#Ylva Lavellan

[blindvogel]

I've recently finished my replay of DAI before Veilguard release and it's interesting what I either forgot in the past ten years or just simply didn't notice as significant. Like the fact that wolf howls lead you up the mountain after Haven to find the rest of the refugees. I like to think that my Lavellan would see the significance, and much later the pain and irony of the situation.

~~~

It is during their third day traversing the Emerald Graves that Ylva spots what she had been looking for, half hidden from view by a copse of trees and other foliage. She considers for a moment if there is an option to sneak away from her traveling party for a moment but then reconsiders given the Red Templar presence in the area. As much as she is not looking forward to the commentary she would hate an ambush even more. So she leads them off the beaten path before gesturing for them to wait. 

"I only need a moment, it won't take long," she says then quickly scurries off before anyone can ask her what this is about. They'll figure it out in a moment anyway as she weaves between the trees until she reaches the worn stone statue of a wolf resting on a low pedestal, his head lowered to look at whoever would approach him. 

She pulls a small bundle out of her pack, wrapped in wool and held together with string, and places it between the paws. An offering that she hopes is adequate for what has been given. 

"Ma melava halani, Fen'harel. Ma serannas lasa ghilan." she says, then looks up at the wolf looking down at her. He is weathered but intact which is a good sign, and what hand had carved him chose to make it just so that his eyes look kind from this angle. She is just tall enough that when she tentatively reaches up she can put her hand on the side of his muzzle. She doesn't know why the Dread Wolf saved her life up on that mountain but she believes in what her Keeper has taught her, what her own interpretation of the myths tells her. And she owes him thanks.

[larkoneironaut]

A corrupted Ylva Lavellan ❤️

Day 3 - Red Lyrium #SolavellanElvhenanOCtober2020

Please don't repost or use! Thanks ❤️

Consider following me on Twitter for more updates and close-up's @LarkOneironaut 😊

[celiacelie]

I’ve been super busy with school and kept forgetting to upload this! 

Thank you to @poseidonewithyou who commissioned me for their lovely Ylva Lavellan doin some spooky necromancing with Dorian! 

[nykoswrites]

da ocs

origins

guinevere cousland, nathra surana, saeris surana, thalia cousland, casimir amell, fennas mahariel

ii

adair hawke, odessa hawke, edgar hawke, samuel hawke

inquisition

athera lavellan, hae’ra/mylaela lavellan, mafalda lavellan, enfenim lavellan, linnae lavellan, diana trevelyan, anna trevelyan, elise trevelyan, asala adaar, olenda cadash, lori (a cook at haven/skyhold), rasa (spirit of purpose), ylva magnhilddotten (avvar)

dinan lavellan, mana lavellan, harel lavellan, mihren lavellan, daniel trevelyan, james trevelyan, oliver trevelyan, katari adaar, maraas adaar, varrow cadash

[asharchivesblog]

tfw you have a shotgun wedding in Orlais and you witness is a dog you just found. But aren’t they beautiful??

[blindvogel]

@/shivunin came up with this tag game!

Considering myself tagged by dalishious :)

RULES: Make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following

(Ylva Lavellan)

An event that defines your character's past

The pull on my flesh was just too strong, stifled the choice and the air in my lungs Broken Crown by Mumford & Sons

How your character sees themselves

See I've seen devils, I've seen saints, I've seen the lines between them fade. I've seen pictures with no meaning. I don't know what to believe. Ready to Question by Gabrielle Aplin

How others view them

I'm fighting and I'm bleeding, I don't give up, I walk. My hope, my love, my reason they guide me as I walk Walk by Saint Chaos

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

Blue blue caravan(aravel), won't you drive away all of these tears? For my true love is a man that I haven't seen in years Blue Caravan by Vienna Teng

A major fight scene

But when there's trouble gonna strike with lightning, nobody's ropes are catching me, there ain't no rest till I rest in peace Now's My Time by Valley Of Wolves

End credits song

And the storms we weathered through, and we hope in the light of truth to break free from chains and come anew Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Chevy/Robin

___ Tagging @msviolacea and @luxheroica for some fun character-based playlist making :D

[blindvogel]

Musings on my post-Trespasser Lavellan, since it's 2014 again in my brain, apparently.

They had discussed for a long time before the incident at the Summer Palace how best to deal with the change in opinion towards the Inquisition, if it should continue or be disbanded. There isn’t much of a conversation after the betrayal becomes obvious. Ylva hates to call it that, of course she also has far more skin in the game. It’s just so much more complicated than that. Out of everyone still actively with the Inquisition she has to reconcile worlds inside her and it makes her head spin.

What does not feel complicated at all however is taking off the mantle of Inquisitor and settling on disbandment. They had done their duty to Thedas, now it was time for everyone to return home. She had done her duty, more than what should be asked of any one person. She still feels the weight of it all, a weight that almost killed her. Cassandra and Leliana are sympathetic, and understanding of her reasoning. The Inquisition, should it remain, would be far too vulnerable to spies and infiltration, to power being abused should she ever step away from her position. Or die. Ylva wrestles with the reality of just how close she had come to it, how desperately she wants to live.

Besides, they have to figure out other ways to stop Solas - Fen’harel, ways that he can not predict. And she needs to learn more, to understand better if one of those options were to entail convincing him. She cannot give up. 

The crazy thing, the thing she tried to make him understand, the thing she can not say out loud to anyone but Dorian - is that she understands. After having learned that he is responsible for the Veil, for Arlathan’s fall, Ylva understands how he must feel. That terrible time in the almost-future has given her a glimpse of something she never considered to be so important as she does now. And it can’t be the only thing of importance. 

So she sets out to explore, to learn more about her own people’s past, and what Solas might plan for their future.

It’s easier being a wandering elven mage than the Inquisitor she finds with some irony and amusement. It had been easier for him to be Solas instead of Fen’harel too after all. She wonders if he had even chosen that name for himself. She knows that he had been Solas first, that what little he had shown of himself to her is the self that he treasures most. The side of him that he holds most true. She understands better now that he never intended to lie but could not speak the truth either. It only pains her that she had to live through everything to fully understand and accept the reality of what- who he is. 

Now living his reality, watching through his eyes, she finds the experience humbling. Being raised Dalish yet without her Vallaslin she’s no longer of her people and it opens her eyes to just how insular her people have become even to their fellow elves. Of course she knew that yet experiencing it is another thing entirely. Still, she finds clans that are willing to share what they know with her once she demonstrates that she knows the customs, speaks the language. In return she shares news of the world, but not what she learned from Solas. They are not ready yet and she is selfish, needs to remain welcome and at least accepted as she takes on the monumental task of gathering knowledge about her fractured origins.

It would feel insurmountable if she wouldn’t have Dorian. Dorian who is fighting his own battle by accepting the role of Magister and attempting to change Tevinter from within. They speak often and long via his parting gift, a sending crystal she carries in a locket hidden under her leathers. Ylva goes to see him every time her travels bring her close to the Imperium, sneaking into the city of Minrathous to spend a few weeks squirreled away in his estate. As much to bring him strength and comfort as he brings her. She sleeps better when she’s in Tevinter, because of the man running himself ragged trying to fix the mistakes she opened his eyes to. Because thanks to Dorian she has something she begins to think of as home.

On the road her dreams are different, more fraught with painful memories. Painful as she awakes finding it had been a dream. Still, she does not regret her choices, would never regret loving the people she loves now.

[blindvogel]

Solavellan - the things we say

"I can't let you do that."

She does not turn to face him, shoulders pulled up, hands clenching and opening. And for a second he thinks she changes her mind. But the moment passes and she moves towards the doors, picking up her staff and giving a curt nod to Bull. Following a request - no, an order - the Qunari slides between them, forces him to move with the rest of the fleeing refugees.

"Can I kiss you?"

Her voice sounds small, careful, a whisper meant for him only. It is late, the candles on the table are burning low, filling the rotunda with long shadows, and he has longed to touch her for the better part of the day. So the decision is easy, already made before she asked. He turns and leans over, capturing her lips hungrily with his.

"You came back." 

Her face is expressionless, a perfect mask carved from stone, when she moves towards him. He stands his ground, exhausted, weary, prepared to receive any punishment she has for him. Then her facade cracks, lips drawing into a cautious smile. As she reaches him, there is no harshness or reproach, but a firm embrace and a hot, wet cheek pressed to his. 

[blindvogel]

One Quiet Night, Part 4

Solavellan College/Victorian AU ficlet; in which apologies are made.

Sundays Ylva always allowed herself to sleep in a bit longer and enjoyed a more elaborate breakfast with some light pastries fresh from Orlais, delivered to the college by airship. Then she dressed in the light practise robes, took her staff and headed for the magic training court. The walled off stone courtyard was empty, slowly slipping out of the shadow cast by the library tower and in the warming beams of sunlight. Ylva closed the heavy oaken entrance door with the no-entry sign and positioned herself in the middle of the yard.

Breathing in and out, eyes closed, she emptied her mind. Then, every move deliberate and precise, she went through the casting motions, staff whirling around her slow moving body. With time she gained momentum, her movements losing their calculated edge and flowing easily from one form to the next. When she came to the third stage, infusing her training with magic, ice and lightning arced around her, filling the courtyard with a deadly storm. Ylva moved with the lightning strikes, danced between ice walls springing from the ground, her even breath hanging like clouds in the cold air.

Then it all reversed, magic flowing back into her, leaving the yard empty bar herself. Her movements slowed, returned to the deliberate state from her start, then stilled completely, leaving her again in the center of the yard.

With the back of her free hand Ylva swiped the thin film of sweat from her brow and smiled, satisfied with her training. The next thing on her self-proclaimed schedule was a quick bath, which she prefered hot after her training, and a fast return to the library and her papers.

Yevven was at his table in the ground floor of the rotunda, cheerfully waving at her as she passed. She returned his greeting and climbed the stairs two floors up. When she reached her table she found it occupied. Solas sprawled in the chair she used to sit in, legs outstretched to full impressive length, leafing through a book he must have picked up from a pile next to him. The morning sun filtered through the window behind him and reflected off of his shaven head. It almost made her giggle.

“Is your own desk not to your liking any more or were you waiting for me?” Her voice was full of badly hidden mirth and when he raised his head to meet her gaze, a grin was spreading over his face.

“ Your table has the benefit of natural light in the morning hours and since I didn’t see you use it…” Solas showed not the slightest inclination to get up, just smiled at her with a challenge in his eyes.

“Well, if you’re here for the light, don’t mind me.” Ylva gave him the sweetest smile she could muster, picked a random book from her table and folded herself onto the windowsill behind him. Silence descended between them, leaving each to their own thoughts and reading material.

“I must admit, the questions you left on my table have surprised me.” His soft voice broke the silence and made Ylva look up.

“How so?”

“They show a consideration and understanding of the subject matter I did not expect coming from a Dalish. I have misjudged your capabilities based solely on preconceived opinions and I... regret that.” He was still seated with his back to her and she stared dumbfounded at the back of his head for a moment before replying.

“Is that an apology?” At that Solas turned around to her, his face open and sincere, his eyes searching her face underneath the veil.

“Yes, I believe it is.”

Ylva felt her lips twist into a grin.

“And I must admit you are not such an arrogant ass as I perceived you to be.”

His brows shot up in surprise at her bluntness, eyes growing wide. But then a laugh tumbled from his lips and his expression softened, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Is that an apology?”

Ylva laughed.

“Yes, I believe it is.”

For a moment they just smiled at each other, then returned to their individual books. The silence that settled between them now amicable and warm.

[blindvogel]

Solavellan - Moments

To Ylva it was clear that their relationship consisted solely of stolen moments. Solas was a very private man, carrying next to nothing of his feelings to the outside when someone could observe them. And at Skyhold there was always someone watching or listening. 

So Ylva had learned to make do with the little things during their time spent in the fortress. The quick warm smiles he gave her when they spoke, the way her name rolled off his tongue, full of affection. The warmth of his body at her side, when they sat next to each other on the couch reading, his hand brushing over hers when he turned a page or pointed something out to her. His breath caressing her ear when he leaned over to explain something to her or correct her pronunciation of an old elvhen word. 

She lived for the moments out in the wild, on mission for the Inquisition, storing them inside her like precious paintings to be treasured. And when she slept, she walked them in her dreams, vibrant in their colors and every little detail committed to memory. 

There was the time when they had wandered ahead of the others, disappeared from their view behind a boulder. Solas's arms had captured her then, pressing her body close to his for a few thundering heartbeats, before releasing her and walking on, a half-hidden smile in the corners of his lips.

The late evening when they were seated at the campfire in the Emerald Graves, air heavy with history and pain around them, quietly talking until the others retreated to the tents. His hand covering hers as she guided his face towards hers, lips meeting again after what had felt like a life time, first soft and careful, then rougher and full of need. 

And then there was the night in the Hissing Wastes where he had found her bathing in a spring. Ylva remembers turning around and finding him standing at the edge, rigid as a statue. She had stretched a hand out to him, inviting, and expected him to shake his head and turn to leave as he liked to do. But he had surprised her - and probably himself - by stripping and joining her in the cool, waist deep water. They had made love that night underneath the moon and stars, reflected in the dark waters. Ylva remembers drifting, floating, flying in this piece of sky on earth. Their hearts and bodies one and whole. 

Thinking of moments like these makes life bearable without him at her side. Keeps her going forward into an uncertain future when her legs want to give way, falter underneath the weight fate has placed on her shoulders. 

They give her hope.

[blindvogel]

One Quiet Night, Part 3

Solavellan college/Victorian era AU; where Dorian makes a valid point and shadows prove to be friend and foe at the same time.

A brisk walk around the gardens had settled Ylva’s mind. The weather had turned out quite  nicely and so she decided on a whim to take her studies outside. A table in the pavillon provided shelter from too much sun and there she settled with the newly acquired book and her papers. On closer inspection the work in question turned out to be a bound collection of neatly penned notes. Ylva could find no mark of authorship inside the volume and jotted down a question regarding that matter on a loose sheet of paper from her own notes. Many soon followed as she wolfed down the slim tome. She could not tear herself away from the clean and tidy script until she was through and when she finally looked up, her stomach grumbled with hunger and her eyes strained to readjust.

So Ylva gathered her belongings and headed for the main Hall where she could grab something to eat. On the way she bumped into Dorian, the only other student she could really call friend, was was of course fashionably late out of bed. He offered her his arm with a bow and flourish and she took it with a quiet giggle. Together they made their way to the Hall.

“You were sorely missed on our outing to the Club yesterday, my dear Ylva. What horrible creature kept you from my doting company?” Dorian had raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her and a smirk played over his lips. She knew that this question was merely rhetorical since he asked it almost every weekend. Ylva smiled up at him as her mind wandered unbidden to the meeting she had yesterday - and now this morning. It must have shown on her face as Dorian’s mouth twisted into a wicked grin and he squeezed her hand.

“You naughty girl! So there was someone; tell me everything and in detail!”

“Have you made the acquaintance of the new elvhen scholar? Yevven calls him Master Solas.” Dorian’s brow furrowed as he thought about it.

“Not as far as I can recall. He must just have arrived. So, what did that man do to warrant that look?”

Ylva sighed and worried her bottom lip before she replied.

“I am not quite sure what to make of him yet. He’s arrogant to the point of rudeness in one moment and kind and friendly in the next. At least Yevven seems to like him as far as I can tell.”

“He’s one of the dangerous sort then, please do be careful. And, well, look at the bright side. At least he is no professor and won’t be grading your papers.”

They both laughed at that and changed the subject to a more pleasing topic like the grand ball at Halamshiral at the end of the semester which was drawing ever nearer. Lunch was spent very amiably discussing a new practise of magic that had come over from Tevinter and they only parted ways on the stair steps in the library, each making their way to their respective study table.

Ylva made a beeline towards Solas’s desk, surprisingly nervous and fidgeting with the sheet full of questions. But luck had it that he was absent at the time and she exhaled a breath she did not know she had been holding. His desk was mostly tidy, a small stack of books neatly piled in one corner, notebooks in another. The rest of the table was occupied by loose sheets of paper, covered in beautifully detailed sketches of murals and studies of old masters - at least as far as she recognised them, art not being one of her strongest fields of study. She stood there for a while admiring his work when her eyes fell on a drawing that was different from the others. It showed the silhouette of a woman, starkly illuminated from behind, her fair hair glowing like a halo around her face. The composition was so lovely that Ylva wondered which colors the artist had chosen in the original and how her face looked like. It must be an Andrastean Icon given the subject of the drawing and Ylva made a mental note to look it up in Skyhold’s grand art collection when she had the time.

For now she just left her questions on the desk as he had instructed and returned to her own table to continue with Genitivii.

He did not come by her desk during the afternoon or evening, in fact she worked undisturbed until midnight when she finally decided to call it a day.  Ylva stood and stretched her aching arms and back, then collected the two books she had decided she would not need for her papers and made her way through the quiet and empty library to put back the books at their respective shelves. The lights were already turned down low for the night and she had to navigate the aisles by memory but she did not mind. Until she turned a corner and collided with someone else. The books were knocked from her hands, falling with a thud to the floor. And she would have too if not for the strong arms that wound themself around her waist and shoulders, steadying her.

“Are you alright?” Solas’s voice sounded low, warm breath caressing her ear. Ylva felt her face flush and only nodded, not trusting her voice to come out steady, glad for the concealing shadows around her. He didn’t let go of her immediately and she almost felt regret when he finally did.

“It seems that I have to adjust to not being the only one who stays up late to do some reading around here. I am sorry for startling you.” There was genuine warmth in his voice and she could almost see the smile in the dim light.

“I am all right. And I don’t mind sharing my quiet nights though it might take some time getting used to.” She heard him chuckle as he bent down to pick up her fallen books. When he straightened he made no motion of returning them to her.

“I will put those back for you. Have a good night, Miss Lavellan.” He bowed and disappeared as quietly back between the shelves as he had come. This left Ylva to return to her desk to collect her notebook and turn off the light; and with the memory of warm hands on her back, the smell of paper, a stoked fire and home in her nose.

That night she had trouble falling asleep.

[blindvogel]

One Quiet Night, Part 2

Solavellan College/Victorian AU setting, a bit more exposition fluff and peace offerings under the cut. 

Ylva started the weekend with a hearty breakfast and a trip to the library. It was still early in the morning, the sun had just risen and no one was around, not even Yevven. She had counted on that when she slipped into the dusky building and up the stairs to her usual place. The books she left on the table the day before were still there, as she had known they would. Yevvan had instructed the assistants to leave this particular table be and Ylva was glad to have found a friend and mentor in the jovial head librarian. It made her life exceedingly easier.

Light trickled in from the window behind the desk and so she was in no need to turn on the lamp. She unpinned her hat knowing that she had at least an hour or two where she would not need to wear that particular piece of annoyance, then settled at the desk to continue with the book she had to abandon previously.

Ylva was just a chapter further in when she felt someone watching her. For a moment she wanted to pretend she had not noticed but then curiosity got the better of her and she looked up. Solas was standing further down the aisle, one hand holding onto a thin book and an unreadable expression on his face. The intensity of his gaze summoned an unwelcome blush in her cheeks and reminded her that he had found her breaking college rules now for the second time in a row. Ylva forced herself to lower her eyes back to her notes. Maybe when I pretend not to see him, he’ll go away. But she knew that hope was in vain when she heard his quiet steps on the carpeted floor. When he cleared his throat she was forced to look up for the second time.

“I … had not expected to find you here at this early hour.” He sounded less sure of himself today, put out of ease.

“Nor I you for that matter.” Ylva offered a small apologetic smile as she reached for her veil and pinned it in place. She saw a flicker of something ghost across his face and hoped there would be no reprimand for her behavior. But he just returned the curt smile and held out the book he was carrying to her.

“Since you were so serious about your studies, I thought that this might help you on that particular subject.” A small, slim tome bound in plain dark leather, a peace offering. Ylva reached for it and for a heartbeat her fingers brushed over his as he left it in her care.

“Thank you. This is… very kind of you, Master Solas.” She smiled up at him fully, a peace offering of her own. He returned it, but it did not quite reach his eyes and Ylva wondered how he would look when it did. That seemed to be all he had wanted to say as he bowed his head to her and turned to leave. Without her having made the conscious decision to stand she was suddenly on her feet.

“If I should have questions…” Feeling suddenly very foolish Ylva trailed off. Yet he stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. And she found, that when a smile reached his eyes, it was quite breathtaking.

“Leave them on my desk and I’ll come back to you when I have time.” He gestured to the table on the other side of the rotunda, in a reading nook right across from hers, now almost hidden in the morning shadows. Then, with another bow, he left her standing and feeling slightly confused.

Ylva sat and tried to concentrate on Genitivii for a few more moments but soon had to concede that that was quite a hopeless undertaking after reading the same sentence for the sixth time. So she slid the book he had given to her in one of her hidden skirt pockets, grabbed her notes and left the library for some direly needed fresh air.

[blindvogel]

One Quiet Night, Part 1

An attempt at a Solavellan College/Victorian Era Au fic. Some set-up fluff and Solas and Lavellan meeting for the first time. (I think Solas in Victorian era clothing would look to die for. u////u ) Work under the cut for your convenience.

Ylva sighed. Her study load had almost tripled in the last week and she had just herself to blame for that. Her eager questions in Ancient Elvhen history and in Magic studies had led to additional paper assignments her instructors were only too willing to give. Probably just to stop her from asking more questions and interrupting their lectures - she was sure. So instead of going out with her colleagues on a perfectly nice Friday evening she was holed up in the library with books piled high around her. She didn’t mind too much though.

Not many Elves were permitted to study at Skyhold, the most prestigious and therefore expensive college campus in Thedas. Most of them had gained their place through a scholarship - just like she did - and the regular students looked down on them for it. Especially the city elves, all here with the help of a rich patron, sought to distance themself from their Dalish colleagues with biting remarks and upturned noses.

Ylva sighed again and smoothed down her moss-green walking gown that had managed to crumple slightly despite her efforts to sit still. Not wanting to turn her gaslamp even brighter and alert anyone to her presence in the furthest corner of the old and truthfully labyrinthian library she instead took off the small hat with the veil that all female students were instructed to wear during outings in public spaces. And that conveniently masked the Vallaslin etched in white ink into her brow and temples. Turning her attention back to her work, Ylva began reading once again, furiously making notes in notebook at her side.      

Several pages later she was interrupted by the soft sound of a book being put back on the shelves right next to her. Startled her head shot up and her eyes fell on another elv standing just across from her, an inquisitive look in his grey eyes. His head was shaven bald in scholarly custom, making his age indiscernible, no Vallaslin marked his face and - oh Creators! - he was dressed in a finely tailored suit with the Skyhold emblem pin on his coat lapel marking him as staff. Fen’Harel take her!, she was in so much trouble.  

“That is quiet the reading collection you have there. Genitivii’s complete work if I’m not mistaken.” His voice was soft and friendly, a smile just at the edge of his lips, but there was a hidden sharpness in it too, a pit full of daggers just out of sight. Protocol demanded he introduce himself first so not knowing how to respond to that, she reached for her hat and veil.

“Please forgive the disarray, it was a long day.” Her voice was quiet as she pinned the hat back in place and smoothed the translucent fabric over her face reverting her appearance back to proper decorum. In that time he had made another silent step towards her table and picked up one of her books.

“Ancient Elvhen history, I see. And here I thought the Dalish considered themself masters on that particular subject.” There it was, the sharpness, the bitter biting prejudice she had been silently waiting for. Ylva’s hands balled to fists in her lap and she had to restrain herself to not snatch the book out of his fingers or be rude when she replied.

“I see nothing wrong in seeking knowledge past my own and even rectify mistakes made in former studies on that subject. Isn’t this why we come here, Hahren, to learn?” She met his gaze with a challenging look and saw his face shift from mocking distaste to surprise. Whatever reply he had to that outburst was stuck in his throat as the sound of heavy feet interrupted their sparring and the Head Librarian Yevven rounded the corner to her reading nook.

“Ah, Master Solas, here you are.” He patted the elv jovially on the shoulder and gave a cheerful grin to Ylva, which she returned. “And I see you already met Miss Lavellan. Do be careful with this one, she will gladly pepper you with questions until your head falls off.” He gave a good humored chuckle over his own joke and then pinned Ylva with a stare she only knew too well. She laughed, immediately at ease in his kind presence.

“Yes, yes, I know, it is unhealthy for a young lady to stay up all night studying.” She stood, collecting her notes, pen and gloves. “I’m already gone. Stop fretting.” She offered an excusing smile. “Good night, gentlemen.”

With quick steps she left the library and crossed the yard towards her sleeping quarters. One way or another, she knew, this Master Solas would mean trouble. Oh so, so much trouble. 

[blindvogel]

There goes the ninth fragment of my Solavellan ficlet. (read best with Woods Darker Than Night - Child of Light soundtrack) 

Ylva rises from her spot between the roots and slowly, slowly, on shaking legs rounds the tree. Moving, not thinking. Once. Twice. And another time, until her body calms. Thoughts are tumbling in her head, scattered like leaves in a gust of wind, unable to form a coherent picture. She reaches for her braid to steady herself and only gropes at air, loose strands of hair playing over the back of her hand. Ylva stumbles, over a root, a loose stone, something. Her knees and palms hit the ground, scraping over rock and bark, jerking her back to the present.

For a moment she sits there, eyes unseeing, then she examines over what she had fallen. It is indeed a loose stone, yet not one of the regular paving stones that form the plaza and streets. Instead it is the lifted corner of a large slab, almost hidden underneath moss and dirt. Tentatively she brushes the loose dirt away, but the stone is unmarked. No grave then. And it had been moved, opened before. There are sliding marks on the stones before it, marks she had missed in her blind stumblings. Ylva gets back to her feet, her knees protesting with a dull ache, and makes a step away from the stone. And with one decisive gesture moves the slab from its resting place.

Stairs emerge from underneath it and she follows them down with veilfire dancing in her hand. The walls to her sides are rough hewn stone, broken every once in a while by stray roots. The descent is not long and the chamber that the steps lead into is small, spartan. The only occupant is an altar, covered in furs and those old elvhen words that she can not read. For a moment Ylva wishes she had drunk from the well to gain its knowledge, but the thought is fleeting, gone before she can dwell on it. She hesitates, then brushes her hand softly over the shape that was left in the furs, made by a warm body over a long, long time. Uthenera - whispers the sly voice of vague remembrance in her mind.

And with her movement rises a scent into the air - so familiar, longed for so long, surprising her with such a force she needs to steady herself at the stone to not fall on her bruised knees again. Her fingers dig into the fur, holding on to it as if her life depended on it. Yet it is her sanity that needs this earthly touch while her picture of him shatters and reforms into something new. Ylva lets out a shaky breath, one she did not realise she was holding. She crawls atop the altar and buries her face into the fur, his scent, and feels her world shift.

[blindvogel]

8th fragment of this solavellan thing that I'm working on. 

The Fade-memory that Ylva sees in this strange place is just as puzzling and yet feels familiar. The images are slightly out of focus, fraying at the edges just like old paper, touched too many times and worn with age. There are happy memories, of children playing in the shade of the tree, laughter and singing filling the air, the daily content routine of a functioning community. Yes, this was once a tiny village, so much is clear to Ylva. Then the memory fades and it feels like there should be another one, there are fragments, too shredded and hazy to make out. Like something ripped from the fabric of the Fade with unfathomable force. She shudders at the thought, that something or someone could be that powerful.

Then there is just one last thing left, the picture much clearer, sharper and filled with such raw emotions they ripple across Ylva’s skin. He looks just like the day she first saw him, at least most of him does. What she sees for the first time is this powerful rage and confusion etched into his face. He, who is always composed and has all the answers. She had seen him angry, when his spirit friend died at the fault of some stupid mages. But this is deeper, older, feral. Ylva does not know this man with this pain and hate in his eyes and she is frightened.

She jerks awake, droplets of cold sweat covering her skin, the tiny hairs on her neck standing uncomfortably straight, every muscle tense. All her senses screaming predator.

[blindvogel]

Part seven of a thing that is now running away from me. A Solavellan post-game ficlet that is definitely going somewhere - just not where I first planned. :/

Ylva travels fast today, hurrying to cover more ground. It is not the race from the last two days, but the uneasy feeling in her neck has not left, even though the bruises and cuts are gone. She makes rests and hunts to stock up on her reserves. Her thoughts are surprisingly clear despite the hurt in her chest. And she is close now, maybe another half day of travel at most. She catches herself humming a song she had heard from another traveling elvhen woman when she was younger, before all this, now so far away. She is not surprised that she still remembers the words, her training as a Keeper holding steady. Her steps slow when she reaches the end of the treeline, mountains rising in front of her, encircling a small valley - ruins and one single tall tree in this eerie, far away corner of land.

Are you, are you coming to the tree?

They strung up a man they say who murdered three.

Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.

The words come almost unbidden, but comforting none the less. Ylva keeps the pace, slowly, reverently walking amongst the crumbling stone towards the middle of the old village - or was it once a city?

Are you, are you coming to the tree?

Where dead man called out for his love to flee.

Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.

The ground underneath her rises as she walks what once must have been the main street towards the tree, planted in the center of the town square. Her skin tingles, strong wards have been placed in this forsaken place. But they let her pass and she wonders what they are supposed to keep out.

Are you, are you coming to the tree?

Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free.

Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.

The tingling is strongest right underneath the tree. It is not unpleasant, in the contrary, it feels kind and protecting and … slightly like home. So she places another ring of wards on the rough cobblestones of the plaza and then sits down between the roots with a piece of wood she had cut from a suitable branch that had fallen and begins her work.

Are you, are you coming to the tree?

Wear a necklace of hope, side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.

Ylva had not carved anything for a while and while at first her movements are stiff and slow, her hands soon remember the work and fall into a steady pace, following the rhythm of words that still fall from her lips. The sun begins to set and bathes everything around her in a warm golden light. And when that light wanes, Ylva summons some veilfire wisps to light her work.

Are you, are you coming to the tree?

Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free.

Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.

When the morning dawns, she is finished. A necklace, or two really - one sliding easily into the other, making one whole. A halla and a wolf entwined into an intricate knot. Ylva puts down the knife next to her and with a smile on her lips slips into the Fade. And dreams of a time long, long past.