Codex:

In the time of Arlathan, when the Creators still walked among the People, there was tension between them. The Creators fought amongst themselves, and their followers and devotees fought also.

In an attempt to stop the bloodshed and endless antagonism, Mythal suggested that the Creators live apart from each other, each surrounded by their people but keeping to themselves. They had still to meet, though, to work out problems without bloodshed, and so a neutral meeting place was chosen.

This helped delay the inevitable, but was ultimately futile. Eventually, the situation devolved into open battle between the Creators, which only ended with Fen'Harel's infamous betrayal.

…..

When she opened her eyes in the Fade, Lavellan was slightly disappointed to find herself not in the small valley, but somewhere on the mountain peak. It didn't take her long to locate the fissure leading to the valley, though, and she walked cautiously along it.

She stopped in the shadows at the end of the fissure, looking around for any sign of the wolf. She was still slightly nervous about a creature that large - let alone a wolf that large, in the Fade - but she didn't see any sign of it. She stood in the shade, studying the mosaic on the chair back closest to her.

This was the brown mosaic, and from a distance she could almost pick out a pattern in the swirls of stone that ranged in color from the lightest tan to the richest dark brown of the soil in a forest after it rained. Something in the subtle, simple sweeps of the lines niggled at her memory. She stepped forward, her attention focused on the back mosaic in front of her.

As she took a single step into the sunlight, she realized she wasn't alone in the valley.

There was an elvhen man crouched behind the chair three seats away from the one she had focused on. He was quite a bit… more impressive… than the elves she knew, closer to a human in his proportions. Broad shoulders, muscular arms. He wore a form fitting shirt and pants under a loose open vest that reached his knees. The clothing showed off powerful legs and a lithe, well shaped torso. He had dark brown hair, thick and coarse, pulled away from his face. And oh, what a face. Sharply chiseled features, a strong, square chin, eyes as black as the deepest night. Lavellan froze for a minute simply to admire him.

He must be the hunter whose footprints she had followed, but what was he doing now? She took several careful steps to the side, staying close to the valley wall. She knew there was no reason to sneak, but somehow his absolute focus made her feel like any sound would disturb him.

She got to where she could see the chair he was working on. It was the one with the yellow mosaic. The colors here ranged from the clear brilliant yellow of a sunlight noon to the deep golden gleam of a single candle in the darkness. She couldn't tell what the pattern was. Or, rather, had been she noticed suddenly.

The hunter was defacing the mosaic. He had a jar of paint near him, and was painting select stones black. He was being deliberate about it, painting one stone at a time; obscuring the original image in favor of what seemed to be a wolf sitting on its haunches, with its head thrown back in a howl.

Lavellan was deeply shocked at this casual vandalism, and she took a step towards him, her left hand outstretched futilely, as if to stop him.

To her surprise, the anchor on her palm flared, and suddenly the hunter spun to face her, his eyes locking on hers. He glowered at her as he set the paintbrush down and rose. He was tall, she noticed distantly; his eyes swept over her appraisingly, then narrowed as the settled on her face.

"How dare you to come here, slave?"

Her jaw dropped, and she couldn't resist a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure he wasn't speaking to some other person of memory. There was no one there, and his eyes were definitely boring into hers when she turned back.

"Well?" Just that word, but his tone spoke volumes of his expectation of an answer and his disdain for her.

The attitude had her narrowing her eyes in turn, her own temper rising to her defense.

"You're awfully rude for a mere memory. What you're doing isn't possible, but the best you can come up with are demands and insults? Either contribute something useful, or do us both a favor and be silent."

She would have taken a moment to revel in the slack-jawed expression he was wearing, but it didn't take him long to regroup. Loudly.

"You dare? You won't find your precious June here, you know, nor can he protect you from my wrath. I want an explanation. Now!" That last was barked at her as he closed the distance between them to tower over her.

Lavellan sighed, and deliberately relaxed her tense shoulders. Offering him a conciliatory smile, she held out her hand. "My apologies, hunter. I forgot my manners in my surprise. My name is Kelara. I came here to observe what memories could be found; I did not think it was possible to be seen by anyone here."

He looked down at her hand, then back to her face. "My name is not 'hunter,' slave." His teeth bared in a sneer. "Though you have some pitiful store of magic, you cannot walk here without my knowledge. Now, begone!"

She felt a swell of magic, and the Fade rippled around her. His magic reminded her of the ocean; a wave of raw power that attempted to sweep her off the mountain altogether. She concentrated her will before she was swept away entirely; the anchor flared again, and she found herself standing firmly in place. As the Fade settled down around her, she looked back at him and raised a single eyebrow.

"Tsk tsk. All force, no finesse. My Keeper would be hugely disappointed. If you do not wish to be called 'hunter' then you'll have to tell me what to call you instead."

He stared at her, his eyes calculating. He seemed to decide she was in earnest because he answered. "You may call me Fen." Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too quickly for her to make it out.

Lavellan glanced at the wolf he'd been painting on the back of the chair, and smothered a laugh. "Fen, huh? Creative." She gave him a more genuine smile and wiggled her hand at him. "Pleased to meet you, Fen. I'm sure this will be interesting."

He reached up, and clasped her hand in his own, looking as if he didn't quite believe what was happening.

She could certainly understand the feeling.

...

A/N: This is a long one, but there are some things I wanted to explain.

Location: based on what we know about Skyhold, it was built by Fereldens. They knew it was a place that had once been important to the elves - crockery and such that had been discovered that indicated not only different clans, but different times. This story builds on that idea to give the future site of Skyhold a sort of "knights of the round table" thing, where the elven gods met on neutral ground. After the creators were sealed away, the elves somehow (I don't know how, it's not important to the story) found the place, and used it for their own purposes - it would be sacred to them, since their gods had spent time there.

Also, anywhere with nine powerful gods, all with high emotions and full of magic, would probably stand out in the Fade.

Timing: the codex says that Fen'Harel spent "centuries" in a far corner of the world hugging himself and giggling madly after he sealed the gods away. Its reasonable to assume that at least some of that time would be spent here.

I figured there was plenty of time for this, and for the elves to find it before Tevinter conquers them because of this codex and also because Solas implies that he "woke up" to find that his actions had caused so much trouble. So…. if he spent several centuries giggling, he couldn't have been asleep during that time - there must be a significant amount of time between the Betrayal and Tevinter ruining everything.

Art: As far as the mosaics go, they are inspired by the ones we see in Mythal's temple, but not quite the same. For one thing, the ones in the temple were made by worshippers, but the ones on the chairs were made by the gods themselves. So, they're different, and also probably a bit of an ego trip. I imagine them incorporating the patterns that will become vallaslin. I assigned colors to each god, and they are:

Elgarnan - blue; Mythal - green; June - brown; Sylaise - red; Andruil - yellow; Fen'Haral - black; Dirthamen - purple; Ghilan'nain - white; Falon'Din - silver

It amuses me to think of him defacing artwork on the chairs that belonged to the other gods.

Miscellaneous: Fen'Harel doesn't recognize the anchor as "his" for a couple reasons: a) he's got some time between now and uthenera, I figure he and is magic will grown and change during that time; b) whatever corypheus did probably changed the feel of the orb's magic a bit; and c) Lavellan's own power has changed the anchor's magic too - we know she figures out new ways to use it, and makes it more powerful, and as a mage, she has her own power that she is probably using as well. That's my opinion, anyway.

Finally, the codex entry at the beginning isn't real, I made it up. Just in case it was so awesome some believed me, I didn't want anyone to start a frustrating hunt for the bit of lore they missed in the game. ;-)

If you have questions, ask!