The Spectral Breath
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Chapter Six: Shards & Magic
"Tell me about the Fade," the young elf insisted, perched upon the rest of an armchair, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. In her lap was a tome, faded in a centuries dust with several pages blotted in smudged ink. An Enchanter's Memoir on Tarasyl'an Te'las. Some of it was comparable to her own past, other chapters were as fictitious as the Dalish vallaslin, yet still most were noteworthy.
"Hmm?" the apostate mumbled, grazing the outer casing of her shard with his thumb. He had rested in his own armchair since noon, had scrolled through frayed parchment and half-burnt scrolls in search of any hint into the origin of the artifact. By his deepening scowl, it seemed that none had born fruit. "Yes, what would you like to know?"
Lahris raised a shoulder to her neck, studying the image of a temple depicted in charcoal. The author had taken to calling it Tarasyl'an Te'las. The Place Where The Sky Was Held Back. In the common tongue, Skyhold. Yet the depiction held too many straight towers to be truly of elvhen make. The spires were not spherical or spiral but sleek and straight, conical like the rooves of the present. The depiction itself was flawed, but the mention of elvhen history in Tarasyl'an Te'las made sense to her. The old magic.
"I thought dreamers were extinct in this part of Thedas," she said, scrolling to another page. "Either made tranquil by the Templars or driven mad by demons. I read about them, you know, in tomes the Dalish collected. Honestly, mostly what I know of this world is from them and their teachings."
"I'm surprised to hear the Dalish have any knowledge that isn't false stories," he replied, his tone languid. "What a rare find indeed. Perhaps we should plant a tree to commemorate something they got right."
"They are not all terrible, hahren. Why are you so against them? Is it the aravels? Do you get ill from riding them?"
"It's not that I get ill from-" he sighed, rubbing his temples. "They are children, acting and reacting stories heard wrongly a thousand times. While they pass on tales, mangling stories, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not, known things that would only draw their stories into question. Like children, they are too ignorant to see their mistakes."
Lahris pressed her tome to a close, leaning over the edge of her armchair with her elbows on her knee. Her eyes were less kind now, glinting in curiosity; emerald kissed by daylight. "Tell me how that would happen, then. What can you find in the Fade that the Dalish would not understand?"
"For one, the Dalish strive to remember Halamshiral. But Halamshiral was merely a fumbling attempt to recreate a forgotten land. Another thing the Dalish got wrong, I'm afraid, but I assume Arlathan was so far before their time that they have forgotten almost the entirety of its existence. Another treasure misplaced. Elvhenan was the empire, and Arlathan its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty, lost to time."
Reminiscence was a cruel temptress, just as he was cruel for reviving such dormant memories, intentional or not. Memories of forests carved from metals, leaves of twinkling jade and finely wrought blossom petals dripping in the dew of the rain; small iced droplets that not even the warmth of the sun could subdue. And a city sparkling on the horizon, tangled in a forest that rose above the clouds.
Her smile was shaken. It further saddened when her memories begun to drift, fade. "You have seen Elvhenan? How?"
"Through the Fade. It is the source of everything I have come to know. You may have heard tales of the ancient elves living in trees, imagine wooden ramps and Dalish aravels. Imagine instead spires of crystal entwining in the branches. Palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. This and more I have seen."
Lahris peaked down upon her hand to find four fingers curled along her tome bind and a thumb idly smoothing the pages. Her hand was supple, tanned, freckled and smooth. A true miracle that it remained unscarred unlike the rest of her. Yet even she could see the depths of age crinkling her knuckles.
It left her gut stale, raw. Father promised me the stars, time eternal. And now I am slowly decaying, like the shemlen around me.
"Are you sure what you saw was true? I have only seen the Fade a few times but know not everything there is as it seems. Were the things you have seen truly real?" If I extended my hand, could I touch the grass? Or embrace my father one last time?
"Yes and no. The Fade is perception, a mirror of reality seen in the eyes of another, reflected by spirits. What I saw could have been many things: the memory of an ancient before the end of a war. The sight of a child happening upon Elvhenan for the very first time. All are real in the Fade, making what I saw the truest truth that can be discovered."
She looked away from him, vexed, disappointed. "If all opinions are real in the Fade, then should not a Dalish opinion on an event be true as well? If one dreamt of Elvhenan, of what it might have appeared, how would you know the difference if you have never seen it for yourself?"
Solas scowled, passing his hand over the shard. The surface glowed a faint hue, one that to many could be barely seen by the cream of the rotunda walls. But to elvhen kind, the shimmer was faintly noticeable when tilted a certain way, pale and cloudy - a spectral breath.
"It'd be a warped perception, not one that was truly free of false influence," he informed, taking a quill and lacing text into bare parchment. "You'd only understand if you walked the Fade as I, lethallan. Until you have done that, then what you know is merely speculation. I mean no offence."
"The Dalish have been good to me, though, cared for me as their own when I found myself in Fereldan. Some, I trust completely. They may be young in their ways but at least they are attempting to remember the world before. Is that not worth something at least?"
"The small traces of history they keep are nothing more than shards of false glass compared to the jewel that once was the People. Even the remnants they hold are small ounces of truth. It'd be better in the long run if they remembered nothing, rather than remember everything wrong."
"Not everything is wrong," she whispered, shaking the frustration from her mind. "But, you are right to your own thinking, I suppose. And I would like to see the things you see."
His lips twisted in a wry combination of curiosity and amusement. "You wish to see the Fade?"
"Is that possible?"
"It is. Anyone who can dream has the potential. In the days of old, all of the People had the gift. Mages use lyrium now to transverse the Fade. Dreamers simply have an innate ability that nature has not suppressed. If you are willing to learn, I could show you. You've shown the indomitable focus needed to survive your magic. Your time in the Fade shouldn't be too different. I must admit, I'm surprised to find it not yet dominated. Most in this world are too easily influenced to keep such a mindset, but not you."
"So, my focus could be dominated if I were to find the right person?" she asked, auburn locks falling across her shoulders, her head tilting quizzically.
The apostate coughed, stilling the quill in his hand. Upon the tips of his ears, a rosy tint dominated the pale. "Presumably. I-I had not thought on it. I imagine the sight would be… fascinating."
Lahris blinked innocently, her brows gradually creasing. What about my question caused him to be darken like a new-plucked plum? And then she realised, cupping soft lips with her hand. By Dirthamen!
"Then, perhaps you will be my hahren in many things, not just the Fade, Solas," she whispered, smiling. "This is so exciting."
He chuckled, returning to his parchment and quill. "You may reconsider that stance in time."
The rotunda gradually receded into quiet for the coming hours. Mages tarried to and from the library above, casting quiet incantations that left the musk of a spell, bitter and metallic, until mid-afternoon. Spies far higher then them, positioned on the third tier of the rotunda made just as much noise, tiptoeing crooked beams to catch crows fluttering in their cages. Their shadows crossed the lower walls like winged moths in a dance, sometimes enticing Lahris to peek up.
Every hour or so the elves were disturbed, but only by the occasional feather that floated down from the rookery above. Solas would pluck the stems from the floor and add them to a jar of varying plumage, a collection that had Lahris soothing her fingers over from time to time. A guilty pleasure, so to speak, while her mind drifted to other things.
At last, when the sunlight adopted an ochre tinge, casting away the darkness, and when both mages and spies left the tower for the evening, the two elves had come to a conclusion.
"This artifact is unlike anything I have ever seen," Solas muttered, shifting through text after text, scrolls piling upon scrolls. "I can confirm that it is elvhen in origin, but this is unlike the foci I have seen that channel the magic of our people. I remember during your trial you mentioned the artifact belonging to a God. What made you come to that conclusion?"
"The temple we were in was for one of the Gods. Dirthamen, I supposed by the statues of owls and twin crows."
Solas touched his chin, nodding. "Interesting."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, just humour me a moment." Solas raised the shard from the escritoire as carefully as a relic from an altar. The evening light played upon the surface dimly, yet when Solas touched the shine, it was as hard as glass. "Stand over there, if you would, by the door."
Lahris felt uneasy, her fingers unknowingly reaching out for the shard.
Solas drew his hand away, gesturing to the doorway with the other. "Please, lethallan. This is important."
She did not wish to. Each step she took felt as if a thread tying her spirit to the artifact grew thinner and thinner. It tugged on her heart like a hand squeezing the organ for every drop of blood. The further she drifted, the more unbearable the sensation became, almost painful.
By the doorframe she managed to steady herself, using it for support. The young elf hadn't noticed her held breath until she felt dizzy.
"I'm going to have to ask you to trust me," he said, passing his hand over the shard and closing his eyes.
Lahris watched intently. A wisp of magic drifted across his fingers, cloudy and faded like blue mist. As his hand curled over the artifact, something deep seemed to stir from within: a tremor that caused the dull black casing to shake and for the violet glass on top to glimmer, shine. The surface begun to undulate, slow like water, dreamlike. Then the apostate slammed his hand down upon the shard. The following moments disappeared from her mind.
One moment she was stood by the doorway observing his magic first-hand. The next moment half of the floor had been coated in frost. Her robes shimmered in beaded ice, her knees met red carpet. Her body lay hunched over folded arms, where held tightly to her chest was the artifact pulsing in a heather radiance.
Solas stood before her perplexed. Invisible waves of magic had carried her forward, blurred her for a short distance, but in that time she had managed to snatch the artifact from his hand and curl protectively over it by his feet. She did not speak, she scarcely moved. Only her breathes could be heard throughout the deathly hush. The heavy pants of a drowning maiden starving for air.
The young elf remained bowed before him; long tousled hair draped over her upper half like a widow's veil. Her arms had even taken a pinker tint under a coat of fresh frost, glinting in the rotunda like crystal, only far more fragile.
Solas slowly knelt on one knee, bringing a finger up to raise her chin. Her eyes briefly met his - a spiritual shine lighting them in ethereal lustre before dimming to her natural green. Her hands quivered in fear, tingled in old magic.
It felt wrong. It felt manipulated, twisted, evil. She wished to throw the shard to her feet and have it shatter into a trillion stars. The very thought had her lurching forward, lips parting to vomit, only for nothing to happen.
"I-I did not mean to, I'm unsure how I…" She felt sick, feverish. Tears slipped down her cheeks in silent surrender, yet she found no despair in them. Only relief. "Please, never do that again."
"Ir abelas, da'len. I never meant to cause you pain. It was selfish of me, but it was a necessary act." Even as the words left his lips, she saw his expression fall into dismay.
In another world, she would have hidden her pain. In another world, she would have learned from her past mistakes and never taken the word of another elf without suspicion. In another world, she would never have been at the behest of a ruin or a dead god's magic. Yet she was not in another world. She felt the ebb and flow of the old magic like cancer in her veins, one that could control her very body.
She sneered at the floor, wiped the tears away with her sleeve, hating her weakness. "Please tell me you gained something in what you did."
Solas nodded, gently taking her arm and aiding in her rise. "I did, though you may not like the answer."
Lahris shook his touch away, turning towards the escritoire and carefully returning the shard to its wrappings. A thought crossed her mind when her fingers lingered near the edge, crinkling the leather that once bound it. It never burned my hand.
She eased away from it, finding the entire situation far too unnerving. "What did you do, Solas?"
"A simple spell, one I use in the Fade when searching for spirits. The spell searches for bodies of the ether, any magic that reflects the Fade and has consciousness. I theorised that the magic binding you to the artifact may have belonged originally to a spirit, as most magic in the time of Arlathan was. And, it seems I was correct."
Lahris inclined her head, warily taking a step closer to him. "Are you saying that there is a spirit trapped within the shard?"
"Precisely. Though I'm unsure of its purpose."
"Does the purpose matter? By the ancestors, it is attempting to possess me! That's why I feel a part of myself disappear each time the mark grows." Lahris leaned against the escritoire, taking in a few deep breaths. "I'm losing myself."
"I doubt it is that simple, da'len. See how the artifact emits light? When I first held it, it was dormant. Your touch has awoken it. The essence feels stronger here. It is indisputable. You are tied to it. For why or how long remains to be seen."
Solas passed his hand over the surface one last time, his lips pursing questionably. "There is a life inside, lethallan. Intelligent life that for all we know might be able to hear this very conversation. You came to its aid. It sought protection from you. And you reacted."
"Without knowing."
"Self-preservation is far stronger than you know. The artifact saw me as a threat. It called out to the only known source it had that could defend it. You. I do not believe it wishes to possess you. I believe it may be trapped, just as you are to it. Otherwise, I doubt you would still be here."
Lahris frowned, laying a hand on her hip. "What are you trying to say, Solas?"
"Spirits may wish to join the living, but a demon is that wish gone wrong. If it were a demon, if its purpose had been twisted, it would have possessed you the moment it had the chance. Yet, even though your magic has grown, it remains locked. The connection is obviously strong, yet you have not been possessed. I would find comfort in that. You have no reason to fear the spirit inside."
"And nearly baying Falon'Din greetings in the Fade was not enough?"
"I never said the connection didn't have its risks. It may be an imperfect balance. But for now, the spirit poses no threat to you. It might be your fear that causes the artifact to react in such a way."
Fear? she wondered, searching the floor for answers. Could it have been fear? It has not hurt me in the last few days. "Then I should just accept it as a part of me?"
"Yes, for now. Until I can monitor the affects more closely, this is all I can suggest."
Her hand dug deeper into her hipbone. She turned away from the apostate, rubbing the wariness from her brow. So close yet so far. "I will consider it, hahren."
The idea of fleeing into the throne hall despite the risk of gawking courtiers murmuring behind her back, had become ever-more appealing. "I should find Jaras. Why he wished to take my place in the Inquisitor's interrogation I still do not know."
"The Inquisitor likes to pretend he is mightier than most, but he hasn't the stomach for true heresy. You never saw the Conclave, or the downfall of Haven. I do not condone his actions, but I can sympathise with them. I'm sure your friend will be fine, lethallan."
The oaken doors barring the throne hall to the rotunda parted hastily to reveal one of the Inquisition's own strolling through. From his thigh, a long sword swung, while one hand lay perched on the lion-headed pommel. The other strayed behind his back.
Clean-shaven under a pointed helm, a beard crusted in snow and a wine skin at his belt. Ser Castillon?
"Messere Solas," the guardsman began, his speech bastard Orlesian flavoured heavily with flutters of Antiva. Lahris had to repeat such words in her mind to understand. Even to her people accents were so rarely thick. "I must interject at once. The Inquisitor has ordered the prisoner to come with me to the bailey. As 'ave you."
Solas quirked a curious brow. "Oh? Whatever for?"
"Important matters, messere. You are to bring any belongings you may wish for the journey ahead."
Lahris cradled her throat. "Journey? We are to leave Skyhold?"
"One of our villages was attacked to the east, serah. The Inquisitor has already sent men to the parameter, but he wishes you both to attend. At once, he said. We must not tarry."
It was Solas who spoke next, shoulders hunched over his desk and hands idly grazing wet papers. "How peculiar. Of course we wouldn't want to keep the Inquisitor waiting. The very heavens may split anew."
The young elf frowned. Could the Inquisitor truly reopen the skies, or was that sarcasm?
Lahris looked doubtful. An attack to the east would not bode well for any organisation, but there were only a few reasons as to why she was needed. She shuddered in knowing what that could mean. "Must I come along? Surely I would be safer and less harmful here in Skyhold? I-I could flee when you peer away. I would be a risk, one you do not need. I would rather be in my tower under lock and key."
By the agitation in her guard she knew she seemed suspicious. Even Solas had raised a brow at the mention of her stay, for surely any prisoner would leap at the chance to leave their walls behind.
"He said you might act like that, serah." Ser Castillon quickly grabbed her arms, clanking iron onto her wrists. Lahris gasped, curling her hands and letting forth a spell that hit his chest in a pang of white.
Ser Castillon groaned, curling into his breastplate - ice glistening against the chain mail collar. Lahris attempted to flee, but the shackles were too heavy on her fists, weighing them down to her waist.
Solas strode forward, blocking the path back to the throne hall. "Is this really necessary?"
Ser Castillon flexed the fingers of his sword arm, not bothering to look at the elf as he hauled her tall by her chains. "Oui, of course! Orders are orders, messere. Meet us in the bailey as soon as you are able. Horses have already been drawn for the road."
There was ire in Solas, concealed by a stern face comparable to that of stone. Lahris could sense it settle in the air as if it were her own.
In the end, he returned the artifact to her satchel and slipped it over her shoulder, sympathising with the young elf by a small quirk of his lips. "I will see you in the courtyard," he whispered softly, allowing the two to part freely.
The last she saw was a long black wolf howling along the fresco behind him.