#fenlin lavellan

[pixdoodles]

Better when she’s there [WIP]

[narrated]

MATTHIAS EMYR LAVELLAN. tempest archer rogue, the wolf child, inquisitor no more. ( content warning for implied transphobia and suicidal thoughts. )

born in 9:20 in a small clan, alhavenlan, located within the arbor wilds. his father was a clanless wanderer who did not stick around long enough to see matthias’s birth. his mother nellas was a healer / nurse.

extremely interested in learning practical hunting skills and essentially harassed the hunters to teach him, unintentionally causing the senior clan members to clash with his mother as he was originally on the path to be apprenticed under her. she sided with him to a degree, supporting his decision to learn archery as part of becoming a hunter.

started experiencing gender dysphoria around 13, the same age he became a hunter. while he did not outwardly start identifying as a man, this furthered the tensions between him and the rest of the hunters who were primarily cis men. from basically day one, matthias felt the need to prove himself even further to justify his presence with them, meanwhile internally struggling with the knowledge that admitting his dysphoria would make matters worse.

as his teenage years progress, he becomes more and more withdrawn in his down time as he came to the confident realization he was a man. this behavior drew more attention to himself by those who already had a bone to pick, which made his self esteem worse and the cycle continued.

at the age of 16, matthias was dragged out of bed one night by the hunters around his age and went with them to the lake nearby where the clan was settled. they had devised a small test of supposed ‘bravery’ — to walk along the frozen lake and back. he agreed to it in the hopes they’d leave him alone after this. halfway across the lake, the ice cracked and he fell in but was just able to swim and get out. matthias now knew that it wasn’t safe for him to be with the clan anymore after essentially having a near death experience. at first daylight, he placed a short letter on his pillow, kissed his mother on the head, and left with a small pack never to look back.

the following months were spent wandering and relying on his survival skills to get by. it was not until late spring that he stumbled upon a scout from clan lavellan and they brought him in after learning part of his story. he was immediately attended to by two girls: aelita, the keeper’s first, and cinder, a rogue. the three of them quickly became friends and he decided to join the clan, becoming matthias lavellan.

the following years were fairly uneventful aside from attempting to stay stealth. he was still reserved within clan lavellan, though nobody attempted to pry or harassed him about it. eventually, he would be asked by the keeper to travel to the conclave as a spy along with cinder. while present, he stumbled upon corypheus with the anchor and came into contact with it. this led to matthias gaining the mark and the breach opening.

upon learning of the events that transpired, matthias immediately denied any involvement to try and get out of what was quickly becoming far too big for him. he also denied the herald of andraste title, repeatedly stating it was just an accident and nothing more. he willingly participated in helping the fledgling inquisition, however this was more out of a perceived obligation and belief that they would soon get someone better suited to leading and he could fade into obscurity. at one point while in haven, matthias attempts to leave but is found a few days later by leliana and returns.

matthias nearly dies again during the fall of haven and is in and out of consciousness for a week afterwards, telling cullen and cassandra that they should have left him in the wreckage. the events change his perspective on both his presence within the group and that he truly is the best chance they have. after the move to skyhold, matthias formally takes on the title of inquisitor, embracing more of the responsibility though establishing the organization strictly for maintaining order while working to close the breach.

events of inquisition basically follow as normal (for now) with the added benefit of matthias finally able to start hrt. corypheus is defeated and the breach is sealed, but the inquisition remains at a largely scaled back level in order to deal with any remaining threats. this stays in place for two years until matthias is called to the exalted council to help decide what to do with the inquisition.

matthias learns throughout the events of trespasser that solas is fen’harel himself and confronts him about this. his anger and grief over the betrayal, losing his arm, and having dedicated most of his twenties to this fight leads him to return to the council and disband the inquisition. this is the last time he’s seen by any of his allies as he disappears.

matthias ends up settling on the edge of the arlathan forest, far away from anywhere he’s been before. he eventually adopts a wolf after nursing her back to health and names her bellanaris. rumors spin and spin about the former inquisitor, while some claim to have seen a silver eyed elven man in villages around the forest. due to the forest’s notorious haunted status, nobody really gives these claims credence. the veil jumpers know of his existence though he has pleaded they not tell anyone else, and in exchange he has occasionally helped them deal with threats from the weakening veil.

[wardenvakarian]

I’ve been struggling with CC in DAI, I wanted to make a male Lavellan good enough to romance Dorian. So far I’ve been unlucky, making only sweet babyfaced guys or potential serial killer... But I think this fine gentleman might be it, what do you think? This is Fenlin and I love him already.

[annemayfair]

Innocent Conscience Fears Nothing

@picchar HAPPY BIRTH-DAY FRIEND

Word count: 3,653

“Drink this up,” the healer commanded, putting a cup to Oran’s lips. “This will hurt, but we have to take the arrows out.”

Oran nodded silently, grabbing the armrests of the chair. The healer tipped the cup, and the healing potion started to flow down his throat. He felt invigorated, but only for a moment – the second healer, who sat on a low stool next to Oran, put one hand on his shoulder, and with the other started pushing the first arrow through his side.

The pain was immense, and Oran gritted his teeth to attempt to silence the scream. His torso shook as the tip of the arrow cut through his flesh, and he prayed that perhaps the arrows that were barely stuck underneath his skin in his back could be pulled out backwards, not forwards.

When the arrowhead pierced his skin just below his navel, Oran felt blood come up to his mouth. A towel wiped away the liquid that started coming out from his tightly pressed lips, and the potion once again was shoved down his throat. A healing spell also grazed his skin, fixing the torn guts and the messed stomach.

“One out, ser,” the healer said, pulling the potion away from Oran’s lips. “Eight more remaining.”

“Fucking amazing,” Oran grunted, moving forward to rest his elbows on his knees, feeling the remaining metal inside him pierce more of his muscles and tissues. He groaned and hit his knee with his fist, trying to tame the pain.

The tent where he was being tended to was hot with many braziers burning away incense that masked a maddening mixture of smells – of his sweat and blood and bowels, the scent of magic potions and anti-poisons he was being treated with. The battle ended a full day ago, but the healers only managed to treat minor wounds of sword slashes, moving onto the arrows in his sides and back. The gash that split his stomach open was still there, with less blood coming out, but still bleeding. The healers kept him alive although Oran wasn’t sure he wished to live much longer in this much pain.

Of various kinds.

The guards that stood outside Oran’s tent saluted loudly, and Rahlen entered with a concerned look on his face. The healers quickly shoved another cup of health potion into Oran’s mouth, and this one tasted sickeningly of ice. As his insides froze, the healers bowed to the Prince, and scurried away. Rahlen watched them leave with his head tilted, then turned to his cousin.

“You don’t look well, Oran,” he said calmly, putting his hands behind his back. “I hope your treatment shall end soon with success.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Oran replied, wiping his mouth with a towel.

Rahlen’s shoulders shivered. The only times the Guerrins called him by titles was when they were sulking. Or hurt. Oran seemed to be going through both of those sensations, but that was to be expected. The man nearly died on the battlefield.

“The battle had been a huge victory for Ferelden,” Rahlen continued, making one step closer to Oran. “Your valiant fighting is what secured the defeat of Jelynn’s soldiers. It would have been impossible if you hadn’t dealt with the blood mages she summoned, and it pains me deeply that the intelligence provided missed such an important addition to her forces.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Oran nodded without lifting his eyes at the Prince. “I may only hope that such mistakes aren’t made in the future.”

This wasn’t good. Both men knew it. The hot air inside the tent was as thick as butter, and Rahlen’s head swirled with words he wanted to speak, with emotions he wanted to express. But how could he do it? Oran looked at him as if he looked at a stranger, almost no recognition of Rahlen’s persona in his eyes. His face was stone cold, professional, polite. Oran wasn’t sulking. He truly was hurting.

“Oran,” Rahlen started after clearing his throat. “I believe I owe you an explanation of the events that have transpired several days ago. I must-”

“Your Majesty,” Oran interrupted him, raising his hand in the air. “I believe that nothing of your personal agenda is a topic that shall be discussed with me. There is no explanation to be had, as I doubt whatever it is you are speaking of concerns me directly.”

Lost, Rahlen opened and closed his mouth, staring down at sitting Oran. The man seemed to be as serious as ever. He watched Oran take a drink from his cup and his face contorted in disgust.

“Oran,” the prince repeated. “If I only could have imagined…”

“But you didn’t,” Oran interrupted him again. “Of course you fucking didn’t.”

His voice was bitter and dry. Rahlen took one more step towards his cousin.

“With all fairness,” he wondered if he tried to convince his cousin or himself, “when I had arrived at the pub, I offered to leave. It was you who insisted I stayed, and you did not insist you go with us to the ruins.”

“I would have insisted if I fucking knew you’d whip out your dick the moment you two are alone!” Oran yelled, jumping onto his feet from his chair.

The arrows that still were stuck inside him swayed around, propelled by Oran’s movement. The open gap inside his stomach splattered blood and lining onto the floor, but the Guerrin did not feel that. He did not see Rahlen’s shocked expression as he saw his cousin’s insides escape his body, one bit at a time. Anger and wrath that boiled inside Oran made the pain go away like no potion ever did.

Rahlen took that silently before attempting to defend himself again:

“Oran, calm down,” he tried to touch his cousin’s shoulder, but his hand was smacked away hard. Rahlen furrowed his brows. “You are being sensitive.”

“Am I?” Oran asked with his teeth bared so much Rahlen could see his gums. “Then how do you explain yourself at all? Just because I was being polite and did not shove a cousin whom I hadn’t seen in years, you think what you did was what, normal? It was okay? What fucking shit sits in your rotten head that you think you’re in the right here?”

Bits of blood and spit landed on Rahlen’s outfit, pale blue now staining with red. But now Rahlen was getting angry, too.

“If you really wanted her, you should have done something, cousin dear!” He raised his voice as well. “Nothing good comes to those who wait for gifts to simply fall into their lap from the sky! If you truly wanted Fenlin, and I mean it, you should have shoved me out from that pub, and never let me near her again!”

“I did what I thought I shall do!” Oran nearly yelled, but only growling escaped his chest. “I set up a date, I prepared a gift, I fucking had a music band, with harps and shit, hide in the basement for the right moment! And even if Fenlin did not catch what the fuck was up with me, how could you do this to me, cousin?”

Oran’s face shifted expression from anger and wrath to sadness and disappointment. His shoulders and chest moved in tact with his hastened breathing, his neck’s veins bulging from stress and pain. Guerrin’s face was as red as Theirin’s was pale. Rahlen bit his lip, trying to come up with an appropriate argument.

“Out of all people in the world,” Oran continued, his chest falling deeper and deeper. “Out of all people in this world, I did not expect this kind of… dishonesty, this kind of disrespect and betrayal from my own family, Rahlen. I never expected any of this shit from you.”

There was a wet sound of ripping, and with a meek gasp Oran sank back onto his chair. His pants and bandages around his previously closed wounds reddened as blood soaked them through. Rahlen wanted to help Oran, but once again he was refused:

“Don’t touch me.”

“You should have just said no.”

Rahlen stood his ground, his head clear as it has ever been. Oran’s helpless flailing, accompanied by profanity, came from frustration at his own mistakes, no doubt. And if they were to remain a family, if the Theirins and the Guerrins were to continue together as the force that kept Ferelden whole, the sooner Oran accepted his fault, the better.

“It was as simple as that,” shrugged Rahlen, filling up Oran’s empty cup he had dropped with more of the health potion. He held it out at full arm’s length and waited for his cousin to take it. “You need to learn how to say “no”, cousin dear, and your life will become a lot easier.”

Oran stared back at Rahlen with such a deep hatred in his eyes that Rahlen felt goosebumps on the back of his neck. This was the look he had seen in aunt Nathyara when she was forced to negotiate with Queen-Dowager Anora. This was the look of his mother when she spoke of Arl Rendon Howe. This was the look of his father when he spoke of Loghain Mac Tir.

And now his own cousin’s eyes returned the same emotion on him.

“How can I tell you “no”, cousin dear,” Oran took the cup, but his voice was pure poison, “when none of us are supposed to?”

That took Rahlen by surprise. His face smoothed out in disbelief as he returned the gaze to Oran:

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing at all, Your Majesty,” Guerrin’s face fell dead and emotionless as the healers came back to the tent, carrying more potions and clean bandages. Rahlen turned around as they started laying out their tools and preparing for another round of trying to keep Oran alive. One of the healers, a man with braided auburn hair, gasped in horror when he saw Oran’s reopened wounds and the lining on the floor that had fallen from his stomach.

Rahlen nodded with the slightest bow of his torso, for the healers to pick up that their conversation was finished. He exited the tent, feeling Oran’s eyes glued to the back of his head. The camp outside buzzed with life as soldiers counted the prisoners and fixed their weapon and armor. March towards Dartmoor Hold was yet to commence, but the forces were halted by Oran’s injuries. Rahlen wondered if taking command would undermine whatever respect his cousin has for him.

Fenlin approached Rahlen from the side, Potato snoozing in her hands. She looked worried, and sad, and a thousand more things. As they stepped to the side, watching the men carry their duties, she asked Rahlen:

“Is he okay?”

Fenlin, good, kind Fenlin. Rahlen wrapped his hand around her waist and drew her in for a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the aroma of her hair.

“He will be,” he assured her. “Oran just needs time.”

 Three weeks later, Rahlen and Oran met again, but this time in even worse environment. They entered the Landsmeet room, with dozens of questioning and judging eyes upon them. The King and Queen sat on their thrones on a podium at the end of the hall, and Gilbert with Duncan and Eleanor leading the table. All three stared at Rahlen and Oran in unified inquiry.

“By the grace of our Maker, and His bride, the ever-graceful prophet Andraste, I greet thee,” Oran bowed in a formal introduction.

“By the blessing of our Maker, the Light in the shadow, I greet thee,” Rahlen continued.

They both noted changes in each other’s appearance. If Rahlen seemed relaxed still, maybe even happy, the air around Oran started to remind painfully of Gilbert. Perhaps it was his hunched posture as he still waited for the last wounds to heal, or perhaps his moody face was to blame. But the Landsmeet wouldn’t wait.

“Bann Oran Guerrin,” a bann with swirly braids around her head asked from the gallery, “how shall you explain what had happened at Dartmoor?”

Oran bowed to the gallery before answering:

“A victory had been claimed in the honor of the crown,” he gestured towards Alistair and Rythlen, who listened carefully. “Bann Jelynn, half of whose bannorn had been tainted after the Blight, sought to annex the neighboring Voytern bannorn, which, as all of you known, has been lord-less since the passing of childless bann Wilhelm.”

Rahlen waited for Oran to finish his speech and couldn’t ignore how his own siblings inspected him. They were displeased with him. Gilbert, on the other hand, kept his face neutral and almost friendly, like he always did. And it disturbed Rahlen more than any stares his siblings could give him.

“The Bann had hired four thousand mercenaries and two thousand legionnaires from Tevinter Legion,” Oran continued. “After the battle had ensued, our forces managed to take over Dartmoor supporters despite the two-thousand men advantage.”

“Bann Oran, is it true that you set a dragon upon Bann Jelynn’s men?” A man with grey beard asked.

Rahlen wanted to take the blame for Fenlin’s decision, which he hadn’t protested, but Oran replied quicker:

“No contest, my lord.”

Rahlen stared at Oran in disbelief as a wave of whispers came from the gallery and the table in front of them. Oran’s face was set in stone, not a single muscle moving, and it made the usually happy and open Oran seem like a dead man.

“Bann Oran,” Duncan lifted his hand. “Bann Oran, what is your justification for an action so vile?”

“Your Majesty,” Oran bowed before answering, “nothing so upholds the laws as the punishment of persons whose rank is as great as their crime. After Bann Jelynn sent assassins after two of my captains, I felt it were a measure equal in retaliation.”

“Equal in retaliation?” Gilbert furrowed his brows. “Oran, it was a dragon.”

“The dragon served merely as a distraction tactic, and a fear factor for our enemies,” Oran defended the issue. “The dragon could not be ever persuaded to take action in actual battle, so it never did. After frying up a bunch of pigeons, it took off and away, but our enemies have been stricken with fear of her return. Their panic allowed us to make them forget of their numerical advantage.”

Rahlen swallowed hard as Oran smoothly weaved the lies about why their arrival on the back of the dragon was a positive thing. He was sure that Oran wouldn’t mention stable page boys who got trampled to death, and a few others who got injured in panic that set in the Royal camp as a freaking dragon flew over it.

“If I may…” Rahlen started, but immediately his voice drowned in another.

“Yes, but setting a dragon against our own people, despite them being temporary enemies, is a lot,” King Alistair spoke up and all heads turned to him.

“With all respect, Your Majesty, to mislead a rival is permissible in times of unrest,” Oran bowed even deeper, his expression never changing. “One must use all means necessary to win.”

“That’s a tactic that leads men to dark paths,” Queen Rythlen took initiative. “It always had in the past, and it will do so in the future. If you had been able to, would you abstain from summoning a dragon?”

Oran waited for a brief moment.

“No contest, Your Majesty.”

The Landsmeet hall blew up in angered yells and a low rumble became a loud noise. In shock, Rahlen looked at the Oran, hoping his cousin would look back at him, but he remained unmoving. With his jaws clenched tightly, Oran was preparing to face whatever the nobles would throw at him.

“Bann Oran, your behavior was unacceptable…”

“No contest.”

“Bann Oran, I reject your assessments of tactics and the enemy forces…”

“No contest.”

“Bann Oran, don’t you think that your actions have harmed…”

“No contest.”

Oran took blow by blow, and every attempt of Rahlen to raise his voice ended up with nothing. He angrily motioned for Duncan or Eleanor take stand so he could speak, but they seemed to ignore him as well. As the displeased nobles quieted down, both the king and the queen demanded for Gilbert to explain his brother’s actions:

“Arl Gilbert,” King Alistair started. “I know that you must feel strongly about the events of the Dartmoor incident, but it seems that your brother is adamant on not releasing any additional information that would allow us to judge the measure of his punishment.”

“Arl Gilbert,” Queen Rythlen continued, spreading the folds of her dress. “It also must be noted that you employ the policy of secrecy being the first essential in affairs of state, but at this time there could be no secrets as to my son’s involvement with the death of Bann Jelynn’s family.”

“And the Dalish Ambassador,” King Alistair added. “I believe it was her dragon.”

Oran pleaded Gilbert with his eyes to not stand up, to do nothing, but he could not tell his brother what to do. Gilbert stood up, leaning heavily on his cane, and turned and bowed to the entire Landsmeet.

“My lords and my ladies,” he started, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Your Majesty, the King. Your Majesty, the Queen. I am but a simple not-treasurer of this kingdom, as I always have been, but events at the Dartmoor have revealed many troubles within our own spy network, and within the Royal family.”

Oran tightly shut his eyes, whispering “Motherfucker” under his breath. Only Rahlen heard it, and only Rahlen heard the addition: “Sorry, mother”.

“The underdeveloped and ignored spy network of Ferelden had failed to anticipate or intercept the foul libels and pasquinades that damaged the good reputation of the Dalish Ambassador, one Fenlin Lavellan.”

The crowd listened intently, and Rahlen’s heart sank. Gilbert brought Fenlin into this.

“The Ambassador was,” Gilbert clearly and obviously looked at Rahlen, “persuaded that the use of her dragon against the enemy’s forces would bring her into good graces of Denerim and Ferelden’s people. Which is what caused the regrettable end of Bann Jelynn, her husband Tabard, and their three children.”

Oran swallowed hard.

“No more, brother,” he said loudly.

“And it was none other than Prince Rahlen Theirin who displayed the lack of self-control and discipline as he time and again failed to advise the Ambassador otherwise,” Gilbert pressed on, his eyes fixed on Rahlen’s face. “He displayed disobedience as he entered the command on his own, secured a position for himself in the ambush battalion, and when the battle turned foul, nearly had my brother killed as the prince himself rushed to save the Ambassador, who should never had been on the battlefield in the first place.”

“Gilbert!” Rahlen lost his temper. “You’re the one who told us take the dragon! You insisted we do it to catch Oran before the battle started!”

“I did not push you to do anything,” Gilbert banged his cane against the floor to silence the roar of the crowd. “I merely stated that you would catch my brother before the battle if you took the dragon. And I also stated, multiple times, that there was no hurry in telling him…”

“Gilbert!” Yelled Oran.

It was a menacing, guttural yell that threatened that the very next moment, Oran would come at Gilbert with fists swinging and pummeling. Everyone begrudgingly stared at Oran, including the royal couple.

“…whatever it is what you wanted to tell him,” Gilbert finished. “That is my perspective, Your Majesty.”

He turned to face the King and the Queen, whose faced displayed disappointment and worry. They exchanged looks as Gilbert continued:

“My brother, who nearly died on the battlefield, is taking all of the responsibility on himself so that Prince Rahlen’s reputation within the army or the bannorn is not stained. That is why he is prompting to provoke the harshest punishment for himself, and will thoroughly insist the Prince did nothing wrong.”

The King and the Queen seemed devastated. Rahlen’s heart couldn’t handle it much longer, so he spoke up again.

“It is true,” he said. “All of it. It is my fault, and I am ready to accept consequences of my actions and decisions.”

Silence fell onto the Landsmeet hall.

“Arl Gilbert,” Rythlen spoke to him directly, her face pained by what she had just heard. “What punishment would you issue for Rahlen and Oran?”

Gilbert swayed in his spot, shifting the weight from the cane onto his back.

“No contest, Your Majesty.”

In thirty minutes time, Oran had been dishonorably discharged from the army positions and prohibited from participating in any military endeavors. Rahlen, despite how much he protested, despite his claims he could prove nothing of what happened shall be blamed on Oran, was ignored. His parents didn’t give him another look until the Landsmeet was over.

As the nobles poured out from the hall, Rahlen found Oran and Fenlin conversing quietly to the side. She seemed agitated, nervous, and her face was painted with utmost despair. Oran still had his dead face on. Rahlen bumped into few of the nobles on his way, and saw Oran bow low to Fenlin, dismissing her attempt to hug him, and walk away. She turned to him, eyes on the verge of tears, and Rahlen hurried towards her, not bothering to apologize to those he elbowed on the way.

“What did he say?” He inquired, catching Fenlin into his hands. “Maker, Fenlin, what did he say to you?”

“That he’s not angry,” she said back to him. “That he’ll visit when he can. Rahlen, have we broken him?”

She lifted her head to stare at him, her voice almost crying.

“Have I broken him?”

“No,” Rahlen hugged her tightly. “No, you didn’t. Nobody did.”

But that wasn’t true. And that didn’t matter.

[calamity-writes]

Kindle my Heart - 01

New season of Thaw my Heart

[ x ] [ part 2 ] [ part 3 ] [ part 4 ] [ part 5 ] [ part 6 ] [ part 7 ]

Rahlen belongs to @picchar <3

The sound of skates on ice was a music of its own, the kssh ksssh sshk rythm of steel on ice building a beat for the body to follow. The trick, Fenlin thought, was to get the beat of the skates to match the song she was skating to. It wasn't easy, especially with timing the tricks to not just the song but also when she was ready.

Since the gala last december, Fenlin had sat down with her new coach and choreographer to sort out where she wanted to go with her skating. The changes had been extensive: a different training focus, song choices, even down to the costumes and competitions she'd be competiting in. It hadn't been easy, but months in, Fenlin felt better. More comfortable in her skin. More comfortable on the ice.

"Better!" called out Pavus from the boards as she landed the final jump sequence, set in the second half of her routine. Ending the routine, she held the final pose for a few seconds before resting her hands on her hips, folding over to catch her breath.

"Did you get it?" she asked, skating over to where her coach waited, tapping at her phone.

"I did, though your boyfriend has texted about three times while I was recording," Dorian said with a sniff. "So I'm not sure if that means the footage will be shaky because of the vibrations."

Fenlin rolled her eyes, and reached out to snatch her phone from her coach. "He's not my boyfriend," she reminded him. "Rahlen's just a friend."

Dorian dodged, swiping a finger across the phone then held the screen up facing her. The image (one of the texts, no doubt) was of Rahlen in front of a mirror in a towel. Fenlin felt her cheeks heat up, and her ears were positively on fire.

"Dorian!" she said, making another grab for the phone over the boards.

"This. This is not 'just a friend'," Dorian said, jabbing his finger at the screen that he kept out of her reach. "This is godly. And texting you three times in three minutes. If you aren't sleeping with that... I have no hope left for you."

Fenlin was sure she was dying a bit inside with each passing second. "oh my god," she groaned, crouching behind the boards, mittened hands covering her face. "oh my god. Please tell me you didn't reply to him."

Dorian said nothing. She peeked up to see him leaning on the boards over her, wiggling her phone between his fingers.

"Dorian...?"

"You've invited him to come and visit for your first competition next week. With a smiley face," Dorian said. He lifted an eyebrow at her mortified expression. "What? you asked me not to tell you if I had. Make up your mind, Fenlin." He handed the phone to her with a small huff.

"You'd better invite me to the wedding," he said, turning on his heel and headding towards the rink's doors. "I'll get us a coffee and once you're done being a tomato we can go over how the routine looked."

Fen took the phone, and thunked her forehead against the boards. Pulling off her mitten, she pulled up the chat history.

> Fenlin [8:03 am]: practice time. Gotta run or pavus'll get hissy.

> Rahlen [8:11 am]: Pissing off coaches is never good. Sure you'll do great tho. [9:15 am]: Shae said the video you sent her looked good. Why didn't you send me a video? =( is it because you don't love me? [9:16 am] It is, isn't it. I can tell. My heart is broken. I'm dirty-crying. [9:17 am] had to go wash off the sadness, see? <showerselfie09.jpg>

> Fenlin [9:17 am] Sorry! was on the ice. I wanted the routine to be a surprise ;) . You should come watch it in person next weekend. =)

Fen bit her lip, tapping at her phone a quick reply, explaining that she hadnt' sent the last text. Before she could hit 'send' the reply popped up with a chime and buzz.

> Rahlen [9:20 am] Thought you'd never ask! Looking forward to seeing you kick ass. Booking flight now.

Fenlin hesitated, glaring over at the doors that Dorian had exited through, then deleted the words she'd already written.

> Fenlin [9:20 am] If you're up for it, it'd be nice to hang out again. Plus, moral support would be A+

Standing, she skated to the door in the boards, letting outa long breath as she did. Dorian was going to be insufferably smug, but the thought of having a friend there for support in her first competition with a new coach, new everything was too tempting to pass up.

It was absolutely nothing to do with that selfie. Nothing.

[m-m-m-myysurana]

OC Info Meme

tagged by @dierosenrot​ love you and your bullying :3

I’m doing my Inquisitor since she’s on the brain at the moment.

B A S I C S :

Full Name: Eiralath Lavellan (Eira preferred)

Gender: Cis female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Pronouns: she/her

O T H E R :

Family: Antaras Lavellan (older brother), Enyata Lavellan (mother), Fenlin Lavellan (younger half brother)  Fenlaros (Step dad)

Birthplace: Free Marches

Job(s): Inquisitor/Herald

Phobias: Letting people down, disappointing them

Guilty Pleasures: Leaving everyone behind for an hour or two

Hobbies: drawing, weaving, crafting, stuff she can do with her hands

M O R A L S:

Moral alignment: She’s not exactly Lawful Good, (Or she wouldn't be if she had a choice) but she’s closer to that than neutral I think.

Sins: lust / greed / envy / gluttony / pride / wrath / sloth

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

T H I S - O R - T H A T :

introvert / extrovert

organized / disorganized

close-minded / open-minded

calm / anxious / restless

disagreeable / agreeable / in-between

patient / impatient

outspoken / reserved (she waits for the moment her words will have the most weight)

leader / follower / flexible (leadership was something she was trained for, but never really felt comfortable in)

empathetic / unempathetic

optimistic / pessimistic / realistic

traditional / modern / in-between

hard-working / lazy

R E L A T I O N S H I P S :

OTP: She romanced Solas, but she doesn't really have an OTP. That chapter in her life is over. She grieved for the loss, but does not still love him. She will love again.

Acceptable ships: Cassandra honestly should be an option, but I do like the softness of Josie’s romance

OT3: None

BROTP: Varric, Dorian, Iron Bull, Josie. She bffs with a lot of people

NOTP: asuhdaisuhd also Solas?

(Also sorry Rosie I know you tagged me in 2 things today but I have not the patience to answer 30 questions about myself… If they’re about an OC? I’ll go ham ajhgakgkahgh)

[pixdoodles]

arlathan au sketch dump!

[narrated]

LEGAL NAME:   matthias emyr lavellan.     NICKNAME(S)/ALIASES:   fenlin (wolf child), inquisitor, mattie by his best friend aelita.     DATE OF BIRTH:   5th nubulis (march), 9:20 dragon.     GENDER:   transgender male.     PLACE OF BIRTH:   the arbor wilds.     CURRENTLY LIVING:   arlathan forest, following the events of trespasser.     SPOKEN LANGUAGES:   fluent in elvhen and common, more comfortable in the former. knows snippets of tevene.     EDUCATION:   nothing formal. any knowledge has been gained passed down by clan elders or practical experience.     HAIR COLOR:   blond.     EYE COLOR:   bright silver.     HEIGHT: 5'5" (165cm).

FAMILY INFORMATION

BIRTH SIBLINGS:   none.   PARENTS:   nellas alhavenlan, a healer, and an unknown father. his mum never really shared anything about his dad, other than that he was a clanless wanderer who spent a few months nearby clan alhavenlan before moving on. matthias has never felt the urge to seek him out. CHILDREN:   none. he doesn't particularly feel the urge to raise a family, not wanting to raise a child in this life he's made for himself or feeling very capable of being a parent. PETS:   bellanaris, his wolf companion that he rescued and nursed back to health as a pup. she has been by his side for the majority of the last eight years and is basically his daughter.

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:   biromantic asexual.     STATUS:   perpetually yearning. for what? who knows :) canon* romance is dorian.

tagged by: @rookedy mwah mwah! tagging: be a criminal and steal it <3

[wardenvakarian]

Owww.. Look at my boy!

[seboostianillustrations-ina-blog]

5 OC facts

I got tagged by @smolpocketmonstercoffee (Thanks for the tag, dear~ ❤ ;; )

Since I’ve said a few things about my OCs already, I’ll do 1 fact for 4 characters and two facts for one of them, because I can~ Hehehe~

Balder Adaar -

Balder is pretty good at holding his alcohol, so he rarely gets drunk. But if you do manage to get him drunk, his personality will change from his usual polite and gentle nature to a more quiet emotionless state or a more unpredicable state. Balder is never himself when he’s drunk, which is why he keeps a very close eye on how much he drinks, when he lets himself drink.

Hallalin Lavellan -

Hallalin owns a Nug called Mr. Squiggles, which he named himself, despite the Nug being female. He loves Mr. Squiggles dearly and never hesitates to show her of to people, nobles and people alike. He’s even known to dress her up in small costumes and match their outfits for fun.

Hallalin’s children after Trespasser are called Lotus (female) and Sparrow (male). Bull and Hallalin both agree on the names together.

Fenlin Lavellan -

Fenlin has a hard time speaking, partly because of the scar on his lip, which makes that side of the lip hard to move at times. 

Siinser Helsen -

Siinser is a very good gambler and he’s pretty good at playing Wicked Grace, because of his ability to read people so well. People are like open books to him.

I tag: @keeperscompanionsdai @underthedreadwolfsgaze @dickeybbqpit @vilemie @quizzikemen @historioitsija @bismatt @fereldanrenegade @hoehoehoelt @doodlemeimpressed @lukeskywalkersbutt @solverne @not-so-harmonious @space-vashoth @marquis1305  @wardenofmyheart @aaesaesthetic @luinquesse @elvenbeard @kurosmind & anyone who hasn’t been tagged, but wants to do this. Consider yourself tagged by me~

[annemayfair]

Parting Ways. [P.1]

@picchar @thatcalamity I did a smol thing

[Words: 1,970]

The fanfare fell quiet long ago, and the band players left the castle with all the extra servants that wore out their clothes within the past two months. An extraordinary celebration that cost more than the royal treasury could pay for already got spotlights in letters sent to Orlais and all the way to Seheron; countless people wrote to the royal chancellor, invoking ancient favors, hoping for an invitation. But they would need to defeat an Archdemon, ward off a Qunari invasion, or stop an ancient mad god in order to fit among the guests.

Or they needed to be family.

Oran celebrated like the rest. He drank sweet wines and honeymeads, washing it down with crystal-clear drinks that hailed from Rivain. He ate the Starkhaven fish pies and participated in a hunt that produced a large boar for a traditional Avvar wedding roast. He even fought a couple of nobles for everyone’s bemusement, every time securing a favor from different beautiful attendees. His legs got sore and his feet hurt from dancing that happened within last two weeks, and even Oran, the man who can talk a bird off a tree, grew tired of social mingling. So he was among the first people departing from the Royal Palace the very next morning when the fun ended.

His horse had been prepared, but he hoped to meet Rahlen and Fenlin before he rode back to Rainesfere. He stood at the back balcony, enjoying the early summer sun. Warm and yellow, it colored everything around him with a light tint. Green seemed greener, grey seemed happier, and the entire world was drowning in happiness. Yet, somehow, as he watched multiple servants prepare carriages for others who’d be leaving after the royal luncheon, he wasn’t really happy. His chest hurt, and he knew the suspiciously peppered broiled rabbit, served with Waller salad, was to blame.

“Bann Mac Eanraig,” a joyful voice sounded behind Oran. “I’m glad we could catch you before you left!”

Oran turned to see Rahlen and Fenlin walk down the marble staircase hand in hand. Rahlen’s blue and gold outfit shone in the morning sun, reflecting speckles of light onto castle walls. Fenlin looked most dashing in her corresponding greens and silver, and her hair seemed more luminous than the sun itself. Oran smiled, bowed to them, and greeted them back:

“Not Mac Eanraig yet, but I am glad to see you regardless,” he straightened back up. “I hope you survived your wedding well enough.”

“We lived, and this is what matters the most,” Rahlen laughed, coming forward to shake Oran’s hand. “But the company does seem to be tired.”

“I still can’t believe a dwarf named Oghren could drink so much,” Fenlin tiptoed to give Oran a kiss on the cheek. “Each barrel was twice his size.”

“Sounds just like our mothers’ stories, doesn’t it?” Oran smiled at them, hands placed on the hilt of his sword. “Oghren consuming copious amounts of alcohol. A fight. And a mabari sneaking torn pantaloons into pockets of their owners.”

“That sure was embarrassing,” admitted Rahlen, “but I’m still unsure where Lady acquired them. None of the guests complained.”

“Perhaps they were too ashamed,” guessed Fenlin. “Lady must’ve seen something unfathomable if she got them without a fight.”

Their conversation got interrupted by a loud crack. All three turned sharply and saw a trunk with spilled contents in the courtyard, and a few men panicked around it. Rahlen leaned over the balcony and told the men to fix the trunk, and Oran snuck a closer look at Fenlin. She appeared to be… happy. And joyful.

As she should.

“When are you leaving?” Rahlen asked, returning. “And are you sure you must depart today, and not in another month?”

“The castellans grow uneasy as your clemency approaches,” Oran explained. “They still stand by their words that I am unfit to hold a mining monopoly, that I am too weak to hold the power on my own. What’s the better way of showing them wrong than showing them who I really am?”

“There’s some logic in your ways,” Rahlen crossed his hands over his chest. “But I would prefer if you stayed for longer.”

“That would be my utmost pleasure,” Oran assured him. “But duty calls.”

He lifted his arms in the air, asking them for attention.

“There’s one more matter to attend to before I leave,” he announced. “I want to give you your presents in person while I can.”

“Oran, you’re just too nice,” smiled Fenlin. “Is it the super secret tome of Tale of the Champion you’ve been promising me?”

“Wait, there’s a second tome?” Rahlen’s jaw nearly dropped on the floor. “What’s there to put into a whole second tome?”

“I did obtain a manuscript,” Oran winked at Fenlin. “I’m waiting for it to be verified; and as soon it is proven authentic, I am ordering a copy for you.”

From his pocket, he produced a small box made of black wood. The entire surface of this box was covered in intricate carvings that showed the family tree of Couslands. Oran watched in sweet anticipation as Rahlen cautiously opened the box, and smiled as wide as he could when Rahlen looked at him in confusion.

“This is,” Rahlen licked his lips. “This is a lovely…”

“What is it?” Fenlin stood by her husband’s side and peeked at the contents of the box. “Is that a dried wormdust you mentioned, Oran?”

“No,” the bann shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “A gift from me to your family, Rahlen, and may you never need it.”

“I’m sure this is lovely, but what is it?” Fenlin persisted, furrowing her brows slightly.

A few bowing servants snuck past them, carrying trays of cutlery. They headed towards a section of the garden where the wedding guests have been having their breakfast for the last few weeks. Then a yawning mabari Oran couldn’t recognize strolled by with a huge piece of ham in its mouth. Windows started opening at the castle, above and around them, as the people started waking up.

“I won’t say too much,” Oran said. “But let’s put it this way: at Haven, my mother took a bit extra.”

He watched Rahlen’s expression change and color drain from his face. The crown prince’s fingers shook as he closed the box, tucking it away safely inside his chest pocket.

“I still don’t understand,” Fenlin admitted.

“I’ll tell you everything as we prepare for the breakfast,” Rahlen placed his hand on her waist in a semi-hug. “I promise.”

Fenlin appeared to be surprised of the change in Rahlen that happened in less than a minute. But she accepted it, knowing well that Rahlen would keep his promise and provide all information. For now, she just watched a bit of tears form in corners of both men’s eyes as they shook hands.

“This is more generosity than I’ll be able to repay,” Rahlen said with a coarse voice.

“We’re family,” Oran told him. “No repayment needed.”

A large red-faced man appeared in one of the windows just above Oran’s head. His bushy black eyebrows were covered in white powder, and his cheeks rapidly changed color from pale to tomato red. His purple hat, skewed to the side, threatened to fall off, but the man did not notice that fact. His eyes, wide with fear, changed their direction from Rahlen to servants in the courtyard to a large tree where Honeybun slept.

“Your Majesty,” the man screamed in the fakest calm voice, “your presence is needed urgently at the quarters of Tevene embassy!”

“Shall I be worried, Frederick?” Rahlen inquired with a stunned smile still on his lips.

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” the red-faced man insisted.

Oran and Rahlen exchanged looks, and Oran assured his cousin that he understood everything, and that it were fine. They hugged hard, patting each other’s backs, and Rahlen kissed Fenlin before departing back into the castle. The two remained alone.

“I’ll walk you to the stables,” Fenlin said, placing her palm over Oran’s hand.

“That would be very kind,” he smiled to an old friend.

He put his hand into a proper gallant position, and with a short laughter, Fenlin accepted his offer. It seemed that a whole another life passed since their first meeting at Rowan’s, although Oran’s mind knew that it had been only couple of years. Servants and others greeted Fenlin as they passed them, and Oran noticed that despite having been here for months, it still did not sit well with the former Ambassador.

They reached the stables, occupied with a quiet conversation about their Tevene adventure and about Mythalen. Oran informed her that indeed local farmers started adopting nugalopes as drafting animals, and she told him that she has purchased a long-coveted talking golem miniature from Wonders of Thedas. They both stopped to pick up Honeybun, now much larger than Fenlin last saw her.

“When is she due?” Fenlin asked, petting Honeybun’s engorged belly.

“About two weeks,” Oran said, scratching behind his dog’s ears. Honeybun growled with pleasure, yawning. “She’s going to be such a good dog momma.”

“She will,” Fenlin kissed the dog’s head. “Oh, she will be, because she’s always been such a good miss!”

She then stood up and saw that Oran’s horse had been prepared. The old mare was lead up to them, with her reigns already in Oran’s hands. The man fidgeted with the saddle before facing her again.

“When shall we meet again?” She asked with a kind smile. “I hope your business in Rainesfere isn’t too occupying so you could visit. I’d love to introduce you to Rasha; I’m still upset you’re going to miss her by just four days.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a while,” he told her. “I don’t know how much time it’ll take to convince the landsknechts that I am a worthy leader, and I don’t know for how long I’ll get stuck in there. But we won’t see each other in a long while.”

“Well, if you can’t visit, we shall visit you, then,” she chuckled and gave Honeybun a baked mabari treats. Oran never knew where she hid them, but she always was prepared to spoil her.

He took a deep breath.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

Fenlin’s face was immediately overcome with doubt and surprise. She looked him straight in the eyes, searching for an explanation.

“Why?” She inquired firmly. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Oran weakly resisted. “I simply think we both have our own business.”

She kept the silence for a while, lip bitten as a wrinkle formed between her brows.

“Fenlin, there is nothing wrong in me not seeing you, or vice versa,” Oran followed up. “But it’ll be easier and kinder. At least to me.”

He leaned over her and gently kissed her on the forehead, placing another small wooden box in her hands. This one was made from Brecilian ironbark with flowing Dalish motif carved deep into its surface.

“I am happy to have you in the family, Fenlin,” he told her, drawing back. “I am happy for you.”

“This is,” Fenlin said slowly, “this is extremely stupid.”

“Just as it’s supposed to be,” said Oran.

He got onto his horse, and pregnant Honeybun sprung to her feet. Oran half-bowed to Fenlin:

“Goodbye, Lady Ambassador, and may the Maker watch over your steps.”

She seemed confused and angry, and Oran’s heart jumped as he turned his back to her, heading his horse towards the gate. He listened closely to discern her footsteps when she finally moved back to the castle, her light walk barely making a sound against paved courtyard floor. A lump formed in Oran’s throat.

It was for the best.

[alohiel]

all for all +v+

Fen’lin Lavellan - Companion QA!

1. If not for the Conclave, what would drive your character to join the Inquisition?Probably very similar circumstances; his keeper would send him to find out what was going on, since the divine died and there’s a hole in the sky.2. How would they meet the Inquisitor?Either in Redcliffe trying to figure out what’s up with the ‘vints, or at the ‘bandit’ fortress. He would tag along to help fix the immediate issue, and stick around because the inquisition is the only organization that seems to actually be helping people. 3. What would some of their cutscenes look like?A lot of dry wit and sass. Bad puns. At least one of him refusing to stop climbing trees and the roofs in the courtyard.4. What would their romance route look like? Would they be romancable?He would be romancable, if you spent enough time with him and he was sure the Inquisitor was someone he considers a good person (looks out for the abused and mistreated, isn’t hasty with violent solutions when they aren’t needed). His special gift once romanced would probably be something with little cultural significance, but something small the Inquisitor would make, probably wearable so he wouldn’t lose it (hair accessory, a ring, staff accessory, etc).5. If they romanced someone as Inquisitor, would they still fall for that person as a companion? How would that play out? How would they react to that person being romanced by the “new” Inquisitor?He romanced Dorian and Bull in different playthroughs, I like to pretend they have a nice OT3 going by the time the battle in the Abor Wilds happens. I think he’d still have eyes for both of them, since Bull he started to see in a new light when he spoke with Krem in Haven about how Bull lost his eye (defending a complete stranger), and Dorian happened slowly as they bonded over books in the Skyhold library (something Fen’lin never had access to before). If the Inquisitor choses to pursue Dorian, Fen’lin would probably just make sure they know that if they hurt Dorian they’ll have some lightning up their ass to deal with. He’d be a little more put out about Bull, but depending on who the inquisitor was he probably wouldn’t mind joining that party in the bedroom either. 6. Write some of their party banter (in reaction to major events, scenery dialogue, or just shitting around. Askers can specify for which character/event, or leave it up to the writer).— Separate post, maybe, can’t think of any right now.7. What would be on their tombstone in the fade (what is their greatest fear)?Failing in his role of protector. Being unable to protect his friends, or those who need him.8. What kind of Inquisitor would drive them to leave the Inquisition/confront them about their actions (what gets their approval low? what does that scene look like)?A violent Inquisitor, one who is blind to others suffering, ignoring people who need him because they aren’t important, one who doesn’t sympathise with the mages’ situation at all. He’d confront them about what they are really trying to accomplish with the Inquisition, and what kind of world they’re making. Fen’lin wouldn’t want to stick around if he thought they were doing more harm than good; the ends most definitely do not justify the means.9. Where in Skyhold would they be found? (e.g. Cole is in the tavern rafters, Leliana in the top of the tower, Varric in the throne room, etc.)In the courtyard probably, under a tree with a pile of books he snatched from the library. 10. If Inquisition operated like DA:O, what would their gift items be? What would their approval and disapproval Feast Day items be?Disapproval: any Templar items, or Saarebas gear. Approval: Books, expensive alcohol, maybe a semi-wild pet, a bird or a cat. A wolf cub would be appropriate but complicated.11. How would they grow as a person? How would they compare at the end of the Inquisition as a companion to who they were as the Inquisitor?Fen’lin’s companion quest would involve an interaction with or explaining his biological father and his original clan, and it would be a touchy subject, similar to Dorian’s quest in that it wouldn’t be an easy interaction. By the end of the game he would become less afraid of himself, less convinced he’s the antagonist/evil/violent person his father said he was. A slightly warmer person to deal with, though still slow to trust new people on a personal level. 12. Do they believe the Herald of Andraste is really the Herald of Andraste?Being Dalish, Fen’lin would probably be on the fence, though after Haven he would be convinced that they were some god’s favourite, at the very least.13. If the Herald didn’t have them tag along to prep the trebuchets, what would they do during the battle for Haven? (bonus: would they join in on the impromptu Dawn Will Come choir practice in the camp?)Defending the villagers, making sure no one was left behind in the exodus, possibly also minding the horses. He wouldn’t know the song, but he’d be touched by the display.14. What nickname does Varric give them?Squirrel.15. Without the influence of their decisions for the Inquisition, which of the companions do they get along with? Which ones do they bicker with?Sera and Fen’lin would become very good friends after a while, once they got past the whole elf business, and the magic. Bull he would get along with, but perhaps not if the inquisitor chose to side with the Qun. Cole he would be intrigued by, and like a lot. Varric and Dorian he would like but that’s a lot of sass in one place, when they talk. Cassandra he would respect and maybe spar with but they wouldn’t be friends. Vivienne he would respect professionally but personally really dislike. Solas’ stories he would absolutely love, even if Solas seems to think all Dalish are assholes and initially treats Fen’lin like he doesn’t know his people have their faults too.16. What would the Fear Demon say to them in the Fade to try and discourage them?“Ah, the little bloody wolf, you do your father proud. How many people have died by your hand? How many died because of you? You protect nothing, your legacy will be nothing but the mound of corpses of those you failed.”17. Where do they hang out in the Winter Palace? What’s their thoughts on the nobles/The Game?Fen’lin would be hiding somewhere, or hanging out alone on a balcony. He would be terrified to be there, feel very out of place and think he has to prove that all Dalish are not savages by being absolutely perfect. The uniform would make him very uncomfortable.18. What’s their reaction to a dragon showing up?“Well, this fight is starting to drag on, isn’t it?” His puns get worse the more scared he gets. What an awkward defense mechanism. 19. Once Corypheus is beaten, what do they do during the party? Do they stay with the Inquisition, or go somewhere else? What could the Inquisitor do to convince them to stay?If unattached he would go home to his clan to help out there, provided steps were taken to save them. If he was romanced by anybody that was staying at Skyhold he would probably stay, or if he and the Inquisitor were very good friends. 20. How do they react to learning abominations can retain their consciousness and identity, and even live peacefully with their spirits/demons, as seen in Stone-Bear Hold?Fen’lin wants to move there and never leave. Or at least go and learn from them.21. What do they think of the discoveries made in the Deep Roads? Do they make any comments on anything?Fascination and confusion, he’d be a bit frustrated by the big discovery having no real follow up or explanations.22. If you have another Inquisitor, how would those two get along, specifically?Another Dalish who is his childhood friend, Enansal, who he would obviously get along with. Leila the human mage he would respect but would not be particularly good friends with, and a rogue human that would probably make him want to leave the Inquisition. 23. In trespasser, what “gift” would they give the Inquisitor, if any?Probably just a fun night spent away from the people with agendas and plans for the Inquisition/Inquisitor, and an invitation to Wycome if they want to get away from everything. 24. What are their plans for after the Exalted Council? Will the Inquisition staying in tact or being disbanded make a difference?Fen’lin would stay if they disbanded, thinking himself more needed than if it remains in tact. If it’s not disbanded he would either go to Wycome or travel with Bull and his Chargers, and be available to the former Inquisitor if they had need of him.25. In the alternate reality, if they were corrupted with lyrium, how do they act? What’s their attitude about the end of the world/their inevitable death?Fen’lin would be sharper, a little feral, more violent in attitude and action. His banter would be mean, though he would be pleased to see the Inquisitor, and he would think he was already living on borrowed time so if he can save the Inquisitor by dying instead�� today would be as good a day as any. Might as well raise some hell and finally make his dad proud.

[pixdoodles]

Var Lath Vir Suledin

I told you it would endure. You did, vhenan.

[pixdoodles]

Here's the full comic for my Inquisitor-as-Rook run of veilguard!

This takes place after the city choice in act 1!

[pixdoodles]

some assorted arlathan au WIPs

[pixdoodles]

regret murals and revelations for inquisitor lavellan