The Liar

Known as the liar, the betrayer, the traitor; loyalty is not what Fen’harel is the most well known trait. 

Their name is associated with betrayal of the highest order, with disorder and dissatisfaction, with a knife in the back and poison on a goblet freely offered. They know, through Laer, that their name has begun to be used as a curse. No longer adored for their long standing collaborations to their kind, the Dread Wolf had become a shadow over the former fey. 

A name that is to be whispered by the people that she once led with distaste and rancor dripping from their lips. 

Funny, how everything they had ever done had been for them.

Funny, how despite the grief, despite the overwhelming loss, they do not know whether if they had the opportunity she would do it all over again or not. 

Fen’harel is angry. 

They have not been anything else but angry for millennia. Her leadership has been born from ashes and blood, and she had expected to endure it all without support or advice. 

They had done as expected, gone above expectations over and over again, but the anger had remained. 

And Titania had never done anything to erase it from them. 

Not, at least, until the Archfey used the truth to break them. 

It worked.

Entirely.

Under Laer, she had begun to heal. At Ayla’s touch she had begun to feel again. 

That didn’t stop the anger, but few saw it for what it was. 

A desire to conquer, to make the world their own after it had taken so much from them. 

Not, at least, until Octavian. 

The Archdruid had seen her anger and fanned the flames, seen her at her most spiteful and vengeful and seen another piece of the puzzle. 

He had gained their loyalty entirely, when he had reached out his hand after the people she had given everything for — the people she had lost her magic to protect — had abandoned her once more. 

Lifted out of the ashes of the Eladrin that she had been, Fen’harel had been given purpose and kin. 

The Lupine had been born, the Dread Wolf reborn with a new pack to follow and protect. 

Then their leader had killed them all. No mercy, no misericordia. A total annihilation of the people she had decided to protect. Octavian had taken them all, leaving no survivors amidst his new acolytes. 

Not even them.

Death, and Octavian’s consumption of their soul, had been quick.

But the memory lingered, once the world had been reset to nothing. 

Fen’harel cannot get themselves to betray Octavian, not when he had become her leader, their hope, their everything. They cannot turn away, even as they witness their own mistakes manifesting upon his skin. They had chosen the Archdruid as much as he had chosen them, and they refused to betray them. 

They will not be known as nothing but a traitor. 

Not again.

Never again.

And yet, they cannot help the wariness they feel around the man, now. Cannot help the way her eyes watch him interact with their fellow acolytes, ready to pull them out of the way if their Archdruid loses their mind once more.