#compared to mahanon

[dellamortethelesser]

again learning anything about how the chantry and mages interact from alistair, in a mahariel origin, who has presumably had limited interactions with humans (dialogue in the intro indicates you did not go to the village for trading with shems) is insane. "what's a templar" and alistair describes them specifically as hunting and killing mages. that the chantry wants to control them because they're dangerous. so far things are not boding well for nomaris.

[iplaydragonagenow]

my character Mahanon with Dorian

[robotslenderman]

So in terms of gameplay and story how are you enjoying DAtV? from your playblogs it does seem to be pretty interesting and I love how you've brought back your Inquisitor so she can have more confrontational of Stolas and possibly knock some sense into him/or at least stab him XD

She's actually not my Inquisitor! I mean, I did play her as one once, but on a subsequent playthrough with another Inquisitor I decided she'd be a headcanon companion, along with @orodrethsgeek's Mahanon Souvelani and Lahariel Nehnsuledin. In my particular canon the three of them, plus Solas, made their own squad while Sable was doing his own thing. Solas was bascially forcefully adopted by the three of them and occasionally getting yelled at for being racist. also Liriel knew from the start that he was suspicious as fuck so she poked holes in just about everything he said. buuuut she boned him because she was bored and horny (and Mahanon and Lahariel were already boning each other) and Cel is the result, but Cel gives no fucks that Solas is her bio dad because she considers Mahanon and Lahariel her dads.

Basically when I was playing Sable Trevelyan Liriel kept Yelling at the back of my head at Solas and INSISTED on being a part of it so what the hell, bonus companion.

I'm enjoying DAtV! I'm a bit confused at the direction they've taken a few things in, but I'm really pleased at how they're treating the Dalish so far (180 compared to DAI, which was basically "fuck the Dalish: the game"). The devs said this game is the most Dragon Agey so far, but... honestly for me it feels the opposite, it doesn't feel like Dragon Age nearly as much as the other games. But I'm reserving judgment until I've played it through. I've only just finished act 1.

[blondie-inky-esaldir]

Inquisitor Solas

Chapter 4: The Breach

Esaldir was making himself comfortable hearing interesting stories and taking shop with a dwarf when they were suddenly knocked off their asses following the explosion. Mahanon had recovered first, and managed to execute a Mind blast towards a large block of stone falling towards them.

"Go Nuvin, get to safety!" Mahanon barked, "I'll find you later!"

The Halla made a whinning noise but he obeyed, getting away.

"Shit, what is that?!"

Esaldir followed where the dwarf, Varric, was looking. There was a large tear in the sky. Worse than that, something seemed to be raining down from it. When one of those 'somethings' fell towards their location, they see what they were.

"Are those fucking demons?!"

"You're the seasoned mage!" Varric replied, already shooting a things approaching them. "You tell us!"

Esaldir shot three arrows at once. How things that look incorpereal seemed solid enough to get hit, he didn't know. But it helps them now, so he wasn't complaining. Then, something horrifying occured to him.

"Solas!" The blond yelled, "He's out there alone! He could be in danger!"

Distracted with the realization, Esaldir didn't see a Wraith shooting something at him. Mahanon did and threw a Barrier around the younger elf. Esaldir was knocked off his feet, but he was relatively unharmed.

"Not that we're faring well ourselves, in case you haven't noticed!" Mahanon rushed over, helping him back on his feet.

Esaldir huffed, still slightly winded. He shook it off, before replying. "Yeah, but we're together. If we find him, we might have a better advantage. His magic is the strongest of us all... No offense."

"None taken." Mahanon shrugged, "Just as long you don't say he has better hair than me, we're good."

Esaldir rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

"If we're finding someone, best we do it soon. In my experience, the sooner we find them the more chances we find them breathing." Varric said, shooting a demon at the head.

Mahanon looked at the dwarf, "You're coming with us?" He asked, figuring that a stranger they just met would rather find better cover and protection... If there is a place existing nearby, considering the source of the trouble is up at the skies.

And there's a sky everywhere.

"And risk having a certain lady Seeker pin the blame on me?" Varric laughed, "Nah, I'll take my chances with you guys."

Not waiting a moment longer, since he's already confirmed to be getting back ups, Esaldir shoots a chained projectile to an incoming demon to propel himself forward faster. He took a small knife from his belt and stabbed it before rushing ahead. He makes for the main entrance, the last place he remembered seeing Solas. Mahanon moved to catch up, cursing in Elven because Esaldir was too far already for him to cast a barrier on him. He would use Fade step to catch up to him immediately, but Mahanon thought it would be poor form if he were to leave their new companion behind.

That said, he made sure to cast a barrier on the dwarf as they both struggled to catch up to the younger elf.

"Sprightly thing, isn't he?" Varric noted.

Mahanon sighed, shaking his head. "Understatement."

If the three thought they were in a bad position earlier, it's nothing compared to the carnage that the Temple of Sacred ashes was reduced to. Esaldir was about to feel relieved, that Solas went back to the woods to relieve himself instead of anywhere nearby this vicinity, when he watched a hole appearing out of thin air a few meters above the ground. From that hole, a person came falling out.

"Solas!" Esaldir hastened to reach the man, mindless to a group of human soldiers coming up from the other side. "Solas, are you okay?"

There was no response. Solas was unconscious. Esaldir grimaced, before hesitantly checking his pulse. He sighed in relief when he felt it. It was steady, and nothing irregular so if he was injured in some places, it may not be life threatening. Thinking that it would be best he carries him to a safer distance before giving a full examination, Esaldir pulled Solas arm over his shoulder and heaved him up. 

That's when the soldiers finally arrived.

"Halt!" One of the soldiers raised his sword, "Not another step!"

Esaldir froze, assessing the situation and realizing how this looks. There's a hole in the sky, demons are pouring out from it, and it seemed like the building was the most damaged from the destruction. Now that he was checking, he sees some dead bodies at the ground, while there he was, living and breathing with Solas slung against him, unconscious but clearly alive.

"Well," Esaldir grunted. "Shit."

[merrybandofmurderers]

tagged by @calicostorms. completely forgot it was wednesday lmao, it's been a rough one, lads (if you know, you know). anyway, here's another snippet from the family visit chapter of the pavellan fic. it follows the first snippet i ever shared for it

~

“Let me introduce you,” Lavellan said, when Dorian reached him. “This is my sister, Anavi. Anavi, this is Dorian, our resident Vint.”

“That’s me,” Dorian said with a wry grin and gave her a short bow.

She arched a thin brow, looking him up and down. Dorian took the opportunity to observe her in turn. Lavellan had spoken correctly when he said he and his sister shared little resemblance; Dorian would not have guessed they were related at all.

She was short, barely reaching Lavellan’s shoulder, with a petite frame—though Dorian could see toned muscle between the gaps in her armor. A heart-shaped face with none of Lavellan’s angles; big, brown eyes; a saccharine smile with an edge of sharpness. Her hair was more newly turned leaf compared to Lavellan’s bright flame, and while she matched his pale, freckled complexion, she had no visible scars. Her vallaslin was green.

“A pleasure,” she said, voice smooth and light.

It was only Dorian’s extensive experience with Tevinter’s high society that allowed him to pick up on the undercurrent of superiority. The words were pleasant enough, but like her smile, carried a blade of threat with the edge of condescension. Dorian raised a brow, but she’d already turned back to her brother, who was speaking again.

“—messenger said there were more of you?” Lavellan prompted.

“Yes,” Anavi replied. “Mahanon came with me.” The name caused Lavellan’s ear to perk up. “I believe he went in search of your library.”

“I’ll find him. In the meantime, let me call for some food. You can sit over here—Varric! Let me introduce my sister. I’m sure you can keep her entertained while I take care of some things.”

“Certainly, Fireball.” Anavi took a seat, expression amused, and Varric immediately began, “So, I don’t know what our illustrious leader has told you of his adventures—”

Lavellan caught Dorian’s eye and gestured for him to follow. On their way to the library, he waylaid a servant to send to the kitchens with a request for a meal. Halfway up the library stairs, when they were alone, Lavellan stopped and turned to Dorian, a grim expression on his face.

“Lavellan?”

“Listen, I know I told you that my sister is a mage, but you must swear to me you won’t share this information with anyone else.”

Dorian blinked. That was… not what he expected. “Of course. May I ask—”

“I’ll explain later. It’s just—it’s very important that no one else knows.”

“All right,” Dorian said, perplexed.

Lavellan nodded, then continued briskly up the stairs. After a quick search, they found their apparent target. A young elf in traditional Dalish robes sat cross-legged on the floor, a book in his hands and several more stacked around him. His long, black hair was pulled back in elaborate braids, and his lips moved as he read.

~

@mrs-theirin, @transfenris-truther, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @gaysolavellan

[thelittlestboi]

Thinking about hands

About mahanons hands, and how small his hands are. Small compared to bulls. How small everything is compared to them. Gaint grey fingers gently cupping, little cold hands. His hands are always cold, maybe its tingling magic under his skin.

Thinking about fingers interlaced together.

Smaller hands spread wide to claps their Kadan. Holding hands everywhere, on trails, and in the halls, under dinner tables, a small but meaningly connection. So much said with just a squeeze, so much comfort in the swipe of a thumb.

🥺 sigh, im just thinking about hands I guess

[screenviolense-a]

@hcroesjcurney​ sent: [ hips ]   your muse pulling mine in close by the hips. mahanon to anais

         the festivities at skyhold had been much deserved after everything their soldiers had been through lately and the tension could be felt lifting off everyone’s shoulders amidst the dancing and drunken singing. it was certainly much more free compared to the stiff orlesian affairs, so when he approached her in her dark, quiet corner she’d found away from the more rowdy celebrations, she expected some kind of acknowledgement to how much more fun this party then the ones they had arranged with nobles. but being pulled in closer caught her by surprise, her hands raising out of instinct.

        ‘ you do know who you’re holding, aren’t you? it’s a little bit dark, but you should know this is anais. ‘ given they spent most of their daylight hours going back and forth arguing, she imagined there was a decent chance he had mistaken her from someone else.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1235]

The Iron Bull introduces her to his friends. Which is basically the Chargers. The Inquisition. They're at the resort for some sort of -- office party. Their own, not to sabotage someone else’s. It’s so bizarre that Ellana keeps pinching herself in the thigh, the inner elbow — her own cheek if she thinks she can get away with it. She’s gotten some peculiar looks that, at first, made all of her hair want to stand on end. But she’s trained herself to well for that sort of tell, so she was just quietly screaming herself crazy on the inside. Which is exactly where you’re supposed to keep all the crazy anyway. But then a man took her aside and told her that it was a little bizarre for the Iron Bull to introduce anyone to them and was he treating her well and also was she sure she knew what she was doing?

Yes to the first one, absolutely not to the second. Ellana’s not yet out of her mind enough to say the second part out loud so she just reassured the man that the Iron Bull has been nothing but a gentleman with a wicked sense of humor and she’s pretty sure that they’re just having a good time all around, no harm done.

And, Ellana thought, no harm means no foul so if Ellana bounces because it looks like the closing of a trap no one should be able to blame her.

Mahanon had given up on trying to figure out the angle of whatever this is within the first thirty six hours which was both deeply concerning and also impressive. Mahanon is like a dog with a fresh bone with his own suspicions. He doesn’t let them go until he’s cracked them, shattered them, and drained them dry of substance. Mahanon cannot tolerate uncertainty. He must lay out every piece and identify them and catalogue every single portion and facet in the clearest, driest, most transparent way possible.

“There’s nothing here to be found,” Mahanon said. “And we paid our rooms for another two weeks. I’m not leaving unless someone makes a move."

"If someone makes a move it will be too late!” Ellana bemoaned, but allowed herself to be dragged off for another spa treatment. Mahanon had shown her the receipts for the resort. Backing out now would be a terrible waste of money. Not that they didn’t have a lot of money.

High risk jobs have high rewards. And the two of them have taken on a lot of jobs. Ellana still isn’t sure if that means they could afford this particular risk.

“I thought this was supposed to be an incredibly remote, incredibly safe, incredibly secretive resort for like the ultra-wealthy and super important,” Sera says. “How the fuck did we get found out?”

Ellana is currently pressed to the floor underneath Sera’s lanky frame. The younger woman smells like copious amounts of fake coconut sunscreen. Sera’s in the middle of reloading a gun. Ellana would help if she wasn’t in the middle of some sort of metal crisis right now.

She fucking knew it was too good to be true. She knew there was another shoe to drop, disastrously, and from great height for maximum impact. But no. She had to go along with it.

And now here they are, in the middle of a gun fight in the hotel’s lobby.

Right before the first shot went off, Sera tackled Ellana behind one of the expensive white leather couches. The Iron Bull followed right after, using this greater build and strength to flip the couch onto its back — the back of the couch itself was rather low and thin compared to the thicker seats. It was a couch that was, before now, suitable for slouching.

“We knew there were rats,” Dorian yells from behind his own cover — a beautiful marble column that's pock marked with ricochet. “That was somewhat the point of coming here, wasn’t it? To lure them out?”

Good gods in the Fade, the Inquisition went on vacation to lure out their own defectors and Ellana — an intelligence agent who’s retired in extremely good will from a semi-opposing faction — is stuck in the literal middle of it.

“Ellana,” Bull touches her foot. Ellana is, still, lying on the tile floor and staring up at the beautifully painted ceiling of the hotel lobby and wishing she was anywhere but here. “This is a lot. You’re doing great right now. Just stay still and listen to what Sera tells you. I’ll explain everything to you later. We’ll get you out of this.”

Elgar’nan’s flaming corona she's going to throw up from trying not to laugh in his face.

The elevator doors to her left ding open and several heavily armed Inquisition agents swarm out to assist in returning fire.

Is the entire resort under siege?

Are Mahanon and Ellana really the only two people here not involved at all? That can’t be. If that was true then someone should have been suspicious of them being enemy agents. No. It’s just that a majority of the people here are Inquisition and fake-Inquisition. There are still non-active parties here.

“I think your new friend is in shock,” Dorian declares. “She isn’t blinking.”

“She’s breathing though,” Sera glances down at her, looking somewhat apologetic. “Maybe a little on the quick and shallow but I don’t think anything’s gone wrong with her yet.”

Ellana opens her mouth. Closes it. She has no idea what she’d even say.

So she sits up. Not fully, just onto her elbows. And then she flips onto her stomach, gets her knees under her, carefully moves into a crouch. She examines her reflection in the bent metal of a porter’s abandoned luggage rack. She counts her breaths, the sound of bullets, and feet. She pushes out the sounds of people talking to her, around her, at her.

“I need to find my brother,” Ellana says. Because she needs to tell him she fucking told him so.

And then she makes a run for the elevators, involving skidding between Inquisition agent’s legs, doing a complicated flip-twist that lets her snatch a knife off of one and a pistol off another. She tosses her phone — the one who’s number she’d given the Iron Bull — into the air in time for it to catch a bullet.

[faerieavalon]

Also available on AO3

Mahanon folded the parchment carefully and dripped wax on the edge to seal it. Having the time to finally write to his Keeper was a luxury and he wouldn’t see it wasted. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he wondered what she might say to see him now. There was only so much he could tell her in writing but he hoped that she would be proud.

“How you manage to be so chipper before the sun is up will alway astound me.”

The voice grumbled from the pile of blankets and pillow on his bed but didn’t rise. If anything, his lover buried himself deeper in their layers. Biting back a laugh, he left his desk to sit on the edge of the bed. He tugged at the blankets until he could see Dorian’s face.

“The sun is nothing compared to the warmth of your smile.”

Dorian huffed and tried to pull the blankets back over his head but not before Mahanon caught a glimpse of his widening grin. Encouraged, he crawled across the bed, using his body weight to keep Dorian from getting away. Peeling back the edges of the covers with his fingertips, he slowly revealed Dorian’s face once more. He opened his eyes and groaned at the warm morning light.

“Must you? Truly?”

“I’m afraid so, vhenan,” he murmured, winking at his disgruntled tone. “The stars sigh in envy of the light in your eyes. I can’t spare the sun his dignity to lie so blatantly. They all pale with envy at your countenance.”

Groaning in disgust, Dorian shifted to his side to roll away, causing Mahanon to curl up behind him over the blankets. This time he consented to keep his head uncovered, leaving his neck available for Mahanon to lean in with a kiss.

“Much as I appreciate the stroking of my ego at the beginning of my day, amatus, could you have waited another hour? Beauty sleep is more than just a rumor.”

Tightening his grip on Dorian’s waist, he hummed and kissed his soft skin again. “I could stroke more than your ego if that’s what you want.”

“You are an absolute menace!”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Not quite.” He laughed and shifted back, snuggling closer into Mahanon’s embrace. “Alright. You win. I’m awake. Convince me to stay that way. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Nuzzling against Dorian’s shoulder, Mahanon took some time to think. He could compliment his lover’s looks, wit, and charm until time ran out but those were all words he heard a thousand times before. He wanted something new. Smiling softly, he knew exactly what to say.

“I’ve written to Deshanna about you.”

He could feel Dorian’s quick intake of breath. It was the surprise he hoped for. His silence after was just as telling. It was hard for him to say when things mattered. Feelings aired in the open were dangerous. Mahanon kept his voice gentle and low, laying the words and his lips against Dorian’s neck.

“Did it today, actually. It’s on the desk over there. I will leave it with the ravens before the meeting this afternoon.”

“Oh?” He almost sounded hesitant. It made Mahanon’s smile widen in victory. “And what, pray-tell, did you say in this letter?”

“Well, I told her that I am doing well. That my friends are kind and the Inquisition isn’t trying nearly as hard to convert me as they once were. I’ll be able to send a measure of support to Wycome and supplies as they might need for the clan. Not everyone wanted to move into the city you know.”

Dorian grumbled and rolled over to face him, bringing one arm out of the blankets to press a palm to his cheek. “You insufferable tease, what did you tell her about me?”

He kissed Dorian’s wrist and laughed softly. “I told her that I have found someone special. A light in the dark. A refuge in the storm. An answer to the greatest question that has plagued my life. A man to whom I could pledge my heart because he cooled my mind burning with longing.”

“Oh.” Dorian looked away and turned a delicious shade of red. “That’s, well, that’s something.”

“Only something?” Mahanon pouted dramatically. “Vhenan, you wound me.”

Lifting an eyebrow at the display, Dorian laughed. “You are a despicable heathen and I can’t stand to look at you.”

“Such sweet things you say, oh love of my life.”

Before he could grouse further, Mahanon leaned forward and caught his lips in a kiss. A hum of approval rumbled through Dorian’s chest and past his lips as a gasp of delight. Hearing that, and more, from him would be worth earning a scolding from Josephine for being late.

[tyrantlavellan]

A little Drabble I made for @lindsmorr because I owe her a lot. We miss our disaster sons.

(I know I promised no plot, but I had to think of somethingggggggg 🥺)

The bustling of the infamous Orlais market filled the air. Merchants crowded around the Inquisition company just for a glimpse of the Inquisitor.

Mahanon ignored them, waving his hand to his bodyguards. Inquisition soldiers shoved the crowd aside. He heard Taavi scoff as they made their way through the city, vast buildings with rich architecture and lavish gardens stretched out on either side of them. But Mahanon didn’t pay any attention. His mind was elsewhere.

Divine Victoria was trying everything in her power to lessen his grasp. Trying to change the ways of the Chantry was not going well for her, and with most of her own followers squabbling like over privileged children, she was not getting the support she needed. Her first few months as Divine was not going well. She wished to do what she believed was right, a noble deed Mahanon had to admit.

One that he was inclined to prevent from happening.

What she didn’t know was that he was the reason she was elected the new Divine in the first place. She would have lost her nomination to Leliana, had Mahanon not intervened. He gave himself a pat on the back for that one. The Chantry would have been a chaotic mess if Leliana was chosen.

He encouraged Cassandra to reinstate the Seekers to ensure the circle remained intact and well guarded. He definitely wasn’t taking any chances with the mages. He had seen the catastrophic damage they were capable of too many times.

The Divine might have successfully stripped him of his influence, were it not for the support of the Emperor, forever indebted to Mahanon for replacing Celene, and the majority of the noble houses supporting his title as Herald of Andraste. Mahanon smiled smugly to himself.

“This place reeks of dirty money, selling stuff that is not even worth half their price,” Taavi interrupted. A disgusted look wrinkled his face. “It’s like they dip their shit in gold and call it a fashion statement.”

Mahanon chuckled.

“This is Orlais, anything can be fashion if you’re rich enough, and have a lot of influence.”

“Whole place is a nightmare…” Taavi said, narrowly avoiding a group of chevaliers standing in the middle of the street. “The size of their egos definitely makes up for their lack of size down -”

Trumpets blasted cutting him off.

They made their way into the courtyard of the Chantry, where Divine Victoria awaited them atop a giant flight of stairs. Her rigid expression could make anyone tremble, but Mahanon knew better.

A crowd of Orlesians had amassed behind them and they cheered, singing chantry songs and praising the Herald of Andraste. Mahanon couldn’t help but smirk.

“Stop doing that,” Taavi smacked him.

“Ow! What was that for?” Mahanon shoved him back.

“You look like an idiot, smiling and waving to the crowd like you're some sort of idol.”

“In case you forgot, I did save the world from certain doom. And this is how they like to thank me,” Mahanon said, waving back at the crowd again.

“Oh that’s right. My bad, your highness,” Taavi mocked.

“Well now it’s sounds cringe when you say it,”

“Why did they have to build so many steps? And why is she so cross looking? What did you do to make her upset, we just got here,” Taavi grabbed onto Mahanon’s arm instinctively as they walked past the Seekers. He eyed them suspiciously.

“She is still upset about that whole Empris du Lion situation. Apparently the Chantry doesn’t condone blowing up Chevalier estates, despite blood mage cultists squatting inside,”

“That doesn’t seem very - ”

“I also may have slept with her a bunch and maybe kind of lied about a lot of things to convince her to become the Divine,” Mahanon said quietly, biting his lip.

“Oh, so now that makes more sense. Wait you slept with the Div - ”

“Welcome Inquisitor!” A clergyman yelled so the crowd could hear. “Our beloved Herald of Andraste has descended from his throne to grace us with his presence, may the Maker bless him always and continue to shine his light on all his children!”

The crowd cheered loudly. Mahanon waved, avoiding Taavi’s intensely disapproving gaze.

“Again with the waving, you look like a fool.”

“Why can’t you just have fun with me and let these peasants worship me,” Mahanon said, now blowing kisses to the courtiers.

“You are insufferable.” Taavi sneered under his breath.

“Enough with the attention seeking,” the Divine suddenly cut in, standing right beside them, arms crossed, still unimpressed. “Inside. Now.” She snapped, swiftly walking inside the giant looming doors of the cathedral.

“She seems nice,” said Taavi.

“Just let me do the talking,” Mahanon whispered back. “You just keep your eyes out for anything suspicious.”

Taavi rolled his eyes, but followed Mahanon inside the lavish building.

The Chantry spared no expense in their decorations. Images of Andraste, the Maker, and any other revered patron were scattered on every surface possible. Even the door handles had depictions of Andraste and her followers. The clergyman and the chantry sisters walked around, muttering chants and bowing as they passed.

Mahanon tried not to laugh at Taavi’s horrified expression.

“If I hear someone call me ‘your grace’ one more time…” Taavi hissed.

They entered the Divine’s council chamber. Every seemingly important person in Orlais was already waiting for them.

Josephine had arrived days before them, in an attempt to smooth things over with the council beforehand. She glared at them as they walked in.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mahanon called out, making sure the entirety of the room could hear. “I got lost in this giant labyrinth, so many unnecessary buildings.”

Josie stood in bewilderment as he stopped next to her.

“Inquisitor, glad you could finally make it,” she hissed through her teeth as she forced a smile.

“Glad to be here too, dear Josephine. I’m sure you entertained these people just fine. It is your job after all.” Mahanon said as he patted her head. She stiffened and took a very deep breath and muttered something in Antivan.

“I see things haven’t changed much.” Divine Victoria said, glaring in Mahanon’s direction as she took her seat.

“Hello, Cassandra,” Mahanon smiled at her. She gritted her teeth in disgust.

“She shall be addressed as Divine Victoria, Your Holiness, Most Holy, or the Holy Mother!” a Cleric snapped.

“My apologies,” Mahanon said, bowing out of mockery. “The name hasn’t really stuck so well. She wasn’t quite so ‘holy’ from what I remember.”

“You little -”

“Enough,” the Divine, raised her hand to silence them. “This is getting us nowhere.” She straightened her shoulders, making sure to appear taller, her outrageous hat towering above everyone.

“Inquisitor, despite your blatant lack of respect, we have called you here in an attempt to salvage the relationship between the Inquisition and the Chantry. There have been far too many disputes, and it is in your best interest to help us remain united.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Most Holy of Holiness.” He sneered, crossing his arms dramatically. “Last I looked, the Inquisition was doing very well working with the Chantry.”

“What he means to say, Your Excellence,” Josie cut in. “The Inquisition has been successful to maintain and utilize resources graciously donated by the Chantry, in the name of the Maker, of course.”

“I am aware, Ambassador.” Victoria said, nodding in her direction. “The Inquisition has been quick to dive into the Chantry vaults. But I disagree. Your Herald of Andraste has done terrible things, to both friends and enemies of the Inquisition. I cannot pretend you have the Chantry’s interests at heart when he seems to only take what he pleases.

“But what the Inquisitor fails to realize is, the title ‘Herald of Andraste’ can only go so far. Should the Chantry denounce the title of Herald, the Inquisition would not be entitled to anything regarding the Chantry.”

Mahanon snorted loudly.

“Let me see if I remember this correctly,” Mahanon said, clearing his throat. “But was it not one ‘Cassandra Pentaghast’ that insisted on defying Chantry order and encouraged the Inquisition’s inception in the first place?”

“The Chantry was leaderless,” she snapped, hands clenched into tight fists, making her knuckles white. “You cannot compare what happened then to this current situation.

“The Inquisition has done what it was meant to do, which was to stop the immediate threat of Corypheus. You have already done so. In continuing to expand the Inquisition and gain military prowess, you are going against everything that Andraste stood for.”

“So what would you consider the Templars and the Seekers, if not a military extension of the Chantry?” Mahanon argued. “The Inquisition is just more independent with how we function.”

“Not exactly true,” the Divine said coldly, challenging him. “The templars have one purpose, and that is to protect the Circle from threats both inside and out. The Seekers ensure the templars don’t fall out of line.

“The Inquisition has done neither of those things. And as of late it’s hard to say exactly what the purpose of the Inquisition is in its current state.”

Murmurs from the council members crept around the room. Mahanon could feel his face getting hot. But he still had some leverage.

“Perhaps we should ask our beloved Emperor Gaspard,” Mahanon said calmly. Gaspard squirmed in his seat as all eyes fell on him. “I’m sure he would have single handedly kept the country from being torn apart by the Civil War after Celene’s tragic death,” Mahanon eyed Gaspard. He could see the sweat dripping down his face even from where he stood.

“ And Ser Chaplain,” he continued, now staring at a retired Chevalier, one of his most generous donors. “His company would have totally been able to keep mercenaries and Venatori from overtaking his very financially successful mining operations in the Frostbacks.”

The Orlesian noble cleared his throat nervously.

“And of course,” Mahanon continued. “The general population of Thedas would definitely agree with denouncing the very force that saved them from the very demons of the Fade and the remains of the giant tear in the sky that would have ripped the world to pieces.” Mahanon stared the Divine in the eye.

“Because of course every single threat to Thedas died with Corypheus, and no city ever had to be rebuilt, no village ever faced a food shortage or threats from thieves or natural disasters.”

Nobody said a word.

“But I suppose the Inquisition doesn’t do any of those things either.” Mahanon looked across the room as the council whispered to each other.

The look on the Divine’s face was a mix of pure anger and defeat. Mahanon just smiled smugly. The council continued to whisper for several minutes.

“I feel like the council may lean in our favour,” Josie whispered.

“The Emperor and his bureaucrats owe us too much to not come to our defence.” Mahanon replied. “If the Divine thinks that her way is the only way, she’s going to be very disappointed.”

Finally the Divine raised her hand and the whispering cut off.

“We are calling a recess. We will return in an hour,” she said abruptly. Then she left the room just as quickly.

“Well then,” Josie sighed. “Time for some sightseeing?”

Mahanon turned to leave, but stopped short. Taavi was missing. He immediately became alert. He briskly walked out into the grand hallway, shoving a chantry brother out of the way. He could feel panic rising.

He opened doors, intent on searching the entire building until he heard laughing from a shadowy corner.

“You should see your face just now,” Taavi laughed as he casually walked out of his hiding spot. “Concern is such a cute look for you.”

Mahanon’s face went red. He crossed his arms as Taavi tried to pull him close.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, pushing Taavi away. “I didn’t think you’d ditch me like that.”

���I don’t consider the squabbles of the Chantry to be important, actually,” Taavi retorted. “But what I do find mildly entertaining,” he continued, slowly walking towards Mahanon with a sly look on his face. “Is you, pretending like you don’t care about me, when it’s very much obvious that you do,” Taavi lightly pushed Mahanon against the wall behind him. His towering frame kept him from going anywhere.

“Really, Taavi?” Mahanon said, looking around at the busy traffic going to and fro around the cathedral. “Right now doesn’t seem to be the best time or place for this,”

“Since when do you care about the when and where?” Taavi laughed. He gently turned Mahanon’s head to expose his neck, and kissed him softly, breathing heavily in his ear.

Mahanon felt his body get hot, and closed his eyes as Taavi gently grazed his ear with his teeth.

“I just…don’t…” Mahanon forgot what he was trying to say. “We are in a hallway….”

“You didn’t think I planned ahead? Where did you think I went off to?”

Suddenly Taavi lifted him up, wrapping Mahanon’s legs around his waist, their faces inches away from each other.

“I have you right where I wanted you,” Taavi said with a smirk as he kicked the door they were leaning against open.

He carried Mahanon into a small chapel, only furnished with a few wooden benches and a small altar table. He kicked the door shut behind them.

“Of all the rooms you could have chosen, you picked a closet?” Mahanon scoffed.

“I think it’s some sort of servants’ chapel, actually. Guess the rich don’t like mingling with commoners when it comes to chantry shit,” Taavi plopped Mahanon onto the tiny altar, knocking over Andraste paraphernalia, shattering them on the floor.

“And besides,” he continued. “Most of the servants are busy catering to all the snobby guests, don’t have time to come pray, or whatever they do in here.”

Taavi started kissing and sucking on Mahanon’s neck again, making sure to press their bodies together.

“You know,” Mahanon said quietly, now completely helpless as he could feel Taavis hands slowly unfastening his belt, lingering a bit before disappearing underneath the fabric. “They’re not going to be too pleased if I’m late again.” He bit his lip, trying to hold back a moan.

“Well I guess I better hurry then,” Taavi smirked, working his way down, throwing his own pants behind him.

Mahanon didn’t have time to object before Taavi pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him. Taavi clasped his hand over Mahanon’s mouth, muffling the sound of him moaning in pleasure as Taavi fucked him.

Whether it was the sacrilegious nature of being absolutely pounded on top a sacred altar, or Taavi wrapping his fingers around Mahanon’s neck as his breath came out in ragged gasps, or more likely the combination of both those things, it did not take long for Taavi to make Mahanon finish.

Taavi squeezed his hand around Mahanon’s delicate neck as he trembled with pleasure, leaving a mess all over his own hands. A few more thrusts and Taavi joined him. Both now breathing heavy, they let the last of the pleasure flow through them. Eyes closed, they lay in silence, both smiling.

“You’re getting too good at that,” Mahanon chuckled, stroking Taavi’s hair.

“What can I say, I’m a natural,” Taavi replied, taking Mahanon’s hand and kissing it gently.

Mahanon sighed, looking around the tiny space. He didn’t think they’d make such a mess in their brief moment, but he laughed as Taavi fished their pants from the other side of the room.

“Better get going, before Divine Victoria decides to go searching for us herself,” Mahanon grumbled, trying to clasp his belt properly. Taavi shook his head.

“I’m getting a headache just thinking about going back to that council disaster,” Taavi rubbed his temples dramatically. “I’m gonna go outside for some fresh air.”

Mahanon just rolled his eyes.

“You’re going to miss all the fun,” he replied. “But if you insist. Perhaps we can go for round two later,” he placed a kiss on Taavis lips.

“Perhaps…” Taavi said quietly. “If you don’t take forever…”

“I’ll show you what I can do later, I just need silk, some candles, and a couple of apples”

“What are the apples for?” Taavi asked, confused.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” Mahanon teased, pushing the door open and disappearing down the hall with a bit of a spring in his step.

[lindsmorr]

@tyrantlavellan I am so soft for these two and I can't get enough 😭😂🥰

-----------------------------

Taavi was seething.

The inn they were spending the night in also generously provided dinner and drinks. Mahanon had offered to collect their meal while Taavi found them a relatively secluded table. Taavi had no idea gathering dinner involved so much flirting.

Mahanon was bent at the waist, leaned over the counter of bar. Taavi couldn't hear what he was saying but whatever it was made the woman behind the bar giggle and blush, delicate fingers tucking her hair behind her ear.

Taavi gripped the table with both hands. He watched Mahanon reach a hand across the bar to tuck a few flyaway pieces of hair behind the woman's ear that she had missed before.

Her blush deepened.

Taavi was seeing red.

A plate and cup was placed in front of him as Mahanon took the seat across from him, "Eat up."

Taavi stared at the plate of food attempting to keep his emotions in check.

A hand waved back and forth in front of his face, "Hello," Mahanon drawled. "Your food is going to get cold."

Taavi knocked his hand away, "Stop that."

Mahanon frowned, "What's wrong with you?"

Taavi was conflicted. Rationally he knew the flirting was relatively harmless. But another part of him, the part swimming in his insecurities, was picturing Mahanon seducing someone else to his bed with sweet words and honeyed eyes.

Just like he had with Taavi.

"Bastard." He hissed.

"What the fuck did you say? Seriously what's wrong with you?"

"Am I not enough for you, is that it?"

Mahanon glanced around the inn wary of the eyes now looking towards their table, "I have no fucking idea what you are talking about."

Taavi snapped, "That woman!" He pointed towards the bar, "I'm surprised she didn't round the counter and just bend over for you right there!"

Mahanon glared but stayed silent.

Taavi laughed, "Nothing to say?"

"No because you're being ridiculous, eat your dinner, then we're going upstairs."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Mahanon reached the end of his patience, "Really this is all kind of hypocritical of you don't you think?" He asked pleasantly and took a bite of his food.

Taavi stared at him, his eyes daring him to say it.

Mahanon swallowed, "After all, you let me fuck you while you were still with someone else."

Taavi stood, "Fuck you Mahanon."

He stormed towards to door sparing a scathing glare for the woman watching him with wide eyes behind the counter and left the inn.

Taavi angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. The worst part is that Mahanon isn't wrong.

The night air helped to clear his mind as he wondered aimlessly. He wanted to believe that Mahanon was devoted to him but the truth was they had never talked about it.

Maybe he wasn't enough to satisfy Mahanon. His mind wandered to Ives, he was beautiful. Delicate, regal and absolutely stunning. Taavi could never hope to compare. And even before Ives, a string of beautiful men and women all lining up for their chance with the Inquisitor, and Mahanon never denied them.

But Mahanon told him he loved him.

He wanted to believe it and things had been going so well between them. But he still couldn't quiet the part of him that was afraid.

Afraid Mahanon was just using him until he didn't need him anymore.

He felt guilty for thinking so badly of Mahanon, but it felt impossible to stop the thoughts in his head.

"Taavi."

Mahanon was behind him.

Taavi stayed silent. Still feeling angry but also embarrassed over his behavior.

Mahanon sighed, "Come back with me, please."

Taavi turned around and started walking back towards the inn, Mahanon followed silently behind him.

Luckily the dining area and bar were deserted and they walked up the stairs to their room together.

They both sat on the edge of the bed not quite close enough to touch. "Taavi I'm sorry I-"

"Don't. Don't apologize." Taavi interuppted.

Taavi swallowed, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that."

Mahanon closed the distance between them, he leaned his head on Taavi's shoulder, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm afraid. That I'm not enough for you. That you'll get bored of me." Taavi huffed, "I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"That's because it is stupid." Mahanon  flicked Taavi between his eyebrows.

"Hey!"

Mahanon laughed and went to his knees before Taavi, "You better listen to me."

Taavi looked down at Mahanon and nodded for him to continue.

"As long as you want me, I'm yours. Only yours. You make me feel like maybe I might actually be able to do something good, because I actually want to do better. For you."

Mahanon leaned up to kiss Taavi, "And I am sorry, for what I said and for flirting. That was stupid, but I promise I didn't mean anything by it."

Taavi leaned his forehead against Mahanon's, "I know, I believe you."

Mahanon smirked, "Sooo, shall we move right along to the make up sex?"

Taavi shoved him away and rolled his eyes, "You really know how to romance a guy."

"I'd like it if you bent over that counter for me." Mahanon said.

"Idiot, come here."

Taavi was sure this would be far from their last argument. And he knew his insecurities would resurface one way or the other. But as he moved inside Mahanon, with legs around his waist and hands in his hair, he knew no matter how unconventional their relationship might have been, he was loved.

And he loved in return.

[dellamortethelesser]

Cas, give us the Naoise lore. Gender thoughts, martial ability thoughts. How's he taking the whole dead family situation? The suddenly a warden situation? What does he make of Alistair's immediately shovelling all responsibility onto his shoulders? Who does he want to kill most between Morrigan and Alistair so far? Anything else you've got on your chest you want to share 😌

Naoise !!!

Gender Thoughts

Ohh boy, here we go. Lex knowing immediately that Naoise is written as a trans man despite me not giving any previous inclination… iconic, actually. you are correct i have lots of gender thoughts about him!

Naoise Cousland is beloved by his family, and especially by his parents. I believe wholeheartedly that he clued into the fact that he was trans at a young age and demanded to be seen as such, the way a spoiled second son would demand anything else. Sure, there was worried discussion between Eleanor and Bryce about how to handle the wider social ramifications--and what about heirs and marriage?--but ultimately they could not bring themselves to deny their son anything and so they helped him to comfortably transition. Doing it younger was smart; noble pages could begin training as early at 7, such as Fergus did, but Naoise did not show any knightly inclinations.

(edit: i meant to say smth here about mage top surgery in his teens. i think it's possible and i think the couslands could have realistically hidden that knowledge from others)

With that in mind, Naoise doesn't suffer from what we might consider "stereotypical" gender dysphoria, or at least in the way comparatively that Mahanon does. He passes, he's gendered correctly, he's widely regarded as a man by his family and his peers. Hell, Arl Howe offers him his daughter, Delilah, in marriage.

That being said--he does suffer from internalizing Ferelden's societal (and toxic) ideas of masculinity. He mimicked what he saw as a noble's second son… (caveat: it seems that being gay is somewhat acceptable [or at least not frowned upon] in Ferelden but given what we see of Krem in Inquisition, I'm extrapolating/hc'ing what being trans in noble society might look like) … being accused of effeminate behavior/being trans/etc would likely bring him to challenge said person to a fight to restore honor. He wants to go off and fight, and says as much during the origin, despite the fact that his parents see him as more readily inclined to take over the teyrnship. Does he take it as a slight against his martial abilities? A jab that he would be more readily accepted as a homemaker? Probably not, but the thoughts linger… he's mostly soothed by them insisting that they cannot risk "both heirs", which assures him that their feelings haven't changed.

Martial Thoughts

Naoise isn't a great warrior like Fergus is, ready to charge the front lines or shield his brothers from the blows. Naoise is analytical, slender, and works best from a distance. Trained in archery, he tends to linger back and pin/compromise as many opponents as possible while his fellows charge. If the line breaks or they need help, he's dual-wielding daggers with speed and elegance… I suppose his mother did teach him SOME of her swashbuckling ways. There's a swagger to how he moves that isn't typical of knights… maybe something more maritime?

Grief + Warden

Naoise, admittedly, isn't coping well with the loss of his entire family. Not only does Dairren die (y'know, the son of Lady Landra who he managed to convince to go to bed with him that night), but so did his innocent sister-in-law and baby nephew, the household, his dad, his mum, Ser Gilmore, etc. He's screaming, crying, throwing up the whole way to Ostagar. He only manages to get it together by the time they're climbing up the steps to meet with King Cailan----and then he's told he won't be able to see Fergus until after the battle. Fine, that's fine. He didn't want to give Fergus the horrible news yet anyway.

Then the battle at Ostagar goes to shit; King Cailan can't make good on his promise for justice, Loghain has branded him a traitor, and Fergus is likely dead. The grief starts anew, but this time with purpose. While Alistair is grieving Duncan, Naoise doesn't grieve at all, he's PLOTTING. He is plotting how going to Redcliffe can help him achieve his greater goal--stopping the Blight is secondary. Avenging his family comes first.

To that end, he thinks little of the Grey Wardens. Duncan strong-armed him into the position by manipulating his dying father. If that wasn't a cunning, manipulative, political move, he doesn't know what is. Fine, he'll just have to be smarter, wittier, more cunning. One step ahead of everyone, including his own order. He's not grieving them after Ostagar, he's reassessing how his position as one of the only Wardens left can be used as a means to his own ends.

Alistair + Morrigan

Traveling with these two (plus his mabari and his eagle!) has quickly shown Naoise, the spoiled second-born son used to getting his own way, just how ANNOYING it is to have siblings. They're bickering all the time, he's bickering with them, none of them can agree on anything, the dog is barking, etc etc. It gets to the point where he whips out the "WELL MY WHOLE FAMILY WAS MURDERED. I DIDN'T ASK TO BE HERE" more than once and it gets them to shut up. He sympathizes with Alistair's grief and Morrigan's reluctance but it all GRATES on him.

By the time he gets comfortable enough to be bratty back, they all want to kill each other. I don't think I could tell you which one wants blood more.

[kaaras-adaar-a]

Do you worry about Mahanon's age, compared to yours? He isn't exactly a young man anymore, and he's already lived through more than most.

ASK MY MUSE QUESTIONS ABOUT OTHER MUSES//THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH OTHER MUSES

“No, I do not. Mahanon is capable and experienced, wise in ways that many others are not. He is learned, smart, and cautious when need be, not headstrong like a young man trying to prove his worth, only to make mistakes. I needn’t be impressed by someone showing off, I find comfort in his wishing to settle down, for I am no longer a ‘young man’ either.” He was at his thirtieth year, after all.

Kaaras laughed at the idea that people thought Mahanon was a fragile, old man. “If you’re curious, by all means, I would enjoy watching you spar against him. In the meantime, perhaps you should be focused on other priorities than two fully grown men who are quite capable of making their own decisions.” 

@sabraelin

[robotslenderman]

I am having so much fun scrolling through the Liriel, Solas and Mahanon text posts, the dynamic is absolutely sending me XD

@orodrethsgeek and I call Mahanon the "cinnabun" because three quarters of the OT4 were ripping each others' throats out on a regular basis and the only reason why they didn't outright kill each other was because Mahanon was an actual adult with social skills who'd shooshpap anyone who got too riled up. That's not to say Mahanon is an innocent little sugar roll but compared to who he had to deal with he sure as fuck was!

[seahaloed]

♤ : Taking a bath together || @sabraelin​

Visus settles into the hot water and sinking up to his chin with a low exhale. He could fall asleep here in the warmth. The water level rises and sloshes as Mahanon joins him, and Visus readjusts and settles once more, grin blooming as Mahanon settles his back against his chest, allowing Visus to curl his arms around the other man. It takes some adjusting, but eventually the two of them settle on something like a comfortable position with Visus’s face tucked against Mahanon’s head.

(he nearly does fall asleep.)

“Iovro’bae?” Mahanon’s voice carries his smile, and Visus has to pry his eyes open. He nudges his nose gently against Mahanon’s temple with a grin of his own. “I noticed you have more vallaslin,” Mahanon mentions. “Oh that’s right—“ Visus’s voice is thick with the threat of sleep, he adjusts slightly as if trying to gesture to the addition of Mythal’s branches that fan out across his shoulder blades. The ink, while not new, is still a deep black compared to the sun faded of his other tattoos already. Clearings his throat, Visus tilts his head back against the edge of the tub “I had it added after Eralen turned two, do you think it’s nice?” he intoned, pressing a tender kiss behind the other’s ear.

“I think it’s fitting, I’m surprised it took you so long to add them.” Mahanon admits, turning his head slightly to look at Visus. ”Well the process does hurt, and I’m rather tender skinned—“ Visus chuckles and grins into his hair. ”No. You’re not.” Mahanon laughs, shaking his head a little.

A polite knock comes from the door, and a call for Mahanon to go to the war room, and Visus sighs as he unfurls his arms to release Mahanon. Visus follows out of the bath, drying off and wrapping the towel around his waist with little fanfare. Visus supposes he can’t blame the sky for falling in it’s current state, but he would’ve liked a little more time alone with the other.

[buttsonthebeach]

For DWC can I have some Solavellan domestic fluff involving flour hand prints on butts, kisses that taste like honey, and the sweet relief of having fixed something that went well somewhere along the way? Thanks Glitterbutt! ❤️❤️❤️

Man I sat on this one foreeeeever. I hope you enjoy it, friend!

This is Body of Knowledge era, for anyone keeping score.

@dadrunkwriting

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots opening around 9/1/19)

Pairing: Solas x Ellana, Post-Trespasser and reunited

Rating: Teen for smooches I guess

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

The first time Ellana ever attempted to cook anything, she was sixteen, and half her clan was dead, and she had no idea what she was doing, and she burned three of the six hares she had brought back from her snares so badly that no one would eat them, not even the hungriest among them. It set the tone for most of her experience with cooking for the rest of her life. She was good at killing game, dressing it, and then handing it over to someone far more experienced than she was.

This wasn’t a problem while she was Herald and then Inquisitor. Skyhold had an entire staff. Bull was a pretty good cook in the field, and if he wasn’t along for the ride, Blackwall managed well. It was a joke among the inner circle that Ellana planned her traveling parties to ensure someone would be there to feed them.

It did become a problem after - long after - when she and Solas had their own home finally, when the whole mess was behind them. When they were done unpacking (and distracting each other from unpacking), and it became abruptly, abundantly clear that neither of them was prepared to take responsibility for feeding the two of them.

“How have you been on this earth for thousands of years and never learned how to cook?” Ellana sighed as they walked back from the tavern closest to their house, where they had eaten for the third time that week.

“I was asleep for most of that time.”

“And pursuing memories of food never seemed that important to you, I suppose, compared to the rise and fall of empires?”

Solas had his arm slung over her shoulder. He drew her close and kissed her loudly, sloppily on the forehead. Her heart glowed.

“Indeed. It gives us a chance to learn together though, does it not?”

It was silly, but the thought still drew a wave of worry up from the pit of Ellana’s stomach. Every time she burned something, misread the directions, left out an ingredient, it brought up memories of that summer. Of feeling like she had to grow up overnight and start taking care of everyone around her, and of feeling like she was nowhere near equal to the task.

“That is true,” she said anyway. “We will.”

They started simply - minced meat cooked in oil, gently spiced until they discovered they both enjoyed more heat, vegetables added alongside. Ellana grew less awkward with the knife, though she still needed Solas to start chopping some of the vegetables they used, since her left hand was not there to help her. After a week or so it became a ritual - the two of them there, reconnecting after their long days working to build a nation. It was exciting in a way she remembered from that same summer that haunted her still, sixteen years later - when she and Mahanon were newly bonded and everything was fresh, invigorating as diving into a deep cold pool, just because they were doing it together. She and Solas were together now. Everything that had kept them apart was over. Everything was cast in a new light because of that. Even soups with too much salt, pork left to roast too long in their oven with its glowing red fire rune.

Eventually, they grew more confident in themselves. They’d written to their friends for their favorite recipes, tried their hands at Josephine’s Antivan dishes, Dorian’s Tevene ones, Cassandra’s Nevarran fare daringly sprinkled with dragon blood. They only had Leliana’s Orlesian suggestions left, several of which were actually recipes for baking, and which she’d cautioned them to follow very exactly.

“Our skills have progressed reasonably,” Solas said. “It would hardly hurt to try.”

Which was how they ended up scowling in the kitchen, barely speaking to each other, ignoring the burnt cake on the counter. It was called a bee sting cake, and it had involved yeast, and honey, and impossibly thin slivered almonds, and the day was hot to begin with and they were both tired and now they were not really speaking to each other and this, too - this too was familiar, Ellana thought. How you could feel alone in crowded rooms, in your own home, how she had lain there at night in an aravel with other hunters and felt impossibly isolated, how she sometimes felt like that with Mahanon. She had never made it past this heady stage with him. He’d died too soon. It had been a few months of living with Solas now, and there was a part of her that panicked sometimes in quiet hours of the night, that felt that this could not possibly last.

Nothing was guaranteed. That was the biggest lesson she learned sixteen years ago. Solas himself had hardened that realization over the last four years. She had broken open that calcified piece of her heart and handed it back to him nonetheless. And it was stupid, and it was only a cake, but she could not help but wonder -

The smack against her ass was sudden and sharp and Ellana yelped, turned around, anger already boiling within her, to see a wide, boyish grin on Solas’s face that made the crinkles around his eyes deeper than she’d ever seen them.

“What was that for?” she asked, even though the anger was already cooling.

Solas wound his arms around her, held her close, kissed her, and there was honey on his tongue, ripe as the last days of summer, when she opened for him, melted into him.

“That was because you are beautiful, and I like seeing you here in a home that is ours, no matter how cross you are with me,” he said simply, and like that the fear receded, the ghosts went back to sleep.