Created for @dragonagereversebang!
the wonderful @sexyapostate, Cham, wrote a fic based off this piece! It was so fun to collaborate π
wounds with no blood by titasylaise (atechamcham) on ao3
βDid you hear about Clan Lavellan?β
The man behind the fruit stall bore Falon'din's vallaslin. It was faded, scars and wrinkles dancing across its lines as it sank back into his tan skin. He lifted his head in recognition at the name, and Merrill tucked her face deeper into her cloak. She turns an apple in her hand, notes the dents in its skin.
"They were here just recently, no? Not three months ago," He said, his voice slow and weighed down by the years, "Just outside the city. Their Keeper was kind enough to trade me some herbs from the Silent Plains."
Merrill had heard the name before; part of her training as First meant she'd have to know every Clan that attended the last Arlathven, so she might be better prepared for the next one. As another Clan in the Marches, Lavellan came up frequently.
The name of their Keeper and their First eluded Merrill at the time. It'd been too long.
"You knew them then?" The woman's tone was conspiratorial, like whatever she meant to say was bleaker than a loose bit of gossip.
"Aye," He says, and for a moment Merrill could see the grief etched into every line on his skin, as if Falon'din himself had come to cast his shadow over them. He knows, in the hollow of his heart, but still he asks: "What happened?"
That was the first time Merrill had heard of the name Inquisitor Lindiranae Lavellan.
"Slaughtered, the lot of them."