#fic: neria

[roguelioness]

Pharos

When Neria agreed to serve as Rook's advisor, she never thought she would meet Solas outside of a battlefield.

Pairing: Solas x Neria Lavellan Rating: G Words: 1540 dragon age: the veilguard spoilers ahead.

Read on AO3

Sleep does not come easy, her heart frantically drumming its excitement. Neria stares at the roof, lets her eyes trace the many beams that criss-cross and support the structure. It has been so long since she saw him, so many years spent with barely any news of his existence. How often she has worried about him, even as she fretted over his plans. 

Would he have forgotten her? Had he thought of her at all?

Did he miss her?

Well, she thinks, I will have all the answers I need once I fall asleep.

It is no easier, but sheer exhaustion soon consumes here. When her eyes open, she is in the Fade, familiarly green in an unfamiliar location. She glances around, waiting for her guide to show up; a few moments later a figure strides towards her, her silhouette familiar, and Neria’s shoulders relax.

“I thought you would never turn up,” Rook remarks.

“I could not fall asleep,” she confesses with a faint smile.

Rook nods abstractedly, her mind still clearly occupied by the disastrous turn of events. “Come,” she says as she starts to walk away, “the Lighthouse is this way.”

“How can you tell?” Neria asks. “The Fade is so vast…”

Rook’s expression is grim. “Interrupting the ritual had a price,” she says, voice and body stiff. “I do not know the specifics, but I am bound to Solas, and the Fade. I will always know where he is, and he will know where I am.”

She stumbles, emotion catching in her chest and clogging up her lungs. Bound to Solas? Tied so close to him that she would know his location at any time? It is what she has wanted the most the past years, and that this new hero, her successor, has been granted it while she, the one who had loved him and who still loves him, has not… The sense of being discarded, as illogical as it is, has tears prickling at her eyes, and her fingers curl into her palms, nails digging into the skin, to steady herself. I was his enemy, she reminds herself. Why would he want to let me know where he wanders when he knew I wished to stop him?

Still, the rejection stings, hot and angry, and she has to remind herself to calm those wayward emotions lest she attract the attention of demons.

“Is he-” Neria hesitates, then starts again. “Is he well?”

Rook throws her a sympathetic look over her shoulder. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

Soon enough comes quicker than she expected, and it is with a near-overwhelming sense of awe that she glances at what Rook has called The Lighthouse. So this is Solas’ real base, his personal home. Once again that feeling of bitterness that she’s not the first to experience this, that for all he claimed to love her, he did not truly trust her enough to-

He gave you Skyhold, she reminds herself. 

He gave the fortress to the Inquisition, she rebuts. He gave the fortress to the Inquisitor. Not to me. 

He did not invite them, her mind patiently counters. It is Rook’s interruption of his ritual that has resulted in her presence here. He did not prioritize them over you.

For an indeterminate length of time she merely gazes up at the grand building, at the hues of gold and purple that adorn it. That it is his is impeccably clear; she has intimate knowledge of how his magic feels, and it is so thick here it is a physical touch against her non-corporeal skin. Large, gilded windows allow golden light to stream in; the stone that make up the walls gleam with a kind of mother-of-pearl sheen. The Fade here is warm, comforting, a balm to her riot of emotions – it is unsurprising that his space in the Fade is so heartening.

And yet, for all its majesty, there is something heart-wrenchingly lonely about The Lighthouse.

Rook huffs impatiently. Neria rouses herself out of her thoughts at the sound, and follows the other woman into the mansion. There is opulence everywhere, though it is not garish; wherever she looks are touches of that same purple and gold – on the border of the carpet, the edge of the drapes, the pattern on the cushions adorning the plush couches.

So much space, she thinks, for one person.

When they pass the dining hall – twice as long as it is wide, and it is so very wide – she spies a great table with more chairs than she can count, and it is empty, so, so empty save a single plate and knife and fork, with a solitary goblet to match, and it slams into her then just what a terribly isolated, lonesome existence he must have led. How many times had he been betrayed to be instilled with the belief that he could trust no one? How many friends, how many lovers had cast him aside, had turned away from him because of the rumors that accompanied his name?

“Why are you crying?” Rook asks. 

Neria wipes at her face, mildly surprised to feel the tears. “It’s nothing,” she shakes her head. “Let’s keep going.”

The library is their destination, Rook’s unofficial war room as Solas has barred entry into other places in his home. She can understand that; it must be hard enough for him to handle this intrusion into his fiercely-guarded privacy, he would not want to let these new interlopers into every little bit of this deeply personal space.

They pass what she thinks to be the library. It is- she has no words for it. A row of towering bookshelves line two walls, filled with tomes and tchotchkes and trinkets. Sofas carved from rich, warm wood and covered in soft, shimmering velvet rest next to mosaic-covered tables, atop which rest intricately sculpted lights that glow with a bright, cozy light. There are books everywhere – stacked on top of tables, scattered across the floor, spread open on the seats. This, Neria realizes, this is where he spends the most time, the true heart of his home. The urge to enter and give everything within a closer look is almost irresistible; were it not for Rook taking their arm and giving a gentle tug, she would have succumbed.

“Not that one,” she says simply as she guides away from that oh-so-compelling room.

They encounter one of Rook’s companions on the way to their destination; Neria thinks the russet-skinned woman exuding such confidence is the one Rook said was called Neve. 

“Rook, a moment if you would?” Neve says.

Rook turns to her. “The library is right around the corner,” she says. “Give me a few minutes, and we’ll catch up.”

Slightly insulted over her exclusion – did Neve not think she could be trusted? – Neria makes her way to the library, coming to an abrupt standstill at the doorway.

Standing by a window, gloriously warm amber light caressing his face, is Solas. His back is to her, and she takes advantage of his ignorance of her presence to take his in. He is dressed in dark leather armor – beautifully made with materials she doesn’t recognize – as though despite this being a safe place, he does not entirely trust the people wandering his halls. Shoulders and back stiff, his chin jutted forwards, he reminds her of a cornered wild creature that is ready to lash out and strike at any moment.

And then he turns, and she sees his face for the first time in almost a decade, and her heart skips a beat before beginning a galloping rhythm–

A deep furrow sits between his brows, but the scar she has kissed so many hundreds of times is still there. There are heavy bags beneath his eyes, but his irises are the same shade of blue-grey-violet she remembers. His face wears a touch more color but his freckles are still visible, and she wants to count them to ensure each and every one of them are yet there. He– he is thinner than she remembers, his cheeks more gaunt; he appears like a man who has been well-plagued by stress.

He looks worried and frustrated and anxious, though it soon gives way; first into an expression of shock and surprise, then muted sorrow and dulled regret, before going blank entirely. But his eyes, oh, his eyes – they are ravenously, desperately hungry, and she shivers under the weight of that rapacious gaze, her skin flushing and warming beneath the force of it.

“Oh, vhenan,” she murmurs, taking a step towards him, trying not to take it personally as he takes a step back in response, “you have not been taking care of yourself.”

Whatever he had expected her to say, it had not been that, and the tension bleeds from him. “Neria,” he says, so quietly and reverentially it pulls tears to her eyes, “ir abelas, vhenan.”

Unable to help herself, unable – and unwilling – to resist, she bridges the space between them with long, rapid strides, flinging her arms around his neck and rejoicing in the form and feel of him. “I’m here,” she whispers, making a soft, choked laugh as his fingers tighten their grip on her, “I’m here.”

[syrupwrit]

for surana x morrigan! from serault, 'A forest victim: flowers sprouting from their eyes.'

Hi Rosella! Thank you >:] I went with a Scornful-Sorceress-era!Morrigan and a lowkey monstery Surana.

Under the cut, please find ~830 words of f!Surana/Morrigan for @dadrunkwriting.

-

Neria sleeps like a dwarf now, dreamless without the exertion of blood or lyrium, but only most of the time. Tonight her body rests in a tucked-away alley of what had once been the Varen Thaig commons. Her mind, however, walks with Morrigan.

What a curious forest. Tall ashes circle a wide, luxurious clearing, their rough trunks straighter than nature would make them. The place is empty, inasmuch as any part of the woods can be empty, but with the suggestion of a gathering just deserted, a feasting table just cleared. 

An apple core lies in the grass. An unpleasant, mounded shape lies a little beyond it, sprouted over with weeds. In the shallow shadows at the clearing’s edge, a rabbit’s eyes flash red and disappear.

Morrigan is a crow asleep on a high branch. She is a human figure in a rough cloak, bathed in soft blue light from the staff at her back. She is a snoring bear dug into the tree-roots. She is a spider and a bee and a wolf. 

There are two moons tonight: one a white half-circle, the other a mere hair of silver that’s somehow twice as bright as the first. Their conjunction is striking. The motions of the heavens have never claimed much of Neria’s attention, but Morrigan, when they traveled together, knew them as intimately as the cycles of her own body. Perhaps this night has some secret meaning, once hosted some ancient occasion that only the woods honor now.

Or perhaps not. “Hello, Morrigan. Am I here because I put on your ring?”

Neria keeps the rosewood ring on a chain under her armor. She hasn’t worn it on her hand for years, but earlier today, she slipped it on, in order to more freely heal a gash on her shoulder where darkspawn claws had caught. Her efforts have been strenuous. The streets of Varen Thaig run with black ichor.

Morrigan doesn’t answer her, though she’s looking her straight in the eye. She has clearly grown older, but time has been kind to her—sharpened her face, ripened her figure. There is a dandelion tucked behind her ear. Something low and ugly stirs in Neria’s heart.

Morrigan says, “So this is what’s become of you, Warden.”

“Fine words to greet me, witch.”

“So thin,” she says to herself. “So gray. The whites of her eyes beginning to turn.”

Neria rarely eats anymore, and there is a film over her vision sometimes that doesn’t leave when she blinks. “Sure, I’m not at my best, but I doubt it’s that bad.”

“Another year and she’ll be on her Calling.” Detached appraisal. Morrigan cannot hear her, or isn’t listening.

“And not a tear shed. You’re as cold as ever.”

“Perhaps I should not have kept him from her,” Morrigan murmurs, softening minutely, and Neria laughs.

“No, I think you made the right choice there. I’m a dead thing already, and not even a man. What could I offer a son?”

After a moment of deliberation, Morrigan seems to agree; her expression hardens. “It is the late hour that weakens me. The strangeness of the Applewoods, the precarity of my rest.” 

Her hand goes to the dandelion behind her ear, her gaze to the mound in the grass. “What would you think, I wonder, if you saw what goes on in these woods and towns, and how I plucked this flower from a Chantry priestess’ eye?”

“I wouldn’t think you much changed.”

“But in the Empress’ court, you would. You would find me very different.” Confirming rumors that Neria hardly suspected. But she’s rarely been above ground in these past months.

“I don’t think so, Morrigan.”

Morrigan looks at Neria, not seeing into her eyes, not feeling her breath or her fear. She takes the dandelion from her hair. She reaches out.

It has been almost ten years since Morrigan last touched her.

“There,” Morrigan says, still a crow, still a bee, still a bear. Talons and feelers and claws comb through Neria’s hair, finding it unwashed and greasy, some of it clumped and brittle with blood. Not a fitting host for a flower (not yet). “A spot of liveliness for the Warden. That is… not better.”

“I do like that I can rely on you to be honest.”

“So many have said,” says Morrigan, half-aware, stifling a cough; and then: “Neria?”

Her hand, her human hand, cradles Neria’s jaw for a moment, her golden eyes wide and caught on Neria’s, with that look of stunned surprise she’s only managed to provoke a few times. Neria’s heart squeezes.

“I didn’t mean to,” she tells her, pleading, like she always ends up pleading. Choose me, don’t leave me, take me with you. Forgive me. Morrigan had told her years ago to never come into her dreams.

But Morrigan’s face shutters, the staff bursts with blue light, the dream shoves her out, —she is thrown back, alone on the stone streets, a rapidly wilting dandelion fallen beside her.

[pricemarshfield]

wrote a little fic for @gwynbleidd since they made the loveliest lae'zel gifset for me! so here's a little thing for alistair and your surana. i hope i did her justice <3

The first time Neria fights at the front rather than casting from the back nearly gives Alistair a heart attack.

It’s a little embarrassing. He can’t recall the same blood-curdling terror in any of their other recent fights, even when Morrigan decided to reveal she could shapeshift by turning into a giant, monstrous spider and spitting poison at the darkspawn Alistair had locked swords with, the stench of the thing almost enough to make him miss the weird chittering that he’s certain was her laughing. Sure, that had freaked him out, and it’s an experience he would prefer not to repeat, but it was more an irritation than anything.

When Neria had taken the phylactery and freed the spirit, Alistair had smiled at her. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly, she’s been kind to everyone deserving of it they’ve come across, along with quite a few that weren’t. When she’d been suddenly much more comfortable moving in armor, Alistair had been proud, a little reassured that she’d be alright even if someone managed to slip past him to take out the mage keeping them all up. When she’d started wielding a sword, Alistair couldn’t remember feeling much of anything other than his cheeks being so warm even Shale had noticed.

Somehow, he hadn’t connected that to her joining him at the front, leaving Leliana and Zevran to slip through the weak spots in their enemies' forces and attack them from the back. It’s not that she does badly, or anything. Sure, her fighting style’s a lot less “polished” than his, but she manages to take out a few of the bandits who’d somehow taken their motley crew for easy targets, still managing to spare a quick healing spell for Leliana when one of them smacks her with a shield.

All-in-all, the fight takes maybe two, three minutes, and Leliana’s injury is the worst of it. Still, Alistair’s hands are shaking. He can’t stop replaying the image of the one bandit clearly taking her for the easier target and lunging forward, quick enough that Alistair wouldn’t have been able to stop them, only for the blade to get caught on her armor and for Neria to smack him with the hilt of the sword hard enough for the man to crumble to the ground in an undignified heap.

Neria looks a little shaken, too. “Is everyone alright?”

Leliana smiles at them, already retrieving what arrows she can from the bandits. Zevran, ever-showy, spreads his arms and says, “More than! You would think they would run away once they realize they are hopelessly outmatched by us, no?”

Neria smiles back, just a small one, and says, “Alistair? What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he says, though it comes out all wrong, too shaky and wholly unconvincing. “Didn’t get hit or anything.” He holds up his shield and waves it a bit. “You?”

“Fine,” Neria says, just as quickly. “Still, we should make camp soon. We’re a long way from Denerim yet.”

So they do, the process quick after this many nights travelling with each other. As always, Morrigan’s off in the corner doing her best to ignore them all, Zevran's needling Wynne to see if he can get a reaction from her, and Leliana's half-singing, half-humming Orlesian songs as she works. He can’t see Neria anywhere, though.

Alistair walks a little away from the fire, the noise of camp fading a bit to the noises of the forest. He finds her there, lying back on a little hill facing away from camp, looking up at the stars with an expression he can’t quite read on her face.

He feels like he’s intruding, suddenly, but she turns to him before he can leave and smiles at him. “You can stay. I don’t mind.” She shifts so there’s room to lie next to her.

He does. They don’t talk for a bit, just looking up at the stars. He used to do this, back when he was first made a Warden and shaken by how much freedom he had at last, or even before, when he was still in Redcliffe and spent more time with the dogs than with any actual person. It’s peaceful, and he feels a little of the tension from the battle before finally bleed out of his shoulders.

Maker, he’s exhausted.

But Neria’s been a good friend to him--more than, if he’s being honest--and deserves more from him than just falling asleep here, so he says, “So, uh. You sure you’re okay?”

He expects her to say she’s okay and have to joke his way to them talking about it, but she just sighs and says, “Well. Mostly.”

“That’s something, at least!” Alistair says, trying for his usual cheer.

Neria huffs out a laugh before going quiet again. Alistair doesn’t push; this silence feels more companionable than stifling. Sure enough, a minute or so later and she says, “I was worried you’d get hurt. Earlier.”

“Oh,” Alistair says, because that hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. “Uh. I didn’t.”

“No, I know,” Neria says, turning to look at him. “I just don’t ever want to see you hurt.” Her face goes a little pink. “Or, you know. Any of us getting hurt. I want to keep everyone safe.” There’s a moment of silence; Alistair catches himself holding his breath, not quite sure why. “I want to keep you safe.”

“That’s supposed to be my job,” Alistair says, voice a little croaky.

She elbows him. “Hey, don’t pretend I didn’t do well today.”

“You did,” Alistair says. “It, uh, wasn’t the easiest for me, to see you at the front. But you--I mean, you clearly learned a lot from that spirit.”

“And from you,” she says, like it’s nothing.

“Right.” He should give her the rose. He’d been thinking of her when he picked it, weeks back now, but the urge to is almost overwhelming, suddenly. 

“Anyway,” Neria says, after what could be only a moment or hours, for all Alistair’s paying attention. “We should probably get back to camp before the fire burns out. We should be reaching the city tomorrow.”

Alistair nods, though he’s reluctant to leave this little moment of peace they’ve found. Neria must be, too, because she just lies there with him for a few moments. He feels her hand brush his, and he takes it, their fingers interlocking.

Eventually, they stand up and make their way back to camp, Neria distracting Zevran from where he’s irritating Wynne and Alistair helping Leliana with taking account of what they’d collected today. But when he finally heads to his tent to get some sleep, Neria catches his eye and smiles at him, cheeks still a little pink.

And, like he always does, he smiles back.

[inquisimer]

I'M COMING BACK FOR MORE with a poetry prompt for Cullen x Neria pls: "For stones, opening / is not easy / Staying closed is / less pain but / your anger finally / is more dangerous." (Margaret Atwood)

niri niri niri happy dadwc!! some WEWH Neria/Cullen for this week uwu

for @dadrunkwriting

wc: 776

~~~

Neria’s bare feet whispered across the tile of the Winter Palace, the soft pad of her footwraps contrasting sharply with the click of heels. No one was looking at her and yet she felt the weight of more than a dozen gazes prickling the back of her neck as she made yet another circuit about the ballroom.

At her elbow, Josephine fluttered with anxious pleasure. It was certainly something to see the ambassador in her element, even as she nagged and pleaded in murmurs hidden behind smiles. She was on about the Dowager now, and the precise correct moment for Neria to approach her, but as they rounded the banister near Lady Mantillilon, something else entirely caught Neria’s attention.

Cullen, absolutely dashing in his dark uniform and fur-lined half-cape, but increasingly uncomfortable as he edged away from the flock of frilly skirts who pressed into his space. His back hit the wall and a spike of anger pinned Neria’s ears flat against her head.

Orlais was a country of masks, of secrets and intrigue. They’d drilled this into her back at Skyhold, that nothing forthright or blatant would gain traction at the Winter Palace. It was only that knowledge that kept her lips from pulling back to bare her teeth in a snarl.

“Mind your dress, Inquisitor,” Josephine murmured, melting into the shadows with a furrowed brow as Neria stalked forward.

These vultures were not mages, but the force of Neria’s anger was palpable and it thinned the Veil enough to set them on edge. Their fans fluttered faster and their titters pitched higher as they pretended not to notice the Inquisitor’s approach.

Cullen had noticed, though, and he was too Fereldan to try and pretend otherwise. He undoubtedly felt the Fade warping to her anger, even without fresh lyrium in his veins, and his frantic eyes found purchase on her fearsome visage.

She was dressed as a taunt, a reminder, a threat. Leaves and vines in various metals twisted up her bodice in an unmistakably elven design and her skirts were but constructs of the Fade, energy from the Rifts and beyond the Veil, bent to swoop and flutter as she walked. She wore a half-cape of her own, a blood-red reminder of her allegiance with a decorative pauldron—dragon bone bent to powerful runes and Dalish imagery—capping her shoulder

She wanted to draw a fist of stone across the Veil and pummel these imbeciles to pieces. Wanted to pull the dagger from the small of her back and slash their ridiculous outfits to shreds, slice the foolish masks from their pathetic faces. But she felt the stares from her ambassador and spymaster, just paces away, and knew she could not, for the night was not yet through and to lose their access here would be to lose the world.

Instead she pushed her fury outward like a shield and the force of it pressed the foolish lords and ladies away from her commander. She walked across their absence, chin jutted out, and clasped her hands behind her back.

“Commander, if you would?” She inclined her head toward the balcony.

“As you say, Inquisitor.” His relief was a bit more obvious than Sister Nightingale might have liked, but preferable to, say, drawing his sword on any of the Orlesians. With a fierce glare to discourage any of his hazers from following, they passed out into the cool night air.

They were barely free of the ballroom when Cullen’s hand unclenched from the pommel at his hip and found the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I—thank you,” he said, sagging ever so slightly. “I am sorry to have pulled you from your more important duties.”

Neria turned on one bare heel and held her hands out for him to take, if he wished. He did so and she laced their fingers together, pressing gentle kisses across his knuckles.

“You did not pull me anywhere,” she told him. “I chose to walk away.”

She gestured toward the palace with their joined hands. “I cannot burn it down without condemning the world we’re trying to save. But I can—and will—let it smolder, because you are far more important than any secrets I could glean, any favors I could earn.”

She looked out across the gardens, suddenly conscious of how serious his gaze on her had grown. Mindful of her dress, her hair, Cullen tugged her to his side and brushed a kiss across the shaved skin behind her ear.

“I can endure.”

“I know you can,” Neria said. “But you already are—so many things. This does not have to be another.”

[m-m-m-myysurana]

Rhodri finally admits her feelings for Neria, and Neria wastes no time.

Sketchy sketches based off of the incredible fic @wild-houseplant wrote for me for OC Kiss Week: “Old Love” Everybody go read it, its amazing. I can’t get over them!!

[damallarky]

"Truce" Snippet

This fic is fighting me guys. But here are two snippets so I can share something and get the fic worms out into the ether. Enjoy.

-

"If there was one truth Neria Lavellan knew above all else, it was that she hated Solas with every fiber of her twelve-year-old being. It was her opinion that the man who abandoned her and her family before she was even born did not have any right to any of their time. Yet in the days following his release from the Fade, Neria noticed her family’s carefully constructed unit begin to shift and change to make room for him anyway.

It started fairly innocuously, with Mamae checking in on him when she could. It seemed Solas was apparently left weakened by his stint in the Fade and needed the bedrest. This was fine to Neria; it meant she wouldn’t have to see the man, and it gave Mamae a chance to do what she loved most: fret over people.

Yet, as Solas regained his strength and could leave his bed, he continued to weasel into her family’s lives, starting with Neria’s mother. Unless Solas was needed for Veilguard stuff, he was stuck to Mamae like a tick.

A stupid, bald tick.

Wherever Aisling Lavellan was, Solas was not far behind. If Mamae was cooking, Solas would be there to “help.” If Mamae was holding Neria’s new baby sister, Enasali, and she began to fuss, Solas would sweep in out of nowhere and offer to hold her. If Mamae was doing embroidery work in the library, Solas was close by, reading a book.

What was worse was that Mamae seemed to enjoy having Solas around. It did not escape Neria’s notice how Mamae would leave Veilguard meetings with her hand (always her real hand) entwined with Solas’s own. Nor did Neria miss the look on Mamae’s face whenever she would feed him a bite of whatever it was she was cooking… By hand.

It made Neria want to hurl..." -

"...The leather was old and worn, covered in a thick layer of dust like it had been forgotten for years. Upon opening it, she saw that the writing was tiny, impeccably neat, and seemed to alternate between common and Elven. Along with what looked like regular journal entries, there were also diagrams, formulas, and countless sketches.

Neria had a sneaking suspicion as to who this journal belonged to. So, with a vindictiveness she didn’t even know she possessed, she turned to a random page.

It was a journal entry written in common and, according to the date, was written on what would have been her fourth name day. It read:

‘I have a near mountain of work, yet I have accomplished nothing. Today is Neria’s name day, and is the case every year, I am finding it hard to concentrate.

She is turning four years old this year. Four years old! I am still unused to the flow of time in this new world, and I fear that when I next see her, Neria will be a woman grown…’

The next passage had what looked like water droplets smearing the ink and making the text nearly illegible. Neria thought she saw the word ‘heart’ and perhaps ‘mother,’ but she couldn’t be sure. Frustrated, she skipped to the next few lines.

‘I had one of my agents deliver the gift I had picked out. I found it while I was working with my contact in Kirkwall.

It was a toy stuffed wolf, and it was quite the odd-looking thing with its misshapen body and mismatched buttons for eyes. Yet I found it endearing (and incredibly soft), so I couldn’t help but purchase it.

I can only hope that Neria enjoys it as well...’"

@buttsonthebeach @beardedladyqueen and all the others, thank you for cheering me on. It helps a lot. :D

[samcadoodles]

Drawing practice with the wives

My Tav, Neria, and Jaheira (they are so married)

Psst, I write fanfiction of them!

Fic 1 here and Fic 2 here

[icescrabblerjerky]

30 Days of Dragon Age Day One: Introduce Your Warden

Here’s Alim Surana. He was not my first play through or even my sixth - he turned up in a fic I wrote about one of my Couslands and before I knew it he was my fave. Alim is one of a set of identical twins - his sister Neria stayed in the circle while Alim became the hero of Ferelden. Alim is trans, romanced Zev and became a blood mage in order to save Anders’ life. He’s lost some of his sunny disposition over the years of duty and responsibility but he’s easy going, really.

[dreadfutures]

🙤 Self-Recommendation Tag Game 🙧

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made.

1. Something you absolutely adore: 2. Something that was challenging to create: 3. Something that makes you laugh or smile: 4. Something that surprised you (how it turned out, how other liked it, etc.): 5. Something you want other people to see:

Tagged by @demandthedoodles thank you!!!! I AM FINALLY FREE OF MY PHD AND CAN PARTICIPATE THINGS WITH BRAINPOWER AGAIN

I will tag, with no obligation, @anneapocalypse | @tobio-fish | @exalted-dawn | @v-arbellanaris | @shift-shaping (and anyone else who sees this and wants to tag me with their self recs, cuz I have so much catching up to do)

Show me your art, writing, meta, collages, whatever it is you've ever done that you like <3

1. Something you absolutely adore:

Starting off with a fic, one of the pieces I'm most proud of is CHRYSALID, a Dragon Age genfic about Cillian from multiplayer:

Chrysalid | Rated: G | Cillian | Chapters: 9/9 Herein the Dalish mage leaves his intended role as First behind and follows a butterfly migration to the Arbor Wilds. I had always wondered how Cillian, a Dragon Age Inquisition Multiplayer character, discovered the path of the Arcane Warrior. I really enjoyed putting myself in some of these settings and atmospheres, and I enjoy re-reading it too!

2. Something that was challenging to create:

These hands were both obsession and study for me. blood, subsurface scattering, and extreme light sources hello

3. Something that makes you laugh or smile:

I did a little series of doodles of some DA ocs wearing academic regalia and Talenna ended up spicy and Neria ended up doing the same pose I did when I graduated: enjoying an elote

4. Something that surprised you (how it turned out, how other liked it, etc.):

TIME TO GET SAPPY.

I started writing Dead Pasts and Dread Futures in 2020 because I needed to survive a huge depressive episode and the feelings of loss and loneliness and grieving over friendship and responsibility at the end of Trespasser really hit home. I was just writing drabbles, and then I was just writing a few chapters, and then I was writing a massive and ever-growing monster of a fic, all by the seat of my pants. In the middle of COVID, and in the middle of PREPARING FOR MY PHD ADVANCEMENT. I wrote over 500,000 words. It launched me head-first into a community that I am still so close with even now. That alone is so shocking to me, since it hasn't happened with any other fandom I've been in or written for, even for my popular Zelda stuff.

But now, years after that fic was COMPLETED, it's still growing and getting comments and I'm blown away by it. I'm not one to obsess over stats but it really boggles my mind.

5. Something you want other people to see:

I always want people to look at my version of Felassan thanks <3

[miladydewintcr]

Get Away With It

Rating: M

Ship: Anders/Female Purple Mage Hawke

tw: panic attacks, PTSD, past trauma (this is a happy fic but I don’t want to gloss over the trauma both Hawke and Anders have been through– it does still affect them both)

Summary

After escaping from The Fade, a pregnant Coralie Hawke tries to build a life for herself with her beloved Anders and the family they have found over the years. Because sometimes, the hero’s story doesn’t have to end in tragedy. Sometimes, she gets her happy ending after all.

Reach Chapter Seven here

Read from the beginning here

Chapter Seven excerpt

They reached the stairs that led up to Vigil’s Keep and instinctively reached for each-other’s hands.

“Come along, then,” Coralie said, bracing herself. She squeezed his hand. “The Wardens owe me, after all.”

“Maker, I hope Nate still works here.”

They exchanged looks before heading up the stairs.

The guard at the top stopped them immediately. He wasn’t anyone that either of them recognised, but his uniform was the silver and blue of the Grey Wardens.

“Is Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe here?” Anders asked. “I’m Anders, and this is Hawke. We were hoping to speak with whoever’s in charge here?”

The guard told them to wait and then disappeared through the gate into the fortress.

“It’s just as well we aren’t vagabonds,” Coralie commented. “He’s left us entirely unattended. We could easily slip in and do crimes.”

“Not likely,” Anders replied. “The moment we got inside, there’d be hundreds of very armoured, very armed warriors on us.”

Coralie raised an eyebrow, smirking suggestively.

“Maker, what is it with you today?”

“Pregnancy hormones.”

Approaching footsteps broke them out of their banter, and they turned to see a small elven woman clad in Grey Warden ceremonial armour, one hand on her hip. Her brown hair was bound up in a crown braid, and her thin lips held a slight smirk.

“Neria?” Anders dropped Coralie’s hand to run the few steps between them, sweeping the elven woman up into a hug. “I thought you’d gone off on some great, big, mysterious adventure?”

The woman, Neria, patted him on the back affectionately. “I just got back.”

[niofo]

I will never be normal about the multiplayer mages. There is not much about them, but what is there is really fun and i really hope that they bring some of those characters in dad, it would be great to have some of those former field agents of the inquisition running around, and they're blank slates enough to leave writers with quite a free range.

I always found it interesting how Cillian was obviously inspired by Fenris with his design, but also his opposite in the others. Obviously he's a mage, and an arcane warrior on top, someone who spent years just meditating in abandoned elven ruin, probably has an enormous knowledge about ancient elven lore - but also he's just this calm and friendly guy. He's so positive and full of wonder when looking at the world around him. Despite certainly being warned about templars by his keeper, he still calls Belinda da'len, bcos he sees that she's young and enthusiastic, and a bit naive. His vallaslin is June, which doesn't fit his character on the first glance (i would rather put him as a Dirthamen or even Falon'din guy), so i wonder if it was intentional to shine more light on Fenris' lyrium markings looking like June vallaslin. But also maybe there is some untold story to explain why Cillian picked June in particular.

Hissera was going to be a tamassran when her magic first manifested. Obviously there's not much about her bcos she doesn't have any dialogue, but i just find it interesting, that unlike Ketojan, she decided to live free from the qun after losing her arvaarad, i wonder if it has something to do with her previous priestess training. Her name means hope, which is also not something ever associated with saarebas. It would be nice if Bull too her under his wing after the Inquisition is done.

Neria is someone my Ilen Lavellan would love to hang out with, just talking about their respective clans, how it was as the First, perhaps reminiscing about past arlathvens where they met. She wishes to be back with her clan, but she considers defeating Corypheus too important to just let shems take care of it alone, she wants people to remember about dalish and not have them pushed to the sidelines again. I wonder is it was meant to be a neurodivergent trait, but Cillian remembers her as a little girl trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle, and that she was so focused she didn't even notice him leaving. Her vallaslin is Dirthamen, which is fitting for a future Keeper, but also shows her inquisitive nature.

I know most people hates Sidony, and for very good reasons, but i experienced her only after i created Idris, and the parallels were just too fun to let go. They're both necromancers specializing with ice magic, they are both not particularly nice and warm people, although Sidony certainly made it into an art. I think if idris wasn't the Inquisitor he would have a similar reputation, but as much as for him it's just his personality and actually he cares about people too much even, Sidony really seem to mainly care about the pursuit of knowledge and to be left alone. I would love to meet her as a grumpy hermit who lets us use her arcane book collection on the promise that afterwards we'll leave her alone and never come back. Maybe with a little treat that if the players decides to come back after all, she blasts the party with a blizzard.

And of course i have already way too many thoughts about Rion, de facto having him as one of the main characters of my fic. It all started just because he is from the Ostwick Circle, just as mage!Trevelyan, but he's an endearing character on his own. Hhe dresses in a same sort of feathery thing Anders does, for some reason. He makes a lot of jokes, including ones at his own expense, and it reminds me of awakening Anders - perhaps something to ease the tension, to make himself seem less threatening in eyes of the templars, just a silly little mage, yk. But also he is very much threatening, he throws fireballs at people and trying to show off this his spells. He really is dealing with years of complex circle trauma and it's not easy to shake it off. WoT2 also suggest that he was from a rich or even noble family, but refuses to speak about it - and considering he doesn't have any family name listed, maybe they disinherited him on the spot when he became a mage. Just another point of connection with Trevelyan, as they might even be from the same social circles before the Circle of magi.

[inquisimer]

LOOK MER. you did this to me. Please could I have some Cullen & Tranquil!Neria???? With this poetry prompt? "My faith gets grime under its nails"??? Happy writing!!

oop here we go👀 thanks niri have some pain

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

He wanted to hit something, so he did.

He slammed the meat of his fist against his desk and when the sturdy mahogany didn’t give under the blow he whirled around and threw the full force of his strength against an undeserving bookshelf. Its construction was weaker and it splintered, tomes bent and scattered.

He dropped his forehead against the now ragged edges of wood and then slumped down to the floor. Dry sobs drove shudders through his body.

The Seeker’s report crumpled in his other hand.

There was a cure.

The squeaky hinge on his door creaked, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. The footsteps were even and deliberate and there was a clink of a tray against his desk. A brief rustling and Neria appeared at his side and took his hand in her much smaller one. Without a word, she plucked the splinters from his skin and then, once they were all removed, gently pressed a damp cloth to the tiny wounds.

A hiss escaped between Cullen’s teeth. The shudders were worse with her here, not so much an echo but a shout of his mistakes right in his face.

“I am sorry,” she said flatly. “Your pain will be worse if left to infection.”

He scoffed. Even after two Circles, after all this time, the Tranquil detachment was…unsettling. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Of what?”

“The cure.” He loosened his free hand and the Seeker’s report, wrinkled in his shame and rage, fluttered to the floor. Neither made a move to retrieve it.

“Yes, I was informed.” Neria’s voice didn’t change and she never stilled her movements against his hand. “It is why I am here.”

His breath froze in his throat. What—would she—

“The Spymaster suggested that the news would be distressing to you,” Neria continued, unhampered by the emotions warring inside Cullen. “Clearly she was correct.”

“To me?” Maker’s ass, Leliana, he thought. “What about you?”

Neria swapped the cloth for a small jar of elfroot paste and began dabbing it across his knuckles. “I do not understand the question.”

“I—of course not.” Cullen sagged. The conversation was helping, in some weird way, if only because the back and forth of healing was a familiar routine by now. His body no longer shook but he still felt shaky and suspected that if he tried to stand under his own power he would not succeed. “Do you have…any thoughts on the matter?”

“Not at present, no.” Neria replaced the lid of the jar and began unwinding a fresh strip bandage. “It has very little consequence to me at this point.”

“Very little consequence?” he spluttered. “Do you not want your magic restored?”

“I want to be useful. I already am. It would be unnecessary to endure the pain and suffering of such restoration simply to become useful in another way.”

She tied off the bandage and drew back, gathering the supplies. “Also, the Inquisitor will not allow it.”

“That seems highly unlike Ellana.”

“She does not feel that we know enough about the cure and its effect on the subject. To endure that process is an experiment, at present, and no Tranquil can consent to such an experience.”

That made sense, he supposed, and was exactly the sort of empathetic logic he’d come to expect from the Inquisitor. Still…

“What was done to you…what I did to you’ —Cullen swallowed, fiddling with the already fraying edges of the bandage— “that was against your will, as well. Would that not suggest that, on some level, you would like it reversed?”

“On some level, yes.” Neria returned to his side, this time with the tray of stew. “But in the current chaos, there is no advantage to such a course for the Inquisition.”

“But what about you?” He didn’t know why he kept asking. Tranquility stripped away individuality, desire, reduced it to only the barest level. Yet—

“I serve the Inquisition, Commander,” said Neria. She painted a smile on her face, small and stiff and one she’d learned to mimic for his comfort. Now it squirmed in his gut like sour milk. “The best course for it is the best course for me.”

It’s not, he thought.

“Of course,” he said. 

[nirikeehan]

first lines

rules:  share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

I got tagged by @rowanisawriter! Thank you for the tag, this is always a delight to do.

IDK if recently updated fics technically count but I'mma do it anyway bc I am lazy.

Upon reviewing them: I really love starting out with a setting detail. I'm gonna blame Inquisition for being fucking gorgeous for that one. Also I am impressed only two start out with dialogue – so often that has been my go-to way to start a scene lol. I am most impressed with the lines that put you right into the action... I should maybe work on doing that more.

Tagging, if interested: @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @bluewren

---

These are all Dragon Age btw, the brainrot that keeps on going since 2020

Kingdom Come; Thalia x Thom Rainier

He has imagined her return a thousand times and a thousand times more.

2. Two Songs; Truth, Sadness, Sacrifice; Cullen & Samson

“Staring at the cards all night won’t change ‘em, kid,” Samson said.

3. World-Weary Assholes; Garrett Hawke & Thalia

“Where did that damned Inquisitor go?” Hawke asked Varric.

4. The Wingman at Griffon Wing; Rylen & Thalia

The blazing sun hung low on the horizon, washing the forbidding landscape in hues of blood red.

5. The Greater Good; Cullen & Samson

Cullen stood in the Gallows courtyard, sweating into his armor. 

6. Desert, Dragon, Soldier, Spy; Rylen x non-Inquisitor OC (exchange fic)

His first impression of her is a flash of white in a sea of orange.

7. But Never a Key; Cullen x Thalia, Cullen & Pravin

The Hinterlands were ablaze with autumn color.

8. An Unquenchable Flame; Cullen x Thalia, Cullen & Pravin

The wind howls through the night.

9. Things my heart used to know (things it yearns to remember); Cullen x Neria Surana Lavellan (exchange fic)

The argument in Josephine’s office was significant, from the sound of it.

10. Through a Glass, Darkly; Cullen x Thalia, Samson x Thalia

The sky hung low like a threat.

[damallarky]

Boyfriend

@buttsonthebeach, @beardedladyqueen and everyone else who have been waiting for Truce.... this is not it. BUT it is another Solavellan Kid Fic.

This takes place about three years after the events of Veilguard, when Solas and Lavellan finally have their happy ending because that's what's going to happen. Right BioWare? Right?????

Nan is Aisling's first child from a different relationship. He's 17.

Neria is Solavellan child #1. She's 15. If you have read Truce, you will be happy to notice that by the time this fic happens, Solas has earned the coveted title of "Papae".

Enasali is 3.

-

Aisling sat and embroidered underneath the shade of the massive oak tree in their garden, listening as her youngest child shrieked and ran away from the large monstrous wolf chasing her. It was the size of a small dragon, with six glowing eyes and razor-sharp teeth as tall as the toddler it was after.  

Yet Aisling knew her daughter was in no danger, for she knew the man beneath the beast and that he loved Enasali as much as she did. She also knew, as she felt the child growing within her kick, that their lives would be changing yet again (this time for the better) and that soon Solas would have much less time to play their daughter's favorite game of “Chase (and Be Chased By) the Giant Puppy.” 

She and Solas had both agreed to spend as much time as possible with their children, particularly Enasali, before the baby came, and most of their time and energy was taken up by the baby.

Aisling’s thoughts were interrupted by peels of laughter, and she looked up from her embroidery to see Solas belly crawl through the flowers, his tail wagging rapidly as he inched closer and closer to Enasali. 

“Not through my bellflowers, please!” she called out. 

Solas stopped in his tracks and glanced back at her with two of his six eyes. He had the decency to flatten his ears to his skull in a sheepish expression before rolling over slightly to the left to get out of the way of Aisling’s precious bulbs. The fact that he smashed more of them in the process was not lost on her. Or him, for that matter, given the fact that he was now, very pointedly, not looking at her. 

Aisling stifled her laughter and decided to let it slide for now. 

She was just about to return to her embroidery when she heard a scream, followed by a large crash. Solas, too, heard the crash, and he immediately froze, jumping to his feet with his ears perked up and all six of his eyes focused in the direction of the noise. They both settled, however, when they realized it was their two oldest children screeching down the steps of their Fade home and not an intruder. 

“GIVE IT BACK, RENAN!” Neria yelled, trying to grab at her brother. Nan leaped over the banister and made a beeline straight to his mother, a leatherbound journal in his hands and what Aisling could only describe as a shit-eating grin on his face. He ran behind his mother and opened the journal to read it out loud.

“’I saw him again today,’” he read gleefully. “’How have I never noticed how blue his eyes were before now?’”

“I swear, Nan,” Neria seethed, “if you do not give me back my journal right now…”

They chased each other in circles around their mother, who was trying in vain to make them stop.

“That’s enough, you two,” she said warningly, but her children seemed too busy antagonizing each other to hear her. Nan continued to read from Neria’s journal, ignoring her threats and holding her journal up high so his sister couldn’t reach it. 

“’I hope I can see him again soon!’” he crowed. “’If only so I can see those pretty blue eyes again!’”

Neria’s face turned as bright red as her hair, and she, in a fit of rage, punched her brother in the gut. Hard. 

“STOP IT, THE BOTH OF YOU!” Aisling shouted. Both children looked down in contrition as she stood up, abandoning her embroidery. With her real hand resting on her swollen stomach, she held out her artificial one to Nan expectantly. 

“Renan, give me her journal. Now,” she commanded. 

Head still bowed, he handed his mother the journal. Aisling then gave it to Neria, who practically yanked it out of her mother’s hand and held it close to her chest.

“Neria,” Aisling said in a severe voice to let her daughter know she meant business, “how many times have your father and I told you that not every problem can be solved with your fists?”

She glanced over at said father, who was conveniently pretending he could not hear the argument as he entertained Enasali. Aisling supposed it was for the best. Their youngest hero worshiped her older siblings and was distraught whenever they argued, and Aisling was unsure if she could deal with a sobbing toddler on top of two misbehaving teenagers. 

“Now,” she said, giving both of her children very pointed looks, “I want the two of you to apologize to each other immediately.”

“Ir abelas, Neria,” Nan said. “I shouldn’t have taken your journal or told everyone about your secret boyfriend…”

Aisling glared at her son while Neria looked ready to punch him again. 

“Renan Lavellan!” 

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“What is this about a boyfriend?”

They all turned to see a massive lupine head looming down at them, six eyes darting between the three of them in concern.

“Neria, is someone courting you?” he asked, his voice taking on a slightly panicked quality to it. “Who is this boy? How old is he? How did you meet him?” 

Neria’s face got redder and redder with each question, while Nan’s grin broadened. 

“She met him at one of Uncle Varric’s parties!” he said gleefully. Neria gave him a withering look, and Aisling was suddenly very concerned that Neria would skip the fists and start setting her brother on fire. Then she looked over at Solas, and judging by the look in his six eyes, Aisling knew that he was mentally going over every known associate of Varric Tethras, trying to determine who this mysterious suitor was and how to adequately dispose of them. Probably also with fire.

It took her breath away at times how alike father and daughter were. It was also just as likely to give her a headache.

Aisling pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Solas…” she said warningly.

“What?” Solas replied innocently. “I merely wish to know more about Neria’s boyfriend…” Then, he narrowed his eyes and added, “…whom I would also very much like to meet. Privately.” 

Neria threw her arms up in the air in exasperation. 

“PAPAE!” she screeched. “THERE IS NO BOYFRIEND!”

Neria clutched her journal to her chest and glared at her family.

"You are all the worst!" she cried before stomping off towards the house.

Aisling heaved a heavy sigh. She had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time she'd hear of this.

[nightingkail]

Wanted to try my hand at a tarot-esque drawing of my canon warden, Neria Surana. I didn't attempt a background, but I imagine it would reflect a six of swords theme since this card represents change and loss. To me, Neria was never the same when she left the Circle tower, and from then on, she is constantly undergoing changes. Whether it be good or bad, she will always need to look to the future.

I've linked this drawing in my fic "And all that's best of dark and bright" on ao3. In it, I focus on Neria as she matures into her own person while separated from those she cares for most. To be a successful Warden-Commander, she must learn about politics and how to navigate confusing relationships.

If this sounds like something you'd like to check out, here's the link to my fic:

[syrupwrit]

Thinking about my Neria (Surana)

-

One of the core aspects of my Neria's character is that she's an elf who is totally non-elfy, culturally estranged, disconnected from other elves and somewhat resentful of their communities. She identifies more as a mage than an elf, and -- eventually -- more as a Grey Warden than a mage. But what others see when they meet her is an elf.

When Neria is younger, to compensate for feelings of forsakenness and powerlessness, she decides she's above common people, places herself in the company of great figures she admires, doesn't understand that her grandiose fantasies are opaque to others and would be considered laughable if they were legible. A part of her is permanently a little girl in the apprentices' library, daydreaming about summoning the ghost of whoever owned the grimoire she's currently reading To Be Her Friend (but not actually trying to do it, because she's scared and doesn't want to get in trouble).

More scattered thoughts:

When Neria first came to the Circle Tower as a very young child, she got sick and almost died. Wynne's healing stabilized her, saving her life. They don't remember each other at first when they meet again during Origins. They don't have a good relationship.

She is afraid of First Enchanter Irving.

The characters Neria gets along with best are Morrigan, Oghren, Loghain, and Velanna. The ones she gets along with least are Wynne, Alistair, Anders, and Sigrun.

Potential romantic/sexual relationships of Neria include: Cullen (mutually one-sided, ends badly after Broken Circle, possible reunion c. Inquisition/Trespasser); Morrigan (friends-to-lovers-to-enemies, fempreg Dark Ritual, complicated pining); Nathaniel Howe (friends-with-benefits arrangement, they don't really fit together but it works for a while, he develops feelings and she doesn't); the Architect (I'm writing a fic about this lol); TBD but I want another f/f ship for her. Something angst with Velanna could work, or I might create an OC. Maybe a lost Red Templar, or a woman living alone in the middle of nowhere For Reasons who finds her wounded and nurses her back to health.

To expand on that last bit: Idk, I just think it would be romantic if some random woman holed up in a cottage on a remote coastline to escape her troubles found an older, more monstrously darkspawn-like, terribly worn-out Neria washed up on the beach or passed out in the mouth of a cave and brought her home and took care of her. And she doesn't have any idea who Neria is or that she's a mage or a warden. She's just a random elf to this woman, who has a really tragic backstory and compelling reasons for being in hiding (that I will think of later). And Neria is feeling very guilty and defeated due to personal failures and is relieved to not have to be the Hero of Ferelden with this woman. But then whoever the woman was fleeing tracks her down, and Neria has to do magic to save her :)

After a few years of being a Grey Warden and living at the Vigil, Neria develops weird eating patterns. Drinks/chews/smokes a lot of stimulants, fasts for days or weeks, mostly eats to prepare for or recover from complicated exertions of spellwork. Oghren and Seneschal Garevel assume this is normal, but Velanna confronts her about it.

She has kind of like. A corruption arc. Younger Neria is innocent, vulnerable, well-intentioned, and empathetic; Older Neria is a genuine monster.