#any way solas is SO UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND THEM because they immediately called him out

[swoleas]

Since Veilguard was released, there is this genre of Dragon Age fans popping up who are explaining Dragon Age lore, who have been talking a lot about Qunari lore. Disappointingly, they've just been taking Bioware's qunari lore at face value for every single game, no matter how much the Qunari lore for each game retcons the lore from game before it.

And I feel like, it needs to be understood that, Qunari were designed to be "Militant Islamic Borg" -- the intent behind them is to be this oriental technologically advanced people who are violent and expansionist savages and made specifically to contrast the rest of Thedas, meant to be White and European. They are routinely called barbarians and savages, real world slurs used against people from the SWANA region, by characters the players are meant to see as sympathetic and intelligent, like Solas. The lore starts and ends with this. And even with Gaider not working on the game, each bit of new Qunari lore introduced is built on 2 things: Racism and Vibes.

Trying to explain Qunari lore without even examining the deeply racist framework within which Qunari lore exists is inadvertently reinforcing the racism and the orientalism and xenophobia in the writing. You cannot separate them.

I have been seeing people calling Qunari society "inherently violent" or "teaching violence" and that this is why they are written as having had the Antaam branch away and go to the South and join the ancient Gods. And No. That is not correct in any sense. But if you rewrite the lore of the Qunari in every single game, of course that would be your takeaway. The real reason they are written this way is so you can have a faceless orcish brute enemy archetype that you can kill in Dragon Age: The Veilguard without any guilt. It's literally not deeper than that.

Why is it that Bioware is so resistant to having us go to Seheron or go to Par Vollen and walk amongst Qunari society and view them in a context where they are just living their lives? Is it possibly because it will draw attention to how alien and inhuman they are intended to be? Is it so they are not humanized in a way that makes every previous inclusion of Qunari seem jarring and uncomfortable to see?

In Origins, we meet Sten, and though he exists to expound on this group of people who exist in Thedas, the Qunari, and introduce us to this bit of world building which isn't directly relevant to the main story, but fleshes out the world beyond Ferelden. The writing was still racist (after all "militant Islamic Borg" refers to their Origins iteration), but you got so little information that you could infer that there may be some nuance there, especially given the way Sten is written in a way that humanizes the Qunari. Later lore shows him as being someone who cares deeply about the world around him and, as Arishok, about diplomacy. And all this not conflicting with his belief in the tenets of the Qun.

And in Dragon Age 2, the game pivots into making them one of the major causes of conflict in the story. This is the first introduction of Qunari as faceless brute enemy archetypes which you can kill without guilt, without explanation of why you can kill them without guilt--at least not immediately. You do not walk into DA2 knowing who Tal-Vashoth are and why they are attacking you--only that they're violent and they yell things in a foreign language at you.

The Arishok in Dragon Age 2 is stubborn, dogmatic, and violent when opposed or crossed. He shows up, sets up a military compound, and stays there for years. Your only representation here is a military leader and his subordinates, contrasted with equally violent mercenaries who the game promises are of a completely different ideology. All shirtless muscular men, who speak in a growling menacing dialect.

Then Bioware turns around and goes. Just kidding! Those weren't the real Qunari; they're a violent offshoot! We promise they are nuanced, you just haven't met those ones yet. They give us Tallis in Mark of the Assassin, but she's an elf, and one who had to pick between slavery and the Qun, and picks the lesser of two evils. Sure, she's sympathetic, but you get the impression that Hawke feels betrayed to find out that she's Qunari, and interrogates her on this--which, is partly, I guess, you, the player, clicking the dialogue options to learn more, but Tallis is on the defensive, trying to convince you Qunari are people, just like you and me.

Inquisition introduces another Ben-Hassrath, like Tallis, in the Iron Bull. And on the surface, his inclusion is quite a lot like Sten in Origins. They both showed up because there was an unknown threat in the South that they were ordered to investigate. Unlike Sten, though, you are given the option to convert him away from the Qun. Not only that, but the game drills into you how there is no free will under the Qun. But then contradicts itself with Bull telling you that under the Qun you DO have the choice to change your role under the Qun and that there is even a word for it, Aqun Athlok, which means transgender, but, in a society where gender is directly related to the role you perform in society, that implies less rigidity and more open-mindedness than every other character wants you to believe.

However, beyond dialogue with Krem and the Iron Bull about gender (and later Taash in the Veilguard), Bioware is not interested in exploring the implications of the existence and acceptance of Aqun Athlok in Qunari culture.

And in the end, if Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth, that's framed as the outcome that is overall most positive--the outcome where he can keep his romantic relationships (whether that's with the Inquisitor or with Dorian), his friendships with the Inquisition and the Chargers, and his individuality. It's reinforced in banter with his companions and dialogue with the Inquisitor. And it all sounds a little too close to how white savior types talk about Muslims who leave SWANA and leave Islam to come to the more enlightened and liberating West.

By the Veilguard, the Qunari lore is already so wishy washy that sure I guess now we have to believe that the Antaam (literally just the Qunari military) broke away from the other Qunari because the other Qunari weren't expansionist and violent enough. I guess that's what we are going with. And that's the reason why, as a gameplay mechanic, we see the return of the Qunari as a faceless brute enemy archetype. And this time, instead of them clearly speaking in normal pitch but in a foreign language (like in DA2), they communicate in inhumanly deep, animal-like grunts and growls. Even when they're not being hostile to you, and you pass them by in Treviso just hanging out? They are still hollering and growling in monstrous deep voices, without a trace of a thought out and well-enunciated language. And how racist do you have to be for you to be more racist than the DA2 Qunari?

I don't even want to get into whatever scraps you get through Taash and their personal quest because it's so irrelevant and detached from everything it feels like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. Nevermind Taash introducing us to a brand new and innovative genre of Qunari who can sniff things out like hunting dogs. Thanks for that one Bioware -- "but nooooo, Nairuz, they're part dragon it makes sense in the lore" -- the ancient Elves can also turn into wolves and dragons and even monsters, but you don't see them growling and sniffing and prowling like animals.

All this to say. Stop trying to make sense of Qunari lore in a way that validates and justify the decisions Bioware made, when they made those decisions out of Islamophobia and racism and orientalism. I am tired of seeing this lore be uncritically parroted by Dragon Age lore accounts.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

‘Tis long, and the path is dark

What even is that title? Honestly, it’s just in reference to how incredibly long this one shot is. (or could it be a prelude to smut? I’ll never tell~) 

Have some stupid men being soft and guilt laden and just fucking tender! *cries* (I’ll probably make a collection on AO3 for all of these since I just keep spitting them out like cherry pits.)

Pairing: Solavellan (... *shrugs*)

Warnings: None. Except if you’re allergic to feather pillows because this shit is soft! 

Fane found solace in the highness of his chambers. While others - be it messengers or his inner circle - found it disorienting and uncomfortable, he felt warmth and nostalgia amid the chilliness of the mountain and the vertigo invoked from looking down upon the world - well, it was merely just Skyhold and the surrounding mountains, but he supposed that was his world for now.

Nighttime was the most optimal time for Fane to indulge in this particular pleasure of his because the air around Skyhold was far cooler, and despite the darkness, he could see far more than he could during the day - the sun obstructing a lot of his vision from the glare it invoked. 

Tonight was one such night where Fane found himself outside along one of the balconies of his quarters, elbows resting on the stone railing - able to detect the coolness of the surface even through his leather wraps. The air was just as cool, and crisp as he took in a deep breath - letting it out slowly to create a puff of condensed air to which it only cropped up more feelings of nostalgia within his soul.  Emerald eyes shone a pale gold, but not from his own abilities, but rather from the equally as pale glow from the moon in the night sky - its familiarity comforting in the fact that it would always stay the same, unlike the rest of the world which was familiar yet unfamiliar to him. Yes - this was his sanctuary amid a tumultuous storm, and he basked in its stillness where it was otherwise absent. 

“Calm. Quiet. Still. All of which are lost during the day are made apparent under night’s shadowed heart.”, he whispered out softly, eyes narrowing as a frigid breeze kissed his skin and ruffled his already messy hair. 

Fane relished in moments of stillness because they were all too rare, especially with how the world was today. The world to him was chaotic, yet dull. Loud, yet silent. Bright, yet dim. However, it was nowhere near black and white; it was grey - both morally and figuratively speaking. During the day, he found it difficult to keep impending insanity at bay with how much such contradiction infuriated him - the schism of the Fade and waking world causing his draconic nature to thrash and roar with the desire to correct. While during the evening, his mind became still, clear, as a quiet pond did after a thunderous storm - delicate ripples along dark waters the only indication there was yet life beneath its depths. 

In short, he was more connected to what should be during the night time - his nature able to satisfyingly click into place from the sensation of frigid air, and the scent of earthy snow.  

“Ah, I should have known this is where you were.”, a calm, familiar, and welcome voice had Fane glancing over his shoulder from where he was gazing up at the moon to see Solas standing in the balcony’s doorway with a small, yet fond smile gracing his lips. 

Fane offered the elf a tiny smile of his own before turning his gaze back up to the moon to observe its surface once more, “You just come up, then?”, he asked with no accusation in his voice. 

“I did.”, Solas confirmed his question before sighing tiredly, “Your sister is quite passionate in our discussions; she had me losing track of time until I noticed my candle was nearly spent.”

Fane snorted softly at that. Yes, that sounded about right to him. While he was pleased Mhairi had finally opened up to Solas a bit, it still grated on his nerves how the two would bicker endlessly about whatever struck their fancy at the moment - Mhairi normally gravitating towards ‘educating’ Solas about Dalish customs and elven culture, while Solas ‘passively’ shot down each of her bits of information with his own take, albeit most was from actual experience, but it still sent his sister into a fit of passionate arguing which would then spur Solas to become more short tempered. Honestly, the two could probably be fast friends if they didn’t bring history and culture into the mix; that was what Fane observed through their interactions, at any rate. 

“More Dalish wisdom, I’m guessing?”, Fane asked absently, emerald eyes softening as he saw a twinkling star just past the glow of the moon. 

“More or less, but your sister is bright, even if most of her information is born from half truths. Though, that is not her fault, I suppose.”, Solas said, his voice dropping into a slightly more somber tone. 

Fane picked up on the guilt surrounding those words, spurring him to turn his gaze away from the sky to look over his shoulder once more. He saw that Solas had a pensive expression as stormy eyes, which looked more pale from the moon light, were turned downcast to stare at the stone beneath his feet. The sorrow laced in pale blue had Fane letting out a tiny sigh, a small frown etching itself onto his face.

“It is not your fault, either, Solas. It was an unforeseeable consequence of a necessary action.”, Fane attempted to console, tapping a gloved finger against the railing. 

“You have more faith in that statement than I ever will, vhenan.”, Solas told him with a sad smile before pushing off of the doors archway in an indication he was going back inside. 

“Hold on.”, Fane called out softly and suddenly, eyes watching as Solas halted immediately, the mage turning to look at him with a curious expression.

“Hm?” Solas tilted his head slightly before he slowly made his way back to the doorway.

Fane couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the sight of perplexity on Solas’s usually calm expression. This was another thing he enjoyed about the evening; the vulnerability that both he and Solas would show when the world wasn’t scrutinizing their every move, every interaction, every word. It was a time where they could be..well, them. They could be Solas and Fane; not ‘that apostate’ and Inquisitor. Most of all, they could care for each other without fear of snide remarks or ignorant judgment. It was a sanctuary as much as the rest of night was to Fane; a sanctuary where they could be free. 

“Vhenan?”, Solas called to him worriedly, supposedly from his silence. 

Fane blinked in surprise before clearing his throat awkwardly. Damn, he really needed to stop getting lost in his mind so much.

“Sorry. Just lost in thought for a minute.”, he explained with a reassuring smirk before beckoning to the elf with a tiny jerk of a few gloved fingers. “Come here.”

Solas stared at him in slight bewilderment before slowly making his way out to where Fane was still leaning against the railing. Fane waited until Solas was standing next to him to turn his gaze back up at the moon, softly closing his eyes despite the way he could feel Solas staring at him in question.

“Observe and accept.”, he began with a calm tone, slowly reopening his eyes to examine the stars once more, “Those were the first words taught to me when I was a dragon.”

Fane felt Solas come closer to him when he began speaking, their shoulders brushing together as the mage lightly leant against him. He waited for several moments to see if Solas would say something before he felt right to continue.

“Observe the world around you, and accept that which occurs within its boundaries is natural. Those were the basic fundamentals of my kin.”, he explained before chuckling dryly, “However, there was another basis that was seemingly lost like most information regarding dragons. A basis that would seemingly contradict our roles.”

“Which basis is that?”, Solas asked him quietly, voice curious, but tender as it engaged him.

Fane slowly turned his head away from the sky to gaze down at Solas, who was watching him raptly, but he could see the well of pure adoration in the other man’s eyes. He had to momentarily shift his emerald gaze away from that spring of emotion to compose himself before looking back into stormy blue once more. Fane may be a dragon of emotions, but that didn’t mean he was immune to them, if anything he was more susceptible to them due to his new form - it being far more complex than a dragon’s sheer continuity of endurance. So, sometimes looking into another’s eyes - especially Solas’s - was like receiving the haft of a greataxe to the stomach - the sheer force behind its swing knocking the air out of his lungs with one brutal gesture. It wasn’t as painful as the actual thing, but it was..overwhelming, at times. 

With a steadying, quiet sigh, Fane readied himself for the original point of this discussion in the first place. Right, now wasn’t the time for him to get sidetracked in his head again. 

“Doubt.”, he said simply after a few moments, watching as Solas’s eyes gently searched his face for understanding before the pale blue orbs turned downcast, a tentative hand coming up to delicately place itself on top of Fane’s.

“That would be contradictory, but it is understandable. It is not wrong to doubt the information that you see. It allows you to grow, to change your point of view based on fresh information you may gather that would rend old truths to dust..”, Solas murmured softly, idly stroking his hand in a soothing gesture - Fane was unsure if it was more for him or for Solas himself.

Fane watched Solas’s hand stroke his own for several moments before he gently took it into his own, lacing their fingers together slowly to which the mage responded without hesitation by giving Fane’s hand a firm squeeze. 

“Precisely. It is in every beings’ nature to doubt because they wish to understand why things happen, or why people are the way they are.”, he said, voice practically a whisper as he felt Solas lean into him more, “It is also within every beings’ nature to doubt themselves, even when others do not.”, his intended point beginning to take shape. 

“Are you saying you..doubted your own words from before?”, Solas asked him, genuinely sounding puzzled.

Fane could feel Solas’s stare once more, even as his own stayed fixated on their entwined hands - idly noting the slight difference in size before sighing with a shake of his head. 

“No, my statements referring to your own actions were born from doubt.”, he explained, lifting their entwined hands to lay a light kiss against the back of Solas’s before locking eyes with the man next to him, “Look, I spent months after regaining a series of my memories simply doubting everything. I doubted what I saw and heard when I otherwise believed I understood everything this world had to offer. I doubted myself for the body that I chose thinking it was a sinful mistake until I observed more that allowed me to accept it that while it wasn’t natural, it wasn’t wrong, either..”, he rambled off slowly before laying a firmer kiss against Solas’s hand before murmuring against it tenderly, “..And I doubted you before I accepted your actions, Solas.”

That was the truth of it. After Fane had begun to regain his memories, he had spent a considerable amount of time thinking and attempting to understand everything about himself and the world around him - his draconic nature finally clicking into place to leave him feeling confused about it all. Solas had been no exception to his doubting nature, even if the elven man was incredibly dear to him. 

The first few months after the two had ‘reunited’, Fane had observed how Solas had attempted to keep him at arm’s length, as if the mere presence of the dragon were painful to him. At times, Fane had believed Solas was disgusted by him, much like the Evanuris had been in the past. After all, time changed people, and not always for the better. He was not the same by any stretch of the imagination, and Solas’s avoidance of him had made Fane believe the elven god was sickened by the form he had chosen.

However, as more time passed, and the more Fane observed, he could tell that there was a..weight bearing down on his sky - a heavy rain cloud in an otherwise clear sky. That was when the doubt began to rear its head. 

He doubted Solas would have suddenly begun to simply despise him - especially after the various times the elven mage had treated him softly, even when neither knew who Fane truly was, thus making him back peddle and reassess what could have Solas acting so distant from someone he constantly stated he cherished, even as grief flashed like lightning within stormy blue. 

The more Fane dug into the matter through his own ventures in the Fade, the more dirt he unveiled, and the more the actual core made itself known to the point where he finally remembered the moments leading up to his ‘death’, and the effect it had had on the elven god. It had helped Fane finally bridge the gap between the two of them to where centuries buried confessions were finally given life. 

So, in reference to Solas erecting the Veil, Fane had done the exact same thing; he had doubted, and it had allowed him to accept the truth that Solas still stubbornly denied. The truth that what Solas had done was by no means natural, but it was inevitably necessary, despite the damage it caused. If Fane had still been alive during it all, perhaps he could have intervened to where the damage wouldn’t have been so costly, but he had not, and he had accepted that. Just as he had accepted the reasons behind Solas’s decision pertaining to the creation in the first place. The past could not be unwritten, but the future born from it could be used to restore, albeit in a different manner.

Fane felt Solas lean into him even more, the mage resting his head against his broad shoulder to gaze out over the expanse of mountains before opening his mouth to speak.

“I am not sure if what you say is a compliment or a slight..”, Solas murmured, more to the air than to Fane himself.

Fane snorted amusedly before giving Solas’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s really neither. It’s merely the truth. Doubt is a guide, even when it seems to make us stray.”, he said before closing his eyes to let the mountain air wash over him once more, “I doubted the safety of the edge I pondered to leap over.” 

“Yet, you still leapt.”, Solas stated, chancing a glance up at him with a somber, but tender gaze. 

Fane opened his eyes slowly at the feel of Solas’s own before offering the man a tiny smile - delicately disconnecting their hands to cup a cheek tenderly. Solas leaned into his touch with a small smile of his own. 

“I leapt over a different edge because the one I had originally chosen to leap from proved to be laden with spikes at its bottom.”, he amended Solas’s statement with firmness before leaning down to put their foreheads together softly. “I am not one to jump blindly into ruin, Solas, despite evidence to the contrary. I hold fast to what I believe in because it has come from centuries of observation - from centuries of observing you. If you had truly done what you did because you wished to inflict harm voluntarily, then my nature would have intervened the moment I reunited with you - unaware of my heritage or not. I would have killed you on sight.”, squeezing the hand interlocked with his once more as his face hardened with resolve, “And if you were ever to stray without first doubting your actions like I do, then I would kill you. As I would wish for you to kill me should insanity take my mind once more.” 

He watched as Solas’s eyes went slightly wide before cool hands came up to cup his jaw, a look of stifling anguish cracking the mage’s otherwise calm facade. Fane continued to stare into deep pools of blue despite the same amount of pain he felt from his own words. Again, they were not a compliment or an insult; they were the truth - the bitter truth.

“Ar lath ma.. Ar lath ma..”, Solas whispered to him with a slight shake to his voice before pulling him down to press their foreheads together more flush. “Ar lath ma, ma’isenatha.. I..I will not let what happened happen again..”, the words housing as much emotion as stormy eyes did - a depth that would put the ocean to shame.  

Fane hummed lovingly, bringing his arms around Solas’s waist to pull the man to rest against his body lightly. A strange yearning began to stir in chest at Solas’s words of affection, spurring him to voice his own in a way he normally never did.

“That’s why I know - without a doubt - that those circumstances will never come to pass. You won’t stray from the path because you are smarter than that, Solas. So, let yourself rest, if only in my arms. No guilt, no shame. Just rest.”, he whispered with a gentle voice before humming in consideration before his voice dropped even lower. “Ar lath ma.”, he spoke the elven as if he had a thousand times - the words like silk as they flowed as fluently as the man’s in his arms did. 

He felt Solas go rigid in his arms, blue eyes going wide with surprise, but also..adoration before the elf’s stiff body relaxed with a shudder. Fane merely smiled an uncommon tender smile as he maneuvered his head to begin laying soft kisses along Solas’s jaw. He knew what his usage of elven did to the other man. It was akin to when Fane himself would hear Solas - in the wee hours of the morning - speak the same language to him with reverence and respect. It sparked life in them as a deluge allowed a field of flowers to bloom unbidden.

“Ar lath ma.. Ar lath ma..”, Solas continued to whisper to him - pulling away slightly to bury his face in Fane’s shoulder to continue the adoring mantra. 

“Ar lath ma..”, Fane whispered once more as two natures - so contradictory, yet so seamless - intertwined from the guidance of frozen winds that echoed the feeling of home to him.

The eve was a sanctuary, but not from the storm. It was a sanctuary for the storm; the once turbulent clouds allowing themselves to weep into the earth. Fane would be the sun scorched earth, if only to partake in a sorrowful drink. He would weather the storm, he would accept its flood, and at last, he would allow the sky to clear and rest. 

Emerald eyes slipped shut as Fane pulled Solas closer, resting his chin on the man’s head as quiet sobs reached his ears, his mouth barely moving as he uttered sudden words. 

“The sky shall rest in the earth’s embrace as the moon shadows, but illuminates. Do not hide. Do not run. For soon the sun will signal the judgement of dawn.”, the words like the whisper of wind as they fell from his lips.

No shame, no guilt, no judgement. Those were the concepts that Fane truly adored about the night, as much as he adored the man silently sobbing in his arms. He knew tomorrow would bring more shame, more guilt, and more judgement, but tonight - tonight they would rest under the moon’s all - knowing gaze, knowing that secrets were kept in a pale haze.

******

(Yes, I know Fane is slightly hard to interpret. He understands the costs of the world, and accepts them. Does he support whole scale slaughter? No, but he sees that people will do what they must to accomplish what they believe to be right. He’s pragmatic, and he tries to steer Solas gently, but he doesn’t violently shove him. He just supports him however he can because in this universe, Fane knows Solas. There are no false pretenses between them, so vulnerability is a defining aspect of their relationship.)

[katkulita]

A Day in the Life of Inquisitor Florence

(It's early morning. The sun is rising, first rays of sunlight make their way through the high valleys between mountain peaks of the range opposite, hitting only the tallest towers of the fortress yet. The air is delightfully clean and chilly.

FLORENCE ADAAR is walking down the stairs from Skyhold's Great Hall, dressed in leather trousers and a simple linen shirt, her hair tied in a three-strand knot between her horns. She's carrying her sword, a big two-hander.

Florence is watching two soldiers in a ring at the bottom of the stairs, sparring with wooden training swords. One of them is Commander Cullen. Florence approaches the ring and puts her sword aside; then chooses the biggest and heaviest of the practice swords that are stacked in a wooden box near the entrance to the ring. She looks at it with disapproval, swings it with her right hand without much effort and frowns.

Meanwhile, Commander Cullen has finished sparring with his partner, Warden Blackwall. They shake hands, exchange a friendly remark or two, Blackwall picks up the padded coat he had left on the fence and leaves. Cullen wipes the sweat from his brow on the sleeve of his shirt, unties another string that's supposed to hold his shirt closed in front, then gestures to Florence.

Florence enters the ring for her morning sword practice. Cullen charges at her, she blocks his attack - I have no idea what moves they do or what to call them, just imagine them waving wooden swords at each other - they spar for quite a while. But Cullen is showing signs of fatigue, he has been in the ring with others since daybreak, so Florence thanks him for his time, he grabs his feathered boa coat and sets on his way.

Some audience has gathered around the ring as people go to the tavern for breakfast or from it and stop to assess their leaders' skill in combat. Two persons stand out in the crowd; one of them is a huge Qunari, the Iron Bull, who would honestly stand out in any crowd unless it was a herd of druffalos; the other one stands out only because Bull is currently whispering to him. It's Krem, Bull's best boy.

Florence, having lost her sparring partner, looks around the ring. She's searching for Cassandra who she caught a glimpse of just a few moments ago, but there's no sign of the Seeker; she must have gone to the tavern, too. As Florence turns around, Krem has entered the sparring ring and waves at her with his practice sword. Florence waves back, they both assume combat posture and start sparring.)

Crowd: (cheering)

(They practice for a while, but Florence seems to be uncomfortable with her left hand.)

Florence: (stumbles and swings her two-handed training sword with only her right hand; she shakes cramps from her left hand and resumes posture)

Krem: (with concern) You all right, Inquisitor?

The Iron Bull: (mockingly from the crowd) Go easy on her, Krem! She's all worn out!

Krem: Had a busy night, eh?

Crowd: (laughs)

The Iron Bull: Oh yeah! (Crowd cheers with him) Give her some slack. (moves towards the entrance to sparring ring)

Florence: (gasps in mock upset, then challenges them) Ooh, I can take on both of you, boys, no problem.

Crowd: (cheers)

Krem: Ugh... I'm afraid I'm not interested?

Crowd: (oohs and laughs)

Florence: (snorts with repressed laughter) In combat! Ooh, you're a dead Krem now!

(Meanwhile, Bull has picked up one of the practice swords, entered the ring and assumed position next to Krem. Crowd gets agitated - this is going to be fun!)

Florence: Alright, come at me!

(Krem charges at her, she dodges the blow and dives before Bull's attack. Look, I don't know the right words to describe the action, I find action scenes infinitely boring and describing every single move takes forever. Let's just imagine they spar, Florence manages to avoid being overwhelmed for some time, but eventually gets cornered.

In an attempt to escape from a tight spot, she climbs on the fence surrounding the ring with one swift but graceful motion.)

Crowd: (cheers and claps)

Florence: (balancing on the fence, grins) Who has the high ground now?

(Cassandra emerges from the crowd.)

Cassandra: (sternly) That would hardly be possible with a heavy sword, though, wouldn't it, Inquisitor?

(Crowd starts to dissolve immediately. The show is over.)

Florence: (jumps down from the fence towards Cassandra) Well, yes, but... Look, it's not my fault that the practice swords are all too light. I'm making do with what I have.

Cassandra: (frowns at Florence) But you don't have to make a show out of it. If you want to practice some more-

Florence: (drops her training sword back into the box) Nah, I'm good. I've had enough exercise for today.

Krem: (still in the sparring ring, to Bull) Hear that, chief? No hanky panky for you tonight.

The Iron Bull: (smirks) Wanna bet?

Cassandra: (makes a disgusted noise and leaves)

(An inconspicuous bald elf in tights and something resembling a night-shirt appears. He wasn't in the crowd, so he must have come from... somewhere else? It's Solas, the local elven apostate, Fade expert and hobo.)

Solas: Inquisitor, may I have a word with you?

Florence: Sure.

(She walks with Solas a few steps away from Bull and Krem.)

Solas: Your hand is glowing. Did you use the Anchor in training?

Florence: (looks at her left hand which emits faint green light) Uh. No, I don't use the Mark in practice. In fact, I don't think I'd be able to, well, use it on purpose.

Solas: But you do use it to close the rifts and in combat.

Florence: Yeah, but that's different. The rifts kind of pull at it, so they... close themselves, you could say. And in combat... I don't know, it's like I feel it charge up and then I use it, if you can imagine what I'm saying.

Solas: (nods)

Florence: In training, it's never happened so far. No idea why.

Solas: Mhm. Your focus in real combat must help channel more power into the Mark, perhaps. Unfortunate that you can't do the same in practice.

(Solas looks at Florence's hand with thinly-veiled envy and disapproval. Florence notices his look and frowns.

Solas turns to leave.)

Florence: (quietly, to Solas) You know, I'd give it to you if I could.

(Krem snorts from the sparring ring; he must have been listening to them. Solas turns back to Florence, stone-faced.)

Solas: I... beg your pardon?

Florence: I said, I'd gladly pass the Mark to you if I knew how. So it would be killing you and not me.

Solas: Yes. Well, what's done is done, I'm afraid.

(Florence nods at him and he leaves.

Bull approaches her quietly.)

The Iron Bull: (whispers) He'd snap like a twig. *

Florence: (chuckles) Yeah... You know what? No, I don't think he would, actually.

(Bull glances at her with curiosity, then turns his gaze back to Solas, who's leaving.)

The Iron Bull: Gah, I guess you're right, kadan. There's more to him than meets the eye.

Florence: (crosses her arms mockingly) Oh, so we're back to "kadan" now, are we?

The Iron Bull: (with low, deep voice) I'll get back to you, kadan, tonight, in your quarters.

Florence: (giggles)

Krem: (from behind them, with disgust) Ugh, do you have to, in public?

Florence: (turns to face Krem, arms still folded) Look, your Daddy and I have an intimate relationship, you'll have to get used to it. Now go play with the other kids! (waves her hand to dismiss Krem)

(Krem grins, salutes mockingly and leaves.)

Florence: (picks up her two-handed real sword; to Bull) Say... How about after lunch?

* (Camera cuts to Solas' face as he walks away from the Inquisitor and her beau. He heard them. His face hardens and his eyes light up in distressing blue for a few heartbeats.)

[elfrootaddict]

HERALD OF ANDRASTE - Chapter 2/4

DESCRIPTION: El'lana’s entire world is turned upside down when she, a proud Dalish elf, is bestowed the title “Herald of Andraste”.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 3

It’s been just over four days since the prisoner’s attempt of closing the Breach, and Solas did not expect her to survive. As she lay unconscious for hours, then a day, and then into several nights, it was only a matter of time before she would be declared dead. 

She may have survived the Conclave by accidentally entering the Fade, Solas thought to himself, but to survive closing the Breach with her magical limitations? Impossible. 

Just as Solas had theorised, the mark had stopped spreading like the Breach, which helped solidify his value to Cassandra. Seems her desire to see him executed will have to wait. 

When nearing the end of the third day, Solas was preparing the little belongings he had in anticipation of the prisoner’s demise, so that he could reconnect with his agents as soon as possible.

However, not too long after making the decision to leave did he notice a lot of stirring and commotion amongst the people of Haven. Suddenly everyone started rushing to witness something. Or someone. 

While keeping his distance, Solas witnessed Lana awkwardly shuffle through the gawking crowd of people. 

This prisoner somehow managed to defy all reasonable odds. Again?

Only when Lana disappeared into the Chantry, did Solas retreat back to his cabin to reconsider his strategy. A few thoughts had come to mind but he quickly settled on one; he was going to leave regardless, and have one of his agents spy on the prisoner for him. His time is too valuable, and he was not going to waste it here, especially when his spies could do the work for him just fine. 

Also, he was not comfortable being the only apostate amongst so many unrestrained Chantry forces. Rumours of the rebel mages causing the Breach was growing, and he wanted no part in it.

Once Solas was packed and ready to leave, he opened his cabin to once again find the people of Haven gathering to witness something else. This time, it was in front of the Chantry. 

With his curiosity peaked, Solas decided to quickly see what the commotion was all about before he left. 

As Solas reached a perfectly concealed spot, he patiently watched and waited as Cassandra, Liliana, Josephine Montyliet and Commander Cullan stood ideally by in a huddle in front of the slowly growing crowd. After a few moments of nothing, Solas decided it was probably no more than a public service announcement of sorts for the people of Haven.

As Solas was about to turn to leave, he suddenly saw the prisoner step out of the Chantry. With genuine shock slapped across his face, Solas witnessed Cassandra gesture for the prisoner to stand with them in formation, as an equal, and announce the rebirth of the Inquisition. 

As momentous as the occasion was to witness, especially considering it was current and not a memory in the Fade, Solas could not help but bewilderedly stare at the prisoner as she stood front-in-center of the ceremony.

She is clearly no longer their prisoner. No, she has become someone important. Someone, I need to keep an eye on myself.  

***

It is now the fourth day, in the late afternoon, and the people of Haven are starting to prepare for the evening meals. Solas is making his way back to his cabin when he passes Varric, who is warming himself by a large fire, and regards him with a friendly nod.

“Hey, Chuckles! Hold on a moment.”

Solas stops to turn around, “Yes, Master Tethras?”

“Please, Varric is fine. I’m not one for fancy titles.”

“My apologies, Varric. What can I do for you?” and with a subtle, polite gesture from Solas, the two men continue walking together. 

“Look, I don’t like telling people what to do just as much as the next guy, but I can tell when someone needs company.”

Solas looks down at the dwarf slightly puzzled, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I am in no need of any company?”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

The two men walk up a small flight of steps which leads to a large, open space with cabins situated on either side, and another directly in front. 

“Who, then?”

Varric folds his arms across his chest, and cocks his head over his left shoulder and whispers, “Lana.”

Solas leans to the side and notices a pair of two bare feet, wrapped in thin, makeshift leather strips, hiding behind the cabin opposite to his.

“What does that have to do with me?”

Varric sighs loudly, “I understand you like being alone, but our little Dalish there? From what I could gather, this is probably the first time in her life that she’s been away from her clan.”

Solas becomes visibly uncomfortable at Varric’s insinuation, “And you think because I’m an elf, that I would be able to console her?”

Throwing his hands up and shaking his head, “Is that so hard to understand? Sure, there is Minaeve but she’s too, you know, Andrastian. Lana would perhaps enjoy talking to someone less, Chantry?” Varric sighs and crosses his arms. “Look, just go talk to her will you? Maker’s breath, she won’t bite!” and walks away, leaving Solas with a decision. 

All Solas wanted to do was to get out of the blasted Fereldan cold. He looks down at his toes, sighs, and realises they are going to have to stay frozen a little while longer. 

As Solas begins his quiet approach, he notice’s Lana sitting on a loose fur rug, knees close to her chest, and with her back against the cabin as she softly hums a melody to herself. Solas also notices an ink pot beside her, and then sees her slowly guiding the quill on some parchment as she draws a pair of eyes.

As Solas’s shadow casts down on Lana, she looks up from her sketch and immediately squeals from fright, causing Solas’s entire body to subtly jolt as he tries not to squeal in return. 

That would be entirely unbecoming. 

Lana brings her hand up to block the sun’s rays, her eyes trying to adjust to the silhouette towering above her. Soon small details begin to reveal themselves, and Lana eventually recognises that it’s Solas. 

Taking in a deep breath of relief, Lana chuckles loudly, “Ir abelas, lethallin! I wasn’t expecting anybody to find me here.”

After quietly composing himself, Solas calmly responds, “Apologies. It seems I have frightened you. I should have announced my presence sooner.” 

Lana removes her gaze and looks back at her sketch, “Oh no, don’t worry. I just startle easily. Not a very good trait for someone to have in my position, I suppose.” and turns to look back up at Solas with a gentle, innocent smile.

“Do not bother yourself with their perceptions of you. For it is your mark they are primarily concerned about, after all.”

Lana sighs, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Is there something you needed, Solas? Is Cassandra looking for me?”

“No, Cassandra does not need you. If it’s no trouble, would you mind if I joined you?”

Lana’s smile widens, and she happily moves her ink pot out the way as she shuffles herself over to make more room on the rug, “No of course not, you can sit here.” and taps her hand on the empty space. 

Solas places his staff against the cabin and sits down next to her. With his legs crossed, Solas turns to regard Lana, “So, the Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Lana’s shoulder length, silver hair swoops in a flick as she looks around to ensure nobody but Solas can hear her, “Banal! These shems are crazy. I’m not,” forming air quotations. “The ‘Herald of Andraste’ and I have no interest in being anyone’s hero,” and she leans back against the cabin to continue drawing. “All I want is to find a way to seal this Breach. Ghilas ma vhenas.”

Solas releases a quiet sigh under his breath, “Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant,” and he too, looks down at Lana’s sketch. “Who is that?”

“Keeper Deshanna,” answers Lana proudly and turns to look up at Solas. Based on his subtly confused expression, she realises she needs to explain. “She’s the Keeper of my clan.”

Solas offers a subtle nod in response and quietly critiques her skills, and determines she is quite talented, “Why are you drawing your Keeper?”

Lana rests her quill on the parchment and sighs, “I… well... you might think it strange. But I wanted to draw the faces of my family back home. I don’t-” 

Lana turns away from Solas and clears her throat. “I don’t know when I’ll see them again, and I want something to look back on while I’m here,” and turns back at the parchment. “Something to help me remember their faces,”

Lana quickly wipes away at an escaped tear and releases a soft, embarrassed laugh, “Ir abelas. You don’t have to sit with me. I actually don’t mind my own company.”

“Neither, do I,” murmurs Solas. “The company of others can be quite trying.”

Except for some Spirits.

Lana’s face immediately bursts into a happier demeanour, “Me, too! Ugh, especially with shems! I don’t know how to act around them. I don’t have a lot of experience, obviously.”

Solas is surprised to find Lana using the word ‘shem’ without a hint of disgust as one would expect from a Dalish elf. The only thing Solas finds the Dalish and city elves have in common, are their constant derogatory tones whenever they say “shem”. However, Lana appears to be saying it without contempt and Solas finds himself curious over why that is.

Offering only another subtle nod as a response, Solas decides to keep their conversation going a little while longer, "If you don’t mind me asking, I heard you humming before, and I’ve never heard such a beautiful melody in any of my travels before. Is it of your own making?”

“Oh, you heard that? No, I didn’t create it. It's actually a very old Dalish song parents sing to their little ones before bed. It’s called Mir Da’len Somniar,” and turns warmly to admire her sketch. “The Keeper always sang it to me.”

“Why not your own parents?”

Lana’s face suddenly stiffens as she falls quiet, and Solas immediately regrets having asked the question, “I’m sorry. I seemed to have upset you. Forget I asked.”

Lana continues sketching and eventually answers, “For a time they did, but they died. A long time ago. The Keeper raised me as her own.” and with that, Lana continues shaping the eyes of the Keeper.

With a gentle voice, Solas murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t know.” and Lana finalises the details on the eyes and then begins with the eyebrows. 

With their conversation having suddenly reached an immediate halt, with neither one knowing what to say next, Solas decides to talk about the one thing he feels the most comfortable with. The Fade.

While focusing his gaze on the Breach in the sky, Solas unpromptly shares one of his many veracious stories with Lana, “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade to ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” Lana stops to regard him and Solas, still focused on the Breach, doesn’t take notice. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” he turns to face Lana and is startled to find her gaze already upon him. “You say you don’t want to be a hero but every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be?”

Lana ignores the question and instead asks one of her own, “Ruins and battlefields? What do you mean?”

Solas is pleasantly surprised at Lana actually having paid attention, as he expected her to answer his question boldly and ignorantly. Instead, he has unintentionally piqued her curiosity, and suddenly feels a rush of excitement over the fact. 

Solas turns his body slightly towards Lana as he gladly educates, “Any building strong enough to withstand the riggers of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds,” Solas turns away, losing himself in his mind's eye. “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

Lana places a light hand on Solas’s shoulder as she cries out in horror, “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Solas takes a quick glance at her hand on his shoulder, and releases a cheeky smile, “I do set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

Lana drops her hand and looks away as she contemplates on what Solas has shared with her. Her eyes appear wider than usual as they dart from side-to-side. Then, as she looks back up, Solas holds his breath as he braces himself for her to either disregard or openly mock him for his choice of study.

They always do.

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade before, Solas,” her smile widens with pure, innocent excitement. “That’s extraordinary!”

This has yet to be the most positive response he has ever received. The moment Solas would mention his studies and observations of the Fade, people either politely excuse themselves or openly mock him. They would never ask questions and then openly praise him for his accomplishments.

Solas’s emotions begin to turn as he starts to feel guilty for having such animosity towards Lana before. At a minimum, he expected her to be crude and hostile, just like all the other Dalish people he’s come across. The last thing he thought she would be... is agreeable. If it wasn’t for her vallaslin, he would not associate her as Dalish at all. 

Humbled by Lana’s excitement, Solas smiles, “Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything,” Solas pauses, losing himself in his thoughts yet again. Unsure of what to say in light of his sudden silence, Lana awkwardly looks away to observe her sketch. 

“I will stay then,” announces Solas as he breaks the silence between them, causing Lana to face him once again. “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“You weren’t going to stay?”

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me,” Solas lowers his voice as he murmurs. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

Lana averts her gaze and thinks about her next few words very carefully, “You came here to help, Solas,” and turns back to look deep into his eyes. “For as long as they care for my opinion, I won’t let them use that against you.”

“And how would you stop them?” he asks smugly.

“However I had to. As a Dalish and First, I will not sit by and let any elf be subjected to shemlen arrogance.”

This time, Solas noticed she said ‘shemlen’ with disgust.

Despite Lana meaning what she said, he still admires her courage, however misguided it may be. Solas knows she holds no real power over the humans should they wish to harm him. Nevertheless, Solas doesn’t want to appear ungrateful towards her display of bravery on his behalf, and answers with a simple polite bow. 

Content with their conversation and his toes practically turned to frostbite, he decides this would be a good time as any to head back to his cabin. 

However, just as he is about to stand up, Lana unexpectedly puts her quill and papers down on the ground, perks herself up as her, and with her overall mood clearly improved she looks at him with her wide, lavender eyes.

More questions?

Elvish to English Translation:

“Ir abelas, lethallin” = I’m sorry, lethallin

“Banal” = Never

“Ghilas ma vhenas” = I want to go home

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

READ ON AO3

Halla & Wolf Series

[blightmantra]

@dlishmagi​ said: Anchor in meltdown and Taeros in constant pain, he watches the Qunari rush through the eluvian, and he only gives pause to his chase to look back at Symphony. Eyes focus on hers and he bites his lip. Will he be back? No, he will come back; he must. But still, he doesn’t leave without an “I love you”, accompanied with a quick signing before leaving through the eluvian. And when he returns... It’s after what feels like ages, legs giving out almost immediately. His left arm, gone.

       he promised her a life together, away from all this after years of putting her fragile heart through so much suffering. symphony never thought it possible, if she were being completely honest. she never thought there would ever be a future with him. why would there be? his life was not his own to promise to another, it had always belonged to the inquisition and even mythal herself. he was unafraid and forever prepared to lay down his life on his whim for his cause, of course he would die young. she need not be shocked on the day of his death, because it was forever looming around every corner like a shadow. what a terrible thing it was mourn her love when he still yet lived.

       it wasn’t until he asked to marry her that she realized he had intentions of living past tomorrow. he wanted to devote his life to her happiness and share a lifetime with each other. he wanted to live for her.

       maybe it was finally time to put her guard down. she was to be his wife one day, and she had a life together to look forward to. they need only brave this storm together and only then will nothing ever tear them apart again. they would marry under the stars with their families at their sides, they would share a home and have children, and if the creators were kind they would grow old together.

       he PROMISED her this.

       blood trickled down her temple as they all regained their footing and caught their breath. after defeating on onslaught of demons, qunari, a monstrous beast such as saarath, as well as the shockwaves that taeros’ mark that sent her back hitting the pavement over and over again... her body finally said no more. her bones ached with every movement she made and she was only able to stand with the help of bull. their road ended here. in their weakened state, viddasala would surely kill them all one by one before killing solas. they needed to look for some other way to help him before his arm killed him and everyone around him.

       as her mind raised to think of something, anything in that moment, eyes drifted towards taeros who stood in front of the final eluvian. his own eyes cast an apologetic look at the three, but mainly at symphony. not once had she ever seen that look. it was a new one, and everything in her PRAYED it wasn’t what she think it was.

       she slowly shook her head. ‘ no... ’ she continued to shake her head. ‘ you’ll die. she’ll kill you... ’ she assumed her fear had vanished when he had promised a life together. the nightmare was finally over and she need not fear anything in this world ever again. this is what he had promised to her.

       i love you, he signed. and just like that he turned away from her, possibly turning away from the life they could have shared and the memories they could have formed. he turned it all away because it was something that world demanded he do. the world was being plunged into chaos yet again and he was the only choice they had, even if he had no chance to stop any of it all. even if it would could kill him.

       she gaped at his figure as he disappeared into the mirror, frozen in place as if she could not believe what she was witnessing. in a matter of seconds the once glowing mirror shattered and instead grew murky and unusable. taeros was gone. all three of them were left baffled.

       ‘ no... ’ she was the first to break the silence, moving to make her way closer to the eluvian only to be held back by bull. ‘ let go of me! ’ she shoved his arms away, causing her to stumble to the floor momentarily. she struggled to get on her feet again, but the moment she did she climbed the stone rubble that doubled as steps to the broken eluvian. heart pounded in her ears until it was all she could hear as she climbed, scraping her knees and hands in the process. 

       once she had finally reached to the top, all she was met with was her own teary reflection. her reflection shifted and swayed almost like bloody water, and she watched her own face fall, the gravity of the situation dawning on her. taeros was actually gone.

       ‘ no... no, no, no, no, this can’t be, ’ her breath grew rapid as she pressed her hands against the mirror, unable to enter it. after several attempts she began to pound on the mirror. ‘ no, this can’t be, this isn’t right! he... ’ the lump in her throat grew larger and larger until she could no longer speak. she dug her nails into the edges in an attempt to tear out the frames, searched the back of the mirrors as if it would hold to key to reopening it once again. it was an upsetting sight watching her scramble to do the impossible.

       ‘ please... ’ she squeaked out, pounding on the mirror one final time. ‘ he promised we would be together forever. ’

       she fell to her knees, wracked with grief. defeated. that could have been possibly the very last time she would ever see him again, and she just stood there and watched him do it. allowed him to walk into his own death without berating him and telling him how stupid of an idea that was. did she also have a share in the blame of all of this? she would never forgive herself if that was the case. the world had finally gotten what it wanted.

       ‘ come back... ’ she watched her reflection let out a mournful weep. 

       cole sat cross legged beside her, mourning with her as she buried her face in her hands. the sun was quick to set as they waited until it grew cold and uncomfortable. she would wait an eternity for him if she could. she would plant herself like an unmovable tree, watching and waiting for him to come back to her just like he always did. flowers would sooner bloom from her bones before she would ever leave this mirror.

       and an eternity they waited, or something similar in feeling, before there grew a stir within the mirror’s murky reflection. ‘ symphony, look! ’ cole let out an excited gasp, gently shaking her shoulder after momentarily forgetting that she could not hear him. for a second she considered ignoring him, afraid that he would suggest finally leaving the mirror, accepting his fatal fate. but she spared a glance upward, almost blinding herself as they all watched the eluvian flicker and shimmer until it lit up the darken environment, breathing back to life.

       the first thing that they noticed was his arm extending outwards, before a foot came to lead him out. ‘ taeros... ’ she let out a gasp, but unfortunately it was a short lived excitement as he came stumbling to the floor, landing right on her lap as she was ready to catch his fall. ‘ love, i’m here, ’ she cupped his cheeks, investigating his face to see if she could notice any recognition in his eyes. it seems he was falling in and out of consciousness.

       ‘ he’s badly hurt... ’ cole’s voice shook as he pointed at his arm. symphony tore her eyes away from his face to look at... his arm. it was gone, even his mark. his warm blood trickled and stained her legs. it was than that her instincts as a healer kicked in.

       ‘ bull, we need to leave now, ’ she commanded, calling on her magic to at least help slow the bleeding for now. making quick work to remove of her armor and top, she tore at her clothes until only her undershirt protected her from the cold. she used the torn cloth to stop the bleeding further as bull made his way closer to him. her heart raced but she refused to let panic set in. ‘ we need to get him back to the winter palace this instant. ’ thankfully the qunari didn’t need to be told twice, watching him as he effortlessly lifted him into his arms, careful not to disturb the bandaged stump that was once his arm.

       it was an intensive procedure but they were quite lucky that taeros wasn’t awake for most of it. he had lost of a lot of blood and needed several stitches to help seal off the severe wound. he would be weak for several weeks, but knowing her love, sym had a feeling that he would be walking by tomorrow.

       his return caused such a dramatic uproar between the notabilities in attendance but at the very least they had the common decency to allow him time to recover in peace without having nations hounding him with questions and demanding answers from his still recovering mind.

       her heart was weak by the end of it all, and refused to leave his side until he opened his eyes again whenever that may be. she watched his pale face as he struggled to breathe in his slumber and she couldn’t help but feel guilt slowly creep into the back of her mind. she was afraid of what his reaction would be, knowing he would not take the news of his missing limb well.

       ‘ i’m so sorry, my love, ’ she whispered to him, hoping he could somehow hear her from the fade. she leaned down to press a hard kiss to his forehead before resting her head on his chest, drifting off into her own slumber.

       it had been a handful of hours since she had last slept, but really, it had been YEARS since she had last rested.

[yyparkq]

SOLA

characters: jackson wang x reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: you and jackson secretly dating behind your circle of friends

You and Jackson have been dating for a couple of months now without any of your friends knowing. You share a common circle of friends from college which made way for you to meet in the first place.

Mark, an old friend from college, suddenly called you on a Friday night—just when you are about to leave the office building, excited to spend the rest of the weekend lazing off in your own apartment and getting as much sleep as you could. He invited you to a party place to celebrate his birthday. Feeling a bit guilty for not remembering a friend’s birthday, you agreed immediately even though shortly after he told you his birthday is not actually until next week and that he’s just celebrating in advance. You knew your other friends would be there and wouldn’t miss the impromptu gathering so you agreed on coming way too easily, completely forgetting about the thing you were excited about just a moment ago. It’s been a while since you have seen your friends, anyway.

You were the type of person who could go on both ends of a mood spectrum. There are times when you feel like partying hard and there were times when you don’t feel like talking to a single soul. You constantly need to meditate every now and then though, finding balance when you burn yourself out socializing for a longer period of time.

As soon as you reached the place, your friends cheer for your mere presence recognizing you even from quite a distance. You can’t stop but giggle like a teenager you have been with them as you walk your way to the reserved table.

You’re not usually quick to get tipsy but you skipped lunch and dinner meals earlier in the office and went straight to the bar. After a few glasses of cocktails and a bottle of beer, you start to feel a bit lightheaded with your friend seated beside you continue to talk nonstop with you everything about her work and her boss. You don’t fully understand the chatterbox session, only nodding and laughing when she does just so she won’t get offended.

When your friend finally takes a break and decides to wreck the dance floor instead, you stand up, half bending forward to reach out for another glass of cocktail and a plate of assorted nuts and junkies placed on the opposite side of the table.

A few minutes after you munched on the platter of nuts, your friends came pouring back into the table. Everyone catching their breaths after dancing and laughing from the dance floor. You don’t like dancing when tipsy. It makes you so clumsy and you feel overly sensitive to feeling other people’s bodies so every time you go out, you only stay at the table.

As your friends settle for seats around the table, you see Jackson enter the place through the mirror placed at the far end of the table. It’s funny how it has become so easy for you to spot him despite the alcohol affecting some parts of your brain at the moment. But he is there, hair sleek with a portion escaping to rest near the middle of his forehead and a denim jacket that hung to his broad shoulders. He greeted your friend and took a seat at the far end of the table near the dance floor—the only vacant seat, annoyingly.

Hours passed by swiftly with you and your friends laughing at the memories shared together and even sharing stories that used to be a top-secret when you were still in college. Soon, you become comfortable with the hungry gaze Jackson has been giving you since he sat on the single sofa he’s occupying.

No one in this circle knows you two had been dating. Both of you will be claiming the spotlight and attending to endless questions and teasing for at least a whole night if one of them ever knew. They have been teasing you and Jackson to be together before, seeing how your personalities would totally complement each other. You have been shying it away even from the very start. The idea of having a romantic relationship with one of your friends is the least you could ever handle. For you, once a friendship gets tainted with romance and break-up, it is impossible to go back to being friends.

And you love your friends just much.

—

After graduating, you barely kept in touch with your friends only ever checking your SNS accounts every once in a while. You met Jackson at your favorite band’s concert outside of town and soon after that, he invited you to numerous hangouts which he, later on, changed the description to ‘dates’. You were not really close to each other back in college and you always felt a bit awkward when they started teasing you together. You saw him first at the entrance of the stadium, standing in line and scrolling through his phone with air pods plugged in his ears. The two girls in front of him were giggling and stealing glances in his direction as the line started to move. You shook your head lightly and continued checking out the pamphlet given out before the start of the event.

You successfully claimed your passes and entered the venue. Only when you were standing in the pit area you felt yourself being hungry. You have been so excited to see this band perform live you forgot to eat your dinner. Glancing around the area and then at your wristwatch, you decided the show will not start until after ~40 minutes and so you stepped out of the concert hall and went to the food stalls area to grab a quick meal.

You picked a sandwich for a meal. You were pulling a bill from your purse when you heard choking sounds of someone standing at the high table beside you. The girl behind the counter offered him an opened bottled water which he quickly gulped. You blinked a few times, recognizing the person’s face.

“Jackson! Are you okay?” you asked when you recognized him, withdrawing your right hand from the inside of your purse to tap his back in worry.

He made a few more coughing sounds and took a long look at you. “Y/N?”

You glanced at the cashier, curiously gazing at the both of you, your sandwich waiting to be claimed at the counter. You handed the cashier a few bills, paying for the sandwich and the bottled water Jackson drank while also requesting one for yourself.

“Oh, wait. You didn’t have to pay for that. Here-“ he motioned to reach for his wallet but you stopped him.

You smiled and put your own food in front of him at the table. “It’s fine, Jackson. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Let me treat you to coffee after the concert, then.” He said as he stared at you interestingly as you stuff your cheeks with a sandwich in a hurry.

“I didn’t know you were a fan.” You said as you swallowed the remaining portion of the sandwich, the whole food disappearing in a matter of a few minutes. You didn’t really care if someone looks at you while you eat.

Jackson looked at you incredulously, amazed at how good you eat. He had to make a mental note to treat you out to a meal next time. “Well, I’ve been listening to them since they started. At first, because the bassist is my close friend, but then I started to really like all of their songs after a while.”

You gaped at him. “Brian. No kidding.”

“Of course. I even got my ticket from him.” Jackson chuckled, staring at your way too luscious-looking lips.

You grimaced at his reaction. “You know, you sound like a total sham right now.” You then collected the trash from the meal you both had and disposed of it. Jackson followed after you, draping an arm over your shoulder.

It wasn’t uncomfortable for you at all. You, who used to bolt at any kind of physical connection with people except your friends. Maybe because he’s a long-time friend, you thought.

—

Some of your friends started to go home while another batch of Mark’s friends started to arrive at the bar and continue to lit up the place with brand new energy.

You look at Jackson’s direction and saw how engaged he is in the conversation. He had his face resting on his fist, the other hand fondling on the lips of his glass of whiskey. You felt a bit jealous now that he’s not paying much attention to you anymore so you continued to stare until he finally felt your gaze toward him.

He turns to look in your direction and you blink slowly, deciding what to do to claim his full attention.

You continue to stare straight into his eyes and lifted an arm to rest your chin on your palm, tilting your head slightly and giving him a cheeky smile.

Jackson shot his eyebrows up in surprise and you giggled at how cute you think he seems right at the moment.

One of your friends tapped your shoulder, bidding goodbye and asking if you’re about to go as well, offering a ride back to your home. You smiled at your friend and told her you’ll be fine. You are still feeling lightheaded but you’re not acting a lot differently yet, which means you still have a lot of room before being intoxicated.

You’re surprised when you turned back and found no one sitting on the chair Jackson occupied a minute ago. Letting out a small puff, you reached for your glass, the other hand still supporting your chin. You stare at the blinking neon light sign outside the transparent glass wall of the bar.

Jackson sits beside you, brushing the portion of hair, from your cheek that cupped your small face, to the back of your shoulder. You smiled at him, doe eyes turning crescent. He bit his lips, trying so hard not to kiss you right there and then.

He scooped closer to your ear. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Neither do I.,” you say as you grab his face and peck his mouth lightly, a small smile tugging at your own lips as you stare at his shocked reaction. He looks around quickly and nervously, checking if someone saw you kissing him casually.

Jackson met a couple of smirking faces in front but no one dared to speak about it. He thinks you’re definitely drunk and so he tries to get you out of the bar to send you back home. He wasn’t enjoying the event anyway and only decided to come when he saw your face in the photos Mark has sent to their chatroom inviting even more friends.

You got up way too quickly and wished Mark again a ‘Happy birthday’ along with a short goodbye to your friends. It wouldn’t really matter since most of them are either too drunk to understand you or are already on the dancefloor. Mark eyed you and Jackson smirking as you made your way out of the bar with Jackson’s hand on your waist.

You both reached the parking lot and waited for Jackson to unlock the doors but he stood still behind your back. You met his scrutinizing gaze when you turned to look at him.

“Why?” you asked, realizing how hungry you are already.

“You’re not drunk,” Jackson said more to himself. He’s a bit surprised when you carried yourself all too well, still in high heels, after a night party.

You laughed at his face. “I’m not. Can you please unlock the door now? Let’s get something to eat, I’m starving.” You said and made a face.

Jackson grabbed you by the waist and turned you to face him. His breath fanning your cheeks and you suddenly forget to breathe. His eyes stare at your own then lingered way too long at your lips. You don’t know what has been keeping him from kissing you when you already showed half of your friends earlier the shot between you two.

“Just fucking kiss me, babe.” You whispered.

It took him less than a millisecond to comply and though you demanded him to kiss you, you were a bit taken aback causing you to lean backward to his car. His hand was fast and he pulled on your waist even before your back touched the cold metal and the other trapped your side against the car.

He slowly pushed you to step back until you finally rested you back at the door of his SUV.

You were feeling weak on your knees and if not for his grip on your waist and your arms entwined around his neck, you probably wobbled against him embarrassing yourself.

Making out with Jackson has always been steamy. Like a race you know you will have to finish whatever it takes. But you can’t do it in an open parking lot, open for public viewing anytime.

You both softly gasped for air, Jackson pulling on your lower lip before resting his forehead to yours.

“I’m hungry.” You said wanting to make it out of that place. But there’s no use in telling Jackson that unless you want to be fucked in that parking lot. “Let’s get some food.”

He nuzzles at your neck for a while before pressing his keys to unlock the car. He steps back and pulls you along with him tighter to open the door, taking the chance to make you feel how hard he is already after the steamy make-out session you just ended.

You are suddenly starving like a hole is slowly boring into your stomach.

[swhurtcomfort]

Fall Apart, Fall Together--- Chapter 6

Beginning   ---  Previous Chapter   ---   A03

------

Naboo is warm in the early spring. The sun rises early and Padmé opens a window to breathe in the smell of warm rain.

The babies are sleeping through the night now—at least, most of the time. Presently Luke had fussed and cried until at least two in the morning, when Anakin had gotten up to take over and sent Padmé to bed. She notices Leia is awake, and still alone in the crib.

“Well, good morning, birthday girl,” Padmé trills, scooping the baby up and twirling around as Leia giggles. Together they make their way to the living room, where Anakin is dead asleep in an armchair with Luke sprawled out on top of him.

Padmé ruffles Anakin’s hair a bit as they walk past into the kitchen. “Daddy’s sleepy,” she says to Leia.

“Dada,” Leia agrees.

Padmé cringes when she sees how many messages are waiting on her work comm, but she’s taking the day off today. Soon they’ll have to talk about her splitting her time between Naboo and Coruscant, but working from home has been alright in the interim.

While Padmé is fixing Leia a bottle, they hear Luke waking up in the living room, followed by an adult-sized groan.

Anakin enters the kitchen with Luke on his hip.

“Good morning, my favorite ladies” he says, giving them each a kiss before setting Luke down on the kitchen floor so he can crawl after a plush toy. “Here, I’ll do that. Do you want to comm Sola, and make sure they’re still coming over later?”

Leia whines to be put down too, and Padmé obliges. They aren’t walking yet, but Leia is getting quite good at shuffling along when she has a low piece of furniture to lean on. Luke’s taking a little longer to get the hang of it, but there’s no hurry. By all accounts, the twins are thriving. A stranger might mistake them for younger than a year, but otherwise no one would be able to tell they’d been preemies.

“When did he fall asleep?” Padmé asks.

“Sometime after me, I think,” Anakin admits.

“Maybe we can get him to nap before the family gets here.”

Anakin snorts skeptically.

It’s to be a quiet gathering – it’s not as if the twins even know what a birthday is anyway. As they get the house ready, Anakin blows up a few balloons (which Leia greatly enjoys) and puts Leia’s hair up in two matching clips (which she absolutely hates, and an hour later he finds one of them stuffed between the couch cushions). Luke is visibly exhausted, and gets cranky whenever he’s not in Padmé’s arms.

After midmorning, Padmé puts Luke to bed, hoping that he will get some rest, but within twenty minutes they hear him start to cry.

Anakin gets there first. “What’s wrong, little man?” he asks. The Force around Luke pulsates not with pain, but frustration.

“Moo,” cries Luke.

“Mommy?” Anakin guesses.

“Moo!” He sounds utterly devastated.

The doorbell rings. He glances at the clock—Sola and the girls shouldn’t be arriving yet, but he hears Padmé moving to answer it so he returns to the crisis at hand.

“C’mere,” Anakin tuts, lifting Luke out of the crib, but the baby pushes back against his chest and demands ‘moo’ again. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Anakin paces up and down the room once, bouncing a little.

“Anakin,” calls Padmé in a bit of an odd voice.

“Busy,” he calls back, now trying to console Luke with the plush Loth-cat he’d been playing with earlier.

“Moo,” Luke breaks into a fresh peal of sobs.

Neither baby is really communicating with the Force yet, but sometimes Anakin tries. All he gets from the little storm in Luke’s Force signature is a despondent sense of lost, missing.

“Anakin—”

“Padmé, what’s ‘moo’?” he asks down the hall, interrupting. “Have you heard him say that before?”

Padmé appears in the doorway and nearly steps on a beanbag toy on the floor. She picks it up and starts to put it back in the crib, but Luke shoots out a hand towards her.

“Moo!”

Padmé and Anakin both look at the toy, then at each other. Luke whines and reaches further.

“It’s a bantha. Moo,” says Anakin, face splitting into a wide smile.

“What a clever little man,” says Padmé, reuniting the bantha with Luke, who immediately puts its horn into his mouth. “Here, I’ll take him Ani. You should go see who’s here.”

Standing awkwardly by the bannister in the toy-strewn sitting room is the last person Anakin expects.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan clears his throat a little bit.

Anakin doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry to turn up unannounced. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

There’s no judgement in his gaze - as far as Anakin can tell his curiosity is genuine. Anakin doesn’t know how to feel about that. There’s a sense of loss for the life he’d left behind, as well as a dull anger swirling up in him.

“We’re all healthy and happy,” he finally replies.

“I’m glad,” says Obi-Wan quietly.

Padmé shifts Luke on her hip and herds them all to the armchairs in the living room.

“I’ve missed you,” Obi-Wan confesses.

Three responses avail themselves to Anakin’s mind, the first a desperate I miss you too. The more bitter side of him, Oh go kriff yourself with that. The last, which he says out loud as he takes a seat, “I can’t go back.”

Obi-Wan nods his acceptance of that fact. They awkwardly meet each other’s gaze. Anakin still hasn’t decided whether he is angry. Obi-Wan’s shields are a blank wall, but he knows the man well enough to tell that he is conflicted too.

Leia crawls over and tugs on Anakin’s pant leg until he puts her on his lap. Obi-Wan studies them both, a pensive look lingering on his face.

Luke makes eye contact with Obi-Wan and laughs, still clutching Moo to his chest.

“Would you like to hold him?” Padmé offers.

“Ah, no thank you, I don’t exactly…” Obi-Wan shifts uncomfortably in his chair at the thought.

“Come on, Obi-Wan. Say hello.” Anakin’s voice holds a note of teasing.

Obi-Wan looks panicked as Padmé passes Luke over. He supports the baby stiffly as Luke squirms around to get comfortable. With the look on Obi-Wan’s face, you’d think he’d never seen a baby before.

“You’re doing it right,” Padmé assures him with a smile.

“You’re getting so big,” Obi-Wan says to Luke. “It’s someone’s birthday today, is it not?”

“Two someones,” Anakin croons, brushing the hair out of Leia’s face.

Obi-Wan pats Luke’s back a bit awkwardly as the conversation lapses again.

“I resigned from the High Council,” Obi-Wan finally reveals.

“Why?” Padmé asks.

“Depa has been reinstated in my place. The Mind-Healers are quite pleasantly surprised with her recovery.”

“That wasn’t my question,” she presses.

Obi-Wan sighs. “The fall of the Sith raised a lot of uncomfortable questions,” he says. “I wanted time to devote myself to meditating on the war and its consequences, and seek some answers of my own.”

That sounds like a perfectly Obi-Wan thing to do. Padmé glances at Anakin, who’s smiling a little.

“The Jedi were naïve, and vulnerable. Anakin, we ought to have been able to spot Sidious’s influence over you before it all went so wrong.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about that part, Obi-Wan,” says Anakin. “But look, when I tipped Master Windu off, it wasn’t because I thought it was my duty or my job or the will of the Force. I was scared of what might happen to you and Padmé if the Sith came to power. I was attached, and I had something to protect.”

“I know,” says Obi-Wan. “The world is changing, and many feel that our Order needs to change with it. There has been a lot of talk about the prevalent analysis of the Jedi Code over past centuries decades, and whether it is…appropriate.”

Padmé and Anakin both try to hide their surprise.

“I only wish we could have had these discussions sooner,” says Obi-Wan slowly. “Perhaps…”

Perhaps you could have stayed.

Anakin shakes his head. He slips his hand into Padmé’s, their fingers intertwining with a supportive squeeze. Padmé knows that Anakin’s decision was a difficult one, but it’s been made. Neither of them want to think about what might have been.

Padmé hopes that Obi-Wan will see what she sees. Anakin loved being a Jedi, loved the idea of saving the galaxy, but the galaxy was always too large and too broken, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Anakin is thriving here, where he can need just a few other people and be needed by them in return.

Leia is getting restless. Anakin brushes the hair out of her face again and smooches the top of her head before he lets her clamber off of his lap.

“I wish my mom could have met them,” he says suddenly. “I just know she would have loved being a grandma.”

Padmé rubs his shoulder supportively.

Luke starts yawning again and snuggles into Obi-Wan’s cloak. Obi-Wan gives his parents a helpless look. “He’s exhausted,” Padmé whispers.

“Is it finally naptime, Luke?” Anakin tuts, and the baby reaches out both arms towards him. Anakin scoops him up.

Obi-Wan follows them down the hall to the bedroom and watches Anakin put Luke down for a nap.

He turns around and sees Obi-Wan smiling. “I never imagined that this would be the path that you chose,” his old master says suddenly. “Maybe I just got Qui-Gon’s plan for you stuck through my head, and if that’s true, I’m sorry. But you seem happy here.”

“I am,” Anakin affirms.

Obi-Wan nods. “You both seem happy.”

A year has gone by with hurt feelings weighing heavily on them both. Some things, it’s too late to change, but perhaps not others.

Obi-Wan retrieves his cloak and starts to put it on.

“Padmé’s sister and her two girls are coming over for cake later,” says Anakin. “Why don’t you stay?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head sadly. “I have business in Jan-gwa this evening, I’m afraid.”

Anakin initiates the embrace, but Obi-Wan returns it wholeheartedly. When they break apart, he leans over to give Padmé a one-armed hug as well.

“It was good to see you, Obi-Wan,” says Padmé.

A year has gone by since Anakin described their lives as being on the edge of a knife—caught between personal crises and a war of deception that scarred the galaxy. But what has been broken is not beyond repair. Anakin was never made to fight the whole galaxy, but his world now revolves around two twin suns. Padmé’s fight has only paused—with her own health recovered, she will soon return to the front lines of the reorganization of the Senate. But whatever that challenge brings, she knows deep in her gut that they are standing now on stable ground.

----

Fin.

[acindra]

My Dragon Age characters, updated to include the twins as well as a lot more info for a few characters than last time.

My ‘canon’ warden is the elf mage Rhyssa Surana. (Rhys is Welsh for enthusiasm/passion) She’s mainly an ice mage and her most used spell is the cone of cold. 

She’s doesn’t put up with any bullshit and is super persuasive. Though she comes off as stoic (because of the many abuses she suffered in the circle), she’s passionate about what she believes in (and will covertly manipulate anything needed to get what she wants). 

She has a moment similar to Oghren’s leaving Orzammar when she leaves the circle with Duncan and later than night cries in secret for being free for the first time in her adult life.

She gets along with everyone for the most part, though she immensely dislikes Wynne’s attachment to the circle and just doesn’t really understand Sten much at all. While she respects Leiliana’s faith, she explains in no uncertain terms that she will never believe in a higher power that allows for the atrocities mankind (as in all of the people in the world, is there a better way to say that to include elves and qunari and dwarves?) to happen. (For a far better phrasing of her opinion, watch this clip of Stephen Fry) She lets Alistair name her mabari (Barkspawn) and it takes her a long time to adjust to the concept of dogs so they kinda co-parent him for a while (Walking The Dog was a long discussion they had that it took forever for her to wrap her head around). She finds Morrigan, Shale, and Oghren (and Sten) fascinating, as they have had such significantly different lives than her.

She romances Zevran and then also romanced Anders and they brought him into their relationship. They bond over the hardships in their lives, from the crows and circle, respectively. 

She doesn’t recognize immediately that Zevran was trying to commit suicide in the ‘assassination attempt’ but quickly becomes suspicious about it by reading between what he says. She figures out pretty fast that his stories of his work are made to make the party less uncomfortable about his presence, recognizing it as a way to protect himself. She knew immediately after meeting him that his being blase’ in the face of death is also this, as well as his pseudo easy going nature. She doesn’t know how to call him on it without him possibly fleeing, and honestly with the camping situation it’s hard to get much privacy anyways and she definitely doesn’t want others to overhear. 

They bond by both being half Dalish but raised in neither Dalish clans nor alienages. In a sign of faith she tells him about some of the horrors of being in the circle (though not the worst things until after they’re in a romance together) and eventually he starts telling her less restricted/humanizing stories from the Crows. 

Since she’s the most blatantly asexual, only using sex to get what she wants when she has to, the start of their relationship is kinda awkward. They end up talking about it a LOT. Not just about her, but about how Zevran also wields sex as a tool to get what he wants. The concept of love after the earring thing also sparks a lot of talking (though before that there is a lot of avoiding and also bitching about minor unrelated things because they’ve both been trained to be scared of positive emotions) It’s Very Complicated™ and unbeknownst to them everyone else in the party has a betting going about what’s going to happen. Leliana wins (partially because she also eavesdrops a lot, but that’s a secret that’ll go to her grave)

Though she personally loathes Bhelen, she works for him to put him on the throne of Orzammar for the good of everyone and especially because she finds their caste system vile. She puts Anora on the throne and lets Alistair kill Loghain (she refuses to let someone who condoned enslaving people live) in the hopes that he can find peace with the loss of Duncan.

At the beginning of Awakening about 3 hours after the joining Anders is hungry and tries to seduce/manipulate her because he kinda sees her as his new jailer and that’s what he did to protect himself or gain favour in the circle. She realizes this immediately (having a lot of experience doing the exact same thing, unfortunately, in her time at the circle) and promises him that he never needs to do that if he needs or wants something from her. She tells him he doesn’t even need to stay as a grey warden; she will not force him to fight a battle he did not sign up for of his own volition. She tells him that he is not beholden to her or any of the people in Vigil’s Keep, but if he remains she will protect him. And yeah they may get into disagreements and if it’s something to do with their job then he has to defer to her since she is the superior officer, but he is free to do what he wants now. And if any templars cause him trouble, no matter the circumstance, she will defend and protect him to the very last.

Later, before she leaves for Weisshaupt, she sits him down and tells him if anything happens whilst she’s gone and he feels the need to run, run as fast and as far and as long as it takes for him to feel safe again. She tells him to make sure his pack is ready to go at any time (though she neglects to tell him she has put a significant amount of money in it as well) and to make sure he always has it on him.

Later he tells her he had wanted to stay. Even after Stroud showed up. Even after they made him give up Pounce. To show as much loyalty to her as she showed to him. He wanted to be a good warden, to help people, to stay with his friends and to stop running. But Rolan showed up and Anders merged with Justice and he knew he couldn’t remain after slaughtering so many wardens, even though his friends at least would support him.

She is very fond of her crew in Awakening, but she worries about them a hell of a lot more. Even with them being actual wardens and all the political power that grants them.

After the events of Dragon Age 2 she travels with Zevran to the Free Marches, seeing if they can help whatever mages managed to escape the gallows. Before they get there though, they notice Anders in a small village they’re restocking in, though he looks a lot older, more ragged, and has dyed his hair dark brown. Before they get the chance to intercept him, they notice he is being followed so they decide to watch first. 

After following for a while they figure he is either being hunted or tracked and she does NOT like that, so she intercepts the person, who happens to be Fenris. After a lot of bickering and suspicion, Fenris admits he’s not hunting Anders but is following him to make sure no harm is done, to himself or others. He admits they have known each other for years, though they are not friends. She says she is much the same, but they are friends, and if Fenris harms Anders even a little she’ll choke him to death on his own dick.

A couple days later Anders is travelling through another village but it’s quiet like the grave and, unsurprisingly to all four parties, he gets ambushed. Unfortunately there’s more bandits in the houses than he expected and he runs out of mana. He gets knocked out while trying to get away and Fenris and Rhyssa spring into the fray to protect him.

After killing all the bandits, Rhyssa drags him into a house and gets to healing, exceptionally worried because there’s a significant amount of blood pouring out of his head. Anders doesn’t awake after she’s done healing him though and by nightfall they’re both pillars of stoic fretting. Rhyssa calls Zevran in out of the shadows and they lock down the house as best as they can.

There’s more to that story but I haven’t decided on it yet.

I also played Rhyssa as a male at one point (Rhys) because I really love Origins.

Edit: ALSO, I used Rhyssa as my Watcher in Pillars of Eternity and Deadfire, where she could fulfill all of her dreams of being able to pick locks. And have so many pets

My ‘canon’ Hawke is Idrilla, a fire mage. She’s mainly purple with occasional blue and is suuuuper passionate about mage rights. Anything about mage oppression and she defaults to red immediately. 

Her version of Malcom was a dalish elf which is why her name is Idrilla (little rebel) but she doesn’t know why he was put in the circle. Unfortunately, neither does Leandra and since Malcom is dead no one knows. 

She came into her magic pretty late and so was initially trained as a rogue. Bethany lives and Carver dies and Idrilla pretends her staff is a quarterstaff for bludgeoning. 

She romances Merrill but is best friends with Anders (and in another playthrough life she romances him instead).

I’ve not put a lot of thought into her story since I’m still working on Rhyssa’s and also for the longest time I used Marian because creativity is not my strong suit. She doesn’t actually have cat ears in canon, I just thought it was cute.

As a side note she also lived another life as a city elf in the Dragon Age Uprising mods and she led the rebellion in Denerim and Highever and romanced Fladayus. I haven’t finished playing that mod yet because I got distracted, though. So I don’t know how it ends. I’m like right before the big revolt too...

My ‘canon’ quizzy is Synne Lavellan. (Synne is Anglo-Saxon for Gift of the Sun) She’s an electricity mage who is very set (and pretty good at) on getting as much information as possible before she makes any decision. Especially after she is named inquisitor, since her decisions will affect so many people.

Before the game she read a looot about inequality in Thedas and feels so much sympathy to elves and mages. She chose the Elgar’nan vallaslin as an oath to protect and aid those who need it most and enact vengeance on the Chantry. 

She sides with the mages and romances Solas. She thinks he’s an idiot at the end of Trespasser, but wants to find him and try to come to a non-apocalyptic solution. 

She reunites Celene and Briala because she disagrees with Gaspard’s methods, though she pretty much hates all of them. She drinks the well because she absolutely cannot in good conscience allow Morrigan to drink it when she has a child. Even at the risk of her own life.

I also have not put too much thought into Synne’s life beyond and inside inquisition because I’m still working on Rhyssa.

I’ve also sent her back through time to be the Warden and Hawke because mods are wonderful and I love Dragon Age.

This is Imogen Cousland. (Imogen doesn’t really have a set meaning because it’s thought that Shakespere made the name up by purposely misspelling the word for girl/maiden, but a few places have it listed as ‘Innocent’) She is also a mage because I don’t play non-mages pretty much ever and mods exist. 

Her main goal was to DESTROY Howe and Loghain. She wanted to have power in order to bring about change before becoming a Warden. She marries Alistair and becomes Queen of Fereldan so I guess she got her wish. 

She’s very playful and teases her companions a lot but is a good leader and tries to do what is necessary to hold the country together.

This is Ataashi Adaar (original, I know lol). She has no idea what she’s doing tbh. She is very unprepared and VERY gay. She had no intent on leading anything at all ever and so has to rely on the advisers a lot which is hard when three of them are female. 

She romances Josephine and was super willing to Throw Down with that one guy for her hand. She ends up siding with the templars because she doesn’t know a lot about either side and definitely doesn’t know that mages can dispel magic but she also doesn’t trust templars at all so she conscripts them. 

Her own magic is pretty wild at times and she mainly does rift magic.

This is Isabelle Travelyan. (Isabelle is Hebrew for Devoted to God) She’s supposed to be like 16-17 at most. She thinks she’s the Herald of Andraste and is a Chantry apologist. She sides with the templars, marries Cullen, makes Cole a spirit, makes Vivienne divine (only because she herself cannot be) and her main goal is... idk power I guess. She’s ambitious. 

She marries Cullen and keeps the Inquisition going as a force of the Chantry. I hate her for her choices, but that was the point when I made her- she’s everything I would not do, wrapped in fabulous outfits.

Leilani and Eolas Lavellan, twins, were made for the question ‘what if we could romance Krem’. Leilani is Dalish for she who helps with shining thoughts, and Eolas is Dalish for knowledge.

Leilani is a dual wielding rogue who is upbeat and curious about everything- her goal is to have fun and experience new things. Eolas is a mage but he mostly focuses on protecting Leilani because she likes to charge into battle like an idiot. He is also curious about everything but is very timid and shy and prefers to read than to experience things firsthand. 

Leilani is technically the inquisitor- she’s the one who has the mark- but Eolas deals with the political stuff. Eolas was not the first for Clan Lavellan but was not sent to another clan because they didn’t want to break the twins apart and they needed hunters, so he can use his magic for hunting too. Mostly glyphs and stuff to trap creatures so Leilani can take them out. 

When Leilani meets Bull and the Chargers she immediately latches onto them. She will often ditch meetings to drink with them in the evenings. Eolas follows Josephine and Leliana around like a duckling because he never knew words could be weapons. He dutifully attends every meeting and fills in his sister on everything she misses while she repeats the tales she has heard from/about others. He spends most of his time in the library, specifically on the couch in the rotunda, reading.

Eolas is the first to meet Krem, when Krem is outside the chantry in Haven, trying to get someone to take his message. Eolas doesn’t see him at first, intent on finding Leilani to give her info from the meeting they just had in the war room. Krem catches him by the arm as he goes by and Eolas immediately tries to whack him with his staff which he blocks. He immediately lets go and apologizes, hands up to show he’s not a threat, and tries to explain why he’s there. But Eolas is having a hard time listening because of the sudden fight or flight instinct- but also Krem is really handsome and the sun has flooded Haven with golden light which is silhouetting him, and Eolas’ brain hasn’t caught up so he’s just standing there staring like he’s seeing an angel. Krem eventually gets his message across and leaves with the mumbled promise that the inquisition will check out the Chargers.

Leilani gets the whole story out of Eolas pretty easily and spends a ridiculous amount of time teasing him about his crush. They head off to the Storm Coast pretty soon after that and after the battle she goes to talk to Bull. Eolas is kinda awkwardly standing there watching the Chargers clean up and make sure the job is done. Krem greets him and he tries not to blush because here on the beach, dirty from battle and wet from rain, Krem is no less beautiful than before.

Leilani is delighted by Bull and the Chargers and when she’s done negotiating the terms of their contract, she wanders around bothering the Chargers because she’s never met mercenaries before. Krem, of course, is willing to talk more than the rest of them so she interrogates him for like half an hour, he devious grin getting wider and wider as she occasionally glances at Eolas. Eolas, for his part, wants to go drown himself because that’s never good. Leilani parts with Krem with a wink and Eolas is like what did you say to him??? Cuz sibling paranoia is real.

Eolas is reading in the rotunda like usual one day when Krem comes through with some fade touched animal bit for Helisma but he stops to chat since Eolas is rarely in the Herald’s Rest. Eolas manages to stick his foot in his mouth or fumble too many words or something and embarrasses himself because he was not expecting to see his crush, but Krem just laughs it off. Once Krems heads upstairs. Eolas is like I need to hide forever now and leaves for the twins’ chamber to hide in bed. 

A little later, Leilani stops by the tavern to get a drink in with the chargers and hear more stories and after hearing one is like oh I should go tell this one to Eolas, he’d love it! Krem chips in that last he saw Eolas he was in the rotunda, but he had left by the time Krem was dropping off research materials. Leilani goes to ask if Solas knows where Eolas has gone and he tells her he went to hid and that young love is adorable. 

She finds him in bed with the covers over his head and he asks her to kill him because he made a fool of himself in front of Krem. She’s like maybe you should tell him you like him. Yanno, see if he’s interested? instead of acting like a startled halla anytime he’s within 15 feet of you? Just a thought? Eolas says he can’t do that- because he’s not pretty, or clever, or brave enough. Plus who knows if Krem likes boys. Leilani smacks him for being self-deprecating. She does point out Krem might not like people romantically at all, now that she thinks about it. From all her time hanging with the Chargers and listening to all of their stories, he had never talked about sex and romance in relation to himself. Eolas is like great, so he’s either celibate or a gentleman which means he wouldn’t want me or I don’t deserve him. Leilani keeps prodding at him to drop the self-deprecation.

A while later and Krem remarks that he’s curious about Eolas. Eolas occasionally talks to him but it’s very short conversations and only about inquisition things really. But Leilani’s tales always feature her brother, though maybe not very actively most of the time. So he wants to know more. 

He tries to find him, but can never seem to find him beyond a flash of ginger hair across the courtyard or up in the rookery and once he gets to where he thought he saw him, Eolas is gone. So he asks Leilani what Eolas does in his free time. She’s like ‘He reads, mostly. The fucking NERD.’ and he subtly tries to find out what he’s reading right now and convinces Leilani to get him to come up to the battlements at night between rounds of drinking and other conversations between the Chargers. But she gets giddy almost immediately, knowing Eolas’ crush, and he’s maybe not as subtle as he wants to be after a couple of beers. Bull notices this all but doesn’t say anything.

Eventually Leilani finds her brother reading (hiding) outside on the patio ledge thing outside of the rookery and she’s like hey I gotta do a thing with Dagna for one of my daggers but can you go meet me out on the battlements between cullen’s office and the tavern tonight? He’s concerned but she brushes him off, muttering about enchantments and fire runes. He agrees to meet her so she makes herself scarce (she does actually get Dagna to help with the fire rune- she likes talking to Dagna, because it’s cool to see the world from different perspectives and Dagna is so good at that!)

Eolas gets up to the battlements eventually and as soon as he exits the dilapidated room between Cullen’s office and the tavern he’s confused and tense because Leilani is not there. But he reasons she’s probably just late because 1. of course she is and 2. she and Dagna carry on conversations like magpies- jumping from one shiny thing to another. Then there’s the sound of someone in armor getting up and saying ‘Your worship.” And he whirls around, throwing up a barrier in surprise. It’s Krem, of course, who has once again realized he has startled Eolas and puts his hands up and apologizes until Eolas drops his barrier.

Krem has apparently dragged a bench from the room out onto the battlements. Eolas apologizes and asks if he has seen his sister around. He promises as soon as he finds her, they will move locations to leave Krem in peace.

Krem processes for a second and is like I’m sorry, I was the one who wanted to talk to you and I asked your sister to relay the message. Eolas tries not to blush for being singled out (and fails, but if anyone asks he’ll say it’s 100% because of the chill and wind up here and nothing to do with Krem). Krem explains that he figured Eolas doesn’t like crowds much since he doesn’t go to the tavern much and when he does it’s for business and he doesn’t stick around, so he thought it’d be easier if it was one-on-one and away from prying eyes.

There’s more to it but I haven’t really gotten far in the conversation since the last time I added to the story.

I will say that later on after they have gotten into a relationship, Leilani starts showing up and insinuating herself into the relationship which culminates in her sneaking in to wherever they’re sleeping and lying down on the other side of Krem and when Krem wakes up confused the twins are like bleary eyed and confused and make him lay back down for more sleep.

Imagine the PR disaster Josie has on her hands when it gets out the inquisitor is not only sleeping with a vint merc but also sharing him with her mage twin brother. 

Also when I went to play Leilani, I used the wrong version of Falon’din’s vallaslin because i’m dumb and honestly I’m not sure which one I like better.

This is Isana Cadash. She’s a mage dwarf, though the game considers her a rogue out of combat. Isana is one of the dwarven words for lyrium so I thought it was a good name. She romances Bull. 

[lafaiette]

Warm Heart

Sequel to Warm Home. This time Scarlet catches a cold and Solas, still not used to sickness and diseases, panics and hates himself even more, because he’s the reason elves (and consequently Scarlet, too) can fall sick, now. Fluffy and a little bit angsty ; v ;

Her throat aches and her head feels light when she opens her eyes. Her sleep and dreams have been pleasant and beautiful as always, but something felt weird as she wandered through the Fade hand in hand with Solas. An odd feeling at the edge of the mind, like an annoying sting or light burn.

She probably caught a cold in Emprise du Lion, when she fell into a freezing river and drenched herself with its icy, uncomfortable water, which seemed to reach her very bones and whose touch left her only much later, despite Solas’ warming magic and the comfort of a bowl of boiling stew.

Her nose is running, she can feel it. It’s stuffed, too, and she scrunches it miserably, trying to find some comfort and let more air into her lungs, but that sends a great pang of pain run through her head and she whines pitifully.

She hates getting sick. Being sick meant not being useful back in her clan, and even though nobody ever let someone feel bad for it, the best huntress couldn’t afford to stay in bed. Also, despite the Keeper’s healing magic, the harsh Dalish life could worsen one’s conditions and she remembers one particular hard night when her fever refused to go down and her parents stayed by her pallet for the whole time.

She touches her forehead, then her neck and armpits and she knows she has got a high fever just like that time. She wonders if Solas knows any old elven magic to help her, but then she remembers the time when he got sick and he had no idea what to do and what a cold actually was.

He’s still sleeping soundly next to her and her next thought goes to his wellbeing. He risks to catch her same illness, if they stay so close to each other, sharing the same air. Keeper Deshanna never allowed the other members of the clan to visit a sick friend for that very reason.

She softly groans, both because her throat hurts immensely and because Solas will inevitably worry about her and believe he is the one who caused her to fall sick in the first place. He recovered from his cold just a few days ago and he will surely come to the conclusion that he was contagious enough to spread it to her. And that will lead him to feel terribly bad, guilty, something she noticed he does a lot, and she doesn’t want that. She wants him to be happy, not feel bad about himself!

She holds her breath and tries to crawl out of bed without waking him up. It shouldn’t be difficult, since he sleeps pretty heavily, but today of all days he does not or maybe he was already half-awake in the first place, because his hand immediately touches her waist and his husky, tender voice says, making heat fill her belly despite her miserable condition:

“Good morning, ma vhenan.”

“Ah.” She desperately tries to think of a way to avoid replying. He will hear her stuffed voice and understand what’s happening. But if she doesn’t reply, he will understand something is wrong all the same and then he will look at her face and see her shiny eyes and red, running nose.

Mumbling a quick prayer to the Creators inwardly, she turns to him, trying to show her best, healthiest smile, hoping her fever can’t be seen that easily. But just then, just as Solas’ lips curl into a bigger smile and her heart thumps faster, happily, in her chest, she sneezes.

Right on his face, with no way for her to hold it back, so sudden it was.

She gasps, ashamed and shocked, and she’s about to apologize when another sneeze comes and then another one. She whines, pressing a hand on her mouth and keeping her eyes shut, to avoid seeing Solas’ expression. She is definitely as red as the tomatoes her clan used to steal from the rich Free Marcher farmers, now.

“I’m sorry!” she babbles and her panic grows, because her nose is running more, now, and she has nothing to dry or blow it with. She needs to get up and take her handkerchief, but she feels too weak and feverish and her head feels lighter than ever.

“My love!” Solas’ voice sounds concerned and as panicked as hers and she tentatively opens one eye to look at him. There are still some droplets on his face and she groans, falling back onto her pillow and refusing to look at him again.

“Scarlet.” Solas’ worry is reaching infinite levels and she feels even worse. “Scarlet, are you sick?” He touches her forehead and gasps, then he makes a soft noise that sounds like a choked sob. “Yes, you are! Scarlet, look at me!”

She does and he’s giving her such a sweet, loving look that she can’t help but cuddle a bit into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats lamely, but he shakes his head, his long, calloused fingers touching her cheeks and hair in the most beautiful way.

“For what, my light?” he says and his voice is still slightly high with panic, the same panic visible in his eyes, too. “This is my fault! I should have…”

“No, it’s not.” she firmly says, glaring at him. “Solas, I’m sick because I fell into freezing water in the middle of a snowstorm. Not because you caught a cold.”

He sniffles and frowns, ready to berate himself, ready to bear the fault, but she hushes him with a finger pressed on his soft lips and continues, smiling sweetly, albeit a bit weakly due to the fever: “Solas, ma vhenan. It’s not your fault. Alright?”

He hesitates for a long while, then he begrudgingly nods and asks timidly: “What do you need? Tell me and I will bring it to you, even if it is in the Black City itself.”

She giggles, touched by his melodramatic concern, which is endearing and adorable, but then a coughing fit shakes her body and the panic in Solas’ eyes turn into full despair, as if he never heard anyone cough before, despite all the sick refugees they saw during their travels.

“Scarlet!” he exclaims, grasping her right hand and squeezing it tightly, so much it almost hurts. “I will go call the healer!” He jumps out of the bed, without even glancing at his clothes neatly folded on the couch next to hers, ready to dash out of the room with his night shirt and pants, the comfortable ones she sewed for him.

“Wait!” she manages to croak out and he immediately goes back to her, cupping her cheek and taking her hand again. She nods at the pitcher of water on the small table near the couch and asks timidly: “Could you get me some water, please? I’m parched.”

“Of course.”

He runs to the table and comes back to the bed in less than five seconds, filling a cup with water and handing it gently to her. He caresses her hair as she drinks it and when she’s finished, she smiles at him and says: “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else?” He kisses her and she makes an alarmed sound, looking at him with outrage.

“Solas! I don’t want you to get sick again!”

“Hush.” He smiles and brushes back her hair from her sweaty forehead. “Can I bring you something else? Food, more pillows?” His eyes widen and he quickly gets up, heading to the small storeroom where they keep their spare sheets, a broom, and the mannequin Scarlet uses to sew.

He comes back with a pile of blanket in his arms and he sets them all around her in what looks like a strategic plan, all in different points of the bed, ensuring no draft can touch her, that all her feverish skin is adequately protected.

“Oh, Solas.” she sighs fondly, looking at him with a sweet, patient smile. He also brought some furs and their bed looks like the den of a wolf, now. She can’t deny it’s marvelously cozy and warm, but her fever is making her sweat a lot and she longs for some kind of comforting cold.

“You must sweat to lower your fever as quickly as possible.” Solas says with a stern look before she can protest, already recognizing the pout on her face. He reminds her of Keeper Deshanna for a second. “I know how this works, now!”

“Fine. I’ll stay among the hot furs.” she gives in, smiling at him again, and he smiles, too, a bit relieved. Then he shows her something else he retrieved, a clean, large handkerchief, and he presses it against her nose, saying gently: “Blow, vhenan.”

She does so and he taps her nose with the handkerchief after she’s done. Then he kisses her again, making her groan in defeat, and looks for another cloth to put on her forehead.

“It will lower your fever.” he says, trying to sound sure and confident, even though his panic obviously hasn’t left him yet. “Here, found it! Where’s the water?”

“Right there.” she reminds him, giggling, pointing at the pitcher he left on the dresser near the bed. “Solas, calm down. It’s just a cold.”

“You need rest. You need good, nutritious food!” he insists, wetting the cloth he found with shaky hands. “You need… You need…” He takes a deep breath and turns to her, watching her feverish, shivering form, her red-rimmed eyes, her crimson nose and pale cheeks. His lips quiver for a second, his fear and sorrow shine through his eyes, then he attempts to regain his composure and says quietly: “You shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

“Oh, vhenan.” She motions him to join her in bed again. “Everyone gets sick. It’s perfectly normal, especially after falling into icy water.”

“No, it is not.” He sits on the bed again, laying the wet cloth on her forehead. It feels wonderfully cold on her skin and she sighs with relief. “There was a time when the elves knew no sickness, no disease, except for those caused by wrong, corrupted magic. They didn’t fall ill.”

“That was a long time ago.” she reminds him and he brushes his thumb across her kind, warm smile. “Things are different, now.” Something akin to longing flashes in her golden eyes, like it does every time he speaks of ancient Elvhenan. “I know we lost much. It would be wonderful if no more Dalish and city elves could ever fall sick again.”

He makes a low sound that sounds like a whine, a lament, and he rests his forehead against her warm chest, listening to her beating heart. His hands are on her hips, stroking the hot skin he feels through the embroidered nightgown, and his next words are almost inaudible: “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. But we can do nothing about it.” she comforts him, caressing his bald head, and when he raises his head again, there are tears in his eyes.

“The elves deserve more than this.” he says. “You deserve more than this.”

“Solas…” She’s getting worried, now. She knows he hides a deep pain into his heart - Cole confirmed this multiple times with his cryptic comments -, but today he looks and sounds particularly sorrowful. Is it because he saw her being sick? Now that she thinks about it, she’s been badly hurt before and he always reacted this way, panicked, almost desperate, as if suddenly aware of her mortality, and sad, gloomy.

“I’m sorry. Ignore this old man’s words, vhenan.” He smiles, a small, weak thing that barely lightens his eyes up and shifts the muscles of his face. “I will go call the healer.” He kisses her chest and her lips, then he gets up, covers her better with the blankets and furs, and quickly leaves the room, not caring about the night clothes he’s wearing.

He’s back just a few minutes later, basically dragging the healer by the arm and speaking quickly, repeating all the symptoms Scarlet has. Cole is with him, a silent shadow that sits next to her and takes her hand, patting it gently, like a brother would do with his sick sister.

The healer touches her throat and forehead, looks into her mouth, checks her pulse and breathing, and then candidly says: “It’s just a cold, your Worship. With the right potions and food, you’ll be up in no time.”

“What about the fever?” Solas asks, glaring at the human woman. “The ache in her throat!”

The healer arches an eyebrow, eyeing him with amusement, and replies: “Those are the most common symptoms. Her Worship will have to bear with them for a short while.”

“But magic…! A spell might help her, let me try!”

“Like it helped you when you were sick, Messere Solas?” The woman shakes her head, her dry amusement moving from her eyes to her lips, too. “Magic can heal many things, but certain sicknesses are beyond a mage’s abilities. Otherwise, the poor and miserable of Thedas wouldn’t suffer like they do.”

Solas bites his lips and looks at Scarlet, who’s half-asleep, drifting between the waking world and the Fade, with its dreams and visions which will be probably stranger than ever, now that she’s affected by the high fever.

“My magic is strong.” he murmurs, a final protest against the healer’s words, but she doesn’t even listen to him and proceeds to list all the things Scarlet must eat to get better faster, food to be requested to the cooks, potions she will personally prepare and send later.

“Thank you.” Solas quietly says as she passes next to him and leaves. He’s been watching Scarlet for the whole time and once he’s alone with her and Cole, he quickly joins them. She briefly wakes up, then, and looks up at him with a drowsy smile.

“Hello, vhenan.”

“Hello, my heart.” He smiles, too, and caresses her hair. “Rest. You need to sleep.”

She makes a low sound and cuddles into his embrace. He helps her rest her head on his chest and she fights a little, at first, not wanting him to fall sick again, but he assures he will be fine and she’s too weak and sleepy to insist.

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she murmurs, slowly closing her eyes, and Solas presses a kiss on her brow, replying tenderly: “Always, ma sa’lath. Wait for me there.”

Only when he’s sure she is deeply asleep, Cole speaks.

“You’re scared.”

Solas nods, swallowing, his eyes fixated on Scarlet’s serene sleeping face.

“I am.”

“Wounds and cuts and burns can be healed. They are outside and just a little bit inside, visible, and magic can reach them. But fever and labored breaths are hidden, you can feel them and hear them, but the spells don’t always affect them.”

Solas nods and he rests his cheek on top of Scarlet’s head, taking a deep, shaky breath that sounds like the prelude to tears. He keeps caressing her hair, his other hand stroking her right one.

The spirit boy waits a moment, then softly continues: “It reminds you of the Blight. It’s not the same thing, but you are not used to sickness. The only one you ever saw in the old, singing world was that red, mad one found in the wounded Earth.”

“Yes.” Solas swallows again and slightly moves his head to look at Scarlet. Tears are shining in his eyes, now, and Cole repeats, softer than before: “It’s not the same thing.”

“I know.”

“She won’t die, just like you didn’t die.”

“I know.” Solas looks at him, a tear running down his cheek. “But I can’t do anything to help her. I can’t help her, I am useless. My magic is useless.”

“You can stay with her.” Cole reminds him, smiling. “That will help her.”

He nods at her, adding: “Warm, he’s so warm. A strong scent, of trees and soil, of paper and old books. She feels safe and loved. She’s dreaming the wolves.”

Solas chokes on a sob, but he’s also smiling, now, and he presses light, delicate kisses on Scarlet’s happy face.

She wakes up much later. Cole left the room when Solas fell asleep, but her vhenan is awake, now, and he’s stirring the hot soup a servant brought straight from the kitchens, prepared using the healer’s instructions.

There are flowers and various gifts on the couch, “all gifts from the others”, Solas says with a smile. Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra came to visit, but left immediately after realizing she was sleeping and they promised they would come back later.

“How do you feel?” he asks, sitting next to the bed on a chair, the bowl of soup and a spoon in his hands.

“Better. I think the fever went down a little and my throat doesn’t hurt as much as before.” She sniffs the air and looks down at her body, groaning. “Creators, I’m sweating like a sinner in a chantry!”

Solas laughs boyishly and leans down to press a loud kiss on her lips, making her blush, babble happily, but also complain: “Solas, stop it, or you will get sick again!”

“No, I won’t.” he promises, smiling lovingly and moving the spoon near her mouth. “Here, vhenan. This will make you feel better.”

He feeds her – and it makes both of them blush and smile timidly at each other -, then he helps her lie more comfortably in bed, adjusting the blankets and furs around her. He brings her all the handkerchiefs he can find in their room, then he massages her feet while narrating a short story that makes both of them laugh.

She tugs at his night clothes – which he hasn’t taken off yet – and he’s soon back at her side in bed, an open book on his lap, her head on his chest like before, listening to him read and watching his fingers turn the thin, yellow pages with care. Those same long fingers also caress her hair and cheek and he often stops reading to kiss her lips.

After half an hour, the book lies closed on the dresser and they are holding each other under the heavy blankets and pelts. Scarlet’s fever is indeed lower than before and Solas’ panic subsides, as he sees her smile and talk.

“You’re so warm, vhenan.” she suddenly says, nuzzling the space where his heart beats. “You always are, but especially here, where your heart is.”

“It’s because you are my heart.” he says, kissing her face. “As long as you are with me, I will keep living.”

She laughs and giggles – and this time that glorious sound doesn’t end with a coughing fit -, but then she looks at him with love, because he was serious and he’s looking at her in the same way, and they are both smiling.

“Let us sleep some more.” he softly says, fixing the blankets on her shoulders. “I am sure the others will make sure to let us know they are here.”

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asks again, their ritual, while kissing the warm space where his heart is beating fast. And he replies, holding her safe in his arms:

“Always, vhenan.”

[mysdrymmumbles]

Andraste’s Witch - Chapter 69 - SFW

Pairings: Slowburn Cullen x F!Witch!Inquisitor, Eventual Adoribull

Rating: M for later chapters which will include violence, PTSD, withdrawal,  angst, body horror (think red templars), and possibly other stuff that I will be sure to tag. This is not actually a grimdark story, but I just wanna give people a heads up for stuff that will happen. There will also be fluff and friendship and magic (though to be fair, this is Thedas, so magic will not always be positive and very rarely as adorable as that last statement implied).

Genre: Action/Adventure with elements of romance  

Summary: Dorian finds himself a bit more popular than he’s used to. 

Still no clue on when I’ll have a consistent update schedule, but thank you for sticking with me and reading anyway! Ya’ll are great!

Andraste’s Witch 

Chapter 69 - If It’s Not One Thing...

Skyhold felt a bit empty, even though Dorian was absolutely certain that there were more people present than ever before—granted, they were mostly in the ever-growing village by the river, but that was hardly the point.

The illustrious herald and her advisors had headed off to Denerim, taking a sparse few party members with her, and while Dorian understood why she’d left him behind—the King wasn’t fond of mages, and he doubted that one from Tevinter would be seen in a better light—he couldn’t help but feel a little put out by it.

He hadn’t really come south to save the day, but he’d…

Well, he had expected to be at least a little bit useful.

It was bad enough that he’d lost the library to the tranquil. They were so eerie that it made his soul cold just standing near them, staring into their lifeless eyes and listening to them drone on in absolutes, never feelings.

Worse, they couldn’t be reasoned with. They knew how to organize their books, and they were not open to more practical methods.

He’d tried going to the rebel mages to see how they generally dealt with the tranquil only to learn that most of them had a tendency to simply pretend they didn’t exist.

Truly, the south was a baffling place.

He supposed he understood not wanting to face what could be done to oneself, but still…they were—had been mages. Did they no longer count as brethren?

He’d considered asking time and time again, yet somehow…it didn’t seem appropriate.

And while Grand Enchanter Fiona and a handful of other mages were grateful to him for the help that he and Felix had provided them, most of the mages were wary the second they heard his accent.

It was understandable, considering how they’d nearly become slaves to Tevinter mages, he supposed, though it was yet another moment where he was mostly annoyed without being able to explain why.

He knew he would be viewed as a villain down south. He’d been used to it in Orlais.

Yet it still stung when someone new eyed him with caution or stopped mid-sentence and hurried away.

Not that he’d let them see it. No need to give them proper gossip.

And anyway, he heard more interesting things eavesdropping while pretending to read than in any conversation.

For example, Lady Vivienne was searching for Cole along with a few other mages, though they’d been unsuccessful in finding him. Dorian half-suspected that the creature had left with Finley. It would have if it was smart, anyway.

The mages were divided on what to think of Finley, as were the templars. A few were calling for a phylactery to be made, ‘if’ she came back from Denerim.

As though she wouldn’t.

Add to that that Varric had left with his old friends to gather red lyrium or something completely foolish.

Without Finley, Dorian had little reason to associate with Solas or Vivienne or any of the others. Without Varric, he had little reason to lounge about the main hall.

Regardless of whether the dwarf was there or not, it had become an unspoken truth that the hearth was his and no one else’s.

Dorian had sat at the table once, without thinking, but the looks people had given him as they’d wandered past had made him most uncomfortable.

It was a damned table. A rickety, miserable one, at that. What did it matter if he sat there?

In the end, he’d left it because of how eerily empty it felt, rather than the annoying stares of those who thought he was trying to usurp the writer’s position.

He’d been eavesdropping in the library from his little corner that he’d managed to get the tranquil to leave alone—it was not a victory, considering all he had to do was take a few steps to see that the organization of the books was all wrong—for most of his evening, idly listening as mages debated the usefulness of having the inquisitor be a mage and whether things might actually change—it was the same droll topics as always just in different voices—when he’d decided to go elsewhere.

Big as Skyhold was, he had few places he could truly go. Mother Giselle frequented the gardens, and she was always giving him a critical eye, as though she expected him to abruptly start twirling his moustache and cackling maniacally as he recited prayers to the Old Gods.

He’d been tempted to do so on more than one occasion, just to see what she’d do, but thus far he’d behaved.

It did, however, leave the gardens somewhat off limits if he wanted time to relax. He avoided the undercroft most of the time, as the new arcanist was a bit too talkative, and it could be a mite exhausting trying to keep up with her train of thought.

Really, all that was left was the Herald’s Rest, and it wasn’t particularly enjoyable, either.

There were a few mages who would beckon him over to sit with them, but for the most part, he was drinking alone, and well, one could do that anywhere.

And yet, despite it all, he’d headed to the Herald’s Rest anyway.

Now, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Even as he considered going off to his private chambers for the night, the bench creaked beside him, dipping so that he almost slid to his right.

Looking over, incredulous, he found the qunari mercenary Finley seemed to hold in high regard had taken a seat beside him. The hulking man was watching the crowd wax and wane in the main part of the bar, as though he didn’t realize he’d caught Dorian’s attention.

“Don’t you normally stay near the wall?”

“Sorry, this your table?”

With a snort, Dorian looked away from him, nursing his current drink. “Hardly.”

A silence settled over them, though Dorian couldn’t even remotely call it comfortable. At least not until he glanced over to see that The Iron Bull looked rather relaxed, reclining where he was as he people watched.

The tavern’s ambient light did wonders for the qunari’s biceps…

A thought that was fleeting at most as Dorian looked back out as well.

Dorian bristled when he heard The Iron Bull let out a low hum. When he glanced over at him, The Bull motioned out toward the far side of the tavern, to a mage who was tentatively talking to one of the soldiers—a templar, if his armor was any indication. “Bit of an odd pairing, wouldn’t you say? Want to wager how long it will last?”

It was such a casual thing to say, so…

It made no sense. Of all the people in Skyhold, he’d rather expected the qunari to be the least likely to come to him for idle conversation, considering their people’s history.

“What exactly is it you want?”

The Bull appraised him a moment, finally giving Dorian his full attention, and he couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by that. The Bull was huge and…

“Word is that there’s a bet that dwarf writer—Varric—is hosting.” Dorian stilled as the words sunk in, eyes widening slowly. “Something to do with whose luck will win out first? A certain templar’s or a certain ex-templar’s?”

Immediately, Dorian slid closer to The Bull, glaring up at him. “Who told you about that?”

“I have my sources.”

Dorian’s lips dipped into a pronounced frown as he glared up at the bastard. He should have figured out no one would be sidling up beside him to talk to him…

“Well, as you said, Varric is hosting the bet. So I hardly see why you’re talking to me about that.”

The Bull’s grin said he was enjoying this conversation a little bit too much. “Well, you are in on it, aren’t you?”

“I see no reason to answer that.”

“My men and I were just wondering how we might get in on that, seeing as it seems like—considering how many people are getting interested—it might be a lucrative win. Half of us guess one way, the others guess the other. We split the profit regardless. We can’t lose.”

“You can’t just guess so generically,” Dorian snapped, though he instantly felt like an idiot, as The Bull’s grin widened. Sitting up a bit straighter, Dorian let his gaze wander from his current company, glancing around for anything he could feign interest in. “It’s a matter of who and when. And Varric is the one keeping track of all that, so again, no point in talking to me.”

“Let’s say I bet next week for the Lady Seeker and her beau. If nothing happens by then, can I change mine? Or would I have to place another bet?”

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian hissed. “Do you listen?” When he found The Bull staring expectantly regardless, Dorian closed his eyes and took in a slow breath. There was no point in answering the man’s questions, considering he was just going to keep prying.

Instead of giving him what he wanted, Dorian shot to his feet, striding out of the tavern without much thought to where to go from there. As soon as he was out in the cool night air, however, he found that he wasn’t going to be afforded a moment to himself.

“You should read this.”

Dorian turned his head slowly to see that damned…what was he even? Spirit? Demon? Conjured minion?

So much for him being smart enough to leave with Finley.

“I have free will,” Cole assured Dorian, though that was hardly a comfort.

The spirit was holding out a folded piece of paper that had dark splotches upon it, which—when Dorian reached for it—he found to be blood.

Fresh blood.

For the second time in minutes, he was cursing in his native tongue. Glancing around for anyone who might be watching to damn the wicked Tevinter for associating with malevolent spirits carrying bloody messages, he gripped Cole by the arm and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows.

“What is this?”

“Important.”

Dorian reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but stopped himself as he realized his thumb was still bloodied. With another quiet curse, he looked around for something to wipe his hand on. Finding nothing, he glared at the spirit. “If it’s important—”

“Solas doesn’t know all the words, and I just know the intent is…bad.” The spirit shuddered as though a cold wind had swept over them, and then held out the note again. “There’s no one else I could ask to help.”

Despite feeling like dragging the spirit all the way to wherever Solas slept to ask him to keep his pet in line—he was the one declaring Cole safe, after all—Dorian’s gaze slid down toward the envelope. “If I read this will you go away?”

The spirit nodded quickly, and even in the dim light, Dorian could see the simple smile on the creature’s face.

Mouth a thin line, and brow pinched together, he held his hand out.

No sooner had the paper touched his hand, he was alone.

It was little consolation.

However, he was certain that creature would be back if he didn’t keep his end of the bargain, and so he slipped back toward the front of the building until he could see clear enough to read without needing to conjure anything himself.

Whatever he’d expected the letter to read, it hadn’t been this.

Dorian’s mind blanked, and then he blinked a few times, looking around, suddenly wishing the spirit hadn’t left him so quickly. Where had he gone?

“You…Cole?” he whispered the name, a hiss into the night.

When no boyish figure materialized in front of him to clarify things, his gaze snapped back to the letter.

It was written in Tevene.

Of course it was written in Tevene. Who in their right mind would bother to plot in any other tongue? Aside from Orlesian, perhaps.

Hold plans in their fortress. With what we’ve got in the capital, it may not be necessary.

And that was it.

No signature, no specifics as to what capital or anything. Maker’s ass, they could have been talking about Minrathous or Val Royeaux or…

“What’s this?”

“That’s what I’d bloody well like to—” Dorian cut himself off as he realized who he was talking to and looked over his shoulder to see The Bull standing there, peering down at the letter in his hand.

The bloody letter in Dorian’s Tevinter hands, written in Tevene, that implied there was a plot afoot, likely against the Inquisiton.

“How’d you get that?” The Bull demanded, straightening up and crossing his arms. “I’ve been trying to get Krem to get in with those Tevinter spies for weeks, but he just gripes at me that he’s not one for subterfuge. I figured asking you would be pointless, but…” He cocked his head, appraising Dorian with new interest.

Dorian took in a slow breath, glancing from The Bull to the paper and back. “You…know this wasn’t me? That I’m not involved?”

“Yep.” Even as Dorian’s mind scrambled for the word ‘how’, The Bull grinned at him. “I have my sources.”

“They must be good sources; I’ll give you that.”

The Bull shrugged.

“Then…” Dorian hesitated as he eyed the qunari, wondering if asking questions would really be a good idea. “Do you know what this is about?”

“You don’t?”

“Clearly.”

Cracking his neck one way and then the other, The Bull motioned toward the paper. “The Venatori are looking for a way to bring down the Inquisition. There’s a few around Skyhold. The Spymaster and I are keeping an eye on them.”

Dorian let out a huff. “Even I could piece that much together.” He hit the paper with the back of his free hand. “This says something’s going on in a capital. Does this mean…” Perhaps it was the wine that made his mind register what had to be the most obvious answer a bit slower than he should have. “Finley and everyone are headed to…the Venatori must be planning something in Denerim.” His gaze snapped back up to The Bull. “We have to warn them.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remember that ridiculous bird spell that Finley had shown him. It was conjugated atrociously, and he had yet to get it to work properly.

He started toward the main building, thinking to go up to the rookery, but stopped, abruptly turning back to The Bull, who still stood where he’d found Dorian. He paced back to the qunari, holding up the note. “Who here is working for the Venatori?”

“We don’t know all of them.”

“Vishan—” Cursing wasn’t going to fix this problem. A proper curse might, but not…

How could he send a message? What if the person he sent it through was Venatori or just working for Corypheus? What if the person who relayed the message or received the message was?

They had to warn Finley.

Maker’s balls, but all the important members of the Inquisition were in that group. If something happened to them, there would be no Inquisition.

“Where are you going?”

The Bull’s words were in his ear as he matched Dorian’s pace. “Someone’s got to warn them.”

“So you’re just going to…what?” The Bull peered ahead as they rushed down the stairs. “Saddle up a horse and ride off in the dead of night? That won’t be suspicious.”

“To the Void with suspicions!” Dorian snapped, starting to turn on his harasser, but instead continuing toward the stables. “My reputation is already in shambles, what do I care if I have a few more wary looks cast my way when I get back?”

“Assuming you do get back.”

“Is there a reason you’re trying to talk me out of this?”

“No, no.” The Bull reached out and caught Dorian’s arm, stopping him in the middle of the lower courtyard. “By all means, go. But we’ll come with you. Anyone wanting to keep this quiet will think twice about coming after a mercenary company instead of just a lone man.”

“A lone Tevinter mage.”

“Altus.”

Whatever Dorian was about to say, it was forgotten with that clarification.

The Bull gave him a quick wink. “We’ll gather supplies and leave just before morning. It won’t tip anyone off if we all go together. We can say we’re going to clear some bandits off the roads.”

It made sense.

More so than running off alone in the dead of night, anyway.

Dorian glanced up at The Bull, frown in place. “How do I know you’re not a spy?”

The grin that immediately lit up The Bull’s face was…something.

“The Boss is discrete. I appreciate that.” Motioning to himself, The Bull leaned down. “I am a spy. Just not for Tevinter or Corypheus.”

Dorian tried to wrap his head around that. “If you’re a spy, why would you—”

“Come on, now. Of all the things I need to worry about, a Tevinter mage accusing me of being a Qunari spy is not one of them.”

Though Dorian opened his mouth to retort, the truth of it was clear enough. There was no way anyone would believe him if he accused their only qunari of being a spy for the Qun. Not when he was from the only country at war with them.

Grasping for some way to salvage his pride and out-maneuver The Bull, Dorian stood a bit straighter, motioning to him. “And how do I know the Qun doesn’t want the Inquisition dead in the water?”

“We like our world with a few less demons, too.”

As much as he would have liked to argue with The Bull until he could trip him up, it hardly seemed worth it, considering what needed to be done. Dorian held his head a bit higher as he nodded once. “Fine. We’ll do things your way.”

“Now, that’s something I like to hear.”

With that, The Bull clapped a hand down onto Dorian’s shoulder and then turned to head back to the inn. However, he’d barely made a few steps when he turned back, motioning for Dorian to come with us. “So then, about that bet…”

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [30]

Mythal is so profoundly and incredibly right. He is ill suited to be a father in so many ways, and yet here he is.

Her hand is so small - so incredibly trusting and soft - curled around his fingers. Overall she is small.

How could he claim to be a defender of rights and elven kind if he can so easily ignore one of their own in need right in front of him?

He doesn’t regret signing the adoption papers. Not at all. He just wishes he were better at this.

In Mythal’s words, he’s always been better at fighting wars and staging protests rather than healing hurts and untangling problems.

Solas looks down at her dark, bobbing head as they walk back home from daycare. Ellana’s face is scrunched up in concentration - she has an odd fascination with counting her steps, one that he attributes to some sort of child’s game: the kind where rules are made up and discarded at a whim, the reasons behind them are mercurial at best, and the rewards are nonexistent.

The best sort of game, honestly.

“Did you enjoy it?” Solas asks, “You don’t have to go, if you do not.”

He knows that he gets close to no work done with her around the offices or playing about the apartment building when he’s working from home, but if she’s unhappy in any way -

“No,” Ellana says, shaking her head. Today she has eschewed hair clips or hair ties until Solas learns to do it right. He’s not sure what that means, he’s watched the videos over and over again but she still insists he’s missing some sort of step.

“No, you didn’t enjoy it?” Solas’s chest squeezes uncomfortably. This is all so new. He’s even gone to ask Mythal for advice and she laughed at him. He could, in theory, go to one of their other siblings but he doesn’t think that they’re any better at parenting than he is. Really, they’re all awful at it, but Mythal’s children have all somehow managed to not get killed, assassinated, disappeared, or otherwise permanently injured.

Ellana’s hand squeezes two of his fingers as she braces to jump onto a crack in the sidewalk.

The walk from the daycare to the apartment is not very far, but going anywhere by foot with Ellana tends to stretch things out. Solas doesn’t mind. It’s a nice break from all the work, the eyes, the guards, the security.

In truth, that is all still present, they just tend to give him space when Ellana is near.

They are attempting to give her the best sort of life for the ward of an ambassador with strong liberal leanings belonging to a very much so traditional country.

“No, I want to go,” Ellana says, hopping up and down on the crack, “I made friends. I think I made friends.” Ellana suddenly looks up at him, “How do I know that I’ve made friends? Do I have to ask if we’re friends? I’ve never had to ask before.”

Solas carefully squeezes her hand with a curl of his fingers, “Do you feel like you are friends?”

“Yes!” She beams, “There’s a boy named Dorian and he can do magic like me, and his daddy is somebody important because these men in suits like the people in suits who pick you up for work came to pick him up from daycare and there was a big black car just like ours waiting for him.”

When Mythal suggested this daycare to him she did tell him it was a daycare for high profile children, so Solas isn’t too surprised.

“Do you remember the flags?” He asks.

“I drew a picture of them,” She immediately starts to squirm with her other arm to try and reach her backpack, not once letting go of his fingers. He had told her once never to let go of his hand while they were walking and she’s taken it to heart. Considering how she lost her parents and the rest of her family, he isn’t all too surprised by that. Solas pauses, putting his other hand on her shoulder and going to unzip her backpack for her. “It’s the yellow one with the pretty black designs, hahren.”

She called him daddy once, and Solas is completely and deeply ashamed to say he reacted quite poorly to it. She hasn’t called him that since and he’s felt guilty about it the entire time. He wishes he could undo that mistake, or that she’ll call him that again one day.

Solas grimaces, “Dorian, you said?”

“Yes! He uses big words and he reads big kid books,” Ellana says, bouncing a little. Solas zips her bag up and stands, Ellana tugging on his hand with her fingers. “And, and, and I met this girl with ears like mine, she’s an elf, and she said some mean things to me at first but then, but then she gave me some jam and it was yummy and she introduced me to this pretty girl named Evelyn and we played on the slide and we slided lots until Miss Flyssa said we have to go inside.”

“Slid,” Solas corrects absently as he examines the impressively neat and accurate drawing Ellana has done of the Tevinter coat of arms onto yellow construction paper. “This is a very good drawing, little one.”

Ellana giggles, swinging his hand back and forth.

“And I met a boy and I like him, you would like him too. He’s an older boy,” Ellana says and Solas hums.

“And why would I like him, do you think?”

“Because when we were having snack time we had celery and cara- cara - carm - “

“Caramel?”

“Caramel with pretzels and he ate all of his pretzels and caramel but he didn’t finish his celery. And I was going to tell him that his celery is all lonely now and I’d eat it if he didn’t want it but he was at a table with bigger kids and all of them were really big, hahren. They were big like three of me! Four of me! Five of me!” Ellana waves her arm out and Solas laughs under his breath. “And his Tama - “

“His mama?” Solas asks.

“No, his Tama,” Ellana says.

Solas looks down at her, stopping. Ellana stops with him and looks back up at him, brimming with energy.

“Where did you learn that word, Tama?”

“That’s what the big kids all called their Miss Flyssa,” Ellana says, oblivious to the sudden storm of conflict that’s rushed into Solas’s head, brushing away thoughts of Ellana’s drawing skills and his relief at her making friends and having a good time. Mythal had said he was doing an incredibly poor job of socializing her.

He’s beginning to it’s quite the opposite.

“This boy, did he happen to have gray skin?”

Ellana bobs her head.

Mythal neglected to mention that this daycare also hosted Qunari children - in addition to Tevinter ones.

Ellana impatiently tugs on his hand, “Listen.”

Solas nods for her to go on.

“So he didn’t eat his celery but his Tama said that he couldn’t go play until he had eaten two more things off of his plate so he pulled out two more pretzels and ate them right there and then left to go play,” Ellana laughs, “And I thought of you hahren because that’s just like you.”

Ellana drags out the word you as she laughs, suddenly bouncing closer to him and wrapping her arms around his leg, dissolving into the loud laughter only young children can have. Solas helplessly rests his hand on the back of her head.

It does sound like him, in all honesty.

“You enjoyed daycare?” He says, resigning himself to having his child close to the threat of both the Qun and Tevinter.

“Yes,” Ellana says against his leg, “Can we go back?”

“Tomorrow,” Solas says, bending down to pick her up. She goes easily enough, stretching her small arms out to grab at him as he props her up on his hip, adjusting his hold on her. “Tell me more about Sera and Evelyn.”

[unicornforcewinds]

WAM Chapters 3 & 4

The Wolf and the Mermaid: Solas is a forensic financial investigator, and Lavellan is a mermaid performer with a mysterious past. Fluff, Smut, Angst, and lots of Drama. Solas POV.

Chapters 1 & 2. Entire fic on AO3.

Chapter 3: TPG’s Annual Garden Party

When the invitation arrived, his lips quirked up into a smile. This was the Wolf in his element. That’s what they called him, on account of his keen predatory instincts. This was not a party, oh no, this was a hunt, and he would absolutely leave with blood staining his jaws. But then, he was perhaps taking this metaphor a little too far.

He had not been himself lately, thoughts of her entering his mind much too often, and maneuvering through The Game was sure to set him right. Usually, his work involved copious amounts of reading files and computer forensics, but sometimes a job veered more into the realm of corporate espionage. He cut his teeth on more traditional cases, but this is how he earned his reputation. As soon as he scented his prey, the Wolf would be on them, revelling as they squirmed.

Choosing a black, well-tailored suit and a grey silk tie, he cut a decent figure but was still unassuming enough to avoid unwanted notice. He enjoyed the artifice of it all, crafting a character in the details of his appearance. A little obvious, perhaps, his cufflinks emblazoned with a wolf, but he had his pride. Besides, people believed what you wanted them to, if you gave them just enough of a story to build from. And, if someone noticed such a minute detail, it told him they needed to be kept an eye on.

The Pentaghast woman greeted him when he arrived, Cassandra, he recalled. She looked uncomfortable. Pulling at the neckline of her dress. He considered that she might be ill-suited to this line of work, but then, being stolen from and lied to did tend to disagree with most people. He supposed that was a good thing, since he’d be out of a job otherwise.

She briefed him quickly, wanting to get everything over with. It wasn’t really necessary – he had studied the case files, but he decided it best not to interrupt.

“Solas, you are certain they will be here?” she asked.

“Whoever is doing this, if they are not personally tied to you, has someone leaking them information that is. It’s also a good idea to note any people who are absent, just in case, but I believe the person I’m after is too smart to risk raising suspicion.”

She heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I hope you are right.”

“I am very good at what I do, Miss Pentaghast, try not to worry.”

“Easier said than done,” she paused, a hand on her forehead, “Go down the hall to your left, and you’ll see the doors to the garden. I will be here, trying to pretend I would not rather be anywhere else.” He offered her a rueful smile and took his leave. Now, he was on the prowl.  He didn’t get very far outside before spotting Leliana, who waved him over.

“You seem to be in good spirits, Nightingale.”

“Oh, I am, Wolf. They hired a mermaid , can you imagine? She’s elven, and she’s absolutely lovely.”

“They… what?” He felt warm, hand reaching up to tug on the collar of his shirt, unable to guard against the look of surprise on his face. This could not possibly be happening, had he misheard her?

“Oh my, there is a story there, I think. I have never seen your mask fall before! She must be very special.” she teased him.

Leliana was not someone you wanted knowing your secrets, even if she was your friend and could be trusted. She hoarded scraps of information like they were baseball cards. Fenhedis . He did not want his to be part of her collection.

She wasn’t in the water today, instead, lounging on a chaise inside a giant clamshell, not entirely at odds with the wall of moss behind it. Framed as she was, on either side, by the curved staircases that lead to the balcony, it made for a stunning tableau that he badly wanted to paint. He knew that was a terrible idea, but resistance was futile. She was so well suited to the estate’s garden, looking ever the image of a queen. He imagined she would be well situated no matter where she was, such thoughts impossible to push aside.

He didn’t see Bull anywhere; the qunari’s presence might have been helpful, since he stuck out like a sore thumb and would have tipped him off immediately about Ellana. Then he’d have had the chance to steel himself and not let Leliana seem him lose composure. As it was, leaning against a sculpted column and nursing a glass of wine, he found himself staring at her and feeling wistful. This was not why he was here, and he had work to do… but that’s when she waved.

At least, he thinks she did. Maybe it wasn’t to him. He had intentionally stood outside of her direct line of sight so that his staring would be less awkward, but that plan had apparently failed. He looked around to see if there was someone else she might be looking at, but no. When he turned back, her eyes were zeroed in on him. If there was such a thing as fate, it obviously hated him. Chiding himself, he walked towards her. Why was he such an ass?

“Should I worry that you’re stalking me? You do seem to show up an awful lot.” An odd choice of greeting.

“I… no!, Most certainly, I would –“ she cut him off with her laughter.

“Oh, I’m just teasing you, Solas! Are you always so tightly wound?”

The man who appeared to be her handler in Bull’s staid – a human, strong, with weary eyes and a thick beard – was moving further away - to give them some privacy, he assumed.

“Yes, if I’m being honest, but I am much worse around you.” He was shaking his head now; rubbing the back of his neck. Why was he telling her this?

“Well, I could send you a copy of my schedule, that way you’d know what parties not to attend. Would that help?”

“It would, yes,” he returned, chuckling, and the smallest bit sincere.

“I like your shoes, by the way. A different pair every time I’ve seen you, always very nice.”

His face felt hot all the sudden, wash he blushing? This was more than he could bear.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, “I didn’t mean to make you feel self-conscious! I… have… a thing with shoes. I mean, everybody has to wear them, right? That’s innocent enough, but it’s kind of become an obsession.” She shook her head, chiding herself. Was she rambling? Her gaze was turned away.

“I,” he cleared his throat, “it is something of a fixation of mine as well.”

She looked up at him, their eyes locking. Everything felt surreal, how did this keep happening? And now they were telling each other personal things. It was definitely getting warmer, he should’ve worn a lighter suit. Too many thoughts, and the silence was going on too long, he needed to break the ice.

“Though I must admit, it seems an odd choice for someone with fins.”

She smiled then, mouth dropping open a bit. “You are so lucky I can’t reach the water, because I’d definitely splash you.”

“My shoes and I are both grateful.”

She laughed, and so did he. The pleasure he derived from it was honest, untainted. It was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time – something he wanted to experience more of.

He caught something at the edge of his vision, turning his head just enough to get a better look. Leliana, she was watching him; watching them. Suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore, and she looked concerned.

“Are you alright?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been distracting you from your duties for too long.”

“It’s no trouble,” she had started to say, but he kept walking. This was work, and he was behaving like a damned fool! The Wolf was a hunter, a predator, not some tongue-tied schoolboy with a crush. To risk his reputation so carelessly, it was not like him to be reckless. He needed a drink.

At the bar, he recognized the waitress – she was the same one from the Dorian’s party – golden skin, long black hair, bright but cheeky smile. The world was feeling smaller all the time.

“Vodka –“ he began, but she interrupted him.

“With cranberry, right?”

“No,” he breathed, “just the vodka. Go ahead and make it two.”

“You got it, love.”

Both drinks he downed in a single swallow, looking forward to the reliable warmth that would soon fill his stomach. He needed to be grounded, to shake himself out of this state. He was not here to socialize, he had a job to do; owed it to his clients to be at his best. As he crawled deeper into his pit of self-flagellation, he observed the man sitting next to him, a man whose eyes had clearly landed on his cufflinks; a man whose face had shifted, almost imperceptibly, at the sight.

Sometimes it wasn’t a reaction you were looking for at all, but instead, a lack of reaction. The slightest tightening of a jaw in an otherwise emotionless face was a strong indication that something hidden was going on beneath the surface. When someone tried to intentionally obfuscate their reactions by masking them with a placid façade, it meant that whatever they were hiding was usually worth discovering. Maybe the day was salvageable, after all.

The man, a human in his mid 50s?, had noticed that he was being noticed. Unlike his earlier observation of Ellana, Solas had actually been employing his expertly honed discretion. That meant that whoever he was, he was a skilled player in The Game and definitely a person of interest.

“It looks like neither of us is enjoying the party,” the man offered, cutting through the tension with his words.

“I am not certain this is the kind of party that’s meant to be enjoyed.” His voice was cool, the Wolf now alert and at the wheel.

“Not unless you like standing next to gaudy shrubs and making small talk, at least.” He was good, his attempting to find common ground to gauge him…

“Alas, I do not.”

“Something we have in common.” The human extended his hand and he shook it. “Alexius.”

The man’s handshake was firm, but not overly so, an exact match for his own. That too was by design – the way you shook someone’s hand could tell them a lot about you. If someone’s grip was overly firm, or not firm enough; if their hand was stiff, or limp, or sweating - all invaluable clues that revealed a surprising amount of information. This man’s handshake was meant to reveal nothing, and that on its own was significant.

“Solas.”

“I must unfortunately get back to my rounds. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He gave a polite, closed-mouth smile as he got up to leave. I’m sure of it, he thought, I’ve caught your scent now.

Solas fished his phone out of his pants pocket, fingers tapping on the screen.

Solas 3:12pm Alexius.

Leliana 3:18pm Tevinter. Dead wife. Sick son. You think it’s him?

Solas 3:20 Perhaps.

Leliana 3:21 I suppose that Mermaid Lyna is another possibility. You did seem far more interested in her.

Leliana 3:29 Do you know that the tips of your ears have turned pink? I could talk to her for you, if you like. Put in a good word.

Solas 3:30 No.

Leliana 3:30 ( ◕ ︵ ◕ ,)

Solas 3:31 … What is that?

Leliana 3:32 It’s a little crying face! Isn’t it cute?

Solas 3:33 No.

Leliana 3:34 I bet Lyna would think it’s cute.

Solas 3:34 Marjorlaine.

Leliana 3:35 ( ╹ _ ╹ ) 凸

He was pinching the bridge of his nose now. This was a woman who could strike fear into a person’s heart with a look, whose bread and butter was blackmail and coercion, and she was typing ridiculous little faces into her phone. He felt his jaw clench and let out a harsh breath through his nose. Had he always been so old ?

His spirit should be soaring, having a lead, but instead there was a pit in his stomach. It felt like things were unraveling – like he was losing control. The one party this year he thought he’d actually enjoy, and it might’ve been worse than the others. He hadn’t forgotten the discourteous way he’d treated Ellana, either, and neither had she, he was sure. This was a mess.

When he got home he tried to work, but his mind refused to focus. Defeated, he prepped a canvas and took out his paints. The first brush strokes were reluctant, tenuous, but he quickly found his rhythm and was engrossed. By the time he went to bed, he’d finished her face. He still didn’t know what her eyes looked like. Falling asleep tonight would not be easy.

Chapter 4: A Luncheon with Dorian

Reluctantly he hit the play button on his answering machine, letting out a deep sigh.

Hey Chuckles, it’s me, Varric. I know you’re home and screening your calls and probably won’t pick up anyway, but you’re coming over Thursday night for dinner. If you noticed, which of course you did, I didn’t actually ask, so you don’t have the option to say no.

Anyway, it’s just dinner with friends, nothing formal - Cass will be there obviously, Blondie, Ruffles and… you haven’t met her boyfriend yet I don’t think, and then Fli – no, scratch that, she said she probably couldn’t make it. Bring a bottle of wine. Should be starting about 7:30.

Tonight was Tuesday, so that was more or less enough time in advance for an informal dinner, but he’d have to think about it. Things were getting serious with work, and progress was going at a snail’s pace. He was already meeting Dorian for lunch, and one social event was more than enough for any given week. No, it was better to stay home and continue his progress on the files. This case was much more difficult and complex than he’d imagined, and it appeared that money was being siphoned out of multiple accounts and then funneled into foreign banks in Seheron and Tevinter.

The connection with Tevinter kept Alexius fresh in his mind. He was much too smooth to be uninvolved, but he hadn’t been able to connect any dots. Besides the few tidbits she’d offered him, even Leliana’s well was dry. Considering that she knew just about everything about almost everyone, that put together a highly suspicious profile. Breadcrumbs, he just needed a trail to follow, one piece at a time and then the bigger picture would slowly unveil itself before his eyes.

He’d been trying to avoid the den where a half-finished fresco was waiting for him, a reminder that he shouldn’t be chasing after a fairytale. There were real things he needed to do, and that was a level of distraction he hadn’t realized was even possible. It didn’t help how he’d left things the last time he saw her, and it was likely that he’d never see her again, anyway. He couldn’t bear to finish the painting, but he also couldn’t throw it away. How could a woman he didn’t even know have turned his life so far upside down? Being stuck on this case made it easier for his mind to wander. He needed some kind of breakthrough.

His phone alarm chirped, letting him know it was 12pm, and he needed to leave to meet Dorian. He let out a deep breath and carefully closed his laptop – he might have inadvertently slammed it shut in his irritation once or twice and that was not a smart thing to do.

The restaurant was some new hipster place he was too old and not hip enough for. He hated it immediately. Rave reviews, Dorian had said, obviously from idiots with no taste. Their waitress, a blonde elf with questionable fashion sense, sat them by a window. Her manners left a lot to be desired.

“Right then, wot d’ya want?”

“Malena, da’lan –“

“Wot, no, I don’t speak that elfy shite.” Solas felt like he’d just been slapped.

“I,” Dorian began, trying not to laugh, “I think we’ll need a few more minutes.”

“Ugh, yeah, course, sir elvhen glory has’ta make everyone wait.” He tried to ignore the eye roll before she trotted off. He glared at Dorian, his eyebrows lifting.

“Rave reviews, I believe you said.”

“Me?” he balked, splaying a hand across his chest, “I don’t recall that conversation.”

Solas heaved a sigh as he opened the menu. It was… qunari-dwarven… fusion. His stomach churned. None of this could possibly be edible. Dorian was conspicuously looking everywhere but at Solas.

“You do have to admit that was a little funny… and I mean, being verbally assaulted by your waitress is a memorable and entertaining experience!”

“Very amusing when not being directed at you.”

Dorian cleared his throat.

“Ahem, well, what looks good?”

“The menu selections at restaurants that serve palatable food.”

“It can’t be that ba-, Sweet Andraste! Marinated nug with…” Dorian swallowed, the lump in his throat violently rising and then falling, “I, why don’t we just try one of the specials?” He tried to smile, but the edges of his mouth were turned downwards and it was very unconvincing.

“What makes them special, does the side of food poisoning come at no extra charge?”

“Mmmm. I’ll just,” her turned his head to look for the waitress, waving at her and calling “Hello, miss.”

“Right, so, wa’dya want?”

“Actually,” began Dorian, hesitating, “We wanted to know about the specials, or perhaps there’s a dish you might recommend…” His face had turned a shockingly pale shade. It was hard to tell which one of them was more horrified. They should probably just leave.

“So, two Red Jennies it is.” The waitress said, scribbling on her pad.

“And, would you mind terribly explaining to us –“

“Ugh, you rich tits, thinking everyone else’s time is free. Some of us have ta work, you know? I’ll go put in ya order.”

“You know, on second tho- “ She effectively cut Dorian off by walking away.

“Very well handled Dorian, you’ve a way with the young people.”

“Oh, do shut up.” He tossed one of the whatever they were at him from the basket on the table. “Elvhen glory.”

He shifted his head out of the way, the suspicious lump of what he thought was intended to be bread landing on the floor. “And what is it she called you? A tit, I believe it was?”

“It’s not my fault that a good pedigree is so easily recognizable.” He gave his moustache a little twirl with his index finger.

“Yes, you would take anything as a compliment.” He was rubbing his eyes now, a headache bound to appear at any moment.

A few minutes passed and then their server, used in the loosest possible sense of the word, dropped two steaming plates covered in an unrecognizable amorphous blob.

“So, like, can you get satellite with that thing?” she was inclining the pen in her hand towards his head. Dorian burst out laughing.

“Excuse me?”

“Right, you’re excused. I mean yer ‘ead. You know, on account of it’s so shiny, like. Do you get any signals from space when the sun bounces off just right?”

He could feel the color draining from his face.

“Shut. Up.”

“Jeez, sorry, no need ta go getting all offended. It was a fair question.”

The look he gave her must have been significant because she turned on her heels and walked away without saying another word. Dorian was looking incredibly smug, trying and failing not to cackle.

“Dorian,” he said, grabbing his spoon and digging it into the substance, “can you do me a favor?”

“Wh-“ Solas shoved the spoon into his mouth the moment he’d opened it. “Ahhh, ooh” and he began choking.

He raised his hand and called out, “Check please!” A small smile forming on his face. Dorian was turning green.

They decided to go back to his apartment, since it was in walking distance, and Dorian would be able to purge whatever bits of the ‘food’ he’d accidentally swallowed.

While Dorian made a beeline for the bathroom, Solas decided to brew some tea. He sat at the breakfast bar, turning on his laptop, while he waited for the kettle. The tea was ready by the time Dorian found his way back to the kitchen.

“I’ve made some tea, it should help your stomach, it’s elfroot.”

“Elvhen Glory root, you mean?” He was trying to smirk but his face wasn’t cooperating.

“I think I see a little bit you’ve missed in your moustache,” he looked up at him from the screen, raising one eyebrow.

“As if I’d fall for… my, my moustache you say?” and he was running back to the bathroom, his hand covering his mouth.

His own self-satisfied little smile remained until he took a sip of his tea. Eugh .

He had looked over all these files dozens of times and still nothing. He was beginning to get frustrated. There had to be something he was missing. He opened to a picture of Alexius, and just stared at it for a while, willing it to tell him something.

“Kaffas.” Dorian breathed over his shoulder, he hadn’t even seen him coming out of the bathroom.

“That tea should settle your stomach.”

“My stomach was fine until I saw that,” he lifted his arm, extending his index finger to point at the picture of Alexius. “Why is that on your computer, Solas?”

“He’s a board member of the Pentaghast Group. How do you know him?”

“ Fasta vass . If you’re thinking of investigating him, don’t. I’m not terribly fond of you, but I’d prefer if you didn’t wind up dead.” He looked genuinely grim, which was not something Dorian did.

“Forgive me my doubt, but you do sometimes have a propensity for melodrama. Why would I end up dead?”

“Because that man is Gereon Alexius and he has ties to powers in Tevinter so scary that people in Minrathous are afraid to whisper about them.”

“Can you give me a name?”

“What, no!” He threw his hands in the air. “Did you hear what I just said Solas? I’m not getting involved, and you shouldn’t either. I have a very pretty head, and I like it where it is.”

“I just need a name Dorian, something I can work with. I promise not to involve you and your pretty head .”

He was rubbing his neck now, the seriousness of his demeanor worrying. If he wasn’t at least being sarcastic, then Solas would trust what he’d said. That didn’t mean he was going to stop pursuing this; in fact it meant he’d be pursuing it harder. Dorian didn’t need to know that though, there was no reason to make him worry.

“I can’t close the case and deliver a report to my client without something to offer, Dorian. I’m just asking for a name, that’s all. You can even write it down if you don’t want to say it out loud.”

“We both know you’re going to pursue it to the end, you stubborn old idiot. I just hope your pride doesn’t get you killed.” He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes, and shook his head. “Venatori, they’re known as the Venatori. Alexius is one of them, and an old family friend. He tried to recruit me, but like I said, I like my head where it is. And now, here we are.”

“Thank you Dorian,” he put a hand on his shoulder and gave a small squeeze before being shrugged off.

“Yes, thank you Dorian for signing my writ of execution because I’m too worried about my Elvhen Glory to have an ounce of sense…” he was shaking his head again, “I think I’ll head home, I have a date with a bottle of wine, and I promised I wouldn’t be late.”

“I’ll be fine Dorian, there’s nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t turn around. “Sure, right. I’ll talk to you later.”

He walked out the door and left Solas’ mind running a mile a minute. There was so much he needed to do, but if it really was that dangerous, it was best not to use his computer, or even use a computer at his home. He wasn’t looking forward to more of her teasing, but he’d probably need to read Leliana in, and if things were truly so bad, maybe even Vivienne. That would be an absolute last resort however, their methodologies did not mesh well.

[elfrootaddict]

HERALD OF ANDRASTE - Chapter 3/4

DESCRIPTION: El'lana’s entire world is turned upside down when she, a proud Dalish elf, is bestowed the title “Herald of Andraste”.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 3

Lana cannot deny that she was slightly annoyed by the interruption. When she sketches, her mind wanders to far off places and thinks about pleasant memories or hopeful visions of her future. It is the best way to distract herself from her usual thoughts which are normally filled with countless worries and pessimism. 

However, after hearing one of Solas’s journeys in the Fade, she finds herself completely captivated and has to know more. 

It is common knowledge in Thedas, that magic and the Fade are intrinsically linked. Knowledge of the Fade amongst the Dalish has been understandably specific, and only suited to the needs of keeping one's clan safe. Throughout the ages, such precious knowledge has been passed on from Keeper to Keeper, and unfortunately for Lana there would almost never be any new insight into the mysteries of the Fade. 

And now, for the first time in her life, someone else can tell her more about the Fade than the Keeper, and Lana decides to seize the opportunity to learn as much as she can. 

Although she does not want to come across completely self-serving, despite her noble pursuit of more knowledge, Lana decides a bit of give-and-take between them is the polite thing to do before she asks him an abundance of questions about the Fade. 

“Before you go Solas, I was hoping, if it was no trouble of course, to tell me more about yourself? Where-”

“Why?” interrupts Solas skeptically with a sudden and unexpected shift in demeanor.

“Um... why not?”

“Privacy? Caution? Concern about the direction of this Inquisition once our work is done?”

Visibly uncomfortable by his indifferent response, Lana averts her gaze and turns away, “Ir abelas. I didn’t mean…,” and turns to look at him once more. “I wasn’t asking as someone whose part of the Inquisition. You don’t have to tell me anything. Ar dirth’ma.”

Feeling utterly embarrassed by the awkward tension between them, Lana’s cheeks flush with a soft hue of red as she quickly gathers her things to leave. This was not how she expected things would go by asking what she assumed to be a simple, innocent question.

Things really are different here than back home. Creators, I just want to go home.

Feeling guilty for his unnecessary impertinence, Solas relaxes his shoulders and releases a loud, audible sigh of regret, “No, I am sorry...with so much fear in the air...”

With her belongings collected and held tightly in her arms, Lana stands while still refusing to meet his gaze. Solas promptly stands as well and to Lana’s surprise, he continues to pursue with his feeble attempt at an apology.  

“Shall we go for a walk? We will feel far less of the cold if we’re moving instead of sitting idly.”

Lana pauses before turning around with a weak smile and murmurs, “Sure, that sounds like a good idea.” and Solas smiles softly in return, and gestures for Lana to walk ahead of him. 

Once reaching a lengthy distance between them, Lana turns around and watches Solas, with his staff in hand, catch up with her.

Only once Solas is at her side, does Lana begin to notice how tall he actually is. He may not be as tall as Lhoris, but he is still tall enough that she needs to turn her head up to meet his gaze.

Lana and Solas begin their descent down the steps towards Haven’s tavern and Solas eventually breaks the silence, “So, what would you know of me, da’len?”

Still feeling anxious by his cold response only moments before, Lana cautiously and hesitantly asks, “I was wondering… are you from the city? Only because I was told only city elves don’t have a vallaslin.”

“No.”

“But, if you’re not a city elf...”

“Not all elves are resigned to being either ‘city’ or ‘Dalish’. I, for one, have always preferred to keep to myself.”

“So, does that mean you’ve always been alone?”

Solas elaborates with a gentle smile, “Not at all. I have built lasting friendships. Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of Purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

Lana begins to feel a little more at ease due to Solas’s happier conduct and attempts to make eye contact, “I didn’t realise that there are Spirits that go by those names. Why haven’t I heard of them before?”

“They rarely seek this world,” answers Solas grimly. “When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter,” Solas and Lana pass Varric’s tent and take a sharp left down a small flight of steps. “Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted into Pride and Desire.”

Shocked, Lana stops halfway down the steps and softly cries out, “So you’re saying... you became friends with Pride and Desire demons?”

Solas also stops and drops his head as he releases a loud, audible sigh before slowly turning around, “They were not demons... for me.”

Lana stares blankly at Solas as she tries not to jump to any immediate assumptions. Even though she knows very little, to almost nothing about Solas, he does not appear to be someone who is either naive or blissfully ignorant. In fact, he seems to have something of a quiet confidence. His strides always seem purposeful and with intent. Therefore, it they were not demons for him as he so claims, then as strange as it seem, the Spirits really were just as he says - ones of Wisdom and Purpose.

However, based on Lana’s bemused expression, Solas realises he clearly needs to explain, “The Fade reflects the mind of the living. If you expect a Spirit of Wisdom to be a Pride demon, it will adapt,” and gestures for them to continue walking onwards. “And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the Spirit? They can be fast friends.”

“I honestly had no idea that some demons are actually... twisted, innocent Spirits. That’s… that’s actually quite sad,”

“Yes, it is.”

Looking up at Solas respectfully, “And you say that you managed to become friends with some of them? Without them even turning into demons? That really is incredible, Solas.”

Having reached the end of the stairs, they take another left and pass a merchant selling weapons and armour, “Oh! Oh! You are the Herald of Andraste!”

“Please, I’m not-”

“Why, it is an honour! Are you in need of anything? Please let me know what I can get for you?”

Lana manages to stop herself from correcting the man and chooses to humbly smile instead, “No, but thank you. I’m just passing by. You have a good evening, messere.” and offers a subtle nod of respect.

The merchant freezes and awkwardly bows nervously as Lana and Solas continue with their slow stroll through Haven. 

Once out of ear shot, Lana looks to Solas just as puzzled as the merchant, “Did I say something wrong?”

Lana’s naivety causes Solas to release a soft chuckle, “You addressed him with too much honour. You are the Herald of Andraste, after all. To him, the beloved Andraste sent you back from the Fade to save the people of Haven. He should be addressing you with ‘messere’, not the other way around.”

“But he’s still a human and I’m an elf. And I wish they would stop calling me the ‘Herald of Andraste’. I’m no herald of anything, least of all Andraste!”

“It matters not. The people of Haven will believe what they must. Posturing is necessary.”

Lana looks up at Solas with a deep set frown, “I won’t be deceitful.”

“I understand. However, you are a sign of hope to them, no matter your objections or beliefs.”

Lana ponders on Solas’s words for a moment before whispering, “It’s just… I’m Dalish, Solas. Dalish! How can I claim to be the Herald of their Andraste when my very vallaslin represents Mythal? I don’t see how-”

“Again, people will choose to believe, and even blissfully ignore, what they must. You cannot control this. What you can control however, are your actions,” Solas stops walking to regard Lana sternly. “How far are you willing to exert your power over their ignorance? Do you seek even more power? Glory perhaps? Maybe revenge for your people?”

Lana takes a step back and cries out, “I want none of those things! As I said before, I just want to help fix this mess so that I can go home!”

“And whilst I believe your intentions to be true, albeit naive, it is far easier said than done,” Solas takes a few steps ahead of Lana and stares at the Breach in the sky. “I have seen far too many tyrants and traitors in my travels, who always start with good intentions, only to be poisoned by their lust for more power. Constantly lying to themselves that their hearts have not changed, and that their goals are still pure.”

Angered by the insinuations, Lana lunges herself in front of Solas, “Are you saying that I will become a tyrant? Or a traitor?”

Unmoved by her outburst, Solas holds onto his staff with both hands as he peers down at Lana calmly, “No. What I am saying is that only time will tell. Hopefully, you have enough integrity that you may never be remembered as such,” and removes his gaze from Lana. “Although, history does have a way of repeating itself.”

Lana also averts her gaze and looks down at the mark on her hand. Although her face appears seemingly neutral, her eyes give away her internal struggles over her overwhelming responsibility.

Solas notices Lana’s silence and releases a quiet sigh, “I’m sorry. I only meant to advise. I was too forward with my questions.”

“No that’s okay,” murmurs Lana as she tucks her hand back under arm and looks up towards the Breach. “What you said is true. It’s just... I can’t believe this is happening. I may be First to my clan but this is something else entirely.”

“Yes, it is.”

As Lana continues to stare at the Breach circling above her, she slowly begins to lose herself in her mind, and almost forgets that Solas is still standing behind her.

Eventually, Lana snaps herself out of her ominous thoughts and turns back around to face Solas, “Ir abelas. What were you going to say before? Before the merchant?’

Solas brings his staff back to his side and begins walking once again, “We were talking about Spirits.”

Lana turns and walks alongside him, “Oh yes, of course. I still find it incredible that you managed to become friends with Spirits, Solas. It’s completely unheard of.”

“Anyone who can dream has the potential. Few ever try. My friends comforted me in my grief and shared in my joy. Yet because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that Spirits are not truly people. Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?”   

Lana releases a loud and unexpected cheerful laugh, “Creators, that chest chair!” and continues laughing for a moment more. “And you have a good point. I really like the way you look at the world, Solas. I never thought of it like that before.”

Finding Lana’s laugh infectious, Solas releases a quiet, cheerful chuckle of his own, “I try…” and looks down at Lana with a slight grin. “And that isn’t quite an answer.”

“WelI, I’d love to meet one of these Spirits some day,” retorts Lana innocently as she regards Solas with her wide and welcoming lavender eyes. “Hopefully, we can try to make some new friends?”

Solas finds her cheerful manner infectious, considering the situation, and his smile widens. He actually cannot remember the last time he heard somebody laugh so easily and with so much joy. It was a sound he was not used to hearing, but it was a sound he found his heart ache for.

But, remembering who she is and especially who he is, Solas suppresses his emotions, clears his throat and stumbles out a dispassionate response, “That should be… well.”

Assuming his reaction to be only shyness, Lana playfully nudges him and laughs, “That isn’t quite an answer, either.”

They reach a fork at the end of the road where one path leads out of Haven and another to an unused trebuchet. They immediately notice a well placed boulder, low and wide enough for them both to sit on. Solas gestures for Lana to find her place first and he follows suit, holding onto his staff with both hands as he sits down next to her.

Resting her fur, parchments, ink and quill on her lap, Lana tucks some hair behind her right ear and turns to Solas, “Earlier, I remember you saying you travelled to many different places in the Fade?”

Solas smiles and admires the horizon, watching the setting sun fill the sky with its bright orange and pink hues. 

Solas begins to tell her about Ostagar, where the Hero of Ferelden and grey warden Alistair lit the signal fire only to have Loghain betray them and their King. As Solas looks out towards the horizon, Lana can see the passion glistening in his eyes as he every so often releases a subtle smile and cheerful head nods.

For a man who claims he would rather keep to himself and not engage with others, it takes surprisingly little effort for Lana to have him to open up and share his journeys so readily. It is almost as if she is the first person to ask him about them at all. 

Why wouldn’t people wish to know him? Or does he prevent them from doing so? 

Deciding it could be neither or it could be both, either way Lana can sense there is a lot hiding behind his silent, controlled exterior. 

Just like her father, Lana is highly sensitive and can usually, quite accurately, pick up on people’s subtle body languages. It isn’t so much as a literal observation as it is more a feeling. Just as one can sense another presence in a room; where you feel it deep in your bones, with your senses heighten, as you become keenly aware that you are not alone. 

For Lana, this level of sensitivity is both a blessing and a curse. Just as she can sense the nuances in people, she is also highly susceptible to being hurt by it. It doesn’t take a lot for her to feel emotionally overwhelmed and this is usually why being alone usually brings her such comfort or she would prefer to be around people that she’s completely herself with, and who truly know her.

Moved by another one of Solas’s journeys, Lana finds herself truly envious over his experiences and wishes she knew what he did. And that’s when it suddenly clicks. 

Lana almost leaps onto Solas with her eyes wide with exhilaration, “Solas! Enasal! Surely your travels took you to an ancient ruin of our people? Can you tell me anything about the ancient elvhen? Please, you must know something!”

Solas leans back displeased, “I thought you would be more interested in sharing your opinions of elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?”

Lana also leans away in response and answers proudly, “The Dalish are the best hope for preserving the culture of our people,” and relaxing her stance, Lana cries out again with desperation. “Therefore I implore you, please tell me what you know. We can even find somewhere else to sit so that I can write it all down. Maybe the tavern, where it’s warmer?” and lifts up her parchments with a cheeky smile. “I already have what I need right here.”

Solas releases a loud, audible sigh and walks several paces away from Lana. As he surveys the sunset, he squares his shoulders while holding onto his staff with both hands and snaps, “Our people. You use that phrase so casually. It should mean more…” and pauses for a moment before murmuring. “But the Dalish have forgotten that. Amongst other things.”

Disturbed and shocked by Solas’s crassness towards her people, Lana struggles to verbalise her immediate thoughts and only manages a meek response, “I’m sorry?”

Solas, clearly irritated, turns on his heel to face her and barks, “While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade,” and spins back towards the sunset. “I have seen things they have not.”

Wholly offended by Solas’s tactless accusations, and also tired of his uneven mood, Lana feels her infamous temper bubbling beneath the surface. The longer Solas stares out towards the horizon in silence, the faster her heart begins to beat. 

Feeling like a kettle hanging above the fire, with the lid jumping and rattling as it reaches its capacity to hold the heat within, Lana clutches tightly onto the fur lying on her lap as she cries out, “The Dalish are trying to restore elven history! If you know something Solas, share it!”

Solas whips his head back around, “Would your clan listen to what I had learned in my studies? My travels? Or would they mock the flat-ear and his stories, and go back to their ruins?”

Lana gasps in anger as she shoots up, causing her belongings to fall on the ground and leaps towards him with fury burning in her eyes. Leaving only a few inches between them. Solas manages to hold his composure, but is internally floored by the extent of her outburst. Up until now, she gave no absolutely no indication that she is capable of such rage. 

What a serious miscalculation on his part. 

Solas immediately sees the error of his ways and regrets accusing Lana, and her clan, for crimes they did not even commit against him. It was unworthy of him and he knows better than to let his pride speak for him. Solas wants to immediately rectify the situation but realises it is too late. Nothing he does now will suffice.

“How dare you! Why do you hold such hostility towards the Dalish? What could my people possibly have done to you that they deserve such hatred?” Solas tries to interject but Lana continues shouting over him. “I may not know what the clans in Ferelden are like, but I do know that my Keeper would never turn away someone like you! You can’t paint us all with the same brush!”

Lana removes herself from Solas and begins to pace from side to side as she continues to reiterate her anger. “She’va dhal, lethallin! Why don’t you consider yourself elvhen? One of the People?” and with her hands stretched out in desperation. “Ma halani! Lasa ghilan!”

Lana’s face is twisted by the angst in her heart as she stares at Solas with her large, lavender eyes flicking with fury and frustration, while Solas continues to appear seemingly unmoved and calm.

Their pride, inflated. Her rage, unrestrained. And his regret, infinite. 

Realising that she is getting nothing but a cold response from Solas, Lana releases a loud huff, and spins around to gather her things from the ground as she cannot stand to be in this damn Fereldan cold any longer, and especially with such impertinent company.

Once she has her things firmly in her grasp, she turns back and peers heavily into Solas’s calm, dusty blue eyes, “Keep your secrets, then. Ma banal las halanshir var vhen... harellan.” and using her shoulder, she shoves Solas out of her way as she storms off in the direction from which they came.

Solas turns around and watches Lana push on as she heads towards her cabin lying directly ahead in the far distance. 

And as she brushes past the people, they turn around in shock towards Solas, and very quickly begin to gossip amongst themselves. 

It turns out, Varric was wrong. She can bite.

Elvish to English Translation:

“Ir abelas” = I’m sorry

“Ar dirth’ma” = I understand

“Enasal” = (emotion) Joyful relief

“She’va dhal!” = I’m struggling to believe what I’m seeing or hearing!

“Ma halani! Lasa ghilan!” = You could help us! You could guide us!

“Ma banal las halanshir var vhen, harellan” = You do nothing to further our people, traitor.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

READ ON AO3

Halla & Wolf Series

[queen-0f-the-nerds]

First Impressions (Are Important)

So I’ve decided to post one of my fanfics (aside from @askchanceoffates with @nightzilla333). This one was a Christmas present for a friend for her prompt:  Hawke brings their LI with them to the Inquisition, first impressions (pref. Fenris, Merrill, or Isabella)

If you like it, I have a couple more on AO3 as The_Musketeers_29, and I’m always trying to write more

After being introduced, Hawke and the Inquisitor went off to speak with the War Council, while Varric forced Fenris into the Herald’s Rest.

“You should meet everybody in the Inner Circle, but I have a feeling even you’ll get along with this guy, Broody.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at the emptiness of the corner Varric pushed him towards. “Where is this guy I’m supposed to meet?”

Varric leaned around Fenris to see only Bull’s chair, no sign of Bull or the Chargers. “Damn. I thought they’d be back by now. Well, let’s have some drinks while we wait.”

Iron Bull and the Chargers piled into the tavern, eager to drink and celebrate after a successful Venatori hunt. Bull stopped short of his chair. “Varric! Good to see you! Who’s this?” He calls, gesturing to Fenris.

“Sit down and I’ll tell you!” Varric managed to not slur his words, despite having downed a fair few drinks in the hour or so spent at the tavern. He waited for Bull to take a seat, then began introductions as promised. “Fenris, meet Tiny. Leader of the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company, Qunari spy, and normally goes by The Iron Bull. The article’s important. Bull, meet Fenris. Came here with Hawke. Tends to glow, which is often followed by people’s hearts being removed from their chests.”

“Really?” Bull seemed excited by the whole ripping-hearts-from-chests thing. “Any chance I could do that?”

“No.” Fenris spoke quietly, but definitively.

Bull pouted, but quickly cheered up as he described the job he and his boys had just finished. Which was followed by another story about killing other Venatori, Krem shouting over Bull whenever he over exaggerated something.

The story ended up being mainly told by Krem.

(“No, Krem, heads absolutely count! Down on the collarbone and through! That Vint spell-sucker lost three limbs in one blow!”

“Heads don’t count, Chief!”

“Yeah they do. Ask Blackwall.”)

Fenris countered with a story of his own about hunting slavers.

(“Heads definitely count.”

“See, Krem! He gets it!”)

As the hours passed, Fenris got caught up in one of the Chargers’ drinking games (he was uncertain of the rules, but far too drunk to care). The evening ended with Fenris passed out amongst the Chargers, Varric smirking as he stumbled away.

Fenris woke the next morning wondering, not for the first time, if death was preferable to a hangover. Grumbling to himself as he carefully stepped over the still unconscious Chargers, giving the bed a wide berth – he did not trust that axe. Fenris gingerly walked down the stairs to the tavern, hoping for something to ease the pounding in his skull. Instead, something blonde popped up in front of him on the stairs.

“Name’s Sera. Saw you last night, you know, with the Chargers. Drinking, getting drunk. Glad to see you’re not too elfy.”

Fenris stared at the girl – Sera – in bemusement, requiring a moment to comprehend what she said. When he did, “What do you mean ‘elfy’?”

“Well, you know, elfy. Head stuffed up a thousand years ago and all that.”

“Do you have a problem with elves?” Fenris appeared more confused by the second.

“Not if they’re not too elfy.”

Awkward silence descended as Fenris tried to think of a response. Sera shifted, uncomfortable with Fenris’ blank stare. She tried to think of something else to talk about.

“Sooo…are those tattoos or some freaky magicky thing?”

Fenris and Sera both jumped back as Cole materialised out of nowhere. “Pain, burning, searing, it hurts, why, why, make it stop –”

“What the fuck?!” Fenris didn’t know who or what this was, but he Did. Not. Like. It. Sera was gone, having run off the moment Cole started speaking.

“Why would Danarius do this? Master, please, stop –”

“Enough of this!” Fenris stormed down the rest of the stairs and out of the Herald’s Rest. Hangover completely forgotten, he ran to the main hall.

“Hey Solas, come here for a moment,” Varric called as the elf was about to head to the rotunda.

“Can I help you with anything Varric?”

“Yeah. You’ve heard how Hawke and Fenris are here?” Varric actually waited for Solas to nod before continuing, “Do me a favour, and don’t go on about any of that Fade stuff.”

“I do not ‘go on’ about it, especially not if not asked.” Solas wasn’t offended if his smirk was anything to go by, despite the affronted tone he used.

“Oh really? Because I heard the Inquisitor ask you one single question, and you rambled on for over twenty minutes.”

Solas’ smirk grew. “And didn’t your answer to Cassandra’s question ‘where is Hawke’ take around seventy hours to finish?”

Varric’s rejoinder was cut off by Fenris’ sudden appearance in the main hall and the rather pissed expression on his face.

“What is that-that-thing? That demon?” Fenris demanded. “It just popped up, out of nowhere, and starts blathering on about things of which it should have no knowledge.”

“I believe your friend has met Cole.” Solas commented to Varric, who nodded in agreement.

“Who is Cole? And who are you?” The latter question was asked rather more calmly than the first.

Solas and Varric exchanged a glance, before Solas gestured towards the rotunda. “Perhaps this conversation should be held privately? I am Solas, by the way.”

Once the door separating the rotunda from the main hall closed, Fenris rounded on Varric and Solas.

“Cole is, well, special,” Varric hedged, “He’s a good kid.”

Solas cleared his throat, drawing Fenris’ gaze. “Cole appears to be a spirit. He did not come into our world through the Breach, but rather predates it by months, possibly years. My best guess is that he is a Spirit of Compassion. He senses people’s pain and wants to help them. Unfortunately, he does not know how best to do that, which often leads to incidents such as the one you experienced.”

Varric winced at the bluntness of Solas’ explanation. Fenris appeared to be speechless, completely as he attempted to process what Solas said. Varric braced himself for the inevitable explosion when –

“Are you talking about Cole?” Dorian leaned over the railing from the library above. “He’s harmless. Mostly. Unless you give him daggers. Then again, he always stabs the correct people, so all’s well, hmm?”

Solas sighed, “Dorian, we are trying to have a private conversation.”

“If you want to have a private conversation don’t have it in the rotunda.”

“Indeed.” Everyone looked up farther at to see Leliana, gazing down at them from the rookery. “The acoustics in here are wonderful. I suggest you and the Inquisitor keep that in mind, Solas.”

“Ahh, the things we hear in here, right Spymaster?” Dorian snickered. Leliana smiled before returning to her work.

Fenris seemed to have calmed down from his earlier panic and was smirking at the slight embarrassment on Solas’ face, while Varric was outright chuckling as he recorded the event for posterity.

Solas facepalmed. “I need a drink.”

“Did somebody say drink? I have wine up here.” Dorian grabbed a bottle from somewhere behind him, waving it tantalisingly. Solas started up the stairs before Dorian was done speaking.

Varric put a hand out to prevent Fenris from following immediately. “Fenris, don’t kill Dorian.”

“Why would I?”

“He’s an Altus.” Fenris felt his markings light up; he struggled to remain relaxed and listen to Varric, who was speaking desperately quickly. “He fled from his family and Tevinter, and he joined the Inquisition to help stop the Venatori. Dorian’s a good guy. He marks spots on the map where he thinks Venatori may be found; the other day when we were both out with the Inquisitor, he laughed when we killed some. And he hates blood magic!”

Varric waited with bated breath as Fenris deliberated. Breath which was released once Fenris nodded slowly. “I will give him a chance. And besides, he has wine.”

After several hours drinking wine in the library, the group migrated to the tavern. Solas and Varric went up to get the next round, leaving Dorian and Fenris alone at the table. Dorian leaned across the table, all mirth gone from his countenance.

“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to say this. Please don’t interrupt. I only want to say this once.” Dorian drew in a shuddering breath. “I remember hearing about Danarius’ experiments. That man was one of the most disgusting bastards to ever walk Thedas, and his death at your hands was the epitome of poetic justice. I am truly sorry you ever had to go through that, but at least with his and Hadriana’s deaths others will not suffer the same.”  Dorian quickly straightened up as Solas and Varric returned with the drinks, which left Fenris no time to wallow in what Dorian said.

Which may have been his intent, Fenris realized upon reflection.

“Might I join you?” A large, bearded man broke through Fenris’ thoughts.

“Sure!” Varric and Solas shifted their chairs to make room for the newcomer. “Blackwall, Fenris. Fenris, Blackwall. Our resident Grey Warden.”

“Good to meet you.” Blackwall raised his tankard for Fenris to knock his glass against. “Next round is on me.”

“Hear hear!” Fenris lauded as his glass met Blackwall’s. “I’ve gathered that Wardens have a rather high tolerance for drinking,” Fenris added as the bearded warrior settled into his seat.

“Shall we find out?” Blackwall’s smiled gleamed through his beard.

Once again, Fenris woke up thinking about the hangover-death debate. This time, however, a remedy was handed to him.

“Wakey wakey, we’ve got people to go and see!” Varric sing-songed as he uncorked a potion.

Fenris drank the remedy as he sat up. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m in trouble for not immediately introducing you to our ambassador. That’s happening now.” Varric explained as he dragged Fenris from his new sleeping spot in the stables.

“How did I end up in the stables?”

“You and Blackwall thought sparring was a good idea. The two of you stumbled over here to fetch his sword and shield, and instead of sparring you passed out in the hay.”

Fenris had no response as he was too busy trying to get hay out of his armor. This took most of his attention until Varric knocked on a heavy door leading off the main hall.

“Good morning Josephine! And Leliana, good to see you too. May I formally introduce you to Fenris, Hawke’s companion.” Varric exclaimed in his storyteller voice. Fenris nodded to the two women in the room.

“Oh my goodness! It’s truly a pleasure to meet you!” Josephine flushed as she jumped up to greet Fenris. “I have so many questions for you.” She emphatically gestured for him to sit.

Leliana chuckled softly. “Oh Josie, you are adorable.” Turning her attention to the stunned Fenris, she nodded. “Good to see you survived your second night in the tavern.”

Fenris did not respond, as Josephine had started asking her questions. Many of them about him and Hawke. Leliana and Varric sniggered as Fenris was bombarded with personal questions about his romantic life.

“How do you know about that?”  Fenris exclaimed in response to the one of the more invasive questions.

“She read it, of course.” Leliana chimed in. “She is such a fan of Varric’s works, after all. And you feature in many of them.”

Josephine flushed even more at Leliana’s words, while Fenris glared at Varric. Varric gulped and slowly edged towards the door, saying “I’m sure you ladies are very busy. We’ll just be going now.”

Fenris rose as Josephine returned to her desk. “We will discuss your writing later Varric,” he mock-whispered as he reached for the door handle. As he opened the door, still glaring at Varric, he collided with someone.

“Watch where you are going!” Vivienne angrily straightened her robes, chin lifted imperiously. She gave Fenris a once over, casting a critical eye over everything from his unclad feet to his disheveled, hay-strewn hair. “You are?”

“Fenris.” He did not like this woman. Pomposity rolled off her in waves. Her bearing reminded him of that of Tevinter Magisters. A great deal more than that of the eloquent drunk he had met yesterday he noticed.

“And what are you doing here?” Fenris noticed her gaze pause on his markings, felt her judgment continue.

“He came with Hawke. I was introducing him to the Ambassador and Spymaster here.” Varric piped up as he maneuvered Fenris away from Vivienne. “Fenris, this is –”

“I can introduce myself. I am First Enchanter Vivienne, Enchanter to the Imperial Court, and the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas.” Even the way she spoke, so self satisfied, reminded Fenris of Magisters. He could almost picture her walking through the streets of Minrathous, with a little elven girl carrying the day’s shopping.

Fenris was saved from the onslaught of memories and a subtly sneering mage by the appearance of Cole. “Anger, rage, so much rage –”

“Kid! Good to see you. I heard you and Broody here got off on the wrong foot and I want to properly introduce you two. Cole, meet Fenris, Hawke’s partner. Fenris, this is Cole.” Varric motioned between them.

Cole dipped his head, his hat flapping around. “I didn’t know the foot was wrong. I upset you.”

“Hmpf,” Vivienne exhaled annoyedly, “Begone, demon.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“I’m not a demon. And I’m sorry for upsetting you Fenris.” In that moment, he closely resembled a kicked puppy.

Fenris’ eyes flicked between Vivienne, Varric, and finally, Cole. He rolled his eyes but replied, “No harm done.”

“Really? That’s good. I was worried.” With that, Cole disappeared again.

Fleetingly forgotten, everyone was reminded of her presence when Leliana called over to Varric and Fenris, “Perhaps you should go see Cullen?” Recognised as an opportunity for escape, Varric quickly mumbled his goodbyes to the ladies as he pushed Fenris out of the room.

“Shit, I’m sorry about that. I honestly hoped you wouldn’t meet her.” Varric ran his hand over his forehead. “I wanted you to meet Dorian more than her. And he’s a damned Altus.”

Fenris placed a hand on Varric’s shoulder as they walked the battlements. “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known she would be behind the door.”

“Anyway, here’s Curly!” Varric exclaimed as he threw open a door to reveal an extremely tired Cullen seated at a desk.

“Varric, what are you – Fenris? I heard you were in Skyhold.” Cullen came around his desk to grasp Fenris’ hand.

“So, you are the Inquisition’s Commander?”

“That’s right.”

“I thought you hated mages. Yet here you are, working for one.”

Fenris was not sure what reaction he expected; Cullen smirking was not it. “I thought YOU did. Yet here you are, accompanying Hawke. And I’m sure accompanying is not all you do.”

Varric burst out laughing. Fenris’ eyes narrowed as the tips of his ears burned. “You’re different than I remember.”

“Yeah, the Inquisition has been good for him,” Varric said, still laughing.

A soldier came into the office then. Cullen sighed, “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

The afternoon saw Fenris and Blackwall finally sparring, Bull and the Chargers training nearby. As Fenris and Blackwall took a break, a formidable looking woman walked up. “You are Fenris?”

“Yes.”

“Cassandra Pentaghast.” Cassandra held out her hand for him to grasp. “I’ve heard much about you. It is an honour to meet you.”

Fenris shook her hand, realisation dawning on him. “You’re who interrogated Varric.”

Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. “Ah, yes. The Divine sent me to find Hawke. Failing that, I was to bring Varric to her.”

Fenris grunted in response and turned to resume sparring. Blackwall was an impressive warrior. It was not often Fenris found someone who could keep up with him.

“May I spar with you? Would you mind, Blackwall?”

“Not at all. I want to see this.” Blackwall chortled as he sat near the sparring ring.

Fenris took up his stance, this time facing Cassandra.

If Blackwall was an impressive warrior, Cassandra was one of the most terrifying people Fenris had ever met. Five bouts later, and he only managed to win the last one. Varric had turned up to witness his humiliation.

 “Enough. I think that’s plenty for today.” Cassandra smiled as she sheathed her sword and went over to the wall where the others were gathered. Fenris took a moment to catch his breath, and didn’t even jump when Cole materialised beside him.

“Here. These make the Inquisitor happy. I thought they might make others happy too.” Cole placed a flower crown on Fenris’ head before he could react and went to give the others their own flower crowns. As Fenris watched, Varric was crowned, Blackwall too – as well as somehow having his beard braided – Cassandra grudgingly accepted a crown, and the Iron Bull was decked out in flowers. Crowns were draped around his horns and he growled at his men to put theirs on too.

“But Chief –”

“Just do it Krem. It’s a gift! You can’t say no to a gift. Besides, they’re pretty.”

Fenris looked at the lunatics he and Hawke had become involved with, and laughed.

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 25. In which emotion threatens to overrule logic

Read the full fic here on AO3.

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Evana walked into the great hall the next morning feeling refreshed after indulging in a late morning and a long bath. Her arm, finally pain free after days of wandering around Ferelden with it strapped to her side, swung naturally as she wandered down the hall. Despite the ridiculous amount of paperwork piled up on her desk, it felt good to be back in Skyhold.

A smile crept onto her lips as she noted how much had been done in her two weeks away. The great hall roof had been repaired, and scaffolding inside the hall indicated crews had begun work on the interior as well. She couldn't help wondering what other renovations had been completed in her absence, but before she could detour into the gardens, she heard Varric call out a greeting.

"Good morning, Snowflake!"

Varric sat at a table near the entrance where the healer had met them the night before. She waved as she approached and sat down with him for a moment.

"How are you this morning, Varric? I trust the healer did good work on you, too?"

"Right as rain, Snowflake. Much better after a good night's rest in a real, dry bed, as I see is the case for you, too." His eyes floated down to her clothing and a brow quirked upward. "You're looking rather... feminine this morning."

He raised his twinkling eyes as he spoke, an unspoken jest in his tone, and she immediately regretted sitting down. She picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on her sleeve as a tinge of pink suffused her face. The form-fitting dress had been left out next to the tub along with a set of thick, cream-colored wool leggings and a prettily embossed pair of leather ankle boots. She had no doubt Josephine had purposefully commissioned the dress for its deep purple color and fashionable, intricate lacing up the front - all the better to impress the small-minded nobles.

The style, especially the V-cut neckline, made her a bit uncomfortable, but the soft, thick fabric did have one advantage over her previous clothing - warmth. She had no idea how to verbalize a response to Varric's observation, however, so she changed the subject instead.

"Ah... yes... I feel much better this morning. Are you writing out our adventures?"

Varric nodded. "I realized I've been waiting too long to write things down - details are getting fuzzy. I want to get it all down now before I start forgetting."

"If you need a refresher on anything, I'm sure Leliana would let you review the field reports."

"Nah. I mean, I'm probably going to elaborate a little for dramatic effect anyway, right?"

Evana laughed. "Sounds about right." She paused, and then changed the subject again. "Have you heard from Hawke since she and Stroud left for the Western Approach?"

"Leliana brought me a message this morning. They're avoiding main roads while traveling because the Grey Wardens are still hunting Stroud, so it'll take them some time to get there."

"It's just as well, because it may be a few days before we can leave for the Western Approach ourselves. It's a long journey..." Evana paused, thinking about her conversation with Josephine in Haven about reports of rifts in the Western Approach. It felt just as far away now as it had then. "I'm assuming you'll want to go."

"If Hawke's involved, I'll always want to go."

She smiled and nodded. "Well, anyway, I just wanted to see how you were."

Varric's face softened. "Thanks, Snowflake." He then nodded to the door behind him. "I think Solas is in his office if you wanted to talk with him about the healing spell thing."

She'd mentioned to Varric as they commiserated about their injuries in Crestwood that she probably ought to relearn healing magic. She and Solas hadn't practiced magic together since Haven, but she wanted to get back on a schedule here in Skyhold - anything to make this all feel more normal.

Learning from Solas... well, perhaps normal wasn't quite the word for it, but his magic and teaching style evoked a hazy familiarity that reminded her of Deshanna. Although she'd gotten to know some of the healer mages in the aftermath of Haven's destruction, she preferred his style over the regimented structure and methodology of the former Circle mages.

She couldn't deny that the vague connection to something of her old life also comforted her as her tasks and duties as the new Inquisitor continued to grow. At times, she still marveled that the advisors had chosen her to lead. They would be horrified to know how often she second guessed herself at the war table, especially concerning the political machinations about which she knew next to nothing.

Just over here flying by the seat of my pants. Nothing to see.

"Oh? Right. Yes, I should talk with him now before I forget again. Time to relearn all those things Keeper tried to teach me years ago! If Josephine comes looking, let her know where I am?"

"Absolutely."

She stood up and walked through the door into Solas' study. He'd been working diligently on a mural that covered a large section of the rotunda wall, and he now wielded a thin brush as he worked on the delicate details. He didn't look down as she entered - likely used to people using the space as a pass-through to the library or Leliana's office. She took a moment to appreciate his work and then cleared her throat softly.

"Good morning, Solas."

"Good morning, lethallan," he replied immediately, his smooth voice offering no hint of surprise - as if he'd know she were there all along. He turned to look at her, his paint brush still hovering in the air above the mural. "Can I assist you in some way?"

"Now that we're all finally beginning to find a rhythm, I thought perhaps you and I could resume our lessons. Specifically, I was hoping you could refresh me on some healing spells. I'd also like to hear any thoughts you might have on Corypheus. We haven't had much time to discuss matters since Haven."

Solas' face softened slightly at her questioning look. "Of course. I would be happy to teach you what I know. Were you hoping to begin immediately?"

Evana looked back the way she came and contemplated. "The war council is convening in a few minutes, so I wouldn't want to disturb you for such a short..."

He carefully laid the brush aside and began climbing down. "It is no trouble."

When he reached the floor, he pulled a book from the stack on his desk and then walked over to a piece of furniture covered with a white cloth. Pulling the cloth aside to reveal his low couch, he motioned to her.

"Here, sit with me."

Curious, Evana walked over to sit with him. He placed the book in his lap and surprised her by taking her hands in his.

"When you cast healing spells, you are pulling from a similar place in the Fade as a barrier or other spirit magic. You simply need to learn the nuances of rejuvenating and life ward spells." He let his magic flow through her fingers in a small, controlled burst and then nodded down to the book in his lap. "You will also need to learn basic anatomy, especially if you wish to become truly adept at healing. I am surprised your Keeper did not teach you these things." Evana blushed hotly as she recalled her Keeper and Hanir trying over and over to get her to pay attention to healing magic. She remembered vague details, but after the attack, she'd only wanted to be able to defend her people.

"I fear I neglected to pay close attention to Keeper Deshanna's or Hanir's instructions in the more defensive magic abilities - much to their chagrin. I should've learned when I became First, but instead I focused solely on offensive magic."

Solas looked at her quizzically. "Hanir is another mage in your clan?"

Evana tensed. She'd never mentioned Hanir to Solas before. Why would she? It wasn't a topic she liked speaking about, and he'd never asked her about herself before. Usually she asked all the questions. She tried to relax and pushed back the urge to keep her past hidden away.

"Um... was. He was killed in a templar attack. He was the original First in our clan... and... my bondmate."

Evana took a deep breath. She'd managed to get through the entire thing with only a slight tremble. She watched Solas' face for a reaction and thought he looked a bit surprised.

"I did not realize you were..." His expression changed mid sentence. "I am sorry for your loss." She smiled and shrugged. "It was a long time ago, and I've recently... worked through some of the remaining hurts. As you might expect, constantly facing danger has made me less willing to hold onto old pain."

His expression morphed again, this time to understanding, but he remained quiet, perhaps in deference to her loss. The silence built, and the ever-present undercurrent of mage energy wrapped around them. In the frenzied stillness, she became intensely aware that he still held her hands within his own. Magic flowed over his skin, the familiarity bringing comfort but also a strange sense of... danger. With his cool, slender fingers wrapped firmly around hers, she could feel the sinuous strength behind every movement - nothing like the muscled warmth of Cullen's large, calloused hands.

Evana shook her head and felt the heat rise to her cheeks. What a strange thought.

"What is it, lethallan?"

"It's nothing. Shall we begin?"

He tilted his head. "Of course."

For the next few minutes, she paid close attention as he took her through the details of casting a basic healing spell. "Once you master this spell, we can move on to more complicated spells."

She laughed. "But how will I practice? Shall I spend time with the soldiers as they train and ask them to let me try to heal their bumps and bruises as I learn healing spells?"

The corner of Solas' mouth quirked upward a fraction of an inch. "Just practice the movements I have shown you, read through the book and work on keeping your focus in check. Your focus in battle is..."

"Indomitable?"

She shouldn't have said it, even in jest, but something about sitting there with him, his hands cradling hers, his familiar magic surrounding and skimming over her own, made her brazen. Varric and Dorian must be rubbing off on her a little bit. Or perhaps this was a side effect of that newfound sense of belonging?

Solas cocked an eyebrow, a curious but ultimately unreadable expression on his face. "Quite. But you must continue working on your focus in the silent times as we did those days before we sealed the Breach. That is the best way to improve at spirit magic. You already know how to call your mana for barrier magic and calming spells. This is similar."

Just then, the door to Cullen's tower opened and the man himself walked through. She could see him squinting as he came in from the bright sunlight, and she quickly but gently pulled her hands away from Solas.

"Thank you, Solas. I'll be back tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have some time between now and then to practice my focus and do some reading."

Solas' face fell into a serene and emotionless mask as he handed her the book. He tilted his head at her, murmuring a farewell, and she got up from the couch. Cullen followed behind her as she walked back into the great hall, but once they cleared the doorway, Cullen fell in step beside her.

"Good morning, my lady."

How could a simple greeting give her goosebumps? Her pulse quickened as she took in his freshly shaven face and immaculately styled hair. He looked tired, but seemed to be in a good mood.

"Good morning, Cullen. I hope you slept well?"

"As well as possible. You?"

Evana tinged pink as she recalled the night before. "I'm... I apologize for inconveniencing you... again. I hope I wasn't too much of a burden."

"It was no inconvenience nor were you a burden." His lips curled into a half grin. "You barely weigh anything at all."

She smiled ruefully at him, but then looked away and shook her head. "I should have taken the healer's advice and gone immediately, but I was excited to show you what I'd found. Um... did I...?"

As she'd soaked in her extended bath that morning trying to recall the evening before, Evana had debated whether or not to ask him about what she might or might not have said. She vaguely remembered speaking something to him before passing out. There was also a strange, dream-like interchange...

"You did manage to pass off some of the medicine before you passed out, yes," Cullen supplied.

Equal parts disappointment and relief flooded through her at his misassumption. "Oh! Uh... good. Yes." She internally cringed at her awkwardness but pushed through it nonetheless. "I just... ma serranas for your help, yet again. I-" Just say it! You said that highly inappropriate thing on the stairs a few weeks ago and didn't burst into flames. "I don't know what I'd do without you, ma falon."

She felt adequately rewarded for her bravery as Cullen's entire face softened and that tender smile - the one that always made her go a little weak in the knees - made an appearance.

"It was my pleasure, my lady," he responded quietly.

They passed through the first door to Josephine's office and the war room, but he paused in the small hallway between the great hall and Josephine's office. He reached out to gently touch her upper arm, and she froze at his touch, a tingle of anticipation shooting through her. The single candle reflected the golden flecks in his eyes, and she once again considered how nice it would be to drown in their depths.

"My lady, after the council, there's something... something I'd like to show you. Would you happen to have a spare moment today?"

Her heart, already fluttering at his unexpected touch and his nearness, did a somersault. She worked diligently to control her breathing. Was this about the garden? He'd started work on it the day she left, so they could very well be finished by now.

"I always have time for you, Cullen," she responded in a low tone, encouraged by his positive reaction to her previous statement.

She heard him draw a breath, and his voice came out a little breathless as he replied, "Ma serannas."

A gratified smile curved her lips at his almost perfect pronunciation of the elven phrase. The smile faded, however, as he held her gaze, and a moment of silence passed between them before he finally dropped his hand from her arm and reached for the door. She felt as if she hadn't been breathing the whole time.

Maybe she hadn't.

When they entered, Josephine clapped her hands and hurried around her desk to survey the Inquisitor. She grabbed Evana's hand and twirled her slowly to get a good look at the whole outfit.

"Oh, it looks so pretty on you! I knew it would. The color brings out the violet in your eyes, and my, it fits you like a glove. Don't you think so, Cullen?"

Josephine made her twirl around again for him, and Evana's cheeks heated as she watched Cullen's do the same. His voice was strained as he spoke.

"S-she is lovely, as always."

Josephine turned her back to Cullen and gave Evana a knowing smile, but Evana's cheeks only grew hotter. She looked down, not trusting herself to speak through her embarrassment. From his flustered tone, Cullen seemed to be having trouble as well.

"I... we should... we have things to... to discuss. Shall we?" He turned to the door near Josephine's desk and opened it, motioning them through to the hallway beyond, his jaw clenched and eyes looking everywhere but at her. Evana turned her gaze away and studiously avoided looking at him as she passed by, thankful that he would be behind them as they walked into the room. Leliana stood waiting for them in the war room and instantly sensed the tension.

"What did I miss?"

Evana and Cullen responded immediately and in unison, "Nothing!"

Josephine just laughed. "Oh, it was something alright!"

Evana silently fumed, irritated on her own as well as on Cullen's behalf. Josephine had left him with no choice but to respond in a complementary way. Granted, his assertion pleased her - he could have just as easily uttered a simple "yes" or "of course" - but it was clear the ambassador had done it to tease them both. Try as she might to contain it, Evana's annoyance seeped into her voice as she commenced the meeting.

"Shall we discuss Inquisition business? That is what we're here for, correct?"

Josephine looked a little chagrined, and Leliana seemed surprised. Evana couldn't bring herself to look at Cullen, the embarrassment and frustration too fresh in her mind.

Cullen saved her even more embarrassment by diving right in to the meeting. Surprisingly, the rest of the meeting flowed quickly and smoothly, a testament to the professionalism of the people standing around the table. All of them but her, of course. She simply couldn't help making an ass of herself.

As they left the war room, each with their own set of tasks to attend, Cullen finally caught her eye. She acknowledged him with a head tilt, grateful her display hadn't put him off, and then huffed out a small sigh as she resigned herself to apologizing to Josephine. Before she could turn to the ambassador, however, Josephine called out to her.

"Inquisitor, may I have a word?"

Evana joined Josephine where she stood serenely in front of her desk. As Evana approached, however, the ambassador's normally steady gaze faltered.

"Inquisitor, I wish to beg your pardon for my earlier behavior. I didn't mean to put you in an uncomfortable spot."

Evana's brows rose in surprise. "Ma serannas. That means a lot. But I think I should be apologizing to you for my harsh words and tone." She looked off to the side and sighed. "I don't... I don't respond well to teasing. I never have. But I want to be better. I know you need me to be better."

Josephine nodded, her face taking on a curious look. "You said before that you had trouble with your clan. Is that why?"

A stab of stubbornness, of unwillingness to talk about herself, caused Evana to pause. She knew the ambassador would be better prepared if she knew more about her Inquisitor, but Evana held those hurts so closely, she couldn't bear to let others see. Other than Deshanna, her confession to Cullen had been the first and only time she'd ever shared her failings. Even then, she'd had to force herself to tell him that story in the hopes of building some sort of bridge between them - the mage and the templar. She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams, and for the first time, it occurred to her that perhaps holding herself so closely is what kept her from connecting with people in the first place. She had paused too long, however, and Josephine quickly backpedaled.

"Not that you need to tell me. I was simply curious. Please, let us-"

"It's alright. I..." She swallowed hard and allowed her eyes to flit over Josephine's placid face before settling on the desk. She reached out and began fiddling with the bookmark ribbon resting between the open pages of a book on Josephine's desk. "It wasn't so bad before... before the templars attacked us. I had a couple of friends from my childhood, one who had also apprenticed as a crafter and another who was a cousin on my father's side. But I was different because my mother was different, and the other children liked to tease. I... reacted poorly, which of course, made me even more of a target. I began avoiding them."

"After I became... after my magic appeared, though, the teasing turned into wary avoidance on their part as well." Evana let out a wry snicker and glanced at Josephine again before looking back to the ribbon. "No one wanted a fire ball hurled at their head. I focused on my magic and thought very little about it until I lost the few friends I did have in the templar attack. I focused solely on learning magic and lore with Deshanna after that."

Evana left out that her friends hadn't actually died. They'd merely blamed her for the mayhem and death and stopped talking to her.

"Oh, how awful," Josephine breathed. "My deepest sympathies, Inquisitor. How long ago was the attack?"

"Almost six years now. It's... the wounds have faded."

Josephine hummed in understanding. "So, you have been focused on your studies since then? No wonder you have such a strong handle on your magic. I didn't realize you... I am sorry I so blatantly embarrassed you with Cullen."

Evana shook her head. "It was more that... I guess... well, I'm assuming from your actions that you and Leliana have noticed a sort of..." She cleared her throat and looked up at the ceiling to delay speaking the words. "... a sort of... something between me and the Commander?"

When she looked down again, Josephine merely nodded, her face a mask of sympathetic understanding. Damn, she's good.

"Well, I guess it comes down to the fact that I'm really not sure of myself." Evana laughed derisively. "About much of anything, really. But with Cullen... there are so many complications. I don't know how he feels. Not really. But I do feel like... when we're together, I feel..."

She trailed off, barely willing to think the words and certainly not willing to say them out loud. Saying made it real. But Josephine's face broke into a giant grin anyway, her hands clasping in front of her in rapturous joy.

"Oh, are you in love with him?!"

Evana took a small step back, eyes opening wide as the words unlocked a flurry of conflicting emotion. Dorian had asked her the same question a few weeks ago, and apparently, the idea had taken root inside her, digging deep, thriving in her subconscious. Now, it burst forth from the recesses of her mind as a sprout of tender feelings, her heart singing in response. Reason and logic erupted into panic, and she nearly spluttered something incoherent and ran to hide herself away from the ambassador's hopeful expression. She remained planted, however, and fought back against the riot of feeling, calming herself enough to speak.

"I... I suppose I do... care about him," she finally admitted in a dazed tone, her entire body burning red in one giant blush, "but even if it were love..." She quickly held up a hand at Josephine's sigh. "And I'm not saying it is. But if it were, love doesn't necessarily mean everyone lives happily ever after. Even if he... cares for me in return, we could make each other truly miserable in so many ways."

Josephine's head tilted in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"We both have so much history with the mage and templar conflict. He's no longer a templar, but his sympathies certainly turn in that direction. What if he eventually resents me for being a mage? Or what if we decide to be together, and then I die on one of these crazy missions? I'm not invincible, and my streak of good luck could end at any moment. It's one thing to mutually pine from a distance, but to create a relationship - to voluntarily build something between us only to have one of us die in this battle... I don't know if he could take it. I don't know if I could take it."

Josephine's face grew serious. "I hadn't really thought of it that way."

Evana hugged herself tightly. "I have. My death is a very real possibility."

"I suppose..."

"And though they might not care much about me, still... I have to think about my clan. I'm supposed to be their Keeper someday. To be with him, I would have to give it up - everything I've been working for my whole life. Forever. They would never accept a human, and I would be considered a traitor to my race. Being with him means I could never go home. Despite the less than ideal circumstances, I... I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

Josephine looked stricken. "I had read something about that in one of the books I found on the Dalish, but I didn't know if it applied to your clan. That... that is a big decision."

"Yes. And yet..." She dropped her voice into a low murmur and closed her eyes, for once letting the new and tender feelings take over, "I so greatly admire his gentle heart and strong sense of rightness and duty. The way I feel about him, how comfortable I am just being in his company... I've never felt this way about anyone before. Then I think about his arms around me... and what it might feel like if he... if he kissed me..."

"And?" Josephine prompted after a short pause.

Evana opened her eyes, the red tinge intensifying as she looked at the ambassador, and once again encouraged herself to be brave.

"And I think it just might be worth it," she admitted in a whisper.

Josephine gave a little squeak of excitement, and Evana smiled ruefully. "So, that's why I'd like you and Leliana and... well, everyone else... to let us find our own way. If that happens, you have my permission to tease me... a little bit. I make no promises to be happy about it, though."

Josephine reached out, and Evana suddenly found herself enveloped in a great bear hug. Despite her surprise, Evana put her arms around the ambassador's waist and squeezed back. Had she... had she just made another friend? Perhaps sharing her thoughts wasn't such a bad thing after all. "Good luck, Inquisitor," Josephine said as she pulled away. "I have no doubt you will succeed at this as you have with everything else."

"Awkwardly and with copious amounts of incredible luck? Sounds about right. Have a good rest of your morning Josephine."

Feeling astonishingly light for such a heavy morning, Evana almost skipped into the great hall and then paused to look around. She found Cullen at the end of the room speaking with Varric. The dwarf waved to her, so she headed down to meet them, admiring the Commander's fine figure while simultaneously fighting to calm that strange riot of emotion still echoing in her thoughts and causing little tremors of excitement throughout her body.

"Ah, Snowflake!" Varric called as she neared their spot. "I forgot to mention when we talked earlier - we're having a bit of a celebration at the tavern tomorrow tonight. Everyone will be there. I've even convinced Curly here to take a ten minute break."

Evana glanced at Cullen, and he gave her nod and a wry smile. She couldn’t help smiling back.

"Oh, well, that sounds like... fun," she said carefully.

"We'd do it tonight, but The Iron Bull insists you have a drink or five with him of a very specific type of Qunari alcohol to celebrate killing a dragon together. That new bartender, Cabot, says it's supposed to be here tomorrow... so we're celebrating tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to stop by. Thank you, Varric."

"Don't mention it."

Varric winked at her and went back to writing, and Evana turned to find Cullen offering her his arm. She wondered at his brazenness in front of Varric. It must be pretty important to risk future torment from Varric Tethras.

Please, let it be a garden! The kind of man who would build a woman a garden just because she mentioned she wanted one was a man worth all the risk... "My lady?"

Evana's heart quickened as she wrapped her hand around the crook of his elbow. She thrilled as she let her fingers graze lightly over his armor to grip at the embossed leather underneath.

"And where are we going, Ser Rutherford?"

"You'll see in a moment." He led her to the opposite door and opened it for her. This was certainly the way to the garden. Her breath quickened as she stepped into the hallway and turned to see Varric grinning at her like a fool before Cullen shut the door behind them. He walked forward to the second door, his face suddenly going serious.

"If it's not to your liking-" "I'm sure it's wonderful," she assured him quickly.

He smiled and opened the door with a little bow, motioning for her to go first. She passed through the door and gasped, her heart soaring at the sight before her.

The entire garden had been transformed from top to bottom. A functioning well with modern equipment sat in the center, and rows of sprouts popped up in small plots throughout. The edges retained a feeling of untamed wildness in spite of the thin, winding path that circled the perimeter of the space, over to the gazebo and then wove through the bushes and fruit trees. The gardeners had placed a few trellises to accommodate vegetables, herbs and flowers, and small tendrils of vines already wrapped around the bottoms. It was a work in progress - plants only grew so fast after all - but it was glorious nonetheless.

"Oh... Cullen!" she breathed, all the emotions she'd worked to contain breaking free once more. "It's... It's..."

"You like it then?" he asked in a tentative voice.

Her heart felt so full, she thought it might burst out of her chest. This man - who had armies at his command, campaigns to plan, troops to direct - had made her a garden. If she hadn't already known his generous spirit, it might have come as a surprise. As it was, she could only feel honored that he would do such a thing for her.

In a daze of gratitude and a dearth of coherent thought, she threw her arms around his neck and drew him down to place a firm kiss on his cheek. Then, pressing her cheek to his, she whispered in his ear, "It's perfect."

Pulling away, she caught him as he opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. Her shyness came back to her in a rush, and she blushed hotly at her brash behavior.

"Ir abelas... I... I mean... ma serannas, Cullen. I know it wasn't a priority, but..." She turned to gesture to the garden. "This just makes me so happy."

"Ah... Good... Yes," he murmured distantly as he took a deep breath. After another moment, his eyes refocused, and he straightened himself. A deep flush bled into his cheeks, and he cleared his throat, glancing at her briefly before looking out over the garden. "I had hoped... uh... I thought you might enjoy it. I had them save one plot for you, so you might grow whatever you like. It's right here, in this corner. The gardeners assured me it's the best spot in the garden."

Doing her best to shove back her awkwardness, she wandered to the plot he'd indicated and fell to her knees to feel the soil. She'd never been too concerned with actual gardening at home because everything they needed grew wild in the forest around them. Here, the mountains were beautiful, but she had no place to remind her of home. Now she would, thanks to Cullen.

By the time she'd gathered herself, he seemed to have regained his composure as well. He gallantly offered her a hand up.

"Would you like the full tour, my lady?"

She extended her hand, and he pulled her up, placing her arm once again around his elbow. He toured her around the garden, his expression relaxed and easy as he showed her the different plots, the labels the mages had made for each row of herbs and vegetables, and Dorian's addition of a chessboard to the gazebo. He also pointed out benches placed in various spots, mostly near the flowering plots.

She sighed contentedly and smiled at him. "How can I ever begin to thank you for this? My mind feels more at peace already. The only thing that would make it better is a bed right here in the middle so I could sleep under the stars every night. Josephine would have a fit, though."

Cullen laughed. "That she would, and I would have to stringently remind you how unsafe it would be... then put a watch on you all night when you did it anyway."

You could watch me all night.

She was aghast at how close she'd come to saying it out loud. Slow down there, Evana! Remember how you told Josephine ten minutes ago that you weren't ready for this? Ignoring the heat coiling inside her, she released his arm and clasped her hands behind her back. Perhaps standing so close to him had affected her even more than she thought. She walked a little away from him to look over the garden and sighed softly before turning back to him.

"I wish I could stay here all day, but I have a mountain of reports to read and even more to write and... Fenedhis!" She slapped her hand to her forehead, cursing her poor memory. "I was supposed to meet Cassandra in the upper courtyard after the war council for a sparring lesson! She's probably waiting for me now." She stepped closer to Cullen, and before she could over think it, she took his gloved hand in hers. "Ma serannas once again, ma falon, and a thousand times over. This is so lovely... I don't deserve such kindness."

He shook his head, and when he fixed his eyes on hers, they held that strange emotion in their depths - one that had become more common since their arrival at Skyhold. When he spoke, his tone carried with it an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"You deserve all this and more, my lady. I would... ..." He looked down at where their hands joined, and then raised his heated gaze to her face once more. "If I could... I would..."

"Commander! Message from Captain Rylen!"

Interrupted. The messenger ran toward them, and Cullen quickly dropped her hand to receive the missive. She wondered what he'd been about to say. Something sweet no doubt. Things had certainly shifted between them since she'd come back from Crestwood. She had a sudden suspicion that she owed Dorian for more than just her own revelation.

Cullen skimmed the message and then turned back to her, apologies written on his face and in his tone. "Urgent messages from the Approach, I'm afraid. You should meet with Cassandra. I'll review these and pass them on to you later today." He started to walk away, but before he'd taken two steps, he stopped, turned and gave her a lopsided grin. "I'm glad you like the garden."

Then he walked away to do his duty for the Inquisition. She supposed she should do the same. After all, mooning over her military commander wouldn't stop Corypheus. Groaning a little, she slinked reluctantly toward the upper courtyard. Time to get her ass handed to her by a Seeker who never pulled her punches.

[swhurtcomfort]

Fall Apart, Fall Together --- Chapter 5

Chapter 4      AO3

.......................

While Obi-Wan meditates, grappling with the Force for a clue as to Anakin’s whereabouts, Padmé takes matters into her own hands. She digs up the visitor log from her own medical file and finds the identity of the person who dropped off the note for Anakin. A quick holonet search informs her that it is one of the Chancellor’s personal assistants. There’s no doubt in her mind that that’s where Anakin has gone.

“Come on!”

She drags Obi-Wan by the wrist, startling him out of his trance.

They arrive at the Senate complex, running past the sounds of ambulance speeders in the street.

Padmé heads straight for the commotion in front of the main entrance to try to see what happened. Obi-Wan follows, scrunching up his face as if it were too loud.

“Padmé,” he says, his voice strained in a way that scares her. “He’s inside. And he’s in pain. I—”

Obi-Wan breathes in sharply. The color starts to drain from his face.

“What, Obi-Wan?” Padmé demands. He doesn’t answer. “Screw it, just come on then, I know a back way in.”

Obi-Wan allows himself to be led along, holding his head. Padmé takes them around a corner and uses her access chip to open a side door

Once inside, Obi-Wan slumps back against the wall, grimacing.

“Are you ill? Is it some kind of Force thing?”

“The fourth floor,” he chokes out. “Go, hurry,”

He looks like he’s in pain. He’d said Anakin was too. Padmé promises to return soon with Anakin, then hurries towards the lift.

On the fourth floor, the hair on Padmé’s arms starts to stand up. She wishes suddenly that she’d brought her blaster. Then, just as quickly, she is thankful that she didn’t.

It isn’t hard to find Anakin. He is waiting by another lift, wobbling impatiently on the balls of his feet. He doesn’t appear to be suffering as Obi-Wan was. When he hears her approach, he turns stiffly, and Padmé’s blood runs cold.

“Ani!”

“Padmé,” he says in a low voice. He accepts her hands into his. “E-Everything is going to be alright now.” He doesn’t sound sure.

“Yes,” she says. “It is. Ani, let’s go somewhere far away from here.”

“No. Masters Windu and Fisto are upstairs. They’re going to arrest the Chancellor.”

Padmé freezes, caught off guard. “On what charges?” Anakin doesn’t answer. “What do you know?!”

The lift opens, and he steps inside. “Wait for me here.”

“No.” Padmé throws her arm across the automatic doors so they won’t close. “Ani, are you going up there to help them, or stop them?”

He trembles, jamming the door-close button even though it’s futile. “I-I don’t know.”

“Anakin, don’t be rash,” says Padmé. “The Jedi Council is…often misinformed, but they aren’t dictators.”

Anakin takes a small step towards the platform. Padmé needs to get him out of that lift. She continues, “Whatever’s going on, we can entrust to the republic. To justice.”

“I’ve had enough of the Jedi Council’s justice!” he spits. Just for a moment, a strange light flickers across his eyes.

“What do you mean? Obi-Wan wants you to speak with them tomorrow, he said he thinks he can reason with them on your behalf. You’re lucky to have an ally—”

Anakin’s eyes flicker again, decidedly yellow this time with renewed rage when she says his name. “Obi-Wan was in favor of what they’ve done to me—”

“What have they done?” Padmé asks. “And what do they think the Chancellor has done?”

“—and I didn’t see him sticking his neck out for Snips, either did you?”

Padmé shakes her head. On that they can agree. “He wants to help us, Ani. Something is happening, something in the Force and it’s hurting him. Is it hurting you too? Is it Dark?”

Anakin steps out of the lift onto the platform, holding Padmé’s hand. But he looks back over his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter. I need Palpatine’s help—it doesn’t matter what he is. That’s how we’re going to save the babies.”

“They don’t need saving,” says Padmé. “And neither do we.” She lets go of the doors, and lets the lift shoot upwards without them.

……

Bail gives Padmé the full story, but even if he hadn’t, it’s all over the holonews. Three Jedi died in the Senate complex that day, and a fourth—Windu, according to most sources—is under investigation for his role in the Chancellor’s death. Most believe he will be held guiltless, security tapes clearly showing his actions to have been in self-defense.

Obi-Wan had recovered his faculties by the time Anakin had made up his mind, and rushed to help an injured Windu to the Jedi Healers while Anakin and Padmé slipped off unnoticed. There are rumors that Obi-Wan and the 212th were almost immediately sent off-planet again. Bail’s informants can’t agree on where they have gone—at least, until a new story breaks and the holo footage of him discharging a blaster neatly into Grevious’s heart is playing on every channel, practically on loop.

The galaxy is in tatters. The tide of the war has turned on a dime, and the majority of its citizens don’t understand why.

Several days later, Obi-Wan finds his way back to the medcenter. Padmé supposes it was inevitable.

“Are you ever going to pick up your comm, Anakin?” he asks, entering the room without waiting to be invited.

“Depends who’s calling,” Anakin retorts.

“They’ve grown quite a bit,” Obi-Wan gestures to Luke, lying on his stomach on Anakin’s bare shoulder.

“That’s what babies do.”

They lapse into uncomfortable silence.

“The Council…” Obi-wan begins, and Anakin stiffens. He soldiers on. “The Council wants to commend you for finding the Sith, Anakin. There will be no more talk of disciplinary action for any breach of the Code that might have occurred. It is an invitation, no questions asked.”

Anakin lifts his gaze, almost daring to hope. But he sees Obi-Wan watching him hold his infant son, and he knows it isn’t going to be that easy.

“They are my family,” he says simply.

“The Jedi are our family,” Obi-Wan counters, a note of frustration slipping through his façade.

“What do they want me to do, abandon them?”

“Arrangements can be made to ensure that Padmé and the twins are comfortable. You would do best to formally request not to be assigned to any more missions in the Senate, moving forward.”

When Anakin doesn’t immediately respond Obi-Wan continues, “And in a few years, if Padmé wishes them to be raised in the crèche, I’m sure the Order will be enriched by their talents, but you will limit your contact. Or at least be inconspicuous about it. Attachments fade, Anakin. I know it is painful.”

Bitterness wells up in Anakin. He wants to have it both ways, but he knows he can’t – Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be so obtuse. Luke starts to cry.

“You say you know, but have you ever found something worth leaving for? Do you know what that feels like?”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “There have been times…but I was wrong, Anakin. There have been times I’ve considered it—wanted it desperately, but I have always chosen the Order.”

“I guess we can’t all be perfect Jedi.”

“Anakin,” says Obi-Wan, tears brimming in his eyes. “You are a fine Jedi—”

“Not anymore,” he says quietly. "I can't be, and I don't want to be." There is a different path before him now. He braces himself for the incoming lecture, but there is no anger flowing from Obi-Wan’s Force presence, only deep sorrow.

“Then you are lost,” says Obi-Wan.

Anakin turns to hand the sobbing Luke to a nurse, because his own hands won’t stop trembling. 

Obi-Wan slowly pulls two objects from within the folds of his cloak and leaves them on a table before he turns to leave, averting his gaze. They’re two little beanbag toys in the shape of tiny bantha.

Anakin shuts himself in a closet and allows himself to break down in angry tears.

……

The war is over. They have a chance to breathe, and a chance to grieve.

Anakin’s sleep is deep and dreamless these days, but he lies awake wrestling with questions, and with choices. Wonders if it’s okay to miss Obi-Wan and be so unfathomably angry with him at the same time. Wonders whether it’s okay that he kind of misses Palpatine. He misses the idea of a benevolent grandfatherly confidant, even if the logical part of his brain understands that that person never existed—that Sheev Palpatine was always Sidious in masquerade. Wonders how it could have all gone differently.

Padmé is quickly realizing how many complicated questions this shift has created, and she’s itching to do something about them. Bail is heading up a subcommittee on the legal rights and future settlement of the clone troopers, Mon is appointed interim Chancellor and hard at work organizing a referendum, and Padmé hears news from Sola about sticky situation of filling Palpatine’s seat back on Naboo. But there are also more pressing concerns, starting with her own health. The first month of the babies’ lives has been so regimented and clinical, Padmé and Anakin both mourn the loss of all the ‘normal’ rituals of new parenthood. But the medcenter staff encourage them to be as involved as possible in feeding and changing and caring for the twins. They hold them whenever they can, and read and sing to them when they can’t.

The day finally comes that the little family is ready to leave for Naboo. They do so in a free galaxy.

Padmé has been watching Anakin all morning. She knows he is hoping Obi-Wan might come to see them off, but privately she wishes he wouldn’t get his hopes up.

“You’ve checked the transport half a dozen times, love. Come sit down.”

Anakin sinks down into the seat next to hers. The babies are sleeping, buckled safely into their seats.

Padmé takes his hand and squeezes it. He sighs and kisses the top of her head.

...

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