#Revas Mahariel

[eattteetth]

Whiny elf alert 🚨 Dragon age: Origins oc just dropped. MAJOR WIP. I am flipping through VTMB, BG3, and DA like no one’s business. ADHD is real and it fucked me in the ass.

He’s a revamping of my last Dalish elf oc, both named Revas. Now he’s a warrior with a chainmail helmet because I had a bone shaking desire for an oc in a chainmail helmet and a full suit of armor.

Gaymers, should he be trans? Yes he should. Okay he’s trans 🏳️‍⚧️ Also he’s like 6’2. He looms. Lurks, even.

[sapphodera]

Ashadin'an Mahariel - Vera Hawke - Somniar Lavellan

My DA protags during Veilguard

[loony-lupus]

[loveacrossthedaszine]

If you have any questions, our schedule and FAQ sheet is up on our carrd!

[choccy-zefirka]

We previously had a whole Discourse Session about x reader fic on this blog, but I just saw this in visual form on my dashboard (Blorbo hugging/kissing a greyed-out silhouette instead of the artist's OC), and I am back to thinking how being expected to insert my OC into the author-prepared slot is not my thing (and makes me a bit sad, actually) because... all my OCs fall for their love interest, even if it's the same person, for different reasons.

Isk and Wyll are childhood friends who keep being torn apart by circumstances but inevitably find each other. Mariposa and Wyll are gender-swapped Beauty and the Beast; he is the radiant guiding light that inspires her to rise above her Dark Urge. Wilhelm is a classic sad dad, so his partners Wyll and Karlach help him find joy and whimsy in life again. Or, for example, Alyrr stirs Halsin's heart because she is kind to him, while Cinder falls for Halsin because he is kind to *her*; same goes for Niamh and Zevlor vs Dee and Zevlor.

Likewise, in other fandoms, Azelma Cadash and Blackwall initially despise each other because she thinks he's a boring straight-laced fuddy duddy, and he thinks she's a spoiled princess luxuriating in her father's crime spoils and wearing a Stop Being Poor T-shirt, but as their friendship progresses, each discovers that the other is a more nuanced person than their first impressions might suggest. While Naali Adaar teams up with him as Protector of the Small, and Adiba Adaar turns his head with her incredible Nerd Powers (Nana Lavellan is somewhere at the intersection of that, because she is both a nerd and a professional babysitter in her clan). Thraer Aeducan bonds with Morrigan like a golden retriever excitedly following her around; and Revas Mahariel sits across the room from her like they are a cat and she is also a cat, slowly getting accustomed to each other. Nella Amell gets to Zevran with her sweetness and faith in people, and Zevran gets to Brianna Cousland with his roguish charms, even as she appears to have hidden herself behind a wall of ice and grief.

Alisa Shepard is a neurotic perfectionist, Natalie Shepard is an enthusiastic, confident space adventurer; Garrus loves each of them. And in my newest obsession, Cyberpunk, my current rough and tough but secretly artistic street kid V is going to employ different tactics when convincing Takemura to ditch Arasaka through the power of love (shhh, let me have my headcanon) compared to a hyper-stressed, disillusioned corpo V and a happy-go-lucky nomad V I also have planned. And so on and so on and so on.

Can all these different love stories truly be expressed through x reader fics? Even if x reader is mostly focused on smut, I am not sure how much maneuvering you can do while leaving it generic. Again, going back to my own OCs, Arryn Lavellan, a hot-headed 20-something Dalish First, is a virgin who pretends to be sexually experienced to win Respect Points, and then learns the lesson that he did not have to do that; while Elgara Lavellan, a Circle mage and ex-Tranquil, is also a virgin due to her life circumstances, and her lesson is that there's no shame in having a "first time" after 40. Cinder the Tav is a half-Orc, half-Tiefling, used to being fetishized by intimate partners because of her appearance, so she gets her mind blown when Halsin worships her body as a great gift of nature. Laulu the Tav is a half-Orc, half-Halfling, a humble farm girl with dreams of someone who will love her for her, not her glamorous elf bard persona (courtesy of Disguise Self), so she gets *her* mind blown when Gale takes her, the real her, on a journey through the stars. But Amaya, a full Halfling this time, is a vengeful paladin who used to be married to an evil wizard that entrapped her in illusions of love and bliss in order to manipulate her to do his bidding, so she opts for the humble tryst in the woods, blowing *Gale's* mind this time as he realizes that he can be wanted for more than his magic. So for all of them, even smut will flow differently.

Some anons I got argued that inserting your OC into a love story focused on a canon character is too self-centered; you have to give other people a chance to imagine *their* OCs in this blank spot! And I guess it works for some people (a lot of people, in fact), but I would rather write stories and make art about specific OCs and read stories and admire art with *your* specific OCs and all the endless ways they can kiss that Blorbo.

[lesbiankoby]

mahvir mahariel, his sister revas [???????] mahariel lavellan (she had another name i haven’t decided on— she started going by revas when she was traded to clan lavellan), and nel (not their real name) mevar (also probably not their real name), otherwise known as rook.

malcom hawke jr not shown but she’s mostly just default marian hawke lol

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

I gotta hear more about this Multiwarden AU

I think everyone has some sort of multiwarden AU but for me:

The idea centers around the idea of a what if there were multiple Wardens which progressed into ‘hey I want more Hawkes’ and then ‘what if all the Inquisitor possibilities were around to’.

The base idea is that Duncan recruits all the Wardens and they save the world, right? It then goes into ‘what if Hawke had more people with them’ and I was adding more people. Then the Inquisitor thing was ‘so what if Lavellan did get the orb but everyone else lived and now they’re all part of the inner circle’ which further spiralled into ‘So ALL Rooks’

I know I’d be using some of my canon Wardens: Riley Cousland, Thea Surana, Naohman Tabris, Folcher Aeducan, Cian Mahariel, Brynn’s Brosca.

Hawkes would have Bernadette Hawke with her twin Archie. Then we have child hood friends Simon, Aisley and Loraine.

Inquisitors would be: Mila Trevylan, Revas Lavellan, Ophelia Trevylan, Charity Cadash, Lucas Cadash, Anna Trevylan (not a canon one but one I made for this au), Shok Adaar, Edmund (not a Trevylan)

and then Rooks would be the Rooks I have.

It also spiralled into a ‘watching the future’ type thing later which may or may not happen.

But the big idea I had was sort of a ‘rewrite’ of the series in which I really explore the possibilities of ‘what if Cullen had a decent redemption arc’ and ‘hey so this was dumb’ and more. Plus I really wanted to work in ‘hey so all gods are real and the Evanuris were faking their godhood by stealing real god names’ but with recent reveals… might need more tweaking.

It’s just fun to think on.

[arealcrow]

2, 10, 25, and 33 for Rhava pls!

late as hell reply bc i was braindead yesterday but im still chewin on rhava <3

2. How did Rook get the nickname? What do they think of it?

its mostly along the lines of how varric explains it in game. rhava is direct and bold, especially in his combat and how he casts. he's an assassin of a mage, finding the weak points in the veil and tearing through it to pull the magic he needs through from the fade. its a style based in raw power and a sensitivity to the fade, and very little technique. my hc for it is based on a spoiler reveal about the elves and a banter from dai about solas' casting style ;3 i imagine a circle trained mage must have made a comment about it to varric at some point, and varric made the connection. as far as names go , rhava thinks it's fine. matches his name well enough

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

he knows about dalish history and the history of northern thedas. and since both the hero of fereldan (revas mahariel) and inquisitor (malion lavellan) and dalish in my worldstate, he knows plenty about them! i hc the clan rook is from has some crossover in where they roam with the lavellans, so he's probably only a few degrees of separation away from malion. and he's heard plenty about hawke from varric.

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?

prior to the game he loved to nap. now he's afraid of solas being in his head, and doesn't enjoy it quiet as much anymore. he definitely plays that elven bass you can place in your room, i don't imagine he has the best singing voice but he's practiced. he likes bird watching.

33. What do fear demons look like to Rook?

the disappointed face of his keeper, specifically when he told her he was leaving. his brother imeric, blighted. wolves.

ask meme here!

[anna-dreamer]

Day 27. Elder Heey i made a new Mahariel! Name's Lindis (yeah, yeah, i know, not gonna make her die, she will have a baby with Morrigan). She wears an Elgar'nan vallaslin, as she believes in fighting against the oppressors with force, not taking half-measures. Also, she is a musician so she will sing In Uthenera herself thank you very much!

hahren na melana sahlin emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas in uthenera na revas

vir sulahn'nehn vir dirthera vir samahl la numin vir lath sa'vunin

[fademirrored]

minor headcanons: critters: gamma world state

Temry Mahariel:

The mabari: Lethallin is calm, quiet, and always thinking. He's Kieran's primary babysitter once Kieran is old enough to start toddling on his own. Lethallin is incredibly gentle and patient with Kieran, and he can and will rip out someone's throat for looking at Kieran or Temry wrong. Physically, he's got a Great Dane-y sort of build, being mostly legs, with merle coloring.

The weasel: Nehn has been Temry's pet since they were a teenager. She lives in their pack or their pockets and likes to put in inconvenient appearances. She also likes to try to eat fingers, generally with limited success.

The owl: Atisha is Temry's hunting aid at night. She's a barn owl, and while she's not the most intelligent creature in the world, she is very good at dropping rabbits at Temry's feet, and that's the important part.

The crow: Samahl likes to act as lookout during the day. Temry didn't really train him to do this. He just sort of started doing it after he started following Temry around because they fished him out of a pond and fed him jerky. He's a worryingly clever little thief who likes to collect shiny things. His collection lives in Temry's pack, though, so they're not too concerned about it, even if they do need to fish their wedding ring out of it every other day. They're not entirely convinced Samahl isn't a mage having a laugh, but they suppose they'll never know. He likes to tag team with a shapeshifted Morrigan to cause Antics and Shenanigans.

The fennec: Honestly, Dalen is less a pet and more an unexpected tagalong. He climbed into Temry's pack one day and fell asleep, and stayed unnoticed for probably 18 hours, at which point he decided to stick around.

The hart: Sabrae is an albino hart. He's tall. He's very pretty. He's very majestic. He's also dumb as a post. He's very sweet and very obedient and does exactly as he's asked at all times because if he doesn't then he loses track of where his own ass and head are.

Madry Hawke:

The mabari: Grim is a mountain variety of mabari, which means he's basically a Newfoundland with a nubbly tail. He consists of endless amounts of black hair and slobber. He's very friendly and tends to play dumber than he is. He's still a puppy when the Blight starts, so he's still got enough pep in his step to follow Madry to Skyhold during the Inquisition, even if he is visibly slowing by then.

The horse: Kelpie is an Akhel-teke that Madry steals from some rich fuck on the way out of Kirkwall, because stealing from rich fucks is one of Madry's favorite hobbies, even when the situation is urgent. She's almost entirely black except for a white face and highlighter blue eyes. She looks very alarming coming down the road on a foggy night. She can and will chase someone down to check their pockets for snacks. Madry will make no efforts to contain her enthusiasm.

Petrichor Lavellan:

The dog: Mi'Durgen is a high content wolf/mabari cross. He's worryingly intelligent and can generally be seen visibly weighing the pros and cons of whatever he's being told to do, and tends to ignore anyone who isn't Petra or who Petra hasn't temporarily put in charge of him. He actually makes Petra's trek to find the Inquisition again after Haven gets buried easier, since he's waiting for them outside the cave when they come stumbling out into the snow.

The moose: Some people ride horses. Some ride harts. Some ride dracolisks or nuggalopes or other strange creatures. Petra has a bull moose named Revas. They've had Revas since before the events of Inquisition; together they tended to act as trail breakers for the clan when they were on the move, riding ahead to make sure there was nothing in the way. Revas is generally calm, but with the air of someone holding onto their patience with both hands.

[cilant-lis]

revas mahariel,  warrior of clan sabrae, commander of the grey, dearest friend of the hero of ferelden

i messed around and made a 2 wardens au, oops

[etoilebinaire]

It’s @nepetaz ‘s OC Revas Mahariel’s birthday!!! I love her design so much :D 

[loony-lupus]

Warden. Champion. Inquisitor.

[aggressively-fereldan]

Revas Mahariel, chaotic dumbass, now complete with vallaslin!

[choccy-zefirka]

They dive, head-first, into the blinding blue glow of the Eluvian. The glass ripples at their touch, soft and cool and pliable like a sheet of finest silk; and they pass through it, falling vertically onto this silk sheet, towards something that is not quite a dream, but certainly feels like it.

The Crossroads greet them with bristling rows, upon rows, upon rows, of darkened mirrors. The rectangular silhouettes slash like razors into the blue hazy backdrop of odd trees with perfectly round, lace-like crowns. Some of the mirrors sit half-tilted in their ornate frames, some have been smashed altogether. Almost all are lifeless, blinded. Not what they are searching for.

It takes them a short walk — or perhaps a long one, as long as all eternity — before they spot a second window of bright glow in the misty expanse that rolls away in all directions with every step they take. Then, comes another dive, another thrumming, rustling shift of silk — and they find themselves… In between. In a secluded pocket of space and time that is a fraction closer to the realm of dreams than the Crossroads. A piece of the Fade, for all intents and purposes. Not quite, but this definition will do, for the time being. Especially considering that they are rather too busy to ponder their shelter’s true nature.

Too busy running. Too busy scrambling to hide away from an unseen pursuer — a presence that always haunts them. And will always haunt them. Sometimes, as a throb of headache at the back of the skull, a fleeting blur in the farthest corner of peripheral vision. Sometimes, as a dragon-shaped shadow underneath sleep-laden eyelids. Threatening, at any moment, to reshape into flesh — even as the carcass of the actual dragon rots in the now Blighted heart of the Korcari Wilds, where the last few traces of life left behind by darkspawn are clinging on to its carcass, stripping it of every last sticky sinew. Where the soggy marshland moss is painting the old bones a muddy green, and the large, sleekly moist, pallid lilies are growing out of its eye sockets, scented sweet as decomposing flesh.

The dragon is no more, one with the carrion earth and rancid waters. But its — her — return is inevitable, like the cycles of darkspawn that devoured her swamp. One day, she will rise from the decaying mire, and take wing, and find her prey. So the hunted remain wary of the huntress; and of any other encroaching forces that might wish to chase after the witch and her lover and their child, who is not quite a child, and yet already thrashes feverishly in the womb, consumed by dreams of those mossy bones in the tainted bog, and of the splashes of viscera in Denerim’s ravaged streets.

From whatever hidden corners they retreated to, the creatures of darkness call to their unborn master with an eerily gentle song, which he would not have been able to repeat out loud even if he was old enough to speak, and yet profoundly understands, the same way his tiny, floating body understands that it needs to draw its strength from the body of the witch to survive. But for now, for the time being, neither the song that wants to guide his dark soul, nor the dragon that wants to claim it, can fully reach him, or his parents. Not here — not in between.

This place is hidden well. Perfect for a reprieve after being on the run.

It is quiet, and it is serene, and it is undisturbed by the clamor of strife of the outside world — many worlds.

That is always true. The rest, however — the very landscape of this tiny realm — is infinitely different. Depending on which world Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, came from. And depending on who traveled across that world with her, and managed to earn her trust, and love, and the unexpected, almost unnerving softness. Depending on who helped her complete the child that she carries.

***

In one world, Morrigan’s companion is a Dalish elf named Revas Mahariel, loyal warrior and hunter of a clan that, they fear, has long since moved on without them. Taciturn and distant around all but those whom they care about. With piercing reflective eyes that, when darkness falls, glint bright against their sun-bronzed face like a pair of fireflies, Ghilan'nain’s curling vallaslin on their brow — for guidance, and for kinship with woodland beings, whose ways Revas find much easier to decipher than those of men — and black hair fashioned into fine braids and then tied into a bun at the back of their head. If Morrigan travels with them, then the space in between looks like a forest glen, always plunged into lilac dusk.

The two of them live, for who knows how many uncounted months, inside an aravel that seems to begin moving the moment they climb in, rocking at a drowsy, blissful rhythm. It feels as if they have sailed endless miles through the tender twilight, even though in actuality, the aravel never moves an inch.

Once he is born, the child — Kieran — sleeps soundly in this enchanted land ship, his dark dreams ebbing away. And when he wakes, his Dalish parent sweeps him into their arms and carries him outside, where a herd of halla has already gathered to greet them.

Revas suspects that they are not quite real, these slender-legged beasts with coats that glisten like silver in the muted light. But there is a very real sweetness to the fresh milk they give; and the da'len laughs a very real, gurgling laugh when they let him grab their antler… And Revas is cloaked in a very real sensation of calm when they stroke that shimmering, ghostly fur and murmur the tales of the People into a tiny baby ear that, against all odds, has a very real, if barely visible, point to it.

Morrigan listens in as well, brow furrowed in confusion: not all that Revas says matches what she read in her stolen books and scrolls. But she says nothing, for the moment she as much as thinks about correcting them, the shadows around the glen deepen, and the ground shifts with a warning rumble that only she can hear. So she has no choice but to learn, just as Kieran is learning.

Sometimes, in the middle of playing with the da'len in the lavender grass or milking a statue-still, uncannily tame halla, Revas glances up, an unvoiced question on their lips, at the blue speck on the horizon. That is Eluvian that they came from; a gateway back to the Crossroads, which will connect him to any other Eluvian, including the one that… But Revas never dares to let the thought finish itself, and, with a stubborn jerk of their head, goes back to whatever they were doing.

On the other side, lies corruption and violence and loss. Everything that they’ve endured a-plenty during the Blight. There will come a moment when they have to face it all over again, but not yet. Not yet.

Here, on this side, theyare safe. Their vhenan, their son — they are all safe.

For the time being.

***

In another world, Morrigan flees into the Eluvian with a fellow human. One Gordon Cousland. Not the late Theirn Bryce’s youngest son, oh no. That poor boy, Highever’s biggest pride and brightest hope, was cut down by Howe’s men before he could even raise a blade, a splatter of crimson painting his nightshirt like a morbid canvas, the loyal mabari sniffing and snarling at his limp form with almost human wails of denial and desperation.

Gordon is Bryce’s little brother. The failure of the family. The black sheep. The broken boy who was far too young during the war for Ferelden’s independence, far too weak to withstand its horrors, and thus crumpled into a drunken mess, a jester whom nobody found particularly funny… Except, perhaps, for his nephews, Fergus and poor Aedan, back when they were a pair of giggling, squirming chubby tykes in their uncle’s lap. And for Rendon, who never missed an opportunity to relentless mock someone who was even more worthless and pathetic than him.

Gordon survived by mistake. He should have been the one impaled on a traitor’s blade, dying an inglorious death in his nethers. He, not Aedan. And yet, here he is, having gone from a wastrel who’d meander aimlessly about Highever Keep and regale Fergus and Aedan with bawdy jokes and tall tales, to a hero, a savior of the world, a man whom everyone expected to do the right thing. And no matter what he still tells everyone, and himself, clinging on to the last tattered remnants of his clownish mask, he managed it well. Well enough to inspire his former drinking buddy Oghren to set himself on the straight and narrow, just like he did.

At the start of their journey, she’d be outraged by the suggestion — so much so that she’d probably turn into a snake and hiss — but now Morrigan finds it reassuring to know that, whenever she looks back, she will find Gordon’s angular, lined face beaming up at her and Kieran. That she’ll meet the gaze of his bruised pale-gray eyes, transfixed on them both with a puppy-like adoration that he once made most amusing attempts to hide (because she’d ever want him to warm her tent, right? Right?)

When he is with her, the space in between molds itself into the sturdy stone walls of a little cottage. The very same rustic abode that Morrigan would mockingly describe whenever she met Gordon’s denial with her own, leering and rolling her eyes at the very notion of falling in love.

The porch is splashed with dappled shade of mighty orchard trees, and the air is lazily thick with honeysuckle scent. There is grass growing on the roof, swaying in a wind that is always gentle and warm, just as the sky overhead is always vivid-blue, with just enough curly cloud wisps to keep the golden sun from turning a scathing, merciless shade of white. The rooms are small, austerely furnished, but with anything that someone might need for a cozy stay, and the pantry appears to magically restock itself after Gordon’s every delve for cooking supplies.

Indeed, in this version of domestic bliss, Morrigan is not the one who does the cooking. It is Gordon that handles all the chores, while she spends most of her time exploring the perpetually green, sun-kissed outdoors, Kieran dozing in a sling that she carries against her chest (or clasps securely in her jaws whenever fancy strikes her to shift into a she-wolf or a mother bear).

It is Gordon that raises a ruckus with the brass pots and pans, until the modest dwelling fills with a glorious palette of mouth-watering, savory scents — soup, roast, sometimes even the delightful Antivan pasta that Zevran once introduced him to. And afterwards, it is Gordon that takes to scrubbing the kitchenware with such ferocity that one might think he was polishing his armor before battle.

Following the cooking and the cleaning, comes the tinkering about the house. It does not take Morrigan long to realize that, idyllic as their little hideaway appears, something always seems to break down for Gordon to fix. Maybe it’s a creaking step, or a wobbly board on the porch, or the railing of Kieran’s little cradle.

The place in between keeps her Warden busy; and she understands why. Work wears him out, it takes his mind off the flames of Highever that still sometimes roar when he shuts his eyes, while his brother and sister-in-law reach towards him, their hands half-charred, stripped of chunks of flesh, yet still pointing at him in accusation.

There is another way to beat down those flames — and now, it is not succumbing to drink again. It is to travel the world, like he and Morrigan have always wanted, to be swept away in a whirlwind of new impressions, to experience the vibrancy of Thedosian cultures, human and otherwise. Without caring, above caring, that they might be derided and pushed away as outsiders, a scheming witch and a silly, sad clown who does not belong anywhere.

And that is what they intend to do, once all the wounds have healed and all the danger has passed.

But right now, they are enjoying the boons of the enchanted house in between, where they are safe.

For the time being.

***

In another world still, Morrigan has Thraer Aeducan beside her. A soft, shy, kind prince, far too gentle for what his fellow dwarves expected him to be. His round face is framed by golden curls and a bushy, elaborately braided beard, and his enormous blue eyes have always taken the surface world in with scarcely a blink, full of a profound wonderment that is all too familiar to Morrigan.

Once, when she was still young, that sensation was all but shattered alongside her golden mirror, but then it returned, on the tips of a thin, uncertain smile that looked up at her from that mirror’s replica, held out tentatively, almost fearfully, its handle clasped in a callused dwarven fist.

For Morrigan and Thraer, the space in between changes almost every day. Or, well, whatever stands for a day this side of the Crossroads.

Thraer’s wanderlust, more fervent, more overpowering than Gordon’s, bends the age-old laws dictating that dwarves should have no command over magic. Influenced by his eager mind, the hidden realm turns into an ever-renewing canvas; a myriad of settings for his, Morrigan’s, and Kieran’s dream-like journeys.

They spend the afternoon splashing about in the turquoise shallows on a deserted sandy beach — somewhere in Tevinter, judging by the architecture of a steep-walled tower that looks upon them from an overhanging cliff. If buildings could express disdain, this tower surely would, but at least, unlike in the real word, it never spews out a throng of some magister’s retainers, ready to capture the intrusive southerners.

They fall asleep in the cove at the cliff’s base — and then suddenly awaken in the heart of a patchwork-bright market square in Rivain, where the sellers are just shadows with blurred faces, and cannot be called or reached out to, but the explosion of spicy fragrances and rainbow colors and seagull screeches overhead is most convincing.

Exhausted by taking it all in, they sit down on a bench in the shade of a tilting, fruit-laden tree, and after Morrigan finishes feeding Kieran, she glances up and finds herself gazing up at a velvety evening sky, all speckled with the bobbing golden dots of floating lanterns. They are in Antiva now, right at the start of some kind of festival.

Morrigan and Thraer duck hand in hand from one winding lane to another, unafraid that Zevran’s former comrades might lurk behind a shadowy corner. But when this maze finally ends, they emerge onto the flattened top of one of the soaring basalt pillars that are ceaselessly battered by the Waking Sea’s swelling tide. Miraculously, the spot where they are transported is completely dry and shielded from the wrath of the wild waters, and even has a tiny table laid out, ready for a picnic, which Morrigan and Thraer savor languidly while gazing out into the sea. Kieran seems content too, until he begins to fidget in his father’s arms: the thundering roar of the waves has reminded him of something deep within that still lies in wait, until he matures, until he is ready.

Noticing the boy’s growing agitation, Thraer cradles him to his chest. Instantly, the flying sea froth freezes in mid-air and turns green. The salty spray is now the canopy of trees in the Brescilian Forest: a version of it where no sylvans threaten to come alive and clench their gnarly claws around the squishy beings of flesh.

And thus they travel in and on, exploring the simulacra of Thedas’ far corners, familiar and yet unseen, but devoid of other living people apart from themselves, and of wild beasts, and of the last, rotting remnants of the Blight.

This is a clean, safe, baby-proof world, where nothing will tear Kieran away from Morrigan, and no-one will deride Thraer — who gives pet names to bugs and writes not-so-secret poetry — for being too soft, too airy-fairy, too unlike the brother that betrayed his trust. It is not real, this journey of their, and they cannot keep hopping from one pretty picture to the rest forever.

Soon, very soon, they will tire of empty town squares and sea waves that never drench them; and they will leave, and Thraer will go back to proving that behind his huggable exterior, lurks a formidable berserker that will rather tear himself apart than allow harm to come to his family.

Soon — but not yet. Before they have the strength to face the blows of the real world, the dwarf and his beloved witch allow themselves to be lulled into bliss by a fantasy. Where they are safe.

For the time being.

[royal-babey]

Lily

I wrote angst and it hurts like hell and oh god I cried whilst writing it.

Featuring my OC’s Nico and Dima Mahariel, and their father Revas Mahariel.

TW’s for blood, death, slavery, and just a shitton of angst.

-

In the forests of Antiva, walked three Dalish Elves.

Keeper of Clan Mahariel, Revas Mahariel, accompanied his young twin sons into the wild woodlands to show them the foundations of survival. This was something the family did often, at least twice a week if possible, and it was valuable time together for them. Revas’s Keeper duties often kept him busy, and sometimes unable to spend time with his sons at all.

He had a son walking on either side of him, both clutching his significantly larger hands tightly. Dmitri Mahariel chatted away happily to his Father, rambling on about anything that caught his interest or something exciting that had happened to him earlier that week. His younger brother, Nikolai Mahariel, was quite happy to walk in silence, allowing his brother to do the talking for the both of them.

Revas couldn’t be happier. Of course if his ex-wife could be here, that would make things even better. Revas regularly mourned the fact that the twins would not grow up without a motherly influence in their lives, but they seemed to be doing just fine.

‘’-and then and then!!! Nini made a scary face and said ‘You pee the bed Daerian.’ Daerian went running crying back to his Mamae and I got my stick sword back!!!’’

Revas was snapped out of his thoughts as Dima’s excitable voice raised in pitch as he told his Father his story, and there was a very indignant ‘Dima!’ from Nico as Revas let out a chuckle in amusement. He then looked down to his left to see a very sheepish Nico kicking a small rock across the grassy forest floor.

‘’Is that true, da’fen?’’

Nico just shrugged as a response, then muttered ‘’He was being mean…’’

Revas couldn’t argue with that.

Every now and then, the elder Elf would stop beside a bush, either with oddly coloured berries or flowers, and attempt to tell the twins the properties of them. It was important they knew these things in case of emergencies. They were useful after all.

The twins genuinely did try their best to pay attention, but it was a struggle. And by the time they were an hour and a bit into their fathers lessons, they had all but given up on trying to listen.

Revas could see this, and figured he should give the twins something to enjoy instead. He sat them down on the abnormally gigantic roots of an ancient oak tree, that spiralled and gnarled in on itself both above and below the ground, and shielded them from the hot sun with its tall branches and large leaves. After he had gotten their attention, he held up a clenched fist, and smiled.

‘’Watch this, boys.’’

The boys watched in wonder as their Father’s fist glowed green, and gasped quietly when he opened it to reveal two stark white flowers where there had been nothing before. The twins recognised them to be lilies, and Dima bounced on the spot excitedly where as Nico was still staring, though he did have a small smile on his lips.

Revas reached forward, braiding the lilies into the boys long black hair one by one. They reached up to gently feel them at the same time, before lunging forward to hug their Father.

‘’That was so cool, Baban!!!’’

‘’Thank you, Baban…’’

Revas just grinned and hugged his boys back, laughing quietly to himself at their reactions. He loved making them smile.

And with a lily, he hoped to pass on their mother’s love. For that was her name, after all…

They were a happy family despite everything. A close knit and loving family.

Though like Revas had described to the twins once before, when a beloved Clan Halla passed away, the Creators often liked to pick the most beautiful things from this earth that they belovedly created.

Revas could not help the twitching of his pointed ears as he picked up on an abnormal sound coming from the east. They were outside of Clan hunting territory, so no one should be here…

That’s when he heard it. The sound of men laughing uproariously. They were no voices the Keeper recognised, and he froze to the spot, arms tensing around his children.

Humans. Human hunters had come to these woods.

Revas knew how much danger they were in instantly, and leapt to his feet. He easily picked up the twins, one in each arm, and took off running deeper into the forest. He knew these woods well, expertly avoiding upturned routes or particularly sharp rocks, taking almost completely hidden turns, getting past the more dangerous wildlife without getting so much as a second glance.

Nico and Dima were terrified, but knew to be quiet when their Father seemed to sense danger. They had not heard the humans, therefore having no idea what was wrong.

The Shemlen had heard Revas taking off though, footfalls much too heavy in his panic to get his children to safety to attempt stealth. They assumed he was a deer, having been spooked by their loudness. Revas could hear the beating of the horses hooves getting closer, and realised even if he were to make it back to the Clan in time, he would surely doom them.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

Sliding to a stop in front of a particularly large bush, he kneeled down, and placed his children behind it. He signaled for them to be quiet, and they agreed without question, nodding their heads to show they understood.

Revas knew that what he was about to do...May not turn out how he hoped.

So he hugged them both tightly, and whilst pulling away, slipped his necklace off over his head. It was made of shedded Halla antler, with intricate Elven symbols and words carved into it. He handed it to Dima, his lips trembling despite his trying to keep everything under control. He gripped Dima’s shoulders tightly, tight enough to make him wince involuntarily, and spoke in a panicked but hushed tone to his son, who had, as well as his brother, barely seen their tenth summer.

‘’I need you to promise me, Dima...Promise that no matter what, you will protect your brother. You will protect the clan. You will grow strong, and always protect those you love. Do you understand? Be strong.’’

Dima didn’t hesitate in answering, whispering a very determined ‘’Of course I promise Baban.’’ But also; ‘’What’s wrong though? You’re coming back, right?’’

Revas let out a shuddered breath, and gave his sons the best smile he could muster.

‘’Ar lath ma, ma len. I love you both so much...Be strong.’’

Before they could even question, Revas was taking off running into the clearing not far from them. Where the twins could see what was going on...Revas forced himself to stand his ground despite his fear as the humans approached, pulling his staff from his back and gripping it tightly as they pulled their horses to a stop and dismounted.

One human, with pale skin and a bald head, paired with a horribly patchy beard, was the first to approach Revas. Behind him were two more humans, dressed head to toe in armour. Revas couldn’t see their faces, though he could feel their stares.

He forced himself to greet the men in perfect trade with a smile, as wary as it may look, and a short bow.

‘’Greetings, outsiders.’’

He didn’t even get a greeting back, instead, the man in front of him just snarled, looking him up and down.

‘’Lookie here, boys. A knife ear, right here. Looks like we may not need to look for their damned camp so hard after all.’’

Revas tensed, knowing instantly who these men must be. Slavers, probably for the black market in the main city of Antiva. He reached back with his free hand to scratch nervously at his ear lobe, needing something to do as he answer, even if he wasn’t exactly asked a question.

‘’I-I beg your pardon? You can’t-’’

Revas was cut off by a sharp sword pointing directly at his neck, causing him to go stock still, too afraid to even breathe.

The man growled, pressing the blade against Revas’s neck. Enough to draw blood, for the moment, and make the Elf hiss slightly in pain.

‘’Shut your mouth, knife ear. Now listen closely. We know it isn’t just you here. We saw a stuffed toy on the ground. And you were quite happy to run just a moment ago...Who are you protecting? Your knife eared kid? Kids? Oh, the Crows would pay a pretty sum for some young Elves to train up.’’

Revas felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t about to negotiate with some slavers, just so they could go hunt some other people.

So that left him one choice.

Carefully, he took a step back, and twirled his staff in hand.

‘’I’m not telling you anything, Shemlen!’’

He inhaled, ready to shout a spell, one powerful enough to knock them down and give him

time to run with the boys-

When instead it turned into a breathless gasp of pain, and he looked down to see a sword running right through his gut.

From behind the bush, there was a whimper, the leaves rustling as Nico attempts to get up to run to his Father. He’s stopped by Dima however, who yanks him down by the back of his shirt, and straddles him to keep him from trying again. Nico tries to yell for Revas, but Dima covers his younger brothers mouth and despite the tears forming in his own eyes as Nico writhes and struggles, whispers harshly for him to quit it.

Nico doesn’t see what Dima sees. Doesn’t see as the men kick Revas down onto his back. Doesn’t witness them sneering and taunting Revas as he bleeds out, amethyst eyes formerly shining with life beginning to go dull as he stares up at the sky. His lips barely moving as he words a silent prayer to Falon’din to guide his soul to the Beyond, the Creator who’s Vallaslin he has proudly worn since seventeen years of age.

He doesn’t see as Revas’s throat is slit easily by a spear tossed to the man who had also stabbed him, then thrust through the Keepers exposed chest.

Eventually, the humans get sick of mutilating the now dead Elf’s form. The murderer declaring Revas must have left the twins at the great oak tree and had instead tried to lure them away and distract them.

They mount their horses, and ride off. As soon as their horses beating hooves can no longer be heard, Dima and Nico get up, running over to their father’s unmoving form. He couldn’t be dead. Surely he was just badly injured, would still be breathing.

But there’s blood. Too much blood for any mortal man to surely survive. His dark skin is now an ashen colour, and his eyes are glazed over and lifeless. His expression is slack, and his chest…

It certainly isn’t moving.

Dima stands staring, completely frozen. He can’t tear his eyes off of their Fathers, their Babans, corpse. Nico however, collapses to his knees.

And he screams. A scream so heart wrenching it scares off any animals in the immediate vicinity. A scream filled with such unimaginable grief and fear and anger that it doesn’t sound human at all.

Dima can only drop down beside him, tears rolling silently down his cheeks as he reaches for Revas’s hand. Earlier it was warm, warm as Dima clung to it, warm as he pulled his Father behind him and swung and laughed and...Warm as Dima thought about how much he trusted that warmth to always be there...But now it was cold, and Dima could feel the remnants of Revas’s body heat slowly fading away.

‘’Papa…’’

He could barely mutter it. Beside him, Nico had begun to sob, clothing beginning to turn red with their Father’s blood soaking into it. He rested his head on Revas’s chest, hair mostly obscuring his face from his elder twins view.

And from his hair fell the lily Revas had left in it just twenty minutes ago. It landed in the puddle of blood just beside Revas’s body, and Dima could have sworn he heard his Father whispering the word- No. The name, Lily, in the small breeze that blew past them all.

Dima could only pull Nico to him, trying to find some comfort in his brothers still warm body despite the chilling aura that had settled in the area.

They only had each other now, meaning Dima was determined more than ever before now to keep his promise to their Father.

He would protect Nico with his life.