Chapter Text
There is a strange peace in the darkness. The blaring, bustling echoes of the world fade seamlessly into obscurity as the serene ebony cradles him with its dulcet whispers and sighs.
Let us in,
Let everything go,
Surrender to us,
Sleep amongst others.
You. Are. OURS!
The voices shift from smooth and soft to malicious and sharp. Their demands all jumbled together. Silvhen whimpers and curls into himself as he tries to shield himself from their stinging, unrelenting roars.
“Sᓰᒪᘿᘉᑢᘿ.” commands a gentle, robust voice. Silvhen gasps as he feels it ringing and echoing within him and then a deep, precious silence washes over him like a wave upon the sand. Then, amongst the endless dark walls, a soothing voice says his name, another joins them, and another. Each with its distinct voice. He twirls in the floating abyss, searching for the origin of the voices, coming up fruitless when he is abruptly yanked by his hand into a sea of green. Immersed in emerald waters, he falls against walls and tunnels of memories and is blinded by white as he falls through a ring of ebony. He grunts as he lands with a thick thump his head invaded with a strange buzz as musk and sparks clog his nostrils while the taste of rotten flesh and charred root invades his mouth. His mind thronged with the image of thousands of corpses covering the earth as crimson paints his vision of their dull, haunted faces.
He gasps and quickly crawls away from the bodies backing up into a wall as inside the memory he fled from the field, and as he sprinted, he saw everything fade or fall out of place as the soles of his feet kiss the dark, cold soil. A rhythm develops with his heavy, sharp pants as The Well of Sorrows begins to hum a euphonious melody. A Winter gust howls and Silvhen feels its claws rake into his cheeks. He hisses at the numbing pain as it settles in his face. Hot tears of silver stream down his face as he collapses onto his knees. The snow offers no cushion as he curls into himself, the snow crunching around his heated husk as familiar hush purrs in his mind.
He gasps dryly with a cough as the purr continues to ring in his ears. He whimpers as smacks his head into the soil trying to silence the whispers and calm himself. He was losing control, and the memories were overflowing. He wanted to end it. He wanted silence. He needed Silence. There was too much noise, too many thoughts running, racing- Thump-thump.
Sylvun. Sylvun, Da’Lin. Ladara mar salhasa. Hartha el sulahn. Vena mar atisha. <Breath. Breathe, Child. Soothe your spirit. Listen to our song and find your peace.>
His breathing slows as the hushed voices transform into a soft choir of humming, shimmering notes, and warm echoes. His lungs expanded as he inhaled through his nose, and he felt himself humming in tune with the Well. As he melted into the earth, his mind wandered unrestrained. There was a crisp, fresh snow all around him; there was a musty smell of soil and mud in the air. There was faint hoof clopping and children's laughter in the distance, and then pain erupts. He roars in distress as a sharp, thrumming ache runs up his right arm. Light erupts like a beacon, crackling wildly as he roars in distress. He hears its eerie chimes as his vision dims in response to the immense, raw throb. Dots cloud him and in his last moments, he sees a pair of boots and hears a cry for help.
<<<<<>>>>>
Where am I? Thousands of ominous, stern, voices rumble amongst each other.
Where is this? The jabber grows quiet, but the words are pertinent and bold.
Dialathe Telban, vallaslean virem. <Sheets white, ink gone.>
What? What do you-? The Well cuts him off with a soft, sonorous hush. Light flashes and the world tilts. Amongst the stifled commotion, a green glare flared in his hand. It pauses as he hesitantly lays his hand against the rough, cold stone. He hears strenuous murmuring, a wooden door banging against the wall, and water splashing against the stone floor.
He slowly lifts his head and pulls himself into a sitting position. He notes the wooden shackles clasped tightly around his wrists and inspects the binding object. The cuffs were sturdy but very old. A few good hits and they would break. Silvhen reasoned in his mind as he stretched the kinks from his neck, tensed and rolled the muscles in his back, and gently popped his stiff joints as a sword rests against his neck. Staring at it, he takes note of its appearance when his eyes reach the hands along the hilt of the longsword, his breath hitches as he stares up at his captor, his Falon, and his sister, Cassandra. Is this a dream?
He watches her lips twist into a snarl as her words fall on deaf ears. His eyes relish this greener Cassandra, tears flowing down his cheeks concealed by his mask. When he overcomes the strain of flashing anchor in his right palm or the sounds of the Well of Sorrow wailing in his ear before realization set in. He had wrapped the Nevarian woman in his arms, her sword clanging against his armor as his veiled face snuggled into her neck. For a moment it was just them. No sound, only the image of her face with a soft smile, her warm, rich scent, and her muscular arms returning his hug. One of them trailed up his back and gently ruffled his hair. He had missed her; her transparency, her faith, everything. She knew him, fought with him, stayed by his side, and when he lost his way, she pulled him back. He’s snapped from his trance as her fist collides with his head a loud boom detonating and with it sound promptly returning to his ears.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Reality settled in; her icy tone, the sight of swords drawn, their fine cold steel illuminated by the torches as the commands of the guards echo in the dungeon. He releases her as if she was a hot bar of iron and drops into a crouch away from her. So, this isn’t a dream or an illusion? So where am I? Where is this? What have you done?
The hooded figure takes Cassandra by the arm and forces her away. Cassandra stares at the cloaked individual in disbelief and taking a closer look at the veiled woman he spotted some loose strands of ginger hair.
Ahn garem? <What happened?>
Genise hima ise i u’lea <Ash becomes fire with spark>.
Teleloasan! Dian Mar El’u etunash! Dirtha em ahn garem! <I don't understand! Stop your secret shit! Tell me what happened!>
Hartha <Listen>! The Well scolds, seeming exasperated at Silvhen’s confusion. I- .
Inana! Ar’an dirtha mah! <Watch! We speak later!> It hisses before going into hushed whispers of Elvish and broken Common. “-how this began?” His head snaps up to see… Leliana. The woman before him distorts the Leliana he had come to know and watch fall. This Leliana had bright, sky-blue eyes, her body was pliant and full and her Divine robes reverted to her dark spymaster wardrobe. He focuses on Leliana and raises his hands to where she could see them.
‘Do you know Silent tongue?’ He motions, eyes sharpening on the spymaster as she nods. He informs them of what he recalled and takes note of Cassandra rounding him ready to sink her fangs into him as her arms crossed over her chest.
“You remember running and a glowing woman?” He nods affirmatively as dark laughter echoes in his memory of the blighted relic of a magister. He feels his skin crawl and tingles at the faded flashback before he directs himself to the Hands of the Divine. “Prisoner, you are the sole survivor of a major calamity. You must admit that it is… peculiar that you are the only one to return from Temple of Sacred Ashes.”
‘True, but I believe there are more pressing issues at hand. The giant green asshole in the sky is an example. I would like to help then perhaps we can both find the answers we seek. I ask that you give me a chance to prove myself innocent. What do you truly have to lose?’
The women look at each other before Cassandra approaches him stiffly. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him,” Leliana throws a last glance at him but curtly nod to Cassandra.
“You are strange,” Cassandra grumbles. The large, restrained elf gives her a cheeky thumbs up as she escorts him -albeit roughly- out of the dungeon. She escorts him to an elevated view of the quaint village with its wood cabins and various pitched tents. His heart fills with the weight of Haven's grief and melancholy as his stomach tightens like a drum. This village that was once his home was now one of his greatest failures as the Herald. Many paid the price of his arrogance and false triumph with their deaths. He breathes in the winter wind and its frost and sighs. L
He is flung from his thoughts by the Anchor erupting with its nauseous glow. He cradles his hand, hissing as the burning sensation swallows his entire arm. Everything is slow and disorientated sound is delayed, and Cassandra is moving. She leaps up, pulling him to his feet before pressing on. That was worse than I remember. They walk through Haven and with the sight of crowds, his senses sharpened, and the world was focused, and clear. They reach a great distance marching through a trail, a bridge, and finally a gate. They pause and Cassandra tears his bound wrists free with a dagger. “There will be a trial. I promise nothing more. Come.”
He follows her and they pick up their pace running down the path past fires and ruins. He catches the Breach throwing rocks in the distance wondering if the boulders originated from the raw Fade or the Waking world. The Breach spazzes and the Anchor responds by sending a throbbing sensation up his arm. He loses his balance but is caught with warm and steady hands holding his waist. He melts into the comfort, pauses, and takes a breath.
Fenedhis! What am I doing?! He scolds himself as he stands up “Are you alright?” The Seeker questions. He nods and they continue making their way across the bridge when the Well screams at him his head snaps to the sky and he snatches Cassandra’s hand and points to the airborne.
“Get back!” Cassandra calls out to the soldiers. The projectile hits the bridge, and it collapses. He brings Cassandra into his body as they tumble down against rock and ruin. He grunts as they hit the frozen, unforgiving soil with a loud thud. He releases Cassandra, she rolls out of his arms relieving him of her weight. When a loud screech gains his attention, and in a moment, he was on his feet. The bells on his ankles chimed as he sank into his battle stance. From the verdant rock, rubble, and ash, emerges a Shade with a snarling hiss. Cassandra stepped in front of him, shield and sword raised.
“Stay behind me!” She barks, charging forward. He sees another rising from the pond of inky tar and searches for a weapon. He notices among some of the scattered goods and supplies a bow and a quiver of arrows. He takes the bow in hand and draws the string back, arrow loaded. The Shade rises and charges at him as he steadies his breathing, his heartbeat slowing as he releases the arrow into its flesh. The tormented creature roars in agony when he fires another. With no sense of urgency, he continues to fire at the beast until it is slayed. He hears Cassandra’s “Maker take you!” In the background as he slays the first shade before moving on to aid her.
He fires a wave of arrows at the head before Cassandra finishes the monster with a swift decapitation. She faces him and he is struck by the golden aura that radiates from her. Her sword's shimmering aura alerts him, and he quickly draws another arrow, pulling the bow tight as he aims at her. Her face blurs into a blob as he waits for her to strike.
“…Weapon! Now.”
He feels the muscles coil tensely as he drops into a crouch and slowly circles her. He would be ready if she chose to charge. He hears a soft sigh and observed as the blob slowly came into focus as she sheathed her sword and lowered her shield. Need… One… Protect you.” She turns her back to him, shoulders tense. “Your life is threatened enough as it is, and you did agree to come willingly. Let us make haste.”
<<<<<>>>>>
“We are getting closer to the rift. You can hear the fighting.” Cassandra announces as they scaled the flight of stone stairs. His ears tune up and he picks up the clashing of metal, the thunderous pulsing of the nearby Rift, and the haunting melody of fade magic. Is’n mah. <He’s ahead.>
He feels blood surge through his body as he takes a deep, calming breath before the round the corner and rushing into action. He leaps into the air, drawing his string, and with a single breath releases arrows at all Shades visible, rapid-fire. He hears one moving at him from behind and quickly sprints forward, before sliding along the stone. He turns to face the greasy monster and fires into its arms and face.
He gets to his feet and charges at the Shade, he picks up a fallen sword and quickly jumps up, swinging the sword into the Shade’s head. The creature dispersed with a howling cry. He turns around aware of the other shades and spots one gaining ground against an archer. He jumps on top of the creature, legs wrapping its neck. It screeches, bucking to throw him off, he hangs tightly to the creature before grasping his sword and thrusting it directly in the face. It squelches before vanishing into nothing but ooze and bandage.
He spots another charging at him, and he rolls forward and under the beast onto his back; armor thumping as his body connects to the stone. His arrows pierce its back and neck and swiftly it turns to him screeching. He slides under its limb as he reaches for more arrows only to find his quiver empty. “Fenedhis!” He hisses as he discards the bow and flips away from the Shade’s claw. He spots a fallen sword in the snow and maneuvers his way to it. He draws it as the Shade’s claw parries the blow. It rings and he quickly uses the proximity to his advantage, and ducks under its arm before stabbing its torso and pushing into the beast until it hit the hilt.
It lets out a death cry as he pulls the sword horizontally, effectively decapitating the demon. Its body turns to ash and dust as Silvhen lands on stone. He scans the area one last time and sees everyone effectively handling their Shades and chooses that this is an opportune time to close the rift. Before he could connect the Anchor to the Rift, his wrist was abruptly snatched by ... Fen’harel! The Well barks.
Silvhen snarled at his adversary and hooked his arm around his before flipping the elder elf to the ground. His staff clattered against stone as Silver slipped on top, pinning Fen’Harel’s arms to his side. He unsheathes his hidden blade and presses it against Wolf’s throat. Grey eyes met his own and for a moment; Silvhen saw Solas, not the Dread Wolf everything faded into the background as his heart soared but, his body went stiff and rigid. His mind racing, but his eyes never strayed from the still, quiet elf beneath him.
The cold eyes he had come to know were warm, vibrant, and pleasant(?). He stared, dazed until he caught muffled voices speaking. His head snaps to the origin and sees Varric and Cassandra chatting. Memories and thoughts return, and he scrambles off Solas and turns to the rift. He locks the anchor to the pulsing hole and tugs it closed. Old memories of the Anchor resurface and his body spazzes out, shaking violently. He gasps softly, massaging pleasant circles into his glowing palm. He concentrates on his breathing and the rough texture of his palm, slowly regaining his composure. A deep breath through his nose and the winter breeze tickles his skin.
“That is one hell of a hand ya got there! And here I thought we would be ass deep in demons forever.” Silvhen’s head snaps to the low, gravelly voice and his eyes widen. Before him, adjusting their gloves was “Varric Tethras.” He mumbles, wincing at the rasp there was in his voice.
“That's me. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong. You a fan…. or a stalker?”
Silver laughs, something he hasn’t been able to do for a long time. It is odd and yet … pleasant for a moment. He shakes his head and crosses his arms in an x. “Then how do you know me?” Silver takes a small book from his pocket and a thin piece of charcoal and writes his response before flipping the notebook for the dwarf to see.
“A friend?”
*More or Less*
“A quiet one, aren’t you? You got a name?”
*Silvhen. It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Tethras. *
“Nice to meet you too, Stalker.” Silvhen smiled beneath his mask as his cheeks flushed. His smile felt... odd. Something told him that he shouldn't be smiling. Why? He wondered.
*Then for me it’s Tethras*
The dwarf grinned at him, adjusting his gloves and sleeves into place. “Fair enough, Stalker.”
“Dwarf," Both men turn to Cassandra as she looks between them with a frown.
"Prisoner. We must head to the forward camp. Quickly!" She heads down the path, and Solas follows at her heels. Varric and Silvhen turn to each other, the dwarf smiling up at the masked giant. “You heard the Seeker besides Bianca’s itching for some action.”
*Your crossbow is named Bianca?* He prods.
"Yup we have been through the thick and the thin together." He says wistfully, giving Bianca a gentle pat.
*I understand,* Varric’s love for Bianca made him miss his weapons. Varric laughs. "Let's catch up with the Seeker and Chuckles, Stalker."
As they continue to make their way, through demon-infested lands with Silvhen immersing his senses within the environment he ends up at the front, naturally taking the lead. “Hey, Stalker,” Silvhen turns to look down at Varric, who’s holding onto his golden sash as they continue walking. “You’re a fast walker you know that?” He huffs as he tries to remain next to Silvhen who shrugs.
“Met our other companions?” The dwarf prods as Silvhen shakes his head. ‘Not in an official capacity.’
“Well, then it is up to me to make quick intros for everyone. Alright,” The dwarf points his thumb at Cassandra “That there is the Seeker-”
“Cassandra Pentaghast.” She interrupts, glaring at the duo as Varric gives her a sarcastic two-finger salute band a wink before gesturing to him . "-and this is Chuckles.” who bows gracefully. “My name is Solas if there are to be introductions.”
Silvhen feels his stomach flutter and his legs nearly turn to jelly. He nods stiffly at Solas. “I am pleased to see that you still live.” He says with a soft smile and a gentle tilt of his head. The words felt wrong. The Well screamed as its various voices scattered and echoed inside his thoughts. ‘ Harellan <traitor, trickster, rebel>!' was the only word he could make out from the scrambled chatter.
“Translation: He kept that mark from killing you.”
‘You have my gratitude then Solas’ He faces the is grateful for his mask. It hid his scowling snarl, and his silence masked his sniping sarcasm. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t even be here dealing with this bullshit! He wants to cry, scream, throw something and yet he’s also filled with so many questions. Why? Why did you leave? Why was I not enough? Why? Why did you kill them? Why?
His mind grows faint as sweat and grime trickle down his body. This face before him was the one he loved, he once upon a time hated and now, he was not sure what he felt. "You may thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process."
*If you kept the mark from killing me. Does that mean you understand it?* He signs, gesturing towards his ‘marked’ hand.
“In a sense. My travels have allowed me to travel deep into the Fade. I came to offer whatever help I could give to close the Breach. If it is not sealed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”
*That is quite noble of you. What are your plans for after all of this is over?* He heard a younger Silvhen almost burst through to scream at the apostate with something along the lines of; YOU FUCKING LIAR! With a whole bunch of other things in common and every other language, he knew or could speak.
“I would argue it is merely sensible to offer my aid. As for the future, one hopes those in power will remember who helped and who did not.” Silvhen nods.
*I agree.* He scribbles as he recalls the Exalted Council and the shitshow that turned out to be. He let out a shaky sigh as he snaps his tiny book closed and tucks it away in the folds of his armor as they come across several corpses. Silvhen is quick to loot and carefully pose them. He closes their eyes; brings their hands to their chest and wishes them a safe and peaceful journey to their afterlife. Whatever that may look like for them. He ends up scouting ahead of the group as he paid respect to the corpses of both innocents and soldiers alike.
“What do you guys think?” He hears Varric ask as his ears shift slightly, to tune in more.
“Of?” He hears Solas ask, with a hint of amusement.
“Stalker.”
“If that is the epithet you’ve chosen for our dear prisoner. He is certainly an interesting man. What of him?”
“Ya know….” He chuckled at Varric’s exasperated sigh. The bangles’ bells chimed as he continued forward, bare soles touching the winter frost of the dead soil.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, Master Tethras, and would appreciate you illuminating your question further.”
“Don’t you guys think it’s a bit strange to see how ‘decorated’ he is for a warrior?”
“It’s not a concern, it’s more curiosity.”
“His silence is also strange,” Cassandra notes.
“Yeah, which bugs me because he said my name.”
“He said your name?!” Cassandra asks accent heavy with suspicion.
“Yeah. Tripped me up too, because he has not peeped another word since.”
“Perhaps he can only speak a few words and simple phrases,” Solas suggests.
“Maybe.”
Silvhen catches movement in the distance, whips around, lifts his mask just above his lips, and whistles at the trio. They all seem startled as they turn to him. He waves Varric down and starts to sign to him.
“He found trouble!” Varric relays as Silvhen leaps into the air, sword in hand, and brings it down upon the Shade. The blade cut through the demon’s head. He exhales as he pulls out the blade and scans the field. Silvhen spots a Wraith and charges at it. He ducks under its fireballs and slices it with his sword. In 3 powerful strokes, it vanishes.
“Impressive,” Cassandra notes, appraising him. He bows before pointing at her. ‘You too, Lady Cassandra.’
“Where did you learn? Surely an elf does not need heavy weaponry.” Silvhen quickly whips out his book from under his chest plate armor and writes.
*They do not, usually, but It is one of many different skills I have picked up from friends.*
“Who did you learn Swordsmanship from?”
*I learned from…. From one of the greatest women, I have ever had the honor to meet and fight alongside.’
“Where is she now?” His thoughts strayed to his Cassandra. He remembered their late-night talks of books, of belief, and of simpler times. A sudden flash and he saw her hazel eyes, her grim smile, and felt her gloved hand gently caressing his cheek. “I-” her voice is cut off as he pushes the memory away and turns to (present) Cassandra.
His head droops as he shakily scribbles. *Dead.*
“I apologize. I did not mean to.”
*It is fine. I cannot fault you for your curiosity. * He catches her face softening as he turns away and makes his way off the frozen lake and up a flight of stairs. Varric nudges Silvhen gently. "So, are you innocent?" He asks. Silvhen nods. "Should have spun a story."
Silvhen chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. 'My story-weaving skills are not that great, Tethras. I will leave those to you.'
"If you ever find yourself in a cinch, again make sure you spin the narrative so it can be more believable and less prone to result in premature execution."
Silvhen smiles fondly. 'You are not the first to tell me so.' He signs, recalling his meeting Varric for the first time. How naïve and soft he once was. It seems ages away from who he is now. After he ascended the flight of stairs, they continued down the snowy stone path passing by the occasional fire. Throughout the journey and encounters with demons, Silvhen blanked out. His companions occasionally exchanged small talk with each other, but he remained quiet and vigilant.