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herald-divine-hell · 4 years ago

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WIP

A/N: Me? Writing Woven Memories chapters? Nonsense. But, alas, here we stand, amongst ancient memories long harbored within myself. I finally got to writing against chapter 2 (though, three in the actual fanfic) of Woven Memories. Hope you all enjoy. Here is a little snippet of what I had have been writing:

Shaking his head, Amayian mimicked the stance of the elf, one his father often took as well, whenever he met with other lesser nobles. It looked brave, and Amayian wanted to be brave, like his father and mother, like Dilaron. Dilaron never scurried to any lord, perhaps because he knew the weight of Lord Rhyis’ patronage, but Amayian did not doubt he would not stop his mouth even if did not have it. “Dilaron, can a man always be honorable?”

“Can a man always be honorable?” A faint murmur of a smile rose to his lips, amused and intrigued all at once. There was mirth and something like pride in his eyes; the pride made a warm feeling move within Amayian, lingering up toward his cheeks, like a bird perching on a branch. He tilted his head upward, a little to the side, and rose a slender finger up to tap at his chin. “I am no philosopher—I did not have your noble education, my lord. So, I will ask you. What is honor?”

Brows furrowing together, he felt his hands clasped together behind him as began to chew at his bottom lip. “Honor...honor is like the stories, isn’t it? Being kind! And...and being gentle!” His chest rose a little as he said it.

“Yes,” said Dilaron, nodding. “But what is honor?”

He raked through his mind to find an answer, from any of the stories and songs his mother told him at bedtime, and found none besides the two he had said. Glancing down, Amayian whispered a soft, “I don’t know.”

Amayian felt a soft and gentle hand cup his chin. Being forced to look up, he met Dilaron's green-silvery eyes melting into soft fires by the reflection of torchlight. Dilaron was knelt before him, and he began to cumb through Amayian’s mane of black curls with a soft hand, fixing some strands here and there. “It is okay to not know. Admitting you do not know something is a thing of honor. Being honorable is doing something that is right. Now, being right is something that is often a thing to question. Is it right to take from a noble if he took food from his peasants without any care? It would be an honorable thing to do so, would it not? But then the noble’s child would starve. Is that not a dishonorable thing?”

Dilaron rose and offered a hand. Amayian took it, and they began to walk toward the kitchen. “Honor and revenge are two sides on the same coin, Amayian. I had been with your mother and father at the siege of Starkhaven. They were most honorable, since they sought to keep the looting and burning of homes, the killings of people, to a smaller amount that would have otherwise been from a less noble lord. War is dishonor, it is mere slaughter, something you must recognize. There is rarely any glory from it. The only true glory is mercy. To do the right thing is something that can be often muddied by different matters, but if you give mercy, and yes, kindness, when every path is bloodied and paved with fire, then you are honorable. Do you understand?”

A waft of something sweet fluttered through the air. Amayian and Dilaron passed through smaller and greater corridors, reliefs and friezes of racing horses and emblazoned suns ran the edges of the curving ceilings. At some points, there were little alcoves where muqarnas protruded above a statue of glass or a porcelain vase with blue vines snacking over the surface holding a gardenia or some other flower Amayian did not know the name of, on fluted columns of marble. A memory of Amayian accidentally causing one of those marble pillars which held them flitted through his head, flashing before receding with a little shake. That was not a thing of honor, he thought, breaking something. He had faced his mother’s anger at that. “Yes,” he whispered, shifting a little as he remembered the sting of his behind from her hand. “I believe so.”

Dilaron nodded. “Good. I knew you would.”

The words brought a smile to his lips, and the sweetening scent grew thicker, which caused Amayian to run a little more faster to the kitchen. A chuckle came from the elven servant as he was forced to speed up his walk, calling out to Amayian to slow down. But he could not, not for hot chocolate.

Passed old ancestral armor, steeled-gauntlets clasping tight upon leather-bounded hilts, visors slammed shut; yet they seemed to fall Amayian’s walk, like the ancestors of the House Trevelyan judged his every step, as if he stained their old halls with his presence. Whenever he walked past such armor, he always stepped lightly, afraid to awaken the ancient Trevelyans, who seemed ready to leap from their steely stances and strike him down at any moment. He remembered enough of his teachings to recall most were members of the Templar Order.

Tapestries of blue and gold and black and scarlet hung in between the armored statues, depicting scenes of Trevelyans facing the hordes of the Qunari on the double walls of Ostwick, arrows flying overhead, flames rushing up from the side of the Qunari, who appeared like bestial bulls, horned and snarling with forked tongues and sharp teeth. Others depicted some other noteworthy Trevelyans, a lay sister who quelled an uprising of elves with prayers to the Maker. Sister Nisylia, if he remembered correctly.

Another depicted three Grey Wardens, the triplets Orhian, Myriamed, and Jahsiar, garbed in armor of blue and silver and spears of light, protecting a chantry while Darkspawn swarmed. It was during the Third Blight, Amayian knew. The history of the Grey Wardens were his favorite to learn. The Darkspawn had been pushed away, the chantry, the city, and its people had been saved, though Jahsiar had fallen that day. If a thousand are saved, and a single man’s death may do so, cut the single man down, and do it swiftly and do it with no hesitation, was what his father often reminded him, when he went with him to see the Teryn’s justice done.

#work in progress #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #woven memories #da #dai #dragon age trevelyan #dragon age ocs #my ocs #amayian trevelyan

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