Chapter 9
Stories Unheard
"Inquisitor, when you have a moment". Morrigan presses Lavellan to meet with her urgency. Meeting with the insistence in Morrigan's voice, Lavellan nods in compliance.
Muin stands waiting by the eluvian, holding her own hands tight. Her grace echoing an old age, her eyes shine with the tears of ages, large and filled with shadow. Her skin a perfect pale, like a smooth pebble, washed over and over by the moving stream of a river. Her white hair soft, undone from the leather ties she uses to keep it back in battle. It falls longer than expected. Her stature is small, shorter than the common elves of today. A whisper of their people. A piece of beauty, rare these days. The women step through the magical door, inside the hallowed pathways. Muin takes a moment to look longingly at the area, desolate and broken. In her eyes, a puddle forms, as her memory unwinds a time long-lost. The serene moment closes quickly as she snaps back into her duty.
"What we have begun, I, I am concerned." Morrigan begins.
Lavellan pulls her attention fully to Morrigan now, breaking her soft gaze at Muin. "What is it Morrigan."
"Long have I sought to learn of your kind and the secrets lost to time. Long have I searched for and protected what was. Carrying spirits, aiding our Hero's, avoiding the witch for whom I was intended to be a vessel. After taking the Well of Sorrows, I have become that much more connected to your people. The knowledge I hold, does indeed belong to the elves. Though I hope that you understand that I may not have your ears, I do have the soul of your people at heart." Morrigan begins to show a fragment of what hides behind her mask. Her face revealing the hope and fear she has carried for so many years. She knows more than any elf Lavellan has met, save for Solas. Yet, Morrigan shadows her knowledge.
"I do mean to keep some things from you, Lavellan. There is reason, your journey must be solely your own. The decisions you make, must come naturally; this is key. Though I can lead you to destinations, what you choose, what you decide must come from your heart. Though, I hope you understand, I am here to help." Disclosing her passion, the witches' eyes look to Lavellan open and pleading. Her arms expressing the hope she has in a raised gesture.
"Morrigan, I know that you seek to help, but I'd be more understanding if I knew what this was all about." Lavellan breaks the sympathetic moment.
"You are wise to ask questions. To put our faith, solely in trusting others has led to many wars, when a simple question could have changed the course for many. Whether you trust me is one matter, answered with time. Know you this, what I lead you to, indeed are in good faith. What you choose to do with the knowledge is for you to decide. The answers may be different from what you imagined or want. However, will you seek it for you or for your people?" Morrigan lets down into the direction this conversation needs to go, provoking the will of Lavellan.
"Choices can be both, Morrigan." Muin interrupts.
"Rarely is that true, Muin." Morrigan breaks the kindness and shows the fierce devotion she has, never expecting much good to come. Possibly related to her own service and fears of what may come from the price she has paid. "Gods are never one-sided, both feared and loved in one breath. To make decisions that allow everyone love you, is unheard of. There will always be those who do not favor the result. What do you do with those who do not heed your will? Force, murder, enslave?"
"Morrigan, did you come to lecture me on morals?" Lavellan's insistence pressed from her voice, stressing her discomfort with the challenge presented by the mage.
"Not morals, but choice. The orb, foci, it was Elven. Yet Corypheus claimed he created it, shaped it to assault the heavens himself. But, how did he gain control of such a powerful Elven artifact? A power belonging to one of your own people's pantheon?"
"We cannot answer that…unless." Lavellan gathers her thoughts putting the pieces together, "we walk through the fade. It holds remnants of memories and could going there show us?"
"This would be the benefit for our venture into the fade, yes. That and to stop any who try to enter themselves, however, this assault will continue until we can keep them all from corrupting the fade any further. We must find the cure for the tainted lyrium. It is a living disease. As long as it persists, the heavens are at risk. Imagine, if you will, corruption has met the gods. Who then keeps the veil? Does it break open sending every demon on us all? If we can find this cure, do we seal everything away, where they will remain safe?"
"Seal up the fade? But, that would take the magic away! They would never be free, Morrigan!" Muin showing her complete anger at the words she just heard come from the dark mages mouth. "You mean to destroy us!" Muin's energy begins to rise, her skin glows, and her hair starts to twist in her ire.
"I do not mean to kill anyone. Without this magic, I could not even be!"
"And what of the elves remaining, Morrigan?" Lavellan joining in the anger Muin is keeping in restraint.
"Without magic, who could fear them anymore?" Morrigan relays her thought. Very well knowing it is an unpopular choice. "As I stated before, I am not here to decide for you. But, it is something to give thought. Your gods are already locked away, according to legend, the elves that remain already lost. Why not protect what is left? Why not keep them where they are the safest?"
"This affects everyone Morrigan. We know not what happens when magic leaves this world. We do not know what could happen, if you take away everything that remains. No! I am not going to imprison magic!" Lavellan's heat permeates off her, like a mist thrust into the air after a crashing wave.
"Morrigan, there are still those of us who endure, you would be sentencing them to a choice of being locked away or death. There is no honor in that choice." Muin echoes the sentiment that has rung throughout centuries.
"I bring up the choice, Inquisitor." Morrigan makes plea to her reasoning. "It is my job, yes? As I stated, the choice is not mine to make." Morrigan grasping to regain some face, in front of the two elves, standing before her.
"I will not entertain this thought, Morrigan." Lavellan breaks her voice in this moment. "Everyone deserves freedom, whether they are spirit or mortal. If my life is the sacrifice to keep them all free? I am prepared to give it." Her eyes fill with passion and determination. "I am the key you claim, my blood. I will protect them, even if that means from you."
"You and any who remain, such as Muin." Morrigan moves the topic knowing the spirits of her companions. Knowing that their wills remain unchanged. She will take the distrust, the ire. It is her place. The answer she was seeking – pure champions – was answered. A force she will need for what comes.
"Yes, those who remain." Muin calming back into her softness.
"Inquisitor, do you remember Abelas?" Morrigan sets the new path.
"From the Well of Sorrow, yes."
"He remains?" Muin's eyes fill with an enthusiasm neither of them had seen in her.
"Indeed, he was who lead me to your people Muin. He has searched long in his journey. Now residing in yet another clan that has remained untouched."
"So there are more." Lavellan looks down at the place her feet stand. She somehow knowing, that they all, could not have fallen. "Can we meet with him, does he know of anything that can help us further?"
"This is why I wanted to speak with you. Revealing these places could bring danger in the wrong hands." Morrigan showing the intent behind their stirred conversation. "While the dwarves seek out information, in the case that we meet with the dwarven paragons, it would be in our interest to speak with Abelas."
"Would he be willing to speak with us?" Lavellan showing her understanding of the delicate place they are in.
"I do not know his willingness. However, I do know that we have someone with us who he would be thankful to see." Morrigan gestures over to Muin who stands looking more bashful than anything else in this moment. "She might be reason enough for him to meet with us and see that we are not seeking malice. If nothing more than to learn more of your people, making them aware of our efforts."
"Does this mean you know where he is?"
"Indeed, and I am ready to leave when you are." Morrigan waves her hand toward the eluvian, to display the closing this conversation.
Sera is in her room pacing back and forth, something is stirring within her.
"I have a lead. Mages and their magic. Stupid assbuckets need a room of bees."
"We will look into it Sera." Lavellan reassures the disturbed elf.
"Good then, get to it." Sera expresses how serious the matter is, in her way. "Demons everywhere, maybe it's not just the elves, maybe it is everyone, we are all demons…" Sera goes on mumbling as Lavellan walks out of her room, clearly troubled by the lead.
Checking in with Cole, Lavellan finds no trace. She often has to seek him out, this time she finds him sitting on the walls of the battlements. Walking up, Cole sits looking out toward the mountains.
"Are you alright, Cole?" She asks the spirit who she has come to care for.
"No. I can't hear it anymore. I find pieces, whispers. I feel the hurt. Then is goes away. Muin helped. She gave me more. I can reach it. The hurt, it calls to me. But as soon as I get to it. It goes away." His frustration shows through his gnashed teeth.
"What does this mean Cole?"
"He doesn't want me to. But, I have to. It's a hurt I can help heal. I can help. He doesn't have to be alone. Alone makes it worse. Makes it more real, it doesn't have to be."
"You are talking about Solas, aren't you Cole?"
"Yes. I can still feel him. He has changed but it is still him. Why would anyone not want help?" Upset by being unable to understand, the spirit is in pain for his friend.
"Maybe he needs it, Cole." Lavellan tries to bring comfort.
"Like you?" He begins to speak her pain. "He touches me deeper. His face fading, trying to hold the memory, can't let it go. I love him. His lips soft, a touch felt deep. The marks are gone, he is changing me. NO! No, don't go. Why? Don't leave me. I still don't understand. Pillow soaked in tears, the pain cuts through, but the memory is sweeter than never feeling anything."
Lavellan looks on, with tears in her own eyes, as the spirit sings her pain.
"You keep the hurt, to remember. Without it, you are afraid you will forget. Even if he wants you to. You can't, you shouldn't, he doesn't forget." Cole breaking in and out between sorrow and anger, rising and falling between the emotions that love causes. "He is afraid. But he has a plan, I just can't reach it."
"Cole, we will find him. Then we can both get answers."
"I'd like that." The compassionate spirit comforted by her reply.
Wrapping her arm around him, the elf rests her head on his arm, as they watch the snow blowing along the mountaintops.
In the war room, Lavellan places Leliana's agents to Sera's concern. Cullen's troops are overseeing efforts to build – and rebuild – structures to house the elven people, as negotiations are taking place for their freedom. Josephine is silencing nobles who are feuding the release of their slaves. Progress slow, but in action. The dwarves have gone to secure a meet with the Elder they seek. "Has Dorian finished reviewing the scrolls from Tevinter?"
"Not yet, he is with the scholars now. It'll take some time to decode the ancient Tevinter."
"A Tevinter Magister, on our side? It seems so hard to believe."
"We got the articles, did we not? Has Morrigan gained anymore insight on the dragon in Tevinter?"
Lavellan leaves her advisers to discuss among themselves, with a long journey ahead, she gathers her party and ventures into the unknown.
The party traveled far west to a land covered in lush trees and massive foliage. Haunted by a darkened scar scorching the land, younger growth fighting its way back, leading to a huge split in the earth. Rocky ledges lend hand to their travel down into the forest. The stone marked with traces of a burn, as if a blast brushed the stones, with the flames.
"What happened here?" Lavellan asks out in open thought.
"This we shall find out soon enough, I imagine." Morrigan answers.
Silence drops into play as the party meets the narrow opening into the forest. Trees, towering overhead, stand showing the age of the forest towering in height; unkempt, natural. Bright greens set the scene, flowers bloom, large as if they fight to bring color to the landscape. Halla bounce by, exotic birds flutter as they stir the forest with their steps, squawking as they warn of the approaching strangers.
"They know." Cole whispers.
"Do not make any sudden movements." Morrigan warns the party. The group need not wait as they are met quickly, arrows pointing from every direction. Small glimmers reflecting light off the golden armor and chain mail. The forest holds in complete silence as the birds fly off and the beasts clear.
"We do not come here to fight." Morrigan yells out the cliché that comes naturally.
No response comes, bows still drawn. Lavellan looks to Muin.
Muin steps ahead of the group, dropping her hood exposing her face. She speaks out, "Ma har Elvhen? Atish falon."
Their bows still drawn, a voice breaks through coming from the woods in front of them.
"Hren, atisha. Viran se lan'aan? " The warrior now showing his form, small and youthful, yet his voice carries age. His golden armor boasting his well-trained body. Silk drapes over his golden armor, His staff like a walking stick. His face marked with the vallaslin of Mythal, dark red hair falls down his back held in braids. His eyes boast a sharp blue that stirs the visitors unsure of their welcome.
"Var shiral, Tarasyl'an Te'las." Muins speaks softly.
"Tarasyl'an Te'las?" The elf eyes the group, as if he had expected a different vision of them. "You speak of a place long-lost, but there is truth in you." He walks closer, still surrounded by a wall of archers – drawn, intent.
Eyeing Cole with a deep penetration, he asks a question only the spirit can hear.
Cole answers out-loud to show his trust in his companions. "Yes, I am among them."
It is assumed that he asked if the spirit chose to walk among them, or forced as spirits are usually not see in travels. The elf then turns to Morrigan. "You carry what does not belong to you human."
"I carry what I was willing to make the sacrifice for, a gift from your people." She taunts at the elf. The elf laughs out, "Our people? I assume you mean this half-blood."
Now turning his attention to Lavellan. "I have come to share what we know, that is all." Lavellan boldly makes her place. The elf raises his arm, signaling the arches to stay their bows. All at once, in uniform they lower their weapons. The elf turns to walk and gestures them to follow without words.
"I guess we follow him then?" Morrigan lets out her held back breath.
The group fades off into the dense forest behind the mysterious elf.
The elves have made their home in the boasting trees. Bridges built marking where the magic used to connect them. Echoes of a time past remain, some magic's still bind the village. Healers teaching techniques, archers shooting at targets held up by magic, hunters cleaning their kills, using their hands glowing along the beast's carcasses. No one elf is without some magic in this forest home. Muin stilled for a moment, focused on an image in the distance.
"Heart beats out loud. The arrow sharp in my leg, trying to make my way back to the village, it's far. I'm getting cold, losing feeling in my leg. Her magic, still young focused on her leg, vulnerable. His hands around her, he runs telling her to hold on. She is warm in bed. The healers mending her. He never leaves her side." Coles lets out her memory.
Turning to meet her gaze, he must sense her. "Abelas," she whispers leaving the group to embrace her friend.
"Well, the world sure is a small place isn't it." Morrigan stares, crossing her arms, as the two meet after many years. Exchanging greeting and awe of their survival to meet again. Looking up after a joyful greeting to meet eyes with the faces he has seen before.
"So we meet again." Morrigan smirks.
"I see you have survived, mage." He cuts into her, reminded of the service he walked away from. Looking the group over further, not seeing the one whom he connected with.
"He walks alone, returned." Cole answers his thoughts.
Abelas looks sharply at Cole, "You come freely?"
"Yes, here I can help." Cole replies.
Turning his gaze to Lavellan. "Your stories reach even here, Lethallan."
Muin breaks in, showing a gentle spirit, a sign of her honor given to her old friend.
"Abelas, we have much to catch up on, however there is purpose to our visit."
"Old friend, I never imagined to see you here, please let us walk, and excuse us." Bowing to the group leading Muin off to view the village.
"Well, I guess we are on our own for now, we must meet with the keeper." Morrigan advises.
Stirring from a sleep deeper than any she has had. Her soul feeling refreshed, calmed, and peaceful. Any wounds she carried, healed. Youth marks her skin again. The bed – like a cloud – hovers over the carved floor. Imprints of the trees rings decorate the room, giving way to texture. Deep scents of cinnamon and fresh herbs greet her nose. Her armor stands in the corner, cleaned, blades sharpened. Flowers mark the floor in a simple path. Meeting outside, she sees her friends speaking with Muin and Abelas. She walks to greet them. "I trust you slept well." Muin greets her, showing the respect she has gained for her companion.
"Very well, ma serannas." Lavellan replies to the one she finds friendship with.
"It is mere echoes of what once was, but we endure. Muin has spoken of your task ahead. I have many thanks to give to the one whom you once traveled with. I will help in any way I can."
"Abelas has been useful in helping to decipher some of the visions. We may just have a path after all." Morrigan relays the work they have been doing while Lavellan slept. "Abelas is interested in our procurement of the old elven scrolls and artifacts."
"I would appreciate any help you can give, Abelas. The artifacts belong with the people and will brought back to them."
"If you truly seek to free our people, to bring peace to our lands?" His stare searches inside her pushing hard at her will.
"My goal is to see peace returned, though I am still unsure how we can do this without help from something more powerful than us." Lavellan lets out her intent to find more who can help. Abelas eyes her, looking hard at her face.
"You have been freed from what your people marked you." Looking harder now, he stirs emotions in her. "You already have power on your side, a power you have obviously refused." He means to question her about the Well.
"I am not after power for myself. I want peace for our people." She admits her true intent.
"There is more that you wish, da'len. Marked, wounded, but still he believes in you and you him." Abelas reads her like a book left open in the wind. "He is right, you are a rare spirit." He presses further into her before she stops him. Understanding why she guards this, the elven sentinel continues. "You have my aid, as long as you remain uncorrupted. I will meet with your spymaster and send what aid I can. If this sickness has a cure, much will change for us all." His words heavy in the air. "Walk with me." Gesturing Lavellan towards the path Muin walked down on their arrival.
The path, marked with the homes and shelters of the elvhen, breaks away. They walk toward the sound of the water. It's now that she realizes how far up they are. The edge of the land cut off to reveal a ravine, filling with water falling from a higher ledge, down to a stream below. A barrier of magic lay as a fence, protecting any from falling down below. Abelas rests his arms on the surface of this enchanted fence, looking out over the falls, he begins the conversation.
"What do you know of the ones your people refer to as gods, Lethallen?" Not an uncommon question asked of a dalish.
"Honestly, I have heard the stories as any dalish, some feared, some loved. In my journeys, I have come to question them, not even sure if they were even truly gods or mere tales." She admits, knowing he will see past any cover she tries to hold up.
"You question, that is not something often found from the dalish. But, you are more than a dalish, to think an immortal would seek out a dalish?" He shakes his head.
Lavellan looks at him in a frown, showing her distaste.
"What does that mean now? We are all headed to the same place, are we not? You cannot lose faith, Lethallen. You may have lost the knowledge your people held, but you have gained truth. What a place to leave you, mala suledin nadas. You understand that many of our kind became corrupted turned away from the truth; you however, shown kindness, left free. He must have had great respect for you. Many would have done the opposite and marked you in their service. Touched by rebellion and you didn't even flinch."
"Touched by rebellion? Are you referring to the mark?" Lavellan turns her head in question exposing that naivety still lay within the elf.
"You will understand at the right time." Abelas answers firmly. "Handed the answers, how could you make a genuine decision?" Piercing through, into her, she quiets her thought.
"Back at the well, you spoke of Fen'harel having nothing to do with Mythal's death and that the elves warred among themselves, causing their own fall. What more can you tell me?"
"There is much to understand, but I will give you what knowledge I can. For now, accept this. The elves did war among themselves, some happy with the simple works of nature and their people, watching over their kingdom's. It was a different world then, there was not a veil, spirits and elves lived among one another. We lived in eternity, building up our people and the world around us. But, like most children, some wanted more. The wars were powerful, malicious, and childish. Much like you, there were those who tried to stop it, those whom fought for peace. During this time, the humans took notice and with a lust to have what our people held, they attacked. This made those who fell to the power, more proud. They gave them magic's and capabilities, that were beyond the human's control. Finding joy in this, they found ways to mislead the elves, tricking them. Teaching them fear and distrust. The elven kind, confused and lost, not knowing who to follow. With little end in sight and those who ruled in peace falling, the remaining came to a place of meeting. It was then that Mythal was murdered. In his rage, the one known to the dalish as Fen'harel took her foci and sealed them all away, so no more harm could come. The Golden city held in a veil, keeping the two worlds from ever meeting again. During this time the young pantheon took on the spirit of rebellion to aid him in this feat, thus becoming known as the Dread Wolf among your kind. Unable to understand what was going on, the elven kind ran in fear to the humans; who in their lies promised them hope." Sinking his head down as if to hide his face. We became the nightmare they imagined us, to keep them away and protect what remained.
"So, Fen'harel was an ancient elf who fought to protect his people by summoning a spirit and letting it…possess him?" Lavellan focusing on the way lore twists a hero.
"Many carry the spirits of another, our form is but a vessel, after all. This was not just some random spirit. The spirit itself was of rebellion. Only granting its favor to the one in great need. Understand, one must prove worthy. If taken by an ill guided person, what do you think would become? If instead of Compassion, the one who calls himself Cole had Justice?
"Like Anders. His person was good, but the Justice he carried took control." Lavellan shows her understanding of the point Abelas means to make.
Looking on in approval he continues. "How do you know that you do not carry one? Tell me, after the human consumed the Well did you see anything? Experience anything of your own?"
"I remember running to Morrigan's aid, then Corypheus came, we had to go through the eluvian. I looked back. A form, glowing brightly, came up and followed us into the eluvian. After that… no nothing."
Abelas looks deeply into her again, pushing at her will even harder now. "You must know, spirits are draw to one such as yours. You must stay mindful, as it does not just attract spirits, demons will find their way as well." He begins to break away from the conversation, as the day is getting late and there is much travel ahead. "Just know this Lethallan, when your time comes to choose, do not let the muses of vengeance or greed guide you. Your spirit, the one you carry is rare and can overpower more than the gods may even know. Love, faith, and desire are strong. You do not need anything more. Tel garas solasan Lethallen and I will fight, if need be, by your side."