*****Here it is! The chapter you have (probably) all been waiting for! Man, I have tweaked and re-tweaked this chapter more than any other (and it is probably still full of errors lol). I start to get a bit more groovy with the lore in this one. Hopefully everyone will like where I take it! Enjoy!
Random translation: "M'gel" (said by Dorian in previous chapter) Translation: "my girl". His pet name for Astlyr. My husband says that he had no idea, so I figured I better explain that one ;) ;)*******
Part 9
What Pride Hath Wrought
Astlyr was sitting on the floor, staring. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and her brain felt as though someone had replaced it with a sponge. It was too slow to respond to the words of the man on the bed. He had not taken his eyes from her baffled face, though his expression had grown more concerned. Uncertain. Finally he did look away and his eyes grew wide as he took in the swords and magic aimed at him.
"Go get Cullen," Astlyr heard Cassandra order one of the healers.
"Who-"Astlyr was having trouble forming words. Her thoughts seemed to have been locked down, as well as all her energy stolen, by the elf on the bed. He spoke again, in the garbled elvish, his lips moving quickly, his expression one of fear.
"Who the fuck are you?" Astlyr growled. Far more guttural and feral than she would have liked.
He looked back at her now, and a tear ran from his eye and down the side of his face towards his ear. "I am called...what am I called?"
"They curse me, the people," Cole was speaking. Astlyr glanced at him to see a look of intensity on his wan face. "They say I am a murderer, but I am not. I tried. I tried to help them. They asked me and I acted. I made a mistake and almost killed the world. The people use my name to curse. They spit at my image and I frighten their children. 'Eat your dinner or the wolf will get you.' 'Stay in the camp or the wolf will find you. I am alone. So utterly alone. Hollow, howling, haunted, hunted, hurting. Why?" Cole hugged himself, shoulders hunched, seeming almost to collapse in on himself. "Oh Astlyr, he is so sad," the boy's voice had a quaver to it. "And there is so much. I cannot even make him forget because there is too much!"
"My lord?" Myfanwy spoke, stepping closer. "I am here to serve you. What can I do?"
The man did not speak, but blinked at Astlyr a few times. "You are the dragon's daughter," he said after a long moment, seeming to have come to some kind of conclusion. "I remember you."
"The who now?" Varric asked, eyebrow raised.
"I'm Astlyr," the qunari said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could. Trying to sound less dangerous than the last time she had spoken. She was still feeling annoyed at having so much of her energy stolen.
"Astlyr. Yes. Astlyr Adaar. Your name means...strong weapon." he said, still thoughtful. His eyes looked less focused.
"If you say so," Astlyr sighed, sitting back on her heels. "But who are you?"
"I am..." the man hesitated again, his brow furrowed, "I am called Daveth. No. I was called Daveth. And I think...was I flying at one point?"
Astlyr almost chuckled. Now he was beginning to sound like Solas in more than just voice. "You inhabited a dead bird."
"Interesting," the man exhaled.
Astlyr raised her good arm, signaling the guards and mages to lower their weapons, though most did not sheath their blades.
"Would anyone like to explain why he sounds like Chuckles?" Varric asked.
"I know you, child of the Stone," the man met Varric's eyes. He looked around again, taking in the other faces, "and you," his gaze held Cassandra's for a long moment.
"Do you?" the woman asked. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, obviously ignoring any pain she must have been in.
"Are you a spirit?" asked Dorian, curiously.
"I do not believe so," the man began to move carefully. The guards aimed weapons at him again, and Astlyr let them. The elf pushed himself clumsily upright to lean against the headboard of the bed. That accomplished he spent a moment breathing heavily, as though the action was extremely wearying. "There is no need for all of these weapons," he said between panting breaths. "I intend you no harm."
"Forgive us if we don't feel reassured," Dorian said, eyebrow raised.
"My lord," Myfanwy tried again, this time sitting at the end of the bed, "is there anything that you need?"
"Food?" The man said, his expression hopeful.
"He's awake?" Cullen strode into the room and took in the scene.
"Awake and strange," said Varric, folding his arms.
"Why is Astlyr on the floor?" the commander asked urgently.
"Don't worry, Cullen" Cassandra stopped him with her words as he strode purposefully towards the qunari. "We'll sort that out in a moment. Right now she seems to be communing with...whoever this is."
"Alright," with an effort Astlyr pulled herself up to sit on the bed before Cullen could grow more concerned. The elf pulled his legs out of her way. "Are you a god or aren't you? We were told that you might be the elven god Fen'Harel. Is this true?"
"Like he would tell us the truth," she heard Varric grumble from behind her.
"I am the one called Fen'Harel," the man admitted, though his expression was uncertain. "Perhaps I was not supposed to tell you that. The last time you saw me, you called me Solas because that was the name of the body I inhabited. Would you like to call me Daveth now?"
Astlyr was struck speechless for a long moment. As was everyone else, judging by the silence that reigned in the infirmary. "What?" Astlyr's question was more of an exhalation of breath than anything.
The elf seemed confused, "would you like to call me Daveth?"
"No," Astlyr waved away his words like a pesky gnat, "what did you say about Solas?"
"I was called Solas. Did you call me Solas? It sounds right when you say it, so you must have," he shook his head slightly, and his dark curls fell in his eyes. He blinked, "Hair. It has been a long time."
"No," Astlyr felt her lip curl. "You're not Solas. I saw Solas while you were here, laying in that bed and taking up space. What are you?" her voice was rising again, sounding more angry. "Are you able to take thoughts from my mind? Memories? Because I have encountered demons like you before and they didn't last long."
Cole stepped forward slightly, hand pressed to his chest, a tense look in his eyes. "I don't think he is a demon. Demons feel empty. They have nothing left inside them but shadow. He is full of memories. Of sadness. He doesn't sing thoughts like death. Demons don't know any other song."
"Oh well, if he doesn't feel demon-y," Varric snarked.
"Hush," Astlyr's order was firmer than she intended, though it had the desired effect. "I know you cannot be Solas, because I saw Solas. I cannot be certain that you are a god either. What the hell am I supposed to do with you?"
The elven man seemed to consider her for a long moment. "Dream," he said, finally.
"What?" Cullen leaned forward as though he had heard incorrectly.
Myfanwy broke through the confused moment to hand 'Fen'Harel' a piece of bread from the basket that the kitchen always sent up for those in the infirmary. The man took and and bit greedily, though he kept his eyes focused on Astlyr's. She found it difficult to continue to meet his gaze. It was alarming how much she felt that she knew those eyes.
Audra the healer stepped forward, almost timidly, which was rare for her. "May I examine him?" she asked.
Astlyr moved slightly, and with some difficulty, to make room. The woman felt the elf's pulse and checked his eyes. She even had him open his mouth so she could look at his throat. Satisfied, she stood back. "As I would have suspected. He's a bit dehydrated and under nourished, but well enough."
The elf polished off the bread Myfanwy had given him and looked eager for more. Myfanwy handed him a cup of water next, which he drank all at once, leaving some dripping down his chin.
"Alright, as you can see, we mean you no harm. In fact, quite the opposite," Astlyr said, beginning to feel a little calmer herself. Not many demons she had seen could remain as passive as this man when surrounded by so many weapons, but then again perhaps they were merely under its thrall.
"I do not think it is a demon," Cole reassured her, having obviously sensed her continued concerns on the subject.
"I can believe you are a spirit," Astlyr pressed on. "We welcome friendly spirits," she gestured towards Cole. "I may even be convinced that you are a god...or at least believe yourself to be one. I've met a few of those too. I even met a woman claiming my be Mythal, which I am told is another eleven deity," she glanced at Myfanwy for confirmation. "Where I begin to have trouble is when you also claim to be a friend of mine, whom I recently saw with my own eyes."
The supposed Fen'Harel sighed deeply. "Yes. Mythal. We will speak of her later. But please, believe that I am your friend, Astlyr. The name Solas was the name of the man whose body I inhabited. Just as I inhabit the one called Daveth now. It is very confusing, I understand, which I why I do not tell people of it. This situation necessitates me to reveal far more than I would like." He was becoming more confident with his speech, Astlyr noticed. The confused expression was fading from his face. "If you would dream, I could meet you and explain in a far more satisfying way."
"Dream?" Astlyr rasied an eyebrow. "You mean go into the Fade?"
"Yes," the man dipped his head in a gesture that reminded Astlyr of an animal.
"Oh, I really don't think so," Dorian spoke up. "If this person is a demon the Fade is the perfect place to trap and kill you. He's asking you to serve yourself to him on a platter."
"That will not being happening," Cullen put in, his eyes steely.
"You do not trust me. I understand," said the man, not lowering his eyes. "It is the best way."
"Dorian, could you wake me magically if needed?" Astlyr turned to her friend.
Everyone in the room, including the guards, scoffed vocally. "You can't be serious, Kadan," Iron Bull's voice was the loudest.
"I am," she felt the fingers of her good hand tighten into a fist. "Cole, you can keep an eye on my emotional state while I sleep and Dorian, you can wake me up if Cole says so."
"And if the demon, which we can already gather is highly manipulative, convinces you to be happy about having your soul eaten?" Dorian folded his arms. "No. I won't allow you to do this."
"Dorian," she turned fully around to face her friend. He was standing beside his bed, hand clasped over the wound in his side. A healer hovered nearby but seemed afraid to try to make him sit. Astlyr met his dark eyes. "I am going to fall asleep sometime and when I do I suspect he will be able to find me there. We may as well do it this way, with many precautions in place."
"Perhaps we should fetch Morrigan. Or Vivienne," Audra said, uncertainly. "Perhaps their magics..."
Dorian bristled, "My magic would do as well, or better, than theirs. Besides, you know that Vivienne would have you declared insane for even considering this, and petition to remove you from the status of Inquisitor. I'm half way there myself."
"Perhaps Morrigan would know more about this elven god business," Cassandra pointed out.
Astlyr chewed her lip. She was hurting her friends and she hated it. She turned to Cole, who was standing in the shadows, his whole body tense. "What do you think, Cole?"
"Not a demon," Cole shook his head, but he kept his face turned down, obscured by his hat. "Demons chafe when they meet me. He has not had any dark thoughts of me. His pain is older. Broader and bigger. He is very old, but not a demon. No. I don't think so."
"Would you watch over my thoughts and emotions while I dream with him?" Astlyr asked, wishing he would meet her eyes.
"It is dangerous to walk in dreams, Astlyr," he said. "But I could follow you."
"You...of course," she snapped his fingers and winced, "Right! As a spirit you could follow me into the Fade to see."
"Yes."
"Will you?"
"Yes." Cole's shoulders did not lose any of their tension,
"What about it?" she asked her friends. "What if Cole dreams with us?"
"I'm just going on record as saying this is an extremely bad idea," said Dorian, easing himself down to sit on his bed again.
"But you'll help?" Astlyr asked, standing slowly. She found that some of her strength had returned and she was able to cross to her friend and sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
"If you're determined to do this, I of course I'll help," he sighed, leaning against her. "I won't like it, but I won't abandon you to the Fade with a potential demon and only little Cole for protection."
Cole did not seem insulted by this, though very little seemed to bother him in that way. Instead he stood quietly, touching the amulet he wore which prevented him from being corrupted by man or demon.
"You really want to do this?" Cassandra asked, dark eyes showing her concern.
"Want to? No," Astlyr admitted, "but I feel that I should. We need to get to the bottom of this demon or god issue. If he does turn out to be evil, well, we'll do our best to fight it, as we always have."
Varric shook his head, "sometimes I think you're more than a little insane, Pointy."
Astlyr chuckled, "Bull?" she asked, meeting her lover's gaze.
He heaved a sigh which made him wince, "I really don't like the idea of you going in there. I hate the Fade and I haven't kept that a secret, but if anyone can handle It, it's you. You've been in there in the flesh a couple of times, how bad can dreaming there be?"
"Bad," Cullen said, his voice low. He wouldn't look at Astlyr.
"Alright," Astlyr sighed and glanced at the elf on the bed. He was watching her with bright eyes which seemed to see deeply into her mind. She wished that he would stop. "We'll try this dreaming thing. One sign of trouble, you should know that my people will kill us both, without hesitation." This was a lie and she knew it. Certainly they would not hesitate to murder the elf should he show any signs of demon behavior, but she knew they would be slower to kill her. She tried not to think about it.
Astlyr stood and moved back towards her own bed. Cullen crossed to her with quick steps, grasping her upper arm a bit too hard. He leaned into her, whispering fiercely, "Astlyr, don't do this. You have no idea what demons can do. What you might be dealing with."
"I've faced demons before. I've been in the Fade in person twice," she felt a cold bitterness rise in her throat, "can you say the same?"
"I cannot," he hissed, his fingers digging into the hard muscle of her bicep. At least he was holding her good arm, she thought wryly. "But I have dealt with demons, and you know that, and it almost...it almost broke my mind. You're strong Astlyr, but if you go into a demon's realm it could destroy your mind, not your body."
Astlyr reached up and loosened his fingers from her arm with a grimace. "Your point is taken, Cullen, but I have to try this."
"Find another way," he snarled. She had not seen him like this since she spoken to him of his lyrium addiction months before.
She felt the urge to push him away from herself, but she managed to restrain her temper. She didn't have the energy to fight with her dear friend in that moment. "We can discuss my stupidity when I wake up," she said, keeping her voice low, her words for him alone. "You can berate me to your heart's content. But right now, I need to find out. If I don't, we'll be treading in a dark room forever, never certain if our next step will be onto a blade."
Cullen said nothing, but dropped his hand from her arm. His gold flecked, hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers then moved to examine the floor as he stepped back from her. For the briefest moment she felt abandoned. Like a boat set adrift. She shook off the feeling with annoyance and lay down on her infirmary bed.
Cole walked over and climbed onto the bed as well, sitting cross legged at the foot, the small of his back against the low footboard. He folded his hands in his lap, watching her from beneath his hat rim. She knew he had sensed every negative emotion flooding from Cullen and herself, and was grateful to him for saying nothing. She knew that it could be difficult for him not to express what he could sense strongly. He must have detected her gratitude because the quickest of smiles quirked one corner of his mouth before vanishing like a moth on a breeze.
"Alright," Astlyr arranged herself comfortably, "How do we do this? I just go to sleep and I'm in the Fade?" She knew that the Fade was where she had been spending many of her nights of late.
"I believe so," said the self proclaimed Dread Wolf.
Cole merely closed his eyes, his face becoming passive and meditative. Astlyr shook her head, if only it was that easy for her. "Dorian, would you put a sleep spell on me?" she asked.
The other mages were already moving about at the Tevinter mage's instructions. Laying down complicated wards on the floor around her bed and that of the elf. Myfanwy and the healers stood back, looking uneasy. One of the guards was a templar, and his expression matched Cullen's in dark severity. Dorian raised an arm towards Astlyr from where he lay. "You're absolutely certain this is what you want?" he asked, hand poised to cast.
"Yes," she said, firmly.
Dorian mumbled a word, twisting his hand slightly, and a thin purple magic slithered from his fingertips. It moved across the room like smoke and settled on Astlyr's brow. It felt warm, almost pleasant. She had the briefest feeling of tumbling backwards and then she was surrounded in green. The bright, unnatural green of the Fade.
This time she seemed to be in a Fade approximation of the infirmary. There were beds, of a sort, though some were twisted and distorted. Her friends were missing from the room, and on the hearth a fire blazed an unhealthy emerald color. It alternated between burning low and bursting past the bricks to lap at the hearth. A pitcher of greenish water floated past Astlyr's head and she batted it away. She looked down at herself. She was wearing the same, unusual garb she always seemed to be wearing in her dreams these days. Her broken arm felt whole and strong as ever. Her leg no longer throbbed with its dull ache. She flexed her limbs and smiled.
Across from her, already up and moving around, was Cole. She blinked. The boy wore a white, loose shirt and simple tan breeches. His feet were bare. His hat was gone. He head was tilted back, as though he were enjoying the feeling of sunlight on his skin, and he looked healthy. More so than she had ever seen him. His usual deathly pallor was gone from his face, and the dark circles had vanished from under his eyes as though they had never been. There was a rosy quality to his cheeks, and a vitality to his whole being. His hair was swept back from his eyes and glowed a startling gold. He turned to face her and smiled. The first full, real smile she had seen from him. It could light up your soul.
"Cole," she said, her voice taking on a strange echo in the Fade. "You look fantastic! How do you feel?"
"It is interesting to be back here," he said, looking at his hands. "I have not been here like this in a long time. When we went last time I had my body with me. Now, in this moment, I am only spirit."
"Well, you look great," she gave him a big smile, which he returned. Then a thought struck her with a pang of sadness, "are you meant to be here, Cole? Meant to be in the Fade?"
"I am a spirit," he shrugged, "I am not meant to be anywhere. I am different here. I am still Compassion, but here I feel less rooted. Like I could go in a million directions at once."
"Is that what you want to do?"
He turned to face her, youthful features once again startling her with their vitality, "No," he said with finality. "Here there is no Skyhold. No friends. I am a wisp. An idea. Not a person. I have little value here. I cannot help here. I merely exist here."
"Ar lasa mala revas" A new voice spoke.
Astlyr looked to see her wolf padding towards them. His bushy tail was wagging happily and his eyes were bright and merry. Was it her imagination, or did he look less skinny than before? As though some fat and muscle had found their way onto his sleek body? Cole took in the wolf, and his words, "if this is freedom, then I do not want it," the boy said, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever.
The wolf stopped before Astlyr, ears pricked forward, attentive, "greetings, my friend," he said, though he did not move his canine lips.
"You can speak now," Astlyr pointed out, "and don't think I haven't noticed whose voice you're using, Fen'Harel."
"Ah, yes," the wolf dipped his head. "Perhaps this would help," he transformed then, taking on a form she knew well, and one that made her hackles rise.
"Stop that," she snapped.
"I am sorry," Fen'Harel said. He had taken on the appearance of Solas, complete with disarming eyes and submissive posture. He even held Solas' staff the way the elven mage had always done. More as a walking stick than for use with casting magic. "Daveth's form then?" he transformed once more, now taking on the shape of Myfanwy's brother. He stood straighter, though he still leaned casually on a staff.
"How many forms do you have?" Astlyr raised an eyebrow.
"Many," Fen'Harel said, sounding sad. "But only one voice. I am sorry if hearing it is painful for you."
"It's confusing for me," Astlyr explained.
Cole strode over to stand beside Astlyr, watching quietly. She leaned down to her spirit friend, "does he seem like a demon to you?" she asked in a whisper.
Cole shook his head, his shimmering golden hair falling into his eyes at last. "I have encountered many demons and he does not feel like any of them. He also does not feel like a spirit."
"Because I am not," Fen'Harel folded his arms. "A spirit embodies one quality. One emotion. I am far more. I am a god."
Astlyr snorted, then tried to regain her composure hurriedly. "I'm sorry. As I said, I've met people claiming to be gods before. They all turned out to be wrong."
Fen'Harel did not seem offended. This was admittedly different from the other "gods" she had encountered, who seemed puffed up with self glorification and egos the size of the Frostback Mountains. "I am not a spirit, neither am I a demon. What does that leave?" the Dread Wolf asked with a tilt of his head that was decidedly animal-like.
"I am not a spirit. I am not a demon. What does that leave?" Astlyr stared down the elf.
"That is true," Fen'Harel looked down, seeming taken with a sudden melancholy. He transformed again, this time into someone Astlyr had never seen. Tall, though still clearly elvish. He was lean, sharp featured, with high cheekbones and an angular jaw. He wore garb that reminded Astlyr of what the strange elves had worn in the Temple of Mythal. He had fiery red hair which fell in messy curls, tighter than Daveth's, to his shoulders. He had a trim beard and arched brows. There were thin wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his high forehead, which looked to Astlyr as though they had been caused by laughter rather than worry. "This-" he held out his hands before him, as though seeing them anew, "was my first form. I will admit, my memories of those days are hazy and only grow more distant with each new body I take, but I can recall The People. I can recall the days of sun and plenty."
"The People?" Astlyr asked, moving about the Fade room a bit, prodding at one of the beds. It dodged out of her way. She almost laughed.
"Yes," Fen'Harel's expression became hard. "The People prospered. Or at least most of them did. Some were subjugated," his forehead creased as though he was struggling to remember something. He reached up to touch his temple with a slender, long fingered hand. He staggered, catching himself on a twisted table. "No...that's not right. Is it? I can't remember what is her and what is me. She took so much."
"What's going on?" Astlyr questioned, staying Cole with an arm as the spirit moved as if to help the 'god'.
"My memories have been damaged," he looked up at her with eyes that were still that same, penetrating blue. "I can remember some things with certainty and then they twist and fade. Ach!" he made a frustrated sound. "I was better before. I was better when I was him."
"Him who?"
"The one you called Solas."
"You claim you were Solas," she was still very dubious. "Who was he before you came along?" Astlyr tested one of the beds for flightiness before she sat down, crossing her legs and settling in for a long talk.
"Just as Daveth had a full life before me, so had the one called Solas," Fen'Harel walked over and sat on the bed facing her with deliberate motions. "I can recall him most clearly. I had no body then. I had just...I had recently woken from a slumber. Why was I asleep?" he shook his head, red hair falling over his face as he rested it in his hands. "Was I injured? I can't remember," he admitted. "When I wakened I needed a new host, but the host must be willing. I believe I was inside a rat for a while. Very obliging, rats, but short lived. Then I found Solas. A man with no people. No family. His clan had shunned him at a young age because he was different. He had greater control and understanding of the Fade than any of the mages they had seen. Of course, he grew solitary and proud, and believed himself capable of anything when it came to the Fade and spirits. He thought himself superior and he got himself into trouble because of it. He would have died in the Fade, but I found him. I explained who I was, and what I was offering. He gave his body to me."
"Just like that?" Astlyr questioned.
"Very bad things can happen in the Fade," Cole said, quietly. He was still standing beside her, watchful.
"I caught him in a moment of desperation, I will admit," Fen'Harel said, lifting his head from the cage of his long fingers and meeting Astlyr's gaze again.
"So you, the wolf god of the elves, woke up from some kind of slumber and found yourself a body, which was Solas?" Astlyr clarified, eyebrow raised.
"Yes."
"If I believe your story, and I'm not claiming I do," Astlyr pondered, "does that mean all this time I was friends with a god?"
"And still are, I hope," he said. His expression so open and genuine that she believed this at least. "Even gods need friends."
Astlyr folded her arms, still exceedingly dubious. "Well, Fen'Harel, how is it you are you here, and in the body of Myfanwy's brother, when I saw Solas about a week ago, very much alive?"
"Because of Mythal," Fen'Harel said, his voice pained. "I will tell you of her in a moment. I wish to explain about Solas."
"Alright," Astlyr sighed. She was growing more and more certain that the man before her was not a demon, but she still had no idea what he truly was. She was uncertain about his claims to godhood, but she kept that to herself.
"After I woke and found my way to Solas, I traveled the world for some time. Seeking...seeking others of my kind, and seeking the foci."
"Foci?"
"Each elvhen god has an item of power. A foci," Fen'Harel tented his fingers, resting his arms on his knees. "I was searching for them, and was lucky enough to find one. But I could not use it. I was too weakened after my slumber. And then...then I was foolish. I met a being I thought I could control. I though his will weak, and his mind even weaker. He could use the foci where I could not, and he would do as I bid him."
"Coryphius," said Cole. Astlyr glanced sideways at her spirit friend. He was listening intently, but there was an expression on his face that had not been there moments before. Something searching as he watched the god speak. His eyes flicked down to meet Astlyr's and he gave her a nod to show that he was alright to continue, though she could not help but wonder what had put such a piercing look into his eyes.
"Yes," Fen'Harel sighed, his thin lips tightened into a hard, pale line. "But, as you may have guessed, he would not obey me. Instead he had his own plans for the orb. He intended to use it to open the Fade and enter in the flesh. To reach the black city and take power," the wolf god rolled his eyes. "This was nonsense, but I could not make him believe me."
"What about this?" Astlyr raised her left hand. The mark on it was clear, even more-so in the Fade.
Fen'Harel's eyes grew wide, hungry. Then he shook his head, looking away. "He wished to use the anchor to ensure his safety in the Fade. He wanted to use it to stabilize the tear, and to mollify the spirits he might encounter."
"It can calm spirits?" Astlyr looked down at her hand.
"If used correctly, yes," Fen'Harel nodded. "Of course, he had no idea how to use it, just as you have," he gave her a pained smile.
"I'm learning," Astlyr grinned back, with more than a little sassiness. "but what is the anchor? Can you tell me? No one seem certain, though Sol—Mythal," she corrected herself, "seemed to know more about it than I do. Granted, that is not difficult."
"Coryphius was greedy," Fen'Harel explained. "He wanted the anchor to use with his new toy, the orb. He tried to gain it for himself, but the anchor cannot be taken. It can only be given, and she gave it to you."
"She?" Astlyr tilted her head, confused. "I thought the orb gave me the anchor. My memories of that day are still so hazy and incomplete. I remember picking up the orb and feeling pain in my hand. I thought-"
"No," Fen'Harel interrupted her. "The orb was merely reacting to you as an unworthy handler.
"Oh, wonderful," she snarked. "Even inanimate objects think me unworthy."
A quick smile flashed on Fen'Harel's lips as he pressed on. "No. You were made worthy when the woman called the Divine Justinia bestowed the anchor unto you."
"She did what?"
"Very few knew of the Divine's marked palm. She kept it well concealed. Fewer still know how she came by the anchor in the first place, and it is not my tale to tell. When you came to her aid and she knew she would perish, she gave the mark to you, freely. Coryphius meant to rip it from her with a blood ritual, but that would not have succeeded. In fact, the anchor might have been destroyed, had you not intervened." He shook his head wearily, raking a hand through his hair. "I was an idiot to give Coryphius the orb, and I paid he price. It was ruined forever."
"And it was your foci?" Astlyr asked, brows coming together.
"The orb of destruction?" he laughed, a bark of a sound which made Astlyr jump. "No. It belonged to another."
"Who's was it then? I gather it is not Mythal's or you could have given it to her as soon as you got a hold of it."
"That is not important now," he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "The orb was destroyed and I knew I must repair what I had done. So I ensured that I became part of the Inquisition. I did not imagine I would become true friends with the woman who bore the anchor. That was a pleasant surprise," he looked up at her with that same, genuine expression as before. "Once we had repaired the damage that I had wrought with my folly I knew I must face my goddess. Mythal called to me, so I went. She took my body, the powers I had gained and mastered within it, much of my energy, and she left me. I suspect she thought I would remain, a shadow of what I was, unable to do anything."
"Instead you found a dead bird?" Astlyr raised an eyebrow.
"Instead I brought a dead bird."
"What?"
There was a cunning expression on his face now. More wolfish than before, she thought. His eyes glittered. "I knew I must be punished and I suspected what she would do to me. I never go into any situation without a plan if I can help it. I was ready," he let his shoulders slump again. "I was ready for death too. But gods cannot die. I placed a small part of myself into the bird." he looked at his hands in his lap. "When she took my body her power was so consuming. Like fire eating me away leaving only ash. I almost forgot myself entirely. The pain was...almost more than I could endure.."
"You remember the pain, even though you placed part of yourself in the bird?" Astlyr questioned.
"Unfortunately, yes," he said, his expression baleful. "There was not much left of me, and even fewer memories, but one did come to me through the fog of agony. A woman who stepped out of the Fade. A green mark upon her hand."
"You knew Astlyr would help you," said Cole, nodding as though this was an obvious certainty. His searching expression momentarily vanished, replaced with an openness Astlyr had never seen before.
"I hoped," Fen'Harel admitted, looking up with his eyes through thick lashes, reminding Astlyr again of her old hound Dash, when he wanted a treat. She had to bite back a chuckle of mirth at the thought.
"So you found me and we did exactly what you wanted. But I saw Solas...was that?" Astlyr was still confused.
"Mythal. Yes. That is likely." Fen'Harel nodded.
"Maker's sainted trousers," he mumbled, "I meet entirely too many old gods for my liking. She seemed a prickly person when I first met her. And she stole your body as punishment for your failure with the orb? I suppose that explains why she needed me..."
"Needed you?" Fen'Harel's head shot up, his expression sharp.
Astlyr gave him a brief account of her time with the man she had thought was Solas. Fen'Harel sat forward. His muscles tensed. "So..." he said quietly, almost to himself. "She found another way.
But in the end, you defeated the creature you faced?" He asked, brows raised. His hands were gripped in his lap and even in the Fade they had grown white with being clasped so tightly.
"It seemed like I did," Astlyr shrugged, "I passed out, but the last I saw of him he was being slammed against a wall pretty hard. None of us died after I blacked out, so I assumed we won."
"But you didn't see his body?" Fen'Harel pressed.
"No. I didn't wake again until a few days ago in Skyhold."
The elf seemed to consider this for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, though she suspected she could ask Cole for details. The spirit boy had been standing quietly, hands clasped behind his back as he listened. He seemed at ease again.
"You used your anchor to free him," Fen'Harel rubbed his beard having finally stopping wringing his hands bloodless. "Interesting. I did not suspect that this could happen. I suppose I should have. Was there a time when I knew all the anchor's uses? Perhaps. It is not elvish." he seemed to be speaking to himself now.
"So the anchor is a power source?" Astlyr questioned.
"Not precisely," Fen'Harel was looking tired. "It is far more complicated than that. I suspect that what the anchor can do may depend on its wielder. You are powerful, so perhaps, for you, it brings power."
"Like being a mage?" she asked, though she knew the answer.
"No," Fen'Harel gave her a wan smile.
"I thought not," she held up her hand to squint at the mark, "I can't seem to make it work when I want it to either. Perhaps with practice...if I can figure out how to practice something that is like magic, but not magic."
Cole touched her shoulder lightly. She was surprised that his hand felt warm rather than icy. "Dorian is getting very worried," he whispered to her.
"Dangerous worried?" she asked.
"Yes," Cole nodded.
"Alright. It seems it is time we wake up before my mage kills us both," she said. She looked back at the man sitting across from her. "I'm still not certain what to think of you, or what to believe. I'm ready to believe you're not a demon. I have no idea if you mean us harm or not. I have no proof other than your word and some oddly specific knowledge you have that you were ever Solas."
"Is there anything I can do to reassure you before we go?" Fen'Harel asked.
Astlyr pondered for a moment, then a smile quirked her lips, "how do you feel about tea?" she asked.
He grinned at her, his eyes sparking. "I hate it."
*******Whoa. Snap! What will happen next?! Oh yes, this story is FAAAARRRR from over. The irons are only approaching the fire at this point!
Hopefully the tweaks I made to the lore added, rather than detracted from the story, and your experience. I agonized over them all, and believe that they could have indeed been part of the games (though probably weren't lol) You never know!
Random tid-bit: Astlyr's first name is Norse and it actually means "Divine Strength" and Iron Bull told her at one point in game that "Adaar: meant weapon. Thus: strong weapon. ;) Yup.
10 points to whoever can guess who original Fen'Harel's appearance is based on!*****