to be ready to interrupt with another one of his caustic opinions of the Dalish for once.  “Never let him catch your scent, never let him hear your footsteps.”

“Ahh, yeah, I know a bit of those legends.  Daisy used to tell us stories.”

“Daisy?”

“Merrill.  She was from a Dalish clan.”

“Sabrae?  I know of Merrill.”

“No shit?”

“Yes.  I was a child the last time I saw her.  The last Arlathvan she attended.  I must have been...oh, seven or eight.  She wasn't at the one a few years ago.”  She huffed.  “No surprise, there.  There isn't a Clan Sabrae left now.”

“So, tell me why you're bringing this up now?”

“Those wolves we fought, for the horsemaster's wife.  They weren't...I wasn't afraid of them.”

“Why not?” Cassandra entered into the conversation.

“I'm not sure, really.  Maybe because I'm older.  Or maybe because at this point I've seen far greater terrors than some legend from before the Dales fell.  Even if I can't remember the details.”

“You do not fear that he is real?” Solas asked, drawing her attention away from the amulet to his face.  There was something there, some dark hidden emotion in his eyes made more obscured by the firelight.  Then it was gone, and she wasn't sure she hadn't just imagined it.

“The Creators have never heeded the Dalish's prayers.  Why should Fen'Harel be any different?” she scoffed.

“And that necessarily means none of them exist, da'len?  Those that follow the Andrastian faith have no proof of the Maker, but that does not mean he is not out there, somewhere.”

La'vise made a face at him, equal parts exasperation and ridicule.  “Really, Solas, is that the best argument you can come up with?  The last few months have shown us all that we don't know half of what we think we do of this world.  I'm willing to bet that all our religions are wrong. Surely no hand of the Maker, nor work of the Creators, would bring this chaos upon Thedas.  Hahren.”

“A fair point,” he agreed with a tilt of his head.  “There are certainly more mysteries on this earth than answers.”

“I mean, by that logic, one might even accuse the Dread Wolf of being behind the Breach,” she said lightly.  She wasn't really expecting him to agree, it was fairly preposterous when she thought about it.  But she certainly wasn't expecting the startled laughter that came out high pitched and was abruptly cut off before it got too loud.  He shook his head and went back to his journal.

“If what Daisy said is true,” Varric said before she could examine Solas's reaction, “I wouldn't be a bit surprised.  Sounds like his thing.”

“I am unfamiliar with these legends,” Cassandra said.  “Who is the Dread Wolf?”

“The great Betrayer,” La'vise answered before Solas could so much as open his mouth.  “He locked away the Creators in the Fade, cutting the Dalish off from our gods.  No one knows why, whether it was pure malice, jealousy or just because he is known to be a trickster.  He is...”

“Reviled, I believe is the word you are looking for,” Solas said dryly.

“No.  Not reviled.  We have respect for him among the pantheon, just as we have respect for Elgar'nan's fire and Dirthamen's secrets.  But it's true that we have no great love for him.  His is a figure of terrible deeds, and many of our curses invoke his name because of it.”  She shrugged.  “It doesn't matter.  He's probably about as real as any other supposed deity.”

“Perhaps,” Solas said dismissively.  He closed his journal as the light faded, leaving only the fire for them to see each other by.  He stood and stretched and wandered away from the camp, as he often did in the evenings.  She had yet to ask him what he did when he left, why he always walked for an hour or two before settling down to sleep.

“Well, Wolfs-bane, I'm glad to see you aren't afraid of them anymore.  It makes one of us.”  He poked the fire around a little bit more and stood up, brushing off his backside.  “I'm gonna turn in.  It was a long day and some of us were much more up close and personal with dread beasts than others.”

“Goodnight, Varric,” she laughed.

Cassandra watched him go and shook her head for a moment.  Then she came and sat down with La'vise at the fire.  “He is going to keep calling you that now, you realize.”

“Probably.  It's all right.  It beats anything he might choose.”

“I suppose I had not thought much of your heritage and how it differs.  I have not known many Dalish.”

“We don't travel much through Nevarra, I would guess.”

“No.  Your clan, they are in the Free Marches, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“You do not speak of it often.”

“No, I suppose I don't.  I don't know how my Keeper would feel about me being the Herald of another religion.”

“Is that why you will not say whether or not you believe Andraste saved you in the Fade?”

“There's that, and honestly?  I don't know who the woman was.  It's too...bright.”

“I must remind myself that you have a history all your own.  That you have your own beliefs and that I should not force mine upon you.  This was a good reminder.  I won't forget again.”

Cassandra stood and squeezed La'vise's shoulder before disappearing into the tent they would share.  La'vise put another log onto the fire to catch and climbed the rock that formed one of the boundaries of this little camp, well within sight of Dennet's farm as well as the road that led back toward Redcliffe.  From there she could see Solas.  He looked like he was casting.

She waited until he began to come back before she uncurled from her compact position and he could see her in the dark.  “What were you doing?”

“Placing wards, as I do each night.”

“Is that what you do when you wander off?  You could have just said something.”

His mouth ticked up on one side, a half smile.  “It is not something I wished you to be concerned about.”

In another, that might have sounded insulting, but she thought she understood.  There was no peace to be had, here or anywhere else in the Hinterlands.  It was a small gesture and quite possibly eased the burden on the Inquisition soldiers who stood guard over her while she slept.  And he didn't like drawing too much attention to himself.  She grinned at him.

“Will they keep Fen'Harel away?” she joked.

Solas offered her a hand to get down from the rock and chuckled.  It sounded a little forced but warmed to genuine by the time her feet hit the ground.  “I rather doubt anything anyone could do would keep him at bay if he did not wish to be, da'len.”

She held up the amulet and grinned again.  “I guess I should be glad I'm doubly protected, then.”

“Ma nuvenin,” he replied with a small smile.  If his eyes glittered in the darkness, it was only because of the way the firelight was hitting him, she was sure.  She let go of his hand and banked the fire, made sure the guards were posted and finally turned back to him where he still stood at the edges of camp.

“I'm going to bed.  Don't stay up too late.”

“Of course not, Herald.  On era'vun.”

“On era'vun, Solas.”