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vir-tanadahl · 4 months ago

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As the Moon Rises

Chapter 7: The Games We Play

I’m eagerly rewriting As the Moon Rises, which was originally written back in 2017, in anticipation of Dragon Age: Veilguard, channeling my excitement into refining the story. Summary: Isera Lavellan, at her mother’s behest, is sent to assist her twin brother, Banreas—the Inquisitor—in his mission to stop a force determined to bring about the world’s end. Together, they uncover long-buried secrets of their shared family history while Isera finds herself drawn to a mysterious non-Dalish elven mage whose knowledge of her heritage runs far deeper than she could have imagined. As the stakes rise, Isera must navigate this dangerous journey of discovery, where the past holds as much peril as the looming threats of the present. Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1][Ch2][Ch3][Ch4][Ch5][Ch6] [Ch7]

Finally, the day had come. The Inquisition was staying in a small château a mile outside of the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. One by one, the members of the inner circle began to congregate in the foyer. Josie, Leliana, Cullen, Sera, Banreas, the Iron Bull, and Solas were the first to finish dressing, each of them bringing their own unique flair to the occasion. Josephine quickly began checking everything, ensuring that those representing the Inquisition were up to par. The air buzzed with a mix of excitement and tension, each member aware of the importance of their appearance as they prepared to step into the heart of Orlesian nobility

Vivienne followed, dressed in her signature style but with a twist. Instead of her usual pants, she wore a sheer skirt with a high slit, shimmering in silver and white, paired with high-knee boots that added an air of boldness. The high collar of her outfit was larger than normal, framing her face with an elegant authority, and atop her head rested the Hat of Majesty. Tonight, she embodied Madame de Fer—the Lady of Iron, exuding power and sophistication as she prepared to make her mark at the ball.

Cassandra steadfastly refused to wear a dress, opting instead for an ensemble reminiscent of a tailored pantsuit. Her top was a shimmering black, long-sleeved blouse that hugged her figure at the waist before flowing out and turning sheer at the hem, adorned with delicate red flowers embroidered along the edges. The pants were tight yet flexible, allowing her the freedom of movement she valued, paired with sleek black riding boots. Despite her elegant appearance, she unmistakably wore a look of displeasure at being there. Her mask, representing House Pentaghast, was a striking dark purple, adding an air of nobility to her otherwise rebellious stance.

Blackwall chose to have his formal wear crafted in the Grey Warden colors, opting to forgo a mask entirely. He believed in the Warden’s pledge to abstain from political entanglements, making a quiet statement with his appearance. In contrast, Varric donned a striking red leather jacket adorned with golden embroidery at the edges, exuding his signature flair. His mask was simple yet fitting—a red and gold Volto that added a touch of mystery without overshadowing his well-known charisma.

Dorian, as expected, donned an outfit that was distinctly fashionable in Tevinter. His robe was a rich dark green, featuring a high collar interwoven with golden threads that caught the light. His fingers sparkled with golden jewels, a nod to Tevinter custom. On the back of his coattail, a striking golden serpent was intricately embroidered, a symbol of his heritage. However, he refused to wear a mask representing House Pavus, opting instead for one connected to a rod. This choice allowed him the freedom to remove the mask easily, ensuring he could showcase his handsome features without concealment.

Isera was the last to finish, having argued frequently with the tailor throughout the process. Her dress sparkled with the enchanted fabric, featuring a sweetheart neckline adorned with embroidered roses that emitted the scent of real flowers. The deep red color was exactly what Leliana had envisioned, fading gracefully into a shimmering white. Despite the tailor's insistence on a pair of golden heels, Isera had adamantly refused, opting instead for simple golden flats that allowed her comfort and ease. As she stood in front of the mirror, she felt a mix of pride and apprehension, ready to step into the evening ahead.

Josephine began addressing everyone as they gathered in anticipation of the carriages' arrival. Meanwhile, Isera paid little mind to her words, her attention drifting as she nervously fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. She felt out of place, the weight of the evening’s expectations settling heavily on her shoulders. The vibrant colors and the elegance of her attire felt foreign, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in a world that was both exciting and intimidating.

Solas stepped closer to her, his presence calm and reassuring. “Nervous?” he asked, appearing more relaxed and less guarded than usual. Isera turned to look at him, her expression a mix of anxiety and honesty. “Uncomfortable, mostly,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. The opulence of the setting and the gathering crowd intensified her feelings, making it hard to shake off the sense of being an outsider.

Solas glanced over toward Josephine as she continued her speech, then turned back to Isera. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice quiet yet sincere. Isera met his gaze for a brief moment before looking away, her cheeks warming at the compliment. “I—thank you,” she replied, her tone a mix of surprise and bashfulness. She turned her attention to Josie as well, focusing on the familiar energy of the gathering to help ground herself in the moment.

“The advisors will arrive first, followed by the Inquisitor, and finally everyone else if you haven't made arrangements already,” Josephine said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “All right, everyone, let's be off!” Her voice carried a blend of excitement and authority, energizing the group as they prepared to embark on the evening’s festivities. Isera felt a rush of adrenaline as the moment approached, her earlier nerves mingling with a spark of anticipation.

Banreas, Isera, and Solas were squished together on one side of the carriage, their shoulders brushing against one another. Iron Bull, massive and imposing, took up most of the opposite seat, leaving little room to spare. Sera sat comfortably beside him, her legs draped casually over his lap, a cheeky grin on her face as she leaned back. The cramped space felt lively with their banter, and despite the discomfort, Isera couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie surrounding her.

“All right, be on the watch for Venatori activity,” Banreas began, his tone serious as he turned to address the group. “Leliana informed me that she believes there is a magical elven artifact in Empress Celene’s possession. We should be looking for that as well.” The mood shifted slightly, the lighthearted banter giving way to a more focused atmosphere as they processed the information. Isera felt the weight of their mission settle in, the stakes of the evening becoming clear as they prepared to navigate the intricate dance of nobility and danger.

"What’s with the magic elf-y things? Strange, innit" Sera grumbled, her arms crossed as she leaned back against Iron Bull. Her expression was one of skepticism, and Isera could sense her unease with the idea of pursuing an elven artifact amidst the political intrigue. The contrast between Sera's casual demeanor and the seriousness of their mission added a layer of tension.

“Boss, we don’t need another magical object in play. We have the Venatori to worry about,” Iron Bull stated, nodding in agreement. His tone was serious, underscoring the potential dangers of adding yet another variable to their already complicated situation. The weight of his words hung in the air, a reminder of the formidable challenges they faced, and Isera could sense the tension building among the group as they considered the implications.

“Perhaps the Venatori are looking for it,” Solas added thoughtfully, his expression contemplative. The implication hung in the air, drawing the attention of everyone in the carriage. The stakes were becoming clearer, and the atmosphere shifted as they contemplated the dangers that lay ahead.

Isera turned her head to look at her brother, her expression earnest. “If it is magical, I could locate it easier and get it out discreetly,” she suggested, her voice steady with determination. The idea of using her unique abilities to help in their mission sparked a flicker of hope within her. She met Banreas's gaze, silently urging him to consider her proposal as a viable option in their quest.

“If we know about it, it’s safe to assume the Venatori do as well. Our agents didn’t gather enough information to specify what it is, but they confirmed it’s elven,” Banreas explained, his tone serious. Iron Bull shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a frown etched on his face. “Then how do we find something that we don��t even know what it is?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. The challenge of their situation loomed large, and Isera could feel the weight of their uncertainty settling over the group.

“I can,” Isera spoke up again, her voice firm. “I’ve done it before.” The conviction in her words drew the attention of her companions, and she felt a surge of determination. The memory of her past successes in locating magical artifacts fueled her confidence, and she hoped to inspire faith in her abilities as they navigated this complex situation.

Banreas raised an eyebrow at her, a teasing smirk on his lips. “You’ve smuggled elven artifacts out of a palace?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Isera frowned, undeterred. “I have smuggled ancient elven artifacts out of heavily guarded Circle towers before,” she argued, her voice steady and defensive.

Isera could feel the surprise radiating off everyone in the carriage. “You’ve… smuggled?” Iron Bull exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. The unexpected revelation seemed to shift the atmosphere, transforming her from an uncertain participant to someone with valuable experience. She met their astonished gazes, feeling a swell of pride at having garnered their respect, even if only momentarily.

“She’s a thief!” Sera cackled, her grin wide as she playfully punched Iron Bull in the arm. The laughter that followed filled the carriage, lightening the mood and bringing a sense of camaraderie to the group.

Isera shrugged, her expression casual. “It was easy. I was twelve, and Mother heard a rumor that the Ostwick Circle had something she wanted. I just pretended to be a new mage, and the Templars took me in. I was there for a few months, found it, and left.” She shrugged again, as if the whole experience was just a minor adventure rather than a bold feat. The confidence in her tone intrigued her companions, revealing a glimpse of her resourcefulness.

"Banreas stared at her in disbelief, his eyebrows raised. "Mother had you… stealing?" The incredulity in his voice was palpable, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of their mother orchestrating such a scheme.

“Yes?” she paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Is that not normal?” Isera questioned, her tone earnest. “It isn’t like it belonged to them.” The conviction in her words hung in the air, challenging the group’s perceptions. “It wasn’t exactly stealing. More like... retrieving something that belonged to the elven.” The playful twist in her reasoning added to the intrigue, sparking curiosity among her companions. Isera could sense their hesitation, a mix of surprise and contemplation, as they processed her logic. To her, reclaiming what was lost felt justified, but she wondered how others viewed her past actions.

The carriages came to a halt, and a loud announcement echoed that the Inquisition had arrived. Isera quickly placed her mask on, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Iron Bull and Sera stepped out first, their presence commanding attention. Banreas leaned closer to Isera, his tone harsh as he whispered, “No, by the way, that is not normal!” He gestured for Solas to step out first, as he was closest to the door, the urgency of their situation clear in his demeanor. The anticipation hung thick in the air as they prepared to face the Orlesian nobility.

Isera shrugged and followed Solas, who graciously offered his hand to assist her as she stepped out of the carriage. “They didn’t need it,” she muttered to no one in particular, a hint of defiance in her voice. Despite her earlier nerves, she felt a spark of confidence, bolstered by Solas's steady presence beside her. She was ready to face whatever awaited them at the grand event, even if it meant navigating the expectations of the nobility.

The Grand Duke was quick to engage with Banreas, steering the Inquisitor away from the group as the rest of them followed behind. Isera could hear the whispers among the nobility, their hushed voices filled with disbelief at the audacity of the Inquisition’s company being made up of elves and a qunari. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Banreas squirming with delight at the stir they were causing; it was practically blasphemy in their eyes. The tension in the air was palpable, and she felt a mix of pride and amusement at the chaos they had brought to the evening.

Josephine and Leliana had trained Banreas for weeks on how to navigate the treacherous waters of the political game. If he felt uncomfortable, he certainly didn't show it; instead, he carried himself with confidence, engaging the Grand Duke with a charming smile. Isera watched with admiration, noting how well he had absorbed their lessons. Despite the tension in the air, he exuded an air of ease, expertly maneuvering through the complexities of Orlesian society.

As Isera and the others entered the vestibule to convene with the advisors before continuing on to be announced in the ballroom, Josephine took the opportunity to emphasize the importance of behaving appropriately. Her gaze was direct, landing squarely on Sera, who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. The tension in the air mixed with amusement as Isera watched Sera's mischievous expression, knowing that her friend was hardly one to conform to expectations.

“Isera, you will be announced following the Inquisitor. After you, the advisors, and then Solas, Iron Bull, and Sera. Once the introductions are complete, you’ll be free to roam around,” Josie informed them, her tone brisk yet encouraging. The weight of the evening’s expectations hung heavy in the air, and Isera felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety at the thought of being introduced to the nobility. She glanced at her companions, each one preparing for the role they were to play in this intricate dance of politics.

Isera nodded as the procession began, her heart racing with anticipation. Banreas was introduced right after the Grand Duke, and he looked remarkably relaxed, unfazed by the treacherous waters surrounding him. With a confident bow to the Empress, he followed the Grand Duke up the steps, embodying the poise and charm that had been cultivated through his training. Isera couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as she watched her brother navigate the moment with such grace.

“Mistress Lavellan, sister of Inquisitor Lavellan and a Seer of Rivain.”

Isera felt her body tense at the announcement, taking a deep breath as she began her descent down the stairs. With determination, she turned, bowed gracefully, and followed after her brother. As she moved, she heard the murmurs of approval ripple through the court, their eyes enraptured by her outfit despite her being an elf. The unexpected admiration filled her with a mix of pride and anxiety, reminding her of the precarious balance she was walking between acceptance and scrutiny.

Isera stood next to the advisors, with Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas positioned behind them. Banreas engaged the Empress in a cryptic manner that delighted the court, and Isera suppressed the urge to scoff at the theatrics. The Empress, with a wave of her hand, dismissed them to mingle, and Isera followed her brother as he began greeting those affiliated with the court. Each interaction was a dance of charm and wit, and Isera felt a mix of admiration and apprehension as she navigated the sea of unfamiliar masked faces.

Isera broke away from the group, heading toward Cullen, who looked far more uncomfortable than she felt. He was surrounded by admirers, and it was clear that the Commander was exceedingly uneasy with the attention. His back was pressed against the wall, arms crossed defensively as the crowd edged closer, their flirtations relentless. Isera couldn’t help but smirk at the sight; it was a stark contrast to the confident leader she knew him to be on the battlefield.

“Ah, Commander, if I may have a word,” Isera said as she stepped between the horde of nobles, her presence a welcome interruption. Cullen's expression shifted to one of relief as he spotted a familiar face beckoning his attention. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and Isera could sense his gratitude for the distraction as she offered him an escape from the relentless advances of the court.

“Oh! She’s the Inquisition’s sister!” a high-pitched, thick Orlesian voice chimed in, cutting through the conversation. “Are you two lovers?” The question hung in the air, drawing curious glances from the surrounding nobles. Isera felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she shot Cullen an incredulous look, silently questioning how he would respond to such an unexpected insinuation.

“Well, that would certainly not concern you,” Isera replied sharply, her words more direct and biting than typical for Orlesian culture, especially coming from an elf. The noblewoman glared at her, visibly taken aback, and huffed as she fanned herself. “How rude!” she whispered, the offense clear in her tone. Isera felt a mix of defiance and irritation at the woman's reaction, standing her ground despite the stifling expectations of the court.

Isera walked away, glancing back to ensure the Commander followed her. He did, a look of relief washing over his features as they stepped outside onto the balcony. The air was fresh and crisp, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the Winter Palace. Cullen let out a deep sigh, his tension easing as he inhaled the cool air, grateful for the reprieve from the prying eyes and chatter of the court.

“They are like hounds,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the lingering discomfort. He coughed lightly, clearing his throat before turning to Isera. “What did you need?” he asked, his tone shifting from frustration to curiosity as he focused on her, grateful for the momentary escape from the pressures of the ballroom.

Isera shrugged, leaning against the banister as she gazed at the partygoers inside. “Nothing. You looked uncomfortable and needed a break,” she replied, her tone softening slightly. She took in the lively scene, the laughter and chatter echoing through the open doors, but it felt distant and surreal from her vantage point. The contrast of the vibrant celebration with the quiet balcony allowed her a moment to breathe, away from the pressure of expectations.

“Oh!” Cullen exclaimed, clearly shocked. “You didn’t have to do that. I will manage.” His tone was earnest, though Isera could sense the underlying tension in his voice. He straightened up, attempting to regain his composure, but the flicker of gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes. Isera couldn’t help but smile at his resolve, knowing that even the strongest leaders needed a moment of respite.

“Cullen, I have no doubt you can handle a swarm of women,” Isera replied with a teasing smile. “But you looked like you wanted to flee. As far as everyone else is concerned, I’ve taken you away to discuss an important Inquisition meeting…” She paused, a playful glint in her eye. “Or I’m your secret lover. I’m sensing the Orlesians love a bit of dramatic flair.” The lighthearted joke hung in the air, and Isera couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie building between them as they navigated the absurdity of the evening.

Cullen chuckled, a hint of amusement breaking through his earlier tension. “That they do,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. He sighed and began stretching his neck, attempting to ease the stiffness that had settled in from the pressure of the crowd. The light moment with Isera offered a welcome distraction, allowing him to briefly forget the expectations weighing down on him inside.

“If you walk around more, they can’t pin you down,” Isera suggested, her tone light and encouraging. She watched him with a knowing smile, hoping to alleviate some of his discomfort. “It’s a crowded room, but that means there are plenty of opportunities to slip away and find some peace, don’t you think?” Her playful demeanor was meant to remind him that he could still navigate the evening on his own terms.

He lightly scoffed, shaking his head. “They are everywhere,” he muttered, pressing his fingers into the side of his temple as if trying to relieve the mounting pressure. Isera could see the strain in his posture, the way he tried to maintain his composure despite the overwhelming attention. It was clear that the evening's festivities were becoming more than just a social gathering for him.

“A headache?” Isera whispered, glancing toward him with genuine concern. The tension in Cullen's shoulders and the way he pressed his fingers against his temple told her all she needed to know. She shifted slightly closer, ready to offer support if he needed it, her own unease momentarily forgotten in the face of his discomfort.

“They have been coming more often,” he continued, his voice low and serious. After a brief pause, he added, “Do you know?” Cullen’s reference to his decision to stop talking lyrium hung in the air between them, a weighty subject that had clearly been troubling him. Isera met his gaze, her expression shifting from concern to understanding, recognizing the struggle he faced in navigating both his duties and his personal demons.

Isera nodded slowly. “He told me,” she replied, moving to stand directly in front of him. Her gaze was steady as she considered her next words. “May I try something?” she asked, her voice soft but firm. There was a quiet determination in her demeanor, a desire to help Cullen in whatever way she could. She sensed the weight of his struggles and felt compelled to offer him some relief.

Cullen looked skeptical, his brow furrowing as he regarded her with uncertainty. Isera took a breath, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I want to see if my magic will be of assistance,” she explained, her tone earnest and reassuring. The air between them felt charged with possibility, and she hoped to convey that her intentions were genuine. She could sense his hesitance, but she was determined to help him find some relief from his discomfort.

Cullen stared down at her, weighing her offer before finally agreeing. Isera, standing at least a foot shorter than him, rose onto the balls of her feet, her determination evident. She pressed her fingers gently onto the nape of his neck, feeling the tension coiled there. Whispering a familiar ritual, she let her fingers glide around his ears and onto his temple, channeling her magic with focused intent. After a moment, she released her touch, stepping back to observe any change in his expression.

Cullen blinked a few times, processing the sensation. “Is... it supposed to feel cold?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he reached up to touch the back of his neck. The coolness of her magic was a surprising contrast to the warmth of the evening, and he furrowed his brow, trying to determine if it was a good sign or not. Isera watched him closely, gauging his response and hoping that her magic was indeed providing some relief.

“Yes, it will fade to being warm and then back to normal by the end of the night. Is it helping?” Isera asked, her tone filled with genuine concern as she searched his face for any signs of relief. She wanted to know if her magic was making a difference, hoping to ease some of the tension that had been weighing on him. The moment felt crucial, a bridge between their struggles and the comfort they sought.

He nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. “I believe so. Thank you,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, and Isera felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that her magic had provided him with some comfort. Their shared moment felt like a small victory amidst the chaos of the evening.

Isera smiled, her spirits lifted. “Well, come on, Commander,” she said, turning to head back inside. Leaving him to gather his thoughts, she stepped into the vestibule. The lively chatter of the gathering enveloped her, and she could hear Iron Bull's booming laughter as he flirted with a group of nobles nearby. Blackwall and Sera were tucked away in a corner, hiding out behind the Wall of Champions, their playful banter echoing softly. The scene was both chaotic and vibrant, a stark contrast to the quiet moment she had just shared with Cullen.

The elven servants stared at her longer than they would have with a human, their eyes lingering with a mix of curiosity and caution. Isera felt the weight of their gaze, acutely aware that she was an elf wearing a mask, thrust into the complexities of the Game whether she wanted to be or not. It was a strange position to occupy—both a part of the nobility’s world and yet still on the outside, grappling with the expectations that came with her lineage and the evening’s festivities.

“Drink, my lady?” an elven man approached her, bowing his head respectfully. His demeanor was polite, yet there was a subtle undertone of wariness in his eyes as he regarded her. Isera appreciated the gesture, though she could sense the unspoken complexities behind it. She offered him a warm smile, grateful for the courtesy in the midst of the swirling chaos of the gathering.

He continued to stand, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Hallas are most beautiful, no?” he said, gesturing toward her mask with a smile. Isera could sense the weight of his words, the compliment both genuine and laced with the cultural significance of the halla in elven lore. He balanced a tray of drinks in his hands, the shimmering glasses catching the light. She felt a flutter of appreciation for the compliment, a small reminder of her heritage amidst the grandeur of the evening.

Isera stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Quite majestic,” she agreed, her voice steady as she took a cup from him. “Wild and enduring, much like the elves.” The man nodded in approval, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as if she were answering his unspoken questions correctly. “The Empress is quite fond of elves,” he continued, his tone slightly conspiratorial. “Many pieces of elven art are scattered throughout the palace, particularly in the eastern wing. Perhaps you should look.” His suggestion lingered in the air, a tantalizing invitation to explore the history and culture she held dear.

“Perhaps I will,” Isera answered with a thoughtful smile as the elven servant excused himself and walked away. She continued into another vestibule, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Solas. To her surprise, he was leaning against the wall, appearing relaxed and at ease amidst the bustling atmosphere. His posture was casual, but there was a subtle intensity in his gaze as he observed the scene around him. Isera felt a warmth in her chest at the sight, grateful for the moment of familiarity in the midst of the evening's chaos.

“You look comfortable,” she remarked as she approached him. Solas turned his gaze to her, and Isera noticed a subtle brightness on his cheeks, a hint of warmth that caught her by surprise. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability that softened his usually enigmatic demeanor. She smiled, feeling a sense of connection as they stood together amidst the vibrant energy of the gathering.

“I do adore the heavy blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” he replied almost cheerfully, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I have seen countless such displays during my journeys in the Fade. Only the customs have changed,” he recalled, a faint smile gracing his lips. The contrast between his relaxed demeanor and the chaotic energy of the gathering around them made Isera feel as if they were sharing a secret amidst the masquerade, a moment of understanding that transcended the superficiality of the court.

Suddenly, two Orlesian nobles approached, their presence commanding attention as they introduced themselves to Isera. Their titles and positions became a blur, the formalities lost in the rush of their eagerness. They attempted to step between her and Solas, an unwelcome intrusion that made the air feel tense. Isera noticed Solas frown at the interruption, his expression darkening slightly as he regarded the nobles with barely concealed annoyance.

“Your accent is quite beautiful, my lady. Are you from Antiva?” one of the nobles asked, his voice smooth as he grabbed her hand. He was tall, wearing a yellow mask with a pointed nose that added an air of theatricality to his demeanor. Isera felt a flicker of annoyance as she tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tighter, his grip firm and intrusive. “Rivain,” she replied, forcing a polite smile despite her growing discomfort. The playful atmosphere began to shift, and she sensed Solas's irritation brewing beside her.

“You smell absolutely delicious. Roses? Who knew a heathen country could produce such a beauty?” he remarked, his comment dripping with insincerity—a thinly veiled insult disguised as a compliment. Isera felt her scowl deepen, irritation rising within her as she recognized the condescension in his words. The encounter was quickly souring, and she was determined not to let him get under her skin.

“Why don’t you come with us? We could… show you around,” one of the nobles suggested, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Isera scrunched her nose in disgust, her expression turning caustic. “And just where would you take me?” she retorted, the sharpness in her tone unmistakable. The implication behind his words set her on edge, and she wasn’t about to entertain their condescending offer.

“I have a key to the East wing,” the other man, shorter and dressed in blue, announced with a sly grin. “I could… show you around. The Empress has quite a collection.” Isera paused, a thought dawning on her. This might be her opportunity to explore the Winter Palace without drawing too much attention. The prospect of discovering hidden treasures within the palace intrigued her, despite the dubious intentions of her current companions. She considered her options, weighing the potential for adventure against the underlying motives of these nobles.

Isera hummed thoughtfully, a playful smile spreading across her face. “Well, do lead the way,” she flirted, her tone light and teasing. The shorter noble beamed at her response, eager to take the lead. Meanwhile, Solas looked alarmed by the interaction, his expression tightening with disapproval. He stayed silent, watching with a mix of concern and disappointment as Isera moved away from him, drawn into the orbit of the nobles.

#solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #solas x female lavellan #solas x oc #solas dragon age #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas x inquisitor #solavellan hell #isera lavellan #As the Moon Rises #vir writes #dragon age veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard

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broodwoof · 1 year ago

Text

prompt info - now including davg content! (updated: 2/3/25)

note: if characters are listed in multiple canons, feel free to specify or i'll just pick one

general info:

no non-canon character death

pls specify prompt list ur using

solo, platonic, and poly prompts welcome

i enjoy writing politics - romance - smut - horror - whump

general prompts:

rare/unusual words

sentences

medieval/fantasy sentences

deep conversations

vague prompts: eerie edition

pantomime mask prompts

quote prompts:

as said by cassandra pentaghast

as said by dorian pavus

as said by solas

as said by merrill

fluff/romance/smut prompts:

smutfic (please send word/phrase)

kinktober (will accept any but day 16/flashing)

angst/whump prompts:

eerie loneliness

heavy content

other prompts:

oc codex

fantasy setting

TOOL lyric prompts

characters:

da2 - anders(justice) | fenris | merrill

dao - leliana | morrigan

arlathan - mythal | andruil | ghilan'nain

davg - fragment!mythal | morrithal | ghilan'nain | elgar'nan

relationships (ot3+ are welcome!):

anders x fenris

cassandra x (varric | sera | leliana | solas)

dorian x (feydis | bull | solas)

morrigan x (halcor | leliana | solas)

sera x (delwyn | dagna | cassandra)

cullen x (dimitra | solas | dorian)

ghilan'nain x (andruil* | solas*)

daw x (nessa | solas | bellara)

sybil x (davrin)

*messy/complicated ships, might end up in dead dove territory

major ocs:

nessa lavellan (f!rogue, solas)

velari lavellan (f!mage, solas)

atros shiral (m!rogue; city elf!inquisitor, solas)

delwyn lavellan (f!rogue, sera)

valyris lavellan (f!mage, solas)

cyren lavellan (trans f!mage, solas)

liall talas (f!mage, dalish, warden, no romance)

feydis lavellan (m!mage, dorian)

dimitra (non-inky, f!mage(/templar), cullen)

halcor brosca (m!rogue, morrigan then nate)

daw aldwir (info)

sybil thorne

quick oc info:

nessa - soft, stubborn af, has a daughter with solas, peaceful family life, insomuch as it can be

velari - complicated, guilt-ridden, kinky, power couple

atros - so complicated, loads of trauma, volatile, passionate about justice, on solas' side no matter what

delwyn - young, silly, grows a lot, balanced, ends up becoming a very good leader, all in for sera

valyris - older, reserved, contemplative, quick judgements but willing to reassess, non-magic healer (healer has the bloodiest hands), leads from a distance bc she's scared of caring

cyren - playful, irreverent, a little selfish, deliberate, actions speak louder than words

liall - body horror warden who's into it, macabre and morbid, curiosity as a character flaw

feydis - steady, passionate, righteous fury but very, very deep inside him, quick, dry wit

dimitra - self-sufficient, guarded, expected to become a templar but magic manifested, ended up in the circle, so many confrontations with her assumptions that she couldn't possibly count them all

halcor - rough around the edges, a bit ends justify the means, good at heart but doesn't lose sleep over bad choices, matter of fact, heart eyes about magic

MINOR DAVG SPOILERS:

daw - a veil jumper, daw has a complex history with the dread wolf - not a personal history, but a spiritual one. after being recruited by varric, they are desperate to stop solas, whatever the cost... but over time, they begin to understand him and realize that they want to save him

sybil - tba

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thebonerpit · 2 years ago

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Lou. 35+. She/her. Ao3 / Tumblr Writing

This is a multifandom blog. My main interest will likely always be Dragon Age but you will find anything and everything: other video games, MCU, old Hollywood, films, art, architecture, books, astrology, cats, fashion, etc. etc.

I always try to tag so if there are things you aren't interested in you can filter them out. I will tag "common" triggers but obviously I can't catch everything. If there's something I post frequently that you need a warning for just let me know! I also try to tag anything NFF as such but consider this blog NFF as a whole.

I like a lot of ships and tropes that some people may consider problematic. You can either accept that or unfollow me. If you message me on anon complaining or accusing me of being gross I will simply ignore you so don't waste your time.

That being said, my askbox is open and I would love to get (friendly) messages or prompts!

Current ships under the cut...

This is absolutely not an exhaustive list! These are pairings I have read and/or written and will continue to do so. I didn't include pairings I adore and support but wouldn't necessarily seek out fic for (eg. Elena/Nate from Uncharted).

Dragon Age - Cullen/Dorian, Cullen/Dorian/The Iron Bull, Dorian/M!Inquisitor, F!Lavellan/Solas, Alistair/F!Cousland, Fenris/M!Hawke, Anders/M!Hawke, Anders/Fenris, Fenris/Sebastian, Davrin/Lucanis, Emmrich/Rook

Mass Effect - Kaiden/M!Shepard, Garrus/F!Shepard, Harry/M!Ryder, M!Ryder/Reyes, Bain/Reyes

Other Video Games - Ceolbert/Ivarr (AC Valhalla), Erke/Stowe (AC Valhalla), Alexios/Thaletas (AC Odyssey), Gavin/RK900 (Detroit Become Human), Corvo/The Outsider (Dishonored), Colt/Frank (Deathloop), Andrew Ryan/Sander Cohen (Bioshock), Jacob/Staci (Far Cry 5), Jason/Tim (Gotham Knights/DCU), Bruce/Dick (Gotham Knights/DCU)

MCU - Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Harley Keener, Peter Parker/Harley Keener/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange/Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes/Zemo, Loki/Thor

TV - Hannibal/Will (Hannibal), Amos/Prax (The Expanse), Frank/Karen (Daredevil/The Punisher), Alice/Luther (Luther), Mulder/Scully (The X-Files), Buck/Eddie (9-1-1), Buck/Tommy (9-1-1), Lestat/Louis (IWTV), Armand/Daniel (IWTV)

Film - Arthur/Eames (Inception), Eames/Fischer (Inception), Joe/Nicky (The Old Guard), Erik/Charles (X-Men series)

#pinned post

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burned-enigma · 7 months ago

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another dragon age request. i’m 20, turning 21 next week, so i require that you’re 18+. i’ve been drained from summer class work, so i’m looking for something more along the lines of semi-lit to literate (between 200-400 words). a warning: i’m new to the fandom, so i’m not fully caught up on all of the lore and am working on playing the games all the way through. the closest i have to completion is da2.

in terms of pairings, i prefer m/m and very rarely m/f. the ships i’ve listed below (with the bold being the character i’d like to play) are what i’m looking for. my inquisitors are still being developed. if interested, message me here on tumblr or add me on discord (burnedfreedom).

pairings:

- anders x m!hawke (most wanted)

- dorian x cullen

- blackwall x f!inquisitor (lavellan)

- dorian x m!inquisitor (lavellan)

- the iron bull x m!inquisitor (adaar)

#roleplay #roleplay search #discord rp #rp search #roleplay request #discord roleplay #dragon age rp #dragon age roleplay #da rp #da roleplay #dragon age inquisition rp #dragon age inquisition roleplay #dai rp #dai roleplay #cc x cc rp #cc x cc roleplay #cc x oc rp #cc x oc roleplay

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scurvgirl · 3 years ago

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For the writing prompts: soft AlisteirxWarden after the games conclusion and they finally get to sigh and the work isn't done but they have each other and the danger is gone. Alternatively, Iron BullxF! Inquisitor helping each other with stress relief

I want to do both, so keep an eye out for the AlistairxWarden fic at...some point.

Iron Bull x F!Trevelyan. Very naughty, featuring adult activities of the sexy sort.

Unlike her siblings that grew up in the cozy Trevelyan estate, Esme was not trained on diplomacy or catering to rich assholes to get what she needed. She was used to not having the chance to bargain, instead having to sneak around rules and prying Templar eyes to getting what she wanted. Now, all eyes were on her for different reasons - looking to her for guidance, for wisdom, and saving. It felt like a lie to say she could save them when she barely got out of Ostwick herself. But then again, she’d gotten pretty good at lying. What she had not gotten good at was having the patience to deal with these idiots and their coiffed hair, their shining lips, and perfectly pressed clothing.

After a morning full of draining negotiations with an Orlesian noble house, Esme had to get out. She couldn’t take their calculating eyes for another hour, their disapproving shifts as they felt her magic crackle in the space. While she loved her magic, it had grown more…unstable since the Anchor. She felt like she had a direct tap into the Fade and its power, which made her magic bigger, brighter, and hit harder. It saved all of their lives in combat, but it made negotiations uneasy as it crackled about her. Those with magic in their bloodlines felt it more keenly and apparently, this noble house had a secret mage or two in the haystack because they couldn’t stand her.

Esme’s long legs carried her out to the training ring she had installed a fortnight ago. She watched as two of Bull’s men sparred, their training swords striking hard and fast. Yes. Combat. Good. She had training to do herself.

Esme climbed into an empty ring, shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the fence before taking out the hilt of her spirit blade. She took a deep breath and brought the blade to life. She began to step through the practice forms, striking forward, back, to the swide, turning, keeping the flow of magic constant.

“Hey, Boss,” she was already sweating when Bull stepped up to the ring, “want a sparring partner?”

Her eyes darted to the side to see his grinning face on the other side of the fence. The blade wavered before she sent a new wave magic to it.

“If you think you can handle it,” she snarled. It wasn’t to be mean but to tell him in no uncertain terms exactly where her head was at. Bull’s grin turned devious and excited. He hauled himself up into the ring, sparring sword already in hand.

“Oh, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Bull readied himself but she was already moving forward. She had shit to work through and if Bull was offering this reprieve, she was going to take it.

“If mine is Katoh…what is yours?” She’d asked, naked and spent.

“Katoh as well. Makes things simpler.”

They knew the boundaries, knew what to listen for.

Her blade swung towards him and he easily redirected it. She was tall for a human woman, but Bull was well, delightfully and frustratingly massive, redirecting a blow from her was nothing. Esme expected it, let him direct her then turned and flicked her hand to shroud herself with her fade cloak. Bull’s own sword passed through her while she darted around him. Her blade retracted with the spell as the flow of her magic was redirected. When she rematerialized, she kicked up with her knee towards Bull’s midsection, which was now in kicking distance as he corrected himself from swinging and hitting nothing.

Of course, the kick didn’t really do anything. He grunted from the suddenness of the impact but turned quickly to swipe at her. She jumped back to miss the blow but stumbled, falling to the floor. She rolled into a fade step to avoid what she knew was either a kick or another sword hit. Esme used the last of the spell’s momentum to thrust her to her feet. She didn’t materialize the blade just yet as Bull was now on the other side of the ring.

Bull’s fighting style was different from Templars or guards or anything else in southern Thedas. He was a former Ben-Hassrath agent and the style threw a lot of their opponents off. But after fighting beside him for almost a year now, Esme had a good idea of how he operated.

Of course, he knew how she operated too.

When they collided, spirit blade met steel briefly before Esme turned, sheathing the blade and disapparating again. She maneuvered herself into his in-step, dropping the cloak to allow the force of her magic to thrust Bull backwards.

His grunt was from pain this time as he was sent careening into the fence. The wood cracked from impact.

Esme grinned, heart racing with excitement. Ozone and static filled the air. Shit, no, not now. She turned her attention to keeping the lightning out of the ring. Flinging Bull around was one thing, but electrocuting him was another. She didn’t want to actually hurt him. Bruises and cuts were taken care of easily enough, but a lightning bolt? She exploded enemies that way.

Bull was on her the second she was distracted. He barreled into her, sending her splayed to the ground. Fuck that hurt.

He was much faster than their enemies expected. He moved to crash down on her, but she forced a barrier up and out. For a brief moment, they saw each other’s faces. Hers of focused glee and his smiling…proud?

Esme reached up with her now glittering blade and tapped the broad side of it against Bull’s belly to indicate a potential abdominal hit. Not waiting for him to recover, she rolled towards his bad leg. She punched his brace, not hard enough to actually hurt him, but to let him know she could. He grunted, let himself trip but she was already in her fade cloak, slipping away.

“Couple of love taps won’t take me down, Boss!” He shouted as he moved to get back up.

Something in Esme shifted as she watched him from the safe confines of her cloak. The restless frustration that had driven her down to the ring was moving into a simmering determination. And arousal at watching Bull get all sweaty throwing her around.

She dropped the cloak, “Come and get it, big guy.” She blew a kiss then bared her teeth. Bull laughed as he charged, big strong legs taking him to her in two strides.

Esme let him get as close as possible until fade stepping to the side and forward. Her blade shimmered to life as she lifted it high to catch his horn close to his skull. Her focus ensured the blade was blunt. The force of the two spells and her momentum slammed him to his back.

She spun to rest the tip of the blade to Bull’s neck.

“Check,” she breathed, chest heaving from the exertion. Bull paused then laughed.

“Good one, Kadan! You’re getting better with that cloak!”

Someone on the sidelines shouted about collecting bet money but Esme didn’t care. She was looking down into the face of the man she loved more than anything. He always knew what she needed. He was so damn good at anticipating, from fights to knowing when she needed to get some rage out of her system in a way that didn’t involve exploding something, to knowing exactly what to do in the bedroom. Speaking of which….

“Tiebreaker?” Her voice was much softer to keep it between the two of them.

“Oh fuck yes.” She leaned down to offer him a hand up, not that it would do much, but habits and all that. Bull took her hand then pulled her down on top of him. His mouth found hers in a hot, quick kiss.

“Alright, everyone, clear the courtyard.” Esme heard Krem call. She pulled back from Bull to say she wanted to move this somewhere more private, but he was already moving. He was up on his feet with her slung over his shoulder in a moment.

Excitement flooded her body as Bull hauled her into Herald’s Rest and up to the room now reserved for when they couldn’t wait to get to their room in the main hall.

He carried her all the way up to a chorus of hollars and whistles. She saluted the downstairs and he slapped her ass.

Once they reached the room, Bull shifted her in his arms to toss her onto the bed. She stretched out languidly, hands already reaching up above her head and back arching.

“Come and get it, Kadan,” she purred. Bull may have only had one eye, but he could still make a girl wetter than the Fereldan south with his gaze. She returned his lustful eye-fucking, drinking in his glistening body that was hers and hers alone to explore and fuck.

Esme was one lucky bitch.

Bull reached down and hauled her up to begin quickly disrobing her. Her formal tunic, now damp with sweat, went first, followed by her now dirtied formal breeches. He paused only to shuck her boots and stockings off. Soon she was just in her underwear, standard corset and camisole.

Esme leaned up to kiss him, but he leaned back with a devious grin. “Not yet, kadan.” She pouted but did as she was told. He pulled her off the bed, turned her around, bent her over the bed’s end and kicked her legs apart. She gasped as arousal spiked in a sudden hot wet rush. Yes, use my body for something else, make me feel too much so I can’t think. I’m so tired of thinking.

He pressed up against her, lips pressing against her neck. She felt the evidence of his arousal, thick and needy, pressing against her backside. Unable to resist, Esme rocked back. Bull’s hand snaked into her hair and pulled her head to the side.

“What did I say? Not. Yet.” He pushed her forward. She felt then heard his hands tearing her underwear in two then tossing it to the side. His hand returned to give a slap on the ass, making her gasp in surprise.

“Bull!” Her back arched, her ass thrusting back.

He tsked his tongue, “Naughty girl.” He slapped her ass again, earning a similar response. Her skin stung and she wouldn’t have it any other way. It was always a balance for them - pain to make the pleasure feel keener, the pain itself becoming its own pleasure, its own release from the constant barrage of worries and stresses. There was no inquisition in this room, no Corypheus, or red templars. No mages and templars - just them and their bodies and these four walls.

Suddenly Bull’s mouth was on her, tongue slipping against her folds from her clit to her opening. A startled gasp morphed quickly into a moan as he took to eating her out with skill and enjoyment. His tongue teased into her, rubbed against her, flicked and licked until she was shuddering and moaning from the pleasure. Bull was relentless, sending her higher and higher until she was just about to fall into her release. He let her hover there for an interminable amount of time before slipping his fingers into her soaking heat. One finger, then two, then three - working to prep her for his size. His mouth returned to her and finally he coaxed her into a blinding rush of release. She cried out, seizing around his fingers. His mouth and fingers didn’t leave her. Instead, Bull continued to lave at her, his fingers thrusting and fuck. No. Yes. It was too much. Everything was too sensitive. It was too much. It was perfect.

Esme writhed, sobbed as she fought to experience more and to get away. She wasn’t bound by anything more than the desire to keep this going, and the struggle filled her with wondrous arousal. Fuck. It was too much. Not enough. It wasn’t. But it was.

Suddenly, Bull was gone. Before she could react, however, he pulled her back against him and buried his cock inside of her in a quick, hard thrust.

Esme cried out at the sudden stretch and orgasm that slammed into her. She spasmed, turned her face into the sheets, nails digging into her hands. Yes, yes, yes!

Bull didn’t move, just let her ride out the waves while impaled on his cock. Fuck, why wouldn’t he just move? Drag it out? More? Even as her body protested the idea of more, she was greedy.

Instead of thrusting, though, Bull pulled out, leaving her empty and aching. She whined in protest.

Bull chuckled, “You’re very demanding today, kadan.”

“A girl has needs, love.”

“She says after coming twice.”

“Mhm, don’t you want to make me do it again?” She wiggled her ass, “on your cock this time?”

“You know what? You’re a little chatty today.” She was being picked up, turned around, tossed onto the bed. Bull was naked and reaching for the rope they still kept in the room. Her heart raced in excitement. This is where Bull got really into it. Where he shone so bright and fucked so hard.

He set the rope down and pulled out a different thing made of fabric. Esme blushed as she realized what he was going to do.

“You wouldn’t -

He paused, eye looking over her and waiting for her to say it, to put up the boundary. She licked her lips, katoh hovering right there but no. She didn’t want to say it. Fear wanted her to, but she wasn’t afraid, not with Bull.

“You’d do that to my pretty mouth?” She pouted.

He grinned, “I’d do a lot of things to your pretty mouth.” He reached forward and gently, lovingly, gagged her. He paused again, waited to see if she tugged it down, but she didn’t. Instead, Esme whined and stretched out over the covers, flinging her hands above her head.

Bull took the hint. He bound her - not as tightly as normal, and with the rope that wasn’t enchanted to be magically resistant. She could escape if she wanted.

Esme never did.

Satisfied with his work, Bull reached down and tugged her camisole down, then reached into her corset and freed her breasts. He rolled his thumbs over her nipples and her eyes rolled in ecstacy.

“You’ve got great tits, kadan.” His lips sealed over a nipple and her mind briefly left her before returning to make her arch into his mouth.

Teeth grazed her nipple then gently bit. Fuck, that was good. Bull moved to the other breast, using his fingers continuing to worry the other nipple. He was coaxing her back to that precipice of pleasure, and she was all for it.

Esme’s hips rolled up to Bull and he pushed her back down. He stopped what he was doing to look her eye to eye, her chin held between thumb and finger.

“We’re going to have to talk about some more intense binding in the future, Kadan.”

She nodded her agreement to the statement. Bull smiled and kissed her nose. These moments, more than any others, she felt his love for her. These little pauses where he told her all she ever wanted to hear with his actions.

Bull pulled back to spread her legs as wide as they would go, baring her totally to him. She moaned at the exposure.

“Perfect.” He palmed his cock, got to his knees and pushed into her slow and tortuous. Her head turned in frustration as he kept it slow, but oh fuck, it was good. He was good. Once fully seated within her, Bull paused and smiled.

His hips canted back then he slammed back into her. Esme cried out at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. Bull set a brutal rhythm and she reveled in it, growing wetter and thrusting back against him as much as she could. His hand reached down to rub her sensitive clit, eliciting a cry from her.

Damn, it was going to happen again. He hadn’t even gotten close once and she was, it was. Fuck, yes, yes, oh -

The air started to fill with static and the smell of ozone began to penetrate the musk of sweat and sex.

Oh no, no, no not now!

She tried to focus on it, but Bull was good. Too good. His cock slammed into her and he ground against her. Oh fuck. Her pleasure crashed over her as magic flooded her body. Several things happened at once - the rope binding her hands caught fire and snapped apart and she naturally reached down to grip Bull’s ass. The magic flooding her sent her body into vibration to which Bull -

“ESME!” He cried, his rhythm suddenly frantic and erratic, thrusting mindlessly into her as he reached his own pleasure, pumping into her.

A wave of magic pulsed from Esme and she distantly thought out to dispel the flames starting to singe the sheets. Bull fell on her briefly before realizing his weight and rolling to the side, not before he removed the gag, though. Her lips were swollen and her mouth dry but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The room was filled with heavy breathing and the smell of sweat and sex. It was…perfect.

“What was that?” Bull asked after several long moments.

“It was…so good I lost control of my magic.” Esme smiled, turning to him.

“Sex can do that?”

“Apparently.” Esme leaned down and finally gave him a long, languid kiss. She was all set to cuddle and maybe make out a little when several knocks at the door rang through the space.

“Inquisitor! There are still talks. I understand you…needed…a break…” Josephine sputtered beyond the wood of the door. Esme groaned.

“Do I have to?” She whispered, more in defeat than actual protest.

“Hey, go get’em, show them exactly who the ass-kicking inquisitor is.” Bull slapped her still sore ass again and she yelped in surprise.

“Oh, alright, you win.” She gave him a quick kiss then hopped off the bed.

“I hope you have a change of clothes, Josie, because the ones I had are in quite the state.”

“I have them,” Cole’s voice sounded from the other side. Esme laughed but Bull shook his head.

“It’s still creepy.”

Thanks for the prompt!

If you like it, reblog it - feed your content creators, it’s good for the fandom environment. :)

I am still accepting prompts! Send them my way!

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #iron bull #iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull x f!trevelyan #iron bull x f!inquisitor #mage inquisitor #spicy #lemon #scurv writes #esme trevelyan #fanfiction

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jawsandbones · 5 years ago

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Anything with a fluffy iron bull and female trev! Love your work its amazing! Please and thank you!

He’s never been a fit for moreprecise work. With his mouth, his words, decisions… perhaps. With his hands?Never so. Give him a big fucking sword and he’s good to go. “Bull,” she says,reaching back, her smile reflected in the mirror. She puts her hand over his, stopshis movements. “It doesn’t need to be perfect.” He looks away from his work,into that mirror and yes, the frown is quite pronounced. He forces himself torelax, and gently swats her hand away.

“It’s gonna be.” She chucklesunder her breath, sits back in the chair. Her hand fidgets in her lap, playingwith the hem of her tunic.

“I should just cut it.”

“I can do this,” Bull says, “andbesides, I love your hair.” He pauses in crafting the braid to bring a strandto his lips, kiss her dark locks. He never thought a braid could be so hard.His fingers fumble, and it’s messy, loose. But he ties the end of it, drapes itover her shoulder to inspect. Her hand goes first to where the other should be –the tied sleeve, the cut above the elbow.

“Thank you,” she says as she wrapsher hand around the end of the long braid. She tilts her face upwards, puts herhead back against his belly. He puts his hands on her shoulders.

“I’ll get better at it anyway,” Bull says,looking down at her, “since I’ll be doing it every day.” She smiles, closes hereyes, rests her head against his arm.

#iron bull #the iron bull #inquisitor #iron bull x inquisitor #dragon age #bullyan #iron bull x f!inquisitor #iron bull x f!trevelyan #f!inquisitor #f!trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #dai #writing #mine #Anonymous

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awhekate · 2 years ago

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i started this in like 2019 and only just now finished it anyway i love bringing this party everywhere, we're having a good ol' gay time together

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #f!lavellan #sera x lavellan #sera x inquisitor #adoribull #iron bull #dorian pavus

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queenbol-of-baldurs-gate · 3 years ago

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White, Yellow and Gold

“She sees a white veil and a ring of gold, forgotten when she was still a bought sword, remembered in the times spent with you and when she clung to skirts taller than her.”

When The Iron Bull first dreamt of Ira, it was before he had even thought of taking her to bed, before their dragon tooth, before ‘kadan’. They were moving through the many hills in the Hinterlands, scorched and worn out by the clashes between Templar and mage. A single trio of bright yellow daffodils had sprouted by the roadside, a splash of light in the blackened grass. Back then, it was a passing observation.

Today it was a vivid memory.

Her head had tilted ever so slightly, magnificent horns arcing towards the cloudy sky. He could just see the edge of her cheekbone, a splash of red vitaar, and a loose curl of bone white hair. She was looking at the daffodils, he had realised. The pause in her step, her minute moment of hesitation- and then she continued on, leaving the flowers behind her, like so many other things.

“You let her dream of different versions of herself- people she wanted to be, places that she wanted to make. You are her dream now.”

That night, he dreamt of a never ending field of yellow daffodils. Ira was there, her familiar armoured back bare and her tight bun let loose, waves of white tumbling down her shoulders. He watched, enraptured, as her fingers caressed the flowers that seemed to glow against her slate grey skin, as if she was standing on the sun. They fit her beautifully. When The Iron Bull finally worked up the courage to call out to her, and she turned those deep, dark brown eyes to his, he woke up to a yell from outside of his tent- a call to battle.

He was back in his body, back in his life, and a pressure was building behind his heart.

The Iron Bull looked down at Cole from the small bar counter, the spirit-boy in question on the floor with his knees to his chest. He couldn’t see his face past the massive hat he still wore after all these years, but he knew he was trying to help. He was always trying to help. The Iron Bull grunted, leaning his chin onto his hand, looking back out to the court of Halamshiral, Ira still in the second meeting of the week, probably frustrated and tired. Though no one would be able to tell apart from him.

“I know, kid. I know.”

“You shouldn’t be scared- she won’t make you be her dream. She loves you as you are.”

“I know.”

Ira, in the three years they had been together, had never brought up the idea of marriage with him. She knew there was no marriage in the Qun, that it wasn’t necessary, knew that every day he chose her to be his kadan- loved her. When she had asked yesterday, it felt like his heart had dropped into his nut-suck. Not because she wanted to get married, but because she wanted to do it now, of all times. His instincts were raging at him that something was wrong, that something was coming at him from the horizon but he couldn’t see it. But when he told that beautiful woman that he would do whatever she wanted, ring, suit and all, she looked so openly and deeply happy that he couldn’t bear breaking that with his hungry questions.

“White, yellow and gold. If she could, she would be buried like that.”

Cole was gone before The Iron Bull could grab him and drag him up to see his face, nearly throwing himself over the bar, with the questions fit to burst from his lips. His heart thundered in his ears as he sat back, quietly but desperately rushing through his memory for her tells, anything that she did or said that would tell him that she needed help, that she was in trouble- that she needed him. When he was called to arm up, and they all stepped through the mirror, it suddenly clicked in his head as he stared at her strong, broad back. He hadn’t seen her body- or her hand- for well over a month now.

And she’s made no move to change that.

She was dying.

As she fell to the floor, clutching her left arm that seemed to have a will of its own, pain ravaging her, he knew she was dying. She knew it too. Stoic, accepting, unbreakable, she had stared it in the face all alone. Something that he both admired and despised in that moment.

He should’ve married her before all this shit. White dress, gold ring, daffodil bouquet. He should’ve made her the bride she’s always wanted to be.

Ira had cupped his cheek with her only working hand, her smile gentle, soothing and soul-breaking.

“Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we had together for anything. I love you.”

The Iron Bull felt like shattering into little pieces, so a piece of him could go with her when she goes.

“Love you too, kadan.” He hoped his voice was strong enough for her.

She would be breath-taking in white, he knew. White flowing dress and trail, trimmed with gold from her horns to her ankles, with yellow flowers in her hands and hair. She would walk down the aisle to him, barefoot and free, with a smile to hurt her cheeks and set alight those lovely dark eyes, and she would take someone like him as a husband and he would get to tell the world that she was his wife.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he wanted to cry- but the tears wouldn’t come, not when his kadan was being so brave, so insurmountable.

He would stand by her as a protector, a weapon, a heart, till the end came for them both.

#i got some good feedback and now that im visible i wanted to try posting........#i have many feelings for Bull and my Adaar #my writing #my ocs #dai #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fic #the iron bull #iron bull x adaar #iron bull x inquisitor #inquisitor adaar #adaar #f!adaar #trespasser spoilers

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halfblood-fiend · 8 years ago

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“Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.” or “Well, well. My night just got better.” Both?

Good news is: I used both. Bad news is: I didn’t even get to the smut yet when this was supposed to be a nsfw prompt.

EDIT: Now with a title and fully edited and tagged, lmao

Too Tired For This Shit

Some (maybe one or two) of you might notice that Breme Mac Tir is my Warden. Yes, you’re right. But in her worldstate she will also be my Inquisitor and when I was figuring out who she’d romance (Cullen, of course, crossing my mind because I’m nothing if not predictable) I decided that Iron Bull would be an absolutely glorious contrast because Breme has a lil secret: she’s my asexual OC. Since exploring myself, I’ve explored a lot with Breme and now she’s very near and dear to my heart. :3

Words: 2,683 words

Rating: Teen and up

Warning: there’s a naked lady, not much else yet

Breme wanted a bath. Desperately. She’d thought of little else over the course of the long day. Ever since she rode back into Skyhold. Ever since she had been sidetracked and yanked in every which direction from the moment she dismounted. She could feel the grime grating against her skin underneath the armor, felt the grime as she wiped her face. Breme was miserable but she never had the time.

As she trudged away from the War Room late in the evening, she hardly had the energy to be excited over the prospect of bathing anymore. She’d have to climb to her quarters in the tallest tower. She’d have to ring for the staff. They’d have to move her tub from her closet, boil enough water for her, bring it back up to her, then—Flames! Maybe at this point, she should just towel the worst of the dirt off her skin with the little washbasin on her dresser. It would be faster albeit less satisfying. Then, at least, she could fall into bed and get a full night’s rest before the hectic day started all over again tomorrow. After the weeks of travel, sleep in a real bed sounded better than anything. If it was worth the trouble, she could always call for a bath on the morrow.

Breme had all but decided she was going to be lazy tonight after all, forgo comfort for sleep. It took all her concentration to not fall over as she climbed the steps. She was making the right choice.

She smelled it before her head cleared the railing—the springy scent of rosemary lingering with mint and sweet honeysuckle—and then spied the blessed sight over the rails. Her large claw-footed tub stood in the center of the room, filled with steaming water. A stack of fluffy white towels sat on her bed, a neatly folded note atop them. Beside it was her bath salts and a sponge, waiting for her to finally use them after what felt like forever.

Breme half ran to it and snatched the parchment up—who had done this? Was it the Iron Bull? Upon the paper was a slim, elegant script that was definitely not her lover’s looping scrawl. After trading letters for ten years, she knew it all too well.

You deserve this, my dear. Enjoy.

Laying the note aside, Breme chewed her lip, a wave of guilt washing over her. Her father was many despicable things, but he seemed to always be there when she needed him most. Loghain must have been listening to her griping all the way to Skyhold. He must have found some way to coordinate with her advisors so the water would still be hot when she returned from their meeting. He went out of his way to do a sweet thing for her…Maybe she was too hard on him. She made a sheepish mental note to thank Loghain later and try to be kinder to him while he stayed with her.

But, Maker’s breath, he was right. She did deserve this. She stripped without another thought and threw her soiled riding clothes in a frumpy pile on the floor.

Breme poured her salts and oils into the still steaming water and when she reached an arm in to stir it, she shivered, a small moan escaping her. This would feel Maker sent. She eased one leg in and then another, grinning as gooseflesh rose across her skin. It was blessedly hot and soothing and Breme wished to savor each delicious moment.

Until the blasted bedroom door opened and closed with a hard snap.

Breme froze, eyes darting to the towels she’d left five feet away on the fucking bed, much too far out of her reach. Why hadn’t she grabbed one to keep near her? Stupid!

And who the fuck was coming after her now?!

As the heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs, Breme made the snap decision to dash for the towels. Hopping awkwardly from the tub, skidding dangerously on the stone floor, she made it only two steps when a deep voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Well, well,” the Iron Bull croaked, voice low, humming and husky. “My night just got better.” Breme’s face snapped to the stairs and she beamed. He threw her a lazy grin, his chin propped in his arms folded over the banister. Light danced in his eye and made her blush but Breme didn’t look away as his greedy gaze roved over her body. She dropped her outstretched hand, forgetting the towel entirely.

“You should know better than to enter a lady’s quarters without knocking,” she told him with a coy smile. They both knew the shyness was only skin deep, Breme was bold, bolder when he was there.

“I’ll have to remember that next time I want to enter a lady’s room, but you, Kadan, are no lady,” he rumbled with laughter. “Why don’t you go ahead and carry on as if I wasn’t here? Don’t mind me. I’ll just be enjoying the view.”

Breme laughed and went back to stir her water. She made sure to bend over and give an extra little shake of her ass for him.

The Iron Bull sucked a long breath between his teeth and exhaled slow. Fighting for control, she hoped. Breme smirked. She could hear the hitch in his breathing, practically feel his desire in the air like she was one wrong move from being whisked to the bed and taken. That was the way she always liked it, even if The Iron Bull would never do anything to her without her explicit permission, without her doing something first.

That basal need for sex was never strong for Breme, always variable, usually unnecessary, but tonight…tonight she decided she did want that little extra. For Bull.

“Care to join me?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Breme gave another shake of her hips that she hoped was alluring.

“Better not. I can’t be held responsible for what I might do to you. I’ve got a long list of fantasies and your daddy wouldn’t like a single thing on it. I’m not about to piss him off.”

Breme couldn’t stop the sulk that crossed her face. “Who would tell hiiii—” Her question broke off into a moan as she lowered herself into the tub. Maker, fuck, Andraste above, the water felt so damn good! Exhaustion melted off her in the dingy rivulets that tracked over her skin and dripped away the tension. She shivered and took a deep breath before sinking her whole head beneath the surface for a moment to slick her short black hair back.

“Feel good?” The Iron Bull asked, the echo of laughter warm on his lips as his boots clacked on the stones.

“Like nothing you’d ever imagine.”

A large hand captured her face and tilted it back. His lips seized hers in a hard kiss that stole Breme’s breath and sparked a fire that made her warmer than the water ever could.

The Iron Bull pulled away and smirked at her, the corner of his eye crinkling. “I think you underestimate my imagination.”

“I think you should show me,” Breme said with a wink and pointed at the soap and sponge on the bed.

He looked startled for a moment as he passed her what she wanted. The ever-uncertain part of her reared its ugly head and she wondered if she had she just made a mistake.

“When you say ‘show’ you…?”

Blushing a little, Breme busied herself with controlling the bottle of liquid that wanted nothing better than empty all its contents and go for a swim.

Why did she say that? How could she explain? This was why she had always preferred being alone. Keeping to herself was easier than having to explain again and again how she, someone who didn’t care for sex, would suddenly and inexplicably want it. Just because. As if not wanting sex all the time was inconceivable.

They had discussed her…peculiarity before. She had to after he had appeared in her room inviting her to “ride The Bull” and she had accepted because…well, because he was there if Breme was being honest with herself. At that exact moment, she had sex because having sex was simpler than turning him down or explaining her real attitude towards the deed. Afterward, she told him that wasn’t normal for her; not to expect it as the norm.

Breme had told him there were days when she would have sex and days she wouldn’t. Days she’d rather cuddle; days she’d rather tease. Days she may want it; days she’d be happier giving than taking. The Iron Bull, for his part, had shrugged and accepted it all. “You have your terms, I have mine. I think if you’re really interested, Breme, we can both get what we want,” he had said. And Breme had tentatively agreed. Though that dark voice in the back of her mind told her this would end quickly--just as Leliana’s fling had ended quickly. Yet to her surprise, it didn’t. The Iron Bull indeed gave her what she craved in companionship and in turn, Breme let him tie her up when she was feeling it, never needing to utter that strange word, “katoh.”

But her years had taught her to still be afraid, to still second guess herself. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want sex but today you do??” She was always ready for the accusation, the sting of irate words from someone who would simply never understand. It was exhausting in and of itself.

The Iron Bull reached over her and took the would-be escapee from her hand and she felt a chill drip on the top of her head as he poured soap on it for her. His fingers kneaded the liquid into a lather and Breme closed her eyes as he worked. She wondered not for the first time at how gentle he was being. How careful and controlled did the giant man have to be not to tear her ear off or injure her neck? With obvious care like he showed her, why did she continue to worry he would be annoyed with her…oddness?

“You’ve had a long day, Kadan,” he rumbled. “Are you sure? You know that I can get a little…”

“Crazy?”

“I was going to say ‘enthusiastic,’ but I’m touched to know you think so highly of me.”

Breme snorted as his soapy fingers moved to her neck, massaging out the tension there. “Well, you were the one implying you would tattle on me to my father earlier so…” He gave her shoulders a good squeeze and a little groan escaped her.

“I would do no such thing! I would never compromise being able to do this.” One of his hands reached into the water and he pinched Breme’s nipple, causing her to jump and slap his arm. Water sloshed out of the tub and The Iron Bull just laughed. The throaty sound of it washed over Breme and made her swell with happiness. His damn laugh was contagious and soon she was giggling right along with him. “Rinse, before you get soap in your eyes.”

Doing as she was told, Breme submerged herself and ran her fingers through her hair until it felt clean. When she emerged, Breme barely had time to take a breath before Bull was over her, kissing her again. This time he was fierce, tongue sliding against hers with urgency like he was trying to take something from her. Heat curled in her stomach, dull at first but kindling fast until he tore himself away from her with a grunt.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “You look so good with the water running off you like that. And I can still smell the dragon’s blood. You drank more recently, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Breme laughed, “something like last week. Does the smell linger that long?”

The Iron Bull buried his face in the curve of her neck and took a deep breath. His arms propped on the tub as he kneeled behind her, the fingers of one hand tracing lazy strokes over her bare thigh.

“Oh yeah, it does,” The Iron Bull sighed, nipping at Breme’s throat. “I love it.”

Breme reached up and touched his cheek with her hand, leaning into him for a moment. “Bull, earlier, I meant that–tonight at least–I feel like doing…something w-with you… It might just be a tonight only thing, of course. It just sort of seems like a good thing to do…right now, that is…” She sounded stupid, she realized, feeling the heat rise into her cheeks.

“Oh, no, no. Yeah, of course, I get that part, Kadan,” Bull rushed as if he hadn’t noticed her discomfort at all. He pulled away from Breme’s neck and rested his chin on her head. “The part I was unsure about was how you wanted me to show you. Am I describing everything I imagine? Or, if we were doing everything I imagine, I think you should hurry because we have to get started as soon as possible. I do have a very long list.”

Breme sniggered and smacked his arm again. “Just put soap on that sponge for me so I can get out of this bath and kick your ass.” She wanted to act as though she were annoyed but inwardly her heart was bursting to many times its size. Breme had doubted for nothing, she realized, and she had to tell herself so over and over again. Bull knew, he remembered, he didn’t ask questions, simply…accepted her, as he had since the beginning, as he likely would for as long as this arrangement went on. Perhaps one day she’d even be used to it.

“Ooh, I like ‘em with a little fight,” he said, the hand on her thigh squeezing for a moment before he moved to comply.

They enjoyed the other’s company while Breme finished bathing. Breme filled Bull in on the worst of her adventures in the Dales (“That sucks but the place sounds gorgeous, Kadan. Maybe next time Cullen won’t need to deploy the Chargers and I can go with you to see it myself.”) and the tense ride home with her irritable father and the newly recruited ex-Chevalier, Michel de Chevin (“Ha! I would’ve loved to have been there. I bet Loghain had a few things to say about that!) then Bull regaled the newest move the Inquisition had made against the Venatori (“It was great! You should have seen how many there were; it was 5 to one! I ran in and chopped this Vint’s head right off with one swing--it was glorious!). Breme bathed in contentment, even though Bull liked to dip his hands in the water and pinch her when she wasn’t looking. She got her revenge, splashing him enough that he looked like he could have been bathing himself. And the kisses. He covered her with kisses. In reality, it had only been a few weeks since they’d seen each other but it felt like entire Ages longer, and The Iron Bull kissed Breme like he couldn’t get enough of her. And Maker, she had missed him.

When she was finished, she wrung the sponge out several times and tossed it aside. “Towel?” Breme asked sweetly as she stood up, careful not to slip.

She looked up and—whip—Breme got a face-full of towel.

“Finally,” she heard The Iron Bull say before he wrapped a second towel tightly around her body and lifted her out of the tub and onto his shoulder.

“Hey!” Breme protested, muffled by fluffy linen. She cried out as Bull suddenly tossed her and she landed on the bed with a soft whuff.

The Iron Bull pulled the towel from her head, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re beautiful, Kadan, but you talk too much.”

“Ohhhh I’m gonna get you for that—”

His grin turned impish, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You can try.”

This is def getting a second part with some real smut I stg

#Dragon Age Inquisition #The Iron Bull #Iron Bull x f!Inquisitor #grey asexual #fluff #Fiend writes #inuy21 #Fiend answers #Breme Mac Tir #Breme x Bull #asexuality #ace OC #tbqh I feel another otp coming on?

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writingisjustsweatingblood · 2 years ago

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Fanfic Rec 002

Aneth Ara

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Boss is too straight-laced for her own good. For her sake and the Inquisition itself, the Iron Bull generously offers his services to help her relax, for once.

And gets...rejected?

Hm. That's new.

Basically "what if an Iron Bull/Inquisitor mage Lavellan romance was a slow burn friends to lovers, actually"?

#dragon age inquisition #fanfic rec #fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #currently unfinished #f/m #female inquisitior #inquisitor x iron bull #iron bull #this author really writes multiple POVs like a champ

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whatsgnat · 4 years ago

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Leslin/Bull ♡

B: "So, listen, I've caught the hints. I get what your saying. You want to ride the bull. Can't say I blame you, but I'm not sure you know what your asking. Not sure if you're ready for it."

L: "Oh I'm ready for it."

B: "See, you say that, but you really don't know what that means."

L: "So why don't you show me?"

《I'm sorry if this posted twice, but it didn't look like it posted on my end

Ok so I finally got here in my Re-do route and I couldn't not share it with ya'll! 🤭❤》

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vir-tanadahl · 4 months ago

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As the Moon Rises

Chapter 2: Ripples Beneath the Surface

[Ch1] [Ch2]

Before introductions were made, Isera quickly learned about her brother’s companions. The dwarf hails from Kirkwall. The human warrior? Nevarra. Then there’s the Tevinter mage and another human mage from Orlais. The elven mage… somewhere in the north, though no one seems certain. The elven archer claims Ferelden, while the qunari speaks of Par Vollen. Another human warrior calls the Free Marches home. But the dualist… there’s something off about him. Not quite human. He seems to shimmer like the Fade, faintly, like a ripple of light just beneath his skin. And humans—humans aren’t supposed to shimmer

Banreas guided Isera around Skyhold, introducing her to each of his companions. She committed each one to memory, careful to note their distinct impressions.

The dwarf, Varric, was a storyteller, painting vivid pictures of Skyhold with his words, describing its beauty in detail, as though trying to help her see it through his eyes. The human mage from Orlais, Vivienne, on the other hand, barely concealed her disinterest. She offered only polite smiles and empty pleasantries, keeping her distance. The Tevinter mage, Dorian, however, was far from subtle. He attempted to charm her, his voice dripping with self-assurance. “Ah, if only you could see me,’ he mused, ‘you’d know just how well-dressed and handsome I am.”

The elven mage, Solas, was polite, but there was a distance in his manner—guarded, as if wary of revealing too much. In contrast, the qunari, the Iron Bull, was loud, boisterous even, a perfect match for the equally spirited elven archer, Sera. Their laughter seemed to fill every corner of the fortress. The human warrior from the Free Marches--Blackwall? He gravitated toward the archer, the two of them trading dirty jokes like old friends, their banter easy and shameless.

The human dualist, Cole... wasn’t quite human, but what, exactly? Isera couldn’t tell. There was something off, something she couldn’t place, but it lingered in the way he moved, the way his presence felt just a little out of sync with the others. She wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the time. Not yet.

“And that’s everyone who travels with me,” Banreas said as they came to a stop along the ramparts, the cold mountain air brushing past them. “You met my advisors yesterday.”

He gently turned her toward the tower, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “And this is where you’ll be staying, once it’s rebuilt.” The tower loomed ahead, its stone walls weathered but sturdy, a quiet promise of the space that would soon be hers.

Isera kept her eyes lowered, quietly observing the workers below. They moved with purpose, seemingly unaware of her brother’s presence. Their hands worked swiftly, filling the cracks and gaps in the weathered stone walls, the rhythmic clink of tools echoing in the air. She watched, unnoticed, as they made quick progress, repairing what time had worn down.

“Ser!” one of the workers called out, having just noticed them. Without hesitation, he rushed forward to approach Banreas.

“Yes, what is it?” Banreas asked, his tone firm but patient as he turned to face the approaching worker."

“Ser, your orders were to rebuild this tower into an infirmary and living quarters,” the worker said, glancing between Banreas and Isera. “We were also informed that your sister is a skilled healer and potion maker. The men and I were thinking—it might be useful to install a small garden on the top terrace. It would be easier for Mistress Lavellan to access her ingredients that way.”

Banreas straightened at the suggestion, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds practical,” he agreed, before turning to Isera. “Sister, what do you think?” he asked, his tone softening slightly as he sought her input.

“I agree,” Isera replied, her voice steady but with an unmistakable spark of enthusiasm. “I brought a collection of seeds with me, and it would be far more convenient to have the plants nearby.” The thought of a garden above her stirred something within, her body almost humming with quiet excitement. The art of cultivating herbs and flowers was a delicate skill, one that few could truly master, but it was one of the few practices that brought her a deep sense of fulfillment.

“Good. We should have everything finished by the end of the week, ser,” the worker replied, bowing deeply as he brought his arm to his chest in a gesture of respect. Without another word, he turned and headed back to the work site, the sound of tools resuming their steady rhythm in the distance.

“Until then, you can stay in my room. We have a lot to catch up on,” Banreas said, guiding her toward the Commander’s office. As they approached, Banreas nodded in greeting. “Commander,” he acknowledged. “You wanted to see me?”

"Inquisitor, yes... Ah.” The Commander hesitated, his eyes briefly flickering to Isera. “Perhaps we should speak in private.” His tone shifted, more guarded now, as if weighing his words carefully.

Isera quietly observed the subtle shift in her brother’s expression. Banreas hesitated, the conflict clear in his eyes as he weighed his responsibilities. She could see the tension in his posture—torn between the need to attend to his duties and the reluctance to leave her alone so soon after her arrival.

“I can wait outside,” Isera said quietly, answering for him as she gently pulled her arm away. Still standing in the doorway, she took a small step back, making it easier to 'blindly' find her way out. Her movements were deliberate, a subtle reminder that she didn’t need to be coddled.

“Isera…” Banreas murmured, his voice softening as he reached out and gently grasped her hand. There was a hesitation in his touch, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let her go, even for a moment.

“Banreas,” Isera snapped, pulling her hand away with a sharp tug. “I’m blind, not a child.” Her tone was firm, cutting through the moment, a reminder that she didn’t need his overprotection.

The Commander snorted, barely containing his amusement. Banreas sighed, the weight of the situation still lingering. “Well, just don’t fall off the rampart,” he muttered, half-serious, though a hint of exasperation colored his tone.

“No promises,” Isera shot back, her voice laced with dry humor as she brushed her hand along the wall to guide herself out. The door closed behind her with a sharp clang. Once outside, she leaned into the cool stone, positioning herself at an angle that overlooked the tavern below. The sun, warm against her skin, contrasted with the chilled air, offering a brief moment of peace. She let herself settle into it, feeling the faint hum of old magic vibrating through the stone—magic long forgotten by men, but still alive beneath the surface.

Isera wondered how a castle as magnificent as Skyhold could have been lost to time, only to be rediscovered when disaster was nipping at the heels of the ragtag Inquisition. It felt almost too convenient, as though fate itself had intervened. Serendipitous, perhaps—but there was always a price for such fortune. She made a mental note to ask her brother later how they had stumbled upon Skyhold. Such a place couldn’t have been found by chance.

“Excuse me?” a nervous voice called from behind her, barely louder than a whisper. Isera could hear the uncertainty in it, the hesitance that came from not knowing how to approach her.

The human dualist who wasn’t quite human... What was his name again? Isera turned slowly, facing the direction from which she heard his voice. There was something about him that still unsettled her—a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice steady despite the sudden tension gripping her chest. She watched as he flinched, his movements nervous, clutching something tightly in his arms. A staff? Isera held her breath, her lungs seizing with fear. Did he know? How could he possibly know?

The elven mage, Solas, quickly stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Cole, remember—she cannot see,” he reminded the human who wasn’t quite human. Cole blinked, glancing around as if momentarily disoriented. “Right,” he murmured, his tone soft and almost apologetic. He turned back to Isera, a hint of urgency in his voice. “Please... hold out your hands,” he instructed, his gaze flickering nervously as he awaited her response.

Isera hesitated for a moment before slowly extending her hands, unsure of what to expect. "I made this. It’ll help," Cole said softly, as he gently placed the staff into her palms, the cool wood settled into her grip, its weight both unfamiliar and comforting. His words were quiet, almost tentative, as if unsure how she would respond.

‘Ah, a guiding stick.’ Isera’s fingers traced the length of the staff, feeling the smooth, polished surface interrupted by rough patches of wood. Her hands instinctively wrapped around it, absorbing its texture, the unevenness grounding her in the moment.

“Cole likes to help others,” the elven mage said, his voice carrying a note of fondness as he patted Cole on the back. “It’s in his nature.” There was a quiet understanding between them, as if the mage had grown used to Cole’s peculiar way of showing care.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Cole,” Isera replied, her voice softening as she spoke. She ran her hands over the staff once more, appreciating the gesture. There was genuine gratitude in her tone, though a hint of curiosity lingered beneath it.

Cole quickly shook his head. “It was Solas’s idea,” he replied, almost as if he wanted to shift the credit away from himself. His hands moved in nervous, habitual motions, brushing away invisible dust from his clothes. Solas. The name lingered in Isera’s mind, heavy with meaning, stirring something deep within her.

Solas shifted slightly, his expression betraying a flicker of surprise. It seemed he hadn’t expected to be credited for the gift, preferring to remain in the background. The weight of Cole’s words hung between them, and for a brief moment, Solas appeared uncharacteristically unsettled by the shared ownership

Before Solas could respond, Cole quickly added, “It was. I just helped.” He nodded, backing away with a quiet assurance. “I just helped. You’re happier now,” he murmured, his gaze flickering between them as if sensing the shift in Isera’s mood.

Solas remained silent, the moment passing before he could protest, while Cole’s simple words lingered, leaving Isera with an unexpected sense of calm.

The two watched as Cole hurried away, his movements a curious mix of discomfort and relief. It was as if he had completed his purpose and now sought refuge in his own internal world. Yet, despite his unease with lingering, there was an odd sense of comfort in his retreat, as though he had done exactly what he needed to, and that was enough.

The silence stretched between them, filling the space with unspoken words. Isera stood still, her head tilted slightly downward, feeling the weight of Solas’s gaze on her. Though her eyes didn’t meet his, she could sense him watching, his presence unmistakable, as if searching for something beneath the surface.

He was assessing her, his gaze deliberate and unguarded. Solas made little effort to hide the subtle shifts in his expression, every thought seemingly etched across his face. Isera could feel the weight of his scrutiny, as if he was searching for something beyond her words, something deeper.

They were alone, and Solas had no idea that she could, in fact, see him. His expressions, so openly displayed, were not lost on her. Each glance, each flicker of thought played across his face, unaware that Isera was quietly observing it all, hidden behind the veil of her supposed blindness.

“You are Dalish, are you not?” Solas asked, his voice calm but laced with quiet curiosity. He watched her closely, his tone casual yet probing, as if searching for something beneath the surface of such a simple question.

The question caught Isera off guard. Her head tilted slightly, surprise flashing across her face. “Why?” she asked, incredulity coloring her tone, as if the simplicity of the question masked something deeper she hadn’t anticipated.

Solas seemed to catch the oddness of his own question, his expression softening slightly. “My apologies,” he said smoothly. “You are related to the Inquisitor, who openly declares his Dalish heritage. His face bears the vallaslin, yet yours does not. I was merely curious.” His tone remained calm, but there was an unmistakable flicker of interest behind his words.

Isera snorted. "Says the elf. Are you Dalish" she retorted, watching as the question turned his own inquiry back onto him. For a brief moment, she saw him bristle, the slightest tension crossing his features—an instinctive reaction to having the spotlight shifted to something far more personal.

Solas’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “How do you know I’m elven?” he asked, his tone measured but probing, as though testing her in return. The question carried a quiet weight, as if he were seeking more than just a simple answer—something deeper, something hidden. He is suspicious of her blindness.

“Banreas described the physical appearance of his companions to me,” Isera replied smoothly, the lie slipping effortlessly from her lips. It was sweet and convincing, but as she finished speaking, Solas continued to stare her down, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

There was a long pause, the air thick with unspoken thoughts, as if he was weighing the truth in her words, peeling back layers she hadn’t intended to reveal.

“You met many of his companions, yet you recognized who I was?” Solas pressed, his tone calm but insistent. There was no mistaking the quiet intensity behind his words, as if he was gently but firmly peeling back the layers of her story. His eyes remained fixed on her, searching for any crack in the lie she had so easily spun.

“Of course,” Isera replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “He made it clear you aren’t fond of the Dalish, and mentioned the heated argument you two had. He called you… what was it?” She paused, her lips curling into a slight smirk before continuing in Elvish. “An arrogant asshole.” She was testing him, baiting him. And in the subtle tightening of his jaw, the brief flicker in his eyes, she saw that he had taken the bait.

“I have seen what the Dalish falsely claim,” Solas responded, his voice calm but carrying an edge of disdain. “They are children, grasping desperately to a past that is untrue.”

His Elvish was impeccable, fluid, yet different—some of the words familiar but not quite the same, and his accent... it was unlike any she had heard before. It left Isera wondering, where was he really from?

“Why, were you there?” Isera retorted, a playful challenge in her tone as she twirled the walking stick in one hand. The movement was fluid, almost defiant, as if she were emphasizing her point with every rotation. Her eyes glinted with curiosity, daring him to explain his perspective further.

At her statement, Solas’s body tensed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. It was subtle but unmistakable, as if her words had struck a nerve. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension, leaving Isera to wonder what lay beneath his composed exterior.

“I have visited places long since forgotten by this world,” Solas said, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I have glimpsed parts of history that many no longer remember. I tried to share this with the Dalish, and they refused.” He stood with his arms crossed, his posture rigid, back stiff as a board, a clear indication of the tension simmering just beneath his composed facade.

“Right, you’re a somniar. A fade-walker,” Isera replied, a hint of admiration slipping into her voice. It was almost impressive—he possessed an ability she had struggled with for years, only managing to control her own dreams with little success. Yet she wouldn’t let him see her intrigue; she held onto her guarded demeanor, determined to keep her own abilities hidden.

“I am,” he replied, his voice harsh, the edge unmistakable. Isera sensed the annoyance simmering beneath the surface, a reaction to her implication that he was a know-it-all. The air between them crackled with unspoken frustration, leaving her to wonder just how much his experiences had shaped him—and whether her words had struck a deeper chord.

“I’ve met one before. A halfling fleeing to Tevinter for training,” Isera said, her tone thoughtful as she turned to lean against the wall once more. A hint of nostalgia crept into her voice. “I hope he made it.” The memory lingered, a reminder of the fragility of their paths and the risks they took in pursuit of knowledge.

Isera waited, leaning against the wall, sensing that he was not expecting this shift in topics. There was a stillness in the air, a quiet tension as she studied him, curious if he would approach. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, processing the unexpected direction of their conversation.

"Halfling?” Solas echoed, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. The word seemed to hang in the air, drawing his attention as he regarded her with newfound interest. It was a term that sparked questions, and he appeared eager to understand more about the context behind her words.

“Half-human, half-elf,” Isera explained, her tone steady as she shared the memory. “His mother was Dalish. He needed help to be awakened from his sleep. The Dalish tried to teach him to control it, but we rarely see fade-walkers in the clans—they usually die young. It’s more common to find them northward.”

Her words lingered in the air, painting a picture of the struggles faced by those touched by the Fade, a reality she had come to understand all too well.

Isera made a noise that was half a hum, half a sigh. “Anyway, of course, the Dalish did not want to hear it. It's rude to walk into a clan as a stranger and tell them their history is wrong. To claim that you—what the Dalish would call a flat ear—know everything, as if you’re some sort of god.” Her words dripped with irony, reflecting her understanding of the delicate balance between truth and tradition in their culture.

Isera watched as his face contorted in disgust, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “I never claimed—" he began, his voice taut, as if bracing himself against the weight of her words. The tension between them thickened, each trying to navigate the unspoken complexities of their conversation.

“How do you convince someone the sky is not blue, I wonder?” she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. A playful hum escaped her lips, the question lingering in the air like a challenge. It was a moment of lightness, yet it carried an undercurrent of seriousness, hinting at the difficulty of shifting deeply held beliefs.

The door leading to the Commander’s office swung open, and Banreas stepped out, his gaze instantly landing on the two of them. The air shifted as he assessed the scene, a mix of curiosity and concern flickering across his features. It was clear he had interrupted something—what, he couldn’t yet tell.

The tension in the air was palpable, despite Isera's grin. “Banreas, pray tell, is that you?” she asked, her voice sweeter than it had any right to be. The playful tone masked the weight of the moment, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she watched her brother’s reaction.

“What were you two talking about?” Banreas questioned, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized them both. He was no fool to the provocation of his sister's antics, and the tension in the air only heightened his instincts. The playful exchange between Isera and Solas had clearly stirred something beneath the surface.

“Solas admitted he needs to work on his people skills. He’s a bit rusty from his lonesome travels,” Isera replied quickly, a teasing lilt in her voice as she reached for her brother’s arm. Her playful tone lightened the moment, but the underlying tension still hung in the air, waiting to be addressed.

“I did not!" Solas gasped in offense, his arms instinctively pulling behind his back as if to shield himself from her teasing. The surprise in his voice was genuine, but the playfulness of the moment hung in the air, lightening the tension that had just been present.

“Look, he even had help crafting a walking stick for me, brother,” Isera said, a playful smile spreading across her face. “Such kindness can only be seen in someone with improving social skills.” Her tone dripped with irony, as she glanced at Solas, clearly enjoying the moment of jest.

Isera watched as her brother slowly shifted his gaze between the two of them, assessing the situation with a thoughtful expression. He seemed to weigh the decision of whether to engage in the banter. “That is a kind gesture,” he finally said, his tone measured but with a hint of warmth, acknowledging the moment without fully diving into the playful exchange.

Isera caught a glimpse of Solas from the corner of her eye, noticing the way his expression darkened into a glower of annoyance. The contrast between his irritation and the lighthearted banter around them added a subtle tension, making her smile widen just a bit more.

His shoulders were tightly pulled back, head tilted slightly back as he frowned, clearly annoyed. Isera decided she was done egging him on for today, sensing that pushing further might only deepen the tension. With a playful smirk, she shifted her focus back to her brother, leaving Solas to stew in his irritation.

“I’m quite tired, brother. Can you please escort me to your room?” Isera requested, her voice softening as she gently tugged on his arm. There was a hint of vulnerability in her tone, a silent acknowledgment that she felt more comfortable with him by her side.

Banreas nodded, linking arms with his sister to guide her away. "Good day, Solas," Isera called out teasingly as they walked by, her tone light and playful. Solas remained silent, his expression still clouded with annoyance, leaving the air thick with unspoken words as they moved further away.

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mydrug-is-dragonage · 4 years ago

Text

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

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