#I know elves don’t sleep or dream

[down4acount]

As the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you, every thrill is gone, wasn’t too much fun at all - but I’ll be there for you - As the world falls down 🫶

[chadleys]

moon sick. | astarion

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 2.5k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: whilst on the road, you get your period. astarion, being the loving, caring, supportive boyfriend he is, offers to help. he has no ulterior motives. obviously.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk

you wake with a start, astarion’s cold arm a comforting weight across your waist. you can’t think what could have possibly woken you up so suddenly, as you listen for any untoward noises around camp. but there’s only astarion’s steady, gentle breathing behind you and gale’s obnoxious snoring echoing from the other end of the clearing.

as you settle back down on your bedroll, however, you become aware of something sticky and wet between your legs. could be that a wet dream concerning your beloved has you in such a state, but you don’t remember dreaming of him last night. no, now that your senses are returning to you, you remember that last night was reserved for another visit from your so-called guardian. so what … ?

you toss your end of the blanket aside and groan, throwing your head back against the pack you’ve set out for a makeshift pillow. doing so earns you another yelp; must have made contact with one of the stems of the many apples wedged into your supply bag.

astarion is on his feet in an instant, startling you; you weren’t even aware he was awake. not that elves ever truly sleep. it always slightly unnerves you to feel him levitating beside you in his meditative state. ❝ you’re hurt. ❞ his voice is rough, thick with inertia. ❝ i swear i’ll find whoever did this and bleed them dry. we should never have trusted that damned cleric; shar this and shar that. i’ll shove her blessed shar right up her — ❞

he’s already kicking his own pack aside to stomp his way out of the tent when you hiss, ❝ astarion! ❞

luckily he’s not too aggravated to stop and give you a glance back so you can explain in a low murmur, ❝ it’s my cycle … ❞

astarion stops short, one pale hand clutched to his chest. ❝ oh … i — ❞ he waves that same hand now toward the opening of his tent. ❝ i thought … ❞

❝ i know what you thought, ❞ you sigh, more weary knowing what’s to come over the next 7 days than you are of him, than you could ever be of him. ❝ but it’s not. so just come back to bed. please? ❞

❝ i thought you’d never ask … ❞ he purrs, back to his normal self.

unfortunately, you’re doubled over in pain before he’s even halfway back.

❝ i knew you were in pain. ❞ astarion’s back at your side in a flash. ❝ just tell me who and i’ll — ❞

❝ i am, ❞ you gasp, ❝ in pain. but … not because anyone hurt me. well, more like mother nature cursed me. ❞

a particularly bad cramp seizes you and your hand flies out, clutching the front of astarion’s silky tunic. you press your fingers in to feel his cold, broad chest. the sensation calms you a bit … until yet another bout of pain rolls through your midsection.

icy fingers find yours, ghosting over your knuckles. ❝ shall i … see if the druid can make you something? ❞

you shake your head, tugging at his shirt. ❝ just lay with me. please. ❞

astarion’s skin is blessedly cool against yours, as it always is. you lean into him, pressing your face against his frigid neck, soothing your burning cheeks.

his glacial hands find the edge of your tunic, and then the small of your back, which helps more than he could possibly know. you shudder against him, pushing, trying to get more of him.

❝ you know … ❞ astarion sniffs, delicate voice very close to your ear. ❝ i have heard of one thing that is guaranteed to relieve moon sickness. ❞

pulling back, you glance curiously up at him.

he has that rakish grin on his face that you’ve come to know all too well in the past weeks. his reddened eyes roll away from you. ❝ come now, pup. you must know what i mean … sex. ❞ your heart jumps into your throat at the thought; you’re sure astarion can feel it beating harder against his own chest.

suddenly, his mouth is just under your ear, teeth rasping against the exact place he’s fed from you dozens of times before. ❝ i can smell it, my love. ❞

you don’t answer immediately; while you can’t deny the thought appeals to you, if for no other reason than to rid yourself of these damnable cramps, you’re also apprehensive. astarion feeding from your neck is one thing — still intimate, but relatively normal by vampire standards. to have astarion feed down there, on that blood, feeding from your womb …

❝ you’re right, it’s a bad idea, absolutely disgusting. i don’t know why i — ❞

❝ do it. ❞

❝ eh … hm? ❞

❝ do it, ❞ you repeat, grasping onto him for dear life as another squeezing, crushing shock of pain settles in your stomach. ❝ please, astarion. i can’t take it anymore. ❞

it’s been many moons since your cycle has been this bad. traveling on the road without proper food or rest may finally be catching up to you, exacerbating things. not much you can do about that until you reach the city, though.

other than letting your vampire lover drink your blood, of course.

laying you gently back without another complaint, astarion slips the blanket off of you and reaches to undo your breeches.

anxiety overtakes you; there’s already blood on your trousers and the blanket, you’re going to have to wash them in the river as soon as you’re able. you can’t even imagine the scene underneath your pants … but you’re about to find out.

gently, astarion prizes the trousers from your legs, then gasps softly. ❝ oh, my love … ❞

prying your eyes from the ceiling of the tent, you finally look down. astarion is there, of course, looking lovely as always. except, however, the lines on his face look deeper, almost carved, and the dark circles under his eyes are darker, his eyes redder.

another spell of panic grips you; bright red blood is smeared across your inner thighs.

astarion looks dizzy as he takes you in, cold hands cradling the outsides of your legs. you’re about to apologize and shove him away, tell him this is a mistake, in fact you will ask halsin to make you something — and that’s when astarion mutters, ❝ you are exquisite, ❞ and dives in to have his first taste.

the feeling of his tongue on your thighs makes you shiver, and the cool night air wafting in from the tent flap isn’t helping. you grab the clean end of the blanket and drape your upper half, canting your hips up to tell astarion what it is you truly want.

because even through all the anxiety, there’s also a bubble of arousal blooming between your legs. astarion can’t tell, of course, not through all the blood down there, but you sure as hell can. you have the most perfect creature you’ve ever set eyes on between your legs; how could you not be aroused?

❝ all in due time, ❞ astarion chuckles, voice muffled against your thighs as he continues to clean you up. thoroughly. too thoroughly.

❝ you always tease, ❞ you whine, knocking one of your knees against his ribcage.

this time when his gaze flashes sharply to you, his eyes are the reddest you’ve ever seen them. it makes you shake.

astarion’s nails dig into your hips, deliciously, wickedly. you tremble, reaching for him. he chuckles and kisses the inside of one of your wrists, which leaves a smear of blood. ❝ always such a needy little pup for me, aren’t you? ❞

you don’t even have time to nod before he dives back in, his mouth exactly where you want it this time. his lips suction around your clit, tongue lapping out lower down to scoop a sizeable pearl of blood into his mouth.

this time, astarion is the one who shakes. he lays his cheek against your still-bloody thigh and shudders. ❝ you’re going to be the death of me, ❞ he sighs, and you can see him skirting his tongue around his mouth, flitting over his lips, savoring you.

you huff. ❝ you’ll be of me, too, if you don’t keep going. ❞

❝ so pushy, ❞ your lover mutters, but there’s absolutely no heat in his words as he obeys your command and buries his face back into your blood-soaked cunt.

for a while you just lie back and enjoy yourself, and let astarion enjoy himself as well. his arms are strong around your legs, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away. it feels way too damn good, you may have been tempted to try. but as it is, you can’t do anything but revel in the silky feeling of astarion’s tongue lapping up everything you have to give him, his fangs catching every so often on your clit, making you see stars.

at some point, you glance down at him and gasp. ❝ your shirt! ❞

you know how much he prides himself on his physical appearance, and now there’s blood staining the front ruffles of his normally immaculate tunic.

he glances down and tuts, frowning. ❝ oh well. it’ll have to go with the rest. ❞ just like that, he rips it off and tosses it with your soiled trousers.

he must be in heaven, you suspect, if he’s willing to discard his cherished clothing for you.

now shirtless, astarion gives one last gentle kiss to your clit and then slowly starts to climb your body. there’s blood dripping from his chin, staining the rest of the blanket wrapped around you. but more importantly, his broad chest is skating up the expanse of your bloody cunt as he comes, and your clit throbs seeing all that red coating his torso.

❝ astarion! ❞ you gasp, and he grins, mouth full of your blood.

❝ i’m loathe to ask you for a kiss, ❞ he whispers, so low you can barely hear him. ❝ just one. i promise. ❞

you swallow thickly, and he waits for you to lean up, pressing your lips to his in the softest kiss you can manage. blood squishes between you, and you can feel it coating your lips as you lie back down.

one lap of your tongue against your bottom lip and you grimace, spitting and rubbing at your mouth with the back of one hand.

astarion laughs heartily as you mutter, ❝ ugh, not for me. ❞

❝ more for me, ❞ astarion says, almost gleefully.

he’s obviously preparing to get back to it, but you keep him close with your hands on his shoulders. ❝ i want you. ❞

brows furrowed, astarion squeezes your waist. ❝ darling, you have me. ❞

❝ inside, ❞ you beg quietly, which you know enjoys immensely.

your next step might be a mistake, but you decide to chance it. bracing yourself with your legs wrapped around him, you thrust up, dragging your wetness along the front of his trousers. you can feel that he’s hard, and now there’s blood all over his pants. you’re hoping he won’t mind, considering his tunic is already ruined for the night as well.

luckily he doesn’t seem to, dark gaze sweeping down over the two of you covered in your blood, and then back up. ❝ i thought you’d never ask. ❞

his trousers quickly follow his tunic, erection jutting up between your legs.

❝ he looks happy, ❞ you giggle, as his swollen head prods at your blood-soaked entrance.

❝ to see you? always. ❞

having astarion inside of you is normally a relief, a release of all the rampant, pent up emotions this journey has bestowed upon you.

tonight is different.

with all that blood flowing south, your womb is aching, you're sore and swollen as astarion’s cock spears through your lips. every thrust sends a fresh flow of blood down his shaft, which earns you a tight growl from the vampire as he takes the backs of your knees in hand and shoves your thighs back toward your chest, eager to get even deeper inside of you.

and you’re eager to have him, nails digging into his chiseled back, the hard marble of his jaw knocking against your shoulder as his lips, slick with blood, find your ear again. ❝ are you feeling better, pet? does my cock soothe that ache inside of you? the ache that raged inside of you, until you met me? until i filled you up in every lovely way possible? ❞

his words make your brain go haywire, knees shaking around his ribcage, toes curling, your mouth rubbing comfortingly at his cool shoulder.

more than that, you do feel better. the more aroused you become, the more blood flows out of you, the less painful your cramps become. until you’re pushing down against him, trying to ride him at the same time as he’s shoving himself inside of you with reckless abandon. until you can’t remember why you started this in the first place, other than to wind up begging for him to finish inside of you.

❝ inside. please, astarion, inside … ❞ it’s hard to even think clearly enough to form words, your mind consumed with the sight of his beautiful body moving atop yours.

you assume he’ll make you beg, as he so often does; he loves hearing the desperate, pleading tone in your voice that tells him all he needs to know — you belong to him.

but he doesn’t. he fucks into you as hard as he ever has, his thick cock gliding against your engorged walls, making your eyes roll back.

and then the talking starts. the words that make you wish you knew whether or not vampires can actually have children. ❝ you want me to get you pregnant, love? want your belly to swell with my child inside of it? i will wait on you hand and foot, i promise. i would love seeing you walk around knowing you hold my heir, that you protected my seed so well that it grew into a child inside of you. ❞ astarion pauses momentarily to laugh, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. ❝ with all this blood, i know you must be fertile. ❞

both of you share a laugh, briefly.

and when you cum, together, he sinks his teeth into your neck with nothing but a quiet grunt, cockhead twitching and spurting inside of you.

you mewl softly, feeling the vampire trembling and shaking as he empties himself into you. your hands pet through his hair, soothe the back of his neck, across the scars circling his back.

the pain from before is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a warm, fizzy feeling sitting low in your gut. astarion is bracing himself on his elbows above you, with obvious effort.

you pull him down to lay atop you; he’s not exceptionally heavy anyway.

❝ i love you, ❞ he sighs, nestling his face, chin still slick with blood, against your collarbone. ❝ and … promise me we can do that again. ❞

❝ i love you. and i promise. ❞

[megwritesriddles]

In the Middle of the Night (In My Dreams!) ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 21 - Somnophilia. Riddle has to figure out a way to keep Reader happy and covering for his ever increasing duties outside of the castle. What initially starts as a transaction escalates when they're both more willing than he expected, leading them to explore the slightly more forbidden together.

Tags: Somnophilia (consensual), Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, Hand jobs, Oral sex (f and m receiving), Friends with benefits, Denial of feelings, SoftDom!Riddle, HeadGirl!Reader, Manipulation, Faking an illness (chronic fatigue is very real, he's just a lying POS, only briefly mentioned).

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!!

Word count: 5.1k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Okay so despite this poll (sorry), I edited this into a less dark kinktober fic and will then release a much darker (non-con elements) part two after I finally finish kinktober!! This works as a stand alone if you're not into reading that kinda stuff (which I totally understand, ily dw)!! It just felt too dark for kinktober... even tho I literally have non-con as the prompt for day 25.... idk okay!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

PART 2 COMING SOON !! (but works as stand alone)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The moment the two of you had been announced as Head Boy and Girl at the start of the year, Riddle knew he had to get on your good side. Not only for the purposes of professional engagements and living in the same quarters but also because there would be a lot he’d need from you. Last year, he had found a flaw in the enchantments around the castle, discovering that apparition in and out of the castle was in fact possible, so long as you did so from the room of requirements. He has started attending to business outside of the castle regularly, rallying supporters in closed-off magical communities, among trolls and elves. He also searches for artefacts and researches dark magic when he finds the time, visiting isolated collections owned by old eccentrics who he is able to charm easily. He’s made himself a busy life outside of Hogwarts which he’s determined to keep up in order for his plans post-graduation to go as smoothly as possible. Which is where you come in. 

He leaves for these expeditions every weekend, but obviously, he’s not actually allowed to leave the castle. He has to ask you to cover for him if anyone asks where he’s gone. He concocts a rubbish story about having chronic fatigue and having to rest all the time he can, and that he can’t possibly be disturbed while he’s resting as he’s taking special potions for sleep. It’s all a lie, playing on your empathy, which he knows you have droves of, something you are widely admired for. He tells you that he’s horribly embarrassed about it and doesn’t want anyone to think he’s incapable of being Head Boy because of it, so asks you to cover for him if anyone asks about him. You give him those big sympathetic eyes and agree, workshopping a litany of excuses with him. He almost feels bad with how seriously you’re taking this, how much you want him to feel okay, even though you’ve never liked him much before. Almost. It won’t happen a lot either way, he’s told his ‘friends’ that he will be out of reach and very sternly told them not to question, so they won’t poke around, and anyone else who needs him won’t need him often. He makes a show of being very tired in the evenings in the common room the first few weeks you live together. Soon after, he drops the charade and you don’t seem to notice the falsification happening right in front of you, continuing to cover for him every now and then when it comes up. You even comment optimistically that he seems more energetic lately, to which he smiles.

“I suppose so, yes, it must be that I can finally get the rest I need, thanks to you,” he says smoothly, proud of himself for taking this as another opportunity to keep you pliable. You seem overjoyed to be helping.

In return, he keeps you sweet. At first, he merely observes you to get an idea of what might keep him on your good side. Then, he starts showing up for you. He brings your favourite pastries from breakfast (you have a bad habit of sleeping in, which sometimes makes him wonder how you got this job, but alas), accompanied by a coffee just how you like it. Complimenting you whenever you try a new hairstyle or dress up nicely on weekends. The first time he’d done it, he’d commented on a trim you’d gotten to your hair over the weekend in Hogsmeade. You were baffled, saying no one had noticed a thing all day. He sensed that you found the fact that he was the only one to notice odd, but he couldn’t help being observant. He told you as much, and you just smiled. He makes sure to do any favours you ask of him, so you can’t throw his refusal back in his face in case you want to stop helping him, he needs something to hold over your head. It’s never much, perhaps helping you with a bit of schoolwork, listening to a speech you’ve prepared for Head duties or just jostling the logs in the fireplace of the common room when the flames die down. He’s surprised you don’t ask for more, considering that he starts asking for a lot from you. 

His schedule outside of Hogwarts gets complicated, requiring him to head out occasionally in the middle of the week. You always cover for him, insisting to professors that he’s ill in bed, even though it’s clear by now that you’ve realised he’s actually missing during these periods. Your enthusiasm over helping him out has dwindled as you get the sense you’re being played, but he treats you well enough that you seem to assume the best intentions. How naive. Having someone so respected by the professors, the head girl herself, lying for him, he knows, is the only reason he’s been getting away with it for this long. He’s ‘sick’ far too often and never seen at the hospital wing, never requesting any medicine or showing any symptoms. He wonders what you think he’s doing when he’s away, doubting you could guess the truth, but you never ask despite your increasingly suspicious looks, which he appreciates. He likes you, you’re discreet, a surprising trait for such a goody-two-shoes as you are. He spends more and more time with you in the common room in his free time, charming you and winning you over, making sure he’s there if you need a favour or a ‘friend’ to talk to. He finds you to be intelligent and likeable, you’re funny, even if he prefers a bit of a darker humour than you have. There are silences as you sit together where you stare at him while he works on whatever schoolwork he deems most important that day, he knows you’re formulating all sorts of theories, your brain turning as you try to make a guess.

“I appreciate you being discreet,” he says simply one night as you sit together, working separately on assignments. The statement is followed by a silence in which he is tempted to look over at you to see your reaction but resists the urge.

“I don’t suppose you’ll ever tell me what you’re up to?” It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out as a statement. You already know he won’t, and he knows it too. No matter how good you’ve proved to be about covering for him, if you knew the true nature of what he was up to, you’d run. Tattle before even letting him explain, which really wouldn’t help either way. He turns to you, extending an arm. 

“Come here,” he nods his head in his direction. You look confused, and he doesn’t blame you for feeling that way, he isn’t affectionate with anyone. He makes a point of never being seen as being soft, which is easy given he isn’t soft for anyone. But he knows the type you are, so sweet and kind, the type that you can be won over with a little affection. There’s no one here to see either of you anyway, he can risk it this once. You slowly scoot into his side and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He brushes an errant strand of hair from your face and holds you to his side. “I really do appreciate it, I’m always here if you need anything from me,” he whispers. You look up at him and nod. “Good,” he hums. You spend the rest of the night pressed into his side as you do your homework, it’s odd, but he’s warm and solid, and most girls at Hogwarts would kill to be in your position, so you let it be. It becomes a fairly frequent scene, the two of you snuggled up by the fire, especially as the days grow colder and colder. His hands like to wander, brushing places they probably shouldn’t, but you never stop him or say a word, letting your own hands wander a little too. You don’t talk about it, not with him or with anyone else. You know without words that he doesn’t want it to leave the room. It’s just another secret you have to keep for him. 

He starts having the need for more frequent meetings with his little group of in-school followers, the Knights of Walpurgis, as his plans get closer and closer to their time of fruition. The Head Common Room is the perfect place to host, spacious and completely secret, except for from you. He knows he has to sweeten the deal once more to have you leave the common room for long periods in the evening. So one night, while the two of you study together snuggled up, he kisses you. You’re alarmed but immediately kiss back. He knew you would, every girl in the damn school would, but it still feels like an unexpectedly simple triumph. His hand grips your jaw, not allowing you to move away, not that you’re trying to. Your hand gently cups the side of his neck, keeping him close as his tongue carefully breaches your lips, slightly surprised by how willing you are for him. He has a multitude of things he’s considered doing to you, but for tonight, he has to stick with something focused on your pleasure. He doesn’t mind, pleasuring you is an act of domination in its own right. By the end of the night, he has you sat between his legs, your back to his chest as his fingers thrust in and out of you. You squirm and mewl in his ear, your head thrown back on his shoulder, as he holds you securely with an arm around your middle, fucking you on his fingers. He’s high off of the fact he has you completely nude apart from your socks before him, while he’s still fully dressed.

“There we go, darling,” he purrs in your ear, gently pressing his lips to your jaw. “I bet you’ve wanted this for quite a while, haven’t you?” he teases, grinding the heel of his palm against you as his fingers press in and out. You must have, given how quickly you’d let him strip you down, manoeuvre you into the position he wanted, just how soaking wet you’d been from a couple of strategic words of praise. He’d wrongly assumed you’d be a little more prudish, but he was pleasantly surprised otherwise. “I want you to do something for me,” he whispers, slowing his movements a little so you can focus on his words. You whine softly in protest and he smirks. “Tomorrow evening, could you make yourself scarce for… let’s say three hours? Starting from… six thirty?” his fingers caress your inner walls torturously lightly, almost tickling, making you squirm unhappily.

“Where would I go?” you exhale.

“Library? Walk the grounds? Astronomy tower? I don’t mind, darling, as long as you’re not here,” he kisses behind your ear softly. He expects some questions or protests, but none come, only a simple nod. He’s a little surprised how easy things are with you, although it may have a lot to do with how his fingers are currently buried deep in your cunt at present, he concedes to himself. But you’re always easy, always helpful, so willing to give him the benefit of the doubt even though you were more than smart enough to know better. “That’s a lovely girl,” he smiles against your skin. He hesitates, unsure whether to reveal the transactional nature of his kindness toward you, but he feels he must assure you somehow that it will be worthwhile. “I’ll reward you accordingly, I promise. You’ll hurry back to me at nine-thirty, won’t you? I’ll be missing you by then,” he purrs, trying to further pull the wool over your eyes with some flattery. He straightens up to look down at you, your head still resting back on his shoulder. “Won’t you?” he prompts again, kissing your forehead. You nod, giving him a pleading look and bucking your hips helplessly. You want him to keep going, feeling half-insane from his unmoving fingers filling you up.

And that he does, finger-fucking you through two mind-blowing orgasms that night, showering you with ever more ridiculous praises as the night goes on. It’s unclear whether you’re losing your mind to the pleasure and not understanding him, or if he’s just spewing every compliment he can possibly think of. Once you’re thoroughly debauched, he helps you into your bed as your legs are too shaky on their own, laying you down and kissing you goodnight with a slightly stilted tenderness. You watch him in quiet confusion as he retreats from your room, feeling satisfied and yet completely confused. 

It becomes a bit of a routine, whenever he needs you to stay away from the common room, or otherwise go out of your way for him, he pulls you into his lap in the evening and tugs down your underwear, pleasuring you expertly. Soon, it becomes harder to tell, as he begins to get you off every night, whether he’s after something or not. You don’t know if it’s just his efforts to make sure you don’t forget to think of him positively, you’re far from oblivious to the fact you’re being bribed, or if he’s just enjoying it at this point. He stretches out your encounters more and more, especially when you start returning the favour, using your hand on him while he does the same to you. You’re pleasantly surprised how aroused he gets just from fucking you on his fingers, always at least half-hard by the time you can get your hands on him. When he introduces his mouth into the equation, you’re sure he’ll be asking something big of you soon. But he doesn’t, nothing new comes up, other than you also beginning to use your mouth on him. He seems to love it, so you suppose it must have been motivation enough. He likes to take his time, to make you feel helpless and desperate, not seeming to care if it leads him to spend long periods of time kneeling before you, which was something you were certain he would have never been caught doing for anyone.

It’s a nice relationship in Riddle's opinion, he gets off and he gets what he wants from you. You make yourself scarce and Riddle is able to conduct his meetings in peace in a perfect setting. Whether you’re using mouths or hands, it’s always intensely pleasurable. He grows attached to the sight of you on your knees before him, his cock deep in your mouth as you look up at him with those wide innocent eyes. You’re amazing with your mouth, and usually willing to get on your knees whenever he’d like you to. It’s a perfect arrangement in this way. He loves to hold you down and make you scream using nothing but his tongue. Some of his friends say that eating out a woman is demeaning, but he never feels more powerful than when he has you crying and begging. He loves to make you beg, long-forgotten is the fact he’s meant to be doing this just to keep you sweet, just to manipulate you into helping him. He’s lost in it now, and no matter how selfish he gets in bed, you keep covering for him, seeming to misinterpret him as generous rather than intensely power-hungry. It works well for his purposes, so he lets you think of him as a giving lover.

He’s a little surprised that you haven’t asked for any exclusivity or any indication of whether he’s bringing in other girls at the times he asks you to keep away. He’s not, of course, but he doesn’t understand why you don’t care to ask. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, but deep down it does bother him, every other girl he’d ever been involved with, even briefly, had asked to be his one and only. You’re a sweet girl, the type he assumed would fall in love with him the moment he first got his hands on (and in) you, but you haven’t indicated this in any way. He knows you’re not seeing any other men because he keeps an eye on you whenever he can. Even having gone so far as to cancel a meeting with a tradesman in Diagon Alley to stay back and watch you while you think he’s away. Nothing. You go about your day as normal, come back to the common room and curl up to read your book. Just before bed, you attempt to get yourself off and fail, pouting through your night routine. You can’t do it without him, he notes smugly. He wishes he could come help, but he can’t without revealing his spying. By the time he gets back legitimately, you’re fast asleep. Given all of this, he still doesn’t understand why you’re not asking him for a commitment. It’s not that he wants to commit to you, he doesn’t like the idea of being tied down, even if he currently has no interest or energy to pursue anyone but you, but the fact you haven’t asked drives him nuts. You seem happy to get off with him and go to sleep without asking a single question. He lingers in your doorway, watching your frame rise and fall under your blanket with slow breaths, wondering about you.

He’s surprised when you bring it up. How you’d felt his presence in your doorway while you’d been asleep, despite not being fully awake. He explained that he’d been wanting to help you out (his own evasive phrasing) but that you’d been visibly asleep so he’d left instead. At your expression, he asks you teasingly if you’d have liked him to do it anyway, his teasing smirk only growing when you blush and nod. And so a system was set, he tells you to sleep on the sofa in the common room if you’d like his attention during the night, as he has a habit of waking up in the middle of the night to fetch water. You agree and you proceed together like normal for the next few days, pleasuring each other in the evenings when he isn’t busy. Every night, even on nights he wasn’t actually waking up naturally, he would come into the common room to check for you. For a long time, you’re not there, and he’s a little frustrated with you. Why dangle such a tantalising idea in front of him if you never meant to go through with it? He’d been a perfect gentleman, telling you that you could say no if the idea made you uncomfortable, but at the time, you’d seemed apprehensively excited about it, yet now, nothing. His eyes stay glued on your door as he goes about getting his water each night, wishing he could go in there. He tries his best not to show his disappointment when he spends time with you in the daytime, not wanting to come off as pushy and drive you away. He needed you to like him, staying on your good side was non-negotiable and pushing you on a matter like this was generally frowned upon. About a week and a half later, he trudges from his room to top up his glass and sees a lump under a blanket on the sofa. It’s you.

He immediately slows and lightens his footsteps, not wanting to wake you as it would ruin the fun. He hadn’t had time for you the last four days, between increasing stakes when it came to schoolwork and closing in on a magical artefact outside of it, he’d been gone for everything but class and sleep. He creeps over to you, seeing your peaceful face squished against the velvet throw pillow. You must have missed him, he thinks, since you started your little mutual arrangement you’ve never gone more than two days without each other before, mostly because Riddle found himself quite insatiable. He’d always told himself he was uninterested in matters of the flesh, that he enjoyed indulging but could easily control himself, and that he was only doing what he was with you to manufacture a sense of closeness and keep you in the palm of his hand. Yet, he had to admit that he doesn’t usually go so far for the purposes of manipulation and that he never would have done this in the first place if he hadn’t found you attractive. He was unwilling to sacrifice his own happiness for his manipulation, beyond a bit of necessary flattering drivel. So when he’d allowed himself into this arrangement, even simply under a pretence, he had quickly lost control of it and become ravenous for the sensations you could offer. He watches your parted lips as you breathe softly. Gently, he rolls you onto your back, waiting to see if you wake. You don’t. He slips the plush blanket down your body and exposes you to his eyes. You’re dressed in a sweet feminine nightgown and he finds the look to be sweet on you, fitting. You were a perfect thing to corrupt. Yet, he smirks to himself, you had agreed to this, you were already corrupted, so desperate for him that you wanted him even in your sleep. Surely you did want exclusivity from him, you were just trying to appear laid back to not scare him off. You could be endearingly shy like that at times. Yes, you agreeing to this was surely evidence that you wanted more from him than you had. That you needed him.

He slowly and cautiously shifts you around until he can settle comfortably between your legs. His hands run up and down the soft skin of your thighs, keeping a close eye to see if you stir. He wonders if you’re really such a heavy sleeper, or if you’re merely pretending not to have woken for his benefit. At the moment it doesn’t matter to him, you seem asleep enough, and if you are conscious, you’re hardly objecting. He pushes up the hem of your nightdress and grins at the sight of you already bare for him, with no underwear in sight. Naughty girl, he thinks to himself as his hands skim up and down your inner thighs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss just above the little patch of hair shielding the part of you he wants most. He would love to tease you and draw it out more, but he doesn’t want you to wake before he can explore the more intimate aspects. He carefully lies down, guiding one of your supple thighs over his shoulder, spreading you open for his eager eyes. You’re already a little wet, he wonders if it’s from his teasing now, or perhaps your dreamy anticipation. He knows he can get you wetter easily. He uses two fingers to gently spread you open even more, revealing the sensitive pearl nestled within your folds. He blows lightly on it, making you twitch a little. He grins.

Still trying to let you stay asleep for now, he leans in and very gently touches his tongue to your bundle of nerves. You sigh softly in your sleep but don’t seem to wake. Your dreams are turning sticky-sweet, you begin to feel warm and floaty, but you’re not conscious enough to register this change properly. You squirm slightly and moan as his tongue gently swirls around your clit, not touching to keep you just bubbling below waking. Your breath is hitching softly, and little noises are leaving your throat. He can tell you’ll wake soon unless he stops, but he figures he doesn’t mind. He wants to see your face when you wake up to his head between your legs. Will you be shocked to start with? Or immediately eager and accepting? He was oddly thrilled to discover this. Your hands slide away from where they rested on your stomach, trying to grab something as he starts to lap at you just a little faster, your breath hitching a little more, exhaling shakily. He’s surprised you’re still asleep, he’s tempted to use legilimency on you to discover what you’re dreaming of. Your face is flushed and your lips parted blissfully, so he figures it’s something nice. His tongue slides up and down between your slick folds, the familiar taste of you spreading across his tongue as you become more and more aroused. He gently kneads the skin of your hip, pulling you a little closer to his mouth, trying to coax you awake without startling you too much. Your eyelids flutter, but you remain asleep, whimpering quietly. He focuses the tip of his tongue on your clit, making the stimulation just a little more intense, watching for your reaction intently. Your fingers tangle into the crumpled blanket by your side, curling into the plush material, and he knows you're on the very verge of wakefulness. He smirks, gently suckling your clit into his mouth. 

This rips a loud moan from your chest, which in turn makes your eyes snap open. You try to sit up, blinking blearily, looking a little bewildered, trying to make out shapes in the dim moonlight, to understand why you feel lost in a haze of pleasure. Riddle's hand moves, splaying out on your stomach, pushing you back down and holding you there. Your eyes snap to him, he grins up at you from between your legs, looking unbelievably smug, his eyes glinting in the light of the moon. The sight of him between your legs, the knowledge of what he’d been doing while you’d been sleeping, coaxes another moan from your lips. He eases up a little now you’re awake, going back to gentle teasing licks against your bundle of nerves. Your heart pounds and you breathe rapidly, partially reeling from the sudden awakening, but mostly just feeling amazing. You lie back against the sofa, trying your best to get your bearings while he continues smothering you with unrelenting bliss. He pulls back for a moment, though he instantly replaces his mouth with his fingers, not giving you a moment to think. 

“Naughty girl, sleeping without underwear to give me access,” he purrs, his voice rumbling in a self-satisfied manner. You giggle sleepily. You had done that, hadn’t you? He smiles up at you. “Was it a nice awakening, my darling?” he murmurs smoothly, leaning back in to continue his dedicated licks. You whimper softly, your hips twitching before he holds you solidly in place, tutting against your sensitive skin.

“The best awakening, so unbelievably arousing,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, watching him work his magic between your legs. He hums against you. He knows this of course, this was quite possibly the wettest he’d ever had you, only increasing since you’d woken up and become conscious of what he was doing. Your hands slide into his short curls as he works, usually, he might complain about this, but you’re still a little sleepy, and he decides to let it go. You sigh pleasurably, your hooded eyes locked on him. His eyes look up to meet yours as he begins to suckle on your clit once more. Intense pleasure floods over you, your head lolling back, your hands tightening slightly in his hair. You let out a string of desperate moans, moans he’s become intimately familiar with over the past few weeks. You’re close and he intends to get you there, to show you how much you need him, to remind you that you can no longer achieve this alone, if you ever could. He doubles down on his actions, gripping your hip a little tighter to keep you firmly in place. “Oh… Tom!” you plead, trying to grind your centre up into his face. You could get so desperate sometimes, Riddle tuts to himself. “Please,” you beg, anticipating his desire to tease you and hoping to get ahead of it. You need this, badly, he hasn’t been around to help you for days, and the scenario was driving you mad with lust. He’s uncharacteristically gracious, not relenting, continuing to lavish you with exquisite sensation, building you up and up. You look down again, and as his eyes meet yours, the coil in your belly snaps. Your whole body tenses, your back arching off of the sofa, a guttural cry escaping you. He holds your hips in place, continuing his assault as you ride out the climax. Tears gather in your eyes and you feel a little humiliated by how intensely this is affecting you. 

After several desperate sobs, you finally collapse back, your hands slipping from his hair. You take several deep breaths as he withdraws from between your legs, sitting up to look down at you. He grabs a tissue from the coffee table, wiping his mouth and discarding it haphazardly. You smile tiredly, and you feel exhausted by your sudden wake-up, but completely heavenly at the same time. You stare at each other for a moment. It’s an oddly domestic moment. You’ve never seen him in his pyjamas before, a matching shirt and trousers, made of silk or some other such soft material, the type that’s popular with the rich Slytherin boys. His hair is a little curly naturally, this you did know from him getting back to the common room on rainy days, but is now slightly messed up from your hands in it. You cover yourself back up, tugging the hem of your nightdress back down as he watches. He looks almost sweet, he has been sweet to you, in his own way. He reaches over and touches your flushed cheek, rubbing it softly with his thumb, unsure whether he’s trying to prove his effect on you, or just wishing to touch you. 

“I’ll have to think of something to ask of you in exchange for doing that,” he jokes a little unnaturally. You laugh honestly. 

“You didn’t already have something?” you tease, moving to sit up. He smiles, enjoying the way you see through him, just enough to prove you’re not stupid, but not enough to compromise any plans. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t asked for exclusivity with him, you’re not stupid like the others, whether you want it or not being irrelevant to the facts. The facts that were feeling more like theories lately.

“No, believe it or not,” he chuckles, pushing your hair behind your shoulder. “But it’ll be easy enough to think of something,” he pulls you onto his lap and kisses you goodnight. “You always find a way of being useful,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[latenightreadingpdf]

Beneath the Moonlight - Remus Lupin

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the days leading up to a full moon, Remus Lupin receives an anonymous gift basket filled with potions, chocolates, and a carefully-brewed Wolfsbane Potion.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Y/N considered herself a rather observant student, especially when it came to the Marauders. It was hard not to notice them, really. They were practically a four-person parade through the halls of Hogwarts—pranks, laughter, and charm trailing behind them like a comet's tail. James Potter with his messy hair and endless attempts to impress Lily Evans, Sirius Black with his dazzling grin and effortless cool, Peter Pettigrew following close, always eager to please. But one Marauder stood out to her more than the rest. Remus Lupin.

There was something about him that had Y/N hooked from the beginning. Perhaps it was his quiet brilliance or the way he seemed to carry a world of mysteries in those warm, honey-colored eyes. Or maybe, it was the way new scars seemed to appear on his face and hands every so often, faint but unmistakable. They fascinated her, those scars, and as her gaze lingered on him in class or at meals, she found herself trying to figure him out.

And, admittedly, somewhere along the way, Y/N developed a bit of a crush on him. But who wouldn’t? He was brilliant, always top of the class without trying too hard, and—and yes, he was gorgeous. Handsome in that annoyingly effortless way. Soft, tousled hair that practically begged to be touched, sharp cheekbones, and—Merlin, those knit jumpers that always made him look so adorable. How was that fair? It was like he’d been sculpted by some benevolent god of tall, bookish, sweater-loving dream boys.

But Y/N’s interest in him was more than just attraction. There was something… otherworldly about him. She’d started to notice patterns—how he would seem worn and pale every few weeks, how he would disappear entirely from school grounds for a day or two, only to return looking exhausted and, if possible, even more scarred than before.

A month ago, after endless speculation and careful observation, Y/N had arrived at a conclusion: Remus Lupin was probably a werewolf. She wasn’t completely certain; it was more of an educated guess. But what could she do with this theory? It wasn’t like she could walk up to him and blurt out, “Hey, Remus! You don’t know me, but I’ve been watching you for months, and I just wanted to ask, are you, by any chance, a werewolf?”

The thought alone made her cringe. Y/N sighed, tapping her quill against her parchment. Remus Lupin might be full of mysteries and maybe—just maybe—she’d get the courage to actually talk to him someday.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The full moon was only a few days away, and Y/N could already see the toll it was taking on Remus. He was limping slightly, a stiffness in his stride that made her heart ache, and the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping in days, and though she knew he had his friends—the Marauders, always fiercely loyal—she couldn’t help but feel he needed more comfort than they could provide. She wanted to do something for him, something small but meaningful.

The idea hit her while she was rummaging through her bag in the library: an anonymous get-well-soon basket. She could leave it outside his dorm, a collection of little comforts to ease the days leading up to his transformation. She’d make sure it was subtle, not too personal, just enough to lift his spirits without drawing attention.

Excitement and nerves mixed in her stomach as she mentally listed what she’d need. A couple potions to help with sleep, pain, and anxiety, some of Honeydukes' finest chocolate, a soft blanket to keep him warm, and a few baked goods from the kitchen elves. She might even add a small note with a simple message—“Hope these bring you a bit of comfort during the full moon. Take care of yourself.”

Over the next couple of days, Y/N carefully gathered everything. She bought him a midnight-blue wool blanket that felt like a hug in fabric form and a variety of different chocolates. She used her advanced potion skills to make Murtlap Essence, a Calming Draught, and a Healing Potion.

But the most important addition was a small bottle of Wolfsbane Potion. She’d somehow managed to get her hands on the recipe, even though it wasn’t officially taught at Hogwarts—and she’d acquired a secret stash of the rare ingredients needed to brew it, though she'd never admit where from. It had taken several nights of brewing in the abandoned classroom she’d found, but she’d done it.

The full moon was only two days away when she finished assembling the basket, carefully placing the note on top before leaving it right outside the boys' dormitory. With a final glance over her handiwork, she quickly walked back to her dorm, satisfied with her work.

As she returned to her room, a little thrill of satisfaction bubbled within her. Maybe, just maybe, her small gesture would help Remus feel a little less alone, a little less burdened by the full moon’s approach. And that thought alone was enough to fill her with quiet joy.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Just a few floors below, the Marauders were still lounging in the Gryffindor common room, sprawled across chairs and couches as the fire crackled low. They’d spent hours discussing pranks, arguing about the latest Quidditch match, and bickering about everything from Potions homework to the best way to dodge Filch. When the last embers started to die, they finally decided it was time to call it a night.

As they made their way up the stairs, it was James who first spotted the basket. He froze mid-step, eyebrows raised as he pointed it out. "Er, lads... anyone know what this is?"

The other boys crowded around, peering down at the unexpected sight.

“No clue,” Peter murmured, squinting at the note resting on top.

Sirius, with his usual curiosity, leaned down and plucked up the note, inspecting it with a grin before his eyes gleamed mischievously. “Ooooooh, Remus, it’s for you!” he cooed, reading the note aloud for the group: ‘Hope these bring you a bit of comfort during the full moon. Take care of yourself.’

The boys’ faces all fell at once. Whoever had left this knew. Someone had figured it out. Their carefully crafted excuses, the timing of their sneaking around, all the little tricks they’d come up with—they thought it was foolproof. But apparently, someone had been watching more closely than they’d realized.

Without another word, they grabbed the basket, exchanging uneasy glances as they rushed into the dormitory, shutting the door firmly behind them. They gathered around Remus’s bed, where James set the basket down, and just stared at it.

“Well? Open it already!” James urged, his voice a mix of curiosity, excitement, and a tinge of concern.

Remus took a steadying breath. His friends were watching him closely as he slowly lifted the wrapping, half-expecting some kind of prank to burst out at him. But instead, he found an assortment of thoughtful items neatly arranged within the basket. A stack of Honeydukes chocolates, carefully tied together with string. A blanket, dark blue and soft, lay folded at the side. Several small bottles—potions, each labeled with precision, sat in the center, cushioned by tissue paper.

They all scanned the contents in awe and curiosity, but Sirius was the first to notice something unusual. He gasped, eyes widening as he pointed to one particular bottle.

“Holy shit, is that—”

“Wolfsbane,” Remus finished quietly, staring at the vial with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

They all fell silent, taking in the implications of that single bottle. Wolfsbane Potion was incredibly complex, nearly impossible for a student to brew, and yet here it was—crafted, sealed, and ready for him. Someone had not only figured out his secret but had gone to lengths far beyond casual concern. The potion’s presence in the basket hinted at more than just kindness; it was a deeply personal gesture, an unspoken understanding that spoke volumes.

Remus swallowed hard, his fingers brushing the cool glass of the bottle. "Did the card say who it was from?" he asked, looking over at Sirius, who shrugged and handed him the note again.

Remus read the short message over and over, searching for any hidden clues, some hint that might give away the sender. But the note was short, simple, and entirely anonymous. He turned it over, checked for invisible ink, even held it up to the light, but there was nothing.

“Not a single hint?” James murmured, peering over his shoulder, a frown deepening across his face. “Nothing?”

The group exchanged baffled glances. They examined the basket once more, handling each item carefully to make sure nothing seemed dangerous. The potions were labeled clearly and accurately, the chocolate smelled rich and sweet, and the blanket was incredibly soft—perfect for a night when he’d be feeling cold and drained. Every item seemed genuine, carefully chosen, with not a hint of a prank or hex.

As they finished examining the basket, they slowly started getting ready for bed. Remus sat quietly on his bed, his mind racing as he took in the kindness of it all. He tucked the potions into his bedside drawer, hiding the chocolate where he knew Sirius wouldn’t be able to steal it, and spread the blanket over his bed. It was soft, warmer than his own, and the weight of it settled over him like a quiet comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.

Sliding under the blanket, Remus felt a warmth blooming in his chest. Someone out there knew his secret, but instead of using it against him, they’d tried to make things a little easier. And he knew, without question, that he had to figure out who it was.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The full moon had passed in a calm that Remus had never experienced before. He woke that morning still feeling sore, but the aches were manageable. Normally, the transformations left him scarred and hollow, as if all the energy and warmth had been drained from him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. But this time, thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion and the potions from the basket, he felt… human. Less broken.

After seeing the other Marauders off to class, Remus leaned back into his bed, feeling the softness of the new blanket wrap around him like a gentle hug. He’d spent the morning drinking one of the calming potions, using the healing salve for his aches, and nibbling on a bit of chocolate to ease his nerves. And though he was grateful, he couldn’t shake the strange blend of curiosity and unease that swirled in his mind. Who knew? Who cared this much? The secrecy felt like a burden, yet he couldn’t help but feel a small glow of warmth every time he glanced at the basket.

Meanwhile, James, Sirius, and Peter were trying to answer that very question in their own way. During Potions, they’d had an idea. Whoever had brewed Wolfsbane Potion had to be incredibly skilled, so finding out who had the best marks in Potions could narrow things down. The second Slughorn dismissed them, they pounced.

Sirius leaned casually on Slughorn’s desk, grinning with exaggerated innocence. “Professor,” he began, “say I wanted to improve my Potions skills. Just hypothetically.”

Slughorn’s eyebrows lifted, clearly intrigued by Sirius’s unusual interest. “Oh? Well, it’s about time, Mr. Black. I’d say your marks could certainly use a bit of boosting.”

“Oh, I know, I know!” Sirius waved his hands, laughing a bit. “That’s exactly why I was thinking maybe a bit of tutoring could help. So… who would you say is the top student in your class?”

James sidled up next to him, nodding earnestly. “Yeah, Professor. Who’s the best at brewing?”

Slughorn looked delighted, his chest puffing with pride at the idea of his Gryffindor students taking a sudden interest in his class. He lowered his voice as though he were sharing a prized secret. “Ah, if you’re looking for someone with real talent, you’d want to speak with Y/N Y/L/N. A truly gifted student! Absolutely meticulous with her brewing, and a Gryffindor as well! You boys ought to know her.”

Sirius and James exchanged baffled glances. “Y/N Y/L/N?” James muttered, frowning in thought.

Peter piped up, looking a little surprised. “Oh, I remember her. We did a project together in second year. She’s very sweet. I suppose she’s easy to miss, always keeping to herself.”

“Right…” Sirius trailed off, scratching his chin. “Doesn’t sound like the type to be sneaking around in the dead of night to drop off mysterious gift baskets, does she?”

“People can surprise you,” Peter shrugged. “I bet she’s got her reasons.”

After classes were over, the three Marauders nearly sprinted back to the dormitory. They’d waited all day to tell Remus their findings, and as soon as they saw him, they launched right into it.

“So,” Sirius said, flopping dramatically onto Remus’s bed, “we might know who left the basket.”

Remus looked up, eyebrows raised, though he tried to appear casual. “Really?”

James nodded, practically bouncing with excitement. “Y/N Y/L/N. Slughorn says she’s his top student in Potions. And she’s a Gryffindor, so she’d know where to find us.”

The name caught Remus off guard. “Y/N Y/L/N?” He knew exactly who she was—quiet, always hanging at the edges of things, never drawing attention to herself. He remembered her from their earlier years, especially a few years back when she and Peter had done that project together. She’d been kind and incredibly smart, but she always seemed to fade into the background.

Sirius shot him a curious look. “Wait—do you actually know her?”

Remus hesitated, carefully picking his words. “I mean… I remember her. We’ve been in classes together since first year.”

But what he didn’t say was that he’d once felt drawn to her quiet kindness. She wasn’t like other students; there was a thoughtfulness to her, a gentle intelligence that had always intrigued him. He remembered her now, the shy girl who had somehow made him feel seen, and the idea that she might have left the basket stirred something inside him—a mix of hope and nerves.

Sirius smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Oh, you remember her, do you?”

Remus rolled his eyes, trying to hide his blush. “Look, it’s probably not her. There’s no way she’d still remember… I mean, we barely ever talked.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Barely ever talked? That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t care. Besides,” he added with a grin, “you clearly want it to be her.”

Remus glanced away, not trusting himself to deny it. Because if it really was Y/N… she’d have gone to extraordinary lengths just to help him. It would mean she knew his secret and, rather than fearing him, had quietly found a way to ease his burden. And perhaps the most surprising part? He found himself hoping it was her.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Alright. I’ll talk to her. See if there’s anything to this theory of yours.”

The next morning, with a hint of apprehension and excitement, Remus set out to find her. He decided to look in the library first, where he thought she might be studying between classes. But as he crossed the common room, he spotted her in the far corner, curled up in a chair with a thick book on her lap.

He took a steadying breath and made his way over to her. She looked up, clearly surprised to see him, her eyes widening as he gave a small, nervous smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Do you mind if I join you?”

She blinked, a little flustered, but nodded, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Um, of course, Remus.”

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a moment, and Remus could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of her attention on him.

“So… I, uh, wanted to thank you,” he started, not sure how to bring it up. “For… everything.”

She stiffened slightly, her cheeks flushing, but kept her gaze steady. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied quietly.

He watched her, seeing the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips, and knew then, without a doubt, that she was the one. “The gift basket. The potions. The blanket.” He lowered his voice. “The Wolfsbane. It helped me… more than I can say.”

Her face softened, and she nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I’m… really glad to hear that. I just wanted you to have what you needed. It’s not easy going through all that on your own.”

Remus felt his heart swell. Here she was, fully aware of the truth and yet sitting here, calm and kind, accepting him exactly as he was.

He met her gaze, feeling a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in ages. “Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of kindness from you, but… it means a lot.”

They sat there in a comfortable silence, the unspoken words passing between them, understanding filling the space. He knew he’d found a friend in her—someone who saw through the mask he wore and had chosen to help, not out of pity, but because she understood what it meant to care quietly, deeply, and without expectation.

And perhaps, he thought with a hint of warmth, this was only the beginning of something much deeper.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ this is kinda rushed sorry, school is killing me :P

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

Next >

Chapter One

Cold.

You’re cold. It’s dark. You’re falling. Someone reaches for you. Too late.

The water folds in around you. It floods your nose. It floods your ears. Your limbs don’t work. You can’t swim.

Muffled shouts. You open your mouth to cry back. It fills with water.

Choking.

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning drowning drowning dr–

You wake with a jolt, sitting up in bed.

Bed?

You pat the sheets around you. Yes, you’re definitely in a bed, not curled up on the leaf litter in Mirkwood.

“I guess it really was a dream,” you whisper, shoulders slumping. But as you run your fingers across the hem of the blanket, you frown. It doesn’t feel like the old quilt on your bed. It’s thicker, softer.

Something is wrong.

You look around the room as your eyes begin to adjust. There’s a fireplace across the room, the dying embers casting just enough light to let you make out the vague shapes of furniture in the darkness. The walls and floor are stone, adorned with plush rugs. The wind rattles the shutters outside the window, hidden behind thick curtains.

This is not your bedroom… and you are not alone. A dark figure stirs next to you beneath the covers. You scramble out of bed but find the floor farther away than expected. You land hard on your side. “Ow!”

You slap your hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. The figure sits up with a groan, rubbing at its face and leaning to peer over the edge of the bed at you. There’s no mistaking that mustache, those braids.

“Fíli? What… where are we?” And why are we in bed together?

Fíli blinks a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks hoarsely, his voice rough. He rolls out of bed and kneels in front of you. “We’re home. In Erebor? You know, the mountain? Big pile of rocks and snow? It’s rather hard to miss.” He raises an eyebrow, trying to coax a smile from you.

Instead, you scoot backwards, putting space between you and the prince as you process his words. “But we were just in Mirkwood,” you protest. “How did we get here?”

Fíli’s confusion turns to concern. “Y/N, that was a year ago.” He shifts closer and brushes a thumb over your cheek. “Are you feeling alright?”

You stiffen against his touch, heart in your throat. Ever the gentleman, he’s never touched you without permission before. But something about the way his palm cups your face feels familiar. “I don’t know,” you whisper, shaking your head. “All I remember is falling into the stream.”

“You don’t remember the elves? Fighting for the mountain? All the time we spent together?” He uncovers a long braid in your hair. “Our wedding?”

“Wedding?!” It’s true, you’ve harbored feelings for Fíli since the two of you met in Bag End. You’d admired him in the book and movies, and to see him for real… it did something to you. But you never thought he would return your affections—how could he? You’re a plain, young woman from another world, and he’s a handsome prince, heir to the throne.

Fíli searches your face, expression unreadable. Finally, he stands, offering you his hand. “Come on.”

You take it hesitantly. His fingers lace through yours, and he helps you to your feet. Strangely, you find that instead of being taller than the dwarf, you’re just level with his chin. But before you can comment on this, Fíli pulls you out the door and down a narrow hallway.

He leads you to a large sitting room, taking you to the sofa next to yet another fireplace. “Wait here,” he orders softly. “I’ll fetch Thorin.”

“Thorin’s alive?” you breathe. “What about Kíli?”

“Kíli would like to know what the pair of you are doing up and chattering in the middle of the night,” replies a voice from behind you. The youngest Durin leans against the wall with his arms crossed, hair still tousled from sleep.

You tip back your head and close your eyes. “They did it,” you sigh in relief. “Oh, thank God, they did it.”

Kíli raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Fíli pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let me get Thorin first. I would rather not explain this twice.”

 

“Again.” Thorin paces in front of the fire.

You rub your forehead. “I told you, that’s it,” you groan. “I fell in the water and woke up here.”

Kíli shakes his head. “It makes no sense.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Thorin flashes you a warning look.

“It was no ordinary stream,” Fíli points out. He sits with you on the couch, his hand resting on top of yours. Every once in a while, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It had some sort of foul magic. She wouldn’t wake for days.”

“If it’s magic that we’re dealing with,” you glance at Thorin warily before continuing, “it might be a good idea to talk with the elves.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorin snaps. His lip curls in disgust. “I refuse to invite them to interfere in our private matters.”

Kíli’s eyes brighten. “What about Gandalf, then? Where would we find him?”

They all look to you. You close your eyes, teasing and tugging at the cobwebs that cloud the part of your mind where your Middle Earth knowledge is stored. “He’s… there’s no guarantee we even could find him. Gandalf doesn’t have a home, exactly. He wanders. They don’t call him the Grey Pilgrim for nothing.”

“So we don’t know where Gandalf is,” Fíli starts slowly, “but we do know where the elves are.”

“And Gandalf wasn’t in Mirkwood with us,” you add. “There’s no guarantee he even knows about the enchanted stream—but Thranduil definitely would.”

Thorin crosses his arms. “Out of the question.”

“Did you not make peace with Mirkwood?”

“Peace does not mean friendship,” Thorin retorts. His voice, raised in frustration, echoes off of the polished stone walls. Down another hallway, you hear a door slam. Thorin groans at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“And just what in Mahal’s name is everyone shouting about at this hour of night?”

A new dwarf steps into the firelight. In the dim light, she almost looks like a copy of Thorin. But as she approaches, you can see her features are softer, her eyes rounder, her beard thinner. And there’s no mistaking the Durin glare that she levels at Thorin, her blue eyes just as piercing as they are tired.

You glance at Fíli with uncertainty. He squeezes your hand and leans close to murmur in your ear. “It’s just Amad. Mother,” he translates when you don’t seem to understand.

Dís. You nod quickly.

Thorin looks at you, then back to his sister, standing with arms crossed and an eyebrow raised expectantly. As they exchange words in their rough native tongue, Dís’s expression of irritation turns to one of soft, motherly concern. She comes closer to you and gently brushes away a few strands of unruly hair from your face. “You must be tired, natha.”

“Daughter,” Fíli whispers.

“A bit,” you reply quietly, finding yourself suddenly shy with the full attention of a mother focused on you.

“Poor dove,” Dís tuts. She straightens up and pats you on the shoulder. “Fíli, take your lass back to bed. We will speak in the morning.” Thorin looks like he means to protest, but Dís silences him with an icy glare. Planting a kiss on the top of your head, she pushes Kíli and Thorin back down their opposite hallways. Fíli pats your hand and follows her quickly, his words in Khuzdûl fading as he gets further away.

Finally alone, you let out a long sigh. For the first time, you get the chance to look yourself over, to see what has changed. Your hair is longer, brushing the small of your back. When you run your fingers through it, you find braids styled to match Fíli’s. A dwarven marriage custom, perhaps? There’s a thin, gold band on your finger, too, lined with tiny sapphires that sparkle in the firelight. A little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth; at least you kept some piece of your own marriage customs.

And while Fíli has been bare-chested this whole time, you’re wearing a dark green shirt, no doubt one that used to be his. It’s long enough on you to serve as a nightgown. A blush rises on your face when you realize the deep v-neck exposes the dip between your breasts—and has been exposing it to everyone else this whole time.

“Amrâlimê?” Fíli’s voice from the hallway is soft. He pokes his head into the sitting room. “Aren’t you going to come to bed?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, suddenly very interested in the fireplace. In anything that isn’t Fíli’s too-kind face. “Do you want me to?” you ask hesitantly.

It’s silent for a few seconds. Fíli sighs heavily and comes to kneel before you, taking your hands in his. “Y/N, you are my wife. Of course I want you to come to bed. It is our bed.” His eyes search yours, desperately looking for the light he knows should be there. “Do I not have your love?”

“I mean, sure,” you reply softly. Your voice is strained. “I just… I don’t understand how I have yours. You’re the crown prince, you’re perfect. And I’m just… me.”

“You are so much more than that,” Fíli murmurs. “You are everything to me.” He kisses your forehead and stands. Before you can say anything, you’re swept up in his arms. Startled, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to avoid falling, but he carries your smaller frame with ease.

You frown, remembering your observation from earlier. “Shouldn’t I be taller than you?”

“Ah. Well.” Fili’s chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your cheek. “That’s all that we thought the stream did. Make you properly sized.”

“Properly sized?” you repeat in disbelief. “You call this properly sized?”

“You complained about it endlessly,” Fíli continues. A playful smile tugs at his lips. “Until you realized how well you fit in my arms.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re very funny.”

“I’m also handsome, charming, brave…”

“Shut up.” You smack his shoulder lightly, but hide a smile as you tuck your head beneath his chin. Maybe you can get used to this.

But as he kicks open the door to his—your—room, and you see the bed with its rumpled covers, you tense.

“Y/N?” Fíli’s breath tickles your neck.

“It’s… just a lot, all at once,” you mumble.

He squeezes you, then lowers you gently to the bed. “I understand,” he murmurs.

“You really don’t, though.” Pent-up frustration simmers within you. “When’s the last time you fell into a stream, woke up, and found out a year had passed and you’re married?”

“Are you upset that we’re married?” Fíli asks, his face falling.

You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at him. This can’t be any easier for him. Running your hand through your tangled hair, you shake your head. “It feels like one moment, I was a girl with a crush, and then I wake up, and suddenly I’m a married woman. I’ve missed out on everything.”

“It’s in there, somewhere,” he whispers, stroking your cheek. You flinch away, your body unsure of how to react to his touch. Hurt flickers across his face, but he pulls back. “Can I fix your braids?” he asks. There’s desperation in his eyes.

Recognizing his need to touch you in whatever way he can, you nod slowly, and turn. The gentle, rhythmic tugging as he combs and re-braids your hair is hypnotic, and you find your eyelids drooping.

“There,” Fíli says, turning you back to him. He smiles sadly. “Beautiful as ever.”

Your heart aches. Whether it aches for him, the dwarf searching for his loving wife in the uncertain girl before him, or yourself, longing to be that loving wife, you do not know.

After a moment of hesitation, you lean in and reward him with a quick kiss on the cheek. His beard is prickly against your lips. “I’m tired,” you whisper when you draw back.

The kiss brings a real smile to his face, however small it may be. Fíli pulls back the covers and you wriggle underneath them. You settle into a dip worn down into the mattress from hundreds of nights before. Fíli slides into place behind you, his chest against your back. You stiffen slightly, but force yourself to relax.

“Is this alright?” His deep, quiet voice vibrates through your body.

You nod. He can have a little cuddle, as a treat. As an apology.

He takes that as a signal to test the limits further. You can tell he’s holding his breath as he drapes his arm over your waist. “Is this alright?”

“It’s cozy,” you mumble sleepily, letting the warmth of his body overwhelm you.

Fíli lets out his breath, pulling you tightly against him and nuzzling his face into your hair.

As you drift off, you do your best to pretend you don’t notice his quiet tears.

You began to stir, finding your face pressed into something warm and firm. As you tried to pull away to look around, you were met with resistance. You made a disgruntled noise.

“Y/N?!” Suddenly, a hand yanked your head backwards. Wide eyes searched your face frantically. You just barely registered who held you before he pulled you back in a crushing embrace. “I thought we’d lost you.”

“Fíli?” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his coat. “Can’t breathe.”

He released you, finally letting you get your bearings. The two of you were alone in a small, stone cell. Torchlight flickered just outside the wrought iron bars, casting a dim, orange light into your cell.

A shadow crossed over the door. “Oh, so she is alive. Here, then.” An apple landed on the ground in front of you, followed by a waterskin. “That’s the most you get until tomorrow. Make it last.” The shadow retreated, footsteps echoing down a long hallway.

Pieces began to slot into place in your mind. You nodded slowly. Mirkwood, elves, imprisonment. “How long have we been in here?”

“A few days at most, given how often they’ve brought food and water. But it’s hard to tell.” Fíli seemed distracted, eyes scanning your body. “How do you feel?”

You frowned and patted yourself up and down. “A bit sore, but I think I’m fine.” You untangled yourself from Fíli and tried to stand on shaky legs, your knees instantly failing beneath you.

Immediately, he jumped up and grabbed your waist from behind to steady you. “Y/N?” His voice was soft. “Y/N, please do not be alarmed when you turn around.”

“What?” You twisted in his grasp and looked up into his concerned face.

Up. You had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. He was big. You tried to back away but the space was so narrow, you collided with the wall after just a single step. “You’re taller,” you stated, almost robotically. “But you’re a dwarf. You can’t be taller than me. I’m supposed to be the taller one. How did you get taller?”

“I did not get taller,” he corrected you. “You got smaller.”

You just stared at him blankly. Fíli sighed, gently taking hold of your arm and easing you back to the ground. He took the apple from the floor and placed it in your hand. “Eat,” he ordered quietly. “You haven’t had any food in days. It was hard enough to get water into you.”

Instead, you rolled it between your palms absentmindedly. “How long was I out?”

“Just over a week. We were trying to cross a stream, and you fell in.”

“Instead of Bombur,” you interjected.

Fíli raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Glóin managed to snag you,” he continues, “and when he pulled you out, you were… well, smaller. But you wouldn’t wake up. You even slept through the spiders. I was so afraid that you were gone before I could tell you–” he broke off, his voice thick. He tore his eyes away from yours, a blush rising on his face.

“What?” You reached out and took hold of his chin, turning his face back to you. Yet his eyes still avoided you. You crawled closer, kneeling between his outstretched legs. Your traitorous heart pounded hopefully against your ribs. “Tell me what, Fee?”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s foolish. I shouldn’t… you wouldn’t…” Finally, he looked back up at you. “I love you?” He phrased it as a question, his blue eyes filled with hesitation. It was strangely endearing, seeing the normally confident prince so bashful. Fíli lifted a cautious hand to your cheek, fingers just barely brushing your skin.

Surprise temporarily robbed you of your voice. Mistaking your silence for rejection, Fíli quickly pulled his hand away. Shame and hurt flashed across his face. “Forgive me,” he blurted out, ducking his head. “I should not burden you with feelings you can never return.” He pulled his legs back in and moved further into the shadowy recesses of the cell.

But you crawled after him, refusing to let him go that easily. “Fíli, why didn’t you say anything?” When he remained silent, you wound your fingers up in one of his braids and tugged, forcing him to turn his head towards you. “Why are you so sure that I can’t feel the same?”

A cautious spark of hope flared to life in his eyes. “Because you’re perfect, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You deserve so much more than I can give.”

You smiled, eyes tracing his face. The gold locks that framed it, the sky blue eyes, the flushed cheeks. And those soft, pink lips, parted ever so slightly as he awaited your next words.

But words were the furthest thing from your mind. Refusing to hold back any longer, you grabbed Fíli by the collar, lunging forward to claim his mouth.

His eyes widened, then fluttered shut as his hands grabbed at your waist. Fíli pulled you back into his lap and wrapped his arms around you, reaching up to comb through your tangled hair with his fingers.

A rock clanged against the bars of your cell. “Get a room!” came Kíli’s voice, echoing down the hall.

You broke away with a laugh. “This is a room!”

Kíli’s only response was a disgusted groan as Fíli grabbed at your face for more.

[batsyforyou]

Celegorm/Curufin/Celebrimbor/Feanor Sleep Headcanons

Pairing: Celegorm x reader, Curufin x reader, Celebrimbor x reader, Feanor x reader

Author’s Note: Blanket Series! 

The one thing that these four elves have in common is the amount of work they put in. 

They either go to bed late 

Or never

What's worse is that they all have the same family stare when they sleep. 

Each of their eyes glow and they stare straight ahead, kinda like the goa'uld with their glowing eyes but instead of the white of their eyes glowing, it's the iris.

Feanor passed it to Celegorm, and Feanor also passed it to Curufin who then passed it to Celebrimbor 

It's a family trait 

But between the four of them Celegorm and Celebrimbor are the most likely and willing to cuddle you and kiss you at night.

Between Celegorm and Celebrimbor though, Celebrimbor is way more romantic 

Verses Curufin and Feanor who kiss their forges goodnight and put it to bed before they ever see you

Though Celegorm is the first to go to bed out of all of them

Celegorm

Probably the easiest Feanorian to corral into bed 

If he’s busy at his desk and if you ask him to come to bed he’ll give you a half hearted wave and tell you to go to bed. But if you kiss his cheek and use the magic word (please) he’ll come join you. 

And I don’t want to give you the impression that he doesn’t care for his work and doesn’t take it seriously. He takes it very seriously. But he takes care of your happiness first. 

He’ll wrap himself around you and bury you in his arms and smooch you til his heart's content. 

Sometimes he’ll try to see if you're willing for more but most of the time he’ll leave his shenanigans for morning. 

He snores very softly and you normally don't hear it 

And because he so active during the day he doesn’t move at night 

And like I mentioned before he’s got his daddy’s stare 

Though his open eyed stare is bright. His eyes are like two active search lights from Gotham City (Batman) just piercing the dark. That or two up close nightlights. 

Overall Celegorm is an 7/10 sleep buddy

Curufin

Getting this one into bed is a fight in itself. 

He would come with you unless you’ve begged for like 30 minutes

Curufin is another elf that doesn’t know how to cuddle. He thinks you take up too much bed space but unlike Maeglin he has no problem telling you about it.

“Move over, your elbow is on my side.” 

He doesn’t really learn 

So the only way to get this one to cuddle is if you lay on top of him and press your nose into the crook of his neck. 

He just melts when you do and the silver tongue is to put to rest

He dreams pretty frequently. But it's sometimes like watching a cat dream he’ll just twitch every once and a while 

He doesn’t move and roll around and sleeps on his back 

And he never snores not once but on the few times he does the snore is really cute and you never let him live it down. 

Overall Curufin us a 7/10 sleep buddy

Celebrimbor 

Celebrimor is someone who loves to savor your touch 

He loves holding you close to him and burying his head into the crook of your neck to just breathe you in

He lives to hold you 

He lives to kiss you especially. 

And he will kiss your nose every night before bed and every morning when you wake up 

Is addicted to cuddles but is sometimes embarrassed about craving your soft touch.

So he won’t really tell you that he wants any. Instead he’ll invite you to him so it’ll come off as more of an offer and your idea then his.

When he’s really fixated on what he’s doing you have to drag him away from either the forges or his desk. 

When you're not around he can and will and has slept on his desk atop of his papers.

When in bed though he typically sleeps on his back with you using his arm as a pillow 

But he’s would love to sleep with you on his back while he slept on his stomach

It’d knock him right out 

Overall Celebrimbor is a 9/10 sleep buddy

Feanor

Huh? 

Who? 

Where? 

Good luck reigning this one in, he’s a nightmare to settle into bed

Feanor another one that doesn’t understand the definition of rest. He practically lives in the forges so you’ll have to find a way to persuade him to go to bed. Idk how but good luck soldier 

But ah *coughs* I’ll stay that acts of intimacy go a long way *cough cough*

When he does sleep, he sleeps on his side. He stares straight ahead with glowing eyes. His eyes glow the brightest out of the four but instead of it being a glow it's more a gentle lapping flame that flickers every once and a while.

Cuddles? If you're lucky. He’s mostly staring up at the ceiling thinking about all the cool projects that he could get up to. 

Mostly because it's like you're sleeping with a literal heater and he doesn’t want to sweat at night.

Overall Feanor is a 6/10 sleep buddy

Masterlist

[captain039]

PART 9 The lords servant

Astarion x reader

Warnings: plus size reader, light swearing, vampire things, sexual, first times, eventual smut, harassment, angst, slowburnn

Previous part <-

You awoke hearing a small whimper beside you. You frowned remembering where you were, you glanced to your lord, blanket clutched in his hand just above his waist. He was twitching, eyes scrunched up, you tilted your head slightly you thought elves didn’t sleep let alone dream. Maybe his thoughts clouded his whole mind, his face was frightened and you got worried as he began to mumbled no’s, you gently shook him calling his name. He shot up, his hand on your throat, holding it tightly. You gasped holding his wrist trying to breathe. He looked around before his eyes fell on you, he let go of you quickly eyed scared.

“I’m so sorry- gods-“ he said frantic as he put his feet to the ground, head in his hand as he shook lightly. You got full sight of the scars on his back, some unknown language to you. You gulped a bit trying to process. Your hands went to his shoulders as you shuffled, legs going by his side, you wrapped your arms around his waist resting your hands on his chest, one hand over his heart. You rested your cheek on his back feeling him breathe heavily. His trembled stopped as his hand held yours over his heart.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked voice quiet.

“I’m alright” you said and he scoffed lightly making you tense lightly.

“I almost strangled you” he spat and you sagged a little lifting your head.

“You were having a nightmare” you said he he huffed annoyed.

“Astarion” you said feeling him tense.

“What happened?” You asked as he looked back to you the best he could.

“My master, Cazador” he spat his name and you nodded.

“He had you” his voice went quiet filled with vulnerability.

“Drained you of your blood in front of me slowly, made sure to cut up every part of your beautiful body, once you-“ his breath hitched as you gave him a soft squeeze.

“Died, he turned you, you weren’t you, it was worth than death” he said and you listened to the sob he let out. You felt tears in your own eyes as you held him tightly, the gods were cruel with their torment on his soul.

“I’m ok, I’m here” you tried to comfort.

“You’ll never be safe, not with me” he forced those walls up again and you bit back tears.

“Astarion” you whispered sadly as he pulled away from your embrace, shut off fully now as you sagged and tugged the blanket around your naked body as he got dressed and left. You left to your own room to cry in your bed before you exhausted yourself and passed out. When you awoke again you debated about going to his office. You didn’t, you headed out into the city letting Daenan know before hand. You went to the library, searching about vampires, the myths and legends, trying to look for the name Cazador amongst the history. You learnt about the masters and spawns, what powers the masters had over their spawns, they were slaves to every command they had no control, how did your lord escape?

You were there for hours reading and looking before you saw the name Cazador. Cazador Szarr his name was a well known supposed dead lord outside Baldurs gate, he had a large estate, nobody knows of a successors or extended family, nobody knows if he was truely dead.

“Interesting book?” You suddenly heard looking up seeing a woman. You frowned slightly at her too perfect smile.

“Just looking into some history” you shrugged her off hoping she’d get the hint.

“They say he’s not actually dead” she sat down not taking the hint.

“Lord Szarr?” You asked and she nodded her grin unsettling.

“They say he’s eternal, been around for century’s” she said making you frown, who was she?

“Maybe” you shrugged closing the book.

“Oh come now, just having a friendly chat” she smirked.

“I’m due for lunch” you lied standing up.

“How is the little star?” She asked and you frowned, little star?

“I don’t know what you mean” you said and she laughed.

“I smell him all over you” she took a deep breath through her nose and sighed loudly eyes flashing gold making you jolt a bit.

“Our little elf didn’t even get his adult name” she pouted and you froze.

“Astarion you idiot” she rolled her eyes.

“Your so called lord, honestly his hiding is horrible” she huffed and you felt anger and fear rise as she checked her nails.

“You think his lord let him go?” She chuckled.

“He was let go” she said darkly an evil smirk on her face.

“He’s due for the reckoning best say your goodbye’s” she added before she disappeared in front of your eyes. Your heart jumped and you ran right back to your lords mansions, heart pounding, mind racing. You went to the library quickly looking over books about elfs and their language, you found one putting his name together, it meant little star, he hadn’t hit proper adult hood in elf sense, never got his adult name. You sagged falling into the chair, his life was stolen from him, his master let him go and was obviously watching and now he knew who you were, that woman too, who was she? His masters pet? Dark consort?

You jumped when your name was called sharply seeing your lord furious.

“Before you yell, please just listen-“ you said his eyes bright red.

“I told Daenan where I went, I went to the library, but there’s something else” you said hands shaking.

“Cazador” he said and you frowned slightly.

“I’m the prodigal son being summoned to return for his ascendant” your lord scoffed words laced with venom.

“I had a visitor” he growled.

“I did too” you said voice shaky and his eyes went wide.

“Who?” He asked quickly.

“A woman I don’t know-“ you said panicking.

“She said there was to be a reckoning, to say my goodbyes” you said body trembling.

“You best say them” he said and you froze snapping your eyes to him.

“No don’t give me that look, you’ll get killed!” He growled as your eyes stung with tears.

“I won’t leave you! You told me to stay here!” You fought and his jaw tensed.

“That was before I was in disgusting bliss” he spat and it was your turn to growl in frustration.

“My lord- with all disrespect, fuck you!” You yelled and he froze at your outburst as your chest heaved.

“You gave me my first everything! Made me feel things I’ve never felt! And I dare say you felt something new!” You tried to control your emotions as tears rolled down your face.

“Fuck your master and his little spy’s and consorts!” You yelled seeing Daenan peer in the room slightly before you glared and he ran off.

“Don’t you get it?!” You snapped at your lord as he stayed silent.

“I love you!” You cried body shaking with emotions as you began to wipe your eyes. You felt hands grab your waist and lips press to yours. You went to fight him, fists giving a weak punch against his chest as he kissed you passionately.

“I’m sorry” he whispered breathlessly as you shook your head and cried.

“I love you too” he muttered and you looked to him with shock. He gave a weak smile and you saw tears in his own eyes.

“Hells” he muttered blinking his eyes as you smiled cupping his cheek and wiping the stray tear.

“I love you too” he repeated a real smile on his face as he closed his eyes and leant into you.

“Good” you chuckled softly pulling his head down softly to rest your heads together.

“I’m not going anywhere” you whispered.

Next part ->

Taglist:

@worryknotdear

@curlycarley

@sleepy-time-dreamy

@violet-19999

@hexqueensupreme

@perseny

@queenofangrymoths

@aeryntheofficial

@scarlettwitcher

@brainz00

@pixiedust727

@mheerdraws

@innergardentoadpony

@vivian318

@queenies1x1

@yaimlight

@otayz

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 3

ch.1, ch.2

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 2300

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: this is how I wish the duel could have gone in the game...😇🙏

I also want to reiterate that this fic is REALLY CANON DIVERGENT!!!!! I will NOT be following the game’s plot at all really with this (it really starts to diverge around chapter 6/7 maybe I don’t remember), and I don’t see Eloise as the game’s MC either.

Eloise was being woken up altogether too soon for her tastes. Something soft was hit her face, and she sat up groggily, pushing it away. She blinked as she looked around, not recognizing her surroundings. It was disorienting not knowing where she was, although, as she rubbed her eyes, it was slowly starting to come back to her…Something happened yesterday, she thought. I…

“Come on, sleepyhead!” exclaimed Imelda, throwing more clothes on top of Eloise. “The house elves left these last night at the foot of your bed while we were sleeping. If you don’t hurry up, there won’t be any more food left for breakfast. And, you know that the first day of classes is the most important…”

As she continued rambling on, Eloise got up and started putting on her school robes. A dark grey tartan skirt with dark green and silver stripes, a cream button-up with puffy sleeves that she tucked into the skirt, a black ribbon to tie around her neck, and her Slytherin robes on top. She didn’t know how to feel about the day that was ahead of her; she felt a strange mixture of elation and apprehension.

“…you’re taking too long. I’ll wait for you in the common room,” Imelda concluded, giving Eloise one last look before striding out of their dormitory. All of the other girls had already gotten ready and left for the morning, which wasn’t really a surprise to Eloise. As soon as her head hit the pillow the second time, she had fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t heard the bustle of the girls preparing themselves for the day.

She finished lacing up her boots, and after one last glance in the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place, headed out to find Imelda.

When Eloise walked into the atrium, she was struck by how different it felt in the morning. It was truly as beautiful now as it had been eerily peaceful the night before. Once again, light piano music playing in the background - Eloise smiled to herself, recognizing the Gymnopédies by Satie. Her piano lessons had been the only bearable classes at the muggle school, and she had excelled at the instrument, often practicing during her free time.

The piano music blended in with the murmurs of students standing or sitting in small groups around various tables filled with breakfast foods and scrolls of parchment. The greens and blues coming through the windows felt refreshing, and the whole room was glimmering under the reflections of the water playing across various surfaces. She could see plants swaying under the water, with schools of fish weaving between them. It felt…magical.

Eloise’s eyes were drawn to Ominis and she started walking to him, standing by the same window where they had been sitting earlier. Instead of being in shadow, however, he was now illuminated by the rays of sun shining through the water. He was smirking to himself as he listened to the two first-years next to him. As she got closer to them, Eloise heard them speculating about the possibility that they would get to see a mermaid.

“Oh! I think I just saw one!” one shouted at his friend, pointing out the window. “Oh, wait…it was just algae.”

Eloise walked up to Ominis, smiling despite herself. 

“Is this your idea of a good time?” she asked him, while he was simultaneously asking her how she had slept. They both paused as soon as they heard the other start talking, and then both started speaking at the same time after an awkward pause.

“Oh…I’m sorry. I…I slept well,” Eloise said, blushing. “And you?”

“As well as I ever do,” he replied. She noticed that the dark circles under his eyes were still very prominent, although they didn’t look eerie in the morning light. He indicated the first-years with a jerk of his head, changing the topic. “I doubt mermaids find us that interesting. I rather think they purposefully avoid our common room so as to not be treated like creatures in an aquarium.”

Eloise laughed at that and tilted her head playfully. “And just where did those two even get the idea that they might see a mermaid?”

“That, my dear, is a mystery. I surely have never seen one before,” Ominis said, standing up straight and taking his wand out. “I have been hearing a lot of chatter about you this morning, you know. It seems like reality has been mixed with fantasy in the tales of your journey here, and nobody knows the full truth.”

“Except for you,” Eloise pointed out, stepping into place next to him as they walked through the common room. She spotted Imelda, supervising some students playing chess and instructing them on the moves they should be doing. Imelda looked up and saw Eloise, and interrupted her own advice mid sentence.

“Eloise!!” Imelda bellowed as she practically ran across the room. Was this girl ever not purposeful in everything she did? The students around them looked up from what they were doing to watch her, and maybe get the chance to hear a first-hand account of what actually happened to Eloise. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were attacked by a dragon last night?”

“Oh, er…” Eloise couldn’t figure out how to respond to the other girl. Imelda didn’t seem worried or scared about what Eloise had gone through the previous day; rather, she seemed indignant that she hadn’t been told about the attack. Beside them, Ominis was laughing.

“It must have been terribly exciting,” Imelda went on, ignoring any response Eloise may have started giving. “A real dragon and all. I wish I was with you guys, I’ve actually prepared for what I would do in that very situation. I would definitely have diverted its attention away from you on my broomstick, and actually the best strategy would have been to…”

“I doubt you really would have been able to do anything,” Eloise interrupted. “It was terribly frightening, but at the same time the whole thing was over so quickly that I haven’t had time to process it yet.”

“Well, you can tell me about it on the way to breakfast. Maybe once you learn how to ride a broom, we can practice what to do together. You have first-hand experience, after all!” Imelda looped her arm through Eloise’s. She shot a look to Ominis. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking her now. We have a long day ahead of us, lots to do you know. The usual. Anyway, Sebastian’s coming over so it’s not like I’m leaving you completely alone.”

Before Eloise could even react, she was being marched up the spiral staircase that led out of the Slytherin common room and they were off to breakfast.

“Duelists, take your mark,” Professor Hecat said to the two students standing on top of the platform in the middle of the room. The duelists in question looked at each other warily, steadying their wands. Eloise was exhilarated. This was the type of class she had been daydreaming about while she sat wasting her time embroidering landscapes.

Professor Hecat hadn’t wasted any time putting the students to work. Although at first, many of them had scoffed at the thought of Leviosa being a useful spell in combat, Eloise listened attentively and focused on the correct wand movements. Maybe it didn’t actually matter, but she was determined to make sure that nobody would think that she didn’t deserve to be there. She had a lot of catching up to do, but between the books Professor Fig had given her and the knowledge she retained from reading from her family’s library as a child, she already knew a lot. She was quite pleased when the feather levitated as soon as she said the incantation, as there were other students who struggled to get theirs to even twitch in an upward direction.

Now, Eloise gripped her wand tightly in her hand, shifting a bit as she stared Sebastian in the eyes. He had said that she would get ‘a proper Hogwarts welcome’ and she was looking forward to it.

If the rumors she had heard before class were true, Sebastian was the best duelist in their year, and quite possibly at Hogwarts. Although she felt a little apprehensive at the thought of facing him, she hoped that he wouldn’t hold back on her just because she was new. Even if she had fought the guardians yesterday in Gringotts, she wanted to prove to herself that she could keep her wits about her in the heat of battle. 

Maybe her stance was a little too stiff, her movements too by the book. But that could only be changed with experience.

Sebastian smirked slightly to himself, no doubt thinking that this would be an easy victory. In the background, Eloise heard Professor Hecat say they could begin, but she was more focused on her opponent’s face. As soon as she saw him raise his wand and begin to open his mouth, she shouted “Protego!” and the shield blocked the spell he attempted to send shooting her way. His eyebrows raised in surprise - apparently he hadn’t been expecting her fast reflexes.

Quick as a whip, she shouted out “Levioso” and Sebastian was in the air. She hit him with a few more curses before he fell to the ground, breathing heavily. He pushed himself up quickly and went back into position. Wand out, now more wary of her capabilities. He blocked her next attack and went in for one of his own, which hit her shoulder. Eloise hissed in pain and immediately shot out a volley of quick jabs in his direction, a few hitting their mark before he put up a shield.

Sebastian was grinning as they circled each other, looking for an opening. The rest of the class surrounded the platform they were on, cheering them on. Both continued to attack and put up shields, without any clear winner in sight. It was obvious that they were very evenly matched.

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” he said as they were catching their breath between attacks. “I haven’t had a fight this good in a long time.”

Eloise just grinned in response, before shooting off another spell in his direction. It was expertly blocked with a flick of Sebastian’s wrist; in response he volleyed off a jinx towards her.

Eloise crumpled to the ground, yelping as she grabbed her ankle. Sebastian was immediately at her side, crouching down and looking at her with concern.

“Eloise? Are you okay?” He looked down at her ankle and then abruptly looked up and back at her face, a faint pink redness dusting his cheeks. He may have been dueling her, but it was distinctly different to be so close to her like this.

In response, Eloise grinned mischievously and quickly levitated him off the ground, getting to her feet at the same time. With a few quick curses sent his way, soon Sebastian was lying sprawled on the ground outside of the little arena Professor Hecat had erected.

“Not fair,” Sebastian exclaimed, rushing to his feet. He looked at Professor Hecat, who was looking between the two with a pleased smile.

Eloise smirked at him, only responding with, “Slytherin.”

Sebastian laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, making his brown curls even unrulier than they had become in their duel. He held his hand out to her and she shook it formally. “Good duel. You can definitely hold your own and I won’t underestimate you again.”

Professor Hecat clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class. “I hope you all paid attention to these two. Ten points to Slytherin for an excellent demonstration of what we learned today. On Wednesday, we will continue with practical application of the techniques learned during this class. I expect to see flawless wand work and concentration. I demand excellence from my students as I know you are all capable of achieving it. Class dismissed.”

As Eloise was gathering up her things, Sebastian sidled up to her. “Really, that was quite impressive. You seemed stiff at first, but it would seem you have fought before. You definitely give as good as you get.”

Eloise blushed and tucked some strands of hair that had come undone behind her ear. “Well, really, I had only read about the techniques before. Haven’t really had much time to put all of that theory to use yet.” She smiled shyly ad Sebastian, who was looking at her with his jaw open. “You fight really well, too. I had to use all of my focus. It’s kind of exhausting, actually.”

“But exhilarating, right?” Sebastian asked eagerly. The two of them started to head out of the classroom together, dwindling behind the rest of the students. Entirely absorbed by their conversation. “Everything else goes out of focus and the only thing in the world is you and your opponent.”

“Yes! Exactly that,” exclaimed Eloise. “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Well,” Sebastian said slowly, dragging the word out as he thought. “You know, there might be a way. To continue. I normally would never do this, but…you know…”

“Know what?” Eloise prompted as Sebastian trailed off.

“You’re a really good duelist. Intuitive. There’s a certain exclusive club of sorts, one that may or may not be unsanctioned, where you can continue to hone your dueling abilities.”

“Exclusive and unsanctioned?” Eloise asked with a smirk. “You can count me in.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian replied, smiling broadly. “Sometimes, to make the most out of your experience at Hogwarts, you need to bend certain rules. They’re more like guidelines, anyway.”

“Merlin, Sebastian,” said Imelda, walking up to them and crossing her arms. “Don’t let yourself fall into any of his schemes. That boy is in detention practically every other day.”

“Or maybe,” Eloise said, “he’s just not good enough at avoiding getting caught. I, on the other hand… Come on, Imelda. Let’s go to lunch.”

She laughed as they walked away, leaving behind a dumbstruck Sebastian. He shook his head in disbelief and headed off to his next class.

next chapter

[clownsnake]

guys. Astarion wasn’t literally considered a child when he was 30. Among elves he was clearly seen as Of Age to do adult things like drink and live independently and fuck and pay taxes. its just that elves have a stupid extra concept of adulthood that doesn’t MEAN adulthood in a literal sense. has nothing to do with physical or brain development. not even necessarily emotional development, but it kind of is depending on how u interpret it, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

basically elves in the forgotten realms trance instead of sleep (we know this) and until around age 110, during their trances they “dream” of their past lives (I’ve only seen a few ppl who know this, but idk if they also knew it stops at a certain age). They then stop dreaming of their past lives naturally, and it’s generally considered kinda traumatic to go through bc well. you’re losing what has been a fundamental part of yourself for so long.

I interpret that as being like a “shared trauma maturation stage” where instead of elves brains literally becoming more adult, losing the guidance of their past lives feels like more of a final step towards independence to them. and adulthood is just the closest social experience to this stage of being “truly on your own”

around 30-40 they get a “first reflection”, which is when their dreams start having experiences from their current life. (Makes sense for Astarion having a dream about Cazador in origin runs that prompts the biting scene) And then the loss of past life memories at 100-110 is called the drawing of the veil.

Tl;dr Astarion was a young adult by elf standards stop infantilizing him PLEASE

Getting into headcanon land now, feel free to draw your own conclusions from here.

i imagine older elves kind of have a sense of being more “mature” than under-110 elves in the way tht people comparing their trauma tend to do. Like “u think ur so smart and worldly but you haven’t even been through half the shit I’ve been through.” PATRONIZING that’s the word I’m looking for, it’s patronizing. And since every elf goes through this, they just kind of assume that yeah, going through this trauma/emotional loss IS a big step towards being a full adult. so it’s like if the concept of adult had a Pokémon evolution that didn’t involve getting wrinkly and hair loss and going through menopause or erectyle dysfunction. Adult 1.5 steam update.

I have no clue if Astarion would have the drawing of the veil as an undead elf. The fact that he even has dreams shows that being revived as a vampire keeps certain bodily functions running, mainly anything relating to the brain and consciousness, but idk if it would keep him physically at 30 or let his brain change.

Although hold on, in the epilogue where you’re a mind flayer and considering eating Astarions brain, you get narration that’s like “ooohh his brain part that handles senses must be sooo wrinkly” which would only be caused by the shit he went through post-vampirification. Meaning his brain Would be able to change and “mature”. But that’s also just an assumption that mindflayer!tav/durge is making.

k I looked it up. The exact quote is “Astarion’s sweet brain may be a bit less wrinkled than the rest, but you hunger for its teasing cells. His parietal lobe - which controls his sense of touch - will be an aphrodisiac in your maw.” Hilarious, he canonically gets called smooth brain. Anyway if u kill him I don’t think you get to eat his brain, withers just banishes you asap lmao. So we don’t actually know if his parietal lobe changed over his un-life! I’d wager it did though, based on his “don’t touch me” selection line (and probably some other lines hinting towards over-sensitivity tht im forgetting). And change caused by external trauma vs change caused by aging is different anyway.

no conclusion wrt to if he’d reach the drawing of the veil or not. Does it even matter? He’s still the same adult man, who’s gone through far worse hardships than losing memories of his past lives. If he lost his past life dreams too, well then I don’t think that’d make much of a difference for him.

[guardianlegends64]

[Closed RP/ Winter Special] Christmas Special and Alternate Universe in “ Winter’s Last Guardian”

In the Cold and Snowy Days of December and Freezing Cold of the North Pole as everything was going Normally and smoothly and straight but then something Happens..Something Dangerous…Something Unheard of… Like Christmas Eve is in trouble…the also the Winger Fox as well…

“A about 7 hours ago…”

“Dawn: Ugh why is it taking so Darn long?? And why do we have to wait for these “Special Edition Wishes” to be made anyways Its just too hard to make and it’s a waste of time!”

“Dawn stop it and you better watch what you’re going to say next don’t wanna be on the Naughty List again like last time”

“Dawn: Look Alex It’s a waste of Resources too don’t you see the problem?”

“Alex: I Don’t It’s what the Children want and wished for it’s what the Innocent Children and Families deserve”

“Dawn: well I still think it’s a-“

The two Little elven Toy makers were interrupted by the announcement of Their names being called to come to the show up at the office as Dawn Sighed and Alex Cleared his Throat as he walked with his trustworthy Friend to the office as there was a Very Special Person who Has Taken care of them ever since they needed help as it was…

“Mrs Clause: Hello My Little Elven Friends it’s good to see you again”

“Dawn: It’s good to see you too Ms. Clause you look very special today”

“Mrs Clause: Well it’s Nearly Christmas Eve and I would always love to dress appropriately for the holidays hehe!”

“Dawn: Well everyone has to dress up for Christmas “

“Mrs Clause: that is absolutely true Dawn Now I Must let you two know that the Toys need to be reconfigured by changing their appearance they have updated on how they looked”

“Dawn: Well That’s a Good News on the resources that is needed”

“Alex: We shall reconfigure them in a Swift hour!”

“Mrs Clause: Good You two are making great progress and work that I am Proud of as well and I will assist you in reconfiguring them!”

Mrs. Clause smiles and was Helping the Elves in making the toys as she was also trying to the Find The Winter Fox the one in which the North Pole needs to protect at all costs but then they came across a Message saying that the North Pole and Christmas will be in danger as Alerts have been issued all around as something or someone is trying to Take Control of the North Pole and the most alarming news is that Santa is now Missing as Ms. Clause Then Called on Winter’s Guardians to Help the North Pole and Find Winter’s Fox but only One Remains and that One Guardian was the last Hope of Saving Christmas and Protecting the Winter Fox….

“Now….”

“X.I.N: Elijah! Elijah! Wake Up!”

X.I.N Calling out Elijah to awaken as Elijah Ultimate is the Last Winter Guardian and who is in a Deep sleep dreaming about his Future until it was Interrupted by the certain Yelling from X.I.N as he is the Companion of His As Elijah Has Many Years of Training and Experience and Even Has some very special abilities and has a very Extraordinarily Special Personality…

“Elijah: WHAT?!”

“X.I.N: The North Pole Is In Trouble and They need your help and No the Others can’t do it they’re… Offline “

“Elijah:…. Darn It all…Fine let’s go Save The North Pole…”

Elijah is one of the Legendary winter Guardians And as Elijah Thinks That the Others are like his Family and as He Suits up since he’s in a Much Freezing location [-90 degrees Celsius] as he uses his Newly Created Teleportation as he is at the North Pole but at a High Mountain as he then now notices who is Attacking the North Pole as it was some Dark Elves and Other elves and some monstrous creatures working in taking control over The North Pole like it was a Inside Attack as he also sees Krampus and some other unknown figure As he gets a Message saying that “Santa is Missing and The Winter Fox is now No where to be found and is needed to be found and protected as Elijah thought of saving the North Pole by teleporting inside but then something happens when trying to teleport in as he is then in the skies and is falling as X.I.N is Calling out for Elijah to wake up as an alarm was on in his white metallic suit of armor in which Santa gave him the suit has immunity to cold and Fire and has a special Ability to restore Armor until….

“X.I.N: eli….eli…!! ELIJAH!!”

“Elijah: Huh…? What’s going on… what happened…?”

“X.I.N: You’re Falling Down in the high sky and is about to hit the Ground in Ten Seconds!”

“Elijah: H-Huh?! Ahhhh!!”

Elijah was screaming and then landed on ground but not until hitting and destroying a few Trees and hard snow and a few rocks as his armor Has been broken down and Was Covered with Some Scratches and slashes as he shakes his head wondering where he is as his body wounds heals quite quickly…

“Elijah: Ok… X.I.N WHERE ARE WE..?”

“X.I.N: Tokyo, Japan…”

“Elijah: Wha-?! OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!! Why are we at Tokyo?! We’re supposed to be at the North Pole!”

“X.I.N: Because this is the last Place where the winter fox is and The First Task is to find and Protect the Winter fox before anything happens! Your teleportation is busted for now you can only teleport for short distances”

When Elijah is out of his Suit he wears some Cold resistant clothing and has the best training as he explores Tokyo and finds out that the City is Celebrating Christmas Festivities as he also hears some arguing as he checks it out as he Sees five Unidentified Men Threatening someone who was a Lady that he cannot see as he Goes Apprehended all Five men immediately and then…

“Hey Are You Alright…Miss?”

He asked the Lady as he walked closer and Immediately saw the Lady’s Hair color as Elijah was going to say something but then the Lady Spoke First…

[sailtomarina]

The Wounds of Time

Someone once said, “Time heals all wounds.” 

Draco wanted to find this unknown, probably a muggle who’d died long ago, and kill them again for good measure.

Well, maybe not kill. Hermione wouldn’t like that and it would look bad, a former Death Eater murdering some idiot muggle, no matter how justified the reasons.

Draco would point out to this stranger and anyone else who would listen that time does not heal all wounds. It does a fair job of dulling the memories and emotions, but by itself, time means nothing, True change requires a catalyst.

Exactly ten years ago today, the Second Wizarding War came to close. Celebrations had been had, vows made to change what needed to be changed for such a war to never happen again, and the villains of the war punished for their crimes. 

He’d lost his father to Azkaban and his mother to grief. Draco might have joined his father if not for the testimony of a trio who had zero reason to help him, but did so anyways. He should have been thankful. He should have blessed the second chance he’d been given.

Instead, he festered in his empty manor, alone except for the family elves. If not for Hermione, he might have never left. He’d have expired, leaving nothing behind but a tombstone: “Here lies Draco Malfoy, beloved son, terrible friend, and a failure everywhere that matters.”

It would have been true. Draco had given up. 

Then came Hermione with her team of eager workers and a handful of hex-happy aurors. Malfoy Manor was next on their list of properties up for inspection, one they’d saved close to the last because of its sheer size and famed collection of books and dark artifacts.

Their interactions started with single sentences.

“Take us to the library.”

“Show me Lucius’ study.”

“Hold this.”

At this point, she still wore her Ministry uniform, every button fastened, her riot of curls securely pinned behind her ears.

Then, over time, her questions became more personal, conversations lasted longer.

“Malfoy, what do you do when we’re not forcing you to host us?”

“You have an entire section of muggle children’s literature, did you know that? Did you read any of them?”

“Have you been sleeping? I also don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything in all this time we’ve spent at the manor.” 

By now, she’d traded out the dark robes for chunky jumpers and muggle jeans that showed every damnable curve. The hair that used to be the subject of his ridicule became a steady feature in his dreams. He could drown in those curls and die a happy man.

Their romance came slow at first, creeping up on Draco unawares until he realized he’d already fallen for the witch with her infuriating mouth, her ferocious hunger for knowledge. They danced around one another for months on end, words and eyes exchanged frequently as if in a constant duel.

And now, on the anniversary of the victory over Voldemort, Draco was alone in his manor once more. The work was done, his home declared curse free. There was no further reason for Hermione to visit—she had other projects lined up ready and waiting. 

He swirled the firewhiskey in his glass, liquid the color of her eyes. The vintage was too rare, going down too smooth and leaving behind a gentle smokiness. He needed something cheap to feel the burn. 

Then, he felt a ripple in the wards. Perhaps they’d left something behind.

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice came soft and unsure, so unlike the tone he associated with her.

“Granger? What are you doing here?” Like an idiot, all he could do was stare at where she stood in the arch of the library. He chose this room for the evening because it had been her favorite.

“I…” She walked forward to stand a mere arm’s length from where he sat in his armchair. “I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

And he was. He was.

“You look beautiful.” He couldn’t not say the words. She could be wearing one of those hideous knitted creations, and he still would have meant them. Instead, she wore a gown, deep blue and sparkling like a night sky, the lines clinging to every line and curve.

“Thank you. Tonight’s the Commemoration Ball.”

“Ah.” Of course. Draco should have known, even though he was never expected to attend. He wouldn’t anyways. It wasn’t his place.

“I already did my speech and took photos with the boys,” she elaborated.

Draco could have made some joke about the cheap alcohol or food to explain why she’d shown up. Or, maybe asked if some fool had stepped on her foot in an embarrassing attempt to dance—probably one of her “boys”, or that git, McLaggen, who worked in her department.

He did neither of those things. He stared at her as she spoke on, describing the crowd, her speech, the incessant press. On and on.

He glanced down at her feet and noticed the way she kept shifting from one foot to the other. “Why don’t you kick off those heels and join me for a drink?”

“Oh! I don’t, I mean, I’m fine, you know how heels are—”

“Granger. Sit. Relax. You’re already here. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

“I couldn’t impose. I really just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re alright, you know—”

Sod it all.

In one swift move, Draco stood to crowd her space with his frame. Even in her heels, she barely came up to his chin. He took her elbows in hand, spun them around, and pushed her back into his chair. She had the distinct look of someone who’d been frozen.

“Better.”

As she continued to gape at him, Draco dropped to a knee and began removing her shoes.

“Malfoy!” Hermione’s senses returned and she attempted to kick at him. One firm hand on the calf of the offending limb put an immediate stop to her movements.

Taking advantage of her shock, he finished removing the last shoe and slid the hand holding her calf down in a kneading motion. Her skin was warm to the touch, the muscles beneath slender yet firm.

“I see they keep you active despite your position. Nice legs.” He couldn’t have held back the smirk at her whimper if he had tried.

Both thumbs pressed into the arch of her left foot, rubbing circles to ease the soreness.

“Mmmmm, M-M-Malfoy!” She nearly swooned in her ecstasy as she melted into the chair.

“You might as well call me ‘Draco’ now.”

She opened one eye to peer down at where he knelt. He moved onto the other foot and she sighed happily.

“You are a darling of a man. I’m convinced you can do no wrong.”

This could have been his segue to romancing Granger. Like the idiot he still was, he instead said, “I’m sure the others at the ball would disagree with you.”

Within moments, he grasped at nothing and found himself locked eye to eye with Hermione, his face cupped in her hands. If he glanced down, he probably would have been able to see down the neckline of her gown.

“I meant what I said, Draco. The man that you are now, the man I’ve come to know, would not do the wrongs of his past.”

He tried to pull away, but her nails dug in. “Granger, stop it—”

“No. You stop it. Stop wallowing in this dungeon you’ve created.”

“I don’t know how.” This time it was his voice that was quiet and full of doubt. It disgusted him to hear himself.

Rather than pull away, Hermione did the complete opposite. She relaxed her hold and in a move that felt magically slowed she leaned forward to wrap him in a hug. 

“So let me show you,” she whispered into his ear.

For once, Draco listened. He listened, and he learned, and he became a man whose wounds, while not fully healed, reminded him of the journey he had made, Hermione always at his side.

WC 1350

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 3 - Celebrations, September 18 - End of the War

Cross-posted to AO3

I know, I know! I'm a day late on this prompt, and today should be focused on Hermione's birthday! I somehow got the days mixed up, so now here we are. I still hope to get a little something out for our favorite curly-headed swot. In the meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed this!

[blackjackkent]

Broken Little Puppets

Pairing: Astarion & Karlach Characters: Astarion, Karlach Rating: Gen Content Tags: Dialogue-heavy, bonding, moving on, light angst Word Count: 1.8k Setting: Several days after Cazador boss fight, Lower City camp. Read on AO3 other bg3 one-shots | send me fic requests! Summary:  Karlach supports Astarion after a nightmare about Cazador’s ritual - and gets a little support herself in return.

“Hey. Psst. Astarion– hey, hey!”

Astarion hears Karlach’s voice as if at a great distance. He is at the bottom of a deep black pool of reverie, trapped, drowning while still breathing. The world is far away, and the memories infinitely close, crawling across his skin. 

Images flash through him with agonizing clarity. Some nights they are more indistinct, the accumulated recollections of years upon years of varying torments - but tonight it is almost as immediate as it was in life. The humming power holds him helpless on the edge of Cazador’s ritual circle, stripped of armor and weapons and friends and hope, feeling his master’s ascension starting to boil his blood with agonizing heat…

“No. No– please–” he whimpers, his head thrashing side to side. “Let me go–”

“Hey!”

The grip on his wrist enters the reverie and pulls. Another force trapping him, another surge of blazing heat. He jerks, lashes out blindly with his free hand, and his knuckles connect with a hard, solid jawline, sending a stab of pain through his wrist and up his arm.

“Ow! Fuck!” Karlach yelps. 

Her voice finally breaks through the reverie, shattering it apart around him. His eyes snap open and he finds himself half-sitting up in his bedroll, looking at Karlach crouched in the tent flap. She’s holding her cheek with one hand and looks distinctly startled. 

“What…?” Astarion mumbles, shaking his head to try and clear the lingering fog in his thoughts. “What happened?”

“Well, you punched me, for one thing,” Karlach says. Her usual grin, never far away, is already sliding back onto her face now that she sees him awake. “Didn’t know you had that kind of right hook, Fangs.”

“You never asked,” Astarion says, with a painfully transparent attempt at his usual cocky disdain. He sits up fully, rubbing absently at his stinging wrist. “What’s the idea, grabbing me like that?”

She shrugs, letting her hand fall. There’s a visible bruise already darkening along her jaw; he really did catch her perfectly square-on. “You were, uh, having a nightmare, I think,” she says cautiously. “Or whatever you call it when you’re an elf, doing your elf thing.”

“Elves don’t have nightmares,” he says curtly. It’s not entirely a lie - reverie is not sleep. It serves the same function, at least theoretically, but an elf in reverie is not unconscious and does not dream. He remembers, locked in meditative trance, everything that has ever happened to him, often in brilliant, visceral clarity. If only that truly meant there were no nightmares…

She shakes her head. “Well, whatever it was, you were - I dunno. You were… sort of whimpering, crying out. Sure didn’t seem like you were enjoying it.”

No. No, he most certainly wasn’t. It’s only been a few days since Cazador’s blood splattered over his knife and his hands and his face; those memories are still crisp and fresh, not yet melded in with the rest. “I’m fine.” He smiles thinly. “But thanks ever so much for your concern.”

“Uh huh.” She hunches forward, crouched on the balls of her feet, and rests her elbows across her knees. “You know that’s not at all convincing, right?”

He clicks his tongue and makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh, all right, fine, you’ve dragged it out of me,” he says. “It was a sex dream. Very intense, lots of… you know. Positions. Orgiastic debauchery. People hanging naked upside down from chandeliers. Good cause for whimpering, is what I’m trying to say. So unless you’d like to hear all the nasty details, maybe you could just see yourself out of–”

“Astarion.” She’s still smiling, but there’s no humor in it suddenly, just a sort of rueful sadness. “I’m pretty dumb sometimes, but I’m not stupid.”

His shoulders slump and he looks away from her, rubbing the heels of his hands to his temples. “Right. Of course.”

She settles forward into a more comfortable kneeling position. She’s so tall that her head still brushes the ceiling of the tent, her intact horn giving a gentle clink against the upper pole. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

She doesn’t make any move to leave the tent, and he doesn’t make any move to force her. They both just sit there, listening to the muted bustle of the city outside their alleyway camp.

After a while he speaks, low, almost inaudible. “I couldn’t possibly explain it,” he says, “in a way that would make you understand.”

“Try me.” She rolls her head to one side, then the other, stretching out the muscles in her neck. “Maybe I’d surprise you.”

“You’re young,” he says bitterly. “How could you possibly comprehend torments that operated on a scale of decades?”

She juts out her jaw thoughtfully. “I had one decade in the Hells. Feels like maybe that counts for something.” When he doesn’t respond, she goes on quietly, “I get nightmares too, y’know. Ten years in the Hells is no two hundred years in Caza-fuck’s dirty basement, but you still rack up a lot of bad memories. And Zariel was just as much of a cruel fucking prick…”

It’s pathetically obvious what she’s doing, of course. Talking first to get him to talk after. He’s not fooled. Sort of endearing, though, he supposes; how many people would actually bother to try?

“Woke up just last night absolutely convinced I was beating the shit out of a hezrou,” she goes on. “You ever see one of them? Nasty little brutes. Only I kept killing it and it kept coming back, and coming back, and coming back…” She stops abruptly, pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them. “Fucked up my pillow something good.”

He grunts noncommittally. Another long silence stretches between them. 

“How’d it feel, killing him?” she asks abruptly. And this time her voice is quieter; it’s lost some of the note of friendly assurance. 

He stiffens. “Surely you don’t need me to tell you what it’s like to kill someone,” he says sardonically. “I think we could both give a lecture on the subject that would put Gale to shame.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She frowns. “How’d it feel killing him?” The emphasis is clearer this time.

“Mm.” He gives her a keen look sidelong. “Rather the way it felt for you to kill Gortash, I imagine,” he says. “Though I think I managed it with more artistic flair. Really spattered the canvas, if you will.”

“Yeah.” She huffs out a breath, rattling her lips dramatically. “Watching you tear him up - it felt good. Wish I’d gone all-out like that, with Gortash. All I did was sink one good one right in his chest, but you left Cazzy just a piece of fucking meat. Shredded him. That’s the way it should be - for him, for Gortash, for Zariel, for all the fuckers who use people like that. Just a piece of fucking meat for some dog to chew on.” 

Her voice has dropped lower, and he can feel the way the temperature in the tent has ticked up a notch or two as her engine starts to rev with agitation. “And even so…” she mutters sourly, “it still doesn’t fucking fix anything, in the end. Their final little laugh at our expense.”

He wants to object, to snarl out, like the wounded animal that he is, that of course it fixed things. He won. He’s alive (in a manner of speaking) and Cazador’s gone. He will never have to follow that bastard’s direction ever again, never again let his body be used, or be compelled to press a hot poker into his own flesh, or sit in solitary confinement while hunger gnaws in his belly like a furious beast. That is all over now, it’s done. It’s gone.

Except it isn’t, not really. 

He is still a vampire. He will still never see his own face in a mirror again, or taste food as anything more than ash on his tongue. The scars on his back are still deep and harsh, spelling out an infernal message of ascension that has lost its only purpose. All the memories of two hundred years of abuse still linger in his mind, ready to be recalled in such clarity as if they happened yesterday.

And the hunger will never, ever, ever stop.

Nothing he did to Cazador changed that in the slightest, just the way nothing Karlach did to Gortash changed the inferno burning in her chest.

He shudders, his shoulders hunching up involuntarily as if recoiling from a blow. “No,” he mutters. “It doesn’t fix a damned thing.”

“Yeah.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Shoulda seen the way I screamed in Hector’s face when I figured that one out. Still, at least they’re dead. And we’re free.”

“Free. Yes.” He laughs sharply. “Two broken little puppets with their strings cut.”

She grins - with no humor but with a sort of savage intensity. “And still managing to put on a pretty good show.”

“Are we?” For a moment the sardonic mask slips and he lifts his head to look at her. “I’m not putting on a good show - I'm lost. All of Cazador’s power was at my fingertips, and instead I’m sitting in a dirty alleyway listening to Minsc snoring from the other end of the camp. This is no good show. It’s a farce.”

She says nothing, just waits, and eventually he adds grudgingly, “But it's my farce.”

“Damn right it is.” Humor flashes back into Karlach’s face suddenly. “Besides, who doesn’t love a good farce? Mistaken identities, slapstick, dick jokes… the height of entertainment, if you ask me.”

Astarion can’t help a slight, crooked grin in return. Karlach’s indomitable energy is always infectious, even in the deepest depths of his brooding. “Darling, let me be the first to condemn you as incurably lowbrow,” he says airily, giving a dismissive wave with one hand.

“Listen, vampy, I don’t have the kind of time you do to worry about appearances.” She uncurls her legs slowly from her chest to a cross-legged position instead. “Funny thing, y'know. You’re gonna go on and on forever, and I’ve got a year left in me, tops. But we’re both fighting the same fight when it comes down to it. Staring down all that freedom, trying to force it into a shape that makes sense. Make something worthwhile out of it before it’s too late.”

Astarion draws his head back and looks at her suddenly as if seeing her clearly for the first time. His fingers fidget absently with the edge of his bedroll. “Well,” he finally says quietly, “I won’t give up the fight if you don’t, hm?”

Her eyes brighten and she laughs. “Got yourself a deal, Fangs.”

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Bruinen's Eastern Shore - Part 2: By Mo(u)rning's Light

I know it took a bit, but here's part 2! If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist, please feel free to let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Elrond x Reader

[A/N: I haven’t seen RoP, and I don’t plan to, so this is Hugo Weaving’s Elrond. All of my knowledge regarding this universe comes from the Jackson movies and the books.]

Warnings: Slow burn, Elf x Human romance, age gap (obviously), mentions of combat, death, blood, undefined magic (I'm winging it so don't think about it too hard), injury/recovery, grieving, death of a parent (mentioned not seen), elvish singing.

~*~

My dreams were erratic at first, then they faded into something calmer. The screams of my dying people transformed into the sounds of a nearby waterfall and the gentle hum of a low, soothing voice. Was he singing or speaking? Perhaps both?

A flash of armor - somewhere between red and purple in hue - coupled with a kind, smiling face and pointed ears swam through my mind.

I knew that face, but my mind was too slow and fuzzy to place it with a name. My father would've berated me for forgetting, surely, but, why was I so sure of that when I didn't know who he was? My thoughts were lethargic, as if they were coated with honey as I tried to remember what I'd forgotten.

After a time, the armor he wore was changed for a tunic and a set of robes that looked softer than anything I'd ever before felt.

He was beautiful.

A light, amused laugh trickled over my ears and I wondered if I'd spoken aloud or if he could read peoples' thoughts.

"Sleep, brave lady," he urged, and his voice was so hypnotically soothing that I felt inclined to obey, "sleep and recover your strength. You are safe now."

And so I did. Oblivion was seductive, drawing me in as easily as a moth to a flame. Eventually, the warmth on my face coaxed me into opening my eyes as I wondered hazily whether I had truly transformed into a moth during my slumber.

But, it was not so. The sunlight streaming into the strangely elegant room confirmed my hopes. This place was like no other I'd seen before. There were no Orcs, no bleeding people, no abrupt, terrifying death. Only light, gentle and joyful, whispering its congratulations to me for surviving.

This was the home of Elves. It had to be!

Turning my head slowly, I noted that I was alone in this large, beautiful room. Adorned as though it belonged to a king rather than an injured mortal woman, this room boasted silk curtains fine enough that they were practically translucent. Bookshelves lined two of the four walls, arching over the doorway. Every bit of fabric in the space, including the blanket which covered me, was of the highest quality - not a stitch was out of place.

Cautiously, I tested my muscles, and, finding that there was no pain beyond the vague, lingering soreness that always followed physical exertion, I sat up in the plush bed. Instinct brought my hand to my sternum, and to my relief, my pendant was still there. I hadn't lost it!

As I moved, a nightgown as light and comfortable as a cloud whispered reassuringly over my skin - my clean skin.

I'd obviously been tended, healed, and bathed in my unconscious state. I felt a rush of gratitude for whomever had drawn the short straw and been subsequently tasked with removing the grime and black Orc blood that had dried on my skin and in my hair. I could feel no trace of any impediment as my fingertips ran through the strands near my shoulder. Patting the top of my head lightly, though, I discovered a pair of small braids running along either side of my scalp and merging at the back.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back. Someone had taken a great deal of time to care for me.

Rising carefully to my feet, I savored the texture of the warm, smooth stone beneath my feet - a simple pleasure that a life on the run had not afforded me for some time. The closest comparison in recent memory was a large stone on a riverbank that had been warmed in the sun, but even those could cut the soles of one's feet if caution wasn't utilized.

A tall pair of doors composed of wood and glass stood open, allowing a breeze inside and revealing a balcony bathed in sunlight. As soon as I reached the doorway, a gasp escaped my lips.

Laid before me was Imladris in all its glory. The sound I'd heard before wasn't just one waterfall as I'd assumed, but many. Cascading and caressing the landscape, spraying water droplets so completely illuminated that they appeared to be crystals flung from a treasure chest, they joined at the valley floor. Leaves grew from centuries' old trees in all shapes and colors, their rustling creating a symphony when the breeze caught them. More flowers than I could ever possibly count or name bloomed and blossomed, filling the air with sweet perfume, and upon the breeze were a few floating musical notes.

Was I entirely certain that I hadn't died? A place as lovely as this was beyond imagination! Surely, this could not all be real...?

"I am pleased to see you awake, but I did not expect to find you out of bed so soon, híril vuin." A familiar voice called from behind me, soft and soothing, not unlike the silence of his entry. I turned to face my visitor, and my breath caught in my throat.

Truly, even my mother's drawings could not do the Elven lord justice. His beauty was incomparable. The sunlight seemed not only to be streaming into the room, but emanating from within him, as well. His long, dark hair cascaded down his back with twin strands pulled in front of his ears, looping into intricate little patterns. His eyes, though gray, sparkled with joy and life. With the focus of such a gorgeous, regal Ellon solely on me, I could scarcely breathe.

I also felt woefully under-dressed in comparison. There I stood in naught but a nightgown when he was in robes of finer quality than I'd ever seen before.

"Lord Elrond," my voice came out embarrassingly rough and shaky from disuse. How long had I been out? "Forgive me, if I'd known you were coming–"

He held up a hand to halt the tidal wave of apologies that was certain to spill from my clumsy mouth.

"You owe me no apologies," the Elf murmured, giving me a warm smile. "Like your parents before you, I welcome you to Imladris with open arms."

Elrond's eyes were soft as he appraised my appearance. More gracefully than my muscles could have allowed, he walked toward me.

"How are you feeling?" Concern creased his brow as he offered me his hand. I took it without thinking, realizing a beat too late how rough my own fingers must feel compared to his own. "Do you have any lingering pain? Does anything feel wrong?"

"No, my lord. Your healers have done their jobs exceedingly well." At my statement, the Ellon smiled and allowed his thumb to skim over the back of my hand. "If I may, I'd like to thank them in person. I was rather a mess when you saved us."

"Caring for you was no trouble, I can assure you, my lady," he said, and before I could protest, he gave me a mock stern look. "I speak for none but myself. I tended you personally."

My eyes widened at that new piece of information. The Lord of Rivendell had healed me?

"My lord, I am incredibly grateful for your efforts, truly I am, but you needn't have wasted so much time on me."

With an indulgent smile, he looked into my eyes and lifted an eyebrow.

"Mellon-nin, you are well enough to stand on your own two feet again. I do not consider anything that I have done for you a waste of time," his assertion was gentle and sincere, sending butterflies swarming in my stomach. I needed to keep a tight leash on my emotions, otherwise I'd end up looking like an idiot. If I embarrassed myself in front of Lord Elrond after everything he'd already done for me, I was certain that I'd be so mortified that I'd have to leave Rivendell never to return. "Now, my lady, if you might have a seat upon the bed, I would like to check you over once more."

"Of course, my lord." He guided me back to the divinely plush bed with a hand over my lower back. With a soft, affectionate smile, Lord Elrond sat by my side and grasped my hands. Warmth flooded through me, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was magic.

"Your actions in the river...may I ask if you have done anything like that before?" The Elven lord asked as he assessed various points - a bruise on my shoulder that had already mostly disappeared, an angry, fading, red line where an Orc sword had found its mark, and various other places where no evidence was left of what injury had previously existed.

My cheeks burned at how closely he focused on both me and his work.

"In a way," I murmured as he pressed the backs of his fingers lightly against my forehead then my cheek. "Only small things, though. Silly, trivial little tricks."

He lifted his eyebrows in an encouraging, almost playful manner.

"Might I ask about the nature of these little tricks?" His fingers skimmed down my jawline, and I struggled to suppress a shiver.

With a mischievous smile, I took a deep breath to steady myself and looked over at the pitcher of water upon the bedside table. A flick of my fingers, and a bird made entirely of water formed standing atop the pitcher. It tilted its head and fluttered its wings as a real bird would, then took flight, swirling around the room. Its sparkling body whizzed past our heads, flapping its wings, and in a moment of impulsivity, I caught Lord Elrond's hand in mine and turned his palm upward. The bird's tiny water-feet landed in his hand, folding its wings down and looking up at him.

Only then did I allow myself to glance at the Elf lord's expression. The smile that played across his much-too-attractive mouth sent a bolt of satisfaction through me. To actively give a person like him a moment of wonderment...that was a heady sensation. It was very little in repayment for all that he had done for me, but it was a beginning.

"Incredible," he breathed as the bird hopped lightly across his palm. "How much of a strain does this place upon you?"

"Almost none at all. I learned to make shapes and objects with water when I was little, and I practiced whenever I was bored. For a child in a group of nomads, you there is a surprising amount of downtime between chores," I explained allowing the bird to changed into a large, watery, rose bloom upon the lord's hand. It wasn't even half as beautiful as someone like him deserved. "When I got older, one of the other children saw me practicing by the river, and these tricks became a way to entertain the little ones."

The laughter had lifted the entire camp's morale during those long, slow treks through the mountains or across barren stretches of land when setting up tents became monotonous. My father had been afraid of allowing me to use my abilities for quite some time, but even he had to admit that sometimes that bit of levity was just what was needed to lift his peoples' spirits.

My father. My people. So many had died, yet there I sat in a plush bed, creating silly little shapes in water. Had any lived besides myself?

As if he could sense my mood fading, Lord Elrond's eyes met mine just in time to see my own smile droop. With a flick of my fingers, I lifted the water from his hand and allowed it to dampen the soil in a few of the plants on the balcony.

Unable to meet my host's gaze for fear of what I might see, I lifted my chin and asked the question to which I dreaded finally having an answer.

"How many of my people survived?"

"Including yourself, my lady, three still live." Elrond's voice was full of sympathy and comfort, despite the horrible reality of what had transpired. "Five were brought here, but two had sustained wounds too severe for us to treat in time. I am so sorry."

Three. Assuming the other half of our people went unnoticed by the Orc hoard when we split up - and that was a big assumption - that meant there were only fifteen left. We'd been down to twenty four after the initial attack that killed my father. With nine more gone, I didn't know what to do exactly.

I nodded my head slowly, blinking away my tears and forcing myself to look at my host once more.

"The others who lived...may I see them?" He agreed easily.

"Of course, my lady. I shall take you to them," Elrond murmured. Practically gliding across the room, he plucked a soft, light blue robe and a pair of matching slippers from a small alcove.

With my arm looped through his, we walked down a long hallway lit only by the sun. The rest of his home was just as gorgeous as the single room I'd been in, but I did not absorb much of my surroundings that day. My emotions and obligations to my people occupied too much space in my mind for anything else to make an impression.

I heard him before I saw him - the angry, stubborn, gruff man who'd tried to call me away from the water the day we'd gotten into such trouble.

Surprise must have been etched across my features, because Lord Elrond released a quiet huff of laughter as we neared a pair of double doors.

"Ah, yes. Mekor has been asking after you in...his own way," my host stated, and I knew immediately what he meant. Mekor had likely been demanding to see me in a rather less-than-polite way. "Unfortunately, I have not been able to allow him out of bed. His leg will take some time to fully heal. That has not stopped him from embarking upon several unplanned excursions to attempt to find you, however."

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of me. That sounded like him, alright.

When we pushed the doors open, his rather loud promise to one of the healers that he would 'gallivant as much it damn well took' ceased.

"There is no need for such drastic measures. Your lady is awake and quite capable of seeing you now," Elrond called as we walked toward the grumpy man's bedside. His leg was bound and heavily bandaged, laying atop the bedding presumably to keep him from sweating through his dressings.

"Lass, do you know how badly you scared us? What in the name of everything were you thinkin' runnin' back into the water like that? You could've been killed!" He spluttered angrily for a moment, but I was too used to his behavior to be bothered by it.

"I'm glad you're alive too," I said reaching out and grasping his rough, weathered hand in mine. Sitting gingerly beside him on the bed, I nearly fainted when I saw tears gathering in his eyes. He gripped my fingers with a fierce vengeance.

"Foolish bloody girl. What would your father have said if I let you run off and get killed?" Lord Elrond pulled the healer aside, and the pair spoke in hushed whispers on the other side of the room. He was trying to give us a moment's privacy while also ensuring his most stubborn patient didn't try to put weight on his obviously broken leg again.

"There was something different about that last group of Orcs, wasn't there?" I asked quietly, and my friend's gaze turned somber and angry.

"Aye, lass. Those weren't your garden variety filth. I've already spoken to Elrond about them. Those were soldiers. For so many of them to have Warg mounts..." The grizzled man shook his head slowly. "Something is stirring in the dark corners of the world. Something that doesn't want people like you, me, and your father to keep fighting."

I looked at him curiously, and he blinked as if remembering something.

"But, there will be plenty of time to discuss that later," he murmured changing the topic. I tucked that statement away for a day when we were both recovered.

Mekor and I spoke quietly for a few moments, in which I was told that the woman he'd taken a fancy to, Tannen, was the other survivor. The two who had reached Rivendell but died from their injuries were an old soldier called Algun, and a younger one around my age called Garatan. I knew them both in a peripheral manner. I was acquainted with all of my father's fighters and had trained with each at some point, but some I knew better than others.

After several long moments, a few more affectionate scoldings, and a promise that I'd help keep him from going out of his mind since he wasn't allowed to walk around yet, the doors opened once more. A young Ellon walked straight over to Lord Elrond, and after delivering a whispered message, both the lord and his messenger approached our sides.

"Forgive our interruption, but I think you both might like to know that your companion, Tannen has awakened," Lord Elrond said, and I knew precisely what Mekor would do. Pushing him back down on the bed when he tried to get to his feet, I gave him a stern look which paired surprisingly well with our host's continuation. "I realize you wish to see her, and you will be able to on the morrow. I wish to have her rest abed for one more night to be sure of her recovery, but I swear to you that if her health permits, you will see her tomorrow, Master Mekor."

He looked fit to be tied at Lord Elrond's statement, but with a glance at me, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. Fine, but I shall hold you to that, laddie." To his credit, Elrond took his irritation in stride, an easy, amused smile finding its seemingly customary place upon his lips.

"I would be disappointed if you did not. For now, however, I believe your lady is in need of nourishment. Spending nearly four days asleep can take quite a toll on the appetite." I couldn't argue with his logic, and neither did my friend.

I did, however, have a bone to pick with the little somersault that my heart performed when Lord Elrond offered me his hand and a warm smile.

--

When he went to check on his guest that morning, Elrond had expected to find her awake, yet too weak or tired to get out of bed. She was strong, of course, but since she was mortal, her recovery time would be longer than that of his own people. He'd frozen in the doorway, however, with confusion knitting his brow at the sight of the empty bed before him.

A quick glance around the room nearly made his heart stop. The Elven lord's lips parted in surprise. Standing in the doorway that led to the balcony was not a frail, injured woman as he'd expected to see, but a goddess bathed in sunlight.

And, when he'd broken his silence and she turned to face him, her eyes met his, freezing his breath where it lay in his chest. She'd gazed at him with awe, but he doubted that she recognized that the feeling was very mutual. Elrond had noticed her beauty when he was tending to her, of course, but he'd been so focused on healing her that he'd not allowed his thoughts to linger. To do so would have been highly inappropriate, and was, as such, not the time to allow himself to become distracted.

Nor was it the time when he checked her over, asked about her powers, or took her to see her irritable friend. Elrond had heard of Mekor by reputation, of course, and he was secretly pleased that the ill-tempered Man had survived. Despite the barbs that were tossed his way when he'd put the old soldier on strict bedrest, he was glad that someone who was so determined to get back to his lady - who had fought so fiercely to protect her - still drew breath. Such loyalty could not be feigned.

She'd been more subdued than before when he brought her back to her chambers. Upon their return, the table near one of the windows held a tray of food and a pot of herbal tea which would help her regain her strength. It was a special blend that Elrond had perfected over the years in his capacity as a healer.

As the pair sat and ate together, the Elven Lord could not help but notice the dark mood that settled over her. Although she tried to hide it, she was being tormented by her thoughts.

He had seen that look before - minute flashes of grief that she attempted to keep out of his sight, her shoulders tensing as if she was carrying the weight of all Middle Earth on her own. Many of his warriors had been plagued by the same darkness when they returned from battle, wondering why they had survived when so many others had not. Some recovered. Some sailed for Valinor when they could not find the strength to move forward.

No. He could not allow this to go on. She was descended of both Elves and Men. She had the ability to process her grief and allow her pain to transform into that which would strengthen her. His lady might need some assistance to begin the process, but there was a sort of quiet power in her eyes. Elrond saw it every time he looked at her. By the Valar, he would do whatever it took to ensure that she would not fall. Not to this. Not to grief. That emotion had consumed too many of his people...had sent too many of them sailing to the Undying Lands before their time.

He would not allow this pain to take her. She'd seen so many horrors in her brief time on Middle Earth. If he could take even an ounce of her pain and use it to heal her, the Lord of Imladris was resolved to do it.

But, it had to be soon. It had to be that night, before the pain took root in an irreversible manner. They'd both experienced losses many times, but this was different. This was close to her heart.

When she attempted to hold back a yawn and failed rather spectacularly, Elrond was tugged from his thoughts as a smile played across his lips. She gave a sheepish laugh, and he suggested that she get some rest. They'd been talking for several hours at that point. If he truly planned to help her tonight, she needed to conserve her energy.

Taking the empty tray with him to deposit in the kitchens, the Ellon excused himself and strode down the corridor. He'd made it halfway back to his study when Lindir caught up to him.

"I have done as you asked," the younger Ellon said to his lord.

"Then the preparations have been made?" Elrond asked as the pair continued down the hall.

"Yes, hir-nin, but are you certain that tonight is truly the right time?" Lindir had a point, and if it was anyone else he would risk waiting, but for her he was not willing to place her future in the hands of chance, especially if what he suspected was true.

"I saw her pain...it already hangs over her like a cloud. If she is to move forward, then we must do this." He was accustomed to his own grief - he had, after all, lived for so very long...had known so many people.

"But, is she not still exhausted?"

Pausing before the door to his study, Lord Elrond turned to face Lindir.

"She is tired, yes, but she is more resilient than even I could have predicted. She is ready. She needs this release." Her Númenorian blood was potent, that was for certain. It did not matter that she was descended from the race of Men. She also had Elvish blood in her veins. She was Dúnedain, even if she did not yet know it - perhaps one of the most unique that had ever been born, if he was interpreting the signs correctly. She could handle this.

--

Soft notes floating upon the night air drew me from the realm of sleep. A strange yet familiar prickling sensation curled across my skin, caressing my face, my neck, and my arms where the sleeves of my borrowed nightgown ended.

As light as a whisper, my mind supplied an answer: magic.

Magic was in the air. The realization was somehow both comforting and intriguing. When I finally mustered the energy to open my eyelids, a voice joined with the faint strains of music, and I looked toward the balcony.

There, with the silver circlet upon his brow gleaming in the moonlight and a set of robes as deep as the night sky adorning his figure, Lord Elrond stood singing. My breath caught in my throat even as his voice danced through the night, filling the Hidden Valley with an aria both gentle and mournful. When we spoke earlier, his voice had sounded lovely and soothing, but this stirred something deep within my soul.

It was ridiculous, because he was on my balcony in the first place, but I felt as though I was intruding upon something incredibly personal.

One-by-one, several other voices joined with the lord's, harmonizing and adding several haunting layers of melancholy dimension, turning his aria into a duet, then a trio, a quartet, continuing on until there was a full-fledged choir of ten. He stood facing not into the valley, but with his left side toward me.

As silently as I could, I slipped out of bed and took a slow step toward him. Cupped gently in Elrond's hands was a smooth, round, stone lantern glowing white. It was obviously fueled by something other than fire. The light caressed his features as affectionately as a lover's fingertips, and before I could even think of moving, his eyes met mine.

The glow of a thousand stars, the wisdom of all the ages of the world, and the grief of a painful loss danced through his irises as I stood paralyzed. Extending a hand in my direction, the Lord of Imladris offered me a silent invitation.

As I approached his place on the balcony, I glanced quietly around, noting that other ethereal lanterns and their bearers dotted various spots around the valley. How many others were involved in this? And what was this, exactly? I didn't dare ask aloud, lest I interrupt the haunting choir of voices in their mission.

When I reached him, Lord Elrond's hand guided both of mine to the lantern in his grasp. Looking between the seemingly living radiance in our hands and his eyes, I watched as the light grew between us, seemingly fed by the addition of my touch.

I knew without asking that this wasn't just a sad melody. This was a lamentation for the nine lost in our flight across land and river.

But, there were ten lanterns...

A single tear spilled down his cheek, and all at once it hit me. The tenth lantern was for my father. Twin tears of my own escaped my eyes as the music swelled, as the voices grew louder.

He saw my grief just as I saw his.

Neither of us looked away from the vulnerability we were both displaying so openly. Neither of us released the lantern between us. The song began rattling around in my ribcage, jostling my heart and shaking free every ounce of pain that I hadn't realized I'd started bottling up. Though I didn't know the lyrics, I caught a few Sindarin words that I recognized, and one that puzzled me.

The light in our hands pulsed brightly as at least a dozen more voices joined in. Smaller lights bloomed to life in their hands all through Imladris, and I must not have been able to keep the wonder off of my face, because a flicker of a sad smile crossed Elrond's lips as he began lifting our hands higher.

His arms were longer than mine, and I had to take a step closer to remain in contact with the strange, magical lantern. As I watched, the light floated up and away from its thin, nearly transparent stone rim and into the sky. The other bearers of the original ten lights were experiencing the same phenomenon, and after a few moments, the fleet of smaller bright dots followed in their wake.

The Hidden Valley was filled with stars, rising ever upwards toward the heavens. As far as I'd heard, very few mortals had ever been honored by the Elves upon their deaths, and never like this.

As the music diminished, voices fell slowly away, taking with them pieces of the heavy ache that had settled in the hollow spot in my heart. First, the many who had joined last, then one-by-one, each of the other nine singers went silent.

Then, it was only Elrond singing the last few mournful notes. But, there was something different about the words, now. They were lighter...more hopeful. Setting the darkened, empty lantern aside, he took both of my hands in his large, warm ones as the last notes flowed effortlessly, beautifully off his tongue and into the night.

The physical contact felt like an anchor point keeping me tethered to the ground when I felt like I could float away in the wake of such an outpouring of emotion. The air still hummed with magic when I found myself reaching up and gently wiping the tears from Lord Elrond's cheeks. I hadn't even meant to do it, but I couldn't help myself. An Ellon as kind as he did not deserve to have tear tracks dry on his handsome face.

It hit me, then, that I had taken an enormous liberty, but instead of batting my hands away, the Elven lord returned the gesture with a soft smile.

His touch lingered for several long moments even after my own face was dry, and something passed between us, then, that made my heartbeat stutter in my chest.

No, I was obviously imagining things. A trick of the light, that's all it was. When he wrapped his arms around me, however, I couldn't ignore how wonderful it felt to be safe, to be cared for...to be seen.

~*~*~

Elvish Translations:

híril vuin = beloved lady

mellon-nin = my friend

~*~

Taglist:

@asksizworld

[tamurilofrivendell]

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 5

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the 'lost' daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700​, @jinlizz-dragondrama​, @firelightinferno​, @bubbleyukismile, @coopsgirl​, @achromaticerebus​, @sleepyamygdala​ @smalltownbigheart​

Once you had finished fussing over the elk, you turned back to Thranduil. He was watching you and you smiled back at him. “I don’t suppose I should greet you quite the same way I did your animal.” You teased, moving past him and finding yourself pleased when you heard him laugh.

“I suppose not.” He said once he had regained his composure, thinking of you petting his hair like you did the creatures fur. An image so absurd he laughed again.

You weren't gathering berries as you had been yesterday, you were simply sitting in the clearing. Enjoying the air, the freedom, and the sounds of the forest. It was always so lovely here and you could see and hear some of your little animal friends in the trees above. You sat on a fallen log and, after a moment, Thranduil followed.

"You do not mind if I stay a while, do you?" He ventured, gesturing to the space beside you.

You looked back up at him, considering for a brief moment before you shook your head. "Oh. No... no. No, I don't mind."

Thranduil sat down, noting that your slight awkwardness had returned. There was something endearing about it, though he pushed the thought aside. The elk moved off to graze while Thranduil simply sat and watched you for a moment.

"What?" You asked after a few seconds, turning your head when you felt his eyes still on you.

“Sorry.” Thranduil shook his head. "I am merely trying to figure you out." He admitted.

"Figure me out?" You tilted your head, confused.

He chuckled. "Well, yes." Thranduil nodded. "I was not aware there were any elves living alone out in the forest."

"Oh, I'm not alone." You stated simply, shrugging, the real meaning of his words either lost on you or ignored. "I live with my uncle."

Thranduil was even more surprised by this fact and the expression on his face told you as much. "Two of you?" He went quiet for a moment, thinking. He knew of no nearby dwellings. Well, save Radagast's of course but he hardly thought that dilapidated thing counted. "Where do you live?"

You went quiet at that, suddenly very unsure. "Oh." You shook your head, turning to look at him. "I can’t say.” You hesitated as he blinked back at you in confusion. “I'm not supposed to tell strangers.”

Thranduil frowned slightly. He was no threat to elves living in the wood. Surely you could tell that? He remembered you didn’t know that he was the king and he supposed he could have told you here and now... but something stopped him.

"Well, we are not really strangers, are we?" He said instead, deciding to let the issue lie for now.

You gave him a look, tilting your head as you regarded him with curiosity. "Are we not?"

Thranduil shook his head. "No. Of course not. We've met before."

You frowned at him and shook your head. "Yesterday. I don’t think that really counts."

Thranduil shook his head again. "No, not yesterday."

You regarded him with complete confusion then. "Not--? What do you mean?"

Thranduil chuckled, shrugging a little as he moved to stand again. "Don’t you remember?” He gave you a pointed look, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Once upon a dream."

"A dream?" You chuckled then as you realised then that he was just being silly. "Well, I am afraid I do not remember, good sir... did I say anything in this dream?"

"You said-" Thranduil smirked, a gleam in his eye as he extended his had out towards you. "-that you would sing me a song and we would dance."

You blinked at him but you couldn’t help the small, amused smile tugging at your lips, giving away your own amusement. “Did I indeed?”

Thranduil nodded, humming an affirmative. “In fact, you promised.” He wasn’t entirely certain what had come over him. It couldn’t have even been ten minutes ago that he had been absolutely stricken by those memories of the past brought on by his meeting with the Enchantress. Now, it seemed almost as though he was being spelled by an enchantress of a completely different kind.

He stayed where he was, looking at you, before you eventually broke the stand off and laughed softly, rising from where you were seated and reaching out for the hand he was still holding out towards you.

“Well, I suppose I cannot go back on a promise, can I?” You teased as you looked up at him. Thranduil was looking back at you triumphantly as you started to sing a soft tune, much like yesterday’s. He pulled you a little closer, one hand dropping to your waist as he started to lead you in a little dance around the clearing.

You felt a bit silly at first, laughing every so often between the song, making Thranduil laugh at the same time. Soon, he began to sing with you in a way he hadn’t since his father died and he was thrust onto the throne, and every woodland creature nearby stopped their own song to come closer so they could listen to the song of the Elvenking that they had so greatly missed.

So caught in the moment were the both of you, that the dark pair of eyes watching through a thick tangle of nearby trees and bushes went completely unnoticed. So caught up were the animals that not even they had the wits to sound the alarm.

Through the trees, the Enchantress narrowed her gaze. Thranduil was dancing in the clearing with some maiden. The sight made her sick, though she couldn’t conceal her curiosity about this she-elf who, from what she’d heard of their conversation, did not live within the halls of the woodland realm.

Her gaze was fixed on Thranduil, wanting to wipe the smile right off his face, though her attention continued to drift back to you. Who were you, who could have the Elvenking looking and sounding so light after she had specifically intended to tear down his defences during their little meeting.

The good thing was that he seemed far too enamoured with the elf in front of him to sense her presence. That was good. That meant she could poke around a little more. Silently, she turned and tore herself away from the couple in the clearing, hurrying through the trees to continue her exploration.

For many long years after that fateful day in Lindon, the Enchantress had thought (as had everybody) that Gil-Galad’s daughter had lost her life. It had not been her intention when she appeared in Lindon that day, for the elfling to be slaughtered there and then. No, she had bestowed upon the baby a curse that would have had them all living in fear and paranoia for thousands of years. However, things had gone slightly awry, ending in the deaths of two queens and one princess. Grief had rained down upon Gil-Galad that day as intended, but the Enchantress had been left slightly dissatisfied. It was over too quickly for her liking.

Many years later, however, word had reached her ears from a spy within Lindon itself. He said that the princess had survived and had been taken far away and hidden, to be kept as such until the time limit on her curse ran itself out.

However, unable to find  a trace of the child, the Enchantress was left still furious. Her orcs found no trace of the elleth in any town, forest, or mountain. She even began to consider that the spy had been lying to her and had tried to track him down to kill him - unluckily for her, however, he had already passed on to the Halls of Mandos by this point.

The Enchantress did not give up her search and a good thing too... for she knew it was the right choice. She knew the princess did indeed live. She had come into possession of one of the palantir a great many years ago, though she had since lost it again, and in it she had discovered the truth. The princess had indeed survived, and the Enchantress would stop at nothing to find her.

Gil-Galad may be long dead but her need for revenge was not and she would not rest until her curse was completed.

The song eventually came to an end and you and Thranduil came to a stop in the middle of the clearing. There was a brief pause and then you both started laughing.

Thranduil let go of you and stepped back, giving a brief bow.

You returned the gesture with a giggle, cheeks flushed.

You had gone from pretty much no contact with anybody to dancing and singing with this strange ellon in two days. It was a little absurd and you knew you could not tell Radagast or he would forbid you from leaving on your own, but you realised that you enjoyed the feeling of it. You enjoyed not being alone in the woods, having someone to share it with... you’d had the animals, of course, but it wasn’t exactly the same. You were aware that you barely knew this elf but you felt like you might trust him already. He hadn’t given you any reason not to.

“I see you are a lady who keeps her word.” Thranduil joked lightly. “Very honourable.”

“But of course.” You laughed again as you turned back towards the bench. A bird flew down from the branches above and landed in front of you. Thranduil watched you ruffle its feathers with a smile.

He stayed for a while longer but then he had to take his leave and go back to his halls. At least he would be returning less frustrated than he had left.

He returned two days later to find you were picking berries again, which this time he helped you with. Then he came again the next day, and the day after that. Instead of telling you that he was the king, Thranduil decided that he was simply not going to. Not yet, anyway. He quite liked the time he spent out here with you, able to be simply Thranduil.

His unease about the Enchantress was still very present but he did not see her again for over a week...

[lairofdragonagelore]

Solas sharing Lore - Part 1

This post is focused on what Solas says about the lore of the world of DA series. It's not about Solas as a character [although I would try to explore his nature as a way to understand the nature of the Elvhen and the spirits]. Since Solas is one of the living elvhen who knows the truth of what happened with the Evanuris and the Tevinter expansion after the fall of Arlathan, I consider his words one of the most valuable ones in the series. He does not lie, but omits what he doesn't want to speak about or adds technicalities that make his statements true yet misleading if we don’t pay attention to the context. Unlike Flemeth, he speaks with less riddles, so I considered worth listing all the knowledge he shared with the Inquisitor in order to have a reliable information of how “the world” of Thedas truly works.

The list of topics related to the lore shared by Solas is

Dreamers and their powers

The Elvhenan and the Dalish

The Demon/Spirit Nature

Solas’ Personal quest [deeply related to Spirit’s nature and his own]

Solas’ nature

The Fade and the Veil

Magic

The Orb

The Evanuris and worshipping

Organisations/Institutions/Empires

The Blight and the Grey Wardens

Maker

Miscellaneous Knowledge

Trespasser Revelations

Solas sharing Lore: Part 1 - Part 2

Dreamers and their powers

Sommniari or Dreamers can sleep close to a ruin which has endured time, or battlefields that had been steeped in death, they attract spirits and it will help a dreamer to see the past of that place.

Solas claims to be able to walk “deep into the Fade” [which reminds me the codex  The Deepest Fade and Walking the Fade: Frozen Moments]. The deepest Fade is, potentially, the place where the Forbidden Ones were exiled. It’s not clear how much literally he means “deep into the Fade”.

It's important to set wards when entering the Fade through dreams [we saw this with Felassan in The Masked Empire]

Solas claims that seeing those pieces of the past make him thrill, even though I suspect it is for different reasons than mere enthusiasm, they were part of his living past, one he yearns deeply.

I’m not so sure if I should catalogue this information as part of the dreamer’s power, but we know by all what Marethari said in Feynriel - Somniari and Fade, a dreamer can use the power of the Fade in a similar way as it’s described by rift mages.

We learnt in Solas’ personal quest that tea and blood magic interfere with the Dreamer’s ability of entering and walking in the Fade.

The Elvhen and the Dalish

During the first minutes of the game, Solas will share with us that he was attacked by Dalish when he tried to question the Keeper's knowledge of their gods and customs. This means that he tried to approach the People, these mortal elves that are so different to the Elvhenan, and tried to share his knowledge of the past, being rejected by them, and suffering what the game has subtly called the Dalish Pride. It’s quite an irony that the group that wants to treasure the old ways rejects the one who lived them in his bones.

Solas insists that Dalish Tales are misheard stories that were repeated wrongly thousand of times. This line is the main reason why I do not trust Dalish Tales for any kind of analysis.  Solas assures us many times that, despite having some distant resemblance or detail to something that has happened in the past, they are mostly wrong.

He emphasise that the Dalish try to remember Halamshiral, not the Elvhenan time. Halamshiral was a time where the Dalish tried to recreate the Elvhenan empire, but they ended up accommodating and changing a lot of their own tales due to the influence of the Andrastian faith [as we see in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin].

The original [true] elven Empire was called Elvhenan, and Arlathan was its greatest city. He does not say what potential main god may have been central in it [we learnt that elvhenan cities seem to have a Temple in honour of one of the Evanuris around which the city develops,  The Temple of Mythal].

Arlathan was made of spires of crystal twining through the branches of trees and of palaces floating in the skies. Elves [he makes the subtle detail of calling them beings, maybe because these elves were more elven-spirit] were immortal and magic was natural in this world.  It may imply that, since magic was natural, all elvhenan had some degree of magical power.

Solas: The Dalish remember fragments of fragments, but that is more than most.

Solas: It is a shame, Sera, that you were denied an elven life. Even one as patchwork as the Dalish interpretation.

The Dalish lifestyle, separated in clans, developed a cultural diversification of the Dalish. Some clans are more bandit-oriented, others are more mercantile, and others disappeared into the forest [this is probably an allusion to the Dalish living in Tirashan; which seem to be quite a curious clan according the tabletop corebook of DA]. This implies that the Dalish, the “holders of the ancient true knowledge”, have followed a path that inevitably causes diversification and inaccuracy in the lore they want to keep, and this is even worse if we think they lore is usually kept orally, a form of transmission of knowledge very fragile to loss and modifications over time.

He is convinced that Dalish only hold fragments of an already fragmented History. We later discover in the game that the Dalish have been embracing a lot of slavery icons thinking it was part of their cultural history, which ironically, it is. The “old ways” was a lot about slavery and power of the Evanuris and noble over the less powerful elvhen: The People.

If we have low approval and kill Abelas’ people, Solas angrily says that the Inquisitor has destroyed the few “true elves” that were left. So, Solas is totally convinced that City elves and Dalish are not true elves. We see this same attitude with Abelas when he meets the elven Inquisitor, and it’s also believed by Felassan in the The Masked Empire. The only ancient “elvhen” who sees the Dalish as The People is Flemeth/Mythal, who has been “changed”, according her own words, due to her death and the suffering of betrayal [check “The Fade - Flemeth: Part 2″].

With low approval, he claims that the only way he can save the “elves” is to bring down the Veil, bring the Fade into the Waking World, and reshape reality, which is, ironically, exactly what he plans to do.

In Din'an Hanin, when we interact with a statue of an Emerald Knights, Solas says

Solas: The Emerald Knights. They once patrolled the borders of the Dales, protecting the Elven people. The Dalish saw them as romantic heroes. The Chantry called them ruthless butchers. I suspect both sides have some element of truth.

This reinforces the idea that he knows that situations are greyer than what the groups tend to believe.Especially when it comes to Dalish.

The Demon/Spirit nature

Solas is against the oversimplified explanations of spirits and demons made by the Chantry. The distinction he does between both is that demons are spirits that wish to join the living but the wish "went wrong".

In a world separated by the Veil, it's not possible coexistence between living creatures and spirits.  But in a world without Veil, this is possible. [In fact, we saw this coexistence in Vir Dirthara: Attentive Listeners]. My personal speculation about why he says this is probably because most spirits that cross the Veil get extremely confused with the unchangeable nature of the Waking World and some twist into demons as this world makes no sense for them and they try to adapt to it but fail, making impossible to execute their purpose. We see that only through shape they can adapt a bit: Justice took Kristoff’s body in the beginning, and Cole created his own body reflecting the original Cole.

The presence of the Veil makes difficult true understanding between living creatures and spirits.

Solas has travelled and made lasting friendships with spirits of wisdom [who shared knowledge with him], and spirits of Purpose [helped him search].

These benevolent spirits don't seek the living world because they can't survive the exposure to the people. Wisdom and Purpose are easily twisted into Pride and Desire.

Solas explains that the reflective nature of the Fade makes the spirits try to reflect what the living creatures think they are. So spirits reflect all the time the intention that others want from them. In Solas’ personal quest we saw this clearly: If a person wants a fighter from a spirit of wisdom, the spirit reflects this expectation and ends up turning into a “demon” because it goes against its purpose of learning and teaching. Instead, if the person reinforces the wisdom, expecting from that spirit to teach them, the spirit becomes stronger in its own purpose and can exist more comfortable in this world. This is also confirmed by the Avvar, whose whole lifestyle is supported by their interaction with good spirits.

This lore makes the Chantry as the main cause of corruption of spirits through their teachings: they tend to teach that anything non-living is a demon, and a gentle spirit may end-up feeling the compulsion of becoming a demon just because the living are expecting that from it.  We can see how terribly wrong the Chantry is, and what a deep understanding of the spiritual world the “savage” Avvar have in contrast.

If one understands the nature of the spirit and reinforces their nature, the spirit remains as a friend.

Solas brings here an interesting philosophical discussion about the nature of a “person”, making us remember another we had with Owain, the Tranquil mage of the Circle of Magi in DAO. The reasoning is the following: spirits are bound to their nature and purpose and not their shape, as it happens with people, hence they are people too. It’s explicitly said that the nature of the spirits may change depending on its contact with people [this contact is what can make them demons or stronger in their own purpose]. This concept brings us a lot of potential explanations about Mythal’s cryptic lines about she being changed and different to the embodiment of motherhood she used to be when you, as an elf, asks Flemeth why Myhtal was silent to the prayers of the People [The Fade - Flemeth: Part 2]  . I think it’s clear that Mythal’s has twisted her role and nature after her death. In fact, she may have changed it even previous to that event, when she started to impart justice in the name of Elgar’nan [The Judgment of Mythal, then she ended up being a goddess of Revenge before her death: Arbor Wilds: Altar of Mythal,].

Solas says that anyone who can dream can make friends with these spirits if their natures are respected [this would explain why the Avvar mages seem to do so well with their willingly possessions, I really can’t stress enough how amazing and admirable are the Avvar in the way they see the world and treat their mages. Like… if the Chantry says that free mages always end up as Tevinter, they truly never saw the Avvar. They are probably the only humans who “got it right”.]

Solas defends the idea that spirits are people, despite not having a form as "we understand it". This brings to our mind several Ancient Elven codices from Vir Dirthara, where shape doesn't exist truly. One in particular is Vir Dirthara: Birds of Fancy where two spirits make love in the most amorphous way ever. So, it’s clear that in Elvhenan society, shape did not exist, and the personhood was given by the interactions with others and the personal purposes that each of them had. As an inference, we can assume that the basic sexuality in the Elvhenan society, if it existed, was pansexual since shape is always an ambiguous amorphous thing.

In Banter we have a reinforcement of all this information:

Cole: I didn't know there were spirits of wisdom. Solas: There are few. Spirits form as a reflection of this world and its passions. We will never lack for spirits of rage, or hunger, or desire. The world gives them plenty to mirror. The gentler spirits are far more rare. We can ill afford the loss of even one spirit of wisdom, or faith...Or compassion. Cole: I will try not to die. Solas: Do that, please.

Solas says that there are few spirits of wisdom because Thedas has little desire to learn and teach, instead, there are many spirits of rage, hunger, and desire, because that’s all what Thedas is filled with. The gentle spirits are rarer, specially, compassion, faith, and wisdom.

Solas: How go your attempts to ease the pain of those at Skyhold, Cole? Cole: I made the scullery maid stop crying and one of the boys in the stable is happier. Some of the servants are angry. My help makes work for them. Do you want me to stop? Solas: No. You exist to help others. You are kindness, compassion, caring. If you stop giving comfort, you would twist into something else, as you did before I suspect. Cole: Yes. I will not be that again. Solas: Good. Never forget your purpose. It is a noble one, even if this world does not understand

Here, we have a reinforcement of the vital importance of letting the spirits keep on their purpose, otherwise they twist into something else. Cole, however, is special. We know we can humanise him and in any case, he will evolve into something different but not demonic. I’m going to talk more about his case when talking about “Solas’ Nature”.

This concept is reinforced again in Crestwood when we meet the spirit of Command.

Cassandra: Solas, I am sorry about your... friend. Solas: Thank you. Cassandra: I knew demons and spirits were similar, but I did not know one could become the other so easily. Solas: Not similar, Seeker. The same. The Chantry sees black and white, but nature is, and always has been, grey. A spirit is a purpose. A demon is that purpose perverted. Cassandra: That might be true with a spirit of compassion, but what is the purpose of a hunger demon? Solas: Survival. Satiation. The pleasure of taste, of feeding. True hunger, however, is much darker. Think of all those who starve in this world. Mankind has itself to blame for the existence of demons.

We learn in this banter many things: 

Seekers, and by extension Templars, had no idea that demons and spirits are the same but just a twist or corruption is what makes the difference. 

Solas reinforces, once again, the idea that spirits and demons are the same. 

Nature is grey, never black and white, no matter how much the Chantry wants it to be.

What Thedas produces is what the spirits reflect, and since Thedas is currently dominated by humans and their perception of the world, Mankind has a lot of blame in the existence of demons.

Cassandra: I had not considered how fighting in our world might affect the Fade. Is it always thus, Solas? Solas: It is worse this time, with the Breach pulling spirits through against their will... But, yes. Every war, no matter how just, leads to hunger and rage... and so come the demons. Cassandra: It is said that generals should avoid fighting in the same battlefield too many times... Solas: The deaths, the rage - all of it weakens the Veil. But nothing is ever said of the effect war has upon the world of spirits, what we might be doing to them. Every war has unintended victims. All too many go unnoticed.

Solas keeps reinforcing the idea that what happens in Thedas is reflected later in the Fade and in the spirits.

Dorian: Do you use spirits as servants, Solas? You'd have no trouble capturing them. Solas: No. They are intelligent, living creatures. Binding them against their will is reprehensible.

Here we can see how Solas sees spirits as people, and this comment is probably the reason why some frictions between Solas and Dorian can be seen later.

Blackwall: Do you have any advice for fighting demons, Solas? Solas: Survive the first thirty heartbeats, and you'll have already won. Blackwall: So I should try not to die? Helpful. Solas: I mean that demons are rarely intelligent enough to change their tactics. If you focus on defending yourself, you will see the full range of their abilities within the first thirty heartbeats. By then, you should be able to find a weakness and exploit it. Blackwall: Ahh, that is helpful! I will try to remember that. Solas: Also, try not to die.

Solas seems to claim that demons rarely change their tactics. Probably this is based on the most emotional demons, such as Rage or Hunger. I have my doubts when it comes to the Pride demons, who are considered the most powerful ones among the demons and the most cunning too .

Cole: Is there a way to save more spirits, Solas? Solas: Not until the Veil is healed. The rifts draw spirits through, and the shock makes demons of them. Cole: Pushing through makes you be yourself. You can hold onto the you.  Being pulled through means you don't have enough you. You become what batters you, bruises your being. Solas: Yes, exactly. Deliberately crossing the Veil requires that a spirit form will, personality. That concept of self gives a spirit the chance to maintain its nature. Wrenched into this world unwillingly by the rifts, spirits suffer the same fate as my friend. Cole: Then we will help them.

This is something quite interesting lore-wise. It says that the only spirits that can pass through the Veil without being turned into demons through the shock are those who had developed personalities: the spirit has become complex, it can fulfil its purpose from different perspective and aspects, therefore it becomes stronger in their own purpose. I suspect the elvhen were in this level. So far we know, Mythal embodied things such as Wisdom, Motherhood, Justice and Revenge. Solas is a combination of Pride, Wisdom, and Rebellion. Abelas was also a combination of things we don’t know because we don’t know his previous names, but apparently, he changed his name every time his purpose changed. Cole is a rare exception as usual. Another spirit I can think of is Justice. He was certainly pulled into the Waking World, but it seems he had enough personality to survive as Justice, but the exposure to other people started to make him feel other things [remember he realised about Jealousy and Love with Kirstoff’s wife]. His change of purpose into Vengeance was more caused by the direct feeling of Anders’ rage inside, sadly.

Cole: If it helps enough people, it becomes more... wandering, wishing, touched by them, Maker loves you, and it grows. But I am me. Will I be more one day, if I help enough? Is this a task, timed, temporary? Solas: No. It is a mistake to ascribe human motivations to them. Cole: So I am always this? Solas: You are always you.

Here, Cole repeats the idea that reinforcing the purpose of the spirit makes the spirit be more themselves.

if Cole becomes more human:

Solas: How do you feel, Cole, now that you dealt with the Templar? Cole: I don't know. He hurt me... hurt the real Cole. I'm angry at him. I can't let that go. I have to become more, let it make me real. Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had. Cole: No, you didn't. It's harder to hear, sometimes. Sorry. Solas: Good luck, Cole. You have taken a difficult road.

Here, we can see that Solas saw this process once. Let’s remember that Cole, as he becomes more human, can hear less the depth of the creatures around him, so I’m pretty confident this banter means that Solas thought something along the lines “ I never thought to see it again”, but only said the first part. If we also remember that spirit-Cole says: "He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face." we can suspect that Solas was implying that the other creatures who became mortal were the elves, or himself.

Solas personal quest

He teaches us that some spirits want to come to the Waking World, but not all.

By the description of it, this spirit friend of Solas sounds similar to the one giving the lecture in Vir Dirthara: Attentive Listeners.

The perversion of a spirit of wisdom can be done too by forcing them to speak or release a piece of information they don’t want to.

I’m not sure how important or meaningful is the fact that this quest happens in a place called Enavuris. Sadly, we don’t have any means to understand this word.

Demons are spirits whose purpose has been perverted or forced to be another. What corrupted Solas’ friend was to be summoned and commanded to do something different to its nature.

I think here we can see some details about the bound process and how a demon is created: summoning a spirit, bound it to obedience, and force it to do something different than its purpose.  Forced change is different to a spirit changing itself due to the people they interact with. Clearly here the key is the willingness, as it seems to be key in all spirit-related matters [we need to always remember Flemeth’s words about “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling”].

The inquisitor can propose to remove the binding circle, so free of orders, the spirit should return to its previous form.

Once the spirit is free, we see that it speaks Elvish, and you only understand this if the inquisitor is an elf.

We don’t see its ears, but its physique looks like a human. I suppose this shape is consequence of the mages that summoned it, so it reflected a human shape. Its eyes are full of Fade.

Solas asks for forgiveness for having failed her. The spirit is grateful anyway because it recovered its nature.  I find it curious how it asks him to guide it into death. I also wonder why it dies, as a spirit who recovered its nature and was not harmed in the process of releasing it… why does it die? I wonder if this is just a small incoherence to continue Solas’ story.

Solas will endure as yet another spirit of wisdom dies.

When Solas is back to Skyhold, he says he went to the Fade to see the place his friend inhabited. He claims it’s empty now, but “there are stirrings of energy in the Void”. I’m confused with the capital letter in Void. We know that Void and Abyss are exchangeable in DA lore, and they are deeply related, ironically, to the depths of the underground [The Uncharted Abyss,  Forgotten Caverns, Bastion of the Pure, and The Wellspring], and the more lore we learn, the more we relate it to the Titans and the Deep Roads.

He says that something new will grow in that spot. So… is this a subtle detail about the nature of death of spirits? Does a death of a spirit cause a stir in the Void that will produce something new there, inspired by what was lost? Can anything of this be related to the “dreams of the Titans”? No real clues to follow.

Once more, I’m a non-native English speaker, and I can’t stop noticing how the verb “stir” is used in DA: it has been used explicitly with Titans, and then left vague in less explicit cases like this. “The Stir of the Void energies”, which seem to be related to the underground, could also mean that this comes from some residual power of a Titan? Did the Titans create the Spirits and the Fade in the skies as well as the dwarves in the underground? There is so little information to explore this question that I doubted to even write it here. We know that the future of DA may be related to Titans, as Exaltations from the Chant of Light - Part 2  as well as the Mural of “The Destruction of the Veil“ seem to imply. We should never forget this is a game where, obviously, dev choices lead the story, and the fact that Exaltations is a text which talks about the return of the Maker implicating creatures such as Titans and beast-humans should not be overlooked. This is, after all, a lore element used by the devs as an in-world prophecy. 

Anyways, Solas explains that death is different for mortals than for spirits [implicitly he may be saying that death is also different for immortal Elvhen and for mortal elves].  The spirits return to the Fade; if the idea giving shape the spirit is strong [meaning, there is enough idea in the Waking World for it to have a strong impact in the Fade], or its memory has shaped other spirits [meaning, other spirits will remember the dead one and such memory, if strong, can reconstruct it in the new reborn spirit], it may raise again as a consequence of reflecting what others reflects from its previous life [ this is exactly what he explained to us in the beginning of the game, in Haven, when talking about the nature of the spirits and their personhood]. However, due to the semi-existence nature of the spirits, the return produces a reset in their memory and personality. This doesn’t seem to be the case for Flemeth or Corypheus, but they are more complex than mere spirits.

Solas’ nature

Cole: You're different, Solas. Sharper. You're in both places. Solas: I visit the Fade regularly. Perhaps you are sensing traces of it. You are a spirit who crossed the Veil and took human form. Cole: Spirit or demon. Solas: The two are not so dissimilar, Cole. While the world may exert a pull in one direction or another, the choice is ultimately yours.

Cole says that Solas is in both places. This plays beautifully vague: Creators and Forgotten Ones, Fade and Waking World. This may suggest that Solas’s shape as an elf and as a wolf may have been dissociated [ “Self-portrait”] and his Wolf shape is the one roaming the Fade or the inside the Black City, vigilant as we conclude in several murals [ “The actions of the Inquisitor”, “The Creation of the Veil”]

if Cole becomes more human:

Solas: How do you feel, Cole, now that you dealt with the Templar? Cole: I don't know. He hurt me... hurt the real Cole. I'm angry at him. I can't let that go. I have to become more, let it make me real. Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had. Cole: No, you didn't. It's harder to hear, sometimes. Sorry. Solas: Good luck, Cole. You have taken a difficult road.

Here, we can assume that Solas saw the process of a spirit becoming mortal once, and considering the line of Cole: “He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face" we can suspect that the other creatures who became mortal were elvhen, or Solas himself. So there is a set of subtle details that may suggest that the process that Cole passed through to become a spirit with shape or even a human was similar to the one that Solas himself passed through long, long time ago.

Blackwall: I am sorry about your... friend. Losing someone is difficult. Solas: Thank you. The death itself was less painful than what came before. Seeing a good spirit twisted, its nature defiled. Those mages knew nothing of my friend. Worse, they did not care. Blackwall: I... don't know what to say. Solas: Nor will you, until you've seen ignorance snatch away all that you love. Pray such a day never finds you.

Another reinforcement of how spirits are twisted when forced against their purpose, which is a constant thing in Thedas, filled with so much ignorance about spirits due to, mainly, the Chantry’s teaching.

Blackwall: You make friends with spirits in the Fade. So... um, are there any that are more than just friends? If you know what I mean. Solas: Oh, for... really?! Blackwall: Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about! Solas: For a twelve-year-old! Blackwall: It's a simple yes or no question! Solas: Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that.

This is a very interesting concept that we saw and read in the codex Vir Dirthara: Birds of Fancy where, effectively, we can see the complexity in the lack of shape that creatures in the Fade had. Of course Blackwall makes it more like a joke, but we know that there is more to it.

Blackwall: For all your experience, Solas, you don't carry yourself like a soldier. Solas: You should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight. Blackwall: Ah, youth. Solas: It is a delicate balance for those who fight. If they lack sufficient passion, they never become truly skilled, and die or leave the life. Blackwall: But too much passion, and they end up dead; or monsters better off dead. Solas: Yes. It is a rare soldier who can fight without letting it define him.

Here, Solas speaks of soldiers and fighting as things that produce a change in the purpose of a spirit or an elvhen. He may imply that his fight may have changed him at some point, and hence my suspicion that he was more like a spirit of Wisdom or Pride, who due to Mythal’s request, he changed purpose and embraced shape, as it may suggest Cole’s cryptic line: “He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”

Iron Bull: Nice job in that last fight, Solas. You really kicked the crap outta that guy. Solas: I suppose. Iron Bull: What, you don't think so? You ripped him a new one. It was great! Solas: Unless the fight is personal, violence is a means to an end. It isn't appropriate to celebrate. Iron Bull: I don't know. Gotta wonder about anyone who fights as much as we do and doesn't have some fun with it. Solas: We have fought living men, with loves and families, and all that they might have been is gone.

Solas: You fought the Tal-Vashoth for a long time, Iron Bull, did you not? Iron Bull: Every day. I'd kill some of them, they'd kill some of my guys, and then I'd kill them some more. Solas: No man can kill so many people without breaking inside. To survive... those you fight must become monsters. Iron Bull: The ones that kill innocent people, yeah. The rest... I don't know. Solas: The mind does marvelous things to protect itself.

This is something very impressive that Solas says, since it’s part of the process that many soldiers make up in their minds so they can kill innocents, specially in countries they invade, and keep it like “it is duty and shit”. Solas is basically comparing this mechanism with the one that the Qun uses in their soldiers. This speaks not only of the brainwash that the Qun causes and that Solas despises deeply, but also may be subtly speaking about Solas: he never stops repeating the Inquisitor that all those people they kill had families and loved ones, he is always making them “humans”, reminding their individuality and personhood, even if it fills the killer with a lot of guilt. These lines probably make sense only after a time of Solas living in the Inquisition to make him recognise the personhood of the current mortals of this separate world [we need to remember that in the Tresspasser DLC he confessed that he did not see mortals as people when he woke up from his slumber, it took him a while to recognise it]. So, this constant “humanisation” of the people they kill has been feeding the Regret demon that has been following Solas for millennia. Solas is a soldier, a smart one, that has killed innocent people or at least, people that did not deserved it, specially those that showed acts of rebellion [like Felassan] but he needed them out of the board so he could accomplish a “greater good” in his eyes. This makes Solas more like a rebel who has become a bit of a martyr because his motivations and “duties”, than an evil villain, for what he is going to do.

This is also why Solas is presented at the end of Tresspasser as a man who will follow a plan and will take hard decisions that will destroy the world as it is now, but always embracing the regret and the pain of such actions, because he is not forgetting that he is destroying people as he recovers a previous world. It’s also true that such current world, as it is, is doomed too [remember that the fall of the Archdemons is going to unleash the “true evil” in this world].

Solas: I wish to apologise for what I said to you, Blackwall. Blackwall: You were right, though. I deserved it. Solas: My people had a saying long ago - "The healer has the bloodiest hands." You cannot treat a wound without knowing how deep it goes. You cannot heal pain by hiding it. You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better. You have taken the first step. That is the hardest part.

In several parts of his banter, we learn that Solas has a deep old pain, caused by a “mistake” he did when he was younger. This mistake was the creation of the Veil and the end of the elvhen world and their nature. Through the acceptance of such mistake, he has put in movement a new plan to restore it, to make “things better”, in his eyes. 

Cole: You are quiet, Solas. Solas: Unless I have something to say, yes. Cole: No, inside. I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still. Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples. Cole: There is pain though, still within you. Solas: And I never said that there was not.

Inquisitor [who romanced Solas]: Perhaps Cole can get a better answer from you than I did. Cole: He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't. They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them... (gasps) Where did it go? Solas: I apologize, Cole. That is not a pain you can heal.

Cole has several banters where he reinforces the concept that Solas has been in pain for a long while. In here, we also have a curious piece of information: “Old pain, from when everything sang the same”. We already saw that there are a lot of things in DA lore that sing [check Songs and elements that sing and whisper in DA Lore] which suggests that Solas is a very ancient soul.

There is also a reinforcement of the idea that through the romance, Solas may have changed even more deeply his vision of the personhood of the mortals of Thedas. I think this applies too for a friendly path, since he confesses in the DLC that, after a time, he began to see mortals as people.

Occurs after completing  Solas’ personal quest:

Cole: Bright and brilliant, he wanders the ways, walking unwaking, searching for wisdom... Solas: I do not need you to do that, Cole. Cole: Your friend wanted you to be happy, even though she knew you wouldn't be. Solas: (Sighs.) Could you... if you would remember her, could you do it as I would? Cole: He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care in search of wisdom. We share the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost, forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder. In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before. Solas: Thank you.

Here we see again the repetition of the concept of Solas’ pain; this time added to the pain of losing yet another spirit of wisdom, or a gentle spirit in general. It is implied here that Solas looks for wisdom, in a word play that may represent the spirit he just helped to die now, or wisdom as in general. He has a deep understanding of wisdom [maybe the ideal or the spirit] that no other creature has.

When first encountering the Black Wolves in the Hinterlands:

Solas: The Breach may have driven them mad... or perhaps a demon took command of the pack. Cole: Do you know a lot about wolves? Solas: I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts.

This implies that Solas, whose animal associated with him is the wolf, is an intelligent, practical person who has a terrible reputation given by small-minded creatures.

Solas: Yes, exactly. Deliberately crossing the Veil requires that a spirit form will, personality. That concept of self gives a spirit the chance to maintain its nature. Wrenched into this world unwillingly by the rifts, spirits suffer the same fate as my friend.

This was already treated in the Demon/Spirit nature section, but it seems to me it can apply to Solas, if the suspicion that he was a spirit who took shape is true. He may have preserved his purpose mostly because he always had a personality.

Solas: You spied upon your own people. Iron Bull: Is that so different from Orlais or Ferelden? They have all kinds of people policing them. Solas: What they say and do, yes. Not what they think. Iron Bull: What you think is what you say and do. Solas: No. Even the lowliest peasant may find freedom in the safety of her thoughts. You take even that.

Solas: Surely, even you see, Iron Bull, that freedom is preferable to mindless obedience to the Qun. Iron Bull: How so? Last I checked, our mages weren't burning down Par Vollen. […] Solas: Do not equivocate. Would we or would we not be better under the Qun? Iron Bull: It's not that simple, Solas. Solas: It absolutely is.

Iron Bull: Alright, Solas, been thinking. You wanna know how this place would be if the Qunari took charge? Orlais, Ferelden, all of it would be healthier under the Qun. […] Oh, come on. I said I didn't want us to invade you! Solas: No. You said this world would be brighter if all thinking individuals were stripped of individuality. You only lack the will to get more blood on your hands.

Iron Bull: Tell me something, Solas. Do you think the servants here are happier than the people living under the Qun in Par Vollen? Solas: It doesn't matter if they are happy, it matters that they may choose! Iron Bull: Choose? Choose what? Whether to do their work or get tossed onto the street to starve? Solas: Yes! If a Ferelden servant decides that his life goal is to... become a poet, he can follow that dream! It may be difficult, and he might fail. But the whole of society is not aligned to oppose him! Iron Bull: Sure, and good for him. How many servants actually go do that, though? Solas: Almost none! What does that matter? Your Qun would crush the brilliant few for the mediocre many! Iron Bull: And then people feel like crap for failing. When the truth is, the deck was stacked against them anyway.

Solas: If your Qun is so wonderful, so fair and perfect, how does it create so many Tal-Vashoth? Iron Bull: Most Tal-Vashoth are nothing more than savages. Killing's all they know. The Ben-Hassrath are trying to lose fewer people to that sickness. Solas: It isn't a sickness. You are losing them because they see a chance for freedom! And most of them are "savage," as you say, because your culture taught them nothing else. They know nothing but the Qun. So even as they fight against it, they are guided by its principles. Iron Bull: Watch it, elf. You haven't seen the Tal-Vashoth like I have. Try watching a Tal-Vashoth kill a Tamassran and her kids. Then we'll talk.

When siding with the Qun:

Solas: The truth is, Iron Bull, you are Qunari. I cannot be disappointed in your decisions.  As a mindless, soulless drone, you could never make any.

When not siding with the Qun:

Solas: You are no beast, snapping under the stress of the Qun's harsh discipline.  You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life. Iron Bull: I've always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth? Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me. Iron Bull: Thanks, Solas.

Gatt: Have I done something to offend you? Solas: You joined the Qun. Gatt: After they rescued me from slavery. Solas: And put you into something worse.  A slave may always struggle for freedom, but you among the Qun have been taught not to think.

Solas has a strong sense of Freedom that he wants to give to all creatures. He values choice, hence he detests the Qun. This is also related to his sense and embodiment of Rebellion. Let’s remember that Solas’ latest purpose was/is, before anything else, Rebellion. He will always defend the smallest gesture of Rebellion. Rebellion also comes at a high price; he never denies it. Rebellion can cost you your life, and he is alright with that. The rebel has to be cunning to survive as well.

Solas also sees the Qunari as people without the ability to make decisions, defined as “mindless, soulless” drones; which I cannot help but relate with the dwarves: the elvhenan saw the “workers of the Titans” as “witless and soulless” creatures that they despised them [Old Elven Writing, Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads, Section 3]. The link between dwarves as a race created by Titans, with the Qunari, another race artificially created by someone else [Tevinter most likely] seems to give the impression that Elvhenan detested created races due to their lack of freedom.

Solas, as an entity that represents Rebellion and Pride, despises mindless obedience, and as an entity of Wisdom, the lack of thinking. In thinking by your own, you show individuality that may or may not obey a greater force, but the act itself is rebel enough to make Solas happy. This is why he has such a strange approval system all over the game: the more you question, the more you show him curiosity and a sharp mind, who thinks about the events and do not accept them as they come, so the more he approves. He disapproves all your actions that simply accept the world as it is without wondering about it.

These bits of banters also imply that the Qun has been a tool to control and tame a race that may have been seen as beasts. This coincides with the fragmented details we got throughout the game: Corypheus calling the race of a Qunari inquisitor “a mistake” and their blood as “engorged with decay”. Later Kieran says that the Qunari blood “does not belong to them” and that he “feels bad about what happened to the Qunari people” [details in Frostback Mountains: Somewhere North]. All this seems to suggest that the Qunari may have been a crafted race [I’m not sure if by the Elvhen or the Tevinter created them, I am inclined to the second one] which was tamed and forced into slavery and passivity through the usage of the Qun, which reinforces the idea of roles and “serving to the community” at the expense of the personal individuality.

Other bits of info we have about Solas and his nature from the Tresspasser DLC are the following [the screenshots and the details are in the section “Trespasser Revelations”]

Solas was first “Solas” [Pride], then he changed his purpose, likely due to the interaction with other people, and turned into Fen’Harel [Rebellion], which has some degree of pride, after all. However this name was given by the Evanuris, he did not pick it.

He is not a “piece” of Fen’Harel, like Mythal is in Flemeth. This elf has always been Solas, until he took shape, I guess.

After the creation of the Veil, Solas “lay” in dark and slumbered [he did not call this Uthenera because it was not final] to recover from the effort. History passed and he awoke, still weak, a year before the creation of the Inquisition.

He wants to restore the elvhen world, even if it means to destroy this one. On the other hand, in combination with what he said previously, if this world is slowly losing the ward that has been protecting it from the big danger he hid in the Black City, it’s just a matter of time for this world to fall anyway. Thedas is already a doomed world.

Solas takes no pleasure in destroying this world to recover the old one.

Solas acknowledges that his role as a leader of a rebellion always implied dirty hands. It was the price to fight mage-kings. He recognises he has used a lot of people in hopeless battles.

When he awoke in this world, it felt to him as if the world were filled with tranquils.

He recognises the people of this new world was not perceived as people at first, but the more he saw the struggles and the humanity of each living creature throughout DAI, he acknowledged their personhood. If Solas is your friend, he will claim it was you who showed him the personhood of the living creatures of Thedas and that there is value in this world. He recognised he was wrong in his previous impression.

Cassandra: Solas, if you do not mind me asking, what do you believe in? Solas: Cause and effect. Wisdom as its own reward, and the inherent right of all free willed people to exist.

Pretty clear what Solas’ beliefs are.

[corvusalbus93]

Recovery & Mana Strudel

After escaping the Dark Heart and being resurrected by Anduin, Khadgar wakes up in Dornogal two days later. There he’s properly reunited with his gf/so, who thought him dead for weeks, and runs into the first issues with being partially paralyzed.

The last thing he remembered was the rushing wind and a warm embrace. Followed by darkness. No dreams either, not from what he could tell, just a deep sleep, born from utter exhaustion. Then he heard the crackling of a small fire, far in the distance, yet something told him it was very near. He could smell it, almost taste it, but his mouth felt dry. Come to think of it; he really was thirsty.

Khadgar shifted, his senses returning to him as he slowly woke, his mind finally putting together that he was in bed. He was no longer wearing his heavy robe and coat, but was dressed in something far lighter, while a warm blanket was covering him up to his neck.

Where was he? His first instinct was Dalaran, but memories of what had happened to his city made him quickly dismiss that possibility. Sorrow filled his heart, nonetheless. How many survivors had reached Khaz Algar safely? How many had been killed or abducted? No, questions for later, first things first. Alleria and Narami had mentioned a place...

Suddenly he felt wide awake. Narami.

His eyes flew open, but he immediately squinted again, as even the light of the fire proved too much after however long he’d slept. The accompanying groan, meanwhile, did not go unnoticed.

“Archmage?”

The youthful voice was familiar, the name was on the tip of his tongue, but somehow Khadgar couldn’t say who it was. Turning his head, while still keeping it on the pillow, he spotted someone sitting by the fireplace. It was a vulpera with white and dark grey fur, covered in black stripes like a tiger, who he didn’t recognize. Given the robes and the tome he was reading, the vulpera appeared to be a fellow mage.

“You’re awake!” the stranger exclaimed, jumping off his stone chair and rushing to Khadgar’s side. “How are you feeling? Should I get someone?”

“I’m fine, I just need a moment,” he assured the young vulpera, as he attempted to sit up. His legs refused to respond, making the task somewhat awkward. “Where am I exactly?” He recognized the architecture as distinctly dwarven, but that was about all he could tell.

The vulpera’s ears twitched. “Oh, right. You we asleep when we arrived. Welcome to Dornogal, capital of Khaz Algar and home to the earthen dwarves.”

Earthen dwarves? How fascinating. But Khadgar had picked up on something else and his mind finally put the pieces together. “Wait. ‘We’? Thyellagos?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve chosen your visage. It suits you.”

The blue drake smiled, incidentally presenting his small, sharp teeth. “Thank you, Archmage. Guess there’s a lot to catch you up on. Maybe I should get Narami or Alleria.”

“Are they alright?”

“Everyone’s fine. They’re just all worried about you; so many came by to visit. I didn’t know half of them. And Narami has actually been sleeping here the past two nights,” Thyellagos explained, pointing at an armchair next to the Archmage’s bed. Only now did Khadgar notice the more than reasonable amount of pillows and a blanket draped over the backrest. Given how tall night elves were, this had to have been uncomfortable.

“But scolds me for not taking better care of myself,” Khadgar mused with a smile, feeling that familiar warmth in his chest. “You know where she is?”

“She went to get some dinner a while ago.”

“Then don’t trouble yourself or her; I’m sure she’ll be back soon enough.” As much as he longed to see her, he could wait a little longer. But, as if it had heard the mention of food, his own empty stomach suddenly rumbled. “I guess it’s been some time, since I’ve eaten anything myself.”

“I could conjure something,” Thyellagos suggested excitedly, eager to help in some fashion. “I’ve been practising, so Narami and I could travel lighter.”

“Wonderful. Would you mind if I made a request?”

...

A couple of minutes later Thyellagos was sitting with him on the bed, each with a plate in hand and enjoying the freshly conjured mana strudel. It was quite good, clearly not the first time the young drake had done this. The fresh water also had pleasant taste to it, quenching the thirst, which had plagued Khadgar since waking. This didn’t give them a chance to speak, despite the growing number of questions he had. There was so much he had missed.

Eventually, the Archmage’s thoughts were interrupted, when someone opened the door, slowly and with an effort to do so quietly. Instinctively, as someone, who had survived his fair number of assassination attempts and just barely escaped death yet again, Khadgar tensed, if only for a moment. Glancing over to the drake, he saw Thyellagos’ sniff the air, his vulperan nose twitching as he did, only to remain relax and return his attention back to the strudel. His young friend knew who was coming in.

The door swung open with hardly a sound, despite being quite heavy looking. Khadgar’s heart beat a little faster as he looked upon the one person he’d wanted to see most.

“Narami.”

She stood in the doorway, light coming in from behind, obscuring her face. “You’ve been trapped within the Dark Heart for weeks, slept for two days straight and the first thing you do once awake is have a mana strudel?” It was no accusation; her tone was teasing, almost playful.

Thyellagos apparently didn’t quite pick up on any of this, however, as he lowered his ears. “Are sweets bad for humans, while they’re recovering?”

“My dear, you should not underestimate the restorative properties of a well-conjured mana strudel,” Khadgar reminded the night elf cheerfully.

Narami stepped in, the light of the fire finally illuminating her face, and he glimpsed a tear in her misty looking eyes. “I would never,” she said softly.

Presumably, taking this as his cue, Thyellagos decided to give them some privacy. He jumped off the bed, grabbed his tome and headed straight for the door. Narami mouthed a silent “thank you” as he passed her, the blue drake nodding in response and waved at Khadgar before he closed the door behind him.

For a moment Narami just stood there, as they looked at each other. She must have thought him dead for however many weeks he’d been trapped. Had she mourned him? Very likely and Khadgar felt a pang of guilt for being the cause of that pain. That he was suddenly back was probably a bit of a shock in its own right.

After what felt like an eternity, Narami approached the bed, giving him just enough time to set his plate aside. “I missed you,” she whispered as she sat down beside him and reached out to frame his face with one of her hands, thumb gently brushing across his cheek. “I thought I’d never...” She couldn’t quite bring herself to finish that sentence.

He leaned into her touch, and grasped her hand in turn, keeping it in place. “It’s good to be back. I’m sorry for what you had to go through, my love.”

“I’ll be fine. I still worry for you, though. How are you feeling?”

“Still tired, a little weak. No pain, if that’s any consolation.”

She smiled. “It’s one worry less. Your legs?”

Khadgar let go of her hand to run his fingers over a thigh, and Narami too lowered her hand as they both looked at his leg. “I can feel them. I can feel the clothes and the weight of the blanket, but they don’t react, when I try to move them.” He remembered her kneeling beside him, using the skills she’d learned in the temples of Pandaria. “What did you sense?”

“When I tended to you at the priory, guided the flow of your chi... it is difficult to describe, but your chi doesn’t flow properly through your legs.” She traced a path with her finger. “It’s not gone, yet what should have been a river, felt more akin to a rill. The healers said you are physically fine, but without knowing what happened to you, they could not give a proper diagnosis or prognosis.” Her golden eyes met his, and Khadgar got the sense she had as many questions as he had for her. One was the obvious first. “How did you survive?”

He shifted, shuddering to remember his prison, the time spent being formless, trying not to lose himself; another experience he didn’t care to repeat. “The Dark Heart was created not to destroy, but to capture and harness all manner of power. When I felt what it was doing to me, and with no way out, I transmuted myself into pure arcane energy. Allowed it to capture me. Though it seems my transformation without the aid of Atiesh, and my time spent in the Dark Heart, was something my body couldn’t quite handle,” he added, patting his leg. “Admittedly, I didn’t have much of a plan, but I was sure Alleria would continue her pursuit of Xal’atath and trusted she would eventually be able free me.”

“With her powers she was undoubtedly the best suited for such a task. Quite the gamble, nonetheless.”

“Knowing you, I doubt you sat this one out.” Since he’d gotten to know her on Draenor, she’d never been one to ignore a call to action; something he loved about her, yet also made him worry at times.

He watched her reach out, until her hand rested on his chest, right on his heart. “You were dead. At least I thought you were. I mourned you. There was no funeral, but I had to say goodbye.”

“Narami...”

“Only after, did I join Alleria’s hunt,” she continued, before biting her lower lip. Her hand travelled up to his face, her touch light, but affectionate. It almost seemed, as if she was making sure he was really here. “In the temples on the Peak of Serenity, they taught us to seek spiritual balance, and it took everything not to throw it all aside. Especially, once we reached Azj-kahet. It would have been worse, if Thyellagos hadn’t been there with me the entire time.” Finally, Narami wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned her forehead against his. “You are lucky the people who love you are very persistent.”

Without hesitation, Khadgar embraced her in turn. “I consider myself very fortunate indeed.” It felt so good to have her in his arms again, to be in hers. He was alive, he was back and he was grateful. And as much as it comforted him, he dearly hoped it gave her just as much solace. For a while he allowed himself to simply take in the moment, the warmth that spread through his chest, and share it with her.

After a while her embrace tightened, and Khadgar could feel her grasping his shirt. “I shouldn’t have left you. Remember what I made you promise after the vault?”

Khadgar lifted a finger, though she couldn’t see it, as it was behind her back. “Ah; that was about never rushing into a fight with another Incarnate without getting you first. So, technically...”

Narami leaned back, bringing her hands to rest on his shoulders. “You know what I mean.” This time she really was scolding him, despite her tone remaining gentle. Perhaps it was too early to get back to their usual banter just yet, despite her earlier jest. This wound was still too fresh.

The pang of guilt struck him once more. She’d refused to take his portal and leave Dalaran without him, until his assurance to be right behind her with Alleria. Gently, he stroked her back, his hand slowly running across smooth fabric. “Yes, I know. I also remember we talk about this happening. An adventure one of us wouldn’t come back from. The good chance one of us would outlive the other.” Without Anduin, he certainly would have died this time, the thought sending a cold shiver down his own spine.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t do everything within my power to prevent it. You wanted to look for Alleria and escape. Why confront Xal’atath?”

“I didn’t think I could defeat her, if that’s you believe. Still, I was hoping I could at least disrupt her. Spoil her plans for the moment. I had to try something. But the Dark Heart simply consumed my spell. All I could do was to help Alleria escape, with what little strength I had left.” He grasped her hands, bringing one up to his lips for a kiss. “Think you can forgive this fool one more time?”

“I’ve watched you do a lot of foolish things since Draenor. Not like I’m one talk, considering everything I’ve done, sometimes at your request,” she admitted, her gaze softening again with each word, and leaned closer. “You are forgiven.”

“Ah, you are too kind.”

“But please be more careful. Losing you, going through that pain; it’s not an experience I wish to relive any time soon.” Unexpectedly, a grin graced her lips. “Still, I think I would very much enjoy punching that smug smile off Xal’atath’s face, if I get the chance.”

Khadgar chuckled. “I’d very much like to see that.”

And yet deep down the thought troubled him. Dark Heart or not, Xal’atath was one of the most dangerous enemies they’d ever faced, but confronting her again was inevitable. Khadgar could only hope they would have the tools and allies necessary, when the time came.

No, he shouldn’t entertain these thoughts right now, not when they were finally reunited.His eyes darted to her lips, the warmth now spreading to his face, and it seemed the same idea was crossing her mind in that moment. He knew that look; it never failed to make him blush, to make him feel loved.

As she closed the gap between them, her fingers ran though his hair, a sensation Khadgar had missed dearly. But not as much as her supple lips against his, a tender touch at first, until he leaned in and returned the kiss. Ah, there was that fire he remembered and he felt it too; something about the first kiss after a brush with death. Khadgar arms went around Narami’s waist, needing her closer.

Still, his legs were lying straight on the mattress, while his upper body was angled towards her, which was starting to be a little uncomfortable. And so he tried to move, without interrupting the kiss, only for his legs to not respond, and his hip to sway uselessly. He would either need his arms or more momentum. Curse this.

For most of his life he’d believed, internalized, his aged appearance would quash any chance of finding love. He’d been so happy to have been proven wrong by her, to get to experience what he once feared he’d always be denied. Only for his body to fail him now. It frustrated him how even the simple task of sharing a kiss with the woman he loved was giving him so much trouble. How would he be navigating everything else in the future? A small part of Khadgar didn’t want her to see him like this, not until he’d figured this out.

“Something wrong?”

Oh. Apparently he’d been too distracted and noticing, she’d broken the kiss to study him with a worried expression. His first instinct was to play it off like everything was fine, but Narami knew him too well. She would see right it through it. And so he gestured to his legs, demonstrating another failed attempt at moving into the desired position on his side. “I’m sorry. You already settled for an old man and now...”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, cupping his face and pressing her thumb against his lips. “Don’t think that for a moment. I love you. Nothing about that has or will change. I’ll be there for you.”

Khadgar hadn’t truly doubted, nonetheless, her words filled him with relief and made his heart flutter. “I love you too.” And he meant it with every fibre of his being.

Her beautiful smile returned, her eyes glowed a little brighter and she shifted a bit more to better accommodate him. To his surprise she went on to hook her leg around his waist and pulled him closer. Khadgar couldn’t help but chuckle, when he finally found himself lying on his side and in a snug embrace. This time as they kissed, there were no distractions.