Perhaps the why does not matter. There are enough who are not elvhen that there may have been other dreams, but something anchored us in the Fade, ready to spill forth when the Rifts opened. Why not the endless hopes of the Dalish, the elvhen? There are more of the Quendi than any other.

[ he exhales slowly. ]

Potent dreams. Enough to form us more solidly than the spirits, enough that the Veil cannot hold us back. Enough to give us living flesh, or a simulacrum of it. I am not myself. Somewhere, I yet live, ignorant of this place, for in the memories of others, I never left. This is- I am- only a copy. A reflection.

[ this is approximately where he had the near breakdown when he put the pieces together. ]