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[Medhia_Nox]

I had seen dragons in the last few weeks.  I was no veteran.  The creatures remained behemoths I could never have faced.  But this one was something altogether different.  It's scales were marred with strange protrusions and it glistened with a crimson malice in places that reminded me of the red lyrium.  It sailed overhead spewing gouts of electric flame as it went. Building erupted and men screamed.  

 

We made our way back to the gates stopping only briefly for a frantic interlude when the blacksmith, Harritt, called to me over the din.  He was struggling to get into his workshop.  I tried to pull him away, but he had wild eyes and beat at the door relentlessly.  I did not know what lay within, but I knew Harritt risked dragonfire to get it.  I broke down the door, let him collect his things and then ushered him toward the gates.

 

Cullen stood there beckoning stragglers inside.  The resent on his face mirrored my own feelings.  What could we do against this?  What could we do against the remnants of an army, a being calling himself the Elder One and now,  a dragon?  

 

I resolved myself to assisting the few people I could.  Cullen saw to it that the survivors made it to the Chantry.  Some buildings made it easy.  They had been utterly engulfed into the crimson fire.  None could have survived it. But then I heard a scream.  Without thinking I slammed, shield first, into the door.  It gave way and I pushed through and into the burning wreckage.  There was Seggrit huddled in the corner shielding himself from the smoke and the flames.  The heat was intense, but I ignored it as it singed my flesh.  I threw Seggrit's arm over my shoulder and dragged him from the wreckage.  

 

A young soldier took him from there and led him to the Chantry.  

 

Someone screamed that there had been people in the tavern.  I made my way there and found Flissa. She had been burned and I would not have known she lived at all had she not reached up a hand toward me.  I tore some linens from the wall and doused them in a barrel of rainwater that had not yet heated to boiling.  I wrapped her in the drenched fabrics.  She screamed, but did not thrash.  I questioned my attempts to alleviate her pain.  At least it would ward off any more of the fire.  Soon she was off in the arms of a young recruit. 

 

I saw Minaeve.  She was struggling to pull her leg out from under a beam.  Before her face vanished in a swirling azure haze she looked toward me.  I'll always see blame in her eyes.  Her faith in me extinguished as the lyrium stores exploded around her.  She had been abandoned by her clan.  She had been thrust in to the world of the Circles where she barely avoided being made Tranquil, but she had found solace in caring for others.  She had taken care of the Tranquil.  She had studied monsters and her knowledge had been invaluable to the Inquisition.

 

Though only moments passed - I felt shame.  I was the Herald of Andraste.  I had left my home for adventure.  I had blundered into becoming the human world's savior.  I was hunted by great evils.  Praised for great victories. Nobody would know Minaeve's name.  She wasn't "the Herald".  People weren't arguing over her legitimacy or her divinity.  She had already been forgotten.  Not even a footnote in the great histories of humans or elves or dwarves. 

 

Cole touched my arm and broke the fugue I was entering. 

 

"It hurts despite the smiles.  Heavy, hard, suffocating. An anchor drags the boat to the bottom.  Big, but the world is bigger. She is not.  Discarded, but immortalized.  You'll remember."  

 

I would remember.  

 

More explosions from the lyrium supplies moved me to action.  I directed our group up through the center of the town and toward the Chantry.  There, Threnn was set upon by the Venatori.  I bore into them.  I could not let another name fade.  Not today.  I angled my shield, send fire meant for Threnn into the face of an oncoming venatori swordsman and then rushed the mage.  I fixated on his pupils.  The dark centers of his eyes where conventional wisdom suggested the soul lay.  I saw his determination wither to panic as I deflected his magical assaults.  I saw the light go out in those dark pupils when I sank my sword into the mage's chest.  

 

I would remember.

 

The Ventori dispatched - Threnn bruised but alive - we made our way to the Chantry.    

[Qun00]

I was about to roll my eyes after reading the first sentence of this thread because I assumed this was going to be like so many others' special snowflake Lavellans who aren't like those "other" Dalish, and conveniently never truly believed in the Creators anyway.
But I appreciate how your Lavellan hasn't actually turned out to be just another tired trope and is quite a nuanced character, and I like your writing approach in these posts.

To be fair, that's exactly what clan Lavellan is. Special snowflakes who are "not like those other Dalish". But I'd imagine they still hate Tevinter and Orlais.

[YourFunnyUncle]

Isn't the derisory use of the term "special snowflake" also a tired trope? There have been doubters, dissenters, heretics and non-believers in just about all cultures and religions throughout history. Why should the Dalish be different?

[Qun00]

Because they are knee deep in tradition, like the dwarves.

That said, it isn't actually shocking when you meet unconventional individuals like Varric, but a whole dwarven city where people think like him would be a surprise.

[Gervaise]

Clan Lavellan aren't that different from other Dalish.   They take an interest in their human neighbours because it will help to keep them safe from them.     The whole involvement with Wycome comes about because of a member of their clan being in the Inquisition.    They came into danger because of the activities of the Venatori, just as the Dalish in DAO come into danger because of the Blight.   In order to keep themselves safe they are willing to work with friendly humans for mutual benefit.    If anything the clan in Masked Empire is more the exception compared with those clans we have met in the game because they are so absolutely hostile towards outsiders, just as Minaeve's and Dalish's clans, that kick out surplus mages, are totally different from the lore we have been given about the Dalish.   

 

In fact I believe the general way it is depicted is that now there is no such thing as a typical Dalish because the clans have grown apart down the years.   There are clans that are semi-permanent alongside human settlements, such as are found in Rivain and (if the Inquisitor is Dalish) in Wycombe; there are clans that keep very secluded and simply like to discourage contact by the surrounding humans, like the ones who put noisy puppets in the trees surrounding their camp to kid superstitious villagers there are unquiet spirits in the woods; there are those who are no better than bandits and actively prey on their human neighbours.

 

Equally there are those Dalish who welcome city elves into their ranks and assimilate them, whereas there are those like the ones in Masked Empire who regard this as sacrilege.  

 

Where Dalish are similar is in their religion; they all revere the Creators, fear the Forgotten Ones and try to appease Fen'Harel to leave them alone.    It may be that some are not as devoted as others but I dare say all would get very attached to their gods if anyone suggested they should give them up or worse still tried to force them to do so.    This is why a Dalish could have doubts about their gods and be rather cynical about their religion but would resent being told to abandon them by an outsider, particularly in favour of the Chantry religion. 

[Qun00]

What about the first war table mission?

"Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims.

It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. S/he went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and templars, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. If she has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it.If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from her to know that she remains with the Inquisition of her own will.

We await your reply,

Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan"

[Medhia_Nox]

"The Chantry is your shelter!"  

 

I heard Chancellor Roderick before I saw him.  The man clutched at a wound on his side; red blossomed across his robes and his face was bruised and bleeding.  He stumbled and leaned against the heavy wooden beams of the Chantry entrance.  Dorian assisted him, held him up.  The last remaining survivors flooded into the Chantry.  Roderick waved them onward, offered them words of comfort and maintained his stoic scowl.  For a moment I wondered if he could have cowed the dragon with guilt.  

 

Cullen met us soon after.  The situation was not good. We had sent an avalanche, and they responded with wings of fire.  We had decimated their forward momentum, and they had followed it with a devastating response.  Our position was lost.  Men and woman huddled in the alcoves, some moved about haphazardly this way and that - lost in purpose and spirit - I saw Cole walking among them, to what end I could not tell. 

 

Cullen and Dorian began arguing over whether or not to go out fighting or to deny Corypheus his victory by burying us in ice and snow.  I stared at the great doors to the Chantry.  Where were the gods?  Where was Elgar'nan - flaming and lightning in hand?  Where was Mythal - protector and mother?  Where was the Maker?  Had all of them turned from their children?  Was the world empty and cold and death? 

 

"There is a path, you wouldn't know it unless you've made the summer pilgrimage - as I have."  

 

I heard the Chancelor begin.  He told us of a path.  Told us how to escape the situation.  He was so sure that Andraste had led him there so that he could tell us now.  The Chancelor seemed different to me.  He had questioned my legitimacy, but how could I really blame him?  He had worried and fretted and fawned over his people.  His world had collapsed around him and he, like us, had done what he could to hold it together.  And now - when we needed it most - the Chancellor, who had been such an obstacle - had proved out salvation.

 

Perhaps that is how the gods spoke to us... through opportunities seized. 

"I'll go," I said.  "I'll go and collapse the mountain on top of the Chantry.  That should buy you all time to get through the pass. Cullen, take the people and get them ready. The soldier's lead - children and the wounded at the center - have Cassandra follow up the rear with the templars."  

 

Cullen nodded and began barking orders - the Inquisition moved like a unified body.  Those that, only a moment ago, huddled in fear rose and moved to assist their fellows by grabbing gurneys and headed toward the basement.  Cole was speaking to a young man who cradled back and forth on the floor.  I watched the young man calm, look up toward me and then move to action.  He did not acknowledge Cole, who had already moved on.   

 

"Herald, if you were meant for this<" said Chancelor Roderick.  Dorian was supporting him.  The man's voice wavered, but stayed strong.  "If the Inquisition is meant for this.  I pray for you." 

 

I gave him a smile of thanks - and then Dorian led him away.  

 

Cullen called to me as he ushered a group toward the escape,  "If we are to a have a chance, if you are to have a chance.  Let that thing hear you." 

 

I turned toward the doors to seize whatever opportunities the gods of elves and men provided.