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thevikingwoman · 5 years

Note

Here's a prompt for the DA Drunk Writing Circle: things you said when you thought I was asleep, with Solavellan.

Thank you! I already did this for Solas thinking Iwyn is asleep, so I did the reverse. Shoutout to @cordkitty-ish, who got me thinking of Iwyn’s parents, though they are not quite present here.

This is set directly after Better, part 2. (Part 1 here, all can be read independently).

Iwyn Lavellan x Solas | post Trespasser, post reunion | romancerating: teen, angst, fluff

Better, part 3

Solas is sleeping, and it’s odd to see him here, in her childhoodbed, in her parents’ home. The house is quiet now, save for the creaks and the windoutside. He buried under her blankets and his rests over her. Warm and solid. Here.

It feels a bit like a dream, but it is unlike so many shehas had. She never dared to think further than stopping his plan, of more thana faint hope. She never thought of something so mundane as visiting her family,worrying about having sex in a creaky bed.

“I never thought you’d be here,” she whispers, and kisseshis shoulder. “It’s like this is wishful thinking, a dream that can’t last. Somedays thought I’d always be alone.”

She had to say it out loud, to make the words real. Its too muchto keep inside.

Solas turns towards her, his eyes awake and glinting in thedark.

“I’m here, vhenan.”

His hand caresses her cheek.

“I thought you were asleep, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’msorry for my – insecurity.” It’s in their past now, his plans and their time asalmost enemies. She prefers to look forward.

“Ir abelas, Iwyn. Yourdoubts are natural, and my fault entirely.”

“No, I… I don’t want to dwell, I know it’s not – ”

There is a gust of wind, and a branch scrapes against the house,her father must not have trimmed it in the last year. The sounds is sofamiliar, another remnant of her childhood, and yet she is here with Solas, whois the Dread Wolf, in her old bed, in her parents’ house. Her chest is too tight,and something has to break.

She sobs, like she hasn’t done since that day he walked backinto her life. She cries, for all the times she didn’t, while she was stillwaiting for him, alone and desperate.

Solas pulls her to him, his arms engulfing her, his hand strokingher hair.

“It’s alright, vhenan.I’m here. You can cry, it’s alright to cry. I am not going anywhere.”

“I know, I know,” she says, but the tears keep coming, herchest shaking as she cries into his neck.

“Ar ma lath, Iwyn.Ar ma lath. Var lath enasal.” Solas whispers,and he doesn’t stop. His keeps repeating reassurances, and she believes him andit causes more tears to well in her eyes.

“Ar lath, Solas,”she can finally say, all her tears exhausted.

He keeps holding her, murmuring into her hair, until theyboth are fast asleep, under her blankets, in her old bed, in her parents’house.

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barrynn · 7 years

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So I made a new inquisitor, her name is Enasal. It means joy in triumphs over loss. If you can't guess she's going to romance Solas.

#yes i know that i had Suledin #but it has been to long #needed to make a new one #enasal #enasal lavellan #inquisitor #dragon age #dai

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halfelf558 · 3 years

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Estelle knelt before the pyre, watching as the flames took the last remains of Clan Lavellan. Smoke stung his eyes, made them water, but he refused to look away. He felt Dorian’s hand come down gently on his shoulder and Estelle let that touch anchor him for a moment - reminding him that whilst his clan, his family were gone, he was not alone. With a shaky breath, he finally said the prayers he should have said two years before:

‘Ellana Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Deshanna Ismathoriel Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Clan Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Dareth Shiral.’

Heck this took me over a month to finish, though tbf I was learning a new software. I originally had the idea for this back in October way before the fic happened, but fic ended up happening first >:3

You can read the full fic here

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halla-hunts-the-wolf · 3 years

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A short-story preview.

Set in a story where years down the line, Fen'harel has yet to destroy the Veil, but his plights are making all of Thedas weary of the modern elves.

Four Dalish elves band together to avenge a massacre. Will they inflict Justice or Vengeance on those responsible? And what secrets will they uncover along the way?

Warning: Violent acts & Character Death.

----

On the outskirts of Ansburg, a Dalish settlement had been destroyed.

They had been camping beside the coast, where a river drained off from the ocean.

They’d thought that the lack of freshwater would make the paths less favorable towards merchants or humans in general. Their aravels had been pitched and their halla let loose to graze.

They lasted three days.

On the fourth day, when two cloaked riders closed in on where the Dalish were meant to be, the stench of death still remained, carrion birds harvested bodies, and a started fire had laid waste to everything.

Blood ran the river red by the time the two riders reached the desolate camp.

Their movements became slow and they approached with caution; anticipating an ambush, but all they were met with was the silence that the massacre left behind.

“Maker,” one of the riders mumbled, bringing his arm up to cover his nose. “Who could have done this? Do you think it could’ve been Fen’harel?”

“No,” the other rider says, his voice somber and distant. “No, these elves were not his enemies and they did not deserve his wrath.” As he spoke, he would have abandoned his mount, an older Dracolisk, beside the river. Carrying on by foot, he would assess the carnage. Bodies lay to waste around him, many of which were missing their pointed ears. It was sickening, deplorable, and a byproduct of fear. “Even so, this act is unforgivable.” His voice would crack, overwhelmed by anger and grief. “There are so few of our people left, and the only thing they have done is chosen not to take a side in this foolish war.”

“The war that we are fighting.”

“Yes, because even though it is foolish, it can not be ignored. Not when innocent people are being slaughtered like this.” The second rider would crouch down, to close the eyes of an elf who was staring up at the sky. “Falon’Din enasal enaste.”

“What are we going to do now, carry on to Tevinter?”

“We are going to bury them, and find those responsible.”

The first rider lets out an exasperated sigh. “Lavellan, we don’t have the time-”

“- Then we make time.”

The first rider says nothing more, hanging his head in silent compliance.

They spend their evening in this way, gathering bodies and offering them final prayers. They didn’t have the means to do a proper ceremony, but they would do their best with heavy hearts.

Nightfall had soon come and gone, and as a new dawn broke across the sky, the two men sat across from each other, swallowing down their rations despite lacking a proper appetite.

“So you didn’t find your dalish contact amongst the dead?” The first rider would ask, his bright green eyes were growing red, as he fought the need to sleep. Only in his mid-twenties, and a recently freed slave of the Tevinter Imperium, he was not used to the constant traveling and combat he had to endure while shadowing the former Inquisitor. He rubs at his face, hands running across his mutilated vallaslin. The branches that spread over his cheeks had been cut into and burned by his former master, when he was only eighteen and freshly kidnapped from his own clan. “Perhaps he went after those responsible?”

“No,” Lavellan would shake his head. “Ryland would have waited for us, had he still been alive and of his own free will.” The older elf would be fiddling with a string around his neck. He clutched at the sending crystal as if it was his life line with one hand, while the other, a prosthetic, would be clutching a potion. “This group was made up of smaller dalish clans, ones that were left abandoned by their clanmates when they joined Solas. Ryland was traveling with them, to bring them to another encampment on the other side of Nevarra.”

“That was very noble of him.”

“Yes, and I’m the one who asked him to do it.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened, and drink your potion.”

Lavellan would stop fiddling with his necklace, taking to unscrewing the cork of the bottle in his hand. “If we had gotten here a day sooner Ma’hallian, we may have prevented this from happening entirely.” He would down the bottle in one go, guzzling it’s dark purple liquid, looking as if he’d just bit into a lemon afterwards. “This thing could be a poison.”

“A poison that keeps you from keeling over in pain.” Ma’hallian would remind him gently, before reaching out to take the empty bottle from the other man’s hands. “And we didn’t get here a day sooner, so we have to keep moving forward.”

“We will, as soon as the person responsible is brought to justice.”

The white-haired elf would lean forward, fixing the former Inquisitor with a narrowed gaze.

The older elf was on the cusp of fifty, with silver streaks in his long chestnut hair and wrinkles overtaking his darkened skin. These days, his hands shook whenever he lifted his sword, and his amber eyes always smoldered with conviction. “Is it justice you are after, or is it vengeance?”

“The two are not so different, when faced with a situation like this.”

“We both know that they are.”

Lavellan hated being shown up by his assistant, someone who could be so callous and shy towards the rest of the world. The boy had spent the majority of his life either in solitude or servitude and yet, he still managed to come out of it with a remarkable sense of responsibility and level headedness.

“I-” He does not get a proper sentence out, as a distant sound causes his ears to twitch. Ma’hallian hears it too and they rise to their feet.

Ma’hallian draws a dagger from his belt and Lavellan pulls free his sword from its sheath. They approach the source of the noise with silent steps, until they are looming over the site of a destroyed aravel. It’s red fabric and splintered wood had made a heavy pile, and something dared to move beneath it.

“Careful,” Lavellan murmurs, “it may be an abomination that’s risen.”

Leering forward with one foot, the elf would kick the debris away, his sword poised to strike down, but he would stop just short of skewering another elf.

An elf also nearing his fifties, with deep red hair that was coated in soot and streaked with soft greys. His face, while well defined, was covered in laugh lines and scars alike. They danced along his vallaslin for Ghilan’nain, etched in blue to match his eyes. This new elf stares up at them, as a cough rattles throughout his chest and past his lips. “Well, hello your highness. I survived then? Unless you managed to finally kick the bucket too.”

“No, Ry, you’re just that lucky.” Lavellan would put his sword away before holding out a hand, hauling his former partner from the aravel. Eyeing him wearily, in search of any wounds that could prove fatal.

“Ah well, what can I say? The universe loves me.” Ryland dusts himself off, wincing as he does so, but seemingly unharmed save for a few aches, bruises, and perhaps a concussion after being crushed beneath one of their landships. “How bad is it?”

“You’re the only survivor.”

The red-head takes in a sharp breath. “That can’t be right. Where are the bodies?”

They take him to the people who they had wrapped or covered, ready to be buried, as time permitted them. He looks them over, with blue eyes watering, before he shakes his head. “There were younger elves here, children, and a mage. None of them are with the dead.”

“Perhaps they perished in the fire that ravaged the camp?” Ma’hallain offers, supervising Ryland as Lavellan wanders off to their mounts. “Or animals picked off their remains?”

“You are a grim young man, Ma’hallain, but no. The only scavengers in this area are the birds, and they wouldn’t be able to devour a body within a day, let alone a dozen or so. The person responsible for the siege must have taken them.”

“And who was responsible?” Lavellan had rejoined them, bringing a fresh pair of clothes to Ryland from his carry on.

“There’s a human settlement nearby, Ansburg? They’ve recently come into new leadership and the man appears to be terrified of us knife-ears.” Ryland would strip there, pulling his otherwise tattered shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground. Lavellan would hand him the clean one and Ma’hallian would have the decency to look away as he took off his pants as well. “When the local militia arrived, I told them that we had no ties with Fen’Harel or the Qun. They said that they were under orders and at the end of the day, all elves were the same.”

“Yet they would never claim that all humans are murderers, would they?”

“Fear is bred by ignorance, highness. They’ll get what’s coming for them.”

Lavellan would grumble, “Did you at least scout Ansburg when you first made camp?”

“Course I did, seemed like a normal shemlen village. Smelt of rotten fish and wet dog. There weren’t any elves, but I didn’t find that odd. There aren’t many flat ears left in the smaller settlements.”

“Did you find where this new leader lived?”

“It was the first thing on my list, but something seemed off about it. The whole village was sort of dreary, but his estate was shimmery, almost. Like the stones were reflecting the light.”

Ma’hallian snaps back to attention, his ears drooping just so. “That sounds like warding, and a very obvious one. I bet he is using it to scare others away, people do that in the Magisterium. Either to scare the already fearful, or to make a spectacle out of something valuable.”

“So we’ll need a mage?” Lavellans asks.

“Unless warriors suddenly know how to dispel things? Rogues most certainly do not.”

“Oh,” Ryland would croon, “Do you know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like a call to Dorian. Tell him I said hello, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know that I survived.”

Rolling his eyes, Lavellan would turn away from the other men. Knowing that Ma’hallian was glib due to his many years living in darkness and Ryland was only using humor to cope with the carnage around them.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dorian pavus #lavellan #original character #post trespasser #pavellan

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sermacsteph · 3 years

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Clan Lavellan, Falon’Din Enasal Enaste

The woods near Wycome were quiet. The only sounds were the whistling of a gentle breeze amongst the leaves; the faintest sounds of wildlife: a fennec rustling amongst the fallen leaves, the distant song of birds in the trees above. It was peaceful, and in another world - another time, Estelle Lavellan would have found more joy in a walk in the woods. Had once run through the trees, with light and laughter, chasing his friend as she swung through the branches.

But that had been a time before the breach and Corypheus. A time before he had been made Inquisitor and made choices that would doom those he cared about. A time when his clan, his family, had still been alive.

Now, Estelle walked in subdued silence as they headed for the spot on their map - where Charter had marked a rough estimation of Clan Lavellan’s location before the humans fell upon them. Since they’d entered the woods that all too familiar grief weighed heavily on his heart. Beside him, Dorian made no attempt to break the silence but remained a comforting presence. He was glad that Dorian had offered to come with him, he wasn’t entirely sure he could have done this by himself.

Originally, they’d come to Wycome to deal with the last of the Venatori in the area. One last mission together before Dorian returned to Tevinter. It had been somewhat satisfying to finally take down those who had sowed the seeds that had led to the humans turning on the Elves. Yet Estelle couldn’t just leave, not without seeing the woods that had become Clan Lavellan’s last resting place - without saying goodbye.

Though, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Over the past few years as Inquisitor, Estelle had seen far too many killing sites then he cared to count. Had seen far too many sites of massacres, of past battles across both Orlais and Ferelden. Though many of them had been recent by the time they’d reached them, with perhaps the exception of the Exalted Plains. It had been two years since the massacre that had left both the city Elves of Wycome and Clan Lavellan dead - blamed for a plague that wasn’t their fault.

A knot of trepidation twisted in his stomach, making him stop dead in his tracks. What awaited them in that clearing? Would bones be scattered about, picked clean by the wildlife? Or would nature have claimed the area completely, wiping away any evidence of the atrocities that had happened beneath its trees.

‘Amatus?’

Estelle blinked, the sound of Dorian’s voice jolting him from his thoughts. ‘I’m … all right. I just need a moment.’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Dorian quietly, watching him with concern. ‘We can turn back if you need to.’

‘And miss the chance to explore such a peaceful wood with you, vhenan?’ Estelle replied, he tried for a smile but wasn’t really sure he’d managed it. ‘You know, our clan had this tradition that if you paired with someone outside the clan, on the first walk back to camp…’ he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. ‘Guess I never imagined it like this though.’

No, it wouldn’t have been at all like this. They would have been able to hear voices floating towards them through the trees, the sounds of laughter, the little ones chasing each other. His best friend, Ellana, would have been here teasing him, endlessly. Keeper Deshanna welcoming them with open arms and a warm smile. Estelle wondered how they would have thought of Dorian. Some of the clan might have had reservations given Dorian was from Tevinter. But Estelle had little doubt that he and Ellana would have gotten on tremendously and he’d most likely have regretted letting the two meet. But now, Estelle guessed he would never know.

His chest tightened. That horrible ache twisted inside him, stealing his breath. Tears burned his eyes and Estelle tried to blink them back furiously. He heaved a shuddering breath as he felt Dorian take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Estelle had always known this would be difficult, but the idea of leaving Wycome without saying goodbye, without saying the prayers he’d been unable to say two years ago - it didn’t sit right with him.

‘Now, I know you like being stubborn,’ said Dorian, ‘but if you need to leave, just say the word and we’ll leave, all right?’

Estelle nodded, giving him a grateful smile. ‘Come on, let's get this over with.’

They ventured a little further into the woods. The trees were closer together here, the leaves above blocking out the sunlight above as an unseasonable mist curled its way between the trees. Estelle shivered, a chill spider walking down his spine.

‘The veil, it's thin here,’ said Dorian, ‘you can feel the spirits pressing against it.’

Estelle could feel it too. That didn’t bode well, the veil was always thin where so many deaths had happened. He’d seen proof of that across the Exalted Plains a few years ago. But the last thing they needed right now, was to have to fight demons. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left as they entered the clearing.

Broken, burnt out aravels littered the clearing, covered in dead leaves and draping vines. The torn red sails, gently fluttering in the breeze. Desiccated remains lay strewn throughout, the barest scraps of cloth the only way to tell if they’d once been Elves or Human.

‘Vishante kaffas,’ Dorian muttered.

Estelle could only stare, unable to take his eyes off what lay before them. Whatever he had expected to find, it wasn’t this. He remembered Deshanna’s last words: “live well Da’len, you carry Clan Levallan with you. They are coming for us.” as he looked around at the carnage that had clearly happened here, it was far too easy to imagine what had happened. How the shems had fallen upon the camp. How the hunters tried to defend those who couldn’t flee or defend themselves but in the end they had been vastly outnumbered.

He raised a shaking hand to his mouth, an angry sob catching in his throat. They hadn’t deserved this. Clan Lavellan had always maintained as much of a civil relationship with the humans as possible, unlike their fellow clans. But now the humans had turned on them, caught up in a Venatori plot that Estelle had no doubt aimed to get to him. Clan Lavellan’s only crime - to be the clan of the Inquisitor.

A spark of colour, a tiny flash in the sunlight, caught Estelle’s eye. Stumbling forwards, he fell to his knees only to fall back with a cry as he brushed aside the leaves. Beneath them: a slender pair of daggers, their blades rusted and crusted with old blood and on the withered corpse beside them was the rusted remains of a bracelet, its original colour long since dulled.

‘Amatus?’

He felt Dorian behind him, staff in hand. But Estelle didn’t turn around - couldn’t tear his eyes away from the remains of his best friend. Ellana never went anywhere without those daggers, their bone hilts skillfully engraved with leaves - Estelle would have recognised them anywhere. And the bracelet… with a trembling hand he carefully lifted the bracelet free, the metal cool against his fingers, the barest tingle of magic.

Ellana had such a knack for getting into trouble, that Estelle had spent the few weeks before leaving for the conclave figuring out how to place a barrier spell within the metal. It had taken many failed attempts and he’d only been successful when he finally caved and asked for Deshanna’s help.

‘Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much,’ Ellana had teased, when he’d given it to her.

‘If you didn’t have such a knack for getting yourself into trouble, I wouldn’t,’ Estelle had replied with a slight smirk as she pulled a face. ‘But… if you don’t want it -’

‘Hey! I never said anything about not wanting it!’ Ellana had snatched it back then, immediately slipping it on to her wrist. ‘You better stay safe, lethallin.’

A choked sob escaped him at the memory. Ellana had been like a sister to him and now she was gone. Gone, and there was no way he could ever get her back. Gone, just like Deshanna, just like the rest of the clan and his parents before them. There was no way he could ever make it up to them, could never make it up how much he had let them down. Deshanna had asked for his help and he had sent one of Leliana’s agents to assassinate the Duke without thinking what that might look like, the repercussions that might have on the elves.

Estelle crumpled in on himself, no longer able to contain the sobs that racked him. Tears stung his eyes, slipped down his cheeks. He had made a mistake and Clan Levallan had paid for it with their lives.

‘Mythal’enaste. I’m sorry, lethallen,’ he whispered. ‘I should have been here. I should have done something - chosen differently. I’m so sorry.’

He felt Dorian’s arms wrap around him. ‘Shh, it wasn’t your fault, amatus,’ he said, pressing a kiss to his temple. ‘You did the best you could with what information was available to you.’

Estelle wished he could believe him. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Dorian’s shoulder as he felt him gently rubbing circles into his back, fingers threading through his hair. A part of him knew that Dorian was right, yet he still felt like he had let them down. That there was more he could have done to learn about the Venatori’s plot and sooner.

When at last the sobs had subsided, Estelle wiped his eyes and looked around at the scene that surrounded them. They’d already lingered here longer than was perhaps wise but … he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them like this. They deserved better, they deserved the funeral rites of their people even if Estelle wasn’t entirely sure how they could achieve that.

‘We can’t leave their remains like this,’ he said, ‘they… they deserve better than this.’

Dorian looked around them thoughtfully, before asking, ‘how do your people honour their dead?’

‘Well … remember the Var Bellanaris in the Exalted Plains?’

‘Ah, wasn’t that the one that was filled with demons?’

‘The entire Exalted Plains was filled with demons, but yes,’ said Estelle managing a small smile. ‘When one of the Dalish dies, they’re buried in the Var Bellanaris if their clan are either close by, or are able to make the journey. Otherwise, they’re buried with an oak staff and cedar branch and plant a tree over them.’ he paused, glancing around the clearing. A feeling of helplessness settled over him, he would never be able to give them their true burial rites. ‘We’re too far away to make it to the Var Bellanaris, I’m not even sure how we could even get them their if we could… and I don’t have the right things to be able to bury them …’

He trailed off, realising he was rambling. He hadn’t thought to try and find the things he would need before coming here - it hadn’t even occurred to him that he would need to perform the funeral rites.

‘Hmm,’ Dorian said thoughtfully, ‘we could light a pyre for them within one of the aravels. True, it might not be what is custom but it's as close as I can think of.’

Estelle merely nodded. Maybe it wasn’t tradition but, it was better than nothing - better then leaving their remains in the open. He owed them that much at least.

They worked in silence, moving the remains, wrapping them in the tattered red fabric of the aravels’ sails. It was grim work, and even with Dorian’s help and the use of magic, it was slow going. Estelle became far too aware once more of his missing forearm, how long they had already spent here and the spirits pressing against an all too thin veil. But he kept going. He wasn’t about to let his clan down a second time.

When they were done, they placed the remains within the least broken aravel, making sure it wasn’t near anything that would easily catch the flames. Then, after a momentary pause, Estelle reached out his hand, pulling the magic through the veil with far too much ease. With a clenched fish, flames enveloped the aravel and the bodies inside.

‘Ellana Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Deshanna Ismathoriel Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Clan Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Dareth Shiral.”

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enasallavellan · 8 days

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The funniest thing is that I once had someone ask me if Enasal was autism-coded.

I thought it was odd, as I had based most of her behaviors off of my own, so I always said, 'No, but she probably ADHD."

Because I have ADHD.

But guess what people?

Got diagnosed with autism

not

too

long

ago.

So to whoever asked years ago if Enasal was autism-coded?

#dragon age #enasal lavellan #adhd #autism #i love her #and I'm glad I ended up getting diagnosed but jesus christ someone saw a character i based of myself and said 'autism' and dammit #they were right #as was one one of the teachers i used to work with #half of my friendgroup turned out to think i had already been diagnosed #it was weird #so yeah sorry En you're autistic too #i wish i had the skills to draw her yelling 'what the fuck!' over it #krem knew

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viviae · 3 years

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Emi Lavellan

(Art by @/zevrn)

Meaning of name: Emi (F) / 恵 (e) “blessing, favour" combined with 美 (mi) "beautiful”

Nicknames: Vhenan (Solas), Hahren (When applicable), Darling (Vivienne), Mi Mi (Arata), Specks (Varric), Inky (Sera), Stubborn old bitch (Mio)

Family:

Father: Unknown (Spent most of her life believing he was a random mercenary)

Enasal: An ancient Elvhen and agent of Fen’Heral with traitorous tendencies.

Mother: Sayuri Lavellan

Sister: Mio Lavellan (Second to Clan Lavellan)

Brother in Law

2 Nephews

Birthday: April 1st (1st Eluviesta / Cloudreach Dragon 9:1)

Age: 40 at the start of Inqusition

Zodiac:

Sun: Aries

Moon: Taurus

Rising: Cancer

MBTI type: ENTP

Patron Arcana:

The Hierophant (Default):

UPRIGHT: Spiritual wisdom, religious beliefs, conformity, tradition, institutions

REVERSED: Personal beliefs, freedom, challenging the status quo

The Hanged Man (Romanced):

UPRIGHT: Pause, surrender, letting go, new perspectives

REVERSED: Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision

Two of Swords (Post Game):

UPRIGHT: Difficult decisions, weighing up options, an impasse, avoidance

REVERSED: Indecision, confusion, information overload, stalemate

Gender: Cis Female

Sexual orientation: Bisexual (Does not come to terms with her bisexuality until way later in life)

Appearance:

Face Claim: Tao Okamoto

5’5 and fairly lithe, typical elven build with muscle toning especially on abs, but is considered tall for an elven woman

Long glossy black hair that is well maintained and falls to her lower back

Strings of graying hair are seen throughout

All of her roots are grey

Kept largely in a loose bun with front tendrils kept out and framing her face

Widows peak

Copper brown eyes with bright golden flecks inside with monolids

Thick eyebrows with a ‘switch blade’ cut to the ends

Smaller lips with a prominent cupid’s bow

Typically paired with a dark matte brown lipstick

Light tanned skin that features a number of sunspots and moles on her complexion

Eye Bags and crow's feet to show her age but still looks relatively young

Vallaslin: Dirthamen’s marks in a dark green and she wears a dark green eyeliner in the same shade under her eyes

Has more markings around her collar bone, shoulders, arms, wrists and hands in Dirthamen’s styles

On her left calf is practice marks for vallaslin of various styles she used for practice; marks in the style of Mythal, Ghilian’nain, and Sylaise’s vallaslin

Has a pair of round golden reading glasses she needs for reading things up close but her vision is fine from far away

Fond of traditional kimono styles unique to her clan, recovered texts and methods recorded from a different time period than typical in Arlathan’s history

Mixes Dalish armor with these loose kimono styles and typically the kimono’s are decorated with things relevant to her achievements and goals, making them memoirs of her life and actions

Languages spoken: Common (English), Orlesian (French), Elvhen, and a few passing phrases of Qunlat. Clan Lavellan is the clan that has the largest records of written Elvish and it plays a major role in their lifestyle and as such she has a good penmanship of Elvish.

Magical specialties: Specialization - Necromancer

Fire isn’t an element that is frequently used by Dalish keepers but Emi is an exception to that idea

Sees fire as both a healing element and destructive and would frequently do controlled burns of areas if needed for the environment

Has very good control over her fires and despite burning herself when she was younger a few times has very little fear of flame

However Emi is fully aware of fears toward fire and preys on it to enhance her abilities

Chose the Necromancer path due an ability to utilize the fear she had picked up on people having of her and her fire

Also a good way for her to be more accustomed to spirits that were drawn to her but knows their place and will not abuse or bind them

Love Interest: Solas

(Extended Bio: Backstory) (Extended Bio: Personality)

(@/zevrn)

(@/inorheona)

(@/frrrozi)

(Specific Character Tag) (Posts that Remind Me of Her) (pinterest)

#Eren.txt #emi lavellan #eren's ocs #my ocs #long post

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bigfan-fanfic · 4 years

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Lord Vylandin Wind-Walker of Clan Mithra, Shadow of the Clan, Bodyguard to Duke Tash Adaar, and Windwalker of the Anderfels. (face claim Brock O’Hurn)

Vylandin is basically an assassin from Assassin’s Creed, but in Dragon Age. A half-elf mage and warrior who is adorkable out of combat and terrifying in it.

Halani Enasal Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan, Rift Mage, and Dalish Advisor to the Inquisition. (face claim Keira Knightley)

Halani would have been the Inquisitor if Tash didn’t exist. A waterbender and rift mage, she is proudly Dalish and assists the Inquisition and saves her clan.

Ask Me About My OCs :)

#dragon age #my ocs #moodboard #halani lavellan #vylandin #ask me questions #pls send asks

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dreadfutures · 3 years

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Dealing with depressed Anders is just as hard as Ixchel expected. And awkward.

-:-:-:-:-

Chapter 118/???

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition / All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationship: Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan & Solas, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor/Solas, Male Mahariel/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Fenris/Male Hawke, Fenris/Lavellan (Dragon Age), Fenris/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)

Character: Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Fen'Harel | Solas, Cullen Rutherford, Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age), Cassandra Pentaghast, Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Hawke (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Scout Harding, Lace Harding, Morrigan (Dragon Age), Warrior Lavellan, Male Mahariel (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age), Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi, Blackwall | Thom Rainier, Calpernia (Dragon Age), Raleigh Samson

Additional Tags: Suicide, TW: Suicide, Fix It Fic, Time Travel, Resurrection, Blood Magic, who knows - Freeform, angry depressed inquisitor, you always have a choice, Or do you, empathy is the enemy of free will, bleeding heart Inquisitor is bloody and broken, lots of politics, lots of moralizing, but hope is a choice

Series: Part 4 of Bloodied and Broken

Summary

Shadows fall, and hope has fled. Steel your heart; the dawn will come

The Inquisitor's heart broke when her family of friends scattered to the winds in the wake of the Exalted Council. She was emptied of hope as Solas's power and reach grew. Left with a dead past and only a dread future to look forward to, Ixchel Lavellan lay down and chose not to wake up.

As the Veil began to unravel and the fabric of reality tore apart at the seams, a desperate ally sacrificed everything to give her a second chance.

And Ixchel will never forgive him.

-:-:-:-:-

time travel/fix it fic.

tw: suicide, first chapter, and themes of suicidal depression throughout nsfw chapters marked: ** (only four thus far)

#dead pasts dread futures #ao3 #ixchel lavellan #solas #solavellan #anders #update #cole #warrior lavellan

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eluvii · 4 years

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A letter slipped through under the door...

[A letter on aged paper. Written in blue ink it says:

Inquisitor (scratched out), Lethallin,

I am at a loss for words regarding what happened to Clan Lavellan in Wycome. It was a horrible act of violence against our people that shall never be repeated. You spoke of your Keeper with an admiration that is rare to find these days. I am only able to imagine the grief her death must cause you.

Having said that, I must ask you to come out of you quarters. The kitchen personnel informed me that you have not eaten anything in days, which has me deeply worried.

Even though your advisors have been replacing you to the best of their abilities, the Inquisition needs you. Josephine asked me to remind you of the ball in Halamshiral you will need to attend in the near future.

Again, I am sorry for your loss, and for what it is worth : Falon’Din Lavellan enasal enaste. - Solas]

#dragon age #dragon age inquisiton #dai #solas #lavellan #clan lavellan #solavellan #letter #dalish #solasmancer

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reveriesramblings · 4 years

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Path Of The Arrow

A Lavellan And Harding Love Story

A fanfiction depicting a personal headcanon of my Lavellan playthrough in the Dragon Age:Inqusition franchise. The Inquisitor struggles to integrate into a new life, but finds a familiar comfort in new friends and a possible new love. As he becomes the new shining face of Thedas, he learns that there is more to life than running away...

This will be a series I’ll be updating every Saturday or so. Of course, I do not own the rights to the Dragon Age or the characters! This is purely for entertainment purposes. Some quotes/ dialogue were taken from the game.

Credits

A quick thanks to Dragon Age Wiki for a guide on elven cipher! FenxShiral for reference. WARNINGS Please note that this series is 18+ for adult language and themes! Further warnings include PTSD, depression, violence, blood, possible gore, some sexual content, death, etc. Please message me privately if you have any other concerns.

Just a final note: I’m new to tumblr, so please have mercy while I learn the proper tag/edit system! I edit to the best of my ability and I’m here to share my imagination as well as improve my creative writing abilities.

Enjoy!

Elven translations:

Lethallen (pl) - one who is familiar; usually a friendly title given from one elf to another. Similar to kin.

Shemlen/shems - quicklings; unfavorable name for humans

Mala suledin nadas - You shall endure

Falon'Din enasal enaste - An elven prayer for the dead

Vhenan -Heart; term of endearment

Ma vhenan - my heart; my love

Ir abelas - I'm sorry

Ma melava halani - you helped me

Ir tel'him - I'm me again

Ma serannas - thank you

Chapter 1: Severed Roots

A herd of Halla; pounding hooves against the lush earth of the Planasene Forest floor, in which he was never allowed to be in. The echo of these sacred beasts swirled around Larkin’s head as a memory, tucking the past back into a far corner in his mind. Once he was a respected hunter among his clan, providing food to ensure the survival of his Lethallen; his kin. Now, he was about to embark on a new path with a new name: The Herald of Andraste, they called him. The one who fell out of The Fade and was sent by Andraste herself to close The Breach that wounded the sky.

“What a large burden to carry, and it’s only gonna get heavier.” Varric pitied him in private when they had a moment to breathe. Privacy was a luxury now that everyone and everything demanded his attention: “Your Worship, please look over these marching orders?” this, “Herald, I need your response to the Chantry by the end of the daylight,” that. He knew nothing of politics and pleasantries and suddenly he was the face of a controversial organization as well as an entire religion that he did not want. Few perks there were so far, but one of them included the few moments he could spend in playful banter with the Dwarf gave him some sense of relief. A new world and a new life among the shemlens -- not one he would have chosen for himself. The elf was perfectly content running from them in The Free Marches as it were; nothing could have prepared him for so many concentrated in one area. They smelled weird, the food was strange, but there was no denying the honest hospitality. Larkin couldn’t help but wonder though: would it be different if he weren’t their so - called martyr? Would he be exploited and shunned as all other Dalish were in human company?

“Mala suledin nadas…” he uttered under his breath as his eyes searched the aching mark on his hand, possibly for more answers. He lifted the glowing scar to the sky, replicating the moment he first closed a rift as if it would give him some profound knowledge on how to close The Breach; but alas, there were no voices in his mind.

Another chimed into his ears instead, “Master Lavellan” a familiar voice requested his attention. What else was new? The Herald had half a mind to turn toward the speaker in annoyance, but took a moment to collect himself. Of course it was Cassandra who came and interrupted his much needed quiet time. “Ahem,” she cleared her throat but made no hesitation in addressing the task at hand; he hadn’t known her for long but he could tell that this was going to become a regular occurrence -- he should’ve just accepted it then and there. “My apologies on the sudden...intrusion…” She wasn’t really sorry, “Your presence is needed in the council, my Lord. Leliana and Cullen have a few suggestions on how to get things moving. We need to head into the Hinterlands as soon as possible to seek out Mother Giselle and ask for her aid. I have come to escort you.”

With a deep sigh, the Herald stood up from the stone fencing and turned to her with a reluctant nod “I suppose I can’t just sit this one out?”

Cassandra gave him a judgmental squint but held her tongue from expressing her true thoughts on his sarcasm. “Need I remind you of what’s at stake here?” She paused and her mood seemed to shift, "I understand that you didn’t ask for any of this, but now that you’re here...you’re our only option for the time being. I can’t promise that it will be easy, but I can promise that you won’t be alone in this…” her voice trailed at the end into a softer note as if she was trying her best to express compassion or something of the sort. “I understand, Cassandra, and I appreciate your willingness to uphold your duty.” Silence fell between them. It wasn’t meant to sound curt, nevertheless, the words cut and he could see that it slightly bothered her. He pursed his lips together in regret “I didn’t mean for that to--” “Let’s just...get this over with.” The Seeker turned to leave and head toward the Chantry but stopped for a moment to turn and look at him with a small smirk, waiting for him to follow. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The briefing appeared to be simple enough: ask for The Revered Mother’s assistance and look for opportunities to establish the Inquisition’s presence. Unbeknownst to any of them, the Hinterlands was ass-deep in chaos and it would be far from easy. The mages and templars were practically at war, putting all the refugees nearby in danger. People were starving, cold, dying and nature was being destroyed by seemingly random fires. Lowly bandits took advantage of the conditions and began to claim passages, making it harder for Inquisition soldiers to do their job. To top it all off, demons were crawling about from opened rifts; just more reasons to need a savior. Larkin surveyed the crossroads from the hilltop with dread in the pit of his stomach. The air carried a slight chill through his chestnut hair and smelled of pine, which reminded him of home. Bittersweet memories cut short by the sight of humans cutting each other down...like always. How the fuck was all of this happening so fast? He gripped his stomach and swallowed hard, stepping down from a tall rock that overlooked the plains. Varric caught a glimpse of the elf’s anxiety, offering an awkward grimace; he knew he and the Inquisitor were feeling the same sense of fuck this. If it were that easy to walk away, Varric wouldn’t be far behind him. The Herald stepped into camp among all the hustle and bustle of recruits trying to multitask between gathering supplies and an array of other important things. All he could hear was the babbling of side conversations and metal clanking from swords and arms being forged and repaired. Larkin’s attention was pulled left and right again the minute he arrived, until Cassandra rescued him by taking his arm and pulling him aside. Varric and Solas accompanied them as well to take a breather. “There’s something that needs your attention --” she began and was readily cut off by Varric.

“Give him a minute, Seeker...He just got here.” He threw his hands up in frustration with her too urgent attitude. “Wouldn’t it be wise to let the one person that can actually fix all this shit take a small break? You know -- Just so we don’t break him before it starts getting tough?” Solas butted in with his two cents. “Ideal, not wise, Varric.”

“Thanks, Chuckles.” The dwarf shook his head “The Herald of Andraste succumbing to a nap every once in a while? Perish the thought…” Larkin attempted to joke. At least Varric was amused. "What? Just trying to ease the tension a little. I’ll be fine…we’ll be fine.”

“Your Worship?” a soft feminine voice called to the group, singling them out from the rest of the camp. A Dwarven female approached them with a friendly and professional air about her. Her soft-looking red hair was tied up and out of her face; pale skin, but her cheeks were no stranger to the sun. Freckles decorated her face, giving her a rather youthful appearance despite the scar running down the left side of her cheek.

“Scout Harding, at your service.” She paused for a moment to give Larkin a good look-over. He was tall, but that was mostly because she was a dwarf of course. Here he was: Andraste’s chosen in the flesh; he looked even more noble than the stories portrayed him to be. The view wasn’t so bad either. If her eyes could’ve opened any wider they would.

“Pleased to meet you” he simply said, unsure of how he should address her just yet.

“Wow” she awed, he breath taken from her, “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve heard the stories; you should know how grateful everyone is for what you’re doing.” A small, toothy smirk appeared on Larkin’s face “I’m starting to worry about all these stories everyone’s been hearing.” This comment brought a chime of laughter from the scout, causing her to clear her throat once she realized that it might come across as inappropriate. “ Well, they only say you’re the last great hope of Thedas.” She grimaced. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that… “Oh, great.” he pursed his lips.

“Aaaanyway, you already have your briefing, I should let you get to work.” She handed Larkin a scroll tied with twine “A map.” she smiled softly but with an awkward note. “Maker guide you.”

Harding wandered off to attend to other matters; a recruit already scrambling after her with questions. She left a small smile on Larkin’s face, his eyes refused to separate from her as he held the map limply in his hand. It wasn't until he felt eyes on him that he looked to his companions and then turned to make his way out of the camp. "Right," he cleared his throat "to work then." All four of them marched away from the camp, following the sounds of distant fighting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Falon’Din enasal enaste…” Larkin whispered slightly out of breath over the corpse of an elven mage. He was careful to keep his first language out of earshot as a subconscious reflex. However it didn’t escape Solas’s impeccable hearing; the elven prayer for the dead caused him to eye the Herald curiously and smirk snarkily. Larkin tried to ignore the eyes on him and examined the blood on his gloves and felt slightly dizzy. He must’ve lost his footing at some point because the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, facing the sky above him. He felt hands gripping him tightly; everything was spinning and then what was a clear day turned into inky darkness. A gentle hand pressed against Larkin’s cheek and his eyes slowly opened to see a blurry but familiar figure above him. The sound of trees swaying in the breeze; birds chirping in the early morning sun. “Vhenan...” the words were clear, but the voice was obscured and almost unrecognizable, but he didn’t need to know. He could feel who the voice belonged to by the nature of his touch. Larkin’s eyes squinted as the sun’s light bore into the spectre and he placed his own hand on top of the one cupping his cheek. “Ma Vhenan” Larkin repeated, his voice barely audible. “Ir abelas..” “Ma melava halani...Ir tel’him...ma serannas…” The voice began to fade.

Larkin began to squirm in his fur lined bedroll, feverishly chanting elven over and over until his eyes shot open and he woke in a cold sweat. The hand he gripped in his dream was not a past lover, but belonged to a healer instead. She stared down at him, frozen in place as she did not dare to try and pry her hand free, afraid he might lose it even more. Within just a moment more she caught a grip and placed her free hand on his other cheek, smiling gently. “Your Worship, please, rest easy. Everything’s going to be alright. You’re safe in your tent.” her Orlesian accent was thick. The Chantry sister placed a cold rag on the elf’s forehead, hushing him gently. “Sleep. I will inform your companions that you have the day off.” He didn’t pay much attention to when the sister left his tent, he was more focused in undressing as soon as possible --his clothes were drenched in sweat. As promised, no one entered his tent for the remainder of the day, but rest would not come easily to him. He gently rolled over to his side and out of bed, standing on his bare feet in one motion. Larkin opened the flap of the tent door, letting the cool air of the night hit his face as he paused to take a deep breath. Nice and cool. He kept his pants on and wore a loose tunic to spare the camp of an accidental nude elf sighting; they weren’t that friendly yet. The corner of his eye caught the toe of one of his boots, choosing to leave those behind. His feet deserved to be free again, and it was so worth it. The moment the pads of his toes felt the grass, he let out a relieved groan, closing his eyes as he flexed his feet to caress the ground. Before anyone could see him, he took off into the nearby trees, running as fast as he could to pick up the wind and feel it against his lithe frame, only stopping when he was finally out of breath. His short frolicking led him back to the overlook where he first stopped when they arrived in the Hinterlands. Just slightly tired, he sat down and let his feet dangle over the edge of the cliff and looked up at the face of the full moon that lit up the night.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Larkin practically whipped his head around feeling slightly defensive, his shoulders tensed, but dropped again when she stepped more into the light.

“Scout Harding?” Larkin confirmed softly and released a small amount of breath.

“You sound surprised.” She smirked but then looked a little concerned as her voice wavered slightly. “What are you doing out here anyway, aren’t you supposed to be resting? Healer’s orders you know…” Harding took a seat beside him with respectable space in between them. Her concern brought a soft grin to his face “Aren’t you supposed to be resting yourself? Thanks for the concern but I feel fine.” He noticed she was dressed casually, too. “You got me.” she giggled awkwardly and shifted slightly in her seat. “I was hoping you’d be out here, actually. Oh Maker, that came out strange...I mean, I wasn’t stalking you or anything like that. I just...wanted to apologize for earlier.” She brought a finger up to scratch the side of her cheek.

“Oh?” The Herald’s interest was piqued. She held his attention now. “Apologize, Whatever for?” “Oh you know,” she began “You’re only the last great hope of Thedas…” she bit her lip in regret “The last thing I wanted to do was cause you more anxiety about the situation. I know you have a lot on your plate.” “Hm…” he hummed, looking up at the moon and stayed silent on purpose, just to tease her.

"Oh, pants!" She exclaimed in frustration "Please just accept the apology!"

"Pants?" He cocked a brow and couldn't help but laugh. "I've never heard that one before!" When calm, which wasn't for a good long moment, he sighed and ended the exhale with a small chuckle. "I accept. Though, I was never offended either. Just for the record." He smiled softly at her.

Perhaps Harding focused on his lips a little too hard. The dimples that pressed into his cheeks revealed an endearing innocence in him that was rarely found in a leader. Without a moment longer she stood up on her feet.

"I should head back. Wouldn't want to miss my beauty sleep and all."

"You don't need it." Larkin turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth curling softly.

They exchanged tender looks under the stars for what seemed like an eternity.

"Good night, your Worship." Harding left him with a smile and vanished into the trees.

"I'll see you in my dreams." he said to himself now that she was gone. His eyes looked back at the moon, wondering if it felt as lonely as he did at night.

#dragon age inquisition #inquistor lavellan #scout harding #fanfic #http://reveriesramblings.tumblr.com/FANFIC

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