#Dragonage Inquisition

[vonffez]

I love when people recognize the place right away from my drawing. It’s like we’ve all been there together.

“Inquisitor? Hmm….I didn't see her.” Afterward, the entire skyhold is disrupted by The Case of the Disappeared Inquisitor.

[uhbambii]

Sweet as Frosting

The Dellamorte villa was alive with warmth and laughter. The golden light of the kitchen illuminated the flour-dusted counter, where Rook stirred a bowl of batter with a bit more enthusiasm than technique. Her hair was tied loosely back, strands already falling free to frame her flushed cheeks.

Lucanis Dellamorte leaned against the counter beside her, his dark eyes brimming with quiet amusement. He was dressed in casual crow attire, nonetheless a bit intimidating to outsiders, though the frosting smudged across his sleeves made him look just a little less intimidating than usual.

“You know,” he drawled, his voice smooth and laced with mischief, “if you whisk any harder, the bowl might retaliate.”

Rook shot him a look, one brow arched. “I’m trying to make this perfect. You’re the one who insisted on cake instead of pie, so…” She trailed off, gesturing to the mess of ingredients around them.

Lucanis smirked. “Don’t blame me for your ambitious standards, tesoro. You’re the one who said you wanted to impress me.”

“Impress you?” Rook laughed, pausing to flick a pinch of flour at him. “Amorino, I think you’re already impressed enough.”

He tilted his head, watching her intently as though agreeing with that sentiment entirely. Then, without warning, he reached into the nearby frosting bowl, scooping a bit onto his finger and dabbing it across her nose.

“Lucanis!” she yelped, dropping the whisk and swiping at her face.

He was already laughing, the low sound resonating deep in his chest as he stepped back. “You’re much cuter when you’re messy, you know.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it now.”

Rook grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at him, hitting his dark shirt square in the chest. Lucanis stopped short, glancing down at the pale smudge on his otherwise pristine attire.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

But Rook wasn’t waiting for his retaliation. She darted around the counter, laughing as Lucanis chased after her with a determined gleam in his eye. They ended up tangled in a playful scuffle, smearing frosting and flour on each other’s faces and hands as they stole kisses in between bursts of laughter.

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The cake batter was forgotten for a while, though neither seemed to mind.

It wasn’t until much later, after the cake was baked and half-decorated, and Rook was perched on the countertop with Lucanis standing between her legs, their foreheads pressed together, that she glanced at the clock on the wall.

Her heart sank. “Andraste’s ashes,” she muttered, pulling back.

Lucanis frowned, his brows knitting together. “What is it?”

“It’s one in the morning,” Rook said, sliding off the counter in a panic. “I was supposed to be home by eleven. Viago’s going to kill me.”

Lucanis caught her hand before she could rush away, his expression softening. “Stay,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “I can smooth talk Viago tomorrow, save you some trouble.”

She sighed, torn between the warmth of his touch and the dread of her brother’s wrath. Finally, she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered against his mouth before pulling away.

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Lucanis said with a smirk, watching her gather her things.

Rook rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. “I’ll see you soon. Try not to miss me too much.”

Lucanis chuckled, “try not to get scolded too much,” his gaze following her as she slipped out into the night.

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The De Riva villa was quiet as Rook climbed through the open window of her room, carefully lowering herself onto the floor. She thought she’d gotten away with it, until the light flicked on.

Rook froze, turning slowly to find Viago sitting in a chair by the door, his arms crossed and his dark eyes narrowed. He was still dressed, his usual sharp crow attire despite the late hour, though his expression betrayed his annoyance.

“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

Rook scrambled for an excuse. “I was out with Teia,” she said quickly.

Another chair turned, and Teia spun into view with an equally unimpressed look. Her brown hair was loosely braided, and though her expression was softer than Viago’s, it was no less effective.

“Wanna try again?” Teia asked, arching a brow.

Rook winced. “I… was baking. At a friend’s place.”

“Baking,” Viago repeated, his tone flat. “Until one in the morning?”

“It’s… a very complicated recipe?” she offered weakly.

Teia exchanged a look with Viago, her lips twitching as though she were trying to suppress a laugh. Viago, however, didn’t seem amused.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re out this late,” he said, his voice softening slightly but still firm. “Anything could happen.”

Rook sighed, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry, Vi. I lost track of time, that’s all. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe at the Dellamorte villa.”

Viago’s brows furrowed, but his expression softened slightly. “Lucanis, huh?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, I’m not going to lecture you about seeing him. He’s… decent, as far as men like him go. Better than I expected, even. But, Rook—” His tone sharpened, the protective older brother coming through. “One in the morning? At his villa? What were you thinking?”

Teia gave him a small nudge, her tone gentler. “Vi, let her explain. She’s fine. Don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Viago shot back, though his raised voice said otherwise.

Rook held up her hands, trying to de-escalate. “We were baking. Baking, Vi. I wasn’t sneaking off to plot assassinations or rile up the Antaam!”

“That’s not the point,” Viago said, standing now, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “The point is you said you’d be home by eleven. If you’re going to see Lucanis, or anyone for that matter, you don’t just vanish into the night like some teenager with no sense of responsibility.”

“Vanish?” Rook repeated, indignant. “I didn’t vanish, Viago. I was with someone you know and trust.”

“I trust him to keep his blades sharp and his secrets buried,” Viago said. “That doesn’t mean I trust him not to make a bad decision with my little sister.”

Teia sighed, cutting in before the argument could spiral further. “She’s not a child, Vi. She’s more than capable of holding her own. And it’s not like she’s going to take any nonsense from Lucanis or anyone else.” She turned to Rook with a wry smile. “But maybe let your brother know next time if you’re running late? He gets… dramatic when he’s worried.”

Rook couldn’t help but grin at Teia’s dry humor, though she turned back to Viago with a more serious expression. “I’m sorry, Vi. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just lost track of time, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

Viago exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “Good. Because if you keep sneaking back at this hour, I might start sending messages to Lucanis about curfews.”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His lips quirked into a sly smirk. “Try me.”

Teia snorted a laugh, nudging Viago toward the door. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s apologized. Let her sleep, papa corvo.”

Viago huffed but relented, though not without a final glance at Rook. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? And next time, send a message through a crow.”

As the door closed behind them, Rook sank onto her bed, letting out a breath of relief. Her brother could be a pain, but at least he wasn’t trying to put Lucanis on some sort of watchlist.

But the lecture was worth it, she thought with a smile, the memory of Lucanis’s flour-dusted grin still fresh in her mind.

———————————————————————————

I wanted to write something with a little bit of comic relief, sprinkled with a touch of protective older brother Viago (My headcanon for crow! Rook).

————————————————————————-

Inspo for story: @trialsofthedas

Rook: *sneaking in through their window after a night at the villa*

Viago: *turning in their chair and flicking the light on* You want to tell me where you've been all night?

Rook: I was out with Teia?

Teia: *turning in their chair* Wanna try again?

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[lanawanderwoodfanart]

Trying to fill the hole in my heart by drawing cute solavellan moments which definitely happened

[mint-kaktuss]

No.

[eryniell]

Morrigan 💜

[a-s-illustrations]

I had to draw my fav romance of DA Inquisition. Dorian is such a darling. I adore him so much!!

[ryrycouch]

Her attitude is everything to me 🖤

[moltensmusings]

Cullavellan megapost because it's inquisition 10 year anniversary and I'll never be over this romance. I agonizing slow burn these two every time I replay the game.

[kinda-spaced-out]

pavellan sketch page i made during stream because the brain worms are scratching and biting

[elizagoose]

Thoughts?

Hello everyone! I've been writing fanfiction in my spare time for personal enjoyment, and my husband encouraged me to share it. (This would be my second attempt—don't look for the first one, as I've deleted it for personal reasons.) I'd like to share the first unedited chapter here before posting it to AO3 to gauge the general reaction. The story will primarily be from Solas's perspective. While I know my intended destination, the journey there should be interesting. Please be kind and let me know your thoughts.

****************************************************

Solas' eyes swept across the bustling tavern, a mixture of anticipation and resolve etched on his features. The air seemed charged with an impending change, one that only he could foresee. In mere moments, the unsuspecting magister would unlock the orb, inadvertently setting in motion a chain of events that would reshape the world.

The weight of what was to come pressed heavily on Solas' conscience. Hundreds of lives would be snuffed out in an instant, their futures erased in a blinding flash. A fleeting pang of regret tugged at his heart, but he steeled himself against it. This was necessary, he reminded himself. A kindness, even.

In his mind, he saw the faces of those who would mourn, their grief raw and overwhelming. But he took solace in knowing their pain would be short-lived. The world as they knew it was a pale imitation of what it should be, and he was about to set it right. It was a mercy, he told himself, to free them from this unnatural, tranquil existence. The mortals would be released from a life half-lived, their suffering cut mercifully short.

As the seconds ticked by, Solas braced himself for the imminent chaos. His resolve hardened, pushing aside any lingering doubts. This was his path, the burden he alone could bear. The world would be reborn, and from its ashes, a truer reality would emerge.

The tavern's raucous atmosphere suddenly shifted as a tense scene unfolded. A human man, his words slurred by drink, reached out and grabbed the wrist of a passing barmaid. "There she is," he growled, his grip tightening.

The barmaid's reaction was swift and fierce. "Get your filthy hands off me!" she exclaimed, wrenching her arm free with a forceful tug. Her eyes flashed with anger and disgust.

Undeterred by her resistance, the man's lips curled into a malicious sneer. "Stop being so shy, lass. All I want is a little taste," he taunted, his words dripping with ill intent.

In a flash, the barmaid's hand connected with the man's face. The well- aimed slap left a red mark on the man's cheek.

Rage contorted the man's features as he shoved the table aside, rising to his full height. "You ungrateful little—" he snarled, his hand clenching into a fist as he loomed over the barmaid.

Solas heard it before he saw it: the piercing whistle of a bolt slicing through the air, its trajectory undeniably precise—a testament to the skill of its launcher. Before the man could retaliate, his collar was pinned against the wall. The result was immediate; a hush fell over the entire tavern, muting the once-lively chatter and laughter. Everyone present bore witness to the spectacle, the silence hanging heavy with stunned disbelief.

A gruff voice broke the stunned silence. "She's not interested," a dwarf announced, gesturing to his crossbow, "but Bianca here has a soft spot for drunk, dumb, and ugly." The words carried a hint of humour, but the steel in his eyes left no room for misinterpretation.

Undeterred, the human reached for his dagger. Solas, however, was quicker. With a subtle gesture, he summoned his magic, encasing the man's arm in a sheath of ice. The would-be attacker found himself thoroughly immobilized, his threat neutralized in an instant.

"Take a hint, human," the dwarf growled, his tone laced with disgust. Turning to Solas, he offered a nod of silent gratitude, a wordless acknowledgment passing between them. The tavern remained hushed, the patrons captivated by the unexpected display of magic and marksmanship.

The earth trembled and quaked with a ferocity that defied imagination as if the very fabric of reality was being torn asunder. A blinding green light, otherworldly and terrifying in its intensity, seeped through every window and crevice of the tavern, casting eerie shadows that danced and flickered across the walls. The air itself seemed to vibrate with energy, charged with a power that sent shivers down the spines of all present.

In the wake of this ethereal illumination came a shockwave of unprecedented magnitude. It tore through the air with a deafening roar, shaking the very foundations of the building with such force that it seemed as if the structure might collapse at any moment. The sturdy wooden beams groaned and creaked under the strain, dust and debris raining down from the ceiling as the walls shuddered and swayed.

The force of the blast was so overwhelming that it sent everyone within the tavern sprawling to the floor, their bodies tossed about like leaves in a tempest. Glasses shattered, tables overturned, and chairs clattered across the room in a cacophony of chaos. Patrons and staff alike found themselves suddenly prone, struggling to comprehend the sudden upheaval of their world as they grappled with the cold, hard floor beneath them.

Solas' mind reeled as he pushed himself up, grappling with the unexpected turn of events. This wasn't just a miscalculation; it was a catastrophic error. The sheer magnitude of the explosion and its far-reaching effects defied all his careful planning and predictions. After millennia of slumber, his weakened state had forced him to rely on another to unlock the power stored within his orb—a gamble that had clearly backfired.

As he stumbled to his feet, his eyes locked onto the sky, now torn asunder by a swirling vortex of otherworldly energy. The Veil, that gossamer-thin barrier between worlds, had been ripped apart with violent force. Through the gaping wound, the raw essence of the Fade poured into the physical realm, bringing with it a horde of demons that plummeted from the heavens.

A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach, mixing with a growing sense of urgency. This was far beyond what he had intended, far beyond what he could have imagined. His plan to remake the world as it once was—a plan that hinged on reclaiming the power from his orb after the magister had unlocked it—now lay in ruins. His carefully laid schemes were unravelling before his eyes, spiralling into chaos.

Solas barely registered the dwarf's grumbled "Argh, not again" as they made their way to the door. His focus was solely on the sky, on the breach that threatened to undo everything. He knew, with grim certainty, that he had to act swiftly. The orb, his precious artifact, was now more than just a tool for his grand design—it was the key to averting a disaster of his own making.

As the sounds of panic and confusion rose around him, Solas steeled himself for what lay ahead. He had to find the orb, had to contain this breach before it consumed everything. This was his doing, and now, it fell to him to make it right—to salvage what he could of his plan to restore the world of old.

"Maker damn it," the dwarf growled, deftly retrieving a contraption from his pack and clicking it into place on his crossbow. His eyes darted to the staff in Solas' grip, a mix of scepticism and hope in his gaze. "That fancy stick of yours—is it just for show, or can you actually use it?”

Solas met the dwarf's scrutiny with a subtle nod, his voice calm despite the chaos around them. "Lead the way, Child of the Stone. I assure you, this 'stick' is more than capable."

The dwarf's eyebrows shot up, a hint of amusement breaking through his urgency. "Child of the—" He shook his head, cutting himself off. "We don't have time for flowery introductions. Name's Varric Tethras. Now come on, we've got a world to save."

Without waiting for a response, Varric charged deeper into Haven, his crossbow at the ready. Solas fell into step behind him, his grip tightening on his staff as they plunged into the fray. The unlikely pair moved with purpose, ready to face whatever horrors the breach had unleashed upon the world.

It had been millennia since Solas had engaged in any real battle, and the odds seemed stacked against him. His magic was dampened by his own creation, the Veil, and his body was unaccustomed to such strenuous movements after eons of slumber. Yet, as the fighting intensified, a startling realization dawned on him.

To his quiet horror and secret satisfaction, Solas found himself not just keeping up, but excelling in combat. Even in his current near-tranquil-like state, his movements were fluid, his spells precise and devastatingly effective. With each demon that fell to his magic, a dangerously familiar spark of pride ignited within him.

As he felled the last demon in Haven, Solas allowed himself a moment of reflection. The ease with which he had dispatched his foes was both exhilarating and unsettling. It served as a potent reminder of who he once was, and perhaps, who he still was beneath the façade of a humble apostate. The Wolf, it seemed, was far from toothless.

"Varric!" A woman's voice called from behind them, her soft Orlesian accent carrying over the chaos. Solas turned to see a figure approaching, her movement graceful despite the urgency in her steps.

Varric's face lit up with a mix of relief and wariness. "Good to see you're still standing, Red," he said, his charm undimmed as he holstered his crossbow.

The woman's lips quirked in a half-smile. "I could say the same of you, though I'm not sure how long that'll remain the case," she replied, her tone carrying a hint of playful warning.

Solas observed the exchange silently, his mind recalling the whispers of his spies. This must be Leliana, he realized, the renowned spymaster. He made a mental note to tread carefully; her reputation for cunning was well-earned.

"Is that your way of saying the Seeker's on her way back to Haven?" Varric grumbled, his earlier cheer fading slightly.

Leliana sighed softly. "I will do my best to aim her anger elsewhere," she assured him, though her expression suggested it might be a losing battle.

Varric's eyes narrowed, sensing there was more to come. "There's more, isn't there? Come on, Red. Don't leave me in suspense," he pressed, his jovial tone barely masking his concern.

The spymaster's gaze shifted to Solas, a flicker of suspicion and caution in her eyes before she seemed to come to a decision. With a weary shake of her head, she turned back to Varric.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes... it's gone," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of tragedy. "Everyone at the Conclave... they're all dead."

Varric's face fell, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a physical blow. "Shit," he breathed out, the single word encompassing a world of dismay.

Leliana paused, her next words coming out barely above a whisper. "Except one."

The dwarf's eyes widened in disbelief. "How in Andraste's flaming knickers could anyone survive a blast like that?" he exclaimed, voicing the question that hung heavy in the air.

Leliana's voice wavered, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "My scouts report... they saw her emerge from the Fade itself, stepping through a tear in the Veil."

"Andraste's ass, that—" Varric began, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe.

"—is not possible," Solas interjected, his tone measured but firm. His eyes, usually calm and detached, now held a spark of intense interest. "To achieve such a feat, one would need to accumulate more power than any mortal could ever hope to wield and survive. Such a display of magic has not been witnessed since the days of ancient Tevinter, and even then, it required the combined efforts of no less than seven magisters."

Varric and Leliana exchanged startled glances, caught off guard by the stranger's depth of arcane knowledge. Leliana's eyes narrowed, her analytical mind already at work, while Varric let out a low whistle, his storyteller's curiosity piqued by this mysterious man's words.

"You're an apostate," Leliana stated plainly, her voice carrying a hint of suspicion beneath its calm exterior.

Solas met her gaze steadily, his posture relaxed yet dignified. "Indeed I am," he replied, his voice smooth and controlled. "But you may call me Solas. If it would put you at ease, I am willing to relinquish my staff." He made the offer casually, as if surrendering his primary means of defense was of little consequence.

Leliana's brow furrowed, her suspicion now tinged with curiosity. "You, an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, would willingly give up your best hope of defending yourself? Why?"

Solas's response came with unwavering conviction, a subtle note of urgency underlying his words. "The Breach poses a threat far greater than the conflicts between apostates, Templars, or even the Chantry. I am more than capable of setting aside my personal reservations for the sake of the greater good. My hope is that those who might otherwise see me in chains can find it within themselves to do the same."

Varric chuckled nervously, all too familiar with how Seeker Cassandra typically handled such situations. "So, you're offering to help? Just like that?"

Solas paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces around him. He could see the weight of their circumstances etched in their expressions, the gravity of the situation reflected in their eyes. With a slight nod, he continued, his voice soft but resolute. "If you'll have me, I stand ready to offer whatever assistance I can in this dire hour."

Leliana's expression softened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of relief passing across her features. She exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Varric before turning back to Solas. "Very well," she said, her voice a blend of caution and grudging gratitude. "We need all the help we can get. Come, there is much to be done, and precious little time to do it."

****************************************************

Walking in stride with the Seeker, Solas ventured down the dimly lit corridor that led to Havens holding cells. His mind flitting fast between thoughts, looking for an explanation on how a mortal could survive an explosion of such magnitude, let alone physically walk out of the Fade. After all, the orb was not a tool that just anyone could manipulate.

"Liliana has shared with me your keen interest in the mark and your theories on how it might be used to seal the Breach," Seeker Pentaghast spoke, her voice echoing off the stone walls as she halted in front of the heavy, iron-clad doors. "However, your expertise with the Fade and potentially the mark are not the only reasons I've brought you here."

Solas raised a brow, curiosity piqued. "What other reason could there be?" he questioned, exercising caution in his tone.

The Seeker's face turned grim. "The prisoner is dying. Each time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, consuming her. Haven's Alchemist, Adan, has nearly exhausted his skills and resources, but it's not enough. I need her to survive," the Seeker revealed.

Solas nod in understanding. "I possess some skill in healing. Perhaps that, coupled with my knowledge of the Fade, might be enough to keep your prisoner alive," he offered.

"Good," was Seeker Pentaghast's simple, approving response.

With a heavy creak, the Seeker swung open the dungeon door, stepping aside to allow Solas to enter first. Her gaze piercing, watchful as she followed him in. Four heavily armed Templars stood vigilant at each corner within the shadowy chamber. In the centre of the room, a woman lied prone on a makeshift bed of straw, her features obscured by a cascade of long, silver-white hair. Solas was struck by a devastating wave of emotions as his eyes adjust to the dungeon's darkness.

"Your prisoner is—" Solas began, barely maintaining a semblance of calm.

"An elf, yes. But not like any we've encountered before," the Seeker interject. "She bears no Dalish markings, and her attire is far from typical for a city elf. Even one in the service of a wealthy patron wouldn't don such garments."

The Seeker had no idea how right she was, nor could she possibly fathom the true nature of the prisoner before them. Regaining his composure, Solas folded his hands behind his back and turned to the Seeker, his tone firm. "To work efficiently, I must insist on being left alone."

"Out of the question," Cassandra replied sharply, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You may be here to help, apostate, but that does not mean I trust you completely."

Solas's tone remained calm, but his eyes held a glint of defiance. "Seeker, I implore you to consider the delicacy of this situation. The presence of Templars, with their... particular set of skills, could disrupt the subtle energies I must work with. Their abilities, while formidable against mages, might inadvertently interfere with the delicate balance required to stabilize the mark. Surely, you wouldn't want to risk the prisoner's life due to an abundance of caution?"

"Then I must insist Adan is present," Cassandra declared firmly, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of suspicion and determination evident in her gaze. "He will oversee your work and keep me informed."

"Very well," Solas conceded, his tone measured and diplomatic. A hint of resignation coloured his words as he continued, "I suppose having another set of eyes could prove beneficial. Though I must stress the importance of minimal interference during the delicate stages of the process."

"Understood," Cassandra replied firmly, her jaw set with determination. She turned to the Templars, her voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "You are dismissed. Return to your posts."

The Templars saluted sharply, their armour clanking as they filed out of the room. Cassandra's eyes remained fixed on Solas, a mixture of wariness and hope evident in her gaze.

Solas inclined his head slightly, his voice calm and measured. "Your trust is appreciated, Seeker. I assure you, I will employ every means at my disposal to aid in this... delicate situation."

His words were carefully chosen, revealing nothing of his true intentions or the turmoil that roiled beneath his composed exterior.

"See that you do, Apostate," Cassandra replied, her voice stern but tinged with a hint of desperation. "Adan will be here shortly. I pray your efforts are successful - for all our sakes."

The Seeker left the room slowly, her eyes never leaving Solas as he moved about the holding cell. He repositioned the unlit candelabras, bringing them closer to the prone figure on the ground. A simple flick of his wrist ignited the wicks, casting a warm glow across the chamber. Only when the heavy thud of the prison door echoed through the room did Solas dare to look up, confirming his solitude.

Assured of his privacy, Solas sank to his knees beside the prisoner. His hand hovered uncertainly over her form, trembling slightly as his eyes traced the painfully familiar contours of her attire. The weight of memory pressed upon him.

‘The sweet scents of spring lingered in the air. The sun's warmth blissfully caressed the earth as a gentle breeze carried winter's last farewells. In Arlathan's great forest, Solas stalked alone. He shouldn't have been there—countless important tasks demanded his attention, and frolicking in the woods was not a luxury he could afford. Yet it seemed his most crucial task of the day had slipped away from him. A gentle melody of laughter caught his ears; Enlea wouldn't allow him to catch her so easily.

"Lady Enlea," Solas called out, his voice a mixture of feigned exasperation and underlying amusement, "why prolong the inevitable? You know I'll find you... as I always do."

“You're starting to sound like Andruil-” Enlea called out before rounding the tree and revealing herself. “-You and my beloved sister both seemed to have forgotten a simple truth.”

"And what is this 'simple truth'?" Solas asked his voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement, eager to hear her wisdom.

"That the capture of your prey is not what dictates a good hunt." Enlea's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned against the tree, her silver hair catching the dappled sunlight. "It's the thrill of the chase, it's the dance between hunter and hunted, that truly matters."

Solas couldn't help but smile, admiring her wisdom and playful spirit. "A lesson well taught, my lady. Though I must admit, the prize at the end of this particular hunt is quite enticing."

Enlea's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that echoed through the forest. "Oh, Solas," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mirth, "you flatter me so. But tell me, what prize could possibly be worth chasing through these woods all day?"

Solas stepped closer, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The joy of your company, my lady," he murmured, his voice low and tender. "That is a prize beyond measure."

"Well then," she said with a coy smile, "I'll make this chase particularly thrilling."

With a playful wink, Enlea darted away, her silver hair streaming behind her like a banner of moonlight. Solas chuckled, his heart light with joy as he gave chase. The forest seemed to come alive around them, branches swaying as if to join in their merry game.’

As the memory faded, a muffled sob caught in Solas's throat. With trembling hands, he gently rolled her onto her back, her silver-white hair cascading away from her face. His movements were deliberate and tender as he cradled her close, her familiar form a bittersweet comfort in his arms.

The weight of millennia crashed upon him at that moment. Over two thousand years of sorrow, rage, and crushing regret threatened to overwhelm him, poised to shatter his carefully maintained composure. His chest tightened, each breath a struggle against the tide of emotions that sought to break free.

Solas gazed down at Enlea's unconscious form, his eyes tracing the features he had once known so well. The sight of her, here and now, was both a miracle and a torment. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely more than a whisper, thick with unshed tears and longing.

“Ir abelas ma’ evune, ma vhenan, ma Enlea, tel vara em mala. Ma te’elan vara u’em sal.” He whispered **against her hair as he willed his magic through her to the Anchor. (I am sorry, my moon, my heart, my Light, do not leave me now. You cannot leave me alone again.)

She lay motionless at his words, her chest rising and falling far too quickly. The Seeker's assessment rang true; his mark was indeed draining her life force, slowly killing her. A desperate thought crossed his mind: by transferring the Anchor, he could awaken her and whisk her away from those who sought to condemn her. With his power, he could easily overcome any who would try to stop him.

But even as the plan formed in his mind, Solas knew it was a fleeting hope. The Anchor, it seemed, had other plans as it resisted his attempts, stubbornly clinging to Enlea's form.

Solas's brow furrowed in concentration as he poured more of his magic into the effort, his fingers trembling with exertion. But it was to no avail. A soft, anguished cry escaped his lips as the Anchor suddenly flared to life, its violent green light flooding the dim chamber. The mark's power surged uncontrollably, and Solas found himself helpless to contain it.

His heart clenched with a mixture of fear and frustration. This was not how it was supposed to be. The orb's power, his power, was now beyond his control, threatening the very life of the one person he had never expected to see again. The irony of the situation was not lost on him – his plans, now hinged on saving the life of someone he had long thought lost.

"Enlea," he called softly, hoping against hope that she could hear him, that his voice might rouse her from the brink of death.

The realization struck Solas with crushing clarity: if he couldn't transfer the Anchor, his only option was to stabilize it. Though Enlea was far from mortal, her current state was alarmingly fragile. The power that now coursed through her veins threatened to overwhelm her weakened form.

Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor outside the dungeon, signalling Adan's approach. With practised composure, Solas gently eased Enlea back onto the ground and rose to his feet. His hands clasped behind his back, he schooled his features into a mask of serene professionalism. The weight of their shared history—a history spanning millennia— threatened to pull him down and drown him, but he knew he couldn't allow even a hint of familiarity to show. With Enlea under the Seeker's scrutiny, Solas couldn't afford to leave anything to chance.

The heavy door opened with a creak. Adan walked in, carrying many bottles and herbs. Solas acknowledged him with a measured nod, his face a carefully crafted expression of detached concern. As the alchemist drew near, Solas steeled his resolve for the delicate task ahead: to save Enlea while maintaining his guise as a mere helpful apostate. The stakes were higher than anyone in Haven could possibly imagine, and Solas was determined to navigate this precarious situation with utmost caution.

[phoenixxheart13]

"I wouldn't trade the years we've had together for anything. I love you, Dorian." - Inquisitor Lavellan, Dragon Age Inquisition: Trespasser DLC

So completely in love with this artwork I commissioned from @laudrawin of my Inquisitor Davrien Lavellan and his beloved Vhenan Dorian Pavus.

[mollfie-art]

Some Dragon Age ocs!

@watermelonfaerie

@booksncatsworld

@virenasalin

I’m still working on these so I’ll keep posting as and when they’re done. If you missed it, procreate lost my work on these so I had to salvage them from the sketches I posted here a bit ago. I have a bunch sketched though 😊

(Let me know if I missed anything important)

[uhbambii]

Warm Evenings

Lucanis Dellamorte stretched out lazily on the plush couch in the sitting room of his family villa, the soft glow of the evening sun streaming in through the large windows. His dark hair was slightly mussed from Rook’s fingers combing through it absentmindedly earlier, and his deep brown eyes, rich and warm as espresso, glimmered with a rare tranquility.

Rook lay draped against his chest, her head nestled just below his chin. Her slight frame fit perfectly against him, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a soothing counterpoint to the muted sounds of the villa beyond their cozy cocoon.

“You know,” Rook murmured, her voice soft and laced with amusement, “Viago and Teia were at it again earlier.”

Lucanis chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that made Rook smile. “Flirting like their lives depend on it?”

“Always,” she replied with a laugh. “Viago was leaning against the doorway, reciting some ridiculous poem, and Teia just ate it up. She’s pretending she doesn’t care, but we both know she loves it.”

Lucanis grinned. “You’re right. Teia would gut someone for saying she has a soft spot, but the moment Viago walks in…” He trailed off, tilting his head to look down at Rook. “I don’t know how they manage to keep a straight face half the time. Maybe they think we don’t notice.”

Rook smirked, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her finger. “They’re not exactly subtle.”

“Subtle?” Lucanis scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “They’ve redefined the word ‘obvious.’ Honestly, I’m tempted to start flirting openly with you just to give them a taste of their own medicine.”

Rook raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “Oh? And how would you do that, Lucanis Dellamorte?” Her tone was playful, teasing.

He smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’d start by dramatically throwing myself at your feet, professing my undying devotion.”

Rook burst out laughing, the sound light and infectious. “You’d never!”

“I would! And then I’d serenade you from the balcony. Viago would have to unwillingly listen to his little sister be serenaded.”

Her laughter only grew, and Lucanis grinned triumphantly, clearly pleased with himself. “Mark my words, uccellina, One day, you’ll even find me reciting sonnets in the middle of the market square.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, her voice still thick with laughter.

The gentle warmth of the moment wrapped around them like a soft blanket. Slowly, Lucanis’ breathing evened out, and his arms grew slack around her. Rook tilted her head slightly to look up at him and found his eyes closed, his lips parted as he slipped into a peaceful sleep.

Carefully, she shifted in his arms, wiggling free without waking him. She paused for a moment, watching the way the evening light highlighted the sharp planes of his face. He looked so peaceful, so at ease. Smiling softly, she padded off to the kitchen.

——————————————————————————

As Rook padded into the kitchen, her thoughts swirled with the comforting idea of freshly brewed coffee. She reached for the kettle and set it on the stovetop, humming softly to herself. The soft clinks of cups and spoons echoed in the cozy space as she moved about, the domestic rhythm soothing and familiar.

Just as she began scooping coffee grounds into the pot, two warm arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her gently against a solid chest. Lucanis rested his chin on her shoulder, his dark eyes still a little hazy from his nap, but his lips curved into a small, mischievous smile.

“Caught you,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Trying to sneak off and leave me alone. Shame on you, uccellina.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “I was making coffee, not abandoning you. Big difference.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, clearly unconvinced. “You could’ve woken me, you know. It’s cruel to leave me cold and alone while you’re in here, hoarding all the warmth.”

Rook laughed softly, placing a hand over his where it rested on her waist. “You were too peaceful to wake up. Besides, I thought you’d appreciate the smell of coffee more than me nudging you.”

Lucanis tightened his hold slightly, swaying them both gently from side to side. “Fair point,” he admitted. “But now that I’m awake, I think I should help. Or, at least, supervise.”

“Oh, you’re supervising now?” she teased, tilting her head to glance at him. “You don’t trust me with coffee-making? Afraid I’ll make a Neve brew?”

“You wound me,” he said dramatically, his dark eyes sparkling with humor. “I’ll have you know, I can make an excellent cup of coffee. In fact, I’m better at it than you and definitely Neve.” He chuckled.

“Big words for someone who’s holding me hostage instead of grabbing the sugar,” she shot back, smirking.

Lucanis laughed, his breath warm against her ear. “All right, all right. I’ll grab the sugar.” He reluctantly released her, stepping away to rummage through the cupboards, his tousled hair falling into his eyes. Rook watched him for a moment, her chest tightening with an inexplicable wave of affection.

When he returned with the sugar jar, he set it on the counter and leaned against it, watching her as she poured the boiling water into the coffee pot. “You know,” he said, his tone shifting to something softer, “this is nice.”

“Making coffee?” she asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Being here. With you. Doing something so… normal,” he said, gesturing to the scene around them. “I’ve had enough chaos in my life to know how rare this is.”

Rook paused, her hands stilling for a moment as she looked at him. His dark eyes held hers, earnest and warm, and the weight of his words settled over her like a soft blanket. “I think I needed this too,” she admitted quietly, her voice tinged with the same tenderness.

He smiled, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in that roguish way that always made her heart flutter. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers as he reached for the cups. “Now, let me prove to you that I’m more than just a charming face. I’ll finish the coffee, and you can sit there looking adorable.”

Rook laughed, swatting at his arm. “Adorable? That’s your grand romantic line?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” he shot back with a grin, deftly pouring the coffee into the cups and adding just the right amount of sugar and cream to each. He handed her a cup, their fingers brushing briefly, and for a moment, the kitchen fell quiet, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

As they stood there, sipping their coffee and exchanging soft smiles, Lucanis suddenly reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of her jaw as he looked at her with an expression so full of warmth it made her knees weak.

“I hope you know,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “that these little moments with you? They’re everything to me.”

Rook felt her cheeks flush, but she met his gaze steadily, her lips curving into a small smile. “Lucanis…”

“No, let me finish,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’ve been in places— the Ossuary… where I didn’t know if I’d ever feel… this. This kind of peace. But you—you’ve given me that. You’ve given me so much more than I ever thought I deserved.”

Her heart swelled, and she reached up to rest a hand on his chest. “You deserve all of it,” she said softly. “And more.”

Lucanis’ smile widened slightly, his hand cupping her cheek as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “You’re going to make me fall even harder for you, Rook,” he teased gently, though his tone was thick with emotion.

“Good,” she whispered, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Because I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the smell of coffee wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Eventually, Lucanis chuckled and stepped back, lifting his cup with a wink. “Now, let’s see if my coffee-making skills really are better than yours.”

Rook rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “If they’re not, I’m making the next pot.”

“Deal,” he said, clinking his cup lightly against hers. “But I warn you—I plan on winning this argument. And every other one after that.”

“Dream on, Amorino,” she teased, laughing as they wandered back to the sitting room together, the warmth of their coffee and their shared love making the villa feel like home.

———————————————————————————

Cute little cuddly moment, while also bullying her brother…. Yes!

Uccellina = little bird/little crow

Amorino = Masc. Ver. Of darling

Also deserved, Teia and Viago have some… open dialogue

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[lanawanderwoodfanart]

- Skyhold evenings -

[hunkyartz]

been playing dragon age: inquisition and gotten quite irritated by him when trying to safe the mages instead of templars. if the inquisitor stood before them, offering to take them back to haven, I can still hear him

"w-we can still go back and get the-" LEAVE ME ALOOOONEEEE

[eryniell]

I drew this piece a while ago when my second Lavellan Inquisitor Ithil in romance with Solas still had her datv hair, while she has now dyed her hair black/blue. I haven't finished DA the Veilguard yet but I'm hoping for a happy ending for these two, if so maybe Ithil will decide to go back to her original silver hair 🥹🤍