The Dread Husband Rises

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The arrival of Clan Lavellan to the Free Marches was a pleasant one for a change. During the council and festivities of the Arlathvhen a little under a year ago, it had been decided that they would make their way North through Orlais and Nevarra to stay near Hasmal. Nothing is ever permanent, but with the separation of the city states, it was easier to lay low between them. The North also provided more resources and warmer weather, which was particularly beneficial since they had been struggling the past few years.

The halla led the clan along a distributary of the Minanter River that descended into a large clearing in the forest. The grass within was relatively high and showed no signs of recent flooding. It was nearly idyllic. Mithra uttered a small prayer in thanks to Ghilan'nain under her breath as she made her way to the front of the aravels to help unload. The heaviest crates were usually left to her, save for Emith's tools that he wouldn't dare let her touch. And she was fine with that, because he was a wretched little man who didn't deserve her help anyhow. As she was sliding the boxes to the front, she popped the lid on his crate. Just slightly. If he didn't sling it off the aravel in a huff, nothing would happen, but if he did as he was prone to...

"Stop touching my things, girl. You know better," Emith grumbled, snatching his box off the wagon. And throwing a bunch of the smaller tools on top into the high grass. "Fenedhis!"

Mithra snorted. "If you'd let me touch your precious tools, I'd help you pick them up."

He knelt down and started picking his things from the grass, some of it tangling in the long blades. "You know very well why I won't."

She did, and it hurt. Thankfully it wasn't a sentiment shared by many in the clan, at least not vocally. He resented her for "being the cause" of them leaving Ferelden. For being a hunter who was unable to shoot a bow because of her poor eyesight. For using shemlen weapons. Looking like one of them. And he believed she acted like one too. She shook her head and continued unloading, careful to not step on any errant tools. He was part of her family whether she liked it or not, so she had to forgive him for his fear.

The final addition to camp, one of the heaviest single objects to move, lay all the way in the back of the aravel under a hide tarp. The statue of the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel. Technically not to be placed within the camp itself, and normally a two person job to lift, it was a task Mithra could perform alone. She walked it down to the edge of the wagon, careful not to scrape the wood, and jumped off so she could grab it from hip level.

Before she could go ask her uncle Faron where he wanted it, she felt a tug at her pants leg. "We finished putting our stuff away. Can we come with you?" She turned to see Tamaris looking up at her with her big brown eyes.

"That fast?" Mithra asked quizzically.

"It was a group effort. You forget Lea and Dali aren't babies anymore," the smaller elf scoffed. Her tone was everything. Not even a teenager yet and already sassy.

"Alright, alright. Go ask Faron if he's scouted out a safe spot for it and you can help me get there," she sighed.

"Yes!" Tamaris exclaimed, punching the air and scurrying off to their uncle. He was setting up the Keeper's humble tent for her as she rested on a boulder. Mithra could barely hear the exchange, but she could tell he was irritated just from his tone, which was rare. Maybe the heat was getting to him. She was unsure if he'd ever been this far North in his life.

Tamaris returned with their five other siblings in tow, and Mithra glanced over each of them with parental appraisal. "Harea... why are you covered in paint?"

"These are my painting clothes," the little one replied, as if it were obvious.

"I mean, they are now I guess," Mithra chuckled. "Did you get into Soran's stuff?"

"He let her," Ghestlin piped up. "'Cause she helped him unpack, and she draws good."

"Ahh, that was sweet of him. She does draw well." Mithra tried to keep the correction of the young boy's grammar subtle. Learning took time. She finally took the tarp off the statue and lifted it from the side of the wagon, turning to Tamaris. "Tell me where we're headed."

The young elf cringed at the sight of the moss-covered wolf before answering. "Down the creek bed a ways. He gave me some spiced dil'nis as an offering for it. Isn't it... bad luck to have it uncovered inside camp?"

"It's fine, he's on his way out. I never carry him with it, it's too awkward," the hunter explained. Tamaris nodded and they headed out, past the others still tending to the finishing touches on their tents. As they took to the shade of the treeline, the woods came alive with birdsong and the babbling of the creek below.

"So," Vunlea's small voice gingerly cut through the forest chatter. "If Fen'Harel was bad, why do we carry his puppy around?"

Mithra stifled a laugh. "It's not his puppy, da'len. It represents him. He's... well, he's still a god. Sometimes he protects people. Sometimes people need protection from him. It's better to try to stay on his good side, right?"

"I guess so," the little one agreed.

"But he lies, and he's mean. Why didn't the Creators just kill him?" Ghestlin queried.

"Well, they might have, if he didn't trick them. He's the only god left that's still technically in our world, according to what the Keepers tell of The Betrayal. The Creators still have power here, yes, but the Dread Wolf lingers," Mithra explained through gritted teeth, the rough edges of the stone beginning to bite into her hands now. They were totally out of sight of the camp, and the creek bed was getting muddy. "Here's probably good, right Tam?" Tamaris nodded, clearing some leaves for her sister to place the statue. She put it down in the dirt facing camp, then twisted it the opposite direction. A little bit of ritual, asking him to cast his gaze away.

Tamaris took the dried meat from her pocket and handed it to Mithra. "Do you think he watches us do this?" She asked nervously.

"Maybe... but I don't think he's as bad as people say he is. Shemlen are worse," she said gravely, staring blankly at the back of the wolf's head. "I hope he sees. Maybe being alone in the world without the Creators, seeing the good our people do, could change him to be kinder. Maybe he was just... sad inside."

Tamaris saw the places her sister's mind wandered and took her hand. "The dil'nis," she reminded.

Solas says nothing, but stays just a little closer than usual.

He claims it is “to monitor the Inquisitor’s condition.”

Before long, the place where she can lean, the hand that offers her a drink, and everything else she might need all seem to have found their way to his side.

Solas says nothing, but stays just a little closer than usual.

He claims it is “to monitor the Inquisitor’s condition.”

Before long, the place where she can lean, the hand that offers her a drink, and everything else she might need all seem to have found their way to his side.