Sorry for the long wait - I'm writing way too many things right now for various projects. But, hey, I'm about to publish my second piece of smut on Amazon. Maybe next month I'll make $8 in royalties instead of $4. My friend was like, "You know it doesn't actually have to be good, right? You can just write any old crap and publish it, and people will buy it if there's sex." And I was like, "You clearly don't live in my head."
Tales
This is the story of the Dread Wolf's favor.
Long ago in ancient Arlathan, a minor aristocrat of little note did the Dread Wolf a profound service, risking their life in the process and securing for Fen'Harel an artifact of great power. The Dread Wolf, never one to leave his debts unpaid, offered the aristocrat a boon: any favor he could provide in return for the service performed on his behalf.
The aristocrat was wise as well as brave and clever, and knew that a favor from one such as the Dread Wolf was dangerous if used, but powerful if hoarded, and so they requested that the boon be deferred. Fen'Harel agreed readily, pleased to honor the aristocrat's wisdom as well as the sacrifices they had made for him.
And so the aristocrat's house flourished for two or three generations, buoyed by the family's connection to Fen'Harel and protected from overt aggression by the threat that lay in the favor offered by the Dread Wolf. The younger scions of the house saw nothing wrong with trading on the debt to gain favor in the royal courts, and the family made enemies - but none dared move openly against them.
At last a daughter was born to the house, and she was the least of her siblings and cousins - spoiled, yet overlooked and disregarded, and her resentment grew, unhindered by either reason or humility. At last she decided, in a fit of pique over some half-imagined slight, to retrieve for the family an object of ceremonial importance that had been stolen by a rival house in the course of internecine squabbles. She was not such a fool as to believe she had the strength, cunning, or even courage to accomplish the task alone, but she was determined to create the appearance of heroism and was unwilling to share any of the glory with another.
With such incompatible goals in mind, she had only one recourse: she called in the Dread Wolf's favor, reasoning that perception of the debt was more important within the courts than the debt itself.
When the Dread Wolf heard what the girl asked of him, he summoned her to meet with him at one of his holdings, concerned he had misunderstood her request, and he laughed openly when she confirmed that the message had been delivered correctly. "A simple task," he said, "unworthy of my time and the boon I have granted your house. But it is yours to waste as you choose, should you decide to claim it."
She was stubborn, but, seeing his contempt for the favor she had requested, added that he was not to speak of their task to anyone unless asked directly. Amused by her attempt at subterfuge, the Dread Wolf agreed.
They retrieved the item without incident, and the girl returned home in triumph, to be lauded by her family.
And they did laud her. She gained in standing and chose a mate who suited her vanity, and the Dread Wolf said nothing, though he declined the invitation to her wedding.
Perhaps it was this show of distance that prompted the house's enemies to act. They had grown numerous over the generations as the house flaunted its protection under Fen'Harel's shadow and grew bold in its power-plays. These enemies reasoned at last that the Dread Wolf owed the house only a single favor, and so if five of them all attacked at once, only one could be punished with his wrath. One-in-five odds had become preferable to watching the house rise yet further within the estimation of the royal courts, and so together they marched simultaneously on all the family's primary holdings, intent on rooting out the house entirely, and leaving none of it alive to regenerate.
When the house received word of their imminent destruction, they gathered all those they could in their most defensible holding, and called upon Fen'Harel to save them, laughing as they waited and toasted the failure of those who opposed them. But Fen'Harel did not come. The reply he returned was curt, instructing them to ask the girl what had been done with the favor the house was owed.
Cornered, she admitted the truth, and they tore her - and her mate and children - to pieces before being slain in turn by the army at their doorstep.
And so ended the house whose heirs were unworthy of the wisdom of its founder, and even their name was forgotten.
"No," I told Solas thoughtfully as he ended the tale, "I don't believe I've heard that one." Behind us, I could hear Valorin talking animatedly with Varric, describing traditional Dalish storytelling techniques. I was surprised - Varric wasn't even an elf, let alone Dalish. But then he did tend to have that effect on people.
People other than Cassandra, anyway.
"Why does the court of Arlathan sound so much like Orlais? In the story, I mean," I wondered.
"Because court intrigue is the same wherever it occurs, I would think," he replied. "But the region of the Fade where I encountered this specific tale predated Orlais by some centuries. If Arlathani politics were modeled after any extant human courts, Tevinter would be a more likely source."
I wondered if that was truly how he knew the story, though I didn't detect any lies through our bond.
"That was all you told him?" I pressed Solas. "Just a single parable of the Dread Wolf?" There were so many that they hadn't made much impression on me by the time I was Valorin's age. I was surprised Solas had found one that made an impression on him.
"No," Solas replied, "I also observed that, unlike the Dread Wolf, you were eager to give his clan what aid you could spare."
"Well, I'm glad you managed to bring Valorin around, regardless of how you did it," I told him.
"Without additional persuasion, you are too young to command respect from him, I think," Solas told me. "He has been trained to both submit to and resent his elders, and I would imagine that resentment often surfaces in his behavior toward those he regards as equals or inferiors."
"And you persuaded him on my behalf, ha'hren?" I teased my beloved.
I couldn't see Solas, but I could feel his amused gaze resting on me. "I did indeed, da'len. Though if I had known I would be met with such impudence, I might have reconsidered."
I laughed to let him know I didn't believe him, and held out my hand so he could tangle his fingers briefly with mine.
The shrine to Sylaise wasn't far - no more than a quarter hour mounted. There were perhaps two dozen Freemen occupying the outpost they had made of it, and their barricades were woefully inadequate against our company. I let Solas shepherd Valorin, and didn't even think about what it meant to be fighting alongside someone unused to my magic until after the battle was finished. That was when Valorin approached me, and when he got close enough I could see that his eyes were wide with something like awe. "You Fade-step other people!" he told me, the observation falling somewhere between a gleeful exclamation and an accusation.
"Oh," I said, unprepared for his scrutiny. "Well…yes. It's an old discipline, apparently - one that originated with our people. Solas calls it raj'panathe - a master of battle."
It struck me for the first time how gullible I had been to think Solas had seen enough of an entire discipline within the Fade to turn around and teach it to me.
Valorin's eyes were alight with something near worship. "They outnumbered us more than two to one, and - and we killed them like the odds were the other way around! You put your soldiers behind their barricade! They never had a chance."
I sighed and pulled off my helmet, running my hand through my slightly sweaty hair. "We see a lot of battle, Valorin, and even the most experienced soldiers can't really compare to the sheer numbers of undead and demons we have, at times, had to fight our way through. We're efficient, we fight as a team - and, yes, my unusual discipline provides a useful element of surprise." He was still watching me with a wonder that left me feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "We should search the shrine," I began, and then pulled up short.
Most of my allies were human. I had taken them into Var Bellanaris with me because there had been little other choice, and they had been careful to avoid touching any of the graves when I asked them not to - but this was different. Even just inviting them to enter the shrine could be seen as an insult. I had avoided entering the catacombs in Var Bellanaris for similar reasons, and because my unusual sight had told me that no demons prowled within.
"We can't go in alone," I said slowly to Valorin. "You, me, and Solas, I mean. Three mages? We're too vulnerable to anyone, or any thing, heavily armed."
"You can't invite the shemlenaan," Valorin told me firmly.
Solas joined us in time to hear this pronouncement, and his combined surprise and amusement rippled across our bond to me. "If you object to non-believers, I believe I will be forced to stay behind, as well."
"You're Andrastian?" Valorin asked, clearly surprised. Whatever impression Solas had made, I didn't think the boy was looking at him as a flat-ear any longer.
Solas snorted a laugh. "No. While I enjoy the concept of the Maker as a theory, I have scant capacity for blind faith and take issue with how his religion has been organized."
"It's not really about belief," Valorin told him, going back to the earlier point. "It's just…"
"Humans took everything from us," I said quietly. I looked at Solas, though he was a little too far away to see with perfect clarity. "Even our memories of who we used to be."
Pain pulsed across our bond, and it occurred to me that when he ached with this ancient grief, it really was ancient . "Perhaps Varric and Harding could accompany us, then," he suggested, ignoring his own feelings. "They are, after all, durgen'lenaan - Children of the Stone. And Cole."
"That's a good idea," Valorin agreed. "But who's Cole?"
"All right, you three," Dorian called out, "enough discussion of…purification rituals, or whatever it is we need to do before we can go in. We don't have all day!"
"More importantly, Dorian won't stop whining about the wait," Bull rumbled, sounding deeply amused.
"I suppose by Solas's logic, we could take Bull, too," I told the other two, ignoring Dorian's complaints.
"Will he fit through the door?" Valorin asked.
"If you view human presence as an insult to your heritage, why would you possibly make an exception for one following the Qun, which even now holds tens - if not hundreds - of thousands of your people in self-imposed bondage?" Solas demanded.
Valorin's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Let's just leave Bull here," I said quickly, before Solas could really get started on the subject of the Qun.
He heaved an aggrieved sigh.
"Varric, Harding, Cole - you're with us. The rest of you stay here and guard our backs," I called to the others, and then turned to explain Cole's nature to Valorin, ignoring Dorian's very audible grousing at being left behind.
Valorin's eyes were impossibly wide when I finished telling him about Cole, and they somehow grew even wider when Cole appeared nearby, looking nervous and uncomfortable. "I just want to help," he said in a low voice.
"We know, kid," Varric assured him, patting his back as he passed to enter the dark doorway beyond. "You do help."
"Creators, you're all - you're like something from a tale!" Valorin burst out, following behind us as Solas took my arm and led me inside. We were greeted almost immediately by a flight of stone stairs leading into darkness, though Varric had apparently kindled a torch. I could see its light floating ahead of us.
"A little, sure," Varric agreed with a chuckle, "but it's one of those weird, fragmented tales with gaping plot holes and an ambiguous ending that implies everyone died horribly without actually saying it outright."
"Varric," I huffed, torn between laughter and exasperation.
"I'm not sure you should be predicting the Inquisitor's death," Harding told him dryly. "You don't want Leliana to catch word of it and sit you down for a talk. Trust me - her 'talks' are terrifying."
"Ah well - if Nightingale decided I was too much trouble, at least the poison would be quick, and I wouldn't get stabbed in the book," the other dwarf replied philosophically.
"You mean stabbed in the back?" Valorin asked, confused.
"No, definitely the book," Varric muttered.
"He and Seeker Cassandra had…disagreements when they first met," I told Valorin, though I didn't know how much it actually explained.
We came to the bottom of the stairs and what was probably the main floor of the shrine, based on others I had encountered. "Maker, it's as dark as a dragon's bowels down here," Harding commented.
"You visited a lot of dragons' bowels, Braids?" Varric asked.
"Well, I might have cut a few open if the Inquisitor brought me along more often," she replied slyly.
"We've only fought one high dragon, and it didn't go especially well," I told her.
"I'm not sure you can say that, Vanish," Varric chuckled. "We all came out alive. How many parties can say that after their first dragon encounter?"
"Sounds like you need more archers!" Harding said.
Her enthusiasm made me laugh, especially since she had made her diagnosis without even asking what had gone wrong. "I'll keep you in mind next time," I promised. "Though the first time was also an accidental engagement, so…" I shrugged. "All right - one mage with each non-mage, and I'm claiming Cole since he's tall enough to guide me without either of us having to stretch. Whatever we're looking for, if it's still here at all, it will probably be hidden behind some kind of enchantment. Otherwise it would have been found and looted already."
"Guide you?" Valorin asked, confused.
"I see differently than other people do," I told him. "Non-magical things like walls and floors are blurry at any distance, so I need help to get around."
"Oh. Ir - ir abelas, lethallan. I didn't know," he stammered. "The way you move is so…"
He trailed off, sounding embarrassed, and I shrugged, brushing it aside. "I've learned to work with it. Some of the things I can see are useful, so it all works out. More or less." I took the arm Cole offered as he stopped beside me. "We'll go left. The rest of you work out which sections you want to cover."
Solas, perhaps predictably, found the sign we were looking for: a Veilfire rune, which explained why it hadn't been found before. Almost no one knew of Veilfire. They certainly didn't know how to use it as a trigger for more complex spells. Valorin stood next to me and watched in fascination as Solas kindled a Veilfire torch and then expertly manipulated the spell that concealed the mechanism to open the hidden door. It was further guarded by a magical barrier, but we had three mages and dispelled it with ease.
Within was a small alcove. The others ushered me inside first, though Valorin followed close on my heels. Immediately before me stood an altar-like table. My eyes were drawn to its top since I could see it relatively clearly, but Valorin knelt briefly and came up with a small bundle of disintegrating cloth. He tried to unwrap it, but the rotted fabric immediately began tearing.
"Stop," Solas commanded him. "Take it to your Keeper like that - there is magic that might let him safely disentangle whatever is there, but even without knowing such spells, the cloth itself may tell him much about its history."
Valorin nodded, and pulled off his own cloak to wrap the bundle up safely.
"Look at this," I told him when he had finished. Atop the table was a torque, silver in color but probably made of silverite given the brightness of the metal even after so many centuries. In the center, a stylized flame had been inlaid in gold and what might have been ice dragon bone.
Valorin reached out reverently, though his fingers stopped just short of touching it. "This - this looks a great deal like the symbol we still use for our clan," he whispered, pointing to the flame. I smiled at the literal interpretation of their clan name. Avisenuralas meant Flame of the Divine. "Amelan always said it was passed down from a noble house of the Dales - the house that first founded out clan…"
"Ah," I replied. "And there are stories that Lindiranae was of that house?"
He gestured dismissively, though his eyes were still fixed on the torque. "Many clans have such stories. But this…may bolster our claim."
"Then let's take it back to your clan," I told him. "It is our duty to preserve such history - "
" - anywhere we find it," he finished with me, clearly as familiar with the litany as I was. We exchanged a smile, Second to Second.