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{dear lord that dlc...} 

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The god Fen’Harel was asked by a village to kill a great beast. He came to the beast at dawn, and saw its strength, and knew it would slay him if he fought it. So instead, he shot an arrow up into the sky. The villagers asked Fen’Harel how he would save them, and he said to them, ‘When did I say that I would save you?’ And he left, and the great beast came into the village that night and killed the warriors, and the women, and the elders. It came to the children and opened its great maw, but then the arrow that Fen’Harel had loosed fell from the sky into the great beast’s mouth, and killed it. The children of the village wept for their parents and elders, but still they made an offering to Fen’Harel of thanks, for he had done what the villagers had asked. He had killed the beast, with his cunning, and a slow arrow that the beast never noticed.

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The elven pantheon comprises five gods and four goddesses, whom the modern Dalish elves refer to as “the Creators”. There are also references in elven mythology to another race of gods, called “The Forgotten Ones”, the enemies of the elven pantheon.

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Where were you 20 years ago? 10 years ago? Where were you when I was new?!

I have many solavellan headcanons but my favourite one for Pahpi(last unicorn inspired) is that 30 or 40 years go by and Pahpi is old and wrinkled.They have given up on ever seeing Solas again, but he suddenly shows up and completely unaged ; v ; 

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finding skyhold

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[x]

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     The rift mage ponders if she seeks refuge in his company simply because he is elven; someone to relate to in a world so far removed from her clan.  Would she be disappointed in learning how few commonalities they share, the massive depths between the perception of their roots?  Pointed ears, yet nothing more.  

But he does not dismiss her, for it had been years since he regularly spoke to any consciousness outside of the Beyond.  It almost feels strange, surreal, a different shape of a dream with sharper emotions and more drab expectations.  

Still, he will gladly fill the role of a mentor, perhaps eventually a friend, while wearing thick skin and safeguarding any vulnerabilities.  The path chosen would not be easy, and it had already veered dangerously off course.  

The lighthearted giggle lightens his melancholy state, keeping an even stride as he walks along her side. 

    ❝ They are quite numerous, I must say.  I'm sure Haven's outskirts are safe, but I must admit, the campsite I recommended in the Hinterlands..." Amusement twinkles behind stormy eyes, subtle smirk drawing onto lips. ❝ Perhaps it had been a hasty decision. One I will not make again." 

The fresh snow shimmers under the sun's blinding light, powder crunching under heels as they walk.  In the distance, the clanking and clashing of Inquisition swords can be heard.  Solas is eager to be free of the mind-numbing sound.  

He looks down upon his companion. ❝ Tell me Inquisitor, how do you feel?  Does your mark still cause you discomfort?" 

Being the Herald is a lonely business. Enelya is ‘Your Worship.’ A figurehead, an icon, which she has accepted and acknowledges in role and responsibility, but it is isolating. She knows what she must do and who she must be — someone who is not herself. She must be a mirror. She must be what the people need, be the strength that can lead a nation and correct the wickedness of Corypheus.

But not herself. As much as she tries, she cannot entirely ignore herself. Despite how convenient it may be. At least Solas helps her ease this understanding.

A soft smile from his acceptance turns into a giggle hidden behind her hand, she pushes herself from where she leans against his doorway.

     ”Wonderful! If we’re attacked by a bear, I’ll simply      hide behind you. You’re a bigger target, not to worry.”

She gives him a teasing grin and waves an inviting hand at him, starting off toward the exit of the village.

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❝ Inquisitor," he greets. ❝ I do hope I'm not interrupting." 

Dark circles make their home under stormy eyes, shoulders hunched with the crushing weight of his people.  Steps are quiet and measured, hands lightly clasped behind his back as he approaches.  It feels strange to be in her living space, encroaching on her privacy, but Lady Montilyet had insisted all inquiries be directed to Lavellan's quarters. 

The view draws his attention through the open shutters, gradual extinguishing of stars as the orange glow breaks through the muted predawn haze. 

           ❝ Sleep has been rather elusive the past few nights." He shakes his head, returning dreamy gaze to her position at the desk.                                      ❝ I was wondering if you had a few moments to speak."

fadehierophant.

       ❝ solas. ❞ a respectful nod to him as she looks  up  from the latest stack of letters upon  her desk. it’s early ––  much earlier than she would expect him to be awake,  but see- ing as the  inquisitor  herself  hasn’t  yet slept … she doesn’t have much room to talk.   the room is cold, with the balcony doors wide open  to  let  in  a  chilly  pre- dawn breeze that only doesn’t blow  her papers away because of magic.      cold- ness, as she’s found out, is a good way of staying awake when needed. ❝ did you need me  for  something?        it’s rather early for a dreamer to be        awake; the fade will miss you. ❞

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      What a strange twist of fate; one representing hope, one betrayal, both misunderstood.  Even though blind to the other's true nature, the elven apostate senses an aura surrounding her, a shift in the Beyond as their paths cross.  Uthenera had weakened him a great deal, and he could do all in his power to simply avoid trouble to begin with.  Tucked under a heavy cloak rests a hidden artifact, the key to unlocking ancient gods from their chains, to join the Beyond with the waking world once more.  

Entirely unassuming and relying far too heavily on his stave for support, he is surprised by the stranger's words.

❝ Do not be frightened, I wish you no harm," he begins. ❝ I am simply passing through." But to where, he will not say.  She appears on her last thread, slumped and weary, as if she may collapse at any moment.  Brows crinkle out of concern, a frown shaped by her feeble state.

❝ Do you require any assistance?" he asks, although hesitantly. The mage must avoid distractions, mindful of treacheries or demons along his path.

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❝ Da'ean, would you kindly refrain from making such unearthly noises at such close proximity? And please, put that scroll down..."

✗ || Bored Cenah noises

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Fadewalker at Emorenji

I AM DONE HAHAHA DAMMIT I KEPT ON PROCRASTINATING ON THIS ONE I AM SO SORRY EGG

next is probably Sera or Blackwall…. probably. if i dont get distracted

(3 down NINE TO GO SOMEONE HELP)

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                ❝ It was not supposed to happen this way…” 

     ❝ No matter what happens da asa’ma’lin, know you will always be dear to me-“ 

Gone.  For when Cenah’s eyes returned to the high landing upon the cracked stone steps, he was not there.  Vanished into thin air.  Most would let lie, they would assume he needed a moment to himself, a time to grieve as he had with the Spirit of Wisdom.  

But Cenah knew.  She always had some inkling of notions bigger than herself, an intuition that went beyond her childlike ways.  And she ran.  She tore from her companions because something in her knew he would not return.  Not this time.  Not ever.  

He hears light footsteps hot on his heels, cracking of branches as they echo through the forest.  Muffled sobs mixed with heaving breaths.  Desperation as she calls out to him, begging him to stay.  But he cannot.  And so he keeps moving, trying to spread the distance between them.  Trying to make a clean break, away where he would owe no explanations, no reasoning for why this meant the end.  The murals upon the wall would offer the only comfort, legend of a ghost to the man they once knew.  No matter how strong, he could not face the one that had called him ‘brother’.   

He is fast, but she is faster.  Like the wind under a bird’s outstretched feathers, she weaves through densely packed trees, leaps over shrubs, clears low streams… Even with his magic she gains on him, whether through pure will or a hunter’s instinct, Cenah soars.  Solas cannot escape, so he concedes, stopping cold in his tracks as wiry arms are violently flung around him.

The hunter’s embrace weighs him down with the entire impetus of his deceased kin, thousands of grasping hands pressing and dragging him down, hollow echoes through time as they weep from his lies, weave sorrowful tunes of his mistakes.  His pride shackling the gods and subjugating his people to lost memories and forgotten ways.  Magic lost to the void, a once marvelous city painted black and frozen in time. 

              And Mythal awaits.  She already knows, he can feel it.  His soul aches.

  ❝ Asa’ma’lin!” he pleads, voice almost cracking under the stress.  How could he tell her he must go?  How could he make her understand the responsibility he carried and what he now must do?

He wishes to tear away from her, rip her arms away and cast a spell that would chain her in place.  But he cannot.  He had hurt the songbird enough, her sobs soaking into his back, fingers curling into his front as she begs him to stay.  The only person outside of the Beyond he had come to trust, to cherish.  Who he had called ‘his blood’, an acceptance of kin unto a dalish elf so far removed from Elvhenan.  A bond exists he cannot deny, and he tries to swallow his pride and ignore the crushing weight upon his chest. 

Solas turns to face Cenah, his lips marred by a frown, anguish sinking dark circles below stormy eyes.  Warm hands weave magic to bind her wrists, a resolute grip as he steadies her heaving frame.  He looks upon her, frail soul lost to a clan’s roaming whims, one whose direction had been cast to a breeze, taking her where the Inquisition shifted, where they had tried to lead her.

But even now she makes it clear.  Cenah would not be led, nor would she be abandoned.  Her spirit is free, her heart pure and unmarked by hatred or selfish desire.  She had surprised him in all things, a wisdom far beyond her time.

         ❝ Please… There is more, and I must continue this path alone.  In time, you may understand but…” Solas shakes his head, holding her wrists out as he takes a step back from the young songbird. 

                         ❝ Mala suledin nadas, Asa’ma’lin…”  

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Final Song of the Flightless || Open

✗ || Don’t run.             Don’t go.                    Don’t leave please don’t.        Why was he leaving? There was no reason to, none that she understood or could think of. Strong legs carried her faster than she had ever run before. Still so exhausted from everything that had happened. But she ran, oh she ran. He couldn’t have gotten far. Even if he had, she was faster. ‘The fastest in the Inquisition’, something she always prided herself about. Cenah wouldn’t let him leave, let him be faster. To go where she could trail behind. No, no, no. It wasn’t allowed. Not like this.

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