#hanin lavellan

[telanadasvhenan]

im quite unhinged for knight enchanter Lavellan and solas, bc to me they parallel the Emerald knights & their wolves. This is very red strings territory here but,

"Wolf and elf would fight together, eat together, and when the knights slept, wolves would guard them." sounds a little reminiscent of, "Lavellan sometimes came awake from dreams in which her lover watched her sadly from across an endless distance." i need to lie down

[too-many-lavellans]

To the best of siblings and friends, Happy Birthday to @demi-pixellated!🍰☕

[enasallavellan]

Cast of Characters

Hey guys! So I saw a really cute picrew here, and I wanted to share some of the images of my favorite OCs from my fics. OC from my new fic is below the cut (so this post doesn't stretch on and on for mobile).

Enasal Lavellan:

Inquisitor in my first (still incomplete) longfic. ADHD out the wazoo and has some weird behaviors, but her sincerity and eagerness to do something good wins people over.

Shiral Lavellan:

Enasals older sister. After being forced into a parental role of her sister at age 12, Shiral both deeply loves her sister but also has some resentment toward her. She worries about her and wants to protect her from the world, but unfortunately, the worry comes across as controlling and mean - she tends to infantize Enasal and still thinks of her as a little girl. Can't stand Cullen and accuses him on multiple occasions of taking advantage of her sister. Many of the denizens of Skyhold have some degree of fear of her.

Annason Garette:

Originally hired to make a dress for Enasal for a meeting with nobility. The twittering and overexcited young Orleisan is a borderline worshiper of Enasal, pleading with Josephine to become her attendant after she and Enasal spend some time together. Eventually, the worship turns into a legitimate friendship.

Serafina Tabris:

My Warden for my newer fic. Serafina was born in a crows nest in Antiva, but when templars raided and burnt the building down, she and a few other survivors were sent to her aunt's nest for five years to work in the kitchens. After an order came down for her death, she was smuggled out of Antiva and sent to her maternal uncle in Denerim. Incredibly timid and with exactly zero self confidence.

Warden Robin:

BAMF with a heat of gold, Robin acts as Duncan's second in command during the search for recruits. She quickly takes to Serafina and does everything she can to boost her confidence and help her feel safe in the camp full of men. It quickly becomes evident that this is a pattern for her, as she helps some of the other recruits with the same gentleness and skill as she does with Serafina.

On the other hand, will rip out someone's throat with her teeth if she thinks it's come to it.

Henrietta Brosca:

My usual dwarven commoner when I play DA. This trouble-making do-gooder loves nothing more than to tease and cause a ruckus. Complains about her companions' complaining by muttering, "Bicker, bitch, and bellyache." Very high energy and can be a little much for some people, but is actually incredibly smart and has a talent for lockpick and trap making.

Hanin Mahariel:

Snarky and a little bit of a pot-stirrer, Hanin tends to have problems with knowing when to stop talking and can ask some pretty obnoxious questions without really thinking them through. An expert with a bow, he can almost keep up with Leliana (though he never actually beats her) and absolutely demolishes Zevran when he quips about knowing how to shoot as well.

Cosette Amell:

A soft-hearted mage who holds tight to romantic and divine ideals. She is a skilled fire mage and delights in using her magic to set darkspawn ablaze. She is very sensitive and would be a pescatarian if she could. If catastrophe strikes her first thought tends to be, "But what about the animals?!"

Bonus:

Lorenzo Araiani:

Lorenzo -who probably won't appear in the fic, is Serafina's cousin. He's grumpy, generally dislikes people, and would really be happy if everyone just left him alone. It might have something to do with being a mage with stupidly strong mind-reading abilities - to the point he can hear all the thoughts of all the people around him. Gets migraines a lot. Likes a total of two people (one of which he sometimes wonders why he continues to let them breathe) and occasionally loses his shit when the headaches get bad enough,

Feel free to ask questions about any of these guys - helps me get to know them better, too!

[attanos]

ithalia - first of clan lavellan

you have always been a leader, da'len, even if i had wished otherwise at times. do not doubt yourself, the shemlen will do that enough for you, and do not let them take who you are. sulevin ghilana hanin.

[sashthesloth]

Another 4 artfight attacks. This time featuring some neat dragon age characters I found using tag search.

1. Symphony ( @magebomb )

2. Khar’rel ( @pierroticism)

3. Fin ‘Moustache’ Hawke ( @sadmages )

4. Hanin Lavellan (@/c1ove on artfight)

[plasticfreckles]

Lavellan musing about what ancient elven ruins (Suledin Keep, Cradle of Sulevin, Din'an Hanin, Lost Temple of Dirthamen, ..) might have looked like in ancient times and imagining the bustle in these ruins.

Solas trailing after her like a lost puppy, picturing her in restored elven buildings of old and finding she's the most glorious elvhen to ever walk these lands, Veiled or not.

file under: fics i would write if i were more eloquent lmao

[shivunin]

what is the arranged marriage au 👀

WELL

The arranged marriage au is one of my longer unfinished wips (at ~75k currently) and I started writing it around when I started writing Wander the Drifting Roads (so....almost a year ago? geez). Sorry, this is a bit involved, but I don't have a simpler way of explaining lol:

The basic premise is that the second Exalted March on the Dales never happened. So the elves primarily live in extant kingdoms where Dirthavaren and Halamshiral are in the games. The catch is that the reason the March never happened was intervention on the behalf of Elandrin and Adalene (Codex entry here, which you find if you complete the Din'an Hanin area in the Emerald Graves), who were an elf-human couple. Part of the agreement between the elven government and the Chantry is that the compact between them must be renewed roughly every fifty years and one part of the renewal is an arranged marriage between an elf and a human.

That's what the humans know. What the elves know is that Siona, Elandrin's sister (whose murder of Adalene kicks off the massacre of Red Crossing) is held personally responsible for some of those events. Because it is her fault that the elves have to give up one of their own every fifty years, if one of her descendants is eligible they are automatically the candidate even though it's been some six/seven hundred years. In this age, that candidate is Adahlena Lavellan.

So: it is the Dragon Age, and the time has come for the next renewal of the compact. The only thing is...Ferelden barely has a new king, the Chantry is in shambles, Orlais is embroiled in its civil war, and there is just general pandemonium all over Thedas. Why should the elves give up an advantage and let the Chantry have the last say? No, they're gonna make the humans work for it. So they have each faction send an assortment of candidates representing various interests (nobles from the Free Marches, Ferelden, etc. as well as various experts on things they think might appeal) and over the course of several months the elves get to choose which of them will be the other side of the arranged marriage. Cullen, fresh off becoming the Knight-Commander of the Gallows post-DA2, is chosen by Leliana specifically to represent the Chantry.

Basically: I read that codex entry and I immediately thought, okay but what if they weren't star-crossed lovers and they didn't die? and because my brain is the way it is I had to extrapolate: what would the elves be like now if they'd had several hundred years to research their own magic and develop their own science and culture? So I wanted to depict that, but I also like shenanigans. Hence, arranged marriage au with two reluctant participants who grow to respect and gradually care for each other. Also, I love the OC I made for it---a grumpy gardener who has Trauma relating to Tranquility---and I really really need to finish it for Adahlena's sake if nothing else.

It's one of those things that I really, really want to finish, have so many good ideas for...and when I sit down to write, poof! All gone.

[saintlethanavir]

7, 17, 21!

Thank you so much for the asks bb!!

7. If they had to choose one person most important to them, who would that be?

Tzvi Mahariel: Alistair or Merrill, honestly. A lot of their friends and clan sort of fell to the wayside after they became a Grey Warden and there was the loss of Tamlen. He's very introverted as well and prefers the company of very few. Alistair and Merrill are his best friends in the whole world.

Ophelia Hawke: They've got a top 3 I'll be honest but if they had to choose it would be a painstakingly rough decision between Fenris and Varric. Their top three includes Carver as part of that. They all know Ophelia incredibly well and they've stuck by them through the worst possible moments.

Calliope Lavellan: Aurelius would be the obvious answer but it would actually be their father, Hanin. He taught them everything and he kept them strong through every terrible thing to happen to their family. If anything would happen to his father Calliope would be devastated.

17. What were they like as a child?

Tzvi Mahariel: So depressed lmao his dad ran off and his parents died early on after that so it's a rough time for him. Ashalle did everything she could but the only thing that brought out his sunshine were Tamlen and Merrill. And being with the halla. He just felt better around them.

Ophelia Hawke: Absolutely insane, chaotic child. Their magic came early and they were the type to just be so impulsive. Definitely jumped off the roof more than once pretending they could fly and almost or did break something. They've always been very protective of their family members as well, and would beat up any bully, even the ones bigger than them at the time.

Calliope Lavellan: Very reserved and quiet, they loved to ramble on about their special interests to their brother and father though. He struggled to make friends outside of the two or three that he grew up with, and never really broke out of their shell until Inquisition forced them to do so. Calliope ran off with their twin Aurelius to play in the Temple to Falon'Din that the clan would often camp out by , it was their favourite place in the Graves!

21. What's their biggest regret?

Tzvi Mahariel: That he couldn't save Tamlen. He has huge survivors guilt about it and feels it should have been Tamlen who became the Warden and not him.

Ophelia Hawke: Both that they didn't push Aveline to go after the man who eventually killed Leandra, and that they didn't save Bethany from that ogre. It haunts them every waking moment.

Calliope Lavellan: That they never learned to control their magic as a child, it led to a lot of problems in Inquisition and may have saved their mother in the end as well.

Ask me about my Dragon Age World State!

[thraaaaaaaanduuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiil]

6, 8, and 10 for the Inquisitor asks!

6. Where does your Inquisitor like to hang out at Haven?

Well, Leanos is a Dalish mage whose parents were murdered by Templars when he was only 3, so basically he hangs out as far away from Cullen, Cassandra, and the Templars as he can reasonably get. After he finds that little cabin while hunting down those notes for Adan, he spends a lot of time there, at least until he gets a good scolding from Josie because nobody can find him for hours one time. After that, he tends to put himself somewhere near Solas or Dorian (especially Dorian). 8. Which advisor does your Inquisitor like best? Which do they trust the most?

Probably Josie. She's the most respectful of him from the beginning and even though she only knows one phrase in Elvhen, he does appreciate that she used it when she had the chance. Leanos would prefer for there to be non-violent, diplomatic resolutions to their problems that don't directly involve demons and Fade rifts. He and Josie don't always understand each other, but they're both willing to learn and make the effort to understand, so they get along well. 10. What does your Inquisitor do with their free time? Do they have any hobbies?

I don't think he HAS much free time tbh. With the clan, he's constantly with Deshann, either learning about Keeper things or actively performing Keeper duties. Deshanna was never supposed to be the Lavellans' Keeper. She got pressed into service as First after Leanos's parents (who had been First and Second to the previous Keeper, Leanos's grandfather) and, since Hanin Lavellan was older and starting to become more frail by that point, she largely had a crash course in being Keeper in the space of about 5 years. (I've been reworking her part in Leanos's backstory a little and now I think she might even have been sent by another clan after Leanos's parents died.) Hanin started training his grandson and granddaughter, Leanos's twin sister Eliana, as soon as they showed signs of magic. Deshanna took over when Hanin died. On the plus side, Leanos (and Eliana for that matter) didn't have the rushed training she had. On the down side, this is also largely because she was determined they could both be fully independent, functional Keepers by the time they came of age if needed. Since Leanos was the one who showed the most interest in and aptitude for the Keeper's work even as a small child, he rarely had much free time because Deshanna was constantly dragging him after her while she did her work so he could learn.

When he's with the Inquisition but before he becomes Inquisitor, Leanos tries to fill his time with small but useful tasks. He isn't entirely convinced the humans won't toss him out, put him back in the dungeon, or even outright kill him if he isn't useful to them at all times. On the rare occasions he takes downtime, he's exhausted and needs a nap and to be out of sight of the humans. After he becomes Inquisitor, his fear of what the humans will do largely vanishes, and even though he's quite busy with Inquisitor duties, he finds he has some large periods of truly free time for the first time in ages. He tends to spend that time in the library with Dorian, reading as much as he can. (more Inquisitor asks here!)

[thereluctantinquisitor]

👀 👀 👀

[too-many-lavellans]

As the years go on

[lavellanlove]

Hanin and Avira for the couples meme? :)

Thank youuu ugh I miss them :’) Hanin belongs to @thereluctantinquisitor.

AVI who hogs the duvet

AVI who texts/rings to check how their day is going

AVI who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

HANIN who gets up first in the morning

AVI who suggests new things in bed

AVI who cries at movies

HANIN who gives unprompted massages

HANIN who fusses over the other when they’re sick

HANIN who gets jealous easiest

AVI who has the most embarrassing taste in music

HANIN (do squadlings count?) who collects something unusual

HANIN (bc armor) who takes the longest to get ready

HANIN who is the most tidy and organised

AVI who gets most excited about the holidays

HANIN/AVI who is the big spoon/little spoon

AVI who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

AVI who starts the most arguments

AVI who suggests that they buy a pet

AVI who made the first move

HANIN who brings flowers home

AVI who is the best cook

what couple traditions they have: whenever one of them is about to leave for a mission without the other, trying to be there to see them off no matter what: checking their packs, straightening their collar, and offering some words of encouragement sealed with a tender kiss goodbye.

what tv shows they watch together: In a canon timeline, they don’t get many chances to go ‘out’ on proper dates. Avira kind of wishes they did, if she could think of something Hanin would enjoy. In modern, I imagine they can’t watch law shows, because the inaccuracies in the legal process and policing would piss them both off, and they can’t do horror because the lack of foresight into Unsafe Situations would probably pull Hanin out of the moment. Which is a shame, because he does enjoy Avi clinging to him for ‘protection’ when she gets startled. 

what other couple they hang out with: They are not exactly a double date sort of couple. Though no secret to the Dawn Squad, it’s a fairly private relationship, and they prefer their rare time together be time spent truly alone.

how they spend time together as a couple: before they were together, it was training, Avira learning more about sword techniques, Hanin about defending against a mage. Once the Inquisition in full effect, a lot of the time they spend together is alongside Hanin’s squad. But when they get a chance to be alone, they love baths, massages, and leisurely conversation. There is already more than enough combat and roughness in their lives.

[adenerimlullaby]

A good evening to wallow in memories. Still like this one. 

[saphylee]

Soft angst starter: “don’t give me space. that’s the last thing i want with you.”

Thelrand’s chest felt tight and no amount of air was enoughto fill him, if he could breathe at all. The letter shook in his hand while hetapped a war piece incessantly on the edge of the table with the other. Hereread the words over and over again as if that would rearrange the letters,forming different words with a different meaning, changing reality to a betterone.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine started, though didn’t continue whenthe tapping stopped.

It seemed his advisors had enough sense not to speak. Theyall had read the letter, so they all knew what befell the Lavellan clan, howthey were too late, how they made all the wrong moves, how they, no, he, couldn’tsave them.

Thelrand looked up from his letter without uttering a word,all three of them avoiding his cold steel gaze. He couldn’t put all the blameon them; even with their guidance that had many different outcomes, heultimately was the one who set up his clan for execution. Even so, he wouldn’tabsolve them of guilt.

He tossed the piece towards the cluster that sat overWycome, knocking them all over, then turned on his heel to storm out the warroom, the letter crumpling in his clenched hand. He was glad that his quarterswere so close by. He couldn’t stand to see the gossiping courtiers thatlingered in the main hall.

The letter laid still crumpled on the desk, the embersbarely glowing in the fire pit when Hanin found him several hours later. Thelrandwas sprawled on the couch, arm covering his eyes, a nearly empty bottle of winedangling from his fingers over the edge. A couple more empty bottles weresettled nearby.

When Hanin lingered, Thelrand sighed, a quick puff of airfrom his mouth. “I thought the locked door made it clear that I didn’t wantvisitors.”

“Ah,” Hanin began. “I figured but..” He paused when Thelrandsuddenly sat up, stepping towards him when he swayed dangerously forward. Hecorrected himself and Hanin frowned. “You’ve been up here for hours. No onewould tell me what was going on.”

Thelrand bit his lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He opened hismouth, but nothing came out, instead gulping the last of his wine. He didn’tknow how to begin to explain what happened, how he failed their clan in theworst way. He was supposed to protect them, keep them safe, and now they weredead. His head spun with wine and his stomach lurched with guilt.

The deafening silence dragged until Hanin sighed. “Listen, Iwon’t force it out of you and you’re clearly… drunk, so I’ll just… give youspace.”

Thelrand reached out to grab his wrist, his fingers brushinghis skin before he tumbled off the couch. “Shit..!” He landed on his hands andknees, lowering his head to the ground to fight off the spinning before pushinghimself up to his knees. Tears welled in his eyes. “No, Hanin, don’t give mespace. That’s.. that’s the last thing I want with you. You’re all I have left.You and Syla are the only family I have.” His voice cracked near the end and hebroke down sobbing.

Hanin knelt in front of him, not sure where to put his handsbefore settling on his hunched shoulders. “What do you mean? We’re the onlyclan members here, yes, but you know everyone will welcome you back home.”

Thelrand shook his head, clutching Hanin’s sleeves. “N-No,you don’t understand!” More sobs interrupted him, wracking through his body,almost turning into mournful wails. “The clan… They’re.. They’re gone. They’redead!”

[bloodwrit]

I just discovered your blog and I am living for Hanin.... I love everything about him ;;;; your art is so pretty and just wow... My crops are watered and my skin is clear, I've been blessed by the panini boy and your amazing art 💕

Ahhh thank you so much!!! I haven’t thought of my panini boy in a long time. I’m so glad you like him ; o; here’s a little doodle of him to say thanks! 

[reluctantwrites]

One Last Chance

Part 1 - The Letter |  Part 2 - Cope | Part 3 - The Arrival | Part 4 - Necessary Risks

Part 5 - Eleven Years (AO3 Link)

The final preparations take place and the infiltration begins. But first, Hanin has some things to get off his chest...

CW: mature themes re: the treatment of slaves in the Imperium (mainly physical and sexual abuse). The acts themselves are not described in any detail, but are alluded to briefly.

Hanin shifted uncomfortably, tugging down the sleeve of the black and gold uniform until it sat flat on his wrist, wishing pointlessly that there was more than just a thin layer of well-made fabric between himself and a potential blade. Grunting, he gave up trying to manipulate the uncomfortable outfit, and Cassius nodded his approval, arms folded across his chest. The man seemed far more at home in Hanin’s clothes, now that they had completed the awkward exchange. Apparently, smuggling additional sets of household uniforms might have drawn needless suspicion.

Hanin suspected Launcet just thought it would be amusing to make them swap outfits.

“Well, that was fun.” Lyrene, now clad in a matching servant uniform, sighed and twisted, glancing behind her. “Does this make by butt look as good as I think it does?”

Hanin chose not to dignify that with a response. But Daimon, who was currently sliding into Ralon’s shirt across the room, grinned and gave her an encouraging thumbs up.

“Probably the point, really,” Launcet remarked with a shrug. “Not to dampen your spirits or anything, but there’s more to it than just serving food. Talveron isn’t the worst dominus out there, but he’s far from a saint.”

The flippancy with which Launcet said those words sent a chill up Hanin’s spine. He turned to the man, gaze dark with warning. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

For the first time since they met, Launcet’s easy confidence seemed to waver. “I, ah… well, this is the Imperium. Slaves often serve… multiple purposes.” He moved, crossing the room to check the map, placing the table strategically between himself and Hanin before continuing. “I am simply saying that there are motives for almost everything. A flattering uniform is no accident, I’m afraid.”

Still scowling, Hanin glanced over at Lyrene, who took a moment to process the new information before releasing a heavy sigh. 

“Well, thanks for ruining that for me.” 

Shaking her head, she moved over to the table, Hanin falling into step, the rest of the Dawn Squad joining them. Cyrus, Ralon, Darren and Connors now wore the uniforms of guards, although for that night, it was unlikely they would be needed. It was simply a precaution, in case Hanin and Lyrene needed an out. As Launcet had said, it was better to be overprepared than underprepared.

For once, Hanin agreed with the man.

“Alright. Their little party should be winding down soon. Once it’s over, we’ll give it a quarter-hour, then send you two to the kitchen entrance.” Launcet, again, indicated the back area of the manor. Thankfully, it was not too far from their current building. If they were careful, they shouldn’t be spotted coming and going. “Everyone in the kitchens will be busy cleaning up and preparing for the morning banquet. It will be a special kind of chaos, so you shouldn’t have any problem slipping in.”

“Yeah, great, but what if they do?” Cyrus demanded, his brow knitted so tight it might be permanently stuck in a frown. “You got a plan for that?”

Launcet drew in a slow, patient breath. “Yes , I do, but thank you for your confidence. That, my prickly friend, is where you come in. Just in case there’s a problem, you’ll walk with them and be ready to give the excuse that they were tossing scraps to the chickens.” He leveled a pointed stare in Cyrus’ direction. “Happy?”

The Orlesian’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing, biting back a series of undoubtedly colourful suggestions about where Launcet could shove his happiness. Thankfully, the tone of the conversation changed as Launcet pulled a pouch from his belt and set it down on the table, opening it to reveal two silver discs, about an inch in height. After brief inspection, he tossed one to Lyrene and the other to Hanin. “Step two is covering up those markings of yours. Get it done. There isn’t much time.”

Lyrene groaned and wandered over to a window, plopping herself down in front of it and squinting into the glass. However, barely a moment passed before Darren sat down beside her and held out his hand, smiling as she tilted her head back and let him get to work on the markings that framed her face.

As for Hanin, he stood dumbly for a moment with the tin in hand until he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hey, Captain, why don’t you give me that? Seems our genius planner didn't think to pack a mirror.”

Launcet rolled his eyes at Ralon. “You try stuffing a mirror into your pants, Prince Charming. There was only so much I could smuggle.”

Settling into a chair and motioning for Hanin to sit across from him, Ralon just snorted. “Reckon I could do it just fine.” He flashed a grin at Hanin, popping the lid off the tin to reveal a thick looking tinted paste. Curious, he sniffed it, then crinkled his nose. “Phew. Alright, then, wish me luck! I’ll try not to make it look like you have some kind of skin disease.”

Hanin raised a brow at him, but Ralon just tutted playfully. “Nuh-uh, none of those looks tonight, Captain. You’ve gotta hold still.”

Deftly, the Antivan got to work, running his fingertip carefully along the lines of Hanin’s vallaslin, following the intricate curves that marked his dedication to Mythal. As he worked, the rest of the room dispersed, settling to speak in soft tones or otherwise preoccupy themselves. It left the two of them with a sense of privacy for which Hanin was grateful. It was odd, letting someone cover his vallaslin. A part of him felt silly for it, but it just seemed… wrong.

“These are important, right?” Ralon asked, dipping his fingertip into the pan and tilting Hanin’s head slightly up. “Like, a cultural thing?”

“Yes.” Hanin tried his best not to move as Ralon worked on the lines curving beneath his eye. “We receive them when we become an adult in the clan. There is ceremony behind it. Tradition.”

“Huh.” Ralon paused to inspect his work, then used this thumb to clean up some of the edges. “I don’t suppose you cover it for anything, normally?”

Hanin almost shook his head, but stopped himself just in time. “No. The vallaslin is something to be worn proudly.” He paused, then added, “It is a part of who I am. To hide it would be to hide my own face.”

The Antivan’s brown eyes shifted slightly, meeting Hanin’s for a moment before returning to their task. “Shit. This guy must mean a lot to you, huh?” When Hanin didn’t respond for a moment, Ralon gave a sheepish laugh. “I mean, not that the rest of this is child’s play or anything, but… I don’t know. This part just seems worse, somehow.”

Dipping a fingertip back into the pan, Hanin moved his head accordingly to Ralon’s silent guidance. So far, his squad had been kind to him. They had not pushed for answers, or even for more than what was already detailed in the plan. Despite the lengths they were going to, none of them had demanded anything personal from him to justify the risk. Without hesitation, they had just accepted it as something that needed to be done. They had just trusted that it was important enough to be worth it.

Sitting there, with Ralon carefully concealing his vallaslin, Hanin realised with a pang of regret that they all deserved so much better from him.

Perhaps it was his turn to trust.

“We were… together, for a time. Athran and I. When we were younger.” He closed his eyes as Ralon began working near them, the scent of the tinted mixture something akin to wet clay and stone. “Over eleven years ago.”

He felt Ralon’s hands pause, just for a moment. Then, as gently and calmly as before, they kept going, carefully brushing across Hanin’s skin. “Well... that explains a lot. I mean, some of us had a feeling, but it didn’t seem like a good time to go prying into your personal life.”

The corner of Hanin’s mouth twitched up slightly at that. “Impressive restraint.”

Ralon’s chuckle was quiet and fond as he patted over a couple more spots on Hanin’s forehead. “Yeah, well... we learned from the king of bottling things up. What did you expect?”

As usual, he showed a remarkable talent for delivering a compliment and an insult simultaneously, but Hanin was not one to hold such a skill against him. But before Hanin had to think of something to say, Ralon continued softly. "But seriously... thanks. For telling me. Or us, because you know I'm going to go tell the others the second you leave." Hanin just huffed softly at that. He knew. Ralon smirked slightly and continued. "I know you don't like talking about your clan, after everything that happened, and shit, that's fair. It can't have been easy to ask us for help in the first place, but it means a lot. Even more, now that we know what you're going through a bit better."

Guilt twisted like a knife in Hanin's gut. "I shouldn't have kept it from all of you. I'm sorry."

"Hey, your business is your business. We were going to give it everything we had anyway. Fact of the matter is you didn't have to, but you did. It's just... nice." A soft smile replaced the smirk on Ralon's lips. "We trust you too, Captain."

Hanin didn't know what to say to that, and in truth, there was really nothing more to add. Instead, he just remained still until Ralon finished his task, an instruction that he open his eyes and face the lantern marking the end of the arduous process. “Hm... doesn’t look like I missed anything,” Ralon murmured, inspecting Hanin’s face like a painter before a canvas. He raised his voice. “What do you guys think? Look alright?”

The next thing Hanin knew, he had twelve sets of eyes trained intensely on his face. He swore he’d had nightmares that were similar.

“Looks good to me,” said Cyrus. “I mean, weird as fuck, but you can’t see any of it.”

“Don’t touch your face,” Connors instructed sternly. “It will rub off if you’re not careful.”

Glancing across to catch Lyrene’s eye, she and Hanin nodded. It was strange, seeing the woman without the mark of June. In that moment, Hanin was almost grateful no one had brought a mirror. He had not seen his bare face since he was fifteen years old, and he had no desire to.

“Alright, if we’re done playing salon, it’s time to get moving.” Launcet was at the open door, peering through the crack. “Looks like the kitchens are coming to life. Means the fun’s over and it’s time to get to work.” Glancing over his shoulder at the group, he tossed them a wink. “Same goes for you lot.”

Breathing out a long, steady breath, Hanin stood, Lyrene and Cyrus moving to his side. He was about to leave when Ralon cleared his throat, catching his attention.

“Hey, be careful, alright? Both of you.” Ralon’s gaze passed over Cyrus to focus on Lyrene, and ended on Hanin. “We’ll get him back. Just play it safe.”

With that, the trio exited the building, Launcet joining them for a time before breaking away to head to the guard’s barracks and find a copy of the roster. Heart thrumming, Hanin and Lyrene made their way across to the manor, the once inviting cobbled path now feeling ominous and exposed; a dead giveaway. But Cyrus strode beside them, the uniform well-tailored and neat, a blade belted securely to his side, a scowl dark on his face. Hanin had a feeling his presence alone would be enough to see them wherever they needed to go.

They arrived at the kitchen entrance just as an older servant was pushing her way out with her hip, a heavy sack burdening her arms. Without thinking, Hanin reached out, quickly catching the door and holding it open. Flustered and red-cheeked, the woman glanced up, brown eyes confused for a moment as they came to rest on his face. A tense moment passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanin could see Cyrus shifting slightly, about to intervene.

“Ah, you must be one of the new ones!” The woman grinned, wrinkles drawing aside like curtains to frame her face. “So polite. Strong, too. Maker, it's about time we got someone with a little meat on his bones.” She shuffled past, taking care to navigate the single step that led down to the cobbled path. “You just head on inside. Plenty of work for a big pair of hands.” She glanced up, catching sight of Lyrene. “Ah, good, more of you! Go on inside, too. As for you...” She winced and shifted, holding out the heavy sack to Cyrus. “Be a dear and help an old serving woman. That’s it.”

Uncertain of how to back out of the rapidly unfolding situation, Cyrus just grunted in surprise as the old woman dumped the sack into his arms. He glanced across at Lyrene, who shrugged helplessly, and gave a terse sigh. “Fine. Where are we taking this thing?”

“Out to the chickens, dear. My turn to feed the poor things tonight. Come along.”

Lyrene’s eyes widened like saucepans. She turned to Hanin as Cyrus and the old woman shuffled out of hearing distance, the lady practically gluing herself to Cyrus’ side, chattering away as they walked. “Shit… good thing he kept quiet, huh?”

Nodding, Hanin opened the door wider. “It was. Come on.” Hurrying forward, Lyrene darted into the kitchens, Hanin following close behind. Almost immediately, Hanin was nearly crashed into by a harried looking servant, his hands full of vegetable scraps, a demand for them to be brought to a bin halfway past his lips until he took in the height and bulk of Hanin’s form. There was the briefest moment of calculation, during which he clearly thought better of the request and moved on. The entire interaction was over before Hanin even had a chance to mutter an apology.

It was difficult, getting through the warzone that was the kitchen. Hanin swore he had been on battlefields that possessed more order; more structure. Cooks and assistants shouted back and forth over the clamor of pots and utensils, boiling water throwing steam into the air, the floor gritty with salt and flour as Hanin tried his best to navigate the chaos without drawing too much attention to himself. That proved to be a nearly impossible task, and as he moved he found himself mechanically grabbing pots and bottles from high shelves on command, passing them down to impatiently waiting servants who would have made admirable drill sergeants in another life. 

Lyrene, however, managed to slip by relatively unscathed, the woman soon finding her way to a doorway at the far side of the room. She lingered there awkwardly until Hanin was spat out by the crowd a few feet away, his dark uniform askew and dusted with flour, a bottle of salt, for some reason, clutched tightly in his hand. Before he even turned to look at it, it was snatched away by a passing cook.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.” Lyrene grinned as Hanin fired her a deadly look. “C’mon, cranky. This way.” She opened the door and slipped through. Hanin followed, tugging his uniform straight, determined to escape the broiling havoc of the kitchens. Soon, he found himself swiftly submerged in near total silence. The bright lights of ovens and lanterns disappeared behind the closing door, leaving Hanin and Lyrene in a grey-stone corridor, only the muted hum of arguments and barked instructions making it through the thick wooden barrier. “Creepy,” Lyrene whispered, then slowly set off, her footsteps softly echoing as she moved. “Kind of like dipping your head underwater, huh?”

According to the floor plan, the cellar entrance was halfway down the hall. Sure enough, Lyrene halted before a second door, less sturdy than the one they had just fled through. Its hinges creaked in bitter protest as she pushed it open to reveal a smaller room with a large trapdoor built into the floor. The entrance to the cellar.

And a guard, sitting a few feet behind it.

Lyrene froze as the guard looked up from his book and grunted, his face pulling into a scowl beneath his thick, unkempt moustache. “What’s this, then? You lot done with duties?”

Some part of Hanin immediately screamed kill him. Luckily, and possibly for that precise reason, he had not been sent alone.

Dropping into a curtsy, Lyrene bowed her head. “Yes, Ser. Apologies for interrupting.”

He grunted again, shifting, the chair squeaking beneath his bulk. “What about the kitchens, eh? Got a lot of busy-work in there.”

“Of course, Ser.” Lyrene did not hesitate. “We offered our services, but they preferred us away from the food.”

There was a long, heavy pause as the guard seemed to chew over her answer. Then his eyes slid across to Hanin, standing directly behind Lyrene, his uniform a dishevelled mess. That fact likely helped prove Lyrene's point, and slowly the guard nodded. Leaning to his right, he grabbed a key from a hook on the wall beside the chair. “Right. Fair enough.” His heavy boots scraped across the stone floor as he stood and crouched down by the cellar entrance. He slipped it into the thick padlock, turning it until the metal snapped open, freeing the doors. “Go on, then. Off with you.” Glancing up, his gaze lingered for a moment on Lyrene. “Unless you want to spend a little time with me, that is...”

Immediately, Hanin moved past Lyrene and stooped, throwing open one side of the trapdoor, revealing a flight of steep, unlit stairs. “We are under orders,” he stated flatly, nodding for Lyrene to move past him as he stood between her and the guard. “No fraternising.”

As Lyrene scampered past, the guard glowered up at Hanin. “That so? Wasn’t made aware of any orders like that, slave.”

Sensing he was racing towards dangerous waters, Hanin tensed his jaw and took a gamble. “It is a household rule, for when there are important guests.” Thinking back to what Launcet had said earlier, Hanin grit his teeth. “We are to remain... available.”

Understanding seemed to flash in the guard’s eyes, and he huffed, waving a dismissive hand towards the cellar steps. “Fuckin' perfect. Take a job like this, and for what? No perks at all.” Grumbling, he returned to his seat. “Last time I volunteer for any of this shit…”

Leaving the man to his bitter reading, Hanin took his leave, moving down the steps, trying his best to hide the visceral relief that his gamble had paid off. From what he’d seen of Talveron’s personal guards, they all took their duties very seriously, particularly with such important visitors at the estate. A rough looking man reading a book in a side room? Just because he was dressed like one of them didn’t mean he was cut from the same cloth. More than likely he was a mercenary, or a guard from a lesser noble, who had been sent to bolster Talveron’s forces for the duration of the event.

The cellar door slammed shut after a few moments, and Hanin heard the sound of a lock snapping in place.

Well… that was something new to account for.

Letting that issue drift to the back of his mind for the time being, Hanin reached the bottom of the stairs where Lyrene was waiting, shifting back and forth from foot to foot, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Oh thank the Creators,” she breathed when Hanin appeared. “What were you thinking? Don’t you remember what Launcet said? What Ralon said? We need to play it safe!”

“Are you safe?”

Lyrene hesitated, mouth still open mid-reprimand. “I… yeah. I suppose.”

“Then we played it well.” He paused, then reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You are already doing more than you should, Lyrene. Just because we are not in uniform does not make you any less of my responsibility.”

Slowly, seeming almost reluctant, Lyrene nodded. “Yeah. I’m getting that, alright? Just… don’t go throwing punches or anything. I’m drawing a line there.”

A faint smile played across Hanin’s face as he released her shoulder. “Understood.”

The cellar was about what Hanin had expected, although admittedly not quite as terrible. Stone made up the walls, floor, and ceiling, the surprisingly large space interspersed by wooden support beams to maintain the integrity of the structure. On the right side of the room, cots were crammed in tight rows, only about three feet of space between each bed. None possessed more than a blanket over a thin mattress, and while a healthy number were occupied, a significant amount remained empty. A wooden barrier split the room down the center, the other side of which Hanin glimpsed a makeshift living area with chairs, tables, and benches that, while plain, could at least be considered usable.  

“It’s like a prison,” Hanin murmured. The word left a bad taste in his mouth, but there was no other way he could think to describe it. “It functions, but…”

“What gave it away? Was it the guard? The locked door? The miserable grey walls?” Lyrene’s face had twisted into a scowl. She clearly enjoyed being there as much as Hanin did. “Come on. Let’s look around. If your clanmate is anywhere, it’d be down here.”

Nodding grimly, Hanin and Lyrene split off to cover more ground. There were no guards in the cellar, so Hanin felt less worried about letting his subordinate out of his sight, especially considering majority of Talveron’s slaves appeared too exhausted to even raise their heads, let alone pick a fight. Moving about the space, Hanin was grateful for the dim light. It meant that, even though there were no more than fifty beds in the cellar, no one really took the time to scrutinise him as he passed. In fact, majority seemed more interested in picking their way through meagre meals, or engaging in soft conversations with their neighbours. At a glance, most were humans of varying ages, majority of whom appeared to be native to Tevinter. Briefly, he recalled Varlen mentioning the Imperium practice of selling oneself into slavery. Hanin could only imagine how dire their situation must have been, for anyone to even consider trading away their freedom.

With Lyrene prowling the rows of cots, Hanin found himself moving towards the left side of the room, a break in the wooden partition allowing passage at its centre. However, as he approached, the sound of a sharp conversation stopped in him place.

“...t were you thinking? Have you finally gone mad?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Then what the fuck were you doing there? That wasn’t even your area.”

“I just wanted to see them, Tellene.”

“Did you get a good look? Well, did you? Was it worth all… all of this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I had to try something. Is that so wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you pulling a stupid stunt like that, and then what? You come crawling over to me to coddle you like a damn child, that’s what. Every bloody time.”

“I’m sorry. You can go sleep. I don’t need your help.”

“... Oh Maker’s breath. Piss off with that and hold still.” A pause followed. “I swear, you’ll send me to my grave good and early. Just what exactly did you think would happen? That they’d whisk you away on the spot?”

“I--”

-- “That they’d drop everything and buy you from the dominus?”

“No, I just--”

-- “Then what?” The woman’s frustration had clearly reached its peak, her tone as sharp as a freshly honed blade as it cut the man off. “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking lately, but you’re living in a fantasy. I’ll tell you what will happen. They’ll come here, have their little meeting, and then they’ll leave. Just like all the rest. And guess who’s going to be left picking up the pieces again?”

Hanin could feel that thrum pulsing in the back of his mind, his heart hammering against his ribs as the conversation gave way to a tense, heavy silence.

“... I said I was sorry.”

The woman released a long, exasperated sigh. “I told you, Athran. I told you not to go getting your hopes up. Now… Maker, look at you.”

Athran.

Even before hearing the name, Hanin had known. Deep down, he had known. That voice, the way he spoke, the cadence of each sentence, was like a piece of shattered memory pressed into his palm, cutting deep, drawing blood. And all he wanted to do was close his hand around it. Hold it close.

Breathless, unthinking, uncaring, Hanin stepped around the barrier into the room.

Mismatched furniture littered the area, some grouped, others standing alone by the cold stone walls. It was mostly empty save for two figures sitting at one of the tables in the back corner, although Hanin could only see the face of one. The woman was an old elf, likely in her sixth or seventh decade, her shrewd green eyes narrowed into disapproving slits as she peered at the face of the man sitting across from her. An elven man with long blond hair.

Hanin's stomach dropped to its knees.

“It’s nothing a little makeup can’t cover, Tel.” That voice. Hanin took a step slow step forward, mind reeling, his throat so tight it felt like he was being choked by an unseen hand.

Tellene rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Well, doesn’t that just make it all better. You really--” She cut off suddenly, her gaze snapping across, honing in on Hanin like a hawk on a rat. “Are you lost or something?”

There was venom to the words, but also a kind of instinctive protectiveness. Like a single puzzle piece slotting into place, it set some small part of Hanin at ease to know she was there, fussing over Athran. “No. I’m not.”

Her expression darkened, jaw tensing as she lowered her hands, a cloth clutched in one, a small tub of salve in the other. “Then get lost. If you’re new, go find someone else to hold your hand. Mine are full.”

“Tellene. Don’t be cruel.” Athran rested a staying hand on the woman’s wrist, everything about him strangely slow. Strangely calm. Or perhaps defeated was the better word for the way in which he moved, like the air was thick and his heart just wasn’t quite in it. Even as he turned, it was not without difficulty, a pained tremor wracking his frame as he twisted in the seat. “I’m sorry about her. She’s just…”

Athran’s gaze came to rest on Hanin, and the rest of the world seemed to crumble to ash at his feet. Flooding in to fill the space came a deep and impenetrable nothingness so fathomless and dark Hanin feared for a moment that he might drown in it.

A beat passed.

Another.

Then, slowly, those brown eyes widened.

Athran’s expression shifted, his familiar face falling slack. The chair grated across the floor as he rose unsteadily to his feet, the sound impossibly loud, impossibly slow, as though it had been dragged out for minutes instead of seconds. That thrum in the back of Hanin’s mind slowed as well, quieting until it was nothing more than a dull, rhythmic thump, the sensation pulsing through his body until it lost its shape, melting into another rhythm. Another sensation.

The beating of his heart.

“I’m here.”

The words sounded so laughably inadequate, even as Hanin said them. Athran just stood there, his breathing short and stiff, the space between them seeming too far, too distant, even though it wasn’t. Even though they finally, finally, shared the same room.

“You’re late.” There was something odd about Athran’s voice, like in the process of speaking it had been drawn too tight. Pulled too thin. Stiffly, Hanin swallowed.

“I know.”

Athran exhaled in a sudden, shivering rush. The breaths started coming deeper, his lower lip beginning to tremble even as he fought against it, hands curling into fists at his side.

“It’s been eleven years.”

That impossible pressure rose back up, coiling at the back of Hanin’s throat, threatening to choke him.

“I know.”

He didn’t have the words. Even after two weeks of planning, of agonising, of sleepless nights building up to that precise moment, Hanin had never found them. He’d played it out over and over in his head, but none of them were right. None of them were enough . None of them could ever give shape to all the things that needed to be said.

So, he said the truth.

“Ir abelas.” Shaking his head, wishing he was better - wishing he was more - Hanin took a single step forward. “Lethallin, I...”

Hanin never had a chance to finish his sentence. He never even had a chance to finish the thought behind it because the second the first word left his lips Athran was moving. In the space of a few frantic heartbeats he crossed the distance and was in Hanin’s arms, head buried against his chest, his grip so tight it was like he was terrified Hanin would vanish from between his fingers. For once, it was nothing for Hanin to hug the man back. He held Athran so firmly that when the man's legs almost gave way beneath him he didn’t fall. Instead, Athran was caught and held by Hanin as they both stood in shock, in disbelief, in relief of eleven years of distance closed in the span of seconds. With Athran finally safe in his embrace, the pair locked together so tightly, Hanin dared the Creators, the Maker, anyone to try to tear them apart again.

Let them try.

Let anyone try.