We tell beginnings: for the flesh and the answer,
Or the look, the lake in the eye that knows,
For the despair that flows down in widest rivers,
Cloud of home; and also the green tree of grace,
All in the leaf, in the love that gives us ourselves.
-Muriel Rukeyser
Forget-Me-Nots:
The first time she saw him, he was sleeping.
She had been working late, as she usually did. Having a job as an intern for the already underfunded Museum of Art and History in Gwaren meant getting handed all the grunt work no one else was even remotely interested in dealing with. So, there she was, single-handedly hauling a rather buxom bust of Andraste from the Exalted age down into storage at ten o'clock on a Friday night. Truly, she led a charmed life.
Like everywhere else in the museum, the storage area was cramped and musty, falling into slight disrepair. The narrow shelves were crammed full of broken and poorly labeled artifacts that other more prominent museums in Ferelden had deemed unworthy of display.
Doctor Asignon had thrown her down here to deal with the sudden influx of pieces they had recently acquired from Qarinus last month, and she had been slouched over the tiny green desk they had shoved into one corner of the room for her, trying to date shards of pottery and squinting at squiggly Elvhen writing ever since.
She plopped the busty bust down on her desk with a groan, sending a flurry of paperwork fluttering to the floor. She surveyed the ruins of her workspace with a grating sigh, slumping down in the spindly wooden chair wedged behind her desk and letting her forehead fall forward onto the cool metal surface.
"Living the dream," she reminded herself. "Most elves would give their left hand for this sort of opportunity."
It was true, an elf who even managed to scrape enough coin together to make into a university was rare enough, the fact that someone had seen her obviously Dalish surname and decided to hand her a scholarship was a minor miracle. Landing any sort of job in her field was a blessing, even if it largely required her to make coffee for the higher ups and keep everyone else's workspaces organized to the best of her abilities.
Never mind that she was brilliant, or that she probably knew three times as much about the Dragon
Age than Doctor Asignon knew about how to zip up his own trousers. Or that she could read at least six ancient languages, including two dead ones. Or that she had graduated top of her class.
She was an elf. It was the reason the University of Denerim had shunted her off to a backwater like Gwaren in the first place. It was the reason she was an intern instead of one of their leading researchers. It was the reason everyone else had gone home four hours ago and she was still here lugging around statuary.
She sighed again, rubbing at her face with both hands and pushing back a few loose strands of pale blonde hair that had escaped her braid. There were only a few more pieces she needed to catalog before she could go home. Maybe her roommate had been nice enough to bring her home something from the diner she worked at, she would bloody someone for a bite of one of their apple tarts right about now.
She looked over at the large object leaning against the far wall covered in a long white sheet. She already knew what it was, even though the good doctor and his ilk had told her not to 'fiddle' with it. Repeatedly. As though the implications of "don't touch this, knife-ear" would do anything but make her want to look at it even more. As if they could throw it down here in what had more or less become her office and think that she wasnot going to look at it. Right.
It was ironic, given that it was one of the few truly Elvhen artifacts the museum had managed to procure, and they did not want her to examine it because they wanted the research to be infallible. And clearly, as an elf, her opinion would be biased, and therefore without merit.
She scoffed, walking over to the artifact and carefully removing its covering. Her breath caught in her throat, just as it had the first time she had broken the rules to peek at it.
A mirror. Tall and gilded and, oddly enough, not reflecting her image even though she was standing directly in front of it. It was edged in what appeared to be silver, with etchings of elegant swirling plants and flowers climbing up along the frame as a pair of wolves sat howling mournfully on either side of the base.
"An eluvian," she breathed aloud, still astonished that such a rare gem had ended up in Gwaren, of all places, being studied by an oaf like Doctor Asignon instead of someplace like the University of Orlais or Minrathous. A mystery for the ages.
Something thrummed within her chest. A tug. A longing. A quiet cry from the center of her being.
It had scared her when it had first happened, but she had been expecting it this time.
There was something about this mirror, something that belonged to her. She had no idea if the reaction would have been the same for any other elf, and she had no way of testing such a theory without smuggling one of her friends into areas of the museum that were off limits to anyone who was not personnel.
Perhaps it had something to do with the tales of elves' inherent gift for magic?
She shook her head at the notion, elven mages had died out centuries ago as all the magic in Thedas had gradually dwindled and faded away. The only countries who even claimed to have magic users anymore were Tevinter and Rivain, and they were reclusive enough with their talents to make it little more than rumor. At any rate, she was no mage, there was no way for her to be sensing whatever sleeping magic the mirror might possess. …was there?
She glanced up at the letters carved into the top of mirror's tarnished frame, studying the words in long looping Elvhen that Doctor Asignon had been fruitlessly attempting to translate for the last week.
Eluvians were meant to be doorways. Doors, especially very old magical ones, often required a key. The words must offer some sort of hint as to how the mirror could be unlocked, or possibly some clue as to where it might lead once opened.
The script was uncommonly complex and ornate, making it difficult to read. But she could read it. That fact alone was enough to fill her with a rather smug sense of satisfaction as she thought of the team of four 'more experienced' humans who had been flailing over this interpretation for days. The passage may have been somewhat archaic, but it was also blessedly short, and it did not take her long to piece together a rough translation in her head.
Her eyes widened in disbelief when she finally realized what the mirror said. Awed and a little afraid, she reached up and placed her hand over her left collarbone with a distinct air of wonder, remembering the words she had gotten tattooed there in a dark plum colored ink during a night of heavy drinking and poor life choices when she had first entered college. And now those very words hung before her, echoed in ancient discolored silver.
She had the distinct sensation of a ghost breathing at the nape of her neck, sending shivers skittering down her spine and setting all her nerves along the edge of a knife. Her heart thundered in her ears. Her lungs tightened about the panicked organ stuttering between them, as though trying to keep it safely within the cavern of her chest. Before she could think better of it, she whispered the phrase aloud.
"Var lath vir suledin."
The mirror erupted in a blaze of blue white light, sending her staggering back into her desk, knocking Andraste to the floor with a sickening crunch that told her she was most likely going to be in a world of trouble when her boss came in on Monday morning.
That is, if he managed not to piss himself at the sight of an active elvuian.
For half a second she actually considered calling someone. Someone with the 'proper' sort of authority to deal with ancient magical doorways that could lead literally anywhere, including places that were not technically part of Thedas. Places that could be full of fire and dragons and booby-traps. Perhaps she should call someone who owned a gun. Or very large muscles. Or possibly both. Both seemed like the safest option.
She shook her head vehemently. If she was going to see what was on the other side of that mirror, it had to be now, before someone 'more important' decided to swoop in and steal all the credit for unlocking it for themselves and shove her back into the obscurity of Cataloging Hell. She may not get her name in any of the research magazines, but she was bloody well at least going to take the chance to explore one of the few remaining wonders of her people first hand.
Besides, she was probably fired for busting up Andraste's face already, she may as well break a few more rules while she was at it, right?
Ever so slowly, she crept back towards the glowing mirror, still wary that something, or possibly even someone, might jump out of it at any moment. Most of the eluvians that led to places of any significance had been destroyed shortly after the Inquisitor's war with the insane elf who had taken up the mantle of Fen'Harel, but it was probably best to be cautious anyway. With her luck, it probably led to some ancient elven broom cupboard.
When she finally reached the faintly rippling sheen of the eluvian's surface, she took a deep calming breath through her nose, clenched her teeth, and reached her hand into the mirror.
The magic tingled over her skin like thousands of tiny ice crystals as her hand passed through it to wherever the door had connected to, making the skin along her forearm burst out in goosebumps. It tickled, but other than that her hand seemed no worse for wear, all digits still accounted for as far as she could tell. The impossibly familiar hum of the magic binding the mirror was by far the most unnerving thing about the experience thus far.
"This is, without a doubt, the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me," she informed the broken bust of Andraste with a nervous chuckle, her emotions still swinging back and forth on a pendulum between paralyzing trepidation and a gnawing curiosity. In the end though, she knew she would spend the rest of her days kicking herself if she passed up the chance to see what lay beyond that mirror with her own two eyes.
"For science!" She muttered under her breath with a dry attempt at humor and a lot more bravery than she actually felt before doing her best to shake off the remnants of her unease, squaring her shoulders, and following her hand through the eluvian.
The first thing she noticed was the sunlight. At least, she thought it must be sunlight, or magic that was meant to mimic sunlight at any rate. The sky was a cloudless blue bowl above her head, the entire landscape surrounding her edged with jagged peaks of white capped mountains. The second thing she noticed was the cold.
The eluvian had deposited her into the courtyard of a somewhat decrepit castle nestled in deep within an unfamiliar mountain range. The air was thin and crisp, and much cooler than the sea breezes of Gwaren at the start of Kingsway. She hugged herself tightly, rubbing her hands along the sleeves of her flannel button-down. Trying to be careful and attempting to soak in as much of her surroundings as possible, she slowly began sloshing her way towards the main keep through patches of muddy snow, grimacing as it melted and began seeping through the material of her sneakers and into her socks.
The white banners fluttering gently on either side of the L shaped staircase leading up to the massive wooden double doors to the stronghold were unfamiliar, though undoubtedly Elvhen, but the heraldry hanging from the walls was…Dalish? When had the Dalish inhabited a mountain fortress? Most of the architecture was of blatantly human design, though traces of Elvhen craft bled through in certain places, but those elements were much older than anything the Dalish could have built.
Mysteries upon mysteries. The great hall was the same hodgepodge of imagery, towering Fereldan mabari standing guard along walls decorated with early Tevinter mosaics, Orlesian-made curtains and stained glass which both depicted even more Dalish symbols, and a truly ancient statue of Falon'din's great owl swooping down from above the main doors.
What was this place?
Stranger and more disconcerting still was the sensation that the inhabitants had never truly left. There were places set at the tables that lined both sides of the hall, as though expecting company at any moment, and warm fires lit the braziers along the walls and crackled pleasantly in the hearth near the main door. More than that, the place simply seemed…full. There was a lingering presence here she could not dismiss, as though someone had just walked out of the room. She kept turning her head, looking for someone, waiting for the sounds of distant laughter, footsteps on stone, the scraping sound of a chair being moved across the floor, the ringing clash of swords and shields drifting in from the training yard.
But there was nothing there except silence.
Or was there?
Out of the corner of one eye, she saw something pale and fleeting dart into the first room on the right side of the hallway. She chased after it without a second thought, throwing back the door and charging into a round tower with three levels stacked on top of each other with little to no floor in between them. Staring up from the bottom, she could see all the way to the roof. Which seemed to be covered in…bird cages?
When it was clear her mysterious prey had vanished, she took a moment to look around the level she was standing in, and her heart sped up once more.
Paintings. A menagerie of captivating frescos in vivid hues filled every available inch of the curving walls surrounding her. Warriors and mages and pale maidens in long sweeping gowns. Dozens of eyes peering down from the sky, more howling wolves, and fire…an uncomfortable amount of fire.
The bizarre sense of belonging crept back up her spine, twining itself around her and whispering against her ear like a lover. For an instant she thought she smelled fresh paint and old parchment with a faint hint of pine. Someone was meant to be here; she was sure of it.
A floorboard creaked on the second story.
"Who's there?" She called out, trying to reign in her sudden swell of panic.
"Knock knock," a soft voice replied, though she could not tell from where. "No, wait, that's…wrong. Sorry. The knocking comes first doesn't it? It's been so long. Remembering is harder than I thought it'd be."
"What is this place?" She tried again, still trying to find the source of the voice.
"Keeping, careful, quiet," the voice answered, "I stayed because she asked, so he could remember the place he wanted to be. He just wanted to come home."
"Who did?" She asked, throwing her arms up in frustration. She had a niggling suspicion she had heard the voice somewhere before, but she was willing to chalk it up to the general weirdness of this place. She was unsure just how far her 'elfiness' would carry as an excuse for everything here feeling so familiar, and she honestly did not want to stop and consider any other possible theories on that front for the time being. She could only handle so much creepy shit in one day.
The door beside her opened by itself, ushering her back out into the main hall. Against her better judgement, she followed, not nearly as perturbed by being unable to see the source of the soft pad of footfalls guiding her as she probably should have been. They led her to the far end of the room and through a door along the opposite wall without a word passing between them. There was a long winding flight of stairs up through a tower that seemed like it was more worn down than the rest of the castle, and yet another door, and even more stairs.
She was just about to call it quits when she arrived in a large airy room, beautifully furnished and flooded with light.
Standing by the fireplace was a tall gangly youth, milky-skinned and human in appearance, if not by nature. He peered at her with pale watery blue eyes, wide and round and remorseful. He wore old patchy clothing which he picked at nervously and an odd floppy hat. He frowned at her silence, seeming disappointed.
"You don't have to remember," he said, his words colored with thinly veiled hurt as her looked away from her towards something at the far side of the room. "I hope I helped."
And without another word, he vanished into thin air.
She gave a startled yelp, jumping back half a step and scanning the room for any clues to where he might have gotten to.
That was when she noticed the figure lying on the bed.
"Hello?" She called out softly as she inched her way towards the gilded Orlesian atrocity they were laid out on.
The person was clearly male, if the sharp angles of his face and his distinct lack of hair meant anything. He was dressed in a simple beige sweater, and someone had lovingly pulled the covers up to his chest as though to guard him against the chill coming in from the large glass doors on the opposite wall that led out to a balcony which overlooked the rest of the keep. He appeared to be sleeping.
"Serah?" She tried once more as she drew nearer, hoping that she had not just stumbled onto a corpse. She paused, taking note of his long pointed ears. He was elven then, not human like the vanishing boy. It made sense. About as much sense as anything made in this place, anyway.
"Hahren?" She said instead, thinking that perhaps he might respond better to what was likely his native tongue.
When there was still no reply, she carefully lowered herself to sit beside him on the bed. He had pale skin, highlighting the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and the elegant curve of his prominent cheekbones. His eyelashes were long and dark, his full lips pressed together in a firm line, his hands folded neatly over his stomach, all of him unmoving. If he was breathing, it was impossibly light.
He did not look dead, however. There was a touch of rose beneath those freckles, and a curious kind of softness hanging about him. He looked…serene. Ageless. And perhaps just the tiniest bit sad.
He was beautiful.
Her cheeks burned and shook her head, glancing away from him for a moment and frowning. How peculiar did you have to be to think some dusty old elf lying passed out in some sort of magically induced coma inside a crumbling castle that had been sealed behind a mirror for who knows how long was attractive? It hadn't been that long since she'd gone on a date.
Not quite able to look back at his face again, which was ridiculous seeing as the man was unconscious and hardly capable of judgement, her eyes settled somewhere around his chest. There was a blackened jawbone from some beast hanging from a pair of leather cords around his neck, and over that, a long chain of small lacey flowers, bright yellow coronas inside delicate blue stars.
'Forget me not, oh love of mine,' she remembered the poem about the flower's name vaguely, reaching out and brushing her fingertips gingerly over a single tiny bloom. They looked as though someone had picked them only yesterday. 'The sun that burns, the stars that shine. …how did the rest of it go?'
Someone had put him here on purpose, locked away in a castle all by himself. Someone who loved him.
She placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
"Hey," she said, her lips quirking it a slight smile, "I think you're probably long past the regular amount of beauty sleep."
This was like something out of one of those stories her mother had read her as a child. A princess put to sleep for a hundred years in the highest room of the tallest tower. She snorted at the comparison. At least she didn't have to fight a dragon on the way up here.
There was nothing for it, he wasn't waking up. She didn't know if it was even possibleto wake him up. Maybe he was dead after all, and his body had simply been preserved by magic somehow, like the flowers around his neck. She didn't know why, but the thought made her sad.
She was going to have to tell Dr. Asignon about this place, about him. They would poke and prod and run all sorts of invasive tests on him, trying to see what it would take to rouse him. If they thought he was beyond their reach, they could do worse, cut him up and study his remains in some perverse attempt to understand the magic that had kept him pristine for so long.
She frowned in dismay. He deserved more than that. Whoever he was, whatever he had done to be kept in this place, he was still worthy of some sort of dignity, of respect, and whatever kindness they could afford to show him. The person who had left the garland around his neck had clearly thought so.
She touched his face, gentle, consoling. He should have some sort of softness before the humans dragged him away.
"Ir abelas, Hahren," she said with quiet earnestness. She bent down and pressed a kiss against his lips, brief and chaste. An apology and a goodbye. They most likely wouldn't let her anywhere near him after this whole fiasco came to light, she'd be lucky if she even got to keep her job.
She jerked back in alarm. His lips were warm and soft, and they had most definitely moved.
She looked down at his face once more, and a pair of eyes as blue as the flowers around his neck gazed back at her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but it was swallowed up as his lips came to meet hers with a fiery desperation. His arms wrapped around her as he sat up more fully, dragging her as close as he could. He was broader than she had given him credit for, enveloping her smaller frame effortlessly in his warmth.
She was petrified, startled out of almost every ounce of sense she had, and for just a moment, utterly swept away.
"Vhenan," he gasped into her shoulder when he finally stopped kissing her long enough to breathe. She could feel hot tears sliding down her neck into the collar of her shirt as he nuzzled against her, still clinging to her tightly. His heart was thundering in his chest, echoing her own. "Vhenan."