BEAUTY LAVELLAN & THE IRON BEAST
/ Just a little change \
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
\ Beauty and the beast. /
{author's note: Hey guys! Hope everyone's enjoying the story so far! I've learned a lot more about the Dalish these past few days, and I am simply in love; you can probably tell from this chapter, haha. I wanted to wait some more before doing the Protect Clan Lavellan mission, but I simply couldn't contain my excitement. I know that you don't personally save them in the game, but that seemed too coldhearted for my Inquisitor. I always wanted to meet the clan, so here we are! Took a few days to come up all with all of her family and the hierarchy, but I think I did a pretty solid job. You'll get to meet the whole ensemble in the next chapter! I did my best to keep everyone in character. I was dying to have Solas come with them, but Dorian and Arte'mys need to get a little closer, and I thought it would be a good opportunity. (My in-game party is always Solas, Cass and Bull. 3) I tried playing along their internal struggles and feelings to get some good reactions& give all of them breath, not just the Inquisitor. Regardless, thank you for reading and I hope you stick around! }
'Excited' was an immense understatement – the occasion wasn't a happy one, but, regardless of the reason, Arte'mys could finally see her family again. She didn't even think twice when Josephine announced her about a faction of outlaws that had targeted her clan, as relayed in a letter written by Keeper Istimaethoriel himself, politely requesting even the smallest help. The Council wasn't pleased at all; it was, perhaps, bad manners to leave Skyhold on a personal quest as the Inquisitor, but if her home was in danger, Lavellan could care less about what bad mouths had to say about her; she would be judged either way, as she had been ever since encountering mankind, simply for being Dalish. Humans were scared of the unknown, and scared humans were cruel and dangerous.
The clan of Lavellan was known throughout Northern Free March as a friendly faction of Dalish, and they were even viewed as more civilized than other clans who lived in complete isolation from the rest of the world. They did trading with any nearby cities and had earned a good reputation; Arte'mys would know, as her father was a trader himself. She hoped with all her heart that her family was okay. Apparently, a first attack had been attempted, as they ambushed the scouting squad, but they had all gotten away with injuries, some worse than others. As long as they were in one piece - they would be alright. I'm coming for you. Please hold on.
The sun was blazing, a sea of greenery surrounding the warriors as they rode their horses through the lush woods. The Keeper had disclosed that they were situated close to the city of Wycome, in an unclaimed valley with fewer Rifts. The red silken hoods of their aravel had probably alarmed them, and, as retaliation, they had sent a group of ruthless mercenaries to rule them out and strike them. It wouldn't be too much of a long ride, lasting a few days at most. The Inquisitor's heart wavered as she thought of her people, wishing, praying that they would remain unscathed until her arrival.
A couple of nights had passed since they left; seeking shelter from the heat and a well-deserved lunch break, they settled onto the grass beneath the shadows of an old tree. The group was small; Arte'mys had seen no reason to bring too many men. Only a few of her most trusted companions had joined her: Dorian, Iron Bull and Cassandra. Needless to say, it was quite a team. She would have brought Solas along, but he excused himself out of it, claiming that urgent research demanded his attention. It was unusual of him to refuse her, but she tried not to dwell on it. More important matters were at hand.
"I take it you're what they call 'Dalish' here?" the mage spoke up. Finding a good spot to camp, they dismounted, and laid down their equipment. "You mean, as opposed to slaves?" the elf retorted, unable to hold back a dab of anger; the entire reason that the wood elves lived so far away from civilization was to rebel against the slavery that the city elves suffered. She closed her eyes, slim fingers reaching to massage her temples. "I'm sorry. Yes, the Dalish are elves that live in the wilderness, roaming the plains and forest. They're peaceful, and only want to be safe and retain the traditions of old." Dorian hadn't been the least affected by her sudden outlash. He had been genuinely curious, although, admittedly, it was badly put into words on his part."I see. It must be very liberating, to live like that." Cassandra looked around, securing the area, then gave Bull a glance as they turned their attention to the ongoing conversation. "It is. Well… not for me, anymore." The Qunari stepped in, giving her a reassuring sideways grin. "C'mon, boss – if you hadn't left your clan, my boys and I wouldn't be doing crazy stuff like helping to save the world. It wouldn't've been the same without ya." Arte'mys nodded, acknowledging his attempt to lift her spirits. " Well, if I might go on" Dorian proceeded, laying down on a square fabric that he had packed – a bed spread, most likely to protect him from getting any dirt on his robes. "What are those scribbles on your face? No offense, of course." Arte'mys couldn't even tell if he was genuinely intrigued or if he was ridiculing her like the asshole he was, most times. "Vallaslin" she replied, feeling relief surge through her as she let out the Elvish word. It had been too long since her mother tongue had surfaced. "Also known as blood writing." That caused every single one of her companions to tense up. Cassandra's muscles stiffened, Bull's steady gaze hardened and Dorian felt a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. The elf quickly waved her hands in front of her. "It's not related to blood magic by any means. It is a ritual that the Dalish partake when they come of age. We meditate beforehand, upon our culture and the Pantheon. We cleanse our bodies, our spirits. We prepare to be bestowed with the markings of a God of our choosing – I bear the mark of Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt." The Seeker seemed to loosen up, resting her sword and shield against the tree trunk. "It is clear you cherish your divinities. There is no chance left for you to believe you were Andraste's Herald, after all. I apologize for forcing it upon you." Her voice was low, obviously having been affected. The Chantry was as important to the humans as the Eluvians were to the Dalish. "Please, Cassandra – I will be whatever you need me to be. I will be your Herald, your Inquisitor. I do not deny your faith, and I only ask that you respect mine. It is very important for my people." White lashes batted over turquoise orbs as Lavellan approached the Seeker, resting a hand on the other's iron-padded shoulder. Cassandra let out a sigh, before returning the gaze. A stronger one, this time. "I understand. It must be hard for you, being away from home. I sometimes forget that you're still very new to all… this." Arte'mys gave a small laugh, and assured the woman that there was no need to worry. They would be victorious, as long as they didn't falter. Bull made himself comfortable on a patch of grass, feet crossed and folded in front of him. "How does it work? You gotta do it yourself?" He munched at a loaf of bread, having just pulled it out from their food supply. "No. Each clan's Keeper is the one who bestows the blood writing, if he deems the subject worthy." The elven girl finished securing the horses to not run off, and took off their saddles so their backs could rest. "It's not pleasant, but it is a silent ceremony. Even the quietest whimper is a sign of weakness. Some of us who are too young won't bear it, and the ritual is called off, the elf having been deemed undeserving and immature." Her chest tightened. "My youngest sister, Panoriel, winced once, and her marking was called off. She suffered great shame and felt terrible for some time." The Tevinter mage shook his head in revolt, leaning back onto the sheet of fabric to stretch his legs, one arm propping up his head. "That's a terrible thing to do to a child!" Half-heartedly, the Dalish agreed; she hated seeing her sister in pain, but the teachings and traditions of her people were sacred, and they had their meaning and purpose. "It helped her grow. She got her Vallaslin a year later, and she's now training under Vir Atish'an – the way of peace and healing. It joyed my parents to hear that no more of us would join the Hunters."
The team gathered round, distributing the food they had managed to bring along accordingly. Each got their fair share, and settled down to enjoy their meal, an occasional dash of wind rushing past them. It was a very pleasant moment, and it reminded Arte'mys of her childhood, as they camped and travelled with their aravels, pulled by the beautiful and mystical Halla.
"You have more than one sister, then?" Cassandra probed, removing her armoured gloves. "Four, actually!" The Seeker seemed impressed. "I look forward to meeting the siblings of the Inquisitor." Dorian placed a hand over his chest in indignation. "Five of you? Fetch me my staff; this handsome man is going back to Skyhold before hell breaks loose any further." The Bull let out a laugh at that. "It can't be so bad. Boss is definitely a damn cool chick" he mused, chugging down a can of water. Arte'mys took out her blade and approached the tree that gave them shelter, using her dagger to carve out a piece of bark, bringing it closer to her nose to get a good sniff, then biting down into it. Dishevelled, the Qunari remade his statement. "I mean, except when she does weird stuff like that."
"Thank you, Bull" the elf gave them a sheepish grin, before crawling between him and Cassandra on the grass, reaching out for some sustenance from the sack of edibles. "I'm not eating this, just munching on it – Dorian was giving me a headache, and the bark of certain trees has sedative properties. It's a great cure for small to mild pain. You didn't know that?" She fumbled through the food in her mouth, wiping crumbs off her face with the use of her sleeve.
"Charming. I honestly can't tell why people don't consider the Dalish to be civilized." The Seeker gave him a nasty glare, while Arte'mys barely noticed the jab, reaching out behind them to study a narrow patch of colourful flowers. "You're not thrilling anyone with your attempted witticism." Cassandra narrowed her eyes, managing to reduce the Tevinter to silence with a single look; well, one of the rare occasions when it worked. The rest of their lunch passed peacefully, with the occasional nudges and jokes – not amusing Pentaghast in the slightest – before they retook the route towards the Lavellans.
[x]
Riding steadily around the city of Wycome, the Inquisitor's party neared the meeting spot by nightfall. Dusk was just setting in, dimming the light little by little as it welcomed stars onto the clear sky. The mounts were clearly tired; and Lavellan wished not to hurt them. They allowed them to rest, sprawling onto the ground of lush cashmere; they marked the trees and pinpointed their location on the map, in order to retrieve them after hopefully reaching the camp.
They were getting closer with every step; not much walking had to be done, before the signs started showing. They trailed down a hill, Lavellan rolling and leaping gracefully over old tree roots. She had to constantly remind herself to lessen her pace, so that her companions could keep up. They weren't her scouting team, she empathised in her mind. They weren't as agile and light on their feet. She missed the hasty expeditions, the flowing movement of her Dalish brothers. Soon, she would see them again; in hope that they had managed to hold out against their attackers. Please be alright. I'm coming for you. I'm almost there.
Faint voices started passing into the wind; a warm light seemed to dance, out in the obscurity. Cassandra's heavy armour let out clanks as metal collided; Bull grunted as he steadied himself down the abrupt slope, and Dorian slightly lifted his robes, assuring he wouldn't trip over them. "Are we ever getting there? I won't have my feet calloused and swollen like a provincial." Arte'mys, from up ahead, turned to face them; her cat-like orbs gleamed akin two sea-green gemstones. It resolved the unsettlement in them, for the time being, taking them by surprise. The iris of Elves reflected light whenever facing darkness. "Don't let this get to your head, dear – but you do happen to possess a beautiful set of eyes," mage felt compelled to admit, earning audible confirmation from the Seeker and Ben-Hassrath. The elf only kept walking.
Something was starting to take form beside the pool of glowing gold and copper that fell against the trees and grass; scarlet drops grew larger, sharpening into view as the silken hoods of the aravels. Silhouettes were forming against the beaming bonfire, and Arte'mys knew she couldn't hold herself back anymore.
Thin legs stretched out as she quickly dug her heels into the soft ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Her throat was dry, burning; brisk evening air whizzed past her as she darted forward, arms swinging at her side. The sounds became much clearer; she could hear the Hearthmistress giving blurry instructions to the healers, the fire cackling under heavy logs of wood. Her body was going numb, the tips of her fingers prickling. Lavellan's travelling partners called out after her, but nothing would stop her anymore. She kept running until the hazy contours became distinct, and her eyes met well-defined faces; people she knew, people she loved.
The first she made out was her beloved mother. Her stunning, caring mother Athehra, with looping locks of flaming dahlia, with her full, rosy cheeks, her defined eyebrows, the intricate Vallaslin of Ghilan'nain blessing her facial features in the shade of a dark meadow. Unknowingly, the Inquisitor came to a halt, ingesting the sight before her. It was home. It really, finally was. Home, in the heart of Free March, beneath the bare sky sprinkled with asters, into the ghosts of ancestral whirlwinds, alongside crystal waters arched in disentangled courses. The home she remembered, never fixed in one spot; amounting to all of the bright plains and rich woods that had been her playground as a child.
All three of the companions slowed down when they neared their leader. Vibrant colours of the Dalish caravans splashed in contrast to the night; enticing scents and foreign chatter lured them in. The feeling was unlike anything either of them had ever experienced; Bull, most of all, was completely estranged from the newfound atmosphere of spiritual harmony and the sanctuary of family. There had been a sense of kindred in his childhood, but he never knew his parents. It was bizarre, to say the least, when he compared that to the numerous relatives that formed a clan of wood-dwelling elves, unravelling in front of him.
Concluding the tending of an injured scout who was resting on a bedroll, Athehra stood up and straightened the wrinkles of her long robes, one hand reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned her head, overseeing the rest of the casualties, making sure there was no more work to be done for the night. They had all been treated, handed salves, patched up with special leaves and tinctures. The healers tried to soothe their pain as best they could, and almost everyone had already recovered from the bandit attack. The whole clan awaited the forces of the Inquisition… The troops of her daughter. Her whimsical, talented Arte'mys. Her little hunter, her precious flake of snow. Snapping out of her thoughts, the older woman intended to speak to the Hearthmistress in order to inform her of the current state of the hunters; but when she looked around, it wasn't her old friend Adatre that she saw; it was her darling Halla.
Pearls rolled down the pale face of Arte'mys as azure eyes met brilliant jade. "Aneth ara, mamae" the girl ushered a greeting, her lips managing a mirthful smile through the flowing tears. "Emm'asha. My daughter." Time froze, for even just a moment. Dorian's heart tinged, as if a blade had pierced his chest; for him, Lavellan's loving family was only an admonition to the cruelty of his own. Cassandra was uncharacteristically astounded, resonating in sympathy with the scene. In a mere second, she had gained more understanding for the Inquisitor and her people than she had managed to grasp since their very first meeting. Bull was still adjusting; it was a whole new world for all of them, and he had just watched the witty, fearless Dalish hunter who slashed through demons with nothing short of clean acerbity turn into a whimpering child as she ran straight between her mother's arms, who held her tightly with all the maternal love and soul that grazed Thedas, as if the world would end any moment; and really, it might, so who could blame them? The Qunari were accustomed to indifference and coldness, but it was such a heart-warming sight, even for someone like him; in the back of his head, he envied her, but it was a fraction of a thought, forgotten as soon as it had arisen.
From the corner of his eye, the Iron Bull caught sight of Seeker Pentaghast rising a hand to briefly dab at her lashes, while their accompanying Tevinter regarded the elves with a cold gaze, pain seeping through the façade. Everyone was so complex, so alive, pulsating with individuality – he knew that, as a Ben-Hassrath; everyone had different quirks, different secrets, but in the end, he knew how to use all of them; how to trick them, manipulate them, control their every breath. So much time spent with the Inquisitor and her party had allowed him to learn many of their weaknesses; enough for him to easily destroy them at any moment, if he so pleased... But it wasn't the Qunari spy that was on board this mission. It was just Bull.
[ "Bull." ]
For whatever reason, the way the elven girl said his name was so soothing and pleasant, it almost disoriented him.
Right then, he was the Iron Bull, leader of the Chargers, trusted ally of the Inquisition; and, most importantly, he was not only Lavellan's subordinate, but her comrade… her friend, her partner in arms; and he was, deep inside, glad that he had gone with her and witnessed her fragility, which she had tried so hard to hide until that moment.
