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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Dorian listened to Bramen's explanation with a fond little smile. He did enjoy sharing his culture and Dorian enjoyed learning about it. The best would always be the passion and happiness in Bramen's eyes when he spoke of these things. He could listen to Bramen for hours go on and on and on about the most mundane aspects of Dalish life simply to hear how happy it made him.

"Oh, as much as I enjoy learning new things I don't think antler carving on a living subject is best for a novice," he said with a laugh. "You keep working, I'll keep petting and the flosculus here can stay nice and calm."

Meallan was the one to ask what the 'strange sounding' word meant. Free Marcher Dalish had probably never heard Tevene, Dorain realized. He was used to speaking his language freely around Bramen and the affectionate little names he had for him. Giving one to the affectionate halla seemed natural enough.

"It means 'little flower' in my native tongue. It can be literal as in you're talking about a small flower, or it can be a term of affection. Children get the nickname mostly but it works well for animals," he explained and scratched the halla between the shoulders. "Hoc tam placidum quam flosculus. This one is as gentle as a little flower."

"How do you think I started?" Bramen asked with a grin, though he returned to carving as Dorian and his brother spoke. Meallan was quite interested to hear about Dorian's language, nodding as Dorian explained. He glanced to Bramen, watching his twin carve the halla's horns, the deer content to rest, eyes closed. She was a gentle thing, much easier for Dorian to handle than the harts - and Bramen knew all too well how the overly affectionate hart, Da'mi, could be with him.

Bramen stroked the doe's head, leaning in to blow a few scrapings from the antlers away from the halla's head. Her ear twitched but she was far too accustomed to this treatment to react any further. Dorian was comfortable in her eyes.

Meallan, however, was still entranced by Dorian's native language. He quickly began to ask about Tevinter, about the world Dorian came from - and he laughed a bit, daring to ask Dorian what sort of nickname he had for Bramen. Bramen simply rolled his eyes at that, smiling a little towards his lover.

"Go ahead, Dorian," Bramen urged, "I know Meallan'd love to hear about Tevinter."

"Ah, well, Tevinter, it's an ancient land," he said, wondering how he was going to get around the issue of slavery. He probably shouldn't blatantly avoid it, that would seem dodging and he didn't want the clan not to trust him. "And it is quite set in its ways. It cannot let go of old, outdated traditions. Slavery, blood magic, and its lack of allies is going to lead to its downfall."

There, the ugly parts were out of the way. Dorian could move on to all the things he loved about his home.

"But we are a passionate people." He glanced at Bramen with a small smirk. "We have no reserves in love and in war. We encourage the pursuit of knowledge, to study and to think. Our minds are a great treasure. Our language is complex and quite difficult for outsiders to learn."

Dorian didn't mean to make it sound like a challenge but it was the truth. Tevene, even modern Tevene, was one of the most complex languages in Thedas.

Meallan was quick to rise to the unintentional challenge, going off about Dalish traditions - things that Dorian already knew from what Bramen had told him. Though of course, a Keeper's first had a bit more information than anything Bramen could ever offer up, the freckled elf quite content to gloat about his people, their gods and the significance of carving a halla's horns. Bramen just continued to work, smiling a bit to himself as his brother spoke, knowing Dorian already new just about everything his twin was spouting off.

Bramen was content to keep working, even as two other elves came around to offer the Keeper - and her guests, which included Dorian - earthenware cups full of that liquid that smelled like apples and spindleweed. A tea of sorts that smelled a bit odd but tasted surprisingly inoffensive. Next up came little bowls of toasted nuts and dried berries, a little something to tide everyone over as they waited for the meat.

A few others in the clan rose up, taking turns speaking - all in Elvhen, though Dorian was able to recognise bits and pieces of what they had to say. Something about giving thanks for the clan being together, about how nice it was to have Bramen back - even if it was only temporary. Bramen smiled and thanked them in Elvhen, moving a bit closer to Dorian and easing back, sanding at the halla's antlers with the ironbark to smooth them out. There hadn't been a lot he'd needed to carve but it was still an art that required a great deal of talent as Dorian could tell.

"How's your tea?" he asked, patting the man's knee for a moment with a free hand before he returned to tending to the doe. "I know it might be a bit odd for your tastes but it's said to be good for the heart."

While Meallan talked Dorian listened with a small smile on his face. The other mage was quite passionate about his people but he had heard all of this before from Bramen when they shared stories together. He wasn't going to tell the other elf that. It would be rude to interrupt when he's in the middle of such a speech.

"It's odd but I don't mind. It's better than the swill Solas brews himself," he said as he nudged his knee against Bramen's gently. He didn't want to upset the halla or make a mess of the antlers. "Whatever they're cooking smells delicious though."

He didn't know what it was and didn't really want to know the details but he enjoyed the scent and the camaraderie that flowed around the camp. "What we should talk about is magic and how your techniques compare to mine and what we can learn from each other."

"Dalish magic is quite different from what you're used to," Bramen said as he set aside his tools. The halla gave a shake of her hear, waking up from that state of half-slumber and rising up to her feet and out of Dorian's lap. She stretched and stepped back a few paces before she hopped over the log they sat on, moving to lay down behind where the clan sat, just content to be near everyone. One of Camras' dogs moved up to its feet and padded towards them, the windhound hopping onto an open spot of the log and laying down, facing the halla and keeping watch. It had chosen to lay down near Dorian, the closest the man had been to one of the dogs for an extended time - the black and white hound paying him little mind. Its entire focus was the halla, it's charge.

This was why Bramen had said a Dalish hound would be unhappy in Skyhold.

Meallan piped up now as he sipped his tea about how Dalish magic was taught - how spells are passed down by the Keeper, both the First and Second in the clan is expected to learn everything they possibly can. Mages born into the clan are taught as much as they can be though often times, they had been forced to cull children or cast away adults when there were too many mages all together. It wasn't safe for the clan to travel with so many, humans always found ways to track them. They would be hunted, they would be slaughtered - and humans didn't merely stop at the mages. Humans were destructive things when they faced against that they didn't understand. Meallan frowned as he spoke, the Keeper reaching out to smooth out his hair and stroke his shoulders. She cooed and hushed him, easing him into a calm again as the man drank his tea.

Bramen looked to Dorian, picking up his own earthenware cup and drinking its contents. "A mage's talent is a lot harder to tame here in the wild - we only have the old ways to follow, what our ancestors did, what stories are passed down. We don't have proper training, no ability to bind, no way to dispel anything," he explained, the Keeper and Meallan both nodding in agreement. "Among elves, magic is often identified early in life, unlike with most humans. Once we begin to walk, we often start exhibiting talent."

Meallan quickly piped up with a smile, reaching out to touch Bramen's knee as he leaned in closer, aiming to speak with Dorian. He stated that it was seen as an anomaly in the clan to have a pair of twins born as they were, one holding so much talent and promise while the other showed none at all. The freckled elf laughed and gave his twin a bit of a jab with his shoulder, teasing him - making a comment about how his real brother must have been switched with a shem at birth. Seth'lin was the word he used, a word that made Bramen scowl and jab the other elf with his own elbow. The pair started shoving each other a bit before the Keeper tsked and gave them both a stern look, the pair of brothers immediately settling.

Meallan calmly drank his tea again, looking like a pleased cat in doing so. He muttered the word again, making Bramen's nose crinkle.

"Len'alas lath'din," Bramen said with a scowl, the Keeper making a hissing sound as she sternly looked at the two of them again, shaking her head at their behaviour. Like children they were when they were together like this.

Dorian couldn't help but wonder if this was what everyone was like with their sibling. As an only child he wouldn't know. The only rivalries he had were with other children of other nobles households and they couldn't be so blatant with each other. It could lead to losing alliances or some back handed court dealings that would destroy your family's standing. He could be clever and trade barbs or best someone in a practice duel but never teasing and rough housing like that.

"All those things can be taught," Dorian said, hoping he wouldn't come across as insulting. "I mean, if your people wanted to stop sending away mages you could have teachers brought in or at least some texts sent to clans on other ways."

Tevinter probably had some of the original texts on old Elvhen magic if they hadn't been destroyed simply to show how great Tevinter was in comparison. There were hundreds of little ways Dorian could help these mages, perhaps at the cost of some of their traditions but no one could live in the past forever. Tevinter was a shinning example of that. It's old traditions were going to destroy the country and what remained of the Imperium.

"But the choice is yours, of course. I merely offer theories and suggestions and I am always doing when presented with the topic if magic. Ask Bramen. He's seen my various writings and theoretical dissertations on various schools of magic. I've written rather extensively on lightning and spirit magics, two schools I favor."

He was perhaps rambling a bit but luckily he was saved by Meallan who immediately jumped at knowing more about lightning. Thank the Maker he stopped Dorian before the 'shem' put his foot in his mouth.

Bramen and the Keeper had both fallen silent at the suggestions Dorian made, Bramen looking down into his tea. Thankfully Meallan did interject the moment Dorian mentioned lightning and magic around it. That was enough to get the elf to relax again, Bramen easing a bit through the keeper still looked a little tense. One of the other windhounds trotted over, moving to sit near the Keeper, the white dog laying at the woman's feet. It licked its lips a little, settling in much like the one near Dorian, though this one kept its eyes on the fire. Bramen remained where he was, between Meallan and Dorian - his brother's hands on one of his shoulders for balance as the freckled elf rose up off the log to try and speak. His own talent with lightning was very different from Dorian's own, less controlled - but it was very powerful.

Meallan had few qualms with talking about his talents, the subject changing eagerly from the one where Dorian's foot was most certainly in his mouth. Bramen would speak to him later about that.

It was only a few moments later when it seemed the roast animal on the spit started to get carved up by two other elves. They carved at the flesh, cutting it off into thin pieces and onto a tray, the smell of it even more enticing now. The elves worked quickly, carving up all they could before handing the tray off to another elf, the pair lifting the rest of the carcass and moving away with it. The elf with the tray of meat began going around to the rest of the clan, offering it up to the Keeper and her guests first.

Meallan, Bramen and the Keeper all accepted, taking bits of meat with their hands before looking expectantly towards Dorian.

It was much easier to talk about magic with another mage than try to fit in with the Clan as a whole. He really didn't know what to do or say here most of the time but it wasn't in his nature to be quiet. Dorian wanted to learn and more importantly he wanted to be accepted. He wanted people to see him as a good match for Bramen, even though he was a shem. Dorian tried not to feel the way and tried not to let it bother him because he would be with Bramen whether his Clan wanted that or not but it would be easier for Bramen if they did accept him.

"Remind me not to play with my mustache until I have a chance to wash my hand," he said to Bramen as he picked a bit of meat up. "Grease will completely ruin the curl and you know I have that terrible habit of playing with it."

It was true, though. He idly played with the curls because it helped him think. He's certain he'll do it but he eats without a care. The meat is flavorful, warm and perfectly seasoned. The People know how to cook a great deal better than Fereldens. They used spices. They knew what spices were and used them.

"It's quite good," he said with a smile at Bramen. "Can you cook like this?"

"I can," Bramen said with a nod, tearing off a piece of the meat and chewing it. The Dalish did know how to season, how to make even the gamiest of meat taste like a feast. They weren't a people with much but they knew all about nature round them, what plants were the most aromatic, what was good raw, what could be dried and added to a meal for a flavourful punch - when it came to a feast, they knew how to prepare one. Even if it was a far cry from the feasts Dorian had been to, even if they ate with their hands, drank from clay cups and ate whatever was offered, everything was a treat in a way. Everything had flavour, everything was unique and exciting to the palette.

"Dalish tastes are sometimes a bit too unusual for most of the people in Skyhold," he said with a short laugh, another elf coming by and offering up bowls of stew to everyone - a stew made of varied roots, what looked to be apple, potato, bits of whatever could be found. It smelled rather unique and Bramen was content to take a bowl, placing his meat on top of it and pushing it into the thick broth.

"We live off whatever we can find so our recipes tend to change based on where we settle," he said with a smile, "This stew is a good example."

"You've seen what the nobility eat simply because it's supposed to be such a delicacy or rare," he said as he mimicked Bramen and took a bowl of the stew as well. Since he wasn't sure he was going to enjoy it he didn't put the meat in right away. "I mean, honestly, some of it is horrid."

He tried the stew and found it had an odd, slightly sour taste for him. He imagined it was fine to the Dalish. One of the root vegetables he saw floating around in it was probably responsible for the taste. He tore off a piece of meat and put it in the soup to see if that changed the flavor any for him.

"You remember that ham we had in Orlais? Tasted of despair? Why would anyone eat that?"

The meat had something of an oily quality to it - and when put with the stew, the flavours seemed to mingle quite nicely. The spices on the meat seemed to balance out the sourness of the stew, making it a more pleasant bite. It also helped that Dorian was rather adventurous when it came to food, always willing to try something new. Bramen was content to eat a spoonful of the broth, his brother leaning in closer and stealing his spoon, stealing a bite as well - even if Meallan clearly had his own bowl.

The action was met by Bramen stealing a piece of meat from his twin, the grown men each giving each other a small shove in response. It had to be fascinating to Dorian just how drastically bringing Bramen's brother into the mix seemed to change his lover, the man almost behaving childishly in his presence.

"The ham wasn't the worst part," Bramen said before he chewed on more of the meat, the piece he'd stolen from his brother. "Do you remember that onion soup? The broth must have been made from the chef's tears."

Since the meat clearly helped the flavor Dorian put the rest of his in. It was the only way he would manage to get through the whole stew. It would be quite the insult not to eat what was offered by people who barely had anything.

"I think they used a bit too much onion," he said with a small shudder at the memory. "Or the Orlesians have bad taste as the rest of Thedas as always said."

He smiled fondly, rather amused by Bramen joking around with his brother. It was adorable to see as Bramen usually had to be so stoic and rather grim. When they were alone he was much more relaxed and he was quite happy but this was different.

"A bit is generous," he said with a laugh. The Keeper seemed to be enjoying herself as she listened to them speak, hearing about Bramen's adventures out in the shem world. Meallan seemed interested in hearing more as well, even though Bramen assured his brother he would want nothing to do with it. Being with the clan was more much more peaceful than being out in the open world. Living among humans, dwarves and city elves was a bit odd but he'd grown used to it - though he'd trade it all to be back here if he could.

But there were things in the human world he simply couldn't leave behind. Dorian in particular.

The night carried on, many of the clan gathering around, asking Dorian questions about Bramen, about the Inquisition, about the world he came from. They limited their interaction with humans with just cause - but to have one in their camp was a strange and fascinating thing. Everyone seemed to want to ask Dorian things, some of the younger elves were incredibly curious about the man's moustache, one little elven girl daring to try and touch it before her father grabbed her around the middle and picked her up, apologising profusely.

One of the elders rose up and began to tell a story, speaking all in complex Elvhen - though Dorian picked up a few words. Fen'Harel, Sylaise and June, names of their gods. Bramen moved in closer, whispering an interpretation to Dorian as the elder moved animatedly before the fire.

"He's telling the tale of when Sylaise created fire," he murmured, close to Dorian's ear, "When June took her gift and used it to forge remarkable things, creating our first daggers and bows. As he revelled in his talent, he made Elgar'nan a sword of silverite, the hilt made from the bones of a wolf. It's said with Sylaise's magic, he was able to melt the bones like metal, mould and polish it all the same. A gift for the All Father, a request for his blessing. Fen'Harel stole it before June could present it - and the story says when June found him, the Forgotten Ones had accosted the wolf and shattered the blade out of spite."

Dorian briefly rested his head against Bramen's while he explained the story. He picked out words here and there, enjoying the way the language flowed from the story teller and how you could almost tell the story just from the gestures alone. It was a nice, brief moment where he wished he could kiss his lover after the explanation.

"Very different from the old Tevinter legends," he said softly in return. "The end of the story involves a magister getting his liver eaten out by a deep stalker for the rest of eternity."

All in all Bramen's tale was much nicer. Then again many of Bramen's tales were much nicer than Tevinter legend. There was a lot of blood and death in Tevinter lore.

Bramen smiled, closing his eyes for the moment as he rested against his lover. The elder began another story for everyone and this time, Bramen was content to just let Dorian enjoy it all. He brought his hand to his lover's own, holding it and giving it a squeeze. There was nothing wrong with resting together like this, with holding hands, sharing this sort of intimacy in front of the clan. Not one person batted an eye at the display, not even as Bramen nuzzled against Dorian.

"Thank you for coming here," the elf whispered, hoping not to disrupt the elder's story, speaking quietly for his lover's ears only, "I'm glad you were able to meet my clan like this."

"Thank you for bringing me," he whispered back as he turned his hand over and tangled their fingers together. Dorian was not always so publicly affectionate but the Clan didn't seem to care and these people couldn't hurt his reputation. "Your people have been very welcoming."

Yet, Dorian dreaded the eventually day he would take Bramen to Tevinter. His lover would not be treated well even if he dressed in the finest clothing and gilded him with gold. He would always be an elf, seen as the lowest of the low. Dorian wanted to share his homeland with Bramen but he knew there would be no hiding the ugliness from him.

Hopefully, he should share something redeeming with his lover.

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