#1/3 I wonder if lavellan being one of the few who will remember him as he was-- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

felassan · 2 years ago

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its that time again! 🍵 Thoughts/wonderings on Dragon Age: The Missing #3, under a cut due to spoilers for The Missing (not just #3):

Thoughts on Issue 1

Thoughts on Issue 2 (note: this post also contains spoilers from DA:D leaks)

Thoughts on the first 4 pages of issue 3 (which came out via preview)

Overall I enjoyed the issue a lot and it's my favorite of the 3 so far! Issue 2 was more fun and punchy/had more oomph (as Teia and Viago are amazing and simply showstealers tbh⭐), but this issue has been my fav so far because i] I'm hyped that after three (3) years we got to see Strife's design, and more importantly ii] the issue advanced the DA:D [pre-]plot a bit and dropped inchrestingggg new lore stuff. (The pacing wasn't great, it was kind of rushed in places and it was a lot to try to fit in to just a few pages. I also would have liked it if the the Veil Jumpers could have been given a bit more depth/been fleshed out a bit more, but again there's limited pages in these comics)

I like what they're doing with a different color palette version of the picture on page 2 in every issue :>

On page one, are those icebergs floating in the sea? would there be icebergs in the Nocen Sea or Ventus Straits? it seems like the climate around there is warm.

On the map, I like the little representation of the Imperial Highway.

^ one example of the triangle motifs incorporated into the Veil Jumpers' outfits.

^ the face on Tist's shoulderpad reminded me of Sentinel armor.

Tist looks like a Greek statue of a youth hh

I liked the designs and hairstyles of all 4 Veil Jumpers. Irelin's fur collar is a nice touch to have remembered, in TN she was described as wearing supple leather trimmed with fur.

Strife is tall and stacked. this didnt surprise me, after reading the first story in TN I came away with that impression of him. in TN he was specifically described as being tall and strong, square-shouldered and straight-backed with calloused hands, lean with long ropey muscle. also I'm simply biased and a tall buff elf enthusiast hh. (in terms of build and stuff he reminds me of my Lavellan)

^ I wonder if the book at Strife's belt here is the leatherbound journal from Ruins of Reality, the relic of the Morlyn clan?

I wasn't sure about some of Strife's dialogue, he seemed to be missing the sort of snarky or lighter-hearted manner he had at times in TN? dialogue in general was a bit stilted in this issue tho, not bad so much as just quite info-dump-y.

Veil Jumpers faction details: they are an alliance between the best Dalish mages and hunters (not an all-elf and/or all-mage group) and other non-elves who were wiling and able to help contain the threat of timespace warping hijinks and chaos that's reigning in Arlathan Forest. presumably a fair few of the Dalish elves in the group are from Clan Morlyn. the mixed nature of the faction and Binde's presence in Strife's group feels like a natural progression of Strife at the end of his story in TN: [said to Myrion] "You're right, shem. This [Arlathan forest] isn't your place. But then, once upon a time, it wasn't mine, either."

also their base or HQ is a "sanctum". about that.. remember this? from this concept art? maybe that piece of concept art was showing the Veil Jumper sanctum? some of the concept art of Veil Jumpers shows them in a similar location with floating rocks and orange vegetation/foliage. [one, two]

in a previous posted I wondered,

last time we got a look in [Arlathan forest], Strife had noticed something had gone wrong in the forest. time and space was stretching and folding weirdly, reality warping, and he and Irelin saw echoes or mirages of themselves running around. mysterious entries had begun appearing in the relic journal of the Morlyn clan describing sacred ruins in there guarding a powerful fabled artifact, a halla figurine that Irelin grabs during that story. when Varric&Harding arrive, will they also be facing this sort of thing (mad sylvans, reality& time/space warping)? is the crucious stone similarly guarded by sacred ruins? could it have something to do with what’s gone wrong in the Forest? even when Irelin succeeds in grabbing the figurine, Strife still feels that something has gone wrong in there.

fun to see that this speculation was also correct ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ as in this issue Arlathan is still timespace warping, Varric&Harding have to run a gauntlet facing these dangers, the crucious stone was contained in the ruins of an ancient temple, and Irelin posits that someone walking around using the crucious stone could explain the timespace warping in Arlathan.

Harding continues to eyeroll at Varric's bad jokes. he's basically an old man with dad/grandpa jokes at this point.

"Deep inside the Veil"? I found this to be kind of odd phrasing. we've long known that the Veil is thin in Arlathan forest, indeed thinner in such a way as to be different than how it is in other places where it is also known to be thin, somehow. inside the Fade is a place one can go. is that what's meant by this line? or is it meant to mean more like "deep in the forest, where the Veil is very thin" / "inside a place where reality and the Fade are mushing together" sorta thing? or is inside the Veil itself a place in which one can go? 🤔

that aside, these "Ruins of Reality", this "world turned upside down", this "place where chaos reigns", this "threat".. it reminds me bigtime of when Solas says in Trespasser "as the world burns in the raw chaos".. and indeed, Harding infers as much at the end of this issue, saying "[this] is going to be happening everywhere unless we find [Solas]", and Solas refers to the damage himself in his letter, "I will limit the damage as best I can". and I wonder.. in TN Solas talks about a few years of peace before his ritual is complete. it made it sound like the ritual would take a few years to prepare for or a few years to carry out (in ancient Elvhenan some spells and stuff would take years to cast). if his ritual/plans along these lines have already begun, it would make sense that places in the waking world which are "weakest" (i.e. places where the Veil is thin) would be the ones which are affected first.

the trials and gauntlet gave me nostalgia for the Urn of Sacred Ashes questline in DA:O

the map from page one of Varric and Harding's voyage contrasted with the map of the forest.. hhh

Spirits trading places with the living, literally ripping you out your own body and stealing it.. (by this point Strife, Irelin and the other Veil Jumpers are old hats at the Arlathan forest timespace shenanigans hh.) this is neat and interesting new lore, and it reminded me of the Nevarran belief that when a dead soul crosses to the Fade it displaces a Fade spirit. I wonder if it's related to that. also I thought it was represented in a cool way, with the reflection world and the muted grayscaleish color palette swap when their souls had been displaced and they were in the 'spirit world'.

the panels when Varric and Irelin are conversing from random upside down angles reminded me a lot of when the party enters the Fade physically with Hawke and goes "wtf" in Inquisition :)

Varric is having such a terrible time. again

Does Harding have the Inquisition hairy eyeball on her kneeguard?

Varric's reaction to the sky being the wrong way around reminded me of how it must feel to be a dwarf from Orzammar going to the surface and seeing sky above for the first time, dizzying, weird, disorienting

I like that while a mage, Irelin still has an alternative weapon (knife/dagger) just in case ^^

Varric seeming to sort've push Harding ahead of him while they fled the animals was a nice touch

is this the first time leopards were confirmed in Thedas? :D tho they look more like cougars or maybe lionesses or sabretooth tigers or something, and leopards are typically solitary. also lmao first the deepstalkers attack and now this. Varric's like "bloodthirsty wildlife omg" like they didnt already have that problem in issue 1 hh.

RIP Gilf Varric fans

hh, does Varric not know that he's been graying lately anyway, time shenanigans aside?

the time warping reminds me of In Hushed Whispers 👁️ very interesting in terms of implications. you can see why creating the Veil (which is connected to timespaceywarpy happenings) caused the ancient elves to begin aging.

^ check this out, the glowing green light on Strife's shoulder in his golden armor. seems like the green-glowing aspect of some Veil Jumper gear is still a thing [one, two, three]. it got more open, triangley and brighter in the second panel, like he was powering it up and gearing up for the fight. if they hadn't decided to run, would he have started to use it like the Veil Jumpers in those pictures? curious to find out more about the Veil Jumper gear - how it works and where they got it from.

^ what's happening in this panel? they seem to be straight-up disintegrating? not aging, disintegrating.

^ the presence of and focus on this satchel on the 'assassin', with its bright red fastener (draws the eye), seems sus. Varric says later in the issue that the 'assassin' saved him. it's hard to tell whether "I don't think this was the Venatori. I think it was Solas" means he thinks it was Solas who already entered the vault and took the stone OR if he means that and that the 'assassin' who saved him was Solas in disguise and that he's the one that's been tailing them this entire time. if the 'assassin' was Solas in disguise, I sus that the stone - which he had clearly already gotten at that point - is inside the lil pouch and that's what this panel is trying to convey. also it wouldnt be Solas' first time dressing up in disguise (Bard in TN).

the twisting pathway reminds me of the yellow brick road in Wizard of Oz

The Varterral. it looks nothing like the ones we've seen in-game or like the one described in Masked Empire (or depicted in the illustration in the Deluxe edition). is this an art/design oversight, or new lore showing that varterrals come in multiple forms? in fairness, in Dalish lore the first varterral was created by Dirthamen, fashioned of the "fallen trees of the forest" into a deadly guardian. this ent-like varterral looks like that. maybe "varterral" is actually just a name for any created creature that's been magically created and is guarding an ancient elven site, golem-like?

Irelin's staff-less magic and the spell distraction she did was cool. was she doing Stinging Swarm? ^^

And ofc the final pages are the motherlode, especially the new painting! Look here. I think the green figure (the one with the crescent moon headpiece) is the monster figure with the crescent moon head from that mural and from that concept art piece. and I think that's Ghilan'nain (Horror of Hormak and all that). BUT I don't think the red figure is the other monster figure from that mural (the one with pointy, crab-like shoulders, who I think is Elgar'nan). the headpieces don't match, the red figure's headpiece better matches with one of the other sigils from the hemispheres. I think the red figure is someone else. the question is who, and my guess is they're Andruil. the two figures could be read as feminine, and the feel of the painting could be read as romantic - definitely close. Ghil was Andruil's chosen, and her beloved. Andruil was the one who offered Ghil ascendance.

the painting also bears a resemblance to the red lyrium idol, which has been variously and interestingly described - a couple hugging, two lovers, one comforting the other, or a god mourning her sacrifice. does the painting depict the same moment from the idol, or not long before it at least? the main figure on the idol's headpiece is different, but coincidentally Andruil was also known as the Goddess of Sacrifice. wouldn't it be interesting and ironic if there was a time in the distant past when Ghil had to sacrifice the goddess of sacrifice? if this painting is depicting a moment before such a thing, that would help explain why the other monster figure from the mural has a different headpiece. if "the Evil Gods" are returning, Andruil couldn't be one of them, if she was killed. Ruins of Reality and Three Trees to Midnight are also full of references to both Ghil and Andruil..

Strife was looking at it now. On the other side, so was his double. Both transfixed by a statue of elven goddess Ghilan'nain holding a crystal halla figurine, exactly as the journal described. - As the Strifes drew the attention of the merciless trees, Irelin swooped in and snagged the figurine with her talons, tearing it from Ghilan'nain's grip. The statue didn't let go easily, but neither did Irelin. With an angry squawk, she yanked the prize free and disappeared into the sky.

-- Ruins of Reality

in TN, the story title "Three Trees to Midnight" refers to the Way of Three Trees/Vir Tanadhal, which Dalish lore holds were teachings of Andruil given to the People. Strife thinks of the Ways during his escape, using them to escape, and invoke's Andruil's name multiple times. Strife also refers to Arlathan Forest as belonging to the Lady of the Hunt/Andruil. He also calls on Ghilan'nain, and Irelin shapeshifts into a halla (Ghil's sacred animal, being Mother of the Halla and the first halla), as well as a falcon and an owl (hawks are sacred to Andruil and the Dalish believe owls are Andruil's messengers). meanwhile Strife has turned up in this comic with Andruil vallaslin, after not having them in TN. very inch... resting... indeed.

why Ghil and Andruil in the painting? presumably this ancient temple, deep in Arlathan Forest, was a temple either to Andruil (whose forest it is) or Ghil (her beloved). why next to a painting of the Dread Wolf doing something to the Veil? in the story of Ghil's ascension, there is a reference to Pride -

On the second day she drowned the giants of the sea, except those in deep waters, for they were too well-wrought, and Pride stopped her hand.

On the third day she killed the beasts of the land, except the halla, whose grace she loved above all else.

This is how Ghilan'nain was made youngest of the gods.

there is also a story in which Andruil wanted to punish Fen'Harel. it could also simply be (or both could be true) that Solas painted the Dread Wolf mural when he stopped by earlier before Varric and Harding to obtain the crucious stone. what if in this comic panel we're looking at the same location as here, just with the comic version of the mural compacted down due to limited panel space:

and what's the relevance to Solas' plans, what happened the past, and the idol? I am guessing it is something to do with how Andruil went mad and hunted in the Abyss, putting on armor made of the Void and making weapons of darkness, to the extent that she brought "plague" to her lands and howled things meant to be forgotten. it's often theorized that Andruil accidentally brought the Blight/Taint back from the Void, and of course that links to red lyrium (Blighted blue lyrium, the red lyrium idol) and is reminiscent of the Evanuris digging deep, mining the bodies of Titans for "something else" and unleashing something terrible by doing so by mistake (we read of elves frantically collapsing tunnels, "let this place be forgotten, let no one wake its anger"). also I'm obsessed with the Balrog Theory so

Solas being kinda extra with his dramatic fursona red seal

he is always one step ahead of them isn't he

"You're joking. You've got to be" Strife +50 Headache

"Interfering in matters you do not understand can only make things worse" explain them then pls Solas. if you're cryptic and don't explain things in full all the time, then ofc people are going to be Concerned

the Orb of Fen'Harel, the red lyrium idol and the crucious stone.. Solas' list of Maguffins I Need For My Plans keeps getting longer.

As for the crucious stone itself.. whatever it does, it sounds like it weakens the Veil. makes sense why Solas would want it, then. there was this line in Ruins of Reality: "Mysterious entries appeared of their own accord, describing sacred ruins in Arlathan Forest that guarded an artifact of fabled power." In Ruins of Reality it referred to a crystal halla figurine. maybe the journal has since produced more entries of its own accord, telling of other ruins and artifacts - Strife and Irelin in this comic had heard of the crucious stone and had a map to where it was located after all.

Also the final question is who is the person on the final page, which is the cover for issue 4? Presumably the trusted informant from the issue 4 synopsis, "Varric connects with a trusted informant who might help them." I've seen speculation that they are the person from this concept art and I like that idea and could see it :] I love their outfit and the design of it makes me think of snakes, so again I'm wondering about the Viper. their oufits are similar, and so far we've had Wardens-Crows-Veil Jumpers in 1-3. perhaps issue 4 will introduce (in advance of DA:D) the Viper's faction. in the 2020 trailer you have the pair of boots (speculated to be a Warden) character, a character on the roof (speculated to be a Crow) and a Veil Jumper stalking through the woods. there's also the character in an alley of Minrathous with the knife. the pattern on their hood -

is like reptile scales, like the pattern on the Viper here and the pattern on the character on the final page's shoulders (as well as the scaley reptile on the person in that concept art's staff).

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age: the missing #dragon age: the missing spoilers #dragon age #bioware #video games #longpost #long post #strife #solas

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5lazarus · 4 years ago

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White Nights, Ch. 1: The Balcony

A year or so after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a brief vacation from mapping weaknesses in the Veil to Val Royeaux, and brings a new lover with her. She steps out to her balcony to enjoy the melancholy night, glances over curiously when a man steps out to the balcony attached to the room next to her, and freezes. It looks like the Dread Wolf had the same idea.

read on AO3 here

read Ch. 2: The Docks here, and Ch. 3: The Broadsheet here.

Sweat drying on her skin, she fishes a crumbled nightgown out of her pack and makes herself presentable. Anders snoozes on the bed, blissed into sleep. He surrenders himself so easily to passion. Lavellan watches him sleep, envious. She has always thought too much.

She finds the leather pouch of tobacco cut with elfroot a former lover made her, prepares her pipe, and opens the shutters to the balcony to enjoy it properly. She lights it, smiling to herself. She has never really gotten a vacation, but under Divine Victoria’s new law, mages enjoy an untold-of freedom of movement. And while she has left the infrastructure behind her, she still has the money and prestige. Enjoy the world while it still lasts, he said. Lavellan snorts and smokes her pipe. She has embraced it utterly, the cool night clean on her skin. Below her the streets of Val Royeaux babble, and she can smell the ocean. They took a room a few streets from the Alienage: that too is new. The Inquisitor, retired or not, is different from other elves, even when she has that apostate lover in tow. If anything, the addition of Anders endears her to the gossips of Val Royeaux. She has always given them something to talk about. She traces out the Pleiades and smiles. An adoring lover, a sea coast, and one more day off? What more can she ask? The shutters of the balcony next to her rustle and she glances over to see a bearded man step out, face cast in shadow. Lavellan notes the ears: another one of the People made good. He’s clutching a bottle of wine. She admires his silhouette--Anders is well-built but not particularly shapely--as he sits on the edge of the balcony and pours himself a glass. He lights himself a candle and raises the glass to his lips. He glances at her curiously and freezes. Lavellan takes the pipe from her lips, iced under his gaze. The rosy post-coital warmth disappears as if she’s just leapt into the ocean. Solas’ lips move soundlessly as he tries and fails to articulate their mutual horror. She thinks dimly, at least I still make him speechless. She should have put her prosthetic back on. She says, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Hand trembling, he raises his glass to his lips. He does not spill a drop. “I am leaving in the morning. I will leave earlier.” He drinks and sets the glass with a clink back onto the balcony’s edge. Still he stares at her. She supposes she looks just-fucked, because she is--hair ruffled, skin reddened, and nightgown thrown on carelessly. Anders likes to sleep nude. Lavellan laughs. “Wonderful. Hilarious. Three years Leliana has tried to track you,” and succeeded, but she will not tell him that, “and I find you on the opposite balcony, undressed. I suppose you thought the hair would be enough of a disguise.” Solas smiles. “It has worked before.” It hasn’t, but again she will not tell him that. “Certainly.” She puffs on her pipe and exhales smoke, watching it drift towards the street opposite. She can see light spilling behind the shutters of the floor opposite. Someone else like to fuck with the lights on. Lavellan smiles thinly. She remembers finding him in a tavern with Varric and Hawke, not too long about the Exalted Council. They had managed to find three of his eluvians in Ostwick and Kirkwall, thanks to his arrogance, and reclaim one of them. The beard does not disguise his face--or his swagger. She closes her eyes: unless this is all an elaborate double-bluff. What would Keeper Deshanna say? The wolf chews off his own leg to escape the trap. He has his back to the door, but both of his arms--and he can turn people to stone now, Morrigan confirmed. That would not be the worst thing he has done to her, though, would it? He is staring at her remaining hand, at the sylvanwood ring she now wears--a gift from Merrill, who said she needed it more. Lavellan laughs bitterly. “A Keeper’s ring,” she says. “I suppose you would not know the story. A relic of the People, to remind its leaders of the Dread Wolf’s betrayal. Though it was a lesson I never learned, and was read too late besides.” Solas flinches. “I had hoped it was a wedding ring.” He glances towards her room. From his perspective, she supposes, the unmade bed and the man in it are just visible, if he cranes his neck a bit, which he is doing. She is tired of looking at her life from his perspective. “Fuck you,” Lavellan says. She lays the pipe down carefully and half-closes the shutters. If Anders wakes up, he’ll see her--but Solas will not see him. But Justice will not allow him to attack an unarmed man, as if the Dread Wolf is ever without his weapons. “My apologies,” he says. “That was inappropriate. I...I have hoped you have been happy.” She looks at him incredulously. “Which is why you stalk my dreams at night, exactly like the nightmare of Dalish legends. To hope that I’m happy.” She gestures grandly. “Which is why you appear here, at my balcony, on my one vacation--” “An unfortunate coincidence,” Solas cuts in coldly. “And I will go. You know it has never been my intention to cause you pain.” He turns away and picks up his glass. “You took my arm off,” Lavellan says. Solas stops. “I didn’t realize that was an accident.” He turns around and to her amusement he is smiling wryly. He rubs his forehead. “It was eating at your bone marrow. But the next time an ancient artifact of untold power starts a cancer in your body, I will let it fester. Thank you for letting me know.” Lavellan watches him coolly and imagines rubbing the hot ashes of her tobacco into his face. Maybe it will leave a mark like the Anchor did, before it melted the skin from her muscle and disabled her permanently. It had stunk. None of the salves Vivienne had concocted had soothed it. The Anchor’s heat would melt through the leather of every glove she hid it in too, towards the end. She had known for a long time she would need to amputate it. She just had not thought it would take her whole forearm. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she says. She knows she should let him leave, but she wants to know. “If you knew it would--fester. Why did you leave without warning me?” Fear lances through Solas’ eyes, flickering in the candlelight. “I am not a cruel man,” he says instead. “That is not an answer.” She smiles unpleasantly, sitting down at the balcony’s edge, and crosses her legs. His eyes trace up her body. He looks afraid. She knows how he likes to use her, to defend himself and to flagellate himself against the fundamental truths of his being. The Dalish have pegged him right. He is a cruel man. He is a monster. He lost his humanity millennia ago, sacrificed on the grave of Mythal. Morrigan told her what the Well whispers. If the evanuris deserved untold punishment for killing the All-Mother, what is his due? The perpetual bleeding wound of what he did to her. Her stump itches, and she scratches at it pointedly: it has long since scabbed over, but he does like to pick at his wounds. “You have your life,” Solas says testily. “You have your freedom, and all the riches of the Inquisition. You have the time left to you. What else can I give to you?” Anger twists in her so viscerally she coughs at the bile rising in her throat. She steadies herself. “I am not your fucking petitioner, Solas. You’re no god of mine. You never were.” She stares back defiantly. After the Council, once Morrigan clarified the vallaslin did not bind her to the will of Mythal, she had Deshanna draw her brand brighter. She likes it. Mythal had watched her People suffer, killed by those who would sacrifice them. Her vallaslin is a promise: vengeance, for the world. All her gods have long been dead, and she is the last one standing. The agents of Fen’Harel have found little support amongst the Dalish and the elves of the Free Marches, Ferelden, and Orlais. Solas says, “I’m sorry.” A breeze drifts cold from the sea, and Lavellan shivers. This nightgown is meant to be taken off, not kept on. She glances inside. Anders is still asleep. He won’t be upset when she explains this to him, he’s had his fair share of bad exes--and been the bad ex. She has few illusions about him. He eases something in her, for now. He’s more attached to her than she is to him. She likes it that way, to hold someone loosely for once. He will not be the one who leaves. He idolizes her a little bit, but he doesn’t idealize her like Solas did. Solas follows her gaze and purses his lips. He says, “I am keeping you from your rest.” Neither of them move. He wears an ugly expression, made worse by the glowstones inlaid at the edge of the building, the candle still flickering on the balcony. She has always enjoyed the harsh angularity of his face and the starkness of his emotions. He seethes with discontent. Sometimes he channels it productively, passionately, but she can never forget that this is the man who stared at the Nightmare boredly, but raged at the useless Kirkwall mages. There is a foot between their balconies, and she is acutely conscious of the space. He could vaunt over it easily. So could she. Ugily he stares at her, burning her visage into him. She wonders: does he like what he sees? Does that matter? Of course it does. Uncomfortable, she taps her pipe against the balcony. She shakes her head, and smiling, says, “You still haven’t answered my question.” “What is there left to say?” Solas clenches his hands. “You have taken my measure. Why do you need me to stay what you already know?” “Because I don’t,” Lavellan says. “Because I want you to admit it. You left me to die in pain--” Solas steps closer, distressed, but she throws her arm up. “Don’t interrupt! You told me you loved me. You fucked me. You,” she starts laughing, thinking about Crestwood, “you brought me to a swamp to show me ‘how much I meant to you.’” She is grinning now, staring at him. Solas looks wretched: as if that means something. “You tried to reenact your savior fantasy with me--’ar lasa mala revas,’ my ass. And when I objected, you left me. While claiming I meant the world to you. And then you let my arm rot off.” “There were--considerations.” “Corypheus,” Lavellan says bitterly. “The Blight that is coming. The decay that is spreading in the Emprise, despite how deep we dig. The wakened Titan. And, at the root of this all, Mythal.” Solas freezes. His eyes widen in surprise and he beams at her--but as quickly as the smile flashes across his face, it is gone. He arranges himself neutrally again, pointedly tucking his arms behind his back. That little familiar gesture still amuses her, as much as it makes her sad. She had thought he did that to keep from touching her. Even the gulf between them is not enough. He still wants to reach for her--he won’t, of course, but it pings her vanity to know he wants to. He utters, “Well done.” Lavellan says, “You’re a patronizing prick, do you know that?” “You certainly aren’t the first who’ve told me that,” Solas replies, amused. Despite himself, he has crept to the very edge of the balcony. She reaches for him and he takes her hand, helping her to her feet. He puts his hand on her waist to steady her. The embrace is clumsy; there is a foot between them and three storeys below them. She does not let go of his hand, he does not let of her waist, and when she looks up Solas bites his lip. “Fenhedis,” he says, and kisses her. She grips his arm to keep from falling. Kissing him is so easy. She does not need to think, but sighs raggedly into the embrace. They break the kiss but do not pull away. He rests his forehead against hers, awkwardly bracing his knee against the opposite balcony. He looks like he is about to leap over to join her, or fall between them. She smiles ironically. A year ago she would have muttered, “Dread Wolf take me,” at a kiss as devastating as this: but so he has, again. Lavellan nuzzles at his face and murmurs, “I cannot go into your room.” She draws an arbitrary boundary, when she has already crossed the threshold. Anders still lays sleeping in the bed behind her. She thinks to herself, I can gather information. He wants to stay with me. He wants me to stay. He has always said it is easy to tell me too much, whatever that means. I can bind him to that. This is not an excuse. She looks up at him. Solas rests his hand on her shoulder, eyes tender. “Meet me outside.” “I owe you that,” Solas says vaguely, and Lavellan raises an eyebrow. That, too, is an excuse, more patronizing than hers. She can use that. She thinks she can use that. She has her anger to whip the lines she will not cross into her feet. They carefully pull away from each other. One false move, and the other falls between the balconies. Lavellan finds her pipe, still smoldering slightly, and Solas collects his wine and candle. Before she closes the shutters, she turns and sees him watching her. He says, “I love you. Though we both know you deserve better. I love you.” “Stop it,” Lavellan says, and he laughs. She closes the shutters, smiling as tears dot at her eyes. She places the pipe on her dresser and goes to her lover. Lavellan leans over Anders and whispers, “Wake up--don’t say anything.” Anders frowns in his sleep, and she shakes his shoulder gently. “Quietly.” He turns, alarmed, so Lavellan puts her hand over his mouth. She whispers, “The Dread Wolf rented the room next to us.” Anders rubs his eyes and sits up, careful not to let the bed creak. “What the fuck?” She shushes him. “I’m serious,” she whispers. “And we’re going on a walk. Use the crystal to call Leliana if I’m not back by dawn.” Anders says, “You’re serious.” Sleep falling from his eyes, he focuses on her face and reaches for her. Healer’s hands: she takes his hand and presses a kiss into the palm. He traces the outline of her lips with his thumb. Guilt grasps her, and she moves away from his touch. His face falls. “You’re going on a night walk with the Dread Wolf. Your ex. The Dread Wolf--who not only put the Veil up in the first place, but wants to tear it down and kill us all.” She tenses. “Keep your voice down. He doesn’t think I’d wake you. Have that much faith in me.” Quietly she slides off of him and pulls off her dress. She shoots him a look over her shoulder, hoping to distract him, but he is clearly displeased. Quickly she pulls on underclothes, a tunic, leggings--but she can feel him fretting silently. “I won’t stop you,” Anders says finally. “But you do realize what this looks like to me.” He is completely still, playing along for her. Lavellan straps on her prosthetic and fits a jar of bees into the compartment. She brandishes it at him, and Anders smiles slightly. She walks over to him and kisses him gently. “I’ll be back before dawn,” she says firmly. “And if I’m not--he’d kill me, not kidnap me.” She taps her sylvanwood ring with her prosthetic clumsily. “He does not think I would wake you. While we’re gone, check the guest registry. I want to know what name he used. And then call Leliana.” Pointedly she hands him the sending crystal. Anders sighs. “I’ll be back,” she repeats. And I’ll keep him walking and talking so I won’t fuck him, too, she adds silently. “And we’ll regroup in the morning.”

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solavellan fanfic #solas #lavellan #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dai #post-trespasser #fanfic #white nights #anders #alas poor anders #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus

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buttsonthebeach · 5 years ago

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Lost Horizon, Pt. 2

@scharoux is the sweetest and most patient soul for waiting so long for part two of this story - thank you, dear friend, for trusting me with Rhaella and her epic tale!

This long fic picks up almost directly where The Last Game last left off - with Rhaella pregnant and alone in a world where Solas has removed the Veil, despite her attempts to stop him.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Part One of Lost Horizon can be found here

Other pieces about Rhaella I have written include:

1. All Things Green and Growing

2. The Long Road Back

3. The Turning of the Year

3. The Same Kind of Scar (contains explicit content)

4. World Without End (contains explicit content)

5. The Last Game Pt. 1, the Last Game Pt. 2, and the Last Game Pt. 3 (contains explicit content), and the Last Game Pt. 4

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas, post-Trespasser

Rating: Teen for violence, references to sex

Warning: Directly referenced character death for a character from DAI, general references to death and destruction

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Merrill and Rhaella’s journey to Skyhold was slow. Isabela’s ship carried them swift and true - that part wasn’t the problem, even if the ship and all the crew seemed haunted, even if Rhaella could feel the absence of a woman she had never met as surely as she could feel the sea breeze - but once they were back on land, and traveling via horseback, her pregnancy proved a problem once more. She felt impossibly huge, her belly as big and round as the horse’s it seemed. Years of practice had made her a good rider, but the extra weight and the shift in her center of balance was even more pronounced now than it had been before, when she had ridden from Skyhold to Jader for her journey to Kirkwall.

The slow going meant she had plenty of time to take in how much had changed since that last journey, when she had been on her way to stop Solas. The burned out villages, and also the rapturous displays of light in the night sky - the dance of spirits thrilled to be free of the Veil. They rarely had to use a campfire for light, in fact. Wisps were drawn to them the way moths used to be. They frequently went to Rhaella’s belly after floating near her head and Merrill’s.

At least you’ll get beauty like this, little one.

Her magic surged towards each and every wisp when they came, but she tamped it down. Solas would know the feel of her magic, even across the distance, as surely as he would know the sound of her voice. They had not been pursued as far as they could tell, by people or by spirits, and she wanted to keep it that way. Merrill had known a draught to keep her from entering the Fade, which was their other means of concealment since they’d left.

“Poor Feynriel,” Merrill said the first time she brewed it. “I wonder what’s become of him in this world. If it makes more sense to him now, or less. Marethari made this for him while he was staying with the clan, and I learned it when we visited once. He was a Dreamer, so a draught like this didn’t always work for him, but it will be good enough for you and I. It feels like a different life to remember those times, when he was one of my biggest worries..”

“It does,” Rhaella said, even if she was only remembering a few weeks ago, when she’d been on this road going in the opposite direction, convinced she could stop the tide of Solas’s power from sweeping through and changing everything.

Sometimes on that long slow journey she lay there and was convinced the baby would never be born. She would be trapped like this forever, huge and waiting, adrift. She wondered how many other pregnant mothers lay awake in Thedas staring at the same moons and feeling the same way. They’d conceived their children in one world, and they would be born into an alien one.

Rhaella was grateful for Merrill’s training as a First, and her involvement in Kirkwall’s alienage since then. She still knew enough about pregnancy and babies to act as a midwife. She seemed less puzzled than the other midwife about the size of Rhaella’s belly, how it was bigger than they were expecting.

“Solas is not a small man,” she said with a shrug. “As long as you feel well, and you can still feel your little one wriggling about in there, I’m not worried.”

Solas is not a small man. The words sent a shiver of memory through Rhaella as she envisioned the days and nights that had led her to this moment. The size and weight of his body, how sheltered it made her feel, how whole. She pushed those thoughts away. She imagined, instead, a son that was as tall as him, who had only his kindness and not his narrowed vision, his pride. A son who reminded her of her own father.

I will love you no matter who you are, she promised anyway, feeling the child move.

The journey grew slower and more difficult as they climbed the mountain paths towards Skyhold. Rhaella struggled to lean far enough forward in the saddle to make her horse comfortable, so they had to walk the steepest parts of it. But, the feeling of being further from civilization, and the giddiness of having evaded Solas for nearly two weeks now, loosened their tongues a little, and Rhaella and Merrill were able to talk more freely. Merrill told stories of Hawke that she had not heard from Varric, and they shared their memories of growing up Dalish, compared notes on the Arlathvhens they had been to, speculated on whether or not they had ever met at one of them. It started to feel a little normal. Almost like Rhaella was back to being Inquisitor, and Merrill was one of her companions.

(It was probably a testament to how upside down things were now that Rhaella could think back to that time with fondness.)

Then they arrived at Skyhold, and all that warmth, all that strength she’d built, drained away.

It was not so much that the building was different. Its ancient stone was largely unchanged. It had weathered the creation of the Veil, after all. It was not even the scorch marks all over the courtyard, or the charred ruins of the stables.

It was the sound of the empty hospital tents flapping in the breeze. Of wooden shutters banging listlessly against stone walls.

It was the total, absolute emptiness of the place that had become her home.

The castle stood, but the people were gone, and the emptiness of that threatened to swallow her whole.

She should have been wise enough to expect this, to know that things would not be as she left them, that she would not return home to rally the people she’d left behind to some sort of unlikely victory. She had not heard from any of her forces in the weeks she’d been in Kirkwall. She’d hoped that was because Solas was intercepting their messages, that against all odds, there was still a home to come back to, a chance to set things right. Still, the blow of the silence struck her as true as any kick or punch ever had.

Then there was a high, hollow sound - a call, almost like that of a bird’s - but bigger, and then louder, like a trumpet, coming from the lower courtyard, and the sudden movement of a big brown blur -

“Thistle!” Rhaella called, and her hart galloped to her, drawing up short when he reached her, and then snuffling her with his warm, soft nose, whining again in his throat. She rested her forehead against his, breathed in the warm, woodsy smell of his hide. She scratched the place behind his ears that always made him stamp his feet with delight.

“Hello, friend,” Merrill said, approaching. “You’re a delight! I haven’t seen a hart like this in a long time.”

“He has been my constant companion for years now. I can’t even tell you how good it feels to see that he is okay.” Rhaella leaned her head against Thistle’s again and took another calming breath. She did not need to jump straight to despair. She had not even gone inside the keep yet. Who knew who else she would find, or what signs would be left behind - maybe everyone had moved somewhere else, or gone out into the world to help make a difference -

She wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or afraid when the first arrow flew and landed at her feet.

Merrill’s hand flung out instantly, as if to shield her, and Rhaella’s magic crackled beneath her skin, longing to cast a barrier. She had to actively work not to cast the barrier without the Veil in the way, and it made her grind her teeth. Her son kicked wildly in her stomach at the sensation of the caged magic.

“It’s okay,” Rhaella called out when the urge to cast her spell passed. She looked in the direction the arrow had come from - the old tavern. She started in that direction, brushing off Merrill’s arm. “It’s me, it’s Rhaella.”

Another arrow flew, this one passing over her shoulder, so close that Rhaella could hear the pitch-perfect whine as it cleaved the air by her ear. Thistle snorted and stamped behind her, spooked, and Merrill took her staff off her back. The third arrow struck the barrier that Merrill cast, splintering into a shower of wooden shards, but Rhaella had seen where it was headed. Straight for her head.

Then Rhaella saw her, in the upper window of the tavern, leaning out now, bow in hand. Sera.

“Sera!” She called, waving her arms, walking closer. Surely it was an accident. Surely Sera had not actually meant to aim for a killing blow. “Sera, it’s just me.”

“Yes,” Sera said, nocking another arrow, half-drawing back the string. She stepped out onto the roof of the tavern. Her skin was even paler than usual, but her eyes were rimmed as red as the plaidweave armor she wore. “Who the fuck do you think I have been waiting for?”

Rhaella’s heart sank.

“Sera -”

“They’re all dead!” Sera shouted, the tears coming now. “All of them! Every person that mattered to me is gone now. Every person who trusted you to lead us. They all paid the price, and for what? So you could get a good shag with a man who never really loved you? And you didn’t even have to see it, did you, oh high and mighty Inquisitor? No, you got to be somewhere far away when it all came crashing down, all the fire and magic and shite, all the screaming and the dying. But I didn’t get that. I had to be here. I had to see it happen. I had to watch and even when I shut my eyes I had to listen. D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?”

Cullen.

No, not Cullen.

He was many things - not all of them good - but Rhaella prayed in that moment to the gods she didn’t believe in that Sera was lying.

“D’you know what it was like for him when all that bloody magic came rushing back, after all those years he’d worked to stop taking that Maker forsaken lyrium? I bet you didn’t even think about it when you went rushing back to your arse-wiping Dread Wolf. About how he would fucking scream -”

“Stop!”

Rhaella was aware that Merrill had shouted the word, that Sera was still talking, but the sounds were distant, covered up by a roaring as real as the sound of an ocean storm, of an earthquake. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think beyond the roaring sound. It was only the kicking and rolling of her child within her womb that brought her back to the surface.

“You don’t understand,” Merrill was saying. “Rhaella went to Kirkwall to stop him. She tried her best. She never stopped trying. She fought him until the very last moment, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was too strong for anyone but another of his own kind. And Rhaella didn’t stop there. She has been aiding the wounded ever since then, and once she had her first opportunity to flee from Solas, she did. How do you think she ended up here?”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Sera said, and there was a sudden wave of magical heat rolling off of her, sparks at her fingertips. “Shite!”

She threw down her bow and Rhaella could see the trembling in her fingers. Sera had never wanted this, and now she was cursed with it. Magic.

Rhaella opened her mouth but no words came out. Her chest felt like it was caving in. Like all of Sera’s words had lodged there, true as arrows, true as morning sun.

“Please, believe us,” Merrill was pleading. “Neither of us wanted this. We’re trying to make our way in this world, the same as you.”

Sera shook her head once, viciously, and picked up her bow. She nocked the arrow again and started to draw it back. Rhaella realized that her hands were over her belly, feeling it warm and tight as a drum, but her magic was not seething inside her this time. She was making no real move to defend herself. Merrill grounded herself, started gathering the energy for a barrier. Then Sera lowered her bow.

“Get whatever supplies you need to get somewhere else. And then get gone.” Her eyes bored into Rhaella’s. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Then she disappeared back into the shadows of the tavern.

Rhaella felt rooted to the ground where she stood. Like she might never move from this spot again.

It was one thing to see the devastation of Kirkwall - a city that was not a part of her, another vein through which her own heart’s blood flowed - it was another to stand here in Skyhold and witness the magnitude of her failure. To hear those words of accusation dropped not from the mouth of a stranger but from a friend.

Cullen.

“Rhaella. Rhaella. Come on, love. I don’t think we want to stay here long.”

Merrill was using the same voice that Rhaella herself used to gentle Thistle when he was spooked. Her hands were on Rhaella’s shoulders, guiding. Their steps towards the keep were slow. Thistle whined, high and loud and mournful. Rhaella wondered what stories he would share of the day the Veil fell, if he could speak.

She tried not to study Skyhold as they walked through it. Tried not to see the blood or the winding patterns of lighting etched into wood and stone, the overturned tables, the shattered glasses. The kitchen was ripped apart but there was still food enough in the storeroom beyond it, and she and Merrill filled their packs with as much of it as they could reasonably carry. Rhaella felt the burden of her pregnancy all over again, how she would need more food than she ever had before on the road.

“Is there anything else you want to get?” Merrill asked when they were done there.

Rhaella nodded, and went wordlessly towards the long staircase that led to her chambers. Merrill did not follow. She was grateful for that.

Her chambers were exactly as she had left them. That was the most eerie part of all. She was not the same woman she was the last time she slept here. Her bedroom should have reflected that. But everything was in its place - each pillow on the bed, each paper on her desk. She picked up her field journal, which she’d left behind in her haste to get to Kirkwall. Then she saw the one thing that was out of place. A letter in an envelope, right in the center of her desk.

Rhaella

It was Cullen’s handwriting.

D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?

Rhaella tucked the letter quickly into her bag. She couldn’t read it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Merrill had distributed everything they gathered between Thistle and their other two horses by the time Rhaella returned. After a brief discussion, they agreed that they would keep both horses, using one for supplies and if one of their other mounts got tired.

“So where do we go now?” Merrill asked, her eyes shifting towards the tavern and then back to Rhaella.

“The Emerald Graves,” Rhaella said. “It has plenty of resources, plenty of places to hide, and it isn’t terribly far from here.”

“I have always wanted to see them,” Merrill said. “All those tombs of the elves who came before us, who fought for our people.”

Rhaella half wondered if the tombs had broken open when the Veil fell - if those elves had stepped out to a brave new world where their people had both won and lost.

She cast one glance back at Skyhold as they rode through its gate. The towers and battlements she’d come to know as home. It was lost to her now, like so many things were. Another ghost of her own, standing stark and sad against the blue mountain sky.

She took a deep breath and rode on.

They rode until nightfall, back down the same road they’d taken up the mountain, until Rhaella’s lower back ached so badly that they could not continue. She warmed damp cloths on a stone over the fire that Merrill built and then had Merill place them where it ached. She’d never wished so desperately for a bed in her life as she did in that moment, lying there on her side on the nest of blankets they’d arranged, unable to curl up into a ball or lie on her stomach, anything to relieve the pain.

“Warn me if it gets more intense,” Merrill said. “Sometimes that’s how it goes for women - the start of labor, that is.”

Rhaella felt a surge of panic and joy alike. Would tonight be the night she met her son, the person that made all of this worth it? The reason she continued putting one foot in front of the other on this road that had no real destination yet. At least not one she could see or count on. But the pain in her back did subside eventually. There was a new chill in the air by that point, a wind coming down off the mountains that made them both shiver. Rhaella looked to the saddlebags they’d removed from their pack horse, hoping for another blanket - and spied something familiar sticking out of one of the ones Merrill had packed. Red and fur-lined.

Cullen’s cloak.

She rose, went to it, pulled it out, half-hoping she was wrong. She wasn’t. She’d have known it anywhere, and of course Merrill would not have. She’d just seen something warm that might help them on their journey, and not another dagger aimed directly at Rhaella’s heart.

Merrill was a few paces away, standing watch since they didn’t want to risk setting wards. Rhaella went to her bag and pulled out the letter she’d found on her desk, the tears already rising in her throat, the guilt already swimming in her stomach. She found a tree that she could sit against, looking away from Merrill, and eased herself to the ground, cloak and letter clutched in one hand.

She read.

Rhaella,

I am never going to see you again.

That's the worst part of this. It isn't the pain or the screaming or the uncertainty. It's knowing I will never see your face or hear your voice again.

My hand is shaking. I hope you can read this if you find it. When you find it. I refuse to believe that you did not survive this. You and the baby - you have to survive. I have to believe this was all worth something, and if the two of you are still out there, it was.

You are the most incredible woman I have ever known, Rhaella. Your quiet strength - I know it will see you through. I have watched you move mountains and I know you will move them again and again.

(I hope this all makes sense. I was never good at words, and my hand is shaking, and everything hurts -)

I wish I could be there to see you move those mountains. To see your baby. The baby I thought of as ours no matter what. I understand that what we had was never going to be real. I am at peace with that. I would have given you everything nonetheless, Rhaella. You and the baby deserved that and I would have been whatever you needed me to be. If - if this isn't the end - if I can withstand this - if we are both alive - I will still give you everything. Not because I want you to wake up one day and love me. But because you deserve that as my friend.

Whatever happens - when you find this - I want you to know that I believe in you. I wish I had words good enough to express it. I don't. I believe in you the same way I believe in the Maker and his Bride. Maybe that is the closest I can come to explaining it. I believe in you, and if anyone can stop Solas, it is you.

If I die today, I die with nothing but faith and devotion in my heart. It was how I always wanted to go, Rhaella. It's okay. I am at peace.

Yours always,

Cullen

She was crying before she finished the third paragraph, of course. Deep, wracking sobs that hollowed out her chest, carved up her ribs, scratched up her throat. They were animal sounds. She wasn't sure how long they went on. It seemed there was no beginning or end to her grief as she thought of everything Sera said, how she'd sacrificed everything for a man who never really loved or deserved her. Were they both right? Was that really the source of her weakness? Had there been some final part of her strength locked behind a door with Solas's name written on it, where she hid all the memories that were good? Had that been the strength she would have needed that day in Kirkwall?

Rhaella cried into the folds of Cullen's cloak, her mind a maze of questions with no answers, and grieved.

Solas generally prided himself on being the master of his emotions. Controlling them, subduing them, and, when all else failed, simply hiding them away.

He did not bother hiding his frustration when he returned from his fight with the Evanuris.

He came into his Kirkwall base of operations and threw down the helm he'd been wearing, reveling in the loud sound of metal striking wood as it hit the table. Maybe if he did that over and over again he could drown out the sound of his failure - of half of the Evanuris's forces escaping into eluvians and shattering them as they left. He'd wanted to pull them out, root and stem, to be done with all of this, to focus on what came next - rebuilding, helping those that remained find peace and meaning in the new world he'd made. Helping himself find peace with what he'd done. Finding time to mourn the friends he had lost (sacrificed).

Mending things with Rhaella.

"We have not been able to trace them yet," Abelas said, calm and even, but with a hesitance that Solas noted at once.

"What else?" He barked. He'd tried not to be the kind of Commander who yelled unless it was truly what the situation warranted. Then again, he'd tried a lot of things. And yet here he was again, with nothing but ash and loneliness to show for it.

"Rhaella and Merrill are gone."

Abelas said it swiftly and calmly, with the precision of a surgeon making his first cut.

Solas felt the air leave the room.

He felt his power leach into the vacuum it left behind.

Raw mana, undirected, uncontained, filling up every object and person around him, lighting up the room with a blue glow, filling it with a subtle roar. He felt his advisors shield themselves in barriers, as if he would attack them. Perhaps he would. (He would not.)

Solas took a breath and drew his mana back in.

“When?”

“Not long after you did as far as we can tell,” Abelas said. Another surgeon’s cut.

“Together.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where?”

“Unknown. We have not been able to track them via traditional or arcane means, though perhaps you will have greater success with the latter. You know Rhaella better than any of us, after all.”

For a moment, Solas considered letting her go. It would be kinder in the long run. He’d told her that once, when he was a stronger man. But he still had dried blood under his fingernails, the screams of the dying in his ears. He still had unfinished business, and people who would seek to hurt Rhaella and his child.

(The child, the child, the child, he could hardly bring himself to think the word at first but now it was ringing through his mind like a struck bell, an endless echo. He might not get to meet his child if he could not find her, and perhaps that was what he deserved -)

He had to find her to protect her. To tell her one last time that he was sorry. If she went her own way then - if they went their own way then - he would just have to find a way to endure.

Var lath vir suledin, she had said to him the day he took the Anchor and her arm. Perhaps that was when she was a stronger woman. Perhaps he had broken them both.

“We leave for Skyhold at dawn,” he said. He turned on his heel and left. He had enough control, enough composure, not to spill his tears before them. He waited until he was in Rhaella’s room, surrounded by the smell of her, to do that.

He would endure, he told himself over and over again. He would endure. He simply wasn’t sure what it would cost.

#beach writes #beach does commissions #scharoux #rhaella lavellan #rhaella x solas #lost horizon #character death #angst #...like all the angst

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ranawaytothedas · 5 years ago

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The Stuff of Dreams

Rating - Mature just for safety

Main Pairings: F!Lavellan/Solas & F!Lavellan/Cullen (mentioned mostly)

Word Count: 6984

AO3 Link - HERE

Summery: A collection of encounters in the Fade between Tamaris Lavellan and Solas during the two years he was missing after the defeat of Corypheus.

Part 1 of 3

A/N: Welcome to the first part of the Pre-Fic-Fic that hopefully will set up the larger...still untitled fic that will replace Trespasser. This does fudge with timelines and cannon a bit. I did my best to proof and edit it but it’s unbeta read so please take that into account. Hope you enjoy, the full story is under the cut.

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For the majority of her life Tamaris had a very conflicted relationship with sleep and dreams. Being what the Magisters called a Somnari or a Dreamer in the common tongue, she had control over her dreams. It was a blessing and a curse. She saw so much that filled her wonder and awe, but was also plagued by horrific and graphic nightmares since her earliest memories. Her dreams felt real, as real as any event that had happened to her while waking, and she remembered every moment. Many dreamers never lived past childhood, fewer yet into adulthood like she had. In her whole life she had only met one other, Solas.

Solas was complicated subject for Tamaris. She had a lot of anger towards him over the past year and a half since he disappeared. Many nights she had cursed his named and wished to see him one more time only to wrap her hands around his neck. Though, most nights, she just missed him. As much as she tried to hide it, most of all from herself, Tamaris still loved Solas deeply. It was a love like nothing she had ever felt. He had a pull over her and she over him. When they met for the first time something in him pulled at something in her. Their relationships lasted a little less than a year, it had actually been one of the best kept secrets of the Inquisition, but he did not leave her without a constant reminder of what they had sacrificed for the sake of “the mission”.

A little over a month after Corypheus fell and Solas left, Tamaris learned she was pregnant. At the time she had yet to enter into another relationship so she knew precisely who the father was. Solas.

At first, Tamaris was petrified when she realized the position she found herself in. Pregnant, alone to raise a child without the father, for she doubted that Solas would return. As anyone in her position would have, Tamaris fell into a deep depression.

She locked herself away in her room, far away from all those who cared for her. Everyone was concerned, but Mathras insisted on the best course being to give her space. For the most part, they obliged. Except Dorian. It was not in his nature stand by and do nothing. He would leave food outside her door each morning and evening, with a note telling her that she was missed and very loved. Anything he could think of to try and raise her spirits. In the end it was Dorian who made the choice to get The Iron Bull to break down her bedroom door after no one had seen her for a week. He barged in and declared “Enough, I am not standing by any long. Mathras be damned…” He pulled her from her bed and promptly made her bathe while he ordered Bull to go find some food. Dorian did leave her side for several days after. Not that he feared she would hurt herself, but because he knew she needed someone to comfort her.

It took several weeks but Tamaris seemed herself, well as close as she could be. Everyone around her was doing their best to lift her spirits. Tamaris learned to fake happiness fairly quickly, while she remained quite heartbroken. The pain ran deep and perhaps clouded her judgment. A month after she learned she was pregnant, Tamaris ended up allowing her brother to convince her that Cullen would be a perfect match for her. So while pregnant with another man’s child, she entered into an often rocky relationship with one of her brother’s closest friends.

Cullen wasn’t a bad man, by any means, but he wasn’t Solas. He had a handsomeness that was undeniable, charming with a surprisingly witty sense of humor and he was undoubtedly, a very caring man. Who didn’t deserve to be in love with a woman that still loved another man. The guilt she felt for continuing a relationship out of the fear of being alone weighed heavy on Tamaris. When her daughter, Shivana, had been born it only complicated the situation because Cullen happily accepted the role of father. In fact it was one of the most painful things to see at times, because it was a role he thrived in. Tamaris had been worried that Cullen wouldn’t want to be with her, once the baby had been born. Those worries disappeared quickly when Cullen seemed to look past the blatantly obvious fact that he was not the biological father, and claimed the little girl as his own. In the moment it had made her blissfully happy.

Yet, almost a year later, she wished he had just turned his back on them then.

Tamaris had hoped that with time her feelings for Solas would fade. They would be replaced by the feelings she so strongly desired to have for Cullen. The feelings never fully came to fruition. Solas was always there. The older Shivana got, the more she favored him. Her hair had come in thick, dark auburn curls, which could have only come from him. Her eyes stayed the same stormy blue as his, though for months Dorian had been convinced they were turning Violet. Tamaris suspected he was only humoring her. There was less obvious things as well. Subtle things that only she would have ever noticed. The curve of her coy smile, the way she held her hands she was being scolded, her soft chuckles when she had done something amusing or mischievious. All Solas.

As she wondered the fade each night, part of her was doing it in search of him. Hoping she would stumble upon him in some old memories and be able to ask him all the questions she needed to be able to move on.

Oddly enough, she had shared this with Sera. Whom was often uneasy talking about the Fade and magic, but much to Tamaris’s suprise. Her friend had a fair point to make. “Don’t go lookin’ for him… find what he may be lookin’ for. Which I would bet is gonna be my little bumble bee… so go where our Shivana is and I bet before too long he will show up, because there ain’t a soul in Thedas that don’t know the Herald of Andraste squirted out little elfy baby...because there is no way she can pass for Cullen’s, didn’t you try when his sister came? Wrapped her up, put a hat on her so they couldn’t see her ears…and they still figured it out ya know, not that it matters...she may look like ol’ Elven Glory but she is soft and squishy on the inside like your Cully Wully... pfft don’t look at me like that… Shivana is one elfy elf baby. Perhaps the elfiest of them all…” Sera had continued to ramble on eventually leading to the conclusion that there was no way Solas couldn’t know about Shivana and had likely found her at least once already.

So, Tamaris did as Sera suggested. Each night she found her daughter in the Fade in the safe little bubble Tamaris had created for her. It was one of the camps she had grown up in, the clan would stop there every few years. It was warm, lush and green. You could hear the soft sounds of a creek in the distance and there was the smell of wild flowers filling the air. She had left out the Aravels, mostly because she didn’t think Solas would approve of their daughter being raised Dalish. Even if it was just in the Fade. Instead she left it open, so Shivana could run and play with a freedom she couldn’t have at Skyhold.

Each night she sat, watching her daughter be amused by two little whisps that had started to call this quiet corner of the Fade home. They were kind beings, with no malicious intent. Tamaris had made sure of that. They just loved to be around joy and Shivana was filled with that. They would play and dance, make flowers bloom and birds sing sweet songs for her. It was a lovely and heartwarming thing for Tamaris to see. It made her less worried that her daughter would be plagued with nightmares she had been. Though her gifts hadn’t shown themselves, Tamaris was all but certain that Shivana was a mage and a dreamer like both her parents. So the fact that as young as she was, she was attracting kindly spirits spoke to her daughter’s true nature. Or so that was what Tamaris had told herself.

Then one night, when Tamaris joined her daughter in her little oasis, there were no whisps to be found. Instead, Shivana was sitting in the center of the clearing looking up a large white wolf that stood before her. Tamaris’s protective instincts willed her to go to Shivana, pull her away and run. Yet, as she neared and saw the soft smile on the little girl’s face as her hand reached out and tangled in the beast’s fur. A joyful laugh escaped her daughter’s lips, not unlike she would give Tamaris, Cullen, Mathras, Dorian or Sera. The people she knew as family. She knows it…. Tamaris concluded. So, she stopped and watched from a distance, just barely concealed by some trees.

The wolf circled around Shivana as the child clapped her hands happily as if she was waiting for something exciting to happen. She turned onto all fours as she began to crawl after the Wolf as it started to walk away. I sofy grunt of protest escaped the little girl’s lips as she scowled, her father’s scowl. The Wolf stopped and turned around, as it did it’s shape began to transform into one that Tamaris knew all too well.

Instantly she knew why Shivana knew the wolf and wasn’t afraid. Because the wolf was the little girl’s father. Her hand shook as she brought it to her mouth trying to muffle her gasp as she watched him bend down to pick up their daughter. Seeing him again, with their daughter caused a wave of sadness to wash over Tamaris as it shouldn’t have been this way. He should have been there when she was born, he should have been able to hold her for real. Then, the anger and pain started to seep in. Her hand fell away from her mouth as she stepped out of the trees and into sight. “Solas…” His name rolled off her tongue yet like it had a thousand time before, but there was pain behind it, longing.

Her voice caught him off guard, he wasn’t expecting me, Tamaris noted as she saw a shocked look painted across his face. His mouth hung slightly agape as he struggled to find the will to call her what he truly wanted. It was Shivana’s joyfully laugh that steadied him as he turned his gaze down to his smiling child. “Look, Mamae found us.” He pointed over to Tamaris who was trying to hold it together. Her eyes were fixed on Solas as he placed a tender kiss on Shivana’s plump, freckle covered cheek as he mumbled. “Clever Mamae…” His gaze shifted back to Tamaris and she bit her bottom lip to keep herself from saying what she wanted as well. She forced a small smile for her daughter as her eyes stayed fixed on his.

A few swift steps and Tamaris closed the gap between her and Solas as she reached out for her daughter. “Come on da’ean.” Tamaris muttered softly as the little girl, not yet one, leaned over for her mother. Solas’s gaze narrowed, his brow furrowed as Tamaris took Shivana from him. Once the child was settled in her arms Tamaris turned back to Solas. Her gemstone eyes danced with outrage, her free hand outstretched, a long finger jutted out at him. “You have no right to do this to her.” Tamaris declared sternly, her voice wavering slightly as held back for fear one day, even though it was all in the Fade, Shivana would remember. “It is not fair, you are not apart of her life, you should have no place in her dreams…”

“Not because I do not long to be…” his voice was filled with regret as he his hand reached out to take Shivana’s. He smirked at her. “I wish it could be different.” He was trying to sound happy, cheerful even, but Tamaris could hear the twinge of sadness in his words. Tamaris was doing her best to hold back because she felt for Solas as she saw the mournful look in his eyes as he smiled at the child. “But she deserves a chance for more, so much more…” He muttered more to himself in an attempt to convince himself that it was best if he stayed away.

Tamaris couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “She deserves the chance to know her father.” The weight behind her words shook him from looking at Shivana for just a moment. Their eyes met once more and Tamaris’s bottom lip quivered slightly as she still struggled to maintain her composure. “More than that, she deserves goodnight kisses, bedtime stories, someone to protect her..” Those were all things Cullen had been doing since the day Shivana had been born, but it should have been him.

“That is what I am trying to do, vhenan.” His slip didn’t go unnoticed by either of them and Shivana looked confused. She had never seen her mother so shaken as Tamaris was by hearing that name again. Shivana’s plump little hand reached out to touch her mother’s cheek as a single tear fell from her deep violet eyes. The guilt over the slip was written all over Solas’s face as he reached out placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I tried to keep my distance, even here.” His words were chosen carefully, they always were, and his tone was soft and there was more sadness behind his words than Tamaris had expected. “But, I had to see her… she is my daughter…” His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke.

“You could have just returned, really Solas. It’s that simple.” Tamaris hated that her tone was more desperate than she had intended, but seeing him reminded her how strongly she still felt towards him. “Just come home, ma’lath.” Their eyes met for only a brief moment as Solas turned away. His hand slipping from her arm. The loss of his touch made her heart ache.

Tamaris knew him well enough, or so she believed, to tell he was obviously conflicted. His hand went to his brow as his eyes squeezed shut. Solas paused for several moments before opening his eyes once more to look back at Tamaris and their daughter. “It is not that easy, I wish it could be…”

“Why can it not be, Solas? Why?” Her tone shifted into a pleading anger, Shivana started to squirm in her mother’s arms. Slightly alarmed by the tension and shifting emotions. Without thinking Tamaris set the babe down on the grass before turning back to Solas. “What is so horrible that you would sacrifice being in your daughter’s life… that you sacrificed us for?” Shivana started to crawl away towards some nearby flowers, Solas’s eyes followed her. This upset Tamaris who just wanted him to answer her questions. “Solas!” She snapped sharply and Solas glanced back at her.

“It is a complex situation...:” He started obviously wanting to avoid the subject but Tamaris was not going to allow that to happen. He owed her answers. Reaching out she gripped his arms and held him in front of her. “Please let us leave it at that..” Solas asked softly.

Those who knew her well, knew that when she had her mind set on something there was little that would stop her. That moment was no different. Her lips turned into a disapproving scowl as her eyes narrowed in on his. “Tell me!” Her voice shook. The nights she spent looking for him, desperate for answers. The days she spent locked in her rooms sobbing, only coaxed out by Cullen’s promise to let her order the recruits around on drills and be as mean as she wanted. For a moment she wished Cullen was there to pull her away again. Her mind was awash with so many questions all she could manage to choke out was, “You owe me answers!” Her hands released his arms as she pushed him back slightly, though he didn’t move at all.

Solas hung his head, only briefly glancing over at Shivana before he looked up and nodded. “That I do…” He offered his hand to her, Tamaris hesitated. “I promise, I will tell you everything…” He added. Tamaris nodded as she placed her hand in his. “Just not here.” In an instant they were somewhere else.

_________

It was a mountain top, a clearing with only a fire pit with a roaring fire and log near it. Solas gestured towards the log, waiting for Tamaris to go first but she didn’t move. Solas sighed. “Shivana will be fine, I promise.” Her violet eyes narrowed in on him silently questioning. “Her name was easier than you would have thought to find out, Leilana is not nearly as good as she believes herself to be.” He noted smugly and Tamaris chuckled. For a brief moment she forgot the pain. “Come… sit.”

Once they were seated on the log, gazing into the fire Tamaris turned to him, her hand resting on his thigh. “I have to tell you this Solas, because I am sure you know about Cullen and I.” Solas nodded, he had known for quite some time about her relationship. “Please just know, no matter what you have heard. I still love you, I do not know why. I wish I knew. Cullen is a good man, too good for me in truth...he deserves so much better...” She was anxious, which made Solas smirk as he placed his hand over her’s. “I do care for him you know, but it’s not the same.” Tamaris mumbled as she looked down at Solas’s hand resting over her’s. She missed his touch, even now she longed for him to really hold her hand.

“He is not too good for you, Vhenan… you are too good for him..” He stated softly as his stormy eyes lifted and gazed upon Tamaris’s face, it had softened some from before. The pain and rage behind her eyes replaced with profound sadness. He would have rather seen rage, for the sadness only made him feel guiltier. Solas squeezed her hand gently, “I never expected you to lock yourself away.” Tamaris shrugged and looked into the fire. “But, if I am being honest, when I heard… there was a moment..”

“You were jealous…” Her head snapped back and she watched Solas nod, not wanting to willing admit the truth. There was a satisfied smirk across Tamaris’s lips. The fact he was jealous of Cullen gave her hope. “So did you hear of my pregnancy or Cullen first?” She asked softly.

“Your relationship with the Commander came to my attention first, the pregnancy shortly after.” Solas was holding back the jealousy he still felt over the matter, but Tamaris could hear the bitterness in his words. “I assumed, I am sure like many did… that he was your child’s father but then the reports said you had an elven child… not elf-blooded… I knew the truth of the matter. That she was my child. Though, I heard all sorts of rumors including one rather amusing that implied that Iron Bull was the child’s father..”

Tamaris let out a low, highly amused chuckle. “It was likely started by Bull himself.” Tamaris joked. “He did claim for a few days, in jest, that he was Shivana’s father.” Solas smirked as he shook his head. “I mean, it was funny at first… everyone was just trying to make me feel better about the situation.”

“I know” Solas replied softly. “It is all my doing, all the pain, sadness and hurt.” His tone was so mournful it pulled at Tamaris. She scooted closer to Solas and rested her head on his shoulder. His arm slipped around her waist without either of them giving much thought to the actions. This is how they had spent many evenings by the fire during their time on mission together. Tamaris laced her fingers between his as released in the feel of his sweater under her cheek. Solas smiled softly for a moment, his thumb brushing the back of her hand before bringing it to his lips and kissing it. “Ir ablass, Vhenan…” He muttered against her soft skin. His eyes closed as he lowered their hands back to his lap as he spoke. “If I knew about everything before I left…”

“We can not dwell on the ‘what if’, Solas.” Tamaris mumbled as buried her face against the soft knitted fabric of the tunic he always wore. “All we can do now, is find a way forward…”

“What if there is no way forward?” The weight to his words were like a great hammer hitting Tamaris in the chest. Her breath caught in her throat as she wondered was that really a true statement. It couldn’t be, there had to be some hope. It’s all that had kept her going in the early days, still the hope of having her family whole one day kept her going. Solas sighed heavily and Tamaris shook her head. “There is so much you do not know, that if you knew…” he tried to explain but Tamaris wouldn’t hear it.

“Solas, there is nothing that you could tell me that would change my feelings.” Her declaration cut him off. The fact that fear still held him back upset her. “When have I shown you that I am anything but a rational, understanding woman…”

Solas let out an amused but stifled chuckle. “I can think of several moments, but still… this is not you and Vivane arguing over the merits of the Circle.” He hesitated as he gazed down at Tamaris. He let out a long sigh before urging Tamaris to sit up. “Before I tell you anything, promise you will let me finish before you get upset and storm off…”

As she sat up Tamaris nodded her head slowly as she watched Solas’s expression hardened for a moment as he willed himself to finally speak the words he had tried to say so many times before. He steadied himself with another deep breath as he began. “I remember you telling me that both your Grandmothers were Keepers of their respective clans… am I right?” Tamaris nodded, as did Solas before continuing. “So you heard many tales of all the Evanuris no doubt?”

“Yes, Solas, we have talked about this all before.” Tamaris pointed out a little confused. This had been a start to many of their conversations during their relationship. Tamaris began to wonder just how many times he had tried to tell her whatever deep secret he had held onto for so long. “Solas, I swear we have had this conversation before.”

“I know, and we nearly have but there is a point to this…” Solas was getting a little flustered that Tamaris had interrupted him. He took a moment to focus his thoughts and continued, “So you have at least heard some of the tales of Fen’Harel…”

“What little there is about him, other than he is the Trickster, the Liar… the great betrayer… he is the Dread Wolf… I know the Dalish keep wolf statues outside our camps. Mathras was afraid of it, I thought it was silly to be afraid of statue. I used to go sit by it and read because it was the only time he let me be on my own.” They both chuckled softly lightening the tense moment. Solas actually smiled a genuine smile for a passing moment. Tamaris sighed, “It was one of my many hiding places. Everyone said I was an odd child for it, the clan elders said it was because I was a dreamer. They blamed anything odd I did as a child on that.” Solas was watching her expressions carefully. The fact she didn’t seem afraid or upset while speaking of Fen’Harel gave him a glimmer of hope. She smiled before giving a little shrug, “Really, the only story I ever remember hearing was one my father told the other hunters when he was drunk, he only ever told the tale when he was drunk..” Tamaris shook her head as she tried to recall the tale. “It was something about Andrul catching Fen’Harel hunting her Halla, then some fight with a Forgotten One… What was his name…”

“Anaris..” Solas interjected sharply.

“Yes… that’s right.” Tamaris said with a smile. “My mother would get so upset when he would tell it. My father made is all sound so torrid. He would shoo Mathras and I off if he ever caught us listening..” It was a happy memory from her childhood, one of her favorite in fact. “I do not think I have heard anyone else tell it. Just my father.”

Solas’s jaw clenched like he was recalling an unpleasant event as Tamaris stumbled through recounting the bits of the one tale of Fen’Harel she knew. “The truth of tale is far more sinister than some torrid story to tell drunk hunters, I can assure you of that.”

Tamaris looked confused as she tried to understand what Solas ment. It had happened before, he would say something that just didn’t line up. “Oh, so you saw the real thing here… in some memory?” She asked rather confused about what any of this had to do with why he could not return. “Solas, this makes no sense… What does Fen’Harel… and stories my father used to tell drunk have anything to do with why you can not return to me, to Shivana?”

“Everything…” Solas said flatly before taking Tamaris’s hands. He hesitated as he looked at her hands, his eyes focused in on the Anchor for a brief moment. Slowly, his eyes lifted. He let out a heavy sigh, resounding himself to finally tell her the truth, “I am Fen’Harel, I was Solas first, they gave me the name of Fen’Harel to mark me, because I would not bow, thinking it would make me hate myself but I took and made it something more.” Tamaris’s eyes grew wide, she didn’t question the statement at all. It was almost like all things that had been odd about the man she loved suddenly fell into place. She pulled her hands away from in shock, her brain still trying to process the information that she had just been given, but Solas took it as fear. He began trying to explain almost in a frantic manner. “I wanted to free my people from the tyranny of those who sought to enslave them, because they had gone too far.” Tamaris was even more confused but tried her best to listen. “They killed Mythal, for power… not out of spite or anger… but for power the worst kind of power. By her own children no less, while Elgar'nan stood and watched. Letting them because he was the worst of them.” His voice was filled with centuries of pent up anger. “No one did anything. No one was punished…”

“So you took matters into your own hands?” Tamaris asked weakly.

Solas nodded. “At first, I had planned to kill them all.”

“I do not believe that… you were never one to view death as an answer.” The Solas Tamaris knew lectured Mathras more than once about losing his temper and needing to step back and view the situation without attachment or emotions. Thinking back on those conversations and others like them, Tamaris wondered if he was trying to stop them from making the same mistakes he had.

“It’s kind of you to still think so much of me, but it was my first instinct.” Solas sighed as he looked down at his hands thinking of how much he had changed. Lifting his head he refocused his attention on Tamaris. “I was younger then, headstrong, full of rage.” His tone was so matter of fact, like he wasn’t even speaking of himself. “I came to my senses though, after some missteps and failed attempts. Killing the first of our people is not an easy feat.”

“But, I thought that they were immortal, how could they even kill Mythal?” Tamaris felt odd that in this moment the only things that stumbled out of her mouth were more questions, that would only lead to more questions.

Solas let out offhanded huff at her question, he often forgot for all her wisdom she had still been raised Dalish. With most of their ancestors history lost to them. “Our people had a natural, intrinsic connection to the Fade. The connection gave us immortality of a kind before the Veil was lifted. Though we were still mortal, could be killed in battle, murdered, illness was very uncommon but not unheard of. Death, just was not common place.” He explained as he watched Tamaris as she sat in shock. He could see her struggling to grasp everything she was being told.”There is more,” He continued and Tamaris threw her hands up in disbelief. How could there even be more? Her mind was already barely keeping up.

A long sigh escaped his soft lips as Solas turned away from the flustered Tamaris. He brought a hand to the bridge of his nose and pitched it trying to think of how best to tell her, he had already told her so much and he could see she was starting to get overwhelmed. Without looking up he began, his hand slowly lowering from his face as he spoke. “I created the Veil to trap the ‘Gods’ to stop them from destroying the world with their lust for power… it was my last resort to save my people. I did not know that it would cost our people everything…” By the time he had finished speaking Solas watched as Tamaris’s eyes become glossed over with horror and sadness. He reached out and too her hands once more trying to get her to look at him as he spoke, trying to make her see. “I have to fix this mistake, I need to restore our people. Give us back everything we lost.”

No sooner did he speak the truth did Tamaris have the stark realization that Solas likely had a major part in the Breech. Instantly she stood up, her body stiff her arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. Her eyes darted down to the Anchor on her left hand. Her mouth twisted into angry snarl. “You did it for yourself… you were behind it all…” Her voice was filled with confusion and rage. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes… Corypheus.. The Anchor…” She stammered her heart racing as her eyes shot up at him looking at him for answers.

He quickly stood and reached out to try and calm her but Tamaris snatched her hand away. “I had not intention for any of that to happen, for you or your brother to get involved… any one for that matter.” Solas’s tone was desperate, pleading as he tried to get her to listen but Tamaris was just shaking her head as tears now streamed down her cheeks. “Corypheus was supposed to die in the blast, I was going to claim the anchor for myself…”

“But I was there and destroyed your plans, took the Anchor you wanted… so what you decided to seduce me? To what? Get it back? Use me?” The pain in her voice could be felt it was so strong. She doubled over as she let out a guttural scream of anguish. “It was all lies… everything…” Tamaris’s head was spinning as balled losing herself to her own anguish.

Seeing her reaction was almost too much for Solas to bare, he had known she would be hurt, but he never expected the normally composed woman to crumble before him. He never wanted to hurt her, of all people. I must fix this.. He told himself as he reached out and gripped her arms. “No!” Solas declared emphatically as he pulled her up and made her look at him. Tamaris turned her head away in defiance , yet Solas continued anyway. “I had no intentions of entering into any relationship or anything of the sort. Not with you or anyone else. I wanted to stop the breech and try to free you of this burden.” All his guards were down, something Tamaris had only seen when they had been locked in another kind of embrace.

His hands gripped her shoulders tighter than he intended but she wasn’t sobbing quite so hard. She is at least listening. He told himself. He rubbed her shoulders as he continued. “Then, you came to me. Curious and kind. Willing to listen, and learn.” A brief smile flashed across his lips as he recalled just why he had fallen so deeply for her. “You were a dreamer, something I thought had died out in this world. I had wandered this world of yours for a year before I found the Inquisition and not once had I found someone who understood what was at stake.” His eyes watched as Tamaris’s expression softened urging him to continue,

“I had given up all hope of finding anything in this tranquil world that would give me a reason to save it, then you come in and take me by surprise. So bright, full of a life I had not seen in ages, and the most beautiful creature I had laid my eyes on in a thousand years…” Tamaris was still sobbing only softer as Solas spoke, her face still turned away. His hands ran down her shoulders and over her arms before he lifted one hand to turn her face towards his. “Everything you and I had was real, when I said the you made me feel like the whole world changed… I was not lying.. It did change.” His hand reached up and caressed her cheek. “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” His words shook Tamaris, she had longed to hear those words from his lips for over a year. Not like this though, Tamaris told herself. Yet she leaned into his touch as he spoke again, “ I have never lied to you, Vhenan, I swear it.” He brushed away the tears that stained Tamaris’s pale cheeks as she tried to muster the will to push him away.

Her hands moved to his chest, her bottom lip quivered as she choked out. “You did though.” Tamaris pushed him back weakly. Solas reached out and tried to grasp her hand but Tamaris clutched her hand to her chest as her eyes narrowed in on him. She was hurt but she still cared for Solas. Her emotions were tearing her apart, leaving only sadness to come through as she spoke. “You lied by not telling me who you really were before I fell in love with you, before we had a child together!” It wasn’t the fact that he was Fen’Harel, a figure she viewed as a god for most of her life that that upset her. It was that he thought she wouldn’t have understood, or listened to him. “Do you not think I should have known my who my child’s father was? Really was?” Her expression softened as her heart willed her to take a step forward as she waited for his answer.

Solas reached out and tried to take her hand again but Tamaris shook her head and pulled her hand away. She wanted her answers. Her jaw clenched as she waited. Solas let out a long sigh, “Vhenan, I tried.” There was a hint of defeat in his voice as he admitted this. “So many times I tried to tell you but I was so afraid of losing you.” Tamaris was caught off guard when he stepped forward and took her hand before she had a chance to pull away. He looked deep into her eyes. “That day, in Crestwood. I swear I was going to tell you everything…”

“What stopped you?” Her tone was softer than just moments before but there was still the bite of anger to her words.

“You…” Solas uttered softly. “Looking at me like you are now. I thought it would be kinder to end things than put you through this…”

“Then why did you come to my room weeks later? Why did you lay with me again then leave like you did?” Tamaris asked the sadness building her voice again as Solas took her other hand.

He shrugged and shook his head. “Because I am a weak man… I missed you, longed to have just one more night as things were…” It had been such a night, it was also the night that Shivana was likely conceived. This was a fact they were both more than aware of. “I will never regret that weakness though,”

“Shivana…” Tamaris said softly. Solas nodded and gave her a weak smile. “Why did you leave? If you would have said come with me, I would have. I still would.”

“I know, Vhenan.” He began, his hand reaching up and pushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “You do not know what it would mean, this is not the life for our child.”

“You want to restore our people? Give us back what we have lost? Yes?” Tamaris questioned as she started to try and piece together a plan for them to be able to move forward together as a family. Solas nodded solemnly. “For our daughter?” She leaned in as she spoke softly. Her hand still in his.

His eyes grew heavy with sorrow, “I want her to have all she deserves, all that is her birthright.”

“Then let us do this together, as it should have been.” Tamaris said still unsure it was a path she was ready to head down herself. Solas shook his head. “You will need the Anchor…”

“I will more than likely kill you…” Solas stated softly. He knew the truth, that there was no one but him who could have born the mark and lived, even if she did not help him she would still likely die do the effects. Solas had his theories why Tamaris was able to wield it wish such little damage for so long. He feared, however, that they were on borrowed time. He had been searching for any solution to the unique problem the Anchor presented, but what he had found was unthinkable to do to the woman he loved. He had made a promise to find another way.

It’s going to kill me if I help you or not, right?” Tamaris asked softly and Solas nodded mornfully. “Then let me die knowing my daughter is going to have a chance at the life she should have had…” Tamaris suggestion had the tinge of self destruction that caused Solas to scowl at her. “If I must die..”

“No.” Solas said shaking his head. “We will find another way, if you join me I am not having you follow me to your death. Our daughter needs her mother, I will fix this… I will fix us...” His hand cupped her face as she gazed up at him. As upset as she still was, Tamaris leaned forward and pressed her lips against his catching Solas off guard. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling the carefully knotted bun loose as his other hand slipped around her waist, pulling her against him. He broke the kiss for a moment. “I promise you, no more secrets… everything I know, you will know.” Tamaris nodded as she slipped her arms around his neck, her hands running up the back of his neck, up his smooth head pulling him back into the kiss.

Tamaris had longed to kiss him for what seemed like a lifetime, all the hurt and anger aside she still wanted him more than anything else. Pulling back Tamaris smiled softly. “I want us to be together again… for real… where are you? I will take Shivana…” Her eagerness to reunite, so easily tossing any thought of Cullen aside made Solas smirk for a moment silently acknowledging that I won. Though he knew, she would have always returned. Cullen or no Cullen.

His smile faded as he shook his head. “Not yet, vhenan…” His voice was filled with sadness. “I wish I could come to you in this moment and take my family back, but first I need to settle a few matters and make sure everything will be in place for you and Shivana when it is time.” Tamaris rested her head against his shoulder as she gazed up at him. “So, you need to just take care of our girl, stay with her when you are in the Fade. I will come to you.” Tamaris nodded though she wondered how she was going to be able to go about her life knowing that she had a future with Solas, a real one.

“But what about Cullen…” Tamaris asked softly.

Solas shrugged. “It could be some time before things are in order and we may have a use for the information he has access too.” Tamaris wasn’t fond of the idea of using Cullen but she nodded her head nonetheless. Solas leaned in and placed a tender peck on her cheek. “Shall we go back to Shivana?” Tamaris smiled nervously and nodded as she took his hand once more wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into.

#solavellan fanfic #solavellan baby #inkies:tamaris #solas/lavellan #solas/lavellan/cullen #dragon age fanfiction #solas fanfiction #solas x lavellan #the fade

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in-arlathan · 5 years ago

Text

Lessons Learned

Time period: 9:41 Dragon Characters: Female Lavellan, Sera, Dorian Chapter: 1/1, Length: 3,492 words Rating: PG-13

Summary: Sera was wounded in an attack by the darkspawn. Refusing to let Dorian heal her wounds, Lavellan steps into help her. As she patches her companion up, Lavellan tells Sera stories from the past, remembering her father’s legacy and her responsibility as Inquisitor.

A/N: I wanted this to be a short and cute piece about Sera and Lavellan getting to know each other, but it turned more into a Lavellan backstory exploration mid-way. Buuuttt I kind of like it. If been wanting to write more about my Elenara’s time with the Lavellan clan, so I’m glad this happened. I wish you a wonderful time reading this! <3

You can read this on AO3, too.

____

Even before she reaches the tent, she can hear Sera scream.

“Touch me and you'll be very sorry!” the young elf shrieks. “I don't need your help!”

“But you do,” the voice of Dorian insists. “Your arm needs proper treatment. With a quick healing spell ....”

“I said no,” Sera clarifies, sternly.

“I see the two of you are having a good time,” Elenara says as she enters the tent and takes a look around. The bedrolls are in shambles, except for the one that is occupied by Sera. One side of the tent was torn in half by a blade during the most recent fight, but someone has already patched it up. The stitches look like the job of an amateur, but they will do, at least for now.

“Inquisitor!” Sera yells. “Tell the Tevinter to go bother someone else.”

Dorian lets out an agitated huff, then turns to Elenara. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” he says. “If her wound is not treated quickly, she will catch an infection. The flesh will fester and…”

“I know,” she replies and places a hand on Dorian’s arm. “I’ve seen wounds like these before.”

“Then you know how dire her situation is,” Dorian says. “She is lucky the darkspawn didn’t give her the blight. But even something simple like the cut of blade can be fatal.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” Sera grumbles. “Thanks for reminding me how lucky I am to be alive. If we had people guard the camp, like I said, we could’ve fought them in no time.”

Elenara swallows, steeling herself against Sera’s wrath. As much as she hates to admit it, her companion is right. There should have been soldiers patrolling the perimeter. It was her, Elenara, who had chosen to not give the command. She was under the impression that their recent conquest of Caer Bronach was enough to keep her troops safe, but she was wrong.

So very wrong.

While she and three of her companions were out scouting for any sign of Hawke and his mysterious contact with the Grey Wardens, a group of darkspawn had emerged. They had attacked the camp shortly after sunset when all of the soldiers were preparing for the night. Only a small number of scouts had been set for the nights watch, all of them killed by genlock archers. It was thanks to Dorian, Sera, and the Iron Bull that the camp was not erased from the face of the earth in its entirety. When the darkspawn had crept up the hill and murdered more and more scouts, they had taken command over the remaining soldiers to prevent them from panicking. With fire and iron and a cascade of arrows, the three of them had managed to cast back the tide of tainted creatures.

Their bravado saved them. Yet, most of the tents were torn down or shredded. Dozens of new requisitions were destroyed. Even some of the food supplies took serious damage. Now, the group will need to ration until new goods arrive from Caer Bronach.

There is a bright spot to this mess. Considering the number of darkspawn that attacked the camp, the damage to the people and the supplies could be a lot bigger. Still, Elenara hates herself for not expecting an attack in the first place.

“It’s no use to thinking about what could have been,” she says, not quite sure if she is talking to her companions or herself. “I’m just happy you’re alive and well. As for the wound,” she nods towards Sera, “I can take care of that, if you like.”

Sera’s brows furrow in a way that seldom means anything good. For a moment, Elenara expects the younger elf to jump up from her bedroll and through a temper tantrum. But instead, Sera simply lets her shoulders drop and sighs deeply.

“Alright, patch me up,” she says. “As long as you don’t use magic. Don’t want any of that frigging stuff near me.”

“Don’t worry, I have as much magical talent as a nest of nugs,” Elenara assures her with an encouraging smile. To Dorian, she adds. “Please bring me water, a bottle of alcohol – the strongest you can find – as well as threads and a needle. Oh, and also a clean piece of cloth, if you can find one in this mess. The lieutenant should know where to find these things.”

Dorian’s gaze flicks to Sera, then back to the Inquisitor. “Fine,” he breathes, finally giving up on forcing his magical help on Sera. “I’ll be back.”

“Thank you, Dorian.”

“You’re welcome.”

The Tevinter mage secures his staff behind his back and steps outside. The tent’s flaps rustle as they fall back into place.

Once they are alone, Elenara steps up to Sera’s bedroll and drops to her knees beside it. “Let me take a look,” she says softly and gestures towards Sera’s wound with one hand. Reluctantly, the younger elf lowers the old piece of cloth someone gave her to stop the bleeding and lets Elenara examine the cut on her right upper arm.

“It’s deep, but it looks like the blade didn’t hit the bone,” Lavellan explains. “I’ll sterilize the wound with alcohol and stitch you up. It’ll hurt for a while, but when you give yourself a little time to rest, everything should be back to normal soon.”

Sera gives her a quizzical look but is robbed of the chance to say something when Dorian returns.

He hands Elenara a small satchel containing various items including a waterskin, a bottle of Antivan brandy and a sewing kit. Miraculously, he also found a piece of cloth that was relatively clean.

The tools are far from ideal, but she will try her best regardless.

“You’re sure you can manage with that?”, Dorian asks, sounding skeptical. “Shouldn’t we send for a healer from a nearby village or something like that?”

Elenara shakes her head. “We’re too far out in open country,” she replies. “Even on horse, it would take a day to get back to Crestwood to get help. We cannot wait that long.”

Sera lets out a huff. “That’s reassuring.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve stitched up people under more adverse conditions.”

That gets both Sera’s and Dorian’s attention. “How so?” the younger elf asks, seizing Elenara up and down. “Thought you were a hunter or something before joining the Inquisition?”

Elenara removes her gloves and cleans her hands with a few drops of water from the skin. “That’s right,” she admits, then starts to imbue the cloth with the Antivan brandy. “This might hurt a bit,” she warns and presses the soaked cloth onto Sera’s wound.

The younger elf inhales sharply. “Andraste’s breeches!”, she hisses. “‘A bit’? That’s a frigging understatement.”

“You wouldn’t have to endure this if you’d just let me use magic on you,” Dorian points out, lips twisted in a disgruntled way.

“Your magic can go endure itself,” Sera spits, then comes up with more colorful swearwords as Elenara’s cleans her wound. “Holy shit-crap… Maker…”

Despite himself, Dorian laughs.

“Hold still,” Elenara says as gently as possible. “I’m almost done.”

She rubs the wound one more time, then tugs the cloth in her belt and reaches for the sewing kit. With the needle between her lips, she measures an arm’s length of yarn from the reel and yanks it off. It takes her two attempts to thread the needle, but then she is good to go. Out of practice already? she askes herself.

Before she gets to work, she grabs the bottle of brandy and holds it out to Sera.

“Here, have a sip and relax. What comes next won’t be very pleasant either.”

“Oh, great…” Sera moans. The young elf takes a giant gulp from the bottle and shakes from head to toe as the alcohol burns its way down her throat.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dorian says. “Now that our young archer is in safe hands, I can go and find some other way to clean up the mess these darkspawn made.”

Elenara gives him a warm smile. “Thanks, Dorian. I appreciate that.”

He dismisses her gratitude with a casual wave of the hand and sly smile. “Don’t thank me yet. The night is still young, after all. If we don’t find the darkspawn nest, everything can go tits-up as our young friend here likes to call it,” he says.

“Well, it’ll be great, if it didn’t.”

“I agree,” he says, a soft glimmer in his eyes. “See you later, Inquisitor.”

And with that, he leaves.

She takes in a long breath, then turns to Sera once more. The young elf watches her intently, the corners of her mouth pointing downwards in an expression that got caught somewhere between anger and suspicion.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Sera says and rolls her eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” Elenara promises and leans forward. Ever so carefully, she punctures Sera’s skin with the needle and pulls the thread through. Fully focusing on her work, she doesn’t hear Sera hiss and swear under her breath as Elenara patches her up, stitch by stitch.

She is halfway through, when Sera looks at her once more and Elenara’s gaze flicks up to meet hers. Some of the anger has vanished from her companion’s face, she notices. It is a relief, truly. More than she likes to admit. There are days, in which Elenara half expects Sera to steal her breeches and pepper her body with arrows just for being “too elfy”.

“How did you learn to stitch up people like that?” Sera asks.

“Back with my clan,” Elenara explains. “Hunters cut themselves all the time. Sometimes they slip and fall, scraping themselves on a rock. Sometimes they run into bandits and have to fight them off. More often than not, they get cut by a knife or stabbed with an arrow, with no time to get back to camp. That is when a talent for needlework comes in handy.”

She waits for Sera to say something, but when her companion stays silent, she continues.

“Most of my practice didn’t come from patching up other hunters, though,” she admits and lifts her chin, so her companion can see the ragged scar that runs from Elenara’s left ear down her jawbone. “I was twelve when my father took me out on a hunt for the first time. He told me to set up traps in the forest and I did as he commanded, but I was not what you would call focused. My mind wandered around, thinking about this and that, no care in the world. I didn’t hear the bear coming for me until it was too late.”

Sera’s eyes go wide. “You fought with a bear? As a girl?”

“I was attacked by a bear,” Elenara corrects. “When I heard it charging, I sprang to my feet and turned around but I had no time to draw my bow. The bear jumped toward me and all I could do was dodge. Then I felt a sharp pang at my jaw and blood spilling over my chin and neck. The bear had hit me with one of its claws and cut my skin in half.”

“Ugh!” Sera exclaims. “Sounds nasty.”

“It was. I only survived because my father was close-by and took down the bear with three clean shots. I was still lying on the ground with blood gushing all over my clothes when he killed it.”

“He was quite the archer, your old man, then?”

“Yes, he was.”

“And he made you patch yourself up?” Sera asks, curious.

Elenara nods. “My father could have brought me back to camp for our keeper to take care of my injury, but he didn’t. Instead, he took me to a small creek in the woods where I could wash my face and told me to stitch the wound myself. So you may learn to take better care next time, he told me.”

Sera snorts. “How very kind of him.”

“He wasn’t wrong, though.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“My father wasn’t the best hunter in my clan because he was could shot a deer from twenty leagues away. He was the best because he had nothing but the deepest respect for all living things,” Elenara says as she goes back to work. “And while I sat by the creek and tried to stitch my own wound, he told that even predators such as bears had their place within the natural order of things. To him, it was obvious that, in my carelessness, I had posed a potential threat to the bear. Therefore, it was only natural for the beast to attack me. It wanted to fend me off to protect itself. I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I knew I had disappointed him. The only good thing to come of this was that I never trod lightly in the forest again, afterward.”

Elenara feels her cheeks color as she remembers the expression on her father’s face. Even after all these years, she still felt the pang of guilt that had hit her that day by the creek.

What would he think of his daughter now?

She had gotten an entire squad of Inquisition soldiers into trouble with her recklessness. And not only that, if her friends hadn’t been there to fight in her stead, the entire camp would’ve been wiped out. It was the bear attack all-over again. She, wandering around, lost in thought, too carried away to remember even the most basic dangers of this world.

Take better care next time, she hears him say.

Elenara makes the final stitch on Sera’s arm and ties the loose ends of the thread into a knot. “Done,” she announces and cleans the needle with a few more drops of water before putting it back into the sewing kit.

Sera leans forward and tries to examine her wound.

As a moment of silence falls between them, Elenara sits down cross-legged and reaches for the Antivan brandy once more. First, she smells at the bottle, then she takes a sip. The liquid tastes sickly sweet in her mouth and burns like fire, but it’s just what she needs right now. It had been years since she had thought about her father, let alone talked about him.

“And after that first one?”, Sera wants to know and points towards the scar on Elenara’s chin. “Did you patch up other people?”

“Oh, lots of people. Almost all of the hunters, to be exact,” Elenara tells her, setting the brandy aside to put her gloves back on. “I became quite proficient at it after a while. But I started by fixing old armor and clothing. I even sewed a dress once, just to get the hang of things.”

Sera snickers. “You didn’t!”

“Damn well I did,” Elenara says with a grin. “Fetched a decent price on the market in Ansburg, too. Anyway, learning to sew turned out to be pretty valuable. My hands became steadier and my focus increased. It showed in my hunting as well. Though I never reached my father’s level of perfection my father, I became a good enough hunter. I brought home food for my clan and sold some of my clothes in the human villages to help us out with solid coin. It was a good life. A simple life.”

“Hm,” Sera muses, blinking in surprise.

“What is it?”

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” she admits. “All the Dalish I met had were all snobby about the old history and legends and whatnot. ‘We are so much better than you, city elves are weak, over-through the shemlen overlords, you stupid muffs, all that rubbish. Nothing but blah blah blah. But you are not like that.”

“You know that I do honor the elven gods?” Elenara asks in careful tone.

“Yeah, you’re elfy, I get that,” Sera snaps. “But you don’t shove it up people’s arses. You treat everyone with respect and kindness, let them believe what they want to, even if’s nuts.”

Despite herself, Elenara chuckles. “I aim to please.”

Sera giggles. “Was that a hunting joke? Because aiming… haha, y’know…”

“Err…”

“Anyway,” Sera cuts her off. “Thanks for helping me. And for the chat. It’s nice to know your just a person like the rest of us. Your father sounds like a good person.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it, too,” Elenara admits.

She puts the cork back on the bottle of Antivan brandy and tugs it under her arm, together with the cloth and the sewing kit. The waterskin she leaves for Sera to drink.

“I leave you now,” she announces and gets to her feet. “You should get some rest. It’ll help the wound heal.”

“Sounds good to me,” the younger elf says, yawning. Elenara has no doubt that her companion will fall asleep in no time.

She gives Sera one last smile, then draws back the flaps and steps outside. The night air is cold and her breath rises as white mist from her nose and lips. Around her, the camp is still bustling with soldiers trying to get everything back to normal. None of her other companions is in sight. She suspects they have gone out to find the darkspawn nest, just like Dorian told her.

She hurries over to the requisitions table and places both the Antivan brandy and the sewing kit in one of the barrels the soldiers use for storage. The cloth with Sera’s blood, on the other hand, she simply tosses into the campfire and watches it burn in the flames. A part of her wishes for them to take the feeling of guilt and shame from her as well, to burn it away like a hot blade that cauterizes a wound, but when the cloth has turned to ash, she still feels miserable.

Her thoughts keep coming back to her father. In her memory, she hears him laugh at a joke one of the hunters made. She remembers him holding her tight after a terrible nightmare, singing songs and telling tales. When he died, it had hurt her deeply and although the wound was sealed, she knows that it will never fully heal. Elenara will carry the pain of his loss in her heart for the rest of her life. All she could do was to remember what he had taught her.

I will take better care next time, she thinks as she stares into the flames.

She wonders if things would be different if she had stayed with her clan, back in the Free Marches. Would she still hunt with them, searching for a moment of solitude in the woods whenever she got the chance? Or would she pack her things and leave for Ferelden to help seal the breach? Would she even care what happened in the south? She isn’t sure anymore. Her entire life had flipped upside down when she stepped out of the Fade. The days in which her only concerns had been sewing a dress for one of the children or setting up traps seemed so long ago.

Still, the Dalish had made her. Their stories and customs, their culture and lore are ingrained into her very being and the fact that she is one of them gives her a unique perspective on the matter of things. She might as well make use of it and try to move the world to a new place.

With time, she might create a world that would benefit everyone, not just humans. A world in which the Dalish no longer needed to run for their lives and no city elf was made to suffer in an alienage. She would do what everyone deemed impossible, and in doing so, she would put her father’s teachings to good use.

I hope you will be proud of me, then, she thinks and the pain subsides.

“Your Worship!”

It is the camp’s lieutenant, a short and sturdy human.

She turns to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Word from Seeker Pentaghast,” he tells her and salutes. “The scout says, she and the rest of your party have found the origin of the darkspawn in a cave to the south-east. Seeker Pentaghast wants to know if you care to join them.”

For a moment, Elenara ponders with the idea to send the scout back to tell Cassandra she is on her way. But then again… she still wears her armor, doesn’t she? All she needs is a new quiver full of arrows and a new set of healing potions.

“Sure,” she says and checks the fit of her gloves. She makes a mental note to talk to Harritt when she returns to Skyhold. The old smith must know where she can get the supplies to manufacture proper Dalish scouting armor. “These darkspawn will attack nobody ever again.”

With that, she straightens her shoulders, ready to face another fight.

It was time for her to become who she was always meant to be.

#dragon age #fanfiction #fanfic #da fanfiction #female lavellan #elenara lavellan #dorian #sera #backstory #mild angst

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lyrium-lavellan · 5 years ago

Text

OC Interview

Thanks to @badpriestessofbuttsburgh for tagging me! Anyone who wants to do this is welcome to it! I’ll tag @bakedsweetroll @zeesqueere @lavelland 🌺

1. What’s your name?

Velahris Lavellan, though most people just call me Vel.

2. Do you know why you are named that?

My name had a special meaning to my parents. Something like “Endless song”, though that’s a very rough translation.

3. Are you single or taken?

[soft, knowing chuckle] Isn’t it obvious? Maybe Varric doesn’t tell everyone... Taken. If you want more details, ask the dwarf.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

I guess suppressing my magic for years counts. Also, I have a stronger connection to the Fade than most. I suppose I always have, though with the Anchor it’s far more intense.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Huh? What’s that?

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue. Varric always says they’re “blue as a lyrium vein”. [longing sigh] So romantic.

7. How about your hair color?

Well, it’s... Red. Auburn, I guess? I’ve never really thought much about the exact shade.

8. Have any family members?

My parents and two brothers, one older and one younger. Silvhen and Ethelan. My parents and older brother are Grey Wardens, and my little brother was a Circle mage.

9. Oh? How about any pets?

I have two cats! Paragon and Warden. Cole found a cat at Skyhold who had a litter, and we cared for the kittens together. I couldn’t bear to part with those two, so I kept them. They’re spoiled rotten, the sweet things.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

Cassandra’s lectures. She means well, but well... It’s a bit much sometimes. I’m an adult - I can make my own decisions well enough without her interference.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

I cook! Sometimes I’ll embroider, or any number of things really. What I like best though is a good ride through the forest on horseback. Or, halla-back. Either way, it’s so refreshing!

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

I... Suppose I have. Hasn’t everyone?

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

Yes.

14. What kind of animal are you?

I suppose if I had to choose, a Halla. They’re so graceful!

15. Name your worst habits?

I... tend to cry. I’m quite emotional, unfortunately [giggles]. I also have a bit of a sweet tooth...

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

I look up to so many people. My soldiers, my advisors, my Inner Circle... I couldn’t list all of them. But... I suppose I’ll have to try, won’t I?

Solas’ mind is fascinating. His knowledge and wisdom has never failed me, and I always seek his counsel on decisions I have to make. He’s like a father to me.

Blackwall... I admire him so much. His determination, his quest for justice. He reminds me of ‘Vhen, actually. It’s... comforting.

Then there’s Josephine. She’s always polite and sweet, but never too much. She’s still genuine. I appreciate it more than words could say.

And Varric, he’s... So full of kindness. He brings light and laughter into my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without him. I... I love him very much.

[Varric, from across the room] “I heard that, Clover!”

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Bisexual. Though, I haven’t had many relationships with men.

18. Do you go to school?

No. Whatever I know, I taught it to myself. Magic, reading and writing, ancient elvhen. Although my Keeper did teach me a few things.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

I’d like that very much. I’ve always wanted a family, but, well... I’m not sure if it’s even possible for an elf and a dwarf to...

[Varric, chuckling] “Oh, it’s possible, sweetheart. Just unlikely.”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

I definitely have a few admirers at the Orlesian court. They send me jewels and gowns from time to time, along with fan letters. It’s flattering, if I’m honest. For Orlesian nobles to even tolerate an elf in a position of power, let alone like me...

21. What are you most afraid of?

Failure. I’m afraid I’ll misstep and everything will come crashing down around me. I can’t let my people down. But... I won’t.

22. What do you usually wear?

I’m partial to loose fitting blouses and leather trousers, but I’ll wear pretty much anything as long as it’s not a hat. They never sit right on my ears... For more formal occasions I’ll opt for robes or a gown, usually in blue or red silk. Dorian’s assured me that red is my color, but I think Varric and Hawke put him up to it just so I’d match with them.

[Hawke, from the bar] “Now, that’s no fair! You look ravishing in red, your inquisitorialness!”

23. What one food tempts you?

Maker, those little frilly cakes they had at Halamshiral I must have had fifty seven before Josephine pulled me away from the dessert table. I don’t regret it, but since then I’ve had a few extra pounds packed on my backside that I can’t seem to shed.

[Varric, winking from across the table] “Hey, I’m not complaining.”

24. Am I annoying you?

Of course not!

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Good, I’ve only just got started!

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Well, I’m Dalish, so I don’t really know where that fits in your human hierarchy. Though I suppose now, since I’m Inquisitor, that’s bumped me up in standing a little.

27. How many friends do you have?

I have quite a few people I’m lucky to call my friends.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

All types of pie are delicious and wonderful!

29. Favourite drink?

Fresh, warm halla milk. It’s so creamy... [stomach growl] Fen’harel’s teeth, this is making me hungry...

30. What’s your favourite place?

Wherever my dear dwarf is.

[Varric, sarcastically] “Oh, how romantic. I’ll have to make my way into a sewer next!”

Shush! But I suppose it’s my family tree. It’s just outside of Starkhaven. I remember going there with my Keeper when I was young, when Ethelan carved his name into the bark. It holds so many stories... I hope to take my children there someday.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

[Varric] “Of course she is! I’m very interesting.”

32. That was a stupid question…

Suppose so. Now, let’s move on!

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Either one! Though, lakes remind me more of my childhood. Dalish tend to frolic, and lakes are good for that.

34. What’s your type?

I don’t think I really have a type. I just... love who I love. But I seem to have a thing for kind people.

35. Any fetishes?

[spit take] What? I... erm...

[Varric, leaning over] “That’s for me to know, and you to never find out.”

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Outdoors! The smell of the forest, the wind in the trees, sleeping under the stars... [sigh] There’s nothing like it!

#oc interview #oc thoughts #velahris lavellan #velahris #tethravellan #dai #inquisitor lavellan #vel #red speaks #tag game

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doctoraliceharvey · 6 years ago

Note

Top 10 things you’ve ever written

aaaaahhhhh god, you picked a goddamn tough one

ilu

UM, I’m gonna break it down into bits I like that I’ve written, and mostly from the soulmate au probably because I have so many feelings about it lately

under a cut, because it might get long

1. Matthew apologizes to Alice post-2.07 (Wounded Hearts ch 2)

“I know what it’s like… to be bullied,” the surety in her voice startled her, but under the piercing eyes of Matthew Lawson she felt safe enough to be sure. “Just like I know what it’s like to keep it to yourself because no one will believe you.”

Matthew nodded and something passed between them, a feeling of mutual understanding, of unseen kinship, that settled around their shoulders like a warm blanket. It was a feeling of not being alone in facing the demons of their pasts. He straightened to his full height and cleared his throat, “Can I start again? With you, I mean. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

2. Alice strives to comfort Matthew as news of his summons to Melbourne hits (Wounded Hearts ch 2)

He heard her take in a breath, readying herself to speak but she hesitated. This repeated a few more times before he felt a cool, shaking hand come to rest on top of his. Matthew looked up and saw the uncertainty in Alice’s eyes. He’d watched her interactions with Lucien and others in the weeks since she’d started and while she accepted physical touches from Lucien and maybe Jean, Alice shied away from it in general. She didn’t reach out to just anyone. It took a lot for her to do this, to reach out for physical contact in an effort to comfort someone. Matthew gently grasped her hand in his, his other coming to rest on top of her cool fingers. She followed his lead and their hands tangled on the dark wooden surface of her desk.

“I don’t know if I can be of any help to you.”

“You already are.”

3. Matthew thinks of his soulmate as he returns to Ballarat (Wounded Hearts ch 5)

His bruised and cut knuckles had finally healed, only a lingering tightness when the new skin pulled taut across the bones. He’d thought about his soulmate more and more during his time in Melbourne. Matthew wondered who they were, what they did, what they were like. The scars from them told him bits and pieces, like hearing snatches of a familiar song from a radio across a crowded room. Their shared bruises and pain showed him their restraint and strength. They were careful, never hurting themselves aside from the bruises on their throat weeks ago.

His heart still warred over the fondness he had for Alice and his curiosity at who his soulmate was, but the pull in his chest grew larger the closer he got to Ballarat. Matthew couldn’t pinpoint where exactly it pulled him to in Ballarat; he dared to hope of the implications whenever it flared into life every time he thought of Alice.

4. THIS. WHOLE. SCENE. (Wounded Hearts ch 5)

He whirled around and his hands grasped her hips, the momentum of his pacing kept going and Alice felt the cold metal of the autopsy table press up against her vertebrae. Her fingers dug into the dark blue wool of his uniformed shoulders - his rank pins cold against her hands - as she felt the heat of his palms seep through her clothes. The intensity in his brilliant blue eyes had Alice struggling to remember how to breathe, her heart thudding rapidly against her ribcage. His hands slid up her torso, settling on the dip of her waist, leaving a burning trail on her skin behind them.

He shuffled closer, his ire with Munro forgotten as he cupped one of her cheeks - one of her own hands mirroring Matthew - and leaned in close enough for Alice to feel his steady breaths against her face. Heat flooded her body as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, one, two, three times. His piercing eyes searched hers and she knew what she wanted. She wanted this, she wanted him, soulmate be damned at this moment. The thrumming in her ribcage reverberated throughout her body, not all of it her heartbeat.

Standing here, in his arms, pressed up against the table of her workplace, Alice had never felt more at home.

‘Is this what I’ve been waiting for?’

5. Alice visits Matthew after his accident in 4.01, and after she confirmed her suspicions that they are soulmates (Wounded Hearts ch 7)

Alice couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it - hadn’t seen how they were drawn to each other; two souls adrift at sea only to find each other in the depths of the ocean.

6. Varric starts realizing he has more than friendly feelings for Cassandra (Five Times Cassandra Caught Varric, One Time She Didn’t ch 3)

Silence settled in between them, slightly awkward, but it just felt good to be around Cassandra and neither of them threatening to kill the other. Varric knew he should apologize. He needed to, for keeping Hawke hidden for so long. At the time Cassandra had been his enemy, his rival, someone wanting to come and punish Hawke for the actions she’d taken to keep people alive and save Kirkwall. Now, though… now Cassandra was more than that. He knew her, he had learned her quirks (how she frowned in concentration when she wrote, trying to find the words she wanted to say, how she liked to pick flowers when she thought no one was looking, how her face softened when Myranda asked for help braiding her long red hair at camp). Cassandra was no longer his rival, no longer someone he bugged just to get a rise out of her, she was… well shit.

Who was Cassandra to him?

7. Marcus sees Earth for the first time (In My End You Are My Beginning ch 2)

Green.

Never before had Marcus seen so much green outside of the Eden Tree his mother cared for and he could hardly believe it. It surrounded him. Tall, golden-green grass scraped at his legs and waist whenever the wind passed through the long stalks, it ruffled his hair and filled his nose with a slightly sweet scent. In the distance, tall trees, taller than he’d ever imagined in the years dreaming of them, with dark brown trunks and bright green leaves swayed slightly in the wind. Warmth from the sun hit his back and Marcus tilted his head back to soak it in, marveling in the sensation after a lifetime of living in space.

Something smooth and cold slid against the left side of his neck, ending at the artery in his throat. Marcus froze.

8. Varric makes a Freudian slip when talking to Myranda Lavellan (Go Ask Your Mother)

“Probably? I don’t know, I’m Andrastian, but the religious stuff goes over my head. Go ask your mother,” With that, he turned back to his paperwork, oblivious to the confused look on the Inquisitor’s face.

“My moth-, Varric, my mother is currently in Wycome, what are you talking about?”

Varric sighed, “I meant Cassandra.”

The strangled noise that came from Myranda’s throat followed by the sound of her clapping her hand over her mouth made him realize just exactly what he said. His horrified gaze met hers and the gut-wrenching feeling increased as the shit-eating grin spread across her face and couldn’t be confined to her hand, “Oh no. Oh no, no, no, please don’t tell her I said that.”

Myranda shot up like a rabbit, heading for the doors, leaving a cursing dwarf behind her as she ran towards the practice dummies, “Cassandra! Cassandra, you have got to hear this!”

“Damn it, Sparks, you’re so grounded for this!”

9. Matthew & Alice have an argument that ends in a kiss (The Courage of Stars)

Matthew sighed and angrily shuffled off to the door where Alice waited. It made more sense to take one of the ladders down a level than wait for the lift, but that didn’t stop him angrily muttering curses under his breath each time his leg flared up as he gently climbed down the ladder after Alice. Shrugging off her hands, Matthew limped into medical - missing the glare Alice aimed at his back.

He did, however, catch her muttered, “Stubborn fool.”

10. Alice stays over after telling Matthew she’s pregnant (A Little Burden ch 1)

Bidding farewell to his friends, Matthew returned to his bedroom. Alice had changed out of her clothes and already slipped beneath the covers of his bed - a book propped open on her knees. Closing the door behind him, Matthew watched her with a smile.

"Don't worry, I kept your place," she spoke without looking up.

"I wasn't," he limped over to her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Jean and Lucien know you're staying over. She'll include you in breakfast if you're up to it and Lucien said you could take the day tomorrow."

Alice smiled fondly, "Sometimes I wonder how I got through life without either of those two."

Matthew laughed softly and changed out of his clothes into his pajamas; he eased into the bed next to her and sighed. "They certainly make it better, don't they?"

send me my top 5/top 10 anything!

#this was harder than I thought because a most of the writing I have that I like is... unpublished lmao #writing of dee #thank you for the ask!#andallthatmishigas

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firjii · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: F!Lavellan, Solas (Dragon Age), Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, Cole (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Additional Tags: invented codex entries, background development, Inquisitor Backstory, Mild Language, brief references to canon-typical violence, Depression, Suggestions of PTSD, Epistolary, POV Varric Tethras

Summary: A non-linear epistolary story about my Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, told via invented codices.

I’ve been posting certain portions separately as they’ve gotten finished, but here’s the full text since I officially completed it and, well, why not inflict a bit of link spam when I have a legit opportunity? :D

Plain text under the cut.

[This is angsty throughout, but the darkest themes are mostly vague and open to interpretation, therefore I decided that “General” was a better rating fit than “Chose Not To Use Warnings”]

Chapter 1

Codex: Entry from a Skyhold Cook’s Journal

I asked Cole why he keeps stealing things from the kitchen. At first, he only said that it wasn’t stealing if it still went into someone’s stomach. It took me ten minutes to explain to him what theft was.

I shouldn’t really complain. He doesn’t take much, and it’s not even hearty food. He takes two-day-old bread, not the fresh sorts – or else he’ll take half-burned things. He takes honey, but only if I’ve spilled spices into it. I’ve offered him the better fare we can make, but he ignores me. He only wants the scraps.

I asked him if he wants it for himself. He asked me why he’d ever want food.

It took me a good hour of arguing to finally get it out of him. I asked who it was for. He said the Inquisitor. I asked him why he was taking scraps and spoiled honey to her. He said they were a feast in her eyes.

I’ll never forget his words: “When she’s seen death, she shivers like the wind that blows the ashes away after the fires. She remembers who they were. She sees embers. She sees the lives they might have been, and they make her forget the things she should remember instead. The only way she can stop shaking and eat is to bite into something old and stale and solid, something to remind her that the world is still solid.”

She’s got a weak stomach, then. That’s no surprise. I don’t think she enjoys killing.

I asked him what the honey was for. He said her throat’s usually raw for one reason or another.

I should tell our spymaster.

Chapter 2

Codex: A Letter in a Shaky Hand

I should’ve guessed that someone like you would know. You probably worked it out somehow as soon as they found me. Who knows what you spied on while I was asleep?

But never mind about that now. I don’t care. You’ve kept your silence well enough, whatever you know about me.

I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you, but I won’t deny it, either. Yes, it’s part of me. There shouldn’t be shame in it, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. It wasn’t my fault, but it is my burden. There aren’t enough people in the world who understand the difference. You do, I think, so I owe you a debt: honesty.

I can’t escape it, but I’m almost not sure that I want to. It probably sounds horrible to say that, but it’s the truth. That’s as much of it as I can spare for you for now. It visits me every day. Every time I see it before me again, it reminds me of what I can’t let myself become. It reminds me of all the things I’m fighting. It reminds me that I’m not wrong. It reminds me that I’m not a traitor to my people for saying what I say. They speak the truth, but not always all of it. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to use our downfall as an excuse to ignore the crimes we commit against each other to this very day.

You asked me what I’ll do when this is over. You’ve asked me that from the day we first met. I damn well better answer you sooner or later. I don’t know. I can’t go back. I still can’t believe that I stayed as long as I did. I was unclaimed, but if you ask some among them, it’s more like I was unclaimable.

What you saw that day was a stumble, nothing more. They happen from time to time. I’m usually more careful, but it was such a scene, and there were too many people. I forgot myself. I forgot where and who I was. It was bound to happen. It’s been a long time since it came that badly. I’m glad I know that it can still be that intense. As you might say, it was instructive. I’m almost glad that it happened. My stomach will be well enough in a day or two. Don’t worry yourself about the marks. They’re old. That’s all we need to say about it.

I’ll be alright. They don’t need to hear about it. It won’t affect me. I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere from now on. It’s like you said: it’s in the past. I thank you for being so graceful about it. I don’t know what you did, but those few moments were –

[illegible words vigorously crossed out]

I didn’t expect that from someone who loves facts as deeply as you do. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve seen so much, but I didn’t believe you until you acted as you did that day. I’m not sure that I could have trusted the others to see me like that, and you were right: the best thing for me in those moments is quiet.

You offered to help interpret my dreams. I don’t know to what end. I know already what they mean. I only have a few of them. But if you –

[illegible]

You understand. That’s all I need to say for now.

– correspondence from Inquisitor Lavellan to Solas, carefully folded and hidden in an ancient tome in Skyhold’s rotunda

Chapter 3

Codex: A Letter to Sister Nightingale Regarding Inquisitor Lavellan’s Unusual Constitution

It is most strange: she flinches so easily at small noises as if they were part of war’s deafening din. She sometimes flies into a blind panic at the sight of fire. Throngs of people can agitate her, even if they consist entirely of her closest friends in the Inquisition.

But she rarely reacts to pain in the ways that most people would.

I’m certain that she feels it. I have seen her bleeding like a stuck pig. I have seen her face turn ashen from a dislocated shoulder. I have seen her tremble so much that she fainted (in fact, this is something that all in the Inquisition must be advised to watch for, regardless of the implications that such a fact might provoke). She weeps fiercely from ache and wound alike, but silently, and often only in seclusion. All told, I suspect that she has seen far more of injuries than any one person deserves in this life.

Despite her relative youth (especially for an elf), she almost displays signs of a long-healed stroke – almost. I cannot confirm or deny it, but some of her lackings suggest a peculiar hemorrhage of that sort, albeit clearly something that she recovered from very well as she has no great encumbering loss to show for it. Nevertheless, they are distinct details which are rarely connected to other ailments or injuries. Yet she cannot remember (or cannot admit) any such incident.

As to her – well, I cannot share such details, chiefly because she herself refuses to elaborate on most of them. Suffice it to say that both the conclusion and the actions leading to it still pain her, though for different reasons. As a surgeon, I will attest that there is no immediate urgency or danger. I merely wonder how someone like her – her manner leads me to believe that she has surely always been sensitive in more than one way, perhaps even delicate – endured through it and managed not to succumb to despair. To have a grievous loss be the result of an already grievous offense would make lesser souls willingly hurtle themselves into the Void.

On that note, the scars you spoke of are quite suspicious. It’s true, they may be ordinary wounds, but that kind of coincidence would be unlikely. There is something strangely persistent and repetitive about some of them. They pose no bodily hindrance that I can see, but she acts strangely if questioned about them. I suggest leaving the topic dormant, but it would be wise to note if any new injuries of a similar sort appear at any time.

I have yet to see her howl in pain. Perhaps this is something that the Dalish teach their children – although it would not be altogether logical in her case since she has freely admitted that her umarked face is precisely because of her clan’s awareness of her intolerance to pain.

Perhaps she simply taught herself how to muffle her cries. Perhaps need forced her to learn the habit. In any case, do not assume that her silence is indifference to agony. If anything, she feels it far more acutely than the rest of us.

I sometimes wish that I could do something other than dull her senses for a few hours. I am now firmly convinced that such herbs and potions do nothing whatsoever for her mind.

– an unnamed Inquisition field surgeon

Chapter 4

Codex: On Literacy - A Report Regarding Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, As Related by Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

She could count the beats of a butterfly’s wings if it suited her. She could memorize the patter of a lame man’s limp and imitate it with her own stride. She could breathe so silently that the most skittish of wild beasts scarcely noticed her presence.

But she could not learn Elven.

It puzzled me from the first early days when she could speak. Certainly she knew the words we use most often in clan life, and she always hid her confusion well. Yet she simply couldn’t understand it. She is a fine scholar, though doubtless she has made some in your Inquisition believe otherwise since she has a habit of dwelling on her weaknesses. She has a strong ear for animal calls and music, and she could always remember our campfire stories better than those whose position was defined by storytelling.

But she could never grasp our own language in the way that others in the clan could. No amount of my efforts seemed to help for her written or spoken attempts. It may seem strange to you that someone who did not grow up hearing Common the majority of the time somehow became more fluent in it than her people’s native tongue, but this is a true and fair accounting of your Inquisitor, as requested.

In time, I chose to allow her to focus on other studies. Elves may live longer than the other races, but that does not mean that we treat time as less precious than it truly is. Magic is far more important to control than mere speech, after all. Others in the clan sometimes resented her for forcing them to speak the humans’ language – but in truth, she expected very little of them. She spoke to some people as rarely as possible. In fact, she was never very talkative at all. For a time, her parents even wondered if she was deaf or mute.

Thus she grew to think of her surroundings and the people within it, ever wary of offending. If given a chance to explain herself, she will admit that she often gathered her own herbs and fruits and attempted hunting in her own way so that she could avoid being harassed by certain hard people in the clan who insisted on tormenting her despite my reprimands. However you choose to use her talents, you must not bother her with questions about something which she is ignorant of through no one’s fault, including hers.

You need not worry about her knowledge of written Common. She can read it well enough, although elaborate handwriting may prove a struggle sometimes. I suggest using your considerable resources to obtain literate messengers who can read formal letters aloud, or else simply allow your Ambassador Montilyet to summarize them for her.

-Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

Chapter 5

Codex: A Letter to Leliana

Everyone keeps asking if I’m cold. I’m not, but I can’t stop shaking. It must confuse them. I don’t care about the climate. I enjoyed snow until now.

It’s everywhere. You can’t hike about for more than half a mile before you find more of it. It’s so warm near it. The glow is more than a glow. It seems like a heartbeat sometimes. I’m not a dwarf and I’ll never have stone sense, but this is too obvious to deny and too invasive to ignore. There are ripples in the air near it, and there are tendrils that move about like lightning, only much slower. It seems like they’re speaking, but I can’t hear anything.

The others don’t react, but I’m sure it’s not in my mind. Cole overheard my thoughts when we first arrived here and he seems as nervous as I am, but he doesn’t say much about it. Cassandra tries hard to help me, but her soldiering skills only reach so far when the fighting’s done, and she knows that. She’s careful to watch me eat. Everyone tells me I haven’t eaten as much as I should when I’m upset. That might be true, but how can I think about food when all I can see are those –

Dorian only remarked on the dangers of lyrium. He’s hardly spoken of it beyond that. But I know what I’m feeling. It’s not the sort of thing you can wish away.

We claimed Suledin Keep easily enough – not that it was easy, but we’ve faced steeper odds. Imshael was difficult, but that’s not what worries me. He did exactly what his nature demanded. He’s not the one who started it.

We shouldn’t keep a presence there. Something’s still not right in that place. Corypheus is powerful, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of Emprise.

It can’t be mended. Everything’s wrong here. I wonder if this was what the last Blight felt like. Emprise was beautiful once, that much is clear. Maybe it still is. My thoughts wander so far sometimes. I haven’t dreamt as I should for years now, and this place seems to be shifting that balance. But everything here is sick now. It’s as sickly as the villagers who – [illegible]

I’m sorry for the scrawling. I lost control of my hand just now. My stomach will always remember what I saw here. You’ll read the agents’ reports soon enough. A few of the captives who weren’t altered have agreed to come back with us to Skyhold to confirm what happened – not that we need much proof. Red lyrium doesn’t appear like this on its own.

Please don’t make me explain it in person. I can’t do it. This time is different. I cherish your friendship, but there’s no advice you can give me. There’s only ice and ruin here.

– Inquisitor Lavellan

Chapter 6

Codex: Transcript of a Young Cook’s Helper in a Tavern

I was tired and I couldn’t think straight, but business is business and there wasn’t anyone else there to do it. It was already a warm day, but the stoves were burning hotter than usual. I could barely breathe in that place anyway. There’s not enough air in the best of times, even with the shutters open. But no one complains if it means somewhere warm in winter.

I was nervous, too. It doesn’t take much for Cook to clip me somewhere. I’m a bungler, and I know it. But Maker! All those scouts. All those Chantry folk, except they didn’t act like Chantry folk. They were too cheerful. I didn’t understand why. Soldiers don’t have a reason to be cheerful.

I didn’t even see the Inquisitor at first. She wasn’t in uniform. Maker, the scouts were in fancier dress than her! Not that she wasn’t well-dressed, but she didn’t look like – well, what does an Inquisitor look like? She didn’t have the Inquisition emblem on any of her gear – not even a brooch. I s’pose that only makes sense. Why put a target on your leader’s chest, eh?

She didn’t say a word. She barely looked at anyone. She traced dings and gashes in a table while she waited for her food. If she hadn’t been nodding when her fellows talked to her, I’d have thought her deaf or dumb, or both. She didn’t act like a leader. She didn’t even act like an equal. Swear to Andraste, she squirmed every time someone bumped her. She blushed when I caught someone calling her Inquisitor. But she wasn’t angry, either. She was patient, or at least better at keeping her annoyances to herself. I thought she was just dour. But what dour leader has happy agents, eh?

Anyway, I didn’t have much time to think on it. I was rushing around to feed all these extra folk. I don’t know where we found the food to do it, but we did it. But it was such a scurry! I barely had time to set food on tables before I had to go back again and again. I don’t know how many times I did it. It must’ve been dozens.

I had a dizzy spell. I didn’t see it coming, it came that fast. I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed, except I spilled one of the plates I was carrying on my arm. It was something with butter sauce. Butter burns are the worst kind. I screamed and fell. By the time I was on the floor, I’d spilled even more of the sauce. I screamed again.

And Maker’s breath, do you know who came over and stopped my head from banging on the floor? Not the cook, not the Chantry sisters, not the mages. The Inquisitor.

No one asked her to. No one told her to. She didn’t even hesitate. She just scrambled over like a horse. She didn’t make me stand up, either. She let me stay there until the dizziness passed. Cook heard all the noise and came out to yell at me, but the Inquisitor waved her away. No, she didn’t just wave her away, she screamed at her. Proper screaming. She picked me up and put me on a bench like I was no more trouble to carry than a baby. She knew what to do about the burn, too. She even gave me a potion before she left – she said it’d help the burn heal sooner. It did.

Now listen here. My mother was an elf, Maker rest her soul. She barely lived long enough to get me out of nursing age. There are other elf-bloodeds in this village – they just won’t admit it. They took me in as one of their own, and I know I’m lucky. But I’ve never met a kind elf. The alienages sound horrible and the Dalish sound fierce. But the only fierceness the Inquisitor had was against meanness in other people. She wouldn’t have known I was her kin. I look human – I’m just a bit short.

If she’s really the one running the Inquisition, I just wonder – what could the world be like if other folk acted like her?

Chapter 7

Codex: Correspondence Between Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras

Varric,

I need a favor and I’m unsure who else to ask. For whatever reason, our Inquisitor trusts you, so maybe you will succeed where others have failed. I’ve merely been asking her about her life. Understanding where someone came from is important, no? But she gets quite upset (or simply ignores me) whenever I ask after a certain name. That name. She claims that she never chose one, but I have my doubts. Leliana has been very standoffish about it, too.

-Cassandra

Cassandra,

‘Succeed where others have failed’? Do you realize what that sounds like? Can you imagine what Mouse would say if she knew you’d said that? Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I should take note of that and remember it the next time you ask me to go ass-deep into danger when you could choose from half a dozen others instead.

Leliana’s right. As hard as it is to believe, there are some things a spymaster won’t do, even for her own side. For the last time, stop being so pushy. You’re not an interrogator anymore and Mouse isn’t your prisoner. It’s none of your business anyway. If she wants to talk about it, she will, but you can’t force her to do anything before she’s good and ready for it. I know better by now, and so should you.

And what does it matter? She has enough to worry about without you nagging her about something she doesn’t want to think about. Maker knows I wouldn’t, and I’m not even a woman. Don’t run out on brittle ice on a lake and be surprised when it breaks under your feet.

Back in Kirkwall, Aveline tried to ask Fenris a similar question. He didn’t want to answer it either. With all that’s wrong in the world, what the hell difference does a name make?

-Varric

Varric,

It matters because no one can endure that kind of anguish alone forever. It matters because it will help her talk about it. It matters because when I’ve heard her cry out in the night, she doesn’t scream for the person who should have brought her happiness. She keens against her tormentors instead.

-Cassandra

Cassandra,

I’d laugh, except there’s nothing funny about it. ‘Tormentors’? Is that really what you’d call them? I won’t even waste time on all the reasons why that was a shitty way to put it. Just stare at the word for awhile and come to your own conclusions.

Has it occurred to you that she might not remember everything? The surgeon told you in no uncertain terms: he thinks she had a stroke. I agree. I’ve met people who had them. Mouse is lucky that it hasn’t affected her more than it did. You can’t hear it in her speech and her movements look damn well close to normal if she’s carrying weapons. She does have her moments, but Maker knows she tries. And usually, she succeeds. End of story. She didn’t let it get in her way any more than we let our troubles get in our way.

But we don’t know what really happened. No one does. From what I understand about it, that’s one hell of a complication. Between wanting to block out what led to it and barely staying in one piece after that, she’s allowed a little peace from conversation about it. She has enough to worry about. And something tells me that she’s always been worried about a lot. You saw the letter from her Keeper. I’ll never understand how the world chooses who it wants to trample. But she doesn’t let that bother her, either – not that I’ve seen or that she’ll admit to, anyway.

So in no uncertain terms, my dear Seeker: BACK OFF. Mouse isn’t alone. I know what you meant, but it’s not true, and she knows that. I’ve told her that and I think she believed me. She knows where to find you if she changes her mind. She knows we’re here if she needs us. ‘Friend’ and ‘force’ start with the same letter, but they can never mean the same thing.

-Varric

Chapter 8

Codex: Personal Notes in a Frustrated Hand

I don’t understand it. It’s as if she doesn’t take pride in being a mage. It’s as if she doesn’t realize what a threat it can be to her own existence. Magic is as natural to her as breath is to me, but she neither boasts about it nor hides it. If anyone asks her a serious question about a spell or a ward, she answers equally seriously in turn, as if she doesn’t realize that she’s been an exotic oddity all the while.

I’ve tried asking her about Dalish life. She hasn’t once corrected me when I make an assertion, but she also refuses to elaborate. Perhaps that’s only the Dalish way, though. Our scholars don’t know everything, after all.

Even so, she hasn’t called a human a shem even once. She shares meals with them, confides in them, even has lengthy discussions with Mother Giselle when the garden is quiet. She banters with dwarves. She acts like that Qunari wall of a man is no different than one of her fellows. She treats city elves as well as some people treat their own blood relatives. And contrary to popular belief, she is not frightened of or daunted by beards – merely a little intrigued by Warden Blackwall’s.

I’ve even seen her lingering before altars. I haven’t dared to approach her in those moments, of course, but it is quite a spectacle: a Dalish elf with no vallaslin and – so it would seem – Andrastian beliefs. Where’s her resentment about being a descendant of an oppressed people? Where’s her outrage about the Chantry’s treatment of mages in the civilized parts of the world? Even I will admit to their severity, Maker rest my soul.

Where’s her vigor? Perhaps it all resides in her magic.

She’s not an elf – not really. It’s ridiculous. She goes around with her bare face as if there’s nothing she was denied. What kind of self-respecting Dalish doesn’t choose marks? What kind of traitor like that would’ve been sent to the Conclave? It’s almost as if the Dalish knew what would happen and wanted to be rid of one of the weaker strands in their weave.

– a page from the journal of an undisclosed University of Orlais student specializing in cultural studies

Chapter 9

Codex: From an Unpublished Anonymous Manuscript Written Twenty Years After the Exalted Council

The Inquisitor was said to have had more than one family.

True enough, she was raised among her own people, but her parents were exiled for some unknown reason while she was still a small child. Part of their punishment was that they leave their daughter behind, evidently for the good of the clan as her magic had already manifested and the Lavellans were in need of strong mage potential.

Curiously by Dalish standards, she and some others in her clan were apparently discouraged from fraternizing too closely with each other. One theory simply poses the notion that her shy tendencies might have been seen by her elders as tenderness exceeding common standards, or perhaps that she was not intelligent enough to understand such inevitable events. Another – the one supported by Mistress Lavellan herself – is that despite the Dalish tendency to shuffle people between clans to prevent inbreeding, perhaps she actually had other siblings or half-siblings. Still other rumors – of a more unsettling nature – can be inferred on close examination of some correspondences.

The dynamics of her clan – or, rather, their dynamics towards her – at the time of her life were universally acknowledged as unusual, if not difficult. This was in no small part because of her neutrality with regards to other races and cultures, even by Clan Lavellan standards. While no document has ever been found to suggest that they ever disproved of her openness and diplomacy during the Inquisition, it has been strongly suggested that this somehow factored into her decision to not return to her people had they survived.

Though a retreating sort, she was said to have made fast friends with many people in the Inquisition. It would therefore not be an unreasonable stretch of the truth to go as far as saying that the Inquisition was perhaps her true family. One would be hard pressed to find an unflattering or angry description of her by one of her companions. It is even said that she eventually took to calling Varric Tethras ‘Uncle,’ likely the truth given that figure’s general conviviality towards the world at large.

It is said that when she disbanded the Inquisition, she was not dispirited about the organization’s troubles (those had become patently obvious to her by that time and the result was inevitable, however uncomfortable) as much as the prospect of watching her second, adopted family disintegrate or disperse. Indeed, while every companion and advisor thrived outside of the Inquisition and the Inquisitor was in frequent communication with all of them, she was said to have acted as if in mourning for various reasons following the disbanding.

Chapter 10

Codex: A Few Requests Put Forth to the Inquisition’s Advisors

As much as our dear leader enjoys all of your company, there are some things that just need to be said – and the Inquisitor isn’t very good at directness, in case you hadn’t noticed.

Leliana, for Maker’s sake, ease up on offering to threaten people. I’m not questioning your skills or your methods. There are times when there’s really no other way, and it’ll always be part of a spymaster’s job. Fine. Do what you need to do to keep us safe and informed. But please don’t talk about it to Mouse. If you have to do something, do it quietly. Don’t tell her. She won’t want to know. I’ve seen her stay awake all night just because she was re-thinking something that you casually mentioned to her a few weeks earlier. She’s realistic. She knows that death and war are inseparable. But she also tends to take sport in blaming herself. It helps no one and hinders everyone.

Josephine, please stop bombarding Mouse with cultural lessons as soon avs she comes back from a mission. She’s curious and a quicker study than she looks. I think she even enjoys it since it’s a change of pace from fighting. But she also overspends herself. A lot. She’s just too timid to admit it. Teaching her about the world is well and good, but at least consider breaking the lessons up into more manageable afternoons. Don’t try to intensively teach her Orlesian and make her memorize royal lineages in the same day.

Cullen, stop moping about how we didn’t get the Templars. Fiona’s a powerful ally and there hasn’t been a single truly dangerous incident with the mages since we took them in. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Each and every one of them are every bit as much a refugee as Fereldan humans are right now. Half of them just want to be left alone. It’s not always about power. Mouse is stronger with magic than she’ll admit, but she keeps it quiet for a reason. She doesn’t like to feel powerful. I think you can say the same about a lot of our magically-inclined allies.

And as for all of you – look, whatever you do, don’t rush her…about anything. I don’t much understand it myself, but I don’t need to. It’s how things are. If one of my second cousins used to cut a hole in a frozen lake in winter and make his ass purple from the cold just to make him forget his arthritis for awhile, it’s not that strange if our Inquisitor likes to take things slowly. As long as it doesn’t hobble her in a fight, it shouldn’t matter.

– Varric

Chapter 11

Codex: A Letter from Leliana

Inquisitor,

I am pleased to inform you that seven farmers in Crestwood have agreed to your proposal. They hope to settle in the hallas by the end of the month. They were initially hesitant when we explained that they are independent creatures who tend to resent being penned in, but we assured them that this also means that they sometimes only need minimal herding attention and will manage themselves given the right conditions.

I was also delighted to hear that the blind halla taken along as a testimony for all to consider has chosen to bond with a young boy. The child is deaf, but his stillness apparently caught the halla’s attention, just as the halla’s graceful movements caught the boy’s liking.

I’m afraid that we could not find even more willing participants at this stage, but some families fled weeks ago, and others are still occupied with rebuilding their homes and making arrangements for the missing people recovered from the lake. I suspect that more will come forward in time.

Chapter 12

Codex: A Worn Page Filled With Random Phrases

Trees. Cottonwoods?

Cherries. Don’t know who got them or where they came from.

Laughter. They all had different laughs. Why do I remember them?

Warmth. It was a hot day. But my face was also flushed? Can’t remember.

Screams. Mine? Not a lot. I needed my breath for other things.

White. Gray pulsing stars every time I tried to focus my eyes. They throbbed so hard. I couldn’t see anything after awhile.

The laughter stopped. There was a fly. It was so loud. It felt like it was there for hours. It wouldn’t leave me alone. But I couldn’t move to wave it away. I was tired.

I wept. I was so thirsty. There was a river, but I couldn’t walk to get to it. I told myself to move, but I couldn't. I don't know why.

I crawled part of the way back to the camp. I made myself stand up and walk the rest of the way when sunset came. Got back to my tent at midnight or so. I was sunburned. I hadn’t noticed the sun.

Someone scolded me about a fray in my shirt but gave me clean breeches without question.

Varric you prick, this was a stupid idea.

– from a small journal well-hidden in the Inquisitor’s quarters

Chapter 13

Codex: A Letter in an Unusually Formal Hand

We can’t know what will happen tonight, tomorrow, or next week. We don’t know what Corypheus will try to do to end the Inquisition – or the world.

I understand that a will isn’t worth much without any possessions to distribute, but I’m told that some people use them as an opportunity to give last messages to family and loved ones. Many of you know what I think of you, but in case you don’t, I’ll take this one chance I have left to say the unsaid.

Leliana – you frighten me. You really do. But we’ve trusted our lives to you so many times and you haven’t led us astray yet. I don’t see how that will ever change. Some think that your fierceness is unseemly. I think it’s marvelous. You’re the only person who might really have the will to change the Chantry. I wish you the best of luck.

Josephine – thank you for tolerating my whims about food. I know I have expensive and strange tastes (even by the wealthy’s standards), but you can’t imagine how much it’s helped for me to eat something agreeable when I’m too upset to stomach other fare. It’s a greater kindness than you’ll ever realize.

Cullen – I won’t waste time reassuring you about the future. It would sound hollow. You already know what you need to do. Remember what I said. Don’t give up on something just because it’s difficult. You’ve made it this far. I don’t doubt that you’ll make even more strides.

Cassandra – Thank you for not hiding your battle scars. I know that won’t sound like much, but seeing them every day made me realize that admitting to my own isn’t as dreadful as I’d been told before now. I’m not sure what else I should tell someone who has been as determined as you are. You say that your faith is your strength as much as your weakness, but I don’t think it’s either. If it guides you to question as much as it pushes you to action, it’s worth protecting.

Dorian – you made me realize something that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about before now. I hadn’t thought it possible, especially given…well, you know what. We hardly have the same story, but we were both forced to be what we weren’t. You’ve shown me that my nature and my desires don’t have to contradict each other. You were the first to notice when I spent more time than was needed with Solas. Your reaction was nothing short of graceful. For that, you will always have my thanks.

Bull – I can’t believe you tricked me into killing a high dragon. Ten times, in fact. I’m sorry we couldn’t have gotten the Sandy Howler, but you saw how it was. At least Hakkon is gone. Thank you for your courage in the face of great and small struggles. Some people might have called you insane. Damned right you are, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cole – I needn’t dedicate any space on the page since you already know my thoughts, but allow me a moment to indulge myself anyway. The others don’t understand you, but you should never let that discourage you. What you do and who you are is important. You’re doing exactly as you should. I never doubted your motives. We’re kindreds, you and I, and that’s sterner stuff than any words we might speak.

Sera – life always needs more arrows. I can’t pretend we’ve always gotten along, but your energy always reminded me to keep trying, striving, daring. Those are all things I’d forgotten how to do before the Conclave. Always question – but also always remember that there’s usually more than one way to solve a problem.

Vivienne – I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to help your dear Bastien. You showed so much concern for me and I couldn’t even find the wyvern heart in time to save him. Friendships don’t always get the rewards they are owing, and I’m sorry that ours is one of those.

Blackwall – I hope you’ll forgive yourself someday soon. What you did doesn’t matter half as much as what you’re doing. By your deeds as much as my decree, you’re not that man anymore. Learn from your mistakes. Remember them if you must. But never use them as an excuse to hide. Only the truly wicked should hide. Only those who embrace their wrongs deserve to look over their shoulders more often than they watch their feet on the path ahead of them.

Varric – you’re one of the only people in the Inquisition who didn’t make me grind my teeth every ten minutes. You knew when to persist and when to leave me be. You noticed things far sooner than most of the others. I don’t need to tell you what to do. Don’t let them weep for me. Whether good or bad, don’t let them say I was something I wasn’t. Just tell Maryden to play my favorite song. She’ll know which one.

Solas – banal nadas. Ar lath ma.

-from an envelope covered with illustrations of various heraldry evidently drawn by the Inquisitor herself

#bae lavellan #invented codex #dragon age inquisition #dragon age oc backstory #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age fanfiction #firjii writes #firjii on ao3

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boo-yar · 7 years ago

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Treasure Pursued In Ruin

Dragon Age AU fic inspired by The Mummy.

Featuring: my Inquisitor OC Maia Lavellan, @kurosmind‘s OC Fael Lavellan, Dorian Pavus and Felix Alexius.

Words: 2368

Parts: 1/2/3/4

In anticipation her fingers ran down the straps of her empty satchels that were just waiting to be filled to the brim with treasure. Looking over the tall structure that had been forgotten to civilisation and reclaimed by snaking vines, Maia couldn’t wait to go inside and find all she could. With an impressed and excited smile she looked to the white-haired male by her side and gave him a hearty slap on the back, grinning when he staggered and looked to her in dazed surprise.

“You did good, Fael.” She mused, smiling warmly at him. “I’m surprised more haven’t found this…it looks untouched. What do you think we’ll find?”

“Spiders most likely…” Fael answered with a resigned nod. “There’s always spiders.”

“Always hungry too…”

“And angry…”

“And huge.” They both added together with a laugh. Maia stepped closer to the ruins, curved blade twirling eagerly in her fingers while her other free hand felt along the vine covered wall of stone that had fallen long ago. Lightly pushing, she heard the tell-tale sound of loose rock shifting and it was like music to an explorer like her. Gripping the hilt of her blade she cut away the obstructing layer of thick greenery and pried the easily shifted rock away until a neat entranceway stood before them. Smirking she turned and gestured politely for Fael to enter. This was his find of course; it was only fair her be the first to go in.

Light from outside pooled into the large entrance hall of the ruin through the multitude of cracks and holes, casting the flecks of dust into light as they danced through the air until they were caught in the stands and masses of cobwebs. Glancing down, Maia made a note of the thick vines and roots twisting along the cracked mosaic floor and strangling the remnants of the tall pillars stretching towards the ceiling. Fael let out an impressed whistle, listening to the sound echo around them. If this was just the entrance hall, this place was going to be a goldmine. Though where to start from? His purple eyes turned expectantly to Maia not surprised to see her staring at him with a similar expression.

“Stay together or split up?” he asked with a knowing grin.

- - - - - - - - - -

His eyes scanned over and over the pages lying on the tome on the desk. It was all so fascinating. Every time his gaze returned to a line he had read not ten minutes before, he found something new. A new pattern, a new meaning to a seemingly simple phrase that had so many layers of complexity to it, there was just so much still to uncover. The booming echo of a door closing made him grow still and slowly glance up from his seat. His hand raised to the only lit candle, prepared to snuff it out. By all accounts he wasn’t supposed to be here and it would be bothersome to be caught and interrupted when he was making such progress. Progress that he heavily doubted the magisters had even begun to make yet.

There was a tense, heavy beat of silence then he heard the footsteps of someone trying to be silent and not entirely succeeding. Whoever had interrupted him, wasn’t meant to be here either. Dorian could only think of one person and smiled fondly, lowering his gaze back to the tome. It wasn’t long before he heard the door creak open.

“This isn’t like the times when I worked with your father, you get caught here-with me- it would mean a lot of trouble for you Felix.”

“As I told you during all those times, I like trouble.” The familiar voice mused and he laughed gently.

“So what’s brought you all the way here?” Dorian asked, looking to his friend curiously. That curiosity only grew when he saw the excitement growing on Felix’s face as he approached. When he was close enough, Felix’s hands gripped Dorian’s shoulders as the grin grew.

“How would you like to go on the adventure of a lifetime, discover the impossible and annoy the magisters who hate you all at the same time?” Dorian’s eyebrows rose considerably and let out a short burst of laughter.

“Certainly all of that sounds appealing, Felix.” He admitted giving his friend his undivided attention. “Some more information would be helpful though before I sign up for something I may later regret.”

“Don’t think you can regret something like this. Remember that old passage you translated a while back. Describing the ancient ruin and it being the last known sighting of a powerful relic. The relic that was key to unlocking a now forgotten form of magic?”

Dorian sat up straighter in his seat, his own hands lifting to grip Felix’s wrists, his gaze lighting with optimism. As he stared hopefully at his friend, his silent question was answered.

“I overheard that a couple months back two elves were caught in the Arlathan Forest near a ruin. From the description I heard it sounds similar to the sketch you showed me. Dorian if this is it, it could huge. Think of all we could learn, of what we could do.” Felix urged hopefully. “And if we get to it first it means we stop others from abusing whatever power that relic has.” Dorian couldn’t help but worry on that point. So many of his countrymen would definitely abuse whatever wonders lay in that ruin, and if they did find the relic…he suppressed a shudder at the destruction they would bring. He looked to Felix with determination as he stood. “Where are the elves?”

- - - - - - - - - - -

“You know I have to say, out of all the chains I’ve found myself in over the years…” Maia laughed tiredly as she lay her head against the stone of her cell. “These have to be the cleanest yet. Though what does it say about a country that takes better care of its shackles than it does the people they put them in?” She had lost count of how many days it had been since they went to that ruin. Definitely longer than a month, she knew that much. Beside her she heard Fael stir. “Think they decided your fate yet?” she asked softly. “I know mine, just surprised they haven’t done it yet.”

“You’ve made them wary to get near.” Fael responded just as heavily. He wasn’t going to fill Maia with false hope and dismiss what she already knew was coming as paranoia. She was smart and wouldn’t thank him for it. Ever since they were captured, Maia had gathered a rapid reputation as being a ‘feral bitch,’ they attempted to sell her one night on their journey to Minrathous while they thought she was fast asleep. If the people that threw them in chains could feel such complex emotions of regret, they definitely felt it that night. They weren’t going to risk it again it seemed, she’d be executed, after creating some sort of scandalous offense to warrant it of course. Fael was still unsure of his outcome in all this; compared to Maia he had been reasonably well behaved, so slavery seemed the strongest possibility if he had to bet on one or the other.

The sun was high in the sky and the building they were held in seemed livelier than usual. He glanced up at the sound of animated talking. His ears perked up when he could make out the conversation drifting their way.

“We have many other elves, better elves that would be much more suited to your tastes.” The owner of the establishment frantically told him as they walked down the corridors.

“Strange, I don’t recall ever stating what our tastes were…” Dorian mused casually, noticing the proprietor stumble over both his words and feet. He heard Felix stifle a snort of laughter that he managed to cover up with a quick clearing of his throat.

“I-I-I merely meant you don’t want them.” Their guide explained. “The male, maybe…but the woman is no good to anyone. She’s-”

“-a feral bitch.” A woman’s voice came cheerfully from a cell they were a few paces from. Both Dorian and Felix looked in to see a dark haired female elf smiling sweetly at them but behind that smile was distrust. “That was the description for me, if I remember correctly.”

Dorian looked over her filthy appearance but was caught when she turned the full force of her stare on him, his attention moving to her right eye in particular. It should have been deep blue to match the left but instead it was cloudy, almost entirely white. Her tan skin around is had the pale forked lines of lightning damage. Quickly he looked away from one dishevelled, chained elf to the other. Again he found himself caught in the power of the stare the elf had. Bright purple eyes looked over him and Felix with equal suspicion the woman had. Dorian looked to the proprietor that hovered close to him. “Leave us, I want to talk to the elves alone if you don’t mind.” The man balked and looked from him to the elves. Swiftly Felix stepped in and took the older man by the upper arm.

“Let him talk, don’t worry he’ll be fine. Come, show me the other elves and I’ll see if I can convince him to pick others.”

When Felix’s voice faded away Dorian looked to the two elves, unsure of how to proceed. He needed them on his side to lead him to the ruin. One wrong word and they might lead him off a cliff once they got out of their chains, or they could flee to the safety of Orlais or Ferelden and his chances of getting the relic would be gone with them.

“So, I want to begin by saying I’m not here to buy you as my slaves.”

“You’re not?” The male asked with a hollow tone of disappointment in his voice. “There go my dreams of cleaning someone else’s clothes for the rest of my days.” He sighed heavily.

“If we escape this overly perfumed country you can clean my clothes any time you wish if you’re that desperate.” The woman smirked.

“I’m here to ask for your help.” Dorian interjected suddenly. “I was told you were found near a ruin. I want you both to take me there.” He watched the two elves stare at him, their expressions a matching mixture of incredulity and caution. “If I get you out of this place will you take me?”

“That’s all?” the woman asked. “We take you to that ruin and we go free?” Dorian nodded and the elves looked at each other in silent deliberation. The male was the one to speak. Slowly he got to his feet and approached the barred cell door. Immediately Dorian’s nose wrinkled at the foul smell hitting him so suddenly.

“Okay, you get us out of here and we’ll take you to the ruin,” Dorian allowed himself a smile but stopped when the elf’s shackled hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, sharply pulling him against the bars. “but whatever treasure we find in that place that we want, it’s ours. We found that ruin first, so we get first pick of whatever’s inside. Deal?”

Dorian frowned and sharply pulled free from his grip, frowning at the smudged dirt handprint on the fabric of his clothes. That wasn’t going to easy to hide until he could get home to change.

“There’s something in that ruin I need to get. That’s the only thing I want. You can have anything else that catches your eye.”

“What are you looking for?” the female asked, getting to her feet to join her friend’s side. Dorian scoffed and lightly rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to tell them that.

“You’ll find out when I get in that ruin. I think this is a very good deal, all I’m looking for is one item. That’ll hardly make a dent in the fortune you both are after.” Again the two shared a look before looking back to him slowly.

“Just one item?” the male elf repeated and Dorian nodded. “And your friend? What does he want?”

“The same as I. Trust me, we only want one thing in that ruin. The others however…” the elves frowned. “Others will have heard of the ruin by now and the longer we’re waiting here, the closer they could be getting to taking what’s in that ruin. Do we have a deal?”

- - - - - - - -

He knew he should have stayed with them but he wanted to show them he could be trusted. They didn’t seem to be so keen on returning the favour. They were over an hour late. Dorian shook his head angrily as he paced while Felix looked on, his optimistic nature unwavering as always.

“They’ll show up Dorian, they’re probably just-”

“Already on their way to the ruin, I’d bet.” He began with a glare he directed at the ground, imagining their smug, mocking faces. “Probably didn’t even stop to bathe too I bet. They enjoy all that grime and dirt don’t they, if they’re Dalish they definitely do!” he began to ramble. “Not taught any manners or proper hygiene, it’s unbelievable. You saw what he did to my clothes, didn’t you? Such a rough, thuggish-”

“Anyone we know?” a voice came from behind him and he froze in his tracks.

Slowly he turned and his eyes widened. The filthy pair he had first met where gone from his memory and now two clean, freshly clothed and equipped elves stood before him. The male was actually very handsome; he seemed taller and more defined now. He could feel the heat rising at the back of his neck and immediately put it down to being caught insulting his guides. Then the male threw him a smirk and slight tilt of his head that made Dorian’s mouth grow dry. What in the name of the Maker had he gotten himself into?

#my writing #dragon age #dragon age writing #dragon age au #the mummy au #fael #fael lavellan #maia #maia lavellan #kurosmind #my oc #other people's oc #felix alexius #dorian pavus #long post #treasure pursued in ruin

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