Nanowrimo has been going great, right up until today when I had too many childcare duties to write...and now I'm apparently depressed.

Fucking seriously. I just need my mind to behave for one little month. Just one little month.

The Tomb of the Halla Mother

"How do you feel about humans joining us?" I asked Loranil point-blank as we stared down into the unassuming pit revealed after the barrier hiding it had been dispelled.

"Um…should I feel any particular way about it?" he asked, and I could feel his sidelong glance even though I wasn't even attempting to watch him. I was much too busy squinting into a hole I definitely couldn't see into.

"Valorin did, and these ruins could be elven," I explained.

Loranil coughed. "Valorin is…young. And these ruins could also be dwarven - or human, for that matter. We have no idea."

I sighed. "Good, because I really didn't want to leave more than half our company behind."

"Well, that makes two of us, then," the other elf replied lightly.

At least at the shrine to Sylaise, we had known more or less what we were getting into. I could keep watch for living auras, and the fact that there had been living people in the shrine suggested a lack of traps. The ability to read auras was of less use when there weren't any, and I was correspondingly more concerned about snares and pitfalls and perhaps even explosive glyphs, if they were cleverly hidden.

"Lace - would you like to do the honors? And keep an eye out for traps?"

She was grinning as she slipped past me to climb down the ladder. "I would love to, Your Worship."

"We should bring Braids along more often!" Varric said, half-joking at best, evidently pleased not to be the one responsible for going first.

"She certainly complains less," Dorian shot back at him.

"Pot, allow me to introduce kettle," Cassandra muttered, earning a quiet laugh from Solas and a much louder one from Bull.

There were evidently no traps, but the ruin was elven - or, rather, Elvhen - and we soon found what had become of those who had come to explore it previously. "Inquisitor, I think you should take a look at this - if you can make out what it is, I mean," Harding called soon after we had descended.

Solas led me to her, though all I was able to see was fabric in Venatori colors lying on the floor inside some sort of metal cage. "That's a body, isn't it," I said flatly.

"Yeah, and judging by the look of it and the lack of smell, I'd say it's been here half a year at minimum ," she replied.

"There's another on this side," Cassandra called.

"It's a puzzle," Loranil said thoughtfully. "Do it wrong - you get trapped. Or…maybe you need more than two to do it right ."

It did appear that the metal walls of the cage were set on tracks.

"There's a lever over here, Boss," Bull informed me, the bass rumble of his voice particularly eerie as it echoed off the stone walls.

"Here, too," Varric agreed.

I looked at Solas, but his face was schooled to careful neutrality - as were the feelings that filtered across our bond. It appeared my ancient Elvhen lover wouldn't be offering any unsolicited hints on how we might solve the puzzle.

Perhaps he might offer hints if asked, though. "Have you ever seen anything like this, Solas?" I asked. "In your explorations or in the Fade?"

"Like? Certainly," he replied. "But puzzles such as these would be of little use if their solutions weren't unique. I fear my insights won't aid us significantly."

All right, it appeared he wasn't offering solicited advice, either. I refrained from glaring at him, but wondered if he could sense my desire to do so.

In the end, we didn't really need him. Not being able to see anything meant that my input was limited, but Bull, Varric, and Loranil had the puzzle worked out in fairly short order. They implemented their solution with brisk efficiency while I waited in the center of the room next to the rotating…pillar, or whatever it was. Someone would no doubt tell me all about it later, when we were all less eager to have a solution and whatever prize the solution bought.

The sound of a door unlatching echoed through the room.

"Over here, I think," Loranil told us, sounding excited as he moved away from the door we had entered through. He waited for the rest of us to join him, and then he, Solas, and I went in first.

I couldn't see anything, of course, but Loranil made a soft sound made up of equal parts wonder and distress. "What?" I asked him.

"These walls were hung with tapestries, once," he said. "Look - "

Solas led me toward where he had squatted down on the floor. Bending down beside him, I saw a large section of faded and rotted cloth, once embroidered. A pattern of stylized flowers, picked out in gold thread, still remained intact enough to identify - nothing else.

"What stories do you suppose they might have told?" he asked.

"Um, Inquisitor?" Harding's voice said behind us. "You might want to look at this?"

Loranil shot to his feet. "That's not a table , it's a sarcophagus !" he exclaimed, striding over to examine something in the middle of the room. "You're a mage, lethallan . Can you read - ?"

"There's an inscription?" I asked, surprised. The resting places of our ancient ancestors rarely bore inscriptions. According to the stories, they had not, after all, truly died, but still wandered the Fade in some form. I stumbled to Loranil, leaving Solas behind entirely when he didn't move fast enough.

"This has something to do with Andruil," Loranil said as I joined him, standing across the chest-high stone sarcophagus from him. He indicated the two - still exquisitely detailed - stone archers that flanked the inscription. "They match the archer in the puzzle."

"What archer?" I asked. "Wait, was that carved pillar an archer?"

"Oh," he said as he realized no one had taken them time to tell me about the puzzle, and I thought his eyes widened. "Ir abelas."

"Tel'abelas," I replied with a shrug as I bent over the inscription. My intention had always been to get a complete description later, after we had returned to the safety of the camp. "I would have asked eventually. My Keeper will want to hear about it."

"As will mine," the other elf agree dryly.

I kindled a magelight to help me read.

Ghilan'nain, the inscription began, and I caught my breath before reading the words aloud:

"I'untelith deldru

Nuva mar'vensulast dun hamin min

Ta mar'sal el sylvir revast

I'unghilan Fen'Elvhenes

Gonuna sa gonathe'el"

I heard Loranil's breath catch as well, but before any of my other companions could ask for a translation he said: "I understood most of that, I think, but you're probably more fluent than I am."

"And certainly more fluent than the rest of us," Dorian put in wryly.

"Ghilan'nain, I'untelith deldru - that is 'Ghilan'nain, by b - ' er, no, ir abelas - 'by treachery blinded,' um…'May your body - ' sorry, 'defiled body rest here…so your spirit may fly free…guided by… Fen'Elvhenes - '" I looked up and met Loranil's gaze. "What or who is Fen'Elvhenes ?"

"You want to offer us some context?" Varric asked.

"It translates to 'Wolf of the People,' and it's marked as a name or title," I explained.

"Maybe Fen'Harel wasn't the only wolf who prowled?" Loranil offered. "It would explain the wolf statue on that wall, maybe." He tilted his head to indicate the wall behind him, which I hadn't yet seen up close.

"The what?" I demanded.

He offered me his hand and led me around the sarcophagus, and then over to the back wall to examine the statue. "This is Fen'Harel," I told him.

"That's how we've always interpreted it," Loranil agreed, "but look - he's facing the sarcophagus, not facing outward to ward off evil. And…look at this - " Loranil bent, touching Fen'Harel's upraised paw, and an enchantment flared to life in his hand. "It's an amulet of some sort, fitted to this spot in the wolf's paw."

I touched it and blinked several times, feeling my thoughts sharpen as the fog of physical tiredness from a morning spent hunting a wyvern seemed to drop from my mind. "It's an amulet of cunning," I said, "and a very effective one. That certainly fits the theme of Fen'Harel."

"But it can't be, can it?" Loranil argued. "The inscription says Fen'Elvhenes."

I paused thoughtfully. "What was Fen'Harel before he was a traitor?" I wondered.

"Before…?" Loranil echoed.

"There had to be a 'before,'" I pointed out. "How else would he have tricked the Creators? Why would they have trusted him if they knew him for a traitor?"

"I…that's a good point," he allowed. "Wolf of the People," he repeated softly to himself. "Wolf of the People, as opposed to…what?"

"It does seem to imply there were other wolves prowling somewhere, doesn't it?" I asked. I stared up at the statue for a moment, its muzzle even with my nose. He really looked quite benevolent, I thought - a good dog sitting with ears pricked as he guarded the tomb from intruders. I smiled wryly and patted the statue's nose.

Loranil snorted a laugh. "You're petting the Dread Wolf," he reminded me.

I grinned at him, my hand still resting on Fen'Harel's muzzle. "I can't help it. I used to pet the ones where we left offerings, too, sometimes. Animals have always been pleasant companions since they don't remind me I'm a disappointment, and these representations of Fen'Harel look very sweet and noble - not at all like the snarling ones we put around the camp. This one must have been sitting here for thousands of years with just a sarcophagus for company. No canine can possibly deserve that - they're very social creatures."

Loranil threw his head back and laughed, but mine snapped up as I felt a sudden wave of emotion from Solas, hastily suppressed - and it occurred to me that the lack of emotion I had been feeling from him since the moment we had entered this ruin was odd. It was more like the mask of neutrality he so often used to hide his expressions than it was like true disinterest. He was desperately trying to hide his feelings from me.

I frowned in his general direction while I tried to identify what I had received from him, though I couldn't get much farther than consternation and searing lust, the two emotions that had been dominant and that were most difficult for me to reconcile.

"Are you okay, Inquisitor?" Harding asked.

"Umm - yes, I just thought I heard something. Oh - and the translation. There's still one more line."

"Could you repeat the whole thing again?" Dorian asked plaintively. "I was distracted by the debate over the number and kinds of wolves in Dalish lore."

"I don't see anything out there, Vanish," Varric told me helpfully. Apparently he had gone to check, though I hadn't been paying attention. "Probably just a rodent."

"Yes, probably," I agreed, taking Loranil's arm so he could help me back to the sarcophagus. Once there, I bent over the inscription again. "Ghilan'nain," I began, " By treachery blinded/May your defiled body rest here/So your spirit may fly free/Guided by Fen'Elvhenes/To claim a…worthier one."

"Would you translate vensulast as 'defiled' here?" Loranil asked. "I think 'violated' might be more accurate."

I considered the suggestion. "Probably something in between," I offered at last. "'Defiled' has a sense of something destroyed without hope of restoration, while a violation might be resolved somehow. But in Common, 'defiled' could also carry the idea that she bears some kind of blame for what happened, whereas 'violated' is clearer in that respect - you're right."

"Wait," Harding interrupted, her voice little more than a whisper. "Is this…Ghilan'nain's resting place?"

"Not…the way you mean. I think," I replied as Loranil and I exchanged a glance. "Remember that in the story, Ghilan'nain was brutalized and left for dead, and Andruil exchanged her broken body for that of a halla. I…think that may be what the inscription refers to."

"She got turned into a halla? For real?!" Harding gasped with an adorable little squeak.

"Perhaps, or that part might have been metaphor," I told her. "There are so many versions of our stories - we don't generally believe they literally happened the way they're told, though many of my people prefer to believe they're based in true events one way or another." I gestured to the sarcophagus. "This might be an example, if we're interpreting it correctly." I shot another glance in Solas's direction, though of course I couldn't tell if he was looking at me. Truly, I didn't know how long I would be able to keep pretending that I believed all his carefully-worded lies about himself.

"Keeper Hawen will want to see this," Loranil said reverently, turning his gaze toward me.

"We'll layer several barriers over the entrance - and exit, if we ever find one - before we go," I told him, turning it over. "I think we can key it to your vallaslin - then anyone from your clan should be able to gain access. Once we return to Skyhold, I'll have some soldiers sent to hold the camp in the grove as additional insurance, but the barriers should suffice for a month or two."

"Are you - " He swallowed. "Are you giving this site to my clan?"

"It's within your range," I pointed out. "Who else could possibly keep watch over it? I know your Keeper will allow the Keepers of other clans to come study the site, and will pass on whatever knowledge he finds. That's what Keepers do."

Loranil looked at the sarcophagus again, and laid his palm flat on its top. "The tomb of Ghilan'nain." His voice was breathless with awe. "Ma - ma serannas, lethallan. On behalf of my entire clan - " He paused, and then took a step back and bowed formally. "Serannasan ma, Amelan."

I supposed I had claimed to be Keeper to the Inquisition. It had been bravado mixed with an inability to find another Dalish equivalent, but it wasn't entirely inaccurate. I worried over them as though they were my own clan.

"Not to interrupt this touching moment," Dorian said dryly, "but are you aware there is another door we have yet to explore over here?"

"How could I have been aware of that?" I replied in the same tone.

"Ir abelas, " Loranil apologized, immediately offering his arm. "We should finish our examination of the site."

We found Cole in the adjoining room. I hadn't even noticed his absence, but he came and took my other arm as Loranil froze with his mouth hanging open slightly. I squinted, trying to understand what he was looking at, as Cole tugged me gently away. "The other story is lost," Cole told me quietly, "but it wasn't the one he told, anyway. This is the version he wants you to see - the one you should see."

There were voices behind me - exclamations - but no one said my name and I was entirely focused on what Cole was telling me. "Who?" I asked the spirit.

"The wolf," he replied.

I raised my eyebrows, but we had reached the corner of the room where Cole had been leading me - and I understood what had arrested Loranil's attention.

Part of the room, at least, was covered in frescoes. The one before me was nearly as bright as it had no doubt been when it was newly painted, saved from the passage of time by the darkness and lack of temperature changes below ground. The style was very like Solas's, only simpler, with less blending of colors and fewer symbols layered into the background. My mouth fell open slightly as I took in the events it appeared to depict: first a bright, androgynous shape, which grew smaller until it was compacted into what appeared to be a seed. Then a hand placed the seed inside what was clearly an elven woman, and, in the next panel, her silhouette held the hand of a more detailed child sporting a long, white braid.

My hand tightened on Cole's arm. "Cole," I whispered, nodding at the child. "Cole - is that Ghilan'nain?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

I had to swallow several times. "Cole, was - was Ghilan'nain once a spirit? Was she born into the world the same way I was?"

"Most of them preferred to call their own bodies into being," Cole said, not directly answering the question, but leaving the implication clear. "But sometimes one wanted…a different kind of experience of the waking world. Curiosity often came into the world this way."

"Is that what Ghilan'nain was?" I asked.

"He thinks perhaps, but he doesn't know. He didn't meet her for a long time afterward," Cole replied.

"Who? The - the wolf?" I asked.

"Solas."