#Scout Harding x Inquisitor

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2023 2 - Spiders

Summary: Aeronwen Trevelyan is afraid of spiders. Normally that isn't a problem, but when a new shipment comes in she comes face to face with her fear. Luckily, she has backup.

---

There was nothing like a shipment of fresh books to put Aeronwen Trevelyan in a good mood.

At the moment, she was in the library, surrounded by boxes that held the books rescued by Inquisition scouts from a falling apart mansion somewhere near the border. They hadn’t specified what the books were, or their condition, but just the thought of digging through them brought a spring to her step as she glanced around at her hoard.

Today was going to be a good day.

“Sorry we brought you so much work, Aeronwen. They insisted you would probably want to take a look at these based on where we found them.”

Scout Harding had been in charge of the delivery – she had shown up with the books too. It was always nice to have the dwarf in the library when she wasn’t working on her real job for the Inquisition. Aeronwen was never one to turn down a friendly face, especially if it was hers.

Besides, she had fascinating stories about where she had scouted, and she was always happy to hear them while she worked.

“It’s alright, really.” Aeronwen smiled as she lifted the lid off the first case. The books were old, but none of them looked particularly moldy or decrepit. A bit of dusting, some treatment of worn pages and spines, and they’d be on the shelf in no time. Of course, thoughts of shelving them went to the wayside as she lifted one out of the stack and inspected the cover, bound with an old symbol of the Circle of Magi. “By the Harvester’s scythe, where did you find these?”

It was rare for Circle books to make it out of the towers – the first enchanters were like dragons when it came to their stashes of knowledge. This one, and the others like it stamped with the symbol, looked to have come from somewhere in Nevarra.

Which… well, she always needed more books on Necromancy, if for her own personal study if not for the library’s stash.

“On the border between Ferelden and Orlais.” Scout Harding cocked her eyebrow. “Why? Is something odd about them?”

Aeronwen nodded as she held out the cover. “This came from the circle in Perendale. They must’ve looted it during the Blessed Age.”

She flipped it open – the book sent up dust, but there was nothing worse there. It was a tome on the basics of enchanting magical objects. The sight of it, and the mention of using Tranquil to do so, made her blood run cold. As soon as it was opened, she shut it tight and all but slammed it back.

Of course it had to be about that.

“Are you ok?”

That caused Aeronwen to look up – Scout Harding looked worried, eyebrows knit in concern. She felt her cheeks heat as she glanced away, back to the stack of books that still needed checking out.

It wouldn’t do to lose herself now. She had work to do.

“Bad memories is all. I think I’ll go back to that stack later.” She shook her head, feeling the twinge of pain from the center of her forehead. The brand was treating her better these days, but it still hurt from time to time. It was one of those times, probably brought on by memories of enchanting items in Ostwick.

She was the last person to need a book on the topic – it had been beaten into her.

Still, there was work to be done. With a deep breath, Aeronwen approached the next box and lifted the lid. Immediately, something scuttled out of the box and crawled up her hand. Her eyes widened at the sight of the large spider resting there, and more like it crawling out of the box to freedom.

Her body took over – she screamed and jumped back, slapping the spider to the floor. In a matter of seconds, a bolt of lightning crashed down on it, reducing it to ash. The rest of the spiders were soon smoldering as well, having burst into flames the second she had seen them.

Her mind flashed back – a dark room at the bottom of the tower, where spider webs stretched across the ceiling and tangled in her hair if she got too close. How big those spiders had been, and how large their eyes and teeth. How it had hurt when they bit her in her sleep, or when she got too close, or…

“Aeronwen, calm down!”

Scout Harding’s hands found her shoulders as her mind rushed in a panic. She could still feel the spider crawling up her arm, but there was nothing there. It was just a memory as the offending creature lay smoking on the floor in a pile of ash.

It took Aeronwen a few moments of frantic breathing, eyes shut tight, to calm down. At least she had only set fire to the spiders – there had been a real chance she could’ve burned the whole library down. Luckily, not even the books were singed.

But her heart still raced as she fought to stay in the present.

“I’m… sorry.” She muttered through gritted teeth, eyes still closed. “I can’t stand spiders.”

The dwarf patted her shoulder in a comforting motion. “It’s alright. It did come out of nowhere after all. Maybe I should check the other boxes to make sure there’s no more surprises waiting to say hello.”

“For the sake of the library, it might be for the best.”

Aeronwen took another shaky breath, feeling her heart slowly starting to beat less frantically. With a shaking hand, she took a book from the box. It had some cobwebs on it, but none as thick as the Tower. The spiders must’ve set up on the ride over.

She would need someone to freeze the books later – it would prevent any eggs from hatching.

Still, her face colored as she glanced over at Scout Harding looking through the boxes for any other stowaways. Of all the people to see her at her worst, the dwarf was the last person she would’ve hoped for it to be. No doubt she thought terribly of her now – a grown woman going to pieces over spiders.

She sighed, glancing down at the book. Ironically enough, it was a primer on primal magic. The gods must have been laughing then as she dusted off the cover and put it aside. At least the former apprentices of the Circle would get some use out of it, provided it wasn’t too out of date in practice.

Magic teaching didn’t change much – though whether that was a good thing or not, she wasn’t sure.

“This box is clean, Aeronwen.” Scout Harding’s voice brought her back to the present as she walked over. “Maybe it was just that one that had the spiders in it.”

“I should hope so…” She sighed. “I’ll get Ian to check the others later. He doesn’t…”

She paused. It was hard to explain to outsiders. “He’s better with spiders than I am. He can handle those for me.”

What he couldn’t handle was how stupid Aeronwen felt as she stared down at the box of books. When it came down to it, it was like she was a schoolgirl having done something stupid in front of her crush. Well, that was exactly it to be honest – only she wasn’t a school girl. She was a grown woman who couldn’t talk to the object of her affection outside of work.

And she had just made herself look ridiculous in front of her. Clearly, she was an ace at this romance thing.

“Alright, if you insist.” Scout Harding didn’t leave, though. “Er… maybe you should give the books some time to… you know. Have you had lunch yet? I was about to head down to the great hall and all…”

Aeronwen’s head picked up. “You want me to come with you?”

“Sure, you said you wanted to hear about my last mission, might as well do it over food.” The scout smiled. “And it’ll give some time for stowaways to leave the library so they don’t get flash fried.”

That made the dwarf chuckle, but it wasn’t from mockery. She seemed in good spirits – and surprisingly, Aeronwen found her mood had shifted with just a few words. Her steps felt light as she closed up the box, leaving it for her cousin to handle.

Technically, she was abandoning her post early… but if the Inquisitor wanted the library in one piece, he would understand.

“I should probably get something to eat.” She nodded. “Lead the way, Scout Harding.”

Maybe one day she would be brave enough to ask the woman for her first name. Until then, Scout Harding would have to do. At least she didn’t seem to mind the formality as the two left the library, close enough to make Aeronwen’s heart race for an entirely different reason.

She was no doubt reading into things… but she was a librarian. She could read into whatever she wanted.

“Now, tell me all about Orlais-“

But first, she was going to listen to where the other woman had been over some food. Then… well, she’d figure that out later. Being with the Inquisition was teaching her the fine art of improvisation.

Should she thank the spiders for that one? Maybe not… gods, she hated spiders.

[achlysfx]

He said he was SORRY 😭

[queerlyloud]

Am I gonna live my lesbian gigolas (gimleaf? wtf even is their ship name anymore?) fantasies by romancing scout harding with an elf inquisitor, MAYBE, AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, LIVING THE DREAM, BABYYYYYY

[broodwolf221]

“You’re staring.” - Solas x (a character you havent written with him yet >:3c)

hehehehehehe smutty >) @dadrunkwriting 1098 words cws: none

“You’re staring,” he pointed out, smirking as he saw Blackwall flinch in his periphery. 

“Just admiring how you’re handling the wood,” he said after a moment and Solas hummed, unconvinced. It wasn’t the chunk of hardwood in his hands that Blackwall had been staring at. Not the way he held the carving knife, nor the delicate shavings that were littering the tabletop. 

He should let it go. He should. Instead: “what do you think?” Blackwall cleared his throat.

“You’re skilled,” was what he apparently settled on. “Have you done this before?” 

“Yes. A few times.” He refrained from asking whether Blackwall had. He knew the other man had no ulterior motive to the question, however perfectly posed it was, but his interest was painfully obvious, as was his unfamiliarity with said interest. More than once Solas had caught the Warden examining him at length. At first he had worried that Blackwall might be suspicious, but over time he had recognized the true source.

It was curious. Before, he never would have thought of pursuing any member of the Inquisition. But now that he recognized Blackwall’s attraction for what it was, he had begun to look at the other man in a different light. It was terribly hard to refrain from flirting with him, from pushing him just enough that he’d blush and stammer, but ultimately Solas had no interest in being cruel. 

It was just…

“How did you come by this?” He asked the Warden, pausing in his carving to face him.

“By…?”

“This—” Solas lifted the carving knife Blackwall had loaned him. “A soldier, a Warden… when did you pick up carving?”

“Ah. Well, you know how it is. Sometimes all you're doing is waiting.”

“Indeed.”

“I had a knife. Easy to find some wood. It just… gave me something to do with my hands.”

That was what intrigued Solas. Their shared experiences. Oh, all members of the Inquisition had seen battle. But only a few of them had lived it. Bull had, of course, but he kept the difficulty of it locked up. He let himself rejoice in it in a way that Solas never could, even though he understood the use of that perspective well enough. 

But he recognized the weight Blackwall carried. There was something achingly familiar about him. 

He returned his attention to the wood.

-

Several days passed before the Inquisitor took them both out. As they made their way towards the Western Approach, he and Blackwall spoke often. At night, Solas worked on his carving more. Sometimes Blackwall watched. 

When they arrived it was predictably hot. They made good progress scouting the area more thoroughly, although by late afternoon they had to stop and recover for a while. They had stopped near a small river and Sera and Blackwall both decided to wade into it. Solas tried to discourage them but they were already stripping down to their smalls before plunging in. He sighed. 

When they emerged some time later and the sunburn began to set in, he had already prepared a poultice. He gave half to Lavellan, suspecting Sera would be less bothered by her touch than by his, while he tended to Blackwall. As he worked the poultice into the man's skin he also allowed himself to linger just a bit, to really let himself feel the ridge of scar tissue, the firm muscle, the layer of fat. 

And all the hair. Solas really wasn't accustomed to that, finding the sensation under his fingers fascinating. Then he had to focus on working the poultice into Blackwall’s face and neck, although a part of him knew that the other man could've done this much on his own.

-

They shared a tent that night, as they always did. This time, though, Solas did not lay down after taking off his outer layers of armor. And when Blackwall sat up in his bedroll with a puzzled frown, Solas hooked his thumbs in the waist of his breeches, smirking at the Warden's flush. “I think we could enjoy ourselves tonight, if you're willing,” he said after a moment, carefully watching the other man's expression. 

“Maker, yes.” The immediate acceptance went to Solas' head—and his cock. He had expected more hesitation, more dithering from the Warden, perhaps an uncertainty about his interest in men. Instead, he just sounded eager and relieved.

Still smirking, Solas drew his breeches and smalls down together, revealing his hard cock. Blackwall just stared for a moment before he seemed to realize his role in this, working quickly to strip away his remaining layers while Solas bit back a laugh at his haste.

The warrior’s cock was thick, even half-hard. He had been debating about letting Blackwall take him but the width made him decide against it, at least for tonight. They'd need more time to make that work. Something simpler for now.

He settled in beside Blackwall, then after a moment decided on something else and straddled him, both of them gasping as their cocks slid together. Then he began humping him, grinding sensitive flesh together, his own slick slowly making the process easier. Blackwall continued to fill out underneath him, hushed, gravelly moans escaping him periodically.

Aside from muted sounds of pleasure they were quiet, unwilling to advertise what they were doing, but the way Blackwall stared up at him spoke volumes. There was a deep admiration in his gaze that made Solas' feel delightfully overwhelmed, even as a distant part of him was wrenched with guilt at the sight. But he tried to let that part go for just this night, this shared moment. 

Soldiers finding some comfort in one another… it need not be anything more than that.

Eventually Blackwall's hands settled on his hips and he began to drag Solas against him even as he thrust up, his mouth parting as his breathing sped. “Close,” he whispered and Solas just nodded—so was he. He felt Blackwall's cock twitch against his before the man's whole body tensed, coming across his own stomach. Solas rose on his knees and took himself in hand, quickly jerking off until he clutched at Blackwall's bedroll and started coming, mixing his seed with the other man's, biting his own arm to muffle his moan.

When he was done he let himself fall to the side, slowly catching his breath. He glanced up when he felt himself being observed, grinning to see Blackwall looking down at him. “You’re staring,” he pointed out, amused, and Blackwall snorted.

“So I am,” he admitted readily, and did not look away.

Solas found that he didn’t mind.

[skyheld]

[ Ameridan ] All that effort. All that struggle. And they forgot you.

The first sound to reach Lady-Seeker Threnaera's ears as the doors to the Emperor's chambers are flung open, is the babbling of a small child, and the soft cooing of his father delighted to make him laugh. There in the light of a late Verimensis sun, coming winter-pale through the narrow window slits near the top of the White Spire, Kordillus Drakon, Emperor of Orlais, sits in a carved chair by the fire, bouncing a small boy on his knee. His face is lit by sun and flames, rough features softened. The boy has inherited his golden hair.

“It is Ameridan, Your Imperial Majesty”, Lady-Seeker Threnaera says, straightening from her deep bow.

The bouncing knee goes still. The boy doesn't stop giggling, not yet, but his father's face has hardened.

“We have had no news from him in months. He is no longer our Inquisitor, but it is imperative… that is, I think it appropriate…” Lady-Seeker Threanera bites the inside of her cheek. It is my fault he had to step down as Inquisitor. My folly, my recklessness in regards to the Seeker’s Vigil… if something happened to him because he was weakened… “He is dear to me. It is my wish to find him.”

“He is dear to all of us”, Drakon says, and gives a curt nod to someone standing in a corner of the imperial study. Threnaera winces; she never noticed them. Now the servant comes forward to take Kordillus the Younger from his father's knee, bowing hastily as she backs away.

“And I am well aware that he is missing", the emperor continues once the door to the inner rooms close. “I have sent some of my best to seek his trail, but I cannot draw my army back from the front lines, not with village after village falling to the horde. He— he is one of my oldest friends, but as emperor…”

“I understand, Your Imperial Majesty.” She bows stiffly from her waist. “But word is you have sent these west, is that not so? Towards the Tirashan?”

“I have sent them to wherever I have reason to believe he may have gone — west to the Tirashan, east, north…”

“Not south? My scouts say he was seen in Montsimmard, traveling towards the Dales…”

“Where we must leave it up to the elves to trace him further." A muscle twitches in Drakon’s jaw. "The thought has struck me too. Perhaps he simply went home. After his... illness, of which he speaks so little, and after so many years in the field, who could blame him for returning to the relative peace of his own home --- settling down, perhaps, with that supposed lady mage of his..."

"Your Imperial Majesty knows he would never retire while the Blight rages", Threnaera interrupts, more harshly than she ought. She and Ameridan have often been at odds, but of all the things she could accuse him of, cowardice isn't one. Anger at the mere insinuation that he has retired from the field makes her thoughtless, and she presses on: “Word is he was here not long before he disappeared. Speaking to your Imperial Majesty. Did he not say a word of where he was going next? Did he not say anything about traveling south?”

Drakon stands up. He is no taller than Threnaera, but something about his posture demands respect, reverence. As he turns from the fire shadows fall across his face, drawing out the lines that age and war have carved into his skin. Looking at him now, it is hard to imagine the smiling youth of long ago, or even the gentle father from mere moments before, incredulous at the miracle of a son born so late in his and his wife's life.

Threnaera follows at a respectful distance to the grand oak desk in the middle of the room. Maps are spread out across it, piles of scrolls and letters, scrawled notes on pieces of parchment. On one map, cities and villages fallen to the Blight have been crossed out. The Anderfels are a graveyard of X-s, the borders of the Orlesian empire closing in.

Slowly, staring down at those maps as though trying to remember some past discussion about them, Drakon says: “He mentioned traveling across the Frostbacks. To Orzammar and the lands of the Alamarri. I told him it was useless — we have gained what knowledge we can from the dwarves, and the barbarians cannot help us, nor have we the resources to help them. I thought— I was under the impression that he agreed. Yet if it is as you say, and he was seen passing Montsimmard...”

He is very convincing, she’ll give him that. But Threnaera did not become Lady-Seeker for no reason. She has tracked down blood mages hiding among ciriane lords, she has seen through trained assassins and would-be usurpers. If her gut tells her someone is lying, they are.

The emperor of Orlais is lying.

But what exactly is he lying about? Does he not know where Ameridan went, or does he know? Is he still here in Val Royeaux, at the bottom of some canal?

Drakon is watching her intently. He knows that she knows.

Abruptly he says: “There is another matter, Lady-Seeker.”

“Your Imperial Majesty?”

“Divine Justinia has taken ill again”, he says, shuffling some papers on his desk as though to find some escaped letter. “Nothing major, I am told. But she is getting on in years, I think. She is strong, of course, but some day — not now, but in some ten, fifteen years — we will be needing a replacement. A new Divine.”

It is a rare thing for Lady-Seeker Threnaera to be struck dumb. “Your… Imperial Majesty?”

“It should be a matter for the Chantry, of course, and not for me”, Drakon says, looking straight at her. “And it will be, in the future. That was always my plan. But there is a Blight. I need a Divine I can trust will do what is best for Thedas. Someone with sound judgement and military experience. Someone loyal.”

Threnn swallows. Her throat is dry.

She has lost count of the years she has served the Inquisition. She wasn’t one of those highborn chosen for a position of command right away; she has worked herself up from scrubbing the floors of the stable, to scout to Seeker and finally to Lady-Seeker. With Ameridan leading them and Drakon supporting them the Inquisition’s power has grown, and so has her influence. Yet now the Inquisition is no longer. With the Nevarran Accord they are to be swallowed up by the Chantry. Their mages are to be subjected to the templars, the templars to the seekers. The seekers to the Divine.

The Divine to none but the Maker himself. Not even to Drakon.

For a long time Threnaera stands silent under the emperor's gaze, knowing what he offers and what he asks in return, knowing what it means.

She was meant to the Inquisitor, once. The last one said so, that he wanted her as his replacement. Drakon should have had no say in that either. But they needed the emperor's support, and the emperor wanted Ameridan. A mage. An elf. A half heathen, claiming the Maker and his Creators could exist together...

Threnaera swallowed her bitterness long ago. She was happy to serve him. She was proud. He was a friend. And yet...

She thinks of the little boy sitting on Drakon's knee, the next emperor of Orlais if he lives. Maker willing his reign will be peaceful. The Chantry is stronger with the templars and Seekers in its ranks. The empire is greater than ever. The Grey Wardens have turned to the light, swearing loyalty to Andraste after the siege of Cumberland. Maybe this Blight is only a warning, showing the people that they all need to follow the Chant, that they cannot return to their old ways and old beliefs after Andraste once showed them the right path. Maybe there will yet be a true Divine Age. Maybe it will have no room for compromise.

She bows her head. “I will send my people to seek him across the Frostbacks, then. In the lands of the Alamarri.”

“Yes.” But Drakon, too, is silent, and she thinks — for a moment she thinks he is about to say something else. Then he turns away, looking out the window, due north where somewhere just out of sight the Archdemon's storm blacken the skies. “May the Maker guide you.”

And may he forgive us, Threnn thinks.

[aclassitag]

This blog was first made shortly after the release of DA:I, when the fandom was godawful to the only trans character we had. Hence the name aclassitag, a tag where we only have the classy Krem content. Nowadays it's not as bad anymore, so herein comes the Kremnaissance

tags

full tag list nsfw (includes fanfic & fanart) fanart — fanfic — cosplay

character tags

inquisitor iron bull bull's chargers

shipping tags

(*full list of ships on full tag page, below have the most content)

shipping (includes all ships) krem x oc krem x inquisitor krem x iron bull krem x cole krem x cullen krem x dorian krem x scout harding

misc

messages, mod post, #kremweek2024 (fills), krem week prompts

Regarding spoilers: I will not be reblogging any until December 2024

transparency: one single mod now operates this blog, the original creator. i occasionally do rb my own krem stuff onto this blog

[nirikeehan]

For Thalia x Hawke - A steaming mug of something hot, pinned down and mirror sex. If you please <3

All riiiiiight I've resurrected this terribly mediocre ship for one night only!!

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2319

Rating: E for the smuts

---

The mug of mulled wine steamed on the table between them. Thalia watched the vapor rise off it as an excuse not to look at him. Hawke had his own mug in front of him, also untouched. The silence between them extended as the Gull and Lantern’s minstrel tuned his lute. His last song, about Scout Lace Harding, had been off key. 

Hawke cleared his throat. “So. You got my letter.” 

So she had, a couple days earlier. She’d been perfectly baffled by it. Inquisitor, it had read, I really enjoyed having a drink with you the last time we were together. Perhaps you’d like to have a drink again. I’ll be staying in Redcliffe village for the next week, if you’re available.

South Reach was only a day’s ride away on the Imperial Highway, so Thalia had saddled her horse and left Garlic with her sister-in-law that morning. Now at evenfall, Hawke sat before her, looking much the same as he had the last time she’d seen him: still too tall and too muscly, the unkempt beard and hair hiding an otherwise handsome face. She chewed her lip. Getting an answer to her question almost certainly hadn’t been worth the effort to come here. 

Thalia picked up the mug and took a sip of the hot wine, sweet with honey and strong with cloves. 

“Did we?” she asked. “Have a drink together last time?” 

She watched Hawke flush a deep red, almost as vibrant as that strange bit of war paint he always insisted upon smearing across his nose. A forty year old man, playing dress up. 

“I don’t seem to recall that part,” Thalia continued. 

Hawke cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “Yes, well. I don’t know. Spies could be anywhere. And it sounded less absurd than ‘I fondly think back on the night your mabari bit me.’” 

“You think back on that night fondly?” Thalia asked, bemusement only deepening. 

Hawke looked at her sharply. “You don’t?” 

Thalia frowned, now worried they might have two very different memories of the night in question. “I’d assumed you’d—” She glanced around the tavern, which was full enough that the din drowned out their conversation, but his mention of spies had spooked her. He kept the hood up on his cloak and her prosthetic arm was well-hidden in hers. Her hair was much shorter than it had been when she’d been traipsing through Redcliffe those years ago, long enough that everyday citizens rarely recognized her by sight. Still, the Champion of Kirkwall was technically a wanted man. She had a penchant for those, it seemed. “I’d assumed it was perhaps something you’d wished to forget.” 

She had, certainly. A dumb, impulsive thing she still couldn’t quite believe she had done while half-mad with grief. A knot of guilt formed in her ribcage when she thought about it for too long, especially while living in the cottage she’d shared with Cullen. 

Hawke leaned back in his seat, his expression difficult to read. She didn’t know him very well — that was the truth. One could read a great man’s biography, and still come away understanding little about him. Varric had told her all about the phenomenon, and the burden of being a chronicler of history. The lies he put in there, to protect his friend. The lies he put into All This Shit Is Weird, to protect her. 

“Why on earth would you think that?” Hawke asked, more startled than ever. 

Thalia was beginning to regret coming. “You said I reminded you of your sister!” 

“Once. When we first met. When you were young and in over your head with all that Inquisition business. Certainly not when we were—”

He broke off for modesty’s sake, but Thalia’s memory filled in the blanks. Fucking on my living room floor, she wanted to supply, but didn’t dare voice the words. She sipped her wine demurely. Hawke’s grip tightened on the edge of the table. He had evidently not expected resistance from her. Which made her wonder what he had expected. 

“Anyway,” he cut in again with a twitchy smile. He was less charming than Varric’s book made him out to be, that much she had learned when they’d first met on the battlements of Skyhold. He carried too much pain for that. To be known as a hero, only to have so few of your actions matter. Thalia felt a small bit of pity for him, suddenly. “I just thought it would be nice to see you, that’s all.” 

He wants to do it again, Thalia realized, her face flushing hot. He sent the letter on a whim, unsure if she would show up, but show up she did. It was far too late in the evening to turn around and go back to South Reach; she’d be riding all night. So she’d have to stay here and leave in the morning, no matter what. He’d already told her he was staying here, had a room upstairs. The more she thought about it, the less surprised she was. 

“Does Varric know about this?” Thalia demanded. 

“Why would he know?”

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure why the idea made her so queasy.

“Why would he care?” Hawke leaned forward, his bright brown eyes searching her face. “He’s not my father. Nor yours.” 

Thalia stared deep into her mug of wine so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“If anything,” Hawke continued in a musing tone, “I think he’d approve. I think he’d want us to be happy.”

“Oh, being happy, is that you’d call this?” Thalia shot back. “And not just desperately, pathetically lonely?”

For such a large man, Hawke shrank with impressive volume when hurt. His eyes grew distant as he drained his mug in one grimacing gulp. He slammed it down on the table with enough force to rock it, and lurched to his feet. “I see I have been made the fool once more, Lady Inquisitor. Forgive me for thinking you held me in higher esteem than it appears you do.” 

Well, now you’ve done it. Regret flooded through her. “Hawke. Hawke, wait.” 

He paid no mind, shouldering through the crowd. 

Thalia let out a sigh, but resisted the urge to go after him. She nursed the rest of her drink, growing warmer and more morose with each sip. When she finished, the minstrel seemed determined to butcher Andraste’s Mabari, and Thalia stood. She thought about finding the innkeeper and renting her own room for the night, but the thought depressed her even more. 

She left the tap room and ventured up the stairs, searching for the room number Hawke had casually dropped at the beginning of their conversation. She found the correct one and knocked before her shame could kick in. 

After a few minutes the door opened. Hawke filled it with his massive frame and leaned against it, scowling down at her. His face and ends of his hair were damp; cheeks and nose were pink from where he must have just scrubbed off that ridiculous war paint. He looks better without it, Thalia thought, her stomach flopping. 

“Yeah? Can I help you?” His posture and tone were not kind. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Thalia said quickly. “I was terribly rude before.”

“You certainly were.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, biceps straining against the fabric of his tunic sleeve. 

She licked her lips. “Can I come in?”

His eyebrows shot upward. “What for?” 

Thalia felt herself blushing. She averted his gaze. “I’d rather not stand in a public space and argue with you, that’s all.” 

Hawke took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “Right. It’d probably be all over the broadsheets by morning.” He opened the door wider and stepped aside. 

She stormed inside, and he closed the door with a firm click, leaning his weight against it. The Gull and Lantern had nice rooms: a wide featherbed with an embroidered cover dominated the room, and the stone walls were covered with oil paintings of the Ferelden elite. A full length mirror with a gilded frame stood in one corner, in front of which stood Hawke’s pack and belongings. But she didn’t come here to gawk at the decor. 

She turned to face him. Hawke stood before her, his expression stony. “Well? Have you come to keep throwing my feelings in my face, or do you wish to beg for forgiveness?”

Thalia swallowed thickly, her gaze straying to the bed. “Are those the only two options?”

---

“As I was trying to say,” Thalia said, straddling his naked waist, “it’s just that I don’t know you very well.”

Hawke’s hands gripped her hips as he helped her line up with his erection. He chuckled. “And you don’t think this counts as getting to know each other?” 

“I don’t know what this counts as.” She inhaled as they pressed against each other. It was both a relief and terribly annoying to feel him inside her again. She wriggled for purchase — he was sitting at the side of the bed, her in his lap, kneeling on either side of him — and let out a sigh. “Maker. Okay.” 

“Just okay?” He rolled his hips against hers and leaned in for a kiss. “I’d like it to be a little better than that.”

Thalia pressed her hand against his chest and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the feel of him. “It’s just— last time, ah—” She matched his slow rhythm and felt a nice little ache spreading from her pelvis. “It took us awhile.” 

“And that’s why you’re on top this time, yes?” He nipped at her ear. “I can be a quick study.”

“Be that as it may,” Thalia said, breath growing shallow, “This isn’t normally something I do, you understand.”

“And what is ‘this’?”

“Sex.” Thalia gasped as he grabbed her breasts and squeezed. “With near strangers!”

“I wouldn’t say we’re that. We saved the world together, remember?”

“Mm. I suppose.” His chest was warm and sculpted, beneath the thick hair that covered it. She ran her palm along its contours. She had always found the largeness of his body comforting. 

“Survived the Fade, side by side.” Another slow, purposeful thrust, as he stroked her nipples with his thumbs. This drew a little cry from her; he grunted in appreciation. “I admired your tenacity then.” 

“You didn’t say anything.” She tested out how it felt to slowly raise herself up and down on her knees, feeling the length of him. Good. Pretty good. She shuddered pleasantly. 

“You were busy. And young. Fuck, yes, just like that.”

“I’m still young,” Thalia reminded him, the thrill of the encouragement mixing with her ire. Cullen had never sworn when they made love. 

“Younger than now. And I was full of bitterness, grievances.” He adjusted her, tried a different angle. Better, she thought. Maker, I think I’m enjoying this. 

“Well, what a coincidence—” She gasped, grinding against him. “Now I’ve got those too.”

“So it works?”

“Maybe.” She was growing impatient. She shifted, and with better leverage, began to bounce harder and faster, abandoning pretense, her breaths coming in short gasps. 

“Bloody hell—” Hawke yelped. He leaned back, groaning. He fell flat on the bed, and Thalia gleefully straddled his waist and rode him, her breasts heaving. He cursed and muttered her name and pawed at her. “Fuck,” she said back, trying it out. Crude, but she liked it, if she allowed herself to, this messy copulation with a man she barely knew. She thought maybe she could bring them both to climax like this, call the deed done, but she slowed before they reached the tipping point, her knees betraying her. She sat back a little, her one good hand splayed on his panting stomach, hair obscuring her face, and tried to catch her breath.

“You’re real gaatlok when you get going, you know that?” Hawke demanded.  

Thalia bit her lip. “Thanks. I think.” She felt strangely shy all of a sudden, which was absurd because he was cupping her breasts and moving slowly inside her to get her going again. “Do you think — we can get there together this time?”

Hawke smirked. She didn’t see him smile much, and she had to admit the softening of his face made him more attractive. “We’re the Inquisitor and the Champion of Kirkwall. I believe in us.”

“I don’t think our previous accomplishments qualify us for this task.”

“Not with that attitude.”

She laughed, genuinely surprised at his humor. Garrett Hawke had always seemed so dour to her, preoccupied with the world and all its failings. Her laughter died, however, when he reached between her legs and found a certain spot with his thumb he had massaged last time on her living room floor. She gasped. “Oh, Maker….”

“Why don’t we try it?” he asked, putting some pressure there. Thalia bucked against him, causing them both to moan. 

“That isn’t fair,” Thalia whined, meeting his crescendoing pace, feeling herself losing more and more control. 

“Why? You think you’re the only one who can drive someone wild?”

Words were lost after that, lost to panting and grunting and epithets hissed through teeth. “Hawke,” she said, like an accusation; because that felt impersonal, she tried, “Garrett.” He returned the favor, saying her name fervently, like a prayer. 

Just as she felt herself about to slip over, she arched her back and threw her head back into the feeling. It was then she caught a full reflect of herself curled around him in the full length mirror. “Sweet Andraste!” she cried in horror. 

Hawke angled his head, amused. “So that’s what we look like.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. How unseemly.”

“You don’t think we look thrilling?”

“Certainly not!”

“Keep looking,” Hawke urged, and Thalia, too absorbed to disengage, obliged. 

She begrudgingly admitted it had a certain appeal, after. 

[two-reflections]

Hello, I'm PS. I sometimes paint minis and write fanfic.

I primarily rep the Salamanders, but I also like the Red Corsairs, the Iron Warriors, the Thousand Sons, Vashtorr the Arkifane, my original Dark Mechanicum sect, and several Astartes/Legionary characters from other Chapters/Legions.

Ao3

[Lists: Salamander Stories, My Salamander OC Squad, Chaos Stories, Imperial Stories, Xenos Stories.]

Mini Painting

Salamanders Lore

This is (unfortunately) a sideblog, so apologies if it's hard to tell whether we've interacted. If it helps, my main is a very old astronomy-related blog!

Asks are always open! I welcome feedback on my painting and writing. I'm trying my best to improve at both. 😅

Peek under the "Keep Reading" and I'll tell you way too much about myself and about my favourite guys.

Y'know, if you want. Don't say I didn't warn you. 💚

About me:

I live in the UK, but I wasn't born or raised here.

I was an archaeologist, but I'm a copy editor now. Cheers, Brexit. 🙄

My major hobby is LARP. I crew and play quite a lot of small and mid-size games.

My first experience with Warhammer 40k was a Dark Heresy TTRPG Campaign campaign where I played a "pilgrim" (scout equivalent) from a renegade Space Marine Chapter who was part of an Inquisitor's retinue. Still one of the best TTRPGs I've ever played.

Fell in love with the Salamanders due to a plot point in that game. Later read the Tome of Fire books, which only deepened my love.

I wanted to start painting, but after an uncomfortable experience at what was then my local GW store, I didn't feel like it would be a good idea.

My spouse and I painted minis for a few RPGs and Legacy board games together over the years. We sucked, but it was fun.

Last year, I started watching Warhammer videos while painting Frosthaven minis. Finding Ebay Miniature Rescues was what finally got through to me.

Since then, I've been painting and reading when I can. I've played Killteam a few times with my spouse, loved it every time.

I'm neurodivergent and a bit bad at communication. I have three modes: enthusiasm, anxiety spiral, and complete hermit. All of these can make me difficult to interpret. I've spent years giving myself hell for it and I'm trying not to do that any more, but please understand that it only takes one brief conversation for me to consider us friends. If I forget to reply, I still think you're amazing and I will genuinely be delighted if you nudge me or randomly get in touch months or years later.

I'm currently pregnant and off my narcolepsy meds, so my painting is on hiatus because I'm not awake enough most of the time. Very frustrating.

Canon Faves:

ALL THE SALAMANDERS - literally all of them. I'm super hung up on Nick Kyme's Rebirth though, so my favourites are Ur'zan Drakgaard (whom I HC as being a dreadnought in current 40k), Adrax Agatone, and the poor little meow meow x feral massive hiss hiss duo of Exor and Zartath (yes, he counts!!). Also, Chaplain Elysius is always 10/10. Sa'kan from Pariah Nexus is also wonderful and I hope we see him again soon.

All the cool humans around the Salamanders - RIP Makato. Issak and Agatone should kiss once. Shoutout to Tsu'gan's brander, he didn't deserve what happened to him. Colonel Redgage is babygirl and I'll always wonder if he survived.

Non-Salamander OCs:

Kemal Afshar and Setka Radjedef of the Thousand Sons. Technically my spouse's OCs, but they're kind of shared at this point. Despite being on different sides of the Ahriman-Magnus divide, these ancient Terran boys meet often to play sorcerous board games together. You can read more about them here! Also, these lads have minis! Plus, they're in my Thousand Sons Killteam.

After writing this story and one more that isn't on Ao3 yet, I also have Yazid Melek. He's an Exalted Sorceror from the Cult of Mutation who focuses on psychically active and mutated plants.

Warsmith Kirakos Neman of the Iron Warriors and Fleet Captain Roscius Sedulius of the Red Corsairs enter into a trade agreement together with personally devastating consequences. You can read more about them (and other characters from their warbands) here!

Skitarius Escher has been requisitioned from Forgeworld Urum by the Inquisition, serving in a team headed by Interrogator Arion Astraeus under the auspices of Inquisitor Griselda Novaria of the Ordo Hereticus. You can read more about them (and the rest of their team) here!

I also have several techmarines-in-training and Deathwatch marines. So far, I've only uploaded two stories about any of them: Adathan of the Blood Angels and Julen of the Imperial Fists.

OC squad: Salamanders 6th Company's 3rd Tactical

(Apologies for the Heroforge pics below, I hope to actually put together my squad's minis this year and then this'll have proper pictures. Or I'll commission some artwork.)

The 6th's 3rd is a squad of Salamanders currently stationed in the rotating garrison at Clymene. Currently eight men + a Sergeant, though they often deploy with the addition of Lexicanum An'terea, an elderly Astartes who was caught up in the Psychic Awakening at the turn of the millennium.

Brother Lattis (R) describing a creature to Sergeant Te'rien. (L).

Led by Sergeant Benedan Te'rien (~160), a fixture of the 6th. In the forge, Te'rien specialises in fine metalwork. Te'rien has tried to run his squad like a family where he is the paterfamilias, but he's still emotionally compromised after the death of someone he had an intense friendship with in the past. Even though younger Astartes are often seen as more emotional and less detached, Te'rien is an example of how untrue this is. His deep love for the 6th Company stands in contrast with his stubborn refusal to leave Clymene to rejoin the rest of the 6th in Aethonian. Only his current Captain and second-best friend Nehr Ur’Venn knows the reason for his self-imposed exile.

An'terea (L) and Philo (R) reminiscing.

Pe'tar Philo and Carix An'terea go back like 250 years and are absolutely devoted to each other. It's not that they exclude others on purpose, they're just unrelatably old and are the only ones left from an extremely tight knit squad that died many years before. An'terea isn't technically part of the same squad as Philo any more, but he takes advantage of his new Librarian status (thanks, Psychic Awakening) to attach himself to whatever squad Philo is part of. There are several younger Astartes he cares about like Kea'hi and Val'ten, and both Philo and An'terea have grown closer to Sabinus in recent years.

Philo is a brash, avuncular man who cares deeply about the squad. He was a Sergeant in the 5th many years ago and hated being in charge. Since then, he has rejected promotion. He just wants to fight on and spend the calm parts of his life reminiscing with An'terea. Only bothered crossing the Rubicon because An'terea asked him to.

Cor'en (L) scanning Bai'keti (R) after an accident with a malfunctioning power sword.

I don't plan to discuss this further in any of my Salamander stories beyond All-seeing Dawn, but pilot and emergency medic Cor'en (~300, claims 75) is an infiltrator. Not from Alpha Legion, but from a homebrew rogue chapter called the Reavers in Metal. He was meant to infiltrate the Deathwatch, but got stuck with the Salamanders by mistake. He genuinely respects Te'rien. Watching the flawed little Sergeant do his best reminds Cor'en of humanity's tenacity. He's not a big fan of the rest of the squad, though. He misses his old squad. He hopes to leave the Salamanders soon. He just this needs to get his hands on one thing, and then he can “die” on the next battlefield and go home. He's the only Firstborn in the squad at first, though more will arrive as young Primaris marines are promoted and older Firstborn marines transfer to the reserve companies.

Lattis (L) and Ke'leth (R) having a drink.

Lattis (60s), Ke'leth(80s), and Kea'hi (~45) are the tight core of the squad. The Themian Lattis thinks he's the ringleader of this group because Te'rien was his Forgefather when he was a child, but it's actually Ke'leth, a cuddly Hesiodian who takes on many young apprentices. Kea'hi is a bit younger, he is a very normal Salamander. Kea'hi worries that his position might be insecure since he's the youngest in the core and Lattis gives another soldier called Atsen Bai'keti a hard time for being “the baby”, but Kea'hi only thinks that because he doesn't understand what's actually going on between those two. The truth is that Lattis hates people he sees as dishonest, so he saw red when Bai'keti showed up and started swaggering around. Unfortunately, Lattis hasn't noticed that Bai'keti has grown up a lot over the years, so he keeps tormenting him.

Ke'leth (L) with one of his forgechildren.

Sabinus (R) comforting Bai'keti (L).

Sabinus (~65) used to be part of the core group until Bai'keti showed up. His defense of Bai'keti from Lattis's bullying split him off a little from that group, but only Lattis actually lost respect for him. Everyone else still likes him, and Sabinus, Philo and An'terea have become more friendly since then. Sabinus has a heavy, sullen face, but he's actually calm, perceptive and knows the backgrounds of all his squad mates except Cor’en. He has a big heart and a forgiving nature. He would make a good Sergeant, but he's utterly uninterested in command and doesn't know the rest of the 6th Company well on account of being stuck in Clymene for many decades. He may still be promoted someday. Teased Val'ten a little at first because he found him a bit soft.

Bai'keti (R) discussing his dodgy power sword with Sabinus. (L)

Atsen Bai'keti (~32) was never meant to be in the 6th's 3rd. He was once a special scout, not intended for the companies at all but for Mars. However, he suffered a medical mishap and ended up taking significantly longer than average to ascend, meaning that a different scout who began ascension after him left for Mars in his stead. Unfortunately, all the stress, memory issues, and the fall from star scout to disappointment meant that he was a complete mess when he joined the squad. At first, he acted childishly superior and conceited out of insecurity. He has mellowed over the years, especially now that his body has stabilised. Nevertheless, Lattis still gives him hell. When Sabinus stood up in Bai'keti's defense, this unfortunately created tension in the squad and isolated Bai'keti further. With only two friends and a horrible power sword he is desperately failing to make work, Bai'keti doesn't feel like he's part of the squad. Things will improve tremendously for him once he leaves for Mars and finds that he's older and more experienced than the average Techmarine-in-training. He will probably join the Deathwatch after that and return in his 80's with an actual reason to swagger around.

Val'ten (R) gets a talking-to from Sergeant Te'rien (L).

Dejan Val'ten (~25) is the newest member of the 6th. He was a PDF orphan from Heliosa before he was apprenticed to a Brother there. He's the opposite of Bai'keti, having had a relatively straightforward ascension. Unlike his Brother Salamanders, he isn't particularly gifted in the forge, but what he lacks in technical skills he makes up for with tenacity, diplomacy and a strategic mind. He's overly aware of his youth and inexperience, so he tries hard to fit in. He makes friends quickly with Bai'keti, which makes Kea'hi avoid him by proxy. Lattis and Keleth, however, treat him relatively well. On the flip side, Sabinus makes fun of him sometimes. Val'ten idolizes Sergeant Te'rien at first, but comes to see his human side. They will have been good friends for many years by the time Te'rien dies and Val'ten replaces him as Sergeant.

Dal'ris Moloi (~27) is not a Salamander. He was an aspirant who failed to ascend, and is now Val'ten's brander-priest. He requested to be assigned to Val'ten because Val'ten helped his family while he was a scout. The two become very close, working on a secret project together. Val'ten discovers that he enjoys making Dal'ris happy, Dal'ris thinks Val'ten is hot and is flattered that his Lord Astartes pays so much attention to him. They're falling in love.

Drek'tyr (~300) is a very old firstborn who moves down from a higher company when he realizes everyone around him is Primaris now. He replaces Bai'keti. He has a stupid saurian hat and I love him a lot. A little gremlin of an Astartes. He's here because my spouse gave me a very silly mini of a Salamander with a dinosaur head.

[demawrites]

dema!!! for Niva x Solas, 'I will be watching for your enemies, to let them know that they contend with me'??

Thank you for the prompt lovely! A fun first foray into @dadrunkwriting

I will be watching for your enemies, to let them know that they contend with me

He haunts the edges of her life like a ghost.

Sometimes, in dreams, she catches a glimpse of him – a wolf's eyes peering at her in the dark, or a flash of movement between the trees – but in the waking world she is oblivious, believing herself alone. It is almost disheartening, how easy it is to convince her that he has vanished without a trace. That he’d abandoned her.

No, he did abandon her. But not wholly.

His power traces over the stones of Skyhold like fingertips. He has eyes and ears everywhere, lurking behind masks and mirrors, in inquisition livery, in merchants’ carts, in petitioners with pretenses of kissing a new Divine’s ring. It is disheartening how completely his former companions trust the spies in their midst, how guileless they are, how unsuspecting. All but Niva, who casts her furtive glances at every shadow, who always seems to find him, even without knowing. (His Niva, he thinks, ever perceptive, and forever a mere breath away from the truth.)

Her eyes meet his across a distance, then skirt away.

It is disheartening, but he cannot blame her; he is wearing another’s face.

Even his acolytes do not know him in this shape. Neither Fen’harel nor Solas, but some elf mercenary in drab leathers and mud-spattered boots and an ill-fitting helm that covers him from forehead to chin. He looks exhausted and waifish, among so many who have come to his fortress seeking shelter. Just another mouth in a sea of them. No-one spares him a thought, least of all the Inquisitor, who loops her arm through her Commander’s and scales the steps to the keep. He watches them for longer than he should. Catches her looking, brows furrowed, over her shoulder at the crowd.

It is an effort to remind himself that he has a purpose, here.

One of Leliana’s scouts passes too closely, colliding with his shoulder, and amidst the perfunctory apologies and admonitions he finds a scrap of paper pressed into his palm. Solas scratches at his forearm, slipping the paper beneath the leather straps there, and ambles off to a cellar where he knows he won’t be disturbed. There are two elves inside; his. When he removes his helm, letting his features flicker a moment, they startle.

"Ara seranna-ma, we did not know you, ser."

He inclines his head. Without being bid, they collect their things and make for the hallway.

"Sulevin ghilana hanin," they whisper at the door, and he repeats it distractedly, frowning at the note in his hand. At the name, scrawled in hasty script.

Abernache.

He stares at it for a long moment, a silverite gleam rippling across his gaze, before he crumples the paper in a fist and casts it into the nearby hearth. When he looks up, his expression is hard as ice, and twice as cold. Intercepting the noble’s retinue on the road from Skyhold would be a simple enough matter – he needn’t dirty his own hands. But given the nature of the crimes, Solas finds himself inclined to make an example. After all, there is one thing the enemies of the Inquisition must be made to understand:

Anyone who dares to threaten the Inquisitor will find themselves at the mercy of the Wolf.

[geeks-universe]

Cullen Rutherford x Female!Inquisitor

Just a little something I wrote while trying to flesh out some ideas

Cullen Rutherford was a man who struggled in many ways. He tried, most days- damned if he didn’t- but some parts of himself, the parts the Templar Order beat into him, were hard to let go of. His uneasiness, and general distrust, of magic, for one.

The scout sent to report the Herald’s latest news- a sharp faced Dalish elf with hair the color of ash and eyes as near to red as one could come- disagreed. While Commander Cullen had come to respect the man, he wasn’t sure he could echo his sentiments, despite his best effort. Magic was too unpredictable, too alluring.

So no, he didn’t believe the best course of action was to seek out support from the rebel mages. The Templars had their issues, as well as their uses, but they weren’t a wild card.

As the council continued to argue and discuss and plead with one another, an evolution that lasted days, the Herald sought out direction from her companions. Cullen noted, with no small amount of bitterness, that she’d been doing that a lot recently.

Vahwen Lavellan, Lelliana’s trusted scout, had found the Herald’s company wandering Ullander Forest on the Storm Coast. They were bloodied, starving, near feral- a testament to whatever they’d endured prior to returning to Haven. After managing to calm her down, and avoid the short swords she carried with a death grip, Vahwen had gotten her report: she intended to contact the mages in Redcliffe.

With only a small delay to retrieve information on the missing Grey Wardens, Vahwen had returned to Haven, the Herald’s party in tow. The Herald was quiet at first, cautious. It was Varric who managed to get her to crack her first smile.

And from there, she blossomed.

It had only been a couple of months or so since her arrival, but the entirety of the Inquisition felt her presence, the Commander included. There was something so light about her company, like the first rays of sunshine stretching the length of the sky on a new day- calm, peaceful, hopeful. There was something to be admired in that, how the strength of one woman’s character had bolstered the entire movement.

He, however, wasn’t ready to concede on the point. The stubborn part of him- the part that had made a teenager, a boy, willing to commit the atrocities of the past, the part that still tried to justify it if only so he could look at the man in the mirror- wouldn’t let it go.

“Herald, a word?”

Though he posed it as a question, the way a perfectly groomed dark brow rose told him that it came out as more of a command.

“Commander,” she nodded, her voice gentle, as always.

Words weren’t just spoken by her, they were woven- lyrical and pristine- lightly accented in a dialect unrecognizable to Cullen. Or, perhaps, unrecognizable to everyone.

Very little was known about the Herald of Andraste, much to the chagrin of the Nightingale, who prided herself on learning the most insignificant details of their lives, as well as the most important ones.

With the war room recently vacated by the rest of the council, and the door shut for privacy, the Herald gave Cullen her full attention. It was disconcerting, yet thrilling, his heart beating faster in his chest at the unnatural blue of her eyes- so light they were practically glowing.

Not for the first time he wondered about her, about the life she lived and who she was before the Conclave. She’d shared precious few details, a deep sadness in the downturn of her lips and the twinkle of her eyes whenever asked of her past. There was an ache there, one that tore her body asunder from the inside out.

“You must consider the Templars,” he said, finding it easier to focus on the task at hand as opposed to the Herald’s bright gaze.

There was a brief pause, considering.

“Magic makes you uncomfortable.”

She stated it plainly, without judgment. He couldn’t help but notice the quick frown, before she returned to a more neutral expression.

“It’s… it doesn’t- it’s more complicated than that.”

Frustration bubbled in his chest with a twang. The thought of magic, the mention of it- it stirred more than discomfort and fear. It stirred longing, a bone deep craving for Lyrium that carved itself into his ribs and demanded attention. Tension pulled at his brow, his jaw clenched in an effort to stave off overwhelming need that radiated down the length of his body.

“I will consider it.”

An olive branch, extended from this woman- whose heart was far too big for the world- to the tormented shell of her Commander. Maker, what had he become?

There was a hesitance after her words, a brief stuttering in the air where she obviously wanted to say more. His countenance gave her pause, however, and she let the thought bleed out into the wispy smoke of incense.

“Thank you.”

And he meant it.

It had become increasingly obvious that the Herald had a soft spot for the rebel mages. He wasn’t sure why they’d earned her sympathies specifically- though he had a few ideas- she’d been adamant about helping them.

“Did you…”

She paused, thoughtful. Her fingers tapped at the map of Ferelden and Orlais, hammering in time with his heart. Panic swelled at the topic of magic, as it so often did.

“Cassandra explained to me- about the mages and their treatment,” her words were careful, as if she were approaching a startled horse.

His breathing stuttered, stilted by the images that flashed before him- memories, horrible, horrible memories- ones he couldn’t escape in the dark of night. Yes, magic terrified him, and why shouldn’t it?

It caused so much death, so much destruction. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisted in a grimace as he fought the flurry of fractured memories, of all he’s seen and done- too much, too horrible- coalescing to a rising storm in his mind.

At some point, the Heralf had crept closer to him. She was always so careful, so guarded, yet now she placed a tentative hand to his chest, her touch a steady beacon.

“Breathe,” she soothed, lilting voice washing over him in that accent he still couldn’t place.

He found himself breathing deeply, in and out, in time to her gentle prompts. His body followed her command, as his eyes opened once more, locking onto the impossibly light blue of her gaze.

For a moment, he felt peace.

Then heat.

What had he done?

Embarrassment quickly replaced the fear. Heat crawled up his neck, coating his cheeks. It seemed, without lyrium, he’d become rather emotional. Cullen’s issues, the ones that haunt him all hours of the day and fester in the depths of his unconsciousness rarely found their way out anymore. He’d learned to shove them deep, deep down, trapped beneath an iron will and the weight of a craving he’d never satisfy again.

There were times though, when he couldn’t quite seal the lid fast enough, forced to stare at the man he was, at all the pain he had wrought and felt.

“It’s okay,” the Herald assured him, a kind smile behind even kinder eyes.

There was no doubt that the Herald of Andraste had her own secrets, her own pain that lingered in her expression when attention shifted from her, that stopped her hand short when she sparred. What it was, Cullen wasn’t privy to, but he knew another troubled soul when he saw one, and he had no doubt that the Herald and him were companions in more than just the Inquisition.

“Forgive me, Herald, I…”

The words died in his throat, hanging in the air around them. The warmth from her hand receded as she pulled it back to herself, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t about to curl in on himself. He didn’t continue and she didn’t push, a peace settling in the room between them.

“Raelaya,” she reminded him, as she often did.

Despite being granted the title of “Herald of Andraste”, she insisted on using her given name.

In fact, she seemed uncomfortable with the idea of being involved with any amount of divinity, even if her knowledge of their religion was severely lacking. Even in Tiviniter and amongst the Dalish there was some idea of it all, of what the Chantry believes.

But her…

She didn’t recognize the name of the Maker, didn’t understand who Andraste was.

[seigephoenix]

Welcome and Happy DADWC! How about “Yeah, I have a plan.”   “Is it a good one?”   “I have a plan.” from your saracasm list for the characters or pairing of your choosing?

Happy Friday! For @dadrunkwriting! Niyra Cadash x Varric Tethras, with Dorian and Cassandra along for the shenanigans.

Content Warning: shenanigans, Varric being weak to a pair of blue eyes, and more shenanigans Length: ~500 words (I looked this time)

“Tell me again Inquisitor.”  Niyra turned and pointed her finger at Varric warning him not to continue that line of thought.  He scoffed at the peevish look on her face and held up his hands.  Cassandra stood next to them and Dorian directly behind him.

“I’m of the mind to agree with Varric.”  Niyra spared a look at Dorian that had him huffing in answer.  “Well I am.”

“Inquisitor, do not pay them any mind.” Cassandra waved off the complaints despite the protests coming from the other two.  They were in the Hissing Wastes and Niyra was studying the map the scouts had managed to cobble together.  She wanted to close the rifts there and the skulls had led them to this location.  She had to figure out why they’d killed all those tranquil.  “Do you know where we are going next?”

“According to the map, we’ll be going this way.”  Niyra pointed in the direction the map had the temple labelled.  “We’d best hurry, the scouts said a sandstorm was on the way.”

“Wonderful.” Dorian grumbled as Varric sighed heavily.  Niyra stopped herself from snapping at them, as if she wanted to be trudging through sand!  She pressed forward with Cassandra next to her, the other two would keep up or risk being stuck in the sand on their own.

Niyra paused as they approached the temple and she spotted the Venatori around the building.  She grasped her chin as she studied the area and she saw some loose rubble just above the guards, teetering on a ledge.  A well placed arrow would be just the ticket to dropping it on them.  Though that also threatened to give away their position.

“I see that look in your eyes.” Varric’s voice snapped her back to reality.  She looked over at Varric and scoffed at him.  “Well?  Do you have a plan Cadash?”  Her lips turned up in a smile that he recognized all too well.  She was going to ask him for something and he found it hard to resist when she did it with that smile on her face.  “Do you have a plan?”

“I certainly do,” Niyra told him and he arched an eyebrow.

“Is it a good one by any chance?”  Dorian piped in to agree with Varric.

“Your plans do have a tendency to involve…  Chaos.” Cassandra looked at Niyra in concern but she merely grinned at Varric.

“I have a plan.  I need you to shoot that ledge.” She pointed to it and Varric groaned.  This would not end well for them.  At all.  He still couldn’t resist when she was looking at him with those blue eyes sparkling.  He was powerless against them and sighed as he aimed Bianca at the ledge.

Just as she thought, the ledge did collapse onto the guards but it alerted the others to their position.  Niyra drew her sword and laughed as she ran into battle with Cassandra lecturing her as she followed.  Dorian cursed in Tevene before following.

After the fight

“I thought you said you had a plan Inquisitor?” Dorian asked as they all took a collective breath as the last guard fell.

“I did.  I never said it was a good plan now did I?” Niyra laughed as Dorian groaned along with Cassandra.

[ramblinganthropologist]

The saddest thing to come out of Veilguard so far is apparently Trevy and Scout Harding broke up after inquisition.

Poor Trevy. Maybe she'll find someone nice to settle down with and teach mage kids at her magic school.

[veorlian]

sometimes you just gotta smooch your tiny wife. not pictured: lace standing on a very tall chair

belated doodle for the "breathless kisses" prompt for @14daysdalovers

[diamondcitydarlin]

"so there we were- five of us, a thousand of them. Also a dragon, I think? Anyway I just started swinging."

"a thousand? are you sure it was-"

"shhhhhh let him finish!!!"

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

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.

[sinsbymanka]

This took forever @odekiax​! I hope you enjoy! <3 

Harding knew she was in trouble the first time she saw the Herald of Andraste laughing. 

She didn’t know, exactly, what caused it. She thought, perhaps, a joke about the sun gleaming off the elf’s shining bald head making it hard to aim. Something clever, no doubt, Varric was clever if nothing else. And he loved to make her laugh. 

Well, Maria Cadash had few enough reasons to laugh. Giant hole in the sky. Demons. Crazy templars. Out of control mages. Unknown magic stuck in her hand. It was good that someone could. 

It was... not so good that the laughter brought a surge of warmth rising up from Harding’s toes. Maria’s joyful eyes latched on Harding and she gestured to Solas, even as he scowled disapprovingly. 

“Do you think it’s hard to aim with the glare, Harding?” Maria asked, wiping a pretend tear from her eye. All studied, playful artifice. Harding wondered what she’d be like stripped down to who she really was. 

Harding wondered if anyone else would ever see the Herald of Andraste’s true self ever again. 

“It’s not a problem, Herald.” Harding smirked, cooly casual and confident. “But... I’m probably a better archer than Varric.” 

Oh, that hit the dwarf right in the pride. She could see him prickle even under his polished veneer of easy charm. But it made Maria cackle, and Varric seemed just as enthralled with the sound as Harding was. He softened almost immediately as soon as he heard it. 

It was just a crush. Just a tiny crush. Harding had crushes, she’d get over this one too. 

But she wasn’t at all bothered when Maria beamed in her direction. “Harding, I could hug you.” 

“You’re always welcome to hug me.” Harding offered with a sunny grin.