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Fenara knew she should just go back to her chambers. She shouldn’t bother anyone else, not tonight. Maybe not ever. After all, Solas was still a part of the Inquisition. Their relationship - she stopped. There was no relationship with Solas anymore. A wave of sadness crashed over her, knocking the breath from her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. She wouldn’t cry again, refused; the tears slipped down her cheeks anyway.
She found herself at Dorian’s door, despite her insistence she wouldn’t bother anyone with her sadness. But Fenara also knew when Dorian saw her in the morning he would know she’d been crying. He’d notice and - because Dorian seemed to just have this sense for things - would know what happened and be upset she hadn’t come to him. So Fenara knocked quietly on his door, hoping he wouldn’t hear. It sounded like Dorian had company. Iron Bull, she guessed. If she was quiet enough, she wouldn’t interrupt them and if Dorian asked her tomorrow, she could say she’d tried.
The door before her opened, Dorian in a dressing gown leaned against the door with irritation ready in his features. But seeing her there, he blanched and any impending irritation gave way to alarm and worry.
“Fenara? What happened? Are you hurt? You - ” He took her face in his hands, inspecting, wiping away tears as he did. “Your vallaslin is gone.”
“It’s nothing, I’m fine. You have company and - ”
“Bull, get dressed and go. We’ll do this another night.” Dorian barked over his shoulder.
“No, I just wanted a quick hug. I’m fine. He can stay.” She struggled against the mounting wave of grief.
Dorian scooped her into a fierce, firm hug. Wrapped in his arms, she found herself crying again. She tried to pull away - no one needed to see her cry. No family wanted that from their eldest daughter, no clan wanted that from one of their hunters, and Fenara was certain that absolutely no one wanted that from their Inquisitor. But Dorian held her fast and wouldn’t let her go. When she realised, she stopped fighting. Her shoulders heaved with her sobs and the satin of his dressing gown became wet with her tears. He held her tighter, a hand resting on the back of her head, stroking her hair as he reassured her everything would be all right.
She heard Iron Bull come up behind them. “What happened?”
Dorian shook his head. “I don’t know. Go to the kitchens and get anything sweet you can find and bring it back.” Bull started to leave as Dorian added, “Wine! Get some wine, too! And water perhaps. Just…get something to help.”
From somewhere behind her, Fenara heard Bull saying understood his mission and leave.
Dorian leaned down to where he held Fenara against his chest. “We’re going to go into the room proper, all right?”
He lead her in, closing the door behind them with his foot.
“Do you want to sit down or stay like this?”
Fenara nodded.
“Stay like this?”
She nodded again and Dorian dutifully held her as every wave of emotion crashed over her: the grief of losing Solas, the regret at letting him take her vallaslin, the guilt for ruining Dorian and Bull’s night, the anger for her weakness right now. Through every heaving sob and vitriolic curse, Dorian held on to her, reminding her she wasn’t alone.
Eventually, she felt calm enough for Dorian to let go. Fenara sat on the edge of his bed, numb and sniffling. He quickly dressed and positioned his desk chair in front of her.
“Are we a bit better?” Dorian asked, a brow raised.
He still looked worried, Fenara realised with a pang of guilt. She nodded.
“Then are you ready for me to ask what happened, or do you want to wait for Bull to come back?”
“It’s fine, Dorian. I - ”
He reached across and took her hands, squeezing them. There were tears in his eyes.
“No, none of that. I’ve never seen you look so…defeated. I cannot stand for that. If you don’t feel like you can talk about it right now, that is fine. I’ll be ready whenever you are. But I’ll have none of this brave-faced, ‘I’m fine’ nonsense.”
Fenara knit her brows, a weak smile finding its way to her face. Everything that had happened, everything that stole away the life she’d had before - the conclave, the anchor, being cajoled into becoming Inquisitor - was worth it to meet Dorian. She’d never had a truer friend, who under all his bluster and bravado, was tender and caring and - she now knew - fiercely protective.
“Can I assume whatever happened involved your vallaslin?” Dorian asked, sensing Fenara’s relent.
“Sort of,” Fenara shrugged.
“From what I understand of the Dalish vallaslin, it’s something that is with one for life.”
Fenara nodded. Her vallaslin should have been with her for life. It should have gained wrinkles from a lifetime of smiles and frowns, sagged with the weight of time.
“You and Solas were going somewhere earlier, if I recall.” Dorian ventured, still holding her hands, his brow furrowed. “Does he have something to do with it?”
“Sort of.” her eyes filled with tears once more, earning another reassuring squeeze from Dorian. “I don’t understand. He…I’m his vhenan. Or, I was. He said wanted to find a way to show me how much I meant to him, that he needed to tell me the truth. And he…” Fenara felt it like a strike to her gut. “I thought he loved me. He said it so many times, called me his heart. But tonight? Tonight he tells me he can’t ‘distract’ me and we could have been together in another world. Just not this one. And he left. He said he was sorry but, he…”
Dorian swore. He looked so confused and angry. “What kind of monster - some absolute asshole…”
The door to Dorian’s room opened and Bull entered, arms laden with the supplies for which he’d been sent. “Who’s the asshole?”
“Solas.” Dorian growled.
Fenara winced. She didn’t want him to hate Solas or to ruin Iron Bull and Solas’ friendship.
Iron Bull approached, set a basket of pastries from the kitchen on the floor, so he could drape a soft, heavy blanket over Fenara’s shoulders. He handed Dorian a small crate, then brought the large, lounge chair in Dorian’s room over beside him. Bull motioned for Dorian to take the more comfortable seat and took the desk chair for himself. From the crate he took a pitcher of water and poured it into a large cup, which he handed Fenara. Only upon accepting the cup did she realise she was thirsty. She’d felt oddly detached from her body, though she knew it still belonged to her. She feared looking in a mirror, wondered if she would even recognise herself.
“Did he take your vallaslin off somehow?” Iron Bull asked.
“Right before he broke off their relationship, it seems.” Dorian muttered.
Realising Iron Bull had missed a few of the events, Fenara added, “He said he’d wanted to tell me the truth about what the markings of the vallaslin mean, or what they originally meant. My people…we have always used them as a sign of who we are, that we would never be slaves again; used symbols of our gods on our faces to show our devotion. But he’d learned they were slave markings of ancient Arlathan.” She shook her head. “I struggled to believe it at first, that we could have gotten this so wrong. But I did because he wouldn’t lie to me. Solas would never - ”
Dorian scoffed and Bull nudged him.
“He said, if I wanted, he knew a spell and could remove my vallaslin. I…” Fenara faltered and wiped her eyes, surprised there were any tears left.
“Did you want him to remove them?” Dorian asked, a dangerous glint in his eye.
“Yes. Or, I think I did.” She couldn’t keep looking at Dorian. She looked over to Iron Bull, but seeing his concerned expression, Fenara dropped her gaze to her hands. “I was confused. I still am. Even knowing that the vallaslin don’t mean that anymore, it still hurts. My people are free, yet we use the very marks of our ancient slavery to show this?”
Fenara fell silent, took a sip of water. There was a growing lump in her throat and she felt a rending in her chest, a pulsing pain. Neither Dorian or Iron Bull moved.
“‘Ar lasa mala revas’.” She looked up at them, a smile at the corner of her lips, remembering how Solas looked at her as he said it. “‘You are free.’ He said it once my vallaslin was gone and seeing the look in his eyes, I was so happy.”
She remembered the kiss after he’d called her beautiful. She still felt his lips, his breath against her skin. She still felt him pulling her in, clinging to her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Then another wave of pain swept over her as she recalled what happened next. She had to be misremembering, because Solas wouldn’t do that to her, wouldn’t lie to her. He’d meant it every time he called her his heart, every time he told her he loved her. With every kiss and touch and whispered word in the dark, when they spent nights tangled up together, lost in one another, she knew he’d meant it. And yet, Fenara wasn’t misremembering what happened. Solas left her in that clearing, barefaced and alone with no explanation.
“Then he suddenly apologised for distracting me from my duties and said it wouldn’t happen again.” Fenara angrily wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I have ‘a rare and marvellous spirit,’ yet he kept backing away as I asked him to tell me why, to help me understand, to listen because maybe we could find a way to fix whatever it was. But he wouldn’t listen, kept saying it wasn’t possible for us, that it couldn’t be.”
The anger in her chest showed on Dorian’s face.
“He took you out there, took away a part of you and just left you there? Vishante kaffas.” He turned his attention to the crate Bull had given him, taking out a bottle of wine.
“That’s really harsh. And doesn’t make any sense.” Iron Bull leaned back. “What’s that guy playing at?”
“Whatever it is is going to get him killed. By me.” Dorian took a drink from the bottle. “I’ll kill him.”
“He didn’t mean it,” Fenara insisted. “He never meant to hurt me - ”
“Did he say that to you?” Dorian asked, scoffing when Fenara nodded. “Might as well have stabbed you and said, ‘Sorry! Didn’t mean to make you bleed.’ Or! Held your hand over a flame and said, ‘Sorry! Didn’t mean for you to get burned.”
“Come on, Dorian.” Bull put a hand on Dorian’s thigh.
Dorian settled under Iron Bull’s touch, though he was still visibly upset.
“I shouldn’t have let him become so important to me.” Fenara said quietly. Her friends gave her a look. “I have a duty and - ”
“If this is because of what he said - ” Dorian held up an accusatory finger.
“No, I do mean it. If you remember, it was part of my hesitation at the start of it all.”
Dorian’s face twisted in an annoyed grimace, the acknowledgment that he remembered those early days of her fretting over whether her desires interfered with her duty.
With a triumphant smirk, Fenara sniffed and straightened. “I’m Fenara Ina’ean of clan Lavellan, the hunter selected by our Keeper to investigate the conclave. And now I’m the Inquisitor, responsible for for restoring order to everyone in Thedas. This, all while trying to be a shining example of my people, so they might have a better life, can live without fear whether they chose to live as wandering clans or in the cities.” Fenara slumped again. “I was selfish and lost sight of my responsibility to them. Not to mention my clan and my family.”
“That’s horseshit. Wanting to share your life and your love with someone as you try to navigate the burden of being Inquisitor, trying to save the world and restore order? That isn't selfish.” Dorian reached across and took her hand again.
“And some of that sounds like you taking more responsibility than you need to.” Iron Bull topped up her water. “It isn’t just up to you. You can trust your team - your clan and your team here. Just like we trust you. We know you have our back, so trust that we have yours. Your clan, for example: have they fallen apart without you there?”
“They have been in danger while I’ve been too far away to protect them.”
“Would it have been any different if you’d been there?” Iron Bull raised a brow.
Fenara hadn’t considered that. Clan Lavellan would have still been near Wycome, still been attacked and subsequently embroiled in Duke Antoine’s schemes. Fenara couldn’t claim sole responsibility for Clan Lavellan’s survival, nor their integral part in the new city council. Her role had been merely as a point of connection between Inquisition aid and her clan. If Keeper Istimaethoriel hadn’t trusted Fenara with investigating the conclave, she wouldn’t have been in a position to help them. Even then, Keeper Istimaethoriel had trusted Fenara to find and provide aid for them.
“And,” Dorian chimed in, “I know you’re concerned for your family, but from everything you’ve told me, the last thing they would want is you putting the weight of their lives on your shoulders. Also, your sister sounds terrifying and perfectly capable of ripping the flesh off of anyone or thing that tried to attack them in your absence.”
Fenara chuckled. Ghilanna was more than capable of savaging a person. She became a hunter like Fenara, proudly wearing her vallaslin of Andruil. She’d always thought Fenara should have had Andruil’s vallaslin, too. But for Fenara, June resonated. It was he who gave them the tools to hunt, after all.
The fond memories abruptly stopped. Fenara no longer had her vallaslin. Her hand trembled as it went to her face and she traced the rough shape of it along her skin. 'You are free,’ Solas said, the ancient slave markings gone. But could Fenara really call herself Dalish now that she no longer bore the mark of her people?
“Do you want your vallaslin back?” Dorian asked. “I’m sure the Inquisition has the resources to arrange it.”
“It’s not the markings themselves. It’s the ritual.” Iron Bull spoke up. “You can’t use power or influence to replace that. It’s a coming of age ceremony, a sign of belonging.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But this is something that has literally been apart of her skin. If Solas took your horns - ”
“That’s not even -”
“Kaffas, I know, but -”
“You’re both right.” Fenara cut them off. “If I asked, Leliana could probably find a Keeper willing to re-administer the vallaslin. But I don’t think it would be right anymore. They’re a marking of faith and devotion, not just to our gods but to our people and I’ve willingly cast that aside. I don’t think I could wear them again; I don’t deserve them.” She held up a hand as Dorian started to protest. “I was given a choice tonight, whether I would hold onto the ways of the Dalish, or go another way. I made my choice. Perhaps I could earn the vallaslin again, but it would be hard to wear now that I know the truth. Perhaps we could reclaim a bit more of our past, find a new way to mark ourselves as ‘the People.’ Perhaps it starts with me leaving my face bare and sharing the truth.”
A quietness crept into the room, like the relief of an exhale after holding one’s breath.
“Do you want us to do anything? Say the word, my dear, and it’s done.” Dorain squeezed her hand once more.
“I don’t want you to kill Solas.” Fenara rolled her eyes, knowing what he meant.
Dorian swore, letting go of her hand. While he seemed disappointed, there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
“In fact, I don’t want what happened between he and I to affect your relationships with him at all. I know everyone will find out, but I don’t want it to be something that affects Solas’ standing within the Inquisition or with any one of you. If anything, I want people to think it was a mutual separation.”
“Then a mutual separation is what I will say when prompted.” Dorian said. “Though, I doubt I’ll be able to just go back to normal with him. Not after what I saw tonight.” His voice was full of emotion, on the verge of breaking. “I was truly scared for you. I’ve never seen you like that, so devastated. Fasta vass, I’ve never even seen you cry before. Knowing he was responsible for upsetting you that much? That isn’t something I can just forget.” He held up a hand as she started to protest. “But I will be civil because you asked me to be.”
“Thank you.” Fenara shed the blanket she’d been tucked under. “I appreciate you both and I’m sorry to have taken your time.”
“What are you doing?” Dorian almost sounded offended.
“Letting you get back to your evening.”
“Hah! Come on, Boss. Get that blanket back on and have something to eat.”
“Terribly sorry to inform you, Lavellan, you’re now a part of our evening.” Dorian said with a half smile.
Despite the confusion and crushing sadness, there was a loosening in her chest as she sat and accepted a pastry from the basket. A deck of cards was found and they played Diamondback for hours, eating pastries and the other snacks Iron Bull had brought back with him. No one seemed particularly competitive tonight, and Fenara couldn’t recall a time she’d played the game with fewer stakes than now. Her eyes still burned from crying and Solas’ words still echoed in her mind, but for the moment it all felt too distant to pain her in any real way. She knew it was momentary, that the laughter and joking, the basket of dwindling pastries, was a temporary balm for the pain. The violent cacophony of grief and anger and confusion would return, but it no longer felt impossible to bear.