"I wish to show you," He says, tender, meeting her uncertainty where it is. Damp and warm from the water, both hands come to cup her cheek, not to kiss but to simply bring her close, brow-to-brow, as if he could by mere proximity offer her the memories, "Artisans crafted gardens of flowers grown from starlight or captured lightning, or living diamond crystals, so that Mythal's nightly promenade sparkled like the night sky brought to earth for our pleasure. Spirits flitted everywhere, and were a part of every court, every conversation, every family.

"There were no abominations, no templars, no divisions between mages and non-mage; all had magic, and all who cared to develop the talent became skilled. The fade made even forms of physical flesh mutable, and we changed our appearances at a whim, to suit the fashion of the day, or personal fancy. I walked as a white wolf amongst the court, as often as a man, and delighted in a mutable form.

"There was no hurry, no fear of death; time always for beauty, song, and poetry, for passion and debate. I fear we were a messy, arrogant, decadant people, far worse than Orlais ever could dream to be... and yet...

"We were free."