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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as a trans man, so many of the things cis men consider to be “emasculating” are so fucking funny. you are our gender’s weakest soldier. you would kill yourself if you were a trans man for a day. how are you going to tell me I’m ‘not a real man’ and then start cheating on your wife because she makes more money than you and it makes you feel ‘emasculated’? your masculinity is as fragile as a champagne glass and you’re throwing stones? lmfaoooo
“My favourite thing was a bunch of people made a giant sign that said “How am I going to be an octopus about this?” and held it up during Pompeii at all the right times and it distracted me enough to sing “octopus” instead by accident.”
One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.
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online fandom is so fun because we’ll be talking about very serious character moments and analyzing them and stuff and there will be a lull in the discussion and someone will be like “and then they fuck about it” and then we’re all like yeah and then they fuck about it
i love fics that feel so... grown. fics about adults that were written by adults who have years of life experience under their belts who pour that into their writing. fics where you can tell this is a person who has lived through a marriage or a divorce or a child or children or parent death or any number of Huge Life Events because the way they write with an emphasis on the highs and lows of the human experience rather than an emphasis on tropes (not throwing shade) is just so. oh man, it's just so fucking good. if my blorbos are grown men, grown women, grown people, i love it when they feel like grown people, not just extensions of the (young) author's imagination. (still not throwing shade). you know?
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you have permission to pick that 2 year old "abandoned" project back up. it's not mad at you for setting it aside. and maybe time and distance have helped ease or erase the things that made you put it down in the first place.
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Been tagged in the past couple of weeks by the wonderful @theriothag and @teamdilf. I've been consumed with IRL stuff lately (what's new, I guess), but knock, knock, knock it's These Hands again:
Night slipped by in tales of a world Ellana couldn’t have dreamed of. Even in the deepest sleep, when mages ventured far into the Fade, there was no trace of the true Elvhenan—magic-rich and ruled by elves forged from ambitious spirits and the pilfered blood of earth-shaking titans. No faith in Thedas, she was certain, had any concept of that past. Not the misguided Dalish legends or the Chant of Light or even the memories of the dwarves, whose lineage was more ancient than the People’s.
Solas spoke of it with both fondness and sorrow, one or the other vying for supremacy depending on the story. Answering Ellana’s questions jumped the narrative across centuries and vast distances, and while she did her best to follow it, a handful of hours wouldn’t suffice to knit together so much forgotten history. Her head and heart were full of all he had confessed.
“I have kept you too long, vhenan,” he said when Ellana failed to hide the drooping of her eyelids. Her “no” was lost in a poorly stifled yawn, which earned her a forbearing close-lipped smile. Solas asked, “Can you lie in some of the morning to claim the rest I stole?”
“I have chores.” And unless she was sick, Deshanna expected them done. Apprentices were held to the standard the Keeper herself was.
“Then I am sorry—”
Ellana said, “I’m not.” Stirring from her place in his arms, she brushed his dry, uncombed hair aside to kiss him. In it were all the assurances she’d given since he’d told her his name: she didn’t hold his deceit against him; had he tried to tell her the truth on the first night, she would never have believed it. Without him she would still be a talentless mage, of no use to her clan. She would not know passion or love as bright and blazing as veilfire.
Tagging with zero pressure @crackinglamb, @rhoxxia, @dayntee, @virshiral, @hallahart, and anybody else who wants to do it!
