#nonbinary elves

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“Deryn, tell me about your family.”

The elf glanced at their lover. “Pardon?”

“Your family,” Samahl repeated. “I…haven’t seen mine in years—I doubt they even remember me—but what of yours?”

Deryn chuckled at him. “My family is my clan, vhenan.”

“Your…clan?”

“Yes. Some children are taken to different clans from the one they were born from. It’s how we survive. Sometimes they need more hunters, others have too many mages, it’s just easier when we track the numbers.”

“And what of you?”

“I’m still part of the same clan I was born into,” Deryn said. “My father passed when I was young, and I was trained into taking his place as a huntsman from then on. My mother wanted me to become an apothecary.”

“What did she do?”

“She was an herbalist.” Deryn crossed their legs as they sat up, straightening their back and gazing into the clear sky above them. “The clan’s healer, more specifically. She was good with spirit magic, but preferred to rely on physical medicine for some reason. The Keeper called her a madwoman for it.”

Samahl hummed as he laid on his side, resting his head against the fat of the elf’s thigh. “Did you have siblings?”

“No. None that I’d recall. If I did, they were probably transferred to other clans.”

“I…see.”

“What of your family, Samahl?”

The corrupted blood in the man’s veins froze, and he visibly stiffened. Deryn bit their bottom lip upon seeing the man’s eyes so filled with fright.

“A-Ah… You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much—”

“No.” Samahl immediately shot up, the whites of his sleeves stained green from the grass’s dew. “You told me of yours. It’s…only fair I told you of mine. Especially if we are to be…”

Deryn raised a brow, a soft smile gracing their lips. “Lovers?”

Tanned cheeks darkened from end to end. “Y-Yes…”

Deryn shrugged. “Alright, if you insist. But…” They placed a hand on the younger’s shoulder. “If it gets to be too much, don’t hesitate to stop. Okay?”

Samahl nodded. Then, taking a deep breath, he looked up at the sky. Reaching quietly for whatever memories he could drag from the chaotic depths of the ocean that was his mind.

“I have three fathers. You…may have heard of, well, all of them actually.”

“That so?”

Samahl sighed. “General Raleigh Samson—yes, that Red General—Commander Cullen Rutherford, and…Inquisitor Emeril Lavellan.”

Deryn’s eyes shot open. “Wait, you’re Inquisitor Lavellan’s son?”

Samahl gave a weary grin. “The very same,” he replied. “It wasn’t easy growing up…having the most famous, and infamous, men as your parents… Dad was pregnant of me when he disbanded the Inquisition, and I was born shortly after they began their ‘secret war’ against Fen’Harel. My sister, Nera, was sired and born three years later. Then Malcolm, the youngest of us, came three years after her.

“Dad wanted nothing to do with the Chantry anymore, as much as he approved of Divine Victoria’s decisions. He wanted a simple life again, or so Pa told me. So they…moved in with my aunt. Started a farm right down the road from that little village. That town was all I knew as a child.”

“And what of your…other fathers?” Deryn asked.

“Father—ah, Ser Cullen, everyone called him—started a sanctuary for templars like him and Pa. Men and women who survived the war and hadn’t become part of Corypheus’s army. It grew in almost no time, we couldn’t believe it! They came from far and wide: some offering aid and working under Father’s eye, others simply wanting to be surrounded by their brothers and sisters when they died of the madness. Those people often had no one else…”

“That’s…horrible.” Deryn shook their head. “I’m glad your father opened that sanctuary, then. It’s rather tragic to meet such a fate.”

“Indeed.”

“What of…General Samson, then?”

“Pa? Oh, he mostly hung around the house. Watched over us while Father tended to the sanctuary and Dad to the farm. He helped out with Dad’s chores from time to time, but…he was still recovering himself.”

“From…the red lyrium, correct? The same lyrium that…”

Samahl didn’t need to turn his head to know Deryn was biting their lip. He scowled.

“That’s corrupted my blood? That makes me hear voices in my head like I’m stark raving mad?” Then, his tone turning bitter, “The same lyrium that made me nearly kill my own bloody father?”

“Samahl, I didn’t mean—”

He held up a hand. “I know! I… I know.”

A long pause. Birds chirped in the branches above their heads, and the leaves swayed and whistled in the blow in the wind. Below the hill they sat upon, overlooking a small valley, stood a young girl. Her long hair was pulled into a braid, and her stubs for horns were just beginning to sharpen at their ends. She bent down to grab a fistful of flowers she found in the tall grass and turned to the pair, holding it up and waving to them. Samahl smiled as she ran back to them, shouting incoherent babble in greeting as she tossed herself onto his lap.

“What do you have there?” he asked her, and she handed him the weeds. “Dandelions?”

“Pretty!” she shouted. “Pretty flower for pretty daddy!”

Samahl’s face flushed again, and he chuckled at her. “You hear that, Deryn? Abbie thinks I’m pretty.”

Deryn snorted. “Oi. What about me?”

“Baba pretty too!”

They hooked their hands under her arms to lift her from Samahl’s lap, carrying her into theirs, as they gave a mighty laugh.

“Damn right I am!”

“Deryn!”

“What?”

“Language!”

Deryn scoffed. “Oh, please, she’s heard far worse just walking to the market.”

“Still… It’s our job to set an example.” Deryn chuckled.

“You sure are taking this parent job seriously, huh, dear?”

Samahl turned to hide the tint in his cheeks. “Well, someone has to,” he replied.

“Oi!” Deryn gave the other a shove, a playful smirk on their lips. “Give me some credit, eh?”

Samahl rolled his eyes and laughed before leaning his head on the elf’s shoulder. He closed his green eyes—his father’s gift, Nana told him when he was a boy—and sighed, his shoulder visibly slumping as he exhaled through his nose.