#arenno lavellan

[knightrepentant]

Solas: *turns to face the yawning rift and the masked horrors that beckon to him*

An enraged voice, from deeper in the Fade but rapidly getting closer: WHERE IS HE?! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!

Solas: Oh no...

Inquisitor Arenno's spirit-incarnation: *knocks the horrors aside like bowling pins as it charges towards him*: YOU'VE GOT SOME EXPLAINING TO DO, YOU BALD BITCH!!

[yourdragonageocs]

Arenno Lavellan

Artwork by @annahelme

“Until the Breach is sealed, I will make no apologies.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815461 - If you want to know more, here are his stories, I hope you enjoy!

[everythingdragonage]

1. Tell us your Inquisitor’s name, gender / gender affiliation (if any applies!), age, race and class!

Arenno is a male elf of clan Lavellan, a mage of 25 years.

2. Describe your Inquisitor’s appearance and/or post art, face claims or whatever else you have to show off, if you want to!

Arenno’s hair is pale brown, and pulled back in a loose ponytail, but for some that hangs around his temples. I’ll have to see what the actual options are. His eyes are amber, the colour of honey. Being an elf, Arenno has a lean figure, and is quite fleet of foot and his hands are likely to be stained with ink or grass. Arenno apparently smells like moss and tree bark under a hot sun, perhaps with the coppery tang of sorcery underneath. Despite being a mage, Arenno offers only a token gesture to his class with a long, sleeveless coat, open at the front and divided in the back for ease of movement. The coat is a deep arboreal green, with black thread trim, underneath he wears a simple cream shirt and dark brown trousers. Arenno also wears sturdy leather boots with hardened shin-guards, as well as leather arm-guards fitted with numerous small slots for writing equipment. Arenno forgoes a hood since he doesn’t mind the rain, but his boots are quite waterproof. He prefers decent craftsmanship over style, and often scandalises Vivienne by dressing so plainly. His clothes, though well-worn, are never in a state of disrepair and Arenno is skilled enough with needle and thread that he has no need of Skyhold’s tailors, at least for basic repair jobs. His belt has more than a few pouches, since he often makes trips to nearby human settlements to visit libraries or represent clan Lavellan, Arenno must carry much of what he needs about his person. A plain knife sits up his left sleeve, a lens in one of his coat pockets and in another there is a pouch of tea leaves, because you never know. When representing the Inquisition, he will consent to wear the pointed crown bearing their sword-and-eye emblem. As a Dalish elf, Arenno obviously has vallaslin markings. His are a simple, but elegant design on the right side of his face, mirroring both my Hawke and my Warden. The ink is crimson, a blood red, as it goes well with his tanned skin. As for scars, he has a few very small ones on his hands, gained from simple, hard work and from the edges of a few scrolls.

3. Does your Inquisitor have any backstory besides the official one coming with their race? Write as much as you want about their backstory!

On first meeting, Arenno will convey an air of restlessness and impatience, even to potential allies. Time is short and he cannot abide people slowing him down with trivial matters. If he had a caption, it would be ‘Arenno Lavellan does not have time for your bullshit’. That said, he is unfailingly polite to his allies and speaks kindly but firmly to those in need. Arenno wants the Inquisition to be seen as able to get things done, but will not abandon those who ask its help. Before ascending as the Inquisitor, Arenno knew little of the many Circles of Magi beyond their function as places of magical learning. He knew much more of the Templars, however, the Keeper had warned him many times not to antagonise those who bore the black sword upon their shields. Then came the war, a terrible conflict that ripped across Thedas with such ferocity that even the wandering Dalish felt it. He learned then of what Templars meant to Circle mages. The Keeper took him aside one night, when the rest of the camp had retired, and she explained everything. Her tales ended with a request, that he travel far to the south, alone, to infiltrate a Chantry-led peace summit. Then, the Breach split the sky and laid low all who stood in attendance, save for one.

What’s the thing that makes your Inquisitor angriest?

Those who lie or betray their allies will find a very angry elf mage on their heels. Such people endanger all of Thedas for their own gain, something Arenno cannot abide.

Do they have a sense of humour? What’s it like?

Strange as it may sound, Arenno does in fact possess a sense of humour. Like that of a Qunari, his sense of humour exists primarily for his own amusement. However stern and inflexible he seems to those outside the Inquisition, Arenno is perfectly happy to overlook Cole’s odd habits, laugh over a pint with Varric and the Iron Bull, and he is more than capable of dishing out the snark when the moment calls for it. His wit cannot quite match Varric’s, but he is glad to assist him in pranking Cassandra and Vivienne, whom even he considers to be far too serious, on their rest days. The only person he dare not tease is Josephine, for he knows her revenge will come suddenly and will have precise and devastating effect. It is only in Skyhold that his companions become his friends, his family. There are times when Arenno has to be strong, unyielding and unflinching, and there are the times where he has to stop, take a breath and laugh until the light comes back, at least for a time.

What are their political beliefs (as in Mage rights, the chantry, stance on countries like Orlais (cue: the Game) or Tevinter (cue: slavery, blood magic) or anything else you can think of)?

Mages and Templars: Arenno is told that he must attain the help of either the Mages or the Templars in order to fulfil his goals. To him, they are both equally stupid to continue their squabbles, the Mage-Templar War should now be irrelevant, the Elder One will not spare one and devour the other. They must put aside their grievances to fight the demonic horde, and he will work as discreetly as he can to resolve their dispute while the fight keeps them otherwise occupied. As impatient as he is with their bickering, Arenno knows that forcing a compromise is no compromise at all, merely a delaying of a renewed conflict. And yet, he must tread carefully, for foolish or not, the Inquisition needs the help of one group or the other to close the Breach, and no amount of ideological debate will change that.

The Chantry: As far as Arenno is concerned, the Chantry lost its voice when it denounced him and his Inquisition as heretics. It’s there and so far all it does is get in the way. If their Maker cared even a fraction about his creation, Arenno thinks he might have intervened by now, and time spent praying does not help those caught between insane Mages, fanatical Templars and the tide of Fade-spawn. If the Chantry wishes to aid him, so be it, only a fool would turn away help when it is offered, but Arenno will not be leashed. His people never submitted to them before, and he would not see that change now.

Orlais: Arenno has heard much of the Orlesians, little of it good. A stuck-up, vain and wasteful bunch, to speak as favourably as one might. The Empire is second only to Tevinter in the persecution of elves in Thedas, and the persecution of just about everyone else, too. It spawned the Chantry, the Exalted Marches, it burned the Dales and made his people nomads. And now the Empress has burned a city of elves to ash, to spite her rival and cheat him out of a strategic asset. Three thousand souls are not lightly thrown away, in Arenno’s eyes, and he will never sit at Celene’s table and smile as a friend. As an ally? Perhaps…but he will rail and rage behind the mask he will no doubt be wearing, every fibre of his being hating the necessity of it. If Arenno can bring light back to Orlais without Celene, do not doubt that he will drag her down.

Ferelden: The Inquisitor has heard many tales from Ferelden of late. The Warden and his defeat of the Archdemon Urthemiel, the flight of Hawke to Kirkwall, both speak of a nation that can deal with its own problems, if not without a little good fortune. The King of Ferelden seems an honourable sort, and his Queen is reputed to be an expert in matters of statecraft. No doubt they will have their own problems that must be overcome to gain their help, but Arenno has found he can stand Fereldans much more than their Orlesian neighbours. Ferelden also holds the great dwarven kingdom of Orzammar, King Bhelen is said to be a tyrant, if a capable one, and the Inquisition can only benefit from having both dwarven engineering and fighting skill on their side.

What’s their greatest weaknesses/strengths?

Strengths:

Arenno is above all else a practical elf, his goal is clear: close the Breach and restore order and peace to Ferelden and Orlais. He knows that the Inquisition will not be welcome in all corners, nor will the journey be without trials. His decisions may save or doom thousands or more, but when the world is the price of failure…he will do what he must, save as many as he can and sweep aside those would again and again stand in his way. 

And yet, Arenno is far from callous. There are so many who deserve compassion, redemption or mercy. He is willing to listen, to offer his strength, where it is needed. The Inquisition is to be celebrated, not feared.

Allies of the Inquisition will not fear betrayal. Arenno is not in the business of breaking promises, and those who do are one of the few things he openly despises, for in undermining his efforts they jeopardise the fate of all Thedas.

After dealing with humans for most of his apprenticed life, Arenno has quite the silver tongue, and much prefers talking his way out of problems. He is glad, however, to defer to Josephine’s expertise, and with her help he intends very much to play the Game and play it well.

Unlike many of his people, Arenno has spent much time amongst the other races, and has found much of what he thought of them was wrong. He is saddened by the hatred his people cling to, justified or not, and believes that, despite its horrors, the opening of the Breach will unite the people of Thedas.

Weaknesses:

There are many obstacles before the Inquisition, and those would aid it. But Arenno is not easily convinced of their trustworthiness. Time in the Fade has made him naturally suspicious and loath to part with secrets, secrets that might aid his cause if shared.

A mage he may be, but Arenno rarely lurks in the back of a fight, preferring to clash with his foe toe-to-toe, and it has earned him more than a few scrapes, much to Cassandra’s exasperation.

While he has sympathy for the helpless people of Thedas, those who declare themselves enemies of his Inquisition get but little. They risk everything for their own gain and Arenno cannot abide selfishness when so much is at stake. They shall have one chance to stand aside or he will walk over them. Those who fight for the Elder One shall have even less.

Here is his happy face:

[knightrepentant]

"Honour be damned, Templar. I would spit in your eye if it gained me the victory." - Inquisitor Arenno Lavellan

[knightrepentant]

The final inked version of Arenno's tarot card, 'Judgement'

[knightrepentant]

This is Arenno so, so much

Everyone: Andraste gave you that mark on your hand! You’re her Herald, a miracle sent by the Maker to aid us! Lavellan: I am Dalish so I do not believe this. Cassandra: Can’t you find room in your pantheon for one more god? Lavellan: Since the entire point of the Maker is that he’s the one and only god, I don’t think the compatibility issues rest on my end. Josephine: The people want to know what Andraste said to you in the Fade. Lavellan: I did not see Andraste in the Fade. Sera: But you have to believe in the Maker since you’re the Herald of Andraste! Lavellan: I have literally never agreed with that title or anything it implies. Trespasser: So about your entire belief system- Lavellan: PLeASe fUCk oFF

[knightrepentant]

At the Winter Palace...

Arenno: *enjoying a peaceful walk by a fountain*

Some Clueless Orlesian: You there, Rabbit, help me find my ring!

Josephine, across the garden: *chokes on her drink*

Arenno, visibly shaking with a forced smile:...certainly, madame.

[knightrepentant]

Dust in the Maker’s Eye

Here’s a taste of something I’m working on:

Where once there had been a great storm of noise, now there was only quiet. A brittle silence that circled as might some patient predator. There was light, but it was cold, impassive. Here and there it was obscured by jagged, twisted metal, tumbling amidst the dust. The glare of the sun awoke amber eyes. Sensation crept back to aching limbs, and to his eyes came a crackle of emerald arcs. Shallow breaths were deafening inside his helmet, and they only grew louder as a new shadow crossed the sun…

                                                           --

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Stark white light attempted in vain to illuminate the featureless grey cell. Much of the haggard frame kneeling beneath it was left in shadow, but for the occasional flash of bright green. Each crackle of emerald arcs forced a hiss of pain between clenched teeth, but the question gained no answer. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who was on that station is dead! Except for you.” Cassandra wrapped a gauntleted hand about a tanned throat, “I have no patience for games, elf, speak!” Amber eyes glared into hers, defiant. Violent green sparks soured the air, the Seeker seized the afflicted hand and forced that crackling wound close enough to the elf’s face that his eyes welled with tears. “Explain this!”

               “Leave him, Cassandra!” A slender silhouette stood framed in the doorway, “a dead man keeps his secrets.” Flame-haired and poised like a dagger, another woman joined the first in the light. “Who are you?” From between his teeth came only a low, rattling snarl. The red-haired woman seemed unsurprised, “I’ll start, then, shall I? You came here as part of security hired for the Conclave, but you are no simple sellsword. I should have expected the clanfleets would take an interest given the current climate.” The elf said nothing, and merely watched her like a cat, his breath shallow, “So, which fleet do you claim? Fleet Sabrae? Fleet Mahariel? No, they are too small to afford to send one of their own so far. Ralaferin, perhaps? Or Lavellan?” His gaze faltered for the smallest instant and she had her answer. “Your name.” It was not a request. The reply seemed as a collared beast that had to be dragged from its lair,

               “Arenno.” He was afraid, she could tell that much. The elf held himself perfectly still, as though he might shatter into pieces with any sudden movement.

               “Do you remember what happened? Our soldiers found you drifting amidst the station wreckage…” His brow furrowed as he reached for the memories,

               “I was…somewhere else, a cold place. There were whispers, and…a woman.”

               “A woman?” Frustration furrowed his brow,

               “I…don’t know. I can’t remember, there’s just…blackness.” His expression was one of helplessness and fear, “I don’t know what happened.” His interrogators shared a meaningful look, until the red-haired woman nodded slowly,

               “Guilty or not, we have little time.”

               “Take the skiff, Leliana, and prepare our forces for the assault.” The one named Cassandra turned her dark gaze onto the petrified elf, “I will show him what awaits us.”  The elf was dragged to his feet and shoved out of the cell. The cramped corridors were a gauntlet, armoured soldiers knocking into him every other moment as Cassandra and her guards forged a path through them. Most barely spared him a glance, until the mark on his hand flared green, but despite a few nervous scowls, no-one spoke a word.

               “Where…are we?” Arenno panted at the top of a steep set of steps,

               “You will see soon enough.”

               They arrived breathless in a low, roughly circular room lined with terminals. There was little light and no sound but for the quiet hum of the air filters. On a raised platform in the centre, a man stood surrounded by a gallery of holoscreens. The main screen depicted the entire system laid out neatly, threaded with the orbits of dozens of ships.

               “Seeker Pentaghast, what is the meaning of this? This…elf, should be in irons!” Cassandra’s lip curled at the challenge,

               “The prisoner must know what we face if he’s to be any help, Acting-Captain.” The man sniffed haughtily and stepped down to face them,

               “I will not have this unknown magic in my CIC, Seeker, we can ill afford a repeat of Temple Station at this critical hour. If this elf has any insight to give, let it be given in the brig!” Cassandra quirked one corner of her mouth,

               “First show him the anomaly.” The main screen flickered and the room was bathed in sickly green light. Twisting, formless and haloed in debris was a tear in the fabric of space itself. “We’ve called it the Breach. The most learned mages that remain believe it leads through the Veil, though none of our probes have survived long enough to confirm it. All we know that it is growing, and we have no way to stop it.” Arenno gazed at the shifting fractals, threaded with green lightning, like a flickering flower in the void. At the point of light blazing at its heart.

               “What…what happened?”

               “One moment the Mage and Templar representatives were convening, the next the Temple was dust. That’s all we know.” The acting-captain scrolled his screen to a map of the surrounding space, “the space between Orlais and Ferelden is in chaos, Mage and Templar ships are ripping each other to shreds with civilians caught between them.”

               “One crisis at a time, Roderick. The Breach must remain our first priority.” Cassandra looked hard at Arenno, “This is the part where you explain yourself.” All eyes swivelled to the elf, “Your guilt or innocence are matters for another time, so either you help us stop the Breach from consuming the entire system, or we throw you off the ship without a vac-suit.” Arenno scowled, eyes darting between the watching bridge officers, to the exits, to the mag-rifles brandished by the Chantry marines. Cassandra tightened her grip on her sword, until the elf’s shoulders sank as his defiance melted away,

               “What would you have me do?”

[knightrepentant]

This is a collection of short stories about Inquisitor Arenno Lavellan, a man of bravery, cunning and short temper.

[knightrepentant]

Bianca: Get him killed, and I'll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.

Arenno:

*leans down in the way he knows dwarves hate* Listen very carefully. You just confessed to bearing no small amount of responsibility for the spread of Red Lyrium to the surface. If it were any other dwarf but Varric that you loved, I would drop-kick him into this chasm here and now for your blunders. Do not threaten me again.

[knightrepentant]

Master of His Domain

There came an abrupt shift in the fabric, in the music, of the Fade. The sickly sun, itself nothing but a mirage, instead blazed white and pure upon the slick stone. The air, once fouled by the Blight, did not cling to his throat as it had. The man clad in the wolf’s pelt looked up to the castle on the peak, at the same time both gladdened and mystified by its unspoiled countenance. The walls were not of grey stone but of shining marble, its roofs were instead glittering domes of glass. 

Tarasylan Te’las. Exactly as it once was.

Almost. The banners that tumbled from its pristine walls were red, with a familiar symbol emblazoned in gold upon them. The eye, resting upon its sunburst and pierced from above by a sword, stared accusingly down at him. Solas’ brow furrowed, and he began a swift march up towards its beckoning gate. Even from here, he heard the dance of bow upon strings, a tune that stirred memories of masks and wine.

Spirits thronged the courtyard as he entered. Every form and colour he knew turned their shining gaze upon the newcomer. Spirits of Mercy, of Duty, of Wisdom, Honour, Justice, Compassion, Courage, Faith...more and more all regarding him with...what? Suspicion? Perhaps even hostility? An unfamiliar chill flickered down Solas’ spine. He had to get to the bottom of this. The incandescent crowd watched in silence as he ascended the steps to the throne room. The vaulted ceiling held no shadows here, for the brilliant sun shone freely through glass panes upon the hall below. Still more spirits gathered, watching, as he strode towards the throne.

It too was uncomfortably familiar. Red, straight-backed and adorned with dull grey spikes, a contrast to the opalescent grandeur of the place. Sitting upon it...Solas stopped abruptly, and the figure rose. Golden light blazed from it, every ripple of cloth sent new reflections dancing upon the marble, but it was the eyes that shone brightest. But as he stood, for a moment transfixed, the light began to falter. Coiling inwards like a folding flower, until the figure resembled most the being it imitated. Now the only light came from its shifting vallaslin, and the amber eyes scowling down at him.

“Solas.” The voice echoed like a bronze bell throughout the hall, and questions piled upon one another in his mind.

“Who are you? What is this?” The figure took up a staff, one more thing Solas begrudgingly recognised,

“I am the Inquisitor.” Disbelief was quickly followed by indignation, this thing has no right, none, to bear that title!

“No. The Inquisitor is dead, slain by those Qunari beasts! What manner of spirit are you?”

“His end was my beginning. I am Fortitude, one who will take up his mantle and carry on his work. The work of the Inquisition.” The spirit let the blade of its staff touch the floor with force enough just to be noticeable, and its echoing voice grew low and fierce, “Arenno opposed you, Solas. And now so do I. So do we.” Its staff roved the hall, indicating the throng of spirits that now surrounded them. A surge of injured pride welled up in the Dread Wolf’s breast,

“You leashed these spirits to this pantomime? This farce?”

“Do not play the righteous spirit-advocate here, Dread Wolf, the destruction of the Veil will be the end of two worlds. Think you that the purity of we spirits can survive crashing headlong into the wreckage of the immutable realm? As Thedas crumbles into ash, we will be blown away in the wind. Arenno loved the spirits as you do, and so every second you spend in our domain, the new Inquisition will hound your every step, to the gates of the Black City itself if need be.” The final syllables flitted between the pillars, disturbing the gossamer banners that hung there. Solas looked hard into the spirit’s golden gaze,

 “No. I am sorry, but this charade must be brought to an end. Please, Fortitude, do not force these spirits into hopeless battle, each is too precious to lose.” The spirit stepped down from the throne, and the Staff of Shartan Triumphant blazed with green-gold flame,

“Arenno never once asked another to do in his place what he would not. If there is to be a battle, Dread Wolf, I alone will match my power to yours.” Solas took a step back, even with Mythal’s power thrumming through his being, memories arose that leeched at his resolve. Arenno, the true Arenno, had been a vicious, relentless combatant. More so than any mage should be. Thirty seconds. He still had that advantage, thirty seconds and I will know every trick Fortitude possesses. Even so, better to end this swiftly. Solas summoned a crackling torrent of flame and hurled it towards Fortitude, feeling the weft of the Fade shiver before its power, and he smiled.

The Inquisitor stepped lightly to one side and spun his staff into a blur. A gust of air swept into the fire-blast and snuffed it to smoke. A force lance roared the length of the hall to shatter against the Dread Wolf’s barrier. The Inquisitor maintained an even stride towards his foe. Solas retaliated, twisting the forest of banners into serpents of silk, who struck and snared the spirit’s arms. Veilfire bloomed bright and the cloth collapsed into cinders, and the Inquisitor was free the merest moment before another blast of flame thundered towards them. There came a flash of green-gold light and the spirit stepped through, feeling the Veil part like a stream around them, to reappear with their armoured fist crashing against Solas’ cheek.

Rage boiled within Solas’ chest, this thing truly does know Arenno’s tricks, it seems. He swung his staff with both hands and it struck the spirit��s chest with a cannon blast, flinging them against a column. Fade-lightning stabbed from above, impacting Solas’ barrier and he was forced backwards. The whistle of wind upon steel came too late, the spirit had thrown its staff like a spear and the blade smashed through the Dread Wolf’s barrier to stop a hair’s breadth from his chest. Solas dispelled his barrier and threw the staff aside,

“Enough!” The bruise on his cheek stung far worse than any spell the spirit could have thrown, “What is it you desire?” Fortitude summoned its staff, and smote the column above Solas’ head with lightning,

“The fight is not finished until I say, Dread Wolf! Not until you are out of my castle!” My castle, Solas fought down a petty retort, and took up his staff. I have seen all I need to see. He needed to think. Acting with haste might do more damage than good. The spirit leapt high, staff poised again like a spear. Solas looked sadly on the face of his fallen friend, now wearing a hostile grimace,

“Until our next meeting, Inquisitor.” The point of the staff struck the marble floor in a shower of sparks. Fortitude straightened, then walked back to the throne and resumed their seat. Thoughts raced through the fractals of light within its head. A spirit of Faith stood beside them,

“A test, no doubt. The Wolf seeks to learn his prey’s strengths, and weaknesses.” Fortitude traced their jaw with one finger,

“Quite. It’s to be hoped that Solas did not suspect my true nature to be anything more than a spirit taking Arenno’s form, instead of one possessed of all his memories. Arenno knew how he meant to cast Solas down and now so do I. And we must proceed now with all haste,” the hall trembled now from approaching footfalls. The air soured as a shadow appeared in the archway, “Arenno was well used to finding allies in unlikely places, when the stakes were high enough.” Fortitude rose, one hand extended. A multitude of eyes gleamed beneath twisting horns as the pride demon inclined its head. Its guttural voice emboldened the shadows,

“Inquisitor.”

[knightrepentant]

Anders ought to count his goddamned blessings that he blew up the Chantry in front of my Hawke, Olliver, and not my Inquisitor. Arenno would’ve blasted Anders into mist the second he admitted it was him.

[knightrepentant]

Making progress on ModernAU!Inquisitor Arenno Lavellan, one day he'll have hands, one day...

[knightrepentant]

Thaumaturgic Curiosity

“Let’s see here…my word, I knew the Dalish didn’t skimp on the cybernetics but still…” Arenno rolled his eyes as the Tevinter circled him slowly, as might a collector viewing a sculpture. “Built-in Veil catalyst in the forearm…titanium-reinforced knee, elbow, wrist, hip and shoulder joints…data strips in the wrists…chromatomorphic vallaslin, that’s a nice touch…and AR optical lenses? Tell me, do you clank when you walk?” The elf flashed a grin despite himself, which Dorian mirrored, “Pretty solid-looking for an elf too, I thought living on your ships stretched you all out like caramel?” Arenno cast his eyes again to the ceiling as he tugged his vest back on,

               “Maybe if Tevinter nobles spent more time at high-G running from pirates, they’d be a little more robust. Now, if you’re done with your scans, you could tell me why I’ve come halfway across the system.” Dorian’s eyes flashed with excitement,

               “Had to be sure you didn’t have a proton warhead in your chest or incendiary nanomachines in your blood. You must have noticed the feeds coming from Denerim, yes? Arl Teagan marching into the Royal Court braying that Tevinter magisters had kicked him out of his own castle? It’s all deliciously surreptitious, let me tell you.”

“O’ course, I’ve ne’er seen the Nightingale so rattled before. What do you know?” Dorian carefully placed his scanning equipment back into its case,

“Enough to be concerned. And that you should be too.”

[knightrepentant]

Ard Arennon pt.2

Music flowed through the gilded halls of the Winter Palace, light and free. Soft candlelight skated across pristine marble floors, and Dorian took a luxurious gulp of wine. All was exactly as he remembered it. Beyond the ornate windows, rose petals fluttered like snow from a bright sky and he could smell the sea. Perhaps not exactly as he remembered, then. Though at the time this was a very tense moment, now Dorian considered one of his fondest memories of the Inquisition. He was a marvel to the Orlesian nobles, surrounded by a fawning gaggle of the elite, there was fine food and magnificent works of art to admire. For the moment, this was a safe little shelter from the crushing sadness of the previous day.

The service had been flawless, an ordeal that had left him drained and hollow inside, but it was gratifying to see how many had come to honour the former Inquisitor. Morale within the Imperium had plummeted like a stone with the news of his fall, though the blow was softened by the salvation of Qarinus. For once, the Magisterium was united, the voice of the Lucerni louder than ever. The price had been the life of his greatest, closest friend, and suddenly the wine held no taste. Now he walked along the Hall of Heroes, admiring the great statues. He wondered idly whose dream this was, which he had come across while wandering the Fade. He’d seen Leliana earlier, in the ballroom just as before, watched Cullen trying and failing to escape his many admirers. Then, as he headed towards the gardens, he saw someone now decidedly out of place.

A blue and gold gown stroked the smooth marble in a measured, yet swift, gait. White gloved hands held one another firmly, delicately betraying the worry of their owner. Lady Josephine had strayed from her place beside her sister, and was roaming the corridors alone. She passed Dorian at speed, not sparing him a glance.

“The dream is hers, Dorian Pavus.” Surprise shot through him like a bolt of lightning, and he spun to face a roaring hearth. A familiar figure stood gazing into the flames. The wine cup crashed to the floor as the Tevinter turned to the newcomer, his voice soaring with elation,

“My dear friend! You’re…you’re here!” Could it be? The idea was an absurd one, an impossibility… “How? At Qarinus…dozens saw you..saw you perish.” Turning, the figure shook its head sadly,

“I am sorry, Lord Pavus, I am not Arenno.” The magister recoiled, eyes narrowing. The face was unmistakable, the clothes were exactly as he remembered,

“You’re a spirit, then, taking his form. Like the Divine at Adamant! A little too soon, don’t you think?” The being shook his head once again,

“I did not watch his end from beyond the Veil, Dorian Pavus. When Arenno died, I…became. There is no question you could ask that I have not already asked of myself. But I do possess his memories, each moment he lived from first to last.” Incredulity gave way to intellectual curiosity,

“I’ve never heard of such a thing before, though you w…he was killed by an obscene amount of Rift energies. It is possible Arenno was half in, half out of the Fade when he died. Yet you claim not be him?” The being wearing Arenno’s face stepped towards Dorian, but mid-stride its form was suddenly consumed by bright orange flames, giving way to blinding golden light. Once his eyes adjusted, Dorian saw instead a luminescent recreation of his friend in golden crystal, every hair was a filament of amber fire, his shining clothes moved as though underwater. Eyes like miniature suns shone defiant even of the light around them,

“I am Fortitude,” it intoned in echoing cadence, “spirit of bravery and conviction. I am his defining essence, the purest expression of his being. I honour him through existence. And I am your friend, Dorian Pavus, as much as was he.” The spirit’s hand upon his arm was warm, like stone baked by the sun. Dorian’s chest felt bound by iron shackles,

“Thank you.” A deep breath served to clear his mind, “But why did you come here, to this place?” Fortitude grew dimmer, its eyes on the carpet,

“This was a place he held dear. Where the Inquisition seized a great triumph. And where Arenno met his love.” The pair looked down the corridor in time to see a figure in blue and gold hurry past,

“That’s not true, they met much earlier than that, in Haven.” The spirit’s reply was swift,

“He did not love her, then, Dorian. No, this is where he found his love for Josephine.” Then, Fortitude peered around the room, out into the gardens beyond, “But he is not here. This dream is hers, why is he not here?” Dorian too could not recall seeing Arenno among the guests,

“You’re right, Josephine dreamt this place into being, why would she leave him out of it? She’s clearly trying to find him.”

“He should be here,” the spirit said hotly, “He was here before. They danced, and she was happy. She cried before she came here tonight.” Fortitude’s face changed to one of fierce resolve, one that Dorian recognised immediately. Then came a flash of golden light, and Dorian was alone.

No, no, no this wasn’t right, Josephine thought as she pushed past a group of nobles. Someone was missing, not where they should be, someone…she cursed inside her mind, before quickly chiding herself. All this chatter was clouding her thoughts, perhaps a little cool evening air would soothe her spirits. She excused herself from the ballroom and stepped out onto the balcony. The revels of the ball faded away, replaced by the stillness of the night. She could not perceive the flash of gold behind her, but what came next she heard clearer than anything else,

“Stepped out for some air as well, my lady?” She spun and he was there, leaning against the wall and wearing an Inquisition uniform and his best crooked smile. Josephine made to leap at him, but remembered where they were and took a moment to compose herself,

“You are light on your feet, my lord, I have looked for you across the entire palace, it seems.” Arenno grinned and produced two full glasses,

“I was getting punch, it’s the last few cups worth so enjoy it.” She took the glass graciously, “you truly are a gentleman, Inquisitor.” He laughed, Andraste how she loved his laugh, and they clinked glasses.

Soon after, Arenno set down his glass and stood, offering a hand to his lady,

“Will you dance with me, ma vhenan?” And though there was no band, music yet played. Josephine never felt the chill of nighttime as they turned gently upon the tiles, never heard the rambling of the comtes and comtesses,

“I thought you didn’t like dancing, my love,” Another smile, brightening his eyes,

“It could never be a chore to dance with such a gracious and engaging woman.” She sighed and laid her head upon his chest, “I could dance like this for hours, let Cassandra deal with the nobles for a change.” Arenno laughed again,

“Only if you wanted to undo all of tonight’s hard work in the space of ten minutes, of course.” Josephine giggled into his neck,

“I know! She’s terrible at it,” Then suddenly her hands tightened around him, “I miss you!” It was just a whisper, yet the words screamed through the spirit like dragon-fire. Fortitude said nothing, merely wrapped his arms about her, pulling her close. From the doorway, Dorian saw the Lady Montilyet, enveloped by a brilliantly glowing figure in a fierce embrace, tears coursing freely down his cheeks. 

She could not tell how long they stayed that way, but finally Josephine stood back. Arenno kissed her cheek,

“You are brave, my lady, and you will endure. As the stream flows around an obstructing stone, so will you find calm waters again.” Then he cocked his head to one side, “They’re playing a waltz, ma vhenan, may I have this dance with you?” A small smile bloomed upon her face, and Josephine took his hand in hers again.

[knightrepentant]

Ard Arennon pt.1

The report was quite clear. The paper trembled as Leliana laid it gently upon the table. Cassandra sat opposite, a mask of impatience covering the fear that blazed from her, despite her efforts.

“Well?” Leliana did not answer, reaching instead for her goblet. A long gulp of mulled wine did little to assuage the terrible cold biting at her insides, but she could not withhold the answer any longer.

“It was near Qarinus. A Qunari fleet managed to make landfall on the northern coast, meaning to push south and take the city. They were challenged.”

--

A hot, dry wind tugged at loose green robes. Embers crowded, dancing, at the crest of a scorched hill. The grass curled into ash underfoot, the remnant of great gouts of magefire. Arrayed below the rise was a steel-clad horde of Qunari, brandishing spear and shield at their haggard foes. Arenno stood firm before a Tevinter phalanx, his gaze raking the enemy lines in silent condemnation. His staff stood beside him, its image of Shartan Triumphant now one the Qunari had come to respect, but the hand that clutched it was truly not a hand at all, not anymore. Dagna remained as skilled a smith as ever; the rune-inscribed cloth strips animated at his will, weaving together into a functional limb. Red silk fingers drummed absently against the staff’s handle. A party was returning up the hill, in their midst was a short figure in blue and gold.

Josephine’s face was grave as she reached the top of the hill. Watching his face fall from confident hope, to disappointment and finally quiet acceptance felt like a dagger being driven slowly into her chest.

“There will be no truce today, my love. I am sorry.” His strong arms about her shut out the world for a blessed moment,

“None could have tried harder, ma vhenan, I truly thought you had won the day for us.” The Qunari war cries battered against the barrier of calm around them, and Arenno fixed them with a hateful amber glare, “Ride hard for the city, Josephine, you’ll want no part of what’s to come.” Their heads came together, “I wish we were back in Skyhold,” he murmured, “plotting against Corypheus.” Josephine managed a wistful smile,

“It seemed a simpler time, somehow.” They kissed, tenderly, “Ar lath ma, Arenno.” His smile was broad and genuine,

“And I you. Now make haste, my love, the Qunari are coming.” One last look they shared, before fleeing hoofbeats were drowned out by the bellows of Qunari. Arenno took up his staff and lifted it high, “Legionarii! Form shieldwall!”

--

“The battle was intense,” Leliana spoke over her steepled fingers, “The shieldwall advanced steadily down the hill, while Arenno ordered his mages to commence artillery bombardment of the Qunari line. The dreadnought responded with cannon fire, Arenno managed to deflect the worst of it with barriers but the barrage gave the Qunari the opportunity they needed. Arenno’s Legionarii held the shieldwall for an hour before they were overwhelmed.”

--

Blood covered the left side of Arenno’s face. His lungs heaved in a feral roar as the staff-blade opened the throat of a Qunari shieldbearer. Screams and fire closed in about him, his Legionarii were regrouping around the last few surviving mages. A trio of Qunari rushed him, blades singing, to be smote by golden lightning. Four more charged from the left, two fell to a crushing boulder of Fade-stone. Two swords came down, leaving their red brands upon him. Yelling in pain and fury, Arenno swung the staff around. It struck the warriors with a cannon-blast, flinging their broken forms upon the charred grass. He was alone now, against five hundred Qunari. Panic crept in at the edges of his mind as he edged further and further up the hill. A flicker of movement came to late, and a thrown lance crashed against his barrier in a burst of blue light. Winded, he went to one knee, summoning the strength to blast the lance’s owner into red mist. A shot from the dreadnought put a crater at his feet and tossed the elf ten feet back, where he landed hard, ears ringing, bleeding. Every inch of him ached as Arenno struggled to his feet, watching the horde tightening their grip on the hill. To the left, right and ahead he was faced with his enemy, and his thoughts yet turned to Qarinus, waiting just beyond. Arenno spun the staff once in his hands, and called out to the unseen fabric dividing two worlds. Time for something...dramatic.

--

“’The air cracked as the elf raised the staff high. A rush of wind drowned out his scream as a dozen tears in the Veil appeared in the sky above. Burning stone rained down, smashing the Qunari to pieces, ripping the hillside asunder.’” Leliana felt her throat growing tight, “The dreadnought was sunk, and still the firestorm fell. I have reports that Arenno’s eyes burned bright green as his cry fuelled the gale. Then, a pillar of lightning thick as a tree struck the staff, flattened every tree a mile in every direction. My agents were there, and they found only the warped, melted remains of that staff, upright in the black earth.” Leliana let her hands fall, “Qarinus was saved. Though the price was high.” Cassandra’s voice was thick with rage and grief,

“He didn’t deserve that! He deserved better, after all he’d done! Better than a hopeless death at Qunari hands.” But her impotent rage quickly subsided, quelled by a far worse thought, “Josephine...how is she?” A tear stroked the Nightingale’s cheek,

“She will see no-one, for the moment. I learned that the Montilyets are planning a service in Wycome, that Clan Lavellan might attend. Everyone who can will be there.”

--

Istimaethoriel sat alone in a secluded courtyard, listening to the birdsong. To hear such a cheerful tune when such an emptiness clutched her was a surreal thing. She’d heard all of what happened, from the Nightingale herself, she would brook no half-truths, no rumours or hearsay, not for this. A small bird flitted down from the canopy to patter across the flagstones, her smile was sad when she saw what it was.

“Little Wren,” the bird looked her in the eye for a moment, then continued its explorations, “How bright your eyes were, how strong your little wings. Fly safely to the Beyond, da’len.” And fly it did, on whirring wings into the cold light of the sun.