And now we get down to it. Chapters will be lengthier, starting with this one! This chapter begins the Witch Hunt arc. A story timeline will be available on my profile once I'm finished writing this arc. Taking a few liberties with Ariane, as Brosca is not accompanied by a mabari, unlike the PC in Witch Hunt. Please enjoy! I'd love some feedback!
Some dialogue taken from the Dragon Age: Witch Hunt DLC. Elvhen taken from Dragon Age wiki and from fan-conlanger fenxshiral on tumblr
Flemeth once told me that temptation lies in the forbidden. "Do not follow me," I said, and slipped into the shadows.
Some doors should never be re-opened.
8 August, 9:32 Dragon: Flemeth's hut, the Korcari Wilds
Flemeth's hut looked the same as it had been the last time she'd seen it, which was when they had gone there before the Landsmeet to kill Morrigan's mother, an old woman who could turn into a dragon. Nat didn't know what she'd expected; Tainted ruins, at the very least, since there had surely been darkspawn through here in the year past. The Wardens of Vigil's Keep had been determinedly chasing down every last one left on the surface for months, and many had been found in the Korcari Wilds. Surely they hadn't just left this little piece of the Wilds alone.
Neria flew far above as a swooptail, the only bird in the air that Nat could see. She circled once around the area and then swooped down to land as an elf next to the dwarf. Neither of them wore their Grey Warden armour; it would have been too conspicuous. Natia had found and fixed up an old set of leathers for herself, and Neria wore something similar, as neither of them wanted anyone to report a mage this far south.
"It's been so long," Neria said quietly. "Do you remember this place?"
"Of course." Nat settled and resettled Aodh and Veshialle on her back, licking her lips. "How could I forget?" A lonely, mad old woman, who'd tried to convince them to leave her alone, and then turned into a dragon and tried to kill them all.
"We'll find Morrigan, I promise." Neria squeezed the dwarf's shoulder before calling a bit of magic to the tips of her fingers. A tingle of electricity shot through Nat: the elf had just enchanted her axes.
She's nervous too, Nat realized, and somehow that made her feel even worse. It had been her idea to go after Morrigan in the first place. The elven mage had left her love, her duty, her entire life behind to accompany her on this quest.
"Come on," Neria said, and used a touch of Force magic to open the door.
Nat had never entered this hut before. It was homely, less extravagant than she'd expected from Morrigan's childhood home; the shelves had been stripped bare. Sunlight filtered in through the primitive roof, revealing dust everywhere—except there, there were footprints, there was someone else here.
"Neria," she said in the quietest voice she could, pulling her axes from her back. "There is someone else in here."
It appeared she hadn't spoken quietly enough. A long-haired Dalish woman stepped through an open doorway, holding two of those strange elven swords in front of her in a clearly aggressive stance. "Not another step. What are you doing here?"
"Not until you tell me what you're doing here." Nat sank into a battle-ready crouch, her heart thrumming; she hadn't had a good fight in ages.
"I believe I asked you first." The fierce Dalish elf's eyes flicked between Natia and Neria as the other elf slowly lifted her hands. They burst into flame, making the stranger take a quick step back. She bared her teeth, then sheathed her swords. "Ugh. Fine. I am Ariane, of the Dalish people. My keeper sent me to find Asha'bellanar-the Woman of Many Years."
"Flemeth is dead, if that's who you mean." Nat relaxed from her battle crouch but did not put her axes away; she had learned far too well how an enemy could injure or kill you if you weren't on your guard. The fire on Neria's hands flowed over to the hearth, where a few old logs had been stacked. They caught aflame easily and burned a deep red-orange.
"Many have tried to kill Asha'bellanar in the past," Ariane said. "Do not claim victory over her until a few centuries have passed with no sight of her. We thought she could help us find her daughter, Morrigan. The young witch has caused trouble for my clan. Has she earned your ire as well?"
"What happened is between Morrigan and me." Nat didn't let her inner grimace show on her face of stone. So the Dalish sought her as well. What did you do, Morrigan?
"Morrigan stole an ancient book my clan has guarded since the days of Arlathan. We were the only ones with such a piece of our history." Ariane turned towards the fire crackling in the hearth, her expression sorrowful. "Everything we once had, all legacy of our ancient magics were stripped from us, first by the Tevinter magisters, then by the wretched Circle. And Morrigan took what little was left."
"How do you know Morrigan stole it?" Despite herself, Natia relaxed, finally putting her axes up, as Ariane turned back to face them.
"One month ago, she visited our clan in the name of friendship, and took great interest in our history. She knew exactly what she was looking for. The keeper allowed her to see the book. Two nights later, it was gone." Ariane shook her head, scowling at herself.
"What's so special about this book?" Neria asked. "I grew up in the wretched Circle—I might know something."
"For almost two thousand years, the Dalish people have been wanderers, a shadow of what we once were. This book-as much of a mystery as it is to us-is one of the only clues on how to reclaim that past. My keeper, Solan, says it was a treatise on something the ancients called 'Eluvian.' The word is as old as the book itself, and its meaning has been lost. Save perhaps to Morrigan," the proud elf said.
"I...may have heard of it," said Neria thoughtfully, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head back into a ray of sunlight. Her hair gleamed, moon-pale, moon-bright.
"Help me, then," said Ariane, leaning forward intently. "We both want Morrigan, and we can aid each other. The Book of Eluvian was reclaimed for my clan by an elven mage, who stole it from the Circle of Magi before defecting. He said other similar treasures remain in the library, but they would never allow a Dalish to view them. Perhaps you will meet a different reception..."
"They have to let me in; I'm a Grey Warden." Nat turned to Neria. "They would welcome you as a Warden, if not as a mage who left the tower."
"You're right," sighed the mage. "But I do not wish to ever return there. You are no longer alone on your quest, Natia—this is where I must leave you."
"Farewell, my friend." She patted her friend's arm, unable to reach her shoulder. "If all goes well, I'll come by Vigil's Keep in less than a month."
"Ma serannas[1], I look forward to working with you." Ariane bowed slightly. They walked out of the hut together, and Neria passed her hand over the hearth to dispel the flames within. "I must warn you, I have a familiar, a wolf who I befriended several seasons ago."
"Don't worry," said Nat, chuckling a little. "We're Wardens—we're, uh, used to strange things."
Neria leapt off the ground and shrank into swooptail form once more, white wings flashing pale gold in the sunlight. She circled once, twice, around the two of them before winging away north as Ariane watched, stunned. The shrieking cry she let loose as she flew startled a flock of much smaller birds out of trees nearby, and a dormouse caught Nat's eye as it scrambled for cover. The swooptail is a fishing-bird, but her magically augmented call sounded much like a hawk's scream.
"Well, that certainly beats my da'banal'ras[2]," the Dalish elf said, once she'd recovered her voice. She picked up a pack, which Nat had not noticed underneath a nearby bush, and whistled sharply. A mottled grey wolf with gleaming amber eyes appeared from the shadows, circling Nat warily.
"Don't worry, wolf, I don't bite as hard as you do." Nat offered her hand palm-up as she'd done for Elyssa Cousland's mabari many months before, and he came closer, snuffing at her when Ariane spoke to him in her own tongue.
"I call him Banal'ras: that is, Shadow," said the other woman, fingers combing through the wolf's thick ruff, kneeling to touch her forehead to the wolf's. "I have never been to Kinloch Hold, do you know the way?"
"I do indeed." Nat double-checked that the straps of her pack were tight and her axes secure. "The fastest way is to cut through the Korcari Wilds as the crow—or, perhaps, the swooptail—flies. If we don't stop in Redcliffe we should be there in about a week."
"Ma nuvenin[3]. How long can you run?" Ariane glanced at the cloudless sky as she stood. "It will rain before dark—I can taste it in the air."
"That would be a handy skill to have." Nat rocked back and forth on her heels, stretching her legs and loosening all her joints. "I can run all day, but I'm not fast: my legs are much shorter than yours."
The elf laughed, a birdlike sound, and made a soft sound that could have been a whistle. "Banal'ras will follow us and warn us of any danger. But then, you are a Grey Warden, durgen'len[4]. You will know if there are any darkspawn before he or I."
"Indeed."
They started off at a jog, a quick pace for Nat but an easy one for the Dalish warrior. There was no sound for quite some time except the dwarf's axes thumping against her pack, their even breathing, and their feet on the ground. They stopped for a short mid-afternoon meal when Nat's stomach reminded her that she and Neria hadn't stopped for lunch. They made quick work of some nug jerky and a few browning apples, then started walking.
As they walked, Ariane started singing. Her voice was mellow and sweet, and the song brought to mind the long struggle the Wardens had faced on their journey to fight the Fifth Blight.
Melava inan enansal
ir su araval tu elvaral
u na emma abelas
in elgar sa vir mana
in tu setheneran din emma na
lath sulevin
lath araval ena
arla ven tu vir mahvir
melana 'nehn
enasal ir sa lethalin.[5]
When she let her voice trail off and pointed out a good place to make camp for the night, Nat surfaced from the memories of many nights beneath the stars, solemn around a campfire made small by necessity; of days spent darting from cover to cover in the Deep Roads, always watching for darkspawn; of the long night they had spent in Redcliffe town, defeating wave after wave of undead. Tactfully, Ariane did not mention the glitter of tears on her cheeks.
15 August, 9:32 Dragon: Kinloch Hold, Lake Calenhad
They had no trouble approaching the Tower of Magi after successfully skirting Redcliffe—after the Incident that Nat never wanted spoken of again, she avoided Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan whenever possible. The fresh-faced templar at the dock didn't need any persuasion to take them across after she told him that she was there on urgent Warden business.
The dark-haired, dark-bearded templar that greeted them at the door was not one that Natia had met the last time she was there, but he had a pleasant enough demeanor. He used expansive gestures as he spoke. "Welcome to Ferelden's Circle of Magi. Please, keep your wolfhound under control. Some of the apprentices are easily startled." He glanced awkwardly between the dwarf and the elf. "I see you have a Dalish elf with you."
"Is that a problem?" Ariane demanded, drawing herself up, eyes flashing.
"Ariane, let me handle this—"
"Whatever reasons I may have to dislike this place and your people, I swear we are here only for research." The elf subsided at Nat's hand on her elbow.
"As you say." He shrugged, turning, and swept a hand out to reveal the entry hall as he led them inside. "The Circle is glad to have you as a guest. As you can see, things are much changed from when you were last here."
"I'm sorry, I don't remember you, ser." Clearly he'd remembered her, which was a bad sign for her memory. She was only thirty-two; she (would have, should have) had another two hundred years before age caught up to her. "Where's Greagoir?"
"My name is Hadley. I lead the templars in the Knight-Commander's absence—he's in Denerim, attending to some important business." The templar lifted a hand in thanks to Ser Telfas, who had brought them over and now shut the Tower door behind them.
"I need to go to the library—it's Warden business." Nat didn't feel at all guilty about playing the Warden card. Technically, it was: she had to know if the Archdemon could truly be killed without the Warden who did the deed going with.
"If you're looking for a book, you can start in the index section. As a Grey Warden, you and your guests are free to explore the first floor of the tower without an escort. Good day to you." He pointed them in the direction they wanted to go—not that it would have been hard to find. "You can reach the library by following the main hallway straight to its end, turning left, then continuing in that direction, through another doorway. Once inside the library, keep left, you'll find the index room easily. Please don't bother the apprentices in their dormitories to the right."
"I see why Keeper Solan did not want me to come here," said Ariane quietly as they walked toward the library, Banal'ras as silent as his namesake behind them. "It is all too tempting to overturn the tight order of their little world..."
"Don't do anything stupid, the Warden reputation is at stake here," warned the dwarf, resisting the urge to do something similar, herself. "We've only just repaired our relations with this Circle as it is."
"Do not worry, I am eager to find what we need and be on our way."
Natia Brosca, a brand, had never had cause to enter the Shaperate. She suspected it would look something like this: bookshelves everywhere you looked, stretching from floor to ceiling, each shelf filled with scrolls and books and pamphlets. Each section was clearly labelled in the Common Tongue, though most of the books were not titled in that language. The dwarva had spread their tongue to the surface with their trade, and gradually it had replaced most other languages in use, but many ancient tomes were written in Tevinter or other strange tongues she didn't recognize.
They kept to the left, and quickly found the index: four books on stands of their own, each already open to a page. Nat, unable to reach any of them properly, waved Ariane on to leaf through the pages. She picked up a pamphlet from the nearest shelf, figuring that it would be the easiest to understand, and opened it. The battered pages informed her on the dangerous and addictive properties of elfroot. Ironically, there was a fistful of dried elfroot stuffed in the front cover. "I think you mean lyrium," she said under her breath, staring with eyebrows raised at a particularly detailed diagram of an affected human body.
"This is probably what we're looking for," said Ariane. " 'A Catalog of Elven Relics', that's in the Mysterious Artifacts section."
"Where's that? And where in the section?" Brosca slid the pamphlet between All About Weeds and Cooking With Herbs, tucking the elfroot into her belt-pouch. She didn't know how to make a health poultice from it, but she knew chewing elfroot, especially when dried, helped accelerate the natural healing process.
"Er... I think I saw that section near the middle. Somewhere around there. There's ladders, I'll look at the top shelves if you go through the bottom ones." Ariane scribbled something in her small journal, flipped the index's page, and scribbled something else before leading the way back into the library main.
Around the corner they went, avoiding a pair of young mages gossiping about a templar who had tried to take on a group of apostate mages by himself. Nat tried to avoid thinking about the too-detailed diagram she'd seen, unusually squeamish, when one of the mages said, "They say he was force fed so much lyrium he was bleeding from the eyes. His brain was liquefied in his skull."
"Can lyrium really do that?"
"It can kill you, yes, but..."
The rumble of the moving ladder's wheels as Ariane pulled it over to the right section blocked out their voices. "Here we are: Mysterious Artifacts. The title's written in the common tongue... I think."
"Oh boy," said Nat. "Library research is my favourite part of the day. I was so looking forward to this."
"Ha, ha." The ladder squealed a protest as Ariane forced its brake open.
Some of the books were pretty interesting, or they would have been if Nat could take the time to read them properly instead of just skimming through in case they had something relevant. 'Talismans of Ancient Tevinter'—I wonder if there's anything...? Nope, all Tevinter. She snapped the book shut and put it back, carefully avoiding the thought that the well-educated Duran could probably have read it. 'Chasind Charms'...'Scale and Bone: Crafting the High Dragon'? That sounds like a good read! I'd bet anything Wade would love to get his hands on this. Stone, he could probably write another volume himself, with all the dragonscale we brought him.
"I've got it!" Ariane jumped down from the ladder, landing as soft as a cat. " 'A Catalog of Elven Relics'. Oh, len'alas lath'din[6]."
That had sounded distinctly like a curse. Nat frowned. "Is this like the book you lost? Is this elvish?"
"Yes, but I can't read it...I do recognize this character, here, I think it makes up part of the word 'Eluvian'!" She brightened. "The script is different, but the bindings are in the same style. This is a library, isn't it? Perhaps another book could help us translate this."
"Did you happen to see anything about translations when you were looking through the index?"
"Perhaps..." She put the Catalog down on a nearby table and opened her journal. "Yes, I wrote it down, if we had time I would have asked to look at this book before we left. 'Translating Elven Languages', it's in the History section."
"That's handily titled," Nat remarked, shaking her head, and turned a corner to browse the shelves once more. It took them a bit longer to find the History section, and then they had to cajole the elderly mage who was using the nearest rolling ladder into letting them use it. Eventually Ariane had to promise to sing him a song from the Dalish, and she did so while Brosca looked through the History shelves. 'Koslun: Philosopher or Tyrant?' Qunari. Nope.
Elgara vallas, da'len
Melava somniar
Mala tara aravas
Ara ma'desen melar
Iras ma ghilas, da'len
Ara ma'nedan ashir
Dirthara lothlenan'as
Bal emma mala dir
Tel'enfenim, da'len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Ara ma'athlan vhenas[7]
The elderly elven mage hugged Ariane when her voice dropped off, tears glinting in his eyes. "I remember little from my time before the Circle, but I believe at least my mother must have been Dalish, for I remember her singing that to me."
"It is called Mi Da'len Somniar," said the younger elf. "I will write it down for you if you wish."
Of Hammers and Witches: A History... Brosca opened it to the middle, briefly intrigued despite her own impatience, and found faded depictions of robed men trembling before figures bearing an ominous symbol of a black eye in a sunburst. Most of the words had faded, however, and she closed it with a shrug. No importance.
"That would be a kindness," the mage said. "It has been too long since I have heard such a sweet voice, young one."
"Hahren[8], you do me kindness." She gave him the vellum upon which she had just written in her best common letters the Dalish song, as well as its translation, with the basic beat of the song transcribed as dots atop the high notes and below the low ones. He mouthed the words to himself as he walked away.
Ah! "Ariane, I've found it." Nat hefted the rather large tome and thumped down the ladder. "You've got the 'Catalog'?"
"I do." The elf opened it to the relevant chapter and laid it flat on the table. "Let's see that translating book?"
"Whoa! Who let a dog in here? And what are you doing? Be careful!" A young human mage with short, neatly combed hair and spotless robes approached them with dramatic outrage, bright eyes flaring. His voice was whiny and nasal.
"Be careful with what?" Nat checked over herself: she wasn't in danger of spilling any food or drink, and Banal'ras was lying very calmly under the table, dark and silent. Ariane didn't have any drink out either; she held the translating book open in one hand. They shared a brief, confused glance.
"You're bending the book too much! It'll crack the spine and cause the pages to fall out!" He put a hand to his forehead and shook his head. "Just thinking about it is making me dizzy."
"Look, we're in the middle of something important," said Ariane, going back to studying the translator.
"Are you familiar with this book?" Nat asked, gesturing to the 'Catalog' with one hand.
"I've used it, but I don't know it by heart." He came closer and looked at it. "Hmm...browsing the chapter on the Eluvians? No one's actually found one, you know."
At that, Ariane looked up sharply. "You know what 'Eluvian' is?"
"It's old elvish for 'seeing glass.' Mirror." The mage shrugged as if it should be obvious.
"How do you know that?" If he could read ancient elven, perhaps he could help them.
"Cross-referencing, educated guesses, process of elimination. Finally found the answer in a Tevinter scroll. 'Eluvian' isn't just any mirror, it's a special kind. When the Imperium sacked Arlathan, they took these mirrors and tried to unlock their power. But all they could use them for was communication, over long distances."
"Does that sound right to you, Ariane?"
"Solan thought Eluvian was a place..." She thought a moment, closing the translator and putting it gently on the table. "Hm. My people crossed paths with another Dalish clan not too long ago. Two of their young hunters encountered a strange mirror in some ruins, more than a decade ago. Both of them became deathly ill and had to join the Grey Wardens in order to be cured. The clan left Ferelden a while ago - last I heard, they were travelling north."
"What about the mirror?" Nat asked. If it's Tainted but usable, I could get it myself.
"Shattered. Destroyed." Ariane shook her head sadly.
The mage gasped and stepped back in shock, his hands flying out. "Why?"
"It was...corrupted by the darkspawn, beyond hope of recovery. They did it to protect others."
"Even broken, it could be used to find the others," the mage muttered to himself. "No, don't get ahead of yourself, Finn, you have to be sure."
"What? What do you know?" Ariane focused on him with narrowed eyes. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table with such intensity that her knuckles turned white.
"This is so exciting! We have to get to the repository. Hadley has the key." The mage, apparently named Finn, turned and trotted off immediately. Nat and Ariane exchanged another glance, slid both books into a pack just in case they needed them again, and followed.
Ser Hadley stood right where they'd left him, keeping an eye on a few young apprentices playing some sort of game which involved skipping over some chalk drawings and chanting a simple rhyme. Finn, ahead of them, stopped and beamed at him.
"Hadley! Just the man I was looking for."
"Not looking very hard, were you? I'm always here." Hadley gave him a look.
Finn chuckled awkwardly. "Good one. So...I...eh...need to go into the repository."
"No." Hadley folded his arms across his chest.
"No? Why not? I'm not some drooling apprentice." Finn looked indignant at the idea that he might be considered incapable.
"It's because of me, isn't it?" Ariane said as she and Nat came up beside them,
"No," said Hadley, shrugging and spreading his hands. "The sentinels are behaving erratically, so the repository is locked for everyone's safety."
"Oh." Finn backed away, rubbing the back of his head. "Well then...er...sorry for bothering you."
"You're giving up, just like that?" Nat rolled her eyes at the mage.
"Well, look at the way he's staring at me."
She decided to ignore him, and turned back to Hadley. "What happened to them? Is there something I can do?"
"Unfortunately, we are still not sure yet. The repository isn't crucial to the daily functioning of the Circle, so we've left it until we can spare more men." The templar shrugged. "I would certainly like to see the situation resolved, but I would hate to put you in danger."
"Always something to be killed, and I'm the one to do it." She drew a throwing knife and flipped it between her fingers. Mostly she used her axes in combat, but she did enjoy throwing knives as well.
Hadley sighed. "Very well, it's your necks. But before you go, what's so important down there?"
"The statue. It knows things about—"
"It's Warden business," Nat cut the mage off, and gave him a flat look when he glanced at her in surprise.
"All right. Be careful, and keep the mess to a minimum." He handed Nat the key, sensibly not giving it to either the bristling Dalish warrior or the too-eager young mage.
"What's this statue?" Nat asked quietly as they went down the steps to the basement.
"It's in the repository. It knows things about Tevinter, and I have to ask it something." He frowned, adding under his breath, "I hope it's possible."
"You know that talking to inanimate objects is a sign of insanity?" Ariane asked dryly.
"Not when it talks back."
"You think this statue talks...to you?"
"It's complicated. It wasn't always a statue. You'll see."
"If you say so, Finn."
Nat chuckled to herself as she unlocked the door. I've missed listening to banter. The basement was much darker than the tower had been; the two glowing sets of armour gave off just enough light for them to see. The threesome headed inside, Banal'ras slipping in between them, eyes glimmering. As soon as they got within fifty feet of the glowing sentinels, the magical creations let out strangled cries and moved to attack, shimmering weapons appearing in their half-visible hands.
"Here we go!" Finn sent a blast of freezing air, just missing Nat as she darted in with axes held ready; the sentinels slowed when the ice hit them, but didn't stop. Nat ducked under the first sentinel's double-handed sword blow, spinning to slam her axes into the back of its knees. It dropped heavily and swung out again, only to collapse as Finn hit it with another blast of ice. Ariane engaged with the second sentinel, taking it down with a few quick jabs and slices of her elvish blades, but not before it managed to clip her in the side with its blade.
"There's a tear in the Veil," said Finn grimly. "I can close it, if you'll keep the Sentinels off me." And, indeed, the two corrupted sentinels were getting ponderously back to their feet, their wounds closing and armour repairing. Ariane swore, pressing a health poultice to her wound and binding it there with a light bandage. Nat charged in again, using the spikes on the backs of her axes to climb up one's back, and hung on by the Aodh as she hacked at its neck with the Veshialle.
She couldn't see the tear, as she was a dwarf and thus cut off from the Fade, but she saw the effects when Finn started chanting. A weft in the air, a sort of shimmery area that distorted the air around it, pulsed dangerously and a haunting wail drifted out, to be cut off abruptly. The mage staggered with the effort and clung to his staff to keep himself upright.
"We did it! And these sentinels are going back to normal." He produced a tiny blue vial and swallowed its contents with a relieved sigh. "We need to deal with the rest of the rips in the Veil, if we can."
"You know, Finn, you're not a bad fellow to have in a fight," Nat remarked, jumping down from her perch on the sentinel's back as it started walking back to its proper place. The other picked up its head carefully and placed it back on its shoulders before walking to the opposite end of the hall. Their weapons had vanished.
"Why, thank you!" Finn grinned at her.
[1]ma serannas: my thanks
[2]da'banal'ras: my little shadow. I constructed this word using the rules of the Dalish language. You are free to use it yourself if you wish.
[3]ma nuvenin: As you wish.
[4]durgen'len: the elvish term for "dwarf"; directly translated it is "children of stone"
[5]Suledin/Endure, the song Ariane sings: The song is about enduring and emerging from sorrow, tied to the elves' loss of their ancient lands. It is adapted to personal struggles, as well. Taken from the Dragon Age wiki on the Elven language. A full translation is available there.
[6]len'alas lath'din: literally, "dirty child no one loves;" used as a curse
[7]Mi Da'len Somniar, a Dalish lullaby. Taken from the Dragon Age wiki on the Elven language. A full translation is available there.
[8]Hahren: Elder. Used as a term of respect by the Dalish.