Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Buried

The days that passed alleviated the pain, but sleep free of nightmares was still fleeting. Fen'Asha clung to the idea of one day resting comfortably as the carriage rattled its way to Emprise du Lion.

Of course, a catnap wasn't on the menu for the moment. Accustomed to the fiery throes of their relationship, the Inquisition had left plenty of room for Fen'Asha and Solas to sit together. He did as was suggested by proximity and sat next to her, trying to keep his eyes and limbs contained. As a result, he appeared impossibly tense. He was also unseasonably talkative.

"I find the fall of the dwarven lands perplexing," he was saying to Varric.

"What's perplexing about, you know, endless darkspawn?" replied the dwarf.

"A great deal," said Solas. "But that is another matter. Dwarves control the flow of lyrium. They could tighten their grip on it..."

"How?" Varric asked.

"You are active in the Carta," said Solas. "You know people."

"Been there, done that," replied Varric. Orzammar is what it is."

Fen'Asha sighed and dipped into her pack, pleased to have brought another dosage of Solas' sleep toxin. She drained the small vial and looked around, hoping it went unnoticed.

"Is there a movement to reunite Orzammar with Kal-Sharok?" said Solas.

"What? Why?" asked Varric.

"In the Fade, I came upon the memory of a man who lived alone on an island," said Solas. "His tribe had fallen to beasts or disease and his wife died in childbirth. He was the only one who remained. He could have found new land, new people, but he remained. He spent every single day catching fish. He spent every single night drinking fermented juice, watching the stars..."

"Sounds good to me," said Varric.

"How can you be happy surrendering?" said Solas.

"I would imagine it depends on the quality of fermented juice," said Varric.

"So it would appear," said Solas.

"Are you always this cheery or is the hole in the sky finally getting to you?" asked Varric.

"What do you mean?"

"This fallen empire crap," said Varric. "What's so great about empires? We lost the Deep Roads, Orzammar's too proud to ask for help. Blah, blah, blah. We're not Orzammar and we're not our empire. Things change. Life goes on. It's different."

"And you have no concept of what that difference has cost," said Solas.

Varric rolled his eyes.

"Life goes on?" Solas continued. "You are truly content without fighting back?"

"This is fighting back," said Varric.

"You are passively accepting your fate," said Solas.

"You think the fisherman gave up, don't you?" asked Varric.

Fen'Asha drifted.

"I am uncertain of your meaning," said Solas.

"You thought he gave up," continued Varric. "But he went on living. He lost it all, but he still got up in the morning. He made a life. That's life. You build, life kicks your ass. You get back up, drink your face off, get back up. That's as close to fighting as anyone gets."

"Perhaps," said Solas.

Fen'Asha smiled at the conversation. Maybe that was fighting back after all. Maybe just getting up, getting back on the horse, was enough. She closed her eyes, warmed herself at the thought. The sleeping draught began to simmer.