#abelasxlavellan

[mindtrove]

Sincere

More ArlathanAU! A first kiss :P

There was something thrilling in this, Abelas did not want to call it a hunt per se. He had always found that term crude. There was no hunt to this, she was not game to be caught and lauded as a prize once he had her ensnared.

Whatever it was exactly that had grown between him and the Inquisitor’s daughter, it brought a shyness in him and an eagerness held in check. If only to appear professional in front of prying eyes.

They had gone beyond pining and questions of whether these feelings were more than fondness and friendship. And once those feelings had been acknowledged, they had wasted no time confessing such things to one another.

Ramia couldn’t be subtle if her life depended on it, and Abelas was far, far too old for games.

He had also thought himself far too old to see and enjoy the thrill in a relationship kept confidential, in the preciousness of a stowed away token of affection. Most often in the form of little notes, sequestered in plain sight.

When they would share a smile in company that meant more to them than anyone around them would understand he wondered if she kept his letters. He did. Every single one.

“You come to the Vir Dirthara more often than you used to.”

Her eyes glance in his direction for a fraction of a moment before they return to the book shelf, her fingers reading the spines as she searches for a particular novel.

“If I’m going to help Briala during negotiations and all that other stuff I need to get a better grip on the weird way you guys speak.”

She continues to be vigilant in her task even as he comes to stand beside her, a point of his finger after they click together shows her the book which she seeks. A low grumble leaves her as she glares at the row of books much too far out of reach, even for him.

“Wait a moment.” Abelas says as he reaches for the wheeled ladders that dot nearly every towering bookshelf. She thanks him and begins to climb, slowly, and he holds the ladder still to encourage her.

“Y’know it’s a good thing we legitimately work together all the time or else people might start getting a little suspicious.” She giggles.

“What is there to be suspicious about?” He asks, but his emerging smile calls his bluff.

Ramia has descended the ladder with her large tome in hand, pausing when she reaches the sentinel’s eye-level and matches his challenging look with her own.

“You’re right, nothing suspicious when nothing is actually happening.”

“Not to others no.”

“Oh no, to me as well.”

That gives Abelas pause, and he sees the cover fall and that hint of dissatisfaction in her gaze. For a brief moment he worries, looks around them to ensure no prying eyes or ears and sweeps her free hand in his own. Mindful he doesn’t disturb her balance.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asks; worry lines his face. “Have I been insincere?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet.”

“What?”

A small smile creeps upon Ramia’s face. “You still haven’t kiss me yet” she repeats. “Relationships are always sealed with a kiss no?”

“I thought it was something serious!” Abelas whispers the chide, slapping the girl’s thigh in half-hearted irritation. Her muffled giggles fill the empty and quiet little alcove of the library they resided in. “Fickle you are, impatient.”

“Well for all I know you’re simply entertaining me!” She bites back, and despite the wide eyes and smile he can see the fear there too. “Is it my nose or perhaps? Or my gap?” she follows the question with a toothy grin to accentuate said gap. That she sees it as a probably deterrent for his attraction to her and not one of many pieces to craft and bring her beauty to life saddened him. More so that she tried to play it off as a joke.

She is beautiful, even before he had known her he had thought as much. But he understood, he had wounds of his own that had yet to heal when he looked in a mirror.

“I would be a hypocrite to insult your nose Ramia, would I not?”

“I like your nose.” She claims, plainly and factually. Speaking no more and no less as she presses a kiss to the bridge of it.

The contact is brief, but soft and it stills him. He will be harsh with himself later for kissing her back. Cradling her jaw before sliding those fingers to glide to the nape of her neck and deepen the joining of their lips. Swallowing her shock and sharing her hums, they tantalise his lips to press deeper. Lost in their joining to hear the thud of the book once in her hand fall to the floor.

She is unsure what to with her hands he notices, and that sign of inexperience compels him to retreat. A smile too hard to keep at bay when her eyes stay shut for a moment too long when they part, his arms ready to catch her when she falls.

“That was...that was well nice.”

Abelas laughs, his cheeks tinted as he bends to pick up her book.

“I hope that relieves any doubts you had about my sincerity.”

[inquisitor-julia]

is there a ship that you used to ship, but don’t anymore?

hmmmm i think I shipped cullrian for a minute when I first got into this fandom VarricXbianca because now that we’ve met Bianca…I’m not a fan…AbelasXLavellan….Abelas is interesting and all and I still hope we see more of him but I don’t think I’m on board for this pairing nowCassandraXwhat’s-his-name from the movie since that romance is basically no longer important in any way Other than that I don’t think i’ve really just stopped shipping anything.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Preview/aka I may get bored and start writing something else instead: 

‘ In the depths of winter, they exchanged gifts. 

Around them, humans and city born elves did the same, voices rising in festive chants, lighting candles that clung precariously to the branches of trees. It was a custom foreign to them, but not entirely unwelcome; it was lovely in its simplicity, in its celebration of life even as the rest of the world huddled down under the snow. 

Maiwe lit her own candles, in remembrance of a Dalish holiday that had long since lost most of its meaning. “It was the dead of winter, and there wasn’t enough left to burn, or something similar. My clan just used the holiday as an excuse to feast and exchange gifts.” The light from her candles cast long shadows that did not break through the leaded glass. Outside, a gust of wind brought a fresh flurry of flakes down on the rebuilt village of Haven. Villagers stoked the fire higher, and the warmth bathed over them all. 

“I have a present for you.” Maiwe spoke to fill the silence, though it had been comfortable. Abelas raised an eyebrow in turn, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. ‘

[mindtrove]

I am probably still keen on continueing this story eventually, so here’s a little promo.

If you like Abelas well, maybe y’might like it.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[kestrelsansjesses]

Even if Abelas’ immortality vanished once he rejoined the waking world, he would outlive Maiwe. She has a mayfly’s life in comparison to him, brief and fleeting and gone too quickly so that he’s left alone just when he thought he had found something so concrete and real. 

:) :) :) 

[kestrelsansjesses]

[[So I kind of ran out of steam with this, so have what I came up with thus far? I may end up incorporating it into something larger- it feels at once too flimsy and too substantial to stand on its own merit, if that makes sense. Maiwe faces the reality of important decisions.]]

Pairing: Abelas x Lavellan

SFW, Trespasser spoilers]]

“I was the Inquisitor.” The force of her words translated downward into the arc of her arm, driving the point of her dagger deep into the wood of the table. “If they will not acknowledge that, I will not acknowledge them.”

“Inqui-Maiwe. Please,” Cassandra pleaded, but her words were addressed to Maiwe’s back as she walked out of the room, shoulders tight.

Out of the dank stone and into the sunlight, shining off the snow and into her eyes so that it was painful for her to look out over the rebuilt Haven. Good, this was as it should be. The pain was refreshing, cleansing and redeeming her from the decision she had just made, even as it served as a reminder of it.

A deep breath, and further pain. Maiwe had never seen the village she had been asked to save, yet her imagination conjured faces; women and children and men, human and elven and even a dwarf or two. What little she knew of the place was this: It was of medium size, with about five hundred residents prior to Orlais’ civil war. After that, most of the adult men and many of the able bodied women had died, leaving the population largely consisting of the elderly and those too young to fight. They had sided with Gaspard and were all devout Andrastians, at least on paper. And they had been against her, terribly against her, never sending aid. In fact, their own Chantry had been one of those who had preached most viciously that she was evil, a test of the Maker toward the faithful. When the rest of their country had taken her aid gratefully, they had remained resolute in their decision not to help, their isolated mountain location meaning that much of the world did not trouble them. Now they had darkspawn, creeping up through mines thought long abandoned, and they begged for her help, even though Maiwe had renounced her title and struck out on her own.

What was politically correct was to refuse to serve them. They would not be grateful; they would only take and take and take, until they could take no more. That did not stop Maiwe from feeling a burn in her heart, even as she tried to harden it. If she could dampen her emotions and kill what crept through, she could survive this decision. She knew she possessed the steel; she had only to tamper it.

“The shems would not have granted you the same assistance.” Abelas was her shadow, there when she needed him, but so silent otherwise. “You made the wise choice.” His words grated on her nerves.

“It is not so black and white. Josephine would find me ways. Leliana would have means. Even Cullen would have some solution. I have nothing. I am nothing without them.” Impotent, empty. Her words were more ragged than she intended.

What could he say to that? He stood there, their shared helplessness unfamiliar and unwelcome. 

[kestrelsansjesses]

[Working through those kiss prompts. Here’s the first one! @kitteria requested a neck kiss. I was only going to make this around 200 words. Whoops. Her outfit design is courtesy of the ever lovely @oddmoy, and can be found here ]

In the past, elves would have had no place in an Orlesian ball. Their masks would have been plain, little more than leather painted to match the household insignia, and they would have scurried from corner to corner, whispers of “rabbit” following every hurried footfall. The Orlesians still whispered slurs, but they did no more than that now, and the elves walked among them with heads straight, no longer cowed, masks of silverite blending with silver hair and wry smiles that suggested they knew exactly how ridiculous this was, and how hard won an achievement it was. Only a single pair refused the mask, letting their vallaslin speak to their station in life instead.

“I do not understand why you made me come to this.” Abelas brushed imaginary strands of hair away from his face. The candles caught every gentle curve of his armor and reflected it back a thousand fold, so that he was almost painful to look at.

“We must support Briala. Her position here is precarious at best, and she needs us simply to be here. We can slip out once the introductions are made.” Maiwe reached up to adjust her own hair, the gesture underscoring her anxiety. At least she had avoided an elaborate Orlesian dress, or those ridiculous, stiff uniforms that Josephine had always existed showed a united front. Today she could dress like a Dalish elf, albeit in silks and other materials that had never actually been available to her clan. The dyed and braided ropes lay around her body neatly, highlighting how tight the orange and brown tunic itself was. Her feet were bare- another Dalish affectation, though one Maiwe admittedly felt no partiality toward. Shoes were one of the few shem inventions she found to be practical.

Her hand went to fiddle with the red sash around her waist, holding everything together. Gently, Abelas caught her hand in his own, looking down at her with the faintest hint of a smile. He kissed her palm just once, before he took her hand once more, waiting at the top of the sweeping staircase for their names to be announced.

“The former Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, Maiwe Lavellan. Her companion tonight is the sentinel elf, Abelas.” There was applause that was more than polite, a few cheers, and the evening descending into swirling chaos of meeting important officials and hearing hushed assurances that truly, they had always supported the elves, but they were always afraid to be open with it. Maiwe could only nod and try and keep the disbelief from her eyes, already begging for the night to be over.

And then it was, and they were back in the room they had been given, needlessly opulent and large. Two people did not need a sitting room besides their bed, and the fireplace was enough to roast a hog in. Maiwe collapsed into a chair, letting the exhaustion show for the first time. She got so tired now; the mark’s magic had almost left her body, and it was not enough to sustain her. How many more events could she be polite at? How much more would she have to stand before her work was finally done?

She must have been deep in thought, for she did not notice when the hair was swept from her neck. She only noticed when lips pressed to the knob at the start of her spine, moving gently toward her ear, stopping there lightly. “We are done with greetings now,” Abelas whispered, and Maiwe nodded in return.

His lips continued their work, moving down her neck, nipping lightly so that a shiver ran down her body and she turned her head to him, letting their lips meet. 

“You have made things better for them,” he said and they leaned forward so their foreheads touched. “You took what Solas wanted and you have made it your own.” There was admiration in his voice and in his look, and she returned it, allowing him to pull her gently to her feet. In turn, Maiwe lead him up the stairs to their ridiculous bed, to let the stress of the evening fall from them both.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Prompt: Constellations

[[Summary: @though-i-seem-tame gave me the prompt ‘looking up at the stars,’ and I launched into the idea of how the stars might have changed once the Veil went up. When researching the Astrariums, I noticed that some had clear elvhen origins, while others were human, and I took that as a spin off point. 

Pairing: Abelas x Lavellan

SFW, Trespasser Spoilers

Word count: 626]]

“And that one is called Equinor, though my clan always told me it was a halla.” Maiwe’s hand was pale even against the moonlight, her fingertips lazily tracing the shape of the stars, forming a connection not visible without imagination and some squinting.

She felt, rather than saw, Abelas shake his head, stray hairs flying out of his carefully kept braid and brushing against her skin. “Both are incorrect, though your people are closer than the other shems.” The world still existed in sharp binary to him. “It is Ghilan’nain, the antlers of her creation sprouting from her brow. See, that is the way her limbs twist and turn, so that they are no longer mortal. She has transcended it, and taken her place with the Gods.” Maiwe could see it then, the way a rearing horse’s body could transform into a woman, have twisted by her own cleverness and madness, the two indistinguishable.

“And what of that one?” She was eager to learn more, hand tracing the shape of a ship in hurried, erratic jerks.

Abelas stared upward for a long moment, brow furrowing. Finally he sat up, no longer looking at the stars, but instead at his own hands, as if they could hold so many answers. “We did not have those stars. It means nothing to me.” His tone was very steady.

Maiwe sat up as well, letting her lone hand rest on his knee. He always felt cool, and now he was especially so, and still. So still. “The stars changed?” She wasn’t thinking- of course she wasn’t. It had been so many thousands of years since Abelas had looked up and seen them. He did not look disconcerted, but he would not raise his eyes to the sky again.

“Some stars were present, and some were night. It was so much brighter then; we did not need so many pinpricks in the darkness.” His voice was far away and he looked up only once, before turning his head away. “Now even those that were familiar have changed; they no longer have the old names. They were forgotten or, worse yet, warped.” Being bitter was familiar to him, but it did not make it any better.

Slowly Maiwe moved, sliding herself over so that she was nestled against his arm. She always ran out; fevers or some residual magic from the Mark that had once graced her blood. It was only leaning against Abelas that she felt normal, skin on skin equalizing. When she looked up again, she no longer saw Fervanis, the tree, but something older. It was Vir Tanadhal, the Way of Three Trees, a core belief of Andruil. The Well placed that knowledge there, as it did so often, and left her without telling her what its use would be. So many of the constellations unfolded themselves, ancient beliefs superseding everything Maiwe had been told, all the human texts she had read in Skyhold’s library so long ago. Abelas’ words were a catalyst for this new knowledge, and it was staggering in its scope. Some there were no old names for, and she knew these were the stars that had appeared when the Veil had gone up.They were new to this world.

His arm moved around her shoulders, though he moved slowly, cautiously, as if he was afraid to spook her. Maiwe leaned into him more, the knowledge bowing her head so that she looked to the earth. “I see how it used to be, in Arlathan. How the scholars studied the stars, gave them names and wove tales about them to suit the Evanuris. I see it all.”

Abelas kissed her brow, up near her hairline, and they sat in shared memories of what once had been.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Hiraeth Chapter 4 ‘Shards’

Summary: Set post-Trespasser, it chronicles the adventures of the chronically ill Maiwe Lavellan and the mysterious sentinel elf Abelas, as they race to stop Solas from destroying the world. I do hope you’ll enjoy this, and as always, I appreciate any and all comments! In this chapter, Maiwe returns the favor of saving a life to Abelas, and a familiar face appears. 

Pairing: Abelas/Lavellan slow burn

Rating: Possibly NSFW, Trespasser and Masked Empires spoilers, heavy gore and blood

Word Count: 1768

Previous Chapter

AO3: Here!

Together, they crossed the Waking Sea in a small boat, stowed among the silk and dyes bound for Val Royeux. The others were free to cross the bridge, to travel those roads still heavily peopled, but Maiwe and Abelas stowed themselves away, movements covert. Their close confines did not breed a similar closeness in personality, though they grew used to the sensation of their skin touching. At night, Maiwe often fell asleep with her head lolling on Abelas’ shoulder, and he did not push her off. It kept the worst of the dreams at bay, though Maiwe was always quick to pull away from him in the morning, refusing to meet his eyes. At least the journey only took a few days. Any more and she would have to answer questions she was uncomfortable with.

They stretched their legs on a rocky shoreline, looking up at the forested cliffs above them. They were wet up to the thighs, the boat that had taken them coming as close as it dared before continuing on its way for real ports. This was wilderness, and nothing more. This was safety.

A small stream fed into the sea, falling from distant mountains. It ran cool and clear, and Abelas stopped by it to wash his face, putting down his arms. They had not moved in several days, so how could they be so sore? Maiwe watched him and then turned away, embarrassed as Abelas began to strip his armor, washing himself as best was possible. The air here was still filled with salt and stinging, but they were close to Val Royeux. Even the nobles did not want this land. Not yet. Abelas moved further into the shade of the trees, and Maiwe shadowed him, keeping her distance and letting her fingers graze their gnarled bark.

A muffled yell disturbed her. Unlike Abelas, Maiwe was still armed, and she quickly pulled the dagger from her waist. It was freshly sharpened and curved, so that when it pulled out it left a large exit wound, rending flesh and leaving its mark.

She moved more swiftly than she thought possible. Abelas lay on the bank of the stream, in danger of falling entirely into the cold water. A bear loomed over him, and Maiwe spared the time for a single thought, “Will I ever be free from bears?”

The bear reared up on its hind legs. It must have been at least seven feet tall, if not more, but with a pelt that was scraggly and lacked shine; the conflict between the Mages and the Templars had devastated wildlife throughout Thedas for years to come. With no deer to feed on, all the nugs taken by half starved lyrium addicts, the bear turned itself on prey that came on two legs, mindless in its ursine hunger. It gave out a dull bellow, the noise accompanied with frothy slaver that coated its jaws and dripped downward. It steamed in the air, despite the fact it was not incredibly cold.

Carefully, Abelas attempted to the lean to the side, fingers grasping for his discarded weapon. Even this small movement upset the animal, who swatted one broad paw in the air. Its claws were dull, but Maiwe knew from far too many experiences that they could easily cut through flesh. Abelas stilled, his eyes darting toward her. He did not look scared; it was almost as if the experience bored him. It was in sharp contrast to Maiwe, who felt as though her eyes would bug out of her head. She moved silently, hopeful that the creature would not notice her.

Up close, it smelled foul. Something more was wrong with it, some deep sickness that let out the aroma of rot. There was a round already on its lower back, near the tailbone, festering. The edges were faintly green where the fur had already fallen off. In it, Maiwe saw her target.

She offered quick prayers to Andruil, who she no longer believed in. Let the Goddess be real and living. Let her walk the earth, released by Solas, if only to help guide Maiwe’s hand. To an Evanuris, this bear would be nothing. To Maiwe, unbalanced, feeling the loss of her hand more than ever, this bear became her entire world.

Her feet, at least, were still swift, and years in the forest had trained her to move quietly. Though her lungs threatened to seize and cough, Maiwe ran, dagger pointed outwards as she drove it home, deep into the rotting flesh of the bear’s existing wound. It all parted so easily, already softened, and when Maiwe pulled her weapon back toward her, it took a chunk of the bear with it, hunks of fear mingled with fresh blood and pus. It all came out with so little effort that she nearly fell backward.

Not immune to pain, the bear turned its attention firmly on Maiwe, the bellow that he gave loud enough to make her eardrums ring. The wound was hardly fatal, but it had hurt, and that was the point. With the bear watching Maiwe, falling back on all fours to prepare a charge, Abelas was able to rise to his feet, reaching his sword easily. Magic channeled down his arms to the weapon in a perfect amalgamation of the two; Maiwe would have to ask how his art worked, when all this was said and done. If they survived this encounter. Either way, she kept moving, letting the bear follow every small step she took, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes flickered between Abelas and the bear.

It charged, deceptively fast for all its size and emaciation. Maiwe dove to the side, her rogue training serving her well. Her head tucked in and her body dropped into a roll, darting to the side. The bear had moment, but it could not turn as swiftly as she could. It stopped, dazed, as Maiwe stood up again. The distance between them had closed, but she was still safe; Maiwe had always been far better at getting out of danger than she had been at fighting.

The bear raised up again, making its fatal mistake. It left its belly and throat bared, and Abelas sprang into action. His sword had the reach that Maiwe’s dagger did not, and he had the power she lacked. Leaning into his thrust, he let his blade flicker with golden light, the force of his efforts evident in the way his muscles strained and the sheen of sweat on his brow. The sword parted flesh, and there was a single moment where the bear seemed almost comically surprised before its viscera fell to the earth in another spray of blood and gore, and the bear swiftly followed. It grunted and whine, the noise pitiful enough that Maiwe stepped in, sliding her blade across its throat. Finally the light left its eyes.

“We’re even now. A life for a life.” She was panting as she spoke, but the exhilaration of the violence lent her eyes a liveliness she had not shown Abelas yet.

Before Abelas could respond, the noise of applause startled them both. They sprang up and moved closer together, unconsciously taking a back to back pose that let them see as much as was possible through the surrounding trees.

“Good show, Inquisitor. I always knew you had some good fight in you.” From beneath the shadows, a cloaked figure stepped out, throwing back her hood and revealing dark hair and a half smile partially hidden by a simple Orlesian mask.

“Briala. You could have helped us.” Maiwe’s guard relaxed, but Abelas stayed upright, his sword still held at the ready, his golden magic still tinting the air with ozone.

“You looked more than capable of handling one bear. Who is this? Another Dalish?” Briala showed no fear in stepping closer, though her body was still taut. Now she stood only a few feet away. Maiwe was the first to bridge the gap, extending her single blood-splattered hand to shake.

“Not Dalish. He’s elvhen. Like Solas. Fen’harel.” The venom in Maiwe’s tone was not intended. Briala took a single step back, though she untied her mask and let it fall to the earth. She was composed, her brown skin not covered in sweat as they were. She looked fresh and ready, and her eyes were wary.

Abelas still did not lower his sword. “Who is this?” He was not breathless, as Maiwe was.

“Briala. It is complicated, but some say she is the power behind the Throne of Orlais. She had something she wished to discuss with us.” Briala smiled again then, in an expression that did not meet her eyes. She beckoned for them to follow and they did, slowly, still on alert.

The sea vanished from view as they ventured deeper into the forest. The three moved in silence over what must have been two hours, their eyes constantly scanning the trees. Finally they halted, and Maiwe’s breath was taken away by what Briala revealed with a hint of pride.

It was an eluvian, intact but no longer active. Its glass was dark even as Briala trailed her fingers across the surface. “Solas took the ability to unlock the eluvians from me, but he could not take every mirror. I have some hidden throughout Orlais. Many of them are broken. Could your friend open it and see where it leads?”

Abelas looked between them before nodding and stepping forward. He let his fingers rest lightly against the glass, let magic flow out of him. It went over the surface of the mirror, traveled up and down the gilt edging, exploring carved halla and twisted, winged shapes. A light appeared within and then nothing. It had not worked. “I have never had the key.” He sounded almost apologetic. “Solas could unlock it from the Crossroads, but from here I can do nothing.” At his words, Briala looked sad, and her jaw squared.

“Then it’s useless to me.” Her fist dove into the glass, shattering it, heedless of the way it sliced her skin.Maiwe and Abelas both stepped forward, mouths hanging open, but they were too late. The loss of their shared heritage echoed in the sound of tiny shards hitting the forest floor. Abelas was stricken, lost and unsure for the first time since he had found Maiwe again. It came instinctual- she took his hand in her own, and he did not pull away. He watched the glass rest on dead leaves and in thick underbrush, and it seemed like the sun did not reach.

[kestrelsansjesses]

[[Summary: I do more hair braiding. Maiwe adjusts to life without a hand, and Abelas comforts her. The prompt is courtesy of @tsyele

Pairing: Abelas x Lavellan

SFW

Word count: 802

Warning: Post Trespasser]]

“Will you allow me to braid your hair today? I need… practice.” Maiwe tripped over her own words, shoulders hunched inward, working hand and guilty limb turned in toward each other. Had there been two hands, they would have been worrying each other, circling over and over again. The sound of the nearby river almost drowned out her words.

Abelas turned to regard her, cocking his head, bird-like. “If it will help you.” He combed out his own half finished work with his fingers and turned his back to her, perching on a stump so that she could reach more easily. He was only doing her a favor, yet Maiwe’s stomach twisted and turned. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant.

She carefully pulled his hair back, gathering it clumsily in one hand and then placing it within the grasp of her prosthetic. Today she wore little more than a modified hook; it was capable of grasping, but could not exert pressure. It was designed to put reins in when riding, or to hold objects until they fell out of the loosely molded metal. Abelas’ hair simply sat there, silver on the slightly burnished bronze of her false hand. The mixture of organic and inorganic briefly gave Maiwe pause, before she began to separate his hair into three long sections.

One strand over another- that part was not difficult. Before, Maiwe has always fallen into a rhythm while braiding hair, be it her own or someone else’s. There was something soothing about it, the tactile sensation of each individual strand against her skin. Now, she could feel it only with the one hand. The other gave nothing but a faint, lingering echo of what had once been, and she did not enjoy that ghost.

Before, Maiwe had hummed while she worked, little snatches of traditional Dalish melodies, or her own version of melodic bird calls. Now, she was silent. She bit the corner of her own lip in concentration and frustration. The strands fell in clumps from the smooth service of her prosthetic, the loose structure Maiwe had actually managed to accomplish unwinding. It had only been one or two small sections of a braid, but it had been progress, more than she had managed to do to her own hair since Solas had taken the anchor. Now it was all undone, and she was surprised at the anger she felt and at the tears that sprang to her eyes. They weren’t of sadness, but of a frustration she had born so quietly until now.

She must have made some kind of noise. Abelas turned his head to look at her, taking his remaining hair with him.

“Don’t move! I was just finishing.” As lies went, it was a poor one. After she spoke, she resumed biting her lip, the action unconscious.

“You were having difficulty?” It was a question and a statement at once, and from anyone else it would have been an accusation. From Abelas, there was comfort that went with the words. Everything about him was so steady and so calm.

“Continually. But it’s difficult to admit that.” Even saying those words to him felt at once freeing and damning. Someone knew her weakness now. Would he use it against her?

“Then you will try again.” Abelas offered no chance for rebuttal. He turned his head away from her once more.

Once again she picked up the hair with her good hand, placing it within the bronze, and once again she felt the mounting frustration of slipped strands, of single hairs that went awry. Her movements grew less precise, faster. She tugged at his hair without realizing, though Abelas did not wince or groan. Instead, he began to hum.

Maiwe did not recognize the song. Its structure was repeating and simple, but pleasant all the same. It had a series of rises and falls that would sound beautiful with words, but Abelas offered none. His voice was somewhat rough, but did not lack in melody. Most of all, it soothed her, so that she moved slower. She was able to successfully braid once, twice… and a third time escaped from her. Her work stayed together this time, however, and some of the frustration she felt leaked away. The humming was a counterpoint to the river, nature and elvhen music blending together.

It would not do for Maiwe to continue at her task and fail again and again. She had accomplished this much, and now Abelas’ humming was lulling her into a state of rest. First her arms fell to her sides, and then she leaned against him. He was warm through the light armor he wore, and he smelled like things sprouting from the earth. She could feel the vibration through to his back, and the sensation made her smile.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Sleep

Summary: When dreams wake Maiwe, Abelas moves to support her. Inspired by the prompt ‘cheek/forehead kisses’, submitted by @skuttlebutts 

Pairing: Abelas/Lavellan

Rating: SFW

Warning: Trespasser spoilers.

Word count: 708

Author’s Notes: I know there’s far too much telling and not enough showing in this fic, but I do hope that you find it has some redeeming qualities. Thank you to @saarebitch for letting me use her formatting!

The dreams dragged her into waking, sweat matting her hair to her face, throat sore and jaw clenched. Maiwe’s chest was tight, so tight, and she gasped for a minute or two before her heartbeat slowed and her lungs could expand. She felt them press against her rib cage, felt where the pathways were blocked and would never be clear again and her body tensed itself, preparing for another fit of panic on the heels of the nightmare she could barely remember.

The tent flap pulled open, revealing a startling glimpse of stars and twinned moons, their half light cold. Wind pulled in the opening eagerly, getting into and under the furs and leaving long tendrils of cold on Maiwe’s skin, drying her sweat and leaving only the residual chill. She was fully awake now, mind racing and alert. She scrambled for a dagger, wielding it with the point outward and then letting it fall again. Abelas. He was no stranger wanting to slay her; indeed, he seemed to sleep very little, and they had several late night conversations when Maiwe’s mind would not let her rest.

“You were yelling. You are fine now?” He let the tent close behind him, and the heat of two bodies quickly made the space warm once more.

“It was a dream.” Fragments of it came back to her now. There was a flash of green light, blinding pain that felt so real that she was shocked to look down and see the lower half of her arm missing. There was the sensation of falling to her knees, of pulling back her bow string again and again and feeling each finger protest, feeling magic threatening to unravel her only weapon. Then there was release again and again, energy leaving her body in force strong enough to kill, that drove her to her already skinned knees. None of it was real, or rather, none of it was real now. Now there was only the quiet of the scrublands, the noise of countless small animals going about their business. “Just a dream.”

None the less, Maiwe shivered. The phantom pain was still there, though she moved her other arm in the space below her stump several times in an effort to convince herself that it was no longer there. How could absence be painful? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair. Nothing in this whole journey had been fair.

Something of that must have showed in her face. Abelas laid a single hand on her shoulder, hesitant to touch her. For once, Maiwe did not shy away. She needed the warmth, the solidity of another presence. If she could only leech some of his strength and some of his resolve… “I see too much sometimes.” She gave a small smile, rueful. “Things have a way of coming back when I sleep.”

Abelas nodded once, his movements sharp and precise. “I have experienced that.”

Maiwe felt selfish for supposing her experience was in any way unique. What were her losses compared to his own? He had lost his entire world, yet he would still work with her to save this one. “Is that why you stay awake?”

“I have found that after a few thousand years of rest, sleep matters very little. But at times, yes.” She could not see much of his expression in the dim light, but she could hear the faint edges of a smile in his voice, an upward inflection that was not false.

Slowly, Maiwe leaned against him, and Abelas did not pull away. Her chin fit beneath his own so neatly, and he did not seem to mind the salt that still streaked her skin, or the way she was flushed so warm still. Her heart beat faster, but for entirely different reasons. She was so tired though, weary in so many ways.

“Sleep,” and his voice ruffled her hair, his breath soft and even. This safety, however temporary, made her eyes grow heavy and her mind feel lighter than it had in some time. Slowly Maiwe relaxed, even the fingers that were no longer there uncurling, and and as she drifted off, she felt Abelas kiss the top of her head just once. Their smiles mirrored each other.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Hiraeth Chapter 2

Summary: Set post-Trespasser, it chronicles the adventures of the chronically ill Maiwe Lavellan and the mysterious sentinel elf Abelas, as they race to stop Solas from destroying the world. I do hope you’ll enjoy this, and as always, I appreciate any and all comments! This series will be updated regularly, on Fridays, and I’ll be sure to include fan favorite characters. Banner art is official Inquisition concept art. 

In this chapter, Maiwe and Abelas’ discussion is so rudely interrupted by walking corpses.

Rating: Safe for work

Word count: 1530

Previous chapter

AO3: Here!]

“Walk with me.” Maiwe rose from her chair heavily, unbalanced. She was so used to pushing off the wood with both hands, swung forward what remained of her left every time, almost falling and catching herself only at the last minute. On another day with less surprises, she would have been embarrassed. Today she merely accepted it as part of her new reality, moving toward Abelas and then passing him, walking between the warped wooden doors of what had once been the Chantry and emerging into the bright light.

Everywhere, the sound of hammers fell, striking stone. Nails were driven into wood and people smiled, though their eyes were still distantly sad. When they saw Maiwe, they bobbed their heads, expressions nervous but hopeful. “Inquis-Lavellan,” they said, hastily correcting themselves and not looking her in the eyes. Instead, they stared at her empty sleeve as if that were better, easier to look upon. Her sacrifice was too visible and she looked away, until the silence between her and the rest was too heavy. Maiwe and Abelas moved on, and the other elf said nothing. He merely observed, though he looked at her lack just like the others. He met her gaze with a challenge; he was not afraid of acknowledging it.

“I thought you would be with Fen’harel, organizing his revolution. It has been two years; why come to me now?” Maiwe no longer had the time or the patience for diplomacy.

They both stopped of their own accord, on the ashes of where the tavern had once been. There were still a few iron beer mugs left, warped by dragon fire but recognizably cups. Maiwe poked one out of the ashes with one boot and then buried it again.

“I did travel with him.” Maiwe’s body tensed at Abelas’ words. Spies were a very real possibility, no matter how much she tried to keep her numbers small. There had been a few already, outsiders who stood out in how eager they were to get close to her, at how bold they were. They were all elven, one of them marked by vallaslin just as Maiwe was, and it hurt her heart that they could not come to an understanding. Instead, her hand held the knife that executed them, Leliana whispering soft encouragement in her ear. It would be so easy to let them go. It would be too easy. Stern words were not enough, jails merely a stopgap. Maiwe had tried, jailing a Dalish elf who spit on her boots and called her a traitor. In the morning, the other elf had slit his throat with a piece of stone worked from the wall with bloodied fingers.

Her hand reached down to the dagger at her waist, gripping the pommel. “I disagreed with him on several things. He has… changed. I was not a part of his original rebellion.” It was left unsaid that Abelas wanted no part of it now. He had seen enough, and had turned his head, sought her out. Whether or not she would take his words as truth was another matter entirely.

Slowly, her fingers loosened, uncurling one by one to hang uncurled once more. Maiwe was ready to hear more, eager even- it showed in the cant of her head, slightly tilted. If Solas was already losing the support of the only elvhen that were left, perhaps she had a hope of stopping him. The hope felt strange and unwieldy in her chest, a sensation that was not her lungs being blocked off or pain crippling her. It was too light; it put her off balance, would have taken her in all too eagerly had not the pair been interrupted by a runner, sweat sodden and gasping.

“Corpses on the outskirts. We.. were digging out a foundation and they rose. They have swords. They’re ours or Templars, I don’t know. Help.” The words came out in starts and stops, the man leading himself into a coughing fit that impressed even Maiwe.

“Breathe,” she cautioned him, offering him a shoulder to lean on while he tried to gather himself. It seems like her talk with Abelas would be cut short. “If you truly wish to join us, come with me. Help me deal with the undead, and I will consider what you have said.” The dagger came fully out this time; Maiwe simply did not have the minutes necessary to fetch her bow and attach the prosthetic that would allow her to pull it back. It made her feel vulnerable too- it took a separate set of hands entirely to attach it properly, as she had not mastered the tricky leather straps yet. There were few she trusted with that duty, and Abelas was certainly not one of them. These were merely undead- how difficult of a battle could it be?

Running made her chest ache, but it was another sign of mortality that Maiwe could not show. She ignored it as best she could, her heavy breathing hid under layers of leather and fur. The people only saw their former savior charging toward danger again, upper lip slightly raised, exposing sharpened canine teeth that so many shems told scary tales about.

It wasn’t the first time the undead had bothered Haven. There were too many restless spirits here, buried beneath blackened wood and stone and earth, and a strange magic seemed to linger over the place still. Hundreds had died here and hadn’t been given a burial, the only funeral miles away on a snowy mountaintop, conducted by companions half starving and hopeless. The bodies appeared with every excavation, and it was inevitable that some rose once more. Thus far, however, none of them had been armed, and none of them had belonged to the enemy. It had been hard to lay to rest once again figures dressed in familiar clothing, in jewelry that still identified who they once had been. It would not be difficult to kill Corypheus’ forces once again. In fact, Maiwe was glad for the opportunity. She had once shied away from wielding death, but now she was hardened. It was so simple and easy to plunge a dagger into flesh and draw a straight line. It was not complicated, as too many things were.

The builders had fled, barricading themselves indoors. None of them were soldiers. They could swing a hammer, but swords and bows were beyond them. The shambling dead moved faster than many thought, imbued with a dark magic the mages called ‘fascinating’ and the rest called ‘a nuisance.’ It had taken only one man being torn apart for people to learn to keep their distance, to let the Inquisitor do what she did best. There were guards besides, but they were out hunting today, the few that had stayed behind glancing at Maiwe with hesitance, and then back to the bodies.

To her surprise, Abelas followed, drawing a sword that glittered with golden runes and the ozone scent of magic. He moved faster than she did, but Maiwe was ahead, reaching the undead before he could. Her movements were clipped, precise. One rattled an axe at her, but it wasted precious time in posturing, and seemed almost relieved when her knife ripped upward from sternum to jaw bone. It crumbled back into dust, folding in on itself with only a sigh.

Three more remained, covered in piecemeal leather armor, joints held together with red lyrium and rotting sinews. They moved more swiftly than their companion, turning their heads towards Maiwe despite the fact their eyes had rotted out long ago. One step, two, and they shuffled ever closer. With swords, their reach far exceeded her own, and Maiwe found herself bounding and weaving as best as possible, trying to dance closer but constantly thrown off balance by the unfamiliar lopsidedness of her new body. It was too much; her right arm was growing tired, and what remained of her left rose constantly as she forgot it was there. She overcompensated, overbalanced, falling to the earth and coating herself in ash and stone dust. After so much fighting, this was how it would end? Maiwe had slain more corpses than she could count. Toward the end of her run as Inquisitor, she had barely counted them as enemies. They fell like flies to her bow, leaving a battlefield littered with her white fletched arrows. All of that was forgotten now, as they closed in on her, as she struggled to rise and fell again and again.

With two easy, loping strides Abelas swung his sword into the midst of the trio. His first blow nearly severed a head from shoulders, leaving the corpse with only a thin strip of dried out flesh to connect them. His next neatly took off a body’s sword arm, and his third plunged deep into where the heart of the undead would be, if it still beat. It took only a few more stabs to finish them off, and he extended a hand down to Maiwe. She hesitated before taking it, not liking the feel of his flesh on her own. It was too warm, too close.

“You will listen to me now?” She nodded.

[kestrelsansjesses]

[Anonymous requested: Modern Thedas. Maiwe and Abelas come upon a stray puppy who takes a shine to them.

Enjoy! ]

“What did you think of the gallery?” Maiwe and Abelas walked side by side, so close, but they weren’t quite touching. It still felt awkward, and to hold hands felt like an impossible display of familiarity and a blatant display of affection that their relationship simply didn’t warrant. Or maybeshe was just overthinking things.

Abelas gave a noncommittal grunt. “Some of the pottery was obviously post Arlathan- the firing technique was incorrect, the devotions to Mythal misprinted. But the tapestries were… unique.” They had stood together in front of one for a solid ten minutes, tracing the threads that made up a vast, silvery tree. For just one moment Abelas had reached out, his fingers touching the glass, leaving one little streak as they fell back to his side. History was no longer his to hold.

“One of the novels was Tevinter, I think. Not even elvhen. You would think the curators would be more careful.” Maiwe snorted, and then testing out her own bravery, slipped her fingers through Abelas’. He did not drop them, and they walked like this for some time, threading through the crowded Friday night streets. Everyone else seemed so loud, their laughter too false and braying. She smiled up at him, and the smallest smile touched the corner of his mouth. In Maiwe’s other hand, a bag from the museum shop dangled.

“I have a surprise for you. I didn’t buy those plates.” They stopped beneath a streetlight, the soft wisplight making all of Abelas blaze as silver as his hair. From the bag, Maiwe pulled out a throw. It was mass produced, she knew, and smelt slightly like artificial fibers, but on it was a replica of the tapestry they had stared at for so long before. It was even the same size as the original, but a little brighter, as the tapestry must have once been before it spent decades locked up in stone walls beneath the earth.

Abelas held it at its full length- it would be enough to cover him from his feet to mid chest, though it wouldn’t be warm. Still, something in him softened, and he leaned forward and kissed the top of Maiwe’s head, folding her into an embrace with the blanket, his chin resting where he had just so lightly touched with his lips. They could have stood there for embarrassingly long, until the wind snuck under their clothes and froze them both in place, had not an enormous crashing noise startled them apart. It came from behind them, in an alley between two large houses, and while every single one of Maiwe’s instincts screamed that it was dangerous, she marched forward, dragging Abelas along with her.

With her phone as a flashlight, Maiwe shone down the alley, between trash cans and puddles of stale water. Something waited just out of reach of the light, before bounding forward with all the enthusiasm of the young, bowling into Maiwe’s legs and nearly knocking her over.

“It’s a mabari!” A puppy, not even at the gangly stage of life yet, but with a belly that suggested worms and ragged ears that suggested a history of fighting for survival. Abelas pulled her up and back, away from the creature, who whined piteously and looked up at them with enormous brown eyes.

“It seems sweet. We should take it home.” And by we, Maiwe clearly meant herself. “Who else would pick up a mabari? You know they’re reputation. Half the landlords here don’t even allow them.”

The puppy toddled over to Abelas and proceeded to sit squarely between his boots. The shoes and the puppy were almost of a size.

Maiwe leaned forward to pick it up, and she was stopped once again, Abelas’ hand gentle but firm. “I will take it. I… have a yard for it. Your apartment does not.” The mabari was looking at him with something akin to adoration, and he looked back at it, the same small smile he had given her earlier appearing. One year of the pup went up, and the other down.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Abelas enveloped the filthy dog in the blanket Maiwe had bought for him. She wanted to protest, but it was shivering, and it hadn’t been that expensive, and the silver of the bark brought out the brindling of the puppy. “You’re right. And you have so much more experience with animals than I do,” she teased, but Abelas was deaf to her words; the puppy had licked him on the nose.

[kestrelsansjesses]

[ saarebitch gave me the prompt ‘visceral.’ I no longer know how the hell this relates to it at all.

Summary: A first kiss, filled with gratitude for balance. As always, starring chronically ill Maiwe Lavellan. Post Trespasser. I tried to portray the realities of disability as accurately as possible, as an actual disabled person.

Pairing: Lavellan/Abelas

Rating: PG, I guess? There’s kissing. ]

There was the phantom sensation of fingers, fingers articulated and individual. If Maiwe closed her eyes, she could feel the smooth wood of the bow beneath her hand, the worn leather of the grip molded to her hand and to her hand alone. It was only when she opened them once more that she saw reality, saw that her prosthetic gripped the bow too tightly. Her mind was unable to reconcile sensation and reality and she staggered, spending a beat too long dizzy from forcing herself to accept that the anchor was no longer there. She removed the leather straps quickly, fingers slipping in her haste to undo it all, letting it fall to the ground with little care. Air. She needed air.

Abelas slipped a hand beneath her elbow, his strength radiating upward. “It bothers you.”

“Frequently.” There was little use in lying. Something in Abelas seemed to see through her lies too easily, and there was nothing to gain by them now. Everyone knew of her, twice disabled. They looked on her with mingled pity, an ex Inquisitor still vainly trying to do good in the world. What a sad figure.

Abelas guided her to a rock, sitting beside her at the base of a tree. The light filtered through, dappling them both in a play of shadow and sun. He picked up her new bow arm gently, placing it leaning against the bark, but said nothing. He did not chide her for ruining an expensive piece of work, as others may have done. He was simply there, and for once she was thankful for his inscrutable silence. Maiwe was not sure if he stayed with her because she drank from the Well, or because he did not want to see another world destroyed by Fen’harel again, but she was grateful to his presence. So grateful.

“May I?” He rested a hand on her shoulder, his fingers resting on the space beneath her scapula. It was perilously close to her wound, and thought it was long healed, part of her wanted to flinch away. Instead, Maiwe nodded. She could not fear touch forever. The area was tender, but she knew Abelas would not let his hands wander too close. He would not make it bleed and fester as it once had. Even now, she saw her own blackened flesh in her dreams, burnt by some inner magic fire as the anchor was ripped from her. It was good that it was gone, or so she told herself.

Surprisingly, she leant into his touch. Her posture began to loosen; Maiwe had not realized how tightly she held herself, the odd angle that she carried her arm at to try and compensate for the unexpected weight of her prosthetics, or the lack of weight when she wore nothing. She felt constantly unbalanced, as if she lurched always to one side. It felt strange to feel even again, to feel her spine slowly straightening out and her shoulders lower by gentle degrees. The ever present pain that sat in her chest and her arm lessened, if only slightly. “They taught you this in the Temple?”

It was risky bringing it up, but if Maiwe kept her tone light, teasing, perhaps he would understand. Her mood was too heavy for the levity to be truly meant, but her heart felt strange, lurching. Not now. Please, not now.

“No, they taught me-” but he was interrupted as she leaned forward, desperate and hungry, and took a kiss from him. He hesitated but returned it after a moment, let her lean onto him and supported her when she forgot that she had no extra hand to lean upon. He let her steal one kiss from him, and stole another from her in return, until Maiwe’s limited breath ran ragged and she burned red to the tips of her ears.

[kestrelsansjesses]

[[Here’s the rough draft of a tentative first chapter of a post Trespasser fic starring Maiwe and Abelas. I don’t know- I could really use opinions on whether or not this is a worthy venture or not, before I dive into something so long again. As always, it stars chronically ill Maiwe Lavellan.

Pairing: Eventually Abelas/Lavellan, nothing for this chapter

Words: 1100+ 

Rating: SFW]]

They stare at the space where her arm had been, just as they had stared at the mark. They look away more quickly now, but when they think Maiwe is not watching, they stare at the empty sleeve, the way it is pinned back on itself, creating a negative space. She let them stare, her face flat and dispassionate. The legends had only grown around her- slayer of dragons, hero of Thedas, leader of a small force that had stopped a Qunari army. Inevitably, eyes would wander up to her vallaslin, still so proud on her face. The Gods were a lie, a voice in her head said. You could have been free of them. Can you still wear your lie so happily? Yes.

While Fen’harel gathered an army, Maiwe held back. They expected her to go; were they not her people? But Maiwe stayed, her Inquisition disbanded, her companions scattered in the world. Loneliness was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it gnawed more now than it ever had before.

At night, she thought she clutched the sheets with both hands. She could feel her fingers, could feel the weave pressing into them. Then Maiwe woke and there was nothing where her left hand had been. There was merely that space, and the fleeting sensation of fabric against skin that no longer existed. Her mind seemed detached from the whole process. How curious, it said. Meanwhile, the rest of her continued as usual- the aches and pains of a body that had been held in stasis, an illness kept at bay by a magic no longer present. Would it come creeping back now? Would the corruption in her lungs overwhelm her? There was so much yet left to do; the fingers of her missing hand trembled and clutched a dagger that was not there.

Given a mansion in Kirkwall, Maiwe lasted all of a week. They were rebuilding and Varric assured her that things were better, but it still smelled of stone dust and misery. The alienage especially made her frown; all the bright flower boxes could not disguise the unpaved streets and the rats that wandered out in the daytime brazenly. The elves there were half afraid of her, bowing and not looking at her eye. They still looked at her stump; they all did.

“It’s much better here now,” one assured her, gaze fixated somewhere over Maiwe’s left shoulder. “With so many leaving to join Fen’harel’s army, there is enough room for everyone, finally. No one need beg on the street.” The words twisted in her heart and she should have stayed to help. Instead, Maiwe fled. Too many knew Solas here and her words would do nothing to turn the tide. She had to run further, to where his reach did not extend.

Lost, she returned to Haven. It no longer smoked, and stone structures were going up in place of temporary wooden shacks. They still loved her here, almost worshipped her. She had almost killed them all, and they welcomed her with open arms. She did not deserve this, but she had nowhere else to go. Her Clan did not live, and even if they had, even the Dalish were joining Solas’ growing forces. Haven, filled with Maiwe’s worst memories, became her home again.

In the scorched and melted walls of the former Chantry, Maiwe found her old bedroom. Now that there were houses enough to go round, people had left what had previously been the only standing structure. They were building a new Chantry, the same size but far more magnificent. With the gold that had been donated, they could afford leaded, colorful windows that depicted not only the prophet Andraste, but the newly reinstated hero Shartan. The newly elected mayor smiled broadly at Maiwe as he pointed this out, gesturing from Shartan’s pointed ears and back to her own. With his bald head, the Shartan depicted looked eerily like Solas, and it was difficult for Maiwe to fake a smile and nod. “I appreciate the gesture.” That was all she could say. They knew she did not believe in the Maker. She believed in nothing except her own strength, and that if she were to call upon her friends, they would return. That had to be enough.

Now she sat in what had once been Josephine’s office, the wooden chair hard against her back. With her eyes closed, Maiwe tried to summon even an ounce of Josephine’s patience and political acumen, and found only nothing. Her stump ached and her prosthesis lay discarded at the side. It was a simple thing, light wood to get her used to the weight and the way the leather cup rubbed against her bare skin. It irritated at the best of times and today it had made her bleed. Coupled with the ache in her chest, it was difficult not to succumb to misery and self pity. Only Scout Harding’s report kept her awake- faithful Lace, who helped Maiwe braid her own blonde hair now, who had stayed with her. They went riding, pushing the limits of Maiwe’s endurance every day. “It’ll be good for you. Come on.” Lace took her to childhood spots, swimming holes and sunny spots in the Hinterlands where Maiwe could simply soak. And Lace still scouted, still brought Maiwe news. She didn’t have to stay, but she did.

“There’s a Sentinel elf coming, in that armor they all wear. I don’t know if he’s an envoy of Fen’harel, but he’s traveling alone.” Now Maiwe waited, one hand twisting a piece of braided leather over and over again.

“What do you think he wants?”

Maiwe paused to consider. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to have people ready? Just in case.” How did Harding even still have people? There should have been none. Maiwe didn’t like how they all still followed her. She was nothing anymore. Not until she figured out how she would move against Solas. She was useless.

“It’s fine. If he wanted to kill me, he could have at the Temple. Or he could just sneak in. I don’t have guards anymore.” A weak smile. At least Maiwe’s every move was no longer monitored.

Lace looked doubtful but shrugged, vanishing outside into the winter crispness. Soon the snow would fall again.

When her thoughts returned to the present, Abelas was already standing before her. Maiwe’s instincts had dulled as the pain had flared, and she was visibly started for several long seconds before composing herself. Abelas looked much the same- did he still call himself the same thing? His armor matched what Solas had been wearing. It seemed a confirmation of Maiwe’s worst thoughts.

“Abelas.” Her tone was admirably even. “Welcome. I am no longer Inquisitor, but perhaps you only come bearing a message.”

“I wish to join you.” He was affectless; her mouth hung open for a brief second.

[kestrelsansjesses]

calyah asked:  Prompt: modern au or thedas, whichever calls you. Maiwe/Abelas. How Maiwe reacts when she realizes her feelings for Abelas

Maiwe [2:47 AM]: Having a crisis. Pizza isn’t helping. Pizza is cold. Pizza is not filling the emotional void. Can’t write. Can’t study. 

Shiral [8:05 AM]: Is there a reason you texted me at 2 in the morning? 

Maiwe: [8:06 AM]: I like him. Help.

Shiral: [8:30 AM]: Well, fenedhis. Ir abelas, but you’re on your own. I got work. 

Nothing further, except a screen that was blank no matter how many times Maiwe checked it. Should she text Sera?

 Maiwe [8:35 AM]: Urgent help needed. I think I like him. 

Sera [8:40 AM]: haha told u. u like mr prissy pants dusty-crusty. 

Well, that went exactly as expected. Putting the pillow over her head helped Maiwe not one bit, though at least it filtered out the cruelly cheerful morning light. Class in an hour and she couldn’t make herself move from her bed of misery. Overdramatic? Maybe just a bit. 

Last night they had gone to see a movie- just as friends. It was a historical film, ostensibly based on ‘actual Dalish’ legend. Neither of the lead actors were even elves- both had prosthetic ears and the flat teeth of humans. The story had been grossly simplified, romance added where there was none, humans swooping in to save the day when humans had originally been the enemy. Both Maiwe and Abelas had walked out of the theater with noses wrinkled in disgust, Maiwe loudly declaiming the film and Abelas merely silent, mind somewhere miles away. But he nodded and he listened, and when she finally shut up for long enough, he had told her how the battle had really gone with his rhythmic cadence mixing with harsh condemnation. And that was when she realized that he was not simply just a friend in her mind.

Or maybe it had been earlier, when she had discovered another one of her books missing. She had seen Abelas eying it before and had left a note in it ‘you owe me one,’ anticipating the theft. Where the book had been, Abelas had left a small tin of loose leaf winter tea, bitter in the Dalish fashion. He did not need to leave a note. How was she supposed to concentrate on lecturing a room full of unruly freshmen on Dalish epics? How could she just assign them an essay, reading the bullet points, as if everything was fine? Everything was not fine. Everything was far from fine. 

Maiwe [8:50 AM]: I’m fucked. 

Dorian [8:51 AM]: What a coincidence. So am I. ;) Bull says ‘hi.’

 That’s it. She would just never tell Abelas. Easy as that.