"And who betrayed you?"

"Pride." The word is spat.

"And Pride will be the Dread Wolf's downfall."

"I would wear his pelt as a coat, hahren."

Elgar'nan's lips split in a predatory smile. "Teacher? I like that very much. You have always done well to please me, Nimueh. I've always liked you best of all my children."

He walks closer to her, to take her face in his hands.

Nimueh's breath leaves her in a rush, and she tilts her face up to his, eyes closed to stop the welling tears of joy.

"Yes, my child." He kisses her more gently than his reputation would usually allow.

Nimueh kisses him back, clenching her fists to stop them wrapping about Elgar'nan's neck, the way they had when Solas kissed her.

Elgar'nan seems to read this thought, and pulls away softly. "Did he ever kiss you this soundly?" he taunts.

"No," Nimueh says truthfully. 

Solas had kissed her wildly and with abandon. Elgar'nan kissed the way troops moved on a battlefield.

Elgar'nan's grin is cruel on his lips. "Good."

He pulls her roughly to him.

She goes easily, and bends fast.

A few months later, Elgar'nan unfolds himself from Nimueh's sleepy embrace to greet the twilight.

Nimueh watches him go easily, and marvels at the sprawl of power blooming from him. 

It is some time before he talks. When he does, his voice is gentle, the way you would speak to a wounded animal. Or a child.

"I would give you a gift, my loyal child."

Nimueh sits up, eyes wide and attentive.

"A gift," Elgar'nan says, and turns. "In response to a mission well done."

"What mission is this?" Nimueh asks, trying to hide her disappointment. She had hoped her loyalty had been proven when she chose him over Solas.

"Never fear, da'len, your loyalty is not in question. In fact, I chose you for this very reason." He kneels back on the floor beside her, cupping her cheek gently.

Nimueh leans into it eagerly, breath leaving her in a sigh.

Elgar'nan kisses her breathless again, savouring the taste of her. 

Nimueh does not protest.

Once he pulls away, he threads a hand into her hair, to tug it back briefly. "So ready for me. So full of fire...they will not resist you."

"Who, hahren?"

"The Old Ones."