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degenerate-perturbation · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 25/38 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Pride Demon(s) (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival, Mind Control, Human Experimentation, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

Pollard’s blood lasted her only a handful of weeks. One vial she wasted, and for that she spent hours cursing her own foolishness, but successfully distilled second. Pure Blight pulsed black and ugly in the vial, viscous, oozing and alive, more than she had ever managed to get before; it was dreadfully difficult stuff to work with; corrosive, unstable, liable to eat through any vessel she kept it in. She had a thimblefull of taint now, and one vial of Pollard’s blood left over.

There had to be something. Veritas had said the secret was in the blood, and that made perfect sense. The blood of a man dying of the Taint, there had to be something.

But experiment after experiment revealed that the Blight in Pollard’s blood was no different from her own. She tried every test she’d spent all this time devising, distilling, refining, transforming, trying to find a single meaningful difference between the Taint in her blood and the Taint in the blood of a dying man. And there was nothing.

She had only the one vial left. Who knew when the next Warden would begin to hear the song? She should have taken more—curse her, she should have been more careful.

Normally she would have asked Avernus what he thought. He had ages more experience in experiments with Grey Warden blood. He might have even known all this already. If she could swallow her pride

But the thought of crawling back to him for help with something he probably had solved centuries ago made her physically recoil.

Avernus didn’t think it was even possible to cure the Taint, but what did he know? He didn’t care about curing it. He only cared about the power in the Blight, how to use it to make new spells, learn more about magic. She was not like him. She was better. She could figure this out.

The longer she tried, the more her thoughts heaved with spurts of anger and pride and fear, wild despair-shot terror that whispered, you are wrong, you are not good enough.

She redrew the summoning circle. What choice did she have?

Only when she was halfway through the ritual did she remember to cast spells of concealment.

Veritas did not seem surprised to find itself back.“So soon, Loriel Surana? Again with the invisibility. Don’t you think it is a little paranoid?”

“Why doesn’t it work?” she demanded. “You said it was in the blood.”

“Of course the secret is in the blood,” said the demon. “I do not lie.”

“Then why is a dying man’s blood just the same as mine?

“The Taint does not change a man’s blood only, Loriel Surana. The taint is in your skin and hair and heart, it is in every part of you, not just your blood. What made you think you could understand the whole of something from its smallest part?”

“You said—”

“Nothing that was false.”

She scowled. “I should have known better than to trust a demon. You lie without lying, all your kind does—”

Veritas seemed to grow then, filling up the room with its bulk. Its thousands of eyes stared unblinking right at her, its golden mask a terrible rictus. “ Do not dare insult me, mageling! I am Veritas, he who knows ten thousand truths! Not one falsehood has ever passed my lips! Call me a liar again and I will eat your heart.”

Loriel was gratified to know that she was still invisible, and Veritas did not see her flinch. “You might will it, Veritas, but it shall not happen. I have you bound so tight that if I willed it, I could leave you here and never come back. I would bind you to this circle, to this mortal plane, and you would not see your home, nor anything besides this darkness, until you forgot your very name, until you were Veritas no more. Am I lying? Tell me true.”

Veritas was silent.

“That,” said Loriel, “is what I thought.”

“You are a bold little thing,” the demon said disdainfully, “to threaten me so, when you need my help.”

“I do not need your help," she sniffed. "There are other demons like you. I could summon any of them just as well.”

“And yet you haven’t. Why is that, I wonder? If old incorrigible Veritas displeases you, why summon him? You want my cooperation, mageling, don’t deny it.”

“Fine. I won’t. I do want your help. What do you want in exchange?”

“Only this, Loriel Surana. Reveal yourself. Show me your true face, use your true voice. Let there be no unseemly secrets between the two of us.”

She had to laugh. “And what will you give me in return?”

“My goodwill, of course.”

Veritas did not lie. But it had to be a trick. What else could it be? A demon would not offer a deal unless it had the upper hand. The wise thing to do would be to dismiss it, find another spirit to deal with, one less dangerous, one with not quite so many staring eyes…

But...If she was going to show herself, she may as well do it to a creature that might understand her. She released the spells of concealment, and was beheld.

Every one of Veritas’s thousands of eyes focused right on her, boring into her skin, scraping every inch of her. “My, you’re even smaller than I was imagining.”

“Do you even know how to cure the Taint?” Her voice sounded preposterously small without the spell of echoing misdirection layered on top of it.

“No,” the demon said easily. “But I am very curious as to how you will manage it. I’m even willing to help.”

Of course. Of course of course of—“As though you’ve been any help.”

Veritas sat back lazily on its haunches. “You don’t even need my help, not at this juncture. You said so yourself. You know exactly what you need to do.”

“Do I." The words dropped like stones from her mouth.

“Of course you do, Loriel Surana! You must use human subjects! Or elven, or dwarven, or whichever—you mortals are not all that different. I told you as much when last we spoke.”

“I did use human—”

“Do not be coy. Blood alone will not do it. You discovered as much yourself. You know what must be done, but still you hesitate. Why, I wonder?”

She did not answer.

“I will tell you this for free, because you already know it." Veritas turned in a circle and settled itself on its pause, like an enormous cat. "You hesitate because you wish to think of yourself as good, or at least, not evil. You prefer so strongly to believe that you are not like others of your kind that you would fail your stated goal on purpose. For as long as you stay bound to it, doing your reasonably convincing best, though you perform for no one but yourself, you do not have to move or think or be.”

She stood white-faced and silent, for every word rang true.

“Now if what you truly wanted was what you claim to want,” Veritas went on, “you would not hesitate to do what you already know you must. You would accept the price of thinking yourself evil, and pursue that which brings you closer to your goal, and that alone. But this is not what you want above all things, so you make only tepid and halfhearted efforts to achieve it.”

“You sound like Avernus,” she scoffed.

The demon’s golden eyes flared, and now it knew another name important to her. Was she truly so mad in her aloneness that she would give away her secrets to a demon, just to have someone to give them to?

Yes, she realized. Yes, she was.

tck

Brigit concluded her report. No new deaths. No Callings. No sign of the Architect.

“Thank you, Seneschal.” That will be all, but somehow those words did not get spoken, and until she spoke them Brigit would not move. She stood ramrod straight, at attention, the ideal servant.

“Seneschal. Why did you decide to come here?”

“To serve the Grey Wardens,” she answered at once. “To help. In my own small way.”

"And yet you do not join us?"

Brigit shook her head. "No, ser. I am no warrior. I can bear neither sword nor bow, but I hope to be of use in other ways."

"But why?" Loriel fixed her deep black gaze on hers. Brigit’s eyes were light, and they could be green or blue or brown depending on the light. Here and now, they looked slate grey, and did not waver one bit.

"I don't understand. What reason would I need to wish to serve? Why does anybody wish to serve?"

No. No, that rang false. "Please, Brigit. Let there be no secrets between us."

Finally Brigit dropped her gaze and said in a small and quiet voice: “I was at Denerim. During the battle. We had evacuated from the south, but the Blight had come for us anyway. I remember the storm...the only light came from the lightning. I saw the beast there, with my own eyes. I had never been so afraid in my life. I had always believed in the Maker, believed that he loved us, though we his children had gone astray...but when I saw that thing, I was not sure. What father would set such a thing on his children? I don't know why it affected me so deeply.

"And I saw it die. I saw you slay it." You. Brigit said it like a prayer. "Ser, I am no scholar, but I know my history. I know that no Grey Warden has ever survived such a feat. I had never believed in miracles, until that day."

Am I all you hoped for? Loriel wanted to ask. But it only would have hurt her, and hurting her would have been the point. And if the answer had been yes, that would be too terribly to contemplate.

"I survived the assault, and returned to my life, but I never forgot. I wanted my life to mean something, but I was a coward. I cannot fight. I fear pain and death. I would be a useless Grey Warden... but I know sums, notations, and I write well. It is the Maker’s blessing that my mean skills are now of use.”

Loriel nodded slowly. “I see. Thank you.” Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “You know how much I value you, Brigit.”

The full light of the sun shined out from the smile that split Brigit's face. “Thank you, Commander. I ask for nothing else.”

“You understand what a rare thing it is, to have my trust.”

“I do.”

“Do you trust me as I trust you?”

“Of course, Commander—of course, of course.”

“Good. That’s good.” She hesitated only a moment longer. “Tell me, Brigit, when you hand down judgments in my name—for what do you condemn men to die?”

“Rape,” Brigit said at once. “Treason. Murder. Fire-setting. Poaching. Assault of a Chantry mother.”

“Are these the laws of the land, or my laws?”

“Both, Commander. It is difficult to defy tradition and keep the support of the Bannorn, but the Arlessa has some discretion.”

“Are there many such capital crimes?”

“Not many. But always some.”

“How many?”

“Four condemned men are in the dungeons now.”

“Only four?”

“Most who break your laws or the king’s are punished swiftly within the city of Amaranthine, or by a local sheriff. Only those cases of unusual difficulty are ever brought before the Arlessa. Usually when the perpetrator is a person of note, who cannot be punished without producing political difficulties. I try to resolve such things quickly, in your name, but they often take some time. Justice, if it ever comes, comes slow.”

Loriel noted the shadow that flicked across her face.

“And these men’s crimes?”

Brigit told her. Loriel listened, and when she finished, stood and said: “Take me to the dungeons, please.”

tck

Brigit led her down the long and winding way to the dungeons. She went to take a torch from a sconce, but Loriel waved her away and cast a wisplight. Gamely, Brigit did not fluster.

There were guards at the door, junior Wardens serving a boring patrol, and they snapped to attention when they saw Brigit arrive. Their eyes widened with astonishment at the sight of Loriel. No wonder—these recruits looked fresh enough that they likely had never seen her before. Only heard the stories.

She bid them to leave. They hesitated, uncertain, weakly protesting that the prisoners could be dangerous, until Brigit repeated the order, and they scurried. That annoyed her—but she supposed this was a situation of her own making.

She remembered coming here on her very first full day as the Warden-Commander, called on to deal with a petty burglar. Funny how it had all turned out. She didn’t know where Nathaniel was now. She didn’t even remember him leaving.

Most of the cells were still empty. Brigit ran a tight ship. But many were full.

“This is more than four.”

“Yes, ser. Most are not condemned to die. Many are kept here until their family can pay the geld.”

“And if they cannot pay it?”

“They will be punished, and released.”

Loriel looked at the imprisoned men. They did not look dangerous. They looked tired and afraid and miserable. Her people, and she their warden.

“Which of these is the murderer?”

“The third cell on the right, ser.”

The murderer’s name was Geron, and he had murdered his own daughter. The girl had been seven years old, and Geron had smashed her head in with a cast iron pot. His wife had fled their house in terror, and when no one in the village would help her, had journeyed all the way to Vigil’s Keep to receive the Arlessa’s justice. The Arlessa’s men had found Henrick hiding in the attic of the inn, and dragged him to the dungeons to await judgement. Brigit had rendered it—death by hanging, for the crime of murder.

It had been an unusual decision, considering the extenuating circumstances. Geron had only done it because the little girl had been a mage. He’d caught her making mud-creatures with her mind, realized what she was, and killed her on the spot.

Loriel gazed blankly at him for a long time before speaking. “Why did you do it?”

The murderer raised his head. His eyes were streaming. “Please, ser.”

“Why did you do it?” she repeated.

He could hardly speak. He mouthed something that did not seem like an answer to her question.

“Tell me, please,” Loriel said quietly. “Were you afraid of her? Did you think it better for her to die? Did you hate her?”

This is what my people think of me, she thought. An insect. They would crush me in their disgust, were I small enough. But then, had he not killed his girl, she would have been taken to the Circle. Perhaps he had done her a favor.

She pressed her finger-ring into her palm. “Tell me.”

“I panicked,” the man babbled. She'd hardly had to compel him at all. “I didn’t mean to. Maker, forgive me, I’d do anything to take it back, forgive me!”

No, thought Loriel, I do not think I will.

“Then I offer you a choice.” She spoke quietly, but every ear in the room still strained to hear her. “You may take your death by hanging, or you may take the Joining. A life of service awaits you if you survive. The choice is yours.”

“Yes,” the man said hoarsely. “Yes, I will take the Joining. Thank you, Maker, thank you.”

She stepped back from the child-murderer’s cell.

“And the rest of you?” she inquired. “The same choice lies before you. Death, or the Joining?”

One by one, each condemned man volunteered.

Loriel turned to Brigit, who had gone pale and ghostly in the dim light of the dungeon. “Make the arrangements, Seneschal.”

tck

Brigit remained pale and silent as they left the dungeons. Loriel noted it, but waited to return to the safety of her office to press. “Is something the matter, Seneschal?”

“Nothing, ser,” Brigit said quickly.

Loriel waited expectantly, and thought Brigit would keep whatever it was to herself, when:

“It is only that…” She struggled, then burst out: “Are you certain this is wise, Commander? Vigil’s Keep does not lack for recruits. Why offer this honor to these men who have broken the laws of your land?”

“Everyone deserves a second chance. The Grey Wardens have always recognized that.”

“I—yes, of course, but,” it took her visible effort to continue, “but it is not about what one deserves . If a man is to be made a Grey Warden, I would have to find somewhere to place him. If he might pose a threat to his fellow Wardens, if we could not trust him—”

“Do you have such concerns about any man in particular?”

Brigit set her jaw and nodded. “Yes. Calder. There are details of his crimes that you may not fully appreciate. He is a relative of Bann Helven, and the situation with the Bann is complicated. Condemning his cousin for a crime that in other Arlings is not punishable by death at all was difficult. The Bann does not feel Calder’s crimes warrant death, and I may have to bend to his wishes.” The venom in her voice was enough to take Loriel aback. “To have him as a Grey Warden will only complicate things further.”

“To be a Grey Warden is an honor," Loriel said mildly. "Surely the Bann can see that.”

Brigit pressed her lips together. “It is not only that. Calder, he’s...He would have to be kept away from women and children. The girls he—they were young. He...a man such as that would be a liability for the Wardens, not an asset.”

Oh. Calder was the rapist. Loriel took in Brigit’s tight lips, her white face, and put it all together.

Suddenly she felt she understood Veritas. She let her voice soften. “Then of course I will take that into account.”

“Commander, I…”

Loriel extended a comforting hand, placed it lightly on her forearm. Brigit’s breath stopped in her lungs.

“Seneschal,” Loriel said, in her best pass at soft and gentle. “I understand completely. We are both women, after all.”

The effect on her was immediate. Loriel didn’t even need to say the lie, or even imply it. Brigit did it all herself. The Seneschal, usually a cipher of utter professionalism, cracked into pieces of gratitude and pity and devotion. And there it was. She had her.

“There is no need for you to attend this Joining. I will handle it.”

She tried to hide it, but her shoulders still sagged in relief, just as they tightened again with guilt. “Are you absolutely certain, Commander?”

“Of course. Make whatever preparations are necessary. I will take care of things from there.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Do you believe me, when I say that all I do, I do to fight the Blight?” she said softly.

“I believe you.” She said it at once, with such fervor. Loriel had no doubt she meant it.

“Do you trust me, Seneschal?”

“Yes,” Brigit all-but-whispered.

“Then let us speak no more of this.”

tck

Brigit wasted no time. She had everything arranged by the following evening. She apologized profusely that it could not be earlier, offered again and again to be present, obviously relieved each time Loriel declined.

For her part, Loriel made token attempts to make progress on the work while she waited, but by the second day, gave up. She sat in her Underkeep and thought incessantly of the child-murderer. It did not seem real, what she intended to do. Let alone how much she wanted to do it.

The hour approached at once intolerably slowly, and terrifyingly fast.

Guards brought the prisoners to the deserted chamber, released them from their chains, and departed. Loriel had already ensured they would not remember this, or come back in here. The prisoners were still and silent, awaiting their fates.

Loriel had not been present at a Joining in years. She only remembered the words because she had looked them up in advance. Not that they were important. Not that anyone in this room would leave it alve.

“Join us, brothers, in the shadows where we stand vigilant,” she said. She sounded ridiculous. “Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.” How did anybody take this seriously? “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” It would not be remembered in the first place. She’d made sure of that. “And that one day, we shall join you.”

The last word echoed away, and then she offered the cup: “Who shall take the Joining first?”

At least she was giving them a choice. Not much of a choice—one death or the other—but it more than the choice Loriel had been given. More than the choice almost every Warden in existence had been given. In her own Joining, Duncan hadn’t even let them volunteer. At least they had done something to deserve it, besides being born.

One of the men shrugged and stepped forward. Loriel knew neither his crime nor his name. He stared at the vile mixture for long moments before finally taking a sip.

A sip was all it took. He spasmed, gasped, and choked. He died over the course of a few seconds, but they were long seconds.The three remaining prisoners stood stiff and staring at the body. They had known this might happen, but now it was real.

It was altogether not surprising. Even honest, devoted, strong-willed people could die in the Joining. She had no reason to expect that men who had only agreed to the Joining out of desperation to do much better.

“His sacrifice will not be forgotten,” Loriel said flatly.

“Th-that’s a horrible way to die. Maker, I…” Another of the condemned men was shaking his head. “I—I think I’d rather hang.”

She shook her head minutely. “That is no longer possible.”

“Please,” his voice was a whisper— “Please don’t make me drink that. Please, I can’t, please just let me go back to my cell, I won’t cause no trouble, please, Arlessa...I’d rather a good clean death.”

The hangman wouldn’t offer him that. “I grant it,” she said, and crushed a blood vessel in the base of his brain. He was dead before he hit the ground. Instant. Painless. Better than a stopped heart or crushed lungs. She had gotten better at this, since the first time she'd tried it.

“His sacrifice will not be forgotten,” she intoned.

Two remained. Calder, the rapist with the noble relative, looked at the cooling corpse in horror, but the child-murderer’s eyes were closed as though in prayer. Loriel thought of drawing his blood screaming out of him, confirming his every worst fear about her kind. She thought of the lies she would tell him—that she could feel his little daughter’s spirit in the Fade, that she was here with her, that she wanted her to do this thing to him. How she would make him suffer, how she would make him weep. How she would use every trick she had ever learned to keep him alive, how he would spend eternities paying for what before she even began to consider granting him rest.

Yes, she wanted it. She would do it. She could not wait to do it.

“Step forward.”

Geron opened his eyes with resolve, stepped forward, and knelt. She watched his face. It was open and honest, terrified but resolved. He regretted what he had done. He wanted to atone.

Well, he would.

“Get up,” she barked. “Drink!”

Geron took the Joining cup and drank.

He collapsed immediately. The Joining cup would have fallen and spilled its noxious contents if not for Loriel’s instinctual telekinetic spell. Geron had looked pathetic in the dungeon, pathetic begging her forgiveness, and now he looked both pathetic and small, collapsed on the flagstones. Her heart thundered. What fortune that this man was there in the dungeons. She might never have otherwise had the courage.

And then she realized that the faint pulse of life was gone. The Taint had taken her prize. He was dead.

The soap-bubble beauty of her little fantasy popped.

“His sacrifice...will not be forgotten,” she said, unsure for whose benefit.

Bitter disappointment settled in her chest, tinged with the faintest strains of shamed relief.

“Guess that leaves me, then,” said Calder. He had raped and badly beaten three young girls. Now he stood swinging his arms, looking around at all the corpses.

“Just how often is this Joining fatal?”

She was slow to reply. “Not as fatal as your one alternative."

Calder barked a laugh. “Point taken. Well, nothing for it.” Calder seized the cup and took an unseemly swig, nearly spilling it down his front. He gagged and coughed, flecks of Joining blood splattering the flagstones. She was not really paying attention to him anymore. She stared at Geron’s corpse. She had been so sure...so ready…

In the heartbeats that followed, Calder, too, gagged and bent, and collapsed insensible to the flagstones.

And Loriel was alone with herself once more.

tck

She hadn’t slept at all when she next saw Brigit.

“Commander,” the Seneschal murmured as she set her morning tea in front of her.

“Seneschal,” Loriel replied, wrapping her hands around the cup, absorbing none of its warmth.

Brigit gave her report, halfheartedly. Loriel listened with even less heart than that. Finally they had performed enough normalcy that they dared speak of the matter at hand.

“Are there new Wardens for me to assign?”

“Oh,” Loriel said, as though she hadn’t even been thinking of it. “No. No, there aren’t.”

Brigit’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. All four?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

Brigit exhaled with relief. “It is justice, then.”

“No,” Loriel said flatly. “It isn’t.” Justice would be for that girl to have lived. Justice would be for a world where her death at the hands of her father would be an unthinkable absurdity. Justice would be a world where death had not been a kinder fate than the Circle. Justice had fled this place, leaving a massacre in his wake. Justice could not dwell in this world and remain Justice.

“No...it isn’t,” Brigit reluctantly agreed. “But the nearest thing that can be hoped for.”

“Brigit—may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, ser. I am ever at your service.”

An idle thought: As you should be. “Do you suppose I did the right thing, in allowing these men to be Joined?”

A voice, a ghost, a memory: Of course you did the right thing.

“I would not presume to say, Commander. I trust you know what is best.”

“I am asking what you think is best, Brigit.”

Brigit gazed at her feet. “It is immaterial what I think.”

“No, Brigit. It isn’t. Look at me. I value your opinion. I would have you speak your mind.”

The Seneschal lifted her head. “I think...that is quite unusual, for every recruit to die in a Joining.”

Loriel held her gaze steady. “These men volunteered only to escape their imminent deaths. I would not expect many to survive.”

“Yes...but many come to the Wardens seeking to escape their fates,” Brigit said, slowly. “Four is not so many as to be impossible. Perhaps not even notable, to those unfamiliar with the process. But it is...unusual.”

“Hm. Yes. Perhaps so.” Loriel made out as though she were examining her nails. “But this way at least Bann Helven can be comforted that his cousin died in faithful service. To die in the Joining is an honor. Far more so, I think, than to be executed on such charges as he had.”

“That...is certainly so.”

“Tell me again, Brigit. Do you think it was good, or bad, for me to allow those men to be Joined? Answer truly.”

An echo: You always do the right thing.

Brigit held very still. Finally she bowed her head. Perhaps it was only the angle of her head, but she seemed to be smiling. “I confess I think it good.”

Loriel shaped a smile in return. “That is wonderful to hear, Brigit. I do so value your support.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“You should dress more finely. You speak with the voice and all the authority of the Arlessa of Amaranthine and the Commander of the Grey. Have you no fine brocades in silver or blue?”

How fortunate, that Brigit was pale enough that even the faintest of flushes showed easily on her skin.

“I could obtain some.”

“Good. Do so. You should dress as befits your position. Now, if we have nothing further to discuss...”

Brigit left her office flushed and preening. If Loriel had any doubts about her they were gone now. She was heartened to know that she did not yet need to accomplish everything with blood magic.

She finished the tea in silence.

tck

Loriel long dwelled on Geron’s death, down in her Underkeep.

She had no love of self-deception. She had long prided herself on this. She saw this ugly world, her ugly self, just as they were, and did not flinch. The old commander was the one who flinched. Not her.

And yet she had somehow been so wrong about her own nature.

Some things that Loriel knew about herself—that she liked power. That she liked to be in control. That she was ready to risk other people’s minds and souls, if she could keep her power and stay in control. It didn’t take a demon of knowledge to figure out why. She could imagine what Veritas would say, were it here:

Of course you love power, it would say as it pranced in its binding circle. Of course you would choose to keep power over all other things. You were a prisoner, Loriel Surana! A helpless little girl, bound by walls and violent men and love and fear and duty, and you are that prisoner still, prisoner of your own pretentions. You can no more escape yourself than you can cure the Taint. All prisoners everywhere take any scrap of control that they can get.

A woman who craved power above all else could not possibly be called good . She had tried so long and so hard to be good, and it had been impossible, and the strain of trying had nearly cracked her open. Well, fine. She did not need to be good. The Chantry was good, and the Chantry decreed it good to keep children imprisoned with rapists and torturers and murderers, decreed it good to break their souls. What did she care for being good?

But Veritas had been right, that she was lying to herself about what she wanted most. She wanted to find a cure, yes, that was so—but more than that, she wished so dearly to not be evil. If she could not be good, at least let her not be evil. Let her not sink to the furthest depths. Let her say that some things even she would not do, places even she would not tread.

Yet when the opportunity presented itself to subject a repentant man to torment in plain revenge for a crime that could not be undone, whose victim could not be recompensed—she had wanted it so badly.

Before she had gone to the dungeons she was not sure if she would have really done it. But she would have. And she would have enjoyed it. She had thought that, once the heat of the moment had passed, that she would grow horrified at herself, vow never to consider such a course again—

And that had not happened.

Was that not evil? To wish to inflict harm, just for the sake of it? For the sake of one’s own pleasure? There was no truer face of evil that Loriel could think of.

After that...it would be pure insanity, to slow progress on her work, just to keep thinking herself pure, when she so clearly was not so, and never had been. She had come into this world destined already cursed, already tainted. The Joining that had put darkspawn taint in her veins was little more than a formality. She had thought that she’d understood this.

Veritas had been right about her priorities, but they were changing now. If she could not be good, if her nature was purely evil, then—at least she might do good.

That meant she could not let herself get in her own way.

tck

Calder woke. It surprised him. He’d had such dreadful dreams, but now he was awake—sweet Maker, he was awake. He was alive, he had survived! A Grey Warden, he thought in a heady rush, I’m a Grey Warden now. The relief that bloomed in him was palpable, almost overwhelming. He lay upon what felt like a stone slab in partial darkness, and blessed Andraste, he’d survived.

He had really thought he was going to die, and die horribly. Sure enough he had felt ready to when the vile Joining mixture had burned the back of his throat. He'd never tasted anything half so vile..

And he had had such dreams…

But it was over now. Alive, alive!

He heard someone approach. “Congratulations,” said a voice. He recognized it. The Arlessa—and his Commander, now. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to hear anybody in his entire life. “You are a Grey Warden, now.”

He moved to sit up, to thank her, and found that he couldn’t.

Only then did Calder notice the fact that he was paralyzed. There were no chains on his wrists or ankles,-but the force that bound him to where he lay was far heavie than chains. He could move, and he could blink, even move his head a little to track the Arlessa as she moved around the room, but that was all.

“I’m sorry,” said the Arlessa, and she sounded like she meant it. “If it makes you feel any better, leaving you alive was never an option.” She turned to a workbench. He heard the clinking of glass, the smell of intermixing reagents. “A Grey Warden is bound to a life of service. So you are here, helping me with some important work.”

Calder tried to speak, to scream, but though he could move his tongue to swallow, no sound came from his throat save for a strangled voiceless gargle.

“I’ve stilled your voice, but I can unstill it. We can speak like civilized people, before I begin," said the Arlessa. "If I let you speak, will you do your best not to scream? Blink twice for yes.”

He blinked twice, and all of a sudden had a voice again.

“What’s happening? What are you going to do to me?” The words tumbled out in a stilted rush.

“As I said,” said the Arlessa. “You are helping me with some important work. As a subject. The details, I am afraid, likely would go over your head, though I can discuss them with you for a short time if you truly desire.”

“Please,” he begged, “my father, he can help you. He’s an established man. Surely we can work something out—”

“Your father,” she interrupted, “believes you to have died honorably in service to your countrymen. A funeral is planned for next week. They will burn what looks quite convincingly like your body. Your family will mourn, but they will have closure. Privately some of them will feel a little relieved. I hope that makes you feel a little better.”

Calder threw his head back against the stone on which he lay. Was it his imagination, or could he move more freely than before? “I know I did some bad things. The Maker will judge me, I know I deserve to suffer—”

The Arlessa gave a slight tilt of the head. “Deserve? No, I don’t think anybody deserves to suffer. This has nothing to do with what you deserve. Only what you can offer. If it matter to you, your life will probably make more of a difference to the people of Thedas than any other Grey Warden alive.”

Only then did it dawn on him. Sweet Maker, the rumors had been true, all of them. She was going to-- “You’re going to use me as a sacrifice in your demented rituals, aren’t you?” he said hysterically. “Andraste protect me, you’re going to...to…” His imagination failed him.

The Arlessa looked deeply offended. “I am not going to do any such thing. I need no more than my own blood and sweat and pain to work these spells. You are a subject, not a sacrifice.”

“You maniacal fucking bitch,” he gasped, “I’ll fucking kill you, you evil—”

Just like that he had no voice anymore. The Arlessa looked vaguely annoyed, at best.

“I strongly prefer you do not use language like that in front of me."

Tears leaked silently from the corners of his eyes.

“Perhaps it is foolish to talk to you,” she sighed. “Or rather, I know it is foolish. I admit that perhaps I feel a little lonely at times. But it would be cruel to leave you like this.”

His tears flowed freely down his temples and into his hair.

“You won’t die anytime soon, I’m afraid,” she said, drawing a knife, and at first he feared she would kill him there and then. “I don’t want to have to do this to any more people than I absolutely have to. But you will die with honor, and you won’t suffer. Goodbye. Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

When she spoke next, her voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, so lovely and sublime that not to do whatever she wanted was the height of madness. “You do not know pain. You do not know fear. You are a vessel, empty of everything that might cause you to suffer. You are aware of your body, enough to describe how it feels to me, but it no longer troubles you. If you need something to live, you will tell me at once. Otherwise you will stay here, neither living nor dead, and you will know nothing.”

Calder fell into the silence, and didn’t.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #the warden #surana #amell #femslash #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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serbarris · 5 years ago

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Vaimah Glwrin, Inquisitor.

Nickname: Vai, Varric's nickname for him is 'Swish'

Reason for name: Vaimah means to wield wind, and the swish is on account of how Vaimah wields his great axe, creating a swishing noise.

Birthday: 29th Firstfall

Race: Dalish

Age: 33 in 9:41 Dragon (36 at the start of Trespasser)

Gender: cis male

Place of birth: near The Coastlands of the north

Places lived since: The Glwrin clan are a stationary clan in the Coastlands, so much of his childhood was spent there, he then moved to the Brecillian forest to be with the Sabrae clan when they needed his mother, Athrin to train a new Halla Keeper. He lived with the Lavellan clan in the Free Marches for a period and joined their representative to the conclave, at which he became the Herald and lived at Haven and Skyhold.

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Vaimah's mother, Athrin was the Glŵrin clans Halla herder and his father, Sylavun, a master craftsman for the clan. Athrin marvelled at the delicate designs Sylavun carved, after many brief encounters Athrin worked up the courage to properly talk to Sylavun and they fell in love and married, the pair had trouble conceiving and were finally blessed with Vaimah, but they could not manage to have another child.

Number of siblings: none

Relationship with family: They are very close, and only grew closer when their family moved from the Glwrin clan to the Sabrae clan, and surrounded by strangers. As Vaimah grew older he started to become more independent and came into his own without being coddled by his parents,

Happiest memory: Whenever the Halla were allowed to roam free on the plains, he was allowed out with them and just ran and enjoyed the freedom and open space they could explore.

Childhood trauma: When he was around 10 down at the docks, at which his clan traded, a Shem pirate grabbed him and threatened to cut off his ears, as they were 'valuable'. He had quite a few run-ins with these black-market salesmen, but the network of the docks knew of these pirates and helped prevent any serious injuries.

Children of his own?: Vaimah has 4 children of his own, all with Faralen Sabrae, Caeren is the oldest, then Amoran and the twins; Linneth and Oronth

If so, relationship with their mother?: Faralen and Vaimah started on a very tense relationship, they were both very solitary. They knew of each other through mutual friend Eilan Mahariel, though after he and Tamlen died in the ancient ruins, Vaimah and Faralen looked out for each other. They slowly but surely relied on each other more than they could realise, grew very close, and fell in love (even if Faralen didn’t realise at the time). They have a very good relationship now, and Vaimah is a constant reminder for Faralen to voice her feelings and they tend to balance each other out nicely.

Age he became a father: Vaimah was 36 when Caeren was born, 38 when Amoran was born, and 42 when Oronth and Linneth were born

PERSONALITY

Positive Personality Traits: He wants to help the greater good, decisive but adaptable, good-natured,

Negative Personality Traits: Reckless, a bit abrasive, protects the whole rather than self-preservation, oblivious to some things, sees the world in a very black and white way, insecure, determined, easy to startle

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

MBTI Type: ISFJ

Interests: He loves the creation of things, learning how to make the weak materials strong and how to change an object so inherently it becomes unrecognisable

Mood Character is Most in: Distracted

How does your character deal with being afraid?: He runs in head first towards whatever is making him afraid and confronts it

Any reoccurring nightmares?: ones of drowning, of the waves he trusts and finds comfort in betraying him, letting him fall beneath

When are they most in their element?: in the heat of debate, his morality guides him and he trusts in his own judgement completely; his gut feeling helps him feel like despite his memory loss, that he does know things and there must be a reason he is able to say things with such surety

What do they have a soft spot for?: his family and hallas,

What events have had the most impact on his life?: The death of Eilan Mahariel, they were firm friends and were a fleeting romance together, the death of Keeper Marethari and having to rise with Faralen to stabilise the Clan; The Divine Conclave leading to memory loss

Enraged When?: threatened

Greatest Strength?: his morality and judgement

Greatest Weakness?: his fear of his memory loss impairing his judgment and deviating from who he used to be

Biggest regret: Not voicing his feelings for Faralen sooner, there was just so much that got in the way, but in a way he’s glad he didn’t say he loved her sooner, it probably would have made the memory loss a lot harder to deal with

PHYSICAL

Height: 6″3

Weight: about 14 stone

Build: muscular af

Nationality: Ferelden, Coastlander

Disabilities: amnesia after the conclave, and still suffers from slight temporary memory loss

Complexion : quite dark skin, worn complexion

Face shape: idk face shapes

Distinguishing facial features: JAW, also his scars

Hair colour: dark brown, now going grey

Usual hairstyle: he had a completely shaved head for a while when he got his vallaslin as it extends into his hairline, nowadays he has an undercut and short on top, very easy to maintain, the top grows during Inquisition and he sometimes ties it back in a bun. Due to his arm being gone after Trespasser he will shave it all when it’s too long then grow the top and repeat the cycle as he can shave by himself but not trim the top.

Eye colour: lilac with specks of golden brown, like a Mediterranean storm

Glasses? Contacts?: nope

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): tough leathers and armour, when in casual wear more loose soft leathers and tunics

Typical style of shoes: practical hard-wearing boots

Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): very resilient to illness, he's one of those who will be kind of ill for a long time, rather than just be dying for a week and be fine again.

Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): Vai washes whenever he can, he loves water anyway, he's not really bothered about how clean he is though.

Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: Vaimah has some ear piercings he got from an Antivan woman down at the docks, and boy did he have trouble hiding them from his parents, his vallaslin is after June due to him and his father being craftsmen.

Accent?: Deep and slightly abrasive Welsh accent

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): his eyebrows move a lot when he talks, any subtle emotion is through his eyebrows

Athletic?: he is built like a brick shithouse

INTELLECT

Level of education: he knows some dalish history as well as being a skilled craftsman

Level of self-esteem: low when he moved to the Sabrae clan at around 20 years old, he was a lot taller and muscular than those in the clan, he also had to reprove himself to master Ilen as a craftsman when he moved and he felt belittled. Now he is better but doubts himself due to memory loss

Gifts/talents: aptitude for crafting things since he started at a v young age, an is very good with animals thanks to his mother

Shortcomings: distracted very easily, easy to startle and creep up on

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): articulate,

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: left??

Artistic?: masterpieces or stick men no in-between

Mathematical?: nope

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: a mixture of both, but he leans more towards emotions

Religious stance: He has become more open to the views of the humans and their maker given the Dalish have so many different gods, what's one more?

Cautious or daring?: just enough of both to be reckless but with cause

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: attacks on his personality and family

Optimist or pessimist?: optimist

Extrovert or introvert?: Introvert

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: Officially bonded with Faralen in 9:43 Dragon

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Past relationships: Many casual snogging sessions etc. down at the docks with curious people (he doesn't judge), and one casual relationship with Eilan, but Faralen is the only proper relationship he has had

Primary reason for relationship ending: Eilan died

Level of sexual experience: relatively high with Eilan (vaimah gets pegged 2k19) but low experience with the ladies

Story of first kiss: So this elf really fancied Vaimah a lot and they just started to talk to each other alone and go on walks and he slipped dragging Vai with him and they just fell on top of each other and it happened

Story of loss of virginity : Him and Eilan were just horny young elves

A social person? : he makes acquaintances and good impressions very quickly, but he has very few good friends

Most comfortable around (person): Faralen, or Amath, the Sabrae clans' chef, he is very much the big brother/uncle figure in the clan

Oldest friend: Amath or Envin, they didn't judge him as much when he joined the Sabrae clan, and helped him socialise

VOCATION

Profession: Inquisitor

Past occupations: Second in command of the Sabrae clan, Liaison of the Sabrae clan, Hunter

Passions: crafting, especially patterned wood and little figurines like his father.

Attitude towards current job: it’s alright but saving the world is a bit stressful

SECRETS

Phobias: scared of worms

Life Goals: not to die and regain all his memories

Dreams: to live a long happy life with his family

Greatest fears: Corruption, he doesn't want to see himself become the bad guy

Most ashamed of: when he lets his anger get the better of him

Compulsions: tapping his teeth together when thinking

Obsessions: checking here is always an escape route

Secret Hobbies: he collects little things that remind him of his family, like a lock of hair from all his children (when they've had a haircut) or little flowers or shells from days out things like that

Secret skills: he is actually amazing at cooking but fucking hates doing it.

Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): got accused of stealing a lot when he was a youngling at the docks, but he was never actually caught red-handed so it never happened okay

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Light or heavy sleeper?: heavy sleeper, when he is gone he is dead to the world, but Faralen learned he has a little tickly spot around the back of his armpit and when tickled it will wake him up. This was very useful when she was pregnant and wanted tiny cakes.

Lefty or righty?: right-handed

Favorite colour: blue

Cusser?: Like a fucking sailor. As an elf he usually takes the creators names in vain, but after the conclave and being surrounded by humans he beings to use the Maker and Andraste’s names in vain, which is very confusing to pretty much any other elf he comes across.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: Socially drinks

#oc: vaimah #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #i love my son #mine #bringing back the ocs in style with a new gif and my baby boi #oc: sylavun #oc: athrin #oc: faralen #oc: eilan

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varricmancer · 5 years ago

Text

Lost And Found | 3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Word Count: 5,880

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

Warnings: Attempted suicide (not graphic, but possible trigger). The OC has depression and low self-esteem, so don’t expect her to be some bright mary sue. At the same time, this sounds darker than it is. It’s going to have fluff and comedy and all that eventually, but OC has some growing to do first. She’s just not the usual strong and easygoing character many oc’s are. She’s more of a delicate creature. Also, it is Dragon Age, so there will be descriptions of war/battles/violence.

Notes: Would you guys be interested in a chapter from Varric’s POV?

The day after the Herald left the crossroads was spent packing up what Crystal thought she’d need to keep from her little borrowed hut. Giles had assured her that she was free to take anything, but she only wanted to take essentials considering how much traveling they’d be doing not only now, but in the future when they would need to move to Skyhold.

She left out what she would need for the remaining week, of course, but packed up everything else she wanted to keep. All she had to use were flour sacks until she could afford to get something better. All she determined worth keeping was the clothing she could actually wear, the fur and small blanket from the bed (she hoped for a decent place at Haven, but she also knew they were still starting out and struggling too), and the small collection of paper and charcoal sticks she’d been hoarding. She’d been itching to draw, but paper itself was hard to obtain for the common folk as it was all made by hand. Parchment was a little easier, but still hard to come by in the middle of the wilderness.

She spent several days like that, giving away what she couldn’t use and preparing the hut for the next occupant. It was on the third night that the sending crystal Varric had given her began to glow. She picked it up and sat on her cot in anxious fascination. She was a little worried about trying to keep up with a conversation on such a weird device, not that she’d been any better at them on cellphones. Texting was much more her speed. After a few moments, the crystal made a little sound like a delicate bell, followed by the rumbles of Varric’s voice.

“So, the Magistrate is standing there looking like he has a giant staff up his ass and goes, "I was looking for someone with your...special talents.” You can tell right away that Hawke has decided to fuck with the guy, because he gets that crazy grin of his going and says, “I'm guessing you don't mean my ability to juggle small rodents while humming Orlesian ballads."

There’s a rumble of laughter and Crystal realizes that he’s telling a story to his group, probably sitting around a fire at one of the camps. She smiles to herself and lays on her little cot, listening as he continues the story. She doesn’t even mind if he probably did the Thedas version of butt-dialing her. She found his voice comforting, a bit of familiarity in this strange land. She soon found herself falling asleep with a smile on her face.

***

It quickly became apparent after three more nights of the sending crystal activating that Varric was letting her listen to the stories on purpose. She couldn’t figure out why, but she was grateful. She’d spend her days helping where she could around the village, and her nights relaxing in her cot listening to the stories, some familiar and some he was clearly making up on the spot. Sometimes the others would join in and tell stories of their own, sometimes they would just discuss things that happened that day and their plans for the next. Anytime the conversation swayed towards discussing Crystal herself, she noticed Varric was quick to change the subject. She figured the others weren’t aware she was listening in.

The best reason she could come up with was that he’d been very observant and noticed she had the constitution of a terrified rabbit and had decided to try to let her get to know them a little bit before she ran off with them. It seemed like a very Varric-like thing for him to do, she supposed.

Tonight, however, she was hoping to hear it in person as it had been a week. She figured if they wanted to be technical they wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but she’d heard that the Herald had been spotted nearby and would most likely arrive in the crossroads in a matter of hours. Being that it was the middle of the afternoon already, she guessed they would most likely stay the night and leave for Haven the next day.

Thankfully, they would be arriving to see an improved situation. The sisters and Mother Giselle had already left for Haven days ago, taking the wounded soldiers with them. That cleaned up the area quite a bit, as people were able to take back their own houses and the area was no longer haunted by the screams of the dying.

With the supplies the Herald had given them, the people themselves were looking better. Everyone was well fed and clothed. Crystal had even gotten to bathe with real soap, simple as it had been. It probably wasn’t good to use it on her hair, but she didn’t care. She was clean from head to toe for the first time in weeks, even if she’d still had to use a bucket of water instead of an actual tub. She was just happy that the next time she saw everyone, she wouldn’t look like an unbathed goblin.

In fact, as she slipped in feet into the best looking pair of shoes she could find, she realized she’d unconsciously taken a great deal of care with her appearance. It had taken her nearly an hour to dry her long hair near the fire (good God she missed hair dryers), and she’d let the results fall freely down her back in cascading waves. She was pleased that the harsh soap didn’t seem to dry it out that much. The dress she was wearing was the best she could find, long and a lovely royal blue color, if a bit scratchy. Obviously, she wasn’t going to find something of amazing quality out in the middle of nowhere, but she looked decent enough in it and the color looked good with her brown hair.

She was growing nervous, she realized, as she began fluttering around her little hut. She was anxious to get out of here, yes, but that also meant she was going right into the middle of everything. She was terrified that maybe she was making a mistake and should just stick it out here, or at least wait until they went to Skyhold before joining them. That would be the cowardly choice, of course, but she’d never claimed to be brave.

She huffed in frustration and grabbed a precious piece of paper and one of her charcoal sticks, striding outside to sit near the little pond. There was a log stump there that she liked to use as a table, so she set her things down and observed the bustle of the little village. Soon enough she caught sight of Giles standing near the crossroads sign speaking to one of the Inquisition soldiers. She smiled and set charcoal to paper, letting her overactive mind quiet as she drew. The paper wasn’t what she was used, of course, and the bumps and ridges in it made her displeased with the result, but it would do.

After nearly half an hour, she judged her sketch good enough and cleaned the charcoal from her hands with a quick flick in the pond. She didn’t want to risk getting anything on the one good dress she had. Giles hadn’t moved from his spot near the stone fence, though the soldier whose ear he’d been talking off had since moved on, so she walked over to join him. He grinned when she got close enough, waggling his eyebrows in his exaggerated way.

“Well, don’t ye clean up nicely, lass.”

“I’m hoping after the past few weeks we’ve all had that we all cleaned up nicely,” she laughed, then shyly handed the paper to Giles.

“For me?” He stood up straight and took the paper, whistling as he looked it over. “Now, no ones ever made my likeness before, but even I can tell this is good.”

She beamed from the simple praise. “I studied art. Not sure what good that’s going to do me here, but it’s what I know. Anyway, this is just a simple thank you for looking out for me. You know I don’t have anything else, so this is the least I could do.”

Giles reached out and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Lass, ye don’t owe me a thing except staying safe. I feel like I’m sending ye right into the mouth o’ the beast, but the Herald lad seems a good sort. Certainly helped the crossroads, and I hear tell he shut down the fighting all over the Hinterlands. I think if I have to trust anyone with ye, it would be him and his lot.”

There was a commotion near the tunnel and the two shared a looked before observing as people crowded the party coming out of it. She sent Giles a little grin and wandered over, hoping it was who she thought it was.

The Herald and his crew were all riding new mounts, along with a few riderless ones behind them. The trip to Dennant was apparently successful. The mounts varied greatly from the Herald’s Fereldan Forder to Solas’s Red Hart. She was not looking forward to hearing that thing in person. It was bad enough in the game.

One of the mounts without a rider was a Battle Nug, something she’d never thought she’d see in her life beyond the screen. It was cute in a strange sort of way, with the rhino face and bunny ears. The hairless skin was cocoa brown, not unlike her own hair. Although the gorilla-like hands would take some getting used to. How did it not hurt it to run around on those things?

Varric separated from the party, trotting his sturdy looking pony over to her and jumping down as he grinned. The once over he gave her was fairly subtle, but not enough that she didn’t catch the way his eyes roamed over the curves revealed by her almost too tight dress. She could also see just how quickly he dismissed whatever he was thinking as he turned to observe the nug.

“Ugly, huh?” he chuckled. “Pretty sure he just gave it to us because no one else was buyin. Apparently, it’s a runt and when people actually buy these things they want em big.”

“It’s kinda cute in a way,” she shrugged, her smile widening when he groaned.

“You’re going to get along great with Red. She has two of the regular ones at Haven. She’s going to freak when she sees this guy.”

“Is that who he’s for?”

“Don’t know yet. When I said he gave it to us, I meant really gave. As in threw it in for free. I guess while it goes along easy enough, it’s really picky about who rides it. Wouldn’t let any of us touch him more than a couple pats. Dennant says it’s nice and well trained though,” Varric shrugs, and walks next to her as she goes closer to the Battle Nug.

As if it had sensed it was being talked about, the beast’s attention zeroed in on the two of them. Its snout wiggled as it scented the air, before releasing a loud huff and walking closer. Crystal reached out her hand and let it sniff at her, giggling as the heated breath tickled her. After getting in a few good sniffs, it batted it’s head against her hand, begging for pets. She scratched the area between his huge horns, the feel of the skin not unlike a hairless cat she’d once pet.

Suddenly, it surprised both of them when the Battle Nug dropped down and began trying to herd her towards it’s back.

“I think it wants you to ride it,” Varric chuckles, shaking his head.

Crystal stuttered, “What? I’m...I don’t even know how to ride.”

“How were you planning on getting to Haven?” Varric asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” she answered weakly, staring at the huge saddled back of the nug. “A wagon or something?”

“If that was the case you should have gone with the sisters. With us, you’d have to ride. I suppose if you’re really scared you can ride with one of us, but it looks like this big lug has chosen you, so maybe you can give it a try at least.”

She bites her lip and stares as she tries to gather enough courage to climb up. The nug is still nuzzling into her side, trying to encourage her, she supposes.

“I’m wearing a dress, Varric.”

“The saddle is big enough that you could sit side saddle. I’ll help you up.”

She sighs and lets Varric lead her to the side of the beast.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not a big fan of riding either, but it gets the job done,” Varric shrugs and laces his hands together as a makeshift mounting block.

She straightens her back, nodding in a show of fake bravery. She places her hand on Varric’s shoulder and is momentarily distracted by how solid it felt under her fingers. Thick and muscled - and flexing? A quick glance at Varric’s lazy grin and dark eyes is enough proof that he knew where her mind had gone and was maybe showing off a little.

She flushed and quickly lifted a leg, stopped by Varric clicking his tongue.

“The right leg first for side saddle.”

She nods and does as he says, placing her right leg in his cupped hands. He boosts her up a little and she scoots into the leather saddle. The squeal she makes when the nug stands up was embarrassing, and Varrics slow chuckles didn’t help.

“Alright, now these guys are pretty slow so you don’t need to worry about speed. Reins are fairly easy; left and right, pull back lightly when you want to stop. Press into him with your thighs to go.”

Crystal releases the death grip she has on the saddle horn, reaching for the reins. Her hands are shaking and she’s sure the nug can sense how scared she is because he’s not making any sudden movements; just stands there patiently waiting. She exhales and digs her thighs in and the nug starts a gentle trot. She barely has to do anything with the reins as it makes little circles and walks up and down a tiny stretch of road, occasionally shaking its head and looking back at her.

The Herald had joined Varric as they stood watching her, and she waved at him and sent him a little shaky smile.

“Look at that. He wouldn’t let any of us on him, and now he’s prancing around like a pony. Look at him showing you off,” Maxwell chuckled as he greeted her.

This wasn’t so bad, she mused. She relaxed a bit and let the nug wander around until it walked back to the rest of the mounts. She pulled the reins back gently and it stopped completely, dropping belly down so she could slide off easily.

She was a little unsteady still from the adrenaline rush and nearly fell as her knees buckled. Varric was quickly at her side, wrapping a thick arm around her waist as Maxwell reached a hand out in concern.

“You good there?”

She nodded and grinned sheepishly, “Just a little shaky. First time rider.”

Maxwell grimaced with sympathy, “Yes, I remember my first time. I couldn’t sit well for two days.”

Varrics sniggers quietly and she rolls her eyes while Maxwell continues on, oblivious.

“Make sure you used creams or oils to make it a smoother ride.”

Varric’s snickers have become outright guffaws and Crystal finds herself giggling when Maxwell stares at them in confusion for a full minute before he finally groans.

“Varric, you have the sense of humor of a child.”

The dwarf’s laughter quiets slowly and he shrugs, flashing the Herald a playful grin.

“Anyway,” Maxwell begins with a sigh, “Since the nug hasn’t let anyone else ride him and it appears he’s decided he likes you, he’s yours,” he nods towards Crystal.

Her jaw drops and she looks between the Herald and the giant beast.

“Oh, really, I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can. I’m giving him to you. He was free, so it’s not like it’s a great burden. And before you can use any other arguments, the Inquisition will handle his basic care needs like food and such. Congratulations.”

She opened her mouth to retort but with nothing coming to mind her jaw snapped shut. She sighed and flushed.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. When you get a moment, please join us for a meal and we can discuss the events of the last week and our future plans.”

With that, Maxwell saluted the two of them and sauntered off, whistling.

“He’s kind of a brat, isn’t he?”

Varric snorts, “Yeah, a bit.”

Crystal sighs and looks at the Battle Nug that is now snuffling into the ground.

“So now the only thing I actually own in this entire world is a giant pig-rabbit.”

“Seems like it,” Varric laughs.

“I’m not as ungrateful as I sound, I promise. Just...overwhelmed, I suppose. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with a great big beast like that. I suppose a plus side is if we meet any bad guys on the road, he can just sit on them and save me from having to fight.”

Varric shakes his head with a grin and gestures for her to lead the way back to the center of the village where everyone was meeting up. They are both silent for a few moments before he clears his throat.

“You look nice, by the way.”

She blushed and really fucking wished any of the clothes here had pockets so she could shove her hands nervously in them like she wanted.

“Thanks. It’s a miracle what eating every day and using actual soap can do.”

Varric snorts before returning the acknowledging wave of the Herald once they were close enough.

The party is sitting outside of her hut, of all places. Giles winks at her cheekily as he settles into one of the stools he’d dragged over for them to use and proceeds to dominate the conversation, pelting everyone with questions. She knew it was mostly because he was just a talkative fellow, but also because he knew that she preferred to listen.

Talking to anyone, especially a big group of intimidating people like this, was incredibly hard for her. Back in her world, she was a certified medication-guzzling socially anxious mess with severe depression. Here in Thedas, she was simply known as shy, which amused her.

The village was already at work preparing the fresh rams that they had brought back, filling the air with the scent of roasting meat and the sounds of excited villagers. Crystal leans her back against her little hut and wills herself to relax, listening to the now familiar voices of everyone around her. Her fingers itched to sketch the little village, knowing it was her last night here among these people. She’d start with her own little hut, she muses, perhaps at dawn when the sun just begins to color the sky. Maybe one of the children as they sit in rapturous fascination whenever she tells them a story. She’d already drawn one for Thomas of his sweet daughter that he’d lost. He’d cried and thanked her with a fierce hug that brought tears to her own eyes.

“What do you think, Crystal?”

She straightened quickly as she was jolted out of her thoughts, glancing at Maxwell in confusion. She’d been so out of it, she hadn’t even realized Giles had gone to get them food.

“Pardon?”

“We were just discussing our travel plans. It took us a little over four days to get here from Haven, but that was also because we made minimal stops since most of us are used to travel. We were wondering if you would be fine with that or if we should think on factoring inn stops into our plans?” Maxwell explained with a kind smile.

“Oh, God, no. No need to do anything different for me. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother. Personally, I like to stay on the road as much as possible, because that’s less paperwork I’m forced to do.” Maxwell grinned as the others chuckled lightly.

“So...if you’re talking about taking me with you, everything went well?” she asked tentatively, still slightly afraid that her very appearance in Thedas might have changed even the small things.

“Oh, yes. Everything was just where you told us, even the ridiculous Druffalo. The caches of supplies are on their way as we speak. We closed all the rifts except for the one by the river you told us about. Set up very comfortable camps on all the marked spots. Took out the Templar and Mage hideouts. We were all very impressed. Obviously, we haven’t delved into your future knowledge that you say you have yet, but this was enough to know that at the very least you seem to be on our side for now.”

Crystal released a relieved breath, finally able to release weeks of tension. She’d be in the thick of things, but she’d also be surrounded by those that could protect her the most.

“Thank you.”

Maxwell nods, pausing as if to catch his thoughts before asking.

“You seem like...there’s something specific that you’re wanting protection from. That you believe we can protect you from, specifically. Are you...able to tell me what that is?”

She chews her lip in thought, trying to figure out what she should say.

“I’m not sure? Honestly, I don’t think I’m the smartest person, so I’m never quite sure my logic behind what I can and can’t share is sound. I’ll be happy to go over things more once we get to Haven, but I think I can at least tell you we should start stocking up on travel supplies and weapons. Haven doesn’t seem the sort of place that would withstand an attack, does it?”

They all looked mildly disturbed by that, but Maxwell nodded in thought. She was relieved no one asked her to go into detail, because she wasn’t sure how she would have been able to talk her way out of that. She was afraid if she told them too much, it would create so much change that she wouldn’t recognize the story anymore and be worthless.

Giles soon brought them bowls of roasted meat and vegetables, and they were all more than happy to change the talk to more pleasant things. Varric and Maxwell both were very nice about asking her questions and trying to draw her into the conversation. Cassandra acted like she wasn’t there most of the time. Crystal knew it was most likely because she still considered her a threat so she tried not to be too hurt by it. Solas seemed as content as her to merely listen to those around him. She was especially glad he paid her no mind.

“Excuse me, Miss Crystal?”

She turned towards the shy voice of one of her favorite kids in the village, Malcolm. He was like her little shadow most days, and was always quick to ask for a story or for her to teach him how to draw.

“Good evening, Mal. Did you need something, buddy?” She asked with a fond smile.

He shoved one of his hands practically in her face as he handed her what appeared to be a rock.

“I worked all day doin’ chores for Ma so I could give you this. It’s a heating rune. Cuz you’re gonna be traveling and hate the cold like me. You just press your finger here and it warms up, but it doesn’t hurt or nothin’. So you can keep your tent warm and it works in water too!”

“Wow, Mal! This is so nice. Thank you!”

She grins at the blushing boy and means every word. If this thing works like she thinks it should, she can look forward to toasty tents on the road. Damn she hated being cold, especially after these last few weeks with nothing but a thin blanket to warm her. She leans over and hugs him tightly.

“You’ll remember to keep up with your drawing, right? I expect you to send me a drawing every now and then so I can see your progress. I’ll send you some of whatever I see too, okay?”

“Kay!” Malcolm grins and runs back to his parents. She smiles at the little rune before tucking it into her pocket.

“You didn’t mention you had a suitor,” Varric smirks.

She snorts and plays along. “Oh yes, he’s lovely. He catches me frogs and only wets the bed twice a week. The catch of the ages, really.”

He huffs a little laugh before turning to the group.

“Did I ever tell you guys about the time Hawke bought a mine?”

Crystal grins and leans in to listen, even though it was yet another story that she already knew. The way that Varric told them always made them sound new, however. She could tell the parts he was embellishing heavily and tried to contain her commentary. She was amused by Maxwell’s gasps of surprise and Cassandra’s eye rolls when Varric tried to describe the dragons in terrifying detail. Mostly, she was just happy to be sitting here listening in person.

Varric was so expressive when he told a story. His hands waved enthusiastically, and his face showed every emotion. He timed everything perfectly to get the reactions he wanted, smirking slightly whenever someone was shocked or appropriately enthralled. She soon discovered that she’d been focusing so much on him that she’d missed most of the story, too entranced by the dwarf himself.

She needed to get over this fascination with him, and fast. That way lay heartbreak and pain, she was sure of it.

She yawned loudly, hoping the others would catch on. Thankfully, Maxwell must have been looking at her because he yawned too.

“I think we should all get some sleep. We have a long few days ahead of us,” he grunted as he stood up and stretched.

The others murmured their agreements, slowly getting up and putting the stools to the side.

Giles scratches his belly as he looks them over.

“We have a couple o’ empty huts that you lot can use. You’d have to squeeze in there, but it would probably be a nice break from tents at least.”

“I have one extra cot in mine as well, if it’s needed,” Crystal ventured quietly.

The party spoke amongst themselves and eventually it was decided that Solas and Maxwell would share one hut, Cassandra would take the other as she wanted to bathe in privacy. Of course, this left...

Varric’s smirk as she glanced at him in surprise was gone so fast she could almost believe she imagined it. Everyone wandered towards their assigned places for the night, leaving Varric to open the door for her.

“After you,” he said softly, standing to the side as she tried to get past him before he could see her blushing.

Maxwell ran up and threw Varric his pack of supplies before he could enter. He accepted them with a grunt of thanks and shut the door, bringing the wooden bar down to secure it.

Crystal was practically vibrating she was so nervous. Logically, she knew that nothing was going to happen and that the chances of him being genuinely into her beyond friendly flirting were zilch, but she couldn’t help the rush of anxiety she felt just being in a room alone with him.

“So, uh, the cots are over here. The one on the right is a little more sturdy since it belonged to the man who owned this place before. I’ll take the smaller one,” she winced as she heard how shaky her voice sounded. She hated that he probably thought she was some freak scared of her own shadow.

He nods and smiles gently, seeming to pick up on her nervousness.

“If you wanted to change into your night things, I promise I won’t look if you don’t. I must protect my virtue, after all,” he drawled. She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped over his stupid joke, letting him lighten the tension in the room a little.

She peeled off her slippers and tucked them away into her bag of supplies. She’d use the more sturdy boots she had for the journey. She snuck a quick peek at Varric, finding him turned all the way around facing the wall as he shucked his own clothes. She nibbled her lip nervously and quickly pulled the dress up and off, leaving the thin white chemise on to sleep in. Unable to help herself, she looked out of the corner of her eye towards the dwarf behind her.

He’d already torn off his shoes and shirt, leaving him barechested as he struggled with his belt. She inhaled lightly as she watched his back muscles rippling like some damn romance movie hero. She turned away just as quickly, knowing that with his skills he’d probably know if someone was watching him.

She cleared her throat and instead focused on finishing readying for bed. She went to the little table that she’d turned into a sort of vanity and poured water into a bowl for washing her face and a cup for brushing her teeth. She missed the convenience of running water and tubes of toothpaste, not to mention her creams. This place was drying the hell out of her skin.

When she was done, she poured everything out and cleaned up the area.

“There’s still plenty of water left if you need it,” she said softly.

“Yeah, thanks,” he rumbled, his voice close enough that she figured it was safe to look.

She wanted to groan out loud and barely stopped herself from doing so. He’d changed into some comfortable looking pants at least, but he’d left his chest bare. Judging by the look on his face, he knew damn well the effect he had on her and did it on purpose. She didn’t even like body hair, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d even pulled his hair from its tie, letting flow freely. It wasn’t that long, just towards the middle of his neck, but it was still such an intimate thing to see, she thought.

He chuckled as she turned to busy herself, trying to keep her mind on other things besides half naked dwarves that were too handsome for their own good. She set her bags near the door for easy pickup in the morning and started the fire, knowing that the hut would be ice cold in a couple of hours if she didn’t.

Once it was blazing she stood with her back to it, letting it warm her before she tried to sleep with her one little blanket. The first thing she planned to do once she figured out how to get money here was going to be buying at least five blankets and the stuff to make proper pillows, not the blocks they used here.

She was swaying slightly with her eyes closed, listening to Varric humming and cleaning himself as she tried to relax enough to get to sleep quickly. She heard the splashing water stop and sounds of a towel being unfurled, then suddenly he growled.

Her eyes shot open and she stared wide-eyed as Varric’s face turned hard and tense with hunger. His hooded eyes traveled the length of her body, and when she looked down she realized, to her utter horror, that the chemise was so thin that standing in front of the fire had made it damn near see through. She could see everything, and if she could, so could he. She blushed wildly but rushed past him and jumped into her cot, covering herself with her threadbare blanket.

She could hear him breathing heavily, like he was trying to calm himself. A few moments later he walked over and pulled a blanket from his bag, settling into the cot that was so close to her own she could practically feel his body heat.

He turned on his right side as he got comfortable, facing her. In a surprising show of bravery, she turned towards him as well. They both lay in silence for a few moments, looking at each other with only the flickering light of the fire, studying and weighing each other.

She knew he was at least somewhat attracted to her, but she also knew he was probably fighting it because of his loyalty towards Bianca. Though she was sure he messed around at least somewhat, but never seriously and never with feelings. And Crystal, no matter how attracted to him she’d turned out to be, wasn’t the type to do anything casual. She grew attached too easily, was too needy for flings. She had a feeling he could probably tell and that’s why he was able to restrain himself.

She sighed curled up more into her little blanket, starting to feel a little more tired now that the heat was starting to fill the little hut. The only thing she needed now was Varric’s familiar voice rumbling through the sending crystal.

“Why did you let me listen?” she suddenly blurts.

Varric’s soft grin says he was expecting the question sooner or later.

“I thought it might help. Woman all alone in a strange place, about to travel with a bunch of scary warriors for almost a week. Figured it might help you get to know us a little and at least let you know we weren’t planning on chopping you to bits or feeding you to a dragon.”

“I was so very worried about the dragon too. Bless you, sir.”

He chuckles and sends her another little smile.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Crystal fights her blush and whispers, “Goodnight, Varric.”

She turned away and faced the wall as she willed herself to sleep, trying not to focus on every little sound he made. It was a very long night.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfic #fanfiction #dai #da2 #varric tethras #varric #varric fanfic #varric fanfiction #varric x oc #varricmancer

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blackwxtchmccree · 6 years ago

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Me... Post more than once in a week? Unheard of, truly. This is actually a rewrite of something I posted to AO3 last year and upon rereading it, couldn’t stand, so I had to fix it. Damien is my warrior Inquisitor and gay son who I adore.

Warnings: violence, amputation (not graphic), angsty gays -Valk

Can also be found on my AO3 >>> here

Four Times Dorian Thought the Inquisitor Wasn’t Okay, and the One Time He Thought He Was

1. In Your Heart Shall Burn

Dorian had looked over his shoulder one moment and the Herald had been there—the next, he was gone, having told them to run, but never promising that he would follow. Haven was on fire, the newly formed Inquisition was scattered, and the man who sought to be a god and his archdemon loomed, signaling their impending destruction. Whatever plan Damien had, Dorian hoped they hadn’t just lost the only person capable of clearing their path to victory.

Dorian had watched the subsequent avalanche from the mountain path just above Haven—they wouldn’t have made it that far without Trevelyan’s intervention, but watching Haven as it was swallowed by snow made Dorian’s heart jump into his throat. Damien, their Herald, the supposed champion of Andraste, was down there somewhere and Dorian realized he cared enough to be genuinely concerned for the man. The Tevinter mage hadn’t been with the Inquisition long, but Dorian had learned that Damien had more tenacity than all of Tevinter had wine—Dorian just hoped it would be enough to get him through this.

What Dorian didn’t expect was the amount of relief he felt when he saw Cullen and Cassandra practically dragging Damien into camp—his heart skipping a beat when he heard the victorious uproar of everyone the Herald had inspired and given hope as they crowded around the ginger. Dorian had been afraid of losing their only way to repair tears in the Veil and reliably face-off with an ancient Tevinter magister, but Dorian came to realize he was genuinely fearful of losing Damien —not the Herald, not Andraste’s champion, not their soon-to-be Inquisitor—but Damien.

Dorian had grown used to being greeted by friendly emerald eyes genuinely interested in his ramblings and even looked forward to any books Damien thought to hand his way. It was a simple, what Dorian had read as friendly gesture at first—a leatherbound book passed between rough battle-worn hands. It made Dorian feel like a teenager again when his heart fluttered if their fingers brushed. The pages made the miserable cold of the Frostback Mountains easier to ignore and he had only one person to thank for that. That person, though nearly frozen and subject to hypothermia with snow and ice frozen to his eyelashes and boots, was alive and breathing and that’s the best outcome Dorian could have asked for.

2. Champion

Damien had told him that he wanted to be untouchable—unkillable even, if possible. Dorian chalked it up to the redhead’s recklessness. The warrior was known for charging into battle headfirst, deflecting incoming arrows and blocking heavy blows from a hammer or another greatsword so that he and Varric could flank their assailants. He had already tried taking Corypheus head-on—and had done so without so much as flinching.

The Inquisitor was a skilled swordsman without a shadow of a doubt, the greatsword in his hand moving just as naturally as the staff in Dorian’s hand. He kept the blade sharp and Dorian could see the satisfaction on Damien’s freckled face whenever the metal bit through enemy armor, the protective layer crumpling easily and the blade drawing fresh blood that had come to represent their impending victory. Back to back with Cassandra, they were a force to be reckoned with and they seemed to hold a mutual respect for each other, regardless of the decisions Damien made that Cassandra was sure to voice her displeasure about later.

Dorian would discover; however, that Damien’s self-described motivations were a façade. A drunken night shared between the two of them on the balcony after arriving at Skyhold had revealed his intentions and while Dorian had expressed his surprise at the time, the mage had always suspected there was a more complex underlying reason. He had seen the Reaver methods book sitting on Damien’s desk—and had noticed when it had disappeared and had been replaced. The mage meant to ask about it then, but distracting lips had been pressed against the back of his neck and the thought was lost.

The sadness Dorian saw subtly reflected in Damien’s emerald eyes would soon become a familiar sight, but in that moment on the balcony that night, Dorian felt a pang in his heart. The newly named Inquisitor was staring off into the distance, wine bottle in his hand, half-lidded eyes misty with what Dorian realized was more regret than melancholy and in his alcohol-addled state of mind the mage couldn’t not ask why. Damien had smiled in response, passing him the wine bottle, saying he had lost two people close to him because of his recklessness—saying he couldn’t let it happen again. He would defend them to his last dying breath if it meant the people he loved survived.

Dorian had nodded silently, almost regretting having asked, but the fluttering of his heart when Damien playfully bumped his hip with Dorian’s eclipsed the feeling. Dorian would soon find that the specialization seemed almost made for the red-head. The mage couldn’t see him as anything other than a walking fortress in the end, so it seemed Damien’s choice was a fitting one after all.

3. Vinsomer

They had an entire boat ride to decide to turn back, but it seemed that no one could get the idea of fighting a high dragon out of Damien’s head. They had seen her fly over the Storm Coast, circling before disappearing into the fog beyond the shore, what little light that filtered through the clouds glinting off of her steel-gray scales.

Dorian and Varric has been intimidated—rightfully so; Cassandra came from a line of dragon hunters and seemed indifferent, but Damien looked almost excited. It was hard to miss the mischievous glint in his green eyes as he looked off the side of the boat into the distance, his body seemingly vibrating with anticipation.

Once they were on the battlefield in front of her, Dorian expected that look to change to something akin to fear, like he saw for a moment in Cassandra’s eyes—though she’d never admit it, but the mage watched as Damien confidently taunted Vinsomer, drawing her attention away as he pulled his greatsword off of his back. Steel met scales and the champion was quick to dash out of the way as electricity crackled through the air, the rain beginning to fall more heavily now than before.

The downpour eventually blinded Dorian to where he could make out little more than patches of color that he could only assume were his companions. Vinsomer’s roar echoed across the island and he was sure you could hear it from the shore of the coast, but he didn’t give it much thought once the yelling that followed caught his attention.

Varric was dragging Cassandra away as Damien took another heavy blow, causing Dorian’s heart to skip a beat as the high dragon’s claws sliced through the air, connecting haphazardly with the warrior’s sword again, throwing him backwards, but he landed on his feet, deflecting the next blow and beckoning for the giant winged lizard to follow him as he moved away from where his companions were gathering.

Dorian was quick to cast a barrier around their Inquisitor before rushing to Cassandra’s side, grimacing at the deep gash she had acquired on her left thigh. He was never skilled with healing magic, but he did his best. He looked up again just in time to see the Inquisitor— his Inquisitor, as of recent—become engulfed in pure electricity. The mage felt the power rush through the air and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his heart leap into his throat.

It couldn’t end like this—not here and not now.

Cassandra cried out for the Herald, trying to push herself up, but Varric pushed her back down, squinting as he tried to see through the rain. It took Dorian a moment, but he felt it, too—an overwhelming sense of finality. He didn’t know who had just experienced their final moments, but he would soon find out. The next few seconds felt like an eternity as they waited.

The next few seconds was all it took for Damien to fell the high dragon of the Storm Coast.

Dorian watched with quiet satisfaction as their Inquisitor emerged nearly unscathed from the blast, rain running off of his red-tinted armor in rivulets that from afar looked almost like blood. His green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light and Dorian realized he had never seen Damien look more alive than in that moment—greatsword buried in Vinsomer’s chest, pulling it out and giving a final, deft and precise slash to her throat.

The ground shook when her body finally collapsed. Damien stood over her and Dorian saw his mouth moving, sure the Inquisitor was apologizing to the air for bringing down such a noble beast, but once he had finished his apology and their eyes met across the battlefield, Dorian saw him smirk.

4. Corypheus

When Corypheus tore the Breach back open over the ruins of all that they had lost, Damien had announced it was the end. Whether he meant the end of their journey, the end of the road, the end of their time, or perhaps just the end—Dorian wasn’t sure. This would be the last chapter in a long book detailing victories and losses he had experienced first-hand—the mage could feel it. Now, they had to face the would-be god who they thought had started it all.

They gathered around their Inquisitor, reassured by his smile and the warm green glow of the Anchor, but Dorian could see the war Damien was fighting in his head. When Damien’s soft green eyes met Dorian’s warm brown ones across the war table, Dorian realized his amatus was silently apologizing to him. For what, Dorian had yet to find out, but once everyone had left with their orders save Cassandra, Varric, and himself, Dorian found out.

“I can’t- I can’t in good conscious ask any of you to come up there with me,” Damien started, leaning back against the map-covered table and crossing his arms across his broad chest. “We could die and I love all of you too much to ask that of you.”

“We’re with you—wherever you go,” Cassandra promised, smiling a rare smile that made Dorian realize just how deeply she believed in their cause and in Damien, not just as the Inquisitor, but as her friend. “We couldn’t have asked for a better Inquisitor.”

“Come on, kid—we knew how this was going to end,” Varric replied with a smirk and a shrug, voicing Cassandra’s silent convictions. “We stayed because we believe in this—believe in you … and you’ve been changing the narrative since the day we met. This ending likely won’t be any different.”

Dorian found that for once in his life, he was at a loss for words. Damien extended a hand his way and the Tevinter mage was quick to take it, leaning forward to press his forehead gently against Damien’s, resting a hand at the nape of the ginger’s neck. Their eyes fell closed almost instinctively. Dorian hoped Damien knew his answer without him needing to say it.

5. Trespasser

Once their real enemy had made himself known, Dorian wasn’t sure how they hadn’t seen it. Solas’ departure had been shrouded in mystery—the result of which was why they were chasing him through eluvians and fighting off angry Qunari. The quarrel with the Qunari and the resulting conflict between the nations at the Exalted Council were his fault, anyway. The mage had a thing or two he’d like to say to the elf.

But Damien had disappeared through the last eluvian by himself, asking them to stand guard while he chased after the agent of Fen-Harel—Dorian wouldn’t believe Damien later when the ginger told him Solas was Fen-Harel, but that was beside the point. Their fight with the saarebas had been a long and difficult one and the pain on Damien’s face when the Anchor flared again and the tears stinging at the edges of the Inquisitor’s eyes made Dorian’s heart hurt. The mage just hoped that Solas could at least keep the Anchor from killing him.

After all of this, he couldn’t lose the love of his life—they had survived high dragons and would-be gods and titans and this couldn’t be the end. He felt like it was almost their responsibility to take care of Solas, too—if only they hadn’t been so blind. He felt guilty that he was going back to Tevinter after all of this—he hadn’t meant to break Damien’s heart and he likely wouldn’t forget the look on his lover’s face when he said he was going back for good, this time.

The mage had meant the sending crystal as a peace offering, hoping it was enough, but standing here now he realized it made for poor company and even poorer consolation. Damien had joked about stealing an eluvian or two and while Dorian had brushed it off at the time, he was starting to think maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Damien had promised him a night in a wyvern-down bed at the Winter Palace, after all, and this time the Game and the royal’s squabbles wouldn’t get in the way.

Yelling drew him out of his thoughts—a common occurrence when Damien made his appearance that Dorian had gotten used to over the three years that had passed. Relief flowed through him as he turned, glad that Solas hadn’t decided to turn his Inquisitor into a pile of dust, but that relief was quickly replaced with pure terror and dread. Damien came limping out of the eluvian he had originally disappeared through, tears streaming down his face and his entire left arm flaring green, his opposite hand pulling at a cloth he had tied around his upper arm—a tourniquet, Dorian realized seconds later. Cassandra and Varric had rushed forward, catching the Inquisitor as he all, but fell forward to his knees, holding his arm out.

“Cassandra please before it kills me,” the Inquisitor cried, his voice breaking as he pleaded with the new Divine, fresh tears staining his freckled cheeks when the green light from his palm flashed again, his watery green eyes squeezing shut and his jaw clenching as pain radiated through his body. Dorian could feel the strong pushing and pulling of the Fade around him, realizing just how much pain Damien had to be in. Cassandra moved to hesitantly draw her sword, opening her mouth to argue.

“Inquisi-” but Damien interrupted her, grabbing Varric’s hand as he extended it in preparation.

“CASSANDRA!”

Dorian rushed forward as Cassandra raised her sword, falling to his knees in front of the Inquisitor and grabbing Damien’s face, turning it away as the mage pulled it against his chest so the warrior wouldn’t see. Cassandra’s sword cut deftly through the air and for Damien’s sake, Dorian hoped the blade was still sharp. The Inquisitor cried out as metal met skin and bone, digging his face into Dorian’s robes, his grip on Varric’s hand tightening. Dorian forced himself to look, grimacing before cauterizing the wound with flames produced from his hand, sealing it over with ice to hopefully numb the pain.

Damien let out a choked sob, collapsing against Dorian and Varric, his green eyes half-lidded as if he were in a daze, but Dorian could detect a sort of relief in his posture. Dorian pulled him closer, wishing he could do more to ease the pain, whispering calming encouragements in Damien’s ear.

But, even to his own ears, the words “Everything will be okay” sounded almost fake.

#dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dorian x trevelyan #angst #my writing #damien trevelyan

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queen-of-the-crows · 7 years ago

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OC Fact Meme

Another OC meme! tagged by @a-shakespearean-in-paris you should all follow her, shes awesome. I’m gonna fill this one out for Thea Hawke seeing as she romances my favorite character

Also, I need to finialize some stuff for her since that’s going to be my next little fic

GENERAL

Name: Thea Amaya Hawke

Alias(es): Lady Amell, Lady Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke, Thea (Fenris is the only one of their company who calls her by her first name but only after their first night together), Love (Fenris calls her love when they’re alone after getting back together), Jynx (Varric’s other nickname as bad things seem to always follow her)

Gender: female

Age: 21 at the destruction of Lothering, 28 at the end of Dragon Age 2

Date of birth: Dragon 9:10, winter

Place of birth: Denerim, Fereldan. This is where her parents stayed until she was born and they didnt have to worry about her mother traveling Spoken languages: Common tongue, some Qunlat (taught by Fenris while she taught him to read) Sexual orientation: She considers herself to be straight although she spent some time with other girls while she was a teenager in Lothering; its men that she’s attracted to Occupation: Champion of Kirkwall, former tavern girl while in Lothering, Vicountess of Kirkwall although she didn’t hold the post long, former smuggler

APPEARANCE

Eye color: bright deep blue Hair colour: pure white. her parents always said it was the magic in their blood and the Fereldan winter that made her hair white Height: 5′6 Scars: The largest is one that spans from her left shoulder blade and then goes down her back on a diagonal, ending at her right hip, received from a Qunari blade during their siege; Anders healed it enough for her to fight the Arishok but even his magic had its limits. She has another on her left forearm from when she was teenager received in a fight depending Bethany from a bully which she won of course. The thid is a stab wound in her right thigh given to her by the carta when she was smuggling. Burns: N/A Overweight: No Underweight: No, she isn’t under weight she is thin and toned for her size. Being a rogue, she relies on speed and not the muscle for brute strength.

FAVOURITE

Colour:

blues and dark red

Hair colour

she always thought she prefered darker colors, like black or deep brown until she met Fenris and couldn’t imagine it any other way

Eye colour:

Any color that would captivate her and mesmerize her, draw her in making Fenris’s eyes the most beautiful she had ever seen

Music genre:

She doesnt spend much time listening to music, she reads or plays Diamondback or Wicked Grace or draws. if she was a music person she would probably listen to things like Evanescence.

Movie genre:

Mysterys as she loves puzzles to solve and comedies cause sometimes she would need something lighter in her life

Tv show:

She would probably watch shows like Doctor Who, full of adventure in strange places and Sherlock cause of mysteries

Food:

She’ll eat whatever but her favorite thing is any type of pasta and she has a wicked sweet tooth for cake

Drink: Rum, specifically spiced rum

Book: Anything and everything. she did read all of Varric’s Hard in Hightown.

HAVE THEY

Passed university: definitely not, with apostates in her family she didn’t have formal schooling Had sex: Yes of course Had sex in public: if by public we mean not in someone’s home then yes. but no one was ever around, they were always alone Gotten pregnant: no and she doesnt want children Kissed a boy: Yes Kissed a girl: Yes Gotten tattoos: No Gotten piercings: no Had a broken heart: Somewhat, their was a boy in Lothering when she was 16 Been in love: With Fenris Stayed up for more than 24 hours: definitely, more than once

ARE THEY

A virgin: No A cuddler: oh most definitely A kisser: there are few things that she would rather do more than kiss Fenris; correction there are none

Scared easily: by things no, by the thought of her own death no, by something happening to Fenris most definitely, nothing scares her more

Jealous easily: Fenris gives her no reason to be jealous as he only has eyes for her so she has never really had her jealousy tested to know Trustworthy: Yes Dominant: she does both, depending on her mood and Fen’s mood Submissive: see above, their relationship is a healthy mix of both In love: Most definitely Single: Nope and never will be again

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: No, not on purpose. There were training incidents when she was younger and learning her weapon Thought of suicide: somewhat but never in a she would do it type of way; she would be lying if she said the thought never crossed her mind after losing Carver, Bethany, and her mother but it was more in passing and then not again Attempted suicide: No Wanted to kill someone: Oh yes, the monster who killed her mother and Danarius and she took joy in both their deaths. Except in circumstances like that, she doesn’t relish killing people Drove a car: She’s a fairly competent horseback rider, in modern times she would probably drive a classic muscle car Have/had a job: she was a tavern wench in Lothering and was briefly Vicountess of Kirkwall, also was a smuggler Have any fears: Fenris dying or being taken from her, her life meaning nothing, failing the ones closest to her

FAMILY

sibling(s):

Carver Hawke, younger brother by 3 years. Killed by an Ogre while escaping Lothering. He always had a rough relationship with Thea and they never got the chance to repair it before he died.

Bethany Hawke, younger sister by 3 years. Died in the Deep Roads during Bartrand’s expedition, taken by the darkspawn taint. She was always very close to Thea and her death devastated Thea. She wanted go get something special to remember her by but hadnt found the perfect thing. Bethany was sunshine in her life

parents:

Malcolm Hawke, from Ferelden, an apostate who escaped the circle. Died in Lothering, taught Thea how to use a quarterstaff as it was close to wielding an actual staff and the only weapon he knew how to use

Leandra Amell Hawke, from Kirkwall, thought she was left out by her parents when she chose Malcolm but they loved her all the same. She didnt always agree with Thea’s choices and they did but heads over some things including Fenris initially and the fact that Thea didn’t want to live the life her mother wished of her which was that of a noble. she came around though

children:

none, she and Fenris decided that wasn’t something that they wanted for their life

pets:

As a child she had a fat grey kitten she named Charcoal who followed her everywhere, she had the cat from kitten all the way until the day it died when it was about 15 years old.

a Mabari that she ironically named Barkspawn who found her while waiting for the ship to Kirkwall and immediately took a liking to her and came along for the journey

Wow this took a while, but it was fun! Tagging @annorarutherford @enchantment1385 @sassylavellen

#oc fact meme #thea hawke #queen of the crows #1 down 3 to go

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somevirtualnolife · 7 years ago

Text

A Reluctant Catch-Up

2327 words

Rating: G Pairing: F! Rogue Hawke X Cullen Rutherford Summary: Aerianne Hawke joins the Inquisition team at Skyhold and finds herself reluctantly catching-up with a certainly former templar. Author’s Notes: My very first Dragon Age 2 playthrough went pretty badly for my poor Hawke. Like, I’ve never never made worse choices for a character (I legit managed to have Isabela run away and fight Fenris in the final battle). I always wished I could give her a less sad ending, so why not write a fic about it? This will probably be a series of fluffy one-shots, similar to my Trevelyan x Cassandra ones.

It was not unusual for the commander to have a grumpy expression on his face. If you asked any of his men, the would say it was only facial expression, with the exception of irritated and annoyed of course. Not to say that Cullen wasn’t a good commander. If anything he was amazing at it. Organized, thorough, dedicated...

But would it kill him to lighten up now and then?

This time however, Cullen perhaps had a bit of reason to his irritated look. It had come to his attention that one of his guardsman, Tennant, was shacking up with one of the kitchen girls while on duty and it was starting to cause a bit of a nuisance. Could they not contain themselves until the evening? Or switch his schedule around? None of this was difficult.

It was time to put an end to these little rendezvous once and for all.

There had been mention of the guard sneaking off to one of the rooms that overlooked the garden. Although they were meant for guests and dignitaries, the Inquisition was still getting back on it’s feet, so of course it shouldn’t be a surprise that others would use it for more personal reasons. Eventually, Cullen found the room that he had been informed of and knocked on it several times. There were no whispers, but there was certainly the sound of someone in there moving about. They were in there.

“Right then, you two. I know you’re both in there,” Cullen said irritably. “Just come out and face the consequences of your actions, Tennant,” Once the door opened, the person who answered was not quite who he expected, and his face quickly went from irritation to surprise to slight regret.

Right. There was one guest.

“Knight-Captain Cullen,” a woman with light brown hair, mauve eyes and olive-toned skin opened the door. “Or I guess it’s Commander now. Thought I recognized that annoyingly-demanding voice from somewhere,” she muttered.

“Hawke,” Cullen said, looking taken back at the situation. “I didn’t realize that you had taken up this room,” or that she was still here, to be quite honest. She had a way of disappearing as of late.

Varric introduced her to the War Council and the Inquisitor when she first arrived, but after that, Aerianne Hawke quickly kept her distance, for understandable reasons. Although they were all here fighting on behalf of the Inquisition and knew each other, their past was a little complicated to say the least.

He and Hawke had been at Kirkwall for around the same time. During that time, Aerianne was considered a voice for the struggling people of the city. A Fereldan refugee who climbed up to not only being a noble, but Champion of Kirkwall. For Cullen, he was the knight-captain of the city, second-in-command to Meredith. After everything that happened in Kinloch Hold, and the influence of his new commander, the issues with blood magic and apostates in the city gave him a new purpose.

Needless to say, Hawke’s opinions and his own clashed. Often. It was hard to forget the heated arguments he would have with the rogue in his office about the best way to deal with the mage plight. Despite all that, they still managed to work together fairly well, and bring down a lot of problems that plagued the city. Yes, she was a thorn in his side, but he’d be lying if she didn’t do her best to try and make Kirkwall a better place.

But in her last year of living in Kirkwall everything changed. Anders, the Chantry, Meredith, Fenris… it was not easy. It was no surprise that she went missing shortly after. Well, not missing. She intentionally disappeared.

“There aren’t any apostates in here, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she leaned on the doorframe, placing a hand on her hips.

“That’s- that is, well not- I mean-,”

“I’m joking, Cullen,” she said, a small smile on her face, though he didn’t find it quite as charming.

“Well, I see your poor attempts at humor haven’t changed one bit,” he crossed his arms.

“And I see you still have absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever,” she replied, crossing her arms as well.

Cullen rubbed his temple. Maker, he didn’t really have time to be thinking of clever retorts against this woman, especially since she always had to have the last word. He came here for an actual reason. “Again, it was a mistake. Won’t happen again,”

“Oh, no. You were right. I take it you were looking for an annoyingly giggly, young couple. They took a bit of a fright when they saw this room was occupied. Can’t say I know where they went off to though,”

With the repairs still being made, there were still plenty of unoccupied rooms in Skyhold. He supposed he could just knock on every single door, but that seemed both counterproductive and embarrassing by this point. He let out a sigh. “Thank you, anyway, Hawke. I’ll deal with the matter later. I’ll leave you to your work. I imagine you’re busy with more important matters,”

“Not particularly,” Aerianne said with a shrug. “My meetings with Leliana and the Inquisitor aren’t until the afternoon. I was considering exploring this grand fortress, but I believe Varric also has some actual work to do this morning,”

“Ah. Is that so?”

There was a pause.

“… Meaning that if you are also free-”

“Right,” he stammered, looking a little embarrassed. “I have some time before performing drills with some of the new recruits. If you would like a tour and... catch up I suppose,”

“I suppose,” she repeated with a soft chuckle, as she made her way past the doorframe and closed the door behind her.

“Maker, you’re not going to try and pester me the whole way through, are you?”

“Only if you give me reason to,” the former Champion said in a very matter of fact matter as she started to walk alongside the Commander. “And you’re not going to lecture me about work are you?”

“Only if you give me reason to,” he responded.

It was hard to believe it had already been over four years since he had seen the Champion of Kirkwall. As they walked, he glanced over her a bit more. She hadn’t really changed all that much since that time. Perhaps a little more tired, but with good reason of course. Probably not best to comment on that. But what could he talk about? Maker, he hated coming up with small talk.

“You cut your hair,” he finally decided on. “Not that it looks bad. Just… different. Suits you,” This was already torturous for him.

“Yours is different as well,” she answered, her violet eyes looking up at him. “Do you style it?”

“I… may do a few things to it in the morning, yes,”

“Knight-captain Cullen keeping up appearances. It suits you as well,” she continued with a bit of an awkward laugh. “Sorry, Commander. That’ll take some getting used to. Also, not in a bad way,”

“Right. Yes,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck a bit.

The two fell silent again as they continued to walk down the battlements. Sort of glancing around, clearly trying to think of something to say, but it not coming out.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” she finally spoke again. “I know I said you should show me around, but this is clearly awkward,”

“Oh thank Andraste- yes, this is incredibly awkward,” Cullen finally let out a sigh of relief. “Why did you think this was a good idea?”

“I thought it would be impolite not to offer! You were just standing there,” she then lowered her voice to a mumble. “I also thought you would refuse,”

“You asked me, assuming I would say no?”

“Well, based on previous responses you’ve given me, yes. That is what I assumed,” she rolled her eyes a bit. “Don’t give me that look! Unless I included the words ‘might be doing blood magic’, or ‘my mother made that stew you like’, you have never said yes to any of my invitations,”

“That can’t be true,” he retorted. But he couldn’t exactly think of any examples to counter with, but surely he said yes to some things.

“I just can’t think of it right now, but I know for certain that I didn’t refuse every one of your invitations,”

“Ah yes. Because accepting one out of thirty invitations really makes a difference,”

“Well, now you’re just being over-dramatic,”

The two looked at each other irritably for a brief moment, until they finally just relaxed and started laughing. Even after all this time, it didn’t take much for them to bicker about something. Were they really this petty?

“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Aerianne said leaning over the battlements, looking out at the mountains that surrounded the fortress. Cullen decided to stand behind her, looking out as well.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he finally said. “I was worried about you after you left Kirkwall,”

“I… couldn’t stay,” she said, letting out a long sigh, closing her eyes. It was clear that she had so much that she wanted to say, but just couldn’t. Not yet.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to-,”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s expected to come up, isn’t it?” Aerianne opened her eyes again and smiled. “Four years is a long time. I’ve been keeping busy, though. It’s funny how supporting a mage rebellion and nearly dying from a crazed, red lyrium templar really opens up a lot of opportunities for you. Not the most ideal ones, but you know, I can’t be picky,”

“Never a dull moment, I imagine,”

“It kept me busy to say the least. Nothing like a commander of the Inquisition though,” she said, looking up at him.

“Well, you were up for position of the Inquisitor, if I recall. You know, for a brief moment,”

Aerianne just shook her head and laughed. “I think you made a better choice with Trevelyan. Trust me. I could lead a small band of misfits across a city. Not control an entire army and gain political power,” the Champion didn’t know Reagan too well, but she could tell that he was more than capable. He managed to avoid death more than a couple of times, and seems to surprisingly calm under all the pressure. Reagan even managed to rally the remaining templars to fight against Corypheus.

Which got her back to thinking again. Well, really it had been on her mind since she had arrived and learned about the Inquisitor and who was in his company. Specifically Cullen.

“You’re okay with the decision? He… is a mage after all,”

Cullen could feel his body stiffen again. It wasn’t unusual for people to ask about his stance on mages. He was an ex-templar after all, and he had no problems with answering it. Cassandra had asked him, as did Trevelyan. Even Vivienne did. But with Hawke, it was different. A different time, a different history, a different meaning.

“Yes,” he finally said. “It’s fine,”

“That’s… surprising,” Hawke replied, raising her eyebrows a bit.

The commander rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a long sigh. “A lot changed after the events at Kirkwall. Gave me some things to think about,”

“Well, I’m glad,” she said with a bit of a smile, bumping him slightly with her hip.

“Approval from the Champion,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing,”

“To be honest, I’m not sure either,”

It was then that they heard hushed giggling. You know, the type that you would hear from a couple of young lovers, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. The kind that happens when you might be avoiding doing certain duties. And the kind that will get you in trouble with one of your superiors. Just maybe.

Aerianne looked up, just to confirm her assumptions. Sure enough, she could see Cullen’s nostrils flare as he glared up at the tower, where the giggling was coming from. Honestly, the glare was so strong that she half-expected for the building itself to burst into flames. It was a Rutherford classic. Aerianne saw this look whenever he either had 5 stacks of paperwork upon his desk, or had to reprimand one of his men. Or you know… looking at her. For the countless of times she may have stuck her nose into affairs that weren’t her own, or handed him poorly written reports. Had he not become a templar, he would’ve certainly made a great headmaster at an academy.

“Right then,” she said, standing up straight and stretching out her arms. “I know that look, and that’s my cue to leave before I also get an earful about how I fill out my paperwork,”

Cullen let out a disgruntled noise. “If I don’t call out this behaviour then-”

“I know, I know,” she said with a laugh. “If you don’t, then he’s just going to keep doing it and try to get away with more. Just don’t burn a hole through his head in the process, alright?”

Another grumble could be heard from the Cullen, which she took as a strained yes. She gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Always a good talk, Captain… Commander,” she corrected herself. “Let’s do it again sometime. Maybe over drinks or something,”

“Is this a real invitation, or one of those ones where you are expecting me to say no?” he said, crossing his arms once more, but it seemed that she was already off on her way in the opposite direction.

“Later, Commander!” she called out to him as she ran down the ramparts.

“That’s not an answer!” he called back, but by that point, she was already long gone.

So Hawke was back. As for what came next with her around, only the Maker himself could know.

#dragon age #da:i fanfic #hawke x cullen #rogue hawke #cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 2

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ma-sulevin · 7 years ago

Note

Coffee shop AU, please! :D

HERE. WE. GO. Coffee shop au from my post the other day. Shamelessly stole Krem’s coffee order from @fatale-distraction because I know nothing about coffee shops or the things you order from them.

This is so long I posted it on AO3 too (link as source)

—

Asha barely glances at the cup before she calls for its owner. “Flat white for Colin?” She double checks that the paper lid is in place and then sets the cup down, name-out, on the counter so he can grab it.

He doesn’t.

She sets the next drink out, calls for that person, then repeats the call for Colin. He paid already; he should get his drink. She hovers as a lull in the crowd means she doesn’t have any drinks to make, scanning the customers, and when she calls for Colin a final time she sees a blonde man turn from examining the flyers on the bulletin board.

He blinks at her once, then smiles, and her eyes drop to his lips as his scar stretches and pulls the right side of his mouth up higher. She swallows, blushes, then scoots the cup a little closer to him as he walks over to the counter.

He’s… Maker, he’s beautiful. He has golden hair that’s styled, but would obviously be curly if he didn’t, amber eyes, and a row of white teeth that she can see when his smile grows.

“Thank you,” he says, and he glances down at his name scrawled on the cup in black sharpie.

“My pleasure,” she says, and her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles up at him.

—

He can’t stop thinking about the girl at the coffee shop, the barista who called for Colin three times before he realized she meant him. She was beautiful with brown hair and tan skin and freckles for days and when she smiled at him he forgot how to speak.

Not that that’s unusual. Him forgetting how to speak to a beautiful woman, anyway. At least he’d managed to say thank you before he swallowed his tongue.

Maybe… maybe next time he goes back to get a coffee he can tell her his real name.

Not that he needs more coffee exactly. The last cup is still taunting him from his trashcan and he really needs to stop drinking it.

Maybe he’ll just switch to decaf.

—

He goes to the same little coffee shop at the same time the next day, trying to pretend like he isn’t hoping a little (okay a lot) that she’ll be there. He’ll say his real name and he’ll see hers on her nametag and then…

Well and then nothing, likely, but he takes a steadying breath before pushing through the front door. The bell tinkles as he steps into the little store, and he immediately locks eyes with the same barista from last time.

She grins at him and steps to the register when a blonde worker elbows her in the ribs. Cullen’s lips curl to match hers, and he allows his eyes a risky glance down to look at her name tag.

Asha.

“Good morning!” she says, voice cheerful. “Colin, right? Flat white?”

“I, uhh–yes?” he says, and then winces. He didn’t correct his name, but she’s already writing it down.

She passes the cup off to the other woman and rings it up, just barely brushing their fingers together when she passes back his change. He clears throat a little and drops the change into the tip jar, earning himself another winning smile.

He drifts away when Asha turns to help the customer behind him in line, but this time he’s listening for Colin to be called.

When it is, it’s Asha’s voice, and he turns with arched eyebrows to see her standing with his drink in her hand, smiling.

“Thank you,” he says, because that’s what you say to the person who makes you a drink, and she laughs a little as she presses the cup into his hands.

“My pleasure,” she says, and then she has to turn away to make another drink.

—

“You give Jackboot your number or what?” Sera rolls out her shoulders and stretches as the last of the morning rush leaves. “That why you made me switch from making drinks to taking orders?”

Asha blushes but nods, turning away from Sera to wipe down one of the machines. “Yeah. He’s… cute.”

Sera snorts a little. “If you’re into that sort of thing,” she says, shuddering to indicate that she is not.

“Think he’ll call?” Asha’s small voice betrays her uncertainty, and Sera’s eyes go soft before she answers.

“He’d be crazy not to,” she says, and then wraps one arm around Asha’s shoulders to pull the taller woman down for a kiss on the cheek.

—

“Hey, Curly? There’s a number on your cup.”

Cullen looks over from his computer at Varric, frowns, and pushes his glasses higher up on his nose. “A what?”

Varric picks it up and turns it so that Cullen can see the side of his cup with his name and order scrawled on it. Under that, though, in a different pen, is a set of ten digits and Asha’s name.

Her phone number.

“Looks like someone has a crush on… Colin.” Varric looks positively smug, and Cullen reaches out to take the cup from him. It’s nearly empty, just a swallow or two left, and it’s probably cold. He would have thrown it away without ever seeing it if Varric hadn’t pointed it out. “Did you take someone else’s cup?”

Cullen’s fingers are already itching to pull out his phone. “Thanks, Varric,” he says, and Varric accepts the dismissal with a chuckle.

He waits until the other man is out of his sight before pulling up his phone to put Asha’s name and number in his contacts. It’s too early to call. He… he should wait. At least until he’s finished working.

He should… he should wait.

—

Asha drops her phone when it starts ringing. It bounces harmlessly onto her bed, but she still dropped it in surprise. A number she doesn’t recognize lights up the screen as Maryden’s latest song plays from the little speakers.

It’s a local number, at least. The caller ID says Denerim. She answers it.

“Hello?” She clears her throat and tries again, sinking onto her mattress with a stiff back. “Hello?”

A pause, then that beautiful voice from the coffee shop reaches her ear. “Hi, um, hello. Asha?”

Her breath rushes out of her lungs in a little dreamy sigh. “This is she.”

“This is, ah, Cullen from the coffee shop. You gave me your number?” His voice is a little staticky through the phone, but it’s definitely him, and she flops backward onto her mattress.

“I did,” she confirms. “I’m… I’m glad you called, Colin.”

There’s another pause, longer this time. “Y-yes, I, me too. I wanted to ask if you wanted to have dinner this weekend. With me.” He adds with me as a bit of an afterthought, and Asha huffs out a little laugh.

“I would love to,” she says, and then adds, “Do you like Tevinter food? There’s a new restaurant near here that I’ve been dying to try. It’s supposed to be really good.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had any, but I’m happy to try. Does Saturday work for you?”

Asha can barely contain her excitement. “Yeah, that should be fine. I’ll find the address and text it to you, okay?”

“Sounds great,” Cullen says. “I’ll… see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it! Bye, Colin.”

He laughs, just a little. “Bye.”

She hangs up the phone and punches into the air above her head for a moment before springing up. She dashes from the room and bangs on Sera’s door across the narrow little hallway.

Sera opens the door a half second later, obviously dressed up to leave, and raises her eyebrows.

“He called,” Asha breathes. “We’re going out Saturday.”

Sera grins and raises her hand for a high-five. “Yeah! Inky’s gonna get it.”

—

Saturday rolls around very, very slowly. Asha is buzzing with anticipation, though he doesn’t come back for coffee again. That’s fine, though. They’ve been texting a little, and he still seems interested, and even Sera’s teasing hasn’t dampened her excitement.

She gets off work a few hours before her date, and she takes the opportunity to nap a bit so she won’t start falling asleep over dinner. She gets ready slowly, shaving, moisturizing, blowdrying, painting her face, putting the piercings back in that she isn’t allowed to sport at the coffee shop, dressing twice before settling on a sundress that shows off her half-sleeve and legs.

She reminds Sera where she’s going before she leaves, promises to text if plans change, and then takes one final glance in the mirror to make sure her makeup isn’t smudged and her hair isn’t frizzing before she leaves.

The restaurant is close enough to walk to, so she does, enjoying what warmth Ferelden can offer in the summer.

This feels big. Like something’s going to change tonight, and she shivers.

—

Cullen makes it to the restaurant a few minutes before Asha does, but he’s still waiting for their table when she walks up. She sees him first, touching his elbow to get his attention, and his mouth drops open a little before he can stop himself.

If he thought she was beautiful at 7:30am, she’s indescribable now. Her hair is falling in soft waves around her shoulders, her eyes are lined with dark eyeliner that makes them look impossibly greener, a tiny silver loop is in her nose, and when she reaches up with one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear his gaze is drawn to the flowers tattooed onto her arm.

“Hi,” he breathes, and then curses himself. He should be able to say something more intelligent than that.

She doesn’t seem to mind, unashamedly letting her eyes dip down to take in the dark button-up he’s wearing, the sleeves rolled up and out of the way. She looks back up at him and grins, red lips twisting and tempting him more than they should.

“Hi,” she says, bright and happy. “Are you ready?”

He nods, and offers her his arm when the hostess arrives to lead them to their table. She takes it, tucking her hand into his elbow, and lets out a little sigh of satisfaction when she feels the muscles there.

This date was a great idea.

—

The date goes well enough that they agree on another one before it’s even over. He insists on driving her home when she says she walked, and though she can see him eyeing the alienage district with suspicious eyes, he doesn’t say anything about it. He just lets her out at the door of the apartment building with a soft smile, and promises to call her.

And he actually does.

Every time she picks up the phone, she greets him with a cheery, “Hi, Colin!” Each time she does, it becomes just that much harder to correct her.

—

They go out again a few days later when she has two off days in a row. He picks her up this time and drives her to his favorite restaurant in the city. “It has the best real Ferelden food in Denerim,” he informs her. “It tastes like being at home.”

Ferelden food isn’t her favorite, but she eats it with a smile. She even tries one of the dark beers he seems to favor, though she doesn’t like that much either.

She does like him though. And he seems to like her too.

—

On their third date, they try Antivan food. He’s at least had it before, though never from a genuinely Antivan restaurant. It’s a bit of a learning experience for him, but he obediently tries everything they order, even eating directly off of her fork when she unthinkingly offers it to him across the table.

She’s squirming with anticipation by the time the meal is over. She would have dragged him up to her apartment after their first date when he drove her home, but he’s been so much of a gentleman that she hasn’t really had the opportunity.

But. Tonight’s the night. He picked her up. Sera is away for the evening doing Red Jenny business. His hair is starting to curl more around the edges as it grows out, and she keeps staring at it and imagining how it’s going to feel under her fingers.

The check comes, and he snatches it up before Asha can try to pay. He passes his card to the waitress and then excuses himself from the table for a minute. Alone, Asha checks her phone to make sure Sera hasn’t changed her plans–she hasn’t, thank the Maker–and then the waitress comes back with the receipt.

Cullen’s still in the bathroom, so Asha pulls the receipt and pen to her side of the table to leave the tip. The waitress was nice, and Asha’s had this exact job, so she’s probably too generous before–

“You’re shitting me.”

The words slip from her mouth before she can stop them, and she claps a hand over her mouth before glancing around to see if anyone heard. No one reacted, so she lowers her hand and glares down at the receipt.

Then she picks up his card for confirmation.

Cullen S. Rutherford.

Not Colin. Cullen. Fucking Cullen.

She’s literally been calling this man the wrong name for days. Weeks, almost. She would have taken him home and fucked him and called him the wrong name.

Panic starts to well in her chest, and she scrawls her name across the signature line on the receipt before dropping card and pen on the table and scooping up her purse.

But that’s when he comes back–Cullen–and the way he frowns when he sees her clutching her purse to her chest makes her feel like she’s kicked a puppy.

“Are you alright?” he asks, hovering just far enough away so she could still get up and run if she needs to.

She wants to. Her brain is going “!!!” like a siren. Any other time she would have excused herself.

But then he sits down across from her and she finds herself rambling before she can stop herself.

“You’ve been letting me call you Colin and that isn’t your name! Were you going to tell me?” His face drops and she sounds angrier than she is, but she’s embarrassed and can’t figure out how to care. “Would you have let me introduce you to my friends like that? Write birthday cards to ‘Colin Rutherford’? Ask your friends how they met ‘Colin’?”

She’s working herself up and this is embarrassing and she finally bites her lip to stop talking. She covers her face with her hands and lets out a shaky breath.

Their table is deathly silent for a long moment, then Cullen starts to laugh.

Asha peeks between her fingers at him, still frowning, and watches as he runs one hand through his hair, mussing his curls. “This isn’t funny,” she says, a little bit of a whine still in her voice.

Cullen shrugs, takes the receipt and puts his card back in his wallet. “It’s a little funny,” he says, still grinning. Asha stares at his scar to avoid his eyes. His cheeks are pink and growing darker. “I couldn’t figure out how to tell you.”

She resists lowering her face to the table. “How about ‘hey Ash, you’ve been calling me by the wrong name since the day we met’?”

“Hey.” Cullen stretches one arm out and places his hand palm-up on the table before her. She glances down at it, then up at his face. He smiles lopsidedly at her and wiggles his fingers until she puts his hand in hers. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t,” she starts to protest, but he just squeezes her fingers.

“It is fine,” he corrects, very gently, and he rubs his thumb across her knuckles. The motion feels intimate, warm, and Asha finds herself smiling back at him. "And it will be a funny story one day.”

“One day,” she echoes, then she sighs and puts her other hand on top of his. “I’m sorry anyway. I’ve ruined our evening.”

Cullen shakes his head at her before standing. He doesn’t let go of her hand, using it to pull her out of her seat and through the restaurant. He stops in the parking lot under a street light, using his free hand to tuck a lock of Asha’s dark hair behind her ear before cupping her jaw.

“You didn’t ruin anything, I promise,” he says, and his voice is lower, huskier, and Asha leans into him, instinctively parting her lips.

Cullen smiles at that and tilts her head back before bending down to press his lips to hers. It’s just a light kiss, really a tease, but Asha arches up onto her toes to press herself even closer.

His hand moves from her jaw to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and he moves his other hand to her waist to hold her steady. She clutches at his shirt, wrinkling the dark fabric, and she sighs when he finally lets her go.

“Cullen?” she whispers, and he shivers when he hears his name, his real name, finally pass her lips. “Let’s go back to my apartment now.”

His eyes blink open then and they bore into hers. His lips twist into a smirk and he squeezes her closer for a moment before letting her go. “As you wish.”

#I accidentally have too much back story for these characters #this turned out so much longer than I was expecting #asha trevelyan #cullen rutherford #modern au #coffee shop au #my writing #2017 writing #kagetsukai #kate replies

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hadiden-lavellan · 8 years ago

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Can't stop won't stop here's another one @sakurabunnie

Everyone left Hadiden alone. The elf knew why, knew that he had made everyone avoid him. Bull had tried to come over once, join him for drinks, but Hadiden had glared, growled, and bluntly said no. One of the few words that Hadiden had been willing to say. Let. Varric tried to sit with him, figure out what was running around in his brain, but Hadiden hadn't allowed it. He literally took Varric's drink, drank it, and went to finish his own. The dwarf was stunned by Hadiden's actions that he got up without a word and hadn't spoken to the elf. Hadiden didn't care. Not really. He hadn't cared since he had retold Josephine what had happened when he, Maxwell, Varric, Cassandra, Hawke, and Stroud fell into the Fade.

Josephine had asked Hadiden to sit down, to explain everything that happened. And he did. He told her about the Spirit of the Divine, reclaiming his memories, Cassandra nearly taking his head off when she found out about his magic (which he then called a meeting for the inner circle), the Nightmare Demon, and leaving Stroud behind. He retold every detail he could, describing his fears, the fear of his companions, and the gut wrenching decision he had to make in leaving Stroud. After that, after the meeting and coming clean about his magic, Hadiden couldn't really remember.

He was on his... eighth...? No ninth.. wait, his tenth drink. The mug was almost empty. He was going to need another. Maybe he'd try a stronger dwarven ale. Or one of those Tevinter wines. The wines were piss weak and wouldn't have any sort of affect unless he had about six. The ales usually take three or four before he was seeing double. It was when he started forgetting which drink he was on that meant he was drinking right. He wanted to forget, needed to forget. What he had seen in the Fade was too much, too much for abnormal person to understand. But having witnessed the amount of demons he had, all his fears coming to life, having the exact reaction he expected from Cassandra and nearly dying, he needed to forget. He needed to forget the look of Stroud's face as he and Samuel had run past, run to jump out of the Fade while the Fear demon's pet killed Stroud. Needed to forget the look of distrust that Cassandra gave as Desire protected him against the Seeker's sword. He had to forget the memories he was forced to reclaim, knowing now that he was not a real hero or prophet. He was fraud, a fake, a Dalish trying to play a human's part. He wanted to forget.

The barkeep didn't say anything as Hadiden ordered another drink. What happened to his last? Was it really empty. Creators, it was almost like the drink was leaking out the bottom. What drink was he on? One.. two... three, four... fi..si..... seven... eigh, nin, ten, eleven... twelfth.. thirteen? No. No this new one made fourteen. Hadiden groaned as he took a drink. Qunari ale. The kind that Bull had him drink after they defeated their first dragon. And the dragon after that. And after that. And Creators was it strong. Hadiden couldn't help the coughing fit he had as the liquid went down his throat. It hurt but it hurt in a good way. It'd make him forget.

"Maker, how many have you had, Love?" A voice asked. The elf didn't turn, just slumped against the bar and shrugged. Count them, Hadiden thought. That's how many.

Strong, warm hands were suddenly around Hadiden's wrist, making him release the drink. He didn't fight back, not really caring to. He didn't fight as the person lifted him off his stool and threw his arm over his shoulder. Hadiden tried to grip to the fabric but just slouched against his carrier. His legs hardly worked right, and he was more or less dragged out of the tavern. He'd be there tomorrow night.

The cold air of Skyhold hit Hadiden like a boulder. He wanted to go back into the tavern, sit by the fire, curl up, and sleep. But no. The human dragging him thought otherwise. Creators damn him.

"Lord Trevelyan, is the Inquisitor all right?"

Oh. It was Maxwell. That's why he called him Love. Who was talking to his human?

"He's had one too many drinks. Could you run to his chambers and draw a bath? Preferably a hot one. It'll take me a minute or two to get him up there to sober up."

Hadiden didn't want to sober up.

"Right away, Lord Trevelyan."

"Come on, Hadiden. You have to use your legs," Maxwell said, trying to walk to the main Skyhold building. In full honesty, Hadiden tried. He didn't do well, but he tried. It's when they reached the stairs that Hadiden stopped. Luckily for Maxwell, a certain Tevinter came hustling down the stairs to lend a hand. Both humans managed to get Hadiden up the stairs (he wasn't very heavy, just very drunk) and up to his chambers. When he was placed on the small sofa, Dorian wished the two a goodnight and specifically Maxwell a good luck.

Maxwell wasted no time as he stripped Hadiden down. His room wasn't horribly cold, but colder when his clothes were off. He was going to protest, honestly, but just gave up. It'd come out all Elvish anyways. He let himself be lead to a basin and gently dropped into it, allowing the warm water to consume his form. Hadiden's eyes began to close, feeling tired and content. Why had he been drinking again? Who even made the bath? Why wasn't Maxwell in with him? Maxwell liked to join him in the bath.

"There's no sense into trying to talk to you right now. You're still very drunk. I hope in the morning we can talk, even though I know your head is going to hurt," Maxwell said with a sigh. Hadiden let his head tilt back to look at his human. He was frowning. Why was he so sad? Maybe he got a letter from his parents like Dorian did. Maxwell didn't like his parents at all. Hadiden didn't like them either.

But he said nothing. Time quietly passed on as Maxwell helped clean Hadiden up. He rubbed soap into his dirty hair and scrubbed his shoulders clean. Hadiden didn't protest, didn't argue at all. He let it happen and allowed Maxwell to clean him. When Maxwell felt he was clean, the human lifted Hadiden out of the basin and dried him with a clean clothe and then dressed up. Hadiden felt a bit of joy when he was offered one of Maxwell's night shirts. It was too big and cozy as could be. He didn't argue as he was lead into bed and instructed to sleep. Sleep meant forgetting because sleep brought Hadiden to the next day, which meant more drinking.

The sunlight hurt. It made the pounding in Hadiden's head worse. He tried to cover his face with his blanket and realized it wouldn't work. The sunlight wasn't making his head hurt. The drinks. Too many drinks. Slowly, ever so carefully, Hadiden sat up. If anyone could see him, they'd surely laugh. His shirt was hanging off one of his shoulders, exposing the skin to the brisk cold. His hair was more of a mess than usual, sticking up every which way. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, and his facial expression looked like one of a mabari. He wasn't happy for the day to have found him.

"No, he's doing better.... asleep.... Yes, Dorian helped carry him up here with me... Reschedule his appointments to tomorrow. I won't be allowing him out much... Yes, thank you Josephine."

Hadiden heard the voice and knew Maxwell was at the door. He watched the staircase and waited for the brown locks to appear. It took a moment, but slowly, Maxwell came walking up. He looked startled to see Hadiden awake, but he offered a smile and walked to the bed, sitting down in front of Hadiden. The smile he wore looked hurt, as if he was reading a sad book.

"Finally up, I see. How'd you sleep?" Hadiden shrugged. Maxwell's smile fell. "Not talking still? Hadiden, I know something is bothering you. We've been over this, you can tell me anything. Like what happened to your cla-"

"Don't," Hadiden said. His voice was hoarse and strained. Maxwell perked up at his voice, hearing him speak.

"Then what's the matter?" Maxwell asked, reaching out to place his hand on top of Hadiden's. The elf didn't move away.

"I'm not the Herald. It's all been a lie." Hadiden stopped a minute. Word vomit. It was all going to come spilling out now. "I'm not the Herald, I'm not the Inquisitor, I am barely myself. I'm a fraud, a lie, a killer. Everything everyone believed, about Andraste choosing me, being sent by the Divine to fix everything, challenging Corypheus. It was all a lie and I played a part in it all. Had I not been at the Conclave, Stroud, the Divine, my clan, so many innocent mages and Templars, would not have died. There's so much blood on my hands all because everyone forced me into a role meant for a human. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be taking this title, trying to command armies. I... I don't even deserve you, Maxwell. Everything I am is now a lie. I don't even know what to do anymore and I just want to forget it all happened."

Hadiden hanged his head, trying to relieve some of the pounding and to keep his emotions in check. His head hurt as if his whole room was covered in red lyrium. Maybe all those drinks weren't the best decision he made. They hadn't gotten rid of the memories, only hurt him in the morning. He'd do it again, though. He'd take as many drinks he needed to forget.

But Maxwell was frowning and gently squeezing Hadiden's hand; reassuring, comforting. "You can't believe all that, can you?" Maxwell asked. Hadiden nodded.

"Hadiden, have you seen all you've done since taking the position as Inquisitor, as being the Herald? You put a halt to the Mage Rebellion, helped get rid of a Tevinter Magister in Redcliffe, saved all those mages from being made Tranquil. You closed the Breach, brought the crumbling Empire of Orlais into a peaceful state, if possible. How many lives were saved by ending their civil war and bringing those three together to rule? And what about Crestwood? You brought justice to those that died for a disease they couldn't cure. You rescued all those scouts in the Fallow Mire. You helped the people of the Emprise de Lion, stopping the Red Templar slavery. And what about the Dalish in the Exaulted Plains? You helped them. And in the Emerald Graves you helped Fairbanks. Adamant wasn't fun, but you found out what was corrupting the Wardens and put an end to it, putting a hole in Corypheus's plans. And we still have so much to do. You've done so much good and helped so many people."

Maxwell paused. Hadiden figured he hoped Hadiden would look up, to acknowledge he was right. Hadiden didn't know if Maxwell was right or not. But Maxwell continued.

"As for us? I don't understand why you believe you don't deserve me. You're a kind hearted man, brave and strong, definitely easy on the eyes," Maxwell jokes. Hadiden huffed a quiet laugh. "You've helped the people that have needed it most and did the right thing by what you believe. You're helpful and charming, beautiful and the most amazing man I've ever met. Do not degrade yourself and believe you don't deserve me. I'm a mage that was kicked out of his family, and you gave me a family."

Hadiden's bottom lip quivered as he listened to Maxwell. What Maxwell was saying had to be right, and it hit Hadiden hard. His heart wanted to believe him, wanted to believe every word. But his brain wouldn't allow it. But Hadiden ignored it. He ignored his protesting brain as he moved to sit in Maxwell's lap, hugging him. He buried his face into the human's shoulder and himself to be comforted by the man. Maxwell wrapped his arms around the elf, holding him close.

He continued to assure Hadiden that everything was going to be okay, but the elf stopped listening. He focused on the rise and fall of Maxwell's chest, his breathing, the heat he was radiating. His words were true, Hadiden knew deep down. He trusted Maxwell not to lie just to boost his confidence. For now, Hadiden just wanted to find his comfort in Maxwell instead of the multiple ale mugs he had been using.

He was going to be okay.

#hadiden lavellan #maxwell trevelyan #hadiden x maxwell #dragon age inquisition #bunnies oc #I got an idea and I wrote it #can't stop me won't stop me #little ficlet with Inquisitor hadiden and companion maxwell

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aeyemenethes-blog · 8 years ago

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Lathbora viran Ch. 2

This is the second chapter in my Sols x Lavellan fanfic that is on AO3. Here's link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/22667927. This is done in Solas 1st POV

Chapter Two

Rays of emerald shot down as lightning splintering when it hit the ground, and from its smoke two spectral figures of the same colour materialized feet from our group. The Durgen’len wasted no time launching a hail of arrows from his crossbow upon the spirits, and they evaporated on contact. Four more replaced them.

My flesh rose as the magic surfaced, and I channelled it through my staff into a burst of green light at the crystal tip before sending it into the spectres. They too disappeared. Still more popped into visibility, falling from the tear in the space before us. It mimicked the monstrous hole in the sky except more immediate, and its intense heat licked at both skin and coat, tugging me toward the rift. It would suck me into the Fade if I allowed it. Though tempting it was to see what the other side looked like, I knew that wasn’t the wisest course of action. Especially with Seeker Pentaghast worried I knew more than I let on.

She wasn’t wrong, but the truth was far more complex than her understanding could grasp.

“There’s no end to them, Chuckles.” Varric Tethras called over the howling wind produced by the rift.

I grimaced at the Durgen’len’s atrocious misplaced nickname he insisted on calling me. He mocked me, and if it wasn’t his nature to do so with everyone he crossed, I might have casted a spell to deter him from the action in the future.

Instead, I added a comment of my own. “Maybe you should ask that rift to stop. I’m sure it would listen.”

Varric barked his laughter before knocking another bolt into his crossbow.

A crack of lightning whipped past me striking a brown demon as it prepared to claw me. This lightning was blue-white – a proper colour – and disintegrated the demon with a hiss. I turned to thank whatever mage just joined the fray, and the words stuck in my throat. My jaw slipped open enough that anyone standing near me would see the surprise. The shock – so hard – it made me freeze as I stared up at a beautiful and terrible sight.

It was her. Cassandra’s prisoner with the Seeker in tow at her heels.

An insistent and angry erection – set off by the use of my magic – pulled toward the raven haired elf even before she stopped dangerously by my side. Her heat suffocated me. I needed to do something before I burned up. Electricity crackled behind me, pouring an eerie, green glow over her delicate face – highlighting the turquoise vallaslin tattooed along high-cheekbones – and granting me the opportunity I needed to test the risky idea. My only salvation.

“Quickly, before more come through!” Grabbing her thin wrist – wincing at the savagery of my force – I thrust the green scarred Mark at the damned rift.

Light shot from her left hand to connect to the heart of the rift itself. My stomach lurched, the familiar sick feeling returned and with it a thousand screams, sparking the beginnings of another headache. They were starting more and more frequently since the Conclave. Her hand jerked in mine, quivering from the power of the rift as it fought the connection and magic. It was over in two breaths, its shockwave ripped the woman’s hand from mine.

“What did you do?” A soft, feminine voice asked, sending a shiver throughout my body.

If not for a millennia of careful practice, the overwhelming sensation from the demons trying to force their way into this world, and the addicting caress of that voice, would’ve collapsed me. The thrumming inside my head would no doubt get worse before this night was over, but at least one thing went right since thy sky blew up. The prisoner lived as did my Mark.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” I gestured with a slight pull on my lips.

“You mean this?” She glanced down at her scarred palm and my eyes followed, brief enough no one noticed.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” Cassandra surmised, approaching us to stand by the prisoner.

Yes. “Possibly.” I turned to stare at the elven mage, and noted the light dusting of freckles hidden beneath the slave tattoo. And those blue eyes – “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

She smiled.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” Varric spoke, straightening his leather gloves.

Both the woman and Cassandra turned to speak to the Durgen’len allowing me time to relax the pinch between my shoulder blades. Then I reached down and ground the heel of my palm along my traitorous cock, trying desperately to reorient my senses. The wordless screams were present, like the echoes of the dying when the first explosion happened. Walking closer to the Breach would amplify them exponentially. My ear tips pricked up at something the prisoner said, drawing my attention back to the trio.

“You may reconsider that stance. In time.” I commented as I understood her words.

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aww. I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

I raised an eyebrow at the nickname. Unlikely. Especially if he so conveniently forgot to use my name. Blessedly, their attention turned from as Cassandra and Varric returned to the same argument they’d been having since the explosion at the Conclave.

Another reprieve.

Thankfully, the erection was softening quickly, and so I stopped applying pressure. Pulling the edges of my tunic until it covered the slight half-hard bulge, I rubbed two fingers in a circular motion on my temple. I resisted calling magic if only because I didn’t want to be aroused again with the heat of her body this close to mine.

She smelled of lilies, elfroot, with a hint of cedarwood, and my nostrils flared to get a taste of the heady concoction.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you live.” I needed to speak to keep from acting on unsavoury desires.

Very pleased. The beast inside growled, but I offered only a small, polite smile to the elven lass.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

No one else was strong in magic or knew how, Durgen’len.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all.” The prisoner said with a gesture.

Her answer was far more pleasing.

“Like you, Solas is an apostate.” Cassandra replied, tossing me a snide glare.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra.” I corrected, revelling in the scowl her lips made before turning my gaze back to a more appealing sight. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experiences of any Circle mage.”

Though I suspected by the vallaslin that she was Dalish. Probably the First to her Keeper. She didn’t appear as an elf from an Alienage. Not with such wild, unbroken eyes.

“I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

True as my words were, I did briefly wonder if letting the Breach expand wouldn’t make some of my plans easier. The thought was cast quickly aside. Torn like this, the Fade may very well kill the spirits who lived there – or drive them insane. I wouldn’t risk them to such a mad plan. What was Corypheus thinking?

“That’s a commendable attitude.” The elven lass said.

“Merely a sensible one, although sense appears to be in short supply right now.” Like Cassandra. Speaking of – “Cassandra--”

I turned to see her frowning, but she replaced her mask upon seeing me. We both mastered the game of deception well, and I respected her enough not to bring attention to her slip. “You should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood.” She nodded. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Giving the elven woman one glance over my shoulder, I turned and followed Seeker Pentaghast.

. . .

Voices.

Echoes.

Death.

Narrowing my eyes up at the Breach – largest of all the rifts – I cursed Corypheus for not dying. He should’ve died unlocking my orb and yet…

Lilies crossed my path, heating up my face until my ears tingled. The excessive use of my magic heightened such forbidden and brash desires that it hurt to look at her, but I managed. The throbbing of my head matched the racing of my heart, and I prayed to end this quickly. If only for a semblance of balance, and peace.

As she raised her hand to reopen the Breach to be sealed properly, and the electricity singing in the air pulled to me, beckoning that I take hold of it. It was my original plan. Now Corypheus –

A loud popping, followed by a demonic screamed, snapped my head toward the creature easily towering over us five times. Not wasting breath, I summoned my mana to the surface – ignoring the itch – and thrust it into the knotted staff I carried. Shouts and arrows bandied about all aimed to contain the demon, to send it back. I sprinted to join the fray, mostly relieved to do something other than stare at the elven mage.

Ashes and smoke blackened the air making breathing tricky and painful. Plated boots kicked up dirt, stinging the eyes thereby causing more chaos among the soldiers as visibility waned. I growled at their panic, raising my free hand to shield half-lidded eyes from the dust as I strained to catch the hint of scale or fin. Hopefully before a claw found my stumbling. Each voice blended in with the madness, and it wasn’t the first time I wondered how humans survived through any war at all. Their warfare, I found, seriously wanting.

White-blue lightning split through the dirt clouds, arcing over my head and I froze, momentarily deafened from its roar. My eyes blinked and widened, the breath catching in my throat. A lithe body sprang from the chaos landing on the tips of her toes, twirling a wooden staff in nimble fingers. Touching the ground, the elf leapt and twisted in the air sending another wave of electricity into the main demon’s shadow. Not even a single pebble shifted disturbed by her movement. The ground merely sighed and bent to cushion her before she took flight.

Flitting through the throng of soldiers, I memorized the impressive, graceful dance. Even her shadow carried a life of its own. I became a pair of eyes – her only audience.

Then a hollow howl behind me reminded me of our present situation. I turned and cracked my staff on a smaller demon’s head, blasting a second with a jolt from the staff’s sphere. A deafening cry – full of agony and defeat – raised the delicate hairs along the nap of my neck. A death cry. Puncturing the stomach of a stubborn demon with the blade mounted on the bottom of my staff, I stared up witnessing the monstrous demon fall to the ground – the prisoner having dealt its final blow.

Behind me, the Breach hissed in anger, flaring before fanning out wide as if preparing for another, stronger assault.

“Seal it!” I called to her, not wanting to know what else waited to get through.

Turning, the elf sprinted toward me, blue eyes wide with terror, her face speckled with blood and gore. Without word she thrust her hand upward, and as before, light connected Mark to Breach.

Shrill screams brought me staggering and I braced against my staff. It felt as if my head would sunder and I clawed one side, focusing all my being to glare at the Breach. It must close. If only I had been stronger, and didn’t need that wretched Tevinter Magister.

Fenedhis!

Fire tore through me and I fought to not let my injuries show. No one knew about the link and I didn’t trust them to understand. Waking from the Uthenera would be for naught if I fell here. As the moments lengthened, my brows knitted and rose with the bile in my stomach. Why was it taking too long?

“Fenedhis lasa!” Too weak!

Despair filtered through my thoughts, gripped my heart in a vice. Every pore of magic sang a dirge to the surface wanting, begging to return home to the Fade. I pulled back even as my body bent to its knees.

Not again… another people… damned because of me.

This time the pop clapped the air and flung it, and us, away. Falling backwards, I skidded over rocks and temple debris. Crashing into a crumbling wall then through it, I felt the beast snarl and recoil. It begged release harder than all my magic but I stayed its paws. My skull was splitting like a raw wound and I felt thick, warm liquid slide down the side of my head, near my ear, over the spot it throbbed most prominent.

Groaning, I pushed the stone bits from my chest and lap feeling more than stiffened muscles, but stayed laying on my back. For a moment, I stared up at the sky wondering if the clouds still swirled or if that was me. After a few steady breaths paused the spinning world, I rolled onto my side then to my knees. Bracing myself on all fours, I pushed to stand – squeezing my eyes shut to ward away dizziness. A haziness settled in my stomach and my legs swayed. I pressed the flat of my palm on what was left of the wall and concentrated to swallow down the nausea.

When the sensation passed I opened my eyes.

Dust.

Rubble.

Bodies, most only stunned –

Her.

Forgetting that I felt hedged by unconsciousness minutes prior, I bolted toward the elven mage’s prone body. Blood and dirt coated her face just as it did when she started to close the Breach, only now I noticed much belonged to her. A dozen cuts and bruises glistened and puckered along her face, neck and arms. The tears and fraying of her overly large tunic suggested more beneath. What skin was free of the bloom of blood looked sallow and sweat-soaked. Kneeling beside her, I took her into my lap as I had in Haven’s dungeons. What possessed me I couldn’t tell, but my heart clenched at the thought we did indeed kill her.

I killed her.

Warm breath pushed through her slightly parted, very swollen lips. It wasn’t until my heart stuttered and a painful hitch forced out a gasp that I noticed I stopped breathing. I moved a sticky, wet black strand of hair from her closed eyes, hooking it behind a long, slender ear tip. My knuckles brushed the thin, tapered point igniting a fire in my stomach that was very much not from my magic.

“Solas?”

Letting out another slow breath to cool the sudden flare of desire, I glanced up at Cassandra once I felt more composed. She stared down with a curious glint in her eyes and raised brows. Blood and sweat glistened on her face as well, but she seemed more unaffected by the fight. Probably her training under the Seekers.

Tucking the elf into my arms, close to my chest, I took to my feet – slow and careful – so not to jostle the unconscious woman.

“She lives, but Adan should prepare poultices. Rest is what she needs, Cassandra.” I said, handing the prisoner reluctantly over the warrior.

I made no outward display and kept all muscles in my face relaxed. With a quiet grunt, I picked up my staff from where it fell – pleased to see that it hadn’t snapped in half from the force – and stared up at the scar of the Breach. How long would it hold? Would we have time to catch Corypheus and recover my orb?

“Seeker,” I threw a glance over my shoulder to see a perplexed looked on Cassandra’s face as she stared at her sleeping prisoner. One corner of my lip twitched, threatening to pull into a smile, but I held it at bay. Instead, I continued with my question. “What is your prisoner’s name?”

Cassandra nearly dropped her charge when she realized I hadn’t left yet. My thighs coiled and energy crackled on my fingertips ready to do whatever I could to keep the woman who just saved us from further harm. The Seeker’s fast reflexes caught the prisoner before she even dropped a foot, but I heard a pained moaned. My brow twitched in annoyance.

Cassandra tossed me an all too familiar glare. “Don’t do that, Solas. Maker! If I--” Her voice dropped off killing the threat, with an answer to my question in its place. “Ellana Lavellan.”

“Ellana Lavellan.” I tasted her name on my lips, and it rekindled the cloying arousal. “Thank you.”

I retreated into the shadows and down the mountain. Right then I desperately needed to be rid of all the sights, smells… people. Alone with the bitter wind clawing at my tunic instead of demons. I took a shuddering breath of icy air. The beast gnashed at me wanting something different – something I was greatly against.

“Ir abelas, Ellana Lavellan.” I whispered over my shoulder before I retreated into the snow and darkness.

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