#like. it’s very cool to have two dalish companions but i’m a little disappointed they’re the only elven companions yk

[mabaris]

also. tbh. a little disappointed it seems like taash is Also going to be from the qun, or at least a very recent defect. i was hoping we’d get to see more vashoth characters

[blarrghe]

@midnightprelude sent me the prompt “Full Moon” for some autumnal vibes like a full-on month ago and this has been floating around in my brain ever since. In my defence, it is still fall and I wrote this during Sukkot so we’re even more on theme. Yes that is why it took me so long and no other reason... Anyway, spent all of yesterday obsessed with this idea and it’s not going away. Incredibly liberal liberties are taken with the nonexistence of Dalish lore and/or holidays. Influenced in part by that one post that said that Thedas’ two moons could orbit in such a way that they’re both full in the sky during Satinalia. ---

“Solas, you coming?” The Inquisitor peered his face into his tent with an expectant smile, rousing his attentions from where they’d settled in the pages of one of Varric’s books. They weren’t much his sort of thing, these tales of simplistic crime-fighting and antagonistic partnership, but sometimes even he needed something easy to read. He tried to find some memory of whatever task he might have already agreed to which could have the Inquisitor tapping at his tent walls at dusk. The days spent cleaning up rifts and wraiths in the aftermath of Orlais’ ill-thought civil war in the Exalted Plains had drained most of his energy. 

“Coming where?” He closed the book and gave the Inquisitor a long, curious look. He seemed bright and wakeful, which shouldn’t have surprised him - he’d been in the field alongside him enough that the Inquisitor’s seemingly boundless energy wasn’t exactly new - but the smile still never failed to confound him. This grey and harsh world shouldn’t have been able to produce such a lively spirit, but not only had it done so, Taren Lavellan was not even the only one. 

“Is he coming, boss?” Solas heard the Iron Bull call out from some distance behind his tent, eager energy in his voice as well. The Qunari was always arranging some kind of rowdy festivity, usually in celebration of some flimsy cause or another. We killed a dragon - hurrah! We took a Keep - hurrah! We closed all the rifts in the southern section of the map - hurrah! It’s raining - hurrah! Solas pursed his lips. 

“Satinalia?” The Inquisitor answered his question like it was something unforgettable that he should have already been excited for, “the full moons?” 

Ah. The holiday was popular in all parts of Thedas, but no doubt the Inquisitor had it in mind to celebrate according to the Dalish custom. He knew of the tradition in an abstract sense; his dreams had shown him pilgrimages of elves up onto high cliffs, dances and prayers offered up in misguided thanks to “creators” who did not deserve them. He sighed, and his displeasure appeared to disappoint the Inquisitor. Solas felt an unwelcome stab of guilt for once again meeting the Inquisitor’s attempts at relating to him like one of his own with refusal. He was a good Dalish elf, despite the Chantry's best efforts, and he had every right to be proud of that, even if he was wrong about all of it. 

“Your traditions are not my own.” He explained apologetically, and he was surprised to see the Inquisitor’s smile return. Then, Taren was laughing - not with cruelty, but with a sort of exasperated disbelief. 

“So?” 

Solas opened his mouth to speak, but found that he had no further protest ready. 

“You don’t have to believe, Solas, holidays are about more than that.” Taren shook his head like a parent correcting a child - how ironic - and left his tent without properly closing the flap, clearly expecting him to follow. Reluctantly, Solas obliged. 

“Where are you climbing to?” He asked as he stepped out into the cool evening. The camp was set up in a valley sheltered between rocky ridges and grassy hills, and fog settled into the crease of it like a blanket. To the east ran a path toward an ancient Elvhen ruin, and if he stayed to dream he would find battles raging bloody through the night. The land still bore the scars which the Chantry had burned into it; buried ruins and desecrated tombs. And it bore scars from even further back than that, in the shapes of the cliffs themselves. 

“Up there.” The Inquisitor pointed due north, toward a distant high hill of misshapen stone. Atop it rested a great and ancient statue; the figure of a lone wolf that seemed to survey the entire valley below. 

Solas chuckled, following the Inquisitor’s gaze up to the effigy of Fen’Harel. “Very well.” He agreed, noticing that along with The Iron Bull, the Inquisitor had apparently recruited Dorian, Varric, and even Sera for the expedition. They stood by, dividing bottles of wine and blankets into packs to carry between them. “Lead the way.”

The Inquisitor did lead, finding footholds with sharp eyes and scampering ahead to scout out the most secure paths as needed. Solas fell to the rear of their line, watching as the Inquisitor’s other elven companion hopped up the rocky cliffs behind him. 

“I’m surprised you agreed to celebrate something Elvhen, Sera.” He remarked, “has our fearless leader inspired you to reconnect with your people, perhaps?” He knew that he hadn’t, and though he was a little curious as to how the Inquisitor had managed to convince the disrespectful rogue to participate, mostly he just knew that the comment would annoy her in a way that might prove amusing. 

“Shut up, it’s not even elfy.” Sera didn’t miss a beat, snapping back with crass annoyance. “Everyone does Satinalia.” 

“But the pilgrimage to a high cliff at moonrise, that is most certainly elfy.” He replied, pressing her on cooly. 

“Hey, we all do it in our own way. No harm in trying something new.” Varric, always trying to keep the peace. Or maybe he was simply reassuring himself, the trek upwards did have him panting already. 

“Right,” Sera cut in, “and my way is: you drink until the moons blur into one.” She thumped the pack on her back with a grin. 

Solas sighed, and continued walking. 

The statue of Fen’Harel seemed so much larger up close. The Inquisitor settled himself down at the great wolf’s feet, leaning his back against one large toe of the Dread Wolf’s left paw, and began removing blankets and other supplies from his own pack. He unstrapped a bundle of thin branches from where they’d been fastened to the underside of his pack and with Dorian’s help began assembling a small fire. Solas laid his own supplies down nearby, and walked a few paces out to the very edge of the cliff, turning his face toward the shining full moons. 

Once a year, both of Thedas’ moons rise in the sky together, two full round circles of light, filling the sky and diminishing the light of any star that dares shine alongside them. Every culture across the world has devised some way to honour them, and always the holiday is associated with tricks and devilry, but also raucous behaviour and celebration. He had seen in dreams the festivals of ancient Tevinter, where the god of chaos was worshipped with the rising moons, and the celebrations in Antiva that set the whole city alight in lanterns while masked revellers danced wild in the streets. Dalish elves take to high cliffs, singing loud and howling songs up toward the heavens, and dancing round their fires. 

Dark had fallen as they climbed, night spreading over the valley on cool winds through the dry grasses. Moonlight shone through the fog brought in by the wide river that snaked through the planes, so that the ground below appeared even further away than it was; as if they’d climbed all the way to the heavens, leaving the valley under clouds. Above, the two bright moons had filled the sky, hanging before the eyes of the great wolf like distant jewels. They looked, every year, like they might in their paths across the sky collide and bring down ruin and destruction upon all things, but they never did. 

Suddenly, a loud howl broke the peace of the quiet night, and Inquisitor Taren Lavellan was standing next to him, one foot up on an outcropping of rock, his face high and his neck arched back, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound. Solas nearly jumped, and the Inquisitor finished his howl by dropping his hands away from his mouth and grinning, turning to watch Solas’ stunned face with laughter creasing at the corners of his eyes. 

“You know, I always sort of liked Fen’Harel.” Solas looked into the Inquisitor’s eyes searchingly and swallowed with dry uncertainty, surely the Inquisitor was not testing him. “Not to emulate, of course, but I mean as a story.” 

“You like the story of your people’s betrayal?” 

The Inquisitor mostly ignored his question, opting to explain his clan’s customs in observance of the holiday as an answer instead. 

“The songs we sing for the moons, do you know them?” 

Solas shook his head. He had seen the dances and the singing in dreams, made out the names of the tyrants that this world’s elves honoured without sense, and turned his face away. He had studied enough of the Dalish lore to understand how they had fallen into such folly, but to watch them cry out in joy and worship for all that he had fought against, year after year, was too much to bear. 

“On Satinalia, we sing for Fen’Harel.” Taren continued, and Solas turned his attention from the lights in the sky back to the Inquisitor’s smiling face in shock, “it’s the only holiday that honours him.” 

“Honours him for what?” He couldn’t help but to be curious. Fen’Harel was an outcast figure in Dalish lore, a trickster and a fiend, depicted as being entirely without honour. 

Taren shrugged, “for all his mistakes, he was still one of the Creators.” He explained, “we sing a lament - literally speaking, it asks him back.” 

“It...what?” 

Taren sighed. “Well it’s symbolic, really. We don’t really pray for Fen’Harel to return, it's for those who leave, whether they are taken or led astray. A hope that they find the People again.” 

“That doesn’t explain what there is to like about Fen’Harel.” Solas replied, shaking his head over the explanation. “Is it not a Keeper’s job to protect the clan from the influence of the Dread Wolf?” 

The Inquisitor shrugged. “Fen'Harel ma ghilana.” He said, pointing the expression at Solas with a touch of sadness, and Solas chuckled despite himself. 

“The Dread Wolf leads me astray?” 

“It’s what we say when someone has been misled,” Taren began to explain, and Solas cut him off, still smirking. 

“I know.” 

“The story of Fen’Harel, it’s not something to protect people from like a warrior, waiting to be attacked by savage wolves in the night. That’s not what Fen’Harel is.” 

“Oh, then what is Fen’Harel?” He asked, unable to help himself. 

Taren avoided the concept of a straight answer once more, instead answering Solas’ question with one of his own.

“Do you know much about how a wolf pack functions?” He didn’t wait for the answer, “the idea that there’s a head wolf, a leader stronger than the others who determines the direction of the rest of the pack - that’s wrong. A wolf pack is like a Dalish clan.” He explained, “a wolf pack is a family. It works together. The old teach the young, the strong protect the weak, and the pack moves according to patterns as old as the land itself.” Solas nodded along, he knew well that wolves were misunderstood creatures. The Inquisitor continued. “Sometimes, a wolf will go off alone, either because of scarcity or fighting within the pack. But a lone wolf is vulnerable; it’s no way to live. They have to find other packs to survive, or perhaps find what it was they were seeking and return…” Solas listened patiently, watching Taren’s eyes drift toward the shining moons in thought as he spoke. The Inquisitor was a lone wolf in his own right, having left his clan well before the events of the conclave in his own quest for knowledge - Solas had been surprised and impressed to learn that history from him. “So the story of Fen’Harel, it isn’t just about lies and deceit. It’s a reminder of what’s important.” He finished. 

“And what’s that?” 

“Honesty, community.” Taren shrugged, “we protect the clan from Fen’Harel by upholding those things. There will always be evil in the world - that’s what it means, for the Dread Wolf to be incapable of leaving his tricks behind. Every culture has a figure to explain the inevitability of darkness. But there’s a reason he’s represented as a wolf, and not some other creature.” Taren went on, “a lone wolf, vulnerable because he forgets the purpose of his pack.” 

“You think that Fen’Harel is vulnerable?” He felt almost completely stripped away, standing awash in the bright moonlight. 

“We think he is lost.” Taren answered, seeming not to read the full extent of the stunned expression on Solas’ face, “just like any of the People who are left to fend in the world alone.” 

“An interesting interpretation.” Solas furrowed his brow and covered his raw nerves with the facts of what he had seen elsewhere in the world, “though I don’t know that it holds true in every clan.” 

Another shrug. “Of course it doesn’t. But the message is there, and every Dalish storyteller finds it. That’s why we tell the stories. Fen’Harel may be a hopeless figure, but he is hopeless because he is the lone wolf, not the other way around.” He turned to Solas, reaching out an arm to grip his shoulder warmly. “Your mistake is thinking we take to every story so literally, Solas.” 

Solas shook his head, ready to argue back against the Inquisitor’s odd reasoning. He had seen Dalish clans scar their faces like slaves to gods they didn’t understand, and been disrespected and shunned for daring to speak against traditions they followed blindly, when he’d tried. If anything, the Inquisitor - fearsome figure that he was - was closer to him than to the true Dalish he claimed to love. “I’ve certainly never met any Dalish elves who could view the tale of Fen’Harel so favourably.” He said cooly, and the comment left a slight frown over the Inquisitor’s face as it registered.

“And how many clans have you visited, exactly?” Taren pointed the argument back to him, but he didn’t answer. He had seen more clans rise and fall as he slept than Taren could have visited in his travels, no matter how extensive they may have been. 

“So you, First of Clan Lavellan, did not spend your life training to defeat Fen’Harel when he comes to rip the world apart?” He asked, trying to sound lighthearted, but even if the jab was clever, he found no joy in the teasing. 

“No.” Taren shook his head. “Though maybe I should have, if Darkspawn Magisters are real.” He chuckled dryly, “some stories about monsters are true, and some are just symbolism. Some are both. If the Creators were really betrayed by Fen’Harel, then he was a powerful god indeed, and we’ve seen all too well what a lone power bent on destruction can do.” He returned his gaze to the moon. “But the stories depict him as a wolf, and wolves don’t succeed alone.” 

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”

It wasn’t the first time that he’d heard the Inquisitor give unexpected and thoughtful consideration to his own traditions. So much was wrong with what the Dalish passed down through the generations as their history, and yet rather than rejecting it, the Inquisitor continuously surprised him with interpretations that seemed to set it right. 

“I was thinking of writing a book.” Taren admitted sheepishly, and Solas realised that he was looking to him now for approval. 

A book. The studious Inquisitor wished to leave his mark by sharing his loving study of Dalish lore with the world. Interpretations of the scraps left to him in a broken world. Wrong interpretations, Solas reminded himself, though it was becoming harder and harder to convince himself that they were. His heart sank with the secret realisation that he would never get to read them. He nodded approvingly, unable to help himself from returning Taren’s look with a small smile. “Of course you were.” 

Taren returned his attention to the moons and howled once more, the grin spreading back over his face as he did. Behind him, the small fire crackled and his companions laughed. Bull and Sera raised their voices to join his cry, sending wild and yelping howls off into the night. In the distance, a howl was returned, and Solas couldn’t tell if the sound came from real wolves, or the small Dalish clan they had met wandering the valley. 

“You act like a lone wolf, Solas. You spend all this time wandering, seeing all of our history in dreams, and you think you know, but how can you? And… what's the point? Who is it for?" The Inquisitor turned to him with something careful in his gaze, and concern tipped his words. 

Solas frowned. How like him, this impossible Dalish accident, to be concerned about his being alone. "Well, I suppose my knowledge has been useful to you, if knowledge must have a purpose." He contended, and the impossible Dalish accident shook his head.

"And before the Inquisition? After?"

Inquisitor Lavellan, who knew better than most what it meant to be lonely. If only he knew that the lone wolf he saw had no pack to return to in this world. If only he knew what the cost of that return would be. 

“I have never been Dalish. There is no clan to which I wish to return.” He said correctingly, and Taren shook his head at him again. 

 “You could have a place, lethallin.” Taren gave his shoulder another warm squeeze, and Solas’ heart grew heavy with the name that meant friend. 

“In your pack of wolves?” He smirked a little, hiding the spreading guilt with his indignation.

“In my family.” Said the Inquisitor, turning his back on him with one last firm and friendly pat to his arm before he returned to the fire.

If only he knew to whom it was he offered his friendship; what ruin Fen’Harel would bring to his world to escape the loneliness of his own mistakes. 

That night, as the Dread Wolf slept, he had uneasy dreams filled with the sounds of distant howling.