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wicked-hg · 4 years ago

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Empire || o.w.

This is a part of @iliveiloveiwrite song fic challenge.

Oliver Wood x reader

Song prompt: Empire by Elle Henderson

Summary: Oliver has an interview with a quidditch reporter who wants to know more about the “quidditch empire” he has built. Oliver reflects on the life he has built with Y/N.

WC: 3.9k

A/N: I am so excited to finally post this! I’ve been working on it for a while and it went longer than I thought it would, but that’s okay. I hope you all enjoy it. Please please please check out the song! I tried to keep it in mind writing this, but overall it is just a fantastic song and one of my favorites. I found the below image when looking for an Oliver Wood gif, and this was so cute!!!! Plus it goes with the story. Italics are the interview.

“Mr. Wood, thank you for sitting down with us,” the reporter greeted. “I know many people are dying to know more about you and your growing quidditch empire.”

��Empire?” Oliver chuckled. “I wouldn’t call what I ‘ave an empire.”

“What would you call it then? You are a renowned quidditch player and now a coach for Puddlemere United. Your wife was a former strategist for the Pride of Portree and is the granddaughter of Kennilworthy Wisp and Devlin Whitehorn. You also have seven children. If that isn’t a quidditch empire, then what is it.”

“Me family,” Oliver answered. “Aye, me wife comes from two great lineages and aye quidditch did bring us together, but I love her for so much more than that. Quidditch was only an excuse to talk to her. It isn’t our relationship.”

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

You had friends at Hogwarts. There were people who enjoyed your company. They were always there to talk quidditch to you, but that was about it. Once you tried switching the subject they suddenly had to go work on homework that had already been turned in. You knew though captains of quidditch teams didn’t lie that they wanted to be your friend. They were straightforward that they wanted your analysis of their team, and the other teams, and what strategies they should use to be successful. Each one came on the same day at the same time like clockwork. Today was Wednesday. That meant Oliver Wood would find her around 6:55. Oliver was the one captain who would seek you out no matter where you were in the castle. You had to always be in the same place for the others.

The clock chimed 7:00 when Oliver found you today. “You’re five minutes later than normal, Wood,” you commented.

Oliver shrugged as he sat next to you. “I knew you’d be here, but I wasn’t sure how loud it would be,” Today’s spot was the clock tower. “So I wanted to wait until after the clock rang.”

You sat in silence. Usually you jumped quickly into the quidditch talk, but Oliver sat silently. “You alright, Wood? You’re quiet today. You play Hufflepuff next week if I recall. I wouldn’t really worry about them. They’ve had a devastating losing streak so far. Their beaters aren’t doing well. They’ve been on injury rotation. Fleet also doesn’t have your skills.”

Oliver smiled. “Me skills? You notice I’m quite skilled, Y/N?”

You tried to keep yourself from blushing. Something was different about how he said this. “Of course I do, Wood. I’m Hogwarts residential quidditch analyst.”

“Oliver,” he said. You glanced at him, confused. “Call me Oliver. Not Wood.”

You nodded. “Okay then...Oliver.” Silence washed back over the two of you. “Do you have any other questions? Or do you want info about the new Nimbus? The rest have wanted that.”

Oliver shook his head. “Why don’t you play? Every house goes to you for advice, yet you don’t even play for your own. Why is that?”

No one had ever asked you that. In fact, no one had ever asked any questions about you yourself. “I used to when I was younger with my siblings. I have six older ones.”

“Me too,” Oliver said. “Poppy, Daisy, Juniper, Ivy, Violet, and Flora. They thought I was gon’ be a girl. When it turned out I was a boy, I was named Oliver instead of Olive. That way all they had to do was add an ‘r’ to everything. Sorry for interrupting you. The Weasleys are the only other ones I know with a family of seven siblings.”

You smiled. “It’s alright. Sounds like your family went for a theme.” Oliver nodded. “I think that’s cool. My parents didn’t. I’m the youngest. I have four brothers—Dorian, Finnigan, Simon, and Leon—and two sisters—Evangeline and Benjamina.”

“So you played quidditch with them. Why not anymore?”

“I got hit in the head with a bludger,” you told him. I know that happens a lot to players, but I was about five. Gramps and PopPop were fighting again. They don’t get along at all, and my parents were out celebrating their anniversary. I don’t know why they had those two watching us instead of just picking one. Granny and Nan were trying to calm them down. We were playing quidditch on PopPop’s prototype of the Nimbus 1650.”

“Nimbus 1650? I’ve never heard of that one.”

“That’s because it was never released to the public. It had too many flaws. Anyway, I played seeker. It’s how I learned to analyze patterns besides listening to Gramps. The bludger hit me upside the head and as I fell it hit me again in the jaw. Honestly though, it felt like two hits to the head because my head was the size of a bludger back then. I couldn’t get on a broom after that. I tried. I tried so many times. I just was never able to fly. The brooms wouldn’t listen. Besides, the healer says one more bludger to the head will kill me.”

“We can’t have that then. I’ll get ya on a broom, but I’m not letting ya anywhere near a bludger.” You grinned at his comment. “You belong in the air though. Every time I find you, you're usually high up. The wind will be blowing through your hair soon enough. I promise.”

“You can’t make promises like that, Oliver.”

Oliver shushed you. “Tomorrow. We start tomorrow at this time on the pitch. You’re not meant to be caged, Y/N. Let me help you fly free.”

“What makes you think that you will be the one to do so?” You asked him, trying not to gain any hope from Oliver’s promise. Your family had done everything they could. How could Oliver be successful?

He smiled and grabbed your hand. “I won’t let you fall. I’ll catch you. Do you trust me?”

There was a fire in his eyes now. He had hope he could do this, and you did too. “Absolutely.”

—————

“And what about having seven children? A quidditch team is made up of seven players. One could assume you are breeding your own quidditch team.”

“Well, one can assume all they want. The truth is, life just happened this way. Y/N and I both came from large families; both of us are the youngest of seven. We were fine having that many kids. Just know though there aren’t any more Wood children coming,” Oliver grinned. “And don’t believe that rumor that all of our kids are named after types of wood unknowingly or fun. It was the result of losing a series of bets.”

“What?”

The reporter paused in thought. “Oh my Merlin. Your children are all named after types of wood. You did that on purpose? Because of bets?”

Oliver blinked. “No…”

“But you just said—” Oliver stared at the reporter, daring him to continue. “So when did people pick up on it?”

—————

He was so small. Granted, Rowan and Willow had been too. Perhaps he was bigger than them though. He was definitely louder. “He’s got quite the lungs to him,” you murmured to Oliver as you handed him your new son. “Rowan and Willow were quiet and pensive. He’s loud and ready to fight. Has been since the womb. Hopefully the bruises will go away now.”

This third babe had been a handful—constantly moving and kicking the bruises actually began to appear on your abdomen. “Reckon he’ll be a beater if he plays some day,” You chuckled in agreement with your husband. “Hello there, Al. Glad you’re finally here. Your brother and sister are so excited to meet you.”

“Al,” you sighed lovingly, “I like it. Al Wood. Is it short for anything?”

“Alder.”

“Alder. That’s nice,” Silence washed over the room until your eyes flew open. “Alder? Did you just say Alder? As in the tree? Oliver, is our son named Alder Wood?”

“Yes…”

“Rowan and Willow are going to ma—” Realization hit you. “Rowan and Willow. Rowan Wood. Willow Wood. Oliver Wood, are our children named after types of trees? Have you named our children after types of trees when I am in a state of fatigue after birthing them?”

“Yes and no,” he replied. He carefully held the newborn close to his chest. “All of these names I suggested to you when we discussed it, and you liked them. I just suggested them in a different light. Rowan is a good Scottish name, and Willow is an old English name and a well respected magical tree. Alder...I don’t think I ever did mention Alder to you. I was hoping to get away with that one.”

You reached for your son. Looking down at him, you couldn’t imagine him being named anything else. “I can’t imagine him being anything else now. If we have more children, we will discuss this first. I just didn’t realize you so desperately wanted a theme. I thought you hated the name theming after your parents have done it to you and your sisters.”

“I do!” Oliver argued.

“Then why name our children after types of wood and trees?”

Oliver sighed. He knew there was no lying to you anymore. “I lost a bet back in Hogwarts to Weasley.”

You sighed. “I’m gonna yell at George when I get out of here. I can’t imagine our children being named anything different now, but still. I don’t care if it was his or Fred’s fault.”

“Actually it was Percy.”

—————

“You were married right before hell broke loose in the Second Great Wizarding War, and if I recall you even participated in it.”

“Aye. I did. Many witches and wizards in the league did once it got shut down in ‘97.”“Did this affect you and your wife?”

“Of course it did. It affected everyone. Plus we were still young and so was Rowan.”

“Rowan?”

“Me eldest boy. How did you not know that? I would’ve thought you’d know the names of me kids the way you’ve been going on.”

The reporter shrugged as he jotted this all down in his notebook.

——————

Oliver had done what he could to help the light in the war, but his priority was his family. He had a wife and a son now. His wife was also expecting their second child. He laid down next to his wife. “Rowan’s fast asleep,” he whispered. “He went down quickly tonight.”

You smiled as you snuggled into him. “She’s being quiet tonight too.”

He smiled and glanced down at your protruding belly. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“I just do,” You were quiet for a moment before asking, “Oliver, do you ever regret how we did things?”

Everything was on track for you and Oliver when you graduated. You had both taken big jobs in the world of quidditch. You were young and everyone knew your names. Then in the late spring of 1995 you found out a baby was on the way. Rowan was born that December. A year and a half later you two finally got married in the early summer of 1997. Now in May of 1998 you were almost 8 months pregnant with the second baby Wood.

“I will never ever regret us or our kids,” he told you. “This is I guess just how it was meant to be. Do I wish that the world was safer for them? Absolutely. I wish we would’ve had more time to fight to give them a better world. I will do anything to make sure they don’t live under these conditions. I hope every day that Rowan doesn’t remember living in a time of such fear and chaos.”

“I am terrified, Olli,” you admitted.

“Me too,” he agreed, “But I will always be here to protect you. No one will destroy what we have created.”

Hours later he was summoned to Hogwarts for one last battle. You waited for him to return. When Rowan woke, you acted as if everything was normal. “Daddy just had to go take care of some business,” you told Rowan when he asked about Oliver. An owl from St Mungo’s arrived close to bedtime. You flooed your mother to stay with your son as you rush to the hospital. Oliver, with his confunded eye, grinned at you. He had a gash on his forehead and was covered in dirt, yet he smiled because they had won.

——————

“So did helping in the war aid your career at all?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I just didn’t know if it helped your skills.”

“My skills are and were fine both prior and after the war.”

—————

“Sweetheart, I think you need to get your sight checked out,” You told Oliver one morning before he headed off to practice. “You’re missing more shots on your right, even though you’re right handed. People are starting to pick up on that.”

“I still catch the quaffle,” Oliver muttered. “That’s what matters.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I’m just saying your reaction time is slower and more have been slipping through. You know, as an analyst for an opposing team I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

Oliver sighed. “That’s the eye.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh. I forgot it was the right one. I thought you got it healed?”

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Oliver had taken a confundus charm to the eye. For a while his eye was completely confounded and unable to focus. Eventually the healers were able to resituate it back to normal; however, Oliver’s vision had not quite yet returned back to normal.

“It can still get a bit blurry and spinny.”

“You need to talk to the coaches, Oliver. That can be a danger for you,” you said. You wrapped your arms around him. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you will overcome this and learn to play with it, but I need you safe. You have a family to come home to.”

Oliver nodded and hugged you. “I promise, leannan. I promise.”

—————

“Was there ever tension or conflict when you played the Pride?”

Oliver shrugged. “Y/N and I had a deal. We would note interfere between Puddlemere and the Pride of Portree. Teams have multiple strategists, and while, aye, she was their main one there were others to take care of handling strategies against Puddlemere. As for me, in my entire career, I never played a game against them—even after she retired and took over the broom business. The main keeper during my early years and reserve in my later years always played.”

“Seriously? Not even after she retired? You could’ve. It would’ve just furthered your career.”

“Perhaps, but I also knew that if I did it would make me wife choose between her husband and the team she grew to love. I couldn’t do that to her. Plus it kept me in shape.”

————

You saw Oliver walk down the stairs carrying your newborn girls and Al clinging to his back. “I thought you had a game today,” you asked as he set Al down and tried to put Holly and Hazel into the highchairs. Rowan and Willow followed behind them.

“”Play quidditch, daddy?” Willow asked. “We go watch a game?”

“Puddlemere plays Portree today. I never play against them.” Oliver sat down and started to feed the twins breakfast.

“But, Oliver,” you said confused, “That was when I worked for them. I don’t work for them anymore. You can play if you want to.”

He shook his head. “Today is for us.”

“Us? Like you and mum or the whole family?” Rowan asked.“

The whole family,” Oliver answered. “I’ve gone this long not playing Portree. No reason to start now. Besides, the team means so much to you, Y/N. I can’t put you between them and me. It’ll be a good day for us all to hang out too. Be a proper family.”

You smiled as you set the rest of breakfast in front of your children and helped Al get his food while WIllow and Rowan snatched theirs up. “That actually sounds amazing. Thank you, Oliver. Anything in mind for us to do today?”

“Perhaps the beach? The sun is out for once.”

“You just want to even out your tan line,” Rowan chuckled. Oliver glared at his son, knowing he was absolutely correct.

————

“You could’ve had another few years to your career. Why did you retire? Your retirement came before your predecessor’s exit.”

Oliver thought for a moment, wondering if he should tell the whole truth. “I was a father to six. I had just found out Reed was going to be born—“

“Is Reed your sixth kid?”

“No he’s the seventh and final.”

“Can you tell me who all your kids are. I’m getting them confused.”

Oliver huffed. “In order there is: Rowan, Willow, Alder, we call him Al, the twins, Holly and Hazel, followed by Ash, and ending with Reed.”

“One more time.”

Oliver sighed. He couldn’t take much more of this. “Rowan, Willow, Alder, Holly, Hazel, Ash, and Reed.”

The reporter finished writing those down. “Got it.”

“As I was saying, I had just found out my youngest child was on the way and I had also found out some other news.”

————

“Pregnant?”

You nodded. “I know we hadn’t planned this. It’s kid number seven,” You sat down next to him. “Oh Merlin, it’ll be our seventh child. We’re going to have a full team, Oliver. Al starts Hogwarts next year. Willow is starting her second year this year. Rowan takes his OWLS this year! The twins just started nursery school. Ash is finally no longer scared of the loo.”

“I’m going to retire,” Oliver said suddenly.

“What?” you gasped. “Oliver, darling, you don’t need to do that. Dorian and I run PopPop’s business just fine. You don’t need to give up your career. We support you. I support you.”

Oliver kissed your cheek and rested his hand against your stomach. “I’m almost 40, Y/N. I’ve been missing goals at practice for a while. Coach sent me to a healer during practice. There’s no more quidditch for me. Too many bludgers to the head. We make quite the pair. They found that part of my brain is swollen. I have to have treatment for a few more weeks and I’ll be good as new.”

You threw your arms around him and held him close. “Oh Oliver. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to act differently in front of the kids. I found out all the details today though. I’m telling Coach tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you have to do this, Oliver.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’m getting old anyway. This was going to happen eventually. I missed parts of my kids' lives because of quidditch. No more of that.”

“They’ll be heartbroken, you know.”

Oliver nodded. “What about you?”

“I just want you safe and happy. I will always support your choice. I can’t lose you, Oliver. You’re silly to think I’d ever let you near a bludger again now.”

Oliver chuckled remembering his promise to you all those years ago. “Poor Al. No more bludgers for the Woods. We’re gonna need to find a place to send him.”

“I ran into an old classmate of ours. She’s married to Marcus Fli—”

“I’m not sending me son to play with a bludger at Marcus Flint’s place! I’d rather take him to Weasley!”

————

Oliver watched the reporter go with a smile on his face. That was the last one. He couldn’t handle continuously doing those. His agent was right; he just needed to write a damn book.

“Is the reporter done?”

Oliver turned and his smile became a grin as he kissed you. “Aye. Thank Merlin too. That was an imbecile. I’m gonna have to write that book so I don’t have to deal with any more of them.”

You grinned and hugged him. “I told you so. Come on now, sweetheart. They’re all waiting for you.”

“Can you believe Al is off to Hogwarts tomorrow?”

You shook your head as you snuggled into him. “That leaves us with four though. We’re not quite at an empty nest, Oliver.”

“I know. It’s just,” Oliver paused. “As I answered questions I just thought back to different moments in our life. Did you ever think we’d get here? That we’d build this...this...this empire of ours?”

You smiled. “I always hoped. I couldn’t imagine living my life with anyone else. Though our life is full of quidditch, in so, so many ways, you still made sure it was about so much more than that. Now come Oliver. Our little empire is ready to eat dinner.”

————---------

“Are we almost there?” You asked Oliver. “I feel like we’ve been walking forever. Why couldn’t we have just apparated?”

Oliver chuckled as he gripped your hand tighter to make sure he didn’t lose you as you climbed higher on the hill. “That would ruin the magic of it all, leannan.”

“Can you give me any clues, Oliver? Besides the fact it must be a decent spot for a picnic,” You glanced down at the picnic basket in your hand. When Oliver had invited you to his home, you were excited. Never before had you been to his family home in the highlands. You had met his family at his sisters’ homes. “You know the only thing I know about the highlands is that you are from here, and you don’t even live here anymore!”

“We’re almost there anyway,” he answered. “This is a place me dad took me mum when they were like us. When I told them about you, he brought me in case you were my gu bràth. We’re in the midst of Loch Katrine. It can be a popular place for muggle photographers to come take photos but they’re quite intimidated by this mountain, thanks to magic.”

Oliver helped you climb up a few more meters. You saw the giant grin on his face. This must be someplace special. He was just as excited as if they were about to jump right into a game of quidditch. You set the basket down and felt his hand squeeze yours. “Look at it, leannan. It’s beautiful.”

Finally you turned to join him, and he wasn’t wrong The area of Loch Katrine was gorgeous as the leaves had started to change. “This is beautiful, Oliver. It is absolutely gorgeous here.”

His smile grew and he pulled you closer. Your head rested on his chest and listened to the sound of his beating heart. Afterwhile he whispered, “I have found strength in your arms. We have built the foundation for an amazing love, and you will always rule my heart. Nobody can or will ever destroy what we have.”

You burrowed closer into his chest and felt his arms wrap around you more. Oliver had always been a ray of hope, and you knew he would continue to be one for you. You knew, you could feel your relationship growing in many ways at that moment. You hoped to Merlin, as you looked across the Scottish highlands in the arms of the man you loved, that someday you would build an indestructible empire with him. It is what you both deserved.

#oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood one shot #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood reader insert #hp imagine #hp one shot #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #my own work #iliveiloveiwrite3.5k

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parasite-core · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on the PCs so far

Dariax: An absolute treat. I knew going in I was looking forward to seeing Matt as a PC but oh man. He said he was turning his brain off and being a chaotic PC and by god did he do it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a healer who’s both low int AND low wis so this will be fun. Strong contender for favorite. Can’t wait for the inevitable prank war.

Dorian: He’s pretty. I hope Robbie sings at least once. He’s a bard and Robbie has a good voice it would be cool of him to do that. I haven’t totally gotten a bead on how I feel about Dorian as a character yet entirely but I generally like him. I like secret rich kids with a heart of gold running away from their gilded cage, because that’s totally who he is right? That’s the vibe I got from that one conversation at least. Also he’s pretty did I mention that? He is aesthetic.

Orym: 13 int means he is the owner of the only braincell. He’s also the token good boy. Well Dorian didn’t want to steal either so they can be good boys together. (And maybe kiss you know maybe I want Dorian and Orym to kiss just a little). I was surprised str was the fighter’s lowest stat then he used boots of striding and springing and started throwing daggers in that fight so apparently he’s just short discount Air Ashari Vax. J/

Fearne: Contender number two for favorite. She is pretty and I love the juxtaposition between soft spoken soft pretty nature fawn who is an absolute chaos druid covered in poisonous plants with a fire monkey who may or may not be evil (I love Little Mister). I adore how Ashley plays her so far. She’s just so softly chaotic.

Opal: Contender number three for favorite. She has no filter and yells to the sky for food or for her grandma or for the guards (one out of three worked. It was the wrong one.) I love her. She mildly reminds me of Jester, but less…focused? Jester was chaos that was directed, she knew what she was doing even when it seemed like she was doing the most random things (see: giving a hag a cupcake). Opal is just pastel chaos warlock who shot someone in the dick and won a pissing contest on their first day together, and I love her for it.

#exandria unlimited #exu spoilers #exu #I can’t wait for next week #the no braincells brigade #that’s what I’m calling them until they get a real team name #oh also I didn’t say it up there but Fearne and Opal should kiss too #none of this is serious shipping just idle ‘yeah they should kiss’ thoughts

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dreadfutures · 3 years ago

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AUs, Pairings, Prompts

Please copy + paste the whole prompt WITH A CHARACTER OR PAIRING SPECIFIED.

Formerly-Tranquil Felassan & Ixchel Lavellan

DAI/current continuity Solas & Formerly Tranquil Felassan (past Solas/Felassan)

Warden Halevune Mahariel/Morrigan (DAO, DAO:A, or DAI)

Feel free to elaborate/specify/expand/come up with your own! Please send them WITH A CHARACTER OR PAIRING SPECIFIED.

Prompt Lists Here. Details of AUs and Pairings below the cut.

Couples Dialogue

Emotional Intimacy and Pillowtalk

Kiss Prompts

Eerie Vague Prompts

Aberdeen Gothic

Enormity of Desire

For The Damaged

Highly Specific Horror Vibes

Prompts with Children

Betrayal Prompts

Dragon Age Specific Dialogue Prompts

Hidden Injury

Quotes from a Hero

Concise Horror Prompts

Touching

50 Kisses

Quotes about Death

Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy

Gestures

Love Epiphanies

The Fall 2003 Prompts

Hanal’ghilan 2022

Wintery Prompts

Some Winter Weather

Winter Sensory Prompts

Winter Song Lyrics

Eerie Vague Prompts - Autumn

Hit ‘em where it hurts

Hand Prompts

Subtle Smut Prompts

FLUFFUARY 2022

14DaysDALovers 2022

Scarlet Pimpernel 1982 Prompts

The Language of Thorns

Circe Prompts

Miscellaneous Dialogue Prompts

Trope Bingo

Linkin Park Lyrics

Sensory Prompts

Short and Angsty Prompts

Touches

Midnight Mass Prompts

Winter Holiday Themed Prompts

Strange Philosophies Prompts

Pairings

Romantic

Solas x Ixchel Lavellan (#broken mirrors)

Morrigan x Halevune Mahariel (#old blood older still)

Garrett Hawke x Fenris

young!Ixchel Lavellan x Kieran ( #shadows in the sun)

Dirthamen x Ixchel Lavellan (#sunbird)

Felassan x Solas

Platonic (feel free to mix and match characters) (#cage of the ribs)

Ixchel Lavellan & Merrill

Ixchel Lavellan & Dorian Pavus

Ixchel Lavellan & Vivienne

Ixchel Lavellan & Solas

Ixchel Lavellan & Halevune Mahariel

Ixchel Lavellan & Morrigan

Ixchel Lavellan & Kieran

Ixchel Lavellan & Felassan

Ixchel Lavellan & Terinelan Lavellan (First Lavellan)

Ixchel Lavellan & Gethrael (a friend’s OC, a Dalish Spirit Healer and Keeper)

Ixchel Lavellan & Talenna Ethera (a friend’s OC, a Dalish mage and skald to the Inquisition)

Solas & Merrill

Solas & Dorian

Felassan & Briala

Felassan & Cole

Morrigan & Kieran (#old blood older still)

Halevune Mahariel & Kieran (#old blood older still)

-:-:-

AUs:

Bloodied & Broken

Ixchel is 27, it’s her second life/”fix-it”/”redo” of DAI. She is angry, tired, depressed, and determined not to let any of that stop her from saving the world--by convincing Solas that this life is worth living, and this world, worth saving. (Spoiler: she does.)

Prompts end up being either part of future fic events, or stolen moments from the fic that just weren’t included. :)

SubAU: “one wild and precious life” - in the distant future after Bloodied&Broken is done, Solas is in uthenera, Ixchel has a romance with Sebastian Vael, who is a widower as well.

Elvhenan

**anything and everything magic, Elvhen, empires, and spooktacular eldritch horrorness**

Because of time travel shenanigans, young!Ixchel at the Conclave is replaced by resurrected!Ixchel, but some kind of melding happens in the interim, where she gets some of older Ixchel's memories or at least feelings. Young!Ixchel pops up into pre-Arlathan Elvhenan. She has the Anchor, but there is no Veil. She has vallaslin, but not mind-controlling type (no lyrium in it).

Everything about this AU is based around prompts so send them away!

Shadows in the Sun (young!timeline)

My (tentative?) DA4 canon: Inquisitor Ixchel, in her early 20s, is running across Thedas in search of ways to stop Fen’Harel or convince her old friend to change his ways. Kieran, her childhood friend (they’re roughly the same age), appears on one of her lonesome journeys...and asks her for help. His mother (who drank the Well) has gone missing, and he needs Ixchel’s help finding her.

-:-:-

Pairings

Bloodied & Broken:

Romantic

Solas x Ixchel Lavellan (#broken mirrors)

Morrigan x Halevune Mahariel (#old blood older still)

Ixchel Lavellan x Sebastian (widow/widoer, political marriage au, a love of equals and integrity) (#one wild and precious life)

Garrett Hawke x Fenris (I don’t have a lot in mind for these two except that their relationship is inspired by Batman 2022 Batman/Catwoman)

Platonic

Ixchel Lavellan & Cassandra Pentaghast

Ixchel Lavellan & Dorian Pavus

Ixchel Lavellan & Vivienne

Ixchel Lavellan & Solas

Ixchel Lavellan & Halevune Mahariel

Ixchel Lavellan & Morrigan

Ixchel Lavellan & Gethrael (a friend’s OC, a Dalish Spirit Healer and Keeper)

Ixchel Lavellan & Syrillon (a friend’s OC, a Dalish elf who now works as a bodyguard for an Antivan prince)

Ixchel Lavellan & Briala (wary allies and revolutionaries)

Morrigan & Kieran (#old blood older still)

Halevune Mahariel & Kieran (#old blood older still)

Send me obscure DA OCs... I probably have some plans for them as Inquisition agents or something.

Elvhenan:

Romantic

Dirthamen x Ixchel Lavellan ( #sunbird)

Solas x Felassan

Platonic

Ixchel Lavellan & Solas | Fen’Harel

Ixchel Lavellan & Glory (Rivalry)

Ixchel Lavellan & Hope(aka Felassan)

Ixchel Lavellan & Andruil (Enemies)

Ixchel Lavellan & Deceit (Protege & Mentor)

Dirthamen & Solas

Any ancient elf NPC is fair game!

Shadows in the Sun:

Romantic

Ixchel Lavellan x Jester (Leliana’s Agent)

Ixchel Lavellan x Kieran (#shadows in the sun, chaste)

Platonic

Ixchel Lavellan & Cassandra Pentaghast

Ixchel Lavellan & Dorian Pavus

Ixchel Lavellan & Solas (Solavellan Hell)

Ixchel Lavellan & Morrigan (Daughter & Mother found family ish)

Ixchel Lavellan & Kieran (friends)

Ixchel Lavellan & Lace Harding

Ixchel Lavellan & Charter

Ixchel Lavellan & Varric

Send me obscure DA OCs... I probably have some plans for them as Inquisition agents or something.

Filled Prompts

General Ixchel Lavellan:

“the eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty”

To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window, Adelaide Crapsey

her reaction to Fairbanks' death

Morrigan, Mahariel (+ Kieran) (#old blood older still)

“they spooned all night and finally felt cared for”

“Taking a bath together”

“Shivering in a place where the Veil is thin”

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Promise. Promise me you’ll stay.”

“pulling one toward the other”

“Everybody has a face that they hold inside”

‘I did it selfishly, in bitter heart, and I would bear the consequence.’

‘death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.’

"but there was only 1 bed... that they collapsed into, exhausted"?

"death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it"

begone. I prefer you in the dark.’

Something isn’t right about (setting). Something is off.” in the woods

kissing the top of their head

Midjourney AI: “dreambook" + “a black dog who answers to my whistle"

sometimes the unseen is not to be feared and those that are meant to love us most are not always the ones that do.

The leaves start to fall from the trees. One day, you notice a crow on the grass from your window. You don’t remember when was the last time you saw one. The next day there are three. After a week, there’s so many you can’t count them anymore. You begin to wonder if the darkness at night is just the absence of sunlight

'the full moon is beautiful and faint against the noonday sky, when you blink, it changes expression, when you sleep, it carves canyons in the clouds, when you wake, it stands outside your window with a casket in its arms’

people like us don’t get to decide when we’re done.

sometimes the unseen is not to be feared and those that are meant to love us most are not always the ones that do

Mahariel &...

Merrill - you’re not at war anymore, you can come home

Lavellan/Dirthamen (Arlathan, #sunbird):

One character playing with the other’s hair

"No one has a heart of stone.”

death is the only god who comes when called

“Do you feel at peace?”

“Did you dress up just for me?”

“I’m alive. I can tell because of the pain.”

“You pick up every rose in sight but all the roses die; I’d rather keep them alive, roots grow slowly”

“ kiss me again, but don’t stop this time. “

there’s nothing crueler than letting a dream end midway.

A shimmer of water droplets in the sun

Knowledge has entertained me and it has shaped me and it has failed me. Something in me still starves

❛ you don’t have to be gentle. i won’t break.

"one lives in the hope of becoming a memory.

Solavellan (#broken mirrors)

One character washing another’s hair

“Everything here feels wrong. The Veil…is far too thin.”

One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/ etc

“I sleep better when you’re around”

“tasting their smile”

One falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap.

“Reading a book together”

Destroy me again / Is there still something I need to have? / Destroy me again / Until I feel I know.

"putting a hand over the other's mouth to shut them up

(Mulled cider) Poison veiled by fragrant clove

The Invitation (by Oriah Mountain Dreamer)

Person A placing small flowers into person B’s hair as they rest under the shade of a tree

[cup] holding someone’s face in both hands and brushing cheeks with thumbs

an old song can be sung by new tongues but it starts blackening the lips of the chanters, there is ink bleeding from the snowdrifts and the sun refuses to rise

[ passing confidence ] – for the sender’s muse brush their finger’s against the receiver’s muse’s hand, too scared to hold their hand.

'(Pale) Fingers laced and gripping too tightly'

Garrett Hawke x Fenris (#Fenhawke)

napping together

kiss on the forehead

you’ll soon find we’re out of time.

in my dreams, we’re still together.

listening to the other’s heartbeat

DA2

Walk then. Come on, walk towards me. I bet you can’t even take a step’

Cassandra, Lavellan:

“Braiding the other’s hair”

“A mentor/mentee moment”

“If it bleeds, it can be killed.” “Well, it doesn’t.”

"this reminds me of you”

that’s not how god works.

Lavellan, Briala:

“You said you trusted me. What changed?”

Lavellan, Vivienne:

“One falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap.”

‘ love speaks in flowers. truth requires thorns. ’

Lavellan, Dorian:

“Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.”

“Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.”

(+ Solas) “I am trying to do the job that you were meant to do.

(+ Felassan) To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window, Adelaide Crapsey

the worst of it all, it’s that if you ask now, i will forgive you.

alk then. Come on, walk towards me. I bet you can’t even take a step

Lavellan, Varric:

Musee des Beaux Arts" by W.H. Auden

Solas, Merrill

it's never too late to do the right thing,

a place that feels eerily familiar to you, like you knew it in a dream

Something has been following us for awhile now.

young!Lavellan, Kieran (#shadows in the sun)

“Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.”

“Cafuné (Brazilian Portueguese): The act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair”

hide and seek, + morrigan

"Cafuné (Brazilian Portueguese): The act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair”

Ixchel Lavellan, Gethrael Lavellan:

hugging each other

“everyone gets their wings clipped at some point”

Ixchel Lavellan, Talenna Ethera:

Logs on a Fire' and 'Falling asleep together

Ixchel Lavellan, Terinelan Lavellan:

a place that feels eerily familiar to you, like you knew it in a dream

Lavellan, Merrill

They say she sold her soul to a dark god.

a ring of gold hanging from a chain of iron, untouched by weather, unmarred by time, a warning, a monument, a curse

The shadow you see out of the corner of your eye

Lavellan, Felassan (Arlathan):

playing with the other’s hair

Lavellan, Felassan (now):

Having their hair washed by the other.

"keep reading. I want to see how long you'll last." + Solas

an old song can be sung by new tongues but it starts blackening the lips of the chanters, there is ink bleeding from the snowdrifts and the sun refuses to rise

experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn.

Lavellan, Fen’Harel (Arlathan):

“cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once”

Lavellan, Glory (Arlathan):

“Dueling with swords, and slowly cutting off bits of the enemy’s clothes.”

Ixchel Lavellan/Sebastian Vael (#one wild and precious life)

“I have never known such a wondrous thing in all my life as you”

“delaying death is one of my hobbies”

pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

being confused because they thought this couldn’t happen to them

there’s nothing crueler than letting a dream end midway.

“it was just a dream.” / “I...I don’t think so.”

Lace Harding:

petrichor - The smell of dry rain on the ground

Solas (Pride) & Dirthamen:

Ozymandias: “Nothing beside remains. Round the decay / Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare / The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

"What violent words from a silent tongue; what loudly righteous prayers from this coward's lungs."

Solas (Pride) &(and / ) Felassan:

“The birds in his belly crave greener pastures!”

‘that’s the worst prophecy I’ve ever heard. ‘

Adonais: For he is gone, where all things wise and fair / Descend—oh, dream not that the amorous Deep / Will yet restore him to the vital air; / Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

pour the gold of your heart over mine, / shining rivulets filling up the cracks / left by other burdens / of another time

i’m afraid to need you.

Felassan & Cole:

"you already know how this will end"

#prompts #da drunk writing circle

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theharellan · 4 years ago

Photo

In Hushed Whispers

The information detailed in this post relate to Thora Cadash (also written by me over at @ourdawncomes) for convenience’s sake but can be easily transferred over to any other Heralds who choose to help the mages.

After the Herald’s disappearance Solas struggles against the Venatori reinforcements with other companions, but is eventually overcome and imprisoned. Many die in the attempt, but ultimately Solas is weaker than he ever has been in his life, and so is taken alongside the others.

It is eventually discovered that he played a role in saving the Herald’s life after they received the Anchor, and so he is taken in for interrogation. He divulges information that he believes is safe for him (believing the Herald dead) to reveal but is able to keep most information to himself, his saving grace being that the Venatori didn’t expect much from one of his apparent nature.

Second to Solas’ fear of dying alone is a fear of cages. He does not take his imprisonment lying down and spends his waking hours listening for information that will help in his escape. When he dreams, he searches for the Herald’s remaining companions (in Thora’s playthrough it’s Blackwall, but any companion besides Varric can be substituted).

While searching for them, he discovers the dreams of @theshirallen, a fellow captive held in the form of a wolf. The two end up falling in love, although due to their degrading dreams they are separated for several months prior to the Herald and Dorian’s reappearance.

When he finds the dreams of the other companion (again, excepting Varric who doesn’t dream) he devises a plan to escape, likely cloaked under the shadow of another outside assault on Redcliffe Castle. An escape attempt is eventually mounted, but thwarted by the Venatori. During this attempt he sustains injuries which never heal, his breathing is noticeably shallower throughout the journey through Redcliffe Castle.

At a certain point during his imprisonment Solas’ dreaming abilities are disrupted by the slow corruption of red lyrium. While he may still dream, they are clouded and perceiving anything becomes untenable.

His behaviour overall aligns with what we observe in games. He’s able to keep up with Dorian’s explanation of what happened better than other companions, having experience with the nebulous flow of time pre-Veil, that makes him an easy ally when it comes time to mount the charge against Alexius. His actions are overall more defined by regret, although he conceals what he can he is more sorrowful than the game is able to demonstrate prior to his final stand.

While exploring the hallway where Leliana is kept, the sound of a wolf causes Solas to prompt the party to search a nearby room containing a caged red wolf. He undoes the restraints binding the imprisoned wolf and sustains a bite for his troubles, but if allowed it earns the Herald an additional party member in form of Ian. The two are evidently involved in some capacity, given the circumstances of their meeting the nature of their relationship is ill-defined even for them.

For Thora this has an early affect on her perception of Solas, in her own words she sees how willing he is to bleed for the people he loves and the depths of his affections become obvious. And so this revelation may also affect how other Heralds and Dorian perceive my Solas. When Ian is recruited (in a universe where they have yet to meet) it will also obviously change the perception of their relationship, especially as it starts out slightly hostile.

Ian is a healer outside of this quest, but red lyrium stole the ability from him, so Solas carries the injury to his arm to his death.

Despite having a somewhat detached perspective when first rescued, it does become obvious that Solas is dreading dying, and through he does call attention to the likelihood that he was acquainted with the demons of Corypheus’ army before their corruption. The demon that eventually kills him was undoubtedly a friend, once.

This doesn’t have much to do with any headcanons about the unfolding of the quest, but I need to note that this future does not have anything in common with the future Solas wanted had he received the Anchor. I’ve seen people say that him wanting to go through with his plan having seen the future doesn’t make sense, somehow missing the fact that Solas was actively working to avert the future we see by helping the Inquisition close the Breach. The slow opening of the Breach and the rifts opening across the land weren’t what Solas had in mind, although it was going to be destructive in its own way.

Solas will confront Heralds who conscript the mages, especially if they promised that he would be safe among the Inquisition. Depending on their answer they might lock out his friendship even if they receive his personal quest.

He is unsure whether to believe what the Herald saw, at this point he does not trust Dorian nor does he entirely trust the Herald’s own perception even if they are beginning to become friends. If the Herald expresses some question about what they saw rather than believing it blindly. Over time he does come to accept that it did happen, as the Fade near Redcliffe is permanently changed from the experience, although he doesn’t experience the memories of his time there.

Solas doesn’t appear as he does prior to the one year timeskip. Red lyrium aside, he hasn’t had much in the way of baths or grooming in a year’s time. At this point he has a few inches of hair and his clothes are ragged and torn, and he has several new scars. The most noticeable would be scars on his throat from his own nails.

#in hushed whispers ( quests )#( headcanons )#i have found a home in him ( ian x solas )#v; i am dying‚ but no matter ( red lyrium )#show that mercy to me ( thora )#[ since im gonna reply to that red lyrium verse thread w/ joly soon ]#[ by soon i mean next week hopefully ]

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dacompanionreactions · 5 years ago

Note

How would dai companions react to a human/dwarf/elf reaver inquisitor becoming progressively draconic/monstrous over time? (Sharper teeth, scales, horn growths etc)

I think my heart broke a little writing this one...

At first the changes were subtle. It started with slightly pointed teeth, then two small nubs appeared on their forehead. Their skin toughened like stone, losing its colour to an ashen grey. Their temper grew short, and when they fought in battle, there wasn’t enough left of the corpses to burn. Reavers terrorised their enemies, and in the end, their abilities would kill them.

Cassandra is pained to see her friend like this. On their good days, their bantering would turn into harsh words that cut a person down to their soul. On their bad days? Cassandra grew up on exaggerated tales of Reavers and what their abilities did to a person, but they didn’t seem exaggerated when compared to the Inquisitor. She lets it be known that as much as it may pain her, if she finds them hurting their companions or advisors, she will end it for them. Because by the time their horns are long enough to curl and scales have consumed their body, there is nothing left of the kind, loving soul Cassandra grew to love.

Varric hates it. The horns? Weird. Teeth? Freaky shit. Temper? Downright terrifying. He’s a writer, but he doesn’t write about ‘that one time the Inquisitor tore someone’s arm off with dragon-like strength and stabbed them with their claws because they didn’t like them’. He opts to write about what they were like before the horns and scales. How they’d cross war-torn land to rest flowers at a shrine, how they would spend hours searching for rare herbs for the healers, how they once supported their companions instead of threatening to smite them if they voiced an opposing opinion. It would be something nice to remember them by after they were gone.

Solas finds himself apologising, but never directly to the Inquisitor - if he did, he would likely not survive the encounter. He apologises because he is responsible for what is happening to them. He created the orb that sundered the skies. Naturally, there is only so much helplessness one can take before they turn to darker alternatives. He researches what he can to see if there is a way to reverse the effects of being a Reaver, but to no avail. Soon their mind is gone, and Solas grieves for what could have been.

Dorian did not join the Inquisition to be part of a terrorist organisation. He’s tired of stepping on eggshells around the Inquisitor, tired of being snapped at for the smallest things. Their temper could bring Cassandra to tears, a feat not many would dare to achieve. When the Inquisitor sends yet another poor soul off to be executed for being in their way, he finally snaps, starting a shouting match between them. Dorian very rarely loses his cool, so he leaves Skyhold permanently. He is sorry that it has come to this.

Sera is a firebrand - she has the mouth of a sailor and the freedom to express what she thinks... or she had. Being with the Inquisitor feels like she has a leash around her. She feels caged. She can’t say anything because she’ll likely die, but she can’t do nothing either. One night, Sera finds herself with her bow and an arrow in the bowstring. But she can’t do it. She can’t bring herself to kill the person she once saw as her dearest friend. So she leaves, joining the Jennies in Val Royeaux.

Blackwall is a liar. He’s done some terrible things, and every day he beats himself up about it. It is because of this that he can’t understand how the Inquisitor lives with themselves. They brush off their killing-sprees, acting as if they went on a menial task like shopping. He’s disgusted - not with them, but the situation that drove them to pursue Reaver abilities.

It is difficult for a Spirit of Compassion to hate anything. At Cole’s core, he is an entity of good. He wants to help the Inquisitor. “The dragon’s blood burns bright in you, almost as bright as the Anchor. It’s angry, a dry, cracked anger.” Their actions are not their fault, he knows this. In the end, Cole can’t help them. After all, how does one heal a broken mind?

Bull approved at first. He thought the horns looked pretty badass. Then scales appeared on the Inquisitor’s skin, and it started to worry him. When he’s faced with choosing between the Chargers and the Qun, the Inquisitor is indifferent to the consequences. At the end of the day, the Chargers are dead and Bull is numb. He approaches the Inquisitor, and suddenly they are nothing like the person he once knew. The Chargers are gone. The Inquisitor is gone. He’s never felt worse in his life.

Vivienne was always wary of Reaver abilities. She’s well-read, so she knows the consequences. After the changes began, she threw herself into research. She understands that the Inquisition’s enemies must be dealt with effectively. What Vivienne cannot fathom is how the Inquisitor can justify slaughtering innocents. When her research falls short, she is beside herself with frustration and disappointment. She wanted to help her friend. Now she’s left with a horned beast of a person. No. Not even a person anymore.

Cullen is a strong man. He’s seen a lot of terrible things in his lifetime, and he is grateful to the Inquisitor for helping him battle his lyrium addiction. Was. He can’t stay grateful to a monster. Their constant snapping and threats of death would send Cullen into breakdowns when no one was around. He’s had enough. Ending it for them would be a mercy. His friend is long gone, lost to the bloodlust of dragon’s blood.

Leliana has done questionable things as spymaster of the Inquisition, it’s true. However, she’s never done them without full belief that it was deserved. The Inquisitor, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy inflicting pain, especially when it wasn’t deserved. She can handle their temper on the worst of days, but not everyone else can. The Inquisitor is insane. Her kind, loving friend was replaced by a horned psychopath. Leliana instructs her spies to ‘handle the problem’, so to speak. “Make it painless.”

Josephine is rarely brought to tears, but the Inquisitor’s actions give her good reason to weep. It’s utterly horrible. She can’t deal with their violent outbursts any longer. She reaches out to her contacts around Thedas, begging for an cure for their abilities. She receives answers, though none are helpful. Josephine is distraught at losing her dear friend. She wishes things had gone differently.

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the-lightning-mage · 3 years ago

Text

Inquisition OC as a Companion

I’ve already made a post about some stuff about Holly, but I love the format @little-lightning-lavellan made, and it really made me think. The picture is my best attempt at making her on artbreeder.

You have selected Holly Trevelyan to join your party!

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Class: Mage

Specialization: Rift mage

Background:

Holly Trevelyan is the second youngest of seven children born to Bann and Lady Trevelyan. Born in 9:12 Dragon, she is also the only mage of the family. She came into her magic when she was 12, and thus spent most of her life in the Circle. Due to the more lax nature of the Ostwick Circle, and her being from a noble family, she was able to regularly send and receive letters. The only person she ever really got letters from is her younger sibling. This caused them to be incredibly close despite the distance.

In her early years she spent most of her time studying healing magic in hopes it would help let her get out of the circle. After lots of discouragement, she ended up giving up on that dream. Instead she focused her studies on storm based magic, as she had always found rain and thunder comforting.

After reading several books, and hearing several accounts as to how much more advanced Tevinter magic could be in certain areas, she had a new goal. She decided to try to harness electrical based magic so that it could be used as an energy source. This path has led to her becoming one of the most powerful storm based mages in Thedas.

When the talks of rebellion began, she was a part of them. She hated being cooped up all the time, and she had heard horror stories of how other mages were treated. When the rebellion began, she was not so involved. She was horrified by the levels of wrathful violence some of her peers employed. She spent a lot of time helping people escape. When she herself did, she knew that the entirety of the rebellion could not be like that, and she seriously considered joining them. Instead she decided to go find her younger sibling. That choice only solidified when she heard of what happened to the Conclave.

She becomes a rift mage because that is what either a. Killed her sibling or b. Almost killed them.

Dragon Age: Inquisition

She arrives in Haven shortly before the party leaves to address the Chantry in Val Royeaux. She shows up not to necessarily join the Inquisition, but in an attempt to find out what happened to her sibling. She can be found just outside the gates near the stables arguing with Cullen, demanding information.

If the Inquisitor is human, and thus her sibling, the conversation to recruit her flows a lot more smoothly. She will then ask to be part of the Inquisition, saying she damn near had a heart attack when she thought they had died, and that they had been apart for far, far too long. If she is refused, the Inquisitor will tell her to go home. There will be a war table mission to ensure she gets there safely. If she is accepted, she rises through the ranks rather quickly due to her skill. Solas will accuse the Inquisitor of nepotism.

If the inquisitor is not human, she will get emtional, wanting to know where her sibling is. She will demand to join the Inquisition to get justice for her fallen sibling. If denied, she will join the rebel mages instead. If they are sided with, she will technically be part of the Inquisition, but not as a companion. If not, she discovers Dorian, gives him what info she has, and flees. If she is accepted, there will be a war table mission to find her sibling’s remains or something they had on them.

In Haven, she can be found near the Inquisitor’s cabin. In Skyhold she can be found in one of the unused towers near Cullen’s office. It will have fancy looking equipment for her experiments.

She can be used to gather rebel mage support.

Approval and Romance

As they are siblings, human Inquisitors will have an easier time gaining approval, but for certain situations, they will face greater disapproval than non-humans. For example, non-humans will get “Holly disapproves” if they conscript the mages instead of treating them as allies, but humans will get “Holly greatly disapproves.”

When it comes to the big decisions, like what to do with the Wardens, who goes into the Well of Sorrows, etc. She tends to take in all of the “what ifs?” and bases her own opinions on that rather than her own morals. She may not like a decision, but if she thinks it will ultimately have the best out come, that is the one she goes with.

She likes to view most things from every angle she can. She prefers more merciful forms of justice, and can tend to be very forgiving. She likes it when the Inquisitor tries their best to understand others, while not necessarily condoning their actions. She likes it when they help those in need, though not as much as Cole does.

She can only be romanced by non human Inquisitors for obvious reasons, and she can be romanced by both men and women. If neither she or Cullen are romanced, they will end up in a relationship together. Instead of having a big romance scene, at high levels of approval, human Inquisitors will get an emotional scene where she tells them just how much she was worried about them.

Her personal quest involves her closest friend from the Circle. He sends her a letter telling her that he alive, and would love to catch up. It turns out to be a ploy, as he betrays her. He can be killed or talked down and shown mercy.

Her romance quest involves taking her to a few different locations throughout Orlais and Ferelden.

Trespasser

High Approval: She stayed with the Inquisition over the last to years as their advisor on matters of the Arcane. She presents them a unique weapon she had been working on in free time. Romance does not change this.

Low Approval if Cullen was romanced: She spent the last two years traveling. Seeing the world she never could see before. She helps and sends word back to the Inquisition when need be.

Low Approval if Cullen was not romanced: She remains with the Inquisition, helping where she can. She spends a lot of time helping Cullen figure out how to best utilize the mages.

Post trespasser: She spends much of her time working, and when she is able to get a working prototype she presents it to whatever Mage authority there is, and gets funding. It helps propel mages into good opinion. Details about her relationship are shared.

Combat Comments

Killing an enemy:

“Block this!”

“Eat ash!”

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me!”

Low health:

“Do we have another healer?”

“Armor failed me.”

“Help!”

Low health Inquisitor and Companions:

“Inquisitor!”

“Brother/Sister!”

“I’m on my way Dorian.”

“Maker, someone help the Seeker.”

“I’ve got you, Varric.”

“Shit... Bull!”

“Cole’s down!”

Other

Approaching camp: “I’ve always want to go camping.” “I’m not expert, but this seems like a lovely place to stop?”

Approaching a High Dragon: “Are they really that big?”

Using an ocularum for the first time: “Are you sure you don’t want me to examine it first?”

Picking up shards after finding the temple: “What are these doing all the way out here?”

Location Comments

Arbor Wilds: “It’s a shame we have to fight here.”

Old Crestwood: “No wonder they’re having problems with undead. Look at all the spirits.” “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Emerald Graves: “Am I the only one who thinks this place is beautiful?” “Wow....”

Emprise du Lion: “This... this is why I wear a cloak.” “I should summon some lightning. Start a fire and destroy the red lyrium. Two birds with one stone.”

Exalted Plains: “They really could not think of a worse name.” “A place that is a monument to humanity’s evil taken over by demons. Ironic.”

The Fallow Mire: “Ugh.” “I think I saw a bug the size of my hand.” “I love nature, but I hate this place.”

Forbidden Oasis: “This place would be nice if it weren’t for the Venatori... and the giant.” “I’m confused. Why is they’re a temple here? Who built it?”

Hinterlands: “Can we visit Redcliffe?” “So much chaos....” “We can help the people here, right?”

Hissing Wastes: “How do I have sand in my armor?” “Dwarven ruins on the surface? This is a dream come true.” “Great. Venatori.”

Storm Coast: “Crossing the Waking Sea was my favorite part of getting here.” “I actually quite like the weather.” “I wonder... is this place more prone to lightning storms?”

Western Approach: “Talk about a wasteland.” “Poison hot springs and chasms into the Deep Roads? At least there are ruins.” “I suppose this is a good place for nefarious deeds.”

Advisor and Companion comments

Blackwall: “She’s very dedicated and has a good heart. She’s what people should think of when they hear “mage.””

Cassandra: “She is very dedicated to the cause, though I worry she might set fire to Skyhold with one of her... experiments.”

Cole: “Trapped. Walled in. Caged like a fancy bird. Not anymore, but she stays because she wants to help. Is helping. She’s good, like her healing spells.”

Cullen: “She’s dedicated, clever, and very, very persistent. She’s been a great help with the mages.”

If in a relationship with her: “She’s... amazing, isn’t she? I’m not sure what she sees in me.”

Dorian: “You don’t find many people so open to new ideas, or people that are that accepting. She is excellent company.”

Iron Bull: “She’s different from the other mages. Too entrenched in her work to boast about it. Way more practical. I have a lot of respect for what she’s trying to do.”

Josephine: “Though I wish we could make better use of her noble ties. She is invaluable, and holds great conversations.”

Leliana: “It’s not often you meet someone who has truly nothing to hide.”

Sera: “I dunno. She makes too much sense for a mage, ya know? At least she’s pretty.”

Solas: “Holly? Ah. We don’t particularly get along, but I approve of what she is trying to do, and has accomplished.”

Varric: “You wouldn’t guess it, but Bookworm is just as good in battle as she is in that tower of hers. Thank the maker it takes a lot to piss her off. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of her lightning bolts.”

Vivienne: “I’ll be honest, I do not agree with her on everything, but at least she is loyal. Her work ethic is to be admired as well. She dresses rather simply though.”

Trivia

At first, everyone thinks Holly is the nickname Varric gave her. It doesn’t match her personality.

While she may not believe Dorian about the time magic, she immediately believes him and Felix about the Venatori. She had heard rumors about them before the events of Hushed Whispers, but nothing concrete enough to tell anyone.

Her relationship with Cullen starts with him asking her if she can soothe headaches. She has somewhat of a reputation for her healing magic, even if she doesn’t use it much.

She is an excellent singer.

Like Solas and Varric, she acts like a parent towards Cole.

If the Inquisitor is a human man who romances Dorian, she’ll tease him for having a type.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #trevelyan

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rufousnmacska · 5 years ago

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Goodbye and Hello - 9

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

The final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this! I really appreciate all the support and comments!

Previous chapters (full recap)

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Part Five: Waiting

Part Six: Confessions (nsfw)

Part Seven: Old Friends

Part Eight: Light in the Darkness

***

Part Nine: Not Even Close

***

The sight of Rifthold on the horizon made Manon’s heartbeat skip into an uneven rhythm. As if in warning. For the first time since she’d left on this journey, fear and regret surged through her every nerve, replacing the impatience that had pushed her these last two days. The urgency to get here was gone in an instant.

Abraxos continued on, as though he didn’t notice her change in mood. Or, he was just ignoring it. That thought made her smile, relieving some small piece of tension from her body.

She’d never admit it to him – it’d go straight to his head – but he often knew what she needed before she did. When her grandmother had gutted her, when the horrors of Morath were chasing her, when she was on her last breath, she’d told him to take her somewhere safe. Only to awaken in a bed on a ship in the middle of the sea. A ship upon which Dorian sailed. No other person on board was known to Abraxos, had even been seen by him. Yet, he’d flown her there. To Dorian.

The memory helped dispel the fear, giving her a boost of much needed courage. Her wyvern reacted by flapping his great, silvery wings a little harder, propelling them faster towards the city that began to glow before them.

It was almost dark, and as the sun disappeared, she was glad to have taken this more traditional route. The long way, instead of using a wyrd gate. Manon knew Glennis questioned the wisdom of taking the extra time flying here. The gate would’ve been faster, easier. No chance to back out. But Manon had insisted. She needed that extra time to think, to make absolutely certain of what she wanted. Flying cleared her head. It always had. And though she’d had that frightening moment of doubt an instant ago, the wind had lifted it away.

Perhaps carried on that same wind, Glennis’s words came floating back to her. The not so innocent questioning had propelled her to this moment.

*****

Five days ago...

The room was large, warm, and well furnished. Except for the fact that there was only one bed. It could easily accommodate two witches though.

“I’ll try not to snore,” Glennis said as she sat her bags in a corner.

Manon, following right behind, said, “I’ll try not to kick you when you do.”

The old witch laughed. “At least your mood hasn’t soured at the prospect of a roommate. Especially one who is not your first choice in such matters.”

It had been just over six months since Dorian first appeared in Morrigna through a wyrd gate. Petrah and Glennis knew about the king’s frequent nightly visits. Chaol and Yrene knew of the queen’s occasional stays in Rifthold. And other than a few exceptionally trustworthy guards, no one else had been told.

In order to maintain secrecy while she and Glennis were in Briarcliff to meet with Ansel, Manon would have to go a few nights without the company of the king.

Watching Glennis sort through her things, Manon smiled, realizing she was glad for this time together. They spoke every day, but there was always so much going on around them that often it felt like she hardly ever saw her great-grandmother.

“Well, you’re my first choice tonight.”

Glennis laughed again, and Manon warmed at the sight and sound. How quickly she’d grown to love the witch. How completely she relied on her. The feelings were equal parts terrifying and comforting. Manon was still trying to parse them when she realized Glennis was asking her a question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if Dorian has discussed the problem he is having with some of his nobility.”

“No,” she said, not bothering to hide her confusion. “And how would you know of it?” She knew that answer at least but wanted to make the crone squirm a bit.

As she began to remove her heavy flying clothes, Glennis tried to appear innocent. She worked at the leathers and boots with her gnarled hands for several minutes. Manon’s patience dissolved as she began to tap her foot on the floor.

“You can speak and get undressed at the same time.”

“Ha! I’m not as young as you are.” Finally, she was in her bedclothes, climbing into bed, and moving to adjust the pile of blankets atop her. “Yrene mentioned it in a letter.”

“The letters he and I carry back and forth for you?” Manon asked. “If you’re going to plot and plan behind our backs, I’m refusing to deliver them anymore.”

Her great-grandmother sat against the headboard and pulled the covers up around her. “Perhaps we wouldn’t need to … what did you accuse us of? Plotting? We wouldn’t need to plot if the two of you took matters into your own hands.”

Manon leaned on the tall corner post at the foot of the bed and crossed her arms. “What matters? What is happening with his lords?”

“They are pushing their king to find a queen.”

Something in her stomach flipped and her face paled. She turned away and began to fumble with her own leathers. “No,” she said roughly. “He did not tell me.”

“Have you never considered it?” Glennis lost the smug teasing and now sounded concerned, truly grandmotherly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

She pulled one of his shirts from her bag. It served as her bedclothes, when she needed to wear them. But she just held it, staring, trying not to inhale his scent that was still clinging to it. “Are you and Yrene aware that I once asked him? And he said no?” There was no anger, no cruelty in her words. She’d gotten over the rejection when he’d admitted that he wanted to say yes. Larger forces had kept him from it. And now, those forces were gone. She had yet to decide how that made her feel.

“No. When?”

Manon smiled. So much for not prying, she thought. Quickly, she threw the shirt on and got under the covers. Or, what was left that Glennis had not commandeered for her side. It was late spring, which meant it was still cold in the Wastes.

“The night before he left for Morath.”

Glennis sucked in a breath as a look of understanding filled her face. “Ah yes. I remember. I almost thought you’d go after him. If the call for aid had not come.” Curious now, she asked, “Would you have?”

“I don’t know,” Manon confessed. She’d felt the pull to go. The same pull she often felt around him. To him. Shaking her head, she said, “It doesn’t matter now. He said he would never cage me. Alliance or not.”

“Alliance?”

“I offered him a marriage alliance. For the war.” As she said it, she began to realize perhaps his duty to the keys wasn’t the only reason he’d turned her down. The cringe blooming on Glennis’s face seemed to confirm it. “Shit,” Manon said, flopping back on her pillow. “I made it sound like something to be … endured.” The memory of what she said came rushing back, making her feel worse. “Gods, I called it a sacrifice.”

“Oh dear.”

“Shit,” she repeated. “It’s no wonder.” A sense of frantic urgency almost overtook her as she turned to the witch. “Why is he still with me? After an insult of that magnitude?”

This time, when Glennis laughed, it didn’t make Manon feel warm and comforted. It only increased the anxiety. Almost like she knew what was coming.

“Because he is madly in love with you, granddaughter. Surely you know that! It’s written all over his face. The way he looks at you, the way he seems to…” She paused, looking for the right word. “The way he glows when he’s near you.”

Ghislaine’s books popped into her mind. The romance stories she’d glanced at that used ridiculous, flowery language and went on and on, endlessly describing feelings and heated looks and secret glances. Suddenly, she wondered if maybe she should actually read them to understand what the hell was happening to her.

Mouth halfway hanging open, she faced Glennis. “I didn’t realize …”

“Well, now you do.”

Manon said nothing, not letting herself be convinced by the observations of an old witch, who was no doubt influenced by a young, recently married healer. She couldn’t decipher their motives, and she didn’t think they were lying. But … they had to be wrong. Dorian would have said something by now.

But then she thought of the letters. And the Ferian Gap. The breakfast in bed. The gift of her favorite pastries. The wyrd gate that let her mourn in Theralis. That let them see each other whenever they wanted.

No. Glennis’s conjecture was turning her into some silly, love struck witchling.

“Do you love him?”

Her head shot around to find her great-grandmother’s curious, caring face.

Manon opened her mouth to answer, but then she stopped. What was the answer? She thought again of the Ferian Gap and asking him to dance. The books she retrieved from a place of bad memories to give to him. The pull, always towards him. Even before the war. He’d never feared her, never judged her.

Moisture began to fill her eyes as she stared intently at Glennis. “Yes,” she whispered. A sweet smile, full of love and joy, stared back at her. “But …”

The smile faded. “But what?”

“He is mortal,” Manon said, almost choking out the last word. A word she’d tried so desperately to forget. Dorian was a mortal. She was not. Losing him was a heartbreak she didn’t think she could take.

Glennis reached over and placed a cold hand on Manon’s cheek. “He is mortal.”

The affirmation of what she already knew still sent a spike of grief through her heart.

“But …” Her great grandmother had a sparkle in her eye.

“But what?” Manon asked.

Glennis sat back, beaming with some emotion Manon couldn’t decipher. “But he has raw magic, dear.”

Manon shook her head. “So? A lot was taken by the lock, he isn’t as strong as he used to be.”

Exasperation. That was the look on her face now.

“I happen to have it on good authority that he did not expend so much as to keep him from healing. He still has a substantial reserve of power.”

She knew he still had the ability to heal. But again, “So? I clearly don’t know what your point is. What authority? And what are you saying?”

"My point is that according to our continent’s greatest healer-”

Manon rolled her eyes. Not at the description of Yrene’s skill, but the meddling. Yrene and Glennis were like two little birds chirping back and forth and sticking their beaks in other peoples’ business.

“-the King of Adarlan’s magic will grant him a very, very long mortal life.”

She sat upright. “How long?”

All the amusement left Glennis’s face. “No one has the ability to predict such things. And that’s part of my point. I could drop over dead tomorrow.” Manon frowned, but Glennis kept going. “Harsh, I know. And not something I like to think about. But it’s the truth. It’s true of you as much as me. And Dorian. And Petrah and Bronwen. All of us. Do not conflate immortality with immunity from death. Long-lived by nature of being a witch or fae, or possession of raw magic … It amounts to the same thing. But,” she said, patting Manon’s arm gently, “never forget that we will all meet the same end.”

“So,” Manon started, unable to hold back a smile at Glennis’s raised eyebrow. “You’re saying that since any of us can die at any time, I shouldn’t worry about things outside my control and just enjoy the time I’m given?”

“Well said, granddaughter.”

Manon huffed a laugh, trying not to let this bright spot of hope take over too quickly. Glennis’s words, though greater in number and a bit more philosophical, mirrored Asterin’s final command to her. A command she never forgot, but one she sometimes didn’t translate well into whatever situation was troubling her.

“Do you really view marriage as a cage?” Glennis asked.

After a moment’s thought, Manon said, “I don’t know. I used to. But now, after seeing the Crochans with their husbands and wives, and the Terrasen queen with her mate …” Asterin had loved her hunter, enough to want to stay with him. Enough to regret not going back. “I’m not so sure.”

Glennis nestled down under her blankets. “I’ve seen it become so. But I’ve seen the opposite. Experienced the opposite. Marriage demands compromises and sacrifices, just as any relationship does. Allies, friends, family, lovers, spouses. None of it is easy. I can’t tell you what to do. Despite all of my plotting with Yrene,” she said with a wink, leaving Manon smiling. “It is your choice. Yours and Dorian’s. If you were to marry, the two of you determine the shape of that bond, and your paths through troubles and happiness. No one else.”

Thinking of all the interested parties, Manon wasn’t sure about that. Plenty of unimportant people, both human and witch, would offer their loud, critical opinions. And those who were important to them … Glennis, Chaol, Yrene, Petrah, maybe a few more. She wasn’t foolish enough to think they wouldn’t be among those giving unwanted advice. With a soft laugh, she realized that would be no different than her life now.

“Damn it,” she muttered, looking around the room, wishing she didn’t have to be here. Wishing she wasn’t obligated to spend two days cooped up, playing nice to get humans to stop harassing witches trying to settle near the border.

It must have shown on her face because Glennis said, “Be patient, dear. With all the meetings we have scheduled, this trip will fly by. Then you can tell him how you feel.”

And just like that, her insides somersaulted and she was glad to be here, unable to use the wyrdgate, unable to fly to Rifthold. Feigning agreement, Manon told Glennis goodnight and turned onto her side, pretending to fall asleep. But her mind and heart were racing, keeping her far from any sort of rest.

Tell him how you feel.

It sounded so simple. Just three words, spoken aloud. Laying herself completely bare in front of him in a way she’d never done before. That pathetic proposal might no longer register in her list of most humiliating memories. This confession would surely surpass it. As her imagination truly took off, envisioning myriad scenarios, almost all ending poorly, her stomach joined her heart and head. The sensation was nauseating, leaving her feel like she was falling.

Oh yes, she thought. This will be easy.

*****

“Is Manon joining us for dinner?” Yrene swung Josie around to her other arm flexing her newly freed hand in an attempt to relieve the numbness. “She’s almost too big to carry.”

“Here,” Dorian said. “I’ll hold her. She’s not too—"

Falling backwards onto the sofa, he cried out, pretending he couldn’t stand with her in his arms. Josie laughed and then screamed as she scrambled away from him. He didn’t reach for her, letting her crawl back towards him. When she was close enough, he lunged, grabbing her feet and wiggling his fingers on her chubby toes. She screeched again in between bouts of laughter. When she was gasping for breath, Dorian sat her on the floor and let her go, smiling as she crawled speedily away.

Short of breath himself, he took another moment before answering. “Not tonight. She’s in Briarcliff with Glennis. They’re meeting with Ansel about some border disputes.” They both watched Josie try to chase the dog around the kitchen table. “Not all of Ansel’s people like being so close to the witches.”

Yrene scowled. “I wish people were more open minded.”

“Like you were when you first met me?” Chaol asked as he came through the door. His wife dismissed him with a wave of her hand and went into the kitchen as Josie begged for Chaol to pick her up.

Yrene returned quickly, placing large bowls of steaming food on the table. With a decent attempt at innocence, she asked, “And when should we expect the wedding?”

Dorian sighed and didn’t reply, pretending to be too focused on scratching the dog’s belly.

“Honey,” Chaol said through clenched teeth. “It’s none of our business.”

Yrene opened her mouth to argue but she caught sight of Dorian’s face and stopped.

If Manon initiated it, he’d have the wedding tomorrow. But he’d long ago decided not to broach the subject with her. If it were to happen, it would be on her timeline, not his. As royals, they had the advantage of being able to set the terms of a marriage and union between kingdoms. That didn’t mean it was something she would look upon favorably. She’d never acknowledged it, but they both knew he had not been wrong about the cage.

To placate the sad, apologetic look on her face, Dorian winked and said, a little too brightly, “Yrene, you will be the first to know.” Her resulting smile pleased him, and they all sat down to eat.

Dorian was quiet as Chaol and Yrene talked about their day – what trouble Josie had started in the healer’s quarters, some issue with sword training and new guards, plans for the new Torre – only speaking when he offered to watch Josie one evening later in the week.

He loved them both dearly and appreciated their concern and desire to see him happy. But he wished they could understand that, marriage or not, being with Manon was enough. They already had a commitment, and thanks to the wyrd gate, the means to see each other whenever they wanted. He loved her.

And if that word had never been spoken between them yet? What did that mean?

He dipped a piece of bread in the thick stew and tossed it in his mouth. A good excuse to not have to talk. And the faster he ate, the sooner he could go back to his rooms and sulk.

*****

Josie squealed as the terrier leaped just out of her reach. He spun around, front paws stretched out, rump in the air, tail wagging like a feather, goading her to try again. He was not giving up the ball without a struggle.

Her face, pink with frustration, looked like a perfect mix of her parents, making Dorian laugh.

They continued playing, the dog teasing her with the ball as they sat in the midst of a chaos of toys in his drawing room. He tried to focus on them and not Manon. She should have returned from Briarcliff by now. That she hadn’t meant the border trouble was worse than they’d suspected. Another high pitched squeal broke through his worry. And just in time, he pulled the slobbery ball out of Josie’s hand before she could put it in her mouth. Tossing it across the room, he was grateful for this distraction. Probably not as grateful as Chaol and Yrene for the evening to themselves.

With a bright eyed grin, Josie suddenly pointed behind him to the door into his bedroom. Still sitting cross legged and holding a doll that was missing an arm, Dorian turned to find Manon watching them.

She was utterly still, her own eyes wide and shining.

Dorian blinked, thinking she was a vision, and before he could move, before he could even say hello, she shook her head and said, “This was a mistake.”

Then she turned and disappeared.

Dorian ran after her, calling her name, only to see her cross his balcony and hop onto Abraxos. It took her several commands to get him airborne, as if the wyvern was stalling, giving Dorian time to reach them. But Josie started crying from where she still sat in the other room and he skidded to a stop, looking between the toddler inside and Manon about to leave.

“Wait!” he shouted. Abraxos twisted his long neck around and gave him a sorrowful look just before Manon kicked with her legs, ordering him off the railing and into the air.

She had not looked back at him. Not once.

As they flew away, Josie’s cries reached him again and he ran back inside. She hadn’t moved, and he realized she was upset because the dog had raced off after him. He picked her up and bounced her in his arms as he paced around the room, wondering what in the hell had just happened. She quieted down quickly and, despite the guilt of interrupting their night, he called for a page to find Chaol.

It wasn’t long before Chaol and Yrene appeared, worried something had happened to Josie. But at the sight of her asleep in Dorian’s arms, they calmed down.

He was not calm though. With a quick explanation, mostly because there wasn’t much to tell them, he passed the baby off to her mother and went straight for the large closet in his bedroom. They never left a wyrd gate open, but only used them in private locations. The wyrdmarks were half written so it took him no time to complete the spell.

After a drop or two of his blood, the gate flared to life, looking out into the night sky. Darkness, a chill wind, and fragments of clouds drifting past the moon. He glanced back to Chaol, wordlessly asking him to close the gate. Chaol nodded and within a second, Dorian shifted into his raven form and flew through the flaming doorway.

His corvid eyes adjusted slowly to the lack of light, but there, flapping ahead, he spotted the brief moonlit gleam of Abraxos’s spidersilk wings. The magical door hovering behind him disappeared and Dorian sped up to try and catch them. Shifting to a wyvern gave him a boost of power and speed and soon, he was flying in their wake. Another shift, back to the raven, and he was above her. She hadn’t noticed him until the pop and buzz of magic with the final shift into his own form caught her attention. Manon looked back just as he dropped onto Abraxos’s back.

Crouching behind her, clinging to the edge of her saddle, Dorian shouted, “Land!”

Manon spun around, her eyes wide in anger as Abraxos began to bank and descend. As she realized the command had been to him, not her. And he’d obeyed.

Before she could say anything, the wyvern was skimming over the tops of trees, then landing at the edge of a freshly tilled field. Then, came the rage.

Jumping off the instant his talons touched the ground, Manon turned on the beast. “You traitorous worm! How dare you ignore my commands in favor of his!”

Dorian climbed down, feeling guilty for involving Abraxos. Though, he’d only told him to land. That the wyvern obeyed him was as much a surprise to him as it was to Manon. When he reached her, still yelling at her mount, he suppressed a smile.

Abraxos stared her down, taking her tantrum in stride, as if the screaming and cursing meant nothing. As if he knew none of this was really about him. When his eyes slid to Dorian, hers followed. And the yelling ceased.

*****

Damn those wyrd gates, she thought. And damn his shapeshifting. But, she might as well damn herself, her own stupidity, for coming here.

Dorian said nothing as he looked at her, waiting for her to explain. And as she stared up into his eyes, all she could see was that baby. How he’d been playing with her. Laughing. Happy.

The sight had made her question everything. Not her feelings for him. But whether those feelings were enough. Whether she was enough. And could give him what he wanted.

She hated this. Love and fear and doubt and need. A million emotions swirling inside her. A tempest she had no control over.

His brow creased and he leaned towards her, as if reading all of it on her face. Gently, he brushed his thumb along her cheek, hoping to coax her into speaking. And just that small touch was like a balm, cool to her skin, but a torch to her blood, sending heat coursing through her. Warmth, and love, she realized. It had always been there, in his touch. But she was only now able to see it for what it was.

“I came here to tell you.” She broke off, still fighting back the fear.

His hand dropped to her shoulder, down her arm, until he interlaced their fingers. “What?” he asked softly. “What do you want to tell me?” That fire from his touch still moved through her, filling her. “Manon,” he whispered.

With a deep inhale, hoping it would somehow give her courage, she said, “I came here to tell you that I love you.” She held his gaze, searching for any small sign that she would regret this. But there were already tears gathering. In his eyes as well as her own.

Dorian cupped her face in his hands and shook his head, blinking rapidly, not just to dispel the tears about to fall, but as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. So, she said it again.

“I love you.”

And then, he was kissing her. And she felt the smile on his lips, felt the moisture on his cheeks, felt the joy radiating from him. His magic burst from him like a bright light, enveloping them in its glow.

Breaking their kiss, he rested his forehead on hers. “I love you too, witchling.”

Hearing it back, feeling its truth and gravity, Manon broke into a smile mirroring his own. She felt that warmth again, stronger, taking her over. And she realized it wasn’t just coming from him. It came from inside herself too, forcing its way to the top of that storm of emotion, overpowering everything else. Dorian kissed her again, and all she knew was that heat. From his touch, his love. And her love for him.

*****

“What spooked you earlier?” Dorian asked as he traced out some sort of pattern on her bare back.

They’d flown back to the castle, where Abraxos had been given several large haunches of meat – a thank you from Dorian and apology from Manon – and was settled in the stable that had been built for him.

Manon didn’t move from where she lay curled against him, enjoying the caress of his fingertips across her skin. Serene, safe. Two things she couldn’t remember ever feeling. Certainly not before him. Even his question didn’t intrude upon the peace she felt.

“I think you know,” she hedged.

He huffed a breathy laugh. “Just because I love playing with Josie doesn’t mean ...” He trailed off and Manon finally shifted, propping herself up on his chest so she could look into his eyes.

“We both require an heir,” she said matter-of-factly. “Delaying this discussion won’t make it easier.” She didn’t know where this newfound courage was coming from. True, she’d always been blunt. But hours ago, she’d been terrified.

Manon tried to envision a boy-sized Dorian, tearing through the castle creating mischief, only to be caught and punished with dance lessons. But try as she might, she couldn’t see it. It was as though Dorian had been born, fully formed, as beautiful and haunted and powerful as the day she’d first seen him in Oakwald, collared and possessed by a valg prince.

The sensation of his pulse beneath her fingertips made her blink and she realized she was touching his neck. The scarred skin, not overly rough but lighter than the rest of him, wrapped around his neck. The edges where pale skin met darker were jagged, like a lightning bolt. As if he’d been struck in one spot and the energy rippled through him.

Her eyes met his and she started to remove her hand. But he grabbed her arm and placed her fingers back on the scar.

“Only you,” he said. “Only you acknowledge it. No one else looks at it. They act as if it never happened.”

Manon considered. “Perhaps they think you want to forget.”

“They’d be right. To a degree.” Dorian closed his eyes, struggling to find his next words. “Part of me wants nothing more than to forget. That part would do anything, give anything to go back. Back before this,” his fingers grazed hers still atop the scar. “But the other part of me wants to remember. So it never happens to anyone again. I must remember so I can make amends to all those hurt by Adarlan.”

He moved her hand up to kiss it. “I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward. I want to live. You once told me to take no more than you gave. And I promise, I won’t. But I need you, however much you can give, I need you to live. At least, the life I want to live. I can’t see a future without you in it."

“And children?” Manon didn’t know what answer she was hoping for. Didn’t know what she in fact wanted.

The need for an heir was a steady, growing beat in her head. Not loud. Yet. But it was there. Along with the godsdamned fear. That she or the witchling would die. Or that she wouldn’t know how to be a true mother.

Dorian was silent, reading her expressions. Finally, he asked, “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “With you ...” she paused, sorting through the thoughts twisting in her head. “Having a witchling is the greatest honor in a witch’s life. If that happened, I would want to share it with you. Only you.”

“But,” he prompted. His fingers began their previous motions across her back.

“But I don’t want to be pushed into it. I don’t want it to be about fulfilling a requirement.”

“You want time. You want it to be your choice.”

“Yes,” she said, relieved that he seemed to understand. “You never answered my question.”

Dorian smiled. “You just answered it for me. I would love to have children with you Manon. But by our own choice, and on our own time.”

“And if it never happens?" The joy he’d shown playing with Josie earlier ... Did he know how rare witchlings were?

With a shrug to make it seem as if he hadn’t spent time thinking about it, he said, “A suitable heir is not guaranteed by blood. I can name anyone heir, just as you could for the Wastes.” When she only hesitated, he added, “Despite all my mother’s ministrations, despite all the expectations of heirs and alliance and bloodlines, all I’ve ever wanted is a queen who I love, truly and with my whole heart. And a queen who would love me in return. Can you give me that?”

“Yes,” she replied, without an ounce of doubt. Pulling his hand to rest his palm on her chest, she added, “You have my heart.”

“You have mine,” he said, brushing his lips across hers. “Whatever else comes with it will be like frosting on a cake.”

Manon laughed, looking over at the few remains of the chocolate cake they’d devoured earlier, then resumed her position laying on him.

He took up the writing on her back again and she began to relax, enjoying the sensation, when something made her still. Dorian kept going and Manon focused, trying to pay attention to the shapes he was making.

“What is that?” she asked, not moving. “What are you drawing?”

“Letters,” he said, his voice giving away the fact that he must be smirking. “Words.”

Manon tensed and sucked in a breath. “What words?”

He brushed his palm down her back, as if erasing what had come before and started again.

With each word he wrote on her now hot skin, Dorian translated by whispering in her ear.

Will

you

marry

Manon remained motionless. Except for her heart, which was beating so rapidly she thought it might explode.

No fingertips this time, Dorian said quietly, “We can wait. For however long we need. There’s no rush and if you can’t do it, I understand. I just …” She heard him swallow, hesitating. “I love you.”

Pushing herself back up on her elbow, Manon looked at him. Just looked. Then she brushed her thumb across his lower lip. “This was supposed to take the edge off.”

“And did it?” he asked, no hint of levity or teasing. The sparks in his eyes were proof he remembered the last time they’d exchanged these words. He knew what should come next.

Not even close.

As she considered, she realized there were some edges he had subdued. Not the sharp edges of her witch soul, not the edges of who she was. Those were honed anew. But he had helped her onto the path of healing from the loss of the Thirteen. He’d helped her learn about trust and love and the hope of a better world. He challenged her, accepted her. He was her mirror in so many ways. There would be no cage with him.

Ignoring the line she was supposed to say in favor of answering the previous question he’d posed, she said simply, “I will.”

*****

Epilogue

Nine years later…

After a week of stormy gray skies, and high winds, the sun broke through on the one day that mattered. Even though they’d agreed to keep it small and simple, guests from three continents had come to the Ferian Gap. To celebrate a union and reunion. For the first time since the defeat of the valg, the royal wedding joining the Witch Kingdom and Adarlan brought together the allies of the war: Wendlyn, the Khaganate, the Western Wastes, the Silent Assassins, Eyllwe, Terrasen, Doranelle.

Manon wore a dress for the first time in her life, while Dorian, for the first time in his, felt nervous about having so many eyes on him. The only eyes he sought out, gold and brilliant and glittering in the sun, helped calm him. And he reassured her, many times and in many ways, that she was stunning in the form-fitting red silk.

The ceremony, held outside for the benefit of the Queen’s wyvern, was brief but emotional, with the heartfelt vows causing more than a few guests to reach for a handkerchief. None more so than the Queen’s great-grandmother and the head of Erilea’s Torre, who shared a long hug at the end.

A host of witches on wyverns and brooms joined a large group of Rukhin, riding mounts born and raised here by their Wing Leader Orghana, as they flew across the Gap, whooping and cheering their King and Queen.

Qara oversaw the food, which was plentiful and delicious. The old Rukhin cook was offered a bribe by the Terrasen Queen to move to Orynth. But she refused. Unbeknownst to a dejected Aelin, Manon convinced the cook to give up one recipe for chocolate pastries. She then secretly offered it to Rowan, as a gift he could give his wife. And as a thank you for helping Dorian escape Rifthold all those years ago.

At one point, the recently crowned Khagan and his children encouraged the Empress to sing. However, it took the combined efforts of Chaol, Yrene, and Dorian to get her to agree. Nesryn’s voice brought more guests to tears as the Rukhin were reminded of the old homes they’d left to start a new one here.

While their friends laughed and ate and danced, Dorian never left his wife’s side. He knew this was a bittersweet day for Manon. A day of love and joy, but it was incomplete without the Thirteen. She found solace in his suggestion that they were sharing that joy in whatever afterlife they watched from. Not the Darkness. They had not gone to a dark place. Her sisters resided in light.

When the music sped up and the other Rukhin singers took over, Dorian led Manon away from the crowd, back to the shadowed corner where they’d shared their first dance. And as they turned in slow circles, holding each other so close there was no space between them, they laughed and whispered, dancing like that for the rest of the night.

Well, not the rest of the night. They were interrupted by a witchling who had refused to be taken to bed. Rhiannon insisted on one more dance with her parents, only then would she go to sleep.

And she kept her word. Halfway through the song, held tightly between them, Rhia fell asleep on Dorian’s shoulder as Manon gently stroked her hair.

The end.

*****

Thank you again!

Tagging - @itach-i @nestasbucket @blackhavilliard @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @sierrareads @chloe123love607 @manontrashbeak @over300books @bookishwitchling @jimetg98 @mis-lil-red @yourfacesickens-me @awesomelena555

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#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #glennis crochan #chaol westfall #yrene westfall #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #nesryn faliq #the thirteen #manorian fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #goodbye and hello #my writing

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runeterraescapees · 1 year ago

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MUSES

Sett, The Boss

Rakan, The Charmer

Kuvar, The Messanger

Dorian, The Caged Healer

Tiresias, The Lunari Bow

#Mobile Select

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ohsweetflips · 4 years ago

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top five dragon age companions?

i literally cannot choose just 5 alone so i’m gonna give my fave party compositions, listed in chrono order of the games

(for reference i have only played as mages)

alistair / morrigan / zevran (the original dao squad, have played in canon w/ my f!surana romancing alistair)

fenris / anders / varric (the original da2 squad, have played in canon w/ my f!hawke romancing fenris)

fenris / anders / isabela OR fenris / isabela / varric (have not played in canon, would be with a f!hawke romancing isabela, cannot decide if i want to risk not having another healer in my party for the good banter of varric, isabela, and fenris)

dorian / cassandra / varric (have played in canon w/ my m!lavellan romancing dorian)

also josephine. i cannot talk abt fave companions and not include josephine. i would do anything for her. if she told me to jump off a bridge, i would. i trust her. i would give her the world. we should’ve been able to marry her in trespasser. we should’ve been able to marry any of our love interests in trespasser but u get my point. josephine cherette montilyet you make me believe in love. (have romanced in canon w/ my f!lavellan)

runner up: sera / dorian / iron bull (have not yet played in canon, will eventually play with my f!adaar so it’s essentially a double-date playthrough and a whole lot of mlm/wlw solidarity) (ngl i am not a fan of how ad*ribull starts but i think their trespasser banter is cute)

also just bc it’s not listed: the original dai squad was dorian / cassandra / iron bull but honestly it’s not worth it to play dai without a rogue, especially when you get to trespasser where they put fucking health potion caches in locked cages

#answered #me #thank!!!#Anonymous

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himluv · 4 years ago

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Never Again

Riallan’s POV of Here Lies the Abyss.

Riallan should be dead. She knew this on a deep, inexplicable level. When one plummeted into a literal abyss, surviving wasn’t usually considered a potential outcome. And yet, she wasn’t dead. She was decidedly not dead and dangling mere feet above the ground.

The world shifted, down going sideways and left becoming up so that she landed flat on her back in the dirt.

“This is unexpected,” said Hawke. She stood above Riallan, feet planted on a rock that appeared to be floating in the sky, looking down (or was it up?) at the Inquisitor.

“Oh no,” said Warden Alistair. His voice held a dreadful finality. “This is bad. Very bad.” He stood on another floating rock, this time perpendicular to what Riallan considered the ground.

“Are we…” Dorian spun around, grey eyes flitting from the rocks to the green sky to their companions in their various states of gravity. “Is this the Fade?”

Sera cursed, her voice high and thready with fear.

“If this is the Fade,” said Iron Bull, gripping his war-hammer tight. “That means demons.” He blinked at Riallan. “You know how I feel about demons, Boss.”

She accepted Dorian’s hand and he hauled her upright. She dusted herself off and said, “I’m not very fond of them, either, Bull.”

He snorted. “Don’t let Solas hear you say that.”

She rolled her eyes but decided to ignore the barb.

“How…?” Dorian started, eyes wide as he continued to take it all in.

The mark in Riallan’s hand flashed and crackled, green light snapping into the air. “I opened a rift,” she said.

“Into the Fade?” Dorian gaped at her. “You realize we’re the first to walk here, physically, since before the First Blight?”

“Sod all that!” Sera stormed up to Riallan and grabbed her left hand. “Take us back,” she shouted. “You brought us, that means you can take us back. Now!”

Riallan gently removed her hand from the elf’s frantic grip. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Sera.”

“Nothing about the Fade ever is,” Alistair said. There was a darkness in his voice, history and experience that Riallan desperately wanted to know, but now was not the time for an interview.

“We should move,” said Hawke.

Bull nodded his agreement.

So they moved, though Riallan was never quite certain they were going in the right direction. She could see the Black City always in the distance no matter how far they walked, and the little memories and whispers fascinated her.

“Solas would love this,” she said. She didn’t regret asking him to stay behind. They needed healers and he was among the best. It was the right decision. But she did regret that he couldn’t be with her in the Fade. She didn’t think any descriptions would ever be enough to appease his curiosity on the matter.

Dorian fell into step with her. “Please do endeavor to look a little less pleased, dearest,” he said. “If you haven’t noticed, poor Sera is unraveling at the seams.”

It was true. Sera hadn’t loosened her grip on her bow since they’d arrived, and her wide eyes darted every which way in case of attack.

“The only way to help Sera is to get out of here,” she said. She glanced at him. “How’re you holding up?”

He barked a laugh. “Oh, just peachy! The last time a Tevinter mage was physically in the Fade he damned the whole world to suffer the Blight. I’m sure this will be fine.”

She gave him an apologetic look. “At least we weren’t trying to come here.”

He looked around them, at the sickly green hue that coated every rock and cloud. “I suppose it is a sight better than falling to our deaths.”

“Opening a rift was quick thinking,” Hawke added.

Riallan shrugged. “It was more instinct than thought.”

“Comforting,” Dorian said.

“Good instincts, then,” Alistair said.

She shrugged. She would accept their praise when she’d managed to get them all out of the Fade in one piece.

But that proved more difficult than even she could have expected. The spirit image of Divine Justinia helped, and Riallan was glad to have her memories back, but she would gladly go back to not remembering if it meant Alistair was standing beside her in the courtyard of Adamant Fortress. Instead he’d stayed behind to buy them the precious time they needed to escape the Nightmare.

Riallan was furious as she leapt out of the green rift at the heart of Adamant Fortress. She shook with rage as she stood to stare at the men and women battling demons all around her. That rage coursed through her, tangled with her mana, and activated the Anchor in her palm.

The demons dissolved at her whim and every person who remained turned to stare at her. She couldn’t admit, couldn’t let it show, but she was shaken. To her very bones. Her head hurt, as if the weight of her memories scraped against her skull, and her heart ached. Not just for Alistair, who had proven himself the one good Warden she’d yet to meet, but for her companions. For Solas. She had seen the gravestone in the Fade, the one with his name and his greatest fear etched in the rock.

Dying alone.

His loneliness, his isolation, went deeper than even she understood. He was always separate from the others, never quite joining in, as if he stood apart from the world somehow. He wore that otherness like armor, even though it was really a cage.

The courtyard exploded into sound as soldiers cheered and Wardens called to her, but she barely heard them. Her eyes scanned the crowd, desperate to see — there!

Solas stood at the back of the throng, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed. He didn’t smile at her, but when their eyes met the relief in his gaze nearly unmade her.

And then Wardens were clamoring for answers and all her fear and grief congealed into something sharp and furious. She had wasted enough time, enough lives on fools.

They would have no more.

She glared at the Wardens gathered around her as an Inquisition soldier brought her up to speed, but she only half-listened. Then a Warden asked after Alistair.

Lightning crackled at her fingertips. “Warden Alistair is dead, thanks to all of you,” she said. “He alone stood against Clarel’s madness.” She glowered at the Wardens. “If not for him, you’d be dead — or slaves to a servant of the Blight.”

She was so tired and angry. Tired of stupid humans making stupid choices that yet again put all of stupid Thedas at risk. She was tired of cleaning up their messes.

She was tired of losing friends.

She shook her head. “And you repaid that by branding him a traitor.”

She made to step down from the platform she stood on, made to leave these pathetic Wardens behind and find the one person she needed to see more than anything, but a Warden stopped her.

“Inquisitor,” he said from behind his gaudy griffon-winged helm. “We have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?”

She spun on the man, barely noting the glance from Hawke before she shouted, “you leave! By the authority of the Inquisition, you are banished from Southern Thedas.”

From somewhere in the crowd she heard Blackwall’s gasp. Heard the whispered denial at her words and she knew she had just shattered his heart.

“Hawke will oversee your return to the Warden fortress at Weisshaupt.”

Hawke nodded her agreement to Riallan’s proclamation, but said nothing. The silence hung over the fortress, heavy and cloying like smoke.

“Yes, Your Worship,” the Warden said.

“A bit dramatic, if you ask me,” Dorian said from behind her. He was probably right. She would probably regret this decision in a few days, but right then, standing in the bloody ruins of an ancient fortress, with the decimated remains of the Grey Wardens, all she wanted was to make them pay.

Someone in this Creators-damned world should face consequences.

Blackwall spoke next. “Your Worship, I would stay, if you’ll allow it, to finish our fight.”

Her heart ached at the formality of his words, of the barely restrained anger in his rough voice. “Of course,” she said. All of her fury melted away, replaced with exhaustion and a wicked wave of grief. “I have never doubted your loyalty, Blackwall.” She wondered if he would ever be able to look at her the same way after today.

“Good luck with your Inquisition,” Hawke said. She smirked. “Try not to start an Exalted March on anything.”

Riallan snorted, because at the moment anything seemed possible.

Hawke sobered, a frown replacing her smirk. “Take care of Varric for me.”

She nodded that she would, and Marian Hawke walked away to follow the few Wardens out of the fortress.

Riallan blinked and suddenly Solas was there, kneeling beside her with his hands on either side of her face. When had she sat down? She tried to look around, to see what everyone was murmuring about, but she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from his.

Solas couldn’t seem to decide where to look. His eyes roved over every inch of her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, her nose, her lips.

“Hi,” she said. She was so tired she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes.

“You’re alive,” he said. Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t a chaste peck, or even a romantic, lingering press of his lips on hers. It was a kiss, deep and desperate and delving. His hands shifted so that his fingers supported the back of her head, inviting her to tilt back and grant him further access. She obliged, unthinking, unable to think of anything but his lips, his tongue, the taste of him and how relieved she was that he was there.

That he was real.

He broke the kiss, panting, followed by a string of elvhen so fast she couldn’t make it out. Something about fear and death and love. Her mind felt slow after all she’d been through, and especially after that kiss, but she finally put it together.

He had thought she was dead.

Of course he had. He’d no doubt seen the bridge collapse into the Abyss

“Ir abelas,” she said. She regretted leaving him behind even more now. Not only because he would have loved the chance to walk the Fade physically, but because she would have saved him this pain.

He shook his head, but for once words seemed to fail him. He kissed her again, this time brief and frantic, before pulling her into his arms. They knelt on the stone of the fortress courtyard, Solas rocking her as the gathered Inquisition forces eventually returned to their forward base.

Only Dorian and Varric remained, just in case a stray demon or Venatori appeared. And if either of them noticed Riallan sobbing into Solas’ tunic, neither mentioned it.

#Riallan Lavellan #solavellan #dorian pavus #solas #dragon age inquisition

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sinsbymanka · 5 years ago

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Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 34!

Chapter 34: The Rebirth

Full Story at AO3

(Remarkably little angst. Mostly fluff and existential crisis. You’ve all earned it after the last few chapters.)

Finding her had been a miracle. Maria’s small, crumpled form had barely been visible underneath the snow clinging to her hair, her clothes. When Varric spotted crimson in the beam of his phone’s weak flashlight, he raced toward it without thought, wishing, hoping, wanting… praying they weren’t too late. Her form felt stiff as ice beneath his fingers, worse, she didn’t respond to her name in his mouth, didn’t move until he tightened his hold on her.

The instant his fingers curled into her shoulder, she made a small, broken sound. Not quite a whimper, but not a scream either. She shuddered under his hands and bucked against his grip weakly. Her eyes gazed ahead, unseeing, into the darkness while she struggled helplessly against him like a bird beating her wings against a cage. His stomach dropped, his fingers gently circling her delicate wrists while she tried to push him away. A quiet sob escaped Maria’s lips and…

It broke him. Just a little. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“Maria, stop.” He pleaded into her freezing ear. She shivered, but some of the fight seemed to bleed out of her. “It’s just me. It’s just me, we’re gonna take care of you, baby.”

Her faint struggles began to cease so he released her wrists and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, cradled her to his chest. “I won’t hurt you.” He promised to the shivering, half-conscious miracle in his arms. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maria.”

Somewhere above them, Nyx cawed loudly, repetitively, sounding the alarm for the entire rescue party. Maria collapsed against his chest with a broken, weary sigh that could have been his name, but he couldn’t tell. There were other voices calling to each other in the darkness, growing awareness that someone had found something, although who or what was still unknown. They could only hope.

But hope had gotten them this far.

“Varric!” Dorian’s voice cried out from the slope somewhere above him. “Varric, where in the blighted hell are you?”

“Here!” He pulled his face away from Maria’s chilled skin to yell up over his shoulder. “I’ve got her!”

He pressed his lips against her temple, one hand gently pushing back the stiff, frozen hair framing her face. He could taste the iron of blood on his lips, her skin frigid underneath his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered softly.

Cassandra sent up a prayer of weary gratitude. Dorian appeared beside him like he’d emerged from the shadows themselves, his gleaming dark eyes exhausted and panic stricken while he examined the shuddering woman in Varric’s arms.

“Venhedis.” Dorian cursed. “Where is Blackwall?”

“I can carry her.” Bull rumbled.

“Perhaps. However, we did remove five bullets from your body. I am uncertain if you should even have joined us.” Solas reached past Varric and laid a gentle hand over Maria’s shoulder. The elf’s frown said everything Varric didn’t want to know. “We need to get her back. I cannot treat these injuries, I lack the skill…”

“Don’t die, you.” Sera blurted, half command, half plea. “Fix her up, right? Elfy shite magic can…”

“Here.” Blackwall leaned down low, arms extended.

“Wait.” Solas ordered. His eyes were glowing, a soft green light flickering. “I can dull the pain, put her to sleep, and remove the blood from her lungs so she doesn’t drown in it. It will make travel easier, the rest…”

Varric could feel the magic working, Maria’s form melting against his, boneless, finally giving into exhaustion and unconsciousness. Solas pulled his hand back and nodded briskly to Blackwall. “Now.”

Varric didn’t want to let her go. The last time he let her go she… he bit back the recrimination, reminded himself that the snow was only up to Blackwall’s knees instead of his ass, and the most important thing was to get Maria back to camp before she finished dying on them. He shifted and she slipped out of his arms like water until the human lifted her, gentle as a sleeping child, into the air. Bull peered down into her face, rumbled something Varric couldn’t quite make out.

“She will be fine.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Andraste is with her.”

Nobody could ignore the triumphant certainty in the Seeker’s voice. Varric almost bemoaned that Cassandra could come through this with renewed faith in her Maker, in some sort of crazy plan. But Maria Cadash survived the vortex, time travel, a demon, a dragon, and an avalanche. Varric… wasn’t quite sure what to even chalk that up to beyond divine intervention.

“What would be more helpful than Andraste at this moment would be modern medicine, a healer, and removing these clothes before she succumbs to frostbite.” Solas remarked dryly.

“Cold. Bitter. Biting.” Cole murmured. “Endless. Alone at the edge of the abyss. Falling. Frightened.”

“We’ve got her now, kid.” Varric reassured him as their search party began the perilous trek back. “We’ve got her.”

“Yes.” Cole agreed fervently. “They tried to burn her. Bury her. But the ashes were warm and the stone belongs to her family’s hearth. He didn’t know she’d rise.”

“Get her down.” The doctor ordered tersely. “This damn woman. If she’s not falling out of the bleeding sky, she’s stumbling back with hypothermia and Maker knows how many broken ribs.”

Blackwall lowered Maria onto the cot with great, tender care. For a perfect moment of stillness, it was just Maria alone on the thin bed like a sacrifice left unattended on an altar. Then both the doctor and healer swarmed over her, checking her pulse, listening to her labored breathing.

“You’re not going to believe this.” Bea trembled beside Varric, his hand on her arm the only thing restraining her from elbowing both healer and doctor out of the way. She had one fist at her lips, white knuckles pressed to paler lips. “This isn’t her idea of a good time either.”

“Coulda fooled me.” The doctor huffed, pulling the zipper on the sodden, blood spattered jacket. “I’m gonna need a knife to get these clothes off her. They’re soaking wet.”

Maria’s head lolled to the side and Cole produced his switchblade nearly immediately. The Elven healer snatched it with a reproachful, wary gaze in the kid’s direction before she began sawing through the thin cotton t-shirt.

“I do not believe we need an audience for this.” The Seeker said sternly. Varric deigned to ignore her even though he knew the statement was meant for him. “A few of us should stay, but surely…”

“Ria isn’t modest. Or shy.” Bea muttered, eyes fixed on the pale skin slowly exposed under the tattered shirt, more blue and purple than cream. Varric’s stomach rolled at the mess of bruises and scrapes.

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “I will not risk your…”

If she accused him of leering one more time he’d…

“But he’s seen her bare.” Cole interrupted, confused. “Warm. Wanting. Willing and wicked and…”

Well, he could always count on Cole. Bea rolled her eyes and shot Varric a rather reproachful glare, but honestly it was almost worth it to hear the sharp click of Cassandra’s jaw slamming shut.

“Do hold that thought. I’ll be rather interested in it if she doesn’t choke to death on her own blood.” Dorian shoved past, holding a sturdy pile of fleece blankets.

“She’s not… she can’t...” Bea’s voice cracked on the words, swinging helplessly around the triage scene unspooling in front of them.

“Not on my watch at any rate. Not after getting us out of that Tevinter shitstorm.” The elf muttered, peeling away the stiff fabric. Her hand glowed as she pressed it to Maria’s skin and paused, seeming to listen to her injuries. “Five fractured ribs of varying severity. At least one punctured her lung.”

“Sparkler is being unnecessarily dramatic.” Varric soothed with a stern, warning glance leveled at the Tevinter witch’s back. “She’s going to wake up spitting fire, you watch.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Bea or himself. Maria looked just as small as she had the first time he saw her, unconscious again, although at least she didn’t appear to be flickering in and out of reality itself this time. Back then, he’d felt bad for the poor woman who had been pulled off the mountain and he certainly hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her, but now…

Varric couldn’t bear watching her lay so still as the doctor shouted about lacerations on her head, the healer’s hands glowing blue to stitch up bone and lung. His stomach twisted into anxious knots, thoughts spiraling, conjuring scenarios where she never woke. Where he never held her again, never…

“Lacerations are minor. Burn on her palm.” The doctor rattled off to the healer. “If you can fix her ribs, it’ll be the hypothermia to worry about next.”

“Can’t help there.” The Healer muttered as she worked. “Not trained to do anything about that. I could try raising her blood temperature but I’m as likely to cook her…”

Bea shuddered and the doctor took the switchblade, hacking at the waistband of Maria’s jeans. “I need a warm compress. One of you bleedin’ witches need to heat up some water and shove it in a damn bottle.”

“No need to be rude.” Dorian huffed. “Vivienne…”

“I will search for a container, since you are full of hot air darling. See if you can heat those blankets up a bit, hm?”

“All these clothes need to come off. They’re soaked through.” The doctor pulled the ruined denim away from Maria’s hips, a cruel parody of the way Varric once peeled them off. He shut his eyes for a steadying moment and swallowed against the rising tide of complex, terrifying emotions.

“There.” The healer said gently. “She’ll be sore for a few days, at least, but she’ll live. Come here, feel.”

Bea tugged against his iron grip and Varric relaxed his hold enough to let her slip through his fingers. He opened bleary eyes and watched Bea press her palm over her sister’s gently rising and falling abdomen. The terrible rattle had ceased, vanished into the ether. Bea’s shook her head, voice small. “She’s so cold.”

“Not for long.” The doctor muttered, pulling one of the gently steaming blankets from Dorian’s arms and pinning Varric with his piercing, slightly insane gaze. “You’ll do. Come here.”

Varric hesitated. Just long enough for a rather large, he’d bet solid money Qunari, arm to shove him forward. Varric scowled back at Bull, but the doctor kept talking, “Body heat to insulate. You’re rather sturdy and you’re not too tall for the cot. Up you get.”

Oh. Oh shit. “What?” He asked, the question semi-strangled, the thought of curling up next to Maria’s solid, albeit frozen, form enough to render him temporarily, and possibly for the first time, speechless.

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra scowled, flushing pink to the very roots of her hair. “It is inappropriate and scandalous. The Herald…”

“Right then. She’ll just freeze solid while we argue about propriety.” The doctor declared waspishly. “We can hope holy Andraste thaws her out.”

“I certainly don’t want to end up on the wrong side of Cassandra’s ire…” Dorian looked entirely too smug for Varric’s comfort level. “But this seems like an excellent idea. Finish unbuttoning that shirt, Varric. Better shuck the pants too, you’ve got snow all over them.”

“Ugh.” Sera sniffed, turning her face pointedly away. “Not watchin’ this show.”

“I cannot…” Cassandra’s voice raised, the start of a rather fine shouting match nobody had time for.

“I’m sorry.” Bea’s voice didn’t rise at all. It stayed perfectly, completely level. The hair on Varric’s neck stood up regardless and he spared a glance for the woman staring Cassandra down with abject fury. “I thought my mother was dead. Please. Continue arguing about the fucking scandal while my sister loses her toes.”

Cassandra’s mouth moved, but nothing intelligible came out. Satisfied, Bea turned her sharp as knives gaze to him. “Pants off.”

She’d given a steely command, one that left no room for negotiation. When Varric didn’t quite move fast enough, Bea’s voice dropped even further, to what he suspected was an even more dangerous octave. “I’m not asking again.”

Varric wasn’t certain she’d actually asked the first time. “Andraste’s ass.” He grumbled, reaching up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, hastily discarding it on a stack of crates. “Can I keep my damn boxers on or are we…”

Bea promptly made up her mind to ignore him. “Roll her onto her side.” The doctor advised the healer. “Gently. No use jarring that head.”

“Varric.” Vivienne’s voice trilled from behind him and Varric swore under his breath. “I take it since you’re undressing that means you’ve finally come to your senses about this outfit.”

“Everyone’s a damn comedian as soon as the dwarf gets naked.” Varric huffed, unbuttoning his pants. “Let me know if any ladies see something they like.”

In front of him, they shifted Maria’s nearly nude form onto her side, covering her with the first steaming blanket, lifting the barest corner for him to slither in beside her. Somehow, this seemed far more intimate than the fact that his mouth had been slanted over hers, their tongues twisted together, his face between her legs and his hands cupping her gorgeous breasts. Perhaps it was simply the aching vulnerability, the mottled fresh bruises covering all the skin he’d traced and kissed.

Maybe it was the blissfully empty expression on her face making her look so much younger, the fresh faced girl in her old photos. The one whose life still may have worked out the way she wanted in a better world, a kinder one.

If she was brave enough to face down a fucking dragon, he could lay beside her, keep her warm. That had to be the easier job. He definitely shouldn’t be envying her the heroic showdown with the demon that nearly snatched her away.

As calmly and smoothly as he could, with false confidence born of years hiding inner turmoil, he slipped onto the stiff cot and curled against her while they draped a blanket over them. She was icy, freezing to the touch against his skin. His hissed at the initial contact, but he ignored the discomfort and gently, careful of the newly mended ribs and all the terrifying bruises lining her skin, draped his arm over the dip of her waist. He shifted his hips until they fit snug against hers and slipped one arm slowly under her neck.

The sharp bite of something ever colder than her skin sent him swearing. He shifted, gingerly withdrawing a tarnished silver chain from the space between them, the glimmering pendants nothing more than bits of ice against his fingers.

His eyes focused on them with a start, at first in stunned disbelief, then in bewilderment. They weren’t pendants or charms, they were rings, a full damn set of wedding rings. There was a diamond large enough to make any debutante swoon and two plain, serviceable bands, a man’s and a woman’s.

Bea made a choked gasp, hands freezing in the motion of smoothing the blanket over Maria’s shoulder. “Sodding Ancestors. I thought they’d be gone for sure, I thought…”

Varric gently slid his fingers along the chain, trying to ignore the sharp burst of curiosity. There was zero chance that Fynn Dunhark legally married Maria Cadash, that information would have been in the court records and media coverage for sure. But… he could see how legalities didn’t matter. Not when you were young, not when the woman you loved agreed to take off from everything she knew and make a new life somewhere else.

Fynn Dunhark may only have had Maria Cadash for a short period of time before his untimely demise. But, he’d fully had his woman, no half-baked life full of lies and secrets. Varric would have sacrificed a lot for that same certainty.

He’d have taken a bullet too.

Varric unclasped the necklace with a deft twist of his fingers and deposited the cold chain in Bea’s extended palm. She closed her fingers over them and brought her tight fist to her lips. “I didn’t realize she was wearing them. She’d have been… she’d have been fucking devastated to lose them.”

The tremor in Bea’s usually nonchalant voice told him that Maria wouldn’t have been the only one distraught.

“It’s alright Mittens.” Varric angled his form around Maria’s, tipped his forehead against her hair, and closed his eyes. The scent of smoke and iron clung to her, a heady perfume of desperation and sheer, impossible survival. He fought the urge to press his palm more tightly over her abdomen, to drop his lips to her freckled shoulder and kiss each spot with silent, worshipful gratitude.

To drop even lower and gently press his lips to the interlocking triangles of the carta branded on her shoulder. To make a silent, desperate promise that this time, that part of her life was over. There’d be no going back, no matter the cost. Not after…

But this wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the place. Dorian balanced his warm bottle of water on the opposite side of Maria’s neck and very gently brushed his tanned fingers over her cheek. Varric smoothed away the scowl that twisted his features and the matching possessive lurch in his thoughts. Hopefully before anyone noticed.

Instead, he splayed his fingers gently over the soft curve of her stomach. He focused on the gentle rise and fall, the ease of her breathing, so unlike the way she’d labored and gasped in his arms. Without much thought, and certainly without attempting to examine his motives, Varric brushed his thumb lightly, repetitively, in a small arc over her cold skin.

Solas layered another blanket over top of them and looked to the doctor. “You said there was a burn in her palm?”

“Odd one. Don’t see how she could've done it, but I guess I’ve got to get used to her doing weird shit, don’t I?”

Bea snorted in abbreviated, but clear, agreement.

“May I?” Solas asked cautiously.

“Be my guest.” The doctor muttered. “Not much I can do for it with our general lack of supplies and I’d rather the damn healer deal with her brain than burns.”

“Just swelling.” The Elven healer’s fingers lingered over Maria’s head, eyes continuing to monitor Bea’s barely concealed anxiety. “Nasty bump, that’s all. She’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.”

With a mumbled apology, Solas’s hand lifted the blanket. Varric stilled his thumb, watching as Solas gently turned Maria’s palm in his. Varric could see the burn even through the halo of Maria’s hair, perfect and pristine, a spiraling pattern like a rising sun.

Varric fought back his own shudder. “Chuckles, that’s not an accident.”

Nothing so beautiful ever was. Solas ran his own fingers over it and frowned tightly. “Unfortunately,” He confessed, “I suspect you are correct.”

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, peering suspiciously over Solas’s shoulder.

“The mark of the magic she survived in the vortex.” Solas ran his own thumb over her palm. The second he did, the burn illuminated with a dull, gentle flicker. Varric swore he saw flakes of golden light dancing under Maria’s skin through her veins. “That demon pulled it to the surface, perhaps in an attempt to wrench it from her.”

“It looks almost like the symbol of the Chantry.” Cassandra supplied with a rather firm amount of conviction lacing her voice.

She was right, to a point. It was certainly a sun, Varric would give her that, but beyond that Maria's brand bore little resemblance to the great glowing suns of the Chantry. Her’s had delicate, intricate knots laced within it. A pattern within a pattern, looking more like something Daisy would doodle than anything else.

“A coincidence, nothing more.” Solas curled Maria’s small fingers over the mark like she clasped something precious within it. “It must have caused her great pain to have it brought to the surface like this.”

He knew. He’d heard her screaming. Unable to help himself, he brushed his thumb over her skin again, an unsaid apology for leaving her at a monster’s mercy.

“She’s tough.” Bea tightened her grip on the rings on her hand and lifted burning eyes to Solas. “Ria is tougher than anyone I know.”

Solas smiled, both kind and sad. “Of that, I have little doubt. We would not be here otherwise.”

She awoke in pieces, not all at once. The first thing she noticed was the searing heat surrounding her, warmth bleeding through every inch of skin except the tip of her nose, which felt frozen solid. The blankets covering her were heavy weights keeping the sweltering heat in.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so warm, so cozy. She considered opening her eyes, but that seemed… too hard. Her head throbbed in warning so she kept them shut, shifting slightly off an aching hip to…

It was that tiny movement that revealed the second, more important thing. Maria Cadash was not alone in this horribly uncomfortable bed. Someone’s heavy arm rested over her bare skin, her wiggling pressed her firmly against a broad, immovable chest, rough hair prickling her skin. She froze, keeping her eyes shut resolutely, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Her first thought, one that nearly had her leaping from the bed, was that she’d fallen asleep in Dwyka’s bed, fallen into this pantomime of intimacy while she’d been asleep. It happened before, and somehow that was always worse than laying perfectly still until dawn, waiting for the sun to rise to make her escape.

But the hand on her stomach was different than Dwyka’s. Undoubtedly Dwarven given the size, but less weather roughened, the callouses in the wrong place, and draped gently over her waist. There was nothing possessive about it, only warm reassurance.

Fynn, her gut clenched as his name rattled in her head, but that wasn’t right either. Fynn’s hands had been strong, ages practicing the piano at his mother’s insistence after all, but they’d never grown rough with any kind of manual labor or…

Writing.

Those were callouses from pen and pencil, she’d developed some of her own during her school days, before she’d decided that fighting and crime left better paying marks instead.

With that thought, bits and pieces began to drift back. Their desperate kiss in the kitchen. His broad arms effortlessly lifting her off her feet, his mouth…

His amazingly talented mouth. The very thought sent a spike of heat right through her in spite of her aching head and stiff limbs. Somebody must have spiked her drink, because clearly she’d been drunk, she couldn’t even remember the main event. Out of all the terrible things that happened to her, that seemed most unfair. If she’d made the critical error of falling into this horribly uncomfortable bed with Varric Tethras, she wanted to at least have the good bits to cling to.

Why was her bed so uncomfortable? Sodding hell, she felt like she was sleeping on a prison cot. She shifted again, as gingerly as she could, brain trying to fire off what exactly to do next. She needed to open her eyes, needed to break this spell, send him packing, and yet…

And yet.

She was so tired. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs leaden. His breath was warm on her shoulder, his forehead tucked against her hair. She was pressed tightly against him and he felt solid against her, a bulwark against the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind. She’d been so afraid, so alone, and he…

Emotions she didn’t quite understand bubbled to the surface, fear squeezing her throat. It had been so dark and it hurt. She was so confused, her addled mind trying to keep up, and she didn’t…

“I’ve got you.” Varric whispered against her temple. “I’ve got you.”

Everything else returned like a punch in the gut. Haven. The templars, the dragon, Corypheus. Her march through the snow to her doom. Her eyes flew open, startled, taking in the cold dark night surrounding them. In her line of sight, Bea curled up in a tiny ball, her head resting against Bull’s solid chest. He slept too, leaning on the pole holding this makeshift shelter up, eye closed. One arm wrapped around Bea’s shoulders, the other around Sera’s while she snored lightly.

Alive. Alive, they were alive and so was she. She closed her eyes again, dizzy with relief. If they were alive, then it would be okay. It had to be.

She could go back to sleep. It would be so damn easy to.

Behind her, Varric shifted near imperceptibly and Maria’s breath hitched. Sweet Ancestors, his bare legs were tangled up against hers too and…

Maker. He couldn’t be completely naked, could he? Her mind struggled to process the feel of him, but she was still wearing her damn underwear, the underwire of the bra poking against her uncomfortably to remind her of that fact. He had to be wearing his.

How in the void had this even happened? How had Bea allowed this to happen? Her little sister could hardly be called part of the Varric Tethras fan club.

Boxers or briefs? Maria’s inner voice questioned, off on it’s own little tangent while she struggled to make sense of the crazy series of events that ended up with her snuggled up quite cozily to Varric fucking Tethras.

She shifted again, pressing back gently. Boxer briefs, she thought. Had to be. She twisted her hips again, just to be sure…

“Princess.” Varric huffed gently in her ear, voice sleep roughened and deliciously husky. He pressed gently on her stomach and stifled a low laugh in her shoulder. “You keep moving like that, I can’t be held liable for what happens next.”

She fought back a delighted shiver without much success. She felt Varric’s response in the loose sweep of his fingers up her abdomen and the slight pull of his hips away from hers. She felt more loss at that than she wanted to admit. And a brief, electric jolt that was only barely smothered by fatigue.

“Are we safe?” Her own voice came out hoarse.

“Seems that way. Been a whole twenty four hours since we ran out of Haven, beautiful. No sign of anything chasing our ass. They probably figured we’d starve or freeze to death without them having to lift a finger.”

Maybe everyone should have to sleep next to Varric, then, because the man was a furnace. She twisted to sit up and winced immediately, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. Her chest ached, her stomach ached, her arms and legs and…

The world tilted, spun, fuzzed a bit at the edges.

Varric sat up far more successfully than she had, but she still managed to curl to face him. His amber eyes were dark in the weak light flickering around them in the darkness, lanterns and firelight, his glorious chest completely bare.

Touch. A part of her commanded greedily. Her hand responded without her permission, lifting into the fraught, tense space between them. This all felt so surreal, part of a dream, and perhaps she hadn’t quite woken…

“Careful with that one.” Varric’s eyes flicked to the palm of her hand and back to her eyes. “You’ve got some magic stuck in it.”

Her fingers curled closed, protectively, and she pulled back. Yes. She remembered the sun caught in her palm, her flashlight in the darkness. With her fingers against it, she could feel it there, one more ache among all the others.

He’d burned it into her skin. Seared it to her flesh. Her heartbeat spiked, fear prickled through the exhaustion. “He put it there, he did something to me, he was...”

There weren't any words. Varric could probably find them, but they escaped her. He’d been like a solid black hole in the universe, like a wound oozing pus and infection, like every nightmare she’d ever had all rolled into one.

“I know.” Varric whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her shoulder and lightly guiding her back down. “We know. We know who it was. What he is.”

“What?” She rasped. Varric sighed and made to tuck her smoothly back under the blankets. He was going to get up, going to leave her in the darkness and the cold with nothing but her thoughts and fears, oblivion circling the edges of her vision. The next word fell from her lips before she considered it fully. “Stay.”

For a split second her words landed into the silence with all the elegance of a ticking time bomb. He stared at her, taken aback by the request she assumed. Certainly unsure how to handle a sick, broken creature clinging to him so selfishly. But she swallowed the tension, quirked her lips into the best smle she could manage. “Keep me warm and tell me a story.”

Please. The unsaid word echoed in her chest.

“It’s a shitty story, Princess.” Varric sighed, but he slipped back beneath the blanket, careful to leave a scant inch of sizzling air between their skin. “But I’ll try. It started with Hawke…”

Varric spun Reyna Hawke into being as smoothly as if he’d done it a thousand times, conjuring the witch out of the freezing night air so vividly, Maria could see her the way he did. This wasn’t a woman lighting her own pyre in the ashes of Redcliffe, crazed and wounded with a manic gleam in her eye. This was a heroine. A champion. Varric’s champion.

He told the story from where he’d entered it. Pulled out of bed by a panicked three in the morning phone call, shambling up to the ritziest areas of Kirkwall. The shattered glass from the broken window, the light from the silent alarm still blinking steadily. The first Hawke sister, bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed, the second smelling of smoke and charred dwarf while an elf calmly stitched up his own wound.

Following the Carta to, of all places, an ancient temple hidden in the Vinmarks. A temple that locked them inside and forced them into the Deep Roads before they could escape. Their desperate fight through the things of nightmares, and Hawke’s blood being the only thing that could open the door.

It unlocked more than that. Much more.

And in spite of herself, as he spun the tale, she ended up closing that distance between their bodies. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, it seemed to be a magic of it’s own, magnetism or perhaps gravity. She didn’t press against him, not like she desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t ignore the soft heat leaching from him to her.

Couldn’t ignore the way his voice lulled her back to sleep.

“I swear.” Varric murmured softly into her hair. “We killed him, Princess.”

No they didn’t. But she was too tired to argue.

“I’m sorry.” She thought he whispered. But it could have been a dream, one she slipped back into effortlessly.

The next time she woke up, it was to bitter shouts. There was a weight at the end of the cot, but nobody under the blankets beside her. She was completely, utterly, alone. Clearly, she’d hallucinated Varric Tethras’s gentle arms curling around her, his searing warmth, his muscles and…

She raised her hand to her head, rubbing her face briskly.

“Ria?” Bea’s voice asked cautiously, breathless with hope.

“Bea.” She answered groggily, opening her eyes. It wasn’t Bea’s face she met with, but the lined and weary one of Mother Gisele. She swallowed, swinging her eyes down to the bottom of the cot where Bea sat, still as a statue, looking more a mess than she’d ever seen her. Eyeliner smudged, hair askew, lips pale.

“Are you awake this time?” Bea asked, frozen in place. “Really awake? Varric said you were before but you were out of it still and…”

“Varric?” Her tongue nearly tripped on the word, a surge of heat rising up her face. “He was here?”

“They all were.” Gisele soothed. “You are dear to many people, Herald. You’ve had a steady stream of them wishing you well.”

“What would you have me tell them?!” Cullen’s voice roared. Maria fought back the flinch and pushed herself up, trying to stare into the darkness past Bea.

“We must find a way!” Cassandra snapped back, a pale figure in the dim firelight.

“Please!” Jospehine cried out. “We must use reason!”

“Don’t mind them.” Bea dismissed the humans with a wave over her shoulder. “They’ve been at it for hours. How are you feeling? How’s your head? Still remarkably thick?”

“Shut up.” Maria replied automatically, the banter familiar even as her throat scratched out the words like she hadn’t spoken in ages. “Where are my clothes?”

“Ruined.” Bea supplied unhelpfully. “But Harding said she had a spare outfit of her own in her camera bag. It’s probably the closest we’ll get to anything fitting you. Hold on, I’ll go find them.”

As if she’d simply been waiting for something, anything, to do, Bea jumped into motion. She fled into the darkness before Maria had time to ask where exactly her little sister had gotten the coat she was wearing. The thick, buttery leather was far more familiar than Maria wanted to admit.

“You need to rest.” Giselle said gently. “There is no need to get up quite yet. After all…”

Giselle tipped her head almost playfully to the heated argument happening just outside between Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. “It does not appear we’re going anywhere quickly.”

“We have time to waste?” Maria asked, pushing herself impatiently into a fully seated position despite Gisele’s tutting disapproval. She clutched the blankets tightly around her shoulders and breathed through the ache in her muscles. Bad, yes, but not the worst she’d ever pushed through.

“Thanks to you, they have the luxury of arguing. You prevented our enemies from following, but with time to doubt… well, it is easy to blame.”

Bea reappeared, tossing a bundle of clothes on the cot. “Right. So, I’m gonna warn you that you look like a bannana someone’s kicked around, that’s how fucking bruised up you are.”

“I’m sure I’ve looked worse.” Maria muttered, dropping the blanket and reaching for the sweater. Even in the flickering lantern light, she could see the marks covering her pale flesh. Deep bits of purple and blue, shadows deepening them into black in places.

“I’m not.” Bea admitted, folding her arms around herself and watching Maria as she struggled to manage the fabric with her stiff limbs. Finally, impatiently, Bea stepped forward and grabbed it, thrusting it over Maria’s head. “Here, before you strangle yourself.”

“We don’t have that!” Cullen yelled.

“She is not saying we do!” Leliana snarled back.

“In-fighting may be as great a danger to us as Corypheus.” Giselle sighed.

“I don’t know.” Bea sniped under her breath while she gently tugged the sweater over Maria’s battered torso, taking extra care to straighten it and meeting her eyes with a weak grin. “To my knowledge, our humans have zero dragons and the demon has one.”

“Where is it?” Panic clawed at Maria’s throat again. “The dragon and Corypheus, the red templars, where…”

“Nobody has figured out where the fuck we are.” Bea answered. “Varric can’t get his network up and running for more than ten minutes at a time, although to be fair he’s been snuggling you and trying to work for most of the night. For as good as he claims to be at multitasking…”

There was his name again. And her chance to ask. She plucked the material over Bea’s shoulders pointedly. “What’s this?”

“It’s mine now.” Bea declared, wicked eyes dancing with relief and mirth. “Jealous, Ria?”

Gisele cut in with practiced diplomacy. “There has been no sign of Corypheus, his dragon, or the templars. Perhaps he believes you are dead, and thus is satisfied. Or he believes we are helpless and lost.”

Gisele sighed. “It could even be that he plans another attack as we speak. We do not know the demon’s mind, only our own fears.”

Maria swung her feet off the cot and pulled the leggings on over her aching limbs as quickly as she could. Jumping from the cot to finish the job was a mistake, the rush of blood to her head making her stumble into Bea. Her sister’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Easy.” Bea whispered. “This was… this was bad, Ria. You really should lay back down.”

“I’m not gonna sodding sit here and listen to them arguing.” Maria spat between her gritted teeth, fighting the dizziness back where it came from and finishing the job of putting her damn pants on. “This isn’t helping anything.”

“Another heated voice won’t help.” Gisele advised, a gentle voice laced with steel. “Even yours. Perhaps especially yours.”

“I agree. The last thing we need is one of your infamous tantrums, Ria.”

She was going to kill Bea. She glared into her sister’s face, holding onto her and pulling on one of her soggy boots, the only clothing left from her misadventure, it seemed. Gisele picked up where Bea left off. “They are struggling to lead because of what we survivors witnessed.”

“Well, it can’t be worse than what I saw.” Maria snapped, pulling on the last boot.

“Don’t you dare.” Bea shoved Maria, hard, back onto the cot. Caught off guard, Maria stumbled back onto the thing. It creaked precariously, but before she could turn her temper on Bea, Maria realized her sister’s face was flushed and splotchy, tears threatening in her eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Bea hissed, diving into Varric’s coat pocket and pulling out something glimmering, shining in the dull light. Instead of handing it to her, Bea threw it. The necklace and her rings landed in Maria’s lap.

Maria blocked out the human’s arguing and focused on Bea, preparing to argue with her instead. She opened her mouth, but Bea stopped her cold. “I saw you die, Ria. I thought I buried you just like I buried Nanna, Dad, and Fynn.”

The well of grief under those two sentences stretched endlessly. Bea ripped her eyes away from Maria’s and stared up at the tarp above them, blinking rapidly. Guilt thudded hollowly in Maria’s chest and she curled her fist around the necklace.

“Bea…”

“Shut up.” Bea seethed. “Shut up. I thought I lost you, I thought… fuck.”

Bea whirled away and Maria stood, intent on following her. “I need a fucking minute.” Bea shouted back, voice thick with unshed tears. “Stay fucking put for once in your damn life and give me a second to breathe.”

Wretched, Maria watched Bea stumble back out into the night. Gisele sighed, watching the slender form vanish. “It is difficult. For all of us, although for her I fear it was far worse. We left our defender behind to save us all… and we lost her.”

Maria hadn’t been defending anyone. She’d just been trying to survive, blindly acting on gut and instinct. It had been a desperate last stand, nothing more, nothing heroic or courageous. “I wasn’t…”

Gisele overrode her voice patiently. “And after all hope had fled… she returns. This is miraculous by any standard, and your actions appear more divine intervention than standard heroics. The longer we examine the darkness behind us, the more our trials seem ordained.”

“That’s crazy.” Maria folded her arms around her aching torso, trying not to shiver. “Nothing about this has anything to do with faith or…”

“It does seem insane, yes?” Gisele asked sweetly, piercing Maria with her dark eyes. “What ‘we’ have been called to ensure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?”

That ‘we’ of Gisele’s was very pointed and Maria wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t believe in their Maker, their Andraste, their Herald. Maria never heard the Stone sing or heard whispered guidance from her Ancestors' tombs. The Elven creators apparently abandoned the world long ago, and Maria wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else hadn’t followed suit. They were alone, carving out their destinies with nothing but switchblades and shaking fingers.

“What ‘we’ believe doesn’t matter.” Maria glared, standing from the cot and steadying herself for just a moment. “What we’re about to do is freeze to death if someone can’t get their head out of their ass. I’m not waiting for the Maker to intervene.”

She turned her back on the infuriating woman and took careful, measured steps to the edge of the tent. Outside her meager shelter, she saw the Inquisition’s leaders surrounding a campfire, all wearing various expressions of distress, their silence simmering with resentment.

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck were they supposed to…

“Shadows fall…” Gisele’s throaty voice carried from somewhere behind her, loud and clear as a chantry bell on Sunday as she moved to stand beside Maria. “And hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come…”

“What are you doing?” Maria hissed under her breath, piercing Gisele with a reproving glare, flinching as the four humans turned to stare. Gisele smiled, mysterious and sly, sailing past Maria without a word of explanation. She continued to sing an old song, a song Maria swore she’d heard in bits and pieces, a Chantry hymn floating out of pretty wooden chapels in Ostwick. “The night is long, and the path is dark… Look to the sky, for one day soon… the dawn will come.”

Maria gambled semi-professionally and knew she was rather good at it. Still, she’d have never placed money on what happened next in a million years.

It started with Leliana’s clear, bright soprano joining the chorus. Then, Maker’s balls, Cullen. Soldiers. Refugees. Chantry sisters. Children and witches and templars, all of them. The sound roared louder than the ocean, enough to drown the dragon’s screech still echoing in her head, and they were staring at her like she had an answer, like she could do something, anything.

Some of them dropped to their knees like she really was an idol carved of stone, an altar to worship at. Her panicked thoughts insisted she should have fled after Bea, but when she looked behind her to see if that escape route was still open, she saw her sister had returned in silence. The slouched form in the darkness, arms crossed, looked torn between amusement and grave concern.

She could almost hear Bea scoffing about humans being outrageous. Maria tightened her grip helplessly on the rings in her fist, wishing for all the world she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The song ended, the night sky hanging onto the last piercing note. Gisele turned her dark eyes back down towards Maria, triumph sparking in them as people cheered. “An army needs more than an enemy.” She declared softly. “It needs a cause.”

Gisele lifted her hands, prepared to preach a sermon to the masses. “My fellow children of the Maker…” She began fervently. “We have survived the trials put in front of us, endured the terror of…”

She stared, agog, until she felt the light press of a hand against the small of her back. She looked up to pin Solas with her bewildered gaze.

“A word?” He asked politely.

“Only if it has four letters.” She protested weakly, staring back out in stunned disbelief at the crowd.

“Come.” Solas said gently, guiding her into the shadows. “We have much to discuss.”

“She’s a wise woman. Worth heeding, at the very least. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.” Solas muttered, almost to himself, although Maria understood he was attempting to instruct her.

Maria shivered, although if it was from the cold or existential dread, she couldn’t tell. Solas noticed and extended his palm. A smooth, elegant flick of his wrist summoned a ball of flames, blue and beautiful, in the space between them. Maria stepped closer to the warmth, grateful for it.

“Can you help me escape her?” Maria asked, only semi-joking. Solas’s fond smile was the only answer before he shook his head.

“The magic Corypheus used against you. The spell that embedded that mark in your hand… It is Elven.”

Maria lifted her right palm up, still clutching the rings within it. She unfolded her fingers and stared down at the intricate, beautiful sun burned into it. “It looks Elven, I guess.” She muttered, shifting the sparkling rings to reveal the elegant loops. “Not that I’m an expert.”

“It is the magic that has been inside you since the start, pulled to the surface.” Solas explained clinically. “I assume it is also the magic that created the vortex, the same spell that caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave.”

And now… now it was inside her. “Fantastic.” She muttered.

“Do not begrudge it so much.” Solas advised. “I suspect without that magic in your veins, you would have perished then as well. As to how Corypheus survived… that is a mystery.”

Solas sighed and hunched his shoulders, staring down at the snow consideringly. “The only thing that is not a mystery is how people will react when they discover the origin of this magic. Perhaps people will not look past the fact that it is the symbol of the chantry, but there must have been a tool, one he used to harness it, and if it is found…”

“Riots.” Maria sighed. “The elves have it shit enough in all the cities of Thedas.”

Nanna used to say it could always be worse when they complained about not having enough money to buy nice clothes or go to the movies. They, at least, could afford food and their bills even if they had to work to the bone to do it. The elves… well, there was a reason they were shoved into the alienage projects. Nobody wanted to look at starving children.

“This is a fucking mess and elves are an easy target.” Maria murmured.

“I agree.” Solas’s voice was laced with approval. He placed a gentle hand on her aching shoulder. “But we can control this narrative. We can tell the story we wish to tell.”

“Solas.” Maria jerked her chin over her shoulder. “There’s a woman back there preaching a sermon about a dwarven criminal with elven magic in her hand at the head of a human religious movement. I can’t control any of my own story.”

She hadn’t been able to in years.

“Corypheus attacking the Inquisition changed it. Changed you.” Solas insisted. Maria shivered again, but this time it certainly wasn’t from the cold. “You are their guide. You are their savior.”

“I’m not.” Maria protested, wrenching away. “I’m not, don’t you dare go human on me, Solas, or I swear…”

“There is a place in the North. I have seen it in the fade, a place hidden by magic that waits for a force to hold it…”

“Is there anything useful in the fade?” Maria asked skeptically. “Maybe a way to get the network up and running so we can call for help?”

“Varric Tethras will never get our communications up and running without additional technology.” Solas insisted smoothly. “The witches alone, our power, interfered too much. Perhaps, if we had not found you he could have rigged something together, but the stronger you become, the more you recover…”

Solas reached for her palm, covered it with his own. “The technology we have with us cannot override your magic. Not any longer. I suspect he is beginning to identify the problem as well. If anyone could fix it, I suspect it is Varric, but he cannot do so here.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Maria blurted out. It would have been better, apparently, if she froze to death or simply died in the avalanche.

“But your magic is, perhaps, the only key to finding our path. Go north, lead them forward. Your magic can unlock our safety, I know it.” Solas pressed. “Only you can do this.”

“I can’t.” Maria’s voice broke and she shook her head. “Solas, I can’t.”

“You must.” Solas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But you will not do it alone. We are by your side.”

“They won’t listen to me.”

“On the contrary.” Solas smiled, soft and proud. “I believe you are the only one they will listen to.”

Three days. They followed Maria through the mountains for three fucking days. Varric thought he’d never forgive her for their forced march through miles of snow, directly into the bitter, biting wind of the north. There was, after all, only so much a man would do for a pair of beguiling eyes no matter how sensuous her curves. Varric Tethras had nearly reached his damn limit.

In fact, he’d had it with Maker damned everything. The network that wouldn’t connect them to the satellite, no matter what he tried. He couldn’t feel his toes. And he was simply sick of the endless, bleak, whiteness of it all.

One more day, he thought darkly, trudging after Maria’s crimson hair. One more blighted day, then he was refusing to go one more step.

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d said to himself yesterday.

“Can you all honestly not feel that?” Maria asked over her shoulder, perplexed.

“There are lots of things I can’t feel, Princess.” Varric growled. “Would you like an enumerated list?”

She sent him a withering look. Varric glared back, unimpressed.

“Darling, all I can feel is that energy coming out of your hand. It’s like standing in the middle of an orchestra.” Vivienne, somehow, still looked elegant in her snug fitted peacoat. The splashes of red templar blood almost formed a chic pattern. She’d be a perfect villain for one of his stories. If he didn’t freeze to death first.

Maria cautiously approached a cliff. Varric watched, warily, as she danced rather too close to the edge for his taste. If she fell to her death one more time, he wasn’t rescuing her, right hand to Andraste.

“Please do not fall off that precipice.” Dorian snapped, in tune with his thoughts. “I, for one, do not wish to be the person informing Cullen we allowed you to plummet to your doom.”

Maria ignored him, reaching out to brush snow from a large stone pillar overlooking the abyss. A matching one, almost like they were man made instead of natural, sat some distance away. Her ineffective swiping revealed something carved into the surface.

“Runes.” Solas smiled down at her, proud as only an old teacher could be. “Well done.”

But Maria seemed to be entranced by the shapes in the rock. She tipped her head to the side, examining them curiously. She brought her gloved right hand to her mouth and used her teeth to rip off the fleece fabric. Varric caught the slightest flicker of light in her palm before she pressed it to the stone.

The runes lit up gold, glowing gently, flickering with power. A gust of wind surged past them all, so fierce he temporarily grew concerned it would topple Maria right into the yawning abyss. Instead, it lifted her hair around her face, whipped past them into the chasm, bright lights dancing within it.

Varric’s breath caught in his throat. The lights seemed to sketch out a bridge, one that turned corporeal before their very eyes. It was made of stone and marble, hanging above the abyss implausibly. The magic picked up speed, circling in clouds in the air, puffs of glitter exploding to reveal walls, towers, trees, gates, all pulled from nothing but thin air.

“Andraste’s blushing buttcheeks.” Dorian whispered. “Who hid this?”

Who wouldn’t? It was something from another age, from a fairy tale, a fortress fit for a queen, pristine and intact, waiting for someone to unveil it, someone to call it back to life.

Not a queen, a part of him supplied. A princess. His princess.

“Skyhold.” Solas supplied quietly. “Welcome home, Herald.”

#girl with the arrow tattoo #maria cadash #varric tethras #varric romance #cadash x varric #inquisitor x varric #dwarf inquisitor #inquisitor cadash #dragon age inquisition #modern!thedas #modern magic #bea cadash needs a fucking hug guys #solas dragon age #dorian pavus #vivienne dragon age #mother gisele drives me crazy

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