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heavymetalmuppet · 2 months

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sycamore girl || chapter 5: tisulan

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally!

i got really stuck on a later chapter and had to take very long breaks about it apparently. im also still not done that chapter but i figure i may as well give u this even tho im not completely happy with this one either.... writing is hard. remember the note i gave at the start of last chapter cause it only gets more relevant!!!!

elvish in this chapter (that's not already explained): seya masel - very good

word count: 5048 warnings: allusions to past abuse, dealing with familial death, grief, being a mage in a society

< prev || chapter masterlist || next (coming soon)

also available on ao3

—

“Please, Solas?”

“Ask in Elvish.”

Adahlee paused, recalling what he'd taught her so far. “Sera’manaan, Solas?” She added for emphasis.

“Seya masel,” he praised briefly for her pronunciation. But still: “Nae.”

“But I’ve been training so hard!” She burst out in Common.

“That's why you need rest, da’len.”

Adahlee pouted. She was hovering by Solas in the apothecary, not so nervous to be there since Adan was out. Solas was brewing more of the bitter potion; a precaution, he had said, to keep her strength up on the journey to Val Royeaux. It would be longer and more arduous than their trek to the Hinterlands, especially as they'd need to pass through the Frostbacks. Not entirely on foot this time, thanks to their efforts to secure horses—but Adahlee had never ridden before, either. She was in for a lot more learning on the road, but she had still hoped for another magic lesson before they set out tomorrow.

Adahlee wondered if she should push. He’d already said no; would he be mad? She wrung her hands nervously, even as she started: “But…”

“Your enthusiasm is commendable, Adahlee, and don't let this put you off from your lessons—but you cannot learn if you are burnt out, exhausted, or fall sick from either or.” He didn't glance up as he said this, focusing on the slow addition of dried elfroot to the small cauldron he was stirring. “You cannot risk your health. You’ve recovered well from your bouts of unconsciousness, but it takes its toll on the body. Let this act as another lesson.”

Adahlee sighed. How am I learning about magic by not practicing, she wanted to press, but a part of her knew he was probably right. His first lesson was that there was a lesson in everything. So what was this one?

The apothecary was quiet, with only the sound of bubbling filling the air. Adahlee carefully leaned against the table Solas stood at, watching the potion simmer. He set a lid over the cauldron, and turned the hourglass nearby it. She considered the tiny stream of sand within it, and the pile that would grow.

“Pacing,” Adahlee declared her answer. “And patience.”

“Seya masel,” he praised again, as he set about to clean the mortar and pestle.

“These are kind of just… general life lessons.”

“They are. And what have you learned on the nature of magic?”

“... It's in everything. It's a way of life.” Adahlee paused again. “Alright, I get it now.”

“Athila ara mar dirtharas, sera’mana.”

It took her a moment. Share what you’ve learned, if you please. “Life skills and beingness must be applied to magic, to understand and experience it as a way of being, as elvhen do.”

Solas smiled slightly. “Ma dirthara shem, da’len.”

You learn quickly. Adahlee smiled back. “Ma serannas.”

The door to the apothecary creaked open, sending in a weaving little strand of cold air. It was a messenger Adahlee recognized, but couldn't quite recall his name. “Ser Solas; Lady Herald,” he greeted, bowing his head to each. “Sister Nightingale would speak with you, my Lady.”

Adahlee wrinkled her nose at ‘Herald,’ but she didn't want to be rude… she glanced at Solas. Go on, his expression seemed to say.

Adahlee took a deep breath. “Um… no ‘Herald,’ please. I don't claim the title.” She would need practice for this before addressing the clergy in Val Royeaux.

“Oh, erm—my apologies, my—” the man paused. “My… Lady?”

“My name is Adahlee. Though, um—you probably knew that already.” She offered him a somewhat awkward, though friendly smile. “What's yours?”

“... Arnold. Lady Adahlee.”

She'd take it. “Thank you, Arnold. I’ll head to Leliana in a moment.”

Arnold smiled at her genuinely, and another little knot of nervousness in Adahlee loosened. He saluted, and left.

Adahlee sighed, flopping over the back of a chair for dramatic effect. “Will talking to people get any easier?”

Solas offered her a light chuckle. “With practice, I’m sure. Now, go to Sister Leliana.”

It wasn’t far to the tent in the chantry’s courtyard. When Adahlee arrived, Leliana seemed to be waiting. “Adahlee.”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes—I think we are in need of a discussion, preferably before you leave. Josephine would oversee this as well; we’re just waiting on her.”

Adahlee gulped. What did that mean? Was she in trouble?

As though reading her mind, Leliana said: “First of all, let me reassure you: no one is upset with you, and you have done nothing wrong.” Leliana folded her hands behind her back calmly. “And even if that were the case, we solve our problems with respect for one another, here.”

“... No one’s going to yell at me?” She asked warily.

“No, certainly not.”

Adahlee deflated in relief. “Okay.”

Leliana glanced up, and Adahlee followed her eye; Josephine had emerged from the chantry, coming to join them. “Good day, you two.”

“Hi Josephine,” Adahlee greeted, though her tone was nervous.

Josephine took in her state. “Has Leliana briefed you yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” Leliana gestured into her tent. Adahlee took a deep breath, and stepped inside, the other two following. Leliana closed the flap for privacy.

“Allow us to be honest, Adahlee,” Josephine began gently. “We’ve noticed how you act around Commander Cullen.”

Adahlee, at once, felt small and afraid.

She could scarcely believe Kirkwall’s Knight-Captain was there helping, when she first—very briefly—met him. Even during their proper introduction at the war table, Adahlee couldn’t quite recall if she’d gotten any words out, only nodding, leaning against the table to hopefully steady her trembling. Now that she thought about it, had she spoken one direct word to Cullen yet? She wasn’t sure. She’d only tried to avoid him as much as possible.

“We quite understand if you’re afraid of him—as does he—but you need not be.”

Had he noticed as well? Despite all her efforts to stay small? Adahlee felt panic rise in her throat. “I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to be,” Leliana assured her. “His reputation would be frightful to a young mage. You have no reason to apologize for your fear, and no reason to befriend him, if you’d rather not. Just know this.” Leliana looked directly in her eyes, serious. “None of us here would allow someone near you if we thought they would endanger you, or any other mage. Not Commander Cullen, nor any former templars in the Inquisition’s ranks. I am not one to make promises, Adahlee—but this, I can promise you.”

“As can I,” Josephine added.

Adahlee, ultimately, trusted them both. “... Okay.” She took another breath. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Josephine laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We only wish for you to feel comfortable and safe.”

Leliana crossed her arms. “Cullen has hoped to have a conversation with you as well, as a show of respect—he would listen to any boundaries you might want to set with him. Would you be privy to that, if we are here with you? Now, or soon?”

“This discussion would be for your benefit,” Josephine explained. “As the one who can close the Breach, you have your place at the war table, in the Inquisition’s council. We only wish to make it easier for you. And if you simply cannot work with him, Lady Cassandra stands ready to step in as Commander.”

Adahlee balked. “You would do that for me?”

“And why not?” Said Leliana. “You do a great deal for the Inquisition, Adahlee—but that aside, you are in our care, more or less. It would hardly be fair of us to make you tolerate someone you don’t.”

“I…” Adahlee floundered to find the words. “That’s really nice of you.”

“That is barest respect,” Leliana corrected. “Nothing more.”

“O-Okay. Um—thank you, still.” Adahlee wrung her hands. “If… if you’re here with me… I could try.” May as well get it over with. “I could try now.”

Leliana nodded. “As you like. I’ll go fetch him; please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Adahlee and Josephine settled into chairs as the tent flap closed.

—

Footsteps crunched in the frost outside, covering a pair of murmuring voices—and then the flap opened again, revealing Leliana and Cullen.

His face wasn’t stony, but carefully, respectfully neutral as he followed Leliana into the tent. Adahlee stood, and Josephine followed her lead. Though her knees trembled slightly, Adahlee would face him standing.

“Adahlee,” Cullen greeted cautiously, nodding to her.

She said nothing, only grabbing Josephine’s hand. She watched Cullen like a hawk, her vision narrowing to the minute details of his expression, the way he held himself—rigid and unsure behind the composure, almost awkward, but he still had a sword at his hip, but tiredness carved lines and bags around his eyes, they flicked briefly like he wanted to avoid the weight of her gaze, but something made him stay. His coat made him look bigger than he was, but he was still a trained templar and she was barely a mage, how might she have to move to make it to the exit? It was Josephine's hand gently squeezing hers that grounded her.

“If I may…” Cullen began slowly. He didn’t falter from her, at least. “I understand that you don’t trust me, and I can hardly blame you—to be frank, I wouldn’t either, in your position. I am not here to offer excuses; only honesty.”

Adahlee wanted to hide behind Josephine, but she managed to stay put as she finally spoke, hushed and accusing: “... You were Meredith’s second-in-command.”

Ostwick wasn’t so terribly far from Kirkwall. She had heard the stories. They had resurfaced and sharpened to needlepoints in her mind, when she had accidentally lit a candle with her fingertips that day, and the little flame wavered with her in the face of Mother’s whisper-shouting. Meredith was dead by then, but it wasn’t just her. It wasn’t about individuals, not really; but those individuals were ultimately needlepoints themselves, the tip of a greater structure that would puncture her throat.

She could see Cullen’s tiredness further into exhaustion, making him sag. It looked like his coat was holding him up more than anything. “I was,” he said, quietly. “I am… not proud of it, to say the least. Even Meredith aside.” He took a deep breath in, and out. “It took me far too long to recognize the Order for what it was. The best-intentioned templars still hold undue power over others—nothing good can come of such a thing. I realize that now.”

He turned around and saw the structure, and where he joined with it. Hm. Adahlee stood straighter, and continued to watch him, expectant. Listening.

Cullen seemed to follow her lead, continuing: “The Inquisition has offered me a chance to do some right in the world. I would not squander it by denying responsibility for my own wrongs, or by endangering you.” His weary gaze leveled with her sharp one, and she could see determination push through the fog that hung about him. “I accept however you feel about me, Adahlee, but I am in your corner. As Commander, it is my duty to protect those in the Inquisition, and that includes you. And I will never speak over you, or laud control over you, in the name of ‘protection.’ Not as templars do.” Cullen shook his head. “You lead the way in this. Just say the word.”

Adahlee considered him carefully. She glanced to Leliana, then Josephine, then back to Cullen; all wore patient looks. She waited, for what felt like an uncomfortably long moment, one that made her nerves want to fray, because they were expecting her to speak, weren’t they? They’d get mad if she didn’t, wouldn’t they? Someone would get tired of her, someone would start yelling, Cullen might move for his sword and she’d have to run or scream or stay very still.

But the little seed of defiance in her heart took root. So she waited, observing. Seeing if anyone would go back on their word. The patient consideration remained. Josephine only squeezed her hand again, as if to say, are you still there?

Adahlee returned the gesture. “I’m not sure I trust you,” she began, quietly. “But I trust Leliana and Josephine, and they wouldn’t let you near me if they deemed you a threat.” She sized him up again. He may have been a boogeyman, but he was weathered, weary—and from what she could tell, laid bare. “I think I can work with you,” she decided. “That aside… we’ll see, I guess.”

“I ask for nothing more.” Cullen bowed his head to her in a show of respect. “I deeply appreciate this chance you’ve allowed me, Adahlee. Any communication between us may remain at the war table, if you like—or however is most comfortable for you.”

“I stand ready to assist in easing communication between the two of you,” Josephine offered. “You just tell me if you need anything at all, Adahlee—or tell me how you feel, so I may offer solutions.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Adahlee lightly swung their joined hands, and nodded to Cullen in acceptance.

“I’m glad we could have this conversation,” Leliana finally said, “and it will be an evolving one, I’m sure. This is the beginning.”

“Of course,” Cullen acknowledged.

“But this brings us to another matter, Adahlee,” Leliana continued. “Cullen and I have been coordinating our people for this, and we had wished to speak with you.”

Huh? “What for?”

Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly. “Our forces have been scouring the mountain for remains from the Conclave, to hopefully identify and send off to families.”

Leliana said softly: “If you’d like us to, we would try to find those of your mother.”

The world stopped once more.

The potent nothingness from the first time, Adahlee noted, as though observing herself from above, was absent. She had the strangest sensation of falling, drifting past thoughts as she, perhaps, came back down to herself: how often had she thought about Mother, really, in all the chaos? Closing rifts, surviving, training, reading, becoming, being—where was the time? Was it real, yet? Was she comfortable a step ahead of it? How could she be gone when her presence welled up into the gaps between thoughts, choked the quiet moments and armed the anxious ones? How could Adahlee ever get her out? How could she want to? Would this make her go away, or make it too real—or both?

“Adahlee?” Josephine’s voice cut through.

Adahlee blinked. She was in the same spot; no one had moved, but the others’ faces were varying shades of concerned.

“I’m alright.” And she was… I think. Adahlee practiced the breathing she learned from Cassandra; in, hold, out. In, hold, out. Why was she a little shaky? She was okay. She was steady. The breathing helped.

Would this help?

She might regret it forever if she didn’t try, whatever it may bring. Or she might not. But Adahlee wouldn’t take a chance like that.

“Yes,” she said quietly, then cleared her throat. “Yes, I’d… let’s try that.”

“Could we have a description of your mother, then? Anything that might help?” Leliana went to her desk, grabbing a quill and parchment.

Adahlee wanted to wring her hands, but she was still holding Josephine’s. And Josephine hasn’t let go, she noted to herself, faintly and warmly. “Um… she was middle aged. Only a little taller than me. Shoulder-length grey hair… she usually kept it back.” Adahlee straightened up, remembering something. “She was missing a couple back teeth, on her upper right side.”

Leliana penned it in a sharp hand, nodding. “Alright; thank you, Adahlee. We can make no promises on what we find—the cold preserves well, but the blast destroyed much. I can only say that we will do what we can.”

Adahlee gulped, but she would face it with her eyes open—and she wasn’t alone. She knew that. “Thank you… all of you.” She finally released Josephine’s hand, standing strong without it—but Josephine hadn’t seemed to mind.

Cullen offered her a semblance of a smile. “We’ll all do our parts, as you do. Good luck out there.”

—

Before the sun could sink behind the golden gates of Val Royeaux, the party had a plan. No inn would take them—none that they could trust, anyway—so Cassandra investigated the Red Jenny's lead with some scouts, while Varric, Solas, and Adahlee broke away with the rest. If you truly trust these Friends of Red Jenny, I will trust you, Cassandra had told her, but I would not take you directly into a trap waiting for you, no matter how prepared we are.

But Solas has been training me, Adahlee had insisted.

Not for very long. Solas had placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. You have made great strides, but I agree with Cassandra. Let us make camp outside the city, and allow her and Leliana's people to deal with this threat.

Not that Adahlee wasn’t glad to leave the walls of Val Royeaux. Its glittering gates had stunned her—but that which was beautiful was often dangerous, as well. Even aside from the spectacle in the Summer Bazaar, which had made her tremble and want to scream and hide, she felt there would be a knife at her throat around every corner. She would, by far, take sleeping in sparse woods over a night in the capital.

It wasn’t until the moons rose, and Adahlee was dozing in a tent, that she heard a scout speak softly: “They’re coming back. There’s one more with them that I don’t recognize.”

Adahlee rolled over, and scrambled from the tent. She wanted to run to Cassandra, but Varric had bid her stay close until they were far from Val Royeaux, and Adahlee couldn’t argue with that. So, one of Leliana's people gave her a hand up to their perch in the branches of a tree, and she observed the approach by moonlight. Adahlee watched the scouts flock together, murmurs lost to the night. Some lead the party to camp; a couple retreated back across the bridge to the city. Three spread out north, east, and west, until they disappeared in brush or around the bend of the road. They reminded her of bees, Adahlee realized, and she let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” The scout next to her asked with a smirk.

“You’re like bees.”

“What?”

“You huddle together and buzz about with secrets, fly off, regroup at the hive, fly off again.”

“You think bees have secrets?”

“You never know what a bee could witness!” Adahlee defended, but laughed, and the scout laughed with her. “You’re like bees, and Leliana is your queen.”

“What about bees?” Asked an unfamiliar voice from the party, reaching the little clearing where they had set up. The scout helped her down the tree again, and Adahlee thanked them before rushing to greet the group.

The one who had spoken with the thick Fereldan accent was the sole figure without an Inquisition emblem. She seemed rough around the edges, but spunky, with torn clothes and choppy hair. Cassandra turned from the person to greet Adahlee, looking relieved upon seeing her. “Adahlee.” Cassandra gestured to the other. “This is—”

“Name’s Sera.” Sera grinned at her, and she could see a slightly chipped snaggletooth. “They were right about you! You're kind of small. Anyway, you're the one that glows? The Herald thingy?”

Adahlee wrinkled her nose. “I’m not the Herald of Andraste, though people call me that anyway. I'm Adahlee.” She leaned forward excitedly. “Are you her? The Friend?”

“That’s me! This one here, the one who looks like she punches bears, she says you know about us?”

“My name is Cassandra.”

Adahlee managed to muffle a snicker, but still burst into a wide grin. “I used to work as a servant! We had a Friend in Ostwick who looked out for us!”

Sera's expression lit up. “You’re little people, too! Small and little. Don’t know how you got to be all glowy and people wanting you to shut it, but I can make them shut it, instead.” Sera put her hands on her hips, chest out. “I want to join the Inquisition. You've got your knifey shivdark spies all hidden, yeah, but if your people don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches.” Sera grinned cheekily at Cassandra then, and patted a sack at her side. “Like those guards? I stole their…”

Cassandra let out an exasperated sigh.

“You stole… breeches?”

“From the guards for that great tit I warned you about—you shoulda seen them, trying to act all tough in their knickers! Anyway. I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

Adahlee nodded, and looked to Cassandra questioningly. Cassandra gestured back to Adahlee. “Sera had already expressed her desire to join. I thought I might introduce her, so you could have your say.”

Adahlee's eyebrows raised. “Really?”

Cassandra folded her hands behind her back, and smiled at her. “Of course. Do you remember what I told you?”

Honour and choices. Adahlee returned her smile, and then turned it to Sera. “I would love to have you in the Inquisition.”

“Yes!” Sera pumped her fist. “Also, you have merchants who buy this pish, yeah?” She held up the sack now. “Got to be worth something.” Despite saying that, she tossed it to the base of a tree, and it fell open to reveal a tangle of—indeed—breeches.

Adahlee guffawed, then began a bashful apology, but Sera easily topped it with a cackle of her own. Cassandra scoffed without any real heat, and as she retreated into the camp, she said: “I will be here if you need anything, Adahlee.”

“Okay!” She giggled around her hands. “Thank you!”

“Anyway, I heard bees?” Sera's eyes were alight with mischief. “Cause if you’ve got any jars around, I've a great idea.”

—

Adahlee was right that she was in for more learning on the road. She found her stamina building quickly, however, so she was glad to put the long hours to use. Solas would point out different plants and herbs as they passed, teaching her their medicinal uses and Elvish names. Halting but clear, Adahlee would practice: Ar setrenas lia’emabria mir tis’ula. I crush embrium flowers for my healing potion. Sera, on the other hand, would teach her bawdy tavern songs, much to the chagrin of everyone else—except for Varric, who added his own spins to the more popular rhymes. Along smoother paths, Cassandra would help Adahlee onto the back of her stallion alone, letting her ride while Cassandra led at an easy pace.

Even when they set camp for the night, Adahlee didn’t slow—with Vivienne's offer to contribute to her tutoring, Adahlee was eager to show all she had learned. On their first evening, she sat with Vivienne near the fire; the woman looked the picture of propriety, her back straight and legs crossed, even while perched on a rock. Vivienne had a commanding presence, but Adahlee never found herself frightened. A bit intimidated, at first, yet simultaneously starry-eyed—Vivienne held herself with power and purpose, enough to shake a room with every step, leaving Adahlee in awe and admiration. In any case, Vivienne only ever regarded her with patience and warmth, and Adahlee wanted to do her best. So she held herself a little taller, and clasped her hands together in her lap.

“Let’s begin with your background on magic. If I am to teach you properly, I must ascertain where you stand presently,” Vivienne began. “You came into your magic rather late, yes?”

“Yes, about a year and a half ago.”

“And you had received no training until recently?”

“Yes.” Adahlee nodded. “The Circles had already begun to crumble.”

Vivienne hummed her displeasure. “What did you do before Solas began tutoring you?”

Adahlee flicked her gaze away, her head lowering. “I… hid it. I asked my mother if we could find a teacher—we could've sought out a Dalish clan, or an Enchanter from the Ostwick Circle, if any were still nearby—but she wouldn’t hear of it. She told me to act like nothing had changed, or I would put us in danger.” Adahlee pressed her lips into a thin line. “So… I clamped down on it. I never tried casting, and learned how to run from the demons in my dreams by myself.”

She chanced a glance back at Vivienne, who had seriousness set in her face. “You were in the right, my dear. Clamping down put you in even greater danger; one cannot deny their nature for long.”

Adahlee nodded, her eyes low again. “I know. I knew it would never last. I—” she twisted her hands together, once confident, now nervous all over again. “I was scared. I was scared the demons would catch me, that I wasn’t strong enough. And I had no one I could turn to.”

“You’re strong enough to have made it this far.”

Adahlee paused; so did Vivienne. It seemed like she was waiting. So Adahlee peeked up, and found Vivienne giving her a steady gaze.

“I… I suppose you’re right,” Adahlee conceded.

Vivienne gave her a small, graceful smile, and Adahlee couldn’t help but smile back, lifting herself once more.

“I admire such strength, and cleverness at that, to have survived.”

Adahlee blinked. “Really?”

“Certainly. I loathe that someone your age would be subject to that, but such is the current state of the world.” There was a sort of hardness in Vivienne's eyes, and at once, Adahlee understood why she was called the Lady of Iron. “Chin up, my dear. I can see your drive, and it will serve you well. It is yours, so wear it.”

Adahlee took a deep breath, and raised her head. She met Vivienne's unwavering gaze. Equals. The word crossed her mind again, and once, she never would have thought to be equals with someone like Vivienne de Fer, but perhaps she already was.

—

Adahlee was glad to be back in Haven, familiar as it was becoming. She didn’t quite get a moment to rest, yet, sucked into a meeting upon her return, but they had much to discuss. The clergy aside, they needed help to close the Breach—and two opposing offers for it. Adahlee had made her preference clear, and heard no objection. Josephine promised she would work on how to best approach the rebel mages.

And, when the meeting adjourned, Josephine pulled her aside, just outside her office. “I’ve received word from your hahren, Adahlee. She sent a reply to me—and a personal one to you, as well.”

Adahlee’s heart leapt into her throat. Oh Creators. What was Sosana going to say?

Her apprehension must have been apparent, because Josephine offered her a reassuring smile. “She was nothing but respectful in her letter to me. You have nothing to fear. You may review it, if you wish—and the letter to you remains unopened.”

She deflated in relief. Adahlee didn’t know why she was so scared, really—but her heart couldn’t be more glad. “Thank you, Josephine,” she murmured, “truly.”

“Of course—I am more than happy to help. Come, I have the letter for you in my office.”

It was a little roll of parchment that Josephine procured from a drawer in her desk, the wax seal unbroken. Adahlee turned it over in her hands. “Could I… read it here?” She asked nervously.

“By all means.” Josephine gestured to the chair opposite her desk while she sat herself. Adahlee sank into her seat, not taking her eyes off the letter. With a deep breath, she broke the seal, and unfurled it.

Dear Adahlee,

Words cannot express how relieved I am to hear from you. We all feared the worst when we heard of what happened at the Conclave, and you have my sincerest condolences for the loss of your mother. But at least you live. Distance will not stop me from worrying over one of our own, but I’ve been assured you are in good hands. I will trust your judgment, and your new friends in the Inquisition.

I more than accept your girlhood and magic; allow me to congratulate you on both. The Dalish refer to magic as a gift, you know. We all had it, in the days of Arlathan—that it lives in your blood is a gift indeed. My only regret is that you were made to hide.

I’ve heard the stories—they spread like wildfire. Your feelings about the ‘Herald of Andraste’ are completely reasonable, and if you reject the title, state as such without reserve. If the shemlen still refuse to listen, wash your hands of them. You must choose your battles, and it is not your job to make someone respect you if they don't; it’s not worth investing energy in anyone who won’t return the courtesy. And who knows? Perhaps denying them your ‘holy’ presence would make their ears work.

A library would be a great gift to our community. I have brought your suggestion to some others, and there’s been resounding agreement and excitement for the project. There can never be enough places to learn letters and nurture our spirit. On behalf of everyone, we give you a very pretty thank you for your generosity and thoughtfulness.

As for the name of it, and titles—I offer this for you to accept or decline freely, as you might any other name. You are not the Herald of Andraste. You are mending the very fabric of our world, in perhaps the most literal enactment of tisun’olam. I would call you not the Herald of Andraste—but Tisulan. You are the Healer. If you accept this, I would call the library Tisulan’s Sanctuary, for that is what you have given us.

Don’t you worry about being lost out there, child. You carry the teachings, and have embraced the vhenadahl into your very being, by the name you’ve chosen. But if ever you need of me, you only have to write.

Peace on you, Sosana

Adahlee realized that she was grinning. Her smile didn't waver when she looked up at Josephine. “I’m not the Herald of Andraste.”

Josephine clearly didn't expect that, her face full of confusion. “Oh?”

Adahlee trusted her, so she turned the letter towards her. She stood, proud and beaming, as she accepted the name. “I’m Tisulan. The Healer.”

#what sosana references with accepting or declining names is a real life jewish practice for someone choosing their jewish name #if ur not given one at birth then ppl closest to u like friends family or ur rabbi can think on what would suit u and offer it #so that's kind of what she's doing here #also im not very confident in writing an actual redemption arc for cullen unfortunately #his major changes happen off screen between da2 and dai which is already shoddy for a redemption arc #nevermind that he didn't..... actually change all that much #so the changes actually take place b/c he wouldn't have been hired otherwise it's relying on him already being mostly at that point #i just don't have the brainpower to rewrite how that'd work otherwise and other ppl have done it better so shrugs #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #sycamore girl #adahlee #writing

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