AN: I tried but this chapter insisted on being serious.

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Cassandra finally tracks Din'ara down and wastes no time in cornering her. She's not cruel about it, seeing the way her friend is shaking slightly and reaches out to grasp her shoulder tightly. "What's wrong?"

"My hand or that my life is swiftly vanishing? People who get known never have a good ending Cassandra!" Din'ara growls and the rasping of her voice is painful. Cassandra wants to argue with her, belittle her selfishness.

She cannot.

Din'ara has done so much more than she needed until now, shouldered the tasks forced upon her and been there even if the entire lot of them readily ignored her desires. Would honestly, continue to do so.

"I am sorry, you do not belong just to yourself," Cassandra speaks softly and she means it.

Din'ara flexes her hand, the eerie green glow showing her eyes and flaring for a moment, casting the two in its light. "I belong to this." Din'ara closes her eyes and the fight completely leaves her as her form slumps into the stone wall. She can feel it eating at her, held at bay with her abilities but it still hurts at times. Cassandra's fingers are tight on her shoulder but she does not disagree. As long as the woman is so marked, so easily known, she is the Herald, she will be the Inquisitor.

For just a moment Din'ara lets her eyes close. But there is still Corypheus out there somewhere and he wants her life for the mark on her hand, honestly, her best chances are to let them keep pulling her along.

"Perhaps, I could speak to her, Seeker?" It is Solas who has come and neither knows how long he has stood there but Cassandra nods.

"You have ten minutes, otherwise I shall hunt you down and bring you back over my shoulder," Cassandra warns and it is meant to try and bring some levity to the situation, for all it fails.

Though they often keep their distance, Solas steps nearer now, his hand taking hers with the anchor and turning it, watching the flare of power. "It hurts you?" He asks softly. When she nods he just sighs. "I am sorry. You have borne all of this admirably for someone so young..."

"Hardly young." She grumbles and it startles a laugh from him.

"I dare say you can claim more age than I." Solas remarks and softly, ever so softly he lets some of his power seep out. At contact, it soothes the angry glow and Din'ara sighs faintly her fingers softly uncurling a little more. "It at least seems to not be too far advanced." He manages to keep the surprise from his voice, but at this stage, he would have expected it to be far further in her system. Indeed, it is not that much greater than it was when first burned into her. Many would not even notice it most the time.

"So how old, Hahren?" Din'ara rasps teasingly and at Solas's startled chuckle, even as he reaches a hand to heal her throat since clearly she won't, but the Herald is relieved he sees her teasing for what it is. A distraction from what they want of her.

"Old enough to know that this can only be good for the elven people." He whispers a response. "To have you elected to such a station, arguably on par with kings and queens of all races.."

It is just a moment, a moment when Din'ara's mismatched eyes meet his and Solas falls silent at the exhaustion and trepidation there. When she speaks, however, he realizes why all his attempts to prod her further have likely failed.

"The Lady of the Forest became well known, and despite how much those who followed her loved her, in the end, she still passed and those left behind were hunted down." It is the agony that shades her voice and Solas reminds himself that she spoke of the curse and how it burns.

"Was it hard, being twisted so?" Solas asks instead because perhaps if turned young enough, that would explain her magic not working. Werewolves cannot use it after all and..he watches her shake her head.

"The curse never ceased burning in my veins, a constant agony but my magic wouldn't let it fully take hold. My Lady kept it from consuming me, in her company I found ease to the pain but otherwise, I often wished it just would be done with."

Solas folds his hand over hers, not fearing contact with the mark which brings a soft sigh, almost a sob from her. Yes, this has been a horrid burden for the woman and she feels so apart. If the werewolf curse was always held at bay, varying levels of agony? No wonder she has been so reluctant to have this on her hand, to have eyes upon her if she had seen what that brought to someone she was devoted to. It is only now that Solas, despite that he has begrudgingly admired her in many ways, can admit there is far more to this slip of a woman. That indeed, his mark could not have gone to a better mortal.

And that he has wronged her in ways he can never explain.

"I promise, you will not need to shoulder the role of Inquisitor alone. You have those of us who have been here, and will remain." Solas begins but Din'ara's sharp look makes him pause.

For once, he does not need to harass her for words. He can read her gaze clearly.

After a moment he sighs and answers what she will not voice. "No, not..permanently. You are right."

Before his eyes he watches the warrior take a deep breath and swallow, whatever vulnerability, whatever else they may have shared and spoken of is pushed away as she stands and her hand slips from his fingers. Solas does not stop her as he stares at the wall, hearing the sound of her boots as she goes to join Cassandra.

That look was the same as when she went to face the dragon.

"You aren't being fair." Cole scolds him as he forms. Solas is startled, as usually, the spirit is kind, compassion generally wishes to soothe not take to task. "No," Cole agrees but it doesn't change the frown on his face. "But you're going to make more pain if I don't talk about it. She likes you, you know. Hates that you judge, you look at them all as lessers...but she does enjoy when you talk."

With that baffling statement, Cole is gone again.

"Where were you, weirdo?" Sera asks when Cole forms beside her, watching as Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana are speaking in hushed tones to the pale-faced form of their friend. Din'ara does not look elated at this turn of events if anything she looks fragile, ready to shatter.

"Lancing a wound so it won't fester," Cole responds. "Should have been here, not let her run off..she needed to, Sera. Needed to compose herself, to hear, to think."

"She knew this was coming. And thanks for yanno letting me talk insteada just grabbin the thoughts outa my head first." Sera grumbles, slowly, Cole is learning.

"Her heart is racing, memories of those she's lost. She's fearful, terrified that she will become these titles and they will forget the woman beneath, the one who cleaned the chamberpots and served, who mended robes and washed dishes, who could have left to roam the countryside by her heart sister and learned more of Red Jenny's.." Cole speaks softly and Sera sighs, but Cole hears her listening, agreeing with the fears he reads off Din'ara.

It is as Din'ara ascends her steps that Cole speaks softly, just for the elf who never asked for any of this, in her thoughts. "Witherfang would be proud. You are doing what must be, though you never asked for this burden, helping where you can. You take after the Lady of the Forest."

It is that support whispered in her mind, as she is blinking back tears, that lets Din'ara raise the sword and realize no amount of fruit throwing is getting her out of this mess.