Ancient Elves
Marethari looks as she did at the height of the illness that swept the camp shortly after your arrival.
"Nelyafinwë, I'm glad you managed to find the time to visit." She says tiredly.
"Given the urgency of the matter at hand, I could not delay." You reply. "Let us not waste any time, tell me what has transpired."
"No time to waste, but plenty for loquaciousness." The Keeper jokes with a small smile. "Right, sorry. As you probably know, we've been slowly introducing our people to the process of regaining our immortality."
"Yes, Merrill asked me for advice on how to train others in the process." You supply.
Marethari raises an eyebrow. "Might I ask what you told her?"
"Time is short." You remind her.
"Of course." The Keeper shakes her head and stands. "Follow me, we'll walk and talk."
You stand aside, to allow her to lead you.
"It'd been going well so far. There were people who came out of it," Marethari pauses, "changed. But that was within expectations, it is a quite the traumatic process. We were managing, though it was noted that generally the younger someone is the easier it was."
You nod, that makes sense. The ability of the young to adapt to sudden change is deeply impressive when compared to their older selves.
"Finally, we thought it was time to risk the Hahren." Marethari closes her eyes and stops moving. "It seemed like the best idea. Nobody had been too negatively affected, and some of them are getting very old. If we lost them and their knowledge…"
You recognise guilt when you see it and lay your hand upon her shoulder. "We cannot foresee every outcome. We make the best decisions with the information we have. Do not blame yourself."
The Keeper brushes your hand off her. "Easy to say."
Before you have a chance to speak again, she continues. "It doesn't matter, what does matter is what happened. After they began, it was obvious they were struggling."
"Why did they all undertake the process at once?" You ask.
"A gesture of solidarity, a hope to steady those who are suspicious." Marethari says, then sighs. "To, hopefully, set an example to the other clans. And, perhaps, just a touch of impatience."
"For time it looked like they'd succeeded." The Keeper continues. "Then they began to have seizures. Attempts to hold them down saw several injured. Right when we thought they might have been possessed, they fell, well, see for yourself."
The Keeper leads you into an Aravel, set aside from the others in the clearing where the sick were quarantined. Several healers you recognise, in their faded red cloaks, are tending to the Hahren and several warriors are standing guard.
The Hahren, Paivel included, look terrible. White foam gathers at the corner of their mouths and their eyes are either covered in a white film or rolled back into their heads. Their skin is unnaturally pale, cold and clammy to the touch.
"It can't be." You state in utter disbelief.
You hurry to the side of the nearest patient, ignoring the healers that scurry away. You extend your senses to the fullest, and search the body for a sign in vain.
"Impossible." You mutter again.
"You know what's wrong." Marethari states.
"I have seen these symptoms before, but they cannot be accurate." You reply in complete surprise. "The darkest of the arts of Morgoth can inflict similar conditions upon my people. But that is not the case here, there is not a trace of darkness upon them, and even he could not inflict such a wound directly to the soul, it must always use the body as a vector."
"What is it?" The Keeper asks firmly.
"In terms you would understand it is best described as," You pause for a long moment, translating. "An infection of the spirit. The details are complex but suffice to say that it involves the spirit attempting to purge something from the body that it does not recognise."
Marethari's breath catches behind you, though you cannot see her, still focused on the patient.
"What wouldn't the spirit recognise?" She asks shakily.
"Anything that is not its body." You not idly. "However, in order for the condition to advance like this, it would need to be bonded to almost the entire body. It could not do so without significant signs, yet I can find none!"
"For example." She says quietly. "If the entire body had somehow degraded? Muscles being weaker, skin looser, hair losing its colour, becoming slower to recover from illness?"
You pause, thinking. "Perhaps. Though such a condition would surely be very noticeable, and I would wonder how all of them could be affected at the same time."
"Nelyafinwë…" Marethari's voice catches. "That's aging."
It probably says something terrible about you that your first thought is to ask how you were supposed to know that.
"So that's it." You can hear tears in the Keepers voice. "There's nothing that can be done."
In the grief stricken silence that follows her words, your response rings out shockingly loudly.
"No. I refuse to accept that." You state.
You are not without options when dealing with this matter. It is not dissimilar from certain kinds of Morgoth's corruption. Despite that, you are hesitant to default to any of the options you used then. Your knowledge of medicine may not be as deep as a specialist's, but you do know that in these matters the wrong treatment can exacerbate the condition.
That leaves you with only one option. You are going to have to find some way to wrangle with the spirits of these people and convince them that the bodies they are in is in fact the bodies they should be in.
The pressing question is of course how. Even if you knew how to directly touch someone's soul, you would have been rather uncomfortable doing so in your homeland. The best option available to you is this world's magic. Unfortunately, this is hardly your field of expertise. Fortunately, there is someone here whose expertise it is.
"Keeper Marethari." You say. "Is it possible to contact someone's spirit using magic?"
The Keeper blinks slightly, then she frowns in thought. "Maybe. There are certain forms of telepathy, and most people agree that the soul and the mind are somehow closely related, but…"
"That is not wrong, but I am already capable of touching the thoughts of others if I wish to." You state calmly. "I know Merrill has mentioned something about 'spirit tags' which seem to interface with the soul somehow, I was hoping you knew more."
Marethari grimaces. "I haven't had time to really learn everything Merrill has picked up under your tutelage. I suppose I can try to recreate whatever that is if you describe it to me."
You wince. "I barely understand it myself, and I fear to make the situation worse."
"If we are to do something, it will need to be soon." One of the healers interjects. "I don't like their odds of living more than a week or two."
Briefly you play with the idea of attempting to stretch out the time they have by treating the symptoms, buying time for Merrill to return and assist you. However, you dismiss that, in the end you are not confident enough in your healing to be certain, and if you must gamble you prefer a chance of total success.
"Very well." You state. "If there is no better option, let us attempt to convince these spirits that they are mistaken."
You walk Marethari slowly through what little you understand of Merrills work. The concept that each soul has identifying 'marks' that can enable it to identify itself, and be used to identify it in turn. The concept is simple, however in attempting to explain it to Marethari, you once more find your vocabulary lacking.
So much of what you are discussing requires a shared understanding of not only the world but the words used to describe it. An excellent example of this discrepancy lies in the term 'spirit' which you use interchangeably with soul, but in Thedas they actually mean different things. 'Spirit' being either the denizens of the Beyond or an intangible part of someone's personality.
After close to half an hour of pointlessly discussing in circles, both you and Marethari realise that if you attempt to continue like this then the Hahren will all be dead by the time you reach consensus. The Keeper, who was already half convinced there was nothing that could be done, says that there is no point dragging this out any further.
You stare at the comatose forms of the elder Dalish, fists clenching and unclenching in helpless anger. It burns to leave a task incomplete, to accept that the course of action you took was wrong.
No. You are not wrong, you cannot be. This is the only way forward. If the spirits are not contacted and made to realise they are in their wrong bodies then these elves will die. You are not a skilled enough healer to stall long enough for Merrill to arrive, and you doubt that any remedy that works on the corruption of Morgoth will serve in this case.
If no one else is willing to do what is needed, then it falls to you.
Again.
Even for you, what you are considering gives you pause. Attempting to touch the soul of another is not forbidden, but it strays dangerously close to the mechanics of houseless and other feats of dark magic.
But what choice do you have?
Clumsily you reach out with your spirit to that which slumbers within the elves. It is not exactly like reaching out with your mind, but you believe that it is close enough. It quickly proves that you are wrong. You spend several interminable minutes stretching you spirit in one way or another, attempting to reach out and touch the spirits of Paivel, chosen because he is the one you are most familiar with.
The moment of connection is sudden and entirely unexpected. One moment you are flailing around with your spirit, occasionally causing someone's hair to smoulder, then next you and Paivel are in the same body.
There are no words for the sensation, and likely will never be unless a houseless is released from Námo's halls. You suddenly KNOW Paivel, in a way that transcends mere memory. It is akin to seeing the blueprint for a building compared to seeing the finished product.
Reeling from the sensation, you drag yourself away, hardly intending to possess the poor elf. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that one of the symptoms of the deterioration of these elves is that their spirits are desperately lashing about, seeking any escape.
You find yourself struggling to extricate yourself from their ghostly clutches, forcing yourself past and through them with sheer force of spirit and stubborn will. Eventually, after a second that seemed to last a month, you draw in a breath in your own form once more.
You sigh in relief and look about you. The chests of the Hahren have gone still, a chill is in the air, and your senses are screaming of invisible danger.
Paying closer attention to your awareness of the non-physical world, you quickly realise what is wrong. The spirits of each of the elves has indeed been freed, freed of their bodies. Unprepared for the separation, and stunted by their time in the Beyond, these spirits are fraying at an astonishing speed.
Desperately you throw your own power about you. Theoretically with the right combination of power and skill you can create an environment that will slow the deterioration and allow death to take them naturally. Unfortunately, your haste betrays you.
Conditioned by years of war and battle, rather than the usual reflexes a spirit possesses, yours are a finely honed weapon. A weapon designed and trained to seek spirits that have been cast from their bodies.
The spirits of the hahren are struck with the concentrated wrath of a son of Fëanor. They are thrown back, their last links to the physical world shorn as sharply as if you had cut them with a blade. Had they been houseless, they would likely have been swept away to the Halls in that moment.
But you are not in Arda, and there is no call to the Halls for the elves. For a moment, it is as though you stand alone against a line of faded shades that had once been elves.
You grit your teeth and gather your strength. These shades will not leave this place, you will stop them.
Then a child's laughter pierces the tent.
Now aware of easier prey, the shades dart away, through the tent walls. You are delayed in following them and emerge to a scene of chaos. As many as half of the Dalish have no idea anything is wrong, but the other half is clearly capable of sensing the spirits as they pass, and are fleeing blindly.
You see one of the spirits sink into the body of a child, and you spring upon it.
"Námo!" You cry. "In the name of Mandos, the Judge, I cast thee forth. To the Halls with you!"
You are fortunate that the incantation works at all, given how distant from the Valar you are. Yet, the name retains its power, and the spirit is thrown forth once more. Sadly, you have not solved the problem of the lack of the halls, and the spirit flees to find a new host.
Thus the pattern is set. You run after the spirts, casting them from their bodies while around you the Dalish camp panics, trying to fight things most cannot see and few can even hurt.
You wrack your brain for some kind of solution, you try invoking different names, Falon'din or that Andraste, but they have no effect, leaving you with only what you already knew. You cannot solve the problem, merely prolong the inevitable.
Suddenly the sensation of mana fills the air, so thick that it glows green to your eyes. Marethari stands, staff extended, eyes and Vallaslin glowing. Her gaze is fixed upon the spirit you have just cast forth. In her hand is a small mirror.
Words in Elvhen fall from her lips and the mana glows more fiercely. Slowly, the spirit is dragged down towards the mirror. It shrieks and wails, so fiercely that even those who cannot sense it grow uncomfortable. Yet, it is all for naught, the spirit is dragged down into the mirror, and with a final wail, disappears.
The panic is starting to calm with the arrival of the Keeper, and you manage to ask, "Can you do that again?"
Marethari glances at you, then sighs. "I will need more mirrors."
Through raiding people's aravels and the use of scraps of metal polished hastily, the two of you manage to wrangle the spirits into a set of approximately thirteen mirrors, and mirror adjacent objects.
When the last spirit is captured, Marethari glares at you. "Alright. What happened?"
Before you can reply, a healer runs up. "The Hahren are dead!"
It feels as though the furious eyes of all the Dalish are upon you.
"I made a mistake." You admit tiredly.
The Book of Xandar
You decide to give the clan a few day before you are finally able to introduce Marethari to Xandar. The Keeper gives you a wary look as you approach but she makes no move to prevent you from seeing her.
"What do you want Nelyafinwë." She asks tiredly.
"I apologise once again for what happened earlier." You reply remorsefully. "However, my student here wishes to speak to the Dalish with regards to a book he is writing, and I thought it best to introduce him to you in order to make sure that everything is done properly."
The Keeper relaxes slightly. "Well, I suppose I can think about it. Tell me young man, what are you going to be writing about?"
"I plan to write a book about teacher." Xandar replies earnestly. "Since this is the clan that knows the most about him, I thought it best to talk to people here who knew him before I met him."
Marethari looks taken aback, even as Xandar reiterates much of what he has already told you. Given everything that has happened, and your own history, you believe she assumed that Xandar would be asking after Dalish secrets. The fact that he is basically asking permission to talk to some of the Dalish clearly takes her aback.
"Well, I can't say there's any reason you can't do that." The Keeper's eyes dart to you and away. "Despite what some may say, our clan does not so easily forget who our friends are."
"Great! Can you give me a list of people to talk to?" Xandar asks, with his usual strange gestures.
Marethari raises an eyebrow at the human's antics, but says, "Well, if you're interested in your teacher's time with us, Merrill is the best choice. She knows the most. Aside from her, there is Tamlen and Auriel, Paivel…"
The Dalish's voice hitches, and she takes a moment to collect herself.
"I also know a fair bit of the story." She says, clearly forcing back emotion.
"Really? Great! Can I ask you some questions?" Xandar exclaims, eyes shining with excitement, completely missing Marethari's emotions.
It is telling to you that the Keeper does not tease the young man at all. She simply takes a moment to compose herself, then nods.
"So how'd teacher come to live with your clan?" Xandar asks.
"As a matter of fact, he fell out of the Beyond." Marethari says dryly.
"Really?" Xandar says.
"Indeed. Appeared right in front of Merrill." Marethari confirms.
"How'd that happen?" Xandar wonders aloud.
"You'd need to ask your teacher." The Keeper replies.
"I already told you that I'm waiting until I've gathered everyone else's account first." Xandar whines.
"She was teasing you Xandar." You inform the human.
"Oh. Right." He says. "Ok, next question. Why'd you let him stay with the clan?"
"In truth, the primary reason was the Merrill was interested in him." Marethari reminisces. "Though it helped that he was quick to shoulder responsibilities around the camp. In fact, let me tell you of the first day he was in camp."
"Yes, I would love that!" The human exclaims.
"So here he is, a strange tall creature that appeared out of the Beyond. First thing he does, is walk up to folks building a fence and literally drag them around until they're building it the way he likes." The Keeper says, mischief in her eyes. "Then he storms off to the lumber pile and he just starts…"
You relax slightly as she relays the tale with glee. It seems that your earlier mistake will not be long held against you by the old Keeper. You had not been afraid, but you had been concerned.
"Did he say anything of note while he was here?" Xandar asks, strangely disinterested in the story.
"Not as such." Marethari reflects, stroking her chin. "Most of the time he was here he didn't even speak a civilised language."
Normally you would point out that it is in fact everyone else who is not speaking a civilised language, but you think it wiser to keep silent at this juncture. No need to fan flames[1].
"Alright." Xandar nods, writing furiously in his notes. "Did he say where he came from? Did he tell you anything about his life?"
Marethari's eyes darken. "Yes. It's not something I will soon forget. He claims he hailed from another world, somewhere beyond the Beyond. Arda, he called it. I didn't believe him at first, but well, he made some persuasive arguments."
She pauses until Xandar has finished his notes before continuing. "As for his life, I know that he was pretty highly ranked among his people. I'd even go so far to say he was royalty."
The two turn to look at you, and you stare back. They take note of your silence on the matter, and you are sure that Xandar takes it as confirmation.
"That is, I'm afraid, all the time I have." Marethari states. "Besides, that's most of what I remember anyway."
"Oh, ok. Thank you very much." Xandar says with a shallow bow. "You've been very helpful."
Marethari waves you off as the two of you depart to talk to the two elves present you spent the most time with, except perhaps Paivel.
Tamlen and Auriel are easy enough to find. With how things ended up, the warriors are being kept close for now. It is an illusory comfort, as they would have been as helpless as the others in face of that particular threat. Still, you are hardly going to criticise, if only because you are on thin enough ice at the moment.
The two warriors are sitting together, talking. In truth, you had almost forgotten that the two were friends. Given Tamlen's dislike of you, returned fully, Auriel had always approached you alone.
When Tamlen sees the two of you approaching he springs to his feet with a thunderous expression. Auriel turns her head to see you, and immediately stands up as well. Unlike Tamlen, she faces away from you, and is clearly stopping Tamlen from approaching you.
"You've got some nerve showing your face here, murderer." He snarls as you grow closer.
"Tamlen!" Auriel reprimands him.
Tamlen feints to one side, then darts around the other. He rushes towards you with the most telegraphed blow in the history of blows. You sway aside and use your superior speed to get out of his reach.
It proves unnecessary, as Auriel tackles him to the ground.
"Dammit Tamlen! You can't just attack people like that." She scolds. "At least let him defend himself. There has to be a reason the Keeper hasn't put a bounty on him yet."
You look down at the two on the ground and sigh. "It was never my intention to slay the Hahren, I was attempting to save them from their disease. In my desperation I attempted a cure that resulted in a worse end."
"Liar!" Tamlen roars.
Auriel grimaces, but gives you a serious look. "I don't think it was a good idea to come back so soon."
You nod. "Yes, but it is not for myself that I came. My student Xandar wishes to speak to you, he has already secured the Keeper's permission to do so."
Auriel gives him a considering look. "Alright, I'll think about it. Are you finished Tamlen?"
The male elf beneath her scowls up at you. "I'm not going to do anything, but so help me if he says anything."
"There you go." Auriel says, getting off her friend. "What do you want, human?"
"Well, I was hoping you'd tell me about teacher's time among the clan." Xandar says.
"I'll tell you something, human." Tamlen sneers. "Merrill brought him in because she thought he was some kind of abomination she wanted to study. I thought it was stupid, but she's the First, so I let her. Then, as I predicted, he started spreading his poisonous tentacles into the minds of the whole damn clan."
"Tamlen…" Auriel chides.
"No! I'm not staying silent about this. He's poison. Ever since he came here he's been disturbing things, breaking traditions apart. He took Merrill away! How am I the only one who's worried about this!" The elf yells.
Xandar writes down everything that Tamlen says. "Do you think the same thing, ms Auriel?"
The female shakes her head. "No. He's, well, he's a jerk. I don't think he's possessed, the Keeper cleared him. I just think he's a strange mage, with an attitude problem."
You are starting to feel somewhat attacked. You like to think that you have a relatively pleasant demeanour, especially compared to your brothers.
Auriel sighs heavily. "Still, his heart's in the right place. He wants to help, he's just so convinced he's right that he barely even notices why people disagree with him. He's good at what he does, and frankly I wish I was half the archer he was."
From there the two relay tales of your early days, with a focus on the time you spent among the hunters. Auriel tends to emphasise how you helped, but stresses that you always did so in a way that upset people. Tamlen, naturally spends the time claiming that it was all part of some insidious plot to poison the Dalish from within.
You are not sure which offends you more. Auriel seems to think that you stepped on far more toes than you actually did, most of your 'attitude problems' were actually miscommunications because you did not speak the local language. Tamlen of course is merely lashing out in anger, but you do feel offended at the implication that you could not destroy the Sabrae more effectively.
The most telling example of this difference is the tale of the healing on the hunt. Tamlen stresses you used 'bizzare magic' while Auriel says that you were 'showing off' unnecessarily.
You say nothing, allowing Xandar to note what they are saying, trusting that he will eventually allow you to give your side of the tale. Eventually he has heard enough and the two of you depart.
"Did you learn everything you wanted to?" You ask on the journey back.
"Not yet, teacher." Xandar replies seriously. "I think I've learned all I need to from the clan, but I want to talk to Merrill."
You nod, smiling. "I'm glad I could help."
A flicker of movement betrays a watching elf. You do not recognise them, which is strange.
You thought you knew all of the Sabrae's warriors.
Weekly Report
Anneth almost fell out of the saddle as her company rode into Endataurëo. The sun had long since set, and the moon was beginning to rise over the treetops. The human was exhausted, to a degree she hadn't believed possible before she began her current career.
There was no one to take the reins or put their horses in the stable, so the exhausted rangers had to do it themselves. Quiet complaints rippled through the company, no one wanting to need to do yet more work at this late hour. Yet, discipline held where compassion failed, and every horse was seen to its stall with diligence.
For her part, Anneth staggered towards her bed and away from the rest of her soldiers, the officers had their own room separate from the main barracks. In order to reach it, she had to pass through a room with a large window facing east. It was quite the sight, especially at dawn, but Anneth was in no mood to appreciate such things.
The woman starts at the tall dark shape silhouetted against the moonlight. She fumbles and nearly drops her small oil lamp. When she recovers and relights it, the flickering flame reveals the face of her employer.
"Neal, Nelyo, Nely… boss. Were you waiting up?" She asks.
"No." The tall elf replies gravely. "My thoughts have been dark, and my sleep disturbed. I hoped the light of the moon might soothe me. You have returned late."
Anneth nods. "Yeah. Somthin' was followin' us. Spent the better part of the day on a wild goose chase."
Red eyebrows draw together. "My return was watched by Dalish warriors also."
Anneth tries to make her exhausted brain work, but the elf does not wait for her to reply.
"Lanaya." He hisses.
Thoroughly confused now, Anneth asks, "Do I need to do anything, sir, or can I, um…"
"Go to bed, Anneth." The elf says, turning back to the window. "You will need your rest."
The human swallows and hurries past. Those words had been ominous, and she didn't much care for the thoughts of getting into a fight with the Dalish. That her employer's eyes had seemed shine in the darkness had nothing to do with it.
It was probably just a trick of the moonlight.
[1] See Turko, Moryo? It's literally that easy. Just say nothing.