#Someone give Solas a paper bag to breathe into

[teamdilf]

I love how, in the odd-numbered Dragon Age games, my protagonists are generally capable, professional adults. In the even-numbered games, they’re feral hot mess gremlins* who break out in a rash the moment they need to actually be serious.

Given that Varric is the commonality here, let’s blame him.

*I know I haven’t actually dug in and played Rook yet but she’s going to be just as purple as my Hawke is.

[nerd-elf]

Love & War - Another elven apostate?????

* I’ve decided to post here the first chapter of my fanfic about my OC and Solas, I’ve been posting on AO3 for a while. You can check it here, if you like.

Summary:

(Warning: Spoilers) A templar alliance made Solas suspicious of Inquisitor Trevelyan. The man treated him decently, certainly influenced by his noble background, though he wasn’t fond of magic or the Fade. Sometimes the elf would talk with Varric and Blackwall, or play an occasional game of Wicked Grace with them, The Iron Bull and even Sera now and then. Yet, the Fade still held the best company, and his plans were going on with no major trouble. Although he resigned himself to stay, the great amount of Chantry forces around always followed by an attentive Cassandra made him apprehensive to even leave his cabin. Nevertheless, one morning, a dailish researcher would change everything.

*******************************************************************************************

The sun was rising in the Frost Mountains, and the guards of Haven welcomed some warmth after so many hours freezing during the vigil. Solas, on the other hand, grew accustomed to walking barefoot and in light clothes for so long that he was able to stand comfortably in the wind, appreciating the view of the frozen valley reflecting the colorful sky. He grinned at the vision in the early morning, remembering the nice chat he had with his friends in the Fade during the night.

Cassandra's shouts took him away from his peace however, when he heard her, as ruthless as always, saying “You think I am to believe that another elven apostate, covered with more suspicious theories and gadgets, would care about our cause to study it? Don't you all have a clan or a family to be with?”

He was on the move before he could even realize. He would never accept how ignorance could be so violent. Yet, he kept his voice amused and a sarcastic expression on his face. “Cassandra, may I know what's so thrilling to be already happening at sunrise?” He looked at the Seeker, her face frowned as commonly. Past her, there were 2 templars, one from each side of a retracted person, wrapped in robes and a scuffed cape, shaking with the tension of the situation. The figure had a tall, shiny staff on their back though, deliberately telling they were a mage. He couldn't see their face, but noticed the shape of pointed ears under the hood, trembling with fear, also revealing them to be elven. "Whatever this person is, seems to be scared enough of your entourage to do anything dangerous." He stated.

The Seeker looked at him with suspicion, and he had already regretted his decision. “You said you worked alone, Solas. Now tell me. Another elven apostate appears to me at 6 in the morning, telling me she wants to study the breach, just like you. And almost immediately you come, concerned about her, in the middle of a war between templars and mages, when the breach was clearly created by magic and no one can explain it, except you two. Care to tell me the reason of such a coincidence?”

He didn't know why, although he suspected. Also, another person studying the breach could certainly help the Inquisition, at the same time as presenting a risk to his plans. He didn’t pay much attention to what Cassandra said, since he already knew everything he needed by looking at the leather bag and the mage robes. Instead of giving the Seeker an answer, the elf pushed her, risking being stabbed or restrained, to catch the figure that started falling between the templars. The Seeker was outraged for a moment, placing a hand on her sword but soon stopping herself, realizing the other mage had collapsed.

Solas unwrapped the cape and hood to see a young woman, elven, her face marked in service to Dirthamen. It seemed fitting, since the dailish believed he was the “god” of knowledge. The simple notion of those ideas made Solas want to roll his eyes. She had long white hair, descending in long waves through her body and shining against the sunlight. Her breathing was weak, and her face blushing. “She has a fever.” He spoke. “Probably came walking through the night in the cold, following Haven’s lights in search for a place to stay. Do you really think I'd work with someone that reckless?” He looked at Cassandra and his gaze was grave, concerned, even a little defying. “Humans tend to consider all other races a menace, no matter how stupid that could appear.” He thought.

The warrior snorted. “Alright, bring her in and let us take care of her. But she will be interrogated, due to our fragile status.” The elf felt his good mood sinking with all the drama so soon, and he knew the Inquisitor wouldn't make it better. He was no fond of mages. "You are right" Said Cole, appearing when he felt someone was suffering. “She walked, wandered, wanted. ‘Cold in my legs, cold in my veins, no caves or shelters around. I knew I shouldn't have come to see the breach at night, but during the day there were too many templars. A light. More templars! Everything fades away.’”

Cassandra still didn't understand Cole, so after the shock of his sudden appearance, she instantly barked at him. “Quiet demon! She will be questioned.” The young boy gave Cassandra a piece of paper, suddenly the girl's leather purse was open. “But she doesn't know Solas. She's dailish, a mage. Her song is joyful, but delicate.” Cassandra read part of the girl's research, but still wasn't convinced. “And I will listen to that from her voice. After she wakes up.”

By the time human and spirit finished talking, Solas had entered his cabin with the stranger on his arms and put the girl on his bed, since the nursery was always crowded with victims from so many demon attacks, the Breach was still not closed. Then he gathered clean water, heated with magic, sank a recent washed cloth in the bucket and put it on the girl’s forehead, trying to stabilize her temperature. He also mixed some herbs with water and attempted to make her drink.

He didn't pay too much attention to Cole and Cassandra, his mind flowing with all kinds of thoughts. “Where did she come from? Could she be that stupid? Who did she work for? Could anyone know his identity? Why would she study the Breach? What did she know about it? Could she be useful? Or maybe a threat? Cole said her song was joyful. Part of him knew it was foolish, but hoped he wouldn't feel so alone anymore, since the Inquisitor was taking all the measures he could to make a new Chantry. With so many templars, reverends and the Seeker around...” Cassandra interrupted his wanderings. “Solas, I appreciate your healing abilities. Even so, I'll have to talk to her when she wakes up.” He nodded, still focused on the girl that had stopped shaking for a while.

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (10/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Graphic descriptions of violence, Viewer discretion is advised (short paragraph)

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 10/? (2730 words)

Author’s notes : Beware ! A Dracula-less chapter (-ish) ! I promise, he’ll be back soon, he really wants to go to that Renaissance fair... (Also yay, part 10 !)

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Mary Van Helsing.

I asked Leah if she hadn't made a mistake. She almost took offense. I sat back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. What ? How ? Van Helsing ? I mean, that could just be a freaky, freaky coincidence. I laughed nervously to myself.

“Hah, you gotta admit that's funny the Van Helsing kid wants to study the Balkanic middle ages”, Leah laughed. Ditto.

Seeing as I didn't reply, she asked if I felt alright. I took a deep breath.

“Leah, there's something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah, of course, what's- Oh, fuck.”

She turned back to her laptop, and started frantically typing, cursing under her breath as she did.

“Someone got my position. Jeez, whoever those guys are, they really don't want anyone finding out they exist !”

“What do you mean ?”

“I mean there's a very good chance we will have an unpleasant visit pretty soon.”

She sounded nervous, which was a strange color on her. She activated an emergency shutdown, and closed her computer, taking a moment sitting still, eyes staring into the void. She then stood up decidedly.

“We don't know who it was, could be nothing”, I tried to reassure her.

“Yeah well, not to boast or anything, but if they got through my defenses, I really don't wanna know. Listen, let's just crash at my place, there's a chance they pinged on the VPN and actually here.”

She was so determined, I didn't even think to contradict her. She left her laptop there, only taking her bike helmet. I grabbed my bag, and followed her out of my office. Even though she was tiny, I had trouble keeping up with her fast paces. As we sped through the corridors, I caught a glimpse of dirty hazelnut hair, and grabbed Leah's arm to take a hard right into another hallway. Felt like running into Helder right now wouldn't be the best turn of events. Plus, I was supposed to give a class he was attending, so, that.

“Thinking back exit ?”

“What else ?”

We kept half-jogging to the end of the corridor, turning a few curious heads on the way, pushed on a service door, and slipped outside. The sun blinded me a second, as we made our way to the parking lot. Leah dug her keys out of her pockets, and unlocked the pad on her motorcycle, cursing a few more times every time she ripped around the keyhole. She turned to give me her helmet, and stopped halfway, wincing. Ah.

“Eris Cetero and Leah Fox. I'm going to need you to come with us.”

A very sharply dressed woman was standing a few paces away, icy stare and tightly pulled dark hair. She looked composed, unyielding, and was flanked on both sides by two men built like wardrobes, poorly dissimulating a handgun under their suit jackets. Not the kind of person to try to run away from, then.

“Listen, we didn't mean any harm. We could all just forget it.”

Sometimes, her bluntness had some perks. She had moved over in front of me, her hand grasping mine.

“You are not in trouble. At least not with us”, the woman continued. “We thought we would wait more, but you forced our hand.”

“We have no idea what you're talking about”, Leah kept going, still on the defensive.

I said nothing, trying to keep a straight face.

“My name is Mary Van Helsing. I work in the Murray Institute for the Neutralization of Abnormalities. We have a lot to discuss, especially with you, Miss Cetero.”

Ah shit. Let's think about this rationally. There was no way I could escape that situation. I also didn't want Leah to get in trouble, and I started to see she was about to keep on going if I didn't do anything. I took a deep breath, which had her stop.

“Alright. We have crossed a line digging into things we shouldn't have. You are entitled to some explanations, and if you feel like this can't be done in a parking lot, so be it. Lead the way”, I declared, trying to be as calm and composed as I could.

I was met by a look of disbelief on Leah's face, and an emotionless nod from Mary, who turned on her heels without a word. Can't believe my incredible charm hadn't worked on her yet. Leah's hand softened, and I took a hold of it as we walked to the intimidating sedan waiting for us.

~ ~ ~

The ride took a bit longer than I thought. From the moment Leah started going deeper in her search, and the moment they arrived, it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, and yet, it took well over half an hour to get to our destination. Maybe they were already close, and we just got unlucky. Seemed about right.

We remained silent the whole car ride. You couldn't have hacked through the tension using a damn chainsaw, at this point. Leah and I held hands, so tight I saw her knuckles going white. She was shaking a little, and I hated myself for putting her through this. If only I weren't a nosy fucking idiot.

We arrived to a decrepit-looking building, most likely turn of the 19th century architecture. Above the entrance, the stone looked like it had been engraved, a while ago, but the script was almost completely worn out. Inside, the emptiness gave an echo to every step, the ground overrun with cables coming from other parts of the house. We kept on going straight forward, went down a slope, and arrived to a huge freight elevator. It made a shrieking noise as it went down for a while, so deep we might as well have gone straight down to hell. If you believe in that sort of thing.

The elevator shook as it stopped, opening on a surprisingly high-tech complex.

“Ladies, welcome to M.I.N.A.”, Mary told us as we stepped off.

The first room was a large hall, open on two more stories, visible through balconies, on which were plastered neon lights. In neatly aligned cubicles, employees worked on god knows what, piles of paper cluttering all desks, the intermittent sound of phones and the indistinct chatter of radio making the noise almost unbearable. Mary kept on walking, some people greeting her as she passed them, and giving Leah and I the strangest looks. Ooh, boy. That was about to be fun.

She opened large fire-breaking doors, and we went on a corridor, making a few turns. As I had learned by now, I memorized the turns. Right, left at the weird plant, another left at the water fountain. She opened a door for us, leaving us to enter before her. That looked awfully like an interrogation room, with one table at the center, and two uncomfortable chairs. The double sided-mirror occupying one of the walls was also a dead giveaway.

One of the guards stopped Leah as she went after me. As she protested, they told us they would explain the situation separately. If they actually knew anything, that might be the smarter option. I reassured her, smiling, and went into the interrogation room. One of the guards came with me, and closed the door, only to stand in a corner, silent. I dragged out a chair to sit, waiting for anything to happen.

“Not really talkative around here, huh ?”, I asked, knowing I wouldn't get an answer.

Moments later, Mary came back into the room, holding a few files, one distinctly bearing my name. It does something to your ego, to have your name on a secret society's secret case file, in their secret underground bunker. The woman sat on the other side of the table, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Miss Cetero, do you really have no idea why you're here ?”, she asked.

Of course I know why I'm here. You know I know. You saw me try to fly into the wind with my partner in crime as soon as we knew you found us. I just had to put my best performance on. Tremble, Hollywood.

“Well, we did hack into some pretty secure servers to get information that we weren't supposed to get”, I told her, and shrugged. “That seems pretty clear to me.”

“There's that, but I want to talk about something else.”

Her face was completely unfeeling, yet her voice was soft, a bit too maternal for my tastes. I had a little smile, encouraging her to talk. There was no risk if I wasn't talking.

“Do you believe at all in the, quote-unquote, supernatural ?”

If she kept talking to me like I was a particularly simple child, I'd show her something supernatural pretty damn soon. I worked to keep down the wave of righteous anger crashing against the insides of my chest.

“Do you mean... ghosts ?”, I ventured.

“Among others. I'm talking more specifically about vampires.”

Her eyes were gleaming behind the rectangles of her glasses. I didn't react, other than a little laugh. Alright, keep it up, play dumb.

“Vampires ? Come on, is this a joke ? Did Leah put you up to this ?”, I giggled.

Not that dumb, fuck's sake. Nobody was this stupid. I actually wanted to kill myself. I was so in character my voice went up an octave all on its own. Repressing a shiver, I kept on smiling like a brainless fish.

“I'm afraid I'm dead serious. As... Phantasmagorical as it may seem, such creatures exist, and we believe you, and your friend, may be in grave danger.”

Well, that seemed to actually work pretty well. Not really trying to think of the reasons why I had so little trouble passing as brain-dead, I had a nervous laughter, and kept going.

“Do I have to look around for a man in a black cape next time I leave my building, Mrs. Van Helsing ?”

“Doctor Van Helsing, actually. And rather, you should look around for the man you know as professor Vlad Balaur.”

Ah, direct, I see.

“I'm not sure I get your meaning.”

“We have good reasons to think Vlad Balaur is a vampire, trying to pass himself up as Vlad Dracula Tepes, a character you of all people know well.”

I didn't say anything, but my heart sank to my stomach.

“In what I will tell you, I want you to assume everything I say is true”, she started, leaning back. “In 1896, a team made up from Jonathan Harker, Quincey Morris, Mina Murray-Harker, and Abraham Van Helsing, put an end to the reign of terror of the vampire known as Dracula. It seemed he was no other than Vlad Tepes, the Impaler, who supposedly had, quote-unquote, “died” during the 15th century. At his return to London, he decided to create this institution, to be certain that should such a horrific event happen again, people would have the knowledge and resources to deal with it.”

She took a pause, gauging my reaction. I tried to keep my innocent façade, but has strictly no idea wether she could tell I was faking. The feeling of dread creeping its way into my mind didn't help either.

“Bram Stoker was an accomplice to the whole ordeal, and published his book, which was explicitly branded as fiction. You know the rest, concerning the sometimes questionable turn of the theme into popular culture. However, vampires, among other numerous creatures, are still a threat on humanity today. And a lot of them take inspiration from ancient figures, like Count Dracula. This would not be the first time one of them fashioned himself the Dark Prince Returned.”

“I'm sorry”, I interrupted, “But how can you expect me to believe any of that ? Do you even have any proof ?”

I tried to keep my panic out of my tone. I didn't want to believe it, but what if she was right ? She couldn't be, right ? He knew so much about everything, and... I tried to calm myself down. Just need to get through this, I'll talk this out with the man himself. All would be well.

“Even if you were right, even if professor Balaur was a vampire”, I began as she only kept staring at me. “He never tried to hurt me, or had any reprehensible behavior toward me or Leah. Why would I need to be worried ?”

She looked at me for what seemed like hours, and finally pulled a file from her pile, and slid it towards me. She then sat back, and lit a cigarette. She offered one, and I declined politely, asking what was in the file.

“All around the city, for the last month, we had a count of twenty-four murders”, she declared. “Look at the pictures, and you tell me what kind of person could have done this.”

Shaking a bit, I opened the file, and instantly had to put a hand over my mouth. You can watch hours and hours of horror movies, and never get used to anything like that. Everything was red. Seeping into the fabrics, clothing, mattresses, drapes. Splattered on the walls, dripping from the ceilings. Body parts, bent in impossible angles, flesh frayed, shredded in long clawing marks, leaving the internal organs and their contents spilling out of the deformed corpses. Throats. Open. So torn apart it just looked like a bundle of rubber tubes. On one of the victim's descriptive notes, I glimpsed the word “pregnant”. I closed my eyes, looking away. There were hundreds. Mary offered again, and I took the cigarette. I closed the case file, taking a long drag.

“What happened in Romania, Miss Cetero ?”, she asked, a bit more softly.

I raised my head to meet her gaze. “I... Nothing happened. I- I visited some museums, hiked a little, why do you ask ?”

My eyes welled up with tears, and keeping on a neutral smile was a physical effort at this point. I kept seeing flashes of teeth, the horse, inside out, bled dry.

“We believe he might come from there, which is why he would identify with Dracula. He could have taken a liking to you there, and followed you here.”

“I think I would remember an encounter with something that does... that does this on a daily basis”, I snapped, fighting through tears. That couldn't be right. It couldn't.

“Your memory could have been wiped. It's not uncommon, once again.”

I started to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the cigarette. I didn't smoke very often, so that was probably that, right ? I must have remained silent a while, because Mary leaned forward, putting back the file on the pile.

“Listen, I will make this as clear as possible”, she snapped. “If we are to stop this creature, we need your full support. For some reason, he trusts you more than most. You cannot tell him about your knowledge of this place.”

She slid a card across the table.

“If you are ever in danger, or need any information, call us. We will call you if necessary.”

She put out her cigarette on a portable ashtray, and I did the same, mechanically.

“What did you tell Leah ?”, I asked.

“Nothing more than she needs to know, which does not include anything about Vlad Balaur. We think the less people know, the safer it is.”

I nodded, and slipped the card into my pocket. Nothing about this felt safe, or right, or anything but confusing, and nauseating. They escorted me out, and I still felt engulfed in cotton, everything muted, even when Leah nearly jumped into my arms as I got out. I barely realized I walked, or the time spent in the car, until they dropped me off at home.

I dragged myself to my apartment, and went straight to bed, half expecting to see him there, on the balcony. Instead, I found a note. I opened the window, and took the folded sheet of paper. The same he used back in Romania, and the same fine, elegant handwriting. It was weighed down with a polished rock, which I noticed, upon further inspection, contained a multitude of little fossils.

I have heard historians like old things, here is one.

For another, I will be back soon.

All my love,

Vlad.

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Taglist : @carydorse​ @angelicdestieldemon​ @bloodhon3yx​ @thewondernanazombie​ @battocar​ @moony691​ @mjlock​ @thebeautyofdisorder​ @festering-queen​ @paracosmfantasy​ @my-fanfic-library

[ellstersmash]

Three: Nine

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU) / Minor Cullen x f!Lavellan

Rating: T for Teen

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Cullen stares at her open palm.

“That’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” She laughs mirthlessly. “Uh, unless you’ve got another girlfriend stashed somewhere, I damn well think it is my business.”

He snatches the box from her hand, snaps it shut with a heavy click, tosses it in with his things.

“Let it go,” he says.

“Right,” she hisses. “Sure. Let’s forget about the engagement ring you had wrapped up in your boxers. Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Why not?” he asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We can put it with all the other things we don’t talk about.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said: we don’t talk about things.”

“About what?”

“About anything! About us, and this, where it’s going, if you’re happy, and every time I try, you shut down or deflect.”

“So, what, you bought a ring just to make me talk about it?”

“No, Athi, I didn’t.”

“Oh gods,” she groans. “Tell me this isn’t like, your grandmother’s or something.”

He folds his arms in front of his chest like a shield, and does not answer.

“Fuck.” She’s pacing now, stomping over sleeping bags. “Fuck, Cullen, you can’t just shove this into the fast lane! I don’t even know if I want to be with—”

Cullen’s eyes narrow and go a little cold as she cuts herself off.

“Care to finish that sentence?” he asks.

She does not. “Quit turning this around on me, it’s not about me.”

“That’s funny,” but he isn’t laughing. “See, because you always make it about you. Even this, which really, truly is not about you, you've made about you.” Even this close to a whisper, his words cut like a blade, sharp and pointed and made to hurt.

“Fine, then,” she says and crosses her arms. “By all means, enlighten me. What's this really about?”

He closes his eyes, inhales slow, exhales through pursed lips.

“I’ve been waiting,” he finally says. Softly, and after all his harshness, it feels like a trap. “Pretty damn patiently, I think, for you to give me something. Anything. Some part of you. Something real, some . . . I don’t know, indication that you want this. Want me.”

“It’s a pretty big jump to—”

“Maker’s balls, woman. I’m trying to be honest here. Could you quit talking at me for a damn second?”

She snaps her jaw shut.

“I’m sorry, just—” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “What do you want from me? Because I can’t figure it out to save my life. You didn’t have to call me, but you did. You didn’t have to stay with me, but you did. Now we’re together, playing the happy couple, but I have no idea how you feel about me. I thought this”—he gestures around the tent walls—“meant something. Your family’s far away, I understand that, and I don’t want to rush you. But meeting your friends? That’s something.”

He fishes the velvet box out from his pile of clothes, thumb rubbing against the lid but he doesn’t open it.

“This was . . . this belonged to someone else. She loved me, and she said yes, and we planned our life together. And then she died. A few weeks before our wedding.”

It comes out of nowhere. Feels like a sucker punch, and she’s reeling.

“Creators, Cullen.”

“I tried to sell it, but couldn’t imagine it on someone else’s hand. Her parents wouldn’t take it. So I figured I’d hold onto it until maybe I could let it go. Then some years passed, and I healed, and then you came along and . . . ” He shrugs. “Anyway, I thought this was something.”

Her stomach sinks. “You were going to let it go.”

All of her words—her assumptions, her accusations, her almost-admissions—still hang in the air, a deafening miasma that burns when she breathes it back in.

“Clearly, I was mistaken, because I still don’t know why I’m here. I still don’t know what you want.” He drops the box back in his bag with his shirts and socks and deodorant. “And I don’t think you do, either.”

Cullen shakes his head, and a slew of emotions flicker across his face like slides of an old film. “I am not a man who settles for half-measures, Athi, and I am tired of this one. So tell me. What do you want?”

Her mouth falls open, but she has no answer for him.

“No, you know what?” His voice is icy now, his gaze unyielding steel. “It doesn’t matter. What you want doesn’t matter. Because I’m done.”

Athi chokes back something—not a sob, not really—and he kneels to pack his things. He’s neat, tidy, and there isn’t much to gather; it doesn’t take him more than a minute.

“I’m sorry, Cullen. I tried to—”

“You tried.” He laughs, cold and harsh. “Tried, what, to love me?”

The shame burns all the way to the tips of her ears. It sounds ridiculous, said out loud. Said like that. She cries, then, but it feels like begging and she scrubs the wet from her face with the back of her hand.

He hoists his bag onto his shoulder. Looks around the emptier tent.

“Kind of wish you hadn’t.”

She stares at the shifting circle of light as he leaves her. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t draw it out. Shoves past her, slams the car door, and drives away hating her.

The smoke from off her skin stings her eyes.

When the sound of his engine fades into cricket mating calls and a crackling fire, she grabs a bottle of something from the stash by Sera’s tent and takes it to the lake. Doesn’t look at Solas, though she sees him, illuminated, from the corner of her eye.

Knees hugged close, she drinks too-sweet rum by the water like a godsdamned pirate, and she cries and she drinks and she plays back all those months. All those half-truths. All those excuses. All those choices she got wrong. All those things she shouldn’t have said before he left, and all the things she should have.

She cries and she drinks and she thinks and she feels.

Sick. Empty. Guilty. Lonely. Foolish. Frightened.

Free.

    “Hey.”

Sera’s voice brings the sun in with it. Cruel and sudden, a flash of red on the backs of her eyelids, and Athi groans. She doesn’t remember coming back to her tent, or really much of anything past a quarter-bottle. Something hovers just out of reach, faint and wavering, and the harder she tries, the less certain it feels. Something about her head tipped back, watching the stars below the water from upside down.

She lets it go, for now. It doesn’t make enough sense and the sharp pain gripping her skull makes remembering seem a lot less important.

“You okay?” Sera asks. “Need anything?”

“Fuck off,” she says into her pillow.

Sera sighs, sounds like the sweet spot of the scissors catching on wrapping paper. One long clean cut. “Don’t be an assface,” she says.

Athi huffs, and it hurts. “Thirsty.”

“Behind you.”

She turns, no small effort, and peeks one eye open. That hurts, too. Sure enough, though, there’s a clear plastic bottle, half-hidden by the blanket she’d thrown off at some point. She gulps down half its tepid contents and caps it tight.

A rustling sound, and then a warm body presses in close behind her, arm tight around her middle and a raspberry blown on the back of her neck. She flinches away from the unexpected contact, but Sera gathers her back in.

“Sera what the—”

“I’m being here, stupid. For you.”

“For me.”

“But Cullen’s the stupid one, you know. For leaving. You’re a catch, and the fish are in the sea, and all that.”

“Um. Thanks.”

Fucking void. They hadn’t been that loud, but then . . . Solas had been right there.

She really hadn’t pegged him as the type to run his mouth, though.

Whatever. That’s a problem for later. Athi shifts in Sera’s arms and rolls her neck with a series of cracks that sound a whole lot more satisfying than they are. Straightens her spine, curls up tighter. Then she gives in to the discomfort with a whimper.

Everything hurts.

“What if I wanted to be the big spoon?” she grumbles.

“Psh, you’re teeny. Got to be big for that . . .”

Got to be big. It’s fading fast, fraying at the edges, flashes of moving horizontal under the trees. And something about her father? But again, the memory unravels even as she grasps at it, until she’s not sure she remembers it at all.

“Might make a decent backpack, though,” Sera continues. “Now shut up and sleep while I still can.”

Sleep she can do. So they doze until it gets too hot, sun on canvas and bodies and blankets.

The second waking is almost worse. Sera goes looking for lunch while Athi changes. It's slow going; her muscles are stiff and sore, and this is why she doesn’t drink rum. If it weren't so stifling, she’d consider never moving. Never leaving this tent. Never facing what Solas does or does not know, shared or did not share. Never telling them why she’s alone.

A person can go more than three weeks without food. What’s one day?

But her teeth feel gritty and her stomach grumbles and the heat makes her head pound. So she forces her chin up and emerges into the light.

They’re scattered around the cluster of campsites, all of her friends and their faces full of pity. Except Leliana, who sets her hands on Athi’s shoulders and offers to kill him.

She is probably kidding.

“So, Cullen really just left?” Josie says gently. “Are you certain it’s over? Perhaps there was a misunderstanding.”

There was.

Cassandra answers for her. “It does not sound that way, Josephine. Ugh, and he seemed so genuine.”

He is.

“Do you want me to write him into my book?” offers Varric. “I think there’s room for one more dastardly villain.”

Dorian tsks him. “He is, at best, a lowly scoundrel. By the by, is there perchance any room for a handsome, yet also quite brilliant hero?”

Everyone’s around except Solas, and Athi’s not sure if she’s relieved or annoyed. By his absence, by their attention, by everything and anything and nothing at all. By the gnawing in her gut as they crucify Cullen’s character, and as she lets them, using their distraction to sidle away unnoticed.

The table is spread with food, chips and bread and meats and cheeses, fruit, a tray of brownies and crumbs, but it might as well be empty. None of it looks appetizing. She settles for an apple, yellow-green and freckled with brown. Supposedly, they’re almost as good for energy as coffee, which sounds like a load of halla shit.

Feels better in her mouth, though. Less like earth, more like air.

She sits, hunched over the table, and carves off slices with a knife, focused in on the shapes of crisp white flesh rimmed in gold.

Bull steps over the bench, holding a sandwich the size of his face on a comically small plate.

“Scoot.”

She does, and he sits, and the table wobbles backward.

“Sure, make me look selfish,” she says, waiting to see how he's going to fit it in his mouth.

He doesn't try, though.

“You know, I didn't really like the guy much anyway,” he says, more to the sandwich than to her.

“It wasn't him,” she admits. Then, because Bull has a way of getting more information than he asks for, adds: “I think I was an ass.”

“Oh yeah? Good, because I was lying.”

She laughs, just a huff of amusement, but it feels good. Her head, on the other hand, is killing her.

The apple’s too much; she leaves it to brown and buries her head in her folded arms. A reprieve from all the brightness and a satisfying stretch along her back.

Bull lays one huge, heavy hand over the ache of it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I really, really don't.”

The pad of his thumb presses into her skin, digs a broad line along the curve of her neck and rubs small circles into the knot he finds where her neck meets her shoulder. He increases the pressure and she grimaces as he bores in toward her bones, but then he slides it away down her spine, and a guttural, broken moan escapes her.

His hand doesn’t stop, even as she tenses at the primal sound.

“Uh . . . do you want to talk about that? ” he teases.

Athi giggles despite herself. Then freezes, feeling a different sort of twisting in her gut.

Her stomach lurches, threatening, and she tumbles back over the bench, runs to the woods. Waits, pulling fresh air into her lungs, anchored by her hand on the rough bark of a tree, trying to ease her churning insides back from their precarious ledge.

It’s no use; she empties the meager contents of her stomach into the weeds.

She deeply regrets the apple.

A rustle ahead and she glances up, pressing the back of one hand to her mouth. It’s Solas, because of course it is, eyes shifting uncomfortably toward her, then away, then back. She’s not sure if she’d rather use her last dregs of effort to glare at him or compose herself.

“Oh. Hello. I was just—” He points back the way he came with a thumb over his shoulder, which means less than he apparently thinks it does. “I did not realize you were awake.”

There is no room in her head for witty one-liners. It’s all don’t throw up, so she only answers: “Yep.”

“Well, are you . . . Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I think you”—she stops to take a slow breath, deep and even, don’t throw up, don’t throw up—“you’ve done enough.”

“Excuse me?”

“What you heard last night was—” Another wave of nausea hits, and she leans her forehead against the young bark. “That was private, Solas . ”

A long silence from him, followed by a heavy sigh. She’s not in the mood to argue anyway, just spits into the grass, turns away with a dismissive wave.

“Athi, I—”

“Gotta go,” she tosses back.

Brush my teeth.

For, like, an hour.

The rest of the day flies by.

She bums some coffee off Varric, which helps immensely with her headache. Then she packs up Cullen’s tent, moves all her stuff into Sera’s, goes swimming again, and again gets too much sun.

Solas keeps his distance, even after her head stops hurting and she wishes maybe he wouldn’t. And when he is finally forced into proximity by the promise of dinner, there’s nothing remorseful about it. He is silent, brooding, chatting privately with Varric until she makes some joke about an ancient ritual.

Should have known it would be a hot-button topic for him.

“I am pleased to hear the Dalish have at least recalled its existence,” he says. “Even if only for the sake of crude remarks.”

It surprises her, the bite of his words. The venom behind them. The arrogance in his voice and the hard, angry look in his eyes.

As if he has the fucking right. She leans forward, elbows on her knees.

“What,” she taunts, “am I not respectful enough for you, Solas? Too casual with my own people’s culture?”

His calm is unflappable. “That is one way of putting it.”

“Here’s another,” she says, and coolly flips up her middle finger.

Bull and Sera chuckle beside her, but Solas scoffs. “Forgive me, but your intent is unclear. Are you attempting to debate my point, or make it for me?”

Athi seethes. And wonders why she ever yearned for his unattainable approval.

Varric, bless him, swiftly recovers the mood, and the collective sense of relief is palpable. Not for her, though. Cullen’s anger didn’t hurt this much.

Solas remains aloof until he retreats to bed after dinner.

Good riddance, then, she tells herself and stays up with the others. Playing cards by the lantern light and trying to keep her eyes on her hand and off his little blue tent. Trying not to think of the way he looked at her last night. Trying not to think about him at all.

    He’s gone when she wakes up. No little blue tent, no rust-eaten sedan, no goodbye.

Not that she was really expecting one.

The others are packing up as well; all except Sera, who’s wandering around looking just as dazed as Athi feels.

Varric, bless him twice, left the last of his coffee behind him. It’s good stuff, too, if a bit lighter than she’d like, and she and Sera sit and sip it on the dock in the late-morning quiet.

Toes in the water, but this time there’s no wind. The lake is placid, mirror-like, peaceful. She’ll miss it when she’s gone.

“So,” Sera says, “that Solas is an interesting one, yeah? Lots of teeth when it comes to old elves and stuff.”

“Apparently, he has a lot to say about a lot of things.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?”

“Forget it.”

Athi takes a long draw of coffee, just barely on the near side of too hot.

“I mean,” she continues, “it was none of his business.”

“Right. Still what?”

“Cullen! Solas was still up. I guess he heard us fighting, and then he fucking told everyone! I mean, what the fuck?”

Sera stiffens, stares into the sky with her face twisted all funny.

“Yeah,” she says. “Right. What the fuck, him.”

But her discomfort is telling. No, Athi thinks. Pleads. No.

“Sera.”

“Mhm,” she says into her mug.

“Sera.”

“Okay! Okay. It was me.”

Athi groans. “Sera!”

“Oh come on, it’s not like they weren’t going to notice his fancy wheels had up and rolled off! I was just preparing the room, is all.”

“And who told you?”

“What, like I can’t work it out for myself?”

“Did you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Well I could have.”

“Sera,” Athi sets down her mug, like somehow that means she’s serious. “What did he say?”

“Ugh, fine. Elfy told me that Cullen left, and you had gotten wasted, but he didn’t say wasted, he said something all fancy. Think he used the word ‘imbibed.’ Said you might be confused about where you were, and he asked me to check on you.”

“And that’s when you told everyone else.”

“More or less,” Sera mumbles.

“So I yelled at him for nothing.”

“I mean, he was acting kind of up-there.”

“No, no that.”

Athi shakes her head, hard, and something clicks.

She remembers, just a little. A soothing voice—“Are you all right?” —as the sky rippled above her. Her feet, swept sideways as he lifted her in his arms. The bottle of water he placed next to her bed, tucked in with a reminder to drink it in the morning. Those unraveled pieces, pulled back into focus by one common thread.

He was there.

Oh, she is absolutely, undeniably, unequivocally, an ass.

[novamm66]

Red Sky in the Morning

I am so excited to say Chapter 7 is ready! Also, I have gone back and edited and updated previous chapters a little bit (Mainly Chapters 4 & 6 found here)

Without further ado

Chapter VII

Riding through the land of his childhood was bitter-sweet for Cullen. On one hand, it was comforting to pass the landmarks of his memories. On the other, seeing the damage done by the mage-templar conflict was gut-wrenching. He could still see the faded damage that had been done by the Blight with the fresher scars layered on top. Still, there were signs of recovery: the Inquisition presence was strongly established here thanks to the hard work of the Herald and her party.

As they had travelled into the second day of riding, the weather turned. Grey clouds had descended, bringing rain with them. The heaviness in the air was making his head pound in cadence with his horse’s hooves striking the ground. It would be a relief to finally arrive at the forward camp.

It would also be a relief to gain more varied company. With the missing soldiers, Haven’s defences were seriously undermanned, forcing him to bring some of the new ‘volunteers’ the Herald had acquired in her travels. Cullen rolled his eyes as he listened briefly to Sera singing at the top of her lungs, very badly and very lewdly.

The road quickly turned soft and boggy, making it difficult footing for the horses, and by the time it was fully dark their progress had slowed to a crawl. The miserable conditions had smothered even Sera’s spirit and the entire party had fallen silent, lost in their individual thoughts.

Cullen was struggling to focus on the road ahead through the steady rain and pounding in his head when he suddenly felt the tickle of magic in the base of his skull. He pulled his charger to a halt as he peered into the gloom.

“What do you see?” Bull spoke quietly, seeming to sense Cullen’s tension.

Before Cullen could respond to the qunari he was interrupted by a shout from behind. “Oi, Bigboots! Why’d we stop?” Cullen tensed at Sera’s loud question and dreadful timing, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. The hiss and snap of a lantern being unshielded had his sword half drawn before the light flared and illuminated the faces and insignia of two Inquisition scouts.

“Welcome to the Fallow Mire, Commander.”

Cullen exhaled, sliding his sword back into its sheath, still wary of the magic in the air. His eyes continued to search the darkness, barely able to make out the shapes that might be a few buildings. He dismounted, leading his horse forward cautiously. His muscles tensed; the feeling of magic keeping him on edge.

The scouts seemed relaxed enough, one moving forward to assist with the group’s horses and the other moving to open the large sliding door in the wall. Cullen handed off his reins and began to remove his saddlebags from the back of his horse. He could hear Blackwall and Sera griping at each other, both trying to get out of the rain first.

He turned bags in hand, to see a perfectly normal barn interior, already housing a number of horses in the stables along the side with plenty of room for more. What was off was the gaping hole where the back wall should have been.

Beyond that was the Inquisition headquarters in the region, and it wasn’t much to look at. Cullen could see Rylen’s hand in the canvas stretched from building to building adding protection to the tables holding the Inquisition’s maps and documents, and a large fire burning in the centre of the area. The sounds of the messenger ravens could be heard from the loft above, and individual tents were set up off to one side in the flat area that had once been a family garden.

As his eyes followed the lazy curl of spoke, Cullen found the small point of blue light that seemed to be the centre spark of magic holding the rain at bay. His mind dredged up memories of textbooks describing magic that manipulated water, but he had never seen it on this scale before. As the rain fell, it was diverted as if by an invisible dome of glass. It was beautiful and useful.

His gaze levelled out and focused on the group around the fire. Solas was a little removed from the rest of the party but close enough to benefit from the warmth of the fire. Across from him, Varric sat with his crossbow by his side, pen and paper in hand and half-glasses perched on his nose, smiling at something one of the women said.

Cassandra and Scout Harding were seated next to each other engaged in discussion while the Herald was curled up on the ground, head pillowed on Harding’s leg. She wasn’t asleep: her eyes were unfocused, drowsy. She brought to mind a cat on a fire hearth.

His quiet observation of the scene was interrupted by a bellow as Sera entered. She dashed across the camp, barely missing the fire, and landed on top of the Herald in a pile while hollering “Where’s my breeches!” mixed with a wide collection of obscenities.

“Sera! Sera, stop. Maker’s Balls, you’re soaked and you stink of horse. Stop using me as a towel!” The Herald was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Cassandra and Harding were also laughing, having both retreated to a safe distance from the dripping elf and the small scuffle that had erupted.

The camp quickly became loud and lively with greetings and laughter quickly flying back and forth as the Herald managed to throw the elf off of her and was in the process of trying to rub the dirt off her clothes.

Cullen was distracted as she continued to brush dirt from her back and hips. He didn’t notice Cassandra’s approach and the sound of her voice at his side startled him.

“Cullen. It’s good to see you.”

He swallowed guiltily as he wrenched his eyes up to look at the Seeker who had appeared at his side.

“Follow me. I will show you to a vacant tent. I am sure you would like to change. The weather is miserable here. If it’s not the rain it’s the swamp.” Cassandra’s smile gave Cullen no clue as to whether she had noticed his preoccupation with the Herald, and he decided not to ask as she led the way towards the cluster of tents.

The feeling of magic had compounded his headache, and the crease on his brow and the frown on his face had deepened by the time they ducked under the tent flap. Once they were inside and had as much privacy as was attainable in a base camp, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes and trying to calm his mind. He tensed again when he felt Cassandra’s hand on his arm.

He opened his eyes to meet the serious hazel gaze of his friend. They had met each other shortly after his taking up his post in Kirkwall. He had been the junior officer and since the Seekers were there investigating misconduct, it had been given to him to deal with them. While on opposite sides on many things, they found much common ground in how they viewed the world around them. It had been an unexpected friendship.

Cassandra’s eyes were scanning his face, and Cullen relaxed as he realized what she was looking for.

“I’m fine Cass. It’s nothing more than a headache brought about by a long ride. And Sera.” Cullen finished with a forced chuckle that turned into a heavy sigh. Cassandra snorted and stepped back to light the camp lantern set on the small table.

“I’m not surprised. Hopefully she is worn out as well, or we will never get any rest tonight. We are going to need it.” Cullen dropped his saddlebags on the chest at the end of the cot and began to remove his armour wiping each piece down as he went. He found it restful to care for his own armour, something he didn’t seem to have much time for in Haven, so it was nice to do it now. He knew the Seeker was watching his every move, waiting for him to say something, but he could be stubborn too. He slowly went about his practised care.

Cassandra’s patience wore out first. As it always did. Although she lasted longer than he expected, her snorts of annoyance coming to a crescendo while he was removing his greaves.

“Cullen, we need to talk about Kiaya.”

Cullen was surprised. This was not the direction he thought this was going to go; he had been sure he was in for a hundred questions about his withdrawal. Cass had started to pace, although in the small tent it looked more like she was walking in a very small circle.

“I’m worried there’s something wrong with her but she doesn’t seem to willing to talk about it.” She continued to pace, “Her magic is strong but her one on one combat is shaky. She pushes herself harder than is safe and I’m worried that she is going to get hurt or worse.”

She stopped her nervous movement and sighed as she sank down onto the edge of the cot. “She has a strong heart and a strong will. I’m afraid she is running herself into the ground. One thing is for sure we are all very, very tired.”

“Well, you have covered a lot of ground and done a lot of work.”

“Kiaya did those things, Cullen. She wouldn’t stop. If there was someone who needed help, she was there. She would go out of her way to bring as much peace as she could to those who lost everything.” Cassandra met Cullen’s eyes with a sharp look. “She seems to be trying to atone for something.”

“Have you learned anything useful about her?”

“You sound like Leliana.”

“Well, you are the only one who has spent any time with her. It’s not like her reports are full of information.” Cullen rubbed his forehead, trying to keep a lid on his frustration. His relationship with Cassandra was what he imagined he would have had with Mia if they had grown up together. “Maker’s breath, do we even…” Cullen caught himself before he said something unworthy.

“Once we are back in Haven and I have figured out what it is, I will give you and Leliana a full report on my official opinion of our Herald of Andraste. For now, I like her, I trust her, and I worry about her. She is skilled at magical combat, but anything involving melee she’s in real trouble.” Her voice softened, surprising Cullen again. “She’s in pain. Physical pain.”

“She told you this?”

Cassandra stood abruptly, clearing her throat, her face flushing like she was embarrassed. “No.” The briskness had returned to her voice. “But she whimpers in her sleep, and tries to hide a limp when she is tired.” She shook her head as she crossed over to the tent flap, pausing before she opened it. “Kiaya has asked that we meet and make a plan of attack for tomorrow, and supper should be just about done.” She turned to level a steely glare at him. “Give her a chance, get to know her yourself. And change your clothes, you’re soaked.”

Cullen sat and stared at the canvas ceiling as he tried to make sense of the conversation until he started to shiver from the damp. He stripped off the last of his wet clothes and dug out dry replacements from his bags, slipping into his smalls and breeches and laying his shirt on the cot. He picked up his discarded shirt and began rubbing the water from his hair.

He barely heard the tentative knock on the tent pole behind him.

“Come in. What did you forget? Come to scold me some more?”

The silence was his answer as he continued to dry his hair.

“Cass?” Cullen turned around.

Kiaya stood outside the Commander’s tent, biting her lip and rocking back and forth on her heels. She had been nervous about seeing him again, and this time she didn’t have any valid excuse not to apologize.

She had barely had time to realize he had arrived before Sera’s attack, and by the time she had extracted herself from under the elf, he and Cassandra had disappeared towards the tents. She had slipped from the group, heading back to her tent in the hopes of finding a clean shirt and some nerve. She failed to find the shirt. She had managed to find the nerve, and it lasted until she was right outside of his tent. Now she was frozen in place arguing with herself. A loud shout from the direction of the fire had her lurching forward, scared of being discovered, hand outstretched to knock hesitantly. At the muffled reply she slipped through the tent flap, running through the apology she had been rehearsing in her head for weeks. She blinked her eyes trying to adjust to the brighter lantern light inside the tent. Once they cleared, all memory of what she had come here to say fled, leaving her barely able to breathe.

The golden light from the lamp danced over the curves of the Commander’s back. His breeches sat low, on his hips, giving the barest hint at the curve of his backside, and with his arms raised over his head drying his hair, the dance of light and shadow over the moving muscles was mesmerizing. Her fingers twitched at her sides, longing to touch, curious to find out how firm his muscular arms were and if his skin felt as warm and soft as she imagined. He had scars to rival hers, something she would have to dream of later.

Her shallow breathing hitched as he began to turn around, the soft lantern light playing across his arms, shoulders and chest. Her eyes slid down, following the planes of his chest and stomach, to the golden glint of hair below his navel, disappearing into very snug leather breeches.

She had barely a heartbeat to snap her eyes to the ground before he looked up and realized who was in his tent.

“I…” Kiaya smiled at her feet as she listened to him scramble for his shirt, and she felt the heat grow in her face. Her pale skin allowed for blushing all too easily. She looked up just in time to catch the last glimpse of the Commander’s bare midriff, barely stopping the disappointed sigh from crossing her lips.

Speak before he yells at you.

“I…” She paused, taking a deep breath and licking her lips. She raised her chin and met his very surprised and confused eyes. “Commander, I was hoping to apologise for my poor behaviour before. There is no excuse. I was scared and upset, and I took it out on you. It was unkind of me. Also, it was shameful of me to allow so much time to pass before speaking with you. I was a coward.” Kiaya felt another rush of heat flood her cheeks, this time heralding a wave of shame. She bowed her head and shut her eyes.

After a moment, Kiaya straightened and looked the Commander in the eye. “I hope that you will forgive me my rudeness and allow me to try again.”

The silence in the tent grew as she watched his face. He seemed frozen staring at her. Crap, I freaked him out. She was stuck, trying to decide between starting to babble or turn and run when he straightened, a small smile started to curl the corners of his mouth.

“Your apology is unnecessary but appreciated.” Kiaya couldn’t help the smile that leapt to her face at his words. “I hope that someday you will tell me what happened. It was a confusing event from where I was.” The small curve of his lip had transformed into a smirk, causing Kiaya’s heart to beat faster. Damnit, this man is distracting. Kiaya felt her nerves starting to win again, and her eyes dropped from his face.

“That would be good, I think.” Kiaya half turned and motioned towards the rowdiness coming from the fire. “Right now we should maybe rescue Cassandra and plan for tomorrow.”

“Go ahead. I will be there in a moment. I should finish getting dressed.”

Kiaya blushed all the harder as she moved to the tent flap, she paused. Emboldened by the warmth in his voice she looked back at him.

He hadn’t moved, and he was watching her. She couldn’t read his expression but it made her blood rush and her heart skip. She blinked and fled.

The meeting went quickly once Harding and Cassandra were extracted from the chaos that was always Sera. Cullen simply hoped his face wasn’t turning red every time he looked at Kiaya. Although, he was comforted by the faint blush she couldn’t hide either every time their eyes met.

The Herald had a way of asking questions that were very to the point. It was obvious that she, Harding, and Cassandra worked well together and had a routine down from the weeks they had spent together.

“Once we get past the undead we will be moving forward blind. When we find him, I will try and convince this,” The Herald searched the parchment in her hand. “Hand of Korth, that besting me in battle is not particularly difficult or noteworthy. If that doesn’t work…”

“We’ll be there to keep you from turning into a footnote.” Iron Bull appeared behind Kiaya, causing her to jump.

“Thank you. I would appreciate that. I will endeavour to end this peacefully, however, if that doesn’t work, Commander, Cass, what should be our plan from there?” The Herald’s voice was shaking with suppressed laughter. She sounded breathless, and that was making it difficult for Cullen to concentrate.

He was startled to realize that he hadn’t heard the Seekers voice in the discussion. His eyes guiltily, catching a glint in the corner of her eye as he looked at her.

Pay attention. This is your job.

“I believe that Cassandra should take the lead in this issue. She has more experience fighting with this group than I.” Cullen forced himself to focus on the Seeker’s plans, but as the meeting wore on, he still found more of his attention on Kiaya then was strictly necessary.

Once the plans were settled as best as they could be, and dinner was served, the meeting had dissolved into campfire banter in a matter of minutes.

Kiaya had enjoyed the company silently, relieved that the official portion of the evening was over, but also not inclined to join in. It was a strange feeling for her, having spent so many recent years, and much of her life before that, alone.

Her eyes strayed over to Cullen where he sat with Cassandra, still deep in discussion about combat strategy. She had spent most of her time this evening trying to not look at him too much because every time she did her mind flashed to images of him from earlier. It was very distracting.

Her attention was drawn back to Sera as the elf began another story of Kiaya tripping over her own feet, It happened a lot, but never ceased to bring joy to her craziest new friend.

“Alright, alright, we all know I fall on my ass a lot, but I always get up don’t I?” Kiaya interrupted with an embarrassed laugh. “I am calling it a night. We have a hard day in the morning.”

As she rose to her feet, the stab of pain that lanced up her legs and back caught Kiaya by surprise. Everything had stiffened while she had been seated and she was paying the price. Before anyone noticed her discomfort, she turned and headed for her tent. Her company was used to her sudden vanishing act at the end of the day.

As she slipped away she could hear footsteps following her. Not so un-noticed then. Not feeling up to any more social interaction, she quickened her pace. She stepped into her tent and waited for the person to pass before ducking back out again. She always found an odd type of satisfaction from releasing this spell. It was a good exercise, maintaining a water warding spell, but it was tiring, so to release the concentration was always a welcome feeling.

The footsteps had belonged to the Commander, and she felt a pang of disappointment for not waiting. He had also paused at the opening of his tent. His eyes were thoughtful as he stared at the spell light that was the centre of the spell. Kiaya couldn’t help the sly grin that curled at her lips as she allowed it to wink out. Her grin widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter when he jumped and ducked further under the edge of the canvas. As she watched him, his head turned in her direction and it was her turn to hide.

She thought for a second that she had heard the warm roll of his chuckle, but she quickly abandoned that thought as idle fancy.

I love you Dragon Age world. Thank you for so much!

Reblogs are always welcome.

[modernagesomniari]

Mala Suledin Nadas - “Falon’Din Enal Enaste”

Part 4 of the Mala Suledin Nadas series, which follows Eli Lavellan through my current, ongoing playthrough of her.  You can read it on AO3 here

This wasn’t actually inspired by anything in-game, but because I’d created Ghila and Yerevan to be with her at the Conclave, their loss hit me quite hard once Eli got to Haven.  She is never given a chance to say goodbye.  So I gave her one and made myself cry and probably got very self indulgent.

What we have learned from this - Varric is the Best Friend of all best friends, the ladies are good hearted to a woman, Cullen is more perceptive than he initially appears and Solas is a little scary sometimes.

~1900 words

Falon’Din Enal Enaste

It had been Varric’s idea.

She’d made charms for them both, in the hours spent sat in the cold, enclosed space of the Chantry temple, waiting for the shemlen to do whatever it was they had to do.  From their hushed voices and frightened gazes, whatever they were doing was momentous.  So she had used the time to scavenge what she could and sat there near a lantern, weaving and braiding.  Her heart was very, very heavy.

The charms had been complete within a few days, before most of the recruits had been organised into the row of tents outside the gates.  She had tucked them reverently into the pouch at her belt, because she hadn’t known what to do with them and was afraid someone would see them and decide that they were not what the ‘Herald of Andraste’ should have in their possession.  She knew, if she had been brought to task on it, that she would have caused a fuss.  It would probably have involved fire.  Cassandra would not have been pleased.  It was later that day, after standing in front of that throng of people feeling monumentally out of place next to a templar, of all things, that Varric had come to her.  He had gently taken her hand, his eyes soft and kind and she had let him lead her to a small clearing just to the right of the temple.  A little track led away from the stone and ended in a small clearing within the tress, a natural mound in its centre.  At the top of the mound were too newly moved stones, their edges round and uneven, but someone had roughly carved their tops to be mostly flat.  When she had looked down at him, her breath catching in her throat, he’d looked away from her to where the stone stood and told her, in his gentle, deep voice, that he’d had a Dalish friend who’d had to bury a member of her Clan away from the usual tradition.  He only hoped that Eli wouldn’t be offended by how crude the shaping was - he was a surface dwarf, after all.

She had knelt by him in the snow and thrown her arms around his neck.  The great mass of his arms was strange around her back, but he’d held her until she could breathe again and then allowed her to pretend it hadn’t happened.  He’d just asked her what she needed and when she wanted it to be.  She’d told him and when she’d started to wonder how she was going to get everything she needed he’d held up a big hand to stop her.

“I’ll get it done, Firefly.  You concentrate on the important stuff.”

So here she was, standing on a foreign hill merely feet away from more shemlen than she’d ever been around in her life, with the first dwarf she had ever met quiet and solid beside her.  Clasping the charms within her palms, fingers grasping at her own hands, she closed her eyes and opened her heart to the forest, to their Gods, to the two people she had lost.  The tears immediately began to flow freely and she let them, taking slow and pained steps up the mound to the stones.

For Ghila she had woven leather died dark blue, found at the back of smithy, for her practicality in the hunt. Into this she had crudely carved a hare out of a piece of wood from the ruined houses, dotted the eyes with the red clay of the valley.  This was for her ferocity and her passion for protecting her people, like her beloved Andruil.  Finally, she had woven it all together with lamsbwool, for the softness in her when she allowed it and the gentle love she would have given her children had she been allowed to bear them.  Eli’s tears fell hot onto the stone, quick hot splashes of grief on the ice that covered it.

For Yerevan she had started with that same leather, cut in half to have their last remnant of this world come from the same place.  The piece of leather had been long, but it had come from the same beast.  He and Ghila would be together in death the way that had pledged to be together in life.  For the bright sun of Elgar’nan she had taken a smooth stone from the shores of the lake and carved his vengeful symbol into one side, reflected in the moon of the other.  Yerevan had been so angry for so long after he ran from the alienage.  His vallaslin ceremony had been intense and poignant - they had all wept for him and with him.  And then they had all got uproariously drunk.  The last was silk, strong and beautiful, like he had dedicated himself to his new family.  All of them.

She took a few steps away and let herself cry a little, felt a like a child and wished desperately that Bri were here.  The stones just looked so empty with just two charm bracelets on them.  At home they would be piled high with offerings.  The sight of the cold grey stone cut her heart almost deeper than their deaths.  They had been so alone here.  And now, without them…

After some time, a warm hand came down on her shoulder.

“I hope you don’t mind, Firefly, but honestly they all wanted to.”

She turned to him, frowning, then stood in her surprise.  At the place where the line of trees ended, there were three shemlen women.  Cassandra was there, as was Lady Montilyet and Lady Leliana.  For a moment she was irrationally angry with every single one of them and it must have showed, because Cassandra took a step towards her, her dark eyes open and strangely vulnerable.

“You are not the only one to have lost those you love at that Temple, Herald.  I hope you do not mind, but when Varric said that you needed time to honour them, we wanted to pay our own respects.”

“They carried you here and without you, there would be no hope.  If your clan is anything like the ones I have seen, knowing them has made you who you are.  As we honour you, so we wish to honour them.”

This came from Lady Leliana, who sounded so painfully earnest, like she held her soul tight to herself to not betray her own grief, that Eli found herself nodding mutely.  Varric’s arm around her drew her away from Ghila and Yerevan’s stones, to the edge of the mound where he held her, waiting.

Cassandra walked with purpose, setting down a heavy amulet between the stones.  Eli hadn’t had not come across the words of this prayer, but what she heard was well-wishing, respect and sorrow.  That Cassandra used her own god meant nothing in the face of that.

Leliana came with grace, her fingers trailing over the stones.  She laid small bouquets of elfroot and some flower Eli didn’t recognise on each of the stones.  The first sentence she uttered was in what Eli assumed was Orlesian, but the second made her hold her stomach to keep herself from sobbing.

“”Falon’Din enasal enaste.”

Lady Montilyet struggled a little with the snow, but once she was at the top of the mound she knelt fully, placing her dark hand on each of the stones with a firmness and reverence that Eli could have sworn she felt on her own heart.  She took in her hands a necklace of different coloured beads and a dagger with silver inlaid on the hilt and then turned to look at Eli.

“Which should I put where, my lady?”

Eli had to take a moment to speak, grief and gratitude pushing against her lips.

“Give the necklace to Yerevan.  Ghila would have loved that blade.”

There was a wetness to Lady Montilyet’s eyes as she smiled, but she brought each to her lips, kissing it before offering it to the sky, the lyrical notes of Antivan soft from her lips in her prayers.  After laying both, she stood and turned again.

“Commander Cullen also wished to be here, but he thought perhaps it would not be appropriate given the circumstances.  He hopes, however, that you might accept these small tokens for your Clan members?”

At Eli’s nod, she reached into her bag and took out two pieces of paper, rolled and tied with simple ribbon.  She placed one on each of the stones, then walked backwards, somewhat awkwardly, back to the trees.

It still wasn’t much, but both stones were more covered now and it gave her the strength to stand tall, away from Varric.

Her voice, when it came, started small and timid, but as she sang, it grew with the weightless mass of grief that lifted from her chest outwards, reaching for the stones.  She engraved the images of the rock with gifts placed upon them into her mind, let her song hit the clear sky and banish all thoughts of those charred horrors up at the temple, the clanging doubt of whether she’d inadvertently passed one of them but not been able to tell through the ruin of their bodies.  She looked up to the cloudless sky and let her grief soar up into it.  It was hard not to find it heartbreaking how alone she sounded, until she heard a voice from behind her join her own.  Lady Leliana, it sounded like.  A hand clad in cold leather joined hers and it was strangely easy to let a shemlen join her in her song.  They stood and they sang until their voices were hoarse, until the silence was loud and strange at the moment they stopped.

They didn’t speak afterwards, but each one of them laid a hand on her before they left, be it on her shoulder, the crook of her arm, even Lady Montliyet’s soft hand on her cheek.  Then she was alone and the world was very still.

Only, not quite.  Broken from her vigil over her friends’ stones, she noticed something in the woods beside her.  Solas stood within the trees, the rough brown of his clothing almost blending him in to the winter bleached trunks of the trees.  He was standing very tall and straight, his eyes fixed on the stones.  She couldn’t read his face, couldn’t find any emotion she could recognise, but there was something very cold about him.  Not cruel in any way, not even disdainful, which was what she might expect.  Just aloof and very far away.  She felt a moment of nervousness when his head turned so that he might look back at her, almost like she had forgotten he could move, that he wasn’t some sort of statue.  The cold melted away from his face as he glanced at the only graves her friends would ever have before looking back.  He bowed slightly, his eyelids fluttering closed and then he turned away and she watched his back disappear into the trees, feeling strangely ill at ease.

When she turned back, she gasped slightly, her fingers coming to her lips.  Flitting above the stones, dancing slow and calm, were small orbs of lights.  Some would morph into hawks, hares, a pulsing ebb of flame, or rays of a tiny sun that struck the silver on the hilt of the dagger or illuminate the dark of the wool.

This time, her knees hit the snow and she let the tears take her.  Tomorrow she would be what the world needed her to be.  Today, she would mourn.

[assortedcorn]

Cullen/Inquisitor OneShot

Hey everyone! This is my first time posting a OneShot kind of deal thing on tumblr. I just love writing and I honestly daydream about Cullen more than I should since he’s fictional. Anyway, I have an account on AO3 but I’ve had A LOT going on since I last updated so I’m just gonna continue writing here. Thanks for reading! <3

••••

“It’s so fucking cold, it’s miserable, and I’m so done with this place.” Belle scoffs, blowing heat between her hands.

“You’re the one that wanted to leave, m’lady’quisitor.” Sera laughs.

“I know, I just, I wanted to clear my head.” Belle sighs. Belle tries to clear the images of the man she swoons over. She tries to clear the images of his godly build, that smile, those eyes, everything. She wants it gone.

“Ya, ya. I get it. You miss pretty boy don’t ya?” She says, a smile creeping on her lips.

“Sera... that’s ridiculous.” She lowers her head, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I hate that nobility pish you have to put up wit. Cantcha just not follow rules?” Sera asks, annoyed.

“It doesn’t matter, even if I wanted to. The commander and I, we come from two different worlds.” Belle huffs, looking out over the wall that cascades over the snowy mountains underneath them. The sun was slowly making its way into the sky after a long, hard, night of negotiations in Redcliffe.

“Isabelle.” Sera protests.

“Sera, enough. He... he doesn’t think of me that way, anyway.” Belle turns around and crosses her arms against her chest. “It’s just a simple infatuation.” She thinks back to the day in the war room where she was blatantly watching the commander as he spoke about whatever she wasn’t paying attention to. She knew she wanted him, she was just so scared. The way he gripped the firm pommel grip, the way his finger wrapped around it. The way he stood, so strong.

“Infatuation my ass! You know damn well those rich tits don’t give a rats ass about you! Your parents sent you to the frickin’ chantry for fucks sake. Now that you’re miss save the world from damnation, everyone and their mother wants you to marry their half-wit sons. It’s your life, innit?” Sera says, more annoyed than before. “Cullen feels the same way as you. Everyone in skyhold sees it.”

“It might be my life but it will never be MY life, Sera. Let’s go home. I’m sick of this shitty weather.” Belle sighs, pulling her hood full of fur over her long, brunette locks. She pulls the letters from her bag, examining them sadly, then stuffing them back deep down.

“Did we miss something?” Cassandra asks, her and Solas trying to read Belle’s stoic face under her hood.

“Nah, Miss tits over here ain’t in the mood.” Sera says.

The party hops onto their mounts after a good job done and over with, heading back to skyhold to finally be warm and get fed. It’s been two weeks since they’ve been home. They were away not only because Belle wanted to clear her thoughts of the commander but because the mages requested her presence. It was never easy dealing with their constant demands and bitching about the templars.

••

The group returned to a warm welcoming at the gates, they were met by Josie, Dorian, Vivienne, Varric, and the rest of the residents in Skyhold. Everyone always wanted to see Belle, she was the Herald of Andraste! She was everything anyone wanted to be. She was the embodiment of grace, of kindness, and beauty. She was a sight to be seen and a flame never to be dimmed.

Even though Belle wanted to clear her mind of the man she admired, she was disappointed to see that he was not at the gate waiting for her like usual.

“It’s good to have you back home, my lady.” Josephine smiles, greeting Belle as she walks through the doors of the war room.

“Yes, did your negotiating go well, Inquisitor?” Leliana asks, her hands behind her back.

“Mhm.” Belle replies, tiredly.

“Go get some rest, Isabelle.” Josie says, putting her papers down onto the table.

“I guess the commander has decided our meeting wasn’t good enough to attend?” Belle retorts.

“Well, you see, the commander is actually dealing with some paperwork in his room.” Josie replied.

“Oh, yes, Cullen has been receiving marriage proposals from woman all over Thedas. From what I understand he’s turned down four very nice young ladies this week.” Leliana giggles

Belles fingers grip the edge of the table, breaking a piece of wood off. The loud snap echoed through the room as if it was a pin dropping in a silent room. Belle was shocked to see what she had just done, looking at her hands, she throws the small piece of wood across the room.

“I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to this dragon blood shit. Bull has been trying to help me but I’m still not used to the new strength.” Belle sighs.

Belle takes her leave and heads for her favorite spot on the battlements. She practically runs out of the war room. She is angry, fuming actually. What was she feeling in her chest? Disappointment? Sadness? Rage? It was so empty in her lungs, the crisp air of Skyhold greeted her as she whizzed past anyone who walked by her outside. The guards greeted her at every spot they were stationed, it only annoyed her more. “It’s fucking Isabelle!” She yelled inside her head, trying to shake the divine title from her head. She wasn’t anything special, she just happened to get magic, she just happened to fall through the fade, it was all circumstance. Not some divine bullshit.

Belle was so consumed by her thoughts and her anger, she didn’t care who she walked by or who she bumped into. The tears were blurring her vision, the rage blurring her thoughts, her heart was aching at the thought of Cullen getting married. She loves him, from the moment she laid eyes on him fighting demons at the very first rift she closed, he was her salvation. All because of her noble birth, she could lose him, lose the life she wishes for so terribly. It can all be taken away.

Belle started to run, she was almost there, that broken piece of stone over the stables. That was her spot. That’s where she went to scream, to cry, to be by herself because that’s all she can count on. Herself. Life has taught her that many times.

But before she could reach her little piece of peace, a hand gripped her elbow and pulled her off her path. It was like she was being coathangered off of a mount, it took her breath away for a moment. Tears flying out of her eyes into the thin, cold air. Her long hair, flying in front of her face as she is pulled back into someone.

“I’ve been calling you, Inquisitor!” The deep, sweet, honey-like voice echoed through her head.

She stopped dead in her tracks, hearing the ONE voice she was afraid to her coming back home. All she wanted to do was get her thoughts in order but no, mr.handsome hair HAD to come after her.

“Good evening, commander.” Belle replied, keeping her head down and her hair covering the mess smeared across her face.

“I’ve been writing to you while you were away, why didn’t you respond? I was getting anxious.” He said, worry in his beautiful voice. Belles heart cracked even more knowing she caused him any kind of anxiety.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I might’ve just forgot I had them, we were so busy. You know?” She says, tapping her foot, squirming under Cullen’s gaze. She could feel his eyes on her and it made her heart race and her face heat up like a campfire. “But I gotta go.”

“Wait!” He says, pulling her back again, this time by her hand. “Maker! You’re freezing, Isabelle. Why aren’t you wearing anything for this kind of weather?! Wasn’t it ten times colder in Redcliffe?” He disapproves.

“Commander, with all do respect, you’re not my father. I will dress myself how I wish.” She huffs. “I really have to go now.”

Cullen grabs her by the shoulders enough to stand her still, he wipes her hair from her face and sees what she had been trying to hide the entire time. His chest tightened at the sight of such a strong woman reduced to tears from some unethical reason. Cullen had never seen her cry, ever.

“Isabelle... what happened?” His voice lowers with concern written across his face.

“It’s nothing.” She sighs, looking away from him.

Cullen had just finished writing more replies to the many who were writing him, his hands were bare and untouched by his leather gloves. He missed the inquisitor while she was away. They had always enjoyed each other’s company until now, it worried him.

“Isabelle, come with me to my room and we can talk like we always do? Okay?” He says, trying to smile in reassurance to her. Cullen knew she liked hot black tea, he thought back to the many times they stayed up late drinking it.

Belles heart was beating so fast she could feel it behind her face. The commanders hands were calloused but they felt like heaven resting on her frozen cheeks. She was melting under his skin, oh she wanted him to touch her more but it was only going to happen in her dreams.

She nodded following him into his office/bedroom. He opened the door for her, allowing her to sit in the chair adjacent from his desk as he sat in front of her.

The atmosphere was thick, awakward, and was like watching paint dry. Belle felt stuck and so did Cullen.

“Now talk to me.” He says, staring deep into her.

Belle was fiddling with the pieces of skin on the sides of her fingertips, a nervous habit she always had since childhood.

“How have your many proposals been treating you, Commander?” Belle asks, treading hazardous waters.

“What does that have to do wi- oh.” He says, his face reddening, his breath catching in his throat. “Please tell me I didn’t cause your discomfort so much that it made you cry?”

“Well, no, I-“

Cullen shifted in his seat, running his fingers through his curly tufts of hair, letting out a deep sigh.

“You haven’t been writing to me, you ignored me on the battlements until I chased you down, and you looked like you wanted to kill something. You haven’t even addressed me by name, like we agreed weeks ago. This is my fault.” He says, interrupting her. “I’m sorry.”

“No, comm-Cullen, I’m sorry. I have been imagining stupid things in my head like any young maiden would... just stupid girl stuff. Not your fault.” Belle defends. She felt stupid now that he felt this way.

Cullen rose from his desk, making his way to Belle as he galantly strode across the room. Belle immediately stood up, making her way to the door trying to leave before he could reach her.

Cullen took her by her upper arm and turned her into his chest. He looked down at her, into her tear stained, bloodshot eyes. His beautiful amber eyes pierced through her, it felt like he was looking into her soul. She always felt that with him and nobody else, he was special, he was who she wanted.

He backed her into the now closed and locked door, placing an arm over her head. She was shorter than him, like actually shorter. Belle was at least five foot two and Cullen was a literal beast towering over her.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing hers. A hand snaking up her hip onto her side, pulling her close. “This is my fault.”

“H-how?” Belle stammers, shocked by his actions.

“You didn’t come home when you said you were, you were only supposed to be gone for a week and you were gone for two weeks and three days. I was worried sick, you know.” He smiles, his voice lowering once again.

At this point Belle thought her body was going to spontaneously combust.

“Cullen, I’m sor-“

“Don’t be sorry, I know. Did you think that the way I’ve been with you, I’d be the same with anyone else? I know how you feel, love.” He replies, cutting her off again.

What?

“Wait, what?” Belle asks, surprised.

“Oh, sweet maker. You know I’m not good with words, Isabelle...” he says, frustrated with a smile.

In one swift movement Belle’s lips were captured in one sweet, long awaited, moment by the commander. His strong hands were gently wrapped around her face, his fingertips in between her hair, pulling her into him as close as he could get her. Belle’s hands found their way at his sides, the cold plates shocked her fingertips. Their lips danced playfully together. Both Belle and Cullen had waited too long for this moment, the fire between them only just starting to fully become one flame.

“How long have you waited to do this?” Belle asks, in between breaths.

“Longer than I should admit, my love.” He smiles, rushing back into their heated passion.

[heartslogos]

send the morning [2]

An arm yanks Evelyn into the tree line as she’s checking for some elf root - she has half a spell at the tips of her fingers when -

“You cannot, I repeat, cannot fall in love with the Commander of the Inquisition,” Maxwell says.

Evelyn lets out a breath and releases the spell anyway.

Maxwell yelps, letting her go in favor of patting the fire out of his coat. It’s a small fire, he’ll live.

“You are my least favorite cousin,” Evelyn says, trudging off, determined to leave him behind.

“Lies. Even if I wasn’t your absolute favorite cousin in the entire world, I’m still not the least favorite. Everyone knows that’s Egerton and that’s because he ferments his own cheese in his sleeping quarters,” Maxwell gags and Evelyn’s eyes and nose water at the memory. “Anyway, you cannot fall in love with the Commander of the Inquisition, Lyn.”

“I hate it when you call my Lyn,” Evelyn mutters under her breath. “And I am not falling in love with the Commander of the Inquisition, so I don’t see why you’re coming to talk to me about it.”

Maxwell snorts, “Please, cousin. I know you - you have a romantic streak a mile and a half wide. And he’s the sort that’s right in the damn middle of it. Those curls? That stern jaw?  His polite and humble demeanor? Also the fact that you’re a mage and he’s a templar?”

“Maxwell, shut up,” Evelyn says, reaching down to yank a sprig of elf root out and shove it into her collection bag.

“I mean, I know templars and mages have fantasies and I’ve seen your romance collection. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have one. I mailed you one every time I wrote, you must have read them all by now.”

“Contrary to what you think, Maxwell, just because you sent it to me doesn’t mean I read it. Half the time I just tossed them into the fire.”

“I am hurt. So hurt. Point is, don’t do it. He was the Knight Commander - “

“Untrue, he never got promoted that far.”

“If not in title then in everything else. I’m just telling you that it’s a very bad idea. In fact, Bad Idea. Capital letters and all that pomp.”

“Max.”

“Oh, I so hate it when you call me Max. It usually means that you’re about to hit me. And now that you’ve got your magic sorted, I suppose it might mean you’re about to set me on fire.”

“And yet you never shut up,” Evelyn groans as Maxwell snags the collection bag from her hands and bumps her shoulder with his.

“I am your favorite cousin.”

Evelyn sighs and then kicks the back of his leg, causing him to trip and fall down with a loud yelp.

Good to know some things haven’t changed from when they were twelve.

“You are my favorite cousin,” Evelyn admits.

-

“Aclassi, looking sharp as always,” Herah says, waving as Krem walks down past the gates of Haven. “The Chargers are joining?”

“That would be up to the Lady Herald to decide, I suppose,” Krem says, nodding at her. “Valo-kas joined on early, if I recall. Hired before the Conclave?”

“And arrived just barely in time to see it blow, ship was delayed by a storm,” Herah shrugs. “I hope they sign you on, it’d be good to see more familiar faces. Speaking of - the Bull still a cock on legs?”

Krem snorts, “Honestly should be our name. The Cock Charges Ahead, and such.”

Herah turns her head and raises her voice to yell in the direction of the Valo-kas tents, “Hear that Kaaras? You’ve still got a chance.”

“You - “ Kaaras chokes, flushing violet, “You’re - you’re un - you’re unbelievable.”

“He’ll make someone happy one day,” Krem laughs, “The only adorable Qunari I’ve ever met. Though to be frank, I still can’t believe I know more than one.”

Herah claps him on the shoulder, “I’ll walk you to your horse. Give me the latest details about my favorite rival mercenary band. Also, what’s the deal with this whole up to the Lady Herald to decide thing? They didn’t call you in?”

“Nah, more of an invitation from us to them, to be unorthodox about it,” Krem says, following her as they walk towards the path outside of haven. Herah stops him just as a dwarf woman runs by talking to herself at what seems like a few miles an hour with a ram on her back. Krem stares after her for a bit before he continues walking towards where he left his horse. “Though this entire situation seems unorthodox.”

“That’s Cadash. If you guys join up prepare to see a lot of her. She’s young and she’s got questions for everything under the sky and stars. Wicked good with a sword though.”

“Cadash? Isn’t that Carta?”

“Unorthodox, remember?”

-

“Well, you’re a mage. I mean. Lavellan - Mahanon, your brother? - Mahanon said you were your clan’s First originally. Then Third. And I know enough about the Dalish to know that means you are a mage,” Evelyn says. She can’t help but find herself off put, unsettled -

Ellana is impossible to read and Evelyn has spent the entirety of her life a noble, and then a Circle Mage; the two things you can’t really survive being without learning something about reading people. But Ellana just continues to look at Evelyn like - Evelyn doesn’t even know.

Andraste, it was easier talking to Cassandra for the first time - after the sword and the demons and such.

At least Evelyn has a general idea of what Cassandra would rather hear. Ellana doesn’t seem to really be hearing much of anything, judging from the way Ellana’s gaze has wandered off towards the sky.

Evelyn glances up. Not a single cloud or bird.

“I just - well. Most mages I’ve met, and non-mages to be fair, have an opinion about the mark,” Evelyn says, holding out her hand. Ellana slowly looks down at it and blinks.

Evelyn waits. She does want to know what Ellana thinks - maybe the Dalish would have some sort of clue about it. Though it’s also an excellent ice breaker. Evelyn could use a few more mage friends in her current life. Kaaras is nice and all, but the only other mages around that are really willing to talk to her are Solas and - well. Solas.

Ellana reaches up and starts arranging Evelyn’s hair around her face. Evelyn blinks and tries to move her head back -

“Erm.”

Ellana reaches into a satchel tied around her waist and pulls out a surprisingly fresh and vibrant looking flower. She tucks it into Evelyn’s ear and smiles.

“Thank you?” Evelyn says, and can’t help but feel like she’s been hit by a dispel when Ellana steps back, turns one quarter step to the left, spreads her arms, and falls back into a snowdrift.

Ellana’s loose shawl which had been half-heartedly pinned closed threatens to expose her, and Evelyn doesn’t even know how the woman is going about without shoes to start with, let alone lying down almost naked in the snow.

Then again, they found her walking on ice in nothing at all as if she were taking a stroll during summer. It could be magic. There have been stranger things. In example - Evelyn’s hand.

“So - nothing to say about the strange mark on my hand?” Evelyn asks.

Ellana’s toes happily wiggle in response, and Ellana pats the snowdrift next to her.

Evelyn considers it. And to hell with it, it’s not like people could hate her more -

She joins her in the snow.

-

Bull reaches out, fingertips touching warm skin and hair as he spreads his fingers - palm - out over the back of Ellana’s neck. Ellana reaches back and pulls her hair to the side, over her shoulder as she continues to stretch her arms.

He pages through stolen reports with the other hand. Skinner and Rocky picked them off from their latest skirmish. He’s mostly sure that he can handle these without bringing them to the Spymaster’s attention.

The bed shifts as Ellana moves through her nightly stretches, and the Iron Bull idly palms the moving segments of her back and neck, her shoulder blades.

“The question you asked me months ago,” Ellana says and the Iron Bull doesn’t look up from the stolen papers.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t asked again,” Ellana says.

“No,” The Iron Bull replies. I do not need to touch you, to be with you.

Ellana is quiet, one of her contemplative silences. She turns under his hand, catching it and bringing it to her face, resting her cheek into his palm.

“Ask me.”

“Have you thought about it?” He asks, looking away from a report on Inquisition stores. He’s not sure why someone would want to smuggle out information on how much soap the Inquisition uses, but he’s glad the information isn’t out all the same.

“Yes,” Ellana says, arranging his fingers to her liking against her skin. He keeps his hand loose and can’t feel a little entertained by the feeling of her moving his fingers. “I have thought about it.”

I do not need to say yes for you to say yes.

Ellana nuzzles his palm, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as she leans in to sigh against his skin.

And then she pauses, the corner of her mouth against the mound of his palm.

“Ask me again, the Iron Bull,” She says.

[novamm66]

Red Sky in the Morning

Chapter 7 – This is Your Job

 Now Updated

Riding through the land of his childhood was bitter-sweet for Cullen. On one hand, it was comforting to pass the landmarks of his memories. On the other, seeing the damage done by the mage-templar conflict was gut-wrenching. He could still see the faded damage that had been done by the Blight with the fresher scars layered on top. Still, there were signs of recovery: the Inquisition presence was strongly established here thanks to the hard work of the Herald and her party.

As they had travelled into the second day of riding, the weather turned. Grey clouds had descended, bringing rain with them. The heaviness in the air was making his head pound in cadence with his horse’s hooves striking the ground. It would be a relief to finally arrive at the forward camp.

It would also be a relief to gain more varied company. With the missing soldiers, Haven’s defences were seriously undermanned, forcing him to bring some of the new ‘volunteers’ the Herald had acquired in her travels. Cullen rolled his eyes as he listened briefly to Sera singing at the top of her lungs, very badly and very lewdly.

The road quickly turned soft and boggy, making it difficult footing for the horses, and by the time it was fully dark their progress had slowed to a crawl. The miserable conditions had smothered even Sera’s spirit and the entire party had fallen silent, lost in their individual thoughts.

Cullen was struggling to focus on the road ahead through the steady rain and pounding in his head when he suddenly felt the tickle of magic in the base of his skull. He pulled his charger to a halt as he peered into the gloom.

“What do you see?” Bull spoke quietly, seeming to sense Cullen’s tension.

Before Cullen could respond to the qunari he was interrupted by a shout from behind. “Oi, Bigboots! Why’d we stop?” Cullen tensed at Sera’s loud question and dreadful timing, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. The hiss and snap of a lantern being unshielded had his sword half drawn before the light flared and illuminated the faces and insignia of two Inquisition scouts.

“Welcome to the Fallow Mire, Commander.”

Cullen exhaled, sliding his sword back into its sheath, still wary of the magic in the air. His eyes continued to search the darkness, barely able to make out the shapes that might be a few buildings. He dismounted, leading his horse forward cautiously. His muscles tensed; the feeling of magic keeping him on edge.

The scouts seemed relaxed enough, one moving forward to assist with the group’s horses and the other moving to open the large sliding door in the wall. Cullen handed off his reins and began to remove his saddle bags from the back of his horse. He could hear Blackwall and Sera griping at each other, both trying to get out of the rain first.

He turned bags in hand, to see a perfectly normal barn interior, already housing a number of horses in the stables along the side with plenty of room for more. What broke the appearance of normalcy was the gaping hole where the back wall should have been.

Beyond that was the Inquisition headquarters in the region, and it wasn’t much to look at. Cullen could see Rylen’s hand in the canvas stretched from building to building adding protection to the tables holding the Inquisition’s maps and documents, and a large fire burning in the centre of the area. The sounds of the messenger ravens could be heard from the loft above, and individual tents were set up off to one side in the flat area that had once been a family garden.

As his eyes followed the lazy curl of smoke, Cullen found the small point of blue light that seemed to be the centre spark of magic holding the rain at bay. His mind dredged up memories of textbooks describing magic that manipulated water, but he had never seen it on this scale before. As the rain fell, it was diverted as if by an invisible dome of glass. It was beautiful.

His gaze levelled out and focused on the group around the fire. Solas was a little removed from the rest of the party, but close enough to benefit from the warmth of the fire. Across from him, Varric sat with his crossbow by his side, pen and paper in hand and half-glasses perched on his nose, smiling at something one of the women said.

Cassandra and Scout Harding were seated next to each other engaged in discussion while the Herald was curled up on the ground, head pillowed on Harding’s leg. She wasn’t asleep: her eyes were unfocused, drowsy. She brought to mind a cat on a fire hearth.

His quiet observation of the scene was interrupted by a bellow as Sera entered. She dashed across the camp, barely missing the fire, and landed on top of the Herald in a pile while hollering “Where’s my breeches!” mixed with a wide collection of obscenities.

“Sera! Sera stop. Maker’s Balls, you’re soaked and you stink of horse. Stop using me as a towel!” The Herald was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Cassandra and Harding were also laughing, having both retreated to a safe distance from the dripping elf and the small scuffle that had erupted.

The camp quickly became loud and lively with greetings and laughter quickly flying back and forth as the Herald managed to throw the elf off of her and was in the process of trying to rub the dirt off her clothes.

Cullen was distracted as she continued to brush dirt from her back and hips. He didn’t notice Cassandra’s approach and the sound of her voice at his side startled him.

“Cullen. It’s good to see you.”

He swallowed guiltily as he wrenched his eyes up to look at the Seeker who had appeared at his side.

“Follow me. I will show you to a vacant tent. I am sure you would like to change. The weather is miserable here. If it’s not the rain it’s the swamp.” Cassandra’s smile gave Cullen no clue as to whether she had noticed his preoccupation with the Herald, and he decided not to ask as she led the way towards the cluster of tents.

The feeling of magic had compounded his headache, the crease on his brow had deepened by the time they ducked under the tent flap. Once they were inside and had as much privacy as was attainable in a base camp, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes and trying to calm his mind. He tensed again when he felt Cassandra’s hand on his arm.

He opened his eyes to meet the serious hazel gaze of his friend. They had met each other shortly after he had taken up his post in Kirkwall. He had been the junior officer and since the Seekers were there investigating misconduct, it had been given to him to deal with them. While on opposite sides on many things, they found much common ground in how they viewed the world around them. It had been an unexpected friendship.

Cassandra’s eyes were scanning his face, and Cullen relaxed as he realized what she was looking for.

“I’m fine Cass. It’s nothing more than a headache brought about by a long ride. And Sera.” Cullen finished with a forced chuckle that turned into a heavy sigh. Cassandra snorted and stepped back to light the camp lantern set on the small table.

“I’m not surprised. Hopefully she is worn out as well, or we will never get any rest tonight. We are going to need it.” Cullen dropped his saddlebags on the chest at the end of the cot and began to remove his armour wiping each piece down as he went.  He found it restful to care for his own armour, something he didn’t seem to have much time for in Haven, so it was nice to do it now. He knew the Seeker was watching his every move, waiting for him to say something, but he could be stubborn too. He slowly went about his practised care.

Cassandra’s patience wore out first. As it always did. Although she lasted longer than he expected, her snorts of annoyance coming to a crescendo while he was removing his greaves.

“Cullen, we need to talk about Kiaya.”

Cullen was surprised. This was not the direction he thought this was going to go; he had been sure he was in for a hundred questions about his withdrawal. Cass had started to pace, although in the small tent it looked more like she was walking in a very small circle.

She continued to pace, “Her magic is strong but her one on one combat is shaky. She pushes herself harder than is safe and I’m worried that she is going to get hurt or worse.”

She stopped her forceful movement and sighed as she sank down onto the edge of the cot. “She has a strong heart and a strong will. I’m afraid she is running herself into the ground. One thing is for sure we are all very, very tired.”

“Well, you have covered a lot of ground and done a lot of work.”

“Kiaya did those things, Cullen. She wouldn’t stop. If there was someone who needed help, she was there. She would go out of her way to bring as much peace as she could to those who lost everything.” Cassandra met Cullen’s eyes with a sharp look. “It seems she is trying to atone for something.”

“Have you learned anything useful about her?”

“You sound like Leliana.”

“Well, you are the only one who has spent any time with her. It’s not like her reports are full of personal information.” Cullen rubbed his forehead, trying to keep a lid on his frustration. His relationship with Cassandra was what he imagined he would have had with Mia if they had grown up together. “Maker’s breath, do we even...” Cullen caught himself before he said something unworthy.

“Once we are back in Haven and I have figured out what it is, I will give you and Leliana a full report on my official opinion of our Herald of Andraste. For now, I like her, I trust her, and I worry about her.” Her voice softened, surprising Cullen again. “She’s in pain. Physical pain.”

“She told you this?”

Cassandra stood abruptly, clearing her throat, her face flushing like she was embarrassed. “No.” The briskness had returned to her voice. “But she whimpers in her sleep, and tries to hide a limp when she is tired.” She shook her head as she crossed over to the tent flap, pausing before she opened it. “Kiaya has asked that we meet and make a plan of attack for tomorrow, and supper should be just about done.” She turned to level a steely glare at him. “Give her a chance, get to know her yourself. And change your clothes, you look dreadful.”

Cullen sat and stared at the canvas ceiling as he tried to make sense of the conversation until he started to shiver from the damp. He stripped off the last of his wet clothes and dug out dry replacements from his bags, slipping into his smalls and breeches and laying his shirt on the cot. He picked up his discarded shirt and began rubbing the water from his hair.

He barely heard the knock on the tent pole behind him.

“Come in. What did you forget? Come to scold me some more?”

The silence was his answer as he continued to dry his hair.

“Cass?” Cullen turned around.

---

Kiaya stood outside the Commander’s tent, biting her lip and rocking back and forth on her heels. She had been nervous about seeing him again, and this time she didn’t have any valid excuse to put off apologizing.  

She had barely had time to realize he had arrived before Sera’s attack, and by the time she had extracted herself from under the elf, he and Cassandra had disappeared towards the tents. She had slipped from the group, heading back to her tent in the hopes of finding a clean shirt and some nerve. She failed to find the shirt. She had managed to find the nerve, and it lasted until she was right outside of his tent. Now she was frozen in place arguing with herself. A loud shout from the direction of the fire had her lurching forward, scared of being discovered, hand outstretched to knock hesitantly. At the muffled reply she slipped through the tent flap, running through the apology she had been rehearsing in her head for weeks. She blinked her eyes trying to adjust to the brighter lantern light inside the tent. Once they cleared, all memory of what she had come here to say fled, leaving her barely able to breathe.

The golden light from the lamp danced over the curves of the Commander’s back. His breeches sat low, on his hips, giving the barest hint at the curve of his backside, and with his arms raised over his head drying his hair, the dance of light and shadow over the moving muscles was mesmerizing. Her fingers twitched at her sides, longing to touch, curious to find out how firm his muscular arms were and if his skin felt as warm and soft as she imagined. He had scars to rival hers, something she would have to dream of when she was alone. She suddenly very much wanted to know how it would feel to have his body pressed against hers.

Her shallow breathing hitched as he began to turn around, the soft lantern light playing across his arms, shoulders and chest. Her eyes slid down, following the planes of his chest and stomach, to the golden glint of hair below his navel, disappearing into very snug leather breeches.

She had barely a heartbeat to snap her eyes to the ground before he looked up and realized who was in his tent.

“I...” Kiaya smiled at her feet as she listened to him scramble for his shirt, and she felt the heat grow in her face. Her pale skin allowed for blushing all too easily. She looked up just in time to catch the last glimpse of the Commander’s bare midriff, barely stopping the disappointed sigh from crossing her lips.

Speak before he yells at you.

“I...” She paused, taking a deep breath and licking her lips. She raised her chin and met his very surprised and confused eyes. “Commander, I was hoping to apologise for my poor behaviour before. There is no excuse. I was scared and upset, and I took it out on you. It was unkind of me. Also, it was shameful of me to allow so much time to pass before speaking with you. I was a coward.” Kiaya felt another rush of heat flood her cheeks, this time heralding a wave of shame. She bowed her head and shut her eyes.

After a moment, Kiaya straightened and looked the Commander in the eye. “I hope that you will forgive me my rudeness and allow me to try again.”

The silence in the tent grew as she watched his face. He seemed frozen staring at her. Crap, I freaked him out. She was stuck, trying to decide between starting to babble or turn and run, when he straightened, a small smile started to curl the corners of his mouth.

“Your apology is unnecessary but appreciated.” Kiaya couldn’t help the smile that leapt to her face at his words. “I hope that someday you will tell me what happened. It was a confusing event from where I was.” The small curve of his lip had transformed into a smirk, causing Kiaya’s heart to beat faster. Damnit, this man is distracting. Kiaya felt her nerves starting to win again, and her eyes dropped from his face.

“That would be good, I think.” Kiaya half turned and motioned towards the rowdiness coming from the fire. “Right now we should maybe rescue Cassandra and plan for tomorrow.”

“Go ahead. I will be there in a moment. I should finish getting dressed.”

Kiaya blushed all the harder as she moved to the tent flap, she paused. Emboldened by the warmth in his voice she looked back at him.

He hadn’t moved, and he was watching her. She couldn’t read his expression but it made her blood rush and her heart skip. She blinked and fled.

---

The meeting went quickly once Harding and Cassandra were extracted from the chaos that was always Sera. Cullen simply hoped not to stumble over his words every time he looked at Kiaya. Although, he was comforted by the faint blush on her cheeks she couldn’t hide every time their eyes met.

The Herald had a way of asking questions that were very to the point. It was obvious that she, Harding, and Cassandra worked well together and had a routine down from the weeks they had spent together.

“Once we get past the undead we will be moving forward blind. When we find him, I will try and convince this,” The Herald searched the parchment in her hand. “Hand of Korth, that besting me in battle is not particularly difficult or noteworthy. If that doesn’t work...”

“We’ll be there to keep you from turning into a footnote.” Iron Bull appeared behind Kiaya, causing her to jump.

“Thank you. I would appreciate that. I will endeavour to end this peacefully, however, if that doesn’t work, Commander, Cass, what should be our plan from there?” The Herald’s voice was shaking with suppressed laughter. She sounded breathless, and that was making it difficult for Cullen to concentrate.

He was startled to realize that he hadn’t heard the Seekers voice in the discussion. His eyes guiltily, catching a glint in the corner of her eye as he looked at her.

Pay attention. This is your job.

“I believe that Cassandra should take the lead in this issue. She has more experience fighting with this group than I.” Cullen forced himself to focus on the Seeker’s plans, but as the meeting wore on, he still found more of his attention on Kiaya then was strictly necessary.

---

Once the plans were settled as best as they could be, and dinner was served, the meeting had dissolved into campfire banter in a matter of minutes.

Kiaya had enjoyed the company silently, relieved that the official portion of the evening was over, but also not inclined to join in. It was a strange feeling for her, having spent so many recent years, and much of her life before that, alone.

Her eyes strayed over to Cullen where he sat with Cassandra, still deep in discussion about combat strategy. She had spent most of her time this evening trying to not look at him too much because every time she did her mind flashed to images of him from earlier. It was very distracting.

Her attention was drawn back to Sera as the elf began another story of Kiaya tripping over her own feet, it happened a lot, but never ceased to bring joy to her craziest new friend.

“Alright, alright, we all know I fall on my ass a lot, but I always get up don’t I?” Kiaya interrupted with an embarrassed laugh. “I am calling it a night. We have a hard day in the morning.”

As she rose to her feet, the stab of pain that lanced up her legs and back caught Kiaya by surprise. Everything had stiffened while she had been seated and she was paying the price. Before anyone noticed her discomfort, she turned and headed for her tent. Her company was used to her sudden vanishing act at the end of the day.

As she slipped away she could hear footsteps following her. Not so un-noticed then. Not feeling up to any more social interaction, she quickened her pace. She stepped into her tent and waited for the person to pass before ducking back out again. She always found an odd type of satisfaction from releasing this spell. It was a good exercise, maintaining a water warding spell, but it was tiring, so to release the concentration was always a welcome feeling.

The footsteps had belonged to the Commander, and she felt a pang of disappointment for not waiting. He had also paused at the opening of his tent. His eyes were thoughtful as he stared at the spell light that was the centre of the spell. Kiaya couldn’t help the sly grin that curled at her lips as she allowed it to wink out. Her grin widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter when he jumped and ducked further under the edge of the canvas. As she watched him, his head turned in her direction and it was her turn to hide.

She thought for a second that she had heard the warm roll of his chuckle, but she quickly abandoned that thought as idle fancy.

Thanks,