My F!Lavellan's backstory. Why would a Dalish of a reclusive clan want to go to a shem Conclave? And why would she want to stay and accept her role as the Herald of Andraste? And why would she ever fall in love with Cullen? The answers are here my friends...

"Who are you?!" The angry woman yelled, her accent loud and terrifyingly beautiful.

XXX

She's running through the thick forest, leaping gracefully like the white creature she pursues. She pursues it for joy and to see where it ends. The creature does not know this. It flees in fear, eager to escape the small hunter.

A chirpy laugh escapes her wide lips as the creature bounds down a small bluff, disappearing from her sharp eyes. Without fear, she dives after it, bare feet leaving the earth and spreading her lean arms wide like the ravens that soar above. Closing her large eyes, she pictures herself flying into the sky.

And then crashes into a boy.

The two tumble painfully through the tall grass and craggy roots, groaning and yelping until they come to an undignified stop. Becoming aware of the other's presence, they pull apart and face each other with wide eyes. They blink hard, unsure if the other is real.

He wears green clothes, not much unlike hers, except far more tattered and dirty, suggesting he is not used to traversing through the woods. His shaggy brown hair is matted in spots and he sports mud on his cheeks. She blinks again, confused by the smallness of his ears.

He blinks again, confused by the sharpness of hers.

The creature reappears, its white body and twisted horns doing little to hide it in the dark forest. Its large, black eyes stare at them and it snorts, not sure what to make of the two, small beings.

The boy stands, pulling a poorly crafted bow from his back and tries to string an arrow. He aims at the peaceful creature.

"No!" She begs, panicked and attempting to pull the weapon from his hands. "You must not hurt the halla! They are sacred!"

He drops the bow, flinching at her touch. He looks at her wide, pale-violet eyes, then at her pointy ears. He says something but she cannot understand. His tongue is hard and short. She barely makes out the word Dalish.

"You are a shem?" She asks abruptly, pointing at his still hidden ears. "A human?" Her curiosity gets the better of her and she goes to brush his hair away.

He yells in his tongue, grabs her by the elbows, and throws her down. He runs away as she roughly falls. Unlike with the halla, she does not pursue. She only watches.

Though she has her own perfectly crafted one, she takes his bow home.

XXX

"Where are you from!?" The woman yelled again, aggressively pacing. The young elf's head drooped, tired and mind spinning, barely hearing the questions the woman spewed.

Everyone's eyes flicked to her hand as it flashed that ghostly green once again. She winced, mind falling back to the past.

XXX

"Dithara-ma!" Mother yells, moving her arm as if to slap the grown girl's face, but runs in through her own, graying hair instead. "Ma banal las halamshir var vhen!"

"Tel'abelas, Mamae," The daughter replies, looking down and cringing at the use of the old tongue. She hates the language, she hates the rituals. She wants to be free of it all. "I'm not sorry, Mamae." She reiterates, using the language of man the teachers taught her and the other hunters.

"You will accept the vallaslin!" Mother whispers mockingly in the human tongue, harsh and desperate. "You are of age. It is unthinkable to reject!"

"I have no desire to devote myself to a god picked for me!" She replies in a shaky voice, desperate for her mother to understand and running out of time. The blood writing ritual is today.

"You have spent years training and months meditating in Her name!" Mother contends. "You are supposed to grow to understand our ways, not reject them!"

"I only reject them because I'm given no choice." She claims, clenching her hands. "I only wish to leave because you tell me to stay. Can you not see I have truly found Ghilan'nain?"

"Don't speak of the Halla Mother in that way, you blasphemous harellan!" Mother chokes on the curse bringing her hands to her mouth. "Ma len, my child…" she cries, reaching out to touch the girl. "Ir abelas. Forgive me."

The girl recoils, an angry sneer on her unmarked face. She pushes the hands away, both hurt and scared. In her heart she knew there was truth to those words. She was a traitor, a blasphemer. But it was a truth she was not ready to believe.

"As you wish, Mother. I am the one who is sorry." She yields, bowing her head and returning to her first tongue. "Ma nuvenin, Mamae. Ame amin em na abelas."

"Thank you my daughter!" Mother cries in elven, kissing her soon to be marked forehead. "My daughter, my wandering halla! You will make clan Lavellen proud."

The blood writing is painful but she makes no sound. The dark blue vallaslin strains through her swollen, bloodstained face. With time it will soon fade slightly and match her raven hair.

She belongs to Ghilan'nain now.

XXX

The woman grabbed the delirious elf's shoulders, her gauntleted hands digging painfully through her light scout armor. She shook her, annunciating the next question. "Why are you here!?"

Wincing, the elf looked up into the woman's usually cold, hazel eyes. She shifted her sore, shackled wrists, searching for the right words.

Before she could string an answer together, her hand flashed again, sending a wave of vile fire through her veins. She almost retched from the swirling pain, keeling against her interrogator for support.

XXX

Two years later the young elf talks with the keeper.

The world is in chaos. The clan hides, but true to her nature she does not. Just as before, she explores the edges of the forests the clan resides in. She reads more human works than ever before. She reads about Thedas as it is now.

She reads about the Blight the Heroes of Ferelden ended seven years ago. She reads of the Champion of Kirkwall, a strong abled woman who stood up for the downtrodden and loved an elven slave. She reads of the world and how it truly is. A world that impacts her clan even if they refuse to acknowledge it. A world she needs to see for herself.

She can no longer be satisfied with her scrapped books and spying on the Free March shems. She wants to be a part of the real world, a world that has become a part of her.

She knows the idea is a romantic one, but it cannot be helped. She must convince the keeper to let her go. She is the wandering halla. She will lead the clan to where they need. Not away from the world, but to it.

"Keeper Istimaethoriel," she debates in their tongue, "We need to know what's going on in the world. Blights, rebellions, the fall of human order—we can't run from it forever. We need to join them if we're to survive."

"Survive." Deshanna Istimaethoriel clucks tactfully. "Survive in body, maybe, but die in spirit. What you ask means giving up our culture, our purpose."

"Keeper," she pleads, old anger flaring at the clans unwillingness to understand. "We've already lost who we are. We grab at scarps of a history we no longer understand. We act as if we are the true elves, the Elvhenan. We're a sad bunch of frauds."

"Da'len, you are true to your vallaslin. You wish to wander all over the world." Istimaethoriel croons. "Ghilan'nain would be proud. But you are just a halla herder, a hunter. You do not understand the implications of what you speak."

"But I do, Keeper!" she riles. "I do! There is a world out there I need to see, that the clan needs to see. We can't just hide and wait for others to decide our fate!"

"There is no dissuading you, is there da'len?" Istimaethoriel sighs, leaning tiredly on her staff. "Your mother would never forgive me."

"My mother is no longer here."

"Din'Serassa." Istimaethoriel nods solemnly, crossing her hands in a reverent manner. The elven girl mimics the gesture, pushing down the emotions it brings. "If you truly believe this is your prupose, da'len," Istimaethoriel continues, "this lathbora viran you seek, then you must go. Ghilan'nain demands it of you."

"Keeper…" her heart rises, giving her new energy and life.

"Go to this Conclave of Shems, learn what they know, discover their intentions for the world. Save our clan, Lavellan."

The young elf runs off.

"Dareth shiral."

XXX

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?" The woman asked from somewhere behind as the elf's mind cleared, her thick accent growing alarmingly calm. The elf leaned away, spine stiffening and jaw quivering.

"The Conclave is destroyed." She continued, stalking back to the girl's front. "Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

The elf shook slightly, cold sweat soaking her loosely clothed back gathering on her brow. She held the older woman's lethal gaze but said nothing. She's learned nothing at the Conclave; everything went to hell before she's gotten the chance. The only thing she knew was that she was not supposed to be there. And the people in this room were well aware of that.

"Explain this." The woman roughly grabbed her shackled hand as it flared green again. The elf bit back a cry and swallowed the nausea and draining light caused.

"I-I can't!" she managed, clenching her clammy, cursed hand.

"What do you mean you can't!?"

"I don't know what that is," the elf pleaded, "or how it got there!"

"You're lying!" The woman growled, lunging at elf and grabbing her bruised shoulder. She yelped but forced herself not to pull away. She had to cooperate—she had to give them whatever information she could—she had to—

"We need her, Cassandra!" The shrouded woman, who had been aloofly watching from the cell's shadows, interrupted and pulled the other off the elf. Casandra whirled away, shaking her fists and trying to calm down.

"I d-don't understand!" The elf implored, looking from the two strikingly different women. She focused on the kinder one, the one willing to listen. "All those people…Are they all really dead?"

"Do you remember what happened?" The new woman asked firmly, standing above. "How this began?"

"I remember running…" the elf said slowly, retracing the memories that seemed more like dreams. No. More like nightmares. "Things were chasing me. Then…a woman?"

"A woman?"

"She reached out to me…but then…" her mind buzzed, hand flashing again. She dropped her throbbing head down, blinking the dizziness away. That's what happened when the woman touched her. Everything flashed green and hurt.

And then she woke up here.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana." Cassandra ordered with a stressful sigh. "I will take her to the rift." The shrouded woman named Leliana nodded and quietly glided out of the dark cell. Casandra stalked towards the elf, and knelt beside her to undue the shackles. She took little care to be gentle.

"What did happen?" the elf asked cautiously, looking down but glancing up at Cassandra's cold eyes.

"It—," Cassandra answered hesitantly, her hazel irises growing vague. "It will be easier to show you."