#celeritassagitae

[allisondraste]

In the heat of battle Solas finds Niamh in immediate, mortal danger. What's his reaction? After all, if she dies his plans will be difficult... but if *he* dies in this weakened state the People will not be saved. At least, that's how he'd think about it in a rational setting. How does he *actually* behave, and how well does it fit with what he expected?

And here’s the last one!  I really missed writing Solas and Niamh, so I very much appreciated these prompts. This one in particular was fun and quick, and exactly what I needed today. :D

“I’ve got this,” she shouted proudly as she summoned a burst of magic that jettisoned her petite frame into the middle of a group of chanting Venatori. Solas groaned in unison with Cassandra as Varric chuckled from behind them.

Inquisitor was a lofty title for one so brash, so reactive, so utterly, infuriatingly impulsive.  She was a mage, and yet she consistently threw herself into the midst of battle, barely armored, as if she were a skilled warrior. She did not seem to understand that fireballs were just as effective when cast from a distance as they were when one used them to punch a bear in the nose. Niamh was difficult predict in battle, and even more difficult to protect.

Solas cast a ward around her as Cassandra rushed into the fray.  Varric stood back and readied his crossbow, waiting for an opportune moment to attack.  Niamh was a whirlwind of flame and frost, but she did not see the venatori stalker behind her, daggers at the ready, prepared to end her life with a stealthy stab in the back.

She did not “have this.” She rarely ever did.

A pang of concern tugged at Solas’ chest, and without his usual degree of forethought, he rushed into the thick of the battle, placing himself between Niamh and the Venatori agent who aimed to kill her.  There was a sharp pain as a dagger met his shoulder, and another as a second dagger nicked his cheek.

Such a foolish risk of his own life, of his plans for restoration of his people, yet he had to protect her did he not? She bore the Anchor, after all.

“Solas,” Niamh gasped, before sending a spike of ice into the stalkers chest. She disposed of the remaining foes in the same manner.

“Are you alright,” Solas asked with a grimace as he clutched the wound on his shoulder.  He could feel a trickle of blood rolling down his cheek.

“I should be asking you that question,” she said as she pulled his hand from his arm and inspected the damage, “Why did you do that?”

That was a good question. Why had he thrown himself in front of a blade for her? There had to have been thousands of alternate maneuvers that would have been sufficient, and much safer. Still, he had risked life and limb for her.  He reasoned with himself that it must be his desire to protect the mark, not her, that had caused his own recklessness. However, he could not deny the flutter in his chest as he looked at her.

“I did what any reasonable person would do when a comrade is in danger,” he explained as he watched her clean and bandage the wound on his arm. She bit the corner of her lip and furrowed her eyebrows as she worked, focused intently. 

“ A reasonable person would have disarmed the Venatori with a ranged spell,” Niamh chided as she wiped the blood from his face with a cloth from her pack.

“A reasonable person would not needlessly put herself in danger.”

“I never said I was reasonable,” she said with a slight laugh and a wink.

There was another flutter in his chest, and he laughed with her.  Indeed, he had to protect her, but he could no longer tell himself it was only the Anchor he cared for.

[daremixfest]

A pair of elf!Alistair remixes

Today’s remixes are presented as a semi-planned matched set.  (ie When Cherie asked Aphreal to beta a remix of the same fic she’d already remixed, Aphreal decided to abuse her modly powers to coordinate posting them.) 

Remix #1: Heart’s Shelter Remixer #1: @cherieofthedragons Pairing: Alistair/f!Mahariel Rating/warnings: Teen Summary:  Elvhen Alistair escapes an unhappy life at Redcliffe and finds his way to Clan Sabrae, where he falls head over heels for Abeytu Mahariel. Unfortunately for him, she doesn't seem to know he exists. That is, until a tainted mirror changes their lives...

Remix #2: Wise Enough Not To Remixer #2: @aphreal42 Pairing: Alistair/f!Cousland Rating/warnings: Teen, canon-typical violence, canon character deaths Summary:  Alistair is sent away from Redcliffe not to train as a Templar but to work as a servant in the kitchens at Highever, where he becomes a friend (or possibly pet project) to the teyrn's daughter. When Highever is attacked, Duncan recruits both the Cousland daughter and the elven servant who trains her mabari. Moved outside of the bounds they've known, the two new Grey Wardens come to terms with grief and the loss of their home, a sudden responsibility for saving the world, and what it means to be equals. 

(Inspiration taken from the original premise from @feynites, as well as brainstorming conversations with Celery when she was plotting out parts of Shem-blooded.) 

Original fic: Shem-blooded Original author: @celeritassagittae​

Cherie has also produced a pair of elf!Alistair portraits as a study in contrasts for two very different interpretations of the same initial premise. 

[allisondraste]

What's the most interesting thing that Niamh and Solas did in the Fade?

So, it doesn’t count if it’s Fade second base? Listen, I went back and forth while writing this so many times, as to whether or not to go the obvious route with some good old-fashioned Fade Frolicking or not.  I took a hard left-turn somewhere and I don’t know what’s happening, but I liked the result and I hope you do, too.  Thanks for the ever-thought-provoking prompts, Cele.

Vhenadahl stood solidly, a grounding presence in the middle of chaos, as it always had.  Niamh examined it, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, head tilted slightly to the side.  It was her Vhenadahl, the one that stood in the center of the Tantervale Alienage where had lived in her early childhood.  It was the tree of her people , a disembodied fist, shaking at the sky.

The world around the tree solidified, the quaint and clean buildings the city elves called home, children singing and playing as their parents watched from porches.  It was picturesque on the surface, as all things in the most pristine of Free Marcher cities had been.  Tantervale was a pleasant enough place for elves to live… if they prescribed to and abided by the utter nonsense of the Chantry.  Public execution was a merciful punishment for elves believed to be heretics.

Niamh smiled bitterly and shook her head.  The Fade was a cold-hearted bitch.

As she continued to observe the scene before her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled upward.  Something, or someone, was nearby.  She turned around in a flash, her fist full of flames.  The light from her extended hand illuminated familiar features that did not even flinch.  Dusty blue eyes glittered in amusement — Or were they grey? Grey with violet flecks dancing about? She blinked twice and released the tension from her nose that she had not realized she had been wrinkling. She needed to focus on the matter at hand. His eyes were irrelevant.

“Solas,” Niamh asked, sounding more oppositional than she intended, “What’re you doing here?”

“I..” Solas began as he examined his surroundings, “I do not know.”

Her gut reaction was to scoff. It was unlikely that he, who so expert in the workings of the Fade, had happened upon her dream accidentally.  However, the crease between his brows and the curve of his lips seemed to say that he was genuine in his confusion. She blinked again and shook her head. How long has she been staring? His mouth was not that damn special.

His eyes. His mouth. The last time they had stumbled upon each other in the Fade, and walked through a Haven that no longer existed, it had been his eyes and his mouth. Then again on the balcony, when he said he had not forgotten, kissed her again, called her his heart. It was always his damn eyes and his damn mouth. Of course it was more than that too, but she could not put it into words. He was infuriating.

“Where are we,” Solas asked pulling Niamh from her internal chafing, “This place must be important to you, to remember it in such detail.”

Niamh nodded and looked down at her feet before turning her gaze to Solas and then back out toward Vhenadahl.

“This is home,” she said, her voice tinted with a twinge of sorrow.

“I thought you were Dalish.”

“I am Dalish,” Niamh spat, the Fade around her becoming dark and turbulent.

“Careful vhenan,” Solas warned her, his voice even and calm, “Your emotions are more potent here.”

He was right, and how she hated it. How dare he imply that she was not Dalish because she was not born into a clan. How dare he say that and then tell her to calm down. But he was right if the swirling darkness around them was any indication.

“Fine,” she said tersely as she inhaled slowly and deeply to calm herself, the atmosphere settling into its original state, “But you can’t just deny my heritage and expect me to be not be upset by it.”

“I apologize,” Solas said gently, shocking Niamh to her core,  “I misspoke. Of course you are Dalish, but you are also more. Most Dalish are not born in alienages.”

“I was, “ Niamh explained solemnly, “I was born here and lived with my parents until-“ She froze as the memories of what happened flooded her mind and sat like a stone on her chest. Solas moved to her side and placed a hand on her back. Before them, the Fade reflected her memories.

The patter of tiny feet fell against the stony ground as a young girl with fiery hair ran toward the tree. Her face was pale and bare of markings aside from the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. She was out of breath and crying. Behind her, a small group of other children followed, shouting slurs. “Abomination” was still a horrible thing to be called even when mispronounced by an eight-year-old.

“SHUT UP,” little Niamh shouted as she reached her breaking point, her entire body erupting in flames, “I hope the Dreadwolf catches you and…and EATS YOU.”

Gasps could be heard from the group of children as well as from older elves that had been nearby to overhear the exchange. Not only had the girl blasphemed against the Maker in earshot of Chantry authorities, but the flames that came from her body and singed her own eyebrows had spread to Vhenadahl. The tree was burning.

The scene before Niamh and Solas dissolved and they were suddenly inside a home. Niamh’s home as she remembered it.  A wizened man with long hair tied back into a braid clicked his tongue and paced about the small room. The young girl was cradled in the arms of a woman that looked so much like Niamh, only her eyes were dark brown instead of green. A man with blond hair and green eyes sat beside them with an arm draped protectively around them both.

“Hahren, you cannot possibly be suggesting that we send her to the Circle,” the blond man said, “Not here! With her spirit, she will be made Tranquil as soon as she is of age.”

“I’m sorry Hahren, I didn’t mean to burn down Vhenadahl. I don’t want to leave,” Little Niamh whimpered in her mother’s arms, large tears forming in her eyes as she rubbed the burn marks on her hands and  face

“Shh da’vhenan,” her mother soothed her as she ran delicate fingers through her hair, “We know it was an accident.”

“Accident or not, it has still placed our people in grave danger, Dasha,” the Hahren spoke, a pained look contorting his face. “We have to act to keep her safe, to keep us all safe.”

The scene faded away once again again leaving Solas and Niamh in a quiet forest. Niamh shook her head and wiped a tear from her eye. She had stopped the memories herself. That had been quite enough.  

“Mother knew of a Dalish clan called Lavellan that frequented the northern Free Marches,” she explained, “She, Father, and the Hahren all thought it would be kinder to send me with them than to let the Templars take me.”

“They seem to be very wise people who cared for you a great deal.”

“They should have let the Templars take me,” Niamh argued, fists clenched at her side, “It was my fault.”

“What was your fault, vhenan,” Solas asked, an undertone of concern in his voice as he moved forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. Niamh hoped she could control her emotions. She did not wish to immolate him. At least not this time.

“The smoke from the burning tree alerted the shemlen authorities, and they sent guards and Templars to the Alienage” Niamh explained, “Soon after I left with Keeper Deshanna, they began interrogating everyone. Eventually, one of the kids who had been teasing me that day confessed. The shem… they condemned the entire Alienge for so-called crimes against the Chantry. My parents and the Hahren were convicted of higher crimes and formally and publicly executed. I found out months later when Clan Lavellan stopped to trade in Tantervale.”

She lost her composure and fell into Solas’ arms, her face pressing into his chest.  His arms tightened around her and he rest his chin on her head.

“Ir abelas,” he whispered into her hair.

“The shem razed the Alienage, burnt it to the ground. They killed them all, Solas, they killed them and it was my fault. Had I been there… maybe it would have just been me.” Niamh’s body shook with sobs as she clenched the fabric of Solas’ tunic tightly in her fingers.

“How can you be certain of that,” he questioned, pulling away from her to meet her eyes with his own frustrating pair. She hated how they saw right through her even now. “It seems that those who would slaughter an entire group of people over the accident of a child would do so regardless. Your family, your Hahren, they protected you from sharing their fate.”

Niamh nodded and looked down. He was probably right. He usually was.  A tug at her chin pulled her eyes back up to meet his again, his mouth curled into a slight smile.

“The word vhenan and the word vhenadahl share the same root,” he began.

“I don’t think this is the best time for a language lesson,” Niamh muttered through sniffs of her nose.

“Vhen,” Solas continued as if he had not heard her, “It refers to the elves, to your people.”

“I still fail to see how this is relevant, Solas.”

“City elves keep Vhenadahl to represent their people. They carry memories from times long past and they instill hope.”

“Yes, and I burned that to the ground. So much for hope,” Niamh retorted, still not sure how this little lecture was supposed to be comforting.

“Vhenan, the heart, the place of the people, serves the same purpose,” Solas explained, “ I have been trying to determine what exactly about you is different from others I have encountered, why I am so drawn to you.”

Niamh could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he spoke.  She examined his eyes, his mouth.  She did not make herself stop this time.

“It is because you carry your people, those who so selflessly cared for you, here,” Solas places a hand in the center of her chest as he spoke, causing her breath to catch. “Memories are powerful things.  You are who you are because they are with you always. You are Dalish, and you are more.”

A single tear trailed down her cheek as their eyes met again. The gravity of his words was overshadowed by the ever increasing awareness she had of his hand on her chest.  She looked down at that hand, and she felt his gaze follow. When she looked back up at him, there was something different in his eyes. She could not tell what it was.

His eyes did not matter for long as she closed the small distance between them and crushed her lips against his, tears flowing freely down her face. She was overwhelmed with emotion, both from painful memories and her present longing for Solas’ comfort.

She half expected him to pull away from her as he always did, but he didn’t. He pushed, pushed until he was as close to her as she could imagine him being, until she felt her back press against a nearby tree.

His eyes, his mouth, and now his hands, brushing skillfully across her as if she were one of his paintings. She could think of nothing else.

And then it stopped. Solas pulled away from her, brows furrowed, head shaking. She reaches out for him, but he recoiled further.

“What’s wrong,” she asked, pain present in her voice.

“It would be inappropriate to continue, no matter how much I desire to ,” Solas said with a sigh, “I would not take advantage of your vulnerability.

“You aren’t taking advantage of anything,” she said urgently longing for the return of his touch, “You are comforting me.”

Solas smiled weakly and answered “I do not wish to take advantage of my own vulnerability either. There is something about you that affects me deeply. Outside of the Fade it is indescribable. Here, it is maddening.”

“I—” Niamh began, but stopped when she realized she knew that feeling. It was the same infuriating confusion she experienced around him. It made her do stupid, impulsive things. Well, it made her do even more stupid and impulsive things than she did on her own.

“I wish to be intimate with you vhenan, very much,” he reassured her as he moved close to her once again, placing a quick kiss on her lips, “But I would prefer that both our minds be clear.”

Niamh nodded to show that she understood, and Solas turned to walk away in his typical fashion. She grabbed his arm abruptly and he stopped, looking back at her curiously.

“Please stay,” she asked, “I- I don’t want to be alone right now, after everything.”

“Ma nuvenin,” Solas agreed with a small chuckle as he returned to her side, intertwining his fingers with hers, “Let us go somewhere less… grim.”

“Yes, let’s,” she said, relieved, allowing him to lead her by the hand, away from the dark forest and burning Alienage, away from unpleasant memories and guilt that would never truly leave her. For the moment she could enjoy his company. Perhaps she could even allow herself to notice the way his eyes seemed to light up when they looked at her, how his mouth moved when he spoke of times long past, and how his hand felt against hers, if only for a moment.