#ara mahariel

[marina-and-the-memes]

9 PEOPLE YOU WANT TO KNOW BETTER

Thanks for the tag bff @calla-lilly 🫶

TAGGING: @salander-san @mahariel-theirin @griever-receiver @lolza-lolza @djsxm @amyreads @moonicetea @thegooberlife @getyourselfaunicorn (and anyone else reading this 🫶)

LAST SONG: Sugar Free by T-ara

CURRENTLY WATCHING: I don't watch TV Shows or movies anymore but the last movie I watched was Spider-Man Across the Spiderverse! (Miguel, if you need a dog I can bark)

CURRENTLY READING: I'm currently reading Chapter 8-8.5 of Shepherds of Haven

CURRENT OBSESSIONS: Miguel O'Hara, Prince Sidon, Luis Serra, Leon Kennedy, Nate Sewell, Gabriel from Breach

((The things I would do for these men and the things I would let these men do to me AMIRITE OR AM I RIGHT??!?!????))

[nightmarecait]

I like these. And I have so many ocs for it.

Lyna Mahariel Dalish warden

Elirma Cousland human noble warden

Elizabeth Hawke

Arisha Lavellan Dalish inquisitor

Ara Kethra half elf tav

Amnon tiefling durge

Salrina aasimar tav

Arras Faine sun elf tav

Sorri Alnor changeling durge

oc asks: not-so-nice edition

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

[paridoxpower]

Warden-Commander Ara Mahariel

Born 9:11. 19 at the start of Origins, 30 by the time of Inquisition. She/Her

Dual-wielding Rogue (Axe and Dagger)

Pale skin, white hair, dark brown eyes, dark brown (Origins’) Sylaise Vallaslin

Titles: Grey Warden, Warden-Commander of Fereldan, Hero of Fereldan, Champion of Redcliffe, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, &  Arlessa of Amaranthine

More about Ara & Picrew links below the cut 

(I swear I tried to stack the images to not make this a long post, but every time I do it activates a bug that messes up the text below the cut. I let Staff know, so hopefully it’ll be fixed soon!)

Origin

Pronounced like ‘are-uh’ 

Ara’s beginnings start the same as the ‘generic’ Mahariel warden. Her father was the former Keeper of the Sabrae clan, while her mother was a renowned hunter from another clan. After her father was killed and her mother wandered off into the woods, Ashalle became Ara’s guardian, although raising her was a clan effort. 

No one is sure why Ara has white hair, considering her father had brown and her mother black. Ashalle always (lovingly) teased it was because her mother left her in moon light and the moon bleached her hair so Ashalle could find her easily among the other children.

Fighting & Skills

Ara’s amazing at wielding two daggers or an axe and dagger, which is actually her preferred combo. Alongside with her trusty mabari, Maggs (female), she’s nearly unstoppable.

She’s an incredible smooth talker and lock picker. She can charm nearly anyone and is very convincing, but not in a vicious way. She’s also very observant. Tries to broker peace before resorting to violence. She’s friendly and curious about the world.

Companions & Love

She’s friends with all her companions. She’s closest to Alistair, Morrigan, and Wynne (this was also her preferred team). She is least closest to Zevran and Leliana.

She quickly fell for Alistair’s witty charm and romance between the two young wardens blossomed. She felt betrayed by Morrigan’s dark ritual, but her and Alistair agreed to go through with it. Ara follows Morrigan through the mirror at the end of Awakening to help raise the child. Ara would insist that Kieran have some form of relationship with Alistair. Ara herself would eventually be considered a second mother.

In a blight/taint free world, Alistair and Ara have a son named Desmond (Desmond Duncan Theirin), a warrior like his father. Desmond would know of his half older brother, and like Ara to Kieran, Morrigan would become a second mother.

Key Decisions

All companions, alive and well

Dark Ritual done, Alistair is the father

Loghain dead, by Alistair

Broken Circle: Saved the Mages

Nature of the Beast: Brokered Peace

Paragon of Her Kind: Defeated Branka and Bhelen Rules

Redcliffe: Connor alive, not possessed. Isolde alive

Anora rules alone

Ara killed the ArchDemon

Shale learned of her origins

Misc. Facts

My first Warden (and character) in the Dragon Age Universe

My canon warden. She shares (more like started) traits with the rest of my canon OCs: White hair, rogue, aims to be neutral, name features ‘ara’ in it

No one has seen her with her hair down, except Alistair

Her version of Alistair knows how to cook

Trouble maker as a kid but mellowed out with age

Likes browns and tans

She’d totally be a plant mom

Would (and does) get along great with Zahara and Vara

Unlike Alistair when they first met, Ara had licked a lamppost in winter

I sometimes imagine Ara’s relationship with Morrigan as Leslie and Ann from Parks and Rec (Ara being Leslie)

In a not as canon world, Alistair and her actually have more kids. Wynne, a girl, then Desmond, then 3 boy triplets (they’re names change bc I can’t decide, but two of them are usually Tamlen and Duncan. The 3rd is the one I can’t pick :/ )), then a little girl named Rose. Wynne would be close to Kieran’s age. The triplets are a big surprise and Rose is an even bigger, later in life surprise. Their friends tease that Ara and Alistair suck at naming their children. But like I said, this is very not much canon, but an enjoyed thought of them being happy

Picrew Links. Some provided are the ones used, others are ones that I recommend but are not shown above :)

Picrew, picrew, picrew, picrew, picrew, picrew, picrew

[yourdragonageocs]

This is Ara Mahariel, the Warden that started it all :’). Thanks to her and the adventure we went on together, my love of DA started and I couldn’t be happier. She’s my canon Warden. She’s a rogue that likes browns and tans, her mabari Maggs, and Alistair.

[sumomosketches]

dahleyara mahariel for inktober day 29~

[rosella-writes]

Hi and welcome to DADWC! From the poetry prompt list, how about "36. I know time will not forgive me" for Sten & f!Mahariel?

Thanks so much!! I love this one for them aaaaaaaa

Rhiannon and Sten have a very close friendship that leans towards a partnership. If their positions and religions allowed, they would be platonic life partners, but as it is, circumstance and duty separate them.

for @dadrunkwriting

Vhenan,

I can't believe what Alistair has told me, so I write you. Did you really do all those things? Imprison and duel and subjugate? This is beneath the man I call my friend, ara lath. You are more than that mantle the Qun placed on your shoulders.

I'm not writing to tell you how to rule your lands alongside the others in your triumvirate. I simply ask you to remember who your friends are, and who loves you. It only stands to reason.

Dareth shiral,

Warden Commander Rhiannon Mahariel

━━

Kadan,

Why not believe what King Alistair has told you? He fought with honor and defeated me in fair combat. Thus he is free. I even told him of his father, as is his due. Why do you doubt me and my intentions? I do as I must in as just a way as I can. Maraas shokra, my friend. This you know as well as I.

[There is no signature, only the seal of the Arishok]

━━

There is an island off the coast of Seheron. Once a year, Rhiannon Mahariel hires a boat. Once a year, her Sten is waiting there for her.

Nine years after the Blight ends, Rhiannon's bare feet hit the sand of their island. The sun has browned her already dark skin, and her carved vallaslin almost disappears into the freckled lines of her face. She adjusts her simple clothes, her back bare of its usual twin daggers, and summits the sandy copse in her approach of their cabin.

Blade-leafed trees wave gently on either side of the door, moved by the breeze wafting off the ocean. Rhiannon knows he's already here by the massive hammock hung in the shade, as well as his boots beside the door. She pauses, smiling, before knocking thrice.

The door swings wide, and she registers a boomed "Kadan," before she is scooped into a spine-crackling hug. She laughs, giddy, and hugs back as tightly as her short, wiry arms allow.

"Vhenan," she grunts. "Let me see you."

He pulls away, and she reaches up to cup his cheeks. There are new lines at the corners of his eyes, new creases in the downturn of his mouth, but his face is still dear and familiar. His loose white locs swing free around his shoulders, longer than ever, and his eyes seem tired, yet fond. His heavy hands fall on her shoulders.

"Tell me of your days," she says, giving his cheek a final pat before attempting to move past him into the cabin. Her packed rucksack is heavy in the crook of her arm.

He stops her with a tight grasp of her upper arm. "I do not wish to speak of them," he says tersely. "Here is where we leave our titles behind. You are not Warden Commander. I am merely Sten."

She glances up at him, feeling worry crease her brow. "I don't like the sound of that. I know our rules, but we talk anyway. What's going on?"

He grunts, but allows her to retreat into the cool darkness of their shared home. He sits at the table on his wicker chair, watching with sharp, glinting eyes as she unpacks her things.

"To tell you would be to give you an unfair advantage," he says finally. He sounds choked. "You must guess instead."

She glances at him, brow furrowed. She slowly sets aside a bar of soap. "You don't have Alistair or anyone else squirreled away in a cell on Seheron, do you?"

He grunts. "No."

She wracks her brain, piecing over their letters and conversations from years past. Rhiannon sifts through them as if her guesses are limited, as if Sten would not humor her with question after answered question. He has always been this way ― so long as she could think of the questions, he would gladly answer them all. He would not volunteer information. She just had to be clever enough to ask.

"This is bad for me personally?" she finally says.

He grunts an affirmation.

She picks up a jar of embrium-scented oil and rolls it between her hands. "Does this have anything to do with something you once told me?"

He grunts again in the affirmative.

"How long ago?"

He blinks slowly, a tiny smile stretching his mouth. "Nine years ago."

Her face falls as she thinks. "You will not look for me on the battlefield, will you Sten?"

Sten stands, his knees popping and crackling. He crosses the floor to her side and gathers her up in his arms again.

"They push once more towards the south," he murmurs into her hair, voice hushed and urgent. "It is my lot to lead them, and lead I will."

Her arms dart around him and hold tight. She is a steel wire around his waist.

"When?"

He shakes his head. His body is enormous and warm and scented of smoke and leather and dried sweat. She leans into him.

"I can't let you," she hisses. "I won't forgive you if you do."

"I know, kadan," he says, pressing a kiss into her hair. "I know."

[lesetoilesfous]

“Hold my hand for a second. It won’t kill you.” + a Zevran ship of your choice

Hey, thank you so much for the prompt, I really hope you enjoy it!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: m!ZevWarden, Zevran x m!Mahariel

Characters: Zevran Arainai, Tal'en Mahariel

Tags: post canon, the Sabrae clan is ok if I say so, Zevran-typical reference to prostitution and murder, self-esteem issues, angst and fluff

Rating: Mature

“Hold my hand for a second, it won’t kill you.”

Above and around them, the trees of the Brecilian forest are tall and misted green with moss. Tal’en knows he’s walking faster than he needs to, but he can hear the familiar musical creak of Aravels and the sound of Sabrae elvhen. It has been too long since he has heard his native tongue in his own dialect, and his chest aches for it as his eyes scan the golden pillars of the trees. Next to him, Zevran clicks his tongue and grabs his hand quickly, the soft leather of his Dalish gloves covering the warmth of his palms.

“I am well aware of exactly which kinds of physical touch might kill me, mi amor.”

There’s something in his voice that makes Tal pause, his boots sinking in the familiar mulch of the forest floor. Every shadow in the breeze makes him think he’s seeing werewolves, but it’s been a decade since he and his lover had broken that curse for another clan, and Sabrae has wandered the Free Marches since then and lost both their First and their Keeper. He wonders who’s taken the clan now, and the old bone deep anxiety for his people wars with his worry for his lover. Zevran isn’t looking at him, brown eyes brass and copper in the late afternoon sunlight as it filters through the trees. His blonde hair is braided neatly behind his head in a series of intricate ties that he’d knotted and re-knotted three times this morning. His armour smells freshly of leather polish, and his tanned, dark body is strong and clean. But he shifts from foot to foot in a show of nerves more blatant than Tal’en has ever seen from him, including facing down an archdemon and defending the Fereldan throne.

Tal squeezes Zevran’s fingers in his own and steps closer, careful to leave Zevran enough space if he needs it. “What’s wrong?”

A muscle jumps in Zevran’s cheek a fraction of a second before he speaks. “It is nothing, my warden. Only that I keep looking at these trees and expecting a wolf to jump out of them.”

Before Zevran had given him his earring, he’d been able to meet Tal’en’s eyes when he lied to him. He hasn’t been able to since, and it’s a vulnerability that makes Tal’en feel more protective of his lover than seeing him naked. He decides not to call him on the lie, gently tugging him forward again. The forest isn’t quiet - it never is, loud instead with the streams, the birds, the trees and distant, rarer creatures. But Tal’en feels the discomfort in Zevran’s body as if it is his own, and makes an effort to fill the busy silence.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to Fenarel. The mischief we got up to, honestly, it feels childish now. But I admit I’m rather proud of the time we caught a hunting party with their pants down and washed their clothes down the river. They insisted the forest was haunted for so many years that the next time we visited Nevarra, the innkeeper warned us of small-stealing fairies. Some bard had made a bawdy song about lecherous tree spirits nicking fair maiden’s robes, not that any of those hunters’ saggy arses were much to write home about.”

They climb together up the track, and then at last Mahariel sees them. Zevran’s hand in his own feels like a physical rope lashing him to the Wardens, and the Blight, and everything they’ve seen together for these past ten years. In front of him the achingly familiar sigh of his clan’s aravels is enough to bring tears to his eyes, and when he hears the soft braying of halla Tal’en feels tears tickling down his cheeks. Tal moves to start tripping down the slope towards his clan, sucking in a breath to call out to his friends - and a broad, blonde man with a soft belly that he think might be his old hunting partner.

Zevran’s hand tugs him backwards, and Tal looks back to see Zevran standing still and uncharacteristically tense. Zevran starts to let go of Tal’en’s hand, and Tal frowns, stepping back up the slope towards him and kicking dead leaves aside as he does so. Zevran shakes his head, mouth twisting. “I cannot do this.”

Tal’en’s frown deepens, his stomach turning somersaults as he looks between the man he loves and his people, close as a half-remembered dream. “What do you mean?”

Zevran pulls back, again, and again Tal’en holds onto him, seized by the irrational notion that if he lets go then his lover will be swept away above the canopy and away from him, to a place he cannot follow. Zevran’s mouth twists, and he pushes a free hand over the side of his head, smoothing an already perfect braid. He gestures with a quick, sharp movement towards the elves milling to and fro about their camp. Tal thinks he can smell frying halla cheese and roasting nuts. His mouth waters. Zevran clicks his tongue. “I am not one of you. I am not built for places or people like this. This was stupid, I shouldn’t have come.”

He pulls again, harder on their joined hands, and Tal’en’s frown deepens as he squeezes Zevran’s hand back and steps toward him. “What are you saying? You feel like they won’t like you? Zev, you’re the most charming, beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Zevran shakes his head, the corners of his eyes tight with frustration. “I am the most charminging murderer you’ve ever seen. I am not made for frolicking in the woods.”

Tal’en’s smile curls into a bitter grin. “A lot more of us killers than frolickers, despite what the shemlen might think.”

Zevran sighs in a sharp, bitten off gust of air and shakes his head again. “But not like me. You said - your hahren,” Zevran’s accent curls oddly around the word, but Tal knows how hard he’s worked to learn its shape. “Paivel. That he is unusually insightful. What will he see when he looks at me? A killer? A whore?” Zevran’s voice cracks and he bites the inside of his cheek. Tal’en steps closer, resting a hand on his cheek that Zevran leans into briefly before pulling away. “I am not worthy of these people. Nor have I ever been worthy of you.”

“Now that we’ve finished listening to the Crows that live inside your head.” Tal’en begins, softly, resting his hand lightly over the thick tattoos on Zevran’s cheek. Zevran huffs a laugh that tickles his palm. Tal’en goes on, stepping close enough that their interlinked hands brush the leather of Zevran’s skirt. “I’ll tell you what they’ll see when they look at you. They’ll see the love of my life. They’ll see a hero. They’ll see an elf. They’ll see a man who has wandered lost for far too long, and has finally come home.” Tal’en rests his forehead lightly against Zevran’s, and Zevran shuts his eyes, swallowing in the dark between their lips.

“How do you know that?”

Tal’en moves his hand to cup Zevran’s chin, and lift his face so that he’s looking into his eyes. The sunlight sends dappled shadows across Zevran’s hair like a mottled golden crown. Tal grins at his lover, and meets his eyes, letting him see the honesty there. “Because it’s what I saw when I met you.”

Then he kisses him.

When the furore has died down over Mahariel’s long-awaited return to Clan Sabrae, and celebrations have begun and ebbed in earnest, Maren parts from the crowd to approach Zevran. He greets her stiffly, his hand squeezing Tal’en’s so hard it almost hurts. She smiles. “Anetha ara, brother. Welcome home.”

[w-h-4-t]

I got inspired and made some Merrill and Cole Banter ft Varric

Yes he's a spirit human thing BUT they're kinda similar.

Like

Very kinda similar

Cole is my favourite character in the series and Merrill is another close contender so yea. They're both sweet lil angels with horrific side details.

🪄🪄Fade buddies!🪄🪄

***

Merrill: Your hat is very interesting. How do you see when it's so floppy?

Cole: With my eyes.

Merrill: Of course you see with your eyes, I don't know how else you would. Unless you have more than two eyes. Do you? Actually, please don't answer that.

***

Cole: Misshapen mishaps manifest in the mirror, Hawke brings me tea but I only thirst for what was lost.

Merrill: The People will always be my priority, Cole, even if we don't see eye to eye.

Cole: You should put the knife down, Daisy, before you get cut, bleeding, blistering, bawling; Mahariel carries Tamlen's bow and nothing else.

Merrill: Lyna was dying because we didn't know what to do. As the Keeper's First, it's my duty to help the Clan but I couldn't do anything. I can't let that happen again.

Cole: And you won't. You study to push the pain down, to learn the lost lore and hope it heals the hurt you never fixed. The past is gone and you tried your best. It's ok to let them go now.

Merrill:...Thank you, Cole.

***

Cole: 🎶Elgara vallas, da'len, melava somniar🎶

Merrill: 🎶Mala taren aravas, Ara ma'desen melar🎶

Cole: Don't be embarrassed. Your singing is good, better than the Keeper's.

Merrill: Oh yes, absolutely. She'd sing to me whenever I was sick but it would only make me sicker.

Cole: But you still loved it. You loved her.

Merrill: Yes, though I could have done without all the headaches.

***

Merrill: In Dalish Culture, they teach us to be afraid of Spirits but you're not so bad.

Cole: Thank you! I like not being bad.

Merrill: In fact, you're quite good! Possibly the nicest Spirit I've ever met...Hold on, you are a Spirit, right?

Cole: I'm Cole, the me that was made better, made solid when the air touched the ground.

Merrill: Riiiiight...Varric?! Is he a Spirit or a human?

Varric: Daisy, I'm a dwarf, remember? I thought weird magic shit was your thing?

Merrill: It is but Cole's different...and I left all my books at home...

Varric: Well, to me, the kid's a kid. Keep cutting out all that vanishing stuff and you'll be on the fast track to humanhood in no time.

Cole: Can I keep my hat while I'm on the tracks?

Varric: *laughs* Sure kid, whatever you want. It is a great conversation piece after all.

[jawsandbones]

Going Home

Why the Sabrae clan really helped Zevran in DA2

He keeps it close to his heart. Underneath his tunic, against his skin. It is quiet as he steps through the underbrush, twigs snapping underfoot, leaves pressed into the grass. Birds chirp in the branches, a polite twittering song that jumps from tree to tree. A song, carried by a choir. Were he still travelling with the others, he would never have known its melody. Oh. It catches him in the chest. He reaches out, presses his hand against the rough bark of a tree as he doubles over. His other hand on his knee, and he thinks he might be sick. He breathes quickly, fleeting inhales, over much too soon. The necklace slips from his shirt, dangles beneath him.

He had heard the offers, of course. He could have stayed in Denerim, with Alistair. He would have found a position for Zevran, no doubt. King Alistair would have been a sight to see. He could have gone with Wynne and Shale, seeking answers to questions he didn’t understand. Even Sten offered, but that would mean the Qun, and Zevran had never been good with obedience. He almost took Leliana up on hers. Her hand extended, a soft smile on her face, offering refuge. A place where he might find counsel, some kind of peace. He couldn’t accept. His destination had already been promised, to another. He could only watch. With sweat slick hands, he holds tightly to his swords. She brings her own sword over her head, blood on her lips. A grimace of grim determination crosses her face as she stabs it downwards, into the soft flesh of the Archdemon. The resulting explosion knocks Zevran off his feet, back several paces. His ears ring with the sound of it, his body aches with the force of it. His swords are somewhere now, but they don’t matter. Three worlds slowly merge into one as Zevran closes his eyes, shakes the tolling from his head. He forces himself to his feet. Somehow, she’s still standing.

His steps are slower than he means them to be as he closes the distance between them, his arms outstretched, his hands reaching for her. She has dropped the sword. She stands stone still, slightly hunched over, her hand pressed against her chest. Her hair is a veil around her face. Her head slowly turns, to look at him. He watches with horror as the darkened lines of taint begin to creep up from the line of her armor, twist around her neck, and touch at her face. “My Warden,” he says, his voice breaking, his words barely able to rise above a whisper. “Mi amor.” Words spoken far more desperately, as he finally finds himself in front of her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Zevran. Vhenan,” she says, clinging to him tightly. He feels her breathe against his neck, his jaw, his cheek. “Everything will be alright. You’ll be fine.” She presses her hand over where she knows the necklace to sit. “Don’t forget.” Her kiss tastes of iron, of salt. She smiles even as her eyes turn cloudy and grey, her hand soft against his cheek. She gently wipes away his tears. She sighs as she rests her head on his shoulder, indulges herself in one last hug. He holds her up with him for as long as he can, until his knees buckle. He sinks to the ground with Mahariel in his arms, and weeps over her body. Zevran isn’t sure when it ends, just that it does. He lies on the forest floor, watches the world sway with the wind. He holds his hand over his face, looks at the dried blood there. The bark had bit into his skin, tiny cuts which pepper his palm. It takes him a few more hours, but what are those few compared to the weeks of travel? The Free Marches will take time to be more familiar to him. Still, a mountain is an easy thing to find. There is only one entrance to the camp at the base of Sundermount. He approaches with his hands raised, his hair pulled away from his face, pointed ears. His elvish is poor, unserviceable. He tries.

“Aneth ara,” he says, as she taught him, but his pronunciation is painful to even his ears and he winces. “I was sent by one of your clan, to find Keeper Marethari.” The guards speak in fluent elvish, too quick for him to understand. They gesture for him to follow. Curious eyes follow him as he walks through the camp. They lead him to an older woman, her grey hair pulled back into a severe bun. The vallaslin touches all parts of her face. Absentmindedly, he brushes a hand against his tattoo.

“Andaran atish’an. We do not have many visitors. I am told,” she says after the guards have finished speaking and returned to their post, “You have been sent by one of our clan. May I ask who?”

Carefully, he pulls the necklace over his head. He slowly lets it fall into her palm. She rubs her fingers over the beads. Hundreds of them, all uniquely carved into the shape of a different animal. They chase each other round and round. Curiosity gives way to understanding, and her eyes grow sad, the corners of her lips turning downwards.  “Da’len na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas. Souver’inan isala hamin,” she murmurs as she rubs her thumb over the shape of a wolf.

“I do not understand,” Zevran says, his words pricked with pain. She looks up at him, as though she had forgotten he stood there, and her face softens.

“I am saddened to hear of her loss. She was a gift to us, as was Tamlen. Now we have lost them both,” Marethari says. “Yet, we have gained another. Stay a while with us, rest. I would like to hear of all that happened to her after she was forced to leave us.” She holds out the necklace for him. He almost takes a step back, stops himself.

“My Warden, ah, I promised her to bring it to you. I think, perhaps, she meant for you to have it,” he says. Marethari chuckles not unkindly, shakes her head. She takes his hand by force, presses the necklace to him, and folds his fingers over it. She keeps his hand there, clasped in hers.

“No, da’len. She did not. She meant for you to find some comfort in family. You do not need to be alone to mourn her.”

[5lazarus]

The Scent of Pomegranates

posted on AO3 here Merrill brings a pomegranate to the Hanged Man, to try and capture some of the way her clan celebrated the new year. Fenris is oddly moved.

In Antiva, the People eat pomegranates for the new year, and Merrill was told at the Arlathvhen that it is the same for their cousins in Tevinter, even those lost to the bondage of the cities. In Ferelden, though, the clans celebrate differently, and in Kirkwall, Merrill feels lost. She would like to know how Sabrae is adapting to a new year in the Free Marches, without Keeper, but she has lost the audacity to ask. Anxious, Merrill steps out to a golden morning, the Vhenadahl resplendent in red and purple and bronze. An aravel and a team of halla stand before it. Athenril is setting up a stand. She’s curious. She knows the Hahren is organizing a celebration tonight, but she didn’t expect Athenril to try to capitalize.

“Aneth ara, lethallin,” Merrill says. “What are you doing?” “Selling,” Athenril says coldly. She doesn’t like her. She’s Dalish too, from a clan in the Wycombe delta, but does not wear the vallaslin. Word travels fast between the clans. None of the Dalish give her much time. “Oh,” Merrill says. “What are you selling then?” Athenril looks up at her, annoyed. “Pomegranates,” she says shortly. “From Tevinter.” “All the way from Tevinter!” Merrill exclaims. That is not an easy journey for the People. “For pomegranates!” Athenril looks shifty and Merrill suddenly realizes that Athenril probably did not venture forth all the way to the groves of Minrathous just to sell pomegranates to the Kirkwall alienage. She steps back. “Oh, are these stolen? Why’d you steal them for? Are you giving them away? Isn’t it an impractical idea, to ship pomegranates to Kirkwall? What merchant would even bring them here? Isn’t it better to just steal them from Antiva?” “Merrill,” Athenril says, exasperated, “go away.” Merrill leaves, distraught but determined to shrug it off. She snatches a pomegranate when Athenril isn’t looking and heads to the market, debating what she’ll stick in the stew she’ll make for dinner. She doesn’t like cabbage but it’s cheap and she doesn’t have much money from the job she and Hawke took on. Varric will send her a whole five-course meal if he knew, but Merrill is not interested in being the object of charity. With Audacity dead and Marethari with it, all she has left is her pride--pride and cabbages, and then several turnips and a head of lettuce and a bag of tomatoes, because she knows how to stretch a sovereign, and she really likes turnips. On her way back from the market Merrill runs into Anders and Fenris, arguing as passionately as ever. She crooks an eyebrow and creeps up behind them. It’s not eavesdropping when they really should be more aware of their surrounders, renegade mage and runaway slave such as they are. She is slightly disappointed when she hears about what they are arguing about--it’s not the right for all free-willed creatures to roam without limits, or the best way to police magical abuses. They are arguing about cabbages. “It’s repetitive,” Fenris says. “It takes like Sandal’s old socks. You keep feeding your patients that, you’ll make them so sick they’ll keep coming back.” “They come back because the air in Kirkwall is quite literally poison,” Anders snaps, “not because my cooking is shit. My cooking is fine. Hawke doesn’t complain.” “I have watched Hawke eat a deep mushroom they found growing in a crevice in the sewer,” Fenris says. “I would not take that as an accomplishment.” “Cabbage is good for you,” Merrill ventures, and suppresses a smile when they both jump and stare at her furiously. “Hello, friends.” Their hackles raise like startled cats. Anders’ eyes flash blue, and Fenris’ tattoos shine. Merrill hums, amused. She never thought she’d make such shiny friends. “Don’t do that,” Anders says. “Creeping up like that. Ugh.” “Or you could learn to pay attention, mage,” Fenris says. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you were startled too!” “Drink?” Merrill interrupts, before they can begin their bickering instead. She has learned a few things from the Keeper, and steering her friends towards a watering hole like bad-tempered halla is the best of them. Groceries jostling in the wicker baster on her arm, she still manages to net her arms around both Fenris and Anders. They settle in for a drink, which turns to five, and soon Merrill is arguing hotly about the validity of Ralaferin’s Five Theses on Mana Frisson when considering First Enchanter Vivienne’s proof of a rounded earth. She brandishes the pomegranate at Anders, who has broken into her grocery basket and is eating a turnip like an apple. She always knew she liked him, she thinks distractedly, a man who eats turnips like an apple can’t be that bad. “This is the world,” she says. “Look at it.” Anders looks at the pomegranate doubtfully. Fenris sighs and gets up to get them water. “The shoot,” she puts the pomegranate down onto the table and points with both index fingers, “is how the Waking World interacts with both the Fade and the Abyss in both ends. I think. Er. Or maybe the bottom is the abyss and the top is where the Fade sprouts.” Fenris comes back and hands her a cup of water. “Merrill, please. Drink.” She smiles at him and takes it. As she drinks, Fenris takes the pomegranate and presses it down onto the table until it cracks. He rolls it around. Merrill giggles. “This reminds me,” Fenris starts to say, then stops. He peers at it, face twisting. “I’m not sure what.” “Athenril took them off a shipment from Tevinter,” Merrill says. “Maybe it’s that?” Fenris shoves it at her and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. His hair flops into his eyes, which looks quite uncomfortable. Merrill let her hair grow out once, but it was itchy. She supposes it makes a statement, but she never quite understands what Fenris is trying to say. “I almost--it’s like I felt the sun on my back. Burning, but the day was cold. But I wasn’t--unhappy.” Merrill takes the pomegranate and carefully slices it open with her knife. It spreads open, seeds crushed, and the juice spills onto the admittedly-grimey table. Fenris inhales deeply, then coughs. The Hanged Man stinks. “The smell….” “I know elves in Antiva eat them for the new year,” Merrill says carefully. There are things missing from her memory, like the first few awful days after Tamlen disappeared and Mahariel was taken--and she does not remember how Hawke got her back to her house after Marethari died. Still, Fenris’ amnesia is so enormous, she is almost afraid to broach it. She exchanges a glance with Anders, who is keeping very still. “Perhaps they do it in Tevinter too.” “I don’t know,” Fenris says distractedly. “I--Danarius had an estate in Seheron, but the weather….” “We’d eat them,” Merril says hurriedly. She resolves to distract him. “Before I was given to Clan Sabrae. Every new year, we’d go pick the fruit. It’s not like it is in Rivain, but there are a few of the People who have land, and the clans would gather to celebrate the end of the year and help bring in the last of the harvest.” She smiles wistfully. “Frolicking, you know. The dancing! The music...Sabrae was a bit more somber, but that’s Ferelden. Kirkwall’s less sedate, at least. I think they’re planning something in the alienage tonight. Athenril has a stand out, at least.” If they’re not planning something, she’ll make something up. Clan Sabrae may not like her but the Hahren enjoys her company. Impulsively she takes his hand, making sure she doesn’t touch the lyrium-brand. “Why don’t you come back to the alienage with me?” She doesn’t like the idea of him going back to that awful corpse-ridden mansion of his, not upset like this. Fenris looks down, hair obscuring his eyes. Merrill blinks--that must be so uncomfortable! He needs a haircut. “That would be acceptable,” he says softly. He straightens, shaking his hair out of face. “Yes, let’s.” They go to the alienage, leaving Anders behind at the pub, and find the Vhenadahl transformed, decked with garlands of embrium and crystal grace. A band is playing, and Merrill taps the rhythm into the cold Kirkwall streets. The cobbles are smoother here, meant for bare feet. Fenris says, “So this is what you meant by frolicking.” Merrill, surprised, laughs. “No, the Dalish do it better.” She contemplates making something up about nudity and moonlight, just to see if he’ll believe her, but Fenris snorts. “I don’t want to know,” he says, but Merrill thinks he does, and when the Hahren waves her over to join the celebrations, she takes Fenris with her too.

[filthyknifeear]

Quarantine Dragon Age Fic Dump

another update. i know. i know there’s a lot i know

Blackwall/Lavellan Longfics

All Souls Who Take Up The Sword legit warden!blackwall and city elf!lavellan enemies-to-friends-to-lovers ongoing

Till The Water’s All Long Gone post-trespasser slow burn pastoral pining 22k, 9 chapters, complete

Pin-Up modern AU femdom smut (many kinks, check tags) and slow burn romance 43k, 11 chapters, complete

Hounds of Love modern AU about a dog show. i don’t know, man, quarantine 20k, 6 chapters, complete

Blackwall/Lavellan Oneshots & Drabbles

I Read You For Some Kind Of Poem canon setting post-here lies the abyss angst 3k, oneshot

Pillow Talk canon setting pre-relationship flirtation/sexual tension 3k, oneshot

Black & Blue canon setting pre-relationship angst and hurt/comfort 5k, oneshot

Shred of Blue DAI AU where lavellan didn’t become inquisitor, one-shot smut 4k, oneshot

Wallflower canon DAI drabbles, some fluff some angst some smut 19k, 11 chapters/30 drabbles, complete

Other Ships

Golden morrigan/f!mahariel fluff and smut 2k, oneshot

I Can See The Light, It Looks Like You sera/f!adaar five kisses fluff 3k, oneshot

When Wishing Waned sera/f!adaar post-in hushed whispers angst 2k, oneshot

Mother Tongue iron bull/f!lavellan pre-relationship flirtation 2k, oneshot

Ara Ma'athlan Vhenas morrigan/f!mahariel winter palace reunion smut 2k, oneshot

You My Wayward Girl sera/f!adaar hurt/comfort and fluff 2k, oneshot

Fic Trades

blackwall and sera give each other romantic advice trade with @foolandtheflyingship

Petals (sera/f!adaar, by me)

Or I’ll Never Give My Heart (blackwall/f!lavellan, by @foolandtheflyingship)

british seaside modern AU trade with @moki989

Bubble Gum (this is mass effect but whatever) femshep/tali modern seaside AU fluff

Fallow Waters (merrill/isabela, by @moki989)

also if anyone wants to follow me over on twitter i’m at @elfthirst!

[ghostwise]

ara ma'athlan vhenas :: content warning, suicide ideation/discussion

In another world, maybe, he is braver.

Tamlen reaches for the mirror, and in that split-second where the eluvian activates, the world tips--and Mahariel reaches first. Pulling him back.

No hesitation, no fear. Not like the first time.

The mirror is still active when Hamal comes to, its surface shining with an energy that is outright malevolent. His first though is to get away from it as quickly as possible, but Tamlen is still unconscious beside him, and he feels so drained, so impossibly tired...

"What happened?” Tamlen asks. “The mirror...”

“We have to go,” Hamal manages. The thought of spending another moment near the eluvian sends him, unsteadily, to his feet.

In this world, they leave the cave together. The forest is eerily still. No birds, no insects humming.

The clan’s campsite, too, is empty when they reach it.

“They left in a hurry,” Tamlen says. “Shemlen, no doubt.”

“The ones we killed?” Hamal asks. “But- how-?”

“I don’t know, but they wouldn’t leave us behind. Keeper Marethari wouldn’t- They were running from something! We weren’t here to help.”

“We can catch up to them,” Hamal offers. “Tell her what happened. The Keeper may know more about what we found.”

“But she’ll be furious with us...”

“I’ll take the blame.” Hamal sets a hand on his shoulder. He shakes him, gently drawing his gaze. He notes the sweat on his skin and the shadows under his eyes.

“Don’t worry.”

He says the words, but as they set off he cannot shake the sense that something is wrong.

.

They will not catch up to their clan.

Tamlen is feverish. Some illness, something from the cave. Hamal has it, too, but he presses on for both their sakes. If not their clan, maybe they can find a healer... a village with medicine... something to help.

He chews elfroot, but it is of little use. He forages for mushrooms and grasses to eat, but Tamlen can’t keep any of it down. He finds fresh water, but it does nothing for their parched throats.

He is thankful they are together. He could have lost him in that cave. The thought makes tears well up, hot and brimming in his weak eyes.

That night Hamal keeps his bow close, watching Tamlen sleep. Resolute not to lose him. 

But they’re already lost.

.

He’s feeling worse, but it’s much easier to give into the sickness than to try and fight its steady progress. Tamlen grows quiet, and it’s peaceful in a sense, just the two of them wandering the woods like when they were children.

Aimless and without purpose, they talk about everything. Secrets and lies they’ve told. Hopes and wishes for a future they won’t get to experience.

And they laugh over shared memories. They’ve had a good life, if short.

It’s Tamlen who eventually confides in him, showing him a vial from his pack.

“Look,” he says, “I took it off one of the shemlen we killed.”

“Why did they have this?” Hamal asks, looking at the poison. He recognizes it. This one is quick and painless, and leaves most of the meat still good for eating. Poison for arrows, for hunting.

“For death.” Tamlen tilts the glass carefully, catching sunbeams off its surface. “It’s all they’re good for, isn’t it? But, I’m thinking, it’s a good thing I kept it. Maybe we were meant to stop them. Meant to find that cave. You know...”

Hamal watches him intently. He usually has a good grasp of what Tamlen is thinking, and can see his words plainly before he speaks them.

“We are going to die, lethallin.”

“It seems so.”

“I do not know what manner of illness struck us. Maybe it is not an illness at all, but magic, twisted and corrupted. It is all tied to those shemlen. They are to blame, I know it. And I do not want to wait for it to claim me. Do you?”

Hamal considers the question. It seems so clear, so obvious. 

“Let us go meet Falon’din, with courage. With our heads held high. Together.”

Tamlen has never had to convince him of much. His clever eyes and quick wit never led them astray before.

“You’re right, as usual,” Hamal admits. “It feels hateful, this illness. It’s boiling my blood. My head aches and my eyes are blurring. I think soon I won’t even be able to see you. Better to halt it now...”

“That’s right. It’ll be so nice to just rest, lay down in the moss and its welcoming green fur and the grasses and leaves and flowers,” Tamlen whispers. “And the insects to feed on flesh, and the trees to grow where we died. And no one to know. Just you and me, and we can mourn each other, so, neither of our deaths will go unnoticed.”

“But I will miss this life with you in it,” Hamal says hesitantly. 

He looks at Tamlen, Tamlen who smiles back, almost unnaturally wide, holding out the vial of poison...

“Hamal?”

Alistair is looking at him as if he were already a ghost.

The moment seems to freeze like an image in a painting, dappled in sun, mossy green. And Alistair, terrified, holding his hands out to him.

“Put that down,” he says, unable to keep a tremble from his voice. “That’s... that’s not your friend. Come with me, please.”

“Alistair...?”

Tamlen is on his feet quicker than it seems possible. “Do not listen to this man, lethallin,” he assures him. “He is seeking revenge for the bandits we killed.”

“Hamal, I’m your friend. We were at Ostagar together. We were trapped... the tower was on fire, darkspawn everywhere... We were the only ones who survived, remember?”

He does remember, but with remembering comes a rush of mourning.

“You have to remember. None of this is real! It’s just a bad dream. We’re in the Circle Tower. Come with me.”

“Take your bow, lethallin,” Tamlen urges him, in a voice that is not his own. “Poison the arrows. Do not heed his lies!”

It’s like losing him all over again. Hamal stares at the demon, wondering how he could have ever believed it was him.

“It’s not real, Hamal,” Alistair says again.

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

Hamal, stunned and empty, drops the vial in the dirt and rises to his feet. 

[paridoxpower]

Ta-da!

Did I teach myself to embroider just to do this piece. Yes. Yes I did.

Learned a lot while doing this, it was the biggest piece I’ve embroidered so far. I think I’ll redo it down the line eventually, but I’m proud of what I’ve done. (and who knows, might make this a thing I do for money some day)

This is my first warden, Ara Mahariel. I used the generic Mahariel tile image from the Keep and adjusted it to be her! Colors are a little off, didn’t match them as well as I thought :/

If you have any advice, tips or tricks, and comments, I’d love to hear them. Still learning!

(How do fellow embroiders embroider right against the hoop?? I couldn’t find out how so just adjusted afterwards to a smaller hoop and it worked okay besides the metal marking on the cloth)

[yourdragonageocs]

This is Ara Mahariel! My first and favorite warden that started my love of DA. I commissioned this lovely, amazing piece from @mainframe-art ! Check them out! Their work is amazing! Couldn’t ask for a better piece! Love my Ara!

[lavalampelfchild]

Q, Velyn?

A/N: For the Epistolary Prompts (in case anyone forgot, which is possible, given how long I’ve let this go unanswered…), Q. A Thank-You, for my DAO OC, Velyn Mahariel.

Aneth ara Ashalle,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I haven’t much time to write, the Wardenswill need me shortly, but I’d not be able to forgive myself if I didn’t takewhat little time I do have to write you.

I pray the Creators have been good to you and our clan – thatAndruil has seen the hunters return always with enough food that none go hungry,that Ghilan’nain guides you only to the safest lands, with the sweetest fruitsand the freshest streams.  I pray thatMythal watch over you, and protect you as she has me.

Don’t worry about me, I’m well.  I’m in the company of several noble men andwomen, all worthy of standing alongside any of the Dalish.  But I’m not writing to talk about that – I onlythought you should know that I’m safe and with those who will fightwith and for me should that ever change.

The real reason I write this is because I want to thankyou, and I realized only after I left that I never have.  You’ve raised me since I was a child, eversince my mother decided I wasn’t enough for her.  I know you wouldn’t have me feel bitter overwhat you told me, and I try not to.  Butthough I owe her much, and have great respect, I feel little more than emptiness forthe woman who bore me, for she never dried my tears after a nightmare, neverplayed with me in Elgar’nan’s sun, nor taught me the difference between elfrootand deathroot.

I know that I was foolish and arrogant before I left, that Ibelieved I knew all I needed to, that I thought myself ready.  And I know that I didn’t show you the respectand deference I should have.  For that, I’msorry.

I’m honored and proud that you decided to take me as yourown.  On that day, I believe the Creatorstruly blessed me.  And it’s with theutmost gratitude that I say this: Thank you for everything that you’ve done forme.  Thank you for the love and affectionyou’ve shown me, the patience in the face of my recklessness, the pride in theface of my successes.

I’ve grown to be what I am now because of you.  And I regret only that I never told you that,or thanked you for it.

I hope to see you soon. Maybe once the snows have melted? That’s the good thing about being in charge; no one to tell you that youcan’t do anything!  

I have to go now, but I miss you, and I hope to see you andthe clan again soon. And thank you.  Thank you with all that I am.

Dareth shiral,

Velyn

(Below the farewell, in small writing) I hope you’re still weavingflowers into your hair.  I plan to bring some with me when I next visit.  And no, you’re not too old for it.

[moodybidoof]

The benefit of being stuck in the suburbs is I finally got around to answering this questionnaire. It’s really long and unedited and I don’t expect anyone to read it lol, but it was fun to do. 

If nothing else you should look at the question “What stories does the clan have with moral lessons?” bc I literally just copied my favorite childhood fairy tale and it’s raw af. 

Where in Thedas does the clan reside?

Until relatively recently they stayed close to the Frostback Mountains, mostly towards the south near the Arbor Wilds. During a lean winter in 8:82 Blessed, while settled in the Frostback Basin, they were attacked by a group of Avvar warriors who aimed to appease their gods with a live sacrifice. Several of the elves were killed, including the clan’s Second, and the Keeper was seriously wounded, so Marethari took charge and had them flee into the eastern lowlands.

They moved around the Korcari Wild and Brecilian Forest up until the start of the Fifth Blight, when they took a ship to the Free Marches and, as we all know, got stuck outside Kirkwall for years. After Marethari’s death and the chantry explosion, some of the clan members joined up with Merrill and the Kirkwall city elves to get to safety, and they continue to use the name Sabrae for their hodgepodge clan.

They stayed near Kirkwall and were offered a permanent home outside the city by Viscount Tethras in 9:44 Dragon - a gift for aiding in the reconstruction of the city.  

What are the dangers of living where they live?

The Veil is thin around Sundermount, though that’s not so much of a problem as long as the clan is careful. Templars and apostates were obviously an issue soon after the chantry explosion, and not long after that there were red templars to deal with. Forces from Starkhaven also tried their hand at conquering the city, and all this chaos attracted looters, bandits, and the like.

Needless to say, things were a mess for a while.

Nowadays they still have to worry about the creatures that share Sundermount with them, but things have calmed down considerably. The biggest issue is finding game to hunt. The clan had already been in the area for several years and they're competing with the indigenous predators of the Vimmark Mountains. Also, the whole thin Veil issue was only exacerbated by all the death and magic that dominated Kirkwall for the last almost decade.

What are the benefits of living where they live?

In the years after Corypheus’ defeat, Varric’s boone to the elves went a long way to normalize their presence and give them the recognition they deserve, and of course they also have a friend in Guard-Captain Aveline. All things considered, the clan has very much made itself part of the city in a way that few elves of any origin have before

Since Kirkwall has once again become a trading hub, Clan Sabrae has access to goods from all across Thedas. Also, they’re settled right near a trove of ancient elven artifacts.

In what ways has their location shaped their culture and way of life?

Like I said before, they’re a part of the surrounding community to an extent that’s really unique to Dalish elves for sure, and even city elves; probably the only thing that’s comparable is Wycome’s city counsel, after the Inquisition got involved there. Many of the clan members are former city elves, so they still keep up close relations with those that chose to remain in the Alienage, and the clan is more attuned to the problems of their city cousins. It won’t be a surprise if within a generation, the Dalish children of Clan Sabrae grow up hearing a mix of traditional and modern elven stories.

Going back a bit, living in the Frostbacks for so long created a culture very much focused on preparing for the worst. They farmed and hunted when it was warm, then pickled and tanned anything they didn’t immediately need for the winter. If push came to shove, they would trade with trusted Avvar clans. Resources were scarce so they were very practical about how they used everything, and while they encouraged resourcefulness, they avoided anything that seemed like an unnecessary risk. There was a certain way of doing things, so that was the way it was done.

Halla can’t survive in the cold climates of the Frostbacks, so the clan hearded and bred harts instead - greater frostback elks, specifically - to use as draft animals. They didn’t start keeping halla again until they settled further east.  

The wheels on their aravels could be switched out to sled runners.

Living near the Avvar and then in the Brecilian Forest meant that the clan had up close experience with spirits and hedge magic. Prior to the incident with Tamlen and Mahariel most of the clan members had a healthy suspicion of such things (for example, traditionally putting up wards in the doorways of their aravels and around camp to guard against spirits) but it wasn’t something that was taboo either. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for the mages to create and work with docile sylvans to aid and protect the clan.

They knew many stories about ancient elven magic and old myths about Thedas’ wilder places, but after Marethari became Keeper she began telling those stories with a darker edge to them. After the Avvar attack, a trek through the Fallow Mire, and run in with feral sylvan and other demons, her view of wilder magic was tinged with fear - and then there was the incident with Tamlen and Mahariel. Marethari’s time as Keeper shifted the clan’s culture, but Merrill is trying help them shed their fear of mysterious magic.

Have they always been here, or did they come from elsewhere?

Oops I already wrote their whole story in the first question. So yeah, they’re from the Frostbacks originally, then southern Ferelden, before settling where they are now.

If so, where were they from before, when did they leave, and why?

Long story short, Avvar attacked the clan, the Keeper was injured and the second killed so Marethari had to make split-second decision as the clan’s First and lead them into the lowlands to the east. They traveled towards through the Korcari Wilds, where Marethari tracked down Flemeth and made a deal with her to secure the clan safe passage. They moved around the Wilds and the Brecilian Forest for almost 50 years until fear of the Blight and mounting suspicion from local Templars forced them north.

Are they nomadic? Semi-nomadic? Or do they have a permanent settlement? How has this affected them?

They used to be semi-nomadic, staying in roughly the same area but moving around enough to make sure they wouldn’t overuse the resources in one place or outstay their welcome with any nearby human settlements. Especially when they were in southern Ferelden, they were dogged by rumors of walking trees and “demon elves” (which weren’t entirely untrue), which attracted attention from the Chantry, so they had to make sure the Templars never caught up with them. This was just all the more reason for them to be as practical and cautious as possible, especially around the Chantry.

Their hunters had seen anything and everything you could think of; lurkers, giant spiders, demon trees, templars, the walking dead - you name it and they’ve probably had to fight it while they traveled through some of the weirder parts of Thedas. As a result, most of the clan members are trained to fight in some capacity, just in case.

They’re still getting used to having a permanent home now. Even the original Sabrae clan members among them have been around Kirkwall for ages at this point, but being in limbo is very different from settling in for the long haul. Though they are an independent settlement, they’re fairly involved in what’s going on in Kirkwall proper and obviously have strong connections with its people.

If they are nomadic/semi-nomadic, what are their migration habits like?

While they lived in the Frostbacks the clan moved as the weather changed, going further north in the winter and back south in the summer. They followed wild harts to ensure they always had game to hunt and pastures for their own animals. While they were settled in for a season they would set up tents covered in furs and skins to provide space to rest outside their aravels.

They ended up moving more often when they starting living further east because the land was far more unpredictable and they had to make sure they didn’t attract attention from any nearby human settlements. As a result they mostly lived out of their aravels and clearly had two types - ones to transport stuff, and ones that were homes.

In what ways does the clan sustain themselves? What do they have for resources, and how do they acquire/use/maintain them?

The nearby caves are full of nugs, mushrooms, and various ore, and even the giant spiders and deepstalkers can be used for the webs, venom, and scales.

The mountains themselves are home to august rams, hares, coyotes, and black bears, which provide the clan with meat, furs, leather, and (in the case of the rams) horns which can be carved into most anything. There’s also plenty of herbs and flowers native to the area, including a clearing of ironbark trees not far from the camp, which is of course an incredible resource.

In a pinch the clan could also always send a hunting party to the Planasene Forest or simply peruse the Kirkwall market stalls.

The problem is that almost everything in and under the mountains is dangerous, so scouts and hunters try to prepare themselves for anything from wild animals to darkspawn. Though, ideally, they won’t have to fight at all - instead preferring to use traps, poison, and stealth to their advantage. Clan Sabrae also has an abundance of mages from the fallen Circle, and having a magic on your side always makes things a little easier.

Imagine a spirit looking down at their site. What would they see?

Banners hung from stones at the city-side entrance to the camp, both a welcome and a warning to those arriving for Kirkwall. It’s a familiar shade of red, emblazoned with the white face of a halla.

Large aravels wrapped around the edges of an alcove in the mountain, forming makeshift walls. Some are flat-topped and covered in warm furs and skins; others look more like the landships humans expect to see, their red-orange sails wrapped tight for now. The camp itself has grown since the elves first arrived in Kirkwall, expanding further into the VImmark Mountains to accommodate the elves who’ve arrived from cities, Circles, and other Dalish clans. You can see from their mismatched clothing and the number of bare faces among the crowd that these elves all come from very different backgrounds, but the atmosphere of the camp is undeniably warm.

A shop is set up, where an old elf is chastising his young apprentices for the way they’re handling their ironbark tools. A red-headed elf sits among the halla, who’ve been penned just outside the camp; she looks at them like they’re her own children. A hunting party armed with wooden bows and ironbark blades returns from their adventures further into the mountains; they leave their catch - a deer - with another elf, before settling down by the campfire to listen to the stories a harhen is telling. The world was turned upside down, and these hunters know they must protect their clan from much worse than wild animals, but for a moment, in this place, they are safe.

What is their typical style of dress?

Furs and leather to keep them warm and protected, but otherwise it’s a hodgepodge. There are elves from all over that have joined the clan, and while a Circle mage might not want to keep wearing her robes, it’s easy enough to use to reuse the fabric and turn it into something new. They wear more shem-style clothing than you’d expected from a Dalish clan, but it’s all layered underneath typical elven armor, embroidered with elven style patterns, and tailored to better suit their tastes. Also, they wear closed toed shoes! They live on a mountain, they can’t just walk around barefoot.  

What are their interactions/relations with outsiders/other Dalish like?

Like everything with this clan, it’s a mixed bag. They’ve welcomed elves from all over and even helped human mages, plus Keeper Merrill is obviously pretty on top of what’s happening with people in Kirkwall, so the clan itself is pretty open to outsiders but that doesn’t mean everyone is comfortable trusting shem yet, or that the shemlen are thrilled to have a Dalish clan right outside the city. If nothing else, the arrangement’s been good for trade.

As for other Dalish, there’s some tension there. Word has spread about Marethari’s death and Merrill’s eluvian, and while some people are thrilled to Clan Sabrae to share what they’ve learned at the next Arlathven, others seem to think that there might be some truth to the rumors of demons in their midst. There are also clans that disapprove of how many city elves they’ve taken in, but that’s something the clans have always disagreed about.

If strangers were to approach them, how do they react?

With a welcoming smile and dozens of elven arrows trained on the stranger from afar. Like their Keeper, the clan is warm and friendly, but they’re not naive. In addition to the usual dangers that the Dalish face, they’ve also had to deal with people looking for apostates among their ranks or elven servants who’ve been “stolen” from their homes, and obviously Clan Sabrae isn’t going to give up anyone who comes to them for protection.

What are their interactions/relations with each other like?

Like any family, there’s ups and downs. 8P

It was rough at first. After Marethari’s death the clan was leaderless, and those that chose to stay near Kirkwall did so mainly just because they had no idea where else to go. Even more fled after the Chantry explosion, and not all who stayed to help the city were willing to work with Merrill until it became clear that no one else could be the leader she’d become. It was hard to hold on to their fear of her when they saw her risk her life to protect them and the city elves; saw in her the familiar young woman many of them had grown up with, more willful and loving than ever - not some abomination.

There’s still some tension around the mages, and of course arguments arise around day-to-day cultural differences but at the end of the day they’ve all got each other’s backs.

If a clan member wanted to leave the clan, how do they react?

There’d be a kerfuffle as they said their goodbyes and the clan would send them off with some supplies for the journey ahead, but no one’s gonna stop them. At this point they have a lot of elves coming and going, but even clan members who’ve been around forever are always free to leave if they wish.

What roles does the clan have, and what do they consist of?

Ofc there’s the Keeper, with her First and Second.

Master Illen is the master craftsman, and he trains many apprentices in creating armor, weapons, aravels, furniture, and even overpriced trinkets to sell to shemlen. After living so close to Kirkwall for so long they’ve started sending dedicated merchants into the city, many of whom are former city elves. With more mages in the clan they’ve also started enchanting amulets and such, though they mostly keep those for their hunters.

Maren is the head groom and Halla Keeper, and there are others who tend to the horses and mules they now keep as well.

A Hearthkeeper tends to things at home along with many of the other haren, keeping watch over the young children while their parents go about their daily duties.

There’s a healer whose versed in both healing magic and herbal remedies.

In recent years two Master Huntsmen have taken up training everyone in the clan to defend themselves, in addition to running more intensive drills with the hunters and scouts. There are always guards posted around the camp at all times - day and night - and those who venture from the camp always travel in tight-knit groups. The clan’s Second has also become involved in training the hunters who are mages, taking special care to make sure they can defend themselves against templars (both human and red).

How many people are part of the clan on average?

About 40 and growing. They’ve been stationary for a long time, which made it easy for other elves to find a join them. While many members fled after the Chantry explosion, new elves joined them seeking protection, especially mages who were fleeing the Gallows. Now that their home has been officially recognized by the Viscount they’ve attracted that much more attention.

What is the history behind the formation and building of the clan?

Sabrae was an elven lord during the time of the Dales, and a friend of the Emerald Knights Mahariel and Talas. During the Second Exalted March, Sabrae and Talas fled into the Arbor Wilds, leaving Mahariel and the other Emerald Knights behind to fight in Chantry invasion. As the Andrastian forces moved even further south, the newly formed clan continued into the Frostback Mountains.

The clan is obviously named after Sabrae, and Talas’ ancestors remained with the clan right up until recently; the line ended with Marethari. (Mahariel went on to found a different clan, where Mahariel’s name and mother are from. The ancient history between the clan founders is part of the reason why Mom’s elders didn’t want her to be with the Keeper of Clan Sabrae.)

What stories does the clan have with moral lessons?

The Halla and Her Three Kids, a fairy tale in which a halla mother goes out to forage, and warns her children not to leave the aravel while she’s away. She sings them a song and tells them to only open the door when they hear it. A servant of the Dread Wolf hears this and uses his wicked magic to change his voice and trick the kids into letting him in - only the youngest child is clever enough to be suspicious, and he hides while his two brothers are gobbled up.

When the mother halla returns she’s of course devastated, but her grief and rage are a powerful motivator. She calls upon Mythal as both a mother and as one seeking justice, Falon'Din to guide her lost children, and thanks Sylaise for keeping at least one child safe - and then she and her youngest begin to work on a trap.

The mother cooks a rich meal, and sets a special seat over a hidden pit, which is filled with embers and slow-burning firewood. She then invites the wolf to come to her home and mourn with her, as if she doesn’t know he is to blame. As he eats the chair grows heavier and heavier, until it collapses and he falls into the fire below. As he burns and pleads for his life, the mother tells him that she does as the gods have taught her: “a death for a death and a burn for a burn”. She and the child then finish off their enemy with a stoning, and all the halla in the clan celebrate with a real feast.

(This is an actual story I grew up with.)

What legends does the clan have about their people/history?

Clan Sabrae tells the story of a skilled hunter named Harralan, whose clan once lived in the Brecilian Forest. Harralan was arrogant and full of anger; he resented the life his people lived and dreamed of returning to the days when his people ruled cities and nations of their own. Though his wish was understandable, he thought of little else and allowed his heart to be clouded by his bitterness; so full of hate was he, that he attracted the attention of a rage demon.

The demon transformed him into Mythallen - a child of vengeance. Though he espoused concern for the future of the People, and for the injustices they have suffered, in truth he understood nothing of sympathy, compassion, forgiveness, or true leadership. Instead, he enslaved, yoking others to his revenge, transforming them into little more than weapons, extensions of his will.

The clan was able to destroy Mythallen, but too few of them remained to continue on as one. The remaining elves joined other clans, while their dead were remembered in legend.

How do clan members spend their leisure time? What do they do for fun?

They’ve picked up some games from humans - Wicked Grace being a particularly popular one. They also have their own gambling game that involves a four sided top, and some clan members have started combining both games.  

The harens don’t like it, but rock climbing is becoming the entertainment of choice for the younger members of the clan.

Also, reading! Many of the mages brought books with them from the Circle, plus Clan Sabrae now has unprecedented access to books that human and dwarven traders brought with them to Kirkwall.

What kind of laws/rules does the clan have?

Aside from the obvious, “be a respectable member of society” stuff, hunters and craftsmen are taught to respect the balance of the land and to use every part of the animals they hunt.

Everyone has a job to do, and every job is important. Whether you watch the children, whittle trinkets, or are the Keeper, every role is equally important to the survival of the clan.

Members of the clan are obligated to give mythvhen - a word that literally translates to righteousness, or righteous heart. This means to help others simply for the sake of helping, without receiving or expecting any recognition in return.

There are all sorts of rules associated with specific holidays and religious practices.

If a clan member breaks these rules, what punishments are there?

Depends on the severity obviously. A scolding from the Keeper (and probably every hahren, just for good measure), extra community work, exile at the worst. Unless something really terrible happens, the focus is less on punishment and more on understanding why the rule was broken, and explaining to the clan member why it’s important.

What is the clan’s culture surrounding birth?

During the first three months of pregnancy, couples and the healer won’t tell anyone else about the birth, to protect the baby from the evil eye. Even after the pregnancy is revealed, parents won’t even discuss naming the baby and nothing is prepared aside from what the child will need right after it’s born (so no toys and things like that).

Wards on the family’s aravel should be inspected, to make sure that spirits are being kept out.

A mother usually prays more often to Mythal, and a father to Elgar’nan. They pray to Sylaise to make their home safe and welcoming, and Andruil to keep the Dread Wolf at bay.

The birth itself is a joyous occasion, and the whole clan gets involved. A week after the child is born, the clan celebrates with a feast and welcomes them into the family. This is when the child is named, and the Keeper will say the first prayer for them using their new name, asking each god to watch over them.

What is the clan’s culture surrounding death?

When a clan members dies, the burial process begins immediately.

The dead is covered until they are with the Keeper, at which point they are uncovered and washed with water from a mountain stream. They are then dressed in simple burial clothing - white cloth, nothing more - and a sash is wrapped around their waist and tied in a way that represents the god of their vallaslin. (If they were too young to have been tattooed yet, the sash represents Falon'Din.)

From death until burial the dead is never alone, and those with them regularly recite prayers to Falon’Din, asking for safe passage into the beyond.

No more than a day after the death, the body is brought to the graveyard at the top of Sundermount and laid to rest alongside their ancestors. A tree is planted to mark their grave, and the Keeper asks Mythal to watch over her people even in death - the prayer directed towards the statue of Mythal that stands in the graveyard.

The deceased’s family mourn for a week, rarely leaving their aravel and putting vanity aside to allow themselves all possible space to grieve and process. Clan members will take care to bring them food and drink, keep them company, and take over their daily duties. After the week is up they return to work, but of course the clan is mindful of the pain they are still feeling.

What are the most monumental parts of life for clan members?

Receiving their vallaslin is an obvious one, as it means they are now an adult in the clan’s eyes. Young elves spend the day in contemplation, meditating on which vallaslin is most suited to them. Once they’re ready, they will wash and purify themselves, then don a traditional shawl that has likely been passed through their family. At sundown the Keeper will begin applying the vallaslin, during which time the young elf must make sure not to make a sound.

In what ways does the clan honor and revere the Elven Pantheon?

In every way? Lol

By which I mean, there are prayers for literally everything. Before a hunt, after a hunt, when skinning an animal, when purifying a home, when setting magical wards, when eating a meal, when making an herbal remedy. A prayer for an elven birth, a different prayer for a halla birth. A prayer to keep a secret, and a prayer to reveal hidden knowledge. And so on.

Some are longer than others, some are more formal, some are made up on the spot, but the gods are woven into everything. The clan doesn’t pray with the intention of being heard, but they want to acknowledge their heritage and give thanks that they can carry on these traditions.

What practices does the clan have in regards to vallaslin? How is an elf determined to be ready? How is the design chosen?

Oops I already talked about this a little bit. To add on from question 27, elves receive their valasllin soon after their 17th birthday. The Keeper and the hahrens discuss among themselves whether or not a child is ready, based on how mature they are; in other words, how ready they seem to take on the burden of being an adult in the clan.

What is the clan’s vallaslin like?

Just the normal vallaslin from DA:O.