#spends the rest of her days as the clan's Hahren

[bluewren]

Dalish Week: Arlathvhen

Submitting my first post for Dalish week!!. Big thanks to the mods for put this event together!! I'm so glad for getting to know you two🥰🥰

Day one, I wanted to write the first time that Taliesen and Merrill meet each other. They had an instant connection and it'll eventually lead to good times and bad times for the two elves

@dalish-appreciation-week

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It’s was almost overwhelming at first, in the most exciting of ways. So many elves. Dalish elves! So many of Merrill’s people, her People, all gathered here to converse with one another about discoveries made of their history. It could almost feel like a dream. Dalish clans often spend much of their lives isolated from each other, rarely even able to glance other clans over the horizon. Never fully knowing how the inner workings of how other clan’s daily lives. Their People are like a dog barely knowing where their tail waggles, barely knowing who own brethren are.

Merrill’s own clan, Sabrae rarely meets humans or talk to anyone outside of the clans. Roaming the Ferelden wilderness with a freedom that so few can imagine, they stayed in forests that are often more hospitable to their kind without a bother of what happens in the world that is around them. But are always weary and suspicious about humans, worried that hostilities will be aimed at their people for being elves unwilling to submit to their rule. For good reasons, they also stayed away from cities.

To have a city full of Dalish elves, all gathered in one place is disorienting. Never has Merrill ever seen so many faces, would she even be able to know the names of a quarter of them? That isn’t want mattered to her, right now.

The Keepers are gathered, to discuss recovers made of their Peoples. Much of history was thought lost to them, yet now returning to them. It is all exciting! Merrill wants be beside Marethari’s side to hear all of it. So, the search continues.

There is commotion all over as the childhood friends see each other for the first time in many years, too occupied with talks of their families for them to notice her. She just made her small and squeeze between them and the aravel they chose as their corner, rather than disturb their conversation.

Flocks of halla roamed the open fields, there have been many tongues trying to get a playful nibble of the small elf’s ears. Merrill manages to dodge a few of the cuddly animals, else she’d have to wipe more drool off herself. It’s a wondrous occasion to have them all here without worry of losing them, yet she now wonders if the clans will be able to herd them back home. Every clan considers the halla to be valuable member of their family, yet she wonders if it was even possible for the shepherds can tell them apart in the horde.

Beyond her cozy company, there are yet even more elves gathered. Hahrens singing their tales and legends to all the children and families willing to listen. Still no sign of the Keepers.

Merrill sighs and lets her defeated shoulders slump down, finding Marethari is turning into an impossible task.

She continues onwards with her search, slightly defeated and hanging her head low. For a quick moment, even the sight of runes tied to the ground didn’t catch her attention.

For one moment.

With a jolt of inspiration zapping her mind, she returns to it and realizes it was actually tied to a stone slab.

Merrill tilts her head over the artifact, examining every centimeter of it, back and front. It is remarkable, plucked out of the straight out of Elven ruins with its glyphs intact. It should have been an impossible task, yet it’s in front of her now.

“Incredible!” Her mouth still gawks at the piece. “How did such a rune get recovered?”

“Elvhenan used many of these devices to transfer goods in their cities.” A young elven girl answers, sat beside the rune, heading her market with several other artifacts. Resting her cheek on top of her hand, grinning, and a bit surprised to see so much interest in her barter.

“They had to be easy to switch out when being replaced. It’s one of the simpler devices to recover.”

She has messy unruly hair, the lush blond drawing her fingers to ruffle it. Merrill giggles at the idea. “You just plucked it from the ruins? There has to be more to taking it home."

“Well, the recovery part is simple.” The blond elf explains, pressing her lips on her index finger as if it was a flint igniting her thoughts. "Me and my mentor had to disconnect the connections by hand. But then spent a few hours reconnecting lyrium strands to themselves. Looping the lyrium to resonant for as long as we need them to, it’s the difficult part."

"What gave you the idea to try?” Merrill asks, tilting up a brow at her crafty friend. “Most clans would ignore something like this. It’d be unwieldy to carry with them."

Taliesen shrugs, the answer is simple. "I wanted to see if it was possible!"

Merrill simply blinks and widens her eyes at the answer.

"I wasn’t actually sure if anyone would want a device like this. It's a simple contraption and important for the empire, but not something that needed to recovered instead of remembered. No body remembers a staircase." The tinkerer’s fingers trace over the intricate lines of the rune’s inscription, smiling as she admires the glow. “I wanted to see what else can be taken with us. There’s always more that we can take back.”

"Oh. Don't say that, I'm certain someone would want to move stuff around.” Merrill ruffles the side of her hair, squinting and focusing at the unwieldy artifact. “Maybe we could send flowers to each other? Or even better, showering petals!"

"You think we should use this to shower people with flowers?" She raises a perplexed brow at Merrill’s suggestion.

"Why not?” A big cheery grin forms on Merrill’s lips. “Lots of people love flowers."

"That might be a wonderful idea, but our clans live too far apart. How would we drop flower petals at each other?" Her brow continues to be raised.

"Then what if we…" Merrill starts rubbing her chin.

"Hmmm." The girl comes the act.

The humming of the two elves resonant into a torrent of ideas, as they start brainstorming ideas to use with the rune that they have with them.

Amidst the stroking of their chins, the eyes of the two elves locked onto each other and their double act.

Giggling and laughter follows the mirrored performance. It is rare for Merrill to find a mind like hers, often her clan has shunned her own interests in the artifacts of their People. To find someone that cared just as much at the Arlathvhen, can be expected to happen. It makes meeting each other, simply the most exciting thing to happen at the gathering.

Merrill studies the unsuspected tinkerer and spelunker. She is a bare faced elf, seemingly a few years away from her ceremony, not yet an adult of her clan. Her eyes had a stronger stare, shining bright as stars when she watched you. It was peculiar, the girl seems to be a contradiction. Unrefined in ways that came with youth, yet knowledgeable in a way that comes from experience.

"I'm Taliesen of Clan Lavellan." The tinkerer's hand is extended for Merrill.

Clan Lavellan wasn’t known for not model of what most clans do, they’re one of the more sociable clans with humans. The revelation starts fitting several puzzle pieces into place for Merriill. A nonmage more knowledgeable in magic than many mages, it was little wonder that such an elf came from a clan, so eccentric.

“Merrill of Clan Sabrae.” Merrill accepts the handshake, and their new friendship. “I do have one more question though.”

The Sabrae mage raises her free hand with dangling towards the blonde’s hair. “Could I touch your hair? It looks so soft and fluffy, I want to know how it feels.”

Taliesen jolts back one step, her heart practically leaping out of her chest. She narrows her eyes and huffs at her new friend. “You too? Why are there always people out to ruffle my hair.”

“Please? Just run my fingers through, one time?” Merrill practically squeals.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taliesen’s two siblings return back to their sister to see the two elves squeaking at one another.

Lex’s first reaction at seeing Tali’s new friend is grumble, followed with massaging his forehead and rubbing away this terrifying sight from his mind. “There’s two of her now.”

Evelyn is kinder to Tali’s new friend. She smiles at the fun that their sister is having.

“I think they’re cute together.”

[himluv]

Reckless

Another Solavellan oneshot, this one set after The Meadow, pt. 2. Enjoy!

Suledin Keep lived up to its name. Clearing the ancient structure of Red Templars was truly a test of endurance, a challenge Riallan threw herself at whole-heartedly. Despite the freezing temperature, sweat dripped from her temples and down the sides of her face. She breathed in heavy pants and set a brutal pace for her companions. Only Cole seemed unfazed by the work.

“It doesn’t hurt if you can’t think about it,” he said, tilting his head at her.

She caught Solas’ disapproving look, his face as red and sweaty as hers.

She ignored him. He would never admit it, but he’d been hovering ever since they returned from Wycome. And after all he’d seen in the aftermath of her clan’s death, she understood his concern, even appreciated it.

But she was fine.  She just wanted to get back to work. Back to normal. Was that too much to ask? Besides, she could handle Red Templars.

The red lyrium infected giants… Those were an unexpected surprise.

“Vhenan!”

The rock hurtled through the air at her. She’d only looked up in time to see it coming because of Solas’ cry and in that moment she thought for sure she would be reduced to red splatter in the snow.

Instead cool magic, cold as the air around her and yet soothing, wrapped her in its embrace and carried her out of range of the furious, rock-heaving giant. Solas materialized out of the Fade Step, the worry in his eyes evaporating into anger.

She kissed him, the shock of it erasing his fury. “Yell at me later, okay?”

He scowled at her but nodded.

Riallan was being reckless. A little part of her acknowledged it even as the rest of her demanded it. She could spend time analyzing the behavior, digging to the root causes and recognizing that her grief wasn’t entirely in check, or she could put that pain to use and summon great storms to obliterate their enemies.

She preferred the latter.

But all her pent up fury and loss couldn’t tear down Imshael. Not completely. It took Cassandra’s blade to sunder the demon, and Riallan found herself kneeling against the snow-swept stones of the keep, panting and tired in a way she hadn’t felt since her magic first manifested.

She was out of mana.

The bone deep exhaustion made her limbs leaden. Her staff fell from numb fingertips, too heavy for her shaking hands. She felt wrung out, as if every drop of power had been siphoned from her, leaving a husk of who she was behind.

“Vhenan?” Solas crouched before her, hands on her face to draw her attention. His eyes searched hers, and some dim part of her mind appreciated the clinical look on his face as he assessed her.

He was in healer mode, and his concern was endlessly endearing to her.

“I may have,” she winced, “overdone it.”

He frowned. “Do you have any lyrium potions?”

“No.” She never carried them because she’d never needed them before. Solas had told her once that her connection to the Fade was stronger than most mages. Maybe that was why she never seemed to tire.

“Perhaps,” he said. She must have spoken her thoughts aloud. “It may also explain why being drained is having such a marked effect on you.”

She sighed, her eyelids drooping with the effort of keeping them open. She dropped her forehead onto his shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

He ran a hand up and down her back. “Come,” he said. “Let us claim this keep and then we can make camp.”

She nodded and stood on legs as shaky as a newborn halla’s. She climbed the final flight of stairs to raise the Inquisition’s flag, then sank against the stone and succumbed to the dreamless sleep of the injured.

Voices calling to one another, the crackle of a fire and the general sounds of camp woke Riallan. She blinked at the ceiling of a tent, trying to remember how she got there. They’d been in Suledin Keep, fighting Red Templars and then the demon…

“Peace, Ria,” Solas said. He sat toward the back of the tent, legs crossed and eyes closed, meditating. “We are safe. The Keep is yours; Inquisition forces claim it as we speak.”

That explained all the noise.

She sat up, surprised at how good she felt. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost two days,” he said. His voice was suspiciously blank.

Riallan considered herself, the lack of pain in her limbs, no bruises or scrapes, and the refreshed feeling of her magic coursing through her veins. This was more than the product of quality sleep.

“You healed me, didn’t you?”

He cracked an eye open to look at her. “Of course.” He frowned. “You pushed well beyond your limits.”

She blushed. “I know.”

“You are not typically so reckless.”

“I know.”

He tilted his head, both eyes open now and narrowed in her direction. “Do you have a death wish?”

So it wasn’t meditative peace that kept his tone so neutral. It was barely controlled anger.

“No!” She paused, considered her actions as they battled through Suledin Keep and sighed. “At least, not intentionally.”

Nothing about Solas softened, he was all hard lines and stiff posture. “I assured Leliana you were ready to return to the field.” He arched an eyebrow at her, and for the first time in a long time, Riallan wanted to yell at him. “Was that decision in error?”

She stood, only then realizing she was in just her small clothes. The intimacy only fueled her outrage and she pulled on her leggings with much more force than necessary. “I’m sorry, hahren,” she snapped. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to do my job.”

His voice was low and whip-sharp as it lashed at her. “Tel’abelas, da’len. Merely do better.”

She threw her tunic at him, the fabric hitting him in the face. “I’m not a child for you to watch over!”

He set the shirt aside with steady hands; all his fury burned in his eyes. “Then I suggest you stop acting like one.”

Riallan bit back a scream of frustration.

“Did you even once consider what it would mean if you perished?” He stood, reminding her of just how tall he was. “What would become of Thedas if you fell before defeating Corypheus?”

She scoffed, but he ignored her, stepping closer to loom over her.

“Did you stop to consider what would become of the Inquisition, what would become of me--” His voice broke, his lips pursed around the sound and his eyes closed.

All of her anger melted away.

Riallan pulled his face down to hers and kissed him hard. She saw through his fury, to the fear behind it, and took it all into herself. She had caused this, she would take it from him and make it right.

She pressed her forehead to his. “I’m sorry.” The words were a mere breath against his lips, but they carried the weight of her guilt just the same.

It took several excruciating moments for the tension to leave his body, for his hands to find her waist, to exhale and let his head rest against hers. She wondered then, if his reaction went beyond just her own recklessness. Solas always seemed to be fighting a war within himself, and no amount of prodding would help him open up to her. He would tell her when he was ready, or not at all.

And, without knowing when or where, Riallan had decided she was okay with that. He cared for her with a depth of devotion she had never known before. He had been by her side from that first terrifying day at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but it wasn’t until she could lace her fingers through his that she truly felt she could be the person the world needed her to be.

For that strength, for the warmth of him beside her, she would allow him his past. At least for now.

[elfrootaddict]

CLAN LAVELLAN - Chapter 2/4

DESCRIPTION: As Keeper Deshanna’s First, El'lana Aemma Lavellan is sent on her first diplomatic mission, which lies far beyond the familiarity of the Free Marches and her clan. The only home she has ever known.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 1

Lana and Lhoris’ walk back to camp is quiet and uneventful, which suits Lana just fine. 

Like her mother, she usually finds small talk and those who speak just to fill silence, tiresome. Conversations should be serving a purpose to warrant the effort of talking, otherwise blissful silence will do.

However like her father, should someone speak up with the desire to teach, Lana will always be ready to listen. Learning new facts about almost anything interests her; especially when it comes to the ancient elves, nature, magic and the mind.

With her passion for all things Elvhen, and a keen philosophical mind and strong moral compass, the Keeper declared that if Lana weren’t a mage, she would have encouraged her to become one of their clan’s Hahren. 

Now that Lhoris has announced his desire to bond with Tamara, her closest girlfriend, Lana finds herself remembering the day Rhys did the same.

~ It was the year before: The beginning of Bloomingtide and around the time when the humans celebrated their Summerday holiday. Rhys had taken Lana out into the forest, insisting they were only looking for elfroot and wild berries, but instead he took her to a secluded cave, long abandoned by whatever used to live there. It’s entrance was partially blocked by a small, quiet flowing waterfall. When they entered, Lana saw it decorated with wildflowers and a few lit candles set into the floor.

Realising what was about to take place, Lana tried to interject in time but Rhys managed to take her by the face, pulling her in for a passionate kiss and then stopped to ask, “El’lana Aemma Lavellan, will you do me the honour and bond with me?” ~

Lhoris and Lana eventually reach a clearing and stop just before an edge, and both look down at their home lying ahead. 

Clan Lavellan currently lies near the Minanter River between Tantervale and Starkhaven in the Free Marches. The clan always situates themselves on the borders between states. This will both lessen the risk of humans chasing them away, as it might cause a war with their neighbours. It also gives the clan opportunities to trade amongst more than one human city or town at a time. 

While there are many clans around Thedas that naturally avoid humans, Keeper Deshanna has always been more open minded when it comes to trading amongst the shem. 

While the clan can survive on their own, the Keeper values some crafts made by humans that they can’t easily make themselves. And in return, the humans trade for the clan’s specially crafted items. Such as any work made from ironbark, since only the Dalish yield the ability to craft from it effectively. 

The camp is simple and practical but more importantly, home. Within a large forest clearing, there is the main fire pit with makeshift stools around it. Fanning out from the centre pit, you have a place for the weaponsmith, food stalls, merchant carts, a healers tent and a pen for their halla. 

The halla are always scattered freely amongst the clan during the day and never wonder too far from camp. They understand that the clan protects them and they always come back before dark. 

On the outskirts of the camp are the trees, where the tents lie between the open spaces. Decorating the lower branches hangs daily laundry, drying herbs and cured meats. Scattered amongst some of the tree bases even ly makeshift alters to a specific Elvhen god.

Clan Lavellan consists of only a couple dozen people. The majority of them range between youngsters to older adults, with only a small few being children - who are extremely sacred amongst the Dalish. With so few Dalish elves left, any new born amongst the clan is considered to be a momentous occasion.

Lhoris and Lana jump down the ledge and continue walking towards the camp. 

~ Lana had pulled away from Rhys’s grip, shaking her head in disbelief, “Ir abelas…” and her eyes started welling up with tears as sorrow gripped her heart.

Staying silent, Rhys went as white as snow and the look on his face said it all. She had broken his heart and spirit with only two words but she knew, deep down, it had to be done. 

Suddenly, Rhys’s pale, heart-broken face disappeared as it morphed and twisted into a blood-red, full of rage expression instead. His breath turned rapid as he became hostile and aggressive - his typical behaviour when he doesn’t get his way. With fury burning in his eyes, he barked, “How dare you reject me! Because you are First, you think yourself better than me? I am the best you’ll ever find! You ungrateful bitch!” stepping closer with his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. “You will regret the day you turned me down.” and stormed out of the cave. ~

“Lhoris! Lana!” cries Tamara as she proceeds to run towards them. 

Tamara Elohra Yevven Lavellan is a tiny young woman with mousy facial features and short raven-black hair. Her complexion is significantly paler and lighter in comparison to Lhoris or Lana, and beholds the most strikingly large, emerald green eyes. And to compliment her eyes, Tamara wears an earthy-green vallaslin representing June; God of the Craft.

“Vhenan!” exclaims Lhoris to Tamara, both young lovers embrace each other with affection and once released, Lhoris plants a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

“Where have you two been?” Tamara pleads with concern. “The Keeper came back quite some time ago and I was wondering why you didn’t return with her? The sun has almost set. Even all the halla are back and accounted for!”

Tamara is infamously known for her constant state of worry over others and their well-being. She has a sweet and timid nature, but can be fairly melodramatic at times. 

“No need to worry vhenan,” Lhoris takes her hand and brings it to his lips for a gentle kiss, knowing exactly how to calm her down. “We’re perfectly fine. We were just catching up.”

“Of course.” Tamara releases a quiet, bashful chuckle. “I’m glad you’re both home safely.” 

“When did you get back, Tammy?” asks Lana as all three head further into camp with Lhoris between them, holding Tamara’s hand.

“Not too long ago,” Tamara peers passed Lhoris to look at Lana. “This trip went very well, actually. The weather was kind and so were the shems.”

“That’s great!” exclaims Lana with relief.

Having never left the clan, Lana always gets concerned when Tamara, or anyone else for that matter, leaves the clan to go trade in the nearby towns with the shems. Which luckily is only once a month but it can last several days at a time. 

All three young elves reach the centre of the camp and Lhoris stops to turn around, regarding them both, “I’m going to help the others. The rams aren’t going to remove their skin and spill out their guts for us.”

“Lhoris! Gross!” cries Tamara with her eyes wide with shock, while Lana scrunches her face up with disgust.

Throwing both hands up in protest, “What? How do you think it happens?” and spins around with a cheeky grin. Oh, how he loves tormenting them.

Lana looks adoringly at Tamara as she watching Lhoris walk off, and rolls her eyes as she giggles quietly to herself. 

I can’t believe how much she loves that man-child.

Tamara turns to Lana and grabs her by the hand, “Come on. I want to show you something.” and leads Lana through the centre of camp and towards their tents amongst the trees. 

On the way, they pass the pen holding the halla and just to the side of the closed gate is a shrine to Ghilan’nain; Mother of the Halla. They both stop running, turn to offer a subtle bow of acknowledgement to the shrine, a practice amongst the Dalish to show respect to their gods, and continue onwards to Tamara’s tent.

Tamara and Lana share their tent with two other women; Brilora a craftswomen, and Lawyn a huntress. Upon entering the tent, it seems both women are still busy with their daily chores. 

The tent is large enough to be split into small equal quarters, and using a thin sheet of fabric between each section, you can also have some privacy. When you spend every living moment in such close proximity to a small group of people, one's privacy is vital and important to the sanity of the clan.

Tamara leads Lana in but it’s too dark to see, so Lana searches for the candle by Tamara’s bedroll. With the wave of her hand, Lana ignites the wick, filling the tent with enough illumination as they hunch over to Tamara’s bedroll lying on the far left corner of the tent.

Once both are sitting down with their legs crossed and comfortable, Tamara excitedly reveals her surprise, “Look what I traded with a dwarf today,” and turns around to pull something small out from underneath her pillow. 

Resting on the palm of her hand is a small, wrapped parcel using a large leaf as it’s wrapping, and is being held together by a thin string. 

Lana looks up from the object in Tamara’s hand in confusion, “What is it?” 

Tamara giggles and with her eyes widened with excitement, “It’s for you, silly!” and hands it to Lana who cautiously takes the fragilely wrapped item.

“What? Really?”

“Yes, really! Open it! Open it!” Tamara wiggles around from side to side in anticipation and Lana finds her friend's excitement so contagious that she also begins to wiggle. Both young women are smiling widely and laughing loudly like two carefree children. 

Lana carefully unties the bow and as the tension of the string releases, the leaves fall open, and in the centre lies an elegant ring made from silverite with a tiny purple amethyst adorned in the middle, and a small white diamond fixed on either side. 

Lana gasps and dares not even to touch it in case she somehow breaks it and looks up at Tamara, who is holding her hands to her mouth while smiling proudly. 

“Tamara…” is all Lana manages to say at first. “This is… for me?”

Ignoring her question and dropping her hands, “This dwarf came by and saw one of our ironbark blades but didn’t have enough coin to pay for it,” Lana slowly reaches for the ring and brings it towards her face for a closer inspection while Tamara continues. “I was expecting to barter with the man when suddenly he pulled out a small bag, opened it up, and showed me so many small jewels, like this one, within. Then he asked if I was willing to trade one of our blades for one of these jewels instead,”

Lana slips the ring on her right middle finger, fitting perfectly, “And so after rummaging around I came across this ring and I just had to make the trade!”

Lana brings her hand up towards her face, spreading her fingers as she admires the most beautiful piece of fine jewellery to ever sit upon her long, slender fingers.

The Keeper continuously reiterates to Lana that material items, such as jewellery, shouldn’t be held with so much esteem. Worldly things are fleeting and bring only temporary happiness. The true pursuit of happiness comes from giving to others and righteousness. However, this time it’s different and what Lana loves about the ring the most, is that it has been given to her by her dearest friend. A friend who has been nothing less than a sister to her ever since they were thirteen years of age. 

Tamara was born in clan Yevven, who also wandered the Free Marches and was familiar enough with the Lavellan clan. Unfortunately, twelve years ago, a rogue Seerabas killed almost everyone in clan Yevven, including Tamara’s parents, and abducted their Keeper. The Seerabas was eventually killed for reasons still unknown to this day. No-one has ever managed to explain the reason for the attack on Tamara’s clan, and why it happened in the first place. 

News had quickly spread amongst the other surrounding clans about clan Yevven’s mass murder. And when Keeper Deshanna and two other Keepers made their way to the site, they quickly realised that those who remained wouldn’t be able to survive on their own. Therefore, the only choice they had was to split them up and shelter the remaining Yevven clanmates in their own clans. 

And the Keeper Deshanna, whose clan was already reasonably full in capacity, could only take on one; Tamara. Since then, Tamara carries the name of both tribes; Yevven and Lavellan. 

“Do you like it?” murmured Tamara looking at Lana nervously.

Lana drops her hand and lunges forward to embrace her friend, “Tammy I love it! I am completely lost for words! Ma serannas.” 

Lana sits back and admires the ring once more, “I’m surprised Jahel allowed you to trade one of our blades for it?” looking up with concern. “He does know? Doesn’t he?”

“There was a… discussion,” Tamara blushes and smiles sheepishly, “How could I not get you something on the day of your birth?”

Lana looks up and only offers a sincere smile.

Of course, she remembered.

Suddenly the Keeper pops her head into the tent, “We’re ready, Tamara.”

Lana spins around, but before she can ask the Keeper what she means, Tamara grabs Lana by the hand again, “Great! Let’s go!” and hurls Lana off the bedroll.

“Where?”

Tamara, still holding onto Lana’s hand, leads her friend through the other surrounding tents in the forest and out towards the centre of camp. 

Tamara then drops Lana’s hand and runs further ahead to meet Lhoris and the entire clan, who are all standing in front of the main, roaring firepit, “Happy birthday!”

Lana’s jaw drops as only moments ago nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But now all the edges of the benches are decorated with wildflowers, freshly cooked food is layed out on tables and old Dalish music is playing somewhere close by, causing a few to start dancing to its hearty rhythm already. 

“Creators…” murmurs Lana as she is completely floored by the effort put into celebrating her birthday. Her heart is beating so fast with so much love and affection for her people. Her family.

“I told them to keep it simple,” says the Keeper walking up to Lana from behind. “But you know Tamara,” and stops to stand beside Lana smiling proudly. “She had a thousand little ideas, she even wanted me to suspend hundreds of little flowers in the sky, but luckily Lhoris managed to convince her to keep it simple. After all, he couldn’t keep you distracted forever, now could he?”

“Distracted?” Lana turns to the Keeper confused. “What do you mean?”

The Keeper releases a quiet chuckle, “You aren’t the only one between us who can pick out his ridiculous childish laughter, da’len.”

“You knew he would be there?”

“Of course,” the Keeper pauses. “It was my idea.”

Lana gasps with pleasant surprise, “Your idea? I never knew you had it in you to be so sneaky, Keeper.”

The Keeper eyes Lana with a cheeky smile, “I was also young once. I still remember how to have a bit of fun now and then.”

Lana sees Tamara and Lhoris run over to her, and barks at Lhoris as he reaches ear-shot, “You were trying to distract me!”

Lhoris laughs, “Just figured it out, huh?” and rips into a piece of freshly cooked meat, shearing the skin off the bone. Chomping on it wildly with his infamous lack in table manners.

The Keeper sighs and peers up at Lhoris, “I’m glad to see you're enjoying yourself, Lhoris. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss something with Hahren Zelphar,” and takes Lana’s chin in her hand and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Happy birthday, mir da’vhenan.”

Lana smiles sincerely, “Ma serannas, Keeper.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Halla & Wolf Series

[gwynbleiddyn]

while we’re on the subject, i’ve had rion for 5 years and it’s only this year that i even manage to sketch out an idea of who his own mother was can you BELIEVE

her name’s Chione (kee-oh-nee) and she’s what i would call,,,, an Icon,,,,

although she loved Amrun, she had plenty of grievances with him for being essentially a terrible father with a penchant for trouble that unfortunately got passed onto her eldest son, and upon realizing that her own husband would never actually grow up and stop pretending to be peter pan on the wide open seas, decided to amicably part from him in marriage and started up her own glasswork forge in the city to spend the rest of her days doing what she enjoyed while Amrun got himself hung up on some mercenary’s sails. 

of course, with three grown-up kids, one of whom happens to somehow have a finger in every pie from here to the anderfels, and a pirate-captain-slash-hahren of a rather large and distinctive “clan” for an ex-husband, her life remains completely unpredictable, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[kvcatnip]

For DWC- • “You worry is needless; it won’t consume me.” For whichever character sparks the muse. Happy writing!!

This post for @dadrunkwriting accidentally became a part two for the post from earlier today. You can find that here!

She’d been at it for hours. She had unplanted every plant in Skyhold’s nursery by hand, given each fresh soil and water, and removed any debris or bugs she found. It was mindless work. Rather, it was supposed to be. Cullen had been informed by no less than three scouts, all of the other advisors  (including Cassandra), and Solas that she was there. She had been there all day.

It was a surprise when Solas knocked on his door. He had grown to admire and trust the man, despite his earlier feelings. Solas kept Adari safe when they were away from Skyhold, just as much as Cole kept her mind clear. She needed them to do her job well. He would be a fool to not be grateful and respectful of the man that brought her back safely to him time and time again. He still felt small pangs of jealousy when he thought of all the days and nights the elf in front of him got to spend with his love, but he knew it was needless. Adari’s love for Solas was a mentee to a mentor. She called him her “Hahren” more than she called him by his name.

Even still, Cullen and Solas did not often speak more than needed. Him being here in his office at all seemed ominous.

“Da’len is in the garden.”

“Yes, the ever watchful eyes of Skyhold have let me know. I hope her gardening will help her.”

“No, Cullen. She’s in the garden alone.”

That gave him pause. She was often trying to include or teach others with her herbal and gardening tasks. Not to mention the courtyard was one of the few “social places”, and at this time of day it shouldn’t be empty.

“What do you mean, alone? Is Mother Giselle or Elan not with her?”

“She is scaring people away. I thought it best to inform you. It is not like her.”

“Ah. Er, yes. Thank you, Solas. I will go check on her.”

This made him truly worry. Even on her worst days, she radiated the kind of presence that made you want to be known by her. Be seen by her. Be loved by her. She tried her best to learn the names of every recruit, every solider, every spy, and every Sister under her command. That’s just who she was. She loved them all, deeply. They were her family, her children, and she was their ever watchful mother. It’s why he fell in love with her so fast.

“You are welcome. But Commander? If I might give some advice?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I know what we saw in the Plains upset her. I know she had hoped for more. But this is only the beginning. There will be more places burning with injustice. She cannot let this change her for the worse.”

That thought scared him. His beautiful, kind, sunny Adari being torn apart and corrupted like everything else they had come across.

“Thank you, Solas, for your concern. I’m sure this just her way of coping, but I will heed your words nonetheless.”

He nodded at the elf, and walked past him out the door. It shouldn’t have taken every person in Skyhold for him to have noticed the pain she was carrying. That, mixed with Solas’ words, made the walk to the garden a very sobering one.

Why hadn’t he seen it?

As soon as he reached the Main Hall, he could hear and see the commotion. Everyone stopped as he walked across to the garden, watching him with wide eyes. He started bracing himself. Adari would never willing scare or upset her people. She would go out of her way to avoid it. It’s what made her so endearing to them. She reached to love them where they were, regardless of her position.

Opening the outer door, he paused, taking in the scene. No one was out here. Not sitting and gossiping, or playing chess, or reading, or walking the battlements. The late afternoon sun was shining down in patches, highlighting the destruction, pinning her rage. She looked like a wild animal. She had told him that her clan used to call her “the little wolf”, but he could never make sense as to why - until now.

She was kneeling at the edge of a flower bed, where he could only see her side. But that was enough. She was wearing her “tending” outfit. It was something she had concocted that was much like her scout armor, but with a full bodysuit instead of chainmail. She had designed little pockets along the lining of her overlay tunic to carry her herbs and pouches and bottles as she needed them. He had thought it very clever, and she beamed like the morning sun when she showed him the first time. Now it was covered, along with all visible parts of her face and hands, with dirt and debris. He saw twigs sticking out of the side of the tunic, and the bottom of her foot wraps. She didn’t seem to notice.

She worked at breakneck pace with fury. Pulling flowers and weeds and anything else in her way. The advisors had forgone hiring anyone to truly “keep up” the courtyard, as Adari worked tirelessly in it for enjoyment when she was at Skyhold.

But it had only been three weeks. There could hardly even be weeds.

He started stepping closer to her, and the wild rage of her mood hit him square in the face. He could see why they had all left.

He crept closer, thinking she had not noticed him until she said, “Did they send you to reel me in?”

“They had informed me you were here, but no one conveyed what they meant until Solas came to my office.”

“Ah.”

She paused, sitting back on her heels. Quietly she said, “He has not been happy with the way I have taken this. I’ve disappointed him.”

Cullen walked over to kneel beside her. “I don’t think that’s the case at all. I think he’s worried for you.”

She turned to him then. He had only seen her cry once before, after the attack on Haven. It was before they had really started moving to Skyhold yet, and the weight of what had happened had hit her.

But she was crying now. She had made tracks in the dirt, and her eyes were brimmed with red. He didn’t think she had rested when they got back to Skyhold yesterday, but he had never seen her like this.

She laid her hands open on top of her thighs, studying them. She had a shaky voice when she said, “I cannot unsee it, Cullen. This was the land of my people covered in dead and brokenness. I want to close my eyes and forget it, but there was horror everywhere.”

He swallowed, thinking about what Solas had said. Sitting down fully, he pulled her sideways into his arms. He said, “You will not be able to save them all. I know you want to. I know how much this will stay with you. But you cannot let it break your spirit.”

She was sobbing openly then, shaking in his arms. He let her. He knew Cassandra and Cole and Solas would have let her, but he knew she would not have let herself cry those three weeks she was away.

Several minutes passed before she said, “We were promised so much more. And so were they. None of us deserve a land of ruin and despair. But your worry is needless; it won’t consume me. I hadn’t allowed myself time simply be upset. It will take a bit more time.”

He sighed, unable to hide his relief. “Take the time you need, dear. I understand. I’m here for you. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

She looked away, thinking, before answering with: “I know, Cullen. Thank you. But I have given it thought today, and that was what I needed. I have a list of propositions to give to the advisors for approval of rescue and rebuilding efforts for the Plains. We were promised more. I will do my best to make sure they, at least, can get it.”

She always surprises him. She gave herself one day before turning her mind to helping others. He didn’t think he could love someone more.

“That is an excellent idea. However, we might need to station a rescue effort here first to clean up after you today.”

[scurvgirl]

Enfenim

Enfenim - to fear; elvhen

Co-written with the wonderful @justanartsysideblog! 

Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, Henne’thel, Merith, Melarue, and Elrahel belong to @justanartsysideblog

Uthvir belongs to @feynites

Aili belongs to @lillotte17

Warnings for: psychological torture, blood, violence, PTSD

Seeker of Rebellion AU

previous

masterpost

The Fear spirit has proven useful. Its account of the battle between Asha’thylgar and Falon’Din has been documented, sealed, and poured over multiple times. It is currently housed in a warded cell, cowering but quiet. It used to cry, but Certainty made clear to it that would not be tolerated. While helpful, it’s annoying, unable to do much without proper prodding. Softer tactics had to be used. Certainty sent in Efficacy. She’s not the strongest or most skilled in interrogations but she is soft.

She had returned to Certainty, face devoid of emotion as she reported what the spirit had recounted. He praised her accomplishment, touching her hair only for her to jerk away and excuse herself for the rest of the day. Odd, but…acceptable, he supposes after the work she had done. She is untrained and Fear spirits can be tricky, reflecting fears back to the person interrogating them.

But it worked and the intel it had provided revealed something very interesting to Certainty. It was not Falon’Din’s fear or the fear of the soldiers that had corrupted Fear into the spirit it is, but it had been Asha’thylgar’s fear. Her fear of losing her people was so strong, so potent it twisted a spirit. She is a bleeding heart, waiting to be exploited.

For the next year and a half, Certainty moves pieces to lay a trap. Efficacy tells him that the camps are disliked and seen as horrifying, so he will use one to create the lure. Trapped and beaten people, preferably those captured from the woman’s clan, but if he plays his cards right – it won’t matter.

Falon’Din still wants an open battle with her, to show that she is nothing compared to him. Certainty will comply with that…to a point. He has found that the key to success often involves a certain amount of force applied to break the will. If she has nothing to fight for, then Falon’Din will most certainly win.

It is not an easy trap to lay, however. A camp must be constructed in just the right spot, which requires intel on where her clan is. Clan movements can be erratic, and this clan in particular has been given exceptional incentive to have confusing movements. His assassins are less assassins and more scouts, but when one of them comes back to tell him that they’re in the far eastern mountain range, and that the group nearly killed her, he has an idea of where they’ll go next.

North of the mountain range is a large lake that borders on a natural labyrinth of caves. It is the perfect place to hide and to plot, he would not be entirely surprised to find more than one clan hiding out there. He will create the camp somewhere in that region, but that will require convincing either Falon’Din or Elgarn’nan to expand their scope of conquest to include that area. It shouldn’t be too difficult, he imagines, once he details exactly why it would be useful to expand that frontier.

**

She takes care to investigate the caves thoroughly before letting the rest of the clan know that it’s safe to camp. It’s a beautiful tangle of caverns, twisting and twining together, some leading out to meadows, others only deeper and deeper into the earth. Some lead to crystal clear pools of water that most likely connect to the large lake just west of the main mouth of the cave. It is a natural place to camp out, which means that they should spend as little time here as possible.

But the caves prove to be easily fortified and the clan seems happy in them, even if something is not settling in Ash. Daern’thal tilts his head and Reverie flits to her shoulder to whisper in her ear.

“Something is bothering you,” the small spirit says.

“It’s an obvious place to camp,” she replies.

“That doesn’t make it less of a good place to camp,” they say. While true, it doesn’t settle her nerves. Any knowledge of this area would reveal the caves due to their immense size. A defensible location doesn’t automatically make it a good place to camp. But Sylmae and Nimronyn seem pleased with it in the meantime, so she quiets her doubts and fears in favor of food and the clan delights by the fire.

The night is uneventful, and Ash sleeps better than she has in a long time. She dreams of her mother and the stories she used to make up when Ash was little.

She spends the day training with Sylmae and learning from the Hahren. The next three days follow this pattern until on the fifth day, when almost all of Ash’s worry of the place has dissipated, she sees a figure running in the woods.

She’s checking the wards around one of the smaller exits from the network of caves when she sees them - clothing torn, blood running down their arms, hair matted from dirt and sweat. Their face is crazed as they run through the wood, crying.

“Help!” They cry when they see her, running towards her. She reflexively puts up a physical barrier between them. It’s supposed to be invisible, but hers is tinged with wandering blue flames, making the stranger stop and cry.

“Please! Help! They took my clan! My daughter!” They wail, wrapping frail arms around their body.

“Who took them?” Ash asks, resisting the urge to dispel the barrier and go to them. She must be wary.

“The empire!” They cry, “they killed the keeper and took his sons and our people! Please, help me!” Ash drops the barrier, her heartache overriding the caution her mothers have tried to instill in her. She strides forward, meaning to comfort them, but they fall, and she catches them out of reflex. They are wounded, their bleeding slow but their body is far colder than it ought to be. She lifts them and makes for camp.

“Tell me what happened.”

They sob and cling to her, shaking so hard she wonders if they will make it to camp. But their grip on her is tight and they look up at her, brown eyes full of sadness and a surprising amount of anger.

“Keeper Rethinel refused to go to Arlathan, he had heard the rumors of what happens to Keepers and their people there. Days later they came and attacked. They killed so many, and those they didn’t kill they took.” They grow incoherent and she tucks them closer to her, willing them to warm.

Ash runs the rest of the way to camp. The clan has grown stronger in the last two years, training harder, always aware that today could be the day….

What is the point of being strong if you will not lift up those who cannot help themselves? Mama once said in one of her war meetings. Ash had been sitting outside of the room, just happening to hear the tail end of a conversation about lending aid to…someone. Ash can’t remember.

Ash has strength, the clan has strength.

The clan erupts into a flurry of action when they see Ash barreling towards them with the elf in her arms.

“They need healing,” she says immediately. Healer Quenenel gestures her to follow him into his aravel where she gently lays them down.

“Who is this, Ashokara? I do not recognize them,” he asks as he begins the treatments.

“I am Yenirem, of Rethinel’s clan,” they murmur.

“Rethinel? Did that old codger do this to you?” Quenenel asks and they shake their head, sobbing once more.

“Rethinel has been slain!” They cry, covering their face with dirt and blood-stained hands. Quenenel goes still for a moment before turning somber and kneeling by their side. He turns to Ash and tells her to go get Nimronyn. Ash nods and quickly goes to find her adoptive mother. It is a short conversation that has the Keeper making haste to the healing aravel.

“Keep watch over the clan while I attend to this,” Nim commands and Ash nods. She’s familiar with the tasks before her, mostly just making sure the wards aren’t breached, that disputes are resolved if they arise. Keeping the clan calm is the biggest job of all, however.

Sylmae runs up to her after she sees Nimronyn move away, “Has something happened?”

“A nearby clan was captured by the empire, I found a survivor and brought them to Quenenel.”

“Which clan?”

“Rethinel, he was slain in the battle.” Sylmae’s eyes widen briefly before nodding and turning resolute. A familiar resolute scowl takes its place and she takes a deep breath.

“He was not the nicest Keeper, but he was good to his people, and old. Come, we have work.” And with that, Sylmae keeps Ash busy for the rest of the day tending to clan matters. A goat gives birth, a dispute between two of the hunters concerning who broke what is resolved, and other matters are resolved by the end of the day. The clan gathers around the fire for dinner as usual, though Nimronyn is late.

She is in her elf form when she finally exits the healing aravel and takes a seat next to Sylmae, face grim.

“We will be moving camp in the morning,” she announces.

“What?” Ash asks. She can’t mean to run from this! There are people who need help. People who will be tortured and enslaved if they do nothing. Ash knows her mother is scared of the danger but she can’t mean to outrun this. The empire can’t be outrun, at some point they will have to stand and fight, and they ought to make the decision where to do that before they have no choices left.

Nimronyn raises her hand in a silencing motion and shakes her head, “My decision is final.” A few people exchange looks and Ash notices that the clouds around them are distinctly neutral or kept close to their bodies. Others seemed relieved, but Ash counts three hunters and two warriors who seem…conspicuously neutral. The others may not see it exactly, but Ash knows how to read people without relying on emotion clouds – benefits of growing up in a world with a Veil. She sees Tanis’s nose flair and Bav’s lip twitch when Nim makes her decision. They keep their gazes low in a non-confrontational way. They…disapprove.

Disapproving of the Keeper’s actions is not a simple thing. Ash is…a special case. She’s always had a loose lid when it’s come to her opinions and she’s never done well with authority. Being Nim’s daughter also gives her leeway the others simply do not have.

Still, Ash keeps her opinions to herself for the remainder of dinner. There are times to be vocal and others to be quiet. Confrontation here will not serve any cause other than getting herself locked into her aravel for the night.

Sylmae eyes her, though. She’s too sharp to not notice anything out of the norm and Ash’s lack of rebuttal is abnormal. Ash helps clean up the remains of dinner, afterwards Sylmae walks Ash back to her aravel.

“Your mother’s decision does not come easily,” she says.

“I know. She is doing what is best for this clan,” Ash answers, hauling a barrel up onto the side of her aravel. She secures it and moves to the other parts of the aravel that should be loaded up tonight rather than in the morning.

“I’m glad you see her reasoning.” Sylmae isn’t convinced, Ash knows, but she’s called away to help secure other aravels.

“We move at dawn, sleep well, da’len.” She kisses Ash’s forehead before jogging over to help the rest of the clan with their burdens. Ash watches her go, resolve tightening in her gut. She has ‘til dawn then.

She makes eye contact with Tanis, firm in face, just a little wink to indicate that she sees him and his friends’ displeasure with the decision. He winks back. A shadow beyond Tanis moves and Daern’thal strides forward, up to Ash.

“You’re going to do something very stupid, aren’t you?” Reverie whispers low, Daern’thal’s face both incredulous and demanding.

“Define stupid.”

He rolls his eyes while Reverie gets more worked up, “You’ll get yourself killed! The keeper said –

“I know what she said,” Ash says, heading inside her aravel and drawing up a discrete silencing spell.

“I can’t sit back and let the empire torture innocent people when I have the power to make a difference,” she argues back.

“It’s the empire, Ash! Do you really have that much power?”

“If I don’t try, how will I know?”

“That is…terrible logic!”

“Do you have anything better?” She accuses. Really, does he think he can sway her from this? If there is even a chance she can help those poor people, she ought to take it. She is so sick of running, so sick feeling powerless against the tide. She has power, she is strong, shouldn’t use that to help?

“Yes! Listen to the keeper! She knows best and –

“She doesn’t know the full extent of what the empire is capable of. Whatever power they have now will only grow, we need to stop it while we can.”

“If you know what they can do, shouldn’t that give you more caution?”

“I did the cautious thing before, my world died. I’m not letting that happen again.”

“Have you once thought that perhaps your world dying was not your fault?” He asks, and she stills, turned away from him, halfway through putting on her armor.

“If you’re not going to help me, could you at least not blurt it out to the Keeper right away?” Daern’thal is a good man, devout to the Keeper and clan. It’s admirable, if not a little inconvenient for Ash’s more rebellious ideas.

He narrows his eyes and harrumphs, Reverie on his shoulder shivers and shifts into a spider.

“What do you want to do?”

She blinks, stopping in mid cuirass attachment.

“Really?”

“Really. I still think it’s madness, but you shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

Ash smiley wryly, “Who said I was going to be alone?”

**

The moon is high when Ash and Daernth’al leave her aravel and sneak into the woods outside of the caves. Tanis and five others are already there, arms crossed and scowling at the dirt.

“I got a cousin in Rethinel’s clan, and she’s got a kid no higher than my hip. I love the Keeper, I’d die for her, but I can’t stand back knowing that my cousin and her little one are being left to die.”

“The Keeper only wishes to keep us safe,” Daern’thal says softly.

“We’ve been training. It’s time to take this to those imperial fucks,” another warrior, Mazen, says.

Daern’thal looks to Ash, worried, “Have you been…?”

“They came to this themselves, I have incited nothing.” That is where she draws the line. Despite her disagreement on how active they ought to be when confronting the empire, Ash quite likes her adoptive mothers and seeks no real quarrel with them. She has no desire to inspire mutiny. Far from it.

She just…needs action.

Daern’thal still looks worried but not accusatory. To reassure him, she grasps his arm before striding forward and taking point.

“We have…three arches, Daern’thal is good with manipulation, traps. I have my fire and spear training with Sylmae. We have two front warriors, Mazen with sword and shield, and Devora with her hammer. Mazen, keep defensive of our archers, go after those who want to take them out. Devora, blaze in, take out heavies, I will have your flank. Daern’thal, keep our back guarded with whatever traps you have, and before we go in, can you somehow incapacitate or madden a few?”

“If they’re asleep or overly attached to the Dreaming, I can,” he says. She nods.

“Good.”

“Where exactly is this camp?” Devora asks.

“Right, Yenirem came from that direction. I know a retracing charm, so we can follow that in flying forms.” The group nods and in minutes they are in the air, following Ash as she follows a faint purple trail.

The camp is not far, only an hour of flying and they are on the ground, just by the wards of the camp. Fire illuminates the camp, guards roam the place, golden helmets marked with…Elgar’nan’s insignia, if she recalls correctly. At least they’re not Falon’din’s people?

It is a large camp, with people tied together, outside, in three different circles, all heavily warded and guarded. Ash’s group is outnumbered, severely so, but maybe…

“Daern’thal, can you set off the wards on the opposite end of the camp?” She says with her hands. He nods.

“Cause the Dreaming issues then wards?” She asks again. He nods once more before casting then slinking off to the other end. Ash and the others lay low in the brush, waiting for the signal, waiting for the guards to be distracted.

For a moment, Ash wonders if she’s doing the right thing, if this is even a manageable thing. When the world was dying, she felt like she was constantly on the run. She had holed up in a tiny cave once, with Uthvir and Aili. They had all pressed together in the cold, trying to ride it out, just hoping to see morning. Uthvir, less given to fire like Ash and Aili, was begrudgingly scrunched between them.

Corrupted elves found them in the wee hours of the morning. They managed to ambush them and break Ash’s horn before Uthvir killed them. It was her first introduction to Fear, long claws and a dark face, shadows filling the space. The cold didn’t touch them, death bled from the elves, but not once did Ash fear for her life. Uthvir was terrifying, but she had been glad for it.

Life had been different after that. Planning turned to simple survival. It wasn’t until she was forced into infancy that she had been able to stop and think about more than just surviving. She had tried explaining to Nimronyn and Sylmae the gravity of what she had been through, but they could never truly understand it. Her loss was a kind that could only be experienced, not explained. It had frustrated her to no end that they had not been as fearful as she, and not as terrifying as she wanted them to be.

Uthvir had been terrifying, and in that she had found comfort. They matched the environment around her and they could fight it. Nanae had been terrifying too, in a different way, but still terrifying. Mama and Aili struggled with being terrifying. They were soft and compassionate and wonderful, unsuited for the world that had befallen them.

But this world…she can breathe and plan, except that Nimronyn and Sylmae seem to rather run than fight for the future the world deserves. The world that should have been, could have been.

Ash can be terrifying if she wants to be. She can be the last remnant of a dead world and cause the change she wants.

A broken ward alarm blares through the night air and the guards run towards it – on the opposite end of where Ash and the warriors are.

“Go!” She declares. She disables the wards around them and they sneak into the camp. Tanis takes the archers behind a tent, laying low, while Mazen remains close but at a different tent. Devora and Ash take point, ahead of them all, taking stock of everything around them. Screams and clashes and confusion erupt from where Daern’thal set off the wards.

“What was that?”

“Reveal yourself!”

“Stupid animal.”

She looks to Tanis who holds up fingers, signaling to her that there are…fifty, no…sixty guards. Shit. It’s too many, but they can’t turn back now.

Alright, she can salvage this. Ash takes a deep breath and centers herself. When she lets the breath out, fire goes with it.

She signals to the archers to begin taking out as many as they can. They nod and move. In a moment, a flurry of arrows shoot through the camp. Screams echo, making Devora and Ash rise from their positions to enter the fray.

With the position of the guards still preoccupied with the wards, Ash lets loose and explosive spell that cuts a swath through a line of guards. Mazen cuts down guards coming in from the left flank while Devora plows forward into the guards by the broken ward.

Heat and screams and blood fill the air, the desperate need to win, and the sudden realization of a mistake being made.

There’s too many.

Ash drives her spear into a guard then spins out, wrenching the serrated blade out through the side of their gut, fire spitting out from her as she keeps the momentum, flinging back more guards.

The archers turn and take down several more guards. But more are replaced than what they can take down reasonably. Blades land their mark on Ash before she can counter all of them. Can she even call a retreat? They are surrounded.

Ashokara forces her spear to move faster, her flames to spread and wrap around the guards. It is a strain, but she’ll take strain over death.

“That is quite enough!” A voice shouts. The guards around her back up suddenly and her gaze is drawn to a man by a small ornate tent. Soldiers next to him hold daggers to her clansmen’s throats, blades shining in the firelight, blue and orange still blazing in battle.

“Put the spear down, or they die. Either way, you will be captured, and you will face judgement for your crimes against the empire, Asha’thylgar.”

It…it was a trap. They knew she couldn’t…. She swallows thickly and tosses the spear to the side, scowling, chest and wounds hurting. Dammit. She should have known better. She should have…they should not have to pay for her misjudgment. Mazen is bloodied and bruised, his arm held at an awkward angle. She’s not entirely sure Tanis is aware of his surroundings, his eyes blink sluggishly as a head wound bleeds freely.

But…Daern’thal isn’t there. Her brows furrows in concern that they have killed him. But no, their trap only works if all of her clan is kept alive. It’s her they want, her they want to surrender. Even one death would jeopardize that, that much is clear by how Vystril is kept standing up, despite their obvious life-threatening wounds.

Daern’thal got away.

“Let them go and I will go willingly,” she says.

He sneers in delight, red eyes gleaming in the low light, “You misjudge my words, I do not care whether you are willing or not. Your surrender simply keeps more of my people alive. Captain, take them to the hold. I will take this one myself.”

Before she can revert her course of action, guards seize her arms and press her to the ground, quickly disarming her of all her hidden blades. They are not gentle. Her wounds burn in contact with the ground and their hands. She’s wrenched back up by her horns, pain lances through her skull making her reflexively reach back, fire already at her finger tips.

“Do stop that,” the man says and it is like all the air is suddenly forced from her lungs. Her body chills, her fire disappears. Her vision blanks and for a moment she is not in ancient times, but standing before a Red Templar. He sneers as he reaches towards her and snatches her magic away, forcing the still-intact Veil onto her.

It only lasts for a moment before the Red Templar shifts back into the man before her. An elf, not a Red Templar, just…an elf with red hair and eyes who wears the harsh marks of Falon’din upon his face.

She does not hear the clang of armor or moans of pain and protest as she is hauled off towards the ornate tent. The world doesn’t seem to want to stay in one place either as she is shoved inside and into a dirty corner. Runes around her flare to life in a sickeningly bright display.

It’s a separate spell, she thinks. The disorientation. The chill was a counter spell, but this…this is a spell meant to completely disrupt her senses. She blinks and tries to dispel it only for electricity to surge through her body. A scream rips from her as white-hot pain seizes her.

Fine. She’ll…wait it out. It’s been awhile since she’s felt the discomfort of magic being withdrawn from her, but she can handle it. She can survive this, and when she does, she will be taking everyone with her.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the disorientation eases. Her vision clears and her ears pick up the soft sounds around her. There is a man, no, more of a boy in the other corner of the tent. He’s tied to a pole rather than surrounded by a circle of runes, his head hung low, body limp.

There’s no one else in the tent, so she tries.

“Hey,” she says. He doesn’t respond so she tries again.

“Hey, kid, look up.”

“Why? To see more people die?” His voice is hoarse, likely from crying and screaming she suspects.

“No, no, I’m not dying. Look up, I’m alive, see?” She urges. His eyes flick up but then back down.

“They’ll kill you soon,” he says. His spirit has been broken, likely from beatings and seeing the deaths of his people. It makes Ash’s heart go out to him and makes her try harder.

“Can you tell me a few things?” She asks softly. His shoulders move slightly.

“Like what?”

“Your name?” She recognizes loss in him. He’s where she was once, distraught and disconnected. Four short horns curve over his ears and when he looks up, there are silver scales framing his eyes. Oh no.

“Verethrin…youngest and…remaining…” his voice chokes off on a sound that would be a sob if he weren’t out of tears. Her heart bleeds for him, and she scoots forward in her own jail, closer to the ward barrier in an attempt to comfort him.

“Verethrin, I know what you are feeling. It is…there are no words, no consolation,” she says softly. His head lolls to the side, showing a large hand-printed bruise on his neck. There is blood all over his clothes.

“Then why are you speaking?”

She takes a deep breath, “When I lost my Mama and my Nanae, I thought the world ended. But it didn’t. It only ended…it only ends when you let it. I fight for them, to keep their memory.” Even now she carries them with her, their necklaces tucked in against her chest beneath her armor. They’re with her, even when…even when they cannot be.

“What is the point of that? When the memory will be lost.”

“Not if you fight. Your father was Rethinel?” She keeps her voice soft and kind. He’s had enough roughness and tragedy.

He nods once, barely.

“He refused to go to Arlathan, right? He fought for you, for your people. He…you deserve to fight, to keep his memory.”

It is a Keeper’s place to remember. It’s an idea the Dalish had held dear, one that Ash had always liked. It’s not quite what the Keepers of her current time do, but perhaps it’s something that can comfort him, help him get through this.

His head moves back towards her, his eyes full of familiar sorrow, “What of my brothers? My mother? There were seven of us. Now I’m…”

Her heart breaks. She has found large families are not common in this world, but when they occur…they are old and precious things, magnificent like gigantic old trees with their roots deep and their branches thick.

They killed our keeper and took his sons! Yenirem had cried.

They killed the eldest four sons too, apparently. In front of Verethrin, who looks barely old enough to be an adult, if he even is.

Motivation…fight…it’s not something that can just be conjured, and the wound is still so fresh.

“Verethrin, you…you are the Keeper now,” she whispers. He lets out a choked sound.

“I can’t.”

“You can. Keepers aren’t just big powerful dragons, they…they are wise, they are kind, they are leaders. You can do that.”

Verethrin scoffs, “I’m tied to a post, waiting to…waiting for Falon’din. I’m not leading anyone.”

Ash takes a deep breath and looks around the room. There is unsurprisingly nothing sharp to cut his binds.

“Alright, don’t lead. But let me help you, you can free yourself, then…we’ll free me, and we’ll get your people out…somehow.”

He scowls at her and shakes his head, “There are more coming, even if we freed everyone…we’re outnumbered now and will be worse off soon.”

More are coming? Dread fills Ash as she realizes that Nimronyn and the others will come…most likely. She does not think she has been alienating enough to justify being left to the empire. But then again….

She lets out a long breath and leans back on the floor, staring up at the tent’s ceiling. They shouldn’t come. Surely Nimronyn sees the trap more plainly than Ash. Perhaps that is why she wanted to move so quickly, get Ash out of range of doing something stupid. But Ash is used to moving fast, even now. It doesn’t take much for her to make up her mind and execute plans.

There is no rush, da’len. We have time.

Time. Something Ash is still not used to having, even after more than century, she still rushes into things. At some point, Ash will die, they will all die. It’s a concept that she has found not many elves of this time are fond of. Why should they be? They’re immortal unless death is acted upon them. Ash remembers trying to explain it to the clan and they all stared at her in abject horror at the idea of only being allowed a century of life, and that was if you were lucky.

But time is not something Ash currently has. She suspects there is an Eluvian in the camp which would explain the threat of arrival of reinforcements and Falon’din. That time frame could be anywhere between minutes and hours. Perhaps days if he is truly far away, though Ash doubts that.

If the clan barges in, there is a great likelihood they will be killed. They killed Rethinel and his sons, his wife, the warriors of the clan…she is not entirely sure how, but they did.

“Verethrin, I know it hurts, but how did they kill your father and brothers?”

He sniffles, “Betrayal. Our clan has old ways with dealing with others, there is a term of peace called when Keepers enter a negotiation – who gets to camp where, trading people, you know. The Keepers speak with each other, unarmed as a token of good faith. They had stolen people from another clan, masqueraded as their Keeper. They killed my father while they should have been negotiating.”

She blinks, and a spark of hope fills her. They didn’t kill Rethinel while he was in his true draconic form, they laid a trap for him. This is still a trap for Nimronyn…but, she won’t be disarmed from the start like Rethinel.

“They overwhelmed us so quickly. Captured my brothers…tortured them one by one, said that if they didn’t ally with the empire, everyone would die. They fought. And now we will die.”

“They would have killed you all anyways. The Empire doesn’t trust any Keeper or Keeper born. There are worse things than death.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” He cries, eyes like opals filling with tears as his body shakes, “I am twenty.”

“Then they have underestimated you due to age.” She wants to tell him that even children are capable of defending their people, that he can do great things, even at his age. She had been younger when she had taken up fighting on the regular. But this is a different time and he will not believe her.

Verethrin’s head lolls to the side revealing a hand-shaped bruise on his neck. From where the fingers are, someone was holding him to keep his face still, to watch.

“You are Rethinel’s son, they can never take that from you. That strength is there, you just need to reach for it.”

Before he can respond, the tent ruffles open and the red-haired man from before, along with a plain looking woman, enter. The man is so relaxed he does not even wear armor, simply thick full body robes. The woman is more cautious, suited in an awkward looking leather cuirass. She walks two steps behind him, her head angled down.

She had seen similar statures before – from the slaves that accompanied Tevinter mages.

The man turns to Verethrin then looks over to Ash, “Getting to know one another? Efficacy, ensure that will not continue. Word has been sent to Lord Falon’Din, he’ll be here shortly…” he considers Verethrin for a moment before gesturing towards him. The boy flinches and the bruises along his neck disappear.

“He doesn’t like to see his property touched.”

Before she thinks it through, Ash stands up and leans towards her barrier, snarling, “He’s a child.”

“Is that what he told you? You can never trust the children of keepers, Efficacy, they are taught only to lie.”

“You should never trust an empire elf, they’re only taught to care about themselves and to rape whatever dares say no to them – people, land,” Ash snarls. The man turns to her slowly, brows arched and mouth drawn into a harsh scowl.

“As I said,” he waves his hand sending excruciating lightning through Ash’s body. She seizes, falling to the floor in agony.

“All lies.”

She does not see him leave but hears the tent flap close. Her heart races and her body aches from her wounds and now the lightning. She hasn’t felt this helpless in a long time, not since…not since she was in her old world.

Ash turns onto her back and looks up at the plain woman, Efficacy. A distinctive sound barrier surrounds Verethrin behind her, constructed by her.

“They’ll destroy everything, please, listen,” she whispers. The woman looks down at her, expression sad but firm.

“Why do you always insist on resisting? It is as futile as a rabbit struggling in an owl’s grip.” She waves her hand and a sound barrier goes up around Ash as well. Efficacy turns to the book in her hands, a caught rabbit, then, just like the rest of them. But this one decided to lay low and hide in plain sight.

Her magic is nulled. Her voice is silenced. Her body aches and she cannot move more than a few steps forward. Trapped.

Her eyes meet Verethrin’s and she raises her chin in defiance. She may feel helpless, but he doesn’t need to know that. Ash rises to her feet and screams as she launches herself into the barrier. She is zapped back, pain lancing through her. Efficacy looks up, shocked.

Verethrin’s eyes widen and Ash continues to throw herself into the barrier, her body feels like it is being shredded by glass, but she continues. Come on, turn away from him.

Efficacy stands, eyes fixed in horrified confusion on Ash.

“Stop!” She yells.

“You’ll…you’ll kill yourself!” She says. Ash drags her eyes, now swollen, to Verethrin. Move. Find your strength, please! She throws herself into the barrier again and slumps to the floor, gasping for breath, blood soaking the ground beneath her.

“Oh dear, oh no, no, no! You cannot die! That…that is the Lord’s job.”

It’s a struggle to keep her eyes open and the buzzing in her head makes time pass sluggishly. It is like looking through a veil when she opens her eyes to see Verethrin, somehow standing before Efficacy, tall and scared, but determined. He grabs her, and they struggle until he grabs her book and hits her over the head with it.

Efficacy stops moving.

“Ve..?” She murmurs.

He crawls to her cage and scribbles something into the dirt. The sound barrier is the first to come down, then the cage.

The breath she sucks in feels like life itself, fire and warmth and ability.

“Hey, hey, look up. Um, I…did it, I reached for it. Please, look up. Oh no. Mamae taught me healing, it…this will hurt I’m so sorry.”

Magic flutters over her then sinks into her like freezing water. She chokes back a scream as the worst of the damage is healed rapidly and not masterfully. Ash gasps for air, thrashing in his grasp. As painful and sudden it is, it is mercifully quick.

After she catches her breath and can ignore the lingering pain and numbness in her body, she looks up at Verethrin, taller than she had suspected, but far more fragile and doll like too. There is a luminescence to his skin that makes it look thin and breakable, his eyes are wide, filled with fear and concern.

“Congratulations, Verethrin, you��re a Keeper,” she tells him. He turns red and helps her stand up.

“Alright, alright, but now what? Efficacy isn’t going to stay down the entire time.”

“You’re right,” Ash says. She’s exhausted and not entirely sure how much energy she can expend for their escape, so they’ll have to be clever and precise. Two things she hasn’t exactly always excelled at.

“Have you heard of an Eluvian?”

He shakes his head and she nods, “Alright, well, they’re giant mirrors that allow the empire elves to travel from one place to another very quickly through a passage they’ve crafted from the Dreaming called the Crossroads.”

“WHAT?”

“Keep your voice down! It’s clear to me that they’re using one here to bring in reinforcements and it’s from where Falon’din will arrive. If we have any hope of surviving this, we need to take that Eluvian out.”

“How do we do that?”

“They can be shattered if enough force is applied, they can also be deactivated but I think our best bet is just to break it.”

“Good, good, but…how do we do that? We go outside, and the guards swarm us.”

“Unless…unless we’re the guards.”

Verethrin’s brow furrows, “You want to masquerade as guards? We don’t even have uniforms, we’re a bit distinctive.”

True. She thinks for a moment.

“How small can you shift? I can manage a small lizard.”

“I can try for a mouse, but I don’t know how long I can hold it.”

Right, and with her current energy levels, Ash isn’t sure how much she should put into the shift either. And if they masquerade as the guards, she’ll have to keep her horns shifted away. It’s…a lot, but she can manage it, they’ll just need to be efficient about it.

“Alright, so we’ll sneak into the guards’ tent, knock out those in there silently. I’ll write in a silencing ward around the tent before going in. Put on the uniforms, then exit. After that, we get to the Eluvian, make it inoperable.” They’ll have to find the tent quickly. There are easily twenty tents in the camp, finding the right one will be…interesting.

“How?” He asks.

“Eluvians are primarily glass, I’ll heat it up, when I give you the signal, freeze it. The glass should shatter.” Should being the operative word. It worked well enough in her timeline, but she isn’t sure if that was due to the Veil or just a property of glass.

Verethrin swallows then nods. There’s still fear surrounding him, but also a determination that wasn’t there an hour ago.

“What will the signal be?”

“I’ll nod.”

“Wait, wait, why not just do this while in animal form?” He asks and it’s her turn to be sheepish.

“I can’t maintain that small of an animal shape and cast the necessary forceful spell at the same time, not like this. I’m too tired,” she explains.

There is a pause where she wonders if he is going to back out now. She wouldn’t blame him. He has no time to properly handle his trauma and who knows when he managed to sleep last. This was a trap so Yenirem was released after the capture and likely torture and execution of Verethrin’s brothers. Their child was probably threatened if they didn’t do as the empire instructed.

But Verethrin rallies himself and in that moment he does look every bit a Keeper’s child, young but determined. Ash clasps his shoulder before shifting her body down into a small lizard. He follows suit, turning into a small white mouse.

“Follow my lead,” she whispers, and they’re off into the camp. Smaller body means smaller legs which means slower movement, but they go as quickly as they can, running between tents in search of the right one. There are plenty of tents set up for soldiers to bunk in, but she needs a tent that is guaranteed to have uniforms for them. Ten minutes into the search, Verethrin is the one to find it. It’s larger than the others, three off-duty guards sit in it, talking about romantic issues or something as equally boring. The guards are already out of their uniforms and simply lounging in their softer layers, making them excellent targets.

Ash runs around the tent, marking runes into the dirt and whispering little magic into them. Afterwards, her and Verethrin skitter into the tent. She activates the sound barrier, maneuvers herself behind one of the guards then shifts. She hits him over the head with a rock, while Verethrin hits another with a rock and the third they handle together by quickly tackling him to the ground.

Step one and two, done.

They tie the now unconscious guards together with rope found in one of the chests. Ash gags them then turns to see the uniforms. Only one of the guards gets close to her height, so she takes that uniform. Verethrin lucks out with one that is just at his height, even if the guard is bulkier than him. The difference is easily made up by padding.

They don helmets after shifting their horns away, then head back out in search of the Eluvian. It’s likely in the tallest tent, which was oddly enough not the tent they were being held in. A private tent, then. She marches through the camp, eyeing everything without arousing suspicion. She avoids what look to be officers. Her hand is already beginning to shake with strain to keep her form.

They round a boulder on the west side of the camp and see the pen keeping in the majority of Verethrin’s clan. He tenses beside her and she grips his arm to keep him there with her. She understands the need to go in and get them, but…she knows he needs to wait. They need to wait. First, they need to take out the Eluvian, then they can work on freeing people, otherwise freeing them will be temporary.

Her skin itches from her shifting magic, skull aching. Just a bit longer, she can do this. Nim and her have been working on stamina, and this is a good a time to use it as any.

Ash and Verethrin walk past the pen, trying not to look too closely inside, then round what looks to be the line for food. Beyond that is a colorful tent and a very large ward. That must be where the Eluvian is. It sits slightly elevated from the rest of the camp, with a clear vantage to see both pens, the tent Ash and Verethrin were in, and the very direction Ash’s raiding party had come in. They knew exactly what was going to happen.

Later, Ash can lambast herself for this later, now she just needs to survive. It’s an easy mode to fall back into as she cases the ward around the Eluvian. Four guards stand watch over the large mirror and the red-haired man is close. Ash can hear his voice from a nearby tent, arguing with someone.

“We need reinforcements now. The Keeper will be here soon, we need to fortify the grounds and move the prisoners!” She hears.

“We’ve killed Keepers before, Certainty, we know what we’re doing. The reinforcements will get here when they get here.”

“You will address me as General –

“You are not the General here, these are Elgar’nan’s forces, or have you forgotten exactly who supported this hairbrained plan?”

Ash walks away from the tent before she can hear more, but it heartens her. The red-haired man, Certainty, is not truly the one in charge here. He serves Falon’din, and these are Elgar’nan’s people. Joint efforts shouldn’t be uncommon, Falon’din is Elgar’nan’s son, but it seems that there is enough discord between the two that it has translated to their people.

She returns to Verethrin and they walk away from the Eluvian, hoping not to arouse suspicion.

“Wards, lots.”

Verethrin nods, “I can break them. Brothers used to ward away my stuff as pranks.” His voice warbles slightly.

“Your brothers will be proud,” she whispers back. He nods then breaks away from her. Five minutes later and there is a great SNAP. The air blows away from the Eluvian and she is quick to respond, just like any guard. Dozens of guards are there to see the wards split open.

“What is the meaning of this!” Elgarn’nan’s General shouts. Dammit, they’ll put the wards up before Ash can wait to take out the Eluvian inconspicuously. She finds Verethrin’s eyes across the way then turns to the Eluvian.

She thrusts her hand out and the Eluvian ignites in a brilliant display. Ash forces her magic into it, rapidly heating the glass. A great crack splits down the middle before being tackled to the ground. She struggles but their weight is great, something hits her head and her vision blurs. She only makes out the sudden frost that snaps over the mirror, shattering the glass instantaneously.

They did it. Even as she loses consciousness, a spark of hope fills her. They may survive this yet.

**

Sylmae finds her wife staring out into the darkness, her back to the camp. Despite her wife’s stature, she has never seemed small to Sylmae. Always so large and loving and strong. But there is a weariness to her that worries Sylmae. Nimronyn has been trying so very hard not to show it, but the strain is obvious.

“All is well?” Nimronyn asks, not looking away from the shadows.

Sylmae nods. “The elf Yenirem is still with Quenenel.  Elrahel stands guard. The others are preparing to move camp, as you asked.”

Nimronyn turns slightly, just enough that the beads on her antlers sway. “Ashokara does not approve of my decision.”

“She does not,” Sylmae agrees.

“She thinks I am naive. Maybe she finds me incompetent. Perhaps she thinks me a coward.”

Sylmae shakes her head, “I think our daughter simply thinks she knows what is best.” She reaches out a hand to place on her wife's shoulders, but stops herself. Nimronyn is focused on some task, and Sylmae does not wish to interrupt her, even for comfort.

Nimronyn sighs softly. “Why can she not listen? Why must she always argue?”

“Our daughter does not admit her faults easily.” It is a trait Sylmae knows she shares.

“I simply wish she would try and understand, as we are trying to understand her. She has suffered so much already. I only wish her happiness. Are we cruel for wanting to keep her safe?”

Ashokara wants to save this world because she could not save her own. It is hard for her to realize that she cannot do so alone, and that others are there to help, not hinder. Sylmae knows her wife also knows this. She knows Nimronyn talks only to get the words out, not because she needs answers.

“I am so tired,” Nimronyn whispers. “I am so tired, ma vhenan.”

Something heavy settles in Sylmae's stomach, and does not ease as the silence stretches.  Sylmae remembers the last time her wife said those words to her. She remembers the panic, and the visceral feeling of betrayal that comes with the fear of being left behind, of not being good enough to make someone stay. It was unfair to throw those feelings upon Nimronyn then, and Sylmae knows that has not changed...but it does not stop her from asking. “Do you resent me? For making you stay?”

Her wife turns to her, eyes so pained and old that Sylmae knows it is an unfair question. But she must know. She had thought Ash's appearance had changed everything, had pulled her heart more fully into the waking world and given her a purpose that Sylmae had been unable to do alone.

There are many things their daughter does not know. Things it is not her right to know and things she has not earned the right to know. She has been so brash that Nimronyn and Sylmae have both thought it best not to tell her.

No matter how grown up their daughter thinks she is, she is not ready for some truths. She is too reckless to know them. Trust is a fragile thing, and while Sylmae and her wife love their daughter with all their hearts, Ashokara has proven on many occasion to disregard them if she feels she is right.

“If the madness comes, kill me quickly, before I can harm our family.”

Nimronyn opens her mouth to speak, but stops, when a small light begins to glow in the darkness ahead of her, and a spirit slowly makes it way forward.

Sylmae knows better than to interrupt, as the small spirit wraps itself around Nimronyn like a second skin, the same color as her antlers. This conversation is over, for the moment, and Sylmae is not certain why she is relieved at that.

---

Honesty is a small spirit.

There are not many spirits of honesty left in the world, both Waking and Dreaming. They corrupt easily, are used by many and discarded, or sacrificed, when their job is done. Nimronyn has had to coax this one slowly, and build trust between them.

She would not call upon it if she did not feel the urgency of the situation. Honesty understands and is eager to help. Nimronyn will do what she can, to make certain Honesty remains as such.

She walks back with her wife toward the aravel where Quenenel has been healing the elf from Rethinel's clan. Elrahel nods at her as she passes but remains posted at the door. The elf nearly jumps when they enter, panic visceral. That unease only seems to heighten as they spot the spirit.

They are hiding something. Nimronyn wishes she could trust them without resorting to such means...but she must keep her own clan safe, first and foremost.

“Before I can send aid, there must be truth between us.” Nimronyn murmurs, as Honesty flits between her horns. “Far too many clans have fallen to deception. I will not allow my own to do so.”

Yenirem swallows, eyes flitting to Honesty, hands clasped tightly in their lap.

“Leave us, Quenenel,” Nimronyn orders, and the healer does so quickly. Sylmae remains in the doorway, a steady presence.

“You must know that even if a spirit of honesty serves another it cannot lie. Honesty is here for both of our sakes. If you have nothing to hide then there is nothing to fear.” Nimronyn continues, smiling gently. “I tell you now, I mean you no harm, and only seek the truth. No harm will come to you, if you answer with honesty.”

The spirit hums, a soft, melodic tune to show that Nimronyn's words are sincere.

Yenirem does not seem to be put at ease, but gives a small, shallow nod. They begin to fidget, as they wait for Nimronyn to continue.

“Is it true that Rethinel has fallen? And was killed by Falon'Din and his followers?”

“Yes,” Yenirem answers quickly, and Honesty hums.

“Is it true that the remaining members of your clan were taken captive?”

“Yes.” The grief in the air spikes, and Nimronyn knows they are thinking of their daughter.

“And you managed to escape?”

“I...yes.”

“Are you a warrior of your clan, Yenirem? Or a scout?”

“No,” Yenirem whispers, and there is something in their tone that tells them all they need to know. Defeat. Yenirem knows what will happen when they answer Nimronyn's next question.

Too many clans have fallen to this new Empire, and many through deception. Rethinel's clan was no exception, it seems.

And now the empire wishes to use a grieving parent to add more to its list. Nimronyn must get her clan to safety, it is now more imperative than ever. Even if Ash disapproves.

Ash is so young…even with the added years of her life before she came to them, the time she has lived has been but a blink of an eye to Nimronyn. Sometimes she wonders why she continues forward, when the world seems to move so slowly and yet so quickly around her.

Better to rest, and contemplate, like all the other old ones.

No, no, she cannot rest. Not when there are so many relying on her.

Rethinel had never gotten along with others, but his clan does not deserve this. Nimronyn will get her clan to safety, and then she will go and see what she can do, while Sylmae and her daughter keep the clan safe in her absence. But they must get to safety first…Nimronyn cannot put her own people in danger for this, not when they do not know the size of the empire’s forces.

Not when it could be a trap, as it has so often turned out to be.

Patience yet sleeps. Vhallasa fell only twenty years past, Henne’thel’s father Athros taken from them…and no word from Ireth in years.

She will contact all she can in the Dreaming, to see if others know what is happening.

The summit of Keepers that she has been planning will need to happen sooner now. Her daughter is not wrong, in saying that running cannot solve their problems. Nimronyn is no coward, but she is patient. And if their clan were to settle in one area, in the midst of hostile territory…even fortifications would do them little good against an onslaught of enemies that knew there was a permanent dwelling place.

Nimronyn must gather the Keepers she trusts, and broach the subject then. She has been doing so; Henne’thel and her clan offered to take the task upon themselves, to reach Keepers in far off places, to speak of alliances.

Empires are cruel things…Nimronyn does not wish for the Keepers and clans to turn to the same dark paths as Mythal and Elgar’nan…

Nimronyn remembers when Justice and Vengeance were still spirits, and war raged endlessly.

Peace…peace has been so short lived. Nimronyn wished to hold on to it for a while longer, before returning to war.

“Is there a trap waiting at the destination you have given?”

“I...no...I...” Yenirem stutters, before their expression twists, as Honesty lets out a shrill note and glows red. Yenirem opens their mouth again, eyes darting from Nimronyn to the exit where Sylmae stands, before they seem to cave in on themselves.

“They have my daughter,” they wail. “If I do not bring Asha'thylgar they will kill her.”

Sylmae stiffens in the doorway, as Nimronyn sucks in a sharp breath. Even suspecting this does not mean she is prepared to have the truth in front of her. Falon'Din has murdered an entire clan for this, held others hostage, threatened another's daughter.

Nimronyn places a hand on Yenirem's shoulder, and the elf shrinks at the touch, bracing for a strike. “I know that you did this out of love for your child. Desperation drives us to do many things we regret. Tell me the truth of it all, now. Let there be no lies between us, and I promise I will do what I can to save your daughter.”

Yenirem buries their face in their hands and begins to sob but slowly, through the tears, they begin to speak.

---

Things move quickly, after Nimronyn gets the entire story from Yenirem. Elrahel heads out to inform their guard patrols and brings back several of the older warriors. Nimronyn and Sylmae head to their aravel and begin changing into their armor.

It is a tense silence. Nimronyn has not worn these clothes for thousands of years. It is sobering to do so now, as she places on her armguards and ties her hair back. She watches as Sylmae tightens the straps on her chest-piece and reaches for her axes.

The two are walking out of their aravel when Elrahel runs up to them, nearly out of breath and followed by several others. “Keeper, Tanis and Bav have gone missing!”

“Mazen as well, and Devora.”

“I cannot find Vystril.”

That is several of their young warriors and scouts. Gone. Tanis and Mazen were meant to be on guard duty. Had something happened to them? No, surely if they had been taken, an attack would have already happened. But why would they willingly leave their posts and put the entire clan in danger— “Sylmae, where is our daughter?”

Sylmae's expression hardens, but the small bit of fear leaks through, before she reigns it inside. She knows what Nimronyn is suggesting.

The entire clan bursts into action, a flurry of movement as others looked for their loved ones, afraid that they too have gone missing.

When Daern’thal stumbles into camp, bloodied and afraid, Nimronyn’s heart stops. She does not need to hear him speak to know what has happened.

“Daern'thal!” Tamsas, one of Daern'thal's fathers, rushes forward, his mother Lemael and Elrahel only a moment behind. Daern'thal falls in Tamsas' arms, and they both fall to the ground as the weaver stumbles.

“Give him some room!” Sylmae shouts, as others rush forward, radiating concern.

“It was a trap,” Reverie chirps, batting its wings frantically as Daern’thal gulps down a skein of water. “I told her it was dangerous, but we did not think—”

“That is obvious,” Sylmae snaps, and her voice is cold. Daern’thal flinches. Sylmae should have expected this from Ash. She knew her daughter was brash. She should have tied her to a tent post until they'd been ready to leave in the morning to keep her from this foolishness. She lets herself be angry because the alternative, the fear at the thought of her daughter in danger, is too much.

“Speak,” Nimronyn orders, voice warmer than her wife’s, but still stern.

“Falon’Din, he set a trap. There were others…others captured.”

“And our clan?” My daughter?

“Alive. They were taken captive.”

Nimronyn walks several feet away, form shifting. She does not fully change, but the way her limbs shift has Sylmae at her side immediately. “Nimronyn?”

“Does she hate us, vhenan? Why would she do such a thing? What if she--” Nimronyn cuts herself off, scales rippling across her skin and nails lengthening to claws as she begins to lose hold of her elven form in her panic.

“You know she does not hate us,” Sylmae asserts, cupping her wife's face in her hands, ignoring the sharp scales that slice into skin.

“Why can she not listen? I have tried so hard to understand. Why can she not—have I failed? Vhenan, it is my fault.”

“The blame is not yours. We will get our daughter back, Nimronyn. Then we can talk of this. We must get her back first.”

Nimronyn closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep, trembling breath. “I do not want to become a violent thing to end violence.”

Sylmae sighs, and presses a quick kiss to her wife's forehead. “I know, my heart. I know.”

Foolish. So foolish. And Sylmae the greatest fool of them all for not seeing this outcome.

“Vhenan, we will get her back.”

It is the other's betrayal of the clan that hurts, truthfully. For Ash to be this brash is not unheard of, and it is Sylmae's fault for overlooking it. But the others...that they would disobey their Keeper so blatantly is a slight that is not easily forgiven.

If they even yet live.

For their parents' sake, Sylmae hopes it is so. Let them live to be punished, for any punishment Nimronyn would enact would be a mercy to the slave camps of a rival clan. Or Falon'Din.

Nimronyn's expression is dangerously serene. “Daern’thal, you will remain with the clan. Once you have rested, it is your duty to listen to Ilris, and ward the camp. Neranni, Mewyn,” The two scouts appeared at her side, faces grim, “Henne’thel and her clan should be camped to the North. Find her and inform her of the circumstances and ask for aid. Listen to her orders in our absence.”

The two disappear as quickly as they arrived.

“Reverie, you will show Sylmae the way to the camp.” Nimronyn orders. She nods at Sylmae, “Gather those you will need.”

The spirit does not argue, and flits to Sylmae's shoulder with an apologetic squawk at Daern'thal. Sylmae barely seems to notice, “And where are you headed, wife?”

“To seek an alliance.”

Something hateful builds up inside of Nimronyn. She remembers it well, the corrosive tang of violence. Keepers are no longer spirits…they cannot corrupt. But sometimes she thinks it is possible, and the feeling is similar.

It is not a feeling she enjoys, but it is one she cannot dismiss. She will do what she must, to save her daughter.

Even if it means losing herself again.

---

Melarue knows of Nimronyn. Older than Merith. Older than most. Old enough to know the woman who wore the name Mythal before it was stolen by this new tyrant that has been plaguing the clans.

They have never met, but Melarue recognizes her on sight, as the jade-scaled Keeper flies down from the clouds and lands just outside the border of the clan's wards. Melarue arrives before Merith, their pace slowing as they see Nimronyn in her elven form, standing respectfully several feet away from the two terrified guards that had first noticed her arrival.

Despite Nimronyn's calm demeanor the air around her is turbulent, even if Melarue cannot discern all of the emotions present.

“Stand down,” Merith orders as he hurries forward, smiling brightly at the sight of an old friend. He holds his arms out in welcome, and his smile dims only when he sees how distraught she is. “What has happened to you, old friend?”

“Rethinel has fallen. His clan was betrayed and taken by the Empire.”

Merith's expression falls. Melarue wishes they could find some sympathy for Rethinel, but he had never made himself likable. The reality of the situation, however, is indeed grave. Another Keeper fallen, and one in a close vicinity to them as well, by the looks of it. They will need to move camp as soon as the clan is able.

“As unfortunate an outcome as it is, it is no longer a rarity,” Melarue responds, “Why have you come?”

“To seek aid in freeing the remaining members of his clan…and to rescue my daughter.”

Melarue raises an eyebrow. “The mighty Asha'thylgar has been captured?”

Nimronyn's expression twists, but the air around her remains empty, her emotions held close against her. It is only the scales rippling around her cheeks that lets Melarue know they've upset her.

Merith gives them a look that clearly means they should let it drop.  They cannot help themselves, however. Not now. “So your daughter has succumb to her hubris, then. Do you know how many clans have been attacked or destroyed because of what she has done? Mythal’s maggot of a son has done whatever he can to find her, and he does not care who he must destroy to do so.”

“Melarue,” Merith warns, frowning. He turns back to Nimronyn, “Forgive them, please. Some of our own were captured by Falon’Din’s followers to lure us into the same trap. Likely he hoped that since you and I are friends that we would ask for your aid.”

“And why did you not?” Nimronyn asks, voice soft.

“And risk another great Keeper falling to the empire? You are one of the oldest left, it is not a risk that can be taken lightly.” Melarue answers. They have never met this Nimronyn before, but they know they should not antagonize her. She is known for being patient, but even she must be angered by their tone. They cannot help it. The scouting team that was taken had gone out on their orders…

“Nimronyn,” Merith sighs, “Let me speak privately with Melarue for a moment.”

“Of course.” Nimronyn nods, with more poise than Melarue had expected after their outburst.

Melarue does not like being pulled aside like a petulant child, but they let Merith tuck their arm in the bend of his elbow and walk further away. They see Merith's wife, Elmeni, greet Nimronyn with a warm smile.

“That was uncalled for,” Merith chastizes them. “Nimronyn fears for her daughter. She doesn't even know if she's alive. Antagonizing her about her daughter's behavior won't fix anything. She is in pain, and the loss of a child is something you and I cannot understand.”

Melarue bites the inside of their cheek and nods.

“If there are people in danger we must aid them.” Merith continues.

“At the expense of your own safety and the safety of this clan?” Melarue asks coolly. “You will do no one any good if you are dead. You would merely provide fuel for the Empire.”

“Some of our own were also taken. We must do something.”

“Then do something we shall, but you are no fighter, Merith,” Their voice softens. “You would be a target on the battlefield. We must play to our strengths, and violence is not yours.”

Merith sighs. He looks ashamed at his lack of fighting prowess, but Melarue has never seen it as a weakness. Some are needed to do other tasks, and Merith is a good leader and protector. He does not need to be a killer as well.

They can be that for him.

“If you think allying with Nimronyn will be beneficial to getting back our people, then I will follow your lead. But let me go in your stead. You will be needed here.”

Merith hesitates for only a moment more, as if he wants to argue the point, before he nods. “Let us speak with Nimronyn.”

Elmeni has managed to calm Nimronyn's nerves, and even draw out a smile from the old Keeper by the time they return. Elmeni has always been so good at putting others at ease, it is a trait that Melarue envies, and one they try and emulate. But the sincerity of the actions never reaches their eyes, not like it does with Elmeni.

“We wish to help,” Merith reaches out and grabs Nimronyn's hands in his own. “Your pain is our pain, lethallan. What can we do?”

Nimronyn's shoulders sag, as if a great weight has been lifted from them. “Thank you. I know your heart aches as well, I will do everything I can to bring your own back safely.”

“Let us plan, then.” Merith smiles. “So that we can bring everyone home.”

“Are there any others who would aid us?”

“Vhallasa and Lanathra were betrayed and killed by the Empire. Vhallasa’s remaining clan has joined ours. Lanathra’s perished with her. Armael has taken her clan and fled and has become hostile to any who near them. The madness has likely begun.”

“Athros’s daughter is near,” Nimronyn nods, “I have sent my scouts to ask for her aid. She has taken her father’s mantle.”

Melarue is surprised at that. The last time they'd seen Henne'thel she had been little more than a child, flighty and more interested in listening to the sound of her own voice than in leading others. They suppose grief can change a person—or bring out the person they were all along.

“Ireth and her clan have gone silent. I fear the worst.”

Nimronyn closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering sigh. Melarue knows that look. Another great leader likely gone.

Merith purses his lips, “Nelaeryn?”

“Gone,” Nimronyn shakes her head, “Most of his clan with him, though I believe his son has begun amassing a force himself to battle the Empire. But I have not met this Geldauran, I do not know his character.”

“Neither do I.” Merith nods, “Melarue?”

They shrug, “My spies have been looking elsewhere so I am unsure of his motives. It seems unlikely any potential allies will arrive in time, not if we wish to get our people back alive.”

Nimronyn reaches up and tugs on her earring, expression thoughtful but determined. “Henne'thel will be with my clan, but she may send some of her warriors as well. My wife is heading to the enemy camp as we speak and will look for any openings and weaknesses in their fortifications.”

“A large force would be too slow. But they are not expecting you to have allied with others,” Melarue nods at Nimronyn. “A group of your warriors and our own then. Our best chance is to strike quickly, catch them unaware before Falon'Din can call upon his family for aid.”

“Melarue?” Elmeni questions, looking to them.

“I will lead our forces.” Melarue nods. “Merith must remain, in case we fail.”

Nimronyn meets their gaze, and for the first time Melarue catches a glimpse of the powerful Keeper they had heard whispers of in the Dreaming. “Gather your forces, Melarue. We leave as soon as you are ready.”

**

Her body is strained when she wakes. It is curved into an awkward position so that she is leaning over with an incessant pressure over her neck.

“Ah, she wakes, good,” a familiar voice says. Ash blinks her eyes open, seeing only dirt at first. Turning her head proves to be difficult, but she knows it’s Certainty. The hair on her neck rises and she feels the eyes on her.

“What? No words or defiance for me?”

She bites her lip, trying not to rise to his bait. Her body is heavy, but supported, or more accurately, forced to remain in a semi-upright position. She’s trapped in some fashion, rising to bait will only harm her and potentially others.

Certainty tsks as his boots come into view.

“I expected more, but then again, there is no bravery or honor among savages – simply rage.” More bait, harder to not rise to but Ash restrains herself. The exhaustion helps with the restraint, she can’t spare energy on this fool.

She wants to ask where Verethrin is, but it is unlikely that he would tell her. It also runs the risk of him saying Oh, the little spawn? He’s dead. She can’t really take that right now.

Ash’s lips are dry, and she feels the sting of wounds all of her body. It has been a long time since she was in this amount of helpless pain. Helpless. She hates it, hates it with all her being. For the first eighteen years of her life, she was helpless, and then she was helpless for another twenty-five. She is sick of it, sick of trying so hard and it not ever working.

Is the world just doomed? Is there nothing she can do? Are parents cursed to lose their children, children to lose their parents?

Is that not what you are doing right now? Nimronyn and Sylmae, about to lose their only daughter.

No, she will survive this. Nimronyn and Sylmae aren’t losing her.

Maybe they will simply abandon you.

They wouldn’t –

Wouldn’t they? You have brought nothing but danger to them. You filled their heads with fear of a dying world, you ran into battle, you defied them, you lead your own people into this trap.

This voice is not her own, Ash knows that. But the fear and the self-hatred are there, and it is like an old wound being worked open, blood pouring out as the knives dig deeper.

The hair on her arms prick and the voice whispers more of her fears and oh. It’s a fear demon. She remembers those, with their spidery limbs and fangs oozing saliva, hovering over the ground as they howled at their prey. She remembers the echoes in her head, creeping shadows.

But she also remembers Fear. The welcome shadow who would slink into her dreams turned nightmares and form a barrier between her and her fears, allowing her rest. She remembers Uthvir’s red eyes and the shadows that clung to them, the fear in their eyes after they killed the corrupted elves. They feared her rejection, her hatred – neither came.

“I’m not afraid.” She told them, and it was the truth.

But this is not Fear, no matter how much she wants it to be. But lingering in her memories of Fear and Uthvir seem to at least put a barrier between her thoughts and this demon.

You’ll never see them again!

She knows. The only place she sees her mama, her nanae, Uthvir, and Aili are in her dreams.

You lie. You hope to see them again…I can see their names. Melarue. Uthvir. You want to see them, you think you can. But you won’t because you will die and this world will die too. You are helpless.

Ash clenches her jaw and tries to focus on her memories and not on the demon, even as it whispers deep fears in her mind.

“What a lovely thing fear is. Excruciating pain without even so much as laying a finger on you. And after, Fear will tell me everything it sees in your head,” Certainty says.

That strikes a fear true and deep. The Empire can’t know about her. It would paint an even bigger target on her back if that is even possible. But worse, it would reveal things that they really ought not to know.

Her eyes open sluggishly, and she bares her teeth at Certainty.

“I hope the nightmares of my reality drive you to madness,” she growls, spitting blood at his feet.

“You savages are all the same. You play the victim, but you do not have to do this. The Empire is the future, we are generous in offering you this path. Yet you turn away from your future, from the salvation from the brutality of the Keepers.”

“Never mind, you’re already bat shit,” she drawls, not caring anymore to give into his bait. She’s exhausted and afraid, helpless and verging on hopeless. She’ll snark now, just to annoy this piece of shit.

You will lose everything you love, again.

The world before her changes from the calm dark night of the ancient world to…to her home world. Fire that is out of her control rages over the landscape, she is no longer held in the stocks but on her knees, staring up at the churning red sky. A familiar jade-scaled dragon roars and falls to the ground, blood pouring from clipped wings.

“NO!” She screams. Ash shuts her eyes, distance herself from the vision, but it follows her, slinks into her mind and does not move.

Aravels dot the landscape, torn to shreds, broken and defiled. Bodies of her clansmen are draped over the aravels, scattered over the fields. Daern’thal’s body leans up against an aravel, his eyes open and blank, the majority of his throat gone, leaving only brackish blood behind. No, no, no. This is not reality, she won’t let this happen.

The scene doesn’t change, though. She turns from Daern’thal, unable to look at him to see Sylmae running down the field. But the fire in the sky descends and consumes her, wrapping around her body in a sickening vice.

“How could you let this happen, Ashokara?”

“You let us die!”

“Ashokara!”

The chants of the dead echo in her mind. It’s her fault, she let them die. She let them all die, she let the world burn. Nothing she has done, nothing she could do, would make any difference. All the Dread Wolf did when he sent her through that rift was delay the inevitable.

The world shakes and she hears Nimronyn roar again. The vision shifts and there she is, on the ground, a river of blood flowing from her.

“I should never have taken you in.”

“Memae, I’m sorry,” she whispers past her sobs.

Her body shakes and her magic swells with uncontrollable emotion. She can feel her fire ebb out of her, it clashes with the magic of…something around her. But in the end, it is nothing compared to her grief driven fire. The flames overwhelm it and her body falls to the ground, and just like that, the vision disappears.

Ashokara opens her eyes and she is on the ground in a heap of ash. She is crying, disoriented as the world sets itself right in her head.

And the world is still on fire. There are screams and shouts, Elgar’nan’s men rush out to meet warriors clad in…clan armors, leathers, furs, metal cuirasses that lack the empire’s insignias. They’ve come! Her clan!

But no, she doesn’t recognize them all, and the fashioning of the armor is different. They run past her into the fray, cutting the Empire’s bitches down to size. Good.

Slowly, Ash drags herself up. Her head aches and she feels raw but she needs…she needs to find Verethrin, and her people, his people, then get out. She still has a duty, even if she can still hear the screams of the people she allowed to die and see their lifeless faces every time she closes her eyes.

She pushes herself through the camp, avoiding combat as much as possible. A guard sees her, though, and she manages to block his sword, disarm him, then break his neck. Her reflexes are still good. That’s…something.

The tent closest to her goes up in a bevy of flames. She shields herself, the fire closest to her shifts color to blue and allows her pass through.

Verethrin’s people were being kept in one of the pens. There are two pens, one at each end of the camp. If she guesses correctly, she was being held at the center of the camp, which means that she is equidistant from either camp with no way of knowing which pen to go towards.

She picks a direction and goes. The fighting worsens, the fire around her increases and as the air fills with smoke it becomes harder and harder to keep a grip on her reality. She knows she is seeing her present, but she feels like she is in her past. The smoke, the ash, the screams…it’s too familiar.

Her heart races and her desperation grows.

“Verethrin?” She calls, but her voice is hoarse and low compared to the cacophony of the battle raging around her. Warriors fall into tents, bodies are flung to the ground, and she does her best to just…not get tangled in it. She does not shy from fights, but she is not in her right mind. She knows that the fallen are not people she knows, but she keeps seeing them anyways. A flash of blonde hair and suddenly it’s Aili lying dead on that bush, or worse, a tall woman with a halo of curly hair kneels to the ground and it’s Mama.

No, no. It’s not right. Mama is…Mama is not here. It’s all wrong. She has to move, get to Verethrin and their people and get out. Yes.

Ash pulls herself away, she needs to remain focused.

They likely took him hostage again, like they imprisoned Ash. She hasn’t seen Certainty since coming out of her stupor, but she suspects he is still horrifying alive. The bastard, out of everyone here he deserves death the most.

She heads for the tent they were kept in before, and her suspicions are proven correct. There he is, bound and gagged in one of those awful nullification circles. He appears unconscious but that doesn’t stop her from deactivating the circle. She undoes his bindings and holds him close.

“Verethrin, Verethrin, you need to wake up. They came, the clan came – we can free everyone!” She tells him. She strokes his hair and horns, and he slowly blinks his eyes open.

“A-Ash?”

She nods, “Yes. We’re getting out of her, alright?” His head lolls, revealing an oozing head wound. He won’t be able to walk any time soon. Alright, then. She stands up with him, and slings his arm over her shoulders, while wrapping her arm around his waist.

“We’re getting out of here, we’re getting our people, and you’re going to be fine,” she says, willing her voice not to break. Verethrin is tall, nearing Ash’s height, but he is gangly in the way still growing tall, slender people are. He’s mostly limp too, making him easy to maneuver, but she will have to be careful not to trip over his feet. He tries to move with her, but she is moving too quickly through the camp for him to keep up. After several minutes of trying to work through it, Ash gives in and hoists him up, draping him across her shoulders.

She is getting him out of here, he will survive, dammit. His survival will be difficult, his emotions will plague him, his memories haunt him – but he will live and find a will to make sure him and his people continue to survive.

“Survivors make good leaders because they know to keep going when the odds appear insurmountable.” Mama said that once, Ash doesn’t remember the context, but she remembers the words. She tries to live by them, but tonight…she failed spectacularly at them.

But there will be time to lambast herself later, once she gets everyone to safety.

She heads for the pen east to the tent, ducking and avoiding battle. She’s good, but she can’t risk Verethrin. She could never forgive herself if she allowed him to die after all of this.

The ground is uneven, causing her to stumble but she keeps herself from falling. Keep going.

At last, they make it to the pen. There is a great barrier surrounding the people, so powerful that it obscures the faces behind it. She needs to break the barrier but how?

“Verethrin, I need your help,” she says, maneuvering him to the ground to cradle him.

“Mmm, sleep,” he murmurs sluggishly, his eyes barely opening.

“Verethrin, we’ve found them, we found your people and we need to get them out, but I need you to tell me how to break a barrier. You’re good with breaking barriers, right?”

A weird smile spread across his face, “Yeaah, mmMuirvenir always hiding my stuff…got good at getting it back.”

“Yes, just like that! Can you tell me how to do it?” She asks sweetly. Damn he doesn’t look good, he needs a healer. His head lolls and he raises a crooked clawed index finger.

“Make a symbol then boom.” He moves his finger to form a symbol and she quickly copies it into the ground by the barrier. Nothing happens.

“It’s not working.”

“Did you make boom?” He asks. Make boom? Does he mean exploding the symbol? She isn’t sure if it will work but she tries, funneling in as much magic as she can to explode the symbol over the barrier.

All at once, the symbol ignites with brilliant white light, Ash’s flames turn from blue to white as they expand and encompass the barrier. The symbol grows larger until as if under a great weight, the barrier collapses into the dirt.

“Verethrin, it worked! It worked!” She shouts in joy as the people inside cheer in victory. Larger, well-muscled people rush by, grabbing weapons off nearby dead guards and charge into the fray with cries of vengeance and justice upon their lips. Most of the people remain close, malnourished and dirty, but free.

“Is there a healer among you?” Ash shouts. A hand shoots up and a large, soft looking elf walks forward.

“I was the chief healer for Rethinel’s clan. Verethrin! He’s alive?!” They rush over and plop next to the boy and set to work immediately, weaving healing magic into him.

“We thought all the boys had been killed with their father,” they say in awe as they work over Verethrin.

“He lived, just as all of you did. He has done wonderfully to free you, I could not have done…any of this without him. He will be a Keeper yet,” she says. Relief blooms from everyone around her as they gather around Verethrin.

Ash looks through the crowd, trying to see if any of her people are there, but no. These are Rethinel’s people. She needs to get to the other pen, but Verethrin doesn’t need to be moving now that he has his healer.

Ash rises and spots a stray sword by a dead guard. She grabs it and nods to Verethrin’s people.

“I have to go free my people now, stay safe.”

“You as well, Asha’thylgar,” the healer says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Strange how the name from a non-Empire elf can actually sound…almost inspiring. The woman of blue fire.

Her grip tightens on the hilt. The empire captured Asha’thylgar, and it is Asha’thylgar they will get. There is always a wall of exhaustion, but once that wall is pushed back…it is tapping into a raw place of energy that is based on emotion, and Ash has plenty of that.

Nimronyn roars overhead and Ash lets herself fall into her more tumultuous emotions. She is the woman of blue fire, she is the last gasp of a dead world, and she is turning that gasp into a scream. The sword becomes merely an aiming conduit for her fire as she runs forward.

She cuts into the guard, fast, relying on the reflexes Sylmae has drilled into her.

They will not kill me. She drives her sword into a guard and summons fire into another. The flames take shape and she pulls the energy from the Dreaming to herself.

They cannot have another world. The fire envelopes more guards. She runs forward, a great flaming beacon of fury.

How dare they! They have no right! They will regret ever trying!

She is covered in blood, but it is not her own. And yet she revels in their deaths, it feels good – righteous even to give into the anger she has suppressed for so long. It’s for Mama and Nanae, Uthvir and Aili, Bull and Dorian, Cassandra and Vivienne, for Krem and the Chargers and everyone she held dear. It is for the family she has found here, for the mothers she loves and how they have dared to take it away from her again.

Mythal claims to be justice, but she can’t fathom the justice and the vengeance due Ashokara.

She looks up to see Memae flying and casting, reigning her own brand of terrifying power upon the Empire and it makes Ash cry out with joyous fervor. This, she needed to see this. To her left is Sylmae, cutting down guard after guard and it is so reassuring that tears begin to fall from Ash’s eyes. They can survive, they will survive – more than survive, they will fight against the death Ash fears so much.

Her chest heaves with her exertions and she focuses on getting to the pen before she collapses. Just one more thing, just one more and then she can collapse. She jogs the rest of the way to the pen, her flames trailing behind her like a wave, crashing over any enemy that tries to attack her.

The pen is located at the lower dip of a hill, allowing her to see into it. She sees Tanis! And Vystril, and Mazen, and Devora! They’re all there, bloodied and knocked down, but alive. In moments, she is at the barrier, drawing the symbol in the dirt then raising it into the air over the barrier before funneling her flames into it. Like before, the symbol glows and grows large, the flames turn white, and the barrier crashes.

The people inside gasp and flinch away. Ash is quick to run inside to her people.

“They came, the clan came,” she says despite the dryness in her throat. She touches Tanis’s face gently, “I freed the others too.” Vystril is leaned up against Devora who has a bloodied wrap around her eyes – that was not there before. Nausea rolls through Ash. This is all her fault, she should have listened. Why couldn’t she just…listen? It is not that she does not trust her mothers, but she worries…worries that every day is the last.

She needs to stop. But how?

These are questions for another time, however, when they are all safe and healed, probably after Ash has gotten a good verbal lashing from her mothers.

She’ll be alive for a verbal lashing. They’ll be alive. Normal children would be fearful but she can’t help but feel relief through it all.

Her emotions are raw and the edges of her vision are still tainted with what Fear showed her, but she can look past it to the people she is with now. Her people and….

“Are you all from Rethinel’s clan?” She asks. One of them shakes his head.

“No, we are from Merith’s – we take it you are from Nimronyn’s,” he says dryly just as Nimronyn passes over again, magical spears descending from her wings, sinking into the last of the Empire’s forces.

“And they will be coming with me.”

The voice makes Ash’s back go ramrod straight. She…knows that voice. She has not heard it in over a century, a world away.

“Uthvir – take her, please. I love you, da’len, never forget that. Now, go!”

“Melarue! Are we glad to see you.”

“Survive, da’len!”

“As am I to see you.”

“I love you, Ashokara, as my own daughter.”

“I love you too…Uthvir says the word is n-nah-nae?”

“Yes, da’len, it means parent. Do you wish to call me that?”

“Yeah, you love Mama, right?”

“I do, very much.”

“Then you’re my nanae.”

Ash turns to see them, the face she thought she would never see again, ink black hair pulled into a practical updo for battle. They are Melarue but they can’t be. She blinks again, flinching away.

“No,” she whispers, staggering back.

“Ash?” Mazen asks and she shakes her head, opening her eyes but they’re still there!

“What cruel trick is this?” She wonders, her heart racing in her chest as fear and hope in equal measure battle inside her.

And then they turn to her and she doubles over. It is them. It is. But it’s also not. Their eyes are still silver, but they look at her like one looks at a stranger. Not a cruel trick, but a crueler reality.

“Ashokara!” Sylmae shouts and Ash is only vaguely aware of her mamae pulling her up from the ground and clutching her to her.

“What were you thinking?!”

“Are you and Mama gonna get married?”

They chuckle, then show her the long tooth, split in half hanging from a piece of strong thread, “I am your mama’s kadan, and she is my vhenan.”

“I know that. Kadan means heart and so does vhenan, but I want to be a flower girl. Josie was one once and I want to do that too.”

They kiss her forehead, “Perhaps one day, da’vhenan.”

“Ashokara! ASH!”

She feels nothing and yet everything all at once and makes her sob, falling into Sylmae.

“Perhaps they took her hearing,” Not Nanae says and it twists Ash’s gut.

“No,” Ash finds herself saying.

Sylmae grasps Ash’s arms and stops when she sees the hold Ash has on the dragon tooth of her necklaces.

In halting, heavily accented qunlat, Sylmae speaks, “Do you…know them?”

Ash nods slowly before a single word escapes her lips, “Nanae.”

Keepers:

Rethinel – deceased

Vhallasa – deceased

Lanathra – deceased?

Henne’thel

Merith

Armael – going mad

Ireth – deceased?

Nimronyn

Athros – deceased, Henne’thel’s father

Nelaeryn – deceased, Geldauraun’s father

Patience – asleep

[fen--harel]

Alaina Lavellan (Companion)

Here it is !! No one asked for it but here it is !! It took me two days but Alaina was worth it ♥ if anyone wants to do it I got the template from here (and if you do it I want to see :’) )

Inquisitor’s Name: Alaina Lavellan

Nicknames: Lainie, Lanes

Race, Class, & Specialization: Elf, Rouge, Assassin

Varric’s Nickname for them: Doey (dough-we, like a doe)

Default Tarot Card: Queen of Wands

How they are recruited: After arriving at Skyhold, Dorian will mention to the Inquisitor that he had received a letter from an friend who is in need of assistance. If the Inquisitor accepts the request, they will meet with Asiel and Alaina at the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim (only avaliable for that quest). Asiel will explain that he is a runaway magister-to-be from Tevinter and the Dalish elf with him, Alaina, is a friend he met along the way to Fereldan. The Inquisitor has the option of recruiting them in exchange for offering protection to Asiel and Alaina from his family and anyone his family sends or just simply declining to give them safe harbor.

Mini Bio: Alaina was born in Antiva City and lived a small but normal life with her parents. Her mother was a baker and her father was a florist. Although both of her parents had been city elves, they still worshiped the Elven Pantheon and tried to maintain much of their culture and language and passed all their knowledge onto Alaina.

When Alaina was eight years old, her parents were murdered by a group of humans who had been angered by her mother who had refused their advances earlier that day. With no family and being unable to provide for herself, she roamed Antiva City’s streets for a month, surviving by being stealthy, fast, and subtle. She was able to get by by steal most of her meals and conning her way into temporary shelter.

One day she was caught stealing from a Crow and instead of punishing her they recruited her to become one. Alaina stayed with the Crows, learning how to become an Assassin and became friends with the only other elf her House, Elio. When she and Elio were thirteen, they were about to finish their training when they decided they didn’t want to live the life of a Crow. They devised a plan to escape and executed it right before their ceremony. Unfortunately, they were caught and Elio sacrificed himself so Alaina could escape. She headed south and made it into the wilderness between Antiva and the Free Marches where she found by the Lavellan clan who had been passing.

She stayed with the Lavellan clan, and although she was happy and accepted she still felt like she truly didn’t belong. When she turned eighteen she choose Mythal as her personal deity for her vallaslin, and was greatly influenced by memories of her being her mother’s favorite deity. When Alaina was twenty she was out hunting when she found Asiel who had been gravely injured by mercenaries who had been sent to capture him and bring him back to Tevinter. Alaina and her clan took care of Asiel until he was fully healed and when it was time for him to leave, Alaina requested for him to take her with him.

Where they are in Skyhold: At the Herald’s Rest at the bar. (Depending on your choice after her personal quest) In the chair beside Bull.

Things they Generally Approve of: Snarky funny comments, helping anyone in need, supporting/defending elves, flirting with her, doing other inner circle quests, anytime you pick flowers (crystal grace, dawn lotus, etc.) ?? it’s like automatic approval and it’s like god Alaina shut up.

Things they Generally Disapprove of: being a meanie >:(, conscripting the mages or templars, hostility towards elves, racism towards any race tbh, with Alaina it’s really hard to gain her disapproval because she’s so neutral

Mages, Templars, Other?: Alaina doesn’t care which one you choose as long as you don’t force them to join the Inquisition and treat them like prisoners. However, if you have the Templars join she’ll approve but if you have the Mages join she’ll greatly approve

Friends in the Inquisition:

Blackwall: Alaina fully and completely believes that Blackwall is a warden despite the fact that a lot of his responses towards being a warden are so vague. Although she thinks they have a friendly relationship, Blackwall is not very fond of her due to her inquisitive nature and the fact that she’ll constantly ask him questions about being a warden, what he did before he was a warden, etc. so he often tries to avoid her.

Cassandra: Alaina loves Cass and can be often caught biting her lip as she stares at Cass’ arms because oh gosh those guns ??? ♥ Can she lift Alaina with those arms ?? She has a friendly relationship with Cass due to the fact that she is very pushy to spend time with her to get to know her. It also helps that Alaina is also a fan of Varric’s smutty romance novels.

Cole: Alaina is very friendly towards Cole and likes Cole but for the most part her dumbass has no idea what he’s talking about even though he might be mentioning her thoughts and feelings or others’ thoughts and feelings about her.

♦ Dorian: Alaina absolutely adores Dorian, and almost immediately considers him a close friend. She thinks he’s one of the most hilarious and charming people she’s ever met and loves listening to him and Asiel banter due to the fact they have a rival kind of relationship. She loves spending time with him in the library and although she isn’t very good at chess, she’ll play with him. Dorian absolutely loves the fact that Alaina makes her own oils and loves it even more that she makes him his own. Everyday she compliments his mustache at least once and everyday he compliments her hair at least one.

♥ ♦ Iron Bull: The first time Alaina meets Iron Bull she practically swoons. Oh gosh those arms ?? Do you work out ?? After the initial “holyshit he’s so hot” moment, she and Iron Bull are thick as thieves. Alaina loves Iron Bull because not only is he funny and likes to drink and party, but he often helps guide her in many aspects of her life. Iron Bull likes her also because she loves to drink and party, but also because gets amazingly along with the Chargers. It is implied she and Iron Bull have slept together, and if Iron Bull and the Inquisitor or Dorian are not in a relationship with him by What Pride Had Wrought, she and him form one. After What Pride Had Wrought, the Inquisitor can find a Necklace of Kadan equipped in her inventory.

Sera: Alaina likes Sera’s nature and the fact that she just wants to have fun and put things back to normal, because in all honesty so does Alaina. Often Sera will be begging Alaina to participate in pranks with her but the thought of making fun of someone, even if it’s not in a harmful way, makes Alaina want to cry.

♦ Solas: Alaina loves Solas and treats him like he’s a Hahren, drinking up all of the knowledge he can provide her. She can often be found lounging on the couch next to him, listening to his stories of the fade, his opinons on their current mission, previous historical events, and even elves, although he’s learned to be a bit more gentle about that subject with her. Solas also likes Alaina because she is so willing to listen and learn new things, and he loves how her opinion on elves isn’t too extreme due to the fact that not only is she Dalish, but she was born as a city elf so she understands both sides of the track. Solas also loves her kind and gentle nature and how she’s so idealistic, but he’s also afraid how idealistic and naive she is. He believes that something is going to happen to crush that point of view of hers and he’s not sure how he will react to his friend losing that part of her.

Varric: Varric often tells Alaina that she reminds him of his friend Merrill, and every time he says it she practically beams because she can see the fondness in his eyes. The two get along very well, Varric loves teaching Alaina how to play Wicked Grace because she’s just so bad at it and Alaina loves listening to all the stories Varric has to tell.

Vivienne: There has been so many times that Alaina has said that she wants to grow up to be just like Vivienne. She loves the strong and important aura Vivienne always presents and looks up to her almost like a mother figure. Vivienne in turn loves being that motherly figure for Alaina, because she is just so happy and adorable and loves listening to Vivienne. One thing, however, that irks Vivienne is Alaina’s fashion sense. By the Maker, how can that girl just run around Skyhold in an over-sized tunic?

Romanceable: Alaina is romanceable by any gender and any race. After the Inquisitor recruits her and Asiel, and after a couple of flirting options, a cutscene will trigger when you talk to her at the bar where she invites the Inquisitor to her room. The Inquisitor can accept and have sex with her, decline but continue to have romantic advances, or simply reject her all together. If the Inquisitor chooses one of the first two options, after that night Alaina will explain to the Inquisitor that it’s okay for them to have a casual relationship, and that she will not object to the Inquisitor sleeping and/or seeing someone else. It is not until after finishing her personal quest can the Inquisitor make the relationship official.

Small side mission (Sweet Smells): This quest is activated by going into the Undercroft after recruiting Alaina where the Inquisitor will find her sitting on the floor in the corner making oils and soap out of herbs, flowers, and fruit. The Inquisitor will then be given the quest Sweet Smells where they can collect flowers and fruit for Alaina to make her oils. If the Inquisitor completes the quest, it will turn out that it was an oil for the Inquisitor. ♥

Companion quest (At The Bottom of the Bottle):

The Inquisitor will wake up in the middle of the night due to some banging on their door. Opening it, they find Alaina giggling with an almost empty bottle of wine in her hand. She slides her way in, throwing her arms around the Inquisitor, blatently flirting, begging the Inquisitor to take her. The Inquisitor will set Alaina down, asking her what she’s doing. Instead she doesn’t respond and take another drink. The Inquisitor will then ask why is she so drunk and they are very confused because they’ve never seen her like this before. After enough pressing, Alaina eventually breaks down and starts sobbing, telling the Inquisitor she’s not sure how much longer she can take it all. She’s afraid, she’s weak, she’s confused, and she apologizes for feeling this way, because she knows there are others out there suffering more than she is right now. She’s supposed to be strong now, she’s had her suffering and she must learn how to move on but she feels like she can’t do it. She reaches for another drink...

  Option 1 (”It’s okay, Alaina.”): Stop her drinking and console her. Explain to her that it’s okay to be afraid and to have these feelings and that she doesn’t have to be strong all the time by putting on a face, especially if alcohol is something that is helping her do that. Instead she should rely on her friends, including the Inquisitor and trust that they will all be strong together.

Alaina will thank the Inquisitor and if they are in a romance she will tell them that one of her fears is that she loves them but she is unsure if they love her. The Inquisitor can either tell her that they love her back or simply tell her that they wish to be friends. If the Inquisitor chooses to continue their romance with her they will fall asleep together in the Inquisitor’s bed. If they remain friends, or were simply friends before, Alaina will pass out on their couch.

  Option 2 (”Grow up.”): Tell her to get over it and move on and the Inquisition has no time for tears.

Alaina will agree with the Inquisitor and quietly leave their room. The next day everything will seem fine and Alaina will be acting normal. However, throughout Skyhold there will be remarks made by everyone on Alaina’s health and her drinking habits, saying they often find her drunk at the bar. Alaina will then become incapacitated for the final battle due to being too drunk and a cut scene will trigger before then of Asiel yelling with tears in his eyes at Alaina that she has a drinking problem and that they need to fix it together.

Tarot card change

Option 1: Death

Option 2: The Moon

Romance: The Lovers

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts: “Pain. So much pain. But it’s better isn’t it? Better than before. Nothing could be as worst as it once was. I just need one more drink.”

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts if romanced: “You feel like home.”

Comment(s) on Mages: “I wish I had magic! I bet it’s nice to not struggle while making your campfires. New rule! All mages must make the campfires!” - Dorian (if in party): “New rule! Alaina must make all the campfires!” / “Sometimes magic is scary, and sometimes magic is cool! Right now it’s pretty scary!” / “How do mages not trip with their skirts so long?”

Comment(s) on Templars: “They’re so big~ ♥” / “Don’t they get hot in all that armor?” / “*gasp* ... *whispers* metal skirts...” /

When looking for something: “I spy with my little eye!”

When finding a campsite: “Inquisitor, can I take a nap?” / “Is it snacktime ?!”

A non-rogue Inquisitor trying at lockpicks: “Need some help? I’ve been told I have very skilled hands~”

In combat:

And a stab here! And a stab there!

Can’t touch this~

What’s all the fuss?

When the Inquisitor Falls:

Oh no !!

Are you alright ?! Dumb question ! No you’re not !

If Romanced:

Vhenan!

Amore/a!

I’ll be right there, my love!

When they are low on Health:

I don’t want to impose, but i’m dying!

*whine*

When they see a Dragon: “Raah, raah like a dungeon dragon!” / “Woosh !! It’s huge !!” / “*gasp* A dragon !!”

When during their small side quest: “Thank you Inquisitor! ♥”

Default saying:

Low Approval

Uhm, h-hello.

*sad hmm*

*singing* ninety-nine bottles of mead on the wall ! O-oh ! Hello...

Farewell: Goodbye.

Neutral:

Aneth ara!

Goooooood morning Inquisitor!

I just love abyssal peach ! ♥

Farewell: Make sure you take me with you when you leave !

High Approval:

Why is it called Skyhold ? Does the sky hold us ? Or do we hold the sky ? Hm...

Hello hello hello !!

Inquisitor ! Have a drink ! It’s on me ! ♥

If it’s the first time hearing the line: 

Alaina: Put it on my tab, Cabot!

Cabot: You don’t have a tab.

Alaina: Oh...

Farewell: Aww ! But i’ll miss you !

Romance:

You are looking so wonderfully wonderful today ♥

*The most adorable and most alluring giggle you’ll ever hear*

Vhenan ! I have a funny story to tell you !

Amore/a, i’m not busy later if you aren’t~

Farewell: I’ll see you later! My room or yours? ♥

Travel Banter with Canon Companions of your choice:

Blackwall:

Alaina: Oh Blackwall that’s amazing!

Blackwall: What is?

Alaina: That your parents named you ‘Warden’! It’s like they knew you were going to become one!

Blackwall: Please tell me that you know my first name isn’t ‘Warden’.

Alaina: Aww...it’s not ?

Alaina: What is it then ?

Blackwall: Er- oh look, it’s one of those flowers that you like!

Alaina: Oh ! Where ?!

Cassandra:

Alaina: Cass you were so amazing in the last battle ♥

Cassandra: Thank you, Alaina.

Alaina: The way you just picked up that guy and threw him?

Alaina: Creators, I wouldn’t mind if you threw me like that ♥

Cassandra: I’m going over there now.

Cole:

Cole: Big arms, strong arms, rough hands, I want to be held, need to be held by those.

Bull (if in party): Alright, whose dirty thoughts?

Alaina: Ooh, strong arms? Where ? ♥

Bull (if in party): Go ahead Alaina, ask me to flex.

Alaina: *giggles*

Cassandra (if in party): Ugh. 

Dorian:

Dorian: Lainie, how do you do that?

Alaina: Do what?

Dorian: Walk around with no shoes?

Dorian: Don’t your feet hurt?

Alaina: Don’t your feet hurt wearing shoes?

Dorian: I-uh...

Dorian: Well played.

Iron Bull:

Iron Bull: Alaina, I have a surprise for you when we get back to Skyhold.

Alaina: Ooh! Ooh! What is it?

Iron Bull: *Laughs* well it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.

Alaina: Oh please Bull! Who knows how long until we get back to Skyhold!

Iron Bull: Alright, alright, it’s a nice big bottle of Abyssal Peach.

Alaina: *gasp* ! Oh Bull, thank you!

Alaina: When we get back to Skyhold, i’ll give you my peach~♥

Dorian (if in the party): And now I can’t finish my snack.

Asiel (if in the party): Don’t get too excited, she has a peach garden and I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave you an actual peach.

Varric (if in the party): Would the two of you be offended if I used this for my next book?

Sera:

Sera: Oh c’mon Alaina, it would be real quick. Just a small go.

Alaina: I can’t Sera! I would feel awful!

Sera: People feel awful all the time!

Sera: Feel good now!

Sera: Feel good now and with pie! And their face!

Sera: Pie! In! Their! Face!

Solas:

Solas: Alaina, I never asked, but why did you pick Mythal for your vallaslin?

Alaina: Oh! She was my mother’s favorite deity, and now she’s also mine!

Solas: Your mother’s? I thought your parents were both city elves?

Alaina: She was! But we still worshiped the pantheon, and she used to tell me the legends about Mythal.

Solas: I see.

Varric:

Varric: So Doey you got a name for your daggers?

Alaina: Ooh ! I’ve never thought of that !

Alaina: I should name them something cool!

Varric: Yeah ! Something like, ebony and ivory, or thunder and lighting, or-

Alaina: Lefty and righty !

Varric: Ahh, we’ll work on it.

Vivienne:

Vivienne: My darling Alaina, please tell me that’s not your horrid over-sized tunic underneath your armor I see.

Alaina: Oops, haha, yes...

Vivienne: What happened to the new ones we had purchased together?

Vivienne: The ones with the pretty lace?

Alaina: U-Uhm! Well, I didn’t want to ruin it so I left them at home !!

Vivienne: Hm..

[darknessfactor]

Ceiline Lavellan, Backstory

Everything in this post takes place before Dragon Age: Inquisition.  Events during and after the game will come in separate posts.

To summarize, Ceiline is a Dalish mage of 24 years (at the beginning of DAI).  You can check her tag if you want to know her appearance.  She specializes in lightning, and she has enough control over it that she can use it to simply stun people instead of killing them, and she can even use it to revive someone if need be.  She is also my canonical Inquisitor.

Ceiline was born in Clan Lavellan.  Emira, the hahren at the time, had a sharp tongue but a good heart, and as a child Ceiline had quick wits and a keen intellect.  Her magic manifested when she was four years old, and because she was the first mage born in two generations, she became the Keeper’s First at the age of five.  Emira was quick to remind the Keeper that Ceiline was still a child, so the Keeper was careful to stick to easier lessons and not place too much pressure on Ceiline.

Clan Lavellan, at the time, was flourishing.  They had settled into a quiet part of the Free Marches.  Their camp was in a hidden glade surrounded by high stone walls, and because of that they remained undiscovered for years.  They still traded with humans, but they were always careful to ensure they were never followed back to their home.

Because of their fortune, Clan Lavellan had an unprecedented number of children after Ceiline was born.  Emira would later tell her that her birth, combined with finding their home, was the catalyst for other births (Ceiline was skeptical, since the next kid wasn’t born until eight years later).  Because none of the other kids manifested magic, however, Ceiline was somewhat isolated from them, spending more time with the Keeper.

When Ceiline was fourteen years old, things changed.  Two groups of bandits, who were fighting a war over the woods where Clan Lavellan lived, discovered the camp.  Both groups wanted the clan to side with them; when the Keeper refused, staying he would not involve his clan, both groups united and attacked.  Clan Lavellan was outnumbered.  

Ceiline stayed at the Keeper’s side to help fight off the invaders, even though her control of lightning was erratic at that point.  Emira escaped with the children; the rest of the clan stayed to fight, to give them a chance to escape.  It wasn’t long before the Keeper and Ceiline were the only two left alive, and the Keeper used the last of his strength to place a barrier around Ceiline, allowing her to escape.

She never forgot the sight of her home burning.

Thus, at fourteen years old, Ceiline became the Keeper of Clan Lavellan, which consisted of the hahren, Emira, and eight children of varying ages.  The oldest was six.

Ceiline, not knowing what else to do, took them and fled.  The valley in the Free Marches had been their home for years, and she didn’t know the terrain outside of it, but she knew that they needed to get away from the bandits.  They spent two months on the run, never staying in one place for long, and going hungry on many nights because Ceiline was the only one who could hunt.  She had only had rudimentary lessons with a bow and with a sword, but she had to start using them more frequently.  As Keeper and the clan’s sole hunter, she couldn’t only rely on a staff.

Emira was still there to give her guidance, and she helped by continuing to teach the kids the lore of their people.  She also calmed them when they were frightened.  Ceiline was very awkward among the children at first, not sure how to handle them, but eventually all of the kids grew to admire her, believing that she could do anything and would protect them.  

As they trekked across the Free Marches and they started moving from place to place less, Ceiline grew into her role.  She became a confident leader, someone whose instincts were never wrong.  She received her tattoos at sixteen, and took the oldest two children as her apprentices shortly afterwards - Meenai and Sihren.  

It took Clan Lavellan years to find a place that was as safe as their previous home had been, and Ceiline was wary of believing anything was truly safe.  Eventually, however, they happened upon a massive, hollowed out tree with a hidden entrance.  They settled there, and though Ceiline was always poised to run for the first few years they were there, she eventually relaxed her guard enough that she didn’t feel like she had to be moving.

Meenai and Sihren both excelled, though Ceiline refused to name them official hunters until they reached sixteen.  It was at that time that Ceiline, while trading, heard word of the Conclave to end the mage-templar war, and, at the encouragement of Emira, she decided to attend to find out what this might mean for the clan.  She was extremely reluctant to leave, citing that she would only go for a few days and return as soon as possible.

Needless to say, Meenai and Sihren didn’t get their initiations.

[love-in-nature]

My Neighbor, Fen’harel Chapter 5: Playing Games

Read on AO3.

It wasn’t until her workday was almost over that Emmy found herself in her new office.  There had been a lot to do this first day to get an idea of the place.  They had to go over current cataloging methods, storage areas, how different things were dealt with here, the university's procedures for receiving donations, the procedure for denying donations, the procedure for acquiring things, and so on.  Some were fun.  Most were pure legalities and paperwork.

She hadn’t even minded the boring stuff.  She would have gladly waded through a pool full of paperwork to spend five minutes with the eluvian.  Even damaged it had been the most stunning thing Emmy had ever laid eyes on.  

It was tarnished, the glass spotted with age, but even so it was incredible.  It was intricately designed and, oddly, had a wolf sculptured at the top as a focal point.  To her knowledge it was uncommon for symbols of Fen’harel to show up on things like this.  Not that anyone knew much about these.

When the eluvian were mentioned in ancient texts, they appeared to be spoke of as some kind of transportation system.  It was not impossible that their translations were wrong; much of the language had been lost after all.   Even if it was correct it could be more symbolizing or myth.  Tales to tell each other over a fire.  The same texts sometimes spoke of gods and magic as though they were facts of everyday life.  So it was sometimes hard to tell what was fact and what was fiction with ancient Elvhen documents.  Though, some did argue it was all historical fact.

As if magic and gods could exist.  A preposterous thought.  She put it right up there with all the talk of there being a maker.  If either of those things were true, then surely they’d be in a much different world than the one they found themselves in.  

Whatever the eluvians were, this one was the first that she knew of being found.  The rest were either hidden away by private collectors, clans, or still lost to the modern world.  It was a true treasure.  A piece of her people, of the history long lost to them.  Her clan’s keeper, Deshanna, would want to know.

She set down at her desk and turned on her work computer.  Once she was logged in she first went to double check her new work e-mail.  Nothing much there.  Just a welcome e-mail from the dean.  Though she imagined it would be filled before too long with various work things.  Her internet would be set up by the end of the week at her home so she’d be able to keep up with it there as well.

That done, she went to her personal e-mail.  When she opened it there was some spam.  An e-mail from Sera.  Probably her usual fair of some kind of lewd joke or disgusting video.  Emmy skipped that for now.  Then there was an e-mail from Fen’harel.

Her stomach fluttered a bit at the name, as it always did.  A ridiculous thing considering she had no idea who this person was calling himself Fen’harel.  They’d been exchanging e-mails for over a year and a half.  She’d still not told a soul about it.  Partly because she knew some, like Cassandra, would worry about her communicating with someone she knew no real facts about.  Partly, because of who he was to her clan.

Fen’harel was a pen name that was used by one of the most outspoken critics of the Dalish and their methods of preserving their history.  If Deshanna, or anyone in her clan, learned that Emmy had been speaking to him on a regular basis she would be in for it.  At the very least she would get a month long lecture.  At the worst she would be kicked out of the clan.

He was that bad.

They’d started talking when he’d written a particularly scathing article on the Dalish corruption of history.  Their close mindedness and inability to see anything beyond what they thought was true.  Being the clan’s First she was, of course, one of the ones to be shown this article.  Her anger had been great.

Immediately, she’d hunted around to try and find out who this man was so she could confront him.  Even after exhausting all her resources all she’d managed to get was an e-mail.  She’d sent a thorough response to the article.  In the end it was several pages long and seething.  

The extent of her rage was huge.  Looking back now she could admit much of it was probably a redirect from the rage and hurt she still felt from Solas’ vanishing act.  After all, it had only been two months since he’d left.

Weeks went by with no reply.  It got to the point where she figured she’d either gotten the wrong e-mail or he was ignoring her.  She’d set her mind on writing him again.  If he didn’t reply she’d hassle him till he did.  Then, out of the blue, she received a curt reply back.  To which she responded with another long e-mail.  This back and forth went on until, somehow, hostility turned to grudging interest.  

Then, the Temple of Sacred Ashes happened.  

She had pulled into herself completely.  There was breath in her lungs, a beat to her heart, but she was not alive.   Not truly.  She had become a puppet.  A figurehead for the group that had been formed to find the truth of what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes The sole survivor was a fake.  She had not survived it.  Not mentally.  Not emotionally.  

Fen’harel started e-mailing her more regularly a few weeks after the incident.  Instead of hostile e-mails they contained random articles on historical finds or explanation of a text he had come across.  The first few she skimmed but didn’t truly register.  

He persisted and after a while she started to reply.  If she was honest with herself, much of her reasons for replying probably resided in the fact that he sounded like Solas.  The way he wrote reminded her so much of her ex-lover and, despite her hate for Solas, she still had loved him.  She still found comfort in the familiarity it brought.

Then, as they wrote back and forth with increasing frequency, she no longer only spoke to him because of the reminder.  He was someone she could talk to without fear of judgment.  Someone who saw her as she was not as the Inquisitor.  She came to look forward to his e-mails.  

She remembered the first time he had agreed to chat with her online.  How her heart had pounded with nerves and excitement.  

They’d chatted for several hours.  The chat turning flirtatious, intimate, and almost sexual before he told her he couldn’t and signed out.  Since then he had only gone into chat with her a handful of times.  All of them brief and as professional as he kept his e-mails.  This didn’t keep her from daydreaming of a day she might meet him.  As ridiculous as such a thing was.

The subject of his current e-mail was, “as requested” and she knew it was the corrected translations she had sent him to look at.  She smiled as she clicked on the message.

Recipient: Emmy

Subject: As Requested

Attached are the corrected translations of the document you asked me to look at.  I am impressed.  There were only a few errors.  Your ancient Tevene has improved greatly and rapidly.  There were only a few minor adjustments.  I believe you will no longer need my help on such things.

Dar’eth,

Fen’harel

She felt herself swell with pride at his words.  Though he was always kind to her, he was not one to offer empty compliments.  So, to have him comment on her progress, was a big deal to her.  Then she read the last added line and her pride was replaced with confusion.

P.S. Is there something you need to tell me da’len?

Was he referring to her new job and location?  If so how did he even know about it?  She’d taken cares for it not to be known.  After being in the public eye so long she had been eager to be out of it.  Not that she wasn’t going to tell him but…

She shook her head and swiveled in her chair, thinking for a moment before she moved to reply.

Recipient: Fen’harel

Subject: Thank you

Thank you for your help and for the compliment.  Don’t be too eager to be rid of me, hahren.  I’m sure I still will need your help with things like this on occasion.  As for having something to tell you, I’ve got a new job and have moved to a place called Haven.  But you knew this didn’t you?  Or you wouldn’t have asked.

You continue to know so much about me when I know so little about you.  You could tell me who you are you know.  I’m very good at keeping secrets.

Are you angry with me, hahren?  It is unlike you to so blatantly pry into my personal life.  Usually you make a point of avoiding it.  

But, for your information, I was waiting till I got settled more and I would have told you.  I don’t even have internet at my place yet.  Of course, if you gave me a cell number I could have just texted or called.

Emmy

She hit send before opening up a new e-mail.  She typed in Deshanna’s e-mail and started.  It took her several minutes to go over everything.  Her new apartment and how lovely it was.  The job.  How much Deshanna would love all the history available here and how she definitely needed to come for a visit to see for herself.  Finally, she went in some depth about the eluvian.  Though, she emphasised that it was really something that Deshanna needed to see in person because there were no adequate words.

As soon as she hit send on that e-mail a small beep sounded from the computer.  It indicated a chat message and her brows furrowed.  When she clicked on the e-mail clients chat and saw who it was her eyes widened a bit before she smiled.

Fen’harel: I am not angry.  Simply curious.  As for how I know, I have my fair share of eyes and ears.  

Emmy: You started a chat with me! :D I should mark the occasion on my calendar.  

Emmy: Also, is that your way of saying you’re having me watched?  Do you have a trail on me or something?  D:  Creepy, wolfie!

There was the little, “Fen’harel is typing,” notice on the bottom of the chat.  Then it stopped.  Started again and finally he sent something.

Fen’harel: Do not make me regret it already, da’len.  And no.  I am not having you followed, it was pure coincidence that I happened to find out about your change of location.  I did not know what it was for, only that you had moved.  What is this new job of yours?

As if she would tell him that easily.  He already had the upper hand.  Sure she would have sent it in an e-mail but him asking about it first had brought to the front of her mind the fact that he knew all about her and she nothing about him.  So, she’d play him along a bit first.

Emmy: Oh it’s amazing.  You’d adore it, but I’m not going to tell you.

Fen’harel: Why?

Emmy:  It isn’t fair that you know so much about me but I know nothing about you.  Not even your real name or what you look like.  I don’t even know your gender. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fen’harel: I should have thought the last would have been obvious.

She smirked, thinking for a beat before she replied.

Emmy: Why would it be obvious?  It may be common for parents to name their kids after elven gods, but Fen’harel isn’t one you hear often.  Plus, with how secretive you are I highly doubt you’d publish under your real name.  Or perhaps you presumed I’d know based on context of past conversations?  

Emmy: You don’t have to be a male to want to get into bed with me.  

Emmy: Just because you can be flirty sometimes, almost had online sex with me the one time, and you chose a male pen name doesn’t automatically mean you’re male.

Immediately the typing notice came on.  It went for several moments before stopping.  She waited, her eyes glued to the screen as her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the desk.  Had she overdone it?  Did he think she was chastising him about the sex and flirting stuff?  Unable to wait anymore she started typing again.

Emmy: I’m sorry, I was just teasing.  I know you’re not actually interested in me at like that.  I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.  

The typing symbol came up and her pulse sped a bit.  Why her stupid heart kept acting up so much today was beyond her.  Must be everything going on, not to mention seeing Solas again.  She frowned at him popping into her head, at the same moment the typing icon stopped again.

“It’s like he fucking knew.”

Then it started again.  Stopped.  Started.  Finally he sent a reply.

Fen’harel: You presume much today, lethallan.

Her eyes widened.  She presumed much what?  There was the spying, and then… was he admitting he felt attracted to her too?  Then why hadn’t he tried to go any further?  Why had he gone out of his way to redirect when she tried to flirt?

Fen’harel: Wanting something and being able to act on such desires are two separate things.  You should not care for me.  You do not even know who I truly am, as you stated yourself.

Emmy: I don’t know what you look like.  Looks are not nearly as important as the rest.   All you’ve done for me.  All we’ve shared even though it is just in e-mails.  I feel more myself with you than anyone around me in person.  When I imagine you being with me I can’t picture you but I feel you.

This had escalated into something entirely different from what she had expected.  Probably something that she should not be partaking in at work but, she couldn’t help it.  They were finally talking about it.  She wasn’t about to stop it now if he allowed the discussion.  

Although, he was taking long enough to respond that she thought maybe he had decided to end it by simply not speaking anymore.  Then the typing started again followed quickly by a ding.

Fen’harel: You imagine such things, how I feel?

Then before she could even start her response.

Fen’harel: Stop.

Fen’harel: I can not continue this, Emmy.  We should not.  

Please, say he was just talking the flirting.  Then again she didn’t want to let it go that easy.  He’d admitted he was attracted, so why?  

Emmy: You don’t imagine things like that?  How I’d taste against your lips.  

Emmy: What my skin would feel like against yours.  The sounds I’d make.  How we’d be mad with lust for each other.

Emmy: I’m guessing the first time would be rough and hungry.  Then again a while later, slow and sensual.

There was nothing for a full minute from him and she frowned.  Still, at this point it was all or nothing.

Emmy: Have you fled from me or are your hands too busy doing other things to type ;).  Maybe I should make my hands busy too.  Certainly in the mood for it now.

The typing started again.

Fen’harel: I am at work.  Please desist this.

Emmy: I’m at work too ;)

Emmy: Wait, does that mean if you weren’t at work you’d play along?

Fen’harel: That is enough of this game of yours.  If you do not wish to tell me of your new situation, then I will not force the matter.  I must go.

Not like that you don’t, woflie.  She quickly typed the one thing she thought would get him to stay.

Emmy: An archivist

There was typing, stopping, typing, and stopping.  Now her brows furrowed.  Honestly, it wasn’t like she had told him she was a spy or gone into the porn industry or something.  He knew her passions.  Surely her pursuing a career as an archivist wasn’t that far fetched.

Fen’harel: An archivist, where?

Emmy: I would’ve thought you’d know that, all seeing one.

Fen’harel: Amuse me.

Emmy: Why?  You didn’t want to play with me when it was my game.  

Emmy: It’s my first day, stop distracting me.  I’ll send you an e-mail when I get my home internet set-up.  

Emmy: Good-bye wolfie. :*

With that she logged out of her chat before she let the conversation drag on any further.  She really did need to go over these final legal documents before she headed home today.  If she stayed on with him any longer she probably wouldn’t get home till after 8.

She looked at the small stack of papers still awaiting her attention and sighed.  Then her eyes shifted to the now empty tea mug Merrill had given her.  She reached for it and stood.  First she’d go make some tea, then she’d focus and get the last of this paperwork finished.

Earl Grey work your magic, buddy.

[sky-scribbles]

Introducing Elera!

I finally made it through Origins and DA2 again, and arrived at Inquisition. I’ve already talked a little bit about Elera Lavellan, my new Blackwall-mancing Inquisitor (because I’m weird and I create character concepts months before the actual character), but now she finally exists in her own save slot, I think it’s time to introduce her properly. 

Here’s what my new gal looks like:

And here are eight facts about her:

1. My first idea for Elera was that she would be blind, having lost her eyesight in childhood. I was researching ideas for how this might have happened, and learned that people with albinism often have highly sensitive eyes which are prone to visibility problems. ‘Hey, I could make an elven tradition!’ I said to myself, because I talk to myself and am strange. ‘Maybe albino elves are seen as marked by Ghilan’nain – they are pale as halla, Ghilan’nain’s sacred creatures, but they are also prone to visual impairment, and Ghilan’nain was transformed into a halla by Andruil after being blinded.'

So Elera has albinism, which has led her to suffer retinal damage. Perhaps her outdoor Dalish lifestyle exposed her to the sun so much that she just gradually lost her eyesight over time, or maybe some magical accident happened that a regular person could have recovered from, but was the nail in the coffin for her sensitive eyes… maybe a combination of both. In any case, she is unable to see – at least in the waking world.

2. Elera is a Dreamer, like Solas and Feynriel. (I know they’re rare and that the ‘magical albino’ trope is done to death, but the concept fascinates me so much I couldn’t resist making a Dreamer OC.) Because only Elera’s physical body is blind, she can see in the Fade, and considers it as real as the physical realm.  After her eyesight failed, Elera  - filled with despair and convinced that she could not serve her clan without sight - was ready to give up. But mere days later, she found herself walking within the Fade, where a Spirit of Hope was drawn to her, seeking to help her recover from her despair. The two formed a friendship, Elera realised she had magic, and the Keeper took her on as her First. Since Elera can enter the Fade at will, being a Dreamer, I headcanon that she occasionally goes into trances in order to seek guidance from Hope.

3. Since they share many things – a race, the Dreaming talent, a fascination with the Fade and spirits  - Solas and Elera are very close friends. She sees him as too much like a Dalish hahren to have any romantic interest in him, but they spend a lot of time discussing magic and elven culture, and they go for walks in the Fade in which Solas introduces her to some of his spirit friends. (Some mild worry will ensue from Blackwall, who Elera very much does have an interest in, but who will briefly be given to think that there's something between Elera and Solas. It’ll all be sorted out before long, and Solas will act rather like a protective big brother, giving Blackwall the whole ‘don’t break her heart’ speech. Like you can talk, you lying egg god…)

(Rest under the cut for length.)

4. Elera wears the vallaslin of Ghilan’nain (see fact 1 for why.) A deity of guidance is a fitting patron for a blind elf. But despite her belief in the Creators, Elera happily identifies as the Herald of Andraste, and not just for practical purposes. She sees herself as a second Shartan, allying herself with humans in order to create a better way of life for the elves. At first she wonders if a spirit somehow took on Andraste's form and memories and chose her; when she finds out the truth, she isn't all that troubled. Chosen or not, the world needs a new Shartan, and it might as well be her.

5. Elera’s relationship with Sera is proving interesting. At first I thought they wouldn’t get on at all, what with Elera being an ‘elfy elf’ and with Sera’s hatred of creepy Fade magic. But while she strongly disagrees with Sera’s attitude, Elera is fascinated by Sera - perhaps because she wants to know what exactly an elf can be when they forsake everything about the culture. Despite their unlikely friendship, they will have a blazing argument after the Temple of Mythal... but if I finally become able to play Trespasser, it's possible they'll talk through their issues then and become much closer, with Sera supporting Elera through her inevitable crisis of faith.

6. Elera sees it as her duty to remain calm and collected, and to make sure her blindness doesn’t become too much of a burden on the people around her. Behind this cool exterior, however, she does often feel rather vulnerable, and taxed by the effort of coping with both her disability and her responsibilities while never complaining. This is partly why she’ll find the solid and dependable presence of Blackwall rather comforting. Blackwall, meanwhile, finds her capable nature in the face of her problems rather inspiring – and when she tells him about her initial struggle to accept her lot in life, he’ll feel encouraged to hope that he might be able to move on from despair, too… *cue romantic music*

7. Being blind has, naturally, encouraged Elera to make use of her other senses as much as possible, and she has discovered that she’s a very good listener. She's a good singer, able to pick up and follow a tune with ease, she takes note of spoken details others would miss, and she can imitate people’s voices very well – in fact, she has a naturally Dalish accent like Solas’s or Merrill’s, but while around humans she likes to affect a human accent so as to make them feel more comfortable (and because she enjoys it.) It was also why she was sent to spy on the Conclave, since the Keeper knew she’d hear and remember every detail.

 8. But naturally, a blind woman couldn’t go alone. Elera was accompanied by her best friend, Merron. He was an easygoing and cheerful elf who was never the strongest or fastest hunter – but he was very good at  looking after Elera and acting as her eyes. When she became First, he saw it as an opportunity. He was mocked for being a mediocre hunter, but if he was bodyguard and helper to the Keeper, he would have status and purpose within the clan. Since they were inseparable, they were sent to the Conclave together – where Merron sadly perished. This was what made Elera convinced she needed to stay and help the Inquisition; she intends to find out why her best friend was murdered. Corypheus better watch out - there's a tiny blind elf lady out there who is very angry, and she's coming to kick his ass.

If you have any questions about Elera, please throw ‘em at me! She still needs plenty of fleshing out. :)

[in-arlathan]

First to the Keeper

Time period: 9:40/41 Dragon Characters: Female Lavellan, Keeper Deshanna, Clan Lavellan, Elven OCs Chapters: 1/1, Length: 3,413 words Rating: PG-13, Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: For most of her life, Lavellan was set to bring honor to her clan. As First to Deshanna, she spends her time practicing new spells in the hope that, one day, she’ll be powerful enough to become the next keeper. But as word of the conclave in Haven reaches the Lavellan clan, her life takes a very different turn.

A/N: This is an updated version of the fanfic I posted over @old-arlathan. This is an explorations of my elven mage, Alis Lavellan, during her time with the clan. I hope you enjoy it! <3

You can read this on AO3, too.

______

They had set up camp in a secluded valley near Ansburg three days ago. The surrounding hills were covered in trees softly swaying in the wind, with leaves that glittered in the yellow afternoon sun. They made her think about how quickly summer had past once again.

In these past couple of years, it seemed like the world had been spinning much faster, with each season going by in rush. Even the Dalish felt it while traveling the vast open country. Ever since the war between the mages and the templars had begun to rage across Thedas, people were trying to preserve time. Some wishing to go back to the old days, other wanting the world to move forward.

Where it up to her, she would love to see changes in the world, not just for her people, but for everyone. If she were to decide the future of Thedas, she would want to show them all the wonders of magic and the Fade. She wanted to take away their fears and make life worth living again. Sadly, it wasn’t up to her to decide anyone’s fate but her own. And she, too, felt like she was running out of time.

Concentrating of the crackling energy of the Fade, Lavellan closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.

It has not been long since she mastered One With Nature, a powerful spell that was usually restricted to the keeper. Yet, Deshanna had let her train to master the spell, trusting in Lavellan’s power as well as her sense of responsibility. “You know very well how dangerous the Fade is”, Deshanna once said to her. “That is why I chose you as my First. If anyone in this clan is to master the magic and keep us safe, it is you.”

She remembered the burst of pride she had felt that day. Of course, Deshanna had never kept it secret how she felt about Lavellan. Still, it humbled her that the old keeper deemed her worthy of following in her footsteps. And she was determined to live up to the task.

After all, it was Deshanna who had spoken on her behalf when she joined the clan at the age of twelve. She owed her life to the keeper and she would be forever grateful for that.

Lavellan readied herself, feeling the movement of the earth beneath her feet. The trees around her seemed to whisper to her in a language that dated back to the times of ancient Arlathan. With all her heart, she tried to listen, tried to make sense of their words.

I can hear you, she thought. I am listening.

But would they listen, too? Would they obey her command?

She was, undoubtedly, the most powerful mage within a hundred-mile radius. That was one of the many reasons why the humans in the area wouldn’t dare to attack the clan. And yet she had only mastered one of the mighty keeper spells. It had taken years and years of practice. How much longer, before she would be ready to truly become Deshanna’s successor?

Then she cast her spell. First, she created the magical shield of One With Nature and felt the energy immobilize her body. Unable to move, she concentrated on the forces of nature around her and called out to the trees. In her mind, she saw the roots coming forth from the earth, surrounding her, protecting her, while she drew energy from the Fade.

Come on, she thought and felt sweat gathering on her forehead.

And then the trees responded. The earth cracked open on her left side and a long dark root rose from beneath. The root coiled up like a snake and lashed out.

She cried out in pain.

The root had struck like a whip, leaving a bloody trail on the back of her right hand. Warm blood gushed from the wound and down her forearm.

Damned Thornblades, she thought and let go of the Fade. The magical energy slipped away from her instantly. The root slipped back to the earth quickly after and then she could move again. She cast a simple healing spell to close the wound, but it would take the aid of a more proficient healer to mend her flesh.

Lavellan sighed and leaned onto her staff. She had tried to make this spell work for hours and her strength was all but drained. It would be long before she had to head back to camp and rest.

Just one more time, she told herself, well aware that this would not be just “one more time”. A good thing, she had a few vials of lyrium potion to lend her strength.

But it never had the chance to make another attempt at the Thornblades spell. Before she could raise her staff and dive back into the Fade, a hunter of her clan made his way through the woods towards her.

His name was Vhe’ral and he was a couple of years younger than Lavellan. Like her, he wore June’s blood writing, though in a different variation that was more popular among the hunters. But unlike the archers of the clan, Vhe’ral possessed an undeniable talent with magic. One day, with enough training, he might even become the keeper’s Second. Lavellan was looking forward to it.

“Deshanna wants to see you,” he said as he approached.

“Straight to the point, hm?,” she asked and a soft smile tugged at her lips. “Much appreciated.”

Vhe’ral tilted his head slightly and seize her up and down. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to reply something clever, but then changed his mind. “Seems like Deshanna has news about the shemlen and their idiotic war,” he said at last.

Lavellan sighed. “Again?”

“They sure are the quick ones.”

She breathed another sigh. “Alright, let’s go back then,” she said and began walking towards him. Vhe’ral waited until she had reached his position than fell into step beside her as they followed the path back to the valley where the Dalish had set up camp.

“Will you tell me more about it later?” he asked after a while. She could almost taste his eagerness.

“Absolutely not.”

“But why?” He blinked, bewildered. “The shemlen might attack at any minute. Should the hunters know if there is any danger for the clan?”

“If the keeper wants to speak to me in private and not share her news with the rest of the clan, that is her decision entirely. As her First, I will not blurt out her secrets on my own accord.”

Vhe’ral didn’t look happy, not at all, but he let the issue slide and felt into step beside her once more.

“As for the shemlen,” she said. “We kept good relations with them for the last twenty years. Besides, they are fighting a war amongst themselves and won’t be concerning themselves with a small Dalish clan on the outskirts of the Free Marches at the moment. I don’t think we are in immediate danger for them.”

“If you say so,” he grumbled.

The Lavellan clan had never been large. It’s camp consisted of ten aravels grouped in a semicircle around a large fireplace. The wind caught in red sails of the caravans and, in the distance, she could hear the soft sound of the halla.

Keeper Deshanna’s aravel was by far the largest and stood a bit apart from the the rest. Three youngsters sat on the steps that let up to the caravan, lost in stories and child’s play. Lavellan watched them, then turned to Vhe’ral.

“Thank you,” she said decidedly. “See you later.”

Vhe’ral looked disappointed, but he didn’t reply. Instead he turned to the children and joined them in their game, make them laugh out loud as he did so.

Lavellan climbed the stairs to Deshanna’s aravel and enter. Inside, the caravan looked just like always. The floor was all but covered in seat cushions. The only exception was Deshanna’s workbench that took up most of back of the caravan. A variety of glasses, vials and boxes with ingredients were lined up an a board above the workbench, while books and papers lay scattered across on the floor.

As she entered, the keeper corked a small bottle and set it aside. Then she turned to Lavellan.

“Practicing the Thornblades again?” she asked in a tone that made it all too clear that she already knew the answer. The keeper’s gaze flicked to the cut on Lavellan’s hand. “You should let me look at that.”

Though Lavellan knew a little bit of healing magic herself, she was glad for Deshanna’s help. Her mentor was a skilled mage and caretaker and was able to cure wounds in no time.

She leaned her staff against the wall of the aravel and came over the Deshanna. Without a word, the keeper took her hand and let her own hover right about the wound. Lavellan felt a soft tingle as Deshanna began to cast her spell and made the magic mend the cut.

“You should be more careful with the Thornblades,” Deshanna said. “They are not easy to master, especially for those who lack in concentration.

Lavellan felt her cheeks blush. The keeper rarely scolded her for her training.

“May the Dread Wolf take them!,” she spat in the old elven language to cover the pang of shame she felt. “I swear I will crack this spell and make it my own.”

“For someone who has no interest in learning our lore, you are very quick to envoke the name of the Dread Wolf”, Deshanna said with a smile.

“The Hahren know enough about our history”, Lavellan replied. “I am more interested in shaping the future.”

“And what future would that be?”

Lavellan stopped dead in her tracks. Deshanna’s question had caught her off guard. She just knew she needed to do something. Something that made a different, for herself and her people.

“A better one,” is all she said.

“Well,” Deshanna mused. “Who doesn’t hope for a better future? But you should not let your eagerness cloud your judgement, da’len. Rash actions have created far more problems than they’ve solved.”

Lavellan sighed. “I know”, she admitted. “I just…”

“Don’t be glum,” the old keeper said. “The state of the world is bad enough as it is.”

That reminded her of why she was here. “Vhe’ral said you had news about the war between the mages and the templars?”

Deshanna nodded, then gestured towards the pillows spread across the floor of their aravel. “Sit down and I will tell you.”

And so she sat, cross-legged, and waited for the keeper to share their secrets.

The older elf groaned as she settled on one of other cushions and for a moment, Lavellan could truly see the toll the ages had taken on the old the keeper. Time passes too quickly, she though.

Deshanna straightened herself. “I’ve met with one of the human traders of Wycome this morning,” she told Lavellan. “He had interesting news concerning the war. It seems like Divine Justinia has finally decided to do something about the crisis and called for a conclave. She wants the mages and templars to gather in Haven, two months from now.”

Lavellan tilted her head. “Haven? Never heard of it before.”

“It’s located in the Frostback Mountains,” Deshanna told her. “Long ago, the humans have erected a temple there. Obviously, the Divine wants to call on their faith in the Maker in order to keep the peace.”

“The Frostback Mountains? That’s a long way from here.”

“It is.”

“So,” Lavellan said slowly. “What is the purpose of this conclave?”

“It would seem like the Divine wants to mediate between the mages and the templars to find a peaceful solution to their war. And to bring both parties back into the fold, I presume.”

“But what does this have to do with us?” Lavellan asked. “We have no bonds with the Circles or the Chantry. Why should we care about this conclave?”

“Because,” Deshanna said sternly, “whatever the humans decide in this conclave will affect Thedas. All of Thedas. Just think about it: They might declare it illegal to be a mage outside of one of their Circles. They might even decide to hunt down all apostates for good. And if they do, nothing will stop them from wiping us out – you, me or any other Dalish mage included. They might even find a reason to slaughter our people once and for all.”

“I… never thought about it that way,” Lavellan said slowly.

“The consequences of this conclave could be devastating,” Deshanna said. “The Dalish might be in grave danger and I will not wait for the humans to strike first.”

“So what do you want to do about it?” Lavellan asked. “It’s not like we have the power to call off the conclave.”

Deshanna shook her head. “No, that is right. But I’ll do what is necessary to protect our people.” The keeper sucked in a sharp breath. “I want one of us to be there, in Haven, when the conclave begins. I want to know what the humans are up to.”

Suddenly, Lavellan felt very cold and she felt the tiny hairs on her arms rise. Deshanna’s words carried so much weight, so much worry, it made her heart ache.

“I would go myself, but as the keeper, I can hardly abandon the clan,” Deshanna continued and tried her best to present a cheerful smile. Yet, the sadness in her voice betrayed her. “Besides, I am too old for a long journey such as this.”

The keeper gave Lavellan a long look. And then she knew what Deshanna wanted to ask of her. I want you to go in my stead, she could hear her say. For you are the only one I can trust.

And she knew she had to. It was Halam’shivanas, the sweet sacrifice of duty. She would never forgive herself if she turned down Deshanna’s request. What kind of First would she be, if she did? It would feel like she’d betrayed the keeper’s trust.

“You don’t have to ask,” she said. “I will go to Haven, if only to keep the clan safe.”

Deshanna smiled and her eyes gleamed with gratitude. “I knew I could count on you, da’len.”

Lavellan tried to smile, although she did not feel like it. Something inside her resented the idea of leaving the clan behind, even If she had never felt much of a connecting with its members. This life was the only life she knew and she had the faint feeling that if she deviated from the path she had set for herself, fate might turn against her.

None of this, she said out loud. She’d always kept her worries close to her heart. But in that very moment, she wish she had someone she could confide in. Someone who was not depending on her help or her protection. Someone she loved.

She shook her head and took in a long breath. There was no sense in worrying. Deshanna had given her a task and she would do everything she could to fulfill it.

“What will you tell the others?” Lavellan asked, gesturing towards the camp outside Deshanna’s aravel.

“I will tell them I send you on an important mission,” the keeper replied. “Then I will call on them to respect my authority and ask them to keep their questions to themselves. That should keep them quiet for a few moons.”

The thought made Lavellan smile against her will. Deshanna did have the respect of the clan, but as her first, she very much doubted that the hunters would not pester the keeper with their questions.

“I should be preparing then”, she said and rose from her seat cushion. “It is a long journey to the South and there are many things to be taken care of before I leave.”

“That is right”, Deshanna answered and stood. “I’ve made new potions you might find useful. I will have one of the youngsters bring them to your aravel.”

Lavellan nodded and said her goodbyes. When she stepped out of the caravan, she found the entire clan gathered by the camp fire. They were roasting rabbits for dinner and engaged in frivolous conversation. Yet, she noticed the side glazes and the hushed whispers as she went over to her own aravel.

She had only begun packing, when a young girl appeared in her doorstep. “The keeper told me to bring these,” she said, looking down on the collection of bottles and vials she carried in her arms.

“Oh yes, thank you.” Lavellan rushed to take the potions from her. “Would you send Beleas to me, please? I some more things from him.”

The girl blinked, curious. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Kind of,” Lavellan said, keeping the matter as vaguely as possible, and put the potions in a leather pouch. “Now, off with you.”

Luckily, the girl didn’t ask for any details, but turned on her heels to fetch Beleas. She only had the time to store some of her undergarments in her travel bag, before the man came to her aravel.

“How my assist you, da’len?”

She described the goods she needed from the clan’s supplies for her journey. “Deshanna’s orders”, she added before the elf could protest.

“I’ll do as the keeper commands, then,” Beleas replied, his lips twisted in a way, as if he’d been forced to eat raw lemons. He was a good man, Lavellan knew that, but he could be a real stickler when it came to handing out provisions from the clan’s hard-won supplies.

Yet, Beleas and two of his companions brought her enough food that would sustain her for the first week of her journey, a waterproof coat to protect her from the rain and a warm cloak to keep her warm in the snowy mountains. They also gave her different sets of clothing that would allow her to walk unnoticed among the humans and she tucked it all into her travel bag.

Night had fallen, when she was finally read to leave. Most of the clan had retreated to their aravels or lay sleeping in bedrolls around the camp fire. Without disturbing them, Lavellan slipped out of her caravan and shouldered her travel bag. Part of her was glad that everyone was asleep. Seeing their faces and asking her about her journey would have made it so much harder to leave.

Deshanna waited for her outside the camp where a small trail lead into the surrounding woods. “Don’t you want to take one of the halla?”

Lavellan shook her head. “That would only attract attention from the humans,” she declared. “There is a village a few miles to the southwest. There I will buy a horse and then make way to the coast. I will send word before I cross the Waking sea.”

“For that, I would be grateful,” Deshanna said.

And with that, the keeper pulled her into a hug.

Lavellan stiffened and tears began to gather in her eyes. It had been years since someone had held her like this. Last time, it had been her mother, crying and complaining about the keeper’s decision to send her daughter away. But she had been the fourth mage in the clan. There had been no way to deny that. So, Lavellan had hugged her mother goodbye and then had locked her heart away.

But now, with Deshanna, she knew it had been folly. She desired love and affection just as much as any other elf and she had denied it to herself. But not any longer. Giving in, she wrapped her arms around Deshanna and buried her face in the soft curve of the keeper’s neck. She took in the smell of herbs and burnt wood that came from Deshanna and prayed to the elven gods to keep the older woman safe.

I will come for you if you don’t, she promised them. For she is like a mother to me.

After what seemed like an eternity, Deshanna let go. Lavellan wiped her face to hide her childish tears and coughed. “I’ll be going then”, she said in a raspy voice, unable to say more. Her heart felt like to would split in two, if she did.

“Dareth shiral, da’len,” Deshanna answered and the pride in her eyes made Lavellan tear up yet again. “May the gods be with you, always.”

[squibblins]

the longest talk ever about my warden under the cut i’m sorry

mahariel’s really just following orders from marethari. if she hadn’t told him that being a grey warden was his duty then he would have just stayed the fuck home and probably died

that’s the only thing that keeps him going at first. duty is the most important thing to him, and the only thing he has left after losing everything he’s ever known and loved. but he hates humans for killing and separating his parents and just being dicks in general, now he has to go work for them? fuck this. he hadn’t even wanted to be a hunter, let alone a darkspawn hunter. (he’d wanted to be a halla keeper. he took the vallaslin of ghilan’nain, who happens to be the patron of hunters trying to find their way home. i love tragic symbolism).

then the mirror thing happened and he lost his sweetheart, his family, and his livelihood all in less than a week. at ostagar he’s snappish and irritable and the taint feels like fire in his veins. disappointingly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, he makes it through the joining.

for some reason the humans choose him to lead their growing group. most of the humans he’d met are either frightened of him or condescending towards him (and most of the time they want him dead). he expects them to question his leadership. that drives him to be a bit more blunt, to leave no room for doubt. mahariel is dalish; they’ve learned to make their own space, establish their own authority. the blight threatens the whole world, and to end it they must be swift and decisive in their actions. the hunter points the arrow and the rest fall in line. vir assan: fly straight and do not waver.

there are times when mahariel feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and his alone. he travels with strangers, humans and flat-ears and giants and one obnoxious drunken dwarf. no matter how many places their travels take them, no matter how many lives they save or tasks they complete, he can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s just wandering, hopelessly lost. his sleep is constantly being interrupted by the archdemon. its song echoes in his dreams, as beautiful as it is terrifying. he is exhausted, paranoid, terrified, and trying desperately not to show it.

on the worst nights he thinks of his clanmates. their faces are fading from his memory, but their words never will. you are dalish, whispers marethari. vir bor’assan: bend, but never break.

the others eventually break through his shell. alistair is the first to do so (and he won’t let on, he promises); their shared experience as the last two surviving grey wardens brought them closer together than either of them expected to be.

wynne scrutinizes his actions, questions his motivations, and is happily surprised to find that her unsolicited advice is taken to heart. (wynne is a mage and an elder, and mahariel has been taught his whole life to respect their wisdom, even though she’s a shemlen.)

he has a very hard time getting along with leliana at first. she seems obsessed with the maker and her naïve attitude towards the second-class status of elves grates at him. eventually (grudgingly), the two of them begin to share small pieces of each other, and find that they share a love of stories and songs. (mahariel was raised on hahren paivel’s tales, and the dalish sing at every occasion.) at first mahariel would only listen to her tales, and as they became friendlier, he began to share stories of his own. (his clan was not here. they sent him away. they would not know he was telling dalish tales to shemlen.) when mahariel asks about bards, leliana offers to teach mahariel their ways. mahariel finds he has no patience for the politics of the empire, but he and leliana make a beautiful duet. their songs fill the camp at night and raise the spirits of those around them, though some would never admit it.

(i also like to think that mahariel had an influence on leliana’s strong support of elves in inquisition, and her reintegration of shartan’s verses into the chant of light when she becomes divine.)

to mahariel, sten is a walking talking puzzle. much like himself, sten is a fish out of water, an outsider thrust into a world that shows no love for their kind. and when they first meet sten is locked in a cage like an animal, waiting to starve or to be torn apart by the coming darkspawn. knowing the potential risks of releasing a murderer and asking him to follow, mahariel does so anyway because at this point he is purposefully ignoring all self-preservation instincts (at the time, mahariel saw death as a coming blessing). sten rivals mahariel in his obstinacy and general prickliness. they end up communicating mostly through grunts, looks, and sarcasm. they are perhaps the most alike out of all of mahariel’s companions. the (LEGENDARY) friendship they develop is heartwarming but troublesome in that sten seems to think that they might one day meet on opposite sides of a battlefield. honestly, they love each other (not like that but if he was a romance option then they would have TOTALLY boned), though they would never fucking say it to each other in a language they can both understand, except in looks and with action.

mahariel and shale have a healthy respect for each other. he immediately gets on shale’s good side for not trying to order the golem around. at first mahariel doesn’t quite trust the golem not to stomp on him if he gave them the chance. and shale doesn’t trust that mahariel seems to know exactly where to put an arrow in a golem so that it dies quickly. shale has always thought of strength as being a physical trait, so when mahariel finds clever ways to navigate a situation, it throws them completely off guard. they end up admiring mahariel for this, and the two build a strange and tentative friendship.

mahariel and morrigan often find themselves at odds when mahariel expresses any kind of compassion, except for when he expresses compassion to her. she falters, stutters, her icy composure drops. mahariel thinks sometimes that she seems... guilty about it.

he is as wary of morrigan as he is of flemeth at first. still, they admire each other’s cunning and skill in battle. she’s also one of the first people in camp to make mahariel laugh. they are very close by the time she presents the ultimatum. morrigan even approaches him once about becoming more than friends (or was that part of her plan all along?). whatever her motivations were, there’s no way they’d ever be together because mahariel is fucking gay.

he does not like oghren, and he honestly can’t tell if oghren likes him because most of the time he’s drunk and he seems to forget about anything he said the night before in the morning. they share booze on quiet nights and mahariel doesn’t hold back when they brawl. (mahariel and brawling is just a headcanon of mine, born from a throwaway tamlen line.)

then there’s zevran. mahariel spared zevran’s life because he’d pitied zevran, an elf bought on the slave market and trained to become a killer, raised without a family to keep him safe and loved. he told himself he kept zevran close to keep an eye on him, but at times it seemed that it was the other way around. i am your man without reservation, zevran had told him. this, i swear.

mahariel had a tendency to wallow in the past. he’s dalish, after all. remembering what his clan had taught him kept him from falling off the deep end, at least for a while. but zevran was all about moving on, about leaving the past behind him. while mahariel picked at old wounds, zevran opted to ignore them and hope they went away. neither of them liked to talk about their hurts, but found themselves opening up anyway.

they found they had these things in common: each lost a loved one (and blamed themselves), each sought a home they could not return to, and each sought death in duty.

zevran had never known the kind of trust he placed in mahariel (which scared him). mahariel helped him unlearn a lot of the training that made him cold and unwilling to love. and it was mostly from zevran that mahariel learned how to move the fuck on and seize joy in the present. they’re stupid in love and stuff. they admit to it in the worst way possible because they both act like expressing feelings is like pulling teeth. and even though they never say those exact words, they’re engaged by the time they go to fight the archdemon.

mahariel never thought he would see his family again. he certainly never thought that a group of mostly shemlen would replace them. of course they never truly could, but they helped soothe the ache that began the day this chaos began. as time went on, as they came to understand one another, mahariel felt less like he was carrying all of this responsibility on his own. vir adahlen: together we are stronger than the one.

morrigan gives him a choice, in the end. it would be the first time - and perhaps the last - that mahariel would forsake his duty.

mahariel at ostagar would have never agreed to do the dark ritual. killing the archdemon would be halam’shivanas: the sweet sacrifice of duty, the very thing he sought the day he left his clan. but since then he’d consorted with (even loved) shemlen and flat-ears and golems and qunari, played the politics of humans and dwarves, touched the lives of people young and old. he’d alleviated suffering and enacted justice. the people of ferelden came to see him as the Warden. he had become the personification of his duty. and mahariel was more sure than ever that he did not want it.

it was a huge, poorly calculated risk, to give the soul of an archdemon to a witch who he knew to often be selfish and cruel.

but he had already lost one family, only to gain another. and, as morrigan viciously reminded him, he could not bear to leave the people (especially the one) who taught him that this was a world worth living in.

it was, in the end, an act of selfish love that he would spend the rest of his life dreading the consequences of.

mahariel began his journey with only his duty to sustain him, and in the end found that he couldn’t commit to it because he ended up with too much to live for.

[himluv]

Little Mercies

Another Solavellan oneshot. Set a few weeks after Heat. Enjoy!

“Wild. Running, jumping, white and shining.” Cole blinked watery eyes at the Inquisitor. “Free.”

She smiled softly and nodded, but did not speak. She had eyes only for the halla that bounded away from them across the river. Solas had thought little of the creatures, but when he looked back at Riallan he saw the depth of her wonder at the sight. Cole’s voice echoed her reverence, and knowing the thoughts were hers made his heart clench.

“They are so delicate,” Cassandra said. “I expected them to be… hardier.” She said it without disdain, a simple observation.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Riallan said without looking away from the animals.

The Seeker considered her, taking in her willowy form in the intricately sewn Keeper’s robes and smiled. “This is true.”

That made him smile. That the Seeker compared Riallan to halla was at once endearing and laughable. The Inquisitor was something altogether more fierce than the elegant deer, even if she shared their grace.

Not that he would say as much in current company.

“Elegant, yes,” Cole said. “Long legs for bounding through trees. But sturdy too. Powerful, precious, poised.”

Riallan laughed at that, the sound bright and echoing off the stones of the riverbank. “Yes, Cole they are that too.”

Solas was glad he stood at the front of their party for once, for he could not contain his blush at the spirit’s words. They had been his thoughts, and they were decidedly not about the halla. He continued on the path, eager to move on and give Cole something else to think on, so he was the first to notice the red sails across the water.

His stomach dropped even as he smiled. While he had little affection for the Dalish, Riallan would be overjoyed to see a clan here. “Inquisitor,” he called and pointed ahead of him.

Sure enough, once her gaze found the aravels her whole face lit up. It was the biggest grin he had ever seen on her face. The purest, most hopeful expression. It made his chest ache, knowing that she so dearly missed her clan. She may not know it, but he had taken that from her. Yet another shame for him to carry.

“These are the aravels?” Cassandra asked, tripping over the word slightly.

But Riallan didn’t hear her, she was already bounding down the bank and into the water. Her joy ran away with her, lending wings to her feet as she reached the other side of the shallow river, her bare toes sure in the firm mud of the bank.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouted, but it was a wasted effort. Riallan was already gone, her heart and mind leagues away in the Free Marches.

“Flying, soaring, thunder in her ears. Sun in the sails, stars in their eyes, warmth in their hearts.” Cole looked at Solas, his gaze unseeing as he read Riallan’s racing thoughts. “Home.”

He knew that clan Lavellan were fairly progressive, if reclusive. He hoped, for her sake, this clan would welcome her with open arms.

Cole looked at him then. “They keep coming back, searching, seeking, sad, but home is gone.”

“Yes, Cole,” he said. “It is.”

“I’m sorry, da’len,” said the Keeper. “You are one of the People, but we do not trust this Inquisition.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, even she had felt the same until recently. And yet, Hawen’s words stung more than she cared to admit. Not least because she saw the prejudice in his distrusting glances at her companions. Did Deshanna look at city elves that way? Was her clan no better? Were all Dalish so insular?

Was Solas right about them after all?

“I— of course, hahren. I understand.” There was no keeping the disappointment from her voice. This was a rejection, even if it was wrapped in wise and kind words. It was as she had feared, the humans would vaunt her for as long as it was convenient and she would pay for their fervor with the acceptance of her kin.

But she couldn’t give up that easily. “May we rest with your clan for the evening?” She kept her voice quiet, hoping that her companions would not hear their conversation. Though she suspected Cole would tell all over dinner anyway.

She saw the hesitance on Hawen’s face and closed her eyes. “Forgive me, hahren. I did not mean to impose.” She turned to leave, but he stopped her with the brush of fingertips on her shoulder.

“Tel’abelas, da’len,” he said. “I am sorry. Of course you can join us.” He gave a wary glance at Cassandra, but smiled at Riallan.

She understood his concerns about the Seeker. She was an imposing figure, a capable warrior, and above all, human. But, Riallan worried more about Solas. Their only argument had been about the Dalish, heated and full of brash words she regretted. It was not something they had ever resolved. She would need to talk with him before tensions rose in the camp.

“Ma serannas, hahren.” She inclined her head in deference to the Keeper. “I will inform my people.”

She stepped away to the edge of the camp, Solas and Cassandra following her. Cole was nowhere to be seen.

“I am here,” the spirit promised, his voice frail as wind. “It would not help them to see me.”

“Thank you, Cole,” she said.

“That conversation did not seem,” Cassandra paused to find the right word. “Welcoming.”

Solas snorted, but said nothing.

Riallan cast a disapproving glance his way, but if he noticed he gave no sign. “They are, understandably, hesitant to trust us.”

Dark brows rose high on the Seeker’s face. “But you are Dalish!”

“A Dalish representing a human organization with ties to the Chantry,” Riallan added.

“And accompanied by a Seeker of Truth and flat ear, no less,” Solas said. There was no heat in his words.

Riallan was pretty sure that made it worse. “Hawen said nothing of the sort.”

“He did not have to.” He leaned on his staff and looked away from her.

She had no argument to make and it only made her angrier. “He has invited us to spend our evening in the camp,” she said.

“Ma nuvenin,” he said. The words were a cold wind in her ears.

Cassandra looked between them with confusion. “You are fighting. Why?”

“Solas takes issue with the Dalish,” she said, crossing her arms, wishing his disdain didn’t affect her so much.

“Reaching. So much they do not know. Grasping hands and hearts save all the wrong parts.” The spirit appeared, standing between Riallan and Solas.

“Leave it be, Cole,” Solas said.

“Their misunderstanding hurts.” He said it as a plea, begging the elf to let him help.

“Yes. But you cannot heal it.”

“I could try,” he said, petulant, displeased as a child being told ‘no’.

“And you would fail.”

“Perhaps because you don’t want to let the pain go,” Riallan said. “I don’t know what the Dalish did to slight you Solas, but this clan has offered us shelter. I, for one, would not offend them by refusing.”

That was an exaggeration, considering that she’d asked Hawen if they could stay, but he didn’t need to know that.

Cassandra gave Solas a sheepish look. “Something other than field rations would be a pleasant change.”

Solas pursed his lips, then looked at Riallan. “I do not disagree.” It wasn’t quite an apology, but there was no argument in his eyes. It was close enough.

“Then, it’s settled.” She forced a smiled at them and turned back to the camp, eager to mingle with her people.

This was not how Solas imagined spending his evening. The campfire and open sky were all correct, but being surrounded by modern elves, listening to their stories was unexpected. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, if he didn’t listen too closely.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Riallan sat down beside him, setting a wooden tankard down by her feet. The firelight flickered and billowed in shadows across her skin, giving her cheeks a duskiness she didn’t have by day.

“Try this,” she said and offered a piece of bread to him.

He took it, but did not try it. “What is it?”

“Honeyed bradh with halla butter.” There was laughter in her voice, a warmth he only heard after she’d visited with Varric and Bull in the Herald’s Rest. Perhaps the tinge in her cheeks had more to do with Dalish wine than the fire.

He took a tentative bite and let out a pleased sound.

She grinned. “You like it?” Her eyes shone with the light of the fire, and when she looked at him like that, like her whole world hinged on what he said next, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Very much.” He took another bite to prove it. The bread was light and flaky, spread with spiced butter and a fine drizzle of honey on top. It was savory and sweet, hearty enough to have with a meal but sweet enough to crave for dessert.

She flushed at his approval, and then stole the final bite out of his hand. “I didn’t say you could have the whole thing!” She laughed even as she shoved the bread into her mouth. “Don’t tell on me, but this better than my clan’s.” She giggled, the sound girlish and carefree.

Definitely feeling the effects of the wine, then.

He leaned in to bump his shoulder against hers. “You secret is safe with me, if—” he gave her a wicked little smile, “—you get me another piece of that bradh.”

The look she gave him flushed him with warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. “Ma nuvenin, Solas.”

And then she was up and gone, hunting to fulfill his request. Across the fire Cassandra leaned against an aravel, talking with one of the clan’s hunters. From what he could hear they were sharing hunting stories, and she’d regaled the elf with a tale of Pentaghast dragon hunters. Cole remained out of sight, but Solas saw him in the little mercies that had played out over the evening meal. A knife that should have slipped and sliced simply fell instead. The fish that would have burned were magically flipped while no one looked. And, he noticed now, the Inquisitor’s drink had filled in her absence.

“Cole,” he chided.

“The wine helps,” the spirit said, though he didn’t appear.

“That is debatable.”

“She is comfortable. Thoughts quieter. Frantic, buzzing, soothed with warmth.”

Solas sighed. “Remember that too much can lead to hurt. It weakens the will and tears down walls that should remain in place.”

Cole blinked at him, suddenly manifested before him. “She wishes you would let your walls down.” He tilted his head. “Would you like wine?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “No, thank you.”

The spirit vanished as Riallan returned. She bowed, an exaggerated flourish of arms and legs, and offered him the bradh she found. “Your bradh, Master Solas.”

He bit back a smile at her antics, but took the bread. He was halfway through a bite when she sat beside him, much closer this time, and lifted her tankard. “Did you refill my wine?”

He choked and she laughed at him. “No,” he said. “Cole was helping.”

“Aww, thanks Cole!”

“You’re welcome,” came the spirit’s disembodied voice.

She took a sip and looked out over the fire, her eyes lingering on the people and conversations happening all around them. Someone had found a lyre and strummed it aimlessly until a song formed and a few people took up singing. It was a soothing melody in a mixture of their broken elvhen and common.

It was no less beautiful for it.

He caught her watching him, her eyes suddenly intense. “What is it, lethallan?”

“This is why I asked to stay.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked at the fire. “I wanted to share this life with you, even for just a night.” The words were barely a whisper, a confession he wasn’t certain she would have made under other circumstances.

He cleared his throat. “I thought the Keeper offered.”

She blushed. “I lied.”

“Why?” Just when he thought he understood her motivations she did something he didn’t expect.

“I didn’t want you to think I was desperate or homesick.” She stared down into the depths of her wine. The words no doubt confessed thanks to its influence.

“There’s nothing shameful in longing for the world you once knew,” he said.

She hummed and took another drink. “Maybe not shameful, but certainly foolish.”

Only because she lacked the power to bring back what was lost, he told himself. “If you could go back, if the anchor and the Breach had never happened, would you?”

He hadn’t meant to ask, but in the warm haze of the fire and the sweetness of the wine on her breath, the words just tumbled out.

She thought on his question for a long time, long enough that he thought she wouldn’t answer him at all. Then her hand was on his forearm, the barest touch that sent a jolt through him.

When he looked up her focus was undeniable. She held his gaze even through the flush of embarrassment and drink on her cheeks.

“No. No, I don’t think I would.”