#iserahopes

The problem with Arlathan Forest, Lucanis decided, was all of the trees. Trees were a problem if you were trying to get around quietly and Lucanis— used to stalking around a city— found the leaf-and-twig laden ground a frustratingly noisy challenge.

The Dalish had clearly figured out how to succeed where he was failing. Maybe it was the lack of shoes, but they were all nearly silent on the forest floor (or sometimes, if he chanced to look up, in the boughs of the trees).

"few are born worthy, da'len," the ancient elf gave a thoughtful hum, nodding his head. "one could even say that none are born worthy. you will have to face trials and tribulations before you find your worth."

It's Solas' Name Day (kinda) // @iserahopes

Starter for @iserahopes

Ｆｒｅｅｚｉｎｇ． Fingers were still cold.  Shivers were present since the other day.  It would have been more prominent if she wasn’t so ｒｅｓｏｕｒｃｅｆｕｌ and ended up making some warmer clothes with the fabric leftover from some of the spare supplies.  

‹ Ｗｅｅｋ　ｔｈｒｅｅ．．．›  

She made a ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌ note in in her journal.  It had been three weeks to the day that she had been in Ｓｋｙｈｏｌｄ and there still proved to be no sign of the rumored Archdemon.  Awaiting further instruction, she thought to deliver some other garments she’d made for the people still ｒｅｃｏｖｅｒｉｎｇ from being in the cold, over to the healers.

Approaching the healer’s tent there were new faces and old faces.  All of them had the same look.  Ｆｅａｒ.  Peering inside, she saw a small figure.  A child?  Without giving it a second thought, she invited herself into the tent after noticing the medic’s ａｂｓｅｎｃｅ and placed the coat on the small elf. 

This is my Isera, in an Elvhenan AU.

His robes flutter with the winds gusting through June’s city, and he brings the hood of his cloak closer to his face, shielding his cold, red cheeks. Pieces of the city float and move, like a labyrinth that can’t stay put, but Solas navigates it swiftly, down one alley, around a corner, up and down and left, left, through a busy street--and the moons in the sky are dim, tonight, only able to illuminate the white gleam in his gray eyes.

He passes a row of shops, most of them dark, and then there is a loud crash, and he jerks his body backward, a small explosion of fire finally lighting the rest of his face.

In a breath, a single heartbeat, he is inside the shop.

“Is anyone hurt?” he calls, as he looks around.

"That's why we knock, da'len," it was a gentle chide as the mage wrapped the gash across his torso. It was ugly, and resisted the sparse healing he'd attempted on it. So a potion had been spread over split flesh, and gauze was being wrapped around it when she had entered.