The New Ways of Old Gods Chapter 2

Part 2
The Wolf in the Temple

Astlyr tightened the cinch on the saddle of her favorite mount.  A dappled grey, thick legged gelding named Smoke.  He turned his massive head towards her for a pat.  She looked across the horse's back to see where her friends were preparing their own mounts.  Dorian's a handsome bay with an elegant neck.  Cullen's charger was palomino, and its glistening coat matched the knight's gold colored hair.  Astlyr stifled a smile.  She couldn't see the short horse Varric rode.  The beast was not small enough to be a pony, but compared to the others it was tiny.

The stable master was also saddling a dun colored pack horse.  This was Cole's preferred mount, though he only rode when he felt like it.  Usually he just popped into existence when they had reached their destination.  Astlyr usually tied the horse's reins to her own saddle so it would keep up with the group.

“Are we ready?” She asked.  She titled her head to peer out of the stable at the sun, which barely shone above the wall of the keep.  She had woken her companions early to begin their strange adventure.  The ride to the temple would be a long one, but she was also not eager to attracted attention to herself.  She had even sworn the stable master to secrecy.  He simply shook his head and smiled.  He knew better than to question her after all the places she had been, not the least of which had been into the Fade itself.  Twice.

“We're ready,” Varric opened the stall door and led his mount out into the cool dawn.  Frost was clinging to the grass, but his horse still made a grab for it with an eager chomp.

Astlyr checked the satchel she had hanging at her side.  It had once contained maps, and any herbs she collected in her travels, but now it was full of ruffled feathers and two mismatched eyes.  The little falcon peeped, as if in greeting  She shook her head and led Smoke out of the stable.

Once they were all in the saddle (Varric needed the aid of a mounting block) the group set out.  Their breath clouded before them in little puffs and Dorian muttered something about being glad he brought his warmest cloak.  Cole appeared briefly on his horse, who was a docile beast that didn't flinch at the sudden weight.  “You alright to come today?” Astlyr asked him as she nudged Smoke to a trot.

“I am,” the spirit boy answered, watching the bird intensely where it peeked out of the satchel.

“Alright,” she said.  It was true, Cole had seemed much calmer that day.  Well, calm for him.

The boy vanished again and the ride began in earnest.

~~~~~

By the time they reached the temple dusk was threatening again.  Astlyr shifted.  She would never admit that her ass was thoroughly sore after a day in the saddle.  They had only broken their journey briefly to have lunch beside a rather picturesque river, before moving on again.  Astlyr was pleased that they encountered no bandits, nor any sign of a stray red templar or two.  Instead they spied homes being repaired and people preparing their fields for winter.  She recognized her own inquisition soldiers, now with no one to battle, aiding in the efforts.

Astlyr tilted her head back, eying the temple before her.  It was a wild looking place and extremely overgrown.  Statues of a winged woman, which she could now identify as Mythal, the all mother and goddess of the elves, stood sentinel.  Their eyes seemed to watch her, Astlyr thought, as she slid from the saddle and patted Smoke's thick neck.

She slipped off the horse's bridle and saddle not know how long they would be inside the temple.  Her friends did the same with their own mounts.  “What do you suppose the bird wants in there?” Varric asked as his newly freed horse charged eagerly to the nearest shrub to devour it.

“I don't know,” Astlyr chewed a corner of her lip.  She had met Mythal, or at least someone claiming to be the old god, once before, and not nearly long enough ago for her liking.  “The Eluvian here is broken, at least according to Morrigan.  The well of sorrows is empty of all its knowledge.  I'm not sure what the bird wants.  Perhaps it is an elvish spirit and this is where it feels at home.”

“Could it be a demon?” Dorian asked, pulling his staff from its place on his back.  “I know we're all thinking it.  It could be leading us to some elaborate trap.”

“It is not a demon,” Cole appeared beside him and Dorian jumped, then rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Well, as long as you're sure,” Cullen muttered, staring uncertainly at the temple.  “Was this place always so...unsettling?”

Astlyr shook a cloudy feeling from her mind.  The time she had visited the temple before she had sensed something, but it had not felt dangerous.  Powers moving in the trees.  But it was warm, perhaps even welcoming.  Had it been because she had Solas, an elf, with her?  Now she was without one, and this elven place did not like the look of her and her companions.  “Just...be on your guard,” she said, sliding her shield into her arm.  When she did so the bird in its satchel was completely concealed from sight.

They entered cautiously, eying the altar which stood before them.  Astlyr wondered if she should redo the rituals she had used that day to enter the temple as a friend.  As she approached the tiles before her glowed bright golden and blue.  It seemed to remember her.  She gestured her followers on.  Occasionally she glanced at the bird to see if it was having any reaction, but it sat docilely in the bag.  She began wondering if it had been a fluke that he had pointed this place out.  Perhaps he had just been unable to reach the part of the map he had intended to show her.  Perhaps they should have gone to the Temple of Sacred Ashes first.  Maybe the bird was just crazy...or she was.

They walked on, past the gigantic hole in the ground that Corypheus' men had used to reach The Well.  She had not been able to follow so easily.  She had felt compelled to preform the temple's rituals.  To be welcomed into that place rather than smashing her way in.  As Tal-Vashoth she had grown up away from the Qun, and her mother and father did not believe in The Maker either.  She had never much pondered what she believed in, but she could admit to herself that the lore of the elvish gods were what intrigued her the most.  They were so ancient, yet still seemed to have some pull in the world.  She had seen little sign of The Maker or his supposed bride, even if Astlyr herself was supposed to have been linked to them.

Suddenly the bird rustled in the satchel.  Astlyr lifted her shield arm and looked down.  It was staring intently out at something.  She followed its gaze.  The statue of the wolf.  The only one she had seen in the temple.  Solas had explained that the Dread Wolf was not usually found in Mythal's temples.  That the creature was believed responsible for the old gods' disappearance.  As they drew nearer Astlyr noticed that this statue had been recently cleaned.  Cleared of moss and vines, which grappled with every other edifice in the place.  “Someone has been here,” she muttered.  “Cole, do you sense anyone?”

Cole seemed distracted.  “Many bad things have happened here... I leave my child beside the alter.  I cannot care for her.  I pray that the goddess will shine her light over her.” he tilted his head another way, hat flopping, “I pray to the goddess for life.  This illness has hollowed me out and left nothing but pain and emptiness.  My wife will no longer sleep with me.”  He stepped to the right, as though trying to hone in on something.  “My sister and I come every day.  The sky is closed and we pray, but no one answers.  We have prepared for this all our lives, why does he not come?  What have we done to displease him?”

The bird fluttered in the satchel, straining towards the statue.  Astlyr slid her hands in and lifted the creature free from the bag.  It bit her hand and clamored.  Fortunately she was wearing gloves or she might have dropped the fragile beast.  “Alright, alright!” she said, setting it down in a clump of weeds at the foot of the wolf statue.  “Is that what you want?”

The bird gave a satisfied peep and settled down, as if to rest, though what a dead bird needed with rest she couldn't say.  She and her friends did a quick sweep of the area looking for danger.  Cole picked up several more painful memories, but nothing which sounded like it pertained to the situation at hand.  All Astlyr saw in the fading dusk light were beautiful statues and some very healthy looking plant life.  A nug scampered by and Varric shot it deftly.  “Dinner,” he explained, pulling the crossbow bolt free of the pink flesh.  “It looks like birdy is settling in for the night, so I assume we are as well.”

“I suppose we are.  We carried the thing all the way here, so we might as well stay and figure out what it wants.” Astlyr sighed, walking back to the stone wolf.  She examined the creature's face, but the years had smoothed away most of the details.  Still, the eyes seemed to lock on her from time to time, if she should happen to look suddenly up at it.  She built a fire under those watchful eyes, and as the stars came out to decorate the sky, which they could see easily through the open roof of the temple, she settled herself down.

They ate nug roasted over the fire and chatted.  Cole moved about occasionally, as he did not need to eat.  As he passed Astlyr he brushed her back with his leg and hesitated, “I don't know who I am.  What is the purpose of me?  Am I destined to be judged only by a mark on my hand?  Because I came to the aid of an old woman instead of turning away?  Who am I, truly?”

“Cole, sweetie,” she touched his arm to snap him out of it, “I told you not to do that to us so much.”

Cole dipped his head, “I'm sorry.  I am getting better.  I do not pluck your sadness from the air, but sometimes when I touch you it is harder...”

“It's alright,” she smiled at him, “just keep working on it.”

He nodded, and didn't look quite so forlorn, which Astlyr was coming to know as the closest he would get to a happy expression.  Cullen turned to Varric, “so you know any stories about old wolfie here?” he gestured to the statue which almost seemed to be watching over them.

“I think I heard one once,” the dwarf cleared his throat.  “The wolf god is called Fen'Heral by the elvish people and they believe he is a trickster and never one to cross.  One day a village was being plagued by a monster that came at night to attack them.  They called on Fen'Heral to slay the beast.  So fen'Heral came and he fired an arrow straight up into the air with his great bow.  Then he turned and began to leave.  The people called after him...” here Varric did comical villager voices, “But you will not stay and protect us as we asked?!”  Then he did a booming voice for the wolf, “that is not what you asked.” the dwarf cleared his throat, smiling at the eager listeners.  Even Cole had plopped down beside Astlyr, legs folded and eye sparkling.  Varric continued, “so that night the beast did come, and it slaughtered all the remaining hunters.  Then the beast murdered all the mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers in the village.  Finally it turned to the children, who were huddled all together, and it opened its mouth to gobble them up...” he paused for dramatic effect, hands poised before the fire to cast monster shadows on the wall.  “When the Fen'Heral's arrow came down and straight into the beast's open mouth, killing it on the spot!  The children wept for their slain families, but they lived on.  The people say that when you call upon the wolf he will always do as he promises, but he will seldom do as you expect.” Varric finished with solemnity.

“Maybe we shouldn't be camping just here,” Dorian said tensely, glancing up at the looming statue.  In the firelight the beast did look a little hungry, Astlyr thought with a shudder.  But the bird seemed more content than she had yet seen it. It nestled in the tuft of grass, looking restful.

“Perhaps not,” she admitted, “but we're here now, so we might as well see it through.  Besides, we've defeated demons, dragons and just about anything else that thought it was a good idea to go up against us.  I think we can handle whatever this wolf throws our way.”

“We've never fought a dog before,” Cole mused as he walked across a fallen log with perfect balance.

“Thank you, kid,” Varris snarked, checking Bianca's bowstrings to be sure they were well waxed.

“So who takes first watch?” asked Cullen, who was setting out everyone's bedrolls.

“I don't sleep,” Cole hopped down from the log and strolled back into the firelight.

“Perhaps not,” Cullen agreed, pulling his sword of its sheath and laying it beside his bedroll.  “but you do tend to wander a bit.  Perhaps we should take it in turns to stay up with him.”

“I'll go first,” said Dorian.  “You all get some rest and I'll keep an eye on spooky and spookier,” he gestured from the wolf to Cole with a wry smile on his lips.

“I'll take second,” Varric volunteered.

Astlyr spoke up next.  “So that's me on the dawn shift then,” said Cullen, skillfully unbuckling the side of his armor and pulling his breastplate off.  Then he shrugged off the chain mail shirt he wore under it.

Astlyr did likewise with her armor.  Sleeping in chain mail was unpleasant, even more so if you were sleeping on the ground.  Finally she propped up her pillows so she could sleep without driving her horns into the dirt.  “Good sleep everyone,” she said to her companions.

“Good sleep,” They replied, either settling down for slumber, or for watchfulness.

Astlyr spared one more look at the wolf statue and the creature nestled beneath it.  The bird was looking at her again, with the same eery intensity as he had the night before.  His single eye a light orb as it reflected the firelight.  “I really hope we're not camping in an elven temple under a wolf for no reason,” she muttered to the bird.  It blinked slowly.  She sighed and fell asleep.


She dreamed again, as she had expected to, of the fade.  Green, glowing, ominous, and made more-so by the sound of a nearby dragon.  This time she was certain she could hear the beating of massive wings in the stillness.  She looked for the wolf, but she didn't see him.  Then the ground shook violently and Astlyr almost fell over, grabbing a small, twisted tree.  As she grasped it it turned to ash in her hand and floated away.

Then a new sound reached her ears.  Voices.  Hundreds of voices, all speaking together.  She couldn't separate anything they were saying.  They chattered, there was singing, even what she thought was weeping.  She resisted the urge to clamp her hands over her ears.  Finally the voices joined together and all hissed together “Fen'Heral,” then their deafening, unintelligible voices surged on.

“Fen'Heral?” Astlyr tried.  “Dread Wolf, are you here?”  Up until that moment she had not even been certain she could speak here.  Her voice rang out, instead of being drowned by the cacophony of other speakers.

And there he was, looking as small and scrawny as before, but with the same, very blue eyes.  Just as the night before she reached towards him and he placed his nose against her hand.  Then she work up.

It was Varric's shift on watch and she blinked awake to hear the dwarf singing quietly.  “Follow the river,
speak to the giver,
gentle the mother,
who calls me home.
Lost in the wild,
I am a child,
finding the mother,
who calls me home.”  His voice was husky and pleasant.

Astlyr smiled, propping her head up on a hand, her dreams already fading from her memory.  “I don't think I've heard that one,” she said, keeping her voice quiet.  She could make out the shapes of Cullen and Dorian.  She had to stifle a giggle when she was the mage.  He had practically kicked out of his bed roll and was sleeping in a position that would leave Astlyr with a serious kink in her back the next morning.  He looked restful, if disheveled.

“That song's one of mine,” Varric admitted.  “Not sure how I feel about it yet.  Once I put some polish on it I'll sing it for everyone some night.”

“I like it,” Cole stepped out of the shadows, his pale face shining in the firelight.

“I'm glad you approve,” Varric chuckled.  “You woke up kind of suddenly, Inquisitor.  Bad dreams?”

Astlyr gave Varric a mock-annoyed look, “I told you to stop calling me Inquisitor.  I'm Astlyr.  I don't know how long I'll be the Inquisitor, but I'll always be Astlyr.”

“Maybe I'll just call you 'pointy'” he gestured to her horns.

“Pass,” she groaned.  “I really don't need more reminders of how different I am from everyone else.  As to my dreams,” she pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, “I think it had something to do with him,” she gestured towards the wolf statue, “but I can't remember what.”

“Well, hopefully it wasn't a prophecy then.  One of those 'you're destined to save the world...or maybe bring the wolf god a good stew bone.'” Varris grinned as he tucked himself into his bedroll, “As long as you're up, I'm going to turn in.”

Astlyr nodded and got comfortable.  She scooted herself to sit with her back against the statue.  The bird, beside her hip, looked up at her and made a quite peep.  She petted its head with her finger and it seemed pleased.  Cole walked over and sat on her other side.  She stared ahead into the quiet darkness.  “Anything happening out here tonight?” Astlyr asked.

“No,” Cole said.  “I can feel the past moving here.  There is so much.”

“Its not too overwhelming is it?” She asked.

“No,” a quick grin flitted on his wan face, “Skyhold is worse.  All that pain is present.  Everyone is so loud sometimes.  I like to go high up some times.  Pain stays near the ground.”

“I did not know that.”

“How could you?” Cole asked, his voice matter of fact.

“Cole.  Do you miss Solas?  I know you and he were friends.”  She tilted her head to see his face.

“Yes,” he answered, simply.  “I know you miss him too.  Astlyr...”

“Yes, Cole?”

“I wanted you to know that I'm glad you helped.  When that woman- the divine- when she called for help, you went.  That memory was how I first knew I could trust you.  You often wonder if it was a mistake.  Helping is never a mistake.” he prodded the fire with a twig.  “I am happy you are my friend, Astlyr.”

“I'm happy that I'm your friend too, Cole,” she patted his knee, hoping the gesture wouldn't cause him to voice any pain she might be having to the world.  This time he said nothing, but he rewarded her with a thin smile.

After her turn on watch Astlyr woke Cullen, reported that she and Cole had seen nothing of note, and fell back asleep.  This time she had no dreams.

~~~~~

She was woken in the morning by Cullen's hand squeezing her shoulder.  She opened her eyes to see him kneeling beside her, his face tense.  “There's someone here,” he hissed.

Astlyr blinked in the sunlight that was already making the temple glow golden and green.  “Where,” she breathed, casually reaching for her shield.

“Right there,” Cullen gestured with his head.

Two elves stood, staring open mouthed at the group camped in front of the wolf statue.  The two seemed as surprised as Astlyr and her friends.  The quanri took in the pair with a practiced eye.  A man and a woman, with youthful faces which bore identical tattoos.  These red markings seemed to be shaped like fangs coming down over their brows and on their chins, as though they looked out from the mouth of a beast.  The young man was gripping a mage's staff and the woman had a bow slung across her slender shoulder.  Both had brown hair with a slight curl to it, and even stood at the same height.  Astlyr guessed they were related.  “Er,” she stood up slowly, “hello.”

“Are you...” the man spoke, his dark eyes wide as two saucers.

“The Inquisitor, yes,” Astlyr sighed, watching out of the corner of her eye as Cullen woke the others.  She had to stifle a smile at Dorian's hair, which was all sticking up on one side.  He had a line of drool on his cheek. Cole was no where to be seen.  Good thing we look so intimidating, Astlyr thought wryly, squaring her shoulders and wondering how her own hair was behaving.

“No,” the young man pushed right past her and dropped to his knees beside the bird.

“Is that?” the woman spoke, also rushing forward.

Astlyr stood aside, baffled.  “Hello,” she tried again.  “perhaps a little introduction is in order?”

The man did not take his eyes from the bird, and his expression was intense and reverent.  Like he couldn't decide whether to cry or shout with joy.  The woman turned to face Astlyr, “Are you the escort?”

“Er...sure?”

Cullan and Varric came to stand beside her looking as baffled as she felt.  Dorian joined them, his mage's staff in hand.  The elven woman scrutinized the group, “I thought there would be at least one elf.  This is very strange.”

Cole popped into existence beside Astlyr and the elvish woman grabbed for her bow.  “Whoa, whoa, easy!” Astlyr said, extending her hands in a soothing gesture.

Cole spoke, extending a thin hand towards the woman.“We come here every day.  Our clan has shunned us.  Our family will no longer see us, but we know.  We know,”

“What on earth is this?” the elf woman asked, scrutinizing Cole.

“He's a spirit,” Astlyr realized she was fast losing whatever control she had had over the conversation, “his name is Cole.  I'm Astlyr and this is Cullen, Varric and Dorian.  We didn't mean to disturb your temple.  We came here because...well because that bird told us to come,” she knew how ridiculous this sounded even as she said it.

The male elf had picked up the bird and was cradling it in his hands as though it was made of a precious and fragile substance.  The woman spoke again, “My name is Myfanwy and this is my brother, Daveth.  We, like you, are followers of Fen'Heral.  We have been preparing for this day all our lives!” she sounded a little breathless.

Astlyr decided now might not be the time to point out that she and her party were not followers of Fen'Heral.  She gave Varric and Cole a meaningful look before either of them opened their mouths to say as much.  “This day?” she asked instead.

“My brother has spent his entire life preparing to be a vessel for Fen'Heral.” Myfanwy said, beaming at her sibling.

“It is the greatest honor any elf could hope for,” Daveth spoke for the first time.  He as managed to drag his eyes away from the bird, which looked quite pleased with itself as it nestled in the young man's hands.

“Vessel?  For a god?” Cullen was eying the bird with distrust.  “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“I will offer my body for Fen'Heral to use,” Daveth said, smiling fit to burst.

“And this bird is...” Dorian couldn't seem to bring himself to say it, so he gestured towards the statue.

“Of course,” Myfanwy said, raising an elegant eyebrow.  “You didn't know?” her expression had become suspicious.

“We...suspected,” Astlyr lied hastily, staring at the little bird.  She desperately wanted to ask what an elven god was doing inhabiting a dead falcon, but she decided that once again holding her tongue would be a good idea.

“And your brother here is going to what, again?” Dorian folded his arms.

Myfanwy shot Dorian and annoyed glance, “I just explained.  He's spent his life preparing to be a vessel.  We both are followers of Fen'Heral.  Our own clan disowned us, but we knew that this day would come, and it finally has!  We have been bringing offerings and keeping this statue many months.”

“Waiting for the chance to fulfil our lives' mission,” said Daveth, proudly.

“Do you have anything to do with the ancient elves that I saw here before?” Astlyr asked.  “The ones who guarded the Well of Sorrows?”

Myfanwy scowled. “No.  They are followers of Mythal and they blame the Dread Wolf for her disappearance.  We avoid them.”

Daveth gave a dry chuckle, “If they had ever bothered to use the knowledge they guarded they would know that Fen'Heral is innocent.”

“And you two are certain of that?” asked Varric before Astlyr could hush him.

“Of course,” Daveth was staring at the bird again, and began speaking softly to it.  “I am so sorry, my lord, for the indignities you must have suffered in this form.  I give you my willing permission to use me as your vessel.”

“Wait, wait wait,” Varric raised a hand, “what happens to Daveth when this old god thing takes him over?”

Astlyr had been wondering this herself.  She was also more than a little concerned that the creature Daveth was going to allow to take over his body, was not in fact what he thought it was.  Or worse, it was, and the famed elven god of mischief was going to cause them serious harm.

“If he tries, we will kill that form,” Cole spoke so quietly Astlyr almost didn't hear him.  He must have been sensing her concerns.  She touched his bony wrist in a staying motion, as he was already holding his twin, curved blades.

“What do you mean, 'what will happen'?” Myfanwy asked, folding her arms.  “the old god will be flesh once again, until a better, willing body can be found for him.  My brother has trained his magics all his life to be worthy of this.”

“But what becomes of your brother?” Varric pressed.  “Where does Daveth go when a god moves into his body?”

“Daveth will be gone,” Myfanwy shrugged as though this was the farthest concern from her mind.  “Perhaps elements of him will remain, but Lord Fen'Harel will have full control of the body.”

“And you want this?” Varric addressed the male elf with concern written on his weathered features.

“Of course!” Daveth said, emphatically.  “This is the greatest honor any of us could ever ask for!  My sister has trained to assist the process and soon we will allow our god to walk the earth again!”

“Oh Maker,” Cullen exhaled.  Astlyr heard the faint squeak of leather as the warrior's grip tightened on the hilt of his greatsword.

“You may stay and watch if you like,” said Myfanwy, “as you are the ones who brought him to us.”

“I think we had better,” Astlyr muttered, pulling her shield onto her arm and drawing her own blade.  “Precautions,” she said in her firmest voice when the two elves looked at her askance.

“You are a most unexpected escort for Lord Fen'Heral,” Myfanwy said, her brows coming together, making the teeth tattooed on her face seem to close like jaws biting down.  “But these are very strange times.”

“They are at that,” Dorian agreed good-naturedly, readying his staff.  Purplish magic coiled around the man's free hand.

“Are you ready?” Myfanwy asked Daveth, turning and grasping her sibling's shoulders.

“I have been waiting for this all our lives, sister,” he said, smiling at her.  “I love you.”  he kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” she graced his cheek with a kiss of her own, then she stepped back.  She unslung her bow and used it to draw a circle in the mossy earth around her sibling and the bird he still held.  Then she stepped back and gave him a nod.

Daveth lifted the bird so it was face to face with him, “Please, Lord Fen'Heral, take my unworthy form.  I am willing.  I rejoice to give it.”

The bird gave a final peep and went limp as black smoke slithered from its eyes and mouth, coiling out and into the eyes of the elvish man.  He stiffened as the smoke coiled around him.  More than Astlyr had been expecting from such a small bird.  This was definitely going to Varric's book, she mused.  Fiction was where it belonged.  Still, she stood ready, shield and sword raised.  She wished she had had time to get her armor on.  If this was a demon, it was likely very powerful.

Purple coils of electricity snaked around the young man's feet, but did not escape the circle his sister had drawn.  Finally the smoke seemed to have left the bird completely and the limp creature tumbled from the elf's hands and hit the ground with a sad 'thup'.  Daveth stood, still stiff, head back now as if he was taking in the morning sky.  His eyes were wide and unblinking, his jaw hanging slack.

All around them the sound of wolves howling erupted.  Astlyr and her team spun and turned, trying to find the massive pack that must have them encircled.  They saw nothing, though the howling grew loud and powerful.  Then it stopped as quickly as it had begun and she turned back to look at the young man.  He was standing normally now.  His face had changed.  The shape of his eyes, and their color were different.  Rather than the dark brown he and his sister had shared, they shone with a blue light.  His tattoo was gone, leaving clean, pale flesh.  His posture was also changed.  A slight rounding of the shoulders which Astlyr found suddenly very familiar, even as she could not pull her gaze from those eyes she felt she knew.

When he spoke it was no longer with Daveth's voice.  The tone was softer, and had a delicate lilt Astlyr was certain she had heard many times before.  The old god looked directly at Astlyr, “My friend.” he said, before his eyes rolled back, his knees buckled, and he collapsed into Myfanwy's waiting arms.