#also the fact that my personal lavellan has this beautiful blonde hair thing going on for her as well makes it funnier for me

[cyanorhis]

that moment when u meet the disguised version of your culture's satan and u end up making him fall in love with you. absolutely hilarious.

you either make him regret his actions or you make him validate his actions. he will do the shit anyway so pick your poison. doomed divorce forever.

[brialavellan]

Summary: It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, 'Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Note: Elain Lavellan (who will have a more prominent role) belongs to @teknon. Please check out her amazing fic - Exalted 

CH 2: LEAD THEM OR FALL 

Briala had not visited the Grand Cathedral in many years. Not by choice and never for Faith. The gold, grim statues of Andraste and the glittering stained glass windows sent shivers up her back as she passed by them. 

Two Chantry mothers were standing nearby, giggling and pointing as she approached, bandying the word “knife ear” back and forth with enough vigor and volume for everyone to hear. Especially Briala. They were obviously young and naïve, likely lesser siblings of lesser houses, and Briala could tell they would not have lasted a day in Court. 

They were tactless and tasteless, this petty display all purely designed to humiliate her. 

She should have kept walking.

Instead, Briala stopped for a second to address them, “Good evening, sisters,” she said curtly, with just enough annoyance in her voice to simultaneously scandalize and shame them.

They glanced at her in shock, then skittered off, whispering hurried blessings to the Marquise as a blush began to freckle both of their faces.

Briala beamed. She did not always stoop to such petty displays of power, but time and her title had made her bolder, to the discomfort of many.

Well, almost everyone.

Briala kept walking, eventually reached a small two story building in the far right corner of the grounds, housing for the Hands that served the Divine. This was where ‘Manehn and her daughter, Mirwen, had taken residence since the Inquisition had been disbanded.

She had barely rapped on the door when ‘Manehn ushered her inside.

“I saw you talking to those Chantry sisters,” ‘Manehn said with a smirk as she entered the apartment, “they looked like they were going to leap right out of their robes.”

“Elves with titles still shock.” Briala replied with a small shrug as they ascended the stairs towards ‘Manehn’s private study, “and some have to be reminded that our titles aren’t meaningless.”

“And someone just likes to see Chantry mothers squirm just a little bit,” ‘Manehn said with a coy smile, “but it’s hard not to be flustered by a woman with such poise and grace.”

Briala smiled back but said nothing as they approached the study.

The Divine’s Apartments were a thing of beauty, opulent to the point of ostentatious. Every room nearly glittered from crystal chandeliers, polished marble, Serault stained glass, and gilded gold trim on every piece of furniture and along every surface. In extreme contrast, ‘Manehn’s study was sparsely decorated, containing only large mahogany bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books and loose parers, and a single, spartan wooden desk. Her dagger and prosthetic laid on top of the desk, along with a whetstone and a bloody cloth, which had been used to scrape away the bits of dried blood from the day before.

A small bed sat in the corner, well used from the many times ‘Manehn’s work had kept her sequestered in her study for days at a time.

“18 years,” ‘Manehn said as she sat at her desk, “and he waited this long to make a move in Orlais?”

“Maybe he’s waiting for all of us to die of old age,” Briala said wryly, as she sat across from her, “it would certainly help his plans if you were out of the way.”

“Well, he’s immortal, he has all the time in the world,“ ‘Manehn said, brushing her hair back, exposing the small slivers of gray sparsely sprinkled through her short black hair. “Me, not so much.”

“But are his followers willing to wait?” Briala asked. “Some may tire of waiting so long for the future he promises. I don’t need intel to know that there are fractures we could exploit.”

“Well, whatever future they think they’re getting, they’ll be a teeny bit disappointed.” ‘Manehn said, leaning back in her chair. “But all that’s irrelevant when I have no reliable leads, and no credible reports on his activities, machinations, or even his whereabouts….”

She plucked a piece of parchment from a drawer on her desk and handed it to Briala.

“Was this the evidence you found about elves working with Fen’harel?”

“No idea,” ‘Manehn said with a sly grin, “but it shut the Grand Cleric up.”

“Clever,” Briala said with a small smile, plucking a bloodstained parchment from her small satchel and placing it on the desk. “From the agent who betrayed me yesterday.”

“Does it have any useful information?”

“I have no idea. It’s in a cipher. Probably the same cipher as the one on the note you found.”

“Can you break the cipher?”

“Maybe. In a few weeks,” Briala said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Besides, the cipher has very likely been changed, based on how the paper is relatively aged.”

“So, we have nothing but a useless piece of paper and a bunch of dead elves,” ‘Manehn said, with obvious annoyance.

“So pessimistic,” Briala teased, “Don’t you want a lead on past activities? This is the closest thing to a history on his movements or objectives that we would have.” She took the paper and showed it to ‘Manehn. “For example, we know his agents are foolish enough to not burn their correspondence.”

“And depending on the disorganized mess that was the previous assassination attempt,” Briala continued, “this might be a disaffected group, gone rogue. Maybe they aren’t his at all.”

‘Manehn leaned back in her seat, contemplating Briala’s words. “Could they be ours? As in ‘recruit them’?”

“I doubt it. They are likely very angry with him, feel he’s lied and betrayed them -”

“Oh yeah? His allies feel betrayed and like he’s lied to them? How shocking,” ‘Manehn said, her voice steeped in bitterness.

Briala shook her head. “You need to stop carrying this burden.”

“I would, if others would let me.”

“Vivienne doesn’t care, or the Divine. In fact, do any of your friends care?” Briala reached across the desk with an outstretched hand, “I don’t care. I want you to put this away. Anger only carries you for so long.”

“Unless you have nothing left to replace it with,” ‘Manehn said before rising to her seat and walking towards the door. 

“Do we have any other business?”

Briala shook her head.

“Feel free to stay as long as you like, of course,” ‘Manehn said, “or you can come to the meeting later. Your choice.”

“’Manehn, I -” Briala tried to call after her, but she was already gone. She placed her head in her hands and let out a long exasperated sigh.

I do understand. More than you know.

‘Manehn left her apartments and walked towards the Grand Cathedral. Every step felt like quicksand. Her head throbbed with a dull pain, her eyes still slightly burned from the toxic cloud cast last night, and the stump of her left arm was tender and swollen. She had never felt so aged, so powerless in so many years.  The dull pain mixed with self doubt, swirling around and haranguing her. She quickened her pace, a futile attempt to escape from the sickening swelling in her chest, until she heard a voice call from the nearby garden.

“’Manehn!”

She turned and saw Vivienne, now dressed in red and white, her braids pinned into a large bun that rested comfortably on top of her head, gently waving her over as a small sister with cream-colored blonde hair and a progressively whitening face squirmed in place, like a mouse in a sickly, sticky trap.

‘Manehn promptly changed course and greeted Vivienne with a small bow, eyes glancing at the scared sister standing next to her.

“Good to see you again in much more pleasant settings,” she turned towards the Chantry sister, now shaking in place, “and hello to you as well, sister.”

The scared sister gave a panicked yelp, returning her greeting with a flurry of frightened apologies. 

“You may go now, my dear,” Vivienne said, with the slightest snarl and a matching smile. “Give my regards to Carolina.”

‘Manehn could barely stifle her laughter as they walked to a secluded spot, a stone bench beneath blossoming cherry trees where both spent many days over many years, before both had gray hairs and wrinkles at their eyes.

“Might I ask exactly what heinous crime that sister committed?” ‘Manehn asked, with no small amount of delight, “She has so little color left in her, I almost believed for a second that you literally murdered her.”

“As opposed to metaphorically, I assume?” Vivienne said.

“Your tongue turned against an enemy was always more terrifying than your magic.”

Vivienne laughed, bringing her hand delicately to her face to hide her smile. “Don’t trouble yourself. She was just a fool with little sense, and even less dignity.” 

“Should I?,” ‘Manehn said, with some incredulity. “She obviously caused me great offense.”

“And the offense she cause me was greater,” Vivienne said. “She tried to play to play the Game against a person who is defenseless, who never leaves these grounds unless I am with her, and who is, again, wearing shades and patterns almost thee years out of style because she is not allowed to keep up.”

“You’re talking about my daughter.”

“Who you also have yet to bring to court in any capacity of importance,” Vivienne added. “She is eighteen now, is she not? You cannot protect her from the Game, my dear. She is playing whether she is here or not. The sister wished to play. I cannot be her intermediary. I cannot play for her.” 

“She’s still too young,” ‘Manehn said, an immediate and swift protest to the notion. “They’ll tear her apart.”

“Then you must teach her how to defend herself,” Vivienne said, with greater sternness. “Do you honestly believe they don’t whisper the same slurs that they do here? She is an intelligent, insightful and measured young woman with plenty of wit and a quiet, unassuming charm that would put many nobles dangerously at ease. She would do far better than you think. Now let us leave before Cassandra’s impatience overwhelms her.”

There was nothing but contemplative silence between them both at they made their way in the Cathedral, to Divine Victoria’s study.

“I have two things to say,” ‘Manehn said and she pushed open the solid oak doors with her shoulder, “I’m sorry I left you alone and I’m quite impressed.”

“I know to use a blade!” Cassandra said in protest.

“No, I mean, with the ceremony,” ‘Manehn said with a small laugh. “I know it’s something you hate, and I know Vivienne had to convince you….actually…” ‘Manehn turned back to Vivienne, “how did you convince her?”

“Because she knows it is what must be done, whether she likes it or not,” Vivienne said with a smile and a soft glance, “one of your many positive attributes as Divine.”

“And you have been a more-than-sufficient advisor to me - I mean, to the Chantry on the Circle and magic,” Cassandra said with a small blush rising to her cheeks as she stumbled on her words.

 “If we could,” ‘Manehn said, “we have to go over a few things. We should probably, for example, talk about the assassination attempt that just happened.”

“And Grand Cleric Natalie’s attempt to deflect attention from herself,” Vivienne added. “The guilty dog barks the loudest. She should be carefully watched.”

“I know she has always spoken very poorly of you, ‘Manehn,” Cassandra began, “but she has been one of the Chantry’s strongest supporters. Would she really gain so much?”

“If she can blame your death on her, certainly. We can’t mistake an alliance for an ally.” Vivienne turned by towards ‘Manehn with a strong reprimanding tone. “And I know you’re still used to doing things your way. I understand. But, in all respects, we serve the Divine first. We cannot afford a wasted opportunity or a careless mistake because you feel yourself a martyr for a cause we all have a stake in.”

“Vivienne, I -”

“Ran off and left Cassandra vulnerable when I was already scouting for signs of malcontents,” Vivienne said, “trust us to do our jobs and you should do yours.”

“Of course,” ‘Manehn said with a slight glare. 

“Speaking of malcontents, I assume you’ve found something in that note?”

“No idea,” ‘Manehn said, “it could be a recipe for Orlesian lamb for all I know. We’ll decrypt it. Not in enough time to gain actionable intelligence of course.” Vivienne and Cassandra shook their heads, “and that’s if it’s not an attempt to redirect our attentions to the wrong - AAAAHHH!!!!”

‘Manehn fell to the floor, a loud ringing and a pulsing pain filling her skull, screaming NO at a furious pace. Vivienne and Cassandra rushed to her side, but the spell had already passed.

Unwilling to frighten them further about magics they were already uncomfortable with, ‘Manehn merely stood up and waved them off, “Sorry, probably too little water,” she said. Cassandra and Vivienne looked at her with suspicious glances but said nothing. 

“Our agents would be able to confirm so, correct.”

“Briala’s and Charter’s, yes,” ‘Manehn said. “I’m certainly no spymaster. However, Davhalla has been kind enough to give me an update on events from the last Arlathvhan.”

“And?” Cassandra said expectantly, ”surely they wouldn’t care about allies if this is their evil God from their legends.”

“A lot of them still hate me, a lot of them don’t want to help the Chantry under any circumstance, and I don’t think we could raise any sort of sizable army or even an alliance with the Dalish.” ‘Manehn said, shrugging her shoulders, “Not unless the Scion of Andruil gives her blessing. If she demanded it, they would rise. ”

“And the Blades of Andruil you mentioned before?”

“Will always help against a great cause. But they aren’t an army. And I’ve probably alienated the Scions just by calling for their assistance.”

“I’ve never seen a more fickle people in my life,” Canssadra muttered.

“And it required treaties and arm twisting to raise enough humans for a Blight, did it not?” ‘Manehn retorted, “it seems Davhalla and her supporters will have to do some arm-twisting as well. Keeper Lanaya, Hawen, Solan - mainly Southern clans, they’d be more willing. The Scions, especially Elain, could coax the rest of them to battle...”

“Just use what you can,” Vivienne said “I have my connections in the Court, we’ll have more resources yet.”

“And the Chantry has the Templars as well as the Mages,” Cassandra added. “I want to make sure we use them wisely.”

It was afternoon when ‘Manehn finally dared to attempt to speak with her daughter. She was not particularly thrilled by the idea, not because of lack of love, but because Mirwen would be angry with her. As usual.

She rapped on the door, once, twice, a third time before Mirwen answered.

“Come in,” she called out.

‘Manehn cracked the door open and was greeted by a surly face and an icy glare.

Mirwen was a muted version of her mother in all respects. Her skin was a lighter tan with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were smaller and a light indigo with faint yellow flecks like gold-leaf and her hair was a mousy brown shaped into a mop of barely contained curls - a sharp contrast to her mother’s striking black hair, bright eyes, and beautiful dark copper hue. Few features gave away even the slightest hint of an identity of the father except her mannerisms. ‘Manehn took no credit for her daughter’s soft spoken, intelligent and thoughtful demeanor that rarely gave way to impulse and anger.

She was easy to hide under her mother’s shadow.

And both of them had preferred it this way. Mirwen had wanted to stay as far away from attention as possible, as much as ‘Manehn was unwilling to let attention be drawn to her.

But that long protective shadow had begun to creep and constrain Mirwen, and comfort had been replaced by restlessness as she grew from childhood to almost-adulthood. What was once refuge and sanctuary had become a gilded cage. And the harder Mirwen fought to break free, the tighter ‘Manehn’s grip would become.

Therefore, her response, and her first words to her mother in days, were no surprise.

“It might have helped you to have another mage there in attendance, like myself, instead of leaving the Divine.”

“She’s well protected, da’len. I am trained. I’m not useless in a fight anymore.”

“I have been trained all my life in all magics short of blood magic and I am just to sit here all my days unless Vivienne convinces you to let me outside for once?”

‘Manehn clenched her teeth, “You are -”

“Am I your daughter or your lapdog, Mother?”

“Too young.” ‘Manehn snapped. “Far too young and inexperienced in the Game or battle to treat it with the seriousness it deserves.” 

“ I will not learn if you do not involve me. I only wish to -”

“And you’re definitely too young to get involved in war!” ‘Manehn promptly cut her off. “Just because many children do go to war doesn’t mean they should. I’m not sending you on the battlefield”

“You cannot shield me forever. Not if Solas wins.”

‘Manehn let out a long sigh. She was right, of course. They were right. She looked at Mirwen with sad, weary eyes. This was not what she had planned for her - a future of conflict. “This is not a fight for children, and not a fight you should even be involved in.”

“No, it is not, but I don’t want to wait to die, Mamae,” Mirwen said, her tone soft and comforting. She knew her mother’s reluctance was out of love, at least. Even if she hated it. Even if she wished nothing more than to rid the world of this existential threat. 

‘Manehn finally relented.

“If there is an opportunity to use your talents or train you in the Game,” she said, “I will involve you. I don’t want you near a battlefield, but you’re smart enough that I see no reason that you can’t help with research. If you want.”

Mirwen rushed towards her mother and wrapped her in a warm embrace, incredibly uncharacteristic, but ‘Manehn returned it gladly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

A small shudder crawled up ‘Manehn’s back as Mirwen gleefully raced past her and towards the vestibule. She had known enough regret and pain. She did not wish Mirwen to know even a fraction of what she could. 

For her sake.