Chapter Text
Fen’Harel pushed into their tent. He kicked his own bedding aside with his foot, kneeling as he lowered her gently onto her bedroll. Isii pushed him away as he released her, quick to put as much distance between them as possible. He watched as she sat, her body tense, primed as if ready to leap to her feet and run as she stared at him. Her eyes were wide, reddened and swollen from tears, her breaths ragged and strained. He couldn’t help but see her like some wounded animal – covered in her own blood, watching him warily as if he were seconds from devouring her, uncertain if she should cower or fight. It pained him to see fear in her eyes. He tried to reassure her, reaching for her cheek but she flinched, jerking away with a sharp, hissing breath.
He pulled his hand back, open palm raised, non-threatening and apologetic as he sat back on his heels. This wasn’t how he’d wanted her to learn the truth. This day had been ugly and traumatic. He’d always intended to ease her into it, to reveal his identity in an environment where she felt safe, to have a conversation where he could explain his reasoning, where he could assure her that he meant her no harm.
Instead she’d seen her lover turn into the monster her people had taught her to fear.
A few of her soldiers pushed into the tent, delivering the food and water he’d ordered them to retrieve. She stared up at them, a pained and worried look on her face and for a moment he feared she would raise the alarm. He had no reason to fear the men and women who served under her. There was no conceivable way they could harm him unless he chose to submit to them. Still, he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to hurt them. He did not want to flee, chased off by the very people he had done so much to help.
Isii remained silent, lowering her gaze as they left.
Fen’Harel reached for the wooden slat that held her meal, sliding it closer before she snatched it away, jerking it from his grasp. “I will not have you feeding me,” she hissed.
He pulled his hand back, studying her face. Her eyes were narrowed into harsh slits, lips drawn into a sneer, the intensity of her glare making his jaw tighten, his fists clenched. His chest constricted, his eyes stinging as he struggled to steady himself.
He had to get out of there.
“Clean yourself up once you have eaten,” he said, his voice hollow and cold as he pushed himself to his feet. “I will return when you are done.”
He didn’t wait for her reply, pushing roughly out of the tent. He tore through the camp in long strides, avoiding eye-contact, his heart pounding hard in his ears. He needed distance, needed to be alone, needed solitude for the breakdown he could feel was about to spill out of him. His eyes burned, the pressure within him moments from boiling over and it took every ounce of his willpower not to run as he pushed past the tree line and out of sight.
He hated himself for this. Hated himself for being so foolish, for letting himself get so attached, for letting his desires blind him. If he’d had more control, he never would have pursued his feelings, never would have hurt her, never would have allowed himself to be so driven by grief and rage that he would reveal his identity like he had. He hadn’t changed form simply to protect her. He’d done it to satisfy his own desire to make those men suffer for what they’d done, for what they were going to do. They’d made him feel powerless, unable to save either one of them from a fate worse than death, and he sought retribution.
And for what? She learned the truth and he watched her slip away from him, witnessed her fear, too afraid even to let him touch her without resistance.
Hot tears began to roll onto his cheeks as he shuddered, his body clenched, tightened, twisted and knotted and trying to hold them back. He’d seen hatred in her eyes, heard it biting off of her tongue and the worst part was he knew. He’d known all along. This was always a possibility, perhaps even an inevitability. This was bound to happen one day, but it came far too soon. He wasn’t ready to lose her. She’d allowed him to feel as he never had before, to dream of a life he’d never imagined for himself. If anything, he desperately wanted to go back into that lie, to curl up inside it and forget that any of this had happened.
The thought made him pause, struggling and failing to steady his breaths as he braced himself against a nearby tree.
He could make her forget.
He knew the reality of that option. He could slip back into her tent and with a single word, a single brush of his fingers, he could erase what she saw. He could take away the last few moments, he could take away her terror and pain, he could take away the image of the Dread Wolf. The thought would linger there in her subconscious, buried and inaccessible, and she would see him as Solas once more. She would embrace him, thankful to have him safe in her arms, both of them freed from the Templars who’d held them. He could credit her trauma for causing the lapse in her memory, tell her they got lucky in their escape.
He knew she would believe anything he said without a second thought.
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as he buried his head in his hands.
If he left her memories unchanged, if he let her remember this, then everything he was trying to accomplish was at risk. But how could he live with himself if he changed her? How could he not be sickened when she wrapped her arms around him, knowing that he’d molded her into a form that he found more convenient for his uses? He could tell himself that the genuine nature of his love negated any claim that he was abusing her before, but this… if he forced the lie upon her unwillingly…
The alternative would be to make her forget and then push her away, to abuse her mind and then break her heart, unable to offer a single satisfactory explanation for what had changed.
His breaths grew ragged, a broken sound ripping from the tightness in his throat, muffled by his palm. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t alter her mind. He told himself he should, that his purpose had to be more important than her, that he could not risk the fate of the People over this mistake when he had the means to correct it.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He closed his eyes, shoulders hunched as he curled in on himself, the rough bark of the tree digging into his back. He took a few gulping breaths before he was able to still the torrent raging within him, trapping it, pressing it down until it lay buried behind a false sense of composure. He wiped roughly at his cheeks, inhaling deeply, his jaw clenched as he relaxed the features of his face.
When he returned to the camp, it was at a slow pace, his face drawn behind the mask he always wore, however cracked and worn around the edges it now was.
He would try to make her understand. He would try to salvage this in whatever way he could.
She knew he was the Dread Wolf and he would face the consequences head on.
He owed her that much.