“You said his name was Ghilana, is that correct?” Dorian asked in earnest.
“Mmhmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’d be something like ‘Guide’,” I told him. “It’s an excellent name for this Hart in particular, he’s trustworthy.”
“Magnificent,” Dorian said as he reached forward and patted Gil’s neck, “And what’s yours called?”
I smiled broadly, answering, “Elgar’nan. Spirit of Vengeance, God of Destruction, the All Father. Pride of Arlathaan.”
I scratched him behind his ears as I listed his titles. I rather thought he liked hearing about himself.
But Dorian looked insulted, “You’re on 'Elgar’nan God of Vengeance' and mine is called Gil?”
I laughed quite heartily at his indignation, nodding my head.
“Of course, that’s no shame upon you, Gil,” he said to his steed, “you weren’t the one choosing names either.”
“You know Dorian, I’m a little surprised you don’t recognize Elgar’nan. His kind roam wild in Tevinter. Left there after the Elvhen exodus, before the expansion. He might be descended from the very Hart the real Elgar’nan rode,” Elgar’nan bleated, shaking his shaggy head. He liked that part of the story, I must’ve told it to him a dozen times on our walks together.
“I’ve read the history, and I’m fascinated to meet a living piece of it,” he nodded at Elgar’nan when he said it, obviously amused at my Hart’s display of personality. “Alas, I spent most of my time in cities, I’ll admit that I’m mostly unfamiliar with Tevinter’s more natural areas.”
“You!?” I feigned shock, “Unfamiliar with the wilderness!?”
He’d already pursed his lips and started lolling his head like he was unamused, “Yes, I know, hard to believe.”
“Clever arse,” he muttered at me, “How did you end up with him, then?”
“I saw him listed on that board Dennet puts together of available mounts in the barn, before we left for the Emerald Graves. But no one breeds them, I’m fairly sure we bought him from poachers. Trappers. Sorta thought no one should really have him....” he was meant to be free with his herd. Sort of like me, a Dalish without his clan, stuck somewhere he didn’t belong.
“Are you suggesting that you’re riding a wild animal right now? That he literally was one of the Harts roaming around Tevinter?” the mage asked incredulously.
I shrugged, “Might’ve been Northern Orlais.”
He huffed in disbelief, “How…?”
“I’ve been working with him. Every day. We take walks, I give him treats, talk to him,” my tone was nonplussed, surely what I’d done wasn’t difficult.
“Oh?” there was a glint in the Tevinter’s eye, “And what do you two talk about?”
“Mostly how he should leave the damned nugs alone,” I directed more towards the Hart himself than to Dorian.
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I wanted to do these sketches because Elgar’nan the Hart is so important to Amheotil. Excerpt from this chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39354045/chapters/112813885
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