#but she wants to belonggggggg

[inquisimer]

Dalish Week: Prayer

Day three! Took some liberties with this one - it’s a bit more about Dalish religion on the whole, rather than prayer specifically.

This is another scene set during Neria’s time with Clan Lavellan - she and the Keeper discuss some of Neria’s doubts about Dalish beliefs + gratuitous descriptions of magic headcanons

@dalish-appreciation-week

~~~

A line ran through every forest, invisible, but clearly present, delineating the furthest points shems would dare from where the forest grew wild proper. One of the first lessons the Keeper taught Neria was how to recognize that line—and how travel along the safer side.

They followed a river east; while natural barriers did not necessarily indicate the line, they were always worth a pause. Shems were nothing if not reluctant to get their stockings wet.

In contrast, Neria reveled when the clay-like mud and spongy moss pressed between her toes. The Dalish footwraps were both softer and more serviceable than the threadbare slippers or clunky boots she’d worn before. Every step gripped the ground, readying Neria for fight or flight or anything in between.

It was silly, perhaps, but she felt more properly Elven, as if slightly exposed toes were her ticket to acceptance amongst the Dalish. She did wonder what they wore in the colder months, though—comfortable as they were, the footwraps would do nothing against a blizzard or a frozen pond.

They’d shared a handful of these lessons now, primarily focused on nature magic: spells and methods preserved in secret and passed through Dalish memories since the fall of Arlathan. The method and the intuition behind the Keeper’s magic differed starkly from anything Neria learned at the Circle or in her wanderings. Deshanna wove the four disparate schools into one seamless tapestry and flavored it with something Neria couldn’t quite label. The resulting magic tugged at strings in her heart she surely wasn’t ready to identify.

Some of the techniques were familiar; not identical to Merrill’s style, but adjacent, as if they shared a common ancestor. So though no one explicitly laid it out for her, it was hardly a stretch for Neria to surmise: these were the lessons a Keeper traditionally gave their First.

Which muddled her head considerably. She was meant to be using this walk to clear her mind and review the spells Deshanna introduced at their last session. Instead her thoughts chased laps around her doubt and uncertainty, the dust in their wake clouding any attempt at focus.

“Relax, da’len. If your mind churns any harder we will pull butter from your ears.”

“Ir abel—“

“Telabelas.” Deshanna cut her off mid-apology. She paused just under a low-hanging oak branch but didn’t turn around. “Where is the line?”

Neria closed her eyes and pressed her awareness outward. It had been among her first lessons as well, one of the hardest to understand, and one she still hadn’t mastered. The Circle rewarded apprentices who were particularly skilled at condensing their magic and holding it within themselves, invisible except when convenient.

This directly countered that.

Her latent mana seeped across the ferns and roots that carpeted the forest floor. It swept down the gurgling river and felt where it widened and crashed over a cliff, a spot that would be good for bathing and filling their skins. Several yards beyond their line of sight, a handful of deer scavenged with their fawns, and a fennec chased a squirrel up a trunk.

“Just there.” Neria gestured to the south. “A break in the growth pattern—the trees there are younger, bark exposed to flame. It has been some time, but humans came that far, at least once.”

The Keeper nodded once and continued along the riverbank. “Very good.”

They never ventured too far from the campsite, both for the clan’s safety and their own, but Deshanna guided them to a different clearing than they’d used before. A sliver of earth parted the river like an eye and the trees thinned just enough that Neria could lay tip-to-toe three times over before they touched. Deshanna settled herself in the grass, back to the running water, and gestured for Neria to mirror her.

“We cannot proceed until your mind is clear.” Her kind words held no judgment, but Neria cringed internally anyhow. “What troubles you, da’len?”

“I—“ Neria swallowed. Her fingers curled around a loose patch of moss and she fidgeted with it, pieces falling on her leggings like flakes of green snow.

“Several things,” she finally admitted. “But all rooted in…uncertainty, about my place here. With the Dalish, with your clan.”

“Rosha and I have spoken extensively about your beliefs, your pantheon. She told me the tales and lessons of the Creators and the method and meaning behind the vallaslin. It is all so much more than I ever heard in shadowy whispers and far-fetched rumors, and it speaks deeply to your culture.”

She hesitated.

“But it does not speak to you,” murmured Deshanna. Neria hung her head.

“No. I have tried—truly. If desire were the measure of belief, I would already be converted. But it—just…doesn’t resonate. I wish it did, but—“

“Why?”

“—I can’t—what?”

“Why do you wish it resonated?”

“I—well—“ Neria stuttered, tripped up by the answer she’d thought obviously implied. “I want to fit with the clan. I want to stay.”

“And you believe that outcome hinges on our beliefs?”

“Well—I suppose I just assumed.” Neria sheepishly tugged the end of her braid. “Ir abelas, Amelan.”

“Telabelas,” the Keeper reminded her with a gentle smile. “You are not the first newcomer to make such an assumption about the Dalish and I doubt you will be the last. In truth, some clans would turn you away for this. But we are more liberal in our practices. Tell me, has Rosha taught you of Vir Tanadhal?”

Neria nodded. “Andruil’s code. Vir Assan—to fly straight and never waver, Vir Bor’assan—to bend but never break, and Vir Adahlen—together we are stronger than one.”

“It is a mantra of sorts,” Deshanna said. “Andruil guides us to resilience and strength, teaching us kindness and respect through the hunt. Valuable lessons that connect with both our past and the world as it is around us. Most Dalish never need faith beyond Vir Tanadhal.”

“It is a good philosophy. I don’t question the choice to follow it.” Neria sighed. “My issues stem from my personal experience with religion. Kinloch Hold is firmly under the thumb of the Southern Chantry; all mages there are raised Andrastian, regardless of their thoughts on the matter. To voice any objection is to invite discipline.”

“It grates, spending years upon years hearing magic exists to serve man and steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked—and knowing that those who chant believe they are preaching to the very wicked and corrupt of which they speak.”

“I was neutral about Andrastianism for…a long time. It was just part of my routine, another box to be checked so life could go on like normal. But eventually the rhetoric got to me. I grew tired of words, tired of being told how to repent and then told it would never be enough with the very next breath. Somewhere in the cracks of their teaching, I decided that actions meant more to me than any prayer. If the Maker wanted my devotion, if I truly had inherent worth as one of His creations, He could step up and show me.”

“I’m afraid it really soured me on any structured religion, as none are wont to be so tangible,” she finished wryly. Her fingers twisted in her lap and she couldn’t meet Deshanna’s eyes. She could practically see her packed bags and the closed aravels that surely waited beyond this conversation.

“A very reasonable course, and understandable, given the circumstances.” The Keeper covered Neria’s knotted fingers with one hand and stilled their fidgeting. “Peace, da’len. We do not force beliefs on those who do not want them, we simply offer them to those who search.”

A breath parted Neria’s lips and some of the tightness in her chest eased.

“I would expound on Rosha’s teaching, though, if you’ll indulge me?”

Neria nodded her assent.

“I said that most Dalish never need faith beyond Vir Tanadhal, but that is not the case for all. For some, the ways of the hunter hold no meaning from the start; for others, something happens to sever their connection to the code. Depending on the nature of the break, they may seek either Vir Banal’ras or Vir Atishan.”

Neria’s mind attempted to wrap around the unfamiliar elven. Vir—way of, of course. But the ways of what? Her practice with Lani hadn’t progressed far enough for her to parse the words, so she waited for the Keeper to continue.

“Vir Banal’ras—the way of shadow. Generally a temporary path, assumed by followers of Vir Tanadhal who experience a loss that demands a blood debt.” Deshanna’s mouth twisted as though she’d swallowed a lemon. “Personally, I discourage this path. In my experience, vengeance doesn’t bring the closure those who follow Vir Banal’ras seek. But it is a tradition and as I would not force it on the unwilling, I would not withhold it from the informed willing either.”

“And Vir Atishan—the way of peace. It is less common than Vir Tanadhal, because the number of threats the Dalish face today is far greater than it once was, but that does not lessen its intrinsic value. It is Sylaise’s code, but where those on Andruil’s paths must put their faith in the Creators, their gifts, and their guidance, those on Vir Atishan focus on healing—a tangible skill that they dedicate to those in need.”

“Healing can be interpreted broadly, as well. Physical healing, yes, but is it not also healing to ease a troubled mind, or prune the weeds that choke the sapling? These are the questions Vir Atishan asks, and more.”

“The Dalish I’ve known who follow Vir Atishan choose to believe that Sylaise calls them to the path. But” —she offered Neria a small, knowing smile, as if she could see the spark of hope flickering where Neria’s teeth dug into her lower lip— “it is also believable that others might be called by altruism or a desire for peace based on their past.”

“In fact, I think it is more than feasible to follow Vir Atishan without any religious connotation at all, should one choose.”

Neria’s breath caught, and that spark shot twenty feet high in a roaring inferno. Possibilities she’d thought barred away suddenly stretched before her and her heart was galloping through them like a stallion on the open plains.

“That—that sounds—“ she stumbled over her response, cleared her throat and blinked rapidly. “That sounds, at the very least, adjacent to what guides me now.”

“At the very least.” Deshanna’s eyes twinkled, and Neria was left with the sneaking suspicion that she’d been expecting this conversation in some form, if not today, then someday soon.

“Dalish beliefs may fall under one canopy, but they diverge in many places, even within clans.” The Keeper’s expression grew wistful. “It is a side effect of patchwork cultural preservation and varying interpretation amongst the elders. But it is not” —she gestured toward Neria— “necessarily a bad thing.”

Neria’s mind was spinning again, twice as hard as it had been on the walk out but spiraling upward, rather than down to the depths of the void. What did this mean—for her, for the clan? For…her clan?

A sharp snap cracked right in front of Neria’s face and she jerked to attention.

“It is food for thought, da’len.” Deshanna pulled her student to her feet. “Think on it—but later. I believe at this point we’ve burned enough daylight for one philosophical discussion.”

She tied her hair into a knot at the base of her neck and Neria blinked these revelations to the back burner, finding focus far easier with an unburdened mind.

“Now, let’s see if you can conjure vines as well as when we ended last time, yes?”