Halam'shivanas

Three months had passed since Corypheus's defeat, and Aoife had finally reached the Free Marches. She'd sent word to her clan in advance so they knew to expect her. It had been so long since she'd seen them. How much time had passed since the Conclave? Seven months? Eight? It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was finally returning home. Oh, the others had protested of course, especially Cassandra, but they would get over it in time. The Inquisition had succeeded in its goal. Like the original Inquisition of old, it could now lay down its arms. Whether it actually did so or not was up to Cassandra, most likely, but Aoife found that with the threat of Corypheus gone for good, she didn't much care what happened to the Inquisition anymore. She hadn't wanted to get swept up in it in the first place, but she'd helped, she'd done her duty, because she knew that Cassandra and the others desperately needed her help, needed the Anchor. And she'd wanted to help, wanted to save the world.

And now the world was safe again, and she was coming home.

Things might have turned out differently if Solas hadn't disappeared after the final battle. Solas. Aoife felt the familiar well of conflicting emotions rising up in her all over again at the mere mention of his name in her mind. Anger. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. He'd laid the revelation of the vallaslin on her and then left her before she could even begin to process what he'd told her. Now she felt sick at the thought that she'd let him remove her tattoo. Her vallaslin had been a part of her, of her identity, and now that part of her was gone. Even if Solas was right about the markings, it didn't change what they meant to her people now, what they'd meant to her.

The Dalish had gotten a lot wrong, but who was Solas to judge when he frequently showed such disdain for her people? He cared more for relics and bones of a dead past than for the living, breathing descendants of Arlathan that yet lived. He was incredibly selfish and arrogant and...so complex and passionate and loving. When she thought of the nights they'd spent together, wandering the Fade, exploring the memories of ancient places, then waking in each others' arms to make new memories of their own...Heat crept into Aoife's cheeks at the recollection. Solas might have spent much of his time in the Fade, but he hadn't been completely unlearned in matters of the flesh either.

Aoife shook her head. She was almost there. It was time to stop daydreaming and move on with her life already. Solas was gone. He'd left without a word, and he'd given her nothing to suggest that he'd ever return to her again. She'd been the Herald. She'd been the Inquisitor...and she'd been Solas's lover, but that was all past now. She was still First to Keeper Deshanna of Clan Lavellan, and someday she would take her place as Keeper and tend to her people, her clan, her family.

She'd learned much about her people's history since the Conclave. Much of it would not be easy for the clan to hear or to accept, but she would do her best to teach them, to comfort them and guide them to a reconciliation with the past, and convince them to look to the future if she could. It would be better for the Dalish, for all elvhen, to seek happiness in the present and build a better future than pine for a past glory long since dead and buried. Arlathan was gone, but the People were not. We will build our future, and it will be greater than anything that has come before. We will learn from our mistakes. We will move on. And we will endure. Mala suledin nadas.

"Aneth ara, lethallan!" exclaimed a familiar voice.

Aoife shook herself out of her reverie in time to catch her lifelong best friend, Eirlys, in a hug. Eirlys was trailed by two hunters, obviously a welcoming party of sorts, intended to guide her to the current campsite of the clan.

"It's been so long," cried Eirlys. "Keeper Deshanna is beside herself with joy at your return to us, and..."

Eirlys's words trailed off as she stared at Aoife's face, and Aoife didn't have to wonder at the reason for her best friend's incredulous look. Her face, once adorned with the beautiful pale blue vallaslin of Sylaise, was now as bare as that of any city elf from an alienage. It must be quite a shock for Eirlys to see her now like this, her face naked and bare as a child's.

"Mythal! Your face, Aoife, your vallaslin...What in Creators' name happened?"

"It's a very long story, Eirlys, and you will hear it very soon. No doubt the Keeper will have me speak of my time at the Conclave and everything that came after to the whole clan but not tonight. I'm tired from traveling. Please, lead me to the Keeper. I have much to discuss with her."

Eirlys nodded, and the two hunters that accompanied her set off into the woods, with the two women trailing not far behind. Aoife didn't miss the uneasy expressions that crept onto the faces of the two hunters as they looked at her strangely bare countenance. She didn't blame them. Vallaslin was supposed to be permanent after all. Only some sort of magic could ever remove it, but who would choose such a thing? Creators, I was so foolish, so rash. If I could take back that night, I would. I'd rebuke his blatant disregard for his people, for my people.

Aoife struggled gamely to keep her expression stoic as she, Eirlys, and the hunters emerged into the large clearing where the clan had currently settled. Every eye turned to her. Every eye marked her bare face. Aoife did her best to ignore everyone but the Keeper for the moment. And there Deshanna was now, hurrying to greet her First after such a long time away, her green robes flowing behind her like a pennant.

"Da'len, we are overjoyed at your safe return," said Deshanna, as she embraced Aoife.

Deshanna had been more than just Aoife's Keeper; she'd been like a mother to her ever since she'd come to the Lavellan clan at the tender age of seven years old, when her magic had just begun to manifest. For twenty years, Deshanna had instructed Aoife in the lore and history of the Dalish, in the ways of magic, but she'd also treated Aoife like the daughter she'd never had. At a venerable ninety years of age, Deshanna was elderly, even for the Dalish, who generally had longer lifespans than the shemlen and the elves who lived in their cities. Before Deshanna had sent Aoife to the Conclave, she had confided in her that she thought it would not be long until Falon'din came to guide her through the Beyond. When that day eventually came, Aoife would take up her role as Keeper; it was no wonder Deshanna was so glad to see her return.

Yet there was still a sprightly energy in Deshanna. Despite her frail body, her green eyes were vibrant, and her long, silver hair was pulled back into an elegant bun that would make any Orlesian noblewoman jealous.

It was clear from her expression that Deshanna noted Aoife's absent vallaslin, but she did not comment. Instead, she turned to the rest of the clan to speak.

"Mythal has guided our First back to us safely. Tonight let us celebrate her homecoming! I know that you are all curious at what has transpired since the Conclave, but have patience. Aoife and I have much to discuss. Tomorrow there will be time for Aoife to share her tale."

It was clear that many in the clan were not completely satisfied at being told they had to wait to have their curiosity sated, but the Keeper's word was final. Gradually, every man, woman, and child went back to their business and spared Aoife only an occasional curious glance. Eirlys, meanwhile, had never left Aoife's side, and only departed at a word from the Keeper.

Once within the privacy of the Keeper's aravel, Aoife set down her traveling pack and allowed herself to breathe a deep sigh of relief. Finally, she was home. After so many months spent in the dreary confines of Skyhold, it felt strange to be within the cozy wooden interior of an aravel again. It surprised Aoife to realize that she'd actually gotten used to spending so much time indoors at Skyhold and that she would have to relearn her appreciation for the nomadic lifestyle of the Dalish.

"Tea, da'len?" Deshanna offered her First a delicately carved wooden cup.

Aoife inhaled the sweet scent of the freshly brewed tea-something which the Dalish could only obtain through trade with humans-and murmured her thanks.

"Let's get the obvious out of the way first, shall we?"

Aoife nodded. "I've much to tell you, Keeper. First, know that I chose to give up my vallaslin in a moment of great distress on my part. It is an action I've since come to regret. I'd like very much to have my vallaslin restored, if you'll permit it, Keeper."

"Only powerful magic could have removed your vallaslin," said the Keeper. "Please, tell me what happened."

So Aoife told the Keeper everything that had transpired since the time of the Conclave. The next day, sitting in the honored place of the clan storyteller, with her people gathered around her, watching her attentively, she told the same story again, albeit an abridged version. She left out much of what she'd told the Keeper about what she'd learned of the history of the elvhen. Deshanna agreed that such knowledge could keep, for now, until such a time as they both agreed it was appropriate to share with the rest of the clan, maybe not until the next arlathvhen. Aoife knew only one thing for certain: that if the rest of the Dalish believed what she had to tell them, things would change. The Champion of Kirkwall had spoken about change, and Aoife had thought at the time that Hawke was very wise for his years, and for a shemlen.

Not long after Aoife had returned to her clan, the Keeper sat down with her to apply her new vallaslin. For reasons she had told only to the Keeper so far, she'd chosen to receive Mythal's markings this time, instead of Sylaise's. After what had occurred in the Temple of Mythal, it seemed highly appropriate. It took four excruciating hours, and Aoife endured the process in silence, as she had before, as any Dalish ready for the responsibilities that came with adulthood would. Crying out in pain meant that one was still a child, though receiving the vallaslin was extremely painful. And yet, at the same time, it was a purifying experience as well. What had Cassandra said about the vigil she had taken to become a Seeker? Faith realized.

Aoife had come face to face with Mythal, and though she was not what she had expected, she had still met a Creator. If Mythal still lived, then the other Creators still did as well, even if they were trapped in the Beyond. Even if Mythal hadn't been what she expected from a goddess, Aoife had to believe that Mythal and the other Creators still looked out for their people, for the elvhen. Aoife had seen what losing faith could do to a person. Yet, Leliana now sat on the Sunburst Throne, faith redeemed. Aoife had come face to face with a god, or the next closest thing to a god, and she was forever changed as a result. And the voices from the Well still whispered to her. Someday, Mythal might come to her again, demand her service. And Aoife would have no choice but to obey. But there could be joy in service, in duty. Was it not her duty to serve her own clan as Keeper? Now it was her duty to serve Mythal, and she would do so gladly, if that day ever came. Halam'shivanas.

The sweet sacrifice of duty.

Solas watched her from the shadowy depths of the forest. It appeared she was now Keeper, the old Keeper having died a year ago, he'd learned. In her vestments of silver and green, with her heartwood staff, she certainly looked the part of a Dalish Keeper now. Aoife roamed the forest alone today. It appeared she was gathering herbs. She was humming. The sound of her voice stirred things, dangerous things, deep inside him. She was so close. He could reach out and touch her. But she didn't see him, didn't sense him. It was better this way.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he studied her face. He'd removed her vallaslin, and what had she done? Her face now bore markings like those of Abelas at the Temple. She was marked by Mythal. Solas would have laughed softly at the appropriateness of the gesture had he not been so infuriated by the sight of the pale blue lines. But as he watched her tread the winding path, her movements as lithe and graceful as he remembered, his anger faded away. She was so beautiful, as beautiful as he remembered. Oh, how he longed to caress the soft skin of her face once more, trace the gentle curve of her throat. Her touch had awoken something in him he'd long thought dormant. Leaving her had been the most painful thing he'd done since the rebellion. Even now, he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing.

Yet it was too late, wasn't it? Solas couldn't ignore her swollen belly. She was with child. He'd even observed the father, a Dalish healer, probably the one she was gathering the herbs for now. His name was Emrys. From what he'd observed, the man was...decent. He seemed to care for her a great deal. He'd witnessed the pair of them laughing together, holding hands...At the thought of the other things the two must do together, Solas felt an unfamiliar twinge in his stomach. Anger flared within him again. Why couldn't he control his feelings? More than anything, he wanted to reach out to her, grab her, make her his once more.

She is yours. She will always be yours. She drank from the Well...

Solas pushed that thought away. No, that was one thing he could never do to her. He'd left for a reason. He didn't want to hurt her, not anymore than he already had. It was better this way. It had to be. And now she had a family. He couldn't take that away from her. Why had he even come? It seemed he was a masochist, enjoyed tormenting himself with the sight of what he could never have. If only he could kiss her one last time, feel her soft lips yearning against his, her slender body pressed against him, enflaming him, but to reveal himself would be to cause her more pain. He couldn't do that.

"Ir abelas, ma'salath," he murmured. "Ma'arlath."

Solas disappeared into the shadows.

For just a moment, Aoife felt as if she'd heard a familiar voice whispering to her, and the nape of her neck tingled. For just a moment, she felt his presence again, as if he were watching her, but that was impossible. Aoife stared into the gloom between the trees. There was nothing. As she turned her head, though, from the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she'd seen the shape of a great white wolf loping away into the forest.

A/N: Thanks for reading. I don't usually write fanfiction, but this was a story I felt I had to tell about my poor Solasmancing Lavellan. Hers was my first ever playthrough of DA:I, and it was like a punch to the gut in the best possible way.