faderift | Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

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Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

WHO: A big pack of elfs
WHAT: The Arlathvhen
WHEN: Vaguely Solace
WHERE: A Secret Elven Location
NOTES: OOC Plotting post here, and a special thanks to Ema for the header image

In the ordinary course of life, Dalish clans rarely encounter each other. This isolation is a protection; their diaspora is as much of a blessing as is a curse. Only once every decade or so do the Dalish clans all meet together, and their Keepers, the elders and leaders of the People, who are responsible in keeping elven lore and magic alive, will meet together and exchange knowledge in a meeting called the Arlathvhen. During such a time, the clans will recall and record any lore they have relearned since the past meeting, they will exchange goods, people, knowledge, news, and culture, along with reiterating what lore they know already to keep their traditions as accurate and alive as possible.

Today is the day.

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Maybe yes, maybe no. Neither one of them would really know until Adasse at least put in the effort. He quirks up another smile for Sorrel, before shaking his head, "Yeah, almost like you got punched in the face, or something. Weird, that. Stop being so dramatic."

He cupped Sorrel's cheek, leaned in to kiss him, then leaned back, "...No? What's it mean?"

"Oh, I've been neglecting you terribly, then," He grins. Probably he should be avoiding kisses, while they're here. Probably his mother will walk in at exactly the wrong moment, or someone else will see and go run telling tales. And then, in a day's time the whole of the camps will be saying that Sorrelean Ashara left his clan for a flat-ear boy, and that'll be the end of his credibility.

Good sense is not really taking a leading role, at the moment. It's a short kiss. He'll worry about it later.

"It's the same as in Ar-lath-an, which is the People's love for each other. But ar lath ma is my love, to you. Or, to say it better in common... I love you."

Oh, like Adasse didn't look around first. Seriously, Sorrel. Still if you don't want him to be obvious about his utterly besottedness over you, you'd best stop saying things like that to him.

Right now, he's looking at you like you're the sun, a warm smile on his face as he basks in the words. "Tell me how to pronounce it again?"

"Ar lath ma," He repeats, slowly, unable to mask his own smile. How could he, when faced with that kind of beaming? "Or you could be lordly and say it arlath'ma but then no one will take you seriously, especially with your accent."

Sorrel finds it charming. He is aware, however, of a certain bias in Adasse's favor; not everyone here will agree with him.

"Now you try."

"Ar, Lath, Ma." He sounded them out carefully, before saying them all together, "Ar lath ma." You couldn't mistake that Kirkwall accent, but he hit all the vowels perfectly, along with the short -ah sound on the Ma.

Sorrel... giggled. He'd love to claim it was something more dignified, or at least something....else. Anything else. But he couldn't help it; if someone had told him he'd be sitting here, at the Arlathvhen, while someone told him those exact words...

Well, first he'd have made sure he wasn't speaking to a Demon. And then, he'd have laughed. It was preposterous: a childish dream made reality. He couldn't even hold eye contact, he was so swallowed up in simultaneous embarrassment and delight.

"...Tha-that's... pretty good. We'll ah, we'll. Have to keep working on it."

One corner of Adasse's mouth crinkled up. He saw what you just did there, Sorrel Ashara. Blushing like a little boy with a crush just realized. He smiled then, leaning over to brush his fingers along Sorrel's.

"I don't mind working with my word with you." He all but purred, and then gave the place a sneaking look around. "So is there anywhere around here where a few men might be alone without getting disturbed?"

Because he wants to kiss that blush into a flame.

Sorrel considers it, really he does. It is tempting beyond all things to simply say yes, and substitute the illusion of privacy for real privacy... and damn the consequences. But even as he takes a breath to say as much, he remembers that he's here for a reason, dammit.

"Y'know, I really wish there was," he says, meaning every word. He glances up from their hands and finds himself captivated by just looking at him, "We're probably getting all the alone we'll get, right now."

"Aaach, well. That can't be helped." He lets out a wistful sigh, before squeezing Sorrel's hand. "When you need someone to sort out your wounds then, I'll be wandering the markets, then. Trying to make ... a friend? Maybe?"

"What, you start the stew then leave it to me?" He complains, but Sorrel's laughing, pulling him up-standing to wave him off. Go on then, Adasse, "I'll take care of it. And good luck."

He'll need it, as he is, whether to make an actual friend, or to simply keep his temper. Sorrel squeezes his hand right back, and then lets go.

"...Hey, 'Dasse? Thanks. For everything."

Adasse paused as he looked over at Sorrel, one eyebrow raised, before he answered dryly. "Sweetheart, as much as I ... admire everything about you, we both know cooking is not in your wheelhouse. Besides, I didn't mean right now. I meant after we both get some food then you go off to do other Dalish things."

A pause, "And you're welcome... are you leaving me here?"

Sorrel colored a little further and laughed. Well. That was embarrassing. But, slowly, and in small steps taken one at a time, embarrassing himself in front of Adasse was becoming less and less of a disaster.

"How am I always making a fool of myself in front of you?" He said, though it was almost less aggrieved than fond, now, "And I'll have you know everything I do is a Dalish thing. I am a Dalish thing. And I can cook perfectly well, thank you. And—"

He hesitated then shrugged one-shouldered and ducked his head. The blush was becoming terminal. So, he sat down again, quite suddenly.

"...I'm never leaving you."

"Oh, probably the same way I am always making a fool of myself in front of you." He gestures to himself, smiling softly over his shoulder, "We're mad for one another, makes us clumsy."

That ... that got a blink, then suddenly Adasse was looking towards the fire as his throat closed up.

"I ..." But everyone leaves me!The six year old within wailed, and for once, Adasse didn't have the words. He just knew he looked over his shoulder and that look was pathetically grateful.

But Sorrel isn't looking in the right direction, and interprets the pause as a hesitation. And, as is his habit...panics, though very quietly, and mostly in the tight, cold feeling under his breastbone. For all he knew about Adasse, for all he kept learning, there was a not-insignificant part of him that was certain that Adasse would grow tired of the novelty of a magic dalish boy. And then he'd think of all the wild times he used to have, and remember them fondly, and.... and he'd go back to them. And Sorrel would let him, because he'd sooner die than be an chain around anyone's neck, least of all Adasse's.

And that would be the end of it.

"Well, you don't have to sound so down about it," He says, very quietly, then tries for an unconvincing laugh, because ha ha ha it's a joke. It's hilarious isn't it? Of course it is, "I know I'm a mess and all, but I promise you'll be let out for regular sunshine and fresh air."

Like a dog. Get it? Ferelden jokes!

He's fine. So fine.

Sorrel's allowed his joke about the Fereldan dog thing because - well - Sorrel means it as a joke and not as a cut. Beyond that, he sounds nervous and a little hurt. Which makes no sense to Adasse, unless of course he thought Adasse's silence was disagreement to that?

No, nope, that could not stand.

Adasse moved away from the stew, and dropped himself down on his knees in front of Sorrel. Searching his face.

"Do you mean it?" His voice is low, intent, "You are never going to leave me?"

"Unless you didn't want me, anymore," Sorrel replies weakly, conscious of how foolish it is to make Adasse worry over him three times in an hour, and yet pathetically grateful for the worry besides, "People change their minds, sometimes. I'm... kind of an ass, and I'm always overthinking everything and making stupid decisions, saying the first useless thing that comes out of my head. There's a reason I don't have many friends."

Well, not many outside the Dalish. But were these friends, really? They were just people, like cousins you were fond of in part because you didn't have to see or speak to them but once in an age. Family. People who depended on you, who shared a history, but who never thought of you as anything more than an outward reflection of their own idea of you.

He shook his head, because he'd been quiet too long. Of all things, he didn't want to worry Adasse even more.

"Never. Not if I can stay."

"I will never not want you." Adasse stated fervently, and firmly, his hands curving around Sorrel's knees tightly. Squeezing him in an odd place that was, at least, appropriate to any prying eyes. His voice pitched low, his gaze intent.

"People have left me all my life .... you're the only one who has ever promised to stay." He finally said in a near whisper. "That is ... that is the greatest thing anyone has ever given me. Ever." His brown eyes water, and he has to fight not to wipe tears away. "Thank you, Sorrel."

"But I...," Sorrel protests, pinned and helpless under Adasse's fervent eyes, and his own stinging sharply in reply. He can't quite say that it's nothing, not when Adasse is looking at him as if he were sun rising at the end of a black night, "You're welcome. Always.

Sorrel hasn't nearly his self-control; he reaches out to touch Adasse's face, to smooth the tears away with his thumbs, "Don't cry, please 'Dasse, if you cry, I'm gonna cry. Then someone else will come over and ask why we're crying, and I won't even know how to explain."

Edited 2018-08-18 05:01 (UTC)

Adasse let out a laugh at that, slightly choked, but still a laugh. He grinned up at Sorrel, dark eyes brightening with humor, "You could tell them we were overwhelmed with the beauty of the forest. I am sure they would buy it."

"Is that what you city elves think we do all day? Cry over flowers and trees?" Pointed at anyone else, that would be a sneer, pure venom, but here it's a joke, delivered with fond exasperation, "C'mon, ma'nehn, up on your feet. I'm here."

He's not sure, entirely, if that's the right thing to say. But it's all he can think of, as a comfort; to be here, if Adasse is so afraid he might leave. It's all a little too... heavy. So, he'll follow Adasse's example:

"Besides, I'm getting pretty hungry."

"Oh no, sometimes we think you prance around them too." Adasse stated with a completely straight expression, but he knew what the joke was for. To get him up to get him focused on the task at hand and away from these gloomy thoughts.

He pushed himself up, letting out another laugh. "Guess I ought to finish dinner while you have yourself a good cry over those daisies over there then."

"I hate to think what you'll do if I'm in more of a prancing mood," He retorts, not missing a moment, "Works up an appetite, being a mystical forest creature, you know."

But he does glance over at the flowers in question.

"Andthose are flowering embrium, not daisies. City bumpkin."

"Well I'd prance you right off into the forests, m'dear." He smirked back, before he let out a snort. He did love his Sorrel's sassy side. He got them both a bowl of stew, and some bread besides.

"Oh, so so sorry, Mighty Dalish flower master. How ever will I make it up to you?"

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Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

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