#elfroot and words

[elfroot-and-laurels]

for the kiss promps: finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . - for cullen and la''ara?? (also good luck with your grant applications!!)

Thank you Rhia! Nothing more humbling than having to write why you believe you should get funding so you can finish your degree 🥲 And I already have their first kiss written out for their canon but...technically this still counts since Cullen is the one who instigates that kiss.

                La’ara’s heart thrums in their chest, like the beating of a bird’s wings. The sudden space between her mouth and Cullen’s is strange and unwelcome—a sudden shift of reality after so long spent wanting to kiss him. When they focus their eyes once more, are really able to see Cullen in front of them, they understand why. Cullen looks down at her with eyes half drunk and half terrified, searching her face for any telltale sign of regret. A strange thing to do when their fingers are still twined with the ends of his curls at the nape of his neck.                 “I—I’m—” he begins, and already La’ara can feel him pulling away, back into himself, rationalizing his self-denial.                 “No,” she says, cutting off his apology before it can begin, pressing her lips to his once more, the first time she’s ever done so. This kiss is even more hungry than the first, more conscious and aware, more purposeful and seeking. This kiss is everything that has been building in La’ara’s chest since they first met Cullen back in Haven. This kiss is the end and the beginning and it is not enough, she isn’t close enough. They stand on the tips of their toes, palms flush against Cullen’s cheeks now, and despite themself, they can feel tears welling in the corners of their eyes.                 When the two of them break apart this time, Cullen is smiling.

[mxanigel]

One-word prompts: Elfroot

Living in a city like Denerim packed with people and an influx of Blight refugees, catching a cold is inevitable, even in good weather. But Heather doesn’t have time to be sick. Her information regarding what may be driving the increased unrest in the alienage is too critical to delay sharing, too sensitive to entrust to someone else to deliver.

She chews on another slice of elfroot and begs the Maker that this one will finally be sufficient to calm her urge to cough before it’s time to sneak into the royal palace. Nothing can stand between her and her rendezvous with Anora.

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.  

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 8.7+

A/N:  This chapter is mostly filler from 1.04-1.05. This chapter also, once again has a POV from Zoro. I kept going through my options of what I could do to possibly give these two idiots more alone time and this was the result. The beginning, and introduction, of Sanji begins right at Chapter 5 and I already have too many ✨ideas ✨ that I know what to do with. Also, I did add in Zoro working out. It’s a brief mention, but I just found it weird he didn’t have any of those scenes (probably for damn good reason). As always, thank you guys for all the love and support. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story🖤 Much Love, Jenn

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Previous Next

“I don’t know, Doc. You’re starting to look a little pale.”

“And green.”

You’d been hugging the side of this particular railing since you’d sailed out of port. It was your first time ever on a ship and it wasn’t going too great. You’d heard about seasickness and even had sailors come asking for Naan’s Elfroot to chew to stem the tide while they were out at sea. You always thought they were being ridiculous. How bad could it be? 

Well, if your dry heaving was any indication - pretty bad. Of course, Zoro just had to make it worse. 

You glanced up from looking at the water that was gently tapping the side of the boat to the growing bane of your existence. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans while the other rested on the hilt of his swords. He looked effortlessly cool as he watched you with - was that a smirk? 

He’d changed into a yellow shirt with fine detailing of gray lines running horizontally and vertically, which matched perfectly with his gray pants. 

Zoro was more of a fashionista than he’d let on. 

“It’s just the reflection of your hair,” you shot back at him. 

You could feel the next wave of nausea thrashing around in your stomach and you prayed you could keep it down. You were going to lose more cool points if you hurled again. Zoro squinted over the sun's rays to regard your current state. He must have been able to tell you were 0.2 seconds from hurling because, instead of replying, he simply twirled his finger indicating for you to turn around. 

You did as he instructed, but made sure to follow it up with a middle finger salute. 

“Man, you two always like this? You just met.” Usopp asked. 

Usopp tried doing the dotting friend routine by patting you a few times, awkwardly, on your back. It felt more like he was trying to get a burp out of you than soothe you. 

“It’s because they like each other.”

Nami pranced out of the galley and chose violence. It only took both you and Zoro to register her words before you both shouted: 

“I don’t like her.”

“I hate him!”

Nami wrapped her arms around herself as she looked you both over. A devious smile tilting the edges of her mouth and you had to look away before it turned into the shit eating grin you’d come to expect. 

“I’m sure you both do,” she teased. 

You wanted to prove to her that you meant it. Zoro would be the last person you would say you liked, like- like that. The man was literally the biggest pain in the ass you’d ever met. 

“Usopp,” you croaked, “can you get my bag, please.”

“I’m on it, Doc.”

At the sound of his feet hitting the deck, a groan of discomfort resonated in your chest. How could anyone think that sailing was fun? This felt like the absolute worst. 

When you first entered the Going Merry you couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. You’d heard Usopp tell you stories since he cleaned it everyday. It was as finely crafted as he’d described, and the white ashwood against the walnut was a stark contrast but complemented each other beautifully. There wasn’t another ship like the Going Merry and a one-of-a-kind ship should belong to someone as extraordinary as Luffy.

The minute you’d cast off into the giant blue you’d almost panicked. What if this was a mistake? You’d never been out in open water before nor had you ever left Syrup village. This could either be one of the greatest adventures of your life or a disaster. The only thing that kept you from flinging yourself over the side and swimming back was when you’d walked the stern and the glint of the sun shone down on the water. 

The sun’s rays illuminated the water like light reflecting off a crystal glass. One minute it was the deepest blue. The color was solid enough that your reflection was easy to see and in a matter of seconds after a ray of light touched its water, it took on a cornflower hue that made the water translucent. 

You’d been able to admire it for all of three seconds before you were embarrassing yourself over the port bow. 

“I’m back, Doc,” Usopp spoke softly as he placed a soft hand on your shoulder. He lightly tapped the bag against your hands to try and coax you to grab it. “Do you need me to get you water or anything?”

“Water is not going to help. It’ll make it worse.” 

You thought he was trying just to be his usual monotoned “Hi, I’m Zoro and I could care less,” self, but when you finally peeled your forehead off your forearm and looked at him he wasn’t even looking at either of you. He was curled up, like a lazy cat, against a couple of crates with his eyes closed and faced tilted towards the sun. With his hands infamously stuffed inside his pockets. 

“It would?”

You nodded your head only once in recognition before you started searching through your bag. Your hands started scrambling inside it a soft, “No,no,” building into a frenzy before you stopped searching.

“I’m guessing your magic little root isn’t in there.”

Zoro was still sitting without a care while you felt like you wanted to throw yourself overboard. 

“No. It isn’t.”

Mental note: Ask Luffy to stop at Irkhaven Isle to get supplies. 

Suddenly, Zoro stood in one graceful motion and walked off towards the galley. 

Ass. 

You turned back to the Going Merry’s railing and held on tight. Your stomach felt like you’d swallowed glass and got punched, it was so empty. Another groan was building in your chest when a cold bottle touched the back of your arm. 

The coolness to your skin sent a yelp of surprise from you, and sent you whirling to the presence beside you. Zoro was leaning back against the railing, looking as calm as ever, with a beer extended out between you. 

“Isn’t it a little bit too early to be drinking?” 

He rolled his eyes as he switched positions. He was now mimicking your current position against the rail but looked effortless and was still holding that damn beer out to you. 

“It’s for you.”

“For me? Zoro, I don’t think now is the time to be drinking-“

“Just drink it,” he growled, an obvious annoyance replacing his earlier calm. 

What hell, what was a beer going to do? At most, it would at least give your stomach something to actually throw up instead of dry heaving yourself into a six pack. 

You reached out and took it from him. Zoro continued to watch you as you placed the bottle to your lips, waiting for you to take a sip. 

“Could I get some privacy here?”

Zoro rolled his eyes but did as you asked looking off into the southside of the ship. You took that moment to take a long pull from the bottle. Surprisingly, it was damn good beer. You waited for the bitter aftertaste to kick in, but found it replaced with the tang of citrus. You immediately took another drink and another. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the middle of the bottle that you noticed the ship had been rocked a few times by the waves and yet…

You went to turn your attention back to Zoro and found him already staring at you. 

I am not blushing. 

You turned quickly to look back out at the ocean with both arms leaning over the railing as you took in the picturesque view. You couldn’t believe beer was making your sea sickness disappear. Out of your peripherals you waited for him to turn away from you. Unable to say it to his face as you played with the label that was peeling off from condensation. 

Alcohol. It was brilliant. You were sure your body was still feeling sick, but the depressant in the beer wasn’t allowing those receptors to acknowledge it. Tilting the bottle at him you asked, “How’d you know this would work.” 

“It’s how I survived all my boat trips. Old guy I’d met aboard my first ship when I was seventeen taught me that trick.” 

“Is that why you have so much booze? Cause you have a weak stomach?” 

Your question came off worse than you intended. You genuinely weren’t trying to insult him. He’d just helped you. Zoro has helped you. 

“No. I just like to drink.” 

His tone was void of all emotion. The little bit he’d given you quickly washed away and you wanted to kick yourself. 

Foot meet mouth. Mouth meets foot. 

You weren’t very good at this. The only friend you’d ever actually had was Usopp. The both of you know the tone of the other and every secret in between. You’d tried to make friends with the other kids in town, but holding up a frog as a friendship gift didn’t seem to go over too well. And on that wonderful trip down memory lane…

You straightened up and took a smaller sip from the beer before you leaned down to pick up your abandoned satchel. 

“Thank you, Zoro.”

The both of you stared at the other until the silence was washed out by the squawking of seagulls and the rush of water. Even now in this weird game of chicken, you knew you would be the first to give. His dark eyes staring straight through you until you felt exposed. You tipped the bottle for good measure and turned on your heel to make your way inside the safety of the kitchen. Your hand clutching the bottle close as your brain tried to make sense of what happened. 

Zoro helped you. He didn’t have too and for all intents and purposes you were surprised he didn’t just let you suffer, but he’d chosen not to. What did that even mean? He was just being friendly. It didn’t mean anything more than that. 

Instead of dwelling on the question, you sat down in the corner booth and took another pull from the bottle. 

——————-

After you finished your first bottle, you found another, and another until you’d ended up blissfully passed out in the booth. You were vaguely aware that Luffy and the crew had come into the galley at some point. The sound of Usopp and Luffy struggling to talk over the other was what forced you out of your nap.

“We all know who the Captain is.”

“It’s me.”

Two voices rang out as one with each ending in a high-pitch of surprise. It was his first day and already Usopp was trying to stir up mutiny on the ship. If you weren’t interested in staying unconscious you were positive you would’ve smiled. 

“Just call me Captain Usopp.”

“We already know I’m the Captain.”

It didn’t surprise you they were still giving out declarations of who was Captain. You waited for it to become a campaign, like when Townsfolk ran for Mayor, but the sound of Nami’s laughter followed by - was that Zoro?! - ended both men’s rant. 

“See, this is what it’s all about,” Luffy’s voice chimed in. “From now it’s going to be smooth sailing.”

He was his usual happy sounding self. You were willing to bet it was infectious, making everyone’s earlier laughter remain in the small creases by their eyes and the raise of their lips. Luffy was indeed a Captain and one of the best kind. 

Enjoying the moment abruptly ended, however, when you caught the sound of a whistle outside. It grew more intense by the second. Whatever it was, was slicing through the air with a force that was audible. You weren’t sure why it took so long for your brain to register that it wasn’t a natural sound. It was rectified, however, when something violently slammed into the Going Merry and sent everything trembling. 

Your back immediately shot up off the cushion of the booth. Eyes open wide as you stumble to your feet watching Nami and Zoro do the same. 

“What in the hell was that?”

“Luffy opening his damn mouth,” Nami replied as you followed behind her. 

You were wondering how Luffy’s mouth could have anything to do with the current sounds coming from outside. Your response died in your throat the minute you got out onto the deck. You followed them to the stern of the ship and finally saw what was waiting for you all was a very large, very metal, Marine vessel trailing behind you. 

All the blood drained from your body and whatever buzz you’d had left over from earlier was now completely gone. 

“It’s the marines! We’re under attack!” 

Nami rushed to the wheel to begin to try evasive maneuvers to get you all out of the way of the oncoming cannonballs. Another shot rang out from the marine vessel and you waited to be struck by steaming metal and found yourself vaguely relieved when it crashed into the ocean a few feet from you. 

“How did they find us?”

“Does it matter? They’re trying to blow us out of the water!”

What the hell were you supposed to do? 

What in the hell could anyone do against being shot at by cannons and a marine vessel that was gaining on your small ship by the second. You could see three figures standing at the bow of the ship, eerily watching as if waiting for something - or someone - to appear. 

Luffy grabbed the telescope and peered through the lens. You all waited for him to give an order and what he said next surprised everyone. 

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa!”

“Did you just call that guy grandpa?” Zoro asked, his eyes carefully watching Luffy as he glanced through the telescope back at the ship. 

He didn’t answer right away. The sound of another shot being fired made all of you space out from one another. You could feel the tension singing through your nerves. The adrenaline was demanding you to move or do something else besides just hopelessly stand like a damn target. The fight or flight in you erupted to life with one key thought hoarding every inch of clarity besides one: run. 

This time when the cannon came crashing down it came right at the edge of the stern. An eruption of water covering you in a fine mist of water. You didn’t get a chance to decide on what to do when another shot rang out. 

“Hit the deck!” 

Usopp’s scream was frantic enough you didn’t ask why, and did as he instructed and became one with the wood. Seconds later, the sound of speeding metal whizzed by you and smashed into the railing behind sending wood fragments everywhere. 

You couldn’t stop the scream that tore its way from your lips as your body curled in on itself. 

What the hell did I sign up for? 

You could hear the sounds of feet clumsily finding their footing again as everyone began to get up. You wanted to stay where you were, but the sharp sound of Zoro calling you a coward resonated inside your chest. 

You could do this. You could totally hundred-percent do this. 

It was your turn to begin to get up from your place on the stern deck, and just as you moved to your knees someone offered their hand for you to take. Color you shocked when you looked up to find that hand was attached to Zoro. You must have been staring too long because he looked away, hand still out, and grumbled, “You going to keep staring at it or take it?”

Yup, and there was the Zoro you’d grown to know and loathe.

“It just burns you up inside to be so helpful, doesn’t it?”

Your voice oozed with sarcasm as you took his hand - maybe a bit too aggressively - and started to get up. Zoro saw your passive-aggressive hand smack and did you one better. He pulled you quickly to your feet, but that quickness came at the cost of your balance. Your feet couldn’t catch their footing back on the deck and you ended haphazardly colliding into his chest. 

As fast as it happened, it was equally as fast that you both dislocated yourselves from each other.

“Is everybody okay?”

“I think so.” 

“No. Not okay. Not even close to okay.”

“I second, Usopp,” you said. 

You weren’t sure why you raised your hand. It could’ve been you just really needed them to know that no - no, this was definitely not okay. 

Luffy took your concerns with a grain of salt, however, and ran over to the cannon - the only cannon - on deck. You’d only just meet him, but Luffy didn’t strike you as someone who held onto any ill will. So, you were surprised to see the determination burn in his eyes and the scowl to cross his face. 

What did your grandpa do to you? 

If you weren’t mortally in danger of drowning at any minute or being shredded in half by a cannonball, you might have asked. 

“Usopp! Fire back at them!”

“Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?”

“I like that idea, actually,” you chimed in, a hand scratching the back of your neck. “That’s a solid plan if I ever heard one, Usopp.”

“Run from the marines?” 

Luffy looked between the three of you. He couldn’t believe that Usopp, Nami, and you were apparently so quick to not want to put up much of a fight. You did enjoy not being a sea decoration. 

“No. Never! Nami trim the…sail thing. Let’s sink their ship!”

“Wait, what? Are you crazy?”

You had to back up to stand next to Zoro as Luffy waved for Usopp to join him on the stern. The two of them grabbed a hold of the cannon to bring it towards an opening in the back. 

“Let’s sink their ship.” 

“Luffy, we don’t have time for this!” Nami interjected, but Luffy wasn’t listening. “They’re going to come up alongside us! If they do, we are finished.”

“Our odds keep sounding better and better,” you mumbled as you made your way over to Nami. 

“You are our Navigator. Do something.” 

Nami let out a groan before her whole demeanor changed. No longer was she trying to flee or get Luffy to see reason. Suddenly, she turned to Zoro and ordered him to go down and pull the sheet in. He didn’t waste a second before he brushed past you and down the stairs. 

You waited for her to order you to do something, anything, but she must have known it would’ve been like explaining math to a baby. You didn’t even know what she’d even just asked Zoro to do. Apparently, neither did he. 

“Which way is port?” 

A heavy sigh left her as she shouted back, “It’s the left!”

“Have you ever loaded a cannon before?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve loaded tons of them,” Usopp replied coolly.

You had to give Usopp props. He was literally the master of bullshit and could keep a straight face even though you both knew the only thing he loaded was his imagination. 

“This is just a different model I’ve never seen before.”

“Usopp, you load the cannon in the barrel. Light it and then get the hell out of the way!”

Following Nami’s directions, Usopp rushed forward towards the barrel. You thought he was going to make it when the ball slipped out of his hand and landed with a heavy thud on the deck. You rushed forward to grab it before it rolled down the stairs, but didn’t notice Usopp rushing to join you in the hunt. What neither of you failed to notice was that the vibration from dropping the cannonball dislodged the others. 

In a split second, you and Usopp collided into one another and when you stepped back to stand up your heel caught a ball. You had barely enough seconds to lean yourself forward as you slipped down the stairs, taking each stair with a thud just like the cannonballs. 

Your knees slammed into the edge of one of the stairs, but the balls under your hips kept you slipping. You tried bending your knees to slow your descent only to have them successfully bump every step on the way down. 

“Oh shit, Doc are you okay?” Usopp shouted down after you. 

“I’m fantastic,” you grunted as you came to a stop before the last steps. 

You weren’t trying to remove yourself from the stairs. You could feel the pain in your knees growing with each passing second. You were willing to bet when you stood up, that dull throb that was beginning to resonate under your skin would shoot out like lightning the minute you stood up. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten who was at the bottom of the stairs with you. 

“Are you going to get up anytime soon or do you enjoy just laying there?” 

You were ready to tell Zoro where he could shove his swords when a gruff voice you’d never heard cut over the chaos. 

“Pirate vessel, by order of the marines, lower your sails and submit to my authority.”

You were willing to bet a million berries if that man wasn’t Luffy’s grandpa that wouldn’t even be an offer on any table. Ever. The sound of Zoro’s boots coming closer caused you to peel yourself up just enough before he - did he really just step over you? 

“Oh, you asshole,” you seethed. 

You scrambled to your feet to chase after him when you noticed another cannonball headed straight for the Merry. But where was the sound of the gunpowder? What felt even more unbelievable was what came after. 

Sure, Luffy told you he’d eaten a Devil fruit. He’d told you his body was made of rubber but seeing was believing. You watched as Luffy began to inhale air and his body blew up like a…balloon. Luffy was becoming an actual balloon of skin until the cannonball landed in the center of his stomach. He took the entire impact and flung it back at the marine vessel. One minute, you could hear the return fire whistling through the air. The next, you watched as the crow’s nest above the mast exploded and seconds later it came crashing down. 

Everything grew silent aboard the Merry as you all registered what you’d just witnessed. You were still staring at Luffy and back to the now very much on fire marine ship when Usopp’s surprised laughter cut through the silence. 

“That was amazing! You just saved us!”

“You didn’t tell me you could do that.”

You could feel your own smile slide across your face as the adrenaline began to bleed away. The aftershocks of the thrill of battle - no matter how unsuccessful - left you feeling ready to do it all again. Or take a nap. 

You were joining in on the laughter as you looked back at Nami, and at Usopp who was jumping in excitement with Luffy. You looked over at Zoro and found your earlier excitement drained from your body. Sure, you’d seen him smirk and look like the grumpy cat who ate the canary, but you’d never seen him smile. 

Sometime during the battle the wind had tussled up his hair making him appear like he’d just woken from a nap. It made him softer, less broody, and the grin that lit up his face actually reached his eyes and scrunched his nose. 

It was safer in the village. 

You wanted to say the thought was because of what had just happened. Even as Luffy ordered Nami to get you out of the area, you knew it wasn’t because of the danger. Hell, as much as it was a mess of a first battle, the adrenaline of it all was demanding for a release. Maybe you’d be able to use that as an excuse for why your heart was beating so wildly as you watch Zoro run a hand through his hair. 

The ship suddenly felt too constricting. It didn’t allow enough space between you and the swordsman who resided on this ship. You tried to shake your head clear of all those thoughts and turned to run after Luffy. You called his name as you carefully took the stairs down after him. 

“Something wrong, Doc?”

“No, no,” you waved him off. “I just - I wanted to ask a favor.”

“You can ask me for anything.”

You weren’t sure if you would ever get over how genuine Luffy was. Every word he said to you he meant it. You could probably tell him you needed the sun, and whether physically attainable or not, you knew Luffy would try his absolute best to bring it to you. 

Because Luffy was just that kind of Captain. 

“Would it be a bother if we stopped at an island? I’m in need of some supplies.”

———————

Luffy didn’t hesitate to say yes to your request to stop at Irkhaven. It only took you all of four seconds to explain what it was, where it was, and why you needed to go before he sent you to Nami to give her the coordinates. While you’d never physically gone with Naan to harvest the ingredients you’d grown up using, she made sure to tell you often how to get there. 

Just in case the day came she couldn’t. 

What you hadn’t expected as you walked through fields of lavender was to have Zoro trailing behind you. 

“How much longer are we going to be out here?”

“Until I have enough of everything to last us a while,” you called over your shoulder. 

You didn’t need to look behind you to know Zoro was shooting daggers into the back of your skull. While he hadn’t been happy being volunteered to go with you onto the island, he hadn’t argued with Luffy either. 

You stopped midway out of the lavender fields and took out your small knife to begin cutting gently through the stems. After you had a good enough bundle, you sheathed the knife back in its place on your satchel where you reached inside to grab a pre-cut piece of string. 

You could still feel Zoro watching you, as you tied the lavender together in a tight bundle. 

“I wasn’t aware picking flowers was life-saving medicine.” 

This time you did look over at him. Zoro, the strong and proud pirate hunter. The demon, Luffy said was his nickname. Looking at Zoro now, even in an endless field of lavender, he resonated power. You held no doubt he had earned such an intimidating name through grit and blood-soaked swords. 

He looked out of place next to you in a place meant for healing and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was more what he projected than who he was. While Luffy told you happily about the scary parts of Zoro (which Luffy by no means actually saw as scary) he’d also mentioned Zoro never went without a specific sword.

Remembering Luffy’s words, your eyes quickly darted down to the white-sheathed katana. If you had to put money on it, that was the one that held a deeper meaning to him. It was the one he clutched the tightest and his hand fell on absentmindedly. 

Once you knew the bundle was secure, you playfully poked it in his direction. 

“It does heal. It calms the mind and spirit. It creates restful sleep.”

“It stinks.” 

“You are absolutely impossible,” you grumbled, your eyes rolling as you turned away from him. 

You placed the bundle inside your satchel and started forward. You didn’t need to look back to know that Zoro would be behind you. This time you were leading him towards an eyeline of trees you’d spotted a few feet back. They looked promising to hold green chiretta. 

“So, why did Luffy send you with me?”

You came out first from the field and onto a path that was being taken over by the vegetation. 

“Because you don’t know how to protect yourself.”

“I can too.”

“A pot doesn’t count.”

You spun on your heels, satchel swinging, and caught it with your forearm just before it swung into your hip. You were pleased to see the unexpected action had caught him by surprise. Not the typical surprise that Usopp, or others, gave where it might be exaggerated or a gasp and step back. No, Zoro’s was the briefest flinch in the corner of his eyes. Blink and you would’ve missed it. 

“Hey, that pot kicked ass.”

“You got lucky.”

“Okay, Mosshead, then what do you call this?”

You lightly tapped your cheek to indicate the very noticeable bruise that was just beginning to fade from his left cheek. 

“I call that luck.”

You let out a huff as you turned and faced forward. Leading him towards where you needed to go and reminding yourself that you needed to focus on the task at hand. Not Zoro. 

“You carry a knife with you but you don’t use it.”

He stated it as a fact. Not a question. Zoro already knew that it wasn’t used for self-defense. 

“I use it to treat and clean infected wounds and forage for ingredients.”

“But not for self-defense.”

You found yourself whirling on him again and this time he was prepared. His hand resting on the edge of his sword and hand infamously tucked inside his pocket. 

“I’m a doctor, Zoro. I follow Naan’s oath to never do harm to anyone-“

“And what if to help someone - yourself - it meant that you had to take a life to save theirs?”

He’d taken a step towards you. His whole body radiated with an intensity you hadn’t been prepared for. You could feel your muscles straining to stay in place; to not retreat. Zoro had closed what space you’d had between the two of you until all he’d left were a few measly inches. 

“I try not to let it come to that.”

“You don’t always get to decide like that, it's not how the world works. You keep thinking like that and you’re going to be a liability.”

Your eyes narrowed in on him and you felt yourself get on your tippy toes without thinking. Your index finger pressed into his stupidly hard chest as you looked up at him. 

“It is not a liability to give a shit about people, Zoro. To care about who they are with their own wants and dreams. What makes someone a liability is not knowing who is worth that effort and who isn’t.” 

You dropped back down onto your heels and turned to stomp your way into the trees. What did he know? So, you weren’t exactly a swordsman or incredibly stretchy, and while Usopp wasn’t necessarily the bravest man on the planet he was a damn fine shot. Nami could kick ass and was the best navigator. What did you bring to the table? 

No. You wouldn’t let him make you think that way. 

You hadn’t realized you’d gone farther than intended into the forest of trees until you noticed not only the green chiterra growing all over the sides of them, but also what looked like gold cap mushrooms. One that you knew to be poisonous. 

You put it in the back of your mind. You weren’t here to get things to harm people. That wasn’t who you were and you wouldn’t let this newfound journey, or anyone, change that. You unsheathed your knife from your satchel and started carefully scraping off the moss from the bark of the tree. 

“I could train you.”

Those four words stopped you mid-scrap. It had been roughly a few minutes - only a few - since you’d both been silent. You expected the rest of your time out here collecting ingredients to go relatively dull with you both pouting in your respective corners. Out of everything you could’ve expected, those four words were most definitely not it. 

“Huh?”

God, you really needed to get it together. 

Zoro grunted out a, “Fuck me,” before he gave you his full attention. 

“I said I could train you. If you want.”

Was it possible that Zoro, the demon pirate hunter, was nervous? You couldn’t believe it, and for that exact reason you didn’t think twice about it. However, you couldn’t pass up the chance to tease him. Just a little. 

“Did Roronoa Zoro - the demon pirate hunter - just offer to teach me how to kick ass?”

This whole entire trip was turning into one unexpected thing after another. The last thing you would’ve thought you would earn from your teasing was a grimace, maybe a smirk if you were lucky. Instead, your words generated an actual smile from the demon himself and you were devastated. 

“I thought you said you never heard of me?”

Oh, right. He was talking and he needed you to word back. Right. You could do that. 

“Luffy,” your voice cracked on your captain's name and you pretended to cough to clear your throat. “Luffy was telling me about the first time you guys met. It was truly a riveting moment.” 

“Okay, let’s back up,” you began, your fingers motioning like a wheel. You’d been sitting with Luffy at the table eating breakfast. What had come over you to ask about how he met Zoro was still currently pending investigation. Luckily for you, Luffy wasn’t going to question you on why you wanted to know. “Did you just say you met him tied up inside the marine yard?”  “He’d given himself up. Never told me exactly why he’d done that actually.” Luffy was perplexed for all of a millisecond before he sank his teeth back into the dry meat in his hand.  “Oh, well I’m sure he was happy you let him down.” “Actually, he told me to get lost.”  Yup, you were choking on a piece of toast. Luffy just stated it like it was useless information. Not that his first mate didn’t tell him to essentially fuck off during their first meeting.  “He told you to get lost?” “Yeah, he did.” “So, why did you even bother staying there? You could’ve just left.” A smile began to grow on his lips. It wasn’t his usual radiant one that could rival the sun, but a thoughtful one. It told you the memory of meeting Zoro meant something special to Luffy, and it made you regard the interaction a little less harshly.  “I couldn’t just leave him there. Not when he has a dream to fulfill.” While you were still debating on whether Luffy was a real person, there wasn’t any denying that he searched for the good in people. Whatever it was he’d seen in Zoro told Luffy he was a good guy.  “So,” you drawled out the o, “he told you to get lost and for some reason your brain heard those words as, ‘follow your dreams’.” “He isn’t a bad guy, Doc. I know Zoro is more than just a pirate hunter with a scary nickname. He is someone with a dream, just like you, and I’m going to make sure he reaches it.”

Looking at Zoro now, you could see what Luffy saw in him. Sure, he was quick to anger and even more quick to say shit without thinking it through, but who wasn’t at times? You had experienced first hand the good that lived inside of him. 

He’d helped you when he didn’t have to when you were sick. He shared a part of himself, a small part but still a part, to see who he was underneath all the attitude. While you weren’t in the business of hurting anyone, you debated on whether letting him train you would at least make you useful enough to save other members of your crew - maybe Zoro - if something came up. 

You did hit someone with a pot and punch Zoro in his face. What could learning a few moves going to do? 

“Alright, demon pirate hunter, I’ll consider it.”

—————————

He wanted to throttle Luffy. 

The way you kept looking at him - saying his nickname - was stirring something foreign in his chest. He may not know exactly what it was but he didn’t have too. His body was telling him plainly he should take back his invitation to spend more time alone with you. You were only going to get in the way of his goal. 

All of those made sense why he should retract his invitation and head back to the Merry. And yet…

“If it pumps up your ego, I’ll say it as many times as you like. For a price.” 

You wiggled your eyebrows at him and it was so unexpected Zoro wanted to laugh. His offer to help train you had been in the back of his mind, but when he went to offer it, it’d gone rougher than he’d intended. He hadn’t meant to make you feel bad - to call you a liability.  It wasn’t that he thought you would be an actual liability for Luffy. 

You were a liability for him. 

The way you were looking at him now, the smile on your face, gave him all the warning he needed to know you were a dangerous wildcard. He’d made a promise to Kuina and you felt like the one thing that could keep him from it. 

Whatever the feelings you were stirring in him were something he needed to be wary of. Zoro wasn’t going to have any of it. He made a promise a long time ago and he wasn’t going to let you or anyone else get in the way of him keeping it. 

He was so lost in thought that he wasn’t aware you’d gotten so close. It wasn’t until your fingers slid over his ear, placing something behind it, that he was jolted back into the present. 

“Oh, shit I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Your voice was breathy and sweet with your wide eyes looking up at him with something dangerously close to reverence. Close like at the dinner table. Close like when he’d tumbled out of the well and landed on top of you. Zoro still had the way your body felt under him burned into his memory. One he’d tried to erase with the bottles of liquor that now sat empty inside his room. 

His hand moved up to feel what you’d placed behind his ear, and his fingertips were greeted by the soft give of flowers. 

“Did you seriously just put flowers in my hair?”

Your response was maddening. Zoro watched as you brought your hands up to join your shrug, as if he wasn’t standing there, flowers now pinched between his fingers. 

“I think you look cute.”

Cute. 

“Yeah. That’s not me.”

In a show that it wasn’t him, that you and your stupid flower giving were just another nuisance, he opened his fingers and let them fall to the ground. Zoro watched as your eyes that had been brimming with sunshine were darkened by clouds of sadness. Even your earlier giddy step was replaced by slouched shoulders that suddenly looked as if the world weighed heavily on them. 

“Okay.”

Your reply was meek. If he wasn’t straining to hear it he would’ve missed it. You didn’t give him another glance or yell at him for being an ass. That was what he had expected; what he was still waiting for. Zoro had known you for a couple of days and within that time came to learn you were the most maddening person he’d ever met - second to Luffy. This? He didn’t like this. He liked it better when you fought back. When you told him what an asshole he was and when you touched him without thinking. 

Zoro watched as you went back to gently maneuvering your knife under the bark; skilled hands that removed pieces of that weird-looking fungus. You pulled an empty glass from your bag and, with the same gentleness, pushed it past the lip of the bottle to hold it inside. 

Cute. 

That’s what she’d called him. 

I am not cute. I’m the demon pirate hunter, Roronoa Zoro. 

He could feel his jaw flexing at the thought. Cute. Zoro has been called many things in his life, but cute was never one of them. His hand clenched and unclenched on the Wado Ichimonji as if asking - begging - what he should do. 

He couldn’t stay here much longer. Zoro didn’t know what to say and you obviously had no intention of speaking to him anytime soon. 

“Fuck this,” he whispered as he stalked off back out of the trees. 

He made it to the edge of the clearing where the sun fully broke free from the shade of leaves when you called to him. 

“Try not to get lost, Zoro. We both know you’ve got shit directional

skills.” 

He refused to admit he was happy to hear you say something. Even if that something was your usual shit-talking. Zoro grunted as a reply and quickly went back to walking out of the clearing when something - small and pure white - caught his eye out of his peripherals. 

It was huddled against the bark of a tree. Its petals were open and stark against the darkness. It took him a moment to recognize those white petals. What he found amusing was how the flower always seemed to be carrying its own weight on its shoulders; the neck of it dropping down like it’d just received devastating news. Zoro didn’t know why he gently plucked it from its resting spot. He couldn’t explain why after that he turned to head back in your direction. 

Zoro was trying to get away from you and here he was bringing a fucking flower back. You turned at his approach, your mouth already forming over some word. You never spoke what it was you wanted to say and you didn’t seem like you wanted to try either. 

Zoro placed the snowdrop behind your ear. Perfectly placing it to where the hanging bulb hugged the top of your ear to hang against your hair. 

“You left to go find flowers?”

Zoro shook his head. He stepped back just enough to see how it looked. He was a dumbass for doing this. 

“No, I was going to head back to the ship-“

“Figures-“

“When I saw this snowdrop by itself,” Zoro continued over you. “It made me think of you.”

“That feels oddly specific.”

He didn’t like how you were looking at him. More accurately, he didn’t like how you looking at him was making him feel. 

“It’s a snowdrop. They’re one of the most delicate flowers in the world.”

There it was. The darkening of those previous clouds now cracked to life with the spark of your anger. Zoro had to admit, he enjoyed getting you all riled up. What he wouldn’t tell you, is because they only grew at certain times and usually in the snow, it made them one of the most resilient flowers because they could grow under any conditions. 

“Are you calling me delicate?”

A huff left him as his eyes rolled up into the treeline. 

“I was trying to apologize earlier.”

“Oh.”

You’d started all that storm building just to deflate but also- 

“You sure have a way with words,” he teased. 

“My bedside manner is not the best, I’ll admit. I once told a dying man a joke about a pirate and marine having an entanglement. Naan said it probably wasn’t the most appropriate time.”

For some reason, Zoro could picture it. A man dying and you, being your nervous self, trying to make him laugh to ease his passing. The thought of it alone made a smile curl at his lips, and he tried to gently shake it away. To look at anything else but you. 

“What do I gotta do to hear one of these world-famous Doc jokes?”

He waited until his face was neutral to look back at you. Both hands rested on his swords as he watched you fill the bottle to the brim and place it securely inside your satchel. 

“For that kind of service? You have to be dying.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You were a pain in the ass. A pain in his ass. From the moment he met you until now and probably would continue to be. A pain that made him think of things outside of his goal. You made him think past his promise. Who was he if he didn’t keep it? He should’ve never offered to train you or willingly spend more time with you. He was going to have to take it back. It didn’t matter if it hurt your feelings or made you hate him. Maybe that’s what he needed to do to make you hate him-

“What are you doing?”

Zoro prayed that his face was devoid of any emotion. The panic that bloomed in his chest didn’t spread to where you could see. You’d placed your hand over your chest in a way Zoro knew too well. 

“I,” it was the first time Zoro ever heard your full name. “Promise to be the biggest pain in your - Roronoa Zoro’s ass - from now until whenever.”

For the second time, his hand was clutching onto the Wado Ichimonji today. While you spoke, Zoro could swear he saw flashes of Kuina standing behind you. The look of disappointment growing on her face. 

“You made a promise.”

Zoro couldn’t bring himself to speak. He couldn’t trust what he would say. So, he simply turned back on his heel and made a beeline back for the edge of the trees. This time when he reached it he didn’t stop. He had to get back to the safety of the ship where he could barricade himself from you behind wooden doors and booze because Zoro could really use a drink.

————————-

It has been two days inside the fog. Two days of Zoro avoiding you like you carried the plague back with you from Irkhaven. 

When you’d made that promise it was only meant to be good fun. You replayed over in your mind to see if you’d said something wrong - done something wrong to warrant the sudden extreme cold shoulder. 

Besides the time you’d been with Nami and Usopp, all of you shared thoughts about the naval battle that had happened and, who could forget, his very real vice-admiral of a grandpa. Who could launch cannonballs like paperweights. After that, Zoro didn’t come around you or close to you.

Sure, you would see him when he lounged on the deck napping like a cat in open spots. Hell, if Zoro wasn’t sleeping he was either drinking or training. You’d catch glimpses of him on the upper deck lifting weights with his arms and, sometimes, his mouth. 

The first time you saw him lifting eighty pounds with his teeth, you had about a thousand questions racing through your mind. If you thought he would answer you if you spoke, you might have asked him. 

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It shouldn’t have even mattered whether he talked to you or not, but he’d offered to train you. Why bother asking to do something that required his time if he wasn’t willing to give it? These sorts of questions had been your own personal plague since he’d begun to give you the cold shoulder. 

You’d been sitting with your legs hanging out of the side of where the cannonball had blown an unfortunate hole through the Merry’s railing. It killed you to see her so broken; her intricate leafling design ruined all because of what felt like a family spat. Letting out a sigh, you pulled your legs out from over the side with a hand holding onto the rail so you didn’t fall into the sea. 

Once you were securely standing without fear of going overboard, you wrapped the leather cord that secured the pages of your journal around it. You were just finishing up tucking it in when Usopp began to shout, “I see something.” 

How anyone could see anything in this mess was beyond you, but then again Luffy was at the front of the Merry using his nose to guide you guys out of the fog so…yeah. Stranger things could and did happen. 

It was enough to garner your attention and bring you walking up to join the rest of the crew that had assembled. 

“I see nothing,” you stated. 

“I don’t know how anyone could see anything in this soup,” Nami agreed as she stirred the ship in the direction Luffy called. 

“You guys don’t see the red lights? How can you not see them?”

“Because, Usopp, I don't have eyes like an Eagle.”

You could feel the happiness your comment brought him as he continued to point in the direction of said light.

“Just keep your eyes posted right here in the center and you’ll see it, Doc. 

“3 degrees starboard, Nami and keep it straight.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t sit up there Luffy,” you called up to where he sat, legs wide, on the Merry’s headpiece. “What happens if you slip?”

“You're his crew mate. Not his mother. He doesn’t need you coddling him.”

You turned to find Zoro standing a few feet behind Usopp. He wasn’t looking at you but he’d just spoken to you. His first words in two days and it didn’t surprise you in the least they were his usual asshole tone. 

“Oh, so he can speak. What a shocker.” 

Zoro side-eyed you but still refused to acknowledge your presence. The soft bruise that was there two days ago at Irkhaven was all but a faded memory. You were tempted to make it a fresh one. 

“Okay you two let’s focus on-“ Usopp stopped mid-sentence as his eyes scanned over something in the distance. “What’s a baratie?”

You looked where he was and finally saw it. Red neon was bleeding its way into the fog. It was enough to make you forget about Zoro, your lack of clean clothes, or what had happened the last couple of days. It was land. You were finally going to actually put your feet down on something solid that wasn’t just the Merry. 

Nami stirred the Merry in and easily parked it at the next available dock. Immediately, people rushed out to begin tying the ship's ropes to posts to secure it in place. 

“Is it just me or does this look like a restaurant?” 

You meant your question to be open-ended. To allow anyone to answer in case what you were seeing was in fact a floating restaurant in the middle of the ocean. However, you were leaning against the rail next to Nami, with whom you pressed arm and arm. 

“I think it is.”

You were all still staring over the railing when Luffy asked excitedly, “Do you guys know what this means?”

“We stock up on supplies and keep going so the marines can’t find us?”

“We head back to Syrup village where it’s safe?”

“No - let’s go eat!”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You didn’t have much in the way of something to wear at an establishment like this. You were willing to bet you couldn’t just walk in wearing - or smelling - like you all did. You were getting ready to tell Luffy you’d hang back on the ship when you felt a hand gently wrap itself in yours. 

Glancing down at your interwoven hands and back up, you found Nami, her lips together in a soft smile, as she gave you a light tug to follow her. 

“Come on. You can borrow some of my clothes.”

You let out a raspberry, your hand squeezing hers briefly in relief. 

“Nami, you are a lifesaver.”

“That fish better have a bar.”

You weren’t going to say it out loud, but you agreed with Zoro. You were going to need the blissful ignorance of alcohol to make it through a dinner where you possibly ended up sitting next to him. 

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

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are welcome.

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

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[secret-smut-sideblog]

It Happened Quiet

(a short lucanis x f! rook drabble. cause I'm normal and not impaled in a spike pit 👍)

PG-13 - developing feelings, drug use (weed), sloppy makeout yesss, spite being a shit, yearning, pining, the works

Masterlist

-

"You're kidding." Rook's eyes stayed on the ceiling. Taking the royal elfroot cigarette as he offered it back.

"Cross my heart." Lucanis edged a smile, his body heavy and still.

The herbs had been her idea 'Old elf remedy,' she claimed. Something to help him sleep. Rook had offered to stay in case he had a bad reaction. And he had been planning to sleep, but they had fallen in loose limbs on the pantry floor. Just enjoying each other's proximity and pleasantly lost in deep winding conversation.

It was all very new to him. The imbibing herbs, sure, but moreso, the pleasure of her company.

He liked her voice, the way her Nevarran accent softened and fluttered over words. He liked how easy it was to be near her. Like she had always been there, he just hadn't looked up at the right moment yet.

How the conversation had landed on intimacy, he wasn't sure, but talking with her proved to be a journey led with many delightful detours. But the herbs had taken most of the shame out of him, so he didn't mind.

She propped her head on an elbow, peering down at him good naturedly. Pointing with the two fingers holding the cigarette.

"All that suave and you've been with 'two, maybe two and a half' lovers?" She appraised him, but then seemed to really consider it. To consider him. "Well, I guess you were probably not afforded a lot of private time, huh?"

He tapped the tip of his nose, confirming her. He liked how intuitive she was. Explaining himself was often a shameful exercise. One he was always in fear of failing, somehow.

"Hmm, I mean, I don't have much room to talk." She mused, falling back in a flop. "I'm only experienced from my little impromptu trip from Necropolis." She waved her hand above her head.

"Is that so?" He led.

Keep talking. Talking to us. Talk all night.

Spite's distant, hazy voice demanded. He couldn't even refute it. He wanted the same.

"I mean, for the most part. I'm still not used to all the touching. The living are so warm." She offered the word almost in disgust, and Lucanis couldn't help but laugh. Finding his own hangups not that strange in her disclosure.

"Gloves help." He offered.

"True. But people usually aren't into being fondled with gloves that have handled the dead."

"My gloves are blood-soaked, too, cariño."

The endearment slipped out before he could catch it, but she took it without breaking her stride.

"Oh sure, but the whole assassin thing, it's romantic, no?" Her accent picked up, lilting through words. Setting his foolish heart fluttered under the calm of his limbs.

"Eh, whose to say." She sighed as if he had verbalized his disagreement. "I should let you sleep, anyway."

No! Don't let her leave!

"Goodnight, Lucanakis."

His heart fully shuddered in his chest. Bolting up onto a forearm to pause her gathering her things.

She stared wide-eyed at his sudden intensity, but didn't pull away from it. Appraising him more with curiosity after a moment.

Panic hot in his belly.

Now what, little man? Spite cackled. Tick, tock! She's waiting!

But he was wrong. Cause it was her.

She smiled sweetly, seeing his intention. Sitting cross-legged across from him. Only taking his hand.

Her touch was a shock to his system. Skin cool and rivaling a petal, curling his fingers over hers. Thumb gently grazing his knuckles.

Just that small intimacy was overwhelming. Spite hissed demand after demand in his ear to let him in. But Lucanis narrowed his world to just the sweet of her caressing. Staring at their joined hands in astonishment.

He wondered how she learned this. This tenderness. Was it inherent in her? Was it in him as well, somewhere deep and dormant? Or is this how she touched corpses as they were tended?

The thought sent no disgust through him. He imagined the peace of being still and cracked open down the middle in her care. Her kind hands soothing him on a gurney. No longer there to feel her touch but given softness regardless.

Such a silly thing. To be gentle with a corpse.

He liked her so much.

Oh. Oh no.

His hand reached out tentatively to her knee, watching the appendage as if it was foreign to him. Cupping the curve under his palm. Strong and solid beneath his uncertain grip. Testing that same sweeping of his thumb, looking up to gauge her reaction.

Her lips had fallen in a soft part, hazy eyes seeking his own reaction. Darting over his lips in turn.

She leaned toward him, the air softened in anticipation. A warm and heavy miasma surrounded them. A pocket of the world where only they lived.

His hand trembled on her knee, frozen in place as she drew ever closer. Heart crashing into his ribcage. Eyes darting over every inch of her beautiful face. So near him that he could feel the breath leaving her.

Her hand raised and slid over his cheek. Fingers splaying and holding the tender of him. Pressing her cool balm into the frantic skin.

He nearly whimpered as his eyes closed, leaning his cheek into her palm like a hopeful stray rubbing against a leg. Basking in just one fleeting moment of comfort.

This was more than enough to last him for months. Years, even. Then the plush of her lips slid against his mouth.

He moaned, a small sound. Maker, she felt like lightning. Arcing across him in urgent pulses. His body fired on all cylinders as he gathered her to him, grasping into her sides. Kissing her back with rising fervor.

No, closer. He needed closer.

He crushed his lips into hers, moaning in earnest from deep in his chest. Rising onto knees, pulling her up with him. Smearing his need into her perfect mouth.

Fuck, more. More!

More!

Spite's roar pulled him away. Gasping and reeling back from the animal hunger he hadnt even known had been coiled inside him. Shame flipped in his belly.

But Rook only found his eyes again.

"You okay?"

"It's Spite." He shook his head mournfully.

"I could entertain him for a while, give you a break." She rose back to feet, smiling down at him with her cardigan folded over her arm.

"No!" He shuffled to feet.

Yes! YES!

Spite danced gleefully around her.

She gave a little jump and laughed, feeling him there.

"I have a lot of experience with spirits, Lucanis. All kinds. I'll be okay."

Yes, she's fun! You're never fun!

"Don't go far." He urged in a solemn hush.

"I won't. Get some rest." She smiled as Spite had already started playing with her hair, surely in an effort to annoy her. But she seemed to find it endearing, appraising her invisible tormentor with the teasing scowl you give a misbehaving child.

Spite seemed delighted by this turn of events, fully devoting his attention to her. Following as she left the pantry in a quiet sweep of feet.

Lucanis closed his eyes, settling in a slump against the wall. Alone. Maker, he hadn't been truly alone in so long.

Reverent in the silence.

A gift. A moment of peace.

He leaned his head into his palms. Groaning out through fingers.

"Mierda..."

He really liked her.

~

[bloodycyrano]

Hello and welcome to my detailed descriptions of what I assume things in the Dragon Age universe taste like! Part one of probably many, and feel free to comment requests of even the most unhinged items. I have an oral fixation and chewing problem, so chances are that I would find out anyway if I were living in Thedas.

I'll start out with the basics!

Elfroot;

Herby and slightly bitter. There would be a sort of richness and iron-y taste, similar to that of spinach, but likely much softer. I'd also wager that there's a slightly minty tingle or freshness as well.- When brewed into a tea, health potion, or tincture, it would likely deepen the bitter taste and bring out the tingling. Like angry, unsweetened mint tea and spinach water.

Deep Mushroom;

Probably a bit like woodear mushrooms or Morels. Earthy, fluffy, and ever so slightly mineral enriched. Some might complain that it tastes like dirt, but that's probably because they aren't washing their foragables well enough. Still, there's a slightly musty taste to it, for lack of a better word; but velvet certainly comes to mind when eating it. Regardless, you're sure to get a burst of energy after eating.

*Blue* Lyrium powder;

I wanna eat this shit so bad, I wish I was kidding. It's a very fine, sparkly blue powder that looks ever so slightly crunchy. What's not to love? I would attempt to eat a fistful of this and probably die. Regardless, I feel like it would taste sort of.. Lightning-y. Like a rich mineral, for sure. But also sort of like sparkling water or TV static. It would feel warm and fuzzy in the mouth, like when you're trying to plug your charger into an outlet in a dark room and accidentally shock the shit out of yourself because you can't see what you're doing. I feel like lyrium potions would taste very similar, but diluted and maybe slightly sweet.

[ruiningsalads]

Happy Friday! How about "Okay. Okay. He's what we're gonna do- fuck." for Varric and Cassandra?

ooh! a drabble for @dadrunkwriting

Varric pushed himself to his feet with a grunt as dust swirled around him. His body ached all over, but so far, nothing felt broken.

"Whose idea was this?" demanded Dorian's voice from nearby. "I'm never going to get this dirt off of me."

"Is everyone alright?" That was the Inquisitor, sounding slightly farther off.

"That depends on your definition of the word," Dorian groused.

"Bruised, but fine," Varric called out. "What about you, Seeker?"

She didn't respond.

"Seeker?" Then, after another moment with no reply, "Cassandra?"

"We need to find her," the Inquisitor ordered.

Varric was already moving. He emerged from the dust cloud and looked around for a gleam of armor, but there was no sign of the Seeker. At least, not until he ventured over to the cliff edge and looked over.

"Shit! Over here!" Without a second thought, he strapped Bianca to his back and began the perilous climb down.

Cassandra lay still at the base of the cliff. When he finally made it to her, he was shaking so badly that he almost didn't register the pulse under his fingers when he pressed them to her neck. "Don't do this to me, Seeker." Seeing her limp, without her signature scowl, scrambled his thoughts. "Shit." His brain finally turned back on, and he scrambled in his pockets for an elfroot potion. Carefully, he dribbled the liquid into her mouth, careful not to pour too much at once lest she choke on it. "Listen to me, Seeker. We're going to get back to Skyhold, you're going to get better, and then you're going to pummel the Inquisitor for fighting a giant so close to a cliff. I'll even help." He threw the empty potion bottle to the side and gently cupped her cheek. "That was the only one I had, so it has to be enough. Please, Seeker."

"You worry too much." Her voice was slow and thick, but it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Her eyes cracked open. "Thank you."

[wegotisms]

Sweet Panacea (Solavellan Fic)

Another one from forever ago I can't find on my blog anymore. Super fluffy fluff for the dragon age feelies.

AO3 here

---

The cold of the stone floor seeps through the soles of her bare feet, but it is not why she shivers. She feels the weight of the purple bags under her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the heaviness of her head; her body aches for sleep, and yet she pads silently towards the rotunda, one hand gripping at the fabric of her tunic, the other worrying at a lock of long, blonde hair.

Dalla pauses in the doorway, watching the elf hunched over a wooden table, his head in his hands as he digs through some ancient tome. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and wraps both arms around her waist. She should go. She should turn around and drag herself back up to her quarters and close her eyes and try to forget it. He has better things to worry about than her nightmares.

And yet his name slips from her lips, so quiet she hopes he doesn’t hear.

“Solas?”

He looks up at her and his face falls, concern etched across his features. “Vhenan,” he says, pushing away from his desk to stand, “what’s wrong?”

Dalla whimpers, the words caught in her throat. Tears sting at her eyes and she shifts her gaze to the floor. He deserves better than to see her facade of strength and confidence crumble. She really shouldn’t bother him with this. She should go. But her legs are so heavy and then his arms are around her, and she sags against his chest and the tears come. In one swift movement Solas bends and hooks an arm behind her knees, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her over to the white couch on the far side of the room.

He sits and cradles her against him, his cheek resting on her head, a hand tangled in her hair and massaging her scalp. His chest rumbles as he begins to hum for her, a melody slow and sweet. It is an old elvhen lullabye, she knows. She had sung it for him once, asked what the words meant, but she can’t remember them now, as her tears soak into his shirt, as she clings desperately to him, shoulders heaving. He holds her tighter and she loses herself in him, in his strength, his warmth, the soft scent of elfroot and ozone.

He feels like home.

He’s still humming by the time her tears stop. Her eyes are puffy and red and she buries her face in the soft wool of his shirt, sighs against his chest.

“Ir abelas,” she mutters, pulling away from him. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Vhenan,” he says, hooking his finger under her chin and tilting her head up to look at him. “Ar lath ma.” He kisses her nose and then rests his forehead against hers. “Dirth ma, what troubles you?”

“Mmhmm?” He runs his fingers lightly over her arm, tracing the crimson lines of her vallaslin.

She can’t say no to those dusty blue eyes. “Mnh.” She rests her head against his shoulder and nuzzles into the crook of his neck, her lips brushing against his skin. “I had a nightmare.”

Dalla sucks her teeth, searching for the words. They stick to her ribs, but Solas’ gentle touch coaxes them from her. She wrings her hands in his shirt as the words spill from her lips, barely a whisper. “I dreamt I couldn’t remember her face.” She sniffs. “My mamae.”

His hand moves to her cheek, his thumb brushing across her tattoos. “Can you remember her now?”

She nods.

“Tell me about her.”

Dalla closes her eyes. “She… her hair was the color of the moon. And long.” She brushes her hands down her chest. “She always wore it down and loved to have me braid it.

“Her skin was the color of the earth, like mine. She chose Mythal for her vallaslin, green like the forest, like her eyes. I would trace them and she would tell me old elvhen stories….” She takes Solas’s hand from her cheek and clutches it in her own. “Babae always said I took after her, but her nose was smaller and she had… these big lips and round cheeks.” She relaxes against him. “She was soft and warm.”

“She sounds beautiful.”

“She was. She was the most beautiful thing in my world.”

“As you are in mine.”

Dalla smiles and spreads his fingers, kissing each one before clutching his hand against her chest and lifting her head to press her lips against his. He kisses her back, gently, his mouth demanding nothing, allowing her to melt into him with a soft sigh.

“You will not forget her, vhenan,” Solas says, breaking from the kiss and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “I promise.”

“‘Ma serranas.” She pecks him on the nose and settles back against his chest, curling up against him. “Do you mind if we stay like this for a while?”

 Dalla awakens to sunlight trickling into her quarters and she stretches across her bed, yawning and running her fingers through her hair. She doesn’t remember coming to her quarters -- though Solas is stronger than he looks. The thought of him carrying her to bed makes her heart beat quickly in her chest and she smiles. She feels like a lovestruck teenager, but, she thinks as she stands and walks over to her wardrobe, she can allow herself this indulgence.

“Of course, my heart,” he says, planting a kiss atop her head and humming, his arms strong and warm around her, the melody soft and sweet on her ears.

--

She hums an elvhen lullabye as she begins pulling her tunic over her head, but pauses when she notices something leaning against the wall near her desk.

Her hands fly to her mouth. Did he really…? How could he have known? Had he walked the Fade for this? For her? Tears sting at her eyes. She had known he painted, but had never known he could create something as beautiful as this.

The canvas is stretched in an oaken frame and she bends to touch it, recoiling her hand slightly before ghosting her fingers over the paint. The colors, the shapes -- it’s just as she remembered. Dalla is a child again, gazing at her mamae in wonder as she pulls back the string of her bow, as she bends to scrape bark from a tree, as stories spill from her lips.

It’s almost like her mamae was never gone.

Dalla runs from her room, sprints down the stairs and bursts into the rotunda, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Solas is standing towards the wall, paintbrush in hand, and he barely has time to turn toward the rapidly approaching footsteps before she crashes into him, throwing her arms around him and nearly sending both of them toppling to the floor.

“Thank-you,” she mutters against his skin.

He smiles and wraps his arms around her, smearing paint down the back of her tunic and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

[barbex]

Dorian mentions Templars using lyrium smell like a lightning strike — and that it’s apparently quite attractive. Mayhaps many mages have a love-hate relationship with Templars because of this, or individual covered in lyrium *cough* Fenris *cough*.

Do I smell “a special scent of [lyrium]” fenders prompt for DADWC? 👀

Oh yes!! Great prompt, thank you. For @dadrunkwriting, a fenders fic about Anders smelling Fenris.

---

“In scents and smells, we trap our memories.” Anders wracks his brain whoever had said that to him in his past. It had to be in the Circle, he can practically smell the dust of ancient tomes and old desks as he hears the words in his mind. How ironic that he connects to the past with memories of scent as he thinks about what that current smell is. 

There’s the smell of elfroot, that he ground into paste and smeared on various scrapes and injuries of his companions. There’s the scent of wildflowers and moss as they trot along the Sundermount path. There is, of course, the smell of sweat and dried blood, because you just can’t step outside of Kirkwall for five minutes without running into someone stupid enough to attack a group of two warriors, a dwarf with a terrifying crossbow, and a mage. Granted, said mage tries to look inconspicuous, but the elf with a sword bigger than himself should clue anyone in on their chances.

Said elf is a fascinating package of contradictions. He loudly proclaims how much he hates mages and Anders in particular, but still protects him in a fight. He is annoying, bigoted, bloody gorgeous, and he smells — he smells like thunderstorms and power. 

Even Justice stirs when Fenris walks by, a strange sensation somewhere in the back of Anders’ mind, an area he can usually ignore quite nicely. But not today. Not when, once again, someone steps in their way, weapons drawn, and the markings on Fenris’ arms start to glow. 

Thunderstorms and power. 

As he stares, breathing in the scent, a memory finally clicks into place. Lyrium. This is the scent of lyrium. Bottled mana power and danger all in one. At once he is back in the classroom, when the First Enchanter gave each of them a drop of lyrium potion, how it coursed through his veins, how for a moment, he felt so free. Then someone set a table on fire and the resulting firefighting of overeager and lyrium potioned teenagers flooded the whole building. 

Distracted by the memory, he misses the exchange up front, where Hawke argues with some men. Fenris stands by her side, practically vibrating with fury, and Anders steps closer. The scent emanating from him is intoxicating. 

Thunderstorms and power. 

“I am no slave,” Fenris snarls. His body glows blinding white, leaving a white afterimage as he disappears and reappears next to the slaver in the blink of an eye, plunging his fist into his chest and pulling out his heart. It still beats sluggishly in his hand as his markings dim. 

Anders finds himself on his knees. He doesn’t know how it happened, but his knees gave out and he nearly came in his fucking pants when Fenris glowed up white. 

“Are you alright?” Hawke asks, holding her hand out to help him up. 

Anders waves her off. “Yeah, just give me a second. Just got hit with some strange nausea.” No way he can stand up right now. The tent in his trousers is much too obvious. 

After a few calming breaths and discreet adjustments of his clothes, he follows the group at a distance, watching Fenris’ back. How can one person have so much lyrium in their body and still live? How can he use it like that, without his power diminishing, and how can Anders possibly survive being next to him when he gets a fucking boner every time Fenris starts his disappearing light act?

He has plenty of opportunity to find out because they run into someone who Fenris knows. A woman who tormented him, and the smell coming from her is just blood magic. It’s a brutal fight and the bitterness of the blood magic distracts Anders enough from Fenris’ scent. Anders needs all his tricks to fight her evil magic. At last, Fenris pulls out her heart, and Anders bites the inside of his cheek to cover his body’s reaction.

There is some yelling, Fenris saying something about magic spoiling everything, but Anders can’t pay attention. He can only stare, willing his cock to calm the fuck down.

Hawke puts her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way.”

“Ehm, yeah, sure.” Anders pretends to search for a potion in his bag, pulling the edge of his coat over his crotch. Grand Cleric Elthina on a donkey, I cannot not fuck him.

“What did you say?” Hawke asks.

“Nothing. I gotta go.” 

The door to Fenris’ mansion is not locked. “Fenris?” he calls as he goes inside.

“What do you want, mage?” Fenris’ tone is less aggressive than he expected.

“Are you alright?” 

“What does it matter to you?”

“It matters, you prickly bastard.” He takes a breath as he steps closer, smelling blood and lyrium. “Where are you hurt?” 

Fenris stares at the floor, his hands twitching, until he finally takes his armor off. At his side, just below his ribs, blood trickles down. He looks at Anders. “How did you know?”

“Blood has a smell and I have a good nose.” Anders steps closer, taking a bottle of clear spirit and a clean bandage from his bag. “I have to clean that and if you let me, I can heal the cut.” 

“Do it.” 

Fenris’ eyes never leave him as he works. This close, his scent is even stronger. 

“What are you doing?” 

Only now Anders realizes that he closed his eyes, still breathing in Fenris’ scent. The healing is done and he takes a step back. “Sorry, you smell really good.”

Fenris’ eyes narrow. “I smell?”

“Of lyrium,” Anders hurries to say. There is no good way to have this conversation, so he just runs on. “Lyrium smells nice, attractive to mages. Sorry, that’s probably not something you wanted to know. I’m just gonna go.” He turns to leave, but Fenris’ hand closes around his arm like a vise. 

“I already knew that. What are you going to do about this now?” There is something different in Fenris’ voice, something that makes Anders feel protective.

“Do? Nothing. Why should I do something?” 

Fenris’ grip loosens on his arm. “Danarius wanted me to be enticing, he made me spread my scent around to —”

“Eww, fuck, that sick bastard, yuck.” Anders grabs an open wine bottle from the table and takes a big gulp. “Well, that killed all that. I’m just —”

Like a blinding white wraith, Fenris glows. Anders is instantly hard. 

“Fuck.” Anders quickly turns to hide his raging boner. He has to get out, before Fenris realizes what happened and rightfully kills him. Glass shattering behind him stops his escape. As he turns, the smell of fresh blood hits him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Blood drips from Fenris’ hand, in the other hand a broken bottle. “Heal me.” He holds his hand out, glaring at Anders.

“Sure.” Ignoring the tightness in his pants, Anders goes back to Fenris, calling on his magic to remove glass shards from Fenris’ hand, before he heals the cut. It’s a deep cut, he needs to focus to realign the layers. “Whatever did you do that for?”

A sound like a whimper comes from Fenris. Anders looks up. Fenris’ cheeks are red, the tips of his ears nearly glow and his breath comes in short pants. Anders’ second look goes down to Fenris’ pants, noticing a very clear bulge. “My healing?”

“Yes.” Fenris wraps his fingers around Anders’ hand and pulls him closer. “My lyrium?” 

His markings glow, the scent of thunderstorm filling Anders’ senses. He falls forward against Fenris’ shoulder with a shudder. “Yes.”

Fenris pulls him closer, his hard cock pressing against Anders’. He whispers into his ears, “I don’t know if I can be gentle.”

Anders lets his magic flow, his fingertips glowing with electricity. “I don’t want you to.” 

Fenris gasps and the air crackles like thunder and lighting.

[bitchesofostwick]

Chapter 26: The Council Adjourns

There is no describing the anger Cullen feels, the bitterness and contempt and ire as he enters the Council chambers for what he hopes is the final time. He’s begrudged every session thus far. He’s sat quietly as Josephine asked. He’s held his grumblings until the Council recesses. He’s riddled his notes with doodles of mabari and tally marks for each time the Orlesian duke touches his mustache, but he has done so without any vocal complaint, at least within the Council chambers themselves, at least until the delegations from both countries have vacated the vicinity.

But this morning tests him more than any other as he follows Josephine into the chambers, Ellinor at his side, his hand flat on the small of her back not just to guide or to protect but to keep him from balling it into a fist at the very sight of the politicians before them. Propriety and decorum be damned. He doesn’t care what they see, if they see. She’s my wife. She shouldn’t be on her feet or out of her bed. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be wearing a dress that bares her arm just to show them all she’s been through. She shouldn’t have to prove anything to anyone.

He knows they’re looking. Staring. Duke de Montfort, Arl Guerrin, their respective aides and advisors. He looks to Vivienne, but he’s spent enough time with the Inquisition—with Ellinor especially—to understand the machinations of the Game. The Divine makes no visual acknowledgment of Ellinor’s appearance, but she sees it. They all see it. Josephine sits quietly first, then Leliana beside her. He removes his hand from Ellinor only to pull out a chair for her.

But she doesn’t sit. She doesn’t even look at him. No, her glare is trained ahead at the delegations before her. He’s been on the receiving end of that glare before. He doesn’t envy them.

“Lin—”

“No.”

Just one quiet word, and he doesn’t try again. He takes the empty seat himself and lets her go.

Continue reading.

taglist: @elfroot-and-laurels @captastra @saintmalev @mournholdmushroom @galaxywhale @creaking-skull

[camelliagwerm]

TREVELYAN II • ROMANCE

for veilguard30 day 3 — romance | with the iron bull | extra tags: biting and aftercare | 514 words | full collection here

“Didn’t hurt your shoulder too bad, did I, kadan?”

“I didn’t say katoh, did I?” Arthur replies, rolling the bloodied shoulder back and forth a few times. There is an ache, but nothing worse than what Bull could give him with a well placed strike of a switch. Glancing down at it, it looks worse than it feels.

Instinctively, he reaches up to touch the wound, the gentle glow of healing magic rising to the tip of his fingers. Bull is quick to grab his wrist, the Anchor crackling in protest at the denial of a spell. He does not hold it too tight, just firm enough for a callused thumb to press up against a pulse. “What did I say about the healing magic?” It’s a gentle reminder, nothing like the tone Bull takes on when he wishes to play the greedy brat intending to test his lover’s patience and mercy.

“That it is unnecessary.”

“Good.” Arthur’s magic had been a point of contention between them, when and where it would be allowed during their play. Bull had been quick to tell him his healing magic was not needed in aftercare, that it’s important for their roles that any injuries Arthur might take can be treated by him. You spend all that time patching me up on the battlefield, boss. This is my responsibility. Bull brings his palm, forever marked by the Anchor to his lips and kisses it with the tenderness he reserves for these moments, before releasing Arthur’s wrist. “I’ll just be a moment, kadan.”

As Bull leaves his side — to get the salve, the bowl of warm water — Arthur pushes himself up to sit, feeling every little ache from where Bull had leveraged his strength over him, before pushing his greying hair to one side.

Their aftercare is always quiet, Bull having picked up on Arthur’s need for it in their first encounter— to not risk overstimulation or an emotional drop from him after more intense scenes. Occasionally, he asks Arthur questions, but only to confirm that he is well and that there is no lingering damage as he cleans the blood away; then comes the elfroot salve — a cooling balm against the heat prickling his skin, practiced fingers massaging it in. Arthur’s hums of approval, arching into his lover’s touch is enough of an affirmation that he is well.

Once he is satisfied, Bull places a kiss atop the bite mark. There will be bruising there, dapples of dark red, purple and black against his warm brown skin, but they are bruises he will wear proudly, just like the patterns of rope biting into his arms, ones he want as a reminder to himself that he is not some untouchable saint but a man with earthly desires.

He feels more at peace here, with a man he did not think he would fall in love with, than anywhere else. That is more than he could have ever hoped for, and now he never wants to let that go — he’s earned a little selfishness amidst the myth of his selflessness.

[shouldaspunastory]

For @kiastirling and @dadrunkwriting

Emmrich Volkarin x Tobias Rook (SFW, pre-relationship, perceived one-sided pining) 491 words

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

It's quiet in the Lighthouse as Rook pads out into the shared living space on bare and silent feet, anxious dreams stirring them from sleep and spurring them to seek out some of their resident necromancer's homemade tea mixes to calm them. It began as a somewhat spiteful gesture to partake in. They and Solas sharing an accidental connection to one another, it had been amusing forcing Solas to experience things they were doing the ancient elf would have hated. But it's become something else now. A kind of ritual, grounding and soothing in a way Rook's not often known before.

Emmrich prepares the teas with care, the same attention to detail and thoughtfulness he brings to all things. There are teas tailored to each of his companion's various tastes, and several to specific needs or circumstances. A citrus blend for Lucanis, a floral one for Neve, An Elfroot and Lotus for healing from various cuts and poisons, an Elderflower and Crystal Grace for headache and inflammation... Were he not so entirely fascinated and committed to the dead, Emmrich might have made a more than decent run with an apothecary.

It's always better when they can share a kettle, of course, talking about his latest theories or their shared companions' latest antics. Rook can't seem to help but gravitate towards him, and, they realize, as they catch sight of a slumped form snoring softly on a nearby couch, book loosely clasped in one hand that dangles off the sofa, tonight seems to be no different.

Rook smiles fondly, changing course, crossing the room and gently taking the book before it falls from Emmrich's hand, marking the place and setting it down on the table beside them, before turning back to watch him for a moment. He looks so serene in sleep. Not that the necromancer cannot be in waking hours, but Rook isn't bold enough to make such a study of him then, too scared he'll notice, and they'll have made things awkward, or even untenable between them. They’re loathe to wake him, but surely if he sleeps out here all night his body will voice its complaints about it tomorrow. With utmost care the elf decides their course of action, grabbing and draping a blanket from the back of the sofa over him, before swiftly sliding their arms beneath the older man and lifting him up into their arms.

“Good morning,” Emmrich greets Rook cheerfully the following morning. “Ah, Manfred,” the necromancer smiles, beckoning for his skeletal assistant. “You know how much I appreciate you. Time got away from me last night, I’m afraid, but next time you may wake me. You needn’t trouble yourself carrying me to bed. I can’t imagine what a labor that must have been for you. ” Manfred looks puzzled, as much as one without muscles or skin is capable of doing so, at least, while Tobias smiles softly from behind their cup of tea.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

the very lovely @pinayelf asked for "an emotional kiss bringing one party to tears" and how could I not oblige everyone's favorite Ellie her every desire?

                “So then.” Before, La’ara had thought often about how they might feel when this moment came to pass. She had never been sure, and even now, she cannot put a name to the emotion in their chest. As the sun begins to rise, far off beyond the Frostbacks, the only thing La’ara knows is that they cannot shake the feeling of emptiness.                 “So then,” Cullen echoes, crossing the space between the two of them.                 “It is finished.”                 “It is,” he agrees, coming up behind her on the balcony. Beneath, Skyhold still buzzes with the last few whispers of partiers, most of them too drunk to tell the time or too excited to care. And why should they not enjoy themselves? Corypheus is gone. The Breach is closed. The Orb is destroyed.                 The Orb is destroyed. Solas is gone. And it makes the sharpest kind of dread twist in La’ara’s stomach. No, it is not emptiness that they cannot shake. It is fear. Behind her, Cullen reaches out, enfolding her in a hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. They should feel safe, here. Protected, at least. But La’ara watches the sunrise, and she stands in Cullen’s arms, and she looks down over Skyhold, and she thinks this is only the beginning.                 “You should get some sleep,” Cullen offers, his voice barely more than a whisper tangled in the hair tucked behind La’ara’s ear. They should sleep, it’s true, but they find themself wondering: will the world still be here when they wake? Still, La’ara does nothing to resist as Cullen shepherds her into her room, toward her wardrobe and the bed. He knows the space as though it is his own, and in all ways that matter, it is, to be truthful. La’ara watches him as he pulls a simple linen nightshirt from their drawers, one that has been softened by age and use, and they wonder if this beginning will also mean an end, an end far worse.                 When Cullen comes back to La’ara’s side to hand her the nightshirt, she kisses him, hard and abrupt. He is unsure, surprised, and they cannot blame him. But when the two of them break apart and he sees the tears tracking down her face, he says nothing. Instead, he simply helps La’ara undress and climb into bed, and then he joins them, holding them atop his chest until the sunlight warms them enough to chase the chill from their bones and they can, at last, sleep.

[liaragaming]

OC-tober - Day 3: Faith

tagging @elfroot-and-laurels as requested

- - -

Liara Tabris lays with Leliana inside the former lay sister's tent. They caress each other, their skin bare.

"I know you don't believe in the Maker," Leliana says. "But I believe he led me to you."

Liara sighs. It's a beautiful thought... that perhaps they were meant to find each other. But that would also mean what happened to Shianni was also meant to happen, and Liara rejects it vehemently.

"Maybe you led you to me," she suggests.

Leliana giggles. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does." Liara insists. "You had a vision no one else believed. You see the Maker in a way no one else does. You felt called to leave the Chantry, and you found your way to me. Maybe you did so under your own power."

"Maybe," says Leliana. "But I can feel that I was led."

"Then... I believe you."

Leliana gives a laugh, almost a scoff. "But you don't believe in the Maker!"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters!" Leliana laughs again. "How could it not matter? You can't both not believe and believe. You're full of contradictions, my love."

Liara takes in her lover's face. She knows her words don't make any sense. But in the end, it's all really very simple. "I believe in you."

"Me?" Leliana smiles in wonder and amusement. "I'm not a god-"

Liara puts a finger to her lips. "If you say you saw a rose bloom on a dead bush, then it happened. If you say the Maker is benevolent and real, then he is. If you say you were led to me, then you were led."

Leliana stares, her eyes swimming with emotion. The laughter is gone from her face, replaced with something deeper. "But... you don't believe in the Maker."

Liara shakes her head. "I believe in you."

[vir-tanadahl]

The Temple of Fen'harel

Summary: Shortly after Corypheus' defeat, Inquisitor Lavellan begins to hear the voices from the Well of Sorrows calling to her. Following their guidance, she is led to a long-forgotten temple, where she uncovers the truth about Solas. (Set before the events of Trespasser.)

Note: I originally published this on 02/07/2015, seven months before Trespasser was released. Since I am re-writing all of my fanfics to help cope with my excitement for Dragon Age: Veilguard, I decided to rewrite this to make it more… lore-accurate—at least as accurate as possible. (Find on Ao3)

Rain trickled down Lavellan's face, cool droplets slipping along her skin as she gazed at the shadowy expanse of the forest. Her body trembled, soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin, but the sharp chill seemed distant, almost muted. In her mind, the voices of the vir’abelasan pulsed—urgent, insistent—urging her forward. The moonlight bathed her bronzed skin, casting a soft glow as it mingled with the wet sheen that glistened on her arms and shoulders. Without a word, she stepped into the dense, silent woodlands.

Each footfall sank into the mud with a soft squelch, the earth gripping her boots as if reluctant to release her. But still, she pressed on, her steps not entirely her own—guided, almost forced, by the ceaseless voices echoing in her thoughts. A week had passed since she left Skyhold. The only trace of her departure was a note, carelessly pinned to her desk, its message as brief and cryptic as her resolve: I will return soon.

Lavellan stepped into the clearing, where the remnants of a forgotten temple lay entwined with nature’s reclaiming touch. Wildflowers had woven themselves into the cracks of what was once a golden path, their vibrant colors softening the stone beneath. Towering trees loomed overhead, their roots surging through the ancient foundation, spilling into the temple’s entryway like fingers stretching across a forgotten canvas. Untouched by human hands, the ruins stood quietly, much like the sacred halls of Mythal—preserved by time and neglect.

As she crossed the crumbling bridge, a ripple of magic sparked against her skin, familiar and ancient. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of memories not her own, and soon her vision blurred—flickers of a time long before the fall of the elves flashing before her eyes. Without realizing, her steps quickened, her body moving as if carried by invisible threads. She was no longer walking of her own accord—the voices of the Well surged, pulling her forward, guiding her deeper into the ruins. The echoes of the past overwhelmed her, flooding her senses, leaving her unaware of her own movements.

Lavellan blinked, and suddenly she was no longer in the clearing. Elves moved before her, their heads bowed in reverence as they followed intricate rituals, one by one gaining entrance to the inner sanctum. Those deemed worthy knelt at the towering doors, leaving small tokens—a feather, a carved stone, a vial of shimmering liquid—before slipping inside. The sound of hushed prayers whispered through the air, their voices lost in the grandeur of the temple.

Beyond the heavy doors, a grand hallway stretched into the distance, leading to an open atrium. The scent of fresh water and elfroot filled the air, mingling with the damp earth. At the center stood the temple, its pale walls gleaming under the soft light. Lavellan’s senses were engulfed by the vividness of it all, until—

She gasped, yanked back into the present, her breath catching as the memory faded. Confusion settled like a weight in her chest as she found herself once again standing before the ruined temple. Vines snaked around the statues that lined the overgrown pathway, their once-pristine stone now concealed beneath thick, twisting foliage. She moved forward instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed the leaves aside, revealing fragments of elven script etched into the stone.

The old language poured into her mind like a rushing river, unbidden and unstoppable. She traced the words, her voice barely a whisper as she read: “…give thanks to he who is named Fen’Harel as he aids us…”

Lavellan staggered back, heart pounding, pure shock and terror coursing through her. A temple to the Dread Wolf. Her breath hitched at the realization. This place was dedicated to Fen’harel, the betrayer, the one who brought Arlathan to ruin and plunged her people into endless exile. The voices in her mind swelled, chaotic and unrelenting, flooding her vision with fragmented images—elves clashing in bitter conflict, blood staining the earth, a deep, seething strife between forces she could not name.

Her stomach twisted violently as she fought to reclaim control, nausea bubbling up as the overwhelming flood of memories receded. She pressed her palm to her temple, feeling the dull throb of a headache building behind her eyes. Were the Dalish wrong... again? The question lingered, unanswered, as silence settled over her mind. The voices that had once urged her forward now offered no clarity, only a persistent push deeper into the temple.

Without fully understanding why, Lavellan found herself moving toward the entrance. The door stood ajar, its hinges creaking as she slipped inside. Shadows clung to the stone walls, and her footfalls echoed faintly in the silence. Her gaze locked onto the center of the room—a grand, golden mosaic throne. It loomed before her, untouched by time or decay, radiating an air of quiet power. She crept closer, her breath shallow, as if the weight of the temple's history pressed down on her.

Lavellan spun on her heel, panic rising as she tried to flee, but the voices locked her in place. Her body refused to obey, no matter how fiercely her instincts screamed for her to run. Even from across the chamber, she recognized him—the man who had captured her heart. Solas, draped across the golden throne, his body relaxed, his head resting in a peaceful slumber. Terror gripped her as her intuition shrieked in warning. She had made a grave mistake. The truth, buried deep inside her, clawed its way to the surface: the creature she had feared her entire life was the one she had fallen in love with.

The Dread Wolf.

Her mind raced, the realization crashing down with brutal clarity. She had slept with the betrayer, the destroyer. The image of him, laughing with cruel satisfaction, as he crushed her heart in his hand, flashed before her. He had deceived her, lured her in with tenderness, and now—now, he would tear her apart.

But her body defied her fear. Against her will, she moved toward him, step by step, the voices driving her closer to the slumbering god. His chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic breaths, his consciousness far away in the Fade. Her hand lifted, trembling, and though every part of her screamed to stop, her fingers gently brushed his cheek. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt through her, and for a moment, his nose and lips twitched at the soft contact, though his eyes remained closed.

The voices surged again, pressing against her mind, straining toward him. They reached out, seeking the ancient power that pulsed beneath his skin. And then, like the snap of a bowstring, Solas jolted awake, his eyes wide and sharp. A ripple of ancient magic, raw and immense, pulsed through the air, and Lavellan felt the weight of his gaze pierce through her.

Solas’ hands gripped the arms of the throne, his knuckles white as his gaze locked on the golden eyes of his lover. His chest tightened, and his nose wrinkled with anger. “You should not be here,” he growled, the words thick with frustration. His sharp eyes scanned her, narrowing in suspicion. “The voices… did you ask them to lead you to me?” He rose from the throne, his movements sudden and forceful, the weight of his question hanging in the air.

Lavellan staggered back, her heart racing as panic swelled inside her, choking her voice. She couldn’t answer, her throat closing off any sound. The raw intensity of his presence pressed down on her, and she recoiled, unsure if it was the power that radiated from him or the terror that gripped her heart.

Solas paused, his anger flickering. He knew her well enough to understand—stubborn, determined, unwilling to let him vanish without a fight. His expression softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he watched her. He could never stay angry with her for seeking him out, for challenging the boundaries he had tried to impose. She was too passionate, too relentless, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known this confrontation was inevitable.

But something else caught his attention—the sheer terror in her eyes. Not fear of disturbing his slumber, but something deeper, something primal. His breath hitched as realization struck like a dagger. She knew. She had uncovered his secret.

“Vhenan…” he muttered, the word escaping him before he could stop it. His hand moved toward her, aching to offer comfort, though he hesitated, his throat tight with words unsaid. The distance between them seemed too vast now, a chasm carved by truths she wasn’t ready to face.

A broken croak escaped her throat as Lavellan stumbled back, her feet forgetting the steps behind her. Her body lurched into open air, falling—but before the cold stone could meet her, Solas’ hand shot out, gripping hers. He yanked her toward him with a desperate strength, and they both crashed against the throne, her body pressed tightly against his. “Please, ma vhenan,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he clutched her struggling form.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, as the words forced themselves out between gasping sobs. “You are... Fen’harel.” Each word cut through the air like a blade, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Solas’ face twisted with guilt, his chest swelling with sorrow as he tightened his hold, keeping her close. He pressed his forehead to her temple, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. “I am,” he murmured, reluctant, the weight of the admission heavy between them. Her sobs racked against him, shaking her small frame as she buried her face in her hands. His heart clenched. “Ir abelas, ma vhenan, I am so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, his voice soft, pained.

Lavellan shook her head violently, hands still covering her face, unable to look at him. The voices in her head surged, their clamor filling her consciousness, making the ache in her stomach worse with each pulse. Solas’ cold fingers brushed her forehead, gently pushing her damp hair away from her face as he murmured apology after apology. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by her uneven breaths as they sat tangled together, her sobs gradually fading into exhaustion.

Time passed in that stillness. She fell into a deep, fitful slumber in his arms, while he remained perfectly still despite the aching pain that spread through his back and shoulders. Her anguish was far greater than anything he could feel.

When Lavellan finally stirred, her eyelids heavy and swollen, her mind foggy with the weight of the night’s revelations, memory came crashing back like a tidal wave. She jolted, eyes snapping open, her heart pounding. She tried to stand, to flee, but found herself unable to move. Solas’ familiar arms were still wrapped tightly around her, holding her as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.

“Lavellan,” Solas whispered, his voice rough and hoarse from the weight of sleepless hours. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, ignoring him, her expression unreadable. He leaned closer, desperation seeping into his voice. “Vhenan, please,” he murmured, gently reaching for her, his fingers brushing her chin as he tried to turn her face toward him. She didn’t resist, but when her eyes finally met his, they were cold, her emotions masked behind a wall of restraint.

Her gaze hardened, and a bitter edge crept into her voice. “You’re supposed to be a monster. To look like a monster. But you’re the master of tricks, aren’t you?” Her glare intensified, venomous. The moment hung between them, heavy with accusation, before her hand lashed out, striking his face with a sharp crack. And then her glare faulters, softening. Her own experience with him clashing with everything her culture told her about him.

Solas sighs, the sting of the slap echoing in the silence, but he didn’t defend himself. His eyes softened with the pain of her betrayal as she glared at him, her chest heaving. “You lied to me,” she said, her voice thick with anguish.

“In a way, I did, yes.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let me go.” Lavellan shoved at his chest, her words harsh, final. Reluctantly, Solas loosened his hold, and she pulled away, pacing back and forth as if caged by her own thoughts, her emotions warring beneath the surface.

Solas watched her, the ache in his heart growing as he stood from the throne. His voice, quiet yet steady, filled the room. “I have lied about who I am, but never about my feelings for you.”

Lavellan stopped mid-stride, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her eyes flashed with a mix of anger and grief as she turned to him. “You might as well have!” she spat, her voice sharp with betrayal. She took a step closer, her fury palpable. “How could anything be real when everything I knew about you was a lie?”

“I didn’t exactly lie—at least, not entirely.” Solas’ voice trembled with urgency, his eyes searching her face for any sign of understanding. Lavellan’s steps faltered, uncertainty rippling through her as her fingers tangled in her hair. She struggled, torn between the truths she thought she knew and the reality unraveling before her.

Solas hesitated, watching her wrestle with her thoughts. “The Dread Wolf from the stories... from the legends… that’s only part of the truth,” he continued softly, stepping closer. His words hung in the air between them like fragile threads. “I was Solas first. Fen'Harel came later.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his confession raw.

Lavellan stared at him, her mind spinning as she tried to reconcile the man she loved with the figure of betrayal and legend. Her breath caught, and she fought to process everything, her heart hammering in her chest.

Solas’ expression softened, regret filling his eyes. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “But you should not be here.” He reached out, carefully taking her hands into his, his fingers warm against hers. He watched her, but her gaze drifted, her eyes glazing over, distant and unfocused. He knew the voices were speaking to her again, likely confirming that he is the Dread Wolf.

She began shaking her head, confusion clouding her features as the voices slipped into an unsettling silence. "I don't understand," she whispered, her eyes searching the floor. Fragments of their time together flickered through her mind—the quiet conversations, the guarded looks, the moments after Corypheus fell. Threads of memory wove together, forming a pattern she hadn't seen before.

Suddenly, her gaze snapped back to his, eyes sharp and filled with a dawning intensity. "The orb..." she breathed, the words barely audible. "It was yours, wasn't it?"

Her voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and reluctant understanding, the hope that she might be wrong fading with each passing second. The realization settled heavily between them, an unspoken truth finally brought to light.

A sad smile flickered across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It was,” he confessed softly. He paused, as if weighing the gravity of what came next. “I didn’t foresee him surviving the blast...” His voice trailed off, unfinished, heavy with regret.

Lavellan hesitated, searching his face for answers, her heart sinking. “But why?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. “Why did you give him the orb, Solas?”

His expression darkened, his frown deepening as he lowered his head, lost in the shadows of his memories. “I was too weak,” he muttered, the words slipping from him like a bitter truth. “Too weak after my long slumber to unlock its power.”

His voice was careful, measured, but she could hear the anguish threaded between his words, could see the pain reflected in his eyes—burdens he had carried for far too long.

Her heart shattered as she watched the dance of pain and anguish play across his face, each unspoken regret heavy in the air between them. Without thinking, she reached up, her hand trembling as she gently pulled his face toward hers. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of his sorrow and the ache in her chest.

She pressed her lips softly against his, tender and hesitant, as if her kiss alone could soothe the burden he had carried for so long. It was a silent plea, a desperate hope that in this moment, she could ease even a fraction of his suffering. For just a breath, she wished to take away the hurt, to hold him in a world where neither of them had to carry the weight of their choices.

She pulled back, her breath still lingering between them. “But why?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with concern. Her eyes searched his, aching to understand.

"It wasn’t supposed to happen like this," Solas murmured, his voice low and weighted with regret. He wanted to tell her more, to lay his burden bare, but centuries of guarding his heart held him back. His eyes flickered with emotions he couldn't quite express.

Lavellan furrowed her brow, her mind racing as she sifted through memories—of time spend and conversations had with Solas, of Dalish legends half-remembered, fragmented and tangled like knotted yarn. The truth was there, albeit elusive, but something tugged at the edges of her understanding, and her heart clenched with a terrible realization.

“You didn’t mean for the Veil to hurt the People, did you?” she asked, her voice quiet but insistent, a plea for clarity in the face of so much confusion.

Solas’ expression tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he looked away. He didn’t answer immediately, but the silence between them was enough. The answer lingered in the air, unspoken but painfully clear.

“But why leave? Why come here when your plan failed?” Lavellan’s voice cracked, frustration, pain, and confusion swirling in her chest. “Did you really plan to live out the rest of your life in isolation, away from—” Her breath caught in her throat, words faltering as the weight of what she was about to say threatened to choke her. ’Away from me? The thought hung in her mind, unspoken, but its presence was undeniable, heavy and raw.

Solas’ gaze softened, as if sensing the unspoken question. His lips parted, but he hesitated, the guarded expression on his face slipping ever so slightly. The silence that stretched between them was filled with everything they weren’t saying, everything they were afraid to confront. And in that moment, her heart ached with the fear that perhaps, in his isolation, he had already made his choice—one that didn’t include her.

But, Solas remained silent, his gaze steady but unreadable, as if her question pierced through the walls he had so carefully built. Her eyes searched his face for something—anything—that might reveal his reasons, but all she found was the lingering sadness he tried so hard to hide. The tension between them thickened, the truth just out of reach, suspended in the heavy silence.

Her breath trembled, her heart pounding with the unspoken realization that perhaps his isolation was not just a punishment for himself, but a way to protect her—from his failure, from the consequences of loving him.

Solas shook his head slowly, the stoic mask settling back into place, hardening his features. But his eyes—those eyes still whispered the sorrow he could not bring himself to speak aloud. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until finally, his voice broke through, a whisper of regret and weariness. “I need time…”

It was a fragile admission, but it left her heart aching, knowing that time alone couldn’t mend the chasm that had opened between them.

“And then you’ll come back?” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile and filled with hope. The question hung in the air between them, trembling on the edge of uncertainty. She looked at him, her eyes searching for reassurance, for a promise that everything would somehow be as it once was.

Solas’ breath caught in his throat. He could hear the hope laced in her words, the quiet plea that, perhaps, he would return to her—not to his mission, not to the world he was determined to change, but to her.

Whether she was willfully blind to the truth or simply unaware of the path he had chosen, he couldn’t say. Her gaze, filled with that quiet hope, made it clear she didn’t fully grasp the depths of his intentions—the consequences of what he had set in motion.

Solas wasn’t sure if she truly understood that the orb had been only the beginning. It was his first plan, yes, and in many ways, his best hope for a swift restoration of what had once been. But it was not his only plan. The thought of the steps yet to come—the things he would have to do, the sacrifices he would demand of himself and the world—tightened his chest with guilt. The path he walks is the dinan’shiral. There is only death on this journey.

He feared she hadn’t yet realized how far he was willing to go to achieve his goal, how unyielding his resolve had become. The love that still exists between them, the tenderness that still sparked in her eyes—it was fragile. He could see it now, hanging by a thread that would inevitably be severed when the full truth came to light. But not yet.

For now, she didn’t see the deeper plan, the path that stretched far beyond their love, leading him to a future he couldn’t allow her to follow because he could not allow her to see what he will become.

“Yes,” he replies, the word slipping out—half-truth, but not quite a lie. It’s inevitable that their paths will cross again. She, leading the Inquisition, guiding the world through the chaos left in Corypheus’ wake. And he… he will be working tirelessly in the shadows, forging a new plan to tear down the Veil he once erected to protect the People.

The weight of the truth he couldn’t share sat heavy on his chest. Their reunion wouldn’t be as she imagined—there would be no quiet return to what they had before. He had no intention of leaving her life entirely, but not in the way she hoped. He would still be out there, always moving, always plotting, preparing for the moment when he would have to make the impossible choice.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, knowing she couldn’t see the full shape of what was coming. She couldn’t know that while he said yes, it wasn’t in the way she longed for. Their next meeting wouldn’t be born out of love, but of necessity. Of fate. Of a mission he could not abandon, no matter the cost to them both.

But for now, she believed in that small word, in the promise she heard. And he let her, knowing it would break her heart in time.

[flowersonpebbles]

Thursday Week 2: Legacies 10. Friendship

@elfroot-and-laurels

TW: angst, character death, a lot of emotions

word count: 1 925

Jowan – A scribbled note found in the Circle tower of Ferelden, where an apostate had stayed and slept – paper covered with smeared blood and tears, discovered 9:30 Dragon whilst cleaning the tower after the horrific happenings. “I am afraid for what will happen today… Dallas I know will trust me, will help me… but I feel awful for having to lie to him and Lilly. But he will forgive me if he is to ever learn the truth, maybe not immediately, but eventually… I hope… I cherish our friendship too much to not work for his forgiveness…”

Alistair – An official letter, written with careful handwriting but there are stains looking akin to tear drops here and there, discovered in Vigil’s Keep 9:38 Dragon. “Respected Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander, I hope this letter finds you well. I also hope you can forgive me for being such a selfish man many years ago… I let grief color my judgement. But I think I am happy, trying my best to make a difference where I can, with influence to actually achieve it sometimes. And I owe it to you. Anora and I even grew to love each other… it is very bitter sweet sometimes, albeit. But we fill in each other where one lacks skill, it is… fulfilling. I know the Inquisition is in search of you, for what I do not know but I am cautious for you, I can only hope this letter reaches you in time, or that you’re already gone from where they can find you. Kindest regards, King Alistair Theirin.”

Morrigan – A neatly written first page in an otherwise empty journal not accidentally left behind in a worn, familiar backpack, discovered after killing the archdemon, “My dear friend, as we had discussed, I am gone now. But I hope your thirst for knowledge like my own can be documented in this journal I leave for you… I cannot thank you enough for the journey and our friendship. It will all stay precious to me.”

Lamb – A worn blanket left behind in an inn’s room, smelling strongly of embriums and lotuses for the friend who stood beside him til the end and who should now protect his soulmate in his stead, 9:49 Dragon.

Leliana – A book well loved and filled to the brim with songs, poems and stories, all written with utmost care. A last page entry of it though – end of 9:31 Dragon: “We finally part ways. I am saddened to do so but he wishes to venture far and I have a new duty. Something to help the world even further. Our memories together will always be dear to my heart, I was lucky to have met such an amazing person who let me help!”

Sten – Orders written in qunlat, page neatly folded and writing perfect, signed by the Arishok found in 9:44 Dragon. “The Warden-Commander of Ferelden, infamous Hero of Ferelden, should not be harmed in any manner if he is to be found among places to be conquered. If he wishes to protect any dwellers in a location, rather fall back. Highly dangerous – do not engage. Inform me immediately if he comes into play.”

Wynne – A journal entry in well keep book, the last page having tear and blood drops upon it, but is later ripped out and sent to Vigil’s keep, the entry was on 9:39 Dragon, “I feel weary, I think my time is nearing. I think fondly of our journey together, your questions always so odd to me. But I’ve grown to question more and more things myself, all thanks to you, Dallas. I am not sure if I’ll have the pleasure to see you again but I wish you well. I hope and Zevran have found happiness by each other’s sides.”

Zevran – A letter sent in desperation, hurried writing with inked smudgings indicating tear drops, sent and received 9:49 Dragon, “Dearest Leliana, or should I address you as Divine Victoria now? My dearest, I beg with utmost urgency aid in searching for our friend, Dallas. You see, he left in the middle of the night, Lamb is still with me. But even he is struggling to find our Dallas… I was hoping maybe you could help with that… I must speak plainly. He holds my heart; my very soul and I do not wish for him to perish alone. I owe him more than that. Yours kindly, Zevran Arainai.”

Oghren – A solemn journal entry in an old journal, dated 9:35 Dragon, “Little Dallas is grown and running around, belching like his pa. He even got red hair like me and the Warden-Commander! Felsi ain’t looking too great lately, got me worried. But I myself haven’t slept great, maybe that’s why she looks so tired all the time? Damned darkspawn… never thought a dwarf could have nightmares. Yet here we are. Hoping to report back to Dallas when he gets back so I could maybe ask for some help. He’s a smart cookie, after all.”

Loghain – A letter written in haste even though the neatness is tried to be kept, sent 9:41 Dragon after the Grey Wardens were welcomed by the Inquisition, “Warden-Commander Dallas, I am unsure where to send this to. I entrust our old ally, Leliana to send it to you along with all the other letters I have been meaning to send but I did not know where to reach you. She might know where – or when she does learn where they’ll be sent. We have broken free of Corypheus for the most part. We are aiding the Inquisition in rebuilding what we can to help atone for what has transpired… I know well how trying to help in exaggeration can be too extreme… I hope only to be of a soothing hand to their shame. Yours faithfully, Loghain Mac-Tir”

Bethany – A panicked last journal entry in a beloved diary of Bethany Hawke, 9:30 Dragon, “I worry for my siblings. They left to fight against the darkspawn, to help the King in the battle… Emikka will look after Carver though. I fear still… and I have a bad feeling for what has yet to come for us all… I know Emikka will help us through it all though. Wait, is that her I’m hearing outside? Did the win already?” ink is then spilled on the rest of the blank page, also ruining other mages, obviously the book had been shut whilst ink was still wet.

Carver – A letter sent in response to his sister’s request to be sent away, 9:41 Dragon, “Emikka, I left Ferelden as you requested. I just think it unfair that you let Loghain stay back and I’m made to leave. But I have safely arrived in Antiva City… Sister, you need to see it. Its bloody gorgeous and I think I could’ve even taken Merril on a date here. Please stay safe, I’m not sure why you even trust this Inquisition. But I do trust you. Write back soon, you better stay alive too. You still have your piece of the jade, yeah? Keep it close. I have a bad feeling… Nug has also been restless lately, he misses you. Your brother, Carver.”

Nug – 9:39 Dragon a well-loved stuffed tug toy was given to a brother to look after his sister’s mabari until the three of them can reunite again.

Aveline – 9:38 Dragon a letter was sent with a copper coin with marigolds on it, “I hope this finds you well, Hawke. I know you’re on the run, I know you’re trying to help people who need it. I just wanted you to know that Leandra is born. And I hope… now more than ever, the world she grows up in will see her be free of demons and a tower for her whole life. I will keep our city safe until you can return. Remember we miss you. And Hawke? Thank you. Aveline.”

Varric – 9:41 Dragon six different letters were sent out after the siege of Adamant Fortress written with great dread, grief and many tear stains and ink smudges. “Little Hawke, your sister was glad to have gotten your response before we left to siege Adamant Fortress… She only started writing a response but I’m still sending it with my letter. I think it only right you have it… I’m so sorry… It was all my fault. I should have never asked her for help… She… she stayed back in the Fade to let others escape… to let others live. Loghain also sends his deepest regrets to you, Junior. Varric” “Aveline, what I’m about to tell you… tell Gamlen for me too, if you could so kindly. Hawke was left behind on a mission to let others survive that were… necessary in her eyes. I wish I was there… I wish I could’ve stopped her… It’s a big mess, I’m so sorry… Send my regards to Donnic and Leandra, my regrets to Gamlen. Varric Tethras.” “Fenris, Emikka died on a mission. I don’t even know if you’ll be able to read this, hopefully you get someone who can read it to you then. I was such an idiot… I’m so sorry… Your friend, Varric” “Daisy, I’m telling you this with great caution. Hawke was left behind in the Fade to let others get out alive. Don’t go doing something stupid though, you hear me? She would want us all to go on living. Who knows, hopefully she can get out on her own… that’s possible, right…?” “Rivaini, I’m running out words, at least the ale is stopping the tears. Hawke… Hawke stayed back for others to live… I’m… it was my fault for asking her for help… Varric” “Blondie, by Andraste… you and Daisy, I don’t even wanna tell either of you but… Hawke was left behind in the fade… It hurts so much… it was my fault... again… how can we even begin to fix this, Blondie…?”

Fenris – A shakily written letter sent 9:41 Dragon, a few drops of blood at the corner. “Do not trust this new thing trying to recruit you. Listen to Varric and do not go where I cannot follow, Emikka. The jade piece I have will miss yours. Your love, Fenris”

Merril – A letter covered in scribbles, runes with elfroot leaves attached was sent on 9:39 Dragon, “Hawke, I hope this fighting ends soon. The elves following me grow weary. The Templars grow more aggressive. I fear our fates, but I do not know what to do other than hide in forests I know well, it is much more defensible. But it grows too cold for them… I hope you and Anders are fairing better than we are. Merril.”

Isabella – A letter written neatly with a pretty blue feather attached to it, sent 9:41 Dragon, “Hey, beautiful. Heard some kind of Inquisition has you roped in? Varric said he needed your help, right? Just behave yourself and come back with some shiny trinkets of theirs, alright? My jade has been missing yours too. Stay safe, pretty. Much love, Isabella”

Anders – A crumpled piece of paper with singes at the edges and a torn edge was sent 9:40 Dragon, “Hawke, I know we split up to try and get the Templars off my back, and the other apostates. But I fear for what is yet to come. I will die for our freedom. But not everyone wants to, I know that now… Have I doomed us all, or was it going to happen without me nether the less? Stay safe, old friend. Anders.”

[swordbisexual]

A Chest Of Pine And Iron: Chapter Two

Being on the Trevelyans, vows, and the properties of elfroot.

(h/t to @litlunacy for telling me about the elfroot and weed thing, which promptly went into this fic)

--

{Fenella’s diary]

21 August 9:41

If there’s one thing a body can count on, it’s for the local tavern to have cured meat and cheese aplenty. The Singing Maiden is no different. Hopefully I don’t leave smudges on the page with the grease, but if I do, it’s simply a testament to how thoroughly satisfying these victuals are, especially with a draught of mead that tastes like summer clover.

I suppose it is summer here, though it certainly doesn’t feel like it, this high up in the mountains. Flissa told me she brought this cask with her from Denerim, aged since last Kingsway, and that she’s not just handing it out to everyone. “But anything for the Herald,” she said, and she seemed so nervous. I did my best to smile at her, but that just seemed to make the poor woman lose herself even more, stammering her way out from the bar and into the storeroom in the back to dig up the summer sausage that I fear has now made its mark all over my diary.

[There are indeed fingerprints all over the edges of this page, some smudging the ink at the edges, though not enough to render the words illegible.]

This morning was both too much and too little, all at once. The most vital topic of the day with the council was the matter of coin, just after the matter of weapons and suitable stores of medicines for the potion master. After I assured them all that I’d taken time to speak with both Quartermaster Threnn and Adan, I was treated to another one of Josephine - Lady Montilyet’s - canny-eyed looks. “And what of your family?” she asked.

I haven’t even thought to write them in the midst of all this, truth be told, but I had the sinking feeling I was about to be instructed to do just that. “The Bann and Lady will be more than happy to assist,” I said, unsure if I ought to call them Father and Mother here in the presence of the Inquisition’s councillors. I hardly called them by anything back in Ostwick, either, save for the rare moment either of them have deigned to speak to me as anything other than just another vassal for their command. 

As I feared, Josephine nodded. “A noble house so loyal to the Chantry would be invaluable allies for the Inquisition, should their coffers be deep enough.” She cleared her throat and scratched something on her ledger with her quill. “Or should they have enough influence, in the Free Marches.”

“For the Chantry, anything.” This satisfied Josephine, and Cassandra too, but it earned me a strange look from both Leliana and Commander Rutherford. I ignored them, or I hope I looked like I did, and stared ahead at the table and the map of Thedas spread out before us, with markers set here and there, surely placed by the Commander before we’d arrived for our morning briefing. I pointed at one set squarely in the middle of Ferelden. “What’s this?”

“Reports from our scout, Harding.” Commander Rutherford picked up the steeple-shaped marker and turned it over in his hand before returning it, not a hairsbreadth out of place from where it stood before. “The Hinterlands of Ferelden are vast, and the conflict between the Templars and mages made it more complicated than it should, but we’ve found a Revered Mother of the Chantry who may aid us.”

Something stirred in my breast then. It was the thought of adventure, and of getting off this damned mountain. I should have thought of the Mother (Giselle, I was told, of Jader, and a holy woman she is indeed) and of the refugees she harbored first, and guilt at my selfishness ached in my belly as I stared at the marker. “I’ll go,” I said, and I hoped against hope that I sounded the part of the blessed Herald taking up her mantle, and not the bored child I felt like.

“I will accompany you,” Cassandra said, as fierce and commanding as she’d been when she led me out of the prison and towards the breach. “We do not know what dangers we might find.”

“Take Varric with you,” Leliana said, and the look Cassandra gave her could have melted steel. It didn’t deter the Left Hand, though, as she braced herself against the force of the Right. “You will need support, and he has a way with words.”

“And Solas might help against any apostates you find,” Josephine added, interrupting Cassandra’s protests. “You will have strength in numbers, and we cannot afford for anything to befall our Herald so soon.”

“Indeed, we cannot.” Commander Rutherford turned to face me, the same expression on his face that he had upon the field when we met his forces in the charge to the Temple. The most I can glean from it even now, thinking back on the charge and on the council-room, is that there was a sense of intrigue, as if I was a new tactic he’d yet to master, a new formation he’d yet to learn. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small thrill in me then, too, but I could push that away even easier than I pushed away the need to stretch my legs beyond Haven. I’ve never been an object of interest for anyone, male or female, for as long as I’ve known that there was interest to be had.

The matter was settled, more or less, at those words. We’re to set out to find Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands on the morrow, and I’m to send a letter to Ostwick requesting funds if the teyrn can spare them, and at least a banner of support if they cannot.

Sitting in this tavern does remind me of Matthias and Geordie, and Duncan, too. I wish that any of them could be responsible for the family name and family funds. Writing them would be so much easier than writing to Father, or even Mother. I think even Geordie would like to come here himself, if his leg wouldn’t give him so much trouble this high up in the cold. At the very least, I can write him - write them all - and let them know that I’m safe.

For now, though, I think I’d like to finish this mead, and set back out on the same trail I’ve been slowly following for the past few days. There’s elfroot even in the middle of the snowdrifts, and I’d like to get down a drawing of how it looks. It’s just as common here as it was in Ostwick, but I feel as if I’m seeing it anew, and it’s been too long since I took down my observations of the world around me.

--

[A separate journal, larger and of sturdier make with thicker pages, each with an illustration and labeled with Fenella’s observations and knowledge of the plant, animal, or stone in question]

Elfroot

A common plant, like to a weed, hardy enough to grow even up in the Frostback snows

Roots good for indigestion and general malaise; leaves can provide their own brief pleasant sensation when chewed, or brewed into a tonic or tea

According to Matthias Trevelyan, who is neither botanist nor apothecarist and therefore whose word is of questionable merit, the leaves can also be dried and smoked in a pipe in order to forget one’s troubles for the length of an afternoon

--

[A line is drawn beneath the last entry and the following, indicating that they were likely written on the same day. There is a slant to the script in this additional entry, which goes on at length and grows more slanted as the lines go on, showing a marked tiredness in the Herald’s hand as she recorded the events of her afternoon, which were important enough to apparently forego sleep.]

The sound of the soldiers at their drills in the makeshift training yard was as much music to my ears as that of the singer who sat on the tiny platform of a stage in the Singing Maiden. I walked up the hill from where I’d been out collecting more elfroot to take to Adan and his apothecarist assistant, and the clanging of steel on steel drew me to it, as it always has. I nearly felt homesick. There were few comforts I found within my own home, and fresh off a few good lungfuls of brisk air with a sliver of elfroot sitting beneath my tongue and making my lips tingle, I was reminded of those few. I suddenly missed Geordie, and our ongoing tally of our duels in the yard when his leg allowed, and my hand itched to wrap around a hilt. If I’d been in a coat and mail I might have asked the soldiers if I could join in, but simply bundled up in one of the furs I took from my bed, with a basket of elfroot at my hip and my field journal under my elbow, I wasn’t exactly suited for sparring.

Still, I wanted to take a look. Commander Rutherford stood watching over them all, the gold of his hair gone to fire in the light of the setting sun, stepping in only to offer a word of advice here and there to the greener recruits before taking up his post again at the edge of the yard, a sharp eye on the flurry of activity around him. His was a familiar face, at least, and so I shook the snow from my boots and shuffled along the beaten dirt path in order to stand beside him.

I’ve been told I have my head in the clouds far too much, but I see more that goes on than either my mother or father have ever given me credit for. For instance, I saw that as soon as I was within ten paces of the Commander, he shifted his weight and his gaze, the former in a slight lean back as the latter slid forward to meet me before I was even within earshot. “Lady Trevelyan,” he said as soon as I was close enough to hear him over the din of his soldiers’ swords.

I know I wrinkled my nose, but the face I pulled must have been more than just a wrinkle, if the way his eyebrows shot up was any indication. “Maker’s breath, anything but that,” I said, too tired to care about whether the Herald of Andraste would invoke the Maker in anything but the holiest Chant. “Just call me Fen.”

I don’t know whether it was the wind kicking up or something else entirely, but the Commander’s ears went bright pink at the edges. “I don’t know if I could bring myself to do that, Your Worship.”

“Andraste’s sword.” I frowned at the Commander then. He looked taken aback at another holy name taken in vain, but the elfroot was starting to wear off and my feet were reminding me of just how far I’d hiked this afternoon and I was past the point of giving a damn about whether I sounded the part of someone who gets called Your Worship. “Whyever not?”

He was pink in the cheeks then, and not from the cold. It was oddly endearing, on a man of his stature and composure, but I still hold no illusions that I could make it happen more than once. “There is importance in a name. Power.” His hand still rested on the pommel of his sword, but he stiffened his posture a bit, leveling me with clear eyes that, in the light of the setting sun, looked about the same shade as the mead I’d been quaffing before I set out. He cleared his throat. “Respect.”

I could tell that I would make no headway on getting him to obey my first request, so I sighed. “Fine. Herald it is, then.”

He inclined his chin in a small nod. “Herald.”

Refreshingly, he did not seem to feel a need to crane his neck up to appear taller than me, a habit I’ve noticed more than one man tends to have when confronted with a woman of my height. Instead, we stood comfortably eye-to-eye, and then he turned back to watch his men at their drills.

We might have stood in companionable silence for a time, but I felt a sudden and irrepressible need to explain myself. “It reminds me of home. The swords and shields, I mean.”

The Commander was cordial but distracted. “Trevelyan. Ostwick, is it? How does — hmph. A moment.” He excused himself and stepped into the fray, taking a recruit by the shield arm and hoisting that arm up. “You have a shield. Use it.”

When he returned, I picked back up on the question I supposed he might have been asking. “I grew up with three older brothers. They spent most of their days training when we were all children, and I went out with them as much as I could.”

Commander Rutherford’s eyes drifted down for but a brief moment, a familiar look of assessing my stance and figure, the kind I’ve been on the receiving end of ever since I shot up and filled out to take up more space than most women are allowed. His was not a look of shock of judgment, though. Quite the opposite, in fact. It made my stomach flutter, though that could have also been the last bit of the elfroot beneath my tongue acting on a stomach full of sausage and mead. “Your skill on the field shows it,” he said, and the color on his ears deepened before he quickly turned his attention back to the yard.

There was a glow of pride in my chest at knowing he’d seen how I could swing a greatsword, and that he found it impressive. “Knocked all of my brothers on their asses more than once,” I said, the glow turning to a tickle of mischief when I saw the Commander raise his eyebrows at my language. “That is, until Duncan went to the Circle and Matthias had to take his place as the heir to the bann.”

I don’t know why I felt so easy telling him about my brothers, other than perhaps I’ve missed them all, even Duncan, who I’ve not seen in person in nearly two decades. The feeling of ease and trust stayed, too, when the Commander simply nodded, taking the revelation that I’ve a mage for a brother in stride. “You said you have three brothers?”

I smiled fondly - out of fondness for Geordie, of course, though something in my smile seemed to take the Commander aback - and pulled the fur tighter around my shoulders. “Geordie’s the last. He would’ve been a Templar himself, if he’d been able to make it through his training. Couldn’t quite carry it through, though.” I lifted my left foot and wiggled it in the air. “He got a bad leg out of it in the process.”

A line appeared between the Commander’s brows. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I laughed. “I don’t think he was, in the end. It doesn’t bother him much, and now he’s free to swive the girls down at the market and tavern as much as he pleases.”

I swear, Commander Rutherford’s amber-colored eyes nearly bugged out of his not-unhandsome head at that. “He can… he what?”

“I thought that was part of the vows,” I said. There was another tingle in my belly, and not from the elfroot. “I was to take vows as a sister of the Chantry and forego other pleasures. I thought the Templars did the same.”

“I— no.” He shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly unable to look me in the eye. “There’s no such… I mean.” He coughed politely into his gloved fist. “Some may take such vows, but not all.”

I tilted my head, genuinely curious. “Did you?”

“Maker’s breath.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his head and stared at a spot in the snow that was suddenly very interesting indeed. “I didn’t, but… could we speak of something else?”

I shifted the basket of elfroot to my other hip. “Fine. How about your time as a Templar?”

I regretted the words almost as soon as they left my lips, for the way a cloud seemed to pass over the glowing sun of his face. “There is no finer duty,” he said, “than protecting those who need it most.”

Thre are stories about him, of course, and of the Chantry in Kirkwall, but I’m not entirely sure where to begin with asking about those, or whether I should at all. “Did you know Varric?” I asked instead. “He seems passing familiar with you.”

“Does he?” Commander Rutherford folded his arms and looked out, not to the yard, but to some place just beyond, brow still furrowed in thought. He simply turned a smile on me, though, small and a little sad and, I think, apprehensive. “Perhaps you might ask him to tell the story, then.”

“I don’t know if stories are meant to be believed,” I said, carefully. “After all, what stories are they telling about me?”

His smile softened. “A point well-made.” He looked back out to the yard, then down to where his arms crossed together, before he finally looked at me again, all the softness gone and the cautious, courteous Commander back in place. “Another time, perhaps.”

I nodded. “Another time.”

I might not know many cues, but I know a dismissal when I’ve been given one. I turned to go, trudging back up the stairs to the doors that led into the rest of the Haven camp proper. Before I passed through, I turned to look over my shoulder at the scene I left behind: the soldiers at their drills, Cassandra not far from the yard keeping watch, and Commander Rutherford now in the middle, taking careful strides around the swinging swords and shields. He paused, and looked up at me for a brief instant, and I could hear the way he said it before, when he brought his chin down in a gesture of respect.

Herald.

I may never grow used to it, but from him, it feels at least a little bit real.