Dhaiveira returned to Lanaya, Andoriel, and Zevran.
“He is not dangerous,” Dhaiveira said. “But he is suspicious.”
Lanaya closed her eyes. “A spy?”
“But a spy for whom? Hardly the Chantry or the Templars. He is a mage, his vallaslin quite authentic.”
“And he isn’t one of yours.”
Dhaiveira shook his head. “No. Not ours.”
“Andoriel?” Lanaya asked.
“Nothing suspicious that I could tell,” Andoriel said, pursing her lips. “The magic around him is...strange, and very strong, but nothing too out of the ordinary.”
“Your Majesty?”
“He vanishes at odd times,” Zevran said, tapping the finger of one hand on the back of the other. “He worryingly good at eluding watchers. There are several periods we have no idea what he was doing.”
They all looked at each other.
“I would suggest the dreamwalker from Clan Tualsalis look in his dreams,” Zevran said. “This becomes more concerning with each passing hour.”
Lanaya frowned. “I don’t know...”
“He hardly has to go rooting around in his head,” Zevran said. “All he has to do is get near his dreams and see if there’s anything to worry about.”
Lanaya bit her lip. “Keeper Merrill should be arriving soon...”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Andoriel said. “If the ive’an’vire’lan--”
“Feynriel.”
“If Feynriel is going to be here, he’s going to be near everyone’s dreams anyway,” she said with a shrug.
Lanaya pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll ask him,” she said. “I can't say Keeper Merrill will approve, though.”
It was the day before the meeting, and Feynriel was in the Fade.
Merrill had gotten a request to bring Feynriel to the meeting, so the both of them traveled to the Brecelian together.
When they arrived, Lanaya had asked him to look about the dreams of an elf she found suspicious, and Feynriel had agreed, though reluctantly. The push had really been how Keeper Dhaiveira, the Panalanvinte ambassador, and the Prince-Consort were all suspicious of this person, enough to make Merrill nervous.
Feynriel and Merrill both knew of Corypheus, and Fen'harel. They both knew to be careful, and this certainly seemed like something worth looking into.
So, Feynriel had gone to sleep, and started looking around.
The minds around Feynriel were all more-or-less normal. The Brecelian was full of ghosts and the forgotten memories of events long past, as well as the dreams of the living.
However, there was one thing that stood out.
There was a dream with a wall around it. It rather resembled the wall Feynriel had built around his own mind, to keep out intruders and to prevent himself from falling out into the Fade by accident.
This wall was a little different, however. Slippery as glass, a strange point of solidity in the haziness of the Fade.
“Why are you here?” came a murmuring voice from behind the wall.
In anyone else, the sudden voice would have made them jump. However, Feynriel did not, long practice enabling him to keep calm. “I was curious,” Feynriel said.
“Why?”
“You’re different.”
“Everyone is different.”
“Not like how you are.”
“I suppose not. What do you want?”
“Only to know who you are.”
The mind behind the wall chuckled. “Oh, da’len,” it said. “Good luck.”
Then the wall closed itself off and did not respond anymore. Feynriel blinked, and after a moment of observing the wall, he returned to himself and awoke. He didn't want to use the force necessary to push past the wall, for fear of damaging the mind it belonged to. He immediately went to Lanaya and the others.
“There’s a wall around his mind,” Feynriel said. “He isn’t a somniari, but he was taught by one.”
“How can you tell?” Andoriel asked.
“The wall is—intentional,” Feynriel said, furrowing his brow. “And he asked me questions when I came close.” he shook his head. “If I'd tried to get into his mind, it would have taken a lot of force,” he explained. “I might have hurt him.”
Merrill pursed her lips. “You're sure he isn't another dreamwalker?” she asked.
“Positive. I'd know if I felt another one, and he isn't.”
“Not a somniari, but taught by one,” Dhaiveira hummed to himself. “Fascinating.”
“What does this mean, then?” Feynriel said, looking back and forth between the Keepers.
Lanaya shook her head. “We’ll watch him,” she said. “And try and keep him here, to make sure he doesn’t slip out from under our noses.”
“What do you think he's doing here?”
“I couldn’t say,” Lanaya said.
“Spying, of course,” the Prince-Consort said. “But why? That I have no idea.”
“What do we do?” Feynriel asked.
“We watch him, naturally,” the Prince-Consort said with a wide and dangerous smile.
The day of the meeting, Andoriel introduced Felassan and Briala to Keeper Merrill.
Keeper Merrill smiled when she met them. She was very tall for an elf, with black hair tied back in a short braid. She had a soft face and pale olive skin, her large eyes very green.
“Felassan,” Keeper Merrill said, looking at him. “’The slow arrow?’”
Felassan inclined his head.
“Who would name their son after the Dread Wolf’s tricks?” she asked him. Briala frowned.
“My Clan does not subscribe to the same beliefs about Fen’harel that other Clans do,” Felassan explained.
“No?” Merrill raised her eyebrows. “I’ve found—in ruins, and the Crossroads, you see, that some people believe different things about Fen’harel.”
“Have you found that indeed?”
“Yes. Could you tell me, how does your Clan’s beliefs differ from those of other Clans? I would so like to hear about it.”
“We...” Felassan faltered. “We believe he was no evil villain. A trickster. A warrior. a...necessary force for change.”
Merrill tilted her head to one side. She smiled. “That’s quite an interesting way of looking at it,” she said. “What does your Clan say about the Creators? The Forgotten ones?”
“They fought a great deal,” Felassan said. “So much so that they hurt the People, who were forgotten in their wars. Fen’harel wanted to stop them, but he made a mistake, and that's why they're locked away.”
“Hm,” Merrill tilted her head back. “That’s interesting.”
“Is it?”
“Of course! History and legend are fascinating.”
Her gaze was penetrating, her bright green eyes raking over Felassan with fascination. She turned to Briala as if only just realizing she was there. “Oh, I’m sorry—here I am, talking just with your friend, instead of you. That’s rather rude, ir abelas.”
Briala just nodded.
“I've never been to Halam'shiral, though I've heard it's beautiful,” Merrill said. “I lived in the Kirkwall Alienage for quite some time. What is your Hahren like?”
“She--” Briala faltered. “I do not know. The last Hahren is most likely dead.”
Merrill’s face fell. “Oh no,” she said. “What happened?”
“Empress Celene happened,” Andoriel growled.
Merrill’s expression grew dark. “I see,” she said. “Well, Ambassador, I'm sure we'll do whatever we can to help,” she assured Briala.
“Thank you, Keeper,” Briala said. She hesitated, then added “Keeper Dhaiveira mentioned something about how his people are—less recognizable in Dalish-hostile cities--”
“Oh, you met Keeper Dhaiveira?” Merrill looked pleased. “Such a nice man, isn't he?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Merrill nodded. “Yes, I bet his people could help yours quite a bit,” she said. “It's so hard to get anywhere near the cities in Orlais...”
“I've found that that's in part because local Clans simply don't try,” Felassan said lightly.
Merrill laughed. “Well, maybe,” she said. “But that's certainly not the case with us!” the sound of a horn called, and Merrill glanced over her shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “The meeting's starting.”
They went to a large clearing, where all the various ambassadors and Keepers were gathered. Briala recognized a large number of the ambassadors, but only a few of the Keepers. The Prince-Consort was there, and he nodded at Briala when he saw her. Keeper Lanaya stood on an enormous treestump and called for order, and the crowd quieted.
There was a long list of names as each representative was introduced. Many of the Dalish raised their eyebrows when Felassan's name was called. When Briala's was, many of the Dalish and the Alienage representatives looked pleased, but several Keepers looked distinctly unhappy.
As soon as the introductions were finished, the ruckus began almost immediately, and Briala was a bit surprised. Orlesian politics, while dangerous and tricky, were not nearly so...loud.
There was chatter in Dalish and in Common about the Chantry, the eluvians, Orlais, magic, Kirkwall, Orzammar—eventually, the discussion came to a reasonable level, and each person started giving others time to talk.
“What does any of this nonsense with the Chantry matter?” Keeper Adarian demanded. “There is that darkspawn from the Vimmarks, and Fen’harel--”
“Oh, you and your bloody Fen’harel!” Ambassador Dysla rolled her eyes. “What have any of you heard? A few mages had some bad dreams about wolves?”
“Keeper Zathrian’s last words were a warning about wolves,” Lanaya snapped. “Not to mention the spirits speaking of the white wolf--”
“Wolves are bloody dangerous, Fen’harel or no!” the ambassador said. “Who says it means that old legend?”
“Well pardon me, but I don’t see any spirits or demons muttering about your Maker lately, have you?” Keeper Adarian snapped. “Look, the fact is that the spirits have been speaking the name—doesn't that worry you at all?”
“Many mages have also made note of how the Fade deals in symbolism,” Ambassador Ile pushed his spectacles up on his long nose. “It's possible that they are just reflecting something we are transmitting to them. And this Fen’harel, if he is even real, and if he can affect the world, who is to say he is as dangerous as you believe? Keeper Merrill, you yourself have come across many historical records in the Crossroads that argue a different view than Dalish myth.”
“That’s true,” Merrill looked troubled.
“And who is to say that isn’t cultist propaganda?” Keeper Nellas said. “We simply have no context—it’s all too cursed old! I say, we go by what we’ve always known—and what common sense says, which is that a bloody great wolf is dangerous either way.”
“Finally, someone speaks some sense,” Ambassador Dysla said. “Who cares how real he is? A huge wolf is a problem no matter what.”
“That’s not the point,” the Keeper growled.
“And who is to say your view is the correct one?” Keeper Dhaiveira said, his dark gray eyes placid. “Perhaps it will not be such a bad thing.”
“I don’t think it matters!” Ambassador Jathann exclaimed. “Whether your Fen’harel is real or not, we have an actual problem! Prince-Consort--?”
“Orlais is in turmoil,” the Prince-Consort said. “Their Empress has sought shelter in Orzammar. I am quite certain that without her influence, the Chantry will collapse in on itself, as we feared.”
Adarian rolled his eyes, but the other representatives began to mutter amongst themselves.
The Prince-Consort continued “We have not received word from the Chantry in some months. However, the last we knew, according to the Nightingale, the Divine was still attempting to work around Lord Seeker Lambert--”
Several sighs and disapproving noises from the crowd were heard.
“--and as such, has refused any alliance or mutual assistance agreement between the Chantry and Orzammar.”
“Which, of course, limits us,” Lanaya said.
The Prince-Consort inclined his head.
“What about the Nightingale?” Ambassador Ile asked. “Even if the Divine doesn't have an alliance with Orzammar, surely she and her sources could come to some agreement with the Queen--?”
“The Nightingale, when last we spoke, worried about spies in her own network,” the Prince-Consort said. “The Divine has gone as far as to cut off contact with King Alistair and Queen Anora except in the most cursory of communications, and of course Kirkwall--”
“Is completely overtaken by Chantry personnel sympathetic to Lambert,” Merrill said. Her tone was much more businesslike than it had been when she'd been speaking with Briala and Felassan. “That would compromise a large part of the Free Marches, and the closeness to Ferelden compromises them as well.”
The Prince-Consort nodded. “King Alistair and Queen Anora have limited their relations with us as well,” he said. “We have reached out to them, but they feel that our sympathy towards the Wardens and the Dalish make us a liability rather than an ally.”
“A liability!” Lanaya seemed shocked. “But the Grand Enchanter--”
“Busy with the dissolution of the College of Enchanters,” the Prince-Consort sighed. “We haven't heard from her in months, either.”
“Ambassador Briala,” Ambassador Dysla spoke up, and Briala glanced up, startled. “You're the first Orlesian representative we have. Do you have any information for us that might help?”
Briala considered. “Celene is sheltered in Orzammar,” she said, and the Prince-Consort inclined his head. “We need to place her back on the throne.”
Adarian snorted. “That city-burning villainess?” he rolled his eyes. “I don't think so.”
“Grand-Duke Gaspard would plunge Orlais into war again,” Briala said. “If Celene were killed, either the Duke would take the throne and attempt to attack Ferelden, or his claim would be challenged by any number of family. He is Celene's only direct heir, but there are enough nobles sympathetic to Celene that they would cause problems.”
“How does he fall on the issue of the Chantry?” said Ambassador Cohen, speaking up for the first time.
“Ah...” Briala frowned. “He does not consider it of grave importance. It's possible he would ignore the issue entirely in favor of attempting conquest.”
There was a collective intake of breath.
“Well, we cannot let that stand,” Ambassador Cohen said.
“And what are we meant to do about it, exactly?” Adarian demanded.
“Celene wanted to ally with the Dalish--” Briala started.
All Dalish parties present frowned.
“Ridiculous,” Keeper Nellas said, putting up a hand. “Out of the question.”
Briala scowled. “If Gaspard takes the throne, the elves of Orlais will suffer!” she said.
“And yet, it was Celene, not Gaspard, who torched Halam’shiral,” the Prince-Consort’s words were light, but it was clear he was deadly serious.
The Alienage ambassadors all looked varying degrees of shocked and horrified, and the Keepers grim.
Briala glared at the Prince-Consort. “Yes,” she said. “But it hardly matters. Gaspard is worse.”
“From where I’m sitting, they look the same,” Keeper Adarian said, folding his arms.
“Gaspard is the more aggressive one,” Briala insisted. “And if he were to gain the throne, the entire area would be destabilized. He is already trying a civil war! It would only grow worse if he were to become Emperor! He would attack the Dales, simply for your existence!”
“And that, of course, would cause more problems,” Keeper Dhaveira murmured.
“Well, it looks like the solution is to get this idiot Gaspard out of the way, and then put Celene back on her throne,” Adarian said. “We don’t need to bloody well ally with her.”
“Why not?” Briala demanded. “Your pride? Your blood? Do you not care about the cities of Orlais?”
“Think who you’re speaking to, girl,” Ambassador Jathann snapped. “Before my Alienage allied with the Coalition, we were just as bad off as your Orlesian cities. This woman lit one of her own cities on fire! Does that seem like someone we should ally with?”
“I still say this nonsense is just a distraction!” Keeper Adarian said. “Just get someone to bump off Gaspard, then we can get back to what actually matters!”
“Not Fen’harel again,” Dysla groaned.
“Him, and the darkspawn,” Adarian snapped. “Keeper Merrill--”
“I do have one question,” Felassan interrupted.
All eyes turned to Felassan.
“What makes you think Fen’harel is returning at all? I have heard several mentions and yet I am unsure why this is so important to you.”
“Ah, yes,” Lanaya raised her eyebrows. “’Felassan’. The slow arrow.”
The other Keepers began to mutter amongst themselves.
“Slow arrow,” the Gwaren ambassador hummed. “Someone will have to refresh my memory on that reference.’
“A story of Fen’harel,” Lanaya explained. “A myth about his trickery, and how praying to him for help is not necessarily helpful.” she stared at Felassan. “A strange name to have.”
Felassan met her eyes. “Perhaps in your Clans,” he said. “Not in mine.”
Keeper Dhaivera steepled his fingers. “And not necessarily in mine either,” he said. “But we cannot ignore the signs.”
“Tell me, what signs have you seen?”
They all looked at him, eyes narrowed. Dhaivera leaned forward, fascinated.
“The first signs were, perhaps, during the Blight,” the Prince-Consort said, and Lanaya nodded in agreement. “Keeper Zathrian, the Lady of the Forest, and a large manner of spirits and ghosts all making mention of the same thing—wolves.” he shrugged. “Personally, I do not believe it is your Fen'harel, but such a ubiquitous turn of phrase from so many different sources is not something to be discounted.”
“You said the first signs,” Felassan said. “What others?”
Merrill met Felassan's eyes. “One of the mages of my Clan, an ive’an’vire’lan called Feynriel, has seen many suspicious things in his dreams.”
“A somniari?” Felassan raised his eyebrows.
Merrill inclined her head, her green eyes locked on Felassan's violet ones.
“What has he seen?”
“Spirits saying strange things, speaking of someone who is coming. He has heard Fen'harel's name mentioned before.”
“Any mage will tell you how many strange things the spirits have been saying of late,” Lanaya said. “Have you not heard them speaking of the white wolf?”
“Of course,” Felassan agreed. “But why do you think it's Fen'harel, and not your own thoughts reflected back at you?”
“I don't,” Dysla snorted. “I think it's something nasty all the same, though.”
Felassan's shoulders relaxed, just marginally.
“The name has come up too many times to be merely coincidence.” Adarian said with a scowl.
“Or, it is your own thoughts acting upon the Fade,” Felassan suggested. “Once you see a pattern, the spirits will reflect the pattern back.”
“Exactly so!” Dysla said.
“There’s also Corypheus...” Merrill added.
“What is Corypheus?” Briala asked.
“A darkspawn Keeper Merrill and Lady Hawke encountered in the Vimmarks,” Lanaya explained, looking to Merrill for confirmation. “Some sort of intelligent darkspawn, like the Architect the Warden-Commander found under Amaranthine.”
“He spoke about something that sounded like Fen’harel,” Merrill said.
Felassan’s expression was carefully neutral. “And why do you say his return—or the arrival of something strange and large and magical—is more important than more...earthly concerns?”
Adarian narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice dry. “The lord of tricksters coming back to bother the People again might be of some slight note.”
“I still say it’s not your Dread Wolf,” Dysla said. “What of another darkspawn thing? That Corypheus reached out in dreams. Or another Old God?”
“Who else is a wolf?” Adarian demanded. “Who else is called 'Dread Wolf?' In any case, something that powerful, whatever it is, coming to the world? That isn’t the slightest bit of concern?”
“And what are we supposed to do about it?” Dysla demanded.
“Wrangle the College and the Wardens,” Adarian said. “Queen Aeducan’s already looking out for whatever it is—I’m sure King Alistair could be warned as well. We need to focus on Fen’harel, or whatever it is, as well as that intelligent darkspawn. This business with the Chantry is an utter distraction.”
“Oh, of course you’d say that,” Ambassador Jathann rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to live anywhere near a Chantry-controlled area, do you?”
“Neither would you, if you would do the smart thing and just evacuate!”
“I can't just drag almost a thousand people out of their homes!” Jathann snapped. “We can't all be fortunate enough to be able to wander around the Crossroads forever!”
“And you can't afford to live your lives in places where your children are snatched up by Templars!” Adarian snapped.
“Everyone, please!” Lanaya raised her hands for quiet. “Adarian, we all know of your feelings on the matter. We have decided that the evacuation of the Alienages is not possible at this time.”
Adarian folded his arms and sat back, looking extremely displeased.
“I'm sorry, what are you speaking of?” Briala asked.
“Alienages and human cities are notoriously dangerous for elvhen,” Adarian explained. “And with this business with the Chantry and Fen'harel--”
Ambassador Dysla snorted, but Adarian plowed on, ignoring her.
“--it would only make sense to move your people away from the cities, and into safer areas, such as the Crossroads, the Brecelian, or Orzammar. We're already working on the Kirkwall Alienage--”
“Kirkwall is a special case and you know it,” Ambassador Dysla said.
“You know how large the Crossroads are, they could hold everyone from every Alienage there is!” Adarian exclaimed.
“And you also know how many Alienages have full-blooded humans as residents!” Dysla exclaimed. “Humans can't stay in the Crossroads that long! What, should they just abandon their elvhen families?”
“Well...”
“Enough!” Lanaya exclaimed. “Everyone, practical solutions, please.”
“Removing this Gaspard and replacing Celene as Empress seems to be a priority,” the Prince-Consort said. “And one that is able to be accomplished.”
Briala nodded. “That makes sense,” she agreed. “And what of Celene's hope for alliance...?”
There was an outpouring of derisive noise, and again Lanaya had to call for silence.
“Briala,” Lanaya said when everything was sufficiently quiet. “We will offer our assistance to Halam’shiral. If you would permit it, we would install an eluvian somewhere in your city or near it—that is, Keeper Merrill…?”
“I’d need to find and restore one close by,” Merrill said. “But I’m sure I could find one.”
Lanaya nodded. “You will have our assistance should you need it,” she said. “And if you will contact those of the western Alienages, we would be very grateful. But,” she said when Briala opened her mouth. “We will not ally with Celene. That is utterly out of the question.”
“Then what good are you?” Briala demanded.
“Enough good to stop our people dying of cold in the streets,” Ambassador Cohen said quietly.
“And to send us food when we need it,” Jathann added.
“And to stop our mages getting snapped up by Templars,” Ambassador Dysla said.
“But that is all just temporary!” Briala insisted. “Surely allying with Celene will help in the long run--”
“Unless you have something that will let us blackmail her into returning the lands of the Dales to us, I don't think so,” Adarian said.
“Ambassador, you've said yourself that she burned down one of her own cities precisely because of elvhen unrest,” Lanaya said softly. “Even if we did not have moral compunctions against it, that is one of the most unreliable allies to have. Would you trust a general who intentionally attacked his own army with artillery?”
“...no,” Briala admitted with a sigh.
“Then please, join with us. Your people will be our people.”
Briala glanced at Felassan, who was watching the proceedings with great interest. They met eyes and Felassan smiled.
Briala took a deep breath. “We will join with you,” she said.
Back in Orzammar, Celene worried.
“Where is Briala?” Celene muttered to herself.
“And that mage friend of hers,” Michel said. “And the...Prince-Consort,” his face soured. “I should think a Queen would be above that. Even a dwarven Queen.”
Celene glanced at him. “I suppose their marriage must be an advantage in some way,” she said. “Still. They doted on each other.”
Michel shrugged. “That still does not answer the question of where he's been vanishing to.”
“He has his own business, I assume.”
Michel's lip curled. “I am sure.”
“Empress.” Queen Aeducan appeared at the door.
Michel and Celene got to their feet. “Queen Aeducan. Is there something the matter?” Celene asked.
“Gaspard is at the gates,” Queen Aeducan said.
The blood left Celene's face. “Gaspard is here?” Celene said.
Queen Aeducan nodded. “Not in the city,” she clarified. “You are a guest of our kingdom, and it would hardly be appropriate to bring in a man that causes you such distress.”
“My thanks,” Celene said. “What has he said?”
“He desires to see you, presumably to kill you.”
Celene considered that. “And what have you decided?”
“We wished to know what you wanted before we dealt with him.”
“If you would...please, Majesty, ask him how it is possible to resolve this. I will not step down from my throne simply because he wishes, and he may not be permitted to kill me.”
Queen Aeducan inclined her head, and sent for a messenger. The messenger returned quickly, with a formal letter written on heavy parchment. Queen Aeducan opened the letter and scanned it quickly.
“Gaspard says that he will...duel you for control of the throne?” Queen Aeducan raised an eyebrow.
Michel and Celene exchanged a look.
“Of course,” Celene murmured.
Queen Aeducan looked at her. “What do you wish us to do?”
“We will duel him, of course.”
Queen Aeducan raised her other eyebrow. “You need not do that.”
Celene sighed. “I can only guess at how the country is faring without me,” she said, rubbing her temples. “No, Your Majesty, I must do this. Michel?”
“I am here, my lady.”
“Michel,” Celene put her hands on his shoulders. “If you do this, I care not for your blood. I will be in your debt until the end of time.”
Michel nodded.
“You would send him to be your proxy?” Queen Aeducan looked doubtful.
Celene nodded.
“Hm. That is not how things are done here, but if it is what you wish...”
“It is.”
“Then go. We will bring Gaspard to you.” Queen Aeducan swept out of the hall. Within an hour, Gaspard and Celene were in a room reserved for ceremonial duels. The chamber was absolutely enormous, and was empty but for Celene, Gaspard, their proxies, and Queen Aeducan and her guards.
Gaspard stood at the other end of the chamber. He looked battered and worn, but he stood straight-backed as he looked at her. “And here you are,” he said.
Celene nodded. “Here I am.” she looked at Gaspard, noted his armor's worn state. “Why are you here, and not commanding your army?”
“I cannot take the risk that you would return.”
“I hope, at least, your retain contact with them. Else when I do return, they will have been running themselves.”
Gaspard smirked. “They know better than that. They have their orders.”
Celene frowned. “You know military men better than I, yet even I know that they will not be without a leader forever.”
Gaspard's expression soured. “Come,” he said. “Let us end this. I would be rid of you.”
Michel stepped forward.
“This is my Champion.” Celene said. “Where is yours?”
A woman in light leather armor, wielding a pair of wicked daggers, stepped in front of Gaspard.
Celene inclined her head. “I see.”
The proxies approached each other. The fight was long, very long, an hour in total, but finally, Michel’s blade was against his opponent’s throat.
He looked up at Gaspard, who looked at Celene. He bowed his head. “I submit to your rule,” he said.
Celene tilted her head up. “I accept your submission. But you are an enemy of the Empire. As such, you are sentenced to death.”
Gaspard looked sour, but other than that, hardly reacted.
“Guards?” Queen Aeducan said. “Do something with him,” she flicked her fingers in a dismissive way, and the guards took Gaspard away. They took Gaspard's champion as well.
Celene turned to Queen Aeducan. “Where is Briala?” she asked. “I must return to Val Royeaux, but I do not wish to return without her.”
“She meets privately with some of the Coalition. My lord husband is with her, as well as Ambassador Panalanvinte and Ambassador Felassan. You may wait for her return if you wish, but I suggest you return to Val Royeaux instead.” Queen Aeducan’s eyes flashed. “Things in your capital are not well.”
Celene refrained from startling at this news. “How do you know?”
“We have our own sources. Without you, the Chantry is starting to fall to pieces. You should return, before you have another war on your hands.”
Despite herself, Celene went pale.
“Ambassador Briala will return to you if she wishes. We do not hold her.”
“How am I to know that?”
“You cannot. As I said, you may stay here until she returns. We suggest you leave, but we will not force you.”
Celene inclined her head. “Then we will remain until she returns.”
“Very good.”
When the meeting broke up, Felassan and Briala retreated to a more secluded area of the ruins and spoke quietly, when Lanaya, Andoriel, the Prince-Consort, and several of the other Keepers confronted them.
“Is something wrong?” Briala asked, eyes flicking from one Keeper to another.
“Not with you,” Lanaya said. “With him.” she nodded towards Felassan.
Briala looked at Felassan. “What’s wrong?”
“You refuse to tell us your Clan name, your use-name is one of the Dread Wolf’s tricks, and, of course...”
Blond Feynriel came forward. “There’s a wall around your mind.”
“None of these are crimes, “ Felassan said. “Or so I could reasonably assume.”
“You looked in his mind?” Briala demanded, aghast.
“Not in,” Feynriel clarified. “Around. When you’re a dreamer who sleeps around other people, that’s something that happens.”
“Ah,” Felassan looked fascinated. “You’re the dreamer.”
Feynriel nodded.
“So,” Andoriel said, and put her hand on his shoulder. “Tell us who you are, slow arrow.”
Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Someone who suggests you not press this issue.”
“Why?”
“It is rude to impose, is it not?”
“Yes. It is.” she narrowed her eyes.
"Ambassador,” Briala said in a warning tone.
“Briala.”
“Stop.”
“I don’t think so,” Andoriel said “Not until he tells us who he is.”
“Believe me, da’len,” Felassan said with a smile. “You would not wish to meet my Clan.”
“And why is that?”
“That is rather the question, is it not?”
With that, he vanished, leaving Andoriel holding empty air.
Briala stared at the place where Felassan had been.
“So,” Zevran brushed off his tunic. “We can be certain that that was out of the ordinary, yes?”
“The Dread Wolf is coming,” Andoriel said.
“He may already be here,” Merrill said, expression troubled.
“The Dread Wolf?” Briala exclaimed. “What has that to do with this? You cornered him--”
“’Felassan,’” Andoriel said. “’Slow arrow.’ It is obvious.”
“Obvious how? All you have is a great load of—nonsense and magical trickery!”
“Briala,” Keeper Dhaiveira looked at her. “Something is coming. We cannot avoid it.”
“How do you know?”
“There’ve been warnings,” Merrill explained. “Signs...dreams. He’s coming. Felassan is probably one of his soldiers.”
“But...” Briala stared after him. “He helped us. And he...he doesn’t act like you say Fen’harel acts.”
“And that is very odd,” Andoriel said.
“What have I been saying this whole time?” Dhaiveira said. “Things are not as you have believed them to be.”
“Or it is a larger trick,” Andoriel argued.
“We must watch for him in the future,” Lanaya said. “Merrill? What did you think?”
“He felt very strange,” Merrill said. “But not dangerous.”
“He definitely felt dangerous,” Feynriel said. “Just not towards us.”
“Then towards who?”
Feynriel shrugged.
“What are you going to do now?” Briala asked, her eyes narrowed.
“The question is rather, what are you going to do now?” Lanaya asked.
“I need to return to Celene,” Briala said. “I need to keep an eye on her, clearly.”
“You will inform us if she does anything untoward?” Lanaya asked.
Briala considered, then inclined her head. “And you? You will tell me more of this...Fen'harel business?”
“If we can. If we learn more.”
“And what will you do if you see Felassan again?”
“For your sake, we will inform you if we see him,” Lanaya said. “You are his friend. Truthfully, he is likely your responsibility.”
Briala laughed. “He is no one's responsibility.” no one else seemed to be as amused as she was, so she simply nodded. “As you will,” she said. “I am holding you to your end of the bargain.”
“We would expect no less.”
Briala returned to find Celene packing her sparse things.
“Briala,” Celene said.
“Your Majesty,” Briala inclined her head.
“Gaspard has been dealt with.”
“That is good to hear.”
“What did you speak of, with the Coalition?”
“Nothing important. They did not wish to give me what I wanted.”
“So they will not ally with Orlais either.”
Briala suppressed the urge to smile. “No. They will not.”
“Will you return with me?”
Briala considered. She did not want to return. Not to Halam’shiral, surely burned to the ground. Not to the Game, nor to the Palace, nor to Celene’s side. She wanted to stay here, or among her people.
Of course, her people did not need her here. They needed her elsewhere.
“I will return,” she said. “Someone must protect you, after all.”
Celene smiled.
The elf who named himself Felassan ran, as fast and as hard as if Anaris himself was on his heels.
It had been his own fault. The People were clever, always clever, and these children were cleverer than he had anticipated.
In a way, he was strangely proud. He had thought them perhaps beyond aid, in need of a great shaking change. He had not cared for Clan Virnehn, or for what he had seen of the Dalish.
But this...this was different. The Prince-Consort and Queen Aeducan’s marriage, the Coalition, the way they worked together and made alliances—surely Fen’harel would be able to appreciate the importance of this.
After he had lost himself very thoroughly in the forest, he finally came to a stop.
Poor Briala. She was his friend, and he had left her in such a sudden way...she did not deserve that. He must do something to help her, soon.
Before then, however, he needed to speak with his general. He warded the clearing he had landed in, staving off any curious spirits or animals. Then he reached into the Veil, and pressed against it.
He was no natural somniari, and besides which, Fen’harel was not contacted easily, even by those with the gift. Even so, there were ways of getting around that.
Felassan closed his eyes, and felt the Fade encircle him, reaching out with drowsy arms. Immediately, something approached him. It was tired, very tired, so deeply asleep that it could only reach out and give him the faintest of acknowledgment. If Felassan wished to speak with the Dread Wolf, he would have to go to him.
The Fade bent around him, and he saw the image of the white wolf in the distance. He followed the wolf, as it darted just out of reach. Eventually, the wolf came to a halt, and when Felassan caught up to it, it vanished.
The place he came to was mostly emotions, sleepy and inarticulate, faded dreams and plans, nothing more. More alert now, better able to hear and understand, but still asleep. He still slept so deeply that he had no face to show Felassan, only a tired acknowledgment, a vague welcome.
Yet Felassan could still feel that strength, that watchful gaze and powerful magic. The wolf was sleeping, yes, but still very, very dangerous.
Felassan sighed and touched one indistinct wall. The colors in the wall shifted and changed according to his touch, as did the emotions about him—recognition, thick and slow. Tell me, tell me, what have you seen? Pale threads of white excitement stirred the air, which Felassan took to be a good sign.
“Someone else repaired and activated the eluvians,” Felassan explained. “A marvel, truly! The spirit Thelhen summoned—they banished it, quick as you please.” he laughed. “Well, with a bit of help from me. Oh, you would have thought it funny, how the children fight amongst themselves.”
Confusion. Funny? What was funny about this?
“They—they are different than we thought,” Felassan tried his best to communicate to Fen’harel what he’d seen and felt, summoning images to the Fade that the somniari would be able to read. “I thought those haughty children in the forests were the only ones, but no, no—a historian, of all things, activated some part of the eluvian network, and she allied with the dwarves! The durghen’len, can you believe that?”
Displeasure, more confusion. Do you forget what you are to do?
Felassan shook his head. “Of course not. But I think—I think they deserve a chance. We should find another way--”
Anger, raw and and red and forceful, flared and made Felassan’s head ache. Images came to his mind—the world, rotting and black, gangrenous, wrong, wrong, wrong—my fault, my fault--
“Enough!” Felassan pushed back—he was by no means strong enough to keep such a powerful dreamer out of his head, and the sorrow and rage of Fen’harel was no small thing. However, the push startled the other presence, just enough for Felassan to pull back, away from the immediate area of influence.
“They are doing something new,” Felassan insisted, pulling more memories from his mind and forcing them into the Fade, wanting his general to see, to understand. Briala, the Prince-Consort, the ambassadors, the Keepers--any memory that was constructive, any memory of the young People accomplishing something. “We can help them! Isn’t that what you wanted? The People to have a life of their own? That’s what they’re trying to build!”
A lack of comprehension. It was no use talking to Fen’harel when he was sunk so deeply into Uthenera. Even now, the anger remained, rank and dangerous, bending the Fade around Felassan.
Felassan backed away, shaking his head. “We’ll find another way,” he insisted. “I know it.”
Something lashed out at him, and Felassan tore himself out of the Fade--
He bolted upright with a gasp. His chest heaving, he got to his feet, looking around frantically, as if his general could have followed him out of the Fade. Of course not, not now, not here.
His nose was bleeding. He wiped his face and began to pace, thinking.
He had been trying to coax his general into waking for the better part of a decade now. Uthenera was a tricky thing. Felassan had woken on his own, easily enough, and he knew for a fact there were some priests and priestesses kicking around in some old Temples, but others, the general included, had a much harder time waking. It had always been so, even in the old days.
Fen’harel was angry. Perhaps he would be feeling betrayed. He had felt close to wakening, pressing closer and closer to consciousness, and Felassan was sure that he would awake soon. He would likely awake angry.
He would be disoriented, his body atrophied, and he wouldn’t be used to the weakening of magic that the Veil produced, but even a confused, weak Fen’harel was still dangerous. Perhaps far more so than normal.
Felassan could already picture it—Fen’harel awakening angry, bereaved, confused, half-formed plans whirling in his mind, but all dangerous, destructive. He would have only the barest idea of what was happening, and if Felassan didn’t intervene, something would go terribly wrong.
Fen’harel was, of course, endlessly resourceful.
Felassan had to find his general, and soon, before something terrible happened. He wiped the last of the blood from his face and began to walk, taking down his magical wards as he did so.
He hoped he would not be too late.