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peopleofthedas2010-11-23 01:45 pm
Vir Lath Sa'vunin: Chapters Twenty-One and Twenty-Two
A Dalish-centric AU gen fic featuring two Mahariel Wardens, one bastard prince, and lingering ghosts.
Title: Vir Lath Sa'vunin (We Love One More Day)
Rating: T (Language and Violence)
Authors: ![[personal profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
twist_shimmy and lenna_nightrunner
Post Word Count: 2500
Summary: When their parents died, Tesni Mahariel was left to raise her brother Caerwyn with the help of the rest of their clan. True to their penchant for getting into trouble, Caerwyn and Tamlen went hunting one day and ran afoul of a mirror, of all things. The next thing Tesni knew, Caerwyn had been recruited by the Grey Wardens. As if she’d let some shemlen just take her brother away! Determined to keep Caerwyn safe, Tesni goes after them, and antics ensue. She’ll stop the Blight to protect her family, Caerwyn will help--grumbling all the while--and Alistair will do his best to bond with his tattooed and bristly new brethren. When all is said and done, the blurred lines between friendship and blood bonds will draw them down a path that will change all three of them forever.
In this installment, Alistair can't decide what is scarier: the Great Andraste, or a sleepy Caerwyn. Meanwhile, Tesni gets the kick she needs to begin healing.
Twenty-One: I've Come to Set a Twisted Thing Straight, I've Come to Lighten This Dark Heart (Suzanne Vega)
TESNI
Oddly enough, Sten and Caerwyn were the happiest of our party the following day. Caerwyn was thrilled to be putting his knives to good use against shemlen that even our human companions agreed were bad, and Sten....
Sten liked dragons. Thankfully, he also liked killing them, so the fact that dozens of them swarmed us in the caverns above Haven, where we’d been told by Brother Genitivi that Andraste’s remains were housed, did little to slow our progress. And progress was why I refused to allow the brother to come along, life’s work or no. The stubborn old man was asking us to let him walk around on a limb that might never heal.
No. He stayed in Haven, under the care of Wynne and Leliana, and I told Zevran to make sure none of the cultists got to them. The only person happy with that arrangement was the assassin, but it seemed like a bad idea to bring the devout Maker-lovers into such a place. Just in case.
By the time we wound through the caverns and found ourselves on the mountaintop, overlooking the ruins, I was done with fighting. And snow. And dragons. So of course, the largest dragon I’d ever seen winged by overhead, roaring loud enough to shake rocks from the rubble we were standing in.
“Now that is ataashi!” Sten growled. He seemed genuinely happy at the sheer scale of the beast. To my left, I heard my brother muttering “ataashi, dragon, ataashi,” and wondered if he was going to take it upon himself to learn qunari, as well.
“If ataashi means ‘huge, scary problem’, I agree,” Alistair said, craning his neck and looking out over the clear stretch of land between us and the temple.
"Are they going to die now?” Shale regarded the rest of us, then turned to me. “I had just gotten used to following it around.”
“It will do its best not to disappoint the Shale.” I shook my head and motioned for everyone to follow me. “Let’s get this over with.”
The dragon didn’t notice us, not even with Shale’s loud footsteps and Sten’s clinking armor and Alistair’s constant muttering about “large, flying teeth.” We entered the temple unchallenged, smiling in relief, only to have our progress halted by a man.
...Or perhaps not. Men did not have silver, faintly-glowing eyes. They also didn’t pin those eyes on other people and read their souls.
I was only half-listening until he began speaking of troubles, and suffering. Caerwyn was bristling beside me, but it wasn’t until the not-shem looked at me and asked a question that I realized who he was asking about.
“Tell me, pilgrims. Did you fail Tamlen?”
No one had spoken that name to me since-- I fingered my bow, running my thumb along the vines and leaves I’d carved with such loathing. I wanted to be angry that this thing would presume to-- but instead, there was a dull ache in my chest, and I dropped my gaze to the ruined floor at my feet.
“Yes.” It was a whisper, but it felt like a scream to my throat.
“No!” My brother’s voice. “I did!”
I shook my head and willed my voice to stay firm. “I failed you both, Caerwyn.”
“You didn’t,” he insisted, taking my shoulder and shaking it. Alistair was protesting as well, even though he had nearly no idea who Tamlen was, but their words swirled around me without meaning.
The Guardian asked the others about their own suffering, but I counted floor tiles and tried not to think about the way Caerwyn and Tamlen used to smile. And then I was being shoved through a door by large, qunari hands.
Right. Fighting. I took my bow in my hands and pretended that I had an idea of the trials we would be facing even though I hadn’t been listening. “Everyone ready?”
After an unenthusiastic nod from each of them, we entered the Gauntlet.
...Not fighting, as it turned out. Thinking. Riddles, in fact. Caerwyn and I had heard all of them growing up with the other clan children, and we managed to get the way unlocked so quickly that I started feeling like myself again. Sure, the creepy Guardian had read me too well, and there were ghosts unlocking doors when we answered their questions correctly, but we were making progress.
How hard could this Gauntlet of theirs be?
There was a single figure standing in the next room, back turned to us. An elf’s height.
I knew that armor. I’d helped him make that armor. My feet stopped walking, and the rest of the party nearly plowed into my back as I stood and stared.
He turned, and my chest constricted painfully as his blue eyes met mine. “Hello, emma vhenani.”
I knew that voice. “T-Tamlen?”
“Can you feel how cold it is?” He looked around as though confused, and I reached out to feel his face--he was so pale!--but Caerwyn took me by the shoulder and hauled me backward.
“No! Tesni, that can’t--”
Tamlen looked at my brother, and gave him that smile. I made a quiet, high-pitched noise in the back of my throat and had to take a deep breath to keep from sobbing. “You think I can’t be Tamlen, that he is gone? Ar Tamlen, Tamlen’din. Emma u’inan, emma ma’inii.”
“Lethallin?” Caerwyn’s hand fell from my shoulder. The demon in the Fade hadn’t known elvish.
“Tamlen’diniii,” Tamlen repeated, and I felt my eyes burn. Hearing my lover refer to himself as dead was enough to make me feel like I’d gone insane. But the rest of the party was staring at him in confusion, as well, so it had to be happening.
“We miss you,” I managed.
“I tried so hard, lethallin,” Caerywn said in a rush, “but I was sick and the shem wouldn’t let me look for you and--”
Tamlen shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” I whispered. When his eyes found mine again, I didn’t look down.
“You always used to get me out of trouble,” he said. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault that you couldn’t this time. I don’t want you suffering for this, or for me.”
My jaw clenched, and I looked at his boots. “I could have, if I’d been there--”
“No.” He held out a hand, unfurled his fingers, and let a small necklace swing in the air between us. “Take this, emma vhenan. It may not be Dalish, but it will help.”
I reached out and let him drop the necklace into my hand. The air around him felt like ice.
“Brother,” he said to Caerwyn. “Take care of her for me.”
“I....” Caerwyn swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it. Then he looked Tamlen in the eyes and nodded.
“It’s time for the two of you to move on.” Tamlen fixed his eyes on me for several seconds like he used to do when he was willing me to listen to someone other than myself. “Dareth shiraliv. We will not meet again in this world.”
“Ma arlathv,” I replied, and then Tamlen was gone. My brother took my hand and squeezed, and I closed my eyes against the cold.
Twenty-Two: ‘Love’ and ‘Hate’ Tattooed Across the Knuckles of His Hands (The Clash)
CAERWYN
After seeing... Tamlen'din, he'd called himself: 'not-Tamlen.' The Tamlen who isn’t. The Tamlen who's gone. Who's dead.
After seeing him, getting the ashes felt anticlimactic to everyone but Alistair. We were respectful for his sake. Most of us, anyway. We went through the motions to get the only thing that had any chance--and I considered it a very small chance--of healing the arl. Then we left.
Well, first we fought a dragon.
The insane shemlen’d called it the Great Andraste. I called it a lot more fun than the stupid cultists who’d barely put up a fight.
As soon as the beast turned its head toward us and shot a giant burst of flame from its mouth, I forgot about everything except the feeling of my daggers in my hands and the rush of the tainted blood in my veins that gave me my strength. Tesni and Alistair felt it, too; I could see it in the way they took up their weapons and stared the beast down. It wasn't a demon, but it'd do.
Sten's battle shout followed Alistair's as they charged forward, and Zevran and I were sprinting toward the dragon's feet with Dalasen close at our heels, barking like mad. Three of Tesni's arrows lodged in the dragon's face before any of our blades (or Dalasen's teeth) hit its scales. She was aiming to disorient, distract, and blind it--the same tactics we used against wolves.
Bladework, though, was a little different with dragons. Zevran and I went for its feet, hacking and slicing with our daggers, causing it to shift its footing and throw its weight around. We were trying to distract it too while Alistair and Sten focused on finding ways to do more damage. As the dragon moved its feet and tail I ducked, dodged, jumped, and rolled, but Zevran--Zevran danced.
I'd never seen anything like it before. I was doing all right, sure, but he made it look so easy! You'd think he fought a dragon every week the way he moved around it so effortlessly, his dagger striking home perfectly every time. His speed, reflexes, and precision were so fascinating that I didn't realize the dragon's tail was swinging toward me from behind.
Zevran lunged forward, throwing me down to the ground and knocking the air out of my lungs. The dragon's tail missed us by a foot at most. Zevran rolled off of me and was back on his feet in seconds while I coughed until I caught my breath and pushed myself up from the ground. I'd used to think I was fast. Zevran'd just redefined the concept for me.
"I am flattered by your attentions, my Warden," he shouted over the dragon's roars and Dalasen's barking as he continued dancing around its feet, "but I would never forgive myself if this beast scarred your beautiful face. I will allow you as much much time as you wish to admire me once we have slain it!"
I had just enough time to blush--Creators curse me!--in embarrassment both at his flirting and my inferior fighting skills before Zevran was sprinting out from underneath the dragon's body. It was falling. It gave a deafening bellow and I was running as fast as I could to get clear of it.
There was a great clatter of scales hitting stone and then the enormous thump of the dragon’s huge, limp body falling to the ground, dead. When I looked up, I found Alistair standing on the top of its head with his sword stuck halfway into it. He took off his helmet and threw it away carelessly, wiped his brow, and grinned in victory.
Sten spent the rest of the day grumbling about the kill being stolen from him.
That night over dinner Alistair regaled Leliana and Wynne with the story of everything that’d happened since we’d left them with the monk. I was grateful that he left out the parts about the questions we’d been asked and the... the things we’d seen.
“And these are really her ashes?” Leliana asked Tesni in awe when she held out the small leather pouch she’d put them in. Tesni nodded. “Extraordinaire.”
The meaning of that word wasn’t very hard to figure out. I added it to the other bits of Orlesian I was picking up from her along the way. It was a pretty-sounding language and I wanted to learn more of it. It flowed much more like elvish than common did. Maybe if I was nicer to her, she’d teach me. That was another apology I owed, and I wasn’t looking forward to giving it.
Tesni and Zevran sat first watch and Alistair and I took the second one. We swapped details of our parts in the battle against the dragon and the time went by quickly. When Sten and Leliana rose for the third watch, Alistair headed toward the tent he'd been sharing with Zevran since we were still in the mountains.
"Where're you going?" I asked.
“Oh, you know. Another night with Zev, and Zev’s hands.”
I rolled my eyes. "Come on." I motioned toward our tent and he gave me a confused stare.
"Don't be an idiot," I said, and climbed in. He wasn’t far behind me. As I began stripping off my armor, Alistair took a moment to look awkward, then followed my lead. When we were just in shirts and trousers again I shivered and lay down next to Tesni, tugging at some of the covers she was hogging until I could get under them. Alistair crawled in on her other side and we both shifted to get comfortable.
"You two are cold," Tesni said, and rolled over onto her stomach with a shiver.
"Sorry," said Alistair at the same time I said, "Whiner."
Tesni snorted. "Where do you think you learned it?"
Alistair sighed. “Are you sure this is all ri--”
“Yes. He was going to go sleep in the other tent," I told Tesni.
“What?” She shifted onto her side to face him and ruffled his hair like she always did to mine. "Silly brother."
I woke up with my face pressed against someone's back again, but it wasn't Tesni's. My blood prickled. Alistair. As I yawned I inhaled his scent and immediately sneezed. Shemlen smelled strange. It wasn't necessarily a bad smell; it was just... different.
I rubbed at my nose and Alistair stirred next to me. He sighed sleepily and then his body went rigid. He sat up and scooted away, his cheeks pink. Apparently he was bothered by me sleeping next to him. I didn't see what the problem was.
"It's cold," I explained. "You're warm."
"I--You--" he stammered.
"Stay on your own side next time, then." I stole the blankets and rolled over. "You smell funny anyway."
A badly stifled laugh from just outside the tent told me that Tesni’d come to wake us up for breakfast.
iemma vhenan: my heart
iiAr Tamlen, Tamlen’din. Emma u’inan, emma ma’in: “I am Tamlen, I am not Tamlen. I am alone in this place, and inside of you.”
iiiTamlen'din: “Tamlen is dead.” (lit. “not-Tamlen.”)
ivDareth shiral: “Safe journey.”
vMa arlath: “I love you.”
"Tell me, pilgrims. Did you fail Tamlen?"
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Brilliant! Caerwyn might not say much, but when he does, it's priceless :)
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Tesni's PoV: "He stayed in Haven, under the care of Wynne and Leliana, and I told Zevran to make sure none of the cultists got to them. The only person happy with that arrangement was the assassin, but it seemed like a bad idea to bring the devout Maker-lovers into such a place. Just in case."
And yet from Caerwyn's PoV, Zev was with them for the dragon.
Am I missing something, or did you two not manage to line up your thinking 100%?
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Why didn't I remember that? This is totally my fault.
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And Tesni can be fucking adorable when she wants to be.
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good elvish. i'm not sure if it's a good thing that i don't need the notes anymore, to translate. >.>
i'm loving the brother dynamic with alistair. he needs that.
\o/
win. i love this show. ^.^
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You.can.be.free.
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Mr. N's family on his mother's side are all English, and I was horrified one year when his grandmother served ham (which I don't like, but that's inconsequential) instead turkey on Thanksgiving. I'm not sure I've ever been so disappointed about a meal before. It was heartbreaking. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive her, and she and Mr. N's mother never miss an opportunity to jokingly inform me that there will in fact be turkey that year.
I think a lot of people here have ham on Christmas instead, but I'm not sure. In my family we always do a light Christmas breakfast and then we just snack the whole day instead of doing a big dinner. That way we can enjoy the day rather than spend it cooking!
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At Christmas I do duck in port sauce and caramelised orange trifle for dessert. As soon as I smell oranges and port during the prep I know it's definitely the festive season.
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I often do duck at Thanksgiving and *sighs* fried chicken at Christmas. It should also be noted that I am in charge of Thanksgiving, while my southern family does Christmas. ._.
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If you're in charge, then make a trifle! The Great and Mighty Delia provides good trifle recipes.
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I fell in love with it there. I was able to make a big raspberry one for the rest of our study abroad group for St. George's Day and then last New Year's Eve I made one for the guests, none of whom had ever had it either.
I'm not sure about the rest of the country, but it seems like you'd be hard-pressed to find many people who know what trifle is in the Pacific Northwest or in Hawaii (where I grew up).
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Trifle is largely considered to be a child's treat here, rolled out for children's birthdays and suchlike.
But there are some really good (and boozy) recipe for grownup trifle, too.
This is my personal favourite: http://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/type-of-dish/desserts/trifle/caramelised-orange-trifle.html
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