Chapter Text
During a particularly potent harvest year for a small Dalish clan, just as the rains left the valley, there was a baby born. They were strong and healthy, an easy birth with predictions of a clear and victorious future. Muddy-brown hair and dirty blue eyes like their parents, with a ruddy complexion, and a scattering of dark freckles adorning their face and shoulders, and a few moles that hid in the folds of skin a baby has. There was a name given to this baby, but it doesn't matter, for once the baby became a child, it disliked the name. It was perfectly pleased with the rest of its life, for the most part. Hunting, listening to the tales, sleeping under the stars; the child would never have dreamt of asking for more. True, sometimes the Keeper assigned it harsh lessons, and true, it usually failed those lessons. But it was happy being lazy.
Then, the fire happened. Burning down a whole tree, that tree landing on the crops, those crops being ruined. The fire was blamed on the child. Fair enough, it had caused it. Apparently, magic flowed through this child. Magic that preferred to be unrestrained. At first, people forgave and forgot, and the child continued to learn of its powers, burning leaves from the tips of high branches and cooking potatoes on the plant. Recklessly showing off to the humans, taunting the Templars who passed their way, and still, the clan stood with them. But, as the seasons grew cold, and as the fires grew stronger, and as the child started growing into an adult, the once paternal feelings of concern evaporated, like the last dregs of an oasis in a miserly desert. Another much kinder, and much less arsonistic, magic user was chosen by the Keeper, and, as per the unwritten rules of this clan, there could only be so many magic users. The not quite adult elf was informed that they could no longer travel with this clan, and that if they endangered the peace, the clan would not hesitate to attack them.
Well, nobody needs to hear those kind of threats twice. The exiled elf eagerly escaped, before going through the harrowing Vallaslin ceremony, before any more love could be lost, before anybody could change their mind and keep them trapped. For once, the elf felt free. A clan was rules and worries and restrictions, with unnecessary people telling you unnecessary things. Out here, the world laid out like a lavish feast before them, with the seasoning of adulthood being added before their very eyes. Each day was new, and was an experience that, even to the end of their days, they would remember fondly. There was no need for a home. The human villages served as a place to sleep and eat, even if only for a day or two at a time. And the Alienages were such amazing places to learn about the spirit of all beings. The elves in there were so mean and so harsh and so scared, it was like a whole new species. Sometimes, the bold elf liked to show off their magic, to earn coins by performing tricks for the children. But the morose leaders of the cities always called the Templars or the Church before long, and it was always cut short. There was never time to make friends, or to have real conversations, or to get some help. Not that they thought they needed it. As far as the self-made adult was concerned at that time, that was all right. There was a lot of amazing things about being alone that no one ever told you, things that people always neglected to mention. A single person could sneak easier, could find a hiding hole easier, could get enough money to feed themselves for a while and just have fun. By lying and playing the game that people seemed to enjoy, it was such a beautiful world. And beautiful people could always find a place to stay. There was a system out there, and if you figured it out, you were good. And the proud adult was more than good, they were incredible; they could do anything they put their hand to. That was something that the clan had never thought to teach.
However, the seasons come and go. Adulthood can be scary, what with all the new things you have to do to take care of yourself, and all the things you take care for granted are suddenly a lot harder to come by. And it was during those years that this decidedly adult elf felt most confused. They had grown into a semi-lovely woman, with a ridiculous bowl-cut that hid, alongside their ears, under various hats and wigs when the situation called for it. Their freckles were less pronounced, albeit having multiplied all over their body, and a bold red flush adorned their nose, alerting the world to its presence. Chubby and short for an elf, it wasn't hard to find somewhere to blend in, or someone who liked that kind of shape. But the more they tried to adorn themselves in fitting clothes, the more it all seemed like dressing up in a costume. Their body wasn't right. It didn't feel right. Their name wasn't right. The way they dressed, the way they spoke, the way people spoke to them, none of it felt right. They would go into towns, and everytime, they would come out a little bit different. A different shade of hair, a different tone of voice, a different name. Desperate to find the right fit, there was nothing they wouldn't replace. Several times in a day, they would switch their loyalties and their morals around, trying on ideals like they were cheaply-made gloves. Men were always willing to accommodate them, that was never a problem. It was always nice to be adored and praised. Sometimes, it felt good. Sometimes, it felt like torture. Sometimes, the words fell on silent ears, ears too busy listening to the call of the road and the fire in their veins. Sometimes, the words weren't enough, and an obviously disgusting man got what he wanted, in exchange for the corruption of the miserable elf's state of mind. But it was always their choice. No one could stop them. No one cared enough to ask. That was fine. If they cared, they'd ask them to care in return. And, as the exhausted adult laid in a stable outside a stranger's house at night, they were finding out that there wasn't anything left in them that really cared that much. At that point, they began to believe that their old tribe had been right. They weren't good enough to be around other people. Always another issue, always another problem. If it wasn't flaming crops, it was an issue with how their shirt fit. Maybe, they thought, they had earned this pain. Maybe it was the price to pay for their magic, or for the freedom they had at the expense of others. Either way, it definitely hurt.
There was no relief from rain that summer season, as the Templars were slicing down rogue mages left and right, like pruning a sick tree. Although the weary elf tried to hide, they were beginning to break down. One town after another; another name, another story. Never any friends, never any familiarity, never anything wholesome. Life was becoming an internal cycle of self-hatred and ritualistic introspection, while their body went through the motions and did whatever it took to get food and bed. How bad could the Circle be, they pondered, with the idle curiosity of a career criminal considering jail. Not that they had actually ever done anything so terrible. But in the end, they'd keep running from the guards. They didn't actually want to be kept inside. The sky and the grass was too precious. In the end, they were an elf, and sometimes, nature felt like the only thing that they could rely on.
That particular day, they were traveling through some backwoods, hoping to make it into Kirkwall before the next heat wave struck. They might have tried to hitch a ride with some merchants, but, ridiculously enough, they had found some armor on a dead Templar and was wearing it. It was heavy, loud, decidedly putrid, and not a single piece fit. But, who knows why, it felt like a big shell on a small turtle, and that provided a strange sense of protection. So, despite stumbling and clanging around like a Mabari trapped in a cage, they were content to walk through the woods, if it meant they could hide a little longer. Once they got to town, they'd have to say goodbye to the armor. No way around it. For a mage, it was a little bit heavy. And for the games they played, it would attract the wrong kind of attention. Oh, well. Who ever heard of getting attached to a suit of armor?
Then, out of the corner of their eyes, the elf saw something, or rather, somebody. A young elf girl in a tree, her breaths shallow and ragged. She had Vallaslin, though they didn't know which kind, and was gripping a broken dagger in her hand. From their position on the hill, the hidden adult could see three Templars approaching. Evidently, they were after this girl. Could she use magic? Walking down the hill, no real intentions in mind, the uninvolved elf thought about what lie they would tell, or what things they would say to get the girl out of the tree. Was this a smart move? All these thoughts showed themselves, but remained passive, as if they were waiting to see which one of them would be answered, if any. As they reached the tree, the armored elf was feeling quite blank, not particularly one way or another. They just decided to take a stroll this way. Putting their hand on the tree, they looked up at the girl, who was trembling as she stared down, her whimpers and sobs increasing as she could only see Templar armor beneath her. Her tears cut a swath through the dirt and blood smeared on her face, and she had a nasty old scar crossing her lips, traveling towards her left eye. She had a Vallaslin, but she obviously hadn't been outside for a long while. Her body tone had become thin and sickly, and there were clear bruises on her neck and legs. So she had been physically abused. Nothing new in a world like this. Standing by the tree, the silent elf tried to remain unmoved, not knowing what would happen if they cared too much. They hadn't done that for a while.
"Damn it, Harris, you show up right when we've basically finished the job. Can't you let us have just one of these knife-ears once?" One of the Templars spoke up, his enunciation surprisingly fancy and rich-sounding. You wouldn't hear an accent like that anywhere near here. How far had they traveled from with this girl? Another one of the Templars chuckled, breaking the silence, though it wasn't clear what was funny. Up in the tree, the girl buried her face in the tree, her sobs rocking her tiny body. Glancing at the Templars, the elf thought about the fastest way to get out of here. If they ran now, by the time these Templars figured it out, the very motivated elf would be hiding in a cave somewhere, eating contentedly. There was no reason to fight. But, like every other thing they had done up to this point, the reason didn't really matter. The angered elf simply hated these Templars. Their words, their body language, even the way they wore the same armor. It was all filling them with such rage. Surely, it wouldn't hurt anybody to teach these monsters a lesson.
Although they had to stand on the very top of their toes, the angered elf managed to break a thick branch off from the tree, carefully pulling leaves and small sticks off from it. As they did this, the Templars began to confer. "I don't think that's Harris...unless they lost their knees." A female Templar spoke up, as she pulled a sharp and well-made sword from its sheath. The three Templars got on guard, obviously expecting a fight. However, they weren't casting any wards yet, which was great.
The chuckling Templar stepped forward, his axe slipping soundlessly from nowhere, and glinting in the sunlight. How extravagant. "I bet you 10-to-nothing that's a knife-ear, come to save their little buddy. You made a really dumb choice today, elf." His words didn't scare the busy elf, as they continued to rip budding branches from their base. The Templars inched closer, apparently dumb enough not to use the shields at their sides to cover themselves. Did these people not train for mages?
Once again, the female Templar found the confidence to speak. "You killed Harris, didn't you? Did you get a taste of blood and decide you wanted more? Or were you thinking we'd be scared of you, seeing you wear that armor? Templars don't scare easy, elf! We deal with mages, bandits, and all kinds of demons! A miserable waste of space like you ain't more than a training exercise to us." She taunted, a certain bitter tone standing out. Had this woman suffered at the hands of elves? Were her parents brutally slaughtered by Dalish, as this poor woman watched in horror? A tragic upbringing that led to her judging and killing off innocent people to avenge her fallen lover, in the hopes it would make the pain go away. What a low-state she must find herself in today. What an unfortunate fate. What a bitch.
With the branch sufficiently cleaned off, the elf turned to face the Templars, their new staff reaching chest height before it splintered off into thin strips. Those same thin strips began to burn, as the staff was raised slowly into the air. Humans were all the same. Monsters. They ruled the world, and thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted, damn the consequences for anybody in their way. What was it like to hurt so many in one day? For no more than a moment, the enflamed elf had a flash of familiarity, as they recalled their attitude with their old clan, burning the tents as they watched the stars dazzling in the sky. Resentment and regret built up inside them, like rainwater pounding against a dam. And like a monsoon, those same emotions came flooding out, as the powerfully upset elf brought the smouldering staff down onto the ground, with an eruption of fire blasting off towards the Templars. It wasn't the strongest fire, and it wasn't the hottest, but it was fast, and it was directly aimed towards them. Somehow surprised, the Templars attempted to shield themselves. The female Templar managed it, as did the chuckling one, but the fancy Templar was hit in the chest, knocked back by his own shock and knocked unconscious by the fall. With a few seconds to spare, as the frightened Templars reacted to their fallen teammate, the focused elf cast another volley of fireballs, trying to knock the others away. Once they realized how weak their magic was, they would strike. They couldn't be allowed to figure it out. The fireballs slammed uselessly into the shields, fizzling out against the magic metal, but the Templars were spooked. They weren't supposed to be here, it seemed. They weren't prepared to kill a mage today. What bold talk had flowed from them before; now to see them dumbfounded and confused seemed like a joke. The chuckling one grabbed his fallen partner, dragging him up with more arm strength than it would take to snap the flaming staff in two. Burdened by his friend, he lumbered away, as another fireball clanged pitifully on his shield. Hesitating for a moment, as she protected the escape of the injured man, the female Templar made eye contact with the attacking elf. Now, the elf was not aware of their mindset, nor what their face had decided to do. But whatever that guard saw terrified her, and she quickly retreated, her eyes now looking behind her, like she was afraid to face forward. One last fire blast etched itself into a nearby tree, as the last piece of unburnt wood inside the staff succumbed to the heat, and crumbled into charcoal in the elf's tight grip. With the atmosphere of a bodiless battlefield, the scene fell into a panicked ambience, with fire crackling in stray pieces of wood, and grass attempting to recover from its thorough stomping. Breathing heavily, the exhausted elf felt as though, for the first time in a long time, their body was actually alive. Magic tingled their fingertips, and their chest tightened with a familiar ache, one that begged to burn more and more. Why must the familiar always be something so scary and upsetting?
Behind them, a soft rustle alerted the distracted elf, reminding them of the elf girl that had been in the tree. She saw all of that, and was no doubt impressed, or maybe she was scared. Either way, what a bother. They glanced behind them, seeing the elf girl step down onto the solid ground, still shaking and trembling, but with an uncomfortably excited smile on her face. Nausea rose up in the nervous elf, and they looked away from the elf girl, wiping the black charcoal off onto the few exposed pieces of fabric. Their armor felt like a prison now, but it was keeping this girl from seeing their pale face and weak complexion, so at least there was that. "You saved me!" The elf girl exclaimed in Dalish, her voice soft and sweet, like a warm glass of wine.
All at once, the shrouded elf reacted, or rather, their body reacted. They began stomping out the various fires around them, their metal greaves clanging incredibly loudly over the quiet scene. Eventually, their brain caught up, and they decided to lie. "Don't really like Templars. Forgot you were even there." They responded in very broken Dalish. It wasn't a great lie, but it made the agitated elf feel better, and the rhythmic action of stepping on fire did the rest.
The elf girl waited for them to stop stomping, and after a few seconds, seemed to realize that they weren't going to stop. Stepping in a very careful way over to the frantic elf, she seemed to have a slight limp, or she just hadn't walked for a while. Both were possible. "You're a city elf? I thought they killed their mages?" She asked, using a simpler form of Dalish now. Her words were rather rude, but considering what she had likely been through, it was okay. Pausing as they heard the question, their foot visibly in the air, the reflective elf thought about how to answer this. They could lie, like they usually did. Maybe they should tell the truth. What could it hurt? A twinge in their stomach spoke up, and the elf went back to stomping out cold ashes. Seeing she wasn't going to get an answer, the elf girl lost her smile and stepped back from the silent elf. "I was trapped in a small crate for months, as the Templars attempted to contact my clan. They kidnapped me in hopes of being able to get our mage. When the mage gave himself up, they killed him. I escaped from them, and I've been on the run for three days." Explaining this, it wasn't clear if she wanted pity or respect.
Negativity boiled away inside the repressed elf, as they wanted to make this girl go away. If she could escape, why didn't she escape sooner? Why would they give up their mage for her? How could she be stupid enough to get caught in the first place? Choking it down, they managed to get themselves under control, pushing away the bitterness for a few seconds. "I'm sorry for your loss." They managed to whisper, their voice deep and quiet, like they didn't want to say it all. They didn't want to be here. Dalish elves were trouble. And right now, the also Dalish elf felt ashamed of what they had done. Getting involved in this was a mistake, that was clear. They should go.
The embarrassed elf took a step, a very heavy step, before an emaciated and very determined hand gripped at their armored shoulder. "Come back with me to my clan." The girl didn't beg, she didn't demand. Her request was more of a statement. She entirely expected to hear a yes. And, despite their usual independence and strong desire to do anything but what was expected, the stubborn elf actually said yes.
It was a long walk to the elf girl's clan, which gave the trailing elf plenty of time to think about why they had agreed to go to a stuffy old clan. It had obviously been on reflex, they decided, because the more they thought about it, the more they knew it was going to go very badly. Their own clan had exiled them, and they hadn't followed clan rules for a long time. No ceremony, no desire to be controlled. It wouldn't be long before they were alone again. But, even with all that, a part of them wanted to see their own kind. Maybe they could explain why they felt like such a stranger in their own skin, give them a God that would make the nights feel shorter. The Dalish seemed like such an incredibly powerful people, capable of picking and choosing the people that deserve to be with them. After all these years of being among disgusting humans, was there any chance for redemption for the disinherited elf?
Along the way, the elf girl introduced herself as Nonni, the daughter of the Keeper. She was out hunting when she was captured, and was afraid of returning alone, blaming herself for the death of the mage. With the powerful elf at her side, she could give back to her clan, and would be able to reclaim her honor. Hopefully. Either way, she was bringing them back. The uninvolved elf listened to this with little interest, hardly responding, and not explaining their own story. For once, they didn't have to say anything, this girl was desperate enough to fill in the blanks. How good it felt to hold the power, although the guilty feeling that consumed their stomach made it a bit hard to enjoy. And, in no time at all, barely three days of silence and awkward living, they had made it back to the nearby Clan Lavellan. It was in the middle of nowhere in the Free Marches, stuck in a miserable mud wallow where rotten trees covered the sky. Not exactly the best entrance, but to be fair, they had been moving around a lot.
The Keeper Deshanna was an interesting woman, who was obviously old but carried herself like an agile youth, with a brightness in her eyes that shone through her grim expression. As Nonni and the well-traveled elf walked into the camp, it was obvious they were mourning. The last mage, or the Keeper's First, was loved by all. A great shadow to fill, it seemed. Well, they had no intention of trying. Walking up to her mother, Nonni fell to her knees before her, gripping at her mother's hand. "If I had known what would've happened, I would have killed myself first!!" She wept, having apparently been holding her emotions back. Not a shock, considering how cold her traveling companion had been. Deshanna knelt beside her daughter, wrapping her in a warm embrace and whispering soft comfort into her ears. While they worked through their problems, the ignorant elf glanced around the area, spotting several things they hadn't expected. A human merchant sold their goods near the entrance, human-made weapons were slung over many of the hunters' backs, and there were many elves wearing strange amalgamations of armor, like nothing a sensible person would ever design. It intrigued the elf, but they didn't dare go and take a look. Judging from the looks the clan's hunters had given them as they walked in, the Templar armor was not a hit. Perhaps they should've gotten rid of it. It did stink incredibly bad now. But...alone with Nonni, the sensitive elf had been afraid to move one inch of their armor. They had told her where they had found it, and explained that the rotting blood was not theirs. The question of why they were wearing it at all had not come up, thankfully, and the elf did not want to hasten that conversation. They wanted to get rid of this armor, certainly. It was heavy, gross, and had a Templar symbol emblazoned on the front. But revealing their stumpy and gluttonous shape to these people would only be a last resort. The elf wasn't sure why they had become so afraid of their body lately, but they also weren't interested in talking about it.
Behind them, the self-concerned elf heard the Keeper approach, her steps soft and her manner calm. She seemed old, but all the Dalish did. They were an old people. The visiting elf turned to face Deshanna, keeping a stiff body language, somewhat afraid of what this woman might say to them. She didn't seem bothered, as she smiled kindly. "You saved my daughter, and I am grateful. I can offer you a large reward for this, lethallen." She spoke in human, aside from her one word. The word made the elf flinch, as they recognized it from their old clan. Friend. Whatever that meant.
Attempting to find words, the insecure elf stammered for a few seconds, glancing around in the hopes that they would spot something or someone that might enrich their words. Nothing jumped out, and they decided that there was probably no reason to say much. These were strangers after all. "I'll take it. I'll be glad to get back home." They muttered, unable to make eye contact with the Keeper.
"Oh? Is there another tribe in the area?" She inquired, as she dug around noisily in the pouches she had around her waist. The fearful elf did not answer. When they had said home, they had, of course, meant whatever human city they could find. Whatever home or man that would take them in. There was no tribe that would take this elf in. Only the worst of humans would even give them a chance. Deshanna seemed to pick up on this, as she glanced up at the morose elf. Holding out a handful of gold coins to them, she spoke in a very understanding tone. "I hope you have a pleasant trip." As soon as they saw the coins, the panicking elf grabbed them and turned to leave, ready to be done with this place. They didn't belong, and no amount of coins would convince them they did. "With our debt paid off, I beg you for another favor, lethallen," Deshanna told them, slow and deliberate.
The confused elf looked back, not believing this woman. Why couldn't she just leave them alone? Why could the Dalish mind their own business? "I'm not for hire," they responded, anger and embarrassment beginning to mix together in their stomach. Let me go, they thought, I'm no good to you.
Somehow, Deshanna ignored their body language, as she continued on. "Our Clan needs a mage. And you are obviously very powerful, able to take down Templars. For a while, please...stay," she pleaded with them, motioning around at the people around, all of whom had begun to watch.
Sighing heavily, the irritated elf shook their head. Their hands gripped tight, and their face red-hot, they tried not to make eye contact with Deshanna as they talked to her. "I haven't killed any of them. The one who I stole this armor from was already dead, and the Templars who assaulted and tortured your daughter got away," informing her of this, the shameful elf hoped she would comprehend how much of a liability they could be. "If you think someone like me is good enough, you're…" the words had begun to escape on their own, but they managed to clamp it back down. None of them could understand.
Deshanna stared at the exasperated elf, a confused look on her face. Was it really that hard to see how much they didn't want to be here? She took a few steps towards them, carefully and cautiously. "I don't ask you to stay forever. We will undoubtedly have a new mage soon," she stated, that veneer of kindness melting off, to reveal the logical leader inside. It came as something of a relief to the restricted elf. "But I need a mage, and you need a home. A lost spirit like you cannot wander without guidance forever," Deshanna explained, her eyes meeting theirs. "That's how demons are made."
A cold chill ran down the amazed elf's spine, as they saw the passion in Deshanna's eyes. For better or worse, she wanted them here. And...even though they hated so much of themselves, the elf didn't want to be a demon. If it was only for a few weeks, they thought, it might be nice. People like them, food when you wanted it, and a warm place to sleep. Why not? Unconsciously nodding, the interested elf turned to face the Keeper. "As long as I can leave whenever I want to, I accept. I promise nothing, and I do not swear to follow your rules. I follow no one but myself," they said, coldly. There was fear in their heart that Deshanna would reject them, send them away again. And fear that their magic would be too uncontrollable for this new Clan. That pain pierced through them like a sword in their back, a lack of blood only from the metal blockage. Although they hoped that it wasn't obvious, the shamed elf made no attempt to hide it. Not this time, at least.
With a slight smile, Deshanna held her hand out to them. "If you're staying, I'd appreciate my gold back," she commented, her tone very serious. Having to stifle a chuckle, the almost hysteric elf managed to smoothly pass the gold back over, not dropping a single piece. As Deshanna put the gold away, she spoke up again. "What's your name, lethallen?" She inquired, strong curiosity in her voice.
Their mind going blank, the untitled elf looked down at the ground, trying to think of something. The names they had tried before seemed so fake, and the original was no longer their own. Nothing matched the feeling inside, let alone the body. With sadness in their voice, and a heaviness in their whole being, the miserable elf answered. "I don't know. I've not had a name for many years," they whispered.
Seconds passed like hours, as the unnamed elf felt their shame grow. What was a being without a name? Even emotions received names. What kind of thing never chose to name itself? Suddenly, a gentle hand was on their shoulder, and when they looked up, the tormented elf saw Deshanna, with a serious expression on her face. "We'll figure it out along the way, I'm sure," she told them, as she began to walk them ahead, towards the other members of Clan Lavellan.