Elinan Lavellan
8441 FA, human reckoning 9:41 Dragon
Part 1: Storm on the Horizon
Skyhold is a refuge from the turmoil in the world but it only provides a brief respite from the monumental task ahead. I should sleep while I can, when there is time between politics and demons. Yet I find myself with quill in hand watching shadows creep across the parchment by guttering lantern light as I attempt to recall what led me here. Foolish, you might say, to record the past when there may be no future. Yet, I have delved into ancient ruins and searched for the secrets of my people so I know I am not the first to do so. And I pray I may not be the last. I hope that someday my clan may read these words, or perhaps an adventurer seeking to stem some future crisis. May these pages give them light when all is darkness, hope when all seems lost. Perhaps, in writing this, I remind myself to hope and not falter when demons scrabble at the door and the foolish shem bury themselves in their own petty concerns.
I am a Dalish hunter, past the first spring of my youth, but not yet greyed into declining winter. My blood sings with the beating of the stag’s heart, the cries of migrating birds, and the howl of a hungry wolf in the frozen night. The rhythms of Vhen’alas in every season are etched in my breath and bone. I have followed the wisdom of Dirthamen, hunting not only for blooded game, but for the lost Elvhen secrets, in hidden ruins and in dusty, faded tomes. Enough of my pointless musings though, I should tell my tale.
It seems only days ago I left my clan, not the full turning of a season. Days since I was sent on an errand whose importance has paled before the sundering of the veil. I had returned to our aravals, the fruits of the hunt weighing in my pack. The leaves fluttered softly in the evening breeze. Day bright bird song tapered into the evening chorus of frogs and the soft whisper of owl wings. The chatter of voices stirred the soft evening air. Disruption and contention, the greater world had found our quiet clan.
The strangers stood out like a shem pony in a herd of halla. They hunched nervously over steaming bowls, pinched hunger not enough to suppress the bowstring tension of the hunted. There were four of them. Three elves who bore no vallaslin and one shem, all mages of course. A scenario grown too common in recent days. The surprise was their presence in our camp.
“Aneth ara. I am glad Andruil blessed me this day. I see we have guests.”
“Aneth ara, Elinan. Today has brought many blessings. Narain and Reisal’s lost da’len has returned to us.” With a graceful nod our Keeper drew my attention to the couple hovering over one of the strange elves.
The young elf nervously plucked the fringe of one of Reisal’s beautiful woven blankets. “Ghaven, is it truly you?” I remembered my niece as a gangly stripling whose bold adventures earned her frequent chastisement. At least until she disappeared, taken by shem Templars we could track no further than one of their filthy cities.
“Lina?!” Ghaven rose from her seat and embraced me, her thin frame shaking but whether it was from exhaustion or emotion I could not tell. “They told me you searched for me, went to the cities and to the towers. That you traveled all the way to the Grand Enchanter and the Divine to ask where they had taken me.”
“You were clan, we do not give up on our own.” I gave Ghaven an awkward hug and stepped back, uncomfortable with her clinging, so unusual among the Dalish, but still wishing to give comfort.
“Were?” Her voice quavered.
“You have been gone many years. The seasons turn and we all change. For now I am grateful you are alive and safe.” I caught the Keeper’s approving nod out of the corner of my eye. This was not the first time a clan member had gone astray and returned. Not all had chosen to remain with the clan.
“I see.” Ghaven whispered, then glanced at the young mage who was holding her abandoned bowl and watching with worried eyes.
“What brings you here, lethallan? We hoped for your return for years and feared the worst when the towers fell, when the Templars fled their senses and sought to slay all who bore the gifts of the gods.”
Ghaven looked to her companions, as if seeking their permission. Circle trained and submissive, they gave her no sign. She shrugged and continued, their leader by default. “The Templars spoke of invoking the Rite of Annulment on our circle after Kirkwall. They said no mage could be trusted. We fought back and escaped. It has not been easy, we have lived in the woods avoiding towns as much as possible and hiding from those who would report us. A few weeks ago we risked heading to a village for supplies. It was there we heard of a great conclave between the mages and Templars that is supposed to happen somewhere in the Frostbacks. We are tired of hiding, tired of being wet and cold and hungry. Perhaps some agreement can be reached to restore the Circles without the Templars holding their bloody swords over us every time we breathe wrong or wish to go outside.” She stared at the clan and spoke, almost defiantly. “I remembered our clan was often here this time of year and I came to invoke clan right for the supplies we need for the journey.”
“We will surely help you, da’len. But, do you truly wish to go back to a circle? The clan would welcome you, and perhaps some of your companions, if you chose to stay.” The Keeper swept a hand toward the other elves, pointedly not including the human holding Ghaven’s bowl.
“No. Lina was right. I must chose. If you cannot welcome us all, then we will ask for what supplies you can spare and go.” Ghaven moved to place a hand on the human mage’s shoulder.
“Da’vhenan, please. You are Dalish. Do not leave your mother and I for this shemlen.” Narain’s plea echoed the words I left unvoiced. We Elvhen are few and every true blooded child is precious.
“I dreamed every night for years, in the dark of the apprentice dorms listening to the heavy tread of our guards and executioners, of a time when I could walk free with the clan again. I have been afraid for some time that it was just a dream. Coming here has made it clear that my path is not to follow the aravals. I need to stand with my fellow mages and try to find a better way.”
“Ma nuvenin, we will aid you then. Eat and rest tonight and tomorrow we will provide for your journey.” The Keeper sighed in resignation. “Elinan, I need to speak with you.” She waved toward her araval.
I hung my game bag on the hook outside the door and followed her into the crowded interior while she poured two cups of blackberry wine.
“Lina, I hate to ask this of you, but you know more of the shemlen than any other in our clan. I need someone to go to the conclave and find out what happens there. This conflict between the mages and the Templars impacts more than just the humans. The clans need to know what is happening, and perhaps take action if things go to an extreme. The Templars have mostly left us alone if we do not foolishly flaunt our power. I do not wish to see a radical element change that. And, I would hope they can be stopped from taking our children in the future.”
I sipped my wine, drawn back to the time I left to search for Ghaven. Back to my return to find the earth settled and a sturdy young sapling growing over the grave of my husband, Erith. The clan’s mourning long done, I had folded my fresh grief away. I wished to blame the shemlen, to strike out at them and make them pay for the fever that took him, for the fruitless search that had taken me away. But, in truth many shem were lost to the same fever that season and the search was my own. It was no more fair to blame them than to curse the winter gales for the widowmakers that fall in the frozen forest.
“You wish me to eliminate the leadership if the Templar extremists gain control?”
“I hope it does not happen thus. But your skills are not limited to the bow. You are more suited to this task than any other, no matter what happens.”
“And if I say no. That I have no wish to dishonor my Dar’ Misu and soil them with shem blood.”
“Then I will find another.”
I poured another glass of wine and savored the taste of the summer forest, of blackberry brambles and laughing streams. “I do not wish to do this, but I will go. You are right.” I set my cup down and left the araval to prepare for another journey.
“I wish I was not.” The Keeper’s whispered words weighed heavy in my thoughts.
Part 2: Maelstrom
I will not bore you with a description of our journey other than to say that circle mages are ill accustomed to wilderness travel and our progress was slower than I might have hoped. The Conclave was already in session when we arrived and the buzzing colors and activity of the mostly human masses was dizzying. The scents of unwashed bodies, oiled steel, heavy perfume and exotic spices filled the air with a dense miasma I found difficult to navigate after so many years breathing only the clean scents of damp loam and sun heated leaves. Even the scent of blood from a fresh kill or the putrid stench of old death have been familiar companions in the forests and mountains. This seething mass of beings, reeking of their “civilization” was purely alien to me.
Ghaven and her companions joined up with a group led by a mage named Rhys and a former Templar Evangeline. I stayed out of the debates and listened. I had to laugh at the idea of any Templar telling a Keeper what to do, but we Dalish do take care of our own. If a Keeper foolishly decides to deal with spirits and becomes possessed the clan takes care of the problem. It is rare for such problems to arise, but it has happened.
I did pay close attention to a vocal group of Seekers who had broken with the Chantry and wished to confine all magic users to towers forever – or worse simply eliminate them (if the rumors were to be believed). I kept my blades and poisons close at hand, fearing that their use would be necessary if the Seekers gained support.
Then the world exploded and I fell into the void.
Nightmares walk in the bright light of day. The Beyond has crossed into our forests, driven game from the fields and the mountain tops, turned towns and fields alike into places of horror and death. I know not the fate of my clan, my kin. The world ended and I woke Beyond. Nothing was right, nothing was real, just pain and confusion, gone the solid ground from my feet, the song of the wind in my ears. Floating rocks, flying halla, visions of gods and demons, nothing was what it should be. Then the voice. “Go” it said. “Escape while you can. You are Fade marked and I will find you.”
I fell through the rift, hard stone to greet me. Burning, charnel house, I could not find my way. Then the flat voices of shemlen soldiers rose above the ringing in my ears questioning how I lived when all others died. I had no answers. I saw the charred corpses. The scent of burned flesh and death hung heavy in my nostrils. None deserved that fate, not shem, not Elvhen, NO ONE.
They threw me in a cell. Barred from the wind, the forest, the mountain tops, my only company the stench of death and excrement. The irony made me laugh, blamed for a cataclysm instead of a planned assassination. I occupied my days with training, the memory of twin Dar’Misu in my hands to guide my steps through the ancient choreography I had practiced daily for decades. My dreams often blurred; images from another time shining more clearly than recent memory. I thought perhaps Fen’Harel had stolen my sanity. Surely, if I was in my right mind my palm would not ache and glow green. At night when despair entered my dreams it was often driven back by a pressing need that was not my own. Unfamiliar thoughts echoed in my head in the same voice that drove me from the Beyond. When I woke I could only remember scattered impressions of urgent footfalls in ancient forests and mountain paths.
They brought me to the angry one finally. I was to blame, she was sure. The only survivor (Dirthamen make that a shemlen lie) so she said. It was an explosion that tore the Veil, and I should not be alive. The pain in my hand and the reflection of the Beyond in my cupped palm were simply evidence of my guilt. I do not think she believed my protest of innocence but with no other leads to help combat this disaster I was released from prison, though the guards were my constant shadows.
The durgen’len, Varric, was the one the one island of respite in the sea of angry and confused shemlen. “Look on the bright side, Eli. At least we won’t need torches since you’re so handy.”
“Bad pun, Varric.”
“Why would you expect the puns to be good? Look, I have nothing to work with but Cassandra and demons here.” He gave a frustrated chuckle.
“Why are you working with Cassandra?”
“She was stabbing things and I was afraid I was next unless I went along with her.”
“So she’s like that all the time?”
“As far as I can tell. One little misunderstanding about Hawke and she impales a book on my lap.”
“Ouch. Who’s Hawke?”
Varric gave me an incredulous look. “You haven’t heard about Kirkwall?”
“Of course. Some mage blew up the chantry there and started a war.”
“I see. You have a lot of catching up to do.” Varric launched into his tale with all the enthusiasm of a Dalish story teller at Arlathvhen. I was fascinated and horrified by the story in turns. In general, we Dalish regard spirits as powerful beings to be handled with extreme caution, if one must deal with them at all. To hear of a Dalish First and a human mage both disregarding the danger disturbed me greatly.
I was losing at Diamondback to Varric yet again when the scout returned. I had mastered the basic rules of the game but it seemed I kept missing the subtle nuances of skilled play so it was hardly a handicap to direct my attention to the voices on the other side of the wall.
“Seeker, we have found no new sign of demons in the past four days. The disturbance in the sky north of here has been growing though.”
“Have your long range patrols reached it yet?” Cassandra’s impatience was clear.
“Not yet, but Warren is fairly certain it is close to a keep and a small village. He grew up in this area and says it will take three days hard travel to reach it.”
“Time to move then. Haven should be safe for now and it’s time to learn more about what has happened. I want everyone ready to march at first light.”
With a nod to Varric I rose and rushed to catch the Seeker before she left. “Seeker, a moment please.”
Cassandra paused at the door, then gestured for me to continue.
“The Frostbacks are a dangerous and wild place filled with wolves, bears, and many other dangers. If I had my weapons back I could help.”
“And you could attack my men and escape. We had no trouble coming here, I doubt we will find anything we can’t handle.”
“By your own words much of your company perished. Traveling in the wilderness with less than a dozen is not the same.”
“Perhaps, but then I must protect them against even greater risk.” Cassandra turned to leave.
“Seeker! I lost my niece in that explosion. A child I spent years looking for after Templars stole her. I may think your whole mage-Templar war is foolish, but I would never harm my own kin. Believe me or not as you wish but my survival was luck or intervention of the Gods, not a design of my own.”
The door closed behind the Seeker and I retreated back to Varric and his cards.
Thus, I was shocked when the Seeker handed me my weapons in the morning with dire warnings about my fate if they were used in any manner other than what she saw fit.
With bow and daggers I felt more at ease among the humans. My previous travels had taught me the disdain most (but not all) humans had for my kind. I considered leaving the group. For all of the Seeker’s warnings the human warriors were no obstacle, but the horror of the cataclysm had staggered me and perhaps my skills could be of use in stopping those responsible. And there was the mystery of my hand. The glow had faded but not disappeared.
The next several days found me often with bow or daggers in hand facing foes both human and creature. I developed an uneasy camaraderie with the Seeker’s soldiers; our bond formed more by coherence of purpose than true understanding. It was near twilight on our last day of travel when we had an unexpected encounter that shone the first ray of hope upon our purpose.
“Greetings, Seeker.” The elf strode confidently toward our group. His fur lined garments and staff reminiscent of a Dalish Keeper. Yet he bore no vallaslin.
“Halt, mage. State your business.” I was developing a grudging respect for my captor. She had demonstrated a surprising reluctance to make judgments without examining the facts. Nor did she seem to fall into the extremist faction who wished to cage all who wielded magic.
“You have one with you who was marked by the Fade. I can show you how to use this power to seal the rifts and restore the Veil.”
“And how, exactly, can you do this?” Clearly suspicious Cassandra’s hand fell to her sword hilt.
“I have spent my life studying the Fade and its denizens. I felt the explosion that ripped the Veil apart and the unexpected presence of one of my own kind within the realm of dreams.”
The mage stood resolute before the Seeker, betraying neither impatience nor fear. The strange, familiar cadence of his voice echoed in my mind. I pulled my left glove off with trembling fingers and pushed my way forward. “What do you know of this?” I thrust my hand at him, the strange glow grown stronger again as we had approached the new rift.
“It is power. Power to close that which should not have been opened. Power to restore things that should not have been altered.”
“How do I use it?” My fingers trembled within his grasp.
“I will show you.”
I am a hunter, for all my pursuit of knowledge in dusty tomes. I do not know what to do. What is this path the Gods have mapped for me, or do they even care?
“You can fix this” he said. The burning emerald light in my palm can seal a tear, a rift they call it, to the Beyond. But the whole sky is riven, a sundering that should not be. I can seal one rift, a hundred, but there may be a thousand, and who is to say there will not be more. Despair rides me as a shem rides a horse, but I will not let it master me. If there is a way to contain the Beyond safely behind its veil and end the one who tore our world asunder I will find it. There are too many lives in the balance, too many children of all races that cry out in fear.
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