Solavellan | E | pre-DAI eluvian time travel feat. hot blooded and cocky young wolf and clan mage apprentice Lavellan | [read here]
Ellana Lavellan is one of two apprentices to her clan’s Keeper, and not the most skillful of the pair. She expects to be sent away after failing to earn a place as First, but when she stumbles upon an ancient shrine to Fen’Harel and inadvertently summons the Dread Wolf himself, she finds in him a wealth of powerful, forgotten magics. He’ll teach her, if she makes a suitable offering: herself.
Ellana returns to the shrine again and again, summoning Fen’Harel to teach her more, but time works differently on the other side of the eluvian; centuries pass for him while only weeks go by for her. As she grows to know him as Solas, she discovers that the Creators are not the benevolent deities she believed them to be, and that the Dread Wolf is a man she can love.
What comfort can a mere Dalish mage offer a rebel god? More than either of them ever expected.
Excerpt below the cut...
The Veil undulated, bringing Ellana up short. Two more droplets spattered the altar and, as she watched, reflected a wavering light that emanated from the surface of the tall mirror. It rippled silver and blue, overpowering the fire in the brazier. Fear gripped Ellana’s throat as a shadow filled the mirror, black against its luminosity. When it stepped out of the mirror and into the chamber, the brightness cut off, leaving Ellana to face whatever had come through it with a broken bow, a stolen knife, and her meager skill with spellcraft.
The brazier’s light caught small shining points set against pale skin: a delicate golden cuff at the top of a knife-sharp ear; a round stud in one nostril of a strong nose; a delicate ring in a full lower lip. Confusion knitted a stern brow over storm sea eyes—gray irises edged with deep blue, oddly like Ellana’s own, yet without any suggestion of her timidity. No, the elf who had come through the mirror had a dauntless bearing and wore fabrics so fine he might’ve walked out of the shrine’s mosaics.
Glancing around the chamber and then back at Ellana, he advanced two steps, speaking in quick, liquid words it took her altogether too long to identify as the ancient elvhen tongue. While most Dalish spoke little more than a few phrases, Keeper Deshanna had studied what remained of their predecessors’ language extensively. She had passed that knowledge on to both her apprentices, and in a rare show of savvy, Ellana had picked it up best.
Yet, for all her lessons, she could barely keep up with the flourishes of this elf’s pronunciation and cadence. His vocabulary far exceeded hers, every syllable fluid and spoken in a deep baritone. He gesticulated for emphasis, Ellana catching every fourth or fifth word—where, expected, misled. She strained to focus, but it was all too much, too fast.
Raising her hands in what she hoped was a universal gesture of stop, she said in the ancient tongue, “Please. Please speak slowly and with, ah”—she sought the correct translation—“short words.”
He cut his tirade blessedly off, eyebrows drawing in again. Ellana despaired for a heartbeat that he hadn’t understood her, but then he said, slowly and in short words, “What is this place? It is not where I expected to be when I came through the eluvian.”
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These accompany chapters of my Solavellan Longfic, Divergent Paths.
Bonus illustration for Chapter 16: Packmaster.
Chapter 17: Warden. We finally recruited Blackwall!
Chapter 18: Fool. I love elfroot and the Blackwall banter about it. 😉
Chapter 19: Pamplemousse. We made it to Val Royeaux! Almost.
Dia followed the others, hefting her pack. The tavern door opened to a spacious room with tall ceilings and elaborate chandeliers laden with burning wax candles. The warm light illuminated colourful walls depicting dancing citrus fruit drinking from comically large bottles of wine. The support pillars had decorative mouldings at the top and colourful banners with words embroidered on them stretched from wall to wall.
Cassandra stepped to the bar, where a human man with a moustache was polishing a glass.
“Bonjour Madame, what can I get you?” Said the moustachioed man.
“Bonjour. We would like some rooms for the night please.” Answered Cassandra.
“Do you have an… reservation?” Asked the man in a heavy Orlesian accent.
“No, we do not.” Said Cassandra, clearly a bit surprised.
“I see. I am afraid we only have two rooms available tonight, and ze rabbits cannot stay ‘ere. Ze accommodation for them is across the street, and no guarantee zere will be room anyway.” Said the man in a bored monotone. Dia just blinked, needing a minute to let the words sink in. Varric hissed and Cassandra reacted. Loudly.
“Excuse me!?”
“You ‘eard me, Madame. Zis establishment does not offer mixed accommodations. Ze elves will have to go across the road. The sign says ‘Cobbler’, but ze upstairs belongs to the Pamplemousse Ivre. You must ask at ze desk.” The innkeeper remained unbothered by Cassandra’s offence. Dia almost admired him. If Cassandra looked at her the way she did now at this moustachioed man, Dia would try and find the nearest hole to hide in.
“You cannot be serious. This is clear discrimination.” Fumed Cassandra.
“I assure Madame, le Pamplemousse Ivre operates in accordance with Orlesian law. If you have any complaints, I advise you to take it up with your local representative.” Droned the human, he sounded bored and rehearsed.
I am very proud of the chapters that span the Val Royeaux arc, I thought about holding this last one back and grouping it with the others, but I'm too excited about it, so I'm sharing! Also this is the one I shared a sneak peek of, so it seems only fair.
If you have any questions or comments, I would be glad to hear them! Thank you for looking! Happy creating!
u know what i fucking love. is that it's so clear that many of us have important full time jobs. yet you can see us here on tumblr throughout the work day posting about the most unhinged shit possible. like we're really out here going to a meeting then coming back to tumblr like "shane drippy big dick bouncing on that thang" before running back to another meeting like Hi Linda yes I talked to the team earlier and we're ready to send the documents over. How was your weekend
Undying Love - A Solavellan Illustration (Trespasser Parting Scene)
This was made as a gift for @fadetouchedlurker, featuring their Lavellan. 💕
@fadetouchedlurker's Lavellan is an inspiring, strong and relatable Inquisitor. She is a continuously well written representation for autism and disability and she happens to be delightful. She is also headstrong, sometimes naive, ruthless when necessary and imperfect - a fully fleshed out character with layers.
I adore reading about her and her universe. There are many multi-connected works on AO3 about her, here are some of my stand out-favourites:
Written in Red - The first thing I read from @fadetouchedlurker, it captured me completely and made me love their Lavellan. Not exactly the first in chronological order, the series are interconnected.
Vallaslin - An interesting backstory to this Lavellan, a veteran of the Fifth Blight.
Restraint - A wonderful exploration of intimacy and trust. Queerplatonic things, but mind the tags.
A Familiar Ritual - A lovely "tea across time" journey from Solas' POV. A surprisingly encompassing overview of their love. Very sweet.
A Real Party - A balm for the heart for all Solavellans.
Oblation - A silly premise turned into a horror masterpiece. Amazing writing. Terrible story that will haunt you for weeks/months after. In a good way. You've been warned. I wholeheartedly recommend it if you like psychological horror. But seriously, mind the tags!
There are many, many more; and Fade-Touched Lurker writes beautifully about about Dorian/The Iron Bull, Sera/Dagna and other pairings as well.
They're current WIP is A Sinking Star - A continuation of the main plot of their series. It's brilliant so far. They publish every Thursday.
Go read their things! It will be worth your time.
Oh, and this is the screenshot that was provided for reference. I had to change things, the medium demanded it and so did my limited skills. Seriously, chainmail is the worst. 😉And I only have so many colours available to me.
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Fenharel frees the elven slaves.
"Cowering, cringing, blinking to the light. Then cold hands, kind voices. Sleep now. You're safe." (Cole's comment on Solas's mosaic)
And this is the same man who said, "I'll kill you all to save you all." :DDD
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The Minotaur was named that because he was the son of King Minos. Anyone with a bull head has to be named after their dad, like the Kyletaur or something.
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yknow theres a lot of pressure to be successful, particularly on artsy kids whose professions are seen as useless unless theyre famous, but life is fucking hard and sometimes things dont turn out
but i think thats not bad. my dad has wanted to be a musician forever, and hes rly pretty good. but then he joined the military to get away from an abusive family, and then he got married, and then he got divorced, and a lot of horrible shit HAPPENED. he has ptsd and severe anxiety and he could never really get back on the horse. and he never made it as a musician, and now hes 53
but i grew up in a house full of instruments, and he can play all of them, and some of my earliest memories are of him playing guitar on the front porch and me thinking there wasnt a better musician in the world. so. even if you dont get to the stars, exactly, what you do isnt worthless. its not a waste of time if life is difficult and you cant make it, or if you arent famous, or if your work doesn’t influence thousands of people. it will influence someone
there are a million ways to be happy and a million ways to be a successful artist. we create what we do to enhance the human experience and relate to each other and improve ourselves. theres something to be said for just doing that,,,for the sake of doing it, yknow
My mother never became a professional artist. She became a social worker, then later taught emotionally disturbed children.
But our home was filled with photographs of wildflowers and wildlife. Spice racks, shelves, and other useful objects were adorned with small paintings. She taught me and my sister that we could make things beautiful, even if in small ways, and let us glue glitter and fake gems on our cheap kids furniture and make it ours.
Capitalism tries to say that art isn’t successful unless it makes money. But that’s not why humans make art.
We make art to convey emotion. To make an object or a moment or a story OURS. And making someone smile when they hear you sing, or look at something you made for them is as valid a reason for creating as any other.
