When the Inquisitor's party rode into the war camp the army had already been there for a full day - scouts longer than that – hounding Corypheus' forces to prevent the creature from reaching his goal. Pulling his mount to a stop, Aldaron let his gaze sweep over the camp, taking in the rows of tents squeezed between trees on any level ground. Although he'd been receiving as much information as was possible to send by raven in the past several days, it was impossible to fully understand what was happening without seeing it himself. He could already hear fighting in the distance. "Bull," the Inquisitor ordered without taking his eyes off the bustling camp. "Find the rest of the Chargers, I want you with them; wherever the Commander needs you."
"Sure thing, Boss," the mercenary agreed easily and peeled off to go find the rest of his crew. Aldaron barely spared him a glance.
"Varric," the Inquisitor continued. The dwarf had been off his mount the moment they stopped, always happier on solid ground even if he put up with riding for the sake of not being left behind. "See if you can find Cassandra or Solas and send them my way."
"My two favorite people," Varric groused good-naturedly. He ducked a small mock bow to the Inquisitor before heading off into the camp.
"Dorian," Aldaron went on, but he never got a chance to finish the thought.
"Don't even think about leaving me behind, amatus," the man said with a frown, "I won't have it."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Aldaron's lips, the faintest break in his professional façade before he managed to suppress it. As though he would consider sending Dorian from his side. The very idea was laughable. "I was going to say: we should probably restock on potions before we head into the woods. Do you think you could handle that while I find out the situation?"
"Ah," Dorian replied, and maybe even looked a little embarrassed. "Yes, I think I can find an apothecary or a healer in all this mess." He dismounted his horse and handed the reigns over to a waiting soldier.
Aldaron dug a few empty bottles from his saddlebag and handed them down to Dorian. "Try not to take too long. There's a war on."
"Really? I hadn't noticed," Dorian chuckled as he took the bottles. "You'll hardly notice I was gone," he promised before heading off between the tents on his errand.
As Aldaron swung down from his mount at long last a soldier in Inquisition regalia approached and hailed him. "Report," the Inquisitor snapped curtly. "How goes the battle, captain?" He handed his hart off to another waiting soldier and headed off into the camp proper, trusting the captain to follow him. It was so easy now to switch into the persona of a confident and competent leader, to be The Inquisitor that the world wanted. So easy that sometimes he wondered if it was still just an act.
"The red templars fall beneath our blades, Your Worship," the Captain reported, easily falling into step beside the Inquisitor. "Commander Cullen says they're nearly finished." So it seemed he had missed most of the fighting, but he couldn't really complain. "Our scouts saw Corypheus traveling toward and elven ruin to the north. We can clear you a path through his armies."
Aldaron nodded in understanding. None of that was surprising. In fact it was exactly what they'd been expecting. "Do only what you must," he said. "We don't need to take down the entire army here, we only need to stop him from reaching that temple."
"We shall not flinch, Your Worship! Not a one of us," she clapped a hand to her heart in salute and gave the Inquisitor a short bow. "Andraste guide you."
Aldaron returned the bow slightly and watched the soldier head back to her duties. He kept thinking a thousand things at once. Everything that might be awaiting him in the woods. Templars, battles, potentially Corypheus himself. And elven ruins untouched by human hands. He felt a strange mixture of apprehension, terror, and excitement.
"I wonder," a voice pulled Aldaron out of his thoughts and he turned to see Morrigan, the advisor Empress Celene had foisted upon him. He didn't like her much, or trust her. Something about her manner of speech made him feel like she was only ever said half of what she meant. "Is it Andraste your soldiers invoke during battle, or does a more immediate name come to their lips?"
She meant him. Aldaron frowned. He was well aware how many people considered him some sort of prophet, but that didn't make it true. And he didn't like to be reminded of it. "Get to the point. We're in the middle of a war, Morrigan. Time is short." Perhaps he was a bit more curt than was necessary, but this wasn't the time to be talking in circles.
"If your scouts report accurately, I believe these ruins to be the Temple of Mythal," the woman continued. Aldaron was suddenly much more interested. "A place of worship out of elven legend. If Corypheus seeks it, then the eluvian he covets lies within."
A temple of Mythal. Eagerness welled up inside him, completely out of place for the situation. He wasn't here to sate his own curiosity. On the other hand, if there was a chance to learn anything from these ruins he would leap upon it. Behind him an explosion went off in the distant forest, pulling his attention back to the present once more.
"Let us hope we reach this temple before the entire forest is reduced to ash," Morrigan muttered, and for once Aldaron agreed with her.
Turning away from the witch, Aldaron cast his gaze over the camp again. Although he had just arrived, he wanted to leave again soon. There was no time to waste. "Solas," he called out, spotting the elven mage heading toward them and going to meet him. "Have you heard the scouting reports? Morrigan believes Corypheus is heading toward a temple of Mythal."
"I have," Solas confirmed. "And I would have to agree with her. The ruins are large. This would have been a place of great importance to the ancient elves."
All the more reason to get there before Corypheus could tear it to pieces in search of the eluvian. "Then we need to get moving," the Inquisitor said. Even though he had just been on the road for several days, even though the wound on his side still twinged from time to time, he was eager to press on. He only had to wait for Dorian to get back, and for Cassandra to appear. He was hesitant to bring someone of Cassandra's devout faith to an elven temple, but if they were fighting through an army of templars to get there he would need her skills and expertise.
They did not wait long. Cassandra appeared shortly and Dorian returned only a moment later, handing the Inquisitor a fresh batch of potions. Aldaron explained the situation to them briefly as he slid the little bottles into the pouches on his belt and checked his daggers once out of habit before they headed into the woods and into battle.
The only other major battle Aldaron had ever been in was the siege of Adamant Fortress. That had been all smoke and confusion, too many people in too small a space. This was very different. Here the fighting was spread out far and wide among the trees; small skirmishes that were no less chaotic than any battle but left more time to breath. He hated fighting templars, though. He hated fighting anyone in heavy armor. It was awkward, harder to get a knife into the seams at the neck or shoulder or knees. And all that red lyrium made him afraid to get too close, afraid to touch.
Taking a swipe at the back of a knee, Aldaron ducked under the arm of a templar nearly twice his size and suddenly came face to face with an elf. He was so startled that for a moment he froze. The split second of confusion almost earned him a knife in the ribs, but he managed to dodge out of the way just in time. The elf practically snarled at him, vallaslin twisting on his face, and aimed another strike at Aldaron's vitals. The Inquisitor moved on instinct, blocking the blow with his own blades and leaping back out of reach of the strange elf. With his quarry now aware of him, the other elf leapt back as well, then turned and fled into the trees.
Aldaron had a thousand questions swirling in his mind, but no time to consider any of them as he was pulled back into the chaos of battle. When the skirmish was ended and his enemies lay dead or dying on the ground Aldaron spotted among them an elf in armor like the one that had attacked him. Unable to contain his curiosity, he walked over and looked down at the body. The armor was finely crafted, but unlike any Aldaron had seen on elves or humans. "Who are these elves?" he asked, crouching to examine the corpse more closely. Both this one and the one that had attacked him bore vallaslin, but everything else about them was foreign. "They don't look Dalish, and I've never heard of any clans this far into the wilds."
"It seems this Temple of Mythal is not deserted after all," Solas commented. Could there be elves out here? A clan so isolated and so well hidden that all others had forgotten about them?
"Perhaps these creatures are the reason so few return from the Arbor Wilds," Morrigan mused.
Aldaron felt a frown pull at his lips. 'Creatures' she called them. Like animals. He stood up again abruptly, "We need to keep moving." They still had a mission, and perhaps at the temple they would find some answers about these strange elves.
Following the sounds of battle lead them further into the woods, passing by both Inquisition and Orlesian troops engaged with the red templars and even more of those elves. Who were they? And why were they attacking? It didn't escape his notice that they favored no side, attacking both templar and Inquisition soldiers without hesitation. But why? Any Dalish clan Aldaron had ever known would have avoided a battle of this size, would have retreated further into the woods and hidden until the humans were gone. Clearly these were no Dalish elves, but then who were they?
The path they followed through the woods – one cut by battle rather than by nature – ended at a wide clearing, and there through the trees Aldaron first set eyes on the temple. A massive façade emerging from the foliage, half overgrown but still easily visible and still impressive.
Here they found Cullen with a party of soldiers, holding the front lines against any templars that managed to make it this far. Corypheus was already in the temple, he reported. Aldaron's heart thundered in his chest and he clenched his teeth as he fought to stay calm. He ordered Cullen to keep holding the line, to keep anyone from following them in, and headed with trepidation toward the temple.
He raced down the corridor and out into the open once more, then skidded to a stop, fear striking through him as he set eyes on the scene before him. The corridor had led them out onto a dais, and in the courtyard below stood Corypheus, surrounded by his templars and a handful of Grey Wardens. For a moment Aldaron stood frozen, until he felt a hand on his shoulder, shoving him down below the dais' railing for the little cover it would provide. Aldaron had not laid eyes on Corypheus since the attack on Haven, and seeing the twisted creature again now brought back the same terror he'd felt then.
Before the darkspawn and his forces stood more of those elves. They stood defensive on a bridge that lead toward what must be the main temple. When they spoke Aldaron could barely make out the words, and watched with mounting horror as Corypheus advanced upon them. "They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows," the creature spoke.
Well of Sorrows? Aldaron had never heard of such a thing, and cast a confused glance toward Morrigan, who only shrugged in response. Why was he not surprised.
Below, Corypheus continued to advance. Two statues on either side of the bridge began to glow with some ancient magic Aldaron could not begin to fathom. The elves did not run, even as Corypheus reached out for them. Then the magic in those statues exploded in a shockwave so powerful Aldaron was nearly knocked off his feet. When he looked again there was nothing where Corypheus had stood, only black scorch marks on the stones.
Dead.
After so much time and effort, after everything Aldaron had been through, it was so anticlimactic. So disappointing. And yet Corypheus' soldiers ran on toward the temple as though their leader, their would-be god, had not just been killed before their very eyes. Something was wrong. Cautiously Aldaron rose to his feet. He cast a look at his companions, who all looked as stunned and confused as he felt. They made their way slowly down toward the bridge, stepping over the bodies of fallen templars and elves. All those well enough had fled across the bridge, but one Grey Warden remained. Injured in the blast, Aldaron assumed until the man began to gag and twitch, his flesh to tear and stretch as black ichor poured from his mouth and then—
"It cannot be," Morrigan breathed in horror.
Aldaron could barely comprehend what he was seeing, but every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run and he did not have the strength of will to argue. "Across the bridge. Now!" It was the only thing he could think of, to flee into the temple where maybe they might be safe for a time, where they could hide until they came up with a plan.
How do you kill something that cannot die?
He fled across the bridge along with the others as fast as his legs would carry him, and then straining faster as he heard the unmistakable roar of a dragon not far behind. The doors to the temple were already halfway closed when he slipped through them, but they were massive and heavy. Aldaron pressed his shoulder against one, leaned his entire rather insignificant bodyweight against it and pushed with all his might until the doors slammed closed just in time to block the searing heat of dragon fire. Then he stumbled back, mind still struggling to understand what had happened, tripped over his own feet and sat down heavily on the floor.
"Inquisitor!" he heard Cassandra call out in alarm, and Dorian was suddenly by his side.
"I'm alright," he assured them quickly, still breathing heavily from their sprint across the bridge and the struggle to get that door closed in time. He just needed a moment to collect himself, to push down the fear and let the adrenaline wear off. "I just… How did he…? We saw him die."
"And his essence passes on to any blighted creature, darkspawn or Grey Warden," Morrigan explained. How did she seem so calm even after all that?
"Then Corypheus can't really die," Dorian breathed. He sounded simultaneously fascinated and terrified. Of course he would be fascinated by magic like that, but Aldaron couldn't bring himself to be impressed.
"Tis strange," Morrigan mused, "Archdemons posses the same ability, and yet Grey Wardens are able to slay them. And yet Corypheus they locked away. Perhaps they knew he could do this… but not how."
Not a terribly comforting thought. But there had to be some way to kill him, didn't there? Nothing could be truly immortal, could it? Aldaron swallowed down his panic as his breathing returned to normal. "We'll find a way to stop him once we're done here," the Inquisitor said, pushing himself back to his feet once more.
"Indeed," Morrigan agreed, "Let us proceed before Corypheus interferes."
Who knew how long that door would hold. They needed to stop Corypheus' forces from reaching the eluvian. Although now Aldaron was not certain that was what the darkspawn was after in the first place.
"You said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he mentioned a 'Well of Sorrows'. Which is right?" Cassandra asked before Aldaron had a chance to voice the question himself.
Morrigan seemed to hesitate. "I… am uncertain of what he referred to," the witch admitted after a long pause.
Of course she didn't. For all her claimed expertise on elven history and magic, she had no idea what she was talking about. Should he have ever expected better from a shemlen? They always presumed to know more than they could. "You were guessing," Aldaron accused. "Corypheus might not be after this eluvian. It might not even be here." And now they had no idea what they were searching for.
"Yes, I was wrong! Does that please you?" The woman snapped back.
It did. Seeing a human as arrogant as her proved wrong pleased him more than he was willing to admit. With a scoff Aldaron turned away. "Let's find this well before Corypheus' people do," he said. They were already at a disadvantage, they couldn't waste any more time arguing.
The temple's entrance opened onto a wide courtyard. It was beautiful, Aldaron thought. The structure crumbling with time, but overgrown by the forest that surrounded it. The grasses that grew up between the cracks in the floor and the vines that twined across ancient mosaics made the place even more stunning than any palace or cathedral Aldaron had seen. At the far side of the courtyard wide stairs led up to a door flanked by two massive statues, statues that Aldaron recognized immediately. Mythal. This was her temple after all. He wished he could spend days or weeks or months here, exploring every dark corner and finding every secret this temple had to give. But there was not time for that, they were on a mission.
In the center of the courtyard stood a raised platform. Aldaron knew, logically, that they should head straight into the temple, where no doubt the templars were already tearing the place to pieces. And yet he could not help himself as his curiosity drew him closer. He had seen elven ruins before, plenty of them, but he had never seen any so large and so untouched. There were stairs on one side of the platform, and on the altar in the center he could see writing. Curious, he drew closer. As soon as he set foot on the platform the tiles beneath his feet began to glow. It startled him and froze him in place. This was magic, clearly, but was it safe?
"It appears the temple's magicks are still strong," Morrigan spoke as she stepped up beside him. She walked onto the glowing tiles with no fear, so Aldaron assumed it was safe.
Following the witch toward the altar, he leaned forward to try and see the writing through the vines that had grown over it. As expected, it was in elven. "Ancient elven. I can't make out much," he observed, not about to admit that he couldn't read the language of his people. But these days that knowledge was relegated to Keepers and their Firsts. There was no need for anyone else to read elvhen.
" 'Atish'all Vir Abelasan'," Solas read from behind him. He had approached the platform as well, but notably did not set foot on the glowing tiles. "It means 'Enter the path of the Well of Sorrows'."
That was promising. They were definitely on the right track, then. And perhaps this altar could tell them something more about this Well. Aldaron looked between Solas and Morrigan hopefully. Surely between the two of them they could translate the inscription. But Aldaron was disappointed.
"There is something about knowledge," Morrigan said thoughtfully, leaning forward to look closer at the words, "Respectful or pure. Shiven, shivennen…" she mumbled to herself and paused, frowning. "Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen."
Of course she couldn't read it. Once more, Morrigan proved to be less knowledgeable about elves than she had claimed, and more useless in this endeavor. He was no longer surprised. "Vague translations of 'knowledge' and 'sorrow' don't fill me with confidence," he muttered.
Morrigan clearly did not like being doubted, and if the narrowing of her eyes was any indication she knew full well that Aldaron did not trust in her knowledge. So she was quick to try and cover up her past shortfalls with conjecture. "Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry."
From behind him he heard Cassandra complain, "Perform a ritual to appease elven gods? Long-dead or no, I don't like it."
The path here was short. It would take only a moment. What was the harm in performing one simple ritual? Cassandra didn't have to do anything, Aldaron would, and he did. He saw the path laid before him clear as day and stepped forward without hesitation. Below his feet the tiles lit up with latent magic, tracking his progress until he reached the stairs once more and the entire platform glowed. Then there was an unmistakable swell of magic, surging across the courtyard and toward the closed door at the other side, which glowed in response and then swung open. For a moment Aldaron could only stare, surprised that it had worked, and then he was moving again, past his companions and up the stairs to the door at a near run. He heard someone shout at him to slow down, to be more cautious, but he did not listen. The door was open only a fraction and he pushed it further while the others caught up
They emerged into the inner part of the temple just in time for an explosion to rock the structure, sending dust down from ancient rafters. Before them the red templars – and Samson himself, Aldaron suddenly recognized Corypheus' general – had blown a massive hole in the floor of the temple. And before he could even think about racing forward to stop them, the soldiers had disappeared down into the darkness below.
"We might catch them," Aldaron exclaimed, and raced forward.
However, before he could reach the edge Morrigan leapt in front of him and held out an arm. "Hold a moment. While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination," she said, gesturing to another door not unlike the last. "We should walk the petitioner's path, as before."
"An army fights and dies for us," Cassandra protested, "The longer we tarry, the more soldiers we loose outside. Let's jump down and be done with this place."
"Just a thought," Dorian interjected, "Maybe rushing through this place like a mad bull isn't the best plan?"
"In this case, I must agree with the witch," Solas added. "This is ancient ground, deserving of our respect."
"You see the urgency," Morrigan spoke again. "We cannot find the Well of Sorrows unprepared."
If everyone would give him a moment to speak perhaps he would have something to say about it, but Morrigan's rush made him feel unsettled. "You seem very eager to reach our destination."
"Are we not all eager to stop Corypheus from achieving his mad plan?" the woman asked in reply.
If that was all it was, then she should be insisting they follow Samson and the templars immediately, not stay and perform more rituals. "It sounds like what you want is that Well." She made no secret that she'd once sought the eluvian here herself. She seemed to covet ancient artifacts as much as Corypheus himself, and even if her intentions were good that still put Aldaron ill at ease. The eluvian she possessed she had not returned to the elves where it belonged, but selfishly kept it hidden for only her use.
The witch sighed in exasperation, then gestured for the Inquisitor to follow her as she stepped away from their other companions. Aldaron hesitated a moment before following her. "Corypheus would squander the power of the Well," she said when they were out of earshot, "I would have it restored."
"You barely know what the Well of Sorrows is, but you want to restore it?" Aldaron asked in confusion.
"Is Thedas so full of wonders that we should leave them to die one by one?" Morrigan asked. "Mankind blunders though the world, crushing what it does not understand: elves, dragons, magic… The list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing but the mundane, this I know to be true." A fine sentiment, if protection and restoration were in fact her only goals. "I read more in the first chamber than I revealed," she admitted, "It said a great boon is granted to those who use the Well of Sorrows… But at a great price."
Of course she'd been keeping things to herself. How very like a shem. "What exactly did the altar say about the Well of Sorrows?" he demanded.
"Like most elven writing it was insufferably vague. The term I deciphered was 'halam'shivanas' – 'the sweet sacrifice of duty'," the woman explained. "It implies a loss of something personal for duty's sake. Yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade."
"Is your real goal the power inside this Well?" Aldaron asked. If he had to protect this thing from both her and Corypheus he needed to know that now.
"Yes, if that is the only way to preserve it!" Morrigan said, as though that make it acceptable. More humans stealing the relics of his people and acting like it was their right. "My priority is your cause, but if the opportunity arises to save this Well, I am willing to pay the cost."
"And gain what?" Aldaron prodded. What power was in the Well? What more was she hiding from him?
"That is what we must discover. The rituals may point the way," Morrigan replied, and gestured back toward the group.
Aldaron did not trust her motives. Was she truly seeking to preserve the Well, or did she only want the power for herself. At least now he knew what to expect from her, knew that she would try to take the well when they found it. Sparing the witch one last furious glare, Aldaron turned away from her and marched back toward the others. "I'll be doing the rituals," he announced. But not because Morrigan said so.
Corypheus' forces had clearly gotten in without fulfilling the rituals, but they cared nothing for this temple or anything within except the Well of Sorrows. He did not want to follow their example. Yes, his gods were long-dead or locked away. The elven gods no longer reached out their hands to help the People, but that was never the point of his religion. They were a reminder of the old ways, an ideal to strive toward. An ideal that Aldaron sometimes struggled to remember.
He had told Dorian the stories when he explained his vallaslin. Mythal was the mother of all, the goddess of protection. She offered justice to those who came to her with a pure heart, and punishment to those who were false. She could be harsh, when necessary, but also offered mercy and kindness. Aldaron had always worn her vallaslin with pride, but had not always been able to live out the ideals it represented. There were so many he had failed to protect in the past year. The Divine. Stroud. His clan. So many innocents caught in the path of this war. Mythal could not see him walk this path, just as she could not see the vallaslin on his face, but she had also not seen his failings. He did not revere the elven gods because he desired to impress them, not like the humans and their Maker. But the elves of old had done so here in the days before the Creators disappeared. So perhaps this was where he could finally find some piece of mind. Perhaps this was where he could atone for all his failures – if only in his own mind.
And perhaps it was a waste of time. Perhaps this was not the shortcut that Morrigan hoped. But between this and desecrating sacred ground, he chose this. He spent a long moment staring at the first path, and as before saw clearly which steps to take, but before mounting the platform he stopped, seated himself on the steps, and tugged off his boots. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. "Hold these," as he rose back to his feet he thrust the boots into Dorian's arms.
"You can't be serious," the man protested, fumbling not to drop them in his surprise. "I'm not going to hold..." But Aldaron had already stepped onto the first tile, watching it light up under his feet. Dorian's protests (about the mud on the boots, Aldaron expected, or the indignity of being made to hold them) died on his lips. "At least be quick about it!"
Aldaron was. Not as quick as he could have been, probably, but there was no hesitation in his steps as he crossed the tiles and watched it wonder as the magic lit up under his feet.