#either the wolf represents the rage and injustices that burn through her

[preyed-llama]

Hot take about the horror genre, I wish we used werewolves as a metaphor for female rage, something that is hidden and repressed in order to be perceived as acceptable until it destroys you and everyone around you, until the blood dripping from your fangs and claws are yours and theirs, bound together. Especially when placed in a story where men act on their aggression, their anger.

[ebbforeman]

The Court of Fen’Harel

(Just a little something that I started working on to pass the time until DA4. Bioware is seriously killing me with the lack of updates...I’ve had to start new play-throughs to satisfy my needs!!) 

Full Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574054

The Court of Fen'Harel

Chp. 1 King of Old & New

It was decided long ago that the place where he would settle would be that of the Elven Ruins from the time of Elvhenan. He would restore what was old in addition to adding some new. It was necessary, he deemed, while molding and shaping all that it would become. He had grown accustomed to certain comforts during his travels and adventures, things he never truly cared for or dwelled on prior to his time among the humans, children of the stone, and the qunari. At first, when he stood on the overgrown path, feeling the breath of wind mix with the will of magic and observing the subtle changes of nature; he realized ironically that he would miss the world he vowed to destroy in order to restore what was lost.

He realized within those brief, calm moments, before he summoned the divine power of the ancient magics to break down the very fabric of the veil, that he in truth would reshape some aspects out of necessity and not selfishness.

The foundation of the world shook and he watched, as promised, as all that had risen in place of the old burned in the chaos. With the flick of his wrist he destroyed the shrine, unbothered by the crumbling of the wolven status or the cracks that webbed along the painted frescos, and in its stead erected a castle to call home. His desire to create a haven for the Elvhen people manifested itself in the shape of the stone fortress nestled in the rocky cliffs just beyond the long bridge.

It wasn't difficult, or at least no more so than reconnecting the eluvians had been. The magic flowed through him like air in his lungs, swiftly, easily, and naturally. His agents across Thedas, under his instruction, knew how to protect themselves. He'd sent scouts long before the veil began to pull against reality. They fanned out across the land with a message and small bundle for each of the elven faction leaders on where to go and how to survive. They gathered like lost sheep in the grey mists of the crossroads, the only place shielded from the uncontrollable madness that raged just beyond the protection of mirrors.

He watched as wild and willful spirits eagerly took to their new home. Much like the elves, they pressed together to learn of the world they once seemed no more than a dream or a reflection of their own reality. New and old magic blended beautifully. He often found himself speechless and surprised by the glimpses of forgotten dreams and dreamers lost to time.

One piece, one small piece of that world he refused to surrender. For a time he foolishly convinced himself that he could. Naive and childish notions of longing and need fueled him, and after a time that need grew and proved stronger than anything he'd ever felt. Go to her, he had commanded Briala, You are a familiar face and will bring a welcomed comfort that I will not be able to give at this time. While Felassan paid with his life for his error and failure, Briala had been more willing to obey. He allowed her to live, knowing or perhaps hoping that doing prove to be useful later. The truth had revealed itself like a glimmering gift. Her role would be to serve, not as a slave, but as a handmaiden. Briala's skills as a spy and assassin in addition to her history with the human empress made her the logical, if not perfect choice for this task.

"What makes you think she will come willingly." She asked, as she stood under the stone arch of what would become his throne room. "Last we met, she and I did not part on the greatest of terms."

He cared little for her doubts and only desired compliance. "She will come. She has a strong heart, and is determined and thoughtful. She will be unable to accept death and she deserves more than the world she was born into." he waved his hand across an eluvian and the glassy surface rippled as if water. "Go by way of Vir Tanadahl. The foliage and trees will shield you and hide your intent, be swift for we are running out of time. You will find her near Skyhold and at the edge of the Frostbacks."

He thought of that day often. It plagued his dreams more so than any of his misgivings and deeds throughout the years. He rose from his bed, moving silently so not to disturb the sleeping form beside him, and crossed the room to the open balcony window. The moon had long since risen casting a bright, pure white glow along the marble railing and tiles that decorated the balcony. He peered beyond the towers and walls of stone to the crystal spires that floated in the distance. He had missed them and it wasn't until now that he knew how much. The marvelous craftsmanship of his people, the wonder and beauty of the infinite potential of the imagination - it was all breathtaking. Imbued with ancient magicks, that were long thought lost and forgotten, he found whispering at the edge of the broken veil searching for an amenable host to pass the knowledge on to. And even now, such knowledge still lingered flittering aimlessly in the world. He alone was up for the task of collecting them all - that and ensuring it was utilized correctly.

He sighed, utterly frustrated. There was still much to be done. This new, old world was still incomplete. The Tevinter Imperium refused to collapse and somehow, either by the use of blood magic or stolen elven artifacts, survived the shattering of the veil. It was a surprising and unforeseen act that would be rectified in due time. He allowed the waterfall below the balcony to cleanse his mind. It was a peaceful sound and absolute peace was something the world was in short supply of - that too would change before his time was done.

The night air swirled around him causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. He stood there, face the dark, naked and his mind restless. "There is so much to be done," he mused, his tone flat. He felt smaller somehow as all of his plan came rushing to him unbidden and all at once. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, something he was not accustomed to. He peered over his shoulder and watched the rise and fall of the sleeping figure's chest and smiled - well, almost not accustomed to.

He turned back, focusing on his duty once more. While he was no god, he was indeed prideful and hotheaded, maybe even cocky in his belief that alone could purge the world of injustice and evil. He shook his head, no, no, that was merely doubt. He was certain of his purpose. Actions and consequences. Cause and Effect. These were the black and white dichotomies of life.

"Solas?" a voice from within the bedchamber called, thick with sleep. "Is something wrong?"

She was up and moving before he could reach her and he cursed himself for being so selfish and causing her undo worry. She shuffled awkwardly toward him, her silver white curling hair spilling across her shoulders like liquid starlight.

"Vhenan," he breathed, wrapping his arms around her. "I am sorry, did I wake you? I did not mean to. You should be resting and enjoying your sleep."

She hummed thoughtfully and inhaled his scent. "Vir sumeil, I could sense something was wrong through our bond."

He smiled down at her, kissed her head and nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, I continue to underestimate your sensitivity to such things."

Her sleeping silks clung to the curves of her body, the fabric so thin and transparent it looked to be flesh. He could feel her full and heavy breast pressed against his chest and the swell of her budding belly touching his own stomach. "You are beautiful."

She laughed softly, the sound so lovely and feminine it seized his heart. "Really? I feel rather like a druffalo, minus the rather intimidating horns."

"Ma vhenan, I could hardly agree with that sentiment, given you are carrying our child within you."

He remembered their time together before, when he led her to the cove near Crestwood and offered to reveal the truth of the vallaslin to her. She had balked at the idea of marking herself as a slave, as he knew he would, but what he was unprepared for was the visceral pain it caused her to know how fragmented her knowledge of her history was. He wanted to tell her then, the truth of his intentions, and lose himself in his love for her, but….

"Yes, our child. Abelas believes I am carrying a girl, though why he would wish that on me…" Her ears flattened slightly at the idea. "I wouldn't know where to begin with a girl."

This time he laughed and brought his lips down to meet her's. Guileless emerald green blinked back at him, dazed and hungry. There was lust hidden within her weary eyes and he felt his manhood swelling and grow stiff the more his hands roamed her body.

"You will be a wonderful mother, Ashalle. Should we have a daughter, I believe she could find nor possess no better mother than you."

"I never knew my own mother, or father. I'm not sure I really know how to care for a child."

"You will take to it naturally, as you do with most things."

She scoffed. "You have more assurance than I do."

"Come, vhenan." he said, offering her his hand. "Let us go back to bed."

She had become his distraction, his weakness. He soon learned after that orchestrated meeting in this very place five years ago, that he would betray himself for her. To be with her. To see her. To smell her scent and feel her warmth. He resolved himself to save her, for a life without her in existence would be hollow and dull in comparison.

And so, Briala brought Ashalle to him. Regrettably a fight had ensued and the now ex-inquisitor refused to be drawn back into any game involving the Dread Wolf. The resistance was inevitable, it was, after all, who she was and what she represented. A hero who rose to stand against evil, a shining light to fight the darkness from swallowing the world whole. Sleep magic was required, something that even Briala, who possessed no innate magical gifts, was able to perform without harming Ashalle.

The slumber was not unlike the one he experienced after banishing the Evanuris into the beyond. It was careful, well practiced and formulated magic, that would retain all that she was but make her more….amenable to his intentions. She woke, confused and frantic and he would never forget the shrill sound of terror when she realized her left arm was fully restored.

Ashalle kissed his neck and pressed herself against the hard mold of his body. She was rather good at distracting him. She ran a hot tongue down his neck and whispered sweet words of love to him as her hand reached for his length.

"You should be sleeping." he moaned, struggling to fight against his own lust.

This was not the first time. He once swore he would never lie with her under false pretenses; however, back then his tenacity, his sheer strength of will and character seemed stronger. The barriers he created as he walled off his heart and the distance he placed between them assisted with alleviating his emotional entanglement to her, if only for a while. Soon, he could no longer bear the thought of being separated from her or her dying by his hands.

"I will sleep after, my love."

He could not keep himself from reaching down between her thighs and exploring the wet folds that lay at the center of them. He pulled his face down to a round supple breast, took the peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked at it. His manhood throbbed with longing, an ache that begged to be satisfied whenever he laid eyes on her.

Ashalle's mouth was sweeter than the deepest dream, than any dream he ever experienced both in and out of the Fade. He plunged himself inside of her, ravenous for her flesh and the sweetness of her. A moan escaped her swollen lips as glittering strands of hair fell in front of her eyes.

"Oh vhenan…"

She was everything that was beautiful in the world. Though the Evanuris hindered his perfect dream, of a life with his love and their child, here and now, in this moment nothing could pull him from her.

Ashalle was honey and sweet cakes, she was the finest wine and warmed spiced rum, she was the very air that filled his lungs and the food that nourished his body. Small shuddering gasps of pleasure echoed throughout the bedchamber and mingled with the stillness of the night.

They both reached their climax, the world exploded before their eyes in swirling shades of color and light. He ran nimble fingers across the tender taut skin of her belly, feeling the warmth and surge of life and magic within, as she lay quietly in his arms. A soft kick, a subtle movement, reached out toward. His child, a kindred spirit filled with old and new magic.

An heir. A queen. And he, now a king. He would rule this world, correcting the actions of those who came before to ensure a brighter, better future than the one the Evanuris sought to create. His child would be born never knowing fear, hardship, or pain. The corrections, so easy and precise, like the blossoming fruit of a tree, would take more time. Dissent within his court needed to be eliminated otherwise the transition could be hindered further. He was nothing if not efficient. It could be done.

Sleep, he thought, for the dawn comes soon and only you are prepared to greet it.