#c: rion severan

[gwynbleiddyn]

Rion closes the gap between himself and his son, stood in the quiet, damp stones of the Cobbled Swan. He feels the echo of his cane against the floor, watches as the sound ripples away from him in tides of red, fading. A punch of vibrant orange slips through in the shape of a word he knows well.

"Dad..." Kerros says, "You should be at home. Resting." Safe, is what he means. Rion smiles. Ten years ago, would he not be saying the same thing to his son? His eyes flick down at the movement of Kerros' hands towards him, pleading. Setting aside his cane, years of observation as a father come to the forefront of Rion's mind as he catches Kerros' hands gently, and holds them both in his own - still larger, still stronger, for now.

"These held little wooden dragons, once. Carelessly. You dropped them more than you played," he laughs, and even without hearing, he knows the sound is ragged. The blight has strangled him into a whisper. It will render him silent soon. "Luckily for us, you held a blade with more intent."

Rion meets his son's eyes - like his own, and yet, not at all. A faint crease of laughter narrows them for a second before Kerros' brow furrows again, honing in on what Rion isn't saying.

"You can be angry about this, Kesi. I was angry about the Inquisition. I still am. I think I always will be. And there is nothing that will make it easier to swallow, because people weren't meant to hold the fate of an entire world in their hands," Rion explains as gently as he can, but gentleness never came easy to him. "I asked Varric to keep you safe when this all started. I knew he couldn't promise it, and neither can I. Not really. But in all this, I still have my part, and as long as I'm still standing... I can't and I won't let you carry the world alone."

It's as though Kerros was waiting for permission to breathe, the way his head sinks and his shoulders drop - a man freed from the noose, albeit temporarily. Rion feels a hairline fracture slip through his heart, sick and wounded, and doomed to die by a thousand cuts. It's his lot as a Warden. As Inquisitor. Perhaps even as a father. He wouldn't change it if he could.

He pulls Kerros in, embracing him, becoming his fortress for another day. It won't last. But for now, it will hold.

[gwynbleiddyn]

they talk for hours.

Morrigan watches patiently, out of sight and mostly out of mind, a tremulous understanding strung between her and the Warden-Inquisitor Severan - now a shared tale that has endured ages, a Blight, and a son. Kerros briefly wonders whether Kieran would appreciate the irony of all this, but then he thinks he'd prefer sitting in the tree with him in Skyhold again instead of here, at the end of the world.

"tell me about them," Rion asks of the Veilguard. Kerros doesn't know where to begin. it feels like they're starting at the end. how much time has passed since he left home? has Cullen remembered to prune the rosebushes and tend to the lemon trees? does grandfather still call around every day, insisting on coffee and a conversation whether or not his father wishes to oblige? Kerros can see it clearly in his mind's eye, the way the garden is left untended as Cullen tends to Rion instead, too weak to leave his bed some days. he can see Amrun pacing in the terracotta kitchen, herbs drying on a rack, coffee brewing in a pot and poured in a cup that will be left untouched - truth be told, Rion doesn't taste much anymore.

Kerros blinks, and he sees his father, sat across from him. sick. tired. armoured, resolute, unyielding. he does not know how to stop fighting.

"you'd like them," Kerros answers. he tells Rion about Taash and Harding, his closest confidants - Rion's eyes lighten at the mention of the Inquisition's scout - and he skirts carefully around Emmrich's fondness of spirits, unwilling to test the weary mind of an ex-Templar. he explains Bellara's tenacity, her cleverness, how he wishes he'd met more Dalish like her in his time. he talks of Davrin's seemingly innate heroism, and how Assan keeps him humble. "and Neve," Kerros says, "she shares your sense of humour, but she's got more braincells to work with., soo...."

Rion chuckles, a faint and raspy sound.

"and there's Lucanis..." he leaves the rest unspoken, but Rion's gaze softens. he knows. and perhaps it is pointless to dwell on something his father will not live to see.

but he can pretend, for a moment, "...when this is done, we're going to Treviso. Cafe Pietra. best coffee this side of Rialto Bay, I promise. Lucanis is a man of his word."

it's easy to get lost in the details of his new life, but with each admission comes a little notch of pain, a fresh mark on his heart, slowly cutting away the fine threads that hold him to Skyhold, to the Inquisition, and to Rion.

he may be a shadow of himself in the here and now, but Kerros holds onto a vision of Rion so tightly that time can only bend around his fingers to touch it. it leaves fingerprinted indents, glimpses in the light, of a man whose shoulders could carry him around Skyhold without a care, even when the world was knocking at his door.

it is a small, fleeting moment, but he thinks he finally has an answer for Bellara's hero. why does he do it? because this story isn't fair, and he will fight it until he can't. no matter which way the tides turn, even if they win, Kerros will lose, and it will hurt more than everything that came before.

"i miss it," Rion admits. "the friendship, that connection. even in the Templars, the Wardens, it was those bonds that kept you going on your worst day, and trust me, the worst day will always come. your friends will keep you when the world won't."

Kerros swallows back the incessant grief, and smiles.

"yeah. i know they will."

[gwynbleiddyn]

→ Warden-Inquisitor Rion Severan, 9:52 Dragon

ten years gone in the blink of an eye. ten years spent chasing everything he cannot catch:

the Dread Wolf. firstly, for his ignorance and secondly, for his pride. the third reason, unspoken, unacknowledged: for being the mirror that Rion cannot break, lest he condemn himself too.

his son, in whose footsteps he used to follow for fear of losing him in the vast heights of a world unknown. now his son has grown wings, taken to the sky like a Rook, and Rion follows - not for fear of losing sight of him, but because he cannot keep up anymore.

and time, unravelling like a spool of thread before him where its end begins a song that he cannot ignore, a Calling. he must catch it before it runs out.

[gwynbleiddyn]

in this essay i will explain how rion can survive the next ten-- [gunshots] [sirens]

[gwynbleiddyn]

→ Kerros 'Rook' Severan-Laidir

"Varric, you're asking me if you can take my son on a wild goose chase for Solas, of all fucking people..."

"Look, I've tried talking to Kerros, you know I have -- I was there in Skyhold when he was all scraped knees and fairytales, you think I want to see him on the trail of the most dangerous man in Thedas? Shit, even I'm not sure I want to be on this trail right now. Point is, he's a grown man... grown, Rion. And he lives in this world too. I'm not asking you, Scars, your son is telling you. "

The nickname is pointed. A callback to a better time, when both of them had no idea where the Inquisition would lead. The snarl drops from Rion's lips, his face softening.

"I know."

And then Rion is silent for a moment longer than Varric would like. He can do nothing but watch and take note of the man he once called Inquisitor, and more importantly, the man he now calls an old friend. The carefully constructed fingers of Rion's left hand clamp tightly around the head of his walking stick, his weight growing too heavy for his own legs to bear. It's punctuated by the strain at the corner of his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. Pain seeps from him with every breath, shuddering, as though he was stood on the icy banks of the Emprise du Lion ten years ago, and not drowning in the evening sun on the shores of Rialto Bay.

"Can you keep him safe?" comes the inevitable question any reasonable father would ask.

"No." Varric shakes his head. Not a promise anybody can make, these days, least of all him. But he lifts his heavy hands, hesitating for a moment over Rion's own before they envelop the gloved construct over the top of his walking stick. It's jarringly cold and devoid of a pulse. Varric briefly recalls the feeling of the anchor pulling at reality, and his stomach begins to twist and churn in memory of something that no longer exists. "But I can promise I will try, with everything I have. You gotta let him fly, Rion, sooner or later."

Another pause, but this one seems less... reluctant. More considerate. Rion's gaze shifts downwards to Varric's hands, and a slow, sad smile crosses his face.

"What was it you always called him? For stealing your rings when you weren't looking..."

Varric smiles, eyes stinging. They both pretend it is the sunlight. "Rook."

[gwynbleiddyn]

"How are you so calm?!" Kerros whisper-shouts, conscious of the figures milling around in earshot. His fingers tremble and tap along the wooden edge of a makeshift war-table, strewn with torn maps and wine bottle corks -- fragments of an attempt to make some sense from within the eye of the storm.

He feel his father's gaze boring into the side of his head. It's pointless trying to avoid it, so Kerros turns to him, swallowing around the lump that has lodged itself in its throat ever since stepping foot into Minrathous.

"You're here," Rion answers.

Kerros frowns. What a ridiculous and entirely useless thing to say. He's here, sure, but so is an army of wardens. A horde of assassins. A collection of Lords. In actual fact, there is a veritable sea of people swarming through the ruins of this blighted city who almost certainly have more to offer in this moment than he does, spilling their own blood in defense of it while he dithers around a war-table with fumbling fingers and pretends to know what he's doing.

Much like a child stumbling around in his father's boots while everyone else prepares for the inevitable fall.

Kerros snorts in disbelief. "That's funny."

Rion smiles. It is a small and fleeting thing quickly tempered by a pained grimace and a sigh, his eyes flitting to the war table where he is lost in memory for a moment. The silence stretches out for too long, and Kerros reaches out gently, knocking the hard metal of his father's arm.

He waits until Rion looks at him before he speaks again, ensuring he can see.

"I'm sorry. I'm just... scared."

"Of course you are." Rion's gaze softens, and there is no shortage of comfort in a father's understanding. "I was scared too, when I was standing where you are -- the first time, at least."

The smile returns, but is gone in a blink. Kerros can feel the tension radiating off of him, listening to breaths that turn shallow as they try to keep the pain at bay. Why is he here? He's too sick.

"The Wardens knew how to deal with a Blight. An Archdemon. None of that was a surprise," Rion continues, and he leans forward slightly as a breath slips through gritted teeth, hand bracing on the table. "But I was still fucking scared of it. Of dying. Of losing other people. Cullen. Leliana. Morrigan. What happens if I fuck it up? Only the end of the world."

Kerros listens intently. He's heard stories of the Fifth Blight more times than he can count, varying from fond reminiscence to angry recollection. The truth always hid somewhere in-between, in the moments where Rion allowed himself to be known -- even to his son. Moments rarer than they should be.

Rion shakes his head, muttering under his breath as he shakes off his sickness to stand upright again. "Then came the Breach. The Inquisition. Solas. That whole crock of shit."

Kerros huffs out an almost-laugh. Rion's disdain for Solas has always been palpable, but it has never been relatable -- not before now. He nods, this time in understanding, and gestures for his father to continue.

"What's the difference, Kesi? Between the Wardens and the Inquisition? What changed?" Rion raises an eyebrow, stance relaxing as the last of his pain recedes for the moment.

"Uhh... you...uhh... experience? You had more experience? Wisdom and yadda yadda--" Kerros attempts a feeble answer, but Rion shakes his head again. No. Okay. "Time? Power?" No, and no. "I don't know, dad. Come on, we don't have time for--"

"--you." Rion interrupts, arms folding across his chest as he matches his son's level stare. "Between the first time and the last time I stood at the end of the world, you came along. This tiny, shrivelled little thing, screaming your lungs out so hard that even I felt like I could hear you."

Kerros' thoughts unravel abruptly, like thread caught on a nail, split and fraying into useless fragments.

"You scared the shit out of me - more than any Archdemon could. And it wasn't the little things, like... how should I hold you? Or are we feeding you right? Or were you sleeping? We could handle those fears, silly ones, ones we could unlearn as time went on and you grew up just fine," Rion explains, and Kerros feels that all-too familiar knife twist in his chest each time Rion's voice struggles against the blight coursing through him. It is getting worse by the minute in this forsaken place.

"What really fucking frightened me, Kes, was just... everything I didn't know. Who you were going to be. What you were going to do. This world had been so hurtful to me, so what the world was going to do to you?"

Kerros doesn't know what to say. He swallows again, watching as Rion begins to fiddle with some of the makeshift map markers. He nudges a would-be contingent of Crows through a hastily drawn street, scribbled over thrice and relabelled in varying hands as people argued over directions a mere half hour ago. Rion casts his eye over the table, silence stretching between them, leaving Kerros feeling as though he is chasing a receding tide.

"Dad?" Kerros wiggles his fingers in Rion's line of sight, catching his attention. Rion seems unwilling to look up. He sniffs, rubbing at his nose under the pretense of adjusting the metal adorning his bridge, and clears his throat. Kerros pretends he doesn't notice.

"Varric was right," Rion admits. "Rook, he called you, because you were always a resourceful little bastard. Did he ever tell you that?"

This time, Kerros shakes his head. His throat grows tight, grief shutting the way for any words to follow.

"Yeah. You always, always found a way. Through anything. Into anything. Out of anything. And that's what gave him hope in all this. Hope that he died with." Rion knocks over a cork, looming at the epicentre of the Archon's Palace. "You have cut through every single fear I had for you like it was nothing. At every turn, you surprised me. So yes, Kesi. I am calm because you are here."

The broken stone fragment that represents Elgar'nan topples as Rion knocks his knuckles against it, before he pushes away from the table and turns to Kerros, hands gently cradling his face - one cold and unfeeling, the other, a perfect fit.

All at once, every little doubt that had been threatening at the edges of Kerros' mind, like the shadow threatening to swallow the sun overheard, grows silent, and now he instead finds himself afloat on his father's words alone, adrift on an open, gentle sea.

"So I know this too: you will find a way, my little bird, varanharel, because that is what you do."

[gwynbleiddyn]

making rion in veilguard was both a cathartic and deeply terrifying experience

he cut all his hair off at some point when maintaining it got too hard to do between surviving the anchor and also the blight and seeing him ragged and worn down with a buzzcut and the life actively leaving his wrecked body while he watches his only son wade into the horrifying dangers of a broken world he helped make is SOMETHING

[gwynbleiddyn]

🎓 for rion pls give me a blast from the past

AUGH IM CATCHING UP ON THESE--

from this ask game!

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

too long he exists in my braincell in every waking moment on this finite earth

in reality maybe 11-12 years? give or take. although he technically existed before that as a creation from the LOTRO days of yore <3 specifically, a character called Narion, who was one of my first LOTRO boys -- he eventually evolved into Rion when i decided to try out DA:Origins, and he's gone on a ✨journey✨ since then. he's truly the blorbo of my heart, favourite old man, there will never be another oc like him in my repertoire 😔

[gwynbleiddyn]

rion, one arm lighter, slowly succumbing to the Calling, sipping a margarita on some tropical smuggler's paradise in rivain after getting married and absolving himself of the world's problems: im retired

da: veilguard: think again old man

[gwynbleiddyn]

So how does Rion feel about his Elgar'nan vallaslin after everything that happens in Veilguard? 👀 Or does it not matter to him?

OH MAN this is a question with needlepoint precision and i love it <3 i haven't fully uncovered Veilguard yet so this might be a bit thin on the detail for now but hooooo boy

i think it's a weird one, a weird mix of feelings there - some are more transient, more in the vein of vanity which is hardly an uncommon occurrence for Rion, and others are more insidious and hard to untangle.

to start with, being raised the way he was - a mix of andrastian and dalish and rivaini and everything in between - i don't think Rion had a particularly strong tie to the elven gods in the first place. which adds some context to the next part:

Clan Severan tend to get their vallaslin much later on in life than other Dalish clans grant theirs - usually as a coming of age ritual, iirc, i could be totally wrong tho. but in any case, to Clan Severan, vallaslin isn't a right of passage as much as it is a mark of survival, granted only when it is seen to be required or earned. almost like a protective ward. 'you have persevered' it says, 'may the gods grant you peace' and the unspoken truth that comes with it is knowing that the recipient has suffered for it. still a sacred mark, but perhaps for different reasons.

Rion got his at a young age, by Severan standards, not long before he left for Kinloch Hold. that in itself is not a nice thought. and Rion kind of went into the ceremony with the assumption that his vallaslin was granting him protection for the road ahead, but something was said to him in that ritual that forever changed his outlook on it.

"may the gods show you what you cannot hear"

a tiny drop in the ocean of that ritual which lasted hours, and of course probably said with good intent, but it set the first of many thorns in the proverbial lion's paw. elgar'nan's mark clawed its way onto Rion's face over agonizing hours - given because of the god's connection to the sun, a symbol deeply revered by Clan Severan and meant to show the love that Rion was regarded with - and all Rion could think was how much they pitied him. it upset him a lot, and it's not something he's really told anyone.

after that, he kind of just ascribed his own meaning to it. elgar'nan, god of vengeance. elgar'nan, "cause he was good at farming, or some shit." elgar'nan, whose light burned so brightly that the abyss couldn't contain it. all much nicer than, "the only god my clan thought could help me" when it comes to explaining to curious minds.

so between all its nebulous explanations it became meaningless, for a while. but i think as that bitterness kind of quelled and Rion matured into the eventual Grey Warden and Inquisitor we know him as, he began to see it more as a mark of survival - as intended - but in spite of the way people perceive him. he survives because he made sure of it, because he's sharp and horrifically stubborn, and not because some absent god deigns to pluck the strings of fate just enough to allow this broken elf to live another day -- out of pity.

so all this to say: i don't think Rion cares. his vallaslin has long been separated from elgar'nan. if anything, now it's even sweeter to wear the mark of the god who couldnt help you even if he wanted to, and know that you have done what he could not: survive.

[gwynbleiddyn]

THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH IN WAYS BOTH WEIRD AND UNKNOWABLE IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH--

[gwynbleiddyn]

i think rion's retirement is going poorly

[gwynbleiddyn]

i am so excited to gnaw at datv lore and context like a rabid dog discovering bone marrow for the first time but specifically because i am very interested in kerros' self-perception as a dalish elf

rion was (is... was.... somewhere in between) dalish if you look at it objectively, but he was also a ephemeral city dweller and wanderer, and a templar, and a warden, and everything and nothing much at all packed into a broken little body of an elf lacking identity outside of his titles

kerros grew up in that shadow, regardless of how much love and care it held - it still dampened his worldview prematurely, to a point where being dalish is not a facet of his character yet. so how will he react to the elven gods? he has memorized the shape of elgar'nan's branding on his father's face. it is a static thing, unchanging, even as time carves lines into skin. is he marked this way forever? beholden to a set of ideals that will now be turned on their head? kerros has no markings yet, in the tradition of clan severan who only claim their vallaslin after a significant event, and i wonder if he ever will after knowing what their intended use was and whatever else emerges from the elven pantheon's presence in veilguard. but like vallaslin is not what makes a dalish elf, right? what else is there? the language? the nomadic nature (or semi-nomadic, in the case of clan severan) forced upon them by orlais? is it the endless pursuit of a lost time, a lost culture, a lost power?

in his mind, kerros doesn't have those connections that inform his identity outside of 'son of the warden-inquisitor who also has pointy ears' and im just very excited to see how fucking damning it's going to be sitting in the cradle of the death of arlathan (tevinter) surrounded by reminders that his storied gods are real all while being pushed and pulled in the direction of the promised land where the dalish regain their history, when his heaven is already here and it looks like a floating city of ships in the glittering rialto bay

[gwynbleiddyn]

Kerros Severan-Laidir sounds suitably impressive and completely jarring

[gwynbleiddyn]

"I like the jobs that go wrong," Kerros admits to Neve, between bites of fried fish.

"Why?" Neve asks, a sideways glance carrying the rest of the question - what do you get out of it?

Shrugging lightly, he leans a hip on a mooring post -- too elegant to be functional as anything other than decoration - and smacks his lips together, the taste of sea salt and brine easily caught.

"There's always the thrill in being caught, I guess, ruffling a few haughty feathers along the way is fun," he muses out loud, recalling the last job that went wrong. "But when it's all done and you're the one left standing... it makes me feel good. More capable."

There's a sharp puff of air next to him as Neve snorts, incredulous. "I know I'm married to my work, Rook, but that feels particularly self-sabotaging."

Wiggling a now-empty skewer at Neve, Kerros grins. "You'd know all about that, huh?"

He receives only a sly, knowing smile in reply. She sees right through his humour, and it's only mildly irritating. Kerros tears his eyes away from giving up the game any further, gaze landing on the inoffensive grey tide lapping at the docks instead.

"Or maybe that's just the cover story. You read between the lines better than anyone I know, Neve."

She holds her silence for a little while longer as they both watch the waters gnawing at the warped wood of the jetty beneath their feet. Rotting in the water below, if Kerros had to guess. It is a slow, insidious thing. Always something you discover too late.

"Not everybody wants their secrets spilled in print. In Dock Town, sometimes it's best I pretend I didn't see," Neve breaks the silence along with the sound of another gentle wave sinking beneath. A courteous cover. Relief starts to weed its way through the silt that has settled in his lungs, choking his breaths into unnecessary tension.

Besides him, closer now, Neve continues. "But whoever it is you're trying to impress? They'd better be worth the gods to you."

-----

[gwynbleiddyn]

pov a rivaini pirate is about to ruin your day