hallarider | thinking that you're all I ever need now

thinking that you're all I ever need now

[for

pavus_redemit]

It wasn't something Bramen ever expected to truly happen and yet, here they found themselves. Here he stood, no longer as the Inquisitor, no longer Andraste's herald - but rather, a man. A hunter of the Lavellan clan, just a man with a talent for taming harts. He'd never expected to find this again, even if just for a little while and yet, here he was, approaching the aravels of his clan, all eyes turning towards him - and the companion at his side. There was something tense in the air but it was quickly overwhelmed by joy. Despite the uncertain glances in Dorian's direction, there were cries of joy at the sight of one of their own returning. The elves began to approach, most welcoming Bramen with open arms.

The two of them had spoken of this frequently enough - finding the Lavellan clan, spending time among them. A piece of the elf felt it was all just a dream though, something that might never come to fruition. They had already made a few attempts to contact the clan, to locate them and all of them had been met with disappointment. Not this time though. Leliana's men had taken greater care when locating the clan, relying on hearsay from local villages. That had been enough to get them moving in the right direction.

The sun was starting to lower in the sky, the evening would be settling upon them soon enough. It had been a long hike to get out this far, both men needed a good rest. It might be some time before they could do that, however - not with the way the clan was keeping their distance on the approaching pair. They recognised one of their own easily enough but it was clear his companion was to be met with a great deal of hesitation. Bramen hoped Dorian didn't blame them.

He could feel his pulse racing as they approached, though still unable to hide the smile across his face, one that continued to broaden. The clan spoke in Elvhen, speaking loud and fast as two older hunters moved to either side of the Inquisitor. They both urged him to stop, looking him over, patting his shoulders before laughing - continuing to speak in their tongue, words Dorian wasn't able to pick out. Bramen responded to both men, returning the touch they both offered.

Moreso Dorian, however. Bramen knew how little his partner liked being outdoors like this for long periods. He gestured to the mage near him, speaking in his own tongue to the pair of hunters who took a long look at the mage. They looked uncertain and stern, the tattoos across their face differing drastically from Bramen's own. They were both older men with shorter, brown hair and grey eyes. Brothers, more than likely. They continued to speak in Elvhen, looking to Dorian before turning their attention to Bramen. The words they spoke were too hard for the mage to decipher but one might have caught his eye, a word - or name - repeated more than once. Deshanna.

The pair of hunters motioned for Bramen to move on ahead, though they looked to Dorian and went still, eyes locking on the man. Bramen took a step forward and then paused, turning towards Dorian and looking a bit apologetic.

"They want you to stay here," he explained with a light frown, hoping that his lover wouldn't mind too much. He knew it was no doubt a bit unsettling. He wet his lips, gesturing towards the two hunters. "This is Camras and Deywen," he explained, "They want me to speak with the Keeper first before you join us."

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"Deywen and Camras?" he asked, giving another laugh as he shook his head. "They're my clansmen, yes and it's true we all view each other as family but they would be cousins at best, distant at that." His tone was still warm, not at all offended by his lover's assumption. "Meallan is my only sibling," he said, returning to the halla and stroking her muzzle.

"And I don't think anyone would mind if we took her out for a bit. She'll stay close - and I'm sure one of the hounds will start following us if they see one of the halla loose," he patted the deer's neck again before stepping away from it, guiding Dorian over to the gate. The halla was content to follow the mage, craning her neck to try and nip at his robes.

"Let's walk. We should have a bit of time before we're called to the fire."

Dorian makes an 'ah' sound of realization. They had seemed very much like brothers. Maybe he made an assumption foolishly but he wouldn't do it again.

"Don't chew on that. They're very expensive," he said, softly scolding the halla for chewing on his robes. They were very nice ones. He did put on his best ones for meeting the clan.

"Just here, walk here." He moved to stand at the halla's shoulder. He could walk with it and not get nibbled on. His robes did not need halla spit. It wasn't a fashionable accent.

Dorian's mistake was an easy one to make. After all, once more of the clan gathered, he'd see just how familial they all were. Among the Dalish, they cared not for names or family ties - they were family, they were the People. All of them children of Mythal, born in Elgar'nan's image. Dorian may not have been an elf - but they would welcome him all the same.

The halla's antics made Bramen smile, fond in his gaze as he watched the halla obey Dorian's request, walking by his side as they exited the pen. Bramen closed the gate up once Dorian and the deer had stepped out - and true to his expectation, one of the windhounds trotted over to them, circling the group before hanging back a few feet. This one was white with a dark brown face and paws, spots on its flanks. It was just as slender and tall as the others, narrow face watching them as it sat and waited for them to move. Bramen looked to the dog with smile, speaking something in elvhen that made the dog's ears perk up a bit, the animal looking towards him.

Bramen began to walk, making sure Dorian and the halla were following. The dog lingered a few feet behind them, its focus on the halla more than anything. "I'm not sure what to show you first," Bramen said, reaching back to take Dorian's hand. "The camp isn't exactly the most interesting... You've seen the halla pen, the grazing land," he shrugged a little, leading Dorian around the outskirts of the camp, around the aravels and pointing out varied locations.

"Over there is the fire pit, the Keeper's aravel is near it. That's where we'll gather in a short time," he said, giving Dorian's hand a squeeze. "And over there is where Haren Taehel lives, he's our master craftsman. He does incredible things with ironbark and hart antlers. I'll have to let him show you his work. Maybe I'll see about getting him to make you a set of rings."

"Show me the aravels," he said, leaving his arm draped over the halla's shoulders. It was a nice little arm rest as he walked. It also allowed him to scratch the halla when it made the noises that meant it wanted to be scratched. It seemed to have a very sensitive place between the shoulder blades.

He had seen the carts before in the Exalted Plains but not up close. Those Dalish had not trusted him or anyone besides Bramen. He wanted to know how they worked, how all these people lived in them while they traveled, how they stored their goods. They seemed so small. Though if the halla pulled them, they couldn't be too massive.

"Well, I am missing a ring these days." Dorian could easily see his ring on Bramen's finger. "An ironbark ring might be nice. I've curious about the magical properties of the wood. I know ironbark is a favorite of elvhen mages. I've always wondered why."

"The aravels are mostly meant for storage when we're at camp," Bramen explained, though he guided Dorian and the halla towards one of the aravels that was stationed nearby. It was an impressive structure, smaller than a carriage but no wider than a wagon. The sides of the craft were opened, silks draped from the apparent sails that covered them. This one so happened to be full of supplies - wood kept to dry for the fire, broken antlers, bits of metal for daggers and arrows. It looked small from the outside but as Dorian could see by what was stored inside, it was surprisingly roomy.

"We open them up like this to sleep in as well - we can fit five or six of us in without issue though we prefer simply sleeping outdoors. Out by the fire, in hunter tents, whatever suits us and the night. When you see Haren Taehel's workshop, you'll see just how impressive and versatile they can be."

They were quite roomy on the inside. The Inquisition could learn a few things about transporting supplies long distances. If they doubled as homes as well it would make the supplies runs much better.

"I suppose we'll be sleeping in a tent while we're out here?" he mused, considering the inside of the space. It could be quite spacious for two people, though a tent wouldn't be bad either. He was used to that thanks to the Inquisition.

Bramen looked so happy Dorian had to brush his hand gently across his cheek. "Show me."

How could Bramen deny that face that looked so eager, so willing to see and learn more. He motioned for Dorian to come along, more than willing to show him, to introduce him to more of the clan before every last one of them clamoured for his attention. With Dorian, the halla and the dog all in tow, he approached the craftmaster's aravel - an elderly elf working away at whittling a halla sculpture. Even from here, Dorian could get a good look inside the man's aravel - it was far more homely looking than the last.

Inside the aravel was what appeared to be an area designated for sleeping, a raised cot that looked big enough for at least two people. Next to that, supplies were piled - mainly bits for the craftmaster's work. Half-finished bows, blades suited for daggers, uncarved hart antlers, animal pelts and leathers. Everything that the clan might need to clothe themselves, to hunt, and laying out on the table that the elf was working at, smaller crafts and trinkets. Little halla statues, small ones of wolves, intricately carved antlers and even small accessories. Rings, bracelets, even necklaces carved from bone, each with unique designs lightly etched into the surface.

"Aneth ara, Haren," Bramen said with a polite bow of his head. The older, grey-haired elf rose up, the tattoo on his face little more than a design covering one of his eyes. He put down his work and approached, a smile upon his face in doing so. The older man bowed his head regards to Bramen before closing the distance between himself and Bramen, holding the younger man's face in his hands before leaning in to place a kiss on his brow.

"You return to us, da'len," the elf said, speaking Elvhen though it was simple enough speech for Dorian to pick up on. The man stepped back, taking a good look at Bramen with fond eyes, smiling warmly. "Mihya will be overjoyed. Say hello to her before our evening meal. You will not have time otherwise."

"I shall, Haren," Bramen nodded before he switched to common, gesturing towards Dorian. "This is one of my companions from Skyhold, a man who's done great things for the Inquisition," he explained, "He has been at my side for a long while, he means a great and many things to me. He wished to look at your crafts. The old elf looked to Dorian, almost scrutinizing him with his pale eyes, giving a soft hum before he nodded.

"You might be a shem but you've treated our Bramen well," he said, speaking common, "I consider him to be my own son. You are welcome to examine my wares and ask any questions that you will."

The craftsmanship was amazing. He had never seen such find carving and detail. Usually in Tevinter things like this were done by molds or magic with metal manipulated into shapes and details.

"Well, Bramen has told me I should seek the blessing of Falon'Din," he said as he stepped away from the halla to closely examin the good. "I happen to be in need of a new ring. Do you have any baring his symbols? And, if you have one, I would like to examin a mage staff of ironbark. Out of curiosity. Though, there is a Dalish mercenary I know that might like it."

He glanced over at Bramen to see if he liked the idea. Dalish and the Chargers could afford their own goods if they wanted but Dorian was oddly fond of the elvhen mage who teased others about her mage status.

Bramen only gave Dorian a smile, knowing the elf he spoke of. Dalish was a good woman, the Chargers were a good team overall. It would be nice to bring the woman something to remind her of the clan she'd long left behind. Mages never had it easy, even among the Dalish clans, unfortunately. Taehel, however, grimaced a bit, giving another light hum.

"Don't have any ironbark staves made up," he said with a shake of his head, "We've only two mages to our clan, staves aren't in high demand," the man murmured, proceeding to pick up a few of the bone rings, examining the carvings upon them, looking for one that met Dorian's criteria.

"I remember Mihya used to go through staves quicker than our hunters went through arrows," Bramen piped up, giving the craftsmaster a thin smile. The man returned Bramen's glance, though there was a sadness behind his gaze.

"That she did, da'len. Never quite got used to riding while carrying her staff," he said, shaking his head. He offered Dorian one of the rings he'd carved, the ring with intricately carved deer skulls etched into the surface. On closer inspection, each of the skulls appeared connected with a thorny vine, the back of the ring having the image of a rose there. For such a small piece, the precise work on it was impeccable.

"That's one," Taehel said, before he offered up a bracelet, covered i a repeated pattern of deer with skulls on their heads, each biting the other's tail to remain together. Varied lines connected along the edge, creating a diamond-esque pattern.

"Falon'Din is our shepherd, guiding the dead and whispering kind promises in their ear. He promises them no more pain, to not fear their life's end, for he is with them now. He will not let what is dark take what remains of their light. We revere him and his soul, Dirthamen, as deeply as we revere any of our gods."

"So Bramen told me. I've been a horrible nag about learning his tales and histories," he said as he examined the ring. It was incredible work and of course skulls were common in necromancy and its symbolism. "I'm quite familiar with the spirits of the dead myself. I like to imagine Falon'Din and I would have very interesting conversations."

He tested the fit of the ring on his bare finger to see if it would fit. His hands were quite a bit thicker than elvhen ones. Still, he could change it with magic without damaging the work, possibly. He would have to make sure first.

"What do you think, amatus? Does it suit me?" He imagined the clan would not understand Tevene so he felt safe saying it.

"It suits you perfectly," Bramen beamed, overjoyed both because of his lover's interest in his culture and his people, being so welcoming to the man who meant so much to him. "It's a bit small though..." he murmured, glancing to the craftsmaster again. The old man nodded and looked to Dorian,

"I can have a larger one made in the next few days, my apprentice should be able to size your hand this evening, should you be willing," the man offered, "He could also look into that ironbark staff if you're quite serious on that matter. He isn't one to turn down practice on that."

"Thank you, Haren," Bramen bowed his head, "Your generous offer does not go unnoticed." He looked to Dorian, hoping the man would welcome it.

"Fantastic!" Dorian beamed and returned the ring to the craftsman. "What would I owe you for such work? Do not say no, your people's hospitality is gift enough. Let me return it some how."

He doubted people would welcome his magic to help them. Most people were a bit scared when a Tevinter magister offered to help them magically.

"Yes, thank you, Master Haren. You are most kind." He gave him an elegant bow.

Bramen couldn't help but let out a bit of a snort as Dorian addressed the older elf, grinning a bit to himself. Even Taehel let out a short laugh, raising his hand as he shook his head.

"Haren is my title, shem," he said, though he didn't speak the word maliciously. "It means Elder in our tongue," the man explained, "Elder Taehel. And we require nothing in return. As I have said, you've returned Bramen to us, you've kept him safe. We could not ask for anything of you, aso you ahve bestowed upon us such relief... Though should you insist, you may do a favour for me," the craftsman said, moving towards his aravel and opening one of the crates inside. He dug around a little before returning, offering Dorian up a stick of incense.

"Light this and place it upon Falon'Din's statue. That is where the two of you will be heading next," Taehel gave Bramen a brief glance, the younger elf nodding. It seemed the logical place.

Ah, the first social faus pas. Had Bramen taught him that? Dorian wracked his brain and yes, there it was. He knew that one and made a mistake. Well, good for him. Bramen was going to need to give him more lessons in the language.

"Master Elder seems like a good title," he said with a little laugh, trying to play off his embarrassment. "I will have to work on my understanding of your language, perhaps a few private lessons with Bramen later."

That was all? Dorian really wanted to give him some sort of gold or something to pay him for all his work. It didn't feel like enough to light incense. He took it carefully from the craftman's fingers.

"That I can do," he said looking over to Bramen. "If there is anything else you merely have to ask."

The elder gave a bit of a snort, a thin smile across his face. Incense was more than enough in his eyes.

"Ensure this one is taking care of himself," he said, gesturing towards Bramen, "Tell Mihya exactly what he's been up to. If she finds out he's let himself wear down, she'll be furious."

"We'll tell her," Bramen said, shaking his head as he gave the old man a smile. "Come on, Dorian. We'll head to Falon'Din's statue. It should be in the north." He motioned for Dorian to follow, the dog and the halla quick to accompany them as they moved away from the craftsman's aravel. Others in the camp watched the pair (and their new animal companions) move back to the edge of the camp, heading north of it to where a heavy and worn statue stood. It had no face, the details long faded from the slab of stone. The shape was vaguely elf-like, wearing a robe with extended hands. There was writing carved at the front of the stone, something in old Elvhen - too worn for Dorian to read though it no doubt depicted who the statue was supposed to be.

"it's said that this statue was carved by the first Keeper of the Lavellan clan," Bramen said, looking fondly upon it. "They say it goes back to the second Blight... And just like Falon'Din himself, remains strong and standing."

"Oh, don't worry. I will take care of him." That was one thing he would do without trouble. There was no better choice, really, to take care of Bramen.

He bowed one more time before he left and followed Bramen through the camp. He was certain the news of his slip would get around camp and people would know he had messed up so much.

"I thought you worshiped Mythal most of all," he said as he set the incense in the little hole that was clearly meant to be there for that exact purpose. "Has it been Falon'Din all along?"

He created a little flame in between his fingers and lit the stick. There, task done.

"Oh, we worship Mythal. Mythal, Elgar'nan, Andruil, June, Sylaise..." Bramen shook his head, reaching out to touch one of those outstretched hands of the statue. He squeezed it a little and breathed out through his nose, looking towards the statue's face.

"We roam so often, we can never be certain where our dead lie. We know as our bodies turn to dust, trees and life will flourish from where we remain - but the clan never gets to keep a piece of that with us. We keep Falon'Din's presence with us to remind us of those who have crossed over, to those who now walk at his side. We can't say prayers at the graves of our loved ones, but we can speak them here." Bramen glanced down to the ground, looking at the grass that sprouted around the base of the statue.

"There are old stories that say Dirthamen's ravens linger near depictions of Falon'Din. They whisper our secrets to Dirthamen who returns to his brother's side, seeks out all of our loved ones and tells them what we've said."

"A necromancer may be able to help you find them," he said, running his fingers over his mustache. "It's harder to find the long dead than the fresh dead but it could be done."

Would they appreciate it is the question? It seemed the Dalish liked their ways and Dorian did his best to respect that even if he felt there were better ways. He was trying to remember what he thought was better didn't always match up with what was really better.

"But... that is another matter for another time." Dorian put an arm around Bramen's waist and held him against his side. "For now I will spend time with my Dirthamen."

Bramen leaned a little against Dorian, smiling a bit at the familiar warmth. He closed his eyes for a moment, smiling a little to himself. "It's kind of you to say," he began, "But we don't need a necromancer. This is where my people find their comfort, just like many humans take comfort in worshipping Andraste and the Maker." He opened his eyes, looking fondly up at Dorian. He knew the man wouldn't try and force anything in his people. He took the opportunity to pat Dorian's hand and eased himself upright again, no longer leaning against the man.

"Mihya was Haren Taehel's daughter," he began, "She was a mage, like Meallan. The Keeper's second. She preferred to focus on alchemy and healing. She was a good woman, a good friend." He looked back to Falon'Din's statue, reaching out to hold its hand again and squeezing the stone.

"We were ten when she was betrothed to me..." he worried his bottom lip a little, "And she was twelve when she found herself walking at his side."

That was the first Dorian had ever heard that Bramen had a promised wife. He hadn't even mentioned it when Dorian talked about what his father wanted and what his father had done.

This moment was not about him, though. He turned towards his lover and took both of his hands in his. They were alone out here. It seemed safe to touch as they would back in Skyhold.

"I am sorry," he said softly and kissed the corner of Bramen's mouth. "I'm sure you cared for her, even if it was only as friend and family."

Bramen turned his head a bit to nuzzle against the side of Dorian's face, returning that light kiss. "She was a good friend," he explained, releasing the statue's hand and reaching up to touch Dorian's cheek. "Among the Dalish, the Keeper often tries to pair us as children. The Keeper speaks to both parents, determine if they feel it's a good match. In the end, once we become adults - we still have a choice in it. We have the final say as to whether or not we wish to marry," it was very different from anything in Tevinter, "I still miss her - but in a way, it's better we never married."

He turned his head, smile a bit pensive as he looked to his lover.

"After all - we both know I'm not too interested in women."

"Your clan understands," he reassured him. "Even if it's not favorable, they clearly still adore you. Are you a hero here too? Was there some incredibly heroic thing you did before becoming Inquisitor?"

These people adored Bramen, it was so easy to see. Dorian was a bit jealous but he was happier for him. Bramen had a group of people who loved him regardless of who he loved and what he preferred in bed.

Bramen's expression turned almost sheepish, his ears turning a bit pink as he brought his hand around to rub at the back of his neck. "A hero? I wouldn't exactly call myself that..." he said with a short chuckle. "I wouldn't say I've done anything heroic - but the clan often found ways to talk about myself and Meallan. He and I were usually up to something, the Keeper usually had to keep an eye on us."

He stepped away and walked a bit, kicking at the ground before he looked over his shoulder, giving Dorian a bit of a grin. "Meallan once said I wouldn't be able to catch a wild hart. I told him I could not only catch it, I'd ride it bareback all the way back to camp. While the hunters were busy trying to determine the best place to lure one, I'd climbed a tree and kept watch. They slowly started getting it into place - I jumped out of the tree, landed on it's back. Let's just say he didn't appreciate that very much - nor did the rest of the clan when he destroyed two aravels trying to throw me off."

Dorian gaped at him for a moment because honestly of all the reckless, foolish and stupid things his lover could have done as a child riding a wild hart like that was probably the most believable thing.

"I am always surprised that we actually managed to meet with how reckless you are," he said with a laugh and caught up to him. "You're lucky I adore you so much with how often you try to give me a heart attack."

"Would you believe me if I said I was the less reckless one between myself and Meallan?" he asked with a laugh, stepping closer to the statue again. The halla had decided to move closer, opting to step between the two men in order to nibble at the grass that the statue's base. Bramen put his hands on the halla's back, leaning against them as he looked to Dorian.

It was a wonder he managed to meet the man sometimes. But it was true - he wasn't nearly as reckless as his twin. In fact, he was considered the responsible one of the pair. He pat the halla, resting his cheek against her back.

"Meallan was so fascinated by storms, he used to think that if allowed himself to be struck by lightning, his magical talents would amplify without having to practice. We all but had to tie him down when the summer rains came."

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