Delicate hands carefully opened the lid on the box, for she was afraid, perhaps unnecessarily, of hurting the content inside the box. Although the scroll inside had survived for centuries through the use of powerful elven enchantments, caution was still required she told herself. She gently drew out the scrolls, feeling the texture of paper in her hands.
“Perfect, no harm done,” Lavellan muttered to herself. It had been a long journey from the newly discovered shrine in the Barcellian Forest in Ferelden to Skyhold, and she had worried that the artifacts found there would have taken damage on the way back.
Peace had slowly, but surely been restored to the southern nations. And for the moment the inquisition lacked a purpose, so she had for the last few months dedicated all their resources to tracking down Solas. Some would perhaps have called it obsession, yet did she not have good reason? Yes, finding him was a personal matter, but there was more to it, or at least that was what she told herself. She remembered reading Leliana’s report, how her spies had tracked down the village from which the elf supposedly had originated from, only to find centuries old ruins. She had suspicions before, remembering how the temple guardian Abelas had asked him, he answered
“Yes, elvhen… such as I”
“Such as I”
As if there were a clear separation of what she and he were. And yet, there must have been. Was he simply another elvhen of old? No, she thought, it was more than that. Ever since the inquisition began its search, reports from across Thedas had emerged, rumors of an elven apostate matching his description, seemingly appearing in a corner of Ferelden one week, only for a rumor of a similar nature to appear in the most northern parts of the Free Marches a few days later. And every time they went out to follow these leads, elven ruins would be found, but no sign of where he had gone after, so they had scoured whatever they could from the ruins, hoping to learn what he was doing or planning to. Yet, even with all they had managed to find, they were no closer to understanding, it something to do with a key and Fen’Harel, but a key to what? And how did it relate to Fen’Harel? A key to an eluvian? His lair or temple? None of it was clear.
Perhaps this scroll would finally reveal everything?
She tried to clear her mind of all distractions and began reading. Only two years ago she would have difficulty reading any of the words it spoke, yet after having drunk from the well of sorrows. It all was as easy as reading a children’s book.
It wouldn’t take long.
-
Pure shock, she felt as if she had trouble breathing for a moment. No, it couldn’t be, it was impossible, the scroll had to be lying, it couldn’t be true.
And yet it all made sense now, it all fit together now. He had been searching for a key, a key to an eluvian which only he could enter, a door to his domain.
The Dread Wolf’s domain.
Memories came crashing down on her, each and every moment since the temple of sacred ashes was remembered, reexamined.
How much of it was a lie? How much had he deceived her? She felt tears trying to escape her eyes; her breathing became strained. She thought back to the moments they had, that they shared. She had thought she had found someone special in him, someone to help guide her, help ease the burden she carried. But he had never cared; all that ever must have mattered to him was the orb. Whatever plan he had involving Corypheus and the orb had failed, and she had fallen right in the middle of his scheme and became branded by the mark in the process. So he had joined, hoping to recover the orb.
And oh how perfect it must have been for him to find that it was she who had been branded, that it had been one of the people. How fun it must have been to have had a new Dalish to torment as if she were a plaything. How amusing it must have been to have been given the opportunity to trick and seduce the first of the keeper of clan Lavellan, the one who was meant to guard her people against you.
Had all the misfortune befallen her been his influence? The destruction of her clan, had he pulled the strings? She remembered her grief when she heard the news; he had visited her in her chambers and tried to comfort her, and in her inner turmoil she had escalated it, first with a few kisses which, despite his seeming reluctance, in the end led to an intimacy which she had never before allowed or experienced with any other man. Had it been a trick? A tragedy created to get her into bed to fulfill some twisted sense of pleasure or amusement?
And what of the well of sorrows? He had pleaded for her not to drink from it. He had sounded so concern, so worried, but had that concern been genuine? She raised her right hand, half closed into a fist, and with a single thought a small flame sprang from the palm of her hand.
Yes, his concern had been genuine.
But not for her.
He had been afraid, afraid of how powerful she could become from drinking it. It was obvious, ever since she consumed the well’s power she had felt it, that day by day, month by month, her powers had increased even further. Spells she had once struggled to maintain for even a second now came as easy as breathing to her. And she knew her powers would only continue to grow from here. Yes, she had been bound to Mythal, but that a small price to pay for the knowledge and power the well provided. And her only meeting with the goddess had gone reasonably well, she did not fear her.
She rose up from her chair and went to look at a small mirror she had on her wall, she looked at the bare face that starred back at her. She let the fingers from her left hand glide over her face, touching where her vallaslin once were. It had been his final “gift” to her, to remove the vallaslin that once covered her face. Given that she at that point lost her clan, she wondered if this was the final touch to complete her separation from her people. Had she returned to her own clan with her vallaslin, they would still have welcomed her back, but the rest? She still remembered with bitterness the hateful words and suspicious eyes she received when she greeted them barefaced. She truly had become an exile.
The Dread Wolf had taken too much, from her and from her people. She knew what her goal now was, to hunt him down. Wherever he tried to hide, she would follow. Whatever he would scheme, she would stop it.
She would hunt him down, to the ends of the earth.