#i went with a human mage in inquisition and regretted it immediately it was so boring

[chernychnyi]

i usually like my dragon age love interests to contrast my characters somehow and yet the desire to romance emmrich as a fellow academic... would it be weird if he peer reviewed my papers before. would it be unprofessional

[owlhart]

Post Traumatic

5 - About You

Philippa’s not quite sure if it is a sneaking realisation slowly creeping up on her over time or a sudden realisation exploding into reality - how she see Triss everywhere, in the blue flowers blooming outside her window and in the chestnut of the girl that passes by her on the street; how she sees Triss in everything she does, in the warmth of the magic as it runs through her veins and in the ink scrawled across the pages laid out on her desk; how she dreams of subtle glances and shy smiles she’s not even sure are just dreams or memories bleeding into her subconscious.

Everything is about Triss and Philippa can’t understand why. 

4 - Nothing Makes Sense Anymore

Her heart asks about Triss - hardly ever aloud but it simmers in her chest and lingers in the back of her mind. And Philippa gets her answers in the form of reports and gossip and meetings and chance encounters; she never asks but she gets her answers one way or the other.

Her heart asks about Triss even if her head knows she won’t act upon it. Philippa sees a lot of herself in Triss - talented, politically astute, loyal, but Triss is young, not in age but in experience, and she is naive in ways only the hopeful can understand, and Philippa loathes the idea that she may be the one to shatter the heart that Triss wears on her sleeve.

Her heart asks about Triss even if her head tells her she can’t act upon it, because control quells any temptation and cold logic dampens any desire. 

But still, her heart asks about Triss again and again, because Triss reminds Philippa of her humanity and at this point, it is the only thing keeping her going.

3 - Watching As I Fall

When she catches Keira staring at her for the hundredth time with an inquisitive expression on her face, Philippa gestures at her impatiently.

“Keira, if there’s something you want to say, do so. I cannot read your mind.”

“Technically-”

“Keira.”

“Fine, fine. You look...” Keira folds her arms and settles back in her chair, searching for the right words. “You look constipated. Emotionally. Whenever you’re around Triss.”

Philippa grimaces at the rather unsavoury description, although perhaps it is the implication of Keira’s observation or the fact that the sentiment was obvious enough for Keira to notice that is so unsettling. And so, she simply feigns indifference.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Keira is like a dog with a bone - persistence has always been an admirable trait in her although not a particularly welcome one at the moment - and she leans forward, propping her chin on her palm. She surveys Philippa with narrowed eyes and pursed lips and Philippa can feel her heart hammering in her chest so hard she’s sure Keira can hear it.

The slight softening of Keira’s eyes tells her the younger sorceress has deduced what Philippa is so desperate to hide. What she is trying too hard to bury. 

But Keira shrugs with a knowing smile and stands up to leave, glancing to the side. Philippa follows her gaze and feels the weight lift in her chest as her heart drops to her stomach simultaneously. Triss waves at the both of them and Keira returns the gesture almost lazily. Philippa nods in acknowledgment.

“Don’t overthink it,” Keira says.

Philippa’s not so sure she can.

9 - Make It Up As I Go

Last minute counsel with King Vizimir had prevented her from attending the conclave in person but by the time Philippa connects using her megascope, the conclave has dispersed. Sabrina picks up her transmission and the grim expression on her face tells Philippa all she needs to know.

“Redania will send her armies but it will take a few days to reach Sodden. You will have to hold the keep until reinforcements arrive.”

Sabrina pales.

“There are only a handful of us travelling there. We can’t hold it for long.”

“Who is leading the excursion?”

“Vilgefortz and Tissaia,” Sabrina replies.

“Yennefer has also joined us.”

Philippa starts when Triss appears behind Sabrina but she recovers quickly.

“You’re in good hands then. Although I would feel better if I were there with you.” She straightens up, a hint of steel slipping into her voice. “I will be there with reinforcements soon enough but until then, you’ll be on your own.”

Sabrina nods and moves to terminate the connection when Philippa speaks up.

“Be safe.”

Surprise flickers in Sabrina’s eyes; she knows Philippa well enough to identify the underlying sentiment - worry for her peers, regret for her delay and a promise of rectification; she knows Philippa well enough to decipher the unspoken request for her to look out for the younger sorceress. 

And Sabrina knows Philippa well enough to hear her silent plea to Triss.

Come back to me safe and sound.

Sabrina looks at Triss and nods.

“We will be.”

10 - World’s On Fire

The battlefield is spinning in a blaze of fire and smoke, ash and dust in the air, the cacophony of screams and clash of metal ringing in her ears. The skies are painted a flickering orange and Philippa spots the platoon marching towards the front gate of the keep under the burning skies. 

She vaguely recalls that Sabrina and Yennefer are holding the keep and for the briefest of moments, she wonders where Triss is stationed. She dismisses the thought almost immediately. Or so she tries.

Because the world’s on fire and there is so much more at stake than one person.

12 - Can’t Hear You Now

She reaches out, sweeping the span of the battlefield with pulsing telepathic waves, but in her mind’s eye, she is flying across the hills and the woods and keep, calling out to the mages that still remained standing. She can feel the faint flicker of Tissaia’s presence and the burn that is Yennefer. Then there’s the swell representing Francesca and the buzz that is Sabrina. But with each name unanswered, the ringing silence grows louder in her head. 

By the end of it, she counts fourteen mages that are missing - peers and acquaintances and allies that she will mourn once the war is over.

Fourteen mages.

But only one who makes her feel as if she may fall apart if she allows herself to truly feel the loss.

8 - Hold It Together

The medic tends to the large gash on her arm and she tries to hold still as the flesh knits itself together. 

She has always had impeccable control over her emotions; it comes easily to her, almost like second nature. But it is the underlying knowledge that presses up against her chest, heavy and suffocating, threatening to explode with every breath she takes.

She has no time to grieve though, even if she can’t stop herself from turning around at every movement of the tent flap, just a little faster every time someone enters or leaves the tent.

“You’re good to go.”

Philippa barely registers the words, her legs carrying her out of the tent automatically - she needs to leave this wretched place behind even if she tells herself she is not running away.

Controlling her emotions is easy.

Holding herself together is hard.

6 - Promises I Can’t Keep (x - companion piece)

“Do you remember what you told me before we went off to Sodden?”

It is the small secluded grove beside the river, tucked away in a dense part of the forest - it is Triss’ favourite spot in Maribor and she had taken Philippa there when Philippa had last visited Temeria. 

“You told me that you would come back to me, safe and sound.” 

Philippa remembers soft lips and gentle caresses when Triss had kissed her so tenderly, so lovingly. She remembers how she had sank into the kiss so easily, so naturally, how her walls had crumbled little by little, how her control had slipped through her fingers bit by bit.

She remembers it all too clearly.

“The battle is over, Triss. And now, I need you to keep your promise.”

There had been blue skies, crystal clear waters and a gentle breeze when Triss had told Philippa she loved her for the first time.

The walls had flown back up instantly before she had been able to truly feel any part of the fear and insecurity she had known was creeping across her heart, any shred of desire or hope that had been building underneath the surface.

“I need you to come back to me.”

It is the place where Philippa had broken Triss’ heart. 

“You can’t.”

She cannot allow Triss to love her.

“Please. Come back to me.”

I can’t.

She cannot allow herself to love Triss.

“Always.”

Philippa gasps and they wake in the palace once again. They stay unmoving for a while before a relieved smile finally tugs at Philippa’s lips.

“Welcome back.”

Triss reaches up to caress Philippa’s cheek and smiles through bleary eyes.

“I made a promise.” Philippa’s smile widens at Triss’ words. “And I always keep my promises.”

2 - Over Again

Philippa stays in Temeria as Redania’s representative to handle the aftermath of the battle, and at Keira’s request and with Foltest’s permission, to oversee Triss’ recovery.

Without magic, Triss’ physical wounds heal slowly but the mental toll is much heavier. Even with Keira’s potions, sleep evades her mostly, and when exhaustion finally overwhelms her, all she can see is fire and steel before she wakes in a haze of sweat and tears, having screamed herself hoarse.

The nightmares plague her relentlessly on the rare nights she manages to fall asleep. But one night, she feels the familiar warmth probing at the corner of her senses, nudging and coaxing to be let in. She can’t quite place it but she recognises its signature, soothing and gentle and a reminder of promises made. Her defences lower just enough to allow the magic to slip into her consciousness. 

The flames flicker out and the steel melts into gold and Philippa steps closer towards her, cupping Triss’ cheeks in her hands and touching her forehead against hers. Triss feels the chaos pull her deeper into its embrace and her heart swells with emotion. She leans forward and Philippa stiffens ever so slightly, only relaxing when Triss covers Philippa’s hands with her own.

The kiss is tender and sweet and it’s so real that Triss almost believes it isn’t just a dream. But then everything melts away and she wakes alone to the morning light with only one thought in her mind and too much love in her heart.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keira had told her that her sleeping potions had not been particularly effective and she had been right; Philippa can hear the whimpers and cries from where she stands on the opposite side of the door.

She hesitates, wondering if Triss could push through the mental trauma on her own. But Triss is one of her people and Philippa will never forgive herself if she walks away now, abandoning Triss to fend for herself; Philippa has failed her once, she will not repeat the same mistake twice.

Philippa sits beside Triss on the mattress, a flailing arm nearly hitting her square in the face. Her fingertips press against Triss’ temples before Philippa cups Triss’ cheeks in her hands fully and leans down so that their foreheads are touching. Having already established a mental connection once, Philippa finds it much easier to resonate with Triss this time. Her presence seems to calm the younger sorceress and so Philippa returns to Triss’ room time and time again, always leaving just before dawn.

The dreams differ each time - they could be in the yellow fields of Maribor, sitting on the shores of Lake Vizima or strolling through the gardens of the palace - but it is always just the two of them. And every time she resonates with Triss telempathically, Philippa feels something grow in her heart little by little; every time she dreams with Triss, Philippa finds herself falling for her once more.

Against her better judgement, Philippa allows herself to fall in love over and over and over again. 

She allows herself to love Triss, even if it is only when she is dreaming.

7 - Crossing A Line

She should have known that emotions and feelings do not abide by the arbitrary line distinguishing dreams and reality. Philippa copes the best way she knows how - by simply avoiding Triss and burying herself in her work during the day. Weeks pass and Triss’ nightmares have faded away by then. Philippa decides it is time to return to Redania.

She leaves without bidding farewell to Keira or Triss, only saddling a horse and racing off into the night; teleportation would undoubtedly be much faster but Philippa needed to clear her head. With the wind in her hair and the adrenaline coursing through her veins, for a moment, Philippa feels as if she is flying. She spurs her horse on, galloping through the woods and fields and towns at breakneck speed, desperate to capture a lost feeling she cannot name.

Her mare slows to a trot when they reach the bridge spanning the Pontar, almost as if sensing her hesitance.

“Lady Eilhart,” one of the guards call out, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Welcome home.”

Philippa stares at him for a beat and tugs at the reins, turning her mount around.

She heads back to Vizima.

1 - Place to Start

The two of them find themselves at Triss’ favourite spot in Maribor once again, in the small secluded grove beside the river, tucked away in a dense part of the forest.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Triss asks with a light chuckle.

Philippa returns a fond smile.

“No, you’re not.”

Eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion, Triss asks, “Why are we here?”

Philippa inhales deeply.

“This is the place where it began for you. I thought it would be a good place for me to start too.”

“I don’t understand.”

Philippa lets out a huff of laughter. She takes Triss’ hand in hers, pulls her close and kisses her.

“Welcome back.”

[theharellan]

Guess who read The Dread Wolf Take You!

The Assassin’s Tale:

Three agents. First elf is Dalish, second a city elf, third an ancient elf, which is a good demonstration of the diversity of elven experience among the ranks. I’ll be making another post about Solas’ resources and reach later, likely after I’ve finished reading the other stories, as I know I have comments about some of the other stories where agents are involved.

The Dalish elf says he wants to awaken his gods with the idol, indicating that there’s either differing motives for joining Fen’Harel or he was lying, believing that it would allow him to get what he wants sooner. Both are honestly believable possibilities.

Solas (and his agents, whose ranks also likely include other Dreamers) can kill people in their sleep, even dwarves. This isn’t new information, we’ve known it since Feynriel in DA2, although I am surprised dwarves aren’t immune. I wonder if it would work on Surface dwarves and not Orzammar’s, as magic resistance is explicitly lessened when dwarves leave Orzammar. I imagine it would at least be harder. Based on the Bard’s comments I think in this particular instance and the importance of securing the idol, Solas himself was involved in the assassinations of the sleepers.

Dreams also seem to be places people get instructions/orders, which would confirm a headcanon of mine. 

The Mortalitasi’s Tale:

The red lyrium idol is elven, depicting either “two lovers” or “a god mourning her sacrifice.” I should note again that if Mythal/Solas is ever confirmed as romantic I will be going canon divergent on that, but for now it’s still unclear.

The Tevinter mage uses blood sacrifice to get the idol to do its thing, using slaves. Whatever ritual they were doing was interfering with whatever Solas had been doing at the time.

His behaviour in this story reminds me of something he says to the Inquisitor at the start of the game, the first conversation in Haven: “Posturing is necessary.” I’ve long held the headcanon that a lot of Solas’ weight after he became Fen’Harel was a result of deliberately making himself seem scary, what we get in this is a glimpse of the intimidation tactics I think he’s used since Arlathan.

The Mortalitasi thinks he must have bound spirits/demons to accomplish his attack, but this seems unlikely. Solas has his hypocrisies, but Cole notes in Trespasser “he knows how to speak so spirits listen” re: the sanctuary guardians, and it seems more likely the spirits are aiding him freely.

Again, the binding of spirits continues to play a role in Solas’ anger and frustration in the world-- his problems cannot be addressed just by improving the lots of physical elves.

The Bard’s Tale:

I’m rather doubtful of how much of this is true, I do believe he went to Llomerryn and retrieved the idol and that he now has it. Other than that the story is mostly a lot of name drops or references, with everyone from the Warden to Divine Victoria to Xenon to Tallis being referenced.

He describes Solas as touching the idol reverently, clearly it has personal meaning, although given his reaction to the focus breaking it’s probably nice to not find it’s cracked after some human put their hands on it.

I also believe the Ben-Hassrath didn’t listen to his warning at the end of Trespasser, although tbf the vidassala wasn’t in a position to pass the message on.

Addition: Lisa reminded me that the Bard described the idol, and likely has the most accurate interpretation -- “crowned figure who comforted the other” -- again, like the end of Inquisition. This isn’t the first time Solas has had a sad in Mythal’s arms. Why he needed comforting in the scene depicted here is unclear. It could be anything from Mythal’s impending death, to the Veil, to depicting Solas’ feelings after he took physical form at Mythal’s behest.

General Notes:

More wisps being used for really casual things that really could be done by hand, or potentially even just magic by hand, rather than ordering something else to do it for you. From the description of the Mortalitasi putting it away it seems its in the spoon permanently.

First, some notes about The Bard, headcanons included --     ◦ As others have pointed out, Gauche, the name the party is booked under and his alias, means “awkward,” but it also means “left.” It’s a fitting name both because like “Solas” it’s a feeling/state of being, but also the Anchor was on the left hand (and therefore it’s the hand he removes in Trespasser).    ◦ Opal inlays, which were apparently in fashion a few years back according to Vivienne banter.    ◦ Resembles a dragon, again leaning on Mythal imagery.   ◦  My headcanon that Solas knows Orlesian came true (although I also hc it as being limited in DA:I, I think he would have improved it since then).   ◦ His manner and accent were coached by agents, specifically I like to think Adélaïde (found on @ourdawncomes) played a role in that, among others. Miraen (Joly’s OC, found on @ancientimpudence) likely helped with the outfit.

The little tells Charter picks up on kills me, like her noting that his hair toss is clumsy and the lack of tan lines indicating he doesn’t typically wear rings. I guess when you’ve been bald a while you forget how hair works, which as sb who has had a pixie cut for a few years... yeah, it tracks.

He can freeze people without turning them to stone, and can also freeze golems.

Solas literally can’t pretend to like tea so he just doesn’t drink it. Like I think he’s physically incapable of not making The Face.

The second he drops the act he sounds more like as we know him, Charter immediately noting he sounds “tired.” His voice falters, he smiles sadly, and smiles again when Charter points out that he’s hardly one to talk about the Executors being dangerous. Speaking of, he doesn’t like the Executors, and frankly they do seem pretty odd.

What he says to Charter after she asks for her life -- Ar lasa mala -- features in the phrase “ar lasa mala revas” or “you are free/I give you your freedom.” Since “revas” Means freedom, my guess is this just means what he says in Common, “I grant it to you.”

The second thing he does after allowing Charter her life is freeing the spirit/wisp in the stirring stick, a detail for which I owe Mx. Weekes my life.

Charter does more than just see through Solas’ disguise, but the line “perhaps we are not the only ones you lied to” is probably one of the best assessments of Solas’ character in the series. It also indicates that Solas’ motivations for approaching in Trespasser were, in part, a lie-- or rather, I think, not the whole truth. Lines about how he hopes to be proven wrong and his appearance here it reinforces that he has self-sabotaging tendencies for this plan, like he wants to be stopped but won’t, possibly can’t stop, which brings me back to Regret: There might have been a better choice-- a thought it had not been allowed.

His plans may not be as destructive as first assumed, it’s noted Tevinter will likely take the brunt of it, but also he notes “the elves who still remain” may find it better when his work is done. I headcanoned ages ago that Solas doesn’t lie to those he allies with about the consequences of his actions, aka the destruction it’ll cause. He’s honest with the Inquisition and telling them the truth, allowing them to know the truth while lying to those he’s working with would be inviting unnecessary betrayal. Solas saying this to Charter is further evidence that the modern elves working with Solas are well-aware of what’s happening and as a whole not being lied to, although I also wouldn’t be surprised if some joined up with different ideas, as the Dalish elf at the start may have.

That Solas’ next move was the lyrium idol (which is also his? Or Mythal’s) indicates that if there are other foci out there, they can’t be wielded by him. This makes sense given his could explicitly only be wielded by him without killing him, so I imagine if there are others out there they’re specific to that evanuris/whatever mage created them.

That he regrets involving and revealing himself in Trespasser is pretty funny considering Solas showed up here in-person for like. Really minor, personal reasons. Again. Then revealed more of his plans. Again. Did I mention the self-sabotage?

It looks like this Solas was neutral-to-high approval, almost definitely not romanced. “Tell them I’m sorry” is a pretty general message, so for the purposes of roleplay he would say different things to everyone’s Inquisitor.

In conclusion: Solas is a loser but im still trash for him.

[animatedpileofbones]

DA q's!! 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 11, 14, 17, 25, 33, 34, 37, 40, 42, 47, 51, 52, 60, 63, 66, 77, 78, 79, 98, and 99~! (◠‿◠✿)

eli i love you man here we go, this is long sorry but i have a Lot To Say! i literally wrote like 1500 words for these so it’s under a readmore.

1 how did you get into dragon age

i was on tumblr when inquisition came out and a lot of my friends and mutuals at the time suddenly became dragon age blogs for a while (some still are, howdy!) yEARS later i found origins on discount at gamestop and decided to check it out and whoops now i’m a fucking mess forever :)

4 about my warden(s)

My first, and most recently rehashed* warden was Gwinek, she was a casteless dwarf rogue, dual wielder. I didn’t know there were specific temperaments in this game like in 2 but I play her as gruff but fiercely loyal. She would do almost anything for her friends and sister, but is very naive in matters of magic. She romanced Leliana.

*rehashed because I came to the series completely blind, and as such made some not so great choices the first time around.

I also have an elven mage, named Lemmen, she was also a big helpy helperton but slow to trust. She romanced Alistair and I don’t like to think about that sacrifice. :’)

5 about my hawke(s)

My first Hawke was Marcel, a dual wielding rogue and I played him purple. He is big into his friends, obviously, but mostly just wants to be liked despite the fact that he is accidentally an asshole sometimes. He romanced Fenris. All my Hawkes romance Fenris. I love Fenris just so much and I keep telling myself one of these times I’m going to romance Isabela but then Fenris walks in all drama and vengeance and I’m just too gay to handle it. My latest Hawke was Lucien, a… purple dual-wielding rogue. He erred on the side of blue, though, whereas Marcel was vaguely red, so. Not Entirely the same but view my problem, especially going into...

6 about my inquisitor(s)

My first inquisitor was Vodahl Cadash, a… dwarven dual-wielding rogue. :) He was pretty anti-chantry but was also more invested in taking care of his crew than making enemies, preferring to let Josephine handle PR and just say what she told him to say while he supported his team as he saw fit. He lived for life on the road, mostly, an adventurer type, but whatever his inner circle needed, they got. He romanced The Iron Bull, because I’m a thirsty thirsty bitch. I rehashed the dwarven rogue in Heraht, this time romancing Dorian; Heraht was much more enamored with surface life, not necessarily Ferelden-style though. He was well manicured and a bit on the sarcastic side of charming. Right now i’m playing a human sword-and-shield warrior, Errol Travellyan, and he is accidentally just Dorian But From The Free Marches in personality. He can be easily frustrated, I play him fairly no nonsense at times but he’s trying to maintain his Approachable Facade. He’s…. also romancing Dorian OH NO

7 favorite origins backstory

Oooh this is tough because I love Leliana so much, and Alistair just makes me cry all the time I Love That Man, ooh this is tough but I think I have to say Morrigan. She is a story gift that keeps on giving, and I think this is because of what we learned in Inquisition. Without that info, I think… OH NO WAIT IT’S SHALE, HANDS DOWN IT’S SHALE

11 best hawke quote

it’s not specifically a quote but when you bring the viscount’s son back in act 1 and you can either keep your mouth shut about their disagreement or Well Actually yourself into that conversation, that’s my favorite.

14 favorite origins party combo

Before you get Shale, it’s Alistair, Leliana, and the dog. After Shale, it’s Shale, Leliana, and either Zevran or Alistair.

17 mabari name

In Origins, I named the mabari after a person from the backstory. For Gwinek it was Leske to keep her friend with her even now. For Lemmen it was Jowan, because at least the mabari would never let her down. In DA2, it was a family pet, so for Marcel it was named Champion, and for Lucien it was Handsome Cal, and you can envision all sorts of titles in there but I didn’t have enough characters. Lord Handsome Cal Esquire III (he was the first)

25 favorite inquisition place

It’s the Hissing Wastes for sure. It’s always dusk, it’s so vast and beautiful. I love just hanging out there.

33 favorite dragon age character overall

Hey Eli? I hate this question! I am doing my current playthrough solely for the benefit of Leliana this is true. But I have a horrible weakness for two (2) men, Fenris and The Iron Bull, I can’t choose between them, and also Varric, and, asdlfjasdf how could you do this to me? I also identify very heavily with Dorian, and, I’m going to just cry instead of answer this, how about that?

34 least favorite character

Oh it’s Anders no doubt, no question, I hate him. I hate him so much. Like don’t get me wrong, I am in full support of mages taking back their space in Thedas, I just. Have known guys like Anders and the way he hits on f!Hawke like immediately after his intro quest, y’know where we had to kill his boyfriend? felt so bad and just turned my mild irritation into full-on hate.

37 blood magic yes/no

Nope.

40 moment/action i regret in game

Just like everything with the ending of Origins. I don’t prefer to do the ritual with Morrigan because I tend to play women which means I need to coerce Alistair into doing it and I did that for exactly two savestates (one being my Cousland because I wanted to see how that went and then the first time around with Gwinek) thinking “this is the best long term post-game choice! Neither of us have to die! And I’m not even making him be king!” despite it sitting bitterly in the back of my mind the rest of the series. then comes Inquisition and the full consequences of my actions hit me like a brick in the face and I eventually scrapped that playthrough and went back and didn’t be a shithead shitbag, replaying Gwinek entirely so that choice wouldn’t have even begun to make sense to her. I regret that so much.

42 who do i wish i could romance

VARRIC “PARAGON OF MANLINESS” TETHRAS

47 best antagonist

Arl Rendon Howe from Origins, cos he was voiced by Tim Curry and that was just so sexy of a choice. In all seriousness though, Meredith from da2.

51 favorite warden/hawke/inq headcanon any/all

Lucien Hawke routinely had sleepovers at his estate in Hightown. He tried to a couple times while living with Gamlen, but everyone was too sad to indulge him.

Heraht nearly breaks up with Dorian on a near weekly basis whenever Dorian accidentally lumps him in with the Fereldens re: hygiene. Also, not a headcanon but just the way I played but the two of them absolutely had coordinating outfits at all times.

Gwinek shared tents with Wynne most nights, finding in Wynne the mother she wished she and Rica would have had.

Also with Gwinek, she may have helped her sister’s paramour become king but she doesn’t trust him half as far as she can throw him and comes down to Orzammar on the regs to make sure he’s treating Rica right, and he knows damn well that Gwinek put him into that throne and she Will take him back out of it, and he can’t do shit without risking absolute chaos. 

This is also a good time to mention my ot3s: Hawke/Fenris/Isabela, Heraht/Dorian/Bull

52 favorite npc headcanons

Fenris took to reading rather easier than Hawke would have guessed, only Hawke didn’t know just how well Fenris had taken to it until years into their relationship because Fenris thought the “lessons” were cute.

The Iron Bull introduced hot cocoa to Skyhold and literally changed so many lives in that moment; quartermaster Morris pulled so many strings to get marshmallows in, and when they arrived the first time the celebration was almost a riot.

60 who do i wish had been given more story

Weird to say for the woman who had her own Origins DLC and also was pivotal in Inquisition, but Morrigan. She’s just really interesting to me. Also, Warden Stroud. I think he was just there to be the Easy Low Stakes Choice to leave in the Fade honestly but I hated not having a reason to care about him. I didn't play any da2 dlc tho.

63 best story moment

This is tough? I enjoyed the landsmeet in origins. I think most of da2 was great story. Except Orsino obviously. I think I’m just going to point to all of da2. Yeah.

66 something i hate about any of the games

it can’t seem to decide how it feels about the qunari. also that there are characters that absolutely are not straight that the writers decided Actually, Despite Everything, They Are Straight Actually :’)

77 what moment/memory still gives me chills/feels

Definitely definitely Dorian’s confrontation with his dad. That was so well acted, I felt that pain and betrayal so viscerally. It hurts every time. As for a different brand of chills, y’know when if you seduce The Iron Bull and stuff finally starts happening there, and he lifts the inquisitory by the wrists in One Hand and remember I was playing a dwarf, oo golly that shit is All I Need In Life

78 what am i hoping for in da4

More magic and Old Gods and stuff! More Morrigan? Familiar faces!

79 what am i worried about for da4

Familiar faces! :’) Also just so heavyhanded “morally gray” issues that is actually just bad edgy writing. Worried we will be racelocked like in 2 :(

98 if i could be any non human da species which/why

Dwarf, because halflings don’t exist in thedas and dwarves are fairly industrious as a culture

99 where would i live

Despite what I just said, I would probably live somewhere in the Free Marches! Kirkwall ended up pretty fucked and I am absolutely biased because da2 was my favorite.

[tokidokifish]

THANK YOU EVERYONE that asked me dragon age questions for my birthday, i will now start answering them, tho i am always ready for more. [waggles eyebrows]

@audrey-scorne asked for 1, 9, 10 for surana/amell, @falsecargo asked for all ten for casrien, and @zwierzodudle asked for 3 for everyone so imma start with the brat because of course i am.

1. Did Surana/Amell have any memories of their life before the Circle? If so, what of? If not, how did they feel about not knowing where they’re from?

hahaaaa oh yes. i mean casrien was not young when his clan was wiped out, so he has like… the majority of a childhood being the happy son, and then first, of a keeper in a dalish clan. he still remembers the elvish that he was taught by his mother and managed to train himself in a form of magic the circle denies even exists (shapeshifting) because he started learning it before he was brought to the tower. i’m sure there were times, when things were very, very bad, that he wished he didn’t remember a time before, when he was happy and free, but it’s not like he’d actually trade those memories for anything, especially when that’s all that’s left - besides him - of his clan.

as an aside, i’ve integrated the idea that minaeve’s assertion that her clan abandoned her in the woods because they had too many mages wasn’t actually (just) a bullshit retcon to demonize the dalish and was instead propaganda fed to her by the circle until she believed it herself with casrien’s backstory to adopt the headcanon that minaeve was another survivor, and suffice to say he would be fucking HORRIFIED to learn what she thinks happened.

2. What was Surana/Amell’s relationship with Jowan like? What did they think of the revelation of him being a blood mage? and 9. Did Surana/Amell decide to help Jowan and Lily, or did they tell Irving of their plans? Why?

i’ve talked about this before - casrien didn’t particularly like jowan anymore than he liked anyone else, and he doesn’t even think jowan particularly liked HIM all that much in return, but jowan remembered what everyone else had forgotten about casrien: when casrien was first brought to the circle, he actively set things on fire. he escaped every chance he got, and was dragged back screaming, and he only stopped because they had started talking about things like tranquility. jowan didn’t particularly like casrien, but he asked for casrien’s help because casrien had the access jowan needed, and jowan was banking on him agreeing out of sheer, simmering resentment - which is exactly why casrien agreed. that’s why he always agrees, whether or not it’s a universe where duncan is around to bail him out when they get caught. (he also doesn’t particularly care about jowan being a blood mage, either, because as far as he’s concerned there’s no such thing as “evil magic”, simply evil people, and jowan is many things, but he’s not evil.)

as for why: when Irving puts on the disappointed grandfather voice and asks why casrien did it, casrien laughs in his fucking face. “you stole me from my people and trapped me here and you’re asking how i could I betray your trust? i may have learned how to pretend to be meek and submissive, but i am dalish. i do not forget, and i do not forgive.”

3. How prepared was Surana/Amell for their Harrowing?

i’d say as prepared as one could be for a secret test they literally don’t tell anyone anything about. i’ve always said that casrien thinks he’s a better mage than most of the other members of the circle, and in most cases is correct in thinking that, simply because he was brought up not fearing his magic, so it wasn’t like he was ever scared of it.

4. What was Surana’s/Amell’s reaction to first entering the Fade?

considering dragon age 2 shows the dalish have their own ritual that can send people into the fade, i imagine it was actually one of the first things his mother did when she took him on as a first, as an introduction to the nature of spirits and magic. it probably only happened the once, but i imagine his reaction to entering it during the harrowing was probably something to the tune of, “oh, of course this is what they would play up to be so dangerous.”

5. Did Surana/Amell believe in “Mouse?” What did they think of his story?

casrien didn’t believe he was a trapped apprentice, no, but he didn’t think he was a demon, either. apparently since inquisition made it clear that mortal expectations shape how spirits appear, there’s this idea that mouse wasn’t actually a demon but simply appeared that way because that’s what a scared apprentice would expect to face in the fade, and i’m down with that, so i imagine the conversation at the end of the harrowing actually went quite a bit differently, considering casrien wouldn’t have come into the situation with those expectations. probably something to the tune of “so is this the part where you turn out to be the actual demon testing me?” “well, that’s usually how it goes, but it doesn’t really seem worth the effort, if i’m being honest.”

6. How did Surana/Amell feel about living in the Circle?

well, i used to say casrien has mellowed out since i made him, but i recently realized i’ve just been figuring out what he’s actually like as opposed to the personality that formed due to, you know, the whole fucking imprisonment and abuse thing, so suffice to say he wasn’t super happy about the situation.

7. Did Surana/Amell favour a particular Fraternity? What did they think about Circle politics in general?

if he had any stake in the conversation, he would have probably been a resolutionist. fortunately for the chantry, however, casrien considered himself an elf first and a mage second, so he was always more interested in getting out of the circle and preferably back to his people than he was in the freedom for mages cause.

8. How did Surana/Amell feel about working with tranquil mages?

he… avoided it. there was actually a rumor in the circle that they had tried to make him tranquil, but something went wrong, and that’s why they had to keep letting him come to classes, but the fact is he just… numbed himself emotionally so he wouldn’t act out and risk ACTUALLY being made tranquil. there’s literally nothing he hates more than tranquility, nothing about the circle that infuriates or disgusts him more, so he avoids working with tranquil mages because there’s few things that test his carefully constructed facade as much, and he can’t afford that.

10.  How did Surana/Amell feel about returning to the Circle, and seeing it in chaos?

to be fair, there are versions of casrien that might be a little upset about the innocent mages that got killed, but warden casrien? the casrien that escaped the yoke of one organization just to be IMMEDIATELY put in another one? that casrien doesn’t have a fucking lot of sympathy to spare.

FINALLY, @wantedplantlife asked what my wardens thought of the awakening companions, so i’ll be answering that for everybody too.

after considerable thought (and, again, realizing what casrien is actually like, under the defensive misanthropy), i’ve realized anders would... probably have been the closest thing to a friend casrien had in the circle, though i SERIOUSLY doubt they were allowed to spend much time with one another, so i imagine he would have been pleased to see him again AND have the opportunity to make sure anders never had to go back to the circle. 

on the other hand, i bet casrien and nathaniel had a BIG fukkin problem with one another at first, because yeah, nate, he killed your dad, but your dad was a murderous scumbag who was selling elves into slavery so casrien isn’t gonna have a lot of apologies or regret to offer.

it would take a stronger man than casrien to dislike sigrun, and he’s always been more inclined to get along with non-human races, since they never imprisoned him in a tower, so i imagine he’s quite fond of her.

i’ve mentioned before that casrien doesn’t get all... solas about spirits, so i imagine he was just fine with justice, as opposed to like... super close conversation partners, or anything. 

as for velanna, an angry elven first attacking humans? honestly, #mood.

seriously though, casrien would be... so fucking close to velanna. like holy shit. i mean his best friend in origins was morrigan, and this is like morrigan except OH YEAH, casrien and velanna are even more alike. it’s nice to think about.

and oghren is... well, probably the last person from origins that casrien would have wanted to be palling around with again. rip.

[dartheames]

Swords and staff

Day 3 is a “Partners in Battle” day for Cullavellan Week at @cullavellanheaven.

I went somewhere else again like I usually do with my writing, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! 

Special thanks and all the love to @motherofgriffins for proof reading and putting up with me <3

Read this on AO3 || Read a little prequel || Mornemyr for scale

“I still can't believe you're alive. I saw Templars take you away with my own eyes!”

Neria laughed, and it sounded so lively and fresh Myr felt like she was a little kid again. Her lips formed a little smile on their own. A group of Inquisition scouts turned to towards the beautiful sound, smiles on their faces too. It seems like the Warden's sheer presence made the tension disappear.

“They don’t kill you at the circle, Mor”, laughter still lingering in her voice, Neria slowed her steps. “Well, not immediately”, she added, looking down the stairs at the Templars still in the middle of their training, where Ser Barris was attending to the archers at the range.

“I suppose”, Myr let out a huff and stuffed both her hands in the deep pockets of her pants. It was evening already and the cold mountain air had reached their courtyard. With all that happened today, they spent an entire day in the War room talking about everything starting from how Neria ended up a Warden-Commander and ending with a plan for infiltrating the Winter palace so she did not get a chance to grab any of her outerwear.

A cheerful barking came from the inside of the castle, making Mornemyr turn away from her cousin. A moment later human-Cullen quickly walked out of the Main Hall, followed by the dog-Cullen who was almost jumping excitedly.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen greeted her with a nod as if it wasn't a ten minutes ago that they were in the same room. Myr felt assaulted by the sudden feeling of warmth somewhere deep in her chest. The evening sun painted commander's hair golden, and after a long day it was shiny like a halo. Their eyes met and she felt her ears heat up - she couldn't help but be drawn to their clear color of amber stones. She kept a few ones like this on her worktable for some reason. His lips were moving as if he was saying something but all she could see was a thin scar that moved along along with his mouth. She wondered if it would feel any different from her own if she touched it. She probably shouldn't. But Mythal as her witness she wanted to.

A painful nudge on her lower back brought her back to the world of the living. Cullen looked like he was mentally stuck as well with his eyebrows furrowed, but sudden help came from behind the Inquisitor.

“Hey, Cullen”, Neria half-hugged half shook Myr, a shit eating grin flashing bright across her lips. “Please forgive my little cousin, she's still in shock from the fact that Templars don't bite your head off at the Harrowing”, she laughed again, looking how Myr's eyes turned into slits.

“Warden-Commander!” Cullen stuttered, eyebrows rising in clear surprise and he made a step back. “I didn't see you here…”

“Please, Cullen, after all that's been between us I hoped you'd call me by my name,” Neria was enjoying the view that unfolded in front of her. Myr’s eyes immediately darkened and all her features became somehow sharper. Cullen, in turn, looked completely flustered rubbing his neck in embarrassment. It was absolutely fun for the Warden to watch these two stuck on each other, but she had a more pressing issue to attend.

“I hate to interrupt our cozy situation here, but I just saw a fellow circle mage infiltrate the training grounds,” she pointed her finger towards the group of young men who appeared to be in the middle of an intense argument.

“Not this again!” Cullen sighed, rubbing his palms over his suddenly tired face. “Excuse me, Inquisitor, I need to take care of this”, he nodded apologetically and ran down the rest of the stairs.

“I’m, uhm… gonna check on them real quick?” Mornemyr muttered, already following the Commander towards the training ring. Neria only shrugged but opted to stay on the top of the stairs - it was the best point to watch over what was happening around the castle anyway.

***

“You people can't do shit without your precious magic!” one of the younger Templars was especially eager to prove his point and didn't see the commander shaped storm coming down on him.

“I bet you can't even lift your sword unless you suck on a lyrium bottle!” the mage seemed to be engrossed in the argument as well, and both of them were about to jump at each other. Cullen was ready to stand between them before something horrible could happen but before he could do that a wave of cold passed right through him leaving him shivering and Mornemyr materialized between the two, looking furious.

“Say it again to my face, little boy”, she pointed her finger right in the middle of the templar’s chest armor. The line left Cullen almost snorting through his worry. Despite how tall the Inquisitor was, she looked like the wind would just blow her away any minute now. The fully armored warrior in front of her twice her size was apparently blown away too because he seemed unable to squeeze any words out of his mouth.

“Ha! Piss off!” The circle mage behind her back apparently lacked any survival instinct.

“I’d shut the fuck up if I were you, dress”, Mornemyr’s flaming gaze turned toward the second half of the problem. “You think you can learn a spell and you’re on top of the world already? You think you can always hide behind somebody’s back and look for a book while others have to protect you? This chantry boy right here would slice you in half before you remember how to call your mother!” The poor mage were gradually turning red along the speech and looked like a fish out of the water with his mouth agape. The crowd of the local inhabitants started to gather around, someone already cheering for the Inquisitor.

“And you”, she whirled back to the templar, pointing at his chest area again. “Get ready. I’ll show you what a real mage can do.” Cullen immediately stopped laughing and hurried towards the group.

“Wait, wait, what do you mean you will show him?” he eased himself between Myr’s finger and a poor boy who was scared out of his pants. He carefully pushed him back towards the other templars.

“Cullen”, Mornemyr’s face lost its sharpness but she still looked angry with her eyes shining bright two lanterns in the fading light. She pointed at him as well. “Commander, I’m tired of the endless bickering amongst the ranks. I’m gonna show them an example before these little naive daisies go outside of the castle tomorrow and get themselves murdered!”

“Inquisitor, please calm down”, Cullen was worried but he didn’t know what he was worried about more. Mornemyr - he loved how her name rolled from his tongue, even though he’d never call her that aloud - was rarely this angry and, therefore, was very dangerous now, but he would not let her harm his troops. “I will not have you fight them, it would be unfair.” He gently covered her judgmental hand with his own, earning a weird look in response.

“Alright”, Myr made a step back, her intense glare going over him checking if he was worth it. “You and me, then. Is that fair?”

“This is ridiculous”, Cullen let out a weak laugh. She wasn’t serious, was she? She definitely looked like she was.

“Why, are you afraid of a mage, Commander? I wouldn’t take you as a coward.” A significantly louder laugh rolled amongst the crowd. Mornemyr appeared even taller now somehow, confidence visible in her stance and the challenging smile on her lips. Cullen couldn’t help but stare at her scar for a moment. It was still fresh and red and it was mocking him to give in to the temptation. He felt his blood start boiling. He might not be able to have her but he would not let her mock him in front of his soldiers.

“Fine”, Cheers accompanied his words. He was going to regret this later. “What do you have in mind?”

“You and me, no magic, weapon of choice only”, Myr was already putting on her gloves she took out of her pocket. Cullen looked over her slender figure - she wasn’t wearing armor so he probably shouldn’t wear it either. What was she thinking anyway? His weapon of choice was a sword and shield, he would break her in half the moment she comes close enough. The only option for her was to wear a full metal suit but there she was standing in front of him in a thin shirt and pants, her only protection the leather guards on her forearms and ankles. This woman was a mystery to him since they day he figured out she was indeed a woman.

His brain was working in full capacity trying to figure out how he could go easy on Mornemyr without her noticing it. She would probably go for speed and then try to attack him with a dagger - he wouldn’t be surprised if she had one hidden somewhere. His shield would be enough to knock her out then. As he shed his own armor and went to put in in a pile near the training dummies he heard the seeker address him.

“I realize you’ve never seen The Inquisitor fight.” Cassandra sported an expression of utter disgust on her face towards all that was happening. “I’d ask you for one thing. Please, pay attention if you don’t want to embarrass yourself. She’s more capable than you can imagine.”

“Uhm... Thank you?” he felt even more uncomfortable now than before. He trusted the seeker with his life and hearing something like that from her was more than enough of a sign but he had to keep his word. Cullen took his sword and shield from her and went back to the main arena. Mornemyr was still there but there was a staff in her hands now.

“What’s with the staff? I thought you said no magic”, he pointed out. He would agree he didn’t stand a chance against her this way, especially since he cut out the lyrium.

“I keep my word, Commander, you can always trust me on that.” Her smile was cocky and promised him a bad time. Cullen felt the corners of his lips turn up too - at least it was nice to see her in a better mood. Mornemyr seemed especially somber after they lost so many people at the Adamant fortress.

“Fine.” He let his sword swing from side to side, definitely not intimidating his opponent. “We fight until one of us is on the ground. No blood and certainly no deadly injuries, we can’t afford to lose the Inquisitor after all,” with a smirk he stood in a defensive stance, his shield in front of him and the sword at the ready.

“I’d feel very sorry if we had to look for a new commander, I kinda like the one we have now.” Her words and more so the wink of her wickedly shining eye distracted Cullen for a moment and he missed how she quickly moved towards him. The first hit landed on his shield but he knew it was a test one. Now that he focused, he couldn’t believe she was holding a regular staff as a physical weapon. They used to train with when he was a young recruit. Now the words of the seeker made sense - if Mornemyr was fast enough she actually had a chance.

The next few minutes showed him he didn’t know a single thing about Dalish elves. Mornemyr was the devil and she was everywhere. She ran around him like a lightning and before he was able to fully turn towards her with his shield between them, he would feel the end of the staff hitting him on the side. In a rare moment when he could swing his sword, she would block with middle part, pushing him back with the whole strength of her body. Or she would just somersault away from the blade. Cullen closed his eyes for a moment, he already felt dizzy from all the moving around. He was hitting with a half his strength, worried about harming the Inquisitor, and his shield had grew tired already from the constant rain of attacks. This needed to end soon.

The crowd was ecstatic, judging from the cheers, Mornemyr was about to perform another stunt. Maybe this was his chance. However, Cullen wasn’t fast enough again and this time the staff landed on his right hand with such force he cried from the pain and dropped his sword. Where was this strength coming from? Their Inquisitor seemed so fragile. But apparently, this wasn’t a problem since she was charging him again. She slammed a staff into the ground and jumped, using the momentum, hitting the shield with her whole weight of her body. Cullen was forced back and almost tripped over, losing his shield too when he tried to hold his balance. The happy laughter that followed was his undoing when he took the next hit on his bare hands, but it died quickly when at the last moment he ripped the staff out of Mornemyr hands with all the force he had left. Thrown off balance in the middle of her body slam she almost landed on her ass but this time his reflexes were finally quick enough that he caught he by her hand and pulled her close, pressing her into his chest.

The surroundings disappeared when Mornemyr’s scent filled his nostrils, the sweat mixed with fresh mint and citrus. Her chest was rapidly moving up and down in tandem with his own, adrenalin burning inside both of them. They were so close Cullen could see the pattern in the blue of her dilated eyes, could feel her hot breath on his face. Another inch and he would be able to know how that new scar of hers tasted like, and he was sure she wouldn’t mind if her fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders were any indication.

But alas, somebody in the crowd whistled and he remembered who and where he was and how inappropriate it would be to finally give in to this enduring weakness of his. He let out a heavy sigh and let go, giving the Inquisitor freedom to move. She did so immediately with a face white as a sheet and an expression of a stone, leaving himwondering if she wouldn't really object him kissing her. She was already taken after all, and today he was playing a game he didn’t have a chance to win.

“Let's call it a tie?” Mornemyr’s voice was high and shaky, and Cullen would give a hand to know the reason. Just to prove to himself he was a lost cause. He nodded in return anyway.

“I'll make sure our people practice physical combat more”, he didn't even notice when the crowd went silent, people probably wondering what was happening between them. He will have to keep himself in check from now on. The Inquisitor looked at him one last time, and the sadness in her eyes made a pain throb deep in his chest. She then disappeared in the whirl of snowflakes and left him alone to collect his armor. He knew the heavy stones that were pushing him down would stay with him for a long time.

***

It was late into the night when the last remains of the crowd disappeared, revealing the ever-silent bystander. His eyes shone pale purple as he stepped away from the wall behind the training dummies. If anyone were still around, they would say a small smile played across his lips, but it wasn't a smile of a nice man. It was a smile of a person confident in his plan, and it grew even wider as he walked back to his place, every elegant sway of narrow hips intact with a drop of a sand grain in the clock of the Universe.

[shannaraisles]

Set in Darkness

Chapter: 45 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Language! Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Fair Warning

Mornings in Skyhold were an education in the myriad wonders of mortal man.

Take Iron Bull, for example. Every morning, those still sleeping in the tents were roused by the sound of the big Qunari breaking the ice on the communal water butt with his head, and swearing like a sailor as the frigid water tricked down to his pants. It wasn't uncommon to hear fresh icicles breaking off his horns as he went to wake the Chargers.

The next to wake after him were usually the warriors - Cassandra, Blackwall, Cullen. Which, of course, meant that Rory was also invariably one of the first to rise. But where she would sit huddled under a blanket with a mug of steaming tea, they seemed to think running drills was the perfect way to wake up. It wasn't that she couldn't appreciate their dedication and skill; she just didn't approve of the display of energy at such an ungodly hour. They were inevitably joined by Kaaras and Rylen, and other officers, exerting themselves until they actually steamed in the icy dawn.

As the sun began to peek into the courtyards, Evy would crawl under Rory's blanket with her, and not long after, Dorian generally joined them. The Tevinter mage wasn't much of a talker before breakfast, usually focused on taming his hair and mustache in sleepy silence, his eyes following the energetic warriors with vaguely envious disgust for their display of prowess. Varric wasn't silent when he roused himself, though he tended to limit himself to muttering his complaints as he went about his morning routine. To hear the grumpy dwarf tell it, the whole world just felt wrong, and only a cup of ale and a round of toasted cheese could make it right.

Josephine and Leliana emerged only when breakfast was ready to be served, each perfectly turned out, not a hair out of place, and by that point, Rory was usually working to rouse her patients so they could wash and breakfast. Some needed help with both, which meant she herself tended to be among the last to eat. Solas, Cole, and Vivienne breakfasted apart from the main throng, sometimes not becoming evident among the bustle of people until the sun was high in the sky. And eventually Sera would drag herself out of her blankets around mid-morning, well after everyone else was already about their business, and threaten to camp out in the kitchens unless someone fed her.

Thankfully, the Orlesian nobles who had started to arrive at Skyhold got up even later than Sera did, so they missed these fascinating insights into the early workings of the Inquisition. Just as well, really. Some people really weren't made to cope with seeing Inquisitor Adaar burn his tongue on his tea every morning without fail, and turn the air blue cursing about it. But Rory found that she enjoyed these layered wake ups. For someone who had hated early mornings for most of her life, it was a strange feeling. It wouldn't last, though - the rooms of the fortress were quickly becoming habitable. Soon, they wouldn't see each other until breakfast at the earliest.

Of course, as the days passed, there were more people to add to this morning routine. The merchants, who gossiped and chattered through their yawns; the new recruits under Cullen's immediate command, who swore and complained but dragged themselves out of tents to run laps before being allowed to eat; Master Dennet and his stable-hands, who made sure their four-legged charges were fed, watered, and already exercising before Bull attacked the water butt each morning. And eventually, the alchemists and apothecaries, some of whom had been up all night to tend the stills.

Elan Ve'mal, a member of the College of Herbalists, was the undisputed senior when it came to the small army of apothecaries, assistants, and Tranquil. She had apparently been in contact with Adan while he was in Haven; when she arrived, she had immediately sought out Rory and her team, quick to put her people to work on replenishing the Inquisition's stock of potions for healing and soothing various ailments. Only when that was done would the elven woman countenance using her equipment for other potions, such as the contraceptive Granthis had given Rory the recipe for what felt like an age ago. Elan had even gone out of her way to improve it, distilling the formula down until the dose was only a mouthful a day. That meant the healers would be able to give out potion bottles that would last a sensible woman a month or more, rather than force them to come back each time they got careless for a fresh dose.

It was a relief when Elan finally told her the first batch was ready. Rory had already confirmed four pregnancies by that point, three of which she'd then assisted in terminating at her patients' request. Whether she agreed or not, it wasn't her place to judge. It was her place to be supportive, and to offer options that would not result in certain death. The do-it-yourself alternatives were too awful to even consider. Her method wasn't pleasant, but it solved the dilemma without killing the patient. Still, she was glad to have the preventatives to hand again. Even if a woman was certain she had made the right choice, the process of inducing a miscarriage was painful and traumatic. Far better to use the contraceptive than to put people through that unnecessarily.

"They're talking about expanding the herb garden," Elan was saying as the two women made their way into the cloistered space. "That would be a great help. Most potions can be made with dried herbs, but occasionally we need them fresh."

"I'm sure if they're talking about it, it's likely to happen," Rory assured her with reasonable confidence. "Unless some alternative is being floated."

"The sisters are pushing for the garden to be made a place of contemplation." The elven herbalist sighed. "I can't see why it couldn't be both."

"Probably because people who don't know anything about herbs would pick the pretty ones if the space isn't clearly defined," Rory suggested ruefully. "The noble visitors aren't exactly what you'd call considerate."

"That is true, I suppose," Elan said in a regretful tone. "And sharing the space might result in the Chantry sanctioning what we are allowed to grow and use."

"Mmm, they don't really approve of medicine," Rory agreed. The Chantry certainly didn't approve of contraceptives outside the Circles, that was for sure.

"I wanted to ask you something, actually," the elven woman began curiously as they passed through the cloister around the garden. "Why did you confiscate those leeches? Every other healer I've known swears by blood-letting."

Rory grimaced at the memory of the jar filled with blood-suckers that she'd tipped into the waterfall that morning. "The only thing blood-letting does is weaken the patient further," she told Elan. "There's only one situation I can think of where relieving that kind of pressure might help, and no amount of leeches can accomplish what trepanning does in that case."

"Is it true that even medical leeches spread disease?" the herbalist asked. To be honest, the question surprised Rory - she hadn't realized people in Thedas were becoming aware of cross-infection methods. The majority of healers seemed still to rely on the dubious four humors theory, which she knew was absolute codswallop.

"It is very likely they do," she answered her colleague's question easily. "It's not as though you can sterilize a leech. What it picks up from one person's blood, it can easily pass onto the next. Like fleas and lice do."

"And that's why you don't use them?"

"Well, if I'm honest, they also make my skin crawl," Rory admitted sheepishly. "But if they did any good, I'd use them. Luckily for me, they don't."

Elan chuckled, pushing open the door to her workshop - a large chamber that was very crowded these days. "You're too honest for your own good," she smiled, inviting the healer inside.

Oh, I'm really not. "Well, I need people to trust me if they're going to tell me what's bothering them," Rory pointed out with a shrug. "The truth can be hard to hear, but it's better than living a lie you're not even aware of."

"Seen in that light, it makes a kind of sense," Elan agreed, leading the way between work benches stacked high with bubbling glasswork, each potion watched over by her many assistants, Tranquil and otherwise. "You're sure you're happy for me to keep this recipe?"

"You've improved it," Rory reminded her. "It's more yours than it ever was mine. If Granthis complains, he can take it up with me."

"Oh, Master Perivale created it?" The elven woman nodded to herself with a smile. "He mentioned that he knew you."

"He's a friend." A friend that I wrote, but still a friend. "How is he?"

"Still charming his way through the ranks of the Imperial Court," Elan told her in amusement. "There are rumors that even the Empress patronizes him from time to time."

"You know, that really doesn't surprise me," Rory drawled. "No wonder he's on the guest list for the Wintersend Ball."

"Always has his eye on the main chance, that one," Elan agreed sagely, coming to a halt in front of a reasonably clear table, on which stood a small open crate packed with bottles. "Most of this batch has been sent down to the city, as you requested, but this lot should do the fortress for a couple of months."

Rory nodded, silently counting the bottles. Plenty to be going on with. "And what was the new dosage again?" she asked, wanting to confirm that she had it right. It wouldn't do to start overdosing her patients just because the formula had changed.

"Two fingers for a human," the herbalist told her promptly.

"And half that for an elf or dwarf, right?" She nodded again as Elan confirmed she was correct.

"I'd ask them to take the first dose in front of you," the elf added. "If they're already carrying, they'll throw it straight back up again. Because it's so strong now, a pregnant body will reject it totally if it can."

"Good to know." Better than shoving my hand up their hoohar or playing with wee. Rory lifted the crate easily. "Thank you, Elan, this is an enormous help. We'd be lost without you and your team."

"It was an honor to be asked to continue Adan's work," Elan told her simply. "Now go away, I have work to do."

Laughing at this no-nonsense dismissal, Rory obediently took her leave, retracing her steps out of the workshop and back to the lower courtyard with the crate secure in her arms. Cullen's table was gone - he'd finally been set up in the far gatehouse tower as the finishing touches were put to the newly-rebuilt walkway over the lower space. Most of the tents were being cleared, accommodations having been found inside for almost everyone. It would still be some time before Skyhold was fully put to rights, but they were well on their way. Kaaras might even have a room of his own when he got back from the Emerald Graves.

Offering a grin to Evy, who was learning how to shave a man in the afternoon sunshine, Rory ducked into her consultation tent, setting the crate down next to the rest of the immediate treatment potions they held in stock. Pulling her stool up to the makeshift desk, she absently poured a measure of the preventative for herself, swallowing it down as her attention turned to a request for additional trained staff for the infirmary down in the city. She sighed wearily. Who would have thought that the senior healer would have all this admin to do? Her daily duties saw more writing than seeing patients these days. Reaching for her quill, she began to scratch a note to speak to Roderick about it ... and abruptly stilled as a wave of nausea swept through her. It only took a moment for the shock to give way to panic.

"Oh, fuck ..."

Pushing away from the desk, she only just made it to the chamberpot in time, heaving up not only the potion but the remains of her lunch as well. The smell was revolting; if she'd had anything else to throw up, she would have done. Sweaty and shaking, she reached for her ever-present cup of water, washing her mouth out before slowly sipping to calm her roiling stomach.

"Fuck," she said again, with feeling. Her body had certainly rejected the preventative, right enough. But that doesn't necessarily mean what I think it does. Could be anything. Just check it out. It's probably just because you're not use to the brew being this strong, that's all.

Checking the toggles on the tent flap were secured, she found a glass beaker, and set about the business of collecting a urine sample. Thank goodness I'm wearing a dress today, was all she could think as she willed herself to relax. She didn't need much, after all. Just enough to run a test she'd done dozens of times for other women. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but she did manage to produce about an inch, trying not to panic prematurely. Washing her hands, she located the little pot of powdered Amrita Vein, tipping a pinch into the beaker with trembling hands. Now ... stir for one minute.

The act of counting the seconds helped to calm her down. There was no reason to think she might be ... that, not really. Yes, she'd missed the last month at least, but that was nothing new. Her cycle often skipped a month or two when she was under stress, and the journey from Haven had been all kinds of stressful. Not to mention, she and Cullen had been careful not to risk it. All right, so there had been that one time against a tree, but surely not. One mistake in the heat of the moment couldn't possibly have happened at exactly the right time, could it? That would hardly be fair.

The minute up, she looked down at the mixture in the beaker. Who ever said that life was fair?

"Shit."

[witcherislovewitcherislife]

Olgierd and Triss in Novigrad "after Radovid's death" Triss and olgierd develop a relationship without them knowing about the other's past with Geralt

Ooh I read a fanfiction about this pairing a while back. Thanks for the prompt, I’ll do my best! :)

*Okay so I’m adding this after I finished writing everything else. This was gonna just be a small thing but I drew it out into a full story that I will likely continue and post on my AO3. I really like how this turned out so I hope you do too! However, I did diverge from the prompt as Geralt is only mentioned briefly so far. But I have some ideas for more chapters that could lead back to the original prompt with their relationship developing and then how they deal with finding out about the others past with Geralt. Thanks again for the prompt, I hope you enjoy! :)*

**********

The Witcher had given him a second chance on life. A second chance to live and to love. A second chance to use his heart. He would need to learn how again for it had been far too long. First on Olgierd’s list was love. The last woman that he made love to that he cared for was Iris. How long ago was that? Ten, twenty years? There were other women but he didn’t care for any one them. Or maybe he did but he was just unable to realize that. Where would he head for first? Oxenfurt he had already spent too much time in. Toussaint? He heard it was beautiful down there. Iris would have loved it, she loved bright colors. Novigrad? Novigrad, he hadn’t been to the city in ages. Always around it but never actually in it. Too many people for his liking. Too many rules and too many guards as well. They say that Novigrad is the free city. Then why are there so many rules he wondered? But maybe things had changed. The witcher had mentioned that Novigrad was different now. Olgierd figured he would have to see for himself. He could always leave if he didn’t like it.

Olgierd approached the Glory Gate, that was what the sign read at least. His travel here was relatively smooth. Peaceful actually. Walking through the world was different now. He felt emotions towards the forests and the animals. Before he would have hunted but now he had left all the animals unharmed, wondering to himself how he could have ever killed such beautiful and innocent creatures. Only one bandit duo had attempted to attack him. They had noticed he was unarmed and alone and had decided to try their luck. Olgeird made quick work of them. Disarming one of their blade and using it against them. He did not want to kill them but he remembered words that Geralt had told him. “Give a thug a second chance and they will make you regret it.” But then why had Geralt given him a second chance. Maybe it was his strikingly good looks? No matter, he would carry on towards the city.

A few merchants had set up shop outside of the wall. Eagerly awaiting new travelers, trying to temp them with their wares and food. The merchants could be annoying but they were better than what used to be here. Olgierd paid them no mind, waving them off with his hand and a friendly expression that said “No thank you” without words needing to be said. Through the gate he saw many buildings, to his left appeared to be homes but to his right looked to be a tavern. A tavern or a brothel or maybe a theater? He wasn’t sure but he was sure that this would be a good a spot as any to meet a nice lady.

Patrons were gathered inside and out of the establishment. Many were talking and eating and some played cards. What a nice place he though to himself. Through the door, the building was much larger than it looked. He was greeted at the door by a beautiful young blonde woman and he shook her hand. As he did, he noticed a large diamond ring on her finger. Not her then. In his past life he may have attempted to seduce her but now he had care for those he hurt and he didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. She offered him a seat and a drink but he chose to just look around, leaning up against the wall near the front door. His eyes wandered, all races and people were here. Humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, and what looked to be a troll. Olgeird believed that he overheard the trolls name was “Bart.” What a strange name for a troll and what an even stranger place for said troll to be in. Perhaps Geralt was right, some monsters aren’t monsters at all. Olgierd decided he would talk to this troll but as he went to move something caught his eye. A woman, young, bright red hair not unlike his own, she dressed in a white top that had blue horizontal stripes on it with grayish blue trousers and gray boots. She was stunning, the most stunning woman he had ever seen, second only to his Iris. Her hair was in duo buns. He had never seen a haircut like it, he liked it. He peered at her hands on noticed a ring however this ring was not a wedding ring or an engagement ring but one for fashion. I sense of relief flooded over him. Forget talking to the troll, this was the one he needed to speak with. 

He waited for the right moment to move in. Women were very similar to battle. You must wait for the correct moment and then make your move otherwise it could cost you. She was talking to a red mo-hawked dwarf. What was with all the red heads here? The dwarf left her be after a while. They seemed to know each other. He hoped they were not lovers. Olgierd moved in and introduced himself, asking to buy her a drink. Would she want a drink? That was what he did with other women but she seemed different. Surely all women loved a good drink though. She accepted. Triss immediately noticed that he was nervous. She found it charming. He was an extremely handsome man with a very cool and interesting hairstyle, similar to herself. She had not talked to many men since her chances with Geralt were officially diminished. She hadn’t the time or the want. Triss was happy to be talking to him though. Something about him attracted her. Triss sensed that he was tired much like she was. She had rescued the mages from Novigrad about a year prior and helped them get settled in Kovir. She had now returned to Novigrad, visiting old friends and selling off her property. Initially she was wary of coming back here. But she was assured that the Witch Hunters were taken care of and they were for the most part. This made her happy, Novigrad was an amazing city, one that should not be tarnished by such scum. But this had taken it’s toll on her. Losing her hope of finding love with the Witcher depressed her but saving the mages gave her hope. She was confused about her future. Maybe this interesting man would solve her confusion? 

They chatted for a while, deciding to sit at a table near the stairs that led to the downstairs area of the establishment. Truth be told, he wasn’t the best with women. His temper had always be a problem but now he was different. He was cool, calm, and collected and he was happy to be with this new woman. 

“Care for a game of Gwent?” He asked Triss. Was now really the time for such a question or proposistion. Olgerid was unsure but he was getting nervous and needed something to keep the conversation alive.

“Haha you remind me of a man I used to know. He would ask for Gwent at the most un-opportune times.”

“Was now an un-oppurtune time. I apologize.” He said quickly, his mind racing as he hoped that he did not mess things up.

“Hehe no it was a fine time to ask. Just didn’t know you were into the game. You seemed like the more serious type.”

“Well then, shall we play?”

Triss was never the best at the game or the biggest fan of it. But she always kept a deck on her person for many people enjoyed the game and she didn’t want to be left out. She had sold her Geralt card however. He was still her friend but she preferred not to think of him. Not until she was completely over him at least. Olgeird on the other hand was a true card shark at the game. It was played among the ranks of his hansa. They would play and drink for hours.

Dandelion and Zoltan watched on from the bar, Dandelion standing behind it and Zoltan sitting on a stool in front. Who was this man they wondered and why was Triss seemingly so fond of him? She was giggling a lot as they drank and played cards but then again wasn’t she usually giggling?

Dandelion was happy for her. Part of him hoped that this new man would stick around. She deserved happiness after all she had gone through. Losing Geralt and all. But did she ever really have him? Dandelion though to himself that he should have intervened years ago in their relationship. It would have saved Triss a lot of hurt. But it was not his place so he did not. Anyways, she seemed to be happy now and for this he was also happy.

The night was now very late or the morning was very early rather. Olgierd wasn’t sure what to do now. Should he try his luck and attempt to take her to bed? Or should he wait? But would he get another shot? Would she leave the city and he would never see her again? Risks he did not want to take but realized that he may need to. But as he sat there pondering his question was answered.

“Yes.” Triss simply said and Olgierd looked at her with a confused expression.

“I’m sorry.” He said inquisitively wondering what she meant.

“Yes. Yes to the question you asked, silly.”

“I didn’t ask any question.”

“Oh, I apologize.” Triss said realizing her mistake. Sometimes she read minds accidentally. She had yet to tell him that she was a sorceress but now she would need to. It was a good a time as any she supposed. “I’m a sorceress. I can read minds. Sometimes it just happens during silence. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Normally he would likely not be so happy. But then his mind rewound to her answer. Yes. She said yes. And he could not be happier.

“No matter. I believe you agreed to my proposition?” Previously nervous, now Olgierd was smug, cocky, seductive, and to Triss, oh so sexy.

She stood up, taking him by the hand and leading him up the stairs. He felt something that he hadn’t felt in ages. Love. Now he once again remembered what all the fuss about it was about.

[shitfics]

The Smallest of Deeds (4/8); jongyu; nc-17

Jinki’s clan is gone.

Killed by humans, with no trace of a motive, on a night he spent away at Jonghyun’s cabin. To save Jinki from his loneliness – and his desire for revenge – Jonghyun suggests they journey south to find Taemin.

Their search for a place and purpose sends them to an organization known as the Inquisition, and the dangers they face after joining force Jonghyun and Jinki to confront parts of themselves and their relationship that threaten to break them apart.

Finally getting to the action!! And more angst for jongyu 8) 

Thanks as always to my lovely betas, @jongyued, @yurilikesgirls, and @fleckle.

Jonghyun shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. He hadn’t given much thought to the fact that he’s never ridden before when they presented them with their mounts — riding had to be better than walking, since horses were so expensive — but now he wonders at his optimism. They’re only two hours west of Skyhold, and his thighs are already aching and strained in ways he didn’t think possible.

Half of it was a result from last night, of course — but he doesn’t want to think about that.

He’d been a fool, to let Jinki bed him so easily. He hadn’t even received an apology, and there was no indication he’d even changed his mind about the ideas he’d picked up from his templar friend. And yet he’d let Jinki chase away the topic with a kiss, as if it didn’t matter at all that he was spewing the same nonsense that was responsible for his years locked in the Circle.

Jinki didn’t know half of what he went through in there. That much was obvious, from the shock on his face when Jonghyun described a small fraction of what the templars did to them. But just because he didn't talk about it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there — he never assumed Jinki’s life in Tevinter was anything but hellish despite being given no details. Whenever the Circle came up, Jonghyun had made it as clear as he could that every one had been a prison for him and other mages, and that the templars that ruled them wanted them dead.

Different as they were, he thought freedom was what they both valued — Jinki, an elf that escaped slavery, and himself, a mage that escaped from the Circle — but he’d been wrong, apparently.

Jinki cared more for his hatred of magic.

The realization of that has sat heavy in his stomach since the moment Jonghyun caught him sitting in the tavern with that damn templar. He’d barely eaten since their fight. And yet, Jonghyun had packed his things without a word and walked with Jinki to meet Taemin at the gates that morning.

Soojung would have called him a lovesick fool for coming, if he had found the nerve to tell her of the argument. But he hadn’t, and Soojung had assumed all the hesitance and hand-wringing at their parting was simply fear for their first assignment.

A whistle from Taemin snaps him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Jonghyun, stop sleeping! You’re way behind!”

With a pained sigh, Jonghyun urges his horse into a trot. Taemin sends him a small smile once he’s caught up, but Jinki’s back remains to him, despite Jonghyun’s stare boring into him. He hasn’t turned to Jonghyun or slowed his mount even once since they set off that morning.

He wishes he could blame it on the fact that Taemin is riding next to him. Jinki needed a familiar face after losing his clan, he knows, and Taemin was the only one that fit that role — but the stilted smile Jinki switches to whenever Taemin tries draw all three of them into conversation make Jonghyun certain he’s being ignored deliberately.

Jonghyun had expected that. Even after their first kiss, Jinki had needed space before reaching out again. By any standards, a fight over something as serious as mages and their freedom would be harder to deal with.

But Maker, it still hurt. And the physical discomfort of the ride isn’t enough to keep his thoughts from festering, and after another miserable few hours of travel, resentment at Jinki’s silence is burning hot in his chest.

They stop to make camp just before sunset. Taemin's exhausted himself of stories, and the moment he’s off his horse, he hurries to the nearest flat surface to correct his map before the last light disappears completely.

Jonghyun grits his teeth when he dismounts, feeling every strain in his thighs when he lands on his feet with an indignant huff. Jinki climbs off of his own horse without a single noise of complaint, expression entirely stoic, which only stokes Jonghyun’s temper more.

He breaches the silence first. “Taemin’s busy. I guess we should make camp.”

At the snap in his tone, Jinki looks up, but glances away before their eyes can meet. “I’ll go for a hunt. We should eat on the road while we still can and save our dry rations for when we need them.”

“Sounds fine.”

Jonghyun doesn’t wait for Jinki to leave before unfastening the large bundle on the horse containing the canvas for their tents. He pulls apart the various poles and ropes, then separates them, squinting as he tries to figure out how to put them all together.

If he’s counting the pieces right, there seems to be only two tents.

As if reading his thoughts, Taemin clears his throat until he has his attention, then winks at him. “I assume I’ll be getting one of those tents all to myself?”

Jonghyun blinks at him. He’d forgotten that Taemin tends to miss all but the most obvious hostilities — and compared to how Jinki had been when they first met, the silent treatment Jinki’s been giving him probably didn’t even register to him as suspicious 

“I suppose you will, since there’s only two...” Jonghyun sighs. If Taemin hadn’t realized they were fighting, he wouldn’t bother telling him. “Jinki and I can share one.”

“Good.” Taemin grins. “I think it’s best he have someone sleeping near him, considering that’s what he’s used to from his clan. Though I never understood the Dalish, I know how much he loved their way of life.”

“You don’t think being around you would help him more?”

“No, not really.” Taemin’s smile turns regretful, and there’s a pause as he looks down before answering Jonghyun. “I wasn’t there when he needed me in the past, and you’ve been with him for the whole journey south. It’s obvious he cares about you, too, since he’s willing to overlook the whole...” he gestures vaguely towards the staff still strapped to Jonghyun’s back. “Mage thing.”

At that, Jonghyun can’t help but scoff. “If you say so.”

Taemin sighs. “I know, I’m sure he gives you shit for it. He’s as bad with feelings as me, and can hold a grudge for ages — but I mean what I said. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never been with anyone — not even another elf. The fact that he’d even consider being with you means something.”

“I thought he’d been with you? He said you were friends now, but...”

“Maker, no.” Taemin laughs. “We came close to something, when we were kids, but...we were kids. He tried to kiss me when we were at your cabin, but considering there was no heat in it, I’m betting that was just nostalgia.”

“No heat?”

“Yeah. No passion, no lust, no desire to carry it further to the bedroom—”

Jonghyun flushes. “You don’t know if he kisses me like that. And even if he didn’t, that doesn’t mean...”

Taemin rolls his eyes. “Please, Jonghyun, I know you — you might be patient and sweet, but you'd never be alright with celibacy.”

Jonghyun huffs. Damn Taemin for knowing him well.

“I mean it — He must really like you.”

Jonghyun wraps his cloak tighter around himself and looks down, unsure what to say. Taemin’s words remind him so much of Soojung’s, when she’d told him that ma vhenan meant my heart. Sure, Jinki has affection for him. He doesn't doubt that. But how much was that worth, if Jinki would put a damned templar’s testimony about Circle life above his own partner’s? And argue that everyone with the misfortune to be born with magic would be better off locked away from society?

From the edge of the nearby forest, Jinki reappears with two rabbits slung on a stick over his shoulder and sticks for kindling under the other arm. At Taemin’s greeting, he looks up, and his eyes fall first to Jonghyun.

It’s nothing — there’s not even a smile behind his dark irises — but Jonghyun’s heart still gives a foolish flip.

By all the Spirits of the fade, he wants to make this work.

As Jinki approaches them, he tries to smile, the same friendly one he had worn when Jinki thought he was no more than a maleficar poisoning Taemin. He could be patient, same as he had been before.

“Hunting went well, I take it?”

Jinki blinks at him, obviously caught off guard by Jonghyun being amiable. “...It was good enough, considering I don’t know the terrain.”

“I can handle the cooking, if you'd like?” He pulls out a pot from one of the nearby supply sacks. “Looks like more than enough for stew I’m used to making.”

“Please, let him make it,” Taemin interrupts, looking at Jinki pleadingly. “I know you can cook too, but Maker, Jonghyun’s the best of us.”

“Alright.” Jinki pauses, then tosses the branches he’d brought for their fire the ground. “Jonghyun, you can start the fire. I’ll skin the rabbits.”

Jonghyun’s hurt softens, even though Jinki turns immediately away. He could never be sure (when was he ever sure of anything, with Jinki?), but the request for him to make the fire seemed like one of Jinki’s quiet and wordless ways of indicating his trust.

Smiling to himself, he rearranges the kindling and hangs the pot on the small metal tripod they’d brought along. He makes sure Jinki’s back is turned before he brings his palms together and begins shifting them slowly. Heat from the Fade concentrates in his hands. He sends it out of himself and into the wood, letting it build until it the flame catches at the exact temperature he’d wanted for their meal.

He’d gotten so caught up in their travels and worries that he’d forgotten the simple pleasure of making his own meal. Making dinner is a welcome departure from the past month of eating tavern and mess hall food, and he indulges himself by adding extra pinches of the dried herbs he’d brought along from his cabin’s garden.

He calls for Taemin and Jinki once the stew reaches a boil, inviting them to gather around the fire as they wait for the meat to cook. Once finished, they split the stew into small tin bowls and huddle under their cloaks to try and avoid the cold that creeps up with the night.

As always, Taemin helps himself to seconds and finishes first. He drinks in the remaining broth, then tosses his bowl in the general direction of their supplies. “I’ll wash that tomorrow. It’s too damn cold to go looking for a stream now.”

“You mean I’ll end up washing it tomorrow,” Jonghyun mumbles.

“If you insist.” Taemin gives them a mock bow, then heads for his tent. “I’ll be off to bed, freezing all by myself in my lonely bedroll. Don’t stay up to late, lovebirds!”

From beside him, Jonghyun hears Jinki sigh before continuing to eat his own meal. He makes no move to put space between them, or deny the implications of what Taemin said.

Jonghyun clears his throat. “You don’t mind sharing a tent, do you?”

“No.”

Jinki takes sip of his broth.

Jonghyun’s brow twitches in irritation, and he just barely manages to calm himself before it turns into a full scowl. Taemin’s words had been the reminder he needed that Jinki cared for him, despite all the conflicts his past created with Jonghyun’s magic. And Jinki had implied that he was willing to look past their disagreement in his own way, by bedding him, hadn’t he?

Or that’s what he hopes.

Dusting off his robe, he takes a deep breath and stands. He’ll let Jinki finish his meal, then ask him to talk once they’re in their tent. “I’m tired from all the riding. I’ll be setting up my bedroll in our tent.”

Jinki barely glances up. “Alright.”

Jonghyun slips him a last smile before entering their tent and pulling off his cloak. Readying his bedroll only takes him a minute, and once he’s stuffed himself within it to keep warm, he’s left with nothing but the ache in his muscles and the anxious tumble of his own thoughts.

It feels like hours, but it’s only minutes later that Jinki enters the tent with his bedroll tucked under his arm.

Jonghyun’s chest tightens at the sight. Normally — and especially since they’d entered the colder climates of the south — they shared a bedroll. Did bringing another mean that Jinki wanted to sleep far away for him, or only that he assumed Jonghyun would want to?

He nods to the bedroll as Jinki unwraps it. “Not worried about the cold?”

Jinki shrugs. “...It’s bearable.”

When Jinki lays next to him, Jonghyun sits up to place a hand on his upper arm. “Jinki. About the other night...”

The shutdown is instant. Jinki’s shoulders stiffen, and his eyes break away from Jonghyun’s to the canvas tent behind him. “What about it?”

Jonghyun considers where to start.

There’s so much he could say, and every argument weighs on his tongue. That Taemin would have died of that illness he had two years ago, if Jonghyun hadn’t escaped to live in the woods. That if he lived by Circle rules, their relationship would never have started or been allowed at all.

That Jinki trusted him before, so why couldn’t he now?

“Do you believe me when I say the Circles were a prison?”

Silence hangs between them for a long moment before Jinki mumbles a hesitant “yes.”

“Then how can you say they should be brought back? Especially when I’ve told you what a horrible place they were for me?”

Jinki’s fingers tense in the fabric of his bedding. “I don’t see why we need to talk about hypotheticals.”

“It’s not a hypothetical to me,” Jonghyun says, feeling his anger rise back up. "I lived in those damned Circles. And if you think they’re redeemable, this is a disagreement we need to deal with." "Perhaps it's best forgotten.” Jonghyun snaps. "I can't just forget what you said, Jinki.”

At the use of his name, Jinki finally looks up.

Hoping for something — the beginnings of remorse, an apology, or at least shame for dismissing Jonghyun so easily — Jonghyun meets his eyes.

But he finds nothing. There’s creases in the markings over his forehead, no softness in his eyes — only the stubborn lift of his chin, and the straight line of his lips as he waits for Jonghyun to speak.

Jonghyun clenches his fists. The resentment he’d managed to seal away rips through his gut again, burning hot in his throat and making his next words sharp as a blade.

“Nevermind, then. Enjoy your rest.”

Jinki’s brows lift, but he doesn’t speak. The silence only makes Jonghyun’s heart tighten further — is he the only one that cares enough to talk? — and he throws himself down into his bedroll without a word.

He’s done chasing.

His feelings for Jinki are still there — Maker, they’re still there, because he’s a fool — but he’s not going to do the mending any longer. Not for someone who thought he belonged in a cage just because he’d been born with magic.

 ***

 Jinki knows he’s angered Jonghyun.

He knows it from the moment he wakes up and Jonghyun — the same Jonghyun that used to steal every moment he could when they shared a bed — is gone.

The cold dawn air slips into his lungs when he steps outside of the tent. In the center of their camp, a small fire burns, tended by the gentle shifts of Jonghyun’s palms as Taemin feeds it with nearby bramble.

Jonghyun’s hands still when glances up at Jinki. The fire flickers, dimming for a short moment, then returns to its full strength after he snaps his eyes away. Taemin blinks at it once, shrugs, then turns to send Jinki a full grin.

“You were up last, so that means you have to do cleanup duty.”

Jinki sighs. He’s too tired to argue. After pulling on his heavy cloak, he dismantles their tent, then packs their horses, pointedly ignoring the light conversation between Jonghyun and Taemin.

Until they’re ready to set off, his silence goes unquestioned. Jinki catches Taemin raising a brow at Jonghyun in question of his mood when they finally mount up, which Jonghyun only answers with a shrug. Taemin accepts that as explanation easily — their years in Tevinter together meant had gotten him used to Jinki suddenly going quiet — and he seems entirely unconcerned when he nudges his horse with his heels to direct it forward.

The journey to the Western Approach stretches a week long. All of it is spent in a similar silence to the second day, save the occasional hiss of discomfort from Jonghyun in his saddle and drawn-out story from Taemin. Jinki loses himself in the routine of riding and hunting and camping that comes with their travel, not wanting to think of anything but the present. It’s easy to pretend he’s quiet from exhaustion, when his muscles are a constant ache from the saddle and his eyes close the moment he hits his bedroll.

Usually, he falls asleep seconds later. But sometimes he can’t, and he’s left staring at a familiar head of tousled hair in the dark, wondering at how the sight that used to make him warm now left a the hollow ache in his chest.

They still haven’t talked — not in the way Jonghyun likely needed, angry as he had been after their argument. Once or twice, during the day, things would seem almost-normal, and Jinki could almost believe the whole thing had been forgotten. A bird would chirp, and he’d get a small grin, or they’d pass a strange plant, and Jonghyun would begin a drawn-out explanation of the history of herbal medicine in Orlais. And just when his heart would start to lift, Jonghyun would stop mid-sentence. His smile would dim, eyes snapping cold in an instant, and silence would fall between them again, as heavy as if it had never left.

Jinki doesn’t know how to react to this side of Jonghyun. It used to be so easy to read what he wanted, even though he’d always wait for Jinki to make the first move — there was the concerned push of food into Jinki’s hands, an inviting tilt of his head, or a spark in his eye as he changed into his sleep clothes —

Now, there was nothing. No indication that Jonghyun had ever had anything with him at all, except the fact they still share a tent. But how much does that mean? Jonghyun turns his back to him every night.

And each time, Jinki feels his chest draw tighter.

First he’d lost his clan, and now he might be losing Jonghyun.

Only Taemin is left to keep him the world from falling out under him, and the thought that he might be doing some good against Tevinter on this strange mission they’ve been assigned. If he notices that Jonghyun and Jinki have a tension between them, he hasn’t said anything of it, and by the time they reach the last Inquisition camp before the Western Approach, he’s taken unofficial command of their small group.

With the soldiers there, they exchange two of their horses for bagfuls of supplies and enchanted bottles that allow them to draw water from even the driest plants. Taemin receives a bundle of reports and maps with points of interest pre-marked that he reviews before calling them all together at a makeshift table for a briefing.

“We’ll head in a circle around the Western Approach. Start at the eastmost point of interest, then head north to the big ruins. After that, we’ll check a few more points then loop back around the south and return here.”

Jonghyun furrows his brow and squints at the map. “We don’t need to check anything in the west?”

“The Inquisition has a fortress on that western border,” Taemin says. “Most of that area has already been covered by the scouts that there.”

Jinki leans in to peer at the map. His shoulder brushes against Jonghyun’s, and they both jolt back at the contact, blinking into each others stares.

Jonghyun breaks away first and draws his cloak tighter around himself. “...Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Taemin eyes them oddly, then looks between them. “You two alright?”

“Just tired from riding,” Jonghyun lies. Jinki nods in agreement.

Taemin’s brow wrinkles in skepticism, but he drops it with a sigh and waves his hand. “Right, I forgot you two have never ridden before — your asses must be sore. Go lay down and rest, then. We’ll be walking the rest of the way our mission, now that we’re here.”

“Thanks.” Jonghyun gives him a tight smile, then stands and leaves.

Jinki turns to follow him, but Taemin catches him by the elbow. “Jinki — are you really okay?”

“Yes.” Jinki flinches out of it, and tries to come up with a lie better than the one Jonghyun had given. “I’m just...tense about our mission. Dealing with Tevinter things. Especially if it's going to be magic.”

“Well, we’ll let Jonghyun handle anything like that.” Taemin grins at him with a playfulness that makes Jinki certain he’s unaware of they’re fighting. “That’s the benefit of you bringing your mage lover along.”

Jinki huffs, turning away before Taemin can catch the pained twist of his lips. “Good night, Taemin.”

 ***

 A worn and dirtied flag emblazoned with a black dragon and a snake marks the first abandoned camp they reach. The sight sends a shiver of fear up Jinki’s spine. Tevinter — and the whole system of magisters who controlled it — was born from the cults of mages that worshipped dragons. Though the cults had fallen, the legacy of them remains strong, and every Tevinter noble house incorporates the majestic creatures into their decor as a symbol of their bloodline’s magical power.

Jinki had carved dragons into wood for the magister he had served a dozen times. He can still recall the splinters in his palms from whittling their countless scales.

By the time he finds the willpower to step forward, Taemin and Jonghyun are several yards ahead of him. He hurries to catch up before one of them notices he’d stopped.

An empty firepit sits near a toppled group of tents torn and ripped by the harsh winds of the Western Approach. On the other side of the camp, a large chest is half-buried in sand that Taemin kicks open the moment he reaches it.

“Time to get started reading these damned things, finally.” He yanks out a stack of journals to throw them onto the weathered table nearby. “Jonghyun, you can inspect the rest of the camp for any magic shit.”

“‘Magic shit,’” Jonghyun quotes, rolling his eyes. “I’ll look around, I think I saw a ruin a bit north.”

Jinki watches him leave, then joins Taemin at the table. They split the stack of journals into two to peruse them for anything the Inquisition might find useful.

Likely presuming no one in the Inquisition spoke Tevene, the Venatori hadn’t bothered to code their messages.

Jinki wishes he couldn't read them. The first journal he picks up details a mage’s account of boosting his magical power through the blood of others.

Bile rises in Jinki’s throat as he reads page after page of the Venatori’s experiments and methods. How the power gained from a sacrifice was tied to the volume of the victim’s scream, with scribbled charts of comparison. How long it had taken for one of them to bleed out, and how he could feel their life surge through his magic.

For a short moment, he finds himself feeling grateful that the magister had never been like these mages, and is instantly disgusted himself with the thought.

The magister had never killed them, or any of his other slaves, as far as Jinki was aware —but that was hardly a mercy. The single ritual he performed on Taemin certainly came close to this.

He pulls his eyes away from the book. Taemin’s fist is clenched against the table, and Jinki places a hand over his.

“You alright?”

“Fine.” Taemin mumbles, though his expression is stiff. “Just, these books are...sick. These bastards are hardly human.” He pushes back his sleeve and covers the long and raised scar along his arm. “They’re monsters. I rarely think of those days — what he did — but this...”

“I know,” Jinki cuts him off. It’s so easy to remember. Taemin’s arm and chest, covered in a mix of rusted and fresh red from his wounds healing and reopening wtih every movement.

He swallows. “That’s over, though. The men who did this are likely dead, since your Inquisition came through.”

“I sure hope so.” Taemin tries at a smile, but it comes out pained. “They deserve to face the Maker’s judgement for their actions.”

Jinki returns the smile, then pats his arm and pulls away. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Taemin says and draws himself up. “Someone needs to do this, and we’re the best suited for it. We know which of this is normal blood magic and which isn’t, unfortunately, if we’re to have any of idea of what they were up to.”

Jinki huffs, sets the journal he’d been skimming aside, and pulls out the next. Thankfully, the first book he’d picked seemed to be the worst of them, as the rest involve descriptions of demons from the Fade and troop movements. It takes them only another hour to sort through the rest of the journals and piles of parchment that had been left behind and store the important stuff.

Jonghyun returns from the ruins a short while later with a dust-covered robe and scratches on his gloves.

“I found some glyphs in the ruins that I think are for pulling things from the Fade, but I didn’t feel any disturbances that indicated they’d been used recently. Did you all have any luck?”

Taemin’s playfulness is back, and he answers Jonghyun’s question about their findings with a wry smirk.

“I’d say we found exactly what we expected  — pages and pages about blood magic and summoning demons, so it matches your finding,” Taemin summarizes. “No surprise with any of that. Typical Tevinter.”

“I, uh, am sorry to hear that still,” Jonghyun says. He wrings his hands with obvious trepidation at the subject, then glances to Jinki. “Are you both alright?”

Jinki looks down and grimaces. He doesn’t want to see Jonghyun’s look of concern, not when he had so little understanding of their experience. “We’re fine.”

The snap in his tone is enough to stifle Jonghyun’s concern. He gives Jinki no more words the rest of the day, and Taemin only the barest needed to decide on the evening meal and set up their camp. Jinki half expects him to say something once they’re in the tent alone — though silence had become the only thing they shared anymore, he’d always known there was a limit to his patience, and snapping at the first sign of concern might be what finally pushes his temper over the edge — but he gets nothing more than the same tight-lipped frown before Jonghyun turns away.

The complete lack of anything, even an argument, leaves him restless. His nerves feel ready to crawl out of his skin, and through the night, he drifts in between sleep and memories of every story of blood magic he’d heard from the whispers in the slave quarters.

He’s the first to wake, and eager for something to do, he throws himself into cleaning up what little traces of life their camp had made the night before. Just past dawn, Taemin steps out of his tent with dark circles under his eyes and the sweat-scent of fear clinging to him.

Jinki watches him try and smile. A lump forms in his throat. He recognizes the glaze over his stare, and the way Taemin looks past him, from the unnaturally quiet moments after the magister had left him bloodied and bed-ridden from the ritual.  

And Creators, he knows he’d worn that look too. With a motion for Taemin to wait, he hurries back to his tent and his bag, rustling through the compartments until he finds one of the satchels of sharp-scented herbs that Joonmyeon had given him long ago.

His digging disturbs Jonghyun — he notices him stir — but he pays no mind to it and returns outside to find Taemin waiting for him silently.

Jinki squeezes his shoulder and presses the packet into his hand. “Here.”

Taemin blinks at it. He pinches the thin cloth in his palm, then lifts it closer to his nose to inhale the scent. His lips pull into a tight smile. “...This is from your clan, isn’t it? One of those scent satchels I liked.”

Jinki shrugs. “It’ll help, with the images.”

“Thanks.” Taemin’s hands shake as he brings it close to his face again, this time breathing it in deeply. The tension in his brow smoothes out, and he exhales with a small laugh. “Hopefully this’ll keep me from smelling all day, considering I sweat through half of my bedroll last night.”

For the first time in what feels like days, Jinki smiles. “For both our sakes, I hope it covers your scent up.”

Taemin nudges his arm, and with a comfortable silence between them, they pack up his tent. Once Jonghyun wakes, they finish cleaning camp, eat a small meal, and set north. The wind picks up as the sun climbs in the sky, and by late morning, the hoods of their cloaks are held tight to block the grains of sand that pelt their faces as they climb over the rolling dunes of the landscape.  Each seems taller than the last, and by the afternoon, Jinki’s thighs ache from the effort of climbing uphill on the shifting sands.

The terrain ahead of them finally changes at the peak of a large dune. The barren sands of the Western Approach break into rusted orange rock that juts up in uneven plateaus towards the sky. A line of deep shadow cuts the line between the middle of the formations, marking a canyon, and Taemin breathes out a small a-ha when he spots it.

He slips his map from its leather case and unfurls it with care to examines at the parchment. “Apparently, that gorge ahead of us leads to some ancient Tevinter gates. I imagine that has something to do with what the Venatori wanted here, since they used to have a camp on the other end of it.”

Jinki squints ahead to the opening of the canyon. “We go in there, then?”

“So long as we reach it before dark. Otherwise, we’ll set up camp nearby and go through in the morning. I can’t imagine we’d be able to comb their old camp for information without being able to see.”

Taemin rolls up his map, and they continue forward to the gorge. The journey down the sand dune is faster than the journey upwards, and the ground is more compacted beneath their feet. They reach the cliffs by afternoon and stop to take a rest.

Jonghyun unwraps one of their packs and passes out the jerky and bread that had been given to them at the last Inquisition camp along the way. Their meal is silent, save the occasional grit of rocks under their feet, until a gust of wind drives a haunting whistle from the gorge.

Taemin shivers and sends a wary glance over his shoulder at the opening. “Maker, I hope there’s no giant spiders or darkspawn in there.”

“There shouldn’t be. The nearest camp said they’d sealed up the hole they were coming from the first time they were in the region,” Jonghyun says. “You were too busy flirting with the guard to actually listen to what she was saying, weren’t you?”

“Well, you know how it is — priorities.” Taemin grins. “To my credit, she was handsome.”

Jonghyun rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, and we all know you would have had a shot if she wasn’t already taken.”

Taemin winks at him. “Of course. I’m charming, aren’t I?”

Something pinches in Jinki’s chest, sharp and bitter, as he realizes with a flash of annoyance that Jonghyun probably did find Taemin charming. Enough to sleep with him at least once. Or a few times — he’d never asked for details. He feels his lips pull into a scowl, and he turns away quickly before either of them can catch it.

“We should get going,” he says. “If we hurry, we still have enough light to explore the camp once we reach it.”

“Alright,” Taemin sighs. He stretches as he stands. “Since you insist.”

Jinki lets Jonghyun and Taemin walk ahead of him as he strings his bow. They haven’t encountered any wild animals yet, but the visibility of the canyon is poor, and he doesn’t want to be caught unprepared if the spiders Taemin had mentioned happened to appear.

Inside the walls of the canyon, the cliff’s shade brings a chill to the air that raises goosebumps over his forearm. Patches of dark and brittle deathroot steal spots in the few bits of sunlight that sneak onto the jagged rock walls from overhead. Fitting to the name, they smell of rotting flesh, and Jinki’s nose curls in disgust every time they pass a cluster of the blighted plant.

“There’s so little visibility in this canyon as it narrows,” Taemin thinks aloud as he peers over the map in his hands. “You’d think they would have mentioned that on the map, but they didn’t. Seems like the perfect place for an ambush or to post a scout. Get someone up on the top of the cliff, and you could probably see anyone coming into this part of the desert.”

A frown curves Jonghyun’s lips as his eyes flick up to the cliff edges above them. “Not sure I like hearing that.”

“It’s important stuff to note, when you’re making maps for a military organization. “And since the idiot that did the first version of the map didn’t think that was important information, we need to stop so I can mark down the shape of the gorge.” Taemin huffs and pulls out his drawing chalk.  “You two do whatever, just don’t get too far ahead of me.”

Jinki sighs and leans back against the nearby cliff, setting his bow beside him. Knowing Taemin, it could take him an hour to perfect his drawing, leaving him entirely unsure of what to do with himself. There’s nothing to hunt, no tree branches to pull off and whittle, and he knows better than to try and speak with Taemin while he’s working.

There’s Jonghyun across from him, but speaking with him is...not an option.

His silence towards Jinki since their journey had started is as firm as it had been for the past several days, and there would be no point in trying to make small talk, even if Jinki felt capable of it.

And by Elgar’nan, he still doesn’t know how to take it. Would Jonghyun even tell him if they were over, when they’d blatantly never declared themselves as anything at all? Or is this how he’d push Jinki away, with silence and an end to even his usual friendliness?

A rock falls by his feet, jarring him away from his thoughts. He pushes himself away from the cliff and quickly grabs his bow, aiming it up as he nocks an arrow, only to leave it drawn and pointed at nothing but the sky. With a frown, he lowers it slowly and continues to squint up at the edge of the cliff.

He’d sworn he’d heard something, but there’s no sign of any person or creature above. Taemin hasn’t even looked up from his map, and only a slight plume of dust around the edge from where the rock had fallen indicate that anything had happened at all.

Only Jonghyun had noticed him move.

Jonghyun steps closer to him, staff held behind his back and brows furrowed in worry. “What’s wrong? Did you hear something?”

“Not sure,” Jinki’s says, unable to get his throat to produce more than the simplest response. Even though they were still sharing a tent, this is the closest Jonghyun’s been to him in over a week. He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“Hm.” Jonghyun looks up, and Jinki finds himself staring at the line of his jaw and the curl of hair over his ears. Jinki can smell the travel on his robes, but under it is the familiar scent of elfroot and spice that Jonghyun always seemed to carry with him.

Something tugs at his chest, daring him to reach out and touch Jonghyun, but his feet move on their own to put distance between them. He clears his throat. “It was probably nothing. Likely just an animal.”

“Let’s hope so.” Jonghyun spares Jinki a tight smile, then retreats to the other side of the gorge.

A full half hour passes before Taemin rolls up his map with a sigh. “Alright, let’s get moving again. I’ve filled in the details for everywhere we’ve been so far. We should be coming up on the gates soon, so be on the lookout for remnants of camp the Venatori deserted. It should be a big one.”

Jinki nods and fastens his bow to his back. Together, they continue forward into the gorge, and Jinki is eager to be back on their way. Traveling always seems to quell his thoughts for a short time.

They find the camp around the bend of the canyon, tucked into a natural cave formed in the wall. At the edge of entrance stands a variety of tents, one of them large enough to accommodate a dozen people and marked over the door with an intricate black dragon dyed into the canvas.

Taemin snorts at the sight. “Looks like some rich asshole lived here.”

Tense, Jinki only nods. He can’t imagine anyone from Tevinter occupying such an ostentatious tent other than a mage — anyone born without magic in that country would never likely never have the money or prestige to own such a thing — and though he already knows the Venatori are made up of power-hungry mages, the reminder of it sends a shiver up his spine. He can only hope that it wasn’t a magister.

Not wasting any time, Taemin leads them into the tent. A chest is tucked in the corner near a table, and Taemin wastes no time in opening it and pulling out a short stack of parchment.

He flips through them quickly, a frown growing slowly on his lips as he scans through the pages. “This is odd. There’s nothing important here — not a single note about the ruins, or troop movement, or anything. Only some pretentious poetry and love letters.”

Jinki leans over his shoulder to examine the papers. “Maybe the Inquisition took everything already?”

“No. Kibum specifically told me this camp had so many papers they couldn’t hope to bring any with, when he was giving me reports.” Taemin tosses the poetry aside. “And there haven’t been regular patrols from the Inquisition through here for a while, so they couldn’t have taken it.”

“Looters, then?” Jinki suggests. “If they found something valuable near the ancient gates, it’s possible someone stole everything in hopes of finding it themselves.”

“I doubt that. I’ve never heard of bandits coming this far west, since this place is a miserable desert, and they wouldn’t care about papers...” Taemin rubs his chin and sighs. “I guess we’ll just have to tell the Inquisition it was empty.”

“Let’s head to the gates, then. We can stop there for the night.”

Taemin closes the chest. “Alright.”

Jinki turns to the exit where Jonghyun had been waiting. Their eyes meet briefly, and he stops, suddenly paralyzed by a lump in his throat when he realizes the distance Jonghyun had kept between them as he waited. Jonghyun stares back at him blankly, then steps outside without a word, leaving the tent flap wrinkled in his rush to leave.

“Hey.” Taemin nudges his side with his elbow. “Do you know what’s wrong with him? I just realized he hasn’t rambled in forever.”

“No,” Jinki lies. “He’s just in a mood, I guess.”

“Apparently,” Taemin huffs, then lowers his voice to a mumble. “I thought I’d at least get someone to chat with on this mission, but instead of I get two stoic and silent helpers....”

Jinki pretends not to have heard the jab and heads out of the tent. Taemin’s map is out as he follows, and he glances at it one more time before pointing ahead and taking the lead.

“Since they put the camp close, the gates should be a short walk around the bend...”

Taemin stops the moment they pass the corner, eyes wide, and Jinki hurries to catch up with him.

The gates they had been searching for are wide open. They stretch from the floor of the gorge to the height of the cliffs, looming over the narrow passage, but that isn’t what had made Taemin freeze.

Far in front of the gate, three men sit on their horses, two in the snake-embroidered robes of Tevinter mages, and one in dirtied armor.

It’s clear they’d been expected. The mages are already shimmering with the glow of a barrier, and all three of them are mounted with their weapons brandished. The crack of leather against hide echos in the gorge as they force their horses into a charge, sending sand flying behind them as charge forward.

“I thought they were supposed to be gone!” Jonghyun shouts, hands moving to his staff in a flurry of panic. “Can we outrun them?”

“Doubt it, since three of them are mounted.” Jinki draws an arrow as he answers, notching it quickly. The mages had been too arrogant or too stupid to put the barrier on their mounts, so he aims for the closest horse and lets the arrow fly. The bolt pierces its chest, and the beast falls with a strangled cry, tossing its rider forward to skid across the sand.

Next to him, Jonghyun murmurs a string of words, eyes narrowed in concentration. A pillar of flame rises from the earth that engulfs the second rider and blinds the last with a plume of sand.

Jinki’s heart races. He can feel the ripple of magic over his skin. His eyes flick over to Jonghyun for a moment, fearful, before he remembers there’s still a warrior to contend with.

The warrior tugs hard on his reins, bringing his mount to a stop to try and turn to retreat. Jinki doesn’t give him the chance. The horse struggles to adjust its footing on the loose sand, giving him enough time to pull and notch another arrow. He fires it off, not wasting time to aim, and lets out a cry of victory when it sinks into the unguarded collar between the man’s shoulder guard and chest plate. The warrior falls forward in the saddle with a shout, and the horse bucks in panic, tossing him onto the ground before it races away.

Jonghyun is behind him, breathing heavy as he asks if everyone is alright, but Jinki rushes off to the man without a word.

The man is Tevinter, and he’s not going to risk a single one of those bastards escaping.

When Jinki reaches him, he knows he has no reason to worry about an attack — the man’s leg is bent and stuck in an unnatural position on the sand, and a shaking blade is the only defense he has left. Jinki draws Hyoyeon’s sword and knocks it aside with a quick snap, then presses his own blade to the man’s neck before approaching.

He sets a foot over the familiar Tevinter twisted dragon emblem on the man’s armor.  “You’re Venatori, aren’t you? The Inquisition pushed you out months ago. Why are you here?”

In answer, he receives a snarl as the man tries to squirm away. He registers that Jonghyun and Taemin have caught up with him, but pays them no mind, and instead pushes the blade closer to his jaw to draw blood and force him still.

“I’m giving you a chance to explain why you’re here, shem. You know you won’t survive my arrow more than a day out here, not without treatment. If you give us the information we want, I can make your death painless.”

At those words, Jonghyun flinches, and his hands come up to bunch in his robes. “Are you sure? I could heal him, so we could try and get information from him?”

“Heal me or not, I won’t tell you anything.”

Jinki reaches down and twists the shaft of his arrow, forcing the man to cry out in pain as the head of it tears more of his muscle. He grits his teeth, eyes meeting Jinki’s with a hard defiance.

“Dirty tactics from a dirty elf.” The man spits the blood that had gathered at his lips away, glancing at Taemin. “Is the whole inquisition filled with rattus?”

Taemin’s face hardens, and Jinki scowls. “Dread wolf take you.”

With a quick jerk of his sword, he silts the Venatori’s throat. The sand beneath the him darkens with blood, and Jinki stands quickly, head pounding with adrenaline and hate.

He’s not sure how long passes before a timid question from Jonghyun breaks the silence. “…Should we have done that?”

“I’m not sure — maybe he would have told us something, if we pushed enough.” Taemin sighs as he wipes the sweat off his forehead. “But I can’t say I’m sorry to see him gone — I don’t know if I would have been able to stand being called rattus all the way back to camp.”

Jonghyun frowns at the unfamiliar word, but his eyes are fixed on the body below them. “Is it just me, or does this man look...injured?”

Taemin raises a brow at him. “He looks dead to me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jonghyun says. Tentatively, he reaches forward to push back the man’s sleeve to reveal deep purple marks around his wrist. He points to another on his collar. “There’s bruises on him — like the kind you’d get from a bad tavern brawl. I don’t believe any of us hit him there. What could have hurt them?”

“The Inquisition, when they were here last?”

Jonghyun shakes his head. “These look too fresh.”

“Perhaps it was bandits,” Jinki says. “Their armor and robes are worn, and their mounts looked it as well. And they only had a few supplies on them — unless they have a nearby camp, or a larger party nearby, this would only keep them alive for a few more days.”

Jonghyun crosses his arms, expression going from curious to frightened. “You think there’s more of them? Should we warn the Inquisition, so they can get proper troops out here in case there is a larger army?”

“The Inquisition won’t put troops out here unless they know it’s necessary,” Taemin says. “A few probable stragglers isn’t enough.”

“Then we continue scouting until we know what’s going on,” Jinki says. “We handled three of them without even a single injury. As long as we avoid being outnumbered, we should be fine.”

Jonghyun opens his mouth to protest, but Taemin cuts him off before he can get out a single word. “Jinki’s right. We need more information before we change our plans, and we need to carry out the mission we were given. It wasn’t given to us as a vital task, but it’s still our job. As the Chantry says, the Maker yet notices the smallest of deeds.’”

Jinki’s lips tighten at the mention other Maker, but he nods in agreement still. “Taemin is right. We should finish what we came here to do, especially since the information we find might explain why the Venatori are still out here.” Jonghyun looks between them for a long moment before giving in with a sigh. “Alright. But I think we should keep on the move before dark, in case there’s more of them nearby who were waiting for these men to return. And start putting someone on watch at night.”

“Agreed,” Taemin says, pacing when he continues. “If we have to fight the Venatori again, it’d be best if we catch them off guard, instead of the other way around—” He stops suddenly and leans forward. “Wait — do you all see that? To the north?”

Jonghyun and Jinki turn quickly to look. In the distance, something glistens in the setting sun over the top of a large sand dune.

“It looks like something metal.” Jonghyun observes. He shades his eyes with his hand and squints against the sun. “I can’t tell what it is, though, or how large it is...”

“Could be one of the ancient Tevinter artifacts the Venatori were looking for,” Taemin suggests, voice perking up with interest. “And if it is, it hasn’t been found before. I need to mark it on my map, and I’d bet that might be where the bastards we took care of were camping.”

“Let’s hurry, then. We only have an hour before sunset.” Jinki sheathes his sword and begins heading in the direction of the metallic glimmer, not bothering to wait for the rest of the group. He hears Jonghyun and Taemin exchange a few words about burning the bodies behind him, but he guesses they decided against it, because he hears their footfalls behind him only a minute later.

As they continue towards the dune, the object becomes clearer. A flat panel of metal had been the source of the gleam, and with the glare no longer blocking the view, Jinki can see the bars jutting down from it behind the dune.

His stomach drops. He had only the vaguest memories of being bought when he was a child, but cages were a common sight whenever the magister had required extra staff for a seasonal event.

Sand kicks up behind him as Taemin runs to catch up with him. “Jinki — doesn’t that look like...?”

“It does.”

“Maker,” Taemin breathes, eyes wide in horror. “We need to see if there’s any elves in there.”

Jinki’s throat tightens. The words make it more real, and he forces himself to walk faster despite his aching legs, fearful for the fate of anyone that might be inside the cage.

When they reach the top of the dune, he sees that the floor and wheels of the cage are half-buried, and the door is stuck half-open in the sand. The leather harnesses at the front meant for horses are frayed and jagged as if cut by a knife, but it’s the carvings on the bars that catch his attention.

A huff from the top of the dune startles him, and he turns to see Jonghyun limping towards them with a hand clutching his side.

“I know I should have mentioned this earlier, but I’m a bit weak from using all my magic in that fight. If you two could slow down a bit, that would help...” his voice fades as his eyes widen. “Wait, is that a cage?”

Jinki grits his teeth, annoyed at Jonghyun’s need to state the obvious.  His irritation deepens when Jonghyun steps forward with a plainly curious expression and touches the edge of the cage with the tip of his finger and yanks his hand back with a yelp. “Well, this thing used to be magicked — do you think they were hoping to pick up prisoners? I can’t imagine they’d bring animals all the way out here for food supplies...”

“The cage wasn’t for animals,” Jinki snaps, and in Jonghyun’s silence, he runs a thumb over the small pictograms scratched into the bars. He exchanges a look with Taemin. Though they had been lucky never to see those markings in their magister’s house, the knowledge of their meaning is passed among the elven slaves of Tevinter as easily as the air.

Illiterate slaves — the majority of them — use the symbols to speak to each other in secret, to warn of a cruel master or to try and preserve knowledge of a family line.

The combination of symbols on the cage — a clenched fist for a master prone to beatings, a dagger for one with a murderous temper, and a drop between them for blood magic — meant the worst.

“This cage was used for slaves,” Jinki says, not bothering to keep the cut out of his voice. “The Venatori are sacrificing elves for blood magic here.”

Taemin nods grimly, and Jonghyun pales. He pulls back from the cage as if burned and gapes at it. “You mean, people were...?”

“This is how they transport slaves in Tevinter. I assume they must have bought some and brought them with.” Jinki exhales and forces himself to think. “Though…there’s no bodies, so they might still be alive.”

A bit of color returns to Jonghyun's cheeks when he processes Jinki’s words. “Perhaps they escaped? That would explain the injuries on the men we fought...”

“I hope that’s the case,” Taemin says. “I know they weren’t freed by the Inquisition — other than us, most of the Inquisition's forces are heading south now...” Taemin bites his lip. “And shit, I bet the Venatori know that. They’re probably coming back to dig up whatever horrid artifacts they were trying to find before and kick the Inquisition out of the fortress we took from them— there was something in the notes that mentioned that, but I thought it was all old plans from before they were pushed out —”

“They can’t do that though, can they?” Jonghyun says. “It can’t be that easy to take a fortress, even if there are fewer soldiers than usual.”

“With blood magic, and a cage full of slaves for it — assuming this is even the only one?” Taemin huffs. “They might be able to blow a whole wall of the fortress away, then rebuild it for themselves.”

Jonghyun stiffens. “Well...we need to warn the Inquisition before that they might attack, then.”

Taemin goes silent, and Jinki watches his brow furrow. He can easily read the thoughts racing through his head: what’s the quickest path to the fortress, what’s the best way to avoid running into more Venatori, can we even get there in time — and knows in an instant that they’re all pointless.

“No, we shouldn’t warn them.”

Taemin and Jonghyun blink at him.

“It’d take at least a week of nonstop travel to get to the fortress. By the time we reach it, the Venatori will have had more time to arrange whatever ritual they’re planning, and we wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it there,” he stops to catch his breath. “It’d be better to ruin their plan completely, by taking out some of the Venatori ourselves while they’re still scattered and freeing the slaves they plan on sacrificing.”

Taemin hums, considering the idea, as Jonghyun gapes at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “How are we supposed to do that? We were sent here as a scouting party. We don’t have enough strength to do anything.”

“If a group of unarmed slaves could escape and injure them, we should be able to stop them.”

“We don’t know that they escaped — that was just a guess.” Jonghyun’s voice strains around the word.  “But we do know that they have mages. And they’re all from Tevinter — they’ve trained their whole lives in magic, with no restrictions at all.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jinki’s eyes flash in the dark as he stares Jonghyun down. “I know more about magic from Tevinter and what the shems are capable of than you would. And it doesn’t change the fact that we need to kill them, before they accomplish whatever evil magic they plan on doing.”

“You realize we might die, don’t you?” Jonghyun protests. “It’s likely we would.”

“And if we don’t try, countless others could die, and the power-hungry bastards might gain a stronghold in this region. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

Jonghyun grits his teeth. “No. I just think—”

Jinki cuts Jonghyun off with a gesture of his hand, ignoring the indignant glare that earns him, and turns to Taemin. “What do you think is best? You’ve been with the Inquisition the longest.”

Taemin eyes Jonghyun warily, obviously expecting him to protest at being cut off, then clears his throat when he’s met with silence. “As much as I don’t like it, Jinki’s right. We don’t know when the Venatori are planning to attack — it could be only a few days from now — so if we can chip away a bit of their strength, that’s what we should do. Even if we just harass them, we can buy some time or split their focus.” He pulls out his map and unfurls it, words trailing down to mere mutters as he runs his finger along the page. “From the placement of the old camps, we can probably guess where they might stop...add that to the fact that they're trying to approach unnoticed...”

Jinki interrupts before Taemin can get completely lost in his thoughts. “You think we can find some of them?

“For certain.” Taemin looks up from the map with a tight smile. “And if we can get to them quick, we might be able to free some slaves before they’re killed.”

[shannaraisles]

Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 6

"I still maintain we should approach the templars -"

"We need more power, not suppression -"

"If you could stop bickering and come to a decision, then we can move on from this!"

Leliana and Cullen broke off their argument, and turned to look at Amelia over the war table, both surprised by her outburst. She glared at both of them, still more than a little rattled by her experience in Val Royeaux. If the decision were up to her, that little display by Lord Seeker Lucius would have made her mind up for her. But she wasn't a part of making the decisions. She was the face of the Inquisition, nothing more, and this constant bickering was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"We are deadlocked on this issue," Josephine admitted, looking curiously to the other three leaders of the Inquisition. "Perhaps a decisive voice is needed, and it does not belong to any of us."

"It is the Herald who will have to make the approach," Cassandra pointed out, looking to Amelia. "If the decision were yours to make, Amelia, who would you approach?"

"For me, it is an easy decision," Amelia answered simply. "The mages."

Cullen threw up his hands, frustrated by the insistence of the women around him in inviting what he saw as more danger to their safe Haven. "Because you are a mage yourself!"

"Because I am a rational human being, you bigoted oaf!" she shot back across the table, tired of his attitude to this choice before them. He was afraid, and too proud to admit it, and unfortunately he was expressing it as an irrational, stubborn aversion to even considering the mages as possible allies.

"How is it rational to expose dozens, hundreds, of mages to the danger of possession so close to the Breach, you silly little girl?" he demanded, both of them thankfully unaware of the amusement their argument was eliciting in their companions. He let out a huff of breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, I should not have said that," he apologized to her. "I have no excuse."

Amelia's expression hardened briefly, but she shook her head with a sigh. "I apologize, as well," she said softly. "We are looking at this from two sides of the argument, and we each have our own reasons for our partiality. Please, continue."

He frowned, concerned by the way she had backed down in the face of his anger. He knew he was being as irrational as he had accused her of being, but his past experiences were still too raw to simply stand back and allow them to forge ahead without being made aware bluntly of the dangers. "Bringing more mages here would mean abominations and blood magic throughout Inquisition ranks," he insisted firmly.

"So I'm an abomination, am I?" she said, her voice almost sad. "Or perhaps I am a maleficar. I did, after all, fall directly from the Fade. I may even be a demon. Do you understand why this line of debate is so insulting? Cullen, your paranoia is ruling your sense."

"My caution is learned and warranted," Cullen growled at her, hurt that she would choose to bring that up in front of their companions. He had confided in her of his concern that his fears were sometimes overwhelming shortly before he had sent her back to Ostwick for her own safety. "Or do you not remember conditions in the Gallows?"

"This is not Kirkwall!" Amelia reminded him, as forcefully as she could. She was not a woman given to heated debate at the best of times, and this was certainly not the best of times. "This is not a Circle. If all mages were so evilly inclined as you believe, the world would have been awash with demons long before any of this ever happened!"

"And if all templars were as bloodthirsty as you believe, half the world would be dead by their swords by now," he countered stubbornly. He believed in the principles behind the Templar Order, but he also knew she was right. While atrocities had been committed on either side, the war had not truly begun until the templars had abandoned the Chantry to openly attack the mages. He was ashamed of what the Order had become, and had hoped that the Inquisition might be able to save them from themselves.

"I have never believed all templars are bloodthirsty, and some of them are slaughtering innocents at random," she pointed out, frowning at him.

"We have established that there are false generalizations on both sides," Josephine interjected smoothly. Entertaining though it was to watch the Herald and the commander argue, there had been a point before the conversation escalated. "Lady Trevelyan, there must be compelling reasons as to why you would choose to approach the mages. Could you, perhaps, explain them to us?"

Tearing her irritated glare from Cullen's flushed face, Amelia made a visible effort to calm down before she answered. "Part of it, I admit, is due to my own status as a mage," she began, only to be interrupted immediately.

"Of course it is," Cullen scoffed, but quite suddenly fell silent as Amelia's gaze turned frosty. He knew that look; he'd crossed a line, and he knew exactly which one it was. Their friendship here was still in tentative stages. He instantly regretted speaking without thinking. A debate was fine; deliberate rudeness was not something that sat well with him, especially when he was the one who had performed it.

She held that stare until he looked away, his ears turning pink as he did so. "If you are quite finished attempting to silence me, husband ..." The words were as icy as her eyes, the silence deeply uncomfortable until she went on.

"As I was saying, part of it is because I am a mage," she told Josephine. "But my mind was made up by that little display in Val Royeaux. Bad enough that the Chantry thought to lure us into a trap and order the templars to set on us, but to see a templar strike a Revered Mother with his armored fist, with no provocation at all, and no punishment from his superiors ... I would not willingly offer any alliance to a group that condones such behavior. We went to Val Royeaux for a peaceful discussion. Instead, I was personally accused and denounced by the Chantry's spokesperson, and witness to an unjustifiable attack on the Chantry by the templars." Her eyes turned back to Cullen, pleading for him to see sense. "The only person willing to speak to us was Grand Enchanter Fiona, and she wasn't even supposed to be there."

Cullen's jaw clenched. Every word she said was true. He wished he had been there - not to see the disgraceful behavior, but to appeal to the templars as one of their brothers. Amelia was right to be wary of their new leader, and of their behavior, and he had not been fair in forcing his personal views into this conversation. But he kept his peace, looking toward Cassandra as she spoke.

"That is very true," the Seeker agreed in a troubled tone. "I cannot imagine what has got into the Lord Seeker. He was so very cold."

"I take it that is unusual for him?" Leliana asked, one brow raised curiously.

"Not exactly," Cassandra admitted reluctantly. "But to shun us completely ... that is not the man I know."

"Should I have my agents investigate Therinfal Redoubt?" the spymaster suggested. "That is where the Order is gathering, though there is little information as to why."

"It is a fortress," Cassandra shrugged. "Almost as impregnable as Redcliffe Castle. I cannot pretend to guess his reasons, but Lucius seems to believe the templars are important. He was very clear about this being their hour."

"That concerns me," Cullen offered, his voice softer now he had allowed himself a moment to calm and step back from the old fear spurring on his temper. "The templars are the greatest military force in Thedas. If the Lord Seeker has been corrupted somehow, they will be vulnerable to abuse by their superiors. Kirkwall repeated, but on a massive scale."

"That is a concern," Leliana agreed. "But our goal here is to close the Breach. Whomever we approach, we will make an enemy of the other."

"And templars would be, I fear, less problematic to fight, if it should come to that," Cassandra said, her tone pensive.

Amelia kept her mouth shut, watching Cullen as he considered what was being said. She understood his viewpoint, of course she did. Despite his disavowal of the Order, he still felt some loyalty toward it. Indeed, she shared his concern for the honorable members of the Order, who were in no position to disobey their leaders. Lyrium was their leash; just because he was slowly breaking free from it did not mean that others would be so willing to try. In his heart, they were still his brothers and sisters, a family he had embraced beyond the bonds of blood. She felt herself relax at his next words, glad to hear the anger had been set aside. It worried her when he let that paranoia take hold.

"You are right," he told Cassandra, painful reluctance clear in his voice. "An army of mages is a greater threat than an army of templars."

"This invitation to Redcliffe is merely to talk," Josephine added diplomatically. "Any negotiation can be put off until we know what the situation truly is."

"Then the Herald should go to Redcliffe to discern what the mages are doing there," Leliana said decisively, "and my agents will work on infiltrating the Redoubt. Agreed?"

There was a general ripple of agreement from everyone in the room. Leliana left, no doubt to send out her orders; Josephine was close behind her. Not wanting to be left alone in the war room with her husband after their harsh words, Amelia was hard on their heels, but to no avail. Cullen caught up to her outside the Chantry.

"Amelia, you shouldn't -" he began, breaking off as she shook his hand from her arm.

"Cullen ... I don't think we should talk to each other right now," she told him as gently as she could. "We both have our own reasons for believing as we do, and we both have tempers that do not mesh well, especially when we are in opposition. Another time, perhaps. I'll make sure Adan has your doses for during my absence."

His jaw set in an sharp line, his frown heavy. She was right, once again. "Don't presume any decisions for the Inquisition in Redcliffe," he warned her quietly. "Our choice is not yet made."

"Don't worry," she assured him, her voice just as quiet. "I'm not a leader, I know that. I'll leave the decision to you, and the others. But I need to know what's happening there, Cullen, for my own peace of mind. Perhaps Leliana's agents will be able to set your mind at rest with news from the Redoubt. But we should not talk about this any more."

He sighed softly, letting her walk away as he lingered by the great doors. So much for beginning again. Between them, they had just reduced themselves to templar and mage once again. He hated that distinction, the way it opened the divide between them. He wanted to be Cullen and Amelia once again, as they had been in the quiet evenings before Kirkwall had grown too dangerous to risk her continued presence there. And for that to happen, he would have to master his fear. As for Amelia, she escaped with no little remorse at how harsh she had been with him, shaking her head at the memory of the way they had spoken in the war room. A part of her wanted him to follow, to apologize once again so that she could apologize herself, but she knew neither one of them was in the right frame of mind for such an apology to mean anything. If the mages were in reasonable circumstances, she would look again at the possibility of approaching the templars. That was the most she would allow herself to consider at this moment.

She stamped her feet as she walked, trying to work some heat back into her toes as she reached the wide steps leading down to her cabin, pulled up short by a gravelly voice behind her.

"Well, that looked chilly. Who yanked Curly's chain?"

Twisting on her heel, she met Varric's nonchalant gaze, smiling ruefully at the dwarf's question. "That would be me," she admitted, moving to join him by his fire. "We had a ... difference of opinion over mages and templars."

"Looked like more than that to me, Duchess," he chuckled, gesturing for her to sit with him. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Looking for more fodder for your sequel?" she countered mildly.

"Who said I was writing a sequel?" Varric managed to look innocent under her level gaze.

"The parchment on your knee does," she pointed out, but with a resigned smile. It was hard to be offended by Varric's scribbles. "It's not like I don't know that I'm The Gallows Bride. I did read it, Varric."

"Can you really blame me for wanting to continue the story now it's playing out in front of me?" he chuckled in his charming way. "This time, I might even get some of it accurate."

"You got some parts right," she conceded lightly. "Not the glorious romance and gory death, of course, but the first chapters were fairly accurate for a while."

"Ouch." Varric winced in sympathy. If those chapters were close to the truth, her marriage to Cullen had not begun well at all. "At least tell me it's improved now."

"It did before I left Kirkwall," she assured him. "I had thought we were making some progress here, but ... Old habits die hard, it seems."

"On his side, or yours?" her dwarven friend asked in a gentle tone. His quill wasn't moving on the page, so she knew it was the query of a friend, not the nosiness of an author.

"His, perhaps," she murmured, staring into the flames. It wasn't her place to tell Cullen's secrets, and she was acutely aware that she had all but announced one of his greatest shames in front of Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra. "But my reactions aren't exactly conducive to a healthy discussion. I can't seem to stop throwing the past in his face. I suppose I'm angrier than I thought I was."

"I don't see how you couldn't be," he mused. "Cullen was a nughead back then. And you were forced into marrying him -"

"No one forced me, Varric," she corrected him, shaking her head. She didn't like this recurring theme, that everyone seemed to think she'd had no say in her marriage, and that it had been terrible. "I volunteered, if you can believe that."

Varric's expression was priceless. "Wait ... what? Now I need details. Hawke was certain you were blackmailed into it."

It was Amelia's turn to show her confusion. "Why would Hawke possibly ...? Oh, Bethany, of course." She sighed, letting out a soft laugh. Bethany Hawke had been her first friend in the Gallows; of course the Champion got all her Circle gossip from her sister. She looked sideways at Varric. "You really want the truth? It paints me as a naive idiot."

"Better than a beaten bride," he commented, and she had to concede that point.

"True," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "All right, you want the details? The Ostwick Circle was as dull as paint. When our First Enchanter was contacted by Knight-Commander Meredith, proposing an alliance between one of his mages and her Knight-Captain, he approached me because of my family name. I thought it was an admirable idea, a way of making peace in the Gallows between mages and templars. And I let myself become infatuated with the miniature portrait he showed me. Cullen's always been handsome, and I'd read a lot of silly novels about unlikely romances. My parents had no objections; it got me out of Ostwick. I thought I would be in the vanguard of a new age of peace, that he would become as infatuated with me as I was with him, and we would show the world that mages and templars could live in harmony. I was an idiot."

"I don't think so. Naive, maybe. Innocent, definitely." He caught her sharp glance, answering it with a roguish smile. "You might never have seen it, Duchess, but Curly changed after you got married. Started seeing the other side of things; working with Hawke, rather than denouncing her and everything she did. I'd say you're probably the reason he finally stood up to Meredith. I know you weren't in Kirkwall then, but the man he was before you would never have challenged her the way he did, or protected what few mages were left afterward. Hawke thought maybe you were forcing him to see things differently by being loud and outspoken, but I think I know better. Now I know you, I think just being yourself was enough to remind him of the man he wanted to be."

She smiled, the expression wry on her freckled face. Gossip about her marriage had never really occurred to her before she'd read The Gallows Bride, and its fanciful romanticism had made her laugh. She and Cullen might not have fallen in love, but they had created a soft, safe place for them both to retreat to that had only felt complete when they were both in attendance. "That's a very romantic notion, Varric," she said softly. "So why did he send me away, let me think he was dead?"

"Oh, I don't know," the dwarf chuckled, waving a hand. "You'd have to ask him."

"That's not happening anytime soon," she laughed, shaking her head as she sobered abruptly. "Right now, we're neither of us in the right place to hold an adult discussion. I resorted to name-calling in there, and he answered me in kind."

"I don't think you'll have any trouble on that score, Duchess," he assured her, patting her hand lightly. "Two weeks without you, and he'll be falling over himself to talk to you again. Speaking of which, where to next?"

"Back to Redcliffe," she told him. "We should at least see what the Grand Enchanter has to say, and we can pick up Leliana's Grey Warden while we're at it."

"Fun times," he sighed theatrically.

She laughed again, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"Just don't go cliff-diving with any more rams," he suggested in amusement. "I don't think Cassandra's nerves can take it."

"That was her fault," Amelia protested, giggling at his turn of phrase.

"I know that, and you know that." Varric winked at her. "Even Chuckles knows it. But she'll never admit to it."

"No, I suppose she wouldn't," she agreed, her smile softening as she looked at her friend. "Thank you, Varric. I needed to talk that through."

"I'm not a storyteller for nothing," he said immodestly, jerking his head toward the steps. "I think your little friend's trying to get your attention."

She followed his gaze, smiling at the sight of Elin's anxious face. "I think you're right," she chuckled, rising to her feet. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Dream sweet for me, Duchess."

Feeling much better in herself, Amelia joined Elin, walking with her to the cabin. The young elf had become her go-to person whenever she was in Haven, taking her self-appointed duties very seriously indeed. If she was honest, she was glad of Elin's fussing over her. It felt good to be looked after with such care. She could only hope that Elin knew how deeply her efforts were appreciated.

"Madame de Fer sent some embrium petals, milady," she was saying as they entered the cabin. "Said to sprinkle them on the fire to help you sleep. And that Sera put a dead mouse in your bed, but I fetched it out again."

Amelia let out a short laugh, letting Elin usher her into the chair. "I think we're going to have to get used to Red Jenny's pranks," she told the girl, relaxing as familiarly clever fingers began to remove the pins from her hair. "I'm a noble, after all; her natural prey. It might take her a while to stop seeing me as the enemy."

"It's not very respectful, milady," Elin pointed out, clearly disapproving of Sera already.

"Be glad it was only a mouse, Elin," Amelia chuckled again. "She enjoys stealing breeches as well. A bare-assed Herald of Andraste would be right up her street."

"I won't let her do that to you, milady," the elf promised fervently. "If she ever does, I'll steal her breeches and burn them."

"Good for you, Elin," she praised her young helper fondly. "And if she ever pranks you, just let me know. I'm sure I could come up with a way to even the score."

Elin giggled, drawing the comb through her mistress' long, dark hair. The Herald of Andraste might be on her way out into the world again at sun up, but for tonight, Amelia could relax in her own slice of privacy, leaving her troubles at the door. Here, there was peace and calm, and after the headaches of the day, that was very welcome indeed.