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selenelavellan · 8 years ago

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Okay but what did Unwilling Moon Goddess Selene even DO to warrant being put up there? Did she set someone/something important on fire bc they pissed her off? Did she kill Falon'Dick in a fit of righteous fury and make Mythal (who was some kind of powerful shaman figure maybe) force her into 'atonement'? Did she explode something so powerfully that it affected the tilt of the planet and now she's gotta be in charge of keeping that on track forever? Like what'd she do??

Origins

Moon Goddess AU

Ana belongs to @lycheemilkart

TW For Violence, Death,Alcohol use, Abuse

The Moon was not always a helpful entity.

The Moon God had been a proud creature, thankful for his privacy and distance from the people. More than happy to stay up in the sky, far away from everything and everyone else. He kept his knowledge, his secrets to health to himself, where they could not be misused by those who were unworthy of it.

Until one day, he looked upon the earth and saw a flower of the sun.

She was so tall, petals a stunning shade of golden yellow, stretching towards the skies. Bright and open and warm throughout the day, laughing and reaching towards the sunlight.But when he looked upon her at night, she shied away, closing up as she drooped until the Sun God returned to the skies in the mornings.

Still, he found himself distracted with thoughts of the flower throughout his days. Stealing glances towards the earth more often than he should be, moon lingering in the skies after the sun had risen.After too long of this, the Sun God approached the Moon God.

“Why do you linger so long in our skies?” he asked “You used to savor your time alone, hoarding as much of my stolen light as you could for yourself. Why now do you bask in it?”

“I have become taken with one of your flowers,” The Moon God admitted with a heavy sigh. “But she shies away from me. I know not what I can do. I do not wish to impose myself upon her.”

“So give her what she needs,” The Sun God offers “Do not coerce her. Show her that you can provide for her, show her how you feel, so that she may determine if she feels the same.”

“How?”

“You control the tides. The pull of water. My summers are harsh, and flowers often wilt beneath my heat. Provide her with additional water. Nourish her soil, ensure her roots do not rot and that she may flourish. Show her we are not such total opposites,” The Sun grins.

And so the moon does. Night after night, he cares for her as best he can from a distance. Nudges away predators who would feast on her leaves, shelters her from storms that would otherwise wash her away. Until the summer must come to an end, and he appears before her on the final night.

“Come with me,” he offers her. “The cold will come soon, and you will be taken away. I will keep you healthy, I will keep you safe, I will keep you happy.”

The Flower, having known the softer side of the moon for the whole of the season already, agrees.

When he touches her, her petals turn pale, roots stretch to limbs until she is knelt before him. The Moon God carried his flower back to his kingdom, where they lived happily for centuries.

And then the flower bore his child.

A young girl, hair pale as the moonlight and eyes as green as the earth that bore her mother, came into being.

She was smart, and bright, and kind. And as she grew, her father taught her all he knew. How to heal the sick and save the dying, how to pull at the tides and the necessity of their existence.

But she gained her mothers kindness and love of the earth, as well.

“Why do we not share our knowledge?” She asked her father.

“It is too freely abused,” he explained “Their lives are too short, and words too easily misinterpreted. People are not to be trusted with it.”

“But their lives could be longer if they knew what we did. Better. The people could flourish, even.”

“Their lives are not our concern. The People are not our domain. We are responsible for greater things.”

Selene was not convinced.

As she grew, so did her curiosity. Her desire to explore the earth, to learn about the people, to help them, the way her father had helped her mother. And so, the Sun God approached her.

“Little moonbeam,” he cooed “I see what you desire. Locked away up here as you are, so far away, so restricted by your fathers fears. I could help you, if you would only do the same in return.”

“I have nothing to give. I am not a god, yet. Only an apprentice.”

“But one day you will be. You will inherit your fathers abilities, and then we will be partners. One day, I will ask of you a favor. You will grant it to me, without restrictions and to the best of your abilities.”

Selene hesitates.

“And in return,” He continues “I will take you to Earth with me. Summer is starting, and my festival will begin. A grand celebration, that I invite you to share in.”

“My father would never agree to that.”

“I have known your father far longer than you have. I will handle him. You only need hold up your end of the bargain.”

Selene swallows.And agrees.

–

Summer begins, and Selene travels down with the Sun God in his chariot to visit the people.The Earth is so bright and full of variety and color and life, it takes her breath away.

She falls in love with it instantly, getting swept up in the celebrations. She dances for a week, and drinks while perched in the lap of the laughing Sun God, joining in with the people and learning as many of their ways as she can.It is warm here, so much warmer than her frozen, lonely home.

She meets several other gods at the event. Goddess of the Earth, who shows her how plants grow in the soil and sprout beneath her feet. The necessity of a life cycle, of rebirth and reuse and the connection of all things that come from the Earth. She meets the God of Invention, who shows her science and math and innovations. The way the people manipulate and alter their environment to make their lives better, to make better use of all that time robs the mortals of. Of the necessity of moving forward. Goddess of Stone, who can not even use magic but is not hindered in any way by it. Who shows her secret, sacred places, where magic can be grown, where it flows like water beneath the earths crust in stunning shades of blue and white.

And for the first time, Selene gets to see a blue sky.

She does not remember taking flight, but she remembers flying. Her wings sprout from her back, and she is off. Soaking in the rays of the sun as she glides over the ocean, over the water she has manipulated for so long from so far away, and she sees that even it contains life, here. She befriends the birds as they fly alongside her, and tell her stories of all the places they have traveled. Watches the fish travel in packs, marvels at the whales as they breathe the air and return to water

She returns to Des’s side breathless.

“Enjoying your time?” he laughs.

“It’s incredible! You get to do this all the time?”

“Every day.”

“I think I will too.”

Des blinks “You will, what?”

“When I am a Goddess, I will visit the people each night. My father may value his privacy, but I do not. I like it here, I love these people, and I do not wish to live in solitude any longer.”

“You know,” Des grins “I think we’re going to be marvelous partners.”

The Festival lasts an entire month, as it turns out. An entire cycle away from home, and though she expects to miss it, she finds it actually….freeing, to be on Earth.She does not want to leave, when the festival ends.Even Des seems reluctant to give her back to her fathers care.

But she has responsibilities to maintain, balances to keep and spells to learn. She adds what she has learned to her repertoire. She sings her spells, dances through rituals, creates within craters and learns to breed plants that will survive in their soil. She visits the earth each night with her mother, using her skills to help those she can.

Her father is not happy with the changes.

“We must be steady,” He warns her. “Do not deviate from our traditions.”

“How do you know?” She challenges “How do you know that we must do things the way we do? That we could never have anything more, never have anything better than this?”

“Because this is the way it has always been.”

“But we can change it. The Earth is constantly changing, constantly growing. Why not us? Why must we stay so far away?”

“It is the way of things. It is to maintain the necessary balance of things. We do not change.”

“You changed,” She argues “You changed for mother. Who is from Earth. The people are not bad, they are not lesser, somehow, just because death visits them. The only thing keeping us locked away up here is you! You and your obsession with being alone!”

“That is Enough!” He bellows, and the skies above her flicker with electricity, ground shaking as lightning strikes at the frozen ground beneath her feet. “I am still your father, I am still your teacher, I am still your God, and you will Obey Me!” he yells, voice echoing. A bolt of lightning shoots towards her face, striking her down with enough force that it creates a new crater just outside the palace steps.

Selene runs, as soon as she can stand.

She runs all the way to the earth, hiding from her fathers sight within the temple of the Sun. Waits silently, containing herself until the sun rises and Des approaches her.

“What happened?” he whispers, fingers brushing over the fractal scars left by her fathers violence.

“I pushed him too far,” she mumbles. “It was my fault.”

“No,” Des asserts. “This was his mistake. There is no excuse for striking your child.”

Selene just wraps her arms around herself while Des leans back “Perhaps we have left him alone and unchecked for too long,” he muses. “I thought your mother would mellow him out, but it seems like she’s only enabled him in her complacency.”

“I…”Selene swallows “I don’t know what to do from here.”

“Wait for now,” he instructs. “I’ll bring the others together here, and we will discuss how to move forward as a Pantheon, as we always have.”

So Selene waits, while he gathers the others. The Earth Goddess appears first, then the Goddess of the Stone, The God of Invention, and the Goddess of Chaos, and finally Des returns himself.

“This is all you gathered?” Carina, Goddess of Stone questions.

“This is all we need,” Des insists. “Selene, tell us what happened.”

She shares her story, even as they stare at the scar on her face and listen to the storm bellow through the night outside, even now.

In the end, it is decided that it is time for Elrogathe to step down from his position as God of the Moon. Selene helps them travel to her home, with every intention of solving things peacefully.

But when she arrives, she does not find her father.

Only a monster in his stead, standing over her mothers corpse.

“Flowers were not meant to live forever,” it growls.

Selene moves first, while Des notches and shoots an arrow, blowing just past her to strike the creature in the chest as he lets out a bellowing roar.

The battle lasts the entirety of the night, and they are all exhausted by the end of it.

“Traitor,” Growls her father as he bleeds out beneath her, pinned down beneath Carina’s stone, pulsing with energy. “You spoiled, selfish child. You do not understand anything.”

“You killed mother,” She snaps back between heavy breaths as her own blood spills out of her “You don’t get to lecture me anymore.”

Elrogathe bellows again, straining against the rock above him as his fury echoes around them. Selene sighs, weary and exhausted as she stares at the remains of him. Not that she has ever known him to be warm or loving herself, but he was still her father. She has still spent centuries in his company, and there is still something in her that regrets what she has to do.

But still, she will do it.

Selene begins to sing.

The ground beneath her father curls away, carves itself into geometric patterns, plates shifting like a puzzle box, as he is pulled further and further below the surface.

He screams as she casts the ritual to lock him away, curses her and their land. Promises that nothing she has created will grow, that she will spend the rest of her days alone, dooms her to solitude and imprisonment that lasts as long as his own, and uses the last of his mana to turn his words to power, spreading out over both her and both moons.

Des looks at her with regret when she collapses against him, exhausted and spent.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It had to be done,” she mutters.

He shakes his head “You don’t understand. He’s tied you here.”

“I’ve always been tied to the moon,” She argues.

“No, you were only connected to it,” Ana, the Earth Goddess explains “You had the freedom to travel wherever you liked, for as long as you wanted. This was simply your domain. Now…”

Selenes eyes widen as realization hits her “…I can’t leave?”

“I’m so sorry, Selene,” She nods.

Shock courses through Selenes system while Des carefully lowers her to the ground. “I can’t…I can’t ever leave?”

“Or bring anyone here,” Des sighs. “Your dad was a dick. I should have interfered sooner.”

Selene doesn’t move from that space as reality washes over her, and the other Gods return to Earth to rest and recover and take care of their own responsibilities.

Alone. She’s going to be alone, forever.With her father trapped beneath her.

What has she done?–

Des returns later that night, to remind Selene to raise the moons. She does, but only barely. A waning crescent at the wrong point in the cycle. It is all she can manage, in her current state.

“Congratulations on becoming a Goddess,” he jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Selene just looks at him blankly, still tired but too stressed to sleep.

“Look,” he sighs “I know this sucks. Patricide is a pretty awful way to ascend. But now you can make the changes you wanted.”

“I can’t change anything. I can’t even reach the people, let alone aide or share anything with them.”

“I talked with The Earth Goddess, actually. We might be able to help with that.”

“You can let me travel freely to Earth?”

“Well, no. But on the Full Moon, with a combination of being fully visible to her, and since you’ll already be reflecting the maximum amount of power and light from me, we think we might be able to…project you there. You’ll be able to interact with people and things. Talk, share knowledge, teach them what you can.”

Selene swallows, turning to stare at the Earth, watching the clouds swirl over the blue and green sphere, so far away.

But this is a better offer than she dared hope for, anyways.

“Thank you.”

Des shrugs “Helping you helps me too. It means you’ll be better off to help me, when I ask you for that favor.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” She nods in agreement.

“Rest, tomorrow,” He suggests. “You’ll find Godhood is not so easy as I make it look.”

Selene stands, finally, gazing out over the wreckage of her parents palace.“I will do my best,” she vows.

#Moon Goddess AU #Des #Selene lavellan #Elrogathe Lavellan #Dhaveira Lavellan #Melanadahl #Carina #Florence Adaar #Elanna #So over time the curse wanes a little and Selene is able to actually physically make it to earth by the time Dirthamen is born #But it takes a while for her to get to that point

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fenharelz · 5 years ago

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Six Sentence Sunday -

Alright, so let me lead with acknowledging that it is now Monday. I had fully intended to post this last night, but our DND group went late and I passed out, haha totally not oversharing. With that said, here’s the latest six lines of a work I’m toying with I’m somewhat new, go easy on me.

Again, the sudden stopping of the trundling vehicle caused Elanna to sway against her will, this time knocking her into another passenger, causing him to spill his steaming Styrofoam cup down his sleek suit. She winced, and without thinking, began to dab at the complete stranger standing before her.

“I am so, so, so sorry! Ir abelas!” She apologised, suddenly aware of the long, slender fingers closing around her wrist, forcing her to cease her efforts. Her eyes darted away from the stain, now suddenly aware of her intrusion into his personal bubble. Her alarmed gaze met his gentle one, but only briefly before the doors hissed open, and he took his leave of her.

♡ Tag! @kita-lavellan, @mrstethras, @this-basic-mage, @anavakarian, @silvanils, @curiousartemis, and any additional interested parties (taking a leaf from silvanils’s book)

#beyond the veil #six sentence sunday #wip #messing around with modern thedas #oh is that rust?

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arrowfortea · 6 days ago

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your integrity makes me seem small, you paint dreamscapes on the wall (da:i solavellan oneshot)

basically: post-haven pining from a touch-starved grouchily-in-denial solas. plus fade dreamscape stuff. plus "uh-oh is the anchor brainwashing her" anxiety, plus "i do not comprehend mortal's emotions" anxiety. rating: a thirsty T (16+) words: 5.1k (complete, oneshot) content warnings: none! spoiler-free for veilguard; it's written with theories circa da: i in mind.

"Can I shape the clouds?" she asks, drumming her fingers against her clavicle. "I can only change whether they’re... there." "That is a question I cannot answer," he replies, pulling the Anchor closer. "The limits of your will are yours to test, not mine to declare." As Elanna returns to her musing, Solas allows the leash of his self-control some slack. The verdant flickers beneath her skin disappear; the skin of her palm pales to a slake-lime white. Rather than a dagger-slit of a wound, the Anchor is the Breach, writ small. Rendered in sap green, pooling paler over time. The scent of its magic roils to a stench. Fen’harel’s magic, Solas’ magic, his magic, unstable and spoilt by its suspension in impurity.

☁️ read on ao3, or ↓

—

Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all. —Deathless, Catherynne M. Valente

—

Love has always sat in Solas wrong. Perhaps such was Mythal’s design—she could've bid his heart to spike its interior, and fit only her shape.

(Or he could've. He knows that.)

Elanna Lavellan is a quick-footed, narrow-boned waifish imitation of an elven woman, and Solas does not pay her any particular mind. Which must be how she managed to leap through the labyrinthine, trap-laden path to his heart, and slip in without his noticing.

Now that he has noticed, it is only a matter of time before she must carve into one of them if she is to survive, and he suspects her endless questions are simply her determining where the knife should go; she never asks him the same question twice, she leaves implications for him to latch onto, her eyes map his face to measure his reaction to words, touches, silences. During their conversations, a dark, desirous something eventually begins to move around in his chest, and it’s her.

It must be. Elanna—Inquisitor Lavellan, he reminds himself—is adjusting in her hiding spot, trying to get comfortable, which she can’t, and trying to distract him from it, which she can’t. He knows what she's doing; she cannot have asked how to mix a lime suspension for orpiment because she genuinely wanted to know. Some days he wonders if he should let the cursed barbed thing slam shut around her and just see what happens, as he did in Hav—

I am not thinking of Haven.

Solas presses his shoulder against the threshold of her balcony, listening to her ideas about what she wants to do as a ‘Fade-walker’. I’ve’an’virelan, but she’d choke on her tongue before she got two syllables in, so he says nothing, and simply watches her prattle. Watches her check his reaction when she cites concepts he’s mentioned before. Watches her looking for his want, which she will not find; he’s had several millennia of practice in keeping things locked away.

Comparing her eye colour to pond scum helps. Slightly. The Fade pales her eyes for him, but she is still.. her. Appreciative. Imaginative. Gushing with excitement.

Yapping, it is yapping.

The Inquisitor yaps, and Solas does not care to listen.

No doubt she finds his nodding and mild noises to be unacceptable responses. She must've expected to see him on his knees by now. Solas, a village-born apostate elf that oversleeps, and the Dalish Herald of Andraste, paradoxically pious, for she is ever so open-minded, especially to the rambling flat-ear. Why would he not want her?

She’s even been receptive to his delaying her with vagaries! One month ago, he requested ‘time to think’ right after having shoved his tongue down her throat like the starved madman he is; since then, platonic interactions are all they’ve had. Short enough to avoid the unbearable shifting in his chest. Inquisitor Lavellan will cut her deific affection into bite-sized pieces for the old man to chew! Why would he not want it?

(Because it will lead to trouble. Because she and her affection for him will turn to dust soon enough; ideally the latter before the former. Because she is so beautiful, and he cannot be trusted with her.)

Because he does not trust her.

Not even in the Fade. Inquisitor Lavellan's spirit bristles with emotion no more than fuzz bristles upon a peach. In Arlathan they'd never see or hear a thing she did. She'd be less than a bug. So when that bug had buzzed into his dream, again, he’d insisted on returning to hers instead, because he had to know what her emotions felt like in her own dreams. Now that he knows the Inquisitor's excitement and awe and admiration all scatter across her dreamscape in much the same, dull way, like leaves on flagstone—he could leave.

But she just asked a question. Solas is near-incapable of ignoring those.

“Yes, in theory, I could turn the Frostback Mountains to grassland.” He clamps down on his bemusement; a hint of it may send her tumbling her off the balcony. “But if I did, they would soon distort. Unless you encounter spirits that can recall the mountains without snow upon them, if any exist. Otherwise, your memory would have the mountains would soon freeze over, or blur into any other field. Most pertinently, they are miles away; how would you reach them?”

“I’d thought.. by stepping off the edge,” she says, turning away from him. Quick as a flash, she sits up on the balustrade. “Would the air hold me, if I asked? Could I fly?”

“The answer lies in which you have more memories of. Flight, or falling.”

She looks over her shoulder. “The birds in—”

“Inquisitor, you would shatter every bone in your body.”

A huff, then she turns away again.

He is left to glare at her hair. Her hair, swishing to her waist in waves, golden, and sparkling in the sunlight. In the torturous waking world, Solas cannot help idealising her, as one would a rose in a briar patch. Beautiful. Rare. Still, thorned. Such flickers of fancy are easily stamped out in the Fade. Distorting a shared dream without the other person aware is staunchly against his values, but enforcing reality is a different matter. (Paling her eyes is a harmless protection; if he stares, which he will, she will exploit it.)

Solas muffles his idle romanticism, bidding the Fade to do the same. It does, and the sparkle on Inquisitor Lavellan's hair winks out.

Waist-length golden waves that merely shine in the sunlight. Solas needs to get out of here. Return to his dream of Skyhold’s library. Pick up ‘Meditations and Odes to Bees’ where he left off. Page 248.

“Say I did shatter every bone in my body,” the Inquisitor chirps, “would my bones follow me home? The shatter would happen.. in the physical realm?”

(On the tip of her tongue, he's sure, was 'the real world’, but she is pandering. This is all pandering.)

“No. It would happen here. And would hurt. If you mean to take my abilities, then take also my advice: do not try it.”

The Inquisitor spins to him and slides herself off of the balustrade; gaze wandering over his face. “But what if I did?” she asks.

Pond scum, he reminds the Fade, and her eyes shift from mossy to mucosal. “If you did, I would be most curious to see where your ambitions take you,” he replies, folding his arms. “Is that why you sought me, Inquisitor? Not to request verdant peaks, but rather, the means to rise above them?”

“No. Just.. if I'm to ask the Fade’s Frostbacks for grass, despite their clear contentment with snow,” she says, with full sincerity, “I’d rather not offend them by asking poorly.”

Solas pinches his brow. There were at least four assertions within that he ought to correct. I shall, he decides, tucking his hand back into his arms, tomorrow. It is far easier to condescend to her when they are awake; when the air is suffocating him, he can treat her presence like a roll-neck sweater that refuses to sit properly. In her dream, the air is vaporous, fragrant, as if they were..

The Fade trembles around him.

I have no reason to believe that Inquisitor Lavellan knows what a bath is. Baths are best taken alone, with a divider around the tub. Two dividers, encircling it. In fact, I would be in the other roo—

“Solas? Hello?”

“Yes,” he says, startling. Shakily, he gestures behind him, then to the balcony. “Do you think you could offend that which belongs to you, as well? This is all yours. Turn it to a garden, and relax here.”

Inquisitor Lavellan positively beams at him. Like allowing a child to handle a knife made for peeling apples, and agreeing they’re Andruil, he thinks, sagging. Maybe that is why he’s drawn to appease her curiosities; she is Dalish, yet treats him as worth listening to. He's gone too long without appreciation, seizes it, and mistakes gratification to be attraction.

“Cole once said grass doesn't mind anything." She lowers herself until she’s cross-legged. The muscles of her thighs must be—I am not thinking of her thighs. When she presses her hands to the stone, her eyebrows frown and pinch close; two wrist-flicks of gold paint. Her hair falls back over her face, lit like pale silk beneath a chandelier. “I was being too grandiose about what only wanted to grow.”

Solas bites the inside of his cheek. Gratification is the source of his attraction, and she is pandering to him, and her beauty is irrelevant.

After a few moments of her will vibrating the air, the balcony shimmers, shudders, and tints. Green. Green, in splotches. Green upon the stone. A lifetime spent in the wilds and as far as he can tell, Inquisitor Lavellan asked the Fade to shatter an acid flask for her.

“If a reference would be of help..” He flicks his hand. One cow’s bite worth of grass bounces up by her ankle. “I have no doubt you have seen more grass than most in Skyhold, but it is simpler with—”

The balcony bursts to pasture.

“Ah. Commendable.” The same blades he’d provided, over and over and over.

Elanna—Inquisitor Lavellan—musses through her personal meadow. “If fresco is an ancient elven art, and the ancient elves could all dream like this.. when thinking of how to affect the Fade.. is it similar to painting?”

“Not in the slightest,” he says, then inclines his head to the grass. “But you grasp the principles well enough.”

The Dalish have not created new vallaslin designs in thousands of years, little wonder she has such a small-mindedness towards art and—‘fresco’, it is tuast, he should’ve told Archivist Banon that, rather than allow Antivans to continue their linguistic massacre. As the Inquisitor languidly splays out, a thought eases over Solas’ grumbling: It was kind of her to ask.

She is kind, and he is a grouch, avoiding his own feelings. If he does not, they may leak out and she will know he finds her beautiful. Which she is, by any measure; she must already know. Sunlight shimmering over her silver-silk jacket and trousers, hair spread out in verdure with snow-capped mountains beyond her. A few snowflakes drift down—

Fenedhis. Solas is not thinking of Haven. The flakes dissipate.

“Thank you for helping me come here,” she says, gazing up at the sky.

Solas stares at his dun-brown slippers, and continues kiting his memories of Haven—which are various, and most do not involve the woman in front of him—through his mind, for no particular reason.

“You would be here regardless,” he says mildly. “I only came when called. And ensured you remained on the balcony, rather than however far the fall might take you. If anyone encourages you otherwise, do inform Spymaster Leliana.”

The Inquisitor lets out a long, descending whistle. “Thump, crack,” she coos. “I hope I’d wake.”

Little wonder that Cole gets along with her. Maybe she reminds Solas of Cole, and, as she's been flirtatious, he mistakes his platonic affection to be attraction, and that is the source of—no, the source of his attraction is that she is attractive. The denial is too obvious now, Solas can smell it as if it were dried sweat on his upper lip. He wipes it with his shoulder in case he actually has any.

She shifts to look at him, crushing her soft hair beneath a streak of vallaslin. “How do I know you came? As in, Solas. How do I know you’re not a spirit?”

Skyhold’s wards bar spirits from crossing through the Fade. I would prefer you not ask how I came to this knowledge, nor dwell on the sudden and, I assure you, entirely unrelated lapse in my willingness to entertain inquiries.

“You don’t,” Solas replies. “If I were a spirit, would that trouble you?”

“Not if you told me. I’d only feel sorry you thought you had to trick me into spending time with you. Solas is who I’m forming a memory of right now. I’d rather that he actually.. be here for it.”

He pushes off from the doorway, and sits. “A thoughtful answer, but a misguided one. What do you think a spirit, visiting your dream, would be formed from?”

“The Fade reflects my mind,” she quotes, eyes darting between the few clouds above, “and 'a spirit is a purpose.'”

“Precisely. Say a spirit was shaped into the elf you call Solas, and sits before you now. Is his intent be Solas, or trick the Inquisitor? The former is far more likely, and were he doing the latter, he would not confess it. There would not be much of a trick if he did.”

She nods at the darkening sky. “Whoever you are, you can call me Elanna.”

Then comes the shifting in his chest again. “Elanna. For what it’s worth, you’re welcome to speak with me once we’re awake, and I’ll recount this conversation.” Solas pauses, insists to the Fade that nightfall should warm to dusk, then continues. “For now, you have no way to know who I truly am. It would be best to keep that in mind.”

“Solas. For what it’s worth,” she repeats, rolling onto her side, “what about desire demons?”

He props his right elbow on his knee, then his chin upon that hand. Then, allows her a smile.

“They are much the same,” he says, “their purpose is still not to trick you, least of all because you, Elanna, cannot be possessed. Their purpose is to be your desire. I am not a desire demon. I ask that you not treat me as one. One in my form would say that, unless your desire is a caricature of me, but all the same. Please don’t.”

Another nod. She holds his gaze. The dim light hides her freckles, but June’s marring of her remains stark; her vallaslin curves over her cheekbones, across her forehead, on her chin, the front of her throat.. the ritual must've taken hours. Solas holds the ache in his chest close, away from her thoughtful look. He could have the Fade depict her bare-faced.. but he should not meddle further. (Or have meddled at all.)

When she blinks, her eyes return to their natural green. “Thank you for this,” she says. “I’m fortunate to walk the Fade. I’d rather not misstep. Serannas.” How one addresses a beggar when you are politely declining them. At least the Dalish put it to sincere purpose. Even if they only salvaged serannas after discarding manners entirely.

“Ma neral. My pleasure,” he adds, after her confusion breezes over him. “Was there anything else?”

Elanna looks over. “Yes.”

Anchor sparking and outstretched, she brushes the hand resting at his side. His eyes flutter closed. She laces their fingers together; he lets her, and lifts his hand for her—just to not go petulantly limp, just to be co-operative, just..

It has been so long, Elanna.

Millennia. A month. He’d been desperate to feel her against him, and he still is, for he wants more than the bowstring-nock on her thumb. It was upon his chin when he’d kissed her, and it is upon his finger now; her left thumb is all he’s felt from her beyond her dropping the Anchor into his hands for inspection each week—her left hand is all he’s received from her at all. When she'd kissed him, the peck was so light that, if she ever denies it happened, he'll be easily persuaded.

Her spirit seemed to radiate no feelings into his dream, hence his searching for them in the back of her throat. Yet nothing had crested over him from her. No lust or revelation, no joy. Even now, there is only a light fragrance in the air of.. unexpectant appreciation. Elanna is either far more restrained than he’s given her credit for, or she does not want him. Mortals are not all this delicate, he knows; is he delicate now?

Throughout uthenera he’d shared the Fade with other dreamers, and their dreamscapes all radiated intensity. Chaos. Wonder. Hers renders everything inconsequential. His own irritability dissipates the longer he lingers; even now, his frustrations over their first kiss are reduced to air.

As she strokes his hand, the Fade supplies him with further sensations, embellishments, constant prickles skimming over him. He tries to stamp it out, he wants to feel her, but it may as well be a hoard of ants, teeming underfoot.

“Your hand is so soft,” she says, each syllable soft as a petal, floating through the air. “Is this welcome?”

Solas gently squeezes their laced fingers and lifts his fingertips to meet hers. “Yes, lethallan. I would stay like this. If you’d like.”

“Elanna, lethallin, remember?”

His chest aches. "Elanna."

Elanna navigated through to his heart with her typical grace, and seems unhurt thus far.. Unless she left, and that too occurred without his noticing.

Perhaps she did. Perhaps she isn’t in his heart. Elanna may not love him; he certainly cannot feel it. Contentment is the whiff on the wind. Perhaps it is love for her inside his heart. Solas may love her; he certainly cannot tell. Love is supposed to drench his insides and leave him gasping.

The grass brushes against his knees; fantasising and action must be separated carefully in the Fade, and he had been careless, again. His eyes open to see the ever-attentive Elanna, blissfully unaware. And his hand, held between both of hers, while she lays on her back. He’s kneeling beside her. There is no gust of satisfaction or pleasure, simply the dry pad of her finger, tracing the lines on his palm.

Perhaps he can let his feelings show in dreams. He could keep them to insignificance, as breath is upon glass or a lover or into freezing hands. Elanna once said she was interested in getting to know him. She will never, obviously; but in the Fade, perhaps he can present her a diffusion.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps; certainty seems excluded from the stolid flavour profile of Elanna’s dreamscape.

The Anchor sparks against his hand. Solas rests back on his ankles, pulling it with him.

“May I examine it?”

Because there is one thing he must be certain of.

“Of course.” Elanna sits up. “Is the Anchor still.. itself, when I'm dreaming?”

“As much as anything else. So.. yes. In a sense,” he replies vaguely, and flattens her palm. Fervid viridian, diagonally gashed against her skin, and sparking. Far brighter than it is in the waking world. His face must be aglow with green light, cast from below like Varric regaling horrors by the campfire. Solas shifts her hand higher. He is not immune to vanity.

The Anchor extends to the natural lines of her palm, they too shine Breach-green, and there are matching lights beneath the skin of her entire palm, radiating and shifting, as wisps do in water.

“You may lie back, Inquisitor. Elanna. There is no cause for concern, but I would look at it a while longer. The way you interpret the Anchor is fascinating.”

Elanna hums, twitches her hand against his wrist, then flops back. “Take your time. I’d feel if anything was wrong.”

“You likely would,” he agrees. “But it is good to do some tests.”

Among the countless ones Solas ran after the Conclave, as she lay unconscious and his nerves screamed at him to flee Ferelden entirely, was whether his power reached beyond Elanna’s flesh. Whether the Breach had rended her essence as well. All he’d discerned was that his magic seemed centralised to her hand, as was all the magic within her. A reminder of Fen’harel’s worst mistake, as he’d beheld the newest.

Dalish, incapable of magic, born severed from the Fade, Elanna Lavellan has suffered from so many of his follies. But due to the Anchor, she can dream with lucidity. Enter his dreams. Toy with clouds. Enjoy the silver lining; exposure to the Orb of Destruction changed her spirit.

Meaning its creator may be able to continue doing so.

As its creator has attempted to.

Whenever their group makes camp, Elanna sits patiently as Solas amends any damage done to her by the Anchor’s magic, and, on occasion, he tries to press new magic in. With Elanna actually conscious and upright, he can track results more obvious than ‘breathe four times in the next ten seconds’, as he tried to in Haven.

‘Say it’s raining’, ‘I should state my dislike of strawberries’, ‘you want to pick that elfroot there’; dozens of attempts, with no indication of her being affected. Neither intensity nor phrasing nor emotional disposition changed a thing. The Anchor simply behaved as usual: sparking, sundering, rebellious to any but the 'god' of that very trait. At Solas’ command, the Anchor would quieten and heal her, but at such commands, its bearer did nothing. Thus her spirit seems impermeable to his influence—when she’s awake.

Here in the Fade, the very magic the Anchor is tied to.. It is good to do some tests.

Tenderly, tentatively, he eases the Anchor open, and orders it. Scratch the Inquisitor’s cheek. My cheek is itchy. Scratch your cheek. I must scratch my cheek, I must scratch the Inquisitor’s cheek.

Her hand thumps to the ground, and he glances over.

“Can I shape the clouds?” she asks, drumming her fingers against her clavicle. “I can only change whether they’re.. there.”

“That is a question only you can answer,” he replies, pulling the Anchor closer. “The limits of your will are yours to test, not mine to declare.”

As Elanna returns to her twirling, Solas allows the leash of his self-control some slack. The Anchor may respond to him if he perceives it for what it is.

The veridian flickers beneath her skin disappear; the skin of her palm pales to a slake-lime white, and rather than a dagger-slit of a wound, the Anchor is the Breach, writ small. Rendered in sap green, pooling paler over time. The scent of its magic roils to a stench. Fen’harel’s magic, Solas’ magic, his magic, unstable and spoilt by its suspension in impurity.

Solas flicks his eyes over to her. “Did you find your answer, Inquisitor?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, occupied by the canvas of dusk. “Oh. Yes, I did. I can shape the clouds, and I’ve made a recurve bow. And it’s Elanna.”

I’m dropping my arm, he presses the rot-wet flesh of her palm. Wow, my arm is very tired.

“I apologise, Elanna. What are you making now?” Though she will drop her arm before they finish speaking. Solas would be happy if I dropped my arm. Solas will hurt me unless I drop my arm.

She flicks with her finger to the side, and will drop her arm momentarily. “An arrow.”

Laia laves’lav, Elanna. Drop your arm. Drop your arm or I will kill your friends.

“You'll soon need a quiver,” he says. Elanna whistles, before setting to work on, evidently, that very thing.

Solas ignores the relief nudging at the bottom of his stomach. Commands are not compulsions; emotion carries them to fruition. He needs to feel something she would not, and press it through. Something she can easily shake off. What would not overwhelm her? Sensitive as this girl is, compared to Solas she is effectively an extroverted Tranquil.

.. What a cruel thought to have about someone that trusts him.

Ah, he thinks, shame would do well.

Whereas Elanna being embarrassed about anything is unfathomable, shame is as old a friend to Solas as many a spirit; shame can be easily found if he knows where to look.

He looks at her. “I will not trouble you much longer.”

“Being self-deprecating isn’t being polite,” she says, smearing evening darkness over the sky. “Don’t worry.”

Being able to not worry in the future depends upon Solas worrying now, and so, he disobeys her. With one of his hands, he braces the Anchor, and with the other, he dips two fingers into the damp slit of it. He stares. And feels nothing. Even rocking them in and out and tracing the top of the Anchor lightly, he can only think of his fingers, in the Anchor, which is on Elanna’s palm. It is incomparable to anything else.

Lechery seems unavailable as a route towards feeling shame.

He presses.

I am lecherous, merely in denial. She is trying to court him—or whatever Dalish do, and the existence of her willfully ignorant people is his fault in the first place—and he has a recurring fantasy of cupping her face, stroking the velvet-soft skin by her jaw, and kissing her for hours. That is his primary fantasy about a red-blooded young woman who wants him, thus, something worse must lurk beneath. As for his prospective performance in the bedroom, there would be little shame to be had there, beyond that he would lay with her under false pretenses, is over four thousand years old, and could force her hand to do anything including rending itself from her body.

He consistently tests to see if he can control her mind!

Solas cannot even bear to look at her and check if this is working, what a coward he is.

Even if it was working, and she was as sick to her core with shame as he is, she’d likely still offer a pinched smile; she is indomitably sweet and he meets that with suspicion, for he is a waste of time, and she is still clueless as to how lowly he thought of her when they met. How monstrous he’s being to her, no better than the Evanuris, stringing along—

“You’re so handsome when you’re pondering.”

Her affection is birdsong.

Shuddering, Solas lifts his fingers from the Anchor. “I.. thank you, Inquisitor.”

Posture unchanged, expression relaxed, her other hair is twirling a ringlet. Shamelessly. He rubs his thumb along her palm and she smiles; wide, carefree. Relief leaps over his stomach and flips it over. If touching her risked controlling her mind, he would’ve secluded himself upon a scaffold in the rotunda until Corypheus was defeated, but there is no such risk. Elanna is safe with him.

The Anchor returns to the green lightning storm that Elanna imagines it to be, and Solas could kiss it; instead, he squeezes it, and is relieved further when he thinks that he can kiss her in future.

“I’m free from staring at your hand,” he murmurs, and finds himself sinking closer. He does not find himself regretting it.

That same bashful look she had in Haven, right before he kissed her, is what he's looking at now. He could kiss her now. Snow pools beneath them, and the sun turns wintry bright. Elanna almost shivers, he sees the skin prickling on her neck before she catches herself. Is it restraint? Is that why I cannot feel you?

“So,” she says, raising herself a little to look around, “you’ve moved us to Haven, and your staring to my mouth.”

With a laugh, Solas sets her hand back at her side. “I’m looking. To stare requires.. ah, there. It has been long enough. Accuse me now.”

“So!” Elanna gasps. “Haven and all that, and you’re staring at my mouth!”

“I am.” He flicks his eyes up to hers. “I was.”

Elanna links their hands together again, and he presses them to the ground; lightly, only enough for him to leverage himself over her and return to staring at her lips. The top is a sharp bow, the lower rounded and chapped.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, and pauses. Just to test, just once more. “And I will.”

“Oh, so we’ll be here for hours." She bobs her head up to kiss him, and he dodges back with an amused scoff, as if longing has not worn his restraint to the quick, as if her paltry mortal sheen of nonchalance could stay on him, when his blood is quaking with desire, he is shaking with it, and he can kiss her right now, she wants him to, she’s slipped her hands free an—

He jerks away before their lips meet.

“Wait,” he gasps, shivering. “Don’t. Forgive me, I—”

“Oh!” And she’s already several feet away from him, sat against one of the wood barns. “I’m sorry! Ir abelas! Ir abelas, Solas, I wasn’t—”

“You do not need to apologise. I am just..” Why did he bring them here? Why did he not warm the air?! He does so now, for the Inquisitor is wearing silk, she must be freezing. “I am just gathering my thoughts. You were perfect.”

There, he thinks, have that, a compliment tossed over to keep the quickling busy while the immortal wracks through his empty head, because thousands of years in the Fade evidently taught him nothing.

While her mouth stops apologising, the wide eyes above continue to.

“I overwhelmed myself. Ir abelas, Elanna,” he says, and stands, brushing the snow from his trousers. Which he is still wearing. Which are laced. And linen, as always, and loose; it seems nobody’s fantasies ran entirely off the leash. “You would wake more easily if at Skyhold. I can return us there in a moment.”

She nods, with a blush from what may be affection, or simply understanding; a kind word overheard in the other room. Steadily, his emotions cool; irritability and confusion and desire are flecks, dust, easily dispersed as he wrings his hands a few times. There remains a longing for her, but that seems unavoidable.

Reasonably sure he won’t warp the dream further, Solas flashes a smile over to her.

“I’m going to hold your hand," she says, getting to her feet. "What if you accidentally toss me over the mountains on our way?” When she laces their fingers together once more, the Anchor sparks between them.

“Historically speaking, you do not need to hold my hand to prevent my doing that."

“I didn’t say that I did.” She beams.

"Ah," he laughs, and squeezes her hand. Ease floods his body and a sudden urge to continue laughing, both of which are beyond uncharacteristic—

Ah. Solas glances at their joined hands.

Any emotion pressed into the Anchor seems to be obliterated before it can land in Elanna. After explosions, debris.

─

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider going to ao3 and leaving me a kudos (you don't need to be logged in!) or dropping a Like here. Comments/replies are also immensely appreciated and let me know what I'm doing right (or wrong, I'm not your boss.) ♡

#solavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age #some of his dialogue is in either hallelujah-rhythm or iambs!! woa!!!#inquisitor lavellan #dragon age: inquisition #solavellan fic #solas x inquisitor #dragon age fic #no beta we die like PEOPLE DIE VARRIC IT'S WHAT THEY DO #my fic

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songofamazon · 3 months ago

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Also, I want to hear everyone else's choices too. :D

Velmethri "Rook" Aldwir was a Veil Jumper, evoker, Dalish elf, whom I head-canon as Inquisitor Elanna Lavellan's (Solas-mancer) cousin and among Elanna's only remaining family, though they only got to know each other after the events of Inquisition. (Vel's dad joined another clan when said clan needed a mage, so they weren't there for the Clan Lavellan massacre. I really needed Lavellan to still have family somewhere.)

I played Vel as awkward, people-loving, and tyrant-hating. She distrusted Solas at first, and is mad at him for treating Elanna poorly, but comes around just in time to be betrayed. She's mad, but she believes in hope, especially in Elanna's hope.

She flirted around, and Taash especially surprised her (wow), but she ultimately wound up pursuing a more demisexual romance with Lucanis.

She saved Treviso because of the threat of blight in the water (and Lucanis, but she won't say that out loud). In Act 3, Harding led the second team and Bellara disarmed the door. For all the big battles where gods or dragons were involved, Lucanis and Taash were her team. That said, Bellara was her best friend.

In the end, she chose hope, and Elanna joined her love at last, for eternity in the fade.

I *loved* the Lighthouse and the Crossroads, and the way it all evolved. I was shook by the chance to actually talk to (a fragment of) Mythal. Actually reliving the memories with Solas and Felassen was incredible. Reconstructing the memories and Solas' regrets was something I was deeply looking forward to, and I wasn't disappointed. I loved the team syncs after each of those, and after the other big missions. I loved how the team grew closer together to be like a family.

Arlathan was incredible. I've wanted to see it since DAO, and I could just live there forever. The beauty and loss all wrapped together was amazing.

Every encounter with Solas was amazing. GDL knocked it out of the park with his voice acting, especially at the end. The range from Trickster God to Veilguard 'ally' to Solas with Lavellan was incredible. How he just crumbled in front of Mythal made *me* cry.

This whole game made me feel all the feels in the devistatingly best way possible.

Evka and Antoine were two characters I was so excited to meet in-game after reading Tevinter Nights and their DA Day short stories. I might have screamed when I spotted Evka in one of the preview reels. And wow, did they not disappoint. I think I'm going to need to make an Evka cosplay in the near future. I also loved the long-distance interaction between them and the blighted Viper.

Evka for First Warden.

Overall, I loved the game and I'm excited to play it again. A few things I wish could have been different:

More companion banter *with* Rook, especially in the romance plotlines. Recurring flirting and smooches would have been lovely. Especially with the Lucanis plot, it seems like he got shafted a bit. (I still loved the scenes we did get, though. So sweet.)

Trevor Morris. The best musical moments in the game were call-backs to his work. The rest was nice at atmospheric, but not amazing.

Less softened around the edges. There are some really f'ed up things going on with the Crows, with Tevinter, etc. that we didn't have to face. It made the gritty world of Thedas seem somehow *less* what we've seen in other games. It's okay to want to save Treviso or Mirathous and still acknowledge that slavery and abuses exists. That makes the decision even harder, the grayness of the factions we love and support.

In general, this game seems like it was trying too hard to be liked to be willing to take risks. Bioware really did need a win, and I certainly hope that this launch counts as one, and that the next game can go back to the rougher, riskier feel of the other games.

Overall, I loved it, and my Solavellan heart is finally at peace.

ok i know ive been doing a lot of bitching about the game etc but putting that aside for a moment. Now that more people have finished Veilguard, I'm curious about people's first playthroughs!

What kind of Rook did you make (lineage, class, dialogue personality options, etc)?

What faction did you play as?

Fave companions and npc's?

Who did you romance?

The major choices--what'd you do? (which city, saved, notable companion routes you strongly prefer, what went down in act 3 and endgame...)

Any particular missions/lore you were excited about?

you don't have to be a mutual to reply to/reblog this! im just curious what we all veered to for the first run. i'm doing a second one now making different choices but it's interesting to compare people's first instincts.

#dragon age: veilguard #da4 spoilers #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #veilguard

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dragonagethistle · 6 years ago

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I may have outdone myself with this one. And yes, I love it so much that I set it as my new icon. Here's my Elanna Lavellan

#Farrada draws #pencil drawing #dragon age Inquisition #ellana Lavellan #elf Inquisitor

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olesia-d-million · 6 years ago

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Deshanna Istimetoriel Lavellan

Each time playing for Lavellan (I played 4 times out of 4) I always regretted that we were not given the opportunity to play the personal quest of her clan. But thanks to this - I got a lot of "headkanons". One of them is Deshanna Istimetoriel Lavellan appearance. She is not only the Keeper of the clan, teacher of Elanna, but also her grandmother!)

This art is a small sketch of how Deshanna teaches Elanna to brew a potion🧙‍♀️🎃

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #lavellan #elf #bioware #my art #Deshanna Istimetoriel Lavellan

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songofamazon · 5 months ago

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Finally answering my own question:

Elanna Lavellan was the Keeper's First in Clan Lavellan.

Her magic manifested quite young, so she immediately began to train under the keeper and his First, even as 6-year-old. From that point forward, she took her job in learning and sharing Dalish knowledge very seriously. As a small child, she would retell legends, histories, dreams, remedy recipes, and random fun facts to whoever happened to be nearby. As she grew into a teen, some sharp responses made her start to believe that she was annoying her family and clan members and became much more introspective and quiet. The death of their elderly Keeper around the same time hit her really hard. Death was always hard for her. She began looking for comfort in nature and in dreams.

As the youngest to quite old parents with early magic manifestation, she was raised by the Keeper and his First (Keeper at the time of the Inquisition) and the clan as a whole, as much as with her parents and older siblings. Her closest relationship was with the Keeper and First, and then a young Cousin who became their Second when she was in her 20s. The other children didn't really know what to do with her other than their games of tag and hiding. Nevertheless, she loves the whole clan like family.

Although she presents as a bit stoic and distant, she is deeply empathetic and loving. She just doesn't know how to express it very well. She is certainly autistic (like me!) but doesn't know a pathology for how her brain works. She's also secretly a romantic, wishing for a handsome, wise stranger to sweep her off her feet (because, Gods know she is a terrible flirt).

Despite her gentle awkwardness, she also made a very careful study of leadership, because that was her job too. Through studying and asking her Keeper, and other Keepers they met, as well as watching lead hunters and such, she developed a steady, follower-empowering leadership style.

She was at the Conclave (age 28) with two others from Clan Lavellan (mostly as escorts to her), because both she and the Keeper were both curious and nervous about what the outcomes could be. She was poking around the Temple of Sacred Ashes, trying to learn what she could of human religion and guess at how that would affect outcomes when she heard Justinia cry out, and she rushed to action in the next room.

As the "Herald of Andraste" she felt the need of the humans around her to find something to believe in. She'd felt that kind of grief before. So she never contradicted anyone calling her that, as strange as it felt. She mostly saw herself as a not-quite-normal member of the Inquisition--until the attack on Haven and her elevation to Inquisitor.

Talking with Solas about elves, history, his travels and philosophies was a welcome break from the human attention. It was an attraction that came on slowly, from a safe, comfort in his presence. He saw her as who she was and she didn't feel like she had to be anyone else. It wasn't until their joint dream in the Fade that it hit her she was in love with him. For Elanna, it was a much shyer flirt and kiss than we see in the game, but Solas very clearly showed his own attraction. That put her absolutely head-over-heels. Yet, she still respected his own hesitancies. Being close to him became both comforting and intoxicating, and she could tell the same was true for him.

As someone raised to fear Templars and who saw little danger in well-trained mages with their own agency, she supported mages whenever possible. Otherwise, she was fairly conservative in her decision-making. If something was more or less working already, why not keep it as it is. Ultimately, she looked to what the people seemed to most "need" emotionally.

Her closest platonic friends were Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian, plus the other Dalish who signed on as Inquisition agents. She always enjoyed resting in the garden with them and chatting.

Although Skyhold was beautiful, and knowing it was formerly Elvhen gave her comfort, she always felt the most herself when she was out in the field, helping people, with a small 'clan' of friends.

Solas breaking up with her hit her really hard and clouded her judgement for longer than she wanted it to. Although he offered support, he was so careful and cold, she felt like she lost her most trusted, comfortable friendship. From that point, her relationship with Dorian, another outsider mage, grew stronger. He drew her out of her shell a bit and helped get her back into leading with confidence again. Yet, Solas' sudden disappearance at the end of the final battle hit her really hard again. So did the news of her clan's massacre, which arrived some time later.

In Tresspasser, now 32, she decided to keep the Inquisition together under Divine Cassandra, because she could not bear the idea of disbanding the few friends (and really, found family) she had left. She also trusted Cassandra to do "right" by the Inquisition. She later rescinded and had the Inquisition disbanded, but I think that is a story I will tell later.

Quizquisition: Journey to Veilguard

Hey you! Yes, you. I have some questions about your Inquisitor from Dragon Age.

I've seen a ton of awesome "who is your Inquisitor" surveys going around that rely on mutuals dropping question numbers into your ask box. That is a bit tricky for those of us who don't have many Dragon Age mutuals.

Because I love learning about people's Inquisitors and sharing about mine too. I'm going to ask open questions about your Inquisitor(s) leading up to The Veilguard (yes, yours too!). I'll be posting new questions roughly every other day.

So, onto Inquisitor question, the first!

Who is your Inquisitor? Give us a basic bio of who they were before they became Inquisitor and any key choices they made during the Inquisition.

Answer however you want: in fact bullets, fanfic snippets, interviews, art, comics, audio, video, interpretive dance, etc.

Answer as many or few of the prompts as you feel like.

Answer with one or many of your Inquisitors.

Let's hype each other's characters on the way to Veilguard!

If you want to tag it with something searchable, how about #Quizquisition ? Please do tag any spoilers or put them under a cut so no one gets caught unawares.

#Quizquisition #Dragon Age #Inquisitor #Dragon Age Inquisition #Dragon Age: The Veilguard #Veilguard #Inquisitor Lavellan #Elanna Lavellan #OC

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rosexknight · 4 years ago

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Why do you hurt?

“Rules: Take this quiz for one of your OCs. (Only 8 questions, some of them are a little… U-Quiz-y, but I liked the results.)”

Again, copied from @/lavellander I hope that’s cool ;-;

Initial results here and then longer more rambley thoughts under the cut.

Neria Surana: you swallow pain & fold around it

you have always hurt. you hold it carefully, and twisted in such a way that other people don't have to see it. you don't choke on it. you don't drown. you just have it, the way some people have freckles, this is a thing that lives in your bones. you fold instead of fighting because you know how to make yourself small, tuck away the places where they have clawed at, swallow the bruises so you seem clean. nobody needs to see it. you will live through this on your own. you know what you need, and relief isn't it. this doesn't mean you cannot reach out - it means it is not in your nature to do so. you should. hiding does not mean you won't be seen.

Marian Hawke: this isn't enough for you

the words creep into your head in the dead of night one night and you cannot get rid of them. 'this isn't enough for me anymore'. you thought this was enough for you at some point, or maybe you hoped that it would be, but it isn't, and it hurts. you need to change something, or die trying. this - life like this - does not make life worth living. there is a lump in your throat that demands attention every waking moment of the day. there is pain in your body like a cavernous maw you cannot keep balance over. this is not what you wanted. you need to change. you can't stay here. it is not a character flaw you want more.

Elanna Lavellan: you're choking on how much you have to try

you have tried. you have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders and accepted more responsibilities than you have ever wanted, even intended to gain. it isn't crushing - you are strong enough to hold it - but you are choking. you don't know what to do with it. you don't know where it goes, how to move this weight everyone knows you can hold onto, and do you even want to get rid of it? Never. You would not give this to - force this on - anyone else. but you /can't/. but you are choking on it. your body will hold it up even when you lose all the air in your lungs, and your footing, and your courage. it does not mind choking you. it seems almost designed to do so. if you weren't wrung out you wouldn't be doing this thing properly.

They are so perfect. So painful. Y’all have no idea. Anyway have fun with my OC rambles.

Neria Surana: you swallow pain & fold around it

Y’all have no idea how perfect this is. Neria went from a favorite in the Circle, completely untouchable, to a Greywarden freshly betrayed by one she thought was her best friend. Going back to the Circle after it had fallen FUCKED her up. After Ostagar, when she, Morrigan, and Alistair went through Lothering, she heard whispers of something happening in the Circle. Gossip that something was wrong. But Arl Eamon’s sickness seems more pressing, and Alistair is worried, so her final decision is to go to Redcliffe first despite desperately wanting to check on her home. It isn’t until the battle of Redcliffe is won, Jowan is released, and the plan to get help from the Circle is made that they return. The Circle has fallen. The Right of Annulment is being approved, and Neria has to climb the tower, a place once her home, praying that SOMEONE survived. But this really starts it. She blames herself for the Circle falling. She blames herself for what happened to Jowan. She later blames herself for what happened to Anders and Amaranthine/Vigil’s Keep, etc. She’d blame herself for the Blight id she could. Alistair is really the only one aware of this flaw she has, and even then she has never told him the extent of the horror that the Circle brought her. Or how much returning to her apparently old home in the alienage in Denerim broke her. Or how much she felt like she failed at Amaranthine despite both the city and Vigil’s Keep surviving and the mother being defeated simply because Velanna was lost. Because it’s easier to carry that hurt. It’s easier to blame herself, to be angry at herself, than admit that the world is that cruel.

Marian Hawke: this isn't enough for you

I pondered this one for a bit. Because, logically, it should be enough. Hawke went from a nobody in Lothering to the Champion of Kirkwall. My Hawke specifically, Marian, just wanted some peace and quiet. For a time, she had that. Yes, she lost her family, but she carried on. But then I realized, this is not referring to material wants. This is emotional want. Marian lost one family, and gained another. Varric, Fenris, Isabela, Merrill, Sebastian, Aveline. They’re thick as thieves. She loves them. They make her feel whole. It’s the romance that’s the problem. Anders. In Act 1 she falls fast and hard. Rebel mage with a heart of gold who just cares so damn much? They have a lot in common. In Act 2 she fights for his cause. Helps him in the Mage Underground. Helps him control Justice. Helps keep the Templars off their trail. But then her mother dies, and she sees the horrors. A thought slips into her mind: What if the Templars are right about Mages? She doesn’t care less, but it makes her more conscious of just what is going on with the mages of Kirkwall. Act 3 is when it all crashes down. The relationship starts feeling more hollow. Anders feels as if he’s pulling away, despite Marian’s attempts to keep him close. He asks for her help in the Chantry, and asks her to trust him. She does without question, because why wouldn’t she? (I know he gets super nasty if you decline or press for info but I just never got that far when I was playing.) The Chantry blew. The final battle ensued, and she left Anders behind. Because it wasn’t enough for her. When he comes back to her, it still isn’t enough for her. And it’s not a character flaw to want more.

Elanna Lavellan: you're choking on how much you have to try

My Inquisitor, I think, is probably the most standard of these three. A Dalish elf. In the wrong place at the wrong time suddenly being revered as the herald of a goddess she knew nothing of and expected to save the world. She jumps into it immediately, whether out of self-preservation or a genuine want for more. She grew up on stories of the Hero of Fereldan and adored The Tale of the Champion. She studies the Chant to figure out what’s so great about Andraste. She learns some formal etiquette from Josephine. She spends time with Leliana and her spies. She spars personally with the troops and makes sure Cullen takes breaks. She writes with Varric. She meditates with Solas. She reads terrible novels with Cassandra. She trains with Bull and the chargers. She plays pranks with Sera. She studies Circle magic with Vivienne. She gets fashion advice from Dorian. She enjoys quiet moments with Blackwall. She listens to Cole as he reads those all around Skyhold. When Alistair and Morrigan and her son Keiran arrive she pesters for tales about the Hero, and laughs with them. But She wasn’t expecting it to be quite so…much. She wasn’t expecting to have half of Thedas on her shoulders. She is eternally grateful for her advisors and inner circle. When the world is on her shoulders it’s amazing to feel like she’s not drowning. Cullen is the most help. Somehow, he always knew when she needed a break, perhaps because he too was a workaholic. Or perhaps it’s because they’re simply stronger in each other’s arms. On quiet days when things are slow and the evening rolls in, she is sometimes caught walking the gardens and courtyard of Skyhold barefoot. It never quite feels the same.

#dragon age #dragon age oc #yes i used the default names #neria also has some hella impostor syndrome

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