#and I use everyone being all injured as a reason to have everyone in skyhold together til they’re all healed up

[lavellander]

being mentally ill about the journey to skyhold again but this time it’s about how everyone would be on death’s door upon arrival and it’s dumb that we see the inq and advisors just stroll on into the main hall completely normal

[elisaphoenix13-cullrian]

Barely Breathing (But Still Alive) (Ch. 10)

The road to Skyhold may as well have been mountains. It was as if the wagon they pulled Dorian in hit every single rock or crack in the earth and the mage was miserable. He was unable to sleep while they traveled, and it eventually got to the point where Dorian healed himself as much as he possibly could.

Then got out of the wagon when they stopped to rest.

He winced as his feet met the ground and held his chest as it tugged at his wound, but fortunately didn't open. “I'll have better luck walking to Skyhold,” he mumbles to himself.

The Inquisitor walks around the wagon and stops to stare at Dorian. “What are you doing? You need to rest!”

“Your idea of rest is finding every out of place rock in Thedas,” Dorian almost snaps. “It has caused me more pain than being on my feet!”

Trevelyan frowns then looks around at their companions and Inquisition agents. “We'll camp here for the night. I think we could all use a good night's sleep.”

Dorian said nothing as tents were put up by the agents. His pain admittedly made him cranky and he wasn't feeling very amiable, even when an agent gave him an extra blanket and the comfiest cot they carried. Which wasn't saying much. Comfort wasn't high on their priorities out in the wilderness.

The only reason he wasn't quite literally conjuring thunder around him was because it was nice to watch Cullen. He was securing the perimeter of the camp and giving orders to the agents as if he were born to do so and it was…appealing. It was a soothing balm to Dorian's irritation to watch the commander take charge and make sure they would be safe for the night. Cullen even glanced over at him when Dorian had to lean against the wagon when his energy ran low and his wound began to flare in pain.

An obvious reminder that traveling in the bumpy wagon was not as awful as he thought.

“Here, sit,” Cullen says softly when his hand lands on Dorian's arm.

Dorian looks at him and frowns. He hadn't even realized when the man approached. “I'm alright.”

“Magic can only heal you so much,” Cullen says. “You still lost blood and you need to rest to recover from that.”

“I would be fine if I could actually sleep in the wagon,” Dorian finally snaps, immediately frowning when Cullen sighs. “I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”

“We're trying to make the trip smooth. It should start getting better,” Cullen says as he leads Dorian away from the wagon and to a log that a couple of agents had dragged over. “How are you feeling otherwise?”

“Tired,” Dorian admits. “Still a bit sore.”

Cullen nods and walks away momentarily, coming back moments later with a flask of elfroot potion. “We were able to procure a couple from a camp we passed by earlier.”

Dorian thanks him and takes the potion, relaxing on the log as everyone settles in for the night. Even though he was injured though, he didn't like sitting around and not helping. So the very least he could offer in the way of help was to light their campfire. He sighed softly as the flames warmed him and he was already easing into sleep. His exhaustion was catching up to him, and so an agent made sure he had dinner before he fell asleep. Varric made sure he actually made it to his tent.

For about an hour, Dorian dozed in his cot, kept warm by his extra blanket and whenever Cullen came in. He began to wonder if the commander would actually sleep or if he had a terrible habit of worrying over every little detail. Dorian never found out though. He fell into a deep sleep, hardly even remembering his dreams, until he was woken up at the break of dawn by none other than Cullen. Dorian remained half asleep and groggy as the commander led him out of his warm bed and into the brisk morning, and then into the wagon where more warm blankets waited for him. By then, Dorian was awake enough to recognize the kind gesture, so he got himself comfortable without a fuss. Cullen was trying to make sure the rest of their trip was less painful for him and he appreciated the thought.

As he was falling back asleep though, he felt another blanket cover him and Dorian cracked an eye open to find Cullen’s cloak lying over him. The soft-hearted fool.

The wagon jolted into movement and instead of jostling his wound, it was comforting. The blankets dulled any rocks they might have rolled over and the cracks in the road didn't bother him either. In fact, the swaying lulled him straight to sleep. His dreams were peaceful at first, but then something changed. The Fade changed around him and Dorian found himself in a building. At first he thought it was Skyhold because of all the stone, but nothing was familiar about it. There were doors and stairs, all of which led to what looked like bedrooms, but as he climbed higher in his curiosity, he came across a library. Two floors of bookcases surrounded him, and if it weren't for the foreboding feeling Dorian felt in his gut, he might have thought he was in heaven.

While he had never seen this place before, it still felt familiar, and the dread only got worse the more he climbed. When he began to see blood and viscera, Dorian had a feeling he knew exactly where he was and he hoped he was wrong. He hadn't come across demons, but there were bodies growing in numbers as he got closer and closer to the top, and when he reached the stairs to the top floor, Dorian had the sudden urge to run. To turn around and forget everything he saw…and he almost did. But then he heard whispering. The kind that set him on edge and made his skin crawl.

Demons.

Against his better judgment, Dorian pushed forward, climbing the stairs and opening the door at the top, and froze. The room was covered in the blood and viscera he had seen on the way, a few bodies were piled nearby, and a barrier of blood sat just a few feet away. In the middle of it, Cullen was on his hands and knees, muttering the Chant of Light to himself and so young. Dorian thought he was going to be sick. This poor boy had watched his fellow templars get slaughtered by demons and abominations alike and here he sat being tortured within an inch of his life. He looked famished and weak…but somehow still strong and sane. 

The demon nearby wasn't deterred in the slightest. It continued to whisper to Cullen in its scratchy, otherworldly voice, and he continued to ignore him. It was when Dorian finally understood why the commander was still plagued with his nightmares. He wasn't just haunted by his past. This demon…this demon of despair had latched onto Cullen. Visiting the man in his dreams at every opportunity. The thought made Dorian enraged.

“No more,” Dorian hisses out, successfully drawing the attention of the demon. “I won't let you hurt him anymore!”

The demon screeches in surprise when Dorian flings a bolt of lightning at it, and then follows with another when it lunges at him. When it falls back, the mage traps it in a cage of thunder.

“Another mage come to hurt the little Templar?” It hisses.

“To help him. He deserves rest and forgiveness. I will not let you feed on him any longer. Begone.” Dorian sends a fireball into the cage and watches as the demon screams as it burns into ash. A sense of relief washed over him when nothing remained and he finally turned his attention back to the trapped Templar.

Except, Cullen was no longer trapped by the barrier. He looked confused as he observed his new situation, and when his eyes landed on Dorian, his face shuttered into neutrality. “Another demon? You can try to–”

“No,” Dorian says softly. “You don't need to be afraid any longer.” As Cullen studied him carefully, possibly looking for signs of possession, Dorian approached him as if he were an injured animal. In a way he was.

“Don't come any closer!” Cullen barks out, making Dorian stop.

“Oh amatus…what have they done to you?” Dorian whispers, foolishly reaching out because all he wanted to do was comfort him.

Cullen didn't take kindly to the action and unsheathed the sword he still had on his hip. “Step back,” he snarls.

“Cullen–”

“Do not familiarize yourself with me, demon! I know your tricks!” Then Cullen was raising his sword and Dorian threw up his arms to cover himself.

“CULLEN!”

Dorian woke with the commander’s name on his lips and sweat rolling down his face. When he looked to the back of the wagon, he found the man in the exact same position he left him in his dream and his heart leapt to his throat. But the next moment, Cullen was attacking someone just out of Dorian's sight and all he heard was his victim's death rattle. They must have been ambushed while he slept and fought his own battle.

The brief chaos Dorian had woken to was already over though, and Cullen was crawling into the wagon to check on him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, frantically searching him for any new wounds, confusion plastering his face when he finds none. “I heard you yell for me.”

Dorian lays back and wipes his face free of sweat. “Just a nightmare. Were we ambushed?”

“Some red templars. There weren't many though.” 

An unearthly sound pulls their attention to the opening of the wagon, and Dorian immediately sends out an explosion of lightning at the approaching red templars, sending it flying into a nearby tree. When it falls to the ground and remains unmoving, he drops his hand in exhaustion. He may not have been injured in the Fade, but he had still been weak and he overworked himself there and only made it worse with the spell. He felt worse than he had when he was shot with the arrow, and he must have looked as bad as he felt because Cullen was looking at him with renewed concern.

“You look unwell.” When Cullen pulled off his cloak that still laid over Dorian, the mage whimpered when he began to undress his bandages.

“Commander!” Trevelyan rushes into view and looks in. “Are you injured? Dorian?”

“I'm alright,” Cullen reassures him, sighing softly when he finds whatever he was looking for. Dorian was too tired to look down at his chest and check. It didn't hurt more than usual. “Mana exhaustion. What did you do?”

“What I had to,” Dorian murmurs. He didn't think Cullen would understand. He almost didn't. It shouldn't have been possible for Dorian to visit Cullen's nightmares without the man sleeping, but it was possibly explained by their bond. The bond that he was growing to love and appreciate with every waking moment. 

Cullen only looked at him with growing concern before he covered him with his cloak again. “We'll be in Skyhold soon. Rest.”

Dorian almost didn't notice the chill in the air until the commander had said something, but the blankets and his cloak had easily kept the mage warm.

“He's feverish,” he hears Cullen say as he moves away to leave the wagon. “There aren't any signs of infection, fortunately.”

“He'll be alright once he gets back in his own bed,” Varric says as the wagon starts to move again.

It easily pulled Dorian back to sleep because he was so tired, and he didn't even dream. Not that he remembered anyway. Oblivion cradled him all the way to Skyhold, and he only woke long enough to feel himself being carried. If he really focused, he could feel the stretcher underneath him and voices garbled into one around him. He felt a cooling sensation on his chest and then he was warm again. Dorian felt the softness of a bed beneath him when he was moved again and then it was quiet. Not quite silence, but he could hear a fire crackling and even the sound of…clacking? He couldn't quite place the sound. He dozed for a while longer until he finally opened his eyes and found himself in his room back in Skyhold. The fire was easily explained then.

Another clack pulls Dorian's attention near the fire and he finds Cullen sitting at a small table with a chessboard. “I almost expected to find you doing paperwork,” Dorian mumbles.

Cullen looks up from the board and smiles meekly as he looks down. Dorian follows his gaze and barks out a laugh when he finds piles of paperwork on the ground. He regretted the laugh since it made his chest hurt, but Dorian still felt better waking up to Cullen being nearby.

“We must stop meeting like this,” he jokes.

“I agree,” Cullen moves a piece on the board. “I have to admit that standing vigil over you has given me the opportunity to hide. Being absent for a week has put me behind.”

Dorian frowns. “You did not need to come to my rescue. I don't want to be the reason you fall behind with your duties.”

Cullen slowly looks over at him with a soft smile that baffles Dorian. “I did…and I would do it again. I meant it when I said that you are important to me.”

Dorian sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “You cannot come to my rescue every time I get hurt.”

“No,” the man agrees quietly. “But you can be sure that I'll try. I am a better man after having met you…and all I want is to give you whatever you've been deprived of until now.”

Dorian already knew it. Cullen had made sure of it. Now he couldn't think of life without the commander and was finding himself looking around every corner, whether physical or rhetorical, in the hopes of seeing him. Cullen made him feel special. Feel loved. Worthy. He was turning into a lovesick fool.

“The things you say, Commander.”

[writtenjewels]

Worry

Skyhold had a different rhythm when the Inquisitor was away. Everyone went about their business as usual but any news from the Hinterlands was treated with urgency, even if it ended up being nothing of importance. Finally after nearly a fortnight of absence, they got news that the Inquisitor was coming back. It was almost like the castle itself breathed a sigh of relief.

Cullen would have liked to greet the party at the gate, but he was busy with his duties. Once he was free he headed to the library. Dorian was not there. How strange... But then Cullen thought of the mage complaining about the travel, and concluded he was relaxing in Herald's Rest. The mage wasn't there, either. Concern stirred in him. He headed up the stairs where Sera usually stayed.

“Hello, mister boss pants,” she greeted. She was sprawled across the window seat, one leg dangling off the side.

“Hello, Sera.” Well, she looked all right, at least. “Did everything go all right in the Hinterlands?”

“ 'Course it did.”

“And everyone is all right?”

“Well, Fancy Breeches went to the healers, but--”

“Dorian was injured?” Cullen interrupted. That was all he needed to hear. He headed back down the stairs and out the door. He hurried across the courtyard where the healers set up their tents. Cole was there helping as best he could. The boy still hadn't gotten used to everyone seeing him but he was doing good work. Cullen glanced around until he spotted Dorian's unmistakable figure.

There was relief at first, and then confusion. Dorian didn't look hurt at all. In fact, he was chatting amicably with one of the healers. Cullen approached and sat down heavily. He couldn't see anything wrong with the mage at all except... why were his feet in a tub of water?

“Oh, good, there you are,” Dorian acknowledged, pulling his wet feet out of the water and immediately plopping them onto Cullen's lap. “My feet are so sore from all the walking. Would you massage them for me?”

“Get those wet feet off my trousers,” Cullen huffed, shoving the mage off. “When Sera said you were here, I thought you were actually hurt. But you're just wasting the healers' time.”

“I'm gracing them with my charming presence,” Dorian retorted. “That is hardly a waste of time.

“Waiting, wondering, the sun slips past the horizon again,” Cole muttered. “News but it's nothing, not the words he wants. The sea's tide has not yet come back in.”

“And here I thought you becoming more human would cause you to make more sense,” Dorian sighed. Cullen pushed up on his feet. Since Dorian was all right, he had no reason to linger here. And why on earth had he rushed over in the first place? He hadn't thought about it, only acted.

He wanted to be annoyed that Dorian was being his usual theatrical self, but really Cullen was just happy the mage wasn't hurt.

[fairfaxleasee]

DADW Killer Gnomes (Part II)

@rangeredacted gave me the amazing/terrible suggestion to write something about killer garden gnomes for @dadrunkwriting. I wrote Part I last week (you can check it out here but couldn't finish because I had my second COVID shot.

But here's the end, in all it's bloody, camp horror glory:

Cullen pushed Solas out of his way and strode out of his office. He looked around for any sign of the blighted gnome the Inquisitor had brought back to Skyhold (he didn't care what Solas said, Ayala Trevelyan had brought the thing into the castle, she was responsible for everything that happened because she did - besides, if she hadn't put it in the garden, he wouldn't have taken it out of the garden and awoken it).

"Commander, as distasteful as we both find the idea, might I suggest things would proceed more smoothly if we were to work together to attempt to contain the gnomes you've released?"

"For the last time, Solas! This was not my fault!"

"Debatable, Commander. And while I am perfectly willing to engage you in such a debate, I do not believe that this is the time for such a discussion. If you would listen, I believe even you would not miss that we have bigger concerns than laying blame." Solas paused and inclined his head slightly. Now that the man wasn't lecturing him, Cullen could hear the screaming coming from several directions around Skyhold.

Cullen pursed his lips and glared.

"It is pleasing to see that you are occasionally capable of being rational. Perhaps you will realize that the entire situation was your fault after all."

As tempting as it was to push the man off the parapet they were on and into the carnage below, Cullen decided against it. Solas might be still be useful, and he could always push him later.

"Alright, Solas. You want to work together? Fine. What do you suggest we do first?"

"Well, that depends, Commander. Just how many scouts that seem to have on concept or concern whatsoever for their surroundings wander around here?"

"Too many." Cullen crossed his arms.

"Then I believe we should assume that the screaming is not coming from them and that they have already been... repurposed by the present adversary. We should therefore also assume that there are too many of the gnomes wandering around to attempt to capture them. As such, I believe the first thing we should do is find Ayala."

"So help me Solas, if you just want to check and make sure your girlfriend is okay -" Cullen didn't have an end to the threat, but judging by Solas' face he wouldn't have heard it anyway.

After a few seconds of silence, the man opened his mouth and drawled. "Not that I have any expectations at all that you will listen to me about this, but I am in no way concerned about Ayala's safety. I have every confidence she is perfectly fine, which is the reason I believe we should seek her out. Neither my magic nor your shields are any sort of match for her barriers."

The fact that Solas had a point about why finding Ayala was their best move only made the entire situation worse somehow. He exhaled through his nose and spoke through gritted teeth, "...fine. Where'd you leave her?"

Solas looked up and shook his head in a gesture Cullen hated. "I did not 'leave' her anywhere, Commander. Last I saw, she was on her way to the kitchens."

"Alright, we'll go to the kitchens then," Cullen took a step away from the apostate, but the man obviously had other plans because he tugged Cullen back towards him by his jerkin.

"I believe we should go around the long way. Unless, of course, you wish to meet a similar fate to your scouts."

Cullen looked down at the carnage in the coutryard below. "I... fine. You have a point."

Taking the long way around to the kitchens took a bit more work than Cullen would have liked (particularly when Solas lept effortlessly across the gap in the roof to get from the parapet to the main castle and had to keep Cullen from falling off - he'd never live that one down). Of course, Cullen liked what they found in the kitchen even less than he'd liked getting to the kitchen.

Ayala was kneeling on the floor next to the table and was handing out kernels of popcorn to individual gnomes while engaging them in what she seemed to think was perfectly normal conversation despite the fact that they were covered in blood and viscera.

"No, I already told you you can't have another one before everyone gets one."

"Bar-ra-rrr!"

"I'm not sure we have any more I can make."

"Ra-rargh-arr."

"Uhhh... I think they keep it in the larder? If you bring up more from there, I can make more and then you can have some."

"Rargh-arg-rarr."

"Well then you're not getting any more until everyone else gets one. Now scoot." She picked up the protesting gnome and put it aside from the line that had formed in front of her, then tapped it slightly to encourage it to move.

"Grrr-rar-rr..." The gnome saw Cullen and apparently decided to work out is frustration on being denied popcorn on him as it clawed its fingers and began running directly towards him. Cullen lashed out with a quick kick that launched the thing toward the nearest wall where it shattered and released a large cloud of dust.

"Is that dust something we have to be worried about?" Cullen glared as he directed the question at Solas.

"Not unless you are allergic. However, it does mean that was not the original gnome. The original gnome will not be destroyed so easily."

"Lovely." Cullen started striding towards Ayala, who had resumed handing out popcorn.

The gnomes waiting in the line took offence to Cullen's movements, but unlike the one he had just kicked, their protests weren't aggressive. One of them rapped his boot with its fist and gesticulated angrily between Cullen, the popcorn, and the back of the line. Cullen glared down at the thing. He was in no mood to be lectured on manners by a blood-covered, killer garden gnome.

He reached the table and grabbed the bowl of popcorn away from Ayala. She looked up at him in alarm. "Hey! That's mine!"

He was denied the opportunity to respond to her protest by the entire line of gnomes turning on him. He tried throwing the popcorn on the ground, but the gnomes were far more interested in trying to tear him apart than whatever they wanted the popcorn for. "Solas? A little help?"

"Perhaps you should think of this as a lesson in taking things that aren't yours, Commander. Besides, if you can't handle a few statues, perhaps the Inquisition should be seeking someone else for your position regardless."

Cullen threw whatever gnomes he could get his hands on at Solas (and annoyingly kept missing, the man was just as slippery in his movements as his words). Between that, his kicks, and the fact that he was in armor, he managed to get rid of the blighted things without being injured that badly in the process.

He shook out his jerkin just to make sure none of the creatures were hiding in it. Once he was convinced that the kitchen was currently free of them, he turned back towards Ayala. She and Solas were whispering to each other, but more concerning than that was one of the damn gnomes that was perched on her shoulder. The thing spotted Cullen and stuck its fingers in its mouth and protruded a stone tongue in his direction. Cullen snarled and stalked over to the pair (three?) of them. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out for the gnome, only to be thrown back against a far wall by one of Ayala's barriers.

"...Inquisitor, we've talked about you looking before you lash out with a barrier!"

"You surprised me!"

I surprised her. She was feeding an entire line of blood-covered garden gnomes popcorn and I surprised her!

Cullen thought he saw a grin flash across Solas' face before he turned back to Ayala.

"Vhenan, do you recall finding the ring your friend here was describing?"

"Yeah, Cullen took it." She pointed towards him. "But I can find it. He puts all the stuff in his office."

Cullen growled as he stood and dusted himself off. He decided to ignore the unfounded accusation and instead try and figure out just what was being discussed while he was busy trying not to die. "What ring?"

Ayala and the gnome walked out the door leading to the castle proper, leaving Cullen alone with Solas. All things considered, Cullen would rather have been left along with the gnome.

"There is a ring that will allow an individual some modicum of control over the gnomes. They appear willing to work for Ayala, so long as she can supply them with popcorn."

"Why," Cullen wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, "Do they want popcorn?"

"In all honestly, Commander, I have no idea. I admit, I was under the impression that the creatures did not eat, however it does not appear that giving them access to popcorn causes any harm. I suggest you try not to dwell on it."

Cullen barely resisted the urge to scream.

A few days later and the mess caused by the blighted garden gnomes still wasn't cleaned up (and while Cullen would never admit it, the peace brought on by the distinct lack of oblivious scouts was a relief). Cullen had shut the doors of his office to the scene (and the smell) and was trying to re-create some of his files (there were tiny foot and hand prints all over his originals). He looked up when the door swung open and Ayala walked in.

"...Inquisitor. Welcome back. Did you remember the rule this time?"

The one good thing that had come out of the mess was Cassandra insisted that she accompany Ayala again to make sure the mage didn't sneak (or, as was her story, "accidentally forget") anything into Skyhold again.

"Yes, they're bringing everything I found."

"...they?" Cullen wasn't sure why, but he did not like the sound of that.

"Yeah. They. I'm going back to my room now." She turned and strode out of the office.

In her wake, a line of oversized piles of junk, suspended in the air by little stone legs, began to strut into Cullen's office. The first gnome deposited its pile on Cullen's desk and grinned at him before trotting off after Ayala.

"...Cullen?" someone whispered.

"Vhenan, it does not count as informing the Commander if you speak too softly for him to hear you."

Cullen started at the condescending drawl. The next thing he realized, his forehead collided with his desk as his chair slid out from under him. He shook his head a few times to clear the last vestiges of the worst nightmare he could recall having (and check to make sure the piles of useless trinkets he had just watched the gnomes deposit in his office were figments of his imagination).

"Look what I found!" Ayala triumphantly placed something grey on Cullen's desk and grinned at him. "I want to go put him in the garden, he says he'll like it there."

Cullen could feel the throbbing in his forehead, but whether it was from hitting it against the desk or the sight of the thing Ayala wanted to put in the garden, he didn't know. The thing that was currently on his desk looked far too much like Cullen's least-favorite apostate (right down to the superior frown and downcast eyes) with a comically large head. He glared across his office at the man whose image the thing appeared to be carved in.

Once their eyes met, Solas' narrowed and he mouthed, "Get rid of it, Commander!"

Cullen pursed his lips and shook his head. He slammed his hands down on the desk. "OUT!"

Ayala leaned away with a slight frown on her face. "So... I can put him in the garden?"

"NO!" Cullen snatched the thing off his desk.

Ayala jumped back. Her frown was more pronounced and Cullen thought he might have just made her cry. Again.

"Come, vhenan, it appears the Commander is in yet another of his moods."

Solas swung his arm towards the door to Cullen's office to invite Ayala out. She nodded and shuffled off, still looking upset. Solas waited until she had passed him before turning to Cullen with a glare and a hiss of, "Get rid of that, Commander!"

Cullen decided against calling after the man to remind him of which of them was in charge. Instead he grabbed the gnome and rushed to the tallest part of Skyhold he could find.

"You were never here." He shook his finger at the thing, pulled his arm back, and sent it flying as far as he could throw it.

He never heard it hit the ground. Hopefully, the ground was just too far away for him to be able to.

[rose-chateau]

The Heartless DLC - The Rest of the Story

I’ve given a lot of thought to this, but I’ve decided to drop my Dragon Age: Inquisition/Dragon’s Dogma crossover fic, The Heartless DLC. I’m not out of ideas, but it turns out retelling the entire last 2/3rds of the game WITH original quests was too much of an undertaking for me. That combined with my surprising distaste with elements of Dragon Age and issues with the fandom just made it a project that I have no interest in continuing at this time.

It’s not fair to keep my readers in the dark, even if I *do* plan to get back to it someday. So I’m going to give a heavily abridged but general summary of how The Heartless DLC would’ve continued and ended right here, just so you get the full story instead of me leaving you hanging. It’s also a fairly long post!

After the events at Adamant, the Inquisitor and Arisen ltake care of some side-quests, favor quests, and cleaning up some areas whilst also preparing for the ball at Halamshiral. As stated previously, the Arisen and Gale will be going on their own, not under the Inquisition. Once there, the Inquisitor searches for clues, and the Arisen very quickly realizes that there are pawns serving at the ball. Gale pretends to faint, which allows him and the Arisen to be temporarily excused while the pawns take them to the servant’s quarters.

Once in the privacy of the servant’s quarters, the pawns give Marnie an urgent update about the state of things in Gransys. The Duke wasn’t ill, he was trying to keep her away. Nothing particularly heinous is unfolding, but the pawns are worried the Arisen has abandoned them. Marnie assures them that she’ll return, but before they resolve the issue, the harlequin drops in and tries to murder them.

Cut back to the Inquisition. The Inquisitor finally finds some clues and escapes to the servants quarters with his companions. By the time they get there, Marnie and the pawns are nowhere to be found and everyone else is slaughtered. They briefly have a moment of “oh, so I guess we might have to consider Marnie did this” and move on. They find Marnie and the pawns engaged in battle in the courtyard, and the two groups converge for the rest of the quest. They discover the pawns have been traveling to and from Gransys by a Riftstone they brought overseas with them. This Riftstone is later transported to a grove closer to Skyhold for ease of access to the Pawn Guild. It might be noted that Marnie is the one who finds and unlocks the Empress halla door, mostly because her pawns were collecting whatever they could find already. She has Gale interrogate the man for her, then she brings the information to the Inquisitor. The empress is spared, Florianne is arrested, and the Inquisitor has enough evidence to ally all three parties.

Now that there’s a Riftstone at Skyhold, Gale is going out at night on jobs in other worlds. More pawns begin to frequent Skyhold. They don’t blend in well, but the Arisen is able to explain it away as if the Duke sent over members of his elite army, of which the Arisen is a commander. No one ever suspect she had that kind of station. The pawns all seem moderately wary of Solas, but decide he won’t pull anything in Skyhold around the Arisen, for whatever reason. Gale has the most influence over the other pawns aside from the Arisen because he is the main pawn in this universe. That puts him at a high position, even though he may be younger than many pawns he meets.

Gale still goes to Solas frequently. Their meetings range from Gale asking for help with spells to discussing the Inquisition and the Arisen. Solas starts asking Gale to keep their meetings a secret from the Arisen (red flag!). Meanwhile, Cole and Marnie settle their differences; Marnie says she was never upset with Cole to begin with, and they both make a point to be more objective and communicative with each other. Marnie resumes training Cole and gifts him a pair of climbing boots with spikes on the bottoms (shout out to RavenNox on fanfiction.net for mentioning the strider concept art in a review, because I hadn’t seen it before!).

After Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts, the Inquisitor decides to finally get in a good dragon hunt like I’ve been teasing. This is a long-ish “Dragonhunt Arc,” and it’s what I’d imagine Marnie’s main favor quest would be if this was a real DLC. They go to the Hinterlands to fight the Fereldan Frostback, (I know, I should be writing them getting back at that damn dragon in Crestwood, but I haven’t written anything in the Hinterlands yet, and I wanna get to it). There’s an epic battle where the Inquisition FINALLY gets to see more of that dynamic climbing from Marnie and Cole. Gale also shows some creative use of healing spells by preemptively casting healing spells while Marnie is in danger, then she’ll heal as soon as she’s injured and it’ll spare her, (Gale actually did stuff like this with consumable curatives while I was fighting the Ur-Dragon quite a few times, so I wanted to implement it).

At the end of the battle, the Arisen realizes that dragons are just animals here, as opposed to intelligent, self-possessed beings like in Gransys. Therefore, the only real “reason” she came to Thedas was a bust. She’s noticeably sullen and distraught for several days, and Gale begins to worry. Eventually, Gale reaches out to the Inner Circle for help, and they arrange a quiet evening in the yard where she and Gale could dress fancy and slow-dance because it was the one thing she wanted to do at Halamshiral and couldn’t do. There’s this vague internal monologue about how she never gets to keep what she loves, and it’s implied she only truly loves Gale, and it’s also a subtle reminder that she’s a fucking god, but anyway.

After the Dragonhunt Arc, I get back to the main quest, except I kind of don’t, because I want things to be more dramatic. They chip away at some favor quests, and oddly enough, Gale and the Arisen start to drift apart. This is due to several factors including but not limited to Marnie being preoccupied with other pawns and Inquisition-related duties, but it’s also largely because of a concentrated effort on several people’s part to get Gale to assert himself as an individual human as opposed to a pawn defined by his Arisen.

When they go to the Temple of Mythal, Marnie and Gale can barely keep themselves together. The group manages to complete the quest regardless. They ally with Abelas and Morrigan drinks from the Well of Sorrows.

When they face off against Corypheus, Marnie uses the Backfire skill when fighting the red lyrium dragon to ensure it dies. In that moment, a part of her is frighteningly powerful, almost like she is no longer human. (God this stuff sounds corny.) She passes out for a minute and Gale stays with her while she recovers and the others go to fight Corypheus. Corypheus probably delivers a villainous monologue. I was originally going to have Marnie and Gale bust in and at the part where Corypheus says "ancient ones, if you've ever been there, be with me now," Marnie says "I am one" but I decided against it. The Inquisitor lands the killing blow because this is his quest and his game.

During the afterparty, the Arisen and Gale interact with each member of the inner circle with the news that they'd be leaving for Gransys in the morning. Neither are drinking and they're both dressed as if they're going to leave any minute.

When Marnie and Gale are setting off, Cole comes to Marnie one last time and tells her she never will be alone. That reassures her and, for the time being, she seems ready to confront Grigori upon her return to Gransys.

When Marnie and Gale return for the Tresspasser DLC, they still haven't killed Grigori, but they did go to Bitterblack Isle. As such, their gear is dope and dragonforged, and their mental health is in shambles. Gale also converted to the way of the bow while they were there. They aid the Inquisition in fighting Qunari and finding Solas, and he and Marnie have a final showdown where he's revealed to be the Dread Wolf and she's revealed to be the Seneschel who reset the world so she could relive being the Arisen again and again. Solas needles her about why she redid everything, why she refuses to assume her place as Seneschel, and how many times she's done this same thing over and over again. Gale manages to shoot Solas from afar and they're all driven apart.

After the Inquisition returns to Skyhold and orients themselves, only Gale reappears saying his Arisen sent him in case they meant her any harm after her reveal. After the Inquisitor agrees not to compromise Marnie, Gale leads him to the ruins by the Riftstone, where Marnie's been waiting. They have a chat about her true origins and intentions, and she admits she didn't defeat Grigori because she knew she'd have to leave the mortal world soon after. She agrees to help the Inquisition when she can and places a Portcrystal by the Riftstone. They both agree that things are probably going to get a whole lot worse.

And that's where the fic ends. There's also a number of subplots I neglected to detail. Cole's favor quest, a few side quests related to the pawn guild, etc. As I said, I might return to the fic later on, but I really don't care for it or the fandom or the source material anymore. It's sad, but I'm happier elsewhere. And I thought it was only fair to leave some conclusion to the fic regardless. I might post certain chapters and snipets on my tumblr, but for the most part, this is the last you'll see of the official fic.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to the readers and fans that have stuck with me through all this. I wish you all the best, and I'm sorry I couldn't give you the full fic. Stay safe out there!

[ahrorha]

Flame of Winter

Chapter 34

.

.

Solas guided Eirlana back through several eluvians until they came onto another plateau in the crossroads with several eluvians. To her surprise, there was a large gathering of elves here. It looked like this was a base of operation. A table had been set up, and a hooded figure was just giving directions to a group leader, pointing on a map. Another group just came through another eluvian, they clearly had been in battle, but it looked like no one had any significant injuries. She noticed a few healers going around, treating the wounded.

As soon as the elves noticed it was Solas who had joined them, many stopped what they were doing to salute him. They bowed slightly with their arms crossed across their chest as a form of greeting. The hooded figure at the table looked up, and to Eirlana's surprise, she recognised him. It was Abelas. He immediately went towards them but stopped when Solas raised his hand.

“The Viddasala has been dealt with. Proceed as we planned. I will return shortly.” he said.

Then he took Eirlana's hand and guided her towards an eluvian flanked by wolf statues.

Eirlana could feel everyone watching them; most looked at her in curiosity, others were frowning. They were clearly wondering who she was and why Solas, no Fen'Harel, held her by the hand. Seeing all those strangers staring at her made her uneasy, and it made her realise that things would change for her just because Solas was Fen'Harel.

At the eluvian, Solas motioned for her to step through. They emerged onto an arrival square, but this time it was back into Thedas. It was warm and sunny, and they were at the edge of a forest. In front of them was a road that led to a larger town, whose buildings were of elven architecture. This place once had been a ruin, and Eirlana could clearly see where the buildings had been repaired, while others looked completely new. Many people were moving on the road and between the buildings, and she suspected there were all elves. Several defensive positions had been built on the square itself, and warriors in full armor were guarding the eluvians. There was also a makeshift infirmary where the more seriously injured were treated. The guards here reacted the same as the other elves before and greeted him with a slight bow and their arms crossed across their chest.

Not paying attention to anyone, Solas moved on, pulling her with him. He walked towards a magical circle and stepped onto it. Activating it, they teleported away.

They appeared in a great bright open hall, decorated with tapestries and plants. Looking up, she saw several floors above them, connected by stairs and walkways. Several lifts moved up and down, bringing groups of elves to their destination. There were also guards here, as were other elves. They saluted, and some of them watched them curiously. Solas went to one of the lifts that brought them to the top of the building. Then they went up some stairs and through corridors, passing a couple of doors until he stopped at the top door.

.

“These are my... No, our chambers. That is if you want.”

He opened the door and let her into his room. At first, she thought they stepped into a small library. The walls were covert with bookcases, its shelves bulging with books and scrolls. There was an armchair and a big desk covered with strange objects, books and a lot of papers. On a smaller table stood a pitcher of wine, several glasses, and a glass jar filled with baked goods. The room was separated by a set of golden embroidered green curtains.

Solas held them open for her to step through. She came into his spacious living quarters. There were a pair of comfortable couches and armchairs, accompanied by a set of low wooden tables. There was also a high table with cushioned chairs. There were another two bookcases filled with books. All of the woodwork was elegantly carved. The floor was polished wood dotted with green-tinted rugs and several furs. Through the high windows, sunlight shone, and a set of windowed doors led to a balcony. Everything had a distinct elven design, from the windows to the carpets' patterns.

Solas pointed towards a door at the other end of the room. “Over there, you can freshen up. And,” he pointed towards another set of curtains, “through there is my sleeping chamber. I am sorry, but I have to leave again. I have still much to do.”

This surprised her somewhat, but she understood. This hadn't been part of his plan. She nodded. “Be careful.”

He wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss against her temple. “I will be back as soon as I can.” Then he turned around and left.

.

Eirlana took a deep breath. She couldn't believe that she had somehow convinced Solas to change his mind. Nor could she believe she was here now. She felt strangely nervous now she was alone in his living quarters. Would he return to her, or would he have a change of heart and order some of his men to take her away to whatever place he had prepared for her. Curious, she tentatively moved through the room. She could tell immediately that it was Solas who was living here. Not only was his desk burrowed in books and papers, but there were also several books spread through the room. There were also items of clothing casually discarded over some chairs. She also noticed a few small plates here and there that undoubtedly contained pastries and other sweets at one time.

She huffed a laugh and shook her head, realising that that part of Solas hadn't changed. It was a relief to know that she had seen parts of his true self when they were living together. Looking around, she wondered if it will be difficult for them to be with one another again. She knew it had been a struggle for him to tell her the truth. He really feared that he was going to lose her because of who he was. She only hoped that she got through to him and that he would be honest with her in the future. And share with her whatever his plans were.

His plans...

She went outside onto the balcony. She could see that she was in one of the most prominent buildings of this elven settlement. She had a great view over the town, and it was bigger than she thought. There were many buildings, old and new, with people moving in between. There were sounds of smiths being hard at work, and in the distance, she could see a field where warriors were training. It reminded her of the training fields next to Skyhold, only here they were using magic as well, judging by the flashes of fire and force unleashed. Beyond that was the forest.

Solas was really preparing the elves for what was to come. As great as it was to see elves not living in slums, it made clear to her how different the world could look once the Veil was gone. Though he had said he didn't know for sure what will happen to the humans, he was right that there had to be a reason the humans only arrived after the Veil was formed. Her thoughts went to the cook at Skyhold that turned a blind eye whenever Rosie would take some of the better food for her. She thought of the children she had helped deliver. Dorian, Varric, Cullen, Aveline; who she met in Kirkwall. Would they all suffer?

And what about the elves that didn't want to get involved. They already faced prejudice and discrimination in their daily lives. Wouldn't that only get worse, now the Inquisition knew about Solas and his plans?

A shiver ran down her spine, thinking about all the cruel things that could happen.

And what about her? Was she really okay with choosing Solas' side?... She didn't know. How could one possibly choose between the elves and the rest of the world? But it was a choice she had to make. Or was there a way for everyone to coexist? And what about the Evanuris and the corrupted titan? Could she help to put a stop to them?

.

Not having answers to any of those questions, Eirlana walked back inside. Her exhaustion was catching up with her. It was already in the afternoon, and she had been up since early yesterday morning. Looking down at herself, she felt filthy, and her head and bruises hurt. However complicated the situation with Solas, the Veil, and the other things were, she couldn't solve them in a day.

She went to the room Solas had pointed out and stepped into an elaborate bathroom, with a bath provided with magical runes to regulate the water and heat. On a shelf were several soaps and oils, and in a cupboard, she found clean towels. Now she just needed to find a change of clothes.

Her search led her to the sleeping area. She slipped between the other set of curtains and froze. It was a smaller room with the same high windows; in the middle stood a large bed. But that didn't halt her steps. It was the painting that adorned the wall to her right. It was clear that Solas had made it, though it had more detail than the murals he had painted at Skyhold. It depicted a giant wolf lying down. The background was covered in silhouettes of trees. The wolf was asleep or resting with its six yellow eyes half-closed. Next to its head sat an elven maiden dressed in blue robes. Her skin was white, as was her long white hair that fanned out behind her. Several elfroot plants grew around her. One of her hands was outstretched, petting the wolf. The air surrounding them was dotted with golden stars and white snowflakes.

Eirlana gasped. It was her and the Dread wolf. Tears escaped her eyes, realising what this painting meant. She was important to Solas, and he had been thinking of her in the two years they were apart. She also realised how dangerous this was. It showed Solas' vulnerability. She only hoped she could live up to the painting's meaning and be a place of peace and rest for him.

Wiping away her tears, she took in the rest of the room. On the bed were cushions of different sizes, white sheets and a finely woven woollen blanket. At the footboard stood a low bench, covered with several furs. On the ground were also furs. On a low commode next to the bed were even more books. To her left was a large closet and armor stands with several different armors. Opening the closet, she finally found fresh clothes. It was filled with robes, coats and other types of clothing. Picking a clean shirt and a pair of leggings, she returned to the bathroom to take a bath.

As she slipped into Solas clothes after the bath, she was hit by a nostalgic feeling of how she sometimes wore one of his shirts. For a moment, it felt like she was back at Skyhold or Haven, in the room they shared. A part of her wished she was back there, sharing an almost simple life with him. Wondering how her life would be from now on, she went back into the living quarters.

.

To Eirlana's surprise, two elven women came through the curtains, chatting with each other.

“Do you know why Lord Fen'Harel has ordered tea? He never drank it before.”

They both were carrying a tray and fell silent when they saw her. She noticed that their eyes went from her towards Solas' sleeping chamber, back to her.

“Hello.” Eirlana smiled at them.

They looked a little uncomfortable, but then one of them made a small curtsy. The other followed her gesture.

“I beg your pardon, Miss. But Lord Fen'Harel has asked us to deliver these.” one of them said; her common had a heavy accent.

“Thank you.” Eirlana looked at the trays. One was loaded with soup, fresh bread, two small pies and a bowl of grapes. The other held a tea set and a plate with a piece of cake.

“That looks lovely. You can set them on the table.”

“Yes, Miss.” They sat them down, and after collecting a few empty plates, they left the room.

Eirlana sighed. Soon everyone would know she was here, and she could already tell that not everyone would be pleased. She could only compare it to some people's attitude to Josephine when she became Ryan's lover.

It made her wonder how this new group of elves was put together. That they saw Solas as their leader was apparent. But it worried her that they were referring to him as Lord Fen'Harel. For these people, he had taken on the mantle of the Lord of Tricksters again. Did they even know his name was Solas?

She also knew Solas' thoughts about the elves living today when he first awoke. Did the other elves woken from uthenera have the same opinions? Also, with the current elves having lived all their lives in the shadows of others, it will be difficult for them to rebuild their self-esteem. She had the same struggles after Solas had freed her. Of course, she had to see it first to confirm it, but she was sure there was an underlying hierarchy at work here. And she wondered if Solas was aware of it.

But that was a worry for later. After having eaten, she took the tea and settled on one of the sofas. Deep in thought, she watched the sun set.

.

It was night when Solas finally returned to his quarters. Dealing with the remaining Qunari and securing the eluvians had taken more time than he anticipated. For a moment, he hesitated, knowing Eirlana would be on the other side of the door. Silently he went inside. He lightened some of the candles with a gesture of his hand, bathing the room in soft light. He halted when he saw her sitting on a sofa deep asleep, her head leaning against the sofa's backrest. Her hair was loose, and he noticed a nasty bruise on her forehead. He hadn't seen it before with her covered in the dirt of battle.

It felt unreal to have her here, and his heart skipped a beat when she moved, finding a more comfortable position. Making as little noise as possible, he went past her to take off his armor, but before he disappeared into the bathroom, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over her.

When he had washed and changed his clothes, he carefully sat down next to her. For a while, he just looked at her sleeping. His heart fluttered having her here, but it was also concerning him. Was he making another mistake by allowing her back at his side? Images of the vision the nightmare had shown him slipped through his mind. Would they become true? Would he fail again and ruin the lives of everyone? Would he fail to protect that what was closest to his heart? He shuddered, remembering holding her battered, lyrium infested body.

But as he watched her, he also remembered the fond memories. Although they had spent only a year together, a blink of an eye compared to the ages he had been alive, he had very few memories that he treasured more. In the many lifetimes he lived before he created the Veil, he had not met anyone with who he was this comfortable. Who was seeing and nourishing the essence of his true self. It was both comforting and worrisome that he would find her now after he had committed one of his greatest mistakes. Though he knew creating the Veil had been a necessary evil, it was a mistake non the less.

Looking at her, he didn't know if a future with her was possible. Could she still accept him now she knew who he was and what he had done? But despite his doubts, he also felt hope. Being near her again made him feel alive. Even now, she wanted to hear and listen to what he truly thought. She saw him as Solas, not as Fen'Harel, a mantle that burdened him and replaced all but his name.

As he watched her sleeping, he hoped she would be strong enough to remain that way. Tenderly he brushed his hand over her cheek.

.

Disorientated, Eirlana woke up. At first, she didn't know where she was. When she saw Solas sitting next to her, she wondered if she was still in the Fade.

“What?” she asked, drowsy.

“You should have gone to sleep in the bed.” he draped the blanket that had slipped down back around her waist.

She noticed his eyes were lingering on the shirt she wore. Feeling a little bashful, her cheeks flushed.

“Sorry, but my clothes were filthy from the combat.”

“I don't mind. Everything here is free for you to touch and use.” he smiled. “They look better on you anyway.”

He noticed that she shifted nervously. Though they had talked, a lot remained unsaid. He knew he had hurt her, and it would take time for her to feel comfortable being at his side again. Feeling guilty, he took her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of it.

“Vhenan.” he began but fell quiet. It was a habit of him to call her that. Unsure, he looked at her.

She saw him hesitating. She was still angry at him and hadn't forgiven him for leaving her. But at the same time, she wanted to be with him again. Though she didn't know if their relationship could be saved and if she could remain his vhenan. But deep in her heart, she wanted to take this chance. She smiled at him encouragingly.

Solas gave her a small smile back. “Vhenan.” he began again. “I do not want you to feel pressured. I have not brought you here expecting anything from you. What you have learned these past days was a lot to take in. I won't blame you if you decide at any point that you don't want to be involved any longer. I have a place prepared for you where you can live safely. I won't blame you if you want to take another path than the one we both wish for now.”

Her heart beat a little faster. “What do you wish for now?”

His hand caressed her cheek. “At this moment, I wish that we are allowed to love each other again and find a way to stay side by side. For you to remain true to yourself and not hesitate to share your thoughts. I wish to show you how deeply I care for you.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss; it was so soft that it almost wasn't real, just a flutter of his lips against hers. “To treasure every second we are together. To be able to hold and dream with you again.”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach hearing his words. “I like that.” she smiled at him shyly.

He moved to kiss her again, and this time she kissed him back. Her love for him was a constant hum, resonating deep within her. It made her feel warm and treasured. As the kiss continued, her love rose higher and brighter. But there was also a taste of bitterness. There was sadness and anger, her fears and uncertainty. It tangled with her love. Feeling overwhelmed, she broke away from him.

Solas' heart clenched when he saw the hurt that he had caused. Feeling guilty, he brushed her loose hair behind her ear. “I am sorry that I left you.”

Tears shot into Eirlana's eyes, though she didn't want to cry. Angry, she looked away, willing the tears away.

Solas took her in his arms. Though she was reluctant, she allowed him to pull her closer. The memories of how they held each other in the past overwhelmed her, and she no longer held back her pain and sadness. She buried her face against his shoulder and cried. Stroking her back slowly, he held her.

His warmth and scent enveloped her like a warm blanket. The comfort and safety she felt by being near him was so familiar, and she had missed it for so long. It was too much for her to bear. Clinging on to him, she finally could let go. The hurt, stress and worry she had felt during their time apart flowed out of her. Solas held her firmly. Rocking them soothingly, he leaned his face against her head, whispering a few times, “I am sorry.”

.

Slowly Eirlana calmed down. Not letting go of Solas, she leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder. For a while, they just held each other, drinking in the comfort to be finally together again.

She sighed. “I missed you.”

“And I you, more than I ever could imagine. I never thought I would be able to hold you in my arms again.”

She sat more upright and looked at him. “Why not?”

“I fear that by being close to me, you will endure many hardships. You will have to make decisions no mortal should ever have to. You face many dangers just by being important to me, not to mention the moral perils you will be exposed to by standing next to me. I also thought you wouldn't want to be with me again now you know the truth.”

“Solas, no one could predict what would happen after you created the Veil. It is true that you're actions have impacted every Elvhen that was alive thousands of years ago, but that makes you not responsible for what happened afterwards. The infighting under the elves, the appearance of the humans, the wars that followed, the enslavement of the elven people, the war between Orlais and the Dales. Those are things that have happened and maybe would have happened regardless. I won't deny that you have changed things and that things are far more complicated and on a bigger scale than I ever could imagine, but I know you. You wouldn't have created the Veil if you didn't think it was necessary.”

He didn't say anything. A part of him could understand her reasoning, but that didn't lessen his guilt. He was responsible that the elves were mortal, and their magic was all but gone. It was his fault that they were weakened and couldn't defend themselves against the humans. He was at fault that the entire elven race could be enslaved. She was right that he hadn't created the Veil without reason, but that didn't mean he wasn't responsible for what happened after.

“You don't believe me.”

Solas startled and looked at her. “I...No, the state of the elves living today is a direct consequence of my actions.”

“But...” She shook her head, knowing there was nothing she could say that would convince him otherwise. “I don't blame you.”

He studied her.

“I don't blame you for my slave life. My mother chose to sell me, and my former master decided to experiment on me. The bandits that used me afterwards, these are all things that you couldn't have prevented. You may have changed the elves, but the choices of thousands and thousands of people for thousands of years led to the state of the world as it is today. You are not that important that you are to blame for all of our lives.”

Huffing a laugh, Solas embraced her tightly. There were few who knew him that would reprimand him, and he loved her all the more for it. Maybe it was for the better that she was back at his side. It didn't lessen the guilt and the responsibility he carried, but somehow his burden felt not as overwhelming as before.

“I love you.” he said and tentatively started to kiss her.

.

They both felt the need to reconnect, to reaffirm their love for each other. As they kissed, their bodies began to move, feeling the need to touch, caress, and embrace. Their kissing turned more firmly and intenser as their passion ignited.

Eirlana teeth pulled on Solas underlip. He groaned, and his hand pulled her closer. Fluently, she moved in unison and flung her leg around him, sitting down on his lap. Straightening her back, she leaned forward, forcing his head backwards against the sofa. At this angle, she could domineer him. Her hand slipped under his shirt, and their tongues glided against each other, lost in a fiery dance.

As their bodies moved, she felt his arousal grow under her, and it set her own aflame. Their kisses turned hotter and wetter. Solas' hands slipped under her shirt as well. He shuddered, feeling her skin again. He could feel goosebumps erupt under his fingertips, and she let out a nervous laugh. Locking eyes with him, Eirlana rolled her hips against his erection, coaxing a deep groan from him. His hands went automatically to her ass, and he pulled her core against him.

“Solasss.” she gasped close to his ear and bit playfully down on his eartip.

Hearing Eirlana gasp his name and feeling her lips around his ear made something snap within Solas. Holding her firmly, he stood up. She yelped in surprise and locked her legs and arms around him. Laughing, she held on to him as he began to walk. Not wanting to miss a moment apart, his lips found hers again, and he carried her towards the bed. Using magic, he parted the curtains and lit the candles in his bedroom. Still kissing, he sat her down, and they both began to pull at each other's clothes. They both needed this. They needed to feel, to touch, to physical express how they felt. To be finally together again.

Somehow they managed to land naked on the bed. They both shivered in delight as their bodies touched. They revelled in feeling each other's skin and warmth. Feverishly their hands moved. At last, they could feel and touch each other again. As Solas rolled onto her, a whimper escaped Eirlana's lips. Her hands glided along his muscular back and broad shoulders.

“Vhenan.” he breathed out as her leg slid along his. His lips mapped out a trail along her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

Their bodies moved in harmony. They both needed this to be real. Their love and emotions rose higher and brighter with each touch. They kissed and touched each other as if they might be separated again tomorrow. But not now. Now they were together again. Two souls rejoicing and drowning in affection.

Solas mouth and hands explored her body, mapping out new scars and old scars that had faded away with time. Latching onto her breasts, Eirlana gasped and arched her back beautifully. His tongue, lips and teeth circling and stroking her stiff nipples. Her hand grabbed onto his head, encouraging and directing his attention. He switched back and forth between her breast with his mouth while his hands teased and massaged her body. Her hands also danced over him while her body curved and squirmed against his. Each sweep of his tongue and teeth sending pulses of heat through her, evoking gasping sounds and small moans from her. Until it was too much for her to bear.

Driven by need, she pulled his head back up towards her lips. Desperate, she kissed him, and she angled her hips, so her wet core glided along his erection.

“I need you.” she panted as she rolled her hips against him.

This was not the moment for slow lovemaking; their want was too powerful.

Groaning and overwhelmed by his own desire, Solas lined himself up and entered her. He stilled briefly, overpowered by the feeling. They sought out each other's eyes that were dilated and drowning with emotion.

“I love you.” she whispered.

Solas' heart soared, and he kissed her. “And I you.” he said between kisses.

Setting an unhurried pace, they began to move, both wanting to show the other how much they meant to them. Her hands wandered over his back and squeezed ass. While he embraced her, and his lips teased and kissed everything he could reach. As his tongue grazed her ears, he could feel her shudder under him. Slowly their pace grew more intense and faster. They moved as one, giving into their passion.

Solas growled when Eirlana nails left marks on his back. He grabbed her leg and angled it so he could even sink deeper into her, evoking even sweeter moans from her lips. Their bodies were hot and sweaty, and Eirlana laughed when a drop of sweat fell from Solas' nose on hers. It encouraged them both to relax and rejoice, to physically express their love.

.

Solas teeth grazed Eirlana's neck, and when she pulled him closer, he bit her.

“Solas!” she called out when the pain merged with her pleasure.

Angling her hips, she rolled them around, so she was on top of him. For a moment, he slipped out of her, but she quickly grabbed him and sheeted herself back onto him. His head fell back in pleasure, eliciting a deep groan from him. It was like when they were first intimate with each other. He looked at her while she rode him, whipping her tousled hair to one side. She was more beautiful than any desire demon.

He sat up and held onto her, drowning in the sweetest feeling. Smiling, she pushed him back down, increasing her pace. She was in control, taking her pleasure from him, and he was only too happy to be the instrument of her ecstasy. Shuddering in pleasure, his hands wandered over her body, wanting to feel every inch of her skin. To burn in his mind how she looked, how she felt, to worship her as she deserved.

Eirlana's movement stuttered. Gripping her hips, Solas trusted upwards, helping her to keep their rhythm. Overwhelmed, she grabbed his chest and let the feeling wash over her. It was intoxicating, and she let herself lean forward as he kept moving his hips. It was too much, her arms gave out, and she collapsed onto him. Hungrily she devoured his lips.

“Ma lath.” she panted desperately, not knowing if she wanted him to stop or go on.

Sensing her need, he rolled them both over so he was back on top of her. The pace they set could only be described as desperate, her body writhing under his relentless devotion, coiling tighter and tighter. Each movement felt faster, rougher, deeper.

“Ma lath, my love.” he moaned, his voice deep and out of breath.

“Solas!” she screamed as she finally climaxed. Clinging onto him with all her might.

He could feel her release over his whole body; it was like a signal for his own. Uttering a primal groan, he exploded inside of her. He grabbed her hands and pinned her to the bed, driving his release even deeper into her. Their bodies twitched and trembled as their orgasm consumed them like a wildfire.

Solas half collapsed on Eirlana, their bodies entangled in a sweaty mess. They were both panting as they revelled in the aftershocks of their pleasure. Not wanting to let go of her, he rolled on his side, pulling her with him. Breathlessly he kissed her.

“I love you.” he mumbled.

With a lazy, exhausted smile, she kissed him back. “And I you.”

For a while, they both lay there silently, bathing in the afterglow. As their bodies cooled down, she snuggled herself against him. Not wanting to move a muscle, he pulled the sheets over their bodies with his magic. Holding each other, they fell asleep and slipped into the Fade.

.

It was early in the morning when Eirlana awoke. The first thing she saw was Solas lying next to her, still asleep, his arm lying over her hip. When she moved to free herself, he crunched his nose and tried to pull her back against his body.

“Come... sleep.” he mumbled drowsily.

She smiled; he was clearly still half in the Fade. “I will be back.” she spoke softly and kissed his cheek.

As a reaction, he buried his face deeper into the cushions. It was strange to see him so relaxed, and she would have watched him longer, but nature was calling. Grabbing the shirt she had borrowed from him, she hurried to the bathroom.

Washing up, she looked in the mirror and noticed a prominent hickey and several small ones along her neck. It made her blush, remembering her night with Solas. It was maybe not the smartest thing to do. She hadn't forgiven him yet for keeping his identity a secret and for abandoning her. But she also knew how much she wanted last night to happen.

In thought, she stepped outside onto the balcony and stared into the distance, not knowing how her life would look now. Below her, the settlement was awaking. It was strange to be here and much different from what she ever could imagine when she arrived at the Exalted Council. So much had happened. But seeing the activity below her, she knew she didn't want to be anywhere else. She was finally back at Solas side, and she hoped she could help him find a solution to the problems they faced.

Last night having him with her in the Fade was bittersweet. She had called for him in her dreams for so long that now his presence felt almost unreal. They had talked more in the Fade about what they had done and experienced in their time apart. On Solas' request, she showed him the memory of how she met Falon'Din. She had also shown him an image of her teacher, and it confirmed that he was Dirthamen, one of the Evanuris.

What was maybe even more surprising was her encounter with the spirit wolf. It had jumped and barked excitingly around them before it nuzzled its body against her. Solas had laughed and greeted the wolf as Fen'Halani and asked where it had been all this time. Apparently, the spirit wolf was an old companion. He called its brother Fen'Ghilana, and soon the two wolf spirits were yapping and yowling in delight as they were reunited.

Solas explained that the two wolves were his spirit companions in the past. They had helped and accompanied him in many battles. It was one of the reasons he was so tied with wolves and why the Evanuris thought it was funny to call him Fen'Harel. When he awoke from uthenera, he had found Fen'Ghilana, but he couldn't locate Fen'Halani. He had feared the spirit lost after he created the Veil. Eirlana told him how she got in contact with the spirit after picking up a mage staff hidden under one of his statues.

Solas shook his head and mumbled, “Old rascal. After I went in uthenera, he probably sought a place that had a familiar magical signature. I noticed you carrying one of my old staves. He woke up when you took it and activated its magic. And it appears Fen'Halani has become attached to you.”

Eirlana petted the wolf who leaned against her. “But it is your spirit companion.”

He laughed. “Not anymore. You know spirits are no one's possession. They choose their own attachments. I will teach you how to become attuned with him and how you can summon him to fight at your side. I was planning on teaching you regardlessly. By being bonded to me, your magical abilities have changed. You already have tapped into the energy I share with you on your own. But I want to teach you how to fully seek out your potential. It will also ease my worries, knowing you will be able to defend yourself without limitations.”

He brushed the place, where in the waking world, she had a dark bruise from her head injury. Though she had healed most of the damage from Bull's attack, it would take a couple of days for the bruising and discolouration to completely heal.

.

Lost in thought, Eirlana heard a noise coming from inside the room. Puzzled, she walked back inside and listened, but she didn't hear anything. She checked on Solas, but he was still on the bed. It looked like he had fallen back asleep. She couldn't help but smile seeing him lying under the crooked sheets. Though she wanted to join him again, she was halted when her stomach gave a protesting growl. Remembering the jar with baked goods, she went to Solas' desk to steal a couple of them.

Just when she had her hand in the jar, there was a knock, and the door opened. The elf she met when she had trapped Solas with a barrier came into the room.

“We shouldn't enter without permission.” Abelas followed him.

They stopped when they saw Eirlana. She snatched her hand back from the jar and felt like a child who got caught by a parent. In silence, they stared at each other, and Eirlana grew uncomfortable. She felt exposed with only wearing the borrowed shirt and her tousled bed hair. She could practically feel their stares on her body; she felt naked and was aware of the hickeys adorning her neck.

Shivera glared at her. “What is she doing here?” His voice was venomous; clearly, he was displeased with her presence.

Abelas looked more curious at her. “I told you it was unwise to enter without permission.”

Unsure what she should do, Eirlana looked back towards the curtains, wondering if she should wake Solas.

“Tsssss.” hissed Shivera. “A shemlen shouldn't even be here. She can't even understand the language.”

This irked her. She didn't know who the elf was, but he had no reason to be this hostile with her. Ignoring him, she looked at Abelas. “If you are looking for Solas, he is still asleep. Should I wake him?”

“How dare she call Lord Fen'Harel by his chosen name?” Shivera snarled

Abelas looked at her with a hint of wonder in his eyes. He gestured with his hand for Shivera to be quiet. He was intrigued. As long as he knew Solas, he had always had the tendency to be absorbed in his work, often neglecting himself and the need for rest. He was always preparing the next step in his plans, calculating the different outcomes. Nothing Abelas had done the past two years could convince Solas to take care of himself. And now here she was, the woman he had seen in the Temple at Solas' side. The woman over which Solas received personal reports and who was being guarded by their agents. A mortal woman who had spent the night with their leader and could make him rest after their successful campaign against the Qunari.

“Waking him won't be necessary.” Abelas answered. “Lord Fen'Harel can join us at the meeting after he has awoken.”

“I will let him know.” she decided to ignore Shivera's glare and asked Abelas. “How have you been? Has your wound healed?”

“Yes, thank you. You saved my life that day, as well as several of my men who got knocked out by you and Lord Fen'Harel.”

“Glad to hear. I am sorry about what happened to the Temple and the Well.”

“That isn't necessary. Mythal's will has prevailed.” He inclined his head, “Please let Lord Fen'Harel know we have been here.”

Eirlana sighed when the door closed behind them. Sadly she was right that not everyone would be happy with her presence. Though Abelas had been polite, the other elf didn't hide his contempt. Calling her shemlen and suggesting she was unable to speak Elvhen. If he was here with Abelas, he probably was a man of importance, and if he had that opinion about the elves of this age, many of his comrades would think the same.

Taking a muffin from the glass jar, she ate it and went back to Solas. She sat down at his side of the bed and looked at his sleeping face. He looked tired, even in his sleep. The worry about all the things they faced had left its mark on him. Tenderly she brushed his face, wondering if she would be able to help him.

Solas stirred, and without opening his eyes, he pulled her back under the sheets. She let him manoeuvrer her, until she lay on top of him. He opened one eye when he felt she was wearing a shirt. Mumbling something she couldn't understand, he quickly pulled the shirt over her head and threw the offending clothing away. She giggled and let herself be pulled against his warm naked body.

It didn't take long before they engaged in a second round of lovemaking, though this time, they took their time.

.

“So, where do we go from here?” Eirlana asked.

Dressed back in the borrowed shirt, she lounged on the bed and watched Solas getting ready. It was already late in the morning.

“I need to go to a meeting.” He answered while putting on a dark brown legging and foot wrappings. “You are free to do what you want.”

“I think I want to go and explore the town.”

Putting on a grey shirt and a long black jacket with golden embroidery. He checked himself in the mirror before attaching a wolf fur to his right shoulder. “Yes, please do. If you're interested, there is a clinic. I know you won't be able to sit still for long.” he smiled at her. “I will come and find you as soon as I am finished. We still have a lot to discuss.”

There was a knock at the door, and Solas told them to enter. A short while later, Rosie peeked through the curtains and rushed towards Eirlana when she saw her.

“Miss! I am so relieved you are all right.”

“Rosie!”

They gave each other a hug. Then Rosie curtsied stiffly towards Solas. “My Lord.”

He smiled at her. “It is good to see you again. I trust everything has gone well.”

“Yes, we removed everything before anyone noticed something.”

“Good. I hope you are willing to continue serving Eirlana. I can see you two have grown closer.”

“It will be my pleasure, my Lord.”

Solas stepped to Eirlana. “I have to leave. I see you later.” He kissed her and left.

“Come, Miss. I have brought your possessions and breakfast. Let's get you dressed, and in the meantime, you can tell me what happened. The Winter Palace was in a state of alarm when I left.”

.

It was midday when Eirlana took the elevator down and went into the town. It felt strange to walk around on her own without having a templar or someone else watching her. Here she was just an elf among many. Though some noticed her because of her white hair and skin, for once, it wasn't because she wasn't dressed like elves elsewhere. Here most elves were dressed in well-made clothes and armor.

It felt good to see so many elves looking healthy and happy. The town wasn't like any alienage she had been to. The buildings and streets were clean and well maintained. Many allies were decorated with plants and flowers; she also noticed wolf statues and wall paintings depicting elven imagery.

She came to the road leading to the square where she arrived yesterday. She noticed it was crowded. Curious, she stepped closer and discovered they were new arrivals. Whole families came with guides through the several eluvians and were welcomed. Like her, most stared in wonder at the town and everything that was going on. After their identities were checked, some were led into the city, others left again with a guide.

Eirlana realised these people were all here answering Solas' call. They were the people he ordered to be brought to safety. They were his agents and people willing to help. The elves were carrying the few possessions they had, and many had children with them. Her heart ached, knowing that at first, Solas thought them not worthy of being saved. It was chilling to know that if the Veil would disappear, everyone alive would be impacted, and she wondered if Solas was right in his opinion that it would be wiser to remove the Veil like a band-aid.

What would happen if they let the Veil disappear on his own? Solas was right; it had suffered a lot of damage over the ages, and it wouldn't hold forever. What would happen to the people when it happened? How much would the innocent suffer?

Confused, Eirlana walked back into town. She followed a family with two small children that were led by a guide to a building that looked like it contained several residences. She watched as the mother hugged her children in happiness and relief that they were finally here. She could understand their joy as she walked further through the streets. This town was like a well-maintained human settlement and nothing compared to the overcrowded alienages that were often in a state of disrepair. Even if the elves wanted to escape their living circumstances, the humans made it extremely difficult. Governors wouldn't distribute funds to maintain the alienages, and elves couldn't find homeowners who would rent or sell their properties to them. The best an elf could hope for was to find a position as a servant with live-in shared rooms.

It was a stark contrast to the conditions here. This was a town fully equipped with bakeries, small shops, stalls with fruits and vegetables. And everyone was an elf, be it the shop owners or the guards keeping an eye out. It was also noticeable that the elves here looked less weary and less guarded than in the alienages.

A wagon passed her, bringing grain to a warehouse. Next to it, a tame ram was pulling a grindstone, producing flour. Children were happily playing next to a waterway flowing through the town. It looked peaceful, but there were signs that this community was preparing for war. She passed a street where many smiths were forging tools, armoury and weaponry. In workshops, staves, bows and arrows were produced.

As she walked through the outskirts of the town, she saw masons and carpenters working on new buildings. Then she arrived at the training grounds. Eirlana watched a group of mages at work here. It was nice to see them practice without a templar in sight. And it was good to see the confidence in these young mages as they practised their craft. They didn't fear their abilities. After watching them for a while, she went back into the town to look for the clinic Solas had mentioned.

She found it quickly after asking for directions. It was a two-storey building with several benches in front of it where people could sit. A sign at the door indicated the visitation times. Inside were even more places where people could wait. There was a row with a dozen beds separated by curtains for privacy. Doors to the left and right led to other parts of the building. Everything looked clean and organised.

A male nurse greeted her as she entered. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I am a healer, and I was wondering if you needed some extra hands.”

“Are you one of the new arrivals?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you need some time first? To settle in your new accommodations.”

“Maybe. But if I can get to work, I will sooner feel at home here.”

“As you wish. One moment please.” he walked away and vanished through one of the doors. A short while later, he returned with an elven woman. She was of age, judging by her greying hair.

“I am Alawen. Welcome.” She looked her up and down. “I hear you are looking for work.”

“Yes, I would love to help here.”

“If you have skills, we can certainly use the help. We are expecting many new patients in the coming weeks. Have you worked as a healer before? Judging by your attire, you are not one of the new arrivals from the alienages. And what is your knowledge as a healer? Are you familiar with only herbal remedies, or are you also skilled in wound care or healing magic?”

“I am familiar with all kinds of healing methods. I also can perform healing magic. I have worked as a healer within the Inquisition. I was one of their head healers.” Eirlana answered her.

“The Inquisition? Then you must have a lot of experience with combat wounds. Come let's talk in my office, and I give you a tour.”

.

Almost an hour later, they walked outside. Eirlana had the opportunity to chat with Alawen and some of the other healers and nurses. Everyone appeared to be happy or excited to be here. Some nurses whispered to her that she shouldn't worry about living here. That it was safe here, especially for women. Two healers were introduced as being one of the ancient elves. The rest of the clinic looked like any other. There were rooms for supplies, herbs and washing. They had beds for long-term care, short stays and even a maternity ward. They discussed working hours and the possibility of her having a more mobile employment because of her healing magic and experience in the field.

“I am looking forward to working here.” Eirlana said to Alawen.

“We will make your schedule as soon as you have settled in.”

Suddenly there was commotion further down the street. People stopped what they were doing and made way for someone. She saw Solas slowly riding towards the clinic on his hart. He was accompanied by several men also riding on harts or halla.

“Oh my. That is Lord Fen'Harel, who has brought us all together.” Alawen whispered to her excitedly. “He stood beside those who we thought were our gods. I know you just arrived, so you probably haven't heard about everything. But you're in luck to see him on your first day.”

As Solas rode nearer, Eirlana could sense the air of reverence that spread through the small crowd that was gathering. To these people, he was a godlike being who had come to guide them to a better future. She couldn't help but wonder if all these people knew what he was planning. But at the same time, it was joyous to see the elves living here without fear and oppression, and she wondered if this could become a reality for all elves, though the price they had to pay for such a future was a brutal one.

“He is coming this way.” Alawen nudged her, her eyes filled with wonder.

.

Solas smiled when he spotted Eirlana and dismounted. He walked towards her.

“Vhenan. I knew you would be here.” He took her hands and brushed his thumbs over the back of them.

Whispers erupted around them, and she could feel everyone watching. There was no doubt that many rumours would spread through the town today. And judging by Alawen's look, there would be many questions the next time she would be here.

“Are you finished here?” Solas asked her.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Alawen just gave me a tour. It is a beautiful clinic.”

“Thank you for your work Alawen.” He addressed the healer. “Does the clinic have everything you need?”

Alawen curtsied. “Thank you, my Lord. Yes, we are fully stocked.”

Solas nodded and turned his attention back to Eirlana. “I have a surprise for you.”

A loud bellow of a hart sounded from behind his men, and she saw a hart push itself forward, almost knocking some of the men from their mounts. She gasped when she recognised her hart and immediately walked towards it. “Hey, friend. I thought I had lost you.”

Solas smiled, seeing them reunited and joined her.

“I thought he had died during our battle with Corypheus.” She petted the hart that pushed its head against her body, almost toppling her over.

“No. My men found our harts wandering in the mountains after the battle. Sadly I couldn't return your hart to you without raising further suspicion. Come, ride with me. I want to show you something.”

He lifted her onto the hart's back, and they rode out of the town. They passed many elves that stopped to look and waved or greeted Solas as they rode by. They went into the forest until they arrived at a steep hill with a watchtower overseeing the whole valley.

.

Solas gestured for his men to wait, and they climbed the tower. After dismissing the guards who were on the lookout, they stared over the valley in silence.

“What do you think?” he asked after a while.

“It is hard to believe you have rebuild all of this. Eirlana said. “I expect that this was an elven ruin when you started.”

“Yes. This is a valley deep within the Tirashan forest. There are also other settlements in the Arbor Wilds, far away from the prying eyes of humans and Qunari. We have prepared a place to live for every elf who wants to join our cause.”

She sighed. “It is beautiful to see, but I fear what will happen to those who don't want to be involved. After what you have revealed to Ryan and with me going with you, every elf in Thedas will have a target painted on their back. I can't imagine the Inquisition will trust elves any longer after what happened with us and the Qunari.”

“I know.”

She looked at him. “You want to use that distrust against them. You hope more elves will join you?”

“The more people we have, the better our chances are. As I told you, after my time spent with you and the Inquisition, I want to give the elves the best chance they can get when the Veil disappears. I and my allies have prepared these lands for that purpose. Here they can live safely and be educated and trained in preparation for what is to come.”

“It is wonderful to see how the elves live here in safety and without the fear of human oppression. It is also a joy to see magic being freely used. I wish this could be possible all throughout Thedas. But I fear the costs for that to happen.”

Solas face went sombre. “Sometimes great sacrifices must be made. I know it more than most. Though I wish it wouldn't be necessary but to save the Fade and restore the Elven people, the world as it is now has to change. It will be a brutal transition, but it has to happen nonetheless. There will be no joy in what I have to do.”

“I don't think things will go smoothly. Even when you succeed in removing the Veil, many problems will remain. Things are never that easy.”

“No, they are not, and now I have to deal with even more players of the game. Like Mythal and my former comrades.”

“Not to mention the red lyrium that is spreading.”

He nodded. “And the most basic of challenges of rebuilding the elven community.”

Eirlana huffed a laugh. “I noticed.”

“It is troubling that you picked up on some of the struggles already. You haven't even been here a day.”

“The difference in attitude is familiar.” she nudged him in the waist.

“I try to better my ways.” he smirked. “But yes, it has been challenging to get them to work together on equal grounds. There has been some improvement, but a lot of work has still to be done.”

“Prejudice is hard to erase.”

“True. But there is hope. You have managed to defeat mine. Not a small feat, I can assure you. My name isn't Solas for nothing.” he sighed. “I can't tell you how good it feels to be able to talk to you again. I missed you. And I am grateful you are able to still act normally around me. You have seen how everyone regards me.”

“You are their hero. The one they have regarded as a god for ages.”

“I never claimed god-hood.”

“I know.” Now Eirlana sighed. “By tomorrow, everyone will know that I am your lover. Everyone at the clinic will have so many questions.”

“I am sorry, vhenan. But I can't change who or what I am.”

“I know, and I don't want you to. It is just....”

“What is it.”

“We will never be able to go back to having the life we had with the Inquisition. With you being just Solas and me being just Eirlana.”

Solas looked remorseful. “No. And you are more than a lover. You are my vhenan, my bonded. Though I had not planned for you to be here by my side again.”

“You can't plan everything.”

“Something I learn time and time again.” he laughed. “Vhenan, I have a favour to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I want to assign you a guard.”

Eirlana looked at him, not knowing how to respond. She was finally free of the templars, and now he wanted to have someone watch her again. “What?!”

“Not like the templars.” Solas said quickly. “His name is Himel, and he is part of my security. It would put my mind at ease, knowing you have someone who can aid you when you ever need it. You have already realised what it will mean to stay at my side. He can't protect you from all the dangers. Himel is someone I have trusted with my life during my campaign against the Evanuris. He is a little quiet, but I know you will take a liking to him.”

She let out another sigh. “So if I say no, he will still follow me around regardless.”

Solas gave her a small smile.

“All right. Let me meet him.”

[trvelyans-archive]

my part of an art exchange with @pegaeae !!! logan asked me to write the weDDING for his hawke and her bf varric tethras and How Was I To Say No. thank you for being patient even though i took forever to finish and thank you for being okay with me writing way more than i think either of us thought i would !!! there’s a wedding but there’s also some angst, some fluff, some in between stuff... you get the idea ;) <3

without further ado... *drumroll*...

Varric Tethras did not consider himself to be a lucky man.

In fact, he was sure he was unlucky, if anything, even though he would never admit that out loud. He barely managed to leave Kirkwall with his limbs intact, and he only did because Hawke was as unlucky as he was and they had gone through all of that shit with the Qunari and the templars and everything in between together. If she hadn’t been there, saving his ass time and time again, keeping his head on straight, he’d have been killed by one of the many people who had grudges against him much sooner.

Hawke keeping him alive, he thought, was probably why he loved her.

Well, that wasn’t the only reason – there were plenty of reasons to love Hawke and plenty of reasons why Varric did. She had a wicked smile that could convince anyone to do anything, eyes that were bluer than the sky over Kirkwall on the rare day it wasn’t raining, and even he had to admit that he was, when it came down to it, a shallow man. What could he say? The woman had nice hips. 

And she cared about him and listened to him and made him feel safe. She joked around with him and didn’t get offended when he joked back. She had the loudest laugh. And he loved her.

When Varric fell through the Fade rift at Adamant and landed hard on the stone, the first thought he had was of Hawke. He didn’t think about the blood staining his fingertips or the shreds in his coat. He didn’t think about the demon that was, quite literally, the stuff of nightmares. He didn’t think even think about the Divine or the Fade or the Wardens. Instead, he thought about Hawke - where she was and if she was okay. His vision was still blurry and his limbs were still throbbing as he pushed himself up from the ground and looked around madly for her.

“Where’s Hawke?” he mumbled as he braced his knees against the ground and pushed himself up higher, searched for her even harder. No one seemed to have heard his pleas. “Where’s Hawke?” he repeated to the person nearest to him.

It was Cassandra. She said nothing – instead she stared back at him, features softening into something he couldn’t read. He was about to say something else when there was a thunderous noise behind him. He whirled around to find the Inquisitor trying to close the rift that they had all fallen from – on the ground at the Inquisitor’s feet was Hawke, blood smeared all over her clothes and forehead and a pained expression on her face.

Varric, on wobbly legs, ran over. He didn’t listen as the Inquisitor began to talk and he didn’t listen as concerned and worried voices rose from the group of Wardens. Instead, he focused all his energy on Hawke, and she hadn’t even stood up when he threw himself onto her, sending them both crashing back to the ground once more in an ungodly heap.

She felt so broken when he wrapped his arms around her. “Hawke,” he whispered through a wheeze as a cough rose in his throat from the dust in the air around them, “I was worried about you.”

Hawke chuckled humorlessly, squeezing him tighter, thumping the heel of her hand against his back to help clear his throat. “Back at you, dwarf,” she murmured, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “By the way, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re bleeding.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, so are you.” Varric pulled his head away from her and traced a cut above her eyebrow with his thumb. “What happened in there?”

She didn’t respond for a moment – instead she stared at him, her eyebrows suspended in question, and when he didn’t say anything, she jerked her head at the people surrounding them. “People are going to see,” she said under her breath.

But people had already seen – Varric knew that much when he realized Cassandra’s eyes were locked on him from across the courtyard. And he didn’t give a shit, anyway, not when Hawke nearly just died without Varric having the chance to say goodbye or tell her he loves her or kiss her one last time. They had always been careful about being romantic around other people. They had always tried to keep their relationship a secret - it was safer for the both of them if no one else knew. Now, neither of them were ever safe no matter where they went or who they went with, and there wasn’t any point in hiding it. Besides, he didn’t want to a wait a second longer to touch her.

Or he couldn’t wait. Or both.

“I don’t care, Hawke,” he chuckled, dragging his fingers up her face and pushing them through her hair, a smile cracking open the cut on her lip. “I’ll take every opportunity to be with you I can get after what just happened to you, to us. After not knowing if you were going to come out of that rift behind me. That’s the scariest shit that’s ever happened to me, Hawke, and that’s really saying something.”

The smile on her face died as her watery gaze flitted over to where the rift had just been closed. Varric, confused, followed suit, pushing himself up from her body as he did so. The Inquisitor, Theran, was standing alone on an overturned pillar, wringing his bloody hands as he choked out a speech to the remaining Wardens, struggling to keep himself together. Varric couldn’t blame the kid. Besides that, though, Varric couldn’t see anything else, and Hawke had looked so haunted. He didn’t understand why. He turned to face her again.

“What?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he moved his hands to her cheeks and shook her head to get her attention. “What, Hawke?”

“Mahariel,” Hawke whispered, squeezing her eyes shut until the creases in her forehead turned to canyons.

Varric looked over his shoulder and felt his face fall when he realized what he had missed and what was missing. The Warden Commander, who had journeyed through the Fade with them, was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t too worried about it at first – she had probably gotten lost in the commotion, or perhaps she had run off to find the healers. She was bleeding pretty severely when Varric last saw her, after all. But Hawke let out a strangled sob, and tears cut sharp lines through the layers of dust and dirt and blood on her cheeks, and he felt his bones buckling beneath him.

“Where is she?”

Theran was approaching them. He murmured Hawke’s name in a way that was different than his usual sweet, honeyed tone – it was clipped, cold, and then Varric realized how hard the Inquisitor was trying to hold himself back from crying, how close the dam was to breaking. Once he reached them, he didn’t say her name again. He must’ve realized too. Instead, he just knelt next to her and Varric and held his hand out.

“She stayed in the Fade, Varric,” Hawke managed to get out as she covered her face with one hand and gripped tightly onto Theran with the other.

“What?” Varric asked, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them as both started to break. Yes, she had been wounded, but she had been alive. She couldn’t have died in the few seconds between Varric’s escape from the Fade and then Hawke and the Inquisitor’s. “Why?”

“A creature blocked our path after you and the others escaped,” Theran explained. “Someone had to… stay back and fight it off.”

“I said I’d do it!” Hawke interrupted. “I told her I –“

She was cut off by a violent sob. Varric slid his hands under her back and lifted her up from the ground, cradling her against him, tilting his head to look at Theran and trying to focus even though his own vision was blurring with tears. Varric wasn’t a crier, but after everything that had happened, he let himself. No one would care much, anyway. “Go get a healer, kid,” he instructed as gently as he could manage. “You’re in bad shape.”

“But –“

“I’ll take care of her,” he said. He wasn’t sure if there was much he could do, but he wanted to be alone with her – it would be easier to calm her down that way. “You… take care of yourself.”

Theran hesitated. There was a pregnant pause before he stood up, wiping his cheeks and limping away from them with the rest of the injured Inquisition party. Hawke only cried harder after he left. Varric held her closer, his grip stronger. It’ll be a long trip back to Skyhold, he thought as he buried his nose in her hair and let his own tears fall.

And it was. He didn’t know what was worse, seeing Hawke sad or seeing her happy only to have the smile crushed like a bug beneath a boot. At night, when the army stopped travelling and set up camp, they’d sit around the fire with the other members of the Inquisition’s inner circle and eat the stale stew prepared by shaken up Inquisition soldiers and play cards or exchange stories and Varric would think that finally Hawke was fine, but eventually, each night, Varric would catch her watching Theran fiddling with his Dalish vambraces, turning to say something to the empty space next to him only for the words and the smile to die on his lips, and Hawke would quickly retire to their tent, leaving Varric to hurry after her with his arms open and empty.

He thought returning to Skyhold would be better. They’d keep a wide berth from everyone else for a while and Hawke would finally get time to recover from her wounds, both physical and emotional. She hadn’t been too close with the Warden-Commander, but they were friends, and Varric knew she felt guilty about leaving her behind in the Fade. He also felt guilty to be thankful that she had, and it only got worse when they stepped through the passed the fortress’ gates, weeks after the battle at Adamant had ended.

The Warden-Commander’s husband, Zevran, was waiting on the steps for the Inquisition’s arrival, a small elven girl sitting next to him. When the sea of soldiers finally parted to reveal Theran and Varric and Hawke at the centre of it, he ran over. He looked tired but expectant, and Varric quickly grabbed hold of Hawke’s wrist and dragged her in the opposite direction. It was not a conversation that either of them could or should have been around for, especially not when the night before had been one of Hawke’s worst, but they hadn’t even left earshot when the two men began to talk and she stopped in her tracks.

“My wife is not with you?” Zevran asked. “Where is she?”

The question was met with a answer of silence. “She…” Theran’s voice was hoarse. “… Isn’t with us.”

“Did she go off on another one of her crazy adventures without telling me?” Zevran chuckled. “She does that a lot, you know, and leaves me to take care of the baby! Not that I’m complaining, of course, I love my daughter. She’s not a baby, now, anyhow. Do you know where she is, however? I had a great many things I wanted to say to her and tell her about, but I suppose I will just have to send her a letter.”

“You… can’t.”

“Hawke, come on,” Varric urged quietly, but when he tried to pull her away she wouldn’t budge. She was rooted to her spot like a statue. Her face had gone pale to match.

“What do you mean?”

“There was a creature… I’m sorry.” Theran swiped at his eyes. “Lyna is… gone. We were trapped in the Fade, and I - We fought a nightmare demon, but before we could escape, our path was cut off by this creature, and she… She insisted that she stay behind to fight it… She sacrificed herself so Hawke and I could live.”

“I…” Zevran took a step away from Theran and stared at him, a smile still on his lips, disbelief painted on his face. “What? She is… dead? Or she is… in the Fade? I…” Varric had never seen the man at a loss for words before. “I… She cannot be dead. Surely, you must be mistaken -”

“It’s complicated, but…. I can’t explain it right now.” Theran’s face crumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

He brushed past Zevran and Dorian, who had come up to greet him and instead was left watching as he ran away up the stairs. It took a moment for Varric to catch the mage’s eye, but when he did, he jerked his head after the Theran. If anyone could make him feel better, it was Dorian, and if he couldn’t, then they were all in trouble. Dorian hurried after the Inquisitor, leaving Zevran alone by the front gates. He stared at the ground with a blank look on his face as the small elven girl next to him – his daughter – began to tug at his sleeve.

Varric looked over at Hawke to find her already crying. He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him as he led her up the stairs. “You need some sleep,” he murmured. “And a hot bath.”

He didn’t even know if she was listening until she muttered, “And you.” To that, he smiled.

“Alright. Whatever you want, Hawke.”

But not much made her feel better. They tried to play chess in the garden on sunny afternoons but she’d catch sight of Theran weakly tending to his plants and have to return to Varric’s quarters. They tried to eat dinner in the main hall only to find Zevran’s daughter trying to convince him to eat as she ignored her own bowl. They tried to walk along the battlements on crisp mornings when the sky was clear and cloudless but they’d have to turn around once they reached the Warden-Commander’s office and saw the furniture being carted out from it. It seemed like they couldn’t go anywhere in Skyhold anymore.

Besides the chapel. Ironically enough, considering they were two of the biggest blasphemers to ever grace the face of Thedas (which he told her late one night as they were curled up on the pews, resulting in a tearful giggling session on her behalf and a relieved one on his).

It was a small room, filled back to front with candles and well-worn copies of the Chant stacked from floor to ceiling in haphazard piles. Hawke would sit next to Varric as he leaned against the wall with her legs slung across his lap and her head tilted against his shoulder and she’d watch the candles burn and burn until they were down to the very bottom and then she’d wait a few minutes for the warm wax to cool before sculpting them back into misshapen versions of their old selves. It felt poetic. And that was annoying.

He hated the chapel. She did, too. Both of them felt stiff and uncomfortable and awkward, and she joked one night as they wandered back to his quarters that she didn’t even want to talk about her feelings with the statue of Andraste staring down at them. “She’s judging me!” Hawke exclaimed, blue eyes alight for the first time in weeks. Yes, she was ranting and raving like a woman who lacked a good night’s rest, but Varric cherished the outburst of energy anyway. “She’s just… judging me, Varric!”

“Then let’s find someplace else,” he suggested simply, continuing down the stone walkway when they reached the door to his quarters and passed it.

As it turned out, the battlements were nearly abandoned at that time of night, save for the occasional soldier or two who passed by with their eyes locked on the horizon. It was a little colder than it was during the day – that mountain breeze was about as unforgiving as Cassandra was – but it was… calmer, too. And the both of them needed someplace calm to be.

Hawke planted herself in front of one of the parapets and stared out at the white, empty expanse in front of them, a sigh escaping her chapped lips. Varric stood behind her, winding his arms around her waist and hugging her close. Another thing he loved about Hawke – she was always so warm. “When I die –“

“Nope.” Varric buried his face into the back of the jacket of his that she had donned earlier that day. “We’re not having this discussion.”

Not because they didn’t need to have it – they absolutely did. He just didn’t want to talk about it any more since it had been one of the only things running through his head for weeks and the topic was growing tired. He was growing tired.

“Give the estate away,” she continued, ignoring him. “Garrett and Anders won’t need it. Put it to good use - an escape route out of the city for mages o-or something.”

She was beginning to tremble. Varric held her even tighter, inhaling deeply, reveling in mingling smells of them both on his jacket.

“Or give it to Mahariel’s husband,” she added quietly. “It’d be a nice place to raise a child. Lots of light in the morning. Not too far from the market or the Viscount’s Keep. He deserves it after what I did to him.”

Varric drew away and spun her around by the hips. “Hawke –“

“It was my fault,” she seethed through the spit pooling in her mouth, wiping her wet lips on the back of her hand. “I should have stayed and helped, or convinced her to come with me, or –“

“And then what?” Varric demanded. It felt like a dam somewhere within him had finally burst and at once, a tidal wave of emotions came rushing out of him. “And then you’d have died, too! What would that have solved, Hawke? Tell me, ‘cause I’m trying to figure it out myself!”

“She has a child! And a husband!”

“And you have me!” He gave a bitter laugh. “I mean… Shit, Hawke, I know you’re down in the dumps, but doesn’t that matter to you?!”

“Of course it does!” she argued, eyes blazing.

“Really?” he asked. “Because it doesn’t feel like it! You’ve seen me through Bartrand and that mess with the mages and templars and everything that came before and everything that came after and… What do I have to say or do that would convince you that losing you would kill me?”

She stared at him, taken aback at his outburst, stepping away from his as her eyes filled with tears.

“Shit.” Varric ran a hand through his hair and reached out for her. “Look, I’m sorry, Hawke –“

Her hand slipped out of his grasp. “Go to bed,” she urged him quietly.

“No!” he replied with a disbelieving, humourless laugh. “I’m not just going to… leave you here –“

“Please, Varric.”

There was a moment of silence and then he took a step away from her, too, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly, eyes locked on the snow coated stones of the battlements. “Fine,” he repeated, throwing his hands up in defeat, “I will.”

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t upset with her and upset with himself. He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t crushed that she was so miserable and that he couldn’t convince her not to be. He had been trying his hardest for weeks and weeks to make her feel better, but knowing that there was nothing he could do… it made him feel like shit. The whole situation made him feel like shit.

With that, he turned to leave, but lingered a moment longer to add, “I… love you, Hawke. I hope you know that.”

He had already begun walking away when she said it back.

She didn’t return to his room until a few hours later. He had finally managed to nod off when he heard the sound of the door creaking open and, afterwards, the sound of her boots squeaking as she hesitated at the threshold. As if he was going to turn her away. Varric, groggy and grumpy but glad she didn’t stay out all night, shuffled over in bed to make room for her beside him, not bothering to look up to see if she would take him up on the wordless offer.

Eventually, as he expected, she slid beneath the covers. Her nose was cold as she pressed it to the nape of his neck and pushed his hair out of the way, nuzzling the top notch of his spine. The last thing Varric did before falling asleep was grab her hand and hold it tight against his chest and, despite everything, smile.

This, begrudgingly, became their routine. Hawke would spend most afternoons cooped up in Varric’s room, sitting in front of the window and reading, too uncomfortable to go anywhere else, and, after his work for the day was done, he’d bring her dinner and then take her on a walk of the battlements until the sun was long gone. But it didn’t feel any different to what they were doing before – in fact, it felt worse. Hawke wasn’t getting any better and both of them had all but stopped trying to make her.

He was taking up a bowl of stew to her one night when he passed by the chapel to find the door open and Cassandra kneeling inside. Usually, he wouldn’t have stopped. He might’ve closed the door for her or he might’ve just kept going. But that night the door creaked loudly as he pushed it open with the tip of boot and he grimaced as Cassandra whirled around.

It was almost funny how her eyes first looked to the top of the doorframe and then dropped to Varric’s height with obvious disappointment. Almost funny, but not quite. “Oh.”

All she had to do was say one word and he already regretted joining her.

“Hello to you too,” he mumbled, turning around, ready to leave as quickly as he had come. The sound of her clearing her throat made him halt.

“How is… Hawke?”

As if you care was the first response that formed on his tongue, but he realized that was unfair – besides, she didn’t need to care just to ask if one of her allies was healthy enough to be helpful again. “Not great,” he answered with an honest sigh.

“The Fade was an ordeal for us all,” she tried to say in comfort.

“Yeah, and yet you and I feel well enough to leave our quarters.”

Rarely did anything shut Cassandra up. That did.

“Anyway… I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he mumbled, “so I’ll –“

“You want something from me.”

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “What?”

“What is it?”

“You think I…” He shook his head. “What could I need from you, Seeker?”

If anyone had watching them, the comment would’ve come off as harsh, and he’d have come off as an asshole. Their relationship – the strained thing that it was – was antagonistic at best, and it took him a moment to realize that she seemed to be offering whatever it was she thought he wanted with genuine concern.

“I don’t know,” she said plainly, shrugging as she stood up from where she had been kneeling in front of the statue of Andraste. “I would normally offer to pray for you, but I think that the Maker would smite me if I tried.”

Varric tried to hide his snort of laughter.

And then she smiled at him – an earnest smile – and he looked to the floor. “I just… don’t know how to show Hawke how badly I need her,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“The Varric Tethras? Needing something?” Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast making a decent joke? I never thought I’d see that day, either.”

She strolled towards a pew pushed up against the wall and sat down. Her hand raised as if she was going to pat the seat beside her and beckon him to sit down, and then she just clasped it in her lap with the other.

Andraste’s tits. When did things get so weird?

“I’m trying to think of what some shitty protagonist in a cheesy Orlesian novel would say or do,” he muttered, “but I’ve done it all. Everything I can think of… and it’s not enough.”

Cassandra laughed, and Varric glared at her, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Marry her.”

His heart nearly leaped into his throat. When he tried to speak, nothing came out, and he could see Cassandra rolling her eyes.

If Hawke were here, she’d be rolling her eyes, too.

“Shit,” Varric murmured breathlessly, “you’re right.”

“You of all people could use a promise of devotion or two,” she said in an almost informative tone as if she needed to convince him any further. “Hawke, too. The pair of you live and breathe sacrilege.”

But the insult fell on deaf ears – Varric had already turned on his heel and was sprinting out the door, spilling soup on the floor beneath him as he went. “Thanks, Seeker!”

She might have given him a reply, but he was too far away already to hear it.

His quarters were empty when he reached them, the front of his shirt dripping and his hairline beading with sweat. A part of him was relieved Hawke wasn’t there – he had no idea where he’d put the damned thing the last time he took it off and she’d get suspicious if he spent an hour searching for something he refused to tell her about. The bowl clattered rather unceremoniously to the floor as he hurried over to his desk, talking to himself as he went

What the fuck was he going to say?

Would he give her a proper proposal or bullshit his way through it? Hawke might like the charm of a blustery, bullshitted thing, but… like Cassandra said, it was supposed to be a promise. And Varric needed her to know that this promise was going to last them through the Fade and back and back again… and back again, probably, knowing them.

A proper proposal it was.

He slid the Tethras signet ring onto his thumb, grabbed a warmer coat, and headed for the door with one last glance at his quarters - then, at the last second, he hurried back to his bed and made it.

“This is it, then,” he said to himself.

He pushed through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

Hawke was standing at her usual place on the battlements and she didn’t turn to face Varric as he approached, crunching snow under his boots and whistling under his breath. Fluffy flakes fell all around her and clung to her coat, cloaking her in what looked to be swathes of heavy white cotton, and when he reached her he raised a hand to wipe her shoulder clean until he could see the familiar, well-worn leather of his coat – well, their coat now, he supposed – underneath.

“Hi,” she greeted with her eyes closed. He continued to dust her off until he could make out the colour of the scarf she was wearing – pale blue, he noted, just like her shirt and her stockings and everything else.

“Hey,” he replied, chest filled with a familiar warmth at the sight of her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good, actually.”

He smiled. “Cold?” he suggested. She giggled.

“Cold,” she agreed as he slipped his hand into hers and leaned his head against her bicep. Despite everything, Varric thought, he still loved being with her. They fit together so perfect. “Anyways…” He heard the smirk on her lips before he even looked up. “Something tells me you didn’t just come here to flirt.”

Damn it. She knew him too well for him to be able to pull something on her. He should’ve guessed. “If you think that’s me flirting, then I’ve been doing a shitty job in wooing you,” Varric grumbled, trying best to divert the conversation away from his failing deception.

“You wooed me the second you shot a bolt at my would-be thief’s head,” she teased.

If she didn’t sound so hopeful, he wouldn’t have relented. He’d have talked a little while longer, or he’d have tried to surprise her, or he’d have tried to cheer her up first. But she already looked… happy. Or happier than she’d been, at least. And he’d do everything he could to try and keep her that way.

So he pulled away, hiding his hand in his sleeve so he could brush the pad of his index finger over the ring adorning his thumb.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said. A few seconds of silence passed in which she was clearly waiting for him to continue before she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oh?”

A heavy lump was going in his throat. It was the first moment that it occurred to him she might say no, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit it threw him off and nearly convinced him to pretend it never happened.

Nearly.

“And… Uh…”

He heaved a great, dramatic sigh, holding his hand out to her – well, he flapped it at her, more accurately, an ineloquent sort of thing that almost made the both of them laugh if the conversation hadn’t taken such a serious turn. “Do you remember this?” he asked her, curling his hand into a fist and holding the ring’s face in her direction.

“Yes, I do,” she answered quietly.

He wasn’t surprised. She was the one who had given it to him, after all – or, rather, given it back to him after his bastard of a brother pawned it off for some money to put towards their Deep Roads expedition. Varric had been furious when he found out, and though he eventually let Bartrand believe he had gotten over it, he never really did, and he kept an eye out for it wherever he went even though he didn’t really have any hope that it was still in Kirkwall.

He hadn’t expected to ever find it. He didn’t expect Hawke to look for it, either.

She had her legs kicked up on his headboard, the rest of her body sprawled beneath it across his orange-and-golden blanket like a cat in a sunbeam. The most delightfully devilish smile that was teasing the corners of her lips matched that attitude, and Varric couldn’t help but laugh, sitting a short distance away from her.

“What?” he chuckled, taking his glasses off and tossing them onto a pile of crumpled papers next to him.

“I’ve been meaning to give you something,” she announced, tilting her freckled face away from him to look down at the pocket she was wrist-deep in.

“Oh yeah?” he replied.

When she pulled her hand back out, she was clutching something in her fist, but quickly closed her fingers around it so he could see. “No peeking,” she told him. “It’s a surprise.”

“If it’s one of those leather whips they sell in the Hightown Market, Hawke, you know what I think about those -”

To his surprise, she bent over, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it at his face, shutting him up with a dull whump. “It’s better,” she responded. “Close your eyes.”

As his heartbeat began to pick up in his chest, he tried his damned best to look as ambivalent as possible. To Hawke’s enemies, the suggestion of a surprise would not be a welcome one; to her friends, it would be more than such. To Varric? 

“This better be good,” he answered as begrudgingly as he could pull off while he bit back a grin, dutifully following her orders and shutting his eyes.

Nothing happened at first – there was the sound of papers and fabric rustling and the occasional soft grunt that Varric would’ve smiled about had he not been so nervous. And feeling like a fool, too. He didn’t get nervous about anything, and yet his best friend had a surprise for him that left him feeling sick.

It took him a second or two to realize she was waiting for him, and he cracked an eye open.

She was sitting up, cross-legged and close to him, so close that he didn’t realize what his gift was because he couldn’t even see it until he finally looked down to where her fist was practically pressed up against his chest. There was a flash of gold and red in the light as angled her hand back and forth, showing off the gift in a theatrical manner. He couldn’t quite make out what she was showing him until he grabbed her gently by the wrist and eased her to a stop.

And then it hit him.

He felt his jaw drop, then, sitting on his bed with her in Kirkwall while she held the signet ring out to him with a smug look on her face. “Is that the Tethras signet ring?” he asked her.

Standing on the Skyhold battlements, however, Hawke’s jaw didn’t drop. Instead she watched completely silent as Varric took off the ring and held it between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting his hand so that it glinted in the silver sliver of moonlight piercing through the clouds.

“It’s the Tethras signet ring,” she told him finally.

“It is,” Varric replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

Hawke’s gaze flicked back and forth between his face and the ring, taking a step closer so that the distance between their bodies was practically nothing. “And… what?”

Varric looked up at her, forcing a smile. He’d better pull the bandage off quick. “And I wanted you to have it.”

“Why –“

“And I wanted to know if you’d marry me, Hawke.”

The words came out quickly and slurred like he was a man drunk. He sounded that way, anyway, and since Hawke wasn’t expecting it, he was sure she might think that he was, too. Afterwards, there was a profoundly long silence.

He wasn’t drunk, but at that moment he couldn’t wait for the conversation to be over so he could be.

Of course she wouldn’t want to marry him. After everything that happened in the Fade, after seeing Zevran feeding the Warden-Commander’s baby alone in the great hall, after Kirkwall –

“Varric?”

He had squeezed his eyes shut. It took Hawke’s finger hooked under his chin and the feeling of her breath washing over his face for him to open them again.

He immediately looked away, however. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked –“

“Of course I’ll marry you, Varric.”

There was a grin so radiant on her face that it outshone the moonlight peeking through the clouds above them. Varric felt blinded. “Really?” he asked, stammering in disbelief.

“Yes!” she replied. “Yes! Of course! I’ve been waiting, you idiot!”

Hawke let out a happy whooping sound, throwing her arms around his waist and hoisting him into the air. Varric, not knowing what else to do or, perhaps, not wanting to do anything else, began to laugh. He couldn’t help it. For a moment – one long, shining moment - he felt truly weightless.

And then they both fell hard onto the slippery stones, each landing with a string of various strangled ‘ow’s that were only drowned out only by the sounds of them beginning to laugh again.

It was a while before they picked themselves up – in fact, Varric had resigned himself to sleep there when Josephine, bleary-eyed and blinking, hurried towards them with Theran at her heels.

“What is it?” the ambassador demanded, nearly tripping over her own feet as she came to a sudden stop in front of them. “Are there assassins?”

Hawke, lips as blue as her eyes and teeth chattering at the pace of an Orlesian flute during an opera, held up the Tethras signet ring adorning her thumb.

“We’re getting married!” she exclaimed with a wheeze.

Josephine, clearly having thought there to be a more urgent matter, stared at them for a moment before eventually letting out a good-natured huff. “Well… congratulations,” she told them with a smile, smoothing her slightly messy hair down against her head. “That’s wonderful to hear.” And then, under her breath, “I’m sure the Seeker will be pleased…”

“Au contraire,” Varric interjected. “It was actually her idea.”

Josephine’s manicured eyebrows nearly flew off her head. “Really?”

“Yeah. Believe me… I was surprised as you are.”

Theran had been watching the conversation unfold with his hands folded behind his back – as he stepped forward with a kind smile, he held one out to both Hawke and Varric respectively. “Congratulations,” he said quietly. “I’m… very happy for you.”

Hawke looked at his hand for a moment before taking it. “Thanks,” she replied, beaming at him as he helped her up.

“Yeah, thank you,” Varric said. “I hope you don’t mind having it in Skyhold…”

Before Theran could reply, Josephine stepped forward. “I think that is a great idea!” she said, eyes already sparkling as the gears in her head began to turn. “It’ll be good to boost everyone’s spirits, especially after what we faced at Adamant.”

At the mention of it, both Theran and Hawke became silent, and Josephine touched a hand to her mouth. Varric wasn’t about to ask everyone to stop mentioning what happened at Adamant – there was no way to get around talking about it sometimes – but he tried to avoid it as much as he could, for Hawke’s sake as well as his own. Josephine must have realized that.

“Well…” She cleared her throat. “If that’s all, Varric, then I hope you do not mind if I return to my quarters…”

“Of course not,” Varric said with his best attempt at an easy-going smile. “Goodnight, Ambassador.”

“You, too,” Josephine said. “Hawke. Inquisitor. You have a good night, as well.”

Theran nodded in response and waved her good-bye while Hawke turned to Varric again, cupping his stubbly cheeks in her damp hands and running the back of the ring over a scar near his nose.

“Let’s go to bed, too,” she murmured, her hair falling in front of her face as she bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I think we should… celebrate.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing,” Varric said as the two of them exchanged crooked smiles. No matter what sort of mood he was in or how much brooding he had been doing, she always knew exactly how to smile to make him feel better. She pulled away and, while she slipped her hand into his and dusted snow off their jacket, Varric looked towards to where Theran was still standing on the battlements, staring out at the snowy mountains.

“You should get to bed, too, kid,” he suggested. “You know how Sparkler is.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes moved over to him and a bemused expression flickered briefly his face. “I do,” he responded with a curt nod. “You’re right. Goodnight, Varric. Goodnight, Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Hawke answered as Theran turned on his heel and began the long, lonely trek back to his quarters.

Varric made a note to check in with him before they left for the Arbor Wilds. He had been spending so much time with Hawke that he didn’t realize until now how wounded Theran must’ve been, too.

Poor kid.

“So,” she said then, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Engaged.”

“Engaged,” Varric agreed, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. He tugged on her arm. “Did you ever think we’d get here?”

“Oh, no. I thought some templar would’ve killed me years ago.”

He chuckled in agreement. That made two of them. “And yet, here you are…”

“Here we are,” she corrected. “Even after everything that’s happened, here we are, alive and…”

As she trailed off, Varric squeezed her hand. “Alive and well,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, half to him and half to herself. “I mean… getting there.”

That was something, at least. Varric kissed her shoulder, leaving a lip-shaped imprint in the layer of snow, and then stood on his tip-toes to kiss her cheek. “Well, I’m gonna be there with you the whole way,” he told her as smirk teased his lips. “Not that I have much of a choice anymore –“

She shot him a glare full of daggers and rammed her knobbly elbow into his side. “Ow!” he exclaimed, yanking his hand out of her grasp. “I was kidding, Hawke!”

“Mm-hmm.” Hawke wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close as they rather clumsily walked together towards the lights in the windows of the tavern that appeared like orange phantoms between the flurries of fluffy snow. “You might want to take it back anyway, since I had some very nice things planned for us tonight and I’m not sure if a naughty man such as yourself deserves them anymore…”

“I take it back,” Varric replied as he tipped his head back to look up at her. “There’s nothing in the whole of Thedas I want more than to marry you, Hawke, and I’ll be damned if something or someone tries to stop me from doing just that.”

She dropped a kissed to his nose, nudging open the door to one of Skyhold’s towers with her shoulder. “We better get planning, then.”

And they did. Varric’s letters piled up on the desk in their room until spilled all over the ground and Cassandra’s patience grew very, very thin, but he didn’t particularly care. Wedding planning was a lot more work than he expected. Not only did he have to spend hours arguing with everyone – particularly Dorian – about what decorations he and Hawke were going to decide on and what food they were going to serve during the celebrations afterward, he also had to figure out what he was going to wear.

Hawke didn’t have the same problem he did. They had only been engaged for two days when he sealed and sent away a velvet sack full of sovereigns that was payment for her wedding dress. “And I don’t even get to see it,” he grumbled as he passed it to the courier standing besides Skyhold’s front gates.

Hawke, standing behind him with her hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, gave an unsympathetic laugh next to his ear. “You’ll get to see it when we’re getting married,” she told him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Isn’t that enough?”

“What if it doesn’t even fit?” he asked.

Hawke spun them both around, pointing them towards the tavern.

“Josephine was very particular about getting my measurements right,” she assured him as they began to struggle up the stairs. “I think she’s more excited about this than we are.”

Varric didn’t doubt it. He wanted to marry Hawke, of course, and there was nothing that could change that, but the whole ordeal felt like a little too much, especially when he wanted to do it as soon as he could. It was just their friends attending, after all - it didn’t need to be some big thing. But Josephine insisted, and then Hawke insisted, and… well, he’d do anything to make her happy, especially now and especially when he wasn’t sure how long it’d last until something else came along and crushed her.

Though Isabela being in Skyhold made that seem a little less likely. He had been mildly horrified when Hawke said she invited Isabela to officiate their wedding – “She officiated Mahariel’s wedding as well!” she informed him rather matter-of-factly without even catching herself – and yet… the thought of seeing her again was a damn nice one.

They had to trudge through ankle-deep snow in Skyhold’s courtyard just to reach the front gate on the day of her arrival. To Varric’s absolute delight, she was still wearing her pirate hat, though the edges were weighed down with snow.

“This had better be worth it,” Isabela said with her usual smirk. “My fingers falling off wouldn’t be good for anyone. And please tell me Carver is coming - I want to see that silver hair of his in person…”

“He’s coming,” Hawke replied, “though I think you’ll be disappointed about his hair.”

“Carver’s coming?” Varric asked as the two women embraced. It seemed that Hawke had done even more for the wedding without him than he even realized. He wasn’t surprised, though. Once she put her mind to something, she’d do it or die trying. He knew that all too well.

“He’s due here the day before the wedding, but…” Hawke shrugged, reaching up and smacking one of the heavy feathers hanging down from Isabela’s hat out of her face. “We’re not having without him.” Varric couldn’t help but agree.

Isabela grabbed Hawke’s arm and took off towards the tavern, tugging her along easily despite the height of the heels on her pirate boots in the snow. “What about big brother Garrett? Will he trudging through the mountains ass-deep in snow just to see you walk, as well?”

“He and Anders are helping the wardens recover after… after Adamant,” Hawke answered before Varric could jump in.

It was the first time she had said the name in weeks. She hadn’t even spoken of Adamant at all since the night of Varric’s proposal. He supposed that the less she brought it up, the less she thought about it, which was something he fully supported, but he couldn’t help but notice the faltering in her step as she spoke about it for the first time in a long time.

Isabela stopped, then, slowly turning on her heel to look at Hawke. “Yes, about that -”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hawke interrupted with an uncomfortable laugh. “At least not right now. We should celebrate that you’re here, instead!”

She didn’t notice the obviously concerned glance that Isabela shot in Varric’s direction before grinning. “I suppose the bride-to-be should be the one to claim all the shots… as long as I get to choose what drink is in them.”

“Deal.”

The two women hugged again once more, long and lingering, before starting off towards the tavern again.

Hawke was quiet that night when she and Varric returned to their quarters, stepping through the piles of papers and unwashed clothes on the floor of their quarters to get to their dresser and then, eventually, their bed.

“… I still can’t believe she almost out-drank Bull,” Varric laughed as he pulled his tunic over his head and threw it onto the chair that stood untucked from his desk and untouched for days. “She doesn’t even look like she’s aged a day since Kirkwall. I mean, how does she –“

He turned around to see Hawke sitting still and staring out the window. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it had become an unwelcome one, and also one Varric didn’t think he’d again see for a while. Letting out a sigh, he watched her for a moment, her shock of short red hair fluttering in the breeze coming in through the slit in the window and her blue eyes even bluer with a watery sheen, before padding around the room to blow out all the candles but one and then joining her on the bed.

“You’re allowed to be happy, you know,” he said gently, sitting against the wall and reaching forward to ease her back down into his lap.

“I know,” she replied on a hitched breath, closing her eyes as he swept her hair from her face and ran his fingers through it. “I mean… I think I know. I want to marry you, Varric, that hasn’t changed. But then I remember the look on the Zevran’s face or I see him and his daughter looking so lost without Mahariel and I…”

She swore to herself and Varric grimaced.

“I know,” he said. “You think I don’t struggle with shit like that too, Hawke? We all do! This place, this country… Everywhere you look and everywhere you go, there are warzones and dead bodies and…”

“And what to we do?”

Tension enveloped to them for what felt like a thousand years when finally Varric cleared his throat. “What I’ve learned…” He bent forward so they were face to face and he hung there, wordless, until she cracked an eye open. “Is that we just gotta really… take life by the tits.” He kept talking through her laughter. “And we’ve gotta live. We’ve gotta live for the people that didn’t and for ourselves, too. ‘Cuz you don’t want to die thinking ‘I wish I married Varric’, do you? I certainly don’t! Some day when some assassin runs me through, I want to think, ‘I’m glad I married Hawke because I fuckin’ love my wife.’”

She met his eyes. “Wife.”

“Damn right.”

There was a giggle at the back of her throat. “Just a short time away, now.”

Time had gone by so quickly he could barely believe it. On the other hand, however, he felt like he’d been waiting for it for centuries. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s hope those assassins don’t come early, then.”

He left Hawke laughing, crawling to their bedside table and blowing out the last candle he had left aflame before joining her beneath the blankets and hugging her very close, whispering reassurances in her ear until they both managed to fall asleep.

In the days leading up to their wedding, Varric spent a lot of time thinking. He watched Skyhold’s workers string up fake frilly flowers on the walls and tested various meals Josephine had laid out for him to taste and sat in on war table meetings about what the army was expecting to face when they travelled to the Arbor Wilds at the end of the month and he thought. He thought about Bartrand and Isabela and Anders and Fenris and Aveline, and Knight-Commander Meredith and Enchanter Orsino, and he even thought about Carver occasionally but, mostly, he thought about Hawke. He thought about how grateful he was that the Maker, if He was really out there, made their paths cross that day in Kirkwall. He didn’t know what he’d do without her.

Varric was not a man to play down his talents. He knew what he was good at, what gifts he had, and he took great pride in them. But he was most proud of the fact that a woman as wild and as wondrous as Hawke loved him and kept loving him each and every day even when the world tried its hardest to split them apart.

And they were getting married. Ha! If only Bartrand knew their little expedition to the Deep Roads would lead to this.

Carver arrived the day before the wedding as planned but he was thoroughly miserable – he had been caught in a snowstorm on his way up the mountain and spent two days in the Inquisition camp in the valley. When Hawke and Varric met him at the front gate, his cold glare and hard frown were almost a match for the ice he was unsteadily standing on.

“You’re lucky I was already in Ferelden for Warden work,” he grumbled as Hawke launched herself at him. “If we weren’t as disorganized as we are, then I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to come for this.”

“Oh, drop the act, Carver,” Hawke scolded into his neck as he tightened his arms around her waist. “I know you’re happy to see me.”

He rolled his eyes at Varric but his frown was gradually easing into a smile. “Yes, well… after what happened –“

“No Adamant talk,” Varric cut in almost a little too harshly. “Not until after the wedding, at least.”

“Right. The wedding.” Carver put Hawke back down and patted her shoulder. “Good to see someone’s finally going to make an honest woman out of you.”

“Oh, Carver… No one could make an honest woman out of me. Especially not Varric.”

He laughed, reaching up and running a hand through his hair – black for the most part with the faintest hint of silvery tips. Varric hadn’t even noticed them before.

Maker, they were all getting old. But it was a good feeling.

“I suppose that’s true,” Carver said. “By the way… I couldn’t help some scouts talking in the valley –“

“Yes, Isabela is here,” Hawke replied.

Carver gawked at her. “How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

“Because I just knew.” She grinned at him. “And, by the way, she’s excited to see you.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

She linked her arm through his and led him towards the tavern, where the ship captain was already waiting for the both of them, talking all the while, and Varric followed behind slowly, face turned toward the clouds.

Skyhold had been hectic in the days before Carver’s arrival. Not only in preparation for the wedding but for the Inquisition’s journey to the Arbor Wilds, as well. No one had much of an idea as to what they were going to face, and they wanted to be ready. And if they weren’t ready… well, they didn’t want to leave Skyhold weighed down by regrets. The wedding had come at the perfect time.

Dawn came slowly on the morning of their wedding after a much-needed sleep, and with it came Hawke’s early departure. “It’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day,” she said after Varric awoke, planting her hand over his eyes before he even opened them so he couldn’t look at her.

“All these rituals,” he murmured as he puckered his lips to kiss her palm.

“I want to do this right,” she replied. “I want something to go right.”

“It will,” he assured her. “Everything with you and me always goes right.”

He wasn’t wrong. He hoped she knew that, too. If something was going to go well, it’d be their wedding. He had made sure of it. Hawke moved her fingers just enough to lean in and press a quick kiss his lips. “I need to go,” she whispered against his mouth. “So no peeking.”

“No promises,” he said, pulling her in for a second kiss and then, after a happy hum of approval, a third.

After she had gone - without Varric daring to take even the sneakiest of glances, as per her wish - he dragged himself out of bed and set up a small looking glass on his desk to stare at himself in. Unlike Hawke, no one was clambering to help him get ready, so he supposed he’d have to do it himself.

Of course, that was when Dorian knocked on his door. Well, knocked on it and then promptly opened it.

The morning blurred into the afternoon in a haze of boot polish and a hasty last minute wash of Varric’s nicest white shirt and, before he even caught a moment to sit down and catch his breath, it was time to head to the chapel. Hawke wasn’t there when he arrived, nor was Carver, but Isabela was standing proudly beneath the statue of Andraste with her pirate hat jauntily tilted on her head and an entertained expression on her face as she examined it. He walked over to her, wringing his hands together.

She turned around at his approach. “You should see some of the paintings of Andraste I’ve seen…” She gestured towards it and frowned. “This doesn’t compare in the slightest.”

“No? I heard dresses made out of stone were very in-style these days.”

“They couldn’t have even painted the skirt white or shown a bit of leg. How boring.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “You should tell the clerics in the Grand Cathedral that. I’m sure they’d love your input.

“Hmm… I should go to Orlais soon, and if not to piss off the Chantry than for the wine. And the cheese, too.”

“They do have good wine and cheese,” Varric said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Is there anywhere you’re looking forward to go after this is all over?”

“Here and there,” she answered. “And I’m hoping to make some more coin before I do. Actually, you know, I was thinking about it last night… This is, what, the second wedding I’ve done?” She turned to him with her hip cocked. “I should start charging for this. Cruises and weddings by Isabela – now that has a nice ring to it.”

“How about honeymoons?” Varric chuckled. “After this Inquisition business is over and done with, Hawke and I might need to get away for a while. Before going back to Kirkwall, I mean.”

“You don’t even need to ask,” Isabela replied. “I have missed my favourite drinking buddies.”

“Yeah, well… We’ve missed you, too.”

She was about to say something else when her amber eyes slid over to the door and her smirk grew into a smile almost as wide as the brim of her hat.

In the time he had approached Isabela and started talking to her, everyone else had been seated in the few pews they managed to keep in the chapel after setting up all of the decorations, and as soon as he followed her gaze he could see Hawke and Carver standing in the doorway, silhouetted so strongly by the bright sunlight in the garden behind them that they were nothing more than two shadows. Only when they stepped further into the room and the door was shut tightly behind them could Varric really, truly see her.

“Andraste, eat you heart out,” Isabela commented under her breath. He didn’t even hear her.

Varric had seen many things over the years. He had seen Orlesian paintings smaller than the nail of his thumb and taller than the ceiling in his room back at the Hanged Man. He had seen all sorts of statues – marble, gold, bronze, silver. He had seen Hightown during thunderstorms and Lowtown during hurricanes, and he had stood in the Kirkwall harbour and seen every colour of every kind of sunset that one person could see, and yet nothing – nothing – was as beautiful as Hawke was. He told himself he wasn’t going to cry, but… he couldn’t really help it when he began tearing up. Especially not when she was tearing up, too.

The dress was pretty – white, with flared sleeves and embroidered flowers – but she could’ve been wearing a sack for all he cared. In fact, she could’ve just emerged from the Maker-forsaken swamps in the Fallow Mire with twigs sticking out from her hair and mud caked on her face and he would’ve thought she looked perfect.

When she reached him, they were both crying, and whatever speech Isabela was giving went unheard. Varric was trying to wipe the tears from Hawke’s cheeks at the same time she tried to get him to stop laughing and it wasn’t until Isabela cleared her throat that they remembered other people were there and that they were listening. The ceremony was short. Within minutes, they were being prompted to kiss one another while the small crowd of spectators in the chapel began to clap and cheer them on.

Hawke twined her arms around his neck and leaned in close. “Husband,” she murmured to him.

“Wife,” he murmured back before he pressed his lips to hers.

Night had fallen as the after party finally rolled around and they headed into the great hall. The room, already, smelt of booze and Ferelden stew, and though both of them were eager to sit down and talk to their friends, instead Varric and Hawke took up positions by the door to the garden where members of the Inquisition greeted them and congratulated them as they entered. Cassandra, to their surprise, shook both of their hands. She might’ve even winked at Varric.

Afterwards, there was dinner, and after that, there was cake. They even popped open a bottle of some fancy Orlesian champagne that Hawke and Varric both drank more than their fair share of before finally passing off to Carver and Isabela. The whole ordeal was the same as their relationship – a little messy, a little chaotic, but also warm and loving, and Varric was so unbelievably happy. Which, he thought, he deserved. Both of them deserved it.

They didn’t get many wedding gifts, but they got a few. Theran’s in particular surprised them both. “I don’t really know how to give you this,” he began uneasily, holding a rather large crate in his arms that Varric swore was moving of its own accord.

They shared a look.

“It’s not something deadly, right?” Varric asked.

Theran looked upset. “No, it’s not! Well… maybe,” he replied. “But… um… look, maybe it’s best if you opened it?”

He set the crate on the ground. As Varric crouched down to remove the blanket covering the top of the crate, however, he was surprised to find that something else – the thing inside - did it first. After some rustling and some untangling on Theran’s behalf, Varric and Hawke were presented with a small puppy.

Huh.

“It’s a… well, it’s a girl. You can name it whatever you like. I thought it might be fun for the two of you to have one, a-and I thought that if you ever needed comforting then, you know…”

“You got us a dog?”

The colour bled out from Theran’s face at Hawke’s surprised tone. “If you don’t like her, I can always –“

In her usual fashion, Hawke threw herself onto Theran as she hugged him, and it was only his strength that kept them both from falling to the ground. “I love her,” she whispered excitedly into his hair. “Thank you so much, Theran, for everything.”

He was blushing when he set her back down, wringing his hands nervously, eyes dancing around the room. “I don’t know if I have much to be thanked for –“

“You do.” Hawke planted a firm hand on his shoulder, her tone light yet insistent at the same time. “You’re a good person. Don’t get too down on yourself, okay?”

He looked like he was going to cry. “Okay,” he said, nodding to himself. “Okay. I won’t.”

She smiled before giving him a gentle shake and nudging him in the direction of the musicians. “Looks like a certain someone is waiting to dance with you,” she said, lifting her eyebrows in Dorian’s direction. “Go have some fun.”

For the first time since Adamant, Theran looked at peace. “Okay, I will!” he chirped, dashing off towards the makeshift dance floor and leaving them with a puppy at their feet that he, within seconds, came back to scoop up in his arms. “Though I’ll probably… bring her upstairs for tonight,” he said sheepishly. “Just in case you… Yes.”

They all knew very obviously what he was implying, and even Varric felt himself beginning to flush. “Thanks, kid,” he said good-naturedly, waving Theran off. “Take care of her and then go dance with Sparkler. You earned it.”

As Theran pushed through the crowd with a crate and a puppy in his arms, Hawke turned to Varric and smiled. “Do you have any other surprises for me?” she asked.

“Me?” Varric hadn’t planned on getting a dog. “That was all him.”

She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “Is it gonna hurt your feelings when I tell you that that was the best part of my day?”

“Yeah, a little!” Varric replied haughtily. “But hey, I’ll make it up to you…”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow as he snaked an arm around her and hugged her close to his chest. “And how are you gonna do that?”

He let his lips ghost over hers before abruptly pulling back and leading her towards the dance floor.

“I’ve been practicing my dips,” he announced to her as she groaned and rolled her eyes and trudged after him. “You’ll be veeeee-ry impressed.”

“And if I’m not, then you’ll get us another dog?”

“I make no promises.”

Neither of them were particularly majestic creatures, and their dancing certainly wasn’t, either, but it was fun, especially when Hawke accidentally broke both of her shoes and received an amused scolding from Josephine and especially when they were almost kicked off the dance floor for being too tipsy (but they played the ‘marriage’ card to get a special pass). Hours passed, however, and by the time midnight came, the two of them were the last ones to be dancing after everyone, save for Isabela and Carver who were flirting in the corner, went to sleep.

“… And I thought it’d be too much if I asked you if I could sleep in your bed.”

“Yeah, but you did anyway.”

“Yeah, because you offered!” Hawke protested.

“Only because you were drunk and I wasn’t convinced you’d be able to crawl yourself back to Gamlen’s house and get there in one piece.”

“Hey.” She frowned at him and punched him playfully on the arm. “I’d barely make it, but I’d still make it.”

“I know you would,” Varric replied. “You’ve got all the determination of a mother bear and all the grace of one, too.”

She punched him again, more times than he could count, until he kissed her to get her to stop.

“Do you ever think about that?” she asked once they had taken up their dancing positions again and started twirling around even farther in the room. “Being parents? Having kids?”

The thought had crossed his mind once or twice, but he’d never wanted to bring it up before. “We already have a kid, now, don’t we?”

“I mean other than the dog,” she tutted.

“Well… yeah, a few times, a guess,” Varric answered in truth. “Why, do you want some?”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “It’s certainly something we should talk about more,” she told him, though he could tell in the wistful look on her face that she had more than made up her mind. “But, as of right now… I think we have our own private celebration to get to.”

He hadn’t realized it, but she was tugging him down the length of the great hall towards the doorway that would, eventually, lead them to their quarters.

“Oh, do you now?” Varric said, bemused.

“I do indeed.” She squeezed his hands. “And I had another bottle of that champagne sent to our quarters…”

Varric would never tire of hearing her say that.

“Well then, wife,” Varric replied with a grin, “lead the way.”

They didn’t do much sleeping that night, though, nor did they do much of anything else – they ended up lying half-clothed on Varric’s floor, Hawke knuckle-deep in his chest hair while he played with the lacy hem of her nightgown, talking about whatever they could think of off the top of their heads. Occasionally they got up to refill their tankards, and on one occasion Hawke dared Varric to sneak down to the kitchen and steal a cinnamon roll fresh from the ovens – which he managed to do without getting caught, though a suspiciously familiar Antivan accent called out to him at one point from Josephine’s office – and they… laughed. They talked and they laughed until the sun was rising and Varric convinced Hawke to move to the bed (which she did, eventually, after plenty of protesting).

Both of them were drifting off to sleep when Varric, his face previously pressed up against Hawke’s chest, drew away and looked up at her.

“Are you happy, Miryam?”

She scoffed and didn’t even bother opening her eyes as she answered. “With you, Varric?” she said. “Always.”

Hawke fell asleep almost immediately after, but Varric didn’t. He was awake until the sun came up and long after. There was a certain serenity to just being there with her in silence – no war table meetings, no responding to letters, no warding off Cassandra, just being there with Hawke and playing with her hair as she slept next to him. It was the most at home he’d felt in… probably his whole damn life.

He never thought anyone would mean this much to him, but Hawke did. She’d waltzed her way into his life, latched her fingers around his wrists and seared her smile into the backs of his eyelids, and never let him go. And he was thankful. Not only had she saved his life a thousand times, but she made him laugh and smile a thousand times a day, and, most of all she made him feel so at home. His things were not his things anymore, his quarters not his – they were theirs. And he felt so damned safe with her, because, when the world threw demons and mages and templars at the two of them, Hawke and Varric threw them right back.

After some consideration, Varric decided that he was a lucky man, after all.

[fanonorcanon]

Cullen & F!OC

This one is tentatively titled ‘The Commander and the Healer’ in my WiP folder. Real original, I know.

Cullen frowned at the note in his hand. The new recruit had ended up in the infirmary and Cassandra was holding him alone responsible. Not the idiot who had knocked the man out, no. Instead Cullen was to blame on account of a blithe remark he’d made after seeing the recruit spar with one of the scouts. Cullen pulled his mantle over his shoulders and made his way to the infirmary. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the usual staff of healers and surgeons, but there were a few new faces. One was crouched over the injured recruit. To Cullen’s eyes, there seemed nothing wrong with the man, especially in how easily he snapped to attention upon seeing the Commander. 

“At ease, recruit,” Cullen sighed. “What happened?”

“Nothing to concern yourself over, Commander. Sorry for disturbing you, sir,” the man cowered.

Cullen didn’t think he was scowling at him, but he could have been mistaken. 

“It’s no trouble, recruit,” Cullen assured him.

“He has a name, Commander,” the new healer murmured, seeming to say this more to herself than to him. 

“Recruit Jamesson, isn’t it?” Cullen asked, hands resting on the pommel of his sword.

“Yes, sir!” he yelped.

“Take the rest of the day off, and please be more careful in the future. There’s no shame in going at your own pace.”

“Yes, Commander!” Jamesson said, leaving almost immediately. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met before, Miss?” Cullen asked as politely as he could manage.

All the same, she rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Commander. You’re looking a bit worse for wear today.”

“Have we met before?” Cullen asked. The healer gave no pause as she rooted around for supplies. 

“Yes, but I don’t believe I made a very memorable impression.” She turned and stood in front of Cullen then ran her fingers along the sides of his neck and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. He’d grown so numb to the feeling of magic that he couldn’t tell if she was even using it. 

“Forgive me, I hadn’t realized.”

“Quite alright, you were passed out.”

“Pardon?” Cullen gaped.

“Lady Cassandra sent me to your tower last week to check on you. I was the only healer around that time of night, she had little choice, though she said very little about ails you. I still haven’t been able to figure it out so I’ll do my best to continue treating the symptoms that I see, if that is acceptable to you, Commander.”

“I would appreciate it, Miss.”

“Stella. You can call me Stella.”

“I hope I didn't trouble you. Last week you said?” Cullen asked.

“Need I remind you, Commander, that being a healer means caring for others?”

“That may be, but surely there are others with more urgent concerns.”

“Look around, Commander. Do you see anyone bleeding out?”

“Not at the moment,” he said hesitantly.

“Then let me worry about it, ser.

Headache, sensitivity to light and nausea but no fever,” Stella recited slowly as she made notes.

How can she possibly know that? 

“Are you a mage?” Cullen asked.

“Your tone seems very accusatory, Commander,” Stella smirked. “I am. Not a very good one though. Just healing related spells.”

Cullen's cheeks grew flushed.

“I hadn't meant it to sound as if I were accusing you, my lady.”

“I get it. You were a templar, hard to break those habits. Takes time. You were in Kirkwall someone said. Heard things got real nasty. For everyone.”

“Thank you,” Cullen murmured quietly.

“Better to show you who I am through good deeds, rather than empty words.” Stella was bent over the potions table reading over labels.

“Have you been here in Skyhold for long, Miss Stella?”

“Was mostly in the kitchens. Nobody really knew what to do with me.”

Cullen frowned. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“This should help, Commander.” She held out a potion bottle filled with a pale blue green fluid.

“Is there lyrium in this?” He hoped his tone was more conversational than fearful.

“Ah, the blue color doesn't come from lyrium. It comes from deep mushrooms. A fair question. A lot of templars worry that I'm trying to over ration them or something.” Stella shrugged.

“Stella, darling!” Dorian said in Tevene after bursting into the infirmary. 

“Yes, what is it?” She replied also in Tevene. Their exchanges were often in their mother tongue but only when they were alone.

“I've seen that strapping Commander come in almost everyday.”

“You're exaggerating,” she replied even as her cheeks darkened with a blush.

“I am most certainly not! He always walks out with a smile on his face. I do believe he fancies you.”

“So because he smiles after leaving, after being healed, I'm to take that to mean that he likes me?” she scoffed.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I still say that you'd make a fetching pair.”

“He is rather handsome,” Stella murmured.

“I knew he was your type!” Dorian chuckled.

It was a rare warm, sunny day in Skyhold. Both Dorian and Cullen had decided to take advantage of the weather and were playing chess in the garden. 

“Another game, Commander? You must be distracted to be doing so poorly,” Dorian

“I've beaten you three times in a row. I fail to see how that qualifies as poorly,” Cullen groused.

“You need to work on that sassiness, Commander. At this rate you'll chase away all those starry eyed maidens. I hear there's one in particular that has caught your eye.”

“Soldiers are terrible gossips. You'd think they had little else to do.”

“So there isn't anyone you're interested in? A pity, I'll have to break the news to her somehow.”

“I didn't say there wasn't someone I-” Cullen sighed. “Are you just trying to divert my focus or do you truly wish to know?”

“Only if you feel up to sharing,” Dorian said with a wink.

“There is someone. Though I doubt any feelings I have would be mutual. She always seems rather annoyed with me.”

“You see this woman often then?”

Cullen winced. He'd given himself away.

“Is it that healer girl?”

Cullen's cheeks were burning. He ran a hand over his face.

“We're quite close, you know. I could put in a good word for you.”

“I couldn't possibly,” Cullen argued softly.

“You should tell her.” Dorian's tone reeked of smugness. “Andraste's ashes, Cassandra is going to love this. More than my own romantic overtures, I daresay, as intriguing as they are.”

“I hadn't known you two were close. Has she, I mean… has she mentioned me at all? Surely you can at least tell me if I am bothering her.”

“Yes, aside from sharing a homeland, she's teaching me some finer techniques for healing spells. My healing spells are typically more in broad strokes, Stella is an artist, truly. She would put countless academics back home to shame. Have you seen her work before?”

“I see what you're doing,” Cullen muttered, moving the chess pieces back into place. “And no I haven't. She typically ushers me back out the door before I even ask her how she's doing. I didn't know she's from Tevinter.”

“Does it matter?” Dorian leveled Cullen with a flat stare.

“Of course not. I just didn't know. I don't know much about her at all if I'm being honest.”

“And still you're interested?” Dorian chuckled. “I'll tell you this about her. She dislikes Tevinter wines, insists they're made of the blood and tears of slaves. I must admit that particular tidbit did put me off it. I believe she prefers Antivan reds. Something about being able to taste the freedom.”

Cullen caught himself smirking and tried to school his expression back to one of concentration on the match at hand.

“Lady Stella?” Cullen stood in the doorway of the clinic. He watched as she concentrated intently on healing one of the kitchen boys, Damian, had sliced his hand open. 

Stella had cleaned the wound and began with her healing magic. The pale lilac colored vapors characteristic of Stella's magic, curled around the wound and coaxed the layers of skin to re knit themselves. The boy was smiling, his cheeks a bit pink by the end of it.

“Thank you my lady,” Damian whispered in awe. He bowed before leaving, sidestepping the Commander.

“Have a seat, Commander. I believe you're the last patient of the evening. For now anyway,” Stella said briskly and began washing her hands.

“Oh, I'm not here as a patient.”

“I'll be the judge of that. Sit.” Stella pointed at an unused cot. Cullen tucked the bottle of Antivan red safely into his surcoat and sat down. “Any headaches today?”

“Nothing noteworthy.”

“I don't believe you'd tell me even if it was,” she scoffed. “I've seen countless patients much like yourself Commander. They always push themselves too hard.”

Cullen ducked his head to hide a smirk. 

“Something funny, Commander?” Stella asked. She stood before him with her hands on her hips, then rolled her eyes and shook her head. Cullen tried to rein in the shiver that came from her chilled fingers as they seemed to linger over the sides of his neck and forehead. 

“No ma'am,” Cullen murmured.

“Seems you were telling the truth, no headaches or immediate tension. So why are you here, Commander?”

“Delivery.” Cullen pulled out the wine. 

Stella recognized the label and snatched it out of his hands.

“I'm considering this payment, so don't expect me to share,” Stella said. 

“Was it Dorian?” she asked after hiding the bottle away in her adjacent quarters.

“The wine? Not exactly. He had mentioned that you liked it.”

“Is there a particular reason why he did?”

Cullen's cheeks went pink. “No. No particular reason.”

“He's a real busybody,” Stella grumbled. “Cares a lot more than he lets on. Should I be thanking him or you for the wine?”

“Thank Dorian. I probably would have gotten you a bottle of Tevinter wine.” She made a face. “Yes, he did mentioned you don't care for the stuff.”

“Is there a reason you're giving me wine, Commander?” Stella eyed him suspiciously.

“A thank you of sorts. You seem to work harder than most in Skyhold, I thought you deserved something nice, something you'd enjoy.”

Stella shivered a little from the draft and wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. It was quiet between them and Cullen worried that he'd said the wrong thing. But she smiled shyly at him.

“Thank you. But I do believe you have a game of wicked grace to get to. If you lose all your clothes again feel free to take refuge here. I'll probably be asleep, but there are spare trousers in the cupboard there. They won't be as fancy as your armor but it's enough to keep your virtue safe. A word of advice though? You've got to get better at lying, you're kind of terrible at it,” she giggled. 

“So I've been told,” Cullen sighed. 

“It's not necessarily a bad thing.” Stella ushered him out the door but Cullen found himself wanting to linger.

“I think this is most we've spoken, Lady Stella.”

“I'm no lady, and yes I believe it is.”

Dorian chuckled and helped himself to some of the wine Cullen had given Stella. 

“So let me get this straight. He asked to spend more time with you, in his innocent Chantry boy way…”

“Stop it,” Stella grumbled, already deep in her cups.

“And you asked him “why?” You're terrible, Stella, truly. Poor Cullen. He doesn't deserve this.”

“Shut up, stupid Altus,” she growled.

“Oh you poor little Laetan, can't even agree to a date without mucking it up,” Dorian chuckled.

“It just didn't make sense to me. He's all big important Commander and he wants to spend time with me? 

“Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Makes more sense for him and the Inquisitor or him and Cassandra or Josephine. What interest could I possibly hold aside from some passing curiosity?”

“Both Cassandra and Josephine's interests lie elsewhere and as for the Inquisitor, she isn't interested in anyone.”

“Oh. I think I'm going to go talk to Cullen.” She stood quickly.

“Stella,” Dorian interrupted and held her arm gently “as much of a beautiful disaster as that would be, I don't believe you'd forgive me for letting you face him so very drunk.”

“But he needs to know that I hadn't meant it like that. You said he already thinks I hate him.”

“Those weren't the words I used,” Dorian chuckled and guided her towards her bed.

“Remind me to go see him tomorrow,” Stella said. She'd begun to tuck herself in.

“I shall.”

Dorian had little compunction about interrupting a meeting and let himself in to Cullen's office. There were two soldiers passing off reports, less than Dorian had expected. “Commander? Up for a game?” 

Cullen's brow grew furrowed. “Dismissed,” he told the soldiers, who shut the door quietly behind themselves. “I'm afraid I won't be very good company.”

“You'll have to excuse Stella, she's not-”

“You don't have to explain anything Dorian. Lady Stella isn't interested. Apologize to her for me when you can? I'm certain she'd rather not revisit it with me. It was not my intention to make her feel uncomfortable; that's not an excuse-”

“Dammit man, do shut up,” Dorian interrupted. “She does fancy you. She's just not very good at showing it.”

Cullen sat in shocked silence for several beats. “What should I do?” he asked slowly.

“Probably pretend we never had this little talk. I doubt she'd want me interfering. Do be kind to her, she deserves a good man.”

Cullen nodded, still a bit stunned.

Stella sank into a chair with a sigh and gazed at the stars; she'd been healing since the early hours of the morning and was only now relieved of her duties. It'd been weeks since she'd gotten drunk with Dorian, since she said that she'd go see Cullen to clear things up. By now Dorian had thankfully stop pressing her about it. She was quite fond of him, but she just hadn't had time to properly assemble her thoughts about the dashing Commander. Stella glanced over at the empty bottle of Antivan red and let out another sigh.

Stella knocked on the door and entered when she was bid.

“Lady Stella, I hadn't been expecting you. Is there something you need?” Cullen asked.

“Just for you to listen,” she said softly. “It's difficult for me to see the actions of someone so far above my station as yourself, your interest in me- it's difficult to see it as genuine because that's all I knew in Tevinter. I couldn't imagine why you'd want to spend time with me. The question slipped from my lips before I'd thought it through. If you still wish to spend time together, I'd like that very much.”

“I'll not ask about your past, but please know that I'm always willing to listen.” Cullen smiled warmly at her.

“Thank you.”

“Are you busy now?” 

“No, I'm done for the day.”

“Have you eaten supper?”

“No. To be honest my stomach was kind of all twisted in knots.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Well, it is now. You're a little intimidating though; the Commander of the Inquisition. I'm just a nobody, and from Tevinter no less. I have no dowry, or political connections to offer-”

“Do you know what it was that first caught my attention with you?”

She shrugged.

“You gave me a bit of a dressing down even knowing who I am.”

“Oh Maker, did I really?”

“More than once if I recall,” he smirked.

Stella covered her face and groaned.

“That boldness and confidence are some of your finer qualities.”

“If those are some of the better ones, I'm afraid to ask about the bad ones.”

“I haven't noticed any,” Cullen grinned.

“Were you always this smooth?” she gaped.

“Your boldness is inspiring.”

“Just stop,” Stella groaned waving her hand at him.

Cullen's laugh was infectious.

[elellan]

Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford

CHAPTER 17 . NOT A SINGLE WORD

It was high time for dinner when she finally left her room and made her way to the Herald's Rest. Big, dark clouds were pacing the sky and the air was still and warm, statically waiting for the rain to fall. She had spent the afternoon in lazy unrest and every step she took brought with it memories of the day before: how the Inquisition forces had garrisoned the cave, destroyed the red lyrium and searched thoroughly every nook and cranny. How they had found the ledger and left the Hinterlands. How they had travelled on horseback all day long, reaching Skyhold only when the sky was pitch black and the crows were already fast asleep. How Dorian, Varric and herself had been forced to sleep in the infirmary so that the surgeon could treat their wounds best. Dorian had vehemently protested: "My own bed is the only place where I'll be able to rest. I will patch up my wounds with magic tomorrow!". But it was no use, and they had woken up in two cots, one next to the other, and Riwan had giggled in seeing her friend's floppy moustache and ruffled hair in the morning. She stopped for a moment in the courtyard and sat on a wall behind a bunch of trees for a short time, unnoticed by Skyhold's bypassers, covered by the rustling leaves and by the sound of the rising wind. Her shoulder and waist were covered with thick bandages and whenever she moved her arm the wound on her shoulder would sting and burn. She inhaled the stormy air, wincing for the pain, and gulped as she finally remembered how during all that time she and Cullen had barely looked at each other and exchanged not even a single word, save from a shy "Goodnight" after leaving their mounts to Dennet. She had tried to search his expression with the corner of her eye, careful for the others not to notice her, but all she could see was his chiselled profile, the back of his head, a stain of blood on his neck... 'Mythal'enaste'. And her cheeks flushed in remembering for the millionth time the taste of his lips on her lips, of his tongue, his metal-clad body pressing hers against the wet wall... She shook her head, muffling an exasperated moan - right now she would just focus on eating and getting a hold of herself, and as she entered the Herald’s Rest she was welcomed by a warm fire and a chatting crowd who made way for her in the line for the evening ration. "Please, I can stay in line and wait!", she begged Segritt. "No, Inquisitor, take my place. You've just returned from battle". She collected her food and carefully carried the full tray upstairs, where she hoped to find someone from the inner circle already seated. Two elves deep in conversation caught her eye before she could distinctly hear Dorian's voice coming from a table nearby. She gave the couple one last look - and then stopped abruptly. There, in their table, the one in the corner, near the big, cold windows, drinking and dining in total merriment, were Dorian, Bull, Blackwall, Sera and - Cullen. Dorian immediately saw her and Riwan shot him a questioning gaze. He slightly opened his eyes in an apologetic attempt, shrugging his shoulders. She wouldn’t move. Dorian looked around him and stealthily pointed towards Cullen, his eyes questioning hers now. She shook her head in panic. He sighed and raised his eyebrows again. She knew what he meant: ‘I can’t do anything about it, silly elf’. "Inquisitor! There you are!", Bull boomed. "Still in one piece! Come sit with us!". Riwan begrudgingly obliged him, sitting at the head of the table. "Mmm, this stew's delicious Riwan, eat it", Sera welcomed her, sauce greasing her chin and her dress. "Yes...", Riwan replied, her temper veering dangerously towards frustration. She prayed for her dark complexion to hide her ever more blushing cheeks. "Nasty thing you dealt with at Dwarfson’s pass, Inquisitor”, Blackwall said, “Cullen told me that you were an excellent cover. Ha! No surprise for us who always follow you around”. Riwan buried her head down towards her stew. “Thanks, Blackwall…”. “I was just telling them about that redhead we saw in Crestwood, remember her, Boss?", Bull said. "How could I ever forget her...", Riwan sarcastically said. She started eating her stew, looking sideways at Cullen: he sat there, seemingly oblivious to the utterly embarrassing situation they were in. He was in shirt and breeches, his arm hanging loosely on the back of his chair, drinking ale and actually snorting at Bull's words. He didn’t look at her and perhaps the redness of his ears and neck was simply the ale producing its desired effects. "Is something the matter, Inquisitor?", Blackwall’s scraping voice reached her, as her eyes darted around in evident distress. "What? Not at all". "Really? It seems like you're planning our Commander's homicide!", he laughed. "I am not", she said through gritted teeth. "What- have I done something wrong?", Cullen said, finally noticing himself Riwan's angry look. The others all laughed, save from Dorian, who studied the Inquisitor with knowing and amused eyes from his seat. "Not at all, Commander. Nothing wrong - that I know of". "Right, I’m- I mean-", he stuttered. "Is it true that you’ve been training your new recruits the whole afternoon, while Riwan and I cleverly spent it sleeping like logs, Commander?”, Dorian intervened. She mentally thanked Dorian and seized the opportunity of looking openly towards Cullen: he was pale and his eyes were injected with blood, probably for not having slept in the last two days. She felt something tugging at her heart at that sight. "Yes, they arrived just yesterday. They can barely tell the hilt of the sword from its blade...". “You could have asked me to train them”, Blackwall said, “Take at least this afternoon off”. “Or me!”, Bull boomed. He laughed thunderously for no apparent reason aside from his being drunk, “Not that that flat-assed Krem deserves to rest”. “How does he manage to stand you, I really do not know”, Dorian quietly remarked. "Let's go back to business, Cullen!", Bull boasted, Dorian’s words missing him completely, "I saw a fine one in your ranks too, are you gonna introduce me or do you want to keep her all for yourself?". "Who are you talking about?". "That young warrior, elfish, blondish, tallish...", Bull said, grinning. "Elfish? Boring!", Sera exclaimed, chewing on a bone. "Not boring at all, she was eyeing us while we sparred last week, Cullen, didn't you notice her?". "Oh, that soldier...". "Ha! I knew it! So, what can you tell me about her?", Bull pressed on. "You're rather insistent, are you not?", Dorian observed. "It's all about-", Bull began. "The details! Yew! We all know it, you always say it, ya'boring!", Sera exclaimed. "I can't tell you anything about her, anyway", Cullen laughed, "She is one of my soldiers and I don't even know her name". "Well, that's too bad. I thought you were the elfish type, Cullen", Bull eyed him and drained his jug. "I-uhm...", Cullen looked down. Riwan gulped, her eyes feverishly darting from Bull to Cullen now. She felt as if a fireball had hit her right in the face. She could tell that Dorian was starting to get annoyed too, though she knew not why. A clap of thunder made the windows rattle and she briefly rejoiced in the sky’s outrage. "Come on, Cullen! We're among friends here! What do you say Boss? Is he not the elfish type?”. "Me? What would I have to say about it?". She tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Let me replenish your jug, Inquisitor", Blackwall said, taking his and her jug and walking downstairs. "Hey! Mine too!", Sera yelled after him, "Piss, he's gone". Riwan felt the strong desire to open her left hand and unleash magic from the Fade on them all, talking one on the other, joking loudly and jesting as if nothing could trouble them. She swallowed forcefully and decided to endure it all for the moment. "Boss, you act so innocently but I know you're not. You can’t hide your true nature from those who travel around with you! Cullen! That girl kept staring at you all day long!". "She is one of my soldiers! You-you can't meddle in the chains of command-", Cullen said, starting to blush violently. "You don't meddle in the chains of command, you say... I recommend that you try it. And I mean it literally”. "Maker's breath", Cullen said, laughing unsurely and shooting a quick glance at Riwan. "Why don't we talk about something else? The weather, perhaps?", Dorian interrupted them, "Or... what about the poor state in which we found Adan a few nights ago? Riwan, any thoughts?". "Yes, that poor man! Whatever happened to him?". "I dare say he was drunk!", Dorian exclaimed. “He couldn’t be more drunk than Bull right now”. "You two, chickens!", Bull laughed. "Here you go, Inquisitor", Blackwall said, handing Riwan a jug full of ale. "And Sera". "Yasss", Sera said, satisfied to the brim with her dinner. Riwan took a sip of ale, clenching the jug in her nervous hands. Should she try and speak to him or not? And to say what? She watched him closely but he didn't meet her eyes. The others continued ranting on, save from Dorian, who watched the sky outside the window become darker by the minute as another thunder growled in the distance. "I must go now", Cullen’s voice startled her and made her flinch, "Have a nice evening everyone. Inquisitor". He got up and swiftly walked away, blatantly ignoring Bull's complaints. Riwan was shocked. She looked at his empty seat. Not even a single word for her, save for that ‘Inquisitor’. Inquisitor. After a few minutes, Dorian got up and whispered in her ear: “I swear I wouldn’t have invited him if I only knew it was a problem for you”. He patted her on the injured shoulder, making her hiss, and went down the stairs to replenish his jug.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Inquisitor

Chapter 14 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! Spoiler alert: Fenris finally gets officially named as the Inquisitor. (And they finally settle in at Skyhold. FINALLY. UGHHHH.)

Read here on AO3; it’s a bit longer (>9000 words) so only half the chapter is here.

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

Dawn broke bright and cold across the Haven refugee camp. Before the sun had fully risen above the crests of the eastern mountain range, the people of the Inquisition were packed up and heading north.

The trek was slow but steady; the refugees had not been able to take more than the bare-bones of supplies in the rushed evacuation from Haven, and most of it was being carried by Dennet’s horses, a handful of pack mules, and even a few brontos. Even so, their pace was determined by the most injured of their party and the supplies that could not be easily carried. By Solas’s estimation, they would arrive at Skyhold in three days’ time.

Hawke spent a good chunk of the journey mingling with the various people who made up the Inquisition. Fenris watched with his usual mixture of fondness and bemusement as she managed to make friends with nearly everyone, from the most mage-fearing Templars to the most Templar-hating mages. By the end of their second day of travel, thanks to her signature combination of jokes and flirtation and flattery, nearly everyone had stopped calling her ‘the Champion’ or ‘that damned heathen apostate’, and were all simply calling her ‘Hawke’ – or, in some cases, ‘the Herald’s right hand,’ much to Hawke’s amusement.

Fenris, on the other hand, found himself sticking to the company of their more familiar companions. At one point during the journey, he found himself walking with Cullen.

Cullen shot him a sideways look. “Are you well? No lasting injuries, I trust?”

Fenris shook his head. “I am fine, thank you.” Hawke’s healing had taken care of his most pressing injuries, and one of Fiona’s people had stopped by after his talk with Solas last night and healed any lingering frostbite on his feet, fingers and ears.

Cullen nodded. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said briskly. “It will raise our people’s morale to see you looking well. More than the promise of a new home already has, that is.” He glanced at Fenris. “You and Solas are certain there is a… an entire castle in these mountains that no one knows about?”

There was a healthy dose of skepticism in Cullen’s tone, and Fenris couldn’t blame him; he had his own doubts, as well. But given the alternative – remaining in these frozen mountains with no shelter at all – Fenris was loathe to exacerbate Cullen’s doubts. And in all fairness, aside from the demon issue, Solas’s counsel thus far had not strayed far from Fenris’s own opinions. There was no reason for Solas to purposely lead them astray.

“You said yourself that we can’t be sure exactly where we are,” Fenris said. “It stands to reason that this Skyhold is just as unknown as our own whereabouts right now.” He shrugged. “Time will tell. But in the meantime, we might as well move forward.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “This is true.” They continued their snowy trek in silence for a moment.

Fenris glanced sideways at Cullen as they trudged through the snow. During the course of the journey, with little else to think about aside from getting from one place to the next, something odd had occurred to Fenris: he didn’t know Cullen very well, considering how long they’d known each other.

Fenris had always had a healthy degree of respect for Cullen’s work at the Kirkwall Circle. Cullen’s feelings toward mages had always echoed Fenris’s own in a rather uncanny way; neither of them had had any fondness for mages when they’d first met many years ago. But Fenris’s feelings had admittedly mellowed during his years with Hawke, and from what he’d seen over the past couple of months, Cullen’s stance on mages seemed to have softened in recent years as well.

He shrugged to himself. If Hawke could float around getting to know the entire Inquisition, perhaps Fenris could make an effort to get to know this one former Templar with whom he’d already been acquainted for years.

“And you?” he said to Cullen. “Are you well, in the wake of Haven’s… collapse?”

Cullen shot him a quick look of surprise, then scoffed softly. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. We survived. Many of us, at least. The rest…” He shook his head, and his face hardened as he spoke again. “We were caught unaware,” he said sternly. “That will not happen again. I will be more prepared in the future.”

“Good,” Fenris said. “And your preparations will be more tailored now, I expect, since we know what we are dealing with.” He shook his head. “Red lyrium-infected Templars…” He shot Cullen a disgruntled glance. “Did you ever think–”

“–that the Templars would go this way, after what happened in Kirkwall?” Cullen said. His tone was steely now. “No. It disgusts me. And Samson…” He shook his head again, then scowled at Fenris. “You remember him from Kirkwall. You remember how… how self-serving he was. I suppose that’s how he got his current position of power with this blasted Elder One.”

Fenris grunted in agreement. “The lure of power is enough to turn many a man’s head. Especially if the addictive forces of lyrium are involved.”

Cullen sighed, and some of his ire seemed to leave him as he ran a gloved hand through his hair. “That is true. And all the more reason…” He trailed off and shook his head, then glanced at Fenris once more. “I should thank you, Fenris. For the work you have done with us. You and Hawke both.” He twisted his lips ruefully wryly. “I wouldn’t have imagined I’d find myself thanking Hawke for much of anything.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, and Cullen’s eyes widened. “I intend no disrespect,” he said hurriedly. “But you know she and I – well, she – my work in Kirkwall was not particularly to her liking. And her, er, constant, um, mockery…”

“I understand,” Fenris interrupted. He forced himself not to smile at Cullen’s discomfiture. “Hawke does not mince her words with those she sees to be wrong. But she is a fine woman,” he said, in a firmer tone. “And a fine mage. It is to your credit that you never forced the issue of her freedom as an apostate.”

Cullen sighed. “I… am coming to see her more positive qualities now. Particularly in light of her support of you.” He sighed again. “Her degree of optimism is… surprising, given everything that has happened. Not just in Haven, but…” He trailed off and glanced curiously at Fenris. “After Kirkwall. The past few years must have been difficult for you both.”

“They were,” Fenris said shortly.

Cullen nodded, and they fell silent again until the only sound between them was their breathing and the crunching of snow beneath their boots – a pair of which Fenris had finally, with much disgruntlement, agreed to wear.

“I was not my finest self during the attack on Haven,” Cullen said suddenly.

Fenris looked at him. He was scowling quite severely indeed.

“I was angry, and…” He blew out a sharp breath. “I was afraid,” he said bluntly. “Afraid that everything we’d done might come to nothing, and afraid for… for all of us. But cooler heads must prevail if we are to survive what comes. My attitude was unworthy of the Inquisition’s Commander.” To Fenris’s surprise, Cullen then bowed slightly to him. “I will do better in the future.”

“That is… good,” Fenris said, feeling slightly nonplussed. Cullen didn’t need to apologize to him But, he realized, if Cullen too was now of the opinion that Fenris was really the chosen champion of Andraste…

He sighed internally. Then Cullen spoke again. “I would… If you will, please pass on my thanks to Hawke. Her reminder about… about surviving Kirkwall was unwelcome, but necessary. And her encouragement during the evacuation was… well. Please thank her for me.”

Fenris shook his head. “Perhaps you should thank her yourself. We are all working together now.”

Cullen glanced at him, then pursed his lips and sighed. “All right, I… I will.”

There was a brief pause before Cullen spoke again. “She will likely tease me,” he muttered.

Fenris smirked. “That should come as no surprise. What surprises me is that you are not accustomed to it yet.”

Cullen grunted, and Fenris smiled a bit more broadly. A few minutes later, Hawke bounced over to Fenris’s side. “Gentlemen,” she said cheerfully. “Are we enjoying ourselves yet? I think I’ve seen every possible shape of snowflake over the past few days. Now all I need to do is learn to draw them all. Then I can keep a journal for when it gets too hot in the summer and I need to remember what it feels like to be freezing my tits off. Or when I need a way to put myself to sleep from utter boredom.”

Cullen’s cheeks promptly flushed at Hawke’s reference to her breasts. Fenris smirked, then slowed down slightly. “You and Cullen carry on,” he said. “I will check on Toby.”

Hawke raised one quizzical eyebrow, and Fenris darted a pointed look at Cullen before looking her in the eyes once more.

Her eyebrows rose higher still, but she shrugged. “All right. Don’t arrange any games of wicked grace without me,” she said. She drifted closer to Cullen and cheerfully slipped her hand through his elbow. “So, Cullen! When is the last time you made a snowman?”

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile, then slowed his pace a bit more as he looked around for Toby. The mabari had been intermittently jumping and rolling through the snow during the trek, and his antics had been helpful at keeping the Inquisition’s children distracted and entertained while their parents toiled through the snow. But Fenris hadn’t seen Toby for most of the day.

He frowned slightly as he looked around; Toby was the only mabari with the Inquisition, so he shouldn’t be difficult to spot. Where…?

“Hey, how’s it going?” The Iron Bull crunched through the snow toward him, with Cremisius Aclassi at his side. “You lose something?”

Aclassi huffed wryly. “Sure hope you didn’t. Snow like this could bury a giant.” He elbowed Bull. “And I mean a real giant, not a wishful thinker like you, Chief.”

Bull chuckled. “Insubordination, huh? Maybe I’ll bury you. Put Grim in charge instead.” He pulled his second-in-command into a friendly headlock, and Fenris watched with a mixture of caution and amusement as the two of them scuffled.

A minute later, Aclassi was brushing the snow off of his armour as Bull strolled at Fenris’s side with a smirk. Fenris nodded politely to them. “Bull. Aclassi,” he greeted.

“It’s all right, Herald, you can call me Krem,” Aclassi said. “The rest of the boys do.”

“Ah,” Fenris said. He scratched the back of his neck; it still felt oddly informal to call other Tevinters by their first names. “All right. Krem.” He shrugged. “I would prefer if you call me Fenris. I don’t… I am not fond of titles.”

Krem nodded affably. “You got it.”

Fenris tilted his head curiously at the mercenaries. “Have either of you seen the mabari? Toby?”

Bull shook his head, but Krem nodded. “I have,” he supplied. “He was with that quiet fellow. You know, the one with the hat.”

Fenris and Bull looked at him. “Who?” Fenris said.

“You know the one,” Krem said. He made a vague hand gesture. “He, er… he had a hat, and… Strange. I don’t really remember what he looks like. But your mabari seemed fond of ‘im.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. Now that Krem had mentioned it, he thought he might have seen Toby playing snowball-fetch with someone this morning as he and Hawke had been rolling up their bedrolls. But he couldn’t quite recall…

The fleeting thought slipped away, and Fenris shook his head dismissively. Then Bull spoke up. “So, that dragon. How big was it, really? It looked gigantic, but me and the boys were so far away…”

He sounded wistful. Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I have only seen one other high dragon up close,” he said. “But Corypheus’s cursed beast was far larger than the one I fought.” He pursed his lips. “It is fortunate in the end that we did not get the chance to fight it. I would not admit this to Cassandra, but… I have my doubts as to whether we would have survived.”

“I’m coming along the next time you face it,” Bull said immediately. “You’ve got a good team here, Boss, but if there are dragons to be hunted, well…” He cracked his massive knuckles. “I’m your man.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. Then he shot Bull a sideways look. “I am not the boss of the Inquisition, you know. There is no need to call me that.”

“Huh,” Bull said. He scratched his chin. “Could’ve fooled me. Who do you think is the leader, then?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. Bull’s tone was just a little too bland for his liking. “Cassandra is the leader,” he said. “She put Divine Justinia’s writ into action. This organization would not exist if she had not forced it down the throats of those who wished to bury their heads in the sand.”  

Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Cassandra is a Seeker. From what I gather, that’s a bit like a Ben-Hassrath,” he said. “She’s a good hunter and a great fighter, but she doesn’t see the big picture. Too busy searching for answers.”

Fenris eyed Bull appraisingly. “You don’t think that finding answers is a worthwhile goal for the Inquisition?”

“Sure,” Bull said. “But finding answers is only one part. You know that. That’s why we’re moving instead of sitting on our asses and wondering what it all means.”

Fenris was quiet for a moment as he, Bull, and Krem crunched through the snow. Then Fenris glanced at Bull again. “There was no choice but to move on,” he said. “There will be no answers if we don’t survive.”

“Precisely,” Bull said.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the qunari captain. “Speak plainly, Bull. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that my people don’t pick leaders from the strongest or the smartest, or even the most talented,” Bull said patiently. “We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions and to live with the consequences.”

And you think I am more fit to make such decisions than Cassandra? he thought. Nothing he’d done so far was anything Cassandra couldn’t have done. Well, perhaps Cassandra would have gone to investigate the Templars instead of sticking around in Redcliffe. That may have been the better choice in the end, given the Templar attack on Haven. Ah, but then that time-travel magic would have run amok…

He mentally shook off the doubts. It was as he had said to Hawke; the decisions were made, and it would serve no purpose to dwell on the past.

Bull still seemed to be waiting for a response, but Fenris needed to think about what he’d said. So he took a page from Hawke’s book and deflected the issue with a joke. “What makes you think I am not the smartest or most talented?” he quipped.

Bull smirked. “Ah. There is a sense of humour under that frown. Figured you must have something in common with the Hawke.”

Krem chuckled. “I think she just goes by ‘Hawke’ and not ‘the Hawke’, Chief. Only one person ‘round here who’s that big-headed.”

Bull huffed in amusement. “A missed opportunity for her, then.”

Fenris shot Bull a quizzical look. “Why do you go by the Iron Bull?”

Bull shrugged. “I like the article. It makes it sound like I’m not even a person, just a mindless weapon. An implement of destruction.” He smirked in satisfaction. “That really works for me.”

Fenris eyed him shrewdly. The answer was fitting for a qunari, certainly: the idea of being a mindless drone who unquestioningly fulfilled the role was that was given to them. But the answer didn’t seem fitting for Bull. The mercenary commander continued to be the strangest and most unconventional qunari Fenris had ever met – and unconventional, for a qunari, was unheard of.

Fenris adopted a bland tone himself before replying. “That is interesting,” he said. “Your name evokes a rather individual feel, in my opinion. The Iron Bull, as in the only one. Independent and singular.” He tilted his head. “You chose the name yourself?”

Bull shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I did.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said. “Strange, for a qunari.”

“Not for a Ben-Hassrath agent,” Bull said. His tone was very light and friendly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, bas.”

“About being a mindless implement of destruction? I know more than you can imagine,” Fenris said quietly. He lifted his chin and looked Bull directly in his one remaining eye. “You fought Tevinters on Seheron. But you would only have given their slaves a different brand of slavery. The Qun is the same story, packaged with a different binding. A more palatable binding at first glance, but it is slavery nonetheless.”

Bull chuckled – a deep, low rumble of a laugh. “What say we save this, uh, discussion for the training grounds, eh Boss? Or the next tavern we stumble across? Not exactly a strolling-through-the-snow kind of chat.”

Then Krem spoke up. “Wouldn’t exactly call this a stroll in the snow, Chief.”

Bull grinned at his second-in-command. “Ah, Kremmy, are your feetsies getting damp? You should try some fancy Vint blood magic to dry ‘em off.”

Fenris twisted his lips wryly as Krem and Bull continued to poke playful jabs at each other. He slowly drifted away from them until he found himself walking alongside Solas.

They nodded curtly to each other and walked in silence for some time. Then Solas spoke in a low voice. “An ambitious undertaking, to try and de-program an agent of the Ben-Hassrath.”

Fenris huffed. “I was not trying to de-program him,” he muttered. “I was simply… discussing the… finer points of the Qun.”

Solas nodded once. “A worthwhile undertaking nevertheless.”

Fenris didn’t reply, and they walked in silence for some time. Then Fenris shrugged; he might as well ask Solas, since he had asked the others. “Have you seen Toby?”

“Your mabari companion?” Solas said mildly. “I have. He has made a friend in Cole.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Cole... The name sounded familiar, but… had he met anyone named Cole? He wasn’t sure that he had.

He shook his head, feeling slightly nonplussed. “I do not recall if I have met anyone by that name.”

Solas smiled slightly. “Of course. I… Do not be concerned, Fenris,” he said. “Toby is in good hands.”

Fenris scowled. “What are you not telling me?” he demanded. “If any harm comes to the mabari…”

At that moment, Fenris heard the signature loud sound of panting, and Toby’s big front paws landed in the small of his back, sending him stumbling forward.

Fenris regained his balance as Toby leapt around in front of him. “Ah, good. There you are,” he said.

Toby barked happily, and Fenris rubbed the hound’s jowls and cast Solas another slightly suspicious glance. “We should arrive at Skyhold tonight?”

Solas nodded. “By my estimation, that is correct.”

“Good,” Fenris said. He patted Toby’s rump. “Come, my friend,” he muttered. “Stay close to me.”

Toby woofed in agreement, and Fenris picked up his pace to walk with Hawke once more. Just a few more hours, and they would have shelter – as well as a whole new bevy of problems to deal with, if the castle had been abandoned for as long as Solas claimed.

In the meantime, Fenris would use these last few hours of travel to think: about the Iron Bull and his chosen name, and faceless strangers named Cole… and about hard decisions, and the consequences thereof.

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

Their arrival at Skyhold was extremely timely. After three long days of travel, the Inquisition’s healers — both magical and mundane — were close to exhaustion from fending off the various insidious perils of the cold, and everyone was becoming dehydrated. There were just enough rations for two more scant meals, and Fenris dearly hoped that Leliana was correct in saying her scouts in the field would arrive at Skyhold tomorrow with further provisions.

In contrast to the brutal reality they had just gone through, setting foot in Skyhold seemed almost like something from a wonderful dream. The abandoned castle was vast, and the outer walls were in very good condition.

Suspiciously good condition, in fact.

Fenris stood at the main gate and watched in silence as the people of the Inquisition filed across the drawbridge and into the castle’s main courtyard. The courtyard itself was strangely warm, boasting an early springtime temperature that contrasted sharply with the frigid mountain climate. It even had trees in leaf and grass on the ground – unkempt grass that reached Fenris’s knee, but grass nonetheless.

He raised an eyebrow at Solas, who was standing at his side with his hands folded behind his back. “This is not an ordinary castle,” Fenris said, bluntly but quietly.

Solas bowed his head in agreement. “This castle is imbued with ancient elvhen magic. Can you feel it?”

Fenris frowned. “Why would I be able to feel it?” he said. He didn’t need to feel the magic to know it was there. There was no other explanation for the unnatural condition of the courtyard.

“You are descended from a people who had magic flowing through their veins,” Solas explained. “Sometimes that magic is more tangible to us than to others.” He tilted his head toward the castle. “Place your hand upon the stones. Perhaps you will sense some of the protection that lies within these walls.”

Fenris pursed his lips. He was of half a mind to behave like Sera and to simply walk away from Solas; he was not in the mood for some kind of vague mystical lesson about magic and the Fade.

But Solas’s counsel had led them to this place of safety, and it would appear churlish to refuse an innocuous suggestion for no good reason…

Fenris sighed, then bad-temperedly joined Solas beside the castle wall and pressed his right palm to the castle stones. He gave Solas a flat look. “Well?” he said archly.

Solas shot him a brief chiding glance, then looked up toward the top of the towering outer walls. “Skyhold seems a fitting name for such a fortress, does it not? A castle on the highest peak of the northern Frostbacks: reaching, as it were, towards the sky. But the whispers of old memories carry a thousand names upon their breath.” He looked at Fenris once more. “In my explorations in the Fade, another name seemed to hover close to this place. An elvhen name, one that precedes the common tongue.”

“And what name is that?” Fenris asked.  

“Tarasyl'an te'las,” Solas replied. “It means, ‘the place where the sky was held back.’”

Fenris looked at him. His gaze was on the sky once more.

Fenris lifted his chin and looked up toward the battlements as well. The occasional raven circled overhead; bringing news for Leliana, no doubt. From here on the ground, the awestruck and relieved murmuring of Haven’s refugees filled his ears. And beneath his palm, so faint that he was probably imagining it, was the merest hint of a hum of warmth.

Solas spoke again in a quiet voice. “Given your efforts against the Breach, and our campaign against a madman who seeks to assault the Black City in the Fade, I can only hope that the Inquisition's new stronghold lives up to its name.”

Fenris exhaled slowly. The heat beneath his palm was gentle and ever-so-slightly vibrant, almost like a strange echo of Hawke’s barrier.

He opened his eyes and pulled his hand away from the wall. “There is a lot to be done here,” he told Solas. “Work with Fiona and Hawke and get the mages settled. Then have the mages assist in whatever capacity Leliana and Josephine see fit.”

Solas met his eyes for a long moment, and Fenris couldn’t decide if the unease he felt was his own making, or some genuine lingering tension between himself and Solas.

Then Solas bowed his head politely. “I will find them now,” he said, and he joined the rest of the refugees as they entered the castle grounds.

The next two days were hectic and difficult. All able-bodied people were called upon either to tend to the injured and dying, or to help clear enough of the inner keep to make it livable, and Fenris ensured that he was no exception. Manual labour was in short supply following the flight from Haven, and Fenris was oddly pleased to engage in such simple tasks as lifting and carrying. In a secret corner of his mind – a corner that he’d tried to ignore for more than a month – a resigned sort of realization was starting to bloom, and Fenris was under the distinct impression that the next few days would be the last where he could enjoy any kind of simplicity. So he wholeheartedly devoted himself to whatever menial tasks were required.

He found himself working alongside Blackwall for much of the time. They hauled fallen beams and broken bricks out of blocked-off doorways and helped to move the injured and the deceased as needed by the healers, and in the evenings, Fenris accompanied Blackwall out to the stables to chop firewood. Sera trailed around with them for much of the time, and Fenris was frankly uncertain how her cheeky presence was helping. He could admit, however, that her ongoing back-and-forth with Blackwall was entertaining enough to distract Fenris from the blisters that bloomed on his palms as he split logs alongside the burly Warden.

Hawke, meanwhile, was taking her assigned role of joint leader of the free mages quite seriously. She was so busy coordinating and coaching the mages with Fiona and Solas that Fenris rarely saw her during the first few days at Skyhold. When they curled up on their makeshift pallet in the semi-cleared rotunda at night, there was no privacy to be had: bedrolls were everywhere in the Great Hall until the living quarters of Skyhold could be cleared. The lack of privacy was a moot point, however; he and Hawke were so tired at the end of each day that they barely had time to do more than curl into the warmth of each other’s bodies before falling into a deep and heavy sleep.

Unfortunately, as was always the case when Fenris was growing accustomed to a new place, his nightmares grew more tenacious over the first few nights at Skyhold. On the third night, when he was being tortured by a particularly ghastly image of red lyrium pouring from Hawke’s gaping mouth, he wrenched his eyes open to find her awake.

“Hey,” she whispered.

Through the darkness, Fenris stared at her soft and serious expression. Unable and unwilling to speak, he stroked her smooth unblemished cheek with trembling knuckles.

She carefully shuffled closer to him beneath the covers and tucked her thigh between his legs. Her fingers were warm as they gently rubbed his earlobe. “Is there anything I can do?” she murmured.

He shook his head. She knew there wasn’t anything to be done; the only thing that helped was time. Fenris needed time to get used to this castle, and the nightmares would eventually abate.

He slid his hand soothingly along her side. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

She nodded, and Fenris watched as her eyelids drifted shut. “Let me know if you want some warm milk,” she mumbled. “I’ll warm it up myself. I won’t even burn it. Just for you.”

Fenris smirked and gently squeezed her waist. “Go to sleep, Hawke.”

She grinned briefly at the squeeze of his hand. She settled her head snugly on her folded arm, and a minute later, she was asleep once more.

Fenris watched as the slumber swept her smile away, leaving a peaceful expression in its place. If only he could keep find a way to keep this look of peace on her face indefinitely. Kaffas, if only he could find that kind of peace for himself.

He lay awake for some time, both wishing for sleep and worrying about what kinds of horrors his sleeping mind would inflict on him next. But to his own surprise, his eyelids gradually grew heavy, and his vision faded to a deep and peaceful black.

When he woke the next morning, Fenris couldn’t recall any further bad dreams.

Read the rest on AO3. 

[veridium]

“Fire In Her Mouth” Chapter 39: A Diversion

Summary:  On the way back to Skyhold from the Approach,  the Inquisition caravan stop at a lake to refresh and rest. Cassandra and Blackwall discuss her finding the harvesting knife without telling Olivia, and for some reason being honest proves more difficult than predicted. The Seeker grapples with sensitivities she cannot yet explain.

Author’s Note: WHO’S READY FOR SOME CASSANDRA POV?!

To read the chapter on Ao3, Click Here.

--

30 Matrinalis, 9:41 Dragon

Leliana,

We are leaving in two day’s time for Skyhold. It should take us another fortnight at least to reach the mountains. All outposts and camps are secure despite the wilderness and surrounding threats. All deaths and injuries have been accounted for. We will have two critically injured return with us, men from your team. They are stable.

The Inquisitor is looking forward to leaving the Approach. All things considered, she is in good condition. I talked to Sera before leaving Skyhold, and Blackwall the other night about her status. They both on their own stated that the desert has worn on her. They are both concerned about her patience level, and have cited circumstances in the field where the Inquisitor displayed excessive frustration, even by her standards. Even I have to admit she is acting different. I do not blame her.

She has been dedicated to little else besides work. There have been days when I leave for midday duties and see her under the war table tent, and when I return several hours later she is still there, performing her responsibilities or talking to personnel. She forgets to eat, and she seldom sleeps except for when she cannot resist it any longer. In which case she asks me to wake her if she becomes to distressed by dreams. She takes almost every overnight watch shift, and she is often up with the recruits at dawn to train.

I am unsure whether she will carry this disposition, but for now I hope this answers your questions.

Maker keep you.

C.

--

Nothing seemed more heaven sent to the Inquisition caravan than the first green forest they came across on their journey back to Skyhold -- well, except maybe the lake that they found later, glowing and shining blue under the abundant and temperate sunlight. No one was willing to break rank and run for it until the Inquisitor herself rode down the hillside and into the water, her horse’s hooves creating a wide splash. Then, everyone who had been deployed with her for all those weeks came running behind her, laughing and smiling. It was quite the sight, the dozen or so in uniforms, trained hard for any and all perils they may face, frolicking as if they were children coming outside for the first decent day of spring.

Olivia pulled her horse around to watch them all, some even falling to the grass and tumbling in summersaults that made her toss her head back and laugh. At the top of the slope the rest of the group came to a halt, Cassandra’s horse coming up to the front of the line to see what had happened. But this was not enough to stop her fun: the blasted desert was nowhere to be seen, and the countryside was once more a welcoming refuge. The worst was behind them, at least in this moment. Feeling a reckless sort of whirlwind consume her spirit, she ripped off her riding cowl and jumped down from her saddle, falling into the water and submerging herself completely.

“Inquisitor!” a nearby soldier gasped as heads turned to see what had happened to her, her horse spooking and trotting back onto shore. After a moment Olivia finally emerged, a bright and gaping smile on her lips as she rose out from the water, a mixture of both coughing and laughing on her throat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! I promise!” she said as she pushed stray strands of hair out of her face.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” the soldier said, “are we allowed to swim and rest after all, then?”

“Yes, of course. Be hasty, we do not want to lose too much daylight!”

The surrounding soldiers erupted happy sounds and some clapped even, joyous in their ability to have a break somewhere pleasant for once. The majority of them took off their armor off, stripping down to their underlayers and smallclothes to go swimming. Olivia swam to shore to follow suit, hands going for the buckles on her shoulder metal and breastplate, standing in water up to her ankles on the pebbled shore.

As she unbound herself from her armor, both Blackwall and Cassandra came riding down to her, stopping on the grass several yards from the shore.

“Inquisitor, are you sure this is wise?” Cassandra asked, watching as all the soldiers jumped and hopped through the water.

Blackwall smirked. “Seeker, come on, what’s the harm? Let them have a break.”

“Yes, Seeker,” Olivia said in a more teasing tone, “If you can’t beat them, join them, right?” Tossing her armor to dry land, she went to work on the ties and buttons of her underlayer.

“That is not exactly a sound philosophy,” Cassandra replied, resting her hands on her saddle pommel. “If you insist, then fi--”

Olivia had been listening as she slid her top off her body, revealing only her chest bound in a linen smallclothes band almost like a compression bandage. It had been a while since she felt safe enough to expose that much skin in the open daylight without risking an agonizing sunburn. Realizing that Cassandra had stopped mid-sentence she looked up at her, throwing her shirt on the pile she had created. The Seeker was gazing down at her saddle, now, looking almost like she was inspecting her gloves or something.

“...You were saying, Cassandra?”

“I...I meant fine, we can stop.” Cassandra looked back down at her, only in her eyes and nowhere else, as if to look anywhere else would be compromising of some sort of unideal inclination.

“Oh...okay…” Olivia replied with short-lived suspicion, wiping her arms down as she turned to glance at Blackwall. “Better get in then!”

Blackwall chuckled a bit as Olivia jogged off into the water. Something about seeing her filled with exuberance again after so long was a relief. Perhaps the energy and joy she had seemed to contain in spades was not used up after all. His leader, his friend, deserved this. Turning his attention to the person beside him, though, he was less comforted.

“Seeker, are you alright?” he asked, seeing the way she was fiddling with her glove straps. “You look like you just ate a sour apple and got sand tossed in your eyes, and we’re at least a morning’s ride away from either.”

“I am fine, Warden,” she said sternly, shaking her head a bit as she refocused on the lake before them.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. What of it?”

Blackwall grinned, feeling his horse shift its weight from side to side as he loosened his reins for good. “I was only asking for posterity’s sake.”

Cassandra eyed him and the humor on his face. Oh, wonderful, now even the Warden was getting good fun from her social fumblings. The last thing she needed was for it to follow her for the weeks it would take to get back to Skyhold.

“You know, she knows about the knife.”

The Seeker’s stomach dropped. “What? I thought you--”

Blackwall laughed softly, puffing his chest out. “Easy, Seeker. She doesn’t know that part.”

“Ugh, Maker,” she sighed, rolling her eyes closed. “Blackwall, I would appreciate it if you did not disclose what happened. It is not important to things now, and would only…”

“Only what?” Blackwall interjected, tilting his head. “Let her know you cared about her, even when you didn’t like her?”

She paused and looked away from him, evading the bizarre feeling of the situation. Instead, though, her eyes locked on Olivia, who was running through the thigh-level water as fast as she could drag her legs while two people went after her, splashing and dishing out water at her. It looked like a well-provoked chase. With her so far away she could look upon the parts of her she had been too timid to before: how bronze her skin had become from the desert sun, both concealing and revealing her accrued battle scars along her sides, on her back, and her arms. Her muscles and tone she had built intensely over time. How they looked doused in water.

“More silent treatment then, I take it,” Blackwall added, his voice bringing her back down to earth.

“I am not treating with anything,” she corrected a bit harshly, her horse rearing his head upwards in reaction to her uptick in tone. “Why are you of all people so curious? Do you not have other concerns as of late?”

Blackwall’s cheerful grin waned. “There’s no need to sneer, Cassandra.”

“That is not an answer to my question.”

“If you must know, Seeker, I am just as confused as you are. If it is no concern of yours, then why hide it? Why not take the chance to be up front with yourself, if it costs you nothing?”

Cassandra couldn’t help but scowl a bit at him. “Honest with what, exactly? That I found her knife in the sea? What is the point of saying it now after all this time but to bring unnecessary attention towards it?”

Blackwall huffed, taking his reins back into his hand and tightening them a bit. “I have been with the Inquisitor since the first day of this expedition, and this is only the third time I’ve seen her look like the woman she was before. I know she’s fond of you. Why not be honest when you have nothing to lose?”

Cassandra’s face softened to a degree, and she followed his direction and looked back out at where the Inquisitor was, standing still instead of running this time and surrounded by nearly half a dozen troops. She was...just talking, as if she had run into friends on a walk. A bright smile was on her face as she waded her hands across the water surface, her smallclothes top stuck to her skin inch-for-inch and dripping. Someone must have told a joke, because out of the blue she laughed, scrunching her eyes closed as she hunched over a bit. The Seeker didn’t need to respond for her to show her agreement, as begrudgened as it was. She knew.

“Hmph. Pity,” the Warden commented at last, pulling his horse’s head up with his hold on the reins. “I know she’d get a good laugh out of it, too.”

The two warriors exchanged one last hardened look at one another, swords on their belts and shields at their backs. Only, one of them seemed to understand what it meant to be armored in body, and open in mind and heart. Kicking his horse to come around, circling back towards the direction of the caravan, he nodded once.

“I’ll be checking on the wagons, Seeker. Try not to search for things you’re not ready to find.”

As he rode away, the facade of Cassandra’s stoicism took one more hit in the wake of his parting words. I know she’s fond of you. What on Earth did he mean by that? Of course the Inquisitor was fond of her. They were allies, of course. They had shared enough pleasant interactions for Cassandra to believe she did not completely despise her as she may have before.

But, was that enough to assume fondness, of all things?

--

After about a half hour of bathing, both in the water and under the sun, those who elected to spend time by the lake were redressing and preparing to get back on the road. Olivia was one of the last holdouts, aiming to get as much time soaking in the sunshine as possible, having laid herself out on the shore sprawled like a cat in a fissure of window light. Cassandra had watched all the mayhem and fun from the sidelines, halfway through deciding to dismount and allow her horse to graze while she checked on the caravan. When it was time to go, however, she approached the Inquisitor directly as she was sliding her armor back on her body.

Ugh, why does she always scrunch her nose like that when she focuses? She looks so..., if she could choose a word it would probably be something ridiculous like ‘silly.’

“Have you had your fun?” Cassandra asked, approaching her with her hand resting on the top of her sword grip. As she neared the lakewater, the treeline and border grass that stretched around became more visible. The midday heat and sunlight made everything more intensely colorful, and the bright greenery and growth seemed to be born an antithesis to the wasteland they had known for weeks. If even just to herself, Cassandra had to admit it was an inviting landscape.

Olivia was giggling a bit as she adjusted a shoulder guard strap. “Yes, I have. But the fates only know how long I will remain satiated. I could decide to do cartwheels for a mile down the way, or set my hair on fire. The day is still young, Seeker.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Cassandra replied as she looked at her, finally removing her attention from the scene before them. “Everything is accounted for and ready to disembark. We are only waiting on your order.”

“What a lofty responsibility.”

“One I trust you are prepared for, Inquisitor.”

“And what if I am not, Seeker?”

“Then you must pretend to know the different between stopping and going. If you need re-education on their meanings, you need only ask.”

Olivia laughed softly as the playful tension in their back-and-forth came to a head, smiling as she grabbed her breastplate from the ground. Meanwhile, Cassandra bit back a smile of her own, reaching her hands behind her and encircling her grip around her wrist.

“You know, Cassandra, there was a time not too long ago that I swore off allowing you to make me laugh.”

There was a new warmth in the Seeker’s face, though its anomalous subtlety could have been hopped up to nothing more than the exposure to the sun. At least, that is the source that was hoped for, for the sake of self-preservation. “Oh? I am sure it was very difficult, considering my reputation for humor.”

“It was agonizing, to be sure. There were times I nearly caused my tongue to bleed from having to bit down on euphoric laughter from one of your jokes.”

Cassandra couldn’t help it, letting a laugh emanate warmly from her throat as she looked away. The reaction clearly surprised the Inquisitor, who parted her lips and raised a brow as she shimmeyed her breastplate into place, reaching for the buckle on the right side first.

“There was also a time when I believed I would never make you laugh, or feel any emotion synonymous with cheerfulness, or joy, or pleasure.”

“The verdict is still to be determined on that count,” Cassandra mused, folding her arms. “Do you...need assistance?”

Olivia, who had been struggling to connect one of the double buckles across her underarm, looked almost like a dog having its own tail to chase. She looked up then, eyes a bit wide, but not uninviting in their impatience.

“Oh...I...well, sure. My hands are a bit cold, I don’t have all the dexterity in them that I usually do…” she confessed, removing her hands from the straps and lifting her elbow towards the sky, exposing her side.

Cassandra huffed air through her nose, a soft grin on one corner of her mouth as she went to work, finding the disconnected buckle and leather straps. She made her adjustments quietly but precisely, yanking and tightening quickly, so much so Olivia let a little choke of air out of her mouth. It only made the Seeker smirk -- she had done this hundreds of times on both herself and others, too many times to care any longer for gentility over practicality.

“Pff! Gah, Are you trying to destroy my breasts?” Olivia gasped a bit as Cassandra yanked the second strap tight.

“Not at all, Inquisitor. That would be the spear, arrow, or blade that knocks through your loose-fitting armor and manages to impale you.”

“Okay, well, they cannot destroy anything that has been compressed into dust,” Olivia replied as she tried to regain air in her lungs.

Cassandra shook her head as she tapped on Olivia’s elbow, signaling the okay to let it rest at her side. As she came around in front of her to start on the other side, Olivia rolled her shoulder as she adjusted to the more stringent fit.

“You know Mages need to be able to stretch and extend their upper bodies, yes?” Olivia continued to debate, holding her left arm up in the air and preparing for another round of pushing and pulling.

“Makes do nothing that warriors do not do with their bodies, save enchanting. If you want to be durable in a fight, you need to carry yourself like it,” Cassandra replied, making the third unforgiving pull without so much as moving an inch of her body. The strength she carried in a simple arm movement took on a whole new meaning for the Inquisitor in this ritual.

“Is this why you are always so direct with your words? You cannot breathe enough to sustain a thorough conversation?”

“I am humoring you and your complaining, am I not?”

“Ah, touché. Then how do I know this is not some prank?”

Cassandra chuckled, pulling one last time on the last buckle. “Leliana would have my head for endangering you for the purpose of comedic relief. As would the Ambassador, Sera, Dorian…” Cassandra tapered off her listing once she realized she’d have to name perhaps the entire roster of allies in order to be accurate. Instead, she stepped back, and allowed the Inquisitor to let her arm go limp.

Flexing her shoulders and chest as much as she could afford -- which was not much -- Olivia managed to gain enough breath in her lungs to ease herself into the fit.

Cassandra took a breath. “You will just have to trust me.”

“Impossible.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Olivia smiled with a touch of mischief, “I cannot trust anyone who manages to still smell of sweet mint and spice after an hours-long excursion on horseback in the sun. I may know magic, Seeker, but that is just defiant of all good sense.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Olivia’s brightness softening Cassandra’s diligent shyness. That and the compliment was enough to put her off-kilter. As the Seeker managed the flurry of odd emotions in her mind all the while keeping a Wicked Grace face on for Olivia. But in a finger’s snap worth of time, impulsivity took hold of her.

“Inquisitor, I wish to tell you something. Something...insignificant, but nonetheless…”

Olivia tilted her head, her gaze narrowing a bit. “Did you kill someone on accident again, Seeker?”

“I...no! When have I ever done that?”

“It was a joke, Cassandra. I thought you would know, given our established belief in your prolific humor: phrase meant to inspire a giggle, smirk, perhaps even a guffaw?”

“That is...What on Earth is a ‘guffaw’?”

Olivia paused, pursing her lips onto one side of her mouth and looking off to the side for a moment, confusion adorning her face.

“...You know, I have no idea, but I read it in several plays growing up. It sounds rather annoying, now that I think of it. Nevermind, what is it you wish to tell me?”

Intuitively they began to walk together back towards the horses, heavy steps cutting through the tall grass. Cassandra looked pointedly towards the ground in front of her, knowing that to look the Inquisitor in the eyes while gearing up to say what she had to say would snap her focus clean in half. As they neared the horses grazing openly near the tree line, she stalled.

“Inquisitor, if you had done something you felt was out of line with the nature of the circumstances at the time, but enough time had passed to make what you had done irrelevant to most everything...yet, you still feel the influence of that choice, would you confess to it or move on?”

Olivia eyed her, hopping on and over a large rock embedded in her path. “It is a bit odd to hear you of all people be so vague and indirect, Cassandra. What kind of ‘choice’ are you referring to?”

“A...a simple choice, but one that you underestimate the implications of.”

“...like, ‘wearing a blue tunic instead of a red one even though you do not look good in red’ simple, or ‘deciding to kill a demon’ simple?”

“It is...well, unlike either of those matters. Somewhere in-between.”

“Choosing to wear a blue tunic before you fight a demon?”

“Inquisitor, please…”

Olivia stifled a chuckle as they arrived by their horses, turning a bit to face her from the side. “Cassandra, if you want my accurate opinion, you should give an accurate telling of the matter that troubles you. I may be capable with blades, but even I am not so talented as to stick an enemy in the dark on the first try.”

“I am well aware of that,” Cassandra responded curtly. Her temper was being stoked with the flux of her insecurity, and she looked out at the forest line while she composed her flurried thoughts. Why was this so difficult? She found a knife in the water and returned it. Well, she did, but didn’t confess to being the person that did it. Once more, she looked her in the face while she wondered aloud who it could have been and said nothing. That would be the behavior of someone with emotions or intentions to conceal, would it not? Certainly the Inquisitor would have questions as to why she neglected to tell her. But was that such a bad thing?

What in the Maker’s name was making it so difficult to be honest? They did not have all day, after all.

“I…” Cassandra said, taking a breath. “I am getting ahead of myself.”

The Inquisitor frowned. “You look pale, Cassandra. Have you been drinking water in this heat?”

“Yes, I have, I am certain I--ugh, Maker. I am not in the right mindset to be discussing rhetorical topics. Forgive me, I think it best if we mount our horses and continue our journey.”

Olivia’s eyes widened a bit. Her face seemed to say “oh, great, what have I done now?” but Cassandra was not calm enough to clarify without feeling insecure with having gotten them into this awkward mess. Shaking her head and reaching to the back of her belt to pull out her gloves, she walked past the Inquisitor and towards her horse several yards away.

Olivia pivoted around to follow her with her gaze, but stood still in the spot they had originally come to. Such self-conscious and overly-careful behavior was most bizarre. She continued to watch her, and Cassandra could feel worried eyes on the back of her head as she grabbed hold of her horse’s rein and pulled his head up, readying to get on. Pulling her stirrup down and sliding her gloves on quickly, the goal was to outrun this situation as much as possible. The sooner they got back on the road, the sooner they could be distracted by more pressing matters.

“Um, alright, then,” she heard Olivia sigh as she, too, went to her horse. Even though the Seeker was first to approach her horse, it was the Inquisitor who mounted first, electing to put on her gloves after she got herself on. Cassandra peered over her shoulder and watched as Olivia squeezed her horse’s sides with her heels, not bothering to take hold of the reins as she slipped her gloves on. The horse obediently strode around and started back to the main road, ears and body lazy after grazing. Olivia’s lack of further words or teasing was a relief, as Cassandra once again was alone to admonish herself in private.

Dusting off her saddle as a means of busying herself while her mind raced, she slid her foot into the stirrup and pulled herself up and on. Her horse jerked forward a bit feeling the the added weight on his back, but one hand on the side of his withers calmed him well enough. Gathering the reins and rocking side-to-side to adjust her weight distribution, she took one last moment to soak in the lake and the mountains. They had come far, but there was still so much road to endure before they would be back at Skyhold, and she would have to find some way not to break during that time.

Maker, she prayed to herself, may the silence be long and the conversations short.

[daihell]

Worth the Risk Chapter 7

Start at the beginning AO3

By some miracle no one had been seriously injured when Elden had blown a hole in the side of the mountain. He’d opened rifts before, but never this big or located inside a wall of stone and the destruction was impressive. For the most part, the camp wasn’t in chaos any longer, but that certainly didn’t mean it had calmed down.

Everyone was on edge, at a loss for what to do, the number of scouts keeping watch doubled in case the noise had drawn any unwanted attention. Everyone was either upset or angry or both. For his part, Dorian was focussing on the fury. It was easier than the fear and hopelessness or the way his hands shook. Dorian crossed his arms tightly over his chest, hoping no one would notice.

It was all impotent rage, of course. It’s not like he could do anything with it, no enemies to set fire to, no idea who he was even supposed to be fighting here as Elden deteriorated more and more with no obvious cause. The Inquisitor was asleep at the moment thanks to his magic, but there was no telling if he’d see them as enemies or not the next time he woke. That was the worst of it, really. Dorian would never forget the way he had looked at him; there was no recognition there, only terror and despair.

“Well, if it’s not magic, what else could it be?” Cassandra, frustration evident in her voice.

“If I knew that,” Dorian said, unable to stop himself from snapping. “Then we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we? Regardless of whatever they did to him, he doesn’t seem to be under the influence of any spell at the moment.”

“And how can you be so sure?” Blackwall asked skeptically.

Dorian bristled at the comment but Vivienne cut in before he could come up with a suitably scathing reply. Probably for the best. As upset as Dorian was, as much as he wanted something to lash out against, his allies shouldn’t be it.

“Darling, we’re as sure as we can be, given the situation. Honestly it would be better if the Inquisitor were somehow under the control of this Ventori. Then at least we’d know what was happening and we might be able to use it against her.”

“Well, then, good talk,” Dorian said, unable to handle the atmosphere any longer. “Let me know when we actually have a plan. Until then--”

Cole, who had been lurking nearby, stepped forward suddenly, shoulders hunched as he spoke. “Fear of falling, fighting to keep back the darkness. But the darkness is inside.”

“Well, of course it’s on the inside,” Dorian said irritably. “That’s the problem, we don’t know how she’s getting in his head.”

“I’m not sure that’s what he means,” Varric said. He’d been quiet till now, presumably deep in thought. “There’s one thing that could be causing this. Red lyrium. It takes what people already are and twists it. My brother Bartrand, he was always a greedy bastard, but it drove him to try to kill his own blood. He locked Hawke and myself in a tomb and left us to die.” “Do you honestly expect any of us to believe Elden might turn on us for the promise of gold?” Dorian said with a humorless laugh. “Whatever’s happening, it certainly isn’t that. He didn’t even recognize me.” “No, but it’s different for each person. We’ve all seen the way the Inquisitor agonizes over every decision. He’s terrified he isn’t good enough and takes every failure, every death, personally. Dorian, you and I already witnessed him struggling with that. Maybe that had nothing to do with lyrium, it’s possible all of this is just getting to him, but hearing things? Seeing things? Hallucinations are the next step. If just being around it drove Bartrand to murder. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to Elden on the inside.”

They all fell silent then. Dorian desperately wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but what else could it be? There were no other options. And of course there was so much red lyrium in the area, they wouldn’t be able to sense it inside Elden himself. Dorian for his part had had a migraine ever since approaching the mountains and he imagined it was the same for Vivienne.

“When I found him,” Dorian said slowly. “A corrupted templar was standing over him. If one of those things had been the one to injure him, a piece of red lyrium could have broken off inside of him.”

He tried to hide the shudder that went through him at imagining it, at what Elden must be going through. It was ripping him apart from the inside, both body and mind alike. Lyrium poisoning at the best of times was deadly, but red lyrium? Could he even still be saved? Would there be anything left of the man Dorian knew when this was over, if he was even still alive? And if it had already taken root, would he become one of those abominations? He remembered that terrible future he and Elden had visited, how red lyrium had grown out and around Fiona and infected Leliana and the others. There had been no saving them.

“I’ve seen what this can do,” Varric said. “We need to get it out of him immediately.”

“And if it’s not that?” Cassandra asked. “What if there’s nothing to be found and we risk him bleeding out for nothing?”

“We need to get him back to Skyhold,” Blackwall said. “We can’t do anything for him here.”

“I fear we may not have the time,” Vivienne said. “If Varric is right, we must take the risk and remove it immediately.”

“Madame Vivienne, pardon me,” a scout said as she hurriedly approached. She looked grim but determined. “I have some experience training with the surgeon back at Skyhold, I’ve removed shrapnel before and I have medical supplies.” “Very well, then,” Vivienne said. “Once finished, we’ll need to get him back to Skyhold for proper treatment. We will need to be extremely careful, otherwise he might not make it.”

“I’ll take some scouts, see if I can find the best way down,” Blackwall said.

“Then let’s begin,” Vivienne said. “Dorian, my dear, we’ll need you to restrain him.” Dorian swallowed hard and nodded. Not that he didn’t want to participate; on the contrary, he’d force his way into the tent regardless, he just wasn’t looking forward to what needed to be done, no matter how necessary it was. Elden had been terrified, fearing for his life and the lives of his friends. If he wakes now, he might think he’s being tortured all over again. Dorian had told him he’d help him, that he would protect him, but there was nothing else for it.

Dorian entered the tent and took a seat behind Elden, lifting his head gently into his lap. He was still asleep and Dorian caressed his cheek, wishing there was more he could do, that he could have prevented all of this from happening. There was only so much Dorian could do to keep him asleep with magic and he had a feeling the pain Elden was about to experience would make it ineffective, so he took a strap from his robe, placing it between Elden’s teeth to bite down on. He then took Elden’s arms, raising them above his head and holding them securely so he couldn’t lash out as Vivienne and the scout took their places.

Dorian wasn’t squeamish in the least; honestly he usually found it all rather fascinating; he’d become a necromancer for a reason, after all. But seeing Elden in agony as they cut into him was too much, he had to look away. He leaned low over Elden at the first surprised gasp of pain, whispering praise and encouragement, telling him it would be over soon, not even sure he could understand. Elden struggled weakly at first, but the cries of pain finally quieted when he past out from it. Dorian wasn’t particularly experienced with healing magic, but he poured everything he had into Elden, assisting Vivienne in keeping him stable.

“Please stay with me,” he begged, voice barely a whisper, eyes stinging with tears.

“Got it!”

When the scout removed the shard of red lyrium, Dorian wasn’t sure what to feel. He was relieved it was out, of course, that they had some idea what was happening, but there was still so much irreparable harm it could have done over all this time. He shivered, imagining what Elden has been going through while they all simply sat by and let it happened. He’d seen what lyrium had done to templars, leaving them with failing memories and barely able to function, there was no telling how Elden would be or if he could fully recover.

Dorian was exhausted, no magic left in him, by the time they had Elden stitched up again. They were left alone and Dorian laid down beside him, wondering if this was where it would all end. He wasn’t sure if he could ever make any of this right, or if Elden would even want him at his side after everything that had happened between them, but one thing was certain; all of this had only reaffirmed how much Dorian cared for this man and, if there was no objection, he would be there for Elden no matter the state he was in. He wouldn’t abandon him again. However long was left, Elden would be comfortable and taken care of.

[redinkofshame]

Ink Blot, coming soon

Some of you know by now, of course, but I wanted to let my followers know that 

Red Ink is expecting a baby ink blot in March!

The pregnancy has really been affecting my ability to get any writing done, but Blot and I are doing just fine.

To celebrate I wanted to write a papae!Solas fic :D I also wanted to get it done like 3-4 months ago, but... Well anyway, this is one of the first scenes that came to my mind when I moved to Solavellan Hell, before I started devouring fic and lore. 

This is a post-Inquisition, pre-Trespasser fix-it fic! But, like, a sad fix-it fic, so I’m going to spoil it at the same time I give you the content warnings: Everyone will be okay, but if you’ve had/been close to someone who’s had a miscarriage or stillbirth, or any other child death really, this is likely not for you. But everyone will be okay.

I’ll also be posted it on AO3... When I think of a title. Edit: Here you go!

Okay, papae!Solas, under the cut!

Fen’Harel shone in resplendent armor atop a long forgotten battlement in Tevinter’s late afternoon sun. His feet were planted wide as he surveyed a small troop of infiltrators preparing for their mission on the ground below. Once comprised of hungry refugees, his forces were now fully equipped and approaching semblance of organization, however inexperienced. Then again, they were mortals all, and none held the lifespan to gain mastery in his eyes.

They would do for his purposes. They would have to.

They would leave in shifts with the sun, covertly entering Par Vollen in groups of two or three, depending on the task he’d assigned them. He, of course, would not be joining them—the Dread Wolf had more important matters to attend.

His first lieutenant, Arel, approached him—elven, feminine, and spirited enough to occasionally cause him grief, they were nonetheless devoted entirely to his cause.

“Report.”

“All operations are on schedule, My Lord. No complications are expected, though we are well prepared for many contingencies.”

He clasped his hands neatly behind him. “And the Inquisition?” he asked, face carefully neutral. Despite his best efforts to act detached, many of his agents had inevitably learned caution when broaching the subject of Inquisitor Keria Lavellan, or the Inquisition at large. Distasteful, that he had failed to conceal such complications from his own people; unavoidable, perhaps, that his enemies might learn of his weakness. He could hardly fault his spies—he had chosen them for their skills of observation, after all.

“No changes. Their forces will not be a problem, My Lord.”

“Do not lose caution. They’ve been known to change targets upon only her whim.”

“Yes…” they drawled, sounding confused. “But given the circumstances we can discount that factor. It is excellent timing indeed that we do this now. If I may say so, I believe with her passing we will have ample time to move forward on many fronts.”

His mind felt foggy in its attempt to understand them. Had he missed a written report? The passing of what?

“What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

They sighed. “It has been four days, and still no changes. She is surrounded by the finest healers they could send for, but I’ve never known a woman to survive after enduring this long.”

Solas’ eyebrows knit and he snapped his attention to his lieutenant. Keria was…Ill? Dying? That could not be.

Eyes cast to the parties below, Arel did not notice his reaction and continued. “With the Inquisition in mourning and without leadership they will be unlikely to take any new measures for some time. Our spies suggest that the advisors are already prepared for this eventuality, however, so we still need to act quickly. It is expected that they will announce Lady Pentaghast as the new Inquisitor, but of course delays will be expected as the sword changes hands.”

He felt disoriented, as if lost in a new section of the Fade that refused to listen to reason—nothing they were telling him made sense. Panic rose like a storm. “What do you mean? Why-why was I not told about this!” he demanded.

They raised an eyebrow as if he were an impetuous child—they were the only member of his army brave enough to do so. “We always knew this was a possibility, Lord Fen’Harel. Any woman, no matter how powerful, can fall victim to the birthing bed.”

The birthing… His eyes were wide and unseeing as his mind whirled. Keria could not die—It was not yet her time! She had a few years left to find happiness; how could something so mundane take a spirit such as hers? Why had he not been told, when had this…?

His hands clenched behind him as he forced himself to think. Time had never been his ally. It would have been forty weeks, more or less, if she was in labor now. Just over nine months, assuming she had not come early. He was still with the Inquisition at that time, three months before the final battle—

He was still with her at that time, he realized. Travelling, on their way to Crestwood…

Lost in a haze made equal parts of bliss and denial. She had imbibed of the Well, and though for now the truths it whispered in her ear would propose more questions than answers, he knew that with her focus it was only a matter of time until she mastered enough to understand.

He’d been furious with himself for allowing it to happen, and further disappointed in himself still that he in some small part felt relieved—he knew this meant it was time to tell her his own truth, their own truth. She needed to know, to harness her high-priced knowledge, and he could finally come clean as if himself submerged.

He’d come to his senses before his cleansing could come to pass, fortunately. He had broken off what never should have been.

He pictured six months ago, twenty-four weeks, holding the shattered remnant of his foci in his hands and the dread of knowing what sacrifices came next weighing like stone in his chest. He remembered leaving his heart behind, unable to even bid the bare-faced Dalish girl farewell before disappearing from her life.

Not a week later, one of his new recruits—still wearing an Inquisitor’s scouting uniform—was nervously reporting to him.

“You’re familiar with the, ah, rumors going on around Skyhold about the condition the Inquisitor is in?”

“I am well aware of the state of both the Inquisitor and the Inquisition when I left. Your job is to update me on any changes,” he’d snapped.

“Right, well… You know how she was pretty severely injured at the battle with Corypheus?”

“I was there,” he repeated, irate. He needed no reminder of watching her small body flying through the air like lightning and striking broken stones crossing over from the Fade. It had been only a few days, a blink of the eye, since he held his shattered orb in his hands and walked away from his heart.

“She-she is expected to make a full recovery. It seems that, miraculously, the baby survived the injuries.”

Any relief he’d felt was washed away as fury flooded him. While true that some of her inner circle affectionately referred to her as a ‘baby’ due to her intolerance of pain, this miscellaneous recruit had no right to the demeaning nickname. “Watch your tongue,” he warned, seething through bared teeth.

“Wh-what? I, um, yes, Fen’Harel. My Lord. Nothing else to report.”

After that he no longer took scout reports directly.

That couldn’t be it, surely. They would have mentioned it again. What else had he missed? Then he remembered four months ago when his newly appointed second in command had glossed over something he hadn’t quite caught.

He’d been examining a relic recovered by his agents, trying to determine if it still held value, held power. It would prove useful, could he get it working anew, but he did not think that would be the case. Arel found him and gave him what could be described as a report only if one was generous; it much more closely resembled idle gossip regarding the going-ons of his men. He should have balked at their informality, but the company was tolerable and it never hurt to know more about those who served him.

“Jonan’s wife is pregnant. Their first. He’s not asking for time away yet, but he seems rather anxious about it. We should avoid asking him to do anything overtly dangerous for the time being--no point in forcing him into refusing to follow orders. We’ll have to be careful not to appear to be giving him special treatment, of course, or else all kinds of pregnant wives or sick relatives will come out of the woodwork.

“Speaking of, the Inquisitor is starting to show, too, it seems. Winter comes early to Skyhold though, so only her inner circle will have noticed so far. Not that there aren’t rumors in Orlais, but there always have been. Unsurprisingly, she is not allowing it to slow her down. I imagine it will be easy to continue to hide until spring.” He hadn’t understood what they meant by ‘show’--making a show of force, or manipulating trade under the noses of the Orlesians perhaps? For all that she hated it, Keria had a keen mind for politics. He did not get the chance to ask before they continued, though. “Which reminds me, I left supply reports on your desk. Nothing interesting; the winters are mild this far north, and we are well stocked.

He remembered two months ago. He had just finished communing with a guiding spirit in the Fade when Arel found him.

He had been agitated, and in a hurry. What he’d learned from the spirit was concerning: there was an untrustworthy agent in his midst. They would need to be swiftly taken care of. Arel did not get in his way, but he recognized the way they bowed as he passed—a way reserved for when they had something of some urgency to tell him… Or something regarding Keria.

“Be quick.”

“Yes, Fen’Harel. The Lady Inquisitor has finally confirmed her condition publicly. Nothing else to report.”

“Condition?”

“Physical condition, my lord.”

“Fine, thank you,” he had said, brushing them off. He did not have the time to wonder over the significance of confirming something they already knew, however curious it was to announce publicly that the Anchor was growing. Keria did not often admit to weakness.

He thought back to four days ago.

He’d been in his war room, large detailed maps of different countries on intricate stone tables. Arel strolled from the map of Tevinter to that of Orlais and Ferelden, covered as it was with pieces indicating the Inquisition’s movements.

“The Inquisitor was investigating rumor of a lingering rift in the Arbor Wilds and came upon a ruin near that of Mythal’s temple and the former Well of Sorrows. Reports say it appears to be untouched, though of course centuries of neglect have not been kind. It appears to be a temple dedicated to Elgar’nan.”

They paused, then, looking at Solas pointedly. They were waiting for him to confirm that he’d been aware of the temple’s existence. In truth, he had not—it had not existed in his time. Long ago Mythal’s temple had been much larger, so it was likely she’d only discovered an annex that was dedicated to her husband. He wondered if Keria would find the annex dedicated to him.

He said nothing. Posturing was necessary—it would not inspire his ranks to see him guessing, to suspect that he only partially knew how to accomplish his goals. Better to seem as if he already had all the answers, and only shared them with his followers when the time came. As an added benefit, it also discouraged unwanted questions.

Faced with silence, Arel continued. “Any excavation has been suspended due to the Inquisitor going into labor, however. A presence will remain to protect the area, but she wants to be there when it is opened for the first time. I don’t know what she’s hoping to find, but if you have any reason to suspect we should investigate ourselves first, now would be the time to do so.”

He didn’t understand what new labor they spoke of, or why Keria would wish to oversee it herself—physical labor was never her forte and the Inquisition had many labor forces across Thedas bringing in various resources—but it mattered little. “No. There is nothing to be found in the Wilds.”

Atop his wall in Tevinter, Fen’Harel stared unseeing as the pieces slowly fell into place.

He strode away without a word, long legs quickly crossing over the stones beneath his feet to a nearby hall. A flick of his wrist and an eluvian hummed to life, scarcely in time for him to walk through it. Once he was through he closed the portal behind him. Out of view of his soldiers his pace quickened further. Sprinting now, panic chased him through the labyrinth and broken steps of shattered memories. He thought only of Keria, his heart, her pulse slowing as she lay in her deathbed due to a condition he had inflicted upon her.

It should not have been—his seed should not have been able to take root in her. He’d taken measures against it; as had she, as unreliable as mortal means were.

He nearly considered that the blame might belong to another and not him, then, but no—despite the relief the idea brought, it was only an attempt to assuage his guilt. It made no matter, in any case. This could not be allowed to happen.

He knew he had concealed men watching the eluvian that led to Skyhold, but he was beyond caring about being seen running to her. He was panting hard, unwilling to waste even the small amount of mana needed to keep his body comfortable; he did not know just what he was walking in to.

He jumped in the portal, landing in the small misused room off Skyhold’s gardens. He burst out the door, hardly noticing the startled guards standing to either side of it. They called out confused alarms but he did not slow, darting to the main hall.

Other guards, standing before the door that led to the Inquisitor’s suite, saw him coming. They heard the shouts, saw the expression he wore. They snapped to attention and one made as if to block the door, but the other grabbed their shoulder and muttered something. They each looked at a loss at what to do.

The Inquisitor had once given an open-ended order to allow her apostate consort into her bedchamber at any time, day or night; by the guards’ confusion, she had never officially rescinded the order, but they expected he was no longer welcome.

He did not care what they decided—he did not need their permission to pass.

With a gauntlet he harmlessly knocked aside a spear as it crossed over the door, not allowing it to slow this progress. Past the door he took the stairs two or three at a time and flung upon the door to her room—once his, once theirs—and made quick work of those stairs as well. He took in the somber environment as his head rose above the banister.

Despite the balcony doors open wide to the bitter mountain air the room was warm, humid, the air thick with the scent of sweat and blood. Keria laid abed, twisted in damp sheets, and it was small wonder why she suffered so; too petite by half even in her condition. Especially in her condition. Her storm-black hair, normally full of static and wind, clung damp to her forehead. It had grown longer since he’d last seen her.

Surrounding her were several women; midwives and healers. The room was too quiet for a birthing. There were neither screams nor soothing assurances, no instructions to push or breath measured breaths. Hardly a sound at all. There was only a dying legend, surrounded by those attempting to keep her alive for as long as possible. Across from him, sitting limply in a stiff chair was a weary Dorian.

Why would a necromancer…?

His heart seized as he remembered overhearing a report given to Leliana in the rookery from his position at his desk, soon after the incident in Crestwood and her replacing him with Dorian in her missions. She had fallen in battle without him there to shield her, and Dorian had to take hold of her very spirit and force it to return to her lifeless body.

And here he was, looking utterly spent, empty lyrium bottles crowding a small table beside him.

All this he took in within a single heartbeat before rushing to Keria’s side, paying no heed to Dorian climbing to his feet accusatorily, or to the boots stomping up the stairs behind him. He reached a hand to Keria’s abdomen, a quick seeping of magic allowing him to analyze her condition.

A confirmation of his fears. Drastic blood loss and muscles too weak to move, her body was giving up the fight. Her breast hardly rose or fell with her breath as she drifted in and out of the Fade.

“What are you doing to her?” demanded a Tevinter accent, but he scarcely heard it. Through the hand resting on his vhenan he sent a flood of healing magic, spreading through her exhausted muscles to revive them, washing into her marrow until fresh blood ran through her veins.

The Anchor flared green and she gasped as if she’d been drowning, electric eyes flying open in surprise.

And then she screamed in pain.

The midwives rushed forward, finding their voices as they propped up her legs and folding up the blanket once more.

“Can you push?”

“Is that the father?”

“She’s still losing blood.”

“He shouldn’t be in here.”

“Just one more big one, Lady Inquisitor, just one more push…”

“Are you going to kick him out?”

He turned his attention to dulling her pain, removing his gauntlets to take her unmarked hand. Dorian gripped his staff, but glanced uncertainly between him and Keria. That is, until the feet crested the stairs, steel clearing scabbards.

“Seize h—Solas?” The Lady Seeker’s voice was incredulous over the sound of screams.

For her he spared a glance over his shoulder, saw her men on alert and waiting dutifully for her command.

“He helped her, Cassandra,” Dorian explained helplessly.

“You did it!” joyfully cried the woman standing at the foot of Keria’s bed, turning the heads of Cassandra and both mages. “You’re done, you did it, Lady Inquisitor.”

He turned his attention to his heart, her hand still in his. Tears fell from her eyes like rain, her face twisted, and he knew it was not from the pain.

“Why are they quiet? Are they still? I failed, didn’t I?” she asked, choking on her sobs. “I’m sorry, I tried, I’m so sorry ma da’len, I…”

Aside from her plaintive apologies a hush fell over the room, a loss of words for her loss. And then, a new cry shattered it.

Solas’ attention snapped to the squirming bundle in the midwife’s hand, small and red and shrieking as a second pair of hands attempted to clean it with a rag. Joyfully, tears in her eyes, the woman said, “You see? You hear your son’s cries, Lady Inquisitor? You did it. You did wonderfully.”

The air left his chest.

Somehow…

Somehow in his rush to save Keria he had all but forgotten that children were often a consequence of labor.

He stared, unmoving, unbreathing, only his eyes following as the neonate was walked to Keria’s side and passed to her arms. She was laughing, she was crying, and she was holding…

“A son?” Solas whispered, unbelieving.  

“Yes…” slowly answered a healer, eyeing him hesitantly.

“He’s so beautiful,” Keria murmured.

“Is that the father?” whispered another healer again.

“Yes,” Keria answered this time, speaking clearly. “He is.”

“And he shouldn’t be in here,” Dorian said, irritated.

Solas supposed he had right to be.

“If he helped her…” Cassandra replied, uncertain.

“He’s staying,” Keria commanded, voice regal despite her rough throat. “If he wishes. He may come and go as he pleases.”

That stopped Cassandra and Dorian both, though they looked unconvinced. The healers continued their routine checks, and explained to her that the newborn was undersized, but healthy.

An unsure moment passed, mother gleefully quieting child, before she begged the nurses to take him back. “I’m sorry, I’m too tired, I’ll drop him. Take him. No, wait—his father. He should see his father.”

Cassandra made as if to move forward. “Inquisitor…”

“Just for a moment. I just need to shut my eyes.”

Her eyes were indeed blinking slow and sleepily as the nurses tried to take the infant, but she passed him to Solas instead. Not knowing what else to do, he took his son before she could drift off into a natural slumber. He was glad he’d divested of his gauntlets, afraid to hold the infant against the cold of his dragon bone armor or the hair of the pelt slung over his shoulder. Knees weak he sat for stability at an angle upon the bed in which his heart slept.

He could not take his eyes off the miracle before him; not when the healers filed out and the midwife warned that she’d be back soon to rouse Keria into feeding the baby, not when Cassandra relieved Dorian of his post and dismissed the soldiers, nor as she stood guard before the only exit and scowled at Solas with her hand on her hilt and a few inches of the silverite blade exposed.

Instead he saw only plush pink skin, small gripping fists, and impossibly small, delicately pointed ears.

He choked on a sob.

He thought of his transgressions, his role, his guilt. He thought of those he’d trapped when he spun the Veil, their spirits caught in a limbo that he’d planned to free when the veil was no more. He thought of the knowledge, the history, the connection with magic and spirits that was now lost on his people, never to be regained. He thought of the millennia of years the elves had spent enslaved despite his efforts to stop exactly that, and tried to imagine the pain each and every one of them had gone through.

His tears fell upon the small blanket swaddling his son. He noticed for the first time that it must have been embroidered by his mother’s hand. Cassandra released her grip upon her hilt and moved out to the balcony and watched the sun setting.

He wept for his people because, looking at his son, he knew he would no longer save them.

He alone could walk the din’anshiral. He alone could undo what he’d wrought and restore them to what they were meant to be. But he would not.

For this was not the first time he’d held his child.

He’d been a father before. He’d lived a long life, and had been graced with many loves and with several children. He’d loved each of his children with his whole heart, had been so proud of who they became… And he was, ultimately, responsible for each of their deaths.

Some had died in the war he’d started, his rebellion. Two slain fighting right beside him, others casualties of politics in effort to stay his hands. He rose the Veil in an effort to save them all, to protect the family that remained to him, to save his people from themselves…

He did not know how long it took him, trapped and wandering in the Fade, to learn of their fates. For countless years he hunted and traded secret memories, searching for answers. One by one, he learned of what happened to each of his beautiful children. There was not one demise met that could not be laid at his feet, either directly or as a consequence of the chaos he’d caused.

It was too late to save any of them, but it was not too late for this one small son that should not have been. He entertained only briefly the thought of waiting before giving up his journey; perhaps the boy was mortal, perhaps his mission could wait until after their lifetime. But no--there could be grandchildren, could be generations more. He could not treat his son’s life, Keria’s life, as if it were merely an inconvenient delay. He must commit to a single decision, and he knew in his heart he was more powerless now than the wriggling infant exhausted from the burden of being born.

And so he wept; for all these centuries his efforts and his name had been twisted into something vile, now he would become Betrayer in truth.

He felt a warm, weak grip on his wrist. “It’s okay. It’s okay, it’ll be okay.” Astonished, he turned and looked at Keria, her large eyes as wet as his own. That she could still treat him with kindness after he’d abandoned her… Would she still, once she knew the truth? Voice a hoarse whisper, she asked him, “Are you back?”

He shifted so that he could cover her hand with his without disturbing his son. “Yes. For good, this time.”

[missmorior]

Just a mini project I started concerning my DA:I Inquisitor Evangeline whose play through I just recently finished- I swear I had a theme going but it just kinda got lost somewhere in here;;

Redcliffe wound up a relatively simple mission. A briefly tense moment during which the Herald and Dorian vanished in a plume of smoke before shortly reappearing, but that was the end of it. Alexius surrendered without a fight and the Inquisiton gained valuable allies in the rebel mages and in Alexius’ son, Felix. Returning to Haven, few saw the shaking of the Inquisitor’s hands or how her eyes would mist whoever she glanced upon one of her companions. She was quiet when recounting the events that occurred in the future, obviously skipping over details but still giving enough information to ensure that the terrible future would never come to pass. Questions about it all were expertly dodged, even Dorian couldn’t pry anything from the iron trap that she became.

It wasn’t until Skyhold that cracks began to appear in the great armor of lady Trevelyan.

Cole notices first, because of course he does. Her sadness reaches through even beyond how bright she shone. Pain, so much pain. Need to keep moving, cannot rest until everyone is safe- I will NOT let them fall. He sees that she makes an effort to remember him, to seek him out and make sure he is welcomed into their fold. How her eyes go very sad whenever they arrive a moment too late or when she sees her people in pain. She wants to help, but doesn’t know how. Her hurt is so much bigger than she knows and it stops her from helping how she wants to. Makes her scared, and very small. Even when she stands up to the bad people and becomes so very, very big- she shrinks back into herself and the hurt. He finds reasons to leave flowers in places she frequents. Small white blooms that smell like home. Evangeline’s smiles are a little softer when she finds them; it still hurts, but the hurt is different. Easier. It brings back memories of things other than the sickly red glow and dying sky. She’ll tell him later that the feeling is called homesickness, and it’s bittersweet in a good way.

Dorian’s awakening is a rude one. He’s grown rather fond of the Inquisitor, she’s one of the only relatives of his that he can stand at present. She’s willing to listen to his views on politics and magic, better yet she doesn’t question his choices and makes a point to shoo off anyone who would give him too much trouble. Nothing he can’t handle but seeing the delicate woman snarling at an over-confident templar and bringing them to heel is a great show. So it’s beyond distressing to answer a quiet rapping on his door in the middle of the night to find dear Evie shaking like a leaf, looking up at him with watery eyes. She must have worked wonders with make-up because how could he not have noticed those circles under her eyes, so dark they could have been bruises? They made a habit of this, pestering each other in the ungodly hours of the night when either the nightmares hit too close to home or when they simply needed the reassurance of family. He managed to help some with those haunted looks she’d keep sending everyone, knowing all too well that she still saw her friends warped by that dreadful lyrium, and Andraste preserve him- his cousin actually managed to help bridge the impossible divide between he and his father. If Evie happened to deck Magister Halward Pavus and leave him with a rather glorious black eye, well Dorian wasn’t going to be the one to snitch to the Imperium. The altus keeps an eye on her when they travel, fussing like a mother hen if she tries to get away with taking multiple watches or ignoring injures. Insists on teaching her simple spells- “These are child’s play! How have you not learned how to do this?” - to be used in daily life that offer small comforts. He’ll handle the good-natured ribbing from Bull about going soft, she’s family.

When Solas walks the Fade, he finds an echo of Haven and the dreaming Inquisitor within. She does’t seem to notice his approach, sitting on the dock of the frozen lake and staring at the Chantry across the way. It’s full of life once more, noisy but dulled from being memory. He sits beside his fellow mage and they watch in silence for a time. Evangeline breaks it when she sighs, snow falling as creatures of despair begin to take notice. “You said in the Fade, when a spirit dies something could once again form in its place. Do you-… Do you think that in time, something new could be built where Haven stood?” “I cannot tell you, my friend.” They walk together in the Fade often after that, speaking of everything and nothing. The Inquisitor was eager to listen as he spoke at great lengths of his travels and his studies of magic - things he knew would keep her mind from wandering to the past, ironic as it was. Later, far later when the greatest threat to them all was slain and Evangeline victorious, Solas would spare her from having to say goodbye. Though he did not look forward to the inevitable clash, they would surely meet again.

Sera likes Evie. Sure, she’s got the whole glowy, mage-y shite going on but she’s people. Despite being her high and mighty Inquisitorialness, the mage always puts the needs of the little people first. It was a bit of a shock when Evie had her people go and run Red Jenny stuff, even more so when Sera found out that the Inquisitor was always up to running around pranking people. It was good. Meant that the pomp and nonsense didn’t go to her head. Regardless, Sera knows people, so she sees how Haven hit Evie hard. Not the loss of the base, let Cully-Wully and Josie fuss over that; she’d been there with the Inquisitor, running into fire and headfirst at red templars to save every person they could. They still lost people, good people, ones that even Sera knew. The cookies were honestly a mistake. She was just going to try something and then next thing she knew the tray was overflowing. They weren’t even any good, stupid raisins. But Evie liked dumb stuff like this, and it’s why Sera dragged her to the kitchens to help make decent cookies. Inquisition cookies. Those were good, yeah? Getting all covered in flour and making a huge mess wasn’t how it was supposed to end up, but it was fun and it got Evie focusing on something other than the hole in the sky. The Inquisiton cookies weren’t too bad either, even if they were burnt.

Being a Ben-Hassrath (well, former now) meant Bull had seen the cracks before the rest of them, close to when he noticed Cole leaving weeds all over the places the Inquisitor went. Evangeline was a good leader- wouldn’t do well under the qun though. She was too soft, too willing to listen to a sob story and throw herself into problems that weren’t her own. Liked to sing when no one was looking. That’s what really tipped him off. When the camp settled down, the dwarf and the warden having gone to sleep already, he’d expected their resident songbird to pipe up while tending the fire as she took first watch. Instead, all he got was the crackle of their fire and the occasional yipping of hyenas further off in the Approach. She barely made a peep when he’d woken up later to take over for the second watch, just stayed huddled too close to the fire to be safe and glared at it like it’d offended her. Wasn’t a look he’d see often- “I don’t think you can intimidate the fire like you do templars. You’ve gotta be tired if you’re trying that." “Just a little longer out here. I can’t sleep, not yet. I’ve-.. I have cards-?” “...Sure, Boss. Might want to move away so you don’t burn them.” He understood Dorian’s fussing a little better after that, when the Inquisitor ends up falling asleep curled up against his side, clinging like he’d vanish if she didn't. She had too big of a heart for the shit hand she’d been dealt- even if she usually carried the weight like it was lighter than her grimoire. So if he’s a little more protective of their leader after that no one takes notice, they probably see it like his affection for his Chargers. Probably a little too transparent with the boss though- she thanks him by taking him along to fight an Abyssal High Dragon.

Vivienne and the Inquisitor did not often see eye to eye on issues. Though both had attended the Ostwick circle, lady Trevelyan seemed far too keen on disbanding the circles of magi for some other solution. Discovering that Trevelyan had found copies of some manifesto by a Kirkwall apostate- no, from /the/ Kirkwall apostate that blew up the Chantry- and that she agreed with them set the two against each other fiercely. Still, Vivienne could not discount the girl’s kindness, however misguided it was. She sought to assist the front lines, taking on the specialization of knight-enchanter (finally some sense of good taste in the dear Inquisitor) and Trevelyan brought her the snowy wyvern heart without so much as a question. Agreed to come along to-… Well, no need to dwell on the unpleasant past now. Truly, such single mindedness would be her undoing. One cannot afford to be unerringly kind to so many without risking undermining one’s own worth. Don’t even get her started on the girl’s agreeing with Tevinter ideals or allowing a demon to roam free within Skyhold. But perhaps she was too hard on their dear Inquisitor at times. There was a quiet strength to Evangeline that Vivienne could come to appreciate and count on, one that rarely showed until she was pressed beyond what that outer image of innocence. The younger mage played the grand game expertly even with her heartfelt honesty, and her dancing left the nobles’ heads spinning in her wake with all their secrets now held within hands that quickly turned to assist the servants. What a curious paradox.

From the moment that mage popped up on his doorstep and into the fight with those bandits, Blackwall knew she’d be nothing but trouble. She was overeager to hear stories of his travels and liked to flit about the stables, chattering nonstop to whatever poor sod was unfortunate enough to be seen. Worse yet, she understood. Something in that little mage wanted so badly to do something good in the world despite how they were all too eager to demonize her missteps. She pulled together a menagerie of people who should have never been able to cooperate and turned them into something along the lines of family. Maker’s balls, she even inspired him. Made him want to be better than he was and if that didn’t bring trouble crashing down onto him then he doesn’t know what else could, short of darkspawn. He’d thought after the ordeal with his leaving and revealing himself a complete liar that the Inquisitor would want nothing to do with him. Count him not at all surprised but entirely disappointed that she pulled strings and brought nobility to heel all for the sake of getting him out of the Orlesian dungeons and into those at Skyhold. They’d been friends, despite his lie, and he’d seen her fury the one time she spoke with him. Sparks literally flying as they yelled at each other. He’d been certain with this he'd traded one executioner for another but- he hadn’t. The fury he’d seen was still there, but it had been all for his secrecy. Sentenced to carry out his duties to the Inquisiton as Thom Rainier and given his freedom to atone. And, to quote the Inquisitor after she’d caught up with him and backhanded him before a bone-crushing hug complete with messy tears, “to never scare me like that again you blighted fool”. She was still trouble, dragging them around to the far corners of Thedas and ever chattering about whatever came to her mind, but Rainier supposed he could use some trouble. It was what Grey Wardens were kept around for after all.

Their friendship was a strange thing indeed. Cassandra hardly expected to count the suspect of Divine Justinia’s murder among her friends yet here they were. Evangeline was a curious person, incredibly strong in her faith yet greatly unhappy with the Chantry. She was a fierce advocate for the freedom of mages yet she agreed that the templars had their place. They had first argued, Evangeline refusing to allow herself to be without a staff and met the Seeker’s own bullheaded determination with that of equal stubbornness. But that came with a sense of duty, of needing to atone for whatever had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Over time they found more common ground, even in the most unlikely of places. Cassandra still couldn’t believe that she and the Herald both enjoyed the terrible writing that was Swords and Shields. But once she’d been found out Evangeline had squealed with delight and launched into a flurry of excited motion- going on and on about her love of the plot twists and how the guard captain just /had/ to find her true love in the next book! Surely there would be a good ending! She’d been going to drop off the gifted manuscript of the unpublished Swords and Shields to Evangeline when she’d stumbled across the Inquisitor staring down at the war table, looking far more tired than she let on and scribbling note after note as she adjusted the pieces upon their map of Thedas. A piece with bells towards Nevarra, two pieces with nightingales towards the Emprise- Cassandra felt herself smile softly at seeing their leader pick up one of the pieces representative of their forces ever so carefully and direct it towards the Hinterlands, reconstruction efforts if she remembered correctly. Cullen would be more than happy to lend his soldiers there after several arduous campaigns in the Frostbacks. Their leader’s soft spot for their Commander would not go unnoticed for long but, Cassandra adored that the two could get so caught up in their own world, just like in stories. But, letting the Inquisitor get lost while planning troop movements would do no good, not alone and with such a melancholy expression. They could do so together. Friends shouldered each others burdens, it was the least Cassandra could offer.

Varric had seen a lot of shit from his time in Kirkwall to joining the Inquisition. Turns out he had a habit of following the weird shit into even weirder shit. First a trip to the Deep Roads, then Qunari invasion, the Chantry getting blown up by Blondie, Meredith losing her mind- and then there was the Maker damned hole in the sky. That was great. Really. Not like he wanted a break after all the chaos with Hawke. Then along comes another mage with the Seeker and he just knows that this one’s gonna be it. Aside from the glowing mark on her hand, the kid just had that same look in her eye that Hawke always did before he went running into this danger or that. He half expected the words ‘Let’s go to the Bone Pit again’ to fall right out when she first opened her mouth. But heroes don’t get happy endings, and this poor kid wants to be a hero. He sees it as she goes running around across Fereldan and Orlais, trying to keep the world from falling apart through sheer force of will and some seriously persuasive puppy dog eyes. Literally puppy dog eyes in the case of those four huge mabari of hers, that was a story he’d definitely write to Hawke about- Garret would be green as envy at the idea that someone had four of the dogs imprinted on them. Maker knows it’d have him dragging Anders and Fenris all the way from wherever they’d run just to see if Varric’d been bluffing.  He’s along on the mission to Redcliffe when the Herald and Sparkler vanish and reappear like a failed rogue’s smoke bomb. He sees that look of hers when she turns to the magister, how Sparkler had to hold her back from something. Remembers seeing the same look on his friends after the Chanty went sky high and Blondie just sank right down on a box to await judgement. So he keeps an eye on her and watches carefully. Sure, she winds up earning a nickname of her own (Birdy, half because of Bull drunkenly calling her a songbird one time and making Evangeline flush bright red and half because of how excited she was to be free as a bird- damn near floating on air even as they trudge through the muck of Crestwood) but she’s nothing like Blondie, doesn’t go turning to anything from the Fade for help. In fact, she’s almost as bad as he is about asking for it. She’s busy with the Inquisition but he still catches her up far past the time any sane person should be awake, notices how she watches them all like a hawk, and how she seemed to have developed one hell of a personal vendetta against red lyrium seemingly overnight. Haven damn near breaks her. The Chantry was bad, but nowhere near as bad as Haven was. Nobody they knew was in there save for the Grand Cleric but even then only Sebastian really cared for her. Haven- Birdy dropped a mountain on herself and somehow lived to tell the tale. Buried their home and nearly died but got right up and marched them all to Skyhold. Took on the title of Inquisitor with more grace than he’d thought anyone could manage then set them all to work readying for the next steps to defeating Corypheus. Turns out she and Hawke got on like a house on fire, a dangerous combo. Especially when those two started talking about new spells and how to wield staffs as melee weapons. While one grew up in a circle and the other as an apostate, they swapped stories like they’d known each other for years and not just hours. It made Varric puff up a little with pride, seeing those two just get to relax and have someone else around who got it. (Well, right before he went back to hiding from Cassandra’s wrath) It’s when he sits down to write that he really takes stock of things. Birdy was one hell of a mage, and she commanded the Inquisition with ease that belied how she’d been raised noble before her magic showed. She was scared shitless though, and he knows something happened in Redcliffe that not even Sparkler gave up the details for. Something that makes her look at all of them like she’s seeing ghosts; he’s definitely seen how she recoiled away whenever some new hopeful vows to give their life for the Herald- and he slowly pieces it together from there. So when ‘This Shit is Weird’ actually comes out after the Exalted Council, he hand delivers a copy to her and Curly at their place just outside of Kirkwall. Lets her flip through it and watches as he always has. Varric knows that Evangeline found his note when she can’t quite hold the book steady anymore and lets it drop into her lap as a huge grin stretches across her face. She’s complaining about him making her cry even after launching at him to wrap him in the strongest one-armed hug he’s ever had. Because sometimes, heroes actually get their happy endings and he’s so, so glad that she proved him wrong.

[veridium]

CW: Light NSFW (partial nudity + physical affection)

For Context, read the previous episode here.

Inquisitor Trevelyan is recovering from her severe injury dealt at Emprise du Lion. Her week at Skyhold filled with medical attention, oversight from her allies, and being kept from any and all “fun” has wore on her, though. Thankfully she gets to have some attempts at mischief when her lover, Ambassador Montilyet, offers to help with something outside her typical duties.

“I am surprised you are minding yourself this well, considering you have always been ready to jump to the next excursion,” the Seeker said, walking slowly alongside the Inquisitor. Lady Trevelyan looked underdressed beside the armored friend she had escorting her along the short courtyard path. For the past week the bandages were her interim small clothes garment, but when she was finally allowed to start walking and do some of her own minor healing spells on herself, she couldn’t be held back in her room by anyone or anything.

Theia smirked softly under her breath. She wore thick resting pants to insulate her legs from the air, and a muslin overshirt to cover her bandages. Around her shoulders as a thick blanket of bear fur, one she held close to her aching muscles. Her pale hair was tied up in a mess of a bun, though a couple braids intertwined made it look intentional – Josephine’s doing, to be sure.

“I know. I could almost pass for Cullen, sulking and wrapped in fur like this,” she joked in return. “Surprisingly, I have found these last couple days to be…comforting,” She was finally able to breath, talk, and walk without heaving for breath. The healers let her bandages be loosened as the sutures began to heal.

“Good. You need those kinds of days, as we all do. Only, you have the more difficult task in such a goal.”

The made their way to a set of steps leading to the stone hallway, and the Seeker outstretched her forearm for the Inquisitor to brace on as she made her way up, her body tensing extra when her right side was being propelled upwards. Her face was as unaffected as it could be – she had been humbled enough by her body for a while.

When they came to the door leading to the great Hall, Cassandra stopped to gaze back out at the Courtyard. “They have taken good care of this place. It provides a valuable place of solace,” she remarked.

“Yes, though, if I see one more bushel of elfroot, I think I’ll start grazing like a Druffalo.” Theia’s humor was laden with fatigue from being messed with, supervised, and escorted every which path she took. She always considered herself an extrovert, though the attentiveness everyone gave her, as if she was more their ward than leader, made her heart heavy. She wanted to be depended on again as a source of strength and solidarity. It was difficult to keep in mind that their care for her was just so, because she was indeed just that.

Still, walking the garden for what felt like the 500th time that week was becoming more monotonous than healing.

As they made their way back to the hall, Cassandra stopped and shifted her weight. “I am afraid I must go back to my duties. Should I ask someone to escort you to wherever you wish to go further?” Cassandra asked with care.

“No, friend, I can find my way to my own chambers. I want to rest, and read some of the reports from this morning again.” Theia wasn’t tip-toeing back into her responsibilities. From the moment she could sit up on her own volition and move her hands without a twinge of connected muscle pain punishing her, she had been receiving her own reports and letters once more. She couldn’t stand the thought of her advisors piling on her own correspondences on top of their own.

“Inquisitor, are you certain? The stairs are steep,” Cassandra cautioned, eyeing Theia knowingly. Toughness and austerity were like a second dialect to the Seeker.

“I can manage. If I fall, I’ll simply laugh all the way down at the tragedy of my existence,” she laughed softly.

Cassandra shook her head, “At least that makes one of us capable of doing so,” she replied, before nodding her head and departing for the Courtyard.

Theia watched her go for a moment, before turning sorely on her hip and sighing. How much longer before she can be rid of this pace? She had been injured before, but nothing that caused more than a limp, or an arm to be in a sling, or her head to ache for a couple days. Having a flesh wound was more trouble than it was worth.

She had the urge to yell up at the sky, “Alright, now it’s either having an Anchor that opens and closes doors to the Fade, OR it’s debilitating flesh wounds. Not both! Got it?”

--

Skyhold responded with reassurance in the wake of seeing their injured leader. This was the woman who survived an avalanche, and encounter with a possible arch-demon, who traveled through time magic. She could certainly best a battle wound. And, with the way the story was spun, no one besides her close allies and Council members knew the true severity of her circumstance, or how close she came to danger.

No one had cause to fear. Oh, well, besides the prevailing reasons that loomed over them like an apocalypse…you know, because it kind of was one.

The journey was embarrassing for Theia and she had no witnesses. Each step had to be reached with both feet before she could move onto the next one. A hand went protectively to her patched up side as she pressed on, wincing and grunting with frustration. When she got to angry she had to remind herself there were people nearby who’s primary job was to run in the direction of her voice if they heard anything suspect.

It felt like eternity had passed when she finally reached the top, but In actuality it was no more than 5 minutes. Theia was injured, sure, but she was also unreasonable in expectations.

She took a moment to collect herself, steadying her breathing as her gaze went to the spread of papers laying atop her bed. She had three important letters to dispatch today, including a discrete status report to The Iron Bull who remained with his men in Emprise du Lion. The letters they returned were amply entertaining for the Inquisitor during her bed rest, scribbled with sidenotes and exaggerations:

“Boss, demons are here up the ass and Templars are running around looking more mangey than the actual wolves. The wolves also hate us. It’s some frozen crap up here. I’m starting to think you got the better end of the deal,” one line from Bull.

“We requested more heavy clothes to go under our armor. The Dalish’s “bow” can’t take down enough rams in time. Also, watch yourself with those compression bandages. The heat will get you if you’re not careful,” a note from Krem.

“Everything is faring well and we are remaining steady, and eagerly look forward to your return. Rest easy, Inquisitor, you only have one body to arm,” a sincere and warming note from Blackwall.

She slowly approached her bed, tossing the bear fur onto a nearby chair. The brisk air embraced her upper body and sent goosebumps up and down her arms. Even if it was cold, as she slid out of her muslin shirt, she felt better. Just having the bandage wrapped around her body like a corset and her slacks made her feel like the injury wasn’t as bad as it was.

--

A couple of hours had passed, with the Inquisitor sitting on the side of her bed, sifting through notes and fulfilling her paperwork duties. Her flow was broken by the sound of a door knock.

“Please come in!” she called out, but fearing her voice wasn’t heard she flicked one of her wrists, and the downstairs door unlocked and went ajar. Her eyes went back to the lines of text in front of her.

It was Josephine and one of the healers who were tasked with keeping the Inquisitor alive. Surely, she did not get paid enough for such a responsibility, and the Inquisition was known for paying well. Josephine was behind the elven woman, who bowed respectfully, holding a roll of new bandages and some cloth for washing.

“Your Worship, it is time to change your bandages,” the woman advised, holding the materials out. Theia had insisted after the third round of bandage changes that she would do them herself. This was the first time she would do so, though.

Theia slid out of bed very carefully, and walked lightly over to her. “Thank you, Anya. You have taken good care of me,” she greeted, taking the cloth and bandage into her own hands.

The woman named Anya smiled. “Thank you for being a cooperative patient. You are a welcome respite from the soldiers and their…mouths,” she said, knowing Theia wouldn’t take offense. In fact she agreed: nothing could be more vitriolic than the words of an injured soldier, and she could only imagine how they sharpened with the sight of an elven mage.

“Tell me if they cross a line, please,” Theia placed a hand on Anya’s soldier. “I know I keep asking, but, I mean it.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Anya said, nodding again. She turned and greeted Lady Josephine, before departing from the bed chamber.

Theia went to her bed and tossed the supplies on it, reaching for the place in her bandage that secured the outermost end of it.

“I’m starting to think if I kept these on they’d become a second layer of skin like a creature’s hide,” Theia joked with a darker sense of humor than usual these days, no doubt from her impatience at not being able to resume her life as it had been.

Josephine grinned, “You’d look more like Corypheus by the sounds of reports,” she countered.

“Ugh, you’re right, nevermind.”

Theia had started to unravel herself from her binding, but she was stopped when she felt Josephine come up behind her and place a hand on hers. “Theia, I was wondering…”

“Hm?” Theia looked up, brow furrowed with curiosity.

“Would you…let me re-bandage you?” Josephine’s voice was sweet and hopeful. Up until that point, she had witnessed all of Theia’s re-bandaging and check-ups, but she had always been surrounded by healers and personnel. It was hardly a discrete ritual.

Theia froze in place as she was caught off guard by Josephine’s request. “I, uh, well,” she cleared her throat and looked down at her body. “You know what to do?”

Josephine smiled. “I watched like a hawk, and I asked questions. You do not have to humor me, I just…felt an impulse.”

“Sure, Josephine, I don’t mind.” Theia’s voice was warm, humbled. She guided Josephine’s hand with her own to the bandage end and then surrendered both of her arms gently above her head. This made Josephine’s face glow with both nervousness and glee.

Attentively, Josephine exchanged the collecting bandage between her hands as she reached around and around Theia’s waist. Theia watched her movements and kept quiet, the stillness of her face and body at the mercy of Josephine’s touch.

“I am flattered you stepped away from your desk in order to tend to my grotesque and boring battle wounds,” Theia teased, feeling her chest and ribs grow into themselves with the loosening.

“I had a moment, and when I saw Miss Anya heading to your chambers, I took the risk. I am happy it paid off,” Josephine hummed, though she grew quiet as she came to the end of the bandage. Then, she say the compression cloth square that clung to Theia’s side from the endured pressure. Her eyes flickered up to Theia’s, almost as if she were asking for permission. Theia grinned and stayed still.

Gently, ever so gently, Josephine’s right index and thumb fingers picked at the corner edge of the cloth, and it cooperated, damp at her touch. She pulled it away slowly, the sticky sound of its detachment yielding to the sight of an intimidating wound.

The sutures had done their job and had since been removed, at least at the insistence of Theia’s opinion, Once she was out of the woods she could tend to the healing herself with the insights of a couple trusted healers, Anya being one of them. The wound itself was leaving a hefty scar, about 2-2.5 inches in width at its widest point. The wound stretched from the front of her right upper ribs and slid downward towards her hips. It looked like a giant cat had clawed at her.

The tissue was healing well, but the paleness of her skin made every blue, red, and purple hue of bruise and scar known.

It was a quiet moment of aw when Josephine uncovered it all, and finally got to get a clear look at the remaining damage. She couldn’t even process the fact that her lover was topless in front of her, baring herself in the open air, still her same beautiful self but now with war telling its story on her body with a vengeance.

Theia picked up on the irony of it, and when she saw the concern and pause in Josephine’s expression, she sought to break the tension.

“Well, that’s not exactly the look I imagined you’d have when you first saw my bare breasts, but, I’ll take it,” she teased, holding her waist and chest still as her hands went to her breasts shyly.

Josephine heard her words and blinked rapidly, snapping herself out of it. “Oh, uh, My Lady,” her instinctive rhetoric kicked in. “I mean, Theia, I—“

“It’s alright, Josephine. I understand. But, it looks worse than it is,” Theia comforted, leaning into her lap some more. Josephine felt her weight and became even more self-conscious. Everything felt like a trap into embarrassment. Is this what Theia felt like on a regular basis? Because it was most unsavory.

She managed to step outside of her own thoughts as she watched Theia reach a hand down, pressing the open palm of the hand sans anchor onto the scar. The hand began to glow lightly. It wasn’t anything special, no magical fix-it method of erasing her wound. But, the healing nature of it was just enough to protect from infection and ease the course of healing slightly. That would have to be enough expedience for her. She was comforted by knowing she could do something to help it along besides lay here or there, waiting.

After a moment, the glowing ceded, and she released her hand to fall to her side. She made eye contact with Josephine, who had watched in wonder.

“Do you ever get bored or unimpressed with having these abilities? Like it is simply another limb or sense like taste or smell?” Josephine made conversation.

“Hah, when I get close to it, I ask Dorian to make something interesting happen. Then we go off somewhere and play around. I learn a lot from him, he…learns something from me, I don’t know what, but, I have to think for the sake of my ego.”

“Ah, I see. So that is where the sparks of fire and ice in the tree line just southeast comes from.”

“Um, yeah. We…we try to remain discrete.”

“Try?”

Theia nodded with surrender. “Alright, but you have to admit, it looks rather badass.”

Josephine gave her a look. She had seen a lot of “badass” things if all that required it was elemental magic and the sound of two people being way-too-impressed with themselves for their own good.

“Very well, if you say so,” Josephine said, reaching for the new fresh cloth and folding it into a shape like its predecessor. Theia smirked at the lack of impression she made.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Theia teased further, “the healer actually recommended to me a new position for re-applying my bandage.”

“What? But she did not tell me—“

Theia bit her lip with mischief, and before Josephine could react with reason, she reached her hands and placed them on her shoulders, pushing her back on the bed she had been leaning on. Josephine’s breath escaped her mouth abruptly as she went down. She was confused, then intrigued.

“Theia, what are you doing?” she asked, eyes narrowed and peering down her nose back at her.

Theia was gambling with her believability and allure whilst nursing a wound that made her groan when she sneezed. But, she wanted something to be salvaged in these days of practical vulnerability.

She got her left leg up first without much soreness, and used it to anchor the other, weaker side. She bit bit her lip to hide the difficulty behind an expression of thoughtfulness. It was rough, but she got up to where she wanted to be. Josephine’s hands didn’t know where to go: do they keep her in place? Do they help her?” Do they reach for skin? Where?

Her contemplation bought Theia time, and she was finally there, straddling her woman’s hips, exhaling the tension from her jaw. Josephine knew that had to ache.

“Theia!” Josephine said, her hands finally resolving to fall on Theia’s hips as a gesture of support. “What has gotten into you?”

Theia breathed, the lack of forgiveness in her body perturbing her. “Doing some physical therapy?”

“Oh, please,” Josephine tried to sit up, having her arms reach behind her and push her chest upwards against Theia’s upper body. She didn’t mean it through her concern, but her lips came in close contact with the Inquisitor’s.

“No, really, I needed to stretch my hips. I promise,” Theia breathed, putting her lips within an inch of Josephine’s, breathing hot air as her hands rested on Josephine’s chest as soft as she could while also lightly depending on her body for support.

An impatient groan came from Josephine’s mouth. “Agh! You and your machinations,” she chided.

“You honestly thought I could resist you for a full week? Even with a giant gash in my side? Josephine, please,” her words danced on the entendre of rebuff and begging…the worst and best kind.

“You know what you are doing and you know it is unwise. Now, if you can get on our right side, I can help you down and it will not risk…” Josephine began to shift her weight forward, as much as she could without forcing Theia’s fragility into an unintentional fall or slip.

Theia beared down on her seat, she was not giving up easily, Her hands went to Josephine’s hair, fingers hungering to get lost in the ribbons of black curls that remained secured in her classic bun. Her shoulders curved into Josephine’s body. She had her effectively pinned enough; even with the wound, Theia had the build of a Knight-Enchanter in training, and it was not frail nor compact.

“Josephine, I have a secret to tell you,” Theia breathed on the skin of her lover’s neck as she left kisses in its path, “you have a topless and besotted woman on top of you. Choose your next move carefully,” she said low, irresistible, enticing. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it: Josephine closed her eyes, the buried desire she had kept in the midst of stress and duty coming to the fore.

“That woman,” Josephine exhaled, her hands moving to Theia’s sides with care not to hurt her “is after my own heart. But she is also recovering, and is being attended to generously by the hands of her lover who is also a busy and demanded-upon Diplomat. Perhaps she should rethink her advance for now,” Josephine pulled her head back enough to make eye contact with Theia.

Theia’s chest raised as she inhaled with longing and disappointment. A pause, while she scanned Josephine’s conflicted face. She knew she wanted her, but something in her gut spurred at her: not now, not like this.

“As you wish, Lady Ambassador,” Theia whispered. She was about to pull away and slide down, but the back of her neck was caught by Josepine’s hand. Suddenly, Josephine’s mouth was to hers, in a quiet, still kiss. One with conviction, one that was relentlessly waiting for it to be able to grow into something beyond itself.

Theia kissed back, letting the consolation prize flood her veins and her nerves like a forest fire. She could feel her magic oscillate, and in her left palm, the Anchor’s energy stirred.

Ten seconds of bliss, before back to the reality of it.

Josephine helped her slide down gently, until Theia was back on her feet in front of her. Instead of pushing her fully away from her grasp, she tenderly wrapped her legs around Theia’s upper thighs, securing her stance in front of her. Smiling knowingly, Josephine grabbed the cloth again, and, finishing the folding, tilted her head as she pressed it on the wound with a fully-open palm. Now, it was time for the bandage.

Busying herself, Josephine’s hands held the roll of bandage as she began unraveling it. Theia took the opportunity to wrap her arms around Josephine’s neck loosely, keeping her close. Even though she did not get what she originally wanted, in that moment it felt like the alternative was proving to be better than expected. She enjoyed this side of Josephine, a side where you could see just how truthfully and intimately she cared for the good. That is when the thoughts started interjecting themselves in Theia’s stream of consciousness: those terrifying, enthralling, deadly, enlightening words.

I’m falling in love with you.

When she had found the end of the bandage knot, Josephine paused, and let her hands fall heavily on her lap. Her face was lost in thoughts.

Concerned, Theia let a hand caress the Ambassador’s cheek. “Hm?” she hummed, her eyes looking for truth in Josephine’s.

Josephine gazed up at her for a moment, before a pang of weakness enveloped her again. She let her hands grasp at Theia’s ribs, and her face went to her abdomen. Deeply, reverently, lovingly, she kissed the indent between Theia’s lightly-sloping abdominal muscles.

The act sent butterflies racing in Theia’s stomach, Not even the subtle ache it caused in her wound was noticeable beyond a fleeting sting, Her arms enclosed their grip tighter around Josephine’s neck, her own lips falling to rest on the top of her head.

“My love,” Theia whispered into her hair, “I don’t remember this part of the bandaging process.”

Josephine’s lips parted from Theia’s skin as she laughed lightly. “Some healing touches go beyond manual direction.”

Eventually, the Lady Ambassador was able to finish what she started. While her execution was not, the end result was nothing but textbook. And no one knew just what her secret ritual had been to get there.