#extra pain points; solas was the only person he was close to and now he’s blighted and serving his mortal enemy

[nobodyexpectsthe]

YOUR WORSHIP. villain au. ending pre-requisites: no strong bonds forged with the majority of the inquisition members. few personal quests & side quests were completed, multiple high disapproval scenes likely triggered. pirith made choices at the behest of his advisors that did not sit well within his heart, but remain his all the same. did not drink from the well.

The Inquisition is not disbanded, it is folded into the chantry without protest upon the ascension of the new Divine. In truth, Inquisitor Lavellan did not seem to possess much fight after Corypheus' defeat. In the wake of the magister's demise he seemed adrift, lost, without connections to bind him firmly to the world he now lived in.

Thougyh a charming man on the surface, inside his chest beats a dead heart. Each desperate decision made to turn an unwinnable situation into a victory destroyed a little more of his soul. Not a one of them made by the man he had ever hoped to be, the Inquisitor now sits alone on a cold throne. He is able to root out the spies in his midst with ease, and thus no Qunari plot is able to take root within his ranks.

As such, he never discovers the truth. Not of what the Evanuris were, not of what Solas is. The anchor remains firmly affixed to his palm.

The ritual still goes awry. The elven gods are unleashed upon Thedas, and Elgar'nan wastes no time in identifying a mortal with enough power to be of worth. He offers an alliance to the Inquisitor. With it, a promise to restore all he had lost - assuring him Clan Lavellan could be restored to life, and believing this to be true he takes it without question. Be it the God's power or the desperation of a man too far gone, he takes the Alliance and the power it offers. He is ruthless beyond measure, using his status as the Herald of Andraste to crush any opposition that crossed his path.

Of course, it would be far more apt to call him the Herald of Elgar'nan now.

[blackmissfrizzle]

The Barbershop (EZ Edition)

Angel’s Edition

Miguel’s Edition

Pairing: EZ Reyes x black!reader

Summary: The reader gets EZ ready for his patch party.

Warnings: Use of the n-word & smut

A/N: Thank you to @ly--canthrope​ for the EZ fluff prompts!  

A/N (2): I highly suggest listening to El Clavo while listening. Also, I think Nestor and Coco might be getting some attention from me, so be on the look out for that.

Prompts: 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice” 

Person scrunching their nose & other kisses them

When you got your first pair of clippers in high school, EZ was your first customer and ever since you’ve been cutting his hair. Even when he went off to college, EZ came back to Santo Padre to get his hari cut by his best friend. The only time you didn’t cut his hair was when he was in prison for those 8 years, but since he’s been back, he hasn’t missed an appointment.

Now here he was at your house with his hair longer than usual because he was busy with club shit. Luckily, he came by with enough time for you to do his hair before his patch party. “Ezekiel, please come to me before your hair gets this long again.”

He pinched your side as you moved around him. “Hey, you do Angel’s hair all the time and his hair is a shit ton longer than mines.”

“I’m used to Angel’s long locks! You’re supposed to be the clean-cut brother.” You stopped cutting his hair and moved the clippers in front of his face. “Oh, and if you pinch me again while I’m doing your hair, I’ll purposefully fuck up your hairline. Let’s see how many of those hang arounds will want your dick then.”

He held up his hands in surrender and mumbled his apologies, but not really meaning it. As long as you’ve been his best friend his favorite pastime was to rile you up. He loved how flustered you got when you couldn’t come up with a clever comeback. He loved how your hand slapped him across his body even if it was a little painful. He loved how your eyes widened in shock and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how you’ll look when he finally gets the chance to slip inside you.

Everyone was aware of his crush on you, except you. The only reason EZ didn’t tell you was because with the pair of you, timing was awful. When he realized he was in love with you, you had a boyfriend and when you broke up with that boyfriend EZ was with Emily. Then, he went off to prison and when he came back, he didn’t want to involve you with his mess, so he kept his distance. But he couldn’t wait anymore, he had to let you know.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he grabbed your attention by lightly grazing your hip. “Yes, Ezekiel?” He let out a soft groan. He loved when you used his full name. It didn’t matter if you were yelling it excitement, teasing him, or scolding him, he just loved to hear it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything else because your phone started to ring. It was your sorta boyfriend, Rick. EZ couldn’t stand him. He was a douchebag that gave you more headaches than anything. And it was obvious to EZ that you didn’t love him. It was evident in the way you talked about him like an annoying chore. For the life of him, EZ didn’t understand why you kept him around.

“Oh, so now you’re coming? Well, just meet me there because EZ’s riding with me.” EZ couldn’t help to smile a bit at you putting Rick in his place. He tried to listen to Rick’s response, but he could only make out his tone and from that he could tell he was pissed. “Why? Nigga, I don’t have to give you a reason why my best friend is riding in my car.” Even though you were busy with your little argument your hand never faltered, cutting hair was second nature to you. “Ugh, if you must know its his party and I’m planning to get him plastered, so he needs a DD. That’s good with you? Oh, wait I don’t care,” You hung up the phone soon after that.

“Rick coming?” EZ managed to keep the disdain for him out of his voice. “Who knows? Probably be better if he stays but forget about him.” You turned off the clippers and brushed his hair, then gave EZ the mirror to inspect himself. After he gave his haircut a serious inspection, he started biting his lip and doing his signature pretty boy poses.

“Okay, Lothario if you’re done making out with yourself in the mirror, imma go take a shower to start getting ready.” As you turned to walk away, EZ grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. “Thank you, querida.” He kissed your wrist and gave you those adorable puppy dog eyes. “No problem, EZ,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, then went to your bathroom to get ready and ignored your heart swelling up from EZ’s touch.

An hour later you were still getting ready and EZ was taking a shower. While you were applying on makeup, EZ walked into your room wet, fresh out the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. You knew EZ was ripped, but see it up close, my god there are no words.

EZ caught your staring in the mirror. “Like what you see?” He asked, flexing his pecs. “Ew, no!” You falsely claimed and scrunched up your nose in faux disgust.  EZ came up to you and kissed your nose before snatching your lotion off the dresser.  “You know what, you’re right. You love it.” EZ was so damn close to you that you could feel the heat of the shower radiating off of him.

“Yeah, I love it,” you deadpanned before pushing him away. “Now get ready. I don’t want you to be late to your own party.”

--

While EZ was having the time of his life, you were having the opposite. Rick ended up coming, but he was in a funky mood thus bringing your mood down. When his first words were something about how your dress wasn’t flattering, you made plans to break up with him. Using him as a distraction from EZ was draining your soul and you didn’t need that kind of energy in your life.

He made the breakup easier for you when you caught him in the restroom with one of Vicky’s girls with his dick in her mouth. You couldn’t even muster up any anger, instead you gave the girl and extra $100 for her troubles.

Although, getting cheated on sucked, what pissed you off the most was the girls all fawning over EZ. They were all over him like bitches in heat, rubbing on his chest, arms, and head, commenting on his haircut…your haircut. “Damn chica, just go claim your man.” Coco observed how you were sending death glares at the women.

“He’s not my man! He’s grown and can do whatever he wants.” You sputtered, surprised at being caught. “Exactly! If you weren’t too chicken, then he’d be your man.” Angel commented, taking a sip of his beer.

You ignored Coco’s and Angel’s somewhat encouraging words to look back at EZ. Your face instantly brightened when you saw how at ease he was. It wasn’t too often EZ could let go like this.

EZ felt a pair of eyes on him and when he found out it was you his eyes gleamed, he cracked that boyish smile and raised his beer to you. Excusing himself EZ made his way to you and gave you a hug. “Ezekiel, what’s with the hug?”

“I miss you.”

“You rode with me here, EZ.”

“Its Ezekiel and I barely talked to you since we’ve been here. Is it so bad that I want to party with my best friend?” You scrunched up your face. “I guess not.”

EZ hummed his appeasement and kissed your nose.  “Come dance with me.” He didn’t give you time to reject him. Tightly he tugged your hand and pulled you into the middle of the scrapyard.

Prince Royce and Maluma’s El Clavo began to play. EZ knew how much you loved this song, but since you didn’t know Spanish you didn’t understand the song. It was ironic to him that this song was playing tonight. Earlier, he saw how Angel escorted Rick out and the relief wash over you when you saw him leave. He knew Rick must’ve done something stupid. If it wasn’t for your need to avoid conflict, EZ would’ve beat his ass right then and there.

“What are you doing?” You questioned EZ as he placed his leg between yours and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Dancing obviously,” he chuckled near your ear sending vibrations throughout your body.

You decided not to fight him and followed his lead. There’s been plenty of times you’ve dance with EZ, but it was always playful and fun, but this…this was different, this was sensual. A passionate dance only meant to be shared between lovers.

“Eyes,” he ordered assertively. It was his command to you when he wanted you to feel what he was saying.

Si esta noche tu novio te bota (If tonight your boyfriend throws you out) Dile que tú no estás sola (Tell him that you are not alone) Que tú estás conmigo, que yo sí te cuido (That you are with me, that I do take care of you) No como ese idiota (no como ese idiota) (Not like that idiot (not like that idiot) Si esta noche tu novio te bota (If tonight your boyfriend throws you out) Dile que tú no andas sola (que no 'tás sola) (Tell him that you are not alone (that you are not alone) Que yo soy el clavo que saca ese clavo (That I am the nail that pulls that nail)

Y dile que se joda (And tell him to fuck) Maluma, baby

Your breath hitched as EZ began translating the lyrics to English. He had to be able to feel how fast your heart was beating. “There it is.” He pointed out. “There what is?”

“That look.” He tugged your bottom lip that you had tucked underneath your teeth. “What look?” Your breath brushed against his thumb and it took all his control not to pounce on you.

“Eyes blown out, chest heaving. See,” EZ gripped your chin to keep your eyes leveled with his. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. It’s the same look I have when I look at you.”

“Stop playing with me, Ezekiel.” Your heart couldn’t take it if this was some sort of joke. “I’m not.” His voice did not waver.

“What about Emily? Or Gabby?”

“Distractions. Distractions that kept me from the real thing for too long.” You sucked your teeth in disbelief. EZ decided to translate the song for you some more. If you weren’t going to believe his words, then maybe you’ll believe another’s.

Yo llevo la cuenta, esta es la quinta vez  (I keep track, this is the fifth time) Pero yo no entiendo por qué no lo ves   (But I don't understand why you don't see him) Tú estás demasiado buena para estar con él (mamacita) (You're too hot to be with him (mamacita)) Tremenda mujer para estar con él  (Tremendous woman to be with him) Y si te busca a las 4:20 porque te llama borracho  (And if he looks for you at 4:20 because he calls you drunk) Ahora te quiere pero mañana vuelve a hacerte daño (Now he loves you but tomorrow he will hurt you again) Por ese bobo no llores  (For that fool, don’t cry) Deja que yo te enamore (deja que yo te enamore)  (Let me make you fall in love (let me make you fall in love)

Now that you knew EZ’s feelings, the lyrics became much more intense for you. Instinctively, you rested your forehead on his. His lips hovered over yours so much that you could taste the beer on his breath. Your acrylic nails caressed the back of his head caused him to stop his translation and purr against your neck. “You like that, Ezekiel?” You teased, giggling against his neck.

“I don’t know,” EZ pressed up against you tighter so you could feel his hardon. “You tell me if it feels like I like it.”

Now or never, you thought. You brought your lips closer to EZ’s. The both of you fighting for dominance, but ultimately EZ won, claiming you in front of the club. It wasn’t until you heard the cheers of his brothers that he’d stop kissing you.

Instantly, EZ started pulling you in the direction of your car, but you stopped him. “I can’t wait, Ezekiel. I need you now.” EZ’s normally bright eyes darkened and he led you towards the clubhouse. On your way to the dorm room, both you and EZ ignored Angel when he told you, “Don’t be surprised when EZ starts crying.”

As the pair of you made it through the hallway, each of your touches got heavier, more daring. So daring that when you finally got to his dorm your dress was halfway off. The rest of the clothes fly off like a whirlwind except EZ’s jeans. In his rush he tripped over his jeans. “Oh, that’s funny?” He asked when he caught you giggling.

“Just a little.” EZ rushed to you, tackled you to the bed and quickly turned your giggles into soft moans as he kissed you.

Despite your best efforts to keep him close, EZ pulled away. He leaned back on his haunches and admired your body. “I can’t believe I finally have you.” He lifted your leg threw it over his shoulder and started kissing you from your ankle up to your inner thighs. “You know one night when I slept over at your place. I caught you touching yourself. Your hands flew to your face to cover up the embarrassment. “Oh god,” you mumbled.

EZ’s deep chuckle made you peek through your hands. “What are you embarrassed for? For that little 10 seconds, it was the sexiest thing I’ve seen, but it was so damn torturous in the most beautiful way. Do you know how hard it is to have that vividly replaying in my head and not have you?”

The whole time EZ was talking he was getting closer to your core, but you were hyper focused on his words that his mouth on your clit took you by surprise. “Shit,” you squealed underneath his tongue. With your hand you covered your mouth to keep your screams down. EZ lifted his head at your muffled screams. “No, let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel.”

Following his instructions, you removed your hand and that earned you an approving smile from EZ. “Good girl.” Before he returned to his meal, EZ grabbed you by the back of your neck, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

This time he added his fingers as he ate you out. The hold he had on you allowed no room for you to run, you had to stay there and take everything he was giving you. Add pussy eating to the long list of things that Ezekiel Reyes is great at.

Your hands shot out to EZ’s head. Scratching it was your best alternative since you had nothing to tug at. EZ raised his head, his mouth glistening from your cunt. “I bet you wish my hair was longer now.” He teased before diving right back in.

“EZ, I’m gonna cum.” You continued scratching the back of his head as he moved his tongue and fingers faster. “Cum all over my mouth, preciosa.” He murmured above your pussy.

An explosion. That was the only way you could describe your orgasm. It busted through your body, leaving you and EZ soaked. The evidence shone on his forearm, highlighting his veins, leaving you in a trance.

EZ noticed your staring at his arm. “Ride my forearm.” He demanded, excited that he’ll be able to get you off this way.

At first you were hesitant, but with EZ’s urging you hopped on it. You were experiencing immense pleasure and wanted EZ to experience the same. Tonight, was a celebration for him and this entire time his focus was on you. Completely selfless as usual. Reaching between your bodies, you began stroking him, smearing his precum all over his engorged head. “What are you doing?” He gasped, flexing his arm a bit more. “Tonight’s about you. I want to make you feel good.”

EZ nibbled at your chin. “I want you to cum all over my forearm, that’ll make me feel good.” You continued jerking him off while you rode him.

Who would’ve thought the rough ridges of his protruding veins and his constant flexing had you cumming a second time for the night? “Fuck we got to do that again!” You tried to nuzzle your face in EZ’s neck, but he wouldn’t let you because he was too busy kissing you all over your face. “EZ, I just came on your fucking arm.”

“Yeah and it was hot! I bet that douchebag couldn’t do that with his measly dick.” Slowly, he began to lay you down. “Now you’re about to cum all over my dick while screaming my name.”

Your now boyfriend made good on his promise. Opposed to Rick’s useless jackhammering, EZ made slow, powerful strokes, ensuring you were well taken care of.

He was tending to your body so well your eyes kept rolling to the back of your head. “Eyes!” He commanded harsher than ever before. When your eyes met his, you could see the struggle in his eyes. EZ wanted to be soft, gentle, and romantic, but deep down he wanted to fuck you hard, show you who you belong to.

“Make me yours, Ezekiel. Fuck me like you mean it.” It took him some time to process the words, but when he did his widened in realization that he got permission to let go. “Fuck, I love you.” He captured your lips in a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how much he loved you. “I love you too.” You told him as he had a bruising hold on your hips.

Gone was sweet soft Ezekiel. He was replaced by EZ, the harsh lover that’s gonna push you over the edge, then bring you back just to do it all over again.

Yours and EZ’s moans accompanied by the sound of bodies slapping together made a symphony that you would never get tired of. This was what you were missing for all those years apart.

“Make me proud. Cum all over this dick, querida.” EZ suckled your neck, branding you with his marks. “Ezekiel!” You cried out as your body combusted, almost feeling every molecule in your body. The newly patched Mayan silenced your cries with his mouth as he came soon after you.

EZ tried to lay in the bed with you but you refused. I t was his party and you were adamant that he enjoys it some more. You two can have your alone time later.

Just as you were sliding up your panties, EZ stuffed his fingers up your cum filled pussy. “Don’t want this leaking out.” He whispered, giving you a cheeky grin as you moaned at his ministrations.

“Okay, that’s enough you nasty ass kids. Playtime is over! Time to get fucked up, baby bro. I’m sure Y/N wants to forget the last 30 seconds.” Angel banged on the door.

“That was nice while it lasted.” You slipped your dress over your head and fixed your hair. EZ hummed his agreeance and led you out the door and ignored the childish jeering from his brothers. They could tease all they want, because as long as he has you, he doesn’t give a damn.

Taglist: @starrynite7114​ @sadeyesgf​ @ly--canthrope​ @woahitslucyylu​ @marvelmaree​ @angrythingstarlight​ @teakturn​ @thickemadame​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @strawberrywritings​ @dearsamcrobae​ @chaneajoyyy​ @spookys-girl​ @bigsisbria​

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 11

this chapter was tough, and I might never be totally happy with it, but I hope you all still enjoy it! I’m doing my best to keep to the fortnightly updates <3

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lave-e @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly (just ask if you want to be added! thank you all!)

CW: pet whumpee, dehumanisation, hospitals

-

"Hey," came a voice. When Rowe didn’t immediately wake up, a slap landed across his face. It ground the muzzle deeper into his flesh and forced him awake, wide-eyed and cowering. He was lucky to be spoken to first, of course. Usually he’d be hit without any warning. "Wake up Mutt. You’re finished here."

. . .

"Why couldn’t he come meet me in the waiting room?" Tomas asked the orderly.

"The exit is just this way. We find that most Pet owners like to be discrete in this kind of situation."

The ‘discrete’ room was divided into small curtained cubicles. The orderly left without a word after pointing Tomas towards Rowe, and Tomas was grateful for that at least. Rowe looked horrific. His wrists were strapped into a wheelchair- like he had any intention of running away, given the splint fixed around his left leg. His head flopped to one side, eyes closed, and a thick muzzle was clamped over poor Rowe’s face. His Rowe, that someone had bound and muzzled and hurt. The surge of protectiveness scared Tomas. It felt too close to ownership.

He went to take a closer look at Rowe’s legs, when a hand appeared in his line of sight. Tomas shook it without thinking.

"Hello, you must be the owner. Mr… Grzegorzewski? I’m Dr Scarlett Easton, and this is Dr Jacob Clerval."

"Ah, pleased to meet you both," Tomas said weakly. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Rowe’s head twitch. He’s awake, then. "He was bad enough to need two doctors, then?"

Rowe flinched, ever so slightly, at the word bad.

"He? Aw, that’s quite cute," smiled Dr Easton. Tomas wished everyone would stop commenting on that. "Dr Clerval here is quite new, so he’s been observing. We thought he might be needed, but only one leg was broken, as it happens. We’ve put it in a splint. The other one just needed stitches."

"Right, that’s good then. And the restraints, I… was he being troublesome?"

Tomas chanced a glance in Rowe’s direction. His eyes were full and apologetic, and Tomas wanted to reassure him that everything was okay, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

"Spoke out of turn."

"Mm. But we could get the arms down without a problem. So there’s hope still," the young doctor said with a smile. Tomas realised a few seconds too late that he was making a joke. It felt too weird to speak about Rowe like he wasn’t even in the room. Discussing him without letting him have a say in the matter. Rowe, of course, looked completely used to it. He sat perfectly still, and it only angered Tomas more. It was normal! Rowe was on his best behaviour despite being muzzled like a bad dog because he’d be hurt if he wasn’t, and that was just normal and expected and understood. It made Tomas’s blood boil. He needed to get Rowe home.

. . .

Rowe’s heart jumped when he heard Master’s voice. The painful fog lifted. Master Master Master. He was here. He didn’t abandon Rowe. He was here and that was worth any punishment he’d give out when Rowe got home. He didn’t remember ever being so happy to see his old master, but he didn’t dwell on that. Master, they fixed my legs. Please take me back home. You said I can have wants. I want to go back home and serve you and let you do whatever you want to me.

The two doctors were talking about Rowe, and Master glanced over a few times, but not to look at Rowe’s legs. He was looking into Rowe’s eyes, staring at him from under his blond curls and Rowe couldn’t understand because that wasn’t where he’d been hurt. He wanted to survey the work the doctors had done, right?

"Okay, thank you," said Master, and his voice was so familiar, so calm and clear and measured, and even through his shame Rowe’s spirits lifted. "I don’t think this wheelchair will be necessary from now on, thanks."

. . .

"That’s handy, because we need it back anyway. And the muzzle."

Tomas tried to act like someone who didn’t care because he had one at home anyway. Rowe kept his eyes down as his mouth was released and again Tomas just wanted to scream at them, because for goodness sake he’s bleeding, and it was fastened over a barely-healed broken nose, and you’re all acting like it doesn’t fucking matter.

"Have you brought a cage for it?"

"If you haven’t brought a cage then he will need carrying, sir."

"That’s- I can get him home fine, thanks."

"Whatever," Tomas muttered, scooping Rowe into his arms without a second thought. He was still light even with the addition of the splint. Rowe didn’t react except to bury his face into Tomas’s neck as he turned on his heel and left.

"Hey, Rowe," he said gently as soon as they were outside. "How do you feel, pal?"

"M-Master," he said weakly.

"I’m here, I promise. Does it hurt?"

"It d-doesn’t matter…"

No Master for once. That was probably not a good sign, right now. "Can you tell me anyway?" Tomas was careful to avoid sounding like Rowe was being rude, or disobedient, or forcing him to tell him out of fear.

"U-uh, it hurts on m-my legs, M-Master. And m-my face."

"From the muzzle, right? Little bastards. I never said they could do that to you."

"I s-spoke without permission, Master."

"Well, I like it when you speak. I like hearing what you have to say." He kept his tone matter-of-fact. Rowe shuddered against his chest, and it could have been a laugh. Yes, I suppose that isn’t said to Pets very often. "And your poor legs. Well, we’re going to try this out, but let me know if it doesn’t work, okay?"

Tomas gently hoisted Rowe onto his back, climbing onto his bicycle very carefully. Rowe clung on; his frail arms hooked over Tomas’s shoulders and the brittle scabs forming over Rowe’s newest cuts tickled his jaw. This is fucking stupid.

"I’ll go slowly," Tomas promised, pushing the bike into motion and vowing never to go back to that wretched place.

. . .

Rowe savoured the last few moments, tucked protectively against his owner’s chest, before they got home and his punishment started. He had wasted Master’s time, he had spoken without permission, he had got blood everywhere upstairs, he was ugly, he was useless, and he was due a punishment. He was due more pain until he was a pitiful, twitching wreck, sobbing that he’d never trouble Master like that again. This was all he could think as he was carried into the house and- not dropped on the floor, as he’d expected, but placed onto the sofa. But- but- Pets couldn’t-

"You’re allowed on the sofa," Master Tomas said, like he’d read Rowe’s mind. "You’re always allowed. But right now, I don’t want any argument, okay?"

Rowe nodded nervously, and didn’t resist as Master unclipped the collar from around his neck. It was insolent and rude and selfish, but Rowe had got used to life without one. He tried to sit up and be pretty, but he was still faint and clumsy with pain.

"H-hurts, Master. M-my legs hurt."

"Rowe?" Master asked, and Rowe’s heart sank because of course, Master would notice immediately. Pets were too stupid to hide things from their Master. The truth always came out, eventually. "You doing okay?"

A pause. "They did… you got painkillers right, Rowe? They gave you anaesthetic?"

Rowe shook his head and immediately Master’s eyes darkened with rage. Wrong answer.

"What the fuck?" Master cried. Rowe flinched. He knew what that tone predated. "No, I’m not- I’m not angry with you. I’ll get you some painkillers."

"P-please, it’s n-not wasted on Pets," Rowe protested weakly, even though he knew Pets never argued with their Master. What was he thinking? Besides, he still opened his mouth obediently when Master approached him with two small pills and some water.

"Okay," he exhaled. Master crouched before him and took Rowe by the hand, ever so gently. Rowe still felt ice run through him at the contact, expecting him to clamp and wrench and pull, but he didn’t.

. . .

I have to do it, thought Tomas as he looked at Rowe. …but I don’t have to do it tonight.

. . .

"Rowe," Master began as he often did, and Rowe liked being reminded that he was important enough to be named. It made him feel wanted.

(made him feel like a person) (no it didn’t)

Master was looking at him so warmly that it made Rowe just want to shy away because he hadn’t earned this kindness. Why was Master even here? What did he want? Why was he here if not to get something from Rowe- to punish him for causing such a fuss?

"When people get hurt, it’s important to be extra nice to them. This doesn’t mean that you can only have nice things if you take pain first, okay?"

"O-okay, Master." But what does that matter?

"I want to do whatever you want tonight. Anything at all. I know having wants is still new, so this is a good chance to try them out." Master ran his thumb over Rowe’s hand. His fingers weren’t rough like old master’s were. They were soft. "Wanting something won’t make me angry. I won’t get angry, I won’t laugh at you, I won’t ignore you."

"I can want s-something?" Rowe timidly confirmed. "I’m not being punished?"

The worst case scenario flitted before his eyes, as it always did- Master’s grip turns painful and he smacks beats hits kicks whips burns hates me and it was all a cruel joke- but it didn’t linger, it didn’t make him seize up. It-

It passed. And all that happened was Master nodded.

"I want-" Rowe’s breath hitched. He knew what he wanted. He couldn’t believe he was even capable of wanting. And now that it wasn’t a dream, or a private thought, the desperation came crashing into him almost too fast to keep up with. It tore and wrenched and made him ache. "Please- please p-pet me, Master, please hold me and ruffle m-m-my hair. I want to b-be held so badly. Please."

. . .

Oh, Rowe, Tomas thought, feeling his heart break once again. I’ve really been cruel to you, haven’t I?

"Of course, pal, of course," he said gently, sitting down next to Rowe and putting an arm around him. "Why don’t you lean on me and get comfortable?"

It felt wrong, Tomas couldn’t deny that, it felt so wrong to let this small, traumatised human rest his head on Tomas’s chest and be pet like a- well, like a Pet. But he also couldn’t deny the way Rowe softened against him. Sure, Rowe went limp a lot, his training making him unresisting and pliable, but this was different. Tomas worked the fingers of his free hand into Rowe’s hair and stroked, all the way down to the top of his spine and back to his crown. Rowe let out a shuddering breath, like all the defences he’d had to keep raised since Tomas got him were being lowered, just for tonight.

The words kept dying on his lips, but Tomas promised himself that if Rowe didn’t respond then he wouldn’t say them again. "You’re- you’re a good boy, Rowe."

Another shudder, and a sniff. Rowe’s face pressed harder into Tomas.  

"Such a good boy. You were so brave today."

And then- Rowe’s shoulders trembled, in the way Tomas had quickly learnt they only did when Rowe was crying silently.

"Th-thank you," Rowe whispered between sobs. "Thank y-you so much, Master."

"I mean it," he soothed. "You are so good, Rowe. I’m happy I have you as a Pet."

It was a confession to himself as much as it was a comfort for Rowe. The words sank in, for both of them. Rowe’s crying didn’t abate, and Tomas felt a few tears of his own drip down his face. They landed perfectly on the hand in Rowe’s hair. That’s for the best. Proper Masters don’t cry over their Pets.

Tomas couldn’t help it. All his anger at the hospital had settled into sadness. He wasn’t being selfish. Rowe so desperately needed to feel safe and comforted, even if by morning he would be back to his usual fearful servitude. But Tomas also wanted to drop the pretence, just for a night, and let himself be kind and gentle without confusing his poor precious Pet.

He continued stroking his hair until Rowe fell asleep, his head rising and falling in unison with Tomas’s slow breaths.

(ending loosely inspired by this post)

[tsuraiwrites]

“We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair…” for Dorian and anyone else you fancy?

thank you so much for the prompt! for @dadrunkwriting

trying my hand at Anders/Dorian with inquisitor!Anders because this group put the idea in my head and it lodged there.

Fic: At Grey Dawn

When Anders wakes, it’s to the ever-present noise that catches like serrated knives behind his forehead. Justice stirs under his skin, a rumble of discontent that he is only just able to make out over the Calling. Those shrieking notes scratch at the back of his brain relentlessly until Justice presses it down again, smothering most of the tumult down to a dull roar – though one he can never be entirely rid of. Anders sighs lowly, opening his eyes to the tent ceiling as the first grey light of dawn starts seeping through the heavy cloth. His entire body aches, his mana only just recovered enough to finish healing himself last night. His left hand, as always, burns with the tug of the Mark.

Anders shudders, finds his eyes wandering in an effort to distract himself from the pull of the raw Fade in his own hand, and invariably they land on his companion.

Truth be told, Anders hadn’t relished the idea of sharing a tent with anyone. With the mages from Redcliffe trailing along behind them, he’d done his best to see everyone properly outfitted with at least the basics, including any extra tents the Inquisition scouts brought along.

That unfortunately left few to go around. When presented with the choice between sharing with the Seeker who still has to curb her homicidal impulses around him, a Qunari spy, or Varric (who snores like a bellows at the best of times and still can’t always look him in the eye), Dorian Pavus isn’t the worst person to be crammed in with. His only other option had been to sleep out in the open as Solas and some of the scouts had chosen; Anders is used to roughing it but he isn’t a masochist. He likes a nice, warm – if cramped – tent and not waking up covered with dew.

That, and he likes to think he’s built up a rapport with the Tevinter mage over the last days; enough to trust the man not to slit his throat in the night. That horrendous jaunt to the future at least ended with a powerful ally on the Inquisition’s side, and that’s all Anders can really bring himself to say on the matter.

He’s already had to recount those nightmarish events for Pentaghast and the others; no doubt he will have to repeat himself to Josephine, the Nightengale, and Rutherford when they return to Haven.

Pavus will help, certainly. He had filled in some of the blanks for Anders’ companions when Anders couldn’t find the words to explain the horror of their time travel – let alone the technicalities.

One day, Anders will ask him to describe how time magic works… the theory must be complex.

When the man is awake, of course.

The Tevinter is lying on his side with his bedroll tucked tight around him, covering everything but his head, his face cushioned against his pack. As Anders watches, Pavus snuffles, turning his face into his makeshift pillow and rather neatly folding the left side of his mustache in half against his cheek. Anders’ lips twitch up against his will.

Between the disarray of his mustache and the smears of kohl around his eyes, Pavus looks far… softer. Less the haughty Tevinter nobility, and less hunted, too.

Anders recognizes the look of a runaway when he sees one. He doesn’t know Pavus’ story yet, but Anders finds himself wondering, taking in his ruffled appearance, if the man will deign to tell him. Maker knows he could use a few more people to talk to, to take his mind off this forsaken mess if only for a minute.

Anders only realizes he’s been staring when the Mark tugs, hard enough that his hand spasms. He doesn’t hiss but he does shut his eyes, right hand wrapping around his wrist as if he can stave off the pain that way. Touching the Mark itself or trying to heal it only makes the tugging worse, so all he can do is clutch at himself and wait for it to subside.

Justice rumbles again, angry at his inability to do more to help.

It’s fine, he assures the spirit. We’ve both weathered worse.

“Does it hurt?”

Anders nearly jumps out of his bedroll, unable to suppress the surprised noise he lets out as he turns to meet Pavus’ eyes. The smears of kohl around them only add to his bleary look, and Anders desperately stomps down on the part of him that starts going on again about the softening of Pavus’ face by the watery light.

“What?” he asks, the question flying over his head entirely.

“Your hand, does it pain you?” Pavus’ voice is quiet in deference to the early hour and the small space between them, but the words are filled with a concern not entirely in line with what Anders has observed of Pavus so far.

That makes Anders hesitate. Pavus has shown himself to be brash and confident – rightly so, considering his command of time magic and necromancy. The man hasn’t lied to him yet, and he’s also taken up firmly against whoever the “Elder One” is, to the tune of saving Anders’ life. Surely, Anders can afford to let slip a little of his own doubt, if Dorian is willing to hear him out.

“It hasn’t stopped hurting since the Breach opened,” he admits, watching the Tevinter’s eyes widen and flicker down to Anders’ hand. Pavus’ brow wrinkles, and Anders tears his gaze away. “I’m not sure even closing it will make it stop, at this point.” He flexes his fingers and Mark flares, crackling with Fade energy. It also sends a spasm of whire-hot fire through his palm that makes his whole hand convulse.

Dorian hisses between his teeth, and Anders isn’t sure if it’s in sympathy or censure when he asks:

“Should you be doing that? It looks… painful.”

Anders snorts as the spasm subsides, letting the Mark go as dormant as it ever gets.

“True. What would my healer say? Oh, wait...” He raises his eyebrows.

Pavus chuckles, himself already the beneficiary of Anders’ magic after one of the Venatori in the future had gotten a lucky strike.

“Does your spirit healing not work on it?” he continues, evidently unable to hold back the curiosity any longer.

“Not really. As far as Solas and I can figure, it’s a direct link to the Fade. It just sucks up and reflects any magic cast directly on it.” He sighs. “It’s why Josephine and the Nightengale wanted to recruit the mages in the first place.” Pavus’ eyebrow quirks and he explains. “Ah, they’re… advisors? Part of a council, I guess, if we include me.” And he’s not looking forward to the absolute fucking fit Rutherford is going to throw when he hears what happened; how Anders gave the mages a place in the Inquisition as allies.

As if Anders would ever do anything else.

“Anyway, we think with the boost in power it should be able to close the Breach.”

“I see. You have no way of testing this beforehand, I assume?”

“No. But we saw what’s at stake if it doesn’t work.”

They share a look that goes on for moments longer than Anders really means it to.

Pavus breaks their stare, and Anders isn’t sure if he imagines the way that he swallows before sitting up with a stretch.

“Aren’t we both delightful this morning? Shall we change the topic to something less heavy. What’s for breakfast, perhaps?” He sits up as much as he can in the tent’s cramped confines, dragging his pack around to rifle through it.

“Pavus,” Anders says before he can think better of it, and the man’s head whips back around.

“Call me Dorian, if you please. ‘Pavus’ is what I hear right before one of my old Circle peers or instructors descends on me,” he says, a wry smile blooming across his lips, and Anders catches himself staring again.

“Dorian, then. I just wanted to say thank you – for everything that happened in Redcliffe. I wouldn’t have made it out without you and I don’t think I’ve said it, yet.”

Dorian blinks, but the edges of his smile become less sharp, a tension disappearing that Anders notices only in its sudden release.

“You’re very welcome.”

[elfrootaddict]

SHE IS THE KEY - Chapter 1/5

DESCRIPTION: Solas is desperate to meet the person who survived the explosion at the Conclave. Things certainly didn’t go as planned. 

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 2

“If you will allow me Lady Cassandra,” begins the stranger as he holds his staff out in front of him while keeping a respectable distance. “I can try help get answers from the prisoner. Better yet, I may even find a way to seal the Breach.” 

With a unimpressed expression slapped across her face, Cassandra grumbles, “Considering the fact that you are the only one who has come forward to assist us with your… self-proclaimed knowledge,” and then releases a loud, audible sigh. “I would be stupid to decline your help. Even though you are a mage.” 

Offering only a meek smile and a respectable nod as a response, the stranger holds his true intentions to himself. Should this Cassandra discover his secret, she would undoubtedly make him a prisoner, too. Or simply kill him. Naturally, neither result suits him. 

With nothing left to discuss, Cassandra gestures at the stranger to follow her lead with a flick of her hand, “Come-” but quickly looks back cautiously. “What is your name again?”

“Solas.”

“Come then, Solas. The prisoner is this way.”

With their no-nonsense exchange lasting only a few heart-beats, Solas does appreciate the straightforwardness of Cassandra. As they make their way through Haven’s Chantry, Solas notices how she carries this poise of divine purpose in her stride and posture. Clearly she has an unrelenting drive to figure out who killed the Divine and the hundreds of others attending the Conclave. However, despite being the Right Hand of a murdered Divine, Solas can tell her determination comes not only from the expectations of her position, but that there is an undeniable sense of deep personal loss, too. 

After several minutes of silence between them, they turn right at the end of the dimly lit passage. They then come across a single, wooden door with two guards situated on either side. 

As soon as the guards notice their approach, they straighten themselves up and salute, “Lady Cassandra, Sister Nightingale has gone to speak to her scouts. Still nothing from the prisoner.” 

“Thank you,” remarks Cassandra as she tilts her head back. “This is Solas. He will be assisting us. You may allow him access to the prisoner but nowhere else.” 

A wise decision, but unnecessary. 

“Understood, Lady Cassandra.” confirms the guards united as they relax their arms back to their side. 

Cassandra steps closer and begins to open the door before stopping half way. With heavy eyes looking down towards the ground, she looks over her left shoulder and murmurs, “I need to know how the prisoner survived,” and with her narrow, hazel eyes she looks up at Solas fiercely. “I need to know… why they killed the Most Holy.”

With her pain and confusion palpable in her voice, Solas can feel his stomach turn in knots with guilt. He may not have been the one who killed all those people, but he knew who did. He allowed them to find the key to do it. 

It was not supposed to happen this way.

Cassandra finally opens the door fully and makes her way down a few steps before stepping further into the room. Solas stops at the top of the steps and quickly takes in the space: a square, split-level room with steps that lead further down to a landing with holding cells hiding in the darkness of the faintly lit room. And in each corner of the room is a pillar, followed with a guard situated in front of each one.

“This…” murmurs Cassandra as she squares her stance on the other side of the room. “Is the prisoner.”

Looking down at the centre of the room Solas notices a small, lifeless shape lying on their right side with their back facing the door he just came through. He was expecting the prisoner to at least be awake and in a holding cell. Instead, they lay completely unconscious on the cold, stone floor. 

His with staff in his right hand, Solas makes his way down the stairs. Immediately he can’t help but notice the prisoner’s elegant, female curves. The edges of her sweeping silhouette highlighted by the subtle light coming from the torches. 

As Solas gets closer he notices her clothes are dirty, the edges scorched, burnt and dyed the colours of the earth. Taking his best guess, the clothes appear to be human scouting armour. Then, quite unexpectedly, Solas tries not to gasp aloud as he notices the tip of the women’s ear cutting through her silver hair, lying loose on the floor. 

She’s an elf?

With her arms behind her back and holding onto a deep frown, Cassandra breaks the silence, “The prisoner has been unconscious for almost half a day now. Nothing we have done has worked.”

Solas decides he needs to get a better look at this elf in human clothes and slowly walks around the prisoner, taking in every detail. All her angles slowly being revealed. 

Now standing in front of Cassandra, and facing the prisoner, Solas supports himself with his staff as he gets down on one knee. With the room being so poorly lit, Solas leans in even closer so that he may study her face more accurately. He needs to make sure that she isn’t one of his. 

Managing to get a better look, Solas is startled to find so much blood covering the prisoner’s face and notices that it clearly came from two deep wounds.

The first wound is under her corner of her right eye and about an inch long, while the second one is far more ghastly. This one is almost two inches long and runs diagonally from the left side of her mouth, crossing over her top and bottom lip, and then all the way down to her chin. The wound is so deep that it has completely split parts of the skin, revealing some of her teeth underneath. 

Then he notices the simple, lavender-coloured vallaslin on her left cheek underneath her silver blood-soaked hair. 

Dalish. With the markings of Mythal. You are not one of mine.

Then quite unexpectedly, a bright bolt of luminous green magic flashes from the prisoner’s left hand, lighting up the entire room. Solas is startled and jumps back up onto his feet and looks at Cassandra quizzingly. 

“We do not know what it is,” answers Cassandra with a mild shake of her head. “Her hand lets off this… magic every now and then. We believe it to be related to the Breach but not how it is related. This is why we need your help.” 

“I see,” Solas looks back down towards the prisoner. “You are correct in your assessment, Lady Cassandra. This magic is indeed tied to the Breach. I will need a couple of hours, and then you’ll have your answers.”

“I’m glad to hear it. We do not have time to waste. So the sooner you figure this out, the better.”

Cassandra then makes her way towards the door, leaving Solas behind with the prisoner and the four guards. With the four guards looming over him however, Solas knows he won’t have the freedom he needs to figure out who this prisoner is and how powerful the magic on her hand already is. With them still in the room, he can’t access certain skills and abilities, and he will need to use them in the hours to come. With a massive hole in the Veil, there is far too much at risk and no time for him to take the extra measures of precaution.

Being self-taught and a dreamer, Solas’s magic would be considered different than what a usual mage can do from the Circle, and the last thing he needs is unnecessary attention. Also, he occasionally likes to talk to himself out loud. This particular quirk helps him gather his thoughts and focus his line of thinking. And considering what he knows, he can’t have the guards hear him discuss such matters. Even if he speaks in Ancient Elvish. His privacy is essential to his success.

“Lady Cassandra, if I may have but one request.”

Almost at the door, Cassandra turns around to face him, “And what might that be?”

“I would like to be alone with the prisoner.”

The audacity of an apostate asking to be alone with the prisoner Cassandra doesn’t know and trust, causes her to catch her breath in shock as she stares long and hard at Solas. 

Solas attempts to convince her, “To figure out this magic, I am going to perform a variety of tests. If anything goes wrong, I wouldn’t want anybody else to get hurt. I don’t want to put any more lives in danger.”

After a few more intense moments of staring at Solas, Cassandra then reluctantly drops her shoulders as she releases a loud sigh. With Solas being the only mage around who claims to have the necessary skills to help stop the Breach, Cassandra realises that this is perhaps out of her hands. At the moment she knows she is desperate and pulling at straws, and perhaps Solas knows this, too. Nevertheless, this apostate came to her and said with his knowledge, he would be able to help. He also took a serious risk coming to her as all mages are now declared apostates, and she has every right to take him and lock him away for simply being a mage. No one would question it.

Taking a few steps forward, Cassandra continues to glare at Solas from afar, “I am no fool, mage. You should know that I used to be a Seeker,” and points her index finger towards Solas. “So, if you try to do anything stupid, I will kill you where you stand.”

Solas gives a slight, polite head bow to indicate that he understands. 

“Good,” Cassandra drops her hand and turns back around on her heel. “Guards, we will leave this mage alone with the prisoner.”

The guards reluctantly leave their positions and promptly follow after Cassandra, but not without each one giving Solas grave looks of concern. They don’t approve of this at all. 

Once the door finally closes behind them, Solas relaxes his shoulders and kneels back down towards the prisoner, placing his staff on the ground. It is now so quiet, that the faint sound of water dripping in one of the cells can be heard while the prisoner slowly breathes in and out.

Solas reaches for the shackles that are keeping the prisoner’s hands tied together, and brings them closer to him as he reminds himself that the magic came from her left hand. Taking hold of her left wrist, while leave the right hand to dangle, he begins to study her palm. 

Starting from the wrist and all the way through to the base of the middle finger is a large, gaping wound. The exposed flesh is seared and burnt. Now holding her wrist using only one hand, he traces over the wound with his fingers from the other. Starting from the bottom, he slowly makes his way up her palm. 

Solas closes his eyes as he can feel the magic vibrating. The wound is clearly the result of the magic that penetrated her hand, which now lies beneath her skin. As Solas reaches the tip of the wound, the prisoner’s fingers involuntarily curl down onto his. Her hand is also unusually warm as it radiates static-like energy. 

How fascinating.

Solas gently places her shackled hands back onto the ground and releases a loud, audible sigh, “So, da’len. What am I to do with you?”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

READ ON AO3

Halla & Wolf Series

[in-arlathan]

These Stolen Moments (Solas Edition)

Characters: Female Lavellan, Solas, Varric Tethras Pairing: Solavellan Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,878 words Rating: PG-13, Teen Audiences and up

Summary: A retelling from my last Solavellan story, but from Solas’s point of view. Totally wrote this for the extra bit at the end where he and Varric have a little heart-to-heart. You can find the original version over here.

A/N: Yeah, I did it. I wrote the same story all-over again. I simply couldn’t refuse. It’s always such a delight to write from Solas’s perspective and I really wanted to explore his conflicted feelings for Lavellan in this one.

I used my Elenara for both versions of this story, but tried to write it in a way for you to head-canon your own Lavellan in there, if you like. Either way, I hope you enjoy reading this.

You can also read this on AO3.

______

He knew it was her even before he saw her walking down the hall.

It was her steps that gave her away. They were careful and almost silent against the soft hiss of the wind that flooded into the hall. 

Even after all this time, she still moved like a hunter. 

Solas turned his gaze from the stars in the night sky and toward Skyhold’s main hall. From the balcony on the upper floor, he watched Elenara as she made her way to the corridor leading to the castle’s rotunda. She carried a variety of books with her, an expression of worry on her face. 

He waited until she had vanished through the door and listened as she climbed the steps to the upper floor. For a while, he heard her shuffling, before he decided to see what kept her up at night.

When he entered the library, she stood by the small nook that was usually occupied by Dorian Pavus during his stays at Skyhold. She had lit one of the candelabras for better lighting and was busy putting the books back on the shelves. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes darker than he had ever seen them before.

“I see you are still awake,” Solas pointed out.

She whirled around on instinct, her entire body tense like a bowstring. It took her a moment to recognize him.

“Solas!”, she exclaimed and let out a sigh of relief. “Good Creators, you startled me!”

He chuckled softly as he stepped into the circle of soft candle light. “I’m sorry, vhenan,” he said wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where did you come from? I thought you’d already gone to bed.”

“I was out on the balcony for some fresh air,” he said gesturing towards the door through which he’d entered the library. “Then I heard footsteps and concluded that it was you, so I came to see if you’re alright.”

“You knew that it was me … by my footsteps?”

“Of course.” He said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just… something a hunter might do, not a mage,” she explained.

“You should never underestimate my tracking skills, vhenan.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “I survived on my own in the wilderness for a good long while, after all.”

She blinked at him and for a moment it seemed like she wanted to investigate what he truly meant be that, but then she settled for the more obvious question.

“Why are you still awake?” she asked.

“There was something wrong with the tea”, he replied and pressed his lips together for an instant. Even the memory of that sour-tasting drink made his stomach churn. “It was caffeinated and kept me awake long after dark. Well, keeps me awake”, he clarified. “I am still waiting for the effect to wear off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said and gave him a warm and comforting smile. Of all the people in the Inquisition, she had been the only one not to mock him for his wish to wander within the Fade as much as possible. She understood what it meant to him even though she was not a Dreamer herself, or even a mage for that matter. It was a rare quality that made her companionship even more valuable to him.

“What about you?” he asked.

She weighed the book in her hand, then put it back on the shelf. “Couldn’t sleep either,” she said wearily. “There is just… so much to think about…”

Solas took another step towards her, drawn to her as if by magic. Before even he himself knew what he was doing, he reached around her with his left hand and placed it on her lower back.

“If you like to share your thoughts with me, I’d be happy to listen,” he said in a quiet voice.

Startled by his touch, Elenara straightened her shoulders. He couldn’t blame her. The last time they’d been this close, he had kissed her passionately, only to run from her shortly afterwards. He still felt sorry for having done that to her. She had been nothing but forthcoming, never forcing him to do something he didn’t want, but he had been frightened by the power she possessed over him. He still was, most of the time. Yet, he found himself unable to stay away from her.

She cleared her throat and looked away to avoid his gaze. “I’ve been reading all lot of these books lately,” she said and nodded to the tomes on the shelves around them. “I had hoped to find some answers in the old text but all it did was made me think. How can anyone do justice to this world? How can you set everything right, seeing all the bad things happening to good people? How am I supposed to do all this?”

The pain in her voice was almost too much to bear. Solas knew that this burden should have never been hers. He alone had chosen to walk the Din’anshiral. But now she walked the path he had laid out for himself and he had no one but himself to blame for her anguish.

It was never supposed to happened this way, he thought bitterly.

“I don’t know if I can provide a satisfying answer to your questions,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “I’m not sure that anyone can. All we can do is trust in your capabilities to lead this Inquisition, for better or worse.”

Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “I was afraid you might say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “It’s not like any of this is your fault.”

Unwillingly, his hand on her back twitched ever so slightly.

If you only knew, vhenan.

“Is there something on your mind?”, she asked with an encouraging smile. “You seemed to be on edge these last couple of weeks.”

“It was nothing to concern yourself with,” he said evasively and his gaze flicked to her lips. “My troubles will pass, one way or another.”

“Is there anything I can do to lift your spirits?” she asked teasingly.

“A kiss would be a good way to start,” he answered.

Wait…

Did he really just say that?

Elenara raised her eyebrows. Apparently, she was as stunned by his answer as he was, but the feeling didn’t last and the baffled expression on her face shifted to something close to excitement.

“Come here, then,” she whispered and turned to face him directly.

Solas let his hand slip from her back to her waist and brought up the other one to hold her tightly.

She cupped his face with one hand with her thumb resting on his lips.

“My heart,” she breathed.

He allowed Elenara to guide his face towards hers, brushing her lips faintly against his.

Her kisses were soft and gentle, full of adoration and restrained desire. In a way, they were the perfect reflection of his own feelings. With her, the troubles of his past faded into the far-flung corners of his mind and he could pretend that he was a different man. A man whose only wish in life was to give love and to revel in the undying affection he received in return.

He couldn’t recall a time when he had felt like this before.

Back in the days of Arlathan, he’d had a string of lovers, indulging in his own desires like the rest of his kind without ever feeling a true sense of connection or commitment. Love-making had been a pleasant pass-time for him, nothing more. But here, with her, everything was different. Instead of lust, he felt a deep longing for more, a craving of the soul that he’d never experienced before. When she touched him, her warmth sunk deep into his skin and filled his body with peace and excitement at the same time. Being apart from her left him restless, sleepless. Even in the Fade, he dreamt of her walking by his side, holding him tight.

It was a cruel trick of the universe to let him fall for her, of all people.

Upon their first encounter, Solas had felt enraged by her very existence. Knowing she carried the anchor that was ultimately his had fueled his hatred for this world. But when he had taken her hand and helped her guide the energy of the anchor to seal the rifts, something had changed within him. Suddenly, he had seen more in her than another of his many mistakes. Her vigilance had made her see the woman, the person, she truly was.

Now the thought of not being with her caused him physical pain. When he kissed her, he feared he might burn from the inside out with the overwhelming might of feelings he had for her. To keep them contained was the hardest thing he had to do in all his life. In all of eternity.

Elenara shifted in his arms, her hands resting gently on his chest. He could hear her muffled moans as she kissed him, begging him to go further. And he wanted to, wanted it so badly. Yet, he held back, afraid to give in.

When they finally parted, she rested her forehead against his, her breath tickling his skin.

“I enjoy kissing you far too much,” he said.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” she replied, eyebrows raised.

He felt his cheeks color. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” he hurried to say. “It’s just... I’m not …”

“… used to it,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “I know. We should do this more often, then.” She brushed her lips against his once more. It was not a kiss, not quite, but it set his body on fire nonetheless. “Besides, I enjoy kissing you, too.”

With that, she pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His body tensed, but when she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, he couldn’t hold up any longer. Accepting the invitation, his lips parted and his tongue entered her mouth. A taste like wild berries and honey flooded his senses, as she returned the kiss with the same passion.

For a short while he felt nothing but the delicate movements of her tongue, the warmth of her body beneath his fingers. Whoever he had been done before, whatever he had done, none of it mattered any more. He was Solas, simple as that, and for once, he allowed himself to truly live in the moment.  

He pulled back the tiniest bit, his heart thundering in his chest.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“I want you, too,” she said and kissed one corner of his mouth. He sighed softly, his eyes half-closed.

She forced herself to look at him. “Come with me,” she said, taking his hand and nodding in the vague direction of the Inquisitor’s tower.

He understood immediately. She wanted go somewhere private, where they could continue what they started here. For a moment, images of her undressing herself flashed through his mind. He wanted to touch her naked body, to give her pleasure. But then again…

“I don’t think…”, was all he could manage, before he was cut off.

“Lady Inquisitor!”

She flinched, alarmed by the sound of Leliana’s voice, and drew back a tiny bit. In that instant, he knew it was his only chance to retreat. If he didn’t, he knew he would give into his desire. He would follow her up to her quarters, ready to rip the clothes from her body and cover every part of her with gentle kisses. But he could not do that. She deserved better a man whom she could trust with all her heart.

He was not that man.

And so Solas forced himself to step back.

“Don’t…” she gasped, but he shook his head.

“You have other matters to attend to, my heart.”

The look she gave him hurt him more than he would have like to admit. Disappointment, hurt and confusion mixed in her expression and he had to steel himself against her sadness.

If you only knew, vhenan.

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Solas said as casually as possible and took another step back. He bowed slightly just when Leliana reached the top of the stairs, then turned on his heels and headed in the opposite direction.

All the way back to his quarters in the tower, his heart raced like he’d just ran a dozen miles. In his mind, he conjured wild fantasies of her lying in his arms, her legs tangled with his, her skin hot and sweaty from love-making. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the door to Varric’s room open right behind him.

“Ah, Chuckles,” the dwarf exclaimed. “I’d hoped to catch you alone. Do you have a moment?”

Solas stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around to face Varric, hoping his face didn’t give what he felt in that precise moment.

“How may I help you, Master Tethras?” he asked and tried to sound as light-hearted as possible.

Varric coughed, then glanced over his shoulders, as if he feared that someone might overhear their conversation. Only when he was certain no one was about to burst out of their chambers, his gaze returned to Solas.

“It’s about Lavellan,” Varric said in a quiet voice.

Solas furrowed his brows. “What about her?”

“I know the two of you have been pretty hush-hush about the matter,” Varric continued, “but I have witnessed and written enough romances to recognize a couple in love.”

“Oh?” Solas mused in an ill-considered attempt to mock Varric, hoping it would put him off. “How so?”

The dwarf let out a small huffing sound and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The yearning side-glances usually give it away.”

“Aha,” Solas said briskly. “Well, in any event, it is a private matter and I would rather not discuss it.”

“Yeah, I figured you say something like that.”

“But you’re going to tell me whatever is on your mind regardless of what I just said, aren’t you?”

Solas knew he was being harsh and a small part of him was sorry for that. Varric had never offended him. As a matter of fact, the dwarf’s advice had proved rather useful on more than one occasion and had helped Solas to see things from a different perspective. Yet, he didn’t want Varric to look into the matter. Things between Solas and Lavellan were complicated enough as they were.

“Lavellan is… well, people believe she is this heavenly creature, send by the Maker to set things right, blah blah blah. But you and I, we know that is not true. She is a woman, a person, just like the rest of us, and a good person at that,” Varric said. “She deserves some happiness.”

“She does,” Solas admitted. “But that is not why you wanted to talk to me in the middle of the night.”

Varric squared his shoulders, trying to look casual. “I just wanted to make sure you won’t hurt her, Chuckles.”

Unwillingly, Solas felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. Did the dwarf suspect something? No, he’d been careful when it came to the stories he told about his past. He’d spun his tale from truth as well as deception, and to good effect. The best lie was the one that included a grain of truth, after all. Still, he felt the need to dispel Varric’s doubts. He couldn’t have anyone sniffing around while Corypheus was still out there, wielding the orb that he, Solas, had given to him.

“It was never my intention to hurt her,” he said.

That was true as far as it went.

“I see,” Varric replied. “So, we’re good then.”

“Weren’t we, Child of the Stone?”

“Let’s just say, I would feel compelled to come and kill you if did something to her”, Varric replied. “I’ve become quite fond of her.”

Solas chuckled, despite himself. 

“Don’t laugh”, Varric said in an attempt to sound intimidating, but the smile on his voice betrayed him. “I have a network of spies at my disposal. They’d track you down in no time.”

“I have no doubts about that, Master Tethras,” Solas replied. “But as I said, it was never my intent to cause her pain.”

“That’s… good,” Varric said. “Well, I guess that is that. We can all go back to sleep now. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” Solas echoed.

“Yeah, right,” Varric mumbled. “Goodnight, Chuckles.”

“Same to you, Master Tethras.”

And with that, Varric returned to his chambers, locking the door behind him.

Solas felt a pang of guilt settling in his guts.

Despite anything he told Varric, his intentions were worth nothing. He’d intended to protect Mythal and failed. He’d intended to protect his people from the wrath of the Evanuris and failed. He’d intended to free the elves slavery when he formed the Veil and failed yet again.

With Elenara, it wouldn’t be any different. No matter how much he wanted to make her happy, one day he would have to reveal himself to her.

And when he did, it would cause her pain beyond imagining.

[teiranlavellan]

Taking a Sick Day

From @starla-nell: DA Drunk Writing Prompt 49 - 99.9% immunity for your Inquisitor, please? For extra bonus points, combine with any of the other sick prompts on that list, they're all brilliant!

@dadrunkwriting

Thank you for the prompt and for your patience!  Deciding to go to Grad School has forced me to go on hiatus, but as luck would have it my professor tasked us with a produsage (yes, I spelt that right) assignment. And therefore, carved out time for this prompt to finally be filled!

I decided to do both 99.9% Immunity and Take One Down since Teiran does not fit 99.9% immunity (I theorize she gets sick rather easily being exposed to so many new people/places all over Thedas).

Varric groaned as he forced his aching body to sit up. Cole’s hands deftly found how to aid the dwarf in this endeavor then placed a small table with quill, ink and parchment on his lap wordlessly.  The unblinking, pale blue eyes from beneath his large hat stared at Varric for only a moment before disappearing into the shadows of Bull’s crowded bedroom.  

Varric opened his mouth to thank him, but was stymied by a cough that shook the table and threatened to tip the vial of ink.  He sighed and glanced around the dilapidated room whose holes in the walls, ceiling and floor had provided much needed ventilation for the newly dubbed: “Sick Room”.   Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he searched the evening-lighted room for an update on his fellow invalids:  Karissa, her long braid piled atop her head, tended to Cullen sprawled near him who in his fevered state was reciting the Chant of Light through his clenched jaw.  Varric turned to his right to find Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast sullenly sitting upright with her arms crossed and her eyes screaming defiance against her sick, treacherous body.

“Oh no, not you too Seeker?” Varric’s sore throat evident in the lack of robust jocularity that usually saturated his voice.

Cassandra shrunk into herself and opened her mouth to speak, but an undignified squeak is all that emerged from her mouth.  Varric’s laugh was silent but not lacking in amusement. She flushed a brighter red under her fever and gulped down the glass of water placed near her bed, “I am not sick.”

“Sure Seeker, whatever you say.”  Varric turned back to his table and reached for the quill.  

Cassandra, noticing his attention shift, subtly reached for the book under her covers and began reading it while remaining upright and still stubbornly keeping an eye on the door leading to the rest of Skyhold.

Varric dipped his quill in ink and began:

Hawke,

Boy am I glad you aren’t here.  The Inquisitor is ill, again.  But this time it seems the rest of us have been similarly blessed.  Ruffles and Nightingale holding down the fort, though rumor has it Nightingale will be joining us once someone else recovers enough to take over.  Sounds like Ruffles is doing a good job keeping everyone in the dark about this, you know, not to give any Orlesian nobles or demons any ideas.

A thick, wet cough interrupted Varric’s thoughts and he met Cassandra’s similarly worried eyes before they both glanced over their shoulders towards the back of the room where the large Qunari was sprawled in fitful sleep with one horn hanging over the bed and his eye still closed. Cole materialized near Bull’s bed and repositioned the much larger man so the aisles between the cots would not be blocked.  Varric’s eyes followed the Kid as he returned to Dorian’s cot and attempted to soothe the irritated mage with a steaming cup of liquid.

Varric grinned as he watched the disheveled mage attempt to smooth his normally-impeccable hair into some semblance of order and sip disapprovingly at the offered liquid before giving up the endeavor entirely and going back to sleep.  Varric watched Cole’s hat silently turned from Dorian to the next person who needed him: Solas.

“Poor Chuckles.” Varric thought, wincing in pain at the shake of his pounding head, they had found him last night atop a spilled cup of tea at his desk and hadn’t woken since.  Whatever haunted him in the Fade, no one could say, the only other two who spoke Elvish were unable or unwilling to translate.  Varric braced for the inevitable outburst that would follow the bald mage’s broken stream of croaked words.  The dwarf quickly capped his ink and stowed his portable writing desk under his cot as the elf’s ramblings gained volume.  The graceful, Elvish language weaved together in furious, desperate stanzas of unknown meaning filling the Sick Room, waking the rest and all bracing for impact.

The thick, wooden bedroom door crashed to the ground with Solas blinking around at his newfound position atop the wood crashing to the stone ground with his weight.  Varric watched as Cole materialized beside the elven mage and pulled him back up off the broken door and lead him back to his cot.  After securing Solas back into his cot, Cole and Karissa both heaved the door back into its frame, still broken but at least still serving its function.

Varric met Cassandra’s stunned expression and chuckled, “Who knew a mage with a cold could be so dangerous?”

“That is not true of all mages, Varric.”  Vivienne answered vehemently from her cot beside Cassandra’s.

“Please.  Not now.” Teiran’s hoarse whisper floated from the back of the room, followed by a series of coughs from the elven Inquisitor.

“Loner! You’re awake.”  Varric commented dryly.

“Unfortunately.”  Teiran replied, holding a hand to her eyes to block out any flicker of light that would add to her migraine.

“Varric.  How are they doing?”  Teiran asked, her voice small and apologetic.

“Well, considering you left Skyhold in the hands of Ruffles, Nightingale, Buttercup and Hero.  It hasn’t burned down yet, though I hear the kitchen staff is ready to resign.”  Varric replied, taking his writing desk back out.

Teiran groaned and wrestled herself out from her cot and into a standing position.  Cole was at her elbow with a glass of water when she sat back down on her cot, holding her head together and her stomach contents within through sheer force of will.  She drank the water and then laid back down on her cot, resigning herself to the situation and hoping that Blackwall will keep an eye on Sera and Josephine and Leliana will keep the Inquisition together until they all mended.

[firjii]

DAI fanfic: “Brittle Eyes, Brittle Dreams” - part 1

SFW, minor brief language

Ace Solavellan

Words: 2,458

I originally wanted to wait until this was finished because it's not meant to be a book-length thing, but IMO it’s getting too long to be a one-shot item at this point. Any future portions I post beyond this will actually be part of the same extended scene (my writing style just doesn’t have fast pacing).

Angsty/gritty. Set after JoH but before the Temple of Mythal. A mage Lavellan in a state of shock returns to Skyhold after a tough mission. She is straining under crippling self-doubt and a colorful past.

She didn’t waver as Skyhold’s gates opened. Her chin was staunch and stalwart. Her eyes shone, but so did every other soldier’s against the stiff winds. Her hands were quiet fists in bulky gloves, clenched to conserve their warmth as much as to keep them from shaking. One huddled mass looked much the same as another to a tower guard. It was nothing noteworthy. It was nothing strange.

Her shoulders were hunched, as ever, but anyone glancing at her wouldn’t have seen the convulsions. They were disguised too well. She had borrowed another soldier’s armor that very morning, knowing that Inquisition scouts were so prodigious at clearing the mountain paths that she wouldn’t need the best of armor for the final leg of the journey. The set she’d chosen was two sizes too large and made of thick plate, nothing at all like the delicate scales of her favored equipment. The extra metal set a chill in her core, but it almost completely concealed her shaking – and, despite its extra weight, it was stiff enough to keep her standing upright, a proposal which would have otherwise proven challenging.

In the main courtyard, sentries coming and going from watches or missions observed the usual courtesies as she passed by, but she hardly acknowledged them. No matter. Every able body who had managed to return with her was in the same general state of dumbfounded weariness. As she shuffled through the great hall, the lingering smells of a hearty supper only served to turn her stomach further. Each crackle of each inviting hearth and torch only made her twitch and flinch on this night. The vibrant hues cast by the flames did little to brighten her ashen face. Her heavy plate boots – also borrowed, though for the purely practical reason of support for a sprained ankle – imposed a grim, echoing patter through the hall.

She abandoned the idea of scaling her private stairwell in armor when her foot buckled after just three steps. She tugged her gloves off with her teeth, which only made her gums ache when she accidentally bit down on metal instead of leather. Her fingers shakily plucked at straps on the boots, which she heaved against the wall with a clatter when she was finally free of them. The process to remove the remainder of the armor was similarly lengthy. Her face was flushed by the time she completed the ritual. Her nose reddened. She sat in silence, momentarily satisfied that she had at least found a solitary corner to retreat to.

She stayed fixed in place for an hour. Finally craving her quarters and a more hospitable material than ancient stones to lean her head against, she managed to scale an entire flight of stairs before pausing again. She struggled on as far as the forgotten Red Templar banner, the one whose presence utterly baffled everyone in Skyhold, including her. She watched it flutter slightly in an invisible draft, transfixed by the color otherwise absent in the passageway.

Her ankle actively throbbed. She sat again and sobbed, but it gave way to something else when her throat was raw enough.

She slept.

                                               * * *

“There must be easier ways to bring discomfort on yourself.”

She jerked awake and reflexively gasped at the sound of a voice – any voice. She drew a few chaotically rapid breaths before she fully processed the face before her. “Who told you where I was?” she rumbled.

Solas kept a neutral look, though the light in his eyes seemed to shift to something still and careful. “No willing person would choose such a place for sleep without a reason.”

She blinked, slow to realize both the apparent passage of time and her place within it. “And what about you? It’s an ungodly hour for anyone but a bandit.”

He moved his gaze down to his feet as he plucked his way up the steps. “My experiences have shown me that sleep and rest are two very different things.” He carefully sat down opposite her. “No warrior easily finds either after a skirmish, short of complete exhaustion.”

His bright eyes were a mismatch to his serene face. His relaxed sitting posture contradicted his perfectly-squared shoulders, ever assertive. She observed the unlikely combination for a moment. “Even exhaustion can keep you awake if you’re tired enough.”

He watched her stiffly shift against the wall. “You were wounded.”

“Everyone was.” She gestured weakly to her face, to dozens of glancing nicks along her jawbone and a mild burn on an ear. “It’s not bad. Most saw worse.”

“And your ankle?”

She glanced down, slightly sheepish. She shook her head. “I was stupid. I tripped and fell. I wasn’t used to the new stave. The weighting’s wrong.”

“Staying in a cold corner like this one will only worsen an injury.”

She drew a heavy breath. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse. They already did what they could.”

He watched her amicably for a moment. “With your permission – I could do more.”

“No. It’s alright.” She cringed away. “Don’t.”

His eyes flashed. “Do you enjoy letting something blind your judgment?”

She shrugged. “It’s easy to endure pains you can prove.”

“I doubt that the poor in Kirkwall or slaves in Tevinter would say the same.”

She ran a distracted hand through her sweat-dulled hair. “We’re all slaves to something.”

His forehead constricted a fraction, though she didn’t see it. “I know. Let me break those chains.”

“It’s not about my damned foot,” she huffed. Her voice held a strangled quality.

“Then let me remedy it so you might focus on your true problems.”

She held her head as she propped her elbows on her knees. “Alright,” she finally muttered. She straightened. “Fine.”

He removed both layers of her third-hand socks and brushed off the dirt and grime that had somehow snuck into the impenetrable-looking plate boots. He peered at the swelling at length, analyzing each vein and tendon. She cast her gaze away determinedly. “You’re not as hurried as the field surgeons. Were you ever a healer?”

He ignored her at first, too intent to speak. “One who has been out alone in the world must know a little of everything.”

She winced when he checked a bruise on her heel, but his tone drew her eyes onto him. “And what do you know?”

He stopped his work. “We will not stop Corypheus tonight or even tomorrow. You should not try to tell yourself otherwise, especially when you only have one sound foot to stand on.”

In her dazed, pained state – though his quiet magic was correcting the swelling even as he spoke – it took her a protracted interval to realize that the advice was, perhaps, partially a joke. She tried to smile but managed little more than a grimace.

He returned his attention to her ankle. “No wonder. You dislocated it as well as sprained it.”

“I know. They set it back into place.”

“Yes, and then they very likely redoubled the problem by making you walk several miles through slippery mountain passes,” he lilted. His chipper scorn barely aimed past her.

“Mountain fortresses aren’t meant to be found.”

He made the smallest noise of neutral, distracted agreement. A glow slowly formed around his hands, green like the Anchor’s light but somehow less – unnatural. He murmured spell words, though so quietly that he scarcely made more noise than a few random consonants. His eyes narrowed a fraction, peering at her as if unable to see her correctly. His face quietly lit up. “You dislike the damp inside Skyhold.”

“Anyone would. It gets into your bones if you’re not careful.”

“Of course. You are unused to great buildings.”

She snorted. “I’m unused to trekking miles up stairs just to get to my own bed.”

“I have no doubt that any soldier or scout in Skyhold would have lent you–”

“It wouldn’t be any good,” she snapped with a jabbing wag of her head. She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s as you said. I won’t sleep properly tonight. I only want the quiet. I can’t get that with dozens of people nattering on a few yards away.”

“Adamant upset you.”

She focused her tired face back onto his and frowned. “What’s that to do with it?”

“Everything, I suspect.” He hooked one eyebrow up a fraction as a ghost of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, but both gestures soon evaporated. “Since then, you stay outside as much as possible. I sometimes think that you want to be sure that we escaped the Fade by checking if the sky is the correct color.”

Her eyes darkened. “You never say what you mean. Speak your damned mind for once.”

“Would you like to check it again – now?”

“Check what?”

He smiled in earnest and dipped his chin down. “The sky, vhenan.”

Vhenan. The tiny word softened her face, as if it made her remember something equally elusive and reviving. “It’s nighttime.”

“Then it should be all the easier to see if anything is amiss. The raw Fade is vivid and strange no matter the time of day.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Was that not what you planned to do?”

She rubbed her eyes and huffed, but she considered the offer soberly. “Help me up.” Even without armor, she stood heavily as he braced her lame side. He ably harmonized his sound steps with her timid ones as they ascended the final stairs, even when she abruptly paused several times for breath.

“Are you still in pain?”

“It’s just the memory of falling. It knocked the wind out of me.” She chuckled weakly. “I always remember the way I earned a bruise better than the pain from one.”

They mastered the final stone steps. He spied a multicolored stole on a table – one of many tokens from the Avvar for thwarting Hakkon – and snatched it up as the two tottered past. He opened a balcony door for her, but she suddenly removed her arm from his shoulder and stubbornly limped the few remaining steps to go outside. She clumsily eased herself down against a pillar. He draped the stole around her, taking an unusual length of time for the task. She nodded blandly and tugged the stole tighter. He sat next to her but noted her irregular shaking – which had persisted since she had woken – and thought the better of embracing her.

“The snow has its own glow at night,” she muttered. “I forgot about that.” She chuckled soundlessly and tightly. “Isn’t that silly? We spend half our time in Skyhold, but I still don’t remember everything about the place.”

“We often ignore what is nearest to our faces.”

“Does that make us foolish or stupid?”

“Neither. It only means that we constantly adjust to circumstances.”

She sighed. After a long moment, she leaned against his side – barely. “Everything always circles around on itself, doesn’t it?” she muttered. “Sooner or later, we always find the same paths and the same markers as everyone who came before us. The paths might look a little different, but you can’t avoid them – not really. They’re the only choice.”

A muffled but musical whir of mountain gusts echoed out for a long moment while they both stared at the snow, made all the more brilliant that night by the full moon.

She ground her jaw. “I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Solas crinkled his face at the remark and glanced at her only to find her tired stare fixed firmly on mountain peaks. “None of us can.”

She sneered. “You don’t even know what I mean.”

“I know your frustration. What else is there to understand?”

She shivered and leaned a little harder into his side. “I don’t mind being something different than what I began as. I just don’t want that to be less.”

“You –” He swallowed his words and shook his head gently. “That will never happen.”

“You were there. You heard what Ameridan said.”

“The Avvar siege was the most difficult since Haven. You took his words too harshly in the heat of battle fatigue–”

“He couldn’t even stand,” she cut over him. “You saw him. That’s all that was left. He was alone for centuries. Who knows what he thought while he was there? No one should have to sacrifice so much and be remembered for so little. The world almost lost him.”

“Do you expect to be forgotten after all this?”

Her head lowered abruptly, as if a drug had overwhelmed her waking senses. Her shoulders rounded forward, just as they had done upon returning to Skyhold. “He knew. Things weren’t the same for him, but –” Her jaw clenched. “Everything’s been a blur since this started. Either I don’t know what to do and I need to defer to others or I know exactly what to do but can’t. When I saw him, I saw myself.”

“Is that such an evil thing? He was an honorable man.”

“We’ve recruited dozens of agents and thousands of soldiers. None of them ever made me think about it. When you’re all thrown together because the world’s gone to hell, it’s easy to stop seeing yourself. But Ameridan –” Her lip curled. “He made me look. He made me see it.”

Solas finally stared at her.

Her face was slick. Her chin jittered. Her eyes were cavernous. She didn’t look at him – not even a glance.

His far hand clenched and unclenched. It moved several inches above the ground, but his elbow was an immobilizing splint. He let his hand rest back on the stone slabs again.

A single sniffle escaped her. “It doesn’t matter about being chosen. It matters because everyone will suffer if I can’t get this sorted. And if I can’t, it won’t matter. We won’t matter.” Her face crimped, but her sobs were silent and dragging, like the breath inside her was insufficient for the act.

His far hand conducted the same argument with itself a second time. He looked away and frowned before his head bobbed back in her direction. As if in care of an ancient scroll, he took the closer of her hands in his. His other hand soon joined it. She scarcely reacted. “I doubt that Ameridan’s words drove you here.”

“Why?” Her single word held the stretched singsong of barely-restrained collapse.

“You let the most important ones drift away.”

She set a keen glare on him, but it wavered when he met it with quietude.

“‘Take moments of happiness where you find them. The world will take the rest.’” He squeezed her hand.

She went a long moment without blinking as her mouth curled into a grimace. “It already did.” She limply removed her hand from his.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

A Most Unholy Inquisitor Ch. 31

Another Inquisitor Trevelyan Story.

With negative amounts of Andraste’s knickers!

Featuring Guinevere Trevelyan, and The Gang.

"Just a few extra pinches to be sure, this kind of thing is risky enough. They'll kill me if it isn't." "Opaque silks brushing milky skin. I shouldn't look, but I can't help it." "This isn't her, he begs. She couldn't do this, sharp dagger being turned on flesh. Not hurting, protecting." "Words, too many of them in the dead of night. The birds are upset, uneasy, eying the tower." "It doesn't feel right. Wrong, dazed, whirling thoughts that aren't mine." "It sings, a song corrupted. A song he doesn't want to remember." "They are renewed. But with a different face, a face he doesn't want in that place. It belongs in a different place." "The ground didn't like being awoken. It had pride in the shoots that sprouted. Ruined by a heavy fall." Lelianna's hair dragged through short hair, nails digging into her scalp. The boy was trying, but in his way, it was equally unhelpful. "Thank you, Cole. That was... Helpful?" She should have left off the question. "Yes." He was gone.

She hadn't asked for him, but the spirit appearing with something was none the less useful. Or to an extent it could be, placing the thoughts was going to be essential to explaining what had happened just hours ago. A few she knew, and another she thought to disregard. But now it was the time to start her interrogations, it felt too early. Solas was in and out of her attention quickly; the Inquisitor had merely walked through the rotunda followed by a servant. It was out of the norm, and people who intruded in his space even more strange. He was not used to such company, and especially at a late hour. It was nothing new to note. Morrigan was little difference in terms of investigating, her and Kieran had felt something off, inserting themselves into the drama of the night. Ser Delrin Barris sat nervously, his head bowed. He was the stranger thrown into the mix of a very personal affair. "So, The Herald walked out of her room?" "Yes," his throat bobbed, "I called after her, and she didn't respond. I thought it strange." "That is strange, even for her sleepwalking," Lelianna breathed deeply, " but my question is why you followed?" Delrin shook his head, green eyes focusing on the ground. His foot drug against the stone, warring against the words that wanted to come out. Whatever it was, he didn't want to say it. Was it guilt? Shame? "It, she, something was like," the Templar straightened in his chair, "like the red lyrium at Therinfal Redoubt, I know it sounds like madness. But I would swear my life on it." His fist finally unclenched, gaze flickering up to meet her inquisitive prodding. "Interesting," not what she expected, or entirely pertinent to the case, something significant was missing. Her head swam with the inconsequential details of that night: an accident involving a fall, a drunken row between visiting nobles, and a stolen compass. Now the scent of red lyrium? More things to question. The Herald returning usually meant a little more activity, but this was insane. "Thank you, Knight Commander. I think that is all I needed," Lelianna stiffened, "I don't have any more questions." Her next witness was Cullen. But only the second to the last person she wanted to question about the events of the previous night. Instead of forcing him into her territory she agreed on neutral ground, the sitting area above the smithy. The Commander wanted to avoid his office, and the Spymaster thought that best. Lest the memories overtake the man as she tried to form a clearer picture. The Commander sat rigidly, perfectly balanced and elbows meeting the table at ninety degrees. Amber eyes smoldered but looked only in the direction of something just over her shoulder. Lelianna knew how little the man slept, but for once he reflected it. Expertly tamed hair sat just askew, stubble millimeters longer than he had the patience to let it be, and heavy bags weighed underneath his eyes. HIs breath was shallow, barely masking the injuries he stubbornly tried hiding behind metal plates. "Commander, I-" "Please forgive my breach of decorum," he vomited, "I will vow to do my best to listen to any future commands given. I accept whatever punishment is necessary." "That won't be needed. It was a hard time for everyone involved." The Commander's shoulders released the barest hint of tension, "what do you need to know?" "I'd like to go back to the early evening, had you seen the Inquisitor prior to the incident?" The corner of his lips turned for an instant, " Briefly, I had hoped to steal her attention." Lelianna suppressed a giggle, but couldn't help but issue a knowing look, "had anything seemed off?" "We, we hardly spoke," Cullen cleared his throat, red threatening at his neck, "she was tired from her journey. I left after she had expressed this." "You what?" The accusation misplaced for the seriousness of the conversation, but she could not keep it from escaping. "Maker's breath," his throat cleared again, "I offered to send for her bath, before leaving, and that was all." The spymaster nodded, placing her hands on the rough table clasping them tightly together, "and later that evening?" Any hint of positive emotion left him bereft, eyes returning to the pained burning of a man trapped, " Guinevere visited my office. Not, not that it was uncommon that she did so. The Inquisitor was quieter than usual, but not long enough for me know anything was wrong. Until I felt the knife at my back." Lelianna prompted him onwards with a nod. "Rather than, then" he stopped, blinking rapidly before let out a sharp sigh, "she screamed. She clutched the dagger in her hands, and there was blood. I panicked and pushed her away, after disarming her of course. I didn't mean to send her toppling over the desk." She didn't need his guilt over actions taken in the heat of the moment, but neither would she try and push it away. Instead, another thread would suffice, "how did she end up with refined lyrium? Was it one of your philters?" "Yes, as you know, I keep one in case-" Cullen decided to stray from the subject with a winge, "once I had the dagger, I felt her build up an attack. I must not have been thinking, and... and reached for it. I just wanted to stop her. Andraste preserve me, I could not bear it if she had intended to betray me, the Inquisition like this." "Cullen it doesn't explain-" "It was as if something, as though she had-," he huffed, " she stopped me. The glass shattered in her hands, mixing with the lyrium dust." His voice descended as the horror of that memory overtook him. Fingernails dug against the grain of the wood, willing it to submit to his anxiety. " I knew to ingest only a small amount, I can't imagine her... a mage, surviving that pure, that..." His expression pulled taut, "what if she does not survive it? I can feel her; I can feel it pulsing no matter how far away I stay." Lelianna's hand sought his for comfort, letting it rest gently against his tensed digits. "She is being monitored. I promise we are doing all we can for her. Do not think the Maker will abandon her now." His eyes stopped mid-roll, shuffling to something of feigned interest on the floor, "don't keep word from reaching me about her condition. For ill, or better. I deserve this much." "I won't," she found herself meaning it. The Spymaster did not think so lowly of the Commander to think it would utterly destroy him to lose the Herald, but it would haunt him not to have the chance to say goodbye if the worst did happen. She would want that chance if the situation were reversed. "I do have a final question." "Yes?" he answered meekly. "Do you remember seeing a servant with her?" Cullen's head cocked, eyebrows knitting as they focused on the background details. Mouth opened and closed, but his fingers retracted and arms folded back into his lap. "N- yes. I lost sight of them after Guinevere had been... calmed." He meant retained by his salvaged Templar abilities. The discovery might have been more comforting it hadn't been in use against the one he loved. Hopefully, he wouldn't let it go to waste because of one terrible situation. It took several drawn-out moments to compose herself after the Commander had wandered far from sight. The mage was next if she could pull through the lyrium that ran like poison in her veins. —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   — It was days before the mage came to any useful consciousness. She had been awake at the time the Commander was questioned but in a state so incoherent that she went unmolested. Save the Templar tasked with curbing any attempts at a discharge that could prove harmful. True to her word, and with a dash of kindness- she let the Commander have the first contact with the Herald. It was only going to be by minutes, but perhaps a stubborn couple could manage to patch some of the divides put between them. From the silence in the barren prison, little was happening, and she felt confident that she was not disturbing. Cullen pivoted, glowering as he sulked passed her. The mage's back remaining exposed to the cell bars. The air stifling. She sat cross-legged on the cold stone, waiting for those turquoise eyes to seek their next visitor. It was a couple of minutes, but her patience rewarded with the Herald turning to face her. A hand gripped the opposite arm. Eyes unwilling to meet her as they usually did, between the Inquisitor and herself things had never quite evolved passed awkward, but this was an entirely new level. 'Lady Inquisitor, I regret that I-" Lelianna's words stopped, watching the tears slither from the other woman's eyes. She should feel neutral, ready to weigh the facts without the additional bolstering of emotion behind it. At this point ruling out a betrayal by the Herald -no matter how hard she wished not to think so- was not yet possible. Neutrality was coming at a higher price than she had expected. A part of her cared more for the woman before her than she thought. After all, she had been a good friend of sorts. Not unlike Amelia who also liked to temper her more violent tendencies. Guinevere was granted as long as she required to regain her composure. Lelianna's eyes wandered to the necklace that laid in the opposite corner of the cell. "What do you need to know?" The Herald's voice was hardly more than a murmur. "Let's start with what happened before the incident, Cullen had visited you?" Guinevere flinched at the name, "he had. But he had nothing to do with, please, he had just surprised me." "Surprised you with what?" "A prepared bath. He was being sweet." "Who knew the Commander had such a soft side," she teased. The mage retreated, pulling her shoulders closer together walling herself away. She had managed another poorly timed joke. It had typically proved to be a way to get her guard to come down, but not this time. The chance was still worth trying. "How much did I hurt him? I saw the bandages," suddenly the mage looked at her, eyes filled with tears, "just tell me honestly. Please." "It won't help-" "Please, Lelianna, please." It was her turn to look away, to shrink. "Minor burns. From where he came in contact with you, without his armour as a ward it was extensive in span." It was in that moment she pinpointed the mage's disconnect from reality, eyes going vacant voice somber, "I didn't want to hurt him. It was a dream, just a dream. I was holding a knife, but that wasn't me. I held on to it, even as I felt myself try to..." If possible, Guinevere turned a shade paler. "I knew where I was aiming- it would have killed him." "What made you stop?" "It was like I woke up, like from some nightmare. But this time it was real, I was about to," any lapse her tears made had now resumed, "I don't want to think that was me. It can't be." "And the lyrium?" "I just reacted. I don't, can't recall much. Just pain, until nothing." —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   — The sudden of that nothingness was the worst thing she had felt that night. Horror, dread, self-loathing... that was acceptable. But nothing? Nothing at all? As if she had found herself an impassive audience to the things she had done. The trust she had broken. She needed to be punished, not set into a world of numbness. Nothingness. Some part of her was angry. Despite the shame that coiled in her gut for daring to cry foul on her own person. She was afraid of that nothing. An old punishment used too frequently, and now by a man that had touched her in the most intimate of ways. To add insult, it was several times over, each time more violating than the last. How dare she have these thoughts? It had to be done, and there was no doubt in the necessity of the action. No person she would have trusted more to hold that leash. But that tether still kept her bound. "I have already arranged for you to leave Skyhold, within the hour. Varric, Cole, and Cassandra will accompany you." "But I-" She had scarcely spent a conscious day back within the walls of Skyhold. Months had gone by since seeing to the rest of her companions. How was Vivienne holding up? Bull? She had missed Dorian's sass. No time for simple pranks and easy laughter with Sera. Solas could be avoided, already seeing her in a sorry state. Blackwall would be awkward, but still, they had shared blood. Josie and her rumors unshared. Cullen... well, now that was a relationship feared to be in shambles. She missed being home.

[jentrevellan]

SUMMARY: Cullen’s POV to the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Cullen x Lyla Lavellan (Mage)! One-sided Solas romance! Some in-game scenes expanded! Plus lots more to come! Reblogs, likes and replies are loved. ^^

**Updated every 2 weeks!**

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-> Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @anafigreen​

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Lyrium

I'm pacing recklessly in my office, skimming reports and hardly listening to updates from my scouts. It's stuffy in the room and there are half a dozen Inquisition soldiers in my office each waiting to give me updates they believe can't wait. I beg to differ.

I glance out of the arrow-slit windows every so often, just to check if there's anyone approaching. My hands are shaking and I've got a pounding headache that feels as though it's right in front of my eyes. It's one of the worst I've had in months since I stopped taking lyrium, but I can't let my troops see me like this.

As I turn back to the soldiers, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and there's a call from one of the guards on the bridge. I swivel around and I'm relieved to see a the long-awaited party gallop across the viaduct, escorted with a small Inquisition force.

"The Inquisitor has returned," I announce to the room. "Let us adjourn for the day. Lieutenant: please see to any urgent matters," I say to the ex-Templar.

The room salutes me as I sweep out of the office and stand on the battlements above the main gate. For the first time all day I'm on my own, and yet I'm desperate to see her. It's not long before other Skyhold residents appear on the battlements and in the courtyard to see her return - it's always something to celebrate when she comes back safely and successfully. But I'm more anxious than ever to see her - my symptoms are terribly bad today and I know I have to tell her, as my superior.

I can't bear for her to see me as weak; falling apart in front of her. I need to be strong, to continue my duties… but I must let her know that it's a very real threat that at some point, I might not be able to remain as Commander. I clench my jaw and tighten my shaking hand on the hit of my sword - I must ensure it does not come to that. I will give everything to the Inquisition because I believe in our cause - I believe in her.

As their horses slow to a gallop I notice an extra person in the party. Hawke rides side-by-side with Lyla, but just behind them is a figure I did not expect to see - a Grey Warden. I'm frozen to the spot as the Grey Warden lifts his head to look up at Skyhold's towers and there is no doubt in my mind when I recognise the honey hair of Warden Alistair.

Screams that echo. Pain in my mind. Burning. Fire. That familiar feeling of dread, awaiting the inevitable pain. Bodies rotting around me. I will not fall. I must not fall.

I don't realise how tight I'm gripping my sword until Lelianna appears beside me. "Cullen?" she says softly. I glance at her and release my grip, flexing my fingers. "Are you well?"

I exhale slowly, my eyes never once leaving Alistair as they approach. Another echo of my past I did not expect to see here, especially when my control is wavering. She peers up at me past her hood and follows my gaze. Lyla has reeled her horse back and now rides next to Alistair. They are speaking with their heads bowed and I'm anxious about their discussion. Everything I've been trying to hide and forget is coming together in this place where I want to move on.

They pass under the archway and I'm left staring at the now empty walkway. I realise with a start that I haven't replied to Lelianna.

"A headache, nothing more."

She shakes her head. "You did not expect to see Alistair, did you?"

"You could've warned me," I say dryly.

"To what end?" She replies and then sighs. "I'm sorry Cullen, I know that Alistair is-"

"You weren't in Kinlock, Lelianna. He was." I turn on my heel and stride back into my office, leaving Lelianna and her unspoken words behind me.

I ensure all of the doors are shut - thankfully with the Inquisitor back, most soldiers will be busying themselves with report writing, meetings and scouting so won't need to bother me for a least an hour. I ease myself down into the chair at my desk and rub my eyes. Today is an awful day for my withdrawal - why could they not return tomorrow, when I'm feeling better? But I realise I'm being selfish: I was so full of anxious excitement to see Lyla again - and I still am - but now I'm wary. Alistair may have told her things about my past I'm not quite ready to share. It's personal. And if I remember Alistair, it's that he used to sometimes say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but with good intentions. Ah yes, good intentions: don't we all have those?

I know I shouldn't, but I open my top desk draw and reach for the small box inside. Just to know that it is close but untouchable is almost a comfort. At least I know that if the worst happens, I have enough to start again, but I cannot let myself do that. I turn the box over in my hands for a small whilst before placing it down on the desk in front of me. My thumb plays with the latch subconsciously flicking it open and close again.

I stand and lean over the box - reassert why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm trying to leave that life - that terrible life behind of who I used to be and yet this leash pulls at my, urging me back. There is a knock at the door and I swiftly store the box back in my desk.

"Enter," I say.

And there she is, still in her travelling gear, her boots caked in mud, her cheeks flushed from the journey. What a sight she is, and instantly I can feel my mood lift. The pull to her is stronger than the lyrium, but that is not a bad thing.

"Inquisitor," I say, straightening.

"You weren't at the debriefing," she says, closing the door behind her. "I was wondering where you were."

Maker's breath, have I been sat here wallowing in my guilt for that long? "I apologise Inquisitor I…" the words fail in my mouth as she approaches me - the desk the only distance between us. I'm sure if anyone else had missed the meeting, she would have had a stern talking to, and yet there is no anger or annoyance on her face, only concern. It worries me more - has Alistair told her anything? I push it from my mind.

"Inquisitor," I start again. "As leader of the Inquisition you… there's something I must tell you."

She nods and perches on the end of my desk. "You know what ever it is Cullen, I'm willing to listen."

I try not to gawk at her. "Right, thank you." I remember the lines of my speech I've been preparing. She needs to know - now is the time. I take a breath. "Lyrium grants Templars our abilities but it controls us as well. Those cut off from it suffer: some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here but I…" A deep breath. "I no longer take it." There. Said and done. She knows.

"You stopped?"

"When I joined the Inquisition," I admit. "It's been months now."

There's a strange silence, the air is thick. I think she's going to scold and turn away, but she remains still. I glance up briefly and she's looking down at her hands. "Cullen, if this can kill you…"

"I hasn't yet," I say bitterly. "After what happened in Kirkwall I… couldn't. I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer." I look up at her and meet her gaze. "Whatever the suffering, I accept it: but I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

My hand rests on the hilt of my sword, my breath held. This will change everything, I know that. I adore this woman, and to be so openly honest about my weakness - Maker give me strength.

Eventually she says: "Are you in pain?"

"I can endure it," I reply stiffly. It's an answer I'm accustomed to giving to Lelianna and Cassandra.

"Well… thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing."

"I… thank you Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra's judgement."

"I trust Cassandra," Lyla says.

"As do I," I reply and we fall back into a strange silence.

I'm not sure if it's just the honest topic of lyrium or a mix of unspoken things, but for once I can see that it's not just me that's having an inner-turmoil of thoughts. Lyla is biting her lip and looking down at the paperwork on my desk. She turns her head to the side, to read something upside down. "Is this a report on the Red Templars?"

I nod, relieved to have moved in. I'm shaken from my lack of control today and the pain of it all, and yet knowing that Lyla now knows is a relief. One less thing to hide from her. One more thing to trust her in.

"Yes. I've found where the Red Templars come from: they're in Fall Redoubt." I begin to pace, focusing on the task at hand as we both slip back into the roles of the Commander and the Inquisitor. "The Templars were fed red lyrium until they are turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete."

"How do you know Samson?"

"He was a Templar in Kirkwall until he was expelled form the Order. I knew he was an… addict, but this…" There's a bitter taste in my mouth. "Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. It's power comes with a terrible madness."

"The Red Templars swarming Haven were proof enough." She crosses her arms.

"We cannot allow them to gain strength. The Red Templars still require lyrium: so if we find their source, we can weaken them and their leader."

There's a whisper of a smile on her face. "I like the idea of finding the templar's vulnerabilities before fighting them head-on."

"We'll need every advantage to what courses through their veins. Caravans of red lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads: investigating them could lead to where it's being mined. If you confront them, be wary… anything connected to Samson will be well guarded."

She mulls this over and slips off my desk. "You and this Samson seems to have a personal history…?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters," I admit. "He seemed a decent man at first, but Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled Samson for 'erratic behaviour,' and he ended up begging on Kirkwall's streets and committee further crimes but managed to evade the Order's justice." I'm pacing again and I can feel her eyes watching my every move. "Now Samson serves Corephyoues as his loyal general."

"Why do you think Samson joined Corepheyeous?"

"He had a chronic lyrium addiction. He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corephyeous flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium? Perhaps that's all it took…" I trail off, trying not to think about how that could so easily could've been me. Still could be me…

"It sounds like Samson had a miserable life."

I pause for thought. "Well the Order expelled him but he had choices and could've found another path. I don't understand how he became so powerful: even with red lyrium Samson's glory days are long behind him."

Lyla spreads her hands. "I'm heading out to the Emerald Graves in the next fortnight, so I'll see what I can find."

"Just be careful," I say without thinking. Be careful? Did I just tell the Inquisitor to be careful? Maker's breath…

She throws me a mischievous smile. "Oh, you know me - always careful." She turns to leave but hesitates at the doorway, her hand on the latch. "As long as you're alright…?"

I can feel my face warm. "Ah, yes, thank you… Lyla."

Satisfied, she smiles again and leaves me alone. Somehow I resist every temptation to call her back.

"It's your move, Commander."

I frown at the board in front of me, scrutinising every possible option. Once again Dorian's skill at cheating is almost going to beat me, but thankfully I've been determined to take this one a little more seriously. Dorian's bait of saying more about Lyla is working, but it's not easy with his smug grin across the board.

I move a piece to my left, knowing that he now has two options - one of which will result in me winning. Dorian raises his eyebrows and sits back, a finger lazily twirling his moustache. I think he knows that whatever he does, I have certainly won this match. But I hide my glee by trying to neutralise my expression as much as possible…

He moves the piece and instantly I lean forward and take it. "And that is checkmate," I grin.

"Well played, Commander. A shame no-one was here to distract you this time."

I roll my eyes and stifle a yawn. "You only won last time because you cheated."

"Oh you wound me!" he chuckles as he stands. "Come - there's something I need to discuss with you in my library."

Curiously I follow him out of the garden and through the main hall. I glance to the dais as we pass where Lyla is sitting in judgment of some petitioners with Josephine. I pause as she rubs her eyes before looking back to who she's judging. It is then I see the bags under her eyes and they way she is slouched in the overbearing throne. Concern tugs at me as I see her tired face scan the hall, not really listening - it's clear she's exhausted.

And when her eyes fall on me I can't help but grin at her when she smiles, almost shyly. Despite the hundreds of people in the hall clustered around her, she is seeing over their heads to look only at me, and for now it feels as if we are the only people here. It pulls at me so much that I want to push through and just be face-to-face with her. To say my thanks and gratitude for her understanding. To tell her that I care, and that I must know if she does too. But I find that even if she doesn't, I do not mind… as long as she knows that I care and always will.

Josephine looks to the Inquisitor and follows her line of sight to rest on me also. I rub the back of my neck and reluctantly turn away, giving Lyla an apologetic shrug. She licks her lips and looks down at her hands resting in her lap.

"When you're quite finished…?" Dorian whispers impatiently next to me. I nod and indicate for him to lead the way, my face burning.

As we head to the door for Solas's rooms, the elf himself stands in the doorway watching me. Dorian and I both stop and it's a strange moment as Solas's eyes flick to Lyla on the throne and back to me again. His expression is, as ever, completely unreadable. I try not to think about what his casual observance means, but there is defiantly something unspoken here and it's starting to grate on me. Thankfully, Dorian steps forward before I say anything stupid.

"Excuse us!" he says cheerily.

A flicker of amusement before Solas inclines his head and steps aside. Without a word, Dorian and I pass him and head straight upstairs to the library and his nook by the window overlooking Skyhold. I stand by a book shelf as Dorian reclines on his chair.

"Well that was awkward," he mumbles.

I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. "Is there something I'm missing?" I say.

"Apart from the fact that he's an apostate and you're an Ex-Templar, you mean?" Dorian quips.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. "Aside from that, yes."

Dorian, pauses. "I have absolutely no idea," he says finally. "Look Commander, you're not the only one who is pining after our Inquisitor."

"Pining?" I groan. Has he been talking to Cassandra? Curse them both.

"Yes, pining. I can see it in a man's eyes, you see. Blackwall's the worst but even so… it seems to be you that she's pining after herself."

I look down at the floor. Is this what I won the chess match for? To be humiliated and teased by the Tevinter mage?

"But all joking aside, there is something I need to tell you," Dorian continues quietly. I glance over my shoulder, but the nook is so secluded that nobody would overhear us.

"Alright," I say cautiously.

Dorian takes a breath. "Back in Redcliffe, when we went through time to that awful future?" I nod, confused. "Well, there are things that we saw that I'm pretty sure Lyla left out of her report. and yet… I think you need to hear it. Perhaps it's not my place to say, but you ought to know."

I still. This is not what I was expecting. It's because awfully serious, and now I can see why Lyla trusts in this Tevinter mage so much. He may be infuriating, but it's clear he values his friends and their loyalties above all else. I'm surprised as I find myself warming to him again.

"What is it, Dorian?" I ask quietly.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "It was just Lyla and I who saw this 'bad future', but we were not the only ones there. I think she may have mentioned that we saw Lelianna, Cassandra and Sera sacrifice themselves for our escape?" I nod. "Well, they weren't the only ones who we met in the bad future… we also saw you."

I'm puzzled, and perhaps it shows on my face as he says: "hmm yes, I thought she might've left that off the report."

"Why would she leave that out?" I ask, bewildered.

He hesitates. "Do you really want to know?"

I think back to her reports of finding the other women in the dungeons and how the red lyrium had covered the castle, like a growing tumour. I'm reluctant to know but if I don't ask, I know that I will always be wondering. Finally I nod. "Yes, please continue."

Dorian sighs and looks out of the window. "We explored nearly all of the dungeons of Redcliffe castle and the last place we looked before we found Lelianna, we found you. You were in a cramped cell on your own, and the red lyrium was growing out of the walls. You were slumped by the bars of the cell and your hair was long and knotted. We didn't recognise you at first, until you croaked out her name."

He pauses, the memories of visiting the terrible future are clearly still very fresh in his mind. I can't even begin to imagine what it would've been like. The thought of red lyrium growing through stone… I suppress a shudder.

"Lyla rushed over to you and tried to break the lock on your cell, but the red lyrium had grown through the locks and it was impossible to open. The lyrium, like with Grand Enchanter Fiona, was growing out of you - you were paralysed in place. Yet despite this, Lyla knelt by you and wrapped her fingers with yours around the bars of the cells. And she… ah, perhaps I should say no more…" Dorian trails off.

"Dorian," I say quietly. "Please continue, if you can."

He nods slowly. "She tried everything to get you out, but we were running out of time and we needed to move. Lyla knew that she had to leave you and it tore her apart. If she had been upset about seeing her closest friends imprisioned, she barley showed it, and kept strong. But when she knew that she couldn't save you, she was crying. Can you imagine? Our tough little Inquisitor crying… no, sobbing, as she kissed your broken fingers. I had to practically drag her away as we left you there.

"Your future self whispered something to her before we left. I don't know what she said to you… and I'm glad I don't know. Perhaps you can ask her one day."

I am completely still. Of all of my nightmares in the Fade at night, what her and Dorian went through is more real than anything I could even begin to dream of. I've watched her die in my sleep many times now, but to actually live through that and come out on the other side? Her resolve astounds me and yet I feel nothing but guilt.

"When… when she came back," I manage to say. "I argued with her about recruiting the mages."

Dorian nods. "Yes, not the best move, was it? She was furious at you for days."

"I… I had no idea."

We are silent as I mull over this latest revelation. Surely we face something so terrible and worse than imagined if this had happened. What more could we expect to face and defeat?

Dorian shifts in his seat. "It turns out you had assaulted the castle with the Inquisition's armies at least three times before they caught you. Can't say you didn't go without a fight."

I almost smile at that. Of course - even though the castle was impenetrable, there's no way I would not try, if there was the possibility she was alive inside. I scold myself at my future-self's recklessness. It would be a losing battle but I know that I would do it in a heartbeat if there was a chance to save her, or even see her again.

"Thank you, Dorian," I eventually say. He smiles faintly before turning to a book. I head back to my office deep in thought, wondering how I'm going to be able to look at her again, let alone speak to her.