Cityelfweek - City Elf Appreciation Week

HI WREN HAPPY FRIDAY! I see you would like Sera fluff! Maybe a little hurt/comfort to start it off, for Sera/Tali - "They shouldn't treat you like that." from the vague angsty prompts??

Hello Niri!!! This made me think of how Tali always seems to side with Sera. LOL @dadrunkwriting wc: 1120

The morning comes to Taliesen by the aching rumble in her stomach. That was the only sign that slept at all the previous night, the sudden nagging pain in her stomach. She had not eaten anything since Solas left. Last night's appetite leaving with her, along with the elven healer and trusted friend. They had failed to rescue Wisdom and Solas needed time to be away and to mourn, and though she understood that and tried not to think about what she would have done if it was her own siblings…

She hoped that Solas trusts her enough to stay and confide in her. Worse that something felt final in the way he left, the way he couldn't bear to answer her when he walked. How she seemed invisible when he said his last sentence.

It's possible that yesterday might have been the last night she'll ever see Solas again, and she is not ready to sit on that. Not when she feels like her worries as Inquisitor are stacking and she's losing distance on the people she can turn to.

Still, feeling down and worried about everything collapsing isn't helping her fill an empty stomach. The Dalish camp is close enough for a cozy home style meal.

Taliesen takes a quick sniff of her leather trousers, it still stinks of sweat from last night's battle. Though it isn't off-putting enough for her to not put them on along with a loose tunic and boots. She peels open the canvas covers of her tent, now seeing the sun is already a quarter away from its highest point.

Sera's already sitting by the smothered campfire, a doubtless sign that Taliesen slept for too long.

She waves. "Took you long enough. Feeling awake now, sleepyhead?"

Taliesen blinks, she can feel a smile slowly curl onto her lips. Somehow Sera's flippant forwardness is always enough to do that.

"Come on." Tali waves back, beckoning for Sera to follow her. "I need food. You can help me carry."

“Where we going?” Sera’s eyes widen, but she follows along anyway.

“The Dalish camp!” Taliesen points to the other side of the river.

“The Dalish camp?” Sera groans, crossing her arms.

“I got a sudden craving for [lo mai gai]. If they don’t have any, we can trade for aged embrium leafs and grains. We can make them ourselves.” Taliesen speaks, around feeling herself drool.

Sera grumbles, dragging her heel and slowing them both.

“What’s wrong with that?” Both elves stop, the Dalish elf of the two raises a brow.

“Some of them were giving me weird looks.” The City elf of the two replies, her foot begins tapping with irritation. “Like they got snot up their breathers. Don’t think they like me.”

Taliesen points her nose, unbearably close with her eyes in judgmental squint. “Seraaa, did you say something to them yesterday?”

“Nothin’.” Sera huffs, pushing the Inquisitor back by the shoulders to retake some space. “Why have to think that it was me who caused something?” Her voice rising.

In truth, Taliesen didn’t believe anything did happen between Sera and Hawen’s clan. Though she already sees the beads of sweat dripping off of Sera's neck, and is enjoying the sight of it.

“What if I didn’t?” She smirks, her words almost sound like purring.

“You!” Sera growls, she dashes to grab and headlock the other elf’s head.

Sera’s grip is stronger than Taliesen expected, feeling her head locked between two logs. Though not enough to stop her from laughing, she retaliates by tickling the other blond on her exposed side. She slowly manages to push Sera along towards the camp, managing to walk the straightest path she can while blinded and having her sense of direction turned sideways.

“Andaran Atish’an, my sister. It’s good to see you again.” Hawen stands in front of them.

The entangled elves realize they look dimwitted while waltzing into their camp. They swiftly straighten themselves, standing like impeccably professionals.

Taliesen clears her throat. “We would like to trade for food if your clan can spare anything.”

“We are happy to trade with you?” He nods, then turns to Sera. “But I would appreciate that your friend stays out of our camp.”

“What?” Taliesen gives back a baffled blink.

“Some of our People are perplexed by your friendship you two have, it will be better if she stayed out of the camp.”

She crosses her arms, a finger tapping her left shoulder, worrying that she might end up something regrettable. Sera is more vocal with her displeasure, grumbling at Hawen.

“She’ll be beside me.” Taliesen reassures. “We’re not here to cause anyone trouble.”

“That might be the case.” Hawen nods. He sighs, clearly reluctant to request this of her. “But we need to keep the peace between our people, the Dales have not been hospital as of late.”

“What does my friend have to do with any of that?”

“It’s a precaution. I want trouble on neither of our sides.”

Taliesen shakes her head. “We aren’t here to cause any trouble…”

“Inky, it’s fine.” Sera interrupts Taliesen, tugging her back by the shoulders. “Just get the stuff, I’ve got no problems waiting.”

“I’m not letting them treat you like that.” She says, her eyes narrowing.

“Got it!” Sera throws up her hands, back away from the camp. “You don’t need to. I’m not going to be around whoevers.”

“Sorry it has to be this way.” Taliesen sighs.

She chooses to follow along with her friend, rather than allow the clan to have their prejudices.

The elves tread back the path they walked, though now Sera feels her stomach growling unlike earlier. The walk feels twice as long back, and worse knowing that no treat is waiting for them when they return.

“Not a big loss. I’m sure the soldiers will have a meal ready.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Sera snaps.

“You think you’re the only city elf, who’s been turned away by them?” Taliesen raises a brow. “Dalish clans have been like that for as long as I’ve known them.”

“What’s it? My ears, too droopy for them?” Sera rolls her eyes. She feels herself gagging. “Not my first time hearing that either. Stuffin’ our mouths would have made everything better.”

“And you’ll be fine with that?”

“Doesn’t matter! We could have gotten a good meal.”

“You didn’t deserve to be treated like a roughneck, just for not being one of them.” Taliesen shakes her head, seeming surprisingly stern. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Doesn’t need to be your choice.” Sera whispers, her cheeks feeling a bit flushed.

Though she doesn’t want to admit it with words, she’s grateful that Taliesen sided with her over the Dalish clan.

Zevran 💜💜🥰🥰😍😍🌹🌹

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.

City Elf Appreciation Week

~ 5th of August - 11th of August ~

Here are some optional prompts for next week! Please feel free to do whatever you like with them. Remember to tag @cityelfweek or use the tag #cityelfweek24!

Day 1 - Vhenadahl - A pillar of many alienage communities. Firewood in others.

Day 2 - Folklore - Show the folklore that city elves have created over time. Superstitions, stories, heroes, villains... anything!

Day 3 - Community - Close-knit family, or claustrophobic little box?

Day 4 - Custom and Tradition - Andrastian? Dalish? Somewhere in between, or something all new?

Day 5 - Alienage - The only home many city elves ever know.

Day 6 - OC - A day to celebrate original city elf characters!

Day 7 - Free Day - All things city elf!

[original post][divider credit]

Who Will Your Lover Be?

Part of the Alienage Soundscapes series, created for @cityelfweek

“If I was strong, I would just hit them back!” “That's the point of this song, dummy. You can hit them back as much as you like, they'll always hit back harder, until you're dead.” “Oh… What's it the one who gets away does?” “Fly? I don't know. It's just an old song.”

—Conversation of three elven children playing, overheard by hahren Sarethia of the Highever alienage

(Lyrics and song without sound effects under the cut)

Who will your lover be? Marry me! Marry me! With whom will you bind the knot underneath the tree?

I am strong and not afraid! I am fast and slight! I am smart and know my trade! I am beautiful and great! I will teach you flight!

Who will your lover be? Marry me! Marry me! With whom will you bind the knot underneath the tree?

Strong gets cracked over the head, Strong is strong but strong is dead. Fast is caught and cannot bite, Fast is fast but cannot fight. Smart does not last very long, Smart is smart but smart is wrong. Beautiful will draw a look, they won’t let them off their hook. Only Flight can get away, get away but cannot stay.

Who will your lover be? Marry me! Marry me! With whom will you bind the knot underneath the tree?

I don't know what happened but I fell into the Evka/Antoine pit overnight after rereading parts of Tevinter Nights, and there's only a handful of things when I search for them so I'm adding to that pile myself!!

They've appeared multiple times in short stories and even the comics so I'm just waiting for DA4 stuff like "👀". Bioware pls give us the cute Wardens (preferably alive and well shjhfg but I'm expecting them to hurt me emotionally anyway bc this is DA after all, and there's been so much foreshadowing ;;v;;)

(Lineart below)

I miss my lil aria

Day 7: Free Day

Decided to spend the @cityelfweek free day sketching an idea I had forever ago. For context, this is about a year before Inquisition, juuust before the mage rebellion.

They all smell the smoke before they see it— an unassuming plume that rises from Jenna’s window, belying the danger within. Cries ring out through the Alienages, followed by orders, and soon a line forms through the streets and to the banks of the river. Buckets with water spilling out the sides lead a trail to the danger. The faces of their young are wet with a sheen of sweat and fierce with determination, knowing that if help will come at all, it will come too late.

The fire burns around the water heaped upon it, gathering smoke and rising higher within the walls of Jenna’s home. The work continues, quenching a patch of flame before another can alight. It eats at the roof, thatched straw collapsing to the horrified screams of onlookers.

Then, all at once, it is a memory.

Panicked cries turn to confusion, questions ringing out as harsh as commands while Jenna braves the ashes to salvage what she can of the ruins of her life.

Some swear their last bucketful of water had been the one to quench the flames. Others know what they had seen: it had not simply been put out, it had been suffocated. Erased. Only smoke remains, rising harmless into the midday sky.

It does not take long for rumours of magic to rampage through the Alienage, cooler than the fire, but no less deadly. In the commotion, no one sees the stranger slip from their midst.

No one but Nessa, at least.

She’s lived in the Amaranthine Alienage her whole life, and there are few places in it someone can hide from her like. She catches him in an alley, the smell of a storm clings to his tattered clothes despite the bright summer’s day blazing overhead. It had been decades since she’s last breathed that scent, but she’ll never forget how it raises the hairs in your nostrils. The stranger tenses at her approach, but tellingly doesn’t reach for a weapon.

At least, none wielded by traditional means.

“I have no coin,” he tells her in a weary voice, “and little else to my name but the clothes on my back.”

“I’d say you have more than that, ser. A gift I hear only the Maker can give you.” He flinches, ducking his head so his hood hides his face. She steps forward with her hands cupped around her elbows. “You stopped the fire, didn’t you?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

There it is again, she thinks: the sky, come to touch their little corner of the world.

“Neither do I, but I know some who would.” She smiles, despite the bitter taste that lies on her tongue just from speaking their memory. “You won’t be safe out here tonight, and I have a roof. Supper, too.”

The stranger regards her from a distance, as though trying to pry the truth from her words with a glance. Not an unfamiliar look. Those she’s helped before had been just as slow to trust. There are no words in the King’s tongue silver enough to undo that damage.

“You’ve been bit before. I understand, but we’re just two people, my husband and I. Out here, you put yourself in the whole city’s hand.” Nessa moves down the alley. One hand reaches out in welcome. “So come with me.”

The trip back home is less peaceful than usual. They take the back ways, skirting windows and doors before coming to Nessa’s. If she hadn’t lived her whole life, it’d be an easy place to miss. Little adorns the entrance save a potted plant and an awning painted faded yellow. “Here we are,” she says in a sing-song tone, like she were welcoming in any old neighbour.

She ushers him in first, the slide of the lock the sole indication that not all is as it seems.

Inside, the aroma of dinner rises first to meet them. Rosemary and onion overwhelm the senses, drowning out the dust and the dirt. “Looks like it’s pottage for tea,” she remarks. Looking to the stranger, she can’t help but smile at how stiffly he stands. “Well, go on then, make yourself at home. I’ll get you a little something to drink.”

“Bring home another stray?” her husband asks. He’s hunched over the pot like an old witch at her cauldron, flyaway grey hairs waving as if they had little minds of their own. They deflate when he looks over and sees who she came home with, cheeks fattening with a little puff of air as he tuts, “Oh, Nessa. We’ve talked about this!”

“What was I supposed to do, Tal? Edith’s probably got the Templars looking for him already.” It’s an argument that’s played out half a dozen times over the last half a decade. She can’t rightly say who had won the last one, though from the sigh that comes from the kitchen, she’ll say she can count this one hers. “Half the quarter’d be up in flames if it weren’t for him.”

Her tone softens for the stranger, rounding on him with a pleasant, “how do you take your tea?”

“Water would be preferable, please,”  he answers without a moment’s consideration.

“Coming right up, love.” Stepping into their little corner of a kitchen, she adds to her husband: “See? This one’s got manners, to boot!”

Tal’s response is reduced to a disgruntled huff, attention fixed upon the simmering pot. Like he’s watching the Queen’s dinner cook. Nessa grabs a mug from a peg and tilts it into the clean water, returning to find the stranger had taken her advice. Despite how he hunches in his seat, there is a proud set to his shoulders. His hood drapes around them, revealing a clean shaven head and a severe jaw. A man of some years, but still young to her old eyes.

“Sorry about Tal,” she says as she slides into the seat across from him. “He doesn’t mind, really, he has to protest only so he can be right if something ever goes wrong.”

“His concern is not unwarranted. They will not look kindly upon your aid, should they find me.” He palms the cup, a layer of frost forming under his fingertips.

“We’ve had some close calls, but we’ve managed alright in the end.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Once or twice. More since the Mages’ Collective have caught wind of my sympathies.”

“Dangerous sympathies.” Ice begins to form in a thin film upon the water’s surface, moved by currents invisible to the eye. He drinks deep from the cup, voice lighter in the wake of it. “It is a wonder you would trouble yourself at all.”

Nessa smiles, a little pained. “I could say the same of you.”

“Perhaps I speak from a place of regret.” He’s looking at her again, like he’s trying to read a book. A stubborn line creases his brow, and she suspects he’s come away wanting.

“Well, it’s a shame if you do, though I can’t say I’d blame you either way.” Her fingers find the familiar grooves in the table’s surface, and work into them, thumb stroking the seam of the wood like an old cat. Pockmarks dot the table where a little hand had driven the prongs of a fork into the surface. Tal had always meant to fix them, but he couldn’t bring himself to anymore than she could bring herself to throw out the old toys gathering dust in the closet.

She supposes he’d be about the stranger’s age, now. Taller than her, with his father’s dark hair. If it hasn’t already started to go white.

Her hand fists on the table. A sigh carves through her chest.

“It’s the way the world is. Nothing the likes of us can do to change it, eh?”

“I would not discount your courage,” he says. “The world may yet change in our lifetimes.”

“A young man’s hope,” Nessa laughs, “but I’ll pray for it the same.”

And that's a wrap!

Thank you so much to everyone who participated and followed along! I've had a blast seeing all your amazing works and unearthing some oldies too. I really appreciate it!

If you create something for City Elf Appreciation Week a little late - tag this blog anyway! I'll check back every so often :)

And I'm always up for some more city elf appreciation, come chat with me at @breninarthur any time <3

See you again!

the return of the king..................