Today was the day.
Excitement. Happiness. Relief. Where were those feelings? Not here. She felt none of those things.
The best thing in that moment was the comforting weight of the warm bed and blankets. But sounds of awareness from outside had roused her to the point that there was no turning back. It was time to get up, starting now, and it wouldn't be a peaceful day. As she rose from bed and began dressing, her usual routine of thoughts and emotions cycled through her, mainly about the odd circumstances and state of her life.
Sometimes she was mad at herself for having broken the ring, albeit she'd had no idea what she was reaching for in the little hiding place. Other times she was mad at the ring for having snapped so easily. Most of all she hated herself for not having been there to save her mother.
There was however some comfort in that progress was being made, and this provided some sense of determination and steadfastness. Resolute, Maeva tightened the knot at her waist, held her head up high, and strode through the door into daylight.
The Great Hall housed the usual bustle of Skyhold mornings. Varric was at his normal station, involved in discussion with a pair of stiff-backed men wearing the Kirkwall sigil upon their robes. She caught his gaze with a question on her face. Varric responded by shaking his head. He raised a hand to pause the other man's diatribe and gestured for Maeva to come over, then he advised her quietly that he'd fetch her when the ring was finally repaired.
She stood confused for a few minutes hoping for more explanation, but Varric was back to his conversation with the Kirkwall representatives so she moved away. Musing on the romantic dream of last night, she opted to check on Solas.
Through the hall to the Rotunda, two figures held discourse.
"You'd be surprised to know what credit my tongue does me," said Solas in evident retort. With an offended sniffle, Reverend Mother Giselle left the room like an insulted hen.
Maeva stifled a laugh and flattened herself against the darkest wall of the corridor, hoping Mother Giselle wouldn't notice. The woman paid her no mind and was soon gone.
He stood with his back to the door, arms crossed and facing his latest painting endeavor. He'd sketched the framework for a new mural of the tale of the Inquisition. This one depicted the battle at Adamant Fortress, where the Grey Wardens and Inquisition fought against the sinister and shadowy shape of Corypheus.
Solas turned at the sound of her steps and she caught the faintest sigh. He knew what she was there for, since she'd serendipitously bumped into him yesterday with a burst of questions about elven language and foot wraps. The wrappings had come apart days ago and she did not know how to put fresh ones on. By her pouting gesture at her dirty, bare feet, Solas could not have refused.
Without a word he gestured that she follow. They exited toward the Great Hall and traversed in direction of Josephine's office. Instead of continuing straight he turned left sharply and started down the stairs to the dining hall.
Where is he taking me?
He ignored the dining hall in favor of a hallway she'd not noticed before. Finally he pushed open a heavy wooden door that creaked and shook with dust and he gave her a nod to signal they'd arrived.
They entered an octagonal room walled by shelves of books upon books, a far greater amount than in the bookcases of the Rotunda library. Patches of cobwebs and layers of dust covered it all, climbing up to the distant ceiling.
At the center of the room sat a thick desk, also aged with webs and dust, upon which a massive reading stand held an enormous tome.
"What is this place?"
"Skyhold's archive room," said Solas. He offered nothing else in way of explanation, and moved to a dust-free stack of books on a corner of the desk.
"Here you are," he said, handing her a worn tome. "A Dictionary of Elvish for Common Tongues."
From his tone of voice he was not particularly happy with the book, but she was, and took it gladly. The cover was almost threadbare and bore a faded Circle emblem.
"Even in the present world, the oldest repertoire of elvish is from the Divine Age," he continued, shaking his head. "It's a pity that today's historians cannot perceive the true scope of the Ancient Elvhen realm."
She opened the book and flipped through pages. A musky odor drifted up from them, engulfing her nose. She wasn't sure she liked it.
Solas saw her sneer from the smell and chuckled. "I quite like the scent of old books," he said quietly. He certainly was in a good mood today. "May I ask why you wanted a dictionary so badly?"
"Not that badly," she protested. "Just curious, that's all. I don't know much elvish, but, I'm elven obviously, and well... I'd like to know more."
Her face blushed as her eyes fell on his smirking mouth, remembering what his luscious lips were doing last night.
He dropped the question and turned his attention downward. "Now, about your feet..."
He gestured that she sit in the one large chair in the room so she obeyed then handed him the wrappings that Eranan had originally given her. Solas sorted them briefly, feeling their thickness and elasticity, then knelt before her.
"It's been a while since I put these on someone else..." he said. "But I rather enjoy this tradition. It wasn't always a trend in elven culture."
As he drew her foot onto the perch of his knee she tried to not sway from the sense of déjà vu. The slipping of fabric over her ankles was far too sensational.
"So," she started awkwardly, "you were gone from Skyhold for quite a while. Ellana was worried you wouldn't come back. Where did you go?"
Solas's hands kept up the ministrations but his serene visage was gone. "I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It was empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new may grow there."
"What happens when a spirit dies?" she asked.
"It isn't the same for mortals. The energy of the spirit returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again."
"You're saying your friend might come back?"
"No, not really. A spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality and it would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew."
He finished her first leg and tied the knot with no small force.
"Abelas, hahren," said Maeva, sad for his pain.
"So you do know some elven tongue," he countered.
She smiled but he didn't see it as he lined up the other length of fabric to her second leg.
"My mother taught me some when I was very young. But, there are a lot of words I don't know, such as..." said Maeva while she flipped through the book.
"Era: Dream," she read aloud. "Noun, sometimes adverb. A dream, the state of dreaming. A world of dreams beyond the Veil. Source: pre-Divine Age pagan elven religion."
Solas scoffed. "Pagan, they call it!"
She turned more pages. "Nan: Revenge; vengeance." She frowned at this and looked up from the book. "Does nan always mean vengeance?"
"No, it can also mean to return. But Elgar'nan is the name of the so-called Elvhen God of Vengeance and the Sun, according to the Shemlen ways. Despite the variance of its definition or context, the nan suffix was de-popularized long ago," he explained.
Maeva perused the pages further but did not find any other references that met her true question. "Hahren, what does 'era nan' mean in elvish?"
Solas looked up with a mildly confused look on his pristine face. "Era nan," he mumbled quietly. "It could mean vengeful dream, dream of revenge. How strange... Where did you come upon this phrase?
"It's the name of someone I met recently."
Solas laughed so loud and abruptly they were both surprised. "That's a rather awful name. I can only imagine the reasons--" He looked up at her, catching her eyes, then swallowed his smile. "Forgive me, that was unkind." He cleared his throat. "Why does the meaning of their name interest you so much?"
"It might tell me more about him."
"What makes you think a name represents who a person is?"
"Solas means pride," said Maeva with a pointed eyebrow.
He smiled and finished the final leg wrap swiftly. He tucked the ends in and gave her a sly smile. "Then it is fitting that I call you da'mi, for your wit is sharp as a blade."
Her mouth twisted into a wicked smile. He paused, expression neutral, seeing something in her face.
She scrunched her brow at him doubtfully, "what is it?"
His blue gray eyes caught hers at her a moment longer. "Nothing. For a moment you reminded me of someone."
"A friend, I hope."
A smile showed itself before fading as he stood up. The job was done, her feet were wrapped in traditional elven style. Just like Solas's and Eranan's.
She hopped to her feet and took a few steps, testing the wrappings. Like before, the initial tightness balanced itself through the clever weaving. It felt comfortable and natural.
"Thank you, hahren! I really must learn to do this myself one day."
"Ma serannas." He watched her walk around the room as he crossed his arms in contemplation. "Da'mi..." His voice had a concerned edge. "It is in my understanding that our newly arrived Arcanist is working on a most interesting request at present."
Maeva groaned internally.
"Specifically," he continued, "that a memory crystal is being repaired. A memory crystal that belongs to you." He gracefully clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward humbly. "I should very much like to examine the crystal when possible. After its priorities, of course."
Maeva nodded, glad he didn't want to talk about it further, then she headed toward the door. "Thank you for the wraps!"
"Wrappings!" he corrected as she disappeared from the room.
__________
Back in the Great Hall Varric was waiting for her. With a nod of her head she knew that it was time.
"Are you feeling alright about it?" he asked as they began walking up the hall.
"Sure," she quipped. "It's just my first time hearing a voice from the grave through an arcane device."
"This might not be the time for jokes of that kind," he said uneasily.
"I'm going to quote you on that, Varric."
He barked a loud laugh which made her laugh in turn, the sounds bouncing down the Great Hall. Suddenly the day felt slightly brighter. Varric and she understood each other, and it was a good comfort, especially today.
"Did your mother ever tell you anything special about your past?"
"Nothing that I can think of. And mind you, I've been thinking about this a lot lately. You already knew us in Kirkwall when I was younger, and you know there's not much to tell about that time and place other than its disaster. Before that, my mother and I were in Denerim, but I only remember a little from then. So maybe there is something odd in my family history? I really don't know."
"So nothing weird about your birth, or anything she mentioned in her note?"
She shook her head and shoulders, bewildered. "No. I'm as stumped as you."
They arrived at the foot of the dais where upon sat the Inquisitor's throne. The throne was a chair of standard size but ornate making, enhanced by a sunburst decoration that emerged from the back panel. Maeva imagined that Ellana would not have chosen this as a seat for the head of the Inquisition, but that Josephine had insisted on it, and Leliana would have agreed.
A door flanked each side of the hall. Previously Maeva had entered the left door to ascend to Ellana's tower quarters. Today, she entered the right door.
The Undercroft proved to be a naturally formed cavern in the side of the entire mountain that held the fortress. An alpine waterfall created a cave opening at the other end of the room, letting in the crisp air of the steep frozen abyss beyond Skyhold.
The room contain workbenches, storage chests, potion labs, and other craft stations that Maeva did not recognize. The latter were bedecked with metal rods and clamps mounted on hinges, as if to suspend an object in the air for whatever reason. Perhaps a jeweler's station?
At the center of the room stood Ellana, her back to the door. She was chatting with a brunette Dwarven woman in practical garb. This must be Dagna.
Upon entering Varric went toward them to alert that they'd arrived, and the lot of them turned their eyes to Maeva.
"Maeva, the ring is prepared for viewing. Do you feel ready?" asked Ellana.
"Yes." Yes, I'm ready for people to stop asking me that.
Ellana gestured toward Dagna and Varric who now stood near the oddest workbench of all. Maeva hesitated and she shot a nervous glance to Ellana. Ellana seemed to understand and said to Maeva quietly: "I imagine you would probably have preferred a private viewing, however we need Dagna here to operate the apparatus. The device also requires magic to activate, which is why I'm here," she added apologetically. "And Varric, well, we figured he is closest to family..."
The explanation made sense but it gave Maeva the impression of burial rites like those held in city alienages. She hadn't thought about those in years.
Maeva swallowed heavily. "It's fine, I'm just nervous."
"Alright then," said Ellana with a smile and gentle hand upon Maeva's shoulder. "Let's have it done."
They approached the workbench and Dagna's smile grew. She was clearly one of those constantly cheerful and excited people.
"Dagna, this is Maeva," said Ellana. Maeva guessed that everyone in the room was already vastly more prepared for this event than she felt personally.
"Hello, lovely to meet you," said the enthusiastic Dagna. "Wherever did you come across this amazing piece?"
Maeva failed to make actually words come out, a strangled 'huh?' replacing them.
"The crystal-- the ring, I mean. It's a rather rare specimen."
"Oh, I, uh, I don't really know. My mother left it to me."
Dagna was about to ask another question but after a glance at Ellana decided to not probe the topic.
"So Dagna, I've always wondered, what is this kind of crystal?" asked Ellana, guiding the conversation.
Dagna suppressed a grin but she was clearly very happy to have been asked about the topic. Her eyes took on a special sparkle.
"Long ago in Orzammar, my ancestors learned how to record memories into lyrium crystals. The Shaperate use them to record the memories of culture, society and achievements since over a thousand years ago. Anytime, say, nobles have a dispute over the heritage of their Paragon relatives, or the Merchant caste wants to review their family's recipes, they can petition the Shaperate to extract the original memories. A crystal is then triggered-- or activated, I guess you could say-- by certain kinds of energy. In this situation we have to hold the ring pieces together— since normal bonding material wouldn't cut it— and then we aim mana beams at it. I've set up an energy chamber for all this over here. These three lyrium crystals are lined up to have the crystal in their crossbeams, and the Inquisitor will provide the juice."
Maeva's eyes grew wide as she took in the complex machinery while Dagna explained it. At the center of it all, seeming tinier than ever before, the fragments of the broken ring were held into their ring-shape thanks to multiple fastenings and outlying rods, all hooked into the greater construct.
"Now, I do have some bad news," continued Dagna. "I couldn't completely get the ring into one lasting piece again. I've stabilized each piece so that they sit together just right. The pulse will seal it like mortar until the message is played, but after that the cracks will, um, explode. This is a one-time hearing."
"Explode?" said Varric.
"Yes, really explode! You should probably all stand back for that part," advised Dagna as she picked up a welding head-shield.
Mask on head but with front panel raised, Dagna took position at the back of the table were the control panel sat. "Everyone ready?"
There were nods of heads and a 'yes' by Ellana.
By the press of buttons and spin of gears, combined with Ellana's hands extended forward, sparks of energy started to percolate around the ring. It levitated from its anchors inside the copper cage. A glow emerged, growing into a sphere little by little. It became brighter quickly until it was a white-blue light so intense that Maeva could not watch it directly.
Suddenly the crystal burst with so much light that its original shape was indiscernible. Maeva shut her eyes and looked away, feeling a force field expand then recoil. When the light diminished and she could look back again the light was blue-green. It morphed and expanded, becoming opaque and pushing form into the empty air above the tabletop. The unmistakable shape of a skull and connected bones manifested, quickly filled in by muscles, hair and features like those of a living being. It resembled--
"Mamae!" she exclaimed in shock. She sucked in a breath deeply while stumbling toward it, arm extended toward the likeness of her mother. Behind her Ellana grasped her shoulders gently but firmly, keeping her still.
The face of the elven woman regarded them, the vallaslin of Ghilan'nain tracing over her cheekbones. Her dark hair flowed in an unseen wind. More of the body became populated by light, revealing clothed limbs and torso, until the figure of the woman was shown from head to hips. Small lines of blue lightning curled and danced around the three-dimensional image.
Maeva's legs lost whatever strength they had and she collapsed to the ground on her knees.
The last time she'd seen her mother was when she'd died, bleeding and pinned under a burning building. Now Anthena's anima moved as if real. A ghostly hand pushed back loose hair from her face, following the exact motions Maeva remembered.
Anthena looked familiar and timeless. Fair unblemished skin, the occasional expressive wrinkle along her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. Her dark auburn hair was thick and tied back into overlapping half-braids just as she'd worn for most of Maeva's life. Nonetheless the ephemeral representation was unreal, elsewhere, not alive.
But then it spoke. "My daughter, my sweet Maeva."
Mesmerized by the green vision before her Maeva gasped and marveled. Anthena's voice filled the room, tinny but clear.
"When we left Kirkwall we had scarcely anything but our lives. At last we made to the Hinterlands, it is peaceful here. This place is good to us, we can stay for a long time. Every day I see you grow and blossom, Maeva. You are so strong and intelligent!"
The pride in her mother's voice brought tears to Maeva's eyes and choked her breath.
"But my sweet, you have much to learn! I knew that you were special even when I carried you in my belly. There is strength in our blood, more than anything you can imagine. It will bring you power but also danger."
Maeva's brow furrowed, wondering what that meant.
"We cannot stay hidden forever. The enemy will come, you must prepare yourself. Find our old stashes!" Athena said this with commanding force, though it was not a tone unknown to her daughter. "Remember where we disembarked? Start there. Answers are within, and more to come. Stay strong, my sweet, and stay hidden. Take care."
The message ended, the vision dwindled, and the tiny crystal ring in the center burst into dozens of shards all over the table and floor.
Everyone's eyes turned to Maeva. She realized she wasn't breathing, then began to suck in a breath as calmly as possible. The room was silent despite the gush of the waterfall at the cavern's opening.
The noisy silence continued while Dagna ventured forth with a dustpan and brush to sweep up the remnants of the depleted crystals. Varric stood next to Maeva now, who still knelt on the cold stone floor trying to catch her breath.
While she panted Varric and Ellana discussed quietly what to do next, standing close enough for her to hear. He wanted to see this through with Maeva, no matter what she'd need to do next. Ellana reminded him that the ball at Halamshiral was too soon for Varric to venture away because she needed him there as a diplomat. Whatever they spoke about was of no import to Maeva; everything was too much to think about right now.
Seeing Anthena's visage had re-awoken every nuance that Maeva thought she'd already grieved past. Her heart lay torn between the renewed longing for her mother, the recollection of her past, and the confusion over her future and her self. Her fast breathing did not calm, her limbs did not regain strength. Feeling and emotion and thoughts inundated her in a storm.
Varric bent slightly to meet her gaze.
"Maeva," he began softly, "I know it's a lot to think about. Just keep breathing. Let's get you somewhere more comfortable..."
With a nudge under her arm she followed his guidance to stand and leave the room.
"Deep breath," he reminded her, clutching her arm in a supportive manner as he led them down the Great Hall.
Her steps on the stone floor resonated through her legs, prodding her mind back into the present. She breathed as instructed, gradually feeling reconstituted. She indicated her improvement with a squeeze to Varric's hand on hers.
After navigating through the hall to the corridor leading to Maeva's room, Varric slowed her steps with a serious regard. "Are you feeling better enough to think logically?"
Oh Varric, always with your smart thinking. Maeva could feel that she was pale and light-headed, but it was nonetheless an improvement from before, so she nodded.
"What did Anthena mean? What stashes was she talking about?" he asked.
Maeva took a long breath and swallowed, doing her best to clear her mind. "Crestwood. We disembarked in Crestwood, years ago. I... I didn't know she left a stash there."
Varric nodded, thinking quietly. "I'm guessing you'd like to go and see what she left there?"
Breathless, Maeva nodded eagerly. "Of course! But, how— when?"
"And I want to go with you," he assured her. "But we cannot yet. The Winter Palace expects us, well-- me anyway, and most of our important persons, in less than a week."
After the tumult of news and emotions thus far, learning of yet another delay did not impact her much. She was used to waiting, for now. She tried to shrug but her heart rate was not settled enough for such nonchalance. Varric answered for her.
"Don't worry, the stash isn't going anywhere." He tried to add a characteristic chuckle but failed. "I promise that we'll go to Crestwood as soon as we're back from Orlais. Alright, kid?"
She nodded reflexively, not really thinking. She needed to lie down, so she moved forward again toward her room.
"Holler if you need anything! You know where I'll be."
__________
As soon as Maeva awoke the paralysis of sleep set in, terrifying her unconscious nerves. This hadn't happened in years.
Before when Maeva's eyes would snap open and the fearful whimpering began, Mamae was always there and knew how to coax control back into her daughter's limbs. But now Maeva was alone, and something was very, very different.
The dark room around her fell away. Walls and floors and ceilings were meaningless. Furniture was ephemeral. Bodies were heartbeats.
She could feel everything. She could hear their thoughts like whispers on the wind, see their visions as colors in the dark. Souls throbbed in the cavernous space of the Veil around them. There was an omnipresent chatter from a dozen voices talking over each other. Some were asleep but she could still sense their proximity through the bricks and mortar of the building itself.
It was as if she sat at a junction between worlds, connected to everything. It expanded and retracted with her breath. Thoughtfully, she leaned into one of the directions around her and realized she could drift, that she could pull herself by concentration.
There was a dream above her, if above was truly a thing here. It tugged like a magnet and she let herself be drawn to it. She was not surprised to find that it was Ellana's dream.
Ellana and Solas were entwined in leaves and ivy, somewhere ancient and bright and heavy with memories of magic. They kissed deeply, barely breaking to admire and utter sweet words to each other.
Maeva lingered for a while, absorbed by their romantic dance before remembering that she could go elsewhere and leave the lovers to their play.
She reached out mentally, pushing sensors through the worlds around her. She could feel the other people in the castle. She could see the Fade, it was a second layer on everything, a place where realities blurred.
There was a particularly loud dream coming from the rest of the castle. Maeva moved through the stone, down, down toward the base of Skyhold. The brusque dream came from the sleeping mage, Dorian. She drifted forward through the walls until she arrived at his sleeping place. A gaudy fainting couch was the man's bed, nestled behind a dressing screen in the back chambers of the Rotunda library.
She could see Dorian both in real life and in the Fade. His dreams were unpleasant, near violent. He was angry at someone, another man that floated before him. It was his father. They had strong words with each other. Maeva got the impression that this dream was a frequent occurrence. It progressed in a predicable rhythm until the father faded away and Dorian's ire calmed. Meanwhile visions of his life in Minrathous shifted before his eyes, before her eyes. The two layers were superimposed and Maeva's mind spied equally upon each realm.
She drifted here a while until Dorian's dream took shape of a new thing; curiosity and desire, combined in a most frustrating way. The mist of the dream morphed into a familiar horned outline. The Iron Bull.
A bemused smile raised the edges of her ethereal lips. She knew she could stay if she wanted to watch more, but instead she opted to depart from Dorian, leaving him to privacy.
Around her the library slept, the castle slept, most was quiet. But not everything. The experience of dreams had opened her up to a new level of senses. The souls of the populace of Skyhold glowed like candles in the night. The sound of heartbeats pulsed quietly, overlapping each other into an ever-present thrumming. Visions of other peoples' dreams shadowed the air before her eyes, dotting the space of the Rotunda with colored feelings or specific animations, collecting around the sleepers.
Maeva extended her receptors, tasting everyone's dreams. As if flipping through the pages of a book she continued, dismissing each after a sample. Knowledge and emotion flooded her mind, gushing through her senses like pouring water. It was amazing. Her mind hungered for more. She wanted all the knowledge, all the feelings, to know everything, to know everyone, and more. And, for just a moment deep inside her blood, it tasted possible.
Upstairs, Leliana did not sleep but her heart and mind beat regularly while she poured through reports and suspicions. In the Great Hall, Vivienne was not technically asleep, for she preferred to rest in a meditative state, magically swirling the Veil around her like a cocoon. Downstairs, Varric slept fitfully and his dreams were simple and primal, emotions he'd rather not feel.
Sensing and dismissing dreams and feelings in and out, Maeva followed the tendrils and drifted through the walls and stone until she saw moonlight. Here the nature of night added to the sea of everything collected within her non-present self.
Present but not present. Which was it-- she felt both.
Too much to consider right then. She continued forward toward the largest cluster of minds and dreams. The Skyhold tavern housed dozens of souls, some still awake, though she found the sleepers to be loudest.
Thinking back to Dorian's dream, she recognized the shape of the Iron Bull's horns and bulk. His dreams coiled tightly around his head and were drenched in primal tingles and reactions. Battle, threat, death, protection, caring. The man carried a weight upon him, and Maeva knew it was more than his Qunari skull.
Letting him be she floated upward, passing Sera who flirted with a female castle guard while they sat at a table playing cards. And then she arrived upon something quite odd. At the topmost reaches of the tavern sat a young man clothed in dark leathers, a wide brimmed hat hiding his head. He was not asleep, but he was not awake.
She drifted toward him unwillingly, propelled by something that felt just beyond her control. Or was he pulling her toward him?
Arriving before his still form, the man raised his head as if smelling a new scent, then looked directly at her.
His face was gaunt and pale, his eyes alive yet off somehow. With no expression he opened his mouth and said, "hello, what are you?"