I'm editing my "End of Summer", and there's a thing that has been bothered me for a while, and maybe some of you can help?
So, I have this lore that Ayanne used to dance when she was younger, right? And I usually talk about it in a very "modern" way: dance classes, dance teacher, dance shows and so on. I'm not a lore purist, so that's generally fine enough for me. But of course I'm well aware that doesn't really fit in a Dalish context. I can picture the clan having a group who dances, and I can see them doing it more "formally" during some special events, along with other people playing music. And yes, maybe there's someone who teaches children traditional steps, but that's probably it? It's hard to imagine something more structured than that?
So, I really don't want to abandon the idea of Ayanne dancing, and the dance teacher is a very important figure in my headcanon (and yes, he has to be related to dance because it's his fault Ayanne stops dancing), but I'm not sure how to make everything sound less "modern"? Any ideas or thoughts on that?
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to describe a sickly dalish child, it is often said their spirit is too powerful for their mortal body which can barely keep it contained which explains their frailty or at least that’s what the keeper told inanshalla about her younger sister mahallain
Headcanon that every Dalish tribe has slight variances in their Vallaslin that allows other Dalish to tell them apart because every Keeper applies the Vallaslin slightly differently. Imagine knowing what clan someone is from by how many dots there are, or from the thickness of the lines, or which way the ink whorls.
Headcanon that the Dalish have their own stereotypes about what type of person gets which Vallaslin design. Dirthamen means you’ll never tell a secret told in confidence but make a great storyteller. Mythal means you’re the mom friend and will always protect those in need. Elgar’nan means you have a fierce temper and are an early riser. Falon’Din means you place great value in the cycle of life and somehow never get lost. June means you have an artists soul and are a dreamer. Sylaise means you care about family and are a great cook. Andruil means you’re stubborn but know how to pick your fights.
Edit: I forgot Ghilan’nain, but I’m pretty sure her Vallaslin just means you like halla and animals.
Deep in the desert, the Dalish have no need to be nomadic. They make their homes in the ancient cities half-buried beneath the sands
Frescoes everywhere. They detail history and folk tale alike. The Keepers and Firsts tell elaborate tales to the clan’s children using them as a backdrop
Instead of burying their dead with a sapling, there is a giant metal tree within the ancient cities, a creation made by both the ancient dwarves and ancient elves (they are some of the oldest races, and so likely collaborated long before humans came to existance) [Edit: Keeping this here for posterity's sake, but have determined that this idea came from the pop-cultural connection of elves to everything foresty. Will change to better reflect Dalish elves as seen in DA.]
The rite of vallaslin has nothing to do with keeping silent, a requirement for nomadic Dalish due to its importance in their day-to-day life. To get your vallaslin, you have to make a pilgrimage through the desert to a holy place
Leather is less common than linen. Clothing is often bright and colorful, made to be breathable and easy to move in
There’s less reliance on foraging due to them being settled. Instead, there’s a higher emphasis on farming near oases and keeping livestock
I have this headcanon about elven weddings (Dalish and City) where there's a ceremony that involves the partners braiding flowers into each other's hair as a symbol of embracing a new life together
I don't really know where this comes from I just thought it'd be nice 🥺🥺🥺
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Description: (SFW) Just a quick scene of Hal’s days long before he came to be at the Conclave or with the Inquisition. I’m figuring that he’s probably 19-20 in this scene, so he’s not been away from his Clan for very long.
Very heavy on my personal Dalish HC’s. You can read it on Ao3 here.
“Didn’t your Ma tell you not to come here?” the fortune teller asked without looking up, he had an easy smile as he waited in the shade of his little awning for someone to pass by and take an interest in his cards.
“Ma said you was Dalish and going to steal children away to live in the woods forever,” she informed him, tugging at one of her corn yellow braids. “Grandpapa said that was silly – no real Dalish lives in the city like you do or is as silly – but he used a different word.”
His expression stilled for a moment, his hands pausing fractionally before he returned to shuffling the deck.
“I used to be Dalish,” he said at last, his hands beginning to move again.
The elf-child frowned at him – alienage brats were sharp, most had quick fingers and nearly all of them could spot a lie at twenty paces. She could tell that wasn’t the full truth and she was going to pout at him until he explained. Creators, children were all the same no matter where they grew up or what their kind was.
“I am Dalish, but I have been away from my home for a long time,” he corrected himself, grinning to the girl. Anna had shown up the first day he’d arrived in the market just outside the Ostwick alienage. “I won’t steal anyone to live in the woods, I promise.”
“How come Mama knew you was Dalish?”
“My vallaslin,” he smiled, touching his face where the lines of his tattoo crossed his cheek. “That’s what these mean.”
“Oooh,” she nodded sagely, “I’ve seen dwarves with vallah-vall….those.”
He chuckled, “Not exactly. Dwarves wear those to show that they don’t belong to Orzammar – their homeland – anymore, it’s not always their choice to have them. Dalish choose to have ours, part of our growing up. They represent our loyalty to our gods.”
“Like Andraste?”
“Sort of,” he grinned. “We call them the Creators.”
She frowned, “So, is what Mother Jacqueline says in the Chant wrong?”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “That’s not how the religion stuff works…you’ll get it when you’re older, maybe.”
“…do you?”
“…not really,” he grinned. “Are you implying I’m old?”
“Yup.”
“Ach, she wounds me,” he placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Go on, your Ma really will wound me if she catches you here again. I’ve been warned not to fill your head with any more fanciful stories.”
He’d given an account of the Hero of Ferelden, there weren’t many elvish heroes who met with Andrastian approval. The Warden Surana was the only one he could think of who was also a mage – and given how Antivan the stories of Garahel were he wasn’t going to be the one repeating them where young ears could hear.
Still, strange Dalish wanderers who did card tricks and read fortunes in cards were not what respectable mothers wanted their children pestering for stories of life outside the alienage.
With her scampering off to play with the other youngsters he settled to watch and listen. There was little else he could do, and for the moment he was content to play the part he was presenting. Soon he’d change roles – mercenary, this time if he found a company amenable to protecting its mage.
Poor pay, he was an elf and most mercs knew that a Dalish elf away from their Clan was there because they’d gotten exiled, and he couldn’t correct that misunderstanding.
Turning his wrist he looked at the carved raven, the words of an ancient story, only half remembered whispering from his memory:
‘You are lost and soon you will fade,’ spoke Fear and twinned Deceit swore, ‘You have been abandoned. He loves you no longer.’ Falondin’s reflection bade them to be silent, speaking the words: ‘I am not lost, I am not abandoned.’ And so he bade them to carry him to where Dirthamen’s shadow lay.’
Keeper Deshanna had pressed the carved raven into his hand as she stood on tip toe to kiss his brow.
“A guide to return you to the people,” she had told him in the dark of the night when he slipped away as tradition demanded of his new role, his brother’s green eyes watching him in silence from behind her. “And a reminder that as you walk the lonelier paths you are never truly lost and nor are you abandoned by the People.”
He’d been glad for the darkness that lay around his departure, he couldn’t worry them with the few escaped tears that had run hot down his cheeks if they could not see them in the shadow of his hood.
The baker from down the street whose grandmother was Rivaini and who was fretting over his daughter’s upcoming nuptials was approaching – doubtless to consult with the cards. He never paid in coin but Hal wasn’t one to turn down the food that was brought in exchange instead.
Memories of his Clan and the reminder of his duty to them could wait until after he’d had breakfast.
One thing I had failed to add to that Nevarren Dalish Headcanons was the orchestra of flemming and hacking that occurs in the mornings in Dalish camps.
A Nevarren elf, human or dwarf always remembers to clear their sinuses in the morning.
No matter how disgusting it sounds for other people.
Or how you’re wondering if it’s the normal routine or if they’re dying.
