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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years ago

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Magnificent Scoundrels- Seat of the Citadel

One last faction intro story, in which Shepard finally tells the Council what every Mass Effect player has ever wanted to tell them. Unless someone specifically requests otherwise, or it is needed later, I won’t have any more “faction intros” as I’ve been writing them. Next up is the meeting of the different governments. As usual, I own none of these characters. Enjoy the story.

(A note on timelines: This takes place slightly more than halfway through the events of Mass Effect 2)

Mass Effect Galaxy

The Citadel, Capital of the Citadel Council

The Citadel. The beating heart of galactic power. A glimmering jewel of elegance and culture. An utterly massive 45 kilometer long space station, constructed by the long-extinct and highly advanced Prothean race, it was the capital of the aptly named Citadel Council, the galaxy spanning federation that ruled most of explored space.

Discovered by the Asari in the human year 580 B.C.E., it had since remained the center of galactic power. Open, airy, and utterly magnificent, it was a menagerie of elegant futuristic-style architecture and open water features. Its beauty was unmatched by any other place in the galaxy; not the often conflicting human architecture of Earth, nor the sweeping elegance of Thessia, nor the simplistic, yet sturdy nature of the Turian or Salarian homeworlds. Truly, it was a place unlike any other.

Commander John Shepard sat in an elaborate waiting room at the base of the Citadel Tower, the large structure that housed the chambers of the Council itself. Above was an artificial sky of brilliant blue. Blossoming cherry trees were dotted around the large room in large pots, their blossoms adding to the Beautiful fountains trickled slowly, the sound of running water meant to calm and soothe visitors. Shepard was anything but calm. In fact, he was, to put it rather mildly, pissed off.

The Council had done absolutely nothing in the two years while he had been dead. He warned them of the coming of the genocidal synthetic race known as the Reapers, but, no, they apparently preferred the illusion of safety and calm instead of shoring up defenses and preparing for a war that was almost certainly coming. Goddamn bureaucrats.

Now, it was even worse. There were nine new galaxies out there, and all of them had it together. He shuddered as he remembered reading the briefings and documents provided by his various new colleagues. Council will probably want to ignore that, too. Goddamn bureaucrats, he repeated to himself. And what did the Council do? Invited them all over as if they were all newly discovered species. As if they were peoples who newly discovered space flight, expected to be cowed by the might of the Council, instead of pan-galactic empires.

Goddamn bureaucrats.

“John. God to see you.” Shepard looked up sharply as someone called his name. He visibly relaxed when he saw who it was.

Captain, now Councillor, David Anderson walked towards Shepard, a smile on his face. Dark skin, a flat nose, and short cut hair highlighted an elegant but simple suit; the clothing of a Councillor. Anderson was Shepard’s mentor, old captain, and still older friend. Still more, he was the only of four Councillors that Shepard fully trusted.

“It’s good to see you too, Anderson,” said Shepard, rising from his seat to shake his hand. Anderson made a ‘follow me’ gesture, and the two started to walk through the extensive lobby.

“The information you sent me was quite helpful,” remarked Anderson. Shepard rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he’d picked up from somewhere.

“Ah. Yes. Well, my new colleagues are a bit… bizarre,” Wasn’t that the understatement of the century? Really weird and slightly insane would probably be better. “But, they are quite helpful.” Especially if you want something very, very dead. Anderson nodded in response.

“I’m sure.” He glanced around the room, noting several Salarians hovering near a doorway. “But the walls here have ears. All part of the political game,” he sighed. “Let’s take this conversation to my office.” Shepard couldn’t agree more.

Anderson’s office was, again, simple yet elegant, as a Councillor’s office should be. Smooth walls and a large window, overlooking the Presidium, highlighted a maple desk. Sitting on top of the desk, next to endless reports, was a single picture of Anderson wearing dress blues on his naval graduation day. Anderson slid into the chair (with wheels, of course; humans in this galaxy weren't savages) and gestured for Shepard to take a seat opposite him.

“Some of this data is, to put it bluntly, quite concerning,” opened Anderson without preamble. He touched a button on his desk, and a hologram sprang to life, displaying three symbols: a blue triangle with a minimalized rocket taking off on it, a black and white six-spoked circle, and a double-headed golden eagle. Of course we’d start with those three. “These three in particular. Tell me about them.” He glanced at a data pad. “The, uh, Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, who sound a lot like if the Alliance was ruled by Cerberus, and the Galactic Empire and Imperium of Man, who,” this was accompanied by a slightly incredulous chuckle, “Sound like some nightmare governments from a bad movie.” Shepard rubbed the back of his neck again.

“...yeah. Sure. I… how should I even start,” he rubbed his neck again, “The IMC is what you think would happen if a super-corporation gained enough power to rule humanity, the Galactic Empire took power after a Galactic Republic kinda lost a horrible war.” He still wasn’t 100% sure about the politics from that particular galaxy. He shrugged, then continued. “But, uh, both of those governments are on the decline. Their opposite, more freedom-loving numbers have recently beat them back. It’s the third one that’s the problem.” Anderson shot him a look that clearly said ‘explain’. “You see… well, how should I put this…” He frowned as he considered what to say. “The Imperium of Man makes Terra Firma look violently pro-alien.” Terra Firma was the System Alliance's resident human supremacist group. Often compared to the Nazis of old, they were uncouth, brutal, and, above all, close minded. Anderson’s eyebrows shot up at this comment. Shepard rubbed his neck once more. “Yeah. No slurs or racial barbs for these guys.” Shepard leaned in closer to Anderson to get his point across. “One of their mottos is, and I quote, ‘Suffer not the alien to live’.” Anderson cradled his head in his arms.

“Oh, God. And we invited them to the upcoming first contact talks.”

“Yep!” replied Shepard with slightly more relish than was actually necessary. It would be a real shame if xenocidal zealots murdered the Council (maybe), but perhaps it would be a good thing if they shook things up a little. Certainly, if Cain was anything to go by, they weren’t all bad.

“How are the other three going to react to all of this?” moaned Anderson, head still in his arms.

“Not quite sure,” replied Shepard, “Although, this time, it’s all politics, so the illustrious Commander Shepard isn’t going to be able to save their collective asses, like I’ve done the last five or six times.” His face took on a pensive look. “Although, maybe this will actually get them to listen about the Reapers…” Anderson and Shepard’s thoughts were broken by a blue-skinned Asari, who politely knocked.

“Excuse me, Councillor Anderson. The Council is ready to see Commander Shepard,” said the Asari. Anderson sighed and slowly shook his head.

“Well, duty calls. This ought to be interesting.”

The Council chambers were much like the rest of the Citadel: utterly beautiful with a simple and refined elegance. Too bad such a wonderful room was squandered on the walking wastes of oxygen that were the Council. At least, that was Shepard’s opinion. He didn’t have much liking for politicians, and most definitely had no liking for these three in particular. He looked up at the podium where the Councillors stood. At least they bothered to meet in person this time.

There were three Councillors, excluding Anderson, each from a different species. The Asari, a graceful, elegant monogendered race of blue-skinned women, the Salarians, a short lived but extremely intelligent race of amphibians, and the Turians, a militaristic race descended from avians. Humanity was the most recent addition to the Council, a move that many seem to resent, but thanks to Commander John Shepard saving the Citadel and the Council it housed, a move that no one could oppose.

“Commander Shepard,” began Sparatus, the Turian Councillor. “While we appreciate being given information about these new galaxies,” this was inflicted by a measure of sarcasm, “Some of this seems quite hard to believe.” ‘Just like the Reapers’ remained unsaid, but everyone was thinking it. Shepard sighed inwardly. It’s going to be one of these meetings.

“Yes. You went off on your own, chasing some message, and just sent this data back. Explain yourself,” said Tevos, the Asari Councillor. Anderson looked like he was about to intervene on Shepard’s behalf, but was interrupted.

“Some of this seems highly unlikely. First you come up with Reapers, a race of immortal sentient machines hell-bent on killing us all, now this!” intoned Valern, the Salarian Councillor. Shepard struggled to keep a straight face.

Calm down! said one part of his mind. Explain to them what’s happening out there! Tell them what you’ve seen. Getting angry will get you nowhere.

Or will it? asked another part. They didn’t listen about the Reapers, despite being attacked by one, they didn’t listen about your involvement with Cerberus, preferring to label you a terrorist. They haven’t listened to you about anything. Maybe anger will help you! Besides, continued to voice, it's not like you couldn’t find similar employment elsewhere. The Scoundrels trust you more than these idiots ever have. I’m sure there are plenty of people who would pay top dollar for someone like you.

“You know what? I’m sick of this bullshit,” said Shepard. “I am goddamn sick and tired of this bullshit. You can believe whatever you want to believe, despite evidence to the contrary. I have never lied to you. I saved your lives. I saved the Citadel. I died for you!” he thundered. The Councillors seemed rather taken aback. “Yes, still, you don’t heed my warnings! You don’t follow my advice, even though I have not once lied to any of you. You sit, on your comfy chairs, trying to keep a peace that will most definitely be shattered. You do nothing because it is simply more convenient to ignore reality,” he hissed, words dripping with venom. Spartacus bristled.

“How dare you-” Shepard whirled around to face him.

“Shut. The fuck up, Sparatus.” The calm in Shepard’s voice was deadly. The Councilors blanched. No one’s ever talked to them like that before, I’d guess. He would have laughed if he wasn’t in mid-rant. “Apparently, what I gave you was good enough to invite all of these governments over for peace talks. All of them. You also apparently trusted myself and my new colleagues enough to give them these invitations, instead of contacting these governments directly.” Which was probably a wise move, in the long run, considering some of the reactions would have been ‘piss off and die’ if the invitations weren’t hand delivered by galaxy wide heroes. Were they invitations? Or… treaties? What was a document inviting someone to a peace talk called? Shepard shook himself out of his tangent and continued.

“Also, it seems you trust eight unknown people more than you trust the Spectre who has never lied, saved your lives, and died for you. Have I missed anything?” he spun around to the room, arms outstretched theatrically.

“Fine then, Shepard,” said Valern. “You are dismissed. Apparently,” he threw the word back in Shperad’s face, “Our top intelligence gatherer isn’t loyal to us anymore. Other Spectres or the STG can take care of finding out what we need to know.” Tevos and Sparatus looked apprehensive at their colleagues's dismissal. While they might have been bureaucrats, they knew Shepard was one of the best Spectres and intelligence agents they had. Shepard gave a laugh; a full throated hearty laugh.

“Oh, yeah. Have fun with that. Have fucking fun with that. Have fucking fun sending the STG or some lone-wolf Spectre against people who have entire armies of super-soldiers at their disposal and who can legally destroy planets*. Have fucking fun.” He sneered. “This is now the intelligence game you’re playing. You aren’t in complete control anymore.” Shepard crossed his arms and looked up at the Council. “So, only one question remains: do you want my help or not? ‘Cause if you don’t, there isn’t much point in me staying, is there?” There it was: the ultimatum was out. Would they back down and realize that Shepard was their best shot, or would they allow their emotions to get in the way? Honestly, it could probably go either way. Spartacus shot a look at Anderson. Anderson replied with a ‘hey, not my problem’ stare. Tevos cleared her throat.

“It seems we have been remiss, Spectre Shepard.” Shepard let out a breath he had been silently holding. While he would have made good on his threat, this was his home galaxy, and he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to be working for someone like Crossgrow or the Inquisition. “As you are the only one who has had contact with these people, please give us your opinion on how we should handle this situation.” Shepard was sure it had probably physically hurt the Council to say that. He dismissed the thought and returned to his duty.

“First thing first: you have to present a united front. You can’t disagree with each other. Second, all of the species’ representatives should be here.” Before anyone could make an objection, he continued. “All of them. Definitely the client races.” The Council had four races as members, but many more that were under their jurisdiction and not full members. Many of those races were trying (and, for the most part, failing) to get a seat on the Council itself. It wouldn’t do if the more open minded government, such as the Federation or GA, came to the Citadel, then saw the Council treating other races as less than equals. “Even some of the other races who aren’t officially part of the Council, if you think you can control them.” Shepard paced the floor.

“In addition, you should probably beef up the Citadel fleet. Send in more ships. Turian, Asari, Alliance, I don’t care. We need as much security as possible, and some of these governments will be impressed by shows of force.”

“Yes… we shall think about this,” replied Tevos. “Your input will be helpful. Please stay on the station during the talks.” Shepard nodded, then came to a realization. Oh, hell. The first meeting of all of these governments is only slightly more than a week away. This was going to be interesting. Or deadly. One of the two.

*ONI can call on Spartans, ISB has Death troopers, and the Inquisition has the Grey Knights and the Deathwatch. In addition, ISB helped to create the Death Star and has sway over Imperial Navy battlegroups, enough to bombard a planet into uninhabitable-ness, and the Inquisition can enact Exterminatus. Shepard and the rest of the Scoundrels would know about all of this, except for the Grey Knights.

#magnificent scoundrels #stroy #my story #writing #my writing #crossover #fanfic #mass effect #mass effect 2

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just-horrible-things · 5 years ago

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[Continued from here, part one here.]

He sits where he is put, on the cot that the Meek have assigned him. He is too distraught for sleep. He wouldn’t dare to move from the spot even if he had reason to. So he sits, and hugs his knees, and rocks, and tries to pretend that he is home in his cell and that the last few days have been nothing but nightmare.

There’s enough distance and enough doors between him and the hall that he can’t hear the Interrogator screaming any more. But he can still hear her inside his head. Exhausted. In agony. Breaking like only he is meant to break. The sobs bubble up from the well of horror inside his ribcage, and they will not stop.

The atmosphere is chokingly familiar. Everywhere, he senses the touch of the Dark Powers on what should be reality. He Sees the roiling Warp whether his eyes are open or closed. The weight of it should crush the air from his lungs and leave him nauseated. But the corruption in his soul answers the ambient, and it is not unpleasant. The self-loathing does not make it easier to stem the flow of tears.

The names of the Gods buzz inside his head. He has not spoken them in... five years? Ten? He tries not to even think them, when he does not have to for his function. But now they press at the inside of his lips, craving freedom. They mock him for ever imagining that he could escape their grip. They demand that he speak them, renew his fealty. At the same time laughing with the knowledge that such hollow oaths have never mattered. The Gods claim their own. And is that not what he is? Occultist. Daemonologist. Sorcerer. He is more kin to their captors than he is to the Interrogator.

If he still prayed to any power, he would pray that it stays that way. Her conviction is beyond shattering, surely. It has to be. If she cannot keep faith, what hope is there?

The tears have slowed and the shuddering has dwindled to a subtle tremor by the time the door opens. It is Vereda. He bows his head in respect, feeling his gut clench and his heart ache with fear. He doesn’t know what to expect from her yet. At this point, it could easily be execution. He doesn’t want to die.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. Her tone is gentle. But he knows her kind. Always friendly, while the rot spreads beneath the surface. A gentle hand to soothe infection into the skin while the patient gasps in agony and delirium. “I, um. A, a b-bit better, sir. I, I’m sorry. I’m sorry sir.” “Why are you sorry?” She sits down on the cot beside him. The training that tells him to stay still wins out over the desire to inch away. “I, I d-don’t know, sir. I made a, a scene, I was loud, I... I’m sorry. W-whatever I did, I’m sorry.” He snivels wretchedly. “It’s alright,” she tells him gently. “You got overwhelmed, isn’t that right?” He nods gratefully, wiping his eyes with the back of his borrowed sleeve. That is definitely a true statement. “Rex was out of line. I’m sorry for his behaviour.” “Th-thank you, sir.” She has the sound of sincerity down perfectly. Her voice is full of regret. But the words ring hollow, after listening to her sneer and preen and mock while she shot helpless men and women. After watching her inflict torture, and take satisfaction in it. “Would you like a bit more time to calm down?” “I... I p-probably w-won’t. C-c-calm down, I mean. I’m s-sorry sir.” “I can give you time if you like.” “It, it’s ok-kay.” He’d rather get this over with, in the hope that it isn’t his death warrant, than sit here and stew in terror. “Alright.”

Vereda takes a moment to gather her thoughts. 068 wonders if she is genuinely trying to be gentle with him, or if she is coldly calculating behind that facade. “I want to talk about your relationship with the Inquisition woman,” she begins. Fear is cold. He watches her carefully. “You’ve told me that she tortured you, and forced you to serve against your will. But you do not seem to take satisfaction in seeing her suffer in turn.” He forces himself to breathe steadily. He wishes she would speak harshly to him. At least then he could be confident that the knife edge he senses behind her words is real. But no, he doesn’t wish that. If she snapped at him, it would be impossible to think past the fear. “You are something of an enigma, my young sorcerer,” she continues. “Tell me what you are thinking.” The tone is that of a suggestion, but he knows that it is an order.

He breathes deeply. To lie, and tangle himself in guesswork falsehoods aimed at her unknown desires, or to venture the dangerous, shameful truth? Somewhere in between, probably. Isn’t that always his answer to the world? Somewhere in between? Pathetic. He just doesn’t know how to ever make the right choice.

“I... I d-don’t know, entirely, w-what I feel, sir. Uhm. I hate her -” and he’s surprised by the feeling he’s able to put into that “- b-but, I, it’s c-complicated...” He is grateful that she waits quietly, and lets him try to articulate what he feels - or something related to what he feels, at least. “She, uh. Without, without w-what she d-d-did to me, I’d never have, I w-wouldn’t have d-drawn the at-ttention of the Dark Prince -” no, this is no time to be shy about it “- of Slaanesh.” There, I said it. Are you happy yet? Of course not. They are never sated. “You enjoyed it?” “No! N-n-no sir, I, I d-d-don’t h-have th-that blessing, or, or skill...” Or insanity. Not quite. “It, it was, it, you c-c-can see w-what it d-did to me, b-but... uh. I. Uh.” “You are grateful?” “I... I... y-yes, m-maybe. I, I d-don’t... I just... she, she’s r-responsible, in a way. And, and she enjoyed it, h-hurting me. She m-made me sing my, my pain to the Warp and, and she d-doesn’t know that it f-, that it honours the Prince b-but she d-did it all the same...” He runs out of words, shivering, struggling to breathe evenly. She waits. He can find nothing more to say.

“You care for her,” Vereda suggests after a while. “Yes,” he admits miserably, wondering if it condemns him to share her fate. “I, I h-hate her too, but, but I d-do. She... she’s a-all I’ve had, for a l-long t-time. It’s n-not right, I know, b-but.... b-but she’s important to me.” He can’t take his eyes off hers. It’s too much eye contact, he knows. But looking away is forbidden. Disrespectful. He’s too afraid. “She is the enemy,” Vereda reminds him gently. “She d-doesn’t have to be,” he pleads desperately. “She, she a-already p-pleases Slaanesh, w-without knowing...” For the first time, Vereda cuts him off. It’s not with words, but with laughter. She has a rich, throaty laugh. In another context it might be pleasing. 068 falls silent, cringing. “It would certainly be an accomplishment, to corrupt my prize. I will not stop you trying, darling. But forgive me if I do not expect much. And until she turns her coat, she remains my enemy... and yours.” He snivels and nods, not trusting his voice. He does not know what he could say to sway her. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. “Don’t fret, little sorcerer. I will still let you bring her comfort and tend her wounds. I have no intention of letting her die.” “Thank you, sir.” He means it. What she has not said hurts - that she will continue to torture her. It will keep breaking his heart. But it is still better to think that his Interrogator will survive, and that he will get the chance to be with her. And that he will not be punished for having muddled feelings and mixed-up loyalties. Not overtly, at least. He’s very grateful for that.

In the silence that follows, he starts anxiously replaying the conversation so far. The weight of what he has said hits him all at once, like a blow to the stomach. He would try to corrupt her faith, to save her life? He sickens himself. Does he have no standards? No lines he will not cross? Oh, he is a detestable creature.

Vereda is watching him, and he tries to swallow down the wave of self-loathing. It’s okay, he tries to reassure himself, you’re okay. It is not as if it is out of character, for him to cringe with suddenly renewed misery and fear, for no reason in particular. If she asks, he will claim that his guilt is over feeling even a little loyalty to an agent of the hated Imperium. But that isn’t what she asks.

“Your Interrogator, she has a name.” It’s a question, not an observation. “Yes sir. It, it’s Ariadne M-Milonas. As, as f-far as I know.” It’s easier than usual to think of her by name. But it still feels like a betrayal. Even though he knows that Vereda already knows who she is. “You must see a lot of her work.” “N-not much, sir. I, I l-live in a c-cell m-mostly...” He is shaking again. How much will she want to know? What will she do if he does not, or cannot answer? “I, I c-can t-tell you w-what I d-do know, w-what do you w-want to know, sir?”

His eagerness is pitiful. Is he really willing to tell her everything he knows? He is so scared of the consequences of holding back. But he can’t, he can’t betray the Inquisition, the Holy Ordos of the God Emperor’s divine will. But... but they know he’s untrustworthy, that’s why they keep him in the dark. Surely they don’t let him know anything important... But even if he does share, will it satisfy her? His breath comes as quick, frantic huffs. He can’t focus, focus! Pay attention, scum!

“Are you still with me?” Vereda is asking. He forces himself to focus on her face. “S-sorry,” he gasps, “S-s-sorry sir, I, I’m h-here, I’m f-f-foc-cused.” “Easy. This isn’t an interrogation.” That is a lie, he knows. But he wouldn’t dare disagree. “Take all the time you need. Let’s start simple. Do you know where you’re kept?” He nods jerkily. “Uh. S-sort of, sir. A-ab-board a voidship, b-but, I d-d-don’t know its name, sir,” he lies. “ I, I have a cell, it, it’s, they d-don’t t-tell me th-things...” “That’s alright, that’s good. How long have you been kept there?”

In the end, he answers all her questions. How could a broken thing like him do anything else?

[Continued here.]

#my writing #my ocs #tacitus #ariadne and tacitus captured by chaos #tw interrogation #tw mental illness #tw past trauma #tw mention of torture #tw mention of murder #hmmm #I don't know if this is any good #but I've written it now #so there you go

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pikapeppa · 5 years ago

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Holiday

Chapter 48 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3, after a dreaded few-week hiatus! I’m launching into the Jaws of Hakkon DLC, which I LOVE SO MUCH. For anyone who hasn’t played it, you should still be able to follow along as long as you don’t mind spoilers. I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 here instead; full chapter is >8500 words.

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

A year and a half after Corypheus’s death…

Fenris shifted his feet and readied his stance. The ice was stinging the soles of his feet, but this was nothing he hadn’t suffered before; this was just another dragon, after all. Just another monstrous beast that spewed ice from its gaping maw. They had fought dragons before and always prevailed. This would be no different.

He ignored the rattling disquiet in his chest and settled his fingers more firmly on the handle of his sword. He glanced at the others. “You have your positions?” he shouted.

Cole, Dorian and Blackwall nodded. Scout Harding saluted him briskly, and Sera gave him a more playful salute. Bull shot him a bloodthirsty and oddly reassuring smile while Varric patted his crossbow.

He glanced over at Hawke; her face was set and determined. When she met his eye, she smiled and blew him a kiss, and he released a slow breath and tried to return her smile.

The dragon laughed, then let out an enormous, rib-rattling roar. It launched itself into the air and landed on the frozen lake in front of them just sixty paces away. Behind Fenris, Bull roared and charged toward the dragon.

The others followed him, splitting off to attack the dragon from every angle, and Fenris lit his lyrium marks aglow. As he watched his companions attacking the monstrous dragon and dodging its frigid breath, valiantly placing themselves in danger for the umpteenth time tonight, one thought kept hammering at his weary mind.

I can’t do this anymore.

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

“Varric!” Hawke squealed.

Fenris looked up to see Varric strolling through the research camp toward them. His face was lit with a smile, and Fenris couldn’t help but smile in return.

Hawke bolted toward him wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you arrived! I’ve missed my daily dose of gorgeous dwarven chest hair.”

Varric chuckled as he returned her hug. “Have you been that bored without me? I was only gone for three months.”

“That’s two months longer than the last time you went to Kirkwall,” she retorted. “You know I can’t live for that long without your sarcasm and your cheating at cards.”

“By that, I’ll assume you mean my sharp wit and my charm,” Varric said smoothly. He shot Fenris a smirk as he drew near. “Has the broody one not been keeping you entertained enough?”

“Oh, he entertains me,” Hawke said lewdly. “But not in the same way as you.”

Fenris folded his arms. “Should I be flattered or insulted by that?”

She smiled winningly and looped her arm around his waist, and Varric patted Fenris’s elbow. “Good to see you, buddy.”

“And you as well, my friend,” Fenris said. “Rebuilding is going well? Kirkwall is still standing, I assume?”

Varric snorted. “That’s a bold assumption. Maybe I just managed to escape another disaster there.”

Hawke tutted. “Don’t be stupid. Disasters only happen in Kirkwall when I’m around.”

Fenris shot her a chiding look, but before he could reply, a smooth and jovial voice interrupted. “What was that I heard about disasters? Have you been having that much fun without me?”

They all looked up. Dorian was sashaying toward them wearing a very sharply tailored robe that practically screamed Tevinter Imperium.

“Dorian! You’re here!” Hawke cried. She flew toward him and hugged him hard. “This robe is fucking gorgeous. You look like the perfect evil magister.” She brushed his shoulders solicitously and beamed at him. “Getting into character, are you?”

“Exactly,” Dorian said with a grin. “Although I can’t deny that I’m enjoying access to proper Tevinter silk again.”

“I agree,” Bull said as he sauntered over in Dorian’s wake. He elbowed Dorian gently. “Your new silky underthings are pretty damned enjoyable.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and gave Hawke a long-suffering look. “Leave your handsome lummox of a lover for a few months and he becomes a depraved sex maniac.”

Bull grinned unrepentantly, and Hawke chuckled. Then Dorian gave Varric a mocking little bow. “Varric! Still as swarthy as ever, I see. And how could I forget our handsome and fearless leader?” He grinned at Fenris and held out a hand. “How are you, my friend?”

Fenris smirked and shook his hand. “I have no complaints. Or at least I didn’t before I saw your robe.”

Dorian laughed merrily. “Ah, I missed you too. Now come, fill me in on everything. And by that, I mean you, Hawke. I do so miss our daily gossip sessions.”

“I think you should start us off, Sparkler,” Varric said. “Last I heard, you were tied up in some kind of political intrigue in Minrathous?”

Dorian tutted. “That’s putting it mildly. Maevaris and I have been taking quite a few hits from the magisterium recently–”

“Hits?” Fenris said sharply.

Dorian waved a dismissive hand. “The usual sort of thing. Assassination attempts, an attempted poisoning here and there, even an attack by a bound spirit or two. You know how it is.”

“I do, unfortunately,” Fenris said quietly.

Dorian gave him a kindly look. “Don’t you worry. That’s why I’m here. Maevaris and I are pretending that we’re at odds at the moment, you see. The magisters will think they’ve scared us into submission, and meanwhile we’ll regroup in the shadows.” He nodded to Hawke. “It’s perfect timing that you suggested this little holiday, in fact. It suits me to be away from my dear homeland at the moment.”

Varric snorted. “‘Holiday’. That’s not exactly what I’d call a wander through the untamed wilderness.”

Hawke gave him a pleading look. “Oh come on, Varric, it’s going to be wonderful, I promise! The Frostback Basin is so gorgeous with the trees and the flowers and the toadstools and all that–”

“Hawke,” Varric interrupted.

She blinked at him. “Yes?

He gave her a pointed look. “You remember who you’re talking to, right?”

She widened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Fenris cleared his throat. “I believe he means that the two people who came the farthest to be here are the same two who hate the outdoors the most.” He gestured at Dorian and Varric.

“He’s not wrong,” Varric drawled.

“He really isn’t,” Dorian said.

Hawke sighed dramatically and gave Fenris a chiding look. “Listen, I know they’re indoor boys, but I didn’t want to point out that they came all this way just to spend time with you and I. It would hurt Bull’s feelings, and he’s standing right there.”

Dorian and Varric chuckled, and Bull gave her a playful little push. “Thanks, little Hawke.”

Hawke snickered and hugged his arm. Then Dorian tilted his head. “You know, that raises the question. Where are the rest of our sorry little crew? I’m rather offended they aren’t here to greet–”

“Your clothes are very shiny,” Cole said.

To Fenris’s amusement, Dorian jumped. “Cole!” he exclaimed. He released a little breath, then smiled at the spirit-boy. “How I’ve missed your unannounced appearances. In fact, I brought you something.” He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored robe and handed Cole a gift.

It was a fine ebony comb decorated with an elaborate pattern of mother-of-pearl. Cole peered at it, then looked at Dorian. “What is it?”

“It’s a comb,” Dorian explained. “For your hair. So you needn’t wear that hat anymore.”

Cole blinked. “What’s wrong with my hat?”

Varric chuckled and patted Cole’s elbow. “Nice to see that nothing’s changed.”

A moment later, Blackwall and Sera joined them, and Blackwall clapped Varric on the shoulder. “Varric! Good to see you!” he said. He nodded politely to Dorian. “Dorian, you look well.”

“As do you,” Dorian said equally politely. “Did you wash your hair? It suits you.”

Blackwall snorted. Then Sera leapt on Dorian’s back. “Now you’re here, we can have some real fun!” she announced. “Beardy and I were down on the beach and there’s these little tiny crabs, see, and–”

“The answer is no,” Dorian interrupted. “Whatever it is, it’s no.”

Sera pouted, and Hawke and Blackwall laughed. They continued to banter and chat as they made their way through the research camp toward Scout Harding, and Fenris enjoyed the familiar novelty of his companions’ talk.

It had been several months since they’d gone on an expedition like this. He and Hawke had been holed up at Skyhold since just before Varric had left, and before that they’d been stationed at Caer Bronach in Crestwood for a number of weeks dealing with some lingering darkspawn and trying to help the still-recovering village while simultaneously appeasing the Fereldan nobles about the Inquisition’s ongoing presence at the caer. Before that, it was a few months at Skyhold and a few at the Griffon’s Keep, a seemingly never-ending cycle of negotiations and meetings and soothing ruffled feathers and trying to muster coin out of thin air…

Fenris ran a weary hand through his hair as he thought about the multiple problems that he had yet to address when he returned to Skyhold. During the first chaotic year after the Conclave disaster, Fenris hadn’t enjoyed the constant travel and the constant errands. But now that he’d spent an entire year mired in cross-continental politics following Corypheus’s death, he was only just realizing how good he’d had it when his primary duties were fighting and recruitment. Travelling from Ferelden to Orlais, asking people to join the Inquisition, killing demons and closing rifts: that was a simpler time, far simpler than trying to navigate the weblike intricacies of Orlesian and Fereldan and Free Marcher and Chantry politics without stepping on anyone’s toes and without overstepping his own authority – an authority that many people seemed to take for granted, and which Fenris was growing increasingly uneasy about.

This is probably a bad sign, he thought. To be feeling wistful about the days when they’d been fighting demons and Venatori and darkspawn? And to think that during those days, he’d been wistful for the two years prior when he and Hawke had been on the run from the Chantry.

He sighed. Was there ever going to be a time when he would be able to simply enjoy his life instead of wishing wistfully for a different part of it?

Hawke interrupted his melancholy thoughts. “This is nice, isn’t it?” she said.

“Hm?” he said distractedly. “Er, yes. It is.”

She studied his face for a moment, then twined her fingers with his. “It’s going to be a good holiday. I promise.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You keep calling this a holiday as though it’s not still Inquisition business.”

“I know, but it’s low-pressure business!” she said. “Tracking down the last Inquisitor’s body and fighting some angry Avvar? It’s basically a cake walk, you’ll see.”

Fenris gave her a fond but exasperated look. “This is going to be like the times you convinced us to go camping on the Wounded Coast, isn’t it?”

“Which time?” she asked.

“Every time,” he said dryly.

She tutted and poked his arm. “Oh, don’t complain about that. You liked camping. Admit it.”

“I didn’t mind the camping,” Fenris said. “I minded the giant spiders. And the slavers. And the murderers trying to hide bodies—”

“I suppose I can’t promise no giant spiders,” Hawke said loudly. “But Harding did mention treehouses! That sounds fun, no?”

Fenris huffed. “Treehouses to escape the giant spiders, I presume?”

“Exactly,” she said cheerfully. “See, it’s going to be fun.”

Her smile was so bright and lovely, and she was so obviously determined to have a good time – or rather, to show Fenris a good time. This so-called holiday was not only her way to see Dorian and Varric again, but her attempt to drag Fenris away from the stress of Inquisition politics for at least a little while.

In the last few weeks especially, Hawke had been appearing more frequently with snacks and cups of coffee in the war room or wherever Fenris happened to be working, offering to help him by forging his signature or writing letters to tell people to bugger off. She was always cheerful when she appeared, always chatting and laughing as was her norm. But Fenris knew she was worried about how hard he was working with the advisors, as well as with Cassandra all the way in Val Royeaux.

There was nothing he could do to assuage Hawke’s worries, though. He was trapped in his role, trapped in this position of authority and guidance, and he had no choice but to keep doing what he was doing and hoping that things would eventually calm down.

Hawke squeezed his hand again. “It’ll be fun, Fenris. We’ll have a good time here, you’ll see.”

He nodded. Then Dorian’s loud voice drew their attention. “Ah, my dear Lady Lace! Just who I was hoping to see.”

Fenris looked up to see Dorian gallantly bowing to Scout Harding. He gave her a hopeful smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare boots for a handsome young man, would you?”

“Sure she does,” Sera said. “Might even have a pair for you.” She cackled, and Dorian tsked at her.

Harding smiled and folded her arms. “Nice to have you back, Dorian. I assume Fenris and Hawke told you and Varric why we’re here?”

“They did,” Varric said. “The search for the mysterious Inquisitor Ameridan, who disappeared eight hundred years ago.” He gave Hawke a knowing look. “I’m ready to take notes in case I can use this for my next book.”

Hawke slung an arm around his shoulders. “I’d be extremely disappointed if you weren’t.”

Harding turned to Fenris. “Professor Kenric’s been itching to talk to you again. He should be around here somewhere–”

“Inquisitor!” The Starkhaven professor hurried over to them with an eager smile. “I’m glad you’re here, and with an entire scouting expedition at your side – that’s brilliant, you’ll have many more eyes to collect observations!” Kenric bowed hastily to their party, then turned back to Fenris. “Now, you’ll recall I told you about the buckles I found–”

“Er, buckles?” Varric said.

“They’re also shiny,” Cole said knowledgeably, and Hawke fondly patted his shoulder.

“Yes, buckles,” Kenric said excitedly. “They’re often overlooked by the average person, but in the study of ancient artifacts, they’re absolutely crucial, since other materials like cloth and leather will have rotted away – barring enchantments, of course.” He looked at Fenris with wide eyes. “I’ve found evidence that Inquisitor Ameridan was involved in a fight on the shore not far to the south.” He held out his hand. In his gloved palm was a bent metal clasp.

“This is consistent with armour links,” he said. “It’s clearly torn. That only happens from a heavy shearing blow, like large claws or an ax.” He then pulled an item from a pouch at his waist and lovingly unwrapped it from its protective silk covering.

“Then there’s this dagger,” he said. “Silverite, with a stylized dragon pommel and inscription reading ‘Kordillus’. This had to be a gift to Ameridan from Kordillus Drakon, the first Emperor of Orlais. No one would just lose such a thing.” Kenric looked around at them all. “There was some sort of battle near the shoreline,” he explained. “Ameridan and his companions were in a hurry, hence the dropped dagger. Lady – er, Scout Harding’s people reported an island near an Avvar fishing camp on the shore. The friendly Avvar, that is, not those Jaws of Hakkon barbarians.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The locals won’t say much about the island, though. Likely a local superstition.”

“Hmm,” Varric said. “An interrupted battle and an ominous island? We’re off to a great start.”

Fenris smirked at him. “Is that sarcasm? I can’t quite tell.”

“Neither can I,” Varric said dryly.

Hawke tutted and poked them both. “Oh come on, it is a great start! I’m intrigued! Who wants to go to this mystery island?” She raised her hand. “I know I do.”

Fenris gazed at her fondly. She was trying so hard to be upbeat, and he loved her for it.

He lazily raised a hand. “I do as well.”

Blackwall straightened. “I’d be honoured to come.”

Sera elbowed him. “Not leaving me behind, you’re not.”

“I’ll come too,” Bull said. “I hear the hunting is good along the southern shore. The creatures here are fierce.” He grinned.

Dorian patted his arm. “You are such a brute, amatus.”

Hawke clasped her hands together and beamed at them all. “Fantastic! Off we go, then!” She looped her hands through Sera and Blackwall’s elbows, and together they made their way out of the research camp and toward the southern shore.

Fenris had to admit the Frostback Basin really was quite scenic; the terrain was hilly and liberally scattered with toadstools and large exotic flowers, just as Hawke had said. The trees were enormous, some of them bigger than the ones in the Arbour Wilds, and the vegetation ranged from tall flowing grasses to full-bodied ferns to vines that hung in long green ropes from the trees. The same brilliant multicoloured birds that lived in the Arbour Wilds also lived here, and their sharp calls contrasted with the rushing flow of the river that wended its way vaguely from the north and down toward the southern shore where they were headed.

As they made their way toward the fishing camp, Varric, Cole, and Dorian fell into step next to Fenris. Dorian grimaced slightly as he stepped over a pile of feces. “So explain this Jaws of Hakkon business, then,” he said to Fenris. “Who are these fellows, and why did the professor call them barbarians?”

“There are two groups of Avvar here,” Fenris said wearily. “One group has been friendly, but the other group attacks any Inquisition soldier or scout who draws near. We spent some time yesterday fighting them. They have mages, and they’re in possession of some rather chilling magic.”

“Chilling, yes,” Cole said. “Cold, cooling, crawling across the skin.” He blinked at Fenris. “Was that a joke?”

Fenris eyed him in surprise. “I… didn’t mean it to be. But yes, I suppose it was a pun.”

“Hey,” Varric said in surprise. “The kid recognized a pun! That’s good progress, Cole, I’m proud.”

Dorian tutted impatiently. “Yes, yes, Cole is gaining a sense of humour. That’s lovely. Do we know why these magic-wielding Jaws of Hakkon are trying to kill us at every turn?”

Fenris shrugged, and Varric chuckled. “It really is like old times, then. Well, we might as well enjoy it.”

Fenris shot him a sardonic look. “You? Enjoy the wilderness?”

Varric smirked. “I know, I know. But as much as I hate this wilderness shit, I’m kind of glad to be away from Kirkwall right now. Things are getting a little heavy.”

“Everything but your coin purse, it seems,” Dorian said. “From what Bull tells me, you’ve really been emptying your pockets for the city.”

Varric shrugged and waved dismissively. “Ah, you know. It’s no big thing. I’ve gotta use the royalties from my books somehow, right? Might as well be for that.”

Fenris nodded sagely. Varric could pretend to be casual about all the restoration funding he was pouring into Kirkwall, but Fenris had spent enough time discussing the Inquisition’s finances with Josephine to know that the Kirkwall rebuilding efforts had to be extortionately expensive.

Varric’s investments weren’t really a surprise, though. Fenris knew how Varric really felt about Kirkwall. Despite the city’s many flaws and the ugly personal history they had there, Kirkwall was Varric’s home. If Varric wanted to feign casualness about his restoration efforts, however, Fenris could give him that.

He shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “Are you coming back to Skyhold after this so-called holiday?”

Varric hesitated, and Fenris gave him a careful look. “You’re… you’re not coming back?”

Varric tugged his beringed ear, and Fenris raised his eyebrows. “When did you decide this?”

Varric sighed. “Look, it… it wasn’t really my decision. I–”

At that moment, Hawke bounded over and slung her arms around Varric’s shoulders and Fenris’s waist. “So Varric, if you’re taking notes about this Ameridan business, you need to know all the lovely scandalous rumours that Kenric told us.”

Varric shot Dorian and Fenris a quick warning look, then smiled at Hawke. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“Well,” Hawke said, “one rumour is that–”

Fenris interrupted. “Shouldn’t you tell him the facts first?”

Hawke sighed loudly. “But that’s boring… fine, fine, you tell him the facts.”

Fenris looked at Varric. “Ameridan went missing around the time that the Nevarran Accord was signed, in 1:20 Divine or thereabouts. No one knows why he went missing. He was a close friend of Drakon the First–”

“Who sounded like an utter asshole, by the way,” Hawke interjected.

Dorian laughed. “You think the first Emperor of Orlais was an asshole? That’s a bold statement.”

Hawke shrugged carelessly. “Well, I’m no historian, but look what he did. He made a huge army and went wiping out all the little religions and spreading his Andrastianism all over the place. Sounds rather like an asshole move to me. Anyway, go on, Fenris.”

Fenris shrugged. “That’s it. Those are all the facts we know about Ameridan.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding. That’s it? No further backstory?”

“See, this is where the fun stuff comes in,” Hawke said gleefully. “Some people think Ameridan was a lazy noble who just got to be the Inquisitor because he was Drakon’s friend, and he disappeared after going drinking and wenching and so on. Other people think Drakon had him killed because he opposed the Nevarran Accord–”

“–which seems unlikely,” Fenris put in, “since Ameridan was in power with Drakon’s blessing for many years before his disappearance. It’s unlikely that he disagreed with the Nevarran Accord.”

“Right,” Hawke said. “But here’s my favourite rumour. Some people think Ameridan had a secret lover who was a mage. Can you imagine?” she said with relish. “The ancient Inquisitor, famous demon and apostate hunter in the days of early Andrastianism, having a mage for a lover?”

Varric snorted in amusement. “Let me guess. You think they ran away together.”

“I certainly fucking hope so,” Hawke said. “That would be a nice happy ending, if you ask me.” She put on a playful storytelling voice. “‘Once upon a time, the Inquisitor decided that the newborn Chantry was full of shit. He took his mage lover by the hand, and they ran off into the sunset together to live a peaceful and happy life. The end.’” She patted Varric’s shoulder. “Feel free to give me a writing credit in your inside cover. I won’t mind.”

Varric and Dorian chuckled, but Fenris didn’t laugh. The Inquisitor running away with his mage lover to live a peaceful and happy life…

Cole’s voice grabbed their attention. “They need help!” he cried.

They all looked up. They weren’t far from the fishing camp, but fifty paces ahead, Bull and Blackwall and Sera were engaged in a fight with a group of Hakkonites.

“Let’s go,” Fenris said, and they bolted toward the fight. It was fairly brief; the Hakkonite warriors were outnumbered by Fenris’s party, and in a few short minutes, their foes were dead.

Dorian curiously studied the dead Hakkonite mage’s staff. “This is fascinating,” he said to Hawke. “There’s a piece of ice embedded in the head of the staff. Did you see this?”

“It’s strange, right?” Hawke said as she crouched beside him. “I saw this on another mage’s staff yesterday. Crazier yet, the ice doesn’t melt. I think it’s helping their chilling spills to be more effective. We should break down their spell later tonight so we can try and recreate it ourselves…”

Sera pulled a face. “Magey-mage magic, ugh. Any fish stew in there?” She scampered away toward the cooking fire outside the Avvar fishing camp.

Fenris, meanwhile, smiled faintly at Dorian and Hawke. He knew that Hawke had been missing her magical discussions with Dorian, especially since he’d taken on the role of her primary magical confidant after Solas’s disappearance over a year ago.

As always, Fenris shunted aside the hint of resentment and suspicion he felt at the thought of Solas. He turned to Varric. “Care to join me and chat with the locals?” he said with a nod to the Avvar. “I may need your silver tongue.”

“Aw, you really know how to flatter a guy,” Varric drawled. Together they went to speak to the Avvar fishermen.

Some twenty-odd minutes later, under direction of the fishermen, Fenris and his companions were making their way up the winding path that led to the friendly Avvar’s settlement. Just as Kenric had surmised, it seemed that the locals thought the island was occupied by spirits who were better left alone, and thus they would need the Avvar leader’s permission to travel there.

As they approached the settlement, Fenris nodded politely to each Avvar they passed. Their answering nods or murmurs of ‘lowlander’ were equally polite, but Fenris noted something strange: their eyes lingered on the glowing mark on his left hand, but not with the same fear or awe that he usually saw in people’s faces. Instead, the Avvar simply seemed curious.

Odd, he thought. Nevertheless, he loosely closed his fist as they moved further into the settlement.

The sound of cheering and shouting soon met his ears, and Hawke chuckled. “Oh my. Looks like we came just in time to see a nice display of male athletics.” She elbowed Dorian salaciously.

Sure enough, two half-clad young men were vaulting up a sheer cliff wall while a crowd yelled and clapped. On a nearby platform, a stern-faced and rangy woman who matched the fishermen’s description of their leader was standing next to a tall and muscled man, and Fenris frowned in surprise: the tall man’s body-paint matched that of the Jaws of Hakkon.

Bull grunted. “That’s strange. Didn’t expect to see a Hakkonite here.”

“It is odd,” Fenris agreed quietly. “We should find out what’s going on.”

Before they could approach the platform, the Hakkonite descended and swaggered toward them. He sneered at Fenris. “This is not my hold, lowlander,” he said. “I will not shed your blood here. You will face the full might of the Jaws of Hakkon soon enough.” Without waiting for a response, he strode away.

Hawke huffed at the Hakkonite’s departing back. “Bugger yourself, why don’t you?” she muttered. Then she smiled at Fenris. “Shall we go introduce ourselves to their leader?”

A fresh burst of cheering rose from the assembled crowd. The rangy woman was shouting now to the climbing men, who were standing at the top of the cliff. Fenris nodded to Hawke and made his way to the platform.

He eyed the rangy woman with some suspicion as they approached. She had been associating with the Hakkonite, after all. When she turned to face them, however, her expression was neutral, but her tone of voice was welcoming.

“You are the Inquisitor,” she said, with a casual glance at Fenris’s hand.

“I am,” he said cautiously. “My name is Fenris.”

She nodded. “We heard tell of your arrival. I am Svarah Sun-Hair, Thane of Stone-Bear Hold.” She stepped off of the platform and gestured for them to follow her. “Come share my fire, where we might speak.”

She led them to a warm and well-lit cave that featured a large circular firepit and a rugged throne covered in furs. She gestured politely for them to sit on the furs around the fire, then seated herself on the throne and eyed them all with the same brand of warm curiosity that seemed to be common among the Avvar. “You and your people have come far from the safety of the lowlands,” she said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We are searching for the previous Inquisitor, in fact. It is said that he died somewhere near here hundreds of years ago.”

Svarah nodded in approval. “Giving peace to the dead is a worthy quest. Any help we can offer is yours. Sadly, the Jaws of Hakkon will not offer so warm a welcome.” She settled back in her seat and gave Fenris a wry look. “You met their thane, Gurd Harofson. I wager you have crossed blades with his people in the wilderness. If you would search this place for your Inquisitor’s body, they will want you to pay in blood.”

“Why is that, if I may ask?” Dorian said. “It’s not unusual for people to hate us, but it’s nice sometimes to know the reason why.”

Svarah huffed – whether in amusement or disgust, Fenris couldn’t tell. “A fair question,” she said. “Our people believe that a wise man honours each god to its strength: Bjorn Reedbeard for fishing, Rilla of the Fireside for making babies. The Hakkonites care only for Hakkon Wintersbreath, god of war and winter.”

Bull chuckled. “He sounds like a nice guy.”

“There is no evil in Hakkon,” Svarah told him seriously. “There are times to fight. But the Jaws of Hakkon care for nothing else. They raid, they fight; eventually they die, and their stories are forgotten. It is the way of things.” She waved a dismissive hand. “They are not the first hold to take that name. All have been foolish.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “They’re not the first? There were others?”

Hawke shrugged at this. “I guess that makes sense. We’re not the first Inquisition, after all.”

Fenris tilted his head; she had a point. Then Svarah answered his question. “There was another group who called themselves the Jaws of Hakkon, many ages ago. They thought of nothing but slaughter-glory. They attacked the lowlanders, and your people fought back and destroyed them.” She shrugged unconcernedly. “They were fools.”

Blackwall sat forward with a small frown. “And the group led by this Gurd Harofson? Are they fools as well?”

“They are,” Svarah said. “They have forgotten the old ways. They came here a few years ago, after the Blight took their hold. There was land enough for both us and them, so we were friendly.” She sighed. “We did not see their anger. But Gurd Harofson lost too many in his hold to darkspawn. He thinks only of battle and war.” She gave them all a serious look. “To avenge a wrong is a good thing, but only a fool lights the world on fire to do it.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows at this sage statement, and they were all quiet for a moment.

Then Hawke sat up on her knees. “Svarah – can I call you Svarah?”

The thane nodded, and Hawke smiled. “Svarah, these Jaws of Hakkon… As you said, they’ve been hassling our people, and all we want to do is find our poor dead Inquisitor and bring him home. Is there any way we could persuade you to help us keep the Jaws of Hakkon off our backs?”

Svarah rubbed her chin. “Bathing my blade in the blood of the Hakkonites would be cause for a feast for most in this hold… but we have pledged peace with them. To attack with lowlanders at our side would make us oathbreakers. This is poor weather for me to ask that of my hold.”

Hawke nodded slowly. “Is there anything we can do to, er, improve the weather for you?”

For the first time, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Svarah’s lips. “Sharp of wit, you are. Who are you?”

Hawke smiled. “Oh, I’m Rynne! Rynne Hawke, the Inquisitor’s wife.” She patted Fenris’s thigh. “But everyone just calls me Hawke.”

“Hawke,” Svarah said thoughtfully. “Hawks are fine birds and worthy hunters. I hope you live up to the name.”

Hawke laughed. “So do I, believe me.”

Svarah smirked again, then shifted in her seat. “There is a matter you can assist us with. If you did, I would be grateful.”

“Of course,” Hawke said without hesitation – to Fenris’s mixed exasperation and amusement. “How can we help?”

“Among the Avvar, a hold draws strength from its hold-beast,” Svarah said “They are as kin to us. When our hold-beast is strong and happy, there’s joy. When it sickens and dies, it is an ill omen.” She looked at Fenris seriously. “Our bear, Storvacker, has not been seen in days. The hold fears for her. I cannot ask the hold to break peace-oaths unless Storvacker returns.”

“She a tiny bear?” Sera said.

Svarah looked at her in surprise. “No. Storvacker is a mighty hunter. Why do you ask?”

Sera shrugged. “Just thinking why your people can’t find her.”

Svarah raised an eyebrow. “A great hunt for our hold-beast would show weakness to the Hakkonites, that’s why. But if you lowlanders happen to find her…” She shrugged.

Dorian winced. “I hate to ask, but… are you certain your hold-beast isn’t, er, dead?”

Svarah shook her head. “If she were dead, the augur would know.”

“Augur?” Fenris asked.

Svarah nodded. “He gives counsel and shares the will of the gods with us. Speak to him if you would know more.”

“All right,” Hawke said affably. “We’ll speak to your augur, find Storvacker, and then maybe the sun will come out, so to speak.” She gave Svarah a charming smile.

Svarah huffed in amusement. “Find Storvacker, and we will speak again. In the meantime, feel free to look around our hold.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “We can look around?”

“You have guest-welcome here,” Svarah said. “Speak with my people and learn our ways, if you would spare the time.”

Hawke grinned at Fenris, and he smirked at her in fond exasperation. Of course Hawke would be thrilled at the thought of making friends with a new group of strangers.

He turned to Svarah and bowed his head. “You have my thanks. For the welcome, and for the information.”

Varric leaned toward him. “The island, remember?” he muttered.

“Ah. Right,” Fenris said. That had, after all, been the point of all this.

He looked to Svarah again. “We had hoped to borrow a boat to go to the island off the southern shore, but one of the fishermen said we needed your blessing.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Svarah snorted and waved a careless hand. “Bah, Rolfsen. He worries like a scared baby goat. The boat is yours. Tell him I said so.”

Fenris bowed his head once more. “Thank you. We will speak again.”

Svarah nodded in farewell as they rose to their feet. “Lady keep you,” she said.

They filed out of the cave, and Varric folded his arms and smirked at Hawke. “So if we’d just straight-out asked for the boat, she would have lent it to us without us having to search for their bear.”

She held up her hands. “I know, I know, I’m sorry! It was like an impulse, I couldn’t help it!” She gave Fenris a wheedling look. “But on the plus side, this will be funny. Finding a bear? What a lark, right?”

Fenris rubbed his mouth to hide his smile, and Dorian grimaced. “Did we ask whether it was a friendly bear? We, er, didn’t ask, did we?”

Hawke pulled a little face. “Oops.”

Bull chuckled and tweaked Dorian’s collar. “It’s a good thing your robe is black, kadan. It’ll hide the blood well.”

Dorian curled his lip. “The only one who will be getting bloody is anyone who dares to soil this damned robe.”

Hawke barked out a laugh and slung an arm around Dorian’s neck. “Come on, you beautiful fools, let’s explore and make some friends.”

“Let’s find this augur,” Fenris said pointedly. “He can tell us where to start looking for the bear.”

Hawke winked at him. “You’ve got it, handsome. Now come on, last one to eat a weird foreign treat is a rotten egg!” She grabbed Sera’s hand and pulled her toward the nearest group of Avvar.

They wandered through the settlement, and half of their party drifted away to inspect the craftsmen’s tables and speak to the locals. Fenris watched fondly as Hawke flirted and chatted with every person they passed, making even the most grim-faced warriors smile. She cheerfully introduced Fenris to everyone she met, and Fenris continued to feel bemused by the lack of fear or worry in their faces as they stared openly at his flickering left palm.

As Fenris, Hawke, Dorian and Cole made their way up the path to the augur’s cabin, Dorian remarked on the Avvar’s strangely calm response to his hand. “Do you suppose it’s because they don’t understand what it does?” he said.

“No, they’re aware,” Fenris said. One person had openly – and very casually – said that Fenris was the one who’d closed the Breach.

“You know what’s really odd?” Hawke said. “Some of the people here don’t really seem surprised by you. It’s almost like they expected you. Not in a ‘we foretold your coming’ sort of way, but in a ‘oh, you’re that fellow’ sort of way, if that makes sense.”

Cole nodded vaguely. “The augur knew, so they know. They follow, flickering, feeling, fluttering along the Fade, and he listens.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I assume you don’t mean the Avvar are following Fenris in the Fade.”

Cole shook his head. “They’re curious,” he said. “They want to know how it feels to be real.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking about spirits?”

Cole smiled in an absent sort of way. Hawke, Fenris, and Dorian exchanged a nonplussed look, and Hawke shrugged. “Well, let’s hope this augur fellow can clear things up.”

Fenris knocked on the augur’s cabin door, and a rich, deep voice called out from within. “Enter!”

He cautiously opened the door, then stopped short. A large man in furs was standing on the far side of a firepit, which contained a merrily dancing fire – bright green fire that gave off no heat.

The firepit was full of veilfire. Suddenly Fenris understood: the augur was a mage.

He frowned slightly and sidled into the hut so Hawke, Dorian and Cole could come inside, and Hawke gazed admiringly at the firepit. “Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen such a big veilfire flame before.”

The augur smiled at Fenris. “So he arrives. Come, come.” He ushered Fenris closer.

Fenris took a cautious step toward him, then stopped once more. The air around the augur was flickering and dancing with light – light that was vaguely in the shape of people…

Wraiths, he thought in alarm. The cabin was full of wraiths. Stranger yet, the augur seemed happy about their presence.

He wasn’t the only one. “Hello!” Cole said cheerfully.

The wraiths drifted toward Fenris, and he tensed instinctively. Why were the spirits approaching him? Was the augur making them do that?

Hawke took his hand, and he tried to force himself to relax. Dorian, meanwhile, was eyeing the wraiths with interest. “They’re not… harmful,” he said. “I don’t think.”

The wraiths drifter closer to Fenris, and the augur held up his hands. “Don’t throng,” he said reprovingly.

The wraiths stopped and drifted back toward the augur, and Fenris released his breath. Then the augur raised his arms ceremoniously. “Behold, worthy ones! The man who blazes like fire and mends the air.” He smiled and placed one hand on his chest. “I am the augur of Stone-Bear Hold. I greet you, as do our gods and the gods of our ancestors.”

The wraiths flickered brightly for a moment, then disappeared altogether. The augur sighed in satisfaction. “There! It is done. Now come, be welcome! I would hear news of the north.”

Fenris release Hawke’s hand and frowned at the augur. “You summoned these spirits?”

“The gods of the hold clamoured to see you,” the augur replied. “I obeyed, for I am their voice and their augur.” He chuckled and folded his arms. “And if I didn’t show you off, they would hound me for months.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Not a summoning, then, but a… a visitation?

He gestured at the veilfire. “You keep this burning on purpose to help the spirits to cross the Veil?”

The augur nodded. “I take counsel from the gods and share it with the hold. I make their will known to us, and ours to them. Their will comes to us from the Fade, and the veilfire helps me to hear it.”

“Gods from the Fade…” Hawke said slowly. She looked at the augur with wide eyes. “Your gods are spirits. The Avvar pray to spirits?”

“We offer to them,” the augur corrected. “We don’t pray like the lowlanders to a creator they think will weather all the ages.”

Hawke held up her hands. “No judgment from me. I don’t pray to anyone.”

“Respecting the gods of your hold takes little effort,” the augur told her kindly. “They protect the hold. They help drive off spirits who have gone bad with rage or gloom.” He raised his hands to the air once more. “The gods live with us. Ignore their offerings, offer them nothing, and it weakens us all.”

Dorian stroked his chin. “Do you actually think the spirits are gods, though? That they’re more than just creatures of the Fade?”

A small crease appeared between the augur’s eyebrows. “The spirits watched us even before we came from the north. They shaped themselves into our gods, and we grew to love them. Their secret gift is this: they reflect us as water does the sky. They show us what we wish to be. That image gives us strength. For that, we thank the gods.”

Hawke turned to them excitedly. “That’s like what Solas used to say, remember? He was all, ‘spirits are what we expect them to be. If you expect them to be demons, that’s what they’ll become.’” She smiled at the augur. “You all expect the spirits to be helpful and wise, so that’s how they are to you.”

“The spirits harbour wisdom in many forms,” he said. “They offer much to those who offer respect in return.”

Hawke nodded affably. “That makes complete sense. Be nice, and they’ll be nice back.” She patted Cole’s arm. “Sounds about right, don’t you think?”

“Kindness, learning, sharing across the Veil,” Cole said with a nod. “It’s very nice.”

The augur looked at Cole, and his eyes widened. “Who is this one?” he said keenly. “He has blood and bone, but… there are bonds about his form.”

“Yes,” Cole said. “I am Compassion. I know that now. I want to be here.”

The augur bowed deeply to him. “Well, this is a very great honour. Be welcome, Compassion.”

Cole smiled vaguely, and Hawke beamed at him and hugged his arm. “Aww, you’re a guest of honour here! That’s so cute!”

Dorian chuckled, and Fenris pondered it all in silence for a moment. The Avvar’s most respected advisor was a mage who spoke with spirits for guidance, and all the Avvar accepted it? It was so strange, and so vastly different from anything Fenris had ever seen before.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one other mage he and Hawke knew who had spoken with spirits for guidance.

Merrill, he thought. An instinctive surge of dislike rose in his breast at the thought of her, but it was swiftly followed by a pang of guilt. He could too easily imagine Merrill’s scolding and sanctimonious voice if she was here right now and seeing Fenris speaking to the augur in such a calm manner. She would most certainly call him a hypocrite, and… kaffas, she wouldn’t be wrong.

She wouldn’t be entirely right, either – after all, Merrill’s spirit had turned into a pride demon, and that was her fault. But Fenris himself had called on a spirit for guidance back in the Deep Roads when Hawke had needed healing.

Merrill would call him a hypocrite if she were here, and she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then looked at the augur. “You mentioned that I blaze like fire. You are speaking of this mark, I assume?” He held up his left hand.

“That is correct,” the augur said. “To those beyond the Veil, your hand burns like the watchman’s bonfire. Nearby spirits follow your mark like moths to a flame.”

“We knew that already, though,” Dorian said.

Hawke looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, that’s how we called that spirit to heal you in the Deep Roads,” Dorian said. “Spirits were near Fenris’s mark in the Fade, and Cole and I helped one to come through.”

The augur folded his arms approvingly. “You do make offerings and appeals to the gods, then. You are more in tune with our ways than you thought.”

Hawke smiled at him. “Does that mean you’ll adopt us as honorary Avvar, then?”

The augur chuckled. “That is up to our thane, not me. You would have to perform a feat worthy of a legend-mark to gain such an honour.”

Hawke lifted her chin boldly. “That sounds like a challenge. All right, my handsome sir, you’re on.”

Fenris shook his head fondly, then turned to the augur once more. “We have been tasked with tracking down your hold-beast. Do you have any suggestions?”

The augur’s expression sobered. “Ah, Storvacker. Yes. Our huntmaster last saw tracks of her near Swamp Kulsdotten. I imagine you may pick up her trail somewhere there. But be wary: the swamp is rife with creatures, and the spirits that linger there are not always kind.”

“Good thing we have our own kind spirit, then,” Hawke said, and she gave Cole’s arm another hug.

The augur smiled at her. “You are fortunate, indeed. Walk well, and may the Lady bless your search.”

They left the augur’s cabin, and Hawke smiled at them. “Well, that was fascinating. Good thing Bull and Sera didn’t come along for this, they’d be having fits. I’m going to go tell them what happened!” She pinched Fenris’s chin affectionately and ran off.

Fenris smirked and Dorian chuckled, and they followed her down the hill toward the main settlement. A minute later, Fenris shot Dorian a sideways look. “You’re being oddly quiet.”

Dorian gave him a charming smile. “I knew you missed the mellifluous sound of my voice.”

“More like I can hear you thinking, since it requires such work,” Fenris retorted.

Dorian tsked. “That’s hurtful. But I shall tell you my thoughts anyway, since I know you adore them.” He stroked his chin. “Well, you may not adore this, in fact. I was thinking that you’ve changed.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You know, with the spirits and all that,” Dorian said. “You’re very calm about it. You wouldn’t have been this accepting two years ago.”

Fenris sighed. “I know. I was thinking about this myself, in fact.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dorian assured him. “We’re all different than we were two years ago.”

Fenris gave Dorian a considering look. “Do you think you’ve changed a great deal?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose slightly. “I hope I have. I was drunk more often than not before we met.”

Fenris nodded cautiously. “You… mentioned that, yes.”

Dorian shrugged. “I was running away before all of this. I like to think I’m running toward something now, with Maevaris and the Lucerni. Something important.”

“You are,” Fenris said seriously.

Dorian smiled at him, but Fenris was distracted by the faint thrum of guilt in his belly. Dorian’s words were making him recall his earlier thoughts – wistful thoughts of running away with Hawke and leaving the Inquisition and all its trappings behind. In the context of Dorian’s comment about running toward things, toward important and worthy goals, Fenris felt a bit ashamed. It was selfish in the extreme to even consider leaving the Inquisition when so many people were demanding his help.

“Fenris, are you all right?” Dorian said.

He looked up. Dorian was frowning at him. “You seem more grim than before I left,” Dorian said. “I know your wife isn’t as pretty and charming as I, but still…”

Fenris snorted but didn’t reply. Unfortunately, Cole replied in his stead. “It’s heavy,” he said. “Waiting to be free, wanting something of his own, but weighed down, weary, worn. When will it end?”

Fenris shot Cole a resentful look. “I would rather you didn’t.”

Cole blinked back at him unrepentantly. “Dorian wants to help. Hawke wants to help too, and Varric as well.”

“He’s right, you know,” Dorian said. “If there’s anything I can do–”

“You can’t,” Fenris said. “The Inquisition is my burden.”

His tone was harder than he’d intended, and Dorian raised his eyebrows. Fenris sighed. “I appreciate your concern,” he said in a softer tone. To Cole he said, “Hawke is helping. She just… thinks she isn’t.”

“She would do more if she could,” Cole said softly. “She would take it all away from you if she had the choice.”

“I know,” Fenris said. They all fell silent for a moment.

Dorian broke the silence. “I’m… sorry, Fenris.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Then, with an effort of will, he mustered up some Hawke-like positivity and a smile. “Let us focus on finding the bear and inspecting this island,” he said. “I can think of a special role for you in luring the bear out of hiding, in fact.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “What role is that?”

“Bait,” Fenris said succinctly.

Dorian barked out a laugh. “You mean because I’m so tempting and delicious?”

“No. Because you glitter,” Fenris said. He eyed Dorian’s silver-studded robe with disdain. “The bear will see you from a mile away.”

“Ah, Fenris, don’t be jealous,” Dorian said soothingly. “I can have something equally glittery tailor-made for you anytime. Though Hawke would be jealous, I think, if you and I were to match…”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and they continued to pick on each other playfully as they wandered through the settlement. There was no such thing as an escape for the Inquisitor, but Fenris would try and enjoy the bright parts of this holiday while it lasted.

#Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenris #fenris fic #fenris the inquisitor #fenquisition #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenrynne #fhawris #pikapeppa writes #jaws of hakkon #joh dlc

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xenosgirlvents · 6 years ago

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Corsair: The Face of the Void, a very good story

I’ve spoke about this before but I was on a long drive yesterday and so listened to it again and...honestly? This is still one of my favourite Audio Dramas ever from 40k and I wish it would get some sort of continuation.

Captain Athene Santiago is an awesome lady and I love her crew. Her story doesn’t feel overstuffed with the normal 40k content but is small and light hearted whilst also taking a RADICALLLY different approach to most of the stuff.

It has the only time I’ve ever noted a Xenos and human discuss even tangentially with each other how ridiculous the Imperium’s racism is which is nice.

The characters are VERY fun; Eucalion is a Navigator who’s very childlike and adorable, she adds a lot of levity to her scenes, Connor Maj is the suffering Imperial Everyman constantly flummoxed by his life, Kytal the Enginseer is basically a 40k version of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’s Marvin and then there are my two favourite characters;

Athene herself and her Ranger ‘bodyguard’ Ophidis. Look I know people joke about Yvraine x Guilliman but, let us be honest, even from my side, someone who wished to see more interaction between them as leaders, there is almost no relationship there at all, not even as peers, the two barely acknowledge each other’s existence despite how crucial they are to each other.

If you are looking for a canon relationship which might be romantic between an Aeldari and a Human listen to this. Athene and Ophidis are...close, to say the least. Athene let’s no-one use her first name, everyone calles her Captain Santiago, Ma’am or Captain, but when they are alone, or when he is panicking, Ophidis calls her ‘Athene’. The only time he ever loses his wit or smarmy attitude is when he’s concerned for her, the opening has their ship damaged and he instantly cries very worried about her. She returns the favour later, when he almost gets himself killed to Necron, and the two share a bond no-one else on the ship understands. Sadly because the story isn’t about their past we do not know what it is that binds this Rogue Trader Captain and Aeldari Ranger so closely either. I also enjoy that she actually does honestly try to stop her crew being racist to him. At one point he tells a guard to leave them so they can talk privately but the guard refuses to move. Athene doesn’t countermand the order, or give her own order, but instead just tells the guard ‘You heard him,’ affirming that she wants the guard to treat him with defference.

It’s a nice touch since it shows she actually does honestly want him to be accepted onboard her vessel. The two even have a brief chat after it in which Ophidis laments that no matter how many times he saves the crew they still hate him, and Santiago does try to console him by stating that some of them might not hate him anymore, but that because of the INquisition and the Imperium they are all afraid to act on this.

Anyway it was a good story, a fun story and I really wish it would get some type of continuation.

#warhammer #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #eldar #aeldari #outcast #imperium #rogue trader

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wtf-skittens · 7 years ago

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Okay! I want to get myself back into writing a bit more regularly, but I need a bit of a kick in the pants. XD So! I’m gonna chuck up a list/brief description of a bunch of my Thousand Son/Shadowed Sun characters here, and ask you all, dear followers, to ask me stuff about whoever catches your attention! :D

A bit of backstory/context for the whole Thousand Son/Shadowed Sun thing: the core group of them were part of a company on board a vanguard cruiser the Aten, back in the 30k Crusade days. The Aten and some accompanying support ships were seconded to a Word Bearers Expedition fleet, to help out with the whole crusade thing. At some point they got news of the Edict of Nikea, but heard nothing specific from Magnus or the rest of the XV legion about it, so they obeyed the Edict as best they could (despite the WBs trying to subtly manipulate them otherwise).

Long story short - the Word Bearers ended up opening fire on the Aten and her supporting ships. The Aten and two destroyers managed to escape into the warp while the rest of their support ships sacrificed themselves to shield them, but the rushed jump combined with exploding warp drives too close to the translation point pushed the Aten and her two destroyers too deep into the warp, trapping them there. They were trapped for what seemed about nine years to them, and daemonic incursions were a regular problem - so much so that the company captain rescinded their adherence to the Edict, at least for while they were warp-trapped. Also during that time in the Warp, the Rubric happened, which rubricae’d about 75% of the Thousand Sons company aboard the ship, much to the remainder’s distress and confusion. It was a really shitty nine years for everyone involved.

They finally escaped the warp - approximately ten thousand years later in realspace, though they didn’t know that at the time. They found Prospero a burnt, blackened husk, and were trying to figure out wtf was going on when a small warband of chaos Thousand Sons found them. Recognising them as long-lost brothers, the Chaos TSons were all “HEY BROS man you’ve missed out a lot, come hang with us!” The Aten’s remaining TSons felt like they had little choice, at least until they’d learned a bit more about when the hell they were and what the hell was going on.

They didn’t like any of what they learned of the Heresy or the past ten thousand years, though, especially regarding the Chaos TSons use of daemons (which the Aten’s crew hate, loathe and despise after their time in the warp). So eventually the Aten’s lot launched a surprise attack on the small warband, wiping them out and blowing up their ship.

More stuff happened, but to summarise - they helped out a small group of Grey Knights and Imperial Guard fight off a tyranid splinter fleet, and in return, the GKs scrutinised the hell out of them for a while, then eventually decided that they were sufficiently loyal to Emperor and Imperium - but a squad of the GK still hang around them a lot to keep an eye on them. They’ve made some allies along the way, including a few other Space Marine chapters (one of which being Blood Ravens XD), and after some discussion and negotiation (and the help of an Inquisitor who really likes the idea of some Astartes Owing Him a Big One), the remaining Thousand Sons aboard the Aten renamed themselves the Shadowed Suns chapter, modified their insignia to match, and came up with a suitable backstory for their chapter to help stave off suspicion from other Imperials who aren’t in the know.

The Shadowed Suns are now slowly rebuilding their numbers and working on strengthening their bonds with their allied Astartes chapters, the other Imperial planets/forces in the sector, and the local chapter of the Deathwatch.

So! Here’s the actual character list! XD

Sefu: Original captain of the TSons’ company aboard the Aten. Pavoni biomancer, was suffering from the flesh change when the Rubric hit and somehow stabilised it, but now he’s stuck looking somewhat like a winged daemon prince even though he’s absolutely not one. Now acts in an advisory role, but is kept securely hidden away so Imperials don’t get the wrong idea.

Akil Amari: Corvidae diviner whose future-seeing is instinctive and not under his own conscious control. Was the main Archival librarian aboard the Aten, but was promoted (despite his protests) to acting-captain after Sefu stepped down because of the whole flesh change thing. Akil is now (again despite his protests) the official Chapter Master of the Shadowed Suns. He is very protective of both his battle-brothers and the human crews of the Aten and its two surviving destroyers, and works hard both at rebuilding his chapter and strengthening the ties of alliance and friendship with other chapters and Imperial forces. Even though he’s relatively young, as Astartes ages go, he’s already getting silver/grey streaks in his black hair at his temples.

Zuberi & Jabari: Both Athenaean telepaths, they’re twin brothers despite looking nothing alike, and their twin status is not revealed to anyone outside the chapter. Zuberi is huge even for an astartes, and often plays the role of big silent brute muscle in his role of Akil’s bodyguard, despite being an otherwise friendly, gregarious person. He also acts as Akil’s Honour Guard and/or the chapter’s First Captain, depending on situation. In contrast, Jabari is the smallest astartes in the chapter, with a lean, wiry build and a cold, calculating personality that’s almost the exact opposite of Zuberi’s warm geniality. Jabari is the chapter’s Scout Master, and also plays the role of spymaster, infiltrator and saboteur. Both twins use their telepathic abilities for information-gathering in their various roles, and also act as back-up astropaths/long range communication. Whatever one twin does, hears, or feels, the other knows about - which can sometimes backfire in combat due to feedback whiplash.

Asim: Born on Terra, Asim is the oldest astartes aboard the Aten, and is one of the original members of the XV Legion, from before the Emperor first found Magnus. A Raptora telekine, he’s sturdy, stoic and rarely speaks his opinion, but when he does, others listen. He acts as the chapter’s Drillmaster, training the neophytes and scouts in all forms of combat.

Runihura: A Pyrae pyromancer/technomancer , Runihura was mortally wounded/mutated during the fight to wipe out the traitor TSons. Refusing to abandon his brothers by dying or mutating into a mindless spawn, he hurled his consciousness/soul into an empty Defiler shell that the Traitor Sons were intending to bind a new daemon to, taking it over instead. His flesh body is now kept in stasis, while his mind/soul remain in the giant metal walker. Despite this, his cheerful optimism and cheeky humour has never waned, and though he rarely leaves the docking bay where his defiler shell is housed, he is still a source of comfort and morale-boosting to his battle-brothers.

Kamuzu: Pavoni biomancer. Originally a simple field apothecary, Kamuzu ended up as the Aten’s chief apothecary when the original chief apothecary was killed during one of the many daemonic incursions. His gruff, sardonic and sarcastic behaviour is a cover for a healer who is very good at their job. He takes his new role and responsibilities very seriously, and views injuries to his battle-brothers or the ship’s crew as a personal insult. Much of his time is dedicated to the implantation and monitoring of the chapter’s neophytes and scouts, ensuring the future of the chapter. But he will often also spend some time attempting to heal Runihura’s warped, ruined flesh - with almost no success, much to Kamuzu’s frustration.

Nassor: A Pyrae technomancer/pyromancer, Nassor specialises in heavy weapons and their payloads. Whereas Kamuzu’s sarcasm is (mostly) a cover, Nassor is straight up just a generally unfriendly, combative and argumentative person. He’s more interested in weapons and explosives than people, or even most of his battle-brothers. His preferred type of force is overwhelming.

Niu: A Corvidae diviner, Niu was gravely injured during the fighting on Kamenka Troika against the greenskins, many years before the Aten was trapped in the warp. As a result of those injuries, Niu was interred in a Contemptor Dreadnought. Before his interment, he was a very quiet, observant person, with a dry sense of humour that really only made itself known around his closer battle-brothers such as Sefu or Runihura. Now, he spends much of his time asleep, woken only for battle or some other dire need. Due to damage to the links between his sarcophagus and the dreadnought shell, he sometimes loses track of current reality, and re-lives past battles - or future ones - fighting foes that don’t currently exist.

---

Okay yikes that got longer than I thought it would, and this is only the old guard, so to speak. I still have a bunch of other, younger Sons/Suns, but I’ll cover them in another post, I think. XD

So yeah, if any of them catch your interest, please let me know! Whether it be questions/requests for more detail, possible short writing prompts, whatever! Hit me! :D

#wh40k #warhammer 40000 #thousand sons #shadowed suns

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shannaraisles · 7 years ago

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Set In Darkness

Chapter: 34 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Thoughtless

"Ah ... so this would be the clinic I've heard so much about. How quaint."

Rory snorted with laughter, not bothering to look up from where she and Evy were making the last of the clinic beds. She knew exactly who was speaking.

"Not too rustic for you, I hope?" she asked, tossing the empty pillowcase to Evy as she finished tucking the sheet and blanket securely. "How about the smell?"

"All part of your charm, I'm sure," Dorian commented from the consultation room beyond the ward. "Oh, you were talking about the clinic."

As Evy gasped in offense, Rory just laughed, straightening up to get her first proper look at her favorite characters. Debonair wasn't really a word that could be used to describe anything in Thedas, but it certainly described Dorian Pavus. Clean and dapper, he seemed exceedingly out of place amid the grime and simplicity of Haven.

"You must be the mage from Tevinter," she said in a welcoming tone, gesturing for him to come into the ward.

"Which would make you the singularly inoffensive healer Kaaras mentioned." He offered both her and Evy a florid bow. "Dorian of House Pavus, at your service. That rather delicious commander has denied me a place at the Herald's side until I am proven fit and healthy, and a touch more easily trustworthy."

"No one should trust a magister, even if you did save the Herald's life," Evy passed comment, her dark tone not quite overriding the Chantry-induced fear in her voice.

Dorian sighed at her assumption. "Not a magister, merely a mage."

"Same difference," Evy insisted, setting the pillow on the bed.

"Not in the Imperium, I assure you," the altus pointed out patiently.

"Well, I can see you two are going to get on like a house on fire," Rory said in amusement, glancing between them. "Evy, why don't you open the clinic for the afternoon? I'm sure I can handle Not-Magister Pavus here."

Frowning with disapproval, Evy took the suggestion with an attempt at not seeming eager. "I'll be just on the other side of this door," she said pointedly, more for Dorian's benefit than Rory's.

"I'll be fine," Rory promised her, managing not to smile until the door closed in the younger woman's wake.

"What wonderfully suspicious minds you southerners have," Dorian mused, contemplating the now closed door. "It's almost like being at home." His sharp gaze turned to Rory. "I take it I am to be medically assessed, yes? And you are?"

"I'm Rory," she introduced herself. "And yes, I should assess you. Not that I'm expecting to find you unfit."

"Mistress Rory, you flatter me," he declared in his cavalier way. "There are a few things I am uniquely unfit for."

"I can imagine," she chuckled, moving to take a seat at her desk. She pulled a fresh piece of parchment from the pile, loading her quill to write his name at the top, along with his birth-date, and the current date. Is it weird that I know he was born in 9:11 Dragon without needing to ask? "Do you have any existing injuries or illnesses I should know about?"

"Apart from my devastating good looks and understated charms, you mean?" he asked in that indefinably Dorian way of his. "I have nothing to report currently, aside from an intense dissatisfaction with the food here. I did suffer through a terrible bout of Nevarran 'flu a while ago."

"How long ago was that?" she queried, scribbling this down. She hoped he wasn't still carrying it - as it stood, she had no in-patients, and as the assault on the Breach loomed ever closer, she was hoping to keep it that way.

"Oh, twenty years, at least," he told her. "Long before I reached my inevitable prime. Where do you want me?"

She drew her eyes from the page. "If you could just ... Oh."

There he was - gorgeous, adorable Dorian Pavus - stark bollock naked in the middle of her ward. Hands on his hips, he was completely at home with his nudity, eyeing her sudden blush with an expectant expression. As if drawn by magic, her gaze drifted downward before she managed to look away. Well, that brings the total number of men's privates I've seen here to well over two hundred. And not one of them was Cullen's!

With her inner fangirl sobbing uncontrollably at the glorious perfection that was the Tevinter mage, Rory offered him a warm smile. "Very nice," she complimented as he flexed, aware he was trying to make her blush darker. "Now if you could put your pants back on and come over here, we can get you signed off for the commander."

"You southerners don't check for hernias, then?" he asked, reaching for his pants.

"We do, but not in the way you're obviously used to," she explained with a smile. "I have a different method that is just as effective, and doesn't require you to be completely starkers. You're not alone in stripping off, though. Pretty much everyone I've assessed has shown me everything they've got."

"Truly?" Dorian laughed, covering his lower half without even a hint of embarrassment. "How fascinating. I must admit to some curiosity as to where I fall on the scale."

"Top ten," she assured him impishly. "Easily."

"My dear girl, what a marvelous life you lead," he teased, moving to sit down with her. "Spoiled for choice."

"Oh, I've already made my choice," she chuckled, reaching for her very primitive stethoscope. "And it had nothing to do with any sneak previews."

"I believe I may have to have that story from you some time soon," Dorian warned. He'd clearly been through this kind of assessment before, sitting upright as she set about listening to his heart and lungs.

She didn't have the familiar accoutrements of modern medical science at her fingertips, but what she did have was enough to assess and diagnose, to a point. Her stethoscope was essentially just a smooth wooden tube attached to a wide sounding board, but it did the job she needed. Pulse and resps were easy to record without any equipment at all, and though she had nothing to record exact temperatures, she'd learned how to guesstimate them by the heat of a person's resting armpit. It wasn't glamorous, but it was useful, and she'd found that people like to talk to her as she worked, to distract themselves from the discomfort. That was how she knew everything that happened in Haven - on any given day, multiple people told her about everything from their differing perspectives.

"Well, I see no reason not to declare you fit," she told Dorian after about an hour of talking and prodding around, handing him his leather shirt to put back on. "I would avoid teasing the commander if you want to be declared trustworthy, though."

"You don't think he'll respond well to my irrepressible charisma?" Dorian asked her, apparently comfortable with teasing her, at any rate. Mind you, she had just inspected him from top to bottom.

"In a word? No." She chuckled lightly. "At least, not right now. He has a lot on his mind."

"Perhaps someone should offer to ease the burden of all those cares," the mages suggested thoughtfully. "Though I'm not sure he would respond well to my methods, if at all."

"I'd advise against it," Rory warned in amusement, however funny the thought of watching Cullen fielding Dorian in full flirt was.

"Indeed? Have I somehow missed the subtle signs that declare the man to be taken?" Those beautiful hazel-brown eyes of his met her gaze knowingly above a faint smirk.

"Even if I don't answer that, you're going to know what the answer is," she pointed out, quite pleased with herself for not laughing and blushing at the perceptive way he was looking at her.

"Ah, so he's yours, is he?" Dorian looked absolutely delighted with this information. "You and I simply must have a talk about his tension. Soon."

"I don't think -"

Any further response was interrupted by an exclamation of shock from the consultation room, the sound of Evy's protests, and the inner door bursting open to admit a fully-armed and -armored templar, who seemed to be expecting to find trouble. Behind him, Rory could see Evy hastily helping her patient cover her chest, trying to reassure her, and trouble was quite suddenly exactly what the templar found. She rose abruptly, her expression flat with fury.

"Get out." It wasn't a request; it wasn't even said in a particularly loud voice. Her tone was even, furious, and promised a world of pain if he didn't remove himself immediately.

"The commander said -"

"I don't give a flying fuck what the commander said," Rory snapped. "You have just interrupted two confidential consultations. Get. Out."

The templar hesitated, torn between obedience to his superior and obedience to a healer who looked as though she was about to lamp him for his unthinking impertinence. He opened his mouth, thought the better of talking back, and abruptly turned on his heel, marching out of the clinic and closing the door loudly behind himself. Rory made an attempt to school her expression, turning her attention to Evy and the now frightened elven woman her friend had been seeing.

"I am so terribly sorry about that," she apologized profusely. "Please be assured that it will not happen again. I will make certain of it." She glanced into the ward, raising an arm to gesture to her own patient. "Dorian, if you'd like to come through, please? We're just about done, anyway. Evy, bolt that door behind us so there are no more interruptions."

"What are you going to do?" Evy asked worriedly. Rory didn't often get this angry, but one thing guaranteed to flare her temper was a threat to her patients.

"I'm going to have a word with the commander," she told her friend in an ominous tone, ushering Dorian out into the village. She waited until she heard the bolt draw across, turning to the guard on duty, who just happened to be Calman. "No one goes through this door unless specifically invited by a healer or a nurse, is that clear?"

The formerly difficult guard nodded, his gaze flickering disapprovingly to the templar who had pushed past him in the first place. "Crystal clear, Rory."

Satisfied for now that her clinic was inviolate once again, Rory turned back to Dorian. "I really am dreadfully sorry for the interruption, Dorian," she apologized to him. "It's been a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, and you, Mistress Rory," he countered, ever so slightly uneasy in the presence of the glowering templar. "However shall I fill my time before we have a chance to properly socialize?"

"I'd suggest the tavern," she recommended. "Introduce yourself to Varric, he's usually there this time of day."

"Then that is what I shall do." He bowed to her, ambling past to make his way toward the sound of Maryden's first ever rendition of Sera Was Never.

Rory rounded on the templar who had violated her patients' privacy. "What were you thinking?" she demanded heatedly. "How dare you simply burst in without so much as knocking first? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

The templar - whose name was Harper, she remembered suddenly - fidgeted under her furious questions. "The commander ordered me to make sure you weren't in any trouble with the magister," he defended himself. "Said to check no matter who tried to stop me."

"Did he really." Lyrium-induced paranoia strikes again. "If this ever happens again, Ser Harper, you will knock, and you will wait to be invited inside. And if you ever force your way into my clinic again without a damned good reason, I will make sure that the next time you're in there with your pants around your ankles, the entire village gets a good look at you. Do you understand?"

Harper grimaced, but nodded. "Yes, Healer."

"Good. Now ... where is the commander?"

"In the Chantry, Healer," he told her. "Only he's not to be disturbed."

"What a shame." Rory's tone made it clear that she didn't care how busy Cullen was right now. "Go and find something to do that's quite a long way from here."

Harper gave her a grateful look and bolted for the gates. In her own turn, Rory stormed to the Chantry, pushing her way inside in the worst temper she'd had since landing in Thedas. She ignored the templars who tried to stop her at the door to the war room, forcing her way inside with such violence that the door slammed hard against the wall. Four faces turned to her in surprise, trained hands reaching for weapons before recognizing the unexpected intruder. Rylen, Brycen, and Lysette relaxed quickly, but Cullen didn't. He was the one who got the full force of Rory's angry glare.

"What is the one thing that I insist on for all my patients?" she demanded ferociously.

Cullen's jaw set, clearly taking offense at her tone. "This is a private discussion of sensitive issues," he began, but he didn't get any further.

"Which, evidently, you don't want interrupted," she snapped, laying her hands on her hips. "I could have sworn you just ordered someone not to afford me the same courtesy. You're many things, Cullen Rutherford, but I never thought you were a hypocrite."

His expression darkened as he held her glare. "Out, all of you," he ordered his senior captains. "Wait outside."

The trio hastily did as they were told, exiting the room with graceful aplomb. No one really wanted to be in the same room as that temper, and certainly not when it was about to clash head-on with the commander's. Cullen closed the door behind them, turning to scowl at Rory.

"Never speak to me like that in front of my people again," he warned in a dangerous tone.

"I will speak to you however I choose when you willfully disregard me, commander," she informed him, her voice tight with anger. "How dare you order anyone to burst into the clinic, especially when you know I'm seeing patients?"

"You were too long secluded with the magister," he told her coldly. "I was concerned for your safety."

"Oh, and I suppose as long as you feel better, the privacy and dignity of my patients, their trust in me ... that doesn't matter at all," Rory growled at him, her hand waving wildly in her agitation.

"It was just the Tevinter -"

"No! It's never just anyone!" she flared, aware that her voice was rising with impassioned rage. "You'd be outraged if you were the patient whose confidential examination was just interrupted on someone's orders, for no good reason. What the hell is wrong with you that you think doing something like this is okay?"

Cullen loomed over her, his handsome face set in stormy lines. "He's a Tevinter magister, probably a blood mage," he snarled back at her. "I will not have you putting yourself at such high risk!"

"So you wouldn't have done it if he'd been seen by Evy?" she demanded, shocked to see him hesitate. "And for your information, Dorian isn't a blood mage!"

"How can you possibly know that?" he questioned her heatedly.

"Blood mages have scars, he has none," she snapped back. "If you bothered to ask him, he'd probably show you how smooth his skin is! Honestly, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I don't want to see the woman I love become a blood sacrifice!" he roared at her, anger overtaking sense for one crucial moment.

"Yeah? Well, I love you, too, but that doesn't mean you're not an arse!" she yelled back, both of them nose to nose and breathing hard as their decidedly unromantic declarations sank heavily into the sudden silence. At least they were reciprocated.

Cullen was the one to break that silence. "I apologize for my ill-considered actions," he said sternly, too angry with her behavior to say much more. "It will not happen again."

"I'm sorry I interrupted your conference and called you a hypocrite," Rory shot back, breathing hard through her still percolating temper.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Is that all, Healer Rory?"

She hesitated, but she knew her temper was nowhere near settled enough for the conversation she now needed to have with him very soon. "That's all, Commander Cullen."

"Then, if you will excuse me, I have work to do," he said coolly, dismissing her. He half-turned back before she could leave, a flicker of something warm and hopeful in his expression. "Until tonight?"

Rory nodded slowly, feeling her anger beginning to ebb as something just as warm and hopeful flared in her chest. "Tonight," she agreed, turning to let herself out.

She caught a glimpse of the grin on Rylen's face as she passed her friend, aware of the varying levels of wide-eyed shock on the faces of others within the nave. Mother Giselle looked more impressed than anything; Minaeve's mouth was open; Josephine was peering out through her office door with silent astonishment. So much for private. It seemed as though everyone had heard that little ... discussion. And their heated exchange hadn't even begun to explain why he'd had Dorian's examination interrupted in the first place. She very much doubted it was really because Cullen suspected the altus of being a maleficar. And I may have overreacted a little, she admitted shamefully to herself, welcoming the icy breeze that greeted her as she left the Chantry building.

Breathing slowly, she let herself calm down as his unthinking roar filled her mind. The woman I love ... he loves me. Oh, please, let this not be a coma-dream.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #mgit #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dai fanfic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #evy trevelyan #dorian pavus #cullen rutherford #jealousy #insecurity #angst #arguments #declarations of love #not exactly romantic

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