The Dread Wolf howled at the tear in the Veil, and the sorrow in that one prolonged cry shook the ground cold, enough to freeze the core of the spirit known as Wisdom.
Even the best-laid plans fail sometimes; Wisdom knew this. One could take all reasonable precautions, account for all high-probability outcomes, execute all steps perfectly, and still be subject to random and unknown elements that topple everything down.
She knew that the fell direwolf knew this, too. But it was having a hard time accepting this truth. It knew that nothing was certain, and yet...
Another core-freezing howl that almost split her form into elf and owl. Wisdom keeled over. Slowly but surely, she steadied herself on the uneven ground and smoothed her form like hands running over wrinkled clothes. Behind her, the direwolf slammed its body against the mountainside, dislodging rocks and boulders.
She couldn't stay in that chaos; she picked herself up and turned her back on the direwolf and started walking away. She stopped when she heard it speak the ancient tongue, in a voice made unfamiliar and raw by howls and tears.
You choose now to leave me?! In my hour of despair?!
She didn't turn to look at it, not when its purpose was to goad and hurt. Definitely not in that fearsome form, all six of its eyes burning with emotions that Wisdom could not isolate, in quantities she could not fathom. Too many emotions, too much of it; it was simpler when he was just a spirit.
She responded to it in kind. Seek me out once you have mastered your emotions, da'len. You cannot and will not heed counsel until then.
Without waiting for a response, she left. She walked and walked until she could no longer hear the raging growls, the rabid snapping and desperate tearing of claws of the six-eyed direwolf. To a dreamer watching, it would look like a monster attacking a wall it could not move, but to Wisdom's practiced eye, it was clear the Dread Wolf sought punishment for yet another failure and found no other target but its self.
It had been too long since the last time he was her kindred and kind. He was Wisdom, too, once—the filtered essence of a respected hahren. She had hoped he would seek perfection once more, in uthenera, like they had, lifetimes ago. She had hoped he would continue the Elvhen cycle with her, undisturbed by the urgent yet ultimately trivial concerns of mortals.
I cannot abandon our People. Not to a fate I inflicted upon them.
His guilt was palpable when he spoke those words, so she spoke, in turn, of the wisdom of letting go and the freedom that came with forgiveness.
He countered with the wisdom of persistence and penitence, of fixing one's mistakes, and of atonement.
She spoke of the dangers of unintended consequences, of unexamined vengeance and how it masquerades as justice. Of collateral damage and the high cost of failure.
He countered with hope.
Not even Wisdom dared to contradict hope.
And now that his biggest hope was dashed—the elven orb lost to him, the power within missing, and a new catastrophe breaking down the Veil—he inflicted pain upon himself, like a child throwing a fit. He was denied his victory; if things had gone as planned, he would be at the Ancient Crossroads by now, enervated by the old power he locked away millennia ago. Since things had not gone to plan, he would make everyone else sorry, including—and especially—himself.
It had only been a year, but already, his resurrected mortal form had consumed the spirit that he was. Or perhaps he was always like this? Was he in fact impatient, prideful, and foolish, cycling from Elvhen to Spirit to Elvhen again, but never truly changing? Are there weaknesses rotting behind his gentler, loftier persona?
He found her after some time, this time in his mortal form, on two legs. He looked nothing like the foolish, terrifying beast that challenged a mountain to a fight. He spoke with his mouth in the tongue of the quicklings, one of many languages he had mastered quickly.
"Forgive me, lethallan." Small voice, like a boy's.
Wisdom looked over the vista of the Fade from the ledge where her owl-form perched. She stretched to her full wingspan—as long as her woman-form's arms—and flapped them. Carefully she retracted her wings back into a tight embrace over her feathered form. It was a leisurely stretch, and afterward, she was pleased to see him still waiting patiently for her forgiveness. A good sign.
Forgiven, she said in the ancient tongue.
Only then did he move. He stepped next to her and eyed the white tear in the Veil above them.
"I cannot sense the orb in this realm."
His voice was softer now, weary and weakened but somehow freed by the violent catharsis he inflicted on himself. He didn't carry a mark of his punishment on his body, but his stony expression and cold eyes bore the memory of it.
Wisdom looked over the vista again, at the rough and craggy terrain that stretched into the horizon, where spirits and demons hid their tiny dominions inside cracks and caves and under shadows. At the center, the Black City floated but is tethered like a butterfly chained by a string to a rock.
It would take time, but... I will fly everywhere to search for it.
"Do not trouble yourself, lethallan. It seems I will have to continue in the Waking and search for it myself."
She turned her head a full swivel to meet his eyes. But...you have not fully recovered yet. You are still weak.
"I cannot entrust this task to another. It was a mistake leaving something this important to chance. I sought a shortcut when I should have just waited..." He sighed and an introspective pause followed. "I will not make the same mistake again."
You will walk among the quicklings? I thought after the Dalish—?
"The tear in the Veil is more important."
Of course.
Wisdom had witnessed the explosion that tore the sky. She had studied the tear from afar the moment it ripped apart and shook the spirit-realm. He had been elsewhere at the time but came as soon as he could. Not that his or anybody else's presence would have been able to prevent it.
But he is crafty and persistent. Wisdom knew this.
You will go, then? On your own?
"I am not alone. But I would still go even if I was."
I will aid you in this task, lethallin. I am always here for you.
"Ma serannas, lethallan."
He left not long after, his mortal form clad in very modest clothing and carried the simplest staff. It was a far cry from his glory days, but he was intent on this path, shedding vanity and setting pride aside to champion a cause.
Wisdom remembered him from before the Fall, and tried to find the hahren and the hero, the teacher and the liberator, the ruthless rebel in his now-mortal form. She only saw him now as a radiant, golden crown, surrendered and melted and molded to become a simple cup, so his People may drink and survive.
She saw him as a pretender, a wolf in sheep's clothing, slowly driven mad by a singular purpose.
Both are true. Wisdom knew this, but accepted, with regret, that sometimes even the best intentions could damn a beautiful spirit.