A/N: Another chapter for your enjoyment and just in time for Christmas! Whatever you may celebrate around this time of year, or not, I really hope that you are having a great day and that the next year is fantastic!
(It's completely alien to think that it's almost 2020… where did the year go?)
In the Past, Dalish Camp, Brecilian Forest, 9:31 Dragon
Zathrian was a strange man.
Yes, he had a tragic past and his grief was understandable but he hadn't taken his eyes off of me or Alistair since we had first spoken. Even as we listened to the demands of the Clan and what they needed in return for them to hold true to the treaties.
A treaty was an agreement, you shouldn't have to continuously do favours for them to be met. Though, considering the widespread nature of the Dalish and the face that the treaties were from a time that Elvhen Halamshiral existed it did make sense.
The almost constant watching felt strange.
"You said you were from Lothering, do the shems there treat you well?"
Zathrian spoke directly to me, as we shared in a meal.
"I'm not technically from Lothering, but whilst I was there I lived with a family of humans who treated me incredibly well. I never felt less than them, nor more."
Zathrian and a group of children who had joined us looked intrigued, as did my companions.
I hadn't spoken about my past, clammed up about it even more since my panic attack in the Deep Roads.
"If you're not from Lothering, where are you from?"
This came from a small child, who looked no older than seven years old. His bright blue eyes were round, almost comically sized on his small face. I hadn't realised how alien elvhen children looked until right then, having never seen one in person and the games really didn't portray children all too well.
"Da'len, that is the problem. I don't know where I'm from."
What a liar you turned out to be, Mallorn; mum would be ashamed.
"I woke up on the outskirts of Lothering wearing strange clothing, something not from this age I was told; freezing cold and desperately hungry. I happened to be found by a young man by the name of Carver Hawke."
We slept on the outside of the Dalish camp, having gotten there late in the afternoon. We had spent most of it speaking with those who would talk with us, mostly those curious enough to know what the outside world or those who wished to trade goods. Zevran had been eyeing a particularly fetching pair of gloves but didn't have anything with him that he would have been willing to trade so had left for bed with one last look at them.
I had some things to trade, so I bought them.
(I hadn't remembered at this point that to fall into a Romance with the Antivan, the lovely Dalish gloves were a part of that. It wouldn't be until much later, when Zevran himself brought it up that it would remind me. But that was not then.)
None of us felt comfortable going after werewolves during a full moon, even if that particular legend didn't really hold true in Thedas.
At least I hoped that it didn't.
Zathrian had proceeded to question each member of the party, particularly about the epitaphs that I had added onto our names.
He seemed to have a great respect for the two Grey Wardens, as a majority of Dalish seemed to have; Kana he obviously favoured, being Dalish herself. There was something in the way that he looked at Alistair though, as though he knew the secrets of his life.. He was fairly wary around Morrigan, even if she happened to be the daughter of Flemeth. Around Zevran he was cautious, but the curiosity and non-judgmental questions that Zevran had asked made him more relaxed.
Around me, he was strange.
I couldn't exactly describe it, only that it seemed he wasn't sure if I was real or not.
"Melava inan enansal, ir su aravel tu elvaral, u na emma abelas. In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na. lath sulevin, lath aravel ena, arla ven tu vir mahvir, melana 'nehn enasal ir sa lethalin."
An older woman, hair grey and lines upon her Mythal marked face, was singing, fletching arrows as she did so, as we made our way into the Brecilian Forest. It was haunting in the general silence, the words echoing around us.
"Elvhenan, i tel'sal juvaslasir."
I whispered, but not nearly quiet enough as the elder heard me.
"It is nice to see that some of you young ones keep up with the language."
I gave her a weak smile, "I don't know nearly as much as I wish I did, but I'll learn."
She gave me a pointed stare, before a small grin came upon her face. "Make sure that you teach your friends here, especially the elvhen blood."
I felt a chill go down my spine.
She knew about Alistair.
"How did you…"
The woman had a sly glint in her eyes as she answered, grin etched upon her face.
"Know? I had a conversation with him in elvhen and he did not even notice."
Present Time, Outskirts of Skyhold, 9:41 Dragon
We had managed to escape the attack on Haven with the majority of people alive and well, though the trip to Skyhold itself was another matter entirely.
Many were not used to the bitter cold, some suffered with pneumonia and some passed because of this. Soldiers, volunteers and those conscripted alike that had been injured in one of the many scuffles passed from their wounds; Cole had been attempting to give comfort to as many as possible, but even a spirit couldn't be in multiple places at once.
This upset him greatly, but he could admit that he could only help so many at once.
The numbers lost getting to Skyhold were not as great as they once may have been, but that did not mean that it hurt any less.
I couldn't save everyone, no matter how hard I tried.
Those lost would haunt me regardless, decisions I could have made to prevent this from happening all together flashed through my mind.
"Thorn, stop."
Leliana startled me out of my brooding.
"You did what you could, you're only one person."
"One person can start a revolution."
She nodded, agreeing to my point. "But it takes more than one person, otherwise they'd be a martyr."
And nobody needed a martyr.
Samson and Maddox's presence baffled the majority, and especially terrified some when they caught sight of the brand on Maddox's forehead. The two had been keeping to themselves, though we had talked throughout the journey with Feynren and Connor taking a bizarre interest in the pair.
Cullen, especially didn't know what to think of this man who had seemingly overcome his lyrium addiction and the other, a mage who had been made tranquil but was not any longer.
As we got closer, there seemed to be a magic barrier around the fortress, distinctive and almost familiar magic surrounded the place. It was definitely Elvhen.
Quite possibly Ancient Elvhen.
But the fortress has been rebuilt by humans time and time again, possibly even by some of the Elvhen who had fled the Exalted Marches on the Dales.
Solas, who was further ahead of us with Callon put a hand out to stop us from going any further.
"There is magic here, we must proceed with caution."
"Perhaps it would be a good idea for some of us to scout ahead, just in case?"
Feynren wasn't too far behind me, and had been chatting with Connor who was bemused at the positive attention. Apparently many within the Circle had been cruel to him, outwardly dismissive because of his past.
"I'll go!"
"That sounds like a good idea," Solas appeared to approve of the comment.
"Solas, Mallorn, Feyren and myself shall go ahead." Callon spoke quietly as Leliana and I caught up. "If anything happens, we will come back immediately."
"Are you sure it is wise for you to go ahead yourself? If something were to happen…"
"Leli, we'll be fine. We'll all protect each other and come back safe."
She grasped my shoulder tightly before sighing and letting go.
"For all our sakes, I do hope that you are correct."
Feynren was excited.
It felt like it had been a lifetime ago that he had been able to go along with one of his parents on a scouting mission. Both his parents were protective, and he could understand why even if he didn't like it.
It was nice though that his naneth hadn't spoken against him coming with the group.
"This magic feels almost familiar."
Feynren hadn't actually spoken to the bald mage, but there was something off about him. The mage hadn't noticed it, but his mother would give him indecipherable looks every now and then. Those looks made Feynren wary around the other elf.
"It feels Ancient, which is odd because the architecture that I can see from here is definitely Fereldan and not Elvhen."
His mother would know.
When they had first found him and before they had fled to the camp of the Blades of Hesserian; Zevran and Mallorn were running from the organisation that had pretty much enslaved his father from childhood. The three of them had stumbled upon an old temple that had been protected with magics from times long since past.
Feynren didn't remember a whole lot about those few weeks spent in the temple, too ill from blood loss and fever. He had been treated, at least a little in the Temple but not enough to rouse him from the state he was in. But he did remember the feel of the magic and that his parents were able to understand it in turn; at least that is what he understood.
"Naneth, it's like the temple."
She nodded, "Yes, that is exactly what is feels like."
Callon gave them both a questioning look, "I'm sorry, Temple?"
Feynren grinned at the older elf, "I think it was a Temple of June? I wasn't exactly functioning at the time, but it was definitely June."
Solas' head snapped up from where he was examining the ground, a look of fierce shock on his face before it was quickly replaced by one of curious interest. Feynren wondered what that was about, but put it out of his mind for the time being.
"An actual surviving Temple of June?"
Callon's voice was full of amazed wonder.
"It was something special."
Mallorn answered, before prodding her scythe into a rock and causing a bright flash of light.
"I wondered if that was you, Tuile."
A new voice had joined them. It was familiar to Feynren, like a half forgotten memory. Callon and Solas had readied themselves for battle, but Feynren had followed his mothers lead who hadn't bothered.
"Well, well, look who it is. Didn't expect to see you so far from your forest and the calming isolation of your walls, Mih'anril."
A tall figure seemed to appear out of nowhere, a hood covering most of their face. They wore gold and silver armour, something that Feynren recognised from the Temple of June. Could this be one of the Ancient Elvhen that they had encountered all those years ago?
Mih'anril laughed, "I wasn't going to leave the sanctum, but then the sky broke open."
"And then the sky broke open." His mother shook her head, "I don't believe Tanarel would have been happy with your decision."
"No, he was not." Mih'anril turned towards the other elves, removing her hood. Blood red hair and dark gold eyes greeted them, black vallaslin covered her face marking her as one of June's. But there was something off about her, she was nothing at all like the Dalish.
Something more like his mother and Solas.
"The High Priest wouldn't have let you out of his sight, so how?"
"I got dragged along too."
A man spoke up from behind Callon, who jumped and almost threw his dagger but it was caught by the other person.
"Do be careful with this."
Tanarel handed it back to Callon with a look of barely disguised disdain on his face.
"Now Mallorn," Tanarel had turned his back on Callon and Solas to face Mallorn who looked back at the man with a grimace on her face. She clearly did not like the other person and the feeling was mutual if the look on the mans face was any indication. "Why have you dragged my sister into this mess?"
"Me? I dragged her into this mess? If you hadn't noticed by now, and strange since you love to remind me Mih'anril is a lot older than me. And an adult."
Feynren and Mih'anril gave each other a sharp look; they both knew that this was not going to end well unless someone stepped in. It wasn't going to be either of them though.
It would have to be Solas or Callon, and one of them had had enough confrontation that month so far.
Solas was shocked, but trying desperately to hide it.
He would need to speak with Wisdom, things were not as they once seemed.
He knew that vestiges of the people still existed, Mallorn (who he suspected to be one. Quite possibly an amnesiac or similar given how she interacted with spirits and the Fade) and Felassan were obvious examples, but still surviving High Priests and disciples?
That he had not foreseen, especially since he had watched in uthenera the despair and destruction of the Temple of Dirthamen, now a shadow of its former (supposed) glory.
The High Priest of June, Tanarel and Mallorn we're getting incredibly heated at this point, almost nose to nose and glaring. Solas couldn't help but wonder how they hadn't reached for their weapons at this point, but that thought came a moment too soon.
Mallorn had drawn her scythe, and Tanarel reached for his staff.
He hadn't taken Mallorn for someone whose temper overrode her common sense, but the High Priest must have been someone who dragged the worst out of her. And apparently in much the same manner that Anaris did in him.
Solas must have been in his head for slightly too long, as he saw Mallorn throw herself at Tanarel before tugged backwards by Callon and her son, with Mih'anril holding her brother back. Tanarel had a smug grin his his face, and Solas knew then that the other man had said something incredibly offensive.
And stupid.
"You will not speak of my husband nor my son like that again, or I'll drag you into the Void myself."
Solas stepped in to avoid the bloodshed that was inevitably going to happen.
"Mallorn, please."
He didn't explicitly mention the people behind them in the valley, injured and cold nor the fact that the world was at risk but his plea seemed to calm her enough that she leant back into Callon and Feynren, ceding her struggle.
Tanarel on the other hand seemed to grow even smugger, if that were to be a thing.
"You really do heel like a bitch, don't you?"
Mallorn snarled, sounding more wolf than an elf.
"I'll show you bitch!"
"Enough!"
Solas had had enough.
"You are both adults! The world is falling apart, and we do not need to be at each others throats at this time!"
Tanarel's smug expression fell as he finally took the time to look properly at Solas, eyes widening. Solas had never met the man, not interacting with the followers of the other Evanuris as much as his own people, those that had joined him and those that he had freed, but he supposed that it wouldn't have been difficult for another of the People to actually recognise him if they had attended similar circles in Arlathan.
Solas had tried to keep a low profile, but in the later years of the war that didn't eventuate.
"Of course, I am sorry." Mallorn turned to Callon and Feynren, smiling weakly. "I really am sorry, I don't particularly like myself when I get like that and the High Priest of June really doesn't help."
Mallorn did not deign to address the man by his name, which Solas understood. Too much power in a name, or title even and the person addressed could have their ego inflated to an over proportionate degree.
Callon grinned at her despite the situation, "Don't apologise, it's almost comforting to see that you loose your temper as much as the next person, the next elf. It makes your legend seem more... realistic?"
Mallorn grimaced, "Legend? That's one way to put it."
Feynren reached up and gave his mother a hug, who returned it gripping him tighter.
"I don't know what it was that he said, but he's not worth your anger." Feynren thought for a moment before adding quietly,
"Not yet anyway."
Skyhold was as wrecked and in shambles as what I had expected.
Parts of it were older than the spires that seemed to be Fereldan, but most was held together by magic and sheer force of will.
Tanarel and Mih'anril kept to themselves for the most part, with only Mih'anril speaking. Tanarel would only glance at the gathered group of humans, dwarves, elves and few vashoth with a disdainful look every now and then. But he kept to himself and his sister and that was okay with me.
I had already duelled him to the almost death once and had no desire to do so again. At least not any time soon, perhaps if he got on my nerves.
What needed to be done first however was create somewhere hopefully better than the outdoor surgery that I had seen in the game, it needed to be clean and sterile so that more lives wouldn't be lost.
Magic was going to be needed here and in possibly massive quantities, and ninety-nine percent of the people would not be happy with that.
"The veil, it's so very thin here…"
Solas sounded as if he were in awe, looking around curiously. I couldn't help but think that he must have been looking for any signs of his once mighty fortress that now lay in ruins beneath the rubble of those who had built atop them.
"I would imagine it would be, considering the rumours surrounding this place."
Solas looked at me, curious as we watched the weary people walk onto the grounds of Skyhold, a little in awe themselves at the luck that they had.
"What rumours?"
"That Tarasyl'an Te'las was where the Veil was created; literally where the sky was held back. It's an older rumour, one I had only heard about from some of the older elvhen who had found it in the Fade."
I wondered how he'd take me using his excuse of 'I heard about it in the Fade'; apparently my time in Thedas had really made me more than a little manipulative.
Solas' face looked as though it could have been carved with stone, with marble.
"If that is the case, then from here it would be immensely hard for anyone to pull the Veil down from anywhere else and for the Veil around Tarasyl'an Te'las to not be affected."
In the Past, Elvhen Ruins, Somewhere in the Brecilian Forest, 9:31 Dragon
I decided that I needed to perform an experiment.
I needed Kana, Zevran and Alistair to sit together and for Kana and I to speak with them in Elvhen. It was a bit strange, but if Alistair and Zevran were able to understand the rhythm of Elvhen, then it would prove a point.
What point I was trying to prove, I couldn't be sure, but I was going to do it anyway.
I'd picked a night that we were going to be on watch, in pairs as it was becoming more dangerous due to bandits and the Blight in general. Morrigan had already excused herself for the evening, saying that someone needed to be ready bright and early to leave for the Dalish Camp.
I had no voice for singing, not really but I was passable and so I started to quietly sing.
"Elgara vallas, da'len. Melava somniar. Mala tara aravas. Ara ma'desen melar."
Fitting I supposed now that the sun had fully set and the others were readying for bed. Kana had perked up at the familiar words, looking in my direction with a slight smile on her face.
"Iras ma ghilas, da'len. Ara ma'nedan ashir. Dirthara lothlenan'as. Bal emma mala dir."
Kana joined in for the second verse, as Zevran seemed to perk up. I could hear him start to hum along, even though he clearly had no knowledge of the actual words. It seemed that the language or at least the rhythm, was ingrained within him..
"Tel'enfenim, da'len. Irassal ma ghilas. Ma garas mir renan. Ara ma'athlan vhenas. Ara ma'athlan vhenas."
I had forgotten how short that particular lullaby was, but the experiment seemed to have worked as Alistair had also started to hum.
Either that or the song was catchy, I couldn't be sure unless one of them said something.
"Thank you, Thorn." Kana was smiling up at me, "I haven't heard that in a long time, it's nice to know that there are still those that sing it."
"Mir Da'len Somniar isn't something to be forgotten."
Zevran spoke up then, "Is that what it's called? It sounded incredibly familiar! Like I knew the meaning..."
"But not the language..."
Alistair was the one to finished the sentence, paling as he noticed that Kana was looking at him with shock.
"What? What do you mean?"
Kana had slid up to Alistair, almost on his lap which was something that didn't go unnoticed by the man in question who blushed a deep red, stuttering out his answer.
"I mean, I got the meaning of the song? It was about a setting sun and calling a child home after they dreamt?"
Kana started, shock obvious on her face.
Zevran also quietly spoke up, "It is exactly as our friend here said, I was not raised Dalish but the language? It was familiar."
Kana was still staring at the apparent human in front of her, as he was grappling with this sudden knowledge of understanding a language that he had never once learnt.
"I have never heard this song before in my life, and yet I know what it means? How?"
I wanted to desperately say that it could be because his mother was an elf, but it felt wrong to say it now and so outright. And I felt that someone who knew precisely who his mother was should have been the one to tell him and since there was so few of those still living it felt that it was an impossibility.
"There is a theory that those of Elvhen blood, no matter how distant the relation, are sometimes able to understand the rhythm of the language and to distinguish meaning from what they understand."
Paraphrasing the Dread Wolf felt strange, but he had said it first (or had I now? It was all very confusing still) and it seemed to be true.
"I... don't know who my mother is. Only that I've been told that she was a servant.";
I coughed shaking my head; Kana gave me a strange look but stopped when Zevran spoke, "And your father?"
Alistair grimaced, "I know who he is, was. And he had Dragon Blood, or so the legends say."
Kana, finally out of her shock and still unmoving from her spot.
"There's only one human family I know in Fereldan with the blood of dragons, and that's the Theirin line."
"Yes, I happen to be the bastard son of the missing King Maric."
That seemed to be all the shock anyone could handle that night as everyone was silent, only the crackling of the fire was heard and the distant howling of wolves.
The next morning, as we were packing to leave for the Dalish Camp once more, I stopped by Zevran with shaking hands and a blush on my cheeks. I had been able to speak with Zevran more, about small things like the wolves, and the duality of Witherfang and the Lady of the Forest but nothing personal.
All about the quest.
I honestly had no idea why speaking to this man affected me like this, only that I was not like this around anyone else. Not even attractive people, which this camp seemed to be filled with.
"Zevran, I had noticed you eyeing some of the gloves that the craftswoman was making." I pulled the set of immaculately crafted leather gloves that I had bargained for, traded herbs and coin for and handed them to the now gaping man.
"I hope that you like them."
My heart was pounding in my chest as he took the gift with wide eyes. I took that as my cue to walk away as he hadn't actually said anything, but a hand around my wrist pulled me back into a firm chest.
"Gracias, my friend."
He let go of me and smiled, a small smile that was full of gratitude and slight awe.
"One day I will tell you of my mother, or at least what I remember. And maybe you will tell me of yours, if you are able."
I grinned down at him, now very aware of our height difference, "I think I'd like that."
A/N: Lothering was the town that the Hawke family settled in, where you could find both Leliana and Sten in DAO and where Mallorn likes to say that she's from since it's the only place in Thedas that she lived (at least until she married Zevran). It was also destroyed during the Fifth Blight by the darkspawn hoard.
Melava inan enansal, ir su aravel tu elvaral, u na emma abelas. In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na. lath sulevin, lath aravel ena, arla ven tu vir mahvir, melana 'nehn enasal ir sa lethalin. are the lyrics to a song entitled Suledin, which means Endure. In English the words would translate roughly to Time was once a blessing but long journeys are made longer when alone within. Take spirit from the long ago but do not dwell in lands no longer yours. Be certain in need, and the path will emerge to a home tomorrow and time will again be the joy it once was.
Elvhenan, i tel'sal juvaslasir was a translation that I found online for the statement We are the Last of the Elvhenan, never again shall we submit. (Or at least that's what it's meant to say.)
If there was a Temple of Mythal, a Shrine of Sylaise and the Lost Temple of Dirthamen then surely there would other and quite possibly surviving temples or shrines to other members of the Elvhen Pantheon. Why not June?
Mih'anril is actually another Inquisitor that I'm doing a play through for, but I wanted to add her and her brother Tanarel into the story into different roles and I think that it fits well.
Uthenera was the ancient practice of the immortals who would sleep once they began to tire of immortality and literally means eternal waking dream.
Elgara vallas, da'len. Melava somniar. Mala tara aravas. Ara ma'desen melar. Iras ma ghilas, da'len. Ara ma'nedan ashir. Dirthara lothlenan'as. Bal emma mala dir. is a lullaby sung primarily by the Dalish and roughly translates into English as Sun sets, little one, Time to dream Your mind journeys, But I will hold you here. Where will you go, little one Lost to me in sleep? Seek truth in a forgotten land Deep with in your heart. Never fear, little one, Wherever you shall go. Follow my voice- I will call you home. I will call you home.