#ah all these mage companions

[timethehobo]

Rook heard tales of the Warden, Hawke and Inquisitor and just wanted to get the questions out of the way.

[saltyowlets]

Companion!Cullen DAI Fake Banter

Solas: Cullen, how invigorating it must feel to fall from such heights to now a foot soldier. Or is it not so different from when you were at Meredith's whims?

Cullen: What I did was all to protect the people of Kirkwall

Solas: Ah yes, I forgot 'mages are not people and should not be treated as such.' You truly are the people's protector

Varric: When I gave you that copy, Chuckles, I didn't imagine you'd use it for...this...

Cullen: I do not need my words used against me. I know my faults and I am trying to amend it

Solas: That remains to be seen.

-------

Varric: Curly you-

Cullen: Maker, stop calling me that!

Varric: Come on Curly, you don’t have to get all uptight. It's not like the Order is still sticking a lyrium stick up your ass anymore.

Bull: Actually, why do you call him that?

Varric: You think that blonde hair gets nice and smooth like that naturally?

Cullen: What are you-

Bull: Well, I'm not exactly a judge of hair.

Varric: Ah, right, bald.

-------

Bull: So why not Blonde?

Cullen: For the love of- are you both still on about that?

Varric: *sighs* Taken. Actually, it's kind of ironic given- ah, nevermind.

-------

Blackwall: Cullen, I've noticed you've been switching over to a greatsword?

Cullen: Yes, I've been so used to using shield since Kirkwall that I fear I may have forgotten how to use anything but.

Blackwall: Well it's clear you have. Swing that sword around like that again and you'll be lobbing my head off.

Cullen: I- sorry. Maybe I should just *sighs*

Blackwall: Maker's balls, if it's that important, I can give you a few pointers.

-------

Cullen: *sighs* Yes, Vivienne?

Vivienne: Of all places to be, why did you ever think to choose to be here?

Cullen: What are you going on about?

Vivienne: My dear, the Inquisition. With your exhaustive experience, you should have been our military advisor. And yet here you are, on the front lines with us. Knight Captain, what has become of you.

Cullen: I am no longer Knight Captain nor am I a Templar. I have made it clear I am no longer bound to the Order because I believe in the good the Inquisition can accomplish. Do you disagree?

Vivienne: Hm, very much so. You abandoned such a position, for this?

Cullen: Are you not stepping on the same dirt as I am?

Vivienne: Please, do you think I have not enchanted my own boots. What do you take me for?

Cullen: *scoffed* Of course.

Vivienne: If you truly wanted to do good, you should have stayed in Kirkwall as Knight Captain. You had every resource to reverse the damage former Knight Commander did, to reign back in the apostates and templars that have run amok there. To lead by example. Yet here you are. Oh but what do I know, my dear. I am not a person, if I am recalling that correctly?

Cullen: Maker's breath, you are the last person I would have thought to have read the damn book.

Vivienne: Book?

[PT2]

[rpgchoices]

More on Davrin's character (his beliefs about gods and elves) (part 3)

I promise I will stop at part 4! I just want to collect all the possible info before I actually start writing fanfics. Part 4 will be specifically for his romance, tho I already wrote a small meta about it here.

This part contains SPOILERS mainly from Solas' murales/memories.

Part 1 (Davrin and his Dalish clan) here Part 2 (Codex, Davrin naming Assan and his journal) here

In this part I wanted to talk about:

Davrin and the gods (Solas' murales) plus some contraddictions with "Vows and Vengeance"

A bit more about Davrin's vallaslin (90% sure it is Andruil's)

Davrin's feelings abour protecting other elves

Some extra from the artbook (his age, when he left his clan, his armor)

Davrin and the gods/believing Solas' memories

Transcription of the video: (first scene) Bellara: And the mages who declared themselves my gods. Well, mine and Davrin's. And Rook's. Rook: They're not gods at all, much less my gods. Davrin: I'm with Rook.

(second scene) Emmrich: This is astounding! The ancient elves were spirits who voluntarily manifested a physical form! Davrin: I'd rather go back to talking about the blight. Taash: Hey, Lucanis. Could Spire turn into an elf? Lucanis: No. Bellara: Sorry, but. What? Rook: Okay, no. This whole spirit thing is stupid, and I vote we ignore it. Davrin: Seconded.

(banter) Bellara: Elf came from spirits! Emmrich: An incredible revelation of what happened thousands of years ago! Bellara: I asked Davrin what he thought, and he just shrugged! Emmrich: Ah, he would! Bellara: Rook! Do you feel any different? Rook: As an elf? Should I? Bellara: More spirit-y, maybe? I don't know.

While sometimes it is frustrating to see characters and companions not reacting to the big lore revelations, I find it works pretty well with Davrin. He is clearly uninterested in Dalish gods, even if in Vows and Vengeance he uses "May Andruil guide you on your path", and he is uninterested in openly (with others at least) talk about his feelings on the main revelations. Elves are spirits? He shrugs it away or decides to ignore it (much more interested in how this will affect elves than anything else), the gods? Not his, not interested in them.

He even calls Solas "Baldy" and is not particularly intimidated by him or by the two remaining Evanuris (or respectful of them). (And we also know he does not believe the Fade is real, tho much of that Emmrich banter seem more like he is teasing him).

Another small element of his relationship with the gods is another Vows and Vengeance comment. Someone mentions Fen'harel doing a ritual, and Davrin reacts quite alarmed, asking where the other person heard that name. Does he actually believe in Fen'harel? Or is it simply the idea that someone would use the name of the trickster god?

EDIT: UPDATE! There is a dialogue between Neve and Davrin where Davrin confirms he never truly believed in the gods, he always thought they were a myth.

Neve: Does it bother you they're elven gods? Davrin: It won't help our reputation, that's for sure. Davrin: But me, I never gave our gods much thought. They were just a myth. Neve: Not anymore.

I also wanted to say - yes, I know some discrepancies are probably writing related. To me the most "out of narrative" explanation is that the Vows and Vengeance writers did not fully consult about his character with the game writers, and the game writers rushed through these revelation and did not allow for many reactions.

About Davrin's vallaslin

In a previous interview the answer was not given (it was treated like it was supposed to be a big spoiler), but in the game, as far as I can tell, we do not see any identification for Davrin's vallaslin.

I talked before (here in part 1) about why I think it is Andruil's (or a mix of Andruil and Ghil) and now I am even more certain it might be Andruil. Not only Davrin is the one who tells of the tale of Andruil during the Solas' memories event, but in Vow and Vengeance he gives Nadia a blessing from Andruil:

Nadia: My love. He waits for me Davrin: Then may Andruil guide you on your path.

This is of course a Davrin pre-Veilguard. In Vow and Vengeance he also is alarmed by hearing that the Dread Wolf is doing something. I am a bit confused by how much he actually believes in the gods, at this point!

Davrin and protecting elves

In general, Davrin seems the only character to mention elves discrimination, mainly through banter or some rare comment here and there. We also know he is the only elf who lived away from other Dalish elves (different from Bellara who seems still in contact with her clan and lives with a group that highly respects elves), and we know he described his impact with the outside world as "different" (from what he imagined, see part 1 here).

At the end of the game, you can also have a banter between him and Solas:

Video here.

Solas: You are Davrin of the Grey Wardens. And judging by your vallaslin, you are Dalish. Solas: I expect you have been urging the team not to trust the Dread Wolf, based on the stories you heard around the campfire in your youth. Davrin: What story should I tell? The one about the Dread Wolf creating the blight when he and Mythal slaughtered the Titans? Solas: Have you told the Dalish? Davrin: Why? So it can spread and make humans blame elves for even more things our ancient ancestors did? Davrin: Sharing that story would get a lot of people killed. Davrin: So the best thing I can do right now, as a Warden and a Dalish elf, is to stop the blight and clean your mess. Solas: Mala shivanas ar athim.

(the last seems to translate as "Your duty humbles me").

A similar sentiment is shared after the "elves were spirits" memory from Solas:

The main core reaction we get about the Solas' revelations are not inwardly focused (his own reaction to them) but focused outwards: towards other elves. It seems not to be as important that Solas made the Titans tranquil as much as the danger of humans to blame elves. He is not as interested in elves derived from spirits, as much as he is interested in bigoted humans starting to see all elves as demons.

I think it is also interesting that he only mentions "humans", even if the reactions regarding the Titans would probably come from dwarves, it is clearly humans that in the DA world oppress and discriminate elves.

More Davrin info from the Artbook

I also just wanted to add this for completion sake!

He's in his early 30s and left his dalish clan in his teens. Usually elves (from the codex compiled in the wiki page) get the vallaslin around 18 or younger, so it could overlap to being just before his departure if he got the vallaslin in his clan.

Also the artbook says he created his own armor from different pieces!

I love seeing the stitches in his main blue-like collar jacket, and you can see some wear and tear on the rest of his clothes, especially the waist piece!!

[butterflewaway]

Hi! I really liked the scenario where the MC of touchstarved was too dumb to realize the boys simping for her and I wanted to as about how the others boys react to Leander being the only one who can hold hands with the mc (and a Leander pov knowing the others are jealous) and maybe even MC touching his face again to feel the difference in texture. Hope that's not too much! Thank you anyway!

Ohhhh you are so fun!! I like this request!~

I couldn't figure out where to fit Mhin and Kuras as I doubt they'd be at the bar in the early afternoon so let me know if you'd like a part 2 as a continuation! <3

Warnings: jealousy!!! Leander is his own warning, taunting! touching uwu

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dreary weather really was something else in this city. How could the air feel cool yet humid yet stifling as if pulling the breath from your lungs? Your bandages were dripping with sweat and coming loose, so you practically jogged into the Wet Wick.

Members of Leander's Bloodhounds were scattered around loosely, thankfully not densely packed this early in the afternoon. As you were about to slip behind a group of men and run up the stairs, an arm shot out from behind the bar to grab your hood, pulling it straight off.

Your hair tumbled out and you blinked as your eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Leander was leaned over the bar, lips pulled up into a smooth, pretty smile, eyes looking as tired as ever. "Hey pretty thing. Where you been all day?" You balled your hands into fists under your cloak and smiled back shyly.

"Oh you know. Around." Your ominous answer did little to dismay Leander, and he pulled you closer to the bar. "Would you like a drink, pretty? On the house." The barmaid looked over briefly after hearing that to scowl at the tall man. She hustled to the kitchen to presumably complain to the other workers.

You smiled as you shook your head. "Ah, no thanks. I was actually just on my way up. Really tired from ah- the day." You stared at each other in silence as your words replayed in your head. You could see the disbelief in Leander's eyes. Tired from the day? The sun had barely been up for less then five hours.

Leander let go of your cloak, and without thinking you moved your hand from the safety blanket to straighten the fabric. Piercing green eyes watched your every movement like a predator. "Ah." Fuck. You messed up. You flinched under his scrutinizing gaze and rushed to tuck your hand back into safety.

But before you could, his gloved hand once again reached out to grab, this time your hand. Deep inside, you knew Leander wouldn't get hurt. You flinched anyway. As if sensing your unenthusiastic response, Leander held up your hand to his face and gently kissed your palm, not breaking eye contact.

Your face turned beet red, mouth agape as you stared into his charming pale green eyes. Light reflected from the candles and bounced off his golden earring, grabbing the attention of the newcomers shuffling into the bar. You held your breath as Leander calmly unwrapped your hand halfway and rested his cheek against your palm.

You had no way of knowing, with your back turned to the entrance of the establishment. And though Leander acted as if the only thing he saw was you, in his peripheral he saw his dearest companions staring at the display before them with a mix of anger, jealousy, sadness, and thinly-veiled disgust.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers over his cheek and dipped down to trace the scar along his jaw. Your lashes fluttered tiredly, as if weighed down by the world. He smiled into your hand and pet your head. "Go take a nap pretty. You look like you need it." You looked away to hide your reddening cheeks and nodded, pulling away and wrapping your hand simultaneously as you trudged up the stairs, completely unaware of the eyes that followed.

Vere slid into his usual seat, pink eyes narrowing on Leander's face. The mage simply stared back blankly, before remembering where he was. A big smile erupted on his face and he grinned at the fox. "Hello Vere. Thirsty?" There was a sharp edge to the questioning lilt of Leander's tone. Vere scowled and reached to grab a bottle of champagne poorly hid by the missing barmaid.

Ais slid into the seat beside him, red eyes digging holes into Leander's cheek, as if expecting it to start decaying at any second. When nothing happened for a frame of five seconds, he peeled his unnerving gaze away to look at Vere's pretty pout. As Leander hummed and mixed a drink for the demon, his lips briefly flashes a wicked smile. He hadn't been chosen yet, but he was damned sure he was ahead of everyone else.

[dreaminglittlestar]

PAC: Love Story

Disclaimer!: This is a fictional story/reading! I picked out actual cards to kind of guide a story but this is not meant to be an actual reading or reflect your life. All of this is a FICTIONAL story for fun, like a mini-reader insert that has you in this kind of magical world.

This is just a fun little thing I've been wanting to try out for a while now, like a pick-your-adventure thing and again, is just meant to be for fun. Just think of it like a cute little surprise since this isn't meant to be tarot. But other than that, hope you guys enjoy this!

Ah, welcome traveler to my humble little magic shack. Would you like a fortune?

Choose which image you're drawn to, and your story will be revealed.

(Lovely images are from Unsplash and the links are in the image descriptions!)

Oh, a fellow mage I see. The 6 of Clubs immediately identifies you as someone with strong intuition with guidance from the forest and sky. Someone who is already in high spiritual power should seem to have no need for the guidance of some forest kook, so what brings you here? Let me see your palms if you will. Ah, yes, I see now. Soft yet hardened with lines, the burdens you carry deep within your tower. Perhaps, that is what brings you here. A relief from the great responsibilities that pile upon you due to your great sense of power.

Are you are a healer of some sort? Or is it ice that you wield? Stoic is your face, hardened by the tasks you are in charge of. Yet this ice mask of yours does little to hide your heart's desires. The 2 of Hearts comes out hidden, but underneath it lay your heart's want for love and companionship, a love truer than the gods gift upon you, instead of being stuck in the cold tower of yours making potions and spells for the good of the Kingdom. Worry not, this secret will be kept by the trees, yet they implore you to seek within.

Is this a forbidden love I see? Someone from the past, a familiar face you keep crossing paths with yet you never can seem to connect. Is this perhaps the knight from the bordering country, a rival to your owns with duty and loyalty separating the both of you from one another. Is this the person you love? Breathe, this information will not leave the safety of the canopy. While this love is not meant to be in the moment, I see a transition from the Jack of Clubs to the Queen of Hearts in the future.

By thinking outside of the box, and using that cleverness of yours you will embody all the love that you want to be, reuniting you with your heart with your mind and eventually you'll be reunited with your lover when time is right. I can not reveal more, but know that you will pursue the desires of your heart, the willow's weep of it's sincerity to come. Out of battle, when the thundering roars of war slows down and the field is empty of chaos, the night sky will sing to you to take your chance.

You appear like that of a frozen flower at the top of the mountain, someone who seems to stand strong in solitude, but under the frost lays the growing bloom, your heart desiring a true companion. And once the time is right, the exterior frost will disappear to reveal a worthy love. Worry not, those fears will dissipate, the 6 of heart repeats this tale.

Additional messages the willows' of the wasps sing to me, this knight you love is that of a "heart throb", royal and loyal, soft yet structured. You will truly be united within a couple of years, and the willows wisps for you to be patient, as he whispers to you "be patient my love, I'm almost there". Soon may not feel soon enough, but the magic can be felt and you will know. Take you chance and stand tall with your choice my dear mage.

For no brighter light than love could ever hope to stop this path.

(Disclaimer, this is fictional and for fun! None of this is accurate! Though I do hope that you enjoyed this little adventure with me! Feel free to visit again!)

Well isn't this a bit odd. A reclusive inventor paying a visit to my old humble shack? I'm honored, though it seems as your mind does not align with your heart, hence your hesitance to be here. Worry not, for the weeping willows weep no secret not meant to be revealed yet. Everything meant to happen will happen in due time.

So please take a seat, and do mind the fairies, they tend to love peeping in on any potential mischief to be had. However, I don't think you will as you seem to be kindred spirits of sorts. Ah, yes. Though hardened with time and diligence, the mischief is hidden within your eyes, still alive despite the years passing. Though along with the time came the nagging feeling of never doing enough.

A bit of a worry wart, are you? The 8 of Spades reveals that despite your outer appearance of being calm and in control, internally you overthink quite a bit. Your ambition for greater good is strong, yet it often leaves you too far from the ground. Stuck in your head with numbers and possible solutions, the greatest new inventions, but the forest advises you to think of what you already have achieved.

You are young and have yet more to grow, more than you know, though the 10 of Spades warns of your borderline workaholic tendencies creeping upon you if you overthink the future and fail to stay in the present. It's among this time between being swamped with mercenary orders and your drive for success through hard work where you will meet your future spouse.

Often stuck within the inner schematics of your next invention, you tend to fail to realize how much you already have. Perhaps the love you seek in already in your periphery, but you have yet to notice. Currently, everything blurs into together and perhaps that's also why you're here. This sense of time and dread builds up as you're constantly thinking of what to do next.

But breathe in the fresh rain after a storm, as when you do take notice of your surroundings, you will notice them, and that blurry storm will wash away. They are free-flowing, like water, and they leave you feeling light and refreshed, bringing a sense of living into your life. The Fool in Reverse and 3 of Clubs reiterates your stable footing in what is considered the real world, but you never venture far enough into the divine or present to see what's already there and the wind howls a warning; not to lose grasps what's important to you.

What do you truly seek? While you may find it a bit silly to take a break, everything may begin blurring together. Like water, let life flow and all will be revealed to you.

Additional messages that have trickled in through the sweet musings of the river tell me that you are to be patient as things happen in time, but it will be the most ordinary "magical encounter". There's even the musing of "Hey, where have you been my whole life?" with the "chilly" weather after the storm. Maybe this is love will feel like a first, but even against the current, stand strong with your values but also feel free to float along the river's path.

The river will flow where it needs to flow, as does life, with a little effort on your part, but also trust.

(Disclaimer, this is fictional and for fun! None of this is accurate! Though I hope you enjoyed this little interactive story and feel free to visit again!)

Oh my, you're quiet the adventurer aren't you? Ha ha. Harrowing through quest with that mighty sword upon your hips, you have drive and ambition. Yes, you seem quiet strong, your drive for knighthood seems compels you, is that what you wish for? I can see the fire in your eyes but your heart seems to be missing something. You seek financial compensation, perhaps?

I can see within the Ace of Diamonds that you wish to begin a new journey, an adventure or quest for financial gain within your adventurer life. Very fun I see. But to come here for a mere fortune, in this small little hut, with no near guilds or institutions that could offer you any real thrilling question begs what you wish for.

You are no longer a struggling adventurer traveling through the naked wood banks, but neither are you financially abundant. Hence, within your future, I see you taking the burden of an instrumental quest given by a powerful mage. Although you will begin the journey alone, along the way, you will meet companions and friends who will help lessen the burden placed upon you. Within that group, you will find your soulmate.

The 5 of Diamonds suggest that you will be prosperous in this journey, and you will find all that you seek for in addition to the finical gain you want. However, this is a life altering path, one where you will come to question your being, and life, as you know it. Not only is your path altered by the riches and fame of knighthood given to you, but by the companions you will meet in your life, that only enriches your adventurer mind.

The journey will not be easy and will challenge everything you had known of your previous life. But as a reward to ease your growing nerves, the willows tell me that your love is very handsome in deed. Gazes will be shared and maybe you have a trickle of fancy at first sight, but instead you busy yourself with gathering your companions.

No need for alarm, you must be patient, this does not happen in a day. And it may be possible that even after meeting, it would take a few years till you two officially begin your relationship. Dancing to the fire at nights, singing to the stars as other cajole you two to rest, and laughter will be abundant as well as comfortable silence. It's within these moments that your bond will grow and you will know.

The forest wishes to end it's wisdom, so I shall no longer speak.

Are you willing to take this jump? The rest is up to you, young adventure. May the world bless you with love and take care.

(Disclaimer, this is fictional and for fun! None of this is accurate! Though I hope you enjoyed this and feel free to visit again!)

Notes: So this was originally going to be posted in August but I kept delaying it but wanted to get it posted before October so here it is! I had lot of fun doing this but I'm not entirely satisfied with it as now. I may come back to do this again, but for now, hope you guys enjoyed this little interactive story!

Like said, this isn't an actual reading and shouldn't be taken seriously. This is just a fun little fictional story idea I've been dying to do for a while now so here it is!

[jukkariart]

Companion banter with Alectris - Davrin edition

Alectris starts off on a wrong foot with Davrin. Or maybe he just thinks he already knows who he is dealing with.

She's run of the mill arrogant Tevinter mage, he's a self-righteous Grey Warden. Nothing to see here, or is there?

First banter upon having both Alectris and Davrin in party

Davrin: So. You’re a blood mage. 

Alectris: Excuse me?

D: Oh, come on. You’re a Vint. Nobility. And military. No way you’re still alive and never did blood magic. 

A: But of course, every day. Before breakfast too.

A: Watch that overgrown chicken of yours. He might make a great sacrifice. 

D: You wouldn’t dare try. 

A: Tell yourself that. 

***

Follow up banter upon having both Alectris and Davrin in party

Davrin: I knew a blood mage Vint one. 

Alectris: Oh? This better be good. 

D: Yeah, couldn’t get him to stop yapping. Never met anyone so sure they’ll make First Warden. 

A: The charmer Rook met before didn’t look like a mage. Do tell me what happened. 

D: He didn’t live through the joining. 

A: Don’t worry Davrin. If I get blighted you’ll be the first to get a stab at me. 

***

Alectris: So, how did the Wardens resurrect an extinct species? 

Davrin: It’s Warden business. 

A: So blood magic? 

D: That’s not what I said. 

A: Blood magic. I knew it. 

***

Triggered post combat

Davrin: You’re not so bad with the sword. 

Alectris: Tevinter might be all about magic, but the military has its own requirements. 

D: So those wild swings came from your tutors. 

A: At least I had tutors and didn’t take my stance lessons from a squirrel. 

D: Well, it has served me well so far. 

***

Davrin: I don’t know of many mages that are so eager to stand on the front line. 

Alectris: Setting your enemies on fire is great. Getting them down with a sword? At least as satisfying. 

D: I could agree with that. 

***

Alectris: Tell me about your monster hunts Davrin. 

Davrin: Why the interest? 

A: Ah, am I not allowed a bit of curiosity? 

D: No, if I don’t know the purpose. 

A: Maybe I want to start a monster killing career after it’s all done. 

***

Lighthouse banter

Davrin: So, you weren’t joking when you said you wanted to kill monsters for coin? 

A: Oh? Where is this coming from? 

D: I saw you reading the guide back in the library. 

A: Since the professional was not willing to share his secrets, I looked elsewhere.

D: Leave that book, it will get you killed. I’ll give you some tips. 

[ode-to-fury]

Pure Gale Fluff

Gale/Tav

Ignore the layout of the tower mentioned here I tried to be as vague as possible but it doesnt make any sense🤷‍♀️. Also wizard magic=science rules right? That makes sense?? Does to me so there you go. I headcanon that Arabella Shadowheart and Astarion stay in Waterdeep for at least a few weeks before moving on to wherever they go next

I’m literally on a roll with these lol

The tower was warm against the chill outside when Gale got back from his errands in the city. It smelled of snow outside, and he smiled, happy to be home, at least before the flakes started falling.

Darkness was falling behind the clouds, and Tav had started a fire while he was gone, though she hadn’t closed the curtains, and soft light still filtered in through the windows, illuminating Tara’s curled up form in front of the fireplace, where she was snoring gently.

Tav herself was asleep on the couch in front of that same fire. She had taken it upon herself to slightly rearrange his library room, to make it more “homey” she said. He’d grumbled about it good naturedly, but in that moment he realised he’d let her rearrange anything she wanted if it meant he could come home to her, asleep in front of a fire like she was just then.

It had been… an adjustment, coming back to his tower. What he had thought would be a refuge against the world had turned out to be filled with less than pleasant memories of the time before their adventure.

Then we’ll make new memories, she’d said. New memories like coming home to her sleeping form after a cold day outside.

Golden brown hair spilled over an armrest, and a heavy leather tome was propped against her knees, arms crossed over her chest.

He walked over to her after depositing his packages, and almost reverantly bent down next to the couch. His fingers tangled in that silky golden hair even as he kissed her cheek softly.

She was awake immediately, he knew, because she was the lightest sleeper in the realms, but she kept her eyes closed stubbornly.

He grinned, and this time he kissed those wonderfull lips of hers. She grinned into it, and when he pulled away, stretched awake, almost catlike in her movements.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I was reading this horrible dissertation. Can you believe this man thinks that Melf’s third law of evocation is as he put it “a loosely connected string of words with no real meaning behind them”?”

Gale grinned.

“You don’t agree?”

“The third law is the only one that makes any sense to me, if I’m being completely honest.”

She smiled, her wonderful eyes twinkling with delight. Her hand cupped his cheek, callouses scraping over his beard in the most wonderful way.

“A few weeks ago you didn’t know Melf had any laws,” he murmured, grinning as he kissed her again.

“Well, now I do,” she said matter of factly. “And I’ve formed an opinion, based on my sorcerous expertise.”

“Ah,” he said, “of course. Though many powerful mages would agree that your opinion is wrong.”

Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, and she pulled him forward for another kiss.

“I don’t think you know what the word ‘opinion’ means, Gale Dekarios.”

He laughed, and her eyes twinkled in response, and for a moment the breath was knocked out of him. So much so that he had to sit back, away from her.

She frowned, sitting up, all traces of sleep gone from her eyes and demeanor, replaced by a worried frown, a tension that meant she was ready for a fight.

“Gale?” She asked, “What is it?”

What is it?

How could he explain it? How could he explain the feeling of coming home to a tower where a fire was already roaring against the chill outside? How could he explain the sight of his tressym companion curled up asleep without a worry in front of that fire? How could he explain the sight of her, asleep in front of that same fire, the feeling in his chest when he was allowed to kiss her into wakefulness and she did not jump up, scared, because she knew, finally, that she was safe with him? How could he explain the way he had someone to discuss Melf with, after years of just Tara? Someone who would argue back as an equal? How could he ever explain how her laughter felt like a balm to his heart? How could he ever explain exactly what she meant to him? Him, who could normally find words for anything.

“I- uhm,” he grinned slightly, “I don’t know if I could ever verbalise how much it means to have you here. With me.”

Her eyes softened, and she lay her head down on the couch again.

“You’ll find a way, I’m sure,” she said softly, her starlit eyes twinkling.

There was a yawn from the direction of the fireplace, and Tara stretched herself into wakefulness not unlike Tav had done only a few minutes before.

“Ah!” The tressym said, “Mr. Dekarios, thank goodness you’re back! I trust you brought me back some of those wonderful fishes from the market for dinner? I would have gone out earlier to hunt pidgeons, but I’m afraid the fire was much too comfortable.”

He reluctantly broke free of Tav’s soft gaze to turn to his tressym companion.

“Why of course, Tara my dear,” he said, getting up with a groan. His knees really did not agree with the cold.

“Would you like your share now, or would you like to wait while I cook for all three of us?”

“Just the three of us?” Tav asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Yes, unfortunately,” he replied, walking down to the kitchen.

“Astarion and Arabella are still at the Yawning Portal, Arabella said she would keep him company until sundown. Shadowheart was ‘much too busy with Shieldmeet preparations to have dinner tonight’. So, just the three of us.”

He started charming spices and sauces from various shelves as Tara twisted herself between his legs in her age old ritual of welcome.

“I can’t decide,” Tav’s voice drifted down to him from the library. “Whether Astarion or Arabella is the worse influence.”

She appeared in the doorway, somehow managing to look put together with slightly mussed hair and dressed in one of his old sleep shirts.

“Now that is a question, isn’t it?”

She came up and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her cheek resting against his back, and again he had to take a moment and compose himself.

“Personally I think they both bring out the worst in each other, although at least the vampire treats me with dignity when he is here,” Tara spoke up, hopping up onto the counter in front of him.

“Arabella’s still learning, Tara,” Tav said.

“Hmpf. Well. She’ll learn quickly enough why no one else yanks a tressym’s tail if she ever does it again.”

“So, Tara,” Gale said quickly, aware his companion’s temper could flare sometimes. “Fish now, or fish later?”

“I shall wait, Mr. Dekarios. I have manners. Besides, if I eat now I shall most certainly fall asleep, and then how will the two of you entertain yourselves?”

He could picture Tav’s mischievous smile as she said, “Oh, I can think of a few ways.”

He blushed slightly as she kissed the back of his neck, but thankfully, Tara had turned away to inspect the quality of the fish he had bought.

[absolutefilthimsosorry]

Spoilers for DnP Incohearent!!!!

I’m having so much fun trying to solve these that I made a list to keep track! Message if you can help me fill in any I’m missing or if I’ve got any wrong!!!

Also lmk if you see any I’ve missed!! I’m going to keep updating this and have it unrebloggable but you can reblog this post to have a link to it!

These are all gathered from this post and this post so check the notes on those first to try to solve them then look here if you need answers!

Sow march cheer ray = so much cherry

Wee nay urn for uke oye yer tub = we’ve never fucked on youtube?

Ta fold in fig = the golden pig

Feed hay hid eho = vday video

Tat he won ape hit morse him he = daddy want a bit more simmy

Watt ken ice hay = what can I say

North key bus teabag king = naughty busty baking

Fool tie enter nit hobo / fall tie mint her nepo moe / fault aye mint earn are ohm owe/ foul thyme inch hermit hole mold = full time internet homo

Cumin mile aid deed or = come in my ladydoor

Hum hay zinc tan = amazingdan

Elven ower fug sedge own = eleven hour fuck session

An berry moth ribeye adam stir = and every month we buy a hamster

March rest array = Manchester eye

Cyst herding yell = sister daniel

Add a ding teps = editing tips

Cop dubai khaki luna = topped by kakuna

Late eat tore = ladydoor

Half tugger etch two eggs cyst = have the courage to exist

Perish she end wink = Parisian twink

Coal ten big/ goal then pick = golden pig

Cyst ordain yell = sister daniel

Train youth inks = try new things

Gay mean moss/ gain ink mass = gamingmas

Soften need = soft and neat

A wools lied = owl slide

Topper bought them hill = top or bottom Phil

Coat fit firenze = golf with friends???

Few ours pig meow fits = viewers pick my outfits

Read less tar = red lester

Eye eight soup igloo = I ate super glue

Insight youth era too walls = inside you there are two wolves

Mine amy stan = my name is Dan

Clap hella = glabella

Hiss teeth rent = hits different

Eel eyes apron kay kiss = Eliza pancakes

See pram haze ink bra jet = super amazing project

Feels lie yawn = phils lion

Fuel ease snot dawn fair = Phil is not on fire

Jaw shush ear son = josh hutcherson

Ball bull him tour food = bauble in your foot?

Sure eck = shrek

High ate dust = hiatus

Add a dink deps = editing tips

Ga hay shoom air age = gay shoe marriage

Pope eat plate aim = poppy playtime

Eat aches stu = it takes two

Goo gal few ed = google feud

Baze ick lee eye meg ay = basically I’m gay

Ko min yout ti ew = coming out to you

Ender knit subvert grew oop = internet support group

Phylis turn yar a sheen yes = PHIL LESTER YOU’RE A GENIUS

With Audi intern yet wean ed brr wood halve mat = without the internet we never would have met

Gum ban yins drool I’ve = companions through life

Reed sons wide answer flail = reasons why dans a fail

Ewan dam ah some are reed = you and Dan are so married

Denver sis fill/ Denver cis full = Dan vs Phil

Or lawn huffing = all or nothing

Dunk rye core raft = don’t cry craft

Mortal jester roam and thick/ Morph adjust row antic = more than just romantic

So wall how debris poll light = swallow to be polite???

Oar hinge art = orange heart

Foray virgo em = forever home

Chai reel loop/ share real oob = cherry lube

Cad boyd anne = cat boy dan

Far turf ill lip = father philip

Tess lit hen ink = the slittening

Forth house indie rolled or touches = four thousand year old tortoises

Hey moth swish roundup floating = a month without uploading

Jam march let pet tea an farms = Je mange les petit enfants

Day lion howl tour = Dalien Howlter

Ima let all kit = I’m a little kit

Feel pearl lays shell ter = Phil plays shelter

Fewer blue key app ending = viewer spooky happenings

Hell low iam tour reel = hello I am Toriel

Laugh tuh gey mile kuh = left to get milk

Villas eek wreck why vuh = Phil’s secret wife

Footy strain gin said dent = ___ strange incident????

Snow core play sum = snokoplasm

Nope puts cereal sleeping mage innit = no but seriously imagine it

Tear rip pulling flu hence = terrible influence

Jeff why eye aisle hike vague liner = fyi I like vagina

Eggs intense all cry cis = existential crisis

List of contributors

@fletthewreck @dandp @deadandphilgames @manchesterau @thephouseplants @awrfhi @jonsaremembers @rachosaurusrex @dapgolf @dan-whoell @dnphobe @dreamingalto @steveandscraggy @phanbeats @danandfuckingjonlmao @pepper-pastry @yonpote @un-interactive-introvert @spaniel-trowel @sisterdanieldyke @queerdnp @morganadelacour @amid-fandoms @spectral-kitkat @goingpheral @angelzonearth @wdapteo @2009phan @dansevilpianotea

[tortoise-teapot]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @queenaeducan Tagging: @broodwolf221 @adelaidejenahrhymes @bashir-my-beloved-my-beloved @tobestik @kcwriter-blog @elvhenprince

I've been writing various scenes of my longfic to practice and hopefully I'll know what I'm doing enough to stitch it all together eventually lol.

Context: Avery, a circle mage and Dreamer, befriends Solas, who is finding his way back to lucid dreaming from his post-Veil-forming dreamless uthenera. After many months of the two meeting in the Fade, and Solas helping him prepare, Avery's long-planned coup begins tomorrow.

The gentle rustling of leaves and contented chirping of creatures is accompanied by the snap of a blade of grass. Avery rolls it between his forefinger and thumb, and when it is reduced to a small grain, he replaces it mindlessly. The mottled Fade sky peeks through the break in the tree canopy, and he studies the swirling colors, admiring the dance of oranges, yellows, and greens. He takes a long breath, then muses,

“This could be the last we see of each other.”

“Each meeting could be our last,” Solas rebuts. A wry glance from Avery pulls a delicate smile from him. “But I understand your sentiment.” 

“Mm.”

Solas studies the other man’s expression; drawn and stale, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he hunts for a satisfactory blade of grass to maim. “You have not felt this before, have you?”

A blush spreads up his neck. “Felt what?”

Solas’ brow hardens, but his eyes remain wide and gentle. “The creeping silence the night before battle.”

“Ah. That’s one way to describe it, I suppose.”

He repositions himself so he is seated facing Avery directly. “You feel differently.”

Their eyes meet at a brush, but Avery’s dart to the grass under Solas’ deliberate attention. He claims another victim and rolls it between his now-stained fingertips, as he had the others. “The ‘creeping silence’ is there. Well put, in fact.” He cracks a grin that does not leave his lips. “But it’s–” he glances up at Solas, and is momentarily lost in his rapt focus. He forgets the joke he was about to make. “It’s not alone.”

Solas’ voice is hardly above a whisper. “Nor are you.”

The glade stills, and details melt away as the pair’s eyes dart across each others’ features. Avery feels a prickling glaze of sweat on his brow from a spike in humidity. He releases hold of the heat in his chest, allowing it to fill his heart before running through his fingers and spilling into the greater Fade with his exhale. The sudden humidity dissipates as quickly as it arrived, but the crisp spring day Avery had intended to replicate remains unseasonably warm. 

With a slight shake of the head and an indeterminate expression, Solas refocuses his attention over Avery’s shoulder into the underbrush, which finds its shape once again.

Avery reclaims his gaze with a steady hand to his chin. “Or you, Solas.”

It feels like drifting. Instinctual. Avery is unsure whether he guides the other man’s lips to his, or if he was already on course. Solas’ mouth opens against the wet brush of his lips. The moment is removed from time or reason.

Avery retreats just far enough away to study his companion’s expression. 

[bossuary]

FIC: The Demon (ao3 link)

Rating: T or G, idk Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte, Emmrich Volkarin Tags: m/m, pining, age difference, height difference, death, Nice Necromancer, Shit Assassin, romantic inexperience, a touch of hand kink, a smidge of spirit/demon kink?, a bit of intellect diddling, mary kirby is to blame Word Count: 1020 Summary: Lucanis discovers that insomnia in the Lighthouse is not a solo activity. Emmrich doesn't sleep much, either. And he's very interested in...things. Notes: MIGHT KEEP GOING AND MAKE SOME FILTH would that be...of interest to anyone?

***

“Oh dear. People truly call you that?” Emmrich’s voice was tinged with scorn and scandal. “To your face?”

“Some do, yes,” Lucanis said with a nod.

He smiled at the sensitivities of Westerners. In all the pages of his life, all the way back to when he had been Luca, demon was the least of the epithets he had endured.

“Charming,” Emmrich murmured.

The moka pot burbled on the stove. Its tin lid shimmied. They seemed illusions of warmth, meant to comfort mortal senses. Lucanis watched for steam, felt the dreamlike throb of the Lighthouse, and was grateful that it didn’t itch. He poured a short cup for himself, and one for his fellow sleepless companion.

Emmrich thanked him, and took his cup to the table. Lucanis plucked a lidded bowl from the cupboard, and spooned sugar into his coffee. More than he should have, less than he truly wanted, always.

“It’s a colorful appellation for a man of your profession,” Emmrich mused from his seat at the cozy kitchen table. “Tell me, is it…an accurate one?”

Lucanis tensed. Granules of sugar skittered across the counter. This wasn’t the time to work out the semantics of what he was. Not in the small hours, ragged with insomnia. Not in this place between places. Not with the death mage. He dropped the sugar spoon into its bowl and gave Emmrich a smile as brittle as his cup.

“It’s just a word,” Lucanis replied, fighting to keep things light. “It’s no different than assassin. Or necromancer .”

Emmrich nodded as Lucanis spoke, cradling his cup so the steam whispered up along his face.

“Mhm. Or, mage killer, for example,” he said, sipping his coffee around a tease so slight it took a demon to catch it.

Lucanis inhaled and looked away. “Ah. About that…”

Emmrich held up a hand. It would have been a patronizing gesture, had the old man’s smile been less disarming.

“Please. To serve death is to respect it utterly, wouldn’t you agree?” he said, holding Lucanis’ gaze over the rim of his cup. “I could never be afraid of it.”

Or of you.

“Uh. Well said, I think,” Lucanis offered, and lifted his cup in salute.

The placket of Emmrich’s shirt curled open at the throat, Lucanis noted, and the sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows. He hadn’t just been sleepless, tonight, he had been working. Was there a tattoo above the sculpted forearm, or just a shadow?

Lucanis pushed past it. He savored his coffee. Velvety and dark, with a cherry tang. It anchored him in this unmoored place. Across the room, Emmrich appeared equally soothed. The silence they shared between fragrant sips eventually thinned. Emmrich cleared his throat.

“The word ‘demon’ is derived from daemonium, in Tevene,” he began, and rose from the table as if giving a private lecture.

If only Lucanis had been any kind of scholar.

He sipped his coffee and listened, and caught himself noticing useless things: the engaging rhythm of Emmrich’s accent, stray locks of silver that fell over his forehead, his hands. Mostly, damningly, those hands.

“For centuries, the Alamarri in the Frostbacks used an ideogram to refer to what one might call a demon today. It was a fish hook, rather a clever shape to describe such a complex being, or a complex relationship to one.” He came to stand a few feet from Lucanis at the counter, easing his lean shape against it, holding his cup like a precious artifact. “It looked…not unlike that symbol, there.”

Emmrich gave a subtle nod, his eyes fixed on Lucanis’ belt. Among the other medallions was one etched with a soot-black hook. Reflexively, Lucanis looked down at himself, and heat bloomed in his face.

Made you look.

Emmrich’s interest was so present, his gaze as deft as the finger of a jeweler, that Lucanis half expected to see the medallion move as if lifted by a spell. There was no itch, however. What Lucanis felt was purely the magic of the man’s attention.

An itch by another name. To name it, he would be a straw doll striking a match.

He should have spoken by now. Emmrich, patient as the grave, used one of those elegant fingers to touch the scattered granules of sugar on the counter. Maybe it was the Lighthouse, or some other ancient charm, that freed Lucanis to imagine he could take Emmrich’s finger between his lips and have all the sugar he liked.

A swift pang of loneliness stole his rising heat, though, and stilled his hand as it drifted to the medallion. If Illario were here he would mortify Lucanis with salacious suggestion and vulgarity until misery became another name for family.

But Illario wasn’t there.

“For us, this does not represent demons,” Lucanis said, finally, and grimaced.

Emmrich gave him a confused look.

Bravissimo, Professor Dellamorte, very smart.

Lucanis drained the remaining coffee he would have preferred to sip, pushed his cup away, and nodded to Emmrich.

“Goodnight, Volkarin.”

He retreated to the dark hall beyond the kitchen light, but Emmrich’s voice stopped him.

“I pity the incurious souls of the world, those bereft of a willing heart, for there is such pleasure in knowledge. They won’t know the meaning of a word, or the nature of the creature it describes.” He strode to the edge of the lamplight, hands clasped behind his back, and fixed Lucanis with another arresting look. “A carelessness that too often extends, also, to people.”

Lucanis swallowed. The shadows seemed a meager protection, now.

“Meaning?”

With a smirk and a flick, Emmrich doused the kitchen lamps. Lucanis felt a brief scratch behind his eyes.

“Only that whatever I may be called by others,” said Emmrich, joining Lucanis in the shadows, “I wish you to know that I am not a careless man.”

Lucanis said nothing. He froze as if a great light had spotted him where he shouldn’t be.

“Goodnight, Master Dellamorte,” said Emmrich, warmly. “Sleep well.”

As he watched Emmrich disappear into the guest wing, Lucanis had a single, desolate thought in reply.

Not even when I’m dead.

[vangbelsing]

Lucanis X Qunari!Rook drabble

Short(ish) little blurb based on this stupid prompt from last night. It's been?? I think an actual decade since I've written anything and I rushed through this in about 2-3 hours after sipping a little bit of the mead I was gifted, so I know the quality is definitely not gonna be great hhgdssfjjjf 😭 I'm soooo sorry in advance for this purely self indulgent piece 🙏

Pairing: Lucanis X Qunari Rook, nonbinary Rook, implied AFAB, SFW but is slightly suggestive

Characters: Lucanis, Emmrich, Rook

The battle hadn't been long, but it certainly felt like a fortnight in the moment, if only because of how off guard they had been caught. One moment, he could hear Emmrich listing the many aspects of death that had caused this place to become such a hotspot for spirits, (he could feel the truth of Emmrichs ramblings in that familiar, unwelcome itching behind his eye) the next, without barely even a sound - as if to drive the point home - undead sprang from all corners imaginable; the air filled with the scent of decay and regret before they could even see the corpses.

It took only the first heartbeat that deaths stink assaulted his nostrils for his hand to shoot toward his blade, quickly barking to his companions that combat was imminent. They wasted no time. Rook swiftly fell to the back of the formation as Lucanis and Emmrich took their places nearest to the undead. Though he wasn't trained for defensive combat or for taking on the bulk of enemy lines like a warrior, he was currently the most martially adept of the group, and so he assumed the role of protecting the mages from any stragglers.

One by one, the shamblers fell, the sickening crunch of steel meeting already decayed meat and bone filling the Crows ears. He'd heard it numerous times before, but it never seemed to be any less foul. Seconds passed, then minutes, as each of them continued on through the sounds of groans and barks at each movement made, the crackling of raw fade being cast at the uncannily lively dead, and the final wails of their foes signaling yet another was slain.

"Only three left." He had thought to himself, quickly accounting for each way he might approach dealing with his opponents.

It barely took a moment for him to close the distance between them as he lunged towards one in a solid, fluid motion. He took the thing first by its arm, twisting it harshly enough to hear bone crack before he spun the creature to face the opposite direction. He then pressed his foot its spine before kicking it forward into the other undeads oncoming attack. It let out a ghastly moan as the blade went directly through its midsection, the monster now going limp. While the other creature worked to remove the corpse from its weapon, Lucanis took the chance to exploit its current state of weakness to relocate to its blind spot. Before it could even react, the Crow had removed its head from its shoulders, watching with only slight satisfaction as it rolled on the ground.

"Down to the last." He noted internally, glancing left and right as he scanned for the remaining undead.

"Lucanis!" He'd heard Rook shout suddenly, their voice panicked, strained and utterly laced with fear.

"Ah. Behind, then." Without so much as casting a glance, he had turned in a blindingly swift motion with such force that his blade immediately found its mark, cutting through a sinewy throat with a dry, unnatural sound.

It fell to the ground with a rotten thud as Lucanis sheathed his weapon. That was all of them. Truly, it wasn't even close to one of his more dangerous encounters, but he would be the first to admit that he certainly hated most battlefield surprises.

"An impressive display, Lucanis," The older mage chimed in suddenly, his breathing only slightly laboured, "you did well in seeing to mine and Rooks safety. Perhaps we ought to consider a change to that sobriquet of yours, hm?"

Lucanis exhaled deeply through his nostrils - the sound dangerously close to a laugh - as he turned to face Emmrich, the ghost of a grin dancing at the edge of his mouth. Before he could even respond, however, a familiar voice pierced his ears in a frantic, breathless tone.

"Lucanis!"

Recognizing that voice as Rooks, he turned to face them, his brow lifting in confusion at the sudden crying of his name. But no sooner than he had opened his mouth to speak did he feel their arms wrap around him; the sensation of their warm body pressing quickly against his, causing a flush to spread up his neck as one hand cradled his head in place against them while the other gripped almost desperately at his back. It would have been enough to give him pause to be embraced in any situation. He was unused to such contact, and certainly so unexpectedly. However, it was the instant realization that his head had been buried in their chest that caused him the most distress.

"Lucanis, don't scare me like that! Do you know how worried I was when you charged off like that? You could have been hurt!" Rook cried out frenetically, the worry in their voice practically seeping out physically from every word spoken.

Perhaps he might have reassured them, or reprimanded them, or anything at all, if he could will himself to focus on something other than the way their voice seemed to vibrate in their chest and against his face, the feeling very near to pleasant. He cursed himself at the way his mind was becoming less and less capable of proper thought as their skin seemed to sear his own; their soft, tender flesh pressing ever so delightfully to his motionless body.

He felt his throat tighten the more aware he became of just how close they were. He could feel their heart pounding; hear it thrumming madly in their ribs. He could feel the tremors climbing up throughout their entire body in their state of near delirium as they kept him flush against their person, their legs practically locking with his. He could only imagine his heart had started beating exponentially quicker as well, though for reasons quite far removed from the qunari that was holding him in a firm yet gentle grip.

"Honestly! Do you need to be so reckless? I can only heal so much! What would have happened if that thing had been faster?" They very nearly started sobbing as their hold on him tightened.

Lucanis gritted his teeth at the increased contact of their breasts against his face. He knew if Rook was paying even the slightest attention that they would feel the way his skin was burning at their touch; how his ribs felt as if they might burst open under the force of his racing heart beat and the pressure of his caged torso brought flush to theirs. They might even have heard it as much as felt it.

"Now now, dear. You'll suffocate the poor boy. Then he won't need to worry about undead anymore, will he?" Emmrich finally seemed to speak up after what seemed like an eternity.

Rook cast a quick glance towards the elder mage, momentarily caught off guard before suddenly seeming to understand. With a gasp, they released Lucanis with a swift and ginger motion, now using their free hands to cover their mouth in what could be interpreted as concern or embarrassment. Or both.

"Lucanis, I-I'm so sorry! I hadn't meant-"

"I-it's fine." He cut them off abruptly, turning away from them as he rubbed at his increasingly sore neck. He hoped they wouldn't notice the blush that travelled from his neck, to his face, to the very tips of his ears.

They took a small step towards him, the expression they wore looking almost guilty. "Really, I am sorry. I just... I was so worried when you rushed off like that, I really just-"

"It's nothing, let's just keep going." He interrupted again, attempting to keep his face from view. He was ready to be anywhere that wasn't under Rooks doe-eyed gaze... Or scrutiny.

"Rook?" Emmrich chimed in once again, "Perhaps you might make sure our fetid guests are as dead as they appear?" He suggested gently to the obviously shaken qunari before throwing Lucanis a very quick look.

"I..." They seemed to hesitate, their eyes darting from the assassin, to the corpses, then to Emmrich.

The necromancer gave a reassuring smile. "I believe he'll manage just fine, dear."

Another few moments passed in silence before Rook nodded in acknowledgement, taking out a small dagger as they made their way to the corpses and leaving the two men to themselves. Lucanis breathed a small sigh, his shoulders slouching slightly as if some weight had been lifted from him. When he heard a faint chuckle fall from the necromancers lips, he whipped his head to the direction of the elder man that seemed more amused than Lucanis thought he had a right to be.

"What." He grumbled. The word was spoken less like a question and more like an accusation.

"I might have confused you for a beet if not for the leather." Emmrich said in a somewhat hushed tone, not even attempting to hide the humor he found in all this.

Lucanis frowned and tugged at his shirt collar, his eyes narrowing only slightly. "A lack of oxygen, nothing more."

Emmrichs grin widened at that, the man turning on his heel as he started a steady stride forward. "Why, my good assassin, I would never think to imply otherwise!"

And with that, he made his way. The Crow stood there for a moment, catching his breath. Both figuratively and literally. He had lived through training that others had been known to break from. His life had been in more danger than he would even care to count. But in all of his life, he could never recall a time where he had been so utterly... Coddled. It was foreign. Unnecessary.

Rook fawned and worried after him far too much, and certainly far more than was warranted. Yet, he could not shake that tightening in his chest when they called out his name when worried. How their hands felt on his skin when they mended the cuts and bruises on his own. They their eyes seem to soften as they looked over his every wound, treating them with the utmost tenderness and care; treating him that way.

It was unnecessary, yes... But it was not wholly unpleasant. He could admit that his heart would skip a beat when they laid their hand on his back to soothe the salves into his flesh. How his breath would hitch if their hand brushed his at the table. How they would dawn that sweet, sweet smile as they apologized if they had made him uncomfortable.

How could they? The very thought was enough to illicit a scoff. No one had ever been so outwardly concerned or so patient. For him. No, they could never make him uncomfortable. Uncertain? Possibly. Embarrassed? Certainly. But never comfortable. Not when they were the only one who knew how to bring him comfort.

But he needed to focus. There was still a job left to be done, and he was never one to leave a job left unfinished. And all that besides, he would still need to calm himself down once they returned to base... Maybe with a cold bath.

And still, even as they pressed on, he doubted he would find himself able to think of much else for some time yet.

[chuckeroo777]

Frieren Liveblog- Chapters 1-4

Welcome back! Today we start reading Frieren! Unlike my Dungeon Meshi liveblog, this one will be blind!

To start, let's go over what I do know.

-Frieren is an immortal elf mage of some renown.

-She lost a human companion she cared a lot about, but unlike Marcille, she's chill about it.

-The mimic scene.

-There's a guy with blue hair, and a demon(?) lady.

-I think they adventure in dungeons to get stronger?

Yeah, I think that's about all I know. Let's see what happens!

And here we have our intrepid heroes! Apparently they already beat the demon lord, so that's nice.

Wait, Himmel? Oh no. I'm pretty sure that's the dude Frieren misses. Alas, it was nice to meet you. Guess the character class "Brave" doesn't save you from death flags. Suddenly not feeling confident Heiter or Eisen will be sticking around either.

Oh no! She's tiny! I love her. LOTR did irreparable damage to fantasy by insisting elves have to be tall.

Well, that was quick. I guess other than Himmel's imminent demise, all my spoilers have already shown up.

Frieren's a high INT low WIS kinda character, isn't she? At this rate, his tragic death is literally going to be old age. No, seriously. I think that's what's about to happen.

This is gonna be a recurring problem, isn't it.

Saw that coming from a mile away. I wonder about the other two companions. Are they longer lived races? Or are they old and wrinkled too?

It's your own fault for being of optimal head pat height. Heiter looks a little older, but not too bad. I can't tell if Eisen is different. With the manga format, for all I know, he's gone grey.

Ah. Perhaps not as chill about it as I assumed. Also, I went ahead and switched over to a better translation. Maybe the other was more accurate, but good lord was it stiff as hell.

Who's this cutie? I'd hope she is a major character, but with 70 years having passed since the manga started, I'm worried about getting attached to anyone but Frieren.

Phooey.

This can only end well.

Now what exactly does that mean? I'm sensing some deeper motivations for studying magic for both of them. (Also, I'm not retracting my Phooey until I confirm Fern doesn't die of old age at the end of the chapter.)

Oh dear. I thought I got enough of this from The Monster who Wants to Eat Me, but I guess we're doing this here too.

Best case scenario really.

Yessss! New companion! Also, this is really sweet, even if it only worked because Frieren didn't care about wasting six whole years.

Telekinesis may not be flashy, but the raw utility it can provide is nuts.

The adventurer's creed. As long as the loot is magic, you want it. Guess who has a collection of hundreds of scrolls and potions in BG3 despite having used, maybe 5 total. No, I can't store them in camp. What if I need them later!

Yep, they're adventurers alright. I am rather happy to see that despite her stoic facade, Frieren is in fact, a goober.

Where's the lie?

Keep telling yourself that.

Oh god, please tell me this Manga isn't a cycle of new companions joining, growing old, and dying.

Please stop vagueblogging at your apprentice.

No one told me this was a sad manga.

Good for you, but don't forget to retrieve the lady's seeds before you leave.

This isn't giving hope that this mange isn't on a centuries spanning timescale.

Oh no. It's only been four chapters, but I already adore her.

Is candy a euphemism for something?

This is sadly rather relatable.

Oh my god Frieren, stop staring at Fern's bobs.

Ok, so, before I finish tonight's session, I decided to take a little peek ahead to assuage my fears. This is from chapter 107, so it looks like I don't have to worry about Frieren repeatedly outliving her friends in this story. At least with old age. They could still die the old fashioned way. The only other detail I accidentally spoiled is that Fern is still with her, so reverse death flag, I guess.

And that's the first session! Very different vibes from what I was expecting. It's very somber, while being funny in a rather low-key way. Frieren is already a delight, and I'm interested to learn more about Fern. So far she seems to mostly be the straight-man, but I'm sure she has some fun quirks.

Also, glad to see basically everything I was spoiled on was in chapter 1. I went into Dungeon Meshi knowing about the cool monster Marcille is in lesbians with.

[tabitha42]

The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 21

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

Chapter 1 Previous chapter Next chapter

Gale had never been a morning person, and he was especially not a morning person when nursing the world’s worst hangover. 

By the time he finally emerged from his tent the camp was a buzz of activity. The tieflings were helping clear up after the party and Wyll was cooking breakfast at the campfire. 

“Ah, there you are,” Wyll greeted him, taking some cooked meat and putting it on a plate. “Thought you’d never wake up.” 

Gale blearily walked over and sat next to him, rubbing his eyes. Gradually his mind started to piece itself back together as he ate. 

“Where are the others?” he asked, finally realising he couldn’t see any of their other companions around. 

“The ladies decided to go bathe in the spring just down river, which I thought might be a good idea for us, too. Might even help wake you up.” 

Gale nodded slowly. 

“And Astarion?”

“I have no idea. Off doing… Astarion things.” 

Astarion still hadn’t returned from his Astarion things by the time they’d finished breakfast, so they headed to the spring without him. They bought a towel each, a fresh change of clothes as well as a handful of dirty clothes to wash while they were there. They found a spot far from where they knew the girls likely were and got undressed. 

Wyll had been absolutely right - the water certainly did wake him up. 

“Gods, nothing like a shock of cold water to really stimulate one’s senses,” Gale commented with a wince as he stepped into the brisk water. Wyll was already waist deep, much more used to this sort of living than Gale was. 

“Feeling a bit better?” he asked with a chuckle as Gale waded in to join him. 

“Better is… not the word I’d use,” he admitted. “I swear this was warmer last time I bathed.” “It’s that morning air. Crisp and fresh.” 

“Mmm…” Gale murmured, unable to have quite the same enthusiasm for it that Wyll did. Still, he decided to try to focus on the one positive of all this. “You seem to be in better spirits than yesterday.” 

“Ah, yes. Well. I’ll admit, for most of the party, I felt rather… out of place. As much as Karlach was right and the tieflings did accept me, I still didn’t feel myself. When she went to dance I took the opportunity to excuse myself. But I should have known Karlach wouldn’t leave it at that. She came and found me. When I refused to return to the party, she refused to leave me. We spent a long time just talking. About all sorts - our adventures, our childhoods, our hopes for the future. Then we heard Alfira playing her new song. It was distant and muffled, but we could hear it. She knew I love to dance, so she offered to dance with me. Not a full dance, of course, but as much as we could without touching. I’ll admit - it worked. By the end of it I finally found myself smiling. And I daresay, had I been able to touch her, the night might have ended up in more than just a dance.” 

Gale chuckled softly, glad to see Wyll starting to feel like himself again. He could relate. 

“Amazing what having the right person around can do for you, isn’t it?” he mused, taking some soap out of his bag and starting to wash himself. 

“It truly is. I used to curse the name Karlach, now I could sing it from the rooftops. The only thing I curse now is Zariel and what she did to her. That damnable infernal engine… I am honestly amazed at how she keeps so positive all the time. But she is sure Dammon will be able to cure her. And, well, she has made it quite clear what she wants when that time finally comes.” 

Gale chuckled, amused by the smirk on Wyll’s lips. 

“I won’t ask for details,” he joked. 

“Heh, if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’m ready for all she’s got planned. But still… I wish we could do something. A hug, a stolen kiss under the stars… but it will make it all the sweeter when our time finally comes.” 

Gale had to admit, that was a nice way to think about it. He hoped they would all find the cures they needed, and all have their time finally come. 

“Anyway, enough about me,” Wyll decided after a moment. “What about you? Did Saff finally convince you to dance?” 

“Ah… yes, she did. To the same song as you, in fact,” he said, a smile playing on his lips from the memories of the night. “Oh? And how’d it go?” he asked with an excited smirk. He clearly was expecting more than what actually happened between them. 

“Well… we were dancing, and it was lovely, and then… I was a lot more drunk than I thought I was, and fell over.” 

Wyll burst out laughing. 

“Oh gods, Gale. Don’t tell me you let that be the end of it, though? I’m sure she didn’t hold it against you.” 

“You’re right, she didn’t. But…” he trailed off and looked away slightly. Wyll looked at him, at first in curiosity, then in concern when he saw the pained look on Gale’s face.

“Gale? Are you alright?” he asked, growing worried for his friend. Gale had been hesitant to tell anyone just yet… but he knew he could trust Wyll with this. 

“I… haven’t told her this yet. But the truth is… you and I are in much the same boat.” Wyll frowned, deeply confused. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to figure it out. Gale sighed deeply. 

“This,” he said, tapping the circle on his chest. “It isn’t just magic it reacts to. It reacts to me. To… my emotions.” 

Gradually Wyll’s eyes started to widen in realisation. 

“I hadn’t been sure about it at first,” Gale continued. “But I’m sure of it now. Whenever the two of us are close… it flares up. Everyone thought I fell last night because of alcohol. It wasn’t. It was this.” 

There was a moment of quiet as Wyll looked at him sadly, realising how much his condition truly affects him.

“Well well, look at you two. Cockblocked by the universe.” 

The two of them nearly jumped out of their skins as Astarion seemed to appear out of nowhere next to them. 

“A truly tragic tale,” he continued casually. 

“Where did you come from??” Gale gasped, equal parts surprised and annoyed. 

“Oh, I had been getting some food earlier. After how busy last night was I didn’t get a chance to get a proper meal. Then when I got back I heard you two had come down here, so I thought I’d join you.” 

Gale and Wyll glanced at each other, then back at Astarion, who was now looking at them with a smirk on his lips. 

“I had a wonderful night by the way, if anyone’s interested.” 

“Did you?” Wyll asked, curious now. “Who with?” 

“Oh…” Astarion started, looking at them playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Further downstream, the girls were enjoying a much warmer bath, courtesy of Karlach. 

“Ahh, this is the life!” Karlach declared happily, stretching her arms and leaning back against a rock. While the others were busy washing or cleaning their clothes, she was relaxing as if on a spa day. 

“You really enjoy bathing in rivers that much?” Shadowheart asked. She couldn’t say she shared the same love for it. 

“Yes! Never got the chance in the Hells. The rivers there were all boiling and stank of sulphur. But this… cool, clean water… I’d forgotten how good it felt!” 

Saff smiled to herself. It was so nice to see Karlach enjoying herself so much. Shadowheart shrugged slightly and went back to what she was doing, til she spoke again shortly later. 

“So, did you find Wyll last night after you went off looking for him?” 

“Yes! He didn’t want to come back to the party, but we still had a good time together,” she said with a big smile, reminiscing. Shadowheart narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked at Karlach. 

“Had anyone else said that I would assume you’d slept together, but with you I know that can’t be the case…” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me! I can’t wait til I can get this thing fixed. Then I have so many plans.” 

Now Shadowheart’s interest was really piqued. 

“Oh? Do we get to hear them?” she asked curiously, but Karlach only laughed. 

“No, those are for Wyll’s ears only. I’ll only tell you the first one - I want to share a dance with him.” 

Shadowheart looked marginally disappointed, while Saff looked more interested now.

“That’s so romantic,” she said softly, finding it sweet that that was one of the first things Karlach wanted to do. 

“Well, I hope he’s a better dancer than a certain other male companion of ours,” Shadowheart teased. Karlach lifted her head now and looked curiously at Saff, who looked slightly annoyed at Shadowheart. 

“Gale’s a perfectly good dancer!” she said defensively. 

“He fell over.” 

“He... was drunk,” she tried to argue in Gale’s defence, though didn’t do very well. Karlach started laughing, and finally even Lae’zel, who had previously been ignoring the conversation, joined in. 

“He fell over??” she asked, looking a bit disgusted. “Ch’k, any man who fell over while trying to court me would quickly learn of his failure.” 

“He wasn’t-... it wasn’t like that…” Saff stuttered, though all three of them gave her a disbelieving look. 

“Wasn’t it?” Shadowheart challenged. Saff didn’t answer, and just looked down to focus on the clothes she was washing. “You know, I’m surprised it’s taken you two this long. You’re both clearly interested in each other. So act on it.” 

Saff sighed, realising there was no point trying to pretend there wasn’t anything between them anymore.

“We are acting on it,” she insisted, trying to hide the slight blush on her cheeks. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Half a dance is acting on it?” She said, a criticism more than a question. “Yes! It’s only been a few days!” Saff said defensively. “Plenty of time,” Lae’zel declared. Saff was beginning to feel a bit ganged up on. 

“Well, I want to take things slow, ok?” she said, hoping that would be explanation enough.

“Why?” Lae’zel asked. Saff might have got annoyed, but it didn’t sound like a tease like it would have done from Shadowheart - it was a genuine question.

“Well… sometimes if you take things too fast, that can ruin the relationship. I don’t want that.” 

“Why would it ruin the relationship?” she pressed. Her genuinely questioning tone reminded the others just how alien she really was to their world. 

“Because… you might end up in a relationship with someone you don’t really know yet. And they could turn out to not be the person you thought they were.” 

“Not the person you thought they were? Like someone in disguise?”

“No- no…” Saff said quickly, to the amusement of Shadowheart and Karlach. “I don’t mean literally, I mean, you might have this idea of them in your mind, of what they’re like. But then the more you get to know them, you realise they’re not like that at all, and that you’ve not actually fallen for them, but you’ve fallen for this idea you had of them that isn’t actually real.”

Lae’zel nodded slowly, beginning to understand. 

“Do you fear this is the case with Gale?” 

“Well, no… but I want to be sure,” she explained. It looked like Lae’zel was finally getting it, until she spoke again. 

“I still don’t see why this has to delay sex.” 

Saff despaired and buried her head in her hands. The other two laughed and Karlach finally sat up to give her input. 

“Some people don’t like having sex with someone unless they love them,” she said simply. Lae’zel looked almost disgusted by the suggestion.

“How ridiculous. You would miss out on so much of one of life’s greatest pleasures.” 

“I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with Lae’zel,” Shadowheart said, to Lae’zel’s surprise. “Short-term amusements are much better.” 

“Well, you guys can stick with your short-term amusements, I know what I want,” Saff said firmly. 

“Good for you, Saff,” Karlach said proudly. “You take as much time as you need, and don’t let these two tell you otherwise,” she said, gesturing to Lae’zel and Shadowheart. 

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. 

“How can you be sure you’re not wasting your time? You do not even know if he’s interested if you don’t make your desires clear,” she questioned. 

“Well… that’s all part of taking your time about it, to be sure you know they feel the same way. But I’m sure he’s interested. There’s been lots of times when we’ve been really close, way closer than just friends would.” 

“And those times have never led to anything?” 

“No. Usually either we get interrupted, or… he changes the subject or something, cause like I said, we’re taking it slow.” 

Lae’zel gave her a look. 

“How do you know he’s not changing the subject because he’s not interested?” she challenged. 

“Wha- I… I’m sure that’s not the case,” Saff said, though sounding rather more uncertain than before. It never took much to sow the seed of doubt in her mind. 

“You should strike while the iron is hot,” Lae’zel insisted. “Make sure he knows your desires, before he loses interest!” 

“I don’t think he’s going to lose interest,” Karlach started, “but I guess there’s no harm in making sure he knows how you feel.” 

“Karlach’s right. Plus, a small gesture to keep him on his toes can always be fun,” Shadowheart agreed. 

“You think? Like… what?” Saff asked, a bit unsure what she could do. 

“Pin him down and ravish him until he is so overcome by arousal he cannot refuse you your desires!” Lae’zel declared.

The others went silent, looking at her in shock. 

“...I was going to suggest a picnic,” Karlach said after a long moment. “But… I suppose that works, too.” 

“I’ll bear the picnic idea in mind,” Saff decided.

[blackjackkent]

OK, had Rakha grab all the support group's stuff out of the safe, and was reminded of why poor Adrielle has a right to be super upset about literally everything:

:(

Rakha has now crafted a bit of hag's bane sitting in her pack, and is all ready to go beat up Ethel once she can find her. For now, though, we're off to see Lora, the mother of the child who has ostensibly been kidnapped by this hag.

I don't feel like Rakha's companions have had a ton to say about this particular development thus far, but at this point Wyll and Jaheira are both deeply invested in making sure the child survives. So nobody has any objection to Rakha making immediate tracks for the Flaming Fist barracks.

It doesn't turn out to be terribly hard to find Lora, because she's shouting loud enough to be heard outside:

The woman - a sallow-skinned human with a quarterstaff strapped to her back - is yelling in the face of a mildly perplexed-looking Flaming Fist officer who seems to be having some trouble keeping the thread of the conversation.

"How many times do I need to say it? You sent word about a lead! Said that I should come and see you about it!"

"Of course, Madam, let me just--" The Fist trails off, and then winces, as if at a stabbing headache. A pause, and then she lifts her eyes and peers at Lora, puzzled. "Forgive me..." she says vaguely. "Why are you here?"

Lora gapes at her. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Do you have *any* idea what I've been through the past few days?" she wails.

Rakha has heard enough to be reasonably confident in her assumption that this is the person she's looking for. "You're Lora, right?" she says, curtly cutting into the conversation without waiting for an invitation. "And your child is missing?"

Lora's eyes widen and she spins to lock her eyes on Rakha with an air of desperate hope. "Yes! Her name is Vanra!" She lashes out a hand to point at the officer she's arguing with. "This stupid, useless Fist said she had a lead. But she must have been sucking dream mist or something!"

The Fist's head twitches with pain again, but she makes a valiant effort to ignore it. "Madam, tell me--" she stammers. "You said, she was... ah... taken from a tavern..." She trails off into vague silence again.

Narrator: [ARCANA] You catch the barest tendrils of magic coiled around the Flaming Fist.

(A/N: Goddamn. I was low-key convinced this Arcana save must be bugged, because I felt like Rakha should pass it given her abilities and it took me like ten tries; I had just about given up when she finally passed on the last try. She has +8 to INT saves, advantage from the Githzerai Mind Barrier, +1d4 from Resistance from Jaheira, and according to the dialogue files this is a DC15 check that Hector DEFINITELY passed, but Rakha could not pass it for the life of her. Either something's buggy here or this was wildly unlucky RNG.)

Rakha squints, tilting her head slowly to one side as she examines the Fist up and down. The Weave is bright and active around her, rippling and striating in strange and agitated patterns - and yet she is clearly not a mage.

Lora is starting to tremble with desperate, frustrated rage. "Yes!" she cries. "The. Blushing. Mermaid. Down by the docks! I've told you a hundred times - why aren't you listening?" Her voice rises in pitch almost to a scream and she slams her hands down on the Fist's desk.

For a moment, Rakha ignores the growing tension in the room. All her attention is fixed on the strange, twitching magic hovering around the Fist.

[ARCANA] Examine the Flaming Fist.

Narrator: Someone, or something, has tampered with her memory.

Ah. Yes. She sees it now. The rippling magic is focusing slowly around the Fist's temples, and as Rakha watches, it stabs sharply into the woman, eliciting another flinch of pain.

The scar at the back of Rakha's head, just along her hairline, itches abruptly. Another person with memories stolen. Perhaps Orin-- but no. Orin is dead; what she did to Rakha doesn't matter here. They know the likely culprit anyway.

"What, ah..." the Fist whispers blearily. "What were we discussing?"

Lora takes a step back and throws up her hands in panicked agitation. "What is happening?" she wails. "I feel like I'm going mad!"

"Someone has tampered with the Flaming Fist's memory," Rakha says calmly. "Perhaps a hag?"

The Fist blinks. "A hag?" she says. "Preposterous! No such creature would dare set foot in the city." Then she winces again, as the magic whips at her temple.

But Lora has turned and fixed her eyes intently on Rakha. She seems uncertain whether to take Rakha's implacable, placid curtness as a sign of hope or not.

"Don't scare me more than I already am," she finally says unsteadily. "What would a hag want with my Vanra? She's just *lost*, that's all!" She snaps the words out... but it's clear she doesn't fully believe them, and she begins to tremble, her breathing quickening.

"Gods," she whispers thickly. "I'm so afraid. And so tired. I've been looking night and day, everywhere I could. I've no family, and Vanra's father isn't around. The Flaming Fist were my last resort..."

She is looking at Rakha with a desperate, pleading expression that Rakha doesn't fully know how to respond to. She's clearly relaxed some of Lora's immediate agitation by being able to tell what was happening to the Fist officer, and that does feel oddly gratifying in a way, but she does not know how to be a comforting presence, not really.

All she knows is the direct line, straight forward. "I'll help you find your daughter," she says gruffly. No need, she supposes, to explain that her focus was on killing the hag already.

(Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Wyll smile very slightly, and a flicker of his approval resonates through the tadpole connection between them.)

"You will? Thank you!" Lora lifts her head, and Rakha just has time to see the flash of desperate relief in her eyes before she hurls herself forward and throws her arms around Rakha's torso, burying her face in the taller woman's shoulder.(*)

"I haven't slept or eaten since she disappeared," she sobs. "I'm terrified something has happened to her."

Rakha goes still as a statue, her eyes widening. She does not, by nature, welcome other people touching her, and for a moment she very nearly recoils and knocks Lora away from her. But she remembers Shadowheart clinging to her for comfort a few nights ago, that same desperate need for something to hold onto.

That was easier, because Rakha knew Shadowheart, and because some of their pain was shared. But it is similar enough that she is able to prevent herself from lashing out. Instead, she simply holds herself very, very still, feeling Lora's tears soaking the shoulder of her robe.

The moment stretches for what seems like an eternity but is probably closer to a minute or so. Then Wyll, recognizing the acute nature of Rakha's discomfort with the situation, steps forward and rests one hand gently on Rakha's arm, the other on Lora's shoulder. Lora draws back at once, wiping her eyes and looking embarrassed.

"Her name is Vanra," she says, somewhat damply. "She's seven years old, and has red hair - like me. We were in the Blushing Mermaid when she was taken - just up by the docks."

"I'll head to the Blushing Mermaid now," Rakha says stiffly, and without another word about-faces and stalks out the door at top speed.

-----

"That was bravely done, cub," Jaheira says gravely, breaking into a loping jog to keep up with Rakha's longer-legged strides.

Rakha shoots her a look sideways, trying to gauge if she is being mocked, but Jaheira looks back at her with no sign of insincerity.

"I mean it." The Harper shrugs. "You offered comfort when it was not easy to do."

"I didn't strike her," Rakha mutters sardonically. "Praiseworthy indeed."

Jaheira grunts, shooting a look at Wyll, who grins commiseratingly. "Fine then. You need not take the compliment. But I will give it regardless."

-----

(*) Artistic license, but seemed like a good moment for it.

[vir-tanadahl]

The Herald and the Wolf

Summary: AU. After Felassan fails to secure the eluvian password, Solas summons him to Haven to assist in addressing the rising threat of Corypheus. When the situation takes a dire turn, Felassan accompanies Solas in joining the Inquisition. It isn’t long before Felassan recognizes that Marel Lavellan holds the key to saving this world—and possibly to altering Solas’s own plans. Find on Ao3!

Chapter 6: A Glimpse Beneath the Mask

Marel sat in quiet reflection, her thoughts drifting back to the journey to Redcliffe with Solas, Felassan, and Cassandra. They had sought the mages’ aid but instead uncovered a grim truth: the Venatori, under Magister Alexius, had enslaved the mages to fuel their dark ambitions. Dorian had joined them briefly—just a flash of introductions before everything unraveled.

Alexius’s desperate gambit unleashed a torrent of time magic, hurling Marel and her companions into a nightmarish future. The Breach dominated the sky, and the Elder One’s rule cast Thedas into shadow. It was there they learned of Alexius’s futile attempts to save his son, Felix, a man dying of the Blight, no matter the cost to others.

With Dorian’s insight and Fiona’s help, Marel fought through the Venatori’s ranks to face Alexius and wrest control of his time-altering device. Back in the present, they freed the mages, securing their alliance with the Inquisition when Marel offered the rebel mages full alliance, which gained approval with most of her inner circle. Dorian joined the Inquisition, while Alexius, defeated and hollowed by his failure, was taken prisoner.

Marel exhaled softly, the weight of Redcliffe a reminder of how high the stakes had become. She lay sprawled on the wooden floor of her quarters, scattered papers and a book surrounding her like the remnants of a battlefield.

The tea in her cup had gone lukewarm, the faint aroma of chamomile lingering in the air, a contrast to the tension knotting her shoulders. Her gaze drifted to the fire crackling in the hearth, the warm glow flickering across the room’s worn walls.

She closed her eyes briefly, letting the heat soak into her skin, as though the flames could burn away the memories. The quiet knock at the door startled her, pulling her back to the present. She opened her eyes and blinked, adjusting to the shift in focus.

With a groan, she propped herself up on her elbows, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. “Come in,” she called, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

The door creaked open, and Felassan’s familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. He paused, arms crossed casually as he observed her, sprawled out on the rug with a book in one hand and a half-empty cup of tea precariously balanced beside her.

“Well, I didn’t expect the famous Herald of Andraste to be lying on the floor like a historian desperately trying to piece together a broken timeline. I’m impressed,” he teased lightly. Marel smirked, tilting her head to glance at him. “You caught me during my grand moment of relaxation,” she quipped, her tone light and teasing.

“Clearly,” he said, stepping inside and leaning casually against the wall, his tone laced with mock amusement. He gestured toward the pages scattered around her, his eyebrows raised in exaggerated disbelief. "Taking on the entire mage alliance must be easier than…whatever this is,” he added, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her reaction.

She chuckled softly, setting her book aside as she sat up a little straighter. “I’m trying to make sense of Redcliffe,” she admitted, her tone thoughtful, her gaze distant as though replaying the events in her mind. “Of Alexius, the mages… all of it. Everything,” she added, her voice heavy with introspection.

“Ah, Redcliffe,” Felassan mused, his tone light and playful, though a trace of something more contemplative lingered beneath the surface. He watched her quietly for a moment before easing himself down to sit cross-legged a few feet away, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Solas, haven’t you?” he asked, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Marel raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in topic, her expression both curious and faintly defensive. “Shouldn’t I be?” she replied evenly, her voice calm but with an undertone of challenge. “He’s part of the Inquisition, and we are, after all, trying to save the world,” she added, the faintest hint of exasperation creeping into her tone.

“True,” Felassan conceded with a small smile, but his eyes lingered on her, thoughtful and discerning. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I’ve seen the way you two work together—how you talk. He doesn’t let his guard down for just anyone, you know.”

Marel hesitated, caught off guard, her eyes flickering downward for a brief moment. “He’s been helpful. His insight into the Fade and tears in the Veil has been invaluable,” she said carefully, her tone steady but tinged with a hint of self-consciousness.

“Insight, yes. But it’s not just that.” Felassan tilted his head, studying her with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Solas isn’t exactly a...people person. He talks to others out of necessity, but with you? There’s something different,” he observed, his voice soft but pointed, laced with playful curiosity.

“Different how?” she asked cautiously, unsure if this was a compliment or an accusation.

Felassan shrugged, though his expression remained pointed, his gaze steady on her. “He listens to you. Not just for strategy or theory—he actually listens. And when he does, that stony, distant mask of his? It cracks. Just a little,” he said, his tone light but carrying a hint of underlying seriousness.

Marel frowned, unsure how to respond, her fingers absently brushing the edge of a nearby page. “Solas is—complicated. And guarded. I’m not sure I know him well enough to say anything about…masks,” she replied slowly, her voice thoughtful but laced with uncertainty as she avoided Felassan’s piercing gaze.

“Maybe not yet,” Felassan allowed, his voice softening slightly as his sharp gaze took on a more contemplative quality. “But you’ve made an impression on him. That much is clear,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet certainty. “And impressions can change people—sometimes even in ways they don’t expect,” he added, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched her reaction with an almost knowing look.

He didn’t say anything more, though his gaze lingered on her, as if weighing how much more he should reveal. Marel felt the weight of something unspoken in his words, an almost imperceptible tension as though he carried a secret he couldn’t yet share.

After a moment, Felassan stood, brushing imaginary dust from his robes with an exaggerated flourish. “Just a thought. Now, don’t let me interrupt your very important floor-lounging any longer,” he said with a playful grin, his tone dripping with mock seriousness.

Marel smiled faintly as he moved toward the door, her eyes following him. “I’ll try not to let the power of your insights go to my head,” she replied, her tone light and laced with dry humor, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in her expression.

“Do try to let it go to your head,” he said with a grin, pausing briefly at the door before disappearing into the hallway. Marel sat back against the wall, Felassan’s words still echoing faintly in her mind.

As Felassan stepped out of Marel’s quarters, the cold mountain air greeted him, sharp and bracing against his face. He paused for a moment, gazing out over the expanse of the sky, his thoughts turning inward. Marel, he mused, carried a quiet strength that felt rare in a world so fractured. She was hope personified—not the loud, fiery kind that demanded attention, but the steady, enduring spark that kept the embers alive through the longest nights.

She reminded him of Solas—not the Solas he knew now, so weighed down by secrets and the enormity of his choices, but the one who had existed before the rebellion. The one who had dared to dream of freedom, of a better world. That Solas was still there, buried under layers of guilt and guarded distance.

Marel, without even trying, had begun to unearth fragments of him. Perhaps she could be the reminder Solas so desperately needed, even if he refused to admit it. With that thought, Felassan took a step forward, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He meandered his way through the camp toward their shared quarters, where Solas sat by the fire, a book resting in his hands. The elf’s expression was, as usual, composed and thoughtful, his sharp eyes flicking over the pages.

Felassan leaned against the doorway, folding his arms casually as he took in the sight of his old friend. “You’ve been cooped up in here for hours,” he teased. Solas glanced up, his expression mildly amused but did not respond to his friend.

Felassan pushed off the frame and sauntered closer, his grin widening. “The Herald wants to see you,” he announced lightly, the lie rolling easily off his tongue. Solas’s brows lifted slightly, his curiosity evident in the subtle shift of his expression. “Did she say why?” he asked, his tone measured.

Felassan shrugged, as if the matter were inconsequential, a casual smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Something about what happened in Redcliffe. You know how she is—probably wants your insight on some grand theory or other,” he replied, his voice light and teasing, though a flicker of knowing amusement lingered in his eyes.

For a moment, Solas regarded him with that sharp, probing gaze of his, as though trying to read the real meaning behind the words. Felassan held his ground, his expression the perfect picture of nonchalance. Finally, with a soft sigh, Solas closed his book and stood. “Very well,” he said, though his tone carried a trace of suspicion.

Felassan clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Good talk,” he said, his grin never faltering. As Solas headed toward Marel’s quarters, Felassan watched him go, a quiet satisfaction settling over him. One small nudge in the right direction, he thought. Perhaps hope didn’t need to be so elusive after all.

***

Solas stood outside Marel’s door, the cool evening air biting at his skin. For a moment, he hesitated, his hand raised to knock. Then, with a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles softly against the wood. “Come in,” came her muffled voice from within.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was warm, the faint scent of tea and parchment filling the air. His gaze immediately fell on her—sprawled on the rug in the center of the room, a book resting on her chest, her eyes closed. Her long, wavy hair fanned out around her, freed from the braid she almost always wore.

He froze in place, caught off guard by the sight. The way the dim light played over her features, the gentle rise and fall of her breath—it struck him in a way he had not anticipated. She seemed younger like this, less burdened by the weight of leadership.

A strand of hair fell across her face, and for a fleeting moment, he had the ridiculous urge to brush it aside. The realization startled him, and he cleared his throat. "I assume this is your usual approach to begin a conversation. If not, I can wait until a more deliberate opportunity arises," he mused, with a subtle arch of his brow.

Marel startled, her eyes flying open as she bolted upright. The book tumbled from her chest, landing on the rug with a soft thud. “Solas? What are you doing here?” Her voice held equal parts confusion and embarrassment.

His brow furrowed slightly, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. “Felassan told me you wanted to speak with me,” he said, his gaze steady as he watched her for a reaction. She blinked at him, her expression blank as she processed his words. “I…I didn’t—” she began, her voice trailing off, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

Solas tilted his head, studying her with a measured intensity, his confusion deepening. “You did not request my presence?” he asked, his tone quieter now, laced with a hint of hesitation as though he were trying to piece together the reasoning behind the misunderstanding.

Marel shook her head slowly, still trying to make sense of his presence. For a moment, the two simply stared at one another, the quiet tension in the room broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. With a faint sigh, Solas’s gaze turned thoughtful, though his voice carried a subtle edge. “It would appear,” he began slowly, his tone laced with faint irritation, “that Felassan may have been…less than truthful.”

Marel blinked at him, her initial tension easing into bemusement as her lips curved into a faint smile. “Felassan? What did he tell you?” she asked, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.

“He informed me you wished to speak,” Solas said, his brows knitting in mild irritation. “Yet, I see now, that was an invention of his own making,” he added, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, Marel stared at him, then she let out a soft laugh, the sound light and unexpected in the quiet room. “He sent you here just for the fun of it? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Solas’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms with a measured calm. “If there is amusement in his meddling, it eludes me,” he remarked, his tone cool but more tired than truly vexed.

Marel shook her head, still smiling as she leaned back slightly. “It’s just…Felassan seems to think you need to be coaxed into spending time with people,” she said, tilting her head as her tone turned playful but not unkind. “Apparently, I was his excuse,” she added, her grin softening into something more knowing.

Solas’s shoulders stiffened, his gaze sharpening slightly. “I spend time with others when it is necessary,” he said, his voice level yet carrying the faintest flicker of indignation beneath his measured words.

Marel raised a brow, catching the faint shift in his demeanor, her tone taking on a playful edge. “Necessary, huh?” she teased lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose I should be flattered, then, that you believed I needed to see you,” she added, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched for his reaction.

Her words gave him pause, and for a brief moment, his carefully constructed mask seemed to falter. He looked at her, studying her as though searching for something. Then, with a quiet sigh, he crossed the room, lowering himself into the chair by her small table.

“Once again, Felassan’s mischief has unfolded exactly as he intended,” Solas said, his words deliberate, though a flicker of wry amusement softened his delivery.

Marel regarded him with quiet curiosity, her head tilting just enough to suggest intrigue. “And yet, you’ve stayed,” she remarked thoughtfully, her words carrying a teasing edge. “Perhaps there’s some merit in his mischief after all,” she added, her expression warm, almost playful.

Solas’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before he caught himself, his eyes flickering with an unspoken thought. “Perhaps,” he conceded quietly, though his expression turned contemplative, his gaze distant as if the exchange had left him with more questions than answers.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as Marel leaned back against the rug, the tension between them replaced by a curious kind of ease. Solas had settled into the chair near Marel’s small table, his movements deliberate, as though he needed the act of sitting to ground himself.

His sharp gaze flicked to the fire crackling in the hearth, then back to her, studying her for a moment before he finally spoke. “So,” he began, his tone level as he clasped his hands behind his back, “we have gained the mages. Excellent. They should provide the strength needed to seal the Breach,” he added, his voice carrying a note of pragmatic approval.

Marel nodded, still resting against the rug, her legs crossed beneath her as she leaned back slightly. “If nothing else, they’re certainly motivated to fight,” she said, her tone carrying a faint edge of exhaustion, though her expression remained thoughtful as she considered the situation.

Solas’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity sharpening as he studied her closely. “You are certain you experienced time travel?” he asked, his tone calm but probing. “Could it have been an illusion, a trick of the Fade?”

Marel straightened a little, her posture firming as she met his gaze directly. Her voice was steady, though a hint of conviction underpinned her words. “I’ve been to the Fade before. I’d know the difference,” she replied, her tone leaving little room for doubt.

Solas tilted his head, as if considering her words carefully, his tone soft but tinged with a quiet intensity. “What an amazing gift,” he murmured, his gaze thoughtful. “It is vital the Inquisition succeeds, to avoid the future you witnessed,” he added, his voice carrying a note of urgency beneath the calm.

She watched him closely, catching the faint tension in his jaw, a subtle crack in his otherwise composed demeanor. “I’m surprised you’re not more interested in your own future,” she said, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

“I know enough,” Solas replied without hesitation, his voice steady and resolute. His gaze flicked briefly to the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes before he returned his focus to her. “If that future happened, then I—and Cassandra, Cullen, and the rest—failed to stop this Elder One,” he said, his tone firm but shadowed with a hint of regret.

Marel arched a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Most people have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea,” she said, her tone soft but teasing, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Solas’s expression didn’t shift, but his voice took on a subtle warmth as he replied, “I’m not most people,” his tone carrying just the faintest hint of amusement.

Her smile grew slightly, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she spoke. “I appreciate you talking with me about it…and not being most people,” she said softly, her voice sincere, the faintest lilt of flirtation in her words

He inclined his head, his lips curving almost imperceptibly into what might have been a smile. “If you wish me to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss. Magical surprises, however, I can handle,” he remarked, his tone calm but edged with quiet humor.

Marel let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she leaned back slightly. “Good to know where your expertise lies,” she replied, her amusement evident in her voice as her eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.

Solas’s tone shifted, becoming more serious, his expression hardening as his gaze fixed on her. “Speaking of which… you should ready yourself.”

“For what?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as her tone took on a note of cautious concern, her eyes searching his face for answers.

“This Elder One,” he said, his voice low but firm, each word deliberate. “You have now interfered with his plans twice. Once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes…and now again at Redcliffe. A being who aspires to godhood is unlikely to ignore such an affront,” he added, his tone weighted with the gravity of the warning, his eyes darkening as if already anticipating the threat.

The words hung between them, weighty and unspoken, as the fire crackled softly in the quiet room. Marel nodded slowly, her expression hardening with resolve. “If the Elder One sees me as a threat, I’ll make sure he’s right,” she said, her voice steady.

Solas studied her for a moment longer, then inclined his head, a faint shadow of approval in his gaze. “I have no doubt,” he said, though the tension in his posture remained as he turned his eyes back to the fire, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that danced across his contemplative expression.

Marel watched him with quiet curiosity, the silence stretching between them before she finally spoke, her voice soft but deliberate, “Would you like to share what you know about the Fade?”

His expression softened slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he considered her question. “A great deal, from my wanderings,” he said, his tone thoughtful, his words measured. “There are few hard facts, but I can share what I have learned. What would you like to know?” he added, his gaze steady and open, inviting her inquiry.

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as her brow furrowed in thought. “I’d like to know more about the Breach,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity and determination.

Solas nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he began to explain. “Simply put, it is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade, allowing spirits to enter the world physically. Small tears occur naturally when magic weakens the Veil or when spirits cluster at an area that has seen many deaths.” He paused, his sharp eyes flickering to her mark. “But your mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach. That means it was created deliberately.”

Marel’s brow furrowed, her mind turning over the implications as she shifted slightly in her seat. “And the Veil itself?” she asked after a moment, her voice steady but filled with quiet curiosity, her gaze fixed on Solas.

“Circle mages call it a barrier between this world and the Fade,” Solas began, his tone carrying the faintest edge of disdain as his expression darkened slightly. “But according to my studies in ancient elven lore, that is a vast oversimplification. Without it…Imagine if spirits entered freely, if the Fade was not a place one went but a state of nature, like the wind,” he said, his voice growing quieter.

She tilted her head, her expression softening, her voice tinged with a faint, wistful hope. “It sounds like it would be wonderful,” she said, her words carrying a note of quiet longing, her gaze momentarily distant as if trying to picture the world he described.

Solas regarded her for a long moment, his gaze softening as though her words stirred something deep within him. “And dangerous,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “But…yes. A world where imagination defines reality, where spirits are as common as trees or grass,” he continued, his tone tinged with longing.

“Instead, spirits are strange and fearful, and the Fade is a terrifying world touched only by mages and dreamers,” His voice grew even softer, almost wistful. “I am glad that I am not alone in seeing the beauty of such a world, along with the obvious peril,” he added, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer.

Marel’s lips curved into a small smile, though it faded as her thoughts shifted again, her expression growing more serious as she thinks of her next question. “I’d like to know more about demons,” she said, her voice steady but edged with curiosity and caution.

Solas’s gaze turned thoughtful, his posture straightening slightly as he considered her question. “Your Dalish say that demons hate the natural world and seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living,” he said, his tone measured and deliberate. “But such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations and, in so doing, do all a great disservice. Spirits wish to join the living, and a demon is that wish gone wrong,” he said, his voice quiet.

Marel considered his words carefully, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed the implications. Her tone softened as she asked, “Is there a way to coexist? To live with them, if not in peace, at least without such active confrontation?” she added, her voice tinged with quiet hope and uncertainty as she searched his expression for answers.

Solas’s expression shifted, something wistful and distant flickering in his eyes as though he were momentarily lost in thought. “Not in the world we know today,” he admitted, his tone quiet and tinged with regret. “The Veil creates a barrier that makes true understanding most unlikely,” he continued, his gaze drifting briefly before returning to her. “But the question is a good one, and it matters that you thought to ask,” he added, his voice softening slightly, carrying a note of quiet approval.

They sat in silence for a moment, the fire crackling softly between them. Marel’s gaze lingered on Solas, the quiet intensity of his words sparking an ache of curiosity she couldn’t quite name. For his part, Solas seemed almost at ease, the guarded edge to his demeanor softening, if only slightly, in her presence.

As the silence stretched between them, Marel’s gaze drifted to the firelight playing across Solas’s face. He seemed more at ease than usual, though his sharp features still carried the weight of some unspoken burden. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she should break the stillness. Then, impulsively, she spoke.

“You have a way of seeing things differently,” she said softly, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire, her gaze steady as she watched him. “Not just the Fade, but…everything,” she added, her tone carrying a quiet sincerity.

Solas turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity as he studied her. “And you consider this a virtue?” he asked, his tone light and almost teasing, though his expression betrayed something deeper, a flicker of uncertainty or intrigue.

“I do,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering as she held his gaze. “You notice things that others don’t. You challenge them, make them see the world differently. That’s not a bad thing,” she added, her tone warm and resolute.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Such observations often invite…resistance,” he murmured, his voice quiet and introspective. “Few people are eager to question what they believe they know,” he added, his tone carrying the weight of experience, as though the truth of his words had been proven time and again.

Marel shifted slightly, sitting up straighter as her expression softened, her tone steady but hopeful. “Not everyone, though,” she said, her gaze meeting his with quiet conviction. “Sometimes people are willing to listen. To learn,” she added, her voice warm but firm, as though the thought was both a reassurance and a challenge.

Solas’s gaze lingered on her, the firelight reflecting in his violet eyes. For a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them, an understanding that needed no words. She wasn’t just speaking about others—she was speaking about herself.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, his tone less guarded now, almost contemplative as his gaze flickered to the fire for a moment. “It is rare to find someone willing to ask the questions that matter,” he continued, his voice softening slightly, “…let alone someone willing to hear the answers,” he added, his eyes meeting hers briefly with a flicker of unspoken appreciation.

Marel felt her breath hitch slightly under his gaze. There was something about the way he looked at her now, as if seeing more than what was on the surface. The warmth of the fire suddenly seemed heavier, pressing against her skin.

“You said earlier that the Fade could be dangerous,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze steady as she searched his expression. “But you also called it beautiful. Do you think it’s worth the risk? To embrace something that could bring both wonder and peril?” she asked.

Solas leaned back slightly, his head tilting as he studied her, his expression unreadable, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. “Beauty and danger are often intertwined,” he said, his voice low and measured, each word deliberate. “To avoid one is often to forgo the other,” he added, his tone carrying the weight of someone who had seen the truth of it firsthand.

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and Marel felt her chest tighten as his gaze held hers. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, that felt both distant and achingly present, as if he were standing just out of reach, and yet…not entirely unreachable.

She cleared her throat, trying to break the tension. “That sounds like something Felassan would say,” she said lightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Solas's lips curved into a faint smile, his tone laced with quiet amusement. “Felassan would likely argue that any risk is worth taking if it results in a good story,” he said, his voice gentle yet tinged with a fond familiarity, as though reminiscing about Felassan’s mischievous nature.

Marel chuckled softly, the moment easing slightly, though the undercurrent of something unspoken remained. As they settled back into silence, she couldn’t help but feel that they were walking the edge of something undefined, something that neither of them seemed quite ready to name.

The room was silent save for the soft crackle of the fire, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the walls. Marel rose to her feet, the book from her lap in hand, and moved to place it on the small table beside Solas, where her other books rested. She misjudged the distance, and the book teetered, threatening to tumble. Before she could act, Solas reached out, his hand briefly brushing hers as he steadied it.

The touch was brief, almost insignificant, but it lingered far longer than either expected. Marel froze, her fingers brushing against his, the warmth of his skin stark against the cool draft of the room. Her breath hitched, her eyes darting up to meet his.

Solas’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a subtle tension in his jaw, and his hand stilled for just a moment too long before he pulled it away. “Apologies,” he said softly, his voice calm but quieter than usual. He withdrew his hand, placing it deliberately on the arm of the chair as if to reestablish the distance between them.

Marel shook her head quickly, her cheeks flushing despite herself as she avoided his gaze as she made her way back to her spot on the floor. “No need,” she said hurriedly, her voice betraying the faintest edge of nervousness. “I—thank you,” she added, her tone softening slightly, though the hint of embarrassment lingered.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was no longer comfortable but charged, the air thick with something unspoken. Solas’s eyes flicked to her face, then to her hand, before he turned his gaze toward the fire, as though willing the moment to pass.

Marel cleared her throat, trying to break the tension as she offered a small, almost sheepish smile. “You’re quick,” she said lightly, though her voice was softer than she intended, betraying the lingering emotion of the moment. “I almost lost it,” she added, her tone attempting to carry levity.

Solas’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but it was fleeting as his expression remained composed. “Quick reflexes are useful in many situations,” he replied, his tone measured and calm, though the faint warmth in his voice betrayed a crack in his usual reserve, hinting at his quiet amusement.

She chuckled softly, the tension easing just slightly as she settled back against the rug, her smile warm and genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need someone to catch a falling book,” she said, her tone light but carrying a hint of playfulness as she glanced at him.

His gaze flicked back to her, and this time, his expression softened, though it remained guarded. “You have a talent for understatement,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of something she couldn’t quite place.

As their conversation trailed into a comfortable silence, Marel absently rested her hand on her knee, her fingers brushing the glowing mark etched into her skin. The light from the anchor pulsed faintly, rhythmic and steady, catching Solas’s attention. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, the lines of his face softening with contemplation as he leaned forward in his chair.

“May I?” he asked quietly, gesturing toward her hand.

Marel hesitated, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone, her brows knitting briefly before she nodded. “Of course,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with curiosity as she searched his expression. Solas rose from his chair and knelt gracefully in front of her, his movements precise and deliberate. He reached out, his long fingers hovering just above her hand before he carefully cradled it in his own.

His touch was cool and steady, his thumbs lightly tracing the edge of the mark as he studied the faint glow. As his fingers brushed the glowing mark, Marel felt it again—a heartbeat, steady and alien, like something alive but not her own. His eyes darkened for a fraction of a moment, the flicker of an emotion Marel couldn’t name—regret, or perhaps grief���before his usual calm returned. “You’ve felt the anchor’s pull more strongly since Redcliffe?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice soft. “It’s…strange. Sometimes it feels like it’s alive. Like it’s—” She hesitated, glancing up at him, searching his expression for understanding. “Like it’s a heartbeat. But not mine,” she added, her voice tinged with uncertainty and the faintest trace of unease.

As his touch lingered, the anchor’s light flared—faint but undeniable. Marel stiffened, her breath catching as the pulse quickened, steady as a heartbeat. His gaze lifted to hers, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—a guarded intensity—before his focus returned to the glowing mark.

“A curious sensation,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his gaze distant as though contemplating possibilities unseen. “The anchor’s connection to the Fade is intricate, complex. What you feel…” He paused, as if weighing his words. “…it could be a pulse. Not your own, but near enough to resonate with it.”

“Pulse?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. Marel frowned slightly, her lips parting as if to ask more, but she stopped, suddenly aware of how close he was. Solas’s still cradled hers, his touch warm now as if heat had begun to radiate through his fingers. His eyes remained locked on hers, unblinking, as if he could see beyond the surface, into some part of her she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted revealed.

Solas’s lips quirked into a faint, almost bittersweet smile, his expression touched with a quiet melancholy. “There are connections that defy explanation. Threads woven so tightly they cannot be unraveled without consequence,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

His gaze lingered on hers, his words carrying a weight she didn’t fully understand. “Perhaps this is one of them,” he added, his voice trailing off as if the thought itself held more significance than he was willing to reveal.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from the strange pull of his presence, the unspoken intensity between them. She realized then how still the room had become, the crackling of the fire fading into the background. The only sound was the faint rhythm of her breath, and the light, steady pulse of the anchor under his hands.

The moment stretched, taut and electric. Marel’s eyes dropped briefly to his hands before returning to his face, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “You don’t think it’s dangerous?” she asked, curiosity warring with unease in her voice.

Solas paused, his gaze steady and searching, as if weighing the unspoken question beneath her words. “It is a part of you now,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, each word deliberate. “And, like all things that shape us, it will depend on what you choose to make of it,” he added. Her voice wavered, the words slipping out before she could stop them, “And if I lose control?”

Solas’s hands tightened slightly around hers, his voice low but firm. “You won’t. You are stronger than you realize.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, their gazes locked in a quiet, unspoken understanding. Marel’s breath hitched slightly, the firelight casting golden shadows across his features. She didn’t pull away, and neither did he, as though the world had narrowed to just this—just them.

Finally, as if remembering himself, Solas released her hand and straightened, his expression carefully neutral once more. “The anchor should settle now,” he said softly, though the lingering tension in his voice betrayed the calmness of his words, as if he, too, felt the weight of what had just passed between them.

Marel flexed her fingers, the strange, comforting pulse of the anchor still present but quieter now. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady despite the lingering weight of the moment, her gaze briefly meeting his before flickering away.

Solas inclined his head and turned toward the door, his movements deliberate, as if each step required thought. He hesitated briefly, glancing back, his gaze unreadable. “You should rest,” he said, his tone distant but quiet, the door closing softly behind him.

As he slipped into the quiet of the night, Marel stared after him, unsure what had just passed between them—only that it felt like something Solas would never admit.

***

Dear Reader,

You’re keeping up, I hope. It’s not every day you get to watch a tale like this unfold. Marel, with her quiet strength, doesn’t yet realize how many threads she’s holding together. Solas, well… he’s tangled in a web of his own making, and it’s only a matter of time before he realizes just how tightly he’s bound.

Here’s the fun part: nothing stays hidden forever. Not the truth, not the lies, and certainly not the cracks in someone’s mask. Stick around. Things are about to get interesting.

Fondly (and with a touch of mischief), Felassan

[rookedcrow]

"Solas? Terrible fashion sense, the occasional rather cruel sarcastic commentary aimed at yours truly that was, of course, entirely uncalled for. And ah yes, a little too hung up on the Fade — if I didn't know any better, I'd say he had a special little friend hidden away in there — otherwise? Harmless. Well, that is until he decided to have a picnic with his... former little special friends. Alright, you may have a point, maybe not as harmless as I once thought." (from Dorian again!)

rook had made a point of asking about va.rric’s time with the inquisition as much as possible in their search for so.las  ---- her requests equal parts general curiosity ( and a good way to pass the time on their travels ) and wanting to get a better feel for possibly the most unique contract she’d ever been charged with.  more often than not, those requests were honored --- var.ric loved few things more than telling a good story, and she certainly loved hearing one, or two, or three — on any topic she could think of; the people, the places — all of it. ( skyh.old, of all things, had always been one of the more difficult things to wrap her head around back then, being that high up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere; her fear of heights assuming something like that would no doubt be her worst case scenario ... of course, that was long before she’d ever heard of the lighthouse. now, that image almost seemed quaint. and grounded. )

va.rric’s take on so.las had always felt ... measured somehow. it wasn’t so much as making excuses for his old friend’s poor behavior ( ro.ok wasn’t sure there were enough words out there to even get a start on that ) as it was reflecting on old times with slightly tinted lenses. maybe there was some guilt there; not knowing then what he knew now; knowing that there were ulterior motives to the help that was being provided. hard.ing had said she hadn’t known s.olas all that well save for polite conversation in passing, so that wasn’t anything really to go on, other than the fact s.olas sometimes knew how to hold his tongue. ( a trait rook didn’t seem to be keen on reciprocating, if her handful of little talks with him were any indication. she was going to run out of fingers soon counting how many times she’d more or less called him an asshole. )

so she had va.rric’s tapestry of recollections, and harding’s impressions from the outside looking in … which of course meant one of the first things she’d wanted to ask do.rian about after his dressing down of the first warden was what had he thought of his former companion. ( va.rric had always spoken highly about the mage from te.vinter; in both his prowess as a mage, and his snark. now how was she supposed to pass up a chance to see one of those two skillsets in action for herself without needing a swarm of vena.tori? )

and just as var.ric would have insisted, dorian certainly exceeded her expectations.  from the critique of his fashion sense ( or more accurately, a lack thereof ) to the series of events that lead up to the situation she currently found herself at the head of in relief of var.ric, there was a keen eye and keener words behind the lot of it. it’s funny, though ------- that va.rric never mentioned seeking out dor.ian outright while they were in minrath.ous.

“so should i pass along some well wishes from you to him the next time i speak with him?” ( or is this just another excuse to call him an ass to his face? who knows. ) “or perhaps some other choice words? i don’t mind, and i’ve got a pretty solid memory when it comes to giving regards.” the jokes a little cheesier than the food and drink laid out on the table, but for a moment it nice to not have to worry about being overly formal.

“i’m sure sola.s would love to hear from you.”