Searching for Family
When you had first met Lilian and Brandon, you had been a touch intense. In light of that, you had given them space to settle into Endataurëo, despite your fear and concern for your brothers all but demanding an immediate interrogation. During the last half a week your dreams have swung wildly from hopeful fantasy to darkest nightmare.
It ends today. You will have your answers from the humans as soon as they arise for breakfast.
Yet, as breakfast winds on, they do not appear. You were aware that they have been showing up late to breakfast for the last few days, but you are willing to wait. It would not surprise you if many days of sleeplessness are being made up for, or it could be another bizarre human mating ritual. Either way, you have little interest in disturbing them.
When they finally do arrive in the hall, it is an effort of extreme will to not immediately begin interrogating them. Instead, you wait until they have gotten their food and taken their seats. As the two begin to whisper to each other and giggle, your finally allow yourself to move.
Lilian and Brandon do not notice your approach until you slide a chair across from them out to sit in it. The two glance at you nervously as you interlace your fingers and meet their gaze.
"The elf who helped you. The one that 'kind of looks like me'." You state flatly. "Describe him."
The two humans glance at each other, Brandon swallows nervously and speaks. "Well, we've just got up m'lord, can't this wait."
It might be your imagination, but you swear you can hear your patience snapping. In a surge of motion, your hand lashes out and snares his collar. As you do so you stand up, dragging the human to hang in the air, hitting his shins against the table to meet your eyes dead on.
"Five days I have allowed you to reside here, five days I have fretted and worried. At this moment, one of my brothers might be injured, afraid and in desperate need of my aid. You are the only thing between me and them, and I will not idle any longer!" You almost snarl at the human.
Brandon wilts under your gaze, and you can see Lilian half raise herself out of her seat, so you release him. He quickly scrambles back into his chair, and you take several long breaths.
"I apologise for my, impropriety, however as I said, I am reaching the end of my patience. The elf who helped you. Describe him."
"He had dark hair, pale skin, dark eyes." Lilian says holding tightly to her paramour. "He wore chainmail and had a long sword. He kind of looked like you. Something about his eyes, but I think it's mostly the hair. You wear it in a similar way."
Dark hair rules out Turko and the twins, but Kano, Moryo and Kurvo are all options.
"How did he wear his hair? Did he carry any particular items? A harp or a hammer for example?" You press.
Lilian shakes her head. "No. He had that long flowing hair you've got. Most men don't wear it that long, I've never seen even elf men with hair past their shoulders. He had it loose too and pinned it back with some kind of band."
That is not particularly helpful. That is a common hair style among the Noldor, though it strikes you as odd. Most of your brothers would braid their hair for battle or tie it back at least. You cannot rule out the possibility the battle came upon them unexpectedly, but still a worm of doubt enters your heart.
"What colour was his cloak?" You ask.
"He didn't wear one." She replies.
Brandon speaks up in response to your frown. "I met him before Lilian. I spent most time with him, Lilian only saw him during the breakout itself."
Your frown deepens. "What transpired to cause this breakout? For that matter, how did you meet the elda in question?"
The two humans glance around at the slowly emptying hall.
"It's a long story, m'lord." Brandon says. "You sure you want to hear it?"
You catch the leg of your chair with your heel, pulling it back underneath you. In the same motion you sink down into it, steepling your fingers again.
"I am certain. I have nowhere else to be right now." You inform the humans.
The two stare at you for a few seconds, before awkwardly taking their seats in turn. There is a short pause as the two wait for some kind of signal to start talking.
Eventually Lilian speaks. "Well, I guess, where should we start?"
"The beginning is the usual place." You observe dryly. "Perhaps you could inform me how you met this elf?"
"Well, actually, I met him first." Brandon answers. "He was in this tavern… Actually, wait no I need to start with why I was there…"
"Shouldn't we mention why we even needed the elf's help?" Lilian contributes.
You lean back, patience rebuilding itself as the humans discussed how to share their tale. After a short time that seemed like an eternity, they worked out who would say what when, and could now begin.
"I met Lilian late one night after she'd snuck out of the Circle." Brandon says. "It was pretty much love at first sight. She looked impossibly beautiful there in the moonlight, and like that I was done for."
Lilian's face turns red as she blushes, but her paramour continues. "Unfortunately, we couldn't meet too often, and given the phylactery and the Templars it wasn't like she could elope with me."
"Phylactery?" You ask, unfamiliar with the word.
"When you join the Circle, they take a vial of your blood." Lilian explains. "It can be used to track down mages."
You nod, allowing Brandon to continue.
"So there I was in the tavern, basically drowning my sorrows, when suddenly this huge elf walks in and starts chatting to the tavern keeper. Something about property prices I think?" Brandon frowns. "Wasn't really paying too much attention. Something I did or said must have annoyed him, because he snapped at me that if I did not get out of his way he'd make me move."
You sigh. Kurvo, Moryo, because it surely must be one of those two if it is one of your brothers, would it kill them to have some decorum in public? The humans already talk about you all as though you are one step away from Balrogs.
Brandon paused when you sighed, but when you said nothing he continues, "Anyway, just like that I started pouring all my sorrows out on him. At first I thought he was going to hit me, but when I started talking about Lilian he stopped. Eventually, he introduced himself…"
Brandon audibly interrupts himself when your gaze sharpens.
"What was his name?" You ask.
"Um, uh, well, you see…" He stutters awkwardly. "I don't know."
"You. Do. Not. Know." You repeat in a hiss.
"I was drunk, and it was weird, lots of different names all ins and ons and son of so and so, I kind of zoned out at the time, and when I woke up the next day, I didn't remember. It was way too awkward to just ask his name again, he's so, intense." The human races to explain.
"Curufinwë Atarinkë, son of Fëanaro? Morifinwë Carnistir son of the same?" you suggest. "Perhaps Curufin or Caranthir, son of Fëanor?"
Brandon frowns in concentration but shakes his head. "I don't know. I think the name had a fin in it? Or was it lin?"
You frown. "Did they perhaps call themselves a 'Prince of the Noldor'?"
Brandon shakes his head, but Lilian nods. "When he was drawing off the Templars, he said something like 'dare you face a Prince of the Noldor'."
Your turn the puzzle over in your thoughts. The odds seem high that it is one of those two, though you cannot be certain. The puzzle pieces line up slightly off, though it certainly sounds like one of your brothers.
In truth, of the Princes of the Noldor, you can only think of maybe one or two members of House Ñolofinwë that would still go by the title. How a member of that house would even arrive in Thedas, you do not know. It cannot be House Arafinwë, they are all blonde, and you doubt any minor prince would be willing to face the entire force of the Templars alone.
"How did the elf dress?" You ask. "Was he wearing a cloak?"
Brandon shakes his head. "I think he left it at the door, but there were a bunch there. He had this robe thing on, it was white with this elaborate silver stitching like a tree."
That sounds like quite the expensive garment, which further rules out Kano. He hates having metal in his clothes. Also, he is more likely to be struggling financially given Thedas' disdain for music.
No it must be either Moryo or Kurvo. Possibly Telpyo[1] actually, now that you think on it. Moryo believes in demonstrating wealth, and would easily earn the wealth required for the matter. Kurvo or Telpyo would have likely made the silver thread themselves, and both make a point to always have some on their person.
You hope it is not Telpyo, it would be the height of cruelty to punish your nephew for an oath he had not sworn. Which sounds very in character for the Valar now that you think of it.
"Continue." You state.
The two humans spend a few seconds gathering their wits, and retracing their steps to determine where they were in their tale.
"The Noldo in the bar had just introduced himself." You remind them.
"Noldo?" Lilian asks.
"The singular of Noldor. I am a Noldo, the elf and I are Noldor." You explain shortly. "Return to the tale."
As Lilian falls silent, Brandon resumes speaking. "Right, so he introduces himself, which took me by surprise because he'd been pretty annoyed until then. He asked a lot of questions about Lilian, which I was happy to talk about."
At first that sounds strange to your ears, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for you to recall how some humans react to even the smallest amount of alcohol. You had known one or two among the Easterlings who had been talkative and prone to mood swings after drinking.
"Anyway, he starts asking all these questions about why we can't be together, and I tell him all about the Circle and how Lilian is a mage." Brandon pauses, and when he continues he does so in a quieter voice tinged with fear. "Then he leans forward, and I swear it was like he grew seven feet taller. He looks me in the eye, and I swear I thought I was going to die. He asks me, 'what would you be willing to do to be with her?'."
Brandon swallows and looks down. "I could barely speak, I've never been so scared in my life. I wanted to beg him not to kill me. But I didn't."
Lilian places a hand on his arm, looking concerned. Brandon places his own on hers and gives her a wan smile.
"I said anything." He says at last. "I figured he was probably a demon or something, and thought the right thing to do would be to call for the guards or something. But I didn't."
"It is fortunate you did not, for a Noldo is not a demon, and you would have lost an ally." You note carefully. "Tell me, what was the price he demanded?"
"That was the weird part, he didn't." Brandon says. "For a little bit he just kept staring me in the eyes, and it felt like something cold was wrapped around my head. Then he just sat back, and the tavern was full of life and heat and he was just a tall elf again. Then he said that he'd help me."
You muse on his words as the human takes some time to drink and recover from his memories. It is a strange tale to hear. You recognise the fear that can come from an Elda unleashing themselves, but to hear a tale of slipping into someone's thoughts described as a cold wrap around a head is unusual. Is it something to do with Brandon or has Kurvo been up to something again?
Your musing is interrupted when Lilian takes up the tale.
"They spent some time discussing and planning the event, but the elf didn't want to risk anything with the Templars about." She explains. "Neither of us really know how he did it, but he got his hands on some plate armour stamped with Templar markings. He used some kind of magic to make them look different and the two came into my cell."
The woman smiles with a mixture of fondness and bitterness. "It wasn't a pleasant experience to find my door opened in the middle of the night by two Templars I didn't recognise. I feared the worst."
You massage your forehead. That certainly sounds like your brothers, not thinking the plan through beyond the first step.
Brandon laughs quietly. "I totally forgot that I looked different and tried to embrace her. I'm lucky I only got slapped, rather than turned into a statue."
Lilian's face turns red. "I assumed that magic wouldn't work."
"Then the elf explained who I was and that he was using magic to conceal us. He had this dress for Lilian, and we were going to sneak her out the same way." Brandon continues.
"Which is when I pointed out the Phylactery problem." Lilian picks the tale up once more. "And we had to change the whole plan. They'd intended to pretend I was some, uh, 'company' they'd picked up. That way, if we got caught on the way out, nobody would ask who I was and I would be escorted out of the Circle."
"How WE would have gotten out of that situation, I'm not sure." Brandon interjects. "But I assume that Finlin had a plan."
"I guarantee you, his name was not Finlin[2]." You reply tiredly.
"Whatever his name is, getting into the Phylactery room proved too hard." Lilian supplies. "Even Templars need permission. Before I knew what was happening, Finlin had killed both guards with his sword and was grabbing the key."
"His name is not Finlin." You repeat, irritated now.
Brandon grimaces. "There must have been some kind of alarm on the door, because soon after that we were running for our lives with Templar hard on our heels."
"We managed to get out, and stole the boat and began making our way here." Lilian explains. "But it didn't take long for the Templars to catch up. That's when he said he'd lead them away."
Your fists clench and a frown mars your face. Irrationally you feel the urge to run for Orundómë and ride away. Foolish, as these events are long past, and you do not even know where they took place.
"He's probably fine." Brandon offers. "Nobody knows about the face changing thing he did, so he probably gave them the slip after we were safely away."
It takes you an embarrassingly long time to calm down and ask. "Where did this happen?"
A Long Expected Return
After you leave the hall, your questions as answered as they are going to get, you are sorely tempted to leap onto Orundómë and ride immediately out to investigate the lead. However, you do not. You want to, but your responsibilities, the need to ensure that everyone who is looking to you, depending on you, is cared for binds you to this land. At least for now.
Also, the Dalish question is growing ever more urgent. You do not know how long the reprieve your conversation with Lanaya has bought you will last. In light of that, you intend to return to the Sabrae to secure if not their help, then at least their neutrality in this conflict.
Perhaps you are worrying at nothing and there will be no further conflict with Lanaya. You doubt it, but it would be a pleasant change of pace.
The ride to the Dalish clan has grown pleasant of late. It is hardly new information, yet still worth comment. The guards do not glare at you, though you are not greeted quite as warmly as once before. You are told, upon arrival, that the Keeper wishes to speak with you.
The clearing where Marethari meets you is almost nostalgic. Perhaps it is the change of atmosphere of the camp, but you find your mind returning to the first meeting in the last gasps of last winter. Now you stand before her once more as a new winter begins to grasp at the world.
"Nelyafinwë." Marethari greets you. "I wondered if I would ever see you again."
"I do not flee from anything." You reply calmly. "Words are the least of the dangers I have faced."
"Evidently." The Keeper responds, then sighs. "Do you have any idea what a mess you made with your stunt two weeks ago?"
"Given Merrill's emotional state and the high position of the Hahren in your society, I can imagine." You reply.
"Oh? You can imagine? You can imagine?" Marethari all but hisses. "You cost us the living repositories of our history, of our culture. Dead because of you!"
"It was not I who cost them their lives. They were dying anyway. If my treatment had worked, they would have lived." You reply with a glare. "I will not apologise for attempting to save their lives."
The anger seems to drain out of Marethair and her shoulders slump. "That is… true I suppose. It does not soothe the blow, nor does it convince many who were not aware of the Hahrens oncoming death."
You incline your head. "While I will never apologise for attempting to assist, I will apologise for my failure. If only I had the art…"
Marethari shakes her head slowly, then sighs. "You should have waited. Even if it had only been a day, that would have been time to explain the situation to the clan and perhaps we would have been willing to risk more drastic treatments."
"We did not have the time." You remind her. "Action needed to be taken immediately, and if we had done nothing then, there would have been nothing we could do."
Marethari's fingers whiten on her staff, and you see her draw herself up in preparation for an argument, then she suddenly deflates.
"Perhaps you are right, or perhaps you are wrong." She says tiredly. "There is no way to be certain, and it would not matter if we were. I will not thank you, but I appreciate that you were willing to take action to help if you could."
Pride, anger and bitterness surge. There is a strong desire to snap back at Marethari, to maintain that you made no mistake and that her condescension merits an apology. They are almost seductive in their power, offering an excuse to pass the blame for your failures. It is familiar feeling, one you recall more keenly now.
You grit your teeth and force the feeling back. Marethari is making a clear attempt at a peace offering. It is clear she believes what you did was a mistake, while you maintain it was the only option, if poorly executed. The two of you disagree, and there is no easy resolution to that dilemma.
"You are correct. Dwelling on this matter will not benefit either of us." You state.
Marethari gives you a small, relieved smile. "Good, let's put this behind us then. What're you looking to do here?"
You raise an eyebrow at the Keeper. "I had thought, given the events that transpired and our conversation just now, what I wish to discuss would be obvious."
Marethari returns the gesture. "In what sense? Do you wish to discuss after the personal effect, the clan's reaction or the events themselves?"
Acquiescing to her reasonable point you say, "In truth I am somewhat curious about the fate of the Hahren. I am unfamiliar with what you did, are they still present?"
"Well, they're not in this clearing." Marethari teases, concealing a flash of bitterness. "I keep the mirrors in a secure location, fortified with magic."
You roll your eyes. "I meant to ask if their souls endure despite the hardships they have endured or if they have been banished to whatever the local equivalent of the Halls of Mandos is."
"You can say dead, you know. I'm a big girl." Marethari says, concealing her exhaustion beneath friendly mockery.
"In either state they would be alive. At least their spirits, their bodies have been dead since their souls fled." You reply.
"What difference does it make?" Marethari snaps. "They are dead either way, unless you have some other brilliant plan that could fix it?"
You remain silent until Marethari's expression goes from murderous to irritated. "That would depend on many factors. Nor the least of which is the current state of the Hahren. So, I ask once more, what is it?"
The Keeper glares at you for a moment before she sighs and slumps her shoulders. "I don't know. I haven't looked at them since I trapped them in the mirrors. In truth, you would be better informed, since you seem to know what happened to them."
"That is simple, they became Houseless." You reply, continuing after realising that Marethari would not know that term. "A Houseless is a quendi without a body who refuses the call of Námo."
"Related to that Mandos place you were talking about?" The Keeper interrupts dully.
"They are two names for the same being." You reply. "Námo, or Mandos, is the keeper of the halls where the spirits of the fallen return to rest and prepare for their re-embodiment. He is also the one who proclaims the judgements of Manwë. Hence his two names, Námo meaning Judge, and Mandos meaning prison-fortress."
Marethari blinks in surprise. "That is a more comprehensive answer than I was expecting. Why's it called a prison?"
"I thought it would ease the conversation if you understood the 'afterlife' as humans called it." You reply. "It is known as a prison because those who are not quendi, or who have committed unforgivable crimes, never leave the halls. Also, my father, though I suspect he remains out of stubbornness rather than judgment."
It could go either way really. Though if they decide that the First Kinslaying is cause to keep someone within the Halls for all eternity, then not even Turgon will ever emerge. Hence you doubt that will be Manwë's or Námo's ruling, as the Valar seems fond of him. Though perhaps they will simply rule differently for each of the Kinslayers. That seems like the kind of favouritism you expect from them.
"I feel like we've wandered off topic." Marethari says, massaging her forehead.
"It was a necessary diversion." You maintain. "The point of which is that it is possible to evade the Halls. It calls and pulls but one of strong enough will can fight it, for a time. Those that do find themselves slowly, degraded for want of a better term."
"Degraded how?" Marethari asks.
You shrug. "The details are beyond me, I fear. I know them as one knows an enemy, not as one who has studied the matter. They lose parts of themselves, and come to crave replacements."
"Which they seek from the living I assume." Marethari states tiredly.
"In part, though that is more often a search for bodies." You explain. "A spirit, however mighty, is just that. Even the Ainur don physical form when they wish to affect the world, and so too must weaker spirits."
"Ainur? Oh yes, Merrill mentioned. Some kind of knowledge spirit." Marethari interrupts.
"That is not correct." You sigh. "The nature of the Ainur is a discussion entirely apart from this, know that they are powerful beings often mistaken for gods, and that will be sufficient."
"Very well." Marethari replies, clearly dismissing the topic. "The Hahren? You believe they are these 'houseless'."
"More likely something sufficiently similar to make the distinctions meaningless." You reply. "However, beyond knowing how to banish them, I lack any knowledge that might help us."
"I see." Marethari states.
In the silence you consider what you are going to say next.
"However, with the background now firmly established," You state, "We should return to the core of the issue."
Marethari raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And what, pray tell, do you consider the 'core of the issue'?"
"The restoration, or failing that, peaceful rest of the Hahren." You reply.
Marethari nods to herself. "Ah, yes, I suppose that would be what we were leading up to."
"Then the obvious question to ask is if it is possible to study, or better yet speak to, the Hahren in their current state?" You ask.
Marethari tilts her head in thought. "That, is a more complicated question than it appears on the surface."
"When you spoke of checking on the Hahren, you implied that it was possible, but merely something you had not done yet." You observe.
Marethari pauses, then says, "That is true, but the reason I have not done it is that the spell is primarily designed to imprison spirits. I have some experience with such things and am quite familiar with them. Thus, I am more than capable of determining from the spellwork the state of its contents. The trouble being that those observations will be surface level and implied."
"In what sense?" You ask.
"Well, based on the spellwork I can tell, for example, that there is still something within. If I sense the spell is weakening then its contents are likely growing stronger, and the inverse also." The Keeper explains.
"I see." You answer.
There is a silence as you consider what she has told you. It is plainly obvious that what is currently possible will not be sufficient for what you wish. Admittedly, you could perhaps attempt some blind experimentation in the vein of 'hot or cold' games. However, such things done to a living, feeling being leave you with a sour taste in your mouth.
"Do you have any ideas, some art or skill that might enable such a contact?" You ask. "Perhaps we might find a way to modify the entrapment spell to include monitoring aspects?"
The Keeper goes still, her eyes distant. For a while you wait as emotions play across her face. Grief, anger, regret and many others flash by. Eventually the Nandëo[3] heaves a great sigh.
"I know of a method." She whispers. "There is a spell, designed primarily for entrance into the Beyond to duel with demons, that can do the same. I, in my younger days, conceived of a modified version that simply allowed for communication."
You nod. "Yes, I remember Merrill using it to examine the strange events surrounding me during my early days in this land."
Marethari shakes her head. "No, that's a form of meditation involving Lyrium that allows for a mage to 'see' into the Beyond. It can facilitate communication, but it will not work in this context as it uses the mage's preexisting connection with the Beyond to function."
"So, this spell you are proposing is different?" You ask.
Marethari gives you a tired look. "I went through a, dark, period in my youth. Fortunately my husband…"
The old elf suddenly looks even more worn than usual, gripping her staff for support.
"my late husband," she whispers.
A shaft of guilt strikes you.
"He helped me overcome it. However, as a result of that time, I happen to know a spell that can help us. It will take some tweaking, but it should work on the pocket realms inside the mirrors." Marethari continues, forcing strength back into her voice. "The fact they are in mirrors will help, it should give us a surface to project them. That should let us sidestep any possible corruption and reduce energy costs."
"Excellent." You state. "Shall we begin?"
The Keeper shakes her head. "I don't think so. It's rather delicate, and I would rather take my time to do it properly, rather than rush it with you. Come see me in two weeks and I should be complete. Why don't you go spend some time with Auriel."
You notice that her knuckles are still white on her staff.
"Of course." You reply. "I admit it will be good to spend some time with other Dalish, if only to remind them that I am not some bad luck curse."
You turn to leave, when Marethari's voice interrupts you. "Nelyafinwë?"
"You turn your head, to see Marethari's eyes shining faintly.
"These houseless, there was a cure, wasn't there?" She asks shakily.
You nod. "There was, though I admit it was the domain of the Ainur rather than the Eldar. I am certain it is possible."
"Is it possible for us?" She asks desperately.
You turn to face her expression serious. "I have beheld works of the Eldar that even the Valar were jealous of. It is possible, though that does not mean easy."
Marethari says nothing, so you head off to crush Auriel at archery once more.
[1] Telpinquar, better known as Celebrimbor, but always Telpyo to his uncle.
[2] This is nonsense as a name. It only makes sense if read as Linfin and even then is a horrible butchering of Quenya and Sindarin that means Finwë Singing (or singing finwe if read as Linfin) or it means 'Thy Finwë'
[3] Ones of the Dale, Quenya version of Dalish that I swear I will stop forgetting to use eventually