Happy Holidays from me and my plot bunny! And, there might be a new chapter before Christmas! Yay!
Act II: Brecilian Forest
The camp was in chaos. The normally calm and serene Dalish were running amuck, gossiping and chattering away. No work was being done; everyone was too distracted and stunned. Even the elders of the camp were running rampant, trying to make sense of what had transpired. And as expected, the young hunters were itching to run off and find the fallen dragon.
About thirty minutes earlier something had fallen out of the sky, a trail of fire and smoke in its wake. Keeper Marethari knew that the object was most likely a meteorite, but her apprentice, Merrill, insisted it was an Old God, returned to them to bring them salvation. And since she was a Keeper in training, the others were eager to believe her. The Keeper knew better than to refute their theories; after all she could be wrong. It could very well be an Old God, but she highly doubted it. It was better to prove than to postulate. So the Keeper had summoned three of the junior hunters: Tamlen, Fenarel, and Lyna the orphan. Even though they were some of the youngest hunters in the clan, when they worked together as a team, they were as skilled as the clan's most seasoned hunters were. She had faith that they would find the dragon and its bane with ease.
Keeper Marethari had sent them off twenty minutes ago. She hoped the dragon hadn't fallen a great distance away; the camp needed to return to order. And it wasn't going to any time soon, not with the way Merrill was preaching at the campfire. She had practically usurped Paivel's position as storyteller and was now spinning fantastic tales about how the Old God would lead them to victory against the vile shemlins. Marethari looked in the direction that the dragon had fallen, silently praying to all the gods she knew that Merrill was wrong.
Tamlen reached the ledge before Lyna and Fenarel. He grasped a young sapling and surveyed the carnage. Lyna trotted up beside him panting slightly from running the entire way. They were about five miles from the camp in the middle of the forest. It had been easy to find the site: all the birds were flying away from it, all the animals were scattering, and even the trees seemed to want to move away from the fallen lady of the skies. The dragon had created a crater the size of the camp with its broken body in the center. She and Tamlen, standing on the edge of the crater, stared at the site in awe. The dragon, or rather the high dragon, was larger than any beast they had ever encountered and more impressive. Even dead and bloody it was terrifyingly exquisite.
Fenarel jogged up behind them gasping for breath. His eyes widened at the sight of the magnificent creature.
"That's…that's a high dragon!" he exclaimed. "I mean, not as large as some that Paivel tells about, but…that's a high dragon!"
"We know," Tamlen stated bluntly, not taking his eyes off of the dragon.
Tamlen characteristically blundered down the steep sides of the crater without analyzing anything first. Lyna would have yelled at him, but he would have just turned around, smiled, and continued down. So instead, she looked around. The first thing that caught her attention was the large mangled sheets of metal scattered about the crater. They were shiny but streaked with scorch marks. Then she noticed where the dragon's blood was: streaking down the dragon's chest and under its head and neck. Unless it had swallowed something very sharp, the only way the high dragon could have been injured in that way was if something had been attacking it.
Unexpectedly, Fenarel began sliding down the crater walls. Fenarel was the cautious one, so why would he be doing something so brash? Then she saw it: about five meters away from the head of the dragon was a body. She couldn't distinguish if it was man or beast from this far away. So, she raced after Fenarel, if only to discover what the thing was.
"Hey, Lyna! Come up here! I found something!" Tamlen shouted from atop the dragon.
"Hey, Tamlen! We found something better!" she shouted back, nearing the body.
Fenarel knelt next to it. It was definitely a person, and a shemlin by the looks of it. The human was limp, perhaps even dead. It had short hair and was dressed in the strangest robes, which were soaked in blood. Lyna's first impression was that it was a runaway mage from the Circle Tower, but she then realized that its robes were unlike any she had ever seen before.
Tamlen climbed down and walked toward them. He was carrying a bloody sword, and the expression that crossed his face when he saw the shem was murderous. It frightened Lyna, but she held her tongue. Many Dalish resented the humans, and Tamlen was no different.
"She's still alive!" Fenarel exclaimed, his eyes wide in shock.
Tamlen's, in contrast, narrowed. "She?"
"She," Fenarel assured him. He seemed unafraid of the human female, as he was one of the few who felt no anger towards them.
"Kill her," Tamlen commanded. "The world will be better off with one less shemlin."
"Tam!" Lyna cried. "We can't just kill someone, shem or no!"
"You of all people should hate them!" he shouted at her.
"Well, I don't!" she retaliated. "And Fen'Harel strike me down if I'm wrong! What is your problem, Tam? This shem hasn't done anything to you!"
Tamlen averted his gaze. He had no response to that.
"We should take her back to camp," Fenarel started quietly. "She needs medical attention. And I'm sure the Keeper could—"
"No!" Tamlen spun, fire burning in his eyes. "We will not save her!"
Fenarel looked at the unconscious shem, his gaze softening a bit. His heart is too big, Lyna thought. It will get him killed one of these days.
"Well then, I will," he said quietly. "You two can do what you please. I'll take her back to camp myself."
Lyna knelt down next to him. "I will help you," she pledged. "I cannot leave anyone to just die."
Tamlen stared daggers at them shouting, "How can you agree with him? How can you just turn against me?"
"Leaving her is wrong, Tam. You know that," she explained.
"And would she do the same for us if the situation was reversed?" he argued.
Quietly Fenarel said, "It is up to us, as Dalish, to teach the shemlins about compassion. If we do not save her, how can we expect them to save us? If we do not show compassion, how can we expect them to?"
Tamlen bowed his head, "Fine, I will help you take her back."
"Thank you Tam," Lyna said, but he didn't acknowledge her. He often did this: she would force him to do something he didn't want to do, he would ignore her for a few days, and then he would be fine.
Lyna and Fenarel lifted the human up, her flaccid arms around their shoulders, carrying her between them. Tamlen followed behind, her sword in hand.
The scouts reported to Keeper Marethari that the hunters had returned. They said that the hunters were carrying a…a person. The chaos intensified as the party grew closer, the rumors growing even more wild.
Marethari walked briskly to the edge of the camp, eager to greet the hunters. They emerged silently from the trees, and, indeed, they were carrying a person between them. It was an unconscious shemlin, torn and bloody. She knew immediately that the shem needed healing, so she instructed the scouts to help them. Marethari led them through the throng of curious clan mates, all of whom wanted to see this supernatural being that had miraculously slayed a high dragon.
The Keeper rushed inside her aravel, her personal land-ship, and grabbed one of the many cloth cots she had stored among her medical supplies. She rushed outside and unfolded it hurriedly. Marethari called Merrill to assist her, and completely stunned, the young apprenticed complied. Merrill seemed astonished that anyone, especially a human, could have defeated a high dragon. She was upset that it hadn't been an Old God, as she had claimed. She was also surprised that she had been wrong.
The scouts laid the shemlin on the cot. Bending down with Merrill observing curiously over her shoulder, Marethari examined the woman. A few paces away the hunters stood in a little band, patiently waiting. The shem's face was mangled, torn from the back of her skull, across her face and onto her neck. The Keeper wouldn't know the extent of the damage until she had washed off the clotted blood. Then she tore off the shem's strange bloody robes to get a better look at her other wounds. There were lacerations all over her body-claw marks from the dragon-and though some of them were deep and nasty, none had fatally injured the woman. Palpating the shem's ribcage and extremities, Marethari found that the woman had a few broken ribs, a fractured wrist and several sprained ligaments. However, compared to what the Keeper had expected, the shemlin had fared fairly well.
"Do you…do you think she is a mage?" Merrill asked hesitantly.
"I am not sure," the Keeper answered honestly. In all her years as Keeper she had never had to deal with such a strange situation.
With Merrill's assistance they quickly cleaned the shemlin's wounds and treated them, bandaging the worst and setting the broken wrist. The hunters looked on with worried expressions. Finally Marethari stood and wiped her brow.
"Well?" Lyna inquired eagerly.
"She will live," Marethari told them calmly.
"How long will she be unconscious?" Fenarel glanced at the comatose woman.
The Keeper raised an eyebrow. "No more than a week, if she is strong."
"Strong?" Merrill spoke from beside the cot. "This female slew a—"
"—a high dragon, yes Merrill, we were there," Tamlen interrupted.
And, predictably, Lyna turned to him and began lecturing him about respect, which Tamlen didn't take well. Merrill's eyes widened in apprehension as the couple fought, but Marethari and Fenarel just exchanged looks and left. They had other things to do.
The dreams were horrible. They were worse than any Force vision Revan had ever had. But what made them so horrible was the fact that it was her memories, all coming back to her. Every memory she had ever had played in her head with crystal clearness, as fresh as the day they had happened. Every moment of pain, of exhaustion, she felt yet again. She even remembered her thoughts at the time, showing her what she had been thinking. And the thoughts were not pretty. Revan wanted the visions to stop. She wanted to forget her past again. What she had done…it was so terrible, so unforgivable. She had destroyed millions of lives and had never given it a second thought.
Finally, she reached the conclusion: herself, fighting Bastila on her flagship. She could feel the blast as Malak, her closest companion and best friend, betrayed her. And then, blackness. It was over. But it wasn't. She remembered awakening, remembered her false memories, remembered Carth. Revan felt her helplessness as everyone died around her, on the Endar Spire, on Taris, following her like a black storm. But she remembered the warmth of family, the acceptance even as they discovered her true identity.
And then, as the images faded to black, Revan could hear the sound of birds chirping high above her. It was over. Her mind sorted through the memories, trying in vain to repair the damage they had caused her. In a moment of weakness, a tear dripped down her cheek. But was it really a moment of weakness? Revan's former identity fought with her newfound perspective, trying to regain what it had lost. But Revan knew that if it won, she would become Darth Revan once more and unleash a power greater than even the Star Forge had possessed. Finally, the light beat back the dark, giving her a temporary victory.
Revan then came to full consciousness. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the life around her, but the feeling was stronger than usual. And, she could see the things around her. She saw trees around her, glowing brightly with life. She saw the birds in the trees, the moss clinging tentatively to the bark, the blades of grass, even the ants marching with intent through the green forest of grass. Even the inanimate objects glowed, albeit dully, perhaps because of the bacteria on their surface. Revan opened her eyes, wondering what this strange sight was. But only one eye opened. The strange new sight didn't go away, only merged with her normal vision giving her a stunningly clear field of vision. She lifted her hands, one of which was throbbing, and gingerly touched her face. Her hands felt the bandages that were covering the entire left side. A stab of fear jolted her as she realized that she had probably lost that eye.
Her new sight alerted her to someone approaching on her left. Revan struck out, nerves frayed from trauma, and grasped the person's arm. The startled person froze, letting out a small gasp of surprise, but they didn't seem afraid of her. She tilted her head a bit to get a better look at the person, a woman. The woman was elderly with gold tattoos curling on her forehead and her white hair gathered back in a short ponytail, exposing her pointed ears. Dressed in a plain robe, the woman carried a staff on her back and bandages in her arms. This woman was helping Revan; she let go of the woman's thin wrist, leaving red marks.
"You are awake," the woman stated. She didn't speak Basic, but a strange heavy language. Revan had learned it long ago and apparently had used it quite often.
"Yes, apparently I am," Revan whispered hoarsely. Her throat felt dryer than the ancient paper records stored in the Jedi Archives on Coruscant.
"I didn't expect you to wake for at least a few more days," the woman admitted, getting to her knees. "How are you feeling?"
Revan paused, assessing her body. "Decent, considering the force of my impact. How bad was I?"
The woman seemed hesitant to answer but responded, "I've treated worse."
Revan smiled sadly, "I'm sure you have."
Taking a deep breath, the woman listed off her injuries. "Well, you had many superficial cuts and sprains, but nothing too serious besides a few cracked ribs and a broken wrist. And…your eye…the dragon clawed out your retina. I tried to save it, but I was lucky that I didn't have to remove the entire eye. I'm sorry, dear."
At least Revan had been expecting it. She nodded in understanding. "It's okay." After a pause, Revan cleared her throat. "Thank you. Not many would help a stranger that just fell out of the sky. I…I don't know how to ever repay you."
"Oh relax dear," the woman smiled warmly. "I don't expect anything from you. It is my duty as a Keeper to help those in need, even a human."
Keeper…Revan had heard that term before. It had been on a strange planet, a corrupted planet, a planet whose inhabitants were naturally resistant to the Force. An involuntary shiver ran down Revan's spine.
"I don't know your name ma'am," she kept calm.
"You may call me Marethari, Keeper of the Sabrae Clan," the woman bowed, arms crossed over her chest.
"And where are we?"
"You don't know?" Marethari raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, do you remember who you are?"
Revan laughed cynically; the Keeper thought she had amnesia! "I wish I didn't, dear Keeper! I really wish I didn't."
Marethari seemed troubled by this but replied, "We are in the Brecilian Forest, in Ferelden."
"Yes, but what world is this?" Revan inquired.
"You mean, is this the Fade or the earth?" the Keeper corrected, trying to understand.
The Jedi closed her eye in exasperation. "What do you call this world?"
"Thedas…" Marethari was confused, her brow furrowing sharply.
Thedas… Revan sorted through her memories. She remembered it all now and with a strangled cry, realized what had happened. Thedas was not where the Sith were! Thedas had been an accident. A very good accident for her, and a very bad accident for all others, but an accident nonetheless. The things she had done on this planet were…indescribably horrible. Thedas had been her first step down the path of the Dark Side, even though she hadn't realized it at the time. Regret, anger, and guilt rose in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her.
There is no emotion, only peace, she thought. Only peace…
She breathed in slowly and opened her eye, again in control. "I apologize, Keeper. I know I must be confusing you."
Marethari smiled benevolently, understanding. "You can explain later dear. Now, you need rest."
Revan was an object of fear and curiosity among the Dalish. The elders of the clan, rightfully wary of humans according to Revan's memories, cast her a bitter glance every once and a while but otherwise ignored her. The younger elves however, had never seen a human up close before. They came and visited her often, usually staring at her from a distance as she meditated. She eventually convinced them she wouldn't harm them, and they began talking to her. It didn't take her long to know everything about everyone in camp.
The hunters that had saved her also came and talked to her. Tamlen distrusted her as much as the staunchest elder, but Lyna and Fenarel were pleasant company. Fenarel visited her the most, having some kind of interest in her. He would teach her about the Dalish and their culture, and he even taught her the language of the elves. Revan thought he was somehow trying to persuade her to help the elves; it was obvious that all the Dalish thought that all humans hated them.
Despite their obvious suspicion of her, the Dalish were gradually coming to respect her. She had offered no name upon her awakening, but the Dalish had supplied her with one: Mi'harel, blade of dread. Revan often heard the elves whispering amongst themselves about her and her impressive feat of slaying a high dragon. But she knew had caused no grievances, and soon they would become less wary of her. Perhaps she could earn their trust in time. Revan only wished to help them.