#but I was thinking about what Ellana’s regrets would be

[thebookworm0001]

Oh that’s. That’s something to chew on okay.

Veilguard spoilers in the tags

[sea-side-scribbles]

Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Ridden with guilt, he joins the Inquisition and begins his lonely research in order to correct his mistake.

He doesn’t expect to find consolation in the presence of a human who wields ancient elven magic without knowing it. Who is way too gentle for an elgar’thanelan, but doesn’t know that either.

Solas, for his part, doesn’t know how to stay away.

Dorian wonders if the mysterious elf just enjoys playing with a Tevinter. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

_____________________

Chapter 1- 13 | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn’t. (Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 14 | Solas joins the Inquisition.

Chapter 20 | Dorian appears in Haven.

Chapter 28

The group had to move on for quite a while until Dorian sensed the odd kind of panic without having to strain himself. He didn't actually need more proof for Solas' uncanny grasp on the fade, but it was nevertheless fascinating, even if eerie. Almost captivating. Dorian's attention was drawn to the elf more and more. Maker, he even forgot to comment on the ugly weather that ruined his hairstyle – not that it suffered an embarrassing state anyway since he came to Ferelden. His attention of course remained completely professional – Solas' magical abilities were remarkable.

While studying him, he noted other interesting aspects. The elf's smooth movements, his ability to stay quiet and unnoticed while also – strutting, in a sense. With his naked toes over pebbles and roots. Perhaps that came naturally to elves? He kept his back straight and chest out, albeit not in a stiff manner like Cassandra would. The warrior, always ready to strike, lacked a certain nonchalance. Solas's movements, on the contrary, were fluent, even when he cast spells. He didn't act like an untrained mage.

Whenever the group encountered more undead, Dorian could watch Solas' magic. And he knew how apprentices moved – those stiff postures with too many pauses to think about the next move, their spell combos creative at best and counterproductive at worst – of course depending on the student, but one simply couldn't expect the sort of elegance and confidence the elf put on display. Surely, Solas wasn't a teenager anymore. But wasn't he supposed to be an autodidact?

The little flare he made with the staff before casting, as if he redirected ambient energy to his aura. It was a Tevinter technique. Who would've taught him that if not a Tevinter?

Dorian regretted that their first meeting had been, well, a disaster. There were so many questions he wished to ask. And of course, a friendly colleague would always be appreciated, especially if he was as interesting as this one.

Solas appeared somewhat curious about Necromancy, but sadly, he avoided any attempts at a thorough discussion. Rather, he settled for testing the limits of Dorian's abilities. Dorian was ready to teach him a lesson, as soon as the possibility occurred.

When Solas announced that the panic was nearby, he earned remarks from the party. “Can you sense who's feeling it?”, Varric wanted to know. “People or demons?” Solas' expression tensed shortly. Dorian noticed it since he walked right next to him. “No, I am sorry, Varric, I...” “Don't fret. Maybe it's for the best.” They gave Dorian the impression that even Varric had a secret language with Solas, after Blackwall. How did they make it? They didn't understand half of what Solas was doing!

His anger cooled down when they came upon what looked like an abandoned camp. The emotion was the strongest here, Dorian was sure it came from the menhir in the middle. Ellana already inspected it. “Maybe we should leave this be”, Blackwall suggested, keeping his distance, holding his shield up. The Herald moved carefully, visibly delighted by their find. “It's a message”, she whispered solemnly, as if she stood in front of a memorial. “Look, these runes. They are made for i've'an'ise. It's ancient elven magic.” “I believe some mages know it nowadays as veilfire”, Solas added calmly. “Ah, yes, veilfire”, Dorian had a chance to participate. “It's well-known in Tevinter. There are attempts to reestablish the use of veilfire to secure and share knowledge – and of course to translate ancient elven runes. Could it be that we're standing in front of a work of your ancestors?” “Unlikely”, Solas commented. “It feels younger. Ancient runes are faint, the memories tend to cling to their core over time.” “But it could be Dalish”, Ellana insisted.

With a swirl of her hands, she ignited the torch attached to the stone. They immediately heard the veilfire's chatter of a hundred voices, like memories of ancient conversations, their speakers long gone. Dorian had read about this, but now he heard it with his own ears for the first time. Then the next sensation washed over him. The odd panic, now sensible in all its nuances. Numbers and letters appeared in front of this eyes, repeating themselves, like a code.

”No, this is wrong!” a voice shouted in his head. Was it his own voice? He remembered scribbling numbers, over and over again, the paper crumbling under his frantic hands.

“Rearrange, try again!” It doesn't work! You have to make this work! You can't lose it again!

When he image faded, the mages looked at each other in silence. “The fuck was that?” Varric spoke first. “A memory”, Ellana explained, blinking the dizziness away. “The writer used the runes like a journal.” “I prefer paper.”

Suddenly, loud groans interrupted their musings. From all directions, corpses waded towards the party, a revenant among them. “I knew it!” Blackwall grunted. “A revenant!”, Dorian shouted. “Blackwall, get the armoured one's attention! Solas, protect him with a barrier!” He chose Solas because he had by far the strongest barriers. The elf swung his staff as Blackwall charged with a war cry. “Ellana, can you separate it from the other corpses with your vines?” The Dalish elf followed with a swing of her staff. Mud flew everywhere as the plants burst out of the ground, trapping the corpses on the other side. “Now take them out!”, Dorian shouted as he began to set rotten flesh on fire. Varric let Bianca perforate them while the other mages protected him, until they could move on and finish the revenant together.

When all corpses lay in a puddle on the ground, Ellana pushed her staff in the air, cheering happily. The triumph lifted everyone's mood despite the occasional cuts and bruises and the mud that covered their clothes. “You really know your undead!”, she praised Dorian. “Well, naturally. What kind of a Necromancer would I be if I didn't?” “Just take the compliment, princess. It looks like your useful after all.” “Warden Blackwall, I always appreciate your winsome compliments.” They laughed as Solas quietly dropped a medal in Ellana's hands. She gave him a surprised look. “Don't be too happy about it, Shiny, you don't know where that was before”, Varric quipped and earned a slap on the arm from Ellana.

“Now what exactly happened?”, Blackwall eyed the torch. “You lit the fire and those things came at us.” “I suppose the fire attracted them. They didn't exactly come for us”, Ellana answered. “Huh, if this helped clearing out the land of them, it was worth it”, Blackwall said. “I would like to read more of those runes, if there are more.” “I indeed sense another memory”, Solas confirmed. “With a strong feeling of … arrogance.” “You're standing too close to Dorian”, Blackwall commented. They laughed as said Dorian turned to Ellana. “They are in fact interesting. Perhaps we find out what the writer so desperately sought.” Varric and Blackwall looked at each other, shaking their heads. “Mages...” “....already outnumbered.”

As it was decided, Solas guided the party to the next beacon. It was where Ellana's hopes for discovering messages of her people shattered. The strong emotions of arrogance and bitterness originated from an apostate, a former mage of a Circle. Their diary described some vicious plan to “look beyond the vistas of the fade”, with the help of demons. And a certain plant. Since then, Ellana's interest in the beacon weakened, but she agreed to clean the area of undead if they came across another. She also marked the beacons on Harding's map, along with other spots they found.

They spent more time wandering on, getting rid of occasional undead until both Solas and the mark on Ellana's hand confirmed that there was a rift nearby. “Does that mean the mark is a manifestation of Rift Magic?”, Dorian succeeded to ask Solas. “Not necessarily. Magic of this power tears at the veil either way.” “Naturally, with just enough power, we could all create rifts on our own. But this seems to be specifically bound to the veil.” “Some would say only Blood Magic had such strength.” “Ah...I see. The answer to all problems. I should say I prefer the mark as it is. At least it keeps our throats intact.” Solas had nothing to add and Dorian wondered why it always came to the unpleasant topics.

Before they encountered the rift, they came across an Avvar. The first one they found in the entire Mire, and this particular giant seemed to be friendly. “Our Chieftain's son wants to fight you. I'm called in when the dead pile up”, he explained with disgust in his deep voice. He was more interested in the rifts. Claimed they were wounds in his goddess' skin. The Lady of the Skies apparently wrote warnings for him in the sky, in the form of bird flocks. “The other Avvar kidnapped an Inquisition patrol”, Ellana told him. “Are they all right?” “A few were injured in the skirmish, but they were alive last I saw them. Someone's trained them well. They killed more of us than I thought they would”, the Avvar confirmed, expressing his respect. Varric was very relieved to hear this. “Praise Curly.” “Tuelanen ama na”, Ellana made her farewells, returning her respect to the peaceful Sky Watcher, “May the creators protect you.” “Watch the water”, was his pragmatic answer.

Later, the party had to deal with the wraiths, corpses and rage demons that poured out of the rift. A very uncomfortable part of fighting demons was that they appeared randomly at any spot they fancied, making it hard to prepare and get a working formation. Dorian felt Solas' barrier around him. It had a distinct taste and smell that he felt now stronger than before, presumably because of the rift. It weakened a little when the elf fade-stepped and cast winter's grasp on the closest rage demon. When the rift was finally closed, everyone was exhausted. Dorian could feel the slump of energy when the veil closed. He stopped in his tracks, bending over and taking a few deep breaths. He wasn't the only one.

In the evening, they finally reached their new camping spot. Dorian was delighted to see that it was in a cave this time. Right under the stony canopy, he stopped and stretched his arms, head held up. “Do you feel this?”, he sighed to Ellana who watched him. She looked around. “I feel nothing.” “Exactly.”

Their meal was quieter this time. After merely chewing on beef jerky and biscuits on the way, the camp's stew was a delicacy for Dorian. He couldn't complain, was too tired to speak in general. And too hungry. The group had dissolved as well. Blackwall and Solas had separated themselves from the others again and talked quietly to each other. Dorian had a short conversation with Varric, who was obviously distracted by something and more taciturn than usual. Ellana spoke to Harding, the map rolled out on the table before them, probably debating tactics for the next day.

Dorian remembered the book he found in the house and gave it a try. He was so enthralled by the first chapter that he only looked up when it was much later at night. People had moved on from stew to mead. He heard their muffled conversations, laughter and games from within the cave. Then Solas caught his attention. The elf knelt in front of a tent to draw runes on the ground. Dorian watched him for a while. Suddenly, he felt nervous.

If he went into the tent with him right away, what would that look like? He'd prefer to have another night without noise, moisture and insects, but obviously, others deserved this favour, too. The elf disappeared into the tent, leaving Dorian to choose. Undecided, Dorian looked around, went further into the cave to see who else was about to go to sleep. It turned out that his companions were pretty occupied, Ellana had gotten Varric to play cards with her, watched by soldiers who discussed the game, and Blackwall seemed to give her advice. Nobody took notice of the Tevinter.

Dorian returned, picked up his bedroll and hesitated, pretending to check the runes. After a while, when it was either going for it or running away to hide in the Mire forever, he chose the former.

Solas sat on his bedroll, cross-legged and writing into a notebook that Dorian saw for the first time. Their eyes met. With Solas' cold facade upon him, Dorian could already hear his rejection. That watery Haven-mead suddenly looked a lot more inviting. “Would you mind if I...?”, he said since Solas refused to speak for some reason. The elf still held off his answer, staring Dorian down, slowly letting his book sink. Dorian lost his nerve. “I see”, he said and retreated.

Outside, with his heart pounding in his chest, he was ready to down one mead after the other until he'd pass out in a corner. Then he heard the voice. “Dorian...” A little urgent, but nevertheless softer, friendly even. Dorian turned around. For the first time, Solas seemed to lift his head to look at him, instead of sneering down through squinted eyelids. He appeared to search for something in his features. Again with the staring. Dorian tilted his head, biting down any remarks.

“I just wanted to say...You are allowed to sleep wherever you like, so...choose as you will...” Solas' gaze avoided him, wandered to his feet, as if awaiting -what? An uproar? Demons falling from the sky? Dorian could use some now. “Solas, I won't do this without your consent. And I really don't mind”, he pressed out, trying to help. This elf struggled to reject, perhaps for courtesy reasons? Although courtesy had never stopped him before. Was it something elven? Whatever it was, Dorian didn't have the strength to dance and play.

“Well...you...have my consent”, Solas said and folded his arms behind his back. His eyes met Dorian's again, expression surprisingly neutral after all the sneers and stares. The gesture had something final. Now Dorian stared. There was no way out of this situation, not without insulting Solas. That elf was either horrible at rejection or...

Before Dorian could end his thoughts, Solas turned around and went back into the tent, without granting him another look. Dorian considered to leave. But again, it would be an insult. And he wanted to avoid any rumours about the evil Tevinter disrespecting elves.

Back inside, Solas was busy with his notes again. He shortly looked up, only moving his eyes, before he turned back to the book. Dorian carefully spread his bedroll next to him, leaving as much space between them as possible and lay down. The quiet scratching of the pencil on paper was the only sound in the tent. He wished to say something, but also feared to ruin the peace they had accomplished. He wondered if he could continue their chat about magic, since that had worked out well enough.

“Good work with your rifts there....they effectively amplified my spells”, he finally brought out, after clearing his throat. The scratching stopped. It was quiet for an unbearable amount of time before Solas answered: “You deserve credit, Dorian, for warning us about the revenant.” As a reflex, Dorian waved him off. “Ah, that was simple enough, merely textbook procedure...” Silence ensued, then the pencil scratched again. Ridiculous to think the elf would continue to praise him. But completely no reaction?

Dorian tried again: “I wonder, did you sense the demon in the revenant's corpse?” The scratching stopped again. “Why do you ask?” There was an undertone that made Dorian uncomfortable. Still, he went on: “You work with spirits, too, in your own way. You successfully communicate with them to retrieve the medals for Ellana.” “Because they radiate strong emotions.” “I assume a rage demon would do that, too.” “What are you trying to accomplish, Dorian? Do you wish to lessen your impact on our victory?” “I would never! I'm quite fond of my abilities myself. I'm only curious...” Another moment of silence followed. Solas didn't appear to cater to his curiosity, as he never did. Eventually, Dorian worked up the courage to say: “Your technique is Tevene.” Solas had enough interest to look up from his notes. “Anything specific on your mind?” “You're redirecting ambient energy to your personal aura. I haven't seen anyone in this part of the world do it.” “The technique is not Tevene, it is elven.” “Oh, that means we...nevermind...”

In the now awkward pause, Dorian wished to cut out his tongue and feed it to the druffalos outside.

“Do you have a good memory, Dorian?”, Solas suddenly asked. Dorian lifted his head. The elf looked at his notes, eyes squinted, as if he focused on something. “The first veilfire runes...I cannot remember their exact shape...” Then he shook his head and turned the book around, so the Tevinter could see the pages. Dorian was surprised by a detailed drawing of the menhir, with textures, ivy leaves and the landscape around it. He had drawn the runes, too, but a few parts were missing. “If I remember correctly...” Dorian sat up and reached for Solas' pencil. After a second of hesitation, Solas handed it out while holding the book. Carefully, Dorian sketched the runes, wondering why they of all things where what the elf struggled to memorize. “There, with the circles and the twirl to to left...” Dorian gave the pencil back. Solas studied the outcome before he said: “Thank you.”

“Is there anything you can't do?” Dorian marvelled at the finished drawing. The elf, once again, took his time for his answer. “Antivan character dance”, he then said without looking at him. “Ah, well, aren't they taught this at a very young age? It's no shame to be unable to reproduce that...” Solas chuckled. Dorian wasn't sure he had ever seen him smile before. “You are well acquainted with dances, I presume?” The elf's tone was softer now. “Certainly, it's part of my education as the spoiled Altus progeny I am...” Solas looked up from his notes. “You are an Altus?” “Well, yes.” Dorian stretched himself, appreciating the sudden attention. “Can't you tell it by my delicate features and perfect proportions, the result of centuries-long, meticulous breeding?” The elf ignored that. “It means your ancestors were dreamers.” “That is true. Sadly, this talent has faded away over time. I'm not a dreamer, just in case you entertained the idea.”

Solas seemed to think about this information. Dorian caught himself looking at the little wrinkles on his furrowed brow. They were almost endearing. “If you like to know more about Tevinter, or about me, just ask. I will exert myself to answer all your questions to your full satisfaction”, Dorian offered, feeling more comfortable now. “I would like to finish my thoughts first...”, Solas replied, continuing to write. Or draw. “Of course.” Dorian tried not to show his disappointment. The scratching on papier continued. The sound was unexpectedly soothing. Dorian closed his eyes and relaxed, waiting for Solas to finish. He didn't notice when he fell asleep.

[ecileh]

Ohhh it’s actually WIP Wednesday when I think about WIP Wednesday! Here’s a snippet of my tear-down-the-Veil-but-it’s-still-tragic-Solavellan-Hell fic which probably won’t be posted until it’s completely done. AU where Rook was never needed because Lavellan and co. simply became unpredictable.

“Be prepared to spend a lot of gold on bribes. Though it’d be safer to pass yourself off as a Liberati rather than a foreign elf. I can get you papers…”

As the Tevinter goes on, Solas can’t help but catch another line in the song. Through his veil he glares at the minstrel, who’s gotten to the part where the couple consummate their love, Andraste’s Herald none the wiser that she’s seducing a so-called god. Each syllable is like a dagger to the ear—it’s too intimate, and completely wrong, a twisted mockery of something only they could sing.

The sharp-eyed Tevinter misses nothing. “You don’t like The Unmaker’s Bride?”

He, the would-be Unmaker, and she, his would-be bride. Nonsense from beginning to end, though the blasphemous inversion of Andraste, Bride of the Maker, has captivated pubs across Thedas.

Solas has never cared what the people call him, but the love songs reduce the Inquisitor’s character to a single, flat note. It is…annoying.

And yet, how many elves have sought Fen’Harel after recognizing the tiny truth of their history in the new songs?

“I suppose not.”

“I’ve heard the Orlesian Chantry’s elven converts are even more fanatical than the Grand Clerics.”

After years of pointedly ignoring the song, and suddenly unable to avoid it, the words fall out faster than Solas can regret them. “I am no convert, simply wondering: is this how we remember the Inquisition? The victory over Corypheus eclipsed by star-crossed lovers and a lovesick girl who throws her life away in the last verse?”

The Tevinter looks uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I was in the Inquisition, you know. Accidentally got in their way once, but the Lady Inquisitor deemed me valuable and gave me a job.”

Solas appropriately widens his eyes and murmurs interest, though of course he already knows this. When he had to personally see to another situation with remnants of the Inquisition, there was none he could trust to simultaneously follow the last lead on the artifact. But at least the smuggler Crassius Servis was a known quantity. Clever and reliable, even in the myriad ways Solas recalls him to be unreliable. He could be trusted to prioritize his own life and his own profit, in that exact order.

Servis continues, clearly enjoying the impression he’s made on his audience. “She never missed a chance to claim she was just a person… Just a person with a glowing hand that could tear holes in the Veil. Well, without the hand, she really is just a person. Maybe I’ll ask what she thinks of the songs next time I’m in Minrathous. I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to her.”

Solas leans forward conspiratorially, his interest now genuine. By all legitimate reports, the former Inquisitor is either dead or deep in hiding. Not that his efforts are focused on finding her. But in all the intelligence he has gathered on the former Inquisition members—several of whom still trail his every move—there have been no real leads on Ellana Lavellan since she disappeared without a trace years ago. “Her place? Do you still work for the Inquisition?”

“Ha! Come on, elf, the Inquisition’s been over. Elven priestesses may be one thing, but that Divine Victoria is not letting your people lead another holy war. It’s more like the Inquisitor works for the Imperium, if you know what I mean.”

“I am afraid I do not.”

Servis raises a finger, a command to listen to the end of the ballad. Solas grimly obeys.

“The faithless face of holy war

Undone by her own lurking sin

Her victory in ashes when he left her…”

The crowd falls into rapt silence as the minstrel lays out his take on the Inquisitor’s mysterious fate. The beginning—the love and adventure—is always the same, but the end changes from region to region, singer to singer. In some versions, the Herald willingly returns the Anchor to Andraste, angering the lover who hoped to use its power to fuel an elven rebellion or his own return to godhood. Or he betrays her, stealing the Anchor for his heretic plan to tear down the Chantry.

However the lovers part, the apostate is revealed as the Dread Wolf Fen’Harel, and the final verse becomes a dirge for Ellana Lavellan, who finally gets her wish to be more woman than Inquisitor as she walks into the cold sea in despair. Or throws herself from the tower of her mountain fortress. Or any number of other self-inflicted deaths.

This minstrel is a romantic. He sings that Ellana lay down to sleep, vowing never to awaken until she finds her lover in the Fade, intent on changing the Dread Wolf’s heart. But he does not want to be found, and she is doomed to forever wander the Beyond.

It’s a clever and romantic ending, perhaps a nod to the first Inquisitor and his lover, whose story Ellana helped ensure was added to the history books. But ironically, it is Solas who has been unable to find Ellana in the Fade all these years, nor so much as a glimpse through the eluvians.

It had been a comfort to watch her live and dream in peace, once. But then…

Servis asks, “You believe all that?”

“That the Inquisitor is trapped the Fade?”

“That she was the lover of a god in disguise. It certainly captures the imagination…”

“What is your point, Servis? All the songs say the Inquisitor is long dead.”

“But you’ve heard the rumors, right?”

“Orlesian bard, Antivan Crow, Chantry sister. Yes.” Solas knows none of the songs they sing or the stories they tell about Ellana are true, no matter how shamelessly each red-haired elven lookalike is paraded throughout Thedas. He collects whispers from the Crows, the bards and harlequins, servants and slaves, the Dalish, even the elves of the southern Chantry. Spirits report to him on either side of the Veil. Even if the spirits somehow missed her, the second she left this world and passed through the Veil, he’s certain he would know.

As far as he can tell, she is nowhere. She has been naught but folklore for six years.

“There are more rumors than just that,” Servis insists with a hint of glee, like he’s well aware that he teeters on the precipice of something the elf will find distasteful.

Solas stiffens and instantly regrets stumbling so far into this conversation, but… Servis did know Ellana. And he mentioned her hand. After she allowed Solas to take it and before she went underground, Ellana made only one semi-public appearance to disband the Inquisition at the Exalted Council, and somehow, the loss of her left arm never made it into the songs or rumors.

“You asked, elf.” Servis says airily as he swirls the dregs of his mug and rises from the bench. “If you don’t want the answer, I’ll take my payment and be gone.”

This is perhaps the first sighting in years by someone who actually knew the Inquisitor, and Solas cannot afford to ignore it. Not when he is so close to completing the ritual. Not when she—or another who knows enough to lure him with whispers of Inquisition activity—may be in the same city as the lyrium idol.

Ellana believed her entire existence to be a series of dire, unfortunate coincidences. Perhaps it was necessary to tell herself in order to cope with the terrible burden of leading the Inquisition.

Solas believes coincidences exist, certainly. Just not where Ellana Lavellan is involved.

[alondradina]

Domaystic day 15!

I'm using the alternate prompt: "But who will clean the bathroom now?"

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas/Ellana, Solas/Lavellan, Solavallen

Rating: G

Modern day AU

-

So far, the hardest part of moving out of her apartment of seven years wasn't leaving behind her two best friends. No, the hardest part was listening to them whine about who was going to do all the unpleasant household tasks they'd always left for her. Ellana was getting very tired of hearing about it.

"But who's going to take out the trash?" Sera whined, staring at the full bags lining the back wall of their underused kitchen.

"Who's going to kill the bugs?" Isabela asked from on top of the futon, as Ellana beat a spider away with a broom. It was the only thing they used the broom for.

All three girls stood just outside the closed bathroom door, staring at it. Solas had taken the broom from Ellana and was using it for its intended purpose. She didn't know why he was bothering at the moment, since the floor would just get dirty again when they started moving everything around.

"I vote you do it, El. One last time."

"I'm not cleaning the bathroom again, Izzy. I just did it last month."

"Well, uh, you haven't really been by lately and-"

Ellana sighed and cracked the door open. She immediately shut it. "Absolutely not. Good luck with that."

"But El-"

"No, Sera. Maybe you should clean it for once? I don't think I've ever seen you clean anything."

"I'm not any good at it."

"Practice makes perfect, I'm told."

"That's such a bullshit saying."

Shrugging, Ellana turned away from the door and headed for her boyfriend. The girls followed along behind her.

"Please, El!"

"Pretty please?" Isabela tried, batting her eyes coyly.

"We'll love you forever!"

"You're not going to love me if I don't do it?" Ellana huffed in amusement, smiling at Solas' bemused expression. "The bathroom is a disaster and they want me to clean it."

"Ah. Worse than the kitchen?"

"WAY worse. If you've gotta pee, I suggest just leaving the building."

"I mean, it's not THAT bad," Isabela protested.

Sera snickered. "It might be. I don't pee here."

"Where do you pee?"

She snickered again and refused to answer.

Isabela laughed. "Are you the one shitting on-"

"Shh!"

"I don't even want to know," Ellana declared and turned her back to her friends. "Anyway, Solas, don't go in there."

Curiosity obviously piqued, he kept glancing at the door. His sweeping concluded near it, as the girls continued complaining about having to do basic household tasks, and he set the broom against the wall next to the door.

Ellana walked over and nudged him with her shoulder. "You'll be sorry. You don't know what kind of mess a bunch of girls can make."

He grimaced, obviously reconsidering it, before opening the door anyway. The door didn't immediately slam shut, and Ellana watched his face as he examined the room. After a minute or so, he slowly closed the door and turned to her. His eyebrows were higher than she had ever seen them before.

"Sorry you had to see that."

"It was my choice."

"Regret it?"

"Yes."

She laughed. "To the kitchen then?"

"Yes."

"Even though it's covered in mold again?"

"Better than covered in whatever bodily fluids were in the bathroom."

"Ugh. Don't remind me," Ellana suddenly realized that she hadn't heard her friends recently. Looking around, she sighed. They were gone. "Those lazy bums."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38724966/chapters/97594269

[starcrossedbun]

Clan Lavellan, Falon’Din Enasal Enaste

The woods near Wycome were quiet. The only sounds were the whistling of a gentle breeze amongst the leaves; the faintest sounds of wildlife: a fennec rustling amongst the fallen leaves, the distant song of birds in the trees above. It was peaceful, and in another world - another time, Estelle Lavellan would have found more joy in a walk in the woods. Had once run through the trees, with light and laughter, chasing his friend as she swung through the branches.

But that had been a time before the breach and Corypheus. A time before he had been made Inquisitor and made choices that would doom those he cared about. A time when his clan, his family, had still been alive.

Now, Estelle walked in subdued silence as they headed for the spot on their map - where Charter had marked a rough estimation of Clan Lavellan’s location before the humans fell upon them. Since they’d entered the woods that all too familiar grief weighed heavily on his heart.  Beside him, Dorian made no attempt to break the silence but remained a comforting presence. He was glad that Dorian had offered to come with him, he wasn’t entirely sure he could have done this by himself.

Originally, they’d come to Wycome to deal with the last of the Venatori in the area. One last mission together before Dorian returned to Tevinter. It had been somewhat satisfying to finally take down those who had sowed the seeds that had led to the humans turning on the Elves. Yet Estelle couldn’t just leave, not without seeing the woods that had become Clan Lavellan’s last resting place - without saying goodbye.

Though, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Over the past few years as Inquisitor, Estelle had seen far too many killing sites then he cared to count. Had seen far too many sites of massacres, of past battles across both Orlais and Ferelden. Though many of them had been recent by the time they’d reached them, with perhaps the exception of the Exalted Plains. It had been two years since the massacre that had left both the city Elves of Wycome and Clan Lavellan dead - blamed for a plague that wasn’t their fault. 

A knot of trepidation twisted in his stomach, making him stop dead in his tracks. What awaited them in that clearing? Would bones be scattered about, picked clean by the wildlife? Or would nature have claimed the area completely, wiping away any evidence of the atrocities that had happened beneath its trees.

‘Amatus?’

Estelle blinked, the sound of Dorian’s voice jolting him from his thoughts. ‘I’m … all right. I just need a moment.’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Dorian quietly, watching him with concern. ‘We can turn back if you need to.’

‘And miss the chance to explore such a peaceful wood with you, vhenan?’ Estelle replied, he tried for a smile but wasn’t really sure he’d managed it. ‘You know, our clan had this tradition that if you paired with someone outside the clan, on the first walk back to camp…’ he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. ‘Guess I never imagined it like this though.’

No, it wouldn’t have been at all like this. They would have been able to hear voices floating towards them through the trees, the sounds of laughter, the little ones chasing each other. His best friend, Ellana, would have been here teasing him, endlessly. Keeper Deshanna welcoming them with open arms and a warm smile. Estelle wondered how they would have thought of Dorian. Some of the clan might have had reservations given Dorian was from Tevinter. But Estelle had little doubt that he and Ellana would have gotten on tremendously and he’d most likely have regretted letting the two meet. But now, Estelle guessed he would never know.

His chest tightened. That horrible ache twisted inside him, stealing his breath. Tears burned his eyes and Estelle tried to blink them back furiously. He heaved a shuddering breath as he felt Dorian take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Estelle had always known this would be difficult, but the idea of leaving Wycome without saying goodbye, without saying the prayers he’d been unable to say two years ago - it didn’t sit right with him. 

‘Now, I know you like being stubborn,’ said Dorian, ‘but if you need to leave, just say the word and we’ll leave, all right?’

Estelle nodded, giving him a grateful smile. ‘Come on, let's get this over with.’

They ventured a little further into the woods. The trees were closer together here, the leaves above blocking out the sunlight above as an unseasonable mist curled its way between the trees. Estelle shivered, a chill spider walking down his spine. 

‘The veil, it's thin here,’ said Dorian, ‘you can feel the spirits pressing against it.’

Estelle could feel it too. That didn’t bode well, the veil was always thin where so many deaths had happened. He’d seen proof of that across the Exalted Plains a few years ago. But the last thing they needed right now, was to have to fight demons. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left as they entered the clearing.

Broken, burnt out aravels littered the clearing, covered in dead leaves and draping vines. The torn red sails, gently fluttering in the breeze. Desiccated remains lay strewn throughout, the barest scraps of cloth the only way to tell if they’d once been Elves or Human.

‘Vishante kaffas,’ Dorian muttered.

Estelle could only stare, unable to take his eyes off what lay before them. Whatever he had expected to find, it wasn’t this. He remembered Deshanna’s last words: “live well Da’len, you carry Clan Levallan with you. They are coming for us.” as he looked around at the carnage that had clearly happened here, it was far too easy to imagine what had happened. How the shems had fallen upon the camp. How the hunters tried to defend those who couldn’t flee or defend themselves but in the end they had been vastly outnumbered.

He raised a shaking hand to his mouth, an angry sob catching in his throat. They hadn’t deserved this. Clan Lavellan had always maintained as much of a civil relationship with the humans as possible, unlike their fellow clans. But now the humans had turned on them, caught up in a Venatori plot that Estelle had no doubt aimed to get to him. Clan Lavellan’s only crime - to be the clan of the Inquisitor. 

A spark of colour, a tiny flash in the sunlight, caught Estelle’s eye. Stumbling forwards, he fell to his knees only to fall back with a cry as he brushed aside the leaves. Beneath them: a slender pair of daggers, their blades rusted and crusted with old blood and on the withered corpse beside them was the rusted remains of a bracelet, its original colour long since dulled.

‘Amatus?’

He felt Dorian behind him, staff in hand. But Estelle didn’t turn around - couldn’t tear his eyes away from the remains of his best friend. Ellana never went anywhere without those daggers, their bone hilts skillfully engraved with leaves - Estelle would have recognised them anywhere. And the bracelet… with a trembling hand he carefully lifted the bracelet free, the metal cool against his fingers, the barest tingle of magic.

Ellana had such a knack for getting into trouble, that Estelle had spent the few weeks before leaving for the conclave figuring out how to place a barrier spell within the metal. It had taken many failed attempts and he’d only been successful when he finally caved and asked for Deshanna’s help. 

‘Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much,’ Ellana had teased, when he’d given it to her.

‘If you didn’t have such a knack for getting yourself into trouble, I wouldn’t,’ Estelle had replied with a slight smirk as she pulled a face. ‘But… if you don’t want it -’

‘Hey! I never said anything about not wanting it!’ Ellana had snatched it back then, immediately slipping it on to her wrist. ‘You better stay safe, lethallin.’

A choked sob escaped him at the memory. Ellana had been like a sister to him and now she was gone. Gone, and there was no way he could ever get her back. Gone, just like Deshanna, just like the rest of the clan and his parents before them. There was no way he could ever make it up to them, could never make it up how much he had let them down. Deshanna had asked for his help and he had sent one of Leliana’s agents to assassinate the Duke without thinking what that might look like, the repercussions that might have on the elves.

Estelle crumpled in on himself, no longer able to contain the sobs that racked him. Tears stung his eyes, slipped down his cheeks. He had made a mistake and Clan Levallan had paid for it with their lives.

‘Mythal’enaste. I’m sorry, lethallen,’ he whispered. ‘I should have been here. I should have done something - chosen differently. I’m so sorry.’

He felt Dorian’s arms wrap around him. ‘Shh, it wasn’t your fault, amatus,’ he said, pressing a kiss to his temple. ‘You did the best you could with what information was available to you.’

Estelle wished he could believe him. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Dorian’s shoulder as he felt him gently rubbing circles into his back, fingers threading through his hair. A part of him knew that Dorian was right, yet he still felt like he had let them down. That there was more he could have done to learn about the Venatori’s plot and sooner.

When at last the sobs had subsided, Estelle wiped his eyes and looked around at the scene that surrounded them. They’d already lingered here longer than was perhaps wise but … he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them like this. They deserved better, they deserved the funeral rites of their people even if Estelle wasn’t entirely sure how they could achieve that.

‘We can’t leave their remains like this,’ he said, ‘they… they deserve better than this.’

Dorian looked around them thoughtfully, before asking, ‘how do your people honour their dead?’

‘Well … remember the Var Bellanaris in the Exalted Plains?’

‘Ah, wasn’t that the one that was filled with demons?’

‘The entire Exalted Plains was filled with demons, but yes,’ said Estelle managing a small smile. ‘When one of the Dalish dies, they’re buried in the Var Bellanaris if their clan are either close by, or are able to make the journey. Otherwise, they’re buried with an oak staff and cedar branch and plant a tree over them.’ he paused, glancing around the clearing. A feeling of helplessness settled over him, he would never be able to give them their true burial rites. ‘We’re too far away to make it to the Var Bellanaris, I’m not even sure how we could even get them their if we could… and I don’t have the right things to be able to bury them …’

He trailed off, realising he was rambling. He hadn’t thought to try and find the things he would need before coming here - it hadn’t even occurred to him that he would need to perform the funeral rites.

‘Hmm,’ Dorian said thoughtfully, ‘we could light a pyre for them within one of the aravels. True, it might not be what is custom but it's as close as I can think of.’

Estelle merely nodded. Maybe it wasn’t tradition but, it was better than nothing - better then leaving their remains in the open. He owed them that much at least.

They worked in silence, moving the remains, wrapping them in the tattered red fabric of the aravels’ sails. It was grim work, and even with Dorian’s help and the use of magic, it was slow going. Estelle became far too aware once more of his missing forearm, how long they had already spent here and the spirits pressing against an all too thin veil. But he kept going. He wasn’t about to let his clan down a second time.

When they were done, they placed the remains within the least broken aravel, making sure it wasn’t near anything that would easily catch the flames. Then, after a momentary pause, Estelle reached out his hand, pulling the magic through the veil with far too much ease. With a clenched fish, flames enveloped the aravel and the bodies inside.

Estelle knelt before the pyre, watching as the flames took the last remains of  Clan Lavellan. Smoke stung his eyes, made them water, but he refused to look away. He felt Dorian’s hand come down gently on his shoulder and Estelle let that touch anchor him for a moment - reminding him that whilst his clan, his family were gone, he was not alone. With a shaky breath, he finally said the prayers he should have said two years before:

‘Ellana Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Deshanna Ismathoriel Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Clan Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Dareth Shiral.”

[heartslogos]

the declassified texts of the inquisition's elite [185]

(920): I need advice on ways to politely say “fuck you on your way to hell”.

-

“Since when did you need advice on anything?” Josephine asks as Mahanon drums his fingers on the table. “Least of all from me?"

Mahanon graces Josephine with one of his rare genuinely fond smiles that doesn’t carry a single ounce of its usual double edged sharpness. It's a quick twitch of the corner of his mouth and a slight softening at the corners of his eyes that gives him away. It's a very rare thing to see. Josephine finds herself smiling back.

“I could always use advice from you,” Mahanon says with such sincerity that Josephine can’t help but wonder if something is about to go downhill incredibly fast. And possibly in flames. “And who better to go to when I need advice on being diplomatic than the Inquisition’s in house ambassador?”

“Generally speaking, when you want to tell someone off, you do it,” Josephine points out. “I’ve never seen or heard of you holding back before when it comes to expressing your scathing opinion of someone. And truth be told, whoever it is you’re telling off usually deserves it in exactly the candor you give them.”

“I am an underappreciated asset," Mahanon muses, “But in this specific case, it would be prudent of me to exercise some measure of tact.”

"Is that so?"

“Unfortunately,” Mahanon scowls. “It’s my cousin’s husband. We do not get along. I regret going to their wedding. If I could I would have labelled their wedding gift as for my cousin only.”

He pauses.

“If I could, I would have removed the interloper before it got to the point of a wedding, but I was young and inexperienced then. It was…a moment to learn from.”

“Mahanon, I genuinely hope you aren’t confessing to plotting some kind of crime that you failed to carry out to your standards of perfection. I wouldn’t do anything about it, of course. But I could live without another thing on my conscience.”

Mahanon laughs, waving his hand. Josephine doesn’t know why everyone else is so constantly afraid of him. They always make him out to be some kind of strange specter of death and misfortune. A boogeyman that pops out when least expected.

Granted, the man has some quirks. And his ethical compass is less of a compass and more of an inkblot test. But he’s always been nothing but polite to her and Josephine thinks that if that’s how he steers himself he’s doing much better than most other people she’s encountered in her life.

If everyone went around treating each other with civility and politeness unless they were given substantial reason to do otherwise, Josephine’s job would probably be nonexistent.

Being polite until given reason to otherwise is an excellent code of conduct. It’s practically the most basic one. It’s manners distilled to its basics.

Josephine wonders how Dorian would react if she said that Mahanon has more manners than half the Inquisition.

“Children’s exploits,” Mahanon says dismissively. It means nothing to Josephine because while she doesn’t quite buy into everyone else’s opinion of Mahanon as some grim specter of destruction, she does know that he’s…well. He is what he is and that’s perfectly fine. “No. They’re getting divorced now. Thankfully they have no children to complicate matters. But it seems like the man is intent on going out with the least amount of dignity possible.”

“I would think that this means this is the perfect time for you to react with your usual level of scorn,” Josephine says.

“I refuse to stoop to his crass and base level,” Mahanon wrinkles his nose, scowling into the palm of his hand as he glares into the distance. Probably imagining the man’s face. “Do you understand?”

“You want to appear to take the high road without actually taking the high road,” Josephine nods, “Something you aren’t unfamiliar with. Being passive aggressive is practically an inherited trait for you, isn’t it? Ellana is certainly very good at it. And from what Leliana’s told me so are your distant cousins.”

“She’s talking about Lyna, isn’t she? Neria is about as subtle in her condemnation of others as the sky is blue, Alim is so tactful he could make mountains cringe, and Theron’s ability to be passive is nonexistent.”

“I have to admit a lack of familiarity with Leliana’s friends.”

“I’m not asking Lyna for help because Lyna is of the opinion that we should all stay out of it. I would also be of this opinion if it weren’t for the fact that the man insulted my father,” Mahanon sneers. “And I am not taking that lying down.”

Ah, no, he wouldn’t. Most things roll off of Mahanon like water off a duck, but slights to family he holds close to the chest and refuses to let go.

“I’m surprised you aren’t going to ruin the man in the background,” Josephine says.

“I would, but the man is already a ruin on his own. There isn’t much else I can do to make him miserable,” Mahanon sighs. “I don’t know what she ever saw in him. I’d chalk it all up to sexual prowess but no one’s dick can be that good.”

Josephine coughs, choking on air as she struggles between a laugh and a gasp. Mahanon reaches over and pats her back as she tries to clear her lungs.

“Mahanon!” Josephine scolds, scandalized.

Mahanon smirks, "Am I wrong? There are some things even good sex can’t excuse.”

“You’re right, but of all the people for me to hear say that I didn’t think it’d be you,” Josephine points out.

“Do you often imagine who in your circle of friends and coworkers would be most likely to say crude but true facts of life to you directly?” Mahanon asks. “If so, which one was I most likely to say if not that?”

“I don’t,” Josephine says, clearing her throat. “You are full of surprises today, aren’t you? Now. As to your cousin. Perhaps if you could give me some background information we can come up with some nice, tidy rejoinders for you to deploy when the situation arises.”

[thebookworm0001]

Spoilers for the end of veilguard and specifically how solas’s story is handled under the cut

And seriously I do mean the very end of the game and I’m gonna talk about stuff that happened before then too

You have been warned

I felt satisfied with the ending.

I was able to collect all the solas memories/regret murals and very much felt like the way the ending unlocked by that was handled well.

Solas has always been a man bound by his regrets. And this game spent a lot of time establishing is primary regret is Mythal. Yes, he cares deeply about helping people and wants that world restored, but it’s less to do with the elven people and more to do with him feeling like he’s made mistake after mistake.

He’s been living in a sunk-cost fallacy for millennia and cannot see a way out. He really, really doesn’t want to do this - he knows how many people he’ll hurt to do it, but can’t see another way because if he stops now he feels like it’ll be just another betrayal of mythal when he’s already betrayed and failed her so many times. She’s the reason any of this happened.

That’s why it has to be mythal telling him to stop. He wanted to stop for a romanced lavellan - his letter says that explicitly. But he regrets mythal’s death (and his resulting actions) so much he just. Can’t let it go. What does his life mean if he can’t fulfill the wishes of the goddess that called him to service, to a body? The friend he murdered, in the end, to make up for the first time she as killed.

He was a spirit of wisdom mythal corrupted - it’s another version of Cole and the Templar who killed the human Cole. That confrontation has to happen for him to move in any direction.

And the way he absolutely crumples when he sees her? Damn if that didn’t sell me on how deeply he cares for her, beyond the murals that show how ashamed he is of what he did with and for her.

He’s always needed someone to tell him there was another way, but nobody besides mythal could absolve him of the actions he took, because they aren’t her. It’s not a matter of the nature of their relationship, rather that he cannot untie himself from the way his spirit was warped by her and the actions he took in response to her.

Idk I know people will have very different feelings and opinions on how that went down, but it made sense to me.

And my solas-romanced lavellan acted exactly how I expected her to. Granted, Ellana is the kind of lavellan who would immediately forgive him and would, no questions asked, go with him on his journey to atone. I had a whole fic planned out where she did that exact thing - even if the details weren’t what happened here.

If you have a lavellan who isn’t as sad as mine and who wouldn’t join him, yeah this ending may not work for you. But I went from being pissed at him for trapping my rook and lying about killing varric to immediately being back on my ‘fuck you’re just a deeply sad and broken man please let yourself be happy’ lament when he talked about how he failed both the world and mythal in different moments.

It worked for me. I’m satisfied by how it was handled and think the ending makes sense for the read on Solas I’ve had for the last several years. He’s just a deeply sad man who thinks he has to make up for his failures - and the one person he’s failed more than anyone tells him it’s not on him. She’s the one person he could never get forgiveness from - and he got it. And that’s why it had to be her.

[tortue-souris]

Parchment + candles + corduroy + violin + library +leather + canvas + feather + shadow + clock + orchestra + fire + tweed + dust (but if you really are bored you can do all of them or come to my flat to wash the dishes 😈😈😈)

THANK YOU FOR ASKING ME I HAD FUN (nope) :D

parchment: what area of philosophy interests you?

Philosophy ? What is that ? Never heard of such a thing

candles: favorite quote?

Depends on my mood haha. Today I’m gonna go for this one from Anouilh’s Antigone :

“La vie n’est pas ce que tu crois. C’est une eau que les jeunes gens laissent couler sans le savoir, entre leurs doigts ouverts. Ferme tes mains, ferme tes mains, vite. Retiens la. Tu verras, cela deviendra une petite chose dure et simple qu’on grignote, assis au soleil.”

corduroy: any big past regrets?

You mean Many big past regrets? Yep.

violin: favorite composer? favorite piece of classical music?

It’s suuuuch a hard questiiooon dammmnnn my favorite piece of classical music would be between Tchaikovski famous violin’s concerto of course and Gershwin Rhapsody in Blue so pick one of these pieces and one of these composers to answer the question sowy :’)

library: preferred study environment?

It used to be my room, 100%, wouldn’t work anywhere else but that was when studying meant learning by heart, so now that I have some actual research and stuff to do and I apparently can’t get ANYTHING done when at home I’d say the 2nd floor of the INHA library... it feels so special and secret and magical !

leather: favorite book(s)? what makes them special?

Favorite and very special books are the Pierre Bottero serie “Ellana”, they left such an impression on the child I was haha, I cherish their story, their universe, their characters...!

canvas: is there any work of art that resonates with you? why?

I hate u :’)

It’s hard to chose but honestly Chardin’s paintings get me everytime. I knoooow they have “nothing special” at first sight but they’ve always made me feel something I cannot describe with words... It’s like it’s not those big paintings with epic actions and History that make you go “waow impressive” but it’s taking you by its sense of truth, idk the atmosphere, the games of textures and colors... It’s so real and surreal at the same time... Like ordinary life, but with a veil of... I don’t know nostalgia I think ? Like a memory in a way. A very small detail you would pass by without noticing but once it became a memory, or once a memory is attached to it, you notice it, and it has this special kind of glow to your eyes... Anyway Chardin was the best to turn everyday life into a work of art and that is truly inspiring and special and ahhh i love it. It’s probably why I also love Manet so much, but I’m particularly fond of his less known paintings, his still lifes, just look at the pictures below it makes me feel very emotional (yes it’s just a lemon im aware of that)

Here is Chardin La Tabagie (it’s very small) (It’s in the Louvre) (the picture is unfair to the beauty of this work)

And here are two of my favourite Manet works but the picture don’t do them justice either :’(

But it was honestly very hard to chose and you can check Odilon Redon for works that I adore without being able to tell why, some Vallotton in the same spirit... And then I could have talked for ages about Titien of course cause aaahhh... the light, the skin, the atmospheeeere... And don’t even get me started on sculptures cause that would be endless. Honestly can I answer this question twice or maybe 15th times ? xD

feather: favorite poet? favorite piece of poetry?

I don’t read enough poetry to have a favourit poet im afraid :( (omg not having a favourite piece of poetry ? I would be SO disapproved by the Baudelaires)

shadow: what makes you feel nostalgic?

PAR EXEMPLE AU HASARD REGARDER SPIRIT ToT

Top five : thinking of my childhood and the games we were playing, hearing a piece I played with my orchestra, eating something that tastes like my childhood (like LAIT CONCENTRE SUCRE), have a drink or a diner on a terrace in Paris (my heart is dying now), and... life in general haha

clock: early bird or night owl?

Early bird... but... old owl :p

orchestra: describe the songs on your most played playlist

Well it doesn’t work very well with me because I don’t listen to music that often and when I do it’s often do discover new stuff or to listen to a whole album or random playlists... So if I look at my “on loop” playlist on spotify it really doesn’t make any sense... And since I don’t have the app I cannot have access to my top 2020 titles... But I’m pretty sure that would be Pomme everywhere XD These days I listen to Arlo Parks a lot cause I’ve just discovered her and I love what she does :D

fire: which of the seven deadly sins do you find yourself leaning towards?

I think we would both agree about that : definetely gluttony xD But wrath is coming close too :(

tweed: any languages you want to learn/are learning?

Hmmmmmmm perhaps arabic ?

dust: biggest fears?

SPIDERS O.O MORE RECENTLY : LOSING THE SENSE OF TASTE THAT WOULD BE LIKE DYING TO ME O.O FAILING O.O héhé

Well THAT kept me VERY BUSY so THANK YOU and also NOPE SORRY I can’t come to wash your dishes because TONIGHT I have to watch RATATOUILLE with my SILLY VIEILLE CHOUETTE DE SOEUR :p

So now I tag oh no wait it’s not one of them :p

Bye bye vieille chouette ! SEE YOU SOON !

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - Measuring the Veil Part 2

There’s a second part, yes there is.  In which we catch up with Mihris, who is basically an unfortunate event sponge.

This is part two of Measuring the Veil, which you can read here (Parts 1 and 2 both posted on AO3 so far).  It is part of the Mala Suledin Nadas series but can definitely stand alone.  

*************

Early Solavellan, canon-typical violence

~3900 words

*************

The fadebolt took the Dalish woman directly in her chest and she staggered to the ground, curling in on herself as clouds of eerie green light suffused her body.  The wraith had circled round a broken archway and taken advantage of her focus on the shade to catch her unawares. Despite his obvious disdain, Solas’ reaction was lightning quick and Eli’s ears popped as the air around the fallen figure pooled like someone had dropped a stone in a still pond.  The clouds around the woman faded, although she flinched like someone had struck her.  Eli herself flung out her hand towards the wraith and watched the flames erupt in its body, sending it howling towards the cliff.  The shade, it’s prey now tripled, turned towards them and then back to the Dalish woman, clearly unsure of where to go next.  A bolt from Bianca ripped a hole in its fleshy chest and lodged itself with a metallic clang in the soft stone of the ruins behind it and Eli had just enough time to grin in elation at their friends’ arrival before Cassandra was launching herself over the rise of the hill.  Her shield slammed into the shade’s gormless face hard enough to rock it back against the stone and it fell limp to the floor.  Eli set the ground and stone violently on fire before Cassandra got too close to it, then turned to the wraith.  Tender already from her flames, she caught the moment of its death as Varric sent another bolt, hard and unflinching, deep into where its face should be, helped to it by Solas’ having frozen Eli’s fire inside it.  It screamed, tearing at where the arrow was lodged unnaturally where its face should be, consumed a moment later by what remained of Eli’s fire.

“Herald!”

Cassandra’s shout came after a loud grunt of pain and Eli turned to see her down on one knee, tendrils of electricity grounding down her body to her feet.  The shade was struggling up and so was the Dalish woman, her face tensed in a grimace of pain and rage as she laboriously raised her staff to strike Cassandra again.

“Atish’an, lethallan!  We are not your enemy!” Eli cried, reaching up to pull her hood down off her head.  The woman looked over, startled by hearing her language, and Eli noted how the sun glinted in pale green eyes, watching her take in the tattoos on Eli’s face.  “She is with me - she will not hurt you!”

The shade’s dying call had them both looking over to Cassandra, who stood from dealing the killing blow and turned straight back to the woman.

“Are there any more?”

Sympathy clenched in Eli’s gut as the woman said nothing, her body tense and ready for flight.  It hadn’t been long since she herself had looked at Cassandra that way, too.

“I do not think there are more, Seeker.” Solas said from beside her.  “Certainly none that I can sense.”

Eli relaxed, hopping over the last of the boulders and onto the soft grass where the woman lay.

“Are you hurt?”

“She is a templar.”

“No, she is not.  I know she looks like one.  She’s with me.”

“She called you ‘Herald’.”

Eli watched her push herself to sitting and then to standing, leaning heavily on her staff, nerves blooming in her stomach. When the woman, younger than Eli had first thought, turned her pale eyes on her again she almost felt like squirming, shame rising to bloom in her cheeks.

“Yes.  She did.”

“As in ‘Herald of Andraste’?  I have heard that one of our own has been given such a name by the shemlen.”

“Yes.  That is me.  I am Ellana, of Clan Lavellan.”

“Andaran atish’an, then.  I will admit, I wasn’t expecting to find another of Dalish blood here.  My name is Mihris.”

Eli smiled, the nerves dissipating.  Mihris had a lilt to her voice she had missed dearly, for all that Solas had a similar hint to his own accent.  She spared her companions a glance, but they seemed content to hold back.  When Eli looked back around, Mihris caught her eye.  “I have attacked one of your acquaintances then?”

“Well, yes you did.”

“You consider her such?”

“I consider her a friend, actually.  Despite how we disagree sometimes.”

That brought the young woman’s eyebrows up as well as Cassandra’s.

“Well, shemlen.  I hope you can accept my apologies.  You look very like a templar like that.”

“I am not a templar, though I do not contest the confusion.  I am also aware that you are quite right to be wary of templars, mage as you are.  Particularly now.  Your apology is accepted.”

Mihris bowed her head and turned back to Eli.  Whatever regret she apparently had for Cassandra had already dissipated.

“I see by your weapons you come ready for battle - perhaps we find a common enemy in these demons?”

Eli lifted her staff behind her and began to strap it to her harness.

“Are you fighting the demons on your own?”

Mihris made a disgusted noise.

“There is little use fighting demons when there will always be more and I have no way to close the rifts…”

She trailed off, head cocked at Eli, who nodded.  “Amazing.  Regardless, I’ve heard of elven artefacts that measure the veil - finding them could help predict where they may form, I thought.  There is supposed to be one nearby, but I wasn’t expecting so many demons.”

Eli laughed a little, ignoring Solas’ pointed look.

“Actually that’s why we’re here as well - my friend Solas has also heard of these artefacts.”

Mihris glanced over at him and something uncomfortable shifted across her face before she turned back.

“Oh.  Well I believe one to be just inside these ruins.  Could you help me reach it?”

“We can reach it together - if it works we think there may be more of them we can use.”

“And we’re pretty damn good at killing demons, so definitely able to help you there.”

Mihris looked over at Varric, her beautiful eyes opening a little in wonder as she leant close to Eli, voice a whisper.

“Is that a dwarf from Orzammar, or….”

Eli laughed again, but pointedly raised her voice so Varric could hear them.

“Varric is from Kirkwall, lethallan.  You should hear him complain when we take him anywhere near a cave.”

“Hey, not all dwarves like the feeling of tonnes of rock over their head.  That’s just common sense.  Varric Tethras, by the way.  A pleasure.”

Eli let them introduce themselves, oddly tense.  Only perhaps not so oddly, given what she suspected about Solas’ views.  It did not help that Mihris’ greeting to him was as terse as his curt nod in reply.  Wonderful.

They took a few moments to take some water and pat themselves down after the fight with the mercenaries, although it was clear Varric’s shirt and coat were utterly ruined, a fact he was happy to point out, loudly.  Solas kept separate, sipping at his canteen and watching Mihris warily.  She also seemed glad for the break and came to sit, obviously and easily, next to Eli.  For a moment Eli just revelled in the smell of halla leather and elfroot, of slightly sweat-tinged ironbark armour and the natural, earthy tang in the air that was Mihris’ magic.  It was almost too much, too brief and sharp a picture of home when she had resigned herself to not seeing or feeling it again for a very long time.  It wasn’t easy, being away from her Clan.  Curious, she asked Mihris where hers was and watched her grow suddenly nervous, looking away from her.

“I was…am…First of Clan Virnhen.”

“Virnhen?  Didn’t one of your hunters win at archery at the last Arlathvhen?”

The joy and recognition Eli hoped for didn’t come, only the slightest flinch.

“I don’t really…hunting has never been something that interested me.  Anyway, I was away on business for my Clan out here and saw the great tear in the Veil.  I had learned about these artefacts before and certainly know more about the veil than any shemlen, so I thought I’d try to help, that’s all.”

“Ma harel, dal’en.”

Solas’ voice was quiet, but there was a note of steel to it that reminded Eli forcefully of Keeper Ista when she was disapproving of something Eli had done.  Mihris’ head jerked up at him, shock on her face before something ugly crossed over it like a shadow and she bowed her head, closing her eyes.  Eli took in the suddenly hunched shoulders, the lines across the young woman’s face and gently put an arm around her.  Mihris drew her body into herself for one more moment before letting it go, her voice barely a whisper.

“They were all killed. By…by a demon our Keeper was foolish enough to summon.”

She got up and there was rage in her face where there had been grief before.  “I am all that remains of Clan Virnehn.  I was searching for a Clan to take me in when the Breach appeared.  I just want to help!”

She was humiliated, this much was obvious.  That her humiliation was transforming to rage so quickly set off old warnings in Eli’s memory, all with Keeper Ista’s voice.  She knew Cassandra would have noted the pulses of magic at Mihris’ clenched fists, just barely contained from bursting into her element of choice in her anger.  So she stood, remaining slow and calm, gently placing her hands on Mihris’ shoulders, though she kept their bodies apart.

“I am so sorry, Mihris.  Truly I am.  I know what it is to have a Clan, the idea of losing it is almost too much to bear.”

“And yet here you are, with shemlen and a new Clan.” Mihris spat, pulling away.  “I did not ask for your sympathy, Ellana.  I did, however, ask for your help in finding something that will set this right.  If the shemlen cannot clear up their own mess, then perhaps it is up to the People to do so.”

Eli didn’t argue with her and held up her hand to stop Cassandra from where she had taken breath to speak.  This was neither the time nor the place.

“And we will help, Mihris.  Do not be angry with us.  Come, you said it was this way?”

Mihris looked at her a little guiltily as she caught up with her, but Eli just smiled and shrugged.  She hadn’t really expected another Clan to be nearby, but it hurt her to see what losing one could do to someone.  Keeper Ista would be proud of her, putting her own pain to one side to be wary for a mage pushed a little too close to the edge.  She could feel no corruption there, but she had found the woman fighting demons and only hoped that the folly of Virnehn’s Keeper (Thalrinn?  Thelhen?  June’s wooden codpiece but she’d alway been awful with names) was keeping Mihris well away from summoning demons of her own.

They walked together in a slightly stilted silence.  Eli didn’t want to contemplate what looks were passing between Varric and Cassandra.  Wanted to contemplate even less Solas’ thoughts.  

The path wound between broken pieces of arches, walls - there was even what looked like an old gargoyle worn with age to almost nothing.  She wished she had time to sit and sketch them, despite her extremely dubious art skills. Perhaps she could get Solas to draw them for her once they’d found the artefact.

“Thank you for accompanying me, Ellana.” Mihris suddenly said beside her, quietly.  Eli reached between them and took her hand, holding on gently as the woman tensed and then decided to relax, threading their fingers together to give Eli’s hand a tentative squeeze before letting it go.  The pain of loss was still very raw then, to be so averse to simple physical affection.  Still, the squeeze suggested she wanted out of this pain, perhaps even saw a path to that end.  Eli hoped so.

The trail ended in a short bend that led through two arches that were still standing.  It made Eli smile, gently trailing a hand up the loose stones and letting the dust coat her palm.  She loved old things.  The path led to what had clearly been an entrance into some kind of structure built into the cliff, but something had caused either the cliff above or the building in front of it to collapse, rendering the entrance useless.  They approached it gingerly, but it seemed like the cliff was safe.

“That’s going to be a pain in the ass to lift out, that boulder’s larger than Cassandra.”

Cassandra kicked Varric gently in response.  He was right, though - unless they could find some way to move the rubble they had come here for nothing.  Eli had occasionally been known to try and move things like this with magic, but she didn’t know if she could manage something of this size.  Mihris, kicking the stone with barely contained frustration, had clearly come to the same conclusion, snarling a little and turning back to them.  

“All this is for naught if we don’t shift this now.  A focus of magical energies should be able to move the stones.”  To Eli’s surprise, she then turned to Solas, something hard and arrogant in the curl of her lip.  “You, flat-ear - can you manage it?”

The slur shocked Eli enough to still her for a moment, shame and rage buzzing down her arms to the tips of her fingertips in readiness for the fight to come.

Only there wasn’t one.  To her relief and dismay all in one, Solas said nothing but came forward gently and raised his hands, blue tendrils of flame caressing his arms before reaching out to the stones like a lover, wrapping around them and gently lifting them.  It was only when they had settled that Eli realised that he had formed them back to their original position as the main archway of the entrance.  It looked effortless, like it had cost him nothing.  Rage settled her mouth into a hard line and she was about to turn to Mihris when Solas’ hand reached for his staff behind him.

“Demons.”

Cassandra darted forward, sword drawn, the minimum amount of time possible with Solas standing unprotected.  The rest of them followed, Varric and Mihris tucking into the corners of the rectangular entrance-hall whilst Eli and Solas flanked the door.  The shade and its wraiths were thin and papery in comparison to those they had found outside.  What with Mihris’ additional bursts of lightning, harsh and unforgiving, they were felled quickly and without too much problem.  Eli breathed to calm herself and then turned to Mihris, who had already started forward.  She stood in front of her, butt of her staff on the ground, making it clear she was not about to move.  Irritation flickered over Mihris’ face and Eli leant close so she could almost feel the young woman’s breath on her cheeks.

“What are you….”

“We do not use that term in my Clan, Mihris.” Eli said, her voice low and strong.  “We believe it gives those who are not of the Dalish the impression that we think they are lesser than we are simply because of their choices.  Which we do not.  I am not here to question the tradition of your Clan, that is not my place.  But you are not with your Clan here.  And I will not hear it spoken in my presence again.  Are we clear?”

Mihris’ eyes had gone wide, the slanted sunlight casting her face in strange shadows.  She was frozen for a moment, eyes darting to where Eli assumed Solas was and then back to her.  Then she nodded. Eli nodded once in return and then turned away, walking away from the light and into the gloom at the back of the hallway.  She had to pass Solas to do so and could see him watching her, could imagine the affronted downward curve of his eyebrows so clearly in her mind that she put out a hand to stop him the second she saw his chest lift in breath to speak.  “I know.  You did not ask me to protect your honour.  If it makes you feel better, think of it as a philosophical difference between two foolish Dalish, nothing to do with you at all.”

He didn’t move as she passed him, heading for a large metal chest at the back and setting down her staff next to it as she crouched to try and heave it open.  Anything to keep herself busy at this moment, the silence from behind her was deafening.

“That is not what I was going to say.”

His voice was quiet and close.

“Well what were you going to say, then?”

“I…am unsure, now.  Have you found anything of interest?”

She closed the lid with a clang.

“Not really.”

She stood and cast her eyes around.  There were two empty entryways leading to stairs into the darkness of the ruin, nothing more.  Whatever statue had welcomed in visitors was long worn, so far gone she had no idea what it had once tried to be.  It was often such in these places.  Feeling something tickling at the back of her mind where her magic lay, she looked around again, feeling drawn to a metal lantern hung on the wall next to the arch that led to one of the staircases.  There was something cold about it and strangely familiar.

“Solas?”

“Yes?”

“That lantern.  It feels a little like that one that you found near the first base camp out of Haven.”

“Oh?”

He came over and studied it for a moment before looking at her, slightly surprised.  “You are correct, it is of the same category of object.  Although this is far older.  You could try to light it with a normal flame and it never would.”

There was something in his face that told Eli there was more and she played to it, glad to be doing something other than fighting with her own kind.

“But….”

He took the bait.  Of course he did.

“But a magical fire may do it.”

“Can you light it?”

“I think perhaps that should be your honour.”

“I don’t know how.  Let me watch you?”

“Hm.  Very well.  Come.”

She pulled closer to him, just by his left shoulder.

“Which bit of you should I watch?”

She felt him hesitate slightly as he raised his arm and could have sworn she saw a brief flash of a smile on his shadowed face.

“…my hand.”

Oh.  So he did remember last night then.  She watched him raise his arm, his fingers curling and rotating like he was gently scooping up the fire from a pool.  She felt the tendrils of it echo up to his shoulder, merging with whatever magic he held and returning back to the lantern, laden with the essence of him intense enough she could almost feel it through the cotton of her shirt.  A beautiful, cool blue flame leapt from the base, burning bright and fierce.  It was entrancing and she beamed up at him in delight, a small smile on his face as he looked down at her.

“That is not ordinary fire.” Varric pointed out helpfully from behind them.  Solas rolled his eyes.

“I have not seen it before outside of the Fade, though I have heard of it.  It is called veilfire - a sort of sympathetic magic.  A memory of flame in this world that burns where the Veil is thin.”

Eli idly wondered if he would mind her telling him she could listen him talk about magic for a whole day at a time.  He probably would.  Mihris was coming up to the fire, reaching out with her hand.

“Does it burn like normal fire?  It does not feel hot.”

“No,” Solas replied, gently lifting his hand to stop hers without looking at her.  “And neither would you feel the burn until it is too late.”

He turned to look at Eli and she suddenly felt strangely proud, like when she and Darrel had been competing for Keeper Ista’s favour as young students.  “Veilfire does not obey normal laws, but now that it is kindled, it can be manipulated.  Take it.”

“What?  How?”

“Open yourself to the memory it holds.  Take it.”

The persuasive whisper of his voice made her grin in excitement and she reached out to the flame, doing as he suggested.  With a small gasp of surprise she felt the fire respond and her hand naturally begin to curl around something unseen.  Letting the fire lead her, she found herself grasping what came into being as some kind of torch, the veilfire burning bright from the top of it like she’d held a normal torch up to a standard flame.  Strange carvings and markings curled from her fingers to the flame and back again, some not-quite real metal holding the veilfire in a basin at the top.

“It remembers being lit like this,” she asked, slightly breathlessly, “So now it can be?”

“Precisely.  Technically any one of us could do it, though the technique needed is now more often associated with a mage.”

“So what - we’re taking the magic fire with us now?” Varric asked.  Eli grinned at him.

“Oh yes.” she replied, turning back to Solas.  “Although, I feel you are probably the one who will know best where it needs to be.”

He nodded and reached out to where she held the torch.  If her skin tingled from where their fingers brushed over one another, then that was clearly just another side effect of the magic.  If he caught her eye as he drew the torch gently away from her, well that just meant he had noticed this definitely magical side effect, too.

“Which way?” Cassandra asked, ever practical.

They all looked to Mihris, who sneered a little and looked pointedly at Solas.

“It seems your friend here has more knowledge of these places than I.”

Eli forced a laugh, trying to make it sound empathetic as she smiled.

“Do not fret, Mihris.  Solas tends to know a lot more than we do about most things to do with magic and the Fade.  One gets used to it.”

Mihris’ face softened slightly and by the time she turned again to Solas Eli was relatively sure she was genuinely asking his opinion, even if only for politeness.  That is all she required, for now.  Solas, rather pointedly if Eli was any judge, cleared his throat.

“I cannot claim knowledge of every elven ruin, but if I am correct then this is quite a standard layout.  The two paths should converge at a lower hallway.”

“So it does not matter?  I suggest this way then.” Cassandra said, striding forward to aim for the steps next to the lantern, ensuring she got there before Eli could go down first herself.  They had had words about this after the last ruin they had explored where Eli had gaily trotted down a darkened staircase into the rather surprised arms of a hardened mercenary.  Apparently Cassandra had deemed this behaviour ‘rash’ and ‘unwise’.  Eli had attempted to disagree until Sera had started doing impressions of the noise Eli had made when attempting to extricate herself from said hardened mercenary.  Fine.

[nightprince]

Day 18: Vintage

Day 18 of @oc-growth-and-development OCtober, This is my Dalish female elf from Dragon Age Inquisition.

_____________________________________________________

Ellana could only stare around herself in wonder, even though she knew this was nothing but a dream. They were, after all, in the Fade and nothing in the Fade could be trusted. The walls of the building towered high into the sky even as they flickered to nothing but ruins. The mosaics on the walls rippled and changed from beautiful scenery to nothing but cracks. The floor beneath their feet was both smooth stone and overgrown grass. Ellana didn’t need Solas to tell her why their surroundings were constantly changing. It was the Fade, and it reflected what was around it. The Fade reflected what was and what is just as much as what the person viewing it expected to see.

Ellana stopped in front of one mosaic, and tilted her head slightly. It was hard to tell from the ever changing imagery, but it certainly looked like a dragon. “It’s so beautiful,” Ellana breathed out.

“Yes, it certainly was.” Solas spoke from beside her. Ellana watched as the mosaic shifted again, and she had to narrow her eyes. That almost looked like it was a wolf fighting against something.

“How could we have fallen so far?” Ellana wondered out loud. The Well of Sorrows whispered something at the back of her mind, yet she ignored it. While she did not regret her decision to drink from the Well of Sorrows, it appeared she was not free of its whisperings even in her sleep.

“Do the Dalish not blame the Dread Wolf for all the Elvhenan lost?” Solas said, his words dripping with condescension. Ellana refused to rise to the bait, it was an argument that they had many times over and she was unwilling to revisit it.

Besides, she had not asked Solas to show her an ancient Elvhenan ruin within the Fade to have an argument, or to debate about what the Dalish may or may not have gotten wrong about their own history. No, she had asked him so that she could apologize for what had happened when they had last been alone together. When he had come to her and revealed the truth about the vallaslin and when he had removed it from her face. She had kissed him in a desperate attempt to feel something. To know that something was not a lie or a half truth or something that had been twisted by centuries of lost knowledge. He had pulled away, claiming that he could not be with her.

That had been well over a week ago, and Ellana had plenty of time to think things over. It had been unfair of her to expect that he would have returned her feelings. Perhaps she had looked too far into him teaching her about everything that he had learned within the Fade. Looked too far into their late night conversations. If she had misunderstood his intentions, then she wanted to clear everything up with him. If nothing more, she wished she would lose him as a friend.

“Solas, I wanted to,” Ellana started to say, turning to face him yet she was cut off.

“I would also like to apologize.” Solas said, turning to face her. “I was too harsh with you before. It was not my intention to cause you any pain or to mislead you.” Ellana ducked her head down, even though she had thought she had misread things, her heart still clenched in pain. “However,” Solas continued, “It would also be foolish to not allow things to develop how they would.”

Ellana glanced up at him, trying to keep the hope out of her eyes. “What do you mean, Solas?”

“It means,” Solas said slowly, as if he needed more time to gather his own thoughts. “That if you’re willing to take a chance on this fool, we should see where this relationship takes us.”

A smile spread across her face that she did nothing to stop. “I would like that very much, Solas.” The Well of Sorrows whispered another warning, and she shoved it to the back of her mind.

[theaetherhealerffxiv]

An Ascians Memories

A FFXIV fanfiction - One shot

Pairing: Wol/wod x Emet-Selch

Rated: PG-17 [for safety]

WoL/Wod is NB with female leaning [you/yours/etc]

Word Count: 2107

Summary: Emet is reminiscing about past lives of yours.

He watched you from afar, scurrying to and fro. Doing this and that for the citizens of the Crystarium. You had been ordered to rest by your companions, ‘Fighting Fit” was just a phrase he had used to describe you. He could clearly see the fractures in your beautiful soul. It pained him more than anything in the various shards. Your soul burned brighter after every cataclysm that they had caused, more whole than the other pale souls next to you. Beautiful and glowing, your light continually washed over him when he stood in your presence. Making him wish more and more to steal you away from your fate as a hero. To dote upon you to hold you close and hide you away from both Zodiark and the dreaded Hydalen. No more fighting, no more pain; no more fractures upon your soul. 

Emet-selch shifted as you ran under his hiding spot to another person. Sweat clear upon your brow when usually there would be none. He squinted, his heart aching, the final act was drawing close. What he would wish to pull you into his arms and kiss you - rejoining be damned.

Pain shot from the back of his skull as he thought those words, shifting he rubbed it. 

“And what if it comes into fruition! What if you bring about the grand rejoining and my soul is no more? That you cannot bring it back! Or that you sacrifice it?!” 

“I will not. Zodiark will bring them back, we just have to create an appropriate sacrifice.” 

Groaning he pressed his head against the cool stone of the building. That's right, everything will be right if he follows the original plan. Even your fractured soul will be healed, he had to believe in it otherwise everything would come crumbling down. His very soul would be overwhelmed if he did not believe. With the pain throbbing in his head he gazed back down at you, bent over in an alleyway trying to catch your breath. Emet knew he could easily port down there, wrap his arms around you and whisk you back away to his room. To force you to rest until you had gained back some semblance of your strength. But he knew it was futile, the plan was falling into place and he must play his part. And he knew his part had nothing to do with holding you close.

Leaning his head back he closed his eyes. There was a time of course that he would have done just that; forget his plan, forget the countless eyes upon him, he would steal away into your chambers for a passionate kiss. For a night of pressing his body to yours, of whispered promises and hopes. It had perhaps only been about one hundred years since the last time that the two of you had been together in such an embrace. He had possessed a child; grown and lived a life of a human. The life of Solus zos Glavus. A smile stretched across his face as he remembered.

Meeting you in the military academy, your eyes bright, your soul even brighter. Instantly he had assigned you as his personal guard. It of course had been the first lifetime in many years that he had been in a position of power while you had not. Why in the Allagan empire you had been his empress, and even later a fellow lord which he threw himself upon in times of trouble. Your arms had ever been accepting; but that lifetime as Solus had been truly special. Duty bound him, and duty bound you, but it never stopped you from sneaking him out of the castle at his request to have a picnic in the hills. To stay by his side during a battle and easily strike down anyone that had gotten close to him. You, instead of he, had set about the courting process. Emet-selch had founding amusing at first, but then found that he loved it. He loved being in your arms after a long day, your soft whispers in his ear telling him it was alright. That he could not please everyone, that even his family had no right to question his methods. You had been devoted to him, to the point that if it were not for status he would have wed you right away. No, instead his family wed him to a woman of pedigree, whom he had bed with disdain. After the act he would always steal away to the room that the two of you shared. Emet had even gone as far as to name you his consort. The people did not care; it was not as if the two of you could have children.

No, in that lifetime you had been male after all. The people found it romantic, you would not be mentioned in any history books as the royalty and lords did not like you, but the commoners would remember your heroic tales. 

In fact, thinking of such things reminded him of one specific memory…

------

It was a battlefield; together the two of you where in the Emperor's tent, and Solus was tending to your wounds.

“Such a foolish act, what if you had been killed Gyrus?” The Emporer chided you as you laughed, wincing as the man pull tight a bandage on your back. 

“But I am fine my love!” You teased leaning back to peck him on the cheek. For a Garlean you always found the emperor to be comically small. He scoffed and slapped your wound, causing you to cry out, then devolve into a chuckle. Watching him pout as he washed his bloodied hands in a bowl of fresh water. “Solus,” You murmured as you watched his shoulders slump. “Solus I am fine, my dear Emperor, please I beg of you turn to face me.” Standing you suppressed a gasp of pain that shot through your shoulder; you had thrown yourself in a way of an assassin that had snuck behind your battlements. You had of course been prepared for such an attack by the enemy. Regardless of what you had not anticipated was that they had company. Reaching out you wrapped your arms around Solus, who leaned back into your embrace with comfortable ease.

“Gyrus you fool.” He grumbled in your arms. Was he, crying? You frowned and pushed back his greying hair. No, his golden eyes stared at you with frustrated intensity. Leaning down you pressed a kiss against his third eye. The Emperor shivered and twisted in your grasp until he could plant a firm kiss upon your lips. Sighing you leaned back and pressed your forehead against his. Your third eyes gently rubbing against each other. 

“A fool for you,” You teased, your voice breathy. Another stolen kiss; your bodies pressed up against one another in unfulfilled passion. 

Suddenly a cough came from the entrance of the tent. Solus pulled back from you reluctantly and called out to them. It was a messenger to tell the two of them of the battle ahead of them…

----

A bird landing next to Emet shocked him out of his memories, then he heard someone call his name; there was only one person that would actively call out to him. Turning he expected your face, instead he found one of the twins, the female. He frowned, but teleported from his resting place to an area in front of her. He glared down at her. “Yes?” He asked folding his arms before him as the young girl clenched her fists as she stared at him. The Ascian knew what she wanted to ask; her face showed it. Turning away he frowned. “If I knew how to properly deal with that overwhelming amount of Light I would have told you all already.” He waved his hand at her, answering Alisaes question before she even had a chance to ask. Tears brimmed in her eyes before she turned on her heel without a second word and stormed off. He couldn't help but frown at her retreating figure, when had she been told about your condition? He had thought that the woman Y’sthola was trying to keep it a secret from them. When she vanished from his view he turned away raising his hand to his chest he gazed down at the floor. His chest burned; regret. Emet-selch knew a few tricks to mitigate the light, but that girl knew he would not share them. He also knew he could not aid them in such a way. Clenching the cloth at his breast he felt a torrent of emotional pain; tears threatening to form in his eyes. 

You had been Gyrus just a mere one hundred years ago, before that? Ellana, and even further than that Inomina - he could name every single one of your reincarnations. Each one special in his heart. But Emet cast his mind further back even still, back to when your true home had still stood. Before the final days. When the two of you walked the pale streets, studied various methods of creations… had weaved your magics together to create life. Pulling himself back into the darkness he found himself once again perched high up in the buildings. Even though he fought back tears he found himself blushing at the memory. Your magics had been strong, but even though you two had always tried to weave new creations you always fell in each others arms. 

Every lifetime he thought. In every lifetime the two of you had easily fallen into each other's arms. Passionate kisses, touches, and bodies often pressed against one another. Instead, in this lifetime, perhaps the final one you two stayed away from each other. Perhaps, he thought, it was best this way. 

Best for you not to become attached to him. For him to be the tag along, the plus one to your merry band of Scions. Sure, you two had stolen kisses and touches from each other in this lifetime. But compared to the others it was minor. You would not be too affected when the time came. If he won, he would cradle your body until you passed into the final Lightwarden. In fact he would stay with you until the moment this shard was no more. Perhaps even then he would find a way to steal your soul and hold onto it until he could find a way to make you reincarnate. But, if you won he would perhaps ask you to kiss him one last time. Perhaps he would touch your face as his body disappeared. 

Wincing once more at the pain in the back of his skull he sighed. He could not lose of course, for the sake of the thousands of dead. He could not have the fleeting whimsy of wanting to love you when his goal was so close. Emet knew he would have to succeed if he wanted to bring you back. He had too. Gazing down he found that you were gazing up at him, sweat clinging to your beautiful face. Emet sat up quickly as he noted that there were more fractures in your soul. Your eyes strained with pain and without a second thought he willed himself from his seat to before you. 

You smiled weakly as he appeared in a cloud of darkness before you. His face surprisingly wild, his golden eyes searching yours. “Ah, I saw you up there and was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat?” You asked. Sure, the deal with the Greatwood warden had hurt you more than you had wished to admit. Everyone was starting to see that it was affecting you, but true to your word you did not want them to worry. Your smile vanished as you felt his arms grab you and pull you into him. His hands digging into your clothing. You raised your hands to hug him back. “Emet, what is wrong?”

“Nothing hero.” He responded quickly pulling away and producing a handkerchief from his pocket. Gently dabbing away the sweat on your brow. “Do you have a place in mind you wish to try?” Emet asked sticking the damp handkerchief back in his pocket. 

“Oh yes!” You exclaimed with forced energy. Throwing your arm around his you pulled it close to your chest and grinned. “There is this place up the way that sells delightful sandwiches. I wanted to and the little Oracle but they already ran off somewhere!” Pouting you tugged his arm. He sighed dramatically and allowed you to pull him along.

Perhaps, The Ascian thought. Just a little longer…

[buttsonthebeach]

Here and Now

I am back to continue the legacy of the OT3! This time Ellana and Iwyn get some quality time alone together.

Iwyn belongs to @thevikingwoman, and there is NO relation between Ellana and Iwyn despite their shared last name.

You can see the masterpost for the OT3 here.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open as of 7/5/19)

Pairing: Ellana x Iwyn x Solas

Rating: Explicit! Steamy sweet loving time between Ellana and Iwyn and their new toy.

**********

Ellana has never been with a woman before Iwyn, but once they start dating, all the feelings come in a rush. She finds herself caught up in them at the most inopportune moments - like when she's on a conference call for work and she's supposed to be processing the latest arguments over zoning for new parks in Kirkwall and the dangers of storm runoff and how they can be mitigated. All she can picture and imagine in those moments is how it feels to be close to Iwyn - all she can feel is the softness of her skin, the weight of her breasts in her hands -

"Ellana? What do you think?"

Varric's voice cuts through the hazy, pleasant fog of her thoughts.

I think I need to see my girlfriend tonight.

And even thinking that word - girlfriend - brings a flutter of excitement to Ellana's chest that has nothing to do with sex.

"I agree. I'll work on updating the proposal today," she says instead.

She does get her work done, but all the while her thoughts are swirling with memories of the times they've been together and also of the things that are to come. The places she wants to go. The things she wants to try. She has these thoughts about Solas, too - plenty of them, many of them - but there are days like this when Iwyn takes over her brain, and she has learned already not to feel guilty for this. Love multiplies, and does not subtract. She knows that if she called Solas right now and told him Iwyn has been on her mind all day that he would understand, agree, because he has those days too.

So Iwyn is the one she texts, the one she asks out to dinner that night. They have gone out for drinks just the two of them a couple of times in the last month, so this part is not new. But what is new is that Ellana lets herself take the lead in all of their interactions. She puts her hand on the small of Iwyn's back as they walk, pulls out her chair for her, offers to place their order. Iwyn seems amused, goes along with it.

"I'm usually the one in charge," she says, her hand on Ellana's.

"I know. I like that about you," Ellana replies. "But it's nice to be taken care of too, right? I can do that for you."

Ellana laces her words with a little bit of innuendo but mostly they are all warmth. Ellana likes to take care of people. Iwyn is no exception. Iwyn glows in the warmth, her green eyes alight.

"It is."

They talk, easy and happy, throughout dinner. There's a chance of a trip to Antiva, it turns out. They know Solas will be pleased by the idea, but joke about worrying for his fair skin, and that makes Ellana think of the expanse of Iwyn's tawny skin, and she's had a few glasses of wine, and she imagines it suddenly, vividly: spreading Iwyn's thighs apart, entering her, making love to her the way she has watched Solas make love to her. She's made love to her girlfriend other ways of course, each of them precious, but suddenly this idea has a hold of her, and she's paying the check, ignoring Iwyn's insistence on splitting it, taking her by the hand and calling for a taxi that will take them to a shop she knows in Hightown.

"I have an idea," she tells Iwyn as they walk through the aisles of sleek black boxes and tasteful colors. "But I want you to help me pick."

They have to text Solas a picture of the strap on of course - lilac-colored and nestled on black silk. He responds immediately.

Where are you two right now?

Iwyn is the one who texts back.

Why do you need to know? ;)

Solas's response is swift.

Maybe I want to join.

Ellana this time, because it is their group text.

Wait your turn, vhenan. There's enough to go around ;)

Again, Solas's response is swift: no hesitation.

I will wait - with great anticipation. Have fun tonight, my loves.

"Do you think he means you should use it on him?" Iwyn asks.

Ellana's skin prickles at the thought.

"I absolutely think he does. But tonight is for you."

And it was all for Iwyn. Slow and tender and worshipful, Ellana cataloguing every valley, every curve, of her lover's body. Easing herself between Iwyn's legs and licking her there until she is panting and begging, and then pulling away. They lose some steam when Iwyn has to help Ellana into the harness and Ellana's cheeks are hot with embarrassment but Iwyn just smiles, kisses Ellana long and slow.

"Ma vhenan," Iwyn says, soft and sincere.

Ellana takes Iwyn on her back at first, easing into it - the rhythm of moving within her. The dildo presses against Ellana's own needy sexy and she likes to grind against it at the end of each deep stroke. She likes it even better when she goes faster, harder, and she can watch Iwyn's breasts bouncing with each thrust. She likes watching her dick disappear into the pinkness of Iwyn’s sex. She likes it best when Iwyn reaches between them to play with herself, bringing herself over that edge. Ellana likes watching, close and intimate, as she fucks Iwyn through her climax. She only regrets that she can't feel it from the inside. She withdraws when Iwyn is done, fingers her, feels the last of her fluttering. She kisses Iwyn on the mouth.

"How was that?" She asks.

Iwyn responds by kissing her harder, reaching down and unbuckling the harness, pushing it as far off of Ellana as she can. By telling Ellana to roll over, lay back.

“It’s my turn to take care of you now,” she says.

And she does, with hands, lips, fingers, tongue, and finally the press of her own thigh, strong and warm, for Ellana to ride out her high - that sweet flowering heat that makes her toes curl. They collapse afterwards, safe in the circle of each other’s arms, sweaty and content.

“I’ve said it before,” Ellana says. “And I’m sure I’ll say it a hundred more times - but we really should have been doing this sooner.”

“I don’t care how long it took,” Iwyn says, lacing their fingers. “I’m happy we’re here now.”

Ellana sinks into the simple truth of those words, kisses her lover again. They are both creatures of the present, after all. Largely unburdened by past or future. For them there is here and now, and here and now is perfect.

[awesomenightfall]

The first part of the “DA Protags are Bad Adults Modern!AU”.

---

Work at the university had been brutal and Solona Amell wanted nothing more than to go home, rip her bra off, and sit in a bubble bath for a few hours while reading a nonsensical smutty romance novel and drinking an entire bottle of wine.

She loved academia, she really did, and the study of magic and the arcane was an important one, but if she had to listen to one more old, crusty mage-cum-lecturer with too many degrees and not enough brain cells tell her that her research on the Blight was archaic and irrelevant one more damn time she was going to flip a table and --

Her thoughts of slaughter and revenge halted as soon as she managed to open the old, rickety, door to her apartment. It was a far cry from the lavish estate she had been raised in, but it was her oasis in the chaos of Kirkwall, a small bit of independence that she was proud of, despite the leaks and the chipped paint, and the noisy neighbors who had ceiling-thumping-sex at very inconvenient hours.

As soon as Solona opened the apartment door, she was greeted to the sight of her roommates on their worn, secondhand couch. Hawke was wearing nothing but a sports bra and gym shorts and Ellana was naked from neck to waist, wearing only a thin pair of underwear. There was a quart of melting ice cream between them and a cooking show blasting from the TV. Solona could only deduce from the sweltering, unrelenting heat of the apartment and the tear tracks down Ellana’s cheeks that a) the air conditioner was still broken and b) her elven roommate was still reeling from her recent break up.

Solona sighed deeply. Her bath and the next chapter of Swords and Shields would just have to wait.

“Hawke,” Solona addressed her cousin, who was busy spoon feeding Ellana ice cream while simultaneously dabbing her cheeks with a tissue. “Didn’t you say you had a friend who could come and fix the AC?”

“Hello to you, too. And actually, it’s Ellana’s friend Dagna who said she’d come over to fix it, but she’s been holed up at work. She’ll be here soon, don’t worry so much, Sol. It’s not good for you. Remember your blood pressure,” Hawke said easily, in her Hawke-ish, charming way that almost made Solona forget that she was annoyed.

Almost.

Solona stripped off her outer shirt. If she couldn’t beat them…

She plopped down next to Ellana. “Are you alright?”

Ellana waved her hand. “Oh, fine. I’m fine. I’m tired of dwelling on my bad luck with men. Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about Hawke.”

“Always a fascinating topic of conversation,” Hawke agreed and Solona rolled her eyes.

Ellana wiped her face with the back of her hand and wiggled her eyebrows, instantly cheered up. “Fenris, you know, the elf from the building that Hawke is crazy about, passed by the apartment on the way to the basement to do his laundry and I swear, I’ve never seen Hawke run so fast!”

“I never run after a man.” Hawke plucked the spoon from Ellana’s hand, dug it into the soupy ice cream, and slurped it indecently. “But for tattoos and muscles, a girl might just power walk.”

Solona threw a couch pillow smattered with cigarette burn holes at Hawke’s head, laughing despite herself. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love that about me,” Hawke said with a shit-eating-grin.

She did, but there was no way she was going to admit that out loud. Hawke was loud, ridiculous, and unpredictable, but her heart was in the right place. Still, Solona would have preferred it if Hawke could settle down, just a little, instead of burning the candle at both ends all the time, but that just wasn’t Hawke’s style. Hawke with her five part time jobs (some of them not quite legal, Solona deduced, but somehow she never got arrested -- Solona suspected that Hawke’s very connected dwarf friend, Varric, had something to do with that but the rumor was unconfirmed) and endless energy and need to help people.

Solona loved her cousin but her poor life choices with partners and work and living in general really left a lot to be desired.

Ellana Lavellen, the third part of their trio, was sweet but young, and only slightly more put together than Hawke. She was a graduate student that had ventured far, far away from her clan to come to Kirkwall to study and write her dissertation on eleven history and relics.

“I think I’m going to title it: ‘How the Shem Steal Dalish History, Give It a Mediocre Andrastian Twist, and Slap Their Name on It’,” Ellana told her the first time they crossed paths in the library. “I was going to call it, ‘The Study of Shem Perverting Dalish Culture for Political Gain’, but apparently that was ‘too controversial’. Can you imagine?”

Solona liked her immediately and the rest, as they say, was history.

“You know, you can’t be sad forever over one guy ghosting you,” Hawke said to Ellana.

Ellana sniffed, affronted. “We were together for a year and then he just ups and leaves. To do ‘field research’. Except he just disappeared off the face of the planet. That’s more than just ‘ghosting’. That’s-- that’s-- a full blown haunting!”

Solona had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Apparently Hawke’s penchant for the dramatic was contagious.

“Maybe he did you a favor,” Hawke suggested. “Your friend Dorian said he dressed like a hobo, anyway.”

Ellana took another couch pillow and shoved it in Hawke’s face. “He did not! It-- it’s a style choice!”

“A bad one!”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk!”

“Stop defending him, he ditched you!”

Solona shoved herself between the two arguing roommates, hands on both of their faces to pry them apart. “Alright, you two. Break it up.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke said snottily, acting every bit like the rebellious teenager she once was. “All I’m saying, Ellana, is that there are plenty of fish in the sea. You’re cute with perfect tits--” Solona snorted,  “-- shut up, Sol, so let me hook you up with someone.”

Ellana’s frown softened. “... who?”

“Anyone you want. Just name them.”

“... Varric?”

“... anyone but him,” Hawke amended. “Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

Solona desperately wanted to ask if it was because, as she had long suspected, Varric was secretly Hawke’s Sugar Daddy and that was how she could afford to live life on part-time salary, but that was more than Solona ever really wanted to know about her cousin and her proclivities.

Hawke waved off Solona’s openly suspicious look. “All I’m saying is that many have tried and failed miserably. The dwarf is immovable. A fortress against venereal temptation. Ellana needs someone… easier. What about Merrill?”

“Why?” Ellana asked. “Because we’re both elves?”

“No,” Hawke corrected. “Because you’re nice and she’s nice and you can be nice together. How about it?”

“Isn’t your brother dating Merrill?” Solona asked.

“No, Carver has his thumbs up his ass and is wasting time pining away from afar. Besides, I’m not suggesting they get married,” Hawke said. “Maybe they just go on a casual date. Make out. Have sex and then report back in graphic detail.” Solona slapped Hawke on the arm. “Fine, fine. Maybe just the first two, then. Spoilsport.”

Ellana chewed on her bottom lip. “Well… it couldn’t hurt. It might be nice to go out.”

“Great! I’ll text her. You won’t regret it, Merrill is the best.”

Anytime Hawke said, You won’t regret it, the person almost immediately began to regret it, but Solona didn’t want to rain on Ellana’s parade.

“It’s disgusting in here,” Solona announced. “I can’t sit here another moment longer.”

“Dorian’s apartment complex has a pool,” Ellana suggested. “It’s not open now, but we could climb the gate and sneak in. The security guards are usually napping at this time or watching soap operas.”

“Before Captain Killjoy nixes the idea, I’m making an executive decision and we’re going,” Hawke said quickly before Solona, could in fact, nix the idea. “It’s either that or die of heatstroke. I vote pool.”

Solona unstuck herself from the couch. “Fine, but we better not get arrested. I’m lecturing tomorrow.”

“What could go wrong?” Hawke wondered aloud.

“With you?” Solona asked. “Only everything.”

[segadoraa]

Blinded Chapter 5: A Time Not Yet Lost

Summary:  Ellana meets with the War Council to determine the Inquisition's next move in the war against Fen'Harel.

Read the rest of the story on AO3.

Back in Skyhold, Ellana had summoned her war council almost immediately. As they entered, she felt a pang—Josephine had dark circles under her eyes, Cullen walked with a slight limp, and Leliana seemed to twitch at the slightest sound. Ellana herself still wore the bloodied armor she had in battle, days previously now. Cassandra, or Divine Victoria rather, had returned promptly to the Winter Palace to address the Chantry. She tried to quash her desperate desire to take a bath as well as her guilt for summoning her exhausted crew. They did not know when Solas would move forward and they needed to be on the same page in case disaster struck.

“My apologies for requesting your presence this soon after we have returned,” she began. “I fear we do not have much time before our enemy makes his next move and, at this point, there are several things we need to agree upon in order to confirm our next move.”

“No need for apologies, Inquisitor,” replied Josephine. “You are correct, we should meet. Leliana, have you further considered expanding our council outside this room?”

“I have considered it—”

“Hold on,” Cullen interjected, cutting Leliana off. “We are moving forward with our contingency plan just like that? I think we need to first agree that there is nothing left to be done about…?” he trailed off, meeting Ellana’s gaze. She opened her mouth to explain, but Leliana beat her to it.

“What more can we do?” Leliana stepped an inch closer to Ellana’s left side, shielding her slightly from the Commander’s gaze. “We’ve combatted his forces at every turn and we’ve come up short. We’ve gained as much power and knowledge as we could, but now he has what he needs. If Ellana herself could not change the mind of Fen’Harel, who could? We need to assume our enemy means to act, and soon.” Cullen withdrew slightly and dropped his gaze, not meeting her eye.

“Perhaps we have not yet exhausted our assets,” he suggested, cocking his head toward Ellana, his gaze still lowered. “Inquisitor, are you certain we have no tools left at our disposal to use against our enemy? He might respond to… unexpected advances more positively than what we’ve tried thus far.”

Ellana pushed her breath slowly through her teeth as Leliana sucked hers in quickly.

“Commander,” her tone was reprimanding and Ellana glanced at her gratefully, “You were not at the camp when Ellana returned from our enemy’s clutches, but I was. I am not faulting you,” she added, after Cullen opened his mouth to argue, “Your soldiers needed your leadership. However, you did not see the state the Inquisitor was in when she returned to us. I truly believe we have exhausted any resistance we have against both Fen’Harel and Solas at this point, and it would be wise to move forward from here, to spare ourselves any further setbacks.”

Ellana, slightly abashed at the comment on her conduct, sent a small smile toward Leliana. She was grateful for not having to argue her perspective with Cullen. She gazed back at him and noticed his slight blush before he shuffled around the table.

“Very well,” he said, resigning. He lifted his sad eyes to meet Ellana’s gaze. “I do trust you, and I trust the report I read. I just needed to be certain. It is a grave fate we commit ourselves to now.”

Ellana regarded him a moment before he broke away from her focus. She sensed a twinge of—what? Regret? Longing?

“I agree with Cullen,” Josephine piped up, regarding him curiously. “We should be sure there is nothing else to be done before we accept what we must do now.”

All eyes turned toward Ellana. She did her best not to stagger as their stares and the collective weight of their dependence on her hit her like a mind blast. She knew as well as they did that what they would do next was solely her decision. She felt another part of her break under the weight. Once, she would have sought out Solas, who somehow had a way of lifting the heaviness she felt and making her feel reassured. Now, she must press on alone and find the strength he once gave within herself.

Shuffling her feet slightly, but not dropping her eyes, she sighed.

“I assure you, every strategy we have discussed has been attempted,” she addressed them all, praying that she exuded all the calm and confidence that she did not feel. “We must move forward; if any words or actions were to change Fen’Harel, they have already come to pass and he has not wavered. We mustn’t either. With this plan, we are one step ahead of him for the first time. If we want it to remain that way, we cannot delay.”

With this, Cullen clenched his jaw and averted his gaze. Josephine gave a curt nod and a small smile, raising her notes, ready to act. Leliana glanced sideways at her, but said nothing. The floor still belonged to Ellana.

“Leliana, is there anyone else we should invite to join us before continuing our talks?”

“I have considered this and, yes, I think we would benefit greatly by extending our reach. I’ll send word,” she excused herself and Josephine followed. Cullen and Ellana remained, avoiding each other’s eyes.

There had been a time, before Ellana was the Inquisitor, before they had sealed the breach in the sky, before Skyhold and Solas, when she had sought Cullen out in his quarters, wondering aloud what her place in the world was and where to go from here. She had been terrified and he had always seemed so sure, so she sought him out. To her surprise, she had found him trembling and afraid—the same way she felt. They had found comfort in each other’s embrace for just that night. After, it was as if nothing had happened. If there were any longing glances or lingering emotion, Ellana had missed it altogether, and things soon went back to normal. That is, until about a month previously, at a particularly heated war council meeting where they had fought over what to do about Fen’Harel’s betrayal. His words had stung, and Ellana remembered them now.  

“Are we just going to sit around and pretend there was nothing special, nothing intimate about the relationship between our dear Inquisitor and Fen’Harel? Or, should I say, Solas?” Ellana was taken aback at his words—they had been careful to avoid suspicion.

“Commander!” It was Josephine who defended her this time. She regarded it as an inopportune moment to reveal their knowledge of Ellana’s alleged triste.

“I know, I know! We all agreed not to discuss it! But do we not agree that such a connection could benefit us if it were exploited? I’ve seen what the Inquisitor can do and, trust me, she is lethal with more than her bow.”

He had done his best to maintain an air of nonchalance at the time, but Ellana knew her face had burned at the weight of his implications. He had played the part of the dutiful commander and he had performed well, considering the circumstances. He had never requested much from Ellana besides the direction and encouragement he needed after he had decided to withdraw from his use of lyrium.

Now, Ellana recognized regret and hurt on the face of the man standing before her.

“Cullen,” she said in a low voice, “I owe you an apology.”

“You owe me nothing, Inquisitor. You’ve saved us and all of Thedas. I’m grateful for your strength and your influence.” His response was rehearsed, stoic, and insincere. He stared straight ahead, as a soldier would when addressing his superior. She stepped around the war table, then rested against it, just a few paces from where he stood at attention. She fixed her gaze on his boots.

“I’m not addressing Commander Rutherford. You may stand down. I’m addressing you as a man, Cullen. I am sorry. You must think I’m a fool, and you are certainly right. I’ve been foolish in many respects.”

He did not answer for a while and regarded her curiously. She felt the heat in her face, but she did not lift her head to meet his eye. Her throat burned with embarrassment and emotion. Cullen, along with the rest of the Inquisition, had placed his complete trust in her and her misguided faith in the apostate mage. She had cost them everything. She acted like a lovesick child—so sure of herself and her feelings. The weight of Solas’s betrayal was now hers to bear. How could anyone trust her to lead them now?

Cullen let out a sigh and softened slightly.

“I do not think you are a fool,” he finally said, gently. “I do not pretend to understand the workings of your heart Inquis—” he corrected himself, “Ellana. Or his for that matter, but given everything that has happened, you have never given me a reason not to trust you. I will still follow where you lead and, if I have ever let my emotions get the best of me, then I’m the one who should apologize.”

She met his gaze at that—his eyes were full and a concerned frown furrowed his brow. She made to reach out for his hand, but, at that moment, Leliana and Josephine re-entered the room, followed by Dorian, Iron Bull, Vivienne, Blackwall, Sera, and Varric, who was accompanied by Hawke and a Dalish elf Ellana did not recognize. She met Ellana’s eye when she entered and a small smile crossed her face before she shuffled around Varric to stand slightly behind him at the table.

Their small war room had never been so full. She regarded her friends and the newcomers as they took in their surroundings. Blackwall kicked at a small stone by his feet and kept his gaze down. Dorian lounged next to Bull in the corner, his posture relaxed, but his eyes darted around the room. Vivienne seemed as comfortable as she ever did, with her back straight and her chin lifted. She regarded Ellana with a cool disdain—they had often disagreed about Ellana’s decisions, but she had stayed and supported the Inquisition, nonetheless.

Her eyes rested on Varric, who quirked a half-smile and tilted his head toward the room. She tried to smile back and shrugged slightly, searching for what she would say to address her new war council. Varric beat her to it.

“So,” she said, leaning forward against the table, “assuming we aren’t all here because Chuckles has had a sudden change of heart and has decided not to destroy the world, let me introduce my friend, Merrill.”

[kagetsukai]

Dragon Age Questions

I was tagged by @skyholdherbalist. Thanks boo! :)

01) favorite game of the series?

Favorite to play? DA2, hands down. It doesn’t require me to sit with a strategy guide or trying to figure out how to get somewhere *side-eyes DAI*. I have a soft spot for DAO because it’s what got me into the games to begin with.

02) how did you discover Dragon Age?

Back when I lived with my bestie, she found out about this game that was supposedly right up her alley. Watching her play, I fell in love too :D

03) how many times you’ve played the games?

No idea. I played DAO the most, but I finished it only a few times. DA2 comes close second. I only played DAI once because jeebus that game is huge O_O

04) favorite race to play as?

Human. Bring on escapism, bitches! 

05) favorite class?

Dual-wielding rogue. Which is a problem in DA2 because I love Isabela and it’s silly to bring two dual-wielding rogues in a party. So I generally opt for two-handed swords :D And have contests with Fenris about who’s sword is bigger. 

06) do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time.

I make most of my decisions about the same. Unless there is a trophy to get, then I’ll save, do the thing and go back. Yes, I’m THAT person :P

07) go-to adventuring group?

I don’t have a particular set of people I travel with, but I do make sure to have a healer with me at all times. Cuz my style of play is “run into the fray and hope for the best”.

08) which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Garrett Hawke. Possibly. I’m a weirdo who doesn’t care about the vessel I play with. I’m more interested in how people react to said vessel. 

09) favorite romance?

Cullen, probably. That smirk kills me every time, goddamnit. Isabela is a close second. I don’t really have a favorite romance in DAO, though I usually end up with Alistair.

10) have you read any of the comics/books?

I read the first two novels? Ya know, about how Maric can’t keep it in his pants and has a thing for elven women? Yup, those two. 

11) if you read them, which was your favorite book?

Neither. Gaider is NOT a good novelist and I only read them to get more insight into the world. Stolen Throne more happen?

12) favorite DLCs?

I don’t have a favorite DLC. I’m sure I’d love Trespasser, but I haven’t played it yet. By the time I got a PS4, RDR2 came out and my bf has been hogging the system since.

13) things that annoy you?

The Chantry, mostly. Also, certain developers and their opinions. And a certain voice actor. Oh, retconning is ridiculous too. Should I go? I didn’t think so.

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Ferelden. From their cuisine to the climate, everything about Ferelden screams like home. Also, have you seen how much cheese they have everywhere? So into it. 

15) Templars or Mages?

Mages. Templars are pretty to look at, that’s about it.

16) if you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

Hmmm... have several characters I write about, but I’ve never really played them? Well, I have an Ellana Lavellan playthrough, that’s about it. And no, the characters aren’t in the same universe. 

17) what did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

Once I found out about “Barkspawn” that was it for me.

18) have you installed any mods?

No. I am exclusively on consoles.

19) did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

Taraji? Fuck no. She wanted to be a “pirate” just like her mom, but Rendon Howe made that impossible.

20) Hawke’s personality?

Purple. Always purple. I do have a red Hawke as a character, but I’ve been keeping her under wraps. She makes @skyholdherbalist cry >_>

21) did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

Nope. Too much effort. I really don’t care about aesthetics of the games :P 

22) if your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

That’s a mean question to ask of ANY Hawke. Taraji would love to go back and bitch slap Duncan for not telling her ANYTHING. Ellana is relatively regret-free.

23) do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

Sorta? Not really. I prefer to take canon and enhance it instead of outright changing it.

24) are any of your character(s) based on someone?

Ellana was based on my bestie, but with a completely different personality.

25) who did you leave in the Fade?

In game? Stroud. In stories it’s a whole different ballgame :D

26) favorite mount?

Whatever horse is available. I really don’t care. I collect them, I don’t ride them :P

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows[983]

“You never should have sent her away,” Solas says, worrying his lip with a brush of his thumb. “It’s been almost twelve years since you sent her away. Not once has she ever returned. One letter a month that never answers any questions, and the occasional note from this farce of a school. She will not be the same girl you allowed to be taken from your house.”

“What what would you have us do? The Archon required every noble house to send one child to their Academy in the name of fostering peace and relations between each other,” Lady Lavellan snaps at Solas. “Would you have us send Mahanon in her stead?”

“There’s too much of the old blood in your boy. He wouldn’t have survived the first turning of the moon.” Sylaise puts a calming hand on Lady Lavellan’s shoulder. “Sending Ellana was the only choice you had.”

Lord Lavellan continues his pacing, up and down the steps of the main hall. If he weren’t wearing gloves he would have chewed straight through his hand by now. As it is, the glove is looking a little worn and distressed.

“Are you sure I should be here?” The Iron Bull asks.

“They’re making a fuss over nothing,” Mahanon replies. It isn’t quite an answer. “Ellana will always be Ellana and nothing can change that.”

“Solas has a point.”

“Solas is a pessimist. I know my sister.”

“Are you sure you want me here for this?” Bull repeats, emphasizing his words carefully. Each word leaves his mouth with a certain kind of clean and cut feeling that makes Mahanon shiver, eyes going dark for a moment before he shakes it off. Mahanon shoots the Iron Bull an annoyed look before returning to his own quiet gnawing at his wrist.

“Please. As if you aren’t curious to meet my sister,” Mahanon rolls his eyes when he takes a break from gnawing on himself, “And I’m sure she’s dying to meet you as well. I’ve written to her loads about you, you know. The strange and mysterious Qunari who showed up at our very own front door in the middle of a storm and became head of our guard.”

“They’re here,” Elgar’nan calls out, pushing the front door out just as Lord Lavellan breaks from his pacing and rushes out to meet Ellana’s carriage. “And I’ve just received notice from Mythal, Dirthamen, and Ghilan’nain. Lyna, Alim, and Darrin have returned to their homes as well.”

Mahanon shoots the Iron Bull a meaningful glance before he gracefully lopes towards the front hall, long legs seeming to barely touch the ground — or maybe the ground bends away from his feet — his platinum hair streaming behind him as if suspended by water.

Bull offers his arm to Lady Lavellan, which she takes with a small smile of gratitude. She looks pale. Bull would say she looks sick, but the almost yellow-green tint to her skin has been with her for as long as he can tell.

Solas and Sylaise close in behind them, muttering to themselves, as they all spill out onto the wide stone front steps leading down to the gravel path.

The carriage is not of the Lavellan’s own. Bull doesn’t recognize the mark on the door, and he can’t see into it past the heavy drapes at the windows.

Sylaise clicks her tongue behind them, “How gracious of the Archon to send a personal carriage to deliver his hostage back to us.”

“Hush,” Solas chides his sister, “Perhaps it is not as bad as it looks.”

“You’re choosing now to be an optimist? You always had rotten timing.”

The door swings open and the interior is just as dark as the exterior. Bull feels something cold slide down his spine. It feels like that darkness will leak out onto the stones, seep up the steps, and dive straight into the house behind them. He has the ridiculous urge to turn around and slam the doors shut.

But it isn’t darkness that steps out.

It’s a man. A human man steps out, turns around and offers his arm up. And then a woman’s hand rests on his arm and uses him to emerge from the darkness.

Ellana Lavellan, in what Bull can only assume is the uniform of the school she’d come from, steps out smiling and sweet like a butterfly landing.

First impressions: she looks nothing like the rest of the Lavellans in all the ways that matter, there is something wrong about her that feels too familiar for comfort, and this meeting is only going to end badly.

Bull wants to grab Mahanon and Lady Lavellan and drag them into the house, throw them into one of the safe rooms and seal the wards shut. He wants to call for Pentaghast or Rutherford and de Fer. He wants to get this woman off this property right the fuck now.

But he doesn’t do that. He’s going to regret it later, but the Iron Bull doesn’t do any of those things.

Instead he lets Lady Lavellan take her hand from his arm and glide down the steps, almost floating like her son, and come to a graceful stop in front of her daughter whom she has not seen or heard from since the girl was ten years old. The two might as well be strangers meeting for the first time.

“Mama, Papa — “

It’s the wrong thing to say. Bull knows because everyone seems to startle. But Ellana Lavellan keeps smiling, looping her arm through that of the man standing next to her.

“ — I’ve returned with most felicitous news. You will be ever so delighted. Aedan and I are to be wed. A union blessed by the Archon themselves. Is it not so gloriously splendid?”

All eyes turn towards the man standing next to her.

Aedan is perhaps the one of the most beautiful men, people, the Iron Bull has ever seen. If someone were told to paint a portrait of a beautiful man it would be Aedan’s. Everything about him from the top of his perfectly brushed honey brown hair to the tips of her shined boots, the taper of his waist accentuated by his navy blue coat, the breadth of his shoulders, the tan of his skin, and the exact symmetry of his face screams perfection.

“Lord and Lady Lavellan,” Aedan says in an unsurprisingly perfect voice to match his perfect face, “It is my honor to meet you. I’m Aedan Cousland.” He executes a suitably perfect bow from the waist. When he straightens up his smile is unchanged and matches Ellana’s perfectly. “And I am ever so excited to join your delightful family. It will be so splendid indeed.”

Bull turns towards Mahanon who looks torn between confusion and happiness.

“Did she not mention this in her letters?” Bull asks, already knowing the answer.

Behind him Sylaise growls under her breath.

“That child isn’t right,” she hisses.

No shit, Bull thinks.

“Leave it to Elgar’nan for now. We have to contact the others and check if — check if the others are…” Solas replies and he can hear the two of them retreating into the house.

“Might we go in, Mama?” Ellana asks, “It’s been such a terribly long journey. Aedan and I must freshen up. We must look such an awful sight.”

They look perfect in all the wrong ways that scream of danger, but Bull moves to the side anyway as Lady and Lord Lavellan escort their daughter and her…fiance into the house.

As they pass Bull feels it again. As though someone had taken a hot iron and pressed it into his skull. Danger.

Ellana’s eye catches his and for a split moment Bull feels sharp teeth tearing into him, swallowing him, grinding him into nothing.

And then she’s inside the house. And it’s too late to do anything about it.