Author's Note. Important!
For you new readers who don't know who I am, or are unaware, please pay attention.
I highly recommend that you read my other story "I am Aedan of Highever" before you read this one. His story is canon with this one.
It's about my Hero of Ferelden. And if you'd be so kind as to leave a review, I'd appreciate it.
~]I[~
~Leaving Clan Lavellan~
The rains lightly pattered down from silver skies and gently on to the earth. The rains clouds that flew over the Free Marches had been kind this season. The little silver drops fell from the leaves, upon the branches and down the trunks that stood over their grave.
Smoke gently puffed from Rajmael's sylvan wood pipe as he stood over the Vhenadhal Trees that watched over the resting places of Evanura and Nethras, the two people he loved most. Evanura was his heart's desire that he could never have, and Nethras, who was one of their best hunters and was more of a brother than a friend to Rajmael.
His clasped the pendant that hung from his neck as he remembered the times they had together. It was a brilliant amber pendant with a silver, heart-shaped ironwood lead set inside. The Dalish were never ones to possess riches, but this necklace he wore was his most treasured possession because it was given to him by these two who loved him so much.
How bitterly sweet it was for husband and wife to rest side-by-side with one another. In life the two of them were so in love, and they loved their child just as much. Melancholy always washed over him when he came here, and every time he did Rajmael couldn't help but ask himself "Could I have saved them?"
Rajmael doused the flame in his pipe when heard the faint, gentle footsteps of his teacher approaching him from behind. "Rajmael, I'm sorry, but it is time." She called with an undercurrent of sadness in her voice. "They will be waiting here for you when you return."
Rajmael turned to face his adopted mother-figure. Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan had been Keeper and guide to the Lavellan clan for many decades and seasons, and yet it always shocked Rajmael how young she looked, though he'd never dare ask how old she really was. Deshana's figure was quite shapely, too. All her feminine assets had suffered very little from age and suffered few wrinkles. Her brilliant silver hair was tied into an intricate braid that went down the length of her back. Her deep, smoky green eyes that were full of wisdom and care, and at this moment, melancholy.
Rajmael had seen shemlen women who weren't yet close to her age like grapes, they shriveled dry and hard with no life in them. But Keeper Deshanna aged like an oak, she grew more powerful with each year that was added to her. He would have hit on her constantly if she wasn't like a mother to him.
Normally, Rajmael would make an off-color joke about her age and then get an expected smack upside the head, but he was too nervous to make an attempt today.
"Ma nuvenin, Keeper." The younger elf acknowledged.
"What, that's it?" The Keeper asked curiously. "No smart comments? No tasteless jokes?"
"Not today. Seeing how tense you look, I might give you a stroke." Rajmael finally gave in. "And I don't have the time to enjoy watching you die today."
"That's better." The Keeper smiled at the young man before her. The young boy who was like her son had now grown up to be a capable man, and he was now off to go into the turbulent world of the warring shemlen. As much as it hurt her and the clan to see him go, she knew that what was happening at this Conclave to determine that fates of mages and Templars would also affect the fates of all elves, in the wilderness and in the cities. "Go, now Da'len. The clan and your family are waiting for you."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going." Rajmael obliged sarcastically. As he walked away, Deshanna felt a twinge in her heart as tears welled in her eyes. Like this would be the last time she would ever see her adopted son again. Dear Mythal, she prayed that she hadn't sent him to his death.
~XoXoXo~
Rajmael entered the tent that he grew up under throughout his childhood. He saw the woman of this humble home was hastily packing Rajmael's travel kit. Her name was Ariva, and she was the woman who raised Rajmael as a son, as well as the clan healer. She was moving with haste, and muttering unhappily beneath her breath as she packed each item into the satchel. While she did a good job of it, it wasn't a task she did happily.
Most members of the clan showed Ariva the same respect they would a bear: by giving her a wide berth and seeking her out only when absolutely necessary. While she was the clan's healer, and an excellent one at that, with her temper, she was just as likely to break someone's neck as well as heal them, then break their neck again. Being raised by her was a joy that almost every elf in the Dalish clans was happy to not have, but was Rajmael's to suffer.
Despite being one of the clan elders, Ariva still retained the beauty of her youth, and the years of being a mother and wife had done nothing to dampen her fiery disposition. Her hair was still black with a blue sheen in the light without a trace of grey in it, and her vallaslin which honored Sylaise the Hearthkeeper had no wrinkles to disturb it on her face, despite the fact she had her all too familiar scowl on it.
"Here, take this. I suspect you'll need it." Ariva stated, practically shoving the pack into Rajmael's hand. "I packed you some food and provisions. Try to ration it or it won't last you a week."
"Thank you."
"There's also a halla brush and some balm for your halla." The matronly elf pushed. "His coat needs to be brushed every few days to prevent any bugs getting into his fur, and the balm should keep his antlers from getting itchy."
"I know." Rajmael assured.
"I also used some of my private stores to provide you some healing poultices. Use them only when absolutely necessary, the ingredients were very hard to find." Ariva insisted.
"I understand." Normally, Rajmael would be too scared to approach her when Ariva was acting so agitated, but seeing after everything she had been through, he understood.
Ariva's usually prickly demeanor melted away, revealing the caring and emotionally distraught woman beneath. "Rajmael, please. Please, just come home safely. The clan has already lost much, and I couldn't bare to lose you as well. Please come home."
Rajmael hugged his foster mother closely, unable to see her tearing up. After everything she has been through, he hated the thought of causing her any more distress. "I promise, I will be back. The clan is my home, and I will return to it."
"Then go. Say your farewells and do what you need to do." Ariva bade, wiping the tears from her eyes. She hugged her adopted son one last time and watched him go. She prayed to Mythal and Ghilain'nan that he would return safely.
Rajmael walked through the camp and graciously accepted the fond farewells of his clan, there was just one last person he had to greet before he left. He approached her aravel with care, not wanting to upset her more than he already had. She sat on her deck, her back to him, with her arms folded as she pouted.
"Eva? Da'vhenan." Rajmael called gently. She ignored him, she was just like her mother. "I am leaving now, Eva."
Eva turned to face him with tears about to spill out of her big green eyes. She clutched to him and buried her face in his chest. "Please, please don't go, Rajmael! I don't want you to leave!" The little girl sobbed.
Rajmael hugged the little girl and rocked her gently. "I don't want to go either, Eva. I wish I didn't have to." He truly didn't want to. Eva was Evanura and Nethras' only child, and Rajmael swore to always keep her safe. She was like a daughter to him.
"Why do you have to?"
"Because, da'vhenan, this Conclave between the mages and Templars is going to have an impact on this world." Rajmael explained in the hopes of easing her. "And the Keeper knows that this will affect the lives of elves everywhere. We need to know what happens there."
"But why do you have to go? You are Dalish! You belong with us." The little girl cried with tears in her green eyes.
"Well, Eva," Rajmael chuckled as he tried to hide his own pain. "It's because I'm the best combatant in the clan and the best looking. It wouldn't do for our people to send nothing less than the best to show those shems what they lack."
Eva looked up at Rajmael with her emerald eyes full of hope. "Will you come back?"
Rajmael hugged the child to him closely. "I promise, da'vhenan. Even if the sky is ripped asunder and demons lay siege to the world, I will always come back."
Rajmael finally found the strength to leave Eva and made his way over to a small shrine to his gods. He piously knelt and made an offering of flowers before the humble altar and made a prayer. Each of their gods was carved into a totem in the form of their patron animal, Rajmael didn't need to pray to all nine at the moment, just the ones he needed the most right now. "Mythal, protector and destroyer, watch over me as I walk from my heart and into foreign lands. Andruil, greatest of all hunters, grant me the strength to walk well that I may return. Dirthamen, keeper of secrets, grant me the wisdom to act with caution and certainty. And should the worst come to pass, and the Dread Wolf comes my way, I ask thee, Falon'Din, friend of the dead, to grant me peace."
Mythal's totem was carved in the shape of a dragon, the most powerful of all creatures of the fairer sex, just like the mother goddess. Andruil's was carved as an owl compact while snatching a hare in its talons. While the Owl was the hunter goddess' messenger, the hare was her patron animal because it was one of the most difficult animals to shoot. Falon'din's was a carving of a hunched over raven, an animal that acted as both a herald and guide to the dead.
Dirthamen, the god wisdom, secrets and fortune was Rajmael's patron deity, as he desired to find lost elven secrets or treasures that would help restore what the elves had lost. Dirthamen's totem was carved into the shape of a bear, a powerful yet quiet and humble beast, and the only animal that kept the secrets that Dirthamen taught.
Rajmael looked to the last totem in the back, a wolf facing backwards from the rest of the pantheon representing Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. He faced away from the rest of his fellow Creators so as to keep his fangs and trickery away from the clan. Rajmael carefully placed a small offering in the front of the Elvhen trickster god, as to keep the wolf from turning his snout on him and as to not earn the wolf's ire.
Rajmael rose from his prayer and made his way to the stable where his faithful halla was waiting for him. When he arrived there, Rajmael was gladdened to see his foster father, Junnarel waiting for him. Junnarel was one of the best hunters amongst all the Dalish clans. He stood tall and proud amongst his fellow elves, yet he always carried himself with such humility. Everyone in the clan looked up to him as a friend, elder, and protector. But to Rajmael, Junnarel was his father, having raised him alongside Nethras as a second son. He taught Rajmael everything he needed to know, not only survival, but about what it truly meant to be a Dalish elf
"Have you said your farewells, Rajmael?" Junnarel asked in his deep, gentle voice
"Yes. Though I doubt Ariva is ready to see me go." Rajmael answered regretfully.
"Given what...happened, I cannot say her feeling are unjustified." Junnarel sympathized with his wife's feelings. "But are you sure you are ready to go?"
"I...I am not sure, Junnarel." Rajmael answered honestly. "Clan Lavellan is my life, my whole world. I am not sure I want to leave it behind. Especially Eva."
"The world is changing around us, Rajmael. The human Chantry is falling, and the world's mages are fighting back. What Keeper Deshana said is true, the world is changing." Junnarel counseled. "Whether the shemlen choose to acknowledge it or not, the elves are a part of this world, and whatever is happening now will effect us."
"I know." Rajmael sighed, as if to convince himself.
Junnarel placed his hand on Rajmael's shoulder confidently. "This is what you've been training for your whole life, Rajmael. And there is no one amongst all the clans that I would trust this mission to. It is why you bare the vallaslin of Dirthamen on your face."
Rajmael unconsciously traced his finger along the tattoo inked into his face. The day he received it from Keeper Deshana, he asked for Dirthamen's symbol to declare the path and god he had chosen to follow. Dirthamen was the elven god of fortune, secrets and knowledge. Rajmael had chosen Dirthamen as his patron god out of all the Creators in the hopes of acquiring knowledge and rediscovering secrets for his people. This mission most certainly fit that criteria.
"Remember your training, and try not to let your past cloud your judgment." Junnarel said seriously.
Rajmael knew what his foster-father was talking about. "Don't worry. I won't stay there any longer than I need to be. Once I have learned all that there is to know, I'll immediately return to the clan."
"Then go now, and may Ghilain'nan speed your journey. Ariva and I will watch over Eva until you return." Junnarel hugged his foster sun and gave him his halla's reigns.
Neiren stood as tall and as proud as a Vhenadal tree, and just like the tree, the Halla was a great part of the Elvhen culture. In the days of the Dales they were the proud mounts that carried their Emerald Knights to patrol their borders. These were no beasts of burden however, they only assisted the Dalish because the Dalish knew how to care for them and treated them as friends and great friends they were.
Neiren was taller than a human stallion and twice as intelligent. He had a coat of fur so white he was nearly blinding and his antlers appeared to be mad of silver, Neiren was a creature of rare beauty even among the Dalish. Sometimes Rajmael some times found it a wonder that such magnificent beast bonded with him.
"Hey, Neiren…" Rajmael addressed while preparing to mount him. "Ready to go out for a…uh, adventure?"
Neiren lowed in response and pointed his snout forward, pointing at something behind Rajmael. It was Keeper Deshanna.
"Before you go, Rajmael. Take this." The Keeper bade as she handed him an item carefully wrapped in furs. When Rajmael unwrapped it he couldn't believe his eyes. "This sword has existed since before the time of the Fall of Arlathan. Take it with you, and use it well."
The young elf gazed at this priceless piece of elven history. It was a single-edged sword with a slight curve in the blade which made it an excellent cutting weapon with great stabbing power. Forged with an ancient magic and technique long lost to history, the blade was made of ancient sylvan wood, white as snow, harder than diamonds with an edge as sharp as pain and ancient elven glyphs glowed along the edge of the blade. The cross-guard was in the shape of raven wings that spread out from the base of the blade. The handle was wrapped in Great Bear leather with the elven prayer for the dead etched into it, while the pommel was set with a dragon's fang.
This sword was Vir Enasalin, the Path to Victory. It was one of the most treasured relics that Clan Lavellan possessed. Rajmael couldn't believe she would actually hand this to him. "Keeper, are you sure you want to hand this weapon over to me?"
"No one else is trained for the use of this weapon as you are. This sword carries the strength and history of our people, Rajmael. May they protect you, and go with Dirthamen's wisdom." The Keeper put a sly smile on her face. "And if you lose it, I'll know. And then I will hunt you down and crucify you to a tree."
"Awww, you do care. Be still my heart." Rajmael laughed as strapped the sword to his waist and mounted Neirin. "Dareth'shiral, arla' a vhenan. Farewell, home of my heart."
Junnarel tried to comfort his wife as while she held Eva closely to her. Tears streamed down Eva and Ariva's eyes as they watched Rajmael's departure. Junnarel had to will himself to not do the same. as the head hunter and a clan elder, he would not been seen as a wailing woman, even though his own heart hurt at the sight of seeing him leave. Their family had already lost much, now they had to watch their second son go off into the world that of the shemlen and their Chantry. Their world was unkind to the elves as history and their own life experience had proven. He prayed that Mythal would watch over him. Their clan could not stand the thought of losing another son.
~At the Conclave in the Temple of Sacred Ashes~
These shemlen were even more idiotic than he thought. Rajmael was worried that his facial tattoos would give him away, but to these Chantry guards he was just another hired mercenary. Well, with all the mages and Templars flocking to the Conclave they're probably more concerned with a battle breaking out in the middle of the Temple than one lowly elven heathen.
With so many skirts on both sides, he couldn't tell if some of them were pretty women and ugly men, or ugly women and pretty men, it was confounding. Especially considering how good looking some of them looked in those skirts. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to check under the hood. The Conclave had begun.
It was a massive gathering in the heart of the Temple, mages and their representatives on one side, and the Templars and their commanders on the other. As to be expected with mages and Templars, both sides started arguing like cats and dogs being locked in the same kennel. They began spitting insults and threats at one another, it would have come to all out fighting if the leaders of both sides hadn't ordered their peers down.
"This is ridiculous, Knight-Commander Marteu!" One of the Templars shouted. "The purpose of the Order is to guard and hunt these mages down, not make deals with them. They should all be rounded and put in chains!"
"I'd like to see you act so high and mighty if the Champion of Kirkwall was here!" One of the mages challenged.
"The Champion of Kirkwall!?" The same knight-lieutenant spat angrily. "That traitorous blasphemer who dared interfere with the Templars sacred duty? He was friends with the apostate who killed Grand-Cleric Elthina!"
"Hawke stood for the mages when you Templars started using the Rite of Tranquility to lobotomize mages into servants and turned Kirkwall into a police-state!" The same mage argued.
"ENOUGH!" Knight-Commander Marteu ordered.
"Knight-Commander…." His subordinate questioned.
"I said enough!" The knight-commander turned to address the Conclave. "I've heard the name "Hawke" on several lips this week. Many of us blame the Champion for the events in Kirkwall, which sparked a war and hurled all Thedas into chaos. But can we truly fault Hawke for what he did? Here was a poor refugee from Ferelden who came to the Free Marches fleeing the Blight. Coming from a family of apostates, Hawke must have spent his life hiding from Templars, hearing about the abuses to which mages under the care of the Circle were subjected. Make no mistake, there were abuses. We will never find a peaceful solution to this conflict until we admit that we were partially responsible."
"The Champion had no right to interfere!" The Templar continued to argue. "We have dominion over the mages by divine right!"
"Are the Champion's actions during the mage uprising so hard to understand, given all I have said?" The Knight-Commander continued. "Following the destruction of the chantry, Knight-Commander Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment and called for the execution of every mage in Kirkwall. It was not right; another injustice added to an already lengthy list. But after Meredith's treatment of the mages under her charge, can anyone truly blame any mage for what they did?"
"We came to the Divine's Conclave to try and reach a peaceful solution." An elven Enchanter finally said. "The Champion showed us we could fight back, but now we want peace."
Even Rajmael had heard of the Champion of Kirkwall, he read "The Tales of The Champion" six times and managed to collect several smutty volumes about Hawke's more illicit conquests. "The Hawke Dives for Pearls" and "The Pirate finds the Hanged Man" were his favorites.
While the mages and Templars continued arguing and fussing amongst themselves, Rajmael couldn't help but wonder, "Where is the Divine?" She of all people should be here right at this moment, especially if it looked like the two faction were about to come to blows. Rajmael decided to wander the halls to gather more information.
With the remainder of the Chantry's forces making sure that the mages and Templars continued to play nice, the temple's halls were practically vacant. Rajmael had no trouble walking them.
"Someone help me!" A faint voice cried and echoed down the hall.
That didn't sound like a troubled cry, it sounded like someone crying as though their life depended on it. Rajmael ran down the hall as fast as he could while he followed the echoes.
"Why are you doing this? You of all people?" That same voice asked. Was someone threatening her?
"Now is the hour of our victory!" Called a powerful voice, full of authority and malice. There was something wrong. The voice resonated with a black power that couldn't belong to any mortal. "Keep the sacrifice still."
Well, that didn't sound good. Rajmael ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
He heard the sounds of whimpering and dark energy emanating from behind a giant door, they were right here. "Someone help me!"
Rajmael kicked the door open with all his might. "What's going on here!?" Then his whole world erupted in flash of green light.
"Run while you can! Warn them!" Was the last thing he heard before his world went completely black. And thus the nightmare began, and it was hungry.
Language Codex:
Da'vhenan: Little Heart.
Vir Enasalin: Path of Victory.
Arla'a Vhenan: Place of My Heart.