#daern'thal

[petchic101]

DA Elvish

I separated all of Dragon Age's known Elvish into Nouns, idioms ect

Nouns

Titles/Types of people/Groups

Anaris: – according to an old tale, he was once tricked by Fen'Harel while dueling the Great Hunter Andruil

Andruil: Goddess of the Hunt is the elven Goddess of the Hunt, known also as "blood and force" and the "great hunter."

Arlathvhen: Meeting of the Dalish clans that occurs every ten years. Means "for love of the people."

Asha'bellanar: "The Woman of Many Years." How the Dalish refer to Flemeth.

Da'len: Little child; little one.

Daern'thal: Known Forgotten One

Din: The dead.

Dirthamen: Keeper of Secrets, is the twin brother of Falon'Din and is the elven god of secrets and knowledge, and master of the ravens Fear and Deceit. Dirthamen gave to elves the gift of knowledge and taught them loyalty and faith in family.

Elgar: Spirit.

Dirth'ena enasalin: "Knowledge that led to victory"; the Elvish term for the Arcane Warrior or, more recently, Knight Enchanter disciplines.

Durgen’len: Children of the stone; the Ancient Elvish term for the dwarves.

Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance also known as the All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun and He Who Overthrew His Father—represents fatherhood and vengeance, and leads the pantheon with the goddess Mythal.

Elvhen: Elven name for their own race; our people.

Elvhenan: The name of the elven civilization before the arrival of humans in Thedas; the place of our people.

Era'harel: Demon-mage; similar to an arcane horror.

Evanuris: Leader; Translated by Dorian in context as "mage leader"; what the elvhen called their gods.

Falon: Friend.

Falon'Din: Friend of the Dead, the Guide is the elven God of Death and Fortune and guides the dead to the Beyond. He and his twin brother, Dirthamen, are the eldest children of Elgar'nan the All-Father and Mythal the Protector.

Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf is an enigmatic trickster god of the elves, whose supposed betrayal of both the benevolent Creators and the malefic Forgotten Ones is the only explanation most elves have for the destruction of Arlathan. Dalish clans view him with wariness and seek to protect themselves and their kin from his treachery. It is revealed by Solas in Mythal's temple that this could be a misinterpretation by the Dalish and instead he was the god of rebellion.

Geldauran: Known Forgotten One

Ghilan'nain: Mother of the Halla is called the Mother of the halla—white deer-like creatures revered by the Dalish and used to pull their aravel, or "landships"—and goddess of navigation.

Ghil-Dirthalen: "One who guides seekers of knowledge true."

Ghilan'him banal'vhen: "The path that leads astray": a derogatory term for Arcane Warriors among those elves who eschewed physical combat.

Hahren'al: A gathering of hahrens during the Arlathvhen.

Hahren: Elder; used as a term of respect by the Dalish as well as by city elves for the leader of an alienage.

Harillen: Opposition.

June: God of the Craft is the elven Master of Crafts. He is variously described either as a brother to Andruil and Sylaise or as Sylaise's husband. He taught the elves to make bows, arrows, and knives to hunt Andruil's gifts.

Lethallin/Lethallan/Lethallen: Casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar; generally, lethallin is used for males while lethallan is used for females; lethallen has been stated to be the appropriate gender neutral term unless otherwise stated later in canon, though it is likely to remain the same. Note: Though "lethallin" is usually used for males and "lethallan" for females, as stated above

Lethanavir: Another appellation of Falon'Din the elven god of death and fortune who guides the dead to the Beyond.

Mien'harel: Rebellion; depending on the interpretation, a violent call for justice; a concept that when humans push the elven population too far they must remind them that even a "short blade" must be respected; most commonly a term used by city elf.

Mythal: the Great Protector, the Protector and the All-Mother, and goddess of love, is the patron of motherhood and justice and leads the pantheon with her male counterpart, Elgar'nan.

Shemlen: The original name elves use for the human race; continues to see use as a slang term amongst the City Elves ("shems") even though its meaning has largely been lost; literally "quick children".

Somniari: Dreamer.

Sylaise: the Hearthkeeper is the goddess of all the domestic arts and the sister of Andruil the Huntress. Sylaise gave the elves fire, and taught them how to weave rope and thread, and to use herbs and magic for healing purposes.

Vhenallin: Friends of the People.

Nature

Adahl/Adhal: Tree.

Adahlen: Wood.

Alas: Earth, dirt.citation needed

Dahl'amythal: Tree of Mythal from which Dalish Keepers’ staves are cut.

Durgen: Stone.citation needed

Elgara: Sun.

Felandaris: Demon weed.

Vallas: Set, as in the setting of the sun.

Vallasdahlen: Trees planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom that grew into a mighty wood; life-trees.

Vhenadahl: The tree of the people.

Vhen'alas: The land itself, as in "the ground"; literally "our earth".citation needed

Vunin: Day.

Animal

Fen: Wolf.

Hallas: are a type of horned stag; some are herded by the Dalish—who use them to pull their aravels, or landships. Their milk is also made into cheese and butter.[2] The Dalish do not consider them beasts of burden but noble companions. To get them to accompany a clan, the Dalish elves ask rather than force them to.

Hanal'ghilan: Elven name for the mythical golden halla said by the Dalish to appear during times of great need; the pathfinder.

Body/Self

Banal'ras: Shadow.

Renan: Voice.

Taren: Mind.

Vallaslin: Blood writing; The art of tattooing adopted by some elves to more prominently display their worship of the traditional elven pantheon.

Vhenan: Heart; often used as a term of endearment.

Concept

Abelas: Sorrow; to be sorry.

Aravel: A wagon used by the Dalish; also a physical and spiritual path, a journey with purpose. Humans call them "landships."

Atish’an: Peace.

Athim: Humility.

Bellanaris: Eternity.

Din'an: Death; end.

Din'anshiral: A journey of death.

Dirth: A term for knowledge or secrets; tell; speak.citation needed

Enasalin: Victory.

Enansal: Blessing.

Enaste: Favor.

Halani: Help.

Hamin: Rest.

Harellan: Trickster; used by the Dalish to mean "traitor to one's kin".

Melana: Time.

Melanada: All time. 

Melava: Time;

Revas: Freedom.

Shiral: Journey.

Sulahn'nehn: Rejoice; joy.

Sulevin: Purpose.

Vir: Way; we.

Weapons/Equipment

Assan: Arrow.

Bor'assan: Bow.

Felassan: Slow arrow.

Mi: Blade.citation needed

Places

Arlathan: The major city of Elvhenan, original homeland of the elves; from the phrase "ar lath’an" meaning, "This place of love".

Banalhan: A name for the Blight or its place of origin; the place of nothing.

Dirthavaren: The promise; the Elven name for the Exalted Plains.

Halamshiral: The capital of the second elven homeland in the Dales; the end of the journey.

Setheneran: Land of waking dreams; a place where the Veil is thin.

Tarasyl'an Te'las: The place where the sky was held back; Ancient Elven name for Skyhold.

Vhenas: Home.

Vir'abelasan: The place of the way of sorrows; refers to the Well of Sorrows.

Other

Aravel: A wagon used by the Dalish; also a physical and spiritual path, a journey with purpose. Humans call them "landships."

Banalhan: A name for the Blight or its place of origin; the place of nothing.

Elgar'arla: Spirit-trap; a binding circle to hold a spirit or demon.

Eluvian: Mirror; literally "seeing glass."

Mi'durgen: Diamond; literally 'blade stone'.

Adjective

Eth: Safe.citation needed

Mirthadra: Honored.

Sa: One; one more.

Shem: Quick.

Tan: Three.

Then: Awake; alert.citation needed

Verb

Abelas: Sorrow; to be sorry.

Dirth: A term for knowledge or secrets; tell; speak.citation needed

Dirthara: Learn;

Dirthera: To tell tales.

Enfenim: To fear.

Ghilana: To guide.

Ghilas: To go.

Harel: To trick or deceive;

Him: Become.

Las: Grant; give.

Lasa ghilan: Grant/give guidance.

Lath: Love of being; to be in love.

Numin: Cry.

Nuvenin: Say, as in “as you say”.

Samahl: Laugh.

Somniar: To dream.

Sulahn'nehn: Rejoice; joy.

Sulahn: Sing.

Uthenera: The name of the ancient practice of immortal elves who would "sleep" once they tired of life; immortal; waking sleep; literally "eternal waking dream".citation needed

Pronoun

Ar: First person pronoun; I, me.

Mala: Your.

Mir: My.

Var: Our.

Vir: Way; we.

Ect

Banal: Never.

Dar: To be.citation needed

In: In.

Ir: I am.

Iras: Where.

Irassal: Wherever.

La: And.

Na: Is.

Pre/Suffix

-an: Suffix indicating place or location.

Da: Diminutive prefix; small.

Idioms

Andaran atish’an: "Enter this place in peace." A formal elven greeting.

Aneth ara: A sociable or friendly greeting, more commonly used among the Dalish themselves rather than with outsiders.

Ara seranna-ma: A way to excuse oneself, such as after a sneeze or belch.

Banal nadas: Nothing is known for certain./Not necessarily.

Boranehn: Lost joy.

Dareth shiral: farewell; literally "Safe journey."

Enasal: Joy in triumph over loss; a variation of joyful relief.

Falon’Din enasal enaste: A prayer for the dead.

Fen'Harel enansal: The Dread Wolf's blessing.

Fen'Harel ma ghilana: "Dread Wolf guides you." Indicates someone being misled.

Halam'shivanas: The sweet sacrifice of duty.

Hellathen: Noble struggle.

Ir abelas: I am sorry.

Lathbora viran: Roughly translated as "the path to a place of lost love," a longing for a thing one can never really know.

Nadas: Inevitability; something that must be; used as an expression of obligation, i.e. "must".

Ma nuvenin: As you say.

Ma vhenan: My heart; sometimes shortened simply to vhenan, "heart"; a term of endearment.

Ma serannas: My thanks./Thank you.

Mana. Ma halani: Help me. 

Mythal'enaste: Mythal's favor.

Penshra! Ghilas vellathan!: Politely translated as "I prefer that you remain close."

Revasan: The place where freedom dwells.

Sahlin: Now; is come.

Sa'vunin: One more day.

Solas: Pride; to stand tall.

Solasan: A prideful place.

Suledin: The concept of finding strength in enduring loss or pain; endure.

Tel'abelas: I'm not sorry.

Telanadas: Nothing is inevitable.

Var lath vir suledin!: Our love will endure

Vir enasalin!: We will win!

Vir sumeil: We are close.

Commands/Threats/Curses

Bellanaris Din'an Heem: "Make you dead."

Dirthara-ma: "May you learn." Used as a curse.

Fenedhis: Meaning officially undefined as of yet; a common curse.

Fenedhis lasa: Meaning officially undefined as of yet. A common curse.

Fen'Harel ma halam: "Dread Wolf ends you." A threat.

Garas: Come.

Garas quenathra: "Why are you here?/Why have you come?" Spoken by the voices of the Vir'abelasan

Masal din'an: A threat, meaning unknown.

Na abelas: You'll be sorry.

Na din'an sahlin!: Your death is come!

Na melana sahlin: Your time is come.

Specific Sentences

Ar lasa mala revas: "You are free." More literally "I give you your freedom."

Ar lath ma, vhenan: "I love you, heart/my heart"

Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris: Fen'Harel’s secret greeting. Meaning unknown.

Atish'all Vir Abelasan: "Enter the path of the Well of Sorrows."

Dirth ma banal. Mar solas ena mar din: "You have learned nothing. Your pride will be your death/downfall." A Dalish saying.

Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din: Roughly means: "Your pride is responsible for everything that has gone wrong; you will die alone."

Ir abelas, ma vhenan: "I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my heart."

Ir tel'him: I'm me again.

Ma banal las halamshir var vhen: You do nothing to further our people. 

Ma harel, da’len: You lie, child.

Ma harel lasa!: You lied to me.

Ma ghilana mir din'an: Guide me into death.

Ma melava halani: You helped me.

Mala suledin nadas: Now you must endure.

Malas amelin ne halam: I hope you find a new name.

Melana en athim las enaste: Now let humility grant favor.

Sulevin ghilana hanin: Roughly translates to "purpose guides to glory". This is an inscription on the back of the Dalish shield called "The Path to Glory".

Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris.: Dalish marriage vows.

Tel garas solasan: Come not to a prideful place.

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

"There is precious little we know about Fen'Harel, for they say he did not care for our people. Elgar'nan and Mythal created the world as we know it, Andruil taught us the Ways of the Hunter, Sylaise and June gave us fire and crafting, but Fen'Harel kept to himself and plotted the betrayal of all the gods. And after the destruction of Arlathan, when the gods could no longer hear our prayers, it is said that Fen'Harel spent centuries in a far corner of the earth, giggling madly and hugging himself in glee.

The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People."

—From The Tale of Fen'Harel's Triumph, as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves

[vh-rp]

The Tirashan Elves

These elves of the Tirashan forest do not consider themselves dalish, and the dalish elves would agree. The Tirashan seek revenge against humans for their affronts to the elven people and rather than call upon the blessing of the Pantheon Gods, they have instead sought the Forgotten Ones out through hidden, dark cults. According to the Dalish, these individuals have committed a great crime and forsaken their people in return for the keys to a twisted and terrible strength.

These vicious elves wear vallaslin of bright red which is thought to be tainted by red lyrium, though somehow they have not succumbed to its terrible effects. These elves don't just chase humans off their land, they hunt them for sport and often offer them up as sacrifices to their Gods.

PHYSIOLOGY/VALLALSIN The Tirashan are not physically any different from the typical dalish elf, however, they seem to have a strange resistance to red lyrium. This could be because they tattoo small amounts into their skin and build up immunity, but no one really knows. Their vallaslin are homages not to the Pantheon, but to their own Gods.

GODS The gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own. Where the Creators are gods of justice, knowledge and craft, who seek to guide and protect the elven people, the Forgotten Ones are a dark mirror presiding over the worst aspects of existence: disease, terror, spite and malevolence. They serve not as shepherds of the elves, but rather as figures of fear and dread. They may have greatly resented the Creator gods, and in fact asserted that there are no "gods" and that the right of dominance over others comes from deeds rather than nature.

ANARIS - God of Terror/Fear DAERN'THAL - God of Disease/Pestilence FEN'HAREL - God of Betrayal/Trickery GELDAURAN - God of Spite/Malevolence

[scurvgirl]

A Path Forward

Previous | Masterlist | AO3

More Seeker of Rebellion AU! I feel like I worked on this forever. Well over a month at least. Work is kicking my butt, y’all. 

Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, Melarue, Merith, and Henne’thel belong to @justanartsysideblog

Warnings for: Alcohol

______________________________________________________________

“They’re arguing again,” Verethrin sighs, plopping next to Ash. She looks up from her food to see the young, aspiring Keeper looking not so young anymore. Heavy bags hang under his eyes and his scales have taken on a purple-ish hue as he continues to recover from the battle.

“What about this time?” Ash asks, sipping on more of her soup. Memae, Mamae, Merith, Melarue, and Henne’thel have been in talks for the last week - discussing the future and what they need to do. At least they have agreed they’re formally allied now, but that of course brought up more issues that Ash is not supposed to be privy to. Except Verethrin had been included in the talks as all of the Keepers have taken a shining to him. He needs to learn how to be a Keeper, after all.

“Location for the city,” he replies, snatching a piece of her bread. The third day of talks had ended in the agreement that they needed to settle a city. Problem is, none of them know where a city should be settled. So far, Ash’s input has not been requested. It takes all of her self control to not walk into that aravel and proclaim her knowledge. She needs to practice self-restraint and...trust in her mothers.

“That is a big question to answer, they should be talking about it,” she says.

“It’s ridiculous, they should be asking you,” he grouses. After that first bout of arguments, he had found her on the outskirts of the camp, lying in the grass, staring up at the stars, wondering about how different they were from her time. They didn’t speak for a while, but then she sighed and told him in an uncharacteristically soft tone her story. She told him about her time and her mother and nanae. She told him why she had rushed into the camp to save everyone and why she understood his pain so well. He told her stories of his family. By the end, they were both in tears.

“To be fair, I don’t really know anything about city planning.”

“But you’ve seen cities! None of us have - none of them have,” he argues, but she shrugs.

“I need to earn their trust back, it doesn’t just happen overnight.” As much as she wants to walk into that aravel and proclaim she knows what to do, how to help, she can’t. She wasn’t invited into the talks and so she’ll remain outside, watching and being with the clans.

Verethrin gives her a long look that makes her want to laugh. His frustration mirrors her own, but he seems to be handling it like how she wants to handle it. Which does nothing to stem her own desires to storm into the aravel and demand to be heard. His reactions make her wonder if this disposition is the result of being so young to lose so much, to see so much tragedy.

“If they want my opinion, they will come for it. At some point, you stop sticking your hand into a hot pot,” she says.

“We can’t stay here much longer,” he whispers, “our food stores are low, and the surrounding land isn’t going to offer enough for all of us. We need a solution, sooner rather than later.”

Ash sighs. She knows and dual desires build within her. She knows what’s best is that they find a place to settle and soon, so they can start planting foods. But she also knows that if she storms into the aravel and proclaims this and says that they need to settle where she thinks is best, no one will listen.

But perhaps….

“I can’t go in and say anything and be heard,” Ash says in a measured tone, “but...you could.”

“What?”

“You are privy to the talks and while I suppose you’re there to learn, you can propose ideas. Memae and Mamae are still cross with me, but they’ll hear an idea from you.”

“But I don’t have any ideas!” He argues. Ash grins mischievously and shrugs.

“I do.”

His brow furrows until realization strikes him, “You...that’s brilliant, Ash.”

“Alright, here’s what you need to say….”

She details to him what she knows about cities. She was telling the truth when she said is no expert in city planning, but Verethrin was right too - she knows more than they do in this moment.

They spend two hours going over everything Ash knows about cities. From Verethrin’s questions, she knows more than she initially thought. She can even draw structures from memory - the water mill from the village she lived in when her magic surfaced, Skyhold’s walls and battlements, and even the ubiquitous windmill. She doesn’t give the drawings to Verethrin right away, they would definitely know the suggestion came from her if he presented the drawings. But the pictures help illustrate the necessity of flowing water, a defensible position, and enough land to grow enough food to store.

Ash doesn’t care where they find these things, but the location needs everything for it to work long term.

The next day, Ash is helping reset wards when familiar footsteps sound behind her. Her ear twitches and finishes with the current ward before turning to her memae, cocking her head slightly.

“I thought you were in talks all day,” she says, daring to broach the subject.

“I thought the same thing, but then young Verethrin came forward today with some much needed insight. He was a deciding vote to find a river in a valley rather than settling in the mountains. We were all very impressed with this insight,” she says and Ash tries to keep her face as flat as possible.

“Oh, that’s good.” She bites her tongue to stop herself from asking anything else lest she give herself away.

“Da’len, I know you gave him the ideas,” Memae says, voice stern and Ash curses.

“Memae, I can explain -

“Good job.”

Surely Ash misheard? “Did...wait, you’re not mad?”

Memae shakes her head, a proud smile spreading across her face, “A few months ago, you would have stormed into that aravel, demanding to be heard. But today you were clever and expressed your ideas in a way that would increase their likelihood to be heard. You did well.”

Ash stops and considers her mother for a moment. She’s grown taller than Nimronyn when she is in elven form, slight but her power still radiates off her. Still, there are moments when it’s almost as if Ash feels larger and displaced. Strangely, this is not one of those moments. It’s been a long time since her mother looked at her like this, with pride. Ash hadn’t realized she missed the expression so much until now.

She blinks then smiles, “I want to help. Verethrin did bring up a good point, though. Why wasn’t I included in these meetings? Regardless of what’s happened, I do know the most about cities.”

Nimronyn sighs and shakes her head, “It was not my or Sylmae’s decision. We wanted you there for that very reason, but….the others disagreed. We didn’t think it was wise to tell them your story.”

“And by others, you mean Melarue and Merith. Or really mostly Melarue, that...would be like them.” She hates that she has this adversarial relationship with Melarue. It’s ridiculous in her mind, and it hurts in her heart. She thinks it could be remedied if she told them the truth, but it would hurt them, and after all this time....she doesn’t want them to hurt, even if their not knowing hurts her in turn. But then again, they are different here. Who knows if this Melarue could ever love Mama like her nanae did? They certainly don’t seem able to hold any affection for Ash, they barely respect her...if that. She’s avoided them since that night, opting to eat away from the clan if they make an appearance, which is most of the time.

“It seems, whatever time I am in, people want me to be smaller. It’d be easier for them if I wasn’t this tall, this broad. It would be easier for you all if I didn’t feel so big, if my emotions were smaller and more easily contained. But I am not smaller, and I’m tired of apologizing for being who I am,” she says, feeling bitter and wronged, and tired. She was an outsider as a child, a vashoth surrounded by good little human children. A mage surrounded by good little Andrastians who were scared of her. A Saarebas to the Tal-Vashoth they came across, and then the Inquisitor’s child who couldn’t have anything in common with the other children in Skyhold, of course. And then here, she was burdened with knowledge and a history, a name and languages they did not know. Everywhere she has gone, she hasn’t fit, and they have done their damnedest to shrink her into this better mold. A less Vashoth mold, less magical, shorter, slighter, less opinionated and less passionate.

“Da’len!” Memae cries, clearly distraught as she rushes to Ash and takes her face in her small hands. “You are perfect the size. You have made mistakes but those do not define you. I love your passion, and so what if you’re tall? Your mother is taller and bigger and no one wants her to be smaller. It would be easier if you didn’t rush off into danger...but I am coming to realize that is who you are. Let us help you, da’len, so when you do...you come back.” As she speaks, she gently tugs Ash down until their foreheads rest against each other.

“You are my daughter, no matter what. I love you so much and I want you to be safe and happy. It pains me to see you struggle like this.”

Ash’s heart twinges, “Does it hurt you to see others so furious with me?” She can’t help whisper the question. She has felt so alone as of late. Verethrin’s clan is nothing but grateful to her for her intervention, but Merith’s clan and her own have been eyeing her. Her own looks at her as if she is fragile and might break since they know. But Merith’s...so many see her as this reckless, dangerous person with little regard for others. She may be reckless, she may run into danger like her mother says, but careless for life? None of them understand just how much she values life after seeing so much death.

Memae grows stiff, “I will not suffer anyone who disrespects you, da’len. That said, I was serious when I said you are not to have as much influence in the clan as you did. You need to learn that your actions have consequences.”

“I know, I just…” she tries for the words but they’re not there. Memae knows how she feels, the Ash has never been good at disguising her emotions. Instead she sighs and looks her mother in the eye with a knowing look, “Rivers are better than lakes.”

Memae smiles then takes Ash’s hand, “I will remember that. Now, I smell dinner and it has been too long since you have eaten with your people, da’len.”

**

In two days, the little council consisting of Memae, Mamae, Merith, Henne’thel, Melarue, and Verethrin settle on the location to build. There is a mountain range several hundred miles from here that is so remote that the clans rarely travel there. Reportedly, the journey can be quite fraught with dangers, but by all means the destination sounds heavenly. In the center of the mountain range is a valley where two rivers converge before flowing father down the mountainside into the ocean.

Memae reports that this valley is replete with glittering wildflowers and gentle-natured spirits. It’s far and the journey may be hard, but it is worth it. Ash agrees with the decision and some of the stress eases. She did what she could and managed to not upset things further. Even if Melarue and the others still give her sidelong glances - she helped, there’s forward motion.

There is time. She has to remind herself, and there is. There is time to learn and grow strong to weather the storm approaching.

Before they take to the skies, she and several others are tasked with warding the aravels together to sync with Nimronyn and Merith who will be flying them all there. Henne’thel will remain in her elven form, tending to the needs of the people for the weeks long journey.

Ash cuts her hand and murmurs her spells as she draws the wards in her blood. The others are doing the same. It normally wouldn’t require blood, but with the worry over the safety of the trip, everyone is taking extra precautions.

It’s been a mad dash to pack everything up and to make sure they have as many rations as possible to last them. Ash knows she can go for a long time without food, but she doubts many of the people here have had to endure such a terrible thing. For which she is glad. If it comes to it, she will ensure the people are fed, even if it means she is not.

Launch day arrives. Ash helps coordinate the aravels into the proper flight formation. It’s actually pretty interesting how everything locks in together with the warding and flight runes. It seems that there are still days that amaze her when it comes to the use of magic. The aravels form what she views as a magical levitation puzzle. Each hones into the magic of the keeper and then somehow, lift off. It’s probably, no, she knows it’s more complicated than that, but it’s how she understands it.

They are taking on a different flight formation. Instead of having the keeper at the front with trailing aravels, Merith and Nimronyn are sandwiching the mass of aravels with Memae on top and Merith on the bottom. The magical flight pattern holding everything together is stronger this way, and it allows for a more spherical shaped barrier to form with the keepers acting at the poles for the magic.

Taking off with this pattern is more difficult, however. Memae takes off first, her great wings slowly and steadily propelling her higher into the air. Ash and everyone else who is not in a draconic form are inside their respective aravels, monitoring the exchange of magic. The air swells with power that Ash recognizes as Memae’s. With an incredible show of power, Memae singularly lifts all of the aravels in the air after her. Bit by bit, all of the aravels rise up to her. Mamae makes a low sound of concern as they climb, but Memae is strong and steadfast. The aravels remain airborne as enough space between them and the ground forms for Merith to at last take flight.

The air shifts as Merith eases into the air and shoulders half of the magical weight of the aravels. Ash strides to the front of the aravel when she feels the shift. The ward on the wheel glows faintly, beckoning her. She places her hand over the ward and adds her energy to the magical array. Blue fire crackles outside and arches upward, coasting over the barrier that is being boosted by every single aravel. Her fire mixes with the myriad of magic, creating a radiant rainbow display of a barrier. The magicks fuse together, strengthening even as they help buoy the hurdling caravan.

Now set, Memae and Merith begin their forward motion. To better places, Ash thinks, to a home.

**

“We haven’t had much time to talk since I’ve arrived,” Henne’thel says as Ash renews one of the wards on her aravel. She is leaning back in a chair, her Keeper’s armor still donned just in case of a crisis, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Ash arches a curious brow at her.

“I suppose not. A lot’s happened,” Ash says, hiding her nervousness. She has avoided Melarue and most of Merith’s clan if possible over the past four days, keeping to her duties to renew the wards and to relay information to Memae when it’s her turn. She’s been rather keen to avoid more criticism, she’s still feeling more fragile that she is comfortable with and she would rather not have a break down while they’re thousands of miles in the air, hurdling through the Dreaming to a place she’s never seen.

“Yes it has. I wasn’t surprised when your clan called mine to discuss this route. It’s been clear to me for awhile. But the elder Keepers are a stubborn lot,” Henne’thel says, tilting her head slightly. “You did the right thing. It scares them, you know, to see someone so young do something so…

“Reckless?”

“Brave. Sure, it could have been planned better - but they could have spoken to you about it too. They could have worked with you instead of trying to prevent you from doing what you saw as necessary. And it was necessary. You kicked ass, you charged into that camp and showed the Empire they can’t get away with it anymore.”

This is certainly not what Ash expected and it makes her smile, “Thank you. Though, Melarue has a point, I made us more of a target with my actions -

“We were already targets,” Henne’thel says gravely.

Ash nods, “Thank you! I feel like sometimes I’m the only one who is taking this threat seriously, well, me and Verethrin and his clan. Part of me doesn’t regret at all what happened, it forced everyone to open their eyes to what the empire is.”

“Your mothers may disagree with me, but I agree with that part of you. Almost dying, almost getting people killed, is just that - almost. Be more careful in the future because our enemies will be more careful, but I can’t regret a mission that saw the liberation and salvation of so many.” Henne’thel rises and steps over to a crate. She pulls out a large decanter, the steaming cup of tea forgotten as she produces two other cups.

“Want some?”

Ash quirks a brow, “Is that…?”

“Alcohol, a brew made by a more southern roaming clan my parents liked to trade with.” She uncorks the bottle and pours a cup, offering it to Ash.

She takes the cup and samples the brew. “Mm, nice.” She slams the rest back, the alcohol burning nicely down her throat. Oh, she missed this. She wasn’t ever a big drinker, but she enjoys it. And after everything…she can use something to help her loosen up and forget at least for a little bit.

**

She drinks a lot.

It didn’t start out with the intention to get drunk. Ash figured it would just be nice to drink with a friend after everything that has happened. Some levity seemed to be in order.

A little levity turned into a lot when Henne’thel started playing her bipa and Ash dancing on the topside of Henne’thel’s aravel. A few others joined them and a few other instruments were added into the mix. Ash twirls around and lets the music flow through her just as the alcohol flows through her body.

“Ash?” A familiar voice says and she turns out to see Verethrin, eyes wide as he watches her swaying body.

“Vere! Come dance with me!” She snags his wrist and ushers him closer to the center of the aravel. She turns him around and steps along with the music. She laughs and twirls and feels lighter than she has in...months. Years maybe.

Verethrin has two left feet that Ash decides some loosening up. She grabs a bottle, note a different bottle from the one Henne’thel start her on, and pours him a full goblet, dark droplets of wine spilling over as pours.

“Loosen up!” She shoves the goblet in his hands then twirls away with the music. She claps her hands and loses herself just a bit in the music some more. The music soars and Verethrin seems to finally finish his drink because he’s with her, twirling and dancing with her.

She only stops when a familiar figure float down to the aravel, twin braids flopping next to his face while Reverie sits upon his shoulder. Daern’thal’s gaze finds her and she feels her heart drop from lightheartedness to concern. They haven’t spoken much, if at all since that night.

Ash swallows and walks to him, knowing she’s drunk, knowing she’s not elegant or eloquent or whatever it is she should be. It doesn’t matter.

Her eyes turn sad and apologetic, and the air around her reflects that as she speaks, “I’m so sorry for putting you and everyone in danger. I never wanted, I never want that. I love you and our people, and I want to help so much.”

He pauses and then sighs before Reverie speaks, “You disobeyed the Keeper.”

She shrugs, and she knows it’s a bigger deal, but, “My name literally means one who seeks rebellion, I’m doing the best I can.”

A prolonged pause stretches before them, even the music stops as everyone watches what Daern’thal decides to do. Surprising everyone, he walks past Ash and her heart falls. He really won’t forgive her? He has to know she’d never purposefully hurt him, ever. She turns to watch him as he grabs her current bottle. He meets her eyes as he takes a long swig then sets it down.

“I know, and that’s why I forgive you,” he finally says softly, then he turns and smiles, “Is this a party or what?” The others laugh and start playing again but Ash doesn’t resume dancing. Instead, she smiles sweetly and pulls Daern’thal into a tight hug. A puff of air leaves him as she holds him fast.

“Thank you,” she says in Qunlat. His arms come around her and Reverie leaps up onto her horn to dangle by her ear.

“We’ve missed you,” they whisper, still in qunlat.

“Me too, friend.”

**

Ash wakes with a dull thudding in her head, making her groan and turn into her bed more thoroughly. The world is hurting her, she must escape it.

“Ah, she finally rouses,” Sylmae screams. Alright, she’s probably not screaming, but it’s screaming to Ash’s ears.

Ash groans loudly and shrinks as best she can into the bed more. Her mamae bangs loudly about the aravel and it’s only because she know that her own voice will hurt her sensitive ears that she doesn’t tell her mamae to kindly stop.

She knows she stayed up entirely too late, drank too much, and was very irresponsible all things considered but really. She is young by everyone’s standards here and it has been so very long since she just let herself be.

She had danced through the night - with Verethrin, with Daern’thal, and even some of Merith’s clan had wandered over! She danced with some of them as well - singing terribly and dancing so much her feet now throb.

It was levity she needed, really they all needed it. The world isn’t actively ending, which is a thought that has been hard to internalize. At least, until last night. The stage is still being set, but that’s just it - it isn’t set yet, and she can’t, she shouldn’t, spend every moment of her life living in fear of when the sky is going to fall.

As Mamae clangs about in the aravel, however, Ash feels like at least the ceiling is falling.

She issues a short groan and snatches a pillow to hold over her head. The bed dips as Mamae sits next to her. She reaches over and sticks a steaming cup of tea close to Ash’s face, or as close it can get with the pillow in the way.

“We will need you today, da’len. Drink this and feel better.” Mamae is using her nice tone of voice, the one way to cajole Ash into doing something she doesn’t want to do. But it also means that she will persist until Ash does whatever Mamae wants done. She sighs as she realizes she won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. Slowly, Ash turns, removing the pillow as she tentatively sits up. She doesn’t spare her mamae from a glare, though, as she takes the tea and sips it.

“Ugh!” It’s foul! Absolutely disgusting, so bad it makes her flinch and grimace.

“Take a few more sips, it’ll cure the hangover.”

“I’ll take the hangover, this is gross.”

“Da’len, we need you aware and able,” Mamae says with more force. Scowling, Ash sips at the tea. It gets worse and worse, but she drinks it until it’s three quarters empty. She passes the mug back to Mamae, still grimacing.

“I can’t have any more.”

“That should be enough,” she says, taking the mug from Ash before turning back to her, her demeanor suddenly very serious. “You will need your strength for the next several days, we are going to be in a dangerous part of the Dreaming.”

Ash frowns, “If it’s so dangerous, why don’t we travel around this part?”

Sylmae shakes her head, expression grave, “The area is so large that it would take entirely too long to go around. No, we must pass through it.” With that, Mamae pats Ash’s knee. “Now, get up, put your armor on and grab your spear. Join me on the deck.” She leaves Ash to herself then climbs out of the aravel and onto the top deck.

It’s strange that Mamae is so worried about this stretch of Dreaming. Yes, it’s the job of parents to worry, but this feels like it goes beyond that. Taking care to be prepared, Ash braids her hair back and secures it behind her horns in twin braided buns before stepping into her armor. Glittering green scales shed from her memae cover the front of her armor, marking her as Nimronyn’s daughter. She paints vitaar in a rectangle across her eyes and brow ridge, murmuring a spell as she cuts her finger on the tool to enhance her eyesight.

By the time she joins Mamae on the deck, her hangover has disappeared and she is alert, ready to face whatever it is that has Mamae so spooked.

Journeys are usually filled with ambient, pleasant noises - music, the clambering of clanmates, even singing and the clanging of pots as rations are cooked. The flight so far has been no different, but as she takes her place next to Mamae, she notices the disturbing lack of noise. Not to mention the ominous grayness of the sky. She’s never seen the Dreaming like this, the closest she’s seen this was back home in her dreams when a stray demon would invade her dreams. Even though, there was not the same level of heavy sense of foreboding plaguing her. Ash was a lucky mage when it came to demons, they tended to stay away from her. Looking back, she thinks that perhaps Nanae had something to do with that.

Nanae isn’t here, though. And while she has heard of demons in this land, she has yet to see one. Staring ahead as the sky darkens, Ash feels like she is about to see one after all.

Memae and Merith angle themselves, perfectly in sync so that all of the aravels turn with them and they catch a current of the Dreaming. Their speed increases, making Ash grateful she pulled her hair back.

A chilling wind breezes past the aravels, through the barrier. It slithers down Ash’s spine and prickles at her mind. Her fire sparks naturally at her fingertips, making her tighten her grasp on her spear.

The Keepers catch the current and soar higher before turning and following it down, down...down, until they are heading straight for a writhing mass of black energy. Ash’s throat grows dry and her heart begins to hammer as she feels it reach out to them. It is a tentative pull at emotions, dark feelings that she has worked so hard to control.

“Mamae...what is it?”

“What should have been a Keeper, but corrupted instead,” Sylmae whispers, “Desolation.”

[justanartsysideblog]

Children of Fate

Part 1 of Melarue’s origin story for the Vamp AU! Warnings for typical vampire themes, sexual themes, and violence.

---

They do not remember their parents. They know they must have existed but beyond that, little else. Was Melarue given to the temple by their mother and father like Geldauran? Or were they an orphan found on the streets like Anaris? They do not remember. The only parent they have ever known was Fate.

The great Temple of Fate stood atop a hill overlooking the small city of Nevarra; still young, but quickly growing and full of promise.

The people of Nevarra brought tribute to the temple, in the hopes that Fate would smile upon them; animals for the slaughter, fresh incense, fine wines and rich, silken cloth…

...and beautiful children to serve the temple as acolytes.

Children of Fate, the people of Nevarra called them. But Melarue and the others called Fate by another name. To them, she was Mother Moonlight.

She only came to them at night, after the sun had set. She would smile and sing to them, and call them her precious children, and she was the most beautiful person Melarue had ever seen. Her skin was frigid to the touch but her smile was warm, and so was the magic that danced at her fingertips.

At night she would show them her magic, show how she sowed it into the very soil to help the people that worshiped her have strong crops. Or take them all down to the banks of the Minanter River and show them how she would calm the waters, or call fish to the boats.

“These people believe I am their god,” She would say, and laugh in a way that always made Melarue’s chest tighten. “It is as it should be. I must be what I must be.”

---

The children keep up the temple: they sweep, and wipe the dust from the polished altar pieces, and make sure there is always incense burning. Melarue’s favorite part is tending the large garden behind the temple. The other children like roaming the dark tunnels below where Mother rests during the day, but Melarue loves nothing more than the feeling of fresh soil beneath their bare feet and the sight of hydrangeas in the sunlight.

Anaris is the eldest of them, and comes of age when Melarue is still young. He is the first that Mother turns, made to be her childe in full, to live in the dark with her and join in the destiny she has crafted for them all. The night of his turning Melarue sits with the other children in the upper chambers, and waits.

Mother Moonlight comes just before dawn, and tells them that Anaris is well.

“You must wait to meet him, my darlings. He must learn to control his hunger now, as I do.”

It is several months before they see him again, at Mother’s side when she comes to visit them all. Though physically he looks much the same, there is a sharpness to him that accentuates his beauty. His skin and eyes seem to glow from within, and his usual teasing charm seems amplified.

A vampire’s charm, now.

One day I will be that beautiful. I will be Mother’s childe truly, and she will be so proud of me. Melarue looks into Anaris’ eyes and smiles to themself.

When Anaris leaves the upper chambers, a new acolyte is brought in. Thremael, so young he can barely walk, orphaned by war, the son of a refugees seeking safety in the city of Nevarra. He looks so small in Fate’s arms, held close as he sleeps.

Melarue and Merith braid his hair, and weave flowers into the thick strands, and feed him goat’s milk when he cries out with hunger.

Merith is Melarue’s best friend.

He is kind and bright, and so very unlike themselves. They are always noticing faults in others, even if they do not say them aloud. They are good at lying, at telling stories that the others always believe. They are good at hiding, and getting their way. The others says it isn’t fair that they can always ask Mother for things and she will make certain they get them, but it is just because the others don’t use the right words.

Merith tells them that lying isn’t a nice thing to do, and that they should try to tell the other children how they feel properly. That seems foolish, because if they told some of the others how they really felt about them, well, Melarue thinks they’d probably get angry.

Merith is the only one who never gets angry.

Melarue counts down the years till their turning as they grow older, and taller. They are told they are beautiful and when they look at themselves in one of Mother’s mirrors, they find that they agree. Vanity, it seems, is another of their faults.

Merith is the same age, but he never gets quite as tall as them. His hair is wild and unmanageable, and his face is plain. Melarue still finds his smiles warm, and his friendship a comfort. He is still their dearest friend, even if he is not as eager as themselves, to receive Mother’s blood.

“What will it be like, to never feel the sun again?” Merith whispers to them one evening. Mother and Anaris have gone out to hunt so there are no lessons that evening, and the others have all gone to sleep. Melarue inches forward in the darkness, and wraps their long arms around their friend.

“We will all be together with Mother, forever. That is better than sunlight, is it not?”

“What will you do without your flowers?” Merith continues.

It has been one of their worries, certainly. “Mother is all that matters,” They say at last, “The flowers will still be there, even if I cannot see them bloom.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Melarue holds him closer. “I am afraid of failing Mother.” It is the first honest thing they’ve said that evening, and they know that Merith knows it is so as well. He has always been so very good at seeing through their lies.

“I am not special, like you or Anaris or the younger ones.” Merith shakes his head, and his curls brush against their cheek. “What if I am not strong enough?”

“You will survive the turning,” Melarue vows, “You will survive because you must. Mother has chosen us, we will not fail her. She has never been wrong before.” Melarue knows that if either of them fail, it will be through a fault of their own, and not a decision Mother has made. Still, they think of the two they are the most deficient. If one of them were to fail, surely it would be them.

When Melarue and Merith turn twenty, Mother tells them they will undergo the turning at the next full moon. Melarue can barely contain their excitement, and even Merith seems pleased. They spend the next few weeks listening to Mother’s instructions, to Anaris’ descriptions of what will happen, and preparing their rooms down below where they will soon make their permanent home.

The night of their turning, Merith is taken below first. Melarue remains in the open chamber at the foot of the stairs, and listens to the sound of Merith’s screams. They can feel their heart beating wildly in their chest—out of fear for themselves or Merith they do not know. It is the last time they will ever feel their heart beat, they know, whether the turning is successful or not.

Finally, Anaris comes forward and gives them a smile, “Merith is well. Come with me.”

Some of the tension in them eases, at that. Merith succeeded! He is a true childe of Mother now, just as they will be. Please, they think, as they follow Anaris deeper into the lower chambers. Please let me succeed. Let me make Mother proud. Let me stay with my family.

Mother awaits them in the ceremonial room. It still smells of blood and Merith is nowhere to be found. They suspect that Mother has taken him to his rooms before letting Melarue inside. She opens her arms wide, and they walk into them without hesitation.

“My clever Melarue,” Fate sighs, “It is time.”

“I am ready,” Melarue answers, and they are not certain if it is a lie or not.

Fate lowers them gently to the cushions on the floor, her smile gentle and kind. Her eyes are bright, nearly glowing in the dim torchlight. They can feel the magic in the room, heavy, like a blanket being draped over them as Fate whispers words of bonding.

She uses her nail to slice along her wrist, tilts Melarue’s head back, and places it to their mouth. Mother’s blood is thick and sour, it burns as it trails down their throat. For a moment their mouth is full of the taste, and then everything goes white.

Pain lances through their body as their skin burns. They try to tear it away, but Mother is holding them close, whispering in their ear. They cannot hear her, can only think I have failed her. I have failed Mother. If I cannot do this, I am worthless.

They remember being alone, being small and without purpose. A world before Mother. They cannot go back to that. They can’t.

They blink, and look up at Mother’s beautiful face, and smile.

The hunger is...jarring. They do not fully remember their first feeding. Mother praises them, as they drain the body before them to the last drop, their stomach full, the blood so sweet they nearly weep.

“Clever, clever Melarue, you have done so well,” Fate pets their head, “You did not spill a single drop.”

Fate teaches them not to kill as well, teaches them how to feed and when, and who to choose from. Teaches them how to wipe the minds of those they leave alive. They find they are very, very good at it. They learn early on that they can alter those memories, turn them into other things that they wish. It earns them more praise, even as Fate tells them that even if they do not always kill, it is their right to do so.

Their ability to choose is what separates them from the other vampires, Fate tells them. Beasts that gorge themselves on human blood, who hide in caves and think that they can take what they will; base creatures that do not understand the higher calling of their immortality, of Fate’s plans.

“The mortals of this world pray to us for protection. We are their gods. It is our right to take what we must in return.”

That, they learn, is Fate’s true plan.

To become the God of all the mortals, to be worshiped forever. Is it her calling, she claims, and theirs as well. “My children will be gods at my side. The mortals needs us, just as we need them. We feed from them, and they do as we command, and we provide them with protection. It is nature’s way.”

Fate shows them what she has done with her magic, what she has used her thralls to make down below, where none of them have yet traveled; miles upon miles of tunnels and chambers below the surface. A city beneath a city.

“One day this will stretch across all lands,” Fate whispers, and Melarue can feel the certainty of her words in their bones.

“Why not find a way to block out the sunlight instead?” Thremael asks mother years later, after his own turning. “Surely that would be better. Let us walk outside without fear, instead of hiding beneath the ground.”

“And what would happen, if there was no sun?” Fate hums, weaving magic into a dark cloak.

“The mortals would die,” Merith answers for her. “They cannot survive without the sun. Their food would perish, and the air would be too cold.”

“And without their blood we’d die as well,” Anaris adds, sneering, “Come now Thremael, think for once.”

“Children,” Fate warns, even as she looks at them all fondly. “Do not fight among yourselves. It was a simple question, and Merith has provided a simple answer. Let this be the end of it.”

Melarue watches her siblings joke with one another, the moment of tension gone immediately, and looks back to the cloak in Fate’s hands. “What is that for, Mother?” They have not seen that type of magic before. They have been learning, over the few hundred years. Magic comes easily to them, and they have become more adept at it than even Anaris in this short time, a fact that they tell him often when he annoys them. They pick up the nuances very quickly, learn to manipulate and add, to twist what was seen. To trick and deceive. Mother says they are clever, they want to prove it true.

Fate holds the fabric up for Melarue’s inspection. “A minor protection, against the sun. It will not give more than half an hour’s worth of time, but it is enough, should you find yourselves in need.”

“Why would we have a need for it? We never leave the city,” Anaris sighs, curling up on the cushions beside Fate. There is a wistful tone to his voice; he does not like being so confined, even if there is an entire city to explore. He has always craved more; always the first to leave for a hunt in the evening and the last to return.

“I am sending you on a very important mission.” Fate responds, “War is upon the horizon. The people of Nevarra have asked for Fate’s aide, to turn the upcoming battle in their favor.”

It is not the first time they have been asked to help in times of war. They had even helped Mother sink enemy ships in the harbor with rough waves, once. Mother had needed to draw on the strength of all four of them for it, and it had left them all drained for weeks, but by the time the magically summoned storm had passed, not a ship had remained.

“The enemy army of Orlais is large, and has gathered on the edge of the Fields of Ghislain. The Emperor’s sons lead the force.”

“Their army is thousands strong.” Thremael shakes his head, “We cannot kill them all.”

“Kill the princes, and their top generals.” Fate orders. “You must fill the armies of Orlais with terror. You must show your power, so that when the bodies are found in the morning, Orlais will tremble in fear at the might of Nevarra.”

Merith swallows. Melarue catches the uneasy look in his eyes; aside from the night of his turning he has never killed a mortal he has fed upon. He does not enjoy killing, or the thirst they all have. Fate knows it as well, as she motions for him to sit on her other side, and gathers him close; even now they all seem so small in her arms. “I know it will be difficult, my childe, but this is your destiny. You are serving a higher purpose than yourself, and for that you must do things you do not wish to.”

Fate dismisses the others, so that she can continue to speak with Merith.

“Merith is going to get us all killed if he hesitates,” Thremael mutters, as the three walk down the hallway toward their rooms.

“Do not speak of Merith that way,” Melarue warns.

“You know it as well as I do. He does not believe in Mother’s plans. He thinks we should live as others of our kind do, and keep to ourselves rather than take the positions of greatness that Mother sees for us. He is weak.”

Melarue snarls, baring their fangs as they shove Thremael up against the wall. They are taller, but he is more muscular, and he quickly shoves them away with a growl of his own, eyes glowing in the darkness.

“It is a wonder he even survived the turn,” Thremael gives one last huff before storming off toward his rooms. Melarue watches him go, nails digging into the palms of their hands as they hold themselves back.

“He is not entirely wrong,” Anaris points out, after a moment of silence. He holds up his hands as they turn toward him with a glare, “I do not mean that Merith is weak. I just worry he will hesitate at the wrong moment, because he is too kind.”

“He would never disobey her.”

Anaris sighs, “Come into the city with me tonight. We should enjoy ourselves before tomorrow.”

---

Melarue enjoys themselves quite thoroughly, at Anaris’ prompting. They know being well-fed is important for the task at hand, and they drink a bit more from their targets than they would usually do so. They twist memories, plant fake ones, get inventive because they can and because a dozen different bloods are swimming in their system and their lips taste like fire.

Thremael joins them halfway through the night, and despite their earlier irritation with him they pull him close and into the pile of bodies twisting beneath them. Merith is absent, they note, but it is a fleeting thought before they return to the moment and the feeling of hands on their hips and between their legs.

It is a long night.

When the sun sets the next evening, Melarue takes the cloak Fate hands to them with reverence. It is a powerful magic, and for her to have made one for each of them...they can feel a bit of Merith’s magic in the weave as well, and feel a rush of fondness for their friend. He must have stayed with Mother to finish them the night before.

“Do as I have instructed, and we will finish this war before it reaches the walls of the city.”

Slipping across the bridge and through the forest is the easy part. The four of them are quick, as Anaris shifts shape and goes ahead, leaving the others to travel on foot. Even without wings they do not take long, immortal bodies moving without strain or need of rest at a pace no mortal could match.

The four pause on a hill overlooking the edge of the woods, and survey the scene before them. Little glimmers of torchlight move across the fringes of the army camp; sentries and guards, moving between rows and rows of tents that stretch as far as Melarue can see.

They remember the map Mother had shown them, with the locations of the princes and generals among the soldiers, they remember where they must go, to the far west of the camp, where the second prince lies sleeping.

They look to Anaris and Thremael, who nod and head into the shadows without a word, and look back at dear Merith. His expression is conflicted, eyes worried as he looks ahead. “They have not tried to harm us, Mel. Isn’t this too cruel?”

“The mortals that worship Mother will be harmed if we do not kill them.” Melarue points out, “And the Orlesians bring with them their worship of the Maker. They would tear down our temple if they overran the city. They would rape and pillage the people that come to us for protection.”

“I know,” Merith whispers. “I know.”

Melarue leaves him with a reassuring kiss to the forehead and goes where they must. They hear him move somewhere behind him, heading off to complete his own task, albeit reluctantly. 

It is not difficult to walk unseen, to deflect the gaze of guards, to silence their footsteps, to make their image hazy. They navigate through the tents until they arrive at their destination, and slip beneath the folds of the heavy fabric.

The room is dark, but they can smell smoke from the nearby candles, not long doused, and feel the warmth rising from the furs on the bed in the corner. The prince shifts, mumbling to himself as they walk forward.

He is not the first they have killed; but he is the first they will murder in cold blood. They know that Mother is right, and they do not hesitate, as their nails lengthen and they tear open his throat. His eyes open wide, full of panic and confusion as he chokes. His body surges forward but they pin him down, keep him quiet as the light fades from his eyes. Still, they do not think they will ever enjoy killing for the sake of killing.

They lick the blood from one nail and frown. It tastes no different than blood they have had before. There is nothing special about you, they think as they look down at the corpse. You may be a prince, but you are still just a man.

The next part they enjoy even less. They must make the Orlesians afraid, make them fear monsters in the shadows, make them think their God has forsaken them to the whims of demons.

They place his head upon the map in the center of the room, blood soaking through the vellum, crimson blossoming out from the center of Nevarra City and traveling outwards. The rest of him they pull apart and toss around the room. They leave his torso in bed, his limbs to the four corners, fill wine glasses with the blood that remains...and it is over so quickly they hardly register that they have done it.

Not so difficult, to take a life.

Two more they must take, before the night is through.

They kill the generals in a similar fashion, just as easy, but a tightness begins in their chest, a noxious twisting in their stomach. It may not be difficult, but it makes them feel wretched.

When they return to the hill they find Merith waiting for them, smelling of blood, eyes glossy and expression lost. He crumples into their arms and they let him sob as they wait for Thremael and Anaris.

The two arrive together, laughing over something, mouths crimson. Anaris catches their gaze and his smile fades a bit, but Thremael does not seem to notice as he walks forward, “Did your prince taste royal, Melarue? I thought I noticed a hint of rosewater with my own, though it could have been from the prostitute in his bed.”

“Enough,” Melarue mutters, both to Thremael and to Merith who still clings to them. “We must return before the sun rises. Even with Mother’s magic we will need to move quickly.”

“It isn’t like you to be so serious,” Thremael pouts, as the four head home.

---

When they return they learn that Mother has made the twins, Oranani and Felralan, true children in their absence. Welcoming their new family into the fold eases the tightness in their chest, and by the end of the week they have pushed it aside entirely. It was all Mother’s plan, and it works exactly as she had claimed. The Orlesians run, panicked, when they find their princes and generals slaughtered in the night.

Merith never forgets; the hollowness in his eyes never leaves him, no matter how comforting Melarue tries to be. They argue over it more than once, when Merith comes to their rooms to rest and seek solace, and asks them if they think it was right to do such a thing.

“It was Mother’s decision and we will obey it. Mother knows what she is doing. She has always known what we must do. Do not question her again,” Melarue whispers, holding him tight.

They know Mother would never hurt any of her children, but a part of them worries, deep down, that Merith would be in danger if someone else were to hear his doubts.

People continue to bring offerings to the Temple of Fate, as years go by.

New acolytes, as well.

The beautiful Geldauran, who Melarue can’t help be jealous of. His beauty outshines their own, they think, and he believes it as well. It takes a while for Melarue to warm to him, to see that there is more to him than conceit. They are both vain, and that vanity makes them competitive at first.

They learn that each of their new siblings has their faults, but their strengths as well. And no matter how much they fight, they are all children of Fate, and that connection is more powerful than any other.

Daern’thal is the last.

Shy, eager-to-please Daern’thal, all gangly limbs and sharp, perceptive eyes.

Not all who were given Mother’s blood survive the turning. Okri, Harra, Tamlen...Melarue mourns each of their deaths silently, for when Daern’thal had wept openly Geldauran had slapped him viciously.

“They were not worthy of being Mother’s true children, do not shed tears for them.”

There were others, they know. Others that ran through the marble halls and ate and laughed with them, whose faces they do not remember. Blurred visages, hints of memories that never quite surface.

Melarue focuses on their magic, as the city grows around them. They learn to shift their form, to take on shapes previously unknown to them, how to turn to mist, to pull themselves apart and put themselves back together.

They spend long evenings discussing new books and languages with Daern’thal and Oranani, or reveling in the growing brothel district with Anaris and Thremael. They try to pull Merith out of his melancholy to no avail, and quickly go frustrated, leaving him to sulk with Felralan, whose own somber demeanor matches him perfectly.

It is a phase, they tell themselves. Give him time and he will become his old self.

Wars rage around Nevarra. The city becomes a kingdom, borders spreading further and further. If Fate is worried by this new development she does not share her worry with them, simply continues her work. She shuts herself off in her chambers for longer periods of time, distant in a way they have not seen before.

One evening she calls all her children into her chambers, expression sober. She gives them all a gentle smile, the kind that warms Melarue still, a feeling of love and safety and belonging filling them. “My children, war looms upon the horizon once more, and my loyal worshippers call for aid.”

“I guess the Orlesians have forgotten our last battle,” Anaris jokes, and Melarue frowns as Merith stiffens beside them.

“It is not the Orlesians,” Fate continues, “The growing empire of Tevinter seeks to conquer Nevarra.”

“Then we will do to them what we did to the Orlesians,” Thremael shrugs. “There is no need to worry, Mother.”

“Orlais worships the Maker. Their strengths are limited. The Tevinter Imperium disregards many of the false god’s teachings.” Fate shakes her head, “They are not above seeking the aid of vampiric forces.”

Other vampires? Melarue swallows. They have never fought another vampire, never seen one aside from Fate and their coven. The concept seems so foreign to them, that others would exist out there in the world, or that they would somehow be a threat to Fate.

“This battle will not be easily won.” Fate holds out her hands with a soft smile, “But I have faith in you, my children. Nevarra’s pantheon must defend it against all who threaten this city. This is the beginning of what I have foreseen for you all.”

“Of course Mother.” Geldauran grasps one of her hands between his own. “Tell us what we must do.”

---

The night before the battle Melarue goes into the city with the others, managing to drag even Daern’thal, Oranani, and Felralan along to feast and revel. A distraction, something to remember instead of the bloodshed that will come the next they awaken. Only Merith remains behind.

“You are acting like a spoiled child,” They snap, when he refuses.

“Why must we fight our own kind?” Merith asks them, “What if they only wish to speak with us?”

“Stop doubting Mother. If she says they are our enemy then they are our enemy.” Irritation rises in them, hot and sharp, and then guilt overrides it, as they see the pained look in their greatest friend’s eyes. Their shoulders slump, and they gather him in their arms. “Oh Merith, I am sorry. I wish I knew how to make you smile again.”

“I love you Melarue,” Merith sobs into their neck, “I am sorry I cannot be like you.”

“I am glad you are not,” Melarue laughs softly, “I think you are much better as yourself. Come with me? It will do you good to get out of the temple. Enjoy yourself tonight.” They kiss his lips. “It can be just the two of us. Or would you like me to ask Anaris to join?”

Merith simply pulls away with a shake of his head. “Go without me. I do not think I would be good company.”

In the end they do not press him. They leave, and spend the evening with the others. They dance with a drunken Geldauran, and ride his slender body as he digs his nails deep into their thighs, and whispers adorations against his skin until he begs them for release.

They are sated and exhausted by the time they return to their chambers to rest before the sun sets, and do not think to check on Merith to see if his spirits have lifted.

It is their greatest regret.

---

Merith is gone.

Melarue is inconsolable, as they search the entirety of the temple and its underground chambers for him. Gone, as if he never existed at all. Fate holds them, and whispers comforting words, sings them into a state of calm to keep them from lashing out, sends the others to look for signs of him in the city.

“We cannot waste time,” Oranani states matter-of-factly, “If we do not leave now we will be unable to return before the sun rises. We must continue with your plan, Mother, before the Tevinter forces enter the city.”

“We must find Merith!” Melarue turns to her, glaring, “What if he was taken? What if he went out last night and could not return before the sunrise? What if he is waiting for us?”

“Melarue,” Fate sighs, brushing hair from their forehead. “My sweet, clever Melarue, it pains me to see you so distraught, just as it pains me that Merith is gone. We cannot let the city be taken, we must go and fight.” She pauses, “Would you like to remain behind? It will be difficult without you, especially now that Merith will be absent, but I understand your grief. I share in it.”

It is a rebuke, even if a gentle one. Melarue feels guilty over their reaction. The others are worried about Merith as well, how could they have let themselves act so shamefully? How could they have assumed Mother did not worry about Merith even more than themselves? They shake their head. “No...no I will go with you, Mother. I will look for him when we return.”

“We will all look for him,” Mother nods, “I promise you that.”

---

Melarue moves through the forest mechanically, following the presence of Fate as they fly through the air. They remind themselves that they are doing the right thing, that Mother needs them, and even though it rings hollow, they force themselves forward.

Merith left you and Mother when you needed him most. He is the traitor, not you.

It does not help.

They are so caught up in their thoughts that they nearly collide with Thremael in front of them, catching themselves just in time, shifting back into their vampire form as they land on the soft grass beside him.

Mother stands several feet ahead of them, looking into the woods ahead, as if she can see past them to the enemy that lies beyond. Perhaps she can. Melarue can sense the vampires somewhere ahead of them in the trees. So alike themselves, yet so different.

“They have set an ambush ahead,” Mother murmurs, turning toward her children. “Once they attack, I will leave the vampires to you, and move toward the mortal force.”

“Anaris should go with you,” Oranani responds, “There are too many. The size of the force will overwhelm you.”

“Leave the mortals to me.” Fate repeats, before she moves forward.

Melarue agrees with Oranani, but knows better than to defy Fate. They follow behind her, the comforting presence of the rest of their coven around them as they move deeper into the forest. They know from studying the maps of this region with Daern’thal that the forest continues for several miles before the ground drops to a wide, flat plain.

That is where the mortal army lies, waiting to move forward through the nearby ravine.

It does not take them long to find a small clearing—the ideal place for an ambush. The others know it as well, as they exchange glances, and feel the unmistakable presence of vampires around them; incapable of masking themselves. Young. Foolish.

Abundant.

Melarue dodges to the right just as the ground where they had stood erupts in a pile of stone and dirt, a shadowed figure standing in the small crater left behind. They hear the sounds of battle around them, the shouts of their coven,  the tang of magic in the air sour in their mouth.

So it begins.

They press their hand to the earth, feeling the roots of a nearby tree surge upward with their magic, shooting from the ground as a mass of vipers.

The vampire screams as they are torn to pieces, but Melarue has already turned, throwing up a barrier as flames encompass their form. They can feel the heat against their skin, but their own magic keeps it from burning as they brush the flames aside and redirect them, orange fire turning black.

It becomes a blur, after that. They do not remember how many they kill. They channel their grief into rage, imagine each of these shadowed strangers as the one that has taken Merith from them. These vampires are younger, less experienced, their magic weak. Many resort to claws and fangs or mortal weapons in the end, and Melarue slaughters them all.

Even so, Melarue does not come out unscathed.

They do not notice the pain at first, as the last vampire falls at their feet, and the clearing goes silent. Then their body begins to ache, the cuts along their arms begin to sting, and they notice that a large chunk of their side is simply gone.

They clamp a hand to their ribs and grit their teeth, pouring healing magic into the gaping wound. They feel their skin knit itself together beneath their palm, but know that it will take a good feeding to recover fully.

“Melarue!”

It is Anaris, who seems unharmed save for a cut along his forearm. He slings their arm around his shoulder and they gratefully put their weight against him as his own magic finishes mending the damage beneath the skin.

“Where is Mother?” Melarue manages, as Anaris leads them through the forest.

“I do not know. We separated after the ambush.” Anaris answers.

They burst through the trees just as the sky turns white. They both lift their hands to cover their eyes, but the light burns through their fingers—not painful, but blinding. The wind roars in Melarue’s ears, and blood trickles down their nose as the magic in the air condenses and then seems to pull itself apart.

The light slowly begins to dim, and Melarue blinks back tears, their blurred vision coming into focus to see Anaris staring ahead of them, eyes wide in shock. They turn as well, and let out an audible gasp.

Standing at the base of the cliff is Fate, arms outstretched before her, surrounded by three prone figures—the last of Tevinter’s vampire forces.

Beyond her is a field of corpses.

Melarue does not know what magic Fate has wielded, only that in its wake, the army of Tevinter is no more. Soldiers charred and turned to ash, husks left in place of bodies. The heavy magic they had felt moments before lingers like a fog among the corpses, before dissipating fully.

“...she truly is a god...” Geldauran whispers from Melarue’s right.

---

They do not find Merith.

Melarue searches for him for months, going as far as they can each night, always returning empty handed. They cannot understand why he would leave them, cannot bring themselves to think that he was killed by Tevinter’s vampires, or had taken the morning walk.

Surely he had not been so miserable as to leave them behind without a goodbye.

They mourn, they clean his chambers, hoping he might return. Mother lets them, mourns just as keenly. It is a comfort, knowing they are not alone in their grief.

They cannot stand to sleep alone. They fear one of the others will disappear, and cling to the thought that if they are with them, then at the very least, they cannot be fully abandoned.

It takes years for them to accept that he is gone, and that he is never coming back. He has left them, they are certain. Not dead, surely not dead, but gone. Unable to shoulder the burden of Mother’s great vision, Geldauran claims, and his words sting but they are meant as a balm, they know. Meant to give them hope that he lives.

As time passes, more city-states and kingdoms begin to rise and rain power, and the borders of Nevarra grow. Fewer worshipers come to the temple.

They stop sending offerings.

“After all we have done for the city,” Geldauran rages, “How could they do this?”

“Mortals are foolish,” Oranani frowns, “They will see the error of their ways soon, when they face danger and their city needs protecting.”

“Mortals feel like they do not need us anymore,” Daern’thal points out, and shrugs when all of them turn toward him. “Some of us speak with mortals instead of always feeding off them.”

“Or fucking them,” Anaris grins, and Oranani rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of fucking and feeding,” Thremael throws an arm around Geldauran’s shoulders, ignoring the younger man’s glare, “I say we enjoy ourselves tonight.”

Most of the others head into the city, to drink their fill and enjoy the night. Melarue remains behind, despite Thremael’s protests.

Mother has begun to isolate herself, calling on them less and less. Something is worrying her, has been ever since their fight with the other vampires in the mountains. Anaris has gone to speak with her, Melarue knows. If anyone can find out what is trouble their mother it is him, her first child.

Still, Melarue finds they cannot enjoy the night. They read for a while, look through their collected scrolls but cannot seem to focus on the words. Their mind is elsewhere.

Daern’thal, they know, has stayed behind as well, to study a book of drawings he received from a merchant at the river market; designs for buildings of some kind that he had found fascinating. Perhaps he can sufficiently distract them, and the two can wait out the night until the others return.

They head toward his rooms, only to find them empty, the door still open.

A surge of magic catches their attention, sharp and unmistakable, running through the ground like an electric current. It makes the hair along their arms stand on end. They follow its source, deeper into the maze of tunnels and chambers beneath the temple, fear rising as they realize where they are heading.

Mother’s chambers.

They are not ready for the scene before them.

Anaris stands over Fate, body trembling, her blood dripping from his fingertips. Daern’thal lies still beside her, throat torn open.

For a moment Melarue thinks he is dead, before he gasps, choking, blood pouring from the wound. They hurriedly use their magic to close it, feeling Fate’s own lying in the wound, fighting them. But Fate’s magic fades quickly, and they realize it is because she is gone.

Dead. Mother is dead.

It is hard to focus, with Daern’thal’s head in their lap and Mother beside them, unmoving. They do not know what is happening. Mother is dead, Anaris—Anaris has killed her. How? Why? It hurts. Something in their chest throbs, pain lancing throughout their limbs at the loss.  

“What did you do?” Melarue gasps out, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Anaris looks down at them, as if only then noticing their presence. His lips tremble, and he is crying as well. “I...I had to. I—” Before he can finish his explanation the door opens. Oranani and Felralan walk inside, smelling of fresh blood, talking together before they both stop in their tracks.

Melarue wonders how this all must look, watching as Oranani’s pupils dilate in full, pitch black against her pale skin, as her mouth opens to reveal growing fangs. “What have you DONE?” Her voice roars like thunder, and her form grows as she charges forward before either Melarue or Anaris can speak.

Anaris throws up a barrier just as Oranani’s claws carve through the air, sparks flying where her nails dig into the obsidian disc in front of him, chips of sharpened glass flying across the room and shattering; A sliver slices into Melarue’s cheek, jolting them out of their own stupor.

“I had to—” Anaris begins, but Oranani does not let him finish as she shrieks, stones flying from the walls and launching themselves toward him.

“Murderer!” She screams, grabbing the granite table from the floor and hurling it in his direction.

Anaris holds up a hand and slices it clean in half, the large chunks falling to either side of him. A flicker of movement on their side, and Melarue turns just as Felralan surges from the shadows on Anaris’ left.

Melarue had never thought of who they loved more among their coven, had never seen it as a scale or quantifiable difference. But their body reacts before their mind can process what is happening and they throw up a barrier, black flames eating away at the twisting vines that shoot from Felralan’s outstretched arm.

They have chosen Anaris.

The two halves of the table move, slamming together just as Anaris turns to mist, seeping between the cracks before reforming a few feet away, the golden beads in his hair beginning to glow.

Melarue twists their flames, burning the vines that erupt from the ground near their feet, grasping for them.

A bramble slams into their midsection, three inch thorns tearing into their flesh as they are thrown back against the stone wall. They let out a chocked gasp and swallow a mouthful of blood as more vines encircle their arms and legs.

They can feel poison seeping through their veins, burning their skin, as Felralan walks toward them to deliver a finishing blow. His expression is unreadable, the upper half of his face hidden behind an ornate, eyeless mask. This one has rubies in the place of eyes, an odd detail to notice, they think.

“I am sorry,” He murmurs, as the vines tighten.

So am I, Melarue thinks, as they close their open right hand and watch as the metal mask crumples, hearing Felralan’s skull crack as he falls to the ground, headless.

The vines around them turn to ash and they stumble to their feet, turning to see Anaris on his knees, kneeling atop Oranani’s prone form, his golden beads scattered on the ground around them, stained crimson. Melarue hooks a hand under his trembling arm and pulls him to his feet and off of their sister.

“...what will we do when the others come?” Anaris asks numbly, staring at the bodies before them.

They had laughed and loved with these two, had lived with them for centuries. Melarue had shared secrets with Oranani that no one had known, had gardened at night with Felralan who had taught them that some flowers flourish in the moonlight.

What have they done? They have killed their family. There is only one thing they can do, now. The one thing they are so very good at. They must lie.

“Oranani and Felralan murdered mother,” Melarue claims, voice oddly cold. They seem to have gone numb.

Anaris blinks, “But—”

Melarue grabs his face between his hands, their fingers still slick with blood. “They killed her, Anaris.”

They see the pieces falling into place as he nods, but a part of them feels sick. They have failed mother. They are letting her real killer go free because they are a coward, and they are afraid of losing more of their family. “They meant to kill Daern’thal as well, and nearly did so. We barely managed to stop them.”

A bit of tension leaves Anaris’ shoulders. “Yes.”

Melarue swallows, and tries not to look at their Mother. They can feel her eyes upon them, wide and unblinking; accusatory. “Let me tell it, when the others come. I am better at lying.”

---

The other two believe them, as Melarue knew they would. Geldauran mourns the most, his beautiful visage twisted by grief and rage, and the fear in him so sharp they can nearly see it rising from his skin like steam. Thremael takes Felralan and Oranani’s bodies outside without a word, to be turned to ash in the morning sun.

When Daern’thal wakes he cannot remember the night before...and despite Melarue’s rushed healing, he never regains the use of his voice.

“The mortals will keep coming for Mother’s blessing.” Thremael says at last, once they have all gathered in the lower chambers that had once belonged to their Mother. She is lying in the room off of this one, clean and covered in a crimson shroud. They had all gone to pay their respects to her, save for Anaris, who refused to enter the room.

Melarue’s own vigil they had spent apologizing, sobbing against her unmoving form, begging for forgiveness. How could they have let this happen? How could they have let Anaris live after doing such a thing?

You are no childe of mine, they can hear her whisper, curses crawling through their head like a writhing mass of serpents. They will never forget the feeling of numbness that had settled in them when they had seen her at Anaris’ feet. No rage, no desire to kill him for what he had done. That was their largest betrayal, they know. That they could not find it in them to want him dead.

They do not know what led Anaris to killing Fate. He does not tell them, does not speak of the night ever again. It is his penance, they think, to hold in the truth of that night and blame himself for it.

None of them have had the strength to suggest sending her off in the morning light. If they do so it will seem too real, make her death final.

“We will take up the duty, then.” Geldauran murmurs. “We are Fate’s Children, it falls to us. She said we would be gods beside her, let us take up the mantle now.”

“The world is changing. The Andrastians are gaining strength with their god, even here. The mortals are smarter now. They are learning ways to kill us.” Melarue shakes their head. “I am no god.” I cannot stay. I cannot stay here knowing that Anaris killed Mother and that I helped murder my siblings and lied to the others. I am not worthy of Mother’s plan. I have destroyed it.

“Where will you go?” Thremael asks softly.

Melarue shakes their head. “I do not know.”

Anywhere but here.

[lairofdragonagelore]

The [Unreliable] Dalish Tales

This post has a purpose to place all the miscellaneous details said along the game to keep the exact words accessible in case there is some foreshadowing content not easily noticeable. There is no much to say about them, this is more for archive purposes.

When we give Merril her gift, she will explain a bit of lore of the Dalish. Of course, this is a very unreliable source, since they lost half of their knowledge and culture after the fall of Arlathan, and the other half was extremely decorated to exalt the pride of the Dales. She narrates the tale of the betrayal of Fen’harel which can be summarised as

There was two clans of gods: the Creators [protectors of the people] and the Forgotten Ones [predators of the people].

Fen'Harel, The dread wolf, was a god that did not belong to any of both clans.

Fen'Harel was kin to the Creators, sometimes helping them to fight against the Forgotten Ones.

He got tired of this war. So he made a plan: he said the other clan had forged a terrible blade. He told the Creators it was forged in the Heavens, while to the Forgotten ones, in the Abyss. When the gods went to check, Fen'Harel sealed them both in their realms forever.

Fen'Harel is the only one free in the world.

This story is also narrated in similar fashion in the codex Fen’Harel: The Dread Wolf that we find in DAO [repeated later in DAI]. It is narrated by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves, who is the main source of most Dalish tales in the game. Being a contemporary Dalish, I can not trust Gisharel’s words. They have little truth in it, hard to distinguish from the romantisation of the tales, twisted and changed along the time since Dalish tales are passed via oral tradition [which is a very inaccurate way to preserve information]. The small scratch of truth we can take from this codex in comparison with what Solas and Abelas have told us in DAI is the following: The elves were in war with others of their kind: the Forgotten Ones, from which 3 names survived [in DAI]: Geldauran, Daern'thal, and Anaris. In DAI we find a codex about Geldauran, and a staff related to Daern’thal called Pyre of the Forgotten which looks like the same design of the staff of Void. In the temple of Mythal in DAI we find a codex where they speak about a weapon, but it belongs to Andruil, which is suspected to be the blight itself.

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore ]

[ashavise-blog]

Anyway, where the fuck are Asha’s “kids”?

[dragon-age-upheaval]

I reworked the Elven gods for Dragon Age Upheaval took me some time to reorganize the vallaslin for each. Fen’Harel still does not have a vallaslin dedicated to him but for different reasons this time. Some of the gods only required minor editing so some of these summaries come straight from the wiki article.

Full Summaries under the cut.

Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance

Elgar'nan—also known as the All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun and He Who Overthrew His Father—represents fatherhood, war, endurance, and strength, he leads the pantheon with the goddess Mythal.

Mythal: the Great Protector

Mythal the Protector, the All-Mother, and goddess of order. She is the patron of law and justice and leads the pantheon with her male counterpart, Elgar'nan.

Falon'Din: Friend of the Dead

Falon'Din is the elven God of Death and Fortune and guides the dead to the Beyond. He and his twin brother, Dirthamen, are the eldest children of Elgar'nan and Mythal.

Dirthamen: Keeper of Secrets

Dirthamen is the twin brother of Falon'Din and is the elven god of secrets and knowledge, and master of the ravens Fear and Deceit. Dirthamen gave to elves the gift of knowledge, magic, and taught them loyalty and faith in kin.

Andruil: Goddess of the Hunt

Andruil is the elven Goddess of the Hunt, known also as "blood and force" and the "great hunter." Andruil taught the elves the art of the hunt, survival, independence and the ways of the wilds; forest, tundra, desert.

Sylaise: the Hearthkeeper

Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, is the goddess of Love and compassion, sister of Andruil the Huntress. Sylaise gave the elves the gift of fire, family, childbirth, and most importantly love, both romantic and platonic.

June: God of the Craft

June is the elven Master of Crafts. Sylaise's husband. He taught the elves how to create; Andruil’s bows and arrows for the hunt, the aravel to live and travel in, and how to use Sylaise fire to forge. June is a god of creativity, hard work, ingenuity, and patience.

Ghilan'nain: Mother of the Halla

Ghilan'nain is called the Mother of the halla and goddess of navigation. Ghilan’nain is revered as a goddess of travel, borders, connection, communication, and diplomacy.

The’garas: The Tidecaller

The’garas the tidecaller is often not honored by the most modern Dalish clans but this genderless god is the patron deity of the ocean, storms, fishing, and sailing.

Reva’nim: Goddess of Chaos and Revelry

Reva’nim taught the elves the knowledge of cooking, wine, and is often associated with madness and chaos alongside bountiful feasts and rich wine. She’s not often seen in modern pantheons as much of the recovered stories of her feature dark and disturbing subject matter. One such tale involves her turning elven women into her mad servants and having them dismember a king that outlawed her worship.

Anaris: The Warrior

Anaris is a god of battle tactics, strategy, honor, and leadership, he is often associated with Elgar’nan by the modern Dalish but his methods are far cooler and calculating as opposed to the All-father’s anger and rage.

Geldauran: The Dreamwalker

Geldauren is the goddess of dreams and sleep, she is thought to walk the fade alongside Falon’Din but unable to leave it. Many of her tales usually involve her trying to separate the two brothers trying to sate some of her loneliness with Falon’din. The Dalish believe the goddess granted the elves Uthenera an immortal life in sleep and dreams. Dreams are often forgotten in the waking world in modern Thedas especially by those without magic. Geldauren has since become a sorrowful story of memory, loss, and isolation.

Daern'thal: God of the Wilds

Walker of the wilds, creator of beasts, and patron of dragons, nature, wildlife, and plague. Daern’thal is often warring with Andruil for hunting his magnificent creatures. He is often depicted with horns and some Dalish clans believe that he may have something to do with the Qunari people. Natural disasters involving the land are often attributed to the wild god and the huntress fighting over one of her kills.

Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

Fen’Harel is known as a chaotic god of justice, tales abound in Dalish lore of the Dread Wolf who would either deal you a great service or visit upon you a painfully ill-timed one were you not in his favor. The most important tale involving the dread wolf was that of his great betrayal and how he sealed the Creators behind the vale. Dalish clans view the Dread Wolf with reverence and love but also fear, the clans often seek to keep themselves within his good graces so that his twisted Justice does not fall on them. Fen’Harel is the only god to not have a vallaslin as it is deemed unwise to draw the wolf’s eye.

[mrstethras]

The Forgotten Ones were some of the Rebel Elvhen [theory]

There is very little known about The Forgotten Ones, referenced in so few of the codex entries throughout Dragon Age, however, from what is offered to us, I believe them to be Elvhen who opposed the tyranny of the Evanuris, likely freed from their enslavement by Solas, and since raged and warred against them. They were perhaps the favoured slaves, the most talented of them, to have been considered as gods as well upon facing against their enemies. This is just a theory that I’ve been playing around with, a post of rambling, but I figured I’d share my thoughts on what little we have of them.

“The Forgotten Ones belong to the ancient Elven pantheon, but their names were lost after the Great Betrayal. Their worship continued in the shadows, despite efforts to stamp it out in the old Dalish kingdom. This staff belonged to a priest of those gods, specifically Daern'thal.” - Codex attached to the Weapon Pyre of the Forgotten.

“The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.” - Codex: Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

So, the Forgotten Ones were of Elvhen kind, if this codex entry is to be believed, that they were the ones who resisted the enslavement of the People? Some were likely freed and joined the cause? Their names, or what they represent also seems important, because unlike the Evanuris, they are named rather abstractly as representing feelings, emotions or other such general (often negative) terms, such as pestilence. In the same way that Abelas means sorrow, I feel their names were adopted dependant on their ruling pantheon, or what they represented. That these were people, rather than abstract ideas. This is similar to how the Protheans were named in Mass Effect, when we meet the last living Prothean Javik, and wake him up to find he embodies or is named for vengeance.

“There is precious little we know about Fen'Harel, for they say he did not care for our people. Elgar'nan and Mythal created the world as we know it, Andruil taught us the Ways of the Hunter, Sylaise and June gave us fire and crafting, but Fen'Harel kept to himself and plotted the betrayal of all the gods. And after the destruction of Arlathan, when the gods could no longer hear our prayers, it is said that Fen'Harel spent centuries in a far corner of the earth, giggling madly and hugging himself in glee.In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways and saw him as one of their own. And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen’Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People.” —From Codex entry: Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf 

It’s also very clear that the Forgotten Ones have been smeared throughout history to appear as negatively as possible. Quite like how Fen’Harel has been misunderstood as a malevolent god, rather than the god of rebellion, which is far more accurate an interpretation. In the above codex entry it makes the Forgotten Ones and Fen’Harel appear as the villains, whereas post-Trespasser we know this is not the case -- and so the situation can be turned on it’s head in that the Forgotten Ones were not the wicked anti-pantheon, but warring against and resisting their wicked gods, the Evanuris. It’s also important to note that from the codex entries, Fen’Harel tricked only the Evanuris, and got the Forgotten Ones to return to the abyss (likely for protection) as he defeated the gods -- which was what the Forgotten Ones desired. It’s also likely Solas chose to do this only after the murder of Mythal.

As for the abyss -- and where the Forgotten Ones are -- I feel as though they are in Uthenera, likely returned to the mines within Titans. In Trespasser we see that ancient mines are discovered to have protecting statues of both Mythal and Fen’Harel guarding. We know that Mythal was the most motherly towards the People -- compared to the likes of Andruil and Falon’Din, and their statues and iconography surrounding these locations was not only completely unexpected and out-of-place, but as though those mines had been re-purposed for protection or safety for the People. The undiscovered location within the Titan in The Descent DLC is known as the Uncharted Abyss.

Quick note on the Abyss: “Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.

From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.

In my arms lies Eternity”.—Canticle of Andraste, 14:11 This fragment is where Andraste goes to speak to the Maker for the first time and convinces him to forgive mankind. It describes a beautiful temple deep under the earth surrounded by emerald waters. In which we find a sea called The Buried Sea within the Titan in The Descent. Though I feel like the Forgotten Ones aren’t in that particular Titan, they may be in a fallen Titan hidden away and in Uthenera, a death sleep within the mines Solas asked them to briefly return to. Which is also similar to how the Protheans in Mass Effect were stored, only in cryo stasis. I do feel as though Solas did not intend to leave them this way, but his battle with the gods left him unable to return to them once it was done. What with the Veil stripping the realm of its natural state and all of its magic. We also know that the Evanuris did not like to linger within the Titans. Andruil, for example, would hunt (likely dwarves and creatures) within the Titans, and also the Forgotten Ones, but returned more and more lyrium addled. “One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking The Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss. Yet even a god should not linger there, and each time she entered the Void, Andruil suffered longer and longer periods of madness after returning. Andruil put on armor made of the Void, and all forgot her true face. She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands. She howled things meant to be forgotten, and the other gods became fearful Andruil would hunt them in turn. So Mythal spread rumors of a monstrous creature and took the form of a great serpent, waiting for Andruil at the base of a mountain. When Andruil came, Mythal sprang on the hunter. They fought for three day and nights, Andruil slashing deep gouges in the serpent's hide. But Mythal's magic sapped Andruil's strength, and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void. After this, the great hunter could never make her way back to the abyss, and peace returned.”—Translated from ancient elven found in the Arbor Wilds It’s also worth noting, that when the time came when the Forgotten Ones needed a place that was safe and to hide, Mythal had removed the location from Andruil’s memories.

Other such information on the Forgotten Ones that strengthens the idea for me that they were never gods, nor malicious, but rather the opposing forces of the People against the Evanuris:

“The script is an ancient elven dialect. Upon further observation, it twists, the words becoming visible: There are no gods. There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon. Those with will to earn dominance over others gain title not by nature but by deed. I am Geldauran, and I refuse those who would exert will upon me. Let Andruil's bow crack, let June's fire grow cold. Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery.” -- Codex entry: Geldauran's Claim

A Forgotten One enforcing the idea that there were no gods, but rather extremely powerful people whom ensnared and enslaved the rest. That the Forgotten Ones themselves should not be viewed as a pantheon either, but rather a powerful opposing force in their own right.

"In the story, Fen'Harel was captured by the hunting goddess, Andruil. He had angered her by hunting the halla without her blessing, and she tied him to a tree and declared that he would have to serve in her bed for a year and a day to pay her back. But as she made camp that night, the dark god Anaris found them, and Anaris swore that he would kill Fen'Harel for crimes against the Forgotten Ones. Andruil and Anaris decided that they would duel for the right to claim Fen'Harel. He called out to Anaris during the fight and told him of a flaw in Andruil's armor just above the hip, and Anaris stabbed Andruil in the side, and she fell. Then Fen'Harel told Anaris that he owed the Dread Wolf for the victory and ought to get his freedom. Anaris was so affronted by Fen'Harel's audacity that he turned and shouted insults at the prisoner, and so he did not see Andruil, injured but alive, rise behind him and attack with her great bow. Anaris fell with a golden arrow in his back, badly injured, and while both gods slumbered to heal their wounds, Fen'Harel chewed through his ropes and escaped." --Felassan, to Briala

Note: This is a story being told within the book and should be regarded as such, a tale including myth rather than entirely fact -- however, it is also important in understanding the Forgotten Ones lived amongst the Evanuris, and were also powerful. This is also likely referencing to Fen’Harel’s relationship with the People prior to the Evanuris’ plot to kill Mythal.

“The carvings tell the story of the Betrayal. The Dread Wolf tricking all the gods away from the world. Long ago, there were two clans of gods. The Creators looked after the People. The Forgotten Ones preyed upon us. And one god who was neither. Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. He was kin to the Creators, and in the old days, often helped them in their endless war against the Forgotten Ones. We barely even remember all their names, let alone who struck the first blow, who was wrong… Fen'Harel was clever. He could walk among both clans of gods without fear, and both believed he was one of them. He went to each side, and told them the other had forged a terrible weapon, a blade that would end the war. He told the Creators it was forged in the heavens, and the Forgotten Ones, that it was hidden in the abyss. And when the gods went seeking it, he sealed them both in their realms forever. Now he alone is left in the world.” --Merrill to Hawke during Memento of the Dalish 

Again, this is a perfect example of the tale having been turned on its head throughout history. That the Evanuris are believed to be the innocent party and that it was the Forgotten Ones who were wicked. Come Trespasser we discover it was the Evanuris who were in fact malicious and cruel and enslaved their People. Therefore, such tales can be viewed from the opposite end. That what we hear and read of the Forgotten Ones is that they have been mostly erased -- and when not -- smeared by propaganda. 

And a little silly, but I love this one: A Bottles of Thedas is the Abyssal Peach: "Not so much filtered as dredged. Should be kept in a cold, dark place. Also locked. Forgotten as well, if one is wise." This could be a cheeky reference to the Forgotten Ones locked away inside of a Titan. There are a lot of other codex entries that link to and from this topic and I may go into more detail at a later date if people are interested! I also have a very tinfoily hat as to how the Blight is potentially related to the Forgotten Ones -- but that will need another post entirely. Thanks so much for reading, if you got this far through all of my rambling! And if you’re not quite done, see my collaborative theory post with @kita-lavellan on The Old Gods HERE!

[kita-lavellan]

Headcanon Theory #2

(Another Headcanon/Meta post developed with @faerelden. Just a little one this time, but I like this and the way it would intertwine the ancient beings of the elves and spirits of the Fade.)

The Forbidden Ones were once Elves, who then Allied with the Forgotten Ones/Rebel Elves.

1. The Forbidden ones were originally elves, slaves to the Evanuris, and shed their physical forms to flee and/or hide, either from their masters, or from the Evanuris' war with the Titans.

DAI Codex: Vir Dirthara: Exile of the Forbidden Ones - "for casting aside form to flee to where the Earth could not reach"

2. The Evanuris banished the Forbidden Ones spirit forms to the furthest reaches of the fade. Lyrium powered magic [Earth] could not kill their spirit forms. We know that spirits cannot be killed only banished. We also know that the Evanuris twist things to their advantage.

DAI Codex: Vir Dirthara: Exile of the Forbidden Ones - "The pages of this book—memory?—show the blazing forms of the Evanuris banishing a howling spirit from the reaches of the Fade that touch their lands. A voice rings out, stern and imperial"

This comes across as propaganda, and if you flip the information, then it implies that the Forbidden ones did not abandon the Elvhen people, but possibly betrayed the Evanuris.

3. Forgotten Ones were probably the Rebel Elves.

DAI Codex: Fen'Harel; The Dread Wolf - "The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence."

DAI JoH Codex: Geldauran's Claim - "There are no gods. There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon. Those with will to earn dominance over others gain title not by nature but by deed. I am Geldauran, and I refuse those who would exert will upon me. Let Andruil's bow crack, let June's fire grow cold. Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery."

DA2 Merrill to Hawke, The Betrayal - "Long ago, there were two clans of gods. The Creators looked after the People. The Forgotten Ones preyed upon us. And one god who was neither. Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf."

This theory is expanded upon further in @faerelden‘s Meta-post HERE.

4. During the Elvhen uprising, the Rebel Elves (Forgotten Ones) needed a source of magical power stronger than their natural connection to the Fade, to combat the Evanuris' use of Lyrium from the felled Titans. This was probably blood magic, which they learned from the Forbidden Ones, previously banished Elvhen slaves.

DAI JoH Codex: Geldauran's Claim - "Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery."

DA2 Codex: Forbidden Knowledge; Tarohne's Beginning - "The first of the magus cast themselves deep in the Fade in search of answers and power, always power. They found the forbidden ones — Xebenkeck, Imshael, Gaxkang the Unbound, and The Formless One. Many conversations were had and much of the fabric of the world revealed. And thus the magic of blood was born."

Assuming that "Their Pride will consume them" is a reference to Solas, then the discussion with him in Dragon Age Inquisition is also relevant to this point.

Solas: "...Using blood magic seems to make it more difficult to enter the Fade. You understand why I have never bothered to learn it. A shame, as it is extremely powerful, provided it remains a tool, not a crutch... nor a passion."

[dragoncodex]

Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

Codex #056

There is precious little we know about Fen'Harel, for they say he did not care for our people. Elgar'nan and Mythal created the world as we know it, Andruil taught us the Ways of the Hunter, Sylaise and June gave us fire and crafting, but Fen'Harel kept to himself and plotted the betrayal of all the gods. And after the destruction of Arlathan, when the gods could no longer hear our prayers, it is said that Fen'Harel spent centuries in a far corner of the earth, giggling madly and hugging himself in glee.

The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People.

—From The Tale of Fen'Harel's Triumph, as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves

[daughter-of-the-prophet]

The Forgotten Ones

The Forgotten Ones are a maligned aspect of the ancient Elven pantheon, the other half being the benevolent Creators led by Mythaland Elgar'nan. During the event the Dalish elves refer to as the Great Betrayal, the Dread Wolf Fen'Harel was said to have tricked both sets of gods: locking the Forgotten Ones away from the world in their realm of the abyss, and shutting the Creators away in their realm of the heavens. According to popular belief, not even the Dalish properly remember the Forgotten Ones since then, outside of their dreams.

Legend suggests the Forgotten Ones were many, but even the names of most of them have been largely lost to time, making their title exceedingly appropriate. Some fragments of lore do remain, however, as do intimations of their intentions.

Powers and domain

Where the Creators are gods of justice, knowledge and craft, who seek to guide and protect the elven people, the Forgotten Ones are a dark mirror presiding over the worst aspects of existence: disease, terror, spite and malevolence. They serve not as shepherds of the elves, but rather as figures of fear and dread.

According to the legend of the Dread Wolf’s betrayal of both camps of elven gods during the fall of Arlathan, the Forgotten Ones were easily swayed by his alleged plan to organize a truce by which the Creators would be defeated and, by consequence, the elves would be left alone and unaided. An alternate version of this tale has both camps of gods seeking out a weapon in their respective realms that Fen'Harel promised would bring their war to an end.

The Forgotten Ones had resided in a place known as the "Void," where no mortal nor god could have remained in. They may have greatly resented the Creator gods, and in fact asserted that there are no "gods" and that the right of dominance over others comes from deeds rather than nature.

Veneration

Priests of the Forgotten Ones were persecuted during the time of the elven Dales. Yet secret worship of these gods continues. It is said that some souls, seeking revenge against humans for their past affronts to the elven people, have sought the Forgotten Ones out through hidden, dark cults. According to the Dalish, these individuals have committed a great crime and forsaken their people in return for the keys to a twisted and terrible strength.

Members of one such cult on the western fringes of Orlais, in the Tirashan forest wore brilliant crimson vallaslin. Unlike the Dalish, who invoke the names of their gods in battle for aid, they were offering their enemies as a sacrifice.

Known Forgotten Ones

Anaris (according to an old tale he was once tricked by Fen'Harel while dueling the Great Hunter Andruil; his name is also a part of a secret greeting from those Fen'Harel trusted.)

Geldauran (whose message is found in the Frostback Basin)

Daern'thal

Fen'Harel, arguably, as he was known to both sets of elven gods

[scurvgirl]

Saar

Qunlat - danger; dangerous

Previous | Masterlist | AO3

What? Two SoR updates within a week?? This is what happens when I don’t have work! 

Interpretations of Falon’din and Elgar’nan belong to @feynites

Nimronyn (Memae), Sylmae (Mamae), Melarue, Merith, Henne’thel, Daern’thal belong to @justanartsysideblog

______________________________________________________________

“Asha’thylgar was lost due to Commander Zeal’s shortsightedness. He refused to listen to my council when I advised him to send for more reinforcements to ensure our position,” Certainty declares in front of his lord and the lord Elgar’nan. He has been punished for his failure to bring Asha’thylgar in to pay for her crimes, thoroughly punished. The wounds have only closed this morning after a healer was brought in to make him “meeting worthy”. His bones were mended, skin stitched back together. But it is his lord’s right to punish him, he failed. The loss of the Fear spirit also displeased Lord Falon’din, but all things can be repaired.

“Is this true, Zeal?” Elgar’nan asks, a halo of fire growing in size atop his head. Zeal pants, his hair and large swaths of skin have been burned from him - and not entirely from Elgar’nan either. Asha’thylgar’s keeper had torn through the camp with her flames and magic. Certainty now bore his own scar down his back from the fire. No matter, the scar will fuel him just as his Lord’s desire for Asha’thylgar.

“Certainty failed to express the seriousness of the solution -

“Enough of these excuses! Both of you FAILED! SPECTACULARLY!” Elgar’nan booms, rising from his throne. Falon’din remains on his, watching, blue eyes darting from Zeal to Certainty. His facade wavers for just a moment, giving Certainty a glimpse of the horror of his burned face.

Even with the burns, Certainty’s lord is more beautiful than any other person to have ever existed.

“My Lord,” Certainty says, falling to his knees in abject prostration, “It is my every privilege and love of life to serve you. Beat me, break me, and I will come back stronger and more dedicated to you than before. I will bring Asha’thylgar to you, I swear it with my very blood.” He trails a sharpened claw over his palm so that blood flows, binding him to his vow.

With extreme grace, Lord Falon’din rises from his repose.

“It is so difficult to find loyalty like yours, Certainty.” He runs a finger down Certainty’s face before raising his hand, pressing the finger into the blood. Certainty gasps but does not grimace at the pain. Relish in it, it is what the Lord wishes.

“Is what you say true? Is the failure to secure Asha’thylgar due to Zeal?” A heavy question and one that Certainty answers with ease.

“Yes.”

Falon’din straightens and turns to Zeal. His hand reaches out and secures around Zeal’s neck.

“FALON’DIN!” Elgar’nan shouts.

“I AM OWED!” Falon’din roars back as the life is pulled out of Zeal. Falon’din inhales as if he is breathing in Zeal’s life force. Perhaps he is, Certainty doesn’t know. What he does know is that Falon’din has granted him another chance.

And he will make the most of it. Asha’thylgar can elude him for only so long.

**

When Ash was a little girl, before her magic manifested, her and Mama had to cross the Frostback mountains into Ferelden. She doesn’t remember much from the trip other than it was bitterly cold. She clung to Mama the entire time inside of her cloak. She whined and cried about the cold. It felt like it was invading her body and there was nothing she could do. Inescapably cold.

On her seventeenth birthday, a volcano erupted from the magical torsion in the Fade that now merged fully with the waking world. The ash and soot shot up from the eruption blocked the sun. The next month was spent freezing and cut off from the main source of heat. She huddled with Uthvir, trying to stay warm. The cold only abated when the sky was set aflame and the end of the world was further hastened.

Ash has experienced cold. She knows it causes deep issues within her, even with her fire. Perhaps it is because of her fire that the cold affects her so much. She has experienced cold, and yet this chill is unlike all of the cold that has touched her.

This cold slips inside of her spine, wraps a hand around it as a voice whispers unknowable words in her ear. She feels the cold spread into her body, chasing the heat that normally courses through her body. Mamae shifts in discomfort while Ash grimaces in pain.

“Da’len?” Mamae asks and Ash waves her off. She is no stranger to pain.

“I don’t handle the cold well,” she says softly,  “I’ll be fine.” Just as she says that, Nimronyn opens her mouth and golden fire spills out, blowing back due to their momentum. It curves over the barrier, chasing away the invading chill. Ash feels a hiss and pop where the cold had been leaching into her body. It slithers away, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of Memae’s fire.

Ash inhales and exhales a directed flame towards Memae in gratitude. The small blue flicker travels up and circles around Memae’s antlers before dissipating along her scales. She rumbles in affectionate acknowledgement that makes Ash smile briefly before turning her attention to the pulsating black mass of sucking energy. It pulls at Ash and a deep seated worry takes root.

Demons, Nanae once said, are corrupted spirits. They corrupt for a number of reasons, each one unique to that demon. Most corruptions are situational and dependent upon what the spirit embodied - a spirit of wisdom can turn to pride if its knowledge is never questioned, or if it remains in isolation, or perhaps if it decides that it can fix the world. They were fond of that analogy. Looking back, Ash understands why.

But this mass of negative energy is unlike anything she has ever encountered. Besides its massive size, the demon feels different. It should have been a Keeper, which...what could have happened to this spirit that was on the brink of turning into an immensely powerful being like a Keeper to turn it into...this? The idea terrifies her, but she also feels for it too. It must have been so horrible and traumatic to do this. As much as she fears the great beast before her, she can’t help but feel for it as well. A part of her recognizes that she could have easily been this - terrible and dark and lashing out in pain due to her trauma. It’s only because her adoptive mothers found her that she was able to work past it, to grow from her ashes instead of continuing to burn.

“Lock into formation to bolster the barrier!” A shout from another aravel interrupts Ash’s thoughts, making her realize they are about to breach the living darkness. It’s strange, for something so dangerous, it seems...so inviting.

Ash brings her spear forward, holding onto it so that her thumbs run over specific runes for barrier creation. She forces her magic into the spear then out to join the many others also lending their strength for the barrier. Their combined magic sets into a lattice pattern over the existing barrier, reinforcing it just as they breach the darkness.

It is not like nightfall, there is no gradual loss of light. It is a sudden, all encompassing void that leaves Ash temporarily blind as her eyes adjust.

Chanting reaches her ears then several small lights materialize inside the barrier around the aravels. Those not lending their strength to the barrier are lighting the way, she realizes, or at least keeping a light so that everyone can see what is happening.

What Ash first saw as one giant entity becomes clearer as really a mass of negative energy and spirits, colliding and separating in chaotic fashion. Their forms split then reform, and they scream as they hurtle through space so fast they nearly shatter. Several of the spirits, lesser demons, she recognizes as Rage and Despair, careen towards the barrier at breakneck speeds. They do not slow and shatter themselves upon the barrier.

“What is this?” Ash asks in disbelieving horror.

“Keepers cannot corrupt once they are corporeal, but they can corrupt still as spirits. It’s a delicate time. When what was corrupted into Desolation, it created a nexus of negative magical energies - spirits that came into contact with it are twisted and trapped. Turned into unwilling demons that further feed Desolation’s own power.” Sylmae’s voice is low and harsh but it does not escape Ash’s notice that there is concern there. She doesn’t imagine it is for Desolation per se, but more for Nimronyn.

Ash’s brow furrows. Spirits can be such delicate things with their natures. A tip in the wrong direction and they can corrupt or even shatter. Those that become Keepers are old and strong, true, but that fear of corruption...it stays, doesn’t it? Does Mamae fear Memae will corrupt still with all the fighting?

Worse, could it happen? Is that what the madness is? The Keepers corrupting as they go against their natures?

Unwilling to continue this line of thinking, Ash directs her attention to the swirling mass of demons. More shatter upon impact of the barrier as they continue to fly in deeper. While the barrier keeps the lesser demons out, she can hear them. Screaming spirits who assume misshapen faces that press against the barrier before they crack and shatter, begging for help. Poor, lost spirits sucked into Desolation’s pit.

Ash hazards a glance up and nearly loses formation with the barrier. While the barrier is keeping all the aravels and those within it safe, the Keepers are left exposed. The demons crash into Memae, screaming and clawing at her. Fire flies across her scales, chasing them off but only more replace those that fall off or shatter. She shakes her head, the talismans hanging from her antlers jerking around as she somehow continues her steady flight.

“Mamae!” Ash cries but Sylmae is already gone, leaping onto aravels and scaling them so she can get to Memae.

“Hold your position!” She shouts down to Ash as she climbs, one hand propelling her upwards while the other holds tightly to her weapon. Ash takes a deep breath and locks herself back into position, pushing more energy into the barrier. Her fire skitters across the lattice work, shattering several more lesser demons. She glances up to see Mamae leaping into the air and breaching the barrier to grab hold of Memae’s foot. Ash keeps herself from hollering in victory as Sylmae begins to swing demons and spirits off of Memae. She clambers up onto Memae’s back properly and the hammer begins to swing in full arcs, felling multiple demons with each swing.

The barrier rocks and Ash nearly stumbles, her gaze going down as she rights herself. Merith is fairing no better than Memae, worse actually. A cloud of green tinged air surrounds him that Ash recognizes as poison but poison does so little to those without bodies. Ash is about to call for someone to help him when a flash of black of fire barrels past her only to land on the aravel below hers.

Melarue. They are shrouded in a black flame as they leap from aravel to aravel, weapon raised high. It is a spear-like thing, their weapon, with a wicked blade attached resembles the end of a sword at one end. They launch themselves down to Merith and disappear into a sea of black.

Fear pulses through Ash. Has she lost them again? Only having just found them? They have not reconciled or -

There! She seems them! An incredibly fast figure battling the dark back with their own black fire. It wraps around the demons, yanking them from Merith and tossing them into the barrier. Their weapon glints by the light provided by the barrier as they carve into the demons. They are fast and meticulous as they clean Merith of the clawing fiends.

Reassured, Ash returns her focus to the barrier. It is becoming more difficult to maintain as more and more demons throw themselves against it. Each hit drains it just a bit more. How long can they keep this up? There is no end in sight of this horrid place, and if anything, it is getting worse.

The demons stop shattering upon impact and instead begin to wail upon the barrier, ghostly talons and fangs and wings ripping into it. She funnels another burst of fire into it, but it does little to stem the tide. Few demons die from it, none shatter.

“We need more power!” She shouts over the roars of the Keepers and the screams of the demons.

“From where?!” Henne’thel shouts back to her from her central aravel.

From where, indeed. She racks her brain, thinking…

“Blood!”

“Are you insane! The demons draw power from that!” Henne’thel shouts, clearly straining as she carriers the bulk of the barrier.

“So can we! If you can hold it, I can send out a pulse of fire to get us through!”

“Are you sure!”

“Yes!”

“Then fucking do it!” Henne’thel screams.

“Letting the barrier go,” Ash yells before she steps back. Immediately the weight shifts off her and Henne’thel groans loudly, a draconic sound as she takes on more of the barrier. Only for a moment, Ash reminds herself, grabbing the knife from her belt.

Taking a deep breath, Ash slices her palm and begins to recite a spell her nanae taught her.

“I didn’t know you had fire!”

“It’s a Fade Fire, da’len, now pay attention.”

She harnesses the memory and the spell inside of her. The power concentrates in her palm, a hot white sphere she guides to her spear. Carefully, she eases the spear forward just so that the tip reaches outside of the barrier.

Using all the force inside her body, she forces that sphere of power out through her spear.

It explodes from her and the spear into the inky air. A blazing white supernova tinged red with her blood. Magic shots from her and blazes through the demons in an arc surrounding barrier. It A great pulse of fiery magic that sends the demons up in smoke or flying from them in terror.

Drained and needing to catch her breath, Ash stumbles back, her spear retreating from the outside.

“Good, Ash! Now back in formation!” Henne’thel calls. Right, she has to help. With a groan and a set determination that is not so easily overwhelmed, Ash rises to her feet and resumes the position. Her magic joins the others to hold the barrier together. The shift is painful but quick, locking her into the system again.

A glance down shows that her burst of fire helped Melarue as well. They need only shove off the remains of demons from Merith’s hide. There are wounds all over Merith’s body that they quickly set to bandaging. A glance upward reveals a similar scene for Memae, but she seems to be in a better position overall. There is less blood sliding down her sides and there are no large wounds. Relief courses through Ash. They will survive this, this is only the trial before the promised land - quite literally.

The journey to Skyhold had been fraught as well. Haven had never been a secure location, which had only been exploited by the Red Templars lead by a mad, Blighted Corypheus who knew far more than they ever gave him credit for. She had nearly lost her mama that day to the avalanche she caused. Nanae had to carry her, screaming and crying to not leave Mama behind, away from the battle.

It was over a week before he had taken them to Skyhold, and even longer clearing the rubble to make it somewhat livable. For all its faults, Skyhold had been amazing. It was big enough for an army and defensible. In the end, it fell because he knew it so well.

This land they are traveling to is unknown to their enemies. It is far, far from the empire and from anyone that would interfere with their growth and resistance. It may not be entirely true, but when all you have is hope, you have to hope hard to get through the worst of it. Right now, speeding through a maelstrom of demons with only a barrier maintained by a couple dozen people, she needs all the hope she can get.

A great quake shakes Ash from her thoughts and pulls her attention to her surroundings once more. The darkness around them opens up, keening as it is pulled into a singular nexus below them.

“She’s here!” Henne’thel yells and Ash knows - they approach Desolation.

Another quake rocks the barrier and the Keepers grumble with discontent and worry. The shadows move, twining up over the barrier - long tentacles curving over the sphere. Magical weight presses against Ash, making her grunt at the strain. She’s pulling them down, Ash realizes. Or at least she is attempting to pull them. Memae hisses and her wings snap more quickly. All at once, fire chases the shadowy tendrils, snapping much of their hold. Nimronyn roars once more and begins to ascend. Merith issues a replying roar and follows Nimronyn. The aravels rock at the sudden direction shift, but Ash and the others hold fast, maintaining the barrier.

They fly high, up, up to escape the reaching tentacles when a roar shakes the world around them and a great mass smashes into the barrier. Unable to withstand the sudden onslaught, the barrier shatters.

**

When Fear saw an opportunity to escape Certainty and his lackeys, it took it. The night Asha’thylgar attacked, its cage was damaged, allowing it to shrink into the tiniest form it could then scurry away in frantic escape. It ran even as it knew that the chances for capture were high. It ran and ran and flew so much and so fast that it wasn’t until days later that it realized that no one had come after it.

It had stopped, looked around - no one was pursuing it.

Fear was...free?

Unsure of what to do with this newfound freedom, Fear continued to fly. To put more distance between it and the empire, just to be safe. It could be wrong, after all, they could be pursuing it and just biding their time. Fear wasn’t going to risk it.

It flew and flew until it felt her. As soon as it felt her, it tried to turn in the other direction, but like a fish caught in a whirlpool, struggle was futile. Little Fear was sent into the mass of Desolation. It was all it could do to keep from the other demons caught in her storm. It was flung through the air, ricocheting off of spikes in power and abnormalities in the Dreaming. It tried to escape, over and over again, to no avail. The pull was too strong.

Soon, it found itself being pulled into the nexus, spiraling down...down…

**

Chaos erupts with the shattered barrier. The once carefully held aravels go spinning, their magicks no longer tethered to each other. Ash’s aravel spins and careens downwards, a shadowy tendril shooting up and grasping her aravel.

“No!” She shouts, stabbing her spear into the tentacle and sending forth her fire. It screams and sizzles but holds fast.

“Fuck off!” She summons a white hot whip of fire and slams it into the tendril. It screeches and blessedly releases its hold. Before Ash can set to righting the aravel, three more tendrils shoot up. They seize the aravel and begin to tear it to shreds in its anger. Ash springs into action, summoning as much fire as she dares to fight the tendrils. But as she fights, she cannot right the quickly descending aravel. And if she rights the aravel, it gets torn apart. It very well may be torn apart anyways.

A roar of draconic pain catches her ear before she can decide anything. Her head automatically snaps up to see shadowed tentacles wrapping around Merith’s body, pulling him down. Melarue stands upon him, slashing and burning the tentacles but there are too many, Merith is too grand of a target -

Decided, Ash backs up to the hull of the aravel and angles her spear downward. Focusing on the Dreaming and the will to go, she sets the spear ablaze. The thrust is immediate and the aravel speeds through the air, wrenching itself free of the tendrils. The sail is shredded and the cabin has been opened to the world but she is ascending and it’s holding, that’s all that matters.

She directs the aravel close to a thick tentacle then whips her spear around while continuing the strong blaze of fire. It slams into the tentacle and she forces the fire down it, severing it and its hold on Merith. One down. She looks for and finds another tentacle, wrapped around Merith’s back leg. Melarue is fighting one that keeps trying to secure his neck -

Ash goes for the one on the leg, quickly attacking and severing it so she can take aim for the other tentacle. She sends a blast of fire farther down the tentacle, severing it. Melarue untangles it from Merith’s neck, then runs along his back to hack at more of the tendrils now trying to widen his wounds.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ash groans, casting fire as close to Merith as she dares. Her aravel rocks and starts to descend once more. Shit. She can’t keep the aravel up and fight the damned tentacles at the same time.

Somehow sensing her conflict, Melarue turns from their task for the briefest moment, “Let it go! Get up here!” They shout. Shit. Ash backs up only to run and leap across the space between the aravel and Merith.

For a brief moment, she feels the pull of gravity and wonders if she won’t make it - only to collide with Merith’s paw. Holding fat, Ash clambers up to his back to aid Melarue in ridding the Keeper of his assailants. She sweeps her spear down across his flank, slicing into a tentacle. It begins to writhe so she sets it aflame. Black fire joins hers for a moment then redirects to another tentacle, engulfing it.

Black and blue flames dance over Merith’s scales, and together they manage to push the tentacles far enough off to allow him to fly upward to rejoin the others. Ash doesn’t dare look up to see what is going on, lest she be distracted from the task at hand, but she hears another dragon’s roar and knows that Henne’thel must have taken on her draconic shape.

Ash and Melarue are on their knees as Merith’s ascends, looking for some stability even as they sweep their weapons down and out to the still reaching tentacles. They’re back to back, fighting, not unlike how she always pictured her nanae and mama fighting together - closing rifts and dispatching Red Templars.

A tentacle whips out and smacks Melarue hard enough to send them sprawling. They grunt and slide down Merith’s hide.

“No!” Ash shouts and lunges, stretching herself so that she straddles Merith’s spine as she reaches for and grabs Melarue’s hand. She grimaces at the stretch, but she has them, she’s not losing them. “Climb up me, I can’t pull you up!” She grinds out and they set to pulling themselves back to Merith’s steady back over Ash’s body. They pull and tug but it’s over quickly as they settle themselves back onto Merith.

“Thank you,” they breathe. She nods, still regaining her breath and trying not to pay too much attention to the aching stretch in her side and groin. She reaches out and touches their arm in acknowledgement.

The tentacles amazingly recede into the darkness below, allowing Merith to fly even faster. They’re so close to rejoining the others, and with the tentacles gone, Ash looks up.

Nimronyn and Henne’thel have managed to gather most of the aravels back between them, a new haphazard barrier surrounding them all. Sylmae is still astride Nimronyn, fighting off tentacles herself. Daern’thal of all people sits atop Henne’thel, but instead of fighting the tentacles, he seems to be casting what looks to be wide nets to pull in stray aravels.

She rests a hand on Merith, feeling his pain and determination to reach the rest of the clans. They just need to get through this and then he can rest. She suspects the other Keepers will need to rest as well.

Ash is contemplating how much farther they have to go to escape Desolation when she feels it. A great magical pull that snaps her attention to in front of Merith’s head. The biggest tentacle yet shoots up from the dark, larger than any of the Keepers and arcs down, too fast for Merith to dodge -

The tentacle slams into Merith. Ash is thrown violently from his back and she screams, unable to hold onto her spear. She flies through the air, accelerating downward into the darkness while Merith roars and Melarue yells. Everything is moving so fast, it’s hard to keep track of where she is and where the others are -

A wing clips her, redirecting her right into Melarue.

She smashes into them with a broken scream. The base of her right horn collides right into their face and she feels more than hears the snap of their nose breaking. They clutch at each other, trying to hold onto something sturdy even as they plummet.

“Stop! Stop!” Ash cries, moving her grasp to their hands. “Force fire out of your feet!” She screams, their position shifting until they are falling belly first. Dammit, wrong position. Ash tries to reangle herself so that they’re falling feet-first. Her and Melarue both strain for the feat, and once in that position - fire!

They don’t stop plummeting right away, the fire while being forced down, comes up around them in a swirling mass of black and blue. Purple eyes meet bright silver ones and for a moment, she feels so close to death’s doorstep she swears she is finally going to cross over. She could curse it. How long has she thrown herself carelessly towards death? How often has she come so close, waiting to be reunited with her family, only to live? And now that she wants to live, she dies?

The universe can fucking suck it, she decides, and forces more power out of herself until there is nothing left. The fire burns brighter and brighter until it is no longer black and blue but black and white that surrounds them - and then it doesn’t surround them, but propels them up!

Melarue smiles and even with the blood running down their face, they look so much like her nanae in that moment it makes her heart ache and spurr her to continue the flame. She, they, can do this. Together.

“Not sssooo fasssssst!” A thunderous voice echoes around them. All light save for her white flames flash out, leaving them in the dark. In a breath, what feels like a great hand seizes Melarue and Ash and forces them down. Ash’s concentration breaks and her fire goes out. They fall, fall -

Stop.

The sudden cease of falling jars them, jerking them back until it is like they are on their knees on the ground, looking up -

To the face of a monster.

Her glowing orange eyes are the size of aravels, peering down at them in hated curiosity. Shades and other demons trapped from her nexus make up the rest of her “face”, writhing and opening their own eyes to gaze upon Ash and Melarue. In hope? In fear?

“You daaaare enter my realm!”

“We mean only to pass through,” Melarue says.

“Ssssilenccce!” Desolation booms. “You will not take them from me! They are MINE!” A shade detaches itself from Desolation’s face and launches itself at Melarue, claws extended. She can see them struggle and know from her own immobility they cannot move -

“Stop! Please! It...It was my idea to come through here!” She shouts and the Shade stops just short of Melarue before turning its attention to her, its eyes burning orange. It slinks toward her, growling low.

“Ashokara!”

“Shut up!” She hisses back to Melarue even as they glower and fight against their restraints.

“Whyyy?” Desolation hisses, “You can’t have them!”

“You were going to be Keeper, right? You weren’t always like this,” Ash says, “when I heard that, I thought how could someone so great fall so far? What happened to you? Who, what hurt you?”

“Ssshut up!” She screams.

Ash continues, “You lost them, didn’t you? They were taken from you, the people you were meant to Keep. They were taken from you!”

“ENOUGH!” Desolation quakes with power and the Shade leaps forward, wrapping its claws around Ash’s throat. She gasps and feels its darkness slip into her mind.

“You’re all mine, now! Mine!” She wants Ash’s memories? She can have them!

Ash opens her mind like a book and remembers her world, burning and dying all around her. She remembers running from a collapsing Skyhold, an explosion taking her mama and then her nanae. She remembers having to let Aili go to plummet to her death. She remembers Uthvir’s shout for her to run as they twisted themselves into a more monstrous version of themselves. She remembers how the corruption overwhelmed even them. She lets Desolation see and feel it all.

“WHAT IS THISSSSSS?” Desolation wails. It’s only when Ash opens her eyes does she realize she had closed them. To her amazed horror, her memories play in the clouds of darkness around her. Not just the world burning though, but precious memories of Nanae tucking her into bed, reading to her. Mama singing to her as they walked along a flowering path in Orlais. Uthvir showing her how to properly hold a spear and stealing apple cakes from the kitchens with Aili. Krem giving her a soft dragon plush that has purple eyes just like hers. Dorian reading magical texts aloud to her because she always struggled with the words.

Mama and Nanae coming home and sweeping her into a hug, telling her they love her.

Love and heartbreak paint each memory and Desolation seems...enthralled by them.

“I lost them all too,” Ash says quietly, “because someone thought they knew how to fix the world and destroyed it instead. I lost...everyone I loved. I wanted to die for a long time, to see them again.” Desolation shifts so that her face is mere inches from Ash’s.

“Why didn’t you?” The question is softer than the screams from before and asked so...earnestly. It makes Ash’s heart hurt - this creature is not so different from her, is she?

“Some amazing people showed me it’s possible to love again. I still love all of them, and I love new people - as long as I am alive...I can love, and I can grow. And so can you.”

Desolation...blinks and the orange gives way to a soft blue. The demons still. One falls off, then another, and another. Or they’re released, Ash doesn’t know, all she knows is that Desolation isn’t what she seems. All this pain, all this rage - she is the product of what something did to her and she survived the only way she knew how.

“Who were you?” Ash asks, “what happened to you?”

Instead of replying, new memories begin to play around them. A beautiful, verdant field stretches out before them and in it rests a clan with a truly radiant Keeper. Their scales are an iridescent shade of green and instead of horns, two large frills crown their head and run the entire length of their serpentine body. She knows somehow that they were Patience, a softer spirit that took the form of a Keeper many, many years ago. She sees another spirit, a beautiful blue spirit of...Love. And Love loved the clan so much, she loved this Keeper too. As time stretched on, she grew more powerful and Patience waited for her while she gained enough power to become a Keeper herself. A clan with two Keepers - it was always the goal, and they were so close.

The memories swirl and rage and despair taint the images. A foreign force with no Keeper arrived, two elves astride harts approached Patience. Elves Ash recognize as Mythal and Elgar’nan, though younger and not nearly as powerful as she knows them. They brought Patience to talks under the guise of peace and then...slaughtered them. When their people railed against this, they too were slaughtered.

Love...lost everything, lost their love, lost what tethered her to the world. She felt her power was immense and so she laid waste to the Empire’s camp, she burned it and with each soul she took, she corrupted further and further. She wanted to shatter, she wanted to break, but couldn’t. So she flung herself to this far corner of the Dreaming to wallow, corrupting further and further until she didn’t recognize herself.

“You will always love them, you will always be Love,” Ash says to her, “they will always remember you as Love.” Testing the boundaries, Ash attempts to move her arm and finds she can. With her limited mobility, she reaches up and touches Desolation’s face that is now just shadow with the demons having fled.

A corrupted spirit cannot revert back to what it was previously, but it can change into something new, something...different. Desolation closes its eyes for the last time...to open them as Hope. Ash smiles, tears rolling down her face. That is always the first step, isn’t it? Hoping to move forward.

The darkness slowly dissipates and Hope’s form shifts from shadows to a sheer dark blue. Her hands come up under Ash and Melarue and they rise.

Nimronyn is diving and flying as fast she can when Ash spies her. “Memae!” She calls and Forgiveness turns, holding Ash and Melarue out to the searching Keeper.

Memae turns just as fast as she can, her jaw opening to release fire -

“Memae, no! She’s different now!” Ash calls, waving for her to stop. Her mouth doesn’t close but it doesn’t open any more than it already is. She stops just short of colliding with Hope’s face. The two stare at each other while Mamae leans down and helps Ash and Melarue to Memae’s back.

“Come quickly. Vhenan, we need to go, Merith can’t hold it for long,” Mamae says in Nimronyn’s ear. Clearly not happy about it, Memae turns and flies back to the aravels.

Ash, feeling the exhaustion and relief in equal measures flow through her, turns to look back at Hope. She winks and mimes blowing a kiss, but when she blows, a great magical wind catches them all. Ash yips in surprise to find them flying through the Dreaming - her, Memae, the aravels, Henne’thel, Merith, everyone - until they are at the edge of where they were to exit Desolation’s realm.

Memae works her wings quickly to orient herself.

“What did you do?” Mamae asks bewildered, staring at Ash.

Before Ash can say anything, Melarue answers, “She helped the spirit, who just helped us, it seems.”

They then take a moment to look around them. The sky is a brilliant shade of indigo, the land below is catching the dying sunlight but there is enough for Ash to know where they are.

“Glittering wildflowers,” she murmurs.

They made it. They’re home.

[justanartsysideblog]

Arlater’lahn - The Cave of Voices

Daern’thal’s great city, built along a treacherous coastline for those who do not know its waters. The name of the city comes from its central port, which is located within a large hidden cavern that leads up and out into the rest of the city.

[wyrdsistersofthedas]

Sinners all? Geldauron to Hakkon

Hey Nony,

Don’t be done or sorry!  I know what you mean about not being able to sleep and it’s being 5am, and you have DA ideas that just have to be written down just in case they turn into something.  And you do raise a very interesting possibility.  Is there a connection between the Sinner, Geldauran, and Hakkon?  Looking into your question brought several things to light I would not have noticed if you hadn’t asked.  So thanks!

There’s a lot of weird shit going on in the Frostback Basin, not least of which is (what appears to be) a firsthand quote from one of the Forgotten Ones.  Is it possible there is a connection between this powerful “dark god” from the elven pantheon and the later rise of Hakkon?  It sure looks that way!

Here’s the quick summary:

*Geldauran is sealed away in the elven ‘temple’ in the Frostback Basin, a Creator-forsaken land (to the ancient elvhen at least) with almost no edifices or monuments to the elven gods.  That tomb is sealed with spirit stones that are almost impossible to see, let alone find, once the Veil is place.  Those stones are scattered across the valley to prevent them from being reassembled easily, and the prison/temple itself was buried beneath the earth.

“Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery.” (Geldauran’s Claim)

*Some time later (possibly as early as 3200 years before present) the Avvar enter the region.  The Avvar live with the spirits of the region, shaping them into their pantheon of gods.  They communicate with one “spirit” or entity in a very curious way:

“The savages speak to their gods in the cave passage. They call it the Mouth of Echoes. They light fires and feed them with green spruce and shout their questions into the deep. They say answers come to them on the last whispered echo.” (Mouth of Echoes)

*Tevinter mages, searching for a way to communicate with Razikale, arrive in the Frostback Basin in the time gap between the Corypheus and the Magisters Sidereal entering the Black City and the foundation of the Orlesian Chantry.  They believe that the Avvar may have special knowledge about communicating with spirits.  These followers of Razikale reshape the land and expose the buried elven temple, but whatever was inside (Geldauran) was beyond their ability to control or dangerous in some way.  They construct an elaborate system of magical beams, crossing the Basin from Razikale’s Reach to the Old Temple, to seal that spirit in an even more powerful ice ward prison.  

They then abandon the region.

“Some of the Avvar, he said, believed the temple to be the haunt of old, vengeful spirits. The Tevinter had come here long ago and built their great temples and then one day, without warning, they had abandoned them all. Ragnarr was convinced they had done something terrible here, though he could not tell me what it was.” (Razikale’s Reach)

*Tevinter’s efforts to seal away what they found in the elven temple were not successful.  Within a few hundred years at most, the original Jaws of Hakkon learned to enter the the Old Tevinter Temple.  In the early Divine Age, they emerge with “Hakkon” bound to a dragon.

“In the old times, the first Jaws of Hakkon spoke with the great spirit himself. He opened their eyes that they might see the elfstones hidden across the world, and they entered the old cave and learned the mysteries of winter. Their working of cold let them slip through the ice-wall that wards the lowlander fortress, and we must now do the same if we are to take it as our own. 

Hakkon has been silent all our lives. He cannot speak to us in dreams or open our eyes, and we remain blind to the elfstones. The lowlanders, though, have found a new way to see them. The skull of a dream-slain, set with the right magicks, can bring the elfstones to our sight.

We will regain the mystery of winter.” (Leather-Bound Hakkonite Journal)

*Ameridan travels to the Frostback Basin to stop Hakkon, but miscalculations on Ameridan’s part and the power of Hakkon himself is more than the Inquisitor and his companions can overcome. The last Inquisitor traps Hakkon with time magic until the modern Inquisitor sets both free.

“The dragon's power is like none I have ever seen. Possessed by this Avvar god-spirit, it rivals the legendary Archdemon Dumat in its fury. I pray the legends of another Archdemon leading the Blight in the Anderfels are just foolish stories, but if they are true, then I understand why Emperor Drakon asked me to come here. Drakon's new "Orlais" cannot face two god-dragons at once.” (Pages near an Old Campfire)

*Time magic wards (which I would really like to know how Ameridan knew how to do) and 800 years later, the modern Inquisitor finishes the job Ameridan started, finally killing Hakkon.  

The chain of events certainly seems to lead back to the Geldauran inscription in the elven temple.  

Proving a connection to the Sinner, however, is nigh impossible at this point.  We just don’t have enough information about who the Sinner was, what exactly he did, and what happened to him.   If the Sinner took the form of a dragon, like most of us meta writers assume, he could have shown the elven people that the Evanuris were not the only ones who could take the form of the “divine”.  He would have been punished for such an act, perhaps being sealed in a temple/tomb bound in body and spirits, but there is no way to say for certain.

 All the same, I think all of these individuals and groups are connected through the Evanuris.  Is the Sinner an important player in all of these events?  Very likely.  The ominous tenor of the codex entry certainly makes it seem like a turning point, but we won’t know for what until at least DA4.

Thanks for the ask, Nony!  I found a lot of things I wasn’t expecting, which makes this result all the more satisfying.  

-MM

PS: There is a lot more to this meta than the summary.  For a more in depth analysis of the evidence that led to this summary, and a lot of other cool discoveries, check out the long version of this post under the cut.

Geldauran seems to be the lynchpin here.  We have more information about him and the other the Forgotten Ones than we have about Hakkon or the Sinner, but even that information is limited.  We know the Forgotten Ones are portrayed as enemies of the Elvhenan in Dalish legends.  But what are they really?  Elves?  Spirits?  Titans?!?

Let’s go to the source and see what we can figure out:

Geldauran wanted his message to be clear to anyone who came across it.  And the first thing he wants them to know: “There are no gods.”  Geldy knows the truth about the Evanuris.  He refuses to bow to the elven gods, and he believes that, in time, he will claim power enough to strike (at them? at the elves?).  So far, that is matching up pretty well with what we know about the Forgotten Ones, with one exception.  According to Dalish legends, Geldauran, Daern'thal, Anaris, and the other Forgotten Ones were afforded “god” status by the elves.

The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People.

—From The Tale of Fen'Harel's Triumph, as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves (Emphasis added.)

So what do we have here?  First of all, the fact that the Dalish after thousands of years still remember the Forgotten Ones as gods in spite of Geldauran’s claim that “there are no gods”.  This feels like post-Veil propaganda that seeks to cast aspersions on Solas, but also claims that Geldy and co. were gods like the Evanuris.  Think about what that means for a moment.  The Forgotten Ones were so powerful that the elves had to say they were also gods in order to keep the Evanuris on their pedestal.  

And doesn’t it sound like the Forgotten Ones were elves?  Really powerful elves, like the Evanuris, but elves all the same.  So what made them dark and terrible?  And notice that something in the Fade whispered to the elves post Veil that these Forgotten Ones were really evil.  Who do we know who are stuck in the Fade?  Spirits obviously, but the Evanuris too.  The elven gods trapped in the Fade seem to have thought it was worth their time to keep up the pretense that the Forgotten Ones were gods.  Why?   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

Kidding.  I do have a theory.  It is probably because the Evanuris thought that they would be able to escape Solas’ trap fairly easily (at least at first) and believed that the Forgotten Ones would too.  Keeping fear of them alive would keep their worshipers from seeking out these other “gods” in their absence. And on that count, they seem to have been right, with an exception of those Dalish near Serault in the Tirashan Forest who seem pretty scary and worship the Forgotten Ones.  I suspect these elves will get screen time in the next game.

Next step: Where and how were the Forgotten Ones imprisoned?

The Geldauran codex is inside an ancient temple that is very familiar.  One of the things that stood out to me when I first played the Jaws of Hakkon was the lack of elven sites and artifacts in the Frostback Basin.  There is a statue of Falon’Din above Stone-Bear Hold and that’s about it.  Well, except for a temple, which is a scaled down version of the Temple of Solasan in the Forbidden Oasis.  These ruins show that there was an ancient elven presence in the area, but limited and likely for a specific purpose.  If the Temple of Solasan is any indication, that purpose may not have been to worship the elven gods or as a place to enter uthenera.  Instead, they may have been used as a prisons.  

The Forbidden Oasis is the next piece of the puzzle.

There are codex entries that indicate that the temple is elven in origin and very ancient, but there is little to indicate that there was anything significant in the area, unlike the Temples of Mythal or Dirthamen.  In fact, the whole construction technique with Solasan and the Frostback Basin site (let’s call it the Frosty Temple, to make things simpler) is different.  These structures were built into the earth, and may have at one time been completely buried, given the stratigraphy of the land around them and erosion from the nearby rivers.  And notice...no eluvians in either site.  Once you were in, there was no coming out..at least until time and erosion, perhaps with magical help, exposed the “temples” once again.

Another sign that these two sites may have been used as prisons is found on the stele in the innermost sanctum of the Solasan Temple.  It reads:

Also, as shown in the video above, the entrance of the Solasan temple had a warding spell on it that frightens mortals and spirits, another line of defense to prevent the door from being opened.  The stele at the entrance of Solasan reinforces this feeling with a warning, telling people to stay away:

There are other warning signs as well, including the statue that greets people entering the Oasis with a severed head.  People that stay in the area too long eventually go mad (1, 2, 3), either from the wards, from whatever is in the temple, or from strange “warping” of the Veil in the area.  Didot, the miner featured in the three codex entries, however, is compelled to return to the door over and over again.  There are probably two different and opposing magical compulsions going on in the Oasis; something inside the temple wants out but the wards push people away.  Stay too long and insanity is the result.  While you are in the temple or the oasis, Solas makes several interesting observations about the temple and the Veil there.  He says:

(Forbidden Oasis) The Veil is strange here... as if it were reinforced, but for a few places where it has been warped.

Yeah, Solas.  We saw your damned elven Veil artifact in the temple.  Turned it on too.  Sigh.  Clearly, Fen’Harel’s agents were in the temple before.  A good question would be what were they there for?  Were they just putting the hardware in place to create the Veil?  Were they responsible for imprisoning the individual shown on the stele in the inner chamber?  Were they staging a jailbreak?  Were they after the powers gained from opening the various chambers?  Hard to say, other than the Forgotten Ones seem to hate Fen’Harel, in spite of codex entries to the contrary.  Felassan is as close to a first hand source, and he says that Anaris wanted to kill the Dread Wolf “for crimes against the Forgotten Ones”.  So whatever Solas’ agents were doing in Solasan, he definitely knows more about the temple than he says (as usual).  Later, when the Inquisitor opens a sarcophagus inside the tombs, he says:

Solas: The magic was drawn to you, possibly because of your mark. The effects were purely benign.

Inquisitor: If it wasn’t a trap, what was it?

Solas: It may be a reward for those who prove themselves worthy.

What kind of a person sets up a warding system that will drive people in the area to madness and death if they get too close to the temple, then rewards them after they fight off the possessed corpses with magic that may only be attracted to you because of a very specific type of magic only currently known to be used by the Inquisitor, and previously contained in the Orb of Fen’Harel?  Seems fishy, but I don’t have time to follow up that the thoughts I am having about that here.  

The next part of the mystery explains why the Solasan and Frosty temples remained sealed and hidden away for so long, and also how they were eventually found again.  Let’s talk about spirit stones and oculara, people.  

In the Hissing Wastes the Inquisitor finds a diary with some background on the spirit stones:

So spirits can see or feel the stones, they have been there for ages, likely since the Veil was created, and the Breach may have made it possible, or easier, to find them, at least according to a codex entry from the Hinterlands.  More information about the shards is found in the Frostback Basin, including a sequence of event that seem to be the key to the Mystery of Winter.

The Avvar had lived in the Frostback Basin region for thousands years, communicating with spirits who they shaped to become their gods.  Then Tevinter shows up:

Tevinter went to massive efforts to uncover the ancient elven temple, at least if Helsdim Rolfsen isn’t a total nut bag.  (He’s definitely has a problem with over complicating a story, which I can totally relate to ^_^, but the initial observations that lead him to his outrageous conspiracy theories are usually sound.):

Whatever Razikale’s followers found in the temple, it’s pretty clear that it scared the shit out of them.  They construct a complicated magical ice machine that sealed the Old Temple and then they abandon the region.  

Tevinter, however, underestimated how powerful the being/spirit/whatever in the elven temple was, and how strong Avvar magic is, especially concerning their connections to spirits.  After the Imperium abandoned the basin, the original Jaws of Hakkon took up the challenge of “taming” what was in the Old Temple.

All of these codices create a complete chain of custody, from the ancient elves to the modern Hakkonites.  Ameridan, himself, gives us the final piece of the puzzle.

Ameridan compares Hakkon’s power to Dumat’s, the archdemon who lead the darkspawn in the nearly 200 year long First Blight.  Whether or not the Old Gods are the Evanuris (I typically think they are probably not, but if any of us could prove it one way or the other, we all would have a lot less meta to write. ^_^ )  Hakkon’s power is beyond that of a normal spirit, implying that he is extraordinary.  But was he truly a spirit/demon?  We have instances of elves dropping their bodies in order to seal themselves in spirit crystals, and elves basically become spirits while they are in uthenera.  It is even possible that Geldauran lost his memory of who he was during the ages he was in captivity, as happened with the arcane warrior elf in the spirit crystal.  

But I digress, and could write a whole different post about whether the Forgotten Ones were spirits or elves, and I probably will some day.  But today is not that day.  Any of you who are still reading have been very patient, so let’s wrap this up.  

Whether Geldauran was a spirit or an elf, the Avvar communicated their belief that he was their god Hakkon, and Geldauran seems to have come to believe it himself.  He rises from the Old Temple to challenge the modern Inquisitor to single combat and the dragon is killed. 

So there you have it, Nony.  Not crazy at all.  There is very compelling evidence that Hakkon is actually Geldauran.  Now whether Geldauran is the Sinner...well, like I said in the summary, there just isn’t enough information about the Sinner to draw from.  Is it possible the Sinner was related to the Forgotten Ones?  Sure. Clearly, there was some drama going down in the pantheon when the Sinner took the dragon form of the divine, but what it all means is pure speculation at this point.  There is so much dragon imagery associated with Hakkon, Geldauran, and the Sinner, that it is possible they are all related or even the same being, but they may also just be pieces in a bigger puzzle.  

And, I suspect, that story will explain many of the mysteries of the Dragon Age.

Thanks for reading!

-MM

[yolandiehorak]

I’ve never done this before, but here goes. :) I’ve found some possible evidence of the Old Gods and the Forgotten Ones being linked. We know that the Evanuris were spirits, or something akin to that. According to the wiki: ‘Solas, who is actually revealed to be Fen'Harel, states that the ancient elven gods were not really deities as the Maker is perceived, but rather very powerful beings. Whether they were mages or spirits or something else entirely unencountered and forgotten, Solas says they have a deep and powerful connection to the Fade, where they dwelled and spoke to the elves through various rituals performed in certain locations.’ We also know that the Forgotten Ones were the enemies of the Evanuris, the other side of the coin: ‘Where the Creators are gods of justice, knowledge and craft, who seek to guide and protect the elven people, the Forgotten Ones are a dark mirror presiding over the worst aspects of existence: disease, terror, spite and malevolence. [4]They serve not as shepherds of the elves, but rather as figures of fear and dread.’ Some theories go so far as to claim the Forgotten Ones couldn’t create, but I haven’t found any official proof of this, though I believe it. So, if the Creators were spirits, the Forgotten Ones were demons. Makes sense. It also strengthens the idea that the Forbidden Ones, demons, could be a part of this pantheon. Despite the popular belief that there are 8 Creators and 8 Forgotten Ones (with Solas as #9 in both pantheons), that’s unconfirmed. In fact, the wiki opposes this idea. ‘Legend suggests the Forgotten Ones were many, but even the names of most of them have been largely lost to time, making their title exceedingly appropriate.’ We have the names of 3 Forgotten and 4 Forbidden Ones. So, if my theory is correct, that puts us at 7 (discounting Solas for now). Forgotten:  Anaris (according to an old tale he was once tricked by Fen'Harel while duelling the Great Hunter Andruil[10])  Geldauran  Daern'thal Forbidden:  Gaxkang  Imshael  The Formless One  Xebenkeck There’s a codex entry called Geldauran’s Claim that goes like this: ‘The script is an ancient elven dialect. Upon further observation, it twists, the words becoming visible: There are no gods. There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon. Those with will to earn dominance over others gain title not by nature but by deed. I am Geldauran, and I refuse those who would exert will upon me. Let Andruil's bow crack, let June's fire grow cold. Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery.’ So, he’s planning to strike back. We’ve been discussing Solas’s role in these pantheons for a while now and I think I know the answer, though I have no official proof of this. I reckon Solas was a demon, who chose to be a spirit, like Cole. That’s why he was OK in both pantheons and why he could banish both. He probably didn’t feel a particular alliance with either, but just wanted to help, like Cole. He *does* do a lot of helping throughout history, from freeing slaves to helping Andraste and the Inquisiton. Now, Mythal and Yavana were trying to SAVE the Old Gods. Also, if the Old Gods can be counted among the Forgotten Ones – folks who already hated the Evanuris before Solas banished them – they become instant allies to Mythal. It would also back the idea that she *needs* Solas to bring down the Veil, because it would free the Evanuris so the remaining Old Gods/Forgotten Ones can ‘shake the very heavens’ when they attack the Evanuris. And, knowing Mythal has knowledge of how to find the Void via Andruil (she absorbed Andruil's power), she can probably let the rest of the Forgotten Ones out once the problem of the Veil is solved. In fact, she might even be saving and raising dragons through Yavana so the Forgotten Ones have vessels to possess. This is just me, I have no proof on this account. I happened upon this codex entry from the Well of Sorrows: ‘This elven writing found in the Arbor Wilds is so old there seems to be no way to learn what it means. There are whispers from the Well of Sorrows. It's impossible to understand the entire text, but certain parts suddenly reveal a shadow of their original meaning. "His crime is high treason. He took on a form reserved for the gods and their chosen, and dared to fly in the shape of the divine. The sinner belongs to Dirthamen; he claims he took wings at the urging of Ghilan'nain, and begs protection from Mythal. She does not show him favor, and will let Elgar'nan judge him." For one moment there is an image of a shifting, shadowy mass with blazing eyes, whose form may be one or many. Then it fades.’ He ‘dared to fly in the shape of the divine’. I believe this means one of the Forgotten Ones tried to mimic the shape the Evanuris could shift into, dragon. I know the codex says the sinner was one of Dirthamen’s followers, but there’s a story from his wiki page that could support this: ‘In Dalish stories Dirthamen and his twin brother Falon'Din are the eldest children of Elgar'nan and Mythal. Dirthamen gave to elves the gift of knowledge and taught them loyalty and faith in family.[1] Legends tell that the twins were inseparable spirits from birth to adulthood. They were parted when Falon'Din ventured beyond the Veil, to a place where his brother could not easily follow. Dirthamen wandered the grey paths of the Fade until he found and outmastered two ravens, Fear and Deceit. The ravens took him to Falon'Din, and the twins swore to never be parted again.’ Fear and Deceit sound like demon names, right? Dirthamen outsmarted them and they helped him find Falon’Din. That’s why I think they might have become his servants. We also know the Evanuris were power hungry from what Solas says, so Dirthamen might even knowingly have forced Fear or Deceit to take on the dragon form, so he could grow his own power or create a new weapon against the others. Like the Forgotten Ones, the Old Gods aren’t creators. ‘The true nature of the Old Gods is unknown. The Old Gods are not creators and even the people of ancient Tevinter attributed the creation of the world to the Maker, although by a different name.’ The Maker, by the way, might very well turn out to be this ‘Formless One’ who is a member of the Forbidden Ones. But that’s just a personal inkling. 😛 Additionally, none of the Old Gods have positive attributes. Their domains are fire, slavery, chaos, mystery and night. OK, Urthemiel’s beauty isn’t inherently good or evil, and the same can be said of Dumat’s silence. But then, Imshael’s choice falls in the same category, neither good nor evil, but rather twisted to what he wants it to be. So, this doesn’t sway me from this theory. 🙂 In fact, it could even be that the seven Old Gods are the twisted counterparts of the Evanuris. Elgar’nan had a quick temper and is said to have fought with fire, lightning and thunder. All the tales about him end in anger and violence, except where Mythal was able to calm him down. What if Dumat’s silence is a mockery of Elgar’nan’s tempestuous nature? Almost like indifference. And Urthemiel’s beauty could very well be a mockery of Ghilan’nain being trapped inside a halla. In fact, his constellation Bellitanus, is of a maiden, even if Urthemiel is male. This could be a coincidence, but it supports my theory so I’m keeping it. The same kinds of distortions can connect the other Evanuris and Old Gods. Then, the number thing. As I mentioned earlier, we know of 7 Forgotten Ones. Discounting Solas and Mythal, who has been out of play, we have 7 sealed Evanuris. Add the 7 Old Gods and we have a double ratio of Forgotten Ones to Evanuris. 7 is a sacred number in the Jewish faith, which is interesting, considering the developers based the elves on Jews. ‘The initial inspiration for the Dragon Age elves came from the Jewish people (lost homeland, ghettos).’ As a last point, the Gaider himself made this connection. ‘David Gaider hinted that the Old Gods could have been based on the elven gods or the Forgotten Ones, and that the second group had more reasons for that.[1]’