#selene lavellan

“Oh,” he breathes, and she nearly shrinks back from the shock of it. Breath. What a strange, alien behavior after...

After so many years of her duties.

Perhaps this was a poor idea, debt of bet hanging around her or not.

'Befriend a member of the world of sky, rediscover what it is like to be near someone with a heart that beats, with life still echoing in their bones, with light in their eyes and red in their lips-'

Lips that finally close as he manages a quiet “Thank you,” with fingers twisting in feathers from his own back.

She swallows around a throat that hasn't needed it in decades, and nods politely back. The curls of her hair itch against the back of her neck with the movement, arms pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“Do you come to these often?” He asks.

The question catches her so off guard she nearly laughs.

“I-uh-I'm sorry, what?”

“The parties,” The man explains, gesturing towards the stone door leading back to the ballroom and festivities still in full swing inside. “My family attends most regularly, though this is the first I've attended in...some time.  I am afraid there is little I am familiar with when it comes to the expectations of these evenings.”

Selene blinks, mind racing with stories Des has brought back from his past excursions; feasts of food and flesh and beasts and whatever extravagances the gods see fit to fill themselves with in the moment and thinks-no, no.

“This is my first in millenia,” She admits with a shrug and a half-honest smile. “If there are rules to these events I might have known once, the memory is long buried and lost to me. I uh,” She chuckles. “I don't get out, much. My responsibilities keep me far from here, and it's only the result of a particularly wily string of fate falling into the lap of a mischievous and trouble-loving imp that's allowed me to be present here tonight.”

“My gratitudes to the imp in question, then.” The man says with a quirk of his lip, and while, no, being a God of Death doesn't exactly leave Selene with much of a heartbeat, it feels as though hers has flipped right into her throat all the same.

“Do you dance?” She asks before she can think better of it. Think of what her touch brings and the cold and the rivers of her home and the loneliness waiting for her by moonset.

“I...suppose I have never tried,” He says, moving towards her all the same.

She takes a step towards him, undeterred by the pollen and petals and the sprouts in his footsteps.

“I'm told I make a wonderful teacher,” She offers, sliding one hand into his and the other around his waist. Not waiting for an answer, she should, she should but damn her nerves and the voice in her head. Death is not meant to dance with Life, with Spring which he so clearly is, she would be a fool not to notice. Not to see how this could only end in tragedy, how it should never even start, how it could only be terrible for them if they could be bothered to see sense.

But the orchestra is leaking through the walls, spilling into the gardens and guiding them through a dance it feels like they have done a hundred times. They must have done, steps easy and effortless and comfortable.

Gods, how long has it been since she was comfortable?

Long enough that she had forgotten the word, the concept, the relief.

Long enough that she is loath to lose it again.

“What is your name?” She asks, though it seems superfluous, nearly, now. What weight does a name carry, in the end. She has been called a great many names, and very few connect in record despite how many of them truly are hers.

Still.

If she is planning to keep him near...

“Dirthamen,” He answers, wings billowing behind him.

“Dirthamen,” She repeats, spinning him into her as surely as she spins magic into her words.

It is a terrible idea.

“I have a proposition for you, dear Dirthamen,”

A terrible, tragic, idea.

“I have a kingdom of my own, that requires my presence and much of my time,”

Would he even be happy there, in the dark with the dead and her home?

“I would very much like to show it to you,”

She could make him happy.

“If you are amenable to the trip.”

She would make him happy.

She has summoned her chariot before she can change her mind, before he can do anything but nod and follow her into it. She cracks the reigns over her spiritual beasts, keeping her prize beside her. Safe, as they travel into the dark of the night. 

Down 

Down 

Down, past the horizon and into the place where the world of sky ends.

Down 

Down 

Down, over the waterfalls of the world, across the seven rivers, and around the confused gaze of her ferryman whose eyes are still heavy with sleep.

Through the crowded alleys of the underworld, still empty in the early morning tides before she pulls into her stables.

Selene exits first, hand outstretched behind her for her newest, and only, visitor.

He might hate her for this, she knows. Could resent her and regret his choice, here in the dark of her home. Could find her to be as empty and depthless as the river Styx itself.

But she would do her best, to make him happy here.

With her.

The weekend passes and Thenvunin is still adjusting to his new home. Without the constant abuse and draining, it must be quite the change. Good change, of course, but change nonetheless, and that takes time to adjust. 

In the days following Stalking’s demise, Serahlin and Selene struggle with the debilitating effects of magical exhaustion. It is all they can do to ensure the boys are fed and given proper explanations about Thenvunin. 

“This is Thenvunin, he is going to be staying with us for awhile,” Serahlin said softly to Ileth while he stared at the new man standing awkwardly in the foyer. Ileth cocked his head, bright, dual colored eyes watching Thenvunin stand perhaps where Darris once stood. 

“Why?” Ileth asked.

“He needs help and a home - and he’s a witch without a coven. When that happens, and we are in a position to have another person in our coven, we help. Thenvunin needs a coven, and we can help.” 

Her little boy looked at her and then at Thenvunin. And then he smiled, a top and bottom tooth both missing, “What’s your familiar? I don’t have one ye’.” 

Darevas was similarly excited about the new addition, though Felasel was much more wary. Even so, Selene chose wisely to spend the weekend at Serahlin’s. With the moon waning into a new moon and her magical exhaustion, it was safest for everyone to remain close.

The boys thankfully largely entertained themselves with their games in the backyard. Thenvunin even played with them every now and then, keeping a rousing game of Hide and Seek going. He spoke to them, read to them, did yoga with them of all things! 

Serahlin is immensely grateful she can trust Thenvunin with the boys while her and Selene sleep through the worst of the exhaustion. Monday comes and they drop the boys off at school to return home for more sleep. Selene curls up on a fainting couch in the library while Serahlin retires to the conservatory to let the warmth of the sun and the inherent magicks of the plants infuse her sleep with regenerative auras. 

The house is so still like this, with three slumbering witches. Thenvunin has his own recuperating to do, even if he still hates having to sleep so much after sleeping for days at a time while Stalking fed from him. 

They all rouse for lunch, then lounge some more. They would look quite lazy to the outsider, but really - magical exhaustion is not to be over exaggerated. Serahlin feels...cut off, numb, yet overly sensitive to every little thing around. She feels helpless in a way that reminds her entirely too much when Darris had her book. 

Not long after lunch, they have to fetch the children. Serahlin volunteers to pick the boys up since Selene is considerably more exhausted given her immense power expenditure. It’s a bit shocking, even, that Felasel and Darevas aren’t exhausted even a little. Selene tapped into both of their magicks, honed them so that she could obliterate Stalking. While the boys don’t have their magic yet, they’re still connected to it, can feel it when it’s been expended. 

But when the boys bound into her car, excitedly talking about their days, she knows they’re not feeling any negative effects of their mama’s fight with a vicious warlock. For which she thanks the gods. 

“Memae! Memae!” Ileth chatters, leaning as forward as possible in his booster seat. 

“Yes, da’len?”

“Mr. Paenir said to uh, to uh, to tell you about the fair!” 

“There’s a fair?” A pit forms in her stomach at the mention of the school function. It sounds oddly familiar -

“It’s tomorrow!”

Somehow, Serahlin prevents the groan that threatens to come out of her. The boys will want to go and worse, Serahlin and Selene will be expected to attend this function. And worst of all, she thinks she may even signed up to prepare a dish for the fair. She probably signed up to make a traditional Orlesian Dalish meal, which really translates into a staple of her home coven’s. 

They reach her home, the boys pile out of the car and into the house, dropping their bags in the mudroom before dashing to the kitchen. Ileth’s appetite has been on an upswing with only a month to go before his birthday. Like mortal children in the middle of a growth spurt, Ileth’s body is preparing itself to receive his magic by having him gain weight to handle the transition. It’s a lot to handle and he’ll need the extra energy to process it all. 

Darevas and Felasel are farther from their transitions but it seems like their appetites are taking on a premature upswing - that or they are following Ileth. They collectively raid the pantry, pulling out snacks and juice boxes. 

“Mama!” Darevas yells before Serahlin shushes him.

“Sweetie, your mama is very tired, remember? Let’s go into the play room,” where it’s nice and warded against sound if she wills it. Quickly and as quietly as possible, Serahlin ushers the boys into the room off of the kitchen, on the opposite end from the conservatory. She clicks the door closed and pricks her finger, bringing a drop of blood to the surface before pressing her finger to a symbol next to the light switch. The magic tugs at her and her ears ring at the idiocy of using magic so close to being drained so thoroughly. But the enchantment zings to life, warding the sound from escaping the room.

The boys romp around, eating their snacks, talking in fast, child speech that is difficult for her to follow with the splitting headache that is now throbbing between her ears. 

While the boys keep themselves occupied, Serahlin goes through her phone, searching for any mention of a fair -

There! The International Fair, and she did indeed sign up to make a traditional dish. If only she was blessed with foresight! How else was she supposed to know this would be at a time where the last thing she wants to be doing is slaving away in a kitchen for a bunch of elementary schoolers and their parents? With the PTA the way it is, she can’t back out either, she’ll be labeled as a flake and Ileth will bear the consequences when he’s not invited to birthday parties or sleepovers or what have you. Really, the mortal mothers in this town can be quite the exclusive and vindictive lot. That’s a lot coming from a witch.

She will...make bread, she thinks. An easy flatbread her mamae used to make. The bread machine can take care of making the dough, which just leaves the kneading and baking. Cut it up into little squares with some store-bought dip on the side, and she should be good to go. 

“Ileth, baby,” she calls.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to help me bake tonight?” She asks, smiling as a great grin spread across his face. His fascination with baking started very young - she was making brownies when he was coming up on two and he sat with her the entire time. She let him taste the batter and they would check up on the brownies, looking through the little window on the oven. The process delighted him almost as much as eating them later. Ever since, whenever she bakes, she has him help.

Her son’s face lights up and he nods with great enthusiasm, “Yeah! What’re we making?” 

“Dalish bread, da’len.”

She’ll need to dig up the recipe from one of the old books in the attic. A finding spell should help, if she can harness enough focus and energy for it. Instead, Serahlin clicks her tongue, calling Risin to her.

Moments later, the cat slinks through the cracked door.

“Yes?”

“I need a book from the attic, older, it has a floral pattern on it - one of the scrapbooks I brought with me from Orlais. You know, the one where I put all the recipes?” She smiles at her familiar who, if he were humanoid, would lift a single brow in either amusement or annoyance. Perhaps both. 

“Ah, the one where you wrote in the margins about that girl - what was her name?”

“Risin, I just need -

“Lara! I will find you the Lara Book.” And with that, the cat disappears into the shadows, using her old infatuation to locate the book. She rolls her eyes then rubs at her temples, trying fruitlessly to will away her headache. These events are always at the worst times. Once, there was a recital the day after the full moon. Her poor baby had been so exhausted he forgot his steps. 

This time around, Serahlin is the one exhausted as she eventually leaves the kids to the playroom while she makes dinner. Making dinner for six people when she is used to cooking for only three is a task even when she isn’t magically exhausted. She could order something, but they did that yesterday and the day before that. The babies at least deserve better than meal after meal of overly processed and salted food. A chicken tortellini bake is easy enough to make anyways. The hassle comes in when she goes to set the table and can’t just float the plates out of the cabinet and onto the table. Ugh. 

Serahlin sets the table as the mortals do and by the time she pulls the bake out of the oven, Selene and Thenvunin both come slinking into the dining room. 

“Fetch the boys, would you?” Serahlin asks as she sets the bake on the table and begins to dish. Selene rises with a yawn and five minutes later she returns with three eager, hungry five-year-olds. 

Even though cooking for so many more people is more taxing than what she has become accustomed to, it feels right. Growing up in a coven, group meals are expected and a time honored tradition. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this part of being part of a coven. Another thing Darris took from her, and took from Ileth as well. 

“Mama, the international fair is tomorrow! Can you come? Pleeeeaase??” Darevas asks halfway through dinner, cheeks still stuffed with tortellini. 

Shock and realization flashes across Selene’s face, “That is tomorrow, isn’t it.” Her voice trails off and Serahlin can see the dark shadow of exhaustion cross her features. “I can...make...halla sugar cookies.”

“Mamaaa!”

“Those are cultural, dear, every clan makes halla cookies. I have the cookie cutter mold in the kitchen. We should have all of the ingredients in the pantry.” By the end of tomorrow, Serahlin will surely collapse. They all will. The children will be fine, of course, that’s how it goes - the parents collapse while the children run about, unaffected and unknowing of the great their parents go through to ensure they can continue to run around unaffected. 

Selene rubs her face and nods. Thenvunin looks around and takes a deep breath.

“I will help. Should I watch the boys or would you rather me cook?” He asks and Serahlin smiles at him, so grateful. 

“The boys needs baths and then they are to be put to bed. They should all know by now how to bathe themselves, you just need to act a traffic director. They each get one story,” Serahlin says, staring at each boy. They’re grinning like they’ve won the lottery with a new person putting them to bed. 

Thenvunin accepts his task and works about getting the boys upstairs. There’s giggling and running, and while Selene and Serahlin are making their respective dishes, a naked, soapy Darevas runs through the kitchen. He laughs as if it’s the grandest thing in the world to be naked and escaping from bed time. A moment later, Thenvunin comes running after him, a giggling Ileth under one arm.

“Darevas! It’s time for PJ’s!” 

“I’m naked!” He laughs, speeding through the downstairs while a frantic Thenvunin chases after him with his Finding Nemo pajamas. Selene stops over her dough that she is just now cutting into halla shapes. She leans over the counter, biting her lip as her shoulders begin to shake. Distorted laughter makes it past her lips and it’s as if the damn breaks. Laughter bubbles up and she laughs and laughs, so much that she turns and slides to the ground.

“Oh you…” giggles escape Serahlin as Selene’s laughter catches, “stop that!” She says but she’s lost to the laughter, her chest heaving as she finds her legs unable to completely support her. She staggers to the floor next to Selene and her sides ache. 

“Mama? What are you laughing at?” Darevas asks and that just makes Selene laugh harder. She gestures for him and he comes to her, naked and wet from his bath but she takes him in her arms and promptly tickles him, his laughter joining theirs. 

What a sight they must be, Serahlin thinks. Two grown women laughing so hard they are near tears, one of them holding a laughing child, his wet hair whipping around, getting everything wet. 

What a wonderful sight, she thinks. As absurd and terrible things have been...they’re here, and they can laugh. Yes, the laughter is the kind induced by exhaustion so strong everything seems absurd and funny. The laughter hurts, but the kind of hurt that means they’re still alive and able to laugh. 

Thenvunin rushes in and he ends up taking Darevas back upstairs for bedtime, which he is unfortunately entirely too riled for now. Thenvunin looks at Serahlin and Selene curiously, but they wave him off to tend to the children while they attempt to gather themselves.

Several minutes pass before laughter dies down to heavy breathing. Selene’s white hair is plastered to her forehead and she looks over at Serahlin, green eyes bright with laughter and lined with exhausiton.

“We killed our husbands,” she whispers, “and a fucking warlock.”

“We killed our husbands and a fucking warlock,” Serahlin repeats. 

Selene runs a hand down her face, shaking her head, “What have we become? Is this what our life is now?”

“What a life that would be.”

“All I ever wanted was to be free of it, free of him, free of…expectation, I guess. Now look at me, I killed my husband and a warlock and I have two kids,” she says, gaze lifting up to the ceiling before coming down to Serahlin’s again, “I don’t think I’d change it. Well, the horrible years with Haelir, yes.”

“But then you wouldn’t have the boys,” Serahlin whispers, but she gets it. Would she be able to take back her time with Darris and not have Ileth? It’s...as bad as Darris was, what he did to her and to Ileth in turn, he did make Ileth happen. And she loves her son so much. She can see herself without Darris, but also without Ileth, and it’s so hard to say if she prefers it. It’s useless to think about, really. She has Ileth, she had Darris - life takes and it gives, it’s all in the balance.

Selene pauses, her lips thinning, “Right,” she whispers. 

“If it helps, I do not anticipate killing anyone else.”

“Good.”

They sit there for several more minutes, listening to the noises of the house and the night creatures beginning their night songs of croaking and cricketting. They hear the slight murmur of Thenvunin reading to the boys and Darevas every now and then hopping up on the bed. 

Eventually they rise and finish tending to their task of making bread and cookies. Over an hour later, the cookies and the small pieces of flatbread are finished cooling. They’re shuffled into large tins they will take to the fair tomorrow. They both have a batch to do tomorrow as well before they’re called in to help set up. 

They crawl into their beds close to midnight, collapsing into a dead sleep. 

**

The next day comes early. The boys’ school for some reason mandates the children be at school by 7:45am which means parents must be up and about with small children at a horrendous hour. 

Serahlin doesn’t bother to do more for herself than pile her hair into a messy bun atop her head and don some athleisure wear. She leaves her room and heads to Ileth’s room to begin the process of rousing them and coaxing them to dress. She turns and sees a tired Thenvunin, dressed in a robe and fluffy slippers, hair still up in curlers, padding down the hall.

“Did my alarm wake you?” She asks and he nods while yawning.

“It’s fine, I can help.” He gestures to the door and Serahlin nods before heading downstairs to make some quick lunches. She whips up three PB&J sandwiches, puts apple slices in each pack, as well as a juice box and some carrot sticks, and finally a cookie. She’d like to be able to write a note for each of them, but they come downstairs before she had enough time. Felasel looks mopey and stern to be awakened so early, so she hands him the first muffin. 

“Good morning, darlings,” she says, bending down to give them each a kiss and a muffin.

“G’morning, memae.”

“Goo’morning, auntie Serahlin.”

Thenvunin passes her and in a moment of auto-pilot, she too kisses his cheek and hands him a muffin. They both stop for a second before moving forward. They’re tired, they’re adults. It’s not like she stuck her hand down his pants. 

They all pile into her car then drive over to the school.

**

Selene watches the car pull out of the driveway and head down the road. She has approximately forty-five minutes to do what she needs to do.  She has to get to the bottom of this. 

A pit has settled itself in her stomach and voices whisper in the back of her head. The shadows in the house seem darker, the books call to her even more strongly and a deep hunger that cannot be alleviated has taken root in her gut. Some may say she’s possessed, but she knows that is not the case. 

Channeling her sons’ power did not exhaust like it should have. She is tired, yes, and her magic feels distant, but she can still feel their power. There are no bare hints or mere suggestions of what it is, but a regular pulsation of power that is more than concerning - it’s frightening. What will her children be inheriting? Because she knows this dark mass of power is not from her, which only leaves one reason.

The creature with whom she struck the bargain.

With Des’s help, she shutters the house, douses all of the candles Serahlin keeps lit. She takes to the attic with some of her own candles and a piece of chalk and an offering. She draws the large circular symbol on the floor, lies in the center and takes a breath.

This time she follows the dark threads she feels in her soul, a tether that connects to her to her children and to their sire. She doesn’t wait in the Fade, but walks along a path that she can now see - dark and winding, but also so intensely beautiful. Pages from untold books swirl around her, buoyed by eddies of purple currents of power. Eyes open and blink, watching her as she traverses this eerily beautiful landscape. Impossible black and blue trees wind into a sky of ocean, light filtering down in white gold bands. The path bends and her feet lift off the ground until she is floating in the air, white hair a cloud around her head. 

The thread ends here. He’s here, she can feel him.

“Show yourself!” She demands, her voice stronger than the trembling in her heart. The world vibrates and a pair of brilliant blue eyes snap open in front of her. 

“You sought me?” He asks and she swallows.

“Yes.”

“You wish to ask a question,” it’s a statement and question both. She nods but he speaks once more, “you fear you know the answer. What is your question?”

“Who, or what, are you?” She blurts, staring into the eyes, not sure if it’s better to hope or to suspect the worst. 

He’s a demon. Or worse. What’s worse than a demon?

“I am...not unlike you.” He says.

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“I am not a demon. That should be sufficient.”

“Except it’s not. I killed a warlock the other day - I stopped time. I feel you - you’re...what are you?” She demands again and she feels rather hears his sigh. 

“You wish my name.”

“I wish for your nature to know what to expect for my children.”

“Our children,” he corrects quickly, “I watch over them as well as I can. They are...amazing.”

“No argument there, will you answer me?”

“Will you love our children any less if I am...not what you desire?”

“No,” the answer is immediate, “I...couldn’t.”

“Truth. It’s been so long since I spoke my name.” The world shudders with him, his bright eyes closing only to open slowly as he speaks a single, life-altering word.