my first playthrough of inquisition with a lavellan felt so socially isolating for her that I later introduced another oc to the story just so he and solas could be her gay dads which was absolutely ridiculous of me if you think about it
Okay, you got me, I am now interested in Ellaran. Could you tell us more about him? Especially how he ended up dating Bethany's crush
Oh!!! Ellaran is my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good-time boy. He's a dalish warden OC... technically I first made him up as an Orlesian warden for Awakening. He's gay and got adhd (he's just like me fr) and a chronic case of foot-in-mouth disease. I will endeavor to explain his whole deal.
(This is. Um. It's uh. It's long. I cannot overstate the length.)
So! Ellaran is a dalish mage, and was once first of his clan. He's also a blood mage and a shapeshifter. What's undisputable is that he has stored in his little noggin a really vast array of strange and esoteric magical and historical knowledge. What's not entirely clear, for the most part, is how he came by all of it. Any information he divulges about his past is wildly contradictory, and nobody who asks receives the same story.
Those among the wardens who happen to know him well tend to agree these facts appear true: He was the first of a dalish clan, before being exiled. Said clan spent most of its time camped in the Arlathan Forest in the north, between Tevinter and Antiva. He killed a clanmate, said clanmate deserved it, and this may have been the reason for his exile. Or it may have been entirely unrelated! Unclear. He spent some time with an Avvar clan in the Frostback Mountains, and learned further magic from their augur. After leaving the Avvar clan, he spent some time wandering before he was recruited by the Orlesian wardens.
He does talk about how Avvar mages train their magic by allowing spirits to possess them. What he doesn't tend to mention is that he was eventually ejected from the clan for his continued willful refusal to release a spirit of learning and curiosity &etc. that he merged with during this time. She's still riding shotgun with him. He was also married for a year to a sweet strong Avvar lad. He doesn't like to talk about that much either.
His time with the Orlesian wardens was, rocky. There was broad mutual dislike there, and when it came time to send reinforcement wardens to Ferelden after the blight was concluded, he jumped at the chance. He was out scouting (as a raven) at the time the darkspawn attacked Vigil's Keep, and thus avoided getting shanked. He's in his mid-30s at this point.
Warden Commander Sulina Mahariel and Ellaran both share an interest in uncovering secrets and lost knowledge of elven history and the blight, and he was quickly allowed to settle in and do his own thing. The information stored within the warden research library at Vigil's Keep now rivals whatever they have at Weisshaupt. They return all relevant information to the dalish at the Arlathvhen (this is in exchange for new finds by the clans, but they'd do it regardless) but are a good deal more selective about what they relay back to warden command at Weisshaupt, which has not earned them friends.
This is a good point at which to note that he is awful and should not be allowed to conduct research because he is the worst kind of hands-on mf who has never once ignored a poor impulse that popped into his head. Seriously, he'd have to be physically restrained from licking red lyrium to assess the nature of the way it makes his tongue tingle, and then he'd do it anyway while your back is turned. Ellaran, don't lick the lyrium idol. It is to his severe detriment that his "methodology" actually seems to work for him, because he'll never learn.
(He licks the anchor. When he joins the Inquisition he licks the anchor on Alden's hand, without warning. Well, okay, he said "hey is it okay if I do something kind of weird" and then just carried on without waiting for an answer. Leliana, who knows him and reluctantly vouched for him, utterly despairs of him.)
When the false calling starts, the Amaranthine wardens scatter to the winds. Some of them wind up mucking about in Tevinter, some of them head off in separate directions to search for a cure, some of them go off to check in on the other wardens, and only a small skeleton crew is left behind to hold down the fort in Amaranthine, Ellaran included. Lights are off, nobody's home. If anybody asks, seneschal Garevel's in charge.
Now, the wardens have had a vested interest in the darkspawn magisters since their initial encounter with the Architect, and in Corypheus in particular (and whatever the hell it was the Marcher wardens were getting up to with him) since the Hawkes' encounter with him. Ellaran is a leading expert in strange magical phenomenon and the blight, and is probably the foremost expert you could find anywhere in Thedas on the nature of creatures like Corypheus. So once the Inquisition is established, he lends his expertise and is appointed arcane advisor.
When Alden is not crashing the party, they do wind up making out in the fade like horny teenagers—Ellaran's in his mid-40ies now by the way—because Solas forgets to have inhibitions in the fade. Solas does not want to talk about it after they wake up and he wants to make it very clear that he's not looking to get romantically involved with someone, but that's fine, because Ellaran is also very much not looking to get romantically involved with anyone, and you don't need to be romantically involved to have horny makeout sessions. I don't know if it's apparent at this point but Ellaran has uhhhhhhh, Abandonment Issues™ that a solid decade of friendship with the wardens hasn't resolved, as well as a history of romantic endeavors not lasting particularly long or ending particularly well. This will be relevant later.
They're both bitchy old queens with a propensity for spouting off utterly incomprehensible magobabble and everyone thinks they deserve each other. Don't try to tell me Solas isn't a bitchy old queen, I saw what I saw.
So Ellaran is an abomination and a blood mage who spent the better part of a decade and a half—including most of his 20s—living on his own as a hedge mage. He understands lying about everything. He does it himself, all the time, constantly! It's good for your continued health! Solas is lying. About everything. He's not gonna call him out on it—again, he gets it. But he does start to put together all the little things that don't quite add up. Most people wouldn't have the appropriate knowledge base for it, but Ellaran very much does.
This is also, for the record, his opinion about "Blackwall"/Thom: "I know this bitch isn't a warden. none of my business tho ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" Like, he served with Gordon Blackwall. He was right there when he gave that speech. He quite liked Gordo, compared to most of the Orlesian wardens! It's whatever, he's not gonna out him. He's also not going to help him lie any better, because it's free entertainment.
He also becomes a friend and something of a mentor to Shirae Lavellan, a young dalish First who joined the inquisition early on. They are, tbh, having the time of their lives whenever the Inquisition digs up something of interest. It's a feedback loop, perpetual enthusiasm-generating machine. They were bouncing off the walls of the temple of Mythal while Solas was slowly dying inside the whole time. Shirae ends up drinking from the Well of Sorrows. Ellaran declined to do so because he didn't want to taint—well okay, he claimed he didn't want to run the risk that the darkspawn taint within him would somehow taint the well, but really it's because he considers himself to be an inveterate fuckup who eventually ruins everything he touches.
Solas starts getting worried that he's getting too emotionally attached to Ellaran, and that Ellaran is getting too close to sniffing out all of his secrets. That "I'm in love with you, and also by the way I'm breaking up with you" move he pulls is a tactical missile strike to the heart seemingly designed to deal maximum emotional damage to Ellaran in particular. It could be considered, as the kids say, a dick move.
Jeeeeesus christ this is getting long. Okay blah blah, Corypheus defeated, game ends, Solas gets his little orb thing back and fucks off to go play with his super special secret club. He starts, like, feeling badly about how he ended things with Ellaran and wants to make amends. Ellaran went back to the wardens, who are starting to slowly re-gather. Solas, like, dreamstalks him just a little bit. He's like, "look, I can explain everything, you see, I'm the dre-" "you're the dread wolf" "what"
They spend some time hashing it out and Ellaran, although conflicted, goes to join Solas doing his thing. But also, like, with half a mind to try to veeeeery subtly convince Solas to maybe like slow his roll and reconsider if he really wants to take the nuclear option. He's not very subtle about it. Solas also knows that there are probably like three people alive who could convince him to change his course of action. Like, Ellaran, Shirae, and Inquisitor Kataara Adaar, end of list. So when Solas does his little "hey I'm the dread wolf" reveal to Alden in Trespasser (and does not get interrupted mid-speech this time, thanks Alden) he slams the eluvian closed behind him and ditches Ellaran. Uhhhhh, again. It is, uhhhhh, rude and bad, of him.
So Ellaran goes back to the wardens and like. Bella Swan blank chapters moment. He spends a solid couple of months in permanent wolfmode because wolves get to sleep in front of the fire all day and don't have to talk about their feelings.
So yeah I was being a bit flippant about the timeline in the other post for the sake of jokes, because this is well after Trespasser. Most of the Amaranthine wardens reunite, although some of them are just permanently off doing their own thing. Like Sulina's just gone for good, off doing things in Tevinter with Zevran and Fenris. She never officially abdicated as commander but, like, Nate's been "acting" commander for yeeeeeears now, like, he's the guy in charge.
The Amaranthine wardens have their own like, hookup culture? Like you spend years of your life living alongside the same people and frequently fighting in life or death situations, and things are gonna happen. Also, like, Zevran being househusband of Vigil's Keep basically makes the keep an extension of the greater Kirkwall area polycule.
So Ellaran over the years has hooked up with some of the wardens, but he's very careful to avoid any entanglements that he thinks would like, potentially jeopardize his ability to stay with the wardens, because being able to make a home there long-term reeeeeeally means a lot to him. Like he did hook up with Anders before Anders left to go after Karl, but he absolutely will not even consider a hookup with Zevran because that is the warden commander's husband and he is not sleeping with the warden commander's husband. And he never hooked up with Nate because, like, he knew he would never get over him.
So Ellaran eventually starts opening up again, and it's mostly due to Nate—Nathaniel being easily his best and oldest friend at this point, considering how many of the other oldheads have either died or moved on—being patient and understanding but also firmly like, "if you remain a wolf for much longer you're going to get stuck that way." Like Ellaran's just following Nate around for a while while he does his ranger stuff and Nate's like "not that I don't appreciate the company but when you don't talk back it feels like I'm just talking to myself."
And they're rapidly approaching their 50ieies and they are really, very old for wardens. And one day Ellaran is like "so how come all these years and we never hooked up" and Nate is like "idk" and like, Ellaran knows—it was because of his neuroses!—but fuck it, all he has to lose now is not going for it.
So he does! And they do. And then the younger generation of wardens wonder constantly why the very charming and attractive warden commander is dating such a weird little gremlin mage. But really, it's just because they've known each other best and longest and that's comforting, and it definitely helps that Nathaniel is like, the most easy-going person alive.
so with the Amaranthine wardens Bethany very quickly ends up spending most of her time in the warden research library, where I think she's more comfortable and excels more than out on patrol. there's a lot to dislike about being a warden but on the upside the second in command, Nathaniel, is very charming and very not bad to look at. on the other hand, her direct superior in the library is the most annoying weird little man she has ever had the misfortune of knowing. on the worst hand, he is dating Nathaniel.
*glances thru my ellaran tag* wow I have basically not posted about this guy at all over here which is funny because he's actually one of my fave ocs to talk about. anyway imagine an adhd disaster mage who got kicked out of a dalish clan, an avvar clan, and the orlesian warden branch. that's ellaran.
so how many people have dragon age ocs that are possessed by spirits anyway? I have no idea how common it is fandom-wide but personally I think it's too fun and flirty a concept to not play around with it
my oc spent some time living with an avvar clan and training under their augur but then decided that he in fact maybe wanted to keep the spirit of learning or knowledge or whatever rather than banishing it at the end of the lesson. it was a choice that didn't go over all that well! anyway they've been good pals wandering the lands seeking out cool fun magic lore ever since.
tell me all about your ocs walking around with spirits living in their heads rent-free I want to hear about them
me: *writes fanfic for the first time in several years*
me: *also it’s dumb oc fanfic*
me: wtf
so I guess I’ve officialized the Inquisition playthrough I started with a dalish warden oc (not The Warden, just A warden). here have a prelude
Ellaran braces himself against the wall, forehead to forearm, fist clenched tightly. Free hand scrabbling, grasping at empty air. Gasping for breath. He'd had the door just off his back since he arrived at the conclave, and when the song rose and swelled it took no thought at all to sidle quietly through it, flee down an empty hallway, nearly collapse around a corner.
The blighted song. It had started quietly, he couldn't pinpoint when. Maybe it had always been there, too quiet to hear at first. It's been his constant, unshakeable companion for months. Now it roars. He swallows gulps of air, fighting against the panic rising in his throat. His head pounds. This is what it feels like to be dying.
He taps his thumb against the tip of each restless finger, one by one. Slowly relaxes his clenched fist and does the same. He's come close to dying before. It felt nothing like this. He digs the toes of his thin boots downward into a groove in the stone floor, feels the coldness of the wall through his sleeve. Presses his palm flat against the damp, gritty stone. Breathes. His coat is rough knit and heavy. The wall is stone. The air is cold. It smells like pine. He's at the conclave. In Haven. In the Frostbacks. Near Ferelden. South. This isn't what it feels like to die. Breathes. His breath still tastes vaguely of wild onion. The back of his throat tastes like bile. He swallows, and breathes. He hasn't eaten since he arrived at Haven. He hears--
He hears yelling. Quieter than the dragon song, muffled and unclear, but definitely yelling. He reels upright, ears twitching wildly. He came from the right, and the yelling is coming... he wheels around, nearly overbalancing--there, the opposite direction.
He can't pick out the words but the voices grow more defined as he advances. He swallows the bile again. He didn't even want to be here. He pauses just outside the door, hand pressed against it. Two voices, one high pitched and, wait--darkspawn? Or… wardens? He can't sense anything under the damnable song. It drowns out everything, like his head's full of cotton and his ears are ringing.
Deep breath. He's not dying. Something on the other side of the door catches on his chest and pulls like gravity, like he's halfway over the edge of a pit. He grasps blindly for his staff. Its weight feels familiar in his hand, comforting. He still can't make out the words. He shifts his weight onto his back leg--tries to look less tense. Keeps the door in front of him as he flattens his palm against the wood and pushes.
He throws on a disarming smile, the best tool in his arsenal. "What's--" the faux-civility catches and dies in his throat. "--going on here?"
A flash of green.
It's dark. He takes stock. His eyes are closed. He opens them--still dark--closes them again. They're achy and dry. His head pounds. His chest aches. His arm burns.
It's quiet. It smells like dirt and damp and rot. Wait--it's quiet. His eyes snap open. He can't hear the song. He hears… shuffling and breathing, a cough. Shifting metal plate. Two, maybe three people. They sound heavy, human. Wooden beams stretch up toward the ceiling. Soft torches cast more shadow than light. There's a door in front of him. His wrists are shackled. His arm burns--no, his hand. The left. There's a faint green glow in the room. He no longer hears the calling. He chokes on a sob that turns into a cough, then a second, then a fit. Breathe, dammit.
They'll have taken his staff, no point in looking. He braces his hands on the rough floor with a wince and pushes up onto his knees. Looks down at his palms. A flash of green snaps and sparks, searing his vision. He winces against it, blinks away the after-image. What happened?
Voices beyond the door, and purposeful footsteps. They know he's roused, then. He sways woozily, shakes himself, fights to balance upright. He coughs again, experimentally. Rasps out a few quiet words under his breath, the first that come to mind. "We are the last of the--" Coughs. His tongue is swollen and dry, throat parched. Where is he? It's freezing. Still in Haven? He can make out a guard in his peripheral, standing with unnatural stiffness. Can hear another to his rear, still shifting uncomfortably in their armor.
They're afraid of him. Or…
He looks at his hand again. The light flares and recedes, pulsing in time with something outside of him. It's magic for certain but what kind, he's never encountered before. If he focuses he can taste it on the tip of his tongue, sharp, not like the fade, but nearly. His stomach roils. He's in no fit state for an interrogation… which means he's in perfect state for an interrogation.
His head snaps up, ears flattening back against his skull. Footsteps rapidly approaching the door now, loud and heavy, angered. He can't make out how many. Don't tell them anything. He doesn't know what happened. This is his chance to get answers. He doesn't know what happened.
