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He needed to tell her.
It was driving him mad, if he was being honest with himself. Every time he looked at her, talked to her, watched her fling an arrow into a demons head and then grin at him, his first fleeting moment of happiness was replaced quickly with dread. Dread that boiled in the pit of his belly.
At first, she had been a necessary entanglement- nothing more than a by-product of his own mistake. Someone in the wrong place at the right time. She could seal the rifts which made her immediately important to him. She would salvage this and in the process, his plans.
Time, however, had changed his view. That she was beautiful was an understatement. He had known that from the first. But she was more than the pale grey eyes that sparkled with blue and green flecks or the wheat blonde hair she wore in a loose braid. She was tiny, as most elves were, but was a force of nature, commanding forces out of sheer determination.
He watched her, this tiny blonde Dalish elf take control of every situation she was as easily as if she had been raised for it, which she had not. She was kind and fair, but reasonable, firm, and resolute in her decisions. She never wavered, trusted herself, but was always willing to hear advice and take council.
She was unlike anyone he had ever known.
And, he thought with a wry smile, he had known many, many people.
Their first kiss had been…unexpected. She was naturally flirty, forever winking at Dorian and Bull or laughing merrily with Sera. She was more careful with Cullen and Blackwall, but was good-natured and charming to all. It had been a mistake to assume her flirtations with him had simply been extensions of her personality.
Her very presence with him in that first dream changed everything. She asked questions, thoughtful questions, and seemed fascinated by his stories, which he always attributed to seeing in the fade. He always wondered what she would think if he knew all he had actually witnessed over his many years. He felt himself drawn to her, wanting to be near her. He was intrigued, confused, fascinated.
When she stood in front of him in that first meeting in the fade, great big pale eyes gazing up at him under sooty lashes, his first instinct was to taste her. He had denied himself until she surprised him utterly by kissing him first. That first taste was like a drop of water in a desert that he had been wandering around aimlessly in for a thousand years. He could not deny himself any more than he could deny himself water. When she pulled away, her expression slightly unsure, he pulled her back into his arms and took her mouth with latent passion, built up and near exploding.
They had become close, since that first meeting in their dreams. They hunted together, poured over books and tomes for connections and secrets that might help defeat Corypheus. These meetings were torture for him, having to watch her agonize over questions he could easily answer himself if he dared. He was lying to her and he knew it, every time he answered a question with a non-committal shrug, every time he looked up at her and pushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, letting his long fingers graze upon her freckled cheek.
It was always there, haunting him. What would she think? What would she say? She had been raised Dalish, raised with stories of him as a dreaded wolf god. He was worshiped, in a way, by the Dalish. How would any reasonable person react to such news? Yet he kept silent, holding the information close without letting it slip.
He came perilously close often enough. He didn’t want to lose her, and his goal was too close now. They were gaining ground on Corypheus and she would need him.
He needed to tell her. Just not yet.
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