#andaran atish'an | finduilas lavellan

[nyf-archive]

@eritvita asked | [ SHIELD ]

The battle was not going in their favor. The Red Templar camp in the Emprise du Lion had been more than they had bargained for. Cassandra was holding the behemoth back and doing a phenomenal job at it. She wasn't surprised to see her doing so well; it was just the walking bulwark doing what she promised to do. And, of course, it helped that Varric kept her annoyed which made her fight harder.

But the Knight came out of nowhere. Her head spun with how hard she had been hit, practically stunned as she crawls through the snow. Blindly, she begins casting spells, using anything she could to keep the larger corrupted man away from her as she tried to find her staff. She didn't need it, but it helped her with her accuracy. Her ankle was grabbed at one point and she was tossed once more like a ragdoll. Finduilas could feel the warmth trickling down her face, a gash upon her head as she has collided with ground not so covered with snow.

The Inquisitor looks up now, breathing hard as she can see the Knight approaching closer now. She tried to get to her feet as she watched the Knight lifted it's sword to strike her, and just as quickly did she begin to hoist her own arcane blade to life, did the figure rush in front of her. Red now painted the ground around them, eyes wide as saucers. The figure was shoved back and into her, and her brain was finally able to process it.

Roland.

Her arms caught him, despite how immediately coated in blood they became. He was smiling. She could see his lips moving, knew he was speaking to her, but as she watched him lose consciousness, the Inquisitor is still.

Ringing filled her senses, whispers just beyond the veil swarmed her mind as all she could think about was retaliation. As the Templar raised it's sword again to hack through the both of them, a burst of hot, red magic exploded around them, pushing everything and anything that was near them away. Her throat was raw from a scream she could not hear, but knew had ripped from her lungs like that of a banshee. Her blood fizzled from her skin, used as the catalyst to the attack as she hung her head, focusing on the incantation to heal Roland as quickly as she could.

Orbs of moss and deep ocean are not glowing unnaturally with that of crimson aura as her gaze is upon that of the Red Knight. She breathes out, and in an instant, the Knight falls to it's knees, having been speared by frozen bolts made of the red snow around them and empowered by her own life force.

She knew what Cassandra would say; Maleficarum. Varric would stay quiet, his own words would be hypocritical knowing two of his closest friends used the same practice. Cassandra would demand an explanation. But Finduilas would say nothing as she holds her lover close, nuzzling into him and begging him softly to wake up, trying to coax him to the waking world again.

[nyf-archive]

"Do not cry? Roland, you were nearly dead in mine arms!" Her hands grip his forearms while he holds her at her elbows. "You jumped betwixt me and a greatsword! Your ribcage blown open, heart exposed to the elements! And I held you while you bled out!" Her eyes focus on the scars at his chest. They may be pink, but she feared the scar it would leave. "I am fine...weary and worried, but otherwise healthy...."

"You were almost lost to me, Roland..." The tears fall harder, now, as he presses his forehead to hers. "You are the last thing on this earth precious to me, dear dreamer..." She grips him tighter and nuzzles up and into him. "My clan is gone...my halla and my dreams and my keeper...all of it is lost to me...I cannot lose you, too, else I may lose myself in this war or thereafter."

Her hands reach up and cup his cheeks, feeling him safe within her palms was a start, but there was fear that would always grip her heart. Her father had died in the battle of Ostagar...her mother was dead due to her own negligence, and the rest of her family? Gone and buried. Those of clan Lavellan that remained blamed her and salted her fields. She felt great loss with that, but Roland? Had she lost her love, she wasn't not sure how long she would be able to live without him.

"Throw yourself in front of swords not ever again...I beg of you...do not make me relive this moment..." Her head pounded with the pressure rising. She could feel the tightness of the skin at her scalp as her expression pulled on the healing flesh. "I forgive you, vhenan..."

“Wait,” frets wounded Roland, as he tries to sit up quickly and, yea, so winces and clutches his palms onto his throbbing head. Finduilas is crying, streaking tears upon Roland’s own expression, his damnable Nature, and must he so fix this mess! Something hast he so woefully created!

The ground beneath his sturdying palms is soft and delicate with those individual strands of grass, here, and were the snow amidst his Dreamtime merely an illusion? Is the smell of that encrusted iron so reflected upon his own insanity? “Please, darling, do not cry, none for me. Art thou hurt?” comes he soft, terrified, reaching out to her. “Art thou bruised and run through? Didst thou taste the cold, unkind steel of that horrific creature’s armor? Didst thou …” And Roland’s careful tongue dost pause, as he cups those delicate bulbs of Finduilas armored elbows.

Was he smelt that familiar tang of magick borne, thus, from the blood? Was that another hallucination?

“Prithee, Finduilas, forgive me. I were panicked at thy wounds and of that pale shade for the Promise of thine harmed skin,” pleads he, his words woven tight within his quick throat. His expression is hurt, borne from her hurt, and he leans in this faux crouch, this tender coddle, to press his forehead tenderly upon hers. “Oh, sweetheart. Please forgive me.”

[nyf-archive]

@eritvita asked | dip

"Y-You're what?!" The blonde blushes furiously at Roland, hands quickly covering her eyes and turns her back to him. Sure, she had seen nakedness before, but with someone she had met only within the year of knowing someone!? That may be a bit of prudish thinking, but the woman had never truly been that intimate with anyone. She is as red as a rose at this point.

Oh how Varric would make fun of her if he ever knew of this. But the more she thinks on it, the more she realizes certain things. She had never truly lived. Had never done anything so outlandish, so positively chaotic. She had sequestered herself away after her father's death, poured all her heart and soul into her studies, and never really experienced life.

And...with the way things were going with the mark upon her hand and how it was creeping up her arm, consuming her flesh and bone...why not live a little? Lowering her arms, the blonde shook out her hands and squealed a little bit to herself. Mainly in embarrassment and anxiety, but she decided. She began to undo the straps of her thigh high leather boots.

Pulling those off and tossing them aside like a snake's shed, the Inquisitor then reached around and began to undo all that entailed of her Keeper garb, her gauntlets, and everything that kept her protected from the dangers around them. Once she was left in just her small clothes, she stepped back and forth on her feet bashfully before finally doing away with it and made a straight bee-line to the water, diving in with barely a splash. When she surfaces, though, it is barely with her nose above the water. How strange this felt. Oddly satisfying? But mostly odd.

"...you can be a terrible influence at times."

[nyf-archive]

@eritvita asked /"Passion rules reason."

The woman is ever silent as she looks over the ruined fields of the Emerald Graves. It is barren. The emotions hit her all at once as they traverse through the ramparts, putting spirits to rest that should've never come here. She could understand, though, why spirits had come and inhabited the bodies of those long lost. She must've had a far off look in her eyes when Roland took notice. Long lashes fluttered over those fade-warped eyes. She felt a warmth run along her cheek. When had she started to cry?

"...how could anyone consider this passion?" Finduilas sat in the hollow of a tree that was long dead but covered with lichen. She couldn't even bring herself to speak in jovial conversation as they usually did. The Exalted March was obviously one of the many lessons she learned as a child, but to walk amongst the decimated lands, it made her heart ache. The presence of spirits was heavy in these parts. Closing the rifts to allow them respite was all that she wanted.

There was nothing that could convince her there was ever a good reason for this to have happened. There were no words to describe what the Inquisitor was feeling in this moment. But it clouded her mind. She didn't want it to cloud any judgement, so she sat there, meditating. The Dalish encampment was just ahead of them, but she wanted to get her head straight before even thinking about speaking with anyone other than Roland at this point.

[nyf-archive]

@eritvita asked | "oh. that. it’s… a talent."

The Dalish woman over to Roland and smiled softly. "It is indeed a talent. You have an eye for art." Tucking some hair behind her ear, she stood up a bit taller and cleared her throat. "Sorry, I did not mean to spy. I just noticed it out of the corner of my eye." She knew not if it was a private matter, but it was beautiful either way.

"I haven't an artistic bone in my body. All of my talents are of my magic. And animal handling. I loved the halla of my clan's herd." A soft, reminiscing smile comes over her lips as she stares out and over the fields below them. But that reminiscing comes to an end as she clears her throat. "I'm being rather rude right now, my apologies. I'm Fin..." She offers her hand out, the one without the anchor burned into her anatomy, and a brighter, bubbly smile to follow.

[nyf-archive]

Finduilas pulled back to look up at Alim and gave a sympathetic smile. "I can't imagine what that's like. I miss being able to sleep my days away." She chuckled softly before pulling back some so she could look him over, burn his features into her mind should anything happen. To either of them.

"Come, then. Let us at least be comfortable while we lie awake together." A softer smile is given as she moves towards the bed, toeing off her boots, her shawl falling from her shoulders before she hangs it up for safe keeping, crawling across the mattress and to the untouched side. Looking back to him as she got comfortable under the blankets, Finduilas couldn't help but smile. This wasn't how she was expecting this night to go. Not that she was complaining.

"I wasn't really planning on sleeping anyway. One of the perks of the Blight, I suppose - I hardly need to sleep."

Besides, sitting here with her was rest enough. Better than sleep, with no terrible dreams and demanding demons. And this might be the last chance you get. Adamant might be the end of his time with the Inquisition.

[nyf-archive]

How long had she hesitated outside his door? They had been friends for months now...had turned into some sort of...something? They had kissed on a multitude of times, but she still was unsure if this was okay. Especially since their time to approach Adamant was soon upon them. Her fist hesitated to knock on the door. The witching hour had her afraid, and the Anchor sent pain traveling up her arm and into her neck. It grew further up her arm after every fade rift she closed. It took her breath away most nights when it sparked with energy.

The knocking echoed louder in her ears, anxiety filling her to the brim as she looked down the hallway. She didn't want to wake anyone. No longer did she care about the rumors that spread about her and the Warden. She cared for him...and Finduilas was sure that he cared about her, too. Even if it wasn't love...that was okay. Would she like this to last? Of course. Who didn't want to be loved? But the events of the world made everything unclear.

"...Alim...? I...I'm sorry to bother you...I just..." What? Why was she hesitating? Just ask him. For comfort. For clarification. For...something other than uncertainty.

@thegreatstrongbow <3

[nyf-archive]

and 🕯️to Fin!!

send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.

' oh shit. you scared me, you wonderful poet, you. smile, stupid. show him that you are happy he's around. how does he look so perfectly perfect after we've been in battles all day? what a dork...is that duckweed or did he go trapsing under a budding willow tree? how silly he is...okay, okay, don't stare for too long. he is handsome, yes, but don't act like you're just staring at him and not listening. oh gods, settle down, lavellan! it's just a simple touch! yes, yes he makes you feel like thousands of little explosions are going off all at once, but you have got to control yourself better than that!'

[nyf-archive]

@eritvita asked | "You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees."

A bright rose color comes to that of the Inquisitor's features, her head turning to look at Roland who sits across from her in the apothecary below Skyhold. The elven woman had just corked the last bottle of her most recent batch of elfroot potions when he spoke up. Was that a compliment? Surely he was not flirting with her. That would be silly. Her lips part to speak, but she stops herself, afraid to ask which it was. On one hand, she wasn't displeased, but on the other hand, why would he? It wasn't as though she was truly as grand as he may think she was.

"I...hmm...I'm not sure how to respond..." Her voice is soft as she lifts the box up with a heft before moving to give it to Dagna who was ready to distribute it. "I'm sure my words and actions would drive one of the Chantry's saints mad...methods and melodies archaic, of course. And a king to his knees? Well...I suppose I am strong enough to do so." A giggle leaves the woman's lips as she tilts her head, thinking of such a silly thought.

"No...I'm quite tame..." There are days where she doesn't even feel like she's good enough to lead these forces. He had to be complimenting her on her battle prowess and strategy. That had to be it.

[nyf-archive]

@many-tales-told asked: '' tell me if something's bothering you. '' - Fin & Siraj

She had been distant. She knew that. But no matter how hard she tried to hide it, hide everything, he always saw right through her. Her lips parted to speak, but her heart couldn’t find the words. Her desk was littered with papers; condolence letters, replies for reinforcement, and so many other things that she was afraid could not be handled. Fin was leaning over the desk instead of sitting in the chair like she normally would be. That was probably the other thing that tipped him off. 

“I think...” her hands balled into fists as she stood straight this time. “I think I’m dying...” The thought of looking at him right at that moment took the life out of her. Finduilas couldn’t imagine the pain that might come over him or the any of the other emotions that he may be feeling. She knew exactly what hers were, and they were her burden to bear. “The anchor is growing...spreading up my arm and I...” she shook her head and stood up straight before pacing in front of the giant desk.

“No one knows how or why...Solas teeters around it like I’m a fragile child and won’t tell me what he actually thinks is wrong or how I could possibly fathom to stop it...and I don’t-” she can’t do it. To lose him, for him to lose her? It was too much for her heart to take. “...I’m scared and I don’t know what to do next...I can’t tell them...I-I can’t...I didn’t want to tell you...but I love you a-and you deserve to know...”

[nyf-archive]

@thegreatstrongbow​ asked ;  [ fingers ] - to play with your muse’s fingers absent-mindedly (Surana and Finduilas?)

There was a smile that crossed the woman’s lips as she felt the other’s fingers mingling with her own as they sat at the edge of the camp, looking out and over the forest; it was peaceful this time of the night, and they had made their way to keep watch for a few hours. 

The Lavellan would give a soft hum before she leans her head against his shoulder. It was good to have some comfort in these trying times. There was only so much she could do to comfort herself; but comforting others and being of assistance was what she did best. “How are you feeling? I hope this...false calling isn’t bothering you too heavily...” 

[nyf-archive]

@apostatemagic​ asked | ❛ your time will come if you wait for it. ❜ for Finduilas

“I’m willing to wait for it.” Her voice is soft as she grips her staff tightly in her hands, overlooking the entirety of Haven. This all was thrusted into her lap. So many lives depended on her, and now they were ready to seal the Breach. All of the torment, the names she’s been called, and all the fighting they’ve been through so far will be worth it. The Breach would no longer tear the sky asunder and she could go home. 

Finduilas couldn’t wait for this to be over. She didn’t care if she went down in history as ‘The elf who saved Thedas’. In all honesty, after so many years would go by, people would probably forget she was ever even Dalish. They would write her over, call her ‘The Inquisitor’, and that would be all the world would remember of her. Lavellan would probably be easy enough to remember her by, but even then, would it be enough? 

Would they truly tell her story in the end? Or would they make her into a nameless Heroine like the rest of women in history. 

Fin holds her breath, though, as her eyes flicker from the encampment and over to her fellow mage. “And what about you? Are you willing to wait for your time to shine as well?”

[nyf-archive]

@many-tales-told asked ;; [ sleep ] – for your muse to fall asleep on mine - Let Siraj snuggle-sleep with Fin please

The days on the road had been exhausting for everyone. Thankfully, though, her advisors and guard shifts had been able to get their sleep here and there, but Finduilas had kept an eye on the roads all day and night. Which means Siraj did too. Camp was set up, thankfully, by Dorian and his quick magic, a wink was given and he fucked right off for the night to snuggle Seraphim in the tent just a ways away. 

The blonde elvhen giggled softly and found her way inside, only to find Siraj already down for the count on their cot. Yes, their cot. She had allowed him every opportunity to be with her on missions. As he had said before, they were a team; there was no more leaving him behind to make sure he was safe. 

Removing the plate from her Keeper armor, the lithe body slid into bed right next to him, arms adjusting her blankets, pillows, and everything in between. Fin was just about to grab some more paperwork to work on while she still had some consciousness about her, but his hands knocked it all away, causing her to giggle, as he wormed his way against her chest, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. 

“Well...that’s one way to tell me I’m done with work, vhenan.” She chuckled softly, watching as he came to rest; his head against her chest, arms holding her tight, and legs twining almost instantly as if to lock her in place. “Let’s get some sleep....we’ll need it for the morning.” Her hand very delicately began to thread through his curly trusses, massaging at his scalp while the other began to dance along his skin, hoping to lull him further into sleep. 

[nyf-archive]

do you feel any different? - Fin/Siraj (post-Trespasser?)

Different? Different was...not the right word to describe how she felt. Her eyes fell to the spot where her forearm should be, and she swore that she could still feel as though she was flexing her hand, turning it over to examine the anchor once more. But it was gone. Completely, utterly, entirely. Cassandra had done her best to make a clean cut, but a few more strikes had to be made in order the remove the limb that was threatening to tear her apart and rip another hole in the veil. Commander Helaine was doing her best to teach her to use the magic that a Knight Enchanter would use to summon a sword, except to summon an ethereal arm.

It wasn’t going as well as she would have hoped. Despite how much she practiced, it never came to pass. For a moment, she thought of what to say so that she didn’t upset or worry her love, the man who helped carry her to safety after the events of Solas’ doing. She can still remember the excruciating pain of the anchor exploding out, knocking down all of her friends and injuring them in the process. Over and over she apologized as the anchor split further and further down her arm. She was pretty sure it was already broken by the time Cassandra amputated it.

“...the phantom pains have diminished,” partially, that is, “and I think I’m getting used to it not being there. The hardest part, I think, is trying to relearn how to do things with my right hand instead of my left.” There was no more using a staff, seeing as though it was hard to maneuver with only one hand. That was another thing she was practicing but failing miserably at. Cass and Bull were kicking her ass into the dirt. Needless to say, her pride was becoming bruised. 

“I uhm...I’m doing better, though. The scar is healing up just fine.” That was an understatement. Although it was perfectly healed, thanks to Vivienne, it was hard to adjust. She knew Siraj was trying his best to help her, but this was hard. She lost a limb, lost what had made her special. The physical scars had healed. The mental and emotional ones? They lingered heavily on her mind and toyed with her emotions. 

Stop staring at it. Look up at him. She had to mentally prepare to turn her eyes up to him and to muster the best smile she could to show him that she was trying. At this point, she had to survive this for no other reason than to stay with him and to spite the world that wanted her gone and forgotten. 

“How are you doing? That Saarebas hit you like a battering ram...”

[nyf-archive]

❝ There’s no end to how much I love you. ❞ - Siraj @ Fin

There is a pause in what her slender hands are doing, the faint glow that moved through the darkening chambers stops it’s motions, flaring slightly with her quickening heartbeat as she looks over to him in the doorway. This mission she couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow him to go with. The last thing either of them needed was to be distracted during the fight, worrying about whether the other was safe and putting them at risk in their search. “...those are heavy words to be spilling in the dark of the night, vhenan.” Finduilas pulls her robes closer to her body as she moves to meet him in the middle, one arm wrapping around his waist as the other reaches up and finds his cheek so delicately. 

“...my love for you burns brighter than any fire, vhenan...is bigger than any rift that may tear the sky open, and is deeper than any tunnel a dwarf could ever create.” Her thumb dances along his cheek as she searches his gaze, hoping that this could be enough to settle any nerves he may have about her going with him. “I can’t have you throwing yourself in the way for me...we’ve lost too many people as it is, and I won’t go through my life without you...it may be selfish and it may not be what we want, but I know that you’ll at least be safe...and that’s all I could ever ask for.” She leans her head against his chest, listening to the thrumming of life just within, and closes her eyes. “Cass, Varric, and Dorian will all be there...I’ll be safe...and I’ll come back to you, just as I always do.”

[nyf-archive]

🌑 - Siraj makes a show of it, when he can, trying to take Fin's mind off all the worries of the day

Send 🌑 to crawl into bed with my muse

The silence in her room is deafening most days. How could one sleep in such a large room all by one’s self? Especially after a hard day’s work like they’ve had recently. Most nights it’s tossing and turning until the exhaustion hits by sunrise and then sleeping for only a handful of hours while she basks in the sun’s warmth. But, tonight was different. Her ears picked up on his footsteps before he even made it through the door. She sat up, thinking that he was going to be in, only to ask a question or to entertain her a little while longer, but as he crawled into her bed and closed the gap between them, there was a giddy smile upon the blonde’s face as she wiggled almost closer, shuffling herself under the blankets and practically melting herself into his side. 

These nights were the best. She didn’t care what anyone said, what rumors were on the tongue of her people. She was just happy to have Siraj with her. Ever since their moment at the Winter Palace, Finduilas couldn’t help but get more and more attached, growing more and more obvious with her affections towards her companion. Everyone else also seemed to be pairing up; Dorian and Seraphim, Cullen and the Hero of Ferelden, Josie and the Warden making eyes at one another; love was just surrounding them and it was hard trying to keep it to herself. 

Her arms wrapped around his waist, their legs twining together as she settled against him, her head on his shoulder as she finally was able to focus on something other than the grandfather clock in her room. His heartbeat was a much needed distraction, and within no time, did the blonde fall asleep with ease. Siraj always knew how to make things better...