Chapter Text
Ellana Lavellan, handsome, clever, and charming, with a comfortable home in Highever and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence without suffering the disadvantages so often accorded those of her race; and had lived nearly twenty-four years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.
She was the eldest daughter of a successful merchant, whose husband had been born into one of those happy few Elven families to have found respectability, if not gentility, among the ranks of their human countrymen. A brother had been obliging enough to bless the family three years before she herself had come into the world, and as he tended the family affairs with his mother, she was free to pursue whatever best pleased her. Thus far, it seemed to please her to laugh with her friends, to dance frequently with handsome young gentlemen, and to make indifferent study of no area in particular.
In recent months it had come into her mother’s head that it was long since time for Miss Lavellan to be joined with another in matrimony, and should be sent to live with the cousin of her father, one Mr Mahanon Lavellan of Redcliffe, where there was a far greater population of eligible young Elves from which to choose. An eminently respectable scholar, he was tutor to the son of the Arl himself, kept a comfortable home in a genteel quarter of the town, and had on more than one occasion offered to have his young cousin to stay and to bring her among his acquaintance. Mrs Lavellan further hoped he would help direct her daughter’s course of self-education, for though she was blessed with a quick mind, she had very little direction and rarely applied herself to anything which did not please her. It was thus settled that she was to go into his neighborhood, and find herself a spouse and an occupation.
Possessed of a sociable temperament, other than the truly shocking condition of the roads she had little difficulty with this transition. Her cousin was a bachelor of perhaps 50 years, as learned and amusing as she remembered him, and welcomed the presence of a young person in his home. That she brought with her a gift of neckcloths imported from Antiva quite secured his familial attachment to his young relative, he being particular in matters of dress and appreciative of fine things. Deemed adequately outfitted, she was very soon taken among his acquaintance and acquitted herself well enough to establish several friendly new connections.
It was with these acquaintances, one Ghilani Athim and Assanera Alerion, both of whom were approximately equal to her in age, that she had arranged to take a walk in the countryside outside of Redcliffe, along the side of the lake. Mr Athim had driven them to the appointed parklands (rightly belonging to the Castle, but open to public exploration) in his gig, though there was some debate as to whether they should have asked for the loan of Miss Alerion’s brother’s phaeton, for the weather boded ill and the gig had no top.
“For myself I never mind a little rain,” Ellana said as they strolled by the lake, “though it would quite ruin your lovely muslin walking-dress, Miss Assanera.” Miss Alerion nodded in acknowledgment with a smile; as eager as she had been on the ride over to inform them it was new, it was indeed a becoming garment.
“It is kind in you to compliment it, Miss Lavellan, though I am sure our housekeeper could find a way to rescue it were the worst to happen, and Mamae is very clever with a needle--” Ellana took this opportunity to gaze out over the lake, observing their surroundings and offering occasional commentary as her friends made conversation. It was different to home, the eponymous red cliffs rising dramatically over the town and cradling the Castle. She found she missed the freshness of the sea-breezes and the grace of the Northern-influenced architecture, though as Redcliffe was smaller there was much more of nature to be found nearby. Her father liked to say that “an Elf ought to be able to see the open sky every so often, and that she would lose touch with the Creators, choosing to remain cooped up in the city as she did.” Some few Elves yet chose to live as nomads, as their Dalish ancestors had, but they were in Orlais, and Ellana did not see that it was so very important to stain one’s clothes with grass and swat at insects all day to feel sufficiently Elven. Surely it could not be genteel to scamper about barefoot and kill rabbits and, if the rumors were to be believed, tattoo one’s face. No, Ellana Lavellan was a town mouse, pretty though the view from here might be.
Her idle observation did, however, yield some fruit, in that she realized the clouds were gathering quite ominously. It was unanimously decided that they should return to the waiting gig and make their way back to Redcliffe before the sky followed through on its threat and doused them all thoroughly. As Mr Athim tended to the equipping of the horses and gig, Ellana felt her attention begin to wander again; glancing towards the woodlands with no especial goal she reviewed the week’s engagements. They were to dine with some colleagues of her cousin’s the following evening, and the town assembly was to take place later in the week. She was to shop for a new shawl with Miss Alerion, and--
Distantly, she heard someone calling her name, but for the life of her could not recall who might be doing so. When had she walked so far from the path? Turning, she could no longer see her friends behind the hedges that lined the road; had she wandered in? Everything seemed so soothingly green--verdant. Verdant, vegetation, veg--vegara, vegaremah, venemah, vhenan…
There was a man sleeping beneath the hedgerow.
Her focus returned in an instant, as though she had been doused in cold water. Gracious, what had she been thinking? She called back to her friends just as Mr Athim peered through the bushes, brow furrowed. By way of explanation, she could only inform him that “there was a man beneath the hedges,” and, almost helpessly, turn to consider the man again. His back was to them, but the elegant point of an ear shewed against a perfectly bald head and his chest rose and fell in indication that he had not yet gone the way of all flesh.
“Miss Lavellan?” Ghilani called gently, “are you entirely sure you should be--”
It was about to rain, and no body should wake up in the rain; she might at least rouse him. Her left hand had made it halfway to his shoulder before she realized she had reached for him, but never found its intended destination, for when she looked down her wrist was clutched firmly in his hand. At this untoward and unexpected contact--she could not in fact remember seeing him move his hand at all--a frightening shock seared through her entire body, a sensation within her bones and beneath her skin that felt numb and overwhelmingly alive all at once, standing all her hairs on end. A much more immediate pain erupted when he turned to face her, drawing himself up only far enough to glance over his shoulder like a feral creature turning from his kill, her wrist still clutched painfully tight.
“You would do best to leave me be, da’len,” the man growled, and Ellana wrenched her hand away as though she had been burnt. Her deepest instincts told her that it would be in her best interest to heed his warning.
“Goodness, I did not mean to--” she found that her body had been left trembling, that her legs shook, and as she backed away she was glad of Ghilani’s help, a steadying hand at her arm, drawing her upward.
“What a dashed unpleasant man,” he exclaimed, and she found it was of immense help to focus on the sound of his voice. “Come, Miss Lavellan, the horses are ready, and we shall leave this fellow to his... shrubbery.” Taking his elbow, she exited the hedges at his side and shook her head to clear it. What a queer interlude! Looking back over her shoulder, she saw nothing but foliage, and took her seat upon the equipage with her escort. Miss Alerion looked in her direction with mild interest, and Ellana smiled sheepishly. “Woolgathering, I’m afraid. Come now! We must make time if we wish to gain the city gates in advance of the weather!”
Ghilani regarded her intently, but said nothing as he urged the horses into motion. She flexed her left hand, turning it and considering each digit as Miss Alerion chattered away. The odd sensation faded, and by the time they had made half the distance to Redcliffe, she had nearly forgotten the strange happenings altogether and was thoroughly engaged in devising plans for the upcoming assembly.
As they crossed under the cullis gate of the old town walls, the heavens split and it began to rain in earnest.
She hoped the man was not too wet.