#brief mentions of solavellan and other ships

[magneticmage]

Fic drabbles;

"Do you ever miss it?"

Armashok Adaar set down his staff as he wearily collapsed onto the log by the evening campfire and turned his horned head towards The Iron Bull, "The Qun or Par Vollen?"

There was a brief pause before he shrugged, "Both."

Armashok scratched at his beard, "Yes and no. Some days more than others."

"Even though you are a saarebas?" The question lacked the malice of most Qunari, the unspoken question of where his araavard was. But it still rattled something sharp in his chest. A reminder of why he had left so many, many years ago.

"Even then," He admitted quietly, "The Qun was about purpose and direction and control. Something I felt I needed for a long time. Before I met my current araavad and wife, Herah. She would take me somewhere secluded and direct me to practice my magic, to hone it like the warrior I once was. That it was my new asala, to replace the blade that was taken from me when my magic showed. At first, I was reluctant and refused. Then, after a mission where we nearly died but were saved by my magic, I began to understand what she'd meant. I was as much a weapon as any other saarebas, any Qunari. The difference was that I could learn to control my own magic, resist my own demons, withouttm the need for a handler."

The Iron Bull frowned, "So, you chose to be Tal-Vashoth then. To abandon the Qun because it tried to control you."

"Not quite." Armashok held up his hand and called fire to his glowing palm. His companion did not flinch away, but he could still read the wary tension in his shoulders. Cullen carried that same tension. It was a fear of mages, of magic. He did not blame them. He had been afraid once, as well.

For a moment, he let the fire dance across various parts of his arms and hands, shaping and sculpting it as a potter would raw clay. He continued speaking as the flames turned brighter, burned hotter under his control, "I have not abandoned the ways of the Qun. Not truly. I have only realized it has not served its intended purpose for me. I do believe that all things and people require guidance and something to follow, some rules to adhere to, some thing important enough to work towards for themselves-even if that is for the benefit of others. That it can become their asala. Their soul. If they want."

The Iron Bull folded his arms, "So, you think you can bend the Qun to serve your needs? How is that different than the Chantry?"

"We are all flawed mortals, Bull." He shrugged, "Organizations are as fallible as their leaders and their followers. I admire the Qun for what it can be; purpose, dedication, humility. I simply realized that I could not work within the confines set by those who had founded it as it is now. I chose to be a person in a room of people who did not wish to see me as such. I chose to value the family and love I had found within it and carry that faith beyond its reach."

The Iron Bull was quiet for a moment, seeming to take these words into consideration. What went through his head, Armashok could not say. But he was drawing comparisons to his own life, if the intense stare he gave Krem said anything.

He set a hand on his fellow qunari's shoulder, "You can honor the beliefs of the Qun and not be a member of the Qunari as a country. You can be a person in a room of people who say you are nothing more than a weapon. Think on it, but know that you will always have my help no matter the nature of the request."

Bull gave a laugh, "You finally decided to make a move on me, Boss? Gotta say I didn't expect it."

Armashok shook his head and gently headbutted him, "Tempting as you are, my handsome fellow Qunari, I am happily married. Perhaps, another time, should she ever give me permission."

He nodded and offered a drink. Armashok took it. Raising it up, he declared, "Now to drink away all those annoying existential questions for the evening, aye? Tomorrow, we fight a dragon and celebrate our victory!"

"Cheers to that," The Iron Bull responded, seemingly relieved at the change of topic.

So they drank and chatted of other things-old battles, the memories of home, their shared love of bloodshed and dragons-well into the night. When they finally headed to their tents-Armashok to his with his daughter, Kara, and Bull to his with Dorian and Pyrmar Cadash-the only ones still awake were Solas and Paeriel, who had moved off for some privacy in the early dawn hours.

Months later, even despite the forced choice of his people, The Iron Bull stood resolute in his new purpose, his new family. Armashok had managed to bolster Krem and the other mercenaries with the aid of the rest of their inner circle-thus securing the alliance with the Qunari and saving the Chargers, but it took some quiet affirmations after for Armashok to fully realize the effect his words had left on his companion.

He was surprised once again, years later, when The Iron Bull-Hisraad no longer-stoof firm against the Dalatrass' orders. He was loyal to his family of Chargers and lovers in Dorian and Pyrmar. He had found his new purpose; A Qunari at heart despite the brand of Tal-Vashoth.

Armashok Adaar could only smile as he embraced his brother-in-arms before they parted for Tevinter.

[theaologies]

We’ll Continue (to be disappointed) [fic]

Fandom: Dragon Age Ship: Solavellan (implied) Rating: Gen Summary: Charter delivers some news Wordcount: ~1700 Notes: I haven’t written anything in... so long... god. A drabble, some character introspection mostly Read on Ao3

HEAVY SPOILERS for TEVINTER NIGHTS

“Is that all?” Cassandra asks, dropping the bundle of papers that has occupied her hands for the past hour or so on the small, stained wood table their little group stands around.

The basement they find themselves gathered in this time is small and damp, the scent of fish drifting in from the port outside mixing none too sweetly with old ale that has spilled through the floorboards of the tavern above. The cramped space barely fits the four women with their table, which tilts precariously whenever something heavier than a dagger is placed upon it, and Leliana has joked more than once that if Cullen had joined them he and his pauldrons would have had to play door for them.

But this isn't a matter to disturb Cullen with. Not while he's enjoying his retirement and time with his family.

No, this little party is made up only of those absolutely necessary; Cassandra, Leliana, Lavellan, and Charter.

Charter, who is the one who retrieved this information for them.

The Elven woman nods as she watches Cassandra drop her notes, folding her arms across her chest. “That is all, yes. And since I was the only one spared we won't have to concern ourselves with cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassandra sighs, frustration evident in her voice. “I suppose you're right.” She nods, rubbing at her chin, “though I admit my confusion at your survival- he'd kill all those others in attendance, yet not you? Just because you... asked?”

“I had done nothing to wrong him,” Charter tells her, leaning over to gather the papers up once more. “The others had lied or slandered him or posed some kind of risk. I merely sought out information- and it was information he was willing to share.”

“He doesn't want to kill Elves,” Lavellan supplies, finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting began, “he will if he absolutely must, but Solas is... trying not to kill other Elves. He's still trying to recruit them into his army.” She glances up at the other Elf, violet eyes both hard and exhausted at the same time, “you said it yourself- he asked you to join. And it probably would have looked worse for him had you not returned.”

“He wants us to know he can be anywhere at anytime,” Leliana says, “even though we've officially disbanded he knows we're still working against him- he wants us to know just how big of a threat he, personally, is to us. Any of us. All of us.” The Divine, cloaked in a simple disguise, spreads a hand out over the small map of Tevinter tacked down on the table, looking over it dutifully. “We'll have to be more careful from now on- well, even more so than we have been.” She sighs, a frown etched across her lips, “I'm afraid our infrequent meetings will have to become... even more infrequent. And those of us who are traveling will have to do more to cover our tracks. It will be difficult but we can't afford to get lazy now- or ever.” Nimble fingers pluck at the tacks, carefully rolling the map back up before depositing it in a tiny canister. As she straightens she eyes both Charter and Lavellan, “I'm sorry to say, but that means being more careful around other Elves, as well- if he'd go so far as to attempt to recruit a known spymaster-”

“No, you're right,” Lavellan agrees quickly, though she doesn't meet her eye, “anyone could be one of his agents, at this point. There's no telling. Caution must be taken, especially with those Elves coming out of Tevinter.”

Leliana gives a single nod, seemingly pleased with her understanding. “Yes, exactly. We cannot, at the moment, take any unnecessary risks. Now-” her eyes sweep over the other women as she tugs at the hood of her cloak, ensuring her hair is completely covered, “I'm afraid I must take my leave. Cassandra and I must be present later tonight at the Viscount's banquet- there had to be some excuse for use to travel all the way to Kirkwall, after all.”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise from the space by the door as she dons her own cloak. “Politics.”

“Now, now, Cassandra,” Leliana chides playfully, a smirk replacing her serious expression, “I'm sure Varric won't make it too unbearable for you. Perhaps our dear friend will even give you the next copy of his book.”

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes, turning toward the door quickly to hide the blush that creeps its way up her neck.

“Charter, if you wouldn't mind passing this information to Harding when you have the chance?” Leliana requests, “she'll need to know the details of this meeting in depth and what to keep an eye out for in the future.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Charter agrees, tucking the papers away into a leather pouch hidden inside her vest, “I will get this to her as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Leliana says, then turns to Lavellan, “I'm sorry you can't join us tonight,” she tells her sympathetically, “If there were a way-”

But Lavellan just lifts her hand to stop her. “It's fine,” she says, “I spent some time with Varric yesterday- we caught up then. Had lunch. It's no big deal.” She shrugs. “Besides, I'm to start trek toward the Arlathan Forest early tomorrow. Varric gave me information to catch up with one of his and Hawke's friends who's been working on dismantling the slave trade there. Thought I might be some help.”

Leliana doesn't miss the way she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, though; fingers tugging at the fabric to try to hide the dragonbone contraption Dagna made to replace her missing arm. “You had said before,” the redhead starts carefully, “that you were considering stopping by Wycome on your way. Do you still-”

“I might,” she cuts her off again, still not looking her in the eye, “I haven't decided yet. I know reports have said that some of my Clan might still be out there- but-” she sighs, rolling her shoulders to try to stave off the shudder that threatens to run through her, “I just don't think it would matter if I went back. I doubt they'd want me back, after everything. If they even recognized me at all.”

Cassandra turns back to look at the Elven woman, a soft pity in her eyes, “Inqui-”

“Don't,” Lavellan says quickly, sharply, then deflates, letting the sudden anger rush out of her. “I'm not the Inquisitor anymore, Cassandra,” she tells her with a wavering smile, “let's not pretend I still am.”

The other woman frowns, though instead of her usual frustration it's one of sympathy. “Yes, of course.” She agrees softly, “I- just know- if there's anything you need-”

Lavellan nods, looking up at the human women, a fake smile plastered across her face. “I know, and thank you. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. Truly.”

There's a pause. Lavellan returns to her subconscious fidgeting. Leliana chooses not to say anything of it. “Very well,” The Divine relents, moving to join Cassandra at the door. “We'll be seeing you, then. Just be sure to keep in touch, wherever it is you end up. I've never met Fenris personally but I know he can be... a bit touchy, as Varric's said. And perhaps... don't mention your mage sympathies.” She then looks over toward Charter, giving her associate a nod. “And you know where your duties take you next?”

“Of course, My Lady. I will continue to inform you of any developments in the Imperium.”

“Thank you. Walk in the Maker's Light, both of you.” She tells them, and then follows Cassandra out the door, the dark haired woman giving a nod in farewell to both of them.

The door shuts with a click, leaving the two Elves alone together.

An awkward silence blankets the room as they wait until they are clear to leave. Lavellan has no idea if Charter is one for small talk- they never were more than acquaintances during their time with the Inquisition- but where Lavellan used to be, she's found she hasn't had the spirit to summon the casual lightheartedness that had been so central to her demeanor all her life.

At least not for the past year and a half.

So she lets the silence be. For about an hour the two Elven women simply sit in silence; Lavellan finding a discarded crate and fiddling with the more mechanical components of her arm while Charter perches on the table itself, pouring over a small, well worn notebook. Once, Lavellan briefly catches her sleeve in a joint and curses under her breath, waving Charter off when she looks up in question. It proves to be the extent of their interaction.

At least, until right before Lavellan rises to leave.

“Wait,” Charter stops her, just as she goes to tug her hood over her head. A scarred brow quirks in the spy's direction, watching as she tears a leaf of paper from the little notebook. She looks at it for a brief moment, as though second guessing herself, before holding it out for Lavellan to take. “I don't know that Leliana would... approve of me giving you this information,” she says as the other woman carefully takes it from her, “but for him to have said it...” she hums softly, tucking away the notebook, “he allowed me my life. Delivering it to you- it's a debt paid.”

Lavellan wills her hand not to shake as she looks down at the parchment, a sudden weakness trembling in the pit of her stomach.

“When you report back to the Inquisitor... Say that I am sorry.”

“For all that it's worth,” Charter continues, moving to stand, “it did sound like he meant it.”

There's the silence once again as Lavellan's eyes stayed glued to the page, that weakness trying to decide whether to manifest itself as sadness or anger. It's such a shock, for him to address anything directly towards her after all this time, that when if finally hits her throat it culminates as neither- a tiny, humorless chuckle escapes her mouth instead. “A teahouse.” Is all she can bring herself to say; just a whisper of the word, with an almost unwilling fondness trapped behind her teeth.

Charter smiles- just a little, with just a hint of pity- and lightly claps Lavellan on the shoulder as she slips past her and out the door, disappearing into the quickly setting sun.