Summary: Conan finds himself alone in Arlathan one day, not realizing he's about to come face-to-face with something that's followed him his entire life. It's time for the wolf to awaken, though he's going to do it in more than one way.
(Day 1 prompt for @rookappreciationweek!)
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The fun thing about Arlathan Forest was that not only was it full of things that wanted to kill him for the high crime of bumping into it, but it was impossible to get around without falling deep into some new nightmare.
“Well, this is delightful.”
Conan sighed as he stared down at the map he had been given before setting off. Like all maps in Arlathan, they didn’t really work. Maybe once, before the sky had opened and everything had gone insane, there might have been some use to them. Unfortunately, things had gone insane, so all it really wound up being was a pretty piece of paper with some ink on it.
Which, great, love that.
Today’s strangeness had him in the middle of a misty glen where everything was upside-down and colored various shades of pink and blue. While it was pretty to look at, staring down at the sky was making his stomach churn something fierce. All he could do was keep his mouth shut as he glanced around, trying to find the trick that would get him back to a more normal part of the forest.
That was the trick, of course. Arlathan wasn’t malicious, or even bad if he was going to be honest. It was a forest dealing with the scar of what the magisters of Tevinter had done to it and its people ages ago, so maybe the defensiveness could be understood. After all, he would bite too if someone poked him enough times, and he wasn’t an ancient forest that had seen massive bloodshed.
Instead, he was just the idiot who had fallen asleep in what had seemed to be a safe clearing.
Well, saying he had ‘fallen asleep’ wasn’t really the best way to put it. That implied he had chosen to take a nap on the forest floor, using a rock for a pillow. In reality, he hadn’t much choice in the matter. Ever since he had been a small child, Conan had been prone to falling asleep in the middle of nowhere, and it had only gotten worse as he aged. Now that magic was off in the forest, things were even worse.
So, maybe there was a point to Strife’s words about him not going out alone into the forest… well, he could be annoying about it later once he got back to camp.
“Alright, so this isn’t perfect.” Conan grumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck, where the rock’s sharper side had buried into his skin. He wasn’t bleeding, thankfully, but he was going to have to scrub dirt out the next time he bathed – whenever that was going to be. He had to get out alive first. “At least there’s nothing trying to kill me yet.”
Naturally, the forest had a sense of humor – as soon as he spoke, he heard the low growl of a wolf that set his teeth on age. He whipped around, eyes wide as he tried to spot where it was coming from. Yet, unsurprisingly, he was alone.
At least for the moment.
“Real funny, forest.” Conan shook his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Sometimes, he swore Arlathan could read his mind. He could be walking through, thinking about what he was going to eat… and then he was running from a giant leg of chicken still squawking at him. Worst of all, once he had gotten away, he hadn’t been able to eat it. But that had been more annoying than dangerous – all it could do was hit against him. Other times it hadn’t been as safe.
He still had scars from the guardians he had had to face early in his career with the Veil Jumpers. Those ancient constructs had been built to last, and they could reanimate at the blink of an eye. It was one of the many reasons why they were in the forest – they were trying to figure it out and keep people safe at the same time.
It was one part guardian, one part detective, and it was enough to bring new Veil Jumpers to Arlathan every day.
“I thought so, young wolf.”
A soft voice, thin like sunlight through a spider web, trickled through his ears. He knew better than to look, but it was hard to resist the urge, so Conan picked up his head and looked around. Just like he thought, he was alone in the misty clearing, staring down at the sky as if just looking at it would turn things around.
“I’m more of a halla if we’re going to be honest. You know.” He gestured to his face, clearly marked with his vallaslin to Ghilan'nain. “Wolves tend to be a lot better at getting through the forest than me anyway.”
There was a tinkle of laughter that reminded him of a funeral bell the Andrastians sometimes had outside the forest – always brought a shiver up his spine when he heard it. His childhood had been full of it at one point, thanks to growing up in kind of an Andrastian cult in the mountains. It was a long story; not a bad one, just one too long to explain sometimes. Either way, he had never gotten used to that sound, and sometimes it had followed him into his nightmares with the crackling of the funeral pyres.
He would never understand why they burned their dead, but then again, he had never been Andrastian to begin with so there was no surprise there.
“You may think yourself a halla, Conan, but I see your fangs.”
For a second, the voice shifted – it sounded like Strife. Strife was back at camp, though, so he wasn’t hanging around creeping out young Veil Jumpers. Besides, even if he was the type to do that, they didn’t have that type of relationship. He was more of a thorn in the elf’s side if he was going to be honest, though he did his best to be otherwise.
“Nice attempt to lure me into a false sense of security by sounding like somebody I know.” He shook his head, picking up the heavy maul he had brought with him named Big Smooshy. “Unfortunately, you tried that last week by trying to be Irelin, so it’s lost some effectiveness.”
His nose was itching, letting him know that the magic was active. The forest was actively doing… something. He wasn’t sure what, he wasn’t a mage. That was for people who understood magic to explain what was going on and then point somebody like him in the direction to fix it. He was a hammer, and he was happy to help there. Explaining magic was outside his wheelhouse.
“Little wolf, you’re so tense. Your heart beats with the forest, and yet you seek to deny it.” He swore the wind caressed his cheek like it would a lover’s – not that he had any experience there either to know what it would feel like.
A shiver ran up his spine, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He jumped back, eyes wide in case the wolf growl came back with a body and teeth attached to it. But there was nothing there but him and the upside-down forest nightmare. Arlathan was just deciding to mess with him in particular today.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His grip tightened on Big Smooshy. “Now, how about you just send whatever you’re planning to attack me with or change the landscape, and I’ll get to fighting so I can go back to camp and get yelled at for going off on my own again.”
There was soft laughter, again like the funeral bell that so often accompanied a crackling pyre and the scent of burnt flesh. The wind pressed hard, until it was hard to breathe. His eyes stung, but he never dropped his guard or his hammer. But for a moment, it was like his life flashed before his eyes.
He saw the wolf.
Conan blinked as he saw it standing before him. This was no simple wolf – he knew it from his dreams and from the space in between his rests. It had followed him for his entire life, at his heels or just out of the corner of his eye when he blinked. Now he was seeing it fully for the first time and…
Well, it was kind of shitty. Honestly, it looked like it had a bad case of mange and way too many eyes to count. Even by Arlathan standards, it was weird looking, and part of him was glad he had never seen it as a child. No doubt if he had seen something like that in his dreams, he would’ve never slept again.
Now? He just wanted to give it a good bath with some herbs to help the fur loss. That had to be itchy.
“You see it now, don’t you?” The soft voice was in his ears, whispering. “It’s followed you all your life, and now it stands before you. What are you going to do, little wolf?”
He would’ve said nothing – it was a sick wolf, why bother it? – but then it started to growl and raise what was left of its hackles. Apparently, the forest wasn’t going to let him get out without a fight.
So… fine.
“You’re not giving me a lot of options, you know?” He grit his teeth as he shifted into a defensive position, just like his father had taught him all those years ago. A different voice filled his ears now, though this was from memory rather than a magic forest’s effects.
Keep your feet steady, Con. Watch your opponent and let them make the first move. You’ve got a bigger weapon; it’s going to slow you down. Look for your opening.
Look for his opening… keep his stance good. No problem, dad. With luck he would be writing home about it later.
Conan didn’t have much to think about what would come next as the wolf advanced on him, faster than he would’ve expected for something that looked so sick. For a second, he worried about madness– but there was no foaming at the mouth or any of the other traditional signs. It just seemed… mad.
So, it bit down hard into the handle of his hammer as he held it up to block. Conan grunted at the sudden change in wait, digging his foot back to keep from being knocked back. The forest never changed – still upside-down, still misty, and still there was the sense that something he couldn’t see was there and enjoying the show.
“Is a big stick with a rock on the end all you have to show for yourself, little wolf?”
The wolf growled, and then suddenly a cracking noise took over the silence. He could feel the strain in Big Smooshy, but before he could pull back, he wound up on his ass from the shift in momentum. Much to his horror, he was only holding the bottom half of his hammer – the upper half was now in his opponent’s jaws.
Then it tossed the hitting half away with a shift of its head. Big Smooshy clattered to the ground below, useless now. Conan just stared at it with wide eyes and a shaking body. There had gone his only weapon – now he was defenseless against a force of nature in a magical forest.
Maybe he should’ve come in with backup after all.
“You’re afraid. Good. Fear brings the most change.” There was the sensation caressing his jaw again. “Show me what you can really do.”
Then the wolf was on him again, faster and angrier than he would’ve expected. Conan, still hard on the ground, could only throw up his hand to keep his face from being bitten first. As he closed his eyes to avoid seeing the blood, he felt a rush of warmth fill the area around him. His fingers tingled, his arms felt both heavy as lead and light as air, and his nose itched as though he had just plunged it straight into a tree in the spring.
And the pain never came.
Instead, the wolf yelped and hit the ground hard some distance away. Conan finally opened his eyes, half expecting to find backup come to save the day. But he was alone in the upside-down forest, surrounded by mist and mystery.
Well, not entirely – there was a burnt wolf whimpering off to the side, charred bones sticking through the singed pelt.
“What the hell?” He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see blood there. However, there was nothing but a glowing mark on his palm – a round circle that was rapidly disappearing. “What’s going on?”
“You are coming into your own now, little wolf.” The voice was further away now, as if it were walking away. “One day, you will face the real one. I pray you will be ready then.”
And then the whole area went white. Conan winced and shut his eyes tightly to block it out, and his ears were filled with the rushing of wind. For a moment, he wondered if he was going to be attacked again, but no pain came.
Instead, he heard the chirping of birds and the rustling of the undergrowth.
“Huh?”
Conan finally opened his eyes and realized that he was staring up at the trees rather than down at the sky. More importantly, the forest was back to being done in shades of brown and green instead of pink and blue. Life had returned to Arlathan, or as much as it could in an ancient forest marred by unimagined tragedy and bathed in blood magic.
And he? He was… confused.
Much to his horror, he realized that Big Smooshy was still broken into two pieces. He reached out, taking the bottom half. It was strange, feeling it so light. It had been his constant companion since he was a teenager, and now it was in pieces. It was an easy fix, but… the fact it had happened at all still shocked him.
Much as the end catching fire did.
Eyes wide, Conan jumped back and dropped Big Smooshy’s handle. The fire sputtered and died the moment it hit the forest floor, instead of spreading like a regular blaze would have. Even in Arlathan, fire tended to behave like it would outside the forest.
Well, regular fire did. Magical fire was a different story.
“What’s going on?” He glanced down at his hands – the mark was back, but it was fading again. “What the hell is this?”
His question was met with the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned, bracing for impact if he found himself in another magicked part of the forest. Much to his relief, he knew who those footsteps belonged to, and why they were running over.
Prosperity was his fellow Veil Jumper, along with one of his closest friends. They had joined at the same time, her to help with her magic and him to hit things that needed hitting. It made them quite the pair, at least in his opinion.
But the best part was that she knew weird magic stuff better than anyone.
“Conan, there you are.” She sighed in relief as she approached, footsteps soft and measured. “You had me worried when I heard you wandered off on your own.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you all dirty? Did you pass out again?”
Conan frowned as he rose to his feet. “I wound up passing out into a weird bubble.”
He took a deep breath. “Pro, I saw the wolf. It attacked me this time and then it caught fire somehow after it broke Big Smooshy.”
His hand still tingled in memory of what had happened. He could feel the tingle throughout his entire body now too, as if he had entered another bubble without realizing. Yet everything was so normal that it couldn’t have been anything but the regular forest.
The only thing that was different now was him.
Prosperity went over to take the lighter half of his weapon, frowning as she examined the burnt tip, It was hard to read her face then, and more than anything he wished she would shake her head and say it was some weird side effect of the Fade or Arlathan’s magic. But that moment never came as she glanced over at him.
"We should get back to camp. This burn only comes from magically created fire.”
His eyes widened. “Magic? Pro, I’m not a mage! That’s your department, not mine!”
And yet, he knew deep down that she was right. Maybe that was what the forest had been talking about the entire time after it had gotten him into the bubble. Was that why the wolf always followed him, stalking him in his dreams? Had they been waiting for the moment to catch him off guard and…
Well, he didn’t know. It was all too confusing at that moment, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep until things made sense again. But he didn’t have time to do that, with a forest constantly shifting and changing and filling with even stranger dangers. Whatever this was, he had to get a handle on it to help his fellow Veil Jumpers.
But… did it have to be magic? He was a warrior… was a warrior? Now he had no idea what he was anymore. And that was the last thing he needed when reality itself was changing every time he turned around or took a wrong step.
Maybe he should’ve just stayed in Skyhold… the worst thing there had been the Andrastians.
Assan and Manfred are gonna be great for Conan. They can tell something is off about him (narcolepsy) and can do something about it.
Maybe Manfred was the one who put a sleeping Conan on the corpse slab because he knew Emmrich expects people there and would see him and be able to help. Maybe he didn't make the connection between alive and dead, but Conan was safe. Top marks for that. Definitely likes talking to the little dude once he wakes up.
Assan is more the medical support griffin who lets Conan lay on him in the courtyard and makes sure he doesn't roll off into the Fade. Davrin might catch his nurturing side earlier because of that. Conan appreciates his purring when he wakes up and learns quickly what Assan's favorite scratchy points are.
Hell, Spite can probably be included too. He can tell when something's off about him when he's close to dropping off and can elbow Lucanis in the kidneys that Rook is going to go down soon. Makes for an easier sleep point. High fives for Spite.
Conan has many friends. Sometimes they're not human but they're just as good.
Here's the first hint from Eimear that she and Solas were an item long ago. She tries not to think about him, but it's hard considering how much her son takes after him in the looks department.
Conan, of course, has no idea who his biological father is because she's never told him. He's never been too curious - he has a dad. Krem's his dad. Whoever contributed the sperm didn't stick around, so why should he care?
You're gonna care, honey, he's trying to bring down the Veil. And he's going to find out soon... those wolf statuettes tell one hell of a story. He's not gonna like that last one...
Conan names his weapons. His staff is Long Blasty, where his Orb/Dagger combo is Lil'Stabby and Lil'Splody. This is in line with his pre-mage life, where he wielded the mighty Big Smooshy, son of Big Smashy. Krem got him Big Smashy when he started training as a two hander, and Iron Bull taught him how to personalize it. Big Smashy broke when he was 14, and the Chargers made sure part of it was forged into Big Smooshy.
He really does have a talent with names. Maybe it's a good thing his son was a collab naming process...
Then again, his son's full name IS Anders Isabela Bull Aclassi-Hawke of Clan Lavellan so... maybe not lol. We just call him Andy.
I gotta decide between two prompts for the free day. It's either Conan and Lace playing the what are people thinking game after the Big Reveal, or it's Isana realizing he wants to transition physically after nearly dying to the dragon in Treviso.
Both are gonna get written, it's just a question of when.
I have plans for the free day involving my Solas' Bastard Son Fun Run Rook Conan. The question is, should it be done pre-reveal that Solas fathered him, or after?
