strangers in fate

He sensed it the moment she'd allowed herself to be known. Mythal was alive and treading over the same land he had since claimed as his own. The death of Francesco Campana wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped it would be. In fact, it was a bit of a pity considering what he might have compelled the king to do with the right amount of encouragement. But alas, he was forced to make do with the widowed queen and her brat son with little clue on how to run an empire and maintain consistent control.

That sort of control, the complete and all consuming control he craved was unable to be carried out by anything less than ruthless ambivalence. Unfortunately, the only Campana even remotely close to assuming that quality was dead. Part of him wondered if he'd been too hasty killing Francesco only to be remembered that the late king still served a purpose in his death. The death of a ruler, once a bastion of hope and leadership to an otherwise wayward people, had the power to topple a nation if the dissent was allowed to fester unchecked. That's what he was counting on. Control to him meant wiping the slate clean completely so as to foster a new beginning.

He meant to cull Thedas down to the last cinder. 

And now he would have to contend with Mythal and her merry band of delusional followers.

He loved her once, but that love had quickly soured the moment she chose The Dread Wolf as her eternal companion. That eventually morphed into a seething, obsessive anger, a hunger that would likely never be satiated. He collected his prizes, echoes of her essence so that he might possess her in some capacity, even if it meant never being able to destroy her in the ways he craved. 

After his coup of Antiva City, Elgar'nan was turning his sights to new endeavors. Endeavors that involved much in the way of confronting Mythal with maniacal intent bolster every move and decision he made from here on out. He wanted her neutralized so as to further his objective. 

He walked in a grove outside of the city, the flora still bouncing back from his fiery arrival. It was soothing to him to watch the decay of a once vibrant thing, it reminded him of the souls he'd left in his wake throughout the millennia. There was a strange beauty in the empty husks left behind. He stopped suddenly, eyes looking curiously skyward. 

Took you long enough, pet His tone was jovial, though he continued to look up and knowing that she could hear him no matter where he directed his voice. 

He was speaking to her.

It should not have caught her by surprise the way it did.

She’d known this would happen.

Elgar’nan would know the moment she was made whole again.  And, she knew as well, that it would only be a matter of time before he contacted her.  He was too proud, too enraged, too far gone not to.

The day was beautiful, the sun brilliant and warm, the air crisp, Mythal basking in the song she could hear as the stones of Skyhold hummed to her.  Their song was quiet now, muted after thousands upon thousands of years, but the magic, the power, of her people were not so easily dismissed.  Walking upon the ground here felt a bit like… home.  She settled into it, let it wash over her, let it fill her so that there was no room for him to seek and attempt to worm his way in.  That was his way.  As insidious as he was lacking in all subtlety.

She remembered enough.  That was what made him so dangerous.

She could have loved him, once.  She might have, were it not for his belief in his own self-importance.  But her beloved Dread Wolf had been everything that Elgar’nan was not, and that had been the end of that.  Not that he had ever forgiven her for denying him, the slight she’d inflicted upon his ego.  It festered still, and she very nearly recoiled the moment his thoughts touched hers, his voice slipping along her senses.

He could do no more than that while she was still ensconced within Skyhold.

Is it though? she answered back, soft and demure.  But her eyes glittered as she looked up at the sky, knowing that wherever he was, they looked upon the same sun, the same clouds.  I would have thought my death would have brought you great joy.  Have you run out of other creatures to hate then?

It was quiet in the immediate wake of his astral prodding. He felt a peace blossom from inside of him then, the kind that settled like a warm embrace. Even if she refused his summons, she could no longer hide her existence. Their connection was eternal and entirely unique as the powerful duo they became in their time.  Their names became synonymous with various meanings that transcended generation upon generation until they were less tangible being and more omnipotent entity. Long after their death, they were worshiped; feared and revered and eventually the kind of legend that mortals took for granted. They were forgotten, their lessons now unlearned. Their world became a reality of unwashed masses, and heinous corruption that begged to be corrected with absolutist finality. 

Theadas was ready to fall. 

It was ripe for a rapture and a firm hand to bend its will. This was their battlefield; a long suffering, long corrupted people deserving a true culling of ranks. It was all too easy to take what intrigued them the most, to level civilizations in the name of compromise or a simple disagreement. Their power was complete, truly ultimate capabilities with one glaring weakness. He was blind to failure and in that saw no hesitation in the interest of self preservation when facing his equal. 

Randomly he smiled. 

Having heart her response, he squinted into the sun. Just as he was the mere embodiment, so too did the sun represent another facet of his power. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, his face tipped directly into the sun. I think of your death constantly. It has warmed me these many nights I have awaited your return. His mind paced but his physical form remained perfectly still as if he was completely disconnected from his soul. The astral projection of his voice was far more vibrant in the conversation. Now that you've returned I can share with you my new visions by which to remember you fondly. Thank you for coming back to me. By which he meant an opportunity to kill her again and again and again.

What was it like for those that had been forgotten? Did they still dream? Were they even able to, so reduced to mere fragments of what they had been in life? Did they simply fade away, gradually rendering the whole of their essence to the forces that held the world together? To the forces that sundered things apart? She didn’t know. No, she wouldn’t know, would she? Mythal had never been forgotten. She had been powerful in life; she had become even more so in death — a legend that had grown in the telling, worshipped and spoken of with reverence.

The Fade had been created out of retribution for her.

Elgar’nan, it seemed, held that same sort of single minded devotion, twisted and mangled though, so that the familiar pieces of him that she recognized were made all the more unfamiliar because of it. Are you still so lonely then that you must cling to my shade to bring you joy and comfort? He wouldn’t see it that way. He never had. The fault was hers, as always. As ever, and Mythal could feel the weight of it bearing down on her now, as she had then.

She glanced up towards the sun again, closing her eyes against the glare.

You share nothing, with no one. I remember it well. I have heard tell that you were too much of a coward to kill me, too weak. Isn’t that why you sent another? Goading, prodding. Perhaps he would see through her and know that she sought a reaction from him. Any sort of reaction in which she could gauge the creature he had become, what sorts of madness cling to his thoughts, his mind. Or perhaps he wouldn’t and she could find some way to thwart him, as she’d once done to Andruil. Weaken him before they met face-to-face. For they would. It was inevitable. Drawn together, like the moon and sun of the Dalish creation myths.

Why not simply destroy my shards and those that held them? Surely that would bring you greater peace than this. To know, for certain, that no one and nothing would further stand in his way. But the Dread Wolf was a formidable foe, and she wanted to know what the despot thought of him, her Feredir, now after all this time.

Mythal smiled then, eyes still closed. What she wanted, and what she expected, were not the same. It would be just like Elgar’nan to ignore her questions.

Being thought so little was no novel thing for the god king. In fact, he was content to keep it that way as his underestimation was key in much of his success. Even Mythal who knew him better than most was guilty of as much and in that he found much joy. He encouraged her ire, constantly searching for ways for which to command her attention so she missed the smaller threats looming in her peripheral. The same threats that when amassed would become something she could no longer ignore. So while she thought him lonely and pathetic, he allowed her because it played right into his own motivations for total domination. 

Yes. He said simply. He was not afraid to admit that he needed her for the benefit that a dichotomy like theirs offered. Good and bad. Light and dark. Yin and Yang. Two parts of a whole. One could not be without the other, even if her faith preached good in all things. He simply represented the contrast to her otherwise perfect existence.  

He smiled, allowing his soul to brighten with amusement for her perceive. She sought to demean him with words when he had nothing but time to spare at her expense. You forget that I do not claim to be otherwise. I am alone, yes. I am weak, sure. I am a coward, if you insist. I do not seek love as you do. Far be it from me to understand your fascination with it. What I need, what I crave is your existence on this plane and the next and every other we find ourselves together. Destroying your shards is needless waste. He needed her alive to continue his narrative. 

So destroy me if you must, sic your legion of pious drones. But know this. You destroy yourself in the process. I will always find you. He'd given up trying to make her love him millennia ago, realizing that she was far more a value to him as an unrequited obsession than soul mate as she'd vowed to the Dread Wolf. 

I put the knife in Arithari's hand so that when you died, her face might haunt you instead. I do not need credit for something so temporary. Watching her kill you was a thrill I am tempted to repeat. And had with the late Antivan king and his queen. He didn't mind this being a calling card of his if only to watch others continue to underestimate and undervalue his true influence. Dance with me All-Mother, remind me of your worth for it seems you have forgotten mine.

Dealing with him was wearying. That realization surprised her a little. Had it always been this way? Mythal did not think it had. There had been a time when she found his determination and his zeal to be invigorating, perhaps even inspiring. Her smile was faint, and it held a trace of sadness to it. He was enjoying this. As much as he could enjoy anything at all outside of his delusions and his sense of grandeur. He had not always been like this either. How odd, to find some sort of nostalgia in that he was familiar — despite everything that he’d done, despite the fury and the pain he’d caused… to her personally.

He needed her.

Perhaps I have forgotten, Elgar’nan. There are… certain things I seem to have forgotten. That much, she was willing to admit. Feredir himself had told her that she may never remember pieces of her life. And there was a chance that she might recall memories that were not her own, but shared with the vessel that had housed her shards. Had the same happened to Elgar’nan? Would enough of them find a way to change him? Mythal did not think so. He was too fundamentally entrenched in who he was, his sense of identity forged over their long, long lives. How might things be different if he had been a different man? This world is unfamiliar, strange, there is still beauty to it.

Something that would no doubt sicken him. The brightness of his amusement was matched by her own, then. I crave peace, Eldest of the Sun, and in the arms of the one I love, I find it. She told him, even though he would not understand. She did not think he ever would. If you yield, I will not destroy you. The amusement faded. Should that unlikely scenario pass, it would not be her hand that dealt the blow. What would such a thing even look like? Elgar’nan, truly humble, contrite; a decisive victory to be sure.

I do not remember her face as she pushed the blade into my heart. I bear the scar still, but I do not remember. Would that disappoint him? Mythal honestly could not say. He had always been mercurial, quick to anger, even quicker to retribution. Somehow, she doubted that the passing years without her direct influence had helped him any. Perhaps there was a way she unsettle him now. For good, or ill. His calmness was eerie, unnatural, almost.

And how shall we dance, All-Father? With words and barbs? You never seemed to enjoy it otherwise. Unless that, too, has changed over the years? You’ve grown in the time I’ve spent slumbering. Changed. There is a patience to you now. Cunning. But no joy. No peace. Are you not weary?

Weariness was certainly a mutual affliction. She weary of his keen insistence to lob the volley back across the court and he, weary of her lack of inspiration. Yes, he'd once been different, if she recalled. But was that not the point of their long lives? To remain unchanged was to encourage a fate worse than true death. To allow for decay to settle in, while life continued despite the un-churned waters of individuality made for what could only be described as an animated husk blinking and breathing. As much opposition as he offered her, he didn't want her to forget entirely. Else what was the point of all this? 

After all this time, this was their Awakening. It was foretold; portents, prophecy and legend nothwithstanding. Their shards made whole for a purpose. One she seemed to have trouble seeing. Or maybe not and instead she simply rebuked the idea of predestination. It certainly fit the narrative she'd written to date and in that respect, he mightn't begrudge her for the consistency. 

He agreed that there was beauty in this new world, a spirit that had only existed in small concentrations before now. And yet still they consume anything lasting. He didn't have the faith that she did, that much was known to be true of his nature. It was his entire motivation behind hid play at domination. Scorched earth was the great equalizer for the things beyond hope of retribution. These wild concepts he possessed were no doubt the seeds of his demise at the hands of his once close knit cohort. Morningstar, cast out to atone for his supposed sins, cast as a figurehead villain to blame. 

A cluck of his tongue to signal his consideration. Yield, she asked? To what end? For the apparent betterment she envisioned? He thought not. 

I can offer you peace. You and the Dread Wolf. You may even have Arithari at your side once more. Though it seemed little consideration was given to her. Perhaps her purposes were not as essential as he originally surmised. He expected  Mythal to infer the words left unsaid in his offer. That being her complete surrender. Perhaps then, might she understand why he could not do the same for her?  But I'm afraid that would require use to align what we consider joyous and peaceful Because he possessed much in the way of both by his standards.

How one-sided this all was to him. We consumed as well… all that we built, we destroyed in one way or another. And here, here Mythal felt a strange pang of sadness. It was not hidden, this sudden influx of grief, and with a sigh, she showed it to him, and she did not know if she felt better or worse for it. The stones remember, the ground we walked on, and yet no one else does, save us. Does that make you sad as well, All-father?

Did he even feel sadness? She was curious.

Mythal tilted her face further up towards the sky, letting the rays of the sun warm her. Would that he could learn to temper his rage, his fire… but the time had long passed since he’d let her make the attempt. To soothe him, to calm him… surely, there was new purpose to their lives now? To try something different, to do differently than they had so that they would not repeat the mistakes of the past. And yet, still, he waged war, bloody conquest, believing that he and he alone was superior enough to guide the world through what would be its reawakening. But he did not see… razing the entirety of the world, all worlds, to ash would not awaken anything. Without life to nourish and sustain, he would rule over nothing but ashen wastelands, barren of any flowering things.

Was his rage still so great?

He countered her offer with one of his own, and she smiled faintly, even going so far as to chuckle. So that there will be peace, Elgar'nan. But even as she spoke, she knew, there would be no peace between them. There would never be. Their views were too fundamentally different. There was a time when we could align our beliefs. But it was obvious now that such a thing was no longer possible. No longer even conceivable. Peace. Somehow, I do not think that we will ever come to an agreement as to what constitutes peace for each other. The faint smile stayed on her face though, Mythal taking in a slow, deep breath before letting it out just as slowly.

So. We are to war with one another as we did. I will not be defeated easily, you know this All-father. I know you will not be defeated easily, and so in that regard, we shall not be disappointed, hmm? Promise me you will leave my daughter out of this, and when the time comes, I will meet you, face to face, on the battlefield.