Chapter 25: Ancient History
The Inquisition team returned to face a continued battle. The Wardens were fighting each other, but the fight seemed to have gone out of some of them—those who had sided with Clarel and Erimond, Max thought after a very rapid examination of the scene. They were continuing to do battle as a matter of habit or automatism, it seemed.
"The others live," Leliana breathed, looking around. Max followed her gaze and saw that, indeed, Cassandra, Vivienne, Varric, and the Inquisition allies in the Grey Wardens did all live. Relief filled him.
"Wardens!" Carver Hawke called out. "Lay down your arms at once! Corypheus was using a demon to enthrall you, but it is dead now." He paused. "You know it, don't you? You don't feel the false Calling anymore, do you?"
Sidona Andras glared at her current foe, who sighed and threw down his blade in surrender at these words. She then stepped forth. "None of us do," she said. "It's gone." She gazed to where the rift had been. "Our minds are cleared."
"What have we done?" someone who had been fighting for Erimond cried. "We've betrayed everything we stood for!"
"That's what I hoped you lot would see before it had to come to this," Andras retorted. She shook her head. "Better late than never, I guess."
"What is going to become of us?" another Warden exclaimed. "Warden-Commander Clarel is dead, and even if she had lived, our entire leadership was corrupted. Most of us were too, even those who changed sides at the last minute!"
"The Wardens with the Inquisition weren't," someone said. "I move that we choose one of them for our leader."
"Shouldn't the First Warden pick our leader?"
Anders, Carver, Tabris, Andras, Rainier, and Felix all snorted in disgust. Max decided that the time had come to step up. He raised his voice. "The First Warden is likely on Corypheus's side," he said, to the shock of numerous Wardens. "That is what I've been advised by the loyal Grey Wardens, those who fight with the Hero of Ferelden and her allies." He gestured to those who had allied with the Inquisition. "My allies. You do not want Weisshaupt choosing your leader for you. Not this time."
Solas was scowling in disapproval of something. Max could not imagine what, unless the elven mage's dislike of Grey Wardens extended to the desire to have them completely disbanded. Max was clearly not going to do that. He mentally shrugged it off. The Wardens were necessary. These specific Wardens needed firm, incorruptible leadership, and some would probably have to be executed if their crimes were egregious enough, but that could be sorted out. Max did not want the Inquisition involved. Mission creep and usurpation of power had nearly been the Inquisition's ruin. If the Wardens of Orlais had trustworthy leaders, they could—and should—handle their own justice.
"Grey Wardens have almost always been led by a Warden of the nation where they serve," Max continued loudly. "And Wardens Hawke, Tabris, and Alexius have informed me that they do not wish to move to an Orlesian post in any case. Warden Anders obviously must return to Kirkwall by the Viscountess's side. But you do have a pair of loyal Orlesian Wardens to choose from." He met Andras's eyes and realized that he was stage-managing her promotion, since Rainier had been in the Fade with him while she had fought here and led others. But that was what he thought best.
"Warden Andras has been a Warden of Montsimmard for years!" someone called out, gesturing to her colleague. "Who better to restore our honor?"
"Aye!" several Wardens called out.
The elven warrior stood up, clutching her crossbow as she glowered out—but it was not a glare of anger at the promotion. "You'd have me as the Warden-Commander?" she called out to the gathered Wardens.
"Yea! Warden-Commander Andras!" they roared in acclamation.
Max made it official immediately. "Warden-Commander, the Inquisition formally recognizes your promotion. We advise you to confer with the Hero of Ferelden and her comrades as you dispense justice and rebuild the Orlesian Wardens. But you have proven yourself time and again. You have our full confidence!"
As the Wardens began organizing themselves around their new leader and cleaning up after the battle, the Inquisition leadership team withdrew.
Max was not surprised when Solas took him aside. "Do you not think they proved beyond doubt that they cannot be trusted?"
"Of course I think that," Max said. "That's why I wanted to be sure that our ally was in charge and that our Fereldan Warden friends would be part of the reconstruction."
Solas frowned. "The Grey Wardens have a long history of corruption, of siding with the enemy out of some imagined expediency—which always, of course, was a ruse to serve the enemy's own agenda instead. This is not the first. Ages ago, when Corypheus was first imprisoned, he corrupted the very Wardens who locked him up. And in Dragon 9:10, when the Orlesian Warden-Commander was seduced by the promises of the Architect..."
Carver Hawke then spoke up. "All of this could have been caused by that Nightmare demon and what it was doing to their brains."
"It removed their fear of the Calling. It did not make them so desperate to 'end the Blights' as to ally with the source of the Blights."
"Look, you don't know what it was doing in full. Even you don't know everything about every spirit and demon in the Fade. Corypheus used it for his own ends. Who's to say he was the first? The damn thing has been around since the First Blight. And even if it wasn't originally a Fear demon, it proved that it certainly could use fear as a weapon."
"That's true," Dorian added. "We all faced its Aspects. It had a personal fear for each of us. The thing bloated itself by feeding off Thedas's terror of the Blights. It seems logical to me that it'd want to create more of that terror. More food for itself. And what better way than corrupting the Grey Wardens time and again into doing the darkspawn's work for them?"
Solas was silenced. The frown remained on his face, but he had no argument against that. Max gave his amatus a smile of gratitude and approval.
He was rather startled when Dorian suddenly grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close, in front of all his companions and friends, for a fervid kiss. Sera wolf-whistled, Varric chuckled in approval, and even the more collected companions, such as Vivienne and Leliana, smiled.
Anders took his leave of the Inquisition with a relieved farewell. "I will return when the General Assembly actually convenes," he said, "but my wife is likely terrified for my life, because of her dream."
"We are trying to finish off Corypheus and his forces before the drums of war start beating in the Dales," Max said. "As you know. I don't think we need to convene the Assembly until Corypheus is settled. Hopefully that will be quite soon. To the extent that it's in my power, I certainly intend to make it so."
"If you're lucky, then, he could be settled before I return home."
Solas interjected. "We should make one more stop before Skyhold. The Lady Nightingale"—he gave Leliana a respectful nod—"told me about the memories of Corypheus. He said that his lieutenant Calpernia would 'set foot in the place where regret dwells.' I believe I know where that is. It is an ancient elven temple in the Arbor Wilds, in the south of Orlais."
Leliana then interjected. "Morrigan, formerly Empress Celene's advisor, reached Skyhold. Cullen informed me. I sent her a raven asking about this reference, 'the place where regret dwells,' and she concurs with your guess, Solas. It is a site known as the Temple of Mythal."
"If the sights of it in the Fade are accurate, it is in rather good condition," he said. "Its powers are intact."
"Morrigan believes the same, and she intends to travel there. I agree with Solas, we should make a stop at this site and hopefully intercept Calpernia."
"And see what it is that Corypheus wants," Max added. "It isn't the first time he's taken an interest in ancient elven magic."
"Well," Anders interjected, "good luck to you lot with that, but I think my part in this is finished."
"And ours too," Carver Hawke said, speaking for the Grey Wardens—except Rainier. "We need to get back to Amaranthine. Rainier is a real Grey Warden, after all, and he can serve as your liaison with the Order. And Warden Felix too, if he wants to stay at Skyhold for a bit longer."
"I think I might as well, since I am mostly a researcher," Felix confirmed. "The Inquisition needs me more at the moment, I think. But I will be sure to report to Amaranthine after the war is over."
Max was sorry to see them go, but he understood their point of view. "Your part will be remembered and recorded," he said. "You saved all our lives, I think, Anders—and because of the information that you Wardens provided, we were able to get to the bottom of this and deprive Corypheus of another ally."
"We thwarted his plot to send Orlais into chaos," Dorian remarked. "And his plot to start a war from hell in the Free Marches."
Anders grimaced, looking down in personal embarrassment.
"And now we've defeated his plot to corrupt the Grey Wardens. I think it's time to get his last pieces off the chessboard and checkmate the asshole."
"I completely agree," Max said, smiling.
The Arbor Wilds were another verdant but vaguely, indefinably sad region. Max sensed strong magic in the vicinity, and he stole a glimpse at Dorian to observe that his amatus was also on high alert.
"There is ancient power in this place," Dorian said in a low tone. "It feels remarkably similar to some of the wards in the Circle of Minrathous—"
"I wonder why that might be," Solas said in deep sarcasm. Max and Dorian were surprised that they had been speaking loudly enough to be heard. "Tevinter, shall we say, adopted quite a lot of magic from the ancient elven civilization."
Dorian was chastened. "Of course."
Max tried to smooth things over. "But that means that we could have two, perhaps three, experts on the subject. Morrigan?" he said as an aside to the Chasind witch, who was also eavesdropping.
"I have indeed learned about these types of spells," she said.
"How?" Dorian asked curiously. "I didn't think they taught such things in the southern Circles, at least before the Mage-Templar War..."
"I was never an inmate of such a Circle. My mother Flemeth instructed me in a great deal of the magic that I know."
"Flemeth!" Max exclaimed. "The only Flemeth I've heard of is a figure of legend, Fereldan lore—"
"'Tis one and the same, and she is, unfortunately, my mother." Morrigan sighed dramatically. "After temporarily gaining my freedom from her, I obtained additional knowledge on my own by studying Dalish artifacts."
"So what do you think Corypheus wants here? It can't just be to enclose Calpernia in a cage as a 'vessel.' He already knows how to do that. We saw it at the Shrine of Dumat."
"He wants something that he must not have," Morrigan said. "I have one such artifact myself back at Skyhold, but I know not if you have seen any. It is an eluvian, an elven artifact from the time before their empire was lost to human greed. I restored mine at great cost, but another lies within this place."
Max was startled. "I have heard of these, briefly. Briala apparently has access to some. Solas told me so. But I cannot believe that Leliana let you place one inside Skyhold! That's a gaping security hole!"
Morrigan scoffed. "Not after I have restored it. He cannot use it. He does not know what it requires. But the missing links in his knowledge may be found here, I fear."
"And eluvians can be doors to—anywhere?"
"In theory. The ancient elves built no roads, because this is how they traveled. There is a place where they all lead, a location that I have called the Crossroads. If it had an original name, it has long been lost, but what it is called matters not."
"A place in the Fade?"
"No. It is not the Fade, but it is... close. Very close. It is like a pocket inside the Fade, with its own rules of reality. Formed from the fabric of time and space, perhaps. It is a place where all the eluvians join, wherever they might be. But most have gone dark."
"And you think Corypheus wants to enter that place? Even if he doesn't know how to use the eluvians or where they all lead?"
"The Crossroads is deteriorating. Someone with enough power, like Corypheus, could tear it down and enter the Fade in the flesh, as he tried to do with the Anchor. From there, he could rewrite reality itself. Tear down the Veil. Remake the world according to his wishes. We must prevent this at all costs."
The Inquisition party then reached a base camp. Leliana's ravens had been busy indeed, Max realized, for the people he had left behind at Skyhold—Cullen and Josephine—had arrived at camp. Max was glad to see them. It seemed fitting that the entire group would be present for whatever happened.
He entered the Inquisitor's tent and had a surprise: two other figures whom he recognized were waiting for him, hooded and cloaked. Fairbanks and Briala were sharing a bottle of wine over a table in the center of the tent.
"Apologies for commandeering your tent, Inquisitor," Briala said crisply. "We were directed here by Ambassador Montilyet."
"I'm surprised to see you here," Max admitted. "What business have you here?"
Briala smiled shrewdly. "Perhaps similar business to your own. Comte Lemarque and I are here to pick up some ancient information about eluvians." She lowered her voice. "We think they will be useful in the war."
"Which war?" Dorian cut in.
"Both, perhaps. Useful for the current one for the Elder One not to have this information for himself... and useful for the next one for strategic reasons."
"Empress Celene was very interested in eluvians," Morrigan said.
Briala eyed her. "And what does she know, precisely?"
Max got the feeling that Briala already knew from her own spy network exactly how much Celene knew, but she wanted to test Morrigan's loyalties. The Chasind mage scoffed, seeing right through it.
"She knows nothing of any use," Morrigan replied with derision. "Worry not, Lady Marquise. You can use them in your war and not have to fear that your enemy will have the same tools—at least if you keep the secret secure."
Max cleared his throat. He had not anticipated that his tent, intended to be shared only with Dorian, would become a general meeting-place. At least it's a big tent, he supposed. Even if Fairbanks and Briala must stay here for the time being due to their requirement for disguise, I can still have privacy.
But the lord and lady of the Dales understood his meaning. They rose to their feet, pulling their hoods over their faces to shroud them in shadow. "We will be on our way," Fairbanks said. "Our business should not interfere with yours, Inquisitor."
"Be careful," he advised. "Now that we know what you need, it might be best for us to clear the place out of whatever threats are there and privately deliver your documents to you."
"That idea has merit," Briala agreed. She lowered her voice. "Be careful yourself, Inquisitor. My agents in the region report that the Elder One has troops in this area, and we believe that Calpernia is at the Temple of Mythal."
Briala was certainly correct that Corypheus had troops there. The Inquisition party encountered both Venatori and Red Templars throughout the Arbor Wilds, so instead of a peaceful trek to the temple, it was a battlefield all the way. It did not bode particularly well for the sanctity of the Temple of Mythal or the continued presence of the ancient elven secrets. Max's only hope was that the fact that Corypheus's forces were present meant that his people had not yet managed to abscond with crucial information or weapons.
Along the way, they also encountered strange elves unlike any Max had seen before. They did not seem to be affiliated with Briala. Their armor was of an ancient design, and they were uncannily powerful in magic, even those who fought with purportedly non-magical weapons. In this new world of fearsome weapons of war that used blasting powder enhanced with brutal aggressive magic, it was like entering another time, traveling to a long-lost past, to see these elves fighting with elegant bows and swords of ancient design. Max had a strong suspicion that some of these elves' weapons could hold their own pretty well against the new weapons if put to the test. Wasn't the orb that Corypheus had used to create the Breach an ancient elven weapon? But he did not want to be fighting against them.
"We are not your enemy!" Max exclaimed, frustrated. "We share a common foe. We don't want Corypheus to obtain the power of this site either!"
It was like talking to a wall. The strange elves ignored Max's words and continued to attack Venatori, Red Templars, and Inquisition indiscriminately. There was nothing for it but to continue toward the Temple of Mythal, avoiding fights with the elves to the extent possible. Max did not want to kill them unless it was purely in self-defense, and it saddened him that that should be necessary. It isn't necessary, he corrected himself. We have no inherent conflict with them. We could ally if they would just give us a chance.
At last they reached the Temple of Mythal itself. It was as well-preserved as Max had heard, a capsule of ancient architecture and power. In fact, Max thought that this entire area was like a time capsule preserved by magic. Even Briala and Fairbanks's presence in the camp, the war for the Dales that it portended, and the grim reality of the newfangled weapons that would be used in that war seemed incomparably distant when Max faced this ancient site with its equally ancient-looking protectors. Outside some indefinable periphery was Thedas of the Dragon Age, with its conflicts and its terrible new technologies. Inside was an age lost to the outside world, or so it seemed.
But that illusion was shattered when Max overheard a horribly familiar voice, one he had not expected at this place. The outside world intruded violently on the inside one with the unwelcome presence of Corypheus himself.
His minions—including, Max was certain, Calpernia—were fighting some of the armored ancient elves. One of the elves' leaders called out either a curse or a battle cry in Elvhen.
"The wretch mocks you, Master," Calpernia sneered.
Corypheus then spoke in his grim, menacing, sonorous voice. "These are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows."
"What's the Well of Sorrows?" Dorian murmured.
Max turned to Morrigan queryingly. Morrigan, however, did not have an answer for everything, despite what she might want to present. She was as confused as anyone else about this reference. Max could not triumph pettily in the fact that this person who acted as if she knew everything really didn't. The fact that Corypheus knew about something, some ancient font of power, that they did not know about deeply alarmed him.
The combatants at the temple still had not seen the Inquisition presence. Max kept them in the distance as he watched the horrible scene unfold. Corypheus approached the armored elves as the entire structure began glowing with magic.
"Be honored, rattus! Here you worship a goddess as long-dead, futile, and false as any ever claimed to exist. You have wasted your pathetic lives. But at the end, you can witness death at the hands of a new god!"
One of the elves seemed to command the structure itself to attack Corypheus. Magic burst forth, knocking him backward. He snarled and counterattacked—
Only to be blown to pieces by the elves in a self-sacrificial act.
Max was shocked. Was that it? he thought. After all this, someone else, someone whose name I didn't even know, killed him? I was superfluous?
He was torn between relief and disgruntlement. Beside him, Dorian seemed to understand. He took Max's hand under their cloaks, unseen by anyone else—and gave him a look of caution, as if to say that this was not what it appeared.
No, Max realized at this, that wasn't it. He came back once before after Viscountess Hawke's party "killed" him.
And sure enough, Max and the others watched as one of Corypheus's followers—a traitorous Grey Warden, from the looks of it—began thrashing and twitching. The Warden began to change shape to resemble Corypheus.
"It cannot be," Morrigan exclaimed.
"Oh yes it can!" Max said. "He did it before!" He turned suddenly to Rainier. "Get back to camp, now! He can do that if there is a Grey Warden nearby. He did it at the Vimmark Fortress years ago. He's doing it now too! Don't let him use you, Rainier! Go! Fight with Cullen and the troops."
Rainier did not need to be told twice. He hurried away from the party, heading for camp, where he presumably would be safe from possession.
"Thank the Maker that Carver Hawke, Tabris, Anders, and the other Wardens took their leave," Dorian said quietly.
Max shuddered at the ghastly possibility. "When we have the final showdown, we must make utterly sure that there are no Wardens around."
"But that assumes that there is a distance limit on his ability to possess others. There may not be."
Max fell silent. How are we going to get rid of him for good, then?
That, however, was a question for another time. At the moment, they had to get inside the Temple of Mythal before Corypheus could regenerate fully.
Once they were all safely inside the Temple, Morrigan gazed about. "This is Mythal's Sanctum. Let us proceed before Corypheus can."
They headed further inside. It was a beautiful place, Max had to admit. The ancient elves built in harmony with nature rather than shutting it out of their structures, and this temple was no exception. Trees, rocks, and pools existed side by side with elven architecture and art, all miraculously preserved.
They reached a spot where a curious magical stonework layout spread across an elevated part of the floor. Max stifled a groan. This was a footwork puzzle of some sort. A man of action, he loathed these sorts of things. They slow people down but don't actually provide solid security, he thought.
"It appears the temple's magics are still strong," Morrigan observed.
"Atish'all vir'abelasan," Solas read from the structure. "It means 'enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.'"
"That's what we want, then, isn't it?" Dorian said.
"Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here," Morrigan said. "Following their path may aid entry."
"We are going to offer a prayer or a ritual to an elven goddess?" Cassandra said suspiciously. "Maker forgive me."
"The Maker will not judge us for doing what we must to defeat Corypheus," Leliana said. "Solving this magical puzzle is not an act of idolatry unless we choose to worship Mythal in our own hearts."
Morrigan rolled her eyes, and Solas seemed vaguely displeased for some unaccountable reason, but the words of the Left Hand seemed to soothe the Right. Max sighed and got to work, stifling his impatience.
But no sooner had he activated the puzzle, granting them passage to the next location, than an explosion rocked through the structure. Corypheus's forces had broken in.
"Don't let them pass!" snarled a female voice: Calpernia's. "Venatori and Red Templars, to arms!"
Max and his companions groaned and snarled in irritation as they began yet another fight.
The explosion that Calpernia had caused had blown a hole through the floor, marring the beautiful ancient architecture. It was possible to jump through the chasm and pursue the enemy force—but there would likely be a price, as Solas, Morrigan, and Dorian all warned.
"Wait," Dorian said as Cassandra and several others moved to the shattered edge, prepared to jump. "Maybe rushing through this ancient, highly magical place, which can defend itself, isn't the best idea?"
"There is an army fighting for us," Cassandra argued. "The longer we tarry, the more soldiers will die."
"But while the enemy rushes ahead, the petitioner's path leads to our true destination," Morrigan said.
"I agree. This is ancient ground and it deserves our respect," Solas advised.
Sera spat. "Our soldiers deserve our respect, not some old stone!"
"No!" Morrigan exclaimed loudly. "Performing the rituals correctly may mean the difference between reaching the Well before Corypheus's minions and not reaching it at all!"
"But do you know that?" Vivienne said. "Or is this another guess?"
"They might have avoided that path for a reason," Iron Bull said. "It seems clear that they know more about this place than we do. We don't even really know what the Well of Sorrows is."
"I believe we will reach the Well of Sorrows first if we follow the path," Solas said.
Max was considering everyone's advice. "But is that what we want to do? We don't know what it is or what it does. We had never heard of it until just today. We're not here to use it ourselves; we're here to prevent Corypheus and Calpernia from getting it. We don't have to reach it first if we can stop them from doing so. Maybe we should focus on our goal and let the Well rest in peace, so to speak. Isn't the world dangerous enough without bringing back ancient magic that nobody understands? Let the past lie. Its time was long ago."
"It will not rest in peace!" Morrigan exclaimed in fury. "Its time is today, because Corypheus has learned of its existence. Who else knows? No, we must not abandon it to the whims of fate!"
She gestured for Max to approach her. He gave her a hard look as he turned to Dorian to pass along the request.
Morrigan's lips thinned, but she did not move to stop the latter man from listening in. "I suppose you will tell him anyway," she muttered. "Very well. I do not agree with you, Inquisitor."
"So I had gathered."
"On philosophical grounds. You are very committed to the notion of 'moving on' and focusing on the new, at the expense of what is valuable and beautiful in the old. Let the fading empire die and welcome the new geopolitical order with open arms, even if it means violence and war! Or let old, elegant magic 'rest in peace,' because its 'time was long ago,' and welcome the violent power of the new kind!" she mocked.
"Solas and Cassandra share that opinion," Max said warily. "The Inquisition came apart at the seams temporarily over that disagreement. Is this the best time for a philosophical debate, Morrigan? We need to make a decision."
"Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. They are mostly gone now, and their passing has left us all the lesser. The terrors of today are powerful, yes, but ugly. The blasting powder of Ferelden and Kirkwall, their bombs and rockets, their brute-force use of magic—these things are akin to the destructive blast that Calpernia created. I have noticed your admiration for this place. I saw how you gaped at the hole in contempt, Inquisitor. You feel this too, whether you admit it or not. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the Well. I know not what it even is, but I would have it restored."
"You think you can use it for something," Dorian said shrewdly.
"Ah yes, the Witch of the Wilds must seek power instead of knowledge," she said sarcastically. "Certainly not a vice known to an altus mage of Tevinter! No, never!"
Dorian sighed.
"But whether you believe it or not, knowledge is what I seek. Knowledge and its preservation. Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: elves, dragons, magic... the list is endless. Those it does not crush, it lowers and debases, such as the Free Mage army's violent, brutal use of magic. They create nothing like this. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the ugly and the mundane."
"We're children, in a way," Max said more gently. "We're just learning how to do certain things. Children aren't elegant and careful. But we can grow up. The ancient elves must have. Nobody starts off as a high, learned civilization capable of this. We all start off primitive and crude. This temple is the work of ages upon ages of learning and discovery. Humans are really just starting out."
Morrigan sighed. "We will not agree, I see, and you are right that this is not the best time for a debate that neither of us will concede. Very well; I cut to the chase. I read more in the first chamber than I revealed. It said that a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows, but at a terrible price."
"So Solas read that too and also kept it to himself," Dorian mused.
"I know not what Solas was thinking," Morrigan said sharply. "If it is so important to you, you must ask him his reasons. The term I deciphered was 'halam'shivanas,' which means 'the sweet sacrifice of duty.' It implies the loss of something personal for duty's sake. Yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade."
"Why didn't you tell me that when you read it?" Max asked.
"I hoped to find more information. If I meant to deceive you, I would not have told you now. A point to consider in view of the fact that Solas has not told you anything." She paused. "My priority is your cause, but if the opportunity arises to save the Well, I am willing to pay the price."
"And gain what?"
"We must discover that."
Max sighed. He still was leaning towards just making the jump, because nothing that Morrigan had told him gave him any desire to partake of the Well of Sorrows or "walk the path" to visit it. In fact, it was quite the contrary. It sounded like something to be avoided at all costs. Max had no particular desire to find out what something did by throwing himself blindly and ignorantly at it.
If it's so important to her, let her seek it herself, he thought. I didn't come here to save the Well of Sorrows. I didn't come here as a scholar or curator of ancient Elvhen magic. I came here to stop Corypheus. And I still believe in letting ancient terrors lie—which is what this thing may turn out to be. Just because something is old and elegant does not mean that it is not a terror.
But when the small party returned to the main foyer, they were met with only two remaining: Solas and Leliana.
"Everyone else lost patience and jumped," Leliana said apologetically.
"I understand why Solas didn't," Max said with a nod to him, "but you?"
"I... confess my curiosity," she admitted. "And I think there may be merit in the advice of trying to save the Well. In any case, everyone else is pursuing Corypheus's minions. We can walk the petitioner's path without compromising the mission, I think."
This is not just about your curiosity, Max thought as he reluctantly assented. This has something to do with your own spiritual journey. It will not be about revering the goddess Mythal for you, but you also basically agree with Solas and Morrigan that there are beauties in the past that need to be cherished and protected at any cost. You want to try to recover a sense of beauty and wonder that you lost while doing dirty work for Justinia. That's what this is about.
So be it, he resolved with a sigh. I hope the others don't run into Corypheus himself, because I may be the only person who can defeat him due to the Anchor. But they made their choice knowing that full well.
"This may have been for the best," Dorian said to him quietly as the small party of five began the trek through the petitioner's path. "This way both roads get traveled. And we may, after all, arrive at the same place in the end."
Max gave him a grateful look. "Let's hope."
"'Tis not what I expected," Morrigan murmured as they entered the next room. "What was this used for, I wonder..."
The doors of that chamber suddenly sealed themselves with magic. Dorian cursed in a whisper. Max rather wanted to echo the sentiment. Had this been a terrible mistake? Should they just have jumped, as he had been leaning toward?
Morrigan and Solas were unperturbed, however, and Leliana seemed more intrigued than alarmed. "This reminds me in some ways of the Temple of the Ashes of Andraste before it was defiled and destroyed," she said quietly. "Once we entered, we could not turn back. We had to see it through and pass the tests."
"This is not the place, Lady Nightingale," Solas said quietly, eyeing the walls. "You have the total freedom of your own private thoughts, but do not speak openly of Andraste here. This is Mythal's Sanctum."
"I must agree with him," Morrigan said.
"And we are being watched," Max said, his gaze also fixed on the walls. His line of sight shifted up to a balcony. "By the elves we've been fighting."
Dorian cursed again. "Well, they have us where they can pick us off!"
"We do not seek to... pick you off."
They all gazed upward sharply. The speaker was one of the elves. "Venavis. You... are unlike the other invaders, those who wear your symbol and those who do not." He inclined his head at Solas. "You stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own. And you," he turned to Max. "You bear the mark of magic which is familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?"
"They are my enemies as well as yours. This mark was forced upon me by the one who is seeking to defile this temple. Has defiled it," Max said. "When you say 'slumber,' do you mean... the magical sleep of the Elvhen?"
The elf seemed pleased that Max knew of this. "Yes, Uthenera. It surprises me that you know of it."
"I think everyone in this party of five knew of it," Max acknowledged. He was quite confident in making that assertion for Solas—who had experienced it—as well as for Dorian and Morrigan. Leliana had likely heard of it too, over the course of her many experiences and acquaintances with different people.
"You are different. It is well. I am called Abelas, and we are the Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion."
That seemed desperately sad to Max. Someday, then, there would be no defenders left. But that is the implication of the position I took, he realized. Letting the past lie eventually means letting the past die.
"You're actual ancient elves?" Dorian was saying. "Before..." He grimaced. "Before Tevinter destroyed Arlathan?"
"The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We Elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over. The 'war' that your Tevinter waged was one of carrion birds feasting upon a corpse."
Let the past lie, Max thought, his heart pounding. Let the past lie; let the past die. But if what he says is true, and I have no reason to believe it isn't, then I am right. I cannot stop the passage of history. I cannot control all fates. The ancient elves fell apart from within and a new power took advantage. That is what almost always happens, isn't it?
Ancient Tevinter rose from the self-inflicted ruin of Arlathan.
The Orlesian Empire rose from the ruin of Ancient Tevinter, inflicted by its own god Dumat in the First Blight.
The ancient dwarven empire fell due to the darkspawn, but instead of adapting, Orzammar tripled down on destructive policies. The surface dwarves, on the other hand, thrive, rising from Orzammar's self-inflicted decline.
The new order of a powerful Free Marches, Ferelden, and an independent Dales is arising from the self-inflicted destruction of the War of the Lions and ages of mage oppression finally weakening the Chantry.
I didn't try to prevent that, but I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. I would have propped up a corpse, just as Abelas compared Arlathan to a corpse.
The way of the world is change. We should preserve what deserves to be preserved, but we cannot hold back history any more than we can stop the sea.
"We awaken only when called," Abelas continued over Max's thoughts, "and each time we find the world more foreign than before."
That is true, and there is nothing you can do about it, he thought. That's how it should be. You would not do so if you lived in the world and experienced these changes, but you don't. You are bound to this temple until you all fall.
At this horrifying realization, Max could not keep silent. It might, he realized, be a terrible mistake, and provoke the wrath of the Sentinels, but he could not keep it in. "You're slaves," he burst out. "You were enslaved to serve this Temple of Mythal, forced to do nothing but slumber and then fight, for all eternity, with no release except death!"
Solas gave Max a raised eyebrow of approval at this deduction. For a moment Max wondered why, and just what Solas might know that he hadn't told, but he could not focus on that. His fate and that of his friends lay in the balance, depending on whether Abelas took offense at these words.
Abelas regarded Max coolly, and for a second Max was terrified that the Sentinel would attack. But then the moment passed. "It matters not. We have our duty. We endure. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you seek to drink from the vir'abelasan."
"The Well of Sorrows," Max said.
"But it is not for you. It is not for any of you."
Relief washed over Max even as Morrigan's face fell in frustration. "For me, Sentinel Abelas, you are mistaken—and also I think for at least one of my companions," he said with a nod to Dorian. "I do not seek to drink from the Well. We came here to stop Corypheus from doing so."
"You may speak for yourself and some of your friends, but you do not speak for them all. Nonetheless, I do believe your sincerity. You have trespassed, but you have shown respect to Mythal and followed the rites of petition. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart... and never return."
The small group stepped aside to discuss the offer.
"This is our goal, is it not? There is no reason to fight these Sentinels," Solas said to Max.
Max agreed. "This is exactly what I wanted. You were right, Solas, Morrigan. This was the way. I didn't want to fight them in the first place."
"The idea of fighting the last of their kind does not thrill me," Dorian said.
"We may not worship Mythal ourselves," Leliana said quietly, "but if we showed disrespect and committed destruction here, we would be no better than Corypheus when he destroyed the Shrine of Andraste."
"Consider carefully," Morrigan warned. "You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own."
Max turned to her. "I don't see how we could possibly learn whether we need it to defeat him, and I'm not going to pay some unknown sacrificial price—and deceive these Sentinels—on the chance that it could help me."
Morrigan pursed her lips. "As you like, then."
Max turned back to Abelas to address him. "I accept your offer."
"You will be guided by those you seek," Abelas said. "As for the vir'abelasan, it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself."
Morrigan screeched—screeched? Yes, Max realized, she had transformed into a bird. As Abelas left, she followed him in indignation.
Max sighed. He hoped that she didn't antagonize Abelas out of the alliance, but beyond that, he didn't much care. He did not particularly believe her claims that she was only interested in the knowledge. She had been far too quick to tell him that the Well of Sorrows might be "useful."
But although Abelas was gone, some of the other Sentinels remained. One of them seemed to indicate that they were to follow.
It was the right choice after all, Max realized as they followed. The Sentinels were almost invincible, and when they did encounter Corypheus's minions along the path, they managed to make short work of them.
Along the way, they passed by a chamber where the rest of the Inquisition members were fighting—both Venatori and Sentinels, to Max's dismay. He hoped that their guides would convince their fellows to stand down—
Solas did not keep his derision to himself. "For all your righteous certainty that your way would be faster, we found the quicker path to be the path of respect and alliance with these guardians," he said scornfully. "While you blundered through the temple."
At a command of the Sentinels' guide, the ones fighting Inquisition members withdrew from those battles and trained their force against the Venatori instead. "Yeah, yeah," Varric said in disgruntlement as he sent a bolt right into the neck of a Venatori mage. "You were right, Chuckles. That what you wanted to hear? That satisfy your pride?"
Max observed as Solas's eyes widened in disbelief. He wondered why.
But not for long. As soon as Solas was out of hearing, Dorian said to him in a whisper, "I've learned that 'Solas' means 'pride' in Elvhen. I can't imagine Varric intended that, though."
Max studied the dwarf, who was facing away as he fought. "It certainly sounded like he did. He was very pointed about it. Varric's clever and knows a lot more than he lets on until he can reveal something at an opportune time."
"True enough."
"But that can't be Solas's real name, in that case. Can it? Who would name a child that?"
Dorian shrugged. "If they weren't using the Elvhen tongue by the time he was born, why couldn't it be? Names can mean all sorts of horrible things in their original tongues, but we use them anyway because we have forgotten their original meanings and just like the way they sound."
"I wonder, though," Max muttered.
With the Sentinels dispatching the Venatori and Red Templars with brutal efficiency, the party soon arrived at a vast pool that had to be the fabled Well of Sorrows.
Too late.
Max heard a voice that, by this time, was familiar and recognizable. "So close," murmured Calpernia. "The Well knows its Vessel..."
So she knows what Corypheus intends for her and submits anyway, he thought. Well, that resolves my conflict for me. He had, to this point, still not decided what he wanted to do with Calpernia. She was being betrayed by her master, and her own goals had originally been admirable. Max had weighed these considerations in the scales of justice against the fact that she had committed terrible deeds. But if she didn't care about her own betrayal, if she served Corypheus anyway, she would be treated the same as any other Venatori.
She noticed the approaching group and turned around, scorn in her words. "And those who would despoil it," she scoffed. "Stand aside, Inquisitor. The trials you set for me, I have overcome. As a courtesy, leave now, or not at all."
"I'm not going anywhere, and you cannot possibly believe I will," he replied with equal scorn. "I'm giving you one last chance to turn away. You say 'Vessel,' but do you truly know what that means? Are you aware of exactly what Corypheus means to do to you?"
She laughed. "The Well of Sorrows overflows with knowledge, power that those the elves worshiped as gods abandoned. To walk the Fade without an Anchor—that is the power that the Well will give Corypheus."
Max glanced around the chamber, looking from side to side in heavy irony. "I don't see him here, though! Just you. Why might that be? Do you know what a 'Vessel' is to him, Calpernia? Answer me."
"It is a simple enough term. I had thought you educated enough to understand it. I will carry this power, like a jug brimming, for his use."
So you do know and you accept. Max's resolve was hardening again.
"I knew you would try to take the power for yourself, to ransack its wisdom to try to defeat him. But you'd still just be a child who has been given live steel to play with."
The words of the Nightmare demon, Max realized. How did she know that? Was it just an uncanny coincidence?
"Corypheus, on the other hand, will wield it as a master."
Max cleared his throat and head. "Will wield you as a master. You speak in simple analogies, Calpernia. Let me explain in explicit detail what he is going to do. Once you drink from the Well, Corypheus will use a ritual on you. He'll turn you into a mindless tool, enslaved to his will." He gazed hard at her. "He already did it to your master Erasthenes."
Calpernia eyed him. "Prove it."
"We have documents describing the ritual. Here." Max gave her a page that he had found in the Shrine of Dumat.
Calpernia read it. Her gaze narrowed, and for a moment she seemed to waver in her purpose. Max's heart skipped a beat.
But then that moment passed, and the person who faced him was the same fanatic she had been before. "It matters not. Sacrifices must be made for his sake. If he has called upon me to make one, so be it."
"Why would you do this?" Dorian exclaimed. "What is that—that monster offering you that's so great that you would sacrifice your entire self to achieve it? Something you wouldn't even get to see yourself?"
"Greatness is what he offers!" she exclaimed. She flung the scroll aside. "Nothing more or less than a restoration of the greatness Tevinter once had! That Thedas once had. Once he has ascended to godhood, he can release me from this binding."
"You think he would?" Dorian burst out. "You bloody fool—"
"You, altus, are the fool. I have heard of your pathetic, powerless little faction. 'Lucerni,' you call yourselves," she mocked. "But you turned away from the true light. Do you know why I joined the Venatori and pledged myself to Corypheus? He wants to give Tevinter a true leader!"
"He doesn't want to lead," Dorian scoffed. "He wants to rule."
"And that is what this broken world needs, a ruler who will set things right. No more 'debates,' 'deliberations,' 'factions.' Just one faction, his! We need someone who will destroy the enemies of Thedas who brought it low."
"You raving fanatic—you are positively barking—"
"No, I am the sane one. I see clearly that the system has failed, and I see why. Long ago, Tevinter was the cradle of civilization. Imagine what her future could be. A crafter of wonders, standing against the savage Qunari and the savage Marchers who follow them to the bottom in warfare. A beacon for all."
"What do you actually want from Corypheus?" Max spat. "A renewed golden age, impossible as that is, or the people that you hate 'destroyed'?"
"One requires the other. We must break things sometimes to build something better. Tevinter is going to be reborn under Corypheus. Slaves allowed their full potential. Corruption excised. You undoubtedly are speaking with me, trying to turn me against Corypheus, because you want to have me on your side instead." She laughed derisively. "That will never happen. You stand for everything I despise. The Inquisition's very purpose has been to prop up and restore the filthy, corrupt system that has all but ruined Thedas."
"Oh, if you only knew," Max said with irony, exchanging dark looks with Leliana and Josephine—which they returned. Maker, but it felt good to be able to laugh, of sorts, about their past conflicts.
"You must be alluding to the divisions in your organization over Orlais, Ferelden, and the Free Marches. It makes no difference to me or to my master. Orlais, VMTO, the Dales, Dog Land—they are all one and the same. All parts of the same corrupt system. Replace the Empire of Orlais with an Empire of Ferelden, or a violently armed unified Free Marches, and all that you have done is to change who sits at the top of the filthy heap!"
"And you think Corypheus would be any different? He's the filthiest of all!" Dorian exclaimed. "A big reason why Thedas is the way it is—why mages were oppressed everywhere but Tevinter, why knowledge is so slow to take hold, why those who get power manage to hold onto it—is the Blight! Nothing here makes sense without it, and guess who is responsible for that? Corypheus."
"Corypheus can master the Blight. He will use his power to end it. You speak to me of this binding ritual, as if it would be anything more than a temporary state until my master has assumed the full power he needs! As a god who can command space and time, who can alter the very fabric of reality itself and undo anything he wants, he will be able to give me my reward. Ultimately, Corypheus is the only way to make Thedas great by vanquishing those forces that have brought it to such ruin," she concluded defiantly.
Max had had enough. "Fine. You had your chance to take a different path. Instead you chose violence. You know the truth, and you'll die knowing it."
"Come, then. One last sacrifice!"
With that, she attacked.
It was a nasty, difficult fight. She was powerful, and although Max did not harbor doubts about this anymore after that delusional tirade, he did regret the waste of talent. But she had forced it.
The Inquisition party outnumbered her, however, and despite her power, the inevitable soon ensued. She fell to her knees, her magic all but sapped. She had just enough left for one last act. Max watched in dismay as she crossed rapidly through the Fade to the top of the waterfall overlooking the Well.
"If I fall, it will not be by your hand," she sneered at Max. "Corypheus, my lord, forgive me, for I have failed!"
And with that, she flung herself over the waterfall.
"Well," Max said, because someone had to break the appalling silence, "I guess that's that. A shame, though."
"You gave her more chances than she deserved," Cassandra said. "She made her decision."
"True," he acknowledged. "I just hate that it came to this."
"You regret the loss of what could have been a great mind," Dorian said.
Max nodded gratefully. Dorian always seemed to understand and articulate exactly what he was sometimes unable to do himself. "Not just to suicide, but to the fanaticism for Corypheus that drove her to make that decision."
"Sadly, it can happen to almost anyone."
Max nodded glumly.
"Look!" Leliana suddenly exclaimed, pointing. The others followed her extended finger, which pointed at a black bird—the raven that Morrigan had turned into—and the elven Sentinel, Abelas.
Now they show up? Max thought irritably. Something tells me that Abelas, at least, knew all along that we were fighting, and chose to stay out of this one.
"Abelas," he said curtly to the Sentinel.
Morrigan landed and changed back into a human woman, glaring at them all. "You heard his parting words, Inquisitor! The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!"
Max had had enough. "And he could have done that at any time over hundreds of years, and you would never have known, because you didn't even know of its existence until a little while ago, Morrigan!"
"But I do know of it now."
"The sanctum is despoiled at last," Abelas said, glaring at the pool, ignoring the conversation.
Morrigan forced him to acknowledge her. "You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance!"
"To keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!"
"Fool! You would let your people's legacy rot in the shadows!"
"Enough!" Max shouted. "This is not your fight or your business!"
"You would let him—you cannot honestly—"
"Can I not? Try me," he replied menacingly.
She nearly transformed back into a bird. Feathers sprouted on her bare shoulders, then withdrew or vanished away. She was nearly sputtering with outrage. "You are a force of destruction," she seethed. "It is no wonder to me now that you allied so definitively with the forces of destruction in your homeland. And it was not just because you were born there. You think the same way! Let it all burn! Let it all explode! Something new will take its place, and no matter if what is lost is irretrievable—" She took a deep breath and attempted to collect herself. When she spoke again, she was marginally calmer. "The Well offers power, Inquisitor. You like that, do you not? If this power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?"
"Do you even know what you ask?" Abelas said to her. He did not let her respond. "As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on... through this. All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever."
Max did not find anything admirable in this. It seemed unpleasantly similar to the type of "sacrifice" that Corypheus had been demanding of Calpernia, which she too would have been willing to make to serve her "god" and his greater glory. What was the difference? One thought to sacrifice everything that she was to make Corypheus a god and Tevinter glorious, he thought. The ancient servants of Mythal sacrificed everything that they were for the greater glory of Mythal and Arlathan. And what came of it? Arlathan is gone. Elvhenan is fallen. The last Sentinels want to destroy this place and all that it contains. Those sacrifices were all for nothing, because the rule of history is change.
It was bold, but he pointed this out to Abelas in plain terms.
To his surprise, Solas actually agreed with him. "It need not be this way, my friend. There are other places. Other duties. Your people yet linger."
Abelas was surprised. "Elvhen such as you?"
"Yes, such as I."
The two regarded each other for a moment of contemplation, and then Abelas spoke again, directing his words to Max. "You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you that I cannot deny. Is this your desire? To partake of the vir'abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?"
"No, Sentinel," Max said firmly. "That is not my desire. If you believe it should be destroyed, you know better than anyone else here, and you have more right than anyone present to do so."
"No!" Morrigan shouted again. "He is offering you—offering us—"
"You have not shown respect to Mythal," Solas told her.
Abelas then did something utterly shocking. He half-smiled, as if privy to something that nobody else knew. "But she has," he said. "She has indeed."
"See?" Morrigan blustered on. "He knows that I have restored an eluvian of his people. He knows the research I have done, the respect for the ancient ways of the elves—"
"Enough," Abelas said to her. "I have only one more thing to say to you: No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost. The vir'abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. Brave it if you must, but know that you will be bound forever to the will of Mythal."
"Bound to a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did," Morrigan said. "I am not afraid of 'Mythal.'"
"Bound as we all are. The choice is yours."
"What became of Mythal?" Max suddenly asked. "You are certainly bound to some power and you believe it to have been she. What happened?"
"Elven legend says that Mythal was tricked by Fen'Harel and banished to the Beyond," Morrigan cut in.
"Wherever you heard this, it is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder." Abelas exchanged a pointed look with Solas.
"Murder?" Morrigan continued. "I said nothing of—"
"She was slain, if a god truly can be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. Yet the vir'abelasan remains. That is something."
"So what will you do now?" Max asked him.
"Our duty ends, so why remain?"
"There is a place for you, lethallin," Solas said. "If you seek it." There was that look again, Max noted.
"Perhaps there are places that the shemlen have not yet touched."
"The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history. You might be the last to know the truth," Dorian said.
"Would the 'elves' of your lands listen to the truth?" Abelas asked in scorn.
"They might. Would it hurt to try?"
"It very well may, shemlen. Yes. It may be that only Uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken. If fate is kind."
"Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas," Solas said.
Abelas managed a half-smile again before stepping away as quietly as he had come.
"His name," Solas explained to the Inquisition. "It means 'sorrow.' I told him that I hoped he found a new name."
Max turned then to Morrigan. "You wanted this so badly, now you have it. I hope it is everything you want it to be. But I wash my hands of this."
She gazed back spitefully at him. "And if I do learn anything useful from it that can be used to help you, I expect a full apology."
"If the difference between victory and defeat is your dip in the Well, then I will acknowledge it in front of all Skyhold." He turned away. "At least there is an eluvian here."
Indeed, a fully intact, glowing mirror loomed nearby. Morrigan smirked. "I was correct about that, at least. I expect I will be correct about this too. Do not fear that Corypheus can use this, Inquisitor. Each eluvian requires a key, and for this one, the Well is the key. When I take its power, Mythal's last eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass."
"Fine. It's yours." Max was sick of the entire affair, if he had to be honest.
Morrigan smirked again as she descended into the pool.
End Note: Calpernia's fate also is not canon, of course. But after thinking about it (and I suppose what else I'm thinking about analogously is bleeding obvious to my fellow Americans and quite likely many others), I found myself bothered by the idea that she turns only because Corypheus was betraying her personally. It's not that I think the Inquisition should only accept morally pure allies who agree with all of its goals. I think allies should be taken where they can be found, for whatever reasons, even if those reasons are selfish and often even if the ally has a Past. My issue with this is that I just can't find Calpernia's conversion plausible any longer. Unfortunately, I've seen enough to realize that personal betrayal isn't enough to turn a lot of true believers. If it were, cults would not find victims (and neither would destructive political movements that demand one-way loyalty to a Dear Leader who never returns it). Sometimes people do turn when Dear Leader knifes them in the back, of course. But a lot more people don't, because courage is a rare quality.