Disappointment. Paranoia.
It was an all-consuming fear, in this dream. Vesryn walked the halls of an ancient place he'd only recently learned of. A temple Saraya had dared not return to, even so long after it had certainly become a ruin. Barren and devoid of the life he saw here, walking alongside him. Other elves, tall and proud, even in the face of undeniable defeat. Vesryn knew a little of why she wouldn't want to return here. The feelings associated with this place were immense.
Already she'd been contacted, he knew. Given the offer, enticed into betrayal so she could save her family. She'd yet to meet with them, but she already knew she would. How could she refuse, when this was the alternative? This was not living, not when it was compared to the way they used to exist.
"The work is finished," the elf beside her said. "All has been laid out as planned. The greatest enemy of the shemlen is time. Here, we will use it once more."
Vesryn was not Saraya, and could not speak Saraya's words. But he could feel what she felt in this moment, and he could try. This elf was a friend, he knew. She'd known him for hundreds of years, if not more. She feared him learning her secret, more than any of the others she passed by.
"And what of those that don't last that long?" he asked. "Is time not our greatest enemy now as well?"
"Their knowledge will feed into the Vir'abelasan. In that way, those who toiled in Mythal's favor as we have will be preserved. It is far more than those who died in battle can say."
And yet, it was so little. The Well of Sorrows. That was the translation. The dream was not perfect; Saraya's memory of this place was strong, but she'd only been here a few times, as the end drew near. It was a temple of Mythal, buried away in the Arbor Wilds deep in the south. A place she felt was better left undisturbed. They had no choice now.
The Well was a pool. How fitting, Vesryn thought. If Saraya could be stored in a vial, how many elves, how many uncountable years could they filter into a pool? And what would happen to anyone who claimed such a treasure? For surely that was what Corypheus intended. Surely somewhere in the depths of the knowledge of the ancients would be the way to tear open Heaven and claim it for himself.
"You should stay, Marellanas," the elf urged him. His face was in part shrouded by a hood, but he could see his amber eyes, the vallaslin for Mythal marked upon his forehead and brow. Perhaps they'd served together, Saraya and this man. It was not enough to stop Saraya's betrayal, but it was enough to make her feel wretched for it. For looking him in the eye and telling him lies.
"I won't," he answered. "I won't accept that this is all that's left to us. And you know it cannot last. A hundred years, a thousand? What difference does it make?"
"Have you really lost so much faith?"
Faith... "Our gods are dead or gone. Either way, lost to us." He needed to leave, to flee. To escape this place, and save who he still could. "We must all do what we can on our own now. What we think is best."
The elf stared at him, locking eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment. Perhaps he knew, but would not say anything. Perhaps their friendship was worth that much. Vesryn couldn't say.
"So we must.
Vesryn woke to a world of agony, rolling over and falling out of the bed. His head felt like it was split open by an axe, and the room was spinning. For a moment he thought he might vomit, but the feeling thankfully passed quickly. Something about the forced sleep, perhaps. It wasn't difficult for the mages in the Inquisition to lull him into a slumber, and Stel could dull the pain enough until he was out. They needed information about where the Venatori were going to strike, and he knew right away that Saraya could help.
That was about all he was capable of anymore. He was deteriorating much more quickly this time, despite his best efforts to shrug it off. There were some things toughness could not fight. He hated the effect it was having on Stel by proximity, but there was nothing to be done for it. She would be there for him until the very end, he knew that. He wouldn't have it any other way.
But the end appeared to be approaching quickly. The least he could do was try to help stop Corypheus before it came. Staggering to his feet, he wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow before he staggered towards the door. He could hear others beyond in Stel's office, discussing something, their words muted either by the door or by grogginess or by his decaying mental state, it was hard to say.
He reached out for the door, and too late he found it already slightly open. It gave way and he spilled through, collapsing into the room on his side with a pained groan. For a brief moment, the conversation was silenced as all eyes turned on his clumsy entrance.
"Ves!" Stel, unsurprisingly, was the first to react, crouching by his side and assisting him to his feet. From there, the sofa wasn't more than half a dozen steps, and she went with him to sit, letting her hands fall away only when he was stable. "You... have something?" Maybe it was a guess, but likely not a difficult one.
"Yes... hopefully." The seat was a relief, even if the pain he was in didn't go away just because he was off his feet. "There's a temple of Mythal deep in the Arbor Wilds, hidden there. It was altered after Arlathan's Fall, to... preserve, I think, the guardians of that place. Sentinels. Some kind of magic bound to the temple itself." Saraya didn't happen to think it was all that important. As she understood it the magic likely wore off long ago, any elves remaining in there forced to flee into the woods and live as the other survivors did. But despite everything she gave Tevinter, she never led them to that place. That much he knew.
"Corypheus wants the Vir'abelasan, the Well of Sorrows," he continued, still breathing as though he'd just run here from the Hinterlands. "It's... a nexus of elven knowledge, of servants of Mythal that passed."
Though reactions varied, Harellan looked strikingly unsurprised by the news, almost as if it was exactly what he'd been expecting to hear. His brows knit slightly, and he gripped his upper arms in either hand. "I cannot emphasize enough the fact that he must not gain access to the Well." He shook his head faintly. "The knowledge in it—in some hands it would only be incomprehensible whispers. But if Corypheus or this Venatori man Marcus drank of it... I've little doubt they'd crush you. And the rest of Thedas after." The fact that the words were delivered flatly was almost worse than if they'd been given more gravitas. They didn't need the emphasis.
Cyrus frowned outright, narrowing his eyes at his uncle. “You knew of this and said nothing?"
A soft breath left Harellan; he pursed his lips. "It wasn't relevant before now. I'd hoped to never speak of it at all. But if Corypheus knows of it, there is no longer any choice."
"If it's that serious," Leon said gravely, "we may well need to mobilize the whole army. I doubt Corypheus risks himself now by bringing only a token force."
"We should leave as soon..." Vesryn winced at a sudden and sharp pain. "As soon as we can. We're lucky they don't have it already." Especially considering all the time they had to look for it. But maybe it was hidden better than other ruins. Maybe some of the old magic survived, and was keeping it safe. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be safe for much longer.
"If that's settled, there might be one more thing to discuss. A selfish one, nothing to do with armies or saving the world." He didn't consider saving Saraya to be selfish, but he'd be saving himself too if this was possible, and requiring them to go out of their way on an important mission. Of course, if the Venatori could be dealt with the extra time spent in the temple might not matter. "The magic used on that place... do you think any of it might still be lingering? They were planning to use it to stave off death. Could it be useful, in my case?"
He asked Harellan, who seemed most likely to know. Saraya's immediate reaction to his guess was hard to discern, but he didn't find any disagreement, and that was encouraging.
The other elf's eyes narrowed in thought; he smoothed over the knuckle of his thumb with his index finger. "That would be... very hard to say from here. I'd have to know what condition that magic was in now, if indeed any was left. Whether it's directly applicable to your case in the first place—I'd have to get a sense of it to know. It might work, but... don't place too much weight on the might." The last came out with a note of apology and a smile that was more of a grimace. "I would that I could say something more encouraging, but..."
“Sounds like it's worth a try to me." Cyrus leaned back against the wall with an obvious frown, eyes moving between the others. “We specialize in slim chances around here."
"Whatever the chances..." Vesryn paused, both to take a breath and to let another wave of discomfort pass from his head. "I'm going. To the Arbor Wilds, and to the temple. I may not be much of a fighter anymore in this state, but you'll need a guide. We can't settle for following Corypheus inside, and Saraya knows the way. It was one of the last places she visited, before... well." Before she was no longer welcome among her own kind.
"And with how fast this is progressing... we may not have any more time to lose." If they left without him... they might return to find him dead already.
It was clearly a sobering thought for the rest of the room, given the grim expressions all around. Stel's hand found his knee; she squeezed firmly and addressed the general company. "Well... that's settled then. Commander, please begin making preparations for the deployment. I'll speak with Romulus and the others."
Leon nodded promptly—an advisor accepting the Lady Inquisitor's orders. As he left, though, he turned back over his shoulder just briefly. "Take care of yourself, Vesryn." For a moment, he was clearly contemplating something further, but with a slight shake of his head, he resumed his exit instead.
“I'm going to dig up anything I can find about that magic." Cyrus hesitated for only a moment, then shifted his eyes to Harellan. “Teach me?"
His uncle looked surprised to be asked, but recovered quickly. "Of course. We'll prepare as much as we can." The farewells were perfunctory—now that they all had something to aim themselves towards, it seemed they were eager to set themselves to it. Or at least felt the urgency.
So it was settled, then, and the others filtered out of the room until only he and Stel remained. There was something, where there had been nothing before. Only waiting, looming death for the both of them. He still wasn't sure how Saraya felt. Maybe it was too unfair, to use this place that she'd never believed in before to save them. This place that she'd chosen to hide, when she could've easily given it to the Imperium. Perhaps she'd known that the Well of Sorrows simply couldn't be lost to people like them. Or some loyalty to Mythal yet remained.
He didn't want to pry anymore. He didn't really want to think about it. It was strange, facing what seemed to be his last days. More than likely he wouldn't live to see the fall. It had to be even stranger for Saraya. To exist so long, and only now find that the end was approaching rapidly, too fast to have ever been predicted.
He sighed, leaning back and resting his hand atop Stel's. "This should be interesting." It wouldn't be a boring end he faced, that much was certain. "There's probably lots of preparing to do, but... have you eaten? It's been a hectic day." He felt tired enough to sleep already, but was it even the afternoon yet? He wasn't sure.
"Not yet," she admitted, turning her hand over so she could press her palm to his and lace their fingers together. She made no move to rise or rectify the situation, though, instead releasing a breath and letting herself ease backward as he had done, tilting her head to rest it softly against his arm. "How about you? Did you want to eat, or sleep maybe?" She tucked her free hand into the crook of his elbow, working herself in about as close as she could without requiring him to take any of her weight.
"Hmm... is there time for both?" Truthfully, he didn't think he could eat much. But he hoped to make sure she did. If they were going to cut off Corypheus from this, then it was far more important for her to succeed than him. Even if he wasn't just one man, he was still small in the grand scheme of things.
Stel tilted her head up, considering his face for a long moment. Whether she read his intentions or not, she nodded slightly; he could hear her swallow thickly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Yeah, there's time." She stood slowly, keeping their hands linked so she'd be able to help him do the same.
"Let's go spend a little with our friends."
It was an all-consuming fear, in this dream. Vesryn walked the halls of an ancient place he'd only recently learned of. A temple Saraya had dared not return to, even so long after it had certainly become a ruin. Barren and devoid of the life he saw here, walking alongside him. Other elves, tall and proud, even in the face of undeniable defeat. Vesryn knew a little of why she wouldn't want to return here. The feelings associated with this place were immense.
Already she'd been contacted, he knew. Given the offer, enticed into betrayal so she could save her family. She'd yet to meet with them, but she already knew she would. How could she refuse, when this was the alternative? This was not living, not when it was compared to the way they used to exist.
"The work is finished," the elf beside her said. "All has been laid out as planned. The greatest enemy of the shemlen is time. Here, we will use it once more."
Vesryn was not Saraya, and could not speak Saraya's words. But he could feel what she felt in this moment, and he could try. This elf was a friend, he knew. She'd known him for hundreds of years, if not more. She feared him learning her secret, more than any of the others she passed by.
"And what of those that don't last that long?" he asked. "Is time not our greatest enemy now as well?"
"Their knowledge will feed into the Vir'abelasan. In that way, those who toiled in Mythal's favor as we have will be preserved. It is far more than those who died in battle can say."
And yet, it was so little. The Well of Sorrows. That was the translation. The dream was not perfect; Saraya's memory of this place was strong, but she'd only been here a few times, as the end drew near. It was a temple of Mythal, buried away in the Arbor Wilds deep in the south. A place she felt was better left undisturbed. They had no choice now.
The Well was a pool. How fitting, Vesryn thought. If Saraya could be stored in a vial, how many elves, how many uncountable years could they filter into a pool? And what would happen to anyone who claimed such a treasure? For surely that was what Corypheus intended. Surely somewhere in the depths of the knowledge of the ancients would be the way to tear open Heaven and claim it for himself.
"You should stay, Marellanas," the elf urged him. His face was in part shrouded by a hood, but he could see his amber eyes, the vallaslin for Mythal marked upon his forehead and brow. Perhaps they'd served together, Saraya and this man. It was not enough to stop Saraya's betrayal, but it was enough to make her feel wretched for it. For looking him in the eye and telling him lies.
"I won't," he answered. "I won't accept that this is all that's left to us. And you know it cannot last. A hundred years, a thousand? What difference does it make?"
"Have you really lost so much faith?"
Faith... "Our gods are dead or gone. Either way, lost to us." He needed to leave, to flee. To escape this place, and save who he still could. "We must all do what we can on our own now. What we think is best."
The elf stared at him, locking eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment. Perhaps he knew, but would not say anything. Perhaps their friendship was worth that much. Vesryn couldn't say.
"So we must.
Vesryn woke to a world of agony, rolling over and falling out of the bed. His head felt like it was split open by an axe, and the room was spinning. For a moment he thought he might vomit, but the feeling thankfully passed quickly. Something about the forced sleep, perhaps. It wasn't difficult for the mages in the Inquisition to lull him into a slumber, and Stel could dull the pain enough until he was out. They needed information about where the Venatori were going to strike, and he knew right away that Saraya could help.
That was about all he was capable of anymore. He was deteriorating much more quickly this time, despite his best efforts to shrug it off. There were some things toughness could not fight. He hated the effect it was having on Stel by proximity, but there was nothing to be done for it. She would be there for him until the very end, he knew that. He wouldn't have it any other way.
But the end appeared to be approaching quickly. The least he could do was try to help stop Corypheus before it came. Staggering to his feet, he wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow before he staggered towards the door. He could hear others beyond in Stel's office, discussing something, their words muted either by the door or by grogginess or by his decaying mental state, it was hard to say.
He reached out for the door, and too late he found it already slightly open. It gave way and he spilled through, collapsing into the room on his side with a pained groan. For a brief moment, the conversation was silenced as all eyes turned on his clumsy entrance.
"Ves!" Stel, unsurprisingly, was the first to react, crouching by his side and assisting him to his feet. From there, the sofa wasn't more than half a dozen steps, and she went with him to sit, letting her hands fall away only when he was stable. "You... have something?" Maybe it was a guess, but likely not a difficult one.
"Yes... hopefully." The seat was a relief, even if the pain he was in didn't go away just because he was off his feet. "There's a temple of Mythal deep in the Arbor Wilds, hidden there. It was altered after Arlathan's Fall, to... preserve, I think, the guardians of that place. Sentinels. Some kind of magic bound to the temple itself." Saraya didn't happen to think it was all that important. As she understood it the magic likely wore off long ago, any elves remaining in there forced to flee into the woods and live as the other survivors did. But despite everything she gave Tevinter, she never led them to that place. That much he knew.
"Corypheus wants the Vir'abelasan, the Well of Sorrows," he continued, still breathing as though he'd just run here from the Hinterlands. "It's... a nexus of elven knowledge, of servants of Mythal that passed."
Though reactions varied, Harellan looked strikingly unsurprised by the news, almost as if it was exactly what he'd been expecting to hear. His brows knit slightly, and he gripped his upper arms in either hand. "I cannot emphasize enough the fact that he must not gain access to the Well." He shook his head faintly. "The knowledge in it—in some hands it would only be incomprehensible whispers. But if Corypheus or this Venatori man Marcus drank of it... I've little doubt they'd crush you. And the rest of Thedas after." The fact that the words were delivered flatly was almost worse than if they'd been given more gravitas. They didn't need the emphasis.
Cyrus frowned outright, narrowing his eyes at his uncle. “You knew of this and said nothing?"
A soft breath left Harellan; he pursed his lips. "It wasn't relevant before now. I'd hoped to never speak of it at all. But if Corypheus knows of it, there is no longer any choice."
"If it's that serious," Leon said gravely, "we may well need to mobilize the whole army. I doubt Corypheus risks himself now by bringing only a token force."
"We should leave as soon..." Vesryn winced at a sudden and sharp pain. "As soon as we can. We're lucky they don't have it already." Especially considering all the time they had to look for it. But maybe it was hidden better than other ruins. Maybe some of the old magic survived, and was keeping it safe. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be safe for much longer.
"If that's settled, there might be one more thing to discuss. A selfish one, nothing to do with armies or saving the world." He didn't consider saving Saraya to be selfish, but he'd be saving himself too if this was possible, and requiring them to go out of their way on an important mission. Of course, if the Venatori could be dealt with the extra time spent in the temple might not matter. "The magic used on that place... do you think any of it might still be lingering? They were planning to use it to stave off death. Could it be useful, in my case?"
He asked Harellan, who seemed most likely to know. Saraya's immediate reaction to his guess was hard to discern, but he didn't find any disagreement, and that was encouraging.
The other elf's eyes narrowed in thought; he smoothed over the knuckle of his thumb with his index finger. "That would be... very hard to say from here. I'd have to know what condition that magic was in now, if indeed any was left. Whether it's directly applicable to your case in the first place—I'd have to get a sense of it to know. It might work, but... don't place too much weight on the might." The last came out with a note of apology and a smile that was more of a grimace. "I would that I could say something more encouraging, but..."
“Sounds like it's worth a try to me." Cyrus leaned back against the wall with an obvious frown, eyes moving between the others. “We specialize in slim chances around here."
"Whatever the chances..." Vesryn paused, both to take a breath and to let another wave of discomfort pass from his head. "I'm going. To the Arbor Wilds, and to the temple. I may not be much of a fighter anymore in this state, but you'll need a guide. We can't settle for following Corypheus inside, and Saraya knows the way. It was one of the last places she visited, before... well." Before she was no longer welcome among her own kind.
"And with how fast this is progressing... we may not have any more time to lose." If they left without him... they might return to find him dead already.
It was clearly a sobering thought for the rest of the room, given the grim expressions all around. Stel's hand found his knee; she squeezed firmly and addressed the general company. "Well... that's settled then. Commander, please begin making preparations for the deployment. I'll speak with Romulus and the others."
Leon nodded promptly—an advisor accepting the Lady Inquisitor's orders. As he left, though, he turned back over his shoulder just briefly. "Take care of yourself, Vesryn." For a moment, he was clearly contemplating something further, but with a slight shake of his head, he resumed his exit instead.
“I'm going to dig up anything I can find about that magic." Cyrus hesitated for only a moment, then shifted his eyes to Harellan. “Teach me?"
His uncle looked surprised to be asked, but recovered quickly. "Of course. We'll prepare as much as we can." The farewells were perfunctory—now that they all had something to aim themselves towards, it seemed they were eager to set themselves to it. Or at least felt the urgency.
So it was settled, then, and the others filtered out of the room until only he and Stel remained. There was something, where there had been nothing before. Only waiting, looming death for the both of them. He still wasn't sure how Saraya felt. Maybe it was too unfair, to use this place that she'd never believed in before to save them. This place that she'd chosen to hide, when she could've easily given it to the Imperium. Perhaps she'd known that the Well of Sorrows simply couldn't be lost to people like them. Or some loyalty to Mythal yet remained.
He didn't want to pry anymore. He didn't really want to think about it. It was strange, facing what seemed to be his last days. More than likely he wouldn't live to see the fall. It had to be even stranger for Saraya. To exist so long, and only now find that the end was approaching rapidly, too fast to have ever been predicted.
He sighed, leaning back and resting his hand atop Stel's. "This should be interesting." It wouldn't be a boring end he faced, that much was certain. "There's probably lots of preparing to do, but... have you eaten? It's been a hectic day." He felt tired enough to sleep already, but was it even the afternoon yet? He wasn't sure.
"Not yet," she admitted, turning her hand over so she could press her palm to his and lace their fingers together. She made no move to rise or rectify the situation, though, instead releasing a breath and letting herself ease backward as he had done, tilting her head to rest it softly against his arm. "How about you? Did you want to eat, or sleep maybe?" She tucked her free hand into the crook of his elbow, working herself in about as close as she could without requiring him to take any of her weight.
"Hmm... is there time for both?" Truthfully, he didn't think he could eat much. But he hoped to make sure she did. If they were going to cut off Corypheus from this, then it was far more important for her to succeed than him. Even if he wasn't just one man, he was still small in the grand scheme of things.
Stel tilted her head up, considering his face for a long moment. Whether she read his intentions or not, she nodded slightly; he could hear her swallow thickly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Yeah, there's time." She stood slowly, keeping their hands linked so she'd be able to help him do the same.
"Let's go spend a little with our friends."