#fenquisitor

[fatale-distraction]

I need to take three months off of work to write all the DA fics I want to get to

Elgar’nanxLavellan Stockholm fic that was supposed to just be quick smut and now has Lore

Finish Emmrook Fade Jail aftermath

LucanisxSpitexRook smut that’s already developing Lore even though I’ve only written ONE PAGE

More EmmRook scene rewrites

EmmRook companion reaction codexes

Solavellan Aftermath

Thesis on what the fuck HoF and Inquisitor Have Been Doing for the last ten fucking years

FenrisxInquisitor sequel addressing the Meredith bombshell they fucking ABANDONED at the end of Absolution

Pegging Solas in Drag

Abigail pegging and Shotgunning Emmrich until he cries

Cole, Spite, and Manfred hanging out

Emmrich Funeral Home modern AU

Emmrich and Abigail ice skating

Vorgoth coming so hard he poofs out of existence for a minute and their empty coat falls on Myrna and she freaks out

Probably something else I’m forgetting

[lethendralis-paints]

Dragon Age Day 2023!

Happy Dragon Age Day, dear friends and mutuals! Hope everyone's seen the new official Bioware teaser for DA:D!

To celebrate this occasion I wanted to revisit some of my favourite DA fanart drawn thoughout the years. The series holds a special place in my heart. It helped me to carry on through the darkest times, and thanks to DA fandom I've met wonderful people, some of whom became real life friends. So, buckle in and let's GO!

My journey began with playing DA:O back when it first came out and then revisiting it again in 2018-19 when I needed something to brighten up the days. My passion for this series and dark fantasy reignited and never died out since!

Here are some of the Heroes of Ferelden art commissions I've painted since then:

And now Hawkes:

The one and only Rynne Hawke, belonging to @pikapeppa

2. my Eris Hawke

3. Lovely @serpentsshipmate 's Marian Hawke

+ a couple of awesome commissioned custom Hawke characters

Let's not forget all the amazing Inquisitors out there, including the Fenquisitor from my own playthrough of DAI:

Beautiful locations across Thedas I did my best to capture on canvas (with various success as my skill was growing). Can you guess all of them?

Let's not forget to show some love for our travelling companions!

And a separate category just for Fenris, my best boy, who is singlehandedly responsible for me picking up a pencil and learning how to draw properly:

[thereluctantinquisitor]

it's been 84 years... would you please consider making your fenquisitor sliders public?

no because it has been 84 years since i played dragon age

[confirmed-haruspex]

Inquisitor Fenris! im obsessed with this tsundere bastard. 😭

Armour based on the Skin that Stalks. Sword based on the Sulevin Blade.

[another-da-sideblog]

Fenquisitor!

I have more but I thought these were the prettiest for now

Bonus: Fenris being Done with everyone's shit

AND WHY IS MY HAWKE SO WEIRD LOOKING??? WHY IS HIS FACE LIKE THIS??? I tried so hard to recreate him and yet...

AND WHY IS MY HAWKE SO WEIRD LOOKING??? WHY IS HIS FACE LIKE THIS??? I tried so hard to recreate him and yet...

[curiousthimble]

Fic Back Friday!

A small list of suggestions for your weekend reading! Under the cut because of length.

The Baker of Kirkwall, by @thebakinglibrarian​- posts fairly regularly

In the busy city of Kirkwall, there is a hardworking baker by the name of Garrett Hawke who supports his family with his little business. Then one day, the path of Baker, and Librarian meet somewhere in the middle and their story begins to write itself.

This, is that story.

The Pescatarian, also by @thebakinglibrarian​- finished, short This is a fic written for me, but it’s so damn cute I have to share it again.

When Evette's date stands her up, she decides to make the best of it and orders dinner for one. Dinner, that came with an attractive (and nosy) table-neighbour with a glorious voice.

Monster, by PadawanHilary- unfinished but wonderful!

This is the story of what would have happened had someone else become the Inquisitor. It begins with the destruction of the Chantry in Kirkwall. The story will span the end of DAII and through the timeline and some very specific events of Inquisition. THIS IS NOT A WALKTHROUGH FIC.

POV is Fenris'.

This chapter SFW, R for violence.

Spark of Hope, by @elveny​- Finished atm

The story of Lyssa as she runs from the Blight, joins a Dalish clan, and, eventually, leads the Inquisition.

There Are No Stars Left In The City, by @kunstpause​- Finished

Cassia Hawke never quite knew just what she wanted in life. When she unknowingly falls for someone who is the worst possible option in everyone else's eyes, finding out what she really wants doesn't get easier. Or does it?

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke smut: Escape

Chapter 11 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up... and this time it is totally self-indulgent smut. Just some nice tender sexy times with feels. Fenris is stressed and needs some time to unwind ok :( 

Read on AO3 instead. (~3000 words.)

****************

Fenris breathed in deeply through his nose, then closed his eyes and released his breath through parted lips.

It was raining still, and the camp was quiet. The others had all gone to sleep over an hour ago, safe in the knowledge that a trio of Inquisition scouts were keeping guard nearby. The camp was enclosed on all sides by trees, and the only sounds were the staccato of raindrops on foliage and the subtle hiss of the salty sea breeze.

He inhaled once more, then pushed his hood back and ran his bare hands through his hair. The breeze drifted coolly across his ears and neck, and he tilted his head back to accept the fall of rain upon his face.

The silence… kaffas, he’d needed this. It had been so long since he’d had a moment of peace. A moment to just sit and do nothing. To say nothing, to speak to no one, and to just… think.

Not that his thoughts were particularly soothing. They seemed to swing incessantly between the various problems they were facing: red lyrium and rifts, politics and the Breach, Corypheus and his unknown plans and how in the blasted Void he was even still alive. And above it all, like a malignant pulse in his palm, was the green and glowing mark that served as his only source of light in the overcast night.

He stared balefully at his palm for a moment, then closed his hand into a fist. He felt both exhausted and edgy; a terrible combination, given the hard travelling they would be doing tomorrow. But as long as he was unable to sleep, it was best if he stayed out here. If he remained in the tent with Hawke, he would restlessly shuffle and shift every minute or so, and she would wake up and ask him what was wrong.

She would worry, and she’d want to help. But there was nothing she could do to stem the constant flow of problems that were flooding their way. So Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees and lowered his head, letting the rain drip soothingly along his neck and scalp until it beaded and dripped from the damp peaks of his hair.

Then he heard a sound: a shifting step on the damp grass, and a subtle sniffle of breath. A moment later, she whispered his name into the nighttime air.

“Fenris?” Hawke’s fingers ran through his wet hair, then smoothed along his nape.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t open his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, and Hawke ran her nails gently along the side of his tattooed neck.

He let out a long sigh as Hawke scratched and stroked his neck. “You should be asleep,” he mumbled.

“I was,” she said quietly. “Then I rolled over and realized you were gone.”

He lifted his face to meet her gaze. Her expression was exactly as he feared: a warm little smile, stained with a hint of worry.

She was wearing trousers and a light linen shirt beneath her lambswool cloak, but her feet were bare. Fenris lifted her hand from his neck, then kissed the inside of her wrist. “Where are your boots?” he asked. “You will catch a cold.”

She smiled. “Maybe I’m trying to harden my feet up so I can go around barefoot just like you. I already hate wearing shoes and socks, so I think I’m halfway there.”

He smirked at her cheeky tone. “Hardened soles require more than a short walk from the tent,” he murmured.

She chuckled softly. “Is that a challenge I hear? Do you dare me to walk from the Storm Coast back to Haven in my bare feet?”

“Absolutely not,” Fenris said, and Hawke laughed again.

He smiled at her, then kissed her knuckles and released her hand. “Go on. Go back to the tent. I will join you shortly.”

She shook her head, then ran her fingers along the back of his neck. “I’m awake now. I’ll stay here with you.” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Her nails were grazing his scalp. She slid her fingers down to his nape, and… fasta vass, the firm stroke of her thumb along the tendon in his neck…

He closed his eyes again. “All right,” he murmured. He was already feeling less tense than before; his jaw felt more loose, and with every gentle pass of Hawke’s fingers, a little more weight seemed to leave his shoulders.

He lowered his head once more, and she continued to stroke his neck. The rain kept falling, dripping from his hair and trickling toward the collar of his tunic, but Hawke’s fingers were firm and warm as they sluiced the water away.

Some time later, she gently squeezed his earlobe. “Come on. Come back to the tent,” she whispered. “Your hair is soaking wet.”

He breathed in slowly. “It’s all right,” he mumbled. “I… don’t mind.”

“Well, I do,” she replied. “There’s a reason they call it a head cold, you know.”

He grunted, but he was feeling too relaxed to argue. He slowly pushed himself to his feet and followed Hawke back toward the tent.

She took off her cloak and hung it on a convenient branch that was sheltered from the rain, and Fenris did the same. Then he knelt and crawled through the tent flap in her wake.

He settled on his knees on the bedroll, and Hawke shuffled over to kneel behind him. “Get comfortable,” she said. She plucked at his cotton tunic. “Take this off. I’ll rub your shoulders.”

“That is not necessary,” Fenris said, but he followed her directions all the same.

“Of course it’s not,” she replied. “It’s a luxury. That’s the point. Let me pamper you, all right? It’s no red wine and roses, but a shoulder rub will have to do in this soggy place.”

He huffed in amusement as he set his tunic aside. “‘Soggy’? Was it necessary to use that word? It rather spoils the mood you’re trying to set,” he drawled.

“Damn,” she said softly. “And here I was thinking I was so smooth.” Her voice was warm with mirth as she settled behind him, and before Fenris could make a witty retort, she began to massage his back.

He closed his eyes and sighed. The breath he released was long and heavy, and as Hawke pressed her palms and fingers into his bare skin, Fenris could feel the weight lifting from of his mind, almost as though she was kneading his worries away by force.

He relaxed into her capable hands. Raindrops percussed the fabric of the tent, but the noise was soft and blank and smooth, and it wasn’t long before his lightened mind was floating.

It was like being in a dream. The kind of soft, soothing dream that Fenris rarely ever had, but treasured on those rare occasions when they did occur. In his half-awake mind, he was drifting and warm, grounded by the heat of Hawke’s hands while his loosened mind floated free. He wasn’t on the Storm Coast, and there was no Inquisition; he was simply here, drifting freely in a limbo of pleasantness and warmth, and the more he was able to float, the more he could feel how very grounded he was.

He could feel every part of his body: his feet tucked beneath his bum, the heat of his palms on his thighs and the relaxed curl of his fingers, the occasional slow drip of water from his hair onto his nose and chest. And above it all, carrying it all and carrying him, were Hawke’s hands on his skin.

She carefully ran the heels of her hands from his shoulders down to the small of his back, and Fenris arched into her touch with a contented little groan.

She chuckled softly. “I knew this was what you needed,” she whispered.  

He grumbled an incoherent little affirmative. He couldn’t be bothered with words right now. He stretched his arms luxuriously over his head, then slowly rolled his neck from side to side and relaxed once more with a sigh.

Hawke’s hands fell still as he stretched. As he settled comfortably on his knees once more, she shuffled closer, then dropped a kiss in the center of his back.

Fenris grew still. Her lips were pressing against his skin, pressing a line of kisses from his spine to the lower edge of his shoulder blade, and her hands were sliding down to rest on his hips.

She kissed the center of his spine once more, and her quiet voice whispered across his skin. “Is this okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes,” he murmured.

She kissed his back once more, then lifted her hands away. A soft rustling ensued - the sounds of linen on skin - then Hawke was touching him once more.

Her lips were a gentle brush of warmth. Her hands were a steady press of heat. She shifted closer still, then pressed her naked chest against his back.

His breath snagged in his throat. Hawke kissed his shoulder blade and slid her arms around his chest, her fingers smoothing over his bare skin, and Fenris lightly caressed the backs of her fingers as they traversed his abdomen. Her hands were slow and her touch was firm, and heat of her chest seemed to bleed into his back, washing through him with an urgency that was altogether more enjoyable than the stressful, pressing need that drove their everyday travels.

She rose up on her knees. Her breasts pressed higher on his back, and Fenris leaned into her, wanting her to touch him more firmly. It had been almost a week since they’d moved together after the time-travel fiasco in Redcliffe Village, and that had hardly been relaxing. In that moment of residual fear and grief, Fenris had needed Hawke. Their sex was a confirmation of her vitality and a desperate reunion, even if she hadn’t known them to be apart.

This was wholeheartedly different. In the stormy susurrus of this tent and the heat of her half-bared body, Fenris didn’t simply need Hawke. He wanted and that pure and simple desire felt so damned good.

She lifted her cheek from his skin. “Lie down for me?” she asked.

Her husky-voiced request was unmistakable, and Fenris was happy to comply. A minute later, his back was flat on the bedroll and his hips were rising up as Hawke rolled his leather leggings down.

His cock rose toward her, and she lowered her lips to meet him. An instant later, he was gasping against his own clenched fist to silence himself as the pleasure rose through his thighs and his belly.

Her hands were hot on his hips as she suckled him, and Fenris bit his knuckle to stifle a groan. He was eager and unrestrained, freed from the constant weight of his worries by the skillful stroke of her hands. With every hungry pull of her lips and throat, he lifted his hips toward her, wanting her and savouring her and wanting her even more as she gave him the slick heat of her throat.

The warmth, the pressure, the pull: she was lifting him up and dragging his rapture forth in an inexorable wave. His free hand scrabbled for hers, his fingers shaking with tension as they gripped her hand, and Fenris gasped and fiercely bit his thumb as his climax crashed through his body with such force that it left him lightheaded.

His chest was heaving, ribs rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. Hawke stretched out beside him, and her hand drifted gently across his belly.

“Maybe you can sleep now,” she whispered in his ear.

Her tone was soft but vibrant. Fenris forced his eyes open, and despite the dimness of the tent, he could still make out her smile.

He dragged in another breath, then pushed her onto her back with a hand on her hip. Her lips dropped open with surprise, and Fenris took advantage to nip the plumpness of her lower lip with his own.

She gasped softly, then gasped once more as he caressed her breast. “Fenris-”

He silenced her with a kiss. Her tongue tasted slightly bitter from his seed, but her mouth was hot and hungry, and he happily swallowed her whimpers as he pinched her nipple, then unbuttoned her trousers.

She arched toward his hand, lifting her hips as eagerly as he’d lifted his own for her, and Fenris broke their kiss. “Be silent, Hawke,” he whispered. He shifted down to kneel between her legs and peeled her trousers away from her hips.

Her breathy chuckle was barely audible above the rain. “What, you don’t want me to wake the whole camp?” she murmured.

He shook his head. Of course he didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. He ducked his head and ran his tongue over the peak of her hipbone.

She released a shuddering gasp and jerked toward him, and he placed a calming hand on her belly. “I want to keep this for myself,” he told her. “I… this… it is for you and I alone. It is private.”

She reached down and stroked his hand. “Of course it’s private,” she panted. “What-?”

He shook his head once more. “Nothing is truly private anymore,” he murmured. “Not with the others around all the time. The conversations, the questions… Sometimes I think that it will never end. But here…”

He trailed off and looked around at their tiny tent. It was like a cocoon, cozy and cut off from the others and warmed with their shared heat, and it was easy to pretend that they were truly alone.

He stroked her hipbone with his thumb. “There are some things I don’t wish to share with the others. This is one of them. When we are on the road, your sounds are mine,” he said bluntly. “I don’t want anyone else to hear them. To hear us.” He lifted his eyes to her face. “Can we do that?”

She grinned and propped herself up on her elbows. “Now you’re really challenging me.”

He smiled briefly, but pressed on with his point. “I am serious,” he said softly. “We cannot keep to ourselves anymore. I know that. But… I want to keep something for myself.”

She tilted her head, and Fenris watched as the jocularity melted from her face, leaving only fondness behind. She sat up and stroked his neck. “I understand,” she whispered. “The tent is our private spot. We keep it quiet here, then it’s like escaping from the world for a bit.”

He exhaled softly and nodded, relieved that she understood. “Yes.”

She smiled, then tilted her chin up. “Well, we’d better try this silence thing, then. You know how much of a loudmouth I can be.”

He huffed softly, then gently pushed her down on her back with one hand at her throat. “Consider it done,” he murmured. He shifted down on the bedroll and ran two fingers between her legs.

She jerked her hips toward him and jammed the back of her hand against her mouth. Her knees fell wider apart, and Fenris studied her slickness for a moment before dropping his lips between her legs.

He kissed her sweetly, and she bucked her hips toward him. She was utterly silent, not even an audible gasp or breath, but as Fenris laid two more lingering kisses along the length of her cleft, her fingers clenched in the fabric of the bedroll.

He ran his lower lip over her clit, then joined his lips with his tongue. Her taste was raw and sweet, and the rolling of her hips was smooth but firm, and Fenris carefully took every drop of her moisture onto his tongue before lapping at her tiny bud with a gentle rhythm.

He savoured the plump feel and flavour of her flesh as she pressed herself closer to his face.  Suddenly she clenched her fist, then dragged her nails across her bare belly, and Fenris took her hips in his hands as she shuddered and arched her back.

She parted her legs even wider and ground her hips against his face. She was silent still, silent in her rapture, but he didn’t need to hear her sounds; the twisting of her body told him everything he needed to know.

She eventually settled onto the bedroll once more and lowered her hand from her lips. Then, at last, a quiet sound escaped her: a soft and lazy sigh, followed by an equally soft and lazy laugh.

She reached down and stroked his eyebrow with her thumb. “Was that silent enough for you?” she asked.

Her quiet voice was almost slurred with pleasure. Fenris rose to his hands and knees, then lowered himself over her naked body.

Her eyes were closed, but her lips were lifted in a smile. Fenris cradled her neck in his palm. “You were adequately quiet,” he teased. “It was acceptable.”

Her smile broadened. “Well, you know what they say: practice makes perfect.” She slowly wrapped her legs around his waist. “Can you help me with that?”

He smiled back at her. “I believe I can, yes,” he whispered. He lowered his head and took her lips in a careful kiss.

She slid her fingers into his hair, and he nipped her lower lip. Within a few breathless minutes, he was rocking into the cradle of her hips and stealing her gasping breaths with the tip of his greedy tongue.

The rain continued to drum against the tent, and his muffled groans melted into Hawke’s enraptured moans with every desperate meeting of their lips. As they breathed and kissed and fucked in the quiet refuge of their tent, Fenris savoured how very alone they were.

It was exactly as Hawke had said: this was their escape. In the heated silence of this tiny tent and the urgency of the love they shared, Fenris had found his escape.

[dergonageloser]

i've been seeing more and more fenquisitor content and it just!! really makes me wanna work more on my own fenquisitor fic!!! aaaah!!!!

[pikapeppa]

@iarollane YES it’s in my queue for tomorrow but what the heck, it’s so amazing, LET’S POST IT TWICE ❤️

“Join the Inquisition, ” they said

“It’ll be fun,” they said.

“Beat the demons, kill the bastards…”

never trust a dwarves

[fatale-distraction]

Happy Friday! Intrigued by FenrisxInquisitor post-Trespasser - maybe paired with ❛ name one hero who was happy. ❜ from the Hero starters?

A slightly different, in exact take on this prompt for @dadrunkwriting tonight!

Post-Trespasser AU: what if Ellana got Angery at the Egg Man instead of Sad? She’d join The Bull’s Chargers and travel around fucking Solas’ shit up and getting laid a bunch, that’s what. Enter Broody Glow-In-The-Dark Elf.

I think Fenris would be the perfect post-trespasser companion for the Inquisitor. 😍🤩

***

“Shit! Fuck! Ass! Tits!”

Fenris’s ears twitched as the string of swears carried across the sparse plains. He cast a concerned glance over his shoulder, but no one else seemed to be worrying.

Krem glanced up from his stew-laden trencher at the elf. “She’s fine,” he assured his fellow Tevinter. Fenris fixed him with a carefully guarded look. “Just training. ‘S been tough for her to get used to the new arm, that’s all.”

“So help her,” came the blunt reply.

Krem considered throwing his spoon at the man’s head. “You think we haven’t tried? Last one of us that offered to help her train got bit.”

“I’ve still got the scar on me arse,” Dalish grumbled.

“I’m worried about her too, but she specifically ordered us to leave her alone when she’s training,” the lieutenant explained, a pained expression on his face. “I don’t like it, but she’s scary when she’s mad.”

Fenris stared silently at the fire for a long moment. The Chargers resumed their eating and noisy gossip and teasing. It was strange. The last time Fenris had travelled with such a large, close-knit group had been with the Fog Warriors, and they hadn’t been nearly so rambunctious and rowdy. The Chargers were like a big, obnoxious family; constantly giving each other shit, challenging each other to increasingly dangerous alcohol-fueled stunts, and making inappropriate jokes. Oddly, or maybe not, there was also an awful lot of sleeping around, and no one seemed to spend a night in the same tent as they did the previous evening. Including the Ex-Inquisitor.

Fenris got to his feet abruptly and shoved the remainder of his trencher at Grim, who accepted it without question. The elf turned on his heel and headed across the grassy field toward the frustrated swearing.

“What’re you doing?!” Krem shouted after him.

“I’m scary when I get mad, too,” came the terse reply.

The Chargers exchanged dubious glances.

“I’ve got ten gold he comes back with bite marks on his arse,” Dalish muttered.

“Twenty gold he comes back with bite marks on his ass,” Stitches raised. “But because sex reasons.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Rocky hurled a coin purse over the fire and Krem caught it with a heavy sigh.

*

“Tiiiiiiiiiits!” Ellana threw her bow across the makeshift archery range she’d set up just inside a sheltered copse of trees on the outskirts of camp, where the dry plains began to give way to the sparse beginnings of a forest. Tears stinging the corners of her eyes, she fumbled in the pouch at her hip for the little can of oil she used to lubricate the metal workings of her prosthetic. The damn thing was jammed up again. Something about the way the gears were set up didn’t mesh well with the angle she had to haul back on her bow, and the damn thing kept jamming. Plus, it was heavy and difficult to hold steady enough to aim. Her arrows kept flying wildly off target, and she’d yet to even graze the straw dummy.

Her aim might have been off, but Ellana’s senses were as sharp as ever. There was a shift in the air behind her, alerting the elf to a new presence, one that wasn’t familiar. She swung her heavy prosthetic backwards, felt a shudder as the hit was blocked, then whipped around to jab with her right fist. A dark hand caught her wrist and twisted her around effortlessly.

“Fenris!” gasped Ellana. The taller man arched an eyebrow and released her hand.

“You’re trying to compensate too much for your bad arm,” he informed her. “It’s heavy enough, you don’t need to swing it back that hard.”

The young woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thanks,” she griped, wandering away to flop down on a nearby tree stump. “Super helpful.”

Unsure how to respond to this unusual side of the former Inquisitor, Fenris hesitated before following and sliding down next to her. She was usually so cheerful, even after all she’d suffered. Now her walls were down, revealing the frustration, anger and tears she’d been covering with kindness, brilliant smiles, and flirtatious jokes. Her right hand covered her face, the wood and metal prosthetic on her left laying lifeless in her lap.

“I apologize,” he said simply. “I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t want help,” she muttered. “I want my fucking arm back, and failing that, I want to punch my ex-boyfriend in the fucking teeth.” The wooden fingers flexed dangerously.

Fenris couldn’t help a short bark of laughter. “I can help with one of those things,” he assured her.

A wry smile formed on her rosy lips. “Thanks. That is helpful.”

“I’m glad.” It came out softer than he had meant it to. Wide violet eyes met his, her expression open and vulnerable. It made his breath catch whenever she looked at him like that. He could sense the questions behind those sweet eyes, the tender curiosity that she never quite gave voice to. He was as afraid of what she might ask as he was of what the answer might be.

“Fenris,” she started, reaching out for his hand. He wasn’t sure what made him take it, her thin fingers resting lightly in his callused palm. “Varric once told me he mostly writes tragedies. I asked him why, and he said ‘Violet, when have you ever heard of a hero who had a happy ending?’”

“That does sound like Varric.”

She squeezed his hand hard, and Fenris had to bite his tongue to keep from complaining. He sometimes forgot how strong she really was. Even for an elf, she was so tiny it often completely escaped his mind that she was The Inquisitor. She’d defeated Corypheus more completely even than Hawke, a woman easily twice her size.

“I don’t think I want to be a hero anymore,” murmured Ellana, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I always liked happy endings.”

What did one say to that? Especially when those powerful shoulders started to shake with stifled tears.

Awkward and hesitant, Fenris slipped an arm around her. She leaned more heavily on him.

“Well,” he began, voice rasping with more feeling than he would have liked. “We’ll just have to make sure you get one, then.”

[lethendralis-paints]

pst could i mayhaps request a doodle of cassandra reading with fenris or helping teach him to read? inspired by your Fentaghast doodle from a bit ago ^v^

Yes, YES, omg, yesssss! Your ask perfectly corresponds to the usual subject of my daydreaming, so thank you for that!

[veiljumpernyssa]

I think I annoyed a couple people with my adventures in getting DAI to work. Sorry l m a o

I’ve gotten it to work and I’m porting some of the old DAI Tools mods so I can play in 4k enjoyment

[lethendralis-reblogs]

My Fenris the Inquisitor. He's not technically a Lavellan, but oh, well! :D

Non-White Lavellans Appreciation Post

Lavellans of color tend to be underappreciated in this fandom and I think they all deserve some love!

Here are my three Lavellans:

Tala Lavellan, my canon Inquisitor

Imryll Lavellan, Tala’s cousin and the Inquisition’s alchemist

and Dakila Lavellan, Inquisitor and he doesn’t know who Andraste is and it this point he’s too afraid to ask

Reblog and post your non-white Lavellans, let’s show them off :)

[another-da-sideblog]

Thinkin’ about Fenquisitor... I shouldn’t start a new fic, buuuut... so tempting...

[i-am-the-luckiest]

Stranger Places Than This, Chapter 2

On AO3 here

From beginning here

Hawke sat on a low, wooden bench in the hall beneath Haven’s Chantry, head in her hands. Their most recent fight to hold back the demons had not gone well. Not that Hawke had expected it to be all that successful in the first place. At least they had pushed them back beyond the gates, into the valley.

She heard a groan through the heavy dungeon door, snapping her back to the present. Fenris. He was hurt. There was some weird thing on his hand, and he’d been unconscious since the Conclave had gone up. For some absurd reason, he was also imprisoned. She thought back to the argument she had had with Cassandra.

Hawke had recovered quickly from her rather minor injuries to find her lover unconscious in a prison cell. She had demanded to be let in to see him, but the Seeker had denied her.

“Why is he even in there? He should be in a bed, healing. He’s done nothing wrong!”

The woman stared Hawke down. “He is a suspect. The people demand an explanation for what happened at the Conclave. The two of you were the only survivors.”

“So you’re locking up an innocent to keep people from rioting?” Hawke exploded, “That’s dangerously close to the way Meredith reacted after she went completely crazy! Why am I not in the cell, too, if that’s your reason?”

Cassandra had flinched a little at that, then her expression had softened. “I do not believe he is guilty, but I do not have the power to shield both of you. You are the Champion. The people respect you. It was easier to protect you than your companion. He also bears the mark, and we do not know what that means.”

Hawke knit her fingers in her hair and let out a frustrated noise. “No one knows what that means. We’re the only ones who would know—well, us and whoever actually did this.” She spat out the last words like acid on her tongue. “But I can’t remember a thing and Fenris is out cold.

“And ‘the people’ don’t respect me. They hate me, because they think I’ve killed innocent people to protect mages.”

The Seeker blanched at the reminder of Hawke’s connection to the explosion, but did not respond to her comment. “I cannot free him, at least not until he wakes and we hear his explanation. When that happens, we will be taking him to see if his Mark can close these rifts as Solas suspects.”

The memory faded as Hawke resurfaced into conscious thought.

The rifts. Those weird, green tears in the Veil. They felt…wrong. When she was near one, she could hear the demons calling to her, louder than in her dreams, even when they weren’t pouring out of the Fade into the waking world.

She reached idly for her staff, examining the new scar in the wood, put there by a long-limbed green monster she had never seen before today, but the others called a terror. The name fit. Maker, she hoped that bald hedge mage was right, much as she didn’t want Fenris to be forced to deal with this.

Solas was odd, and his arrival a little too convenient. He had come to Haven while she slept the first day after the Conclave, claiming to know about the magic that had caused the huge breach in the sky.

Since then, she had simply watched as he had studied Fenris and the new Mark on his hand. His fascination bordering on excitement made her uncomfortable. She wondered if this was how people had looked at Fenris when he was a slave, on display for all to see.

Despite all her doubts, she couldn’t truly dislike the mage. He had kept Fenris alive, or rather, taught her how to. The healing magic required was unlike any she had ever done, but Fen didn’t like for others to heal him, so she learned fast.

Selfishly, she liked that healing him gave her the chance to check his progress. He was a quick mender, she knew, but this was a different kind of wound. It felt like the green scar on his hand was connected to his soul, not his skin. He would be really, really angry.

Hawke sighed. She hoped he would wake soon.

* * *

The first thing Fenris noticed was pain. It ran along his entire right side, in both wrists, and in his…left hand? That was odd.

He woke to find himself lying on his side, on the floor of what appeared to be a dungeon, bound. That explained most of his discomfort. He stood and activated his lyrium markings to slip his manacles, only to fall to his knees as excruciating pain shot up his left arm.

“Fenris?!” He heard Hawke shout from what seemed a great distance. With a monumental effort, he stilled the lyrium inside him, and the pain receded somewhat. Venhedis. He was stuck in these shackles.

“I am alright,” he called back to her, voice rough with lack of use. How long had he been here?

Looking down at his left hand, he understood the pain. There was a green scar across his palm, and it was…glowing. Wonderful. More magic.

Fenris took stock of his surroundings. He was not even in a cell, simply sitting in the middle of the large room. Something was happening on the other side of the door that must be the entrance. “Let me in! He’s awake, and I need to see him! I’m his healer!” Hawke was yelling at guards who had evidently elected to ignore her.

It was brave of them, and foolish. Trying to prevent Hawke from doing anything was a lost cause. He chuckled, despite the pain, and shook his head. At least she appeared unharmed.

Good. She was safe, even after all that had happened. What had happened? He remembered arriving at the Conclave. Hawke had been more nervous than he had seen her in years.

“You look as though you are preparing to fight the Arishok,” Fenris had teased her.

“Right now, I think I would prefer the Arishok.” Hawke glanced nervously up at the head of their column of soldiers, where the Divine walked. “How am I supposed to get the mages and Templars to agree on anything? Especially the Circles.”

He chuckled. “I am sure you will think of something. You always do.” She had nodded vaguely, lost in thought.

After that, nothing. Until pain, and bright light. Bright…green…light? What had that been?

He was shaken from his thoughts by the door opening. The Seeker entered, hands clasped on the pommel of the sword at her side, followed by Leliana. Through the doorway he could see two guards blocking Hawke’s entrance into the room as she alternated between glaring at them and trying to see him over Cassandra’s shoulder.

Since she was not beating down the door, he assumed he was relatively safe. Still, the looks she was directing at the guards were blood-curdling. The one he could see was wide-eyed with fear. Good. At least he had some sense.

The door shut solidly behind the two women. “Good, you are awake. Now tell me, what happened at the Conclave?” When he didn’t answer, she continued, “It was destroyed. Everyone is dead. Except for the two of you.” Cassandra jerked her head in Hawke’s direction.

“How?” How could they all have died? There had been so many.

“There was an explosion. Now, there is a hole in the sky! Do you really expect me to believe you know nothing of this?” She was yelling now.

“I do not remember.” Her anger surprised him, although he supposed it should not have, given his current situation.

“Explain this!” The Seeker grabbed his shackles, lifting his left hand. His markings flared, and he again cried out in pain before slowly, with even more effort than before, he managed to calm them.

Fenris grit his teeth and looked up at Cassandra where she loomed over him, her face a mixture of rage and what looked suspiciously like concern. “It is more painful when my markings are active. That is all I know about it.”

Leliana finally stepped in, pulling Cassandra back and giving Fenris some space to breathe. How could they think he knew anything about this? Why would he massacre innocents?

“Is there anything you do remember from the Conclave?” Leliana this time, speaking considerably more gently than Cassandra had.

A blurred memory had surfaced sometime since he had awoken, though he was uncertain of its accuracy. “Running. We were pursued. There was... a woman. Besides Hawke.”

Leliana’s eyebrows rose at that, but did not look surprised. Probably, Hawke had remembered much the same thing.

The two had a brief conversation that Fenris ignored in favor of checking his body for injuries. It appeared he had none besides the mark. Hawke had said she was his healer. He was glad of it. She knew how he hated to feel the magic of strangers. Indeed, it was probably why he felt so himself even with the new magic he could feel emanating from his hand.

He looked up to see Hawke rushing across the room to him. He had not noticed the door opening. She knelt at his side, angrily yelling over her shoulder for someone to unbind him. She reached for his hands, and he felt a cool breeze wash over him.

“Hawke. That is appreciated, but unnecessary. I am not in much pain.”

“Oh. Good.” The magic faded. His love gazed at him thoughtfully as a guard reached down to unlock his shackles. “It hurts a lot when your markings light up, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, wincing a little at the memory of pain.

“I wondered if that would happen. That mark thing feels connected to you the same way your lyrium does. Like it’s a part of you. I don’t know if I can get rid of it. I also don’t have a solution for the pain. I’m afraid you’ll just have to stop using your markings for now. I know that’s terrible, but maybe Solas will have an idea. Oh, Solas is a mage that showed up here after—“

“Hawke.” Fenris cut off her babbling, cupping her chin with a now free hand. He loved how excited she could be about, well, everything, but he needed to know. “Are you alright?”

She laughed softly. “You’re worried about me? I’m not the one who was unconscious for three days.” Three days? That explained the discomfort he had felt upon waking.

At his pointed look, she sighed. “I’m fine. I was a little scraped up, but nothing a bit of healing couldn’t fix. I’m more concerned about you.” His hand came up to touch her cheek. She looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and he carefully examined her face. She looked a bit tired, but unharmed.

He wondered if she had been sleeping well. Somehow, he didn’t think living through another explosion would help her nightmares. She caught his look and smiled softly. He always seemed to forget the world around them when she looked at him like that.

As usual, Fenris found himself smiling back without thinking. Here was his Hawke, his Marian, safe against all odds yet again. He was overwhelmed by a sudden gratitude that her ability to find trouble was paired with an ability to survive it.

He leaned toward her, lips barely brushing hers. Cassandra made a surprised sound from across the room, and he was jolted back to reality. Hawke laughed as he startled, sitting bolt upright.

The Seeker cleared her throat, then her expression turned stern. “As touching as this reunion is, we must get you both to the rift.”

Hawke grinned deviously. “But Cassandra, I heard you liked the romantic parts of Varric’s story. He said you were, what word did he use...? ‘Entranced’ by some of the steamier scenes.”

The warrior spluttered, then glanced down and looked away, embarrassed. Fenris laughed. Some of those tales were a bit embellished. He wondered exactly what Varric had written about their relationship to make a Seeker blush so strongly. Staring a fixed point on the wall rather than them, she insisted, “We have work to do.”[SS2] 

Hawke looked back at Fenris wistfully. “She’s right. Solas—he showed up the day after the explosion—thinks that mark will help us close the tears in the Veil.” Seeing his confused look, she added, “It’ll be easier to show you.”

She stood and held her hands out to him. Only then did he realize he had been on his knees since he had awoken. He reached for her and stood, slowly and painfully.

Pausing for a moment to shake out his numb feet, he looked around the room in earnest. His sword was leaning against the wall by the door, none the worse for wear. Hmph. They must think very little of his ability to escape if they simply left his weapon in his prison cell.

Hawke noticed where his gaze had fallen and reached for his sword, dragging it heavily across the floor. Fenris sighed and shook his head at her. “You will dull the edge doing that.” He took it from her, smirking as he hefted it onto his back with ease. She scowled at him as they left the cell and entered a hallway lit only with braziers. He laughed, and her frown broke into a radiant smile.

Leaning toward him conspiratorially, she stage-whispered, “I snuck it in here yesterday. I don’t think the Seeker even noticed. Leliana did, but she left it. Probably because she knows you’re innocent, too.”

Oh. Well that was another reason his sword had been there, one he had not considered. But if they thought he was innocent...

“Why imprison someone who you do not believe is guilty?” He directed this question at the Seeker, who was several paces ahead of them at this point. She stiffened, but did not slow or turn toward them.

“What happened at the Conclave is not known. As the only survivors, you and Hawke were the—“

Hawke interrupted, sending Cassandra an angry look. “They were afraid people would revolt if they didn’t point the finger at someone. Since I’m ‘The Champion of Kirkwall’, blah, blah, blah, they pointed at you.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the Seeker, who cleared her throat nervously and redoubled her pace. “That sounds familiar.”

“You mean like a certain red-lyrium-addled Knight-Commander? Yeah, I told her.”

Before he could respond, they passed through the doors of the Chantry, and Fenris stopped short. The entire sky glowed an eerie green. The same green he remembered from the Conclave. The same green that was now slashed across his hand.

And there, where the Temple had stood, appeared to be a hole in the sky. He felt a strange tug on his lyrium. “What...?”

“It’s a huge tear in the veil. There are other rifts, too, but smaller. They feel... strange.”

Cassandra looked at the sky as she added, “We call it the Breach, and it grows larger with each passing hour.”

An explosion that left holes in the veil? There was only one explanation. “Magic.” This must have been a very powerful spell to cause such damage.

All at once, the hole in the sky seemed to expand. In an instant, Fenris was on the ground in agonizing pain. Hawke reached out and immediately cast her soothing magic over him, dulling the pain as best she could.

Cassandra seemed genuinely concerned. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it is killing you.”

How delightful. Yet another attack on his life courtesy of magic. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if they found that a magister was responsible for this. If not a magister, perhaps a rebel mage. Many did not want the peace talks to succeed. Destroying the Conclave would certainly prevent peace.

Rising to his feet, Fenris glared at the Seeker before him. “What do you expect me to do?”

It was Hawke who responded, rather nervously, “We think that mark may be able to close the Breach.” She shrugged, but he could read the anxiety in her tense shoulders. “It’s our only shot.”

He sighed. No choice, then. For a moment, he wondered if this was how Hawke felt when had been asked to do insane things to protect Kirkwall. Slowly, he nodded his assent. She sagged a little, letting some of the tension out of her shoulders; she seemed both relieved and concerned.

He knew from experience the concern was for his safety. It was still a little strange. No one had ever worried for him before Kirkwall. Now, he had friends who cared for his well-being, and, as he had realized with a shock after a particularly difficult battle, he cared for theirs. Whatever this mark was, he hoped it would stop this madness. He didn’t particularly want to die.

“Then…?” Cassandra stared hopefully. Perhaps she had not expected his assistance.

“I will do what I can.”

With that, they were off again. As they made their way across Haven, Fenris noted the looks cast their way:  respect and admiration for the Seeker, awe for the Champion, and fear and hatred for the prisoner. He was no longer bound, but it was clear the people knew he had been blamed for this horrific attack.

As they passed through the massive gates and left the village, Hawke spoke casually, too loud to be for his ears only. “Personally, I don't think they would have accused you if their ‘benevolent leaders’ hadn't locked you up.”

He smiled at her faith in people. No matter how often she was proved wrong, she chose to believe the best. “I am a former slave of a land ruled by mages. This was clearly a magical attack. Why would they not accuse me?”

It seemed that people would always place blame rather than accept the unknown. They could not stand to know something bad had happened, but not who had caused it. It was why Hawke was blamed for the Chantry explosion.

“Hmm.” Hawke hummed. Clearly she was still angry at Cassandra, but was unwilling to debate with him. She kept bouncing up onto the balls of her feet to look ahead. Meanwhile, Fenris could not tear his eyes away from the Breach.

“How did we survive?”

She glanced ahead to the Seeker, but Cassandra didn’t comment. “I don’t remember anything either, but apparently we walked out of a rift and passed out. I remember a strange woman, but that’s all. It fits what people are saying, too. Supposedly there was a woman behind us.”

“Everything else in the valley was laid waste.” The Seeker’s voice was strained and rough with emotion. “Including the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“Uhh... Hawke?” he asked, suddenly nervous, “Where are we going?” He did not wish to return to the temple if it was not necessary.

This time it was Cassandra who interjected. “Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” That was not a particularly helpful answer.

Before he could inquire further, they came to a bridge littered with rubble and soldiers, many of whom had died in the fighting. As they approached yet another set of large doors on the other side of the bridge, Cassandra called out, “Open the gate! We are headed into the valley!”

[pikapeppa]

(Not really an ask, but) Omg your stories give me LIFE. Fenquisitor and all the Solas stuff... And now Sten??! Pika you absolutely make my heart thump 😂 I also love how you keep things real and make everyone relatable, while still threading in comedy. I truly enjoy your stories in all their facets, keep up the awesome work!~ ❤

ASDFJKDHKJG this was the nicest thing to get in my inbox??? THANK YOU! I literally grinned like an idiot on my balcony when I read this! Your comments are so [sob] nice and I’m so thrilled that you’ve [sob] read so many of my ships, sorry there’s just something in my eye, don’t mind me!

[It was feelings. I had feelings in my eye.]

Seriously though, thank you so much!! Benefaris!

- Love from your friendly neighbourhood Pikapeppa xoxo