A Wonderful World Chapter 6: Greed, The Bottomless Pit, a dragon age fanfic

AN:Again, please remember she's just a teenager.

Chapter: Greed, the bottomless pit

There is a sufficiency in the world for man's need but not for man's greed. -Mahatma Gandhi

I sat before Zathrian, twitching in anticipation as he laid out a series of colours, so I could choose the shade of my vallaslin. Lanaya sat next to me, a bowl of my extracted blood lying next to her. Thranduil sat hunched near the entrance, his expression thunderous.

No one was happy that I was receiving my vallaslin so early. Well, except me. Lanaya had agreed to help with the ceremony, confident that I would give up midway from the pain. Thranduil held the opposite opinion, aware of my obstinate nature.

Zathrian was reluctant too, if the pace he was setting up the ceremony was any indication. He still hadn't asked me which god I wanted to honour.

While I was indifferent about the gods, their tales still caught my fancy. They were the fairy tales that Dalish children grew up with and the morals espoused weren't necessarily wrong. Don't betray your kind like Fen'Harel. Be a competent leader like Mythal. Adhere to justice as Elgar'nan did. Innovate like June. Respect your halla to honour Ghilan'nain. Hunt with Andruil's finesse. Heal as Sylaise did.

It was hard to criticise the beliefs of people who had taken the best qualities of supposedly horrible leaders and turned them into morals. That was life, wasn't it? Find a lesson to take away from the shit that is life.

I knew Arlathan wasn't the fairy-tale that the Dalish stories depicted. I knew our gods were just powerful mages. But this was a battle that I wouldn't fight. What was the point in arguing about leaders who had no relevance in my life? Why should I care that Fen'Harel was misrepresented? The Ancients were still alive and gave zero fucks about us. Fen'Harel killed Felassan for the crime of seeing the modern elves as people. Solas could bitch and moan all he wanted, but he was exactly what the Dalish portrayed him to be, a cunning treacherous bastard who only cared about his own goals.

But the true crux of it was, my information source was defective. I hadn't gotten this information from the Fade, but from my previous life's memories of a game. How could I trust that as a reliable source of information? Game mechanics did not hold true for this world. There were no such things as instant healing potions, only energy drinks, stamina drinks and lyrium potions. A mage healer could only heal you if he knew what was wrong with you. Sometimes, even then there was no cure. If you were magically healed, your body would grow extremely lethargic at the foreign exposure, forcing patients to rest until the foreign agent dissipated. Even after the heal, there would be psychosomatic pains in the wounded region for the next few days.

More importantly there was no spirit magic that could revive dead companions like you could in the game; I'd even asked Desire to be sure. Desire had stared gobsmacked, stupefied at the idiocy of the question.

That wasn't to say you couldn't prevent someone from dying through healing techniques. If you managed to catch the spirit of the person before they departed from the Fade, it was possible to heal them if you knew what was wrong. But that time period before departure varied from instantaneous to unknown lengths of time. And only the best mages with impeccable control and knowledge of the body could perform the feat.

If all this information was wrong, how could I trust anything else? Even if the lore surrounding the game was true, truth was relative. The person observing, and their perspective, changed the nature of truth observed. This was a fact that I could not ignore, for it held true in both the Dreaming and Waking.

So, unless the prescient knowledge directly affected me, as in the case of my clan, or I found evidence in the Fade to affirm the knowledge, it was extraneous. I wouldn't dismiss it entirely, but it would be like the pantheon tales; entertaining but irrelevant.

"Erelani?" Zathrian's tone indicated he'd called me multiple times already, "If you don't want to proceed with this, I'll understand. But you will not accompany the wardens in their journey."

Thranduil's head turned abruptly at that, Mythal's vallaslin temporarily hidden as he ran a hand through his shiny white hair in relief.

"I want it to be white!" I ignored Zathrian's statement, pointing at the white coloured vial. Zathrian sighed in resignation.

"Which god do you want to honour? June? He is the god of innovation, the master of all crafts." Zathrian seemed sure of my choice, and I grimaced. I didn't want to pick my vallaslin to honour a god, false or not. If I was going to be wearing it on my face for the rest of my life, I wanted it to mean something.

"No, I want yours."

Zathrian paused, "Dirthamen, the god of secrets?"

"Yep, the design that's exactly like yours."

"That isn't how this works, Erelani. You must meditate on your choice of god and endure the pain in silence as I inscribe the vallaslin."

"I'll meditate on Dirthamen," Yeah, right, "while I get the same design as yours."

Thranduil groaned in exasperation behind Zathrian and I passed him a smug smile.

"Very well. Which shade of white?" Zathrian seemed to have resigned himself to my stubbornness, his eyes holding a small measure of regret as he dipped the needle.

I shrugged, "Faded white so that it's not too visible at night." Zathrian mixed the shade, painting the colour on my hand until I agreed with the shade. A faded white that was barely visible against my skin.

I leaned against the wall, bracing myself as Zathrian outlined the shape with a brush made of soft halla fur. He poured the blood in the bowl into the paint. There was a sheen before it turned back to its shade.

He heated the needle with a spell and dipped it into the paint. The needle glowed white and Zathrian cradled my face lifting it to him. His face was blank, his eyes filled with conflict. I closed my eyes.

It was pure agony. A physical pain I had never felt before. It felt like my face was being carved with a thin knife. I could feel a fire spell trailing the needle, mercilessly burning the areas behind the needle. This was nothing like a tattoo. I was being branded.

Fuck. I wasn't allowed to make a sound.

I understood now why this was a rite to adulthood. To endure such pain without sound was a sign of maturity. An acceptance that sometimes you had to endure difficulties in silence. It was the undeniable truth of being a Dalish adult.

I remained silent. But I couldn't help the tears the pain brought forth.

The needle paused.

"She isn't ready, Keeper." Lanaya's voice came from behind Zathrian. "Look at her. This ritual is about more than being silent. You know this. She is a child, still."

"You are right."

My eyes shot open in surprise and I caught Zathrian's hand as he drew away. I held his gaze and wiped my tears away cautiously, mindful of the burning pain.

If crying was the problem, then I wouldn't cry. I didn't speak because I wasn't confident my voice wouldn't quiver in pain, but I forcefully pulled his hand back to my face. I held his gaze and nodded for him to continue.

"I have to stop the ceremony Erelani."

I gurgled my throat to ensure it was clear, "Just finish it."

Thranduil rose up in anger, "Enough Erelani! Don't disrespect the Keeper. He's right, Lanaya's right, I'm right, you aren't ready for this!"

I couldn't hesitate here, not now. If I couldn't even manage this, how would I protect my clan?

"Keeper, finish it. I will not carry the dishonour of stopping midway." I gazed pleadingly at Zathrian, "Please, I have endured the fate of a Dreamer, this is nothing."

I heard a thump and turned to see that Thranduil had punched the wall in anger. "This is wrong! Stupid! Foolish!" He stormed out.

"He's right, Keeper. She's not ready for this vallaslin, forget accompanying the Warden company."

"Why are you so adamant that you must go, da'len? Do you truly have no faith in me?"

I stared in shock at the hurt on Zathrian's face, "I'm doing this because I have complete faith in you Baba. I love you. This clan. How can I not act when I know I should? When I could help?"

Zathrian's face twisted through a series of complex emotions before he nodded slowly, "Perhaps I was wrong, ashalan. Perhaps your judgement is improving." His eyes closed in pain as he muttered, "Certainly better than mine."

Zathrian moved back to me and I closed my eyes as the agony returned.

I jumped on to the next tree branch and scouted the path ahead of us as the Warden and his company trailed behind me.

I was envious and ashamed.

I had greatly overestimated my abilities and underestimated theirs. The entire group outright refused to accept any magical help from me during combat and after seeing them in action I understood why. The offensive spells I knew were all destructive and didn't discriminate from friend and foe. The domestic spells were useless, and the group couldn't trust that I would time my defensive spells right. In the wake of their finesse, I seemed like a bumbling awkward child.

They functioned like a streamlined machine. Whatever conflicts and dislike they had for each other disappeared during combat. While I was adept with a bow, capable of hitting enemies without hurting my allies, Leliana and Zevran could predict their teammates' movements and fire their arrows rapidly, never taking a moment to aim. Zevran and Leliana provided both ranged and frontline support, shifting to daggers when dealing with close range combatants. Sten, Oghren and Alistair fought in the front while demonstrating a great deal of faith in their mages, trusting that the Warden, Morrigan and Wynne were capable with ranged spells and would shield them when necessary. And they did.

Group combat was about teamwork. While each member was clearly capable of more, by restricting the use of their talents and functioning as a group, they were almost invincible. And the credit of their cooperation went to the Warden, Aedan Cousland. No matter their prejudices, all the companions adhered with great respect to the Warden's judgement.

The Dalish implemented such strategies too, but I had never done more than the necessary drills. This was Thranduil's area of expertise.

I turned back and noticed that the Warden had bent down to collect herbs. Again.

That was something else that bothered me.

Aedan had the unnerving habit of stopping to collect any useful herbs that were lying around. If it had been just that, it wouldn't be a problem…if he didn't stop to loot every corpse that they killed.

The behaviour set off so many warning bells that I couldn't help but keep my distance from the group by scouting ahead.

It wasn't possible, not really. He never found any magnificent loot, only weapons that the enemies already had. He collected sylvan wood after killing the possessed trees, which was, admittedly, rare. He didn't loot everything, just useful items like money.

He was being resourceful. That was it.

To be fair, even the Dalish looted corpses. Assigning meaning to something I had considered normal, just because the Warden was doing it, was irrational. Illogical. Foolish.

The dread, fear and horrible uneasiness remained.

The sun set, and we made camp next to the talking Grand Oak.

I was assigned fire and cooking duty. Because I was the deadweight.

I sighed, and passed the roasted meat spiced with a powder unique to the clan. Everyone was settled around the fire, Zevran on one side while Morrigan sat on the other side of me.

"Not bad," Oghren grumbled as he chewed on the meat.

A quiet settled in the camp as everyone proceeded to eat after that judgement from Oghren. Like a magnet, my gaze was drawn to the Warden and I watched him, searching for any other inconsistencies. He ate weirdly, taking dainty small bites but a quick look around confirmed similar behaviour from Wynne and Alistair. Anything that seemed unnatural was always mirrored either by Wynne or Alistair.

When dinner finished, I was slightly reassured. An arm came around my shoulders and I turned to see Zevran smirking at me.

"So which human do you have a crush on? Aedan, Wynne or Alistair? Though I am hurt," He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, "Just barely a glance in my direction."

Morrigan snorted in humour and Alistair groaned, "Really, Zevran? She's barely a teen."

Morrigan laughed, "I'm more surprised it's a human, especially after the reception we received back at the clan."

I hid my face behind my folded knees, embarrassed that my regard had been so obvious.

"Oh, that's so cute! She's blushing!" I elbowed Zevran and everyone laughed. Except Sten.

"So why did you join us?" Sten asked sternly, "And don't do the mage thing to explain. Or else."

"Sten, it's obvious. She wanted to help her clan." Leliana gently explained.

"Actually, it's a good question," Morrigan poked me to get my attention, "While you seem talented for your age, I'm sure there were better options. What are these elven arts that you're so good at?"

Outsiders. They were outsiders. I didn't know them, not really. This amiable atmosphere wasn't genuine. It couldn't be.

But it didn't matter. Because after their display of combat today, they were extremely intimidating. Objectively, they had the skill necessary to slaughter my clan. They would suffer large losses, but they would still win.

I remained silent, struggling to find something I could tell them. Saying I was a somniari would result in my life being in danger from Sten and Alistair. I couldn't explain the scientific method in one sitting either.

"Now you've made me curious," Aedan said when I remained silent for too long, "Go on. Answer her question."

"Unless you are just deadweight." Oghren mocked.

I bristled, "Do you really think I'll tell you lot? After everything you shems have stolen from my kind? Let me be clear, I won't."

Fuck.

"So much pride, Erelani. So very short-sighted." Desire mocked.

"Ugh. The 'we elves are the victim' speech." Oghren rolled his eyes.

"Now, now," Zevran placed a consoling hand on my shoulder, his foreign accent suddenly prominent, "Let's not get political. We're just getting to know each other."

A cold settled in my stomach. "The destination is an elven ruin. For your own good, don't touch anything."

"Have you been there before?" Wynne asked tentatively.

"Yes." I stated succinctly.

"I've heard rumours that elven ruins have really good armour," Aedan moved forward eagerly, "Is that true?" He turned to Alistair, "Imagine if we get a good haul of armour!"

I couldn't help the glare and the sudden sinking feeling in my stomach, "And there it is."

Alistair frowned in reproach, "Do you imagine we'll win against an archdemon using subpar armour?"

"So, when it comes to our things, they are capable of defeating archdemons. But my people, the ones who made them, they are subpar?" I growled, unable to stop shaking in anger.

"Well, she's got a point there." Oghren nodded in slight apology.

"But I never said elves were subpar!" Alistair protested indignantly, "I was talking about the armour! She's putting words in my mouth!"

I was encouraged by Oghren's concession, "Why don't you go to your human leaders and ask for a set of armour, huh? Why are you stealing from us?!" I finally directed my anger to the true recipient, Aedan, "Who gave you the right?! Picking plants and looting corpses like a thief! What kind of warden are you?"

Aedan grit his teeth, "The kind that does what is necessary. If you're not using the armour, you don't need it. And since your clan will be joining us to fight the Blight, I imagine they will be using that armour too, don't you think?"

"And what," I glared at Leliana, "Your precious Chantry doesn't have money to help with the Blight either? Despite having tithes and maintaining templar orders, they can't spare the cash to outfit soldiers against the Blight?"

Leliana kept her calm, "The Chantry is already providing support to the Warden. And, I want to emphasis this, this company is doing everything in its power to help your clan."

"The girl isn't wrong about the Chantry, though." Sten objected.

"We all feel like we could use a lot more help with the Blight," Wynne spoke up diplomatically, "But Erelani is right. While the Blight is the most important issue, there are other issues at hand that we should try to fix."

"You mean like traipsing through a living forest to kill a bunch of wolves?" Morrigan mocked.

"What, did you think anything in life was free?" I snapped, "We're volunteering the entire clan, asking for some help in return isn't unjust!"

"Okay, that's enough," Zevran wrapped an arm around my shoulders again, "You've got a hot head, eh? We are trying to help, and the Dalish signed treaties long ago so there can't be payment. We are doing your clan a favour, da'len, and so we'll consider any loot found as payment. No such thing as free meal, is there?"

I glanced in surprise at the use of elvish and Zevran winked, "My mother was Dalish."

An awkward silence settled over the camp. I shifted in discomfort, aware I was the culprit for the discord. While I didn't regret my words, I was suddenly ashamed by my behaviour.

Respect and tolerance.

I had to be better. I needed their help.

"Uhh, umm," I swallowed my pride, "Ir abelas. I shouldn't have behaved in such a way," I looked each of them in the eyes, "I hope you will forgive me."

Aedan sighed, "Don't worry about it. This wasn't even that bad, compared to the spats that we normally get into."

"What does irr abilas mean?" Leliana smiled sweetly as she butchered the pronunciation, indicating she held no hard feelings.

I relaxed in relief, "The literal translation is in sorrow. Depending on the way it's used, it can mean I'm sorry or I'm in grief."

"What is andaran atish'an?" Wynne's pronunciation was surprisingly accurate.

"It means, we welcome you in peace. Or enter this place in peace."

"That's rather sweet, isn't it?" Alistair opined.

"Well, I'm off to bed," Morrigan stretched her limbs and I noticed her clothes for the first time. Shit, puberty, "I need rest especially if we have to hunt for an acorn for the oak tree." She turned to Aedan with an intense look, "Did you hear that, Aedan? Look for an acorn. For a tree."

"I heard you the first time, Morrigan." Aedan laughed.

"What is my life coming to?" Zevran snorted in the laughter, "Going from being a Crow assassin to gathering acorns to stop the Blight."

"When you put it like that," Sten started, before guffawing loudly in laughter. Everyone joined in, shaking their heads.

We found the acorn. We followed Swiftrunner. We entered the elven ruin.

I had been on my best behaviour, being amiable with everyone, gently ribbing the Warden each time he stopped to pick loot.

I held my own in battles, so I seemed at least marginally competent.

My gut clenched in fearful anticipation. I had to discredit the werewolf story or make my clan the priority. I couldn't rage when they paused to consider their options. I couldn't let fear of the outcome overpower me.

I needed to be calm. I needed to be diplomatic.

"You? Prideful, selfish Erelani?" Desire laughed. I drowned it out.

I kept pace with the others, situated in the middle of the group. Despite my protests at the position, a stern look from Aedan had been effective in silencing me.

We entered a small library, surprised to find it empty. A broken stone altar stood in the centre. Aedan called a brief halt and we settled into the fringes. Wynne and Morrigan moved to the shelves, perusing through the dilapidated volumes. I moved closer too, eager to find something my clan could use.

Aedan pressed past me, and the sudden forcefulness had me turning, and I caught him bending over to pick up a phylactery.

Phylactery. Spirit. Arcane Warrior.

Sudden realization jolted through me. They were already taking the armour, even the books. But the way of the arcane warrior, a true remnant of Ancient elves, how could I let-?

I fadestepped and caught his hand just before he touched it.

"Don't touch it!" I yelled, unable to hide the urgency in my voice.

My voice alerted the others and they approached in a hurry.

"What? It's just a phylactery." Aedan backed away.

"No, it isn't." I firmly intoned. Aedan gave me a scrutinising look. I explained, "I can feel the presence of a spirit. Let me check first."

"I'm a circle trained mage," Aedan emphasised, "You're a child."

Fuck. But not this. I couldn't just give the ancient elven way of life away. They already stole the way of the Knight Enchanter, but this was the original derivation.

"Don't touch it, please." I caught Aedan's dismissive face and took a deep breath, "I'm a Dreamer. Believe me, this has a spirit in it."

"How convenient." Sten moved behind Aedan, effective in intimidating me.

I took a deep breath, "Please, let me handle it. If something goes wrong, I'll be responsible."

Morrigan sighed and moved toward me, "Are you really a Dreamer?" I nodded. "Let her handle it." She turned to me, "I hope you're aware, you're the most susceptible to the spirit."

"I know."

I turned to Aedan. His jaws were clenched and his gaze, piercing. He nodded slowly, reluctantly.

I knelt and picked up the phylactery. Images flashed through my mind and I extended my aura into the phylactery. Its intentions were clear.

I want to die.

I closed my eyes.

A faint mirage of an elvish woman stood before me. She was clad in armour, but the shape was muddled, as if she didn't remember what she looked like.

"I want to die. Please show me the mercy of killing me."

"Who are you? Where are you from? Arlathan?"

"No, Arlathan had fallen. There was a war. I don't remember what it was about. I just remember being surrounded, then doing a spell to hide away." The Fade changed, reflecting faded images of a battle, "My team was supposed to retrieve me, but they never did. You are the first. After so many years, you are the first."

I didn't extend my aura again. Not this time.

"What would you have me do?"

"There is a stone alter that I must be placed on. It was where I performed the spell. The alter has a spell built into it that will release me from this device and I will be able to pass on. But I don't know where it is. There was a library in the room, but that's all I remember."

"You are asking me to do something with such vague instruction, what will I receive in return?"

"I do not have anything to give. I can only rely on your generosity, da'len."

"There must be something that you remember. Can you teach me anything?" I hinted strongly.

"Nothing appropriate for a child."

"I face enemies that threaten to slaughter my clan once I leave. But before attending to that, I'm expected to look for a stone alter in a display of generosity, but you would not extend the same courtesy?"

"The only thing I remember with any clarity is the Dirth'ena Enasalin, and if you truly seek to protect your clan, this will be helpful to you."

"Do you know any magical theory?"

"Magical theory…only the fundamentals. And the knowledge required for Dirth'ena Enasalin."

I finally extended my aura to the spirit and thought about my clan. About Zathrian and Thranduil. "I swear that I will help you. But please, help me in return. Teach me what magical theory you remember and the Dirth'ena Enasalin."

The spirit paused, analysing my aura. I enforced my conviction, I would do this. The spirit nodded, "When we are before the stone alter, I will transfer my memories."

"Just one more thing."

"Yes, da'len."

"Do you remember any of the gods? Fen'Harel?"

"Fen'Harel. He did something big. Unimaginable. I don't remember what."

"Thank you, hahren." I bowed in respect.

I opened my eyes. Alistair stood before me, his sword extended towards my neck. I retreated in alarm, banging my head against the wall.

"State your name." Morrigan intervened, pulling Alistair back.

"Erelani. It's fine. The spirit wants to die, it's no danger to us."

The team seemed to marginally relax, "So your elven art is Dreaming. How quaint." Oghren moved back to the shelf he'd been lazing against.

"T'was sensible of her not to tell us."

I didn't want to get into this. I held the phylactery tightly and went back to the library, whiling away the time before departure. I couldn't just immediately place the phylactery on the alter, the deception would be too obvious.

The books were not legible. Most pages were missing, or the ink had faded out. I lazed around, reassured that nothing of value was being stolen.

When the break ended, I walked up to the alter.

"What are you doing?" Aedan queried.

"Just destroying the phylactery. Placing it on the alter should do the trick."

I extended my aura into the phylactery, "It's done. I found it."

"Thank you, da'len. Mythal'enaste."

A rush of images flooded my brain. Something inside snapped. I fell forward, collapsing onto the alter. There was a crash, and something cracked into pieces.

There were voices.

"Of course, it's real, it's always been real." The whisper was tortured. "She died, and it could have easily been me."

"What will we tell the Keeper?"

The voices faded.

Time passed. New voices joined the previous ones.

"I want to see her!"

"Ashalan, my sweet ashalan. All my fault. All of it. Forgive me, please forgive me."

"Erelani! Stupid Erelani!" The voice choked, "Stupid, brilliant, idiotic, Erelani. Why didn't you think? Why did you leave me alone?"

"She managed to destroy the phylactery."

"Her body?"

"She loved knowledge. There is no better place than here."

"We need to burn-"

"No! This is none of your business! I want to see her again. I'll be using a stasis charm, back away."

What have I done?

I couldn't move. I wasn't breathing. Was I dead for real this time?

I let go.

The Fade.

I was in the raw Fade.

I was expected somewhere. Needed somewhere.

I went to the need. An elf was desperately calling out for a name. He caught sight of me and banished me away.

There was need again. I followed it again. A desire demon stood before me, smirking.

"Well, you never cease to surprise me. What is your purpose?"

Purpose? Why would I have purpose? I was.

"Do you understand now? Will you even remember this?"

Remember what?

"As amusing as this is, this is also quite horrifying. Remember who you are."

Who I am? Who was I?

I played in the Fade with Desire, easily altering the Fade. Well, of course I could.

Why?

Because the spirit was made of the essence of the Fade.

How did I know that?

Memory transfer occurred by transfer of fade essence with memories embedded in them. Any element could be used to embed the memory, but memory worked best with fire, because fire would sear it into the Fade essence and which would imprint strongly into the brain. Electricity was better for storage of memories. A combination of both created veilfire, for veilfire stored memories with electricity and imprinted the memory with fire.

Didn't veilfire only create green fire?

Once the Veil descended, memory transfer occurred only if the magical aura was extended. Otherwise, the fire burned green, with the colour of the fire used to imprint memories. The fire was capable of showing the memories of what once was, at the time of the fire's creation.

Who am I?

Who was I?

How did I get here?

I got here by a memory transfer.

What memory transfer?

This was useless.

...

Useless.

The word resonated.

I was Useless.

Desire froze, its gaze transforming into pity.

I continued to play.

Notes:

Mythal'enaste: Mythal's blessings
Dirth'ena Enaslin: Way of the Arcane Warrior

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