“Leave it, Nicolan. Don’t be as stupid as you look, just leave it! Let her run, she’s just like her mother-!”
“Renard, get a hold of yourself! I need you, get up-”
“Stop grabbing at me, I’ll shout if I want, it’s a free city! What did I tell you, half a hundred thousand times, about bards? About old actor’s missing half their faces?”
“This is no time to feel sorry for yourself. Did you not hear me? She’s leaving! It’s winter! She’ll never make it-”
“Oh Nicolan, shut up. It’s like talking to shem, I speak and you don’t even hear me. Why do you love her so much, anyway? Do you think she loves you back? Fool! You want to save her? Let her go. Dalish elves just die here, anyway. Dalish die and bards…bards aren’t even people. Leave it, I say. Leave me…just leave me.”
7. Someone describing a time your OC hurt them.
It is the unanimous decision of Clan Tanaleth’s council and High Keeper to remain neutral in regards to the situation in Halamshiral. This matter has been deemed a waste of resources and the conflict one in which the clan itself has no stake. An ill-fated mien’harel is not the business of our hunters. Similarly, it has been declared a breach of jurisdiction to extend any aid to Clan Virnehn without the express permission of the High Keeper of Clan Briathos.
I, Lycanae na'lin Virnehn vhenalin Tanaleth, asha'len Felicienne na'lin nadas, Taren’Ghilan of the Eyes in the Trees, do hereby formally rescind my request to see to these matters personally. My duty to this Clan precedes any personal interests or…hopes…I have or may have had for a different solution. I bow to High Keeper Athim’s wisdom and defer to his superior rank on both the issue of Halamshiral’s fate and the question of Virnehn’s lack of resources. Let there be no doubt: I am first and foremost loyal to Clan Tanaleth and to the Dalish people above all others.
I would humbly request the Highest One’s permission to be excused for the continued duration of this council’s debate.
– A transcription of the words of the Taren’Ghilan, Lycanae na'lin Virnehn vhenalin Tanaleth, 9:39 Dragon
(Credit to @vir-ghilani, whose High Keeper headcanon is mentioned here extensively, and to her for the formal naming conventions.)
So this was supposed to be for a prompt but that is never going to happen. So have some unrelated Ly’s First Kiss drabble. Short, sweet, horrendously fluffy.
"It is more shameful to distrust our friends than to be deceived by them."
— Confucius
The small orchard was ringed by a high fence, the grass growing long and uncut in the wake of it’s abandonment. The trees within had once been shaped into neat rows now grew into strange shapes, their twisted branches heavy with fruit nonetheless. Lycanae slipped through the bars of the wrought iron fence easily, her slender frame clad in the supple leather armour that was standard for most thieves. She tried to get the measure of her surroundings as she walked through the orchard with silent steps, reaching out and seizing hold of a particularly large and unblemished apple where it hung from a branch just above her head.
One twist of her wrist and the stem gave way with a gentle snapping sound, it’s comforting weight falling into her palm. She smiled and turned it over in her hands, giving it an experimental toss and then catching it in her other hand. Back and forth she tossed it, admiring the moonlight’s sheen on it’s green skin.
“I knew you’d like it here.” Nicolan’s voice startled her, even though she’d been expecting to find him here. She reflexively pitched the apple as hard as she could in the direction of his greeting. A bit of shadow seemed to detach itself from behind one of the trees and caught the apple, stepping into a pool of silver light. His hood was up, casting most of his face in shadow, eyeshine gleaming as bright as a cat’s as he held the apple triumphantly in one fist. Lycanae smiled despite herself, relaxing a fraction. Nicolan’s teeth flashed a brilliant white as he grinned at her, leaning back against a tree with casual grace and crossing his legs at the ankle, taking a swift, crunching bite of the apple. She approached, blades of grass swishing gently aside as she passed.
“You didn’t think I could catch it, did you?” He spoke again, laughter in the smug superiority of his softly accented voice. Lycanae made a face and shrugged her shoulders.
“Can you blame me? You’re a bit incompetent at times, Nicolan.” She muttered, rolling her eyes and trying not to fall for his teasing.
“Ye of little faith.” He took another bite of the apple, an obnoxiously large bite. He crossed his arms and even under the black fabric of his tunic and the leather of his vambraces, she fancied she could see the linen stretch tight over the lean muscle beneath.
“What did you call me up here for, anyway?” She sighed and took a few careful steps closer, smiling bemusedly at him despite herself. Why was he opposite the orchard from her, anyway? Slipping her notes like they were little da’len...I suppose we are da’len.
“Apples.” She caught the one he threw and bit into the sweet fruit, savouring the delicious crunch and the mellow crispness of it’s flavour on her tongue. She looked away for a moment and took a cool breath of night air, a smile playing unbidden around the corners of her mouth.
“You just invited me up here for apples?” Apples weren’t disappointing, but they weren’t exciting. Not what she’d been hoping for, anyway. What am I hoping for?
“Do you remember when we met? You hit me with an apple-” He tossed another and she caught it, dropping the first. It was a waste, but they weren’t her apples. There was something exhilarating in apples being so plentiful they could be wasted. “-right in the face.”
“I was ten years old, Nicolan.”
“Only four years ago...and you had excellent aim even at that young age.” She was closer now, barely a few feet from him. In one long stride from either of them, they’d be close enough to touch. He smirked at her and finished the apple she’d thrown, chucking the core carelessly over his shoulder and leaning back against the tree behind him with lazy grace.
Lycanae’s heart pounded a bit unsteadily in her chest to see him so relaxed and so confident. Even knowing he was one misstep from certain fantastic failure, from losing his cool and saying something foolish; she could still admire him. Nicolan always appeared to best advantage when he was silent, relaxed and in his element. The lean strength of his jaw, the casual repose and negligent grace with which he stood. Grey eyes watching her intently and yet somehow lazily, glinting with elven nightshine even in the dimness. She stepped close, boldly close. They’d grown up together, being close was nothing new. But this felt different somehow, closer and warmer and thrilling in a way it had never felt before. Nicolan’s nimble fingers closed around the apple she held, wrapping around hers with a delicacy she knew existed but hadn’t expected.
“Are you going to throw another apple at me, petit chanson?” He spoke softly into the stillness, the words silken in a way that made her tremble. She met his eyes and smiled, heart beating as fast as if she were running across the rooftops and not simply standing close enough to smell the leather of his armour and his faint metallic scent of orichalcum coins mingled with almond soap.
“Non.” The denial came out throatier than she had intended, soft orlesian accent joining with the scant Dalish one she still possessed, taking the one step and closing the distance between them. “You are too close for me to get a good shot.”
“Oh? Is that the only reason you-”
She leaned forward then, stood on her tiptoes at the exact right moment to catch him midsentence. The apple hit the ground with a thump she barely heard over the slight and sharp surprise of his swallowed gasp. His fingers threaded themselves through her hair, knocking her hood aside in his haste to cradle her close to him. His lips were sweet against hers with the taste of stolen apples, holding her within the circle of his arms as he tilted his head and smiled against her mouth. The kiss simultaneously seemed to last for forever and no time at all and it left her dizzy with a wanting for more kisses, even as she felt Nicolan run one calloused thumb over her sensitive bottom lip, studying her expression, gauging her reaction.
“You hit me with an apple, then you steal a kiss. Tsk tsk, am I never to be free of your villainy?” It had happened too fast for her to truly analyze it, a dangerous thing for a bard...she’d have to get better at this, at not allowing the sensation to run away with her. She gathered her wits and leaned forward again, looking up at him through her lashes.
“You think I stole a kiss? Steal it back.” His mouth on her’s was softer than she had expected, not as quick or as forceful as her kiss had been. He took his time, with the latent patience that he put into even his thieving. His teeth nipped lightly at her bottom lip and then soothed it with a sweep of his tongue that made her gasp slightly, his huff of amused breath soft against her chin as he exhaled..
“That’s even nicer than I thought it would be.” He murmured, mouth still only a hairsbreadth from hers. She was reeling, dizzy; even less sure of what or how the kiss had gone than she was of the last. He held her chin and kissed her again, his mouth soft and intoxicatingly warm...she tipped her head forward to catch her breath, breaking the contact for a moment.
“Oh? How is it?” She asked breathlessly, resting her forehead at the base of his throat. His fingers stroked along her cheek, brushing a lock of hair back from her face. He ran one finger down the length of her ear, tapping it’s point ever so lightly and making her bite her lip against a sigh. His touch tickled and sent a sweet thrill of delight and something stronger shooting through her belly
“It’s too early to tell, honestly. I’m going to have to keep kissing you to figure it out. Unless you object, of course-” He moved to pull away and she clutched at his waist, his chuckle swallowed up in another kiss from her. He turned them suddenly and she yelped as he swept her legs out from under her and threw her arms around her neck. “-oh fuck-”
“NicoLAN!” He caught her before she hit the ground...barely. She clung to him and cast him a scandalised look and he smiled sheepishly.
“I was trying to dip you and then kiss you... I heard it was romantic!” Lycanae sighed and felt them lurch as he went to his knee and set her gently down on the ground, kneeling beside her. “I’m sorry.”
“Lie down in the wet grass with me and we’ll call it even.”
“Wet? But-” She yanked him down beside her and he let out a gasp of dismay. Now that he was back to his normal self, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating. And still just as lovely to her as he had been when he was suave. Is that what kissing does? Lycanae chewed at her bottom lip in uncertainty and rested her hands on her stomach, threading her fingers with Nicolan’s as he scooted up next to her, pressing his lips to the pulse at her neck.
“Watch your tells, Ly...what are you so worried about?”
“Nothing.” She turned her head and lifted it to rest it on his arm, smiling at him. “Nothing at all.”
I wrote some really quick teen Ly nonsense. Thanks to @codexharlot and @foefelix for editing assistance. :D
"Can you honestly love a dishonest thing?"
— John Steinbeck (The Winter of Our Discontent)
Lycanae took a running leap into the open space between two buildings, sailing over the alleyway below and landing in a roll that brought her back up to her feet. There was a breathless laugh as Nicolan landed beside her, just ahead and one rooftop down.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Dalish girl!” She ignored the taunting and picked up her pace, taking a dangerous gamble as she vaulted a chimney, the brick and metal rough against her hands. Her feet hit the tile and she lunged into a flat out run, throwing herself over another narrow alley. “Sacre coeur! Be careful!”
They were coming to Le Marche de Vert, a wider road for the merchants carriages to pass into Halamshiral. The gap was too large to jump without touching the ground below, she’d have to turn. But if she turned, Nicolan would have the advantage and she’d be behind. He’d make it to the Sous before her and up into the safe house from there. A decent win, despite the five minute head start. She’d have to hear about it for weeks. Or...decision made, she poured on speed and raced ahead. Her lungs burned and she threw herself at the wall in front of her, catching hold of the ledge and pulling herself up.
“What are you doing?!”
“Winning!” She called back, perched over the roadway below. She needed a way across...the ropes? Would the even bear her weight? Maybe, if I’m fast. I better be fast. She darted out, feeling the sickening swoop as the rope dipped slightly under her weight as she threw out her arms to balance herself, ignoring Nicolan’s shout of dismay. Don’t look down, look ahead. Advice for life, too, remember what Renard taught you. Remember what you know. She laughed breathlessly, the tension of the rope beneath her bare feet feeling as solid as pavement as she balanced high above the busy roadway. Left, right, left, right, don’t over correct and you’re across!
“AH! TRICHEUR!” Nicolan yelped as she alighted on the storm drain, scrabbling up over the blue slate shingles to the apex of the roof and sliding down the other side.
She flung herself off the edge and landed on the roof of the tavern below, dashing in through the window of an open apartment and out again before the occupants could so much as squawk in indignation. Her feet hit the ground and she kicked off the side of the narrow alleys and up again, leaping catlike over the last small alley and sliding to a stop at a tiny, circular window. She reached under the gutter at the edge of the rooftop and pressed hard to release the catch, a piece of the roof sliding soundlessly aside to allow her to slip inside. Carelessly, she kicked the lever that shut it behind her and slipped through the claustrophobically narrow space between the walls, the meager light from the single window fading behind her.
Another set of levers later and she was slipping out from behind a tapestry and into an opulent and eclectically furnished room. There was a carpet from Antiva, rich and plush and decorated with the seal of some merchant prince or another, so massive it took up most of the floor. A crystal chandelier worthy of a ballroom dangled from the a beam above and cast a thousand blinking, dancing prismatic rainbows across the humble wood planks of the vaulted ceiling. Wooden chests from Rivain, tapestries from Ferelden...there was even a solid marble statue from Tevinter, depicting a dragon and serpent caught in a deadly embrace with eyes of yellow diamond and ruby. Eight chairs of vastly different designs surrounded a scratched and battered oak table, varnished in every shade from the golden brown of desert sands to the bloody red of a deep wound to the palest weathered grey of old driftwood.
Lycanae passed the table on her way to the large fireplace, trailing her hands absently over the backs of the chairs and over the tabletop, fingertips brushing the delicate canvas of the massive map of Halamshiral pinned to it’s surface and fraying at the tattered edges. She flopped down in the pile of cushions and furs and arched her back in a vainglorious stretch. She ignored the scuffling and swearing sound that issued from somewhere beneath the floorboards in the corner, scooting to wrap one of the massive furs around her shoulders and warm herself by the perpetual heat of the enchanted fireplace.
There was a creaking thunk as Nicolan managed to open the trapdoor and collapsed exhausted to the floor, panting heavily.
“You are a filthy cheat, Lycanae.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders a little at the grudging admiration in his voice, patting the furs next to her in a companionable gesture. He shut the trap door and walked over to flop down beside her in over exaggerated exhaustion, lying back and throwing an arm across his eyes to shield them from the soft orange light. After a moment, he glanced up at her and made a soft pathetic sound.
“What?” He scooted up on his elbows and lay his head in her lap, bright blue eyes gazing up at her imploringly.
“Well? Aren’t you going to apologise or compliment me or SOMETHING on my impressive feat of not getting killed? You could at least stroke my hair and tell me how my lock picking skills are still unparalleled. Give me some credit, Ly. Please.” She bent down and pressed her lips quickly to his, then to the tips of his perked ears, nibbling lightly at one of them and then pulling back.
“Congratulations, Nicolan. You were not as much of an idiot tonight as you usually are.” The sound of mock offense he made had her laughing despite herself, lying back in the furs and sighing in contentment. He scooted up beside her and kissed her on the chin, walking his fingers up the leather and cloth of her light armour and tickling up behind her ear.
“You say such cruel things when I bear gifts.” In a showy flourish, he held something bright and glittering between his fingers. Gold, something gold. She snatched for it but was too slow and Nicolan’s laugh had her up trying to steal it from him, trying to glimpse it again; her curiosity too fierce to resist. “Ah ah, non.”
“Nicolan, what is it? Where did you find it?” Lycanae let out a short irritated breath and snatched for his hand-empty, now, he’d slid whatever it was back up his sleeve-straddling him and pinning him to the thick carpet. His grin was infuriatingly smug, setting a hand on her hip and squeezing playfully. She reached again and he tucked his arm under the back of his neck, still smirking at her frustration.
“You really want to know? Vien ici.” She bent closer, inclined her head so that their lips were a hairsbreadth apart, fingers inching up his shoulder towards her goal. She could keep him distracted and then claim her prize-whatever it was-without having to give any ground whatsoever. She held his gaze, the blue turning nearly black with his pupils blown wide in anticipation and reached-the hand that had been resting on her hip flew to the back of her neck and he stole a kiss and flipped her in the same sudden move. Her yelp was muffled by his smiling mouth and she pushed Nicolan away, but not before he was able to slip something into the braided bun at the back of her neck. Something small and delicate, since he was being careful not to crush her. He jumped back before she could smack him and she reached for the gift, drawing it out of her hair to appraise it properly.
It was a noblewoman’s hairpin, sometimes used as an accoutrement to a mask ribbon, fashioned into a small swinging bird cage no larger than her thumbnail. The gold was brilliantly yellow, indicative of an inordinate purity of metal. Within the cage sat a beautiful silver bird seated on a perch swing that still swayed lightly from its fixture, every tiny feather exquisitely fashioned. The pin itself was intricately carved with flowers and vines, inlaid with red gold roses and tiny emerald leaves. A fortune in the palm of her hand, the kind of finery no elf could ever hope to own in a million lifetimes. She looked up at Nicolan and tried in vain to hide her awe, twirling the hairpin between her fingers and making the cage spin wildly on it’s chain.
“Where did you find this?”
“Places.” He murmured teasingly, sitting beside her again now that she seemed to have forgiven him. “But clearly, it belongs to you. A little bird for the Petit Oiseau.”
“I can’t keep it,” She murmured, still marveling at it as Nicolan kissed the side of her neck, breath warm against her ear.
“Why not? Smuggle it home with you and don’t let Renard see it. Everyone does, Lycanae. It’s just a hairpin. You bring in most of our revenue as it is.” His teeth tugged lightly at her earlobe and she shuddered and leaned into his embrace.
“You can have this.” He closed her fingers over it gently. “Trust me.”
“Ma serannas, Nicolan.” Lycanae smiled and gently set the hairpin aside in favour of a truer, sweeter prize; one that could only be found in the comfort of her lover’s kiss.
