Chapter 25: Mirrors and Mirrored

"This is an Eluvian."

Errol looked at it, then back at Morrigan. "So you took so long because you were transporting a giant… mirror," she said flatly.

Morrigan twisted her mouth. "It's not just a mirror. It's an elven artifact, from a time long before their empire was lost to human greed."

"Oh." Errol felt stupid. "Neat."

"Indeed." Morrigan had a way of making her feel very small with the simplest of words or gestures. "I restored this one at great cost, but another lies within the Arbor Wilds, in an untouched elven temple. That is what Corypheus seeks."

Tentatively, Errol reached out and touched the shimmering glass. It felt like cool mercury against her fingertips, like she should be able to push through it.

"It… should not be doing that," Morrigan said, sounding slightly alarmed. Errol withdrew her hand. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," Errol said, cursing inwardly. Of course some ancient elf-thing would react differently to a spirit. She tried to divert. "Can you show me what it's supposed to do?"

Morrigan frowned at her for a moment more, then abruptly turned and swept her arms upward. The glass cracked and shattered, and Errol flinched, but it simply turned to mist. In fact, once Errol lowered her arm from in front of her face, she saw that the interior of the mirror was all mist, moving in warm wet swirls across her skin.

"The more appropriate question is, where does it lead?" Morrigan said, a bit smugly. With that, she stepped through the mirror. After a brief hesitation, Errol followed.

It was almost like stepping into a warm bath. The moisture was rejuvenating, the air clean and extra oxygenated. Errol tipped her face up, smiling. "It feels wonderful in here," she purred. Around her were ancient trees, if they could be called that, branches curled into perfect circles, and hundreds, maybe thousands of mirrors, each with their own statues marking them. "What is this place?"

"If it once had a name, it has long been lost. I call it the Crossroads," Morrigan said, her voice hushed. She stared at Errol, her golden eyes catching everything. "Do you truly feel well here, Inquisitor? Most humans find themselves ill within moments of stepping through an Eluvian. It was built for the elves, after all, and does not often take kindly to other races using its pathways. It's safe enough, though there is some resistance. You, however… are flourishing. I wonder, is it perhaps the Anchor?"

"That… must be it," Errol said, looking at her hand so she wouldn't have to meet Morrigan's hawkish gaze.

"I suppose it must…" Morrigan said, though she sounded skeptical. "Or perhaps your being from another world has marked you in its own way. 'Tis a mystery."

Errol inspected a shattered Eluvian and changed the subject again. "Why do you call it the Crossroads? Do all Eluvians lead here?"

"Yes. No matter where they might be, they join here. The ancient elves left no roads, only ruins hidden in far flung corners. This is how they traveled between them. As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark: broken, corrupted, or unusable. As for the rest, a few can be opened from this side, but only a few."

"This is incredible. How did you ever find this place?"

"My travels have led me to many strange destinations. Once they led me here. It offered my son and me sanctuary."

Errol looked up from investigating a crumbling statue. "Wait, you have a kid?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Is that such a shock to you? I am a woman, after all. These things do happen."

"No, I just…" Errol floundered, then offered weakly. "You look great."

Morrigan laughed, a rich, almost wicked sound. "Not the response I was expecting, but a pleasant one nonetheless. Yes, I have a son, Kieran. I meant to bring him with me to Skyhold but certain… considerations prompted me to leave him somewhere else. He is safe without me, for now."

"Considerations?"

The witch regarded her. "You being one of them. You come from another world, wielding strange magics and stranger secrets… I felt it best to keep him out of the fray, for the moment."

Errol bit her lip to keep from frowning. Morrigan felt she had to keep her kid safe from her? It sounded ridiculous, until Errol mentally ticked off her many lies and oddities in her head. Came here through the Breach from Earth, Anchor on my hand, spirit, crazy Solas neck mark, might turn into a demon someday… maybe not terribly kid friendly. She took a deep breath and again shifted the tide of the conversation. "What kind of sanctuary can these Eluvians hold?"

"Not all the mirrors lead back to my world."

Errol's breath hitched. "Wait, what? Is it possible that there is an Eluvian that might lead to my world?"

Morrigan considered it. "Anything is possible."

Errol's excitement deflated. "Oh, but… my world doesn't have any magic."

Morrigan made a noise that was almost a laugh. "All words have magic. Some worlds just have precious little of it. It leaks in at the edges, at the thin spaces where light bleeds color."

Errol let out a long, low breath. "The Northern Lights," she murmured. "Of course."

"I do not know if a viable Eluvian to your world exists, or if it ever existed," Morrigan said. "But if we can stop Corypheus from obtaining the one in the Arbor Wilds and entering the Fade, I will certainly attempt a search, if that is what you wish."

"Thank you," Errol said. "It would mean the world to me."

"Let us move quickly then," Morrigan said, gesturing to the open Eluvian that would lead them back to Skyhold. "It is a game of speed now, one which we must win if we have any hope of saving either of our worlds. The Arbor Wilds await."

The Temple of Mythal was vast and terrible; it inspired awe even as the jungle fought to reclaim it, lush green forest tumbling through cracks in the rocks and snaking over statues like ropes, tugging an empire back to the earth.

Solas was oddly quiet as they walked. At first Errol thought that their near escape from Corypheus, and the sight of the monster jumping into a new body, had shaken him, but as Morrigan talked on and on about ancient elven myths she knew that couldn't be the case. Solas should be taking charge here, in this place - he loved to show off his knowledge, especially in front of someone like Morrigan, who he clearly considered an uncultured upstart. Errol saw him roll his eyes a few times and sigh, but he rarely jumped in to correct her, which was strange. Normally she couldn't keep him from stating his views, even when she wanted to.

She purposely fell behind the others, pretending to inspect a statue of a wolf. "What's up?" she asked in a quiet voice, lightly touching his elbow. "You're quiet."

"Perhaps this place is deserving of our respect, and thus we should not chatter so." She gave him a look and he sighed. "I don't trust Morrigan. I prefer to observe at this juncture. Whatever the Well is, she wants it for herself. Tread carefully, Inquisitor."

"What do you think the Well is?"

"Dangerous," he said shortly. "All power comes with a price. Only rarely is it worth it. We must pick when to drink deeply… and when to abstain." He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger there for a moment. "Remember that."

Then he turned and walked after the rest of the group, Errol hurrying after him, her brow furrowed.

The temple breathed secrets like air. She chose to walk the petitioner's path, despite Cassandra and Cole's protestations. It cleared her head, like each step she took solidified her, made her breathe easier. This place was the opposite of the Nightmare-controlled part of the Fade; it was infused with a subtle, gentle magic, motherly and protective. It made her feel stronger, wiser, fuller, taller, more real, but also more humble. The Fade was so close it fizzed and almost glowed on her skin.

When she finally stepped off the final lighted stone she realized that everyone was staring at her. "What?"

"Golden, glowing, a sun brought down, yes, this is what it could be, should be, will be, must be," Cole said softly, voicing another's thoughts.

"You certainly continue to be interesting, Inquisitor," Morrigan murmured.

Errol approached Cassandra, who was looking at her with a mixture of pale faced confusion and awe. "What?" she asked again.

Cassandra shook her head. "I do not know. Maybe nothing. You just looked…"

"Radiant," Solas said from behind her, and when she looked at him she had no doubts about whose thoughts Cole had voiced. "Mythal could have no better petitioner." He swept one hand forward. "Shall we proceed?"

Abelas knew. There was something about the way he looked at her, the way he chose his words carefully, eyes narrowed, his magic unfurling through the air to prod gently at her. He might not know what she was but he knew she wasn't human, wasn't elven either, wasn't mortal. She sent her magic out as well, meeting his silently, and noticed with interest how his face and build were so similar to Solas', much more so than any other male elf she'd seen. Was that it, then? Was Solas an ancient elf? It would make sense.

No, something was still off. They both withdrew their magics, the initial inspection finished, satisfied for the moment that the other wasn't purely hostile. She promised that they would work together to keep Corypheus from the Well.

And then Morrigan had to go and fuck things up.

"I told you to keep an eye on her," Solas murmured as they followed their guide through the winding hallways of the temple.

"I didn't know she could turn into a bird," Errol hissed back. "Who does that?"

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra called sharply from ahead of her, drawing her blade. "I believe your penchant for burning things will be useful right about now."

"Oh?" Errol asked, one hand already bringing her staff forward as she skidded around the corner. "Oh," she said, and grinned darkly, the tip lighting up with flame, and it burned brighter because this place made her feel brighter.

"Hello, Samson."

And then there was the choice.

Errol didn't want to make it. She was tired and sweaty, covered in muck and blood and bits of red templar, and Abelas was looking at her with that searching expression on his face, his magic still whispering along her skin.

"You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I can't deny," he said slowly. "You are marked twice already by our magics, and the temple itself seems to welcome you. However…" He hesitated, squinting. "Why, I cannot say, I fear that were you to partake there would be terrible consequences."

"More attempts to frighten us?" Morrigan said, seemingly not understanding that he was speaking to Errol alone. For that, Errol was grateful. Cassandra was already looking at her oddly, and she feared any more strangeness and Cole would have to intervene again.

Abelas ignored Morrigan. "Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir'abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?"

"And the cost?" Errol asked.

"If you brave it, you will be bound forever to the will of Mythal."

"Bound, to the will of a Goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?" Morrigan asked scornfully.

Abelas looked at her as if she were a child. "Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours."

Errol knelt by the water and listened to it. She was vaguely aware of dim voices in the background, Solas saying something to Abelas in elven, Morrigan's voice mixing in like waves on the sand. The water hummed gently of a thousand lives lived, some long, some short, some well lived and some not, all stories worth telling. She could sense fragments of them, words and letters but not sentences, colors but not pictures. It was like swimming, but she knew that if she drank it would be drowning, that if she heard more, saw more, it would rush over her head and pull her apart. Her body wasn't like a mortal's; it was created from Fade and magic and will, and if the will of a thousand other voices overtook hers she would break like a plate fracturing on the floor.

"Inquisitor?"

She looked up at Morrigan. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I was… saying that I am best suited to use the power of the Well… were you not listening?"

"Oh, yes, of course." She stood and backed away. "It's all yours."

Morrigan pressed her lips in a thin line as if she suspected Errol was playing a trick on her. "Truly?"

"I don't want it," Errol said honestly. "Please," she said, gesturing to the Well.

Behind her, she felt more than heard Solas' long slow sigh of relief. Cole was more bold, slipping his hand in hers. "Good," he said softly. "Too many voices, shouting, shattered, your skin too thin to hold them all."

"I know," she said, squeezing her fellow spirit's hand, which was feeling more like a human's hand every day. She knew the day would come, maybe in one year, maybe in ten, when he would no longer be able to make them forget.

"Today isn't that day," he whispered.

"I know that too."

The water rushed over Morrigan, flooded into her skin and filled her like a drum, elven words babbling from her tongue, elven power on her fingertips. She gathered them up and swept them through the Eluvian just as Corypheus came charging into view, and when she touched Errol her golden eyes widened and she mouthed one word.

Spirit.

The moment they returned to Skyhold Errol set to work sending ravens to Cullen, Celene, and anyone else still on the ground in the Arbor Wilds, informing them that they were back at Skyhold and to immediately retreat. The main body of the forces would stay and finish breaking Corypheus' red templars, but she needed a core contingent of troops and her top aids back home and safe. She needed Cullen safe. She wondered what they thought now, if he thought she was dead, and resolved to seek him out in the Fade that night and explain everything to him.

But first, there was the matter of Morrigan.

"I have been waiting here all day, Inquisitor. I should have known you'd come skulking by in the evening, when everyone else has left and the shadows are long. Luckily, I have much to sift through to occupy my time, 'else I would have become restless."

Errol scowled at the witch. "I'm not skulking."

"Do you really want to argue semantics with me, Spirit from another world?"

"Will you pipe down?"

"There is no one else here."

Errol huffed and sat next to her on the low wooden bench. She was right; the garden was quiet, the last of the orange daylight spooling like thread through the trees as the sun hovered on the edge of the horizon. The cold of evening tinged the air. Everyone else was at supper, leaving just the two of them and the soft whisper of rustling leaves.

"You're not going to tell anyone," Errol said. "…are you?"

"It would gain me nothing," Morrigan said, her fingers gently tracing the spine of the elven book she had been reading. "The Well has opened my eyes to many things but not all. There is so much left to learn, to understand. What I see now is that you are a spirit, but you are still the leader of the Inquisition. You are needed. I would not tear my ally down."

"Thank you," Errol said, though Morrigan's words troubled her. There was something in the way she said my ally, as if it were a threat, a warning. They were allies now, but would they always be?

"The Well whispers something else to me," Morrigan continued. "It tells me that you bear another Mark besides the one on your hand, one that is hidden on your person." Her golden eyes lifted and focused on the juncture of Errol's neck and shoulder. "There. I would see it."

Errol instinctively pulled her collar tighter. "No. That's personal."

"It could be dangerous. Do you even know what it is?"

"I know enough."

Morrigan's gaze slid to catch Errol's. "Do you?" she murmured. "I wonder. I cannot tell what it is without seeing it, only that it is old, and powerful. You should show it to me. Knowledge can only help, Inquisitor. Knowledge is power."

Errol didn't want Morrigan having any more power over her than she already did. "Exactly," she said, not breaking eye contact. Finally Morrigan sighed and turned away.

"As you wish, though you may come to regret that decision."

Errol relaxed slightly and let go of her collar. "It's my decision to regret." She paused, weighing the words in her mind. "However, I do have a question for you."

"Ask."

"You're fluent in Elvish now, right?"

"Completely." Morrigan tilted her head, curious again. "You wish me to translate something?"

"Just a word." Errol took a breath and said it carefully, making sure she didn't stumble over the pronunciation. It had been a long time since he told it to her in the future that never was, but she still whispered it to herself at night so she wouldn't forget.

Morrigan's eyes unfocused as she processed it. "It's a very old word," she said. "One of the earliest forms of Elvhen. It's a vague language, each word having several different interpretations. Might I ask where you heard this one?"

"In the future," Errol said in a flat voice, with no further explanation. Morrigan lifted an eyebrow.

"You do lead an interesting life."

"Do you know what it means?"

"It has several layers of meaning. The most basic of which is a verb form: to unbind, or perhaps: to untether, to make undone, as a knot unwinding. Does this have special meaning to you?"

Errol chewed on her lower lip, thinking. It could mean so many things. She finally had the answer after all of this time and it was frustratingly vague, which she guessed was the point. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Tell me if you discover its meaning. You bring me so many curiosities and so few answers." She placed her book down and stood, stretching. The sun was down and the garden was nothing more than a patchwork of shadows, but the biting air didn't seem to bother Morrigan, who apparently owned no other clothing besides her impractical bikini top armor combo. Errol shivered and looked at the witch jealously. How did she manage to never be cold, or for that matter, never be stabbed through the heart in battle?

Errol tried to suppress a snort at the idea of a protect my boobs spell. Now wasn't the time. She'd tell Sera later.

"I know of a way to match Corypheus' power," Morrigan said, looking down at her. "We must summon Mythal."

Errol sighed, her sudden mirth gone. "Of course. Of course we do."