Origins
After returning from Denerim you are expecting your week to be finished. Normally if there is ill news, there is some forewarning or it awaits you when you return. However, the evening you arrive home nothing greets you and you sleep soundly through the night.
The morning dawns red. The clouds in the sky are cast into deep purple like a bruise. The amber colours that are normally so prevalent are absent. It calls to mind nothing so much as the old saying 'a red sun rises upon spilt blood'.
That would be the forewarning, you expect.
To say you were unsurprised when one of the Nandëo came thundering into Endataurëo ahorse would be an exaggeration. You might have been getting ready for trouble, but it had not been of this particular kind.
Also you had been hoping that you were simply overreacting and nothing would come of the ominous sunrise.
"Nelyafinwë, you must come at once." The male pants. "Something terrible has happened. Auriel, Mahariel, the whole squad. It's bad. You have to come at once."
You do not hesitate, you run to the stable and all but leap astride Orundómë. Together, you and the Dalish thunder down your road. It is only as you pass the gates that you think that this might be another trap, but you quickly discount that. Not only are the Sabrae the only clan you are certain has horses and rides them, but the messenger is riding back with you.
Attempting to ride back with you anyway. You nudge Orundómë, and he snorts in displeasure as he checks his pace to something his former herdmate can match.
Almost immediately after you slow the elf calls. "No. Do not wait for me! Ride as fast as you can!"
Perhaps this is a trap after all. With a shrug you urge Orundómë on once more. If it is, you shall break it as you broke the last. You had not needed to run, only fear for the Sabrae had urged you away.
It is not, in the end, a trap.
A pall lies upon the clan. This last year has seen far too much tragedy for the beleaguered Dalish. Disease, war, a Blight and the loss of the Hahren. Or rather, the former loss, given the way you see Paivel leaning heavily on a cane outside the healing tent.
Within said tent is a grim sight. Nearly a dozen Dalish Warriors lie upon the ground, veins dark, skin pale and breath shallow. Even your sight can barely see the movement of their chests.
Around the sides Merrill and Marethari are working overtime. Magic flows like water, casting the dim tent in sickly green hues. From their expressions they are both frustrated and slowly losing this battle.
Tamlen sits next to Auriel and that elf who was at his side in the clearing. His expression is guilty and desperate.
One of the healers is walking towards you, an explanation on her lips. You interrupt her. You know the symptoms, even before your senses confirm the corruption within. These people are infected by the Blight.
"Why has Merrill not cured these people?" You ask.
"They were missing for two days before we found them." The healers admits quietly. "We thought they were darkspawn at first."
Well, that explains Tamlen's obvious guilt and the arrow and sword wounds. "I am impressed they are so recovered."
The healer grimaces. "The Keeper did something. I don't know what it was but it made the First furious. They haven't spoken since."
"We're treating the symptoms, but well, conceptual parasite." Merrill interjects, well aware that you can hear her across the room. "At this point we're just trying to think of some purification method that won't also destroy the bonded blood and kill them."
You shrug. "I will lend what aid I can, but unless you have Athelas, there is little I can do."
"Athelas?" One of the healers asks.
"A low lying plant with green leaves." You explain. "It grows in tangled vines, has small white flowers."
There's a moment of hesitation as the healers look at each other in confusion. However, Tamlen's eyes light up and he dashes out of the room at top speed. Soon he returns with the requested plant, soil still falling from its roots.
"Is this it?" He pants.
Carefully you reach out and take the plant from his hand in disbelief. It does not vanish and close inspection reveals that it is in fact what you seek, or a plant so close as to be functionally identical.
"Yavana herself is with us today." You say, half in hope, half in shock.
Gently you strip the flowers away with some cuttings. "Plant these. We will have need of them. Someone, bring me a bowl of clean water."
One of the healers takes the cuttings and rushes off with them. That same healer returns with a bowl of water. Carefully, you crush the leaves and steep them in the water. A sweet aroma fills the room.
Humming a tune, you sink down next to the worst affected, and gently administer the draught. First in their mouths, then by bathing them in it with a cloth. Finally you crush some spare leaves up and leave them beneath their nose.
It takes hours to cure all twelve of the infected. Merrill helps and Marethari too. Slowly, achingly slowly the Taint recedes. It fights harder than any art of Morgoth's you have yet encountered. There are moments you swear there is another song in the room, opposing you, yet if it is no figment of the imagination, it does not prove your match.
By the time the sun sets, the warriors sleep a deep, healing sleep. You and the other healers, mages included, collapse into beds yourselves for some much needed rest.
The next morning, the patients are feeling better. Well enough for you to speak to Auriel about what happened and where she was. More pressingly to your mind, how she came to be infected and how she and her warriors survived until help came.
You, Merrill, Tamlen and Marethari gather in the healers tent. Auriel sits up on her bed, looking thin and wasted. Her hair hangs lank and lifeless around her face, and you cannot help but notice the similarities to yourself when you escaped Angband. She looks drained on a level beyond the physical, pale and drawn like, well, like one who is newly recovered from the touch of the darkness.
"I heard about it from Mahariel. She and Tamlen ran into some shem… humans, they ran into some humans who found some elven ruins." The Nandëo takes a long, deep breath to steady herself. "He wanted to go, but, well I wasn't privy to the whole discussion, but we decided it was best if I took my warriors to investigate it, Mahriel was our guide."
"I should have gone with instead." Tamlen mutters quietly. "If I had been there…"
"You would have been infected, and with no one to recognise athelas, all would have died." You interrupt him. "Waste no time in pointless self recrimination. There is no need to invent failure where none exists. You will experience more than enough in your life without it."
Why do people keep giving you these stunned looks? It is not difficult to quote well known proverbs, and you have never hidden that you have experienced more than your share of failure over the years.
"Auriel. What happened?" You press.
The warrior visibly rallies herself, even striking her own face to focus. "We found the ruins. They're pretty standard, nowhere near as big as the place you live. Not much there, spiders, some relics and the like. Then we found a mirror."
The Nandëo trails off in thought, and is silent for a long time before continuing. "There were some animated skeletons defending it and it was obviously magic. I don't know who touched it, but someone did, then there was a flash."
At this point Mahriel interjects. "I've never felt anything like it. I was feverish, but not hot. It was cold, so very cold. All I could hear was this, this song, it was grim and terrible, high like a flute but it rumbled in your chest like a drum. It was sweet, but in the way a poison is sweet. I wanted to follow it, even as I feared it."
"I heard it too." Auriel admits softly. "Something stopped me from following though. It was like, there was another song? It wasn't really a song though, more like a booming sound, like trees breaking or thunder maybe."
You glance at Merrill who shrugs. "Too many possible variables. The Lady, our nature, something about that mirror, was the Taint even from the darkspawn? I don't know."
You bow your head in thought. Auriel falls back on her bed, exhausted. Marethari obviously wants to ask more questions, but she dares not risk Auriel.
"Whatever answers there may be, they lie in those ruins." You say at last. "I am going. Who will come with me?"
"I will." Merrill replies at once. "You'll need me."
"I'm coming too." Tamlen says. "Whatever this is, I want answers, and if someone did something, I want their head."
"Take your warriors with you." Marethari commands. "Consider it an official mission from the clan."
You nod decisively and stand. "I shall meet you at the ruins. I have something I need to retrieve from my home first."
After a brief pause for directions, you mount Orundómë and whisper into his ear. "Lintië, Orundómë, lintië. Lúmë na senna, naxa na elvënna [1]."
As swiftly as he bore you here, he bears you yet even more swiftly back. Your thoughts dwell not on questions of when you might see the limits of his speed, for your thoughts are on the persilmia, and the dangers that may lie ahead of you.
"He's late." Daggeth mutters.
"He's coming." Merrill says with uncharacteristic steel in her tone. "It's only been an hour."
Tamlen would normally be in full agreement with Daggeth, but Nelyafinwë saved Mahriel and Auriel, so right now he could do just about anything and Tamlen wouldn't care. Still, he does wonder what he had gone to get, Merrill seemed to know.
Then there was the sound of hooves in the distance. It does not take long for the tall, whatever he was, to thunder into the clearing upon that huge black steed of his. Nelyafinwë leaps from its back, a shining light clasped in his palm.
"What is that?" Tamlen asks, stunned by the way it turns the flesh of the hand a bright, yet almost translucent red.
"The persilima." Nelyafinwë says shortly. "Are we all ready?"
"Waiting on you shem." Daggeth says, only just managing to stay on the right side of respectful.
"We found dead darkspawn." Merril contributes, glaring at Daggeth. "We're worried."
Dark eyes (were they glowing?) narrow fiercely. "Draw swords. Be ready for battle."
It says something about the presence he's giving off right now that none of them argue, or mention that they're not under his command. At this moment, the quality of his cloak is very apparent and his armour seems to glint like silver. The tall helm on his head and the long sword in his left hand… he looks like an ancient hero from a mural.
The entrance of the ruins seems ominous. A heavy atmosphere lies upon it, and from the very first step within, everyone is on edge. Something is wrong here, something beyond any physical presence. Tamlen would like to dismiss it as a feeling, but he knows deep down it isn't.
"Darkness dwells here." Nelyafinwë proclaims. "Be ready."
Then he does that thing. The one that makes Tamlen wonder what he is. He seems to grow taller, his entire body seems to be on the verge of bursting into a bright light. Even his cloak seems to be more red, and his sword glitters coldly. The gem in his hand flares an even brighter light.
The atmosphere seems to recede, and certainty and purpose return to the group. The, being, raises the light in his hand and it somehow grows brighter still. The shadows seem to flee, revealing hurlocks and genlocks cowering and turning their faces from the light.
Nobody can do more than nock an arrow or raise a shield before Nelyafinwë is upon them. The sword smokes as it cleaves armour and flesh alike , blood, too red to be that of a darkspawn, splatters upon the floor.
In two dozen heartbeats the small ambush is dead.
"Come. There will be more." Nelyafinwë says, eyes bright despite the shadows of his brow.
To say they fight the way to the central room would be an exaggeration. Nelyafinwë brushes foes aside like cobwebs. It could be described as fighting, in the same sense that a master craftsman's work might be called 'home repair'.
The mirror is shattered, and pieces lie all about the floor. Tamlen and his warriors fan out to secure the room while Merrill nudges one of the shards with her staff, a frown on her face. Nelyafinwë does not move from where he entered, staring at the mirror frame.
"June." He asks quietly. "What have you done?"
Tamlen swallows nervously. He really hopes that Nelyafinwë is blaspheming. He desperately does not want this to involve gods.
He also rather hopes Nelyafinwë is not one himself.
The mirror frame is identical to the one you saw in June's prison. There is no glass in it, but that is because what used to be there is scattered in pieces upon the floor. Actually, now that you pay attention to it, you can feel the faint remnants of the Taint upon it.
"Merrill, be careful." You instruct the First. "That was Tainted, it may still be."
"I'll be careful." She replies distractedly. "I just… How does this work?"
Those are not comforting sounds, but you also do not want to ignore the possibility that June has done something here. Reluctantly you leave her to it and turn your attention upon the frame on the wall.
Two great statues of elves in robes carrying swords flank the frame upon a plinth in the centre of the room. A double arch made of stone holds the frame suspended from the ground. The air practically reeks of magic, old magic at that.
It looks, familiar. June definitely had a hand in its construction but not, you think, alone. There are definitely elements that remind you of the things he made in his prison, but you know just enough of smithing to recognise when a style changes.
Of course, that is all you can tell of the makers, but then you are no smith yourself.
That it serves a function akin to a Palantír is not a question in your mind. Probing it with your senses as much as you are able reveals more than you had hoped. One who has never held a Palantír might miss it, but this is connected to something else, many somethings unless you miss your guess.
Yet, the size of the room, its design, all of it points to something beyond a mere communication device. Is this how June has been watching you? Or is it something else, something older. Why is the room so large? Did many people once gather to view things far away?
For a moment you have a vivid image of a gathering of people using the power of far sight to view entertainment and have to stifle a laugh. What a waste of such an immense power, who would be mad enough to do that?
Still, you think that you have learned all that you can by observation. Perhaps Merrill has some insight.
"Merrill." You call. "What do you think of this 'mirror'?"
Merrill does not heed you, eyes focused on the shards and furiously muttering to herself.
For a moment you are tempted to yell across the room and get Merrill's attention. However, you decide against it. Merrill knows the matter is serious, and likely considers what she is doing a matter of importance. No need to act in a manner that may cause unnecessary hostility.
You walk up to her, and place one hand upon her shoulder. Merrill starts and whirls to face you eyes blazing.
"Merrill, do you have a moment?" You ask quietly.
The fire in her eyes quickly fades and she glances back at the shards on the floor. "I, um I think this might be really important. The magic in it is so fascinating, if I can just study it…"
You nod. "That is true, however, I have finished my examination, do you need to see the rest of the room for your analysis? We do need to figure out what this is and whether or not we need to do anything about it."
Merrill stares longingly at the shards on the ground, then glances at the decidedly nervous warriors. Then she looks at you with pleading eyes. Whatever she wants, she does not get it, and slowly she rolls her shoulders back and straightens up.
"Yes. I will inspect the rest of the room, and I should look for magical traps." She says firmly.
She then glares at the shards, and around the room. "If any of these go missing or are moved I shall be very cross with all of you."
"Oh my, this looks just like the one on June's wall." Merrill exclaims.
You notice Tamlen flinch when she says that.
"That was my thought as well." You agree.
She starts walking around it, not often casting spells but clearly thinking. Slowly she does start casting spells, of detection and analysis if you are recalling the colours correctly.
She mutters to herself, pacing the room thrice. On the third rotation, you notice her seemingly attempting to measure things with her staff. A frown mars her face and she keeps glancing back at the shards.
Finally she comes back to the centre of the room.
"The good news is that there's no magical traps and I'm pretty sure the mirror is mostly inert at this point." She says in a loud voice. "As long as you don't drown anything in lyrium or cast spells at it, nothing should happen."
"Is it safe to touch?" Tamlen asks professionally.
"That is uncertain." Merrill says clearly. "I do not recommend doing so as yet, but that is mostly a precaution."
The other Nandëo visibly relax. Merrill comes closer to you and speaks more quietly.
"What did you find?" She asks.
"The mirror is connected to something, I would suspect others of its nature." You reply just as quietly. "I am all but certain that it could be used to view things at a distance. June, or one who taught him, worked upon it alongside others."
She grimaced. "I was afraid of that."
You wait for her to continue but she does not. Eventually you prompt her "Why is this cause for fear?"
Merrill sighs. "I'm pretty sure that this is some kind of transportation array."
"That is possible?" You ask in amazement.
"Yes, it's not easy, but it's doable. No, we can't move whole armies or vast quantities of supplies. It. Is. Not. Easy." Merrill stresses. "However, I've never seen anything like this, and if I'm reading the room right… I think this could have. Maybe."
"Are you certain?" You ask, mind racing with possibilities, threat vectors and all manner of concerns.
Merrill gives you a look like someone about to share bad news. "Nelyafinwë. Where do you think the darkspawn came from?"
Buying and Selling
"So, this is like, too much food right?" Delora asks. "I know I'm a city girl and all, but farms don't usually produce enough to feed fifty people right?"
"It's probably not quite as bad as you're thinking." Martin replies cautiously. "They're big farms, with like five people working on them full time. I mean, it's still more than it should be but not that much more."
Delora nods quietly, staring over the huge piles of food that are being brought in from the new farms. Mostly it's fruit with some vegetables but the pile just keeps getting bigger and she can't quite process it.
"So, we work for a witch right?" Delora says at last. "Not Merrill, though actually now that I mention it… No, what I mean is that we live in the woods with someone who looks significantly different from most members of the species who has magical and probably cursed powers."
Martin raises a hand to stroke his chin in a way that is in no way covering a smile. "I was under the impression that witches were usually ugly."
"I don't know, he's pretty tall." Delora grumbles. "It's gotta be off putting."
Martin shrugs. "You would be more likely to know than I."
Delora rolls her eyes and swats the human on the arm. "Still, do you ever worry that he's going to proclaim himself mage king of Ferelden and lead us all to disaster?"
"Not really." Martin says seriously. Then a smile spreads across his face and in a much more mischievous tone he continues, "If only because he likely already considers himself so and thus doesn't see the need to proclaim it."
"You're not funny, old man." Delora replies without heat.
"Well, I suppose that I will leave you to deal with this then." Martin ripostes unseriously. "After all, I'm too old to be dealing with such heavy loads."
"Gross." Delora says with a grimace.
"What did I say?" Martin asks.
The elf just glares at him, and they fall silent for a time.
"So, I don't want to bring up a sensitive subject…" Martin says leadingly.
"Always a great start to a conversation." Delora responds flatly.
"We've been talking for at least ten minutes." Martin replies, deeply unamused. "Look, it's about Maeglin, so if you don't want to talk about him, you know, tell me."
The elf rolls her eyes. "I'm not made of glass, you know."
There's a moment of contemplative silence before Martin speaks again. "It's not weakness to not want to be reminded of bad things, you know."
"It's not that." Delora sighs. "It was scary, fine, but it's not like anything bad happened. I had a talk with someone scary and ate lunch. I'm fine, and everyone walking around the topic like it's explosive is more annoying than helpful."
Martin nods twice, takes a deep breath and asks. "So do you reckon Maeglin's a witch too?"
"What?" Delora asks.
"I mean, they've got to know each other somehow, and that trading company of his came out of nowhere and it's now the biggest in Ferelden." Martin explains. "Admittedly, it's not like we're Navarra or the Free Marches, or something like that, but still, it's impressive."
Delora frowns. "Ok, but like, how would that even work, is he using magic to mind control people?"
"Well, if he started with an ability to make more of something than expected he could leverage that into a significant advantage." Martin speculates.
The conversation quickly devolves into a tradecraft discussion of how one could use magic to get ahead in the merchant business. It's actually really interesting and Delora is wondering if they can ask their boss for some more magic. Oh, maybe Merrill.
Perhaps she shouldn't buy that witch's hat she's considering getting the Dalish.
Why? Why does she do these things to herself? Nobody even knew that she was thinking of buying the Dalish mage a witch's hat. If she'd decided not to do it, nobody would have known that she chickened out. Nobody except herself.
Delora scowls at the dark, pointed hat in her hand. Its wide brim is floppy, which she hadn't expected. All the pictures had the brim standing stiff, point too. This looks more like a hood than a hat. It's not even black. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Delora knocks on Merrill's door.
Why does she do these things to herself? Aside from the fact that once the hat was bought it would be obvious to anyone who ever saw it what happened. Well, too late to change her mind now.
"Coming." A voice calls from inside, followed by the sounds of a large number of things falling over. "I'm ok! Give me a minute."
Seriously, it's like she's trying to dispel the rumours of Dalish being monsters. Not doing much for the narrative that mages are walking disasters who are as much a danger to themselves as others though. Neither is Xandar come to think of it. That one might actually be true.
The door swings open, to reveal a dishevelled Merrill. "Oh, uh, sorry I know your name. It's right on the tip of my tongue… Delta, Develle."
"It's Delora." Said elf says, fighting back the urge to say… something mean probably. "Look, I got a present for you."
She shoves the hat at the Dalish, who takes it with some bemusement.
"Oh." She says, a happy smile spreading across her face. "A mage's cowl. Unusual design, and really my people don't use them much, but that's really thoughtful."
Delora feels, kind of gross to be honest. Bad enough that she was absolutely right about it being a hood, but Merrill seems so happy about the present that she really doesn't like the fact that it was supposed to be a joke.
"Yeah, well, thought you needed one." She says brusquely, turning to walk away. "Hope you like it."
She makes it maybe fifteen steps before Merrill calls after her. Caught between worry that she's been caught and concern at the clear hesitation in Merrill's voice, she turns back slowly.
Merrill is twisting the hat in her hands and chewing her lip nervously. "Um… What do you think about the old stories? The ones about us being immortal?"
[1] Swiftly, Orudome, swiftly. Time is short, evil is upon us.