DAY 02 - DAERN'THAL
God of Nightmares & Domination † Lord of Chains † The Shadow Tyrant
Prayer to the Shadow Tyrant
Daern’thal, Lord of Chains -
Hear me, not as a supplicant seeking your favor,
but as one who knows I must prove myself worthy of your guidance.
Know that I do not come to kneel, but to bend the world as you once bent dreams of mortals.
Master of Nightmares -
You walk in the shadows of the sleeping minds,
and bringing the fears of those who cross your path to the surface.
Teach me to wield terror as you do: with precision, with purpose, and with triumph.
By your will, I claim my rightful place.
By your gaze, I rise without challenge.
By your chains, my will is done.
From my Forgotten Codex set in a world where the Elvhen gods were... well, actual gods that ended up reincarnating in a modern Thedas.
Daern'thal has the unlucky status of being my go to villain for anything Forgotten Ones related, and my reincarnation AU is no exception.
He is the God of Nightmares and Domination, former husband to Aseradiva (and her killer).
Felassan is kind. Isathe thought often as they traveled together. At first, his sarcasm threw her off entirely. She never experienced that before and quite often thought he was being serious. She slowly learned more of the nuances of language and grew to enjoy the playful banter he provided. It brought a small spark of joy to converse with another elf without the fear. He looked at her with the same kindness that Daern’thal once did. No, it was not kindness in Daern’thal’s gaze. Felassan looked at her as if he did not expect anything from her at all, that was actual kindness.
The longer she spent awake in this world, the more she grew to understand that Daern’thal’s affections were not love. It was possession. In the darkest hours of the night as she lay looking up at the tent’s ceiling she tried to remind herself of the pain the man caused her, in hopes that it would ease her heartache. It did little but she continued to try anyway. The small moments of joy and life during her travels reminded her what it felt like before it all. Before she felt that pain and uncertainty. When the heat from a warm bath was a new and exciting sensation, not just a way to scrub away the feeling of disgust that lay on her skin. If she scrubbed hard enough then the bad memories would leave her.
Felassan tried to catch her up on the history that she missed. He was vague in many aspects, particularly around his knowledge of the rebellion. Her own memories from that time were haunted with fear, she did not pry when his jaw grew tight and he forced humor into his voice. He educated her on the fall of the Elvhenan, the destruction of Arlathan and how their people were hunted by the humans until their land was taken from them and the elves were placed under heel. He spoke of the Dalish, a group of elves that tried to return to the old ways. Felassan held kindness in his tone when he spoke of them, despite them getting more wrong than right about elven history. But they were trying. He impressed that fact upon her often.
The modern elves also aged. The mere concept to her was foreign and frightening. They could no longer live countless ages, pursing what was their core purpose. Floating free in the Sky, not that there was a connection to it anymore. Wait, no. Not the Sky. It was not called that anymore, those here called it the Fade and they never knew a time where the Fade was one with everything else. Elves were no longer pulled from the Fade and given form through lyrium. They were created like the animals, through acts of flesh and desire. Through love or violence.
Her own people were remembered, somewhat, to the modern elves. The Forgotten Ones spoken of through hushed whispers as if something dark would awaken if anyone dared let the names drop from their lips. Maybe her own name was lost through history and she could just exist as she wanted to. That want, that need still sat in her belly but maybe she was not lost to her nature. Not yet.
Isathe held little that was hers. What Daern’thal did to her, how he coaxed her from the Sky was not how she was supposed to be. The elf understood more now than she ever did back then. Her mind slipped away in quiet moments when there was nothing to distract her from her memories. She sat at the very edge of understanding that she may not have deserved the pain inflicted on her before quickly retreating back into herself. The same prayer fell from her lips, twisting her deeper - He is my protector. Only he can keep me safe. That devotion and obsession still hidden under the surface. But she was free of him, once she adjusted to the world she could attempt to move past whatever was wrong with her. Or learn to live with the want.
The elf sometimes looked at her oddly, as if he had questions in the back of his mind for her but refused to speak them aloud. Isathe protected her satchel fiercely, it rarely left her side as her fingers clung to it like it was the only lifeline to her past life. Felassan certainly noticed. Inside the satchel was the dagger she found, the one once owned by Daern’thal. Some nights she removed the blade from her bag and sat in the moonlight with it in her lap. The silver blade reflecting in the light above her, reminding her of Daern’thal’s eyes. The flash of silver when they stood face to face in the darkness. Their eyes mirrors of one another. Then the guilt would appear, that tearing apart at the center of her very beginning. Memory of pain weaving through the forced memories of happiness.
Her mask was the other item hidden within her bag, wrapped in what was left of her clothing from before. Isathe ran her fingertips along the smooth ivory mask. It yellowed with age while she slept. The elf did not understand why she kept it, it was a reminder of when she was a thing to own but it was the only existence she knew of. She came to realize she was slowly forgetting what it felt like being a spirit at all. The small moments of curiosity reminded her but they disappeared quicker each time, only to be replaced with that deep hunger, that want. A yearning. Was it this Veil between her and the Sky pulling her farther away from the self she knew?
Felassan’s kindness continued as they traveled. She even found that she laughed again, a true laughter. The kind that would create a bittersweet ache in her stomach. He taught her some of the common tongue. Isathe did not know how to extend her gratitude toward the man who was so patient with her. He never asked her questions about her life before uthenera. Why she sometimes flinched if his hand moved too quickly toward her. Or why she cried when he gave her clothing to wear. The leather and cloth felt warm against her skin. It was not showy, it did not shine in the light but it was comfortable and now there was something else that was just hers. Appeasing that want inside of her for a little while.
Guilt continued to eat at her during the nights. How dare she be relieved to have woken up where the Forgotten Ones were past recollection. If the Dalish and the elves of this time did not know who they were or how they existed then they would have no cause to believe she was one of the evils of their mythos. Isathe was happy to be forgotten. One evening as Isathe quietly cut vegetables they foraged during their trip and Felassan built the fire, her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to know more about the Forgotten Ones. Isathe hesitated and she could hear the worry that sat in her tone, “You said the Forgotten Ones do not have names?” Felassan glanced up so his eyes could meet hers, “Yes. Only a few names survived history.” With a brow furrowed, her lips curled into a small frown as her gaze returned to the vegetables sitting in front of her, “Which?”
Her line of questions was likely an odd one, who in their right mind would be so interested in the Forgotten Ones? She wanted to know, however. That little light inside of her wanting to understand like she used to. Felassan sat down next to the small fire that was slowly growing in front of him, “The Dalish remember only a few, they have little desire to dig up darker aspects of their history. The ones I have heard whispered by Keepers are Anaris, Daern’thal, Geldauran, Aseradiva and they like to say Fen’harel walked between the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris. As he was both, or neither. No other names exist in their histories, as far as I have heard. It would truly be a terrible name to call them Forgotten Ones if they remembered them all, however.” His tone joking toward the end, she forced herself to give him an uneasy smile and a chuckle.
She noticed he qualified his words withthe Dalish believe, she wondered if he remembered more names. The fact that her own name was nestled within his list was not lost on her. A knot grew at the base of her throat and her heartbeat quickened. That is no longer my name. Huffing air through her nose, the remainder of his words slowly settled in her mind. Before she could help herself, her tone was defensive. Isathe felt offended by the implications as she declared, “Fen’harel was not one of the Forgotten Ones.” From what Felassan mentioned and what she experienced herself, he was the one to lock them away. He just happened to miss at least one. Even if this world felt broken and wrong, she still existed and he failed to wipe out her people entirely. The elf appeared surprised by her exclamation, “True. They believe many things that are not fact in our history. For one, they believe the Evanuris and Forgotten Ones were gods. They believed that the Dread Wolf locked away both out of spite and malice. They know nothing of the rebellion that led up to such events.”
Isathe’s body stiffened, they were remembered as gods? A bitter laugh escaped her, moving to drop the cut vegetables into the stew pot now that the water was bubbling. “They are thought of as gods? What are the Forgotten even gods of?” She felt sick again, sweat beading on her skin. Push through, you need to know. To understand. She had the incredible desire to wretch. Felassan watched her carefully for a few moments and she found she could not read the emotions that sat on his face. More humor in his tone as he answered her, “Well, the leader of the Forgotten Ones is believed to be Anaris. Daern’thal remembered as the god of nightmares and possession. So both assholes.” His name said aloud by another made her stomach ache, bile rising in her throat. She swallowed it down. “Geldauran is of hatred and malice.” Ah. They were seen as the worst of the elvhen, at least Daern’thal had not lied to her about that. She was corrupted, twisted and dark. Nothing more. No other use. Perhaps the Dalish were right. There were moments she felt her old self blossom but the emptiness when it disappeared hurt more each time. “Aseradiva is remembered as a god of desire and greed and as the wife to Daern’thal.” He paused before he continued, “They don’t like to say her name. They say directly invoking her name is dangerous because of her desire to take everything that is theirs.”
What? Isathe conceded there was a hunger within her that she could not push away entirely. It was a sweet hunger when she was a spirit. The one who wanted to learn and know, feel and touch. To experience. Twisted into the need to have and to own by the circumstances of her existence. But to be remembered as that? Only more grateful that the Forgotten Ones were believed to be hidden away, far from her.
Isathe nodded slowly, her voice was quiet, “Ah. I see.” Asking only formed new worries about her life in the world. Felassan did not appear to notice the darkness that sat inside of her. She could keep it at bay, learn to be herself again. Maybe. Someday. “I… am going to take a walk. Ma serannas.” Slowly lifting herself up off the ground, she wandered into the tree line before she heard him say anything at all. Once deep into the woods, she became sick on the forest floor. Isathe had to keep moving, her mind spiraled with the knowledge of her legacy. She would always be remembered as his. And dark. And evil. They were spirits of destruction and death, the antithesis of the bright and shining Evanuris. However, she knew they were just two sides of the same coin.
Far enough from the fire where she could no longer see its light reflecting off the trees, Isathe leaned against a tree, sliding down into the dirt. Quietly falling asleep while she listened to the breeze that rustled leaves above her, the night air smelling clean. You are almost free.
- - -
Felassan’s words only made her dreams roam toward the memories she would have rather forgotten. Most of the time she could direct her thoughts and her dreams but she found it increasingly more difficult to push out the painful memories that haunted her as they returned to the surface.
Isathe stood in a grand hall made of cream-colored stone and intricate details in gold. Two curved tables sat in the center of the room facing each other. She stood at the very left edge of the table, in the center of theirs was Anaris. He was adorned in black and silver finery, leaning back into the chair, picking his nails as if he were too bored to care what the elves in front of them had to say. To his left was Daern’thal, he placed a possessive hand on her lower back. The warmth of his palm through her thin dress only reminding her what little she wore for this particular gathering. Not that she had a choice. Daern’thal’s hand roamed from her back, slipping below the high slit of the dress and she tensed. If she did anything wrong, said anything wrong then that warm hand would be used for something far worse. To Anaris’ right was Nerien. That name had been forgotten with time, she would be the luckiest of them all.
Sitting at the table across from them were some members of the Evanuris. Intricate crowns and detailed armor created interesting silhouettes that Isathe found herself unable to look away from. A woman with dark hair and a crown that framed her face spoke first. Mythal. That was her name. She spoke with a commanding tone. The man to her right was referred to as Elgar’nan. He sat in equal standing with Mythal. Only two of the other Evanuris joined their talks, they had yet to introduce themselves. Elven servants walked into the room to pour wine for the Evanuris while they spoke, intricate designs tattooed on her faces. Curiosity bubbled within her, what were those for?
While she was distracted, Elgar’nan redirected the conversation, his gaze now trained on her, “Anaris did not allow you to introduce yourself. You are a new face to us.” He did not ask a question, not really. She was not granted time to speak because she was a thing. Only there to make their people appear more powerful. Isathe was a highly competent mage, Daern’thal encouraged her to allow her power to roll off of her, to help intimidate. The selective silence from the woman was also a ploy to hide the fear and pain that sat under the surface. Daern’thal spoke before she could, “This is my wife-” Elgar’nan interrupted the man and she felt his hand grip her waist savagely, his fingers digging into her skin. “Why not let your wife answer for herself.” Isathe’s voice was even despite her heartbeat thrumming inside of her. A perfected form of disassociation and detachment. It all hurt. Her hip hurt. Standing there hurt. “Aseradiva.” That was her name within their ranks, binding her once more to the man who held her so tightly it bruised. Isathe reminded herself that this was the deal. She could indulge her curiosity once this was all over. Daern’thal promised she could see the city bathed in gold and sunlight if she behaved.
She felt the gaze of the remaining Evanuris land on her as she spoke. Daern’thal pulled her onto his lap, his hands now roaming toward her thighs. Isathe let her white hair fall in front of her face to hide the disgust that settled on her features. Forcing a soft laugh, pulling herself together. The two sides of her spirit were at war with one another as his hand moved up the center of her thigh, under her dress. He is protecting you, you are safe. He owns you, you are not free.
After the display, Elgar’nan and Mythal removed their attention from her and she could breath finally, she felt her body shaking. The remainder of the discussion was on possible peace talks between the two groups of elves. They did not state as much but with the Evanuris in the middle of a rebellion caused by one of their very own, she assumed they did not have the energy to continue to track them down as well. Maybe I can sit in the sun again. She missed it. That was the only reason he hid her away, to protect her from them.
Anaris was increasingly antagonistic with each passing moment. It took her far too long to realize he had no intention of stopping. Whatever anger that drove him caused him to dismiss and demean every chance at peace. What was worth so much that the lives of their very people were not enough? They deferred to him however, even Daern’thal did. The power that exuded from the man was enchanting, she found herself often stepping away if he were too near. Maybe that was it, that darkness within him that he embraced. Whatever twisted form it took, he reveled in it while she actively tried to push hers away.
Mythal was stoic during the taunts and hostility that dropped from Anaris’ mouth. Elgar’nan grew more hostile with each breath. The room shook with the two men’s anger. They were granted safe passage into the city but that would be all. There would be no ceasefire during their rebellion. And now the Evanuris knew their names and faces.
Their departure was swift and Isathe knew that she would not be seeing the golden city that day. He promised. Her curiosity was once again denied and pushed aside. She felt the anger rise within her and the moment they stepped through the doors to their shared chambers she made a horrible misstep. Isathe actually spoke up to him, reminding him that he promised her curiosity. She knew it was not logical to pine for it, to bring it up in the aftermath of all that happened. They had no reason to remain there but he promised. Resentment continued to build within her and she allowed the darker form of desire, that hunger to unleash at the man standing in front of her. She found herself pinned up against the wall, Daern'thal holding her up by her neck.
Right. Physical bodies needed air. Her vision grew fuzzy the longer her held her up, “Do you wish to say that to me again? I protect you from those who would harm you. Those who would use your naivety to take advantage of you. And you are upset that I do not let you roam as you wish? You belong to me.” The last words hissed through clenched teeth before he released her and she slid down the wall, stumbling.
His hand grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back to her feet before pushing her towards the bed. She kept repeating in her head. He is my protector, he is my savior.
- - -
A soft voice stirred her from her dreams. “Aseradiva… Aseradiva?” Right, her name. “Please, I cannot.” She heard her voice beg, it cracked and she felt broken. Wait. This wasn't right. The voice wasn’t angry and biting against her ear as she was roughly woken up from her dreams. It spoke softly, hesitant. Her eyes flew open to see Felassan standing above her. Her memory slowly knit itself back together, she had fallen asleep in the woods. Isathe’s gaze met Felassan’s and then she noticed he was holding her mask in his hand. A mask of a Forgotten One.
