#dorian is central so I tagged him; I talk about others as well

[junemermaid]

Getting It On, Dragon Age Edition

(or: That Big Fat Sexual Politics Meta)

Listen up, kids and mossbacks, flesh persons and anthropomorphic manifestations, we need to talk about a thing.

First order of business: this is all my opinion, pondering and extrapolation.

You don't care for my ideas, that is grand. I'm not telling you how to fandom. Raising a moral crusade on me will get you the block button. Otherwise, I'd love to talk about this more.

Clear? Clear.

Content warnings: Discussion of homophobia, misogyny, the workings of sex. Brief mentions of rape and sexual slavery. Nothing graphic.

That said, let's go. The thing we need to talk about is this: Thedas and its sexual politics.

I posit for your consideration that sex in Thedas is NOT viewed

like in the modern West

like in the medieval West (meaning roughly Europe).

I speak broadly, of course. There's plenty of difference between Ferelden and Rivain, Orlais and Tevinter. Thedas as we know it is a bundle of worldbuilding by writers who also by and large come from the modern West. They try, albeit imperfectly, to create a late-medieval fantasy world dashed with present-day ideals. Two of these ideals are key to the matter at hand, namely

the lack of systemic misogyny and

the lack of religion-imposed sexual guilt.

(We haven't actually achieved either. For the sake of the argument, these issues aren't supposed to exist in Thedas like they did in Ye Olde Mediaeval Tymes. Another topic, another day.)

Thedas attempts to be a world in which they have that mythical beast, equality of genders, and in which the Chantry doesn't dictate what you're allowed to get up to in the bedroom, or against the wall, or on the kitchen table. I'm mostly talking about Chantry-abiding human (and by extension city elf) cultures here, because the dwarves, the Avvar, the Qun and the Dalish etc. deserve their own posts.

To be clear: I'm also a modern Western person. I'm aware it's very hard, on some level, to conceive of a world that doesn't view everyone not (cis) male as somewhat less than a person, or even a world where sex is not mired in the idea of it as sinful. We have examples of both here on this Earth, but I come to those examples as someone who's not accultured to them.

So.

The writing of the games is not free of misogyny. The writers try. I'm sure they do their damnedest. For our purposes here, let's pretend that Thedas does not systemically and culturally discriminate against women. Let's pretend women aren't viewed as inherently inferior to men. Assume that Thedasian marriages don't confer legal ownership of the wife to the husband. Let's pretend rape is not a gendered crime in Thedas.

This isn't the same as having no prejudice against a certain gender, or that all genders have the exact same social roles or responsibilities. It just means that regardless of their junk or their presentation, everyone's more or less on the same line. (I'm not going to be talking about gender minorities in any great detail here. The intersection of my topics with how Thedasian cultures treat non-binary, trans, etc. people would need another post. Apologies!)

There are other factors that put people in unequal positions. Social class, race, wealth, lineage, the prestige of certain trades and professions, being born a mage, etc. I don't think there's a single known country in Thedas that isn't in some way a class society. Plus, there's stuff like Antivans not having female soldiers (female assassins are apparently a-okay), women having restricted roles in the Tevinter military, the Andrastian Chantry not allowing men into the priesthood, and so on. Gender segregation is a fact of life to some degree.

However, fewer things are going to be coded as explicitly feminine/masculine, and then there's the really important bit: things will not have less value because they're coded as feminine. A phenomenon associated with men won't be more important than a woman-associated one just by virtue of that connection.

Such as: the Chantry clergy is revered and influential because the Chantry is the pillar of most known societies and a strong unifying force (despite its many, many shortcomings). The clergy being female is not the sole deciding factor in this esteem. @serenity-fails kindly pointed out that World of Thedas elaborates on the leading role of women in the Chantry: women are seen as more morally pure, as men are all considered guilty of Maferath’s betrayal of Andraste.

We do see many more male Templars than female ones (possibly because devout men can't become priests and thus find their way into the Order). The Templars are respected by most of the population for their stewardship of the mages. I'm talking on the level of Daveth the Peasant here: the Circles were a rotten system, but the common people most likely viewed them as a good and necessary safeguard against the dangers of magic.

Anyway. Thedasian women are ambassadors, merchants, doctors, military commanders. Their testimony is treated identically to a man's in courts of law. Wives can divorce their husbands of their own initiative. Women wield power in society on equal footing with men. We don't know much about the home lives of the average Thedasian, but you could assume that while women likely handle early childcare while breastfeeding (nobles probably have access to wet nurses, too), there is less of a division into male and female household work. Men can and do take part in child-rearing, and there are few if any professions that are restricted by gender.

All of this means: in Thedas, prestige (mostly) doesn't tie into gender.

But, June, you say, you said you'd talk to us about sex. You've rambled about gender for seven paragraphs.

Glad you asked. Because now we're getting to the point.

So. Sex. Politics, mores, concepts. Power dynamics, notions of modesty, ideas of vice and virtue. A right wondrous mess whatever you do.

We have some notes on the social aspects of sex in Thedas thanks to the DA:I lore entries. We know that among the Orlesian aristocracy, not having a lover or two on the side might be a worse gaffe than appearing at court with the right extramarital paramour. Fereldans don't much care as long as you keep your affairs your affair. Then, of course, Tevinter high society obsesses over bloodlines and lineages, and not gonna lie, I'm going to talk about Tevinter a fair bit here.

First, a detour into the religion aspect.

The Chantry is loosely modelled on the Catholic Church. This is particularly evident in how the Chantry is a social glue for the disparate countries of Thedas. Even Tevinter, with its Imperial Chantry, is linked into a common religious legacy. Not coincidentally, this parallels medieval Europe, where Christianity provided a moral and cultural common ground across a continent.

The Chantry teaches and preaches a defined moral code. It also seems to preside over marriages, as seen in the city elf prologue in Origins and in the wedding scenes in Trespasser. However, it's not clear if the Chantry has the power to validate a marriage, or if this power rests with a secular authority (such as a local lord or judge). A revered mother might be able to bless a marriage/conduct a wedding but not actually make it legal.

Based on Leliana's dialogue in DA:O, clergy members can't marry, and even lay sisters and brothers observe sexual abstinence. Leliana has no problem banging the Warden, though, or committing to a long-term relationship with them. Given that Leliana is a bit of a maverick believer, we could also look at Sebastian Vael as another, more typically devout example, but what I take out of this is that celibacy is a choice rather than a stricture for the lay members. Further, Aveline and Wesley demonstrate to us that Templars can marry, at least in Ferelden. Cassandra's Seeker vows don't prevent her tryst with Regalyan or a romance with the Inquisitor.

All in all, this paints an incomplete but nuanced picture of the Chantry's attitude to sex. Priests commit themselves to the Maker (in emulation of Andraste's heavenly marriage to Him) and so choose celibacy, but not because sex is a sin. Sex is a worldly, sensual thing, a distraction from their calling. The clergy should devote themselves to the faith and the faithful, and thus they abstain from most earthly pleasures. One assumes this list also includes rich foods, luxurious clothing, assorted hedonistic pursuits, personal wealth etc. That would be fairly typical of initiated members of a religious organisation.

It doesn't mean that engaging in those pleasures is forbidden to Daveth the Peasant (insofar as he can on a peasant's budget), or indeed to the rest of lay society.

We don't have an itemised list of what the Chantry does consider a sin. Hubris seems pretty high up there, given the whole Black City debacle. You could round it out with the rest of the classic seven, if the demon classification from the games is any clue. Out of those, lust is the one that springs to mind, but lust and sex aren't one and the same. It would be morally reprehensible to fuck someone else's spouse even if you really wanted to, because that'd lead to broken trust and heartache for someone you swore fidelity to. It might also result in unwelcome out-of-wedlock children in a society that puts a lot of weight on the continuity of (noble) lineages.

Thus, sexual infidelity might be regarded a sin. However, sex itself is never painted as a bad thing in the game lore. The ways in which you have it matter. With whom you have it matters. Between individuals at liberty to have sex with each other, sex is mad fine.

In the medieval West, “individuals at liberty” pretty much meant a married heterosexual couple. In the modern West, this definition is broader, though there are parties who prefer the medieval one, or who condemn sex between same-gender people, or whatever other subsets of humanity that they find immoral.

In our fictional universe of Thedas, the definition hews closer to however many consenting people without conflicting commitments you can find. Tevinter being the big fat exception, most countries that we know don't discriminate against same-gender sex/love/relationships. This suggests to me that in Tevinter, too, the ostracism is cultural, not religious in origin. Even in the Imperium, the church doesn't tell you who (not) to fuck, but society will.

We've never had a Tevinter female character who'd be exclusively into women, but extrapolating from Dorian in DA:I, it's likely women-loving women face similar issues as men who prefer men, especially among the nobility. The general rule is that the more important your lineage is, the more it gets societally policed. The laetan and soporati classes probably don't face the same level of scrutiny of their sexual liaisons as the alti do. The alti have much greater power and wealth to indulge themselves sexually. The price of discovery and the chance of scandal just are correspondingly higher.

However. You remember what I said above about sex and sin. When a society declares a behaviour taboo or undesirable, there's a reason. That reason most often relates to control and its exercise.

For the alti, breeding is everything. They preserve the Dreamer lineages with near-religious fervour (but this fervour doesn't seem to stem from Chantry teachings, which rather denounce Tevinter's ancient magister lords). I'm sure that in Orlais or Ferelden, nobles who prefer their own gender can make arrangements to adopt or foster heirs who aren't their biological children. Tevinter nobles can't resort to this, unless there's a child of matching lineage up for adoption. I don't imagine that happens too often.

Thus control of the bloodline is a major means for a family to maintain its power and prestige. If an heir refuses to marry and procreate, social and economic ruin may well follow. A worthwhile aside: Thedasian marriages aren't assumed to be love unions. They're economic arrangements meant to ensure that lands, titles, and wealth stay intact and pass to properly recognised heirs. They're political plaster to cement alliances and keep the peace. It's preferable that the spouses are amicable, but love may not even be desirable, and it's the duty of noble children to find or agree to a match that suits the interests of their family.

Let's pull this back to Dorian. Dorian pretty much extends a rude hand gesture to his familial obligations, declares that he's going to live free, and then burns his bridges in pursuit of being his genuine self. From a standpoint of personal freedom, self-expression, and general humanity, he does a brave, admirable thing. He refuses to settle and conform, because he believes there's more to be found.

He also makes it clear that it's not that he couldn't find willing sexual partners in Tevinter. The issue is that liaisons between men or between women are not seen as lasting in the Imperium. They're hidden and potentially scandalous, in part because they damage the marriageability of a noble. You're obliged to marry someone you can reproduce with, and clearly magic hasn't answered this question yet.

Dorian's problem is not this. His problem is that what Tevinter offers is not enough. Tevinter is an old, decadent empire, with a ruling class mired in luxuries. They've figured out ways to accommodate people in arranged marriages before Ferelden was even a kingdom. You marry, you have children, and then you amuse yourself with whoever you like—-discreetly. The Chantry probably frowns, but not too loudly. Even so, the problem is the adultery, not the gender of the mentioned extramarital partners.

What I take out of this is: Dorian's sin, in the eyes of his native society, is not wanting and fucking men. His sin is the selfish, prideful disregard of his filial duty that arises from his desires and their rejection by said society. In Tevinter (and more broadly Thedasian) society, a moral, upstanding citizen will place the interest of their family above their own wants. Thus, the blood ritual is Dorian's father's awful last-ditch effort to make his son conform, because Dorian is the last hope of the Pavus lineage, and because his father can't imagine any other way for Dorian to be content than the way of the alti.

Yes, it's hideous. No, I'm not making excuses. I'm prying at the complex and incomplete weave of this fictional society we've only seen in glimpses. Tevinter homophobia is rooted in this conflict between the need for pure-blooded heirs and the free expression of one's sexual/romantic desires. It's useful to try and quash the latter, because the continuity of the society rests on keeping the bloodlines strong and producing skilled mages. This is a rude simplification, but it hopefully illustrates my point.

This is not real-world homophobia. It's likely not religious in origin, it probably hits harder in the upper social classes, and it's missing the misogynistic element that pervades homophobia in our societies.

Here I have to address in-game moments like Gamlen asking an Anders-romancing male Hawke “which of [them] is the girl”. Because yeah, that's misogyny at work. The thing---the saving grace, for me---is that we've had fewer of these jarring moments in each successive Dragon Age game. DA:O is pretty bad. DA2 is a little better. DA:I is again another step forward, and I hope this continues as they refine the writing closer to this ideal version of Thedas where, again, gender equality is broadly supposed to be a thing.

So, let's carry that assumption to its logical conclusion in the issue of how same-gender relationships are viewed.

If this society has no particular tradition of hating and denigrating women, the association of the feminine and the undesirable is broken. In Thedas, a man who prefers men is unlikely to be compared negatively to a woman, because their version of heteronormativity does not include the presumption that the female party (parties) is the weak, lesser or subservient one.

It also breaks the automatic assumption that penetration equals dominance. That getting boned means you submit. That it makes you effeminate, that it's more shameful than sticking your cock in someone because at least when you're doing the fucking, you're on top.

In a world without systemic misogyny, sexual roles and mores reflect this. Women can be full-fledged sexual beings with independent desires. Sex between women is considered actual sex, because nobody needs a penis in there for it to be real. In sex between men, there's no shame in submitting. Gender does not codify sex in the way it does in Western societies, and that leads to comparatively greater freedom to have the kind of sex one wants without guilt or remorse. Roles for men, women and other genders are more fluid; women can assert and control, men can show tenderness and vulnerability, etc. etc.

I might note that there surely are still sexual hierarchies. Power enters the bedroom in other forms, and many of them are ugly. Tevinter nobles keep body slaves, brothels assumably keep slave prostitutes, and this leads to casual abuse that Imperium society condones. Even mutual romantic relationships between humans and elves can be fraught with tensions because city elves aren't full citizens of any country that we know in detail. City elves are otherwise at constant risk of exploitation from the human population. There can be hierarchies of social class or age, even with the gender component removed.

This is a scratch at the surface of a huge, rich, complex issue. I didn't talk about poly configurations! I didn't talk about open marriages, or other religions beside the Chantry, or non-binary or trans people (which topic I'll leave for others to cover in detail), or even very much about the nature of marriage in the medieval world. Maybe, later on, I will.

But. My dudes. My darlings. My dauntless romantics and brave pornographers. Bioware has, however haltingly, imagined for us a world in which all this is possible. Our rules don't apply in Thedas, and we're free to prance. To me, that is what fantasy as a genre is all about. The liberty to imagine better, yes, but also different. To picture how things might be, if we dared to go there.

Let's fucking frolic.

[god-save-the-keen]

Charity Gala

Book: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Amy)

Warning: Fluff

Words: 1471

Prompt: Someone leave #14 of the list in my inbox and I don't know is Tumblr is broken, they deleted the question or their account but the question/request disappear. Anywhere, here it's the result!

Note: My PC is still broke so sorry I can cut the text! 🙏

Adrian Raines x mc tag list: @alesana45 @choicesfannatalie @itscassandraleig-blog @mattrodriguezmylife @bigmemesplz @perriewinklenerdie @x-kyne-x @livingpurpose @adriansbiss

Permanent list: @gardeningourmet @client-327 @desiree---1986 @dawn-1994 @violinet @darley1101 @blackcatkita @flyawayboo @drakewalker04

"I have never seen the point of these galas." Adrian commented as the limo continued steadily on their way.

"Oh trust me, I'm just as excited to be here as much as you are." Amy responded, an uncharacteristic ironic tone to her voice. Adrian lifted his brow at her and she sighed. "I'm sorry." She said after a small pause.

"It's still early, if you would like, you can stay." Adrian pointed out, in a calm manner, he didn't want her to feel pressured to accompany him, after all it was weird that Amy was this irritated.

"I don't know…" She bit her bottom lip. "It's just… I'm so nervous"

"Everything is going to be okay, love."

"It won't." Amy turned her gaze towards Adrian again, her eyebrow furrowed with concern and her eyes sad. "The people at these kind of events always look at me like I'm the secretary of the moment that you are just fooling around with." She redirected her eyes to the limo's window, resting her chin on her palm. "I hate that look."

"But you know that none of it is true" He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"I know." She said sadly. "I just want to enjoy a night out with you without being judged."

He got closer to her, taking her waist as she looked at him. "I promise you that that is exactly what is going to happen. And if you aren't enjoying yourself, I leave the donation and we return home."

She placed her hand on his cheek, a sweet smile on her lips as she observed him. "I love when you call it 'home'." They had been living together for a few weeks in an apartment overlooking Central Park and, since the first night they had shared together in it, Adrian started to call it home instead of 'the penthouse' like he used to, melting Amy's heart with happiness. He pressed his forehead against hers, smiling as her soft perfume filled his lungs and his hand tightened his hold. Before either of them could say anything else, the limo stopped in front of a luxury hotel. Outside were some photographers taking pictures of the couples on the red carpet as they arrived and Amy looked at them uncertainty.

Adrian gently kissed her, without rushing, opened the door getting out of the limo and offering her his hand to help her out. She took it, smiling and lacing their fingers together while she stood up next to him as her soft silver dress sparkled under the flashing cameras. It was a huge charity gala for Australian Firemen and their work, celebrities were everywhere, Avery Wilshire and his girlfriend Candece Dorian, Cassandra Leigh, Victoria Fontaine, Chris Winters among the business men and woman, politicians, designers and rich people in general, Matt and Jessica Rodriguez were the hostess for the night and Cordonia's royalty had donate a beautiful diamond necklace to be auctioned.

They posed for a moment, Adrian's arm around her waist and her hand on his shoulder as he pulled her closer, his lips brushing her ear for a moment, smiling, while he whispered to her "You look gorgeous." She turned her head and smiled at him, forgetting the camaras, the people, everything around them except him.

Hand in hand, they went inside. Adrian took two champagne glasses from a passing waitress and handed one to Amy. Her eyes widened at the luxury around her, even after all the time she had been with Adrian, as his employee and his girlfriend, sometimes it was still hard for her to get used to this kind of life, surrender of money, opulence and glamorous but fake people. They drank, Adrian's hand on her waist, as they milled around the salon, quietly chatting, laughing, observing photos of animals and the fires in Australia as people started to approach to talk with him about business.

A skeletal arm took Amy's as Adrian continued his conversation and she found herself being dragged towards the bar by Amanda Lexington, the size zero wife of an important CEO of NY, although Amy wasn't sure which one.

"Amy! It's always a pleasure to see you at these kind of events!" Her tone pretended to be affectionate as her little black eyes only convey coldness.

"Hi Amanda" Amy answered trying to sound calm and confident.

"You know, the other day we were talking about you with John" She said grabbing a glass of expensive wine and setting her gaze on her.

"Oh?" She sipped her champagne.

"It's great that you two are still together!" Her lips curled in a cynical smile.

"And why wouldn't we still be together?" Her hand squeezing the glass a little bit, she wasn't sure if she was annoyed, angry or sad with this conversation but she definitely wasn't happy.

"Oh! For no reason my dear, just you know how the CEO's are! Always want to play with the latest toy." Amanda drank her wine as her eyes assess Amy's reaction. "Especially with the secretaries."

"I--" Her voice was trembling, every fiber of her body hating her words, even if she knew that Adrian wasn't like that, that he loved her, Amanda Lexington always knew how to push her buttons.

"But I'm not saying it's going to happen with you, my dear!" She patted Amy's arm condescendingly. "It's just that Adrian is so handsome and wealthy. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that just settles down with someone… well, like you." The glass she was holding shattered in her hand as champagne, glass and a few drops of blood fell on the floor.

"Amy" Adrian was beside her, he took her hand in his but the wound had already healed. Amy continued observing Amanda, her eyes angry as she took another sip of wine. "Is everything okay, love?"

"Yes." She responded stoically, still watching Amanda like she wanted to drain her whole blood supply from her tiny body. Adrian took her waist, smiling politely even when the warmth of his sweet blue eyes had completely disappeared.

"Amanda, even though your company is always…" He made a little pause and narrowed his eyes, his tone full of sarcasm in the next few words. "... A pleasure, I must say I didn't expect to see you here today." He grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed one to Amy, kissing her cheek. "Here, love." He took a swig, his presence intense, powerful, intimidating almost dominant.

"And why it's that?"

"Well, because John is in jail for a white collar crime and lost all his financial liquidity."Adrian said and Amy turned towards him, surprised, as some other guests stopped to discreetly hear the conversation.

"You must be mistaken, Adrian!" She said loudly enough for the people around them to hear her while her face was pale and her eyes grew wider with horror. "John is in London, on a business trip."

"My apologies, I must have received the call from Nassau County Jail from another John Lexington." A satisfied smirk on his face as some people in the crowd started to whisper. "Ready to head out?" He asked Amy as if the last five minutes had never happened.

"Let's go." He entwined their fingers together. "By the way Amanda… Raines Corp is looking for mail personal, give me a call, okay? You need it, I know It's not a secretary job, but you don't like those anyway."

Once outside, while they were waiting for their car, Amy crashed her mouth against Adrian, deeply kissing him as he responded with equal enthusiasm. After they separated a bit, she softly placed her hands on the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Was this suit expensive? Like, irreplaceable expensive?" He held her waist pulling her closer.

"No" He grinned.

"Good… does it have any emotional value?"

"Also no" His mouth started to kiss the hollow under her jaw.

"Great, because once we get home I'm going to rip it from your body." He chuckled before kissing her again. "The way you shut her up was amazing!"

"I heard what she was saying to you, and I know you can defend yourself, but no one is going to be disrespectful to you like that if I can avoid it." His eyes, warm blue again as always, fixed on hers.

"So… It was true that her husband called you?" She asked, getting in the limo.

"Not even close" He answered as she laughed putting her legs on his lap. "His lawyer is a colleague of mine and he may have commented about it. Are you okay?" His voice concerned and his hand softly caressing her legs.

"As long as I have you in my corner, I'm fine." She hugged his neck. "I love you, Adrian."

"I love you too, Amy"

[feralrosie]

Lullabies at Night

Fandom: Dragon Age Relationships: M!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus Rating: General Audiences Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3

Skyhold was hardly ever quiet, even during the coldest hours of the night and, Maker, it was cold. Dorian woke up with the sound of wind escaping through the door and a chilly shiver running down on his spine. He looked for the blankets, patting the bed around him, but suddenly realized there was more missing. Sitting on the bed in a startle, he found himself alone in the Inquisitor's bed. Took a few seconds of drunken thought, but he quickly stepped out of the bed to change into proper clothing and leave the room, avoiding the looks of occasional guardsmen who were chatting in low voices. There were few torches lit at that time, so Dorian could easily sneak past them while looking around the castle—not that he needed to, but wished to avoid gossips later. Anything related to his relationship with the Inquisitor seemed to be specially tasteful for the tongues of nobles in Skyhold.

He searched everywhere and begun to really worry for his lover. Would he leave the castle all by himself? Or was he back to his bedroom? Where else could he be hiding? The mage looked around once more, standing in the middle of the central courtyard. His gaze fell on the main gate, which led to the longest bridge he'd ever seen in any old castles, and noticed that one of the escape doors was slightly open. Lifting one eyebrow, he followed that lead, taking the road on the bridge to reach the lonely tower that watched over for the rest of the castle, despite not being used by the Inquisition's forces at the moment. As he approached, he thought he heard a soft lullaby playing in distance and every new step confirmed there was indeed music playing on top of the tower. The door was open and the stone staircase was large enough for it not to be claustrophobic, so Dorian got up the tower fast and in silence. On the last level, where the stairs met the battlement's floor, he peaked through, wishing to have a look on what was happening.

His Elven lover was sitting on one of the large crenels between the even larger merlons, hugging his knees with his arms while his hands held an ocarina. He was playing the most lonely lullaby, soft and slow, echoing into the night. His golden curls were loose and seemed like dancing with the cold breeze, following the movements of the green cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders. Dorian had never noticed that cloak, but it looked old and overused, showing up a few tears here and there, but nothing that could not be fixed by skilled hands. The full moon was shining over his pale skin and hair, like his whole body was made of polished marble. It was a delightful sight.

The inquisitor did not seem to notice as the man stood a few centimeters behind him, enjoying the music. Dorian thought it felt like a song a mother would sing to her children after telling them that their father could not come back home and was watching them from the stars. His heart skipped a beat and he let the thought perish.

"I did not know you could play" he said finally in a tender voice. Elrian jumped harshly on a startle, almost letting his ocarina fall off the battlement, but the mage behind him was quick to hold it in the air, chuckling softly. "I am sorry, Amatus. I did not mean to scare you"

"Dorian!" he cried in some sort of relief "Don't creep behind me like this, I could have fallen down"

"A risk that could easily be avoided if you have stayed in bed with me" Dorian approached, leaning down to rest the weight of his body on his arms against the parapet where his lover was seated "What troubles you?" his voice was soft but still packed with concern.

The inquisitor bit his lip, looking away, "I just couldn't sleep. Had a dream and woke up"

"A nightmare? Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Not a nightmare. It was a good dream." he sighed, then continued in a low voice, trying to not sound too sad "I was back at my clan. It was summer and we were celebrating someone's birthday, dancing and feasting. My father was showing tricks to the little children, they loved his magic. And my mother was calling me and trying to put flowers on my hair." he smiled and his eyes glittered as tears came to life.

"I am sorry, Amatus" Dorian reached for the other's hand, but Elrian was quick to turn his palm up to show the glowing anchor underneath his skin.

"I hate this thing." he confessed, "And yet I'm grateful I can do some good to the world because of it. I just wish I could do more." he closed his hand on a tight fist "I wish I could have saved them"

Dorian slid his hand over the elf's wrist and made his way to hold his hand, opening his fist softly to tangle their fingers together, "Your family would be very proud of you, Elrian. Do not think otherwise. Their love did not fade away"

"I… know" he wrapped the cloak more around his body, as if trying to shrink his own size "I just miss them so much"

The Tevinter said nothing, for there was nothing else to be said. He passed his right arm around Elrian's body and held his left hand with his own, spooning him and resting his head on his lover's shoulder, kissing it softly. They stood there for a couple minutes before Dorian begun to shake a bit, still not used to the Ferelden cold.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Vhenan. Get in here" Elrian chuckled, opening the cloak and putting over Dorian's shoulders as well.

"Thank you for acknowledging my presence here" he provoked, joking, and hug the elf underneath their improvised blanket, still standing up on the battlement behind. "I've never seen you wear this one. Where did you get it?"

Elrian smiled, caressing the green fabric along the lines of golden embroidery that formed the pattern of vines. "I was wearing it at the Conclave. My mother gave it to me when I got my vallaslin and it was my only fancy piece back home. It survived that night's events pretty well, I think"  

"It is beautiful." Dorian was also appreciating the details "I take the ocarina was also with you that day?"

"It was. It was my father's. Have I ever told you about them?"

"I don't think so." he tightened the embrace "but I would love to hear"

Elrian smiled tenderly. "My mother was a hunter. She taught me how to fight and survive in the woods if I ever needed to. And my father was the Halla Keeper, First to our clan. I was the Second and therefore had to learn both from him and from our Keeper. He told me how to take care of the Hallas and how they seemed to enjoy the sound of the ocarina, so if one of them got lost I could play and let it come back on its own. I enjoyed it just as much. Once all my friends made fun of me because I spent a whole afternoon playing and by night there were dozens of Hallas around me, sleeping" he laughed to himself "They told me I was so boring that not even the animals could stay awake"

"Oh, how dare them?" Dorian laughed.

"When I turned 16, I was convinced my vallaslin would be Ghilan'nain's, the mother of Hallas" he continued "But it was Mythal's, the great protector. At the time I was reluctant and not sure if I was worth it. From that day on, my free time was consumed by extensive lectures from both my father and the Keeper, since I was bound to assume the clan's guidance someday. I think I was failing, to be honest"

"Why do you think that?"

"I was too soft and insecure. Still am, I guess. My father sent me to the Conclave so I could put all my training to test and deal with it all by myself. And when I was made Inquisitor, he sent me a letter saying he always knew I had the soul of a Keeper and was sure I could assume the responsibility. My mother also wrote this letter and said they were very proud. She also told me to be respectful but not bow my head"

"Excellent advise. In my opinion, you are following it just right." Dorian placed a few more kisses on the Inquisitor's shoulder "Sounds like they were great people, I'd loved to have met them"

"My mother would have loved you. She loved all my friends and boyfriends, as long as they took good care of me"

"And do I?" he mumbled, caressing Elrian with his lips.

"More than you can imagine" the answer came in a low and loving voice, the type that usually accompanied blushing. Dorian didn't need to look at his face to know he had colour on his cheeks.

"What about your father? Would he also have approved us?"

"You're from Tevinter, Vhenan" he chuckled as it was an obvious counterpoint.

"Oh, right" he laughed.

"But eventually he would, yes" Elrian leaned down to steal a kiss from his lover's lips "You'd always be welcome"

"That's good to know, Amatus. I mean it" he whispered against his lips "Not only were you destined to make yourself great, but you were also raised as such" he moved away so their eyes could meet "Do not doubt yourself. Your roots are stronger than you think and I trust my life to your leadership and reason. You may think you're too soft, but a passionate heart is greater than the strongest army"

"Thank you, Vhenan" the elven mage whispered back, smiling, but letting a rogue tear run down his cheek.

"Now, now, don't do that. You know I'm awful with feelings" he wiped the tear out, taking the chance to also caress Elrian's face and hair "Say, why don't we go back to your room and you play to me that boring song that makes cattle sleep? We can put it to test"

Laughing, Elrian got down of the crenel "You're a jerk"

"So I'm told. Also spectacularly handsome"  

Both of the men walked side by side, holding hands in the most soft manner, whispering jokes for one another. Elrian also took his cloak off to cover his lover's shoulders and shield him from the cold, which was accepted without ceremony. Back at the Inquisitor's room, Elrian discovered that stroking Dorian's hair was just as effective to put the man to sleep as that lullaby was for the Hallas.

[mysdrymmumbles]

Andraste’s Witch - Chapter 60 - SFW

Pairings: Slowburn Cullen x F!Witch!Inquisitor

Rating: M for later chapters which will include violence, PTSD, withdrawal,  angst, body horror (think red templars), and possibly other stuff that I will be sure to tag. This is not actually a grimdark story, but I just wanna give people a heads up for stuff that will happen. There will also be fluff and friendship and magic (though to be fair, this is Thedas, so magic will not always be positive and very rarely as adorable as that last statement implied).

Genre: Action/Adventure with elements of romance  

Summary:   Finley is overwhelmed with a few unexpected turns of events.

Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, and reblogs!

Chapter Warning: Giant spider.

Andraste’s Witch (Ao3)

Chapter 60 - Breaking Point

Sliding down an embankment, Finley carefully trod across the cold ground. Even with winter having subsided almost a month prior, the natural world was reluctant to wake up. The leaves were finally starting to bud, though, and she was seeing more and more creatures beginning to stir.

She liked spring. Short as it was so far south, it was still one of the most magical times of the year. She’d met another mage who’d claimed she was from the Anderfels originally, where the ground was almost always barren and the heat unbearable all year long. That mage had said that there were places in between where most of the year was like spring, temperatures not too cold or warm, and vibrant greenery stretching on for miles and miles.

Finley had wanted to see such a place, if only to see if it was really as pretty as the mage claimed. Really, though, she didn’t think anywhere could be better than the Wilds.

She didn’t mind the cold, and when the trees had unfurled their leaves, it was one of the most beautiful things a person could see. She’d learned that the first time she’d climbed up high to get away from templars. After spending the night precariously perched in the swaying branches of an ancient tree, her fears had been assuaged when the light of dawn washed over her world, showing her just how expansive the woods really were.

When she was younger, she’d thought the trees went on forever, and that had made her feel safe to think that her beloved canopy would always be there to protect her, even if she did have a few old memories from when she was younger of wide fields.

As she paused to inspect a branch that looked like it had been damaged during one of the winter storms, a soft hiss came from the shadows to her left. She pretended she didn’t hear it, healing the branch and smiling to herself as the leaves budded and looked like they would open on time with the rest of them.

There was another hiss, the faintest of thuds.

This time, Finley turned, keeping her expression as innocent as she could.

The woods were empty.

Turning away, she stopped midstep as a giant spider—male based the duller markings on his back—dangled in front of her from the branches overhead, long legs hanging as he twisted his body so that his eyes were looking into hers, fangs twitching.

Pretending she didn’t see him, Finley shrugged and angled herself a little so that she could walk past him. She’d barely broken even when the spider was on the ground running clumsy circles around her, hissing forlornly.

Finally, he lurched forward, curling a few legs over her, fangs a whir as he chattered at her desperately.

Reaching up, she patted one of his longs legs. “Yes, yes. I see you.”

Letting her go, the spider skittered in front of her until he was blocking her path and then began chattering again, front legs flailing as though he were telling a story.

Finley watched the show for a few minutes, content to enjoy whatever it was she was being told—she’d tried to make a spell that would let her talk to animals as well as people, but she couldn’t get it to work, and so she had to settle for understanding basic intent and emotion—before the spider seemed to realize he was having a rather one sided conversation. his legs lowered slightly, gaze fixated on her, and took a tentative step toward her, as though worried she couldn’t see him.

“I’m sorry,” Finley offered, reaching out and patting the creature’s head, careful not to cover any of his eyes. “I’m just tired, what with my trip a bit unexpected. I was on the coast a week ago, but apparently the templars are doing training exercises or…something. There were almost thirty of them, and I didn’t want to wait around for one of them to pick up on my presence. I’ve barely slept in days. Forgive me for not paying enough attention?”

The spider’s front legs landed on her shoulders, and for a second, she thought the creature might try to heave himself up onto her. However, instead, he let out a series of chitters before letting her go.

“How’s home?”

More excited chittering. He knew ‘home’ and spun away at the word, launching himself into the trees and scurrying ahead. After a moment, he lowered himself below the trees so that he could look at her, and she laughed, resuming her pace with a quick heal to banish the aches in her legs from so much walking.

Donovan was always complaining that she was going to be eaten by something, but Finley wasn’t particularly worried. Her spider, Ser Barnebus, had known her since shortly after hatching, and he knew that she would heal him and tend to him and talk to him. She didn’t travel with him, as she didn’t want the spider to get into a fight with templars and be hurt, but she always liked coming back here.

It really was a homecoming.

Just like the other places she returned to with other creatures she’d befriended. It was so…wonderful to be welcomed.

Her pace hadn’t been fast enough, because abruptly she realized that Ser Barnebus was walking along beside her, long legs moving slowly so as to match her pace.

Reaching out, she patted one of his legs. “I missed you, too.”

A happy hiss was his response.

…-…

He was a little hard to recognize, body mangled as it was, but Finley knew Ser Barnebus when she saw him. The dull brown markings that speckled his abdomen, the central marking that looked like some sort of flower about to bloom. The slightly lighter dusting of dots closer to his head.

Stepping closer, she inspected the spider with care. His body bore the gaping wounds from where the red lyrium had sliced through skin, but the lyrium itself wasn’t visible as it had been on the toad.

Leaning closer, she finally caught a glimmer of red in one of the wounds and felt like time stopped for a second. Ser Barnebus must have been infected with the red lyrium as a spider, and being polymorphed had affected him, but not the amount of red lyrium, making it a more potent dose for such a small body.

The lyrium itself seemed to have been undoing the polymorph on its own, hence why the toad had been so much larger than usual.

As much as she hated Marcus in that moment, she still tried to acknowledge that he probably hadn’t even known the spider was infected when he’d polymorphed him.

Even as she tried to tell herself that this whole, awful thing couldn’t be any one person’s fault, Garrett’s voice came from somewhere behind her.

“Oh, thank the Maker it wasn’t a person.”

For the first time in her life, a curse sprung to mind that would leave Garrett writhing on the floor in agony. It was so surprisingly easy to think of how to turn her magic toward pain.

It wasn’t one person’s fault. It was two.

Both of them were careless bastards who couldn’t see how much they hurt the world around them, blundering their way through it with little regard to anything but themselves. Both of them deserved to suffer for their callous missteps.

And while one of them was miles away, stealing her home, the other was right here.

“Inquisitor?”

Dagna’s voice caught her attention, and she turned a sharp gaze toward the dwarf.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help,” she offered, sitting beside her.

Finley managed a single, short nod in response. Her throat was too tight to dare to try to say anything. She abruptly realized her magic was winding around her fingertips, ready to lash out at her whim.

A sting of terror speared through her as she realized how close she was to breaking all her promises to herself.

Never would she take a life. The Inquisition had made her go back on that one. Never would she use blood magic. The mark on her hand crackled, and she shuddered. The others might not say it was blood magic, but it wasn’t good, even if it could close the rifts. And then her last promise to herself: never would she use magic to cause harm.

While a few botched spells had inflicted damage to her surroundings, she’d never had the intent to hurt behind a spell before, and it shook her that she could turn to it so quickly.

This wasn’t her first loss. She’d lost homes, lovers, friends... It was the way of the Wilds. As the Avvar said, nothing was permanent. Everything changed.

So why did this loss hurt so much more?

Was it because her lovers had fallen to damnation through their own choices? Because the rest of it had been lost to things she couldn’t fend off? The Blight, greed, fear…

This though…

Why hadn’t she thought to cast a shield around him? Why hadn’t she done something? She knew so many spells, so many wards. Surely she could have done something.

She had protected him during the Blight, so couldn’t she have found a way to protect him from the red lyrium as well? They could have found a cure and…

If Garrett hadn’t stepped on him, she could have saved him.

The bastard deserved to pay for his carelessness.

But not through magic. Never through magic.

Even as she wondered how quickly she could get her hands on a staff and how hard it would be to corner Varric’s dear champion and beat him to death, Dorian sat down on her other side. He glanced to where the discarded box lay, and then looked back at her. “A pet?”

“A friend,” she managed before the tears pricking at her eyes threatened to spill forth.

She sat there another moment until she had control of herself. She would cry for Ser Barnebus later, when she didn’t have an audience. For now, there was much to do. “Dagna, will you…” Her lower lip quivered before she closed her eyes and started again. “Will you retrieve the red lyrium? There are supposedly some two hundred templars with this in their veins, so it would help to know more about its properties. Be careful, though; it can cause a lot of damage to anyone.”

“And we need to know how whoever cast this was able to cast it,” Dalish murmured, her voice a little awkward, as though she wanted to say something else, but didn’t know what.

“I’ll handle that,” Finley mumbled, finally rising to her feet. “Dorian…can you…” She hesitated, finding herself having to fight the urge to cry again. “Can you find somewhere where Dagna can work until the remodeling to the Undercroft is finished? It needs to be somewhere away from templars and mages alike. Everyone, really, considering what the lyrium does.”

“Of course,” he murmured. He seemed to pause a moment before turning to Dagna and telling her to stay put until he returned.

As soon as he was gone, Dalish was asking Dagna what she could do to help. To Finley’s surprise, Bree stepped past her, her usual blasé expression shifting to one of sympathy for a fraction of a second before she stepped up next to Dagna. It took Finley a moment to realize that she must have been the one to tell Garrett where to find them. To show him. Another curl of anger twisted in her. “I’ll help you with the extraction of the lyrium.”

Finley stood there a moment longer, staring at Ser Barnebus, again wondering why she hadn’t had the foresight to cast a barrier around him the second he’d been stepped on. There were so many ways she could have saved him…

Assuming the red lyrium would have allowed any of them to take hold.

It was little consolation that she’d never know.

Abruptly, she needed to be alone, away from all the people that crowded the castle so. For a moment, she thought of making a run for the castle’s bridge, but then she remembered her lonely room at the top of the tower. The one so far away from everything.

As she finally turned away, not even noticing how both dwarves had held off on doing anything to the spider while she was still there, she faced the only person who had yet to say or do anything remotely helpful: Garrett Hawke.

The man still stood in the doorway, mouth slightly open with words dead on his lips, brow scrunched together, looking a little lost.

She wished he was lost.

In a bog or a dragon’s lair without a weapon and three dozen hungry hatchlings.

“I didn’t mean…” he finally whispered as she stepped around him and slipped into the hall. “I’m sorry.”

Finley didn’t even look at him as she started down the hall, pausing when she realized that Dalish had followed her.

The elf shrugged a little when Finley gave her a puzzled look. “Bree said if they needed a mage’s help, they’d get Dorian when he comes back. They didn’t want me getting nicked with that, seeing how volatilely it reacts to magic.” As Finley nodded, Dalish twisted her hands together in front of her, lips dipping down at the corner. “I’m sorry about trying to snare it. If I’d known it was calming down…I just wanted to help.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Finley managed a one shouldered shrug. “But I have a lot of things I need to see to. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course,” Dalish murmured, hands dropping down in front of her, still clasped. “If there’s anything I can do, though, call for me?”

Finley nodded as she turned and hurried through the halls.

Her earlier exploration of the castle proved useful, as she was vaguely familiar with the servants’ passages—enough so that she was able to make it up to that lonely, miserable room they’d given her without running into anyone else.

She stood in the middle of the room, looking around at it as though she’d never seen it before. Everything was so...foreign.

It was nothing like home.

The few places she kept things in the Wilds were always similar with awkward, lopsided bookshelves with old tomes that she’d found in ruins, and papers for spells. Her beds were usually just nests of old blankets she’d traded for, and beyond that…the only thing she really had was a bag with her clothes and someone there to listen to any stories she might have, even if they never understood a word.

There was a wyvern in what she’d learned was south of Orlais who resided near one of her homes, a few bears that shared one of her caves in southern Ferelden. None of them had ever been as close to her as Ser Barnebus. The rest of them were simply wild creatures who might perk up when she was near, might tolerate her presence, but Ser Barnebus had always been so much…more.

He’d been little for a hatchling, the sort of spiderling the others would have likely eaten, as was their way. But she’d liked him. He’d been small and hadn’t fit in and…and so she’d taken him before he could meet a cruel fate and had helped him grow, keeping an eye on him and making sure he was safe. It had been hard to balance her attention to him so that he wasn’t too dependent on her—part of her had wanted to make him a real pet, so have someone to wander with—but she’d considered what was best for him and had let him remain wild.

Mostly wild.  

Taking in a shaky breath, Finley walked over to her desk and took a piece of paper, folding it a few times before cupping her hands around it and hissing, “You killed him.” When she let the paper go, it looked too jagged to be a real bird, but she didn’t care.

Looking around the room, it was too empty, too big. She’d wanted to be alone, but not somewhere so open.

Feeling oddly trapped by the openness of the room, Finley finally moved to the western balcony, feeling a relief at how small it was. Like a ledge on a cliff. Slipping outside, she sat against the wall and curled her legs against herself so that no one coming into the room would be able to see her, and bowed her head.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been like that, trying desperately against all odds to clear her mind and stop replaying Ser Barnebus’ last moments in her head, when she realized she wasn’t alone.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she woke from a dream of watching a storm from her outlook with her spider curled upon himself, legs drawn in to make him look almost like an odd boulder as the winds whipped the rain into sheets and bursts, thunder rumbling overhead.

As she miserably blinked the blur from her eyes, she finally felt something that drew her mind away from her loss.

In the back of her mind, she could feel that awful, familiar prickle of wrongness.

Red lyrium.

Her mind first went to red templars, but there was no way they could have made it into the castle, could they?

Even as she stilled, trying to think of what else might be able to be infected with red lyrium and get so far into the castle, Leliana’s voice called out in the silence.

“Inquisitor? Finley?”

Brow pinching together, Finley took in a slow breath, trying to clear her mind, a new thought forming to shift the blame away from those she’d been willing to curse only hours earlier.

That Ser Barnebus had been corrupted…that was what had killed him, more than any other action, because she couldn’t heal that, and as far along as he was, trying to find a cure wouldn’t have done him any good. Those toxic crystals had been his death sentence.

More importantly, however, this meant that red lyrium was in the Wilds. In her Wilds.

And it was here.

That wrongness kept nettling the edges of her mind, yet Leliana didn’t seem disturbed at all. Surely if anything tainted with the red were here, Leliana would be sounding an alarm.

Standing up, she stepped to the doorway, peering into the room, still puzzled as to why she would feel that wrongness with Leliana present. She found the spymaster standing near the middle of the room, looking around cautiously, a hand resting in what could be considered a casual stance, if one didn’t know that was where she kept her dagger.

One of them, anyway.

“Ah, hello!” A man’s voice drew her attention away from Leliana, and Finley turned to see a stranger standing in her doorway. He was tall for a human, standing a few inches higher than Cullen, with soft, spiky brownish-red hair that poked out over his forehead. His skin was bronze, or had been. There was a sallowness to his cheeks and under his eyes that made him look a little dull, a little sick.

Nevertheless, the skin around his brown eyes crinkled as he stepped forward and offered her a large hand.

Etched onto his breastplate was a warden’s griffon.

“Alistair Theirin, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Her mind blanked.

She’d heard that name before. Even in the Wilds, he was known as the warden who had slain the archdemon. He was a hero. He’d driven the darkspawn back underground, stopped them from consuming all of the Wilds. While she still lamented how much had been lost to the Blight, there had been so much more that could have been lost, and she could still remember asking Donovan if perhaps they might be able to meet him and thank him someday.

Donovan had simply rolled his eyes and asked which city she planned on waltzing into to meet the man and how she expected to get away from the angry mob that would form at the sight of a free mage.

That had put a damper on her dreams, but she’d still found herself quietly thankful to the brave warden Theirin on more than one occasion.

It took her another moment to realize that this must have been Garrett’s friend.

The Hero of Ferelden.

The Hero of Ferelden was friends with one of the worst people she’d ever met.

That made her sniffle, despite herself. Ser Barnebus had survived the damned Blight to be stepped on by the Hero of Ferelden’s inept companion.

“Well, this is a bit awkward,” he let out a nervous laugh, finally withdrawing his hand to scratch at his cheek.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana stated, approaching Finley slowly from one side. “Alistair here may have some information that’s pertinent to Corypheus. We were planning on having a war meeting as soon as we could find you—”

As she spoke, Alistair turned away, stepping back out the door and into the stairway. However, what caught Finley’s attention wasn’t his movements so much as the fact that that wrongness moved with him.

Horror curl inside of her.

This was too much.

First Ser Barnebus’ death, and now a grey warden corrupted with red lyrium?

Not just a grey warden, but the one who had saved them.

Finley stood frozen where she was, eyes wide as she stared at him, mind utterly blank with what she should do or say.

“I knew it was too good to be true when Varric promised me a warm welcome.”  

“Don’t you start,” Leliana murmured, her hint of a smile audible as she walked up next to Finley. “I assure you, inquisitor, Alistair is an old friend, and someone we can trust. With his help—”

“Be careful there, I only said what I’ve learned might be helpful,” Alistair argued, arms crossed across his broad chest. “I think you’re overhyping.”

“Nonsense.”

Even as Leliana started to say something again about a war meeting, Finley darted closer to Alistair, looking over his exposed skin for signs of red veins. She hadn’t been able to heal it before, but she could figure this out. She hadn’t been able to save the other red templars or Ser Barnebus, but she could figure out how to save him.

She could.

She would.

His armor made it impossible for her to see, and she let out a frustrated huff. “Take off your clothes.”

Leliana coughed behind her, and Alistair’s eyes went wide before a light dusting of blush settled on his cheeks, and he gave her a tentative smile. “Well, that is closer to what I was promised, but—”

“You’ve been exposed to red lyrium. I have to see how far along it is,” Finley demanded, frowning up at him when he didn’t make a move to follow her order.

Finally, she reached out to take off one of his damned gauntlets herself, only to have Leliana sidle up beside her, gripping her arm and pulling her away. “Inquisitor, I think you are mistaken.”

“I know this feeling. It’s wrong, and it’s in him,” Finley snapped, jerking her hand free without looking at Leliana. “How long ago were you exposed to it? Maybe if we can remove the source before it spreads…”

“I haven’t—” Alistair reached out and tried to catch her hands though, she instinctively darted out of his reach before he could touch her. He stared at her, a little bewildered—both of he and Leliana were watching her as though she were mad. “I haven’t been exposed to red lyrium.”

“You must have been,” Finley argued, that terror in her growing. She couldn’t be wrong about this. She knew this wrongness. It was ingrained in her memory. A familiar break. “Perhaps it nicked you without you noticing or was slipped into your food or…” The ways that lyrium could get into someone suddenly seemed infinite, each method more horrifying than the last. For the first time in a long time, she couldn’t breathe.

Leliana had stepped between them, her expression unreadable. “Inquisitor. Finley, please. You must calm down—”

“He is sick!” Finley cried out, pointing accusingly at Alistair. “He’s sick. And you might not care if he dies, but I do. We can save him. We…” Save have him like she couldn’t save the others. Couldn’t save Ser Barnebus. Her throat constricted, and she snapped her mouth shut, catching part of the inside of her cheek with her teeth.

The taste of blood made her nauseous, and she silently healed her cut, trying to swallow down the metallic taste quickly.

Even as Leliana glanced back at Alistair, clearly confused, something seemed to click for him. His expression softened from his earlier bewilderment. “I’ve never been exposed to red lyrium.” He stepped up past Leliana and motioned toward the stairs. “Will you give us a moment?”

Finley couldn’t believe it.

He knew. He knew something was wrong with him.

Despite looking like she didn’t quite trust the situation, Leliana gave them a nod and walked out of the room, her footsteps silent before she’d even disappeared down the stairs. Finley doubted she’d go far, but that hardly mattered.

Gaze flitting back to Alistair, his head dipped slightly as he appraised her carefully. “You say you feel a wrongness in me.”

“It’s smothering,” Finley said a bit too harshly. Gulping down the urge to panic, she motioned to him. “You’re sick.”

He hesitated a moment before finally nodding. “It’s a sacrifice that grey wardens have to make,” Alistair offered, voice gentle. “It’s a conscious decision. We aren’t supposed to talk about it with people outside the Order, so I really can’t say more, but please don’t worry over me. I’m not infected with red lyrium.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Finley snapped, her panic bubbling back up. “I recognize this. It’s not some random ailment. It’s familiar! I know this. I’ve dealt with it before! It’s—”

And suddenly, she had her own moment where everything snapped into place.

The reason red lyrium felt familiar, the reason that she’d been so frustrated with not being able to figure out where she’d dealt with it before.

“It’s the Blight.”

Even as Alistair murmured something about it not quite being what she thought, her eyes widened.

“It’s the Blight,” she repeated slowly, brow pinching together. “If they’re connected, they’ll infect people in similar manners and…” Her gaze snapped back to him and then she moved around him, to the stairs where Leliana was waiting. “I have to go back to the Wilds.”

“What?” Leliana started toward her, only to pivot as Finley hurried down the steps past her. “Finley, might I ask why?”

“I have notes on the Blight,” Finley stated, not bothering to look back and see if they were keeping up. “It’s what I’ve spent the last ten years researching. It’s why I was at the Conclave to begin with.”

There was a sudden clamor behind her, the sharp steps of metal greaves and then Alistair was next to her. “You were researching the Blight? By yourself?”

“I wanted to find a cure,” Finley murmured, turning sharply, “We found a few ways to stave off its effects, but we hadn’t found a cure yet when…” She held up her hand, bile in her throat. “When this happened.”

“The Blight is dangerous.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Finley abruptly whirled around, staring up at Alistair as she considered the different places she’d left her notes. While most of them were fairly comprehensive, her most accurate notes had been lost years ago when… “Come with me.”

“What?” He stumbled to a stop.

“To the Wilds.” As Leliana caught up to them, Finley motioned vaguely in the direction of her home. “The closest we ever got to curing the Blight is…hard to reach. Due to the Blight. We basically gave up on recovering those notes and tried to recreate them, but if you come with me…you can fight tainted creatures, yes?”

“You mean like bereskarn?” Alistair asked, shifting his weight a little.

Finley hesitated, cringing at the thought of the twisted creatures, bears with their flesh rotting and corrupted, jagged spikes poking out unnaturally through their fur…

Like red lyrium had done out of the red templars.

Bereskarn didn’t have red in their coloring though, did they?

As she began to walk again, she realized she hadn’t answered his question and nodded. “Among others. I’m fairly certain I can lead us there and avoid the worse ones.”

“Worse than a blighted bear?”

“It’s the Wilds, not the Hinterlands,” Finley muttered, the panic in her dying somewhat as she lost herself to thoughts of what paths to take. “And if you come with me, I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t get worse.”  

“Well, about that—”

“You can tell me on the road.” Finley clasped his hand, trying not to shiver at the way she could practically feel the wrongness crawling across her skin. She tried not to let go of him too quickly, but couldn’t help but jerk away a little. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?” She straightened up a little. “Warden Blackwall can come, too.”

At that, Alistair’s brow pinched together. “There’s…another warden here?”

“Yes,” Finley felt a little bit more like herself as she nodded, though she couldn’t quite shake the hurt that came every time her mind wound back to her spider. If she’d made the connection between red lyrium and the Blight sooner, maybe she could have…

“We found him in Ferelden, when all the other wardens were disappearing,” Leliana said quickly to Alistair, before addressing Finley. “You cannot simply leave right this instant. You’ve barely been back two weeks.”

“And I’m sure the demons at the rifts and everything else is just waiting for me to learn how to hold my butter knife,” Finley quipped. “I won’t be ‘trespassing’ to anger any foreign indignities—”

“Dignitaries,” Leliana corrected, frown in place.

“—or whatever else people are afraid I’ll do wrong. I’ll be going home. I know the rules there, and if I offend anyone, it will be intentionally.”

Alistair bit his lip as though trying to hide a smile at that, and Finley eyed him, wondering what she’d said that he found so amusing. Even as Leliana started to argue, Alistair coughed into his hand and shrugged. “She is the one in charge, isn’t she?”

As Leliana gave him a sharp look, Finley stood a little straighter. “I am. And I’m going.”

Taking in a slow breath, Leliana turned to Finley, expression neutral. “At least wait until the morning so that we can prepare supplies and get you a proper guard.”

“A guard will be useless in the Wilds.”

“They’ll probably just end up hexed by a witch,” Alistair added.

Rolling her eyes slowly toward him, Finley couldn’t help the twinge of annoyance that ran through her. “You believe in witches.”

“I’ve met Flemeth,” Alistair replied without missing a beat, a grin spreading across his lips.

That…was not so impossible, really.

Nevertheless, she’d taken a rather firm stance on witches not being real already, and so she crossed her arms. “Believe what you like, but no one’s going to be hexed. They’d be more likely to get eaten by something than anything else.” She looked back at Leliana, “And whatever ate them would have a right to, with them tromping through their territory and being a general pain.”

“And how long is this adventure going to take?” Alistair asked, letting the subject of witches slide. He didn’t bother to hide his smile now. She wished she could smile back, but the events of the day were still too heavy on her mind.

“Considerably longer if you don’t come with me.”

“You will need to bring at least a few others with you as well,” Leliana protested. “We cannot just let you run off into Maker knows where when there are red templars and a mage army who would be more than happy to strike you down.” Despite readying a protest, Leliana motioned down the steps. “Let us have a proper war meeting to discuss this. We will need to know where you are going and how to find you, should a problem arise.”

…-…

Despite her resolve to make haste, once she’d been roped into talking logistics of what should have been a simple journey, and had had to stand around, listening to her advisors bicker about how long she could ‘afford’ to be gone, it had given her time to start thinking about things other than her notes.

Her mind wandered between Ser Barnebus and the templars who had succumbed to that wretched red and the fact that the Blight was corrupting the very man she’d idolized for the last decade.

It wasn’t fair.

Heroes were supposed to win, not meet grisly ends. Not die slowly.

After the war meeting had ended, she’d darted out before anyone could ask any more of her for the evening—dodging down a side corridor to avoid Garrett and Varric when she saw them—and had made her way to the rafters in the kitchen, where she’d stored her story book.

Even that hadn’t been able to bring her any comfort, though, her mind knowing the tales too well to really concentrate on them.

Instead, she’d find herself staring at a page while she wondered how she could have done things differently so that she could have healed red lyrium.

Once or twice she considered that no one else seemed able to cure it either—Solas had done a decent job with her, but even he had professed that there had been a fair amount of luck in her surviving—but overall it didn’t make her feel better.

After all, she’d dedicated herself to trying to cure the Blight for ten years.

It had always bothered her. The Blight was supposed to be a pestilence sent to punish the sins of humankind, so why did it have to hurt everything?

There had been an old grove of ancient trees near where she lived years ago that had been the most amazing things. They were impossibly old, and there had been magic in them. She’d discovered them first a few years after she’d met Donovan, and she had fallen in love instantly.

The magic in them swirled to life in odd patterns, lighting up their white bark and making them glow, even in the light of day.

It was one of the first times she’d seen actual magic just existing in the world, not controlled by anyone or anything, and for the first time, she’d felt natural herself. If trees could be magical, then there was no way it could be a curse, as so many templars spat.

She was right and belonged, just as much as those ancient trees.

When the Blight had come, it had infected their roots, that poison seeping up from the ground itself and tainting one of the purest things Finley had ever known. She’d felt like a part of herself was dying when she’d found those ancient testaments to time withering, limbs breaking under their own weight as their bark rotted off.

Even the magic had shifted to a dull rusted color, turning the poor light they still emanated ominous.

She’d been so angry. If humans had sinned, then punish them, damn them into the void, but not everything else. How was it right for creatures and things that had never done wrong to suffer for what humans had done?

Finley hadn’t intended to cure the Blight in people, per se, but to save her Wilds. She’d wanted to bring back just a little of what had been lost.

There had been a few times where she and a few others had felt like they were getting close, but they had always hit some sort of block, especially after the catastrophe near the edge of the Blighted lands. She’d mentioned it to Alistair, but she’d have to explain more of what had happened once they were in the Wilds.

He would likely be displeased.

Assuming he lived long enough to be disappointed.

The Blight was so strong in him; it made her sick.

If the Maker cared for anyone, it should have been the heroes who slew the archdemons. Surely they proved to be worth His divine love.

Bitterness curled in her at the thought, mixing with her depression and desperation.

With everything tumbling through her brain, she’d taken to wandering the castle, quietly slipping past guards and the like so that she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.

Before she knew it, she found herself standing in Cullen’s office. The lights were out, though she could hear movements overhead, so she knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

It wasn’t fair that everything always fell apart…

It wasn’t…

Without much thought, she climbed the ladder, pulling herself easily up into his room. A single candle sat beside his bed, and he stood near it, tugging his shirt over his head. When it was still around his arms, he glanced back, hearing the floor creak beneath Finley’s feet.

The candlelight accented his muscles, and she wanted more than anything to run her fingers over his skin. She wanted there to be something good in her life, even if it was fleeting.

She wanted him.

As he jerked his shirt back on, she felt strangely betrayed.

Ridiculous, that. He’d made it plain he wasn’t interested, hadn’t he?

So why was she still here? Why had she come to him at all?

After all, even if she did care for him, he’d just end up leaving her in the end, like everyone else.

“Inquisitor?” As she blinked, she realized that he was standing in front of her, one hand outstretched as though he might take her hand, but wasn’t sure.

Her next breath shuddered through her body as she fought back the whispers that came with loneliness. “Commander.”

“Are you alright?” Cullen stepped closer to her, brow pinched together, amber eyes searching hers for some hint.

Even as she opened her mouth to dismiss his worry, she found she couldn’t. With a sniffle, she shook her head, embarrassed as she felt tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. “No.”

And with that word, she finally burst out sobbing.

As she reached to cover her face, horrified that despite her efforts, she couldn’t stop herself from falling apart in front of him, she felt his hands cup her face, thumbs gently brushing at her cheeks before he stepped up to her and put his arms around her.

She felt small and helpless as her body shuddered with each sob, like she might literally fall apart, leaving only emptiness left. She wished she was stronger than she was, that she could take all these changes and revelations and losses without turning into a miserable pile of tears.

She wished she were strong like Cullen, and the fact that he didn’t reciprocate her feelings just made her cry harder. It made her want to turn away from him, to not need him, and yet…even in that, she couldn’t find the strength.

He didn’t ask her to say what had happened, didn’t demand an explanation.

Through all of it, he simply held her.

When she’d finally stopped crying, his arms were still around her, one hand stroking her hair as she clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, face pressed into his shoulder.

When she found her voice again, she mumbled into his shirt, “Why is life so unfair?”

She heard a response catch in his throat, and he squeezed her closer, resting his cheek against her head. “I don’t know.”

“Every time I—” She cut herself off before she could bemoan her misfortunes. She tried to remind herself that there was more good in her life than bad, even if the last few months had been more miserable than not, and she knew if she began complaining, she might never stop. Instead, she took in a breath and held it, held Cullen. When she let it out, she reluctantly loosened her grip on him, pulling back enough so that she could look up at him.

As she did so, he wiped at her cheeks with his sleeve, giving her a gentle smile that made her heart melt.

“I want you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

He froze a moment, staring down at her, mouth half open in a response that wouldn’t come.

Flinching at his silence, Finley pulled away. “I’m sorry. I know you aren’t interested. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll just—”

He caught her arm before she could turn to the ladder, pulling her back to him, head bent as he used his other hand to cradle the nape of her neck and kiss her. It took her by such surprise that she didn’t fully realize what was happening until he was pulling away from her, his own apology on his lips.

She chased his kiss, arms slipping up around his neck as she stood on her tiptoes to reach him. He was surprised as she’d been, though he recovered quicker, leaning back down so that she could reach him more easily as their lips molded against one another’s.

For a moment, she was certain this was another dream, but when they broke for breath, he looked down at her, thumb tracing her cheek, and she could feel that muted prickle of a templar’s gaze.

This was real.

She almost started crying again as she kissed his jaw and he moved to meet her, lips catching the corner of her mouth.

She needed this so much, needed him, and without a thought, she lost herself to the feel of his touch and the taste of his lips.