A/N: Sorry, running late! Shit's getting real this chapter! Solas is like this [] close to getting exposed, man.
Fifty
The Temple of Dirthamen
Foul water sloshed at Rosa's knees as she forded into the dank underbelly of the ruins. The air smelled wet and rank with mold, decay, and death. Enormous mushroom-covered tree roots had wormed their way into the ruins. Water dripped and tinkled in a way that should have been soothing except that Rosa swore she heard sloshing that marked other footsteps. They weren't alone.
"Undead," Tal muttered from behind her, confirming her suspicions. "I can feel them."
"Figures," Rosa grumbled, trying to smile at him over her shoulder through the gloom. They'd set oat midmorning and reached the site of the ruins in the afternoon, but the scouts spent hours trying to find an entrance that wasn't overgrown or collapsed. It was evening now and dark in what Rosa thought should have been the sewers of the temple. It had a sinister feeling, as though the darkness was a living thing itself that watched them from the corners, waiting for its moment to strike.
A sconce on the wall ahead lay rusting and lightlessness. "Veilfire would be more useful to us than torchlight," Solas advised. His voice was stiff and curt. Some of it was discomfort at their current location, but most of it had to be his lingering, simmering anger with her for the night of Tal's bonding.
Rosa pushed those thoughts from her mind, but not before Cole apparently read them and decided to give them a voice: "'That is not yet clear.' He's angry with me for wanting the truth as much as—"
"Enough, Cole," Rosa snapped, cutting him off. She didn't look back at the spirit boy as she stepped up onto the raised stone that created a sort of embankment from the water. The sconce was mounted on a pillar there, glistening in the faint light streaming in from the holes in the ceiling created by tree roots and trunks. Rosa summoned Veilfire into it, blinking against the greenish light. She motioned over her shoulder. "Someone give me a torch."
Rustling came from behind her as her three companions fumbled into their bags to find one. It was Tal who succeeded first and stepped forward, thrusting it out to her. His face looked drawn and tired in the green light. Rosa knew he'd spent his nights busy with Nola recently and that although it must be going well—judging by the snickering from clan Manaria at the lewd sounds emanating from the Keeper's aravel—it wasn't all peaches and cream. Sammael's possession was a blight on everything that left the clan a little spooked and eager to leave this place. The clan didn't know Sammael was possessed—the boy himself recalled a hazy nightmare only and didn't know what happened to him and wouldn't speak of it except in vague terms—but they knew enough to worry this place was cursed.
Rosa could hardly disagree now that she saw the decrepit state of this ruin. It was in worse condition than the one she saw in the Brecilian as a child, where she met Fear and Deceit and first learned she was the granddaughter of Dirthamen. It also, unlike that place, felt hostile. She wanted to ask Solas what he knew of it, but speaking to him now wasn't really an option after the fiasco with Deceit.
Accepting the torch, Rosa lit the Veilfire and held it aloft. "All right, let's get this over with."
They found runes illuminated by Veilfire against a statue of the Dread Wolf. The inscription was magical, speaking directly into Rosa's mind when she touched it: We few whisper here where shadow dwells. Some words remain unuttered. Truths are pushed down, down where they shall never arise again.
She shuddered as the cold sense of foreboding flowed through her. She recoiled, though she tried to hide the reaction. Tal was at her side as she recovered, brow furrowed as he looked over the inscription too. He reacted the same way, shuddering when he touched it. "Why is there a statue of the fucking Dread Wolf here, Solas?" he asked.
Solas was silent a moment and then said, "The land on which this was built exchanged hands between the Evanuris many times. I suspect this was left as a reminder of when it served another purpose." He sounded bitter.
"What purpose?" Tal pressed, turning to stare at Solas.
Rosa ignored their conversation, deciding it didn't matter and she didn't care. She was here to make sure Tal didn't get himself killed chasing after literal ghosts on a path the thrice-damned Formless One set him on. That and she legitimately needed to see why Corypheus' goons were sniffing around this place. Could Corypheus know something about her heritage? She dearly hoped not and knew it was unlikely. More plausible was that he wanted magical artifacts, particularly more orbs.
"I cannot say for certain until we see more of the ruins," Solas replied. "But my initial suspicion is that this may have been a theater or learning hall. A school, perhaps, for actors, singers, and authors."
Tal grunted. "Interesting. And why would Dirthamen take it as his temple?"
"As I said," Solas replied tersely. "These lands exchanged hands many times. Each new ruler would wipe away the influence of the previous." He paused a moment and then added, "Fen'Harel, or Fen'Sa as he was known in those long ago times, was not interested in grandiose temples dedicated to himself. He—"
"Got it," Tal cut him off. "Let's not let asamalin get too far ahead."
Rosa could almost hear the annoyed growl Solas gave at Tal's interruption and lack of interest. She knew Tal wasn't going to tolerate what he considered propaganda about the Dread Wolf from Solas. He wanted history only. Still, Rosa found herself wishing Tal hadn't been so rude. As irritated and upset as she was with Solas currently, she didn't want her brother to let that sour their relationship too. It was insanely frustrating being the monkey in the middle between them.
They reached a chamber where a small statue of a hooded figure projected out from the wall, lit by a faint green light. A bowl lay in its hands and inside was a large rounded shape, wrinkled and pallid in the gloomy, clinging darkness. Rosa drew closer, feet making a slimy noise over the wet stone as she left the submerged hall to enter the chamber.
Voices hissed in her ear: Chamber of Misery.
Before she could stop herself, Rosa yelped and whipped round, lifting the Veilfire torch high. "Who…?" She felt her cheeks flush with heat as she realized the others weren't yet in the room and appeared perplexed at her reaction.
"Rosa?" Solas asked, concern coloring his voice now.
"Nothing," she said, lowering the torch. "It was nothing."
Tal frowned, searching the dark chamber with his eyes and apparently not liking what he saw—or smelled by the flare of his nostrils. "It's haunted. You hearing things?"
"Yeah," she admitted, also frowning.
"The whispers are everywhere here," Cole murmured. "They're watching us. They have to protect the secrets. They have to." Cole hugged himself, looking through the lank strands of blond hair peeking out of his hat. "I don't like it here."
"The feeling is mutual, Cole," Solas agreed, reaching out to lay a calming hand on the spirit boy's shoulder.
"We shouldn't stay here," Cole said, shaking his head. "We shouldn't be here." He swallowed, blue eyes going wide with horror, though they were unfocused. "They brought them here to pray alone to the darkness. Until he judged them. Sometimes the bowl was red and they died. And sometimes the darkness whispered back."
Rosa stared at Tal, silently asking him to think this through again. It wasn't too late to turn back. Aloud she tried to be snarky. "Well, this is a cheery place to visit our babala, don't you think?" (babala: grandfather)
Tal scoffed. "Funny. But we're not here for that."
Rosa shot a glance to Solas before she could stop herself and saw his eyes were narrowed and his mouth twisting down just slightly.
"But you are," Cole chimed in then and she had to bite back a curse.
"We're here to kick red Templar ass," Rosa snapped. She spun on her heel and stomped toward the bizarre altar—only to stop short as the Veilfire further illuminated the bowl. A desiccated head stared at her, lips pulled back over receded gums that left the roots of long white teeth exposed. The eyeballs were gone, leaving the holes of eye sockets and nostrils gaping at her. "Fenedhis," she said, recoiling. "What the fuck is going on in this place?"
"He said they'd be safe," Cole whispered. "He said the secrets would be safe. But they thought he lied."
"So they cut off his head?" Tal asked.
"Not just his head," Cole reported in a quiet voice.
"Well," Tal said, whistling. "Shit."
"Dirthamen's priests and acolytes were not known for mental stability," Solas quipped. "I would suggest we not engage with the temple. If it is true that we are here to confront the red Templars rather than visit your babala, there is no reason to incur risk."
"All right," Rosa agreed, nodding as she squared her jaw and turned back to face the others. "Let's get going then and leave whoever this was—"
"Highest One," Cole supplied. "Doshiel Dirthamenes'ishalen, Dirthamenelan." (Dosiel: given name. Dirthamenes'ishalen: son of Dirthamen. Dirthamenelan: agent of Dirthamen)
As the words sank in Tal spluttered and Rosa gawked. "What? Are you saying…?"
"Yes," Solas said, cool and impartial. "I suspect Cole is correct."
Rosa stabbed a finger at the desiccated head in the altar bowl. "This was our uncle?"
"It should not come as a surprise," Solas told them blankly. "Dirthamen was thousands of years old and had hundreds of children in that time, as did all of the Evanuris save Andruil, Ghilan'nain, and Fen'Harel."
Rosa clenched her jaw and stepped deliberately away from the altar and what was left of her unfortunate uncle's remains. That was two uncles she knew of now, but clearly this one wasn't an active threat. "All right," she said as she reached the small steps leading out of the chamber. "We won't be collecting any of those body parts out of respect for—"
"He doesn't want to be trapped here," Cole said, wringing his hands. "He was frightened when his father vanished, but he was brave."
"Are you reading all this from his head?" Tal asked, sounding queasy.
"No," Cole said, turning his head and looking at Tal with confusion. "He whispers with the others. Don't you hear it?"
"Okay, never mind. Forget I asked." Tal was pallid and stiff as he marched past Solas and Cole to join Rosa. They splashed together back into the rank water.
"We can still leave," Rosa muttered under her breath at her brother as they sloshed their way deeper through the gloomy halls.
"No," Tal snarled. "I promised myself I would do this. I'm the only one who can."
"This place is terrible," Rosa hissed. She held the Veilfire torch higher, illuminating the slick, slimy stones they walked past. "We're not going to find anything good here."
"Well," Tal said, shrugging. "I can already tell there are a bunch of arcane horrors here. So, yeah, I can agree with that statement. But none of this was supposed to be good. You think I'd do this if we had any other way to find out?"
"He didn't want us to walk this path," Rosa whispered.
"Then he should have told us that while he was still alive," Tal grumbled as he pulled out his staff. Ahead, around a corner, Rosa heard splashing. She lifted one hand to prepare to cast but didn't drop the Veilfire torch yet. Behind them Rosa heard Solas and Cole draw closer, water sloshing as they hustled, weapons at the ready.
They rounded the corner and saw red Templars moving about a wider chamber. One examined a switch in the wall that must activate the silvered gates blocking the passageway beyond. Another stared at the overgrown green-gold mural on the wall of Dirthamen. Two more, heavily armored and with red glowing in their eyes, stalked about the halfway flooded, rank smelling room. Rosa half wondered if the red lyrium destroyed their hearing because they seemed completely surprised as the two sentries spotted their party, though they should have heard them coming with all the water.
"Here we go," Rosa said, gritting her teeth as she let lightning fly, arcing between all four Templars. "Die!"
Tal launched fireballs at the Templar by the mural and dodged as the hulk turned and flung shards of red lyrium at him. Summoning the invisibility spell, Tal lunged forward, keeping low as the others took on the Templars. Tal knew they'd make short work of them and quickly discover his absence. It would worry Rosa most of all, but there wasn't much choice.
He left the water and the sounds of combat behind him to enter a large passageway. Elven figures stood in the alcoves on either side, bows nocked with arrows and raised together as they pointed toward the sanctuary. Tal's heart hammered in his chest as he remembered this place. Raselan recreated it for him in dreams, letting him navigate it. The demon told him there were artifacts and trinkets behind the sealed sanctuary door, but otherwise nothing of interest. It also told him that the disciples disrupted the magic on the door within the sanctuary, blocking it from responding to anything except the morbid ritual involving the High Priest's desiccated body. Of course, Raselan hadn't mentioned that the High Priest was their uncle.
But none of that mattered. What did matter, and what the disciples couldn't change, was the secret door behind the mosaic in this passageway. The mosaic itself was an illusion that was entirely solid and real until one of the Lethanavir, Kin of the Inevitable Way, bearing the Crown, touched it. Then and only then would it grant passage to all the bearer willed.
Tal reached the mosaic, bare feet slapping on the floor. A staircase led down ahead of him and paintings like Solas' mural, but cruder, had been drawn on the pale stones. White elves atop black beasts, thrusting spears. Riding to war, maybe. The mural stood on Tal's right.
With a quick glance behind, Tal saw lightning flash and ice magic fly. He heard a red Templar roar in fury and Cole taunted in return, "You can't hurt me!"
Now or never, he thought and reached over his shoulder, grabbing the Crown from the top of his pack. It was on his head in an instant and he felt the powerful weight settling onto his temples, resting against his ears. It was warm, but somehow chilled at once, recalling the cold of the grave. He shivered as he felt the Crown touch his mana, felt it echo inside him with greeting. Welcome, Kin of the Inevitable Way.
He slapped his palm on the mural. Grant me entrance.
The mural shimmered and magic crawled up Tal's palm. He saw flashes—a mirror outlined in black like ebony with glass that reflected the starry night sky in all its magnificent splendor—and heard a booming, powerful voice speak in elven, "Welcome, Kin to Death."
The solid, tiled surface beneath his hands vanished. Tal stepped hurriedly through. Grimacing at the musty, stale stink of the air that hit his nose. A staircase led down and he heard water dribbling ahead and below. The darkness swallowed Tal whole like the maw of a frost dragon. The mosaic behind him had gone solid again, hiding the passage and shrouding it in lightlessness. He froze, motionless, breathing fast for an instant as panic threatened to overwhelm him. Then, as Tal's eyes adjusted, he made out the pearly glow with its rainbow fractals and smirked. The Crown was its own light source when he needed it.
Willing it brighter, Tal forged ahead. His feet slapped over the stairs, echoing. The Crown's light revealed slimy walls that glittered a pale color like maggots—but soon Tal saw images painted over the stone. He slowed his pace, taking in the images. Black like velvet with pale dots like the stars and figures robed in red knelt in supplication. A panel with two elven men outlined in what might have been eluvians, reaching through to lay their palms together. One man stood in a silver rimmed mirror and had been colored a warm golden hue. The other man stood in a black-rimmed mirror and had been painted white.
Tal brushed a hand on the stone reverently and shivered as magic flowed through him, ancient but still potent. Whispers rose around him and Tal closed his eyes to hear their words better. Dirthamen's shadow. Falon'Din's reflection.
They looked like two halves of a whole—night and day, sun and moon. Elgar'nan and Mythal were supposed to be like that, too. Yet, Tal knew from his father's stories that Dirthamen and Falon'Din weren't brothers, as the old tales remembered. They were…something else. Yet, it seemed clear they were twins in some way as well.
Tal took another step down and his foot splashed in water. He snarled with disgust as he looked down to see a foul black mold clinging to the water surface and the walls ahead. Tugging his sleeve over his mouth and nose, Tal pushed forward. His eyes skimmed the panels on either side, taking in images dulled by water, erosion, and time—but still beautiful.
Despite the putrid water lapping at his thighs, Tal stopped short at one panel. A red-brown cloud made of countless dots in a wide range of crimson encircled a golden-skinned figure with red and black eyes. The man held out his arms wide to either side. The tips of his ears stood out starkly from his head. In the upper right corner there was another shape—a second circle but in black with a few swirls of brown-red flowing about it.
Unable to resist, Tal touched the panel and gasped as the magic's ancient message reverberated through him. Great Dirthamen learns the secret of our enemy, wielder of Pestilence.
It was Blight. The two strains Solas described.
Tal withdrew, gazing a moment longer at his grandfather. The spread arms. The red and black eyes. The sharp ear tips. The red horror circling him in a cloud.
What had Solas said? This was a magic that should be forgotten. As much as Tal might mistrust the Elvhen man right now, it seemed that thought was one of wisdom. Tal clenched his hands and tucked them under his armpits, frowning at the image as he walked forward.
A short distance ahead Tal reached a larger space, pitch black and dank. The Crown brightened with a thought from him and the room seemed to groan, reacting to his presence. Green-gold mosaics glittered in the walls. Yellow-gold tiles stood out ahead on a dais. The water tinkled from off in a corner where something leaked into this hidden chamber. Dingy, scummy waterlines came into view as the magic awoke in a wider circle around the chamber. Veilfire braziers burst into flame, crackling and filling the air with an eerie green light.
And atop the dais in the center of the room stood a large mirror, an eluvian bordered with pale silver. Tal sloshed his way to it, splashing as he clambered onto the steps. The floor warmed under his feet, glowing faintly white in the grout around each tile. The magic was still alive here, dormant but coming alive with the presence of the Crown. Raselan had said it would be like that.
Tal kept his hands tucked tightly to himself, his heart in his throat as he approached the dark, reflection-less mirror. As he stood in front of it, just out of reach, he saw a dim light begin. He squinted, shaking even as he tried to still his emotions and anxiety. Rosa's words kept echoing in his mind: We can still leave.
No, he thought.
Edging closer, Tal touched his palm to the mirror. It was smooth and bitingly cold. Like the crown, it reached deep into him, touching his mana, tasting it. Tal let it sink in, puffing out a breath as he felt its recognition wash over him. Then there was nothing. It waited, expectant. Obedient.
Hungry.
Drawing in a breath, Tal focused on the place inside where his necromancy power lurked. Honed after weeks of use and with the Crown to enhance it, the mirror flickered and responded at once—so fast Tal gasped with surprise and almost withdrew. But his nerve held at the last and he let the mana flow out of him until he was shaky and sweating, weakened by the draw. It stopped just before mana burnout and the eluvian's mirror rippled, changing.
The borders on the mirror darkened, like linen soaking up an ink spill. Soon the pale metal was as black as the lightless mirror itself. Then, a heartbeat later, the glass seemed to change focus and white dots appeared. Then faint blue and red pinpricks against the velvety blackness, until Tal recognized the heavens. It was like a reflection of the night skies on the clearest nights, when the moons were absent entirely, which almost never happened.
Something went tight in Tal's throat. He swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden ache. He tried not to think, but thoughts pushed in anyway. This is really happening. I am going to see babae. I am going to speak with him.
The mirror flickered, as though it sensed his thoughts. It probably had. A faint reddish mist began to obscure the starry night sky reflection. The mirror went dark again, waiting for the real command. The connection had been made. It waited only for permission. For choice.
Tal waited a moment longer, letting his mana regenerate. The Formless One had warned him the summoning would be draining. And if his father resisted he would have to hold the soul there, captive. Such an event would be unpleasant…for both Tal and the trapped soul, apparently. How it could be bad for a soul, already dead, wasn't clear. And when Tal asked Raselan hadn't answered.
"Okay," Tal muttered, screwing up his face. "Here it goes, babae."
He closed his eyes and imagined his father—his face, his vallaslin, his smile, his violet eyes. He heard again his mischievous, fun-loving laugh. He saw the travel-worn hood, shadowing his features. He felt babae's magic caress him as he healed cuts on his palm inflicted by the Keeper's switch. Come to me, babae, he ordered.
Raselan said it was like summoning someone to himself in the Fade, but Tal had never been able to do that. He wasn't a Dreamer. He wasn't anybody.
Until now. Until this. Until even death could not stop him from getting a little closure.
Felassan, he thought as he sensed the mirror worming through some vast, unfathomable distance and struggling, like a poor swimmer in a strong current. Tal tried other names: Ivun. The Slow Arrow. Evunial.
The mirror let out a groaning sound that echoed through the chamber. Water sloshed and splashed. Tal saw it rippling, green shimmers off each tiny ridge as it spread out from every corner. The dribbling water flow stuttered and then surged before returning to its same pace. Tal felt mana draining from him in a torrent and gritted his teeth at the burning pain and shock of it. The Crown flared hot as a sun on his temples.
Just when Tal thought he would cry out and jerk his hand away, it stopped. The room and the Crown darkened slightly through Tal's closed eyelids. He blinked, lifting his head but not daring to pull his palm back from the mirror yet.
He found himself staring at a reflection of himself at first. He looked waterlogged and filthy. His dark curls lay flat and soggy against his pallid skin. His eyes had at least two sets of bags beneath them from lack of sleep the last few nights—between frequent lovemaking and lying awake worrying about Sammael and this very moment. Frowning, Tal resisted the desire to preen and make himself look more presentable—but any thoughts of vanity vanished as the reflection of the chamber dulled and a figure began to walk out of a growing white mist.
Now Tal pulled his hand back, clenching it as he saw the severe shaking. Soon he saw the figure was robed, wearing a travel-worn hood in gray. The hood was up, obscuring the figure's face except for the chin, but Tal already recognized him. That chin was his own.
But though Tal stared, eyes glued and willing the figure to see him and react, Felassan seemed slow and cautious. He advanced from the mist with careful steps, taking his time and gazing around. With his hood up Tal only caught the occasional glint of his eye. And then, as emotion continued to build inside Tal, he couldn't stop himself from speaking.
"Baba?"
The figure lifted its head then and stared at him. Tal made out the sharp line of his father's nose, just lit around the hood. He saw the dark lines of his vallaslin and the full, generous shape of his lips. Lips that now frowned.
"What…" Felassan said, the single word raspy and in elven. "What deception is this?"
Tal swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice calm enough to speak. "I—I brought you here. I brought you back. Well, sort of." He took a faltering step forward. "Don't you recognize me?"
The figure did not approach closer, but Tal thought he saw his eyes narrow. Then Felassan turned away, his hood obscuring his profile. "No…this cannot be…"
"It is," Tal said, raising his voice and only dimly registering the frantic tone of it. "You never told me and Rosa Falon'Din was our great-grandfather. Why didn't you tell us?" The edge of anger took him by surprise and he fell silent.
Felassan turned to face him again. A long moment of silence stretched and then, with slow deliberateness, he pushed his hood back. The full sight of his father's face brought tears stinging into Tal's eyes. He felt his chin wrinkling and tried to stop it, but the grief was too strong with the reminder of what he'd lost.
"Tal," Felassan said and there was a hitch in the name, a small crack in what was otherwise a stoic expression. For a moment his violet eyes were wet and crinkled with grief that must have matched Tal's—and then his lips twisted down hard. "No. This cannot be real."
"You died," Tal said and choked on the words. "And I have Falon'Din's power. It's real, baba."
"Funny," Felassan said with a dry laugh. "I don't feel very dead. Dreaming is more like it." He brushed at his chin idly and tilted his head up, as if examining his surroundings, but all Tal saw was mist. "Bit like uthenera, except…" His chin wrinkled once and the roughness in his voice revealed emotions his face kept hidden. "Can't seem to remember what I was doing or seeing before this, except…" He broke off, shaking his head.
"Who killed you, baba?" Tal pressed, edging closer to the mirror, though he dared not touch it. Still, he wanted to step through it, to embrace his father. Seeing him, speaking…it wasn't enough. He swallowed hard, trying to hold back the grief.
Felassan's gaze shot back to Tal. His eyes narrowed. "That is a very interesting question."
"You don't know?" Tal blurted, unbelievingly.
"I didn't say that, da'len," he retorted with a wry smile that turned sad.
"I have to know," Tal said, rushing the words out. He didn't know how long the connection might last and each encounter might be frustratingly the same. Raselan warned him souls were often confused. Sometimes they didn't remember dying. Sometimes they fled immediately back to the beyond. If Tal summoned his father again later to try again Felassan might not remember this conversation.
"And why is that?" Felassan asked sharply. "Wouldn't you rather hear what the afterlife is like? Not that I'd know, like I said." He shrugged. It was an attempt at deflection through humor. He didn't want to talk about his death. Tal couldn't blame him. There were so many other things they might say to one another. So many better things…
He had to stay on target, but…
"No," Tal blurted and suddenly a sob worked its way out of his throat. His knees shook but he locked them and refused to fall. "I'd rather tell you I miss you. I'd rather tell you I'm sorry I wasn't there. I would have been, if I could. I wish you'd let me. I could have…I could have…" Hot tears streaked through the filth on his cheeks and Tal couldn't stop them even if he'd wanted.
Felassan's eyes went wet with emotion. He took a few steps closer to the mirror and dropped into a fluid squat, timeless and tireless in his incorporealness. "Ma ishalen," he said, his voice deep and soothing, the same tone he had used when Tal suffered nightmares or cried as a boy under his clan's cruelty. "If this is real, I'd tell you I am the one who is sorry. I am the one who wronged you and your sister. I am the one who kept you away. Don't blame yourself, da'len. What I did…I did it out of love for you and Rosa. It was better that I wasn't there and…" He drew in a sharp breath, swallowing as though he too fought tears. "Never wish you had been there with me in the end or you would have died as well. Better I should die a thousand deaths than place you and Rosa in harm."
"The world's gone to shit, baba," Tal cried, sniffing. "The sky's torn apart with your friend Solas' orb and—"
"What?" Felassan said and shot upright, stiff as a board. "What did you say?"
"There was a Conclave where the mages and Templars met for peace and Solas' fucking orb tore the sky apart because he 'lost' it to this darkspawn magister named Corypheus. And now Rosa—"
"No," Felassan interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. At Tal's frown he smirked and snorted. "I mean, yes, that's really interesting news, but I meant…" He turned his head, gazing sidelong at Tal through narrowed violet eyes. "You know…Solas?"
"Yeah," Tal said, finding his tears easier to hold at bay with his father's increasingly alarmed and odd reaction. "Solas said you and he knew each other. He first called himself Revas around us. Remember, I told you about him when Rosa and me were in the Hasmal Circle? He told us he was your teacher before the Fall. Was that true?"
Slowly Felassan nodded, but his eyes were unfocused. "Yes…he was. And he was like a father to me then. And later like a brother once I was grown. He was a lot of things to me for a long time."
Now Tal gritted his teeth together. "And I know he serves the fucking Dread Wolf."
Felassan's shoulders sank and his eyes shut. "Tal…"
"And I know you served him, too," Tal blustered. "I know that was what you were trying to hide from us. That was what kept you away. You were a slave, just like Solas still is to that fucker."
Felassan made a hissing sound through his teeth, as if Tal had uttered some unforgivable curse. He didn't look back at Tal, as though ashamed of him. The thought made Tal flush hot with both shame and rage. What was he doing or saying that was so wrong?
"It was Fen'Harel who killed you," Tal said in a low snarl. "I know it was."
Felassan's head sank. His arms hung limp at his sides. Still he didn't meet Tal's eye. "The circumstances of my death do not matter," he muttered. "The only thing I want you to know—the only thing you can know, ma ishalen, is that I died trying to protect you and Rosa. I lived trying to protect you and Rosa, too. My silence was for your protection. The wolf did not know of you and you did not know of him. If you summoned me back from the dead trying to learn anything else, you've wasted your time, da'len."
"No," Tal snarled, shaking his head fiercely. "No, you have to tell me. I need to know. Rosa and I are puppets in this clusterfuck mess and we're blind as bats. If it's the Dread Wolf then I need to know how to stop him because he'll be after us next. He knows about us now, I am sure of it. I need to know where he sleeps in uthenera so I can kill him. Or, if he's awake, I need to know how to kill a false god."
Felassan shook his head and said nothing. Something like despair hung heavy over his form.
Giving in to the desire to fill the silence, Tal blustered, "I won't serve the son of a bitch, no matter how misunderstood you and Solas say he is."
"Then you are safe enough," Felassan murmured, the ghost of a smile twitching his lips. "Fen'Harel takes only the willing. Hasn't Solas told you that?"
"Maybe I'm safe," Tal snapped. "If you say so—but Rosa is ready to join him. She's in love with Solas and he's tried to recruit us and she—"
Now Felassan spun to face him, violet eyes wide. "Rosa is—what?"
"They're fucking," Tal spat. "But he already left her once, baba. In the Free Marches, when we just escaped Hasmal." He hesitated a moment and then hung his head as he bit out, "He left her pregnant."
Felassan, oddly, stumbled and fell to his knees. He let out a short, sharp laugh and then seemed to groan, staring unseeingly off past Tal's shoulder. "That…well, I'm not sure what to think of that. I…almost don't believe it. That's…very unlike him."
"Believe it," Tal growled. "She almost died when she lost it." He was silent a moment as grief stole up on him again, starting that ache in his throat. "She misses you, too. She'd want you to know. She didn't mean what she said—the last things she said to you." He sniffed. "She called the baby Da'Assan, after you."
Felassan lifted shaking hands to his face, covering it. He breathed long and deep for a few moments and then let his hands fall away. His expression was shattered, shell-shocked. "Tal," he said, barely above a whisper. "I think you should tell me everything that's happened. We…we don't have much time. I know little of this ritual, but mages stronger than you usually conducted it and used Dirthamen's wretched acolytes with their compulsion to get trapped souls to talk fast." He sounded bitter, reminding Tal of the way Solas often talked of the Creators. "I am willing," Felassan went on, "but…death can only be denied so long."
"I know," Tal murmured, the words miserable and trembling. "This…this isn't good enough, baba."
"I know, too," Felassan answered, smiling wanly. "I know, ma ishalen." He dipped his chin, his expression brightening through sheer force of will. "That's why you must make it quick." There were tears in his violet eyes. "I always wanted to protect you both. I'm not about to stop now that I'm dead."
When the last red Templar fell dead into the fetid water Rosa let out a long sigh of relief. Cole flickered green, coming into visibility again, and looked to her with his haunted blue eyes. Nodding to acknowledge him, Rosa motioned to the nearest corpse. "Let's search them. Maybe we can figure out why they were here in these ruins."
"Agreed," Solas put in from just behind her on the raised stone that formed a sort of embankment, long overgrown with roots, trees, ferns, and mold.
They worked over the bodies a short time before Rosa realized Tal was no longer with them. She stood up, frowning as she searched the dark passageway. "Tal?" she asked as she turned, taking in the dank and dark for any sign of him. "Tal, where are you?"
"I sensed him take on invisibility during the fight," Solas told her from where he stood over another of the fallen red Templars. "I assumed he intended to use the element of surprise in an attack." His frown twisted deeply. "It appears he has actually used the spell to slip away from us." Blue eyes pinned Rosa with naked suspicion.
"What?" Rosa snapped. But she already knew. Solas guessed she was in on this disappearance. Well, normally he'd be exactly right, but not today. Tal hadn't shared his exact plans with her, only that he needed to go to this temple to do them and he needed the Crown.
"She doesn't know," Cole said. Then: "Black mirrors bordered in silver. Stars. Mist. Twins. Two men reaching through mirrors, touching."
"Where has Tal gone, Cole?" Solas asked, his voice cold.
"Is he in danger?" Rosa added quickly, gaze locked on the spirit boy.
"No," Cole answered with a slight shake of his head. His eyes were unfocused and hazy. "He is on a dark path, singing the old songs, asking for answers he already has."
"I suspect Cole means he is deeper within the temple," Solas muttered, still frowning.
"Then let's go after him," Rosa said, kneeling again to finish going through the dead red templar's pockets. She grabbed out a scroll and took a coin purse before standing upright. "Can you lead us to him, Cole?"
Cole recoiled, as if she'd suggested something abhorrent. "It won't let me pass."
"Then Tal has entered a hidden portion of the temple and we cannot follow," Solas surmised almost grumblingly. "Perhaps we should continue to eradicate the Templars then rather than seek Tal out—assuming he remains safe." Solas glanced at Cole, apparently trying to read an answer to that from the spirit.
Cole nodded. "Yes."
"Then let's do this, I guess," Rosa said as she pulled out her stave again and turned toward the hallway ahead. "This looks important and I bet there's more Templars inside somewhere. Shall we?"
So Tal told him it all in a rush. The Conclave explosion. The Inquisition. The Anchor in Rosa's left palm. Rosa's possession by Rogathe again. Adamant and Rogathe's death. His recent bonding. The Formless One that had told him how to find this place and activate it to learn the secret Felassan had taken with him to the grave.
And it was here that Felassan lifted a hand to stop Tal. His lips pinched into a hard line. "I think I understand it now."
"Yeah?" Tal asked, surprised. "Cause I bloody don't."
Felassna smirked. "You haven't known the Forbidden Ones for thousands of years like I have." He chuckled. "Old Ras and Imshael and Xebenkeck, that she-demon."
"Who?" Tal croaked.
"Never mind," Felassan told him. "Not important. What is important is that this only reconfirms what I already knew. You came here wanting to learn about my death and how to kill a legend. But I can't tell you what you want."
"Baba," Tal protested but the figure in the mirror cut him off, raising his voice.
"The demons are manipulating you and Rosa, trying to draw you into open confrontation with the old wolf. You've been foolish enough to fall for it so far." Felassan's look and tone were lightly admonishing. "Remember the story of the Dread Wolf, Anaris, and Andruil? This is the same."
Tal scowled and shook his head, denying it. "I chose to do this. I want to know. And I need to know. Solas is a slave, just like you were. Help me help him—for Rosa's sake."
Felassan wrinkled his nose with distaste. "Solas is not a slave to Fen'Harel. He is a slave to the wolf's goals, just as I was. Just as we all were. To the dream of a resurrected Elvhenan that only an Evanuris like Fen'Harel can bring about. That dream…my greatest hope would be that you and Rosa would live to see it and thrive the way you were born to. The way you deserve." His voice dropped into a soft register, stricken. "Perhaps I did not die in vain. The dream may grow, change with him…now that he sees…"
Tal cut a hand sideways through the air, violently rejecting whatever nonsense his father said. "No, whatever it is, it has to be stopped. Solas denies it, but I know he let the orb land in Corypheus' hands on the Dread Wolf's orders. What kind of dream starts out with a nightmare like that?"
His father lifted his head, smiling dryly. "A great many of them, actually. You don't understand everything now. Someday you will. Right now you're hurting and you want to lash out. But sometimes when the wasp stings you have to know better than to kick the whole nest." He grimaced, staring down into his lap. A shudder passed through him and Tal felt it as a cold tremor, tugging on some deep, dark part of himself. He knew what Felassan would say next before he spoke.
"It's almost time." He lifted his face and Tal saw fear and resignation in his features. "I can feel it calling me back."
The mirror grew darker, the stars beginning to reappear through the mist.
Tal shook his head and lunged for the mirror, palm out. "No," he pleaded, tears burning his eyes again. "No, not yet. You have to tell me!"
"No, I don't have to tell you that," Felassan said, rising slowly to his feet. "What I do have to tell you is to watch over your sister. I…I think Solas will protect you both, but…there are things beyond his power. You won't survive if you know too much. So stay close to Solas, but…don't fully trust him." The words sounded strangled. "And most of all, ma ishalen, remember that I love you. Be careful and be clever, like the little wolf you are."
"Please…" He sobbed as he realized his father had become a translucent figure, a mere shadow. "No…" He laid a hand on the mirror and hissed with pain as the surface flash froze his skin. He jerked it back and staggered to the floor, cradling his frostbitten hand.
"Baba…" He stared at the mirror as the stars returned to it and all trace of his father and the mist vanished. The tears streamed down his face unceasingly. When he bowed his head low enough the Crown slipped and clattered to the stone. Tal stared at it as the sound of the tinkling water lapping and dripping everywhere about the chamber resounded again in his ears. His thoughts were slow and churning, but the sight of the gradually dimming Crown on the tiles and the inky black mirror made him suck in a choking breath with horrible realization.
Falon'Din's ritual and power hidden so deep within Dirthamen's temple. The mural of the twins touching palms. Felassan's words echoed inside his ears again: Dirthamen's wretched acolytes with their compulsion to get trapped souls to talk…
"Rosa," he whispered to the chamber. He needed Rosa or Felassan would never talk, never tell him how to kill the wolf god.
Damn his father for still trying to shelter him and keep secrets even after death! Couldn't he see Fen'Harel was only making things worse with whatever sinister plans he had? How the fuck was blowing up the Conclave supposed to bring back Elvhenan? But Felassan just seemed to shrug it away, callously. What other things could he plan and how much worse might they be?
I have to convince Rosa, he thought, hands clenching. Then we can give him one last chance to tell us what we need to know willingly, but if he doesn't…
Tal picked up the fallen Crown and placed it back on his head, needing it to light his way up the stairs. Then, trudging slow and dejected through the scummy water, he made his way for the secret entrance as sad, angry words played through his mind—what he would say to Rosa to try and convince her to help him.
Solas cursed himself for his lack of knowledge on this temple. He could feel an eluvian somewhere, hidden, thrumming in the back of his mind. But though they marched through the ruins, slaying countless walking corpses and snooping red Templars, he could not locate it. Nor did he mention this knowledge to Rosa as she led them. Better for her not to know what he knew so that she was more likely to give away what she in turn knew.
Cole unlocked a few gates and Rosa used Fade stone to smash a weak wall to gain entry to an otherwise inaccessible area. None of them led anywhere interesting. The only spot that remained closed to them was the inner sanctuary, behind the massive sealed doorway. Dirthamen's priests and acolytes had sealed it long ago with magic after tearing apart their high priest and binding his soul—or a demon, Solas wasn't sure—to the scattered pieces of his corpse.
Repulsive, he thought, sneering as he tailed Rosa and Cole through the foul, swampy water. Dirthamen's acolytes and priests were so deranged they had lost their minds without the "god" to collect their endless secrets. It was their fear of betraying their "god" that drove them to such depravity. Other temples had not fared so poorly.
On the dais before the enormous inner sanctuary door, Rosa summoned Vedilfire, staring down at the green ink of a rune there. Solas stood a few paces behind her, staff at the ready. Cole was in the water, walking between the green highlighted runes gloomily.
"He was afraid," Cole told them, sounding dejected. "The magic was weak, after. There were too many of them and just one of him. He wanted to live. He wanted to take his father's place and lead the others."
Better that he did not, Solas thought bitterly.
"Can I open that door?" Rosa asked, gazing halfway over her shoulder at him. "Like Tal could in Solasan?"
"I do not know," Solas admitted, trying to keep his voice neutral. "But I would not suggest trying."
Rosa sighed, staring off at the enormous inner sanctuary door, but she yielded to his greater knowledge. "Too bad. I'd have liked to have tried it."
"I do not think it safe," Solas told her. "Such doors were often spelled with passphrases known only to high priests and acolytes of greatest rank. It would expect reckless initiates bearing Dirthamen's gift to try their luck and be warded accordingly." He hesitated only a moment before adding, "The punishment for such transgressions would have been fatal. Those who believe themselves gods do not tolerate insolence."
"Point taken," Rosa muttered.
The clapping sound of bare feet over stone came over the constant tinkling and splash of the water pouring into the temple. Solas and Rosa both turned to stare up at the pathway above the sanctuary. Cole did as well, smiling. "He's come back!"
Indeed, Solas soon made out Tal's Keeper armor, pale on the dark stone and greenery of this ruined place. He walked without his usual bounce and instead seemed heavy with the weight of the water soaking through his breeches and armor. He didn't speak as he started down the stairs to join them.
"Fenedhis," Rosa snarled then, stomping toward the stagnant water and splashing into it carelessly. "Where were you?" she demanded.
Tal met her stare, eyes narrowed and lips pinched. His eyes looked faintly red-rimmed in the dim light spilling in from the open ceiling of the sanctuary. Then he grinned, though there was no humor in it. "Nowhere, really. I sensed an arcane horror back in one of the first chambers—the ones where our uncle's body parts are sitting in the altar bowls? Anyway, I decided to send it back to the Fade."
Solas crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at the young elf. He said nothing, but everyone knew Tal was lying. It was just a matter of whether or not anyone would call him out on it. Solas chose not to, preferring to watch the siblings interact to determine whether Rosa knew what her brother did and where he'd been. He was certain the siblings had come to this temple for some reason other than the red Templars and undead infesting it. They also hadn't come to perform the ritual involving their long dead uncle's desiccated remains.
"Whatever," Rosa bit out, clearly angry. Her hands fisted at her sides. Solas decided that Rosa wasn't in on whatever was happening here. At least, not completely. She could be slippery and a good liar when she chose, but now did not seem to be one of those times. It would have been smoother if she'd been complicit. This felt more like the chaos of the Atlathvhen, when Rosa found herself forced to clean up after her brother's shenanigans.
"Are the red Templars all dead now?" Tal asked, making a show of looking around. "Did I miss it?"
"Yes," Rosa snapped. "Yes, you did." She turned and shot Solas a frustrated look. "Let's just get out of this shithole."
"I'd like that," Cole agreed in a quiet voice. "The whispers are too loud in here. I can see them."
"Damn straight," Rosa muttered. "I can see the lies, too." She was staring at her brother.
He frowned back at her but said nothing, turning on his heel to head for the door leading out of the sanctuary. "Yeah, let's ditch this place. Reeks like death…"
They all started slogging through the water, heading toward the stairs after Tal. Solas went last, frowning as his mind tried to piece together whatever might have happened here with Tal. He knew, seeing the design of the sanctuary, that it was previously a theater he commissioned when he ruled these lands in Dirthamen's stead for a few centuries. Dirthamen had retaken it and transformed it into…whatever this was. It did not feel like a temple to Dirthamen. Not the way Mythal's did in the Arbor Wilds. This was not a place open to the public once Dirthamen retook it.
As irritated as he still was at Rosa for using the compulsion on him, Solas knew his only hope of understanding what happened here would be to make peace with her. He swallowed, trying to set aside his pride, and watched Tal at the lead as they exited the temple.
Next Chapter:
Solas was silent a moment, brooding. Then: "Very well. The truth." She heard him swallow and shot a sidelong glare at him, watching. "The truth is that I answered as I did because I do not expect to survive long enough that we might have a future together."
This time there was no feeling of a lie. Rosa turned her head, looking at him directly now, eyes narrowed. It seemed their fight over compulsion magic and his awkward answer to her question segued perfectly into her need to uncover the Dread Wolf's long-term plans. It was as fortuitous as it was gut wrenching. "Is this Corypheus you expect to kill you, or…something else?"
Solas' lips twitched. "The latter."
Thank you to everyone for reading and of course especially those who took the time to review!
Cookie: Thank you for stopping by! Yes, "I don't know" is a damn shitty answer without the context! And as you can see above, she will finally get that context!
Frogbutton: Thank you too for reviewing! I'm glad I can keep surprising you! And yes, I don't plan on having Rosa use her compulsion power much, for obvious reasons.
Until next time lovies!
