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meowsgirldrawing · 1 year ago

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Dorian and his elven daughter

Word Count- 2,706

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“Oh, fuck that.”

Dorian laughs, gripping the amulet in his hand tightly. His laugh echoes against the interior of his office, which is big enough to be considered a master bedroom honestly. He hears Bellatrix’s giggles emit from the crystal as his calms.

“I mean, the guy acts like an indecent asshole-”

“Are there any decent ones?”

“ You would know. ANYWAY-,”

Dorian bursts into more laughter.

“then turns around, acting shocked when you give it back to him- mind you, in a civilized manner. Jeez. Tevinter sounds great. ” She retorts, causing him seconds from wheezing in his chair.

After a moment, he breaths. He leans back in his chair and chuckles finally evening out. His hand holds against his chin, smiling wryly, “Maybe you can come to the next Imperial sphere, it’ll be grand! We can comment on the man’s attire- scare him into thinking the worst.”

“ Oh dear! I saw the Inquisitor and Magister Pavus speaking ill, I hope my luscious seat still shines afterward! ” Her voice deepens, the scornful attempt at a Tevinter accent could make his grandparents and father turn in their graves.

“I thought you didn’t like your former title though? A change of heart maybe?” He teases.

“Dor Dor, I’ve had to accept by now that it will follow me to my grave and even afterwards, whether I want it to or not. Might as well get some use of it.” She shrugs in spite of the fact he can’t see it, “Especially against some entitled, fucking wise-ass who tries to insult one of my favorite nieces.”

“Yes well, you’ll be glad to know that he not only looked like the most miserable, silliest person there, but I saw him practically run out with his tail between his legs soon after.

She snickers, “Good.”

“Thankfully, there was no falter in the new arrangements so everyone matter-of-factly expected Briva and I at the next gathering without trouble.”

A low whistle, “Damn, Dor, look at youuuu! Already some change in the social rank. Metaphorically, of course.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Tis similar, still have much more work that will last well over a lifetime or two.”

“Yeah, well- good thing you- wait… FUCK! TURNIP, NO!-” A thud, Bellatrix coughs, and some shuffling. Dorian pauses, looking down at the crystal in his palm. It flicks from light to off, indicating more to the commotion. He hesitates, “Bella?” He taps it, all the same of knowing it’s alright- just something to check, “Bellatrix? Is everything alright?”

Soon, the crystal shines bright again with the elf’s voice coming through, albeit, breathless.

“The dog…jumped..on me.” More shuffling, “I think he heard my.. grt- whistling. …This is why I’m a cat person.”

He breaks into laughter as she huffs, “Are you alright?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, fucker.” She growls, her tone still light.

“Ass.”

“Shit-talker.”

He goes to continue their game when he notices Gilmi, one of the head servants of his household, standing nervously by the door, waiting patiently.

“Bella?”

“Yeah? Is everything alright?” She clearly picked up his change of tone.

“Not sure. I’ll send back for you once I’m done.”

“Got it, Dor Dor. Tell Briva her favorite Aunt said hi.”

He motions for the servant to come in, snickering, “You know she has close to 6 other Aunts, yes?”

“Un-noted. Take care.”

“You do the same.” The connection cuts and he stashes the amulet carefully back into his desk, giving the servant his full attention.

“Is something the matter, dear?”

“Not…exactly sir, Miss Briva is the library. Uhm, something occurred and now she’s scared. Mister Jervah told me to just come get you.”

The moment Dorian heard the second line, he jerked from his chair, his gut clenched. He doesn’t waste time, quickly thanking the elf before making his way down to the library. The clicking of boots doesn’t help his nerves. They only add to the ever-growing fear, his hands tight, and mind racing at any horror his daughter was frightened of.

Possibilities flood though. An assassin paid to kidnap or hurt her- Well, he knows the guards would have stopped and alerted him immediately, but still…. An animal at the window?- Briva absolutely adores them, she would have been running in, wanting to show him honestly. A book she shouldn’t have read, Then again, he holds all of the spell tomes or spell-based ones on a high shelf or locked in his office, safe……STILL-

Arriving at the doors, he makes haste in opening and coming through.

All right, time to throw all the previous worries out the window, along with his sanity- specifically the barely hanging nail one from across the room, shattered glass scattered around on on top of the window seal. One that completes the look of a tornado, fire, and ice-mixed wonderland.

Books are thrown off shelves, some burned with others frozen in crystal cold. The curtains scorched from the bottom up, continuous crackles hitting his ears. The floor has puddles of water, as well as short layers of ice in some spots- his foot almost slips but he steadies himself on a half-burned desk near the door.

He trudged slowly around the room, tensely looking everywhere with wide, fearful eyes, also casting out swift but small spells to counter the others. All the while, calling out for his little girl. Fear has him caged at this point; with all this mass of destruction, no wonder his little one was terrified.

“Briva, darling. Papa’s here, I-”

“Ser Pavus,”

He turns, presently holding a piece of paper, one that Briva had obviously been working on beforehand. The ink was fresh and oily.

“Jervah, where’s my daughter?” Maintaining his calm and ever-resounding nature in his voice. In spite of this, the older elf looks upon him with understanding. He motions towards the door across the library. It’s an extra room, made specifically for when he and Briva are focusing on her studies.

As Dorian crosses the foothold, Jervah speaks up assuringly, “I let the others know to leave you two be. You will need it.” Not understanding this but knowing he will soon, the Magister nods, before returning to his most important.

He casts a minor spell, a light orb that lights up the room. “Briva?...Briva, honey.” His voice is tight, trying his damndest to sound heartening- despite his own heart currently moving-

He stops at the shuffling. Moving the orb closer in its direction, he sees a small figure under the middle table- scooting further under it as if to hide from the light. He sighs, relief flooding over him when realization hits.

Dorian takes his time, hands behind his back as he sends multiple orbs around corners of the room, lighting it up more until it turns into a soft, light blue hue. Her favorite color.

“...Briva? Is everything alright, my dearest?”

She doesn’t respond, concealing her face in her knees, arms wrapped around her tightly. With a kneel, he takes notice of the ice around her fingertips.

Oh..

He blinks.

So that’s what happened….Another wave of relief, Her powers just manifested. That’s all..

Now, he speaks up, “Briva, dear, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

She takes a moment before shaking her head, just barely. “Do you want to come out?”

Another shake of the head.

“Alright,” He sits down and tucks his legs under him. His robes fell around him, touching the ice residue and crowding around the two of them. She moves her head up quickly.

“No!”

He stops, looking at her.

She gnaws on her lip. Her eyes were blotchy and red, with tears streaming down her bubbly cheeks as her pointed ears droop slightly.

“Y-you’re gonna mess up y-your outfit.”

Dorian can’t help himself- a short laugh escapes from him. Mae, the loving sport, was always saying how Briva could be his blood by how she acted at times; it’s clear as ever even now. Still chuckling at her confused and worried look, he gently coaxes her out from the table.

“Please, it’ll soon be water. It’s fine, I promise.”

She’s hesitant, bunching her light florid, green dress in her tiny hands. Reluctantly she moves and settles into his lap. Now sensing she wasn’t in trouble, she buried her face into his chest. Unfortunately, she starts tearing up again when his arms wrap around her in a tight, but soft cradle.

The patient quietness gets mellowed out as Dorian runs a soothing hand through her curly hair, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She doesn’t speak but nods. “What about your hands? Are they cold?”

A pause before another small nod.

“Here.” With an easy hand, he warms it just enough yet pauses when she flinches. He frowns, concerned. Briva has never been afraid of his magic. Nor Mae’s, Estel’s, or any other of her mage Aunts and Uncles. Curious yes, but never frightened. Only when she sees it in public or from other Magisters in general is when she gets somewhat nervous- that’s when he pulls her closer as to soothe her thoughts.

Kaffas- she just discovered herself that she has mage blood and after experiencing something such that is emotionally reeling to most young ones- especially at her age! Dorian curses inwardly at himself. The first thing I go and do is use one of the main elements.

Dorian moves his hand away an inch, “Is this alright, dear?”

She looks up before glancing down at his hand. She gives a small nod and lends her hand back.

As the frost disappears from her fingers, Dorian leans his back on the table side. It digs into his upper back, but he pays it no mind. He could care less when his daughter is his main concern at the moment.

“What happened?” Her body stills at the question.

“Briva?”

“... I-im sorry.. ” Dorian tilts his head, “Whatever for, my dearest?”

Her hands wipe her eyes, sniffling and whimpering. “I ruined the Library. The b-books are ruined! I-i didn't mean to- I was only reading what Mister Jervah gave me and then-,” A small sob escapes her, tearing at his heart. Every urge in his body fights against the instinct to hug her tightly to him, to hide her away from it; as much as he wants to, she needs some room to speak.

“A-and then! -Ice and fire came… I think I h-hurt Mr.Jervah!” Briva cries.

“Mr.Jervah said he was alright, dear. No need to worry.” He assures, brushing the curly hair from her face.

“B–b-but, in the Library! I-”

“The books, curtains, and any other affected object there can be replaced. You cannot, however.”

Briva looks down as her hands fumble in her lap. “..I’m sorry, papa..”

Dorian smiles, pulling her closer, “Briva, darling.”

She glances back up. The tears get gently wiped away by him, swiftly pulling down his long sleeve to dry her cheeks. As he does this, he continues, “Dear, you know what happened exactly, yes?”

She pauses. “I’m like Papa?”

He chuckles, nodding along, “Yes, you have what many consider, mage blood. You will learn more as you grow, but, “ He adjusts himself, still holding Briva in his lap, “You understand what that means, correct.” He checks.

“Yes, But,” She bites her cheek, “Isn’t it…dangerous? Aunt Mae said some people think mages are scary.”

He sighs, “Unfortunately people believe that, of course. It’s just like how many believe your other father is a scary beast all because of his appearance.”

“But father is nice! He’s not a beast.”

“I know that. But it’s an undeserving fact, sadly.”

She goes quiet again. A less tight grip on her dress, the same one that bundles around her, barely touching the ground underneath her father’s lap. She studies the way to fabric lay, thinking through her next words. Dorian is patient, only humming and brushing through her hair contently.

She’s hesitant, “ Can I…can I use my magic like yours?” She looks up, “Like how you used it to help Aunt Bellatrix and Estel?”

He smiles as she continues, “You said you only use it when the aid for people is needed, you helped people…I wanna do that.”

“With time and careful studies, indeed. It can be done, my dearest.”

It’s almost like she was never crying, never scared- her bright smile grew on her face before she erupted in giggles and hugged him. Like every time, he never hesitates to reciprocate, holding her close as chuckles leave him.

After leading her out of the study, Dorian and Briva find Jervah standing near the entrance of the Library. His grin matches Dorian's, as he greets Briva, who runs up to him with a worry in her brow. “Mister Jervah! Are you alright?”

The older man chuckles, kneeling down, “I am alright, madam. No need to worry.” She gives a shy smile and hugs him.

As Briva talks with Jervah, Dorian’s happiness starts to dwindle. Slowly and awfully as new anxiety kicks in. She’s a mage. His hidden gaze ponders over his daughter, who’s giggling as Jervah holds her up.

An elven mage….In Tevinter .

She’s going to have many troubles try and run through her. People are going to look upon her as nothing other than a unique piece for a stealer’s collection, or an unwanted soon enemy. People will want to hurt her.. His darling little girl. The dear one that his husband, Fuliz, saved close to 6 years ago.

Well….He perks up, “Briva?”

She looks over, smiling, “Yes, Papa?”

“Would you like to go with Miss Gilmi and get cleaned up? Papa and Jervah will take care of things here.”

She tilts her head, “Surely I can at least gather the saved books?”

Oh bless her , he instead shakes his head but keeps his smile plastered, “I’m quite sure, my dearest.” Leaning down, he welcomes her quick hug, placing a kiss on her head, “Run along now, we’ll be fine.”

With a nod and a small grin, she does so. Grabbing onto Gilmi’s outreached hand, she waves as the two leave.

He waves back, waiting for them to be completely out of view before he speaks in a quiet but firm tone, “Jervah, for now on: please notify the guards and staff to keep an extra eye on all entrances, no matter the circumstances. And if anything happens that concerns Briva or strange behavior from staff, tell me immediately.”

“Of course, sir.” Jervah bows, and makes his way out. Dorian turns, hands behind his back as he casts out spells. As chairs and tables float back to positions, the curtains being pulled down for replacement, and frost being melted and dried away, he stands near the window. His eyes ogle at the gate that guards his home.

He once felt shame and dishonor for who he was, for where he was from, for his decisions on who to love and be around. He feels his jaw clench, no matter what, he will make absolutely sure Briva will not ever feel the same still lingering feeling he feels now.

While his fears from before have just become stilling nightmares and comments he can now brush off without a blink,

While he now has a wonderful and sweet husband waiting to come visit him and their girl in between mercenary missions,

While he has multiple friends all over Thedas that wouldn’t think twice to help him when heeded-

The judgment and disdain from his peers continue like an endorsed flame. People look upon him and send assassins of words or people in their wake, in their distaste. People fight to stop his coming dent in their country, and all would turn towards his little girl when she joins his side. All for her pointed ears and now magic.

Well…he smirks lightly, spinning back to the room and out the door.

They best send their biggest armies at him and his own growing power, cause the Fade will have to destroy itself before he allows any of them to even step a foot near her.

She is his daughter, no matter the blood. As long as he lives and breathes, she doesn’t have to be afraid. Never like he once was.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #Dorian pavus #Brivia Pavus #Dorian is a dad #papa dorian pavus #oc insert #Dragon age fanfic #Post Tresspasser #male adaar #Fuliz Adaar #dorian x inquisitor #Dorian x male adaar

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taslin-strider · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1 - beneath the stars, between the mountains

I started writing my Cassandra x male Adaar fic about a year ago, and at this point I update it once a month. Here's the first chapter if you want to check it out! It's a modern grad school AU set in Haven, with a coffee shop, sports teams, a supernatural mystery or two, and themes of chronic pain and grief.

Although this chapter is SFW, please note that the overall fic is rated Explicit/18+, minors DNI.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41369142/chapters/103738425

Content warning for this chapter: chronic pain from an old sports injury

---

Cassandra likes her espresso. She’s honing her technique. Between work, grad school, and fencing, there isn’t time for much else, although she wishes there were.

Tuesday morning, the assistant hockey coach orders his usual. It’s full of caramel (ugh). His deep, warm voice carries over the chatter and her heart pounds. Meraad.

She’s been stealing glances at him for the past few months. He’s around her age, maybe thirty at most, with handsome, slightly tired-looking features and dark hair that he keeps neatly tied back behind his curved horns.

He usually leans against the wall and reads a paperback while he waits. He took a seat nearby once, but the table was too low for a seven-foot-tall qunari. So, he got up from the too-short chair and turned it sideways before sitting down again, apparently unfazed. This must happen a lot.

The bar stools at the counter under the window have adjustable heights. He could stay for a while and watch the street scene, but for some reason he never does.

His paperbacks have creased spines and dog-eared pages. Once, Meraad looked up and caught her squinting at the back cover of his latest read. He raised his eyebrows and turned the front cover toward her. Well, now she knows he’s a fan of Varric Tethras, and he knows how quickly she can turn beet red.

Cassandra makes the horrible drink with too much caramel, wondering why he likes it. She wonders a lot of things about him. He’s never been anything but friendly and courteous, which she appreciates. A few customers have tried to flirt with her, and all it’s done is make her anxious. They can leave; she can’t.

“Thanks, take care,” says Meraad, at the pickup counter. His eyes are so kind.

“You, too.” It’s the same response as always, but this time, she decides to smile.

Meraad looks startled, but he smiles back. One of his incisors is crooked.

Cassandra begins another order and runs her tongue over her teeth.

---

The rink is covered with ice shavings and trails sliced by skate blades. Meraad stays after practice to talk with Bull about the upcoming game. They sit in the bleachers under the fluorescent lights and go through their notes, coach and assistant, conversing in Qunlat.

The Frostback Heralds had a wobbly start this season, but they’ve held on to a decent ranking in the league. They have a good chance of making it to the championship tournament this spring, in Denerim. Where, of course, they’ll face the highly ranked team from Corypheus University.

“To old rivals,” says Bull, clinking their metal thermoses together in a toast.

The hot cocoa slides down Meraad’s throat. It's not coffee, but it's still pretty good. He thinks of a certain barista with kohl-rimmed eyes—what was that smile about, early this morning? She's usually kind of brusque with him. Not that he cares, or anything. It just so happens that her caramel lattes are the best damn coffee in Thedas. That's what he's there for, and nothing else. Small pleasures, right?

It really isn't worth thinking about. Nope, not at all. Meraad has kept his skates and practice gear on, so he decides to get back out on the ice. It's something that he'll enjoy in the moment, but is bound to make his physical therapist sigh with frustration when he fesses up.

“Shootout, boss?”

Bull grins, never one to pass up a challenge. “You’re on.”

---

Cassandra parries and ripostes. She aims for Leliana’s shoulder, misses, and feels the swift jab of an epee in her side. Completely unguarded.

“That is why you will make it to the finals this year, and I will not,” she says afterward, in the locker room. Steam wafts over from the shower cubicles. The last of their teammates has just gone home.

Leliana’s copper hair is plastered to her forehead. She folds her sweaty uniform, briefly grimacing at its state. “Give yourself some time. You've just been focusing on your research.”

“Such as it is,” says Cassandra wryly, as she packs her helmet into her duffel bag.

“Stop that!" There's a hint of a laugh in Leliana's voice, but Cassandra knows she means it. "We all have rough days. Maybe you just need to trust yourself on this.”

“So I should trust myself to be rash and impulsive?”

Leliana shrugs. “You’re more direct than me. You see what needs to be done, and you do it. I like that.”

It’s true, at least. Cassandra decides to take the compliment.

Leliana switches the subject to something easier, and they keep talking as they push open the gym doors, facing mountain peaks wreathed in sunset.

---

Cold, clean autumn air gusts through the dining room window, sending a lightning streak up Meraad's left hand. He drops the red pen with a grunt of pain.

He shouldn't have messed around on the ice after practice yesterday. It's easy to forget why he ended his professional hockey career, since the mysterious nerve injury doesn't bother him too much anymore unless he overtaxes himself. Temptation.

Bull noticed the problem before Meraad was willing to admit it to himself. It’s uncanny how much the guy picks up on. If Bull hadn’t glided over for a clap on the shoulder and told him to go home and get some rest, well, Meraad isn’t sure if he would have said anything. He would have stayed out there on the ice, caught up in pretending that he was still a grinder back on the Amaranthine Bears. He can just hear his younger brother’s exasperated sigh when he tells him about it on their next phone call. Then he'll tell their younger sister, and it'll be a whole thing…

The pile of midterm papers waits patiently as Meraad shuts the window and massages his hand. He casts a simple warming spell to ease the pain. Ah, there we go.

It’ll tide him over until his appointment tomorrow and get him through his work in the meantime. Being a TA this year is an energy sink, but to be frank, he needed the money. He also needed more on his resume. Who knows how long this coaching thing will last.

These days, it doesn't hurt as much to think long-term.

---

Friday night means dinner and a movie with friends. Cassandra knocks on the apartment door and Josephine pulls her in for a lavender-scented hug. From the kitchen, Leliana shouts a hello.

They talk through an Antivan action movie and devour an Orlesian-style roast chicken. Midnight comes and goes, and they sprawl on the sectional in a tipsy haze. Josephine untangles the recent drama in the international relations department, semi-incoherent and giggling behind her hand. Leliana shares travel photos from her long-distance girlfriend. They crowd around to see the jagged heights of the Hunterhorns and the spectacular stained glass windows of Serault.

All the while, Cassandra sips her wine and holds a small secret close to her chest, until her friends notice (oh, but of course) and pry it out of her.

---

When he has a sliver of free time and no particular plans, Meraad likes to go for a browse in the used book shop near campus. There’s that vanilla smell of old paper, and the aisles aren’t too cramped for his large frame. It’s a respite from grad school and hockey.

The counter is deserted this afternoon. A few bright chords float out of the back office, followed by a discordant note and muffled curses as Hawke tries to follow a new piece of sheet music on his lute. Meraad finds his way over to the room marked Genre Fiction.

He steps through the door and almost walks right back out again.

Too late. She’s already seen him. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates and she’s hastily shoving a paperback onto a shelf.

“Oh, um. Hey.” Meraad waves. He has no idea what to do with himself.

The barista steps closer to the central table, the one that Hawke has covered in books with elaborate recommendations. Her short black hair is sticking up, as if she’d been ruffling it absentmindedly while she browsed. Her strong features are usually so composed, focused. He’s never seen her this shy when she’s behind the espresso machine, except for that one time when he was reading Hard in Hightown. Maybe she’s a Tethras fan.

She fiddles with the strap of her leather bag. “Meraad? I… well, I suppose I knew you came here, but…”

“I wasn’t expecting this either,” he admits. It’s strange to hear so many words come out of her mouth at once. Maker, that voice.

“I’m Cassandra,” she blurts out. That name.

Meraad pushes a nervous grin across his face. “Glad to meet you. Again. Sort of. You know what, I’ll just go. You okay if I come in next Tuesday?”

“Of course.” She brightens, just a bit.

He gives her a little salute, feeling relieved, and ducks his head so he won’t hit his horns on the way out.

“Wait!”

Meraad turns back. Cassandra fishes a pen out of her bag and scribbles something on a free bookmark from the table.

“Only if you want to,” she says quietly, as she hands it to him.

He takes it and realizes that he absolutely does.

---

(Thanks for reading! Again, here's the link to the rest of the story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41369142/chapters/103738425)

#fanfiction #writing #ao3 writer #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #au fanfiction #college au #coffee shop au #sports au #modern au #cassandra pentaghast #dragon age adaar #male adaar #inquisitor adaar #mage inquisitor #chronic pain #sports injury

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