Achieving Eggcellence

Did you say “write me some self-indulgent Solavellan fluff?” Because that’s what I heard.  I know it’s early for Solas Fluff Friday.  Fluff Wednesday maybe?

Anyway, no, they don’t have children yet.  But in another life…

“I wish you could have met her,” she said hoarsely to the still form of an elf-child that knelt solemnly at the roots of the durgen'adahl.  “I know she would have loved you.”

So many years since her mother had died, yet revisiting the tree where she’d been laid to rest still filled Yvaynne’s eyes with heavy tears the same way that the cloudy sky inflamed the scar tissue of her short arm with slow, dull, swollen pain.

The tree looked the same as it had the last day she had seen it, with its knotted mass of low-slung branches leaning tenderly away from the wind, quiet gray bones immortalized in hard stone over the innumerable years the dead tree had stood vigil over the valley below them.  Her mother was not the only Dalish soul held in the stone tree’s embrace.  She wondered how many others from clan Lavellan had visited here in the years since the Veil had been torn down; she wondered if clan Lavellan still existed in any way like the one she remembered.  The Keeper’s Second had a parent buried there the same day they put Melavanehn in the ground, killed by the same monster that had painted poison on an arrowhead he launched into her shoulder, and stole her away.  She wondered if he had ever stood in the same place, thinking about her as she did about him now, if he still hated her after all this time, if he was even still alive.

Her thoughts scattered and fell when the child turned and through the cool light of falling dusk she noticed again just how closely her daughter resembled the woman sleeping beneath the earth before them.  Since the Veil had ended she’d found herself awash with thoughts that she’d long since considered as buried as her mother, as though the dissolution of Time had in turn burned away any barriers she had built between herself and her memories.  She could remember her face so clearly, and even the memories of her voice, or the way she moved, which had long ago been lost to her, began to resurface with a bittersweet sharpness as the watched the girl turn, stand, and walk toward her.

How terribly it hurt to see her standing there; how beautiful she looked framed with the pink and purple streaks of light peeking timidly from behind her mass of dark brown corkscrew curls.  Yvaynne felt a bizarre nostalgia, a short breathlessness as though she was peeking in on a memory of her mother from before she herself was even born.  The indomitable curls inherited from both her mother and grandmother stood starkly upright on Elathera’s head.  Her skin was the same smooth soft brown as her grandmother’s, though spotted with her mother’s freckles over her nose and cheeks like scattered ink on blank vellum.  

Not just my spots, though, thought Yvaynne.  Her father’s too.

And not only the freckles.  His long, sharp nose ran in a straight prominent line down her face.  She frowned the same way too, wrinkling her brow and quizzically twisting her mouth half-down, the same way he did when he had a question to which he desperately tried to hide how badly he wanted the answer.

But most clear were the eyes.  They were the same clever, narrow shape, the same hard, curious violet blue.  Her expression of caring and gentleness held such a full measure of her father that Yvaynne nearly cried as the girl stepped up through the thicket that encircled the durgen'adahl and hugged her.  

“I know, mamae,” said Elathera.  “You tell me all the time.”

Yvaynne sniffed and clutched fiercely at her daughter for longer than could possibly be comfortable, but Elathera did not complain.  She was only eleven—or at least, only eleven by the closest reckoning Yvaynne could make since the tearing of the Veil—but at times seemed so much older.  Perhaps that came from her father too.

“Thank you, da'lath,” she whispered into the warm mass of curls that smelled of woodsmoke and wildflowers, “I’m so glad we came.”

She held the embrace for another long moment before setting the child free. Elathera then looked up at her, blue eyes shining, and smiled.

“Me too, mamae. You know, for a while, I think I saw her.”

Yvaynne kissed her forehead, sniffed, and scrubbed ferociously at her eyes.  “Let’s go, da'lath.”

* * *

Elathera was asleep on her feet by the time they walked through the final Eluvian home.  Yvaynne gathered her as carefully as she could with one hand, slinging her over her shoulder with the help of her knee and turning her feet toward the familiar path to bed.  The stars were out over Skyhold, a tapestry of lights both seen and remembered glittering brilliantly across the dark night sky.  The castle had been all but empty for so many years, but it was still home to Yvaynne for a number of reasons.

The greatest of those lay fast asleep in a greedy tangle of limbs over the entire surface of their bed, the furs she’d long ago had made into a coverlet half-covering and half-exposing his body.  She might have been amazed at his capacity to sleep so deeply in spite of everything wrong in the world if not for the soothing snores of the child slung across her neck.

That’s all her father too, she thought as her eyes filled with tears from the confused blend of nighttime solitude and filial contentedness.  She lay Elathera down at his feet and covered her body in a warm layer of skins.

As she slipped clumsily into bed, he stirred and opened his eyes.

“Were you able to see her?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Yes,” said Yvaynne, words smooth but tears leaking hot and fast down her nose and into her pillow.  “I think we both did.”

He reached for her and pulled her close, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I hope you will both see more life before it is over,” he murmured into her neck.

So much death, so much turmoil.  The destruction of the Veil had enhanced her grief, but certainly not created it.  It had been so many years since she had, at last, coaxed him from the precipice, convinced him that there was no need to hunt alone.  The Evanuris had not yet penetrated Skyhold, but infinity was a long time to find its weaknesses, to weasel through Fen'Harel’s protective magic into their most beloved sanctum and burn it to the ground.  

“Not yet,” she said aloud, pulling slightly away and looking intently into his familiar blue eyes pooled with the silver starlight pouring through the windows.  “It’s not over yet.”

“How is it that you have no fear?” he asked, sweeping his gaze over her face in a slow, awed motion, drinking her in like cool water in the Wastes.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Solas,” she smiled, cupping his face in her hand.  He reached up and pressed her palm firmly against his eyes and cheeks, inhaling heavily.  “I’m always afraid.”

She snuggled closer and breathed into his chest, feeling herself sliding away to sleep in his arms after all the weight of the day.

“It’s just that you make me brave.”

I’ll drink to that!

Seriously though thank you!  This is Yvaynne, my beloved child.  She’s a little macabre and very sweet and found a home for the first time in the Inquisition.  She likes the tooth-humming boom of big drums better than any other sound in the world.  Her favorite color is yellow, but she doesn’t have many yellow things because the best yellows can’t be captured in cloth (and also because she can’t bear the thought of “wearing out my eyes” on something that she loves so much.)  She’s rubbish at using a bow or realizing that she’s gone too far before it’s too late. 

 I could go on all night honestly.  I love her so much.  Thanks for giving me an excuse to talk about her a bit, and for your kind words!