A/N: Hello, and welcome to Way of The Wood - my first Dragon Age fanfic. I started writing this story in 2017, and after shelving it for quite some time, I decided it deserves to be read. It is incomplete, but there's a decent chance of me re-picking it up, as I've fallen in love with it all over again! For now, it will be updated serially, every Tuesday.
Do you like shrieking about DA? Come find me on twitter! My handle is TheSamanthaborn, and I'm always happy to chat. I also write fanfic for Skyrim!
Without any further ado, here we go! I hope you enjoy.
The year in Thedas was 9:07 Dragon, and all things considered, it had been a long moment since anything too dramatic had happened on the continent. Whether this could be called peace was a matter of opinion. Power and influence had traded hands, balance had been tipped, and across the land, the resultant dust had commenced to settle.
The golden mantle of Tamriel, the White Lady, Orlais, had been forced to kneel five years back; brought to task by the end of Meghren's occupation, and the world had rejoiced. Their Emperor, the Lion Florian Valmont, was still lying low in his Ivory City, licking his wounds and polishing his crown. Holding the spear had been one Maric Theirin; Meghren's fool head had scarcely stopped its rolling before he had been crowned Ferelden's new King – the Phoenix triumphant, rising from the ashes of war, and under the rule of Theirin and his stoic queen, the underdog-lords of Ferelden were building the start of a prosperous age. The other provinces had watched with interest, ranging from idle to invested, and few had grumbled at the outcome. No love was lost between Orlais and Tevinter, and less than none between Orlais and Nevarra. The Anderfels had barely been watching, and the Free Marches, as usual, only watched to see who would be the victor. Too fractured and wild to have one preferred outcome, the various Citadels of the Marches saw the end of the war as one card in a deck, and it had meant different things, for different ruler's games.
But time, like dust, had no care for loss or victory – it only swept past, and nothing could be done but to accept both, as the world kept turning. For the grandest king to the lowliest beggar, its march was the drumbeat of life. The great equalizer.
In 9:07 Dragon, Eilahnen Lavellan was a seventeen year old Dalish girl, living with her clan in the windswept Free Marches. She cared little for kings, of war or the intrigues of men, and life in the scattered Marches allowed the lack of interest. Truth be told, she was at a crossroads where she had little care to spare.
She was the only child of clan Lavellan's Master, and senior-most Craftswoman – a warrior and a crafter, who had married later in life than most, and were therefore some of the oldest parents in the clan.
This far, it had been a sheltered life, especially for a Dalish. Being their only child – and the result of a difficult pregnancy after many losses – she was doted on and coddled by both of her parents, and though they loved her dearly, they also didn't afford her much personal freedom. She had never really wanted for anything growing up...but neither had she really ever flexed her independence. Obedience had been her near-constant companion, and she had rarely ever thought to question it.
This was why at the age of seventeen, polite, accommodating, and beautiful Eilahnen had already honored her clan, and undergone her ritual for the vallaslin; her face bore the patron markings of June, god of the Craft, and she was all set to follow in her mother's footsteps and become a Hasa'asha-a Weavewoman.
In this honored position, she would contribute to the clan by seamstressing, basket weaving, and spinning a loom to make cloth – each an art form in its own right, and each highly valued among the Dalish elves as an important part of their practices. Her mother and father knew this well, and were veritably bursting with pride.
But there was a snag in the tapestry.
In truth, Eilahnen herself was miserable. Her becoming a Hasa'asha was what her parents had always wanted. And for quite some time, she had even been lucky enough to agree with them. But fate, it seemed, had eventually decided on different whims.
Due to many things, crafting no longer called to Eilahnen. And to be faced with such commitments now filled her with unhappiness.
Yet she was silent.
She was loathe to disappoint her parents, after all this time – good parents, who had given her so much in her life, and asked for so little. Worse yet, where she had once housed bright passion was now home only to uncertainty; while she knew that crafting no longer brought her joy, she had no idea what she might replace it with – no idea what she wanted, instead.
To Eilahnen, it was the damning detail. The idea of denouncing a perfectly good apprenticeship with no replacement in mind was nothing short of insulting to her hard-working parents. Certainly, the Hahren would give them grief over her actions. And why wouldn't he? They were the actions of a foolish child.
And so with all of this in mind, she had resolved to simply make the best of her situation, leaving it as it was. Childhood and its foolish boons were over, now. It was time to be a woman.
She was in the first week of her apprenticeship when Clan Sabrae arrived at their camp, hailing from the faraway Brecilian Forest of Ferelden. Tall and olive-skinned, they came with brightly colored aravels heavily laden with supplies and gifts, and settled in for a week-long stay alongside them.
It had been about a decade since clan Sabrae had made the long journey here across the Waking Sea, and they were welcomed graciously by the Lavellan's elderly Seeker, Melhanon, and his first, Deshanna. The purpose of this visit was well-known; they had come to trade willing members between the two clans, an infusion of foreign bloodlines to keep bearing strong children. This was something done every so often between clans, and nothing new. So although there was a grand welcoming feast that night, and the week was full of pomp and ceremony, Eilahnen was consumed by her own misery. And as the days passed she took little notice of the Sabrae clan, beyond what was expected of her.
At length, the final day of the visit arrived; the day it was decided who would be switching from one clan to the other, and becoming himal'arlisen – 'hearth changers'. This was usually a bittersweet process – everyone who left did so entirely of their own volition, so that was no issue. But in most cases, there were still loved ones left behind, and although it was considered a great adventure and rich opportunity to be himal'arlisen, many tears were still shed in farewell.
But when the time came, Eilahnen did not feel the pangs of loss. She had never even entertained the idea of leaving her beloved clan behind, and the ones who did elect to leave were mere acquaintances to her. No one she would dearly miss.
All in all, six people traded places. From Clan Lavellan, two strapping young men who had been friends since childhood, leaving behind two mothers clutching each other and beaming through their tears, and a brave and handsome woman in her late twenties, trained with a sword and shield, who was sent off by her proud and stooping grandparents.
From Clan Sabrae came two exotically beautiful women, sisters – who were stepping on their parents' toes with this decision, if the looks on their faces were any indication. So reluctant were they to concede that it was only when both daughters fervently promised to send letters home regularly, and Keeper Melhanon warmly assured that they would be treated like blood, that they finally let go of their daughters' hands. The third and final newcomer was a tall and vital young man, more handsome even than the sisters were beautiful, armed with a bow and blade. Strangely, although many friends within the clan called out to him in regretful farewell, it was plain to see that he had no loved ones seeing him off; he appeared to be alone.
With the chosen decided, next came the symbolic ritual for the freshly departed, joining their new clans. The small groups from each clan met in the middle space between the two gatherings of people, and stood face to face in two rows. They then embraced one another, speaking words of peace and good fortune. Once this was completed, the First of each Keeper's clan approached the row of newcomers, and handed each a cedar bough. Left to right, each elf raised their bough to touch the neighbor's across from them, forming a symbolic canopy.
With this done, the two Keepers stood at the head of each clan, and in unison recited the Welcoming Words. With open arms, each newcomer was blessed with the love of Sylaise, Goddess of Hearth & Home. After announcing that their roots would always be honored (a reference to the clan they were venturing from), the Keepers encouraged them to grow mighty and tall in their new bonds of kinship, and under the sun that warms us all, no matter where we may be.
The himal'arlisen then gave the refrain, voices all raised in chorus: 'Lasa min ea'el Sulevin ghilana hanin!'
May this be our guiding path, to glorious purpose!
With that, the entire clan cried out in agreement, the newcomers were pulled into the fold, and the ceremony was complete.
That night, the final night of clan Sabrae's stay, there was a Farewell feast. As with every other night, there was no arranged seating, and members of both clans mingled freely. But it could be noted that the families of the himal'arlisen were knit together more tightly than usual. The ones who had made the choice to switch clans were taking this time to talk everything through with their loved ones, and share one more night together. Many tears of both joy and sorrow were spilled over the meal, as was typical; then both clans retired fairly early into the night, to give the families some privacy. There was a cost to preserving tradition.
The next day dawned in streaks of pink, pale orange, and gold. The members of clan Sabrae were silhouetted against the colorful morning sky as they worked to secure their aravels for the boat that would bear them to Gwaren. By the time the sun had truly risen to reveal a blue and cloudless day, the work was done, and both clans stood huddled together in farewell. This was the final goodbye; the clans would likely not see one another again until the next Arlathven, four years out, and this fact was weighing on a number of the people present.
Eilahnen stood with her mother and father not five paces away from Keeper Melhanon as he and clan Sabrae's Keeper Marethari bid their formal farewells. All too soon, it was time for the hardest part of these gatherings: the actual leaving. As the Sabrae's gleaming white halla pulled the aravels away from their camp, the three Lavellans leaving the clan hung out of the windows to shout final goodbyes to their families, who all responded in emotional chorus. Not surprisingly, several members of Clan Sabrae were waving and calling out to clan Lavellan as well, and in response, several members of Eilahnen's clan were moved to chase after the aravels for a time, until the distance between them yawned too wide, calling out tearful goodbyes to new friends and dear loved ones. Just then, even the creaking of the aravel's wooden wheels seemed like a mournful sound.
After another minute, the fleet of colorful landships turned a corner around a rock shelf, and the Sabraes were effectively gone.
One of the beautiful sisters sank to her knees on the ground, weeping, and the other cradled her to her chest as she whispered soothing things through her own quiet tears. It was then that Eilahnen felt her cheeks grow damp with tears of her own.
There was nothing quite like leaving home, even just to watch.
What did you think? I'm always trying to better my writing, and really appreciate reviews! I am open to concrit, as well.