Kieran Mahariel

kieran mahariel

STAND YOUR GROUND, THE DAWN WILL COME

Let me take the lad, and you are free from me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or, keep the lad with you … and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.

Eight years later, and that cryptic warning is still etched clearly within Kieran’s mind. Readily remembered. Even as time gnaws at other details from his childhood.

Others would not understand him. That had been his mother’s warning, her urging for him to never wander far from her side, she who knew how best to protect them both from the world of mankind, which trampled upon that which could not be easily explained. A world nothing like the home that they had left. As a boy, Kieran had listened to his mother, for even at such a young age he had always known her to have been right about her decisions. But he had not understood her concern. Now he did.

His mother was an apostate, a daughter of Flemeth, the fabled Witch of the Wilds. His grandmother was a woman who carried the essence of Mythal; the murdered goddess of the Elven Pantheon. His father was the Hero of Ferelden and the nation’s Warden Commander. And Kieran had been born with the essence of Urthemiel, the archdemon of the Fifth Blight … or he was Urthemiel, sort-of, maybe. He no longer remembered.

He struggled to remember their home. His, his mother’s and his father’s. He could never return to that place of laughter, warmth and love. Maybe that’s why the bitterness that followed, his father’s final goodbye, sticks so much clearly within his memories. His mother’s explanation had simply been that they couldn’t stay within the Crossroads forever. They. Again, Kieran had not, back then, understood his mother’s meaning. Now he did.

His father could have stayed, for he was Dalish. Humans were the unwanted guests. His mother and himself. The Evanuris were clear in their dislike for mankind, even in the case of the elfblooded, like Kieran.

And yet enamoured to their past she remained. And that love for elven history, for magic and for all that the world had forgotten, she passed on to her son.

He was meant to serve a higher purpose. What that purpose was, even as a boy, Kieran had not known but still suspected that it was intricately tied to magic. Perhaps, it explained why others were so obviously discomforted by the secrets that Kieran would see, etched clearly upon their faces. Their hearts. In the end, it didn’t matter.

She had called out to him, and Kieran had answered. She had demanded a sacrifice, and his mother had paid the price. And She had then taken … She had taken from Kieran, and then departed.

At first, Kieran had thought that all that he had lost were the nightmares, dark shadows that would plague his dreams during childhood but which he could no longer recall in detail. It didn’t take long before he realized that what he had lost was … whatever his parents had made him to be. Himself, really. The hearts of others were still visible to Kieran but the ability to read the words, to speak them, he no longer possessed. Threads twisted and tangled into maddening knots. And his mother had lost something vital too. Often Kieran would catch her staring off into the darkness, losing herself within those shadows, as if certain that something was lurking and watching her, just out of sight.

Love. Guilt. Fear. All served as motivation for how the years had begun to transform Kieran. As the Occult Advisor for the Orlesian Empire, his mother had constructed a shield that protected them both from the force of Chantry scrutiny. Yet, thanks to the Inquisition and the new reign of Divine Victoria, the mage circles had been reinstated, and though mages were afforded more freedoms than they had ever had throughout chantry history, the word “apostate” gained much of its original power and fear. So as Kieran learnt how to call fire to his hand, how to snuff it out and how to transform his human body into another shape, under his mother’s tutelage, he also learnt how to hide his efforts and play pretend. Else he might have found himself both caged and collared.

When her duty to entertain the Valmont family called his mother away, Kieran engaged in his own studying. On elven lore. On magic. On fables. He combed over whatever book that he was capable of getting his hands upon, even if that meant getting access to the Orlesian University’s library or writing to his father, asking if the wardens had any to spare. And when his pursuit could no longer be sated through tomes and textbooks, Kieran took to travelling. After all, the decline of the elven culture had never been properly documented, and their history before the fall of Arlathan had been purposefully destroyed.

He had been close to fifteen when he had first left his mother’s protection. But he had returned by the end of a month. He always returned. Still, now eighteen–years-old, Kieran has been wandering as an apostate for a little over a year.

Yet, such are the times when even an apostate can hear news concerning the warring Qunari and Tevinter forces. About threats issued to other nations so as to be forced to play a part in the requiem. All of which, Kieran scoffs at.

Why did Mythal come to you?

For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens.

Kieran did not understand what She had meant.

But now he did.


☪ Kieran can speak Elven. Actually, he probably knows the dialect better than even most Dalish do – he’s even literate in the ancient writing. Sadly, most elves react rather suspiciously towards Kieran when he expresses this, even going as far as to act hostile. Kieran claims that he’s not bothered by their attitude … yet he does get an unhealthy amount of satisfaction from proving that, as the only elf-blooded beauty standing in the room, he knows more than they ever will. He’s very much Morrigan’s son, in both appearance and temperament.

☪ Though only eighteen, Kieran possesses an alarming amount of magical talent and control. Perhaps it comes from being the grandson of the Witch-of-the-Wilds. Or his father’s Dalish blood. Or his past connection to one of the Old Gods. Or even all three. Regardless, Kieran is something. Talented in ice-spells and Shapeshifting, Kieran already knows the forms of most birds, rats, cats, mabari, wolves, lifestock and even giant spiders and a few other nasties. He really wants to learn the form of a dragon. He just hasn’t had the opportunity to study one. Yet.

☪ Kieran has a fondness for dragons that verges on the eccentric. Or being Qunari. They’re just amazing. Don’t worry though, he very much hates darkspawn.

☪ Not surprisingly, considering the fact that he chooses to wander about Thedas as an apostate, Kieran’s wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired. Yet, upon every shirt that he owns is stitched the Grey Warden insignia. It makes him reminisce about happier times. About his father.

[b]EZRA MILLER[/b] as [i]kieran[/i]