#and it resides in a place of honor in the new city of arlathan + one must petition to enter. sorin and hahlena both

[arlathen]

it's funny that andrastianism was right but like a thousand years too early. like no a god and his (once?) mortal beloved didn't inhabit the golden city but. they do now.

[spainkitty]

How Much Symbolic and How Much Real?

Part 1 of 5

Tags: Arranged Marriage AU, also 'what if Arlathan never fell and the Evanuris were defeated' AU, Cullavellan, slow(ish) burn, mentions of past (like really really past) Sola vellan, basic DA fantasy setting with a lore-twist

There was something amazing about it. A whole world had sprung up while she had slept.

So many nations and races and peoples. So many stories and songs and legends. There were cities that could compare with her home, perhaps not in magic or depth, but in sheer scope and ingenuity. There had been heroes come and gone, wars fought and won. So many that it dizzied the mind trying to keep them all in order.

And something even more amazing was how little her own world had changed despite everything.

Arlathan was home. It was beauty and light and everything she'd ever loved about her People showcased in one place. Spirits taught in grand halls and Elvhen walked boulevards made of magic and crystal. With the Evanuris long defeated and the end of slavery an "embarrassing blight" safely millennia in the past, Arlathan was even more glorious than her earliest years of existence.

But Lanil Surana strode the paths and corridors and parks like one caged. Whether on the outskirts of the Arlathan Forest where her clan resided or deep in the heart of Arlathan itself, Lanil felt the same.

Desperately and absolutely bored.

She snorted quietly to herself. She knew exactly what that sounded like. Like a whining child not past their hundredth year. Bored. Bored. What would others say if they heard that?

You're a mage and warrior, Surana. Surely you can think of something interesting to do.

Bored? When the Fade is at your fingertips, when magic and life has no bounds?

Do you want another rebellion, Surana? Do you miss the glory of fighting at the Fen'Harel's side?

Lanil rolled her eyes and barely kept a snarl from her face. It always came back to Solas in the end, didn't it?

"Lane!"

She stopped mid-stride with a slight smile on her face and an uptick in her mood. Only one voice was so young and bright. She turned to see the young, dark-haired Elvhen running through the shimmering corridor of the Grand Hall.

Once, this had been called the Way of Elgar'nan. There had been a lot more ostentatious gold around, too. She liked the look of it now, with its living decorations of trees and flowers and dainty halla running riot and beautiful among the glassy white stone and gleaming blue Veilfire. The Elvhen woman running towards her matched this new look much better; her bare feet all but silent, her clothing of green and brown and black melding with her surroundings.

"Merrill. Or should I say First Alerion?" Lanil said, bowing with a flourish as her friend approached.

Merrill's fair skin flushed cherry-red as she laughed. The twining and complex branches of Mythal's vallaslin on Merrill's face was new, but not shocking. Many Elvhen continued to honor Mythal after her betrayal. Especially mages. It probably helped there was no actual slave binding in the action of it with Mythal long dead; the spark that lit the rebellion.

There had been talk at one point of creating a Fen'Harel vallaslin. Lanil still grinned when she remembered Solas' utter fury and disgust. It had shaken all of Arlathan's beautiful crystal towers.

"Just Merrill, don't be a twit," Merrill retorted, elbowing Lanil's ribs.

"Twit? Sounds like somebody's been in Kirkwall recently," Lanil noted with eyebrows rising, careful to keep her voice low. Merrill smiled happily.

"I have! I tried to invite you, but Keeper Lavellan said you were on one of your 'wanderings'," Merrill said. Her smile, usually brighter than sunshine, dimmed. Ah. Concern. From someone who was actually a youth. "You've been wandering the Fade a lot recently. You're not... you're going to leave again?"

"Not anytime soon," Lanil said, though she wasn't sure how honest she was being. "Maybe whatever the Council has called us for will be interesting enough to keep me awake for another century or two."

"Don't joke. We've barely started becoming friends. I never would've been brave enough to--"

"Not here, Merrill."

"Oh. Right."

Merrill glanced around warily and obviously. Lanil wasn't exactly subtle herself, but Merrill was a stampeding herd of gurgut in comparison.

"So you don't know what the Council wants?" Merrill asked as they continued onward. Owls were perched on the trees, their wide knowing eyes glinting with blue fire as they watched the two Elvhen. The boulevard branched in several directions and Lanil led Merril to the widest branch that twined on and on in a lazy spiral upward.

"No. Neither did my Keeper. She would've told me."

"If even the infamous Stormrider doesn't know, perhaps I should become concerned?" a voice remarked, dry and hoarse. And instantly familiar to Lanil.

"Tabris."

A figure somehow appeared in front of them as if from shadow, although this section of the Upper Walkway was much too bright for a sliver of shadow to exist. Like Lanil, her skin was dark tan, but there were no other similarities (that other Elvhen didn't also have). Her nose was strong and hawk-like, her eyes like pitch and slanted at the corners, her hair thick and straight and as black as her eyes and cut at chin-length. A scar cut all along leftside jawline, as if someone had tried to slice her throat and barely missed. Which was exactly what had happened; Lanil had been there to see it happen and helped heal it. Long, deadly daggers were sheathed at each hip, but there were definitely more daggers hidden out of sight. Despite her suspicious glare and stone-like expression, she and Lanil clasped hands warmly, tightly.

It only takes one time for someone to rescue your life to consider them a friend, in Lanil's opinion. And they'd saved each other countless times throughout the many horrific years of the rebellion.

"Mahariel was also summoned. She went on ahead," Danae Tabris said as their hands released.

"Mahariel? The Rynira Mahariel? The one who--" Merrill exclaimed breathlessly. She broke off. All three of them frowned at the same time, gazes catching.

"That's four of the youngest Elvhen currently alive, and only women," Lanil stated the obvious out loud.

"You think... that's on purpose?" Merrill asked, voice a little squeaky.

"Nothing else connects the four of us. Two mages, but also a dagger-wielder and an archer? Mahariel and I fought in the rebellion, but you and Danae weren't born yet. We both have sworn to Mythal, but Danae and Mahariel never retook vallaslin."

Danae snorted and barely kept from spitting in distaste. "I can't believe you kept yours," she muttered.

"I was a sworn initiate of the Well--" Lanil started hotly.

"Yeah, yeah." Danae rolled her eyes and cut the air with her hand sharply. "The Council is known for patience and all, but I want to suck out the venom and get it over with. Let's move on."

Without waiting, Danae turned on her heel. Merrill and Lanil followed quickly, the younger Elvhen sidling closer to Lanil.

"You don't think they know about Kirkwall, do you?" she whispered to Lanil.

Lanil hesitated, worry and its usual accompaniment of anger wormed its way into her head. She didn't need permission to do whatever she damn well pleased. After a moment of stewing, Lanil shook her head.

"Tabris wouldn't be caught dead sneaking out to play with the quicklings. I don't think Mahariel is fond of anything outside her clan, either. So that can't be the reason why we've been summoned."

Merrill pressed a hand to her chest and let out a relieved sigh. The rest of the walk was in silence, which scratched at Lanil's vaneer of calm. She wasn't good at silence. Or waiting. Or wondering.

Stepping in the huge, circular Assembly Hall and seeing every single Eldest in attendance shattered her calm more. Even honored Spirits of Command and Justice and Law hovered among the Elvhen. Was that a Spirit of Wisdom, too? Yes, in fact she knew that Spirit personally, the distinctly feminine-presenting Spirit was one of Solas' dearest friends. The four young Elvhen that had been summoned walked side by side into the middle of the room. Most of the gathered stood or sat along the benches in front of them and rising above their heads, although some were arrayed on either side or behind their backs.

"I'm sure you four have noticed the commonality among you already," stated one of the Eldest with an infuriating serenity and slowness. Halleon had been an Elder during the Evanuris' reign, and it made Lanil want to snap her fingers in his face every time they spoke. "Today we ask you to consider, with all the due weight and severity that it entails, a proposal from the quickling kingdom of Ferelden."

The four woman glanced at each other in confusion. But Halleon did not continue, just steepled his long, elegant fingers and examined them closely.

"Well? What proposal?" Lanil demanded, hands on her hips. Don't snap your fingers at him. Don't snap your fingers at him.

"A proposal of marriage, little one," said Rhona, one of the youngest on the Council and one of the few who was more warrior than mage.

"Oh," Merrill said on a confused laugh. Then, broke off abruptly. "OH!"

Danae, however, started laughing and didn’t stop, head tipped back and shoulders shaking. Not a single note of it sounded truly amused. Mahariel's blonde eyebrows were so far up her forehead, they'd disappeared behind the loose sweep of her bangs. Merrill had both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide enough to pop.

Lanil was stone. Completely and utterly stone.

A proposal of what?!

"Just so I understand the facts," Mahariel began. Her voice was always so lilting and musical, as if she were more bird than woman. It didn't help that her armor had feathered pauldrons and she wore feathers in her long, pretty, golden hair. For a woman so dainty and pretty, she was one of the most dangerous archers in Arlathan and had a kill count that rivaled Lanil's, probably surpassed it, since she'd once been a disciple of Andruil. "You want one of us to marry one of the quickling?"

"I knew the Ambassador of Ferelden had come, but I didn't know this was why," Merrill whispered.

"The Ferelden ambassador came with an offer of an alliance. A very... persuasive offer," Rhona explained.

"Quicklings are nothing, and we've never needed alliances before." Danae spat on the ground. Several of the Eldest sighed in resignation, although a few nodded in agreement.

"Before we were not surrounded on all sides by powerful nations and empires. Before the quicklings lived in the mud and barely patched together furs for clothing. Before they had no mages that could compare to ours, nor universities in which to flourish their talents. Most importantly, before there was no Tevinter and there was no Qun," Halleon pointed out mildly.

"As long as they continue to fight each other--" Danae started.

"No, listen to them. You live in the heart of the Elvhenan. Many clans do not. For the past few millennia, we have lost border territories while they've chipped away at us like rats nibbling cheese," Mahariel interrupted with her hand in front of Danae. "I've been in skirmishes and lost many good hunters and friends to these quicklings. Especially those that name themselves qunari."

"An alliance with one quickling nation would make the others hesitate," Rhona said. "Or perhaps seek to do the same."

"But why Ferelden?" Lanil heard her voice ask it, but hadn't felt her own mouth move.

"True, it is a young nation..." another voice said. Lanil's eyes darted over to see Tislain. Tislain had once been of Clan Lavellan, and her grey eyes mirrored Lanil's. Lanil wasn't sure it was calming, but she also wasn't sure what emotions were darting wildly in her head. "But it has managed to regain its independence twice despite its... shall we say, underdog position?"

More than several groaned and rolled their eyes at Tislain's horrible pun. Merrill looked at Lanil, who hadn't been able to help her snort of amusement.

"They have a thing for dogs there," Lanil muttered. Merrill groaned in disgust once the pun registered.

"More importantly," Rhona said with a warning look at Tislain, "the newest king has strong ties to Orzammar. The Ambassador has insinuated that a trade for lyrium could be made with their intervention."

Merrill and Lanil gaped.

Orzammar. Willing to trade lyrium. With Arlathan.

Lyrium.

Elvhenan didn't need lyrium. They interacted with the Fade and with magic like other races interacted with... with air. It was incomprehensible to be without magic, even if one weren't a mage.

But long ago, so long ago it made the rebellion feel like yesterday's news, they had access to lyrium. The artifacts they'd created, the spells they'd woven, there were traces of them all over Arlathan. Precious and few traces. Those bits and pieces were hoarded like dragons hoarded treasures and bones. Clans had fallen apart in schisms and blood oaths to never reconcile over debated ownership over lyrium-infused artifacts.

But dwarves despised Arlathan with a hatred as deep as their hidden roads. The Titans might have been lost to their Memories, but the Stone remembered anyway. To think that a quickling--a human kingdom barely out of its infancy could offer even a trickle of lyrium...

Offer a starving person a feast and they will gorge. Lanil herself felt the pang of hunger at the idea.

"But marriage?" Danae asked harshly.

"That's how those quicklings do it," Halleon explained with a negligent wave of his hand. "Their concept of alliances rely on marriage and progeniture--"

"Progen--No. I won't breed with them. I refuse," Danae snapped. She tightened her hands around her dagger hilts reflexively. "You slavering mages can get your lyrium without me."

"That is your right," Halleon agreed.

"Elvhen don't just... leave Arlathan, and elf-blooded quicklings aren't allowed in Elvhenan," Mahariel said. She cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. "How about you explain what exactly you expect from us? Excepting Tabris."

"Consider it more... symbolic. It'll be a human marriage and it'll last as long as the life of the quickling. Any..." Halleon's mouth twisted in distaste, "progeny will remain in Ferelden with no rights or allowances within Arlathan." Halleon paused and sighed. "As long as this marriage lasts, whomsoever agrees to it will not be allowed back in Arlathan. You are exiled as long as you're bound by their marriage contract."

"Exiled?" Merrill whispered.

Danae scoffed loudly. Mahariel frowned and shifted on her feet. Lanil, however, felt her heart beat for the first time since the word 'marriage' was said.

No more sneaking out of the boundaries like a naughty child just to see somewhere, something, new? No more of the same days over and over with the same faces? No more passing like a wraith from eluvian to eluvian to glimpse a world she wasn't allowed to experience and that despised her? No more walking purposeless in Solas' shadow? No more facing the awkward guilt for something that happened centuries ago?

"Me," Lanil said. Every eye turned to her. She squared her shoulders, tipped up her chin, and stepped forward. "It'll be me. I'll do it."

"I told you," Tislain said with a wide grin and glinting eyes. "Surana was the most obvious choice."

"There had to be choice, Tislain," Rhona said, as if she'd repeated it several times.

"You haven't even asked who you have to marry!" Merrill hissed from behind her hand. Uselessly, because everyone could hear.

Lanil raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Fortunately, the alliance will be with the commander of their army. You'll have much in common," Tislain said. "Ferelden seems to give their commanders the proper amount of respect."

Several Eldest nodded sagely. Many of them had been leaders in past wars themselves. It was expected of Eldest to have known true combat, to have faced death in a way most Elvhen never would.

Lanil cocked her head to the side. "So we'll spend the few years of this human's life swapping war stories?"

"Exactly."

Lanil snorted quietly and shook her head. But it didn't sound so bad. She hadn't picked up a sword in centuries, but maybe she could learn something new.

Learn something new.

A grin tugged at her lips.

...

Arlathan was more Fade than material world, but many of the clans were settled firmly on the earth. Elvhenan spread across what the quicklings called 'Thedas' like a splatter of inkblots on the map. Perhaps their adversaries would say their borders were like a stain seeping between the lines of all those mostly human nations. While a few clans, and Arlathan itself, had control of a few port cities, Lavellan did not. Lavellan's lands were south of Arlathan, so south most of the quicklings they met were simple Free Marchers who'd accidentally crossed an invisible line into the clan territory without even realizing it. Until they were surrounded on all sides by silent hunters who led them back into their lands like naughty chickens loose from the coop. The Fade made permanent borders tricky or downright impossible, so it happened often.

Merrill had hoped that leaving from Lavellan would mean their journey would lead them down to Kirkwall, but Rialto in Antiva was the closer port. Lanil had been a little disappointed herself. However, the entourage Arlathan had appointed probably would've been impossible to escape for a last night of revels with Merrill's strange friends.

Lanil glanced at the suspiciously glaring Danae and Mahariel's eagle eyes taking in everything around them.

No "probably" about it.

Although they'd denied being the sacrificial pawn in this newfangled alliance, the three other women were assigned to escort her to Ferelden and stay through the confirmation of treaty talks.

Which would end with Lanil's marriage.

She scowled as her stomach turned in knots and it wasn't the unfamiliar smell of the sea. She raised her face to breathe in deep the salty air. Lanil couldn't remember the last time she'd been on the open sea. These past few weeks on the ship had been... wonderful. The first shaking off of the cobwebs on her life. Had the sea air always been so warm and pleasant? The sea so alive? Not even the port city of Highever, greyer and muddier than Rialto had been, dampened her opinion. The gangplank was being set and she wanted to race off the ship, leap through the air and take off through those narrow, jumbled-looking streets. She curled her hands tightly around the railing to hold herself in place. Next to her, Merrill was jumping up and down on her toes. Danae and Mahariel stood like silent and disapproving statues on each side of them.

Lanil's eyes snapped in every direction, nothing too small or beneath her notice. So many humans! And look, dwarves! She didn't know dwarves could leave the Stone! Or sail? There weren't enough to sail an entire ship, so perhaps they lived in Highever or were surface-dwelling merchants? Great white gulls cried and swooped overhead. Ropes and sails creaked and cracked in the wind. A dog as big as a wolf ran down an alleyway, barking and hopping like an eager puppy before racing back the way it had come. The buildings were low, made of stone with wooden roofs and windows were made of foggy glass. The clothing was a mix of rough and undyed, and garishly overdyed with weird puffy sleeves. And everyone wore... shoes? Or were they called boots? Which were boots and which were shoes?

Antiva had been more lively and not so... brown. But even here, languages Lanil had never heard swelled up from the busy crowds. She didn't understand everything! Whole words and sentences that meant nothing! Her eyes widened as Elvhen walked by--No.

Elves. Bor'len

Lost Children.

She couldn't help but crane over the railing to watch them walk by. One of them caught her staring, a look of bewilderment quickly followed by a grimace, and then the Lost Child made an obscene gesture with their hand. Lanil reared back in surprise and scowled at Danae who laughed in her face.

"Look, look! There they are!" Merrill somehow began to bounce even faster. She grabbed Lanil's arm with a suddenness that almost had Lanil recoiling. "Which one is your husband?"

"You are too eager about this, Alerion. It's just a quickling marriage," Mahariel said.

"To a male one," Danae added with a grimace.

"Yes, yes, we all know why you said no, but Lanil likes men, don't you?" Merrill asked, shaking Lanil's arm. Lanil raised an eyebrow at her. "If you're going to have children, aren't you at least interested in what he looks like?"

"You mean she has to breed with it, because everything these quicklings do is about breeding," Danae muttered. Lanil and Merrill both ignored her.

"I planned on lying back and thinking of Arlathan, but I suppose a pretty face in the middle of that wouldn't be too bad," Lanil said dryly, and Merrill laughed. Lanil cared more about the horses and the return of that massive black hound. Everything about Ferelden was so... sturdy and big, not exactly tall or massive, but built on bigger lines. Lanil had never seen a hound so large it could probably snap her spine, not unless it were actually a shapechanger. Merrill barely smothered her laughter as the Ambassador approached them.

"I do hope everything is ready," the woman fretted, watching as the sailors unloaded cargo (most of it not from Arlathan). Strangely, the woman was Antivan rather than Ferelden, but she'd been kind and, no better word for it, efficient during the entire journey. She was also beautiful, sweet, and suffered fools with a cutting sort of grace. A few times, Danae hadn't been able to help the lingering glances she gave Ambassador Montilyet. When she thought no one was looking.

"I don't know how we'd be anymore ready," Lanil said with a shrug.

In Elvish, Danae muttered, "Let's take you to your jailer, then."

Mahariel rolled her eyes and Merrill frowned, obviously about to argue. Lanil shook her head and put her hand on Merrill's arm. Then, the four of them followed Ambassador Montilyet down the gangplank.

...

Cullen tried not to grimace as Cassandra hissed a steady stream of well-intentioned advice beside him. He was pretty sure she hadn't stopped giving advice since Arlathan approved of the alliance Ferelden had proposed with very little hope of success. Queen Aleandria had been sure the alliance relying on the symbolic marriage to a commander rather than a noble or royal would immediately be seen as the insult the council pretended it wasn’t, and King Alistair had been sure immortal beings of magic and mystery would want nothing to do with "that muddy dog country". When Cullen had been told he'd be married off like a pawn in a game of chess after all, Cassandra had been even more offended than him.

And then she somehow channeled his older sister's nosiness and followed him around for weeks to "prepare him" for it.

"Make sure you smile when you meet her. You don't look half bad when you smile--"

"Cassandra, please be quiet," Cullen begged, rubbing at his face.

"Don't do that." Cassandra grabbed his arm and tugged it back down. "What if she saw that? She'll think it's about her."

"Maker preserve me," he whispered.

By his horse's side, his mabari whined and shuffled, ready to run off half-cocked again. Cassandra had said to leave him in Denerim, he wasn't well-trained and barely more than a pup despite his size, but... Cullen had just adopted him. He couldn't let him feel abandoned.

A few sailors came down the gangplank from the ship--The Bodice Ripper? What kind of name was The Bodice Ripper for a ship?--and with them a woman who sauntered and rolled with each step as if she was still at sea. Her high boots and long tunic almost disguised the fact she wasn't wearing trousers. Where in the Void were her trousers? Cullen quickly looked over at the more familiar and more dressed woman speaking with her. Josephine always stuck out in a crowd, but in a good way. All bright silks and smiles and too many ruffles.

And then four elves--No, Elvhen, don't forget everything Josephine and Leliana drilled into your head--came down. He heard Carroll let out a quiet whistle and barely held back a grimace. He'd have to remember to reprimand Carroll later; even if he understood. There was something almost unearthly beautiful about the blonde woman who was all legs and a dancer's sort of grace. But she had a bow and quiver on her back.

Not Lavellan.

Hopefully the darker-haired and darker-complexioned woman next to her wasn't Lavellan either. Not because of the daggers she gripped at her belt. Cullen was more intimi--concerned about the curl of distaste on her mouth and the utter disdain on her face as her dark eyes scanned the crowd of horses.

The next two came down side by the side. The shorter, fairer one with an almost tree-like facial tattoo was tugging at the fourth's arm, grinning wide and pointing every which way. It was nice one of them looked excited... but she reminded Cullen uncomfortably of his little sister despite them looking nothing alike and the Elvhen probably being several decades older than she looked.

The last one, though. She was scowling like the dagger-wielder, but she was looking everywhere her friend was pointing. She was darker, but her short-cropped hair was the color of ivory, spiky and windblown around her face. There was something there, along her cheekbones that glinted, but Cullen couldn't quite make it out. More facial tattoos? He thought Elvhen no longer had them... She was almost as short as her friend and just as slender.

Both wore leather armor, one in green and one in blue. Both carried staves on their backs, one made entirely of wood and crystal, one of smoky grey metal carved into a dragon's likeness at the head.

Cullen couldn't take his eyes off the woman in blue. He wouldn't even let the words form in his head. What would it matter starting a thought like 'please be--'... Nope.

He was trying so hard not to make a fool's wish in his head that he forgot about the mabari.

With a series of loud excited barking, the dumb dog raced towards the women at the bottom of the gangplank. He'd probably caught scent of Josephine, or maybe the scent of a new creature suffused with magic. Cullen bit back an oath and threw himself out of his saddle, Cassandra right after him and not holding her own cursing back.

"Fetch! No!" Cullen shouted as they chased after the damn dog who, of course, didn't even slow down.

Josephine sighed and quickly held up her hands, begging the Elvhen to please not worry. The blonde Elvhen raised a single eyebrow, the angry one loosened her daggers, the smallest one clapped her hands together in delight, and the one in blue stepped forward and knelt. For a woman so small, Cullen winced and expected Fetch to bowl her over. Maybe knock her right into the bay.

Instead, the Elvhen barely moved an inch, gripping Fetch to hold him in place and  talked to him in rapidfire Elvish. The mabari actually sat, wriggling in place, stump of a tail going wild, and let both the woman in blue and her happy-go-lucky friend coo and stroke him.

"Fetch, is it? What a perfect name for such a fiercesome beast," she was saying in a softly accented Common. Cullen skidded to a stop as Fetch licked right across her face. Her friend burst into laughter as she grinned widely.

This close, Cullen could see the subtle gold tattoos along her high cheekbones, the scar that cut down the right side of her face from under her eye, forking towards her jaw and down to her mouth, another smaller scar just under her bottom lip, and her obviously broken nose. It made her... look real. Like a real person, not some ethereally perfect elf goddess. When she looked up, her eyes gleamed silver as the early afternoon's light struck them.

"I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome," she told him, her grin becoming more like a smirk.

It's her. It has to be her.

"What's a Ferelden greeting without a mabari," Josephine said with yet another sigh, although Cullen could see the beginnings of a smile. "Enchanter Lanil Lavellan, this Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford. And his dog, Fetch."

"I should've left him in Denerim, I know," Cullen muttered. He tried grabbing at Fetch's ruff, but it was a bit hard to do when neither he nor Lavellan had looked away from each other.

"No. This is better," Lanil Lavellan said. She was the first to break the eye contact. So she could smile at his dog and scratch Fetch's ears. "It would've been all grand and stuffy otherwise."

"You mean it would've been a whole lot of etiquette while you tried to pretend like you cared," the blonde Elvhen retorted. She looked a bit like that ethereal goddess idea that had gotten into Cullen's head, even her ears were longer and higher, like in an artist's painting of the Evanuris War, compared to Lavellan's wider and lower ears.

Lanil Lavellan shrugged. She got to her feet and stepped around Fetch to hold out her hand. Cullen stared at her, then gratefully clasped his hand around her wrist and she returned it. His hand basically encircled the entirety of her wrist, but her grip was tight and firm belying her much smaller, thinner hand. He wasn't used to a mage displacing that much strength.

"That's a lot of names," she said, her head tilting to the side.

"Cullen. Cullen is fine."

She nodded. "Lanil is fine."

"What about us?" Her friend with the tattoos nudged Lanil Lavellan away. She went with a grunt, her hand dropping from his. "I'm Merrill, I'm an Enchanter, too. You can tell from the staff, right. Anyway. The other scowly one is Danae Tabris and she's Rynira Mahariel."

"This really isn't how it's supposed to be done," Josephine said, utterly mortified.

"It's too late now, precious," the ship's captain teased. There was a quiet thwap and Josephine startled in place and eeped.

"I'm Cassandra Pentaghast. I'm a Seeker of Truth working in the Ferelden court for a time," Cassandra said. She held out her hand and each Elvhen clasped it respectfully.

"Seeker of Truth? Isn't that the same thing as a Templar?" Lanil Lavellan asked with a frown.

"No, their little Chantry split into Seekers and Templars a few hundred years back," Tabris said dismissively.

"You know nothing, Tabris. It was an Inquisition that split into Templars and Seekers," Mahariel corrected with an eyeroll.

"Oh. That. With the bor'len," she said using a word in Elvish that sounded like an insult. Lanil Lavellan said something equally sharp and cutting, and Tabris crossed her arms over her chest and glared off to the side.

Cassandra and Cullen exchanged a look.

"We're not here to talk about the past!" Merrill clapped her hands together and then shoved Lanil Lavellan forward. Lanil Lavellan glared over her shoulder, but let Merrill push her past Cullen and Cassandra towards the end of the docks. Fetch jumped and hopped and ran in circles around them.

"Wait! We need to get your things!" Josephine called after them.

"We trust you to get it sorted," Mahariel said as she followed her compatriots.

"I'll stay to make sure it's done," Tabris muttered, still glaring at nothing. Mahariel trilled a few words in Elvish and Tabris snapped back. Mahariel only laughed.

"Well, this has been something," Cassandra muttered.

"Yeah..." Cullen agreed, watching Lanil Lavellan get shoved towards the squad of mounted soldiers. He startled slightly and rushed after them. "Your horse!"

Lanil Lavellan glanced over her shoulder at him. And she was still frowning. How is it that Fetch got her to smile and he hadn't yet?

He was not going to compete with his dog.

"I have, um, actually you have a horse. This one." Cullen held up a hand and Captain Rylen tossed him the reins to a Green Dales Feral. Cullen caught them to hand them off to Lavellan.

She took them awkwardly, eyebrows rising, only to immediately drop them. Cullen lurched to grab them while she stepped up to the horse. She stroked down the mare's nose, muttering in a mix of Common and Elvish. Like Fetch, the horse made her smile. Cullen dug in his pocket and cleared his throat. Lavellan turned those eyes on him, now a darker, stormier grey out of the sunlight. He held out his fist and dropped a lump of sugar onto her palm when she offered it. She turned back to the mare and grinned when it lipped the sugar right out of her hand.

"Does she have a name?"

"No, Dennet doesn't bother naming the ones he sells. It's up to the new owners. That's you," Cullen explained quickly.

Finally, she smiled at him. A closed lipped, slight thing, but it lightened her entire face.

She looked beautiful.

Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, quickly looking away.

"I can't ride."

He startled and stared at her. She was smirking at him now. "You... can't?"

She shook her head. "We travel by eluvian. They can cover long distances in seconds. There's no need to ride horses."

"I thought... the halla?"

"We don't ride halla. They were sacred to Ghilan'nain before... you know, all of that, and now they roam wild," Merrill explained, hands waving around.

Lavellan cocked her head to side, sizing up the horse silently. She walked around, stroking her hand along the mare's neck, then gripped the saddle horn and hoisted herself up in an easy, fluid motion. As if she'd done it a thousand times.

"She's well trained," she said, patted the mare's neck again. "We'll figure it out together."

"These will help," Cullen said as he handed her the reins again. Lavellan grimaced, but shrugged and took them.

"And us?" Merrill asked, bouncing up and down on her toes as her eyes lit up cheerfully. Cullen realized all four Elvhen were barefoot, their leggings that ended wrapped around the arches of their feet the only covering.

"Uh, right. Everyone has their own horse while visiting in Ferelden. It's a long road to Denerim." He motioned at the soldiers leading the other mounts, including Josephine's.

"How far?" Lavellan asked.

"A week at best."

She frowned and leaned towards her mare's ear. "You're beautiful, my friend, but you're not as convenient as an eluvian." The mare snorted and shook her head making Lavellan and the other Elvhen laugh.

Cullen stared at Lavellan, wondering what he was supposed to say or do next. The blonde one, Mahariel, caught him staring. The look of amusement on her face had Cullen's mouth thinning. He nodded his head once and turned away without a word. The Elvhen began to talk in their own language among themselves, sparing no other soldier their attention, while Cullen stood with Josephine, Cassandra, and the stone-faced Tabris to watch his soldiers packing all their supplies. Fetch darted back and forth between the Elvhen and Cullen, barking and leaping excitedly.

The last of the supplies were packed, Tabris was with her Elvhen comrades, and a few soldiers were assigned to stay back to guard the caravan with cargo from several ports. Not quite allies, but not enemies, willing to trade with Ferelden while they had their own sovereignty. As he walked away from the caravan and Captain Rylen, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Josephine touched his arm and he glanced towards her, an eyebrow rising.

"Give it time, Commander. I've been travelling with them for weeks and this is the most Common I've heard them speak," she assured, squeezing lightly and briefly. Cullen huffed a laugh.

"Couldn't have been fun for you."

Josephine tsked and waved it away. "Their language is fascinating, honestly. But you must understand, Elvhen don't just leave Elvhenan. Enchanter Lavellan has agreed to become an exile for this alliance and it'll be decades before she'll be able to return home. She'll need time to adjust."

Cullen leaned in close, voice low and heated. "What? No one told me that! This was already a bad idea, and now she probably hates me, too." He scrubbed a hand over his face and braced a hand on his hip. Cassandra smacked his back hard enough to make him grunt. And he was wearing armor.

"She'll have decades to get over it," she said.

Josephine giggled and quickly stifled it at Cullen's look. She skirted away, her face carefully angled down to hide her expression. Cullen ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when his gauntlets caught. When he looked over at the Elvhen, Lavellan was already gazing at him. She didn't need to hide her face, her expression was already unreadable.

Fetch threw himself against Cullen's legs. Cullen let out an involuntary grunt and his stare-off with Lavellan ended. Shaking his head, he lowered to a knee and ruffled Fetch's ears.

"Yeah, I know. I'll get it together," Cullen promised. Fetch barked and proceeded to slobber all over Cullen's face. Because even his own dog laughed at him. Cullen laughed and shoved Fetch's head away, standing to walk over to his mount.

[in-arlathan]

The Rebel’s Ascension

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Pairing: Solas x Female OC | Tags: Angst, Drama, Intrigue, and lots of Elven Lore | Rating: Explicit | Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Explicit Sexual Content

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Note: Hey everyone, ready to continue? This a semi-new chapter. I extracted the scene from another chapter, extended it a bit and gave it a new title. The main reason being that I want to add a big new flashback scene in-between. Got around to improve some of the descriptions as well. Happy reading!

____

Chapter 3: A Place Of Peace

-3,700 Ancient

 Solas didn’t look back when he exited the Ring of Summons. He held his chin up high as he walked the aisle that let up the ranks of the gathered elvhen. The watching him closely, whispering among themselves, as he left them and the Evanuris to their own devices.

 He exited the chamber and made his way back over the Bridge of Lies in fast strides. A small crowd had formed on the other side of the walkway. Spirits and commoners who had not been invited to witness the gathering first hand. They, too, watched him as he crossed the bridge and began to shout questions as soon as he was within earshot.

 Solas pretended not to notice. He kept walking with his hands clasped behind his back and waited for the crowd to part before him like the sea. To the people, he must look proud and confident but that was not what he felt. His thoughts raced as unrest settled in his guts. He needed a quiet place, and time to think.

 Luckily, he knew where he could find both.

 Each of the gods held some kind of estate within the confines of the city. Their towers rose high above into the sky as symbols of wealth and power. Some were carved from sand and stone and marble, others from crystal or even foliage. The Sun Spire, Elgar’nan’s residence, was crafted from pure glass so that the tower could capture the light of the sun. The Halls of the Dead, Falon’Dins temple, featured a facade of onyx and obsidian that seemed to consume the light reflected by the Sun Spire. But both buildings appeared next to the might of the All-Mother’s tower.

 Mythal had granted him accommodations within all of her estates in Elvhenan, including the temple the elvhen had erected in her honor at the center of Arlathan. The edifice was nothing short of an architectural wonder. In its middle stood a large stone tower, decked with intricate reliefs of Mythal’s war against the Titans that seemed to touch the very heavens. Around it, crystalline structures grew on the stone, interlaced with lush greenery and myriads of glowing flowers.

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[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 42 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence and threat Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Not Safe Yet

Skyhold was magnificent.

It loomed above the plateau, a fortress far greater than the game had suggested it to be. Not only that, but the plateau itself held something not even Rory had expected to see - a ruined city of stone, clearly elf-built, long abandoned even by those who had made it home after the fall of Arlathan. She had always wondered how the entire core of the Inquisition could possible have fitted into Skyhold, especially given how much of it remained littered with debris and unusable, and now she knew. The fortress was just central headquarters - the army, the visitors, the merchants, even the pilgrims would be housed in the city that stood in the shadow of the fortress. Once the rubble was cleared and the houses rebuilt, it would be perfect for their needs. The bulk of the people would remain in the city; only the council, the inner circle, the Inquisitor, and select others, would take up residence in Tarasyl'an Te'las itself.

There was just one problem. The place where the sky is kept was already occupied. Not by people, oh no ... by spiders. Giant ones. After Kaaras and his party's initial failed attempt to get past the second gatehouse into the fortress, Cullen had made the executive decision to wait for the larger Inquisition force to arrive before they made a push to clear the infestation. Which would have been fine, had the spiders not decided that the beleaguered group camping in the city below were just too tempting a meal to pass up. As night fell, they descended from the fortress in droves, falling upon the hapless survivors to feast.

As the panic spread, Rory found herself barricaded inside one of the few houses still completely intact, together with several of the injured and more than a few of the children. Indeed, the only able-bodied adults in there were herself, Evy, Lysette, and a pair of Cullen's raw recruits. Five people, two of whom were not fighters, to protect a dozen of the most vulnerable of their group, and not a mage among them.

"You and you, secure and guard those windows," Lysette ordered the two recruits, who rushed to obey the templar. "Mistress Rory, Mistress Evelyn, gather them into the center of the room, away from the walls. I will hold the door."

Grateful that someone knew what to do, Rory moved with Evy to do as they were told. Several of those still recovering from injury were armed, insisting on being placed around the edge of their protective circle, just in case. As Rory knelt in that knot of people, absently wrapping her arms about a pair of weeping children with a third clinging to her back, she forced herself not to be afraid. Or at least, not to show fear. The children needed the adults to be calm, at the very least.

Crouched together in oppressive darkness lit only by a pair of sputtering torches, they listened to the chaos that reigned outside. Screams of fright and pain filtered in through the shuttered windows, mingling with the crackle and snap of spells, the clash of swords and zip of arrows against armored carapaces. Worse were the sounds of the many-limbed giants on the roof above them - so many, seeking a way into this poor haven where fresh meat waited in tense fear. The boy under Rory's arm whimpered, and she drew him closer, touching her cheek to his hair.

"It's all right," she heard herself promise him, promise all of them, child and adult alike. "Everything will be fine."

The older boy hugging to her back agreed. "The Herald will save us."

"He won't have to," Evy said, confident despite the tremble in her voice. "Lysette and the soldiers will keep us safe."

As she spoke, however, her eyes met Rory's in the dusty gloom, sharing their morbid thought without the need for words. If the spiders got in, they were all dead, no matter how hard they fought. Right now, all their lives were in the hands of a templar and two recruits, who may or may not be able to keep the ravenous arachnids at bay.

"What was that?"

Her head snapped toward the speaker, an older soldier who had broken both arms in the evacuation from Haven. He was peering into the darkness that cloaked the back wall of the house, scowling in concentration.

"What was what?" one of the others demanded in a harsh tone, fear making him seem aggressive in the watchful room.

"Thought I heard something," the injured soldier said warily. "There! You hear that?"

Rory strained her own ears, trying to listen past the clattering on the roof and battle outside, fighting her own heartbeat to hear what had alarmed the seasoned fighter so. For a long moment, she thought he must have imagined it, his over-trained senses tricking him ... then she heard it, too. The click of spindle legs on stone; the sibilant snap of mandibles clacking entirely too close for comfort. With a muted curse, one of the burned workers snatched up a torch, tossing it toward the sound, and the screaming began as the panic took hold.

There, by the hearth, a giant spider reared back from the flame of the torch, the flickering light illuminating another of the corrupted creatures dragging itself from the chimney breast. They'd found a way in.

As Rory grabbed for the children, trying to keep them under control as she lurched to her feet, she heard Lysette snap out another order. "Here, to the corner! Now!"

Small and agile, conditioned to obey, the children were first to that defensible place, huddling together in outspoken terror as the templar moved to guard her charges against the deadly invasion, the soldiers abandoning the shuttered windows to join her. With no choice now but to ignore her own fear, Rory darted to helped her adult patients to their new place of dubious safety, all the while expecting to feel the clamp of venomed jaws at her legs, or the cloying wrap of webs about her limbs. As battle was joined within the confines of the room, she picked up the second torch, hoping she had it in her to protect these people to her last breath. But that was the problem - she knew she didn't.

By the light of those two flaming torches, their little group watched as templar and soldiers hacked at the spiders that just kept coming, risking their lives with every blow to hold their line. This wasn't honor; it wasn't even duty. This was survival. But for every spider they put down, there was always another to take its place. They were fighting a losing battle, and everyone whose lives depended on them knew it.

Suddenly a fresh scream rose from the group at Rory's back. She spun about, seeing eyes and hands pointed upward. A cold sensation settled over her. Raising the torch, she lifted her own gaze, swallowing a scream of her own as a spider dropped from the ceiling above. The torch was knocked from her hand, scattering sparks over stone, as she fell beneath its weight, flat on her back, those eager fangs far too close for comfort. Eight shining eyes glittered down at her ... and erupted in a spray of ichor and blood as a blade was thrust deep. A booted foot kicked the body clear, a familiar hand reaching down to drag her up.

 "Evy?!"

The Trevelyan pushed her back toward the huddle. "I've got this."

Rory stared at her friend in outright shock, even as friendly hands pulled her to safety. Sweet, shy Evelyn Trevelyan, who cowered from sharp words and had tried to hide from a dragon behind a pub, threw herself into the fight, picking off the spiders that got past Lysette and the others with dual daggers she had clearly taken off a soldier unable to wield them. It was ... amazing to watch.

Evy moved like an acrobat, jumping, spinning, rolling, never quite where the mindless arachnids expected her to be. Her daggers sliced through thorax, legs, eyes, disabling before landing the killing blow, quick to retreat before another could get behind her. Rory's mouth hung open as she watched, scarcely aware of the ichor sliding down her face and trickling through her hair. Of course she can fight. In another life, she would have been the Inquisitor. Just because she chooses not to, doesn't mean she can't. Her jaw snapped shut as an inappropriate thought sprang to the forefront of her mind. Rylen's going to cream his pants. The Starkhaven captain was definitely going to approve of this side of his noble lover. Yet even the addition of a clearly seasoned rogue wasn't enough to turn the tide. They were still losing this fight.

A crash against the main door to the house raised another round of piercing screams, the children clinging to the adults in pure terror. The bar rattled, buckled, and finally broke clean in two as the door burst open. Rory got a brief impression of two axe-wielding Qunari, roaring like maniacs, before Kaaras and the Iron Bull charged into the fray. Bolts sang through the splintered doorway, picking off spiders that got too close; Varric, no doubt enjoying the opportunity to show off. Bianca fell silent, and two figures darted inside - Dorian and Vivienne.

"Hello, darlings," the Tevinter mage greeted the shocked gaggle of adults and children huddled in the corner. "Hold still and shut your eyes, all be over soon."

In the moments before she squeezed her own eyes shut, Rory saw him sweep his staff over the room, feeling the familiar greasy cling of magic in the air as barriers slammed into place around them. Then a burst of light so bright it hurt even closed eyes, the sizzling crackle of a firestorm unleashed through the house, only to blink out and plunge them all into pitch-black silence. Then a deep laugh broke that stillness.

"Good fight," Bull declared with almost offensive cheer. "Someone gonna light a torch in here?"

"If you can find a torch to light, certainly." That was Vivienne, the measured civility of her tone remarkably comforting as Rory steeled herself to open her eyes. "I would suggested not allowing the children to see the result of that spell, however."

"You could be right," the Qunari mercenary agreed. "Kids, keep your eyes shut. This isn't pretty."

"There speaks a man who knows nothing about children," Dorian commented with drawling disapproval.

"How about you stop chatting and get them out of there?" Varric interjected. Rory could just make the dwarf out, silhouetted in the doorway, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. "You all right, Cupcake?"

A faint glow of moonlight was asserting itself, allowing her to count the faces around her. Everyone was accounted for. Rory let out a sigh of relief. "We're all right," she answered, pulling herself to her feet once again. "Where are the others?"

"Curly's rounding them up in the main square," Varric told her. "C'mon out. They're going to need you."

She nodded, feeling a flare of very personal relief at the news that Cullen had come through this as she reached down to take hold of two small hands. "All right, smalls, the coast is clear," she reiterated for the frightened children. "Everybody holding somebody's hand?"

As the children reached out to take hold of each other and the adults around them, Kaaras moved to join them, bending to lift the smallest onto his hip. "We're not running, we're walking," he informed the children with a grin. "Because we're not scared of anything, are we?" A chorus of young voices agreed. "Good. Here we go, then."

Carefully, with the help and guidance of their rescuers, the vulnerable group made their way out into the ruined city, children and injured and all. The rubble-strewn streets were littered with spider corpses and scorch marks; here and there, the awful sight of an unmoving cocoon. Escorted by the Herald of Andraste and his heroic friends, they picked their way to where the commander was mustering those who had survived. Familiar faces stood out in the crowd as they were reunited - Josephine, Rylen, Sera, Leliana, Roderick, Cole, Blackwall, Solas, Harritt and Flissa and Seggrit. All there, except for -

"Where did you go?" an irate Nevarran voice demanded as they handed the children into the care of others.

Kaaras winced, turning to face an incandescent Cassandra. "I went with -"

"Never do that again!" the Seeker snapped as she glared at him. "How am I supposed to protect you when you just run off?"

"It wasn't like I -"

"I don't want to hear it." Cassandra poked his chest, hard. "You are with me, or you do not fight at all."

Rory didn't hear Kaaras' response. A hand cupped her elbow, turning her about, and she found herself looking up at Cullen, throwing her arms about his neck in a rush of sobbing relief, clinging to him as his own arms banded tight about her waist. His face pressed against her neck, both of them heedless of the spray that coated them both. I'm alive. You're alive. I don't have time for sex, so this is just going to have to do.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, drawing back to look him over. Covered with blood and ichor, he didn't seem to be carrying any injury.

He shook his head, tilting her chin to inspect her in return. "Not a scratch," he promised her. "You?"

"Just dirty," she promised him in turn. "Where are they?"

There was no need to ask who she meant; after a fight like that, the healers were essential. Cullen twisted, nodding toward a group nearby, bloodied and white-lipped with pain. Rory squeezed his hand, slipping from his side to plunge herself into her work alongside the few healers who had come through unscathed. This was what she was here for, after all. She just hoped the spiders were really gone. She could do without seeing another one up so close anytime soon.

One thing was certain - she was going to have to do something very nice for Evy pretty damn soon. She saved my life. Maybe it was time Rylen pulled himself together and asked that question he'd had playing on his mind for the last month or so. Wouldn't that be nice?