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weavewithshadow · 2 months

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she, the mender; he, the break. (2)

solas/lavellan, rated T.

previous entries: (1)

synopsis: The Dalish elf that closed the Breach has woken. Immediately faced with a world that no longer looks at her the way she expects, Ithalia must piece together what transpired.

How did she survive at all? And who, if anyone, has an interest in her life?

content warnings: canon-typical violence mention, canon-typical depiction of racism, canon-typical profanity, canon-typical religious references, canon-typical depictions of depression.

read on ao3!

Two Ithalia

Something is wrong, deep in her bones, when Ithalia wakes.

Some things, plural. A gap in her memory where, apparently, a trip to the Fade should be. A mark in her palm whose cold burn she cannot pinpoint as coming from… anywhere.

A hole in the sky that she can feel, somehow, from her place on a too-warm bed in a too-comfortable room, is… gone. The quiet left behind is jarring.

Before—there’s no way to know if it’s been days, weeks, a decade—the quiet would’ve been a boon. She’d wanted it, before, a Dalish spy in the Conclave, a watcher sent from home. She’d been meant to watch. That was it. The quieter, the less imposing, the better.

She’s an explosion or two past less imposing, probably.

But what could take a Dalish elf from a prison cell to the plush of a clean bed?

One thing at a time. She cracks her eyes open—those still see the same, even after the last flash of blinding green she remembers. To her right stands a wall, simple wood planks. To her left, everything else: a bedside table, a desk, a flaming sconce, several pelts hung around a small window, a bookshelf—

A tray that clatters on the floor, dropped by an elf standing frozen in her wake.

“O—oh,” they stammer, sweat beading on their brow. Young, no valasslin—probably not Dalish. At the sight of her, their head starts shaking. They backpedal, one step and then another. “I—I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

An elf, of all people, ready to run as soon as she props herself up on an elbow.

“Don’t…” Mythal’enaste, her temple throbs. Her hand, moreso. “... Don’t worry about it. I only—”

The elf falls, and Ithalia jolts upright.

They collapse to the floor—not to faint, but to kneel.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing,” they plead, palms to the floor, even their brow touching the stone. “I am but a humble servant.”

A servant. A city elf, bending to kneel before one of the Dalish, as if Ithalia is something… more. Something else.

Some things wrong, indeed.

“I…” Ithalia lets her voice fade to nothing. She what, exactly? What does this elf, or anyone, think of her? Why is she here? And where is—

“You are in Haven, my lady,” the younger elf says, lifting their head to meet her eyes. They swallow when they spot Ithalia still watching them. “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

She turns her attention there, to the mark, if only to… spare… the younger elf from it. It lights with the twitch of a finger, the same way a person might look up at the sound of their name. It thrums, warm yet impossibly cold, in an arc from the heel of her palm to the curve between her thumb and forefinger.

It looks like an open wound, the color of the Veil.

What she thinks is the Veil.

Probably.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

Three days. The Breach, gone. Three days.

“So you’re saying…” She tries another look at the elf, who winces. She doesn’t hide her own stammer, as she’d learned to do under Keeper Ishmaetoriel’s guidance. Let this elf hear her disbelief. “They’re… happy with me?”

“I’m only saying what I heard. I didn’t mean anything by it!” The elf rises, standing on shaking knees. Again, they step backward, hands raised like at any moment, Ithalia might lunge. “I—I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She… she said, ‘At once.’”

Lady Cassandra. Ithalia grits her teeth before she remembers the younger elf would flee for less. She pauses, finds a smile, rubs a temple. Lady Cassandra…

Seeker Cassandra.

She fights to rise, stifling a groan. “And… where is she…?”

“In the Chantry,” the younger elf answers, their full-body tremor in their voice, now, too. “With the lord chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!”

They all but fall into the door as they push through it, and then they are gone.

Quiet blankets the room again—but just outside, a wave of murmurs rises, rippling out from this lodge. This Haven lodge, now that the Breach has been closed for three days.

Haven. Breach closed. Three days. She can cling to those, even when…

She will have to face the outside. Soon, probably.

In the meantime, maybe someone has left something behind more informative than the elf who somehow dropped down before her in worship. With precious little time and through the haze of a headache, though, little stands out save for a pile of loose papers left on the room’s only desk.

She chews a lip, looks down at her fingertips. Hands this clean—washed? By whom?—won’t leave any obvious prints that she’d need to make excuses for. If she did, would she have to make them? Or would anyone besides that lone elf drop down and do…. That?

No time to ponder long either way. She tests her steps, finding her own knees shaking, and ambles over to the desk. Elbow on the wood, she bends down and lifts the paper close to her eyes, cursing her headache for at least the third time in as many minutes.

Day One: Clammy. Shallow breathing. Pulse over-fast. Not responsive. Pupils dilated. Mage says her scarring "mark" is thrumming with unknown magic. Wish we could station a templar in here, just in case.

Ithalia sucks in a breath, releasing it only at the end of the passage. Mark must mean her—and unknown magic, while it ties her stomach in knots, matches her assumption.

Mage—she does remember, tangled insides tightening. A flash of green: once, twice, again, then for good before all went dark. A hand clamped over her wrist—no. Loosely. It’d been the Seeker’s grasp that was rough. Cassandra’s, not—

Solas’.

Where is he, now? Where are any of the others, aside from Cassandra and…

Lord chancellor. Haven. Breach closed. Three days.

She sighs, closing her eyes to keep the words from blurring on the page. It takes a moment for the room to return to stillness, for her stomach to stop threatening a heave.

Under the page of notes, there’s nothing discernible. Only a collection of pages with a series of numbers in two columns, marked with what looks like the time over the course of several days and nights. The measurements have no labels. The notes in the margins are packed too tightly, in too intricate of a shorthand to attempt deciphering.

Even one in elvish, which is all she really gleans from the pages. Multiple pages, packed with writing on both sides.

He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’

The dwarf’s voice—one of precious few things Ithalia remembers. Varric Tethras: rogue, author… something. He didn’t look ready to cut her down, for either her heritage or mark. He didn’t look ready to collapse in reverence, either.

“My lady?” a voice—soft, high—asks outside the door, scarcely audible over the rest.

Something brushes against the opposite side of the wood, then stops.

“Shhh! Are you mad? Leave the Herald be!” another hisses.

The Herald. Haven. The lord chancellor, with Lady Cassandra.

Scarring “mark” thrumming with unknown magic.

The Breach, closed, three days.

She’ll have to face them all, now, with nothing else to go on. No blade to ready herself for anything that might not be instantaneous adolation.

How many, in Haven? To what end?

She can’t know, until…

Ithalia opens the door with a tremoring hand and finds a parted sea. Rows of onlookers, standing politely to each side of a cobbled path, some with heads bowed, some with eyes shining. None of them notice the icy wind that shudders down her spine. None of them care for anything but what is in front of them.

A Dalish elf, Dirthhamen’s valasslin upon her brow, down the bridge of her nose, across her cheekbones, under her lip. Unmistakable from every angle as not them, a probably-Veil-green gash pulsing visibly on her palm. Washed by hands that were not hers, dressed in clothes she’s never laid eyes upon, emerging from a lodge she never chose.

Stepping out under a sky scarred the same as she: a waving line of green to split the blue, like a scar over pale skin.

I am not this, she fights not to say, for they should already know.

Have they forgotten?

She has learned, all her life, to run from human worship. To see the sight of red and learn from the bull’s mistake, fleeing opposite, never giving in to anger when survival is never not at stake.

Her Keeper has told her stories, since she was old enough to catch their meaning, of forests made of graves, canopies thick enough to blot out the sun.

Yet this tableau—this human tableau, scarcely an elf and not one Dalish in sight—stays perfectly still. They bow, not for the red of their Chantry, but for the green of her palm.

A magic that is not hers, a name—Herald—that is not hers, a mended sky that is not hers.

For if it were hers alone, she would be dead.

It is because of one that she is not.

#solavellan #solas x lavellan #solavellan fanfic #solavellan hell #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #lavellan dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #solas x inquisitor #solas dragon age #solas

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pupkinpumpkin · 1 month

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Seeing your latest Dragon age post I GOTTA ask about your inquisitor now! What are they like??👀👀👀

Oh my god you wanna ask about my Inky? That's so crazy, gosh I don't know if I-

(pulls out massive essay and powerpoint)

Aight so, first things first, even after playing DAI multiple times, I still don't have a conclusive name for her. I used my name the first time bc it was my first Dragon Age game, and it kinda stuck but also it's weird reading my name on things, so I'm just thinking of re-arranging my name or adding some letters, so we're just gonna call her Lavellan for now.

Also we're just gonna stick to small facts here because I tried making a full explanation on this but it got way too long way too quick

- Lavellan's dad was a city elf who converted and joined her mom's clan, eventually having kids w her (this is an excuse as to why Lav's name may not sound like it's Elven enough, blame it on her city elf dad)

- Lavellan does not and never had believed in the Elven gods or The Maker. The idea of gods just does not make sense to her, it's not logical to her, so therefore it doesn't exist. This has always made her feel guilty and like something was wrong with her

- Lavellan hides this lack of belief by learning a lot about the different myths and stories involving the Dalish gods, eventually becoming quite a good storyteller

- her parents are like hyper religious

- She really really loved making inventions and stuff, and would've absolutely been an artificer in another life if it wasn't for her being a mage, and therefore destined to be The First and then The Keeper

- she found out she was a mage at 8, and, being the only mage in the clan besides the keeper, a lot of pressure was put on her to live up to everyone's expectations at a very young age

- So, being a mage and having her hopes of inventing crushed at a young age in favor of protecting the clan and being it's advisor when she doesn't even believe in the Elven gods constantly makes her stressed

- She is bi and had a secret relationship w the apprentice, and then official Hallakeeper, Lindiranae as they grew up. Her clan is very homophobic, which is why this is secret

- Her clan is also very open to trading w humans and are very good friends w a merchant who used to be a slave in Tevinter named Corran. Corran is basically Lav's second dad and was one of the only people to just let her be a kid when she was growing up

- Lavellan can sketch and draw very well in a realistic style. This first stemmed from drawing contraptions and gadgets, but then became drawing her clanmates

- When she was around 19-20, a bunch of rogue Templars, being massive dicks, were being very racist and threatening to put her in the Circle, so eventually things got out of hand, they tried to attack Lav, Lindiranae protected her, but a rogue templar lit some hay on fire to spook the Halla, and pushed Lindiranae into the fire, killing her, and killing some other clan members in the process

- This gave Lav massive pyrophobia and even the smell of burnt hair will possibly make her throw up. For some reason she's fine with magic fire, but regular fire freaks her out. She works on that through Inquisition. It never goes away, but she deals with it a lot better

- After Lindiranae dies, Lav slowly starts forgetting her face, which freaks her out, so she starts drawing her and the others who died constantly

- This essentially develops into a system where Lav, the more she likes a person, the more she sketches them, but never finishes the sketches. She does this in case they die so she can make one final finished sketch and never forget their face like she forgot Lindiranae's

- Lav has a journal Corran gave her and in the very first few pages of the journal are finished drawings of all the people she's lost. Once she fills up her journal, she takes out the old pages and replaces them with new ones, but never replaces the ones with the faces of all her dead loved ones on it.

- Corran has a mabari named Brute who only understands Tevene

- Lav learns some Tevene as she grows so she can better play with Brute and talk with Corran

- Lav's older sister also never believed in the Elven gods, running away at 14 and not being seen again for many years.

- When she comes back, Lav finds out she became Andrastian, married a city elf, and is generally living a happy life

- Lav's parents basically disowned her sister after she ran away, so whenever the clan visits the town Lav's sister now lives at, Lav and her older brother sneak out to visit their sister and her husband

- Lavellan constantly puts other people before herself because she knows as a Keeper, she will have to one day lead her clan and take care of them, but this leads to her not communicating well and always pretending to be fine so she doesn't have to burden anyone and will often help others to not deal with her problems

- She's actually underweight because of this (which is how I explain why she's so skinny in the game) and gains more weight after Inquisition because she learns to better take care of herself with a good support system

- her dad died when she was around 13 and her mom became even more religious out of grief which really stressed Lavellan out

- When she just realized she was a mage, Lavellan still tried to keep making inventions and stuff, but ended up slicing her left ear open while working on one, so The Keeper forbade her from making them again. The ear never closed, which is why in my drawing of her, her ear is like that

- Corran taught her to play chess and handmade a chess set for her which got destroyed during the conclave. Luckily her journal made it out tho

- She loves heights and feels most comfortable in the forest because it reminds her of all the times her and Lindiranae would sneak off to be together

- Lav is complete and utter shit at cooking

- Lavellan loves to read and, when reading a book she really likes, often tunes out the world and it can be kinda hard to pull her back into reality. Like a deep sleeper except with books

- She can sew really well

- Lavellan is fantastic at diplomacy and would be great at The Game, but the whole thing stresses her out so much constantly that she would never choose to do it willingly

- Lavellan's ears move in accordance to her emotions, but she got a handle on that when she was young so she could fake being fine, but her ears twitch a lot when annoyed or upset and turn pink when she blushes

Literally all of this is before Inquisition even happens, it's literally all just her backstory and stuff.

Honestly, Imma probably make another one of these about her in the Inquisition because damn do I have a lot of things to talk about with her

I suppose with DAI being my first Dragon Age game, I have the most to talk about with my Lavellan

Anyway, thanks for asking 🩷

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #dai #my oc stuff #lavellan #lavellan dragon age #oc backstory #oc background

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