At the Unveiling of the World
Story I
..
The One Who Waits, and the One Who is Awaited
Part II
When she next woke up and looked around, Faerynrae learned that Solas was a man of his word.
As promised, he'd vanished by the time she opened her eyes, leaving her resting beneath the bows of a low bending pine. The tree's spine was warped and twisted from old age and harsh weather, its lush branches hiding her from immediate sight. He left no trace of his presence — no tracks, no dying fire - nothing, save for a fur cloak he'd draped over her to keep her from freezing during the night. Lifting the edge of it to her nose, she breathed in his mysterious scent, a mixture of Elfroot and Felandaris. How thoughtful of him to look to her safety like this — unexpected from a random stranger, but undeniably helpful nevertheless.
Her leg was wrapped in a semi-dry poultice consisting of various dried herbs and powders. Peeling it back, she noted that the wound, though mostly healed, would likely leave a nasty scar. The flesh was white and pink where magic and medicine had helped it stitch back together, but even magic had its limits, and herbs could only do so much. Tracing the repulsive outline now tattooed into her upper thigh, she let out a small breath. Oh, well. Not like she had to worry about impressing anyone with her appearance. If she had it her way, she'd stay in her halla body for the rest of her life.
That thought reminded her of her purpose for being here. Shaking her head to clear it of the fog of sleep, Faerynrae stood up with some difficulty and wrapped Solas's cloak around her naked body. She tried to get a sense of where she was and how far Solas had taken her from the place she'd been injured. A cold wind made her shiver. Cursing, she pulled the cloak tighter. Damned helpless body. She couldn't wait to jump back into a form with fur. Thinking that it might be easier to scout the land from the sky, Faerynrae began to change into a hawk.
She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming when her leg gave a savage throb, pain slicing up her thigh, tracing the outline of her new scar. The agony of it brought her to her knees. Nails digging into her leg, Faerynrae squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the burning to subside. She saw stars, and when they finally cleared, she was kneeling on her hands and knees, her forehead pressed against the cover of dead leaves on the ground. Panting and shivering, she decided that shapeshifting was out of the question for the moment. She would need to work on healing her leg more before she could attempt it again.
That understanding brought about another dilemma. With a frown of annoyance, Faerynrae tied the cloak around her waist and torso, securing it in various places to make it into a makeshift tunic. The ground was moist beneath her bare feet, and the clouds above were tinged with grey. The cloak was damp, too. Some rain must have come down while she'd been asleep, and if the human camps still stood, the inhabitants would lay their clothes out by the fire to dry. This could be a good opportunity to pilfer some supplies. Some in the Clan looked down on stealing, but Faerynrae believed there was nothing unnatural or wrong about it pending it was done for survival. All creatures stole in nature, and if it proved necessary, she would not hesitate to do the same.
Using a length of dead wood as a walking stick to support her weight, Faerynrae used the position of the sun to find her way back west to the camps and the Temple. Fortunately, her run from the Templars and Solas's generosity hadn't carried her too far off course. When she arrived, the area was abuzz with activity. Most of it seemed to be centered closest to the Temple. People talked and argued among themselves while certain shems made speeches to try to get their attention. Their puffed out chests and grimaces reminded her of bucks fighting over territory. The thought made her smile, succeeding in lifting the fatigue from her shoulders somewhat.
Even though the shems seemed to have plenty to keep them occupied and distracted, getting by them unseen would be a difficult task. She'd been right about the rain and clothes, at least. Many of the mages and even some of the Templars had shed their outer robes and armor to allow the lambswool, cotton, and leather within to dry off. Some had brought satchels and packs with a change of clothes while others huddled by their fires in thin shirts and breeches.
Sneaking around the edges of the area, she spotted an abandoned campfire with a tent beside it. A mage's robe lay not far from the structure, draped over a log. She considered her plan. Before she did anything, Faerynrae always wanted to know all the possible outcomes of her actions. Was it worth risking someone seeing her just to get some clothes? She supposed she couldn't get any useful information on the Conclave without them. After all, a half-naked Dalish elf marching into a group of shems would cause more than a stir. She wouldn't be able to shapeshift for hours yet, and judging by the tone of the shouting humans at the Temple, things were escalating. She may not have the luxury of waiting any longer.
Then again, if she did succeed in taking the robes, she would gain a disguise — perhaps, even, a way into the heart of the Conclave itself. She rubbed at her temples. Walking into a group of shemlen this large sounded like a terrible proposition. But, she had little choice. Keeper Deshanna needed the information, and despite Faerynrae's dislike of Clan Lavellan, she knew her duty as an elf was to help protect her people in any way she could.
"Alright, then," she breathed out. "Creators protect me and give me strength."
Abandoning her walking stick, Faerynrae padded closer to the lone campfire. Casting a spell might have made things easier. Her Keeper taught her how to use the forest's gift of camouflage if she needed to remain out of sight for a short while. However, Faerynrae worried that casting or using any sort of magic might alert the Templars. She'd never seen them so close before aside from the two men last night and thus had no idea what the range of their abilities were. Dressed in their shining armor stamped with black symbols of their order, they looked menacing and dangerous. She'd heard tales of their cruelty, and last night had been proof of the rumors.
Focus on the objective, not the obstacles, she reminded herself. Sight narrowing on her goal, Faerynrae crept up to the log and snatched the indigo blue robes into her arms. Just as she did, the the tent rustled. She heard voices from within. A hand reached out to pull back the flap. Faerynrae's body froze, eyes wide. Within the tent, she saw a human woman with red hair smiling as she pressed herself against the armored body of a dark-haired man. His arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"Don't go yet, Ellendra," the Templar said. She whispered something to him and they both laughed quietly. When she would have stepped out of the tent, the man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back in, pressing his mouth against her cheek.
"You have my phylactery, Mattrin," she reassured him. "You know I can't stay, but should we be separated, you'll always be able to find me."
The Templar groaned. "Two weeks without you. How will I survive?"
"As we have survived every other obstacle that the Maker has set before us all these years," she smiled.
Mattrin pulled her closer. "Stay with me…just for a while longer," he pleaded. "I fear once the Rebellion separates us again, we'll -"
Ellendra covered his mouth with her own. "The Conclave will end that," she told him heatedly when they broke the kiss. "This is our last hope for peace. The Divine has already arrived, but the Grand Enchanter isn't here. I must ride back to -" The flap of the tent dropped back down. Within, Faerynrae heard the woman say something else, but couldn't make out the words. For a moment, she sat still, stunned. A mage loving a Templar? And a Templar loving a mage in return? Was such a thing truly possible? She'd heard of the terrible fate that mages faced within the Circles. Wasn't their hatred for Templars and the Chantry the entire reason for the recent uprising?
Putting the information away for later speculation, Faerynrae gripped the robes tighter in her hands and snuck back into the shadows of the forest. Once there, she pulled on the garments, noting that they were finely made and warm. Though they were a bit too large for her, she figured she would manage somehow as long as she didn't trip on the hem. Faerynrae was tempted to leave Solas's cloak behind, but something stopped her from doing so. On a whim, she took it with her, the scent of Felandaris creating a comforting barrier between her and the humans she was about to face.
Entering the camps from the eastern side, Faerynrae tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Looking straight ahead, she weaved through the crowd, noting that she'd been wrong about those attending this event. Not all here were human. She saw some elves, dwarves, and even qunari milling about. Her earlier fears proved unfounded. Everyone had more pressing matters to attend to than staring at a lost-looking elf. In the eyes of this crowd, she was just another face. As she moved, she tried to listen to what people were saying. Some pinned all of their hopes on this one gathering while others insisted it would fail. The war would get worse before it got better. They all seemed to agree on that. If Divine Justinia couldn't help the two sides come to an agreement today, then all hope for peace would be lost.
This seems like just another attempt to avert war, she thought. It's important, but nothing that we need to worry about. I should head back. There is little for me to see here. I'll tell Keeper Deshanna about what I heard and we can turn the aravels farther east. Avoiding this mess shouldn't be too difficult.
Some time towards evening, a flicker of movement caught her eye in the crowd. She'd decided to stay until morning and was searching for a place to rest when she spotted a familiar figure crouching near the Temple's entrance. Many men and elves wore traveling clothes, but she recognized the lean figure and gnarled staff right away. It was Solas, and by the way he turned his head about to make sure he was alone, Faerynrae guessed he did not wish to be noticed or followed. As though a bucket of cold water had been poured on her, Faerynrae snapped to attention. The earlier feeling of foreboding returned. Throughout the day, she'd managed to convince herself that spying on this gathering was a waste of time. Now, she wasn't so sure.
Tense, nervous, yet somehow excited, Faerynrae pursued him inside the Temple, keeping her distance. Immediately, darkness surrounded her, broken only by a few blazing torches hanging from rusted metal cages on the walls. The Temple's passages consisted of winding corridors of aged grey stone, white-black marble, and ruined halls. For the most part, the Temple was vacant. Most rooms were caved in or destroyed, time and climate ravaging them beyond recognition. Statues which might have once been elegant and stunning in their details now lingered as worn chunks of stone, missing limbs, heads, or inscriptions.
In her struggle to keep up with him, Faerynrae learned something else about Solas. He was no simple traveler or mage. In fact, he was much more than he seemed. She couldn't explain it, even to herself, but something about him seemed unnatural. His stance suggested a wealth of experience; each step he took was careful and measured. Yet, this did not slow him down in the least. He moved with swiftness and grace, his feet not making a sound. He was flexible and balanced; even in a half-crouch, he moved at the pace of a brisk walk. From the few times when she caught glimpses of his profile through his hood, she noticed his blue eyes held a faint glow.
The staff in his hand thrummed with power; she felt his magic trail behind him, its strength and feral intensity so raw that it stole her breath. He'd woven a spell of invisibility around himself, she realized. Had she not been able to see through such things, she would have lost sight of him long ago. Something about that magic made her ache. Not in her body, but in her heart. It felt nostalgic, somehow, just like the scent of the cloak around her shoulders. His expression never changed. As though chiseled from the same marble that stretched out beneath his feet, it remained suspended in a picture of pure focus.
Following him through a smaller doorway, Faerynrae gasped when they stepped into a massive hall. Enormous marble pillars held up a vaulted ceiling with faded paintings of golden figures. Moonlight trickled through the gaps in the tiles and shingles. The white marble seemed to glow within it. Statues lined the walls, a few monuments placed at the foot of a grand staircase leading up to another level high above. A large statue stood in the center of the hall, a figure of the woman Faerynrae recognized to be the humans' fabled prophet, Andraste. Despite its dilapidated state, the hall still gave her chills. This place must have been breathtaking in its prime.
Pushing back his hood, Solas walked to the center of the room, his head swiveling around to inspect his surroundings. He circled Andraste's likeness, brushing his fingertips over an aged inscription at her feet. A small round basin stood there, the metal shimmering in the moonlight. Rain water trickled and dripped from the holes in the ceiling, falling into it with small pings that echoed in the vast space. When Solas turned, Faerynrae spotted blood covering the side of his neck and some of his jaw beneath his collar. Tearing off a fragment of cloth from the already tattered hem of his tunic, he dipped it in the basin then reached up and wiped the red from his skin. She saw no wound on him, indicating that the blood was not his own. The spell around him wavered and died.
Her heart shriveled. She clutched at her chest when the feeling of dread from earlier returned.
On the left side of the room, double doors snapped open. A commotion followed suit — voices shouting and clamoring. Half a dozen armored men and women shuffled into the hallway, dragging what looked to be a woman in white and red behind them. Two of them held a man captive as well. His armor was a Templar's, but something about the decorations on his breastplate hinted at the fact that he might be more. The woman spoke in a calm but firm voice, telling her captors to release her. The man, meanwhile, spat and hissed out curses, promising vengeance for his disgrace.
Faerynrae's breath froze in her lungs when a set of dark shapes followed the armored figures into the hall. Her fingers dug into her robes. It took all of her resolve not to erect a barrier around herself on instinct.
Demons!
They floated in behind the armored soldiers. Strangely, they appeared calm and subdued. Fire followed in their wake, a sickening gurgling spewing from their contorted open mouths. When the soldiers reached the center of the room and stopped, the demons did the same.
Her eyes snapped to Solas. He stood still, his feet set wide apart and his chin held high. His hand rested on his staff, his posture suggesting he was calm and unaffected by the unfolding events. In the darkness, she couldn't make out the expression on his face. One of the armored men spotted him and pointed but didn't say a word. In fact, all the men and women's faces were slack and lifeless, the centers of their eyes pulsing with an eerie red light. The struggling Templar saw Solas and screamed louder.
"You, there! Mage!" he hollered. "Do something about this! These abominations have lost their minds!"
"Please, help us," the woman in white called to him in a heavy Orlesian accent. Now in the light, Faerynrae saw the heavy wrinkles lining her face.
Solas didn't move. "You are not the reason I am here," he said smoothly. "I await another."
"What are you talking about?" the Templar barked. "They're mad! They've lost all reason! Damn it, do something!"
There was no need for explanations or further denials. Right at that moment, something large and dark hovered into the room from the same doorway. Though she couldn't see its face through a thick mass of wispy smoke, two glowing spheres resembling eyes peered out at the scene. It towered over the other soldiers, at least twice their height. As the shape passed over the ground, ice formed beneath it. Rasping, slow breaths echoed off the walls. The pillars and ceiling shuddered. The air seemed to freeze. The Templar stopped moving, his eyes widening in terror. He looked to the woman then back to the creature.
"Maker help us," he whispered hoarsely, his face losing all color.
The creature floated over to him. From the smoke, an arm reached out. Long bony fingers tipped with sharp claws touched the center of the man's chest. Something crimson trailed up his body, outlining the veins in his neck and face. The Templar's eyes rolled back into his head. The soldiers dropped him to the floor where he convulsed violently, saliva and blood flowing from his mouth. A moment, then he was still. Faerynrae covered her mouth with her hands, her body starting to shake with fear. What was this thing? How could it kill something with a single touch?
Turning away from the dead man, the creature moved to study Solas. "Look what we have here," it purred, its voice deep and full of churning power. The pair of glowing eyes narrowed. "Have you come to accept my generous offer?"
"No," Solas said. "I am here to take back what is rightfully mine."
The creature chuckled, but the sound was far from pleasant. It reminded Faerynrae of metal grinding on stone. "And so, the trickster has been tricked. Isn't that the way of it?" the shadow drawled. It moved and withdrew something round from what she could only assume was its cloak. "I must admit. The artifact does not behave as you described. It rejects and fights me. I do wonder," the shadow pondered with false curiosity, "if you meant for me to die upon activating it."
"You will die regardless," the elf answered, his voice never wavering.
"You are too weak to challenge me," he huffed. "Leave or stay, but trouble me with your self-serving lies no further. I have more important business to attend." Dismissing him then, the creature turned to the armored soldiers. "Bring forth the sacrifice."
"Please, stop!" the woman shouted when tendrils of red light enveloped her like chains. She rose into the air as though suspended by invisible strings. "Why are you doing this?" she called down to the men and women. "You of all people…to betray us like this…"
"Keep the sacrifice still," the shadow commanded, his tone filling with excitement. He held out the orb. A wave of power rushed outward from it, and it began to fill with a blinding emerald and red glow. "Look on in helplessness, elf, as I take my rightful place in the heavens."
"Use that orb, and you will die," Solas warned. "I am here to witness your destruction, to assure it myself, if I must. If the orb doesn't take your life, I will."
"Bold words for one who could not even summon the strength to open it."
They continued speaking, but Faerynrae couldn't understand anything anymore. The light of the orb hypnotized her. It was beautiful in the most terrifying of ways. Whatever it was, in the hands of this monster, the orb would be the catalyst to something terrible. Solas gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He promised to kill the creature, and somehow she couldn't help but believe that he could. How he would do it and what price he would pay, she could never hope to know. The smell of Felandaris enveloped her.
She knew now why she'd been experiencing a feeling of dread for the past two days. Her instincts had been trying to warn her of this. But, what could she do to stop it? She was just a single person, not much different from the Templar who had died from a single touch. Solas wanted to fight, but she couldn't let him fight alone. She owed him a debt, and by her honor, she would repay it. She imagined cowering here, bearing witness as the monster did the same thing to him as he'd done to the Templar, and wanted to be sick. Through her terror, she swallowed and closed her eyes, willing herself to stop shaking. She had no weapon - no staff or sword. Wouldn't she just be a burden?
Still suspended, the woman dressed in white struggled in her bonds, pleading for the soldiers to come to their senses. Out of the mass of writhing shadows, the monster's face appeared. Faerynrae's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Again, she had to squash her fear down to keep it from overwhelming her. She'd never seen such a hideous visage. Splotchy skin stretched in torn strips over broken pieces of blood red crystal. The eyes looked human, but an inhuman hunger filled them. More and more of the creature's body materialized, revealing it to be just as deformed as its face. Bone and crystal mixed together to form a skeleton wrapped in naked muscle and sinew.
Solas stepped forward. "Return the orb," he demanded in a booming voice.
"I think not, little elf." The thing smiled, showing crooked teeth. Lifting its free hand, it gathered a ball of red magic in its palm and prepared to hurl it towards Solas. Suddenly, time stopped. Faerynrae looked between the creature and the elf, noted how the glow around the orb grew brighter. An emerald chain flew out and embedded itself into the woman's chest. She screamed in agony, her head falling back. Still grinning, the monster cast his spell and sent it flying.
Never would she understand how it was that she got to Solas so quickly. She couldn't even recall moving her legs. Did she do it to save him? Did she jump between his body and the spell because she wanted to repay him for rescuing her before? Or was it because he reminded her of the wonders she'd seen in nature - of those small bits of magic untouched by the world that needed to be preserved and protected no matter the sacrifice? None of that seemed important, nor did any of it feel like logical justification for what she did. The only thing Faerynrae could clearly understand was that she had to stop this madness. One way or another, she had to try.
Her body rammed into Solas's with such force that it knocked them both to the ground. She lay there for a moment, dazed and confused, until his blue eyes came into focus. He looked just as bewildered as she felt. Perhaps he wanted answers to the thousand questions she saw in those azure depths, but she had no time to give them. Whipping around, she scrambled to her feet, thinking her heart might stop when she stood before the creature. It was larger than she originally thought, and much more terrifying up close. She sensed its fury, felt the burning heat of the melted ground where his spell landed a short distance away.
"What's this?" the thing's upper lip peeled back over its teeth. "Another mortal come to toy with forced beyond her ken?"
Faerynrae couldn't speak. Her voice had left her, and it was only through sheer willpower that she stopped her knees from shaking. Staring up at this creature was like staring at the face of a god. The magic around him felt ancient and immensely powerful. She knew that, as she was now, she had no hope of defeating him.
"You are afraid," the voice rumbled. "Yet you stand. A foolish choice, mortal."
The woman had stopped screaming, Faerynrae realized. She looked up, and their eyes met. "You must run!" she cried out to her from above. "You must warn them all! Hurry!"
"No more interruptions. Kill the intruders," the monster sneered, pointing his bony fingers in Faerynrae's direction. Again, time stopped. A few of the soldiers rushed at her, some drawing their swords and others preparing to cast. The bonds around the woman weakened. She glared at the creature, whose full attention was focused down on Faerynrae, and lashed out with her hand. By some miracle, she reached the orb. It went flying out of the monster's hand.
Beside her, she could have sworn she heard Solas suck in a breath. The orb fell, clattering to the marble floor. Just like before, she couldn't recall moving. In this unnatural frame of frozen time, all she could do was act on blind instinct. Dropping to the ground, she rolled forward, reaching out and grabbing the orb with her left hand. Immediately, its green light swelled and swallowed her whole. It felt like she'd picked up a handful of flaming coals in her palm. The agony of it ripped a scream from her throat.
Pain. So much pain. More acute and terrible than anything she'd ever felt. Through the tears that ran down her face, she looked at her burning arm. The magic from the orb lashed out at her, cleaving long lacerations into her skin. Her body spasmed, spine arching backwards until she thought it might snap. Her legs tensed. She rose up on her toes, but despite feeling off balance, she did not fall. The power clamped its jaws around her much like the trap from the night before. Except this was worse. A thousand times worse.
She lost all sense of time. No matter how much she begged her body to listen, for her hand to release the orb, her fingers refused to obey. Faerynrae floated through a haze of confusion, but being unaware of her physical form still did not release her from the agony. Curling into herself, she writhed and thrashed, scratching and clawing at her skin with her free hand. Once, she believed she had a sense of pride, of dignity. But now, she knew that if she could rid herself of this pain, she would have done anything. She would have bowed, begged, pleaded, pledged her very soul to whoever asked for it. She would have even —
No! — a part of her shrieked — I would never be a slave even if I had to die!
The thought splintered the pain, doused the burning, and pulled back the curtain of misery just enough to allow a pinprick of light to shine through. She cracked open an eye. Somehow, the massive hall, the furious monstrosity and armored soldiers around her all seemed insignificant. They blended into the grey fog in her mind. Then, Faerynrae turned her head and saw him. Solas. The one who was much more than he seemed. For a split second, she knew what that meant and saw him as he was before the connection severed and her suffering returned in full.
She fell to her knees, her eyes still trapped within Solas's desperate gaze. The thousand questions there had multiplied, turning into a tidal wave. Beyond that, she saw naked fear — exposed, blooming, unbound. She didn't know why he was afraid — because she held the orb? Because it would likely kill her? Or because it was his and she'd stolen it from him without meaning to? Knowledge filled her, an understanding that he could easily take her life now and reclaim his artifact.
But would he? Most importantly, if it meant stopping the creature and foiling its plans, would she let him?
The moment passed. By the time that single thought slithered across her mind, it was too late. The orb vibrated in her hand and the glow intensified, the light so strong that it burned even through her eyelids when she squeezed her eyes shut.
What have I done? - she heard her own voice asking.
She felt herself falling into a bottomless abyss.
She felt the skin on her arm splaying open.
Then, she felt nothing at all.
