#Aili is so old and mad at things

[lillotte17]

I would really love to see Aili kick Andruil's ass. Thoroughly beat her in a fight. Preferably some kind of bare knuckle brawl.

Hey Nonnie! Let’s not discuss how long it’s been since I received this prompt!! 

Anyway, as much as I would LOVE to see Aili suckerpunch Andruil in the face, there are VERY few occasions where that would actually turn out well for her. SO, I wrote you a thing, but it is a very different sort of thing. But hopefully there is still enough of what you were looking for in here to leave you satisfied.

As always Uthvir belongs to @feynites 

The Uthvir of this world is very young.

Aili has been visiting this place for nearly three months, alternatingbetween here and her new home at the Hidden Estate with Vhenan and baby Mealla.She is still getting used to the idea of sharing them both with other people,with other lovers and children who have come to care for Uthvir, and other parentswho seem determined to love her daughter. It is not as easy as she might haveexpected, though. She is too used to losing things she cares for to relinquishthem into other hands without a good deal of reluctance.  And Vhenan doesnot do very well if she is gone for much longer than a few days together,either.

Still, there is work to be done. Here, and in the refugee camp, and adozen other worlds where tyrants treat their followers as little more thanfodder for their power and toys for their amusement. There is more than enoughguilt left in her heart for her role in the destruction of her own world,however small it may have been, that she will not allow herself to sit idly bywhen others might be suffering.

As this Uthvir does, now.

When Aili had first snuck into this version of Andruil’s summerpalace, she had thought this might be another world like Mana'Din’s, where herheart had never been created. But then she had overheard a few of the chattierlower ranking hunters discussing Falon'Din’s lingering rage over the loss ofhis coveted general, Glory, and she had known that if they were not here yet,they would be soon.

Further investigation had led her deep into the bowels of the palace.Down near the dungeon and the treasury and other more secure rooms for‘projects’ and ‘precious oddities’ might need to be stored safely away frommost prying eyes. To a special pen made of transparent barriers so that itsoccupant’s behavior might be observed. And a small golden figure chainedto the floor within it.

Aili almost hadn’t recognized them. A face from her dreams. Fromnightmares about Falon'Din’s hands and Ghilan'nain’s cold cruel eyes. Bladesand bindings and pain.

Not things that she is typically keen to remember.

The little things add up, though. The sound of their voice. The waythey hold their head when they nod at someone. The shape of their hands andears.

She has known Uthvir, in various incarnations of themselves at thispoint, for hundreds of years. And she has met Glory once or twice in passing onher journeys. But this is someone new. Someone in between the two halves of themselves.Someone scared and resigned, and troublingly docile.

It has taken a long time for an opportunity to speak with them to presentitself. It is late at night, and all of the project managers who usually keepan eye on them have gone to bed, though likely not beyond hearing. Andruil isout on a hunt, and the palace is only sparely populated.

She comes to them as a plump little meadowlark, fluttering about inthe crossbeams of the ceiling.

“Who is there?” they whisper up at her hesitantly,“My…Mistress Andruil said that no one was to use me while she was on herhunt. If she comes back to find this body has been damaged, she will be mostdispleased.”

Aili winces internally, both at their words and their tone. She hopsabout on her perch for a few more indecisive moments before flitting down tothe floor beside them. There is not much in their cell. A simple cot and aplace to use the restroom. A thin blanket and a self-cleaning wash basin. Thechains on their limbs allow enough room to walk around a little, but not somuch that they might touch the barriers that make up their prison.

“I am not going to hurt you,” she assures them softly,“I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” they blink at her curiously with vivid blue eyes,“What about?”

“About you, mostly,” Aili tells them honestly, “Andyour life here.”

“I…am not certain I ampermitted to speak to you,” they reply worriedly, “Are you one of MyLady’s hunters? …Or a spirit, perhaps? I know what I am, but Lady Ghilan'nainstill crafted this body well enough to see that you are not a bird.”

“I imagine that the talking gave it away as well,” sheanswers with a light snort. “I am…a friend. Who happens to look like abird, for now. My names is Aili.”

“I have never had a friend,” they tell her matter-of-factly,“Not even one that looked like a bird. It is not this body’spurpose.”

“And what is your purpose?” Aili wonders quietly.

“To serve Lady Andruil,” they say, as though it should beobvious, “To be pleasing to look upon and warm her bed when she has needof it. To ensure that she is…happy.”

“And are youhappy?” Aili presses.

“I…am a gift,” they tell her, sounding a bit uncomfortable,“A thing cannot be happy or unhappy, it is beyond the scope of what aconstruct is meant to be. As you can plainly see, I have no aura around me. Noemotions. The Lady Andruil has been…magnanimous. She only shares me with herhighest-ranking followers, and no one else is permitted to damage this form inany way. She protects me. It is more than I expected or deserve.”

Aili feels a lump welling up in her throat, and a strong desire tohold them in her arms. She expects that it would be received as more of anattempt to force physical intimacy on them than a comfort, though, and shewould not put them through that. When she speaks next, her voice is thick andwobbly.

“Do you have a name?”

“Lady Andruil…calls me, ‘Pet’,” they say doubtfully, “Ido not think she would like other people to call me that, however. Most call mewhat I am.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to call you any of the names I’veheard them use around here,” Aili says sourly.

“You are free to call me what you like, of course,” theyreply with a respectful inclination of their head.

“I’d rather call you by something you like,” she tells them with a sigh.

“I…do not have leave to choose a name for myself,” they say, nervouslyshifting around a bit, “Proper names are for People.”

“You could pick one anyway,” Aili suggests, “It could be a secret. Youwouldn’t have to tell anyone what you picked.”

“Why should I have a name if no one would use it?” they ask.

“Because it would be yours,” she explains gently, “And because,as you said, People have proper names.”

“But I…am not a Person,” they remind her, “I am a body.I am an empty doll that happens to move ad speak.”

“And empty body is a corpse, Da'vhenan,” Aili tells themfirmly, “Your blood moves through your veins. Your lungs breathe. Yourmind thinks. You are alive. And youare a Person, real and whole.”

“Da'vhenan?” they say curiously, tilting their head inslight confusion.

“An endearment for a child,” she says, “Because you areyoung and sweet, and still learning what you are.”

“Lady Ghilan'nain told me what I am,” they reply uncertainly,“She said that-”

“She lied,” Aili cuts them off, “Just as Andruil lies.They tell you these things to control you, Little Heart. But you do not need tobelieve them.”

“Who should I believe, then?” they wonder, furrowing theirbrow.

“You should trust your own instincts,” Aili tells them,“And you can trust me too, although that might be a tall order rightnow.”  

“I doubt that Lady Ghilan'nain built me to have instincts,”they admit with a sigh.

“Instincts must be honed,” Aili says, hopping a little closerand rustling her feathers a bit, “A baby does not know how to walk when itis first born. It does not know its name or how to ask for what it wants fromlife. It learns these things with time, just as you will.”

“I am not a baby. At least, I do not think I am. I do not knowmuch about them, but my general understanding is that they are very small andgrow bigger with time and good foods to eat. And this body is not meant to beother than it is now,” they point out, “How can you be certain Icould do those things?”

“Because I have seen others like you achieve it,” she tellsthem simply. Telling them the whole of their history and just how much sheknows about them seems like it would be overwhelming. She does not want tofrighten them, or make them feel as though there is only one course their lifecould possibly take. All she’s interested in is gaining their trust, for themoment, and testing the waters about potentially taking them back to the HiddenEstate with her.

“You have met other constructs?” they ask, their eyebrowsrising in surprise, “And they became real People?”

“They were always real people,” Aili corrects them,“Just as you are.”

They make a face at her, confused and disbelieving.

“You look as though you would like to argue,” she notes, distinctlyamused.

“I would never dare to presume to correct you,” they hurryto assure her, nodding their head in a respectful bow, “And I… I would notbe displeased, if what you said was true. Maybe it is true for the otherconstructs you have met. But there is no way to be certain it will be true forme. Lady Ghilan'nain was very…thoroughin her inspection of this form and the range of its capabilities.”

“I would like to help you, if you’ll let me,” Aili tellsthem softly, finally flitting up to sit beside them on their thin little cot,“I would like to prove to you that she is wrong.”

“How would y-” they begin, before a quiet sound interruptsthem. They’re eyes widen, surprised and concerned.

“Is that humming?” Aili wonders, cocking her head slightlyand looking around for the source of the noise, “Why is your bedhumming?”

They do not answer herimmediately, but the fear in their expression is telling enough.

“It’s alright,” she promises, “You aren’t going to bein trouble with me. I know how to keep secrets. May I see it?”

They hesitate for a moment more, but then seem to decide either thatthey trust her, or that they have no other choice but to obey. They nod theirhead once and slide their hand beneath the thin mattress on their cot.Unearthing a folded piece of fraying fabric and holding it out to her.

Aili knows what it is before they even open it. She can feel afamiliar resonance prickling within her chest. Even so, she cannot help thebreath that escapes her when they reveal what looks to be a tiny fragment ofstarlight, glowing softly and pulsing in time with her heart.

“The shard of Glory,” she breathes.

“Yes,” they admit, still sounding a bit nervous, “Ikept it, even though I was not supposed to. It is sundered, so I did not thinkit would be… But I’ve never seen it act like this before…”

“It’s because I am here,” Aili tells them.

“Are you a spirit of Glory?” they wonder. Aili laughs.

“No, not in the least,” she twitters, “But I was givena shard like that…a long time ago. To keep me safe.”

She sees their hands tighten on their treasure ever so slightly.

“Never fear, Da'vhenan,” she reassures them, “I have nointention of stealing from you. One spark of Glory was more than enough.”

“I…I am not certain that explains why it might react to you,”they admit.

“It probably doesn’t,” Aili agrees, “But that is avery long story, and I doubt there is time for it tonight.”

“Does that mean that I will be permitted to speak with youagain?” they wonder.

“I certainly hope so,” Aili begins, “There is-”

But her thoughts are interrupted by a desperate tugging at some brightplace beneath her ribcage. Uthvir is having some sort of episode back inMana'Din’s territories. A bad one.

Vhenan?Vhenan, come back. Come back.

They are confused. Panicked. Nerves raw and jangling. And there is noone who can help them when they get like this. No one except her.

“I…I must go now,” she says apologetically.

“I shall patiently await your return,” the not-quite-Uthvirreplies with a respectful dip of their head.

“Or…you could come with me?” Aili suggests, “Right now.Tonight. If you come with me, you will be free to choose a name for others tocall you, and a new path for yourself. And I will personally ensure that no oneharms you.”

“But…what about my Lady Andruil?” they ask doubtfully,“She has bid me stay here until she returns. She would be most displeasedto find me gone. I…I do not wish to seem ungrateful for all she has done forme.”

“Let her rot,”Aili snaps, making them flinch. She softens again at their discomfort, thoughsome of Uthvir’s anxiety is beginning to bleed through into her own senses,setting her mind on edge. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Butthe place I come from is…very far away from here. Another realm, onlyaccessible to those who know the right paths and doorways to seek. Andruilmight be upset, but you would be beyond the reach of her ire. You would neverhave to obey her wishes again.”

“Your world sounds like a wonderous place indeed,” they tellher quietly, without nearly as much skepticism as she had anticipated,“But serving Lady Andruil…is what I am for. If she wishes for me to stay,how can I leave?”

“By choosing to do something you want, instead of what you thinkwould please her,” Aili supplies.

“I…am not certain I can do that,” they confess, browfurrowing in mild confusion.

Aili decides to relent, for now. She supposes that all of this islikely a bit overwhelming to take in all at once, and unfortunately, she doesnot have the time to ease them into the idea. Vhenan needs her.

“I will come back,” she promises, “I will come back as quicklyas I am able. Take your time to consider things. You can come with me then, ifyou like. I only want you to have a chance at happiness.”

“Happiness…” they echo faintly, “Then…I shall wait. Andconsider, as you have bid me do. I…hope that I may speak with you againsoon.”

“So do I,” she replies, sending a little curl of affectiontowards them before flitting back up into the rafters and out of sight.

~

But Aili does not come back as soon asshe had hoped. Not in a few days, or even a few weeks. Vhenan’s upset islingering, and they do not want her far from their sight. They attempt topersuade her that they can handle it if she has to leave again, but she canfeel the worry prickling beneath their words. A thousand nameless fears; and afew that are less nebulous. They do not want her to die again, to abandon them,to be someplace beyond where they can protect her if she needs it. They do notwant to wake to find another world without her.

Mealla is also doing her level best to figure out how to stand up onher own. To form words that have meaning, and take her first steps. Aili wouldrather eat her own liver than to risk missing that.

There are other agents who travel through the Eluvian at the HiddenEstate to explore other worlds, of course. She asks them to check in on theyoung Uthvir’s world when they can, but not to get too close. Her relationshipwith this Uthvir is tenuous at best, and Andruil’s Palace is not a place thatis easily infiltrated by someone who has not been inside it before. She thinksthat Lavellan would go if she asked her, but Thenvunin and her Nanae wouldnever forgive her if something happened and their daughter fell back into theHuntress’ clutches.

She could scarcely forgive herself.

By the time everything is sorted and settled at home, more than amonth has passed. Aili feels herself burn with guilt as she finally makes herway back through the maze of paths that connect Mana’Din’s world to so manyothers and emerges once more in Andruil’s territory. Wondering to herself ifforcing them to come with her somehow would have been a lesser crime in thelong run, rather than leaving them to whatever miseries they much have enduredin her absence.

The huntress is here this time, which makes infiltration moredifficult, but not impossible. The palace seems as though it is readying foryet another hunt, likely one that will not take them too far out into thesurrounding woods, as only a few hunters seem to be making the necessaryarrangements. There are hunts nearly every day, of course. For food to fill thelarders, and to keep beasts from growing bold enough to simply wander onto thepalace grounds. Andruil does not usually participate in these ‘lesser’ ventures,as she considers them far beneath the level of her skills, but she is rarelyhappy unless she has killed something, and there is not always somethingfearsome enough to suit her whims available for slaughter.

The hunt Andruil is to attend is set for very early the next day, andso most of the palace turns in early. Most of the lower ranking hunters seeingthis as a rare chance to impress their lady, and none of them wanting to losetheir chance at glory over something as stupid as sleep deprivation. Theservants are still milling about, of course. Cleaning things and preparing thebreakfast so that their will be something on hand for whatever odd hour theirLady decides to head out into the wilderness.

They do not take much notice of a little songbird fluttering throughthe rafters. It is not uncommon for some sort of wild animal to wander into thepalace every now and again. They usually end up as sport for whatever boredhunter happens to spy them first. But Aili knows these halls well enough tokeep largely out of sight, drawing her emotions tightly within herself toattract the least amount of attention possible.

When she finally makes it down to Uthvir’s cell, they are curled intothemselves on their cot, their thin blanket pulled about them tightly. They aremaking a soft warbling noise, muffled by their sheets, and it takes her a fewmoments to realize that they are crying. Uthvir is crying in the dark, allalone.

For half a minute she is frozen with indecision. Half of her heart isbegging her to fly down into they’re little cage and gather them into her armsuntil they feel safe again, and the other half is filled with a white hot fury.A righteous anger that wants her to storm back up through this wretched placeand bloody every single person who might conceivably have harmed them.

She is much stronger than she used to be, however, she doubts that shecould take out Andruil and all of her ranking hunters on her own. Not withoutsome sort of better plan than, 'hit them until they stop moving’, at any rate.

Uthvir and their pain come first, as always. The others can wait.

“Are you alright?” A stupid question that she already knowsthe answer to, but the first words the can think of that aren’t tinged with herfury.

They tense reflexively, pulling the covers even more firmly aroundthemselves as some kind of makeshift shield, momentarily shocked from theirtears. Their eyes dart around the room for a few seconds, searching.

“…Aili?” they wonder in a hoarse whisper, “Is thatyou?”

She flutters down from theceiling and lands a little ways from their cot. She shifts her weight around abit, hopping to and fro. Wanting to be closer to them, to offer physicalcomfort, but not wanting to startle them either.

“Yes,” she replies, her voice rife with regret, “And Iam so sorry I did not come back for you sooner. I did not think I would bedelayed for so long. Are you hurt? Do you need healing?”  

They shake their head at her,still visibly distraught. Their breathing seems to have calmed a little, butthere are still tears rolling down their cheeks. They do not move from therelative safety of their blankets.

“Would…would it be alright if I checked you over myself?”she asks hesitantly, “Nothing invasive, I promise. Just a little healingmagic, that’s all. And you can ask me to stop whenever you want.”

They consider for a moment before giving her a single slow nod ofagreement.

“I’ll need hands for this, so I’m going to change my shape,”Aili tells them, not wanting to alarm them with any sudden spells or movements.She shifts back into an elf once they give her another nod in the affirmative.They seem a little bit in awe afterwards.

“I think…if I could be a bird, or some other animal, I wouldhardly ever stay in my elf shape,” they confess quietly, “I wish Icould have wings.”

“Perhaps someday you will,” she smiles at them, slowlymoving closer to their bed and sitting down beside it, “I was not alwaysvery good at shifting my form. It took many years of practice. And there arestill some shapes that I cannot hold onto very easily.”

“I did not mean to imply that I prefer you as a bird, of course,” they hurry to assure her, “Youare very… Very nice. In this shape. As well as the other one.”

She laughs at that, covering her mouth to muffle the sound so as notto draw any unwanted attention from their handlers sleeping in the roomsnearby.

“I am pleased you approve,” she grins at them. They look abit confused by her response, but they manage a weak smile in return.

Slowly, Aili moves one hand over them, not touching, but close enoughto make them flinch, regardless. She offers a soft apology before summoning hermagic. It is a healing spell, but she reaches out for the faint trace ofGlory within them too, checking for wounds and soothing them as she goes.

They let out a deep breathy sigh. She smiles at them and brushes someof the hair back from their face. Reaching out with a wispy curl of affectionand reassurance.

“Will you tell me what happened since I went away,Da'vhenan?” she wonders.

“My lady…has grown weary of me,” they admit hesitantly, notmeeting her gaze, “It is only natural. I was going to be…disposed of. Ibegged to be allowed to serve her in some other capacity, if I could no longerplease her physically. At first…she refused, but I was ardent. I know I couldbe useful if she let me. She was gracious. She gave me mercy. She said… Shesaid that if I could find a spirit of my own, if I could make myself enough ofa Real person to pass as one of her followers, then I could stay here and serveher.”

Their eyes finally turn towards her, wide and terrified.

“B-but I…I have not been able to capture a spirit,” theycontinue, voice breaking as tears well in their eyes again, “I did my bestto lay traps. I left the shard of Glory there to tempt them… But they do notcome. They can see how I am wrong and empty, and they stay away. Lady Andruilis losing patience, and I… I do not wantto die! Falon'Din keeps the dead, and I cannot go back to him. Not ever. Ican’t. I can’t!”

They break down into sobs again, and Aili gathers them in her armswithout thinking. Stroking their hair and hushing them, swaying back and forthslightly. Rocking them, as she does with Mealla when she has suffered fromnightmare or injury. At first, they are stiff against her, tense, but notstruggling, passive in the face of unexpected comfort. But as time passes, theyslump into her embrace. They do not hold her back, but perhaps they do not knowhow to. She hums to them, and their crying fades into occasional whimpers andthen down to a sniffle here and there.

When they seem to have calmed down again, she lets them go. Their eyesare swollen, and their face is flushed, and they seem very confused. She doesher best to be gentle. She does not want them to think this is some sort ofweird come-on.  

“You don’t have to be afraid of Andruil or Falon'Din everagain,” she promises, “We can leave this place together, and you canhave whatever kind of future you want. I’ll help you get anything you need, youjust name it.”

They squirm a little. Nervous and uncertain.

“Would I… Would you be my new lady, then?” they wonder,“Am I to serve you, instead?”

“You would have no master or mistress, if you do not wantone,” Aili asserts, “Technically, I do serve an evanuris, but she is…different. She does not force peopleto bend their knees. You would not have to take her vallaslin unless you wishedto.”  

“But I still do not have a spirit,” they point out,“The people in your world…would they not see how I am empty?”

“Just because your emotions do not create a typical aura does notmean you do not have them,” she reminds them, “You are not empty, orwrong, or broken. You are just…built differently than most elves. There areother people like you. Other races who do not project what they feel into theair. You would hardly be an oddity. If you wanted to live somewhere beyondMana'Din’s territories, we might have to find a solution that involved asking aspirit to bond with you, but for now you do not have to change anything aboutyourself. You are enough all on your own.”

They stare at her for a long minute. Considering. This might be one ofthe first decisions they have ever made in their life, and she can almost seethe wheels turning in their mind. Wanting things, and being afraid to wantthem, and being terrified to leave what they know and understand in the hope offinding something better. And feeling just how small that hope might actuallybe.

A single tear slides down their cheek.

“I do not want to die.”

Aili reaches over and gently wipes the dampness away with the pad ofher thumb.

“Then I will keep you from harm,” she promises. She glancesaround their cell for a moment, frowning. “Breaking your cage willbe…noisy. You cannot change your shape yet, and while I am confident in myskills, fighting off an entire palace full of hunters would be…difficult. We’llneed some sort of distraction to ensure almost no one comes to investigate yourdisappearance. At least until we can get outside.”

“What kind of distraction?” they wonder.

“Big,” Aili replies, a wide devious grin spreading on herface, “The sort that would definitelykeep Andruil out of our way.”

~

The woods are quiet in the morning.

The paths are a little different than the ones she used to take withher Uthvir, back when they were both young, and the world had seemedmore…permanent. As if things could only ever be as they were, forever.

In some ways, that world had been less painful. She did not carry theguilt she bears now, and her heart had been…whole. But her new life has morepurpose. More direction and meaning. She still has Uthvir, and they have her,and they both have their daughter. She would not trade that for anything.

Aili follows Andruil and her hunters out beyond the boundaries of thepalace. Past the wards that would set alarms off if something large andunexpected might stray too close. They are not so far out that they could notsend for help if they found they needed it, but there is enough distance totake advantage of, so long as she is careful.

She shifts between shapes as she needs to. Flitting from branch tobranch as a lark. Softly padding along through the shadows as a fox. She holdsher emotions tight within herself. Her aura will still be noticeable if shegets too close, or draws attention to herself, but there is little worry of that.Even with the slightly altered pathways, she knows these woods. She knows thetrees and the landmarks and the scent of the air. She lived here for hundredsof years. With Andruil’s finest hunter to teach her every trail and river andstone. Every place where runes might be placed, and traps might be laid.

The party is small, and a fewof them break off completely to check on snares set out days ago. Only three orfour remain with their lady, and even they give her space as they all move offthe roads and into the trees. Too many people close together will frighten offmost prey animals, regardless of how quiet they manage to be. And the greathuntress hardly needs assistance with something as simple as a hart or a commonboar.

If the true object was food, the wiser course would be to go to one oftheir outposts in the forest and wait for the prey to come to them. But Andruilhas never been one for patience. Not when there is blood to be spilt.

And for once, Aili agrees.

She begins with the ones hunting farthest away from their mistress.She takes them cleanly. One by one. With only the pop of crackling bone andsinew and a muffled gasp against her palm. It is as quick and painless as shecan make it, although whether they deserve such mercy is another question. ButAndruil would notice the scent of blood in the air, or the sizzle of magic.

The last one is the most difficult. They seem to have sensed thatsomething else is in the woods with them. Something a bit more threatening thana typical meadowlark or a fox. It makes them watchful. Wary.  

They see her before they die. It is not enough to save them, but it isenough to make them utter a startled cry that beckons their lady to comesearching for the source of all the ruckus. If she is surprised or upset at thediscovery of her follower’s corpse, she hides it well.

“Well, well, perhaps today’s hunt will not be as dull as Ianticipated,” she hums thoughtfully, rolling the body of her fallen hunterover with the toe of her boot. Casually inspecting them for wounds. Trying toparse out how they had been slain.  

Aili had managed to fly up into the trees before she arrived at thescene, but now that Andruil is aware of the potential danger, it will not takeher long to sense her presence. Muted emotions hardly deter her from killingother animals, after all. She only has a few moments to act; surprise iscrucial. If Andruil realizes just exactly what she is up against and has timeto brace herself for it, Aili’s chance for success will drop exponentially.

As quick and quiet as she can, she begins to twist her shape. It is aform she does not use very often. She prefers to be small and silent, and thisis…rather the opposite. Her teeth grow long and sharp as swords, and her skinripples with a million tiny scales. Cream and gold and violet.

The huntress’ eyes catch a flash of them, and she turns to meet herfoe head on, but Aili is already lunging out of the trees. Only half wayshifted into her new shape, but already three times her normal size, and growinglarger by the second. She feels the bite of a dagger sink deep into her gut.She growls in pain and fury and triumph.

Andruil might have landed a hit, but Aili’s teeth are buried deep inher throat.

The woman struggles. Hits her. Burns her with magic. Stabs her a fewmore times for good measure. And does her best to find the presence of mind to changeher own form to match the one of her assailant.

But it is not enough. Aili is small for a dragon, but she is more thanlarge enough to crush an elf beneath her weight. Once she has shiftedcompletely, Andruil is tiny in her jaws. She might be singed and bleeding, butall she has to do is hold on until the huntress stops moving. All she has to dois endure Andruil’s wrath, as Uthvir had endured, until she has a victory.

When Andruil makes a real effort to change her shape though, there isno more time for waiting. Aili clamps her jaws together as hard as she can,twists her neck slightly, and pulls. Bloodgushes down her throat, enough to make her want to wretch and gag, but she doesnot yield until she is certain. Until her nemesis has gone still and silent.    

There are not too many physical wounds that will kill an elf with thesort of power that most of the Evanuris wield, but Aili is willing to bet thatAndruil is unlikely to recover from that one.

Never the less, she burns the body afterwards. Just to be certain.

~

When she gets back to the palace that evening, everything is inuproar. As planned.

She is moving slowly, and she is tired, but her wounds are largely healed,and between the chaos and the secret passages Uthvir had shown her years ago,she makes her way through the estate virtually unseen. It had not taken themlong to find the bodies of their Lady and her entourage once they had beenmissed. Aili had not bothered to hide them. The fact that there had been no markson the hunters was baffling enough, but there had been signs that their ladyhad fought a dragon. And whether thatmeans some rogue Keeper had emerged from hiding, or one of the other Evanurishad turned on her, or some new elf had discovered how to take the beast’s shape…None or those options are good.

They scramble for leadership. Andruil had always kept them at eachother’s throats. There is little love lost between them, and almost no trust tospeak of at all. Aili would be concerned about one of them trying to maim Uthviror herself out of hand if they were not so busy trying to kill each otherinstead.

Uthvir’s dungeon is deserted by the she gets there. They are sittingramrod straight on their cot, listening anxiously to the sounds of screams andshouting from above. They visibly relax once they see her though.

“What did you do?” they wonder, eyes wide with awe.

“Oh, you know,” Aili pants, grinning at them with an aura ofdeep satisfaction, “Got in a bit of a fight with one or two of them. Brokesome bones. Singed some skin. Nothing fancy.”

“And that was all it took for allof them to turn on each otherlike that?” they reply, clearly dubious.

“Cover your ears,” Aili tells them, “I’m going to smashthe barriers holding you. I would prefer to undo the spells quietly undernormal circumstances, but we have no time. It will be loud.”

They do as she asks, and she gathers what is left of her strength andfocuses it into her spirit blade. It is as powerful as her will, and her willto set them free is indomitable, even now. A single stroke, and the barriershatters around them. The sound of it clanging through the chamber like a maddened oxen on a rampage. Aili staggers to her knees and they try to come to her. Tohelp her get up. But they are still chained to the floor, and their manacles donot reach far enough.

It takes her a minute to regain her composure, and she can see theconcern written on their face.

“It’s alright, Da'vhenan,” she assures them, as she walksover and begins to undo the spellwork on their shackles. She cannot break thosewith force for fear of injuring them in the process, “I’m just a littleworn out, that’s all. I’ll get you out of here, and we’ll go home. Where we canboth get some proper rest on something infinitely more comfortable than thatcot.”

“Will I…be taking my rest with you?” they ask hesitantly, “Inyour bed?”

“You can if you like,” she smiles at them, “Although, all that will be taken there is rest. Weboth need sleep after all of this. And I imagine that finding you your ownquarters will not take too much time. You may come and see me as often as youlike, of course.”

The chains snap from their wrists, and Aili takes their limbs in hand,rubbing them gently to stimulate blood flow.  

“Am I not…” they begin, sounding confused, “Do you notfind me pleasing?”

“You are lovely,” she promises, reaching up to touch theircheek, “And more dear to me than you can fully understand right now. Butwe can't… Anything physical between us could not happen for many years, if ithappened at all. You would need to know more about the world. About consent,and your own desires.”

“But…if you do not want me in your bed…I do not know what else Iam for,” they admit, sounding a bit scared now, “When Lady Andruil nolonger found my company pleasurable, she was ready to have me killed. What willbecome of me if I have no…no purpose?”

“You will find a new one, with time,” Aili assures them, takingthem by the hand and leading them back towards the exit, “I can help you,if you like.”

They are quiet for a few minutes, letting her tug them along throughhallways and hidden tunnels until they are out in the open air, under themoonlight.

It is only then that they seem to realize that Aili is covered in quitea lot of blood. Splashed all down her front and staining one leg of her pants. Smearedacross her neck and jaw. They shiver slightly.

“What if my Lady comes for me?” they whisper to her beneath theshadows of the trees.

“She won’t,” Aili promises.

“But how can you be certain?” they press.

Aili stops for a moment to look back at them, the air around hercrackling with lingering fury and righteous triumph.

“BecauseAndruil is dead,” she tells them defiantly, “I killed her myself. Tocover our escape, and as justice for all she has done to you. And to others.And for all she might have done. The world is better for it, I have no doubt.And now she can never touch you again.”

[lauwrite1225]

Broken Crown || Finan x OC || Chapter 9

Summary :  Since the day he has been enslaved, Finan never thought that he would have to face his origins. But when an old friend made her arrival to Wessex, the Irishman is forced to deal with his past.

Other chapters

English isn’t my first language, if you see any mistakes, tell me :)

Warning : some violence

09 || BROTHERS

It was early in the morning when the two young monks were sent to the river to pull the fishing nets. Rohan was sitting at the edge of the pier, deep in thoughts. More than two months had passed since Ailis departure and he couldn’t help but worry for her. He had tried to seek information from his mother last month, but she had none, and even if she had, he wasn’t sure she would have told him.

“You’re not being very helpful.” Growled Bran further, struggling to pull the net out of the river.

Rohan turned his head to his little brother. He was a year and half younger than him. The two boys didn’t really look like each other. When the elder was thin and tall, Bran was smaller and still had the round cheeks of a child. Rohan was the spitting portrait of their mother with his emerald eyes and chestnut hair too long for a monk. According to Ailis, Bran was a good mixed of his two parents, his eyes were brown and his hair was neither too dark nor too light. But what the woman always affirmed, was that both of them as their father’s smile.

“Sorry, Bran.” He apologized, standing up and joining him.

He took a part of the net and pulled with his brother. When it was totally out of the water, they dropped it on the pier, satisfied to see three fishes trapped.

“What were you thinking?” Asked Bran starting to remove the fishes from the net.

Rohan scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think Ailis will succeed this time?”

Bran frowned, undoing a knot. Both of them well knew Ailis and cared for her. Since they were brought in the monastery, she always came to visit them, telling them what was happening in Navan Fort. But also, to answer their questions about their father, a thing their mother would never do. While Bran slowly became disinterested by the subject, Rohan couldn’t forget who his father was. He knew by heart how he won his nickname: Finan the Agile. He knew how Conall enslaved him and probably caused his death. The first time Ailis told him the story, he was a boy and felt an immeasurable hatred towards his uncle. But Ailis quickly warned him, feeding his anger would never bring him anything. And so, he let it fade and instead the will to become a warrior grew.

“She always succeeds. Why wouldn’t she this time?” He questioned, looking up to him.

“You are more optimistic than usual.” Noticed Rohan, leaning to grab the bucket his brother just pointed him.

“I have to, or you’ll run away and do something stupid.” He said, catching the bucket Rohan handed him. “I’m the one thinking after all.” He smirked.

Rohan pulled out his tongue while Bran was laughing. But he wasn’t totally wrong. His brother had the nasty habit to leave the monastery in the middle of the night and coming back few days later. Only Bran in the monastery knew he was going to Navan Fort. The other monks just thought he was wandering in the woods near.

“Last time I saw her, Ailis told me you needed me.” He said, taking a net and throwing it in the river.

“Of the two of us, I am clearly the one who can take care of himself.” Retorted the youngest, grabbing one of the fish and putting it in the bucket.

“Except to pull the nets.” Rohan teased him, turning half to him.

Bran laughed with him before working again on the nets. They walked back half an hour later to the monastery. Even after his conversation with his brother, Rohan couldn’t help but think about Ailis. And once again, his thoughts led him and the next morning, when Bran woke up, the bed next to his was empty.

 …

 The moment they entered Navan Fort, some people gathered around them, greeting Ailis. But the woman didn’t lose time talking with them. She walked to a guard, ordering him to announce their arrival to the King. As Finan dismounted his horse, he briefly crossed her gaze, just enough time to feel her anxiety. Men came to take care of their horses and stuff, and Ailis made them a sign for them to follow her.

Osferth and Sihtric curiously looked around as people stopped their activities to stare at them. It was obvious that the little group was intriguing them. Who could expect two Danes peacefully walking alongside three Christians?

They quickly made their way to the castle. It used to be a small build in stone, but over the years, new wooden walls had been added. Now it was an impressive castle in which the five warriors walked in, leaving their weapons on the entrance. But as they passed through the corridors, Finan couldn’t think of something else than his brother. His mind was full of interrogations even if he knew he would have answers in a small matter of time.

Finan was behind Osferth and Sihtric when they entered the throne room, already filled by some Lords. His jaw clenched as he saw Conall, sat on the throne. A smile grew on his face while Ailis was approaching him. Finan stared at him so intently, he wondered how he hadn’t already noticed him. He was obviously older, but King’s life made him look even more. The young man Finan knew was hidden behind some wrinkles and grey strands in his raven hair and beard. The crown on his head felt weird to Finan. Last time he saw him with one, they were children and it was a wooden crown. This one had been worn by generations of Kings before it owned to Conall.

He stood up and before he had the time to speak, a little girl ran to Ailis.

“Ailis!” She exclaimed, hugging her. The red hair smiled to the girl. She was no more than ten, her brown eyes sparking with joy as she looked up to her. “I am happy you are back.”

“Moira!” Finan froze at the voice and word.

His eyes left Ailis to the woman entering the throne room. Dealla wasn’t hard to recognize, it was like time didn’t work on her. Her bright chestnut hair was tied in an elegant bun and her dress was shaping her slightly rounded belly.

“Moira, come here please.” She said, extending her hand to the girl.

Finan’s jaw twitched as he looked back to Conall. How dared he name his daughter after her, after how disrespectful he had been with her ? Anger was growing in his chest and his fingers were nervously wandering around where used to be the handle of his sword. If he could, he would jump on him and slash his eyes with his thumbs. But he made a promise to Ailis, and so he didn’t move.

Conall walked away from his throne, his smile not leaving his face. He opened wide his arms as he approached Ailis. “Ailis, it’s a pleasure to see you back here.”

“Lord King.” She said, lightly bowing her head. She smiled at him as he put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her in an embrace. She quickly pulled out of it and turned to Uhtred. “This is Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburgh.”

The half-Dane made a step and Conall stared at him with a smirk.

“The Dane slayer.” Finan could easily see how Uhtred’s face twisted at the nick-name. “I see King Edward sends us his greatest warrior to defeat the Danes.”

Ailis took a deep breath as she looked to Uhtred.

“Actually, Lord Uhtred isn’t here to talk about war.” She spoke slowly, careful with her words. But it didn’t prevent Conall to furrow his eyebrows, his smile suddenly fading.

“What do you mean?” He asked looking alternatively Uhtred and Ailis.

The Lord of Coccham took one more step, crossing his arms against his chest. “I am here to represent King Edward during negotiations of peace with the Danes.”

“Negotiation of peace?” Disbelief was clear in his voice as he raised both his eyebrows. “If I remember we talked about an army, Ailis.”

As he walked closer to Ailis, she straightened a little, raising her chin and meeting his brown eyes. “This is the solution King Edward gave us. Our only solution.” Her voice didn’t betray her anxiety. Her eyes were cold as ice when Conall’s ones were already burning with anger.

“And what that peace will cost us? Uh ?” He questioned her, leaning a little to her.

The red hair swallowed but she didn’t flinch. “The south.”

“The south!” Exclaimed Conall. He raised his hands in the air, turning to the small crowd of whispering lords. Finan’s fists clenched as he watched Conall pointing a threatening finger to Ailis. “You expected me to let the south, our lands, to those bastard heathens?” The tip of his finger was now pressed on Ailis’ chest. “I asked for an army Ailis, not this shit.” He growled.

“If you are not happy Conall, maybe you should go by yourself next time.”

A long silence grew in the room. Slowly, all gazes fell on Finan but he could only feel Ailis’ disapproving one. His jaw twitched once more, remembering how all eyes were on him too, years later, in this exact room.

“Who are…” Conall cut himself as he stared at Finan, his eyes slowly opening wide. “You.”

“What is it ?” Finan couldn’t help but smirk as he took a step towards his brother. “You look like you just saw a ghost, brother.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Conall grumbled, incomprehension in his eyes turning to anger. “You should be burning in hell.”

“Oh I’ve been through hell, you made sure of it.” Finan answered.

In a quick move, that Finan didn’t see fast enough to avoid, Conall caught Finan’s jaw in his hand, pressing his fingers against his cheeks. He looked like a mad dog as he approached his face to Finan. From the corner of his eyes, the warrior could see the visible nervousness of Sihtric, his gaze jumping from the crowd to the two brothers.

“I should kill you right now.” Conall growled.

“Do it. Maybe you’ll be less cowardly this time.” Finan dared him, raising his hands in the air.

A bad smile was now painted on the King’s face. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

The two brothers kept fighting through their gaze until Ailis caught Conall’s shoulder and pushed him away from Finan.

“You won’t kill him Conall.” The woman said him, trying to ease her voice so it didn’t feel too much like an order.

Conall removed his shoulder from Ailis’ grip. She shivered as his eyes fell on her, his wrath visibly burning even more in them.

“You dared bring him here.” He fumed, pointing at Finan.

Ailis took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Finan is pledge to Lord Uhtred, he has his protection.” She stopped a moment, turning his eyes to her friend. He was rubbing his face after the pressure of Conall’s fingers. He kept his promise, she must hold hers. “And mine.” She declared, looking back to her King.

Silence grew once more in the throne room. Near the throne, Dealla was holding her daughter against her, her fingers curling in the girl’s hair. If Conall was furious, she was still shocked to see Finan standing here, alive. She bit her inner cheek, the scene in front of her looking too much like one, a life time ago.

“You disappointed me Ailis.” Conall said, stepping towards Ailis, tightening his fist. “A lot.”

And once more, the King was too quick, and Ailis couldn’t prevent the punch he gave to Finan. The warrior didn’t expect him too as he stumbled a little before Uhtred helped him standing. A tear rolled down Finan’s cheek, already red, as he looked up to his brother who was heavily breathing.

“Get out of here !” Conall shouted but no one moved. “All of you! GET OUT!”

 …

 “He is mad.”

Osferth’s comment broke the heavy atmosphere of the room. The five warriors were in the bedroom of an inn, thoughts occupied with what had happened. Sat on the bed, Finan growled when Ailis brought a cold damp cloth to his bruised cheek. She frowned at him and has she pressed lightly the fabric and this time he did not move. She was crouching in front of him and her other hand was leaning on his knee. He held her gaze a moment, reading the apologies in her eyes. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it a little as he smiled at her.  

“What do we do now?” Spoke again Osferth.

Sihtric, leaned against the door just behind the Baby Monk, tilted his head, wondering the same thing.  Ailis sighed and stood up, giving the wet cloth to Finan.

“I need to talk with him, to convince him, before it’s too late.” She said, arms crossed against her chest.

“No, you won’t!” Protested Finan. She turned to him, frowning. He looked down, his hands gesturing in the air as he tried to explained his thoughts. “He’s mad at you. Not only for the deal. You know he won’t listen to you.”

When his eyes met hers once again, she saw pleadings. And he was probably right to plead her to not go. Last time Conall had been that angry, it didn’t end well. She didn’t have the time to answer back that Uhtred was speaking in turn.

“Then I’ll talk to him.” When all eyes were on the Lord of Coccham, he smiled. “I am Edward’s voice, it’s time that I play the King.”

Ailis found nothing to contradict. When she looked back to Finan, he seemed to agree too. On those words, Uhtred left the room and charged Sihtric and Osferth to find them food.

“Thank you for keeping your promise.” Ailis said to Finan, when the door was close and they were alone together. She watched him stood up, staring at his swollen cheek, her heart aching. “And for taking my defense.”

To intervene was a risk he shouldn’t have taken. But at the same time, Finan was decided to make his presence known by his brother. He survived the worst and wasn’t going to hide behind Uhtred and Ailis.

“He had no right to talk to you like that.” He said.

“He is a King, Finan.” She reminded him, but he shook his head.

“Not to me. He is just my bastard little brother.” He put his hands on her shoulder, his thumbs close to her collar, revealing her skin. “I won’t let him insult you.”

Ailis held her breath as he said those words. They acted on her, making her heart bit faster and her body warm. His brown eyes were more fascinating than ever as his fingers left her shoulder to slide a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You deserve better and you know that.” There was no anger in his voice anymore.

“This is not about what I deserve, Finan.” She softly said, like she didn’t want him to hear. But he obviously heard her.

He sighed and let his hands drop back to his sides. He couldn’t argue more, Osferth and Sihtric entering the room with food. Now, they had to wait for Uhtred’s return.

A/N : AAAAAAAH FINALLY MORE OF ROHAN, BRAN AND CONALL!! Yeah I love them. Even that bastard of Conall :((. I hope Finan and Ailis slow burn isn’t too bad lmao, it’s quite hard to do lol.

Tag: @geekandbooknerd​​ @sihtric​​ @queen-manning​​ @naihqh​​ @kelly-fasel​​ @cloudjuumpers​​ @limenal​​ @amyyreblogss​​​ @othermoony​ and @queerbroceliande​

[killianmesmalls]

I’m going to add onto an earlier post by @captregina​ discussing the idea that Wish Killian abandoned Alice, though I won’t hijack it as my thoughts are my own and all responses to the below should be responses to me and me alone. So, before I get started, this is likely going to get long and, I agree, likely uses some things that can be labeled as “headcanon” as it is not explicitly, 100% said in the show. However, there are some instances in canon that I believe are meant to be deduced based on our understandings of the character or seeing point A and point C and therefore having an idea of what point B should be. Under the cut for more (and, apologies to mobile users because Tumblr can’t figure its BS out <3)

To make this easier to breakdown, I’m going to go from what we understand about each character, then to the chronological order of their interactions together that we see. 

Killian Jones

We as viewers of seasons 2-6 are supposed to understand—and are given multiple mentions of this throughout season 7—that both versions of Killian share exactly the same history up until around the point of the curse. Now, the precise moment is up for debate, but those few days to weeks are not necessary at this point. We know he was born to Alice (headcanoned with others as Ailis, but I digress) and Brennan Jones, is the younger brother of Liam Jones, and was in relationship with Milah. Both versions lost their mother, were abandoned by their father, were raised as indentured servants on a merchant ship, bought their freedom through Liam’s sacrifice to Hades, went into the Royal Navy, lost Liam, joined piracy, met Milah, lost Milah, sought revenge, and killed their father in an attempt to get it. If you’d like to debate any of the above, we certainly can, but I do feel rather comfortable in my stance. 

We also at this point have an understanding of who this person is. He would sacrifice his life for two things: love and revenge. He’s self-sacrificing for those he cares about, and has repeatedly put himself in harm’s way for them. Now, this is the point where I can offer those who dislike s2-6 Killian to argue the above points, but I do feel that is another debate entirely and either we’d be forced to agree to disagree or it would otherwise be a very short discussion.

The only true argument I can see to the above is his abandonment of Baelfire, which has been agreed upon by many as his most regretted moment in the show. There is a lot to say about Hookfire, but I do think that both versions of Killian instantly regretted this decision and would vow to never commit such a betrayal again. 

Alice, however, is not Baelfire. Sure, Bae was Milah’s son and someone Killian very much cared for, but there are some key differences here. 1) Alice came after Bae and after what likely was something he’d vow to never repeat. 2) While Bae was Milah’s son, he was also Rumple��s son, and the whole 2x04 incident was still very much a sore subject to Killian by the time they ran into each other. 3) Bae wasn’t an infant, wasn’t alone, wasn’t at risk of immediate death, and could be reasoned to take care of himself. Though the experiences between Bae and Alice are not unrelated, they are also almost polar opposites, and what he did to Bae should not be used as strong evidence for what he would do to Alice. 

It is also this point where I’d like to mention to anyone who likes season 2-6 Killian and, for some reason, doesn’t like season 7 Killian that they were at the core the same person, and if you readily believe and love the fact that the person he is at his core is willing to sacrifice everything for a budding romantic relationship, why would this character also not be willing to sacrifice everything for an established familial one? You may not like the storyline of season 7 and this particular version of the character, which is your prerogative, but to believe this version would readily abandon his own child without exhausting every effort to get back to her strongly suggests that perhaps you do not understand the heart of the character. Killian Jones in any reality would do absolutely anything and everything for those he loves most. 

Alice Jones

Even I am guilty of describing Alice of being pure sunshine, rainbows, cupcakes and all things perfect. I mean, she is, but she’s also these things because of her imperfections. She’s impulsive, often naive, and does have a slight hint of her father’s temper. 

Which means, if she has imperfections, the very least she is capable of is responding in a human way rather than being Disney-princess level of compassionate and merciful. Again, human responses are not to be seen as flaws so much as we have this idea in our heads sometimes that, if a character is flawless, then that is equitable with being incessantly forgiving. 

Alice is capable of anger, sarcasm, and frustration (see 7x04 and her introduction to Rumple, 7x13 when she says “you promised me” to her father, 7x14 with Robin, to name a few). It is also then not a difficult leap to imagine that she is capable of holding onto these feelings should the underlying issues not be resolved, say for instance her feelings toward abandonment with her mother both as Tilly and as Alice.

However, her actions toward Killian across the board show a complete lack of anger or resentment. Their interactions are never those of an abandoned child and a neglectful parent. We know, as stated above, that she is capable of these feelings and freely expresses her thoughts without a filter. If at any point she truly felt abandoned by Killian, I have no doubt she would have been shown to show negative, albeit understandable, emotions toward him. 

Chronology

First, as he says in 7x07 when he decides to give up his entire life as he knows it and stay with Alice, “Abandoning people isn’t my thing.” Barring Bae (as discussed above), this has been shown to be the case. While we cannot use any of S2-6 Killian’s actions to back up this assessment, they are still at their core the same person, and have both shown that they are willing to sacrifice everything for those they care about. 

And, in this timeline, the only person left to care about is Alice. 

Most of us know the story now: he gives up his ship, life of piracy, revenge, and potentially even all the contacts he has in order to raise this newborn he was tricked into having. He is shown to harbor no resentment, merely full love and responsibility for this child. 

While I do wish we had been given more glimpses into their lives in those almost 11 years from her birth to his being poisoned, I do think they believe they have given us enough clues to discern the kind of relationship they had and the kind of life they lived in that time. 

The question then becomes what he did in that time between being poisoned and seeing Alice again in 7x08. As Gothel said in 7x13, the poison will corrupt his heart every time he gets near her. We see in 7x22 that this corruption not only means immediate pain, but long-term damage and deterioration, eventually resulting in death. Now, this is where this is somewhere between maybe implied and maybe headcanon: Killian had slightly aged in the almost eleven years between Alice’s conception and when he was poisoned. The rate at which he went from “silver fox” Killian to “Old Hook” is astounding. 

True, very little is said about the time between his being poisoned and when he met Storybrooke Killian and Emma in 7x02. We do know from 7x16 that he had hoped to barter a valuable map for a cure for his poisoned heart, and in 7x02 we know he roamed the realms seeking true love because he knew true love’s kiss was a potential cure. It is heavily implied Killian made many, many attempts at reuniting with Alice, and we see the extent of his deterioration as a result with Old Hook. That is not a man that simply looked up at the tower where his distressed child was yelling for him just after he was poisoned and decided to call it a day. That is a man that repeatedly tried to find a cure or gauge how close he could be to her, his heart getting increasingly “corrupted” and, as a result, his body aging at an exponential pace. 

When they reunite briefly in 7x08, as stated above, her reaction to him is not that of a child that feels abandoned. She’s happy, hopeful, and full of adoration for her father. Had he fully given up, I have no doubt that some of the frustration we have seen Alice show before would have been on full display here. We know from 7x19 and 7x20 that she’s capable of showing anger toward a parent that left. At no point is Killian the receiving party. 

Of course, we know their bittersweet reunion in 7x08 was again to end in heartbreak thanks to Drizella’s lie and Killian’s still-poisoned heart. Still, in 7x08 and 7x14, we know she repeatedly tries to find a cure, and we know his whole reason for joining with Regina and Henry was to have help in finding a cure, himself, though they consistently come up empty-handed. 

Regardless, she still desires to see him, especially on her birthday, and though she doesn’t make herself known, her, “You look happy, Papa,” and subsequent sad smile show that, again, she harbors no bad feelings for him. It bears reminding that, at this point, the writers have revealed the cause of his poisoned heart, and in the previous episode, no less. If they’re going to write her feeling abandoned, this is the episode to do it in. Instead, throughout this episode, she is shown only to miss him deeply and have great reverence for him, telling Robin some advice he used to give her about how “all the best people are mad.” Furthermore, she doesn’t distance herself from him by calling him by the more formal, often-used “Father” but rather keeps to calling him “Papa”. 

In addition to knowing she looked out for him, it is established in 7x18 that he looks out for her. In spite of his poisoned heart, he gets as close as he can, keeps an eye out for her, and passes letters to her through the help of Robin (which I totally think was a matchmaking tactic, but...that’s a tangent that will end up being another 1000 words). We see very clearly that he’s willing to look after her even though she’s an adult with a budding relationship and a house to call her own, attempting to keep as much contact with her as possible. Why, then, are we supposed to believe he would abandon her as a lonely 10-year-old? He has the same problem in 7x18 as he does in 7x13: the poisoned heart. He’s willing to be as close to her as possible now that she’s an adult, therefore I truly believe he would have done absolutely everything to be close to her when she was just a child. 

When the curse breaks, again we see absolutely no resentment or feelings of abandonment. She loves him, and he doesn’t hesitate to risk his life and endure agonizing pain for her more than once. No second thought, no regard for himself, just him supporting her and wanting nothing more than to keep her safe and happy. 

So, while you may not be a fan of their story, saying he willingly left her immediately after his heart was poisoned is both ignoring him as a character and ignoring evidence to the contrary. 

[scurvgirl]

Parshaara

Qunlat - Enough.

Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, Reverie, Elrahel, and Melarue belong to @justanartsysideblog

Uthvir and this version of Falon’din belong to @feynites

Aili belongs to @lillotte17

Warnings for violence, blood, and disassociation. 

Seeker of Rebellion AU

When she is one-hundred twenty-five, whispers of a new group of elves begins to circulate. She listens for their names, but she only hears the spirits and the wanderers talk of their deeds. They are without a Keeper and do not wander like other clans. Instead they have leaders, a family of generals who keep them together.

They were called Evanuris. False gods.

The whispers sit uneasily in Ashokara along with the growing concern of the madness afflicting the Keepers. She can see her own concern mirrored in her mamae’s face every time Memae seems to do something odd. But the madness holds off, and Memae remains healthy.

“Keep an ear out in the Dreaming for more rumors,” she asks Daern’thal.

“Of course,” Reverie acknowledges. In the time she has been here, she has learned how to keep an ear out, or who to ask to have a better ear out. She is not entirely convinced that the madness in the Keepers isn’t connected to these generals. But there is nothing concrete to connect them, so she holds back off on unnecessarily alarming anyone.

Rather than spread baseless paranoia, Ashokara works on herself, preparing for what is to come. In the time she has spent with the clan, she has grown strong and tall, radiant even. Mamae trains her to fight and Memae aids her in her fiery magic. Pulling in the magic from the Dreaming has been difficult, the nightmares, while fewer in number, are still bad. But she pushes through to become strong and to be ready to make sure the Dread Wolf never gets the chance to destroy the world.

Through trials and work to overcome her bias against blood magic, they have concocted something close to Vitaar. They can all wear it, even Memae in her dragon form, though she requires a lot. On the days where she is acutely aware of who is missing from her life, she paints her body in it. It’s…not quite the same, but it’s close, and every bit helps.

But now, a tension finds its way into her body. This new group, not traveling, no keepers but maintaining power as generals….

“You are distracted, little one,” Mamae gently scolds while they are out securing the perimeter of the camp.

“It is this new group, I think I know who they are.”

Sylmae raises a brow, “And who might they be?”

Ash’s face turns solemn as she recounts the terror and destruction the world experienced at their corrupted hands. Loosed from their prisons in the Fade by Fen’Harel, they had wreaked havoc on the world. She takes a deep breath.

“Nothing good. If anyone speaks of someone taking a god’s name, do not trust them. Especially if it is from Mythal.” Ash steps forward on the path and ducks down beneath a low hanging branch. Her shoulders and back are tense, and her vision feels like it is slowly sharpening. The air grows light and hot around her and it takes a moment to realize the sudden temperature change is her doing.

Mamae places a cool hand on Ash’s shoulder, startling her for a moment. She sucks in a deep breath, letting all of the tense heat out on the exhale.

“We will keep you safe, I will keep you safe,” she reassures Ash in a sweet voice. She turns to her adoptive mother, eyes older than her years.

“It is not me I worry for,” she whispers. Mamae frowns but she lets the issue drop for the time being while they secure the remaining perimeter. Ash carves in extra protective wards and alarms, she even makes a few traps that only elves will activate. The wards are old, or new depending on the perspective one takes. Her fingers dart out and her lips move in subtle enchantment as she pulls her memories forward.

Uthvir sits her down by a tree that they promptly begin to carve. Blood flows from their hands as they pull up wards for at least fifty feet outwards from where they are camped. The air sizzles with their magic, but it is a comforting hum now for her, falling heavy on her skin.

“Like this,” they tell her, moving her fingers to show her.

“Draw the blood up, then out. Speak the enchantment with the rhythm of your heart, it’s stronger that way.”

The memory fades but she continues her work. Her hands are stained red by the end, but the air is filled once more with that hum, tied to her, drawing from her strength and caution.

They head back to the camp in quiet companionship. A serious concern lingers around Sylmae, pointedly directed towards Ash rather than just her suspicions. She leans towards Ash and Ash leans back, bumping her forehead against the soft fur of the bear pelt her mamae wearing.

“Your mother and I are very strong, we will survive. But I will speak with her, we need to keep safe.”

Ash sighs against her shoulder in thanks – she knows her worries are difficult to verify to some of the clan, but the whispers are enough to convince everyone to recede deeper into the woods less traveled. They stay off the roads and paths, nestled safely in shadowed greenery.

For the next year, Ash almost never sees her memae in her elven form. Daern’thal recedes some into the Dreaming to warn of any unknown elves near the camp. Mamae flies in her eagle form to scout ahead and Ash takes on a more formal role in keeping the clan safe. Daern’thal weaves magic with his spidery aid, keeping the clan as hidden as possible.

As safe as they keep, she knows that discovery is inevitable. This peace is temporary, and the shadows will only last while the sun remains in the same position, eventually it moves.

One evening, when they are nestled inside a cave on one of the mountains they prefer, Nimronyn wraps her body around the camp, resting her head by where Ash is sitting.

“Tell me about these people, little light,” she asks not for the first time. Ash sighs and leans against her mother’s large head, absently petting her antlers.

“They took the names of the gods,” Ash begins, “I really don’t know everything, I was so young when the world died.”

“Of course, just tell me what you know.”

Ash sighs and tries again, “There were seven who were locked away – Elgar’nan, the god of vengeance, Andruil, goddess of the hunt and/or sacrifice, Sylaise, the hearth keeper, Dirthamen, god of secrets and knowledge, Ghilan’nain, goddess of…she was the halla mother, she made the halla according to the elves. June was the god of crafts. And then there was Falon’din,” Ash shudders but continues, “the god of death. I remember when he broke through his prison – he destroyed Kirkwall, just…flicked his wrist and the city turned red with the blood of the dead. I had friends there, and they just…died.” Her voice grows quiet. She stares into the flames and only sees the burning world around her.

And Solas’s face, as she finally confronted him, falling to her knees in anguish.

You killed my mother.

“But in this world, as fearsome they are, the greatest threat comes from the one who calls herself Mythal.”

“Mythal,” Nimronyn growls, testing the name on her tongue.

“The Dread Wolf once said she was the best of them. And I think that just means she was the greatest manipulator. Don’t trust any of them, Memae. They are not interested helping people, they want power and security for themselves and damn the rest.” Ash’s voice grows low and heated as she remembers Mythal’s form, flying overhead….

“This is for the good of the people!”

And then she killed them. All of them.

“And what of Fen’Harel, little light?” Nimronyn asks gently, nudging her snout at Ash’s body for comfort.

Yes, what of Fen’Harel? After all this time…she still hates him. Hates his inability to look for other options or to realize he was being manipulated. She hates his cowardice and she hates unendingly how he took everything from her and dared to try and rationalize it….

“Fen’Harel is a fool. Evil and stupid, but…his evil and his stupidity would not have been possible if it were not for the rest of them, particularly Mythal.” Mythal, who dared to call herself Mother. Mythal, who proclaimed love for the Dalish before she murdered them all.

Nimronyn pushes a little at Ash and a low rumbling emanates from her body. It brings Ash out of her reverie and she turns to breathe in her mother’s scent. Her scales are warm and comforting, they remind her sometimes of what it was like to be small and in Mama’s arms.

“I’ve got you, baby, you’re not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

“I love you, Ashokara, thank you for telling me,” Memae purrs. Ash takes a deep breath as reality reasserts itself. They are in a cave, hidden away from the rest of the world that is about to start on a path that only Ash really knows and understands.

She falls asleep curled up against Nimronyn, nestled in behind the charms that hang down from her antlers. Warmth and safety – two things she once thought she would never experience again. She doesn’t know if she is blessed to have it again, or cursed to have it torn from her so much.

Her dreams remain pleasant, at least. Nanae stars in them, teaching her how to read all sorts of languages and to speak them. They kiss her forehead and tell her they love her. They guide her to her room and curl around her in sleep when she asks them to stay because she’s scared. Mama is out on a mission and Ash never sleeps well when that happens. So Nanae stays, and they tell her about dragons and magic and forbidden things.

The memory fades to black just as she wakes to see Reverie in its spider form, looming eerily in the soft firelight.

“Come with me,” it says, skittering quickly on wispy legs towards the mouth of the cave. Nimronyn is asleep, her gentle snores fill the space with a lulling rumbling. She grumbles for a moment while Ash extracts herself from her spot wrapped around her leg, following Reverie out to a ledge a few feet from the cave. Daern’thal is there, staring down at the basin with a forlorn look.

“You wanted to see me?” She asks but her voice trails off when she sees it…a group of people astride harts, clad in dark armor.

“They referred to one of them as Falon’din,” Reverie whispers. Daern’thal turns to Ash, face bleak.

No. No, no, no, no. Dammit. Fuck. Shit.

“We need to move, now,” she growls, running back to the cave.

“WAKE UP. We need to move, NOW,” she yells into the cave. Memae lifts her head immediately, eyelids blinking in confusion before she starts to wake everyone up. Mamae rises from her bedroll, donning her armor and grabbing weapons.

“What is going on?” She asks.

“Falon’din, it looks like a raiding party. We…need to put as much distance between us and them as possible.” Panic seeps into her. How could he have found them…but no, he hasn’t found them, he’s just…being the dickish ass-butt he is. A raiding party. She doubts his mother would approve, but that hardly matters now.

Mamae nods and Memae leaps to the mouth of the cave, peering down at the valley below to confirm what Ash is saying, judging what to do. The clan looks to its keeper, and when she looks back, Ash’s stomach falls. She doesn’t say anything but Mamae turns to Ash, handing her supplies and weapons.

“Take the non-combatants through the caves, they exit higher up, then go west. Follow the water, downstream. Disappear, we’ll know what to look for,” Sylmae says and it’s so close, so close to what she’s been told.

“Go! We’ll hold them off!”

“Nanae! I’m not leaving you!”

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

“Nanae!”

“Mamae, no, we all need to go,” Ash fights but Sylmae holds fast.

“Little light, listen to her. Take the clan, guide them to safety,” Memae urges, her voice kind but hard. No, this isn’t happening, not again, not again.

A hand takes hers, she whips her head around to see Daern’thal, looking apologetic and fearful. Aravels are shut up and begin to roll through the caves. Children and those unable to fight follow them while Ash stands between the warriors and what she is being asked to do.

She turns back to her adopted mothers, pleading, “You’ll die, please don’t do this. We can run, find allies.”

Mama leans down, kisses Ash’s forehead, stroking her cheek with the hand she has left.

“I love you, now run.”

Sylmae pulls Ash into a tight hug for a moment.

“We will survive, there will be no dying today. Now go, while we still have time.”

She lets go and turns, leading the small band of fighters they have out through the cave with Nimronyn. Daern’thal takes her hand again, pulling her along.

Ash’s body shakes, memories filling her head, clouding her vision and surrounding her in a shroud –

Only to suddenly have them disappear. Ash blinks, only seeing the cave around her, not Skyhold or the bunkers she had hidden in with everyone….

“Ashokara! We must go now!” Reverie says. She blinks again, head oddly empty for a moment. She can’t…this is magic.

“What did you do?” She murmurs.

“Daern’thal is blocking your memories, just for now – we have to go!” Reverie answers again. It feels wrong, so wrong. Daern’thal tugs at her hand again, and with what feels like tearing her heart once more in multiples, Ash turns from the mouth of the cave to guide the rest of the clan.

“He is sorry,” Reverie whispers but Ash will not hear it. It’s happening again and she feels so powerless to stop it. Having her memories blocked is a small bandage for a gut wound – and instead of seeing the faces of everyone she knew and loved die, all she feels is numb.

She trudges through the tunnels, keeping a brisk pace like they would want. Sometimes she’s asked questions, questions she doesn’t really hear, but somehow answers. Each eyeblink feels effortful, yet her body moves faster than she thought she could make it go all things considered.

They’re going to die. She’s leaving them to die.

The cave’s tunnels split and she opts to take the steeper one, even if it harder for the aravels to traverse. They need to go up, like she was instructed. With great heaving effort, Ash and those able push the aravels up the steep, narrow passageways until it levels out and a distant light can be seen. Ash takes a forward position, scouting the exit to confirm its safety. They are high in the mountain, high enough for the air to feel significantly colder and for snow not to be too far away.

The wind gusts, whipping at her face, but it is the only danger lingering here. Ash turns and gestures for the rest of the clan to follow her. Aravels are hauled up and children are once again packed onto them, and they journey down into the surrounding forest. They are nearly hidden in the brush when a roar echoes through the air, a loud anguished cry that demands Ash look –

To see a spear launched into Memae’s wing, forcing her to careen dangerously down into the valley….

No. No.

Ashokara’s hand drifts up to the two halves of the dragon tooth hanging around her neck. Her magic shatters Daern’thal’s spells and all of her overwhelming emotion floods her once more.

The last look her mother gave her. Melarue telling her to live. Aili saying to let go. Uthvir demanding she run.

NO.

“Parshaara,” she swears. Determination and fury fills her.

“Ash?” Reverie asks softly.

“I am not letting any more of my parents die. I am done doing this, I cannot. Take the clan, hide them, go downstream like Mamae said. Get lost. But I refuse to run anymore. Enough,” she declares, removing her gear from an aravel, quickly strapping on her leathers. She activates the charm on her spear, so that when she calls it, it will materialize in her hand.

“You won’t make it in time – Ash, the clan needs you!”

“So do my mothers. You don’t understand, Daern’thal – and I hope you never will, but this is something I must do. Dareth’shiral,” she tells him before running at the ledge.

She leaps and lets her body contort itself into a bright falcon, soaring towards where she is needed.

No more running, no more hiding. If she dies, then she dies, but she can no longer live this way. She is strong now, trained and able. She need not run anymore.

Ashokara is the inquisitor’s daughter, and that means she doesn’t run when people need her. She faces threats and solves them. She is her mother’s daughter, and she will not abandon them anymore.

It is easy to ride the wind down to the battle, where the raiding party has swelled in size to flank her people. Nimronyn stands with the clan, breathing great plumes of flames at those actively engaging with the clan. But she is injured and her clan can only keep this up for so long.

There is one contingent actively engaging with her clan, while another is riding to flank them, not yet there. At the rear of the flanking squad rides the god of death himself, mad and bloodthirsty. That is where she is needed.

Ash adjusts her flight pattern to soar at the charging harts, conscientiously sucking in as much air as she can. Her wings beat against the air, propelling her faster and faster before she starts her dive only a few feet in front of the charging harts. Her wings open at the last second so that she coasts along the grass, her magic setting the grass aflame.

She forces the flames up into the sky, burning faster than any natural fire. The harts scream and screech as they force themselves to a halt despite their shouting masters. Ash soars back up into the sky, only tocareen back down, lighting another swath to prevent them from turning. They move to turn again and she is there, turning hard and pushing the fire to push them back.

The air fills with smoke and frustrated shouts.

“GET THAT DAMN BIRD!” A distinct voice demands. Shit, she’s been found out. Ash pushes her body upwards into the sky, climbing higher and higher…

An arrow speeds by her and she startles, almost losing her shape in distress. No, she will remain focused, she can do this. Her wings strain before she turns, tucking them in against her body, diving down again. She casts a barrier around herself, a great blue flaming sphere that incinerates the arrows shot at her. Just before she hits the ground, her wings flare out, catching her, and she changes shape.

Her barrier explodes, sending the closest soldiers flying into the fiery barriers she’s already made. With a wave of her hand, her spear is in hand and she quickly thrusts it into the hart charging her. It dies, falling over, throwing its rider into the flames screaming.

She turns, constantly moving so Falon’din and his contingent of assholes can’t touch her. Faster and faster, she spins more and more flames around her with her spear, flinging the fire into everyone around her.

She barely registers the hart bleating in pain before she is thrown to the ground by its charge. Air is forced from her lungs and the flames around her sputter briefly before her magic coils decisively around them. She is in control here. But her vision spins for a moment, and it is long enough for a boot to slam into her side. Pain blooms as the jagged metal of the boot slams into her again and again.

She reaches out towards the flames then snaps her wrist back just as he bends down to grab her. He is flung back with the fire, allowing her to roll over and spit out the blood in her mouth. She scrambles up to stand with her spear, ready now.

“C’mere you, sunnuvabitch,” she taunts.

“You bitch!” Falon’din screeches, gathering himself to his feet, sword in hand. He’s not wearing a helmet, so proud of his sickening beauty, so proud and sure he was going to slaughter them all.

Ash sneers, her teeth stained red with her blood.

Bring it.

He bears down on her, yelling as he strikes out with a nasty looking sword. It glows red with enchantment and threatens to shatter the shaft of her spear. She dances back and back, letting him swing at her, all the while she taunts him.

“Poor Falon’din – makes himself taller because he knows he’s so small!”

“Little Falon’din, mama doesn’t like you as much as your brother!”

“They’ll never love you!”

“Directionless! Your only purpose is causing misery!”

He roars in fury, moving quicker and stronger. His sword crashes down against her spear raised in defense, splitting it and sending her back to the ground. A yowl of pain escapes her as she lands on her injured side and he is there, yanking her up to his face by her horns.

“You will pay for every word, whore,” he growls. She sneers in response, reeling back then snapping forward with his hand to headbutt him with the crown of her horns.

“FUCK!”

She pulls back and they are sent into a grapple. He punches her, her nose crunches as it breaks under his fist. She hits him back, breaking his nose in return.

He reaches to grab at her again when he is suddenly and violently ripped from her grasp.

“Get your hands off my daughter!”

Mamae! She’s alive! Relief swells inside of Ash, overwhelming pain and doubt, giving life to hope. She pushes herself up to see her mamae whaling on Falon’din and she is not too proud to recognize the joy in herself at the image.

Joy that is short-lived.

She is not sure where the rider comes from, but a bleating hart leaps through the flames surrounding them. Their weapon knocks into Mamae, throwing her off of Falon’din. A swaying Falon’din pushes Sylmae away and charges once more at Ash. She backs up towards the flames, but she is slowed by blood loss and magic use. Her head spins and he seizes a long braid, forcing her to her knees.

He opens his mouth to speak, to taunt her, to tell her how she’s failed and her people will die. It’s a mistake.

She’s sucked in a great lungful of air and exhales a greater plume of flames directly at Falon’din’s face. The envelopes his head and he shrieks in horrified pain, the fire eating away at his flesh, burning his hair away, disfiguring him, and filling the air with the foul stench of burning flesh. He lets go of her, and she collapses to the ground, curling in on herself to protect her as the rider returns, hauling a still screaming and flaming Falon’din onto his hart. They flee into the woods away from the fire.

No, no he’s getting away –

“Ashokara…” Mamae coughs. The fire has spread, but it’s still blue, still Ash’s. She holds out a hand, then closes, extinguishing the flames all at once.

“Mamae, I’m here,” she responds, struggling to her feet to where Sylmae sits. She turns to face Ash, bloodied, a nasty gash on her brow, but she’s alive, and good. Ash collapses next to her, tears streaming down her face.

Sylmae reaches over, gently cupping her cheek, “You…reckless, fearless, wonderful girl.” Ash coughs and pain blooms anew, but it’s alright. They’re going to be all right.

They help each other stand up then stagger back to the main group of the clan. No dead, injuries aplenty, but no dead. Elrahel is patching up Memae’s wing as best he can when they get back. There is a moment of silence before a slow cap breaks out. Memae lurches forward and curls protectively around Ash, just as she falls to her knees, the blood loss starting to become too much.

Sylmae eases her down and vials of elfroot and other healing poultices are produced in seconds, applying to her side. Her nose is set and healed with magic, and soon the adrenaline dies down, letting her feel the full extent of her injuries.

Fuck.

“We…need to get moving, soon. They’ll come back with a vengeance,” she says, exhaustion weighing her down.

“We’re taking care of it, little light,” Memae reassures.

Oh, good. That’s…good. Ash leans against her memae and smiles as the elfroot begins to work on her, making her blissfully numb to the pain.

She did it. She didn’t run, she stopped it – they’re alive. A sad but valiant smile graces her face, her hand rests on the split tooth.

If I could have only saved you too.

[hogwartselementumrp]

AILIS DARROW is twenty years old ,worked on the Dragon Reserve in Romania, and was formerly in the house of Ravenclaw.

                                             ❝ I do not spit profanities. I sign them clearly, like a fucking lady.

↳ MAGIC

Ailis’ elemental magic jumps back and forth on a spectrum. Either it is basically raw, destructive power, like a sledgehammer, and has been known to break down doors, or it is incredibly delicate and refined in its use. Her more delicate use of her elemental magic is mostly to do with the fact that she is completely deaf in both ears, and so when growing up learnt to use her magic to ‘hear’ things instead; to feel, sense vibrations in the air caused by speech and other kinds of noise. Over the years - and through her course of studying various magical creatures, and how those that are naturally deaf compensate for the missing sense - she has gotten a little better at using her elemental magic to identify specific words and voices, and can now easily recognize her name; however, she still relies mostly on lip reading and sign language to communicate. 

Her magic remains especially useful when she is having a bludger knocked at her across a quidditch pitch, this minor display of her elemental power being accepted as the one exception to the 'no Air Magic during games’ rule on account of her disability whenever she plays, either by whoever is designated referee in informal games or the officials in the mini leagues she played with her fellow dragon tamers. Her wand magic is still significantly less refined than her elemental magic, with her talents lying almost exclusively in Care of Magical Creatures and Charms, with Potions and Defence Against The Dark Arts coming a close second. Her form is, much of the time, perfect; but she lacks real power, and always detested studying the assigned material. Ailis was much more fond of researching things she finds personally interesting, like mythology and the migration habits of various non magical birds; and while continuing her study and care for magical creatures, had only really had reason to practice spells related directly to them. Lately, however, she has been concentrating heavily on practicing her old dueling spells, and has renewed confidence in the power behind her more offensive spells.

↳ BACKSTORY

Ailis Darrow is no longer the girl she was when she left Scotland.

Yes, she remains the youngest of nine children, and she is still as quick to anger and violence as she ever was; but the edges once softened by a sweet, shy ballerina have grown hard and sharp in her time in Romania, and what was previously only ever recklessness is now equally likely to be carefully calculated wisdom and vengence.

The attacks in Britain have not gone unnoticed by her. She kept up her correspondence with her friends, of course, wrote to her family, to Olivier always an to Ceri when she could bare it, and to Lawrence when he was not to busy with his budding career and wrapped up in his lovely, too-good-for-him boyfriend and could be bothered to reply, but for the most part she relied on her information from the newspapers and whatever she could manipulate out of the Hogwarts interns that visited throughout the year.

The picture every report painted was not a pretty one, and for a long time she debated returning, striding back into Hogsmede and doing her bit to protect her friends and family from the building horror they might soon face; but it was with the attack on Hogwarts and the taking of the castle that she was pushed over the edge, compelled into finally returning home.

Hogwarts was never her home the way it was for so many of her fellow students. She never needed the safety of its walls, not felt so at home there that leaving was ever bittersweet. But it was a symbol, once, of good and of learning and of battles long won; and though she cares about symbolism less than most anything else, what she will never stand for is a dragon being used to break things.

With an occamy she hand raised and could not bare to leave behind curled up in her coat pocket, and Echo always on her heels, she returns to Diagon Alley entirely furious, barely prepared, completely determined; and almost certainly, soon to be driven entirely mad from having to deal with her dear best friends.

↳ PERSONALITY TRAITS

» {+ positives} Loyal, Passionate, Decisive,  Adaptive

» {- negatives}  Reckless, Volatile, Vengeful, Stubborn

↳ BASICS

» BLOOD STATUS: halfblood

» ELEMENTAL POWER: air

» AFFINITY LEVEL: High Affinity, Middlingly Studious

» DATE OF BIRTH: 13th January

» WAND: 9 ½ inches, Unicorn tail hair, slightly springy

» FACECLAIM: Penelope Mitchell

AILIS DARROW IS PLAYED BY CAITLIN

[flauntpage]

Roger Clemens, Suzy Waldman, And The Freakout Heard 'Round The World

If you listened, then you have heard it. If you played it with the sound off, the words are probably seared smoking into the wall behind you in looping New York Yankees cursive. But, for the record, after Roger Clemens' brief and dorky 2007 speech announcing his return to the team,radio color commentator Suzy Waldman cannonballs into the moment and explains what has just happened.

"Roger Clemens is in George's box, and Roger Clemens is coming back! Oh my good"—and there's a pause, here, as Waldman covers her microphone and says something to the production staff, or perhaps to play-by-play partner John Sterling. Then she is back, throaty and ecstatic and, to be honest, about three quarters of a mile over the top. " Oh my goodness gracious! Of all the dramatic things, of all the dramatic things I've ever seen, Roger Clemens standing right in George Steinbrenner's box, announcing he is back. Roger Clemens is a New York Yankee. And there we go, John … Now we don't need to discuss who takes that spot in the rotation."

Was it a bit much? It was, if we are being honest, a bit much. History has not been especially kind to Waldman's hyperbole—of all the dramatic things she'd ever seen would have been difficult to support even if Clemens had made a brilliant and moving speech and the dugout and stadium had erupted in tearful gratitude. None of that quite came through, and then Clemens went 6-6 with a 4.15 ERA in 18 starts for a Yankees team that wound up getting bounced from the playoffs in the Wild Card round*; the Boston Red Sox, who were outworked and outbid in their free agent run at Clemens, cruised through the postseason and dispatched the Colorado Rockies in the World Series. But if history was unkind to Waldman's performance, her peers in radio were significantly more so.

The audio of Waldman floridly losing her shit at the stadium that day became a sort of proto-meme, a shared joke grounded both in Waldman's deliriously and undeniably over-the-top performance and some other, uglier elements. In the days after Waldman briefly left her body live on the radio, Mike Francesa and Chris "Mad Dog" Russo played the clip over and over again on their WFAN show; shows like Opie And Anthony put it in similarly heavy rotation, not just in the days immediately afterwards but for years, less for any pressing sports-related reason than because it is so luridly, lividly ridiculous.

Or, anyway, that was part of it. In one representative bit, Opie and Anthony and co-host Jim Norton try to figure out who or what or who Waldman sounds like in the heat of her Oh My Goodness Gracious moment, running through Pee Wee Herman, Louis Armstrong, a gutshot Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs, Homer Simpson drinking buddy Barney Gumble, and Sesame Street's Grover. "You should be fired," Norton says, "when you're a woman and you sound like Bobcat Goldthwait." The Opie And Anthony riffs on Waldman are funny, but they are also astringent and gendered and sometimes cruel. Francesa and Russo are slower-moving and more riff-averse creatures, and their mockery would naturally be both less funny and less profane. But all of it existed on a strange continuum. The clip of Waldman's rhapsody is absurd and hilarious on its own bellowing merits; there are many funny responses to it. But there are also some less funny and more obviously outwardly sexist ones, and all of these responses are adjacent to one another. The laughter that Waldman's performance naturally evokes did not necessarily come from the same place or run in the same direction, although it did all end up in the same place.

"Well-embedded Yankee moles tell me that deviants, who get their kicks harassing women, have come out of the woodwork and landed on Waldman," Bob Raissman wrote in the New York Daily News, nearly a month after Waldman's on-air rhapsody. "These creeps are fueled each and every time they hear some sports talkie play the tape of Waldman going gaga over Clemens' arrival. Playing this tape has become the macho thing to do." Raissman reported that Waldman was receiving crank calls and "perverted emails," and had taken to checking into hotels under an assumed name.

Waldman was not any happier with this than you would be, and confronted Russo when she ran into him outside the radio box at Shea Stadium. "Russo, according to well-embedded moles, tried defusing the situation by telling Waldman, "We were just having some fun," Raissman reported. "Waldman wasn't buying Russo's damage control/jive. She said she hoped he had 'his two days of fun,' but had 'ruined her life' in the process." Raissman reports that when Russo followed Waldman and attempted to cool her down, she "dropped two fat F bombs on Russo before accusing him of 'talking behind my back' for '20 years.'"

Waldman interviews A-Rod, in another dramatic moment. Photo by Brad Penner-USA TODAY Sports

"I was very, very good," Waldman told the New York Times about her musical theater career, back in 1993. "I just wasn't an original, you know? People would say I had the heart of Judy Garland and I belted like Streisand and I had the range of Barbara Cook. But these people already exist." Waldman had a long and distinguished career on Broadway, and starred in Broadway revivals of No, No, Nanette and Man Of La Mancha, but realized in her thirties that her future lay elsewhere. "I stopped being cute and perky and 21," she told the Times in that 1993 story. "I look pretty good for 46, but I can't dance anymore with the 21-year-olds." She found her way into radio, and then sports radio; when WFAN launched in 1987, Waldman's was the first voice listeners heard.

"It was very different back then," Waldman told Adweek about her early days in sports radio. "I can't even go back in that timeframe because it was so confrontational. I'd get used condoms in the mail and death threats. Horrible things happened in those first few years." Denied the assignments she wanted, Waldman went ahead and made up her own, carving out beats covering the Knicks and the Yankees.

When Waldman was on the Yankees beat for WFAN in the station's early days, Steinbrenner refused to talk to her; she was not invited to the annual lunch that the team held for beat writers at Manhattan's 21 Club. "Waldman sent an overnight letter to Steinbrenner at his office in Tampa," John Solomon wrote in Sports Illustrated in 1997. "She pointed out that more people heard her daily reports on the highly rated Mike and the Mad Dog show than read the local sports pages, and she included a breakdown of the advertising rates the station received for her spots. 'I'm coming down to Tampa next Wednesday, and I expect an interview,' the missive concluded."

Steinbrenner gave Waldman the interview, against what he considered to be his better judgment. "I like my women to spend my money and look real pretty," Waldman recalled Steinbrenner saying to her. "I don't like them to be pilots, policemen or sports reporters." During her years covering the team, Waldman's relationship with Steinbrenner was as good as any relationship with Steinbrenner could be, which is to say that it whipsawed between sentimental largesse and wild roaring cruelty depending entirely upon the moods of one of the moodiest manchildren in sports history.

Steinbrenner bullied Waldman to tears, then receded to more acceptable levels of boorishness days later. In the peculiar ways in which Steinbrenner was loyal, though, he was loyal to Waldman, and if she was never quite safe from the blasting unmanned firehose of Steinbrenner's personal cruelty and sexism, he worked to protect her from the cruelty and sexism of others; when she received death threats from Yankee fans in 1989, Steinbrenner hired Waldman a plainclothes security detail. In 2012, Waldman told Adweek that Steinbrenner was "as important a human being in my life as anybody, except my family." The Yankees hired her as the color commentator for the team's WCBS radio broadcasts in 2005.

Waldman also admired the star in Steinbrenner's luxury box that mildly dramatic day in 2007. Waldman had been friends with Clemens for many years, before she began her radio career and when Clemens' Major League career was just beginning. "They shared an interest in baseball and soap operas," Raissman wrote in the Daily News, in 2012. "For Waldman, Clemens was always a stand-up guy. She liked his family and loved his mother." Given that Clemens had been accused by former teammate Jason Grimsley of using PEDs at the end of the 2006 season, and given his longstanding reputation as a high-handed redass, Waldman's affection for Clemens was not widely shared around the game. This did not make her any less inclined to stand up for her friend.

When Clemens was named in the Mitchell Report after the 2007 season, Waldman said she did not know whether he had or hadn't taken PEDs, but she vigorously defended him as a man, and a friend. "I can only judge people on what I observe and how they treat me," she told Newsday's Neil Best. "And since the mid-'80s, I've known him and all of his family and watched the kids being born and knew his mother and know his sisters … I never saw this stuff. I don't know if it's true. Does it change what I think of Roger Clemens? I don't think so." When a jury acquitted Clemens of six felony charges of lying to Congress in 2012, Waldman did not hide her happiness at the result, or her disdain for peers who continued to believe that Clemens was guilty as charged. "Waldman had some choice words about commentators with that particular opinion," Raissman wrote. "The only ones fit to print in a family newspaper are 'self-important.'"

The Yankees radio broadcast team is, in a way that is not always charming, a throwback to the ramshackle monomania of George Steinbrenner's years, when the Yankees were defined by both their swinging-dick grandiosity and incessant petty internecine office bullshit. The people that lasted, in that organization, were not necessarily the best or the brightest. They were the ones who truly believed—who saw Steinbrenner not as a world-historic butthead but a passionate man of vision, and who put up with his shit because the mystique and majesty of the franchise made it worth it. Caring about any team is a matter of faith, but the people that rose and stuck in the Yankees culture had to believe in a way that canceled out the ugliness and stupidity roiling around them.

Waldman was and is one of those—a survivor, absolutely, but also a believer. That the Yankees would try to stage the announcement Clemens' return to the team as a sort of WWE-style MOMENT is a testament to the deep tackiness of their decision makers. That Waldman would sell it as such, and sell it twice as hard as necessary because of how lame it was, was just her doing her job. The confluence of the team and its bellowing herald and this surly pink brick of a pitcher are what made this the dippy and hilarious and absurd moment that it was. But for all the things that are memorable and funny about this moment, only one is truly essential—if Waldman didn't really somehow believe that she was witnessing one of the most dramatic moments she'd ever seen, it wouldn't have stuck. She really believed it, and there's nothing more absurd or more dramatic than that.

* This piece has been corrected to reflect that the Yankees made the playoffs in 2007.

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Roger Clemens, Suzy Waldman, And The Freakout Heard 'Round The World published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[lillotte17]

For some reason I keep thinking that Aili and Uthvir would be perfect for some kind of Fake Marriage AU. Aili being absolutely positive that Uthvir is just faking interest in her, Uthvir being subjected to genuine niceness and not knowing how to handle it, both of them falling in love while thinking the other would freak out if they knew... Aili possibly not even realizing that she's falling in love...

Hahahahahaaaaa WOW this took me longer than I ever thought it would.

ಠ_ಠ

Fake Marriage AU

Uthvir belongs to @feynites along with a certain other guest star for this AU.

The great conclave that is supposedly going to decide the fate of mages, and arguably a large portion of Thedas, is set to begin tomorrow.

It is still more than a day away on foot, and already the sky is growing dark above the mountains. It has been a long and rather expensive journey, especially considering the meager contents of Aili’s coin purse, which had largely been eaten up by the fare to cover her passage from the Free Marches.

She strongly suspects that the greasy boat captain in Ostwick had gouged her on the price, but she had not really been in a position to haggle, since the crewmen of the other ships heading to Ferelden had taken one look at the tattoos on her face and sent her packing.  

The long and short of it ends up being that it is almost nighttime and Aili finds herself a lone mage elf on a human road that she does not know, which is likely peppered with rogue Templars and bandits and other unsavory sorts. Tired and hungry. Vulnerable.

Which is why, when she comes upon what looks to be a barn that has been hastily converted into an inn at some point in the last few years, she decides that stopping for the evening seems like a prudent choice. Not that walking into a building filled with potentially drunk, nervous humans is completely free from peril either, but at least it will be relatively warm and well-lit, and there is a better chance that someone with compassion or morality will come to her aid.

Hopefully.

There is also the possibility of overhearing other people’s conversations, and gleaning information on how the peace talks are likely to go. Which is another objective of her mission. To not only bear witness to the outcome of the Conclave, but to try and parse out which way the wind is blowing in the court of public opinion. Her people tend to isolate themselves, but the fate of the mages is undeniably linked to the fate of the Keepers. And the fate of the Keepers will determine the fate of the Dalish as a whole.

Keeper Deshanna had been…less than convinced. Not that she did not think it was important, of course, she had simply refused to admit that there could be a benefit to having one of their own attend the Conclave. Too much risk to one of their people for information that they could easily find out later from the villages friendly enough to trade with them. And far too hazardous to gamble the freedom of their First.

Yet, here she is anyway.  

Despite the numerous objections, Aili had been the obvious choice. She is fluent in both Common and Orlesian. Young enough to survive the long solitary journey across land and sea. Old enough to be cautious with her trust and her coin. And she can easily blend into the ranks of either the mages or the servants at the Conclave, so long as either her hood or her hair is concealing her vallaslin.

The inn is noisy and full to bursting, and Aili is not sure where the owner is planning to lodge even half of them. There is a large woman behind the bar with very red hair and a face that is nearly overrun with freckles, and two harried looking elves racing around to the handful of crowded roughhewn tables in an attempt to keep agitated patrons from tearing the walls down.

She manages to elbow her way over to the counter and procure a hunk of bread and some cheese to pair with the dried meat and apples in her pack, as well as a mug of cider to wash it all down with. She’s tired enough that the thought of a chair, even the hard, grubby ones of this particular establishment, are a nigh irresistible temptation. But even if there was a vacant one to be found, it would require her to sit at a table full of strange rowdy humans, so she ends up heading towards a dark corner instead. Someplace to lean her back where she can survey the goings on in the rest of the inn.

Aili gets about two-thirds of the way over to her intended roost when she catches sight of another elf making their way through the crowded dining area.

Not that seeing another elf travelling alone is such an odd thing, perhaps, but this one has a certain…aura about them. They are wearing a long dark cloak with the hood up, but even so, it is obvious to anyone with two eyes and half a brain that they are wearing full plate armor beneath it. And it is obvious to her, that the red markings scrawled across their face are the same as the ones her mother bears, even when they are being obscured by hoods and shadows. Andruil’s Vallaslin.

Another clan sent a representative?

Before she can even build up a decent amount of speculation on the subject, a burly templar jostles past them, likely on a mission to seek out more drink, and their cowl is knocked back from their face just as they are sent stumbling into an especially raucous table of what appears to be a few knights and heir vassals. If she had to make an assumption at a glance, she’d probably say that they all seem to have more money than sense, and appear to have reached a particularly disgusting level of drunkenness.

For their own part, the recently accosted elf looks as though they would like nothing so much as to grab the man who had bumped into them by the throat and toss him clean out a window. Their expression is dark. Irritated and edged, and barely containing the urge to lash out. Common sense seems to stop them, however, even though there is a certain wildness lingering about their eyes.

Their features are quite striking, really.

She apparently is not the only one to have noticed this, as one of the patrons sitting at the table makes a move to paw at them, beaming and jovial, and perhaps assuming that this beautiful stranger had careened into their midst on purpose. The elf in question glances around at the number of people gathered around the table, possibly assessing whether or not they could bloody this group of idiots and make it the door unscathed. Aili cannot quite make out the words they are saying, but they seem polite and forced, and do not appear to be of much use in deterring the human from attempting to tug them down onto his chair.

Having a large mug of cider splashed in his face seems to deter him well enough, though.

“I’m so sorry, Ser!” Aili exclaims with an affectation of dismay, reaching over to not-so-gently wipe at the human’s face with a somewhat dirty napkin from the table, “The long day of walking was just so tiring. I’m afraid it seems to have made me a bit clumsy.”

She thinks she hears the recently accosted elf snort in amusement, but she doesn’t have the chance to shoot a grin in their direction before she finds herself being roughly pulled into one of the other patron’s laps.

“I’m sure Mason isn’t upset with you in the least, are you Mason? There’s a good chap,” the man who grabbed her bellows directly against the side of her face. Fanning her nose and mouth with hot, moist, alcohol-scented breath that nearly makes her gag. He is brown-haired and barrel-chested, with square-cut, regular features. Not really all that unappealing, for a human. Though if his hands keep wandering in the direction they seem to be headed, she is going to be sorely tempted to break his nose. “After all, who could stay mad at a cute little trick like you, eh?” he coos at her with what is probably meant to be a dashing grin.

Aili does her best to force a smile.

“You are…very forbearing, Ser,” she commends him in a strained voice, “Me and my friend didn’t mean to disturb you, but since there doesn’t seem to be any real damage done, we’ll just be on our way, now.”

She struggles to rise, but finds herself quite thoroughly pinned against the stranger’s chest.

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles warmly into her neck, “There is no need to be coy. You’ve got one of the oldest trades in the world. You look clean enough, and your boldness in approaching us directly is hardly off-putting. I’d say maybe try for a more subtle lure next time, yes? Might be a trifle embarrassing subject for a less virile man. But I suppose all this talk of peace has got your kind a bit desperate. No shame in earning an honest sovereign where you can.”

“W-what?” Aili stammers, genuinely confused, tossing a worried glance at the elf she’d helped earlier. They frown at the human, but don’t seem quite set on moving against him just yet. Possibly weighing the odds again. “I…I’m not looking for any sort of work, Ser. I’m just here with my friend. For the conclave. Like everybody else.”

“Of course,” the human hums blithely, “There is plenty of work for your friend, too. Everyone at this table probably wouldn’t mind helping the pair of you out. Would we boys? That’s right. Might even earn yourselves a little extra if you know what you’re about.”

“Listen, you-” Aili begins, annoyed and possibly just the tiniest bit afraid, but before she can comment on where exactly this self-absorbed prick can shove his coin, she finds herself being pulled out of the nobleman’s clutches and into the arms of the mysterious elf who had gotten her into this mess. An impressive feat, since they don’t actually look like they could physically overpower him -they’re only a few inches taller than she is, and not especially bulky- but maybe that cloak and armor is concealing a lot more muscle tone than she’d thought.  

“We are hired swords, not camp followers…Ser,” they explain. Their tone is light, but Aili gets the distinct impression that they are holding in a significant amount of disdain. “And I would appreciate it if you did not distress my wife.”

“Your wife?” the man blinks at them.

“Your wife?” Aili echoes in a low hiss.

They smile down at her with manufactured fondness, as well as what appears to be no small amount of amusement at her reaction.

“Ah…y-yes,” she manages to stammer out a few seconds later, glancing over at the group of drunken noblemen, who still seem to be sizing both of them up like hunks of meat, “This is my…beloved…spouse. Who I am travelling with. Willingly.”

“But…” the keg-shaped man who had grabbed her begins, clearly puzzled, “Aren’t you both women? Chantry doesn’t allow that sort of thing, right? So, you can’t be married.”

“Don’t look much like mercenaries, either,” another man offers with a scrutinizing frown.

“I…am not a woman,” her impromptu partner answers stiffly.

“Wait… So, that means you’re a man?” the noble sputters, looking them up and down, “But your features are so delicate…”

Aili feels the elf’s hands tighten around her, sharp gauntlets just beginning to prick through her leathers, and she decides that now is definitely the time to vacate the situation.

“Well, regardless of all that, we are married,” she forces out, making moves to shift herself and her new associate away from the table of humans, “Happily married. And out on the road to reach the conclave, where the rest of our…mercenary friends, are waiting for us to join them. We’re sorry to have bothered you. And for any confusion. Have a nice…evening. Drinking.”

This gives rise to a series of grumblings from the nobles and knights and whatever else they might be outside of slovenly and human, but none of them try to get up to stop them from retreating. Mercifully.

“…You are a terrible liar,” the mysterious elf informs her once they have both gotten a safe distance away from the table.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to find myself married to a complete stranger in the middle of a conversation,” she snaps, “If you don’t like the way I handled things, you can fend for yourself next time.”

“You assume I am ungrateful,” they note, arching a brow at her, “I can assure you that is not the case. I was simply taking not of your…unique style of rendering aid.”

“Well, sorry if my assistance didn’t live up to your exacting standards, I didn’t have a lot of time to think of anything better,” Aili replies sourly, “I suppose the next time I see someone in distress, I should simply walk over and announce our marriage.”

To her surprise, they laugh, not seeming offended in the least.

“Depending on the situation, it might not be the worst idea you could come up with. Especially if the person you aim to save is anything like you,” they smirk. “So, do I get the privilege of learning my lovely wife’s name?”

They toss a wink at her, and she makes a face at them in response.

“…I’m Aili,” she tells them after a moment’s pause, “And I’m not your wife.”

“And I am Uthvir,” they return, still smirking, “And I am deeply wounded by your rejection of my suit.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see if there is still a room in this dump I can rent for the night.”

“No point, I’m afraid,” Uthvir says, growing more amused by the minute, “I purchased the last one myself when I came in.”

Aili heaves a sigh.

“Well, it certainly won’t be the first time I’ve had to sleep outdoors,” she says tiredly, turning to head back towards the inn’s entrance, “Dareth shiral, Lethallen.”

“I would not advise that,” they tell her, moving to block her path and shooting a furtive glance back at the table full of potential harassers, “Some of our recent…acquaintances might be a bit put out over their sudden lack of evening entertainment. If they see you leaving on your own, they might come to suspect that we are not actually wed.”

“We aren’t,” Aili reminds them bluntly.

“That is beside the point,” Uthvir insists with a dismissive wave of their hand, “Fishing you out of their clutches will have been a total waste on my end, if you intend to go wandering right back into them.”

“Fine,” she huffs out, “Then where do you suggest I sleep? Since you seem to have all the answers.”

They stare at her for a long moment, pensive, before finally letting out a long grating breath.

“I suppose it would remiss of me if I let my ‘wife’ fend for herself against a horde of potential brigands,” they say with a façade of nonchalance, though there is still a subtle uneasiness in their continence. A sharpness lingering behind their eyes. “Under the circumstances, you…may stay with me. If you like.”

Her eyes go wide at the suggestion, and she takes a minute to do some considering of her own. On the one hand, spending the night with this stranger hardly seems more advisable than spending the evening out in the woods and risk being jumped by other strangers. But they seem genuine enough, and they did not leave her to the mercy of drunken nobles, even when they could have. And besides which, they are one of the People, and while their vallaslin does not earn them all of her trust, it grants them enough of it for this.

“…Alright,” she nods at them hesitantly, “Though I feel I should give you fair warning that if you decide to kill me and steal all my possessions, you’re likely going to end up disappointed.”

“Noted,” Uthvir replies with a quirk of their brow and a sweeping arm gesture as the usher her in the direction of their room.

There is only one bed.

Of course, there is only one bed. She does not know why the though had not occurred to her before, but it seems like it should have been obvious given the size and…rustic nature of the inn they are staying at. She stares at it accusingly, a narrow and slightly moldering thing, likely padded with straw that hasn’t been changed in more than a month.

There is no way both of them could manage to sleep on it comfortably without getting…close.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Aili offers, “It’s not so different from an aravel, and your coin paid for the room. Which…I can reimburse you for my share of it, if you like… Or…well…at least some of it.”

“No need,” Uthvir waves her off, “Consider your share of the room as repayment for the drink you sacrificed to deter my would-be assailants. As for the sleeping arrangements, there is no need for you to be uncomfortable. I wanted the room more than the bed. Feel free to use it at your discretion, I will be passing the night in the chair.”

“You’re going to sleep in the chair?” she echoes doubtfully, casting a glance at the spindly piece of furniture crammed into the corner next to a lopsided table.

“I find I do not need much in the way of sleep,” they explain with a shrug, “A few hours of light dozing will see me through the next day easily enough.”

“That…does not sound particularly healthy,” she returns with a slight frown.  

“I promise that I am quite healthy,” they smirk, showing off a hint of what appears to be a set of very sharp teeth, “I could give you a demonstration, if neither of us plan to use the bed for anything else in the near future.”

“I’m fine with simply taking you at your word,” Aili snorts, “And if you really aren’t going to do anything with the bed other than some sort of exercise, then I’m going to sleep in it. If you really don’t mind.”

They arch a brow at her as though she has said something strange.

“I do not mind,” they assure her after a moment’s pause.

She gives them an odd look of her own, but decides to let things be, setting her pack down and digging around for her sleep shirt. She doesn’t think much of going through her usual evening routine until she’s out of her armor and pulling her tunic off. Her new friend makes a sound from the corner with the chair where they’ve settled themselves, and she turns to glance inquisitively back at them.

“You don’t have much in the way of inhibitions, do you?” they wonder, blatantly staring at the bared skin of her chest and stomach, “Or is this meant to be an invitation?”

“I…already said you could have the bed if you wanted it,” she reminds them, confused, “But I’m not sure what you think I should be embarrassed about, exactly. I don’t know how your clan does things, but we have to change clothes in front of each other all the time. Unless…I’m making you uncomfortable somehow?”

“Not in the least,” Uthvir hums in reply, eyes still warm and roving, “So long as you don’t expect me to offer you a similar display.”

“If you want to sleep in stabby, uncomfortable armor, that is entirely your own business,” Aili shrugs, finally tugging on the loose billowy shirt she prefers for sleeping and climbing into the bed. “Good night.”

“Sleep well,” Uthvir offers quietly in return.

She lays down, curls under the thin blanket, and presses her eyes shut. Uthvir is quiet, and the room is dark, but somehow she can still feel them there. A strangely shifting presence on the edge of her senses. A prickle at the back of her neck. Almost as though the Veil is thin around them, and she can feel the magic of the Fade trickling into the room. Unsettling.

“Are you really just going to crouch over there like a gargoyle all night?” Aili grumbles from half way in her pillow.

“I believe I said that was my intention,” Uthvir drawls from their chair, “Do you need me to tuck you in?”

“No,” she grunts in reply, “but it would be great if you could stop…lurking. It’s creepy.”

“And what, exactly, would you prefer?” they wonder.

“I don’t know,” she whines, “Maybe just lay down like a normal person?”

“If this is your attempt at being alluring, I must say, it is very strange,” Uthvir says.

“I just want to sleeeep,” Aili moans, “I don’t care if that means we have to share the bed. We’re both sorta small, we’ll fit. Just…stop…looming.”

“But I enjoy looming,” Uthvir says with an air of distinct amusement.

“Pleeeeeaaaaaassssee,” she whimpers plaintively, “I’m so tired…”

“You are that eager to share your bed with a stranger?” they ask doubtfully.

“S’just sleeping,” Aili mumbles, “You don’t really seem the type to murder me just for fun. Probably. …Are you?”

“Not without sufficient cause,” Uthvir assures her. They go quiet for a moment, and then she hears the sounds of faint footfalls making their way across the floor. Her mind is a bit bleary at the moment, but it strikes her as odd that they are capable of moving so quietly in all that gear. The bed shifts, and she can feel the solid weight of them beside her. The sound of their breathing in a steady even rhythm in the dark.

Like sharing an aravel back home.

“Thank you,” she sighs out.

“Go to sleep,” Uthvir instructs stiffly.

Aili curls further into the blankets, tucks her face beneath her arm, and does as she is told.~They are gone by the time she wakes, even though it is still early enough for the rosy light of dawn to be fighting its way through the grubby windows of the inn. Aili doesn’t think too much of it, other than a vague regret that she didn’t get to properly thank them for sharing their room. As luck would have it, the men they who had attempted to buy them for the evening also seem to have vacated the premises, and she sets out towards the village of Haven and the Conclave with only the slightest edge of nervousness settling along her spine. The anticipation of long-awaited excitement about to come to fruition.

The pace she sets for herself is leisurely. It will be much easier to mingle into the crowd once the talks have already begun and people are distracted. She takes her time trying to locate a few deer paths through the mountains as she goes. Escape routes, in case things get ugly.

When the mountain explodes, Aili finds herself being thrown several feet down a steep slope and slamming headlong into a tree.

She wakes in a cell, but is released after minimal questioning by a pair of angry human women. Apparently, the Divine is dead, along with most of the people who attended the Conclave. There is a huge tear in the sky and some human fell out of the Fade with a mark on their hand. She was never their prime suspect, but they are clearly grasping at straws.

She sticks around for a few days. She has a twisted ankle, and her head wound leaves her with occasional bouts of lingering dizziness. There are templars here, which she is not particularly thrilled about, but there are other mages to seek refuge with, and people who could be helped with her magic and her knowledge of wild medical herbs. She’s still in training, but she has more experience than most of the human mages, who have barely traveled farther than the confines of their Circles.

It is not until Aili has been working for the fledgling Inquisition for well over a week that she finally runs into the fabled ‘Herald of Andraste.’

“I say, you there! Girl!”  a voice calls from behind her, and she winces as the memory of pungent ale-breath rises to the surface of her mind, “Come over here and take my horse to the stables. Make sure the stable hands take a bit more care with his tack this time, won’t you? Can’t have the Herald of Andraste showing up someplace looking like an average peon, now, can we? No. Hurry back with something for me to drink and there might even be a copper or two in it for you.”

“Ser, I’m afraid you have me confused for someone else…” she says, doing her best to keep her head lowered. Hoping that he won’t recognize her face.

“Nonsense!” he insists, “I’m sure I’ve seen you around here before. Hard to forget a pretty little thing like you. Well. You know. For an elf. I’m sure you do well enough among your own kind, eh? Even with all the strange…”

He makes a vague gesture towards his forehead.

“I’m Dalish,” Aili explains frowningly.  

“Oh,” he says with a careless shrug, “I suppose that explains the strange armor and the lack of shoes, too. Jolly good of you to set aside all that heathen nonsense to come and serve the Inquisition. I’m Richard Trevelayn, as I’m certain you already knew, Herald of Andraste.”

“I’m…Aili,” she grates out slowly, “And I’m not a servant or a stable hand. I’m a mage.”

“Yes, well, don’t worry, I’m not the sort to hold that against anyone,” he smiles at her, “That’s what we’ve got Tempars here for, right? You just do your work like usual and there won’t be any trouble.”

“I was trying to,” Aili snaps, finally looking him straight in the eyes.

“I say!” Trevelyan exclaims, “Aren’t you… Yes! You’re that strange woman from the inn who threw cider all over poor old Mason. …Weren’t you travelling with your husband?”  

“I…uh…lost them?” Aili tries, edging away from him carefully.

“Well, that is just…shocking, isn’t it?” he says, moving forward to crowd her again, “Yes, I can see it in your eyes. A real blow. Well then. Never let it be said that the Herlad of Andraste was hard hearted. No indeed. If you ever need a good cry or…you know…any other sort of comforting, you just come to me, all right? A woman needs a good strong shoulder every now and then, doesn’t she?”

“Well…that’s…just…” Aili stammers, disgusted, and offended, and altogether uncertain of how to extract herself from the situation without causing a scene.

“Aili!” a voice rings out from a few feet away. She turns around just in time for a figure in red to sweep her off her feet. Spinning her around twice before setting her down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My darling wife. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Uthvir!” Aili blurts, completely blindsided, and blushing all the way to the tips of her ears. “What are you…” she casts a wary glance at their audience, “I mean, I’m so glad to see you! When we were separated, I was certain the blast from the Breach had killed you. I was…inconsolable. For days.”

“What’s this?” Uthvir asks wrapping their arms more firmly around her and smiling, thoroughly amused, “No kiss to greet your wayward spouse?”

“O-of course…” she forces out a reply, her own smile freezing on her face.

She cups their face in her hands gently, leaning up to claim a brief, chaste kiss. She pinches their ear in discreet retaliation. Uthvir winks, unrepentant.

“I’m…very happy for you,” Richard grumbles out before walking away with his horse, casting the occasional glance back at them as though he still thinks there is something off about the two of them.

“Don’t tell me you’re staying to help the Inquisition, too?” Aili hisses out as soon as the Herald of Andraste is out of hearing range.

“Naturally,” Uthvir smirks, “And it seems to be greatly to your advantage.”

“Yes,” Aili sighs, rolling her eyes towards the heavens, “Lucky me.”

[lillotte17]

*flings more Crossed Streams drama into the void and scuttles away*

idk @feynites owns like..half of these ppl. >_>

In some ways, being the child of an evanuris is not so different from being First to a Keeper.

Even without being directly in charge of things herself, there are a lot of expectations for Aili to live up to, responsibilities to shoulder, and people who need looking after. She has to maintain a certain degree of composure, to project a demeanor that inspires confidence and loyalty. And affection, if she can manage it. Everyone always has their eyes on her, ready to praise her if she succeeds. Ready condemn her, albeit very quietly, if she fails.

The main difference is the sheer scale of her new influence.

One evening her mother had decided to wear what she had personally thought to be a rather hideous shade of chartreuse that she had insisted was ‘daring’. Aili had not thought much of it at the time, but sure enough, less than a week later, the entire Upper City was awash in the very same shade of snot-colored green. And the trend had held for nearly three months. She had been completely flabbergasted.

She had thought that being an advisor to the Inquisition might have helped her adjust to the scope of the Evanuris’ sway, if only a little. It was not wholly incongruent, after all, what with a large portion of Thedas insisting that her spouse was some sort of  divine savior. But this… She does not know if she can wield this much power without inevitably breaking something.

It does not seem to have worked out very well for anyone she knows who has tried.

Luckily, she has some time to ease into things. No one in Elvhenan seems to expect much of anything from young children, outside of cuteness and perhaps some sort of wild phase once they start really getting into their magic and travelling about by themselves. And their idea of what actually constitutes a ‘young child’ is…somewhat different than what she is accustomed to.

When Aili had reached her sixteenth nameday, she was already hip deep in the social mechanizations of clan life. An adult, by most standards. She had collected wild vegetables and herbs, hauled buckets of water, built fires, patched aravels, and helped to look after the children, among other things. All while actively competing against two other clanmates for the honor to be chosen as Deshanna’s First. Learning magic and how to read the old tongue. Preparing for her vallaslin ceremony.

But by the time she reaches the same age among the elves of Arlathan, it seems as though she is…not old enough for much of anything. She still has her lessons and her training, which are extensive, but even those are mostly voluntary. Her parents and extended family all consider her too young to be much involved with affairs of state, though Lavellan keeps her informed, when she can. She cannot compete in tourneys. She cannot hunt unless the creature has been released into some contained area and she is surrounded by attendants and guards to protect her person, which feels a lot like shooting fish in a barrel. She is not even permitted to attend festivals unless she spends the evening glued to her mother’s side.

She feels a bit…aimless.

Aili tries to learn new things to give herself some sense of purpose, some of the crafts and artistry that Elvhenan seems to place such importance on, but she has never been the most proficient at getting her hands to recreate visions from her thoughts. She has the most success with wood carving and clay and other three-dimensional media, anything she can just chip and shave and beat into submission. She suspects there are likely some strange rumors of her vanity, since she seems to spend so much time simply making the same face over and over.

However, as the daughter of an evanuris, as well as a ‘sweet innocent child’, the only comment anyone is willing to make about it to her face is that it does not look quite right. The expression is wrong for her, almost fierce and nearly always smiling. The girl is too young. Her nose and chin are too sharp. The ears and mouth are a little off.

Aili can concede that they do have a point. The face never looks exactly right, no matter what she does, or how many times she makes it. It horrifies her that perhaps she has already begun to forget the features she had spent so many days gazing at lovingly, and the failed attempts at artwork always seem to mock her somehow. But she is even more afraid of stopping, and letting even more details slip through her fingers.

Her one true solace lays between the pages of books. Sylaise and June both have decent libraries, and there is an even larger one in the city intended for public use, though access to certain materials is restricted based on rank, and in Aili’s case, by age. But there is very little she is denied, and after a while, she begins to build up her own collection of worthwhile reading material.

She wants to learn everything.

There is no doubt in her mind that there is a certain amount of bias to the historical texts in particular, but even that can be telling, if you know what to look for.

Aili studies the Dreaming. Converses with almost any spirit who will talk to her, of which there are many. Her memories are unique, and there are many of them who would trade all manner of knowledge for even the slightest glimpse. She presses her advantage, trying her best to make Josephine proud. To be cunning without being ruthless as she seeks out history and truth.

As she seeks out Uthvir.

They had not enjoyed talking overmuch about their origins, and she had never pressed too hard. Certain that they had time. All the time they could ever need, to find enough peace in their life that sharing their burdens would no longer bring all the shame and pain of it back to the surface of their heart.

But Solas had robbed them of their time. Both of them.

All of them.

She has a rough idea of the events that shaped Uthvir’s life, so she at least has something to work from. The real issue is that she has no idea what events in Elvhenan’s history correlate to their own. She has not seen them amongst Andruil’s favored hunters, but she does not know if that means they have not been given to her yet, or if she is simply keeping them to herself. Perhaps they are still suffering at the hands of Falon’Din. Or perhaps they do not even exist yet.

And that poses yet another problem.

“What should you do when you know something terrible is going to happen,” she asks Lavellan one evening over a game of cards not unlike Wicked Grace, “But if you somehow manage to stop this terrible thing, it might mean that someone you care for will never be born?”

“I’ll let you know when I find out,” she replies with a wry twist of her lips. Aili frowns at her, concern permeating the air around them, and Lavellan heaves a weary sigh, “For all we know, simply being here has changed the entire course of history as we know it. And since we clearly came from different worlds, there is no way of knowing if this is even the past of one our own timelines, or another place entirely. Commissioning a suit of armor from a certain vendor could change someone else’s life for the worst. Talking your parents into sparing people from sacrificial death might mean that dozens of other people might be born who never existed in either of our own timelines. There is simply no way of knowing for sure what will happen, and you will make yourself mad if you attempt to reason through every tiny decision. The only option available to either of us is to just…try. To do what we can to make things better. Fix what can be fixed. Save what can be saved. Do…what you feel is right.”

It is not too much longer after that, that she finds herself dreaming of a vast green wood.

Not that dreams about forests are really all that extraordinary, but this place feels different. Older. Protected. The air is filled with millions of tiny floating lights, gold and white and silver, all twirling through the tree branches. Like living motes of sunlight. Catching in her hair and clothing. Dancing away from her fingertips, as if suddenly shy.

She has never seen anything like it.

There is an obvious path, and she can make out the shapes of other spirits flitting through the trees. None of them look strong enough to have built this place, though. She gets the distinct impression that this area of the Dreaming is generally hard to reach. Invitation only, as it were.

The trail seems to end very abruptly as she walks along it, and she thinks perhaps she is being barred from venturing any farther. But then the trees shift themselves into a small clearing, and standing at its center is the largest, brightest spirit she has ever met. Several pairs of enormous wings and arms, and a large smiling face that appears mostly curious, for the time being. She feels her eyes burning just from looking at them, and she is not certain if it is the intense light they are exuding, or the powerful rush of emotions that seem to have jammed themselves into her throat.

“How did you find this place, little dreamer?” the spirit wonders in a soft voice that reminds her of the distant tolling of a great bronze bell. It is not loud, yet somehow it still resonates. Making something in her chest thrum, uplifting and awe-inspiring, and maybe just the tiniest bit frightening too. She suddenly feels impossibly small.

“I…I’m not sure,” she confesses hesitantly, glancing around again, “I was…looking for someone.”

“And you think they might be here?” it asks.

“I don’t know,” Aili admits, “So far, I haven’t been able to find them anywhere. They…they might be dead. Or they might never have existed in the first place. The more I look, the less I feel like I know.”

“What a strange quest to have found yourself on,” the spirit comments, sounding amused, but not mockingly so. As if they find something about her oddities inherently endearing. Like a puppy chasing its tail. “And stranger still that it would lead you so deep into the Dreaming, knocking on the door to my home. You would have done better to seek out Curiosity or Purpose or Wisdom, if you were hoping to find some sort of guidance, little one. Or perhaps even Fortune, if your wish was to improve your chances of success. There is glory to be found in the completion of a journey, even if it does not end the way one might hope, but I confess that I have much more interest in the seekers than the lost things themselves. I am afraid I cannot help you.”

“Then…that means…you…you are-” Aili stammers, her -eyes going wide as saucers.

“I am Glory,” the spirit grins, as if her reaction is to be expected, “I thought you must be seeking me in particular, when I felt you trying to enter this place. There are traces of glory hanging about you, bright golden threads tethering you to something that does not quite exist. It is rare to see in someone so young.”

Aili stares at it until her eyes water, searching for something. Some hint or feature of her lost heart. Glory does not look like Uthvir, of course. And it is difficult to be certain, because the sense of the spirit is so vast and radiant that it nearly seems to swallow everything surrounding them, but…

“I think…I know you,” she breathes out, and it feels like her lungs have been burning to exhale that single sentence for a thousand years.

Glory smiles at her again.

“I can see why you must feel that way,” it tells her gently, “There are so many little sparks of light, threaded through your being, and flooding out into the Dreaming here. The pride you have for your people, the heights you reached for to champion them. The alliance you secured for their sakes, even though it also bought your own happiness. The heady rush of victory in battle, small and large. To save the world. To come home to those waiting arms and lift her up and-”

“Enough!” Aili snaps, suddenly brittle and aching. Glory blinks at her.

“I am…sorry, if I have upset you in some way,” it says slowly, bending down until it is nearly level with her face. It does not sound as though it quite understands what could be troubling her.

“I…have a warning for you,” Aili answers, and the words are ash in her mouth. It smacks of treachery, to sacrifice the possibility of Uthvir’s existence in exchange for Glory’s freedom, but she knows… it is what they would choose. She does not know if that makes it right or not, but perhaps that is as close to knowing as she is going to get. “I cannot be sure when it will happen, perhaps the wheels are in motion as we speak, but… The Evanuris will come for you. They will hunt you down and seal you away for the rest of your days. And… Please. Please, go deep into the Dreaming. Go now, and hide yourself where you can never be reached.”

Very carefully, Glory reaches out one of many hands, extends a single long finger, and traces a path down her cheek. Aili feels as though she is being warmed from the inside out. As though she could move mountains and leap over oceans and stop a wildfire with a wave of her hand all in a single afternoon. She thinks she might be close to tears.

“Do not be distressed, little heart,” the spirit coos at her, “You entered this place because I allowed it. It is safe here. The Glory of the People will linger long after your Evanuris have gone into the deep sleep.”

“But-” she tries, floundering.

“So much sadness, for one so small,” Glory continues, hushing her, “But have courage, there will come a time when you can look back at your achievements and feel joy again. Your heart is righteous and true, and it guides you faithfully. I think perhaps, we shall meet again, little dreamer. …But not here.”

“Wait!” Aili cries out, but it is too late. The spirit pushes her back, away from their haven, and even out of the Dreaming itself. And the next thing she knows, she is jolting awake in her bed.

She pitches a decorative vase across the room in frustration, shattering it against the far wall. ~

A few months later, she is expected to join her mother at the spring festival. The other evanuris journey to the city, ostensibly to enjoy the festivities, but truthfully because there have been more rumors of the Nameless encroaching on their territories, and there has been talk about needing to send an actual force out to crush them. Aili is not permitted to attend the actual political meetings, but there had been a request made by both of her grandparents that she at least be present in the meeting hall to greet them.

Aili still largely lets Sylaise dress her however she pleases; she can understand the importance of needed to make the right impression, and she certainly does not have a knack for following the frivolous trends of the Arlathan upper class. She thinks that her mother almost finds it strangely satisfying, though, no matter how she tuts and sighs and straightens her collar or moves a lock of hair back to where it should be. Her daughter is quite lovely, according to the Arlathan rumor mill, but lovely is not beautiful.

Not like Sylaise.

For her own part, Aili can say that she does not care about her appearance one way or another. And if her lack of perfection is somehow making her mother feel a bit more secure… Well. She can have it.

But her deficiencies do not seem to stop her uncle from staring at her all through the official proceedings with an intensity that makes her skin crawl.

She must not be the only one who had noticed, because the next day, her mother sits her down and begins teaching her how to alter her appearance with magic.

It makes her hyper aware of all her perceived flaws in a way she had never paid much attention to before. The slight crookedness of her front teeth. The fact that her left nostril is just the tiniest bit larger than her right. The sparse spray of freckles across her shoulders from long days of training out in the sun.

It is…strange to be without them. In a way she does not think she likes. Almost like wearing a mask.

There are definite advantages though. To not looking like herself. It makes it that much easier to look in the mirror and not see ghosts. Her father’s eyes. Her mother’s coloring. The echoes of a long-lost dream.

Aili finds that she can grasp the concept of it rather quickly.

The easiest change is her hair. She decides that she prefers it dark, unless her mother presses her to wear it in a different shade to match her outfit for an evening. Her skin shifts easily too, with a little more practice, and she moves away from the tawny golden color she had inherited from her mother, to more of a deep rich olive. And between the two, she hardly recognizes herself.

She never can seem to change the color of her eyes though. ~

Years pass, and Aili takes her place as her mother’s second, advising her and acting as her surrogate whenever needed. She finds that she has a much easier time loving her parents from afar, and spends whatever time she can out in one of the smaller country estates that her mother so rarely deigns to visit. She keeps in close contact with her beloved Aunt Lavellan though, extending whatever help she can to aid her in her efforts for subversion.

They are put somewhat on hold when the war begins.

She wants to fight, to join her aunt out with her father’s troops, but she is still considered young, and her parents will only humor her enough to accompany them to well-fortified campsites, when there is little to no chance of an actual skirmish.

Amidst it all, Aili has done her best to keep an eye on Ghilan’nain and Falon’Din, watching for any signs that they might be in pursuit of Glory at long last. But it is hard to keep track of between troop movements, and shifting supply routes, and building new settlements to provide for followers who have been uprooted by the fighting. Even Lavellan’s agents cannot keep track of everything.

The fighting drags on, long lulls of peace, broken by sudden fierce clashes. Over and over, like waves trying to beat down a range of mountains.

But every time she returns to the city, Arlathan almost seems to exist outside the rest of the world. The Nameless are discussed in hateful whispers, like an inconvenient infestation, instead of a serious threat. Distant and disconnected with anything that might actually change the course of their lives.

When she enters the meeting hall at her mother’s side, her eyes are automatically drawn to the delicate creature standing just behind Falon’Din. Long pale hair like spun sunlight. Smooth golden skin. Small and slight and somehow…lost.

Rage and grief flood the air around her before she even has a chance to form a coherent thought.  

“Do not,” her mother warns, reaching over and taking hold of her hand in a way that likely seems purely affectionate from far away. Her grip is fierce. “I know that you have an affection for spirits, but this is a deed that has already been done. Glory has been given a most beautiful form by Ghilan’nain, and Falnon’Din favors them greatly. There are worse fates.”

“Do you really believe that?” Aili wonders, looking up at her frowningly.

“I believe…that sometimes one creature must be called upon to endure hardships so that others may avoid it,” Sylaise says evenly, reaching up and moving one of her daughter’s dark curls back into its proper place, “Let Falon’Din have his prize, so long as it keeps him from seeking another one. A far more precious one.”    

Aili ducks her head, a sick churning feeling roiling in her gut. Sylaise catches up her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“I did ask,” she assures her softly, “I tried to convince him to engage in some sort of trade in exchange for them. I knew it would upset you. Your father and grandparents did as well. Your uncle is much too fixated on the delights of having something that we all so obviously want to take away from him. He will tire of them eventually, as he tires of all things, and then we can attempt to broach new negotiations.”

“Please,” Aili scrapes out in a broken whisper, “Please, help them. Who knows how many years it will take until he will consider giving them away? Who knows what he might do to them in the interim? What if he-”

“I will not start a feud with my brother in the middle of a war,” Sylaise answers sharply, “You are so fixated on sparing them, but consider all the other lives it would put at risk. The followers Falon’Din would sacrifice to bolster his power to win such a fight. Where is you compassion for them?”

“I…” she begins haltingly before bowing her head again, “You are right, of course. Forgive me. I met Glory once, when I was very young. It was kind to me, and I am afraid I have let sentiment cloud my judgement.”

“You never told me that,” Sylaise blinks at her. Aili shrugs despondently and her mother smiles, stroking her hair fondly, “You have a soft heart, my sweet child. But you should not be so quick to let it show. It makes an easy target for loose daggers.”

Her aunt is of a slightly different opinion.

“I am going to kill him,” Lavellan informs her quietly when they are alone in a somewhat secluded corner of the room, her tone casual, as if asking Aili what the weather has been like in Sylaise’s territory as of late. It is the third day of their meetings, and there are less people and less general enthusiasm for the tasks at hand. Falon’Din is still parading his new acquisition around, but he is drawing a noticeably reduced amount of attention for it, and it seems to be irritating him to no small degree.

“Not if I beat you to it,” Aili grates out under her breath, “But in the meantime, something must be done to help Glory.”

“I am open to suggestions,” the General nods, “but this might not be the best place for such a discussion.”

“Of course,” Aili agrees, her eyes still glued on the poor creature as Falon’Din all but drags them across the room. They seem despondent. Confused. Barely capable of stringing together whole sentences.      

Her jaw clenches, frustration and sorrow radiating from her in fits and bursts. Lavellan eyes her pensively.

“This…is not just about another abused spirit, is it?” she wonders.

“Do you remember some years ago, when I asked about whether it was right to allow something terrible to happen in order to ensure that someone you love came to exist?” Aili returns.

“I think so?” Lavellan answers slowly.

“Well,” Aili sighs dejectedly, “This…is the terrible thing. I tried to stop it, but it happened anyway. And worse than that… I think it might have happened because of me, in some part.”

Lavellan puts a hand on her shoulder. Steadying.

“At least you do not seem to have made things any worse than they were going to be without you,” she offers, though she does not sound any more comforted by the idea than she expects Aili to be. “I’m sorry, lethallan. Hopefully, we will have better luck with other attempts we make to change how history will unfold.”

“What if it was Solas?” Aili asks pointedly. Lavellan’s eyes move back towards the helpless figure being touted about the room like a prized show pony, and her expression sours further. Her hand twitches towards her blade, as though on reflex.

“I never said we were abandoning them to their fate,” she reminds her firmly, “We will find a way to get them away from him, I promise.”

“In the meantime, I think I shall remind my dear uncle that he cannot, in fact, have everything he wants,” Aili grinds out, her hair already lightening. Her aunt grabs her by the wrist.

“Don’t,” she hisses out, “If he is focused on getting back at you, you’ll have even fewer chances at getting Glory away from him.”

“Precisely,” Aili retorts, finishing her shift back to her natural coloring, but leaving the alterations to her features and complexion, giving her that strangely manufactured sort of beauty that Sylaise favors. “If all his attention is on me, he will not be paying attention to anything you might do. He will be watching my people, not yours. If he raises a hand to me, Elgar’nan will beat him senseless, assuming my mother does not kill him first. He wants to flaunt something that everyone desires and no one else can have, and I intend to flaunt right back.”

“This could backfire spectacularly,” Lavellan points out, “What if this makes everything that much worse for Glory? What if he takes out his frustrations on them when he cannot get at you?”

“…I am not sure I believe anything could make things too much worse for Glory than they already are,” Aili murmurs, “And it could just as easily have the opposite effect. He could get bored of them more quickly, and move on to something else.”

“Are you willing to risk that?” Lavellan wonders.

Aili pauses for a moment, catching her gaze.

“All we can do is try. Fix what can be fixed. Save who can be saved.” ~

The fact that she has altered her coloring is not lost on anyone, least of all Falon’Din, even as he does his best to pretend as though she is beneath his notice. There is also some quite murmuring about the obvious similarities between Sylaise’s child and the Lord of the Dead’s new prize. Aili walks with her head held high, trying to project confidence that she does not quite feel as she approaches the pair of them.

Falon’Din is still acting as though he is unaware of her existence, and she takes advantage of the moment to extend her hand, and trace a single finger down the side of Glory’s cheek. Her heart wrenching at the sight of the bright blue vallaslin scrawled across their face. Spilling out over their features like tears.

“I think I know you,” she tells them softly.

Glory blinks up at her with violet eyes. Not quite the same shade as hers, but noticeably similar. Their expression is glazed, as though drunk or possibly drugged, but they seem to find the wherewithal to meet her eyes when she speaks to them.

Falon’Din’s grip of her hand is crushing.

“Do not touch what is mine,” he hisses out, furious, and clearly barely holding himself back striking her, or something much more. Aili smiles at him, doing her best not to wince. Or rip his arm from his socket and beat him to death with it. But there is collateral damage to consider, including Glory themselves, so she restrains herself.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” she says brightly, venom seeping out around the edges of her tone, “I am curious by nature, as you know. Aunt Ghilan’nain’s work is always so impressive, is it not? To be capable of binding such a powerful spirit and building such a beautiful body for it to inhabit… I find myself almost in awe. She did not get all the details quite right though, did she? The eyes are still a little too blue. Still, I must congratulate her before the meetings conclude; Ghilan’nain’s Glory is a sight to behold.”

“Glory is mine,” Falon’Din all but shrieks.

“Glory cannot simply be given,” Aili snorts in disdain, “Real glory is only for those who earn it. Who seek it out with a true, clear purpose. Who embody the things that it values so much that it comes to them willingly. Ghilan’nain achieved this Glory. All you did was receive a gift.”

Falon’Din raises a hand to strike her-

And Sylaise yanks her back away from him, fire in her eyes, radiating cold fury.

“What do you think you are doing?” she demands, and Aili is not sure which one of them she is talking to. Her uncle seems to find his tongue before she does, though.

“I am teaching her a valuable lesson about insolence,” he snaps.

“She is a child,” Sylaise retorts.

“She is only a child by your warped perceptions,” he snarls back, “She is more than old enough to receive punishment for her actions.”

“She is my child,” Sylaise reiterates through bared teeth, “If anyone is going to punish her, it shall be me, and no one else.”

Falon’Din makes a face, and Aili gets the distinct impression that he is weighing the outcome of starting an all-out brawl in the middle of the meeting hall. His conclusion seems to be that it would not end well for him. He scoffs.

“See that you find the time in that busy schedule of yours to teach her some manners,” he spits out as he storms off, all but dragging Glory in his wake, “Before she offends someone with less magnanimity, and something tragic occurs.” ~

But despite the obvious threat, and several attempts made on her life, including one where she was nearly stabbed during a procession in the streets of Arlathan itself, the only figure who seems to attract tragedy is poor Glory.

Aili does not see them fall, too busy maneuvering her own small portion of her mother’s troops across a different area of the battlefield, it is one of her first major fights, and she is eager to prove herself capable. But she feels it somehow. Down in the marrow of her bones. And she hears the cry that follows. The outrage and fury.

She turns, and breaks formation, trying to fight her way over to where they have fallen, but she is too far away.

She comes for them after. When the main body of the army has withdrawn and there is no one left on the field but the dead and the dying. And the carrion birds circling overhead.

As gently as she can, she pulls the shaft of the black arrow from their back and seals the wound with healing magic, turning them over in her arms and caressing their face. Not dead. Not yet. But close. Closer than she would like.

She gathers as many fragments of the shattered spirit as she can find, and lifts Glory’s body in her arms as though they weigh nothing. Hastily making her way towards where she knows some of Lavellan’s agents are waiting.

“Stop!” a voice calls out, and she turns her head to see three scouts approaching, all bearing Ghilan’nain’s markings. “Our lady wishes that the body of her failed experiment should be returned to her for study. We have been ordered to remove them from the battlefield.”

Aili pulls away her helmet so they can see her face. Free of any vallaslin. The symbols of Sylaise scrawled over the shapes of her armor, bright as moonlight. She scowls at them as they seem to put two and two together and realize who they have been shouting at.

“You are free to take them from me, if you can,” she offers simply, continuing on her way.

She changes directions a few times, wandering about until she is sure she is not being followed before doubling back and seeking out her aunt’s people.

“Here,” she says, passing the limp body into one of the agent’s arms, “You are…Desire, yes? My aunt told me you would be the one to help them. I was seen taking the body away, which means Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain’s eyes will be on me. Keep them away from Sylaise’s territory. Find somewhere secure in my father’s lands. His voice has been largely quiet on this matter, and they will not suspect him.”

Desire looks as though she is caught somewhere between bursting into tears and vomiting. Aili can hardly blame her. She takes the pouch of spirit shards from her hip and passes it to her.

“This was all there was left of them,” she informs her quietly. “I am…so sorry.” ~

The years pass much as they always do. Armor and battles. Fine dresses and festivals. Mountains of tedious paperwork to ensure that her mother’s territory runs smoothly. Especially in the more rural areas she is most likely to overlook.

She has no word of Glory.

Aili insisted that it be that way, for their safety. And because she does not know what sort of strange effect she might have had on them, if she had been the one to shape their views of the world. If her obvious devotion would somehow be misconstrued as an obsession similar to Falon’Din’s.  

The spring festival arrives in Arlathan again, and her mother insists, as she always does, that she attend.

She is in an outfit that makes her feel like a walking rosebush more than anything else. Live flowers blooming across the top of her gown, bright blushing pink and dark velvety crimson, offset with threads of gold and touches of starlight all tumbling down into a gauzy green skirt. Her hair is a loud flaming red, and her skin is pale, as though suggesting she is merely another type of rose.

The damn train on this dress is an absolute menace.

She spots them standing near the General, out in one of the open courtyards in front of one of the Pleasure houses. Melarue’s if she is not mistaken. She does not spend much time here herself, unless there is some function going on in the city, but it is difficult to know anything of the Pleasure District without hearing their name.

Aili hears her heart thundering roughly in her chest as she walks over to them, attempting to act casual. They look younger, brighter somehow, than she remembers. They wear their hair in a slightly different fashion and, the biggest difference of all, the vallaslin written across their face is done in copper instead of red. June’s vallaslin.

“Aunt Lavellan,” she greets, pressing forward for a brief embrace, made somewhat awkward between all of her leafy bits of finery and the shapes of the General’s armor. Her eyes shift to her companion and she nearly swallows her tongue. They will not be the same, she reminds herself. They will not know her. “And who is this?”

“My name is Uthvir, my lady,” they say with a courteous bow, “I have the honor of serving your father as a cartographer.”

“A fine and noble profession,” she commends.

“Thank you, my lady,” they reply with another inclination of their head.

Silence blooms between them. Lavellan gives her a look. Uthvir blinks at her. And for her own part, Aili finds herself at a complete loss for words.

I think I know you, she nearly blurts out. She can see the same features that she fell in love with. Their nose. Their chin. Their eyes. The face of her spouse.

The face of her beloved daughter.

Instead she tugs a rose off of her dress, a red one, and hands it to them.

“You should dance with me some time,” she tells them instead, smiling faintly and hoping they do not catch the slight waver in her voice, “When you are feeling brave.”  

[scurvgirl]

How To Train Your Dragonling

Nope, haven’t finished the great big Inquisitor!Kass fill with people, but here have some Aili and Uthvir bonding with Ashokara.

Aili belongs to @lillotte17, Uthvir belongs to @feynites, Melarue belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Also, I am going off of Origins classification of magic for ease of reference. 

“I want to learn how to fight,” Ash says. Mama’s out with Melarue and Solas and Bull on some trip. Mama leaves a lot these days, but Skyhold’s nice, there are some fun people she can run around with. Like Sera, Sera is lots of fun.

But Commander Cullen is absolutely not fun.

“No, your mother is not here. And besides you are...eight and...not big enough,” he says. Ashokara sniffs.

“I’m almost as big as Uthvir, and they fight.”

“Yes, well, they’re an adult.” And that is apparently when he decides he’s done talking with the Inquisitor’s daughter and heads off with some other human messenger. 

Ash grunts angrily and smoke puffs out of her nose, like a dragon. Just like a dragon, except that no one is teaching her how to actually be a dragon! It’s so frustrating, all she wants to do is help and to actually...do what she feels like she should be doing with her magic. The old Circle marms don’t get it, she’s not a peaceful, happy, healing mage - she’s...fire. And she wants to use that fire, but every time she tries to express that desire they get all concerned that she’s going to end up like some old poor mage they once knew, blah blah blah. 

She’s not bad for wanting to use her magic in the way that it naturally manifests, she doesn’t think. And she doesn’t want to force herself to use the magic that doesn’t come naturally to her - like spirit magic. Spirit magic makes absolutely no sense to her, and Cole even tried to help her a big with it because of his whole...spirit weirdness. But primal, fire and even some of the other elements - those make sense. 

It also seems like the appropriate time to learn how to fight, she thinks. She’s been asking ever since Haven and Melarue has shown her some things when it comes to daggers, but they’re gone almost as frequently as Mama. She’s asked others - Solas, Vivienne, Dorian. Madame Vivienne showed Ash how to construct a barrier from more primal based magic. Dorian, while very powerful even with his weird Tevinter-ness, was very flourishy and not really the best teacher all things considered. Solas tried but quickly found that Ash’s magic is so different from his that he had trouble teaching her. 

Ash finally gave up and switched tactics - if she can’t learn fighting magic, she can learn how to use a sword or a spear or a...hammer or something. But apparently Commander Cullen is completely against the idea, or maybe he’s lying for ease because he’s already so busy. Whatever the reason, he told her no. 

But she will not be deterred, she is the Inquisitor’s daughter after all. 

Ashokara heads out after the training group, grabbing what looks to be a practice sword on the way. Or at least, she tries to pick it up. It’s heavy! She never thought they were this heavy, sure it’s metal but...Mama wields swords almost twice this size and doesn’t even blink at the weight. 

Mama is very strong.

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish?” A low voice asks from behind her. Ash yips, drops the sword, and spins around to see Uthvir standing there, arms crossed and mouth quirked into a smirk. 

“Uuh,” she stammers.

“Because it looks like you’re trying to pick up that training sword and go practice with the soldiers after being told ‘no’,” they say and she darts her eyes to the side.

“It’s not like I was gonna hurt anybody.”

“Except yourself. You’ll wrench your arm and throw your back if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t ask anybody to teach me! Everyone said no or gave up! But I’m not gonna give up so I’m trying!” She declares though she thinks it comes out whinier than intended. But she doesn’t back down and crosses her arms, lifting her chin in defiance. But Uthvir doesn’t seemed offended or upset at all, instead their smirk turns more into a smile and they uncross their arms.

“I never said that it was a bad idea, dragonling. I can show you how to fight.”

Wait, did they really just say that? Ash blinks at them.

“Wait, really? You don’t think I’m too young or small or I don’t need to?” She asks quickly.

“You’re eight, which is old enough to me for this weird world we live in. No, you’re not too small, and you’re the inquisitor’s daughter. You’re a target, you should know how to defend yourself at least,” they summarize, counting on their gauntlet clad fingers. 

“That’s what I said! But nobody listened to me!” She exclaimed, holding out her hands. 

Uthvir turned and waved for her to follow of their shoulder, “Come along then.” 

She hurries quickly after them, almost tripping over the practice sword before jumping away. She’s...really going to do it, then. And Uthvir of all people is going to show her!

They’re usually not around that much, they keep to themselves for the most part, only heading out when the scouts really need them, though Ash isn’t entirely sure what it is they do. 

But they’re going to teach her! 

“What weapons are we going to use? Do you use sword or daggers or big swords and axes or spears and what are those things with the three pointy things? Melarue sometimes uses a whip, do you use a whip?” She rambles.

Uthvir doesn’t reply as she rambles on, questioning them about everything. Instead they just lead her to a smaller courtyard, located further back from the stables. 

“Oh! Maybe a mace! Something to clobber someone!” She says excitedly. 

They nod, “That does sound exciting. Now give me twenty push-ups.”

Her brow furrows in confusion, “What?”

“Did I stutter? I said do twenty push-ups!” 

She blinks and does the translation in her head, it’s not exactly a common phrase -

“Ashokara -

“Oh!” One of those! She drops to her hands and feet and begins to raise and lower herself as instructed. Uthvir corrects her form many times and when she’s done, her arms are aching a bit. Next they tell her to do twenty sit-ups, which she does. Her tummy aches, but she gets through it. 

And then comes the running. So much running! Why is there so much running?

By the end of the day, she hasn’t even touched a weapon but her body is aching and exhausted. They tell her good work and they’ll see her tomorrow but oh, she doesn’t know if there’s going to be a tomorrow if she can’t peel herself off the ground. 

But she manages to get up and Josephine finds her and ends up eating with her. Josie rambles on about documents and things and gives Ash new things to practice her reading on, but really at this point, she just wants to sleep. 

She practically collapses into Mama’s bed and sleeps so deeply that not even demons touch her dreams.

The next day brings with it ravenous hunger and aches and pains. But Uthvir is unrelenting as they make her run, jump, and whatever else they deem necessary to build her up to working with actual weapons. 

But they tell her that they think that’s enough for the day by lunch time and they go back to their duties while she is left to recover and return to her actual magical studies. 

The old Circle marms tell her she’s late and she shrugs.

“Important Inquisitor’s Daughter’s business, you know,” she says and it’s not like they can really do anything. 

And so training with Uthvir goes. She rises early, eats breakfast with them and then they train. At some point, training gets easier, but then they realize that she isn’t quite so winded, so they make it a tad more difficult. 

Mama and Melarue come back to Skyhold after three weeks away, and they are quick to monopolize her time. But Ash isn’t complaining, she’s missed them and she does cling to Mama for the first couple days she’s back. They all sup together in Mama’s rooms and Ash tells them about how Uthvir has been training her and how great it is. Mama doesn’t even get mad and neither does Melarue, but Mama does look a little sad and says she’s sorry for not being able to train her herself. 

“Uthvir’s really great, too, Mama. They know a lot.”

She cuddles Mama extra-long that night and asks for three stories instead of her normal two. 

The fourth day she resumes training with Uthvir...and Melarue decides to observe. They tell Uthvir to lighten up a bit, that while she needs to learn to defend herself, running an eight-year-old into the ground is not how you do things. 

“Just because she is almost the same size as you does not mean she can handle the things you or an adult elf can - she is a child,” they warn and Uthvir...listens. In their own way, Ash guesses. 

Her regimens become longer but less intense and much more manageable. 

A week later and Ash walks into the courtyard to find them holding two long wooden rods that she’s seen the soldiers use from time to time. They hand one to her and she tests the weight, finding it to be sturdy but not too heavy, not like the practice sword all those weeks ago.

“Are we -

“Mages use staves, correct? You should know how to use one correctly, not like those inept fools in the rebellion,” they say with a bit more bite than she’s used to. But then they start showing her the proper stance and way to hold the staff. They move to basic moves and generally getting her comfortable with it. 

Ash is sweating by the end of their session, but grinning wildly. She really wants to hug them, but refrains, they’re seem to be extra spiky today and she takes that as a cue. 

But then  someone walks into the courtyard and Uthvir stops what they’re doing and looks around a little...sheepishly?

“Uthvir, are you...?”

“She is a target, she needs to know how to defend herself,” they immediately respond to Aili’s probing question. But Ash smirks.

“They totally offered to train me! Isn’t it great?” She says.

Aili looks back over at Uthvir who is scowling at her. They stalk over to her and take the practice staff away.

“That is enough for today, I have many things to do other than babysitting -

“Hey! You said we were training buddies and that this is way better than sitting around filing stupid reports that don’t mean anything!” She quickly defends. 

“Training buddies?” Aili asks.

“I did not say that!”

“Uh yes, you did. You said it last week when I was tired and didn’t think I could run four more laps and said that you had more important things to do than train me. You said I’m your training buddy and that this is much more fun than sitting around,” she counters. A hush falls over the courtyard and Uthvir purses their lips. 

“You’re nice!” Aili suddenly says.

“NO! This is practical!��� They immediately shoot back.

Ash blinks and shrugs, “Why can’t it be both?” The adults quiet for a moment. 

“You’re niiiiiiice!” Aili says again. 

“Stop saying that!” They object again.

“I’m confused, is being nice a bad thing?” Ashokara asks.

“No, being nice is a very good thing, be nice...like Uthvir,” Aili responds. Ash furrows her brow.

“So...I should cover myself in spikes, say ‘fuck’ a lot but do nice things for people even when they don’t ask?” The adults pause at that and Aili’s face turns red.

“I would leave the spikes and cursing out, but yes! Just like that!” Aili nods and looks vaguely victorious while Uthvir lets out an exasperated breath. 

“I could always train with you too, you know.” Aili says after a moment. Both Uthvir and Ash startle at that and Ash breaks into a big grin. 

“Really?!”

Aili smiles at Ash and lifts her hand, bright orange flames suddenly bursting to life in her palm. Ash squeals and runs over to Aili, throwing her arms around her.

“You’re like me!” 

The elf staggers a bit but hugs Ash back. She’s warm like Ash is and she smells like flowers which is nice too. 

“You’ll let me set fire to things?” She asks.

“Targets, sure! How else do you learn how to control fire?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Ash declares. She turns back to face Uthvir who has finished putting their things up. She makes a circle with her arms and leans in, tilting her head.

“What are you doing?” They ask.

“Air hugs! You don’t like touching hugs, so air hugs!” Ash declares proudly before hugging Aili again. She closes her eyes in happiness, she has training buddies now! Two of them! 

[hogwartselementumrp]

Congratulations Caitlin on your acceptance as Ailis Darrow! Ailis always was, arguably, my favorite character you’ve played in this RP, and it is my pleasure and excitement to welcome her back. Her return is timely with her work in the dragon reserves and the recent events in Hogsmeade and I think she’ll have a lot to add. Thank you for being adaptable when asked to tweak things in the bio. Get her back on the dash as soon as possible! Also, I could in fact make you write a para sample, but I will not tonight.

Out of Character Information

Name/Alias: True evil has no name,

Preferred Pronoun: True evil also has no preferred pronouns.

Age: Super, incredibly, depressingly old. Oh what happened to the days of my youth? Did I sleep them away? Almost certainly.

Timezone: I don’t think I’ve ever known how timezones work I’m here when I’m here el oh el.

Activity Level: My buddies my pals do you really think after almost three years that you can get rid of me ever

How did you find the RP (new members): Beth has a contract that says she owns my soul.

Original Character Information:

Desired Character: Ailis Darrow

Face Claim: Penelope Mitchell

School Functions: She was Ravenclaw beater and an avid member of the duelling club

Character’s Sexuality: *vague hands gesture* ehhhhhh.

Why do you believe this will be a good character in this specific roleplay? Oh Ailis. I don’t know what to say for Ailis. Have we not all missed the four and a half feet of angry scottish deaf girl screeching across the dash? She brings life and excitement and obviously a new dynamic with her deafness but that’s veering too far away from the overall nostalgia I’m going for here. She’s super super great and I love her and I am sure everyone who remembers her will too, and that everyone who doesn’t will quickly grow to love her. Originally the first time I thought about bringing her back Cerlis was going to be my concluding argument but since we no longer have a Ceri I’m gonna have to just go with a post-Ceri Ailis, who will be a little sharper and a little harder but also at the same time the opposite. Be excited, buddies.

This is the bio layout, we ask you fill it out changing it with the right info!

Ailis Darrow is 20 years old, worked on the Dragon Reserve in Romania, and was in the house of Ravenclaw.

                                          ❝I do not spit profanities. I sign them clearly, like a fucking lady.

↳ MAGIC

Ailis’ elemental magic jumps back and forth on a spectrum. Either it is basically raw, destructive power, like a sledgehammer, and has been known to break down doors, or it is incredibly delicate and refined in its use. Her more delicate use of her elemental magic is mostly to do with the fact that she is completely deaf in both ears, and so when growing up learnt to use her magic to ‘hear’ things instead; to feel, sense vibrations in the air caused by speech and other kinds of noise. Over the years - and through her course of studying various magical creatures, and how those that are naturally deaf compensate for the missing sense - she has gotten a little better at using her elemental magic to identify specific words and voices, and can now easily recognise her name; however, she still relies mostly on lip reading and sign language to communicate. Her magic remains especially useful when she is having a bludger knocked at her across a quidditch pitch, this minor display of her elemental power being accepted as the one exception to the 'no Air Magic during games’ rule on account of her disability whenever she plays, either by whoever is designated referee in informal games or the officials in the mini leagues she played with her fellow dragon tamers. Her wand magic is still significantly less refined than her elemental magic, with her talents lying almost exclusively in Care of Magical Creatures and Charms, with Potions and Defence Against The Dark Arts coming a close second. Her form is, much of the time, perfect; but she lacks real power, and always detested studying the assigned material. Ailis was much more fond of researching things she finds personally interesting, like mythology and the migration habits of various non magical birds; and while continuing her study and care for magical creatures, had only really had reason to practice spells related directly to them. Lately, however, she has been concentrating heavily on practicing her old dueling spells, and has renewed confidence in the power behind her more offensive spells.

↳ BACKSTORY

Ailis Darrow is no longer the girl she was when she left Scotland.

Yes, she remains the youngest of nine children, and she is still as quick to anger and violence as she ever was; but the edges once softened by a sweet, shy ballerina have grown hard and sharp in her time in Romania, and what was previously only ever recklessness is now equally likely to be carefully calculated wisdom and vengence.

The attacks in Britain have not gone unnoticed by her. She kept up her correspondence with her friends, of course, wrote to her family, to Olivier always an to Ceri when she could bare it, and to Lawrence when he was not to busy with his budding career and wrapped up in his lovely, too-good-for-him boyfriend and could be bothered to reply, but for the most part she relied on her information from the newspapers and whatever she could manipulate out of the Hogwarts interns that visited throughout the year.

The picture every report painted was not a pretty one, and for a long time she debated returning, striding back into Hogsmede and doing her bit to protect her friends and family from the building horror they might soon face; but it was with the attack on Hogwarts and the taking of the castle that she was pushed over the edge, compelled into finally returning home.

Hogwarts was never her home the way it was for so many of her fellow students. She never needed the safety of its walls, not felt so at home there that leaving was ever bittersweet. But it was a symbol, once, of good and of learning and of battles long won; and though she cares about symbolism less than most anything else, what she will never stand for is a dragon being used to break things.

With an occamy she hand raised and could not bare to leave behind curled up in her coat pocket, and Echo always on her heels, she returns to Diagon Alley entirely furious, barely prepared, completely determined; and almost certainly, soon to be driven entirely mad from having to deal with her dear best friends.

↳ PERSONALITY TRAITS

» {+ positives} Loyal, Passionate, Decisive,  Adaptive

» {- negatives}  Reckless, Volatile, Vengeful, Stubborn

↳ BASICS

» blood status: Half Blood

» elemental power: Air

» affinity level: High Affinity, Middlingly Studious

» date of birth:  13th January

» wand: 9 ½ inches, Unicorn tail hair, slightly springy

» faceclaim: Penelope Mitchell

Ailis Darrow IS PLAYED BY Caitlin

Sample Para

You can’t make meeeeeeee