Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Foreword - An Author's Apology

Right off the bat, this isn’t my fault.

I was just about to begin my finishing touches on Hard in Hightown 2: Siege Harder , when I received some most troubling news from my publisher. What followed next could only be described as a disappointment beyond belief. Apparently, that impostor Worthy’s miserable, horrendous and outright disgraceful attempt at copying my work with his shit-show Hard in Hightown 3: The Re-Punchening (evidence that this meagre weasel can’t even count correctly), left such a disastrous taste in readers’ mouths that the best decision is to...just wait a bit.

“Don’t worry, my lord,” she said. “Being the Viscount and all won’t exactly get you financially ruined in the meantime.” Ah yes, the very moment a struggling author becomes well-read, in come the excuses. Excuses and more excuses.

“Surely not,” I cried out in horror. “But my readers deserve to be treated with utmost generosity! I will not leave them in the dark like that.” You see, my dear readers? I tried to fight for you until my last breath, but alas, I know when I have to make a strategic retreat.

However, as I was about to make my way back to my gorgeously luxurious halls, she raised her hand in the kind of meaningful way only merchants used before striking the deal of the century.

“But,” she said, stretching the word in an anticipating, dramatic fashion. “The market is currently quite interested in history.”

“History, is that so?” I replied, sensing dread approaching. Ha...dread...oh my…

“A religious organisation from centuries ago, reawakening titans, an ancient Tevinter magister, and the recent return of an elven god”, she said as if speaking to herself. “People want to know what happened to get us all to this point.”

“Well, people do know”, I said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what history books and Brother Genitivi’s works are here for.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “But how well does sand sell in the desert? No. People want something moist, something juicy to quench their thirst.”

“Right...and...my writing is...moist,” I contemplated. Need to use that one at some point.

“And juicy,” she repeated full of enthusiasm, her eyes flaring. “So what if you would sit down in your free time and scribe a new version of the history of Thedas? Doesn’t even have to include every single little detail. Remember, make it juicy.”

“I’m getting thirsty just by listening to you speak,” I said and made a mental note to drop by in the Hanged Man after this. “But, well, as you may know, I’m not exactly a history scholar. I write stories, always have, always will.”

“And that’s what makes it so refreshing! It’s the history of our world but also a story to be engaged by. Do your research and make it entertaining. Don’t tell me you lack connections.” She was right, of course. I certainly don’t lack those, as you all know.

“I’m not sure whether that’s a good idea,” I began but was cut off by a wave of her hand.

“Either this or nothing, for I won’t publish Hard in Hightown 2 for the next two years!”

I sighed. I may be the Viscount now, but in this office, I’m still the struggling and oppressed writer. The history of Thedas it is then. And that is how you’re now holding this in your hands rather than the highly anticipated sequel. I am so sorry.

Maybe she is right. Maybe, after everything that happened in the last few years, a bit of entertainment based on reality is what we need.

Consider the above-mentioned discussion as an indicator of the true accuracy of what you’re about to read. I myself would like to consider it an abridged and, perhaps, slightly embellished edition. But who can tell what the definitive story is? On one day the Maker creates the Veil, the next day it’s a wolf. Take of it what you will.

Let me tell you, my dear readers, the history of our world is an ever-rolling wheel of madness. Sit tight, or lie relaxed, depends on what you’re currently doing. Prepare for things such as mages with too much time and power on their hands, vengeful wolves, dragons that aren’t actually dragons but everyone still calls them that because they look like dragons, giant sentient rocks that make a large part of our population look like bloodsucking predators if perceived from a certain point of view, and much, much more.

The history of Thedas. Holy shit, what a mess.

Chapter Text

The Maker and the Perils of First and Second Drafts

At the beginning of all time, there was only nothingness. Well, maybe not only nothingness, as something did come out of it after all. Referring to the beginning as ‘only nothingness’ just makes the hearts of the Chantry members beat in elation. Nightingale’s most recent tales more than confirm this.

This ‘something’ I’m referring to was a singular being, an entity of endless power and might. The Chantry refers to this being as ‘The Maker’, a simple yet straight-forward name, one that perfectly explains what he did, he made things. Why did he make things? Well, to answer this question, let me ask you one in return: What would you do if you were literally the only thing in existence?

For what seemed an eternity, the Maker had been wandering the endless dark nothing, occasionally experiencing cases of severe existential crisis. What was all this? Why was all this? Why was he there? Who or what made him? Right, I’m starting to notice that I’m beginning to drift off into areas nobody but said Maker is able to answer. Let’s get back to the things we truly understand.

After endless hours of...wait, were hours even a thing back then? Anyway, after endless...nothings apparently, the Maker gave a deep sigh.

“Shit,” he said. “This is boring.” In deep frustration, he lashed out with a burst of divine power...and things happened.

The endless nothing began to turn green, forms and contours emerged from the dark. The Maker looked at it all in utter perplexity and shock.

“I could have done that all this time?” he exclaimed into the green void. “Well, fuck me! Let’s bring some life into the house!”

And so he lashed out again and things came into being. Figments of the Maker’s energy became their own entities. With every passing moment, the Maker’s initial curiosity turned to unrelenting joy. He was creating things. He was no longer alone. Thus, the green world known as the Fade and the beings known as spirits came into existence.

“Finally,” the Maker said, more to himself than to the newly-formed spirits around him. “I can finally talk to someone else.” He looked around the endless green swirls and an idea began to manifest in his mind.

“Here’s what,” he said and clapped his hands in new enthusiasm. “I made you, which means you can make things as well. Let’s turn this world of mist into something to look at. And make it greener, if I may add!”

“Yeah, sure,” the spirits answered in a monotonous way and drifted off. The Maker watched them depart with a slightly worried look. But he shrugged and wandered further off into the Fade, waiting to see what his creations would come up with.

As he walked through the swirling green mists, he suddenly halted and frowned. In front of him, a fraction of the dark void of nothingness, the nothingness he was born into, still prevailed, writhing shadows refusing to vanish.

“I did not permit you to stay,” the Maker yelled in frustration. “Spirits! More green!” Immediately, a flock of white-shining spirits appeared by his side and together, they produced so much green that the Fade glowed as brightly as a polished emerald. The nothingness retreated but didn’t vanish completely.

“Oh, for my sake,” the Maker grunted. “Fine. Fine, you want to stay? Fine, stay! I’ll deal with you later.” So, for the time being, he left this most hated place alone and commanded the spirits to join him on his journey back.

The first and brightest of the spirits, a being we shall refer to as the First One, joined up with him.

“What was that black area?” the First One asked.

“Something that won’t bother us if it knows what’s good for it,” the Maker replied and, peering back to the blackness.

The spirits didn’t respond, for they didn’t know how to interpret this. After all, they were only a few hours old, if hours came into existence with the creation of the Fade, which I doubt.

“Right”, the Maker said, calming himself. “Show me what you have.”

When he returned to the spirits, he leapt back in horror. In his absence, the number of spirits seemed to have multiplied ten times.

“What...happened here?” he asked, totally perplexed.

“We made more”, the First One said. “As you wished.”

“I didn’t! I wanted you to make things of your own, not literally copy each other!”

“What else is there?” another spirit asked.

“What else is there? What do you mean, what else is there? Nothing is there! That’s the point! I want you to make new things!”

“Like what?” The Maker opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again in contemplation. They had a point. They knew nothing else but themselves and the colour green.

“Let me show you”, he said and quickly thought. “All right, everyone! Assemble around me. Demonstration time!”

The spirits did as he asked and the Maker cracked his knuckles.

“You have to be creative”, he said. “Like me! You and these green mists didn’t just appear out of nowhere!”

“We...kinda did though”, the First One said quietly.

“Well...right, point made, you actually did, but before that, there was a thought! You can all do things now! You can create from your own imagination! Now, where was I...oh yes, demonstration!” Once again, he cracked his knuckles. “Right, we are here, in the centre of this Fade. Everything is green but empty. Let’s fill it. Come on, any ideas?”

Everyone stayed silent. Finally, the First One gave a solemn cough.

“Well...we could have other colours than green?” it suggested.

“Excellent, excellent!” the Maker applauded. “Show me what you have.”

“Oh! Now?” the spirit asked and panicked slightly. It was a pretty embarrassing moment after all. I can’t imagine what being the first-ever presenter must have felt like.

“All-all right”, it stuttered and went deep into itself. And then came the colours. Blue, yellow, red, more green, orange, every colour imaginable.

“Marvelous!” The Maker clapped into his hands and patted the spirit on the shoulder. “You see, everyone? This is what I want! Anyone else?”

The spirits only stood there, or floated there, I’m not sure whether floors were a thing at this point. And then...they did it again. They began to copy the work of the brightest spirit and all assumed different colours. And thus, the first-ever facepalm was made, by the Maker himself no less.

“This is ridiculous”, he murmured. “Right everyone, listen up again!” The spirits stopped and listened. At this point, the Maker began to have qualms. Did they do anything without being specifically ordered to do so? He decided to test this thought out, made some awkward steps away from the spirits and disappeared for the Fade-equivalent of a week. When he came back, the spirits were still there, exactly where he left them. Only the First One looked mildly tired, unsure of what to do.

“Oh my,” he whispered anxiously. “Right...uhm...where was I again...” He clicked with his fingers and several plans appeared out of the fog. These were plans of landscapes, mountains, waterfalls, deserts, forest. But the biggest and most magnificent of them was the plan of a city made of pure gold, floating in the centre of the Fade, watching over everything.

“All of this,” the Maker continued, “is what we can do, right now. So go on, make things!” He gave them all the proposed ideas, but the Golden City he kept to himself.

It came as he feared. Instead of creating things based on his plans, the spirits only created copies of the actual literal plans.

“All right enough!” the Maker roared in fury and annoyance and everyone stopped. “You are useless! Useless, I tell you! You are first drafts, trials! No creativity at all, no respect for the individual mind!” After throwing these insults, the Maker furiously dashed away, into the mists of the Fade.

“Oh, well done,” the First One sarcastically addressed its peers before following its creator. It found him at the edge of the nothingness’s remnant, shaking his head.

“What am I going to do with them?” he asked as the spirit approached. The First One, being the only one able to sympathise with him, sat beside him and stared into the nothingness.

“Don’t blame yourself,” it said. “I’m sure every creator makes futile first attempts at worldbuilding...if there were any other creators, of course.”

“But that’s the point! There are no other creators besides you and me. And even you sprang from my thoughts.”

The First One, being given every single emotion there was, felt a twinge of sadness at these words.

“Well,” it tried again, hiding the hurt in its voice. “What if you try again?”

“Try again?” the Maker asked, raising his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what I said. Try again. Make a second draft. You don’t even have to erase everything you already made. Just make...well, more. And make it different.”

The Maker turned to the spirit in utter fascination.

“I knew I wasn’t wrong with you,” he said. “What an excellent idea! I’ll get right to it!” And so he darted off, further down into the Fade, into lower regions he never had been before.

The First One, on the other hand, stayed where it was. For a long while, it stared into the dark nothingness of the eternal void, contemplating what just happened. It was true. It was just another creation of the Maker. Granted, it was able to think for itself and make things, but did it really have an identity of its own? What even was the point of its existence? If only it could have something that would make it truly its own identity. It created further colours, sure, but the Maker would have done that anyway at some point.

The Maker came from the dark void. What if there was something in there that could give it an identity of its own? The First One took all its courage, surrounded itself with all its colours, and entered the darkness.

Meanwhile, the Maker was hard at work again. This time, he didn’t make anything out of the mist to be moved around again. No, this time, he focused his power in the opposite direction. He made things solid. And thus, the world came into being, our world, the world of Thedas.

The Maker’s imagination ran wild. He was making the very essence of creativity his own. What he did could only be compared to an author coming back from a long hard day at work, anxious to pick up the quill again. He made stars, he made moons, he made the plane that would be known as Thedas. He made waterfalls, forests, deserts, mountains, deep underground caverns. When he was done, he leaned back satisfied. But there was one thing still missing: life.

This time, he went even further into himself, pulling the absolute last strings of his imagination. And thus, the creatures that inhabit this world came into being. It is unknown which creature came first, and I don’t want to assume anything about this part here. What is certain is that by the time the Maker was done, Thedas and all above and below were inhabited by creatures of all kinds and races. We will get to them in a different chapter, but all you need to know now is that they existed at this point.

After the world was made and brimmed with the Maker’s essence, he leaned back, carefully optimistic.

It came as he hoped. The new creatures created, created things he himself didn’t think of anymore. And every creature had their own people, their own culture, their own way of doing things.

“Look!” the Maker exclaimed proudly to his spirits. “Look at them and take notes. I’ll go and have a rest.” He started to wander off, but quickly stopped and gave the order: “Oh, and think for yourselves for once!”

Unfortunately, this is exactly what the spirits did. They hovered above the world, unable to grasp what the beings under them did. They could see each other, but they couldn’t understand each other. They couldn’t understand emotions, ambitions, fears and burdens. They were just confused.

Meanwhile, the Maker rushed back through the Fade and called out to the First One in endless joy.

“I did it!” he yelled. “I finally did it! You were right, the second draft was so much better! They think for themselves. They make things! How can I ever thank you?” But he received no answer, for the First One couldn’t hear him.

Having ventured deep into the remnant of the original endless nothingness, the First One felt its powers growing weaker. The colours started fading away as the writhing shadows of the nothingness began to wrap itself around the spirit, extinguishing the Maker’s light.

“Help!” it cried out in panic, for it also felt the most dire and dark emotions. What was it thinking by going into this area? And where was the way out? Was there even a way out?

The First One tried to reach out again, and this time succeeded. But it was the wrong emotions that got out into the light. With every passing moment, the First One spent in the darkness, its original emotions of joy and hope were replaced by fear, sadness, utter hopelessness, and above all, jealousy. Jealousy that it would be forever forced to remain in its creator’s shadow, jealousy that it had no identity of its own, jealous that the second attempt it suggested would be the favoured one, jealous that it couldn’t endure the darkness on its own.

The jealousy reached the other, weaker spirits, and took hold of them.

“Why can’t we be great?” a spirit asked.

“Why can’t we make things?” another replied.

“Why are they so whole?” a third one cried out. They were ordered to think for themselves after all. And a large part of them only thought in jealousy now.

They descended into the world below them, came out of the sky as demons, their good and pure essences transformed by the darkness of the eternal nothingness. They came to the Maker’s second creations in their dreams and haunted them, feeding off their fear of them, feeding off the Maker’s essence, in the hopes of gaining their own identities.

The Maker interrupted his search for the First One and glared at the chaos in horror.

“What in my world…,” he muttered with rising panic. But he sensed the nothingness, the original darkness from whence he sprang himself. He knew where he had to go.

Flying through the Fade, he reached the dark remnant and couldn’t believe his eyes. What remained of the once pure and bright First One was now nothing but a caricature, a dark distorted being, terrifying to behold, pouring out the most dreadful of emotions.

“What did you do?” was all the Maker could ask in horror. The First One reached out to him, pleading, one final time, utter dispair and agony in its voice.

“Help me,” it whispered. “Please.” But the Maker saw that all of his light had completely faded. The First One had become an abominable being of nothingness. He sighed and took a deep, sad breath. He knew what had to be done. He reached out to the darkness.

The last writhing remnant of the original nothingness shot through the Fade, with the First One in its centre, screaming and desperately trying to break free. It shot through the clouds of the solid mortal world, through the ground, into the deepest parts of Thedas. And there it stayed, forever doomed to gnaw at the edges of the world. This place of all fears became the Void. 

The Maker stood at its dark edges, peering at his first and only true friend.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you did this to yourself.”

“I only wanted to be like you!” the First One cried out and dark fire whirled through the depths. “I wanted to be me!”

“Well...you are now,” the Maker said, and turned away. The First One, stripped of its essence, merged with the darkness completely, turning into an echo, a never-fading horror waiting to bestow unknowing victims with its dark creations. The once brightest spirit became the Formless One.

The Maker returned to the Fade. Even though the darkness was sealed away forever, the affected spirits remained as demons. The spark of jealousy, the craving to become like the Maker’s second creations, would forever persist. The Maker sighed, and departed into the green mists of the Fade, ready to take a long rest. In all the chaos, the idea for the Golden City, the essence of the divine thought, remained floating in the solid realm, ready to be picked up by a willing builder.

Thus concludes the tale of how a bored god created the universe and immediately experienced the perils of dealing with first and second drafts. Who knows, maybe he contemplates this even today.