#maybe andruil since it seems they were close...?

[lafaiette]

Why did only Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain get free, anyway? I mean, if Solas is trapped in the same prison they were in, it's clear it's now empty, and that the other Evanuris (Falon'Din, Dirthamen, June, Andruil, Sylaise) are gone.

I understand the devs couldn't possibly introduce them all - two villains are already a lot -, but I wonder what the in-game reason for their mysterious disapperance is. Did they kill each other while trapped? Did the Blight consume them?

Or does their absence confim the theory Old Gods = Evanuris, meaning each Old God that got killed in the past was a dragon hosting an Evanuris' soul, until only Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain remained?

(If true, would that mean a Dark Ritual!Kieran possessed an Evanuris' soul until Mythal took it from him?)

[jackdawyt]

Again, midnight snow, pine forest, lanterns, etc. It’s the same ambiance.  When Mark Darrah showed this 2019 tease, he shared an article questioning if snow can appear on the equator, the article proved that areas that are on the equator can have snow. We can successfully say that our clowning wasn’t all for nothing! We honked and brigaded the circus of Dragon Age clowns together, and BioWare graced us with exactly 12 seconds of Dragon Age 4 in-engine shots. Which at the bear minimum is something that we feral clowns can sink our teeth into.  

With that said, first and foremost, we can confirm this footage was Dragon Age related. Not only that, but it’s actually next gen work-in-progress, as John Epler confirmed.  

With Dragon Age 4 being built for next gen, we can see the beauty of the Frostbite Engine’s graphical fidelity:

Lighting, ray-tracing, blooms, shadows, depth of field, upscaled texture quality, etc. The evolution of the Frostbite engine is apparent, the game looks stunning already! And there’s an overall tone of dark fantasy, the world is saturated in this gothic aesthetic, and I love it!  

The midnight snow, spooky atmosphere, eroding corruption and terrifying amounts of red lyrium and fungus.  

As far as initial impressions go, Dragon Age 4 looks dark, like Tevinter Nights dark!  That’s something I know for a fact we all want to see, so we’re excited for that.

Let’s talk about the three shots we got, and what they tell us about the next Dragon Age game, at least what we could make out.  

Location

Upon impact, this first shot reminded me of Mark Darrah’s 2019 in-game screenshot tease:

Again, midnight snow, pine forest, lanterns, etc. It’s the same ambiance.  

When Mark Darrah showed this 2019 tease, he shared an article questioning if snow can appear on the equator, the article proved that areas that are on the equator can have snow.

For the uninitiated, Tevinter is in the Southern Hemisphere, whereas Ferelden and Orlais are in the Northern Hemisphere.  

When Mark Darrah shared this article, it explained that his 360p tease was revealing a location that’s on the equator given the snow, we all assumed it was Tevinter, but maybe not.  

Both Mark’s screenshot and this new in-game shot look like they’re in the same area. So, where could this moonlit, gloomy area be?  

Well, it could be Tevinter, probably southern Tevinter closer to the equator, or it could be Northern Ferelden because we can see plenty of tidbits relating to Ferelden culture.  

For instance, we can see recognisable Ferelden totems and elven urns resembling their burial rites. This at least speaks on the location’s purpose, or at least the inhabitants of the area, either present or past.  

The Tree

Upon inspection, the tree seemingly has red lyrium roots sprawling from the base. While the top is leafless and devoid of life. Perhaps red lyrium from the ground has begun eroding even more life, as red lyrium carries the blight onto anything that is living. We can only expect more corrosion and corruption of natural life throughout Thedas.  

Trees; in particular, have a lot of representation and meaning in Dragon Age, especially ones as wicked and old as this tree we see in the tease.  

One of the biggest predictions at the moment is that this tree is a vhenadahl. A generational tree of the elven people, that means ‘home tree’, essentially it represents arlathlan and the elven people. Although there is plenty of merit and meaning behind that, I don’t think this tree is a vhenadahl.  

Vhenadahl’s are generally displayed in elven alienages providing comfort to the city elves. This is certainly not that given the surrounding area. Even the burial urns prove that this tree acted as something else. But what? Perhaps it was a flourishing funeral garden, once a safe place for those to mourn, now corrupted with blight?  

Mythal has also been represented as a tree because of her vallaslin. Which resembles leafless branches, and has the same depiction of that tree on Flemeth’s True Grimoire.  

If we look beneath the tree, the urns with skulls are shown a lot in elvhen ruins and near elvhen artifacts. Perhaps this tree resembled something from Ancient Arlathan and could've been an old oak that became lifeless due to the blight, much of what is suspected about the death of Mythal...

There’s a codex on “The Oak” that relates to the constellation ‘Fervanis’, it’s represented by a towering tree with leafless branches that harkens back to the earliest of human tribes. They followed animistic beliefs, that nature and humans were one, and both equal. This was the main belief before the rise of the Old God’s worship and creation of the Tevinter Imperium.

However, others believe that the constellation ‘Fervanis’ is of the elven people – specifically, the depiction of Andruil herself, the goddess of the hunt. Another connection to the ancient elves...  

With that, this tree could resemble many things going forward, there’s symbolism in everything when it comes to Dragon Age as far as I’m concerned. There was even a tree in The Dread Wolf Rises trailer... so both trees could share the same connotation.  

As a final note on this shot, we see crow-like-bird's flutter from the tree... Jackdaw’s confirmed for Dragon Age 4? CAW! Moving on to the next shot.  

Structure

The chapel (as we are calling it) and the fortress in the background are very Ferelden in design. The fortress is identical to Redcliffe Castle, whereas the chapel resembles Skyhold’s main hall to some degree.  

Tevinter architecture follows more spiky, oriental designs using precious stones and metals. None of those attributes appear in these structures, they’re most certainly Ferelden.  

Location

There’s a small trail of snow linking that this is a continuation of the previous shot. With the tree to the left, and the fort behind, it seems both shots share the same moon.

Speaking of the sky, we can see the healed Breach just yonder, perhaps hinting that this location is relatively close to the Frostback Mountains? Is this fortress settled in the highest points of Ferelden considering the Inquisitor sealed the Breach there?  

This fortress has been ransacked, as we can see it’s flooded, falling apart and has abomination/ darkspawn flesh bags.... Perhaps the blight has spread throughout the area with the red lyrium’s growth? 

Just like the tree, red lyrium has grown into this fort, perverting everything it touches. The corruption of Red lyrium is a common theme throughout this tease.  

If it’s not Ferelden, then where? Estwatch is an island just off the coast of the Free Marches, located directly on the Equator. Built originally by the Imperium, it’s ‘World of Thedas’ depiction looks very close to this stronghold. However, the chances of this being Estwatch is likely uncommon, but in Dragon Age, everything is in the realm of possibility.

But who knows, it could very well be the Frostbacks? Maybe we’ll revisit Skyhold/Temple of Sacred Ashes once more to see what Pride had Wrought...

Connection

The fortress behind emits an ooze of red lyrium, is this fortress connected to the following red lyrium shot shown? Personally, we believe each of these locations are connected. And so, that’s where this red lyrium shot takes place?

As we can see this location is trickling with red lyrium and corruption, it’s chaotic to say the least. No wonder you can see the glowing from miles away. 

Red Lyrium Organism

This organism (as we’re calling it) in the middle has been the talk of the entire carnival. There’s a lot to dissect given the centre part of this shot.

 At first, this organism looked like a decaying, yet familiar Red Lyrium Idol. It carries the shape and figure of the idol, however bloated beyond belief. Perhaps the red lyrium from the idol has grown into a tumultuous form, spreading throughout the area and that has caused the mass spread of the blight throughout the landscape.  

Or it could be a Titan vein/heart/aspect of a Titan, however, not just any Titan, a blighted Titan. And that’s why so much red lyrium has spread throughout each of the shots, as it’s grown in increasing values, corrupting everything living in the vicinity.  

One must ask, what is the purpose behind all of this red lyrium? It comes down to good ol’ Chuckes of course!  

As we know red lyrium weakens the Veil. Solas can use the substance to constantly weaken the Veil, until it is destroyed. This blighted Titan heart could be the beginning of this plan.  

Since red lyrium is the blood of the Titans and it carries the blight, perhaps this heart is the origin of the next blight.  

Perhaps if this organism isn’t a Titan heart, nor the Red Lyrium Idol, it could be a grotesque, vile monster that awaits us. Thriving on the red lyrium and mushrooms, enveloped in a cocoon... waiting for its next meal.  

The area surrounding the organism has gruesome bodies and twisted figures that are reminiscent of the Fade. Yet we can see the sky and trees in the background. So, we’re clearly not in the Fade, right? Unless we’re already doomed and the waking world and the Fade are one...

The mushrooms share a resemblance with standard deep mushrooms, could red lyrium have infected them with the blight, corrupting them? Are we facing against terrifying fungi’s in the next game? Can we eat them?  

Deep mushroom harvesting is usually a dangerous task because it can lead to darkspawn. Apparently almost all the deep mushrooms tend to carry the darkspawn's corruption, however are not contagious. So no, I wouldn’t suggest eating them...

The torn down fortress once more follows a (you guessed it) Ferelden structure. This entire shot reminds me of the Temple of Sacred Ashes after Corypheus destroyed the landscape during his fight.

We can see the tip of the mountains in this shot, and they look like the Frostbacks. So, it’s most likely not in Tevinter, if we compare the Ferelden and Tevinter mountains: 

Fereldan’s are like the Rocky mountains:

Tevinter’s are like the San Juan mountains:

Both very distinct from each other.  

This shot as a whole is rather ambiguous... it feels like something we haven’t seen before... almost alien. I feel like each scene is taking place in Fereldan, however, I’m very sceptical considering Tevinter is the main location of the game given Trespasser’s ending, Tevinter Nights and Joplin’s setting.  

Honestly, I can’t wait to just explore more, this tease has given me a glimpse at what we can come to expect!  Regardless, it’s been super fun to don the tinfoil on actual Dragon Age 4 related-content!  

Although this tease was small, we may have something soon, depending on when soon is. According to EA/BioWare’s community manager, they said: “Soon BioWare fans, soon.” followed up with “I mean... my soon always comes with a ™. So, who really knows.”

Perhaps the next official tease will be a title reveal? That’s what I’m thinking at least. In any regard, I’ll be covering this and more recent tweets in my next news video!   Let us know if we missed anything that you guys caught, and tell us your thoughts down below regarding this tiny tease and Dragon Age 4

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: The Vagaries of Names

Chapter 6 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up on AO3!

In which Felassan and Tamaris are still bumming around the mansion talking and eating, and Varric comes to pay a visit. 

~6400 words; read here on AO3. Featuring beautiful art by @lethendralis-paints​!! Please check out the chapter for the full piece!!! 

Tamaris scraped her hair back from her face. “...and he was all, ‘we must be beyond reproach and give them no reason to think we’re suspicious even though the orb is elvhen.’ And that’s when he mentioned Skyhold. We spent the next three days tromping through the snow, and then there it was: an entire fucking castle in the middle of the Frostback Mountains that nobody knew about.” She tapped her fingers moodily on the open copy of This Shit Is Weird. “So yeah, what Varric described was pretty accurate, minus the stuff Solas only said to me.”

“Interesting,” Felassan said. He pushed the book aside and placed a plate in front of her. “And the part about the fledgling Inquisition singing your praises to the heavens, quite literally?” He shot her a grin as he started spooning food onto her plate. “Was that accurate too, or a colourful embellishment?”

She groaned, and Felassan laughed brightly. “Oh, no.�� 

“Oh, yes,” she drawled. “They sang me a Chantry hymn. A Chantry hymn to praise the most non-Andrastian elf in the fucking Inquisition.”

“Non-Andrastian because you believed in the elvhen gods instead?” he asked. 

She shot him a hard look, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. After a moment, Tamaris sighed again. “Fine, all right, yes. I did.” She gave him another resentful look. “As much as anyone can believe in a bunch of ‘gods’ who are either ignoring their people’s prayers or who got trapped by a tricky wolf.” 

Felassan smiled faintly, then spooned another poached egg onto Tamaris’s plate. She waved irritably for him to stop. “Quit it, will you? Sit down. I can serve myself.”

“Can you?” Felassan said. “Or will you eat straight from the pan given half a chance?” 

She eyed him flatly without replying. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right. “Don’t give me a hard time,” she retorted. “I saw you eating grapes straight from the icebox yesterday. You didn’t want to put them in a fancy serving bowl first?”

He tsked at her sarcastic tone. “There’s a difference between being hedonistic and being slovenly. But fine, since you insist.” He set the pan down in front of her, then picked up a piece of toast and tossed it carelessly onto her plate before taking another piece of toast for himself and sitting beside her.

He leisurely kicked his feet up on the table and bit into his toast, and Tamaris watched him with a combination of amusement and exasperation. He carried himself with such elegant confidence, almost like a noble with no doubt about his place in court. It seemed so incongruent with his humble beginnings as a slave in Andruil’s household.

He swallowed his bite of toast, then raised a roguish eyebrow. “Enjoying the view, are you?” 

She ignored his playful flirt. “You’re strange.” 

He smirked. “It takes a special sort of mind to see its reflection in the eyes of another.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, yes, I’m strange too. I just mean…” You don’t act like someone who used to be a slave, she thought. Not that she had met many people who had lived most of their lives as slaves, in truth. The only former slave she’d spent any real time around was Hawke’s husband Fenris, so maybe her expectations were biased by how taciturn and unsmiling he was during his and Hawke’s brief travels with them – when Hawke wasn’t teasing and flirting with him, at least. 

She tried to find a more tactful way to state her thoughts. “I wouldn’t have known you were a slave if you hadn’t told me,” she said.

“Because I don’t act like one, you mean?” he said, and he took another bite of toast.

Fuck, she thought. She should have known he would guess what she was really thinking. “Yeah,” she admitted. “That’s a shitty thing to think, I know.” 

“I’m curious now how you think slaves are supposed to act,” he said. “Should I be crawling on the floor beneath your feet? Making myself unheard and unseen as I walk around your mansion trying to pretend I don’t exist?”

His tone was laced with humour, but Tamaris didn’t smile. “Nobody should have to act that way,” she said quietly.

His impish smile softened. “You’re right; they shouldn’t. And there was once a time when I walked with my head bowed and my eyes on the ground. But eyes on the ground does not mean that those eyes are closed. Silent servants are the ones who hear the most. Nobles always seem to forget this, whether their ears are pointed or round. You’d think they’d learn eventually, but…” He shrugged and took another bite of toast.

Tamaris nodded thoughtfully. Sera had often said the same thing, in her annoyingly roundabout sort of way.

“In any case, I haven’t been a slave for several millennia,” Felassan said. “I have, however, been many other things over the course of many years.”

“You mentioned that before,” Tamaris said.

“It is the truth, and not just for me,” he said. “After all, were you always as you are now? A–” 

“A bitch?” Tamaris helpfully supplied.

He grinned, but went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “A warrior with sharp edges and a soft heart? An elf with eyes that are far older than the rest of her face? A woman who dances with fire?”

She stared at him for a long moment with her heart in her throat. He was smiling still, but there was something intense about his catlike amethyst eyes – and something unnervingly warm. 

Her belly was wriggling – and not in an unpleasant way. She dropped her eyes to her plate and picked up her fork. “Get your fucking feet off the table while I’m eating.” 

Felassan chuckled and slowly shifted his feet back to the ground. “By all means, eat. It’s better when it’s hot.” 

Tamaris eyed the breakfast Felassan had made. He’d poached some eggs in a pan of savoury sauce made from tomatoes, sweet peppers, onions and red wine, drizzled with olive oil and flavoured with something that smelled sweet and spicy at the same time – some interesting herbal mixture, probably, knowing him. The dish was actually semi-familiar to her, thanks to some strings Josephine had pulled to get a Nevarran chef to Skyhold for one of her fancy formal dinners, but the spicy scent and the vibrant crimson of the sauce weren’t quite what she remembered. 

“This is a dish from Nevarra, isn’t it?” she asked him. 

He raised an eyebrow and swallowed another bite of toast. “Would it shock you if I said it was an ancient Elvhen dish that the Nevarrans stole?”

She lifted her eyebrows slightly, then scoffed and dipped the tines of her fork into the sauce. “Not at all.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Ah. Shame. Because it’s not.”

She gave him an exasperated look, and he chuckled. “The Nevarrans didn’t steal this dish, but we had something very much like it in Arlathan. Not surprising, really, given how simple it is to make. Although the spices–”

Tamaris cut in. “Let me guess. Your own special herbal mixture?”

He tutted. “So dismissive! I heard no complaints from you last night when you were inhaling that salad.”

She opened her mouth to make a snappy remark, then paused. “Okay, fine, that salad was really good,” she admitted.

“So is this,” he said, and he tapped the edge of her plate. “Now eat. You look like you need it.”

“I look like death warmed over, you mean,” she grumbled. Last night was the first night in some time that she hadn’t drunk herself to sleep – a fact that her persistent headache and nausea were not-so-kindly reminding her of. 

“Such bluntness is your hallmark, not mine,” he said airily. “Besides, I would never speak such a lie.”

She gave him a chiding look. “Yes you would. You were a spy.”

“I was, but no longer,” he said. “Now I can say whatever I want. For example, that you look perfectly alluring despite your sickly pallor.” 

She tsked. “You’re so full of shit.” Even more irritating was the fact that Felassan looked like the picture of health. His tawny skin was glowing and his glossy hair was pulled back in a tidy tail at his nape, which only made Tamaris more aware of her own untamed curls. And he was so fucking chipper.

He chuckled and took another bite of toast. “Eat, Tamaris. It’ll help.” He picked up This Shit Is Weird and kicked his feet back up on the table.

She eyed his feet hopelessly. I give up, she thought, then took a bite of egg.

It was, of course, delicious: savoury and sweet and creamy from the perfectly runny egg yolk. And spicy.

Very spicy. 

Tamaris cleared her throat, then sucked in a breath. “Damn, this is hot.”

“Too hot for you?” he said slyly.

“No, actually,” she retorted. “I love it. It’ll kick my headache right out.” She dipped her toast in the sauce and bit it with relish.

He bowed his head politely. “I’m sorry to hear you’re still having a headache. With any luck, we can get our hands on the herbs I need to make that tea.”

She swallowed her toast and shrugged. “Varric will probably show up today to see if I’m dead, so we can ask him to get what you need.” She took another bite of eggs and sauce.

“It is a shame that I can’t collect the herbs myself,” Felassan said. “They’re more potent when they’re fresh.”

“Varric said we can get anything in this city if you look in the right places,” Tamaris told him. “He can get your herbs fresh if that’s what you need.”

Felassan nodded. “Of course.”

She looked at him. He was gazing at the fire, and his expression was slightly wistful. 

Before Tamaris could ask what was wrong, he turned to her with a mischievous smile. “So. Skyhold. What did you think of Fen’Harel’s beloved fortress?”

She swallowed her eggs and gave him an odd look. “Why do you call him Fen’Harel?”

He tilted his head quizzically, so she elaborated. “You call Solas ‘Fen’Harel’. But he told me that Fen’Harel was an insult from his enemies.”

Felassan laughed. “Ah, the vagaries of names. Fen’Harel was an insult seeded by the Evanuris and their followers, yes, but he relished in it at first. ‘They should bear dread for me,’ he said, ‘for it’s through my forces that their atrocities will be laid to rest.’” He gave her a knowing look. “Pride once took great pride in the title of the Rebel Wolf.”

Tamaris frowned. “Rebel Wolf?”

He smiled faintly. “Words change, as do people and their places in time. It makes sense, really. I can understand how the word ‘rebel’ became twisted with negative connotations due to long association with the mighty gods’ greatest detractor and foe.”

His tone was irreverent, but Tamaris frowned thoughtfully as she considered what Solas had told her a year ago. “Rebel Wolf… yes, I can see that.”

Felassan nodded. “Fen’Harel proudly adopted the insult as his informal title among our ranks. It bolstered courage among our people, and importantly, it allowed us to laugh at our foes. Ridicule can be a powerful weapon against those who hold themselves in such high esteem. But those of us who called ourselves his friends still called him Solas, for pride is who he was to us.”

Tamaris scoffed. She’d suddenly remembered the way Solas had once described himself to Blackwall. “Young, cocky, and ready to fight?” she drawled.

Felassan smiled slowly. “He said that, did he?”

“Not directly to me, but yes.”

He shook his head and let out a soft little laugh. “Yes, that’s… that is exactly who he was, once, and it was glorious. But as time wore on and the Evanuris’s tactics grew more vicious, Solas became…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not disheartened per se, but… serious. He was no longer quick to laugh like he once was. His title and its insult began to chip away at him. So I began calling him Fen’Harel.”

“Why?” Tamaris asked.

Felassan blinked. “To cheer him up, of course.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You insulted him to cheer him up?”

“Of course,” Felassan said. “It cheers me up when you roast me.”

She laughed despite herself. “I don’t roast you.”

He smiled. “My humorously wounded feelings would say otherwise. But yes, I called him Fen’Harel in jest, but also to remind him what it meant to those of us who followed him and fought for his cause. He was the young and uppity Rebel Wolf to the Evanuris and their ilk, but to us, he was the man who snatched us from the jaws of slavery and, for many, of a certain and ugly death.” He waved his hand in an elegant gesture. “So yes: I called him Fen’Harel as a reminder of all that he was trying to achieve.” He shot her a wry little smirk. “Perhaps it was too effective a reminder, given the position we now find ourselves in.”

“You feel sorry for him,” Tamaris said.

She realized belatedly how accusatory she sounded, but it was too late; the words were out, and Felassan was gazing at her with a rather contemplative look on his face.

“Don’t you?” he said.

“No,” she said instantly. “I feel sorry for everyone in this world that he’s trying to murder for no good reason.”

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement, but Tamaris wasn’t finished. “He was only awake in this world for one year before deciding there was nothing of value in it. And then he spent another entire year with us, and he still has so much disdain for us that he’s going to try and kill us all?”

“It is not a matter of disdain for your people that drives him,” Felassan told her. “It’s a matter of guilt for ours.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” she snapped. “And you — you’re from his time, and you still purposely fucked up his plans. You must think there’s something of value in this time.”

Felassan slowly ran a hand over his hair. “I understand change better than Fen’Harel does,” he said.

“But you think there’s something of value here,” she pushed.

“I think there is value to be found everywhere, if you look in the right places,” he said.

“Then how can you feel sorry for him?” Tamaris demanded. “He tried to kill you, for fuck’s sake. How can you feel sorry for someone who was once your friend, betraying you like this?” 

He looked her in the eye, and Tamaris scowled. He was wearing that soft and world-weary look again – the one that smacked of thousands of years of life and knowledge and war.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. 

His eyebrows rose. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a fucking child,” she said in a hard voice. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

He frowned slightly. Then he reached out and lifted her chin with a gentle hand.

“Do not mistake my sympathy for a lack of anger,” he said quietly. “You know that it is possible to harbour both.”

She couldn’t reply; her mouth was suddenly dry. Her chest was jangling, partly from the delicacy of Felassan’s fingers on her chin, but mostly at the ferocity in his eyes. His odd violet eyes were so bright and clear, and Tamaris couldn’t tell if the uncanny light in them was from conviction or from a hint of untapped magic.

She took a deep and slightly shaky breath. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad I’m not the only angry one.” 

Felassan stared at her without replying, and she gazed helplessly back at him. She still couldn’t decide if his eyes were actually glowing, or if it was the fierceness of his expression that was taking her breath away.

Then his lips started to slowly curl at the corners. By the time his face was lit with that full breathtaking smile, her heart was pounding in her ears. 

She swallowed hard. “Keep it in your pants, Felassan,” she breathed. 

His smile curled into something wicked, and a tantalizing rush of heat raced down her throat and into her chest. 

Then someone knocked on the front door.

Tamaris jumped, and Felassan’s hand fell away from her face. Then Varric’s voice called through the door. “Hey, Cuddles. You alive in there?”

Felassan’s smile widened. “Cuddles?” 

She curled her lip at him, then rose from her chair and went to open the door. 

Varric sidled inside, and his eyes darted over her face. “You okay? Hey, it smells good in here.”

“You’re just in time for breakfast,” Tamaris said. She gave Varric a long-suffering look and lowered her voice. “He cooks.”

Varric gave her an odd look. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“No,” Tamaris muttered petulantly.

He raised one eyebrow, then turned to Felassan, who had wandered over to join them and was leaning casually against the doorjamb. Varric held out his hand. “Hey there. Varric Tethras, reluctant Viscount of this fair city-state.” 

Felassan bowed his head graciously and shook Varric’s hand. “I am Felassan. Former Tranquil and current victim to Tamaris’s dubious hospitality.”

Varric snorted a laugh, but Tamaris straightened with indignation. “‘Dubious hospitality’?” she said archly. “I told you this house is yours as much as mine!”

“And you got mad at me for reading Varric’s excellent book,” he said.

“That you stole from my pack!” she exclaimed.

Felassan shrugged elegantly. “A minor detail. Varric, come and eat. Tamaris, yours is cold now.”

“It’s cold because you won’t stop talking to let me eat,” she complained.

Felassan tutted. “Always so focused on the details,” he said. He shot Varric a smirk, then sauntered toward the kitchen.

Tamaris grumbled in annoyance, then turned to Varric. “Look, he’s actually a really good cook. Do you…” She trailed off; Varric was giving her a funny look.

She frowned. “What?” 

He continued to eye her shrewdly. “Remind me how long he’s been here?” 

“Three days,” she said. “Why?”

Varric’s eyebrows rose even higher. Then he chuckled and shook his head. “Andraste’s ass. I know how this story ends.”

She scowled. “What the fuck are you on about?”

He patted her elbow. “Nothing, elf. I am hungry, though.” He made his way toward the dining table, and Tamaris grumpily followed him.

Varric took a seat across from Tamaris’s now-cold breakfast. “So you’re okay then? Not, uh, sick?”

She sat down and picked up her fork. “I’m good. I’m going to stop drinking.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s… yeah, that’s probably good.”

She nodded brusquely. “It helps that I ran out of hard liquor,” she said. She took a bite of egg and gave Varric what she hoped was a reassuring half-smile. She still had some wine and beer in the house, but it seemed likely that Felassan would use it in his cooking at some point.

Varric returned her smile, and Tamaris felt a pang of guilt at the obvious relief in his face. A moment later, Felassan wandered out of the kitchen with a clean plate and utensils for Varric. 

He set them in front of Varric, who raised his eyebrows. “Hey, thanks,” he said. He peered at the pan of eggs and sauce with interest. “Is this…? It looks like that Nevarran dish.”

“It is a similar dish,” Felassan said. “And there’s coffee in the kitchen if you’re in need.”

“I’m surprised you’re not offering him tea,” Tamaris said snidely. 

Felassan grinned at her as he made his way around the table. “Don’t worry, Tamaris. My special teas are just for you.”

She rolled her eyes and took a vicious bite of toast. Felassan draped himself lazily in the chair beside her and smiled at Varric. “It is good to meet you. As our lovely hostess mentioned, I have been reading your book. I was just asking her what she thought of Skyhold.”

Varric chuckled and helped himself to breakfast. “Oh, I’m sure she had a lot to say about it.”

Felassan grinned at Tamaris. “Do you, now? I imagine it must have been quite the shocking change from your aravels.”

She swallowed a mouthful of toast and egg. “Hey, I like aravels, all right?” she said defensively. “They’re homey. And I like sleeping outside, too, if you want to make fun of me for that.”

“I’m sure I will, eventually,” he said pleasantly. “Now come, tell me what you thought of Fen’Harel’s stronghold.”

She shrugged and took another bite of eggs. “It was a good headquarters for the Inquisition.”

Felassan nodded. “It is an excellent headquarters for an organization to grow its power, yes. What else?”

“It was…” She shrugged irritably. It had been a year since she’d lived in Skyhold, and everything felt so different then compared to now. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It was fine.”

“Fine?” Felassan chuckled. “I’m sure Fen’Harel was disgruntled by that assessment.”

Tamaris scowled and took another bite of her food. Then Varric spoke to Felassan. “She was like a nervous cat for the first week we were there. And every time something got renovated and the castle got nicer, it was like she got nervous all over again.”

Felassan laughed brightly, and Tamaris shot Varric a resentful look. “I’m a simple girl with simple tastes, all right? I don’t like fancy shit. I’m not used to it.”

Varric smiled. “Hence the Avvar decor in the Great Hall.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Although that also had the benefit of pissing Vivienne off.”

Varric chuckled. Then Felassan addressed him once more. “Your book mentioned that Solas had a preference for the rotunda. Is that correct?”

Varric nodded. “He painted huge murals on the walls, like the ones in that Shattered Library place.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “So the murals are still intact there as well? Interesting.”

Tamaris pushed her empty plate away. “Did Solas spend most of his time in the rotunda back in the olden days too?”

Felassan shot her a chiding smirk — likely at her irreverent reference to the ‘olden days’. “Some, but not most. The rotunda is where he gave his rousing speeches.”

Varric huffed in amusement. “He gave rousing speeches? I can’t see it.”

“I can,” Tamaris said quietly.

Felassan nodded and lifted his feet onto the table. “Oh, he was very inspiring. But the rotunda was likely much larger in our time than it is now.”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris asked.

“The fortress you lived in can’t possibly be the same as the one we knew,” he explained. “The original fortress was a thorough melding of the magical and the mundane. The castle you occupied was likely built in parts and pieces over many ages.”

She stared at him. She felt stupid for not having thought of this before, because it made perfect sense. Of course Skyhold couldn’t be the exact same building as the one from thousands of years ago, especially if it was originally a merging of the Fade and the real world like the Vir Dirthara was.

Varric, meanwhile, seemed unsurprised. “Yeah, that makes sense. Gatsi — our head stonemason — he said the castle was a mishmash of styles and stone from different places and eras.”

“But Skyhold felt like a whole,” Tamaris put in. “Even if it was a mishmash, it didn’t feel like one. It felt like it was supposed to be as it was. It felt… It didn’t feel like a patchwork or anything.” She wrinkled her nose. “I… It’s hard to explain what I mean. It felt—” 

“It felt like safety. Didn’t it?” Felassan said. “It felt like coming home.”

She looked at him sharply. “Yes,” she said. “It… it took a while, but yes. It did.”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “A lingering quality of Fen’Harel’s magic in the foundations. Skyhold was a refuge for freed slaves as well as a fortress. It too played many roles over time — including beyond our time, clearly.”

She frowned thoughtfully as she pulled a joint of elfroot and embrium from her shirt pocket. “It’s where he made the Veil, isn’t it? Or triggered it or whatever.” She lit the joint and took a drag from it, then blew the smoke over her shoulder before looking at Felassan.

He was staring at her intently. She blinked at him. “What? What’s wrong?”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

She frowned. “It’s… he practically told me. He said the castle was named ‘Tarasyl’an te’las’ back in your time. ‘The place where the sky was held back.’” She huffed and lifted the joint to her mouth. “In retrospect, he obviously meant the Veil, but hindsight is perfect, blah blah and so on.”

“When did he tell you that?” Felassan said. He reached for the joint in her fingers, and she handed it to him.

“When he was still with the Inquisition,” she said. “We’d been living there for… I don’t know, maybe eight months. We had a bunch of scholars studying the castle just for interest’s sake, and he told me that little tidbit and said I could pass it on to them.”

Felassan released a mouthful of smoke. “He told you that while he was still with you? Fenedhis.” He shook his head and smiled. “He really wanted you to figure it out, didn’t he?”

She gave him a skeptical look. “His whole ‘not telling me shit’ thing would say otherwise,” she drawled. She reached for the joint, and Felassan took another quick drag before handing it back to her.

“Truly, I’m shocked at how much he revealed to  you,” he said. “There was only a handful of us who called the castle by that name, and only then when times were so desperate that the Veil was all he could think to do.”

She blinked. “Really? What did you call it before that?” She tucked the joint at the corner of her lips for safekeeping and started gathering the dishes.

Felassan barked out a laugh. “Oh, nothing nearly so lyrical as Tarasyl’an te’las.”

She paused and looked at him. “Come on, tell me.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I can’t tell you what we called it.”

“Why the fuck not?” she demanded.

He waved his hand in an expansive gesture. “We once prided ourselves on our wonderful use of metaphor. The castle’s common name was… not very poetic.”

She gave him a flat look. “Just tell me.”

He sighed. “Twist my arm, why don’t you. We called it Arla’fen.”

She frowned and took a slow pull from the joint, then lifted it away from her lips. “‘Home of the wolf’? That’s it?”

He rose to his feet and continued collecting the dishes. “It meant ‘the wolf’s den.’”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then snorted. “That sounds like a place where a bunch of rowdy boys gather together to watch each other getting into fighting matches.”

“And wouldn’t that be undignified,” Felassan said without turning around. 

She stared at him, then smiled slowly. “That’s exactly what you did, isn’t it? You and your rebel buddies would have fighting matches for fun.”

He smirked at her over his shoulder. “I told you it was not very poetic.”

She could feel her smile growing wider by the moment. “Did you howl at each other like wolves too?” she said.

“It is possible that there was some howling involved,” he said in a dignified manner.

She laughed, and Felassan grinned at her as he finished stacking the dirty dishes. “Well, if you’ve finished roasting me, I’ll go to the kitchen to deal with these.”

“This is hardly a roast,” she said. “When I decide to roast you, you’ll know.” She lifted the joint to her lips once more.

Felassan reached out and plucked it from her lips. “I’ll look forward to it, avise.” He placed the joint between his own lips and smirked at her, then picked up the dishes and walked away.

She huffed in amusement and shook her head, then plopped down in her chair again and looked at Varric.

His chin was propped on one fist, and his eyebrows were raised. Tamaris gave him a flat look. “Come on, Varric, out with the judgment. Let’s hear it.”

“What was that he called you?” Varric asked. “Avise’?”

“It means ‘fire’,” Tamaris said. “Or ‘flame’.” She shrugged. “It’s a long and stupid story.”

Varric didn’t bat an eye. “He’s got a nickname for you?”

“You have a nickname for me,” she pointed out.

“I’ve known you for four years,” Varric said.

“You started calling me ‘Cuddles’ two days after we met!” she exclaimed.

He tilted his head, and Tamaris folded her arms. “So what then? Do you want to chaperone us? Feel free to move in. Mythal knows this fucking place is big enough.”

Varric sat back in his chair. “No no, I won’t interrupt. Just… be careful, huh?”

She softened. He was just trying to be a good friend. “Seriously, don’t worry,” she assured him. “Nothing’s going to happen. We’re both too fucked up.”

Varric frowned slightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing okay.”

She shrugged, and Varric leaned toward her. “Seriously. It’s good that you’re going to cut back on the drinking. We were all a little… well.”

“You were worried,” she mumbled. “I know. I get it.”

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair again. “Just looking out for you, Cuddles.”

She tsked at the nickname, and Varric smiled and stood up. “Well, I just wanted to check in since I hadn’t heard from you. I should probably get back to the Keep. Bran will be getting tired of running my meetings by now.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You had meetings this morning?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t really need to be there, though. Besides, when you miss meetings, people think you’re all the busier, and they’re less likely to try and bother you unless it’s really urgent.”

Tamaris scowled. “If that’s true, why did Josephine always insist that I had to be at every fucking meeting?”

He chuckled. “Don’t ask me. I wasn’t one of your advisors.” He started to make his way toward the door.

Tamaris stood up. “Oh hey, hang on a second. Can you get supplies for us while we’re cooped up here?”

He glanced up at her in surprise. “Cooped up? Why can’t you leave?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for Felassan to be alone until he gets a better handle on his magic,” she said quietly. 

Varric’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Shit, yeah, okay. What do you need?”

“We made a list,” she said, and she reached into her pocket. “It’s right…” She trailed off and rifled around in her pockets for a second. “Fuck, where is it? Felassan!”

He poked his head out of the kitchen. “You bellowed?”

“Do you have the supply list?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. He came out of the kitchen and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, which he handed to Varric. “Are you leaving already?” he asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Varric said. “Viscount duty calls.” 

“That is a shame,” Felassan said. “I was hoping to hear some of your stories first-hand. Your lovely ex-Inquisitor is not the strongest weaver of tales.”

Tamaris tutted. “Excuse me. Who’s roasting whom here?”

Felassan smiled at her, and Varric chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back and I’ll tell you some stories then. Let’s see what you’ve got here…” He unfolded the parchment and peered at it. “Hmm. Yeah, this is… oh, black lotus, huh? And deep mushroom, all fresh? That’ll be tricky. But I know a guy. Might be a couple days, though.”

Felassan bowed his head politely. “Your effort is appreciated, truly. More by Tamaris than myself.”

Varric looked at Tamaris. “This is for you? Why?”

She shrugged. “Withdrawal. He’s going to make me some kind of fancy tea.”

“Oh, yeah. You mentioned that.” He looked at Felassan. “You a healer?”

Felassan waved dismissively. “More of an amateur herbalist.”

“Not amateur,” Tamaris protested. “You have herbs for everything.”

He smiled at her. “I do believe that was almost a compliment,” he said, and he gave her a small but still somehow mocking bow. 

She rolled her eyes, then paused and looked him over. “Hang on. Where’s my joint?”

“I finished it,” he said.

She slumped in exasperation. “But it doesn’t even do anything for you!”

“It held the sweetness of your lips,” he said. “That’s more than enough for me.”

Varric’s eyebrows leapt up, and Tamaris winced internally. Fuck, she thought. Now Varric was really going to worry about something brewing between her and Felassan.

Before either she or Varric could speak, Felassan took a step back. “Varric, it was a pleasure,” he said warmly. “I look forward to your next visit.” He turned and made his way back to the kitchen, but not before Tamaris noticed the tips of his ears turning pink. 

A pang of sympathy twisted her heart. He clearly hadn’t meant to say that comment about her lips out loud.

That also meant he didn’t really mean it, which was for the best.

She turned to Varric, whose eyebrows were almost buried in his hairline. “He’s just… it’s the Tranquility cure,” she explained lamely. “He’s all over the place. It’s not… he doesn’t mean it.”

A sudden image intruded in her mind: Felassan’s fingers on her chin and his wickedly heated smile. 

She ignored the memory. He didn’t mean it, she thought. Varric, meanwhile, was still eyeing her skeptically. 

“Uh-huh,” he said, and he turned toward the door. “I’ll check on you every couple days, and I’ll have Bran set you up with a raven so you can send letters if you need something sooner.”

“Sure,” she said, and she followed him to the door. As he stepped outside, however, she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

He looked askance at her, and she gave him a serious look. “Listen, Varric, I didn’t come here to be a burden on you,” she said. “I didn’t… this is a pain in your ass. Checking on us and bringing supplies and shit. I – you’re busy with all your other responsibilities, I know, and I just wanted—”

“Hey,” he cut her off gently. “Don’t worry about it. Maker knows you did enough for us over the past few years.”

She nodded and awkwardly ran a hand through her hair. “Just… thanks, okay? I really appreciate it.”

He patted her metal elbow. “I know, Cuddles. Don’t worry about it. Just take some time to look after yourself. Things’ll be busy once you’re ready to get back into it.”

She sighed. His reminder about the tenuous situation in the world was fair but unpleasant. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Thanks again.”

He smiled faintly. “See you in a couple days,” he said. He waved casually and walked away, and Tamaris returned to the house.

Felassan was finishing the cleanup in the kitchen. When she sidled into the kitchen to join him, he turned to her with a smile, and she was relieved to see that he didn’t seem awkward after the provocative comment he’d made in Varric’s presence.

“So here we are, with the full day ahead of us,” he said cheerfully. “What should we do with it?”

Once again, the memory of his blazing violet eyes and his suggestively curled lips rose to her mind. Fuck off, she told herself, and she shrugged as casually as she could. “I was going to start tagging the shit in this house that I want to sell or get rid of. If we’re going to be living here for a while, we should redecorate. Make it more homey.”

“‘We’?” he said with interest. “Does that mean I get a say in the decor?”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re living here too.”

“How perfectly egalitarian of you,” he said, and he bowed his head again. “You have my thanks.”

He was smiling that gorgeous smile, and his polite tone was laced with a hint of laughter. Tamaris grunted and left the kitchen and his stupid tempting smile behind, then made her way upstairs.

She stepped into her bedroom and wandered over to the window, then opened it and gulped in a breath of fresh air — or as fresh as the air in a city could ever get. 

It held the sweetness of your lips. That’s more than enough for me. Felassan’s smooth and lilting voice rose unwittingly in her mind, and she scraped her metal fingers through her hair as though to push away the memory of his words. 

She was being stupid. Felassan was only hitting on her because he was getting over his Tranquility, and she was only responding to his flirts because she was… well, she had no excuse. She was just horny for no good reason in particular. 

She scoffed quietly at herself and took another calming breath of city air. Regardless of the reasons for their shared sexual frustration, what she’d said to Varric was true: neither she nor Felassan were in any position to get involved any more intimately than they already were. Felassan couldn’t control his flirtatious impulses, though, and that wasn’t his fault, so Tamaris would just have to be especially careful to rebuff him.

It’ll be fine, she thought. I was the fucking Inquisitor. If I can foil a qunari invasion and trick the Orlesian court into thinking I have any kind of couth, then I can say no to sex with a handsome man. With that bolstering thought, she pushed away from the window and turned her mind to the fascinating task of redecorating.

[felassan]

The Elves in the Tirashan

This became quite lengthy, so it’s under a cut

Fires still lick at the blackened ruin of the farmstead. The mud in the yard is grey with ash and churned by footprints. Some flee westward. Others, light and slender, circle the ruin. One of your guards pulls an arrowhead from the smoking wood. "Elfshot!" He hisses.

The homesteads along the hissing fringes of the Tirashan were unprepared for the attack. You listen to the refugees' tales of a narrow moon that spread long tree-shadows, of the lithe figures that slipped between them, of arrows that sped from the night, sudden as death.

"The knife-ears drove us from our home!" one peasant cries. "We heard them, laughing from the dark!"

Your soldiers clash with elven archers at the forest’s edge. The elves are cold-eyed, with tattoos of brilliant crimson. They extract a red price from your warriors before fleeing into the deeps. For a time, the border is untroubled.

“I’ve fought the Dalish before,” mutters a scarred sergeant. “I’ve heard them call on their gods in battle. Elgar’nan for vengeance. Fen’Harel when they think all is lost. But these ones called out to no gods I’ve heard of before. They weren’t calling out for aid; they were offering us up. Like pigs on a platter.”

So these are my 2 all-time favorite text excerpts from Dragon Age: The Last Court, from the event Sylvan Raids. been fascinated with the elves that live in the Tirashan ever since. so interesting and mysterious!! so ripe for wild speculation and wondering on multiple fronts. 👏  👏

emerging in the half-light of the moon from the depths of the Tirashan to raze and reave nearby human habitations and kill.. the text is suggestive - these don’t seem akin to those isolationist Dalish clans trying to drive away humans who are encroaching or protect themselves or similar. they distinctly seem to delight in the killing. is it punishment (for the humans)? is it a sport or a game (for the elves)? is it sacrificial, like some of the text seems to suggest- are they sacrificing humans to their deities? I’m kind of reminded of the mythos (I use the word mythos here because ‘facts’ about this subject area grew arms and legs and entered pop culture spreading misinfo) surrounding human sacrifice in some ancient human cultures in our world. is there possession at work here? is there a connection to sylvans (trees possessed by demons or spirits)? are they corrupted somehow (red lyrium, plague, pestilence, Taint, madness).

are these red tattoos a version of vallaslin, or something different? why are they all red - presumably a link to blood. blood magic? red lyrium? or simply this hue to symbolize ties to the blood of the hunt and suchlike.. such tasty scraps these excerpts are. and who were they calling to? The Forgotten Ones - like Anaris, Geldauran, Daern’thal and others? the Forgotten Ones are held to have presided over the worst aspects of existence - like spite and malevolence, which are qualities right on-point for people slaughtering and sacrificing innocents. or maybe the old gods, the Forbidden Ones (remember though the possible connection between the Forbidden Ones and Forgotten Ones hinted at in the Band of Three), demons, entities yet unknown? the top contender is, of course, the Forgotten Ones, though the activities and described countenances of these wild elves remind me most of Andruil, who was really a goddess of sacrifice and who hunted mortals/other sentient beings - particularly the Andruil that was maddened and howling and plague-bearing thanks to the Void. these elves just seem in my head to be evoking the same kind of imagery.

what of the tattoos designs? are they vallaslin equivalents to the Forgotten Ones instead of the Creators?

I’m intrigued by the specific reasoning behind the supposed sacrifice. in their culture is held as a way to gain power? is it simply an act of worship to their deities - an offering or appeasement, or because such sacrifice is a way to espouse and enact qualities like spite and malevolence? are they compelled to do so?

it’s interesting that the guardsman says they don’t seem to him to be Dalish, because we do hear in the lore of some Dalish clans who live by banditry and as guerillas, and who play games with stray humans like Fen’Harel’s Teeth.. I wonder if there’s any connection between them both, or if the implication is that the Tirashan elves are even more overtly hostile-to-humans than these varieties of Dalish.

alternative theory which I think is important to note: these encounters are told through the eyes of humans and recounted by the human recipients of the actions, and so possibly biased and or unreliable, exaggerated, etc.

most importantly - who are these elves? one of the event response options seems to call them Dalish elves:

The Dalish rarely launch an attack like this without cause. Perhaps some of your folk strayed too close to one of their camps

but that sounds to me like a human’s assumptions when considering the event that unfolded. For the sake of clarity, if the humans were encroaching on their land (their forest) and wandered too close to their camps, driving them away is justified and not without cause.

 are they ancient elves? there’s a quote somewhere about it -

There is activity in the Tirashan. Strange elves, like those at the Temple of Mythal.

so are they some of these ancient elves who Solas seems to insist are around somewhere in modern Thedas, "yet lingering?" are they always awake or do they come awake every now and then a la Abelas and crew (except not bound to the will of a Creator as they were, but rather the will of the Forgotten Ones) only to reave and sacrifice before returning to slumber until next time?

All manner of things slumber in the Tirashan forest. It's best to let them be.

there are other scattered references to or hints at remaining lingering enclaves of ancient elves - ex. I sometimes wonder if the ‘distant clan of Dalish’ that send the Inky the red hart mount are an enclave of ancients.

or (and I particularly like this idea) are they modern-day, mortal elves, but have lived in complete isolation apart from the Dalish (or Dalish-we-know), deep in the Tirashan since the fall of the Dales? (I’m reminded of Geldauran,”apart until he strikes in mastery”..) at the Fall of the Dales, groups of elves could have scattered in all directions - elves with different opinions and leanings and diverging beliefs. tbh, I don’t really enjoy at all “ancient elves this, ancient elves that” in theorizing (for me) or like, in general (modern elfism!!). so this notion is way cooler to me. we’re told again and again in the lore that Dalish clans are diverse and all different from each other because they usually live in isolation and the diaspora is disconnected. you’re telling me they all worship the Creators in the exact same way and there’s no variation on such themes? multiply this factor by a much greater ordinance for elves who may have culturally diverged from the Dalish group before “The Dalish Elves” was even really a thing, and the scenarios are even more arresting and puts me in the mind of Tolkien elves, with the varied Kindreds, ‘elf cultural group phylogenetic tree’ and Sunderings etc.

in the Dales before the fall, worship of the Forgotten Ones continued in the shadows, despite the efforts of Creator-worshipping elves to stamp it out. there were priests of the Forgotten Ones as there were priests of the Creators.

The DA tabletop RPG has this to say:

Supposedly, no Dalish can remember these dread beings. All their tales are thought to have been lost in the centuries before the fall of Arlathan, even though a few powerful spirits in the Fade still whisper their names: Geldauran, Daern’thal, and Anaris, the gods of terror, malevolence, spite and disease. Some fear that these dark beings are less forgotten than most believe, and that a terrible few have strayed deeply into darkness in their quest for vengeance against the shemlen. If these fears are true and secretive cults do indeed hide among the elves, then such lost souls have torn out their hearts and forsaken all that it means to be Dalish in return for the keys to a twisted and terrible strength.

are the Tirashan elves Forgotten One cultists? it’s not a big leap. (and my bias talking: modern-day mortal diverged Forgotten One cultists is way more interesting to me than “ancient elven enclave/ancient elves in hiding”. if you twist my arm though BioWare I supppooooose I’d accept ancient elves who follow and/or are bound to the Forgotten Ones though. :P) and the title for that segment of text is The Forgotten Ones, so it would seem to be so. (it’s just interesting to think about all possibilities)

an aside: it’s not really a cult if it’s your specific culture’s religion though is it. also obligatory comment: I wonder what Felassan would make of them had he encountered them in TME rather than regular Dalish.

gaffsfdddhhh, I just want to meet the Tirashan elves so badly. thanks for coming to my barely coherent TEDramble.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [535]

All the things Bull was going to say sputter in his mouth, replaced with a burst of anger and jealousy so hot that even he’s surprised by it. He likes to think he knows himself pretty well. Apparently that isn’t true, because he’s never been so jealous over seeing two people together.

Ellana is sitting in her favorite window chair in their solar, and Abelas is with her. This is not unusual, he is her personal guard and her friend. He’s walked in on this a hundred and more times before and never felt anything about it.

What’s different is that their fingers are tangled so tightly he can see the white of Ellana’s knuckles from here, and Ellana’s mouth presses against the back of Abelas’ hands before she presses their conjoined hands to her forehead. Abelas is kneeling at her feet, heads close as they whisper to each other.

His gut sours. It isn’t very often he finds himself caught the wrong foot and he doesn’t know how to act. He shouldn’t even be angry. And yet —

The two elves turn towards him, hands flowing apart easily as Abelas rises and walks towards him. Ellana turns towards the window and Bull realizes that her eyes are wet as she raises a shaking hand to brush at the flow of tears.

Abelas’ hand is firm on his elbow as he whispers, “We need to speak.”

His instincts are torn. He’s angry. He’s confused. But he’s also very, very concerned. He hasn’t known his lady wife for very long, but he does know that she doesn’t seem the type to cry. Unless he’s been missing something that she’s hiding, and aside from her being the former Master of Whispers, keeper of spies and assassins, head of an entire sect of the Dalish pantheon, he’s pretty sure there isn’t anything else he missed.

Ellana rises in one smooth motion, eyes forward as if drawing herself together. And then she walks, calmly, quite composed, into the unused bedroom adjoining the solar that neither of them have slept in since that terrible storm months ago. The door closes shut behind her very softly.

Abelas pulls on his arm and he follows the man outside.

“We received a series of messages this morning,” Abelas says, voice low as he holds out a series of small rolls of paper to Bull.

Bull’s ability to read elvhen is limited, but it’s grown over the past few months. Most of them aren’t even in code. All of them read along the same lines.

There is cacophony in the rest.

Silence has been broken by the aubade.

The brass horns shout the choir into submission.

The choir is without voice.

“The Temple of Silence has fallen,” Abelas says. “I would say that we received it by pigeon, but we received it by every single type of bird possible. Raven, hawk, pigeon, falcon, owl, kestrel, crow, magpie, parrot. It’s been coming in since before dawn. The aviary is astoundingly varied in its current occupants. All of the Dales knows, I suspect. Dirthamen’s Temple has been taken by Elgar’nan.”

“Is that possible?” Bull asks.

(He is still angry, but now ashamed and angry at himself for thinking unfairly of the pair earlier. He should know better. He does know better. Perhaps, now, years later, he is finally starting to come apart without the guidance of the Qun. Maybe now is where he becomes a beast and it couldn’t be worst timing.)

“It is not the first time a temple has been laid siege to by another,” Abelas replies slowly, “My own temple was invaded and occupied by the Ash Sister for a time, before we gained help from Andruil and the Dread Wolf’s ken to push Sylaise back to her bower. And it is not unusual for there to be less violent means of taking control of another. Certain Head Priests are puppets, or there have been cases where temples were so overwhelmingly riddled with spies and betrayers that they were nonfunctioning. And frankly, this move is to be expected. A temple is always at its weakest when a new Head Priest is ascending. It is…simply hard not to take it personally.”

“It isn’t personal?” Bull’s eyebrow raises.

“Speak to your wife,” Abelas says, instead. “If she would have it. If not, allow her silence. It is the retreat of her kind.” The man hesitates. “In my presence I have never seen you fail to be gentle with her. I hope that in my absence this trend continues. Especially now. Good luck, my lord.”

Abelas gives him a quick bow and retreats down the hall towards the aviary.

Bull returns to the solar and knocks on the closed door to what is currently their ensuite study, and what was once his lady’s room’s before she moved into his full time.

“Ellana,” Bull calls through gently, easing the door open. “Ellana.”

She’s sitting on the bed, hands shaking as she wipes her face. There’s a pillow next to her that looks crumpled, as though she were screaming into it or just hitting it.

His knee has been bothering him recently so it takes him a cumbersome series of movements to kneel down in front of her as Abelas was before. Something in him sighs in relief when she instantly takes his offered hand and pulls it to her face. His thumb catches against the shivering of her lip.

“They killed her,” Ellana croaks out, “My little raven girl. My apprentice and successor, Astharte.”

Ellana’s nails dig into his skin and he waits for the story to pour out of her.

“I haven’t had a single word from her since I left the Dales,” Ellana whispers. “But — I thought it was fine. That she didn’t have the time. I made sure everything was ready for her, I cleaned house so thoroughly and everyone around her was hand picked and trained by me. They are all loyal to me and her. They are hers just as much as they were mine. I had been training her for that moment for five years. I thought she was — and then word came that she had been. I knew that the Sun had his damned claws into my temple but. I didn’t think — I thought it would end there, at the puppetry. I didn’t — “

Ellana chokes on her words and Bull shushes her softly.

“They killed her,” Ellana manages bowing with the string of the words, face contorted in pain. “I — did they even do the last rites properly? I. Gods be good, let it have been with honor, my poor girl.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Bull says softly. “There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“If I had stayed there,” Ellana whispers, jaw clamping shut as she squeezes her eyes and his hand. Bull’s heart sinks a little.

“Do you want to go back?”

Ellana shakes her head.

“No. She’s already gone and my temple laid to waste,” Ellana says. “But. It’s like — it’s like if you left Morrin and you heard. You heard that Krem had been killed while you were away. It hurts. You’ve worked so hard with him, and you did your best to make sure he was ready for whatever may come his way and that he could do what he needs to do without you. And you’ve seen him accomplish a great many thing without you. But one day you look back and you find him gone, destroyed, and all of that — years of closeness and pride and…and promise. Gone. It. It hurts.”

Bull’s throat closes a little when she paints that picture, though he wouldn’t admit it outlaid to Aclassi.

“What do you need, Ellana?”

“I don’t know,” Ellana sniffles a little. “It’s — I know it wasn’t an attack against me personally. This was just another move in the game. But it feels like one. Her parents trusted me with her, Bull. When I took her under my service and named her my successor they trusted me to protect her and to build her up into something great. And now she will never be anything again.”

[himluv]

At Any Cost

So, The Dread Wolf Rises teaser trailer launched, as we are all so aware, and I am deep in my feelings. So, here, have some Solavellan. Set Post-Trespasser/pre-DA4.

Solas stood beside a cracked eluvian and watched himself stride through the unnatural dark of the Crossroads. There were no stars in the place between the waking world and the Fade. No moon to guide him, only the faint blue glow from the few mirrors that still functioned.

Yet again, the Inquisitor’s attention to detail astounded him. His vhenan had always been a clever one. Cleverer than the humans gave her credit for. He would do well to remember that.

He watched this version of himself, her version, with a swirling mixture of awe and guilt. Even in her dreams she could not forget his face, could not be free of him. As he expected, she conjured him in his casual clothes, the ones he’d worn when he was nothing more than Solas, her companion, advisor, lover. And though he stepped through the shadows of her mind, his face was serene and free of doubt.

Would that he could feel a fraction of the surety she bestowed on him in her dreams. From her perspective he must seem incredibly confident, with his head high and his heart clear. But in the light of day Solas found his heart muddled and his shoulders weary from the burden of his choices. And he knew the worst were yet to come.

That was why he came here, why he intruded on her sleep. It was the only time he felt at peace. When he could watch her dreams and pretend that they were reality. Moments when they shared one another like an island, when the world was not a ruin of what it once was and there was no death and destruction to carry on his conscience.

But this dream was not so wholesome as some of the others had been.

He heard the whimpers before his doppleganger did and his heart sank. Another nightmare. She’d had more of them in recent weeks and he wondered what challenges by day were so daunting as to seep into her dreams. But, again, his vhenan was clever. She had disbanded the Inquisition, knowing he had eyes and ears in her ranks. She would rather cripple his intelligence network than hoard her own strength. In another time, a decision like that would inspire him to recruit her to his cause.

But he could not allow that, not when he walked the Dinan’shiral.

Solas weaved through the eluvians, following the specter of himself as it marched toward the center of the Crossroads. It was there that they found her, sitting with her back against a stone wolf as she cried into her knees. She looked so small next to the statue of Fen’Harel, fragile and so painfully mortal that his heart clenched in his chest.

His image knelt before her. “Why do you cry, da’len?”

She looked up from her knees and blinked. “Solas?” Her wide green eyes searched over him, noting his clothing and the open warmth of his face. Her own hope faded from her eyes as she realized he was nothing more than an element of her dream.

He hadn’t referred to her as da’len in years. How could he think of her as a child after all she’d endured? After all that he had foisted upon her shoulders?

Her Solas reached out and cupped her face in one hand. The scene sent an aching lance of longing through him, the pain as real as any he’d endured on the field of battle. That was the nature of the Fade; emotions were real in the land of dreams.

“I miss you,” she whispered, the words pummeling him like Andruil’s arrows. Her chin quivered, but she did not permit the tears to fall. She was so strong, even in her sleep. “And I am afraid.”

The fabricated Solas tilted his head. “What is there to fear?” He glanced up at the giant statue behind her and smirked. “The Dread Wolf?”

She closed her eyes against his words, and a single tear trickled down her freckled cheek. “I fear what Fen’Harel has done,” she said. “I fear what he will do.” She took a long shuddering breath. “And I fear that I cannot save him.”

He could not look away. He could not free himself from the torment of her expression; the hard press of her lips, the fine wrinkles that had started to appear at the corners of her eyes, or the gouge between her brows as she frowned. He had earned each of these details, each memory was his to carry as a testament to the wounds he’d caused, yet again.

“So much fear, da’len,” the specter said. But the voice was wrong, thick and raspy, multilayered and dripping with venom he had never once felt for her. It drew his attention from his vhenan to find her nightmares manifested in his image.

The illusion of Solas still knelt before her, still held her face in its hand, but now it wore his armor, shining gold and draped in pelts. Its eyes were red and glowing and its skin was veined in pulsing red light. Black mist swirled around the figure to coalesce into a towering shadow-wolf with six, burning red eyes.

She tried to pull away, to flinch back from the Dread Wolf, but he held her in place with a firm grip on her jaw. She whimpered at the force of his fingers on her chin, where they’d dug into her soft flesh.

His red lyrium corrupted self smiled at her. “And you are right to be afraid. I will restore my People, at any cost. I will burn this world to ashes if I must.”

At those words flames leapt into being throughout the Crossroads, licking up the barren trees in a mockery of autumn leaves. The eluvians flickered out, one by one, until the fire claimed them too, melting them down to little more than reflective puddles.

His heart twisted in his chest. This was wrong, everything about this image was wrong. He didn’t want this, not fire and fury. This tainted version of their last meeting, down on bended knee, her face in his hands. But he had told her the truth the last time he’d seen her, given her as much honesty as he could afford to. And now it was his words that haunted her dreams.

The black, amorphous wolf opened its jaws and growled, the sound rumbling through the Crossroads like an earthquake.

“This isn’t real,” she said. “You aren’t him.” She grimaced as the specter’s grip on her jaw tightened. “He’ll find another way!” She still believed in him, after all this time. Still had hope that he would find some way to preserve her world while restoring his.

Solas circled around the pair, passing unseen behind the statue of the Dread Wolf. The glowing red eyes in the face like his never looked up from his vhenan, and yet he felt as if they followed him.

And for the first time, he thought that maybe there was a route he had not considered. An option so abhorrent to him he had not even fathomed its existence. Perhaps there was another way, though he doubted she would like it any better.

He stepped out from behind the statue and waved a hand at the nightmarish version of himself. “Begone!”

Instantly the scene changed. The fires were gone, the sun was up, and the trees had healthy, bright green leaves. In the Fade it was a simple thing to restore the Crossroads to what they once were. There was no Dread Wolf, no red lyrium corrupted Solas to taunt her, there was only him, Fen’Harel, a cool breeze, and his vhenan.

She blinked up at him, the sunlight glinting off his armor. “Solas?”

He said nothing. It would be best if she could believe this was just another aspect of her dream. But that was just wishful thinking on his part.

His vhenan was far too clever for that.

So, he met her gaze and let her look upon him for a long moment. He enjoyed the opportunity to do so in kind. But, before long the awe and shock of the moment had passed and he could see the questions boiling over in her eyes.

He took one step toward her, all he could allow himself, and said, “Vhenan. I think it’s time we wake up.”

The Crossroads vanished, replaced with the dull nothing of his closed eyelids. It’d been a long time since he’d startled awake, but the pounding of his heart in his chest was close enough. Her dream had rattled him. And inspired him.

There might be another way. In the end, the outcome for him would be the same. He still walked the Din’anshiral. He would still sacrifice everything to right his wrongs. But maybe…

Maybe she wouldn’t have to. And that was reason enough to try.

Solas stood from the settee, oblivious to the heat of the night, and scoured the overflowing bookshelves behind the large desk. He found the book half-buried under a stack of scrolls from his spies in Orlais, its leather cover emblazoned with the cage-like emblem of Kirkwall.

He ran his hand over the symbol, and then settled down at his desk to read. If there was any clue where to start his search of the Deep Roads, it was within the pages of The Champion of Kirkwall. And if that search proved fruitful…

Then maybe he could save her after all.

[scurvgirl]

A Monster Came to the Forest

Woo! Got this done before I leave for vacation!

Fairy Tale AU

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Masterpost

Updated Map

Vena, Dirthamen, Andruil, Falon’din (mention), and others belong to @feynites

Ana belongs to @lycheemilkart

Selene and Des belong to @selenelavellan

Vena’s gotten used to this whole forest living thing. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. It’s actually pretty amazing. There are zero expectations of him outside of don’t be an asshole. And he can manage that just fine. There is no long code or pressure to be fashionable or anything. It’s just him and Ana and the woods and all the living creatures around them.

Ana shows him the forest, teaching him about the animals and plants. She brings him a long tunic and breeches that he can wear instead of the heavy, ineffectual armor he had been ceremoniously stabbed in. At night, when it’s colder, Ana draws up a small circle and casts a spell. It produces a bubble of warmth that feels very much like a blanket. It allows him to sleep though he does miss actual blankets.

After two weeks of living in the tree with Ana, he starts wondering how hard it would be to build a structure for him to live in. He brings it up to Ana who is reluctant at first because elves just “kill trees for themselves” but they eventually come to a compromise. He only uses dead trees and branches, and while that means it takes longer to finish it, it turns out well. The hut is small but it is big enough for a bed that he also builds from dead branches, and the feathers of dead birds. That had been much less fun to deal with. There are also pelts of animals, which Ana lets him hunt. He needs to eat, after all.

The hut is set up in the shadow of Ana’s willow tree. Vena finds he quite likes waking up to see his favorite tree lady hanging out on a branch. Sometimes he wakes up to find a long branch in the window he put in, with an Ana covered in flowers and vines watching him sleep.

“Vena,” she says in a low whisper. Vena blinks his eyes open slowly then rolls to his side.

“‘S too early,” he moans, tucking his face into his pillow.

“There are people,” she says. That wakes him up. Vena sits up in bed and blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“People?”

“They are dressed like you were but different too,” she sounds more excited than he thinks is a good idea. People dressed like him? Has Sylaise found him? Exactly how would she be able to do that? He hasn’t done anything to indicate to any other people like him that he’s even alive.

“Show me,” he says, rolling out of bed. He pulls on his clothes and follows Ana out of the hut. Together they head east toward the river. They do not need to travel far until Vena starts noticing key signs of travel. Ana guides him up into a tree and they look down at the camp from there.

Well, it’s not Sylaise.

It’s her sister, Andruil. He cannot tell if he is relieved or even more worried.

Both? Probably both.

He takes Ana’s hand and they head back to the hut.

“Do not seek them out, promise me you will not seek them out,” he says, his voice low and serious.

“Why?”

“They are dangerous. While I am a friendly outlier of my people, the rest are not so much - and those people in particular are not.”

She blinks her great big green eyes at him but she nods, “I will stay away from the Andruil and people.”

He exhales in a surprising amount of relief, “Good, good.”

**

Serahlin is stuck.

She cannot go home, but she feels no desire to remain in the woods with a dragon so close by. Even if that dragon is Adannar. Even if she cares - cared for Adannar.

Her heart aches in betrayal. He lied to her, made her believe she was safe in this forest all the while he is the greatest monster of all. An actual dragon. Just like the beasts who had burned down large swaths of her country and terrorized her people. He is a beast who would burn her country and people if given half the chance.

Maybe that’s why he was so...the way he was with her. It was to get her comfortable so she would reveal secrets about her people so he could be better at hurting them.

That particular thought is horrifically distressing. Serahlin falls to the floor in the cottage, just like she had all those months ago. She is a different person, she feels, but the same things keep happening. Betrayal, love that isn’t love. The tears fall down her face against her will, her shoulders shaking as the emotion slams through her.

Mamae did not love her. Not the way parents should love their children anyways, and not like she loves Elvara. Dirthamen did not love her, and she held no qualms over that except she knew he loved another. She told herself it didn’t bother her, that their impending marriage was political and that love was not expected. He was free to love others. Another. But it still hurt, against everything she told herself, it hurt. He did not even try to talk to her about it, he hid it, making it all the worse.

Somehow, with all that she has been through, this hurts the worst of all. Adannar has been there, comforting her, she told him her thoughts and feelings. She laid herself bare and he gave her lies and deception.

She is sick to death of being used. Like all she is good for is being a stepping stone to power. She’s...she’s a person but damn it all if she isn’t treated as such.

Her sobs last a long time. Exhaustion, heartbreak, and betrayal mingle into a potent cocktail that rends her useless for the rest of the day. When her body finally demands food and water, she nibbles on some of the stores Adannar helped her gather. She tries not to dwell on how she got the food and instead on defeating the pangs in her stomach.

She can’t go home, but she doesn’t want to stay here either. She could...try going somewhere else? There is the rumored Outcast Island, but it is full of miscreants and pirates and there is rumor of a monster more terrifying than any dragon on the mainland. She could try adopting a new identity, cut off all her beautiful hair, maybe dye it...blonde? She doesn’t think she would look good as a blonde though. It’s also very likely she would just be caught and then executed.

Serahlin lies awake in bed, contemplating all the various ways she could leave this cottage. Nothing seems like it will work.

She is truly stuck.

The next day, Adannar does not come. She half expects him to show up and abduct her properly, but days pass and he does not. She does not hear so much as a rumble from the forest.

She tries to not feel anything like disappointment.

She gardens, makes her food, occasionally hunts and manages to snag a hare. She stitches holes in her clothes and tries not to pay too much attention to how lonely she is. Despite him being a lying monster, she...misses Adannar.

No, she misses what she thought he was - kind, nurturing, happy, supportive, and just good. But he can’t be any of those things, not truly. He is a dragon. The same as the beasts who have terrorized her people.

He is the same, even if it is difficult for her to imagine him flying over the fields, burning them and the people in them to ash. He. Is. The. Same. He knew how she felt and he kept the truth from her.

But...there is a part of her that wonders if the reason he did not tell her the truth was because he was afraid of her reaction. He knew she feared dragons, hated them even. Is it possible that he really did grow close to her? That he felt the way she wanted him to feel, like she thought he felt, and that the only reason he lied was because he was afraid?

The thought stays with her for the next several days. By the end of the week, she begrudgingly admits that it is possible. In all the time she saw him, he was never aggressive or angry. He was happy and full of joy, he showed her beautiful things and made her feel like a better version of herself. He brought out her happiness and joy. Even if he was lying, he did all those good things. When he kissed her, she felt the world in bloom. Her body swelled with joy and love, she opened up to him and let herself feel everything.

If, and it is a very big if, if Adannar was lying to her out of fear of her reaction...then she just proved him right. His lie then becomes understandable, wrong, but...understandable.

What complicates things further is that when given the opportunity to take her prisoner, Adannar let her go. He let her go and he has demanded nothing since.

These thoughts keep her up at night. They infiltrate her mind and heart. They make her ache for him, for what they had. They make her ask -

Was she wrong to run?

Is she wrong about dragons?

She doesn't know. What she does know is that she misses Adannar. She misses him all day and all night. She misses him while she gardens and when she goes out into the forest to forage.

The heat and humidity of the summer makes her stand and take frequent breaks in her foraging. It similarly keeps her close to the small stream where she does most of her fishing. Serahlin is on the bank of the stream when she hears hoofbeats. They are not the hoofbeats of deer or even Adannar’s mechanical creatures. No, Serahlin recognizes these hoofbeats as the regular sounds of a procession of horses. Shadows move on the other side of the stream and a rush of fear surges through her.

Serahlin ducks into the brush, hiding in the shadows like she has learned from Adannar. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she tries her best to follow the procession while remaining hidden. She knows the wood better than these people, at least this area of the wood.

She sneaks around a bend and maneuvers herself next to a tree that she happens to know is possessed by a spirit of Silence. She rubs its bark and it shrouds her in shadow, allowing her to watch while hidden.

The group comes into view, bedecked in armor and various armaments. Large armaments, the kind of weapons that are designed to take down exceptionally large prey. The breath leaves Serahlin’s body as one of the riders, the main rider, comes into view. Andruil, Princess and greatest hunter of Elvhenan, second to none. She is only shadowed by the brutality of her brother, Falon’din, and even then...it is not by much. While Falon’din has specialized in dragon hunting, Andruil has prided herself on being able to hunt anything and everything - and she has succeeded, time and time again. She has brought down her fair share of dragons, and she is spectacular at it.

A nasty fear claws its way through Serahlin. Andruil is hunting Adannar. All at once Serahlin has a violent rejection of the idea that Adannar deserves to be hunted. Despite being a dragon, despite being the monster she has been told is evil her entire life, at the heart of it, Adannar has done nothing to deserve being hunted. No dragons who have terrorized her people fit his description and he has been consistently good to her.

Serahlin’s mind is made up in a matter of seconds and it sends regret and fear in equal measures through her. She has to warn him, she has to get to him before Andruil and her cronies.

She slips back through the woods and to the cottage. She hops onto Velini and urges him at a quick pace back towards Adannar’s cave. She will warn him and ask for his forgiveness. Maybe, just maybe, she isn’t so stuck.

**

Adannar feels listless. He cannot sleep, but he cannot do the things he once enjoyed. A thick melancholy fills him and his home. He cries through his heartbreak and halfway enters the dreaming, wrapping himself in memories of their time together.

In the memories, he feels her love, or at least he does not feel her ire. He dreams of her lips against his and her smile when he saw her first thing in the morning.

It is dangerous for a dragon to become so enamored with memories and the Dreaming. He knows he can fall into a slumber of which he will never wake. That knowledge is the only thing that makes him wake periodically to eat and tend to the home. His creatures whine at him, they all need maintenance. He needs to do that, needs to oil their hinges, work in more magic so that they do not become...so that they do not die.

If he can just find the energy.

Adannar manages to find some energy to tune Huirin up on the fifth day. He is oiling Huirin’s upper neck hinge when the structure of his home shakes from what he guesses is a crash against the atrium ceiling. Wards break and sound off in cacophonous alarm. Huirin whines in nervousness and Adannar snaps to attention. It has been a long time, a long time, since he has had to defend his home from invaders, but he will take up the front if he must. He doesn’t know how good he is at it anymore, and he was never very good at it to begin with - but he will fight. He may be heartbroken but he has no interest in dying.

Adannar pulls the magical energies of the home to him, shrouding and shielding himself in an armor-like barrier. He deepens his breathing, directing the heat into his belly as he climbs up and takes a long drink of water from a water flow he keeps for this precise reason.

The atrium’s ceiling is broken when he arrives and he casts a light spell to illuminate the dark space.

“Show yourself! I have done no harm and if you would -

“Adannar!” A familiar shouts just before a large, long body barrels into him.

“OOF!” He shouts, his barrier protecting him from any damage, but the size of the dragon still makes him fall over into a tangle of limbs.

“Des! What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be far, far away!” He admonishes without any real bite behind it. Des coils his body around Adannar, all warm and snuggly. Dragons need physical reassurance, it creates bonds, maintains relationships - even if those relationships are simply platonic. Touch starvation is a severe concern for many of them now that they are so scattered, hiding in isolation trying to survive and not draw too much attention to them.

Des shoves his head up by Adannar’s and sighs as they come to a halt, “I have never been good at staying away, you know that.”

“I’m serious! You’re on the same continent as Selene!” Adannar whines all the while folding his wings around Des’s body. The barrier disappears and Des sighs.

“I know, and believe it or not I would not have come if Selene wasn’t in trouble.”

Adannar goes stock still.

“What?”

“I cannot be certain what is wrong but something is wrong. She is...there is something. I couldn’t just sit in the Obelisk and wait for wrong to turn into something even worse!” Des bemoans. He does not relax his body even as Adannar can tell the contact is helping ease something in him. No, he will not be relaxed or calm until he knows his other half is safe. But he cannot go see for himself, cannot go and help Selene himself because if he does, he will only make them a shiny target for the knights.

Adannar exhales a warm plume of humid air down Des’s back. It’s not Selene’s purple fire, but it is heat and it helps ease Des a little bit.

“I will go see her,” Adannar says softly. Des lifts his head, big gold eyes blinking in surprised relief.

“Thank you.”

“In order for me to do that, I will need you to move…”

“Oh, yes.” Des uncoils himself from around Adannar’s body, returning his normal stature. He is longer than Adannar, and his horns are taller, but Adannar is bulkier and broader. Adannar is not the largest dragon, but he is big enough that he has on occasion moved other dragons.

“What does it feel like? Is she hurt or is it something else?” They used to all be together, not together but friends. Selene helped Adannar with his calculations when he first began making his creations, before that he was simply a smith, a crafter. In turn, he was there as she became a stronger healer. It was an exciting time, and Des made everything fun - sometimes too fun, but now Adannar misses it. He misses his friends.

Des’s body shivers as he taps into the connection to Selene so much that Adannar swears he can almost feel it in the air.

“If she is hurt, it is not like she has been before,” he says and Adannar nods. It’s not much, but he can make it work. He goes back into his lair with Des on his heels, gathering some basic healing supplies. A focusing hunk of crystal, a sack of elfroot, and a pain reliever potion. Not that Selene doesn’t already have all of these things at the Glass Tower, but Adannar likes to be prepared.

“Hold the lair while I am gone and if…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to tell Des to keep the hope that Serahlin will return. The time is too short to give him the details, but he seems to sniff out the potential gossip nevertheless.

“If…?” Des says, voice full of lascivious curiosity.

Adannar sighs, “If a woman by the name of Serahlin comes by...just...she is my guest, treat her as such.”

“Oh there is a story here, I can feel it.”

“I can tell you the story or save Selene.”

“You are no fun!” Des protests without any real seriousness, “I expect the story when you get back!” He calls as Adannar turns, flying down the passage into the atrium. He flies through the hole Des created before reactivating the wards. He will have to repair the glass later - his friend needs him more.

Adannar takes to the sky and tries to let the air rushing by him clear his head. He tries to let it purify the magic in his body and soul. He will need to be unanchored to heal Selene, particularly if the hurt is unlike anything Des has ever felt. He knows physical hurt, he knows anguish and grief and heartbreak. He knows the throes of depression and languid sorrow, a longing so deep it rends her immoveable.

What kind of hurt does Des not know of his other half? What soul wounding thing must it be? Adannar fears she has weakened the bond in some fashion and that perhaps she is fading from this world and into the Dreaming, not unlike how he has been tempted.

Adannar rises high into the sky, into the clouds that cling to his scales and magic in a familiar embrace of water based magic. His wings beat hard and the clouds form around him like a fog. There were stories once of how dragons could influence the weather, bring rains or take them away at a whim. He was never a fan of those stories, even if they rang a little true. They are not gods, but they are part of nature and the magic that is latent in this world clings to them - it reacts to their being. The most Adannar has ever succeeded in changing is bringing a fog with his arrival, and as far as he is aware, Selene and Des have never changed the weather.

It takes several hours before he spies the great Glass Tower, rising from the canopy of trees. It is a glittering beacon, once beckoning in dragons and spirits alike. Now it is full of sad memories and a stubborn dragon who insists on keeping those memories. He loves Selene, he does, but he wishes she would be kinder to herself - for all of her devotion, he feels like she lacks a certain devotion to herself. When Des had to leave for their safety, Adannar had promised to watch over her as best he could. He admits, he has neglected that somewhat recently. His own melancholy has been so strong, and then there was Serahlin. Oh Serahlin.

He should not have ignored his dear friend.

Adannar lands against the side of the Tower, long talons securing himself against the familiar enchanted stones. He maneuvers himself down the side until he comes to a window. He waves his tail and the wards snap into recognition. The purple barrier turns a welcoming white and he enters the Tower, folding his wings tightly against his body. This place was never built for a dragon of his size, and normally he would shift into a smaller form, but he has lost weight, making it so that he fits - though just barely.

The Tower is alight with magic, more than usual. It is as if it is reacting to something being returned to it, which is strange. The Tower has lost much, the majority of its spirits and researchers, even magical artifacts are no longer present. But these things that have been lost are not easily restored - returning a shard of a spirit that had grown here would not restore the Tower like this. Magical artifacts similarly would not have this effect. Yet the magic is strong, not quite lively, but present in a way that he has not seen in quite some time.

This is not the home of a dragon who has succumbed to the Dreaming.

His nose flares and he tries to sniff her out. She is on a lower level, in the healing quarters. While he fit onto the level, he must shift to descend the spiral staircase - his draconic form is simply not flexible enough. It is a quick shift into his elven form before he hastens down the stairs and into the healing quarters. He thrusts the doors open to find a very much alive and awake Selene crouched over...something. A low rumbling growl emanates from her and he tilts his head in response.

“Selene? What is going on? Why are you growling at me? What are you guarding?” He asks. Her green eyes blink and her form relaxes from its guarding pose.

“Adannar! Thank goodness you’re here, you can help!” She beckons him closer. Confused but curious, Adannar acquiesces to her request, approaching what she is so vehemently guarding. She moves off her object of protection and Adannar sucks in a breath.

An elven man, he thinks, but warped - a possession gone wrong. Elongated legs with talons on the feet and on the hand, feathers encroaching upon his face, two pairs of eyes rather than the one.

“I have done everything I can think of, but he’s not getting better. Adannar, I...I don’t know what to do,” Selene says, her sorrow thick in her voice.

It is then Adannar realizes what Des was feeling - Selene’s fear of losing this man that she has bonded herself to somehow. Not somehow, not really, she is such an affectionate person who is prone to getting attached. Not that he blames her, he shares this trait with her.

He nods and sets his things down before holding his hands over the man, “What is his name?”

Selene’s wings flutter in nervousness before she speaks, “Dirthamen.”

“Dirthamen wasn’t a bad man, simply...uninterested in me,” Serahlin says, head tucked against Adannar’s chest.

“I find that difficult to believe,” he tells her, hand running through her hair.

“The heart wants what it wants, and it is cold to anything else,” she murmurs. His heart aches for her and vows to himself to make her feel wanted and loved for as long she will allow him.

The memory flashes in Adannar’s head. He gazes down at the man’s face and frowns. Well, he supposes he has found the lost prince, the cause for Serahlin having to run away. He does not know whether he should be angry with him or grateful. Perhaps both? Perhaps neither, sometimes fate is simply tricky like that.

“Dirthamen,” Adannar says, summoning the magic in the air to use him as a conduit as he begins to magically assess the damage. Selene has done everything she can for the physical, but Adannar suspects that this is something much different. As talented healer as she is, he has become quite the soul smith.

He uses the focusing crystal to hone his magic into a space that is partway between the Dreaming and the Waking that is unique to Dirthamen. Adannar calls it the soul space, where the spirit resides and where possessions go wrong. It takes exceptional effort to enter the soul space, the focus and precision spellwork is taxing and each soul space is different. It is like constructing a key by pouring molten metal into the lock then trying to unlock the door before the key is formed.

Once he manipulates his magic just so, there is a whoosh of magic and he is in the soul space. Darkness surrounds him for a moment before brilliant lights burst, doting the space around him like a night sky full of stars. He stands on a pillar and before him stretches an infinite expanse of darkness dotted with stars that pushes and pulls with a central light overhead - a moon framed by soft purple flames, a manifestation of the bond between him and Selene.

He turns slowly on his pillar, careful to not disturb anything. A disturbance could be disastrous in Dirthamen’s current state. In the distance he sees a swirling mass turning in on itself. He reaches up and imagines himself closer to the mass. All around him turns so that he is before the giant mass.

The mass that is really three souls all trying to escape and attach to each other at the same time. Adannar reaches up and lets himself get a read of all the souls present. He latches onto one in shocked recognition.

Longing? He whispers. The soul stirs in confused recognition, it buzzes and moves, dragging the other two with it. It whines in pain, the pieces from the other two, born from Longing, but different, no longer fitting correctly.

Adannar retracts his hand and himself from the soul seeing.

“Selene,” he says, keeping his voice measured. The news he has for her is...good, he thinks, ultimately good, but distressing nonetheless.

“What is it? What’s wrong? What can I do?”

“There are three souls that are being housed incorrectly inside Dirthamen. One of them is Dirthamen, but the other two are incorrectly trying to merge with Dirthamen. I suspect they were created from Dirthamen and have since tried to incorrectly merge with him once more. It is creating a magical imbalance and a parasitic bond, which is why his physical state is so...altered.” First, he thinks, he should fix the issues, then tell her. Yes, that will work.

“Oh, oh no...how...how do we get them out?”

Adannar contemplates for a long moment, going over everything he has at his disposal in his head. The spirits need bodies, but they are too new and weak to take on bodies by themselves. They cannot exist without bodies at this point, too tied to Dirthamen. They need bodies, which Adannar can make, but they don’t have that kind of time. If only he had a couple of bodies...wait.

“Do you remember the sentinels I gave you all those years ago?” He asks. She blinks then nods.

“The ravens? Yes, though they stopped working after awhile. I’m sorry, I should have brought them to you to be repaired.”

He waves her off, “It worked out well. The two spirits are too weak to take their own bodies or to be totally separate. I need to untangle them from Dirthamen, but I need to create an anchor for each of them...like moons to his planet. To do that, I need bodies - bring them to me, please?” He doesn’t even finish his sentence before Selene is flying out of the room and to where she has the sentinels stored.

While she is busy gathering what will become the bodies for the spirits, Adannar returns to the soul space to discern what spirits he is dealing with. His magic is strong but gentle and examining spirits like this is not unlike handling snake eggs. They are so infinitely fragile, prone to breaking and becoming malformed. Still, he examines them as best he can. The first spirit is easy enough to decipher - Deceit, a surprisingly bold fellow that takes a position between Adannar and the other spirit.

I am no threat. I am here to help. He tells them. Deceit is cautious, though, and Adannar can understand that. He is a great big unknown, his magic is strong and they are very vulnerable. Still, Adannar will need their cooperation for this to go smoothly.

I am going to give you and your friend bodies, you will still be anchored to Longing, but you cannot remain like this. I am a friend of Selene’s, I speak no lie to you.

If Deceit had eyes, Adannar is sure they would narrow them at him. He allows them to examine him and his soul in turn, knowing they will not dislodge from Longing, not while they cling so tightly.

See? I mean no harm.

He reaches a tendril of magic down to them and slowly begins to undo the binding it has created to attach to Longing. It quivers but grows in strength as he works. When he has the last piece surrounded by his magic, he dislodges it only to quickly revert it and create a gravitational pull between Longing and Deceit. Slowly, Adannar creates a pathway with his magic from Longing’s soul space to Adannar’s magical holding and then into the body of one of the sentinels Selene has laid beside him.

“Shard!” He asks quickly as he settles Deceit into the body. Selene provides a shard of a spirit, surprising alike to Deceit and he uses it to secure Deceit into its new home. One spirit down, one to go.

He returns to the soul space and searches for the other spirit. He finds it cowering behind Longing, so tightly wound and pulsating irregularly. Oh the poor thing, a terrified little spirit of Fear. It has lost its protector of Deceit and now clings resolutely to Longing.

Shhh, I have you, I won’t hurt you. I am here to help. He soothes as best he can as he surrounds Fear and Longing with his magic, slowly undoing the attachment. Fear cries in protest and even zaps Adannar. He would like cooperation but Fear will not give it. This...this will result in some sort of trauma, he fears, but sometimes a bone must be broken to be set properly.

Dammit.

He forcefully unhooks Fear from Longing, quickly reworking the connection before pulling in Fear. It resists the entire way, making Adannar expand more energy to keep it from accidentally shattering itself. At least this time Selene is anticipating his move and provides another shard, from the same spirit, good, to help anchor Fear into its new home. Once he is certain Fear is hooked into the sentinel, he returns to Longing. Or Dirthamen, rather.

There are remnants of having Fear and Deceit so improperly set within him, but with some gentle healing and urging, he manages to guide Dirthamen back into a healthy form. What is strange, however, is that he gets the sense that his body will not quite revert like Adannar expects.

What is wrong?

I...do not know. Or perhaps I cannot tell? Dirthamen replies.

Your form is not elven. Adannar says, only to be met with surprise.

It is not?

Interesting.

Do not worry about it, we can address it after you have rested. Adannar casts a mild sleep aid to encourage proper healing. Dirthamen goes willingly enough, allowing Adannar to retract himself.

He falls back to the cool tile of the healing room, panting and sweating, his energy sapped from him. This is not unlike birth, he imagines. The fatigue and strain that permeates every part of his body. His skin is hot and his head feels heavy with the exhaustion, but he turns his head anyways.

The sentinels, great mechanical ravens much larger than the standard raven, are moving. They are fluttering wings and moving little legs. Adannar recognizes Deceit in the first one, its eyes glowing with life, brighter than Fear’s who is still resisting movement. Deceit, however, is moving quite well. It picks itself up and turns to Fear. It makes a mechanical caw that seems to surprise itself before letting out another caw. Then another.

“Oh, look at them,” Selene breathes in awe. He hopes Des feels her relief.

“Selene?” He says, voice soft and weak.

“Yes, my friend?”

“Help me into a bed?”

“Oh yes!” She lifts him up and puts him into a large nest of pillows and blankets. He will shift in his sleep, they both know. His last thought is of Longing, poor Longing, thought to be shattered in the siege of the Glass Tower, only to turn up now - improperly possessed. It’s sad, Adannar thinks, that such a spirit, on the track to becoming a dragon in his own right, to turn up like this. At least...at least he is safe now.

**

Serahlin keeps looking over her shoulder, afraid she will see Andruil on her heels.

She urges Velini to move more quickly through the wood. It’s a bit of a struggle to remember the path Huirin took, but she remembers landmarks well and she knows the general path better than Andruil at least. Or...at least Serahlin hopes she does.

Despite knowing the way and moving as fast as she dare, it still takes several hours before she reaches the cave leading into the lair. She hops off of Velini and hitches him to a nearby tree, making sure he has plenty to graze. She turns from her horse and hurries into the lair, doing her best to ignore how rapidly her heart is beating.

Adannar is...he doesn’t deserve to be killed by Andruil. At least she hope he doesn’t, if he does, she is going to be very cross with him. She darts into the cave and heads quickly down the stairs and into the lair proper, past all the rooms and piles of treasure. Should she call for him? Let him know she’s here? Will he...will he even forgive her for running? Surely he can understand her position, all the thoughts she has grown up with about dragons...it’s not an easy thing to throw away so quickly.

Yet she is here, isn’t she? Not so long after she ran. She wants to talk to him more than anything, she thinks. She wants to know his side of things, better than what he said before because she wasn’t listening before, she hadn’t been ready to listen. Now that she is ready, she can’t lose him.

She finds the room he was sleeping in last time, dark and empty. Fine, she can...find him elsewhere. She moves deeper into the lair, it dips down with a large staircase. What use does a dragon have of a staircase? But the space is wide and tall with large landings that if she looks at an angle, form a staircase large enough for a dragon. In between the landings are steps suited for people Serahlin’s size. She steps down the stone stairs, marveling at the beautiful work that has gone into them. The railing is etched with fine detail, gilded with gold and silver. Out of all the palaces she has walked, never has she seen something so fine and beautiful. It fits with Adannar, she thinks - beautiful and lovely but so unlike all the beauty she has seen before.

“Adannar?” She calls, her voice echoing through the space. She descends the staircase and walks across the tiled floor, with naught an answer to guide her. There is a great set of doors on the opposite end from the staircase. Inexplicably drawn to it, Serahlin moves to it. She creaks open a door and slips inside.

A myriad of colors and brilliant plants great her in a riot of breathtaking beauty. Above is a domed ceiling made of stained glass that filters in gold, red, green, and blue light. The only blemish is a large hole in the glass on the far side, jagged edges catching the light in a cut pattern. The atrium is filled with plants, so many of which are unknown to her. It is a garden, she realizes, an atrium meets greenhouse.

What wondrous things Adannar makes, she thinks not for the first time. How can someone who makes such wonderful things be bad? If dragons can make these things then why would they ever attack elven cities and settlements? The knights have always deemed that the dragons lusted for what the elves could make, they thirsted for power and sought to steal it from the elves. But standing in the atrium, surrounded by wondrous beauty and power, Serahlin wonders how many lies the knights have spread about dragons. She already knows they are given to lies when it comes to politics, perhaps...perhaps it was all a lie.

“Adannar?” She calls again. This time a shadow rises from the end of the atrium and it circles around the space until it seems to surround her and fill the space. Large gold glowing eyes open in the shadows and an array of teeth are suddenly sneering at her.

This...this is not Adannar.

“What is your name?” The shadow demands in a low menacing voice. Serahlin closes her eyes and resists every impulse in her body to run in fear. No, she has a duty here. She came here for a reason and she will not be denied.

“I am Serahlin - who are you? Where is Adannar?” If her voice shakes a little, it is her prerogative, she has only recently gotten over her lover being a dragon after all.

All at once, the shadows recede and reveal another dragon, with long spiraling horns and a similarly long body. His wings are feathered and move, shuffling away the shadows as he takes on what she hopes is a more friendly stance. His lips pull into what she thinks is the dragon equivalent of a smile, or perhaps a smirk.

“Ah Serahlin, Adannar told me to keep an eye out for you. To answer your question, I am Des. And Adannar is currently away assisting me with an issue. Now tell me, what exactly is your relationship with my dear friend, hmm? You are a lovely little thing, aren’t you.” He folds his wings against his body and leans towards her, surprisingly without any menace but curiosity. Serahlin leans back and tries not to scowl. She gets the distinct feeling like if he were an elf, she would be resisting the urge to slap him. Perhaps at the palace one of her guards would.

“That is a private matter,” she says before remembering why she is here, “and there is something more pressing to discuss. There is a hunting part in the woods headed by Andruil herself. You need to get somewhere safe, is there a, a, bunker here? Or perhaps impenetrable wards? She is a relentless and renowned hunter, she has killed dragons before. If you are a friend to Adannar then I doubt you deserve such a fate, and wherever he is, he needs to be somewhere safe. Do you understand?” She stands tall, chin raised with a firm determination to make this...this giant lizard listen to her. Yes, he is just a giant lizard, that’s all he is.

The giant lizard raises a scaly brow at her, “That was quite the mouthful,” he says with entirely too much behind it.

“You came here to warn Adannar about imminent danger? My, what are you two?”

“Must I repeat myself? It is a private matter but if you do not want to heed the warning then that is your decision.” She crosses her arms and adopts an expression she learned while she was still a princess - no nonsense and stubborn. The big lizard sighs dramatically.

“Fine, it’s private. And Andruil, you say? This place is more secure than you think, you just stay here while I activate the wards and defenses.” He leans up and flies out of the atrium. Serahlin does not let her face change until she is sure he is gone. Once assured she will not be seen, she slumps against the wall, resting her hand atop her chest.

She hopes she does not regret this.

While the lizard goes and activates the wards, Serahlin can find armor, arms. She is not the most proficient with them, but she knows some things. Enough to wave a sword around and look menacing. The trick now is finding arms and armor. There has to be something around here in the piles upon piles of stuff.

She heads out of the atrium and back into the lair proper. A rumbling noise begins to echo through the cave and slowly a whirr fills the halls along with a static magic. Holes open in the walls and small mechanical creatures resembling falcons and other small birds of prey fly out of them, alight with what must be defensive magic.

The swarm grows and grows until she is pushed into a room filled with crates and satchels. Serahlin begins to go through them, looking for anything that will help. She opens a crate to find the most beautiful iridescent fabrics in blues, greens, yellows - so many colors. She pulls out one length to find that it is a robe and that this crate does not contain multiple robes but an entire outfit meant to be layered to create a stunning effect. She is coming back for this.

She goes through a few more crates and finds some embossed leather armor that she dons as well as she can without assistance. Bracers, shin guards, even a cuirass that she manages to pull on over her head and secure around her chest.

She is finishing securing the cuirass when a loud crash echoes through the lair. It is the sound of magic and glass shattering and it sends her running down the hall and down the staircase. Des roars and there is shouting, the clash of weapons, the charge of battle magic as she nears the atrium. She steps over the threshold and into darkness.

Serahlin blinks and slowly her eyes adjust miraculously to the lowlight. Des is on the far side of the atrium, opposite to where most of the hunters are. His wings flutter and it is too late for her to run before she realizes he is igniting the shadows. Their eyes meet and his widen in horror.

“NO!”

The shadows ignite in brilliant fashion. Serahlin brings her arms in reflex but the fire surrounds her and her skin burns as she is thrown back from the explosion. Light flashes, blinding her. The explosion deafens her as her body crashes into the floor. She gasps as the air is forced out of her lungs and she is rolled to her back, staring up at the now blasted glass ceiling. Everything appears to move in slow blurry fashion, she thinks she hears her name but she cannot move, cannot respond.

Her ears ring and she is only vaguely aware of the battle occuring around her. She thinks someone shouts her name. Something crashes, sending vibrations through the floor. She needs to move, needs to...get out of here. To safety, to Adannar. Try as she might, all her body can manage is to turn her head towards the atrium.

She cannot see Des anywhere, all she sees are the hunters - ones that are dead and alive. At least ten bodies are strewn about, burned and blown apart. Serahlin tries to take stock of herself, fear that she too is blown apart - but she feels her feet, her hands, each finger and each toe. She feels her stomach, feels the weight of the cuirass that is still secured to her chest.

One of the alive hunters turns to her, eyes dark and face drawn. The lady Andruil is telling them something and they nod before striding over to Serahlin. She feels the menace roll off them and fear wells up in her. Their hand barely touches her cuirass before a powerful, bright magic rises from her and sends them flying away from her.

What...what was that? She has never manifested magic before, how...what? Has her stay in the forest changed her so much that she is now magical? As if there is not enough happening!

Andruil raises an eyebrow at Serahlin before stalking forward herself. She does not make the same mistake as the previous hunter and instead kneels next to Serahlin.

“What do we have here?” She says, looking over Serahlin, “My brother’s former betrothed, the princess Serahlin. My other brother has been looking for you, and you turn up here - ruining my hunt.” Serahlin swallows, trying to keep her composure while the huntress looks her over.

“Such a pretty thing, and powerful too.” She trails a finger down Serahlin’s cheek making Serahlin wish she could blast the huntress away too. But the field seems to be activated only by aggression. Andruil tilts her head to the side and a sickening smile spreads across her face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Falon’din I found you. No, I think I’ll keep you all to myself. You! Pick her up! Gag her and put her in the wagon. Set for Tavathan!” Andruil rises and walks from Serahlin just in time for her to be picked up by a large hunter who smells horrible. She tries to struggle but her limbs remain uncooperative.

Let me go! She wants to scream. She wants to kick and scream and run far from this place. She only meant to warn Adannar, she never thought...she never thought she would become a target.

She is carried out of the lair and to a large wagon that looks like it was originally meant to hold other hunting trophies. Large hunting trophies, dragon sized trophies. She is tied to a railing, gagged, and she tries very hard not to cry. It is the only battle she wins that day.

**

Venavismi knows many things when it comes to elves. Ana trusts him when he says that the people are dangerous and she should stay away. But she is also terribly curious when after they leave, they return. Their return is relayed to her by the whispers in the wind and the rustle of leaves, the skittering of small animals in the brush. Tales of death and destruction come with them, making Ana frown.

When night falls and Vena is safely sleeping in his little man-hut, she journeys to see what the people are doing. Particularly this Andruil. Vena had such an interesting reaction to her, a mixture of fear and resignation.

Ana is silent as she makes her way through her section of the forest. She climbs several trees and perches herself in the high canopy of an old tree that has always been kind to her. It allows her to sit upon its branches shrouded in shadow as she watches the camp of elves below. The wind carries the people’s whispers to her ears and from them she learns that the Princess Andruil has returned from her hunt. But the Lady was unsuccessful...something happened?

What had the princess been hunting? If she is so good to inspire such fear in Vena and to have the pelts of bears, wolves, wyverns, great bears, and even more - what kind of creature must have eluded her?

Someone whispers dragon and Ana swallows, sick to her stomach. Both Adannar and Selene are her friends, they are creatures of the forest just as much as her. Well, perhaps not Selene, but she has been here long enough that Ana considers her part of the forest. Andruil failed, which is good! That means her friends escaped her!

“She brought back something else, though. It’s in the wagon, she’s told everyone to stay away from it except for the hunters.”

“Damn hunters get to know everything.”

The wind carries more whispers to Ana, making her frown. Something else? What else could she have recovered that could compare to a dragon? Carefully, Ana makes her way around the camp, careful of the wards they have placed. She sticks to the trees until she is high above the wagon in question.

Oh no. No, no, no.

A forest creature like Ana sits in the wagon, her glow clear and radiant, full of life. She is tied to the wagon, slumped and hurting. It is wrong!

Ana hastily climbs back down and runs to her tree and Vena. She needs his help to break the creature free!

She flings the door to the structure open, “Vena! Wake up!”

“What?! Are we under attack?!” He sits up straight immediately, grabbing the sword he keeps next to the bed, eyes wild.

“Andruil has taken a forest creature! We must rescue her!” She declares. Vena does not immediately answer her, instead setting the sword down.

“Andruil? I told you to stay away from her! That forest creature could be you!” He says as if to dissuade her from their task.

“Exactly! That is why we must go free her,” she says.

“Ana -

“Please, help me,” she asks and she is met with a heavy sigh.

“We will scout it out, then decide from there - alright?” It’s enough for now, she nods readily. She lets him don his armor - shitty armor is still better than no armor.

She shows him the way, moving through the brush as quickly as they dare. They stick to the forest floor rather than a tree - Vena still needs to improve his tree climbing abilities. She gets them as close to the wards as possible and points to the wagon.

“In there,” she whispers.

Vena directs his attention to the wagon and goes still, “That is not a forest creature,” he whispers.

“Yes she is! She glows like one of us!” Ana argues but Vena shakes his head slowly.

“That is Princess Serahlin of Eletharan.”

“That...that is impossible!”

“I know her! I met her at a dinner Sylaise hosted once, that is Serahlin. And Andruil will not give her up easily. We cannot do this alone, Ana,” he says. Ana frowns and looks back at the creature, this...Serahlin. She glows like a forest creature, and perhaps something happened to her. Ana has heard of stories of elves and others becoming one with the forest - perhaps this is what they speak of. Whatever she is, Ana is certain that this Serahlin does not deserve to be captured by Andruil.

“We can’t do nothing.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Vena says, “do you have forest friends? Little critters who can help us?” Vena asks and Ana thinks. She could ask...it would be a lot to ask, particularly since they’re still in hiding, but they would understand the circumstances.

“I do, but they’re not little,” she replies, “how good are you at riddles?”

[rhenal]

To the Void with the Void

Few things in Dragon Age lore bother me quite as much as the Void. It appears just about everywhere, in every faith, but what any one teaching says about what it actually IS never seems to be consistent - even in the same set of teachings.

Come with me on this journey, as I go through the Dragon Age Wiki page on the Void and follow every single cite note to the source - and look through those cited sources as well.

It starts with a brief summary, then goes into Chantry beliefs, because of course that comes first. It lists some verses from the chant. 

All that the Maker has wrought is in His hand Beloved and precious to Him. Where the Maker has turned His face away, Is a Void in all things; In the world, in the Fade, In the hearts and minds of men.

Passing out of the world, in that Void shall they wander; O unrepentant, faithless, treacherous, They who are judged and found wanting Shall know forever the loss of the Maker's love. Only Our Lady shall weep for them.

—Canticle of Threnodies, 12:5

So... the void is both a vague emptiness in everything the Maker doesn’t like and the Andrastian version of Hell? Right. How conveniently vague. It never says ‘the Void’ though, just ‘a Void’. 

Next follows some extrapolations. Since I know that fanon and canon tend to intermingle a lot in small, subtle and insidious ways, I shall stick as close to the source material - and only the source material - as the wiki and the rest of my resources will allow for, while mostly ignoring the wiki-specific text. So. Let’s follow the cite notes, in order. 

The first one refers to a conversation with Sebastian in DA II. I don’t have that DLC, because I think that guy is kind of an arse and not worth my money, and after over an hour of searching both the wiki and youtube, I have not found this conversation, so I’m gonna drop that trail for now. 

Second cite note also refers to a Sebastian conversation, but this is one I can actually find. It’s a banter conversation between him and Isabela. 

Isabela: So, I've never understood why the Chantry says if you're good, you'll be taken up to the Maker's side. Sebastian: Those who die with the sins cleansed from their souls will walk beside the Maker in eternity. Isabela: That doesn't sound fun! Isabela: If they really want people to be good, shouldn't they offer an afterlife with... lakes of wine and a dozen naked virgins? Sebastian: Anyone who wants that will be going to the Void. Isabela: Sounds like that's where all the good parties will be.

So, Andrasian hell. K. Still doesn’t tell me anything useful.

Next few cite notes are grouped up. These unfortunately refer to books that I do not have access to at the moment - World of Thedas vol. 1 and the Dragon Age Origins official game guide - so I’ll simply settle for sharing the statement on the wiki.

The sinners are lost, endlessly wandering the Fade or even returning to the "ether" (the primeval matter of the Fade) from which they were made.

So, conflating the Void and the Fade now, are we? The next sentence references the Canticle of Threnodies, saying that it says that the Void is a place within the Fade. Time to check out what’s available of that Canticle myself...

Huh. Oh, that’s a lot. Yet after reading it all, the only mention of the Void I could find is in 12:5 above. “Where the Maker has turned His face away, Is a Void in all things; In the world, in the Fade, In the hearts and minds of men.” I think that can be interpreted in a lot of ways. It doesn’t quite say “The Void is a place in the fade” to me. It just says that there is an emptiness - a Void - in everything that the Maker found fault in. And he certainly found fault in the Fade, according to earlier verses in that very same Canticle. I don’t know, but this instance seems more figurative to me. Maybe I’m wrong. 

Moving on. Up next is another Chantry verse. 

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity.

—Canticle of Andraste, 14:11

I can’t help but notice how ‘abyss’ isn’t capitalised in this verse. I checked in game - it’s not capitalised there either. 

This verse bothers me. When reading further into the codex entry of “Here Lies the Abyss”, there is some musings by Revered Mother Juliette accompanying the verse. They read as follows:

Chantry sisters have long debated this section of the Chant of Light. It is tempting to assume that the "well of all souls" is a literal well, but such imagery appears nowhere in Andraste's other works. An examination from Threnodies 1:4 yields clues:

From the waters of the Fade you made the world. As the Fade had been fluid, so was the world fixed.

It is possible—even likely—that the "emerald waters" Andraste refers to are the substance of the Fade, which began as an "ocean of dreams" (Threnodies 1:1) and was reduced to a well—bottomless but limited in scope—by the Maker's creation of our world.

Is Andraste urging the listener to come to the Fade? Should we take "From these emerald waters doth life begin anew," as literal evidence of reincarnation—or even of life after death, as the Cult of Spirits suggests—or as a figurative benediction indicating that the Maker is the source of all life, and in finding His embrace for Eternity, we will only be returning our souls from whence they came?

Vague, is it not? Juliette seems as confused as I am. 

Now, I remember when The Descent came out. When seeing The Wellspring at the end of that story, a lot of think-pieces popped up in the Meta community about how it looked an awful lot like what Andraste might have been describing in that Canticle of hers. Note how, in the Wiki page for the above-mentioned codex entry, there is a trivia section with a quoted passage from The Calling? 

"It’s where Andraste goes to speak to the Maker for the first time. It’s where she convinces him to forgive mankind. It was supposed to be this beautiful temple deep under the earth surrounded by emerald waters."

Interesting, no?

If anything, it seems safe to say that The Chant doesn’t seem very interesting in defining just what either the Void or this abyss is in the first place, and anything further simply seem to be interpretations by various Chantry people, which is hardly a reliable source of anything.

Continuing down the Wiki page on the Void, we have the Elven beliefs section. Something something The Forgotten Ones dwell there - the cite note leads us to Codex Entry: Elven God Andruil. Well. Not beliefs of modern elves, then, since this entry is found in the temple of Mythal, but that’s splitting hairs. 

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking The Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss. Yet even a god should not linger there, and each time she entered the Void, Andruil suffered longer and longer periods of madness after returning.

Andruil put on armor made of the Void, and all forgot her true face. She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands. She howled things meant to be forgotten, and the other gods became fearful Andruil would hunt them in turn. So Mythal spread rumors of a monstrous creature and took the form of a great serpent, waiting for Andruil at the base of a mountain.

When Andruil came, Mythal sprang on the hunter. They fought for three day and nights, Andruil slashing deep gouges in the serpent's hide. But Mythal's magic sapped Andruil's strength, and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void. After this, the great hunter could never make her way back to the abyss, and peace returned.

—Translated from ancient elven found in the Arbor Wilds, source unverified

Here is a much more clear distinction of the Void as an actual, tangible thing. Abyss is still not being capitalised, though. Abyss speaks to me of something deep down below. And the ancient Elves were actively encouraged to seek the deepest parts of the Fade, as seen in Codex Entry: Vir Dirthara: The Deepest Fade.

The pages of this book—memory?—are instructions on how to reach the deepest parts of the Fade, realms so far removed they're unmarked by Dreamers:

"Epiphany requires a mind smooth as mirror glass, still as stone. Put aside ten years for practice, and the next hundred for searching. What others have learned will ease your journey. Those who never manifested outside the Fade will find it easier to find its stillest roots, but it is rare the compulsion overtakes our brethren of the air."

Andruil roaming the Void was considered a bad thing by the Elves, yet seeking the deepest parts of the Fade was encouraged. That says to me that they are not the same. That says to me that the Void is not found in the Fade. 

The Andruil codex entry also says that “all forgot her true face” and that because of her actions, “plague ate her lands”. The idea that it was Andruil who caused the Blight has been around for a long time. This codex entry is the source of that theory. So far, I am inclined to agree that it certainly sounds like that may be the case. So. Quite possibly, according to this tale, if this plague is indeed the blight, it can be concluded that the Blight came from the Void.

However, that is a whole lot of conditions. A lot of ‘if’s.

Next up, there’s talk about the legends of Fen’Harel and The Great Betrayal - which we know for certain fact by now is a lot more complicated than the legends make it out to be. However, I don’t remember there being any mention of the Void or an abyss - or even the Forgotten Ones - being mentioned in our conversation with Solas in Trespasser. Sometimes I wonder if the Forgotten Ones are just a trail that Bioware wants to drop, but then I remember that their most explicit appearance in all the games so far is as recently as Jaws of Hakkon. Well. Back on track. 

The cite notes here only lead me to Arlathan: Part two and the Dread Wolf codex entry - both tellings of the Dalish legend, which tells me nothing new. The Forgotten Ones were allegedly trapped in the abyss. Might be good to point out that these legends also appear to imply that the Forgotten Ones came from the abyss, or at least that it was their home. “[...]if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time.“

Hmm. The Void wiki entry next says that The World of Thedas includes accounts of the Evanuris being trapped in the Eternal City. I thought that was just a theory. I really need to get that book. Clear some things up.

On to the next cite note, which leads me to the codex entry Elgar’nan: God of Vengeance. Another Dalish account, but this one brings up something interesting that I’ve not paid attention to before.

The sun, looking down upon the fruitful land, saw the joy that Elgar'nan took in her works and grew jealous. Out of spite, he shone his face full upon all the creatures the earth had created, and burned them all to ashes. The land cracked and split from bitterness and pain, and cried salt tears for the loss of all she had wrought. The pool of tears cried for the land became the ocean, and the cracks in her body the first rivers and streams.

Elgar'nan was furious at what his father had done and vowed vengeance. He lifted himself into the sky and wrestled the sun, determined to defeat him. They fought for an eternity, and eventually the sun grew weak, while Elgar'nan's rage was unabated. Eventually Elgar'nan threw the sun down from the sky and buried him in a deep abyss created by the land's sorrow.

A deep crack in the earth - a crack referrenced to as an abyss no less - created by the Sun’s rage. 

Perhaps, this instead is a reference to the war in which the Evanuris were generals. The war that enabled their ascent to presumed godhood. And this chasm was opened by the battles waged in this war. 

My mind wanders to The Abyssal Reach in the Western Approach. You know the one - the ginormous black chasm? The one that you fall into during Here Lies the Abyss?

The Wiki entry on the Western Approach says that “This area was the site of a major battle during the Second Blight. The darkspawn swarmed out of the great chasm to the south named the Abyssal Rift and corrupted the land beyond recovery.” Note that it doesn’t say is that the chasm was created during the Second Blight. It would appear that it was already there. 

I’m thinking that this chasm is the same as the one referenced in Elgar’nan’s legend. 

Although - nothing about this says that this chasm and the Void is the same thing. But I suspect that they may be connected. 

Continuing down the Void wiki page, all that’s left is the cult of the Empty Ones - who worshiped the blight - as well as a fairly lengthy trivia section. Nothing I find here is new. The Empty ones say the Darkspawn came from the Void and that the Void is a place of nothingness. General mentions of a hungry, yawning void - which doesn’t really say anything because that’s a pretty general turn of phrase. The Staff of the Void’s description talks about a void as an absence of something, which once again sounds more like a turn of phrase than anything substantial.  

There is always the Anvil of the Void - the thing that the Dwarves used to forge Golems. Since it essentially functioned by transferring the soul of a dwarf into that of the Golem, it could imply that the Void is somehow related to souls - or at least Dwarven souls - which would support the verse from the Canticle of Andraste mentioned before. But then, we also know that Elven souls come from the Fade - or at least that is what is implied, considering their close kinship with Spirits before the Veil. 

And there is still the whole thing about where we have absolutely no idea where the Humans even came from in the first place...

So far, I’ve seen a lot of fairly interesting thinking points - but absolutely nothing that would really lead to any real consensus to what the Void even is - IF it even is. I can’t help but feel that despite the frequent use of the terms Void and abyss in both Elven and Chantry lore, none of these references are similar enough - or substantive enough - for me to be able to be able to safely conclude that the Void even is a special place or thing at all. It sounds to me like metaphorical speech far more often than it does anything else. A metaphor for deep underground or something. The Deep Roads. I don’t know. 

But then I remember The Descent again. The Wellspring. The ‘lake’ that seemed almost like a sky. The Dwarf legend of the king who dug so deep down that he and his entire thaig “fell into the sky”. It makes me wonder...

In the end, all I feel I can really conclude for myself is that whatever it is, the Abyss is mostly deep below, and the Fade is mostly up above. I don’t think they are the same. Also that the Blight probably comes from the Void in one way or another. 

But honestly, any more than that, the lore just doesn’t seem to converge into anything substantial anywhere. There is simply far too little to go on to make any solid conclusions, and what little lore there is appear to go into different places more often than not. We can assume, we can theorise, we can extrapolate - but what real lore there actually is tells us surprisingly little.

If anyone has any thoughts about this that are more coherent than mine, I’d love to hear them, because it feels like I’m thinking in circles.

[wootensmith]

Shedding

“Bloody whine is driving me up the wall,” growled Blackwall, shattering several crystals with the flat of his blade. “It’s like the dreams after the Joining,” agreed Brosca. “Except worse. It’s Stone song gone sour.” “The King sent us to aid Kal-Sharok last year in pushing back the Qunari,” said one of the Legion dwarves, shoving his shield against the red walls and crushing the smaller crystals. “They’d found the infection in one of their roads. Studied it. It shouldn’t sing, they told me. The Stone was dead in Kal-Sharok, it’d been dead for centuries. Even the lyrium couldn’t be heard. Not the way we hear it, anyway.” He grunted, slammed his shield into a large growth. “But it sang, just the same. They were excited. Thought it meant their Stone would be reborn. They were trying to grow more of it when we left. Half-wonder if that’s where the topsiders got the idea.” “Unlikely,” said Solas, wincing as a shard cut his heel. It mattered little. “The magisters drew it first from here and have been attempting to use it since the first Blight. It is worrisome that Kal-Sharok is encouraging its spread. But—” he sighed, “It is too late for us to intervene now. We must hope that our friends will discover it before our work is undone.”

“Maybe they’ll cure it,” said the Inquisitor. “Maybe it really will bring back their Titan. And they’ll use what you found to heal the red lyrium.” On any other day, he might have argued with her. He might have doubted and pointed out the likelihood that the dwarves of Kal-Sharok would only infect themselves in addition to the corpse of their Titan. But so close to the end, he could not begrudge her optimism. He couldn’t bring himself to think realistically. Or at least— he couldn’t bring himself to speak it aloud. “Perhaps you’re right, Vhenan,” he said instead, kissing her hand. The air was damp and chilled, but buzzed with the lyrium. It made Solas’s skin prickle uncomfortably. The footings of the temple and the evidence of elven masons had long since dwindled away, leaving only the large empty tunnels. There had likely been no living presence here since Corypheus had brought the lyrium back. Darkspawn, certainly. Long slashes from claws interspersed the crystals that jutted from the walls, and the stench of old decay still lingered. But they saw none. Not until they’d descended to the massive cliff that ran along the edge of a ruby desert plain below. “This is it,” said the Inquisitor as the dragon was wheeled to a stop and the large company stood peering over the edge. The song of the lyrium was overwhelming here, the glow like the living fire of an active volcano below them and shadows writhed like moving clouds over the surface of the plain. Cole moved quickly, slipping a journal from the Inquisitor’s pack and spreading it before them. “Thank you, Cole,” she said with a sad smile, and held a corner of her map with her remaining hand. “There is a road down to the plain— here. But Andruil’s remaining records seem to hint at that peak—” she raised her hand, pointing to a distant hill. It pulsed and glowed. “That is Anaris’s stronghold. That is the source of the Blight, if there ever was one. The darkspawn must be thick across this entire area.” Blackwall whistled low. “There are— thousands.” “Those are just the ones we can see,” said Brosca. “Aye,” said one of the dwarves. “You could fit the whole of Orzammar down there— but it’s the tunnels where they’ll group tightest. We’re seeing only the tip of the lode. There’s no way we can defeat them. It’s madness. Even in our heyday the Legion would never be able to take on so many. Nor the Wardens. It’s slaughter.” “That isn’t our task,” said a woman beside him. “Our task is to get the Inquisitor to that peak. The archdemon draws the darkspawn and we cut a path through the remainder to get her there.” “We’ll be dead before we get halfway, Sigrun.” “We’re the Legion,” she said. “Already dead anyway. This is what we swore to do. If this is where we return to the Stone— well, our Thaigs were all one once, weren’t they? All things flow back to the dust.” Brosca laughed. “Ever the optimist,” she said. “You aren’t allowed to die without me. Not until the mountain.” She called back to a small cluster of Wardens. “Bring the beast. It’s time.” She glanced at the Inquisitor who was staring intently at the map. Solas watched a drop of water splash onto the rough page, slithering through the ink. “Do you— want to do this privately?” Brosca asked. “Please,” answered Solas. “It will make the spell— easier to complete.” The Warden nodded. The dragon was brought to a halt a the edge of the cliff. Blackwall handed the Inquisitor a knife. “For the ropes, when you’re ready. They’re enchanted. Solas— won’t be able to break them without your help.” He gave Cole a wooden bowl and a large vial. “For the— the Blight. So he can draw them.”  Cole took it with a frown but did not protest. He turned to Solas and clasped his arm. “I’ll get her there,” he said. “I swear it.” “I know you will, Warden,” said Solas. “Thank you.” “Maker— or— something watch over you.” “An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. Within My creation, none are alone.” Blackwall nodded. “You’d think, knowing what I do, that it wouldn’t help, hearing that. But it does.” He let Solas’s arm go and followed the other Wardens and the Legion down the long road toward the valley.

It left only Cole and the Inquisitor standing before the massive beast. “I wish to stay,” said Cole. “She will not be able to hear you without me. She’ll be alone—” The Inquisitor shook with a low sob. “Of course, Cole. I am glad you are here for this,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. She could not look at him. “It is only changing a mask, Vhenan,” he whispered, “I will still be me. And I will ever love you. A little longer, and then all the masks will be gone. All the pain and fear and sorrow behind us.” She reached for his face. “I worry about what it will leave in its wake,” she said, her fingers resting on his cheek. “Only love. Only peace.” He pressed her into him, trying to imprint the shape of her into his memory. “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” “Say it again, once more,” she said, her voice wavering beside his ear. He pulled back to look at her. “I love you. Long after this body. Long after this world. Until even the Fade releases your memory and crumbles away.” He brushed the tears from her face and kissed her, pulling one last time from the anchor, buying her as many breaths as he could. “Whatever happens— even should we fail, my happiest days have been with you, Solas, just as you are,” she said. “If I had it in my power to return that joy to you—” “You do,” he insisted. “You have.” “Ar lath ma,” she said. He leaned into her, closed his eyes and reached out for the beast’s mind. Delaying would only draw out their misery. There was resistance, the beast did not want him. It threatened him with images of violence and flame. He tried to reassure it, redoubling the spell, sending it thoughts. Of protection. Of battling darkspawn. Of shielding its clutch of eggs. The beast subsided at last. Solas felt a yank and then—

Heavy. He was so heavy. Things bit at him and massive muscles ached and strained against the biting bonds. The Inquisitor’s voice cried out in anguish and he twisted his head, marveling at the strange colors the beast saw. She was crackling with light, gold and green, struggling to hold on to his sagging body. It was disorienting, seeing his own empty flesh. More disturbing even than seeing himself in the veilfire memories or in the paintings they made of his stories. It might have distressed him, had her grief not crushed him. He strained against the ropes, craning to reach her. She had not looked up at him. He called out and it erupted in a hissing roar. Felasil, he told himself, you have a dragon’s tongue now. Cole helped her place his body on the dirt. She brushed his dead face, still ignoring the dragon. “He’s safe,” said Cole softly. “Just somewhere else is all.” She nodded and looked up at last, but did not release her hold on the corpse. I should destroy it. Release her from her protection of it.  He twisted his head slowly toward Cole. The boy nodded. “He wants you to let go, Inquisitor. Put his body down.” “But I can’t— just leave him here. Something will hurt him. Or—” she shuddered. “Consume him.” “It isn’t him,” said Cole. “Just like me. I’m not— Cole. Just inside him. But I’m me still. Solas is there.” He pointed toward the dragon. Solas lay down and the ropes slackened slightly. “He wants you to step away. He’ll get rid of it so you don’t have to see.” She shook her head. “No, Cole. He’ll need it, when this is done.” No, Vhenan. No, I’ll never need it again. “He isn’t coming back. He doesn’t want to.” She stared down at his corpse. Solas thought they were at an impasse. She would not leave it and he could not do this without her. It was not a weakness he had anticipated. What would she tell me if I were in her shoes? He wondered. What story, what truth, what lie would she use to make me release her? He growled in frustration. She didn’t look up. Vir sulevanin, he thought. A life for a life. Tell her, Cole. Tell her ‘vir sulevanin’. I release what is most precious. It is her turn. “I don’t think she’ll—” started Cole. Tell her. “He says, ‘Vir sulevanin’. He has done a great service in your name. You cannot refuse him. This is the payment. You must let him go. You must go on so that he can, too.” She sobbed, but her hands slid away from his body and she rose, stepping away. Cole reached down and took the jawbone pendant. “You can’t— he loved it,” protested the Inquisitor. “He does,” said Cole. “He wants it with him. Not this part—” he untied the jawbone, discarding it. “Only you. Only the memory of you.” Cole approached him, tying the leather band around one scaled forearm. The veilfire glimmered. Cole stepped back and grasped the wooden bowl, holding it up to Solas’s snout. “I’m sorry, my friend. It is the only way they will hear you sing.” Tel’abelas, Cole. It is a poison I have long accepted. He lapped the spoiled blood. It tasted rotten and stung. The beast’s mind recoiled and lashed out, attempting to struggle. Solas soothed it as well as he could, tightening his control over it. It is necessary to protect your nest, he told it. The sting spread, branching through his neck, arcing through his wings and  the dense body. The taint was swift. Solas knew he would not be able to hold his sanity long. A few days perhaps. He hoped it would be enough. “You should release him,” said Cole. “The time for you both is shorter and shorter.” The Inquisitor took a few steps toward him. He lowered his head toward her and she reached to touch his nose. “Are you in there?” she asked. He nuzzled against her. “Yes,” she answered herself. “I can feel you now, without the Veil.” She stroked his face. “I’ll let you go now. I love you. Don’t forget how I love you, even if the Blight takes everything else.” He felt the binds wriggle as she sawed them and then snap free. He stretched tentatively, feeling the odd expansive unfolding of his wings. She stepped back. Cole pulled her farther away. “It’s time to go now,” he said. “You don’t need to see.” She looked back at him as Cole led her down the road but didn’t struggle. Solas waited until she was out of sight and then took a deep breath and opened his throat. His body ignited and blackened in moments.  He turned away and leaped from the ledge, spreading his wings. He swooped low over the plain before the wind caught and he soared again. The red lyrium’s song was loud and hypnotic. He joined its melody watching as a group of Hurlocks turned as he swung over them. He circled in large arcs as the song poured forth from him and slowly made his way toward the red mountain.

[asoulonfire]

Modern Arlathan/Government town AU

I don’t know how this happened.... or if I’m going to do anything else with it. But I kind of like the idea so I might. 

Mostly I’m posting this as a ‘hey! I’m still here!’

I had some trouble figuring out how to format the texts in tumblr, but hopefully it didn’t seem too confusing.

Solas sat in the back of the meeting room, his pen tapping absently on the notebook in front of him. He had long since stopped paying attention to the battle of wills that was taking place across the table from him. Today’s participants were Ghilan’nain and June. The argument had started out as something about environmental protection vs industrialization but it had long since devolved into personal insults and grudges from eons past.

He felt a slight buzz in the pocket of his suit jacket and he inched his phone out slowly to peek at it. If anyone complained he would remind them that unlike the majority of his fellow rulers, he actually worked in his office and intersected with the people in his ministry. Perhaps this was his assistant giving him an out.

The name hat came up was not his assistant. It was in fact only slightly less annoying than the people in the room with him now.

Felassen: Has the vein on Elgar’nan’s head started pulsing yet?

Solas hid a snort of laughter as he read hat his friend said.

Solas: Not yet.. oh wait, there it goes.

F: Right on schedule. He really needs to loosen up.

S: That may be, but I will not be the one to suggest it.

F: Speaking of loosening up….

S: No.

F: I haven't even said anything yet!

S: Last time you said I needed to loosen up you set me up with that girl from HR.

F: I thought she was very nice.

S: She was 20!!! It was embarrassing.

F: Alright, alright. So 20’s too young. What about early 30’s?

S: Felassan, what have you done?

F: I RSVPed for you to come to a little get together tonight at the anchor and crown. The taxi will pick you up in 30 min.

S: That doesn’t even give me time to go back to the office….

F: And i’m coming with the taxi and if you don’t come down I will come up and tell all my f the E’s about the girl from HR.

S: They would never believe you.

F: Attachment downloading

Solas sucked in a breath as he saw the blurry photos. Clearly they were taken from a distance but they  pearly showed Solas and the young 20 year old. Her skirt had ridden up as she tried to paw at him in what her youthful mind must have hopped was seductive. Solas had tried to get away in as dignified a major as possible. In the photos youth it looked less like he was trying to get away and more like he was trying to lead her somewhere. Spirits, this was bad.

S: Who took those photos?! !!

F: Relax, it was just me on my phone. No paparazzi. I wouldn't do that to you.

S: But you will use them to blackmail me to come to a party?

F: Trust me, this is in your own best interest. Taxi will be there in 20. Better be waiting.

Solas stared at the texts for a moment, trying to decide what he should do. With a sigh he tucked the phone back into his pocket and looked back towards where his family was still arguing. Mythal sat next to Elgar’nan at the head of the table, rubbing at her temple with one hand. Falon’Din and Dirthamen sat off to one side, whispering and snickering with each other. June and Ghilan’nain and Andruil were still arguing while Sylaise looked at her nails with a bored expression.

But when Solas pushed back his chair and stood up everyone stopped and turned to him.

“Fen’Harel,” Mythal said raising an eyebrow. The question was not voiced but was implicit.

“I have another meeting to attend.” Solas said as he put his unused notebook into his briefcase.

Mythal said nothing, but the small nod of her head told Solas that he had her approval. Solas didn’t look at any of the others as he closed the door of the meeting room behind him.

With a nod at the young man attending the front desk Solas let himself out and took the elevator down to the ground floor. When he exited the elevator he saw Felassan leaning by the security desk. Felassan gave him a wide grin.

“Glad to see I didn’t have to intrude and drag you out of there.” Felassan chuckled, “I do try and avoid the Evanuris as much as I can.”

“You realize that I am an Evanuris.” Solas said as he walked towards the door, Felassan falling in step with him.

“Are you really?” Felassan asked with faux shock. “I had no idea.”

Solas only rolled his eyes. Felassan pointed at a taxi that was sitting out front and the two climbed in. After Felassan had given the driver the address and settled back into his seat, Solas turned to him.

“So, who is it this time?” Solas asked with a frown.

“What do you mean?” Felassan smirked.

“I mean, who are you trying to set me up with this time.” Solas retorted.

Felassan didn’t bother denying anything, he only grinned cheekily at him. “New project manager for Arts and Culture. Legs for days.” He waggled his eyebrows at Solas as he smirked.

“Why on earth did Mythal ever decide that you were the right person to head up HR?” Solas grumbled. “She would be devastated to know that you are using it to try and be a matchmaker.”

“Who says she doesn’t already know?” Felassan laughed.

Solas frowned and looked down at his business suit. “I will be a bit overdressed for a pub.” He said, straightening his tie.

“Relax, it’s mostly other gov workers who go there. Most of them will have just come from the office too.” Felassan said batting his hand away.

“So what pretext did you use to get this mystery worman there this time?” Solas sighed, at this point it wasn’t worth trying to persuade Felassan to change his mind.

“Easy,” Felassan said with a wink, “I persuaded her Director to organize a welcome party.”

I have a few other ideas for this. Maybe I will keep puttering on them. I’m having trouble getting in the head space for ‘A Soul on Fire’, but I am still tinkering at it, don’t despair!

[feynites]

Some Fen’Sulahn/General Lavellan crossover courtship! Tagging @justanartsysideblog

June is not pleased with Lavellan’s apparent interest in Fen’Sulahn.

He takes a passive-aggressive approach to his displeasure. Lavellan is not quite sure why he bothers with the ‘passive’ part – she can clearly tell what’s bothering him – but maybe it’s just because he can’t really justify being angry without seeming petty. Because, of course, it is petty.

“You do not even like these elves,” June mutters, the next day, as they meet in the joined foyer of their rooms to get ready to leave. Mythal has invited them to join her family for breakfast. A messenger stopped by before June was even awake, carrying the invitation.

“I like one of them,” Lavellan replies, honestly not in the mood to ease his bruised ego right now. She didn’t sleep at all last night. She was too afraid of what she might dream about. And now the sun is up, and reality still is what it is. History and all. She feels impatient, and she’s not even sure if it’s nerves or regret or excitement at the prospect of seeing Olwyn again.

June lets out an aggravated sigh.

“You barely laid eyes on her before you were all but pouncing,” he notes, as they set out into the hall. “Do not pretend that it is such a simple matter. Are you really so jealous of my own courtship, that you had to upstage me and fling yourself at Sylaise’s sister?”

Lavellan tries to resist the urge to reach up and flick his ear in rebuke. But the gesture would be too casual for the setting of the open, public corridor. Filled with the followers of Mythal and Elgar’nan’s burgeoning empire. She settles for rolling her eyes instead.

“Yes, June, you have caught me,” she drawls. “That is exactly what is going on. I am jealous of all the attention you have been getting, and I decided to use my sexual wiles to steal it for myself.”

June scowls, but at least he also lets the matter drop.

Once again, her brother is dressed in the finery that seems typical of important persons among these imperial elves. Lavellan has donned one of her better tunics, and, though she pointedly did not think too hard about her motivations for doing so, a pair of her tightest leggings. Her attire turns out to be fairly in-keeping with the mood of the morning’s breakfast, as Mythal’s available family have gathered around an amber table in outfits that range from Elgar’nan and Dirthamen’s simple robes, to Sylaise’s fluttering silver morning dress, to Mythal’s own gauzy tunic and moonlight leggings.

Olwyn is wearing a pink robe, with bangles on her wrists, and some golden paint across her eyelids. Her hair is loose, and wild in the way it always tended to get whenever she hadn’t had time to try and properly see to it.

She looks surprised to see June and Lavellan arrive. The sentiment flares around her for just a moment, before she tugs it back in.

Mythal rises to greet them.

“June, Lavellan,” she says, with a smile. It is strange to see her out of her usual, striking gowns and armour. Reaching out, she gestures towards the table. “Thank you for accepting my invitation. Please, do sit anywhere you would like.”

June immediately moves for the chair beside Sylaise, of course. There is one left open on his other side, and another available between Olwyn and Elgar’nan.

Lavellan knows a trap when she sees one.

She sits down next to her brother. Which still puts her opposite of Olwyn, and of Dirthamen, too. Mythal is on her other side, but Lavellan’s interest in the woman’s possible motives and intentions has only redoubled since the other night’s events. Mythal, it seems, holds Olwyn’s future and quite probably June’s in her hands as well.

But where she is driving all of this, that remains impossible to say.

“I hope you enjoyed last night’s festivities,” Mythal says, as they set about availing themselves of the breakfast spread.

“They were splendid,” June offers.

“I found the evening picked up very well as it went along,” Lavellan cannot resist declaring, herself. Olwyn smiles, just a little; her mother glances towards her, but smoothly inclines her head.

So, Mythal heard about their dancing, then. And most likely the flirting, too.

June is courting Sylaise. Lavellan wonders how Mythal would feel about having her elder daughter pursued by his younger sister. But, she does not seem to have made quite the same impression that June has upon the lauded general. The concept of an ‘advantageous match’ had been loose at best among the clans. Sometimes, when two clans met, and two elves hit it off, people would discuss the benefits of a close tie like that. But she is not certain how the advent of an empire might change such attitudes.

“I hear you danced with my sister, Lavellan,” Sylaise notes, raising an eyebrow from the other side of June. Elgar’nan, in the meanwhile, seems mostly intent upon his meal. While Dirthamen is… sitting there. Staring at the wall, it would seem.

“I am fond of dancing,” Lavellan confirms. “Your sister is an excellent partner. Very graceful.”

Olwyn smiles at her again.

“You danced very well also,” she extends. “If you are still here for the summer festival, it will be a delight.”

Lavellan cannot help but soften at the suggestion.

But still, she is not quite sure she wants to play strong a hand with the other evanuris so close. On some level, it is deeply surreal to sit at a table surrounded by figures who were once gods. But then, she has had one such person as a brother for centuries, now. In another lifetime, she had taken one for a lover.

Perhaps it is more surreal to sit like this with people who were once monsters she fought against.

Might still fight against.

The dead resurrected. If she does nothing, she thinks, history may well move itself in a circle. An unending spiral of death and rebirth, the world ending and beginning anew. Locked in an eternal, stagnant tragedy. One group of conquerors replacing another, and on and on until the firmament of the earth breaks beneath egotism and bloodshed.

And she has her part in that. As she sits and breaks bread with people who, she knows, are sending their prisoners of war to fixed camps, in a ‘temporary’ measure which seems set to become a permanent one.

Still, there is also nothing Lavellan can do if she is dead. Or if she makes the wrong choice, plays the wrong game, and simply lets things continue upon their track.

The conversation at the table carries on. Light and casual. Mythal begins addressing June more, after a time. Elgar’nan leaves to go and see to some battlefield reports. Sylaise asks Lavellan questions about dancing, and flirts with her a little, and seems quite pleased with the way it makes June tense and purse his lips, and glare at her from the corner of his eye.

Lavellan resists the urge to roll hers back at him for the thousandth time, and does not rise to the offerings. Tempting though it might be to torment him a little.

Breakfast ends, and she cannot help but feel as if it has given away more than she would like anyway. Olwyn excuses herself, and takes her brother with her, but Lavellan finds herself leaving the table without June, as Mythal requests to speak to him. She is escorted gracefully away by Sylaise instead, who flirts with her until they reach the palace gardens, and then exchanges it for a more ordinary sort of conversation on the city’s construction projects, and her own plans for the day.

Sylaise likes schedules. Or, at the very least, she thinks they are impressive.

The more time they spend together, the more Lavellan is beginning to see why she and June are apparently on the same strange wavelength.

“I have another sister, you know,” Sylaise mentions, before they part. “Andruil. She should be returning before the summer festival too. Will you flirt with her as well?”

Lavellan shakes her head.

“Is Andruil lovely?” she asks, though. It makes Sylaise laugh.

“She is!” the other woman confirms. “Though some prefer to call her ‘striking’. I, of course, inherited mother’s beauty. And Fen’Sulahn has always been of a charming disposition – if you like her look, you should know that even our brothers do not share it. Or, well, Dirthamen does some of the time. Falon’Din takes after Father, though.”

Lavellan contemplates the conversation for a moment, and the implications of everything going forward.

But in the end, she supposes that subterfuge has never been her strong suit. It would be better to play to her strengths – she has had time to cultivate them, at least.

“I struggle to imagine any figure more captivating than Fen’Sulahn,” she admits.

Sylaise’s expression goes unreadable, for a moment. And then she laughs, and shakes her head.

“What queer tastes you have,” she notes.

Lavellan lets out a long breath.

“They are certainly specific,” she concedes.

Sylaise leaves her, then. Begging off to attend to her duties. Lavellan looks around the gardens for a moment, and stills as she catches sight of a familiar figure. Standing near some of the statues of dragons, that seem to have been carved from shrine stones. Sacrilegious, in fact, though talking to the empire’s elves has revealed their belief that it is a gesture of respect instead.

She makes her way over. Pulled, like gravity. Olwyn is wearing bronze, now. Just a little darker than her skin tone, in strips of fabric that form a very loose dress. Her legs are bared up to the tops of her thighs. Golden anklets swirl up her calves, and medallion earrings hang from hair she has managed to tame since leaving the breakfast table.

Her back is to Lavellan. The water’s reflective surface makes her think of mirrors. Makes her think of a woman in armour, standing before the frame of an eluvian.

“Were you listening?” she wonders.

Olwyn turns, and has the grace to not deny it. She looks only slightly abashed.

“You should know that everyone listens in on conversations in the gardens,” she says. “It is a prime source of gossip. Nothing said here can be considered private.”

Lavellan inclines her head.

“My thanks for the warning, in that case,” she replies, and then ventures up towards the statues as well. She gazes at the curved necks of the dragons. They do not look quite like the statues of Mythal which might survive into the future. But the initial concept is obviously there. Veins of green swirl through the carved rock, and put her in mind of lyrium as well.

And… of Ireth. Without fail. Her concept of a ‘dragon mother’ has changed much since Olwyn sent her back.

So many elements to balance.

“If you are trying to make Sylaise jealous, you are taking exactly the right approach,” Olwyn tells her, after a while.

Lavellan glances towards her. She looks so beautiful, but also very… different. And the sashes of her gown bear an uncomfortable resemblance to chains.

“I have gathered that one rarely needs to try to make Sylaise jealous,” she says. “It is the same with June. They might actually be well-matched for one another. Or they are the most terrible of combinations possible.”

Olwyn snorts in amusement, but then lifts a hand and covers her mouth.

“That was unkind,” she notes.

“I can be that, at times,” Lavellan murmurs. There is a deep well of bitterness in her, she knows. It has been soothed and stilled, and at times, it has scarcely seemed to still be there at all. But it is, and sometimes the waters of it lap against her tongue, and colour her words.

After a moment more of observing the statues, though, the presence at her side seems to further ease and comfort the disquiet within her.

She remembers a spell. Ireth used to cast it for Haninan, often enough. It has been years since she tried it. Not for any particular reason; but only because had not thought to or had reason to in that long. June had attempted it, once, while they had Ireth captive in the mountains. The lack of magic in the region had made the spell fizzle and break, though.

Her fingers twitch.

And after a moment, the thoughts take root enough that she lifts them, and twirls them. Drawing up shards of air that harden, glittering, moment by moment. Until they settle into something quite like spun glass. She balls her fist, and the bottom rounds and firms, and the little conjuring takes on the look of a piece of frozen fire. Reflecting green and blue from the stonework in front of them.

Olwyn makes a soft sound of wonder.

“Beautiful!” she exclaims.

Lavellan hands the bauble to her.

“It usually only lasts a few days,” she admits. “Like cut flowers. And it is easy to break.”

Like hearts young and old.

Olwyn traces a finger across it, and looks quite taken by the gift.

“So many clans know so many beautiful things,” she says. “So many great skills and crafts. Innovations and inventions. My mother wants to bring us all together, you know. To where we can all learn and appreciate the wonders of the People. And keep one another safe.”

Silence descends between them, for a moment. Mythal’s sincerity may be in doubt – and perhaps it is only her bias speaking. But she does not think Olwyn has an ulterior motive, in all of this.

The garden has ears.

“And what of those uninterested in sharing what is theirs?” she nevertheless wonders.

Olwyn blinks, and looks at her again.

“Well, so long as they are peaceful, they are welcome to live outside the empire,” she reasons.

Lavellan lets the matter lie, with an inclination of her head. She should go, she thinks. But she finds herself incapable of moving. She wants to argue. To warn Olwyn. To explain that this is not the way that conquest works. But perhaps, here and for now, it can be. Perhaps enough effort can yield better results.

Perhaps she can save something of Elvhenan.

“That would be nice. At any rate, I have been shown around the city, but I have not seen it all of it,” she declares, instead. “Perhaps you could show me some of the more interesting sights?”

Olwyn hesitates. Hands still wrapped around the frozen flame.

“I fear I have some duties to attend,” she admits. “Perhaps another time?”

“Another time,” Lavellan readily agress.

And tries not to feel disappointed, as the other woman turns, and hurriedly takes her leave.

[captusmomentum]

@theladypirate @feynites

Okay so! Here’s the Immediate wedding day stuff fic, though I did kinda leave some of it a bit vague so it could get spotlighted more later on if people wanted that for whatever reason and you know, keeping it from being Monstrous in length. 

Finally finished this since I ended up avoiding as much dialogue as I could B) apparently me and dialogue are not friends rn hahahaah weEPS. 

Inanallas’s older sisters, Imshi and Eth’Menala, and Keeper Durgenara are the ones who see to their clothing, styling and dressing them for the wedding. Their sisters are both very good at sewing and had done the bulk of the work to make it themselves, making sure it was just so, making sure that no one would mistake where they came from. Among the clans, Clan Anurlal was unique, having settled the furthest south on the mountains above the dwarves where little magic or comfort was found, and down in the basin the mountains concealed. Their clothing spoke of hard climates and practically, usually involving fur and many layers. Even this, one of the most elaborate things they’d ever seen was simple in structure but richly embroidered with patterns, symbols and pictures of important to the clan and that spoke distinctly to them and their achievements. The short overcoat was almost like a ornamental chainmail— cloth with hundreds of metal medallions sewn into it that combined with the large necklace, silver bracers and headpiece was the most jewelry they had ever worn.

Durgenara braids their hair after their sisters are done manhandling them into their clothing like a child, somehow the old woman manages to get all their fly away ends to stay slick to their head— secret ancient magic they assume, what else could managed that. When she is done and the veil has been placed on their head, covering said braid and rendering all that work pointless, they finally hazard a glance at themselves in a mirror.

It’s an odd sight. The headpiece covers their forehead completely, it’s beaded threads cover the side of their face, masking much of their tattoos and in doing so makes them look much softer, which they suppose is good, they don’t really want to look menacing. The surcoat is long but still short enough to hint at the other skirt and pants underneath and show their leather boots, also embroidered. The overall look…….. Somehow makes them look more mature and like a baby at the same time, though maybe that’s just them. They certainly feel like a child right now, with everyone doing everything for them as they get ready for something someone else is making them do.

The spirit of Dignity who had been so kind as to agree to handle the brunt of this debacle however is very pleased, and thinks they both look very fine and appropriate for the occasion. So there’s that.

The wedding itself is a mix of Elvhenan and Free Elf customs, mainly their own since it is their wedding. But overall there is not too much difference between all parties when it comes to weddings, at least structurally, once you got to everything that surrounded the spells and such things varied intensely. It does help in the planning of it all at least, that they can get the most important parts agreed upon fairly painlessly then stress over all the more decorative elements instead.

They let Dignity take the wheel with increasing frequency as they get closer to the wedding. By the time they’re finally relevant in the whole event itself Dignity is in complete control while Inan only has about a foot inside themself, the rest of them looking for just about anywhere else to focus than what’s going on around their physical body.

They can’t help but peek though, to see who on earth they’re actually marrying. They know they are marrying two people instead of just one, which was even more horrible in their opinion even if it was something clever politically.  They knew the basics about them but had never actually looked into them because it was just too terrifying a prospect. Now, they were filled with a sort of morbid curiosity, like if they looked at them they’d die instantly but hey you know, that’s life.

The first one they see when they turn their gaze back to reality is the red one, drawn in by Dignity’s noting that while armor was not incorrect fashion for such an event it was also not the most mood appropriate choice. It is at least, very fine, ornate armor so that placates the spirit on that front. The person in the armor is not too much taller than Inanallas herself which is oddly comforting for no logical reason. Their face is very striking, very sharp —like a hawk turned into a person, or a knife in disguise— and marked with Andruil’s symbol in intense red. So this is Uthvir then. They don’t see it so much as feel it, like an anxious ball of vibration in their solar plexus that keys them to the fact they’re not the only one who has a spirit inside them, though they get the sense that the hunter’s is more permanent. Fear, they think, or something similar from the feel of it. Not their first choice of a roommate but it’s not any of their business.  

They’re not so bad— ominous, scary looking hunters Inanallas could deal with, old hat really. They’d met tons of people in spiky armor who stabbed things. Even if this time they’d be marrying them and not fighting or arguing with them. It was totally fine, really. That meant by process of elimination the other one was Thenvunin. Dignity seemed infinitely more enamored with him, having already turned its attention there, so Inanallas followed Dignity’s lead and —

Oh.

OH.

OH NO.

Instantly they panic from their little bolthole blessedly tucked dimensionally or some such away from this dark carnival of endless misery.

Thenvunin is just as gorgeous as Uthvir only in a different, more refined way. Tall with perfect flowing blonde hair done perfectly and what looked like a body so close to the ideal it was comical under a stunningly gorgeous gown. It would be a tyrannical slaving empire that would have the resources to make an outfit so impossibly perfect, but the extravagance that would normally rankle them they can forgive when it’s on him. He seems made for opulence, and not in a vain, terrible way like greedy little egotist, but because he was someone who was regal looking and had fine tastes, —or something like that.

He did, sincerely look like the perfect example of a shining prince all dressed in glimmering silver accented by blue and green, like something out of a very high end dream. Almost surreal for how flawless he was.

In other words Inanallas’s worst nightmare.

If she thought she could handle Uthvir without at least looking like a complete fuck up she was already dead in the water with Thenvunin. He was clearly nothing like them and there was definitely nothing in common between them. They hadn’t even actually met yet and Inanallas felt tongue-tied, wrong footed and small comparatively. And they were getting married, so that was for the rest of their life. Doomed to an eternity of being married to someone they could talk about exclusively hunting with if they were lucky and another who made them want to go and live with the Children of the Stone never to return just on sight and also just die here instantly to escape. And that was the best case, that wasn’t even going in to the possible ways they could be terrible, terrible people or how this was all a loveless sham marriage for politics.

They essentially black out then for a while, actively shutting off much of their exposure to their senses as they try to beat down the hysterics now wracking them. When Dignity pulls at them for the vows and binding spells she comes back just enough to make sure it’s Inanallas who’s bound and not poor Dignity before retreating again for a while to marshal themselves again.

Inanallas is officially back and at least sharing the load with Dignity once the revelry and feasting start up. They’re seated between Thenvunin and Uthvir which is harrowing but they’ve moved so far past terror they’re almost fine and just fucking rolling with it, like a burn victim who’s nerves are just completely dead so they can’t feel the pain anymore. The first course that’s served is some of the food the clans eat done up as appetizers, which makes sense to them as they look over the array of fruits —dried and fresh, dried and pickled meats and vegetables, spreads of all kinds, crackers, breads, and whatnot.

Deciding to be a good host— and they suppose numbly, spouse— they move quickly to make up little plates of some of the better choices for the other two to make this easier for them. Uthvir takes their with no complaint and actually eats a bit with vague interest and then the average amount you’d expect for food which, they think is good. Thenvunin looks as dubious as someone can while working to look regal (as if he has to) at first but upon seeing that Uthvir doesn’t die or spit it out he tries it as well and seems to deem it tolerable at least, they’re not sure but regardless it’s Something right?

As the feast goes on and they transition more to food from Elvhenan Thenvunin decides to take it upon himself to guide them through the courses like they had for him for which they’re very grateful, there’s a lot going on with some of these dishes and some of them are so ornate Inanallas isn’t sure they’re even meant to be eaten. However, it’s Uthvir who finally gets them out of the polite small talk realms.

“Inanallas, I haven’t had much of a chance to learn much about your people — my people now as well I suppose, which is a pity I think. Spouses should know at least that much about each other I think.”

Inan chokes a little on their wine. “Well, to start we’re one of the few more stationary clans, we settled in the far south in the mountains —“

“The mountains?!” Thenvunin gasps.

“In them? Or at the base? I imagine that must be difficult with magic so thin.” Uthvir does not miss a beat.

“No, in them. Empire people wouldn’t be bothered by traveling or living around the bottom of them but no one wants to go up them except for the children of the stone and they’re not exactly best friends with your people so even if we run into them it’s unlikely they’d give us away.”

Uthvir smirked. “True. Was that why you chose to settle there?”

Inan shrugs. “Most likely it was a factor. We’d had a campsite there or in the area so we already knew about the conditions and it was where the Keeper took the clan when we escaped an assault, but they died shortly after getting us there. Durgenara was their First so after that she decided we would stay there—it’s defensible, remote and ignored so it was really the best choice.”

“Durgenara seems like a very wise woman.”

Inanallas barks out a short involuntary laugh they stifle quietly with a hand, tinging a little pink. “Terrifyingly so.”

“But surely you could have found a less hostile environment to live in after the clan recuperated? Or continued moving as I’ve heard other clans did.” Thenvunin asked, fingering his glass’s stem nervously.

“True, but that has it’s own risks as well. You can get spotted and attacked while moving from camp to camp. Or have your sites discovered and find an ambush waiting for you. Even the clans who found work arounds to those problems like Malarenan’s clan still has to deal with all kinds of potential environmental disasters, her clan especially, since they’re sea faring. At least in the mountains we have some consistency and a strong position in case of an attack.”

“I suppose that is practical, but it must be so cold—“

They can’t help but smile a little. “It is, but that’s what spells and warm cloths are for.”

Thenvunin pouts a little, brows furrowing. “I suppose.”

She smiles at him, he’s handsome even when disapproving. They slip one of the little fancy cakes onto the pretty painted plate in front of him, one of the fanciest ones with all the decorations the baker could cram onto it.

“You’re very sweet to be so concerned, you know. I do appreciate it.”

Thenvunin flushes very prettily, it makes him a bit less scary. They can see some of the fact that he’s just a man now— a very handsome, very proper, very fancy man but still.

Eventually they all have to dance together for everyone in attendance, it’s some kind of imperial thing and deeply terrifying, if it weren’t for Dignity Inanallas would be locked in place and they’d have to move them around like a board. But as it goes they manage to not embarrass themselves, Uthvir dances with both of them for as short an amount of time as they can manage without looking rude then quickly redirects them into dancing with each other which goes on for much longer. Partially as Inanallas uses it to cover for Uthvir —just in case that’s needed they have nooooo idea— and partially because Thenvunin seems to enjoy dancing and it seems like the spousely thing to do to dance more because your partner likes it.

The whole first day of the celebrations, with all the actually important bits,  feels like it goes on for for-fucking-ever and is mostly just a series of obstacles in the shape of things that’d be fun if there was less of it or less pressure to look like they were enjoying themselves. Eventually Inanallas decides to call it a night, there’s only so much stress and cake they can take in one day and they can feel Uthvir flagging beside them, tiny hints of physical discomfort starting to show, while Thenvunin is tipsy working on drunk— or just drunk, they have no idea how to gauge his drunkness yet. They’re worried about whatever might be wrong with Uthvir and if Thenvunin has anymore fun they’re worried he might not be able to walk out of here under his own power.

So Inanallas begins the extraction process which is much more full of “wedding night” comments then they’d ever wanted to even know of in their life and a lot of very unpleasant, creepy looks from Andruil that crawl over Uthvir and then get turned to them where they get all triumphant and smug, which are excellent for making them even more worried about whatever the fuck is going on there then they already had been. They’re about to act on a plan to all but manhandle their spouses out of there before Andruil gets a chance to keep over and seal the fucking deal on being a creepy fuck when they catch eyes with Féwena who proceeds to sit down in the seat next to the huntress and be her blessedly implacable self.

They’d get her some good booze or knives or something for that.

Mythal has been kind enough to supply Inanallas and Uthvir quarters in her palace for this whole fiasco close to Thenvunin’s own, though there’s an ominous assumption that they’ll all be in Inanallas’s tonight at least.

Yeah. No.

They all make it out of the worst of the crowd fine but Thenvunin begins to have real trouble walking as the alcohol and exhaustion begin to mix full force then they get to the quieter, more sedate living quarter levels, so Inanallas decides to just carry him the rest of the way to be safe. He’s surprised at first and makes a very indignant sound while turning a bright red, Uthvir chuckles beside them.

“How romantic,” They tease. “Very fitting to carry your husband to your wedding bed, I feel a bit left out.”

“Well then climb on. I’ll carry both of you up.”

Uthvir cackles at that. “Now that’d be a sight!”

“No! Don’t!” Thenvunin hisses, clutching on to Inan. “ If you do they’ll topple over! I’m already heavy enough as it is…”

His protest trails off into a murmur as he frowns, looking down at himself unhappily. Inanallas doesn’t like it one bit, Thenvunin is very pretty and shouldn’t feel bad about being made of bones and things that have physical mass. They give him a bit of a squeeze, holding him closer.

“Nonsense, you weigh as much as an armful of roses.”

“No I don’t…”

“Really, I’m carrying right now and I can tell, as light as flowers.”

“Our new spouse is right, I’ve never found you to be challenge to lift.”

“Th-that is because you are a horrible lecherous brute who gains strength from their libido!” Thenvunin sputters, shifting in their grasp and nearly elbowing them in the face. Sweet creators.

Uthvir has to really struggle to keep it together at that one.

“Hm. Possibly, but it could also be because you’re a pleasure to hold.”

“Wh-why you! That’s— I mean of course I am!— but not for you to hold! You savage! I’m sure you love this! Now that you have me trapped in your clutches!”

Uthvir’s resolve shatters and they can’t help but laugh as Thenvunin seems to forget to consider the poor elf keeping him up as he tries to turn to face Uthvir properly in their straining arms. Inanallas gives them a long suffering look that’s lost as their face is crushed into Thenvunin’s side. Uthvir almost feels bad for them. Almost.

“I will admit, it was pleasant to hear that you would be one of my future spouses.”

“So you admit it! You admit your devious schemes to claim me as your own!”

“ I admit I find you very attractive and exceedingly interesting and am not distraught to be wedded to you.”

“Of course you do! I am very handsome and charming and a wonderful husband!”

“Naturally. Perhaps even the most handsome and charming, and certainly the best husband I’d ever had. ”

Thenvunin seems a bit lost on how to make a good comeback to that at the moment and instead harrumphs and settles back into Inanallas’s arms. He’s somehow even redder, every inch of him blushing from Uthvir’s teasing.

“Well… Good.”

Inanallas’s face finally reappears looking highly amused and confused, they give Uthvir a look, ‘is he always like this?’. They return with a smirk and a cocked brow, ‘pretty much’.

They all make it to their rooms and Uthvir helps Inanallas bring Thenvunin into his, which they’re incredibly thankful for once it becomes clear Thenvunin thinks they’re actually going to do some of the things in the “wedding night” comments. Even if he weren’t drunk Inanallas would jump out of her skin at the idea, it’s about a thousand years too soon for that shit.

Uthvir also seems to not really be in the mood and has clearly interacted enough with Thenvunin in situations like this to distract him from trying to seduce them or whatever and keep his feathers from getting ruffled or feelings hurt. While Uthvir keeps Thenvunin on task, Inan sets to finding something for him to sleep in (which is Shockingly difficult, what even counts as what in here???), divesting him of all his jewelry and letting down his hair which greatly helps to keep things from getting awkward as once they start massaging, carding and piecing his hair for braiding Thenvunin gets significantly sleepier and more pliant.

Between the two of them they easily maneuver the drowsy elf out of his lovely gown, revealing some equally lovely lingerie in the process (…something to keep in mind for Later, hopefully…), and get him nicely in his sleepwear, then all tucked up in his bed safe as can be. It only take a little more soothing talk before he’s out like a light. Bless.

Inanallas sighs heavily, resting their hands on their hips and turns to look at Uthvir who gives them about the same look back.

“Welp, Good night.”

The hunter nods slightly. “Good night.”

They both head for their own rooms, happy to be done with it all, for today at least. But once inside Inanallas starts to worry, will Thenvunin feel bad waking up alone from his wedding night? They got the sense Uthvir was about as eager as them to get some rest but maybe Thenvunin wanted some kind of magical, romanticy wedding night— they certainly wouldn’t blame him for wanting one or hoping he might still manage one even with all the fuckery of this marriage. It’s the kind of thing marriages are supposed to have. He should want it. Will he feel unwanted if he wakes up and neither of them is even there?

It’s a deeply worrying thought that eats that them as they work at removing the veil and headpiece in front of the mirror. They couldn’t stay dressed like this even if they did stay with him, it would all get ruined and be very uncomfortable. First things first is to change into something comfortable, then decide on what to do.

At first, they resolve to be there when he wakes in the morning with a lovely breakfast in bed just for him. But what if he wakes up in the middle of the night, realizes he’s all alone on his wedding night and stays up crying? What if he’s heartbroken over it for days? Weeks? Years? What if it sets the course for him being miserable for the entirety of their marriage. Inanallas’s heart sinks and explodes in panic at the thought. No. It’s just too horrible, they can’t do that to him. They leave their room and head quietly back into his, dithering just past the threshold of his bedroom, not sure of what to do.

They don’t want to get into —or even on— his bed without his permission.  It just feels awkward and wrong, but they do want to be somewhere where he can see them when he gets up so they can’t sleep out in the sitting room. There’s a settee with a pretty blanket or shawl or scarf or something elegantly draped on it to the side that looks like they could curl up on just fine. Quietly they slip over to it, remove the fancy cloth and cover themself with it as they lay down to sleep.

They wake up to the feel of cold metal claws gently carding through their hair. Blearily they look up to see Uthvir, standing over them carrying a tray of  breakfast looking over at Thenvunin. Feeling Inan stir they look back down at them, smirking a little. Which might be their regular expression, they drowsily muse.

“Did you sleep there the whole night?”

Inanallas sits up, their potentially makeshift blanket—and another actual blanket?— falling down. Huh.

“Yup.”

There’s something in Uthvir’s expression they can’t quite parse. They smirk wider, showing rows of sharp teeth.

“How dutiful a spouse you are, better than a hound I dare say, you didn’t even get mud on the covers.”

Inan sniggers. “I always make sure to clean my paws before I get on fancy things. But really, I worried about how he’d react to waking up alone so…”

They shrug as Uthvir hums knowingly. “I had a similar thought, that’s why I came with this.” They lift the tray slightly.

Inanallas gets up and stretches a little before snagging little chunk of fruit from the spread.

“Truly you are wise and mighty.”

Uthvir grins boardly.

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Ancient History, Part I

Chapter 24 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up on AO3! 

In which there is a dump of lore and I pray that the 10 hours straight that I spent researching this shit was worth it. [hysterical laughter]

~6300 words; read on AO3 instead, and please check out the endnote on AO3 for sources (codex entries and metas) if you’re interested.

******************

“I understand that Solas spoke to you of a war,” Felassan said to Tamaris. “One where the Evanuris emerged as heroes and eventually came to be revered as gods?”

“He told me that much, yes,” she said.

He nodded. “What do the Dalish know of the Forgotten Ones?”

The Forgotten Ones? she thought. Was that the enemy that the Evanuris had fought in their big war? 

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s a reason we call them the Forgotten Ones, you know.”

He smirked. “Indulge me, avise.”

She sighed. “We thought they were the antithesis to the Creators. They were gods of pestilence and malice, and they resided in the Void.”

“Ah yes, the Void,” Felassan said cheerfully. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Honestly? I’ve no fucking clue,” she said bluntly. “A bad place, I guess, if the Forgotten Ones lived there.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot: our stories told that the Dread Wolf tricked the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris into getting locked in their respective realms so he could have the entire world to himself. That’s one of the stories that all the Dalish share. ” 

Felassan laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see his reaction when he heard that particular Dalish tale.” 

“Honestly, he didn’t bat an eye,” Tamaris said. “I think he’d probably heard it before he met me. He was pretty good at keeping his calm about those kinds of things, at least at first.”

Varric huffed at this. “Anyone else ever think about how much he must’ve been screaming on the inside during his time with the Inquisition?”

“Often,” Dorian said. “And I thought I was repressed and stifled.”

Felassan smirked. “Well, from what our histories tell, the war that brought the Evanuris their fame was against these so-called Forgotten Ones: a group of elves and spirits of which little was remembered, aside from the fact that they disagreed with the Evanuris and brought strife upon our people. This war had been raging for a thousand years before the Evanuris vanquished them. When the final eight rebels were rounded up, the Evanuris had to find some fitting punishment for these enemies who had plagued them for so long.” He lowered his arms and trailed his fingers lazily along the carpet. “After much deliberation – a few hundred years’ worth, give or take – the Evanuris finally decided on a punishment befitting the Forgotten Ones’ crimes: the rebels were forced into the shape of enormous dragons, all but one of them bound in submission to one of the Evanuris.”

“All but one?” Tamaris said curiously.

“Wait a minute,” Dorian cut in. “Eight rebels, you said?”

“That is what I said,” Felassan replied.

“But there are only — well, there were only seven Old Gods before the Wardens started killing them,” Dorian protested.

“That is what your human histories say, yes,” Felassan said.

Tamaris could practically see Dorian’s frown through the crystal. Then Dorian sighed. “All right, build the suspense. I see how it is. He’s just as bad as you, Varric.”

“Thanks, I think,” Varric said dryly. 

Tamaris held up a hand. “But wait. You said one of the eight rebels wasn’t bound to an Evanuris. Who didn’t get a dragon?”

Felassan shook his head. “It’s not a matter of who didn’t get a dragon. It’s a matter of a dragon not having an Evanuris to bind to it just yet.”

Tamaris frowned in confusion, then realized what he meant. “Ghilan’nain wasn’t counted among the gods yet,” she said.

He nodded in satisfaction. “She hadn’t even been born yet. Truly, she was a child compared to the other Evanuris.” He quirked a playful eyebrow. “Just makes her all the more frightening, doesn’t it?”

Varric grunted. “All right. So your Forgotten Ones are turned into dragons and forced into submission to the Elvhen… heroes, who aren’t gods yet. But there’s one spare dragon. What happened to that dragon?”

“You know, I can’t really say,” Felassan said. “Maybe it was paraded around like a symbol of the Evanuris’s power. Maybe Andruil just kept it as a pet; she was Mythal’s favoured protégée for a very long time.”

“Her protégée?” Tamaris said. “I thought Andruil was her daughter.”

Felassan tilted his head in an ambivalent gesture. “This is one of those cases where changes in the Elvhen language have caused confusion from my time to yours. I honestly can’t confirm whether Andruil was Mythal’s daughter; by the time I was born, the Evanuris all denied any direct blood relations to each other. But Mythal called Andruil ‘da’len’.” He cocked his head at Tamaris. “Which means what in modern Dalish Elvhen?”

“It means ‘child’,” Tamaris replied. “But it implies a student sort of relationship with someone who is older and more knowledgeable.”

Felassan nodded. “This may be where the confusion arose. In my time, ‘da’len’ was also used to refer to someone younger, but it implied a strong kinship like adopted family — one that you would protect and treat as dearly as though they were family. If the Dalish construed the word to mean ‘child’, they could easily have thought this meant that Andruil was Mythal’s child by blood.” He shrugged. “Maybe that was true. But by the time I was born, Andruil and Mythal were… not on the best of terms, shall we say. I certainly never heard Andruil refer to Mythal with any particular respect.”

Tamaris frowned thoughtfully at this, and Felassan raised his eyebrows at Tamaris and Varric. “Are we ready to move on to the next part of the tale?”

“Please do,” Dorian said.

“All right,” Felassan said. “Now, in the wake of the Evanuris’s victory, the Elvhen empire began to truly flourish. No longer were the Evanuris and their resources bound to the constant demands of war.” He waved one hand in an elegant gesture. “With infinite time at their disposal, they began creating beautiful works of art and architecture and magic. They explored our world in depth to determine its secrets so they could make even more fantastical creations. They wrote songs and created literature that would make you weep to hear and read them. The eluvians were created during this time, as well. Their initial design was by June, but their construction truly was a joint project between all of the Evanuris.” He gave Varric and Tamaris a rueful smile. “A cooperative project between seven confident and powerful mages: can you imagine? It really is something to marvel at.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s not wrong,” Dorian interjected. “It’s hard enough getting even three brilliant mages on the same page. Tamaris, do you recall that argument I had with Solas and Vivienne that almost resulted in a custard pudding being thrown at–”

Varric cleared his throat. “Maybe not right now, Sparkler.”

Felassan snickered. “Save that story for later, though. I would like to hear it.”

Tamaris harrumphed. “We’ll probably need the comic relief later.”

Felassan shot her a quick sympathetic look before going on. “This time of great intellectual and artistic growth is the time that Solas was so proud of, and that he is so wistful for. He told me that this was when he began to grow strong, feeding from and feeding back into the pride that his people had in themselves. He and Mythal became very close during this time, as she was the Evanuris’s de facto leader and the most clever and creative of them all.” Felassan’s expression grew serious, and he looked at Varric. “This was also the time that the Evanuris’s explorations took them underground, to the places that you now call the deep roads.”

Varric sighed and tugged an earring. “Oh shit. Here we go.”

Felassan gave him a wry little smile. “This was some two thousand years or so after the Great War was over. Andruil had made contact with a strange people who lived underground, toiling like ants to tend to something that they called ‘isana’.”

Tamaris frowned. “Isana. That’s the old dwarven word for lyrium, according to Valta.”

Felassan nodded, and Varric frowned. “‘Toiling like ants’? That’s not very flattering.”

“It does seem rather insulting, doesn’t it?” Felassan said lightly. “In any case, Mythal decided to accompany Andruil to the deep roads to get more information about these strange durgen’lin — these children of the stone. Upon her arrival to the deep roads, Mythal found the lyrium that Andruil had spoken of. And she found a race of people who, to her horror and pity, had no connection whatsoever to the Fade.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows jumped up at this, and Varric sat forward slightly. “Hang on. So the ancient dwarves never had a connection to the Fade?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Felassan said. 

Varric frowned and rubbed his chin. “Then why…?”

Felassan picked up where he trailed off. “Why do mages and the Dalish and everyone else think that the dwarves were cut off from the Fade somehow? An excellent question.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “A better question might be this: since when in the history of any culture has something different ever been accepted simply as a difference and not a deficiency?”

Tamaris grimaced at his bluntness, and Varric let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s grim, Jester. Even for you.”

Dorian spoke up in a serious tone. “Grim but true, unfortunately.”

Tamaris looked up at Felassan. “Mythal conquered the dwarves, didn’t she?” she said quietly.

He nodded again, and his expression was utterly somber. “Her intentions were… benevolent, if you can call them that. She pitied the dwarves for their inability to draw from the Fade. She pitied the fact that they could not hear the hum of the Fade. She and Andruil, with Elgar’nan’s support, went into the deep roads and took control of the dwarves’ domain, in the name of trying to help them access the Fade.”

Tamaris inhaled slowly; Felassan’s words were making her feel faintly nauseous. “What do you mean, trying to help them access the Fade?”

Dorian answered. “Experiments,” he said grimly. “That’s what you mean, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Felassan said quietly. “She experimented on the dwarves. The experiments were largely unsuccessful. And yet, despite their inability to access the Fade, the dwarves had access to lyrium: to this incredible source of power that was so potent that it poisoned anyone who approached it. Anyone who wasn’t a dwarf, that is,” he added, “since the ancient dwarves were completely immune to lyrium’s poisoning effects.”

“Immune?” Varric said in surprise. “Actually immune? Not just resistant?”

Felassan pulled a little face. “Perhaps immune isn’t the right word. What is the word I’m looking for…?” He pinched his lip thoughtfully and muttered to himself in Elvhen for a moment, then looked up at Tamaris and Varric. “When you entered the Titan with Valta. You said that something happened to her. She became connected to the Titan in some way?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “She did something that looked like a spell, and she was all… calm and wise.” She looked askance at Varric, hoping for help to describe how strange Valta had been.

“She said she was pure,” Varric said. “It was pretty weird.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “Pure. She used that word? ‘Pure’?”

“Yeah,” Varric said warily. “Is that significant?”

“More than you know,” Felassan said. “In any case, the way she was connected to the Titan, as per your descriptions: from what I’ve been able to discern and from what Fen’Harel told me, this is the way that all of the dwarves were once connected to lyrium — which, as you know, is Titan blood.”

Dorian spoke up. “So you’re saying that there was once a time that all dwarves had perfect control over the power of lyrium?”

“That’s my understanding,” Felassan said.

“Then Mythal appeared,” Dorian said, “and she began experimenting. And she… broke that connection?”

Felassan sighed. “In part. But the experiments were not the only problem. It was…” He sighed again and scratched the back of his head, then shot Tamaris a wary look.

She blinked. “What?”

He eyed her for a second longer, then let out a little laugh. “I can just imagine his face if he knew I was telling you this.”

She frowned. “You’re not his agent anymore, Felassan. It’s up to you to tell us whatever you want.”

“I know, avise,” he said. “It’s just… I can understand why he kept certain things to himself. Not everything,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “but some things.” He sighed. “The greatest mistake — the greatest act of Elvhen hubris — was not the experimentation on the dwarves per se, though that was a mistake to say the least.”

“The very least,” Varric muttered.

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement. “Mythal’s greatest mistake was in going deeper into the deep roads — deep enough that she found the Titan’s heart.”

Tamaris’s heart seized. “Mythal killed the Titan, didn’t she?” she asked.

“No,” he said, to Tamaris’s surprise. “She didn’t kill the Titan. She carved out a piece of its heart in order to use its power, and in so doing, she damaged the Titan and forever disrupted its song — an act that had damaging consequences that have lasted to this day.”

Varric sighed heavily. “The song,” he said. “It’s always about how lyrium sings. Regular lyrium has a song, red lyrium has a creepy song, Valta talked about the stone singing to her…”

“The Wardens spoke of the calling as being a song,” Dorian said. 

Tamaris frowned. “But that’s different, isn’t it? That’s because they’re tied to darkspawn.”

Dorian hummed an acknowledgement. “I suppose that’s true.”

“No, Dorian,” Felassan said. “You make a fair point. Darkspawn are tainted with the Blight, so it is tied to lyrium.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “How? Just because lyrium can be blighted too?”

Felassan waved a careless hand. “You’ll see. All in good time.”

Varric sighed and glanced at the sending crystal. “He’s worse than I am with the suspense-building.”

Dorian and Felassan chuckled, but Tamaris didn’t laugh. She looked up at Felassan with wide eyes. “Wait a minute, though. You told me that Templar powers are just a different form of magic powered by lyrium.”

“That is true, yes,” Felassan said.

“Wait, seriously?” Varric exclaimed.

Dorian snorted. “Oh, that makes a great deal of sense. And is terribly ironic to boot.”

Felassan smiled, then looked at Tamaris once more. “What are you thinking, avise?”

“If Templar powers are just magic,” she said, “then… then the ancient dwarves’ powers — and Valta’s powers — are a kind of magic too. They had to be.”

Felassan’s smile widened. “Exactly.”

Varric stared at him, then slumped back in his chair with a stunned look. “Andraste’s sacred ass.”

Dorian’s reply was indignant. “If the ancient dwarves were magical, why did Mythal think they weren’t?”

Felassan shrugged. “It was magic the likes of which the Evanuris had never before seen or felt. They didn’t understand it, so they dismissed it.”

Frustrated, Tamaris lowered her face to her hands, then dragged her hands over her braided hair. “For fuck’s sake,” she spat, and she glared at Felassan. “Why couldn’t they just leave the dwarves alone?”

He shrugged again. “It’s funny how often people think they must destroy something in order to truly understand it.”

“This isn’t funny!” she snapped.

“And I’m not really joking,” Felassan said calmly. “I’m just stating a fact.”

She blew out a sharp breath, then looked at Varric, and her heart twisted; Varric looked unusually angry.

“Chuckles knew about this, didn’t he?” Varric said quietly, and Tamaris’s stomach dropped; she hadn’t thought of that. 

She whipped around to look at Felassan. When she saw the look on Felassan’s face, her stomach twisted even further. “He knew?” she said faintly.

Felasan nodded slowly. “He accompanied Mythal for much of her travels in the deep roads.”

Fuck, Tamaris thought. Solas had watched Mythal experimenting on the dwarves and treating them like lesser creatures, and he hadn’t stopped her?

She took a deep breath to try and ease the pain in her chest. Dorian broke the tense silence. “That explains why there were so many wolf statues in that one place in the deep roads. You know the one, where the qunari were mining lyrium.”

Tamaris took another breath. “Yeah,” she said. She looked at Varric once more, and her pulse jolted with worry. The last time she’d seen him look this angry was when they’d discovered that Bianca had gotten mixed up with Corypheus’s Wardens. 

She stood up and went to sit on the armrest of his chair. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head slowly and looked up at her. “Do you remember him talking to me about the ancient dwarves? He made it sound like I was doing something wrong by not trying to bring back my so-called heritage like some Orzammar lord. And he was there the whole time, watching this Mythal person chip it away.”

His voice was hard with anger. Tamaris squeezed his arm in sympathy, then looked at Felassan, who was now wearing that dreaded look of millenia-old sadness. “Solas really agreed with Mythal’s actions against the dwarves?” she asked.

Felassan twisted his lips. “Keep in mind that Solas was still a spirit at the time of all of this. Mythal was proud of her… achievements, shall we say, and thus Solas was proud as well. He reflected and embodied her pride, and he was strengthened by it. But he was not… necessarily capable of understanding what was wrong with what had been done.”

Varric sighed loudly and shook his head. “This spirit shit is beyond me.”

Felassan sat up on the couch and folded his legs. “If it is of comfort to you, he realized Mythal’s errors once he became an elf.” He gave them a small twisted smile. “Yet another thing he bore considerable guilt about.”

“Yeah, well, he had a funny way of showing it,” Varric retorted.

Tamaris patted his shoulder soothingly. “He had a funny way of showing a lot of things.” She smiled wryly. “I mean, think about it. His way of telling me he loved me was by breaking up with me, right?”

Varric looked up at her in surprise, and Dorian’s words carried equal surprise. “Did you just make a joke about Solas breaking up with you?”

“Um, yes,” she said slowly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“No reason,” Dorian said. “I mean, you absolutely can. I just… am surprised you would.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s kind of funny in retrospect.” She looked at Varric, who was looking at her in an appraising way.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s – really, it’s nothing.”

Tamaris tsked and folded her arms. “That’s the last time I try to make a fucking joke.”

“I liked your joke,” Felassan said. 

He was smiling at her in a way that made her heart flip. He waved for her to approach. “Come here.” 

She huffed. “Bossy,” she muttered, but she rose from Varric’s chair and went to sit on the couch beside Felassan. 

He draped his arm around her with a smile, then addressed Dorian. “By the way, I answered your question. The orb of power that Solas had was essentially a refined chunk of Titan heart.”

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Well, that’s almost disappointingly simple.”

“Not if you get into the mechanics of it,” Felassan said. “But we can discuss that another time on our own. If Tamaris won’t be jealous about it.”

She tutted and tried to push him away, but he pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, let’s move on. So Mythal carved out a piece of Titan heart—”

“She and Andruil carved out several, actually,” Felassan corrected. “One for each of the Evanuris. They were still getting along at that time, you see.”

“Right,” Varric said. “So she carves out seven pieces of Titan heart, ruins the ancient dwarves’ connection to the Titans and weakens their resistance to lyrium, and the ancient elves are all, ‘hurray! Three cheers for the conquering heroes!’ Literally.”

Felassan let out a lovely rolling laugh. “An incredibly sarcastic and accurate summary. I like it.”

“As do I,” Dorian said. “Please keep summarizing events this way for us, Varric.”

“I live to entertain,” Varric said dryly.

Felassan smiled at him, then continued his telling. “Now, back on the surface in Arlathan, the Evanuris were rising beyond the status of mere heroes. They had enormous powerful dragons under their thrall, and each of them had become more unfathomably powerful than before thanks to their secret orbs, carved straight from a Titan’s heart. The mining and import of lyrium began, which brought even more raw power into the empire, and the artistic and intellectual endeavours of the Elvhen people continued to flourish. But this new power that Mythal had introduced was poorly understood, and the consequences of this poor understanding would take centuries to manifest.” He looked at Tamaris and Varric in turn. “This is when the Evanuris really came to be seen as gods. And this is when the corruption of my people truly began.”

She smiled faintly despite her disquiet. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

He smiled in return and squeezed her shoulder. “I know how much you enjoy it. In any case, many things were happening in the heart of Elvhenan. At first blush, this will all seem like gossip, but I assure you that it is relevant.” He released her and leaned back casually. “Andruil was growing jealous of Solas, who was starting to supplant her as Mythal’s so-called favourite. Solas, in the meantime, had made a new acquaintance: a young woman of great power and creativity who bore a special interest in animals and creatures.”

“Special interest…” Tamaris mused. Then she looked up with wide eyes. “You mean Ghilan’nain. Solas was friends with Ghilan’nain?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “A very long time ago. In fact, it was Solas who first brought Ghilan’nain to Mythal’s attention. Ghilan’nain was brilliant and bold, or so I’m told, and her pride drew Solas’s interest. He mentioned her to Mythal, and Mythal sent Andruil to learn more about this brilliant young woman.”

“Uh-oh,” Varric deadpanned.

Felassan let out a little chuckle that fell a little flat. “Quite,” he said. “Andruil quickly became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, and we spoke already of how Ghilan’nain and Andruil… egged each other on, so to speak. But Ghilan’nain and Solas were good friends, and Andruil was already jealous of Solas for having Mythal’s affection and trust… A messy situation all in all.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wonder if I could sell the rights to some Orlesian playwright and reap the royalties.”

“Please don’t,” Tamaris said flatly. “The humans will just use it as more of a reason to look down on us.”

“I’m kidding, of course,” Felassan said. “This looks worse on me than it does even on you, after all.” He thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Now where was I? Oh yes, the height of the Elvhen empire.” He gave Tamaris and Varric a wry look. “Nothing lasts forever, not even the glory of an empire of immortal beings. Eventually, the cooperation among the Evanuris began to crumble. Competitions and rivalries arose: petty feuds and bitter jealousies. The Evanuris began to form factions — Sylaise with Andruil, Falon’Din with Elgar’nan — but even those factions didn’t last for long. It was during this time, when the strife among the gods began to rise, that Mythal asked Solas to adopt a body and truly join her at her side.”

Dorian piped up from the crystal. “So he became an elf at Mythal’s request?”

Felassan nodded. “Mythal was his closest companion, and the person he felt the greatest affinity to. When she requested his assistance and companionship, he agreed. He left his spirit life behind and adopted a corporeal form.” A slow but broad smile lit his face. “And in so doing, he took Arlathan society by storm.”

Varric quirked an eyebrow. “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he liked to party, and he did it well,” Felassan said with a grin. “He was…” He looked at Tamaris. “How was it that you said he described himself? ‘Young, cocky, and ready to fight’?”

She huffed. “That’s it, yes.”

Dorian and Varric scoffed, and Felassan chuckled. “Hard to believe, perhaps, but that was Solas in his youth. He was charismatic and charming, and beloved by most of Arlathan. Not by Andruil, though; her jealousy only grew worse once she and Solas truly began treading the same paths in society.”

“Does her jealousy, er, matter in the long term?” Dorian asked.

Felassan shot the crystal a mock-affronted look. “You wound me by suggesting otherwise. Of course it matters.”

“My apologies,” Dorian said. “Go on.”

Felassan rubbed his chin. “Maybe I’ve been remiss. I should describe what Andruil was like, and perhaps my focus on her will make more sense. She was forceful and commanding, which is not a bad thing in itself, but she had…” He twisted his lips. “Let’s call it a mean streak. She was a brilliant hunter, but one who shamelessly enjoyed the kill. She was compelling, but more out of intimidation than persuasion. As time went on, her mean streak only became more tangible. Her devotion to Ghilan’nain was probably her greatest virtue, but even that was…” He trailed off and smiled at them, but the smile was hardly humorous. “I joked about Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s liaison before, but from what I observed and what Solas told me of the young Ghilan’nain — before she met Andruil, I mean — their mutual devotion was a poison to them both.”

Tamaris pulled a little face. “That’s… that’s really shitty.”

“It is unfortunate, yes,” Felassan said quietly. “How different things could have been if…” He trailed off again, then looked up with a smile. “Forgive me. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He chuckled and rubbed his forehead, but Tamaris could clearly hear the fatigue beneath his mirth.

She shifted closer to him on the couch and rubbed his knee. “Do you want a break? This is a lot to get into.”

He smiled at her. “I can’t stop now. Not when things are getting good.”

She frowned worriedly; his smile wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He stroked her hair, then looked at Varric. “This is the time I was born into,” he said. “My people’s greatest achievements were largely behind them, and our revered leaders were beginning to fight amongst themselves. The pillars of our greatness were being slowly eaten away by a sea of small-minded selfishness.”

His tone was bitter, and Tamaris squeezed his arm. He gave her a tight smile, then took a deep breath before continuing in a more measured tone. “Class divisions were clear, from noble to peasant, but those divisions were… worsening, so to speak.” For Varric and Dorian’s benefit, he explained, “I was born as a servant of into Andruil’s household.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose, and Felassan gave him a crooked and humourless smile. “Oh yes, that cruel and talented huntress herself. I say I was a servant, but by the time I was old enough to understand the difference between a servant and a slave, the distinction no longer existed.”

Dorian sighed. “Fasta vass. I am… so sorry, my friend.”

Felassan inclined his head politely. “Thank you. Truth be told, I was more fortunate than some. I was among the first slaves that Solas ever freed.”

Tamaris took his hand and laced her fingers with his. “I’m glad you didn’t have to suffer for long.”

“As am I,” he said. “Two hundred years or so is nothing compared to the suffering that some endured.”

Tamaris and Varric gaped at him, and Dorian exclaimed through the crystal. “Two hundred years as a slave?” 

Felassan waved them off. “As I said, it was a drop in the ocean compared to some. Do not feel sorry for me. You can feel sorry for my parents, but not for me.”

Her gut suddenly twisted. He’d never mentioned his parents before. “What happened to your parents?” she asked weakly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smile lifted his lips. He chuckled and shook his head, and when he met her gaze, his eyes were faintly bright. “Remember how we spoke of Ghilan’nain and her experiments?”

Her heart stopped for a split second. “Oh gods,” she breathed. “Oh fuck. Felassan…” She took his hands in hers.

He chuckled inappropriately, and Tamaris gently squeezed his hands. He took a deep calming breath, then met her eyes once more. “Don’t feel sorry for me, avise,” he said. “It is a pain worn down to dullness like the glass that you find in the sea.”

Varric cleared his throat. “Sorry, Jester,” he said quietly. “That’s rough.”

“You have my condolences as well,” Dorian said.

Felassan let out a little laugh that sounded more normal. “Cheer up, all of you. This story was meant to be entertaining.” He gently disentangled his hands from Tamaris’s, then draped his arm around her.

She tucked herself snugly against his side, and he smiled at her before tapping his chin. “Where was I? Oh yes: Solas setting me free. He’d taken a special interest in the wellbeing of slaves.”

Varric huffed. “That’s weirdly altruistic for a guy who watched Mythal crushing the dwarves.”

Felassan nodded in acknowledgement. “I am not making an excuse for him when I say that adopting a body humbled him. I have known several people who transitioned from spirit to elf, and I can guarantee that the transformation changed the way that Solas thought, if not his general… spirit, for lack of a better word. In any case, he channeled his boldness and his pride to justice for the empire’s slaves. He charmed and tricked and snuck his way into the Evanuris’s households and set free their slaves one by one — a few at a time, so the Evanuris wouldn’t notice — and Mythal welcomed us into her household instead. At least she did at first, when there weren’t so many of us and they could hide what Solas was doing.”

Tamaris frowned. “What happened when there were too many of you to hide?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Give me time, avise. I’ll get there.”

She tsked. He smiled cheekily at her, then began to tick off his fingers as he spoke. “At that point in time, the Evanuris were starting to fight among themselves, and Mythal was trying to keep the peace. Solas’s attention was divided between helping Mythal, freeing the slaves in secret, and his growing concerns about Ghilan’nain, whose experiments were becoming more disturbing. Solas eventually explained his concerns about Ghilan’nain to Mythal, and the Evanuris decided to offer Ghilan’nain a deal: she was to stop her experimentation and destroy her more disturbing monsters, and in exchange, the Evanuris would raise her to their status and would bestow upon her the greatest symbol that signified their status: that final Forgotten One in draconic form.”

Dorian spoke up. “But that still doesn’t explain how there were eight Forgotten One dragons and only seven Old Gods.”

Felassan grinned at Varric and Tamaris. “Is he always this impatient?”

Varric smiled ruefully. “Take it as a compliment,” he said. “That’s how you know you’re telling a story he likes.”

Dorian grumbled through the crystal, and Felassan chuckled. “Oh, good. Anyway, the Evanuris’s attempts to curb Ghilan’nain came too late. Around this same time, Andruil had been taking longer absences from her lands, and by all accounts, she was stranger and more cruel with every return. Much later, later than any of us could have prevented, we found out that…” He sighed. “By the time Ghilan’nain was ascended to the status of an Evanuris, Andruil had already brought back a gift for her from her hunts — a gift that…” He paused and licked his lips. “A gift that unnerved Solas when he eventually discovered it, and his apprehension was enough to terrify those of us who knew him well.”

Tamaris’s gut twisted with dread. “What was it? What did she bring back?”

Felassan smiled at her, but his smile was all wrong. “You know what he brought back, avise.”

She gazed at him in horror, but it was Varric who said the words. “Red lyrium,” he said hoarsely. 

“Yes,” Felassan confirmed. “It was Andruil who brought red lyrium to our people from the depths of the dwarven lands — or, as these lands would eventually come to be known, the Void.”

“Why?” Tamaris said tensely. “Why would she do that?”

Once again, Varric answered. “It whispered to her, right? That has to be it.” He sounded tired and sad, and Tamaris shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I suspect that you’re right,” Felassan said. “She was seeking power, so she must have gone to its source: the lyrium mine, which was still mainly guarded by dwarves but was under elven control. Red lyrium and its corrupted song would have lured Andruil’s interest and called to her natural cruelty, and upon finding it, she brought it out of the Void and back to our people — specifically to Ghilan’nain.”

“Why the fuck did she need more power?” Tamaris burst out. “She already had a piece of Titan heart!”

Felassan gave her a fond look. “Aren’t you sweet for asking such a question?”

Dorian chuckled. “She is quite precious, isn’t she? Even after everything that she’s had to do.”

Tamaris curled her lip and folded her arms. “Don’t condescend to me, you assholes.”

“We’re not,” Felassan said. “I’m genuinely charmed by the humility that your question implies. To answer your question, Andruil didn’t need more power. She simply wanted it. Or in this case, she wanted it for Ghilan’nain, but she certainly made use of the red lyrium power herself. By the time Solas realized what was going on with Andruil and Ghilan’nain and the red lyrium, it was…” Felassan shook his head ruefully. “His position in society was growing precarious. His work freeing the slaves was too extensive to hide, and he had begun construction of a fortress to house us.”

Tamaris’s eyes went wide. “He started building Skyhold?”

“We started building it, yes,” Felassan said. “He also began working on a type of magical… shield for us that would repel others’ perception and magical interference, and that would allow us to continue freeing slaves in secret.”

“A shield to repel perception?” Dorian said sharply. “You mean that it made you invisible?”

“It made us difficult to detect and to enact magic on,” Felassan said.

“Interesting,” Dorian said keenly.

Felassan smiled faintly. “It will be, soon. Anyway, as popular and well-liked as Solas had once been at parties, his activities with the slaves were making him equally unpopular. Mythal was having great difficulty justifying her favour of Solas when he was actively antagonizing all of her compatriots. When he took his suspicions about red lyrium to Mythal, she almost didn’t act on them for fear of disrupting the delicate balance she was holding between the Evanuris and the counsel of her beloved wolf.”

“What did he tell Mythal, exactly?” Tamaris asked. “What did he know about red lyrium?”

Varric sat forward in his chair. “That’s what I want to know. If this was the first time that red lyrium was ever seen, that means it’s the first time the Blight was ever seen, right?”

Felassan hesitated, then sighed. “What Solas told Mythal is that Andruil brought back a form of corrupted lyrium from the deep roads — lyrium that had a detrimental, corrupting effect on the minds of those who used it. He asked Mythal to go back to the deep roads and seal off the lyrium mines to stop any further red lyrium from being removed.”

“Let me guess,” Tamaris said flatly. “She refused.”

“Not exactly, no,” Felassan said. “She went and investigated in the deep roads. Shortly after, she returned — and by shortly, I mean fifty years later or so, an incredibly short time in ancient Elvhen time. Another few years later, the Evanuris’s mighty dragons were no longer seen at the Evanuris’s palatial compounds.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows quizzically, but Dorian spoke up. “The Evanuris moved them to the deep roads?” he said.

Felassan gestured playfully to the sending crystal. “And so you see, the pieces start to come together.”

Dorian sighed in satisfaction. “That’s a satisfying mystery to have solved. I always wondered how in the Maker’s name a handful of enormous dragons found themselves underground.”

Tamaris frowned. “The Evanuris moved their dragons to the deep roads… but those were their big symbols of power. They wouldn’t have moved their symbols of power out of sight unless something really unnerved them.” She looked up at Felassan. “The archdemons are guarding something, aren’t they?”

Felassan smiled at her, but the expression held only sadness. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Solas said that the dragons were being placed around the Titan to prevent anyone else from taking more power where they didn’t need it.”

“But that isn’t the real reason, is it?” Tamaris pushed. “That’s not really why the dragons were put there.”

Felassan sighed. “I can’t confirm this with certainty, because Solas would not confirm it for me. He was too… frankly, I believe that he was terrified of anyone knowing for sure what the dragons were guarding. But this is what I think.” He looked her in the eye, and his violet eyes held a fathomless depth of sorrow. 

“I think that the Titan heart is the original source of the Blight,” he said. “I think the Evanuris placed their dragons there not only to keep anyone from getting in, but also to prevent the Blight from getting out.” 

[in-arlathan]

The Rebel’s Ascension

Here is to another Solas story. The idea was on my mind for quite some time and now I finally gotten around to writing the first chapter.

Basically, it is my take on how Solas became Fen’Harel and was recognized by the Evanuris as one of their own. It was so much fun writing him as a younger man, ready to pick a fight with the elven gods. I hope you enjoy this, too!

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Time period: Ancient Arlathan/Elvhenan Characters: Solas/Fen’Harel, Elgar’nan, Mythal, Andruil, Ghilan’nain, Sylaise, June, Falon’Din, Dirthamen, Elvhen OCs, Spirit OCs, ...

Summary: A dark creature is roaming the on the southern border of Elvhenan, killing elvhen. In an attempt to find out more about the threat, the Evanuris send one of Mythal's loyal servants to investigate: Solas. As he prepares for his journey, the elven pantheon tries to entangle him in their infighting. Soon, Solas finds that there is much more going on behind the scenes that he thought. But for now, all he wants to do is protect his people and banish the dreadful creature that robs the elvhen of their spiritual essence. A deed that, one day, will earn him a new name, and a place among the Evanuris.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

You can also read this on AO3.

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Chapter One: Before The Gods

The Evanuris were already waiting for him when he arrived at their palace in Arlathan. They had taken their seats in the council chamber, a gigantic room without roofing in the middle of the palace, that held more than nine hundred elvhen. Sitting on their crystal thrones, dressed in their most intricate robes, they watch him, as he approached them.

All around, the chamber was humming with muffled conversations by the hundreds of elvhen sitting on the stone benches that encircled the thrones like an amphitheater. Giving them a quick side glance, Solas recognizes many of the higher servants of Elgar’nan and Andruil and even the High Priest of Dirthamen and a few of his personal attendants. All of them eyed him suspiciously, as he made his way down an aisle and stepped onto the main floor of the council chamber. Their fear filled the air like a poisonous fume, and Solas had fought back the urge to hold his breath.

He had arrived through one of the eluvians in Mythal’s personal estate within the city, as soon as he heard about the Hahren’al. He had expected one of the Evanuris to make their move for some time now, waiting for them to do something about the dreadful things happening to their people on the southern border, and he wanted to be there to see what they were up to.

What he didn’t expect was for them to call on him personally.

Upon his arrival in Arlathan, a spirit in service to Mythal had informed him about a messenger waiting for him in the estate's atrium. Solas had hurried to greet the messenger who turned out to be a servant of Elgar’nan’s, carrying with her a sealed document in which the Evanuris summoned him. She had handed him the document, then took her leave as if she couldn’t bear to be in his presence any longer.

They must be suspecting something, Solas had thought. Why else would they want to speak to me? What could they learn from me that Mythal does not already know?

He straightened his shoulders while he took in the sight of the assembled Evanuris. To his right, Dirthamen, Falon’Din and June had taken their seats. On his other side sat Sylaise, Ghilan’nain and Andruil, each of them watching him intently. In the middle, on top of a dais, stood the thrones of Elgar’nan and Mythal, All-Father, and All-Mother of Elvhenan. Their thrones were embellished with symbols that represented their power, while plants climbed up the sides and back, gracing the crystal with delicate flowers.

Solas’s gaze flicked to Mythal. To an outsider, she would look calm, serene even. But he was not so easily fooled. Knowing the All-Mother the way he did, he saw the slight frown on her face, the way the corners of her mouth seemed restraint and tight. She was concerned, he had no doubt about that, but she would not let it show in front of other members of the pantheon.

Why would she do this? he asked himself.

Whatever happened in his absence, he regretted to not have been there. Had she not sent him off, he could have offered her comfort in these distressful times. But that he knew about Mythal, too: The All-Mother never placed a burden on anyone’s shoulders if she didn’t believe they could carry it, including her own.

“Andaran antish’an,” Elgar’nan said, his voice booming. “Step forward, da’len.”

Disgruntled by the greeting, Solas pressed his lips together. He had taken a body over a thousand years ago and had spent most of them in service to Mythal. In all this time, he had been many things: an advisor, a mentor, even a lover. But it had been a very long time since anyone had reason to call him da’len.

Go ahead, mock me, he thought, trying to keep a straight face. One day, you will see what good it did you.

Yet, he did as commanded and stepped forward. Bowing deeply before Elgar’nan and Mythal, he returned the formal greeting. “Andaran antish’an.”

“Do you know why you were called here?”

“I have no idea, hahren,” Solas said in a sickly sweet tone. “Please enlighten me with your wisdom.”

Elgar’nan’s brows furrowed, and his lips twisted in a disgruntled way. The All-Father sat up straight on his crystal throne, his massive figure bright and burning like the sun rising in the east. For a moment, Solas could see remnants of an old fire gleaming in Elgar’nan’s eyes. The light of the sun, caught in the flesh for all eternity.

Solas knew he was playing a dangerous game, but for all his power, the All-Father was a self-indulged prick first and foremost and needed a reminder that he, Solas, could never be forced into submission.

Besides, he had an idea why the Evanuris had summoned him.

“As you have traveled our realm on behalf of my beloved wife, Mythal, I know you are aware of the threat that has been growing in the south,” Elgar’nan said.

Solas waited for the All-Father to continue, but when the man kept silent, he replied: “I am, hahren. What of it?”

“Our scouts have been roaming the south, collecting all information they could find on this thing", Elgar'nan explained. "Their reports are disturbing, to say the least. They mention a looming darkness that emerges from the depth of the earth and leaves nothing but devastation." With this, Elgar'nan leaned back and interlinked his fingers in front of his chest. “And since you have been traveling the area, we thought it might be interesting to hear what you have learned while you were…. well, whatever it is you were doing.”

For a moment, Solas stared at the All-Father in disbelieve. Did they really need him to shed a light on these events?

When he kept silent, Elgar'nan coughed and regarded him intently.

“So, what can you tell us, da’len?”

Solas inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. In his mind’s eye, he saw the charred bodies of elvhen, left to die in the sun by this looming darkness, stripped of their spiritual essence. If he didn’t know better, he would assume it was the doing of the Titans and their creatures, the Children of the Stone, but they never had this kind of power. Their strength came from the stone and when they stirred, the earth shook violently. No, this creature was something different.

“I’ve seen our people being defiled and mutilated by a terror to terrible to imagine,” Solas said and opened his eyes to look at Elgar’nan and the other Evanuris. “Many have lost their lives, and their corpses were unlike any I’d seen. The flesh was burned from their bodies by a fire hotter than the sun itself. But that is not the worst part. The few survivors I encountered had been drained of their magical energy and had lost all ability to enter the Beyond. They were nothing but husks, living shells without a spirit, forced to endure until their bodies failed them.”

A murmur went to the crowd. Muffled conversation sprang up all around the council chamber as the elvhen tried to process this information.Solas stifled an angry smile. Let them worry, he thought. Let them be terrified. Maybe then they will remember that they are no different than the people in the south or anywhere else in Elvhenan.

"Order!" Elgar'nan boomed and the muffled conversations died down instantly. Then the All-Father turned his eyes back to Solas. "What else do you know, da'len?"

“After a while, I started to notice a pattern,” Solas said. “It seemed like the attacks happened only under certain circumstances. All of them occurred outside of elvhen settlements, preferably during the night. Some of the survivors described the attacks to me as if the world had gone silent around them, with only the howling of wolves to keep them company. This creature, whatever it might be, scares its victims half to death before it charges and then consumes their spiritual essence. I can only guess to what end, but it is certain that it leaves the bodies empty, and then burns them.” Solas wrung his hands. “After hearing these tragic stories, I couldn’t refuse to offer my help.”

“And what help would that be?” Falon’Din asked, his voice muffled by a golden mask that hid his features. Only his chin was visible, as was the deathly-pale skin that spun tightly across his jaw.

Solas squared his shoulders, turning ever so slightly to look at the god. “I established a supply line, securing herbs and potions that will ease the pain, and helped the local clans to set wards against whatever magical power had invaded their lands. It is not much, but it gave them hope.”

On the other side, Andruil sucked her teeth so loudly, the sound echoed from the stone walls of the council chamber. “How very generous of you,” the huntress said, sizing Solas up as if he was but an slave for auction on market day, lust and greed shimmering in her eyes. "Although I never took you for the gentle sort."

“The All-Mother has brought me to this world to offer help,” Solas exclaimed. “And these people, our people, were in desperate need of just that. It would have been cruel and heartless to let them die alone and forgotten.”

Next to Andruil, Sylaise leaned forward. “That is a very kind notion,” she said. “But these elvhen have chosen to walk the earth and live at the fringes of our realm of their own volition. Had they stayed here, in Arlathan, they would have been safe.”

No, they would simply be within your grasp. More subjects to command. More playthings for you to break, Solas corrected her but didn’t dare to say the words out loud. They were right to turn their back on your so-called protection and make a life for themselves where your power can not reach them.

“That is a matter of debate,” Solas said evasively. “But I reckon this is not why you wanted to hear more about my journey in the South.”

“That’s right,” Dirthamen interjected. “The people down there are one thing. We are more interested in the creature that killed them in the first place.”

You don’t say!

“What of it?”

“We need to find it,” said Elgar’nan, giving his son Dirthamen a dismissive side-glance. “When we consider the reach of this creature – the dark or whatever you like to call it – it was grown incredibly powerful. If we don’t act now, it will only continue to do so and we can not allow that.”

“I understand,” Solas said. “And what exactly does this have to do with me?”

“We want you to go and find it.”

Solas sucked in a sharp breath. So, this was what the Hahren’al was all about. His gaze flicked to Mythal again, who had kept silent since he first walked into the council chamber. Whatever her thoughts were, her face didn’t betray them. We would have to wait for the All-Mother to make her next move, while the Evanuris involved him in their powerplay.

“Why me?” he asked. “Our lady Andruil has the best hunters and trackers in all of Elvhenan at her disposal. Certainly, they are better suited to find the creature than I am. What can I do what they have not already tried?”

“So much is true,” Ghilan’nain said. “But none of them is as clever as you are. From what you just told us, the creature seems to possess wisdom of its own, knowing when to strike and when to vanish. It needs a like-minded spirit to lure such a creature out. And you were a spirit of wisdom, after all, were you not?”

Solas turned slowly and forced himself to smile at Ghilan’nain.

He knew that this wasn’t about his capabilities as a wise man. Not truly. He was expendable to them, nothing more but a slave in service to the all-might Evanuris. If anything, this was about Andruil who didn't want to risk the lives of her hunters.

“And what will you have me do, once I find the creature?”, Solas asked, his lips twisted in an angry smile.

Elgar’nan snorted. “You will kill it, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied, biting back the foul taste in his mouth.  He looked up at Mythal once more, searching for a sign, something, in her face. Why did she let them have their way with him? Was she actually approve of these plans?

And then, finally, he understood.

Mythal wanted to do something about this threat, but she could not move against the Evanuris openly. Even if she acted in her people’s best interest, the Evanuris would most certainly think of it as another attempt to keep them from power. She had interfered with their plans too often during the last decades. Not too long ago, she had stepped in a violent dispute between Elgar’nan and Falon’Din after Solas had urged her to take action, all but preventing a civil war between father and son. And from that he had heard on his journeys, the dust still hadn’t settled on that matter. So, Mythal had to stay silent, if she didn’t want them to rally against her.

That is why she had sent him to the south. She wanted the Evanuris to suspect him, wanted them to pick him to do their bidding, so this would look like she had given in. Thus, the other Evanuris had no reason to suspect Mythal of treachery, while the All-Mother put all her trust in Solas, for she knew he would never betray her. Still, he needed to talk to her in private once the Hahren’al was concluded. Surely, the All-Mother had plans of her own, aside from the obvious task of killing a dangerous creature of unknown origin.

“I will do what you asked,” he said and bowed once more.

He could almost feel the surprise rippling through the ranks of the Evanuris, but it didn’t last long. To his right, he heard Sylaise breathe a sigh of relief, as the other members of the pantheons relaxed in their chairs and congratulated themselves for their victory over Mythal’s most loyal and most unruly servant.

“I will need time to prepare, though,” Solas said. “We don’t have any eluvians that gain us access to the far south. I need to venture there with appropriate armor and enough supplies to sustain myself or I will fail before I have even encountered the creature.”

He heard Andruil click her tongue, but he did not mind her. His eyes were fixed on Elgar’nan. The dark figure of the All-Father loomed over him, his muscles tense as if he was ready to strike.

“You have seven days,” Elgar’nan said at last. "And not a moment longer."

___

A/N: It is done! <3 Wow, I am so happy with how this chapter turned out. I started with a vague idea and ended up with something I quite enjoy. I hope, you do, too!

[obsidianmichi]

HELLO!! ohmahgad im so giddy im disgusting. Am I disgusting? Definitely disgusting! Hahahahahahaha. Okay I'm sorry. I just can't help myself. So I just want to ask about Dirthamen and Eirwen is that okay? okay! 1. uh oh so in my headcanon both of them frequently doing intimacy you know *cough sex cough* does that make Eirwen pregnant? 2. its a spoiler for The Lady in Blue and White, um i want to ask bout vallaslin, dirthan said about marriage? what do you mean by that?

ITS ME MARIO! err i mean me. hehe the continued ask 3. does the vallaslin illicite some kind of pleasure? like dragon age version of vibrator thingy. lmao.  4. and this is stupid but i want to ask your opinion about these song and if they’re kinda related to their relationship? Dangerously - charlie puth, Treat you better - shawn mendes and Feels - calvin harris 5. the last question! Does Dirthan get obsessive/have obsession towards Eirwen?  thanks for answering and sorry for weird grammar :’)            

I’m actually kind of glad you’re so into the pairing. So, to answer your questions.

1) There are no plans for an Eirwen pregnancy at present, but who knows.

2)Vallaslin in The Lady in Blue and White:

I’ve gone back and forth about how I headcanoned this working in Arlathan, and I finally settled on there being a bunch of different vallaslin versions. The traditional ancient elvhen vallaslin works like a patron/protector relationship as a system for energy transfer. This can be Master/Servant, Lord/Knight, but the way it worked on the whole in Arlathan is as a patronage system. They join the rank and file of a lord, the lord acts as the receptacle, and then shares their strength back to their followers thus strengthening them beyond what they’d be able to achieve on their own.

Like all immortals, age plays a huge factor in Arlathan about who is at the top. The society had little to no upward mobility since those at the top never die except by non-natural factors and there was no real meritocracy. There were those who distinguished themselves, but it was incredibly difficult when management had a few 1,000 years on them.

However, every system has an initial stage. The elves were once spirits who transitioned into the bodies they now have. Blood magic seems to be a natural counter to that of the Fade, serving to aid in tying a spirit to the physical plane as they adjusted. The vallaslin Dirthamen put on for Eirwen is very similar to that original version, he understood the patron/client relationship between them wouldn’t be acceptable unless it was reversed. So, he intended to take on a role closer to advisor and siphon off the strength she couldn’t control as a way of quickly regaining the strength he’d lost. He also did it to save her life. He saw it as a way to even out the power imbalance by putting himself in a vulnerable position. He could’ve forced her to work with him but he decided against it. He’d rather give her a reason to trust him. He went with the tightest, strongest bond he could think of. He wasn’t trying to strike up a sexual relationship.

That’s not what he got.

He remarks on it being like marriage because in some ways it is, their mystical energies are bonded. They intermingle, forged in an unbreakable partnership that exists between the Evanuris and their oldest, closest seconds. However, because he’s also Evanuris, it becomes a bond similar to marriage (though not marriage the way we think of it, more like an arranged marriage. A formalized agreement between two people about X, who’ve bonded their magical energies in order to jointly strengthen themselves.) And now, suddenly, they must deal with a sudden closeness neither of them were prepared for.

On a basic level, Dirthamen’s vallaslin acts as a symbol of the union between the modern elves and the elvhen.

Dirth meant well. He also knows what the vallaslin means to him and to her are different, so what binds one way doesn’t necessarily bind the other. Eirwen gets to make her own decisions about how she sees their relationship.

3) Vallaslin in Sex

Vallaslin is a direct, magical blood link between two people. So, yeah, it can be used for pleasure and in a myriad of different ways.

4) Deirwen songs:

Deirwen is incredibly fluffy, so here’s some songs from their playlist.

Ever The Same - Rob Thomas, I Think We’d Feel Good Together - Rob Thomas, Heaven Help Me - Rob Thomas, Taking On the World Today - O.A.R., Accidentally In Love - Counting Crows, Untouched - The Veronicas, Just Say Yes - Snow Patrol, The Safest Place - LeAnne Rimes, The Stranger - O.A.R, Disarm You - Kaskade, Hang On -  Plumb. Steal Your Heart - BRKLYN, Did I Say That Out Loud? - Barenaked Ladies.

World Like That - O.A.R. is Eirwen’s personal theme, really. She’s had a lot, but that one’s stuck. She picks up Scream It Out - Ellie Goulding, and Wake the Giant - Tommy Trash, and Fight Song - Rachel Platten. Oh, and The Last Unicorn - America. (If that doesn’t make you worried, it should.)

The irony is most of the songs for Eirwen to Solas like Strange Sight by KT Tunstall work for Dirthamen except it’s in reverse. He’s the one stretching out his hand and pulling her out of the dark, offering her the acceptance she’s been looking for and doesn’t know what to do with. Thematically, he’s there offering her the home she offered to Solas.

Dangerously by Charlie Puth and I Can Love You Better by Shawn Mendes are ironically great picks for… dun, dun, dun SPOILERS… Falon’din… shh. (Also Think Twice by Eve6.) I initially envisioned him as the charismatic version of the fandom’s Dark Fen’Harel so he is territorial, obsessive, possessive, boundary pushing, and… lots of other things.

5) Is Dirthamen obsessive or get obsessive about Eirwen?

No, Dirthamen is not obsessive. He is protective, devoted, dedicated, and above all: patient. He’s willing to take what he’s given. He’s in no hurry. He’s an immortal, one of the eldest of the Evanuris. One concept he grasps better than any other is time. For him, relationships are not static. What one feels one century could be very different in the next. Eirwen may love Fen’Harel now and have residual feelings, but she won’t forever. She’s going to change, grow into herself, and may come around to see him as a good alternative. She also may not. Dirthamen understands, perhaps better than the others, that there are many different kinds of love. Their partnership isn’t reliant on a sexual bond, though that bond is nice.

He isn’t is possessive, or insecure, his willingness to put on the vallaslin for her was a sign of his willingness to give up control. He’s able to set aside his ego and his pride for what is necessary, because he knows who he is. Whether he wears vallaslin or not, it doesn’t change who he is or where he’s been. He’s willing to let her sort out the speed at which she wants their relationship to move, and be there as an advisor, counselor, or moral support.

He doesn’t see himself in competition with Solas, because he doesn’t need to be. There’s room in her life for both of them, really. He’s overseen and experienced a parade of ever changing relationships between himself and his siblings. Falon’din has been linked to Andruil, and countless others. Fen’Harel has been linked to Andruil. Andruil has been linked to Ghilnan’nain, Dirthamen has been linked to (though never in a serious relationship with) both Ghilnan’nain and Sylaise. Sylaise is also with June. His approach to relationships between immortals is that they’re fluid, and sometimes it’s necessary to take breaks. For him, real love is about who we return to and not who we sleep with.

He’ll probably end up worrying more about the way Solas affects her mental health and the fallout of their past relationship than he will Solas himself.

He has his dark side and he is ruthless, but he isn’t proprietary and feels no sense of ownership. He gives what he wants to give, and expects no reciprocation. She’s free to give him what she can, that’s enough.

There are those who make him feel insecure (*cough* Falon’din *cough*), and those he’s actively concerned about (*cough* Sylaise *cough*) should they ever find out. On the whole though, he doesn’t see Solas as a competitor. A screw up worthy of pity, maybe. He will not compete with a ghost, or place himself at the disadvantage of time. The new provides opportunity, he’ll focus on differentiating himself and building a relationship between them that isn’t reliant on Solas’ shadow.

See her in danger though or under threat, and you’ll see his knives come out. One thing you don’t ever do is hurt the bae. If he’s got a bone to pick with Solas, it’s that. Funny to say, maybe, but he’s disappointed in Solas.

He expected better.

I hope that answers your questions.

Thanks for asking!

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [190]

Bull is busy chatting with Evelyn when someone runs into him. This is not unusual. Things run into Bull all the time. Bull lives in a house full of small children all under the age of sixteen, if he isn’t bumped or jostled in some way at least once a day it’s not a real day and he’s probably asleep which means he needs to wake up because he’s probably forgetting to do something. And considering that he’s at sports day at his kid’s elementary school he figures he’s probably going to get run into a lot.

Children, when hyped up on competition and not being in class and being watched by their parents, tend to get a bit more uncoordinated than usual.

So Bull pays very little attention to it, especially considering it didn’t even hurt.

And then there’s small fingers digging into his thigh and yanking hard, Bull grimaces and looks down and Mahanon is staring up at him with those huge weirdly solemn eyes of his.

“Yes, Mahanon?” Bull asks. It’s a little strange to be seeing the boy in this context. Normally it’s at his own house or at the store or at Ellana’s house, occasionally the park or the library. Strangely enough, Bull’s never actually seen Mahanon at school before.

Mahanon looks briefly uncertain before mulishly tugging on his pants again and says, “You’re the only one I could find.”

Bull’s eyebrows raise, “Only one of what?”

“Parent,” Mahanon says sullenly and holds up a slip of paper to him.

“Ah, that’s for one of the class games,” Evelyn explains as Bull looks at the piece of paper that does, indeed, say parent on it. “Students pick pieces of paper out of a box and they have to find the thing on the paper and bring it back to the courtyard.”

Bull’s eyebrows raise higher, “Where’s your mom?”

Bull is far from the only parent here. Mahanon’s own mother must be somewhere around here. Knowing her, she’d have her phone out with three extra batteries for when it runs low.

Mahanon’s mulish look twists into something that borderlines tears before it untwists itself back into stubbornness, “Not here. I only have you.”

Something very strange kicks itself awake in Bull’s chest. Not strange in that he’s never felt it before. He’s felt that specific something kick itself around his guts and his chest plenty of times before.

He felt it when he got called into Krem’s first school because his teacher was a transphobic piece of shit. He felt it when he heard that Grim was being ignored in class because no one was paying attention to his signs. He felt it when Dalish came home crying and dirty because some idiot teenagers thought they’d feel big picking on someone smaller than them. He felt it when Rocky came home after the science fair and locked himself in his room and pretended to listen to the radio super loud to avoid telling Bull that he didn’t place because the school’s judges didn’t think his project was science enough.

Bull has felt this very specific feeling plenty of times before. The only strange thing is that this isn’t one of his kids.

Except maybe he is, because that thing that’s kicking up a storm in Bull’s chest seems to think so.

Bull goes with it and holds out his hand, “I’ll talk to you later, Evelyn. Come on, Mahanon. I hope I count. You probably don’t know this but there are a lot of people at this school who don’t think I count as a parent.”

“You’re here,” Mahanon says and there’s that kick in Bull’s chest again and parts of him turn hot and furious on Ellana. It’s unfair, he knows. She isn’t here to tell her side of the story. And he knows that she loves her son so much that it drives her to sleeplessnes and anxiety and actual fevers sometimes with worry.

There is a reason she is not here today, Bull reminds himself, forcing down the anger in his chest. You can’t judge without knowing the whole situation.

-

“I am missing my son’s sports day for this,” Ellana says softly. Not a threat. A statement. A fact.

“Pray tell, is this not important enough to warrant your attention?” Elgar’nan asks. He doesn’t even look at her. “There will be other events in your child’s life. He won’t die tomorrow.”

Dad’s and Aunt Mythal both reaching to put their hands on hers are the only thing that stops her from shoving away from the long table and marching out of this room. Not before throwing a punch that she definitely won’t regret.

Elgar’nan is a douche and he’s had a punch coming for a very, very long time, if not more than just a punch.

Her knuckles itch for a violence she didn’t think they remembered. It’s been a very, very long time since she was a frightened little girl. Father had always told her that there were better weapons than fists.

Words, time, the destruction of ego, to name a few.

That’s why they became lawyers, after all. Everyone in this family has a profound and deep taste for the ironic and the manipulative.

“We are assembled here today - all of us - because there are matters of import that we must discuss,” Elgar’nan says. “Matters that are important to our business and our holdings. Is your livelihood not important enough, niece?”

Ellana grinds her teeth and glares at the table in front of her.

Neither Dad nor Aunt Mythal have let go of her arms.

“Get on with it,” Sylaise says on Father’s other side. “Ellana isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to be here. This isn’t even our mess to clean up.”

Ellana hears Andruil shifting in her seat across the table and when she glances up Andruil is glaring at her sister, lip twitching into a snarl.

“They don’t even work in our sector, how was I supposed to know that they’d lash out like petty children?”  Andruil snaps. “The Titan Group doesn’t have their hands in any businesses close to ours. They’re a supply group that occasionally lobbies for ecological protections and reforms.”

“Did you think that they’d have forgotten all the bullshit you pulled?” Falon’din says, idly writing or drawing something down in his notebook. “I’m honestly a little surprised they waited this long.”

“We need a plan to make sure that nothing is amiss,” Jun says, “Though I don’t see why all of us need to be present. Some of us aren’t even part of the firm.”

Jun glares at Elgar’nan. Elgar’nan ignores him.

“If we were going to bicker like it’s a family dinner,” Morrigan says, sounding just as angry as Ellana is, “You could have just sent me the footnotes via text or email or some other annoying method where I could save so much time by throwing it out. Instead I am here and I have to listen to this in real time. Get to the point. Jun is right, some of us don’t even work at the main firm. Some of us aren’t even lawyers.”

Ellana glances towards Morrigan. Morrigan’s eyes meet hers and they share a moment of sympathy for each other. Keiran has always been something of a sickly boy and Morrigan is loathe to leave him unexpectedly.

It isn’t often that she and her cousin are on the exact same page, but Ellana is pleased to know that she has at least one real ally in this room.

Aunt Mythal and Dad of course understand her, but they also made her come here to start with. So.

“Let’s start with this,” Elgar’nan says and clicks something on his computer, bringing something up on the projector on the far wall. “Will someone explain to me how the fuck the head of the Titan group got his hands on this information to send to me this morning?”