Gifts
We hear stories of them living in trees and imagine wooden ramps or Dalish Aravels. Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, places floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what we lost.
But no description could do it justice, or show the way the trees were as much a part of the city as they were nature, their great branches growing around the towers, supporting them and forming paths between them that were both natural and created. No roads, nothing to transport goods or traffic. The ancient elves had favoured something far less mundane.
‘This is what our people once were, vhenan.’
‘It’s….’ Lavellan had no idea what she could even say, so she settled on the simple, ‘ma serannas.’ There was nothing more that could be said, except: ‘This beats Varric’s gift and that was his complete works. And they were signed!’ This caused Solas to laugh, that short, joyful sound Lavellan loved. ‘And, I should add, that included Swords and Shields. Which we’re going to have to read together later. So, are we going to look around? Or enjoy the view?’
‘Exploring here would be’ Solas paused, thinking, ‘unwise. This memory is ancient. Fragile. I am uncertain of the consequences.’
Lavellan shrugged, ‘I bow to your expertise, hahren. Just seeing this… it’s more… I don’t even know what to say.’
Solas took her hand in his and the two elves shared a smile.
‘Staying here with you,’ Lavellan continued, ‘that sounds perfect.’
In the Fade, however, ‘here’ is a difficult concept to define. They weren’t anywhere, standing on air (or the memory of air) a few feet away from the nearest tower. They were close enough to one of the tree branch walkways that Lavellan could have taken a couple of paces forward and reached out to touch the wolf-headed statue that stood there, overlooking Arlathan.
But she was content to just observe.
The statue moved its head.
‘Creators!'
‘What is it?’
‘That moved! I thought it was a statue.’
‘I believe it is an elf.’ Solas was amused. She knew the others found it hard to tell when he was joking sometimes, but Lavellan could always hear it in his voice.
‘Thank you’ she replied, rolling her eyes, ‘Where would I be without the wisdom of my elder?’
The figure was wearing a cloak made of wolf furs, the head of the wolf forming the hood of the cloak and shadowing their face.
‘I wonder if this is their memory.’
‘I believe you may be right.’
‘You said this was a fragment. All these thousands of years, and this lasts. I wonder why?’
‘A moment that seems inconsequential to others could be for another a moment of perfect inspiration, or clarity. Any number of things.’
‘I wonder what this was one was?’ Lavellan smiled, ‘probably something dull. Maybe… ‘I forgot to eat lunch’ or ‘this wolf head is really heavy, why didn’t I think of that when I got it?’’
That got another laugh from Solas, ‘Perhaps. We may never know.’ He sounded relaxed, but he held her hand tightly as they observed the ancient memory.