Author's note:

Just a little caveat before diving into this chapter. I took a lot of liberties with the Lavellan clan here. I hope I don't offend anyone. I am not saying that all Dalish are like this. Quite the opposite in fact. I am trying to portray this as a unique experience in Avalon's backstory. Furthermore, I am not saying I think these things are cannon...they just go well with the plot of this particular fanfic. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

So...without further ado...I give you my next chapter...

- songs for clem


Home

Growing up, Avalon Lavellan was always taught that life in the World was depraved. She was raised believing that life outside of the clan was beneath a True Elf. It was a privilege and a calling to be Dalish. It was something to be guarded very seriously, to be protected from corrupting influences, to be defended from the profanities of unsound thought.

When her clan talked about being Dalish, what they really meant was "their version of Dalish," and the elves she grew up with her entire life, they were just as suspicious and guarded about other clans as they were about city elves or humans.

This principle was subtle, one that would be hard to spot unless you lived within the nuanced meanings and codes that saturated everyday life. The elders would say, "Of course, there may be other clans that worship the Creators in truth. The Creators may reveal themselves to whomever they choose," but this was a theoretical discussion. In the practicum of everyday life, any clan that was encountered was regarded politely, at arm's length, then scrutinized and derided once out of earshot.

The Lavellan clan considered this Dalish pride. Avalon, however, considered it hubris.

Avalon was her clan's First. She had studied under Keeper Deshanna for as long as she could remember. She knew the lore of her people, as well as the correct interpretation of the ancient parables and the proper morals to derive from each story. She learned the right way to practice magic, the right way to pray, the right way to interact with members from different stations of her clan, the precise actions and expectations for holy days, and the proper rites and rituals for every ceremony, big or small. But, no matter how well she perfected the role expected of her, her heart wasn't in it. She stood apart. She never felt that she belonged.

Her clan never felt like family; and feeling alone, while surrounded by people, was just her way of life.

Avalon's mother loved her and tried to reach out to her. She recognized the way her daughter was shunned, but she would always condone the status quo with an air of fatality. "This is the way things are, da'len. This is the way things have always been. We must adjust ourselves to the old ways of Vir Tan'adahl and honor tradition." Her implication was clear: there was nothing wrong with the clan, and Avalon must adapt herself to be truer to the Faith. Avalon would lay her head on her mother's lap, and her mother would stroke her hair, a momentary comfort amidst an isolated life.

As Avalon grew and matured, both in mind and ability, she started to ask questions about the history of the Dalish and the gods. Keeper Deshanna would simply say, "Vir hara, da'len. Fear not, little one. The Creators have always been and they will always be. And the Dalish will always be their people."

When a young boy in the clan started to exhibit magical powers, he was numbered the fourth mage. The clan had a strict limit of three mages, so they prepared him for exile into the woods. Avalon challenged her Keeper. "Deshanna, this is not right! We cannot simply leave him out there alone! He is too young!"

A dark look passed over the Keeper's eyes as Avalon pleaded her case. The clan grew silent. The older members stepped back, looking from the Keeper to her first. Deshanna's jaw was clenched, and she said nothing.

Her mother wrapped her arm around her shoulders and drew her away from the group, "Come, da'len. There are some things we cannot change."

Avalon allowed her mother to lead here away, but she shrugged off her embrace, "It's not right. We should try to find him another clan."

"There are no other clans nearby, da'len."

"There would be if we were not so afraid of outsiders, if we tried to live closer to others."

"This is the way things are, my child. This is the way things have always been. And this is the way things must be." Her mother looked at her with kind eyes, an expression of hurt clouded behind her words of love. Avalon sensed that her mother was not telling her the whole truth. And she felt that Deshanna's silence was also a wall built around a secret that she did not want her to know. But what secret could that possibly be? If there was a way to save a young child from death by exposure and starvation, shouldn't the clan do everything in their power to make that possible?

Of course not. Avalon shook her head in dismay. From a distance, she watched the boy's mother embrace him one last time, her eyes dry, her face pulled into a blank expression. The Lavellan clan valued purity of action and devotion to the rules of Dalish life above all else.

Each question she would ask about Dalish ways would be countered with a simple response of unwavering conviction. To question these foundational beliefs any further was taken as a sign of doubt. Avalon was already treated like an outsider within her own clan, ostracized by peers and elders alike. She knew she was too inexperienced to survive the wilderness on her own, and she feared what her clan might feel compelled to do if she stirred up too much trouble, so she learned to bite her tongue and taper any questions that might burn inside of her.

She relished the moments when she could escape to the woods and lose herself amongst the flora and fauna. She ached to connect with…something. She felt called to the forest and yearned to hear it calling back, but, even there, she came up…blank…like she was missing something. It was an uncanny and unreconciled dilemma. Each time she felt called to the forest, she would go, but then she would be greeted with a harsh sense of lack.

Perhaps she should have hardened herself. She did not. She accepted loneliness as a way of life, and she endured each circumstance she found herself in as best she could, constantly pushing forward. She kept searching, kept trying, kept her spirit going with hope. There had to be more to life.

Her Keeper was no fool. She could see her apprentice's heart was not devout to their Dalish ways.

During one of the rare moments of their travels, when the Lavellan clan found themselves closer to civilization, Deshanna caught wind of the Conclave and asked her to attend to gather information. Avalon suspected they sent her in as much of an effort to get rid of her as anything else. Her clan did not care about human politics. They believed that the false shemlen ways would one day burn and devour them as heathens, revealing the glory of the Creators, "the only true gods."

Avalon was intimidated by the outside world. But she was also aware that her place in her clan was precarious at best. So she accepted Deshanna's offer and traveled far away from the only people she'd ever known. She wandered into the unknown, encountering foreign cultures and races, hunting for…something…she did not know what.

In her mind, "home" became, quite simply, wherever she was.

It's no wonder that Solas was so alluring. He was deeply and genuinely Elven, but he touched on something truer than the stories and rituals the Lavellan clan held so dear. He walked with a faith that was vibrant and alive. Every time he challenged the prejudices of her people, she felt her mind open up, like a shroud was being lifted, and she was seeing Reality a little more clearly.

The same traits that made clans reject him were the same things that drew Avalon to him. He disdained the traditional ways, challenging the nonsense that the Dalish were so eager to propagate. To Avalon, his controversial beliefs were a relief. It was like she finally found someone who knew how to break through the chains of ritual and uncover Truth. She could listen to him for hours (if he would only say more than two sentences to her at a time!). Her mind was hungry for his knowledge. Her heart was hunting for the kind of self-assured wisdom that came to him so easily.

When she came to realize that he was as enamored by her spirit as she was by his mind, the fact that he was smitten by her was exhilarating. Even with all his caution, even while acting so standoffish, she could tell he was keeping a strong attraction at bay. Under his armor lay a storm of passion. Every once in a while he would let his desire for her break through, and she relished these lapses and breakthroughs. She kept hope alive that, someday, he would let down his guard entirely.

She used to imagine herself following him around the wilderness, two outcasts, bound to each other by a common purpose, looking for truth in unexpected places. With Solas, she figured she could give up an idea of home altogether and roam wherever the Fade or the forest took them.

She always knew Solas would leave the Inquisition, but she never expected him to leave her. When he did, it solidified the feeling that plagued her for her entire life: that she did not belong, and she would never belong anywhere. It wasn't just about Solas rejecting her; it was about his way of life rejecting her, too. And she had resigned herself to the fact that she would never truly feel at home.

Well…not until now.

Kenna was restored to her true self. Liam and the children were hugging her and bubbling over with glee. There was shouting and laughter and so many people talking at once. The room was charged with excitement.

Liam stood and clapped Dorian on the back, startling him forward a step, with a big grin on his face. "Tonight you and your companions will be our guests! Tonight we celebrate!"

Dorian looked torn. In his moment of hesitation, Avalon stepped forward, smoothing out her dress, a soft smile on her face, "We would be honored to be your guests this evening."

"Yes, of course, "Dorian mumbled, and flushed a little at his own social stumbling.

Liam laughed, a deep, genuine roar, and ushered his guests into the common room. Kenna grabbed Morna by the elbow and whispered something into the girl's ear, then the two of them giggled and set about preparing foods.

Avalon approached Kenna, concerned, "Don't you think you should rest?"

"Rest?!" laughed Kenna, her voice like a chorus of bright Ferelden bells. "Resting is all I've done for months. I finally feel like myself, again! Tonight I celebrate, and this—" she gestured to her hands, already dusty with flour and thick in the folds of Morna's dough, "—this work is a joy to me. It is part of my celebration!"

Avalon quirked a grin and rolled up her sleeves, "Then it's not something I don't want to miss out on! Let me help!"

Liam brought Dorian a whiskey, who promptly accepted it then made himself comfortable, lounging on the hearth, stoking the fires within, preparing them for the baked goods the ladies were preparing. Then Liam asked Duffy to lead him to the other companions.

Duffy laced his fingers into Cole's hand and pulled him along. "Come on! This way!"

Those who were left in the house cleared away the messes, cleaned up the room, washed the dishes and made space for all the extra bodies that were expected. By the time the bread was warm from the oven, Liam returned with his son and Avalon's three companions in tow, announcing that the wall, too, was now mended.

Liam put drinks in everyone's hands, then he stood with his mug of ale raised high as a silence fell over the room. "This morning, when I awoke, I thought, f'sure, this day would be meh Kenna's last." At this, the burly man freely shed a few tears. "But now, as the sun has set, she is as young as the day I met her," at this Kenna tsked and blushed, chuckling. Liam chuckled, in return, smiling through his tears. "Here's to many more morn's and moons to come. HOORAH!" At that he swallowed his ale in one gulp.

"HOORAH!" they all cheered, kicking back their heads and emptying their glasses, except for Sera, who was drinking straight out of a wine bottle pressed up to her lips.

The cheeses were pulled out of storage. The cured meats and sausages were on the table in celebration. Jars of fruits and fermented vegetables were opened and shared around a common table.

Kenna pulled out a fiddle and struck up a lively tune, while Blackwall sang and stomped along. Liam flung little Morna into his arms and danced his daughter around the room. Sera grabbed Dorian by the arm and pulled him into a dance. Little Duffy brought a tambourine out and showed Cole how to play it. Everyone was singing and shouting and clapping their hands. The joy was infectious. The love and togetherness of this little family saturated every corner of their home.

Avalon laughed, letting the energy flow through her as she danced along. All her worries slipped away. She was fully and simply in the present moment, full of life and laughter. She spun and dipped, clapping her hands and stomping her feet, keeping rhythm with the music. She had never felt so perfectly content, so free to simply be.

Flushed and exhausted, she finally parked herself on a bench, sipping her wine and reveling in the exuberance of the moment.

She found herself watching Duffy as he worked his way around the room, such a commanding little presence inside such a small body. She would catch him working something over in his mind, like a dog with a bone. He saw how things functioned, how people operated, and he'd interject himself at just the right moment to help, make a joke, or play a trick on his sister. Then something would make him laugh, and he'd kick back his chin and roar in glee, his curly hair flopping wildly as he shook his head.

He reminded Avalon of her commander, and she wondered if her adviser had been like this as a boy. Was his curly hair as wild as Duffy's? Was this how he used to play with his sisters? Was his spirit unquenchable and strong even then?

When Duffy ran into his mother's arms, and she pulled him into a tight snuggle, Avalon felt it touch a deep longing inside of her that she did not understand. One day, maybe, she, too, would have a little son run into her arms. She felt her heart turning over on itself. But not just any boy. A boy with curly hair. At once, she felt both on fire and emptied. It was confusing. Curly hair, just like his father's. She was confused, but her mind didn't have time to take the lead as her feelings were hitching up, presenting her with a yearning.

It wasn't as simple as the yearning for a child. No. That was just an expression of something deeper.

She wanted him to be here. This moment of joy felt, somehow, incomplete without him. She felt incomplete without him. But it was not that she felt like less of a person than she was before. No. Instead, it felt like her heart was growing bigger to accommodate this sudden need.

This was too new, too strange.

Avalon looked down. She traced the embroidery on her dress with her index finger, one intricate rose weaving into another. She was flushed. It must be the wine. It must be the excitement of the moment. She was just…worked up. Her eyes unfocused, and the image of him sitting across from her in her chambers filtered in from her memory…the way he was so intimate and yet so respectful…the deep way in which he cared. The spark inside of her was rising up into her throat, while burning something wild inside her chest. She caught her breath. It wasn't possible for her to feel this way…no…it wasn't possible…

She exited the house in a flurry, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. The night air blasted onto the bare skin of her cheeks and neck, and she welcomed it, trying to sober herself up away from the crowd and the commotion. But, once she was alone, the fantasy that had presented itself did not waver. In fact, it became clearer.

She leaned against the wall of the house, frost crunching under her feet. The fields were etched with swaying grass. The trees in the distance were indigo against the shadows beyond them. Up above, the clear sky glimmered with thousands of stars, and the crescent moon hung gingerly amongst them.

She felt the plastered wall of the cottage pressing against her back. The air was clear and crisp, and it nipped at her exposed face. Eyes shut, she envisioned him standing before her, feathered coat warm and soft against the night air, a slight flush to his cheeks in response to the chill, his golden eyes gazing deep into her own.

She imagined him holding her hips with his strong and sure hands, pressing her against the house, steadying her there. She remembered the smell of him, like moonlight, the way his stubble had felt against her skin, the way he'd sent shocks down her spine that reverberated even now.

His hands would move up to her waist, to secure her in an embrace. Her heart was throbbing. She could not open her eyes. Slowly, he would lean in, lowering his mouth towards her own. The moonlight would play on his hair. She would lift her chin, wet her lips in expectation, and—

The door to the farmhouse opened. The sounds of laughter and dancing spilled into the night, shattering her reverie. "Leave the party in such a flurry, and you are sure to make a gentleman speculate." Dorian had emerged, with a coy smile thick in his voice. His bravado did nothing to mask the concern nestled there. The unasked question of why she had stormed out hung in the silence between them.

"I just," she opened her eyes and ran her hand down her stomach, steadying herself against the throbbing that had blossomed inside of her. Her voice was breathless. "I just need a moment." She gave her friend a guarded smile. "Alone."

"Alright, m'dear," he conceded, with a slight bow and a flourish of his hand. "I will be right here., if you change your mind. You only have to speak the word." He regarded her carefully, as he slipped back inside.

Avalon nodded, and he disappeared. Then she pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and crunched off into the field, hoping that a short jaunt would help her shake these…sensations…that were rising up, unbidden. She can't be feeling this way. Not again. Not so soon. Solas had unlocked the rooms of her heart and it nearly destroyed her. She was just starting to put the pieces of her life back together. Having feelings like this for the commander, such intimate feelings, when she was still grieving over Solas…it just felt wrong. It felt disloyal to both of them.

But, as she stopped to look up at the stars, there was only one person on her mind. There was only one person whom she wondered about, if he was staring up into that very sky at that selfsame moment. And that person was not the elusive elf who had tortured her with his absence. No. The person she thought of, the person she yearned for, was the one who had always stood by her side, pouring himself out while expecting nothing in return. He was always warm and supportive and inviting towards her.

But, Creators, this feeling was not safe. This feeling was not easy or comfortable. This feeling went against everything that she had always known or expected or been taught about The Way Things Should Be. Even so, it was undeniable: this feeling was a part of her. It made her feel alive. This was more real that all of the nonsense she had been bound to for her entire life.

It shocked her to realize: if feeling this way was wrong, she no longer cared about being right.

In that moment, she ached to return to Skyhold. She was still the same nomad that she always had been, a wanderer with a vagabond heart. But the one thing that had changed, the one thing that had shifted ever so slightly, the one thing that made all the difference, is that she finally realized that she had found a place that finally felt like home. She had found a person that made her feel like home.

She imagined herself lacing her fingers with his, pressing her body into his strong frame, listening to his deep and genuine laugh. And that person was Cullen Rutherford.


(PS)

::sizzle sizzle pow pow::

What do you think will happen next?!

Stay tuned to find out!

xoxo
- songs for clem