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for-the-ninth · 2 years

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WIP Whenever

(gorgeous commission of my sassy, scrappy Inquisitor, by @inquisitoruzerin!!)

@noire-pandora tagged me for Last Line Monday (thank you!!) but I haven't posted any updates on my longfic in weeks because I've been depressed and lacking in motivation. Shout out to everyone who's continued tagging me even when I haven't engaged - it's comforting to be invited even if I don't have the energy to participate.

Anyway, this is a WIP whenever because it's time for an update on Inquisitor Shielan and I can't choose just one line. This is an excerpt from a wip chapter 12 of The Life That Left Me, in which Shielan frets over accidentally spilling a secret, and reconnects with the spirit who's been by her side since childhood. It's a long one, so I've hidden part of it, along with tags and ramblings, under a cut.

***

“It’s been two weeks since we’ve met here,” Shielan said. “Two weeks, since I’ve entered the Fade at all, actually.”

Spirit’s brows shot up, and their hair retreated back to its former crop so fast Shielan had to stifle a chuckle. “That is a long time for you, da’len. What’s happened?”

Shielan grinned, tilting her head off to one side. “You miss me or somethin’?”

“That depends,” Spirit said, and hummed to themselves, stroking their chin in a way that might’ve looked natural had they not clearly learned to mimic the theatrical gesture of a child at play. “What does it feel like to miss someone?”

Shielan took a breath and held it, exhaling forcefully before she spoke. “Sometimes it’s a feeling of wanting—noticing someone’s absence and wishing they were there, just a passing thought.” Her heart sank at the thought of those she'd left behind, and she winced, averting her gaze. “But it can also be a weight on your chest, so heavy you could suffocate, or a void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try. And it just…hangs over you, like a storm you can’t outrun.”

Spirit scowled, brows drawing together in the middle, and they floated closer to Shielan. “It sounds distressing.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Shielan smiled weakly, shoulders slumping with a heavy sigh as she stood and resumed pacing. “But missing people is the least of my worries right now. The man I told you about—”

“Ruferberg? No, that’s not it.” Spirit’s body faded out of view, returning as a bright blue cloud, almost wisp-like in its movement as they zipped around Shielan’s head. “Rendercord. No, no—hang on, I’ll get it.” They crashed back down to the grassy moonlit field beneath Shielan’s feet in elven form, a gleeful grin spread across their face. “I’ve got it—Ruthminbord!”

Spirit looked at Shielan with such child-like hope, that she almost felt bad for laughing. But she couldn’t hold back the series of cackles that poured from her wide open mouth, turning her face red and springing tears from her eyes as she held her shaking belly and spoke between stuttering gasps for breath. “Rutherford,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Though I have to admire your determination.”

“Agh!” Spirit threw their hands in the air. “Mortal names are so confusing—and a tad unnecessary, if you ask me.”

Shielan shook her head, shoulders still shaking with a final wave of chuckles. “You’ve managed to remember mine well enough.”

“Indeed,” said Spirit, “but only because I’ve had so long to memorize it. Or have you forgotten how many years I spent calling you child?”

Shielan mimicked the theatrical chin stroke Spirit had performed earlier, a cheeky joke that might’ve reached their consciousness had they been mortal. “Five years in my time, if I recall. Do all spirits have such a wretched memory?”

“My sense of memory is not wretched,” Spirit said, with a dramatic sigh and accompanying eye roll. “It is simply…incomplete. That’s all.”

“I suppose that’s a fair trade, when you’ve walked the Fade for millenia.” Shielan reclined onto the soft grass beneath them, arms resting behind her head as she stretched her legs and sighed.

Spirit sank to the ground across from her, but did not recline. Instead, they worked on braiding their hair, brows furrowing as they tried to remember the steps. “I take it my elixir did not work for your friend.” They frowned, and Shielan wondered if spirits could feel disappointment.

“We aren’t friends.” Shielan wiggled her bare feet in the soft, cold dirt, eyes fixed on the full moon overhead. “And it would’ve worked if he weren't a stubborn ass. Rest assured it’s not gone to waste.”

Spirit’s hands froze, fingers still tangled in black strands, and cocked one eyebrow. “You’ve been taking it—presumably to avoid dreaming.” Their head perked up, eyes wide. “Or perhaps to avoid…me?’

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shielan sat up with a scowl, brows drawn together in the middle, but softened her voice. “The only reason I still walk the Fade is to spend time with you.” She sighed again, though it came out more as a shudder, and rested her elbows on her knees, hands scrubbing wispy stray hairs from her face. “I keep having this nightmare”—she held her face in her hands—“every night it’s the same thing. I’m back at Haven, facing down Corypheus, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed and I can’t cast at all. But instead of killing me, he forces me to watch while he kills everyone else, starting with my comrades, then Vunora and Zevriel, and then…”

Spirit dissolved into a wispy blue cloud and wrapped themselves around Shielan like a warm winter blanket. “And then who, da’len?”

"Deshanna." Tears pricked the corners of Shielan’s eyes, but she cleared her throat to stifle an oncoming sob. “Every time, he saves her for last.”

Spirit’s brow furrowed. “Last we spoke of your Keeper, you referred to her as a betrayer.”

“She is,” Shielan said, and wiped furiously at a tear that’d managed to escape. “Even still, she was like a mother to me. I do not wish to see her suffer.”

“The breadth of mortal emotion fascinates me,” Spirit hummed, their voice a soft lilt echoing through the atmosphere of the Fade. “But I taught you to control your dreams when you were a child, did I not?”

“That’s just it!” Shielan sprung up from the ground and resumed pacing, one arm folded across her chest and the other swinging wildly in gesture. The landscape changed from a peaceful moonlit field to a pitch black abyss, lit only by Spirit’s blue glow. “Never once have I been unable to manipulate my dreams—nightmares included—until now.” She shook her head, running both hands through her hair until her fingers caught in her braid. “So I’m hardly sleeping, which means I’m running at half-mast, which is the worst thing I could be doing right now considering Orlais is about to drag us all into their useless fucking war. Meanwhile—”

“Da’len, wait a moment.”

“—the mage rebellion rages on—rightfully so, if you ask me—and every time my soldiers leave Skyhold we lose more to the crossfire.”

“Shielan, please—”

“Oh, and if that wasn’t enough to make me lose my goddamn mind, now Rutherford—that stuttering imbecile, of all people—is on my trail. I was an idiot and made the mistake of keeping him alive, and now he knows too—”

“Shielan!” Spirit returned to their elven form and grasped her by the shoulders. “Look.”

They conjured a mirror and turned Shielan to face it. Her cheeks, flushed red with anger, felt even hotter than they looked, and beads of sweat crept out from the pores around her hairline, sticking black stray wisps to her temples. But it wasn’t her cheeks, pores, or sweat that made her cringe and avert her gaze. It was her face—eyes black and empty as the Void, with veins the color of charcoal protruding down to her chin—the same face Cullen saw that night in the dungeon.

“Breathe,” Spirit said. “The Fade is a dangerous place for those who lose themselves in rage.”

***

Shielan is 28 when she joins the Inquisition. From a young age she was trained as a spy and assassin for her clan, and became proficient in lying, stealing, intimidation and ultimately, killing. When she left her clan at 18, she traveled alone, communicating only with her best friend, Zevriel, and the occasional shopkeeper or trader when she passed through towns and cities for supplies.

This background, in addition to her people being ostracized and abused by Thedosian society at large, makes it easy to see why she has developed enough self-control to reign in emotions that could compromise her safety, but compartmentalizes instead of confiding in anyone when shit gets tough. Even in Solas, her closest friend among the Inquisition and someone she feels relatively safe around by comparison, she cannot fully let her guard down.

But it's different with Spirit. Shielan was walking the Fade as a child, before she understood what a Dreamer was, and Spirit - this nameless and often formless being - was kind enough to take Shielan under their wing, teaching her to manipulate the Fade and protecting her from its more nefarious entities. Shielan never felt more alone than in the first year she left her clan, and Spirit stood by her side as she worked through the guilt of abandoning people she loved, the pain of her Keeper's betrayal, and the hopelessness that came with a years-long search for the parents who abandoned her as an infant. But Spirit is her family now, and it's in the Fade, under their protective wing, that Shielan is finally able to let go and emote freely.

***

Tags, for anyone who wants to share something and also in thanks to some folks who've tagged me in things even when I haven't had the energy to engage: @barbex @oxygenforthewicked @roguelioness @a11sha11fade

#my writing #dragon age fanfic #last line monday #wip whenever #the life that left me #inquisitor shielan lavellan #fade spirits #i love their relationship tbh #it's one of my favorites to write

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mrstethras · 4 years

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The Forgotten Ones were some of the Rebel Elvhen [theory]

There is very little known about The Forgotten Ones, referenced in so few of the codex entries throughout Dragon Age, however, from what is offered to us, I believe them to be Elvhen who opposed the tyranny of the Evanuris, likely freed from their enslavement by Solas, and since raged and warred against them. They were perhaps the favoured slaves, the most talented of them, to have been considered as gods as well upon facing against their enemies. This is just a theory that I’ve been playing around with, a post of rambling, but I figured I’d share my thoughts on what little we have of them.

“The Forgotten Ones belong to the ancient Elven pantheon, but their names were lost after the Great Betrayal. Their worship continued in the shadows, despite efforts to stamp it out in the old Dalish kingdom. This staff belonged to a priest of those gods, specifically Daern'thal.” - Codex attached to the Weapon Pyre of the Forgotten.

“The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.” - Codex: Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

So, the Forgotten Ones were of Elvhen kind, if this codex entry is to be believed, that they were the ones who resisted the enslavement of the People? Some were likely freed and joined the cause? Their names, or what they represent also seems important, because unlike the Evanuris, they are named rather abstractly as representing feelings, emotions or other such general (often negative) terms, such as pestilence. In the same way that Abelas means sorrow, I feel their names were adopted dependant on their ruling pantheon, or what they represented. That these were people, rather than abstract ideas. This is similar to how the Protheans were named in Mass Effect, when we meet the last living Prothean Javik, and wake him up to find he embodies or is named for vengeance.

“There is precious little we know about Fen'Harel, for they say he did not care for our people. Elgar'nan and Mythal created the world as we know it, Andruil taught us the Ways of the Hunter, Sylaise and June gave us fire and crafting, but Fen'Harel kept to himself and plotted the betrayal of all the gods. And after the destruction of Arlathan, when the gods could no longer hear our prayers, it is said that Fen'Harel spent centuries in a far corner of the earth, giggling madly and hugging himself in glee.In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways and saw him as one of their own. And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen’Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People.” —From Codex entry: Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

It’s also very clear that the Forgotten Ones have been smeared throughout history to appear as negatively as possible. Quite like how Fen’Harel has been misunderstood as a malevolent god, rather than the god of rebellion, which is far more accurate an interpretation. In the above codex entry it makes the Forgotten Ones and Fen’Harel appear as the villains, whereas post-Trespasser we know this is not the case -- and so the situation can be turned on it’s head in that the Forgotten Ones were not the wicked anti-pantheon, but warring against and resisting their wicked gods, the Evanuris. It’s also important to note that from the codex entries, Fen’Harel tricked only the Evanuris, and got the Forgotten Ones to return to the abyss (likely for protection) as he defeated the gods -- which was what the Forgotten Ones desired. It’s also likely Solas chose to do this only after the murder of Mythal.

As for the abyss -- and where the Forgotten Ones are -- I feel as though they are in Uthenera, likely returned to the mines within Titans. In Trespasser we see that ancient mines are discovered to have protecting statues of both Mythal and Fen’Harel guarding. We know that Mythal was the most motherly towards the People -- compared to the likes of Andruil and Falon’Din, and their statues and iconography surrounding these locations was not only completely unexpected and out-of-place, but as though those mines had been re-purposed for protection or safety for the People. The undiscovered location within the Titan in The Descent DLC is known as the Uncharted Abyss.

Quick note on the Abyss: “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 This fragment is where Andraste goes to speak to the Maker for the first time and convinces him to forgive mankind. It describes a beautiful temple deep under the earth surrounded by emerald waters. In which we find a sea called The Buried Sea within the Titan in The Descent. Though I feel like the Forgotten Ones aren’t in that particular Titan, they may be in a fallen Titan hidden away and in Uthenera, a death sleep within the mines Solas asked them to briefly return to. Which is also similar to how the Protheans in Mass Effect were stored, only in cryo stasis. I do feel as though Solas did not intend to leave them this way, but his battle with the gods left him unable to return to them once it was done. What with the Veil stripping the realm of its natural state and all of its magic. We also know that the Evanuris did not like to linger within the Titans. Andruil, for example, would hunt (likely dwarves and creatures) within the Titans, and also the Forgotten Ones, but returned more and more lyrium addled. “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 It’s also worth noting, that when the time came when the Forgotten Ones needed a place that was safe and to hide, Mythal had removed the location from Andruil’s memories.

Other such information on the Forgotten Ones that strengthens the idea for me that they were never gods, nor malicious, but rather the opposing forces of the People against the Evanuris:

“The script is an ancient elven dialect. Upon further observation, it twists, the words becoming visible: There are no gods. There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon. Those with will to earn dominance over others gain title not by nature but by deed. I am Geldauran, and I refuse those who would exert will upon me. Let Andruil's bow crack, let June's fire grow cold. Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery.” -- Codex entry: Geldauran's Claim

A Forgotten One enforcing the idea that there were no gods, but rather extremely powerful people whom ensnared and enslaved the rest. That the Forgotten Ones themselves should not be viewed as a pantheon either, but rather a powerful opposing force in their own right.

"In the story, Fen'Harel was captured by the hunting goddess, Andruil. He had angered her by hunting the halla without her blessing, and she tied him to a tree and declared that he would have to serve in her bed for a year and a day to pay her back. But as she made camp that night, the dark god Anaris found them, and Anaris swore that he would kill Fen'Harel for crimes against the Forgotten Ones. Andruil and Anaris decided that they would duel for the right to claim Fen'Harel. He called out to Anaris during the fight and told him of a flaw in Andruil's armor just above the hip, and Anaris stabbed Andruil in the side, and she fell. Then Fen'Harel told Anaris that he owed the Dread Wolf for the victory and ought to get his freedom. Anaris was so affronted by Fen'Harel's audacity that he turned and shouted insults at the prisoner, and so he did not see Andruil, injured but alive, rise behind him and attack with her great bow. Anaris fell with a golden arrow in his back, badly injured, and while both gods slumbered to heal their wounds, Fen'Harel chewed through his ropes and escaped." --Felassan, to Briala

Note: This is a story being told within the book and should be regarded as such, a tale including myth rather than entirely fact -- however, it is also important in understanding the Forgotten Ones lived amongst the Evanuris, and were also powerful. This is also likely referencing to Fen’Harel’s relationship with the People prior to the Evanuris’ plot to kill Mythal.

“The carvings tell the story of the Betrayal. The Dread Wolf tricking all the gods away from the world. Long ago, there were two clans of gods. The Creators looked after the People. The Forgotten Ones preyed upon us. And one god who was neither. Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. He was kin to the Creators, and in the old days, often helped them in their endless war against the Forgotten Ones. We barely even remember all their names, let alone who struck the first blow, who was wrong… Fen'Harel was clever. He could walk among both clans of gods without fear, and both believed he was one of them. He went to each side, and told them the other had forged a terrible weapon, a blade that would end the war. He told the Creators it was forged in the heavens, and the Forgotten Ones, that it was hidden in the abyss. And when the gods went seeking it, he sealed them both in their realms forever. Now he alone is left in the world.” --Merrill to Hawke during Memento of the Dalish

Again, this is a perfect example of the tale having been turned on its head throughout history. That the Evanuris are believed to be the innocent party and that it was the Forgotten Ones who were wicked. Come Trespasser we discover it was the Evanuris who were in fact malicious and cruel and enslaved their People. Therefore, such tales can be viewed from the opposite end. That what we hear and read of the Forgotten Ones is that they have been mostly erased -- and when not -- smeared by propaganda.

And a little silly, but I love this one: A Bottles of Thedas is the Abyssal Peach: "Not so much filtered as dredged. Should be kept in a cold, dark place. Also locked. Forgotten as well, if one is wise." This could be a cheeky reference to the Forgotten Ones locked away inside of a Titan. There are a lot of other codex entries that link to and from this topic and I may go into more detail at a later date if people are interested! I also have a very tinfoily hat as to how the Blight is potentially related to the Forgotten Ones -- but that will need another post entirely. Thanks so much for reading, if you got this far through all of my rambling! And if you’re not quite done, see my collaborative theory post with @kita-lavellan on The Old Gods HERE!

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princeofwishes · 6 years

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patience

In the Void, patience is a virtue. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, waiting for you aside from your siblings in Sithis. You instead must wait for them. Husbands wait for their assassin-wives, brothers for their sisters, Speakers for their Silencers. Sithis is waiting, in his vast cold, empty void. Yet the Dread Father, unlike many, is not left waiting for his beloved. The Night Mother has long since joined her husband and their children... it’s a feeling many souls would kill for.

Lucien Lachance does not consider himself a particularly impatient soul. He’s waited long enough to join his Dread Father; he can wait for his silencer to join him. Orpheus, his darling friend, has hopefully many years left in him before joining them in the void, but in their line of work, anything can happen. However, he’s fairly certain that his silencer will be along presently. Until that moment, he has time. There is nothing but time in the Void.

One century passes and Lucien hears from his family members that Orpheus Clytemnestra is the best they’ve ever seen. He’s still relatively young by elven standards, so his reflexes remain sharp as the blade of woe. They say that the bosmer-imperial still uses Lucien’s dagger to cement his kills. Lucien has never been more pleased. His ever-loyal silencer, killing in his name... Wait a moment. In his name? That’s not possible; his brother killed in the name of Sithis, as did they all. What makes him so special, that Lucien Lachance deserves to be honoured above Sithis? Impure thoughts like these are treasonous. Best not to dwell on his living brothers any longer. Old feelings might just die hard.

Two centuries go by and Lucien watches in horror as the remnants of the Dark Brotherhood flood the void. He is, of course, elated to see his family once more, but the circumstances they report put him in a foul mood. Arquen reports that Cheydinhal has been annihilated, and that she’s certain no one left the sanctuary alive... except for their listener. He isn’t sure if he likes what that means, both for their family and for whatever poor sibling escaped the disaster. Three others accompany her as well; Lucien cares little for meeting any of them. He’s not ashamed to admit that he’s hoping his beloved silencer has finally joined him. They didn’t exactly part on pleasant terms, and he has missed the other man at his side. More importantly, he needs to make right their final argument. And after two centuries in the void, he’s certain that he’s had enough time to plan a proper apology. Unfortunately, he is shaken from his hopes by Arquen. She places a hand on his shoulder and murmurs that he shouldn’t look too hard for their brother. Orpheus is their listener; he was not at home when the attack happened. Well. Isn’t that something? Orpheus is the new listener; he’s never been more proud to call the man brother. However... he’s concerned about the timeline. Orpheus is a hybrid- they live for a longer time, yes, but not much beyond that. And the man had never been skilled with magic... was he corrupted? Lucien growled in his throat. If Vincente got to his precious silencer before Lucien ordered his murder, there would be hell to pay.

Three centuries pass and Lucien Lachance still has yet to see his silencer-turned-listener. His brothers and sisters in the Void trickle in slowly, as the last stragglers are systematically murdered. He watches the final sanctuary in Falkreath turn against the old ways, only to be jerked back by the newest Listener, an imperial woman by the name of Anabiel Darkblood. And when she comes of rank, he is her spectral assassin, her ghostly blade to strike fear into all of Skyrim. It is through her that Lucien sees the light of day once more. The world is every bit as calloused as he remembers it to be, with the minor exception of the sheer lack of oblivion gates dotting the landscape. Instead, he fights massive dragons alongside his new listener and watched her shape their family into something to be feared. When he returns to the void, he feels hollow inside. There is no one truly waiting for his return; Anabiel is the closest thing he’s had to a friend in decades.

She listens to him, Anabiel, and does her best to learn from his mistakes. He tells her of Mathieu Bellamont and his purifications. He tells her of watching his family in Cyrodil crumble and the fear of losing their way of life in Skyrim. He even caves one day and tells her of Orpheus, and how he fears the man has been lost to their Dread Father due to filthy vampires or Hircine’s curse. Lucien pours his knowledge into her and she keeps begging for more.

Anabiel summons him one afternoon, and she looks... well, she looks frightened. Her blank gaze is wide and her hair is dishevelled. Her constant companion, Teldryn Sero, is patting her back and reminding her to breathe. Something has upset his last listener. Lucien unsheathes his blade blindly and whips around the room to find the source of her troubles. No one threatens The Family and lives to tell the tale. He fails to notice their surroundings- the lilting voice of Elisef the Fair in the hall beyond the open door, the fine clothes Anabiel is clad in (taking the place of her uniform, how unprofessional), the incredibly expensive furniture his listener sits on. His mind is only focused on protecting what precious little family they have left, especially since they’re down a jester in the sanctuary now. He hadn’t liked that particular murder, as it violated the wishes of Sithis, but Anabiel was adamant that it was in the Family’s best interest.

Teldryn stops his frantic search with a look. Something on the Morag Tong member’s face tells Lucien that the situation is internal. Lucien knows the influence he has over the girl, for that is what she is at the end of it all, a very frightened girl, and he reaches out to her.

“What ails you, sister?”

The imperial woman shudders and points a shaky finger in the direction of the side table. On it rests a staff that positively radiates Daedric magic. He examines it closer and catches sight of the engravings on the tip. Sheogorath. There is understanding in his voice when he turns back to his blind charge.

“Surely a child of Sithis is not tempted by a Daedric prince. You know your place in our family, correct?”

She is silent for a moment and Lucien wonders privately just how much damage Astrid’s leadership did to the Dread Father’s favoured ones. Finally, with great effort and the whispered support of her elf, Anabiel whispers out a confession:

“I found your silencer, Lucien. Orpheus, right? Well... he’s not the man you once knew. He’s... changed, now.”

Lucien freezes and it all begins to make sense. Orpheus had always been prone to madness, he remembers as much from the restless evenings he spent with his huddled, sobbing silencer on his chest. He remembers the frantic movements, the inane ramblings in high stress situations. He wants to kick himself. Of course Sheogorath took Orpheus. He was the perfect specimen of controlled chaos; the perfect body for the mad god.

“Sister... are you absolutely certain? I’d hate to think you’re lying to me, your brother in the void.”

She nods slowly. Her face softens and her shoulders sag.

“Remember when you told me about your feelings for him? And how the man loved a priest named Martin instead? Sheogorath mentioned the same man and how he was the best man he’d ever known. There was no mention of you, Lucien... I’m so sorry.”

Lucien feels his heart shatter, or rather, what’s left of it.

#character: orpheus clymenestra #lucien lachance #tes oblivion #martin is mentioned #my characters #rambling #character: anabiel darkblood #sheogorath #hok

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