Nelaros - Blog Posts

i think about this item description a lot

some little dragon age doodles and words from these prompts :3

left is kallian and alistair's handprints, middle is the intended wedding party favour for kall's wedding to nelaros (little pots of tea, entirely made by cyrion), and right is welsh and translates to "in this house kallian tabris was born, hero of ferelden and the alienage".

"did you know, Alistair, that I was a bride once?"

hahahah man poor Nelaros, the Tabris origin is by far the saddest.

Friendship, 6:93 Steel

I had intended to write something new for today's @cityelfweek theme, but ran out of time! Here's an old Stories of Thedas entry instead, from my Tabris ancestry project on AO3. 441 words. Adlan is Kallian's great x6 grandmother, and Rishan is Nelaros's great x6 grandfather! [divider credit]

Rishan was from Highever.

It was some silly scheme their hahrens set up, wanting to build connections between the two alienages. They were hoping to expand it, to foster some sort of community between all the city elves of Ferelden and perhaps even further. Adlan wasn't sure the humans would let it slip unnoticed for long enough, but it was a nice thought. There were rumours that Elgarath had even tried writing to a Dalish clan, though no one was sure how that would have worked.

Her first letter came close to All Soul's Day.

Hello stranger,

My name is Rishan Halva, and I am from Highever. 

What is Denerim like? I hear it is nice, and that your vhenadahl looks like a mighty beech tree! Ours is more of a sweet chestnut. I have drawn it for you.

Do you have any plans for the upcoming annum? My family and I will go to the bonfire that is set up just outside of the alienage. The food stalls are very nice. My favourite is the spiced hot chocolate.

I hope to hear from you soon. I apologise for my awkwardness.

Rishan.

Surprisingly, it brought a smile to her face.

She wrote him back to be polite, asking some of her own questions, and telling him about her life. It ended up far longer than she had intended. But Rishan seemed so happy in his next letter, already far less stilted, and there were pages of it in return, so it couldn't have been a bad thing.

They continued swapping letters until inevitably they had to share more and more personal things, to keep the conversation alive if not for anything else. Rishan kept sending her drawings; of himself, his family's forge, the alienage, his friends, and sometimes even things Adlan had mentioned in previous letters. In turn, she wrote him stories often inspired by him and the people he mentioned, or of heroes just subtly elven enough that no prying human eyes could call them up on it. 

They shared their secrets, woes, hopes and dreams… and as the months turned into years, and the years melted into decades, it never seemed too strange to them that their best friend was someone they had never met. 

The pen pal scheme largely failed. Few people cared enough to return even the first letter, let alone the fifth or sixth. Adlan knew that Elgarath would have been overjoyed when their children began to send their own letters – it certainly always warmed her heart.

And so, Adlan and Rishan ensured that their lives were always entwined; one way or another.

The Red Admiral

What if Adaia Tabris was never killed?

Kallian stopped still to stare at him, completely baffled. "What are you doing here?"

"Um. Well… rescuing you," he stammered in return, blushing. "Or more, y'know, just… standing here."

She stared at her betrothed, dumbfounded. Of all the possibilities she'd considered, stressing in that dank, dripping dungeon; Nelaros was never a variable. Her mother; yes, Soris even; yes, the guards killing them all; of course. 

Nelaros? Who wrote to her, timid and polite, to ask her ring size as if inquiring to a nobleman where he hoarded his gold? Who smiled at her warmly when they met in person, earnestly telling her how he would spend his whole life learning how to make her happy?

No, Nelaros had never been a part of it.

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @daggerbean! c:

I haven't had much time to write this week (given the circumstances), but luckily I have a handy pile of WIPs in various states of completion. This one covers the wedding scene at the beginning of Origins, the return to the alienage, and the Landsmeet, but it's a bit patchwork at the moment. This scene is set just after finding Shianni later in the game.

Sorry if I tagged you on the other blog already this week haha, my brain is goop. Tagging (no pressure): @demandthedoodles @dungeons-and-dragon-age @greypetrel @ndostairlyrium @vakarians-babe @star--nymph @zenstrike

CW: Panic attack, indirect references to the events of the Tabris origin

“The things that happened after your wedding,” Shianni said, her voice tight, “it was horrible.” Already, being back in the alienage was doing something to her. Wen was not the same girl who’d walked away from here. She could not duck her head and hope for the best as she had for the last ten years. She…also could not hate these people as she had when she’d left. Plenty of them were awful—had been awful to her family for as long as she could remember—but she could see the pained exhaustion in their faces now, too. They were all trapped here together and none of them could do a blighted thing about it. The closest they’d ever come to feeling powerful was kicking at her family when they could.  Arianwen didn’t want them all to die.  But this was—oh, this hurt her. Shianni’s eyes flicked to the left a second before Zevran spoke.  “A wedding?” he sounded like his old, amused self—which, she supposed, meant that he was very hurt. Curse it all. Curse this place and everything that'd happened here. “So there is a secretive side to you after all.”

Little insects crawled around inside of Arianwen’s skin. They carried with them the stench of the alcohol on Vaughan’s breath, the sharp scent of the hair oil Wen had been wearing that day, the heaviness of the dress on her body, the ringing in her ears when she’d woken in the arl of Denerim’s residence. Secretive—yes, she’d been carrying many tiny secrets inside of her. She’d thought she’d gotten rid of them, pawned and forgotten like the golden ring in Ostagar.  Zevran was waiting; she did not want him to wait. Wen looked over her shoulder at him and forced herself to meet his eyes.  “I was…betrothed,” she said, and his face didn’t change one whit. She’d have to explain herself later, when she wasn’t…when they weren’t… “It didn’t end well.” Shianni looked at her, but Wen couldn’t read her expression. It was too loud in her ears to make anything out, though she’d once known her cousin’s face better than her own. Everything around her seemed blurred, somehow, oil paint smeared by a careless finger. Zevran and his bright eyes and his kidskin voice were her present; this place, crooked and dark and foul-smelling, was her past. She didn’t like them meeting. If she’d been thinking, she would have left him at home and dragged Leliana and her pity along instead.  “No?” Zevran’s brows were arched, his mouth crooked with something that might be described as a smile. She wished she didn’t know him so well; she wished she couldn’t see the wound underneath the golden veneer.  Wen wanted to crawl out of her own body. No—she wanted Morrigan’s trick of shedding her own skin and taking another instead. She’d be a cat up the vhenadahl by now if she could, or a mouse lost to the roots.  “You left him at the altar, didn’t you?” Yes.  Yes, she had, in a way. She hadn’t been there for that, though. She’d been neither here nor there, really. She looked at Zevran, her lips parting and pursing again, and his smile faded to a sliver. Beside her, carefully, Shianni’s hand crept into hers. They’d stood like this a hundred times: in the market, when the other people would jostle them as they carried their purchases home; down the street to the gates when Shianni would leave for work; beside the pyre when Mother had been burned. Wen squeezed and Shianni squeezed back, her hands rough and cold but nonetheless comforting in their familiarity.  Tabris couldn’t read Zevran’s face, either. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes looked—she didn’t know. Would it be horrible if she was sick right now?  Yes. She should say something instead. Wen worked her jaw loose from its rictus and spoke.   “He died,” she said. 

I headcanon that as Dalish elves marry into clans, city elves marry into families in the same sort of way. They take on the surname of whichever family they're primarily joining (which usually entails moving in with them as it's more affordable).

It's not gendered either! Adaia married into the Tabris family and became Adaia Tabris, and as Nelaros was moving from Highever to Denerim, he would have become Nelaros Tabris too.

So, about that “Nelaros lives au”… (Tabris still get conscripted in the Wardens and everything, but the sweet elf from Highever stays alive :P)