#dADWC

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday!! 💚👀

How about: the last thing i want is to see you get hurt. Featuring Arlow and Viago?

thank you for the prompt!! it hit really well, which is to say that it got much longer than I intended 😂 but here we go, from the requisite "Viago routinely poisons Rook de Riva" bit to Angst and Feels and Crow Politics 🤌

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 2035 words | @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers

-

Not for the first time, Arlow hesitated outside Viago’s study door. She knew he was within, but her stomach churned with worry and anticipation. She was happy, unbelievably happy, and he had the power to crush that with a single look.

She unclenched her fist and stared down at the ring. Dragon bone, inlaid on a band of intertwined nevarrite and obsidian. Black and purple and gold—the colors of the Crows. But she had always been a Crow; this represented something so much more.

“I can hear you thinking out there. Come in, or go away—do not linger. It’s rude.”

It was so typical, so normal in a way that things had not been for a very long time, it almost erased Arlow’s concerns. Her fingers closed, hiding the ring from view, and she pushed the door open.

Viago had a spread of vials on his desk, and a tray for checking antidotes in the middle of the array. Emil was curled around his shoulders; his tongue flicked out at Arlow in greeting as she shut the door at her back.

“Hello Emil,” she said dryly. “Viago.”

“Come here.” He beckoned her forward with one hand; the other held a pipette filled with a murky brown-green solution. “Perfect timing. I need to test this.”

Arlow eyed the mixture warily. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d laid her up for days with one of his concoctions. But her constitution was better now, and so was his estimation of what was and wasn’t ready to test. Plus, if he knocked her out and the ring fell loose, she wouldn’t have to explain.

She propped herself on the free corner of his desk and opened her mouth. Viago dropped three precise dots of the solution on her tongue and waited, watching expectantly.

“Oh,” she choked, hand coming up to her throat. “That burns.”

Viago quickly scribbled a few notes in his journal. He set the pipette down and cupped her jaw, prying her eyelids back and turning her face toward the torchlight. He hummed, nodding to himself and making a few more quick notes. Arlow’s fist pressed hard against the polished wood of his desk, but the pressure did little for her—the poison might have burned her throat, but it was numbing her extremities now. It hurt, knowing she couldn’t roll her eyes to tell Viago to hurry up with the antidote.

She focused on her breathing. Despite her joking, she didn’t actually want to pass out in Viago’s study—she’d never hear the end of it.

“Okay, now this.” Viago drew a few drops of a yellowish liquid into a fresh pipette—if she had more control of her facial muscles, Arlow would have eyed it warily. It would not be the first time he fed her piss under this guise. But at the moment, she cared more about regaining her faculties, and she didn’t have the control to close her mouth, anyway.

She couldn’t tell how much he dropped onto her tongue, only that when enough of it hit, her nerves started buzzing like an angry beehive. He followed it with a spritz of something clear and vaguely acidic, then handed her a glass of water. She tossed it back, swished, and spit into the bucket on the edge of his desk.

“Well?”

Arlow flexed her fingers, running her tongue around the still-tingling inside of her mouth. “Assuming you wanted instantaneous numbing, I’d say it needs work. Not that I’d be precise or anything, but I definitely would have been able to haphazardly stab someone for at least the half minute you had me sitting here.

And as they both knew, half a minute was more than enough time to kill someone. Viago pursed his lips, nodding and muttering under his breath as he made more notes. “Good, good. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, um.” Arlow licked her lips, letting him think she was still recovering from the poison’s effects. It wouldn’t alter his results that much. But in truth, the sweat on her palms and the shake in her voice had nothing to do with what he’d given her. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was an adult and this was a choice she was allowed to make. Whatever Viago decided, no matter how much it hurt, would be on him. “I have to tell you something. And also ask a question.”

Her deliberately evasive phrasing drew his shaper attention as he corked one of his vials and set it aside. He folded his arms and raised a brow at her. “Out with it, then.”

Right. She uncurled her fingers and the torchlight caught fetchingly in the metal edges of the band, danced tantalizingly off the angular face of the stone. Viago froze, and she knew he had stopped breathing.

“That is a Dellamorte ring,” he said after a moment. Arlow’s throat constricted; it was both easier, and not, that he recognized it. “The Dellamorte ring, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Lucanis gave it to me,” Arlow said. “When he asked me to marry him.”

Emil’s tongue flicked out in a hiss; it was the only sound. Arlow pinched the ring between her fingers and held it up. It really was beautiful, and there was strength in both that, and the promise it represented. Barely breathing, she slipped it onto her finger and clenched her fist. “I said yes.”

She forced herself to look directly at Viago as she said it. Not defiance—determination, and respect. Her heart cared about what he thought, but as a Crow she owed her Talon at least this much, and she respected that.

“Of course he did,” Viago finally said. Arlow didn’t visibly relax, but her gut unclenched; he didn’t sound angry. “And of course you did. Mierda.”

His brow furrowed as he studied her, silent, and Arlow deeply regretted not doing this when Teia was around. Teia, at least, always knew what to say, and just said it, right away. And she could read Viago better than anyone—Arlow might suspect what the working of his jaw, or his fingers twitching in their gloves meant, but Teia would know for sure. And would say it, even if Viago wouldn’t.

But this was more than a matter of her personal relationship. Because of who Lucanis was, because of who they were, as Crows, this was a matter of politics. And Teia, dear as she was, was the Talon of another House. This was between Arlow and Viago.

“Are you sure?” Viago’s voice cracked, and he covered for it by stepping forward and taking her hand. His gloves were thick enough that she felt no warmth through the leather; she simply watched as he swiped his thumb over the ring. “I know you have been happy. I know he makes you happy. But he is the First Talon. Tying yourself to him in this way will have consequences. Lethal consequences, if you aren’t careful—and I think we both know you’ve struggled with that in the past.”

Arlow couldn’t help but laugh, soft and melancholy. It was so fitting, and she didn’t even cringe when Viago’s concern sharpened into a glare at her amusement.

“I am sure,” she said, curling her fingers around his and squeezing just once before letting go. “More sure than I’ve been of anything in a long time.”

Viago nodded slowly. “Very well. I—well. I suspect you would do what you wished, regardless of my thoughts. As you always have. I simply do not wish to see you hurt.”

A warmth bled through Arlow and the corners of her mouth ticked up in a slight smile. “It’s just a formality, Viago. If anyone plans to leverage me against Lucanis, they will do it whether I wear his ring or not. And if Lucanis hurts me, he will cut off his own hand before you ever get to him.”

“Good.” Viago huffed. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You had a question, as well?”

“I rather thought you would ask it for me.” Arlow bit her lip. “I—well. It’s the matter of Houses, and which one I’ll belong to when this is done.”

Viago’s fingers clenched on the edge of the desk. Around his shoulders, Emil hissed, slithering around his neck in a reaction the distress Viago was holding back. Wordlessly, he removed the snake from his collar and deposited him back in his tank. He stayed there, staring down at the fire rune, back turned to the desk, and to Arlow. “That isn’t a question.”

“Cazza, Viago, do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes!” he snapped, whirling around. “If you are asking permission to leave my House for his, then I would hope you have the decency to say it to my face.”

Okay. So maybe she did need to spell it out for him.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” she said softly. She slipped off the desk and walked to his side. “When you made me a de Riva, you saved my life. You made my life. And you made it one worth living. My heart belongs to that history as much as it does to Lucanis, and I am not so quick to cast it aside.” She took a deep breath. “But—there is only one way in which I truly stay a de Riva, and also marry Lucanis.”

Viago’s lips had parted with surprise as she spoke, an unknowable emotion shining in his eyes. Now, he pursed them, as she led him to the question she was actually asking.

“You want me to give you to him,” her murmured. Arlow nodded.

“But I know what that means,” she added hastily. “I know that it is not a choice, or a promise to be made lightly. If I thought for even a moment that it would be a detriment to our house, I would never ask. But—I do not think it will mean anything that you would not already do.”

She swallowed. “But if you’re not willing… I understand. And I will accept your decision, either way.”

“Well, that would be a first,” Viago snorted. He clasped her by the shoulders, and Arlow was surprised by how clear and certain his gaze seemed. She’d never known Viago to make a decision so swiftly. Usually, there were days of agonizing, debating, considering the angles. But not this time. “Arlow. Pajarito, you think I would let you get away? It was my hand that lifted you into this House, and it was my name that you wore out to change the world. And when I gave it to you—“ he swallowed, throat bobbing awkwardly. Arlow covered his hands with her own, eyes shining. It was the most words she’d ever heard Viago string together at once outside of a lecture and she thought she might be able to live on this forever.

“When I gave it to you, I didn’t know, but I was giving it a life beyond poisons, and scheming, and grief. I would not force it on you now, but de Riva is yours as long as you wish to wear it. And though he is hardly worthy, and it is dangerous, if you are asking, then yes. I will find a pair of gloves suitable to give you to him.”

Arlow threw her arms around his neck, lifting herself up onto tip toes, not caring that he was stiff under her for just a bit too long before he wrapped his arms around her torso and buried his face in her hair.

“Thank you,” she said against his chest. “I—thank you. Thank you.”

Viago drew back, his smile genuine, but worried. “Of course,” he said, even though they both knew no such assurance had ever been real. “Have you told Teia?”

Arlow shook her head, and to her surprise Viago threw back his head and laughed. Then he gestured to the door, grinning a bit too smugly for Arlow’s taste.

“Come,” he said. “I want to see her face when she finds out you told me first.”

[heylavellan]

Hello and happy Friday! ^^ How about ""I don't want explanations. I want…" 💋" for Neve and Bellara?

did i get carried away? yes! i had so much fun writing from bellara's pov. veilguard spoilers, read at your own discretion! @dadrunkwriting

no takesies-backsies

rating: t

words: 1282

notes: bellara follows in varric's friend fiction footsteps and writes her self insert falling in love with neve's character. wingman lucanis

Maybe Bellara went just a bit toooo far. Sometimes that happened. More than sometimes. This whole writing thing had been Neve's suggestion. Well, Neve and Rook's. It was a nice break from interrogating the Nadas Dirthalen made by Anaris the Forgotten One and trying not to think about the fact her brother was serving said Forgotten One. Also that her gods thought it would be fun to try and Blight the world.

There was a lot going on, and sometimes Bellara would rather distract herself. The serials Neve brought her were great, but she always finished them before the next chapter was ready. Then she'd read the week's assigned reading for the book club and get bored, so she'd try one of those large academic tomes Emmrich brought. Which inevitably brought her back to the Nadas Dirthalen and all those thoughts she was trying to avoid.

So she started writing about the Veilguard! It was really fun at first, but she quickly ran into a problem. She caught up to the present day. Which was good, because it meant that she could write about things as they happened. But bad. Really bad, since it meant she was stuck with the original problem. Nothing to do.

One day when Bellara was complaining to Lace, the dwarf shared what she knew about Varric's books. About how Hard in Hightown was based on some of his friends in Kirkwall. Donnen was Donnic, Belladona was Isabela, and Maysie was Merrill. Friend fiction, he'd called it.

It was then that Bellara had the perfect idea. Neve was always saying that the press was giving her a bad rep in Minrathous. So why not write a story about how awesome she was? The Neve Gallus!

Well, clearly the main character couldn't be Neve Gallus exactly. Varric didn't drop his friends straight into the works. No, he gave them new names. So how about Guinevere? It had "neve" in the name, but it wasn't immediately obvious. She could be called 'Gee' for short! Agent Gee? No, that wasn't right.

Neve was a suave detective, so Gee needed to be too. But what was she sleuthing? Maybe... for stolen elven artifacts? No, that wouldn't sell in Tevinter. Which was where Neve needed to fix her image. No, she could be the Bloodhound of Minrathous, stopping blood rituals just in time and tracking down anything lost.

And every hero needed a sidekick. Lucanis seemed like a good option, but he didn't live in Minrathous. He was the Demon of Vyrantium. But maybe she could work with that. Maybe they were instead rival detectives, who shared a sidekick unknowingly. The Shadow of Vyrantium competing with the Bloodhound of Minrathous. Yes!

But who was the sidekick. Maybe they were telling the story. Maybe it was... her? Hmmm, that could work. Lucine, the elven sidekick who could sneak across the city unnoticed. She ran a repair shop in Dock Town and sold second hand and vintage wares.

As Bellara continued to shape the story and write the first chapters, it became quite clear that Lucine was in love with Guinevere. Which was strange. Because Bellara wasn't in love with Neve, right? She knew she liked women, after all she dated Irelin for a while. But Neve?

She continued to write. Gee was developing a crush on the Shadow, who she would later reveal to be Lucine's younger sibling Dellen. They both continued to solve crime in Minrathous and Vyrantium until Lucine got targeted by a scheme. The Shadow and the Bloodhound work together to retrieve Lucine, where they admit begrudging respect for each other. And Lucine confessed her love for Guinevere. And they lived happily ever after.

That felt like a good place to end the book. Rook helped her find a publisher, and it was out in Minrathous. She thought that was the end of that. She'd put her first book out in the world!

But with Neve Gallus, things weren't so. Publishing might have been the step too far. After an excursion to Arlathan with Rook and Lucanis (who politely informed Bellara that her book was very popular among the residents of Treviso), Neve was waiting in Bellara's room, reading through a copy of her book.

To be honest, she'd been shoving down her feelings for Neve in case they weren't returned. Until the crush went away, the book was a good enough outlet. "Guinevere took Lucine's hand and kissed her knuckles, looking reverently at her sidekick," quoted Neve, placing a ribbon in the passage she was on. "I was wondering why so many people were asking me if my full name was Guinevere recently."

Bellara blushed and stammered, "I'm sorry if I put your real name out there, but I wanted the character to be like you but also not you?"

Neve smiled -- a real smile, not the ones she wore when she was patiently putting up with Bellara's rambles. "No. I just think it's sweet what you think of me," she replied, setting the book down on the table. "I hope I have enough stories to fuel your next book."

If it was possible, she flushed an even brighter red. Neve drew closer, and Bellara became immediately aware of the curve of her body, the click of her shoes. The deep cut of her shirt. She gulped. "I think so? I don't know if I'll write another. I mean, you're awesome and deserve to have another written about you, but um. Only if you want me to. I really should have asked," she said, letting her mouth speak whatever words crossed her mind. Mythal'enaste, she hadn't been this flustered since she first met Irelin!

"I'm honoured that you want to write about me. But I think the one thing that's stumped me is who Lucine is. The Shadow, Dellen. That's like Lucanis. There's Guinevere, me. You even had Inge, that was a slick way to get Ingellvar in there. But Lucine?" Neve dissected the book and placed a hand on Bellara's shoulder.

She knew? She had to know, right? There was no way she didn't. She was a detective and had clearly picked up that she'd used last names to inspire first names. Guinevere - Gallus, Dellamorte - Dellen, Inge - Ingellvar. Leaving Lucine - Lutare. Neve had to know. And if she didn't she'd certainly have it confirmed by her facial expressions.

Before she could stammer out an apology or explain it away as just part of the book, Neve started, "Look, I don't need explanations. I need…"

Well, if the nug was out of the bag... Bellara cut her off by standing on her tiptoes to kiss Neve. It wasn't intense really, just a quick peck. Before she embarrassed herself. She already felt like she did, but... Whatever. Also, if she kissed Neve longer she'd want more. And Neve might not want that. "I'm sorry!" Bellara squeaked.

The second part of her apology was cut off by two warm hands grabbing her cheeks and a long kiss on her lips. It began to heat up, as Neve licked and nipped Bellara's lips. A small gasp left her mouth, allowing Neve to slip her tongue into Bellara's mouth.

Someone coughed at the doorway. "I'll just bring your tea later?" Lucanis asked, slowly backing out of Bellara's room. Bellara darted over, grabbing her tea from Lucanis with a smile. She missed the pointed look Lucanis shot Neve over Bellara's thank you hug.

Neve mouthed a thank you to Lucanis, and picked up the book. "I'll be back later, Bell. I'm certain we can come up with more ideas for the next book," she teased.

Elgar'nan, Neve was going to be the death of her.

[lyntergalactic]

Hi!!! Happy Friday <3 For Lucanis & Roisin, "holding hands under the table" from the holding hands prompts maybe?

aww this is a sweet one. thanks for the prompt!! @dadrunkwriting - veilguard content warning!

Dinner is delicious. It always is when Lucanis cooks. There's something extra special about it tonight, though. Maybe it's the new spices that have shown up in the Lighthouse kitchen. Or maybe it's just the fact that Rook knows he made dessert special, for her.

She tries not to smile to widely or too much. Sure, she's an easy-going person and the good conversation around the table would have her laughing normally. But she feels almost giddy tonight. It's hard to keep it in.

She wants to, though. Wants to hold this little ember of a new... something with Lucanis close to her chest and keep it just between them (and Spite, of course) for a little while. It's taken them a while to get here even if they've known they were headed this way. It makes it feel all the more precious.

As the night goes on, she finds herself cursing the fact that the Lighthouse has actual chairs. If this were more like one of the dining halls in Weisshaupt with bench seating, she could have an excuse to drift a little closer to Lucanis. She could get near enough to feel the heat of him at her side, even if she kept herself from touching. With the chairs, all she can do is lean on the arm rest closest to him and pine for a moment alone.

At least, that's what she thinks until she feels the smallest of touches against her pinky finger, so brief she thinks she almost imagined it. Her hand's under the table, hidden from the sight of the rest of the team. And it's not like they have a table cloth so it had to have been deliberate.

The touch comes again. It stays this time, ghosting up and down her smallest finger. Careful not to react outwardly as she continues chatting with Bellara, Rook extends her pinky finger and loops it around Lucanis'. She gives it a little squeeze.

Warmth blossoms in her chest as his finger tightens its grip in turn. With his other hand, Lucanis takes a drink of his coffee and lets out a contented hum. Ostensibly because of the good roast. But Rook knows better. And she doesn't think she's ever felt so loved.

[rosella-writes]

"Dust floating in golden sunlight" for Solas and Cassandra?

They're in love.

For @dadrunkwriting, some DAI-era Solas x Cassandra with some slight suggestive themes and casual nudity.

asha'dirthar: she who seeks after wisdom

~~~

In her modest quarters above the blacksmith’s forge, Cassandra Pentaghast sat at the window, a hand mirror propped against the jamb. She hunched, undressed and with the posture of a person utterly at home, peering at her reflection as she carefully braided the long lock of hair at the nape of her neck. 

Solas, similarly naked and at home, laid on her unmade bed and watched. 

Dust motes hung in the dawning light of day, suspended in time around Cassandra’s muscled frame — they swirled in a sudden shift of the air as the Seeker’s hand passed through them, quickly plaiting a strand of hair and replacing the one she held between her lips. Her method was quick and sure, one born of habit. 

Her bent back exposed the bumps of her spine only between her lower ribs. The rest of her was made of muscle upon generous flesh upon more muscle — her shoulders bunched and worked, as did her arms as she braided. The two valleys of strength in the small of her back, Solas noted with fierce pride, were covered with dark marks, kissed there with a biting mouth. His mouth. 

The trail wrapped around her waist, along with a few reddened stripes, as if from grasping nails. More kisses marked where her belly folded. More on the underside of her breast. One still glistened in the new light of day — love so recently placed on her neck that it had not had the chance to dry. 

“I feel your eyes,” Cassandra chuckled dryly. She wrapped the end of her braid with a strand of waxed thread. “Haven’t you consumed me enough?”

I have not, he thought, sure that he was just shy of starvation. 

“Come here, asha’dirthar,” he said, reaching out a hand. 

The warrior’s burden she carried dropped away as she tossed the finished braid over her shoulder —  instead, a girlish giddiness took over in her scarred smile, in the way she hurried back to bed, in the way she kissed him again with a giggle at the back of her throat.

[ruiningsalads]

“Please be okay. Please be okay, please be okay—” for Lucanis/de Riva/Spite

ooooo this one spoke to me!

a Veilguard ficlet for @dadrunkwriting. not really spoilers tho!

Scuffles in the streets of Treviso weren't exactly uncommon, but this might have crossed the line into a true battle. The pair were on their way back from the market, their arms laden with all the fresh ingredients Lucanis thought they might need that week, when suddenly they were surrounded.

They had been careless, Lilya thought bitterly as she dropped her basket of vegetables into the mud to free her arm. Of course, she'd been enraptured with Lucanis as he explained the best onions for cooking certain dishes and hadn't heard the Antaam thugs closing in around them. At least ten of the brutes leered at them from all sides, clearly believing them to be easy prey.

If they survived this, Viago would never let her hear the end of it. And then he would probably poison Lucanis for good measure.

She felt Lucanis take up position at her back and heard his murmured curse. Of course, they were both armed -- it would be foolish to wander the streets otherwise -- but they were in casual gear instead of their reinforced leathers. Their speed would be an asset, but one well-placed blow would be all it took to gut either one of them.

The battle itself was a blur. Lilya's body flowed between adversaries like a gust of wind, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. If the sounds coming from behind her were any indication, Lucanis made short work of his foes without mercy.

But once again, Lilya grew careless; she let her guard down on her left side and earned a blade jabbed to the hilt into her flesh. The sound that burst from her was somewhere between a laugh and a groan as she fell to her knees, her shaking hands gripping the offending hilt. Try as she might, she couldn't summon the strength to wrench it free.

A flash of purple streaked across her hazy vision. Dimly, she was aware of Lucanis fending off the Antaam, but her mind struggled to focus on anything but the pain radiating through her. It was the sharpest around the injury, but the reverberations were felt in every crevice of her body. Even her bones seemed to throb.

"They. Hurt. Rook!" Spite bellowed through Lucanis. A pulse of energy burst from him, knocking down their remaining foes. But Lilya didn't have the faculties to spare to pay attention to what became of them then.

She tried to speak, tried to call out to Lucanis-- but all she could manage was another weak groan as she fell face-first into the mud. Swiftly, Lucanis turned her over and brushed the muck away. "Rook?" His voice lacked the venom of Spite, but the purple sparks in his eyes meant the demon wasn't far. "Rook!"

Had breathing always been this difficult? She couldn't remember, nor could she summon enough breath to voice a response. The edges of her vision were gradually darkening, reducing her world to a singular point of light-- Lucanis.

"Stay awake!" Lucanis ordered as he scooped her into his arms. Immediately, purple wings emerged and sent them skyward. "Rook, hold on!"

"Not. Dying!" Spite hissed.

She wanted to reassure them, but her body wasn't responding to her commands. Instead, she fell deeper and deeper into the dark, and simply hoped she would wake up again.

[shouldaspunastory]

For @skinwalkingxana and @dadrunkwriting

Tobias Mercar x Emmrich Volkarin, (SFW, feat. Manfred, established relationship, christmas, fluff) 333 words

......................................

“Looking good Fred,” Neve calls as she passes through the main room.

“Thank you,” Manfred replies happily, pulling the necromancer’s attention away from his current task to look at him.

“Oh, for Maker’s sake,” Emmrich exclaims huffily, shaking his head. “Manfred, there is tinsel everywhere,” the necromancer says shaking his head as he glances around the room. “And I daresay, you are wearing more of it than the tree is. How exactly did you manage that?”

“Shiny,” Manfred chirps happily, looking down admiringly at the many dangling bits of silver and gold that hang from his arms and ribs. “Like you,” the skeleton adds gazing up at his mentor where he stands on the ladder, placing ornaments on the tree. Emmrich sighs softly, though it’s clear he’s not nearly as frustrated as he once was.

“What is it they say, about imitation and flattery,” Tobias chuckles as he walks out from his room, observing the mess the skeletal assistant has made of the tinsel beneath the tree and about the room from the balcony above with an amused grin. Deciding to spare his lover any more frustration or headache, the elf adds. “Manfred, do you think maybe you could make Emmrich and I a pot of tea?” The skeleton nods excitedly, dropping the rest of the tinsel he isn’t wearing and immediately departing for the kitchen with a happy hum as Tobias makes his way down the stairs and slowly begins helping tidy up the floor.

“Tea does sound nice,” Emmrich sighs gratefully as he descends the ladder, stealing a kiss from the elf when he straightens back up to replace some of the loose tinsel on the tree. Tobias returns the kiss with a smile, before pulling back to admire the necromancer’s handiwork.

“We’ll probably have to pick tinsel out of our cups,” the elf offers thoughtfully with a soft chuckle. “The tree looks nice, though,” they say, tipping their body into Emmrich’s as the older man wraps an arm around them.

[plisuu]

Happy DADWC! From the Yearning prompt list: you need someone. let me be that person. let me be what you need. For Connor x Solas. I think it fits given the events of Trespasser and afterwards. If the inspiration strikes though! Happy writing!

Thank you for the prompt! I come bearing some post-Veilguard sad soggy yearning.

wc: 380 @dadrunkwriting - veilguard

“You thought I’d just… let you go? After everything?”

Solas stopped, frozen in his tracks. The Black City was a mere step away.

“You always were stubborn, vhenan,” he murmured.

Behind him, Connor flickered in and out of the Fade, visiting through a dream rather than the physical existence Solas now bore. But he was still there, somehow. Solas anchored himself to where he stood. He could not go back now.

“You want to hide, haggard and hurt—the wolf licks his wounds alone. But you don’t have to be alone.”

“Cole,” Solas sighed. “I told you—”

“I asked him to bring me here. And he’s right. You don’t need to do this alone. You shouldn’t do this alone. I may not be… I know I’m not…” Connor’s voice faltered, just slightly. “I’m just human. I don’t understand it all,” Solas could feel the shift in the Fade as Connor waved his hand behind him, gesturing at the Black City, “But I’m willing to learn. I’ve always been.”

“You know that I cannot—”

“I know that you can’t ask for help. I know that your pride would never let you. But I’m still asking, after all these years. Let me help you. If not with the Blight, or the Veil, or the Fade then… I don’t know. You don’t even have to let me help you,” his tone became more urgent, more desperate with each word. “I have nothing left to lose, Solas. The South is… Cullen is…” his voice cracked this time, a dry sob covered by a quick clearing of his throat. “I’d rather be here, anyways. And I know you. You won’t leave it at this.” He chuckled slightly, a sound devoid of any humor, edged with desperation. Solas still did not turn, did not let his posture slump, did not dare move.

“Vhenan, I—”

“Solas, please. If not for you, then… then for me. Please. Indulge me in this. At least with your company now and then. Something. Anything.”

The Fade echoed his plea, the ragged shudders of breath after battle filling the space between them, Connor’s resilience wavering as his dreaming form did.

“Please, think about it. Don’t suffer alone… don’t let me suffer alone.”

And then he was gone, leaving Solas in heavy silence.

[vigilskept]

dadw prompt: falling asleep with their head laying in the lap of their lover (for Chaya Tabris/Loghain) ~ @lordgoretash

ty for the prompt! somehow i took this premise and only managed to get these characters into this configuration after like. 1000 words. whoops. oh well. 8 years post-blight (still 2 years of Yearning ahead of them!) tabris/loghain be upon ye

words: 1093 | @dadrunkwriting

The cold that swept in between the flaps of the tent could not have been less welcome with her cloak unclasped and pooling against her ankles.

If her glare was a little too sharp for the occasion, she should be humoured.

The wry smile Loghain wore was a clear enough indication that his amusement was all at her expense, even before he told her, "You've definitely been in Orlais too long, if that was enough to set you off. You'll be asking the Avvar where they keep their pastries next."

"Va t'faire foutre," she pronounced neatly, reaching down to her cloak.

"And this, the thanks I deserve for coming here to bring you a thoughtful gift?"

The feigned offense in his words was severely undermined by the how little the feeling coloured his tone.

As she righted herself again, she felt rather than saw him draw near, then fall still just behind her, grasping for something that had slipped down to the bottom of his pack if frustrated slide of gauntlet against felt was any indication.

It would have galled her, probably, if someone had suggested to her during the Blight that to be unarmoured and unarmed with Loghain Mac Tir at her back would invite no more trepidation than an pleasant sort of idle curiosity.

If he weren't still armoured himself, she might've even indulged the temptation to lean back just a little further, so she might steal some of the warmth from his body.

He ran hot as a rule, but twice had been enough to learn the lesson that cold leached out of armour much slower than it did out of anything else. She chose instead to wrap her cloak back over her shoulders and wait him out.

It wasn't a long wait, at least, before she heard a soft grunt as he caught his elusive quarry and — a warmth she hadn't felt since she'd last liberated another bottle of aged West Hill Brandy from the Warden-Lieutenant's cellars and shared the spoils over a night of traded stories as they'd passed the bottle back and forth, until they'd reached the bottom.

The source of the warmth this time seemed to be a carved amber pendant hung from a slim leather cord that now fell against her chest.

This was a thoughtful gift. Her last warming charm had snapped off somewhere between Jader and whatever the Avvar called this place Loghain marked on their map with an enviable assurance.

Turning to face it him at last, she made no attempt to conceal her delight. "Where did you find it?"

Toe to toe in the narrow strip of the tent that didn't force one to duck their head, they were close enough that his quiet huff of laughter brushed the stray hairs that had slipped out of her braids since she'd plaited them in the morning.

"We don't all have trinkets throwing themselves in our paths hoping we might trip over them, you know."

"Shame, that," she mused, tucking her lip between her teeth to smother her grin. "I do love to see you get tripped up."

She felt the shape of Loghain's own tired smile brush against her forehead as he tipped his head down, rested it atop her own.

"Such cruelty," he murmured.

"Yes," she agreed easily, sliding her fingertips into the gap beneath his shoulder plates. "I must have learned it from those damned Orlesians."

It was a testament to how often they'd been the ones to strip each other of their armour that his only reaction was to remind her, "I'll be on the next watch."

She continued, unperturbed, tugging free the leather straps securing his breastplate one after another. "I put us both on that watch, I'll wake you with time to spare."

She needn't have voiced the reassurance really, when his was only a token protest. If she let him lean his weight against her much longer, she'd find herself bearing all his weight and — if experience was anything to go by — fighting to keep them both from topping over and bringing the tent down with them.

It had been good for the newer recruits to be able to have a little laugh at the expense of some senior wardens, but she wasn't particularly inclined to relive that experience so soon.

Instead, she tugged off his gauntlets at set them beside the rest of his armour, letting her weight nudge him backwards, step by step, until she had room to kneel and get at his greaves.

With practiced motions, one quickly followed the other, and with her leverage, it was easy enough to tug on the hem of his gambeson until he joined her atop the bedroll, bleary-eyed still but with a lingering softness to his smile she couldn't quite help the urge to catalogue.

It had only been a year back in Ferelden in the end, then half of another in Montsimmard before she'd made her way back to Jader. It shouldn't feel like she'd very nearly lost something, to spend a little time away from a place that wasn't really home. And yet.

She shook off the thought, arranging herself so she could prop her back against the storage chest.

It probably spoke ill of how much of a habit they'd made of this, that Loghain needed no prompting to draw himself up against her side, a head pillowed on her thigh as he closed his eyes for what little time she might be able to scrape away for him.

It was all they could do these days, to reserve for the other some little moments of rest and respite, even as the command found ever more inventive problems to point in their direction.

She eyed her cloak at the side of the tent, now tucked between pieces of Loghain's armour. A lost cause probably.

He was a line of warmth against her side, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the icy cold of the Frostbacks.

The solution, when she thought of it, was simple.

Tugging off her the amulet, she let it hang from her wrist instead, reaching for Loghain's free hand and there — it wasn’t quite as warm as before, but it was just enough to share between them to see them both through.

The response was a tired rumble, muffled against clothes. A thank you, maybe. Or the tired nonsense he was prone to these days.

She squeezed his hand once, lightly, in acknowledgement.

Sleep well was a foolish thing to ask these days, but as long as it was darkspawn disturbing his rest rather than the Calling, that would be enough.

[seigephoenix]

happy friday! for Vat'Asala/Neve: A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

-inquisimer

Happy Friday! For @dadrunkwriting!

Content Warning: Wholesome Length: ~500 words

Things were forever busy at the Lighthouse, even when half the occupants were absent.  Asala had something to give Bellara and then they had to ask Neve how that next case was going for her.  They’d seen her worrying about it and she’d been stubborn about not asking for their help.  Well, they could be just as stubborn if not more so.  They were determined to show her that it was okay to trust them, to trust others.  A long road ahead.  Asala shook the thoughts from their head and walked into Bellara’s little archivist room.

“You know, casual affection is a good way to tell someone you like that.”  Asala looked over at Bellara from their spot near her box of tinkering parts.  They were always curious as to how it worked even if magic eluded them.  They narrowed their eyes wondering where Bellara was going with this.

“Bellara.”

“I read it in a serial!  The heroine says to her friend, the rival, that an easy way to tell someone you care about them is casual affection.  They described it as a hand brushing against their back or something.” Bellara was speaking rapidly and Asala just her ramble.  When it looped around to the serial again, Asala interjected.

“Bellara, are you implying that I should use casual affection with Neve?”

“What?  No, I’d never.  Well, I mean.  You are kind of struggling with it aren’t you?” Asala’s lips flattened into an exasperated line.  “I overstepped, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.  I’m not struggling so much as going up against the brick wall that is Neve’s trust issues,” Asala grumbled and Bellara winced at their words.  “They didn’t come from out of nowhere and I will earn her trust.  Until then, I go at her pace.  But I will take what you said into consideration Bellara.”

“It’s.  I want to see you two happy.  That’s all.”  Asala gave a smile to Bellara.

“That counts for a lot.  I’ll see you around Bellara,” they said standing and heading to the door.  Asala was thinking on Bellara’s words and realized that they could give Neve small gestures of affection.  It would make the most sense.  So they went over to Neve’s office and strolled in after knocking.

“Ah, my favorite kind of trouble just walked in.  I’ve got to head out back to Dock Town.  Got a meeting with the Threads.”  Neve leaned in and brushed a kiss across Asala’s lips.  A soft, quick touch that had their mind reeling.  Did Neve just kiss?  Asala looked down at Neve who had a similarly shocked expression on her face.

Asala reached for Neve when she dashed away, claiming she couldn’t be late for her meeting.  They groaned in frustration as it was going to be next to impossible to get her alone.  Yet.  Their fingers grazed their bottom lip, the memory of Neve’s fleeting kiss continuously playing a loop in their mind.  It was going to be next to impossible to work without think about that damn kiss now.

[mythalsknickers]

hello hello, happy friday! i am such a sucker for lavellan/solas/felassan tbh, so maybe those three with the romance dialogue prompt: “You really like them, don’t you?” -broodwolf221

Title: A Heady Blend of Desire Pairing: Solas x Felassan x Lavellan Rating: Mature Warning: Veilguard Spoilers Word Count: 471 @dadrunkwriting Veilguard Warning

Wine flowed like the water of the first streams. Firstborn and younger danced in the glittering courtyard under the finest stars. His long dark hair pulled into a neat plait as he made his way to his lover watching him watch someone.

"Well" He shouldered into the wolf with a grin as the taller man glanced at him. "Who is it that trapped Solas, general of Mythal and Wisdom of the Protector?" he mused sipping from his wine glass. Solas' pupils were wide, he had indulged and was still soaking in the magic of the ball. He watched as his lover grabbed a frilly little cake breaking it into two halves. The first half sandwiched between long fingers and offered to him. His lips split into a grin as he took the half off the cake and Solas' fingers into his mouth licking them clean.

"Fel--" The tips of his ears turned scarlet as those pupils darkened those pale silver eyes. "Vhenan.." He groaned softly "Do you want to know or do you wish me to take you home?" He offered Solas a huff but pulled away, pressing a kiss to his cheek before washing down the tiny cake half with more wine.

"Here I thought I'd add to the heady blend of the evening but very well for the sake of my curiosity I will behave." He feigned a pout leaning against the taller elvhen. Fingers and cupped his chin turning his head to where a group of priestesses from Mythal's complex danced. "Which one?" He grumbled slightly impatiently.

"Look for the reflection of her spirit, opalescent and towards the center." Felassan followed the directions, a dress spun from the finest silk dyed to mirror the stars above clung to the petite priestess' curves, long fiery hair trailed down her back like a cape. As she spun and laughed the song echoed strains of hope. Mythal's senior priestess, daughter of the moons. Looking up at his Vhenan he could see the blush, and the puppy like look on his face. Reaching up he adjusted the wolf skull that held his hair back.

"You really do like her don't you..I can't blame you." He squeezed Solas' hand with chuckle. "I did not think Mythal capable of fostering Hope as vivid as that, regardless go ask her to dance." He made a gentle shooing motion.

"Felassan, I do--" He leveled a gaze at his friend and lover. "Solas, Vhenan if you do not go ask her to dance, I will and if something comes of the evening. You will be tied up and get to watch for the next hundred years." He grinned watching the reluctant elvhen sulk off to approach the priestesses. Wisdom, Purpose, and Hope it could be a fine triad for the ages he mused sipping his wine.

[wickedwitchofthewilds]

Hello and welcome to dadwc!! For a prompt, for Bellara/Neve, may I submit: “I… can’t actually remember the last time I had something to eat.”

Thank you! A little pre-relationship musings

@dadrunkwriting slight Veilguard spoilers!

Neve walked into the dining room to the scent of buttery pastry and rich meat. Her eyes immediately went to where Rook leaned over the counter, carefully slicing open a wellington she had been working on all day, with Lucanis hovering over her shoulder until she asked for his help. The corner of her mouth twitched into a soft smile. They were good together and would be even better if they stopped dancing around what existed in front of their noses. Neve's eyes shifted to the table where Taash, Harding, and Davrin were already waiting and deep in conversation. Emmrich was off to the side decanting a red to go with the dinner Rook had worked so hard on.

Only one of them was still missing.

Neve wasn't the only who noticed as Rook looked over her shoulder. "Would you mind telling Bellara that dinner is almost ready?"

"Sure thing."

The forever dusk sky over the Lighthouse made telling time nigh difficult, but most of them still managed to settle into a routine. Mostly centered around meal times since all of them struggled with sleep in some way or the other. Still, Bellara often managed to get stuck in her own cycle or working on something until time ceased to exist for her. This wasn't the first time one of them had to track her down to get her to eat or even just to leave her room and stretch her legs. Get some air. Kill some Darkspawn.

Neve gently pushed the door open and sure enough, Bellara was hunched over her desk with goggles on, gently prodding at an artificat with a small metal tool with a focusing crystal embedded in the top. For a moment, Neve just watched as Bellara tilted her head side to side and muttered under breath as she tapped different parts of the artifact with the crystal. A stray lock of hair tickled her cheek and Bellara pushed it away with an annoyed huff. Neve smiled. Watching Bellara deep in her element was something special. The scrunch of her nose as she concentrated. The times she'd worry her bottom lip with her teeth as her thoughts raced to solve a problem. Even when Bellara launched into tangent after tangent, her original point pushed to the side, Neve couldn't help but find her endearing.

She ignored the extra skip of her heartbeat as she crossed the room so Bellara could catch a glimps of her out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh! Neve!" Bellara sat up, mouth curving into a smile. "Did you need something?"

"How long have you been working on this, Bel?" Neve asked instead, leaning her hip against the desk, careful not to jostle anything.

"Oh, only a few hours! I'm so close to getting the etheric tuning right; I just know it," Bellara said, looking back down at the artifact.

"Yeah? Just a few hours? When was the last time you ate?"

Bellara snorted. "I know what I last ate. It was…I…" Her eyes darted around as she tried to mentally calculate the hours. "Well…I maybe, actually, can't remember the last time I had something to eat."

Just as she thought.

"Dinner is ready. Why don't you leave that for later and come join us?" Neve asked, nodding towards the door. "Rook's made something that smells delicious. Would hate for you to miss out."

Bellara looked back to the artifact for a moment before putting down the instrument and taking off her goggles. "Right. I can just pick this back up later."

"You can," Neve confirmed.

Bellara hopped up with a spring in her step, smile blinding, and Neve couldn't ignore the way her heart skipped several beats. This was not part of the job but she couldn't help but lean into Bellara as the woman hooked their elbows together and told Neve all about her project as they walked the short distance to the dining. Neve wished it was longer. That they could have a little more time alone. A thought she tried to quash but it lingered in the back of her mind rather than going into its neat box.

She was in trouble.

[inquisimer]

something loosely inspired by the Rook Codex Prompts by @shivunin - it was an idea I had, but the format didn't come together for me until I saw this list. It also fills multiple possible prompts, but I didn't write it with any specific one in mind? So I'm just posting it like this asldgjlkdfh.

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 449 words | @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers, a letter written before Tearstone Island, for Neve to deliver in the event of Arlow's death

-

A letter written in Antivan, crumpled and smoothed out many times over. It is pinned to the library table by a dagger embossed with the sigil of House de Riva.

Viago, If you knew I was writing this, you’d slap me upside the head. But I’m writing it anyway, because you should hear it from me. It isn’t your fault. Whatever happened, if you’re reading this, it is not your fault I’m gone. And it’s not Lucanis’ either, so don’t blame him. I made my own choices. I hope they were the right ones, and that I’m not gone before the job was done. A Crow always finishes their contracts, right? I hope I didn’t let you down, in the end. (Here’s a break for you to yell at my ghost. Come back when you’ve calmed down.) You saved my life, you know? You didn’t have to. I know you would have made Talon, regardless. But you saved me—changed me, so much I don’t even know who I would have been otherwise. And I’m glad for that. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone other than who you made me. Yes, I mean that. Yes, I’m sure. Don’t argue with me when I’m not there to argue back. Just—believe me, for once. It doesn’t matter how it ended. We had a good run. A really good run. And despite it all, I wouldn’t have changed a thing, except maybe that I’d like to be hearing your lecture in real time right now. Wherever I am, I’m missing you. But don’t spend too much time missing me. The others need you—if the job isn’t done, help them. For my sake—a contract signed with my last breath. You help them save the world, and then you take Teia back to Treviso and you live. Have a really good cup of coffee; watch the sun rise over the canals. Keep going, because even when the world fell apart in my hands, you were the one thing that stayed the same. If there was anything I could leave this world knowing, it’s that that hasn’t changed. So. Keep living. For me? We’re not big on words, and I’ve already used up most of mine. But the seal on this letter wasn’t poisoned—as you undoubtedly tested—and that should tell you all you need to know. I love you, Viago. I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough to make it back and tell you in person. But I always have. Thank you. For everything. -Arlow de Riva

The loopy signature is blotted with tears. Some smear the ink; others appear to have been left after the letter was opened.

[heylavellan]

Hi!!! Happy Friday <3 You are so right about Tarquin/The Viper, so! For those two! "For you? I will be any believer you want me to be." from the religious imagery prompts?

i have no excuse for how down bad i wrote the viper here. @dadrunkwriting spoilers.

my personal andraste

rating: t

words: 502

notes: copious amounts of chantry/religious imagery. channeling my catholic guilt here. tarquin worshipping in this house. few more spoilery notes under the cut

spoilery notes: deleted dialogue and fan theory has ashur as the black divine. he might be the head of the faith but he found a new religion :)

There were very few times Ashur was tempted to throw everything away. He worked hard to become the Imperial Divine, to fight for a better Tevinter. He supported Dorian and Mae, then quietly supported them as the Viper on occasion.

Then Tarquin joined. He was quiet, but his hard work quickly earned the respect of the alti in the movement. That man then had the audacity to endear himself to Ashur, and he had to pretend to be wholly unaffected. Being with him would be wildly inappropriate on so many levels: as Divine and templar, as altus and soporatus, and as leader and right hand.

The frustrating part was that Ashur still really wanted him. He grew to trust him, rely on him. Showed the Shadow Dragons that the soporati had so much to offer a rebellion against the status quo. That overthrowing the magisterium needed pressure from outside of it.

Keeping his distance was easier when he was just the Viper. But over drinks he shared his name with Tarquin. Since then, all Ashur imagined was his name in Tarquin's mouth, crying it out. How perfect it sounded on his tongue. How grateful he was that he wore a mask because everyone would see his stoic affect shatter the moment Tarquin called to him.

It was pathetic. He should be better. And yet...

Even though he knew the Chant of Light by heart, he never understood Andraste's devotion to the Maker. A pure love, a fire that burned in her heart to share the truth with the world. Tarquin was his Maker, Ashur his Andraste. He'd never felt such passion for the Chant as he did gazing upon Tarquin. Because then he understood that fervent love, the desire to make the whole world see.

Talking to Tarquin was approaching his altar, and at any sign of affection he wanted to shout for joy. The True Divine, experiencing the euphoria of worship and ecstasy of truth from the words of another man.

Despite his silent adoration, Tarquin knew. Maybe someone told him, maybe not. In any case, the bliss of Tarquin pushing him into a corner and kissing him -- Maker, how he kissed him! -- was worth any wait. Wanting, needing, and uncertain kisses. In those moments, he knew love in the racing heart beneath his hands and desire from grasping hands searching for any bare skin.

Tarquin had a believer in him. A follower, an apostle. Whatever he said had to be true by virtue of the way his lips insisted on exploring the skin they could find and the way his body pressed Ashur against the wall. He was Tarquin's truest believer, his first worshipper and greatest advocate. Even if he never said it out loud. Even if the only way he knew how to express it was to kiss him, hold him, and share his body.

At least for the time being, Tarquin wouldn't know that the True Divine would be whatever kind of believer he wanted Ashur to be.

[lyntergalactic]

Happy Friday! How about "falling asleep with their head laying in the lap of their lover" for Roisin/Lucanis?

@dadrunkwriting - veilguard content warning! thank you for the prompt!!!

It started out as the two of them having a quiet night in. Rook had correspondence to read and plan replies to; Lucanis had a novel he was keen to finish. Getting to spend their time together, tucked up on her chaise, was a welcome respite from the insanity that was their day-to-day life.

Rook noticed the first time Lucanis' grasp on his book faltered. It dipped towards his face as his blinks grew longer and longer. Before his wrist could go entirely limp, he startled himself back to full wakefulness and frowned. It was, though Rook would never say it out loud, adorable.

She continued to watch out of the corner of her eye as it happened again a handful of minutes later. A third time. With a small huff, Lucanis adjusted his position. Instead of laying on his back with his head resting on the pillow he had propped against Rook's hip, he turned over onto his side. The book swapped from one hand to the other, like the fatigue could be fought if he gave his muscles a rest from the very strenuous activity of holding a paperback.

Biting back a smile, Rook shuffled her papers. Wouldn't do to attract attention to the fact that she wasn't reading anymore. Not if--oh! There he went again, slowly blinking at his page as his muscles all relaxed.

With a rogue's swiftness, Rook reached out and snagged Lucanis' book from midair as his grasp on it finally faltered, succumbing to sleep. She placed it on the buffet behind them, her own papers resting on top. They could wait until tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to be able to focus entirely on the man sleeping in her lap. The way his deep breaths caught a little with his broken nose, not quite a snore but not silent either. How his normally furrowed brow eased into something smoother. Lucanis like this was at ease in a way he never was while awake.

A faint purple glow flickered around his shoulder blades, ethereal wings just barely shimmering to life as the barrier between Spite and Lucanis thinned.

"Let him sleep, Spite," Rook whispered. She wanted to run a hand through his hair, but feared it would wake him. Instead, she settled for ghosting a touch over the plane of his forehead. "He needs the rest. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

The wings fluttered, then disappeared. Rook smiled.

"Thank you."

[rosella-writes]

For VIRELAN I CRY: ❝ i know i fucked up. i know i did but don’t shut me out anymore. let me in. please let in. ❞

YESSSSSSSSSSS thank you beloved >:] for @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Virelan x Solas Words: 222 Warnings: blood, accidental suicidal ideation I guess? post-breakup ~~~

She didn’t want his hands on her. 

It was a mistake to bring him. 

Blood streamed down her hip, down the divots in the muscle of her bared inner leg, from the bruised gash in her side. She staggered to one knee. She put up a hand. 

“No, s’fine —”

“It is not, Inquisitor.” Solas was reaching for her with a hand that could heal. “Let me —”

Virelan pushed his hand away. The world was swimming. “Don’t touch me.”

Far away, the troll roared again. Another roar rose to meet it — Iron Bull’s. She had to help, but her heartbeat thudded harder in her skull than the troll’s club thudded against the ground. The Reaver’s Ring that she usually had such control over began to bend as she grew numb. Without it, if she let it go, pain was just pain. 

“Inquisitor, please —”

Virelan rasped out a wounded roar through clenched teeth. She could only see his worried violet gaze when she glanced up from the blood-spattered grass. But she couldn’t feel her left hand anymore. 

“I know I am the last man living you would have touch you,” he was babbling, “but please, if you value your life, allow me —”

“I don’t!” she screamed. 

She shoved, but there was no one there to push. He caught her as her world bent sideways.

[ruiningsalads]

hello! happy friday uwu potentially throwing you quite a curveball here, but i do loveeee varric/cassandra, so maybe those two with the pick three prompt(s) of: a haunted castle; crumpled letter; and nostalgic.

a Veilguard ficlet for @dadrunkwriting

spoilers for all of Veilguard!

oof ouch, this one hurt. still not over what happened.

Kirkwall was a wreck. Remnants of darkspawn and the Blight were everywhere, contaminating everything. Cassandra looked around at the carnage with a hand on her sword hilt and her mouth pressed into a grim line. She'd known it would be bad, but to see it -- that was another matter entirely.

Carefully, she stepped around debris as she approached the Viscount's Keep. Behind her, she heard soldiers starting their search through the rubble and knew she would have to join them soon, but she had something to do first. She passed the splintered doors, ascended the crumbled stairs, and kept walking until she came to a room that was both familiar and foreign. Where Varric's desk once stood, now there was only a twisted mess of rotten wood and Blight. Thankfully, the shattered window kept the reek from overwhelming her.

What would Varric say, if he could see the state of this room? She nearly smiled at the thought, imagining him surveying the scene with exasperation. "Shit," he'd rumble. "I had two bottles of expensive wine in that desk."

He'd written to her about that wine. "I'm saving it for the next time you visit," he'd said. That had been the last letter from him she received -- the last letter before Harding's. Scout Harding was very kind in her note, but the words ripped out Cassandra's heart and left her feeling like a ghost inside her own skin.

Slowly, she reached into a pocket and produced the two letters, now hopelessly creased from long travel. Though she had the words memorized, she still read through Varric's note, absorbing every detail of his penmanship.

I love you, Seeker, he'd written towards the bottom. Once this business with Solas is over, I hope you'll have a chance to meet Rook. She reminds me a lot of Hawke.

From Varric, there could be no higher praise. She could still picture him sitting at his desk, his head thrown back in laughter as Hawke recounted her latest escapades. They were both so vibrant in her memory, yet no trace of them remained in this ruined office, nor in any other room of the ruined Keep. It was as though they had never existed, as though Varric hadn't turned her life upside down when she least expected it.

"I miss you," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear her.