Jun 24, 2021
“I see you, Fen’Harel. I see you and I am not afraid.”
Ara’lan and Solas from Sule Tael Tasalal, as captured by @schoute. I’m speechless. This is gorgeous and so true to them.
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“I see you, Fen’Harel. I see you and I am not afraid.”
Ara’lan and Solas from Sule Tael Tasalal, as captured by @schoute. I’m speechless. This is gorgeous and so true to them.
Ara'lan
Ko-Fi Commission for @faerieavalon of her gorgeous Elvhen OC. Thank you for your support 💛
A commission of a thoughtful and serene ancient elf Ara’lan who belongs to the lovable @faerieavalon (https://faerieavalon.tumblr.com). Make sure to check out this writers fanfiction works too!
****Hit me up if you’d like to commission a painting or sketch from me****
Tagged recently by @serial-chillr and @in-arlathan thank you both!!
Passing this along to @mogwaei, @johaeryslavellan, @pedlimwen, @myrddinderwydd, and anyone else who wants to share. No obligations though!
Here’s a bit from the WIP chapter of Sule Tael Tasalal. It’s getting there!
“Where are we? The magic here is different. Harder to grasp.”
“What you are feeling, gentle lady, is the consequence of failure,” Anaris replied, waving his hand as if to dismiss her concerns. “This place has been forgotten by the People, their magic, and time itself. Was it poor planning that doomed them? Perhaps the unwillingness to do what needed to be done to succeed? We may never know. The ashes of their efforts keep secrets far too well.”
Felassan took her hand once more, rolling his eyes at Anaris’ answer. “This place has been affected by the Veil. It has no Evanuris to strengthen it or People to keep it alive so the magic sleeps.”
“Are there many places like this?” Era’las frowned. There certainly were ways to work around such a problem on a personal level but if the use of magic took a concerted effort, she could understand better how people might see it differently. “How do the People survive in such a world?”
“Poorly,” Anaris answered with a grin. “Most will never know what they are missing. Without constant contact with ambient magic and energy, elves age, wither, and die. If they are fortunate enough to see old age, that is. Hunger, infighting, and the delicious rage of humans are more likely to end them before their third decade.”
“Oh.” Words failed to grasp the discomfort growing in her chest.Something must have shown on her face, however, as Anaris’ smile took a wicked turn and a shadow passed over his eyes.
“They are really quite simple creatures. As the ages have passed, they created such outlandish tales of how we once lived. If only more of them could read or speak properly, they might know better. Alas-”
“We should move on.” Fen’Harel interjected, giving Anaris a level stare.
He traced the flowers carved into the wooden frame and felt the silky strands of her hair passing through his fingers. Magic tugged at his senses and he heard her laugh, light and lilting. He took a deep breath and smelled warm earth, wet after a summer rain. Her smile, warm and pure, touched him when no other could. He exhaled, she sighed with him, and for a moment his burden wasn’t so heavy.
His hand may have laid the colours to the painting, but her heart gave it life. His heart. His Hope.
“Lanas sul’eman en'an'sal'in.” [Allow me to help you heal.] Her voice drifted on the warmth of his memory. Her promise. “Ithan’ma, Fen’Harel. Ithan’ma i tel’gelan.” [I see you Fen’Harel. I see you and I am not afraid.]
“Mar’en’an’sal rosal ina’em,” [Your blessing lives within me,] He whispered. “Vhenan.”
An absolutely stunning portrait of Ara’lan done by the one and only @solas-disapproves. I’m speechless. Well, almost. Her story lives here.
Avalon or Solas or Felassan or Abelas (or any combo of t h i c c thigh boi) building a roundhouse. Bonus points if Felassan was conscripted into helping and disappears at some point. Upon investigating they find Felassan inside sipping on a tasty drink and s n a c c. Ancient shenaanannangians >:D
Oh man, this was a tasty challenge. Here’s a quick mess for your indulgence.
The raised voices broke her peace in the new garden and Ara’lan had to investigate. Construction had been happening in stops and starts ever since the Breach was closed. People still flocked to the Inquisition’s banner and if more of them had pointed ears than others, then at least no one said anything about it. This was more than the sounds of builders, though. She followed it down the path until she came upon a sight that froze her in place.
Solas stood on a rock, looking from the building to a parchment in his hands. From the depth of his frown, she could tell he wasn’t pleased. It was his voice she heard, bickering in sharp tones with Abelas. The former Sentinel and his old friend Avalon were bare to the waist, impervious to the chill biting in the air as they worked. While the elders argued, the younger seemed quite content to continue packing clay into the woven wood walls. He was whistling a happy little tune, too. The structure was growing to be a simple mud hut with a strong, peaked thatch roof. A couple of small families would be kept warm and safe inside through the mountain winters.
Why they were the ones doing construction, and why they were arguing about it, was too interesting a puzzle to pass up. Ara’lan crept quietly closer, ducking behind a boulder to listen in.
“The entrance needs to be at the south wall,” Abelas grumbled. “Facing east will catch the wind and drafts will linger.”
“I have enough experience building in this climate to know differently,” Solas offered back a bit louder than before. “These plans have been used for ages without concern.”
“Respectfully, there was magic to secure the entrance then. We are lacking in that luxury now.”
“We will not be once I enchant the walls. Unless, of course, you never finish constructing them.”
It was so ridiculous she had to clap a hand over her mouth to hold in a giggle. Whatever possessed them to take on this project, she couldn’t guess.
“They’re a mess, aren’t they?”
He whispered so close to her ear she felt his breath on her neck and squeaked in surprise. Turning quickly, she caught Felassan’s grin as he peeked around the edge of her hiding place.
“What are they doing?” she whispered back.
“They got into an argument about human and dwarven construction techniques. Gatsi dared them to prove him wrong.” Felassan shrugged. “They’ve been at it for hours.”
“How did you avoid being involved?”
He laughed softly. “Oh, I’m helping. I was sent to get snacks and water.”
She narrowed her eyes at his completely unrepentant grin. He was carrying no such supplies. “And where are they now?”
“I got hungry on the way back.” He winked at her and produced a cookie from one of his many pockets. “Last one if you want it.”
9 for Ara'lan/Felassan and 13 for Mahanon/Dorian, from the OTP asks! ❤
9. Who would write long, beautiful poems for the other.
Felassan. Without question. He already makes up stories for her so this would be an easy task for him. If he wasn’t sprawled out in bed with her, murmuring soft lines of prose against her skin, he would leave notes all over her path as pieces of a poem for her to put together by the end of the day. If she got the lines in the right order, she would earn a kiss or a flower or some trinket that made him think of her along his day. She saves the written ones. They’re neatly pressed between pages of a thick book that she keeps in her room and close to her heart.
13. Who would go berserk at harm or death befalling the other.
Yes.
If anything would happen to Mahanon, Dorian would be bereft. Recently they had a very close call with a terror demon. While Mahanon was unconscious, clinging to life while Solas pieced him back together, Dorian was inconsolable. He ranted, raved, snapped at everyone who tried to even look his way, and desperately wished he had a drink to steady his nerves. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw all the ways things could go wrong and how powerless he was to stop it. If Mahanon were to die, then Dorian would go back to Tevinter and the self-destructive ways of his youth to bury the pain of the loss as deep as he could.
When anything hurts Dorian, Mahanon snaps. In the presence of friends he seems calm and collected, if a bit on edge. If alone, he won’t leave Dorian’s side for anything. If he’s hurt, Mahanon has to be there to help him. He would wait on him hand and foot until he was well. If worse, if he knew for certain that Dorian was gone and wasn’t coming back, then he become someone else. Keeping people safe has been the strongest motivation of his life. If he couldn’t do that for someone he loved more than he loved himself, then he would never trust himself to fill that roll for anyone ever again.
For the extra dramatic OTP asks Ara/Solas: 2. And 16 pleaaaaase 😊💗
2. Who would become a stalker, in the right (wrong) situation.
Knowing what they know of each other now, I think this would be Solas. Had he not been so open about himself already, Ara’lan would definitely have become obsessed with learning who he was and how he knows things. She loves nothing more than a puzzle to be solved. Solas, with his secrets and devotion to duty at personal expense, has the potential to self sabotage and then hide in the shadows of her life, unwilling to step forward and make his feelings known just as much as being unwilling to fully let her go.
16. Who would be able to spend centuries in misery waiting for the other to be reborn.
Solas, but only by a small margin. If it was Solas that died, Ara’lan would be gutted. She already felt a small measure of what that loss would cost her and it was like forgetting how to breathe. If she knew that he was gone, she would wait as long as it took for him to return and even do her best to make it a peaceful next life for him. But she would still have Felassan so she wouldn’t have to live with this pain alone. Solas, on the other hand, would shut down. Yes, Felassan would still be with him as his best friend and most loyal ally, but he wouldn’t fit the hole in his heart that Ara left. Solas would pine and wait in his quiet time and throw himself into duty and purpose to keep his days occupied until she returned. His nights, however, he would hunt the Fade looking for a spark that let him know Hope would return so he could guide her safely home.