#ears & vallaslin are linked in the post!

[aethernoise]

A rare Dragon Age crossover content appears??

Dalish!Alyx modeling the outfit I made.

[felassan]

Thoughts on the DA:TV Companion Concept Art:

General

I love that we saw these and I think the art is beautiful!! it's so cool seeing different versions of a character, different ideas for a character, and how things translated from concept arts into the character models in the game. I can't waaait to look through the rest of The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, with a fine-toothed comb!!

each character has iconic color palettes and iconic shapes and stuff :)

I feel like there is a lot to examine in these pictures, even with the spoilery text redacted!! 🔍🔍

I'm so extremely curious about what the redacted text says. 👁️

It looks like the geometric patterns drawn behind the characters are slightly different each time?

In the ones where multiple different outfits are shown for the character, do you suppose that these are only discarded concept ideas, or are some similar to some of the alternate outfits for the companions that we can find or upgrade for them in the game?

in some of the pages, there appears to be additional parts of the page blanked out/redacted rather than just the paragraph of text. I wonder if there are small text captions or even additional small drawings in those spaces that also needed to be redacted for spoiler reasons 👁️

In some of the sections below I just described what part of the art I was referring to, in others I popped in images because I was finding it hard to describe what I meant ^^

Also, the associated tweet mentions the BioWare Gear Store-exclusive variant of the artbook. The link in it just takes you to the general Gear Store website landing page at the moment. At the moment, the BioWare Gear Store variant of the artbook is out of stock (it went out of stock really quickly after release). However, CM Violet mentioned in the Discord that "We are planning on another printing [of the Gear Store variant of the art book], but no date yet! I'm sure we'll announce it when we have more news!" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

Bellara

Bellara's page is the only one I think with no name. did her name have to be redacted too bc of a spoilery reason?

I LOVE Bellara's pages. she's just so 🥺 (clenching my fist). some aspects of the design of Bellara's clothes remind me of butterflies or butterfly wings.

Left: the angle of this one reminds me of her party icon art. Center: this one shows a different design concept for her vallaslin. in this one she also has different earrings. in the full version of this drawing, it looks like she is holding some kind of tool in her hand (makes sense considering her Tinker ability), while in her other hand it's a piece of cloth, reminding me of the way mechanics are sometimes drawn holding rags during their work. her posture in the full version of this drawing is like 'You can fit sooo many triangles inside this bad boy [the giant elf head artifact/sculpture]'. hhh. Right: can anyone make out what the text above her bag says? ^^ btw, this bag design is so cute. edit: thankyou to @squidaped-oyt who mentioned in the replies of this post that this looks like it says "Foldable map"! more on that here.

HELLO??, this ancient elven sculpture/artifact thing is extremely 👀. the scale of it compared to Bellara is massive. there are beams of light coming from its eyes and the triangle set in its forehead. the triangular parts are a now-familiar aspect of ancient elven magic-tech and artifacts. the nose bridge reminds me of the design of elven nose bridges circa Dragon Age II - only he has a pointed part on his in addition. the bald head we're all familiar with from ancient elven statues, in-world murals/wall paintings etc. is it just me, or are the teeth also pointy? I wonder what this thing is.. was it just decorative (a head of a giant statue)? (this kind of thing in this Veil Jumper/Arlathan Forest concept art comes to mind). was it an art piece representative of a particular Evanuris or one of their chosen? or did it have some kind of actual function - maybe it was part of a giant protective automaton kinda thing? what this head really reminds me of is Codex Entry: Vir Dirthara: Signs of Victory -

The pages of this book—memory?—describe a monument made in a single afternoon by a thousand-thousand toiling servants swarming over a lump of fallen stone as large as a collapsed mountain. By the end of the day, the stern figure of Elgar'nan stares down into a valley, carved out from the foothills of the rock. The slaves have disappeared. Light radiates from the eidolon's narrowed eyes and its open, snarling mouth. "Hail Elgar'nan, first among the gods! Mark his victory eternal!"

Could this be [part of] one of those sorts of monuments/eidolons? It sure looks like it's snarling through its open mouth. And it has narrowed eyes and light is radiating from them.

The other things it reminds me of are: 1. the ancient elven sentinels (the magic-bot kind, not the Abelas and crew in Temple of Mythal kind), two. like maybe it's a giant one of these. 2. these big ancient elven hands and the Dead Hand landmark (see Trivia section) in DA:I, which is found in the Dales and contains an elven shrine and is not far from Ghilan'nain’s Grove.

Horace Medford wrote of that landmark,

"The great stone hand was something of a mystery. One assumes it is a piece broken off from a larger whole. If so, judging by the size of that one hand, I imagine the entire sculpture to be... well, large enough to require the use of obscenities to describe it. Thus I have only one question: where is the rest of the statue? It is difficult to imagine how something so large could go missing."

like maybe the head from Bellara's concept is the giant head to a similar kind of pair of giant hands (of either type).

(^ post which discusses these both here)

Left: the way this bracelet thing is worn gives it the impression of a watch, which is cool and fits her machinist/inventor kinda vibe/aesthetic :) Center: the cloth, a bit dirty from active use (what a thoughtful touch), tucked into her belt :) Right: I love the eyepiece/monocle look!! It's giving Artificer, it's giving gadgets. does anyone else think Bellara and Dagna would get on super well? 💜

These are all super interesting and I love that they were thinking about the different parts of Bellara's kit and belongings like this. in the top row, it looks like the book on the left is the closed version of the book on the right. Bellara's book full of research notes :D what I wouldn't give to browse through it!! I love how she's filled it with different bookmarks, it gives you an insight into her mind and the way it works. on the front is one of those ancient elven golden faces (like on Solas' armor's knees in Trespasser, on the Sentinels in the Temple of Mythal, on the ancient elven Deluxe edition of DA:TV armors, etc). inside, it looks like she has pressed a flower, which is so lovely. on the right-hand page, I'm really curious about the drawings there. what is it of? a map, a diagram? it reminds me a bit of the map of Arlathan Forest in the Veil Jumper issue of Dragon Age: The Missing (and it would make sense for her to have a map, Arlathan Forest is changeable lately). and if you squint, maybe that's an 'X marks the spot'? also extremely curious is the drawing on the left-hand side of the page:

Who is this depicting? the figure's headshape/headpiece/mask reminds me a lot of the Evanuris headshapes. and the general vibe of the drawing reminds me of the ancient elven Evanuris mosaics (example). Sylaise-y? but maybe it's not an Evanuris and it's more like a figure from Bellara's past? the way the flower is pressed on this page makes it look tender, like memory. or if it was an Evanuris, it makes it look like an offering or token. perhaps Bellara's vallaslin correspond to Sylaise or whichever member it is. there was a time before the gods came back the way they did in DA:TV.

It's also really cool to get a look at the fold-out material thing. do you think she usually carries this rolled up at her belt or in her bag? it looks like somewhere where she stores various kinds of ancient elven triangle fragments, or maybe it's even some kind of strange map. A map of a bunch of different reality-fragmented Veil Bubbles or something would look really strange no doubt, not like a normal map.. edit: more on that here.

Davrin

It's neat to see different hairstyle versions of Davrin! the shape of the blue sword reminds me just a lil of Starfang, which is really nice. and we saw Davrin with a griffon-wing shield like there is in these concepts in the character reveal trailer.

Comparisons of the various vallaslin designs he has in his concept arts to the final one in the game. (in some of the concepts, his vallaslin look a bit bluer, which reminds me of his tarot-style art from the party selection screen). though, in the right-most version, it looks more kind of like a circlet, a Samara Mass Effect-type situation instead :)

This on his heel is totally a spur. makes sense, for a Warden that may one day be a griffon-rider like the Grey Wardens of old :') (at least in the sense of visual language, like "spur - riding - horse - griffon").

We see Davrin equipped with an additional dagger/shortsword like this in the warrior gameplay video, albeit not this specific one, if you go by the handles.

He maybe has some stubble here. ^^

In this version of Davrin, it looks like he has a staff. (though, he still has a sword here too). Is it a polearm kinda deal, or was there a time during development when Davrin was a mage? perhaps the elf in this concept art is a version of Davrin? that elf is wielding a staff to fight, and there are some similar aspects in the outfit designs, like the considerable collar.

interestingly, his staff here reminded me of the staff held by the elven figure on the front of the DA Vinyl art. 🤔

^ Looking at that staff-Davrin concept more generally, it's interesting that this version has more overtly Grey Wardenny-parts to his armor compared to his final look, like the griffon symbol on the chestplate and shoulder.

This Davrin holds out his arm, like a falconer. in Dalish culture, the hawk is a sacred animal of the Huntress Andruil.

And this Davrin straight up is a falconer. how cool!! due to image resolution I'm not sure if the darker parts on the raptor are parts of its plumage or accoutrements, but in falconry, the birds sometimes do wear these types of accoutrements. Falconer Davrin Concept reminds me of that one DA:I Dorian concept art where Dorian had a monkey haha. :D the attention to detail in Falconer Davrin is neat too, you can see that on the hawk-perch arm he has a thick extra cover on his arm, due to the sharpness of raptor talons and grip. I really love Falconer Davrin's griffon shoulderplate, and when looking at the more geometric diamond design of his vallaslin here, what struck me was its resemblance to the diamond geometric pattern behind him.

Harding

Harding is the only one on the concept art among the named characters there who is listed as her surname rather than her given name haha. she's just Harding just like Hawke is Hawke, that's just the way it is.

The flower and leaf pattern in the top left is cute, I wonder if it was inspiration for the flower and leaf stitching Harding has on the collar of her casual clothes in the game. In the concept art it looks like the kind of design that you might have on the leatherwork on the front cover of a beautiful leatherbound journal or something. :) In the central picture she's holding and appreciating a blue flower, which is so cute ♡ and which ties to what was said about her loving plants, raising plants, and nature. she has what looks like the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol on her belt pouch as well as on her knee pads. (;;) the version of her to the left of that shows her with her hair down, in a more pony-tail like sort of style. on that version of her, you can see flower and leaf floral patterns curling up the bottom of her cape. (very pretty).

To the right of the central image, there's a big diagonal blank rectangle of content which has been removed, presumably due to spoiler reasons. Was this also text? It seems like a weird angle to have placed text at. Maybe it's a drawing of an object of some kind being hidden? A different version of her bow perhaps? (this is the case in a few of the companion concept arts btw.)

The tailored coat and pinstripe pants version of her is so cool. :D look at the tails on the back of her coat in that image. dapper. Harding formal wear? :D

of course, the two most !! images from Harding's one are these ones. copying over my thoughts from that post,

Presumably this is to do with Harding’s new magical stoney earthy powers. (In the second image, along with the bow, it looks like half her face, part of her neck and her arm itself is also stone/crystal). The glass-like shiny parts reminds me of quartz or something. :)

I do wonder if (if they are still things in the game) perhaps those two images or the stoney parts of them could also potentially have done with being redacted for spoiler reasons? how I wish the Harding image was higher resolution so we could take a closer look at stone-Harding..! somewhere off in the distance, Varric "haha, you'd be Harding in Hightown" Tethras is like "haha, Harding, you're hard/hardening" hhhh. 💀

In the image with her hood up, the blue veins on the bow remind me of blue lyrium veins. I also wonder, is she holding the stone/crystal bow with her stone/crystal arm, or is the bow simply growing from the arm? does the hard surface of her body when it's like this repel or take less damage owing to its hardness? is this something she might be able to do in gameplay later on as her story (and powers) progress?

it stands to reason that if you can turn other people/things to stone, as she did to some ghouls in the release date reveal trailer, you might also be able to extend this power to yourself. presumably this ability is tied to the Titans, the dwarves as their children, the Stone, maybe a restored (in Harding's case) connection to that, the way dwarves used to be. it also reminds me of how golems are created using live dwarves. Caridin said "It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier." 👀

Btw, speaking of Harding's magical powers, I wonder if Harding dreams at night now..?

Lucanis

it looks like there's a spot on Lucanis' page other than the text at the top that is blanked out/redacted. I wonder what it contained.

part of the geometric designs behind him reminds me of his eyes motif.

some of the alternate outfits for him look really like, majestic. in the one with the manbun, he has big poufy shoulder pieces and huge sleeves.

I wonder if any concept art of clean-shaven Lucanis exists anywhere? ^^ I'm really curious about what he looks like clean-shaven, or without a beard as he was in The Wigmaker Job.

I'm losing my mind at all the different concept ideas for Lucanis' hair, especially the one with the curled forelock and LUCANIS MANBUN omg. but I like his feathery mullet that he has in the game the best. :D

The design and coloring of his sword is just so COOL. The oil-like iridescence, purple-black, is like corvid feathers.

What a lovely sketch, lovely pencilwork. ◕‿◕ his eyebrow is slightly raised and you can see here again that his nose is slightly 'crooked' (perhaps he's broken it in the past?). I love this sort of feature sm in every character that has it.

In this one his eyes are doing the glowing purple thing again. again he is not defeating the possessed/dead/abomination/-somethingelserelatedorsimilar-is-going-on with him allegations. this one has a hood in an Assassin's Creed sorta style and the general vibe is like a ninja. the shoulder pieces look feathery, and the cloak/coat looks like feathered wings or tailfeathers. this piece feels the most "The Demon of Vyrantium" in vibe hh 👁️ And are you guys seeing this?? Here it looks like has claws like Wolverine hh!! :D though he could simply also be holding multiple knives in between his fingers (of the sort you can see at his belt in another concept, I've put that one just below here to show them), or have a bladed gauntlet, etc.

This person coming at you in the night, no wonder the evil Venatori magisters are scared of him :)

Coffee, no doubt :) cool mug shape.

Bird design again on this leg-piece.

Left: a take on the now-iconic Antivan Crow bird-masks. really cool design. here it's giving Batman, it's giving masquerade ball. I really hope we see him wearing a Crow bird mask of this sort at some point during the game!! 🧎🕯️🧎 it's a big missed opportunity if not imo hh. Right: Lighthouse casual-wear, or something very close to it. his vibe in this art is also similar to his vibe in the Lighthouse group shot.

Veilguard symbol on his chest? some of the alternate outfits include a more Veilguardy purple to them, and this one reminds me of how the Veilguard symbol looks for Rook here for example.

Lastly, in this main one, his general shape is sooo triangular. :D and his face/expression here really captures this description of him from Tevinter Nights:

Lucanis stared ahead, focused and intense. He was the kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.

In this one I also get the sense of dark circles under his eyes, which is a trait that in fiction reminds me of coffee-drinkers. ^^

Emmrich

Both staffs in Emmrich's concept art are different to the one we see him with here, but the bigger one on the concept art is close to it.

In this concept it looks like Emmrich has a scar on his chin.

Left: without his jacket on, he looks so svelte. the gold parts on his boots/knees remind me of the gold headpieces fixed to walking dead in the Necropolis. they are also hexagonal in shape, which I've become convinced is part of Nevarra's visual design language (and therefore part of Nevarran architecture, fashion/culture etc. :D he has so many bracelets and rings. Center: he looks so happy here and in the one next to it! these versions of Emmrich seem to lean more to the purple side of his color palette. these ones have a sorta futuristic vibe. you can see some of the tools of his trade at his belt, and it's a different version of his staff. here the skull floats at the top of the staff and burns with green fire, rather than being fixed to the pole of the staff. Right: Emmrich with big hair! quiff-like, and it looks like a large part of it is white rather than gray.

in this alternate outfit he's wearing a work apron with tools of his trade on the front. he's holding a glass flask that is filled with green liquid and billowing green smoke. I wonder if Emmrich is skilled at alchemy? do you think he has a lab, or that his room in the Lighthouse might be filled with stuff like alembics?

Looking again at Emmrich's outfit in these arts - from the back, the back of his coat reminds me of depictions in art and tv/film of the blood eagle?? (if you are sensitive or squeamish to gore and things of that nature, please don't google that!). the lines on the back of his shoulders remind me of musculature. The repeating pieces down the center of the bottom part of his coat reminds me of a spine. and the back of his gold belt-piece from behind straight up looks like a pelvis. the skeleton and body imagery here is an amazing art direction/symbolism for him!! what a bigbrain idea. is that sort of detailing why the design of the front of his coat looks like someone's chest has been opened on an operating table?

also, the long coat reminds me of labcoats. :)

I wonder if the bracelets and things are a Nevarran cultural thing/common fashion in Nevarra, or more of just an Emmrich thing? ^^

lastly his expression in the one on the right is so gentle and kind.

Neve

There are two spots on Neve's page other than the text at the top that are blanked out/redacted. I wonder what they contained.

I love that they tried out differing concept/designs for the look of Neve's leg, and what looks like a stand for it as well. they're all really neat and you can see serpentine aspects in all of them. a person could also have more than one.

this image contains another great reference for Neve's wand-cane thing. here the orb in the middle looks like a big pearl, like from inside a mollusk. the ring around it is definitely evoking the body of a snake coiling.

The concept art contains a blond version of Neve. because of her ice powers, it reminds me a bit of Emma Frost (Marvel). look at that Neve's heeled boot, and the size of her hat!!

I prefer the Neve they decided to go with in the end. ♡♡ ^^

Taash

oh my goooood. breathing in and out rapidly into a paper bag. oh my godd. she looks sooo cool!! I'm posting the whole thing again here just bc omggg.

Most versions of Taash have the green crystal horn. her concept arts show versions with different skin colors. her eyes in some of them look green. I love all her different-version Lord of Fortune / Rivaini gold pieces. in the top-left hand version of her, her bigger shoulder-piece is really cool (the right-hand side one); it could at once be a piece of spiky dragon bone or a piece of a big spiky sea-shell (both ideas work perfectly for her character and background). I've said this before when talking about Taash's design, but I love the parrot-break design of one of her weapons. it's very piratey. in this page, we can see several different versions of the parrot-beak weapon. also, I love all her different facial expressions.

in the right-most Taash concept, the dragon tooth-like pointy bits on her gauntlets look like they're made out of gold, not tooth. her big piratey boots are so cool and they even have a gold coin on them! you can see the spike braided into the end of her ponytail, and in that drawing the dragonscale-looking parts of her iconic armor look even more scaley, owing to the way they graduate from a full covering of scales to a partial covering to not present (in a way that reminds of how on some fantasy arts of things like dragons, there can be softer/less protected areas of their hide with no or less scales, like towards their undersides):

The bottom-left most illustration looks like it might be her iconic armor, only seen from the back, which is good to have a reference of. the design of her sword scabbard is cool, it's like the segmented flat of a dragon or sea-serpent's tail. in that image it also looks like the eye of her parrot-weapon is matched by an eye on the scabbard. something about the designs of her sword and scabbard remind me of weapons like daos. from behind, it also looks like her gauntlets might have thicker armor on one-side, better protection for the upper side of her forearms. the fingers of her gauntlets also look taloned, in a way that reminds me of Fenris.

Okay now let's talk about the concept in the center at the top! this version has longer horns and more spikes in her ponytail, in fact the ponytail here looks like a dragon tail as a result. it reminds me of Flemeth's dragony hair from Dragon Age II onwards. this version also looks like she may have blue-ish facial tattoos, or it could be vitaar. it also looks like she may have a second, smaller set of horns. in this version, the red ropes are cyan-blue instead, and she not only has the spikes/teeth on her gauntlets, but also on her boots (knee 'pad' and the heel, like spurs). in this version, her swords are dragon wing-shaped, which is pretty metal. I can't tell if the triangular piece that hangs down in the center is from the front piece of her clothing or the back piece, but it gives the impression of a dragon tail.

Lastly, the concept in the center at the bottom: here her boots remind me a lot of Dragon Age II Isabela, who is of course, also a piratey type of character from Rivain. the giant axe here is cool, the shape of its blade also evokes the shape of a dragon wing and it looks like the handle might be made of bone. the way she's carrying the axe here reminds me a bit of how Iron Bull carries his weapon in this art piece. the teal and gold color scheme of this piece reminds me of the gold and blue/green of some Ancient Egyptian things, and round her neck it looks like she is wearing a torc.

[ghostwise]

For Mathuin and Hamal: eros 5, storge 1 and philia 1?

How closely is their opinion of their own beauty (or lack thereof) linked to their confidence? Do they see themselves as more or less worthy of love or sex based on how attractive they feel?

Hamal has complex feelings about his physical appearance. He knows his albinism will forever elicit a huge range of reactions from other people. That his nystagmus is hard to hide. In a way I think all the piercings and tattoos are an effort to wrench back some of those judgments from others. He's also aware that attraction is not solely to do with physical appearance, but with the way he carries himself and interacts with people. I just get a sense that he's worked hard to be comfortable within himself and it shows.

Mathuin's journey was quite similar in that they have worked very hard to feel comfortable in their body. They love to present as androgynous, but it varies day by day; some days are very femme, some are more masc. They struggled most with their ears, choosing to keep them covered most of the time, but they grow comfortable showing them as they grow more independent (hence the big chop post-Kirkwall). Mathuin also has the advantage of being very tall, which they relish. They know how to get someone flustered. :)

Did your OC's parents love them unconditionally? If so then has this helped them feel confident as an adult? If not then how has this affected them? What were the conditions their family attached to their relationship?

Hamal's parents did love him unconditionally--all three (Yunuen, Hirael, Ashalle). It's a bit sad but he doesn't truly know much about how his biological parents felt about him. Ashalle had a strong influence on him though; he is kind to children because he learned it from her, how endlessly patient she was with him.

Mathuin was loved by their parents, but they were very compliant as a child, working to please them at every opportunity. Obedient and dutiful. They simply mirrored what they were feeling from them, could tell when they were upset or tired of them and could adapt, adjust, pacify. Y'know, their empathic abilities are an extension of their magic, which means they came into it quite young; but they did not know it because it wasn't magic in a traditional sense.

Does your OC have a Best Friend? If they do then how long have they known each other and how did they meet? If they don't then do they have a close group of friends they love equally? Or are they more of a loner?

Tamlen was Hamal's best friend, and Tamlen was as if his twin. They just clicked together like magnets when young and were together every moment after. Then they gathered their little friend group and had each other through those years: Tamlen, Hamal, Merrill, Mathuin. I can't talk about them separately! Tamlen was Mathuin's first kiss. Merrill was Hamal's (an experience they did not repeat lol). They got their vallaslin together. Their falling apart hit the surviving three hard (Merrill left her clan, Hamal left Ferelden, Mathuin tried to stick it out the longest, but then they left, too).

[sovaharbor]

posted this on r/da's weekly writing thread forever ago but now i'm putting it here bc i was thinking about it

Eimhin Lavellan hadn’t been home in years. Too many by now. The location of his clan had changed multiple times since he’d last seen it – and no longer could he trace his way through the familiar forests he once knew, using fallen trees and mossy rocks as markers to guide his way. The land here was more open, yet still overgrown. Weeds had sprouted, vines had overtaken the makeshift fences used to keep the halla reigned in, and the aravels were weathered down, their paint faded and their wood chipped.

The humidity of the soon-returning rain clung to Eimhin, almost weighed him down further with each step – or maybe that was the mud mucking his boots up. To say Eimhin wanted to return to his clan would have been a stretch, and a long one at that. Probably as long a stretch as he was tall, he wagered, as he stopped beside the Iron Bull, head coming to rest against his large shoulder.

“This is it?” the Iron Bull asked quietly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the peace that had fallen amongst the camp.

Eimhin hummed in confirmation. “Right before your very eyes,” he murmured. “Rather pretty, don’t you think?”

“Bit of a doozy, really,” Sera quipped from behind. “You sure you want to be here, Inquisitor? Not much of a welcome party, I’d say.”

“Vishante kaffas,” said Dorian. He walked up to Eimhin’s other side, standing resolutely there beside him. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, he snapped at Sera, “A little decorum might serve you well, don’t you think?”

“I’m just bein’ honest!”

“Is now truly the best time for—“

“It’s fine,” said Eimhin, his voice coming out a bit tighter and louder than he’d intended. At once the bickering quieted, and he could feel Sera’s eyes at the back of his head, Dorian’s and Bull’s beside him; it made him antsy. Fuck, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Sera was right.

But still, Eimhin’s legs suddenly carried him forward. He felt Dorian’s fingers catch his wrist, holding on loosely, and Bull’s hand settle itself at the small of his back. Sera’s footsteps picked up behind him after a moment’s pause, squelching through the mud. It was like there were eyes permanently stuck on Eimhin and his little group, watching their every movement. He wondered what his parents might say, seeing him with a Tevinter human and a hulking Qunari linked to him like that. Or what his Keeper might say to Sera; he’d sooner guess it’d be an offer to stay rather than a demand to leave. Eimhin wasn’t so elf-y anymore, either; the Circle had changed him, even though the vallaslin inked into his skin months before his capture served a permanent reminder that this, here, was where he would always be from.

Suddenly, Sera swore. A beat later, she exclaimed, “Maker’s tits, who leaves a half-broken dagger laying around for someone to trip over?”

All three remaining in the group whirled around. Sera was frowning, hastily trying to wipe all the muck off the hilt of the blade.

Eimhin’s ears twitched uneasily. “Let me see it,” he said, brushing past Bull and Dorian to reach for the blade. Sera handed it over without any fight, and Eimhin used the end of his cloak to clean off the mud and dirt and—blood. It flaked off easily, and revealed a name carved into the hilt. “Ithara.” Eimhin swallowed thickly. “This was…“ 

He looked up, eyes scanning the desolate remains of his clan’s encampment. The bodies had long since been cleared away, buried properly under the instructions of the few scattered survivors who’d left in search of other clans to take them in. None of them wanted to remain, surrounded by such ruin—of course not. Why did Eimhin ever think it’d be a good idea to come here?

“Did you know them?”

Dorian’s voice was so quiet Eimhin had to strain to hear it amongst his thoughts. A quick glance showed him Sera’s expression had morphed from annoyance to something much more somber in only seconds, and Eimhin didn’t even want to imagine what Bull looked like.

“I did,” said Eimhin. His voice had grown even tighter as he strained to keep it from wavering. “Of course I did. She was— When I was in the human village, she was with me, an’... We were tradin’ skins, ‘cause we needed more flour and things, so– so when I—“ Eimhin took a deep breath, trying to stem the panic rising up in his chest and the tears he felt pricking at his eyes. “She tried to save me. An’ I couldn’t save her.”

“Kadan, this wasn’t your fault,” said Bull.

“It was,” said Eimhin. “Don’t fuckin’ try an’ tell me it wasn’t. If I chose better, this never would’ve happened. This shouldn’t—“ His voice cracked, and he took in a shuddering breath. Rather than turn into a blubbering mess in front of some of his closest companions, Eimhin hastily stowed the broken blade in his pouch and began to march in the quickest direction he could find that lead away from the encampment.

“You’re going?” Dorian called after him. “Amatus, Scout Harding let us know where the tree was planted. I thought you wanted to—“

“I wanna leave,” Eimhin snapped back. He refused to turn around, because the tears had already begun to fall. If he kept his distance, he knew his companions would too.

And surely enough, the three merely exchanged uneasy glances before falling into step behind Eimhin, leaving enough distance between them that they could feign ignorance over having heard his sobs.

[call-2-arms]

Character Ethnicity, Religion and Inspiration

// Because I want to talk a little about the inspiration and culture of my muses (I won’t go into too much depth about the canon ones since we know already, but I WILL mention them). This isn’t going to be heavily in detail, just a basic outline as I’ve realised I have a real passion for biracial muses--possibly because I don’t feel we see them enough in media today, especially parents of mixed race children, and simply because I enjoy the different cultures between them and how that effect their children etc. I also feel like biracial folks are shoved under the bus a LOT because they “aren’t dark enough” or “you don’t look (insert race)” and that’s bullshit, so I think I like to focus a lot on that and bring light to the situation, or at least I realised that when I was thinking about making this meta. I’ll go alphabetical through my muses (including the ones that I don’t RP here but are still part of my muses lives, and my Inquisitor Kaaras).

This will be a little long, so I’ll post it under the cut.

- Mentions of fantasy racism.

- I use a non white washing filter on my icons for those who are poc. :) PLEASE note that even with filters, DA:I lighting isn’t the best at depicting colours.

- Closed character means I do not RP them here but they are still muses I share here

- Please note that Thedas is not the country they may seem to be inspired by, but MULTIPLE countries of inspiration. These are my headcanons alone. 

Abzi Pământ: Dalish elf from Nevarra ( Egyptian / African inspired ). His clan is a stationed clan in the wilderness of Nevarra, they perform rituals for their dead much like the humans of Nevarra (Egyptian). However, their clan also practices in body modifications, scarification and body plates. Abzi’s clan has an unusually high life span for Dalish elves, which may be due to their stationed life, or their rituals to the gods. Abzi is a warm, medium to dark in skin colour. Abzi’s clan follows the Dalish gods, however, they practice their worship in different ways to most, with sacrifices and preserving their dead (mummification). Abzi’s accent is Egyptian.

Aithell’ana ‘Aith’ Adaar ( closed character ): Ex Dalish elf, ( European inspired ), who has since abandoned and refused to follow her former Dalish way of life. Aith is from the Brecillian Forest, Ferelden . When she came into her magic, she was forced to leave her clan and attacked by templars. She holds hostility towards many Dalish because of her negative experience, and refuses their gods. She was only 7 and did not gain her vallaslin before she was set to be on her way. Aith was adopted by the Adaar family (and Kaaras’ adopted sister) when Kaaras stumbled upon her in the forest. Aith is Caucasian in colour. Aith is atheist and does not believe in any gods. Aith’s accent is Welsh.

Arach Sgott ( closed character ): A city elf from Starkhaven, ( Scottish / European inspired ), he has red hair and pale, blotched skin. His grandparents were former Dalish elves, but his parents lived in the alienage. He wished to embrace his Dalish heritage, so he had facial tattoos (not vallaslin). Unfortunately, Arach’s experience with most Dalish has been negative due to their contempt towards “flat ears”, so he has stopped paying attention to his heritage and makes sure to remind others his tattoos are not vallaslin. Arach is agnostic, he doesn’t know what to believe. Arach’s accent is Scottish. 

Bastien Beaufort: Bastian is a templar of Orlais, a noble born son and biracial ( French / French Louisiana inspired ). Both mother and father are from Orlais, but his mother’s side is darker in skin tone while his father is Caucasian. His mother has Marcher ( French Louisiana inspired ) ancestry, while his father is of a strong Orlesian ( French inspired ) line. Bastien is a medium to dark skin tone. Bastien is a devout Andrastian who holds his religion very close to him, taking vows to keep himself to the Maker and Andraste (he is abstinent). As someone who was punished for his interest in other men, he believes his sexuality is a sin and he must repent. Bastien’s accent is French.

Cassandra Allegra Calogera Filomena Pentaghast: As in canon, Cassandra is of Nevarran ( Egyptian inspired ) descent, her skin colour is a light to medium, olive tone. Cassandra is a devout Andrastian, however, she can learn to accept the gods of others if given time and for someone to teach her. I have always heard a more Romanian accent when it comes to her VA, so I do believe that their accents are Romanian inspired.

Fintan ‘Finn‘ Ghilain: Finn is a Dalish elf from the Dales ( Irish inspired ). He is descended from the Ghilain clan, although he was moved as a boy with his family to Clan Durgen, who resided closer to the Frostbacks. Finn left his clan to wander alone when he was younger, due to the idea that he believed elves and humans could somehow find peace together. He is ghost white in skin tone and has the hereditary condition of Poliosis (whitening of the hair). He is spiritual in beliefs, but exceptionally open minded to all spirits and gods. Finn’s accent is Irish.

Garrett Hawke: Of Lothering, Ferelden ( European inspired ). Hawke’s father was a Marcher, olive in skin colour while Leandra was Caucasian. Hawke is of olive skin himself, a little lighter than Malcolm. Hawke is atheist, and if anything, holds contempt for any god or those who claim to be gods. Hawke’s accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Ignis Scientia: As of FFXV, Ignis is Caucasian and pale in skin colour. I do headcanon that he is of a Tenebrea blood line, however, the Scientia family has been in servitude of the Crown for such a long time that they speak the King’s tongue. Ignis follows the Six. Ignis’ accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Jaime Tywin Lannister: Of Casterly Rock, Westeros. He is Caucasian. Jaime follows the Seven, although he is more agnostic in nature. Jaime’s accent is English ( as heard in the series )

Kaaras Taashath Adaar: Kaaras is a Vashoth qunari, whose parents fled the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ) when knowing they were expecting a child. Kaaras knows little of his parents upbringing under the Qun and was ignorant as a child to why they were so much different from the other children. He grew up in Southron Hills, Ferelden, though was born in Starkhaven, aided by a Chantry sister. He is pale grey in skin tone, his father being medium to dark and his mother being pale like him. Kaaras is Andrastian, however, he is very open minded when it comes to other religions and gods, believing that all gods stemmed from some kind of truth. He loves learning of other religions and cultures. Due to growing up in Ferelden, Kaaras’ accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Latika Madan: A city born elf from Kirkwall ( Indian inspired ). She is medium to dark in colour. Her family history is one of slavery and in the alienages of the Marches. Most elves in the alienages are forced to believe in the Maker, however, Latika never took to the human beliefs. She believes in respecting ones self and inner peace, however, she will use Andrastian curses as it’s what she grew up around. Due to growing up in Kirkwall, Latika’s accent is English.

Lyna Mahariel ( closed character ): The Hero of Ferelden, born and raised in Ferelden’s wilderness in the Brecilian Forest ( Native American inspired ). Lyna is of strong Dalish heritage and faith. She is a light to medium tone in skin colour. Lyna’s accent is Welsh.

Rike Zimmerman: A Vashoth, abandoned by her parents and left on the doorstep of a small village in the Anderfels ( German / European inspired ). She was raised as humanly as possible, but has turned to a very spiritual belief. She befriends animals more than she is interested in people. She is dark in skin tone with a grey undertone. Rike’s biological parents are of the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ). Due to growing up in the Anderfels, Rike’s accent is German.

Talan’ash: Tal’Vashoth from Kont-aar, Rivain ( Spanish influenced ). Talan was born under the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ). He speaks a multitude of languages, and grew up mingling with the people of Rivain, although still subject to the strict teachings of the Qun. He still follows the beliefs of the Qunari people, that their bodies are hosts to who they are and that their spirit will move on to still fulfil its purpose, although he has struggled coming to terms with being Tal’Vashoth. He is medium to dark in skin tone, with a grey undertone. Due to growing up in Rivain, Talan’s accent is Spanish.

Tobias ‘Tobi’ Ettore Clarke: A human of Ferelden, his mother was Chasind ( Māori inspired ) and his father was Antivan ( Italian inspired ). He grew up with a mixed childhood when it came to culture and language, as well as religious beliefs. Tobi hated feeling different from everyone else, so he embraced his mother’s Chasind heritage, hoping that he would be welcome to their village one day. Tobi is atheist and frowns upon anyone who believes they require worship. Tobi is olive skinned. His face and body tattoos are linked to his Chasind heritage ( Māori inspired ). Due to growing up in Ferelden, his accent is English.

[brialavellan]

€ 👀

Ok, so deep in my old blog, I touched on the fact that 'Manehn had a short term relationship with a human noble (Anatasie Trevelyan, sister of my Trevelyan OC) that ended very badly with her getting almost killed by hired goons. I can't link the post rn but I'll prob reblog it at some point. Anyway, here is a bit where she reminisces about that relationship.

----

She touches the scar above her right eye and rubs the ridging. Punishment to fit the crime of infatuation.

She was saved by a miracle, the random passing of clanmates that heard her struggle and scream for help against the bandits that descended upon her, hired by a noble house of Ostwick to punish her for her audacity. 

She was young. Naive. Fetishization was validation. Her noble born lover would trace the lines of her vallaslin and kiss the points of her ears. She would gape in repulsed awe as 'Manehn recounted every little detail of clan life or the tales of her heathen gods. She would giggle in patronizing glee when she tripped on a Common word or mangled a human idiom. 

'Manehn would sing her name in her ear as they made love, part worship, part practice to perfect how she spoke it. 

Now, when she speaks her name, she mangles it, ruins it. It ferments into bitter bile that she spits out and curses. 

A curse on House Trevelyan. A curse on the highborn that dare to dock her ears, strip her face bare, and make her less. She is more now. She is Herald. If they will not bend, she will make them break. 

---

Thank you for the ask ❤️!!!

[roseategales]

LET YOUR LOVE BE

summary: post-crestwood. after returning from a battle gone wrong, eludysia wakes to find solas seated by her bedside, having cared for her. inevitably, it results in their familiar tug-and-pull, and a confrontation. rating: t for teen categories: hurt/comfort, mild angst, fix-it. pairing: solavellan content warnings: mentions of blood and injury. word count: 1,534 alternate link: ao3 author’s notes: a completely self-indulgent exploration of my favourite trope: “my love almost DIED and losing them is now so much more REAL!” this is actually meant to be read as two chapters; the prologue and the main arc. however, as the prologue is so short anyway, it’s included in this post and simply separated from the main chapter by a single line. | EDIT: 1/10/2019: so. i wrote this fic and oh, sweet memory several months ago, when i just finished the game and was super excited and i had to write because what else would i do with a grieving heart over this awesome and terrible ship y’know. however, the result of that and my subsequent obsession with this game series meant that i would further develop the lavellan in this fic, to the point that she is quite different from what you’re reading in these two first fics for her. the essence of her character is there, but she is different. i may rewrite these two fics to reflect that one day, but for now, please bear that in mind when reading.

It's all chaos. It's all a haze. The reins are slipping though she grips with what strength she has left.

There's a caustic pain, from where a Red Templar blade thrust between her ribs. The wound is festering and the bandages are dampening from blood and sweat. Shouts and murmurs echo in her ears, past the thundering of her pulse. Wind whistles, and she shivers. Briefly, she registers Cassandra and Cullen calling for mages and healers. People part, allowing her horse and retinue to trot through Skyhold's gates. And as they enter the courtyard, someone rushes to her side and lifts her off the saddle, onto a pallet. Her body groans and shrieks from the pain of moving. People gather around. So many. She thinks she sees Solas among them, and hears his voice calling for answers, furious. She wants to respond. 

But consciousness slips, and she fades into darkness.

                                                     ——————

The humming fire is not what wakes her; it is a simple song that keeps her breathing calm, and consciousness comfortably within reach and not. What pulls her awake, instead, is the flashes of days prior. She can see it all still: A sudden surge of Red Templar activity on the Coast, a call for reinforcements. Their full strength not yet recovered from the Arbor Wilds. The decision made to lead the charge herself. Unexpected numbers found leaping from forest shade. Lightning in the sky. Inquisition men and women braving bones cut by blades and soaked by heavy rain. She’d cast a barrier, but not quick enough. 

And she was struck. 

Red overcame everything she saw. Red lyrium, red blood seeping from her side. She opened her mouth to scream, but piercing pain convulsed and drowned out the sound. Her body simply lay, gasping. The last thing she knew before black overtook, were the orders of Commander Cullen to defend her, the Inquisitor, and the rest of their fallen brethren. 

Everything after, Eludysia could only recall as a tumult of frantic hands and worried whispers.

But that was then and there. Here, the air is warm and dry, and soft cotton sheets wrinkle beneath her palms. Her armor has been stripped and her clothes changed. No longer is she sticky in spilled blood and dirt, though a thin layer of sweat can be felt covering her skin. And she feels the bandages have been changed, too; the wound that lay beneath them no longer shrieking like bones splintering apart, but healed into a cool, dull ache. The result of magic, it would seem. 

With that in focus, a part of her longs for continued rest again. Yet sleep wavers further and further away, the waking world making itself known in the former’s place. Slowly, groaning, she lifts the present weight off her lids to get a look at her surroundings— to find Solas seated on a chair beside her bed, relief at once easing a crease between his brows.

"You're awake," he whispers, a smile hovering on his lips.

"Yes," she manages. Her throat tightens and grates at the movement, dry as a mouthful of sand. How long was she asleep? A day? Two? Long enough.

He reaches out to her, and she lets him. Pillows are propped and she is gingerly set against them, wary of her healing ribs and anything that would bring strain. He then walks over to the desk, where a goblet awaits its filling from a jug of water, and he returns to place it in her hands. She accepts and mouths a thank you, before gulping down the whole of its contents.

It's like clockwork, the give and take of care. A white, warm comfort that blooms and they settle too easily into. But their gazes meet, and they know it cannot last, a cavern of silence and unsaid truths since Crestwood opening between them. 

"Tell me you don't care," she cried, bare, confused, angry. Looking to save herself. To place the blame solely on him.

"I can't do that," he'd said, denying her even that, though he withdrew from her without so little as an answer for why.

And so, in her disbelief, in a desperate attempt to salvage and hide what was left of the heart that he took, she pushed him further away. Emotionally. Physically. In spite of herself. "Tell me I was some casual dalliance, so I can call you a coldhearted son of a bitch and move on!"

"I'm sorry."

She winces at the memory. It lashes and echoes as they watch each other, hesitant and locked. Ensnared by questions and rising, pulsing heartbeats. One waiting for the other to make the first move.

It’s taken by Solas.

"I should inform the council of your waking." With that, he steps to the door. He is three paces away when—

"No, wait," the words leap past Eludysia's lips before she can catch them. 

He stops, and looks back at her with his head tilted to the side and a brow raised.

"Wh..." She tries to begin, the sudden boldness dissipating as she knows there is no return from what is to come. A breath is drawn and she braces herself. "Why are you here, Solas?"

The planes of his features harden as if iron, his posture stiffening and hands folding behind his back, as if he was and is nothing more than a blade to her army. Another soldier for the Inquisition's cause. "When you arrived at Skyhold—"

"You know what I meant."

But of course he does. He blinks, and just like that, his shoulders lower and their lines soften, as does his gaze. And he becomes nothing but a man again. "I saw you laying there, bleeding and feverish... And I was worried, afraid of losing you."

Does he know what he's doing? What he has done to her? She wonders at this, considers the weight of his confession. Her grip tightens around the goblet still her in hands, pressing against the metal, marking lines onto her skin. And heat pricks at her eyes, even as she tries to look at everything, anything but him, to hold her own. It does little good to stop the tears from creeping in, however. Leaving her to relent, with a quivering sigh, meeting his grey eyes with green. "If that's the truth... Why did we end what we had? After…?"

"Because you deserve better than what I can give," he says as if simple and plain.

That takes her aback. The unveiling of her people’s errors, removing her vallaslin, the talk of duty... All of this pain, all he would not say... Because she was put on a pedestal of his own making? She shakes her head. "Shouldn't I get a say in that?" Sharp pleading breaks her voice. Tears brim and fall, and she permits them so. "What do you see me as?"

Something flickers behind his eyes. A spark that’s there and gone. Too fast for her to fully name. "Must you ask?”

“Yes!” She hisses, simmering fury spilling through gritted teeth. “Because I have no idea what your intentions are anymore! You tell me I deserve better, but you treat me as undeserving of knowing you. You say that you’re afraid of losing me, but you were the one who decided our end. And now here you are... You can’t have things both ways, Solas.” Throat thick and straining, face stained by tears, wound throbbing from building pressure— She groans and gasps for air and relief.

In an instant, an emerald glow appears at her side, cast under his hand, coaxing the pressure to alleviate. She sinks into the pillows as it does so, willing steady breaths. That he is suddenly so close, his back bent forwards and face just above hers, does not escape notice. If she simply held up her fingertips, she could trace the tensed jawline she so often kissed, brush away the deep frown on his lips.

She doesn’t.

It’s not right. None of this is right. 

There’s a pull to avert her eyes again. Perhaps second attempt would bode better. Or, better yet, closing them. Pushing his wrist away. Letting him go one last time. Even at the cost of a lie.

 She would, but then—

“I am so sorry, vhenan. I never— I never meant for you to get hurt.”

His voice is just shy of a whisper, but it’s enough to capture her widened eyes, and to turn them tender and still. Apologetic, for her part in the mess they’d made.

"I'm sorry,” comes her careful reply, tone leveled with his. “For walking away. But, ma’lath... I am no more than the woman you see. I’m real. I’m here."

“I know.” He sighs. Her breathing relaxed, his hand moves to join its counterpart in cradling her face, tilting her head slightly back so he can look upon her in clear view. His thumb wipes away the tears on her cheek, and for a moment, for a heartbeat, the words, the excuses he might mean to say are without form and are wrest from him. “That is… frightening.”

She places a hand over his, holding it firmly in place. “Why?”

He chuckles. “How should I begin?”

[jawsandbones]

Epilogue

Pairing: Zevran x M!Warden Rating: T (Violence, Major Character Death) Major Angst Warning Summary: The Warden sets a price for the removal of the taint. Zevran is the one who pays it.  AO3 Link: Click Here

for @lynngo-art, an alternate ending

A golden painted palm against his cheek, a thumb pressed to his forehead. A burning, as he moves it, paints a twisted vallaslin. More than skin deep, and Surana doesn’t speak it, but he knows his soul marked. A life for a life. A god takes away the taint in his veins, and he thinks he knows the price he’s paying. “You are mine,” Elgar’nan tells him, “you will come when I call.” Zevran, his hand in his, holding it tightly, turning a worried glance towards him. Surana does not look away from the god before him, puts his other fist to his chest, and bows low. Such disdain in his eyes, for these poor imitations of elves.

There was no other choice. Zevran had woken one morning, turned to face him. Sun shining on his cheek, in his hair, softly sleeping. A smile, as he slipped his hand underneath his shirt, raised it, intending to press kisses to his shoulder blades. Instead his fingertips had traced webbed lines, poisoned veins. Stains over scars, under skin, and Zevran had pressed his face against his back and sobbed. They had run out of time. A price. A cost.

They had been unleashed to kill a wolf. Now, they refuse to sleep. Naïve, to think that Elgar’nan and the rest would have been put back in their cage before the price could be paid. For the first time in years, Zevran had woken without Surana by his side. It had started as a churning worry in his gut. Some spreading horror that only grew with each passing day. He had searched everywhere, until, word reached him.

The Warden.

The Hero of Ferelden.

The General of Elgar’nan’s armies.

He had called. Surana had answered. Zevran chases him west. They are not hard to follow. The world was once theirs. They believe it will be again. Zevran doesn’t care. He just wants his Warden back. There are whispers on the streets. The Evanuris walk into a city. They call for their devoted. Out of the woods, Dalish with glowing vallaslin come. They thought they were honoring their gods, and instead, they gave them the keys to their control. Tattoos that laid dormant until gods walked the earth once again.

Elgar’nan looks at him with the same disdain now, as he did then. Lounging back on his throne, touched by wild magic. The centuries spent in the Fade have not been kind. Twisted by demon and spirit alike, stitching them to his very being. Zevran doesn’t look at him, but the one who stands beside him. They have dressed him in gold, and on his forehead, the painted vallaslin shines. Somehow, seeing it feels worse than seeing the taint in his back. “Caro,” he says, extending his hand forward, “come to me.”

“You dare try and take him from me?” Elgar’nan leans forward. That solitary horn at the left side of his face, the eye that glows red. The other, a perfect yellow. Long, lithe limbs, filled with strength. The magic has long been in his bones, a power unmatched, untouchable, and the orb underneath one of his palms. Zevran keeps his chin high. Around him, the court watches. Elves, muted and chained. Puppets, marionettes, but he cannot save all of them. Not today. Only one.

“Caro,” he says again, keeps his hand out. Surana looks at him, through him, turns to Elgar’nan. Rising from his throne, down those stairs, heavy and echoing footsteps. He stands before him, towers over him. Zevran refuses to cower. In the silence, they stare at each other. Zevran knows he cannot kill this one. It’s why he didn’t come along. Outside the ruined hall, a horn sounds. Ferelden, Orlais, Inquisition. A horde awaits. Elves begin to empty the hall, to face these challengers, as Elgar’nan thunders displeasure.

He turns to Surana. “Deal with this one, and then return to my side.” 

His leaving is a weight lifted, but Zevran knows they have little time. Surana is walking down the steps of the throne. Drawing an empty hilt, and with a twitch of his shoulders, the sword ignites. Made of lightning, and magic, a hum of intensity. Surana’s eyes are blank, his orders given, and so he will obey. Zevran’s hand falls back to his side. Two hilts. Two daggers. Knuckles white as he holds them tightly.

He had faced this battle once before. On a field of green, when they were both so young. “I told you once,” Zevran says, “I am your man, without reservation. Always. Please do not make me do this, mi amor. I do not want to do this.” He can’t stop his voice from cracking. Surana’s steps quicken, racing forward, an arc of light against the stone floor as he attacks forward. Zevran raises the right dagger, catches it. Twisting the arcane blade past him as he strikes forward with the left dagger.

Surana steps back, bringing the blade around, forcing Zevran to duck. Wisps of hair fall, long hair not quite so long anymore. Zevran rolls forward, makes a swipe for Surana’s feet. If he could only get the tendon – lighting buries itself before him and Zevran bounces back. They are back to the beginning, facing each other. As they circle one another, they can hear it outside. Two armies clash, and they don’t know which side is winning.

“I know you do not want this. Your family is waiting for you,” Zevran tells him. A twitch, in Surana’s ears. Flattening slightly, a sign that he is listening. “Fight this, amor.” Gesturing at his forehead. “It is unbecoming, belonging to someone else.” Crossing his daggers, shielding himself from the blow. The arcane sword shines brightly, cracks with ribbons of lightning.

“You are stronger than this,” Zevran says as they struggle. Pushing back against the blade that presses down, and for now, they stand in place, the both of them unable to break. He’s never fought fairly. Kicking out, smashing the heel of his boot against Surana’s knee. Staggering back, and he looks to take advantage, but – a streak of lightning flies past his head, smashes into the post behind him. Marble crumbles, the pillar crumbles with it, and Zevran is still moving forward. Surana moves at the last second as the dagger whizzes by his cheek, leaves a red line. It heals without effort.

“Rémi!” Surana recoils, at the sound of his name. “Break free of this!” Instead, a dash forward, the blade sweeping, and in his other hand, the flame. Flickering light against his face, the emptiness in his eyes. There’s only one choice. Zevran flips the dagger in his hand, dashes forward. Catching the sword with one, stretching forward with the other. Rémi hisses pain as metal buries itself in his shoulder, that soft spot between his armor, but the arm goes dead and the flame with it. Zevran twists the blade, hates the sound of his scream in his ears.

“I know, amor, bear with it for me,” he says. Wrenching it free, kicking Rémi back. Zevran keeps him off balance. A well place slash here. The stab, just there. They wound each other. Where the arcane blade touches Zevran, a scar of unique pattern. Scars of white that crisscross from the wound, a winding maze of magic. They exhaust each other. Panting with heavy breath, movements that begin to slow. Rémi has the advantage he’s always had. His wounds heal with a thought, reaching into his deep well of magic.

He casts aside the hilt, and the blade goes dim. Instead, the lightning stretches between fingertips. Dashing forward, hands outstretched. He ignores the dagger put through his palm, and holds it by the hilt. “Zevran,” hoarse, cracked, broken, choked effort, crimson on his lips. The other dagger, in his side, his belly. The magic disintegrates, fades into nothing as he falls to his knees, as Zevran falls with him.  

“Rémi,” he says, wide eyed. Taking him into his arms, holding him close. He’s healed from worse than this. Why isn’t he healing? Brushing back the strands of hair twisted in sweat, hands clammy against his cheek. The vallaslin still shines. Such confusion, in his brows. A caught question in them, blinking as he looks up at Zevran. His lips are moving, some distant sound, and Zevran isn’t sure if he’s trying to say thank you or ask him why.

“You were holding back,” Zevran says bitterly as the tears roll down, “why were you holding back? You could have killed me, a thousand times over.” He squeezes him tightly. “You always do this Caro, letting me live when I do not deserve it.”

The vallaslin turns to ash. Crumbling at the edges, falling away. “You and I knew there was no other way.” Zevran’s always loved the green of his eyes. It isn’t relief, to see them now. “Don’t look so sad. I’ve had… a good life… celebrate it for me…?” A smile and Rémi reaches up, trembling fingertips on Zevran’s lips. “Thank you. For everything. I love you… so, so, much. My heart.” Zevran catches his hand when it falls.

The battle still rages, outside. It doesn’t matter. Zevran rocks slowly back and forth, Rémi held tenderly in his arms. Cradling him close, so carefully, gently. His chin shakes, his eyes squeezed closed. Forehead pressed against forehead, and the tears fall from Zevran’s cheeks, onto Rémi’s. It builds inside of him, that scratching horror, screams from his lips. He screams until he can scream no more, throat bloody and raw. He holds him so tightly, and his heart beats so loudly, that for a moment, he can almost pretend it’s Rémi’s heart that beats instead. He cries, and Rémi cannot wipe his tears away. Not this time. Not anymore.

They had slept together in the same tent, after Zevran had given him the earring. Side by side, facing each other. Rémi had slept so soundly. Listening to the soft sounds of dreams, steady breathing, and their hands clasped between them. Zevran had studied the lines of his face from the curve of his nose to the swell of his lips. Long dark lashes, and when he woke in the morning, the green underneath. Rémi had smiled at the sight of him, so close, leaned in for the kiss. Laughing at the sleep on his breath, limbs tangling together.

[loghainmactir]

just you and i; repost edition

title: two last wardens  series: just you and i (1/?) relationships: male warden/loghain mac tir, male warden/alistair theirin characters: padril mahariel, alistair theirin words: 1.4k summary: The Landsmeet is only a day away, and the stress is beginning to wear at Mahariel. After disappearing into the crowds of Denerim, a friend comes to console him. notes: Hi y’all! Because of tumblr’s brand new hatred of posts with links, I’m just reposting the full fic chapters here. They’ll still be on AO3, but I’ll no longer be only updating JUST AO3. Anyway, here it is!

They had arrived in Denerim a little after midday. With foreheads glistening under the bright afternoon sun, they headed to the estate in the centre of the Market. Still dirtied and bloody from their travels, they're treated to a lunch much bigger and luxurious than they’d had in years. Two impossibly large birds sat at either end of the table, vegetables plated around them. Padril hadn’t seen that amount of food all together in one spot before in his life, and he ate little. He swore if he swallowed anything, it’d just come back up again.

Escorted through the estate by Eamon, they made themselves comfortable where-ever they were told to. After a whole year on the road, sleeping with moth-eaten blankets and weather-worn tents, wearing the same set of armour every day- it was difficult to adjust. The Arl's estate was so wildly different to what they’d gotten used to that it was jarring.

As soon as everyone was looking elsewhere, Padril escaped outside.

They’d been to Denerim a few times before for the odd job or necessary purchase. Nothing that ever required more than a day’s stay, but the experiences made the crowds less overwhelming. Regardless, he kept Eamon’s estate within eyesight the entire time. He imagined it was all too easy to lose one single elf in this city; if anyone really needed him, they’d find him easily.

Padril settled at a stall run by an elderly human woman. She was hunched over and covered in wolf furs to protect her from the chilly Ferelden wind, her grey hair tied back in a tight bun. Her little wooden table was full of hand-made scented candles and soaps and incense. If she ever turned her nose up at his pointed ears and the vallaslin on his skin, he didn’t notice.

His eyes scanned the table for a moment, and he plucked a bar of cream soap from it. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in; it smelt like honey and vanilla, and he paid three gold extra for it. Well, he was going to die in the next few days, he figured he’d better smell good doing it. Padril turned around, about to pocket the soap, but instead he ran straight into what felt like a big, human-shaped metal wall.

They caught his elbow as he stumbled backwards, and a light chuckle came from them– oh, it was Alistair. He hadn’t removed his armour– then again, neither had Padril– and it made him look bigger than he already was. Alistair was tall and soft under all that metal. Good for hugs. But running into him like that kinda stung.

For the first time in a longest time, there was a warm smile on Alistair’s face. “Hey there, bud,” He greeted. “Preparing for the Landsmeet?”

A smirk played on his face. As much as he had come out to avoid the Landsmeet discussion, Alistair was one of his best friends. So Padril offered the bar to him. “Yeah, actually. Thought you could use it! You’re the worst smelling shem I’ve ever met!”

Alistair laughed and took the bar– his face crinkled as he smelt it and he tossed it back to him with a shake of his head. “I’m much more of a, uh, lavender kinda guy.” He admitted. “Uh—if you’re not busy right now, d’you– um, want to go talk?” Padril gave a sharp nod, and he followed him out of the market, hit the main streets of Denerim.

The streets were full of people; refugees from the blight were everywhere. Bleeding and crying in the alleyways, sleeping on steps, begging for copper at the corners. It was hard to move, and it took almost thirty minutes just to walk to the docks. Padril kept his hand on his coin-purse the entire trip.

They settled on the end of one of the wooden piers. Padril pried off his leather boots and let his feet dangle to the water underneath. Alistair sat a little back, made sure his metal boots didn't get wet. The sun was warm, and the water was bright blue and sparkling. For everything that was happening and was about to happen– it was beautiful. As beautiful as a city like Denerim could be, anyway.

For a few moments they sat in a comfortable silence, staring out at the Amaranthine Ocean. It was then that Alistair cleared his throat. “So... it’s tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

A hollow laugh escaped Padril’s throat. “I don’t know how we’re gonna do this. The Landsmeet— it’s full of nobles who’ve known Loghain their whole life. Or, almost. What have we done to earn their trust? For all they know, we’re the traitors.”

“Funnily enough, when you left that’s what Eamon talked about. He says there’s some who aren’t too sure about him. Like we can convince them we’re worth listening to, that the Blight is the real threat here.” Alistair scowled for a second as silence fell over them again. His voice grew grave. “We can do it. We have to. For Cailan. For Duncan. They need justice.”

As sure as Alistair sounded, Padril wasn’t quite there. “I’m so tired of everything.” He sighed heavily. “I want it to be over.” A thick arm wrapped around him, and suddenly, Padril was leaning into it— it was grounding, comforting.

“We can do this,” He repeated. “I mean, really, look at what we’ve survived so far. Zevran’s assassination attempt—“ That made Padril laugh, “The tower, the Anvil. We found Andraste’s ashes, Padril. We did that! What’s one more man to us, huh? That’s all he is.” It was clear he was trying to be reassuring. He was trying so hard— Padril appreciated it. “And afterwards we’ll go to Highever for Duncan, and Orlais for Leliana and Sten’ll go to Par Vollen but we’ll bake him cookies. We’ll have to find Wynne a giant quilted blanket—“ He stopped himself. “We’ll be ok.”

“Eamon will still want you to be king, you know.”

“I know.” He sounded so uncomfortable— Padril felt guilty for even mentioning it. “But they’ll find someone else. I mean, they’ve got to. I— I’d make a horrible king. A terrible one. Really! Could you imagine it? Me, in all those fancy robes? Ick.” Alistair pulled away, then, and gave a shudder. ��Morrigan’d never let me live it down. I can hear her mocking me now. And all those meetings they have to attend— nuh-uh. Nope! It’s just… such a bad idea.”

He’d started to ramble. Usually, Padril would’ve listened regardless– but his mind was wandering. The cold seawater splashed against his legs, and he kicked it back.

“They’ll find some poor sod who actually wants it,” Alistair continued. “Like– oh, maybe one of the Couslands. I know they’re, um, few in numbers these days, but I think the youngest and the oldest children are still around. Fergus– the older one, I think?– is meant to be pretty popular. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway–“ He caught himself again, and quickly shut himself up. He could tell he was starting to feel self-conscious, now. It radiated off of him like heat, made the silence enveloping them awkward and uncomfortable.

So the elf nudged him in the ribs with his elbow and offered his most reassuring smile. It was a struggle, but for Alistair, he’d muster it. “I love you, y’know. And so does everyone else. We won’t let anyone rope you into something you don’t wanna do.” He promised.

It got Alistair smiling, at the very least. “I love you too, bud. Y’know, out of everyone it could’ve been– I’m glad I have you here. I dunno if we’d have gotten this far without you.”

Padril couldn’t help it, but he snorted. “Oh, trust me,” He grabbed his boots from where they sat by his side. “Anyone could’ve done this a lot better.” Before he could protest, Padril yanked a spare rag from the pouches at his belt, dried the water from his skin, and pulled on his boots. “C’mon. We better go see who Eamon thinks we should butter up first.”

He offered his hand down to his friend, and Alistair took it. Padril made sure he was a few steps ahead of him, avoiding his eyes. The Landsmeet loomed over his head. And what awaited them if they really did fail? Execution? Loghain would never realize the threat of the Blight in time. It was already too late. The past year would be for nothing, and Ferelden would probably fall. And it’d all be on him.

Creators, Padril thought. Why hadn’t everyone just left me to rot like they had Tamlen?

[crab-the-shrimpaler]

MEET THE INQUISITION: CASCA LAVELLAN

Class: Dalish elf, Sword and Shield Reaver 

Fun facts: _Casca wears Viridium and Serpentstone armor, putting her at risk in urban combat (since she stands out like a sore thumb), but allowing her to blend into rural and forest environments. When asked why she chooses the arguably garish materials, she will simply admit that she likes green. 

_When asked, Casca will say that she is unsure of, or doesn’t care about her sexuality. She is quiroromantic and pansexual, with a preference for masculine presenting. 

_She takes time out of each day to meditate and worship Mythal. During this time, usually only Dorian knows where to find her. 

_Casca’s completion of Reaver training and her split with Solas occurred very close together, causing a few dangerous incidents of her losing control of her Reaver state in Skyhold. (see Fiction “She Dreams in Red”)  _Casca is obsessed with citrus flavored cakes, and is especially fond of lime and orange flavors.  _Her distrust and dislike of humans stayed with her throughout her time with the inquisition, only letting up for one individual: Dorian, with whom she bonded very strongly. 

_After allowing Solas to remove her Vallaslin, Casca hand embroidered the symbol on a scrap of Halla leather, which she wears over her heart under her armor.

_While she sees their appeal, Casca hates sleeping in a bed and can often be found sleeping underneath her simple bed in Skyhold where she has created a bedroll of furs and skins.  Appearance: Prior to allowing Solas to remove her Vallaslin, Casca was what Sera referred to as “freakishly elfy.” She proudly bore a golden vallaslin honoring Mythal, to whom she is extremely devout. The full, ornate mark reached from the top of her forehead to the wing of her collar-bone, covering his eyes, mouth, and neck.  Her features are buggish and other-wordly, massive eyes and ears tending to put off non-elvhen on lookers. She is tall for her race, and extremely muscular from her time as a hunter as well as her training in the inquisition. She can easily be described as brawny, with broad shoulders and particularly strong arms and legs.  The right side of her face is deeply scarred from a demon attack, but her sight and facial expressions remain intact. Her teeth are a bit too big for her mouth, sometimes making her lips appear shallow or pinched or her smile seem strange. 

Personality: Inquisitor Lavellan is self-described as being aggressively Dalish. She is extremely proud of her heritage and deeply dedicated to bringing her people’s past back to light. She is well-versed in elvhen lore, particularly that of Mythal to whom she is dedicated. With elves and other races she finds trustworthy (read: not humans), Casca is genial and witty. She has been known to be boisterous when having fun, loudly singing and exchanging stories in the tavern.  Her distrust of humans has colored her reputation as the inquisitor, however. Casca comes off as extremely calculated, silent even around humans. Until they earn her respect, she is a completely closed book. She only grew close to Cassandra and Leliana as Inquisitior: Cassandra as a bond of mutual respect, and Leliana for her connection to the Hero of Fereldan (also a Dalish elf) and support of Casca’s decision to put Briala in power. Cullen and Blackwall earned her ire early in their meetings by being the picture of what Casca knows as arrogant shem.  To those who don’t know better, Casca can seem shy at best, and two-faced at worst. In reality, she holds tightly to the trauma of her people, desperately hoping that the power she was given in the Inquisition can give her the opportunity to bring justice to them. Those who understand and don’t stand in her way earn the caring, loving trust of the elven warrior. Those who are indifferent or refuse to listen earn nothing but the stony facade. 

Party: Iron Bull/Cole/Solas ;; Dorian/Cole/Iron Bull -- Trust is extremely important to Casca, and so she rarely takes out human traveling companions. After his sudden change of heart, Casca finds it difficult to bring Solas into the venture party and instead relies on Dorian. 

Love Story: Whether Casca truly loved Solas as deeply as she thought at the time is up for debate. She was immediately enthralled with his poise and knowledge, and found that spending time with him was one of the few respites she felt from the pressures of the Inquisition. She came to rely on Solas not only for knowledge of her people -- something she hungered after so deeply that she believes it could have colored her feelings for Solas -- but for political and military advice as well. They were nigh inseparable from the time of their meeting to the point when Casca drank from the Well of Sorrows.  This was when things went wrong. In the grotto, Solas’ words regarding truth stuck deep in Casca’s mind. She began to realize that she had felt all along that Solas was hiding something, dangling knowledge just before her without giving it all away. The break of the relationship was less painful for her than the break in trust. She was devastated by the loss of her relationship with Solas and truly broken by his cold, unattached attitude towards her after his decision. The pressure of the inquisition combined with the loss caused Casca’s Reaver abilities to spiral out of control until she could properly digest and heal from the ordeal. Shortly after the defeat of Corypheus, Casca strikes up a physical relationship with the Iron Bull, largely on prompting from Dorian who insisted that his lover and his best friend both could use the release. Having a sexual relationship with another Reaver is extremely satisfying for Casca, and she finds herself now in a queer-platonic V-triad with Dorian and Bull. They travel together, Dorian jokingly referring to Casca and Bull as his bodyguard and his spouse respectively, delighting in the confusion that ensues. Though she is extremely happy in her situation now, there is likely no romance in Casca’s future. Solas was the only romantic interest that Casca ever had, and retains that place of honor in her heart, despite her anger towards him. **I haven’t played Trespasser yet!** 

Post-Game: Casca stays extremely dedicated to the Inquisition until her death, acting as Inquisitor, adviser, ambassador, and whatever other need the cause might have. She spends long chunks of time away from Skyhold, visiting with the Hero of Fereldan and Hawke at their home hidden deep in the Hinterlands. What time she doesn’t spend in the Hinterlands with Alan, Zevran, Matai, Merrill, and Shale, she spends in Tevinter with her family: Dorian studying and politicking, Iron Bull training and attempting not to growl at every passerby.  Casca often refers to the Hero of Fereldan and those with whom he lives as her clan, and considers them, as well as Dorian and Bull as such.  Fiction: “She Dreams in Red” - the account of Casca’s ‘dragon rage’ after the loss of Solas  “Honey and Lavender” - Solavellan date in Val Royeux  “Scent” - Casca and Bull hook up, finally.  **Links will be added as the fiction is finished**

[felassan]

Notes and thoughts on the Companion Week day 1 screenshots

This screenshot of Harding looks like the same scene as this one. why are there so many screenshots of Harding injured? this is at least 4 now 😭 In this one it looks like she's had some of her injuries for a while - the big cut on her forehead has stitches.

as always the texture on her clothes, like the fur collar, and the raindrops on her clothes and things like that, look incredible. she has cute lil spiral patterns on her collar. the green lighting coming from stage right is ominous.

This screenshot of Davrin we first saw here, it's a crop of that one. he is so ears.

This screenshot of Bellara I think is new. she looks happy here and I'm eyeballing the details of her vallaslin. in the center of her forehead it almost looks like a sun or a sunburst.

This screenshot of Taash we first saw here. it's a crop of that one. thoughts on that one at the bottom of this post.

This screenshot of Lucanis is new - the background looks like a wall of ice? Are they in a very cold place at this point, or has a mage (perhaps Neve? :D) cast a wall of ice spell not long before this shot was taken? in this screenshot we have a better view of the bird skull adornment that he wears at his collar, and the two on his jacket. I'm still really curious about what are the five purple vial-looking things on his chest? he looks like he would have Crows feet when he smiles, and is that a knit-wear jumper he's wearing under the jacket?

This screenshot of Emmrich is new. adorable Manfred photobomb. in the background it looks like shelves with [?] goblets and rolls of parchment/scrolls - maybe this shot is from Emmrich's area in the Lighthouse? Manfred is so cute here and Emmrich looks super charming. Emmrich has a skull pin at his collar. (the slim cropped version of this screenshot is criminal as it cuts out Manfred hhhh nooo)

This screenshot of Neve I think is new. I'm not sure if it's inside or outside, but I think the background looks like Docktown. in the background, someone is cooking some kind of animal over a fire, and there are links of sausage (how do you call them?) hung up behind them. the general vibe makes me think of inside or just outside this Docktown tavern.

This screenshot of Davrin I think is new. he's so handsome, I trust him immediately. idk, something about this screenshot feels like 'hey we are meeting them for the first time' vibes. there's greenery in the background, so this looks to be outdoors somewhere. I wonder if it's the same scene as when he appears at around 1:09 in the release date reveal trailer. like he jumps down from the rock and this shot is from the subsequent conversation or something. there are some neat thoughts on the design of Davrin’s armor here. :>

This screenshot of Lucanis is new. with the ice in the background and general atmosphere, it looks like it's from the same scene as the Lucanis screenshot above. after rewatching the release date reveal trailer, I'm thinking this scene is the "I'm ready" scene. in the background of that moment in the trailer is a big wall of ice. the vibe is 'this is Lucanis during the conversation you have with him after the Venatori are dead' or something.

This screenshot of Bellara I think is a different crop of the one of Bellara above.

on the flaming cards.

lastly, from the flaming cards, the fire on each companion's card was a different hue. it seems like each companion has a color.

Harding - green. compared to Emmrich's green it's more limey Davrin - blue Bellara - red? I don't know how to describe it but it's a slightly different shade to Neve Lucanis - purple Taash - orange Emmrich - greenish. compared to Harding it's more turquoise/cyan Neve - red? I don't know how to describe it but it's a slightly different shade to Bellara

it looks like the flame colors correspond to the colors each companion pin was at SDCC. (you can see the companion pins from SDCC here). there, Harding was green, Davrin was blue, Bellara was red-red, Lucanis was purple, Taash was amber/orange, Emmrich was a slightly more tealy green, and Neve was a pinky-red or magenta kinda vibe.

[skiesofeternity]

Skies of Eternity Chapter 4 (Tera x DAI crossover)

Skies of Eternity Chapter 4 (Tera x DAI crossover)

Rating: Teen and up

Pairings: DorianXMale Lavellan (in later chapters)

Warnings: None so far

Fandoms: Tera Online, Dragon Age Inquisition

You do not need to know about Tera online to read this story.

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6452602/chapters/14767501

Higher Resolution of scenes: https://miadrawsart.tumblr.com/post/158769843134/better-resolution-of-the-pictures-from-my

Chapter 4

Questions

“This is so much BULLSHIT!” Eruno yelled in frustration. She punched the stone wall of the cell, the guards stationed outside the bars fidgeted.

“Eruno. Behave.” Eirai warned her younger sister sternly.

Eruno huffed, dropping down to the floor on her blanket in a cross-legged position with her arms crossed in annoyance.

Zyllian sat with her back against the wall, her steel mask taken away. She wrapped the flimsy blanket around her neck to cover the lower half of her face. Tucking her knees under her arms, her thin-leather gloved hands curled into fists. The Reaper felt exposed without her scythes and armor but she did not put up a fuss like her younger sibling. She refused to show any weakness.

Eirai was beside Erune’s sleeping form on the straw cot. The eldest sister continued to stroke the young Elin’s hair as she slept. “We must be patient. Remember, we are foreigners in another world-it is best that we avoid instigating any kind of conflict.”

The squirrel Elin let out a noise of frustration and fell flat on her back, her bushy tail knocking around the dust. After a few minutes passed, she tucked her head back up. “By the way, what happened to lil’ sis? She ok?”

“She’s fine. She just used up all her mana that her body could hold.” The Reaper’s sudden voice startled the guards for a moment as they had barely heard the third Elin speak before. “She’s recharging it through the Dream.”

“But doesn’t she usually just need quick nap, or a good night’s sleep? She’s been out of it since she helped the elf-guy deal with the Breach.”

“It’s because we’re in a different world, and the only thing that links ours to this one is the Fade rift. It takes more effort to be able to reach the Dream from here. Hence why she’s taking so long.” Zyllian murmured. “I can feel her presence there and her body still needs time to regain her mana.”

“Because we are so far away from our world, we must be careful in using our willpower sparingly.” Eirai spoke. Zyllian nodded in acknowledgement. The four would have to rely more on their physical strength.

The three heard the sound of the main door of the cellar opening. They watched the guards salute as the two women from earlier come in, followed by a man with curly blonde hair and a thick fur coat over part his armor and the bald elf with the short, stocky man.

Leaping to her feet, Eruno grabbed at the bars and scowled at the one the redhead had referred to as Cassandra before the Elins had been detained. “So what’s the big idea?! We’ve been waiting here for a day now!”

Cassandra glared. “I would hold my tongue if I were you.”

“Oh yeah?!” Eruno pointed back. “You better have some explanation as to WHY you arrested us-especially AFTER I saved your ass back there!” Sneering, she continued. “You should be fucking grateful that my sisters and I came to help!”

Eirai rose and put her hand on her second youngest sister’s shoulder, telling her to back off.

The curly-blonde haired man looked at the four Elins. “So, these are the mysterious girls that claimed they are from another world?”

“As we told you Curly,” The short man spoke. “Popped out of the Breach.”

‘Curly’ moved closer to the cell, taking a closer look at their animal features. “Such strange ears and horns...are they demons?” Eruno snorted.

“I had never seen a demon take on such a strange form before, and I do not sense any Fade magic from them” The bald elf answered. “My wards in this room would entrap them anyways if they did try anything.” He thought aloud.

Eruno swerved on her feet with her arms crossed. “It’d be appreciated if all of you would just talk to us instead of discussing amongst yourselves about us as if we weren’t here. We aren’t animals. And of course you wouldn’t sense ‘Fade’ magic because our Willpower and magic is different from yours.”

“What do you mean?” The elf blinked in curiosity.

Eruno grinned. “You down wards right?” She gestured her head to the side. “They don’t seem to be working - my sisters can still access the Dream and we can still do this:” A spark of red spiraling energy flickered around her index finger.

“What?!” Cassandra, the blonde-haired man, and the guards immediately grabbed their swords. The elf and shorter man staggered back in shock. “How are you able to still cast magic?! What kind of mages are you?”

Eruno rolled her eyes. “We’re not mages. At least, the three of us.” She jerked her thumb at Erune. “Lil’sis is a Priestess so she is able to use magic in greater amounts-at least, healing and holy type.”

“A mage is a mage, even if they are a healer, they can still be a threat-such as you.”

Eruno’s tail flicked in annoyance as she glared back. “I told you, we’re NOT mages.”

“Eruno.” Eirai hissed. She looked at the others outside the cell. “My apologies of my younger sister’s behavior. She is still young and brash at times.”

“Are you the leader?” The hooded woman asked.

“In a sense, yes. I am the eldest of my sisters.” She crossed her arms. “Your apprehensiveness is understandable and it is probably best that we explain our part and hear your side of the story as well.”

“Very well.” The woman nodded in acknowledgement. “Perhaps you should start first.”

“As I had said before, we are Elins from the world Arborea…”

***

Keeper Zathrian’s voice could be heard from outside the araval. Quen slowly sat up, trying to avoid reopening the wounds under the various bandages. His little sister, Riella, snuggled deeper in the blanket made of druffalo hide.

The young elven boy pushed aside the flap of the tent and looked over at his Keeper. Before the Keeper stood a large group of people. Eight of them said they were Grey Wardens.

As he surveyed each of them, faint remembrance of their names came back to him.

Alistair...the awkward Shem who let the noblewoman, Ilena, do the talking.

Griff and Ren...two mages from the circle, both looked around curiously as they had never been in a forest before. Besides the Shemlan and elf was another mage, but she did not wear circle robes. The woman called Morrigan scowled to herself.

The casteless dwarf, Denev, stood close by a young red-headed Shem. The female Shemlan looked familiar to him. A sense of realization came to Quen as he remembered the woman’s name: [Leliana...]

Another dwarf was farther away from the group. Brandil, he was called. He held an air full of pride and arrogance. His arms were crossed in an impatient way.

The other two elves, cousins he remembered, one Dalish like his clan and the other born from the city. Lance, the city-born, noticed Quen looking his way and waved back. His Dalish-clan-born cousin, Verandra, with her vallaslin markings of Sylaise upon her face, stared back at the young elf.

***

The sound of a door opening roused Quen from his dream. As he sat upright, he heard a squeak of surprise-followed by a box crashing to the floor. Looking over from the bed he was on, he saw an elven girl with her eyes widened.

“I, I didn’t know you were awake! I swear!” She stammered.

He cocked his head curiously and opened his mouth to speak. “It’s fine. I-” The elf girl collapsed to her knees into a groveling position. Quen was taken aback.

“I beg for your forgiveness and blessing. I am but a humble servant.” Quen was definitely awake at this point, getting out of bed quickly as the other elf continued. “You are in Haven my Lord. As well as the strange four girls.”

“Hold on,” The elven girl flinched. “Why are you calling me “Lord”? And what about those four girls?”

She looked back at Quen. “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing. Just like the Mark on your hand.”

Quen lifted the sleeve of his clothes to look at his arm. The green scar on his palm had quieted down, still slightly throbbing and shining but to a much lesser extent from before. His nerves and veins no longer bulged under the skin; the spider-like markings were gone.

“One of the girls, the blue-haired one, helped you ” The elven girl spoke. “The two of you have been out of it this entire time. The people of Haven have been talking about you two for the past three days.”

‘She...helped me…?’ Quen thought to himself. “But what about my trial? And who are those girls?”

“I…it is not my place...” The elf girl hesitated, wringing her hands together. “Lady Cassandra would want to know that you’ve wakened. She said ‘At once’.”

“Where do I find her?” Quen shuffled around the room to find his belongings. His armor and boots were on the dresser beside the bed, alongside with his knapsack. He checked to make sure all of his things were there, especially the small object wrapped up in cloth at the bottom of the bag.

The other elf quickly gathered the contents from the crate she had dropped earlier. “At the Chantry,” She stood up, cradling the crate close. “With the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’, she said.” Immediately, the elven girl shoved open the cabin door and was gone.

Quen continued to stand there for a moment, taking it all in with a deep breath.

He was alive. Alive.

The Breach had been stopped - and he survived it.

Whispering a silent prayer to the Creators, he sat down on the bed to put on his boots.

***

Somewhere around the same time Quen had awoken, Erune’s eyes fluttered open. Zyllian noticed and went by her younger sister’s side, stroking her hair. Erune purred, her cat ears twitching underneath Zyllian’s fingertips.

“Zyllian…” She smiled gently at her older sister. It was rare for Zyllian to show such affection to her sisters, so Erune never took these moments for granted.

Zyllian retracted her hand, standing up. There were a few guards stationed at the stairs that lead into the room of prison cells. Although the four were no longer locked inside one of the cells and given free roam of the room itself, the guards still kept a close eye on them. Eruno was doing handstands and push-ups while Eirai meditated in the corner of the room.

Erune then perked her head up. “The elven boy...is he alright?” Zyllian paused at the unlocked cell door.

“He’s been out of it, just as you have. But he’s fine.” One of the guards had left to inform the others about the fourth Elin finally being awake.

‘Oh...thank goodness…’ Erune sighed with relief, clutching the blanket close to her chest. As she rose from the straw bed, Eirai got up to fill her little sister in on the events and details of what had happened while she was asleep.

***

On his way to Haven’s Chantry, Quen was surprised to see the people saluting at his presence, considering the fact that they had given him looks of disdain three days ago.

Glancing back at the sky, he could see the Breach was still there, the clouds that swirled around it still glowing green.

As he stepped into the Chantry, Quen could hear the voices of Roderick arguing with Cassandra and Leliana. The guard stationed by the door, knocked and opened it to let Quen in.

The Grand Chancellor had both his hands on the wooden table, his face in what Quen assumed was a permanent scowl at this point. Leliana and Cassandra were on the other side of the table, Cassandra holding a thick book in her arms.

The moment Roderick saw Quen, the man attempted to instruct the guards to take Quen away in chains for trial, though Cassandra immediately then told the guards to disregard such actions and to fetch the others. Nodding, the guards closed the door behind them, a heavy air of silence followed soon after for a few moments.

Roderick glared back at Cassandra. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.” He spat.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” Cassandra huffed.

Quen swore under his breath. He had hoped to close the rip in the sky but it looked like whatever he did was not enough. It had already taken a lot out of him to stop the Breach from growing and he did not do it alone. “I did what I could to close the Breach and it almost killed me.” He said.

“Yet you live.” Roderick grumbled. “A convenient result.”

“You were not there, Chancellor.” Leliana stepped in. “He was doing everything he could and the Breach was going to kill him before he could try and close it. If it were not for the aid of that ‘Elin’, he may have been dead. And then we would have had nothing left to close the Breach.”

“Elin?” Quen asked.

“The four girls who appeared from the Breach rift. Their kind are called Elins.” Cassandra said. Someone then knocked on the door and she told them to enter.

The four Elins came the room. The blue-haired cat girl smiled an air of relief when her eyes made contact with Quen’s, her hands clasped together in delight. It was still bizarre for Quen to see the girls with animal ears and tails that actually moved. Roderick wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of the four.

The rabbit Elin stepped forward to Quen, her right hand in a fist above her breast. “Greetings. We are the Fae sisters. I am Eirai Fae and this is my twin sister, Zyllian Fae.” She gestured at the white-haired Elin with the demonic horns. Zyllian watched Quen closely with sharp eyes.

The squirrel Elin grinned, jerking her thumb at herself. “I’m their younger sister, Eruno Fae! And this is my twin sister…” She put her arm around the cat Elin who fidgeted nervously.

“Erune. Erune Fae.” She spoke with a quiet voice. “Thank the Gods that you are alright.”

“These four are from another world called Arborea,” Leliana said. “It appears that the Breach and Rifts have appeared in their world-acting as a link between ours. They have been sent by their head organization, The Federation, in means of finding a way to aide in closing the Rifts.”

“A likely story.” Roderick interjected. “How do you not know if they are demons? Especially that one!” He pointed at Zyllian specifically. Zyllian ignored his accusations.

“We are actually the opposite of demons.” Eirai stated. “Our kind are originally Spirits of Nature given a physical form. Why we have animal features reflects nature itself.”

Such information was quite a surprise for Quen. How this ‘Elin’ said such things nonchalantly, as if she was used to explaining this. Perhaps what she said was true? Already their appearances were proof enough that they were odd. Such ideas of other worlds and species were never thought up so casually.

“Spirits? Hah! You may call yourselves that but we all know you can easily become demons.”

Eruno stormed into Roderick’s personal bubble, the small Elin glaring up at the man as if he was little of a threat to her. “For YOUR world probably. Have you NOT been listening? Are your ears old? We’re from a different world so things work differently there.”

Roderick started back, raising his finger as if to scold an adolescent. “Listen, child-!” Eruno batted his hand away.

“I’m 36 years old, you Senile Old Geezer!”

Roderick was taken aback, both by the insult and the Elin’s age. “W, what?! But you look just like a child!” The others, sans the Elins, raised their eyes in surprise.

Eirai sighed with annoyance while Zyllian grabbed Eruno by the shoulder and tugged her back. “That is another thing about our kind,” Eirai continued from before. “Our bodies do not physically age.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Roderick sputtered. “Well, even if they aren’t demons from our world-who’s not to say they aren’t here to attack us?”

“Because, Chancellor,” Cassandra hissed. “They surrendered to us willingly when we first arrested them. Their reason being here also leads to our other pressing issue. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect.” Leliana stated.

“Whoever it was, they are probably also the cause of the Rifts being formed.” Eirai added.

Leliana nodded at the Elin. “Indeed. We both have the same agenda as to finding out who. They may have died with the others at the Conclave-or have allies who yet live.” With her last words, she glared at the Grand Chancellor.

Roderick flinched. “I am a suspect?”

“You. And many others.”

“But NOT the prisoner. Nor these things.” He pointed at both Quen and the Fae sisters. Eruno stuck her tongue out at him.

“The Divine called to him for help at the Temple. And then there is the woman we all saw who was also there when the Elins appeared.” Cassandra said.

“So, his survival from the Temple’s destruction, that THING on his hand, those girls-All a coincidence?” Roderick continued to question.

“Providence.” Cassandra walked around the table to look at Quen in the eyes. “The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour. And he aided the Elins’ journey to our world to help Quen.”

Eirai raised a brow in curiosity while Eruno snickered to herself. “Heh, are we considered ‘Saviors’ for a Chosen One now?” She giggled, nudging Erune.

Quen immediately decided to interject. “But I am not a Chosen One! Wouldn’t it also be considered blasphemy, considering I believe in the elven Creators while you are hailing me as a Chosen for the Chantry?”

Cassandra looked at him sympathetically. “Even so, no one can deny what they saw when you first appeared after the explosion AND after the Elins arrived. The woman from the Rift...everyone has been saying she could only have been Andraste herself.”

Andraste, a historic figure to the Chantry. Later considered the Bride of the Maker who fought the Tevinter Imperium for the freedom of slaves.

“Nevertheless,” Leliana said. “The Breach remains, and your Mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide.” Roderick protested.

Cassandra then slammed the thick book she had held in her hands on the table. The metal cover of the book had the insignia of an eye inside a sun. As she placed her hand on it, she looked at Roderick. “You know what this is, Chancellor.” Straightening her back, she carefully looked around the room. “A writ from The Divine, granting us the authority to act.

As of this moment, I hereby declare the Inquisition to be reborn.”

She then moved towards Roderick. The man stepped backwards, intimidated by the woman’s looming presence. “We will close the Breach. We will find those responsible. And we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

Roderick glared back at the Seeker. He then shook his head in disbelief before storming out of the room. The door slammed behind him, the wooden frame shuddering. “So… Inquisition?” Eruno piped up, grimacing. “What’s all that?”

Leliana smiled at the young Elin before looking back at the book. “An old Chantry Order from long ago. This was the Divine’s Directive should the Conclave fail: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” Her smile then fell. “We aren’t ready, though. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: We must act now.” Cassandra then looked at Quen. “With you at our side.” She then nodded to the Fae sisters. “And the Fae Sisters if you wish.”

“Why do you need my permission for them to join you?” Quen asked, finally having a moment to speak.

“Because,” Leliana replied. “These girls have an interest in you particularly.”

“You can close the Rifts.” Eirai pointed out.  “And that is very important for our own mission. It is necessary to work together. However, it is best to have your permission since you are the one we were looking for.”

“In the end, it is up to you.” The women in the room all looked at Quen . The elf suddenly felt slightly uncomfortable being put at the center of attention. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he thought it all over.

Once again, he was put on the spot - at least the world wasn’t ending this time. He had made his choice before he went to the Breach. He wanted to help the people. And seeing as he was the only solution, he had agreed. He had made his choice before and it was his decision even now.

He looked back at the others, more confident now. “If your Inquisition’s goal is to try and restore order from all of this chaos…” Cassandra smiled and held out her hand to him. Quen took it, shaking in agreement. “Then I’ll do whatever I can.” As the two withdrew, he turned to Eirai, holding his hand out to the Elin. “And I would be grateful to have you and your sisters alongside me.”

Eirai shook his hand. “It’ll be a great pleasure to work with you.” She smiled

***

“Sis, why didn’t you mention anything about the God who helped us?” Eruno whispered to Eirai as the four settled into the cabin that was provided to them. The previous occupant of the place was one of the unfortunate victims from the destruction of the Conclave. She hadn’t wanted to discuss it in the open environment of the Chantry cells.

“Remember what the ‘God’ told us?” Zyllian said. “She wanted to stay out of the people’s affairs. Besides, these people take to their Gods on another level. They do not appear to them unless it’s seen as a divine intervention. Such as with Quen.” She set her small pack on the table in the room. “The people seem to think the glowing being who helped him-and us is their Prophet, Andraste, and being in her presence has ‘blessed’ us. It is better to play along with such notions for the time being since we don’t really know who that spirit really was.” As soon as she found her mask amongst her belongings, she put it on her face.

“Poor Quen though…” Erune murmured. “It must be strange for him to be hailed as the Herald for a religion he does not practice.”

“Even so, we cannot do anything about it. We are foreigners.” Eirai sighed. “We are here to help Quen and find out who is behind all of this. Once it is over, we can return home.”

“How exactly?” Eruno asked, sitting down on the bed, her tail swishing around. “How are we going back?”

“Princess Rida told me that the God who helped us get here would come to us when it is time. Be it in secret or out in the open, we will see.” Eirai said as she undid the bun in her hair, allowing her long magenta braid fall to her waist. “For now, we must wait and see how this ‘Inquisition’ turns out.”

Later that night, most of Haven had gone to sleep, few still up doing preparations in forming the Inquisition. Varric sat outside his tent by a campfire.

The merchant dwarf was in the midst of recording the recent events that had occurred in his journal. If he planned to make a novel out of it like the one about his friend Hawke, he doubted it would even be considered a historic novel based on its content.

Sure, the Champion of Kirkwall book had some exaggerated passages but they were meant to play up the heroics of his companions (and himself of course). But giant holes in the sky which connected to the Fade and four girls who came from another world? Varric mentally shook his head in frustration. This shit was just too weird.

“May I join you?” Varric looked up from the embers of the fire at the rabbit Elin named Eirai, who approached, carrying her bag. He nodded and watched as she dusted away some fresh snow on one of the logs and settled down on the hard bark. Eirai took a notebook with ripped pages out from the bag; alongside with a quill and ink bottle. The final item she withdrew was a short stone cylinder that was made up of a series of discs stacked together. Alongside each disc had segments that had markings unrecognizable to Varric. Opening the notebook, she began to write by the firelight, lifting up her head now and then to examine the Breach in the sky on the mountain.

“So…” Varric began, the Elin pausing in her writing. “What brings you out here instead of being with your siblings?”

The Elin looked at the dwarf. “I did not want to disturb them as they rested. As for what I am doing, I am writing a report for my superiors from my world. We do not know if letters can be sent back and forth so far, but I hope it will be successful. I am currently detailing what happened to the Breach here.”

Varric took out a bottle of wine he lifted from the tavern’s storage earlier along with two mugs, pouring himself a drink and one for Eirai. “Not every day you meet a completely different kind of people.”

Eirai smirked back as she took the offered mug to her. “Likewise, you are a dwarf and my world does not have people like you. The only similar species I’d say you look like is the Popori race-but you have human faces and much, much less hair.” She then eyed his hairy chest from his robes. “Not that you don’t have any hair, of course.”

“Popori?” Varric raised a brow as he took a sip of the wine.

“Small, humanoid animal people.”

Varric sniggered into his drink. “What a thing to be compared to. Rosy, you wound me.”

“Rosy?”

“Your nickname. Solas is Chuckles, Cullen is Curly, and Quen is Frosty. It’s a habit of mine.”

“And what prompted such a label for me?”

“Your hair color reminds me of roses.”

Eirai let out a laugh, taking a drink of her wine. It tasted like some of the other ales during her travels around Arborea. “And do my sisters have nicknames as well?”

Varric grinned. “Of course, I decided to go for a plant theme for you gals.” He took a moment to laugh to himself. “Fitting since you did say you’re Nature Spirits. Anyways, your youngest sister is dubbed ‘Blueberry’ and Eruno I call ‘Apples’.”

“Apples?”

“Her cheeks when she smiles.”

Eirai was bemused by Varric at this point. “And Zyllian?”

Varric brought his hand to his chin in thought for a moment. “Sweet Pea.” He concluded.

“Now I wouldn’t have thought you’d think of her as ‘sweet’.”

The dwarf shrugged. “It makes an ironic nickname at the least.”

The Elin chuckled in her mug, finishing her drink. The two went back to their writings for a while. Once Eirai had signed her letter, she ripped the inked pages from her notebook, rolling them up together. She then unscrewed the top off the cylinder from earlier and placed the rolled-up parchment inside the tube. The individual discs with the markings were then turned until there was a specific sequence of them between the two arrows on either end of the cylinder.

Placing her hands on either side of the tube, she closed her eyes and concentrated. The sequence of runes in the line began to glow for a few seconds. Once the runes stopped glowing, Eirai put the tube back into her bag.

Varric offered to pour her another drink, which she accepted. “Now what was that if I may ask?”

“A portable mailing device. It’s the fastest way to send reports to my colleagues. All one has to do is input a little bit of their Willpower to activate it.”

“Willpower?”

“A sub-form of magic. Everyone from Arborea is born with it. My archery skills in battle for example, involve a great use of it.” She demonstrated by forming a solid rod of light in her hand that morphed into an arrow.

“I was meaning to ask about that too.” Varric took a swig of his drink. “Your arrows were made of the light stuff, so that is…?”

“My Willpower, yes. Including the bowstring itself. Archers first learn to use a bow and arrow naturally before attempting to form a bowstring and projectile. Hence why I reach behind my back as if to draw one from a quiver. A personal habit which can be very useful if one’s Willpower is not strong enough in a certain situation and one must resort to using actual arrows.” The Elin then sighed as she diminished the projectile from her hands. “Which is a dilemma for my sisters and me right now actually. Being here away from our world is very limiting on our abilities. I can still form my own bowstring for my bow but I may have to rely on arrows made from the blacksmith here.”

Varric shrugged. “Well sometimes things happen and you find yourself in a situation where you have to make do with what you have”

Eirai smirked. “Wise words to live by.” She then proceeded to change the subject. “By the way, your crossbow was very interesting. May I have a look at it?”

“Bianca? Sorry Rosy, she’s one of a kind so I’m kind of touchy about others touching her.”

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” She laughed.

“Yep. My pride and joy.”

The two continued to talk by the firelight, sharing small stories with one another.

***

“Come on, get up! You’ve been lying there for five minutes!” A boy’s voice huffed.

“Let her be, Pilt! It takes her some time to fully materialize in the Dream.” A girl’s stern voice scolded back.

Erune’s eyes opened slowly. She was lying in a meadow of grass and daisies. Looking up at the light blue sky, she spotted a few shapes amongst the clouds.

Carefully sitting upright, she looked over at Kiecey, the young elven girl with soft golden hair, who was continuing to reprimand Pilt, the human boy ignoring his friend.

The two then noticed Erune was awake and helped her to her feet. “Finally,” Pilt grinned. “The others have been waiting for you!” He tugged her along, Kiecey following while shaking her head, a smile was across her face.

Erune was led to a grove of tall trees that stretched up towards the sky. She continued to follow the two children through the lush orchard until the three of them reached a pile of boulders surrounding a pool. An Amani boy sat atop one of the boulders, dangling his legs over the edge of the rock. A young Popori child was swimming in the water while a little human girl collected flowers that surrounded the pool.

Pilt called over to grab the attention of the three. The girl dropped her bouquet and ran over to hug Erune, her brownish blonde hair bouncing past her shoulders.

“You’re here!” Anya beamed. “It’s been so long!”

Erune smiled back. “I’m so sorry, Anya. There has been much going on in the waking world.”

“Well,” Jerdan stood up on the boulder, his scaled hands on his hips. “We have plenty of time for you to tell us all what has been happening.”

“But big sis Ruru was going to teach us some new songs!” Niyum protested as he rose from the pool, shaking the water from his tanned fur. “She promised she would the next time she came to see us!”

Erune brought up her hands. “One thing at a time, everyone.” She said gently. Smoothing out the bottom of her dress, she sat down on the grass. Jerdan scrabbled down the boulder to join the other children who all gathered to sit around Erune. “It would be best,” She began. “If I explained what has been happening first…”

As Erune wove her tale, the five children looked on with wide eyes and fascination. She told them of her sisters entering the Breach and walking through the Fade; exiting into another world and helping fight against various monsters to Erune helping the elven boy Quen close the large Rift for the time being; to the creation of the Inquisition. When she finished, Jerdan and Pilt began to ask the Elin questions about the new world. Kiecey even threw in some praise of her own to their Elin friend. Erune flushed, embarrassed by the attention.

Anya placed her hand on Erune’s. “Eru,” She said. “You should have more confidence in yourself. You’ve been working so hard.”

“Anya...thank you.” Erune smiled back at her friends. “I try…” She then perked her head up. “Now, what song would you guys like to learn?”

“Hmm…how about, a lullaby?” Kiecey thought aloud. Erune nodded, taking a deep breath to begin her song.

***

Quen tossed and turned on the mattress, sweat upon his face as his face contorted in pain amidst the nightmare he was having. The Mark on his hand flashed violently, its light flickering across the walls of the cabin. Green lines crawled up his arm like before after the Conclave. Frost began to form around his fingertips while the candle by his bedside sputtered to life and then blinked out before relighting itself again.

His mind was trapped, unable to escape the monstrosities that lingered there and chased him. Memories he wished not to relive.

In his nightmare, he let out a cry for help.

***

Erune paused in her singing, her cat ears twitching. “What’s wrong?” Jerdan asked.

“I, I don’t…I thought I heard someone in pain. But…” Her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t seem like it’s around here in this realm…” She rose to her feet. “The voice…it sounds like…his voice…”

“Erune.” Kiecey stood up with the rest of other children, each of them looking at her. “You have to go to him. It’s the only way to help him.”

“But how?” The Elin asked the elven child.

“The first thing you have to do, is Wake Up.”

Erune jolted awake. Eruno was drooling onto the pillow with her large tail wrapped around the both of them; Zyllian was cuddling Eruno’s tail while tucked into the blankets. Their eldest sister was missing from the room.

Untangling herself from the blankets and her twin sister’s tail, she quietly slipped on her shoes and walked across the wooden floor to the door, opening it and stepping outside into the snow covered by the night sky.

***

Varric paused in what he was saying to Eirai, something catching his eye. “Hey Rosy,”

“Hm?”

“Any idea why Blueberry would be out at this hour?” Eirai followed his hand where he was pointing. She watched Erune sneak across the grounds of Haven towards one of the other houses, away from the cabin she and her sisters were staying in. The older Elin huffed. She collected her belongings and bid the dwarf a goodnight as she left to follow after her youngest sister.

She found her sister enter one of the small cabins. As Erune opened the door, a bright green light filled the doorway that then dimmed as the little Elin closed the door behind her. Eirai quickly went up to the house and yanked the door open, shielding her eyes from the bright light, this time also mixed with a soft blue.

As her eyes adjusted, she lowered her arm. Erune was sitting on the floor besides Quen’s bed, holding his left arm. The Mark on the elf’s arm was flaring up again, acting like before when he was trying to close the Breach. His body spasmed on the bed, Erune quickly trying to whisper soothing words as the soft blue glow of her healing magic flowed from her hands.

“Erune? What are you doing?” The young Elin jumped at her older sister’s voice, turning her head.

“I...I heard him cry out for help...he’s hurting again…” Erune whispered with a worried look on her face.

Eirai nodded and let her little sister continue in her work. Quen let out a gasp of pain as the Mark reacted with Erune’s healing magic. The young Elin kept calm, letting a small hum dance from her lips. The humming eventually turned into a song. Eirai listened closely to the melody. It had been a song that Princess Rida taught her sister some time ago.

The song was an ancient lullaby hymn amongst the Gods of old. Some say it originated from the Titans who created their world. Whatever it was, it was in an ancient, long forgotten language

As Erune continued to sing, the blue light began to soothe the Mark, its green light dimming.

***

Kiecey hummed the song Erune had taught them before she left. The young elf danced around in the grass, her stocking and shoes put to the side as she let her toes dig into the soft dirt.

Anya watched her friend as she wove a flower chain. “You really like that song, huh?” Kiecey nodded, smiling. She continued to dance, wrapping her arms around herself, occasionally resting them over her stomach. She looked up to the blue sky dotted with clouds and butterflies and smiled.

***

Quen fell back in the dirt, the monsters drawing near. As he scrambled backwards, his back hit the remains of a broken wall. His eyes widened in fear, the moans of the disembodied creatures grew closer and closer.

Suddenly, everything stopped. Quen looked around, the monsters beginning to disperse into dust. A faint song could be heard. The tune was familiar, filling Quen with a sense of warmth and hope.

He remembered his mother humming a lullaby like this once to him when he was a child, holding him beside his father.

As his eyes closed in content, the dream world around him began to fade.

Quen woke with a start, the nightmares receding. He felt hands on his left arm. As he looked down, he saw Erune resting her head on the edge of his bed.

“She fell asleep. It was a lot of strain on her.” He snapped his head up to see Eirai in the doorway, walking over to him. “Your Mark...was being erratic. You were obviously in pain physically and from the looks of it,” She observed him closely. “Mentally.”

“Why is she...?”

“I… I do not know...she said she heard you call for help and then came here.” She was then silent, waiting for Quen to answer.

“It...It was a nightmare…” Quen finally said. He looked back at Erune. “Did she help me again?”

“Yes. She used her healing magic, and it seems your Mark has calmed down again.” Eirai furrowed her brow as she brought her hand to her chin in thought. “I do not understand though what is happening and why.”

“I have a theory…” The two turned back to the door, seeing Solas standing in the doorway. He held up his hands in surrender. “Apologies. I felt an increase in the Mark’s magic and thus came to investigate. But it thankfully seems to no longer be an issue.”

“What do you mean?” Eirai asked.

“The Mark is related to the Breach, which connects to your world and ours. Such is that it must be a strain on the Mark itself. Not only does Quen have to close the Rifts here, he is subsequently closing the Rifts in your world. There is an imbalance of power and that partially may have to do with the fact that Quen is not a mage. If he could wield magic, perhaps he would be able to handle the pressure of the Mark on his own.

I had tried using my own magic to help him but it was repelled. Somehow…” The apostate mage gestured at Erune. “Her magic acts as a converter, dispelling the Fade magic in the Mark...very fascinating...it would be in my best interest if I could study this further in the future if I may.”

Eirai sneered. “That is for her to decide.” She then knelt to help pick up Erune. “Anyways I should take her back.”

“Wait.” Quen sat up. “Is it...is it alright if she stays here?” He got up, looking for extra blankets and pillows in the room. “I do not want another experience of that again so…”

“That would be wise actually.” Solas said. “Her presence seems to alleviate the symptoms of the Mark.”

The elder Elin looked at the two of them before sighing in defeat. “Very well.” She then helped tuck Erune in the makeshift bed on the floor beside Quen’s bed.

Solas and Eirai then bade Quen a goodnight before closing the door of the cabin. Quen looked over the edge of the bed down at Erune’s sleeping face.

She reminded him so much of his sister when she was young and... He shook his head, it hurt to think about that other little girl since she was long gone. He reached out to pet Erune’s hair before falling asleep himself.

That morning when Quen woke up, he found the Elin snuggled by his side on the bed, holding his left hand.

[norafmoore]

A Port in a Storm

If you are at all interested, I have posted Chapter 1 of a longer fic. The link to the AO3 piece is at the bottom. Arames stared at the canvas ceiling to his tent, trying to make sense of his life. Or the past several weeks, at least. Leaving his family and clan. Traveling across the Waking Sea. Hiding in a seemingly endless rotation of stolen mercenary gear or servant's garb. He could have passed for a Circle mage if it had not been for the vallaslin on his face, so faint one could barely see it. Though few Circle mages, if any, would have been with a clan long enough to obtain their vallaslin and then be sent to a Circle. But anything was possible. The world had changed. A Grey Warden abomination had blown up the Kirkwall Chantry. The Circles had been dissolved and Templars had abandoned the Chantry. And he was simultaneously a prisoner and the savior of Thedas. A part of him was glad he had undergone only the first markings for his vallaslin. It would be easier to blend in. Creators, he had already been mistaken for a servant several times at Haven. One unsuspecting fellow made the mistake of calling him a knife ear within earshot of Cullen. The Commander could be quite formidable when angered. Arames found him distracting. The travel and tents were nothing new. Though he did miss the familiar rumble of the Aravalls and the gentle bleats of the grazing Halla. But that was were the familiarity stopped. He knew nothing of the world of men nor their Chantry. Before the Conclave, his contact with humans had been limited. He had never met a dwarf or Qunari before encountering Varric and Iron Bull. They were at least open to Arames' endless questions. He had been less successful talking with Solas or Sera. The former viewed the Dalish as children making up stories, while the latter steered clear of anything “too elfy.” Whatever that meant. Sometimes he could pretend that he was still with his clan. That his hand did not glow or ache with a newfound magic he could barely contain. He could pretend his sister’s magic had not manifested, leaving their clan with four mages. But it was harder with his current roommate. Bull snored loudly next to him and muttered in an unfamiliar language. Qunlat, probably. The large Qunari's presence reminded Arames that it did not matter. He was here now. He would have left his clan no matter what. Better the Herald of Andraste than a mercenary or worse. He wondered if he would have resorted to selling his body, as so many Dalish had done before. Based on the offers from the more unsavory merchants their clan ran across, he'd fetch a good price. Didn't matter now. Whether or not he believed in a Maker, he was tied to this organization for the rest of his days. And now time magic and a Magister in Redcliffe. Creators, what was next? A Tevinter ally, for one. Arames played they day over and over again, trying to remember what he noticed first. Everything, it seemed. From the man's impressive display of magic, to his crooked smile, to the mischievous glint in his eyes, Dorian was occupying more than a fair amount of space in Arames' mind. Arames rubbed his eyes. He heard a soft rumble next to him. He glanced over, Bull was awake and grinning over at him. “That ‘Vint on your mind?” “How did you—?” Bull chuckled. “He seems your type.” “Is it that obvious?” Arames sighed. “No, Boss, it isn't. Ben-Hassrath, remember? But enough of the serving girls have been falling over you the last few weeks and the only more oblivious person in Haven might be Cullen. And he's got his own reasons.” “Fair enough. It doesn't bother you, does it?” “Me? Nah. None of my business. Frankly, Boss, it's no one's business. Anyone gives you a hard time let me know and I'll set ‘em straight. Sort to speak.” Arames let a few moments of silence before speaking up again. “What are your thoughts on Dorian?” Bull grunted. “He is pretty. But so are most dangerous things.” “That's what Blackwall said about Vivienne. How the poisonous snakes are always more colorful.” “There’s truth in that. I wouldn't cross Viv.” Arames sat up and looked Bull in the eyes, or eye, as it were. “I do not always make the best decisions…” He stammered. “Aww, sure you do. Look you're just a kid, Boss. You're—how old again?” “Twenty, barely.” “Yeah. When I was your age they were sending me out to Seheron. It's hard to have this kind of power or authority when you don't feel like you earned it. But you've got good instincts. The important thing is to listen to those around you. Don't just decide you know best. A good leader takes advice and suggestions and makes adjustments. Just keep doing that.” “Thanks, Bull.” “No problem, Boss.” The Qunari yawned and stretched. He took up most of the tent. Arames found it comforting. A few minutes passed when Bull startled Arames. “Don't worry, Boss. You'll see him again.” Arames bit his lip. "Creators protect me, I hope so." Bull was right. Dorian burst through the doors in the back of the Chantry with more flair and swagger than Arames could have imagined. His confidence was awe inspiring. And seductive. Cullen wanted none of it. It was not strategic to risk the one means of closing rifts in a futile attempt to get mages to close the Breach. Arames felt reckless. His life had been forfeit since he awoke with the mark on his left hand. Wasn't it only a matter of time? And while he had grown used to the quiet ache in his hand, the jaw pain was irritating. But Dorian had promised a means to get Leliana's people inside. Which meant a chance at actually getting the mages to join the Inquisition. Arames recalled his time in Redcliffe only a few days prior. Many of the free mages were elderly, infirm, or children. One small girl reminded him of his sister. And then the tranquil. Sera had picked the lock on a whim, hoping to find something worth selling when she stumbled upon a room filled with skulls, gemstones jammed into the eye sockets. Ocularum, Solas had called them. Made from the skulls of tranquil and mounted on to wooden stakes all over Thedas. Arames had run out of the room to vomit. Sera soon joined him. Bull rubbed his back. “Watch the boots, Boss.” Arames nodded and heaved. “I thought they were with the rebel mages,” Cassandra muttered as she left the cabin. She shook her head and looked over at Bull. “I should have looked harder.” Arames wiped his mouth and spat on the ground. He took a swig from Varric’s water skin to rinse out his mouth. “We cannot let Alexius keep the mages.” Cassandra nodded. He repeated it in the War Room. There were too many lives in the balance. Cassandra and Leliana agreed. Cullen acquiesced. So Arames had given the orders and now Dorian was sitting across from him at the Seagull as they went over their plans one last time. “I will accompany the assassins through the hidden entrance and disable any of Alexius’ wards or other security measures.” Arames nodded. “While Cassandra, Bull and I go through the main entrance and provide enough of a distraction to allow you safe passage. Meanwhile, Varric and Sera,” Arames pointed at the dwarf and young elven archer, “will wait at the Inn. If we don't come out after…how long was it?” “Two hours,” Sera said. “We agreed on three,” Varric corrected her. “Should be two,” she grumbled. “Creepy mages…” “After three hours, if there is no news, they send word however they can to Haven. By any means necessary.” They nodded in affirmation. “I do not like putting you at risk,” Cassandra fretted. “None of us do,” Bull countered, “but it's a necessary risk. Provided you do your job.” Bull leveled his gaze on Dorian. For just a moment Arames saw uncertainty in the handsome Tevinter man’s face. But then it was gone. “Of course I can.” His eyes traveled and lingered on Arames, as if seeing him for the first time. Arames smiled. Dorian smiled back, his eyes studying the Herald of Andraste. Arames was used to people staring. They had done so his whole life. His eyes were often the first feature people would comment on. Icy green, the color of elfroot in a frost, with flecks of blue. They seemed to simply reflect light wherever he was. Like a cat. If it was not his eyes, then it would be his hair. Arames was grateful he had cut his hair when he came to Ferelden. He had started growing it when he had been named Keeper Deshana’s apprentice. He got less attention with his hair cropped close to his scalp. He thought of it as simply brown, but thanks to a particularly persistent young server in the Haven tavern he had learned it was a rich chestnut, with streaks of auburn and gold. His skin was tanned from the sun, and soft freckles adorned his nose, which offset his full lips, high cheekbones, and square jaw. He felt heat creep up his neck as he felt the intensity of Dorian’s gaze. Bull had described Dorian as pretty. And he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders and was strong, especially for a Mage. Mostly because Dorian used his staff as a physical weapon, not just a means to concentrate his magic, chiseling the man’s upper body. Bull would likely have some competition with the pretty young girls in Haven. Bull slung an arm over Arames’ shoulder. “Boss,” he whispered gently. Arames looked up at the giant next to him and then back at Dorian. The mage was suddenly studying his hands intently. Cassandra was scowling and Varric and Sera were sharing a bemused expression. “Oh, Creators,” Arames muttered. “It wasn't that long.” Bull whispered, smiling. “But there was that thing you wanted to do.” Arames cleared his throat. “Sera.” “Yes, all-touched Herald?” She had a wicked grin. “I have something I need you to do. It's important.” Her smile faded and she scowled. “What is it?” He pulled an envelope from his tunic and handed it to her. “Should I…should I not return, I need you to make sure that this gets to my clan. To my sister.” “All right…” She said. She studied the letter suspiciously. “You have a sister?” Cassandra did not try to hide her surprise. Arames nodded. “Two, actually. Both younger. But Izzy, she's only twelve. She's…fragile. She should know what became of me. And that she should run.” “Why'd you leave then, if she's so fragile?” “Keeper Deshana will take care of her. It is better that I am not there.” It was the first time he had mentioned his clan or any family to other members of the Inquisition. For the first time since he awoke in shackles he felt like crying. “Please, Sera. It is import to me. If anything happened to her.” His voice cracked. Bull squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, fine.” She stuffed the letter somewhere. “Thank you.” They sat in silence. Finally Arames cleared his throat and stood up. “Well, shall we head up to the castle?” http://archiveofourown.org/works/8757226/chapters/20073634

[athena1138]

The OC question thing, all 50 answers bc I’m bored. 

Some OC questions

1. Your first OC ever? Vikara Amarina Nellenryll. I’ve had characters before, but she was the first one who really stuck, who got a background and everything. She was my go-to oc for everything.  2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs? Alena Fanelis-Lavellan (dragon age)  3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?Nah 4. A character you rarely talk about? Seirein Xavier (adopted by Charles,) my X-Men OC. Her power is that she can make anyone do anything with her voice, so she’s resolved to be mute. She and Logan end up together.  5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?  Alena. Or idk, Belladonna Hawke. There aren’t enough Varric x Hawkes out in the world. I love both those bitches. 

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related? Most of my Hawkes look similar tbh. I try to make them different, but I’m a slut for a strong-nosed, big-lipped, tawny-skinned woman.  7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories? AHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Yes. Hands down. Most of my Dragon Age OCs are already in stories, or are at least mentioned because I have them set up in specific timelines. Alena is getting her own goddamn biography. Belladonna is 5 chapters into her own story. My FenHawke is 37 pages into her story. I’ve got a oneshot posted with my Hawkebela. (Da2 is my fav game tbh.) My non-DA OCs have a few stories, too. Seirein is one chapter down in hers, my Sole Survivor has more than a few oneshots down, etc.  8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here! No. I’m uncomfortable with RP since a friend destroyed it for me a long time ago. I used to be super big into it, but now it just makes me squeamish.  9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else? Fight me. (Maybe Rastig. He’s a little shit.)  10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Idk what that means. A physical design? Most of them just get scars. I mean, Anna Hawke is deaf in one ear. Genevieve is blind. Idk. Most of them have fully fleshed out backstories so that’s about as complicated as they get.  11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”? Brilla Aeducan. Gemma Cadash. Missella Surana.  12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot On AO3, there’s a FenHawke series that I legit sat and read for 3 days straight. Literally didn’t even turn on my TV. (It’s here ) I really like this Hawke.  13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?  Depends on how you define troublmaker. As in, a douche? Rastig. As in, mischievous? Kalam Adaar, Titania Shepard, Jack Ryder, Belladonna Hawke. 

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory HAHAHAHAAHHAAH Who doesn’t have one? Alena is the most fleshed out. She was born in Redcliffe, taken to the Circle at age 6, broke out with Anders at age 16, got separated from Anders, went to Denerim, was taken in by Cyrion and his family, was caught up in the slave trade, was sent to an abusive master in Kirkwall, killed him to escape, was caught by Cullen and taken to the Gallows, broke out of the Gallows, found Anders again, Anders was crazy, got help from Hawke (Belladonna) to get to the Sundermount Dalish clan, was taken in by them, found them all killed in year 7, was taken to live with Clan Lavellan, hated it but didn’t want to be alone so she allowed them to give her vallaslin even though she didn’t want it, Conclave, Solasmance, Solas broke up with her, finally Cullenmance.  15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people? Idk. Kinda? Kinda not though. I get shy really easily. I like talking about them. But with other people? Idk.  16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)? Marina Shepard 17. Any OC OTPs? Among just my OCs? No. I don’t ship my girls together. But each of them is specifically designed for a specific romance.  18. Any OC crackships? Nah 19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why) Vikara has been with me through a lot. I’ve had her for like... 7 years now? She made it through a bad breakup, high school graduation, and all of college.  20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)? Genevieve Hawke sings frequently at the Hanged Man. She’s a Mezzosoprano if she really gets going and she tends to get throaty with it, kinda like Christina Aguilera or Gaga. Marina Shepard can sing but she’s a bit shy to do it. If her friends can boost her up enough, she will for them. She’s a tenor.  21. Your most artistic OC Vikara Lavellan writes poetry. Brilla Aeducan draws/paints (she painted Leliana fireside one night.)  22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how? People think Anna Hawke hates Sebastian, but that’s not true. She’s just threatened by him because she’s a mage, and he’s very vocal about turning in her mage friends. (She used to feel the same way about Fenris, but she fell in love too fast.)  23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like? Most of them.  24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why? Genevieve Hawke. She’s a very strong, proud woman.  25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?) Tbh, most of my OCs are just re-coded versions of myself. Except Rastig. But I guess Anna Hawke. The story I mentioned with her is focused on her weight issues and how Fenris helps her learn to love herself (and vice versa.)  26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will? I mean, I’ve had Vikara for 7 years. Not all game platforms allow for the same character customizations.  27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? Nah 28. Your most dangerous OC? Rastig Brosca and Titania Shepard.  29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going? Alena is actually about to fall into a well and ponder her death because she didn’t tell anyone, so, her.  30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? Asena Adaar. Josephine thinks they’re darling, and they talk about their dolls together.  31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really) Marina Shepard is all about the memes, man. She’s nothin’ but jokes, nonstop, though once in a blue moon, she might reblog a picture of a nice ass (tastefully, of course.)  32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why? Kalam Adaar doesn’t get scared. She just cracks jokes until she feels better.  33. Your shyest OC? Anna Hawke. 34. Do you have any twin characters? Yes! Belladonna Hawke was a twin to Garrett Hawke (who is deceased.)  35. Any sibling characters? Beyond Belladonna, no. Though, Asena Adaar and Gemma Cadash are quite close. (Multi-inquisitor AU, but only Gemma has the mark. Asena is just part of the inner circle.)  36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)? Nah. I’m a solo-OCer 37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human I mean. I only have any human DA characters because I didn’t get a choice with Hawke. Even my queen is, in my lore, an elf because I really don’t like humans. Every single OC would be non-human if I had the choice.  38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer? Jack Ryder.  39. Introduce any character you want I have a Labyrinth story I started.............a longass time ago. The main character is Jacqueline (the French, not the American,) and she’s the daughter of Sarah. She is mute for most of the story because she was driving in an accident that killed her father. Sarah contacts Jareth and asks him to help fix Jack, help her overcome her guilt and trauma, so he takes her to the Labyrinth.  40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share! Not really. I love them all, the wee babs.  41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!) Nope.  42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods? Titania Shepard. It wasn’t a huge leap for her to go from Shakespeare (where she supposes her namesake comes from) to mythology.  43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess I like big noses, strong cheekbones, brilliantly colored eyes, and scars. Lots and lots of scars.  44. Something you like about your OCs in general They’re like my friends.  45. A character you no longer use? Psh. I can’t even remember. If I don’t use them, they’re lost forever.  46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly? Not yet 47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child? IRL, nah. In games, most of my Shepards are bonded strongly to their krogan teammates, and then there’s Seirein who’s literally adopted.  48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure Brilla Aeducan 49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes Kalam Adaar and Titania Shepard 50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want If you want, you can tag your ask answers with #yetanotherOCmeme so I can check them out too `v´9 I just really fking love them all. The biggest struggle is that I have so many I’m so invested in but I obviously can’t do anything with them all in one go. I have to focus on one then another then back to the one and it gets so frustrating because I have so many ideas and stories to come up with but so little time. 

[elvhen-mage]

Runaway Elf

This is a modern AU with influences from The Little Mermaid (although it won't follow that story perfectly).

A young elf, bored and restless with Dalish life, runs away from home to explore the outside world. The world of Thedas has changed much, and elves and humans no longer come in contact with each other. To each group, the other is a myth, a legend from simpler times.

Little do they know, the legends are true, and the dangers of the past are lurking just around the corner. Clan Lavellan has an especially interesting history. One that plays a big role in the events to come.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: The Escape

Notes:  This is my first-ever published fic (besides a small one-shot I posted on tumblr once). Please let me know what you think! I would love to get some constructive criticism. And thank you for taking the time to read! More to come, soon!

She stared back up at the nighttime sky, content to count the stars. A warm summer breeze filled her nose with the earthy scent of the dirt beneath her. A sigh escaped her lips. She was content, but was that enough? Soon she would receive her vallaslin. After years and years of pushing and stalling, she relented. Her keeper was not amused with her child-like ways. It was time to grow up, and it was time to take her role seriously as the First of Clan Lavellan.

No, she would not be content.

Every night, she walked the fade in her dreams, searching for something new, something more. There had to be more to life outside of being Dalish, right?

“Adalira!” a shrill but commanding voice snapped her out of her daydreams. “Get back to the camp. It is past midnight and tomorrow is the big day. You must get your rest.”

She let out a very audible grunt. The glare she received from her mother was oddly satisfying.

Back to bed. Back to reality. Back to everything she was trying to escape.

She had to escape. Tonight? It had to be tonight. There was no other way. She did not want the vallaslin. She did not want the markings of her clan stuck to her face for the rest of her life. She would be content no longer.

“Adalira!” Deshanna knocked on Ada’s aravel, but she would not wake up. “Don’t make me come in there!”

Silence.

“You asked for it!” she shouted playfully. Deshanna opened the aravel’s doors, ready to chill Ada awake with her ice magic, only to find it was empty.

“Adalira?”

Silence.

The thought never once crossed her mind that her daughter would leave. She should have stayed with Ada. She should have been there to catch her in the act. She should have – no. There was nothing she could have done. Ada was gone because she did not want to be here. How could I have been so blind? I should have listened. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She could have used a tracking spell. She could easily find her daughter. She could easily bring her back and force her into the role she was born to play.

“There’s another young mage in the camp…. He’s not as talented as Ada, but he has potential. He will be of age in a few years. If Ada does not want to be the First anymore, then she can go. But she can never return.” Deshanna mumbled to herself. “Goodbye, my child. You will be missed.”

Freedom.

Freedom to see what else life had to offer, if there even was anything else. She had heard stories amongst the clans, of strange people with small ears and strong bodies, people who did not know the forest around them like she did. People who were loud and barbaric. She had not seen anything like this yet, but she remained wary. She kept her traveling to the treetops, climbing her way through the forest as fear of what lay beyond gripped her tightly. Still, she needed to see it for herself. She had never left the forest all her life, and she needed to see what lived outside it.

Hours passed, and there was no sign of life outside of woodland creatures. Had she made a mistake? There seemed to be no end of the forest, and she was out of familiar territory. She supposed she should make camp soon… but with nobody to stand watch, surely a predatory animal would find her sleeping alone.

Maybe one all-nighter wouldn’t hurt.

She decided to take a breather and sat upon her perch staring down at the ground below. Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt…. She hoped she wouldn’t fall off the tree branch in her sleep and let herself get lost in her dreams.

BANG.

An explosion jolted her awake. She lost her balance and came tumbling down to the ground.

THUD.

The impact knocked her out, again.

He missed. The deer sprinted away, scared off by the gunshot.

“Damn it!”

He heard a crash by his campsite and prayed to the Maker it wasn’t bears… again. He slid his fingers through his unruly golden curls and quietly made his way back to camp. The sun was almost done rising, now, and it was time to really start the day, anyways.

Then, he saw her. The slender figure passed out on the ground, silver waves sprawled out around her face, and alarmingly large and pointed ears. Maker, she was beautiful. She was something of a dream. She had to be. He pinched himself, hard. Girls don’t just… fall from the sky, right? But there she was. He slowly approached her, carefully lifting her off the ground without disturbing her too much. She felt cold. She looked helpless. Where did she come from? He was captivated. He was compelled to help her. The road was not too far from here, and he decided he would carry her to his car where most of his supplies were. He would try to help her there.

But her ears… what was she? Some sort of elf? I thought they were myths… legends. This has to be a dream. He had so many questions, but she refused to wake.

Finally, she opened her eyes. At first, she assumed she was in her aravel, but the bed was too soft and warm. The room was too big and held such odd-looking furniture. Such strange craftsmanship. Where am I? On the table, next to her bed, there was a glass with a small flame, melting the strange green stuff inside. There was an almost-familiar smell filling the room. Pine trees? Yet somehow artificial and different from what she remembered.

Footsteps approached. Her muscles tensed. She remained still and quiet, stopping her breath. She scanned the room for an exit. The small window near her bed would have to suffice.

Too late.

The door creaked open, and there stood what looked like one of the strange people she’d heard whispers about from the other clans. Though, he seemed far from barbaric. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, full of adrenaline. What did he want with her? Why was she here? Did he bring her here? But why?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

She stared back, blankly, nearly unaware that he had spoken.

“I… uh… How are you feeling?”

“You don’t speak Elvish.”

Her accent threw him off. It was not something he’d heard before. She definitely did not sound Ferelden. And yet, she was.

“Who are you and why am I here?” she asked, “And… pardon my forwardness, but what happened to your ears?”

His face twisted a bit as he pondered her question, “My ears? Why… I…” He cleared his throat, “All humans have rounded ears… that’s normal… I, uh, right. My name is Cullen. This is my home. We’re near South Reach. I found you passed out in my camp this morning… you looked hurt, so I took you here to patch you up.”

“I see.”

He stood there staring at her for much too long, but she didn’t mind. She stared back, equally curious about the handsome man who stood before her. Both had so many questions, but neither could find the words to ask.

[mythalsknickers]

TITLE: Vir'sul El'u Eolas RATING: Mature PAIRING: Fen’aslan x Solas (Sollavellan) TAGS: Post Corypheus, Post Trespasser DLC, Magical Amputation, Body Horror,  Flashbacks, Liberal use of Magic, Liberal use of  Elvhen, Magical Healing, Spirits are overpowered Link for AO3

This started out as a DADWC writing prompt, however, it quickly escalated into a full-fledged fic that demanded its own part of my canon universe. Reblogs, are always appreciated. As well as kudos and comments.

There was no pain; just a sudden nothing where her forearm should have been, and he was leaving. Walking away as if he hadn’t done that, as if it meant nothing to him.

As if she meant nothing to him.

Fen’aslan tried to stand up, stumbling forward in the numbness of system shock, crying out as her knees gave way and connected with the ancient stones that made up the broken, cobbled path. Panic seized her, keeping her from sobbing by stealing the breath she would have used as she realized she didn’t have the strength to keep herself upright let alone make it to the eluvian.

“Ma Vhenan!”

Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, full of anguish and pain she didn’t yet feel. He paused, turning just barely towards her. “Don’t, Solas! Don’t leave me, ma vhenan!” she begged, standing up on legs that felt like withered branches, liable to snap at any given moment. Without thinking, she pulled on the fade with her right hand. It was only natural; their most tender moments, the moments of greatest intimacy, had been in the fade. The mist began to form around her as she took a single, shaky step forward. A breath later, she disappeared into the fade, hoping with her aching heart that it would work, that it would distract him just enough for her to catch him.

She strolled through the doors of the Exalted Council, her bare toes and heels soundless against the mirror-like tile, light robes swishing against her legs with a faint whisper, like the summer breeze through the grass. Her passage through the crowds was marked only by the quiet jingling of the six tiny leaves adorning her collar and the quiet hush she left in her wake. On the Dias, Arl Tegan and the Orlaisian continued their heated debate around the Divine in ignorance, unaware of how rudely they were about to be interrupted.

That thought almost made Fen’aslan smile, but the book in her hands kept her thoughts anchored on the moment.

“The Herald of Andraste,” a woman whispered, reaching out to touch her like she was their savior. She wasn’t, though, and before she could react, the man next to the woman snatched her hand back.

“It is a Rabbit, Woman!” he hissed through his teeth. “She was not sent by Blessed Andraste! More likely one of the demons her people worship.” He spat towards her as she passed him, but he may as well been invisible for all the attention she paid him.

As Fen’aslan became visible to her former advisors, she could see Josephine’s aggravation melt into relief and smugness radiate from the Divine’s smile. Her plan had been shared, then. Good, this would not surprise Leliana. The effects of her sudden appearance effectively pulled the two lords from their argument, just as she hoped it would. She wanted their undivided attention.

“You all know what this is!” She raised the book above her head as she took the final steps toward the Dias, her voice ringing out in the newborn silence the way her footsteps hadn’t. Defiantly, she faced the men who would put her organization under their sway, who were even now attempting to position themselves as Judge, Jury, and Executioner over the ones whose strength had revealed their shortcomings. As Inquisitor, it was Fen’aslan’s place to pass and enact justice, not theirs.

Behind her, the crowd waited with bated breath for her next words. No one spoke, not even the man who had spit at her, and not a single rustle of fine silks hinted that anyone was stirring. They were all either enthralled with her brazen declaration or - more likely - frozen by her audacity. It was time to find out. Exhaling, she spun on her heel to face them.

“This is a writ from Divine Justinia, authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.” The sea of silent faces, both masked and not masked, raised their eyes to the book clearly visible in her hands, and she flipped open the cover showing the distinctive ink of the blood-red eye staining the parchment. “We pledged to close the breach, to find those responsible, and to restore order - with or without approval.” She turned her head slightly towards Arl Tegan, catching Cassandra’s smirk and nod of approval.

The silence held; no one dared do anything but breathe, afraid to break the tension that drew every eye to her. Fen’aslan drew in another breath to steady herself, torn between the fluttering uncertainty in her belly and the wild exultation howling in her blood. Would he be proud of her in this moment, her love? She discarded the thought to continue with her plan.

“It was not a formalized treaty that saved Ferelden or her people,” she declared, turning to hurl the words directly at Arl Tegan. Oh, how smug he looked. “The Inquisition saved them when you could not. We will not disband for you.”

She could hear a squeak as the Arl sat back in his chair, too stunned for a moment to form words. His expression said it all for her - how dare she have the gall? She clenched her jaw, keeping her smile trapped behind her teeth. She was a wolf among the sheep who thought they could tame her. Stepping along the Dias with the sharp grace of a sword slicing through the air, she moved so she was directly in front of the masked Orlaisian.

“The Inquisition will not submit to an Empress who failed to end your inane civil war, and only keeps her throne because of Inquisition support!” It spoke volumes that Celene, Gaspard, and Briala had not attended these talks and instead, sent this Lord who was not important enough for her to remember his name. The Arl had presented more of a threat, but she was done with both of these sheep now.

The silence tore with the soft sound of gasps ripped from the throats of Orlaisian women. With that intangible protection broken, men put hands on their swords and yelled, their voices colliding in the air and forming a single incoherent jumble of sound. It did not matter; she knew every insult they threw at her, but they shattered against the armor of her indifference.

“This was never just an organization!” Fen’aslan declared when the volley of words ended. “It is about people doing what is necessary. We will continue to support you as we have done in the past.” Her eyes finally met Leliana’s as the Divine bowed her head in quiet approval. “There is worse coming than anything you’ve yet seen. We will not be rendered defenseless and riddled with the bureaucracy and the so-called politics of The Game. The Inquisitions will bow - but it will not be to either of you. Now excuse me.” Her tone turned the plea into a command of respect and authority, her robes once more whispering against her legs as she strolled away from the Dais “I need to save the world again.” She thrust the book towards Josephine, giving her little time to collect it as she passed. “I will see you at Skyhold.”

Like a wolf returning from a successful hunt, she prowled through the divided crowd, gliding through the room while gasps of outrage and protests lapped at her. How dare a blasphemous Rabbit and the supposed herald of Andraste voice such insolence to her betters! She ignored it all, chin high, unable to hide her smirk. It wouldn’t be more than a handful of breaths before the muttering erupted into a storm of shouting - but she would be gone before that happened. Throwing open the doors to the chamber, she grabbed her staff from a page and handed the boy a Caprice coin. Then, with the doors swinging shut, she smiled at the mutters rising into furious protests. A muffled boom behind her was the doors closing, silencing the storm as it broke.

As she materialized out of the fade, she could see the eluvian starting to darken and she quickly pushed herself through. How dare he try to shut her out again! Once she’d stumbled forward into the crossroads, however, she couldn’t see him.

“Solas! Tel’tuaun min ea el’u i em!” She could see the mirror closing behind her as she moved away from it, and for a split second, she wanted to jump through – but she continued, away from home, away from a guaranteed future. “Lasa em’an dirth ma’lath,” she begged. They needed to talk. Each mirror she passed, she sketched and made a note of it in relation to her path. “Ma tel’isala dina sul min! Tamahn emen to ea vir!” She cried out to the emptiness, but there was no answer and she sank down to the ground, her eyes slipping closed. “Fen’aslan ma ane a felasil Fen’harel.” Tears staining her cheeks, her body beginning to shake as she curled forward, she sobbed. He had left her again.

“Ma ane las, Da’lan.”

She opened her bleary eyes at the unfamiliar voice, noting the vallaslin on an equally unfamiliar face. It was her own – Fen’harel’s eyes was what her clan named it. “Ma ane isa ghi’la,” the elvhen asserted, crouching down. “Ar ame Rashale. Las, ma ane naim; ar juhalani ma vena mar sal.” He offered his hand and she took it, standing with his help and letting him lead her over to a mirror. “Fen’harel Enasanal,” he spoke. The mirror sprang to life, and he pulled her through it.

“Rashale?” she glanced at him, and he turned back. “Do you understand me?” She asked in the common language. At his nod, she continued. “Can you speak like this?” Again he nodded, and her shoulders relaxed. “Where are we?”

“The ones who raise you call it the Tirashan,” he replied as he led her into the temple. “This was where Mythal sent you to protect you from the Veil going up.” He watched her as she ran her over the wards on the temple walls, tracing their shapes. As soon as she removed her hand, energy pulsed through them. “Temple of the Hoping Moon,” he offered as he guided her deeper into the temple. Statues of two wolves appeared everywhere.

It had been a week since she went into the Eluvian after Solas, a week since Rashale had found her and took her to this temple. If Rashale was to be believed, it had apparently been created for her. She wasn’t sure she believed any of what he’d told her, honestly. He claimed that she was as old as Solas - or rather, her soul was, and she had been put into uthenera sometime during the slave rebellion. She frowned as she wandered the moss- and vine-covered floors, letting her bare feet pick their own path while she mulled over this information.

As she walked, she reached out with her remaining hand, touching the faded mosaic wall absently. Ambient magic pulsed through the tiles as her fingers ghosted over them, strands of vivid green arcing along certain tiles, lighting them up. That caught her attention and she stared at the wall, walking back a few steps to see the design.

It was the dread wolf.

The green magic changed; this time, it was purple, and she watched as a dragon took shape. Her lips parted as the color changed to a pale silver to make the last image in the mosaic: a moon's glow lighting up a white wolf ahead of the dread wolf.

“I wondered, Las, how long it would take you to find this.”

Looking around, she couldn’t see anyone, but the voice almost sounded like-

Her eyes locked with the dragon. “Mythal?”

She watched in awe as the dragon turned its mosaic head to her. “Well done, young one. You have come a long way since we last met.”

Her brow furrowed; the sentinels had told her Mythal was dead.

“I am a fragment, placed here once you were ready for everything. I am dead, child. We both know I can not help your wolf on his path.”

She drifted forward a few steps until she could reach out and touch the moon. “I am supposed to be his guide,” she whispered before looking at the dragon. “How, though? I am not even sure any of this happened.” Exasperated, she rubbed her hand over her face.

“How did the wolf claim to known things? That path is open to you...and it is time you learn to hunt.”

An orange glow began to appear along the dragon’s throat. As it opened its mouth, mosaic flames shot out but left the wall to smash into her chest, making her scream. The dragon closed its mouth as she pulled her hand back to touch her robe-covered chest, but there was no burn. The sudden sensation that she had swallowed the fire made her drop to the ground, gasping, trying to breathe past the phantom flames in her throat.

“Child, I have nudged history and shoved it. You are being melodramatic. Take what is yours; you are Elvhen, and kin, and would be gods just like your wolf; act like it!”

At the words, a fit of burning anger formed in her stomach and for the first time since the loss of her forearm, she reached out with her left hand. Ignoring that her hand wasn’t there, she attempted to pull the fade. Magic began to course around her, creeping along what was left of her arm after her forearm had been disintegrated, sickly green magic of the fade beginning to burst through the scars and drawing a scream from her throat. Her knees threatened to buckle from the sudden influx of pain in her arm and tears streamed freely from her eyes, her skin starting to tingle as the veil strained against her crude pulling. The sickly green magic traveled up her arm, skin smoking in its wake as the scars ripped open, the wounds cauterized before even a single drop of blood could drip onto the stone floor. Blindly, she staggered forward, away from the mosaic, feeling draconic eyes watching her with interest.

Clenching her jaw, she reached out with her missing hand, her weak legs causing her to sway dangerously. The anchor spread further with each faltering step she took. As she pulled on the fade, she could feel it begin to tremble around her. Her eyes went to her vestigial arm, which was beginning to ooze green fade-magic, and a hollow laugh burst out of her. This not-even-formed plan of hers was working? It was hard to believe, but the smoking grew worse with each tremor of the fade as more and more of the ooze came bleeding out.

The fade trembled and quaked under her assault, and the anchor began to spread past her arm. Each inch it crawled - sometimes leaped - over her skin, she could feel it trying to claw her apart. A scream tore from her throat but it echoed off the stone oddly, the sound warping until to her ears, it sounded like a howl. Hunching forward, she continued to stagger down the hallway, her nose filled with the smell of burning flesh. The fade was bleeding into the temple; she stared at a distant image of Solas removing his vallaslin from her face and her right hand tightened into an angry fist. She had been blind, so blind, so many signs that he had been hiding something and she hadn’t seen them.

She tore her eyes away from the memory, her heart aching because, despite everything, she still loved him. “Ma vhenan.” she whispered, her voice rough.

Something deeper in the temple called to her, and she struggled to continue her journey towards it. Bit by bit, the oozing, burning, green magic of the fade was forming the shape of her missing forearm. Her foot hooked a branch as she approached a door frame and sent her stumbling forward, her right hand catching one side of the frame as her shoulder slammed into the ancient stone of the other side. Leaning against it, she tried desperately to slow her frantic breathing. Each pull, each spasm of the fade left her feeling emptier than the last, and the pain still tore at the fabric of her very being.

As she stared at the remnants of her forearm, she pushed off the door frame and staggered into the room. In the center was a massive statue of two wolves nestled together. The shock of seeing what could only be her and Solas made her legs give out, her next pull on the fade purely reflexive as her knees collided with the overgrown tiles. He had to know what was happening, had to know what she was doing. If he didn’t, he either was not even looking at the fade or...well, she couldn’t think past the pain to figure out an ‘or’. Fen’aslan half expected his footsteps to echo towards her down the hallway she’d followed, and she could almost hear him calling her name. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

It was nightfall when she opened her eyes again, one of them the sickly green of the fade. There had been no rest, no dreams for her. Breathing heavily, she stood up, her copper hair torn loose from its braid, and reached out with her left arm. There were still many missing pieces, and with soft exhale she attempted again to pull the fade, to tear the veil. She would have her arm back. Sweat dripped down from her forehead as she strained, splattering onto the tile. Another piece slipped through the fade, but there was not enough time to pull the rest of her arm through before something reached out and slammed into her.

Fen’aslan went flying backward, her head cracking against the wall as she hit it and crumpled to the floor. It felt like an eternity before she was aware of a groan slipping past her lips. Again she opened her eyes, but this time her green eye was met with a blue eye. The burning, clawing heat of the mosaic warred with the creeping chill of the glyphs as she climbed to her feet and realized she’d come face to face with herself.

A mirror.

“Inquisitor, you promised a price.”

Her eyes widened. The glyphs tightened on her face, attempting to spread to the left side. Another scream tore from her throat as the two ancient magics warred over her. The anchor pulsed angrily, and the only warning of it attempting open was the distinctively sickening popping noise. Her knees almost gave out again, every bit of her body aching and burning, leaving the fade scarred and bleeding even more heavily into the temple. It had already saturated the room, she realized as she looked up. There was no ceiling anymore, just the twin silver moons.

“Give in, Fen’aslan. This is our destiny: to serve the well. Fen’harel’s magic will kill us.”

Her mirror self spoke in a mocking voice, attempting to soothe her. Her reflection’s left hand was missing and her face was filled with unending sorrow and anguish, branded with the glyphs of the Well. Fen’aslan forced herself to keep her feet as she stepped away from the wall, her breathing heavy and ragged. Anger burned brighter than a star as the anchor flared along her left side, tearing into her further. Lighting, manifestations of her anger and pain, struck around the mirror.

“No,” she growled, her body shaking with her fury, and something began to change. The anchor had once been Fen’harel’s, but now she was making it was hers. It had been hers to claim all along. Slowly, at the tips of her sickly green fingers, silver magic began to emerge, spreading and clawing for each inch as it crept up her arm. The anchor fought back with violent pulses of magic that further assaulted the fade and clawed at her.

“Accept it, Inquisitor, and stop fighting. You will always be what you are now. Come home.”

She stared at the mirror, her heart hammering in her chest. Something in that phase had caused panic to seize her. Her left hand clenched into a fist as silver magic continued to bleed up her arm. Reaching out, she raised both her hands, attempting to pull the ceiling down on her mirror, only to stare in horrified when nothing happened; the mirror still stood in front of her and the ceiling remained intact.

“I told you, Inquisitor, you need to stop fighting this. You will never survive.” The image of herself in the mirror laughed. A wave appeared behind it, and the realization hit her: the woman in the Well had been her. Then the wave surged forward, smashing into her and tossing her back into the wall.

“I..I will never surrender…” As she struggled to stand up, ice spread from her feet, slowly creeping forward and freezing what it touched. Another wave smashed into her, trying to slide her back into the wall, but the ice held and her jaw tightened. Silver magic began to arc and hiss as it slowly overtook the green fade energy, bit by bit. It mended the skin that had torn, pulling her flesh together and quenching the burning pain. Slowly the green bled from her opaline eye, leaving only blue. She turned her gaze to the ceiling and pulled on it; the rubble tumbled down in a distraction as she began to walk towards the mirror, her legs trembling with each step. “I am no one’s slave. I paid the price of the well, now yield to me!” She commanded, throwing all of her strength into it. Every fiber of her body begged her to relent, to surrender to exhaustion.

The mirror shook violently as lightning began to arc between them. “We will not be commanded by a girl so foolish that she took what was not hers twice and would not pay the price!” Another wave began to raise up. “You will relent; in the end, they all do. Become what you are, child. It will not hurt, and you can rest.” The soothing mocking was back, each word casting a grapple of fade energy to entangle Fen’aslan.

This time, her anger was more precise, the lightning arcing around the mirror to entrap it. Each breath was focused on the glyphs, and her vision went black for a moment before she spoke.

“You dare command me?” Her voice was different to her ears; something had changed. The howl of a wolf echoed from somewhere as the two statues stepped off their base and began circling the mirror. “I am one Mythal calls kin. You will yield and become mine!”

Her magic lashed out towards the mirror as her skin began to ache and burn from the grapple she had been tangled in. Turning her eyes away from the mirror, she raised her now-silver magical hand toward the grapple, letting one finger claw at the grapple until it released her. The glyphs on her face began to change, silver magical energy coursing through them, turning both her eyes into pools of moonlight as another howl echoed through the room. Lightning flashed, the stone wolves growling before launching at the mirror. They savaged it with fang and claw and soon, silver magic began to ooze from it as it bled back to her. The Vir’abelsan had become hers; the mirror dissolved, and she could feel the voices fade from her mind.

Her knees buckled as exhaustion overtook her, silver eyes fading back into their normal, opaline mauve. The statues of the wolves were back on the base, nestled together as they had been, and as she kneeled there on the ground, Fen’aslan began laughing. Another voice joined her in laughing as the careful steps of armored boots approached, and when she looked up, there was Mythal.

“Well done, girl.” The woman’s amber eyes truly did seem pleased with her. “Now you can learn how to help him.” Mythal nodded, her lips curved into a slight smile. “Help him before he can no longer be helped, daughter.”

The warning chilled her. The goddess disappeared, the fade becoming less saturated in the room with each passing moment, and Fen’aslan staggered up onto her feet. She stared at her new arm admiring, magical energy substituting for the flesh that had been lost. Then a yawn distracted her, and she rubbed her eyes. Her body was exhausted and she could feel her stomach beginning to rumble and cramp with an increasingly-desperate need to find food. She needed to find Rashale. How long had she been in the fade?

As she hobbled out of the room, she noticed that the temple seemed to be repaired: the overgrowth was gone, the walls clean, the floors smooth with no ragged edges to catch her feet. She paused as she passed the mosaic and noticed the dragon’s absence. Was…it just a dream, she wondered? A glance at her left hand dispelled that; it was neither flesh nor missing, but a construct of her magic. It couldn’t have been a dream. Frowning, Fen’aslan limped gingerly out of the hallway and into the main thoroughfare of the temple.

“Las!” she jolted alert, her magic suddenly flaring to life at the sound of her name. Rashale seemed to appear out of nowhere, jogging up to her. “Thank Mythal I have found you.” His brows raised as he noticed her left hand, and he bowed. “My lady, pardon me. I was merely worried for you; you have been gone from the temple for a week,” he said, his voice formal and respectful.

“A week. I thought…” she whispered. She thought it had been less. Gone from the temple…Had she physically gone into the fade again? “Rashale, please. I am not a lady, and there is nothing to pardon.”

He shook his head firmly at her in disagreement. “You are a lady; your spirit has changed. You have found yourself, my lady.” It was his only explanation and while it was not enough for her, she was too hungry and too tired to worry about it for now. She yawned, swaying on her feet.

“My lady? Do you need refreshments?”

She stared at Rashale, blinking for a moment before his words finally made sense. Yawning again, she nodded. He offered his arm and, reluctantly, she took it and let him lead her to the kitchens.

The kitchens were rather large for the small temple. Carefully, Fen’aslan made her way around with a plate, gathering bits of fruits, jerkies and candied meats, hardened cheeses, and an glass of some kind of drink that smelled a bit like the wine Solas had introduced her to in Orlais. Lacking any sort of table or chair, she climbed up onto the counter where she perched with her plate of snacks, eating her fill and quenching her thirst. After her meal, she quietly made her way to her room.

Once the doors had shut behind her she looked around, closing her eye and trying to prepare herself. “Two weeks since I have dreamed…” she whispered to herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and squeezing in attempts to reassure herself. She made her tired way over to the bed and lay down, curling under the blankets, slowly letting herself drift off into the fade.

“Vhenan.” The word summoned her, and she found herself face to face with him. “Where are you?”

She stood up, and the images around them changed. He was trying to find her. “Where are you, vhenan?” she countered, shifting the fade on her own. “I will find you, vhenan. I told you I would not give up.” Around her, the fade stilled. Arlathan.

“I know you will not, Vhenan…” he seemed reluctant, looking around. “Allow me to show you these before we do not have time?”

She nodded, offering her hand. "Em ghi’lana,” she offered gently as he took her it, squeezing it gently. He lead her through the glass spires of the city and she watched the reflections, seeing multiple images of her and Solas. “In another time…” she smiled fondly; in another time, they had walked these streets just like this.

“Yes, Vhenan,” he added, turning and taking her- left hand? Her brows furrowed. “This is the fade,” he whispered. She realized they were in a grand ballroom just as Solas pressed close to her and began to dance. As they moved over the glass tiles, the room filled with people. “The Evanuris held such parties often. This was the night,” he started before spinning her. “The night everything I cared for was taken from me.” He growled, and the music took a deadly twist as she watched Mythal crumble to the floor. The young dreadwolf stared in horror at his kin, letting go of her. She recognized the figure in his arms. She tried to watch what happened to herself, but the scene focused on Solas lashing out at Elgar’nan.

“Wake up, Vhenan.” He leaned forward sadly and kissed her cheek. As her eyes opened, she sighed looking at the walls.

So it had begun.

Elvhen Translations

•Vir'sul el'u eolas (way to have secret knowledge) •Solas Tel’tuaun min ea el’u i em! (Solas don’t cause this to be a secret with me) •lasa em’an dirth ma’lath. (Let’s talk about it my love) •Ma tel’isala dina sul min! Tamahn emen to ea vir! (You dont need to die for this! There has to be another way!) •Fen’aslan ma ane a felasil Fen’harel. (You are a fool to chase Fen’harel) •Ma ane las. Da’lan. (You are hope. Young one) •Ma ane isa ghi’la. (You are his guide) •Ar ame Rashale. Las ma ane naim, ar juhalani ma vena mar sal. (I am Rashale. Hope you are lost, I will help you find your soul.) •em ghilana (guide me/ show me) •Vhenan (heart)