#elarin lavellan

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"She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know. She thinks it's because of her."

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Solas and Elarin WIP

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"Losing my bondmate. . . it was unexpected. We were supposed to spend our lives together, and then he was gone." Elarin hung her head, a lock of her hair falling into her face. She absently played with the ring on it's chain around her neck. "It hurt so much that he was taken from me, so soon." Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks, but they were not for Taros; that was a wound long healed. "I didn't think anything could be more painful than that." Varric watched her, the understanding of one who knew her pain clear in the sympathetic tilt of his head . "And now?" he asked, passing her his mug of ale. Elarin looked up, her eyes and nose red, her face pale. Gratefully, she took a sip. "Now?" she smiled humorlessly and wiped her tears away. "I know how very wrong I was. It is far worse to be left by choice."

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Elarin Lavellan

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The Cold Return

Elarin shivered as the icy wind cut into her lithe body. Snow caught in her eyelashes and a thin layer of frost had begun to coat her exposed skin. A simple fire spell might have been enough to warm her, but what will she had left was all that was keeping her on her feet, moving her forward. She had none to spare for spellcasting when each step was a struggle, her muscles tense and frozen stiff. In the distance, Elarin thought she heard wolves howling, but it could just as easily have been wind. With bleary eyes, she saw she was coming up on a campsite, like the one she had seen before; only as she got closer, she saw there were still a few embers glowing in the fire pit. A spark of hope ignited in her. Maybe she wouldn't die out here, after all. She struggled forth, heading down a path the lead through a gap in the rockface. Dimly, she was aware of a flickering light approaching, heard a voice calling out over the mountain wind. She sank to her knees in the snow, her legs giving out, her body shaking so hard she just couldn't move anymore. Her eyesight was dimming, but she coule make out a pair of glowing eyes floating toward her quickly. "Solas?" she whispered, though it was barely intelligible through her shivering and the wind. She was so tired, she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. Warm hands wrapped around her shoulders, propping her up when she would have fallen the rest of the way down, and hoisted her up, strong and warm arms holding her close. She tried speaking again, but her teeth were rattling too much for her to piece together a coherent sentence. "Hush, lethalin," he said into her ear as he began to walk, in the direction he had come from. She closed her eyes, felt her head begin to loll back. She was still shivering uncontrollably, despite the warmth of the one who carried her. She was so tired. . . Her head snapped back up, her eyes slit open as she was shook back awake. "You must stay awake," he told her. She nodded weakly in response. Soon- was it soon? it was hard to tell - they were greeted by people rushing toward them with blankets. She was taken from his arms and led away in a blur, and her armor quickly removed. All she could think of was how warm the blankets were. So warm they felt burning hot to her frozen skin. The feeling came painfully back to her extremities, laying on the cot by a fire and buried under furs and blankets. She had wanted so desperately to sleep, and now that the numbness was leaving her, everything hurt too much. She lay in misery as the healers - headed by Mother Giselle -  worked to make sure the frost hadn't killed any of her flesh. After what seemed like eternity, she was left in peace, though she expected the throbbing all over her body would not let her sleep any time soon. The healers had left her with a cup of tea laced with a sleeping agent. Just as it began to take hold, Solas entered the makeshift tent, taking the seat next to her cot. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes growing heavy with drowsiness. "You found me," she said sleepily, reaching out her hand and placing it on his knee. He nodded. "Thank you." Her eyes closed, and her hand slipped from his knee to dangle off the cot. Her gently tucked her arm back under the blanket, staring at her with a sad expression. "Ir abelas, lethalin," he said in a low voice. It was the last thing she heard before sleep took her.

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Elarin Lavellan

Elarin Lavellan, 30 years of age, born of the Dalish, and First to Keeper Deshanna Istamathoriel. Her mother died giving birth to her, leaving her father to raise her alone. Elarin's magic came to her during her 6th year, and so she was taken in by the Keeper to train to become her first, and Deshanna became a mother to her. Elarin found love early in her youth with a young hunter by the name of Taros. They were joined as bondmates on Elarin's 18th birthday. They had been joined less than five years when tragedy struck. During a hunting accident, Taros fell and struck his head. Though still alive, he could not be woken. Keeper Deshanna and Elarin did all they could, but nothing could be done for him, and still he would not wake. So Elarin drove a knife through his heart, rather than watch him wither. Elarin bore her anguish admirably. After the period of mourning was over, the pain of Taros' passing began to dissipate into a dull ache, from which the daily work and duties as First to the Keeper helped keep the young widow distracted. Years sped by, and her pain healed, leaving the scar of a bittersweet memory. The mage-templar war broke out, spreading from Kirkwall to the rest of Thedas when both factions broke away from the Chantry. The Conclave was called, as a last desperate effort of the Divine to restore peace. Keeper Deshanna and Elarin both knew that the decisions made there would effect more than just Andrastians. The Keeper wanted eyes and ears present at the Conclave, both curious and worried about the outcome.  Since Elarin was her First, she was chosen to go. And then the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded. Elarin is soft-spoken, pensive, and with an acute sense of empathy. She wholeheartedly believes in the Creators, the gods of her people. So, while she understands the need for it, she finds the moniker "Herald of Andraste" to be both irksome and discomforting. She is unsure what to make of Corypheus or his claims - it's all very conveniently (suspiciously) Andrastian, in her mind. Elarin's wide, round eyes are fuchsia, rimmed by thick, pale lashes. Her slightly golden skin is spattered with freckles, thickest across her cheeks and shoulders. She keeps her wavy strawberry hair slightly longer than her shoulders. Elarin is grateful for Cullen's friendship, though at first she was wary of him for his Templar past. After learning more about him, she came to respect him. The two play a game of chess every week. Elarin and Leliana get along well. Elarin has only the utmost respect for her spymaster, and prefers her company to Cassandra's. They can sit in comfortable silence, or carry on light conversation over a game of wicked grace. Elarin enjoys hearing the bard's tales of daring adventures from her days before and during the Blight. Josephine is always asking about her clan's way of life and culture, which Elarin is happy to talk about. Elarin is always in wonder of Josephine's knowledge of other countries and customs and comes to her for advice when she doesn't know about human customs. It is almost certain that Cassandra's regard for Elarin is higher than Elarin's for Cassandra. Elarin respects the warrior's accomplishments, but has trouble sometimes liking the taciturn woman. Elarin admires Blackwall, simply because she's heard such grand legends of the Grey Wardens. But she could always sense a lingering sadness in him, though she couldn't place it. When the truth came out, she treated him with compassion and her admiration never dwindled. The Iron Bull, as unlikely as it sounds, is probably Elarin's closest friend in the Inquisition. Knowing from the get-go of his nature as a Ben-Hasreth spy, Elarin felt an immediate connection. Both of them were outsiders here, neither of them sharing the Andrastian culture or beliefs that the majority of her inner carried. Elarin, with all her patience, finds Sera to be a very trying person. With her dismissal and derision of Elarin's native culture and beliefs, Elarin finds it simply easier to not mingle much with the younger woman outside of missions. Their beliefs just clash far too much. Elarin envies Varric's silver tongue and his ability to weave stories. She finds his company refreshing, his mood generally light - a welcome difference from the brooding company she's found herself in. They often frequent the tavern together, Varrix spouting  tales, and Elarin his avid (slightly drunk) listener. Cole is a great curiosity to Elarin. She was amazed to encounter a spirit of compassion to begin with, not to mention the fact that it had taken on the physical form of a youth. She always listens to what he says, curious of his perspective as a genuinely empathic being. Vivienne and Elarin maintain a polite civility. Elarin wholeheartedly abhors the very idea of the Circle, while Vivienne is staunchly loyal to it. Elarin could not have anticipated how drawn she felt to Solas. After Taros' death, she had not been looking for another. But the strange Elven hedge mage had proven to be more than a curiosity. His rare gift for Dreaming was useful. And beyond that, it was relevant to her interests as First to her Keeper. His knowledge and wisdom earned her respect. She finds herself baffled at how quickly and how easily this love came to her, and even more so to find it returned in kind.