Iwyn Lavellan returns to her clan and sees her younger brother, Branwen, for the first time since Trespasser.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”
Branwen paces the dirt floor of temporary dwelling. “How can you…? How can it
be…?” Her brother shakes his head, and pauses, leaning on the pillar in the
middle of the room.
“It is not as if I planned it,” Iwyn bites back, frustration
creeping into her voice.
“What are you going to do now?” Branwen’s hands comes up,
waving wildly in front of him. “Are you going to tell Deshanna? Everyone else?
“I have to.“ Iwyn doesn’t meet his eyes, idly touching what
is left of her left arm. “I have no idea what… his…” she tries to breathe, but
the air thick and she feels like it is made of sludge. “I have no idea what his
plans are. How dangerous it is for everyone.” She wants to throw up. She hasn’t
thought about, not really. She has been like a ghost, worrying about the
inquisition, the many tasks of running it.
Here in the Dalish camp, with her brother, it hits her. The
Dread Wolf. She knows she sees him in her dreams, and she knows she will find
him. Here, the dirt floor, the wolf statues keeping watch, she thinks what it
all really means. Her brother goes back to pacing
“They aren’t gods, you know? Just people. Mages,” she says.
It was the wrong thing to say. Branwen stops again, icy look
on his face. “Do not say so. Do not come here, after years with the shems, and
assume you can tell such things. And if the Creators do not exist, what will
protect us then? You, the almighty Inquisitor?” Branwen sneers at her, eyes
stormy. She can smell his magic, congealing in the air around him.
“Branwen. It is not like that.” She tries to be calm. “I
just wanted everyone to be aware. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t believe calls for
change or rebellion.” The words are stuck in her throat. Had she not believed
him? Does she not still think he tries to walk the only path he can see
“Did you not say you trusted him? Were you wrong?” Branwen
spins and looks at her, chin forward, arms jerking up again.
She opens her mouth to speak, but she has nothing to say.
She shakes her head. She doesn’t know, anymore. She feels dizzy, and she sits
on a folding chair, drops her head between her legs.
“Iwyn. Sis…” He hasn’t called her that since he was a
small boy. Branwen stops pacing and places a hand in her back, runs it down her
spine. It is large and heavy. He has become a man while she has been gone.
“I don’t know, Branwen. I don’t know what think anymore. I
have to stop him. I love him. I don’t know how.“ She doesn’t look up. She hasn’t
said it our loud, like this, to any of her friends. Only shown her calm self.
But here; here she can smell the wood burning. The sour note of the tanned
halla hides. Taste the herbs from her dad’s liquor at the back of her throat.
Nothing to command, no tasks to attend to. Nothing left that gives her a
semblance of control.
Branwen crouches in
front of her. He puts his hand on her shoulders and pulls her forward, into an awkward
hug, until her knees hit the floor, and then she throws herself into his chest.
She hasn’t cried, she hasn’t for so long, but her cheeks are wet, and her
shoulders are shaking, and Branwen keeps holding her.
molten light chad vangaalen | vampire smile kyla la grange | demon daughters phantom planet | spine (mmix) loch lomond | your lips are red st vincent | control halsey | monster meg myers | fresh blood eels | eat raw meat = blood drool editors | i can’t control myself the horrors | barton hollow the civil wars | satin in a coffin modest mouse | a handsome stranger called death foe | devil town bright eyes | they are night zombies sufjan stevens | passage vienna teng | howl florence + the machine | damn these vampires the mountain goats | black dirt sea wolf | let’s kill tonight panic! at the disco | blood makes noise suzanne vega | zombie natalia kills | save our city ludo | bloodletting (the vampire song) concrete blonde | lovely creature nick cave & the bad seeds | bad moon rising mourning ritual
cover art by @isozyme who loves me & tolerates ghosts
the birds are mocking me, a mix for the girl whose smile might mean anything ;
01. part 1 — duke ellington ; 02. chick habit — april march ; 03. caravan — duke ellington ; 04. pretty girls — neko case ; 05. bones — ms mr ; 06 the silence — bastille ; 07. you’re a wolf — sea wolf ; 08. broken crown — mumford & sons ; 09. laura palmer — bastille ; 10. raise up your weary hands — the builders and the butchers ; 11. black dirt — sea wolf ; 12. what a wonderful world — angel’s music box
(i’ll never be your) chosen one // 21 songs for fear, for love, for power, for wearing a mask so long you almost forget who you are beneath it. for the seduction of the dark side. for a slave never truly freed, forged into a weapon for a war he never chose to fight. for all of his mistakes, and all of his triumphs, all the things he loved, and all the things he lost. for anakin skywalker, who was born to find balance, and for darth vader, the monster who wears his skin. love can save you, in the end. (a spiritual companion to my ben organa/kylo ren mix.)
1. hero - family of the year // 2. under the milky way - metric // 3. across the stars - john williams // 4. cosmic love - florence + the machine // 5. some nights - fun. // 6. weight of living, pt. 1 - bastille // 7. what do you go home to? - explosions in the sky // 8. oh death - noah gundersen // 9. the crow - dessa // 10. lesson no. 7 - clock opera // 11. broken crown - mumford & sons // 12. black dirt - sea wolf // 13. iscariot - walk the moon // 14. oblivion - patrick wolf // 15. prisoners - regina spektor // 16. body of years - mother mother // 17. when the war came - the decemberists // 18. a song for our fathers - explosions in the sky // 19. brothers on a hotel bed - death cab for cutie // 20. putting the dog to sleep - the antlers // 21. hero - regina spektor
four elements presented in as many movements [listen]
act i: water what the water gave me florence + the machine | après moi regina spektor | riverside agnes obel | harbor vienna teng | the water feist | dead in the water ellie goulding | the cold, the dark & the silence sea wolf | the ocean dar williams | the water johnny flynn feat. laura marling | the diver gravenhurst | lost at sea eisley | lighthouse the hush sound | bottom of the river delta rae | everything floats dessa feat. cecil otter
act ii: air into the spin dessa | float on modest mouse | break the sky the hush sound | take to the sky tori amos | devils don’t fly natalia kills | planes fly angel haze | dernière danse indila | falling florence + the machine | landsailor vienna teng | girl in the cage barnaby bright | icarus the staves | breathe telepopmusik | breathe in frou frou | two birds regina spektor | keep breathing ingrid michaelson
act iii: fire dark doo wop ms mr | burning pile mother mother | matches to paper dolls dessa | yellow flicker beat lorde | your ex-lover is dead stars | streets of fire the new pornographers | grapevine fires death cab for cutie | this fire franz ferdinand | my songs know what you did in the dark fall out boy | mirrors natalia kills | burn ellie goulding | fire n gold bea miller | burning gold christina perry | fire fire flyleaf | fire meet gasoline sia
act iv: earth pressure my brightest diamond | the sticks mother mother | under the earth yeah yeah yeahs | my boy builds coffins florence + the machine | when i grow up fever ray | follow you down to the red oak tree james vincent mcmorrow | metal & dust london grammar | in keeping secrets of silent earth: 3 coheed and cambria | black dirt sea wolf | teeth in the grass iron & wine | dune buggy the presidents of the united states of america | tunnels johnny flynn | down to earth peter gabriel | new slang the shins
Back-bent head against your chest, she’s shaking but you can’t tell if it’s because your hands are doing something right or completely wrong. She tastes of honeysuckle and soft innocence; she tastes of home.
In the afternoon light her skin looks golden and you don’t know how to hold her without leaving dirt stains behind. Your wolf hands surround her like holding prey; she falls limp into you. She is soft whimpers and spine curling into you. She is almost inaudible. You question if she’s even there at all.
How do you tell her that a wild thing never once learned to love? Do you tell her how you chased beautiful things down rabbit holes and only came out with scars? That your fox-sharp tongue never once tasted something so soft?
Skin brushes against the dampness of the forest floor. She turns to you with a wetness on her face like morning dew and tree-sap. She turns to you chap-lipped and pink-cheeked and before you know it she is gone in an afternoon daze.