Well of Sorrows
Ennaly wiped the sweaty strands of hair out of her face. The Arbor Wilds might be a beautiful place, but it was also humid and warm in late summer. Wiping the sweat from her face gave her a good excuse to wipe away the tears in her eyes before the others could see them.
They were inside the temple of Mythal, and emotion had overtaken her as she realised the significance of this place. It was beautiful but crumbling, like the Crossroads had been, like everything Elven since the fall of Arlathan, even the Elves themselves.
Solas, nearby, was reading from a large stone tablet. "Atish'all Vir Abelasan. It means enter the path of the Well of Sorrows."
"The thing Corypheus wants," Varric replied.
She still couldn't believe it. Or perhaps she could, because it was the only explanation of why Corypheus didn't stay dead when Hawke and Varric killed him all that time ago in the Vimmark Mountains. They had seen Corypheus die, killed in some kind of magical explosion, and yet he had returned to life by taking over a Grey Warden's body. And then his dragon had joined them, and they could only barely escape in time to this... sanctum, or wherever they were.
"There is magic in this door that I cannot dispel," Cassandra noted from further ahead. "We are locked in."
Ennaly herself was being out-translated by Morrigan, a Human no doubt. While she could read the texts as well, both Solas and Morrigan did so at a faster pace. She had no problem with Solas outperforming her, which he had done so since the moment they met, and besides, he was an Elf. But Morrigan, a Human, had a kind of condescending air that rubbed her the wrong way.
How could the woman question Mythal when they were in her temple?
She left Solas and Morrigan translating and wandered around this room by herself. They didn't have much time to reflect on the wonder of this place, for they were still chasing Corypheus. That didn't keep her from wanting to, however.
Focus on your surroundings, her late Keeper always said.
After a deep breath, Ennaly closed her eyes and let the bickering of Solas and Morrigan fade away to a hum. It was warm, humid, and the soft breeze carried the scent of the strange flora that had overtaken this ruin. Small colourful birds chirped cheerily.
But there was more. Morrigan had said it as they stepped foot in this chamber. It appears the temple's magics are still strong. She could feel it, here, under her feet and in her heart. A soft beckoning, a call, an invitation, a thread to follow. Whatever this magic was, it was something she understood, like instinct.
Carefully, she took a step. She had to keep focusing, as whatever thread she followed only showed her one step at a time. Listening with all her senses, she gave into it and swept over the tiles, twirling and spinning, calm again.
As the thread stopped pulling her further, a quiet pulse thrummed through the room, leaving silence in its wake.
Ennaly opened her eyes to find everybody looking at her. "I have paid obeisance," she said a little spitefully towards Morrigan. "There are some Elven magics I am still in tune with."
Morrigan wanted to reply, but Cassandra's voice interrupted them from the far end of the room. "The doors have opened. Whatever you did was the key."
A wave of gratitude washed over Ennaly as she noticed that Dorian had been investigating the walls with interest. At least he appreciated this place for its history without being dismissive.
Solas approached her as they gathered to continue. "You did that with your eyes closed," he said quietly to her.
"Yes," she replied meekly. "Whatever blood flowed through the Elvhen veins that created this place, flows through my veins too, diluted or not."
He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers, and brought it to his lips to kiss it. A small tender gesture, but it gave her all the comfort she needed.
"This place... It means something to me." She pointed at her cheekbones. "Mythal's temple. Fitting that Corypheus wants to despoil even more of our heritage."
Solas pulled her in for a quick embrace before they passed through the opened doors. On the other side, a second courtyard awaited them.
And it wasn't empty. In front of them, Samson jumped in through a large crevice in the floor ahead, but several of his followers remained behind. The fight that followed was quick. Ennaly's magic felt empowered here, her lightning more potent. Was it simply ambient magic from the temple, or was the Veil thin here? She wasn't sure, but it felt good to see her magic surging through the Red Templars.
"Come on, we might catch them," Bull said as he slayed the final Templar, axe still in hand. He ran to the crevice and stared down. "There's a hole. Jump in."
"Just a thought," Dorian said, rushing forward to place a hand on his arm. "Maybe rushing through this place like a mad bull isn't the best plan?"
"That is almost a personal offence, kadan," Bull replied, but he lowered his weapon and awaited the others.
They both had a point. They didn't have enough information to understand the full danger this place held. Blindly rushing after their enemy might not be the best idea, even if it might be quicker and might save more Inquisition soldiers. There was no certainty.
Up a set of stairs at the far end of the room, they could see tall filigree doors, flanked by statues, closed and shimmering with the same magic as the previous door. Certainly, that meant they could be opened similarly as well.
Ennaly stepped forward as she listened to the others. Their opinion was split perfectly down the middle, with the four mages in favour of investigating the rooms and the four non-mages in favour of jumping down. Being Inquisitor had its benefits here, for while she valued the opinions of her friends, right now, she had a selfish need to not despoil this place any further. "This place deserves our respect," she said. "Let us not blindly rush forward."
Morrigan agreed. "We cannot find the Well of Sorrows unprepared."
As expected, more tiles awaited them, requiring activation.
"Can you feel the magic too?" Ennaly whispered to no one in particular as she took a few tentative steps, awed by the magic she could feel tingling over her skin. It was stronger with each step she took further into the temple.
"I can feel magic, yes, but I cannot understand it," Dorian replied. "I am no Elf, however. What is your secret? Are your ears just naturally receptive to these kinds of whispers?"
"Ask that of an Elf who is not also a mage," Ennaly remarked as she looked up at the tall trees breaching the walls.
Bull lingered at the doorway, impatiently tapping his axe on the ground. "Are we really going to follow magical whispers instead of following our enemy?"
Morrigan looked around at the group. Cassandra, like Bull, had hardly entered the chambers, preferring to pursue their foe directly. "Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: Elves, dragons, magic… the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true."
A little surprised, Ennaly smiled at the woman. Condescending as she might be at times, in her heart they shared the same perspective. Morrigan met her gaze and returned the smile. Perhaps she wasn't all too bad, Ennaly thought.
She closed her eyes and let the magical beckoning guide her over the steps in a dance, only revealing one step at a time. How wonderful it must have been to be an Elf in ancient times, to walk this path as she did now, and be rewarded with an audience from Mythal. The beckoning led her over the tiles, more intricate than the first floor had been, but it was easy to listen and follow.
And like before, a magical pulse and ringing zing shot through the chambers as Ennaly finished the pattern. Her petition was accepted.
"You dance better than a professional ballet I once had to endure, many summers ago in Qarinus," Dorian noted. "If you ever retire as Inquisitor, there are options for you."
Ennaly smiled, but an entirely unexpected sight silenced her reply.
A statue of a large wolf waited at the end of the passageway. Its posture was docile, curious, but on guard, the pose similar to those of the wolven statues scattered throughout the Dales that depicted the companions of the Emerald Knights. This far predated those, and it was clear from the curving lines on its flank who this was.
Fen'Harel.
There had been two towering statues at the temple's entrance of him as well, but they had made sense. The Dalish placed statues of Fen'Harel outside of their camp, after all, to frighten harmful spirits. It seemed a logical legacy.
But this statue was inside.
"Rather blasphemous indeed," Morrigan commented as Ennaly remarked upon it. "But I thought the ancient Elves above quaint superstitions."
Solas shot her a veiled dirty look. "For all your knowledge, Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history."
Ennaly swallowed. That is what he thought the Dalish did as well, wasn't it? Whatever the significance of the statue, they couldn't discern it by staring at it, and they hardly had the time for that anyway. She could discuss it with Solas whenever they were back to safety again.
Her sylvanwood ring felt hot around her finger as they continued. Ennaly finished the petitioner's path, and with another magical zing, the large filigree doors at the end of the central chamber opened.
The room they entered was dark as towering ceilings shielded them from the scorching sunlight. Beautiful golden mosaics echoed under their footsteps through an otherwise deafening silence. It was unexpectedly magnificent here, especially when compared to the crumbling exteriors. There was something sacred about this room, filled with arches and statues, almost like Mythal herself was watching. Was this a throne room? Did the Goddess hold court here once, before she was locked away?
They walked around in awe, when all of a sudden, a magical ripple through the chamber preceded a single command spoken in Elven. "Venavis." Stop.
Collectively, they halted and turned their gaze upwards. On an elevation stood a tall, hooded Elf, but he was not the only one. Behind him were more Elves, each of them pointing arrows at them. There was an easy grace about them and they were dressed in gilded armour so rich, richer than any Elf Ennaly had seen. And besides, the Dalish couldn't forge metals.
A soft metalling ringing indicated that Bull had grabbed his axe.
"Not now," Dorian whispered urgently to him, but his own knuckles were white in tension as he held his own staff.
The Elf stepped forward and light fell on his face, revealing the familiar lines of Mythal curving over his features. It was a strange familiarity to Ennaly, a comfort, but somehow an uncertain one. What was he?
"You… are unlike the others," he addressed the group. "You stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own."
One? Last time Ennaly checked, there were two Elves. With a frown, she glanced at Solas, but his eyes were locked on the strange Elf with a tense expression, and he didn't notice her look. Was this Elf dismissing Solas because he lacked Vallaslin? If that was the case, she couldn't blame Solas for his discomfort.
But as the Elf continued talking, Ennaly couldn't help but feel like the world was spinning.
These Elves weren't Dalish. Instead, they were old, and not just old, but ancient, transcending age like she understood it, immortal. They had slept for millennia, only to be woken by intrusions, like now.
Abelas, he called himself. Sorrow. And what name would be better suited for one tasked to protect a crumbling temple, ages after its glory days?
But… He said their numbers diminished with each invasion. Ennaly had all but forgotten about Corypheus in the face that her history wasn't history, that it had endured all this time. The old Elvhen still roamed Thedas. The Dalish could have helped them. What would it have meant to know that they still lived, the knowledge they possessed? It would have been invaluable.
"Our people?" Abelas replied harshly to her plea. "The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing Vallaslin? You are not my people."
Not his people?
It was a slap in the face. Dumbfounded, she stared up at him as if his face didn't carry the same lines as hers. Slowly, her own insignificance weighed down upon her. The Dalish had tried so hard to hold onto history and memories of the ancient ways, only for her to find out that history dismissed them without so much as a nod of appreciation.
And it didn't make sense. He had just said… One of their own. Wasn't she…? And if not her, then surely, he must have meant...
She felt herself being crushed between two walls, unable to breathe and unable to move.
Abelas wasn't the first Elf who didn't consider her of his people. She remembered conversations like these, and over time, they had been followed by pleas and apologies and soft kisses.
It couldn't be, could it?
Finding she could move, she turned to look at Solas, her Solas, her comfort, and certainly… It couldn't be.
Finally, he noticed her pleading look but interpreted it differently, as if she was begging him to try and convince Abelas. "What shall I say, Ennaly? Shall I sway him from millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world, because he lacks the power to restore it."
Shared blood. They were all Elves, weren't they? She had never quite thought city Elves were not her kind, even if they were socially and visually different. And Solas looked like neither. She had once thought that Elves from the north might look different, but now they were surrounded by a new type of Elf, all taller and broader than she was.
And if Solas looked like any type of Elf, then certainly it was these?
She stood frozen as the conversation around her continued, and Dorian talked to Abelas. The revelation from that conversation shook her as much as him.
"The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan," Abelas claimed. "We Elvhen warred upon ourselves. We awaken only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The vir'abelasan must be preserved."
The Well... And that was what Corypheus wanted, and that was why they were here. Whatever personal connection she might feel to this place would have to wait. Her main focus must be stopping Corypheus and preventing the future that she witnessed from happening.
There was time for questions, for emotions, later.
And for now, Abelas agreed to ally with them. "You will be guided to those you seek. As for the vir'abelasan… it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself."
"No!" they heard from beside them. Morrigan disagreed and before anyone could stop her, she shifted into a raven and disappeared from sight.
Ennaly's feet felt frozen to the gilded floor. She wasn't sure if she could even move or speak. Doubt rendered her dizzy and paralysed, as if her mind was still four steps behind in processing everything.
Familiar arms wrapped themselves around her and she leaned her head against Solas' chest. She counted to ten, and slowly, her breath relaxed.
"Vhenan?" he asked softly.
She glanced up at him. Certainly, this place was playing mind tricks on her. Solas couldn't be like them. He would have told her if there was anything to tell. Wouldn't he?
"This place is a lot," she muttered.
Solas cupped her cheek reassuringly. "Do not despair. We shall get through this."
She smiled and he smiled back. Certainly, he would never have fallen in love with her if he was, in fact, one of these ancient Elvhen.
But they had no time for extended reassurances. They had to move on, and they followed their guide through a maze of chambers. Abelas said they were permitted to depart, but never to return, but Ennaly would have given anything to be able to stay here longer, examine the mosaics, and study the mysteries and secrets. Perhaps when all of this was over, and they were victorious, Solas could show Ennaly in a dream. Perhaps they could wander this place as it once had been, fully glorious and erect.
The sight that greeted them as they exited the sanctum was breathtaking. Nature had reclaimed much of this place, turning it verdant and luscious, but at the same time, it was so very profoundly magical. Tall trees reached for the skies, their roots braided between the crumbling temple walls. And there, in the centre on a rocky elevation, was a structure that must be the Well.
"How has such magic lasted?" Dorian said in wonder.
They were only allowed a few seconds of admiration when voices from below pressed their need for urgency. Ennaly recognised the voice as Samson's.
Finally.
She welcomed the fight. It was the perfect way to quell the storm of emotions that roared inside, and she raised her staff, lightning crackling at the tip.
Samson might have earned the respect of some, after he had been left to rot by the Chantry, but what was that worth? Ennaly remembered their journey to Emprise Du Lion, and the horrors they encountered while fighting through Suledin Keep. The poor Templars there had been forced to ingest red Lyrium and driven mad by the corruption.
Ennaly's left hand held a promise, a promise to stand up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. The poor men and women were on her mind, driven mad by withdrawal and filled with hope that red Lyrium might be their salvation, only to realise it was their end. Samsung himself was protected by his armour, and that made him able to withstand the corruption he forced upon the unknowing.
Some might have considered his cause righteous, but none could deny his lies. Ennaly thought of Cullen and took the rune Dagna had crafted as she charged down the stairs, engulfed by lightning.
She would enjoy her victory over this man.
After an intense fight, the pools of water ran red with the blood of the Templars. She hoped that somewhere, vengeful or sorrowful spirits would feel calmed knowing that their tormentor breathed no more.
Yet she and her friends had no time to catch their breath. "No rest for the wicked, is there?" Varric sighed, gazing up as Abelas appeared. The Elf ran towards the Well and steps appeared under his feet while Morrigan the raven chased him. Resigned to catch their breath later, they followed the two mages.
Ennaly hardly noticed her surroundings as Abelas and Morrigan were coiled to attack each other. And for once, Ennaly wasn't quite sure on whose side she was on.
Abelas's voice was heated. "...keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!"
Morrigan was angry, driven by her strange desire for this Well. "Fool! You'd let your people's legacy rot in the shadows!"
Abelas had called Ennaly shadow, while she was Dalish, the supposed legacy of the Elvhen. Whatever this Well was, Elven glory had long since dwindled. She felt insignificant in this temple, surrounded by Elvhen who had lived longer than she thought possible. But wasn't it in her blood to defer to Abelas, and not Morrigan? Abelas might be a stranger to Ennaly, but she didn't trust Morrigan. If Abelas wanted this Well destroyed rather than in the hands of Morrigan, then she was fine with that.
"Why not leave, Morrigan?" Ennaly said. "Corypheus needed Samson to use the Well. We killed him, so there's no vessel to claim it."
Morrigan's golden eyes burned with fire. "The moment we leave, he will send more forces to secure this place. The Well clearly offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?"
It sowed doubt within Ennaly. They knew Corypheus was unkillable. If this Well showed them how to defeat him, wouldn't they obliged to take it? If Corypheus needed this, the future she witnessed in Redcliffe might still happen, and then the entire world would be lost.
Abelas' eyes were eerily similar to Morrigan's and burned with the same intensity. "Do you even know what you ask?" he said heatedly as he turned to the Well.
It was the first time Ennaly truly gazed at it. Surrounded by crumbling walls and broken Eluvians was a large pool filled with shimmering water, the basin perfectly circular, but shallow. The surface was utterly still despite their presence, and she guessed that even someone as non-magical as Bull would be able to sense the powerful magic radiating from it.
Something in the Well wanted her attention. Ennaly recognised it as the same beckoning that guided her through the petitioner's path. And this close, she could hear a murmur from it. Was it a voice? What did it want from her?
Entranced, she took a step closer.
Abelas spoke again and it broke the spell, making her pause. "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."
So there were voices. Ennaly snapped her eyes back at Abelas. She understood his plight. Wasn't that the same path the Dalish followed, their traditions orally transferred? She understood all too well wanting to hold on. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "This cannot be easy."
"You cannot imagine," Abelas replied, bitter sorrow bleeding through his voice. "Each time we awaken, it slips further from our grasp."
"But there is something left," Ennaly tried as she noticed his eyes gliding over her Vallaslin. "You might think me a mere shadow of what you are, but that it not in lack of want, only in lack of knowledge. I have tried to live up to Mythal all my life. I carry her Vallaslin, too, even if you think I am a mere child playing pretend."
A presence stepped behind her and Ennaly felt Solas' presence. Abelas' eyes darted to him before they returned to her. "I cannot fault you for a lack of knowledge you had no way of obtaining," he said, his voice still sharp, but softer at the edges.
"There are other places, friend," Solas added, taking a step forward to the man. "Other duties. Your people yet linger."
Abelas gave him a shrewd, piercing look. "Elvhen such as you?"
The reply was solemn, but simple. "Yes. Such as I."
But not such as her.
The words turned the air in Ennaly's lungs solid and her vision faded over. Had he actually said that? This place must be playing tricks on her, and she was finding meanings where there were none. Or had she simply been blind all this time?
Abelas nodded and turned to Ennaly, and only with great focus could she force herself to keep on breathing. "You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the vir'abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?"
She glanced at the Well and heard the beckons again. "I am the Keeper of clan Lavellan," she said impassively to Abelas as she held up her left hand that held her sylvanwood ring, the Anchor sparking dully. "I have pledged myself to Mythal when I reached adulthood. If this knowledge is to leave the well, at least it should go to an Elf. I am willing to pay whatever price needs paying."
"Ennaly –" Solas started, but she kept her eyes locked on Abelas.
"The vir'abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. Brave it if you must, but know you this: you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal."
Morrigan scoffed. "Bound? To a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?"
Ennaly spun around, anger seething in her. How could this Human say all those things when they were in her temple, facing Elves that were millennia old? With one breath, Morrigan praised this lost history, and with the next, she diminished it with the same fervour.
Abelas appeared indifferent to her offence. "Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours."
Morrigan shot Ennaly's sylvanwood ring a glance, ignoring her obvious ire with casual indifference. "Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen'Harel and banished to the Beyond."
"Elven legend is wrong," Abelas stated. "The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder."
"Murder?" Morrigan asked, surprised. "I said nothing of–"
"She was slain, if a God truly can be," Abelas continued. "Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. Yet the vir'abelasan remains. As do we. That is something."
The words were too much information for Ennaly to process. She tried to grasp onto what was reality to her, but she felt it slowly slipping away. She had so many questions for this man, but her mind could not form them, and neither did she have time to consider her words. Corypheus was still out there, somewhere, regaining his power after his rebirth.
"Thank you, Abelas," she said instead in Elven, glad that her voice was steady and clear, despite her raging emotions. "I shall never forget what we found here and I shall not let your sacrifices go to waste."
"Ennaly, he called you," Abelas replied in Elven as he gestured at Solas. "Emma lin. Filled with power. Your name suits you, child. You already carry a power on your palm older than your young years. I might have called you a shadow, but your shadow reaches far." He gave her a deferential nod. "The Well carries answers to the right questions, if you manage to gain comprehension of the responses. But that will be up to you. Our duty ends after you drink."
"I hope you find a new name, Abelas," Solas said to him, also speaking Elven.
Abelas granted him a mournful smile, shot a last look at the Well, and left.
"Ennaly," Solas tried again to get her attention, but as Ennaly wanted to face him, Morrigan's words interrupted them.
"You'll note the intact Eluvian," the woman said before she sighed. And indeed, the Well was surrounded by broken Eluvians, but one of them was still intact, its surface rippling with a touch of magic, awaiting activation. "I was correct on that count, at least. The Well is the key. Take its power, and Mythal's last Eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass." She paused for a second and took a deep breath. "I did not expect the Well to feel so… hungry."
Surprised by her words, Ennaly turned her attention to the shimmering water. And indeed, through the murmuring beckons, she felt a greater urgency, and a hunger she did not understand.
Desiring to listen more carefully, she wanted to step closer, but Solas grabbed her arm. She turned around to look at him, but Morrigan once again interrupted.
"I am willing to pay the price the Well demands," Morrigan continued. "I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service."
The storm that was calmly raging inside Ennaly roared again, and she pulled her arm free from Solas to take a step closer to Morrigan. "Excuse me?" she scoffed indignantly. "The best suited? This is my heritage! I am a Keeper. Mythal's Vallaslin is on my face like it was on these Elves. You are not the only one who has devoted her life to magical studies. And it is I who walked the petitioner's path."
Strong arms pulled her back this time, and Solas placed both hands on her upper arms. His eyes held a panic she had rarely seen in them before. "Ennaly, please. I beg of you, do not do this."
She didn't understand him. "This is Elven," she said. "You have been more vocal about Elven legacy than anyone else. Would you rather this power goes to a Human, one that disrespects Mythal?"
"I would rather see it on anyone else than you, vhenan," he begged. "If she wants it so badly, let her pay the price."
Vhenan. It was the word that calmed her and quelled the storm inside.
Morrigan scoffed behind her. "Even your love doesn't want you to drink. And it seems your friends prefer that I pay the price, too."
Solas' grasp still on her arms, Ennaly turned her head to face her friends, but out of all of them, it seemed that only Dorian truly preferred Morrigan to drink.
"Don't lose yourself to this Well, Ennaly," he said cautiously, taking a step closer to her.
"I trust you more with this power than I trust her," Cassandra argued. "That way we don't have to count on her interpretations."
She heard the beckons again, and turned to Well. She didn't want Morrigan to gain this Elven knowledge.
"So many voices," Cole spoke quietly. "They would be in your head, talking over you. You don't want them."
A hand cupped her cheek and gently turned her head to face Solas. His eyes were as wide as she'd ever seen. "Ennaly," he pleaded again with desperation.
His face was so familiar to her, each angle and every little line. She knew he was older than her, but now that she thought of it, had he ever given her an age? She blinked, and cast her eyes downwards. Did it matter how old he was? Perhaps she was selfish, at this moment. Was that bad? She had made so many sacrifices in the name of the Dalish, and that was something Solas didn't understand.
She smiled, looked up again, and cupped his cheek in return. "It'll be fine," she whispered, tip-toeing to kiss him. "This is Mythal. It's not a demon. If being Dalish means anything to me, this is exactly what I need to do. We are the last of the Elvhen."
…And never again shall we submit.
Surely that didn't include her own Goddess. And, as it turned out, they were not the last of the Elvhen. She needed answers, and this Well had them.
Solas gazed at her, emotions surging behind his eyes. "No, vhenan, you do not understand, I..."
But he didn't finish his phrase. At a loss for words, his arms fell limply to his side as Ennaly stepped back. "Ar lath ma," she whispered before she approached the Well.
The water touched her toes, but it was hardly water. It felt cool nor warm, wet not dry, but it was very, very pressing on her senses. She paused a moment, acclimatising to the feeling as all sound around her drowned away. No more birds chirping, not the voices of her friend or her love, and slowly, she resumed her descent into the Well.
Soft melodies lulled her into the centre with sweet whispers. Wisps of energy flowed up from the surface, tugging at her hands and playing with her hair. She laughed softly.
Only at the periphery of her consciousness was she aware that Solas approached the edge of the Well and that he was calling for her. Morrigan cursed him for a fool, saying they couldn't disturb the Well now that she was in it.
But as Ennaly found herself in the centre of the Well, all was at peace and no voices disturbed her. It felt familiar. The strands of energy tugged on her hands and made them form a bowl, murmuring promises and consolations. They could help, if she joined them.
She filled her cupped hands with water, or energy, or Sorrows, and brought it to her lips. She drank, and the power flowed through her mouth, into her stomach, and flared out in her veins, burning, ripping, laughing… They tore at her senses, overwhelmed her, blurred her vision…
She was on her back in the empty basin. The world ended at the last step of the Well as only shadows crept beyond the boundaries.
"Why are you here?" voices whispered in Elven from the shadows around her. She looked around, but she was disoriented.
"I honour Mythal," she pleaded. "I beg for her understanding, her wisdom. I need to learn how to stop Corypheus. The Veil..."
Mythal, the voices echoed around her. A mist crept in from the shadows and a wave of visions passed over her, the next one before she could process the first. A woman on a large seat, dressed in shimmering silver. A kiss, or an embrace, with another Elf. A group of them, no, an entire army, more than her eye could see. A city clad in gold, and a dagger in the heart.
She cried. It felt like the dagger was plunged into her heart, and she shared the pain, tearing, burning, bleeding. But the voices whispered loudly with soothing words, and there was an urgency behind them, and they crept in, pressed against her, overwhelmed her.
That was all there was.
And then there was nothing.
Until something dripped in her face. She remembered a well. Water?
Before she became aware that she was lying on cold hard stone, warm, strong, arms scooped her up and someone called her name. The drip was a tear, she realised.
She stirred and the arms pulled her close against a chest. After a second, she wrapped her arms around him too, and buried her head in his chest.
"I am fine," she whispered in Elven, and leaned back to face Solas. His eyes were reflective with unshed tears, and with a smile, she cupped his cheek.
Footsteps near them reminded her of the presence of her friends and she looked up to find concerned faces staring at her. She wanted to assure them that she felt fine, when a sudden crushing sense of urgency pressed on her.
"We need to move. Now." Hastily, she rose to her feet, and pulled Solas next to her.
"What?" Varric asked, but they didn't have to wait long to see.
From the direction of the temple chambers, they could see Corypheus approaching.
"The Eluvian!" Morrigan called, and Ennaly knew exactly what she needed to do. The voices manifested a power inside her, veiling her in glowing blue, as the Eluvian in front of them shimmered in the same hue.
"Through the mirror!" she called, knowing the others had to pass first. She was the key, and when she would pass through it, the Eluvian would shut.
They all passed, Solas barely before Ennaly, holding onto her hand. She turned around to see water rising anew in the empty Well, and from the centre, a beautiful spirit rose, facing Corypheus. Despite the desire, Ennaly didn't stay to watch, and followed Solas.
With a surge of power, the mirror shattered, rendering it nothing more than broken glass.
They were in the in-between world inside the Eluvians, locked out of the Arbor Wilds, where Corypheus now roamed in anger, and where all Inquisition troops still resided.