#ilanlas mahariel

[heniareth]

“Did you say the Dalish?” Astala asked. “Which clan?” “Uh… I don’t know,” Alistair said and craned his neck to try and read the upside down script of the parchment he was holding out. “I think… all of them?” Astala let out a low whistle. How many Dalish clans were there? At least ten, right?

Somewhere on his way to the Brecilian forest, Ilanlas is facepalming so hard

[bumblerhizal-art]

an attack against @heniareth of ilanlas mahariel and sulri aeducan just being rogues and doing rogue stuff, don’t worry about it ^_^

[badartxd]

Hihihi!! I’m quite late to post here but here is my portrait commission of Ilanlas Mahariel (Dearly Beloved) , for @heniareth !! This man is full of snark and I love that so much for him😌

[icy-warden]

@heniareth a fic starring Ilanlas 💙 Zevraholics OC Kiss Week 2023 ✨

It’s good that the clearing he chose for the spell practice is far enough from the camp for anyone witnessing the spectacular failure of his own making.

Leaving him baffled and a little dizzied in the aftermath. Teeth chattering as the cold seems to greedily seep out warmth off his body. It’s never good to be wet and cold and he’s soaked to the bone, his clothes sticking to him like a damp paper. What was to be a successful test of a blizzard cloud turned into a cloud full of water. Freezing water.

His shocked shout must have scared away any living being nearby when the cloud fell on his head in a full blast. With Vergil gasping for breath and shaking in disbelief.

It’s not good that he has to trudge through the forest to the camp from the clearing, looking like a wet wrath.

He doesn’t spare a glance at anyone when he marches through the camp, ignoring surprised looks of his companions and their worried questions. 

“Did you fall into a lake?”

Or teasing remarks.

He narrows his eyes at Alistair, as the man’s trying and failing to stifle his giggle.

“Yes. A very deep lake. I can show you later.”

Vergil pauses before his tent, contemplating going in as he is. A puddle of water pools under his feet and he flicks at hair plastered to his face. He looks down at his clothes, still soggy and full of water. With a sigh he starts to unbutton his shirt.

“Oh, no need, thanks. But you know, you- What are you doing?” 

Vergil glances back over his shoulder at Alistair’s sputtering face. 

“What does it look like? I’m taking my clothes off.” He’s down to his trousers as he wrestles the shirt and vest off and they fall down onto the ground with a miserable wet plop. The shivers don’t want to let go and he clenches his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering audibly.

“Out in the open? We can see you!”

“Then don’t look.” He wrings out his hair and starts on his trousers. The fabric feels glued to his legs and he struggles to pull them down. They don’t cooperate and he can’t push the fabric past his hips.

“Oh no, no, no, you don’t do that here-”

“I told you to not look if you don’t wish to.” He stops his efforts only because he forgets about his boots and he curses softly, leaning down to untie them.

“Well, you don’t hear me complaining.” Zevran’s smirk is evident in his tone even if Vergil doesn’t look back to see his toothy smile.

“You’re all so annoying.” 

Vergil looks up at a man emerging from his, their, shared tent, his voice rough with sleep.

Ilanlas is rubbing at his eye as the tent’s flap opens, his braid messy thanks to his nap. He pauses mid-yawn, looking at Vergil, taking in his half naked body. Face carefully blank, he glances at the others. 

“Whatever you’re doing,” Ilanlas says slowly, noticing the state of undress Vergil is in. “Take it inside.” He gestures for him to go in, holding a flap up for Vergil. The mage uses the invitation without a word, slipping into the closed space. The entrance closes behind him as Ilanlas stays outside. Vergil can hear him walking away, answering curtly whatever their companions tell him. Alone, Vergil’s quick to shed off his remaining boots and trousers and quickly changes into a blissfully dry set of clothes. 

He’s drying his hair with a small towel when Ilanlas steps into the tent, a mug of warm tea in his hand.

“Here.” 

Vergil picks up the mug, taking a careful sip of spicy drink. “Thanks.”

The mug is warming up his hands. Ilanlas grabs his blanket, silently offering it for Vergil and he blinks at the gesture but nods in acceptance. He doesn’t expect Ilanlas to put it over his shoulders, his fingers brushing the hollow of his throat as he’s wrapping him up in a heavy fabric. He leans forward when Ilanlas doesn’t move, sitting on his haunches. There’s a strand of Vergil’s black hair between his fingers, his thumb gently stroking it. 

Vergil drinks his tea and Ilanlas eyes snap to his neck, watching it work as he swallows.

“It wasn’t a lake.”

“No.”

Ilanlas hums. “There’s no lake nearby.”

“How do you know?” Vergil shifts, uncurling his legs so they’re bracketing Ilanlas’ hips. Inviting him into his space. There’s a small smile starting at the corner of Ilanlas’ lips.

“I was hunting earlier. No lake in that clearing.”

“You saw me?”

He shrugs, rubbing at his arm. “Magic in the air makes most prey skittish.”

Ilanlas moves closer, his eyes never leaving Vergil’s own. He lets his hands sneak around Ilanlas’ waist as he kneels between his legs. The shivers slowly fade to nothing with a warm body so close. Vergil’s lids fall close halfway when hands gently cup his face. He lets him, looking at the lines of his tattoos, dark ink hiding half of his face.

“You still smell like it.”

He tilts his face up, almost closing the space between Ilanlas’ murmur. “The spell was complicated.”

Vergil kisses the corner of his mouth. He moves lower to his jaw before Ilanlas has the chance to respond. The hands on Vergil’s face fall down to hold on his shoulders just as Vergil’s fingers slip under the fabric of Ilanlas’ shirt. He twitches with a huff at the feeling of cold fingertips lazily stroking the small of his back. 

“I spent too much time weaving it.” Vergil nips the underside of Ilanlas’ jaw when he tilts his head to ease access.

“You know where you made a mistake?”

Vergil feels his voice under his lips when he speaks, going down the line of his throat. He only hums in response, licking a spot where the shoulder meets neck. 

“You’re trying again?” Ilanlas’ voice hitches a bit when Vergil gently bites and it tips Ilanlas into action. His fingers slip into Vergil’s hair, pulling him back as soon as he soothes the sting with a small kiss.

Ilanlas swallows his “Yes”  with a press of mouth over his own, unrelenting yet soft. Vergil answers with similar eagerness, drinking in the passion and warmth of Ilanlas body pushing him down. He goes down willingly, opening his arms to wrap them around the man over him, teeth catching and releasing Ilanlas’ lower lip as he breaks the kiss to breathe.

There’s a familiar shine of want in his eyes, burning low with a promise. One he doesn’t hesitate to reach for, running his hands down Ilanlas’ back, fingers curving over his nape, tangling in chestnut brown hair. Vergil leans up, teasing Ilanlas with a delicate brush of their mouths before he gives into it again. He sighs at a hand pulling at his shirt and shifts his hips up, meeting Ilanlas’s weight. He welcomes it and his warmth and he closes his eyes to let the feeling unfurl and spread over him, caressing the long ear of his lover in one light move just to hear a quiet moan slipping in between their kisses. Vergil smirks at the blush dusting Ilanlas’ cheeks when he pulls back. Eyes roaming over his slightly open mouth, reddened lips and half lidded gaze, the silver almost gone with the black of his dilated pupils.

He wants this man, he wants all what he offers and-

Suddenly, Ilanlas stiffens, head snapping up and there’s a question at the tip of his tongue when his ears pick up on someone’s feet shuffling next to their tent.

“Vergil? Ilanlas?”

Ilanlas doesn’t move, glaring at the tent’s opening like it was the one that’s responsible for Leliana standing there. There’s a gentle tap at the wall. Vergil closes his eyes with a deep sigh, his hands falling off Ilanlas’ body.

“I don’t want to disturb you, but I need to speak with you.”

“What-” He needs to clear his throat and that makes Ilanlas glance at him, his frown lessening for a second. “What is it?” He sits up when Ilanlas takes the cue to move and plop down next to him. 

“I’d rather talk with you in person, if that’s possible?”

“No, it’s not.” Ilanlas mumbles under his breath and as much as Vergil shares his sentiment, he rakes a hand through his hair, fixing his clothes.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I appreciate that.”

They listen to her walking away in silence. Ilanlas picks up on the thread of his blanket, playing with it without a word. There’s a pout on his lips, one that he’d like to kiss away but chooses not to. He’s not sure Ilanlas would like to be touched right now, when the mood is ruined.

Instead he turns around. “I’ll go first. Join us when you’re ready.”

Ilanlas grunts but doesn’t move when he opens the entrance. Vergil glances at him, pausing for a moment and then lightly shaking his head at himself. He steps out of the tent, eyes squinting at the still bright late afternoon.

There’s a bruise forming at Ilanlas’ throat, high enough that the collar of his shirt isn’t going to cover it. 

He’s looking forward to seeing his reaction when he notices others noticing. 

The thought amuses him.

He stretches lazily, his shirt riding up, hair falling freely down his back. Unhurriedly he walks towards Leliana talking with Bohdan.

Whatever it is that she wants, there’s a chance to wrap this up quickly and go back to what they started with Ilanlas later that night.

[icy-warden]

@heniareth 🌠💙❄

Lalique amethyst glass buckle

[jellydishes]

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

tagged by nobody, tagging anybody who wants to play

from Letters From Home: Mallory Surana was fussing with her riding gloves as she crossed Vigil's Keep's courtyard on her way back from a patrol.

from In a Twinkling: Isabela hummed along with the singing that rippled from one end of the Hanged Man to the other and back as she watched the company of grey wardens mix together with her friends.

from Diseased Awareness of Reality: Gerry didn't remember how he had gotten here, or where "here" even might be, beyond an endless, shifting array of corridors and mirrors.

from But with a Whimper: Sidonie Lavellan watched from where he was perched on the corner of his desk as his warden contact paced throughout his office turned bedroom like one of those big cats he had last seen glaring out at him from a cage in Orlais.

from Of Our Own Device: Tancred Hawke sat relaxing against the back of the rabbit run behind the Hawke family cottage, running their fingers through the soft fur of their favorite rabbit, Coney.

from Tumbling Through and Through: Ilanlas Mahariel looked down at the other warden beside him, bemused.

from Wintergreen: The heroine Sidestep had always been known to favor the color green.

from To Become Something Greater: One breath.

from Cascade: Artificial sunlight cascaded through the windows where by all logic, it should have been dark, as there was a building directly blocking the actual sun.

from Bone Meal: This story begins the way so many do, with a man walking.

[heniareth]

Rating hugs - Dragon Age edition

Ages ago, @layalu tagged me to rate the hugs of my OCs, and now I can finally get to it. There will be two posts, one for my Dragon Age OCs and one for my Forgotten Realms peeps. Thank you for the tag friend!! Let's get into it ^^

Astala Tabris

Loves hugs and gives them freely. Will hug and squeeze, or hold gently, whichever is preferred. Is tall (for an elf) and has strong arms, so there's a lot she can hug with, but you will have to endure her leaning a good part of her weight on you. 9/10, especially if you like to be gently crushed.

Ilanlas Mahariel

Very choosy with hugs, and doesn't like to hug often. When he does though, it's a quick but firm hug. You are siblings in arms now! Unless you're an attractive guy and a mage, in which case the hug might linger. 6.5/10 if only because the rarity of the experience adds value.

Sulri Aeducan

Mission failed! She is grabbing your wrists in the best of cases and stopping you in your tracks. In the worst of cases, she immobilizes you and the hug turns into a backstab. 0/10, do not attempt

Khêd Brosca

He is uncomfortable. Why are you so close and why are you being nice. Suspects ulterior motives, but if given sufficient time and no further reasons for distrust, will become emotional over the hug even if it's long since past. 3/10. You made him cry!!

Marelas Lavellan

He is the First of clan Lavellan, and sometimes, physical comfort is necessary, but otherwise, he's not very touchy. Secretly desperate for receiving a hug, but it's fine, he can handle it. 7.5/10; he does his job well.

Sending hugs to all and sundry!! This was fun 😆😆😆😆😆😆 If anybody wants to do this for their OCs, do it and tag me

[bumblerhizal-art]

modern au mahariel and tabris r (reluctantly) looking for clues together

the mahariel in question belongs to @heniareth

[heniareth]

Story of Astala Tabris: Height Chart!

I gotta say, this was very fun to make XD XD XD XD

This mainly started out as me cracking up about how teeny tiny Ilanlas Mahariel is next to Sten. Reaches right up to his waist. A literal child. And then it devolved into having a look at how tall everybody else is. I'm writing it out under the cut, from the tallest to the shortest

Sten: 250 cm/8'2"

Alistair: 190 cm/6'3"

Wynne: 177 cm/6'0"

Leliana: 176 cm/5'9"

Morrigan: 172 cm/5'8"

Astala Tabris: 167 cm/5'6"

Zevran: 165 cm/5'5"

Sulri Aeducan: 150 cm/4'11"

Oghren: 148 cm/4'10"

Ilanlas Mahariel: 147 cm/5'0"

Khêd Brosca: 137 cm/4'6"

(List will be updated when the rest of the Origins + Ainsley arrive)

(I love being mean to Ilanlas and making everyone taller than him)

(Also Sulri is not green it was supposed to be a cold yellow but yellow turns green as soon as you put a warmer yellow next to it. Maybe it's poetic. I'm leaving it that way)

[heniareth]

Hnhnhnhnhnhnhnhnhng thinking about Ilanlas Mahariel staring at the Architect while the knowledge that this guy turned darkspawn sentient with Grey Warden blood runs circles around in his head because he could've saved Tamlen he could've saved Tamlen he could've SAVED TAMLEN

[heniareth]

Inspired by @bumblewarden I did some playing around in the BG3 character creator and came up with some looks for my guys:

(Left to right, up to down: Astala Tabris, Ilanlas Mahariel, Khêd Brosca and Sulri Aeducan. I am not quite convinced with the following: Astala looks way too angry. Ilanlas's hair has more poof to it and his braid starts higher. Also, obviously, the vallaslin. I had to use the gnome race for Khêd because the dwarven model is way too beefy for his underfed ass. And Sulri has quite a lot body fat more. But overall, they look cool!)

Preliminary looks for the Origins I have not yet met in-story under the cut

(Left to right, up to down: Surana (they/them), Odile "Odd-ette" Amell (she/her), Edmund Cousland (he/him), Ciar Ainsley (all pronouns). Both Cousland and Ainsley should be fatter)

[heniareth]

Ilanlas Mahariel in different outfits (I described his armor and cold weather gear for @siriskulksnerding and then got the urge to draw it. Voilá, here it is)

[heniareth]

Oh well if you're doing prompts...

C2 from the dialogue prompt list! :3

(sorry for the weird follow notification, I accidentally clicked the wrong button, oops)

Ooooooh THANK YOU!!! I see I have inspired something XD XD XD XD No higher compliment is there. I hope you enjoy this one too!!

"So!" Anders looked around the room strewn with still bleeding bodies and shook his hands out. "Well... That happened."

Astala loaded her last bolt into her crossbow. Just in case. "Sure did. Are you alright?"

"Me?" Anders tugged at his earring. "Oh, sure. This was nothing! Should've seen them dragging me off the last time they did. They've actually gotten worse at their job!"

His gaze was still lost somewhere between the bodies on the floor. Astala exchanged a quick look with Ilanlas, who finished cleaning his daggers and returned them to their scabbards before clapping Anders on the shoulder. Anders flinched.

"Sigrun and Velanna are waiting for us," Ilanlas told him, arms crossed, positioning himself direcrly in Anders' line of sight. "We should go. My cousin might set something on fire otherwise."

"Right." Anders' inhale was shaky, but he ripped his gaze away from the dead templars. "Uh... all of this?"

"I will have people clean up," Astala said.

"Right." Anders repeated, nodded, and fell silent. Then, he quietly added: "This will bring trouble, won't it?"

Astala shrugged. "They were the ones who came looking for it."

"And we will gladly hand it out." A toothy grin steetched over Ilanlas's face. The lines of his vallaslin curled with it. "Fuck the Chantry."

"Right!" Anders' laugh was still shaky, but it was a laugh.

Ilanlas made for the exit. Anders followed. Before he left the room, Astala could hear him quietly mutter "fuck the Chantry" to himself. Still shaky; but for the first time since she had arrived at Vigil's Keep, she heard hurt and rage burning in his voice.

(For reference: Astala Tabris is arlessa of Amaranthine while Ilanlas Mahariel is Warden-Commander. Astala has some serious injuries from the fight with the Archdemon that severely limit her fighting capabilities—she used to be a dual-wielder but has switched to crossbows since because she physically cannot chase enemies across the battlefield—and also almost died to the Archdemon. She figures she's done enough for the Wardens. Ilanlas enthusiastically took on the title until he discovered just how much paperwork was involved. He still enjoyes it far too much when humans have to treat him like an authority figure. Thank you for the ask!!!!)

(Also also Ilanlas may be standing in Anders' line of sight but he is probably a good head and a bit shorter than Anders XD XD XD His efforts are valiant but limited by circumstance. Also Ilanlas and Velanna are cousins because yes they have a similar bad temper)

[Ask game here]

[bumblewarden]

A real quick doodle dump before i get into my proper response

Next--

Novhen wouldn't write anything about not being able to tell the alienage what happened. He trusts his family's judgment to know what is and isn't wise to say. The Tabrises can share their bittersweet celebration with anyone they want

I think you might be right that Astala sees them as a team while Novhen feels like he's the only one who can "properly" take on the role of protector. It's sad, but it does feel fitting, especially in the fallout of that one ficlet you shared in DMs. There's an extra twist in that Astala is better at DW than him, even if it's a different style of DW than the one passed down Adaia's line. Like i mentioned also in the DMs (sorry to the Plant trying to follow along), the fighting style is primarily dual wielding, even if it can technically also account for archery. See: Fang of Fen'Harel. Novhen always lagged behind in DW and may be a little resentful about that. Whether they both got to live peacefully in Denerim for all their days or take the Taint into their bodies, they'd work so much better as a team, but he's not able to realize that til after they're both neck deep in the Blight

(Also on the note of Fang, Novhen's probably going to let her take it when Cyrion gives it to them. He believes he has more right to it on account of Astala's not following in their mother's footsteps and her actions in your ficlet, but he knows she would make better use of it. Practicality wins out)

(Which is making me think about the conclusion of UITA again, and something i didn't mention is that after freeing the present elves, Novhen heads for the docks in the vain hope that Valendrian, Valora, and everyone else is still there. After word is brought back to Eamon's residence, Leliana meets Novhen at the dock to help, but Novhen was warned it was too late to save them and the warning was accurate. He takes some time to grieve near the docks, and they don't return to Eamon's til late)

And a crossbow 👀 ? Novhen is definitely going to invite her to practice at the shooting range with him during their stay at the Vigil. He might tease her while she's still getting used to it, but he's relearning how to shoot too. Turns out getting your shoulder torn up impacts your ability to shoot! Who'da guessed it! I just hope Ilanlas and Nathaniel aren't also at the range should he get exposed by giving her grief than missing his next shot immediately after XD

Ilanlas not being preachy will honestly go a long way. Novhen sees the Dalish as kin whose struggle is the opposite side of the same coin as the struggle of the alienage elves. Also, Cyrion's stories of the Dalish definitely romanticized them a bit. But he does get very defensive if Ilanlas ever accidentally says something insensitive about city elves as a group. If they ever get into a spat that neither side is resolving because they're both too stubborn and isolating, they're both small enough together that Astala (teamed up with Leliana?) could steal a shirt from Alistair or Sten and subject them to the Get Along Shirt

Also, Novhen does know the Slow Arrow story! I haven't read The Masked Empire yet, but given that the story came from Fel'assan, it's hard to say how known it is among the Dalish. It's entirely possible it's only known by the clans around the one he lived in and that it's a story primarily perpetuated by the Cult of Fen'Harel. That's my headcanon at least

He could regale the party with it as a campfire story, and even if Ilanlas is not all that interested in religion, it may pique his interest if he overhears a city elf sharing a story featuring Dalish gods that he himself doesn't know. I think on the story is technically an allegory for the creation of the Veil, but working with the information he has, Novhen's interpretation of the story is a very Fen'Harelist "Do not wait for the gods to solve your problem for you". I imagine Ilanlas's would be a more literal "Don't trust the Dread Wolf"

I am aware of Tamlen disappearing early on then haunting Ilanlas's dream and presumably reappearing later as a ghoul to finally be granted a death. Does Ilanlas explicitly try to invoke Fen'Harel for aid at some point? It must be quite drastic if he's taking that measure (which tbf these are indeed drastic circumstances), or is he just expecting the Wolf to pounce upon a Dalish's prayers to another god?

And as protective as Novhen may be of their family's traditions, i can easily see him offering to Ilanlas to trade tips on how to effectively sneak in the other's preferred terrain. Also, Novhen's good at traps, so he may also also offer to teach some of those skills in exchange for more arrowmaking techniques. Also also, arrows are finite! There are probably plenty of nights were they sit away from most of the group in relative silence just repairing and making arrows. This may be the best avenue for them to become friends. Leliana is also invited to arrow repair, but she has to respect the quiet time

Tbh i think Morrigan would appreciate some hardheadedness in a little kid XD Yeah sure, there'll be So Many conflicts between them and it'll be very different from training just Kieran, but she'd see something of herself in Perinella and would find her amusing. It's a good thing she's matured since Origins. Otherwise, the lessons would likely never move proceed the butting heads

Originally, i had Soris disappear around Witch Hunt/a year after killing the archdemon, but then i realized what a tight schedule that is fitting him on to not only get over his kidnapped and enslaved wife but also to fall madly in love with and marry a human. Now, it's about 9:34 or 35 that that happens, and Novhen won't reunite with Astala until Inquisition at the earliest. So it's after Soris, and Cyrion will be reacting with Soris's example in mind, for better or worse

On the matter of Soris, should we name him or Shianni as bann? Because Shianni is in most regards the better fit for the job, but she's also still a child in the alienage's (and Novhen's) eyes. Novhen starts arrangements for the alienage bannorn with Anora before the Landsmeet as part of the compromise for moving against Eamon's efforts to replace her with Alistair. She doesn't have to know that he has no actual interest in naming Al king and especially not as the sole ruler. I don't know if Astala would want to be present for the talks themselves, but he wouldn't get too deep into it without getting her opinion. Novhen's first choice for bann is Valendrian via tying it into the position of hahren, but after UITA, they may have to renegotiate that. I think a compromise between their worldstates would be if they agreed ease into a sovereign alienage, and Shianni would only be made bann once she's an adult. Or maybe they could try to keep it tied to hahren still and it's just coincidence it ends up being Shianni? Thoughts?

I know why they handled half-elves the way they did it canon, but i don't care for it. I headcanon elves just have very recessive genes to humans. There are some half-elves that need to look fully human for their stories to work like Alistair and Michel, but there also characters like Slim who don't have to pass and should get to look a little more elven. Kieran as a child needs to pass as fully human to survive the Orlesian court, but post-puberty, we allow some more elven features to show. He'll have some point to his ears by the time he's allowed to meet Cyrion

And yes! Novhen and Astala make such a good team!!! He distracts, and she attacks!!! He's got so many stun attacks under his belt for her to take full advantage of

Totally fair about the jam. Who can eat in such stressful conditions, really? Now that i think about it, I don't think Novhen would be much for eating either, but it's the thought that counts(?) He should've brought whatever stew was being served instead. That would've probably been much easier to stomach, but he can't return to that conversation now

Assigning Wynne as the B-Team's mage is a good call. It would explain why Novhen's not able to get back on his feet in time to kill the archdemon if their primo healer isn't available. Also, Pavle is not getting in a party that is going near where Irving is most likely to be considering he needs the Circle to think he's dead. I don't think faking his death would work a second time, especially if he's showing up just after the darkspawn begin their retreat

For sure on most elves not escaping. Even without the very recent memory of their neigbors being abducted by slavers, many elves don't trust ships. I imagine elves living in port cities like Denerim are taught stories of elves finding work or passage on a ship only to find out it was only a trap to enslave them. There's a culture of caution

Also, taking notes on Astala's scars, don't mind me. She looks lovely btw and deserves all the pretty dresses!

At Ostagar, consider the idea of Ilanlas rolling his eyes about being asked to watch after Astala's brother while Novhen is at the same time recalculating his plans to keep his sister's sorta-friend especially safe during the battle. (Did she ask him to? Probably not. Do they look like friends at this point? Also no. But they were Joined from the same swill which probably counts for something. Besides, he's sure Ilanlas will warm up to Astala eventually. She has that effect on people)

He'd be suspicious of Ilanlas at the first mention of her technically catching Blight from him, but once Novhen heard the specifics of how Astala was tainted, he'd let it go. Might even see a little dark humor in it. Not that it's any sort of laughing matter. Ilanlas was being an ass about the ring and should have returned it to Astala certainly. That's one thing (and he'll have some difficulty forgiving him on that account), but him giving Astala the Blight was another and completely unintended

From your latest(?) WIP Wednesday, it looks like your Wardens aren't going to be invited to the war table meeting after their Joining but instead are going to spy on it? In Novhen's canon, it's obviously not happening immediately after his Joining (several months too late for that), but he does still get invited to shadow (heh) Duncan at it. Duncan's at this point nearing his Calling and trying to groom Novhen into a potential successor for the position of Warden-Commander, so he wants him present. It could be fun to combine those two situations, so Novhen is standing silently behind Duncan when he catches one of your spies out of the corner of his eye or through the Taint. They may very well know he's spotted them too with the way elven eyes reflect light. He won't be alerting anyone else though (Trait: Mama didn't raise no snitch!)

If Sulri ran up with Novhen to the Tower of Ishal, that'll leave just Khêd and Ilanlas together on the ground. I trust them to make it to Lothering safe, but it's going to be a rough trip 😬 Between their skillsets, they can handle whatever the road throws their way, but i hope Khêd's got stronger social skills than Ilanlas. You've described him as "grumbly", yes? Not unsalvageable, but it does not bode well for this question XD

Or perhaps should all of the floater group be separated in the battle? Everyone assumes everyone is dead! They could slowly regroup as they head north, but maybe Sulri found the Tabrises' group before Khêd?

Pavle's with the Circle mages and is about to take advantage of the chaos to fake his own death. He's not a Warden, so he may have had a conversation with any of our party before the battle, but it wouldn't have gone far. Probably not Astala or Ilanlas since they get there with barely any time before the battle, but maybe one of the others. He'll meet them all in Lothering regardless. I have a wip of Novhen's recruitment of him that idk if it'll ever see the light of day, but basically, Pavle's very bad at blending in (which being foreign-nobility-turned-circle-mage will do to you)

I think meeting in Lothering is preferable to meeting in the Brecilian Forest. Besides that being a monster to navigate with a set destination in mind, let alone a moving target, there're more companion shenanigans to be found in Lothering

Radka and Khêd knowing each other before his conscription is a very fun idea! It'd also shade his perception of her a bit more cynical than most of the party. Maybe didn't work together often but they knew of each other. She's ruthless, so i don't think her fall from grace would be due to a personal lapse in judgment but rather circumstances out of her control (like the oopsie at the Proving in the Origin). If Khêd has any reservations about her, she would try to assure him that the Carta's done with her, so she's willing to throw her lot in with him instead. They both know Carta's not big on forgiveness. I don't remember enough to say when this would happen in relation to the Leske reunion, but she's willing to prove her newfound loyalties in the fight against Jarvia which is as serious as it gets down there. And the idea of her pledging herself to Khêd instead of one of the actual leaders of the party is also a fun detail i think (and +1 person who knows the sign language Sulri uses!)

She turns from a hardass to a jester the second she hits surface tho, so i imagine him having a reaction along the lines of "Oh sod it, we broke her". She may know a guy who knows a guy who knows the guy who framed Novhen, but she herself had never left Orzammar before now

I've seen corn in Inquisition. Maybe it's not too much of a stretch to say some farmers from the Dales have engineered the type used to make popcorn? All popcorn needs fulfilled in the Winter Palace 😌

Unfortunately, i don't think Novhen could get away with dancing at the ball. He's on too high a guard there. Also, Morrigan may be a disruptor, but it would be too much of a danger to both of them for her to dance with her the elf claiming to be her servant in front of all the court. She doesn't even allow Kieran to be publicly affiliated with her :( Maybe they can sneak in a private dance in her personal quarters later

Novhen is going to be very invested in Astala's tweaks to the recipes. Growing up with the same foods probably left them with fairly similar preferences, and he knows where to expect the differences

For the infiltration, he's keeping close to her. Even if he's in disguise, he's going to try to keep her grounded. It's natural for her to experience strong emotions returning here, and if she's going, this is the most important thing he can do to keep her safe. At least that's how he sees it, idk how much she'd agree

I'll say Novhen hadn't had a chance to fall back behind the group yet when Cauthrien corners them so that he can't make off, and Cauthrien will be trained on what all wanted Wardens look like. Maybe she had them flanked from behind as well? She certainly has the manpower for it. I know he's a shadow and all, but it's just more interesting if he's captured!

Novhen getting concussed is admittedly a leftover from his canon where the guards recognize him as Vaughan's murderer, which is a much bigger deal than whatever crime he committed in this AU. Maybe this is the same guardsman who originally caught him but now transferred positions, or maybe whoever this was was feeling trigger happy when they were taking them to their cells? Or! What if he tried to slink away immediately after the surrender, but someone had their eyes trained on him! And the concussion was a result of the roughing up he got for that

(Also, i forgot to put it before in relation to this stage, but he also can't escape on his own yet again on account of his being too small to pass for a human guard. That together with the concussion and also needing to get Alistair out of there was how i excused him from escaping)

If we're going purely by mechanics, we need a high-level spirit healer spell that Morrigan is unlikely to have access to or an injury kit. Narratively, the injury kit will work just fine but may take some time. He's not fighting, and he's not running, but he can at least carry himself to the exit. Slowly. Morrigan will guard him at the back of the party, so Astala needn't worry about him. She's free to set the stage for the darkspawn to easily overwhelm the tower lol

It makes most sense for both to get all shapeshifts. That said, i imagine Novhen shifting unto a mouse even when no form is necessary and sitting on Adaia or Astala's shoulder 😊 Yeah, if there's a scuffle, he'll shift back into something more combat capable, but he likes the feeling of being so small and easy-to-miss. Although especially if Adaia is with them, he could be convinced to stay in elf form if his ma's missed seeing his face

So!! I've been wanting to do this for a while, but life got in the way, so now I'm here to take that thing up again because!!! Fun!!!! This is about the relationships between OCs, and I don't want to impose anything but. Regarding how Novhen and Astala would get along:

What if they HAD grown up together? Maybe not in the same family (although, it would be fun 👀👀👀👀👀👀 they are very similar and very different from each other in different aspects. For example both are very loyal and community oriented, but also Astala is loud and boisterous while Novhen is quieter and more underhanded), but definitely the same Alienage. They'd know each others' quirks and habits. Maybe Novhen got frustrated with Astala because she'd always hide in these really obvious spots when playing hide and seek and Astala in turn would never be able to find Novhen? Maybe Novhen would at some point have stolen a plum tart for her and maybe Astala would've helped him against another kid who made fun of Novhen? Maybe, if we wanted them to meet up later during the Blight, Astala had to move away from Denerim at some point. I think she's a bit older than Novhen; maybe she got married elsewhere. Or, if not, now we gave more elves storming Vaughan's estate, which is alwats fun. I think Novhen would get to lead that one operation until Nelaros's death, because before that, stealth does seem to be the best option.

I think these two would get along well, differences aside. Astala would make an effort to lower her if needed, and having a familiar face to lean on during the Blight year would probably be a big comfort to them both. I think they'd be comfortable enough with each other to talk about the recruitment and how it didn't exactly happen willingly; they could gripe about nobles and politics; they could just. Sit in silence after Broken Circle and try and digest Sloth's nightmare. They could kill the slavers at the Alienage together!!! I think having a like-minded person from the same cultural background would help enormously.

One thing Astala probably wouldn't be on board with is the Cult of Fen'Harel. She'd let Novhen practice alright and defend him if accusations about this were levelled against him, but I think she would either have fallen out of it if she'd ever been introduced to it (it didn't save Adaia after all, so...), or never warmed up to the idea of this elvhen trickster god

These are my thoughts as far as they go. What do you think? Also I hadn't thought of it, but if you want to move this conversation to DMs, they're open ^^

(And if this doesn't tickle your fancy anymore, feel free to ignore ^^)

👀👀👀👀👀 I am eating this ask up like breakfast. Or, er, ramen. Which is the thing i am actually eating atm. But yes yes yes to all of this, i love it so much

Full response under the readmore for length, but i'm realizing now my response is mostly about them as kids 😅 Oops

[Ask Game]

The way i play with companion!Novhen, i'd assume he and Astala are probably either siblings or cousins (i waffle), except this time on their mothers' sides. I don't know Astala's exact age, but Novhen was born in *pulls out notes* Wintermarch of 9:7 Dragon. If we try to stagger them based on Adaia's death, that's probably close to a decade between them which seems a tad bit higher than it should be. We'll just have to dance around that matter

Even if Astala isn't significantly older, there's probably never a single moment where he's taller than her XD Add onto that that girls tend to hit puberty first, there's gonna be quite the height difference around age 10

But yes, their personalities go in very different directions but are probably pretty compatible, especially if given the benefit of a shared childhood! They're both very sociable, but i suspect most people like Astala more, especially authority figures. She's much less of a troublemaker, and Novhen definitely took a while to come into his own as a social mastermind. (This also would make her the ideal candidate for a distraction whenever Novhen’s a-scheming. That’s gonna do her a lot of favors when trying to get him to steal plum tarts for her XD These two are the real blight as far as anyone in the alienage is concerned XDD)

Oh, actually! If they knew each other, i can imagine pretty well him practicing with or studying Astala to get better at social situation! And clearly it worked! (A: "Ok now make an angry face... You just look like you can't find a chamberpot. You have to scrunch your eyebrows like this." *jams her thumb down his forhead*)

Astala seems to prefer her hair shorter during the Blight, but how was it as a child? Because if it were in some sort of puff, i can imagine her child-level object permanence resulting in her hiding in an empty barrel with the puff still peeking over the top! (Artist's Rendition Below)

I don’t think he’d be too frustrated with her poor stealth outside of team games at least! (If they’re partnered is another story…) He does sometimes tease her that she’s not going to be a very good criminal when she gets bigger. Idk, how would she respond to that? Because how does she feels about the fact that she's not going to follow in her mother's footsteps (or how aware of that she'd be as a child) or maybe she would retort about how she’s already bigger or something else? Definitely a lot of ways to take that one lol

But also the idea of Novhen as alienage king of hide and seek is kinda cute. He's usually the last one left (all that damn thief training), so it’s not unheard of to see a parade of Astala, Shianni, Soris, and whoever else they've wrapped into their game (which with Astala could be quite a number) turning the alienage upsidedown to find him. There's probably at least one time he gets found in the first minute, and he thinks he's going to die of embarrassment. Because of that, they almost never let him be a hider in the first round. Sometimes when he’s hiding, they'll accidentally pick up seekers who weren't even playing along the way because they want to see him knocked down a peg XD That's what happens when you win too much!

Astala probably has him beat at wrestling tho! And the game where i imagine they’re most evenly matched would be arm wrestling. As an archer, Novhen has insane upper body and especially shoulder strength, but Astala has insane everywhere strength

On the less competitive side, imagine them as dance partners as little kids ☺️ Astala’s probably the more enthusiastic one about it, but i’d imagine she could drag him into it Easy whether through blackmail or Ole Reliable (puppy dog eyes). There have to be lots of events in the alienage that call for dancing, so it’s good to have a go-to dance partner! And if they ever get a Silly Urge while dancing, the one thing that i’ve found little kids most reliable to do is spin so fast they nearly make themselves sick, and when there’s two of them spinning each other, there’s no stopping them until the centrifugal force throws them both to the ground. At least they’re having fun lol

The Cult of Fen'Harel thing makes sense. I wouldn't expect Astala to be into that. I imagine in this case that Cyrion and Adaia agreed to expose the children to both sets of beliefs, so they could choose once they got older

It's a good thing Novhen's good at keeping matters hush because otherwise Astala would likely get stuck constantly mediating between Novhen and Ilanlas on matters of religion 🤭

Tbh Novhen would slightly begrudge her for choosing the Chantry, but i don't think he'd ever let her know if he could help it. It's just not worth it, and you can't talk about that without talking about Adaia's death which nobody is excited to talk about. Still, it's a potential source of drama, esp as the politics of DA:D are winding up

Back in the present day, if the endgame configuration is one where they live in the same location (which i think could only be the case if they were both companions), Novhen would offer her once for him to educate her child/ren in the way of the Cult of Fen'Harel and/or the Vir Banal'ras fighting style, probably get denied at least on the first one, and never bring it back up. He knows she's Andrastian and also wouldn't expect her to teach them that fighting style herself (too rogue-based), but if he had permission, he'd want to at least try to expose them to their family's traditions, so they could make a choice themselves like Novhen and Astala did

And honestly, if he's present for the origin, once Nelaros dies, Novhen would more than happily hand leadership of the mission over to Astala. Stealth only goes so far, and she has first dibs on revenge #SupportWomen

And with Unrest in the Alienage! As soon as Caladrius is dead, Novhen is scampering over his corpse to pick the lock on Cyrion's cage. Doesn't even wait for someone else to pilfer the key. Astala is free to react to that little scene however she wishes, and we get the whole Tabris family reunion after

Whoever’s Warden, i imagine those two leaning on each other a lot for emotional support during the Blight because not only are they the only alienage elves in the party, they’re family (or at the least childhood friends). Once we personalize the Broken Circle dreams, they get upsetting fast. If either of them get sent into that mission (or Maker forbid both of them), they’re definitely going to need to share a blanket by the fire for a minute

EDIT: the paragraph looks like it's been eaten but also! Novhen would be very cautious about Astala's Zevran romance at first. ("Yes, Stala, he's very dreamy, but let's not forget he's only here because he was hired to kill you.") We know he's very protective, and they're both so eldest sibling-coded

[heniareth]

Two truths, one lie

Ilanlas Mahariel edition!! Thank you so much @arainayeet for the tag, I'm enjoying these so much XD XD XD XD

Rules: post two truths and a lie about one of your characters

Here are some cold, hard facts about Ilanlas Mahariel and one that is neither cold nor hard nor a fact:

I am tagging you back!! In case you have another character you would like to show off ;D Also tagging YOU!! All of you who read this and want to give this a go!! If you want to also pleade tag me on the post so I can nosey on in and vote 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Thank you again for the tag!!!

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 3: The Battle Begins

(Full chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 4046

WARNINGS:

general darkspawn hivemind weirdness

some body horror (screaming blood)

death, description of death

the horrors of war (anxiety-inducing)

canon-typical violence

Sulri returned a while after, walking straight towards them. She looked solemn and somber, as if bearing bad news. Astala saw her expression with a twinge of worry. Were they in big trouble?

Sulri tapped Khêd on the shoulder. Khêd didn’t look up and flipped her off. Sulri let out an exasperated huff, crouched down in front of him and started signing away. Khêd avoided looking at her, but Sulri was insistent Finally, something she said made Khêd pay attention. Sulri said something more. Khêd’s mouth was a tight line, but then he relaxed. Forcefully. Astala had no idea someone could be relaxed in such a tense way.

“Fine,” Khêd said, shrug casual and not. “Let’s hear it.”

Sulri gave him a sweet smile and positioned herself so that all three of them could see her. As she started talking, Khêd translated:

“The battle is looking bad. The strategy they will use is solid, but the king’s armies are severely outnumbered, and he refuses to retreat and wait for reinforcements from his uncle in Redcliffe. I tried to help him see reason, but it didn’t work. Tonight will likely end in a defeat for the king’s army.”

Astala felt the palms of her hands starting to sweat. She exchanged a glance with Ilanlas. Maybe they could still leave?

“Fortunately,” Khêd continued his translation, “we will be away from the battlefield- we will!?”

Sulri threw Khêd a scolding look, which he didn’t even acknowledge.

“I’ll throw my beard into the Ancestors’ graves, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in years. Hah!”

He jumped up and pumped his fist in the air. Sulri crossed her arms, evidently not impressed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, salroka,” Khêd said in a mocking tone. “I’ve seen enough 'locks up close for a lifetime and a half.”

“You are a Grey Warden,” Ilanlas said. “You will see many more.”

“Do you all have to dim the lights?” Khêd said and sighed. “I’m happy about this, okay? Let me have that!”

Ilanlas raised his eyebrows, but shrugged and said nothing more. Khêd shook his head as he sat down.

“I am glad to see the Warden-Captain didn’t catch you,” Sulri continued and turned to Khêd. “Although he will probably suspect it was you.”

Khêd sighed. “Of course he would.”

“Who is the Warden-Captain?” Astala asked.

“Duncan’s right hand,” Khêd said. “Pale. Bald. Tall, but all of you sods are tall.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd didn’t bother to or didn’t want to translate.

“He was with us down in the Deep Roads and was the one to take over when Duncan left,” Khêd continued.

“You don’t like him?” Astala asked.

Khêd’s only answer was a shrug.

“Alright...” Astala turned to Sulri. “How do you know Teyrn Loghain?”

Surli made a shooing motion with her hand and shook her head.

Now that was forthcoming.

Astala leaned back on her hands to look up at the sky. Despite the strong wind, the dark, oily clouds above were progressing slowly. They crawled along like slugs, blocking out the sun and casting the world into an ever growing shadow. She didn’t like this weather. She’d seen a lot of clouds and storms—living next to the Waking Sea did that—but nothing like this. It felt off. The wind had a thinness to it that made her shiver.

“Aren’t they weird?” she asked Ilanlas, pointing upwards.

Ilanlas looked up and stared at the dark mass above them for a while.

“They look like darkspawn blood feels,” he said.

“Oh, great,” Khêd said with a wary glance upwards. “Now the void above our heads is acting weird.”

-

Shortly afterwards all wardens started to gather around the tent with the large map. Khêd suggested they keep to the back of the group, so they would be as far away as possible from the Warden-Captain. They sat down, mercifully overshadowed by a few wardens standing slightly in front and to their left. Alistair was in the middle of the group, being wrangled around by a huge blond warden saying something about ale and celebrating. The other wardens around him laughed. The air was filled with the dull roaring of mutliple conversations happening all over the group. When Duncan stepped up to the map, which had been hung up so everybody could see it, silence immediately fell over the whole fifty wardens.

She could feel it clearly now. The blood in every body answered to Duncan’s presence and the Blight in his veins. Behind Duncan stood the Warden-Captain, and the other warden with the brown skin and the grey eyes.

Duncan explained tonight’s strategy in quick, precise terms. King Cailan, along with all Grey Wardens, would meet the darkspawn horde at the front of his armies in the gulf that cut the hill in two. The king’s armies would feign weakness—and hopefully they’d have to put effort into their feigning—and gradually retreat up the gulf. Once the darkspawn had been drawn in far enough, Teyrn Loghain would join the battle with the rest of the men, attacking the darkspawn from behind. So far, so good.

Duncan then went into detail explaining where specialized taskforces would be; the warden archers, for examples, of which there were twelve, and their mages, of which there was… one.

“If the Archdemon appears, I want everybody to focus on it,” Duncan said. “We are the only ones who can slay the beast. Even if the king himself is about to be overrun, or I am about to die, I do not care. You will focus on the Archdemon. Understood?”

A murmur of assent washed over the crowd.

“How will we get the Archdemon to land?” somebody asked.

Duncan nodded at the brown-skinned, silver-eyed warden next to him. “I leave this to Palla.”

The warden stepped forward and let their gaze sweep over the crowd. When they spoke, their voice was quiet, but carried far.

“In my time as a dragon hunter, we tried many things. Chains, big nets, magic. Best method? Cut their wings. Beasts can’t fly on broken wings.”

They looked over the crowd again, eyes wandering from face to face. When they landed on Astala, it felt as if someone was running the serrated edge of a rusty blade along her teeth.

“You’ve all seen the beast,” Palla continued. “You know what it looks like. As soon as it appears, Herán and his archers will scatter and aim at its wings. Mahieu, you and the Circle mages will also engage as long as it is within range. As will the soldiers manning the ballistae. We have some hope that the ombined efforts will injure it badly enough that it will be forced to land. From there, approach until you are within range and fire at will. Do not worry about the horde; they will want us others dead first.”

“With all due respect, if I may.” Onastas clambered to his feet from the middle of the crowd. “This is not a dragon hunt. This is a battle. Our placement on the field will see us surrounded and overrun within minutes.”

As soon as Khêd finished translating that bit, Sulri nodded emphatically.

“It’s also the position closest to the archdemon,” Palla answered with a shrug.

“You are correct, Onastas,” Duncan said. “Unfortunately, the king commands this army, and we are under orders to be front and center in this assault.”

“Well,” Onastas replied, “did the king ever say if all of us had to be at the front? Couldn’t we-?”

“I suspect I know where this is going, and your idea is appreciated,” Duncan said. “But I’m afraid we can’t loophole our way out of this. The teyrn already thinks us little better than Orlesian chevaliers. We cannot afford to even appear insubordinate.”

Onastas seemed to want to insist. In the end, however, he shrugged and sat back down.

“Remember,” Palla continued, “dragons are weakest along the throat and the belly. Once the Archdemon has been forced down, aim for those spots.”

“What about the neck?” another warden asked. “I once heard a chevalier tell he chopped a dragon’s head off with an axe.”

“That chevalier was lying,” Palla said flatly. “Regardless, do not climb onto the Archdemon unless it is no longer moving. And if anybody somehow manages to stab it in the neck, they better make peace with the fact that they just dealt the killing blow.”

Silence hushed over the group. Duncan stepped up again.

“Our newest recruits will not be with us on the battlefield,” he said. “They have been given the task of lighting the signal that will tell teyrn Loghain when to march. Alistair, you will go with them.”

“What!?” Alistair jumped up. “I won’t be in the battle?”

“It is an important task,” Duncan replied. “If the beacon is not lit, teyrn Loghain will not know when to charge.”

“So he needs, what, five Grey Wardens standing there holding the torch, just in case?” Alistair said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If that is the only thing you can think of doing while you wait to light the signal, then yes,” Duncan said.

“But why can’t we be in the battle and just leave early?” Alistair pressed.

“No,” Duncan answered. “Once the darkspawn and the king’s armies have made contact, you will have one hour to enter the tower of Ishal and get to the top. Once we give you the signal, you will light the beacon. After that, you will stay with the teyrn’s men and guard the tower. If we need you, we will send word. This is by the king’s orders. Understood?”

“I…” Alistair hesitated, and then his shoulders slumped. “Yes, Duncan.”

“Good.”

“But,” Alistair added, lifting his head once more, “if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I’m drawing the line.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Khêd mumbled.

Astala set out to say something when the sunlight, choked as it already was by the clouds, became pale and sharp. A shadow fell over the camp—no. Not a shadow. It was more like a scream, or a call, vibrating through her bones. Her head snapped left, as did the heads of all the other Wardens. Something was humming in her blood, words that were none, an order: and her blood pulled.

Then it was gone again.

Astala let out a shaky breath. Khêd had gone pale, Sulri had grown still. Ilanlas had his hand on the pommel of his dagger, knuckles white as fresh ash. The other wardens exchanged uneasy and, in a few cases, knowing glances.

“Well, we have all heard that,” Duncan said. “Let us prepare for battle. The darkspawn are marching.”

-

Everything went very fast after that. People finished putting on armor and checked their weapons one last time. Somebody helped her with the chain mail after she’d pulled the fear-soaked gambeson, to which she'd add her own fear now, over her head. The metal rings dragged on her shoulders, heavier than any crate she’d ever carried, and Astala needed a moment to find her footing. Immediately, the breastplate was fastened to her. Her heart was beating a harsh thump-thump-thump in its new metal case.

People were saying goodbye: an embrace, a pat on the shoulder. Promises to stay safe and meet for drinks after the battle. Forehead pressed against forehead, eyes closed. Somebody was kneeling in a corner, praying quietly. A tear-streaked face; a tightly gripped shield; a dog scratched behind the ears as if it were the last time; shouts and screams and steps, marching, running, thousands of footfalls. The mass of people would’ve swept her away if it hadn’t been for Sulri grabbing her belt before she wandered off.

Astala took a deep breath. She had a sword, stolen as it may be. She had a dagger, taken from a corpse killed with the stolen sword. Maker preserve her family; she wished she could say goodbye to them again.

“Are you ready?” Ilanlas asked.

Astala took another breath and let it go. Shaky. It didn’t stop shaking. She shook her head.

Ilanlas gave her back a tentative pat. “It will be alright.”

“We don’t know that,” Astala choked out.

“Who’s the old ball of cheer now,” Khêd said. He knocked his shoulder into her back and sent her stumbling forward a few steps. “Shake yourself out of it, duster. Not the time to lose your head.”

Astala swallowed and nodded and rubbed her thumb over the pommel of her sword. Up and down, up and down, up and down.

The Grey Wardens left. Helmets on, so that their faces were obscured, they marched. The mage was passing his staff from one hand to the other, but his face was grim. Alistair stood at the edge of the wardens’ encampment. He got his hair ruffled once or twice, a squeeze on the shoulder, a nod, a few words. Duncan handed him something, which he tucked away. When Duncan turned around, Alistair looked like he wanted to run after him. He stayed. The wardens left. Alistair’s shoulders looked heavy. The expression on his face was downright miserable.

The blue and grey and the proud griffon banner disappeared into the gorge that split the hill in two. The rest of the army, grey and golden, or red, or green, each after their leader’s color, followed behind.

She hadn’t sent money back to Denerim.

Alistair turned around, and looked at the four of them in the middle of this now deserted camp. Astala rubbed the pommel of her sword. Should she do something? Say something?

“Right.” Alistair cleared his throat. “Well. We might be able to find a good spot from which to watch so we know when to start moving.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd translated: “Will you be leading us?”

“Yes.” Alistair stood up straighter. “You all know me by now, and I know the way you fight. Not that we’ll encounter much to fight anyways, but…” He trailed off, looking down towards the bend around which the Grey Wardens had disappeared. He sighed, shook his head and continued. “Anyways, let’s go round once and see if we can get everybody’s skillset down. Astala, sword and dagger.”

Astala nodded.

“You’ll be with me at the front, then.” Alistair said.

“Me too.” Khêd heaved a big sigh and strapped his shield to his arm. “Should’ve learned how to handle a crossbow. My eyesight isn’t even that bad.”

“I will stay back,” Ilanlas said while he strung his bow. “But, should you have need of knives, I will step up.”

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” Alsitairs said with a small smile. “Surli has us covered, right?”

Sulri nodded and demonstratively held up a dagger and an earthen jar with a tight lid on it.

“Right,” Alistair said again, much more firmly. “Let’s move.”

 - 

They positioned themselves as close to the bridge as they could. One of the giant ballistae was about twenty steps to their right. Three soldiers were manning it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Despite all of the soldiers leaving, the camp was by no means empty. Servants, elven and human, were still running around. The sad-looking mage with the Andrastian sunburst on his forehead stood there. The infirmary was still up and running. It would probably be filled to bursting once the battle here was done.

Below them, the king’s half of the army, the Circle mages and the Grey Wardens were taking up position. The clouds had closed above them. The sky and the gorge both were dark; only the glow of thousands of torches and the slight sheen they left on metal armor told them were the army was situated. The wind shifted slightly. Astala caught a whiff of incense. From the darkness below rose the Chant of Light. The Revered Mother and her Chantry sisters were down with the soldiers.

Was this how the Maker saw the world? Terrified people, singing up to him from the darkness.

A slightly sour smell was the only warning they got. Shortly after, rain started falling down on them.

“Your void is crying,” Khêd said, almost accusingly so, and lifted his shield over his head.

The rain fell heavier, splattering against the stone, their armor, and onto the battlefield below. Fighting in the mud had to be exhausting. Astala was glad she didn’t have to wear anything in front of her mouth and nose though.

“Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor,” Ilanlas muttered quietly.

As if answering him, a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the sky and the gorge below them, flashing over the armor of the king’s army. The roll of thunder that followed was deep, but still far off. The wind kicked up and blew the rain into their faces. Astala sought refuge behind a stone pillar.

Ilanlas, face turned up towards the churning sky, quietly sang to himself.

Another strike of lightning, this one much closer. The thunder crashed into her ears with a loud bang followed by a rolling as if of tons of stone. Shouts rang out behind them. A couple of elves were running to the nearest shelter, ducking and shielding themselves from the rain. At the infirmary, somebody was tying down the tents’ canvases.

Why were these people still here?

“Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”

A third strike of lightning left her seeing nothing but white for a moment, and the following thunder roared with vengeance above them. Then Alistair peered over the crumbling balustrade, and Ilanlas did too. A heartbeat later, Astala could feel it: itching, creeping through her veins like a hum, her blood was singing.

Torches, small pinpricks of light, appeared in the darkness of the Korcari Wilds.

The darkspawn approached silently dragging some sort of mist with them out of the swamp. The torches tinted it a flaming red. The howling wind carried their stench all the way up to them. In the gorge, a dog started barking, then another. Then the whole pack joined in. King Cailan’s army greeted the darkspawn with a fierce war cry. Swords banged against shields and thousands of voices rose towards the sky: defiant, challenging, ready for battle.

The voices thinned as more and more torches rolled in, like a slow-spreading wildfire.

Her blood screamed.

For a moment, both armies stood still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Astala felt it before she heard it: from within the darkspawn ranks came a deep, hoarse bellow of an order. Shrieks picked up, growls and howls pierced the air. Underlying it all was that faint, whispered gibberish she kept hearing in the back of her head. The deep, throaty laugh hummed through her bones. She pressed closer to the stone pillar, made herself small. Like a black wave, the darkspawn army surged forward.

A faint call from below. Something pulled, made her stand up straight again. Duncan. Another call, followed by sharp whistling as arrows rose into the sky like snakes and plunged down into the black mass of the darkspawn. Astala felt the impact. More arrows followed. A fireball drew a smoking arc through the sky and exploded in a cacophony of shrieks, sending darkspawn flying. More followed.

The darkspawn pressed forward.

Another fireball—but this one flew wrong. It detonated in the middle of the king’s army. Those people were dead. She could hear their screams, saw their bodies being flung up into the air.

Alistair cursed loudly. “Void take those emissaries!”

Hounds were let loose against the ranks of the darkspawn. At another barked order, the king’s army pulled itself together. Among fire and arrows, another battle cry rose into the air. The army moved. They followed their hounds into the ranks of the darkspawn army. The dark tip of their spear were the Grey Wardens. Her heart thundered in her chest as if she was holding the beating hearts of all fifty of them. Another strike of lightning, thunder, a fireball struck a nearby ruin.

More and more, the screams of the wounded and dying mixed with the clash of metal and the tearing of flesh.

“They’ve clashed,” Alistair shouted over battle, wind and thunder. “Let’s move! Across the bridge and to the tower, go!”

They ran. The wind hit them like a wave in the storm. Her hands started to tingle; she wanted to draw her weapons. Not now. Not while running. The bridge was lined with archers, trebuchets, ballistae. They ran past them. Something zipped past her and she only recognized it as an arrow when the soldier in front of her fell backwards, feathered shaft sticking out of her face. Astala’s feet carried her over the corpse before she realized it was a corpse, and then she ran for her life. The chain mail dragged her down.

She only stopped when she was safe in the shadow of the crumbling archway on the other side of the bridge, panting and gasping and tasting blood at the back of her tongue. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Astala leaned against the column. In front of her lay the long road by which they’d arrived at Ostagar only yesterday. It was covered in mist, beaten by wind and rain. Screams and the sound of carnage echoed up behind her.

She left the column, stumbled further away from the bridge, braced herself against her tree and fought to keep her lunch down.

At first she thought the two people running towards her through mist and wind and rain were her companions. Then she realized they were coming from the wrong direction; the bridge was behind her, the people in front. Astala drew her blades, backed away from the tree. The first was upon her. With a scream, Astala lunged towards the dark figure.

The man yelped and threw himself to the ground. Astala blinked and recognized the robes of a mage. The man hastily crawled away from her.

“Sorry!” Astala stepped away. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Maker preserve us!” the man whimpered, but stopped crawling.

Astala got a better look at his face. He looked like he was about a decade older than her, was soaked with rain, and deadly pale. His weird, pointy cloth hat was hanging askew, covering one of his ears while leaving the other along with the whole side of his head exposed to the elements.

Behind him, another figure approached—another soldier. Judging by the armor, he wasn’t part of the king’s army, or of any noble’s house. He roughly yanked the mage up, then fixed Astala with slightly wild eyes.

“You’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Astala said and lowered her blades.

A slight hum in her blood, steps behind her, and then a rain-drenched Ilanlas appeared next to her. Alistair and the dwarves followed quickly after. Ilanlas looked past the two men towards the rampart that led to the tower of Ishal.

“Captain Walton,” the soldier said, pointing at himself. “The tower’s been taken.”

“What’re you talking about, man? Taken how?” Alistair yelled over the wind.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers. They’re everywhere!” Captain Walton threw a fearful glance back. “Most of my men are dead!”

“Well, we have to get in,” Alistair said and set in motion. “Come with us, we might be able to save some of yours.”

That seemed enough for the captain and the mage. The seven of them made their way up the ramparts.

“Three close by,” Ilanlas said as they ran. He began to drift away from the group, pulled an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it on his bowstring. “Some others further in.”

“Hurlocks and genlocks, and one alpha at the door,” Alistair added.

Astala felt it now too: one pull, faint, towards the battlefield. The other, sickening, towards the tower.

Alistair drew his sword and readied his shield. “Astala and Khêd, keep close. Let’s show these bastards.”

They rounded a corner. Screams greeted them. There were two soldiers, about to be overwhelmed by several darkspawn. Alistair roared and charged, Khêd hot on his heels, teeth bared, shield high. Astala followed closely. Silver streaked around her. She didn’t know if it was rain or more arrows.

---

TRANSLATIONS:

- “Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor”: "Elgar'nan, wrath and thunder, strike our foes down." - “Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”: "Elgar'nan, All-Father, Sun-Slayer, here I am. Let me have vengeance. 

All bits and bobs of elvhen constructed with the help of Dalicious’ Elvhen Dictionary