" Merde… " Curse hissed beneath her breath, fingers chucking the book she’d been attempting to read aside. One would think sitting atop the battlements would mean she’d AVOID such prattle. Yet the Inquisitor seemed set to remind her of the blossoming DISGUSTING relationship betwixt herself and Solas. Andraste’s flaming ass did her head throbbed! Face buried within the palm of her hands; aching to escape this idiocy.
Melancholy, mind toying with the concept of abandoning the Inquisition. She desired to help but…petty. The Inquisitor was nothing more than a petty brat who lotted another as a toy. Sensed it, he must’ve sensed her thoughts. His melodious voice filling ears that - for once - did not desire to hear them. Fingers dragged across exhausted features, steeling before her lips. " I’m…beg pardon, what did you say, Solas? I wasn’t listening. "
The early morning was bitterly cold in Haven. Ella had learned quickly to dress a bit more warmly before setting off for the day. Around her neck; a patched up scarf lied snug.
She wanted to gather her party fast and exit to the Hinterlands as quickly as they were able; the morning air was brisk and only urged Ella to walk faster. Going up the stone steps; Ella spotted who she wanted to see and smiled pleasantly.
“ Good morning, Solas.” Ella greeted politely. “ We have a lot to do today in the Hinterlands, Are you ready to depart?” She asked eagerly as she rocked on the the balls of her feet.
“ So, the Inquisitor said you’ve seen the battle at Ostagar during your time in the Fade ? Is that true ? There aren’t many people who remember that night as it really happened. There aren’t a lot who saw it as I did. What was it like ? ”
death and sadness was so often seen. roads were filled with dangers ; demon, beast, and man alike. she was a gentle soul --- a spirit ( though that fact unknown to her ) --- and violence was something she did not partake in. a basket of wild flowers hung in the bend of her elbow as she walked , barefooted, amongst the dead. she placed flowers on them and whispered words of kindness with hopes that they find their way and do not linger. she hears foot falls --- soft and gentle --- behind her. head rises as she kneels by a fallen human mage, vibrant green tresses sliding back over her bared shoulders dusted with emerald freckles. pale greens look up towards the other and the contact is all that is given for she was far too timid to speak.
" I suppose heartbreak is inevitable; Death steals everyone's lover. At some point or another. However -- " One finger rose before tapping against her bottom lip to accompany her thoughts. " Do you think a being like Corypheus has ever found himself capable of such a deeply connection emotion? I've not met a soul who's incapable of intimacy and not murderous. "
@drecdwolf joking mentioned that solas read varric’s shitty city elf romance series that we headcanoned to be the equivalent of Twilight so i wrote the first chapter, so here’s the first ( and lmao only ) chapter of Daybreak.
Daybreak
“ I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, or even noticed... until he did. ”
Written in part in parcel with the Kirkwall City Elf Coalition
For Merrill, because.
--- Varric Tethras ( 9:40 Dragon )
one --- the basket
The rolling hills of Kirkwall turn from gold spun grassed to jagged escarpment arising from the jetties and moors like a scar. The sky even turns, from it’s vivid blues to a sickly grey in the approach, drawing my attention to the walls that dare to kiss it in the distance.
Kirkwall City.
Babae, my father, claimed that Starkhaven and it’s city was no longer safe, but he had also begrudged that Kirkwall City was no better. However, he had proclaimed at least their Alienage gates locked at night --- or so he had been told. Alas, my sister and I bent to the will of my father, packing what little we had and fleeing to the tepid coast and it’s ever-present cloud cover; hoping for some sort of refuge after six days of travel on horseback.
I still did not understand why we could not have stayed in Tantervale with my father’s sister and her daughters, perhaps it was because of some unknown forces in Tantervale --- grappling at the very inner political machinations, but was Kirkwall truly any better? As we entered the city, I heard the whispers that strangled the city, whispers recount that Kirkwall City was once a city of promise and opportunity, but now it had been ravaged by a feckless war.
Better than Starkhaven, for it was still being held captive by rogue Templars, wanting to oust all who disagreed, including the reigning Prince.
I had been critical of Kirkwall as we entered the main gates, for the rubble reached out onto the King’s Highway and littered it, leading my family and me to believe that the city was in a state of depravity, which was not completely incorrect --- there were plenty of crumbling buildings. Yet, as we entered the Lowtown and the market community, it was apparent that at leat this part of the community was thriving, for the smell baking bread was wafting through the air, people were still going about their lives, making due with what they had.
Babae had talked about the indomitable spirit of Kirkwall City, and perhaps, he was correct --- if these people were carrying on, I could make due as well, perchance even thrive in this former city of promise.
I was quick to steer us through dilapidated Lowtown, steering clear of the larger human men, who seemed to eye my sister and eye with such ferocity while the women seemed to turn their heads away from me after offering us looks of quiet sympathy. It was the same everywhere, why was I ever hopeful that it would be different here? I didn’t let the questioning looks, and scornful gazes bother me; though I cannot speak for my sister, Maeve, she was far more meekish and traditional, I could imagine now that she was upset by the scornful gaze from the fishermen and working women of the Lowtown Docks.
However, we made quick work steering ourselves through the gates into the Alienage and finding the apartment we had been promised. Sister had worried about living in Kirkwall City, hearing that the Alienage had fallen into disrepair and even hearing that the Vhenadahl had been pulled from the flagstones and mutilated by mages and Templars alike. Yet, I had been surprised, the community was thriving and looked to be in a better state than the city we had proudly marched through hours before, the Vhenadahl was painted for a festival, and the pungent smell of cumin and caraway hung in the air --- someone somewhere was mixing marsala.
Our apartment was on the top floor, I’m not sure how we were able to afford such a place, but I was thankful that it was ours, for the view was breathtaking. There was no balcony, but I was able to throw the windows open and grab onto the rafters, using my body weight to propel myself up onto the flat roof of the cooperative. Coming into Kirkwall, I had been eager to judge the grey and uninviting skies, for as the day met the night and I looked out towards the Waking Sea --- the sky changed from a dusty grey blue to something painted with colours, violets and orchids played with yellows and pinks marred the sky in some beautiful scars as the star flicked to life in the heavens, reminding me of the hanging lanterns back home.
“Sienna?” Attention shifted as a voice called from below, so with haste, I dropped, throwing myself from my perch and wiggling back through the window and into the bare thread apartment. Tomorrow I would weave, I would start a rug for the stone floors --- and a blanket for my sister, something to help her fend off the cold air. “Sienna!” She called again, and I made quick work padding into the kitchen area, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone.
“I’m here Maeve, just stepped out for a moment.” My sister --- was beautiful, even now I fail to find words to describe how she looked. She was sunkissed, much like me, however, her dark curly hair was easily pliable, plaited at all times as if she wished weave flowers through it. Now, in my older age, I can only call my sister angelic for her looks, though memories are unreliable I assure you this one is not. However, I’m getting away from the tale at hand --- she was settled by the drawn sink, she’d apparently pulled buckets of water in while I was situated on the roof.
Being on the top floor of the co-op, proved advantageous, for much like our home in Starkhaven City, this apartment had its own fireplace. I began to wonder if the apartments below had stoves such as ours, the building was one large square divided into smaller squares -- allowing room for a kitchen area and then a place to rest, wash up, study or work. I would imagine they were all the same.
Again --- getting away from what was important. My sister wasted no time placing a large woven basket in my arms, I was very familiar with it --- for it was one of my own creations, and one of the few things we had brought with us. She had obviously wasted no time emptying it of the linens I had shoved in it, which amused me and was also rather heartbreaking. Kirkwall City was now home.
“Go and fill this with produce please, I’m making stew, and I want it to keep for a couple of days.” Maeve is hasty with her words as if to cover up the intent behind them. There is a keen sting behind them, for we both need work to live --- Father has promised to send coin to us, and follow in the coming months, however with the war I doubted that Starkhaven City would let another smithy leave the city walls, knowing they will need all of their finest casters.
I shift the basket under one arm, popping the lid off of it for a moment. Perhaps, I can weave and sell my goods in Lowtown --- yet I know that chance in slim, it’s far more enticing than finding scullery work to support my sister. “Do you just want the usual --- or would you want the grocer to give me advice?”
“I’m not picky, the neighbour gifted us some leftover chicken and stock as a welcoming present, just find something not too expensive that will go with chicken.” Pulling a face at the idea of leftover chicken, earned me a swat from the palm of my sister’s hand. However, I was sceptical of most things still. Yet, could I be blamed? I felt as if I was still floundering, out of my element and gasping for air. Before I could honestly feel my Maeve’s wrath, I moved --- fleeing from that apartment with the basket in my clutches and using one of my free hands to tug shoes onto my feet.
It didn’t take me long to find the open air market, all I did was follow the pungent smell of marsala cooking in the distance and the throngs of people that seemed to have the same idea as Maeve, however --- it seemed that these people were not here for the grocer, no they seemed to be huddled around a communal fire, with some small dark haired girl at the helm of the crowds. She was obviously Dalish, I didn’t want to make assumptions. However, City Elves don’t wear the mark of the Gods.
Between the crowd and the roar of the fire, I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, or even noticed... until he did. He was handsome --- fair skinned with bright and kind eyes, a mop of dark hair with ears poking out from the curls, a crooked smile that the greats write about with such romanticism. I immediately hated him, for his cocky smile, and his scruffy looks, but he pulled me out of the way of an oncoming cart. His hand lingered on my shoulder too long for my liking, and I brushed him off as he laughed, a disgusted noise coming from my throat before I could find my manners and thank my saviour.
The man simply wiped his hands on his tunic, taking my poor behaviour in stride. In hindsight, I should not have been as standoffish, however --- could I be blamed?
“Are you alright?” His question comes off more as a joke, it’s punctuated with a laugh rather than any notable concern.
“I'm fine.” My words were forceful and motions calculative --- turning away from him and towards the grocer’s cart, filling my woven basket with produce. I’d taken to turning my gaze to the potatoes --- figuring they must be the same here as they were in Starkhaven.
“Let me help you, you’re new around here.”
My eyes met his, they must have been damning, alight with insolence and forcefulness, for he laughed at me again. “I think I know how to pick out a potato.”
“I don’t doubt that, but Morwick is gonna overcharge you. You’re new --- and every day a sucker is born in Kirkwall.” The man stated, thumbing behind him. I followed the gesture, and my eyes came to an older elf and a human counting banknotes. The human was a portly fellow, with a large moustache and not much hair on the top of his head, the older elf looked a matronly age, yet time being rather kind.
“Morwick’s the shem?” I lowered my voice, not wanting the shopkeeper to hear the slur.
The man nodded, “Nennia is his wife, they’ve lived here for as long as I can remember, Morwick’s one of us, good people and makes sure we get what we need, but he’s a little harsh to the new arrivals --- so let me help.” I was used to living in squalor; however, I really could not afford to be overcharged, especially with no income.
“You don’t even know me.” I offered up, the basket still in my hands, but extended in good will to the other man.
“Name’s Yerlin, most people just call me Lin, I’m a tailor -- I actually work for a friend of Morwick’s in Lowtown outside the gate, and you?”
“Sienna.” I didn’t offer him my line of work, for the moment --- unemployment was all I could state.
“And now we know each other,” Yerlin insisted, prying the basket from my hands, relenting I let him have it, though my coin purse remained tightly tied to my belt. I would pay Yerlin rather than giving him my purse and then being left flat, for this was a new city, and I was more than sceptical. Yerlin made quick work of getting Morwick’s attention and striking up a conversation with him, they seemed to know each other well enough and the older woman, Nennia seemed taken with him. Yerlin waved me over, and introduced me to them both, his hand finding the small of my back and pushing me forward to greet them when I made my way over, not allowing be to be to be tentative or shy.
Nennia sized me up for just a moment before jumping into caring for me as if I was one of her own, it was foreign, but not unwelcome, for I had not been mothered in nearly ten years --- and it was very welcoming. Morwick, as I would later come to learn --- he liked being called Wick, however, ignored me for he was more interested in the conversation with Yerlin and the coin that seemed to pass freely between their hands. I eyed them carefully for a moment, however, Nennia demanded my attention commenting on the basket in Yerlin’s arms, asking where I had gotten it.
“I must have one, dearheart ---- for you see, many of our craftsmen have left due to the war, Lin is one of the few who stayed, and you see...my baskets and catchers are old and have fallen into disrepair, I’m sure I could convince Wick to let me buy a new one, especially from someone who is a friend of Lin’s.”
I would not understand her inflexion on the word friend until much later, for it had fallen on deaf ears for a moment, Lin had finished his dealings with Morwick and was wishing him well. He approached us, crooked smile still ever present. Nennia then greeted him again with a sloppy kiss to his cheek before wishing us well. My gaze moved to Nennia and Morwick --- and their interactions, it struck me as highly unusual for their relationship was almost illegal in Starkhaven City.
Words finally found me. However, my gaze lingered on Morwick’s shop for a moment more, “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” Yerlin stated it so casually, I almost did not catch it --- and perhaps I should have left it at such, keeping my eyes fixated on the couple, now lost to throngs of people moving in on their open air grocer. However, disbelief must have marred my features, and my dark eyes met his, they crinkled as he laughed. “I told you, Morwick is a friend --- however, I will ask something of you.”
