Among the Flames
Inquisitor Lavellan intercepts an attack on Denerim's Alienage while paying a visit to Queen Anora. What he doesn't expect to find is a little boy, who changes his life forever.
Characters: Mahvir Lavellan, Dorian Pavus, Queen Anora.
Warnings: Graphic Violence, cursing.
Word Count: 4.6k
The Exalted Council had taken a toll on Inquisitor Lavellan. In the span of a few weeks, he had suffered a slow death while navigating politics and ancient mysteries. He had lost livelihood and limb, his love and his religion. All he could do, after discovering the truth about Fen’Harel and the fate of their world, was give his Inquisition to the Divine. He hoped that Leliana could salvage what was left of their organization, and do more good.
As a way to protect him, he was sure, she allowed him to maintain the title of Inquisitor by becoming her Left Hand. Alongside Cassandra, he had devoted his life to the Divine’s law. He may have stopped praying to his own Gods, but if Leliana would protect their world in the name of the Maker, then he would carry her banner and give her his sword: whenever, and wherever, he was needed.
It was a formality for him to meet with Fereldan’s Queen in the aftermath. While she had not attended the Exalted Council, Teagan had advocated for the Inquisition’s absolution. With the Inquisition remaining, albeit as a neutral, religious sect, she needed reassurance that their military force wouldn’t be turned against her people.
He had only returned to his duties a few months ago, and was still adjusting to his new prosthetic. The wooden arm was a prototype lovingly crafted by Dagna, but he would prefer one made of metal. Wood would be cut, and such a limb would be a liability in battle. She was in the middle of casting a new one as he sat in a sun-warmed sitting room, discussing the world’s future with Queen Anora. She was more direct than most Orlesians, which would have been a relief on any other day, but the cut-throat way she drilled Mahvir about his decisions and intentions was exhausting.
With the Inquisition dissolved into the Chantry, his Inner Circle had parted ways. Josephine and Cullen remained to help with the transition, but they would soon return home. There was talk of closing Skyhold, turning it into a historic monument. When Mahvir imagined parting ways with the only family he had left and losing his home, it was easy to fall prey to despair. His thoughts had taken this turn on the journey to Fereldan’s capital, and to keep himself sane, he had prattled on to the sending crystal around his neck. Dorian’s voice had become the only balm for his weary heart, but it didn’t stop the loneliness that had started to take root.
Mahvir hadn’t realized that his mind had drifted to thoughts of loneliness and grief, until Anora prompted his attention with an annoyed cough.
“My sincerest apologies, Majesty.” He spoke without missing a beat, racking his brain to remember the conversation topic. Fortunately, the slamming of the room’s door saved him from a clumsy follow-through.
"Queen Anora!" A servant called from the doorway. She clutched at her chest, fighting to catch her breath. "There's been a confrontation in the Alienage, a fire has started."
Anora stood from her chair with the steady air of someone who had been ruling for many years. There was no need for words as her jaw clenched and her hands balled into fist at her side. It was easy to imagine her picking up a sword and charging into battle. Her father had been a war hero, long ago, someone who would have taught his child to protect herself.
Mahvir beat her to it, as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “I will go meet the city guard, I trust they’ve already been told?”
The servant averted her gaze, and Mahvir’s heart fell to his feet. "Yes, but they only spared a few men."
"I see," His voice tipped into something reserved for warlords, bandits, and venatori. "Queen Anora, may I put a stop to this bloodshed?”
The monarch gave her blessing without missing a beat. "As you wish, I will see about the rest of the guard."
___
Mahvir rushed across the Denerim market, pushing through a growing crowd as people gathered to watch the cloud of smoke in the sky. In his peripheral vision, he watched the Inquisition soldiers who had accompanied him rush to his side. As he came to the gate of the Alienage, he pivoted on his heel to bark orders. "The elves are our utmost priority, get them out of harm's way.”
"Yes, Inquisitor." Charter, one of Leliana’s most trusted spies, led the others past him and into the smoke. Mahvir took a deep breath, clutched the sending crystal around his neck, and followed them into Hell. The smoke stung his eyes, and tears peppered his cheeks as he wandered further into the slums. He hunkered close to the ground, searching for better air, and stumbled over bodies. Some had succumbed to the fire, either from lack of oxygen or burns, but others were left to die in pools of their own blood. Someone had claimed so many innocent lives, and it didn’t take long for him to find the culprit.
As he pushed through the smoke, Mahvir found himself standing before the Vhenadahl, a massive and sacred tree that city elves revered. It was the source of the fire, as flames danced in its twisting branches. It dropped smoldering branches and leaves onto poorly thatched houses, alighting everything that lived beneath it. An elven woman was backed into the roots. Sweat coated her brow and soot smeared her dark skin, as she threw a stone at an approaching man.
Mahvir threw himself between the man - a noble by his clothes - and the elven woman. He bared his teeth and drew his sword, becoming a shield for the defenseless. "Take your men and leave. I won’t ask twice.”
"You're threatening me?" The noble came to an abrupt stop to appraise Mahvir. If he recognized The Herald of Andraste, he didn’t seem to care, as he spat on the other man’s boots. He held a butcher’s knife in one hand, and didn’t hesitate to point it toward the elf’s prosthetic. “You’re already missing one arm, Knife-ear, and I’ll gladly take the second.”
"You're the one murdering innocent people!" Mahvir spat back. He slammed the pommel of his sword into the noble’s chest.
"Innocent!” The noble stumbled. His foot nearly fell on a burning branch at his feet. “You’re a daft one, aren’t you, Rabbit? One of yours took advantage of my generosity and stole from me! After I gave him honest work. He fled here when I caught him with his pockets lined with gold, so now I’m flushing the bastard out.”
Mahvir had heard the slurs a hundred times, and he would hear them a hundred more, but that didn’t prevent him from seeing red. He was tired, horrified, and downright disgusted, as he turned his sword toward the noble's throat. "Watch your tongue, Shem.”
"You’re just like all the rest.” The man said, familiar enough with Denerim’s elves that he recognized their term of reproach. “No matter how well you dress, or how proper you talk, you’ll always be a dirty, no-good, mistake of the Maker. If he watches over us, then surely, his light doesn't extend to you-”
Mahvir growled and poised himself to run the noble through, but then the kitchen knife, one made for cleaving meat in half, was slammed into his left arm. It struck the wood and caused it to splinter. The runes carved into the wood sparked, and a cold frost extended onto the knife’s blade. The noble yelped in surprise as the ice kissed his fingertips.
"I'll have you hung for that!" As he screamed, his face turned as red as the flames consuming the Alienage.
"That is unlikely, Lord Emery." A voice cut through the chaos, and the Alienage silenced. Anora stood in the gateway. She had no need for a sword or shield, as her gaze held the wrath of a hundred soldiers. Within an instant, her personal guard had entered the Alienage and surrounded the Vhenadahl. They worked to round up Emery's sympathizers, noblemen and mercenaries, who had aided in the mass murder.
"Your Majesty!" Lord Emery croaked, he abandoned Mahvir to step toward his queen. "These menaces robbed me!"
She stared at him skeptically, "The whole Alienage robbed you? That seems like something that should have been brought to my attention.
"Of course not, it was my servant."
"So you punish the whole and kill the innocent for one man's misdeeds? No, don’t say another word. If anyone needs to be tried today, it is you.”
"That's not right, that's not-" Emery tried to advocate for himself, but he had turned his back on the Inquisitor, who stepped up to knock him to his knees with a strike between the shoulders. On the ashen ground, Emery was forced to acknowledge the carnage he caused, as Mahvir grabbed him by the hair, tilting his head to and fro.
"You dare to disobey your Queen?” The elf hissed in Emery’s ear. “Now consider this: Should your actions give me sanction to invade your home? Should I Murder your wife and children? Because by your count, their hands are also stained with the blood of those you killed today. Do you hear how my people scream among the flames? Remember that sound, and pray that those horrors never befall the place you call home.”
The more he spoke, the harder it became not to cough, but he had proved his point. Emery tensed beneath him and allowed himself to be hauled away by the guards. Mahvir scraped his sword against the ground as they walked away, just to watch the nobleman flinch.
Anora met his gaze from the gate and offered him a curt nod. She then acknowledged the fire, which had consumed the branches of the massive tree and many homes. Her guard Captain had already called for local mages and together they quenched the flames.
Mahvir offered Anora a bow, sheathed his sword, and then turned back to the elven woman who had shrunk against the roots of the great tree. She shook with repulsion as she returned to her feet. Her loved ones were gone and her home was burned to the ground. Mahvir recognized the pain in her eyes far too well.
"So much bloodshed," she murmured to no one in particular. "Fen’harel, may you put an end to all this death and misery."
“Is that what we’ve come to? Depending on our God of lies and trickery?”
“Praying to others has gotten us nowhere. Perhaps we should have believed in him all along.”
The notion left a sour taste in his mouth, but the woman pushed past him and moved toward the mages, who had put out the fire on the left side of the alienage.
Mahvir watched her for a moment before starting toward the right. A few buildings were still inflamed, and he planned to search them for survivors. On his way toward them, however, a noise caught his ear. He felt a pit in his stomach, a deep sickness, as the sound of a crying child continued. He tilted his head and changed direction, searching for the source of the noise among shouting soldiers and crackling flames.
His search brought him to a large barrel hidden beneath a tarp. When he lifted the lid, his heart fell. The child inside couldn’t have been more than two. His knees were pressed close to his chest and his vibrant eyes, as green as the Emerald Graves, were shimmering with tears.
"It’s alright, little one. Did your Mamae and Babae hide you here?" Without hesitation, he curled his hands around the boy and heaved him from the barrel. He balanced the toddler on his hip, the action made easier by the cleft in his light-armor, and he used his non-prosthetic to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “You’re safe now, Da’len. I’m here.”
They’re joined by another, as an older elf came to stand at Mahvir’s side. Mahvir had met him before - during one of his former travels to the city - Valendrian. The de facto leader of the Alienage. “Ir Abelas, Lethallen, for the pain you’ve endured today is too much for one heart to bear.”
“I’m not the only one who has lost people today, Inquisitor.” Valendrian inclined his head toward the boy in Mahvir’s arms. “Alecander’s parents are among the departed. They tried to protect him, and lured a violence-hungry noble into the fire.”
The image of his niece, Nellie, fleeing from her parents as they fought off against incensed nobles flashed through his mind, and he thought, for a moment, the ache in his chest would give way to a heart attack. “Senseless. All of it. No child should have to grow up without their parents. Everything our people have endured… It’s too much.” He then imagined his own parents, and how desperate he was to feel their embrace and seek their guidance. The pain is old, but as raw as when he first heard the news of their deaths.
“Does Alecander have any immediate family in the Alienage?” His inquiry came from the heart, as he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away from the child in his arms. "If not, then I would be willing to take him from this place.”
"You wish to take him?"
"Yes. He should not be forced into a life that is so fragile." A life where elves were disappearing in the night to join a rebel's cause. A life where having pointed ears could be his death sentence. "I can't take you all, but I will donate the funds needed to repair your home and provide proper medical care for your people.”
Valendrian blinked in surprise, as he looked over the man before him. “You would look after us, when we don’t share your Vallaslin?”
"No matter where our origins lie, Valendrian, we are one people."
Valendrian hummed, which turned into a rattling cough deep in his chest. When the fit subsided, he reached out to squeeze Alecander’s hand between his fingers. "He will be safer with you than he will ever be here. Darkness is before us, Lethallen. In the battles to come, we will need more people like you. Raise him to share your heart, and our future will be in good hands."
“I can’t promise the future.” Mahvir met Alecander’s gaze, and for the first time in months, he heart began to swell. “But I can promise that he will grow up with all the love and patience in the world, and that I’ll teach him to do good with it.”
"I pray that you’re right. Take care of him, my friend.."
"Until my dying breath, Valendrian.”
--- Part 2 ---
“Elgara vallas, da'len
Melava somniar
Mala taren aravas
Ara ma'desen melar
Iras ma ghilas, da'len
Ara ma'nedan ashir
Dirthara lothlenan'as
Bal emma mala dir
Tel'enfenim, da'len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Ara ma'athlan vhenas.”
As moonlight pooled into the Inquisitor’s quarters, he leaned over a crib carved from ironbark and adorned with elven baubles. The wind chime made with twine, bells, and feathers rotated on a dias above the sleeping child’s head. When the wind from an open balcony door jostled the bells, they mimicked birdsong. Mahvir’s eldest daughter, Elandra, had a similar one when she was young. Alecander had been in his care for a month, but the older elf still found himself leaning against the crib, narrowing his eyes as Alec’s chest rose and fell.
An elvish lullaby had lulled Alec to sleep despite the words being in a language his biological parents likely never knew. Yet it was in Alec’s blood, and he would grow up memorizing these ancient words and their meaning, which often transcended the common tongue. In recent days, Mahvir had dwelled on how much of his people’s history he would share with his children. He desperately needed to protect them, to let them remain blissfully unaware of the darkness that had followed the elves for centuries. Shielding them would only make them unsafe, and while he knew that was the harsh truth, it didn’t make reconciling with it any easier.
He sighs, resting his forehead against the crib rail. A mountain of paperwork was on his desk, and he had promised a trail ride with Nellie in the morning. He thinks he should do something productive and go to sleep at a reasonable hour, but footsteps on his stairs have him sitting upright, his pointed ears perking to track the sound.
“Well, aren’t you a sight?” Dorian whispers. He stops at the top of the stairs to admire Mahvir in the moonlight.
Mahvir turns in his chair to meet his lover’s gaze. They hadn’t seen one another in six months.
“You're early.” He remarks, standing to cross the room and embracing his partner. His chin slides over Dorian’s shoulder, and when he takes a breath, he can tell that Dorian had rolled fresh perfume on his neck before arriving at Skyhold. “Planning to surprise me, were you?”
“What can I say?” Dorian’s arms wrap around his waist, tracing the small of the elf’s back with nimble fingers. “I love to make spontaneous entrances. If we rode through the night, I thought I could surprise you when the moon was high. You’ve pulled the same move on me twice, and seeing as it always led to a passionate reunion, I say it was time for me to return the favor.”
“As much as I would love that, Ma Vhenan, you took a trip to Skyhold for a reason.”
Dorian hums, allowing his gaze to trail past Mahvir to the crib across the room. “Is he sleeping better now that you’ve changed the milk?”
“It took a song or two, but he finally settled for the night. No fuss, so his stomach must feel better.”
“I’m glad.”
They hold one another in silence until Mahvir can’t help smiling against Dorian’s neck. “You have no experience with babies, do you?”
“Felix’s cousin had a baby, a little girl who liked to pull my mustache, but I only saw her a few times.”
“Well, come meet him.” Mahvir intertwines their fingers and leads the other man across the room. Dorian walks a step behind, and his squeezing fingers betray his concern. “Here he is, the boy to be your son if you’re sure you’re ready for the commitment.”
“I’m not sure of anything,” Dorian leans over the side of the crib, staring down at Alecander’s dark skin and brunette curls. “Oh, but he is a handsome fellow, isn’t he? I’m not sure when I started viewing children as cute. “
Despite his exhaustion, Mahvir can’t help smiling at his lover. “That’s only the beginning. Soon, you’ll be attuned to his every cry and babble. Wait until he waves at you in the morning. It’s the sweetest thing.”
“I’ll be content with anything, so long as he doesn’t cry at the sight of me.”
“Don’t worry, he only does that to Cullen.”
Dorian laughs, and some of his tension eases. He lowers himself to sit in Mahvir’s armchair, and when the elf falls to sit in his lap, they find themselves in an embrace once more. Dorian hides his face within Mahvir’s long chestnut waves. “Maker, we’re really doing this?”
“I hope so,” Mahvir leans his forehead against Dorian’s chest. “It hasn’t been easy on my own. Caring for him and Nellie amid my other duties is challenging but worth every moment of hardship. They’ve caught on like a house on fire. She pushes him around Skyhold in a stroller, telling him of the castle’s history and the mountains beyond. He babbles like he’s sharing his stories, and they love it.”
“You were lucky to grow up with your sister, Amatus. I’m pleased that Nellie will have the same opportunity. There were times when she was frighteningly lonely here, being one of the few children. I daresay, being your niece left her more isolated than most.”
“Yes,” Mahvir witnessed it firsthand. Children of merchants or the Skyhold staff were unwilling to play with Nellie most days. If her caregivers were gone on business, Cole, Sera, and Morrigan’s son, Keiran, were her constant companions. “That’s why she’s taken to Alec so readily. She’s slept in here a few nights to keep close. Alec cries less when she’s here. I suppose it’s in our nature to stay together.”
“And do you find comfort in having them close?”
“On the contrary, I’m spooked by every noise. Like the wind is some spirit, coming to take them away in the night.”
“Oh.” Dorian’s hand glides from the elf’s knee to his thigh, squeezing the muscle. “I can put wards in the room if you’d like. If a crow lands on the balcony, you’ll know.”
“Thank you.” Mahvir kisses him.
Dorian sighs and tilts his head, chasing a fleeting touch he has dreamed about for half the year. When he pulls back, it’s to rest his forehead against Mahvir’s and stare into his amber eyes. “I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past month. I know I didn’t choose to take in Alecander, and to be quite honest, the thought of raising any child terrifies me. Still, I think about our time together before we defeated Corypheus. Of the months when you and I cared for Nellie. When she wouldn’t let another soul come close, she was ours, then, as she is now. I keep that picture of her on my desk, as you know, and my heart aches each time I see it. She’s more than my partner’s niece. She’s my daughter, and it pains me to have a life apart from the two of you.”
“Dorian-”
“-I can’t bring you to Tevinter. Your rare visits are dangerous enough, and Minrathous is no place for children. I’m working on it, Mahvir. I swear on my father’s name that I’m doing everything possible to turn my country into a place where we can raise them without fear. That dream requires I remain there, uprooting every heinous law and cretin in the Senate.”
Mahvir returns his head to Dorian’s shoulder.
Dorian continues. “I know how crucial the first few years of childhood can be. How important they are for the development of the mind and the heart. All he’ll have is you, save for the occasions I can make trips down South, which will become harder as I continue to embed myself in politics… I’m lucky to speak with Nellie through your sending crystal, and we had time to bond before my departure, but he won’t have the chance to get to know me. I know you want me to be his father, my love. If the circumstances were different, I would rise to the challenge as before, but I can’t be in both places at once. To be here with you would mean giving up my seat in the Magisterium.”
“And you can’t do that.” Mahvir doesn’t phrase it as a question.
“If I returned to you, nothing would change in my homeland. Slavery would continue unchecked. Children like Alec and Nellie will continue to suffer. To turn my back on them would make me no better than the Magisters who came before me.”
“So I am to raise him alone, then?”
Dorian stirs at the strained tone in his lover’s voice. He holds the elf tight, squeezing the life from his already weary limbs. “I can’t always be there, but I’ve confided in Maevaris and our fellow Lucerni about our situation. It’s not the perfect solution, and there will be months out of the year where we won’t see one another, but there’s still a way.”
“A way for me to see you more than a few times a year? I’m grateful for the crystals, Dorian, but the blasted things can only do so much. I’d do anything to trade it for your touch.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“Move to Kirkwall.”
“What?”
“Move to Kirkwall.” Mahvir pulls back to meet his gaze again, and Dorian captures his face between gentle palms. “Varric won you a house in Wicked Grace, did he not? I’ve already written to him, and he isn’t letting anyone take it off the market. You must sign a few papers, and you’ll be the first Elven Comte in the Free Marches.”
“The first Elven Comte anywhere, I’d wager.”
“Shush. Now, in Kirkwall, you’ll have Varric to keep you company. He’s bored playing Viscount, and you’re lonely here. He’ll help watch over the little ones if Leliana needs you.”
“I’m guessing you’ve spoken to the Divine about this too?”
“You’re so quick! I love that about you. Yes, I wrote to Leliana, and she’s choosing delegates to lighten your load. Members of the Inquisition she can trust to perform your duties. There will be times when your presence is needed, and this isn’t a complete retirement, but it would allow you to give Nellie and Alecander most of your attention.”
“And where does this move across the continent leave you?”
“On the same side of the Waking Sea! I could make a nearly month-long journey in a week. I could stay with you more frequently and for longer periods. Maevaris has already found a means for me to leave during the summer months. I have to do the same for her in the Winter, however. I won’t be able to spend Wintersend with you, but I’ll never miss another of your birthdays.”
“You’d come live with us in Kirkwall?”
“Only for a month or two at a time, I’m afraid, but it’s a start.”
“You hate Kirkwall. You called it a shithole.”
“Yes, but I love you. You’re worth enduring every shithole in the world, Amatus, and the Maker knows we’ve been to a few.”
Mahvir considers it for a moment. He allows himself to imagine a new life in a new city. It would be a fresh start, where he could leave The Inquisitor behind long enough to raise his children. More importantly, Kirkwall was small and safe, with few known enemies. With Varric’s guidance, it was the safest place for elves to act above their station. Nellie could walk the streets there and perhaps receive a public education, something she couldn’t do in Skyhold or Tevinter. His mind was made up before he spoke again.
“Alright, Dorian. If Leliana is fine with it, I’ll go to Kirkwall. I only have one condition.”
“Yes?”
“We’ll have a proper wedding before the year’s end. As much as I enjoyed running off with you and eloping in a countryside church, I want to stand on an altar before our friends and properly devote myself to you.”
“I’ve not proven to be a lousy husband so far?”
“The distance is hardly your fault, my love, and you’re doing everything you can to be with me. With us. I’d say that deserves a proper wedding, don’t you?”
“How could I say no?” Dorian leans in, and their lips meet in a wanton kiss. His fingers tangle within Mahvir’s hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space between them. Marriage. Children. A home free of politics, assassins, blighted dragons, or would-be gods. It was almost too good to be true, and they laughed against one another as they knocked against one another’s noses and teeth. Their lives were still far from perfect, but they would continue to fight for it.
Alecander begins to cry.
The two men part and spare a glance at the crib. The little elf grows red in the face, his small hands outstretched behind his head. Mahvir untangles himself from his lover’s embrace and bends over the rail to pick up Alec, holding his son close to his chest. The touch of gentle hands is like a balm to the restless child, who sucks in a deep breath and dries his tears with a few tempered wails. Mahvir pats his rosy cheeks dry with his thumb before turning to Dorian.
The mage is already reaching out, eager to hold his son for the first time.
