1
Ellyn hadn't been counting. Days came and days went. She spent it telling stories to the Dalish children and some of the elders who were story tellers. From her earliest memories, she recited tales of Arlathan, old heroic stories of dragon slaying, fairy tales, war histories, some of which had been lost to the Dalish since before they took the Dales.
Meals were brought to her, and a cot was placed there for her to sleep on with warm blankets. Ellyn wondered when she might be allowed to go. Meanwhile, she had tales to tell. Mythal's stories.
There was once a King in Arlathan, his name now lost to time. The king had a beautiful Queen that he loved very much. After years – and you must know, the elves lived a long time in the old days before the fall of Arlathan – so after years of wishing for a child, his wife bore him twin boys.
Falathiel, with her twin pigtails, oohed, and she was hushed right away by the other children.
The soothsayer was brought to them to tell of the fortunes of these beautiful children. The older boy would be a conqueror of the world, a leader of nations, and he would bring about a new glorious age for Elvhenan. The younger child, however, would grow up to kill his father.
A gasp came from the boys. Ellyn smiled. They were always zoning out until someone said 'kill.'
The King was beside himself. They had wanted these children for so long, but the threat of his own death was too much to bear. The King asked his queen for this younger child and gave him to a trusted soldier, so that he may be killed away from his sight.
"How cruel!" Anira cried, shaking her head and setting her blond hair into a halo of activity.
"Don't worry, he'll be okay." Ellyn hushed her with a pat.
"You're ruining the story! Don't interrupt!" cried one of the boys. Alagos, was it? Ellyn was beginning to remember their names, but there were just so many of them and she only had to memorize four people's names growing up.
The advisor took the child to the river, intending to sink him into the water with a rock, but he did not have the heart. Instead, he made a raft out of wood scavenged from the riverbank, and placed the child on it to be floated down the river. This gave the Creators the right to the child. Mythal, the Great Protector, took pity on him and guided him to an elderly couple who wished for children all their lives, and they took in the child as their own.
"Yay!" Anira cried again, huddling herself into Ellyn's lap. "I like happy stories."
"Well, I don't know about happy, but ..." Ellyn continued, and thought that all of these Elven stories were all too bloody to tell children. She gave Anira a little hug before lifting her and setting her back on the ground.
Year passed, and they seemed to prove the prophecy true. The elder twin learned military strategy and swordplay, and became a fearsome warrior who garnered great respect within the King's armies. His father looked on and was proud. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, the younger twin grew kind, gentle and charismatic under his foster parents' care. He might not have been a great warrior, but he had a good soul and he gathered loyalty like none other.
In time, the King grew old and jealous of his child. The King was a great leader to his people, but he was no general. The time his son came of age was getting nearer, and it was no secret that the People wished to expand their lands, especially with the well known prophecy of how the prince would be a great conqueror for his People.
Maddened with paranoia, the King called his son to an audience with him, intending an exile by conquest, sending him to the farthest reaches of their kingdom. Enraged, his son attacked him, killed him in the throne room, and took the crown.
"Hey, didn't the prophecy say the younger twin was going to kill the King?" Interrupted one red-headed boy, whose name was ... Haldir. That was it. Haldir. Always one to notice the inaccuracies, or not. Ellyn put a finger up to her lips.
The younger twin was a patriot, raised by his foster parents to be so. At the news of the King's death by patricide, he rallied the people and began a great civil war that raged for fifty years. You see, fifty years was not such long time when one lived for hundreds to a thousand. In the end, the younger twin overcame the tyranny of the older twin's rule, because when he spoke, people listened. When he needed support, it was given. For his gift from the Creators was more than might. His gift from Mythal was love and loyalty from the People themselves.
When the younger twin took the crown not by blood, but by the support of his people, he brought about a new glorious age that lasted for a thousand years, he expanded their borders not by conquest and blood, but by trade and diplomatic means.
And the Creator Mythal smiled on the People, and knew that it was not her that brought about their fate, and not the prophecy, for when the King asked for the younger child, the Queen gave him the elder one. When he asked a mother to send her own child to his death, the King sealed his fate. No Great Protector, not even Mythal, could compare to a mother when it came to unconditional love, and when a mother's child was taken away, it only brought undeniable vengeance.
Ellyn looked around at the awed faces and the opened mouths, agape at the 'surprise' ending of her tale. She could not help but smile. When she heard that one the first time she saw it a mile away. This might be captivity, but oh what fun. Mythal supplied the tales when she was a child, Ellyn told them and got all the credit.
The children of Zathrian's tribe was enamoured with her. These were new Elven tales. There had been no new Elven tales but for the sad few they managed to gather from tablets and ruins, so much of their history and culture forgotten. Ellyn was happy to give them whatever she could. They were even more sheltered than she was, in a way, and that fact delighted her to no end.
The First of Zathrian, whose name was Lanaya, seemed to enjoy her company as well. She stood to one side and listened to the stories, and she smiled as she saw how the children enjoyed themselves.
It was not uncommon for the Dalish to take prisoners. If the Shemlen were to wander into lands frequented by the Dalish, they did so at their own peril. Ellyn wondered if Zathrian told all the hunters who she was, or if he only told them that she was a historian of lore. They treated her with much more respect than what she expected, from all she read of the Dalish.
"So, what's the 'moral' of the story ... Haldir?" Ellyn looked at the boy expectantly.
Haldir tilted his head to one side, blinking his green eyes rapidly. "Um ... don't make a mother mad or she'll make you pay for it?"
Lanaya let out a chuckle behind them, and quickly covered it up with a cough.
"No." Ellyn ruffled his red hair, so like Cullen's, she thought for a split second before quickly shaking her head to dispel the memory. "The moral is that one quick sword thrust only brings more strife, as demonstrated by the civil war, while peaceful, diplomatic negotiation brings about long lasting peace. We should always try to reason with people before we fight them."
Falathiel pouted and looked a little apprehensive. "Did you tell us that story because of the fight I got into yesterday?"
"Oh, you started a fight yesterday? With who?" Ellyn knelt down from the bench so that she could be at eye level with the girl. Falathiel shied away.
"What about the part about mothers being more protective than Mythal?" The child decided to change the subject instead of volunteering information that might get her into trouble.
"Well, no matter how much the Creator Mythal love and protect the People and their children, no love from her can be greater than that from your own parents. And no vengeance can be greater than one whose child had been taken away." Ellyn wondered how true that could have been. After all, all mage children were taken from their parents, and their vengeance had proven to be nil. Most were glad to have had their cursed children taken.
Ellyn turned to look at Lanaya and found a strange expression on her face, a sad apprehension. The sun was about to set for yet another day. Ellyn shooed the children to their evening meal, and settled down for another night on her cot. They had been treating her with reverence; they gave her some of their best food, offerings of flowers, intricately carved combs for her hair. The People took turns to sit on the benches and listened along with the children. These were Mythal's People.
The only thing they denied her was her freedom. In this circle drawn with Zathrian's blood, she was cut off from the Fade. Without the Fade, she couldn't even contact Mythal. She was completely defenceless, and not a little lonely.
Ellyn looked up into the starlit sky. She had never slept beneath the stars before until now, and she marvelled at how beautiful it was. Sun's blood. That was what Mythal called it. The goddess once gathered the sun's blood and scattered them into the sky. Such beautiful stories. Maybe she would tell that particular one tomorrow.
She stole a glance at Zathrian's tent. He had been around, attending to the sick, giving counsel to the hunters. Ellyn sighed. Zathrian was not a bad keeper. The pride demon was not a bad keeper. She wondered, briefly, if it was possible to reason with a demon.
Irving tried that, remember? Things did not turn out so well.
There were so many stories, and yet they all seemed to teach the same morals. She sorted them out in her head: the stories of vengeful, unforgiving gods and spirits, self-fulfilling prophecies, numerous tales of Fen'Harel, the dread wolf.
Stories had power. Maybe one of them could sway Zathrian, but which one? All the tales of vengeance seemed to end in death. Creation, destruction, rebirth. The cycles of Elven tales.
2
Anders enjoyed the markets in Highever. It was no Denerim with its trade goods fared from all nations in Thedas, but for what it lacked in armour, it excelled in food. Minced pies, eel pies, fruit pies, he thanked the Maker for pies. The Circle Tower used to serve some kind of pie once a week, but out here, there were choices in quantity.
I need you to travel to Denerim.
The weather was good, the sea breeze was lovely. He saw only two templars in the entire town, and that made dodging them especially easy. They had already spotted him, and apparently decided to leave him alone. From what he heard from the townsfolk, all the templars were in the Chantry. For once, he felt like he didn't need to run. It was a wonderful feeling.
Anders!
Except of course for that insistent voice that snapped at him all day. Mythal had left him alone for the most part, to chase cats, booze, and skirts, but today she was sending very cryptic messages they're not cryptic at all for him to leave this pie Golden City of a place for something full of templars like Denerim. Holy Andraste why would he ever wanted to be in Denerim?
Anders pushed the spirit out of his head, which was easy to do. Mythal was a visitor, someone to call on for power when he needed help. He was not possessed by her. It was much harder to avoid her when he was asleep. He was not about to waste this beautiful day, voices in his head or no.
Ellyn is in trouble.
Andraste's flaming knickers! She always had to bring up his weakness, did she? It had only been ten days – maybe a little more but he wasn't counting. He only just arrived in Highever, with its abundance of pies and lack of templars, easy sea passage to the Free Marches, beautiful women in Orlesian silks...
I don't know where she is. The last time she called me, she was in the Brecillian Forest. Before that, she was in Denerim.
"She's with her companions. A whole group of seasoned rogues and warriors. Let them take care of her. Last time we met, she told me that Wynne was going to stay with them." Anders mumbled softly and hoped he did not appear too crazy. "What good can I do?"
She is cut off from the Fade, Anders. There are only two way that could have happened: someone's using blood magic to hold her, or -
"Or she's throwing a really big tantrum," he started to walk towards the alienage. Someone was always in need of a healer, and the elves knew the quickest and most discreet way of travelling between large cities. If he arranged passage now, he might be able to get to Denerim in a week.
Anders shook his head in disgust. Less pies, more templars. Birthplace of Andraste, biggest Chantry in all of Ferelden. Damn it Ellyn.
3
"... When Fenharel trapped the forgotten ones deep within the earth, the corruption spread among the first dwarves, and those who managed to escape became the dwarves we know of today. In the bowels of the earth the first dwarves still live, sustained by the sun's blood now corrupted, their bodies no longer recognizable, and they worship the forgotten ones."
"So if you dig deep enough, the forgotten ones may get out?" Anira was attempting to bury herself in Ellyn's robe. Maybe that story was a little too scary.
"Yes." Ellyn waved her hands in a spooky manner. "That's why the dwarves live so very close to the surface now, within mountains. Because the deeper you go, the closer you get to the sun's blood tainted by the forgotten ones."
"I have a question," a pale-faced child with short spiky hair; Veryan. "Do you have any stories of the Maker?"
There was a sharp intake of breath from behind her. One of the adults, probably. Who told his Elven child of the Maker? Ellyn winced. "I do, but I'm only here to tell Mythal's tales. The mother Mythal made the moon, the stars, and the People.'"
"But we don't have stories of how the world was made." Veryan wrinkled his nose.
"No, we don't. In the beginning there was the sun and the earth," Ellyn raised an eyebrow and gave him a mysterious smile. "Some stories are in the domain of Dirthamen and they remain secrets, not for us mortals to know."
"Are these stories all true?" Haldir again. Ever the skeptical one.
Ellyn tipped her head at the boy. When she was a child herself she never wondered if these stories were true, but that was before she had to memorize the Chant of Light. They couldn't possibly all be true, especially not if the Chantry was right. Maybe facts were turned around some place along the way. "They are the same as the ones related to me by the Creator herself. Feel free to incur the wrath of Mythal if you want to call her a liar."
Haldir opened his mouth to say more, then promptly snapped his mouth shut. Mythal was the mother of the Creators. The most loved and feared of all the gods. Her blessing meant one need fear nothing. Her wrath was for you to be struck from the earth as if you never lived at all. For once in her life, Ellyn could not feel her presence.
Rubbing her hands together, she missed the magic that usually came of such an action. Mages were like walking statues of electricity. They saw in more than colours, more than the five senses of the world. There was a background static that made it possible to see with one's eyes closed. In this blood circle she felt as if she was blinded.
Blinded, so that she did not see them when they came. Blinded, or she might have been able to warn the children.
It was the hunters at the edges of the camp that saw them first. Wolves, who walked on their hind legs, wolves, who spoke, wolves, who threatened with snarls and bites at the air. There was nothing, and then all at once the air was filled the sound of beasts.
At a distance, Zathrian was talking to the Lady of the Forest, the same one she saw in her dreams. Ellyn strained to listen but they were too far away, her circle at the center of the camp an invisible prison.
"Zathrian! Please! If there is any way ..." she resorted to screaming at the top of her lungs. "Let me break the curse, please -" but they were not listening to her. Alistair was there, behind the Lady. He looked at her, for a second, and moved his attention immediately back to the proceedings between the Keeper and the wolf.
"We came to talk. Just to talk. We'd like Ellyn back. That is all. Just give Ellyn back to us and we'll leave." Alistair had his palms facing out in a gesture of peace.
"You bring the werewolves here to our camp and expect me to believe that?" Zathrian's voice was arrogant and prideful as always but now it was tinged with mania. "Give me Witherfang's heart. I will trade that for your precious Ellyn."
"Zathrian, our suffering has lasted long enough." The Lady spread her arms out encompass the werewolves, "they are not the same humans who harmed you. They are themselves children. It has been centuries. Surely your retribution is spent."
"And they still the same beasts they were. My pain is eternal, as is my retribution." His eyes flared, dark and red.
Ellyn turned her attention to Lanaya, "when a Keeper is possessed by a demon, the clan must hunt and kill its own keeper. Please. If you kill him I may be able to save the others."
Lanaya did not speak. There was a hesitation in her eyes that Ellyn knew only so well – she was not sure if Uldred was a demon either, not until he admitted it. It was difficult to attack someone when they looked like a person, not an abomination. "At least take the children and run."
"We are surrounded." Lanaya shook her head slowly. There was never any doubt in her heart of what her Keeper had become, but there was too much love there – a blood debt she could never repay.
Voices were raised, Ellyn thought she might have heard Alistair yelling, and then it all went to the void. Werewolves moved fast as the wind, their movement nothing more than a streak and a whistle that cut through the air, and in its wake elves fell, staining the grass with a redness that was nearly black. A Whirlwind of claws descended on them, their leather armour much too light to withstand the assault.
Lanaya staggered to her feet bleeding from half a dozen gashes, her mage's robe hung in tatters. Ellyn screamed for the children to huddle together, facing in. Should they survive, the less they remembered, the better.
Should they survive. The thought rang in her head, clear and menacing, and she forced herself to look, to keep her eyes open, as the beasts attacked the children and tore them apart in front of her. Alago, Falathiel, Anira ...
It was her responsibility. Her sin. This was all her fault; she should never have come. She should have never agreed to come alone. She should have asked the Keeper to meet her in the forest instead. There were so many other ways this could have gone, and she chose the one wrong way.
She had begun to memorize their names.