The Wolf Returns

You ride along the road towards Solas and his companions. The odds that they are intending some mischief are low, but the taint of suspicion is a hard one to cleanse. Solas has put himself on your mental 'watch list' and is unlikely to ever get off it.

Still, the odds remain low, and as such yourself and the rangers are all you are bringing. If anyone asks you are nothing more than an honour guard. That it also happens to be the perfect force for an extended fighting retreat through the woods is merely a happy coincidence.

Though if you recall Solas as well as you believe, he is likely to both see the implicit caution and not care. Or take it as proof that you are one of whatever it is he was seeking when he first came here. It could go either way.

A soft sigh escapes you; you miss the days where you did not need to question the motives of all you met. Another crime to add to Morgoth's charges.

After an hour or two of travel you catch sight of Solas and his companions. There are more than a few of them mostly, no, entirely elves. That causes you to frown. Surely it would be much easier to recruit humans given their sheer prevalence in the local area.

Solas emerges from the crowd and you pull Orundómë to a stop and dismount to meet him. The two of you stride forward, escorts hanging back. It must look like some kind of parley.

You come to a stop just outside of sword range. Your eyes meet, and Solas grins at you.

"You are late." You state with uttermost seriousness.

Isewen has lived what most would call a blessed life. As a child she got lucky and fell in with the one bandit camp that saw her as a future investment rather than merchandise or an annoyance. From there they were lucky enough to end up on the right side of the civil war. Since she became a woman, she's been lucky enough to never be short of work for a sturdy sword.

Yet, she had always felt so empty until she met Solas. His words of a better world, of all the people marshalled once more beneath one banner. When he spoke of bringing equality to all and uplifting the downtrodden it lit something within her.

'At last,' she thought, 'I have found a cause worthy of my blade. A cause I could live for, kill for… die for.'

She has leant her experience to the mage, organising and directing the slowly forming company. She does not believe she knows everything about their operation, given Solas' late night meetings he refuses to bring her to, but she knows a lot.

So when Solas said he was leading them to a forest to 'uphold an oath' she didn't ask why, she just got to organising. That said, she also kept her ear to the ground, and it didn't sound great. The forest in question was inhabited by Dalish and apparently had a wizard?

So, when a normal looking party of soldiers started to ride towards them, she was somewhat relieved. Nobody was getting cursed or eaten or whatever it is that wizards do to people.

Then the leader dismounted and he and Solas walked towards each other. It was like something out of a story, the two sides facing each other, the two leaders standing together. Even the noble seemed like something out of a tale more than reality, tall and handsome beyond any reasonable expectation. He dwarfed Solas and carried himself with a casual danger that she'd never actually seen in a real person.

Then he spoke. "You are late."

Subtly the elves all relaxed. They hadn't really been told what was happening, merely that Solas had promised to return. More than a few people had whispered they were riding on a revenge quest. Others had pointed out that was silly, but still the tensions had lingered. Hearing that they were expected was something of a relief.

Solas' expression was hidden from her, but she could hear the amusement in his voice. "Surely you do not begrudge me two weeks?"

"I hardly begrudge it, but I must admit I had begun to wonder if you would return." The stranger replies, his accent clearer in the longer phrase.

It is a strange accent, placing emphasis wrong in a consistent manner, and shaping the vowels strangely. Then there is the cadence of his speech, oddly rhythmic, almost as if he is about to start singing at any moment. Combined they are oddly mesmerising.

"Well, I thought it unwise to break an oath to one such as you." Solas remarks.

"I made you swear no oath." He was answered.

"A promise is a promise, and I know how seriously you take such things." Isewen is surprised when the noble glares at Solas, who ignores it to turn back to them. "Well, my friends, allow me to introduce Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol, lord of Brecilian Forest. He has asked us to assist him."

The noble bows, picture perfect. Too perfect in fact. There is a grace and an ease, not to mention a degree of precision to the angle of the bow that strikes her as wrong.

"I am pleased to see so many with the nobility of spirit and strength of heart to come to the aid of all in our hour of need." He says in that quasi-musical fashion of his.

Isewen wonders what exactly this 'Lord Russandol' wants. Why does he need their help, and what form will it take?

"Please, follow me." You command the group before you. "Though it is short notice, I am having food prepared for you. Take some time, rest for now, and tomorrow we shall plan."

You had not expected cheers or applause, and none eventuate. The subtle excitement and rejuvenation of energy is satisfying nonetheless.

Solas raises an eyebrow and speaks softly, "A masterful performance to be sure, is there actually food being prepared as we speak?"

You return the gesture. "I am uncertain where this doubt comes from. Have I not proven myself a host worthy of the title? Of course, food is being prepared, I am not in the habit of lying."

Solas smiles slyly at you. "Well, I suppose that makes you one of the endangered species of honest politician."

You frown and tilt your head. "What is a politician?"

After a rather confusing explanation, where the line between a noble and politician is established as extant but never outlined, the two of you fall silent for a time. Out of politeness you have opted to walk rather than ride, and your rangers have followed you lead. As good for camaraderie as this is, it also makes the journey rather slow.

This time of silent travel gives you the chance to reflect on your plans. Solas had not given you any firm indication on what he would do to aid you during the Blight, but arriving with the beginnings of an army certainly implies a great deal. Yet, how many of them are warriors and how many are some kind of support specialists? You do not know for certain, though you could guess.

Perhaps the wisest course of action is to leave them to their own devices. Leave Solas to lead as he sees fit and they to follow as they deem wise. It has a number of advantages, and perhaps could be coupled with calling on Solas' undeniable expertise in matters of magic.

Yet you hesitate, an implicit promise is almost the same as no promise. The Blight is coming, and you dare not leave matters to chance. If you are to plan well, you must know what you have available.

You glance at Solas whose expression is as hard to read as ever. The thoughts he may be pondering still a mystery to you.

No, at the very least you must be certain whether or not Solas' followers can contribute anything to the fight, or if you must make plans that lack them.

"Tell me Solas." You say, "How many of those who follow you are warriors?"

"The greater part of them, I imagine." Solas replies cautiously. "I cannot be sure of the number, as I have not counted, but more than half, certainly."

"I see." You muse, that puts their numbers less than one hundred, but not much so. "I will ask this question without prevarication or deceit; can I count upon their service when the Blight is upon us?"

Solas frowns. "I had hoped that we were past suspicion and mistrust. Have I not given you my word?"

"It is not that I doubt you or your word, but you have never said what aid you intended to give. Anything that you can give is appreciated, whether you guard areas that warriors may leave, or simply supply healers, teamsters and all the other assistants of war." You explain. "Yet, if I am to plan, I must know, without doubt, how many swords I can muster, how swiftly they can gather, and who they answer to."

Solas' eyes widen slightly, and his posture takes a contrite air. "Ah, yes. I suppose one cannot plan a campaign without numbers and positions."

It is now your turn to give a questioning look at your companion. "You seem more familiar with the subject than I would have expected."

Solas gives you an enigmatic smile. "I may have led a few armies myself, in 'days before the sun' as I believe you refer to them."

"That statement is very much not a metaphor." You respond with slight irritation. "Regardless, we drift away from the point. Will your warriors serve against the Blight?"

The elf is silent, his expression inscrutable. After a time that is at once too long and shorter than you had expected, he sighs.

"Yes. It would be foolish to deny you at this point." He says. "You can count on my aid, and that of those who follow me, when the Blight comes. However, I will be retaining command of them. We will not die for your crusade."

You give him a considering look. The set of his jaw, the tension of his fingers on his staff. He is expecting push back and is ready to fight it.

"Very well." You agree.

As amusing as you find the bewilderment the elf displays after not meeting the resistance he expected, you consider it no great price to pay. It would not be the first time you have relied on allies rather than subordinates, not even the first time since you arrived in Thedas.

You wonder what kind of image he has of the Noldor if he expected you to demand his submission.

Now the question becomes where to house them.

Tempting as it is to try and house them in your hall, you ultimately decide not to. Given the precarious nature of your food situation and the need to stockpile for the coming Blight, you think it wise to leave them somewhat independent.

Of course, you would not have it said that you were anything less than a good host, so you will still provide them with something. Some quick mental calculations on wood numbers and availability quickly reveals that you have sufficient overhead to still fulfill your obligations next week and build housing for these people.

"While of course you are welcome to stay." You inform Solas. "I do not believe we can support your whole group long term."

Solas nods with an amused smile. "I suspected as much, we can find our own lodgings if necessary."

"No need for that." You wave your hand. "I can supply some wood and a suitable location. If you are willing to lend your own people to assist the creation of barracks, we can have sufficient housing complete by nightfall. It will be a touch crowded but there should be space for growth in your own time."

Solas nods. "Very well, you have my thanks for your assistance."

"It is merely my duty as the host." You reply. "Feeding you will be more complicated, you must speak to Ranger to organise hunting and Martin for trade concerns."

Solas gives you a long considering look. "Yes, I will. Though I make no promises about buying or selling through your merchants."

You shrug. "As you deem wise, but I have deep connections to the local area, and you are free to take advantage if you so desire. But enough of business, we are nearly to my hall. Let us eat, sing and rest, then we can set out to build you all some shelter."

Solas rolls his eyes, then makes a show of looking around. "Oh? Are we in a play now? Where is the audience?"

"I cannot be faulted if you do not appreciate proper speech." You sniff.

The corner of Solas' mouth twitches, and you hear a few muffled giggles from behind you. Then you are at the gates of Endataurëo and your time is consumed getting everyone sat and fed.

While the elves eat and enjoy themselves, you do not rest. A great deal of making something look effortless is doing a much of the work while no one is watching. To that end, you consult with Ranger and Anneth on locations nearby that could easily be looped into the road network. Then you send a message to your workers to meet at the clearing in question.

While you are doing all of this, you are also making sure to duck in and out of the dining hall, speaking to Solas and his second Isewen. She in particular proves quite helpful, promising to have shifts for the work organised by the time you reach the clearing you have chosen.

So an hour later, when you arrive in the clearing, it is a simple matter of pointing out where everything is going and assigning tasks. One group goes to levelling the ground, another to assembling the frames, a third to cutting, planing and preparing wood to serve as rooves and walls.

"If we have enough left over, we should consider making raised platforms on stilts to fit additional people." You tell the frame making group. "I assume most people have bedding of their own, but space will be at a premium."

As the group nods and heads to their task, Solas speaks up. "You are rather good at this aren't you?"

"I could hardly call myself a prince of the Noldor if something so simple was beyond my capabilities." You respond, turning to face the elf.

"I must take your word for it." Solas replies, looking over the groups as they begin their work. "You have done this before I take it?"

"It was I who built Himring, Gladesville and the villages where the Chasind dwell." You reply. "Though I cannot claim sole credit for any one of them, it is still a wealth of experience to draw from."

"Indeed." Solas mutters to himself. "I barely had to do anything."

Your eyes widen. "Oh, forgive me. I have grown so used to command I failed to consider that I might overrule you. I meant no offence."

"No. No. It's. It's fine." Solas says distractedly. "It is… it doesn't really matter."

Work progresses well and you even manage to get a dirt path cleared to the road. A reasonably successful afternoon all told.

Self Reflection

Solas once told you that he had 'friends' in the Beyond who told him things he had no right to know. You consider this account as reliable as Turko's reports on the Nagothrond incident, but it does hint to something true. Solas knows the Beyond, more than either you or Merrill. Seeing him work on June's prison would have convinced you of that.

That he knows many things that he has no right to know only convinces you further. Perhaps before the weeks you spent with him it would have fed your fear that he would misuse this knowledge. Now with his return, you are confident that Solas, if not necessarily a friend, is not an enemy.

So, after you have seen Solas' companions to their destination, you ask the elf himself for a private word. You had hoped to also call on Merrill's expertise but she is busy dealing with what she described as an 'armageddon of stupidity'. Xandar is, well Xandar and probably would do his best, but you are hoping for someone with experience.

Solas raises an eyebrow at you. "What is it, Nelyafinwë?"

"I have a matter of some sensitivity that I wish to discuss with you. Whatever else I must have your word that you shall not share the information within with anyone aside from those already aware." You state.

"Certainly, do you wish for one of your binding oaths?" Solas asks, with some clear amusement.

"It is not so dire as that, your word suffice." You wave his offer off.

"Then you have it." Solas replies. "Tell me then, what is the matter?"

"I am not sure if you are aware, but Merrill discovered a method to regain the choice for immortality that was your people's birthright."

Solas nods slowly. "She mentioned something along those lines, yes."

"Excellent." You nod. "I am certain she would also have mentioned that she planned to spread the practice to her clan?"

Solas smiles indulgently. "Yes, I am to presume you indulged her?"

"I had very little to do with the affair." You correct the elf. "The path is one that the Nandëo are able to walk alone, they merely needed someone to show them the path."

Solas does not respond immediately. His eyes narrow and his face shows deep thought.

When he finally does speak it is quiet, aimed more at himself than you. "He could be lying. But what if he is not? Perhaps, yet no, they are not…"

You cough deliberately and Solas starts out of his thoughts.

"Ah, forgive me. Yes, that is, certainly surprising. Is that what you wished to tell me?" He asks.

"During the process, naturally the Hahren were made to wait until most of the clan had undergone the procedure." You continue your explanation. "However, there proved to be a problem unforeseen. The previous volunteers had, in typical fashion for such things, been strong, healthy and young. Thus the fact that the spirit would reject a body it no longer recognises due to aging was not foreseen."

Solas winces and shifts in what looks almost like guilt. "I suppose I shall have to offer my apologies."

"None could have predicted this matter, however much you understand the Beyond." You offer consolingly.

Solas' smile in return is tight. "Yes. Well, I suppose I am uncertain what you need my assistance with. Whatever the Chantry might say of apostates, I do not dabble in necromancy."

Now it is your turn to wince. "I did not say the Hahren died, exactly."

You know a great many ways to soften blows, to talk around the point to avoid actually saying anything. When you relay the tale of your folly you choose to use none of them. There are a few reasons for doing so, you do not wish to avoid the blame for what are your mistakes and you want to keep the information as condensed as possible so that Solas can be best informed.

That the elf in question should grow increasingly angry with you is not unexpected, though it was never guaranteed.

When you talk of the terrible fate that befell Shilya, he goes from angry to apoplectic.

"What madness is this!" He roars. "Has your arrogance grown so unchecked that you now believe you can play around with the very souls of the people?"

You remain silent and impassive as he continues in that vein for several minutes. After a while you think he is not even truly talking to you.

"What could possibly have possessed you to do something like that? She didn't do anything to you!" He slams his hands down on the arms of your chair, leaning in to attempt loom over you.

You meet his eyes without flinching. "I did not do so on purpose. I did not even know it was possible. Hence why I am bringing it to an expert on the subject lest I make the situation worse."

Your response startles Solas, who looks at you as though for the first time. He flinches back. Then he shakes himself like a hound and straightens once more.

"Yes. Yes. While what you did was foolish and we will be talking about it later. For now, there is someone who needs help, and we should prioritise her." He states firmly.

Idly, you wonder if he is talking to you or himself.

The journey to the Sabrae clan passes in silence, and Solas wastes no time striding to the mirror and beginning his examination. Meanwhile, you have to convince Marethari that he is no danger, because Eru forbid that you do not have to be the entirety of the group's tact and diplomacy for once.

"You trust him?" The Keeper asks eventually.

You pause, tilting your head somewhat. "Trust is perhaps a strong word, but I believe that he is invested in helping and has little to no interest in taking advantage of the situation."

Marethari chews her lip in thought until Solas comes up to you. "I have to admit the spell work here is flawless. Honestly I wish I'd thought of it, it would have made… a great many things easier. That said, we are going to need some tests to ascertain the nature of the issue. So tell me, Russandol, how best should we test the memories?"

"I am uncertain why you are asking me." You state. "Are you not the expert? Should such tests not be more your area than mine?"

Solas sighs. "Yes, and I will be administering the test, but I need to know what I'm looking for. You are an anomaly, remember? How am I to know what is normal for you and what is not?"

"Ah, I understand." You nod. "Then the simplest matter would be to ask the being to utilise a number of abilities native to my kind. Merely possessing the memories of being able to do them should not grant the ability."

Solas nods. "So if the spirit can, then it must be copying you directly."

You wave your hand back and forth in a gesture you believe means 'in a fashion'. "Not quite, as I doubt a spirit could replicate them as they should be, but my hope is the discrepancy is enough to resolve the situation alone."

Solas considers for a long moment. "I suppose a spirit will be closer in attempt than an Elvhan would. I doubt your plan would work the way you are hoping for but it cannot hurt to try. Tell me, what abilities should we test?"

"Let us begin with the simplest and easiest." You suggest. "I have far keener eyes and ears than any human, elf or Nandëo. Let us test that."

Solas nods and turns to Marethari. "You… oh, forgive me it seems I have not gotten your name."

The Keeper gives him a flat look. "Keeper Marethari of the Sabrae clan."

"Solas. An apostate I suppose." He says, almost to himself. "Would you care to walk across the room and say something ever, oh, ten paces or so. You two raise your hands when you can no longer hear her."

Marethari does so, but she refuses to go out the door, at which point neither of your hands are down.

"I'm not leaving my people with a stranger unsupervised." She says flatly.

"Yes, and introducing variables such as walls would be a poor decision." Solas muses. "And we cannot take the mirror out to test sight. I suppose we will have to move on."

"If it helps any, I do feel as though there is a fog before my eyes, and my ears are stuffed with wool." The mirror-you offers.

It is not as helpful as you hoped.

From there you try the Light of Valinor, Osanwë, the sheer presence of your people, even the reflected light of the Trees in your eyes. The mirror proves to lack any of these. However, despite your best hopes, it seems that you cannot put forth an impressive enough display to convince the mirror that it is anything other than bound by magic it does not understand.

In a fit of temper, you attempt to overwhelm it with sheer might. The room fills with ethereal light, and the mirror shakes as though it might break.

"Stop that! Whatever that is stop!" Solas roars.

You do so immediately, and observe the elf's weapon facing you, knuckles white on the staff. Marethari is looking decidedly ill, and the mirror is looking like it might collapse at any moment.

"Forgive me." You say quietly. "I grew impatient."

"Yes, well, let us avoid any ancient magics from the long forgotten past for now." Solas says with an air of one trying to move past an uncomfortable topic.

"Have you found all that you needed to know now?" You ask.

Solas nods. "I am now all but convinced that what has happened is the disembodied spirit was overwhelmed by memories and assimilated them as though it were its own."

"Thus the Fëa changed to match the Hröa it expected to have." You supply.

Solas pauses in thought. "Assuming that those words mean soul and body respectively… It's an oversimplification but yes."

"Then we need to find a way to remove those memories." Marethari states. "Or, no, actually we should probably try bolstering her true memories, given what happened last time."

"No need." Solas says firmly. "Though it will be… unpleasant, I know a spell to suppress certain memories."

"Solas, trying to mess with memory is how we got here in the first place." You caution him. "I think it would be wise to consider all our options first."

Solas waves you off. "I have done things like this before, it will likely only be a temporary solution, but it will be the best place to start."

A feeling of dread comes over you as Solas begins casting. Yet, you hesitate to intervene, ignorance and caution combining to stay your hand long enough for Solas to deal the damage you suspected he would.

Before the spell has truly completed, barely seconds after his eyes began to glow, Solas reels back as though struck. The mirror, at this time, dissolves into chaos. Neither you nor Shilya now stand there, instead there are rolling images, momentary flashes that you guess are memories.

A woman on the ground, her appearance shifting rapidly between several different people. Warriors of the Noldor shrink and shift into leather clad elves before dissipating into abstract lines that solidify into heraldry from Eldamar.

You feel helpless, and furious. Again your attempts to help have failed, sabotaged almost. It is enough to cause your pride to bite, screaming that you force this situation to change, that you act.

Fortunately your newfound wisdom and calm prevail and you prevent yourself from leaping into anything foolish. Distantly, you are aware of Solas and Marethari screaming at each other and realise you should intervene.

As you think on your course of action, you stare at the mirror and the shifting images within. By sheer coincidence, or perhaps not, the image that forms is of a great hooded figure, sea spray flying past it as its hooded face seems to look straight at you.

"Mandos." You whisper.

Almost as soon as you mention the name, the image collapses once more, replaced by grey clouds and lashing rain. Then onto an image of some Nandëo you have never met, then a number of Dalish.

"How could you not realise that this would happen!" Marethari shrieks. "We told you exactly how this came about! Now you've made the situation worse!"

"This is not how the spell is supposed to work." Solas defends hotly. "I have never seen a mind react to mana by following it back to its source before. It is as though this creature is more than a mere elf."

"It is a spirit." You state flatly, almost to yourself. "A houseless torn shrieking from its natural state and left naked before the shrieking wind that seeks to devour all that lives."

"Spirits are not ghosts!" Solas snaps. "Nor are they monsters the eat mana!"

"What do you know about it?" Marethari retorts. "It's clear you know as much about this situation as the rest of us, and at least we actually listen to people before we act!"

The mirror, somewhat fittingly, dissolves into a meeting between your brothers. Then it shifts into a meeting of elves, then of all the Hahren. It is somewhat amusing to note that in almost every single one of them the participants are on their feet yelling at each other.

The voices of Marethari and Solas fade into the background as you walk towards the mirror. Slowly your hand comes up to rest upon its surface as the image dissolves into seemingly random pink and purple swirls.

Perhaps you should cleanse the spirit. It might be kindest, to entrust it to Mandos' care. It is eminently clear that yours is no substitute.

You stare into the mirror, torn on what to do when, just for a moment, the shape solidifies into Shilya once more.

Slowly, you pull your hand away as the form shifts to Solas, then you, then a random elf you have never seen before. No, you will not take the choice away, you will not make the final decision without consulting anyone. However, it is clear to you. You have failed, and you think you know why.

To evil end shall all things turn…

"I think I shall withdraw from these proceedings." You state.

The two elves immediately stop bickering. Frankly, you find it almost insulting.

"What are you talking about?!" Marethari exclaims. "This whole affair was your idea!"

"I concur." Solas says stiffly. "It seems folly to abandon this task after a single setback."

"This is not the first time that this task has failed so dramatically." You reply. "Nor is it that I am demanding it be put an end to it. Rather, I believe that I should withdraw from participation, lest I bring further misfortune to us all."

Marethari splutters in anger, and Solas gives you a long look. "Why do you believe you bring misfortune."

You glance back at the mirror, which shows nothing relevant. "I have had Mandos' attention before, and it brought no good. I fear that if I am calling said attention once more, he might be taking offence at our attempts to treat upon his territory."

Marethari finally stops spluttering and begins to look thoughtful. She glances from you to the mirror and occasionally at your forehead.

Solas on the other hand looks at you with utter disbelief. "You would abandon something this important, something that you caused due to mere superstition!?"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand." You reply.

At first you had intended to snap at him, annoyed at his presumption, but by the end it had come out more tired and defeated than anything else.

"Whether or not I bring Mandos' attention to this project, it is clear that I can offer nothing. I do not understand this creature enough, but it is too close to things I do understand. I would make assumptions, and I fear to make the situation worse."

Solas had deflated at your initial rebuke, and his expression turns thoughtful.

You sigh. "I am hardly the only person to do so, but I fear I do not have the tools, nor the time to acquire them, to be of any further help."

Solas says nothing as you walk past him and place your hand of Marethari's shoulder.

"If you need any of my knowledge, or there is ought I can do to help, send Merrill or a messenger and you shall have what you need. But I will no longer come here to attempt what my very well be impossible." You say quietly, looking into her eyes.

The Keeper glances from you to the mirror on last time then she too sighs.

"I will. I hope you find peace with your gods." She replies.

You leave the aravel without a further word.