#aran trevelyan

[trisaran-adventures]

Pairing: Tristan/Aran, Tristan/Fey, Aran/Cole

Rating: E

Summary:

Youth is a tangle.

For Aran and Tristan, this is the beginning of their first year at Ostwick University, the first time they’ve both been truly on their own, and the struggle of trying to understand themselves and each other. A decade of fast friendship, first loves, heartbreaks and separations have led them to this place: the precipice of adulthood and an uncertain world ahead.

Aaaand we’re back with a new chapter of Never Let Me Go, a Dragon Age-inspired Modern AU with lots of original elements and characters, written collaboratively by @oftachancer and @johaerys-writes​! Kink, polyamory and character exploration, paired with tons of feels. So. Many. Feels. We hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 24: Reeds in a Storm (Ao3 link)

Aran groaned, lapping the sour dust from Loranil’s upturned arse in the moonlight. Hours, they’d been fucking and fingering and fondling on the forest floor- at least it felt like hours. The mushrooms and herbs muddled time, made Aran feel electric and the taste of skin something akin to ambrosia. The feel of it beneath his lips. He spread Nil’s cheeks and lapped at him, drawing deep groans from the man before him.

Loranil’s tiger mask was askew, his long sunset hair braided back from his face to trail down his spine, the glitter and color on his face and shoulders streaked with sweat and other fluids as he bobbed on another man’s cock, sharing it with the woman he was furiously fucking, while Aran feasted on his arse.

He tasted like sweat and fresh baked bread and mushroom dust. Open and soft and practically begging to be fucked. Everything about Nil begged to be fucked. The bend of his spine. The shiver of his lips. The arc of his elbows.

The trees bent away to allow the moonshine through. The grove was filled with starlit bodies in motion, rambling music wafting over them from speakers set about the trees. Protected torches and sizzling rods of incense cast flickering lights and shimmering smoke.

Aran caught his breath as a firm cock brushed his cheek. A wolf mask above him. A line of musky powder on the darkened head of his dick. Aran lapped at the powder, feeling it soak into his tongue along with the taste of sweat and musk and weeping precome. Gods, he was aching. He sat up, taking the stranger’s cock into his palm and his mouth, rubbing himself at Nil’s prepared entrance.

“Fuck me-“

He wasn’t sure who said it and it didn’t really matter. It was a gathering of the willing and the wanton. Birch-shadowed and moss-mattressed, writhing with abandon in the fairy circle of the grove and the gentle slopes around it. Aran moaned, allowing his head to be dragged forward onto the wolf’s cock as he pumped into Loranil beat by beat, the drums circling them all, the rhythms driving every body in the moon’s light into a slow motion frenzy.

The woman beneath Loranil was wearing a feathered mask, like an owl, her flaxen hair poured out across the blanket on the ground like spilled corn silk. Powerful; undulating like waves, moaning like the earth herself. She rose up in his arms, her hands flexing at Aran’s hips, and they held each other’s gaze as Loranil rocked between them. Filling her, filled by him.

Aran kissed her lips: wine and root, cock and come, salt, brine, slick- She moaned, drawing them both in to the movement of her hips. Drowning them. The wolf had fallen on a woman in a panther mask, rutting splendidly a few feet away. The mongoose poured himself into Loranil’s mouth, come dripping over his lip, and Aran and the owl lapped it from his chin and lip and tongue as they fucked him. As the mongoose knelt beside them, hands sliding over their skin like wind. Like branches in a breeze.

Weren’t they all? Reeds in a storm, whipping each other into frenzies and fading into soft relief. The moans of wind and wonder becoming the music around them as they in turn unraveled and became sound and earth, moss and leaves, touching the sky and each other as they became what life could be...

He woke pillowed on a set of broad, hairy shoulders with a very soft, very warm woman curled against his back. The scent of the bonfire still wafted around the grove. Aran eased up, padding naked but for his boots through the woods, following the sound of wheels on gravel and distant music. Loranil was perched atop the van, headphones on, guitar in his lap, scribbling into a notebook. Aran tied a sarong around his waist and drank juice from a carton, laying out in the back of Loranil’s van. His knees were scuffed. His jaw was sore. His arse-

“How’s the head?”

His head ached, too, Aran squinted over the top of the orange juice carton, though none of it was bad, per se. Only… used. Well used. Thoroughly. It was a good feeling, though he wouldn’t have said no to a toothbrush. Loranil offered him a half-smoked blunt instead; he looked like a peacock on fire. Lean and lithe, thick dark violet hair caught up into a braid like a twisting mohawk, streaks of orange, blue, yellow, and red poured through his mane, his mask resting above his brows. His eyes - one speckled red, one deep blue - gleamed as he climbed down to straddle Aran’s lap. “I feel like I ate a dead raccoon while it’s kin fucked me.”

Loranil laughed, lilting and light. “Deep mushrooms are an acquired taste.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Did you take the willowbark last night?”

“Aye.”

“Good, that’ll sort you out. I promised Cole I’d return you in good order.” He smiled slyly, sitting back. “Am I? Returning you in good order?”

Aran slid his hands up Loranil’s sides. Fennec fur, Cole always said. And he was right. Fuck, he was right. Aran felt stretched and raw and used- and soft and warm as fur on the inside. “Aye. Well enough,” he murmured.

“Good.” Loranil nudged him back, setting the carton to the side. “I’ll check for good measure, shall I, oinun ?”

“Hm,” Aran sighed beneath him, grinning as the elf lifted his sarong and stroked him, heedless of the couples and groups milling about the campsite. “I didn’t- with a woman- did I?”

“I don’t think so.” Loranil kissed his collarbone, the scrape of his unshaven chin juxtaposed with the softness of his lips. “Would it be terrible if you had?”

Would it? he wondered, stretching beneath the Dale’s roaming hands. He’d been in several situations where he’d watched Loranil rolling around with women in various states of undress. Anders, as well.

“If you enjoy it-“ And, Maker’s breath, did he enjoy Loranil’s lips and his tongue and the dexterity of his fingers stroking him in the morning sun- His deep red robe sliding off of his shoulders, revealing the intricacies of his vallaslin down his chest and arms- The flint of the morning sun on his piercings, his pale skin, his nipples hard with morning chill and want- “Does it matter who it’s with? What they’re shaped like? We’re all the same on the inside.”

“Not- Not exactly the same-“ Aran breathed. “Ah, Nil-“

“Did you have an awakening, though?”

“Transcendental,” Aran thrust into his grip, groaning as Loranil lapped at his nipple. “Really, really bloody brilliant.”

“As did I,” the elf sighed. “So many thoughts, so many songs drifting from the trees and the night-“

“Brilliant,” Aran repeated, sighing as Loranil shifted forward and began circling his hips down- down- tight- fuck-

“Ah, oinun , you are,” the man moaned, posting Aran deeper with every roll of his hips. “You are, you are.” His head fell back as his fingers traced up Aran’s chest, his neck, stroking his ears as he rode him.

Shivers beneath his skin. Relaxing and winding him up at once. Beads of sweat glistening down Loranil’s chest. Aran was vaguely aware of the people who’d paused to watch them, but it didn’t matter. Not like they hadn’t seen them like this only hours before. Not like he hadn’t seen them. All one, he thought, losing himself to the rhythm of Loranil’s heart and hips. All of them were one, part of the same whole, part of- “Nil-“

“Aran-“ He squeezed Aran’s earlobes, sinking all the way down onto him. “We’re going to stay here a while longer before we return to the city. Alright?”

“Fuck, yes,” Aran laughed, thrusting up into him to draw a rough shudder from the man.

“Down and to the left,” Loranil murmured, shifting his hips to match his instructions, then sighed log and loud and low. “There. Just- Ah, just there.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[johaerys-writes]

Thank you so much @tessa1972 and @witchyangels for this wonderful gift!!!!!! It's so lovely seeing my and @oftachancer 's boys together 💙💙💙

Ta-daaaah! Finished another chibi commission! This one is for @johaerys-writes! From left to right, we have Aran Trevelyan, Podrick Kaylen, Tristan Trevelyan, and Wolf in the front! Once again I had fun working on this and appreciate the patience you have shown me!

One more chibi commission to go!

[oftachancer]

Lilith Black drew me this amazing journey through my Inquisitor Aran’s timeline from my story Here In This Moment and I’m so, so pleased. :) To read Here In This Moment (or any of my other works), you can find me on AO3 as oftachancer. :)

[midnightprelude]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @noire-pandora and @dismalzelenka, thank you!

Another bit from a future chapter of @oftachancer's glorious longfic Here in this moment:

“You’re awake,” Dorian whispered, taking his hands. “Still here, just in a… temple of some sort? Are you- Vishante kaffas, you weren’t moving when I found you. I had thought- I feared that I had-“

“Hm,” Aran flexed his fingers, feeling warm palms and familiar callouses. “Got dizzy.” He pressed his lips together. “You found shade.”

“A sight better shelter, yes,” Dorian murmured, rubbing his wrists in steady circles. “There’s a courtyard overgrown with wild grapevines. Do you want me to pick some for you?”

“I can-“ He started to sit up and the room swam.

“No, stay here. It’s alright.” Dorian peered at him clinically, brows furrowed. “You were so- So very still.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt Dorian’s gaze on him like he was some strange thing he’d dug out of an archaeologist’s findings. Not even the first time this Dorian had stared at him that way. But it felt- “I’m not an invalid.” He forced himself up, gritting his teeth as his stomach rebelled and sweat broke out across his brow. “I’ve been through worse than heatstroke. Maker and Mother.” He exhaled carefully. “Nice- Nice work.”

“I know you’re not,” Dorian closed his eyes, shifting so that their shoulders touched. “I know. I know you’ve been through worse. Aran…” His quiet voice still rang through the hall, echoing off the marble and mosaics. “I’m glad you’re alright. That’s all.”

Tagging forward to: @lethendralis-paints, @lesetoilesfous, @pinkfadespirit, @elveny, @kunstpause, @nug-juggler, @lavellanvibes, @decimdraws, @johaeryslavellan, @merrybandofmurderers, @hezjena2023, and @whataboutbugs if you'd like to share something you're working on! :)

[johaerys-writes]

Playground Love, Chapter 5: Fireflies and Angel Wings

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of mine and @oftachancer​’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan Trevelyan, is up! Where Aran’s first kiss ever isn’t quite what he expected... 

Read more on AO3!

*******

There were floating candles on the surface of the pond, pinpoints of light reflecting the evening sky. Aran sat on the ledge of the gazebo, leaning back against its walls, feet dangling over the mirror-smooth water. Up at the house and through the gardens, music ebbed and flowed. Strings and piano whispering their plaintive melodies as people danced and mingled and chatted, celebrating the day’s achievements at the Grand Tourney and sharing their expectations for the following day. Somewhere in the house, Tristan was being gladhanded by strangers over his showing at the jumping trials that morning. Deservedly. He’d been brilliant, placing first in his bracket and second overall, all strong and prideful. The look in his eyes as he rode…

Aran rubbed the back of his neck as a shiver ran through him despite the warmth of the evening. As though he were capable of anything and so bloody pleased about that fact… It had sent things tightening all through Aran’s core, uncomfortably. Other places, too.

Then again, a breeze could set him off these days, he reminded himself, watching the candles float and bob.

Tristan’s legs, though. The way they flexed as he posted from the saddle. The straight line of his spine. The ferocity of his smile.

“Aran!”

Crap. Shit. Fuck. He tugged his knees up to his chin as Josephine leaned over the low railing from the inside of the gazebo. He flushed at her bright smile, returning it nervously. “Hey, Josie!”

“What a day!” she gasped, settling in on the bench behind him.

“Yeah.” He winced as his voice cracked halfway through the word. He cleared his throat. “Yes. It was.” She wasn’t laughing; she was a good friend. He glanced up to see her offering her cup of punch and smiled gratefully, gulping and passing it back. “Thanks.”

“The candles are pretty,” she said, leaning against the rail to watch them. “Like stars.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he grinned and listened to her giggle in reply.

“We’re alike, I think. Don’t you?”

He thought about her penchant for ruffles and things that glittered. How they could set each other off laughing with absolutely no reason. The time the summer before when he’d found her crying under the eaves. “Yeah, ish.”

“Would you…” she began, sounding suddenly breathless, “would you want to go out?”

“We are out,” he wrinkled his nose, confused.

“Oh, yes, I suppose we are.” She rested her chin on her hands, “I meant… Would you like to go out, sometime, with me?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth; they still felt too strange, too smooth, without his braces. “I don’t know; it’s supposed to rain the next few days. Where did you want to go?”

“Ottilie said you know your way through the maze.”

He chewed his lip, “Yeah.”

“Maybe you can take me through it?”

Aran nodded. “Sure.”

She flushed, happy in an instant. “Great.” She touched his shoulder. “Let’s go now.”

“ Now- now?” he asked, very aware of the still uncomfortable level of alert inside his hand-me-down slacks. They were far too long for him, benefit of having been Sam’s before they were his. His mother had pinned the legs up and every movement set the safety pins rubbing against his ankles. The waist was too wide, too, held up by suspenders beneath his jacket. Maybe she wouldn’t notice? No, it was Josie. She noticed everything. “It’s… the candles, though.”

“They’ll still be here.”

He hugged his knees, swallowing nervously. “Uh… no, thank you.”

“Please! It’s an adventure! Don’t you like adventures?”

“Sure.”

“So let’s go!”

“To the maze?”

“Yes. I’ve heard it’s a-maze-ing.”

Aran snorted, grinning, and the pun was almost enough to convince him. But the last time he’d been in there only a few days before, he’d become transfixed with Tristan’s back. With his sweat, like wings, dampening his shirt in the summer heat. He bit his tongue hard as his body tightened further. Stop, stop, stop. No, he was not getting up any time soon. “I’d rather just sit here.”

“May I join you then?”

Aran stared at her. “Uh…” But she was already climbing carefully over the railing to sit beside him on the gazebo’s ledge. They were of a height. Too close. He hugged his knees tighter. “Sure,” he answered belatedly. Not much choice now. “How’s the party?”

“Oh, the music is so wonderful!” she enthused. “And there are those little shrimp cakes again this year. Lady Trevelyan really knows how to throw a ball.”

“Aye.” His voice dropped inexplicably into his toes on the syllable. And he saw her lips twitch. “No laughing. Gazebo rules.”

“It’s sweet. You’re growing up.”

“Piss off.”

She smiled, turning to him. “We’re all growing up. It’s good. It’s normal.”

“Right. You get prettier and my throat develops a mind of its own.” His throat and the rest of him as well. It was like trying to govern a sea of cats, just moving through his day.

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked softly.

He frowned. “What? Of course you are.” It was dark, but he was pretty sure her cheeks were darkening. “Not that that’s all that matters,” he added hastily, remembering Winnie’s angst over their father calling her just that word. Demeaning, she’d snarled, fingers snapping. “You’re smart. Really clever. Sorry.”

She leaned towards him and he could smell the soap on her skin and the perfume waves that she’d walked through in the house that had attached themselves to her. Then her lips were on his and Aran froze, blinking. What? Why? Was all he could think for a long series of ineffable seconds. He’d never felt anyone’s lips on his own, except his mother’s and his sisters’, and this… wasn’t that different. Soft and pleasant.

He squinted when she ducked back. Was he supposed to do something? Say something? “Uh… thank you?”

She beamed at him. “I really like you.”

“Good?” He itched the side of his nose. “I like you, too.” Maybe she wanted to be his sister, too. She could have just asked.

“Maybe, if we go to the maze, you can show me how much.”

Did he not already? “Jo-“

Then her lips were on his again and he sat there, hugging his knees, trying to figure out why this was happening. She made a kind of sighing sound and her fingers touched his hair lightly. That was nice. He liked when she played with his hair. And when Tilly did. And Miranda and Winnie. It was soothing. Not like Tristan’s fingers when they barely brushed his ear and sent heat shuttling down his spine. He frowned, and she drew back.

“You’re right,” she breathed. Was he? he wondered. Right about what? “Let me know when you want to go to the maze? I’ll be in the ballroom, okay?” she whispered and then fled up into the gazebo and across the lawn. He watched her go, her skirt flapping in the evening breeze.

What the actual Void?

Read more on AO3!

[coronerandundersheriff]

New guys in town!!!

(OC'S by @johaeryslavellan and @oftachancer )

[le-mooon]

"Dorian is the sexiest death of my life"

Commission for dear @oftachancer ❤️❤️ Thank you so much for order 😭😭

[trisaran-adventures]

Fandom: Dragon Age 

Pairing: Tristan/Aran, Tristan/Podrick, Aran/Cole

Rating: E

Summary: 

Youth is a tangle. 

For Aran and Tristan, this is the beginning of their first year at Ostwick University, the first time they’ve both been truly on their own, and the struggle of trying to understand themselves and each other. A decade of fast friendship, first loves, heartbreaks, and separations have led them to this place: the precipice of adulthood and an uncertain world ahead.

The new chapter of Never Let Me Go, written collaboratively by @oftachancer and @johaeryslavellan is up! Click the link below for full list of tags :)

Chapter 22: Whiskey and Cigarettes

[Aran]

[Solace 15:39]

Aran woke to the sound of Sera talking. Not unusual. For most of the summer, she’d been recording at odd hours, fitting the sessions in between whatever part-time hours she could muster from the city’s various cafes and bars. 

He yawned, fumbling for his glasses on the stack of books beside his bed and shoved them on as she sighed.

“You don't have to do that.”

Aran padded to the loo, listening to the news on his phone as he brushed his teeth and shaved. By the time he was out, Sera was hanging up. 

“Well, Irving and Cecil split.”

He quirked a brow. “Alright.”

“You remember them.”

“No.” Aran poured a heaping spoonful of instant coffee into a mug and boiled it to death, dropping to his bed with a sigh as he breathed the bitter steam. 

“You do, too.”

He yawned into his mug. “Cecil with the pastel pants and the paisley shirts.”

“Yes.”

He shuddered. “Why am I thinking about him?”

“Because they broke up.”

“Why do we care?” Aran asked, befuddled. “Weren’t they kind of… massively judgemental pricks? Since when are we close with them?”

“We aren’t. Ursula is.”

Oh, Maker. “No. No , Sera. No more emotional errands for Ursula.”

“She’ll be back in a week. She just wants us to look after him.”

“You do it then. She hates me. And I hate those pants.” He squinted, “Maybe Irving did too.”

Sera snorted. “It sounds to me like Irving saw nothing wrong with the pants. And someone else developed a fondness for them, much to his surprise. Which is why we’re going to keep him company.”

Aran glanced up from his mug, “For fuck’s sake, Sera.”

She winked. “It’ll be fun.”

It was not fun. 

Aran sat in the theater grinding his teeth while Irving sniffled through a car chase and all out wept when the hero’s friend turned out to be part of the Qun. Then he stared daggers at Sera as they sat in the pub watching Irving moisten the chips with his tears and talk about how much he missed the-

“-cheating dirtbag and you should just forget about him already,” she was telling him. It was Sera being kind, but it wasn’t helping. 

In all truth, he felt bad for the man. Forgetting was easier said than done, he well knew, as did Sera, but they’d both decided it was better to move forward than look backwards. Watching Irving gazing longingly into his past was uncomfortable for them both. Void, it was probably just as uncomfortable for Irving.

Aran scooted out of the booth, “I’ll pick up the next round.”

By the third round and the second smoke break, Aran decided that Irving wasn’t a bad sort at all. He was actually kind of sweet, with his brown eyes all puffed from crying, dark complected and exhausted. Especially when he swayed with the drink, loose, his thin lips curving in a weary smile.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[witchyangels]

Ta-daaaah! Finished another chibi commission! This one is for @johaerys-writes! From left to right, we have Aran Trevelyan, Podrick Kaylen, Tristan Trevelyan, and Wolf in the front! Once again I had fun working on this and appreciate the patience you have shown me!

One more chibi commission to go!

[oftachancer]

I would like to say- I know I am not on Tumblr much (because I spend most of my time either working or writing)- but I would like to say an enormous thank you to all of the wonderful people who have been reading our work. Seriously, the responses that @midnightprelude and I have received in answer to Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy in particular have been some of the most wonderful I have read. If I had a book jacket to just have “high literature smut” on, I would! We don’t write for the comments, but gosh it’s nice to read them. 🥰

If you’d like to read any of our other work - or any of the completed works that we have in the pipeline - find us on AO3. I also have a co-written series with @johaeryslavellan called Playground Love which has its own share of high literature smut. 🤘🌈

[midnightprelude]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @juliafied, @merrybandofmurderers, @noire-pandora, @wardenari, @blarrghe, @dismalzelenka, @nug-juggler, @kunstpause, @elveny, and @johaeryslavellan for various writing memes! Tagging you all back and also forward to @lavellanvibes, @dalish-rogue, @jentrevellan, and @schoute to share a writing or art WIP (or even a nice picture of your dinner OR just say hi). <3

When @oftachancer asked me to help her write part of her epic time traveling tale, Here in This Moment, I was beyond honored. It is SO FUN to explore alternate universe Dorians and their LIs and how they all interact (poorly, on occasion). Here's a snippet of a piece we've written together:

Dorian let out a peal of giddy laughter, but the voice that echoed through the empty expanse of the desert wasn’t his own; a roar, ferocious and exuberant left his serpentine lips, followed by a belt of liquid-gold flame.

He padded towards Aran, feeling, for the first time in an age, nearly invincible. Dorian dropped to the ground, nudging the slim man with his elongated snout, smoke curling around him in an odd halo.

“…Dorian?” Aran whispered.

Dorian could hear his heartbeat like hummingbird wings. He could taste the wonder and fear that collected in Aran’s sweat to trace patterns down his skin: patterns like the fracturing scars that followed his veins, suffused with lyrium, glowing with his own internal light even as Dorian gleamed with his own.

Aran stood still, his pulse jumping visibly in his throat, watching him nervously. “Are you… you?” he asked, his gaze roaming then skittering back to Dorian’s nostrils where they rested at his chest.

Dorian nuzzled him with his nose, nearly knocking Aran over with his newfound strength. He blinked slowly, pulling back to allow Aran to regain his balance before extending a scaled paw towards him and resting it in the nearby sand.

Aran swallowed, the wild skitter of his attention traveling over Dorian again before he carefully stepped towards the paw and, hesitating, rested his fingers over the rise of one knuckle. “Void and Salt,” he whispered. “You’re a feckin’ dragon, mate.”

[dacreateathon]

All’s Fur in Love and War

By: @midnightprelude and @oftachancer

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/m!Trevelyan

Rating: M

Tags: Character turned into a dog, puppy love, non-explicit sex, developing relationship

Word count: 5899

Dorian has been waiting for ages for Aran to return from some Blighted Ferelden marshland. He does, blessedly, but the morning after, Dorian finds his lover unexpectedly absent with a blue-eyed shepherd in his place.

[oftachancer]

Hello, @bosmerie! Welcome to my tiny corner that is all headspace for my Oc Dragon Age Inquisitor Aran Trevelyan and his journeys through the timestream... and also lots of pictures of Dorian Pavus and Cole and all the Dragon Age and writing inspirations. :)

ok so i’m going to make one of those posts looking for new blogs to follow bc i need more mutuals.

anyway reblog if you like/post about any of these

- fable

- kingdoms of amalur

- dragon age/mass effect

- the elder scrolls

- animal crossing

- pokemon

- pillars of eternity

- divinity original sin

- have any ocs relating to any of the above or not! i just love ocs and the people who create them

[johaerys-writes]

Chapter 14: Cobwebs and Oathstones

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of my and @oftachancer​’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan is up! Where the Terrible T’s venture into the ancient catacombs underneath the Trevelyan manor, and discover something... unexpected 👀

Read more on AO3,  or start from the beginning :)

****

“Oh, wow!” Tilly exclaimed, turning her head to look around the catacombs like a curious bird. “This place is huge!”

“It is!” Aran replied. “There’s loads of stuff down here. Last time, Tris and I found this massive set of armour that belonged to a great uncle of yours- was it Trevor Trevelyan?”

“Trenton Trevelyan the Third,” Tristan grumbled, illuminating the corridor before them with the torch.

“Aye, that’s the one! He had this huge sword, too, right, absolutely massive. Tris said he could wield it one handed, but Void knows how he did it because that thing was- Ah! What- Is that a spider?!” Aran spun in a circle, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- get it off, get it off!” Tilly gasped and ran to his side, patting down his hair and his back, while Aran’s cries echoed deafeningly down the corridor.

Tristan sighed, wondering whether people would notice it if he locked them both in the catacombs and then fled.

“I don’t see a spider, munchkin,” Tilly said worriedly, biting her lip as she searched through Aran’s hair. “Maybe it was just your imagination.”

“I hate them. I hate them.” Aran twisted to look back over his shoulder, aiming his light at himself. “So many feckin’ legs,” he shivered, tugging his hood up over his head and cinching it tight. He looked to Tristan, biting his lip, fingers flexing in that way they did at school or at parties right before he suggested they find somewhere to go that wasn’t people. Right before he reached for him and tucked his palm against Tristan’s and gave that quiet sigh that was the first of many as hand holding progressed to other things… Aran held his gaze in the dark and shoved his hands and his torch into the pouch of his sweatshirt. “It was a big sword,” he finished lamely.

Tristan swallowed thickly, looking away. He didn't like that he couldn't hold his hand, or kiss him. He didn't like hiding what they had from Tilly, of all people. But it was still so early. Tristan hadn't fully understood what was happening between them himself, and if he told Tilly, she would have questions. He wouldn't last a moment under her scrutiny. And she might tell Mother, or someone else and then...

"Right," he said abruptly, marching ahead. "The room is not too far from here. We can go there first and check the sword after we're done." He would think about it all later. Now was not the time.

"Oh, yes, we should!" Tilly said excitedly. "Swords are so fun. Remember when we went to the Ostwick History Museum with school, three years ago? All those sets of armour! All those swords! Those lances! They were so shiny. And I loved the engravings. Some of them were absolutely beautiful- they don't make them like that anymore. Well, they don't make them at all anymore, which is a pity if you ask me. Oh! Wouldn't it be fun if we had armour and swords made for the three of us? I bet we would all look smashing. The Terrible T's: Fourth Blight edition." She threaded her arm through Aran's, grinning.

“So long as it’s without the actual Blight.” Aran leaned into her, eyeing the webs they passed under with suspicion. “You should see the armor we found down here, too! When we found it, Tris said he’d wear it. You’re pretty tall. Might suit you better.”

“It looked heavy," Tristan said. “Even if both of you got in it, I don’t think you’d be able to lift it.”

“So you’d be able to lift it and the both of us wouldn’t?” Tilly sniffed. “Someone has a big idea of themselves.”

“No,” Tristan rolled his eyes, “I just call things how I see them.” He quickened his step, walking well ahead of them. The sooner they reached the blighted room, the sooner they’d leave. He hoped. “We’re close. Aran, is your torch working?”

“Hm?” Aran was walking with his chin perched on Tilly’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. “No hands. Don’t know.”

Tilly laughed, reaching into Aran’s sweatshirt pouch. “Here. I’ve got it.” She switched it on, illuminating the corridor before them. “You know, I learnt a spell last year that gives you light without using a torch. Some mages use it with a wand or a staff, but I can cast it without one! Although Mistress Anaan said it’s dangerous and that she would punish anyone who tried it. Oh, I wish I could show you! If only we were allowed to use magic outside the Circle. Think we’re deep enough into the earth now to not be detected? I’ve heard that when mages go into the Deep Roads, the magic detectors can’t sense them at all, so they can cast as many spells as they like. Regina, the new transfer from the Lake Callenhad Circle, was telling us that many mages from their Circle were sent to the Deep Roads in Orzammar to test out new spells that they didn’t want the government to know about. It was all very hush-hush, you understand. That is if she was telling the truth, which I’m not entirely sure she was. She told Gianna that Bastien asked her out, and Gianna told me, because she knows I know Bastien, and we sit next to each other in my Arcane magic class. So I asked Bastien-"

"Don't forget to breathe, Til," Tristan said teasingly.

"Oh, shush, you," his sister laughed. "Anyway- where was I?"

"What did Bastien say?" Aran asked, blinking up at her.

"Oh, yes! So. Bastien said he only texted her once, and that was to ask her to bring him back a pouch of crystal grace powder that he had lent her. So I’m not really sure what to make of her. Maybe she lies about some things, but not others." She tapped her chin with her finger, then made a vague gesture in the air, shaking her head. "Anyway. Top secret expeditions into the Deep Roads sound very, very interesting, if you ask me. I do hope they’re true. I do hope they send me there someday! I want to do all the research. All the spells! I might even come up with one that sends all the spiders running. I bet there’s loads of them in the Deep Roads. Then I’ll show you how to do it, Aran! Oh.” She paused, frowning. “It’s a pity you’re not a mage. We would have had so much fun together in the Circle. But that’s alright! When I go to the Deep Roads, I’ll take you with me. And I’ll keep you safe from all the spiders,” she grinned, pinching his chin.

“If you come up with a spell that scares spiders of all shapes and sizes, they’ll give you an award and a duchy,” Aran beamed at her. “I will. I’ll found a feckin’ kingdom and hand you the keys to it.” He nudged her with his shoulder, “Anyway, Miri’s there if you want a dose. She’s fun.”

"Oh, yes! Miranda's lovely. I see her from time to time, but she's usually busy. She's working really hard on her apprenticeship. Her blue robes suit her very nicely. I can't wait to get started on my own. Mistress Anaan said I might be able to start early if I pass all my exams with good marks next year. I'm thinking Arcane or Primal. Everyone says they're tough, but I think they're both fascinating. Oh! Is this the room?" She cast the light of her torch on the door that Tristan had stopped before.

Tristan took a hesitant step forward, let his gaze glide over the engravings on the door's surface. "Yes. That's the one."

"Oooh." Tilly's eyes widened. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get in!"

Tristan reached for the doorknob, his heart thrumming in his chest. The door protested loudly as he pushed it open, raising a cloud of dust in its wake. "Okay," he said, standing aside. "On you go. Search to your heart's content."

“You’re really not coming in?” Aran asked quietly.

Tristan let out a slow exhale through his nose. "I am. In- in a minute." He watched as Tilly walked forward, swinging the light of the torch in a wide arc around the room, before stopping at the large stone in its center.

"Oh, my. Sweet Maker! Is that the stone? The oath stone? Quick, Aran, get your notebook out! I need to get a good look at those runes. We should take all of them down- but first, we must figure out what they mean. Some runes activate as soon as they're written in order. Wouldn't want to set something on fire before we've had a chance to study them. Although that would be fascinating in its own right. Do we have any water in case that happens…? Oh, well, we'll just need to be careful."

Tristan sighed, flexing and curling his hands at his sides. "I don't like this. I don't like it one bit. I told you we shouldn't have come down here."

“It’s okay,” Aran met his eyes. He shifted his backpack to his side and brushed his fingers down Tristan’s forearm behind the bulk of it. “We won’t do anything to start it up again. Just figure out what it actually is. You’ll feel better knowing, aye?”

"I don't know," Tristan mumbled, the knot in his stomach tightening. He caught Aran's pinky with his own, squeezing lightly. "Some things are better left on their own."

“But you don’t know what those do until you see what they are, eh? What if-“ Aran lifted his brows, squeezing back. “What if your great-grandad had to do something on this thing to be able to wear that armor or heft that sword? Even if you never want to do it, wouldn’t it be cool to know?”

Tristan nodded reluctantly, worrying his lip. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. Let's- let's just get this over with. This place is very… dusty." He scrunched his nose, looking away.

“Aye, it is. Just some notes. And then movies.” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight, the yellow making his soft blue eyes like a summer sky filled with sun. “If you want.”

Tristan swallowed thickly. Aran’s gaze on him and his fingers that threaded discreetly through his sent a rush of warmth through him. “I do,” he whispered. “You know I do. I-”

“Aran! Tris! Come, come over here! I think I know what most of these runes mean. There’s so many of them, oh, dear. Our ancestors worked really hard on this thing. Or whoever made it for them, anyway. I haven’t seen one quite like this before. And you said there was a sword, too? And a book?”

“Yes,” Tristan said, untangling his fingers from Aran’s, “there’s a sword. But I’m not touching it. And neither are you,” he glanced sharply at Aran.

“I brought gloves,” Aran smiled hopefully.

Tristan huffed and walked away from him, coming to stand over Tilly. “Right. What did you find?”

Read more on AO3!

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Saying sorry when you don’t want to - @lyriumyue

Diplomacy

"- little savage should have been drowned at birth -"

"Marquis!"

Josephine frowned sternly at the irate Orlesian nobleman standing in her office. He had a neat little bite mark on his hand, courtesy of Aran Lavellan. Not that it seemed to have been unwarranted, but things were still a little delicate following the transfer of power in Orlais. Thankfully, the Inquisitor understood this, but that didn't mean she was exactly happy about what she now had to do.

Indeed, Enaste was glaring at the human noble as though she'd like to do more than just bite him. And, if she was honest, Josephine would quite like to see the elven woman go to town on the offensive aristocrat. She was very fond of Aran Lavellan, and though she hadn't witnessed the altercation, she was more inclined to believe the boy's version of events than the man he had bitten. Indeed, Lady Trevelyan had backed up Aran's tale with cheerful goodwill. Still, sometimes pride had to take a back seat to enable stability. She was very lucky that Enaste knew this without needing to be told, though she was sure there would be consequences for the noble who had dared to lay hands on the Inquisitor's son. In fact, she was rather determined to make sure they happened herself.

"Marquis Ponmarde," Enaste said, her tone crackling with the effort of keeping her temper. "I ... apologize ... for my son's behavior. It will not happen again, I am sure."

Josephine brushed her quill in front of her lips, hoping to disguise the hint toward a smile she could feel rising. There was more threat than apology in those words, but only someone who was familiar with Enaste would recognize that. Evidently both Cullen and Leliana recognized it, too, given the way the commander had to turn his face away briefly, and the spymaster openly smiled.

"You should cage that little monster," the marquis began.

"My son was reacting to a situation he deemed to be of personal danger to himself," Enaste pointed out. "Need I remind you that you laid hands on him first?"

The marquis's jaw clenched, but by now, tales of the Inquisitor had spread far and wide. He knew not to expect her to be more than fair in such a case, and if he pushed his luck, he could expect less than fair treatment.

"I demand an apology -"

"You have received an apology," Josephine said sharply. "And now, since you clearly will not wish to remain among savages and monsters, you will be leaving us. Commander?"

Cullen nodded, his expression straight once again. "An escort has been readied to see the marquis safely to the Orlesian lowlands," he agreed. "I understand the carts are being loaded as we speak."

The marquis' mouth worked silently, outrage pouring from him.

"Yes, marquis?" Enaste asked coldly. "Was there anything further you wished to add? No? Then kindly see yourself out."

Without allowing the man an opportunity to express himself any further, Leliana and Cullen fell in behind him, ushering him out of the office and out to the courtyard. In Josephine's office, Enaste was seething.

"I should have set his smallclothes on fire," she growled. "How dare he - how dare he touch my son? Call him a savage and a monster, and -" She let out a frustrated sound. "And having to apologize to that ineffectual streak of pizzle! Was that really necessary?"

Josephine touched her hand gently. "They are just words, Enaste," she reminded her dear friend. "Words that only he heard. The world will see him expelled from Skyhold, and though he should shout his version of events to the sky, no one will believe he did not transgress. A spoken apology in private means nothing, and it got him out of here faster."

Enaste let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the desk. "How do you do it, Josie?" she asked in amazement. "You listen to these idiots and their complaints all day every day, and you never lose your temper. And I know there's a temper in there, I saw what you did to Sera for the bucket trick."

Josephine chuckled gently. "It is diplomacy," she said simply. "I have a talent for it."

Enaste's face relaxed into a warmer smile. "You have much more than that, Josephine."

The lady ambassador's smile turned shy, but shone with pleasure with this praise, allowing herself the daring luxury of holding Enaste's hand a moment longer than she might otherwise have done.

"I am very pleased you see it, Enaste."

[peippodraws]

1 and 2 from the Inquisitor as a companion meme for Aran :D

Under cut!

1 - If not for the Conclave, what would drive your character to join the Inquisition?

Aran lost their only remaining friend to the Conclave explosion, and afterwards didn't really have anything else going for them other than the burning desire to find whoever was responsible for her death and kick their teeth in. They'd been extremely reluctant to join the mage delegation in the first place, and once most of the surviving magi opt to indenture themselves to a Tevinter magister instead of trying to figure out what happened at the Conclave, Aran just nopes out and starts searching for another way - quickly coming to the conclusion that the Inquisition is looking for the same answers as they are. When it becomes apparent that the Inquisition might be more than simply an upstart organization that'll shrivel within weeks due to chantry opposition, Aran seeks them out themself. Tbh at first they're mostly just driven by their desire for vengeange, but gradully they begin to see the organization as a possibility of bringing on a more lasting peace to Thedas.

2 - How would they meet the Inquisitor?

Even if the top brass of the chantry has openly discredited the Inquisition it's still an organization stemming from it, making Aran initially slightly wary of them. Chances are that they'd would spend some time scoping out their operations before deciding to intercept the Inquisitor on the road – giving them the possibility of backing out and running in case the Inquisition would rather opt to execute Aran on sight as an apostate instead of hearing them out.