#I am simply me. I burn like a flame and extinguish in steam and flow like mud between your toes on a hot summer afternoon

[neverendingford]

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[nrth-wind-a]

@flamekeeperbellroc​ - Christmas Gift!

Drabble Below Cut!

Prompt: First meetings --

It begins, as everything does with them, with an eruption.

Molten rock sparks and begins to concave, as it swirls in its pit, pressure and heat building to capacity. The hot land around the full-to-bursting mountain quakes, and splits in places, as something gives, and earth explodes outward, flinging with it, smoke and a figure in it.

They awaken halfway through their arc. A breath is sucked in, a gasp, which is all black ash and acrid gas, but it does not hurt them. They feel invigorated.

Their descent begins, and they hurtle toward the heated surface of their new dwelling place— it is exclusively theirs— but before they impact, they throw their hands out. Flame jets from them, and the opposing force is so strong that they rocket into the air once more. When they land, it is islands over, and the crater they create rolls through the ground, expanding until it is enormous and deep. And there, in the center, steam is pouring from them, as they stand to their sum height.

They look down. They can see. They can see themself. Their hands, their fingers, curling with the sensation of… rather, simply with sensation. There are nerves, and veins, and they burn white hot with energy. The planet on which they walk, the dirt between their toes, is barely older than them— they can feel that. How can they feel that?

They marvel a moment longer at their flesh and sinew, before they follow the curiosities of their mind, and look up. There is no reason not to indulge, not to follow whimsy.

They laugh softly, and oh, their voice feels like the way magma moves, thick, but liquid, changeable. Slick.

They will come to learn that their emotions do the same, but not yet. There is no cause for any emotion but joyous anticipation, for now.

For, now, they are alive.

—

Across the planet, and across time, ice begins to crack.

—

Born a number of moons apart, and entirely unaware of the other, Mage Wind and Mage Fire begin to go about the processes that echo in their heads, left there perhaps by ancients that seek to rise again. Ancients that are buried at the heart of a planet, that had roamed until they could no more. Ancients that sought champions.

Two of the three had been completed, but a triangle is no triangle without three points, three sides.

Three magics.

And the first magics will be formed from threes.

Mage Wood will come soon. She is not ready, yet. She must be connected to everything the other two are not, and thus, she must grow; her roots must pulse to the crust of the land and back to the core again, before she will be ready to carry what she must.

In the meantime, two opposites must first become complements. It will not do otherwise. Nothing will do otherwise.

—

Bellroc— that is their name, was the first word from their lips, and they are not sure how this came to be, but they do not believe it is the most important question on their mind because the one that is important is— Bellroc must go on a search — where, and who, is the new one?

They know nothing but that his dominion is in the North; the part of the planet they’d avoided previously. It is cold. It extinguishes them, makes them feel sluggish and vulnerable. They will go, though. Because they must. They know it.

They know that they are to bolster the power that flows through their veins, and they know that they are lonely. They know that he may be, too, if they wait too long. They also know that he will be seeking to grow in his own arcana as well, and what better way to do that than to do it together?

They’d always suspected that they weren’t meant to have been alone at their formation, but had held no evidence of this, until they’d felt something… join them. Until they’d felt him.

They’d felt a soul solidify into life, had felt the gale forces of all the winds on earth whip past them, going north, and moments later, they’d felt a shift in the very plane of magic itself.

So they followed the wind, flew north themself, and ignored the way the cold seeped between their feathers, and rose the hairs on the back of their neck. They wanted to find—

An aura that was utterly freezing washed over them, as their feet singed snow, when they landed. They were close.

Too close, it already felt like, as they heated their hands and blew into them, letting warmth caress their face. They hated having to expend magic while it was still so new to them, but they’d had yet to truly overextend with even the greatest displays of power they had, so perhaps they were simply underestimating themself. They weren’t sure. Everything was so new.

They tried to project a non-threatening personage, for they did not know how this… North Wind would react to their flame and sparks and heat.

Not well, would be their immediate next thought, as they felt a gale force stronger than anything that could comfortably be passed off as natural whip across them, forcing them to throw up their hands in front of their face to interrupt the flow, so that they could get air into their lungs. They stood their ground despite this, burying their feet into the snow, heating enough that they could melt ankle deep in it, get a stronger foothold.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” A voice creaked through the wind, winding around them in a way that made it impossible to tell its direction of origin.

“I am Bellroc, Keeper of the Eternal Flame, and you—… you are like me. You are— we are— the first. The first on this planet. The first… thing that I’ve met. And you’re like me.” Their voice did not waver, but was gentle, soothing, though it shifted.

It must not have alarmed him, however, as a curious head appeared from behind a snowbank, and ah, he was much closer than they’d thought. Clever thing. He’d practically stood in front of them.

He approached slowly, almost… not afraid, really. Warily, perhaps. The way one approaches when danger is not immediately obvious, but could be. Or, if they thought it could be. Bellroc meant the stranger no harm.

As if they could hurt him anyway. His gaze was disarming, piercing them in a way that sent their chest feeling wild and open. There he is. They thought. A fellow. A friend.

His eyes raked up and down, and then back up again, to meet theirs. He tilted his head, and they had to resist the urge to copy him, to do to him what he was doing to them. They stamped on the idea, instead taking the plunge, deciding that any more caution would stall them longer.

“What is your name? Do you know it?”

He recoiled for half a second, curling in on himself, but after what was written across his face a self-admonition, he seemed to unfold again, taking another step forward. They were now close enough that their arms could likely touch in the middle, as their peer’s voice sounded again; it still sounded like wind, but was less overwhelming and deafening, and instead washed over them like an easy breeze. “Skrael. I am called Skrael. Of… of the North Wind.”

Bellroc felt a smile bloom before they could nip its bud, “Skrael.” They repeated. “This is… good. Thank you for telling me. I—”

“You said you were like me.” He blurted, to their surprise.

They blinked, and while he seemed to regret his question, they couldn’t help but find it… incredible, to be interrupted. To have someone who could interrupt them. They almost wanted to ask him to do it again.

“I did.” They said, choosing caution first. They couldn’t get ahead of themself. They barely knew him.

Yet… the magic that passed between them… there was little they knew about him in the factual sense, yes. But, it rather seemed that their intuition was much more educated. They didn’t know, yet, things like the extent of his power, or what he dreamed about, or how his footfalls sounded. But they knew that, though they could hardly call him familiar by information, something about him was drawing on their chest, reassuring them that they would, someday.

“Can you— are you—” Skrael faltered on his words, seeming as though he were grasping for something that was just out of reach of his own head.

“Arcane?” They finished for him.

He nodded, and something warmed in Bellroc’s chest that they couldn’t entirely attribute to their magic. They’d guessed his words correctly.

“Yes. I am. Would you like to see?”

His nod was so rapid and enthusiastic despite himself, but it only endeared him to them further.

They couldn’t resist a private smirk beneath their mask, eager for the chance to get a real, genuine reaction at the things they’d been learning to do.

A flash and some golden runes scrawled into the very air itself later, they were juggling flame between their fingers, growing it to toss from hand to hand. They waited, watching him admire the thing, preening at his quiet noise of wonder.

After they gestured for him to step backward a bit, they shot him a wink, and then hurled the ball into the sky. It streaked upward, leaving red and orange in its wake, before it reached a certain point in the air, and shed its containment, exploding outward in a show of sparks and radiance.

The look that Skrael gave them made them feel like they could soar.

“I… cannot do that. But— I can do—” Skrael paused, to inhale and exhale, readying himself.

Mere hours old, Skrael’s power would need growing. But it was something that Bellroc couldn’t do, the way he couldn’t create flame.

With a look of concentration, and a determination that waved off of him strong enough for Bellroc to feel, a flurry of ice and wind expelled from his hands, which he wound around them in a pretty dance; it was so intricate, and so different from what they’d grown used to, that they even forgot how much they hated cold, because to witness his ability, young as it was, felt like the greatest luck they’d ever stumbled into.

“Incredible…” They breathed, and Skrael ducked his head shyly.

A smile was etched into his face, however. “It is nothing yet. There is… a pull. This is only the beginning, I think.”

They nodded, and, while they knew what his intent had been with the words, it felt as if there was a second, beneath it, as they smiled back at him, knowingly, “Skrael… I think you are right.”

[lady-firefingers]

The Storm

Word Count: 1739

Characters: Ethira Lavellan, Solas

Pairing: Solavellan (pre-romance)

Description: Ethira slips away for a moment of quiet. Solas offers encouraging words to ease her fears.

The rain came down in a blanketing drone. The whole mountain valley was grey with fog, slowly creeping towards the hill where Ethira stood. In the distance, a quiet roll of thunder drummed. Flashes of lightning illuminated the dark wave of storm clouds as they marched onwards.

With a slow inhale, Ethira took up a wide stance. As she exhaled, she grabbed her staff from its clip and held it before her in both hands. The worn wooden shaft brought back memories of golden fields, summers spent by the sea, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she struggled to master the simplest of spells, and the smiles and encouragement that came after every success, and every failure. Its rough grooves and grain were far different from the smooth steel and leather staff she wielded now, a reminder of how far she had come, and how far she still had to go.

Another rumbling roll of thunder roared, closer to her now. It was only a matter of time before the lul in the storm passed on and the battering wind and rains engulfed her camp once more. Taking another slow, deep breath, she rose the staff high, bringing it to her lips as she counted through the seconds until the thunder stopped. She reached out, calling to the magic that tingled at the tips of her fingers, forever burned in the back of her mind, watching, waiting, ready. As the connection solidified, she exhaled, feeling the staff grip warm under her touch.

Another inhale, this one anxious, anticipating, waiting to strike, poised. The rain droned on for a few moments longer. The thunder sounded again, louder still this time.

One

She lashed out with the blade of her staff, exhaling with a low growl, feeling the power chanel down into the staff’s crystal. As she spun around, she dropped to her knee and jabbed out. A jet of fire spewed from the tip of the staff, hissing and steaming as the rain attempted to extinguish it.

Two

She rose back to her feet, spinning her staff in front of her. With a snarl, she swung the blade around in an arc before her. Spinning with the momentum, she released another jet of fire, watching the amber flames spin out in a spiral, steaming and hissing. The magic continued to flow, in tempo with her breathing.

Three

The thunder rolled on still. Wind began to tease her cloak, playful and gentle for now. The rain came down harder, colder, sharper, hissing as it hit the staff. It bit through her hood, and nibbled at the tips of her fingers. But the magic kept the worst of it at bay, for now.

Four

She focused on the target she had placed on the opposite side of the clearing. A chill shivered down her spine, flowing through her veins and out to her fingertips. Charging forward, she stuck out with the staff, sending a shard of ice hurling towards the target.

Five

Ethira leapt up into the air, raising her staff above her. The wind blew back her hood, showering her face in cold rain. The magic thrummed through her now, coursing through every vein, pumping with every heartbeat. The thunder had reached a crescendo with a tremendous crashing up above.

Six

As she landed, the blade sliced through the target, spilling the fine sand within. Rolling to the side, she stood still, holding her head back as the rain soaked her. She waited on baited breath, knowing what would come next

Seven

A crackle of energy spliced the air, hot, wild, untamed. Ethira tightened her grip on her staff and stamped it on the ground. Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating the storm’s grey overcast. A single bolt struck the crystal, dancing about its surface as it illuminated her, breathless and alive.

With a final arching swing, she redirected the lightning skyward, piercing the dark gloom one last time with a dazzling shower of sparks. The thunder faded into silence once more as the last of the light faded.

Chest heaving, Ethira cut herself off from the flow of magic, sinking to her knees as the energy faded. Again the rain drowned out all else with its monotone drone. She breathed slowly for a moment, letting her own strength return to her.

Another roll of thunder rumbled, shorter than the last. The lightning moved on, further down the mountain range. Disappointment began to set in. Part of her had hoped to continue after a moment’s rest, to push herself as far beyond her limits as she possibly could.

The cold setting in got her back on her feet. She stretched slightly, breathing deeply with every movement to make sure she was ready to move on. Once she was satisfied that she would not stumble on the walk back to her camp, she started the trek down the mountain.

The path was almost nonexistent, visible to her only through familiarity of the area as it twisted back and forth down the steep mountainside. She took her time, not wanting to rush her return. It was not often that she got these moments to breathe, to forget about the Breach, the Inquisition, about the thousands of people who depended on her.

The rain and wind were not as harsh under the cover of the towering pine and firs, a light drizzle compared to the harsh bite up at the peaks. The dampness of her cloak and armor did not bother her too much. Soon, she’d be nestled by her fire, dry and warm. If the cold grew to be too much, there were other little burrows that she could take refuge in to warm herself.

As she reached the creek, she stopped to fill her water skin. The cold water bit at her fingers as she lowered her pouch to fill it. Once her thirst was sated, she continued on, following the twisting creek down further still.

Soon, she could see her camp, nestled under a rock outcrop. The fire was burning, and a lone figure sat before it, warming their hands. Curious, Ethira pressed herself behind the nearest tree, peering through the mist to see who exactly it could be.

Slipping from tree to tree, she drew nearer, gripping her staff tightly in one hand. There hadn’t been people this far out as far as she had seen the last few months. The camp she had been making was inconspicuous in her opinion- the fire extinguished to leave no smoke, lanterns extinguished. But the gaping hole glowing green through the clouds in the sky above her warned that nothing was as it seemed anymore.

A branch snapped underfoot. Ethira sucked in a sharp breath and hid herself from view, hoping that the intruder had not heard her. The intruder looked up, scanning the trees to pinpoint the sound. Was this person alone?

“Ethira? Is that you?”

A relieved sigh escaped her as she left her hiding spot. Solas stood with his staff in one hand, a ball of blue fire burning in his hands to help him see through the mist.

“It is,” Ethira responded. As he spotted her, that familiar small smile twitched at his lips. He extinguished the flames and returned to his seat by the fire. She sat beside him, warming her hands by the fire. She sighed in relief as the heat flowed back to her fingers. “You followed me?”

“I grew curious to see where it is that you go during storms. You seem to disappear whenever it rains like this,” Solas motioned to all of the decorations strung about, handmade trinkets and her attempt at painting on the rocks. “I can see now that you come here to meditate.”

“It’s not so much meditation as an escape,” Ethira drew her legs in closer, resting her chin on her knees. A small smile spread across her face. “Thunder scared me as a child. When my magic appeared, the Keeper taught me how to count the seconds between the thunder, so I’d know when the storm is over. She’d take me out in the middle of them, and teach me to control my fears as we trained.

“I learned to love the rain- the thunder, the lightning, the energy that a storm brings. It’s a chance to be free, to push yourself with no fear of destroying anything. Sometimes I miss that little freedom,” Ethira’s smile faded. “to be able to walk amongst my people, knowing my magic was a gift and not a curse, that my people did not fear it, but encouraged it.”

“So that was you up on the peak,” Solas nodded slowly. “I was beginning to fear you had been attacked, when I saw the lightning. How long will you be out here?”

“Until dawn,” Ethira answered. “The storm has passed.”

“So long? It was not so late when I followed your trail here.”

Ethira smiles tiredly, “I like the silence here. No one asking for me, waving or gaping at me, whispering as I pass. The trees are silent, and the animals do not judge a mage that simply wants to be free again.”

Solas was silent for a moment. “Things have been wearing on you greatly, lately. Is there anything you would like to discuss?”

“Nothing worth troubling you with.”

“I would not offer if I thought it would be any trouble to listen, Lethallin.”

Ethira looked down at her hands, noting the sincerity in his voice. Solas had always been willing to hear her out when he had the time. It was a kinship she hadn’t expected to find so far from the clan.

“Things are starting to get very serious, aren’t they?” Ethira said quietly. “We have a name to the enemy, impossible odds stacked against us. By the Creators, we sound like the heroes of legends and fables… and I am to be the hero. It will take some getting used to.”

“You fear failure.”

“Maybe a little. The fate of all Thedas rests on my shoulders. It can be daunting at times.” She looked up at him as he placed his hand comfortingly on her knee. He smiled softly at her, clearly out of words of encouragement. But the gesture said enough to her. She cupped her hand over his, staring out into the rain.

“Whatever may come, know that I will be at your side, Ethira.”