#▐ ❛ANSWERED. / letters to the inquisitor.

[miaowmelodie]

i love wikipedia and i think it is good and right to give them money but all their funding drive messages are “well… we’ll be killing ourselves tonight. we asked so little of you and yet it seems that simply nobody cares about lil ol wikipedia anymore….sad…”

[housederiva]

Here's every version of the letter the Inquisitor gets from their LI plus Varric (which didn't make me cry at all)

If your Inky didn't romance anyone:

Inquisitor, Greetings from miserable, rainy Minrathous! (Don't tell Dorian I called it that.) The rotten weather here is making me nostalgic for Skyhold. The mountains were freezing, but at least the air didn't smell like wet garbage. We'll have to get in another game of Wicked Grace, soon. Harding picked up the trail again. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know how useless that is. Instead, I'll just say: I've got a great team on this. Neve could stare down the Maker, and wait until you meet Rook. He's/She's/They're a natural: Smart, resourceful, completely unpredictable. You'd like him/her/them, as long as you don't try to beat him/her/them at cards. Chuckles'll never know what hit him. I'll write again once we have something solid for you. Drinks at the Hanged Man are on me when this is over. Take care of yourself. Varric

Blackwall:

My love, You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side. Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations. Yours always, Thom

Cassandra:

My love, We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe. The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can. The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray. Yours, Cassandra

Cullen:

The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences chewed to read. I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible. I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you are all right. You are I've There's I wish I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life. The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my - I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this - Whatever you need of me, I am yours. Cullen

Dorian:

Amatus, I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear. I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you. I will find you soon. Yours, Dorian

Iron Bull

Hey, Kadan, Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!) I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian. Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to just be what I want to be. And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you. So come back safe. Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.

Josephine:

My Dearest Lord/Lady, I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all. The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together. There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here. When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes. Always yours, Josephine Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.

Sera:

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.) Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.") - North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker. - Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know. - We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow. - So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls! - We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.) - Still thinking of you sideways. - Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.) - The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out. - Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me. - I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why. - Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.) - You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on. (The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.) New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

Solas:

Vhenan, I do not know if you will see these words. My ritual is ready and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I hope you come to understand. That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin... you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas... as I wanted. I regret the pain I caused you. What I feel for you will never change. The note is unsigned, but the handwriting is Solas'.

[vuulpecula]

✖ @scoundrvls​​​ inquired: spotify 55 for fives!

✖ spotify wrapped: send me a number, 1-100 and i’ll write you a starter (or some long dramatic piece of trash) <3 | accepting, posting slowly      ↳ 55. Wildflower - Mel Bryant & the Mercy Makers

       Blue, purple, pink, and red. They grew out of the pavement, defiant of the rule of the Empire. Fox was thankful for the mask covering her face as she could look freely at the wildflowers creating cracks in the stone. Pushing against what had tried to smother them. She wanted to kneel before them, remove her gloves, and touch at the petals. Anything to feel the life surging beneath the planet. Free and wild. They would destroy it for its resources one day, after it had been searched and sacked and whatever else they did under the orders of hunting Jedi. She had asked for a smaller group of purge troopers for this specific fact. Because massacres could be bloody and although they were expendable, they still held a spot in her heart. Some soft, hidden piece of who she used to be before they tried to burn it out of her, that valued the life of others over all else--regardless of how they were born or made.

      “Trooper,” she commanded, turning to look at the darkly clad clone nearest to her. “Accompany me. The rest of you, guard the ship. The natives are hiding a jedi in their ranks, I do not want to waste your skills before we are ready.” She nodded toward the closest trooper and stepped forward, crushing petals beneath her feet. “Let’s hunt.”

[fenharel-babe]

I’m sorry but the way Solas, in his letter, says he wanted to stay as Solas with Lavellan just hits me.

In DATV, in my opinion, we see Fen’Harel. We see a GENERAL, someone who knows war, someone who’s using Rook (Mythal literally says it outright, which made me laugh), who is a liar (sprinkling some truths here and there), and is literally using blood magic on Rook. He’s lying and tricking them. We see who he used to be, his skills he kept hidden because they didn’t belong to Solas.

They belonged to Fen’Harel. In my head, Solas is who he was in DAI, mostly. A fade loving nerd who loves to help people and LOVES to answer questions if you ask. I feel like even if someone asked about something other than the Fade, he would do his best to answer because he just loves to see people wanting to know more. It’s why I feel like he’d be such a good dad. Kids are so curious about the world around them, and I believe he would support them, keep them safe and love them while teaching them so much about the real world and the Fade. And I can imagine him, if he ever ran into kids at Skyhold or even helping children slaves or parents, he would be so comforting and good at dealing with them. He’s awkward, since he hasn’t felt love (whether it be companionship or romantic) in so long, but sweet because he knows they’re innocent, curious and he wants to protect that.

I see a nerd that has a little snort when he chuckles, a man that deals with teasing from everyone and pranks from Sera even if they piss him off, and I believe sometimes he would participate in pranking even it it was small. He gets into arguments with Vivienne, yet I believe he would still protect her in the end of things. In my mind anyways. He literally is just a man in DAI who wants someone to understand him, and he’s so awkward when he gets that. He doesn’t know how to react because he hasn’t felt love in so long, and maybe never has. He went through hell when he was dealing with the Evanuris, and his relationship with Mythal was terribly abusive, so I can imagine him not wanting to get close to anyone. Not just because he was lying in DAI, but ALSO BECAUSE OF FEAR. HE WAS AFRAID THEY WOULD TREAT HIM THE SAME AS SHE DID. They wouldn’t see him as a person or someone worthy of getting help. He’s a scared man who wants love, so when he finds it he holds onto it.

I see him as such a good lover as Solas because it’s who he is deep down. He’s caring and doesn’t care about other people’s opinions. In DAI, he cares about Lavellan’s opinion and he wants her to have freedom. Like when you drink from the Well, he’s all upset because now you DONT HAVE FREEDOM. Whether inquisitor or lover, he’s scared. He cares about freedom, people knowing all they can, I feel like he doesn’t like to lie.

I see that as Solas, and it just HITS me when he says in the letter that he wanted to stay as Solas with her. I feel like he would tell her the truth eventually, but mainly keep himself with her. I see DAI Solas as SOLAS. He wanted to stay with her like that. As a nerd who loves her deeply and cares for other people. He didn’t want to be Fen’Harel anymore. Didn’t want to keep lying, hiding himself from others, and ever be a general again.

He wanted to give wisdom, not orders.

He wanted to stay as Solas and love Lavellan with all of him, but his devotion was so deep that he couldn’t. It hits when he says that he wanted to stay like THAT with Lavellan. I KNOW IT’S NOT SUCH A BIG DEAL BUT IT IS TO ME. It just makes me think that he didn’t want to be Fen’Harel ever again. Didn’t want this shit deep down, but he felt like he had to. And I imagine him as leaving clues for Lavellan because he loves her and wants her to stop him deep down. Help him be SOLAS AGAIN. Her Fade nerd that loves people as well and loves to grab ass.

Anyways. I’m overthinking and I love Solas deeply. I can never escape this hole of Solavellan hell and Solavellan heaven.

[loredrinker]

I Would Not Lay With You Under False Pretenses

In my Dragon Age Inquisition head canon, Solas and Lavellan had a sexual relationship. Throughout their time together in Inquisition, I’ve always imagined them sharing that kind of intimacy - it felt like a natural progression to me. (Despite not getting those scenes in the game—though we know they intended to.) I'd also like to thank the writers for leaving it open to interpretation on purpose. (I’ve held this interpretation long before Veilguard, and with the revelations of Solas’s memories and regrets, it has actually deepened my understanding and added even more layers to this perspective.)

Why is this my take?

On a personal note, it just makes his betrayal way juicier, more devastating, and tragic (And I'll be honest, I am totally into that level of tragedy).

From a more analytical perspective, I interpret Solas as spiritual (he was a spirit first, after all), and the kind of man who falls in love with someone’s mind and spirit before anything else. For Solas, sex isn’t just about physical desire; it’s a spiritual act – and it’s his spirit that seems to be the most wounded throughout the games. This kind of intimacy feels like it could provide him with some healing and to me, it seems a natural progression for him to connect intimately with someone he truly loves.

So, here are some of my justifications for this interpretation (this is a long post!): 

Solas is lonely – we all know this. His immortality and all the secrets and regrets he carries isolate him. Lavellan’s love is one of the few things that lets him connect with someone who sees him. Their intimacy would become a refuge from his solitude. 

It’s his moment to just be Solas. When they’re making love, he can set aside being Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, and just be a man. Vulnerable, open, and present. That’s something he craves but seems to rarely happen.  As his letter in Veilguard to a romanced Inquisitor says - “...put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas...as I wanted”. 

It’s not total deception. While he hides that he is Fen'Harel (by omission - his words, not mine!), I don’t think making love to Lavellan is deceptive on his part. For him, it’s the purest expression of his feelings. Words can lead to lies, but in their intimacy, bodies speak truth. That’s why his line in Trespasser, “I would not lay with you under false pretenses,” resonates with me in this interpretation - he means it. He wouldn’t make love to her unless he loved her. Love does not come lightly to Solas.

And perhaps, in his mind, this intimacy is also a gift to her - a way of saying, I truly do love you. In moments where words risk exposing too much, this is how he shows her the depth of his feelings. For a man as burdened by guilt and secrecy as Solas, this act becomes a truth - an offering of his unguarded self, if only for a little while.

(On consent: Many valid arguments suggest Lavellan can’t truly consent, given she doesn’t know his full truth. I’ve thought about this a lot. For me, my Inquisitor is not passive. I played her as an intuitive and intelligent, and experienced woman. She is aware that Solas is holding something back. She senses his sadness, a chasm within him, a fight within him. She chooses intimacy with him despite knowing he’s hiding something - not out of ignorance but out of love and faith. Partly because she believes her love can offer him solace and maybe even help him heal and of course, she too is seeking the same connection with the man she loves, that he is seeking with her. What I'm saying is, my Lavellan is an active participant in her own choices. That’s why I find her relentless pursuit of understanding after Trespasser so delicious—she owns her choices and chases answers.)

Love overwhelms him. Despite all his restraint, his love for Lavellan overwhelms him (look at the way he gets lost in her kisses alone). Making love is the only way he can fully express the depth of what he feels for her (other than the actual truth, but he chickens out on that). In those moments, they exist together beyond guilt, secrets, or duty.

It anchors him. For an immortal like Solas, stuck between the past and the future with no real connection to the present, being with Lavellan pulls him into that present. Imagine what a relief that would be - to stop carrying the weight of eternity, even briefly, and just feel good in the moment. 

It’s a reclaiming of his humanity. Lavellan brings out the parts of him that are still human. Sex is a way for him to reconnect with those fleeting, mortal emotions that may have dulled over centuries of war, betrayal and...well, immortality. 

Sex as a spiritual act. Sex, in itself is very spiritual - it is more than just a physical act - it’s an exchange of energy, a union where two spirits connect and strengthen one another. Each moment of intimacy strengthens their shared connection, draws them closer, forging strands of energy that tether them together. This isn’t about taking - it’s about giving, receiving, and creating a sanctuary for each of them.

This shared energy would then carry spiritual significance for Solas. He is a man fractured—both wisdom and pride, split between dualities that circle within him. Through this connection, this literal merging of their bodies and spirits, he might find a fleeting sense of wholeness within her.

Side note: This is why I don’t think Solas is interested in casual sex. He’s far too deliberate, private, introspective, and connected to the significance of mind and spirit. For someone like Solas, casual encounters would feel hollow, draining him rather than sustaining him.

The Fade connection. Solas holds the Fade sacred, a place where reality and fantasy blur. This parallels the merging of bodies in sex—the blurring of secrets and truth, pain and solace. For someone like Solas, whose love of mind and spirit is central, making love would be sacred.

(And harkening back to my side note above, I’m convinced Solas has had very few lovers in his long existence - two for sure, maybe three. I have theories about who those others might be—not Mythal!—but that’s for another discussion.)

But of course, this is Solas we’re talking about. So all of this romantic theory comes with a heavy dose of pain. 

Every time they’re intimate, their bond deepens, their shared energy strengthens, making his inevitable betrayal hurt that much more (oh hindsight, I hate you!). He knows the truth will break her heart, but he can’t resist her. It’s both a gift and a festering wound.

For Lavellan, these intimate moments are about trust, connection, and offering Solas her love. For Solas, he is offering his love as well, but for him these moments are tinged with the weight of his secrets and the heartbreak he knows he’ll cause. That contrast - their shared intimacy against the shadow of his betrayal - it's just what makes their relationship so compelling, so messy to me and why I am completely comfortable with this interpretation.

*since first posting this I have edited it to be a bit more streamlined and removed some redundancy.

[leliwardens]

#veilguardspoilers Hello and delighted you're willing to answer questions! <3 I love your work! And I certainly wanted to ask about Josephine: what would her ideal/dream wedding be? I was tickled when I read about that in her letter to her Inquisitor I just have to know. 💞 --- Thank you! And what a delightful question in turn! I think she'd want a big, flower-filled, no-holds barred wedding at her family's estate. All her relatives, friends she made in the Inquisition, the Inquisitor's relatives (if they have any/keep in touch.) She'd begin planning 16 months in advance. (x)

SYLVIA ANSWERED MY QUESTION ABOUT JOSEPHINE AND HER WEDDING AUGHHHH 😭😭😭

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Chose the Wrong Romance in a Game About Regret, and It Made the Game Better

A love letter to BioWare about Dragon Age: the Veilguard.

I don't have the thoughts in me for a formal review of all the aspects of gameplay at this time, nor do I have the brainpower for dissecting my every theory just yet.

But tonight, I want to write to you about the thing that stuck with me the most about Dragon Age: the Veilguard. And that is... I chose the wrong romance for my Rook, and it made the game unforgettable.

Veilguard endgame spoilers below the cut.

(I just liked this tiny screencap, okay. This specific dialogue isn't what I want to talk about.)

For a few days now, I've been trying to think of how to phrase what I want to say. The emotions I felt in the endgame of Veilguard were massive—to the tune I became dehydrated. To convey why that was, I think I have to start at the beginning.

This is the story of Winged Death: the party, the romance, and the headcanons that formed a nightmare combination to break me emotionally.

Meet my Rook: Thenera Sa'renan Aldwir, or Nera for short. A Veil Jumper who lost her mom to blight sickness when she was a teen; who tried to find the Wardens at Skyhold only to learn they'd been exiled; who joined the Veil Jumpers to protect people, but also honor her mother's memory. (Yes, all of this becomes relevant.)

Her name is taken from elven: Thenera from theneras (dream), and Sa'renan from sa (one; one more) and renan (voice). I used the patronymic system outlined in Project Elvhen: Sa'renan was her mother's name. I chose all this in late August, long before I'd really theorized anything substantive about Veilguard.

I did not know how much it would hurt.

All through the game, I got more and more into Nera's head. This was helped out a lot by how much footage I'd seen in September, how I knew Nera would be the "throw a chair while beating up an entire bar" Rook rather than try any attempt at diplomacy. How I knew she'd punch the First Warden without second thought, despite not knowing what the First Warden had done before Weisshaupt. She was always the "hit things with rocks to fix them" Veil Jumper to me, just like Bellara's dialogue references.

It also meant that I felt a lot of her insecurity in the early game: her doubt in her own intellect; her insecurity in her Dalish identity from being kicked out of her clan as a child and living in Wycome as a young adult; her acute awareness of her own trauma and fear around all things blight. To mirror my Inquisitor, who had Dirthamen vallaslin, I gave Nera Falon'Din vallaslin, to signify that she had seen too much death at far too young an age.

I even picked a party for her "default" group: Lucanis and Davrin. Because of Nera's Falon'Din vallaslin, Lucanis' demon wings, and Assan's battlefield presence, I gave my group a name: Winged Death.

And I loved them.

But just like I'd headcanoned a lot of Nera's backstory, I also hypothesized a lot about the Lucanis romance. And, to put it briefly... the game did not match what I expected, and the Lucanis romance was not to my enjoyment, personally. (If you like it, good! I'm glad you do! This post is about Nera, though.)

Right away, Lucanis asked about Nera's favourite drink. When she said tea and he made a disgusted noise and nothing else, I reloaded, choosing the "better" answer of liking the same coffee as him—something that prompted more dialogue. For me, in hindsight, this was the first moment I should have seen that for all Lucanis' charm, he would not fit my gruff, chair-throwing Veil Jumper. But I'd committed, and I was determined to see it through just once.

I didn't want Veilguard to be the story of an elf romancing an elf—for me, that was my Inquisitor's story. I wanted a new flavour.

Only... Lucanis' romance, for Nera, did not pick up much from there. Almost the entirety of act 2 was silent—and that was after saving Treviso. Lucanis seemed to care more for Neve and Minrathous than he did for Rook, in my perception. By then, I'd sunk into Nera's headspace, and I could feel her feeling neglected. I could feel her insecurities rearing their ugly heads: was she too blunt? Not intelligent enough? Somehow too elven, even for a Crow, whose organization is made up of so many elves?

You know who she constantly found acceptance in, though? Whose approval triggered almost every time Nera answered a question honestly, in the stern way that she was predisposed to do?

Davrin. The other half of Winged Death. The one who, now, was bickering with Lucanis almost nonstop in party banter, each constantly jabbing the other about how death would come for them, death would claim all they'd known, their choices would bury them.

Lucanis had precious few opportunities to discuss Nera being an elf; an elf Rook facing down their own gods. But Davrin? Davrin talked about it so much, he would know the horror of being called Da'len by Elgar'nan.

Together, they survived the Cauldron. And where did they shelter? In the ribcage of a slain archdemon. But not just any archdemon.

Zazikel. Who has been confirmed now, in a Veilguard codex, as Falon'Din's archdemon.

And where were the griffons allowed to go, at the end? Arlathan.

I could never have foreseen those parallels, and yet? There they were, piling up too late. I'd already made Nera's choices for her, and I'm not someone who would normally attempt a love triangle.

(She's so pleased with their shenanigans. Just look at that totally carefree and happy face.)

Lucanis' content dried up for Nera, but stayed pretty consistent for Neve—to the point that she had begun to feel sincerely cast aside. I began playing her with that mindset: as if she'd been set adrift, even as she locked in Lucanis' romance.

Around 45 hours into my ~60 hour playthrough, I found myself thinking... maybe I try the Davrinmance next game. Maybe I reroll Nera, even as a Veil Jumper again, to see those griffons in Arlathan. To see two Dalish elves haunted by the same ghosts, and see how they grow. I talked to friends about it. I even headcanoned some more, trying to see how Nera's narrative and personality might slot in with Davrin's questline.

In my head, that looked a little like Nera realizing she felt stronger kinship and connection with Davrin, but denying that to herself. She was, after all, locked in with someone else.

I let myself laugh at this, taking more screenshots of Nera and Davrin than of Nera and Lucanis, right up until the beginning of act 3.

And that's how BioWare got me.

If you're here, you know what comes next. I didn't.

I thought I needed Harding to potentially face down Solas, thanks to her line about wanting to look him in the eye after one of Solas' memories. I thought, maybe, some dialogue would unlock by having Harding in the party during any potential final confrontation.

This was the second time I went against Nera's own character: I chose to keep Harding at Nera's side, rather than Davrin. I did it for my Inquisitor.

And at first, I thought Davrin was surviving my choice.

I even felt happy—proud—that I freed him during the Ghilan'nain fight. I thought if I delayed too long, he might die to the fight's mechanics. But he survived that, too.

Then, the worst played out before my eyes: Lucanis going to take the shot at Ghilan'nain. Being caught. Davrin, racing in to defend. Being impaled. Lucanis hitting Ghilan'nain, only to appear suddenly dead—dead, somehow, how could he be dead, I'd just seen him?—seconds later.

Because of Arlathan, I'd thought this was just another Elgar'nan trick. Solas would come to save us soon. He had to. This was just fake-Solas, conjured by Elgar'nan to make Rook lash out or feel lost. Right?

It didn't hit me until I was in the Fade, and Solas was gone. Until Neve's statues were everywhere, because Nera had chosen Neve to risk that dangerous magic. Neve, who was her very antithesis; who was human enough and sophisticated enough and eloquent enough in ways my spellblade had struggled with reconciling since her teen years.

Saying it was my fault, that my Rook chose this for her—and she had. Her decision was motivated by her favour for Bellara.

I think this is when my Rook stopped denying things to herself. Right here.

This was the person she was closest with in her own party. This was the person who shared her feelings on both her culture and the blight. This was the person who brought joy to her days, with more meaningful dialogues (in Nera's opinion!) than Lucanis had had since act 1.

It is hard to put into words how hard this moment hit me. She had chosen wrong—and I had chosen for her. I was reminded of Taash's line from after Memory #2: "There was stuff he wanted to tell her. But he waited too long. And then she was dead."

And then she was dead.

My Rook knew why Fade Jail held her so well, in that moment. Even before the Varric reveal that had my tear ducts begging for mercy.

The game's mechanics had done that to her. Locked her into a romance with Lucanis (my choice, hellbent on seeing it through), didn't let her leave, didn't allow for her to say anything akin to, 'Hey, Davrin, not in this worldstate... but how about the next one?' (and all of those, for the record, are 100% understandable, and just the nature of video games!)

Lucanis continued to have little in the way of content that fit Nera, and was First Talon, to boot. Nothing in the game could change that; games aren't designed that way. He was destined for a life she was never going to enjoy, locked in to that choice—and she, and I, should've figured it out sooner.

We didn't. Varric was dead. Everything had been a lie. We'd been duped; played. We were never smart enough; together, we were doomed all along.

Every insecurity I'd imagined for Nera came crashing down. And all of them, I'd gleaned from hints in Companions Week. From the footage that released on September 19, showing Rook's backstory choices. From the overall tone of the promotional material we saw, and the strong emphasis on companions, and the declaration of the theme of regret.

And it culminated in me crying harder than I have at any piece of media.

Ever.

Ever.

BioWare gave me every hint I needed to make a fitting Rook, and every single choice they showed me I could make was a weapon. That's why I not only accept, but appreciate the 'spoilers' that we got from Bioware beforehand. That's why I am so far from jaded about the Lucanismance. I could not denounce this experience if I tried, and you know why?

Because through Lucanis' continued flirtatious banter with Neve, the way he stays continually animated so close to her, and the way he gives the same mid-combat praise to Neve as to Rook, my Rook felt like a woman scorned. And it made the game BETTER.

I wouldn't have cried so hard, for so long, if Nera was allowed to be happy. I wouldn't have been shaken to my core as a Solavellan, wondering if there really could be a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.

The game wouldn't have hit me like it did if Lucanis hadn't come to Rook to declare his feelings only after she had spent time mourning Davrin and Assan. It wouldn't have hurt so good if Lucanis' dialogue afterward never mentioned his worry for exclusively Neve, and not the loss of Davrin—who he'd travelled with all game long.

But Solas had done it: he had molded Nera into a creature of pure regret.

And I, through my determination to try a romance that turned out not to fit my Rook, had let him.

The way it was structured, Lucanis' every sweet word rang hollow after Nera was freed from the Fade, and it made Davrin's, Varric's, and (what I thought was) Neve's deaths hurt that much worse.

There was nothing that could fix the pain in Nera's heart, the pain of her wrong choices not just in failing to romance Davrin, but failing to question Solas, failing to notice peculiarities about "Varric" in the Lighthouse. She felt like she failed, and she had. Undeniably. Because no matter where the conclusion of the game would take us, she'd never end up happy. She'd never want the life of a First Talon's spouse.

Every piece of her character lined up with regret, all at once. It all clicked into place, all in two soul-crushing hours.

Her name is Thenera Sa'renan Aldwir—and she was the victim of a dream of just one voice. She wears Falon'Din vallaslin, and was given a moment to spend time alone with the many, many dead.

Falon'Din: friend of the dead. That was what Nera had become, wasn't it? Because her closest party member—and what might have been her truer love—would not be coming back. Because I could feel that a part of her did not want to leave Fade Jail, and that Emmrich really did have to pull her out.

Winged Death destroyed her.

She rained down fire and lightning all through parts 13 and 14. She became Wrath and Thunder. I let her hit enemies harder than she had to, wasting her mana at every opportunity. Let her vent her every frustration. All I could think of, through the hurt, was this codex.

Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder, Give us glory. Give us victory, over the Earth that shakes our cities. Strike the usurpers with your lightning. Burn the ground under your gaze. Bring Winged Death against those who throw down our work.

Nera became all that was left of Winged Death, having let Lucanis fight with the Crows, taking Taash and Harding instead.

Elgar'nan was resistant to all her magic in that final fight. She was weakest at the end, and I didn't want to change her specialization to avoid that fact. She was broken, deep down. Solas' happy ending did not fix what the game had done to Nera's heart.

She, the other half to my Inquisitor, ended up with the opposite fate. Where my Inquisitor's journey on the din'anshiral was ending (or at least, was no longer alone), Nera had thought she had the companionship she wanted, only to wind up on the din'anshiral alone, with no way of recovering Davrin.

Which brings me to her last parallel: Solas' devotion to Mythal. Saying that if he did not tear down the Veil, then "I—she would have died for nothing."

To love someone and say nothing; it twisted them both up inside. Rook and Solas, always intended to be mirrors. One death, enough for each of them to bring the Eldest of the Sun to his knees. To change the elven pantheon forever.

I don't know how I managed to stumble upon this level of pain, but I could not be gladder that I did.

So, at the end of this extremely long post, here is my praise for BioWare. You mad geniuses, if any of you ever, ever see this... you wove regret into this game so well, so deeply, that my own passing thoughts about romance beats and game mechanics wound up stabbing me an additional time in Fade Jail, just as deep as the wound of Varric's death.

So well was this narrative constructed that I found my Rook in every corner of this story, even its tiniest references twining with every headcanon I had made.

Veilguard is so good, so profound, that a romance that did not work for me made the game better. That, to me, is the mark of a kickass narrative: one that fits almost any headcanon while still delivering on a deep, resonant theme.

BioWare couldn't have known that my party would be "Winged Death." Couldn't have known Nera, or her position as a Veil Jumper, or her doubt in her own intellect and her own ability to love. Yet, that is the beauty of Veilguard and of Dragon Age in general: they don't have to know. The writing is brilliant enough that it fits as much as one single story can in terms of possibility, while still hitting home with the same theme for everyone.

So thank you, BioWare. Thank you to every writer, to every animator, to every amazing, talented human whose hands and minds touched this game.

I needed the cry after a hard year, and you all delivered in the best way. I'm doing the Davrinmance now—because I think it's right to try it, and I think Nera deserves it—but this run will always hold the dearest place in my heart. The one where the regret bloomed, in part, because of jokes and headcanons I had made in the middle of a romance I did not enjoy, wishing for a different second playthrough.

The one where it all stabbed me, all at once. You bastards. (affectionate)

[inquisimer]

Hi, happy Friday and thank you for the welcome! Arlow de Riva/Lucanis with “I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m just really tired.” - Anonymous-Inquisitor

ty for the prompt!! Mostly fluff with some hurt/comfort (?) and subtle pining for flavor :3 for @dadrunkwriting - mild da4 spoilers, just Arlow and Lucanis being somft workaholics.

-

“Rook?”

Arlow started, blotting the parchment with the bead of ink that had been waiting too long for her to keep writing. Cursing under her breath, she set the unfinished letter aside and laid down her quill.

“Yes?” she asked, without looking up, or even really registering who had called her name. “What’s happening?”

“Arlow.” The same voice, but quieter, firmer. Finally, her brain caught up to her ears and she sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Lucanis. What do you need? Must be serious, to get you out of the pantry.”

“If it were truly serious, I wouldn’t have waited as long as I did for you to respond to your name.” Lucanis perched on the edge of her desk and folded his arms. His brow knit together, concerned. “You need to rest.”

“Hypocrite.”

“My reasons are a little more tangible than yours.”

“Are they?” Arlow challenged. “Tell that to D’Meta’s crossing. Or—“

She broke off, glancing over to where Varric was sleeping. The steady rise and fall of his chest did nothing to ease the guilty ache in her heart.

“You cannot help anyone if you are exhausted beyond reason,” Lucanis said gently. “And what would Viago say, if he saw you so unaware of your surroundings?”

“Viago would clock me upside the head and knock me out to teach me a lesson.”

“Is that a request?”

“You can certainly try.” Her words were snippy, but they lacked their usual bite. She didn’t remember the last time she’d properly slept. Before the Crows kicked her out of Antiva, probably. With a sigh, she picked up her quill and took a fresh sheet of parchment.

“Arlow—“

“Someone has to answer Strife and Irelin,” she snapped. “Unless you have someone else that’s interested in the job, let me handle it.”

Her quill was halfway into the inkpot when Lucanis laid his hand over hers, trapping it there. She clenched her fist, irritated.

“Take a break,” he said firmly, in the voice of the First Talon’s grandson, the one that was used to deference. It made Arlow want to buck on instinct. But there was a weariness in her bones, an exhaustion in her soul that wanted to agree.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I blink, and the world falls apart, Lucanis. I look away, and every crisis redoubles.”

She closed her eyes and steadied herself with a breath. He was close enough that she smelled coffee and cinnamon, and the odd tangle of herbs that were always drying over his cot. “This is my contract,” she said. “Could you rest until it was completed?”

He pulled the quill up between her fingers and set it aside, cupping her now empty hand in his and gently massaging the cramps she hadn’t even felt forming. “Of course not. But I would at least break for coffee.”

“Is that an offer?”

“It always was,” he said softly. His fingers stilled against hers and it took all of Arlow’s willpower to keep her hand from twitching, lacing their fingers together. She wanted that comfort. But it wasn’t something she could take so easily anymore.

“Are you brewing from your supply, or ours?” she asked, teasing. Lucanis raised a brow.

“Would you even know the difference?”

“I would,” Arlow said, affronted. “Or do you think Viago didn’t drill us in palate sensitivity?”

“There is a difference in tasting for poisons and knowing a quality brew.”

“The two have a surprising amount of overlap. Just because I’m not a snob—“

“The word you’re looking for is connoisseur.”

“Sure it is.” Arlow rolled her eyes. She capped the inkpot and stood, regretting the chill that took her hand when it slipped from Lucanis’ grasp. “Well, if you’re taking me from work, it better be from your stash.”

“It will be,” Lucanis assured her, holding the infirmary door open. “Someone has to save you and Neve from yourselves.”

“I might be at the point of saving. Neve, on the other hand—“

Lucanis laughed, a low, quiet chuckle that warmed Arlow better than any cup of coffee he promised. He slipped past her to lead the way to the kitchen, the silky samite of his vest brushing against her knuckles. She clenched her fist to keep from chasing after it.

“Let’s get something in you before you’re beyond hope, then,” he murmured, eyes twinkling. The corner of Arlow’s mouth quirked. As long as he looked at her like that, she thought, she wouldn’t be beyond anything. But she didn’t say that.

She gestured across the courtyard with her chin. “Lead the way.”

[crimsonphantasmagoria]

I've been scouring my brain for weeks now, trying to come to a reconciliation between the Solas we get through Inquisition into Trespasser, and the Solas we see in Veilguard, and I think I've finally come to an answer which satisfies me, though YMMV of course. It all has to do with selfishness.

What put me onto this is the way he talks about the romance path. "It was selfish of me" he says, almost angrily. Selfishness is a thing he can't stand in others, and certainly can't stand in himself.

Solas has had his opinions and wants dismissed in the name of selflessness again and again. Most importantly, this has been done by the person he Respects the most, Mythal (this is true whatever you believe the nature of their relationship was).

The first thing, which led to everything else, is that she persuaded him to take a body for a selfless cause: protecting the People from those like Elgar’nan. Then, she had him craft the Lyrium Dagger, against his wishes, because it was necessary to end the war. And then she betrays him. He was brought into this world against his will to prevent Elgar’nan and the like basically from doing exactly this, and she's going along with it? He doesn't want to go against her, but he has to, for the good of the People.

Once the rebellion starts, Solas is required to act against his personal wishes again: he has to uphold the mantle of the Dread Wolf. We see this in Felassan's letter to him.

The next time we see Solas and Mythal together is when he warns her about the Evanuris using the Blight, and more or less asks her to run away to the Fade with him. And she refuses. We can debate her motives all we want, but I think it's safe to say that running away to the Fade with her was what he wanted. His selfish wish. And she rejects it, and goes to confront the Evanuris alone, and dies. His grief reframes this as her dying because he was selfish. And in his grief, he chooses to seal away the Blight and the Evanuris. Now, this wasn't a bad thing to do, but he is pretty explicit in Trespasser that he did it directly in response to them killing Mythal. A selfish act. And it goes catastrophically wrong.

He comes to years later, and the world is horrifying. Elven mortality, corrupting spirits, magic suppressed, all because of his mistake. His selfishness has hurt the People he has a duty to, given to him by the person he respected the most. He immediately sets about fixing the mistake. After all, he's more or less the only one who can. He kills Felassan, when he betrays the cause. He doesn't want to, but since when has he wanted any of this? When was the last time something he wanted mattered? Fixing what he's done to the world matters more.

But then he gets outwitted by Corypheus, and the Veil is coming down in the worst way possible, causing untold harm on both sides. And he can't fix this problem. The only person who can is the one with the Anchor, the future Inquisitor. So he sets himself to helping them do so, because it's the best he can do to fix his new mistake. And in doing so, he sees the best parts of the new world. He meets people he genuinely likes and admires, potentially even loves. He realises that these people are complete as they are, 'real'. It goes faster with a high approval or romance Inquisitor, but even with low approval, he eventually gets to the same place. He wants to help them. He wants to stay with them. He wants his time with them to have mattered.

But that would be selfish. Since when have his wants mattered?

He leaves them. He doesn't want to, but he has to. He kills Flemythal, because he needs her power if he's going to do this, even though he doesn't want to. He weeps. Gets back up and continues on. Since when has what he wanted mattered?

Trespasser happens, and he tells the Inquisitor almost everything, because they deserve to know, but also...he doesn't want to do this. This is the beginning of his subtle attempts to help them stop him. He can't admit it. He can't admit that he needs help, that he wants to stop, but he can subtly, almost unconsciously guide them.

This culminates in him leaving the eluvian path open for Varric and co to follow him to the unguarded, unwarded ritual site. Unfortunately, Varric tries to reason with him. But he cannot be reasoned with by Varric. Nor by the Inquisitor, nor anyone else in modern Thedas. That's what he wants, you see? He wants to stop, so he can't. That would be selfish. I do think that, maybe, if Harding had taken the shot, he might have allowed it. Taken it as a fair defeat. But she doesn't, so we'll never know.

So he ends up in the regret prison, otherwise known as literal Hell for Solas, and tricks Rook into helping release him. He's more or less the only one with power sufficient to take on Elgar’nan. You know, the guy he came here, unwillingly, to oppose in the first place? So he goes and helps the Shadow Dragons in Minrathous, but it isn't enough. Fortunately, Rook escapes, and they defeat Elgar’nan together. Unfortunately, he has now run out of excuses to not do the thing he doesn't want to do, and the Veil is coming down anyway, so.

But then Rook offers another choice. Bind yourself to the Veil and save us. He does seriously consider it for a second, because it's what he wants to do, and Rook isn't a person he cares about personally. He might respect them, but he doesn't really like or care about them, like he does Varric or the Inquisitor. Weirdly, this might make it a more effective plea, taken from this perspective. Ultimately, though, the Unselfish thing is clearly to fix his mistake, fix the world, so he goes to do that.

Then here comes the Inquisitor. He can't stop for them either, but he feels like he owes them an explanation still. He failed Mythal, and she died. He was selfish, and she died. This will all have been for nothing if he acts selfishly now.

Now Morrigan arrives. Whose fault is that? She channels fragment Mythal. I like to think this part is these two fragments of Mythal reuniting for a few moments. And Mythal says, in effect, "if i had let you stay where you wanted, if I'd listened to what you wanted, then maybe none of this would have happened. You aren't the only one at fault here. Be free from your duty to the People, and choose your own path from now on."

The Inquisitor reinforces this, and it takes him about two seconds of collecting his thoughts to choose, because frankly it's what he's wanted to do the whole time. And then he chooses to return to the Fade, and to seek atonement for his part in creating the Blight. Probably also something he wanted, but felt like he couldn't persue because he wanted it. But now he finally can, because his wants have been acknowledged by that person he respected the most as valid. So off he goes.

This might actually make the romance with Lavellan even more powerful because it means he wanted her badly enough that he almost chose her anyway, even despite his prior conditioning. Sadly, he eventually realised that the relationship was fucked if he couldn't stop his plans and couldn't tell her who he was because he couldn't stop his plans, so he ended it, for her sake, another selfless act, to try and make it easier for her to hate him. And if she doesn't, and asks to come with him in Trespasser, he refuses, for selfishly stated reasons, because he wants this one thing to remain pure and uncorrupted. But in the end, he won't refuse her again because he's finally allowed to want again, and what he wants most of all has always been her.

Idk, I've just been struggling to make Solas’s motivation change between games make sense to me, and this is what worked. Nobody else has to think this. Totally just my personal speculation.

[aunicorn97]

He hadn’t seen her all day, no one had. There weren’t any immediate issues that day that required a team to go out, so no one had thought to look for her. Except him. Except he kept stopping himself. Physically stopping himself from leaving the room to go look for her. He didn’t need to go looking for her, she was fine. She was alright. She just didn’t want to come see him today. 

Except she did usually come see him. In fact she’d come see him every day. Except today. He paced around the room slowly, hands behind his back. He missed her. He shook his head and sighed, heading towards her room.

He approached her door carefully, listening for a moment. It was quiet. He shook his head. She must be resting, maybe she didn’t feel well. His hand wrapped on the door gently.

“Inquisitor?” He called out softly. Quiet. He knocked a little harder, there was nothing. SIghing again, he opened the door slightly and peeked in. A pile of letters were scattered on the neatly made bed, a broken vase on the ground. He wandered in carefully, confused. Then he heard the quiet sniffle, out on the balcony. He pushed the curtain aside and found her, leaning against the rail, her head in her hand. A letter in the other. 

He walked up behind her, placing a hand tentatively on her back, trying to get a look at her. She wouldn’t raise her head. Her shoulders shook as she cried softly. He didn’t say anything at first, just kept his hand on her.

“I told you about my sisters.” She finally looked up and spoke. Wiping her arm across her eyes.

“You mentioned your family, yes.” He peered at her, hoping to see her face, but she stayed slightly turned away from him.

“Linara and Elora,” she paused, saying their names with a fondness, a recollection of memories. She took a deep breath. “I’ve missed them so much. A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about them.” She read the letter again with slightly shaky hands. He saw the devastation in her eyes, the way her brows furrowed in anguish as she read.

“Have you written to them?”

“One or two letters, it’s been hard to find the time.” She looked up at him. “My parents have been gone a long time.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Me too.” She inhaled sharply and looked out into the sky, her chin quivering softly. “I’m no stranger to loss, Solas. Not on a large scale… but I like to think I’ve become used to it.” She didn’t elaborate. She handed him the letter, then retreated back into her bedroom, as he began to read.

“It is with great regret that we inform you….” His eyes scanned down the page. “...despite our efforts, we were too late…” His eyes widened slightly. “...no survivors…” He looked into the room at her as she watched him read. “Clan Lavellan is dead.” He looked up as he finished and locked eyes with her. Neither said anything at first.

He walked towards her and enveloped her in his arms as she began to cry again. She didn’t move, didn’t hug him, just leaned her head against his chest and cried. He stood, rubbing her back as she shook against him. 

“I’ve never been alone before.” She finally mumbled into his chest as she glanced up at him. He looked down at her and waited for her to continue. “I always had my clan, my family. Now there’s no one, and that scares me.”

“You are not alone. There are many people here ready to stand with you for whatever is to come next.” He attempted to soothe her. “You don’t have to be scared.” She stepped back and looked up at him, studying his face.

“What happens after this? After we kill Corypheus? Where do I go back to?”

“I… “ He trailed off, unsure. He looked down at her as she waited for an answer that he couldn’t give.

“Will you stay?” She asked quietly.

“What?”

“When all this is over… will you stay with me?” She looked at him sadly, her eyes puffy, red. She looked tired. He pulled her to him again, as his heart sank into his stomach. Neither of them said anything for a while, just held each other. “When this is over, Vhenan, you will not be alone. I am sure of that.” He mumbled to her, resting his chin on her head. She didn’t answer.

He knew it wasn’t enough, and he knew that she knew. Even though she had him in her arms, he was still, always, just out of her reach.

[inquisimail]

dai love interests' letters to the inquisitor in veilguard, if anyone was curious to see them. transcriptions in alt text & under cut

Amatus,

I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear.

I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you.

I will find you soon.

Yours, Dorian

---

My love,

You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side.

Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations.

Yours always, Thom

---

My love,

We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe.

The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can.

The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray.

Yours, Cassandra

---

Hey, Kadan,

Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!)

I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian.

Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to be just what I want to be.

And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you.

So come back safe.

Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.

---

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.)

Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.")

North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker.

Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know.

We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow.

So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls!

We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.)

Still thinking of you sideways.

Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.)

The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out.

Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me.

I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why.

Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.)

You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on.

(The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.)

New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

---

The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences too chewed to read.

I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible.

I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you're all right. You are— I've— There's— I wish that I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life.

The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my—I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this—

Whatever you need of me, I am yours.

Cullen

---

My Dearest Lady, / My Dearest Lord,

I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all.

The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together.

There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here.

When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes.

Always yours, Josephine

Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

Veilguard Spoilers @ The Inquisitor:

How do we feel about our three choices in the Veilguard character creator? I won't lie; this is the first thing I've heard about the game that's taken some of the wind out of my sails. I understand that keeping the choices as simple as possible was probably easier for making a new story and that most of what occurred in Inquisition only impacted southern Thedas, but at the same time -

If our Rooks can speak with the Inquisitor, they can't ask detailed questions about specific events, like what happened at the Winter Palace, without the Inquisitor having vague answers. It's not a big deal, but the Inquisitor went through some stuff, and even though ten years have passed, I hope those events still feel like they shaped and impacted the character.

I would have liked to receive a letter or a codex about my Hawke's whereabouts or for Varric to mention how Cole is, as I made him more human, and other nit-picky things like that. Still, even faint mentions of their characters, especially when their fates were player-dependent, would be hard to implement without a system similar to DA Keep.

I don't want to be overly critical. I'm excited for Veilguard; I know this is Rook's story, and I don't expect the Inquisitor to play a monumental role, but I do hope they receive a satisfying ending, whatever that may be.

[wardentabriis]

A letter to First Warden Jowin Glastrum, delivered to Weisshaput via raven:

First Warden Glastrum, I won’t stand on ceremony with you. I’ve been in this position for more than two decades, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to kick me out of it now. I’d love to see how you explain firing the Hero of Ferelden to the other Wardens. You have one bastion of Wardens left in the South. The remaining Orlesians have retreated with me to Amaranthine, and other than a handful of stragglers, my men have not moved to answer your summons to Weisshaupt, nor will they. You need an army to fight the blight, and you have one. If we leave, the South will be without an organized force of Wardens to combat a darkspawn army more than twice as large as any I saw during the Fifth Blight. Should my Wardens join you in the North, we would leave our land to die without us. I cannot, in good faith or conscience, order loyal Wardens to abandon their positions and their homes. To be completely honest with you, Ser, I have little faith in your judgment. You may stand for Weisshaupt, but for many Wardens, your reach does not extend far past the Anderfels. Ask the average Junior Warden at Amaranthine, and most will hardly know your name. Do you know what they know the First Warden for? Adamant. Your approval of Clarel's actions. The Orlesians especially, but believe me, the Order remembers. I lost a dear friend during that siege, a hero of the Fifth Blight, and countless other Wardens lost more. Were it not for Inquisitor Lavellan’s mercy, the Orlesian branch would have been exiled to Weisshaupt. Maybe that’s an outcome you would have preferred, all things considered. Not to mention the courtesy you’ve shown Warden-Acolyte Thorne recently. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You had access to a man who knows more about the blight and ancient elven magic than almost anyone in our Order, and not only did you exile him for doing his duty and protecting innocents, you still refuse to believe his warnings, and you refuse to listen to reason. Let me be abundantly clear: I was told, when I first took this position, that I could not count on support from Weisshaupt. For more than twenty years, you have been little more than a figurehead to me, my superior in name only. At every turn, all I have seen from you is thwarted efforts to protect Thedas, and Wardens dying needlessly with your approval. You may hold sway at Weisshaupt, but you have no authority in Ferelden. My units stationed with Warden Velanna and Warden Howe are under orders to hold their positions, regardless of your posturing. Warden Cousland, despite her place at our Queen Anora’s side, has returned to the Order after the fall of Denerim, a tragedy you have conveniently chosen to ignore. If the Queen-Consort of Ferelden herself can put on a Warden’s armor and lay down her life for her country, you have no excuse to disgrace our Order with your inaction. The South will stand strong against the blight. I made a promise to my Order and my people, not to you. I wish your Wardens victory against the horrors these risen gods have inflicted on us, but if you make another move to undermine my command, I will not lie down and take it. Ferelden is my home, and its Wardens are my responsibility. I hope I’ve made myself understood. With all the respect due to your office, Warden-Commander Aurelian Tabris of Ferelden

[creaturefeaturecommando]

Hot Take: Some people project their hatred of Greg Ellis onto Cullen and it’s obvious. Like I can semi get it because he did that shit in character but BioWare basically fired him in the basis of “He wouldn’t say that shit”

And people bring up the mage circle or whatever but I feel like he already answered for that in Inquisition especially if you romance him as a mage like I did and in his little rant when he’s talking about not taking lyrium he basically was like “You of all people should be questioning what I did, why do you still love me ?” Like it’s obvious he has regrets and remorse about what happened, even in the first hour of the game when the knights and the mages are arguing and they refer to him as head Templar or whatever he was like “You don’t call me that shit anymore, leave them alone”

Like I’m not saying he has to be brought back as a full fledged character for Veilguard but if my Inquisitor married him I at least expect a cameo because she fucking married him. I’ll take a wedding band, an offhand mention, a fucking letter, something just don’t ignore the fact that she married him because that’s what I bought the fucking DLC for

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

happy DADWC Friday :) sending you “You were always on my mind.” for Fenhawke

Ty for the prompt!! I've been thinking about Fenhawke post DAV, and I think I'll put a little series of snippets from my thoughts into some Fenhawke prompts on Tumblr for @dadrunkwriting! This will be #1, and I'll link the rest (so feel free to send more Fenhawke prompts, folks!) Under a cut, because Veilguard spoilers. Vague, but still there.

Night had given way to the sharp edge of a winter dawn while Fenris sat in the chair beside the frost-painted window. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, but he hadn’t slept even a moment of the long, dark night. He could feel the circles under his eyes, the skin heavy, his vision blurry with exhaustion. Even as he blinked and scrubbed his face with a hand trembling from the abundance of coffee he’d consumed, the reason for his vigil stirred in the bed several feet away. Something unknotted in Fenris’s chest as Hawke stretched his arms over his head, curled one around the pillow that should have been Fenris’s, and pulled it closer. He buried his face in it, shoulders shifting with the inhalation of breath. Just as quickly, he saw those same muscles tense, stiffen, and then the pillow was shoved aside. Hawke shot up in bed, the blankets pooling at his waist, exposing so many scars across his torso. Some Fenris remembered. Others he thought were new, but he wasn’t ready to ask. Their eyes met and it was like Hawke had taken a punch to the gut; the air rushed out of his lungs and his shoulders slumped. A look of chagrin replaced the naked fear on his handsome face and he tried to fit a smile onto his lips. “You’re still here,” he said, taking another deep breath. He’d said the same thing the morning before, and the one prior to that. “Still here,” Fenris promised again, finally rising from his chair, stiff muscles protesting. He crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, and they looked at one another. It still felt like a dream. It had been ten years since Fenris had received that letter in Kirkwall, since he’d burned Varric’s story into his mind. Hawke, the man he loved, left in the Fade. Left behind in the one place Fenris could not reach him. And then the Blight had come, and the world had been poisoned, and the Veil ripped asunder. He’d read another tale in a letter from the Inquisitor, about another death, and another prison in the Fade, and the woman who'd freed herself from it. The Inquisitor had borne a bone-deep regret for Hawke’s loss that may not have rivaled Fenris’s, but it drove them both to the same end; into the Fade, into Nightmare’s prison. Hawke reached out for him with one hand and Fenris took it, sighing with relief when he felt the mortal warmth enclose his fingers. The tightness in Hawke’s features smoothed as well at the contact. “Ten years,” Hawke murmured, blue-gray eyes searching his face. “It seemed like…days. Weeks maybe. In there. And yet after all this time, you remembered me.” Fenris squeezed his fingers. “You were always on my mind,” he promised, feeling an answering weight in his chest. “Every day.” Hawke nodded, eyes flicking to the window. The look on his face reminded Fenris of how he’d felt just after escaping Danarius—free but unsure what to do with it, unsure if it would last. It was why panic flooded Hawke when he woke, until they touched, and why Fenris couldn’t sleep. A need to make sure it was all still real.

[kestrelsansjesses]

All Roads Lead to

[[This was meant to be a drabble to really tie up those angst feelings about Lavellan and Solas after Veilguard. I realized pretty swiftly that it was going to be longer than that. Hopefully there will only be one or two more chapters of a similar length but for now, have this. Please be warned, there will be heavy spoilers contained within for the game. And as always, I really appreciate any feedback you have. Comments make the world go round! AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60827047/chapters/155361805]]

Eight years was a long time to not see someone’s face. An eternity, practically, when it came to the matter of love. 

Eight years of the hunt. Word came in- Solas was spotted, and just as quickly vanished. Though Maiwe Lavellan had disbanded the Inquisition, she still had assets. It was easier, in fact, to move in something that approached secrecy without the bureaucracy of organization. It was not like her allies ceased to be so; they simply spread over a larger area now, and sent letters to each other more covertly. 

For the first few years, Skyhold held too many memories. Maiwe left it empty, or for the use of her friends when they should need it. It had been Solas’ gift to her in so many ways, and there were too many echoes of him written into the stone, into every blade of glass that broke through the cobbles, through the patches of moss that grew on certain walls. There were homes for her use in Kirkwell, rooms to stay in if she visited Orlais, so many doors open to her in Ferelden. All over Thedas, people were eager to welcome the Inquisitor, even after the Rift had closed. Even after she lost the magic of her arm. Maybe they simply wanted to stare at the emptiness, at either a sleeve carefully pinned back or her series of prosthetics, some more elaborate than others. Maybe they just wanted to say that they had hosted her for dinner. Either way, it grated on Maiwe. 

Skyhold was home. Clan Lavellan was no more, and with every revelation of who the Gods were, she felt more and more uncertain of what it meant to be Dalish. There were no easy answers; no other clan could tell her what to think about it. Every elf had to contend with it in their own way. Solas had offered to take her vallaslin, his magic at her disposal. Maiwe had said no at the time, so sure that meanings changed things. Now the marks were of shame; she knew too much. And they reminded her of him, every time she looked in a glass, unable to stand Falon’din’s lines etched into her flesh. 

There were dreams too. When Maiwe was away from Skyhold, they were mere abstractions. She chased a shape that looked like Solas through an endless forest, ruins that looked vaguely elvhen at her feet. The wolf never came closer than a few feet away, no matter how sneaky she was. It never said a single thing at her. It only watched. 

But once Maiwe Lavellan returned to Skyhold, the dreams changed. In the comfort of her luxurious quarters, really more than she ever deserved or expected, he felt closer than ever. There was the balcony they had shared their first kiss on. There was the bed, where… Well. Here was the rotunda, still with Solas’ paintings on the wall. There he had mixed her the herbal teas that allowed her to survive, despite her body’s insistence on the opposite (and despite the fact that he loathed tea.) Conversations in every room, with so many empty now except those who had nowhere else to turn. Skyhold was a cold place, but she would fill it with voices again slowly, over time. 

The veil was thin there, and made thinner still by whatever actions Solas took to tear it all down. That had to be why the dreams changed. The wolf grew closer and closer still, until he stood just outside the light, where the shadows almost became reality. His voice too- “Lavellan,” she heard him say. “Vhenan.” But still, Maiwe could not reach Solas. He was always at least a step away. When she called to him, he did not answer, but his presence was felt more than ever, until it was almost physical. Years of this, but had she not survived worse? What was the pain of love lost versus the cost of an arm? When she did not dream, she was kept awake by the sensation of fingers that were no longer there, of the missing made real. Dreams or asleep, it did not matter. There were things she could not get back, no matter how hard she tried. 

For years, her path continued. Maiwe resolved to save Solas, one way or another, and despite the lack of formal Inquisition, she was not without allies. First came the Dalish from various clans, as lost as she was with every revelation about who their Gods had been. Then came those Dorian helped- the freed who did not want to stay in Tevinter, but had no place else to go. And her spies and eyes were everywhere. 

Then he was found. 

Varric and Harding worked tirelessly to track Solas. Varric could have chosen retirement long ago; his mentorship of her was over. He had helped the Inquisitor save the world. He had helped the Champion of Kirkwall, and more than earned a grand house full of servants to polish Bianca. Yet he chose this; Maiwe felt she did not deserve the friends she had, and tried not to be jealous when Harding wrote to her of another young elf nicknamed Rook, Varric’s newest project. One day, this Rook could be the new Lavellan, a new Inquisitor for new problems. 

Yet it still galled to hear everything secondhand. Contrary to what everyone seemed to think about her, the Inquisitor did not think her time for adventures had ended. Her arm was gone, but not her spirit. In the years since its loss, Maiwe had a variety of prosthetics made. None were perfect, but one could hold a bow so she could shoot. But they needed her in Skyhold; no one could agree with each other without the famed Inquisitor to intervene. Half of what Maiwe did now was solve petty squabbles so that people could simply survive. There were rumors of a Blight that crept over the land without regards for borders. The other half of what she did was more shameful; she wrote letters to Solas, left on her balcony for the wind to take them. It was easy to imagine him reading them, one half of his mouth quirked upward. 

Vhenan,

You know I could never approve of the path you’ve taken. But when I think of you, when I think of Crestwood and all you revealed to me, part of me understood. 

I know you are not a monster. I know you are still the same elf who played chess with the Iron Bull, who talked magic with Dorian, who let Varric call him ‘Chuckles.’ 

You are not them. 

Ar lath ma, vhenan. 

Now, always. I will not let you fall to the dark. 

Lavellan