#finding a stranger to get solas never made sense to me to begin with

[lavellaned]

kills me that the reason given for rook to exist as pc is that "ooo we need to find people solas doesn't know in order to hunt him down" and then in the very first conversation you have with him solas knows exactly who rook is. and then the inquisitor shows up at the end of the game anyways.

[buttsonthebeach]

A Gilded Cage

I had so much fun writing this commission for @im-calling-the-lord! Thank you for trusting me with A. Grace and your vision of her time with Solas in Arlathan!

Pairing: A. Grace x Solas

Rating: Teen for cursing

The party, all things considered, was beautiful.

Of course, considering all things meant that Abby Grace had to consider the fact that she was essentially a prisoner at said beautiful party, surrounded by people who either wanted to use or murder her.

Which meant it really, really was a beautiful party.

Ghilan’nain was known for this sort of thing, Abby supposed. All the Evanuris were, but Abby had heard of Ghilan’nain’s parties even in the small village where she lived with her parents, where the most interesting thing to happen on a given day was usually a domestic spat or the appearance of an unusual kind of spirit. The gossip said that what made Ghilan’nain’s parties particularly special was her ability to create new animals, many of which would disappear come morning, or be taken away to one of her private estates, never to be seen again by anyone other than her and her slaves, and perhaps Andruil. Abby could see now that they were right. 

She knew logically that they were in a massive hall, likely made of white stone, but it was so full of lush greenery, and gold twinkling lights, that it might as well have been a forest. And each of those trees and bushes was surrounded by a cloud of songbirds, the likes of which Abby had certainly never seen, and, judging by the whispers of passing strangers, no one else had either. They had dazzling patterns that matched Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin, and long lacy wings, and fantastic crests. Higher above them, swooping from rafter to rafter, were even larger birds, some more like small feathered dragons than birds at all.

There were no cages, but it did not escape Abby that she was in a menagerie now - or that she was one of the animals in that menagerie.

That was how Ghilan’nain had looked at her when she happened upon Abby in a small village closer to Arlathan than the one Abby had grown up in, where she’d gone on an errand for her mother. Like Abby was a curious sort of animal. Far too tall, with mismatched eyes, rounded ears, and powers no one could explain. Powers she had not dared to tell anyone about - except for one person. 

Solas.

And he had not been there at her side when Ghilan’nain’s retinue appeared. Had not been at her side for years now.

“How very curious,” Ghilan’nain had said when they met, after she saw Abby use her ability to nullify magic to stop a small fire that an inexperienced mage had caused. “I do like curious things. I think you shall come with me.”

Abby was smart enough to know it was a command, even though it wasn’t quite phrased as one. And now she was here, at this too-beautiful party - one of the animals on display, and utterly alone.

She tried to keep moving from one stand of fantastical greenery to another, avoiding settling too long in one place so people wouldn’t strike up long conversations with her. She’d been introduced as an honored guest, after all. Given a beautiful blue dress that bared her shoulders and swept the floor. She wondered if Ghilan’nain would let her go after tonight if she didn’t inspire too much amusement in the guests. If she really was a guest. A brief shock of nerves ran through her body at the thought. She opened her mind, preparing to read the thoughts of those around her - just one of the powers that, if she was not careful, could get her killed tonight. She was just beginning to sort through the tangle of noise, clarifying individual voices, individual ideas, when someone’s voice broke in.

“Abby Grace, is it? A curious name.”

She opened her eyes. The man before her was tall, thin-lipped, golden-haired, with violet eyes -

Elgar’nan.

Chief among the Evanuris, and not a kind man, to hear the tales.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“So I have been told, my lord,” she said before the silence could stretch into awkwardness. He was staring at her. It was probably strange for him to be eye-to-eye with someone, especially a woman. His eyes drifted to her rounded ears, and then back.

“You were a foundling, yes? Adopted by parents who live in a village not far from here?”

Another chill ran through Abby’s body. That had not been part of Ghilan’nain’s introduction. It was not something she had shared with anyone here at this party. She steeled herself and used her power as quickly as she could, diving into Elgar’nan’s mind like it was a clear pool, so cold it hurt to touch.

Let us see if the information my agents gave me is good. If it is, this girl is an abomination, like all of Ghilan’nain’s others. Something that must be stopped. If I can draw Andruil into the open today, too - show proof of this madness she brought back from the Void - I can kill two birds with one stone.

She came back to the surface. As always, it hadn’t been more than a second or two, but it was dizzying to come back.

“It is true,” she said. “They found me in the forest. Abby Grace was the name pinned to my blanket. Is that the Lady Andruil entering the hall just now?”

Elgar’nan turned and followed the path of Abby’s eyes. She sensed the shift in his body, the sudden current that ran through it, when he saw the woman she’d just noticed. She’d been right. It was Andruil - or else someone else who could provoke such a strong reaction, cause Elgar’nan to manipulate the magic around him that way. Abby had no magic of her own, but everyone around her did, and so she was familiar with the way emotions caused people to use it, often unconsciously, like drawing in a sharp breath of surprise. 

Her own power - her own stupid, twice-damned, unexplained power - buzzed beneath the surface of her own skin. Longing to nullify the magic that haloed Elgar’nan’s retreating back. He was strong. The strongest mage Abby had ever been near.

But she knew, the same way she knew up from down, that she could nullify that power in an instant. And that was why she was here, at this too-beautiful party. She was something the powerful people in this room would either fight to control or fight to destroy. It was the thing her parents had feared (how she wished she could get word to them - she hoped someone who had seen Ghilan’nain pick her up would go to their village and tell them). It was the thing Solas had feared, too. But he had left her alone all those years ago to go and study his beloved magic, telling her he would be back, telling her to stay safe, to not let anyone find out about her abilities.

She could still picture him perfectly as he had been on that last day before he left. She let it distract her as she began to wander the hall, trying not to linger in one place too long, trying to stick to shadows, listening for more of this drama between Andruil and Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan. She learned that Andruil had some new kind of armor from what she could gather from conversation and from people’s minds - something to do with this Void place - but not everyone knew, not everyone was sure it was real, some said it was slander Elgar’nan himself had invented because he resented the growing power the two of them represented together. But as she walked and heard these terrible things, she saw every face as Solas’s. Her oldest friend. The blue of his eyes and the way he crinkled his nose in annoyance whenever she teased him for thinking she was a spirit when they first met. How serious he’d looked on that last day, warning her to be careful.

“Please, Abby,” he’d said softly. “Be safe.”

He’d taken her hand then. Squeezed it once. Rubbed his thumb absent-mindedly across the back of it in a way that made her heart flutter even now. There had been lingering glances before that, moments charged with words unsaid. She’d always thought - when he came back - that they would make good on the promise of that touch. 

The thought grew more and more remote as she wandered the party and saw the guards at every entrance and exit, the way they tracked her with their eyes, how all their thoughts sang of keeping her in the palace and not letting her out. She was not a guest after all. Even if Solas did come back - even if he had not forgotten her - he would never know where to go. The promise was broken forever. There was only one small chance - one rumor she’d heard of a new god, young and cocky and blue-eyed and calling himself the Dread Wolf - but she had no proof it was him. It was only wishful thinking.

Then Abby looked across the hall to the grand entrance, her eyes drawn by the sound of a sudden commotion, and saw him, as surely as if her thoughts had summoned him.

Solas.

Tall, smiling, flanked by soldiers wearing the same black and green as he was, parting the crowd as he entered. One of Ghilan’nain’s guards raised her sceptre and struck it against the marble floor.

“Lord Fen’Harel,” her voice rang out, amplified by magic, announcing his entrance.

Son of a bitch. The words rang out shocked and angry and affectionate within her own mind. She tamped them down quickly, not wanting to broadcast them into the minds of anyone nearby her. She could hardly breathe, watching him smile and nod and move through all of the people. He looked so much the same, and yet so different. Her casual suspicion had been right. He had been elevated to godhood in his time away from her.

No wonder he never bothered to come back.

Almost without thinking about it, she reached out to read his mind, to see if he really was the same man. She caught a buzz of other thoughts as she did so - Elgar’nan had brought some of his best warriors, told Ghilan’nain’s own servants to prepare the arena that lay outside the great hall for some type of contest, they’d been told that Ghilan’nain’s new pet was dangerous, look how tall she is and she is no elf - and there he was, his mind ringing out one thought over and over.

It cannot be her. It cannot be her. It cannot be her.

Their eyes met across the dance floor that separated them, and Abby’s whole body went hot. He was here. Really here. Solas. Her power rose within her and the hairs on the back of her neck rose too and if she wasn’t careful it would leech out of her and everything around her would rise, ascend skyward, because he was walking towards her and she didn’t know whether she was going to hit him or -

No. She had to focus. He was the one who’d left her, and she was the one who was in danger now. What mattered most was making it out of this party alive. That was all he needed to be to her right now. A way out. But the closer he got, the more her throat closed up, because it was him, and maybe she hadn’t even realized how much she had missed him - their long talks, the pranks they played, the arguments they had.

When Solas reached her, he bowed at the waist, his eyes not leaving hers, and then he was a stranger again. Abby curtsied, all that levitating feeling leaving her. She was heavy as stone now.

“I take it you are the Lady Ghilan’nain’s honored guest,” he said.

She stared at him a moment, opened her mouth to ask him who he thought he was, and then remembered where she was.

“I am indeed. And who are you, exactly?”

Solas’s lips quirked at her arch tone. “Forgive me. I am Lord Fen’Harel.”

His clothes would have made it obvious, of course. The wolf pelt over one shoulder, the patterning on his gold tunic, which looked like the six red eyes she had seen drawn on images of this new Dread Wolf in Mythal’s service. It was the detail that had given her a hint of this new god’s identity. Six eyes like a spirit of Pride. Like her friend’s namesake.

“You are dismissed,” Solas said to the two attendants who remained with him. “Please, enjoy the party. I would speak further with Miss Grace.”

His attendants bowed and left, casting a glance over their shoulders as they went. A songbird flitted between Solas and Abby, its feathers a brilliant vermillion that she had never seen in nature. All of their singing was acquiring a tune now, and an orchestra was joining them. It was eerie, rather than lovely, but people were still beginning to dance.

“You didn’t actually ask for my name, you know,” Abby said. “Your friends there will probably be suspicious of that.”

Solas’s jaw tightened. “There is enough else to be suspicious of here. I do not think that will be their main concern.”

“You got that right. The things I have heard tonight…”

Solas stepped closer to her and her breath caught, and again Abby wasn’t sure what her body wanted from him. To strike him, or to get even closer.

“Tell me. I fear -” Then he stepped away again, casting a wary glance to his left and right. People had noticed them talking, of course. Solas bowed and extended his hand, this time pitching his voice so that it carried to the others nearest to them. “Would you care to dance with me, Miss Grace? I fear Lady Ghilan’nain has been a poor host if she has not found you a dancing partner.”

There was a ripple of sound in the assembled nobles around them and the heat returned to Abby’s face and neck. What was he thinking? Insulting the only person here whose protection Abby could possibly claim?

Unless he had protection of his own to offer. That was all he needed to be to her, she reminded herself. A way out.

“I would like to dance,” she said, taking his hand, and then all the time and distance between them evaporated, and she was back there on that day that he was saying good-bye. His hand felt the exact same in hers. Like it belonged. Solas held onto it the entire way to the dance floor.

“I don’t know the steps,” she said as one song ended and they moved to find their place among the others.

“I will teach you,” he said. He let go of her hand, but then raised his own high between them. Abby saw the other dancing partners touching palms in that manner and mimicked him. “You have only to listen closely to what I say.”

He tilted his head towards her and there was something urgent in his eyes. She caught his drift at once. Her power could make it so that they were alone in a crowded room. But would anyone else catch on that she was using it?

The music began, and then there was no time to worry about it. She just had to follow Solas’s lead - stepping forward while maintaining the contact of their hands, dipping down slightly as they did so. Turning, pressing their palms together again, walking in a slow circle, their eyes meeting. Abby let herself find the rhythm, and then she slipped into his mind again.

Are you unharmed? He asked at once.

Yes, she said, projecting the thought into his mind. But I don’t know how long it’s going to stay that way. Elgar’nan is not happy with Andruil or Ghilan’nain. He thinks they have been committing unnatural acts with their magic. Everyone keeps talking - or thinking - about some armor related to the Void.

He is not entirely wrong, Solas thought. About Andruil and the Void at least. But if we are not careful, you will get mixed up in that. Another sign of their supposed transgressions. I do not think Elgar’nan would even want you as a weapon. He would see you only as a threat.

I’m glad you’ve become such an expert in the Evanuris over the last few years. You’ll have to tell me sometime about all the adventures you’ve had with them. Considering I never even got a letter.

Even though they were not spoken aloud, Abby knew her words sounded caustic. And it was at that moment, of course, that the dance became more intimate - partners facing each other now, bodies nearly touching, one pair of arms arched overhead, the other clasping each other around the waist. Solas felt warm against her and Abby’s hand trembled before she could stop it.

I am sorry, Solas thought. There were - considerations. I did not stay away out of malice.

So formal. Did Mythal teach you to talk like that? It’s just us in here, you know.

You cannot know how much I have missed that.

Abby didn’t have a stinging retort for that. They were still close, spinning slowly, their eyes locked. There was something in Solas’s that Abby feared to name, even in the privacy of her own mind. There were hundreds of other eyes here, too. Many of them trained on the pair of them as they danced. But for a moment, all of that dropped away, and there was only them, the slow turning of their bodies, the pressure of Solas’s hand on her waist.

I missed you, too, she thought, but she did not project it into his mind. She kept that thought safe and close within herself. Swallowed it down, like she could protect it from this whole crazed world. Then she listened for his thoughts again.

I think I can get you out of here, he thought. It’s why I came here tonight. When I heard that Ghilan’nain had found someone with strange abilities in one of the villages on the outskirts of Arlathan, I feared it was you. Ghilan’nain hasn’t asked you to swear any oaths, has she? Or declared you formally under her protection, or part of her household?

No. She just introduced me as an honored guest.

She is hedging her bets, then. If she really wanted to claim you, she could have, but that makes her vulnerable to anyone who would do you harm as much as it protects you. If we have no other option, I can do that instead. But it would tie you to me forever, at least in the eyes of the people here.

There was something tentative in that last thought. Fragile.

Well, I’m going to assume that you aren’t going to kill me, unless you really have changed a lot over the last few years. So it wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me tonight.

Solas laughed, out loud this time, as they broke apart and then twirled away from each other, and then came back. Abby was always a step or two behind the other dancers, but Solas always managed to meet her exactly, matching her pace, anticipating where she would hesitate or fumble a step.

You can’t laugh at things that only happen in our minds, she scolded. People will think you’re crazy - or worse, guess what’s happening.

He was still chuckling, and the smile he turned on her warmed her all the way to her toes.

Let them think I’m crazy. I’ll find a way to handle it.

I see you haven’t lost any confidence in the time you’ve been away.

Maybe you’re simply bringing it out in me again.

With that, the dance ended, and Solas bowed low to her, never once taking his eyes off hers, still smiling that wicked, cocky smile.

White-haired Ghilan’nain was near the edge of the crowd that had watched the dance. The impressive spires of her halla horn crown had several of the smaller songbird-like creatures resting on them. She was the most otherworldly thing in the room, and Abby did not like how she was watching the two of them.

“There you are,” Ghilan’nain said coolly as they left the dance floor, Solas still holding up Abby’s hand in the most courtly fashion possible. “I had hoped to introduce you to some of my followers who are curious about your abilities. Perhaps you can give a demonstration of them, now that you are not busy dancing.”

“I think Miss Grace is still well occupied,” Solas said, his tone airy, his smile still not fading. “As you should be, with Elgar’nan here. Tell me - how was Andruil’s last trip? What gifts has she brought back for you this time?”

Ghilan’nain’s mouth thinned to a narrow red slash in her pale face.

“I am not at all sure what you mean.”

“Oh, is the armor she brought a surprise?” Abby asked, as innocently as she could.

Ghilan’nain’s eyes widened and Abby saw one fist clench at her side. Her own heart raced. She saw from Solas’s easy smirk and light tone that this was how threats were done here. She was threatening one of the Evanuris.

“You must mean this old thing,” Ghilan’nain said, making a sweeping gesture to encompass everything she was wearing. She did indeed have a silverite breastplate over her long, flowing white dress. “She brought this for me from Mythal’s court. Tell me - how was your trip with Mythal deep into the mountains? Did you find what you sought there, despite the risk?”

Solas’s hand tightened on Abby’s for one instant. She listened to his thoughts immediately.

She is trying to bait me. Mythal and I did nothing wrong. Nothing that all of them haven’t done. The heart of a Titan is what it takes to make a new god. We still have the upper hand.

“Of course we did. Mythal and I never lose.” Solas turned to Abby. “Were you not saying that it is hot here? Let us go and get some fresh air.”

He bowed to Ghilan’nain - but not as low as he had bowed to Abby when their dance ended. That was no doubt an insult. Then he led her away without waiting for Ghilan’nain’s reply. They walked swiftly to one of the doors that led off of the hall, nodding to Ghilan’nain’s guards, and then exiting through it into blissfully cool night air, a vaulted sky dotted with a thousand stars, and a garden drenched in moonlight. The plants were lush, tropical, with glossy green leaves and bright spiky flowers.

“We have certainly bought ourselves some time,” Solas said. “Possibly enough time to simply leave unnoticed, although Ghilan’nain may not take that well. We should wait until Elgar’nan makes his move on her. When she has larger things to concern herself with, she will not mind so much that her new pet is asking to leave with someone else.”

“New pet? You keep truly charming company now, Solas.”

“That is not how I see you,” he said. His voice was softer and lower now. “You know that. It is how they see you.”

“And they are the company you keep now. The company you chose to join. The company you left me for.”

Abby hadn’t meant that last part to slip out, but it did, and with it she felt a rush of anger and hurt and confusion that closed up her throat. She turned away from Solas, looking out at the garden instead. It didn’t matter. He was going to help her get out of this situation. He could probably help her get word to her parents that all was well, and then help her get away from Ghilan’nain. That was all that mattered. Not the past. Not the way he’d bowed to her, smiled at her, held her hand on this day or on any other.

“Abby,” Solas said softly. “I - ”

She was not looking at him, so the touch of his fingertips on the back of her bare arm, even as soft as it was, came as a surprise that made her skin prickle. She still did not turn back to him, did not trust herself to.

“I stayed away because I wanted to protect you from this world,” he said finally. “Because once I got away from our village - I saw how the world would treat you. What any of the Evanuris would do to you. I thought that if I played their games, listened carefully for any rumors that sounded like you, I could keep you safe. I am watched like a hawk now as Mythal’s new right hand. I feared that if even went to you to tell you what I knew, you would be marked as a target. Something they could use against me, regardless of your abilities. That was why I never came back.”

She did turn back to him now, and there was a rawness in his face, a softness, that she had never seen before.

Or that she had seen only once before.

On the day that he left, the day he held her hand and looked at her like there were things he wanted to say but couldn’t. The day she felt those same unsaid words rising to her own lips, and then dying there.

“You were my best friend,” she said.

“You still are mine,” he replied.

Their eyes met and that electric current was there again, real as magic, something that wanted to leap to life between them - maybe it wasn’t electricity after all, but a fire that had been banked down, one that still concealed a single glowing ember within it, waiting to spring back into flames.

“Would you dance with me again?” Abby asked. “Not just so other people see us, but because you want to?”

“Of course,” he said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. But his hands were outstretched, and that was all that mattered.

They danced a slower dance this time, his hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder, their other hands clasped. They could just barely hear the strains of music coming from within the hall. They were haunting sounds like this, and beautiful too. Like they’d managed to slip into another world. One that was only theirs. They twirled slowly, their eyes not meeting, their cheeks very nearly touching. Abby could feel her heart in her throat. She remembered all the times her eyes had lingered on Solas as he read a book or cast a spell or walked ahead of her down the village lane - all the times someone had teased that they would get married and the two of them had been outraged by the suggestion - all the times she’d thought that Solas’s eyes were lingering on her.

“Solas?” she began quietly.

“Yes?”

“I - ”

She’d pulled back far enough to look him in the eye, and now it felt inevitable - realized that it always had been inevitable. That she had to lean in kiss him, that he had to kiss her back. That this was where all the roads were always going.

And it was a perfect place to land - there, in his arms, his lips soft and warm on hers, his hands strong and gentle on her back - there, in the quiet murmuring sound he made as they kissed. There, in the moment when he drew back, looked at her, traced the curve of her jaw, and then kissed her again. There, with the person she’d always loved, always longed for.

“Solas.” Abby breathed the word more than she said it when they parted again. Solas smiled at her, his grin turning wicked again.

“It took you long enough to do that.”

“It took you long enough to do that, ass.”

“Then let’s do it again.”

“Don’t we need to plan our escape?”

“Later. For now, we will dance as long as the music plays. We have a lot of time to make up for, you and I.”

Abby could not disagree.

They kissed, and they still danced, slowly, to no one’s music but their own.

[swhurtcomfort]

Fall Apart, Fall Together--- Chapter 6

Beginning   ---  Previous Chapter   ---   A03

------

Naboo is warm in the early spring. The sun rises early and Padmé opens a window to breathe in the smell of warm rain.

The babies are sleeping through the night now—at least, most of the time. Presently Luke had fussed and cried until at least two in the morning, when Anakin had gotten up to take over and sent Padmé to bed. She notices Leia is awake, and still alone in the crib.

“Well, good morning, birthday girl,” Padmé trills, scooping the baby up and twirling around as Leia giggles. Together they make their way to the living room, where Anakin is dead asleep in an armchair with Luke sprawled out on top of him.

Padmé ruffles Anakin’s hair a bit as they walk past into the kitchen. “Daddy’s sleepy,” she says to Leia.

“Dada,” Leia agrees.

Padmé cringes when she sees how many messages are waiting on her work comm, but she’s taking the day off today. Soon they’ll have to talk about her splitting her time between Naboo and Coruscant, but working from home has been alright in the interim.

While Padmé is fixing Leia a bottle, they hear Luke waking up in the living room, followed by an adult-sized groan.

Anakin enters the kitchen with Luke on his hip.

“Good morning, my favorite ladies” he says, giving them each a kiss before setting Luke down on the kitchen floor so he can crawl after a plush toy. “Here, I’ll do that. Do you want to comm Sola, and make sure they’re still coming over later?”

Leia whines to be put down too, and Padmé obliges. They aren’t walking yet, but Leia is getting quite good at shuffling along when she has a low piece of furniture to lean on. Luke’s taking a little longer to get the hang of it, but there’s no hurry. By all accounts, the twins are thriving. A stranger might mistake them for younger than a year, but otherwise no one would be able to tell they’d been preemies.

“When did he fall asleep?” Padmé asks.

“Sometime after me, I think,” Anakin admits.

“Maybe we can get him to nap before the family gets here.”

Anakin snorts skeptically.

It’s to be a quiet gathering – it’s not as if the twins even know what a birthday is anyway. As they get the house ready, Anakin blows up a few balloons (which Leia greatly enjoys) and puts Leia’s hair up in two matching clips (which she absolutely hates, and an hour later he finds one of them stuffed between the couch cushions). Luke is visibly exhausted, and gets cranky whenever he’s not in Padmé’s arms.

After midmorning, Padmé puts Luke to bed, hoping that he will get some rest, but within twenty minutes they hear him start to cry.

Anakin gets there first. “What’s wrong, little man?” he asks. The Force around Luke pulsates not with pain, but frustration.

“Moo,” cries Luke.

“Mommy?” Anakin guesses.

“Moo!” He sounds utterly devastated.

The doorbell rings. He glances at the clock—Sola and the girls shouldn’t be arriving yet, but he hears Padmé moving to answer it so he returns to the crisis at hand.

“C’mere,” Anakin tuts, lifting Luke out of the crib, but the baby pushes back against his chest and demands ‘moo’ again. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Anakin paces up and down the room once, bouncing a little.

“Anakin,” calls Padmé in a bit of an odd voice.

“Busy,” he calls back, now trying to console Luke with the plush Loth-cat he’d been playing with earlier.

“Moo,” Luke breaks into a fresh peal of sobs.

Neither baby is really communicating with the Force yet, but sometimes Anakin tries. All he gets from the little storm in Luke’s Force signature is a despondent sense of lost, missing.

“Anakin—”

“Padmé, what’s ‘moo’?” he asks down the hall, interrupting. “Have you heard him say that before?”

Padmé appears in the doorway and nearly steps on a beanbag toy on the floor. She picks it up and starts to put it back in the crib, but Luke shoots out a hand towards her.

“Moo!”

Padmé and Anakin both look at the toy, then at each other. Luke whines and reaches further.

“It’s a bantha. Moo,” says Anakin, face splitting into a wide smile.

“What a clever little man,” says Padmé, reuniting the bantha with Luke, who immediately puts its horn into his mouth. “Here, I’ll take him Ani. You should go see who’s here.”

Standing awkwardly by the bannister in the toy-strewn sitting room is the last person Anakin expects.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan clears his throat a little bit.

Anakin doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry to turn up unannounced. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

There’s no judgement in his gaze - as far as Anakin can tell his curiosity is genuine. Anakin doesn’t know how to feel about that. There’s a sense of loss for the life he’d left behind, as well as a dull anger swirling up in him.

“We’re all healthy and happy,” he finally replies.

“I’m glad,” says Obi-Wan quietly.

Padmé shifts Luke on her hip and herds them all to the armchairs in the living room.

“I’ve missed you,” Obi-Wan confesses.

Three responses avail themselves to Anakin’s mind, the first a desperate I miss you too. The more bitter side of him, Oh go kriff yourself with that. The last, which he says out loud as he takes a seat, “I can’t go back.”

Obi-Wan nods his acceptance of that fact. They awkwardly meet each other’s gaze. Anakin still hasn’t decided whether he is angry. Obi-Wan’s shields are a blank wall, but he knows the man well enough to tell that he is conflicted too.

Leia crawls over and tugs on Anakin’s pant leg until he puts her on his lap. Obi-Wan studies them both, a pensive look lingering on his face.

Luke makes eye contact with Obi-Wan and laughs, still clutching Moo to his chest.

“Would you like to hold him?” Padmé offers.

“Ah, no thank you, I don’t exactly…” Obi-Wan shifts uncomfortably in his chair at the thought.

“Come on, Obi-Wan. Say hello.” Anakin’s voice holds a note of teasing.

Obi-Wan looks panicked as Padmé passes Luke over. He supports the baby stiffly as Luke squirms around to get comfortable. With the look on Obi-Wan’s face, you’d think he’d never seen a baby before.

“You’re doing it right,” Padmé assures him with a smile.

“You’re getting so big,” Obi-Wan says to Luke. “It’s someone’s birthday today, is it not?”

“Two someones,” Anakin croons, brushing the hair out of Leia’s face.

Obi-Wan pats Luke’s back a bit awkwardly as the conversation lapses again.

“I resigned from the High Council,” Obi-Wan finally reveals.

“Why?” Padmé asks.

“Depa has been reinstated in my place. The Mind-Healers are quite pleasantly surprised with her recovery.”

“That wasn’t my question,” she presses.

Obi-Wan sighs. “The fall of the Sith raised a lot of uncomfortable questions,” he says. “I wanted time to devote myself to meditating on the war and its consequences, and seek some answers of my own.”

That sounds like a perfectly Obi-Wan thing to do. Padmé glances at Anakin, who’s smiling a little.

“The Jedi were naïve, and vulnerable. Anakin, we ought to have been able to spot Sidious’s influence over you before it all went so wrong.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about that part, Obi-Wan,” says Anakin. “But look, when I tipped Master Windu off, it wasn’t because I thought it was my duty or my job or the will of the Force. I was scared of what might happen to you and Padmé if the Sith came to power. I was attached, and I had something to protect.”

“I know,” says Obi-Wan. “The world is changing, and many feel that our Order needs to change with it. There has been a lot of talk about the prevalent analysis of the Jedi Code over past centuries decades, and whether it is…appropriate.”

Padmé and Anakin both try to hide their surprise.

“I only wish we could have had these discussions sooner,” says Obi-Wan slowly. “Perhaps…”

Perhaps you could have stayed.

Anakin shakes his head. He slips his hand into Padmé’s, their fingers intertwining with a supportive squeeze. Padmé knows that Anakin’s decision was a difficult one, but it’s been made. Neither of them want to think about what might have been.

Padmé hopes that Obi-Wan will see what she sees. Anakin loved being a Jedi, loved the idea of saving the galaxy, but the galaxy was always too large and too broken, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Anakin is thriving here, where he can need just a few other people and be needed by them in return.

Leia is getting restless. Anakin brushes the hair out of her face again and smooches the top of her head before he lets her clamber off of his lap.

“I wish my mom could have met them,” he says suddenly. “I just know she would have loved being a grandma.”

Padmé rubs his shoulder supportively.

Luke starts yawning again and snuggles into Obi-Wan’s cloak. Obi-Wan gives his parents a helpless look. “He’s exhausted,” Padmé whispers.

“Is it finally naptime, Luke?” Anakin tuts, and the baby reaches out both arms towards him. Anakin scoops him up.

Obi-Wan follows them down the hall to the bedroom and watches Anakin put Luke down for a nap.

He turns around and sees Obi-Wan smiling. “I never imagined that this would be the path that you chose,” his old master says suddenly. “Maybe I just got Qui-Gon’s plan for you stuck through my head, and if that’s true, I’m sorry. But you seem happy here.”

“I am,” Anakin affirms.

Obi-Wan nods. “You both seem happy.”

A year has gone by with hurt feelings weighing heavily on them both. Some things, it’s too late to change, but perhaps not others.

Obi-Wan retrieves his cloak and starts to put it on.

“Padmé’s sister and her two girls are coming over for cake later,” says Anakin. “Why don’t you stay?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head sadly. “I have business in Jan-gwa this evening, I’m afraid.”

Anakin initiates the embrace, but Obi-Wan returns it wholeheartedly. When they break apart, he leans over to give Padmé a one-armed hug as well.

“It was good to see you, Obi-Wan,” says Padmé.

A year has gone by since Anakin described their lives as being on the edge of a knife—caught between personal crises and a war of deception that scarred the galaxy. But what has been broken is not beyond repair. Anakin was never made to fight the whole galaxy, but his world now revolves around two twin suns. Padmé’s fight has only paused—with her own health recovered, she will soon return to the front lines of the reorganization of the Senate. But whatever that challenge brings, she knows deep in her gut that they are standing now on stable ground.

----

Fin.

[aeyemenethes-blog]

Lathbora viran Ch 12

Here is the next instalment. It can be found at AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/24700230

Ink and decay swirled around me as I invaded the Fade with a determined spring in my step.

No! Don’t touch me!

It was the voice that propelled me forward, and surrounded me within the clouds of mist. Traveling deeper from the world of the living, the voice split off into multiple sounds. All of them beckoned to me, because I knew who they belonged to. If sweat existed in the Fade, my skin would be dripping, but my eyes quivered and my jaw fell slack.

Something was very wrong.

No! Leave me alone!

Hold on…I’m coming to find you!

My hands raked over the spirits and wisps that tried to bar my way, despite it not being their intent. All previous thoughts of the gorgeous Inquisitor fled my mind once I found sleep, replaced with the desperate cries of a friend I knew for far longer. They were fainter now as I neared the place where my friend dwelled.

Upon reaching the spot, I ground to a halt, my fears now realized. The space in the Fade was no longer occupied. Only the dead whispers of their essence circled me now, carrying with a stranger energy, more invasive and electric than the calming presence of the Fade. Falling to my knees, I cradled my head wanting to silence the painful echoes of my friend. The remains of a magical struggle soured the air and I snarled smelling acrid sulphur. There was only one creature capable of performing such a despicable act and force a spirit from their home in the Fade.

However, their purpose was unknown to me.

Hours passed as I sat anchored to the spot in the Fade casting spells of calling to track down wherever my friend was taken. Meditation helped clear my mind long enough to form the small strands of a plan until the draught wore off.

. . .

I sank into the plush, high-backed chair at my desk and nursed the cup of herbal tea in my hands. Curls of steam ribboned upward in a dance meant to draw my attention, but nothing to calm the anxiety. Releasing a long sigh, I took a sip of the minty concoction.

My stomach pitched without a knot of warning causing me to wince, and shake my head. The action alone worked to keep from throwing my breakfast up and onto the desk. Sneering, I set the cup down and hissed into my hand. Whoever thought tea was a good idea to relax one’s mind clearly had no discernible palate for taste.

“Something wrong with your tea?” Ellana asked as she walked in. I’m sure she meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Even for her.

“It is tea,” I glanced up at her, feeling too drained to exhibit much in the way of emotions. “I detest the stuff. But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favour.”

If anyone can understand…please be the one…

A soft smile pulled up Ellana’s features as she looked down at me. “You just have to ask.”

Rising from my chair, I turn to face her. “One of my oldest friend has been captured by mages. Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.”

Flashes of my last visit into the Fade surfaced and for a moment, I felt as if I returned there. It was Ellana’s soft tones that brought me to the present.

“I’d be happy to help.” Concern clouded her gaze and determination. I loved the intensity of her emotions. “What did these mages use to capture your friend? Blood magic?”

“A summoning circle, I would imagine.” I felt my throat loose a sigh along with the answer. There was a chance that Ellana would still back out now that she knew I asked to rescue no human or elf.

“I’m sorry?” She asked immediately.

Here is the live or die moment, so to speak.

Taking a deep breath – remembering her prior curiosity about the spirits – I opened my mouth, “My friend is a spirit of Wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamouring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade.”

Her gaze darkened and though I worked hard to not display a break in the mask I wore, each passing beat of my heart that she didn’t speak was closer to agony.

“I thought spirits wanted to find their way into this world?”

A smile broke through my mask. Her curiosity, again. By the Creators but I do so love that of her.

“Some do, certainly.” I answered hearing just a hint of desperation in my tone. Small curls of nausea threatened their way up my stomach. “Just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you. It had no wish to come here physically.”

My heart almost punched a hole in my chest. I wanted this woman who I was growing to love to understand the nature of my friend, and the seriousness of what had transpired. She once told me that she believed spirits were people too despite most not owning a physical body. Would she turn me away now?

“Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?”

Another question! This was as maddening as it was delightful. She hadn’t said no, and yet…No! I must believe in her.

“No.” I replied firmly. “It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade. It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it.”

“Alright.” Ellana said after a minute to let everything I said sink in. “Let’s go get your friend.”

Creators but I love this woman! I felt the muscles in my leg spring forward to grab her into a hug, layer her with kisses…anything to show her my gratitude. But only my mind’s eyes replayed such a scenario. I stood rooted to my spot standing before her, but I allowed emotions of relief to show.

My eyebrows rose, smoothing over the lines of anxiety that were built up from many exhausting lifetimes, and my lips twitched in a small smile. “Thank you! I got a sense of my friend’s location before I awoke. I’ll mark it on our map.”

 . . .

 The golden fields of the Exalted Plains spread vast and welcoming under a cloudless sky. Cicadas and crickets buzzed happy to be free hiding within the blades of tall grasses. Wildflowers perfumed the area as it was just the beginning of pollenating season. Were nothing else weighing on my mind, this would’ve been the perfect place to get lost in Ellana’s midnight hair and sapphire eyes. But like a wolf, my focus was zoomed and my destination set.

Intense Fade energy engulfed the area, growing even more powerful the closer we got to the rocks and ocean. My nostrils flared seeing the hulking shape chained to the ground with lightning and pain. I snarled and set off toward my friend, not wanting to go too close but fighting the will to thrust a dagger to end the pain that ricocheted throughout my mind.

My friend was crying.

I stopped short, eyes never leaving the twisted, monstrous shape even as the crunching of grass told me the Inquisitor joined my side. “My friend.”

Spikes rent through the sky, rising proudly along the hulking creature, more beast than spirit now. It knelt. It wept. The agony exuding from it tore at my being. Screams and pleas bombarded me, begging for forgiveness and wishing for death.

Mana surface, tingling electric currents along the exterior of my skin, but this time I ignored the eroticism it brought and the pull toward the Inquisitor’s Anchor.

Where the fuck are those mages! I’ll see them burn in the Black City for this!

“The mages turned your friend into a demon.” Ellana’s words washed over me in a balm meant for soothing, and it might have, if the anger wasn’t so hot within.

Turning my attention to my gloves, I pulled them straight, imagining it were the mages I pulled and wrung along my wrists. “Yes.”

“You said it was a spirit of Wisdom, not a fighter.” Her voice remained soft, not accusing at all.

She’s a mage, Solas… she should pay as well.

Shut the fuck up…Dread Wolf!

But–

ENOUGH! I will not allow you to blame Ellana for this! Those bloody mages will pay!

Snapping up my eyes, I glared daggers at her, but it was the only anger I would dare let cross her shadow. “A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.”

Like you… like me…

I ignored the Wolf’s egging. Fen’Harel wouldn’t be happy until everyone lay broken at my feet. I wasn’t that person…anymore.

Ellana tore her gaze from me, back toward my friend. My gaze followed hers and I winced at the sight of torture. “So they summoned it for something so opposed to its own nature that it was corrupted. Fighting?”

The sound of a slipper scuffing the rocks drew our attention to a stocky man with cropped dark hair and mage robes, walking toward us. His posture was that of a person exhausted from a drawn out fight. When he laid eyes on us, the relief reflected within was damn near palpable. He walked tentatively toward us as if not sure if we were real or an illusion.

“Let us ask them.” I spat the words as venom and clenched both fists at my side.

Shards of electricity popped along each knuckle under my leather gloves and I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from immediately attacking the fool who sought us out. Stupid human! You know nothing…are nothing to me!

“A mage!” The human called out. Even his tone ground at my patience. “You aren’t with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon…”

The dam inside broke and I shook visibly with rage. “You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of Wisdom at the time. You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose.”

The mage sighed and hung his head, but I felt no sympathy. This was personal. Ignorant child knew nothing about the plight of spirits!

He shifted from side to side with a nervous and sorrowful look across his facial features, but he seemed more concerned for himself than the creature he hurt. “I…I…I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can…”

Bastard! Fucking bastard! The Wolf grew inside me, seething for vengeance that I was seconds away from giving. Only the presence of the Inquisitor kept me from leaping and tearing the throat clean from the mage, and forcing his companions whose faces I saw off in the distance, to eat it.

“We’re not here to help you.” I could no longer contain a calm demeanour. Who stood beside the Inquisitor was no longer Solas but Fen’Harel and this creature deserved everything I was going to deliver.

Turning my head, I gave Ellana a pleading look. She needed to stop me from myself. All it took was one glance into my eyes and the Inquisitor turned to address the mage, her voice friendlier than mine but showing no sympathy for the human.

“Word of advice? I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here.”

Crossing my arms over my chest kept me from summoning up my magic, and rip into this mage. I narrowed my gaze and tried to focus on the hot electricity burning across the bits of metal embedded in my armoured robes. Thankfully, with the staff still strapped to my back, I couldn’t bash him repeatedly into the ground where he stood. My eyes trailed off to where my friend moaned and whimpered.

“Listen to me!” The mage pleaded, turning to reason with the Inquisitor as I made it pretty clear, I would not heed his words. “I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle–”

“Shut. Up.” The words clipped like acid pooling in my mouth. My hands fell to my sides and I shifted my weight readying the mana to pulsate through the mage’s heart and let him feel the torture my friend felt…as did I. “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.

The mage raised his head, a pitiful look in his eyes. “I–Yes.”

“You bound it to obedience. Then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned.” I snarled.

Solas…control yourself…

Fenedhis lasa! You told me to kill him! You want me to unleash my powers! You–

Not at the expense of your nature, Solas!

Anger flared up with the very presence of this sickening creature fanning the flames. But, the Wolf was right. If I lost control now…

“The summoning circle.” I stared solely at Ellana and allowed her sweet face to anchor me back to this world. “We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

“What?” The mage gasped, clasping his hands in front of him. “The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

No! We are not monster!

Desperations laced the rage. If Ellana refused to help, I would kill the mage and any who got between my friend and me. Keeping it in the binding was no mercy. And this mage would see no reason! There was only one person who could.

“Inquisitor. Please!”

And her attention was completely on me. Her beautiful face calm even though I saw the storm swirling inside those tempestuous eyes. She spoke in such a gently tone, drawing me from the abyss of my hatred.

“I’ve studied rituals like this. I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly.”

I let loose a laborious sigh and nodded. “Thank you.”

Pain quickly pulled me toward my friend and I watched as it stood up and roared, spreading its claws for another terrible dance. Lightning laced between its sinewy fingers and scissoring talons, and a wave of hunger twisted a gnarled root in my gut. I grimaced knowing what I felt was only the cast offs of the spirit’s immediate pain. Time was growing short.

“We must hurry!” I shouted as I sprinted toward the first white spire that formed the summoning circle.

Mana leapt to my fingertips and I tore my staff from its bindings across my back. Twirling it in the air, I released all the rage held pent up from the confrontation with the mage, into their damned summoning circle. I was rewarded with a crisp clap of thunder from the sky as a bolt of lightning cracked onto the spire’s tip.

Beside me, a shadow flew through the air just as it did that first night encountering the Breach, and Ellana joined me in breaking down the spires. An old incantation whispered from her lips, weakening the summoning circle’s power and releasing my friend.

Twisted as it was, the demon no longer recognized who I was, and it leapt to where we stood with every intent to kill.

Hold on a little longer…we will free you.

One by one the spires fell from the savage persistence of our attacks. The mages were nowhere in sight, which at that moment, was for the best. I still didn’t know how I was going to handle them once their circle was lifted. Maybe once my friend was free, my anger would fade with it. Maybe…

As the last of the summoning spires crumbled away, the demon howled and dropped into the water. I waited with my breath seized inside my lungs. I felt like I teetered on the edge of a cliff where one side was despair and the other, happiness. The shape of the demon melted away to show a spirit who appeared very much like a human woman.

I knelt down to her and waved the Fade reflect from her eyes. Still she cried.

“Lethallin. Ir abelas.” Seeing the painful scars imprinted in her mind made my heart ache.

“Tel’abelas. Enasal. Ir Tel’him.” She bowed and shook her head, and I saw the raw spirit bared before me. “Ma melava halani. Mala sueldin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an.”

Closing my eyes, I tore my gaze away. We were too late to save her. Sitting in the water, the spirit shook as a fragile child. Fear and torment at being out of the Fade, forced to kill for cruel masters that never listened to her sobs. She knew I would listen, and so she begged me to end it.

Most people could never understand, because of the hardness in their hearts, that spirits do die. Though spirits rarely drew away from the purpose that forged them – many didn’t crave to feel physical touch or know intimacy – that didn’t excuse them from feeling.

My heart cracked another fragment, and with so filled with such a plethora of scars, it was a wonder that it didn’t break in half. I sighed so deep, the shudders wracked my shoulders and I wanted to cry. Begged myself to let loose those tears. But millennia of training dictated that I wait until I was alone. The sorrow, however, raw surfaced in my eyes as I glanced back up at my friend.

“Ma nuvenin.”

Calling forth the mana I knew so well, I swept my hands toward me and killed the spirit. Her essence tangled between me and the Fade before dispersing into the wind with a hint of a smile on her lips. I crouched there lost in the space of the ocean where my friend no longer sat. Dread settled like a suffocating blanket over my heart and dulled my mind.

“Dareth shiral.” I said, turning my head slightly toward where Ellana stood behind me.

“I heard what it said. It was right. You did help it.”

The sorrow and warmth of her voice wrapped itself around me, holding me tight and I felt the anger lessen a little.

“Now I must endure.” I whispered, my voice quavering under the pain, as I took to my feet.

“Let me know if I can help.” She offered.

Hold me…kiss me…don’t leave me to die alone…

Instead, I faced her and closed the distance between us with a sad smile on my lips. “You already have.”

Footsteps crunched the grass beside me, plucking at my heartstrings. We were not finished yet. My friend could not be laid to rest.

“All that remains now is them.” Steel shaped the expression of my mask and I felt my throat tighten, my hackles raise, like a cornered animal with nothing left to lose. Of course the damned mage that led his other two friends approached me. As if making me see reason would save them.

“Thank you. We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.”

His words mocked me, falling on deaf ears. The Wolf wriggled wanting their flesh as much as I did. I did not fight the urge.

Careful, Solas… Was all he said to me.

“You tortured and killed my friend.” Taking confident steps, I backed them against the rocks. Malice laced my mind like a white, hot poison.

Their leader shook his head, and I smell fear rancid on his sweat-drenched flesh. He didn’t reach for his staff and struggled with words he hoped would calm my frenzied state of mind. Only one person could stop me from my path, and I prayed she wouldn’t.

“We didn’t know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!”

The three mages cowered before me and even begged to Ellana to call me off. She said nothing and so I unleashed the flames that pulled at my palms. Fire seared flesh, soaking into their bodies and crushed their hearts. Watching without pity, I savoured the terror that glazed over into death. Yet, I didn’t relish in my victory as the bodies of the mages crumpled at my feet, instead I felt hollow inside.

“Damn them all.” I spat on the ground letting the darkness consume me. I knew what had to come next if I was to be of any help to the Inquisitor. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

Without another word or glance back, I walked in the opposite direction. Ellana couldn’t see me like this…I didn’t want her to see the monster inside.

[littlesnowarrow]

Security fail, pt 2

Remember that silly three-part fic I began last week to honour @saibrarutherford‘s birthday? Well, here’s the second part. Enjoy!

Security fail part 2

Previous Part - Next Part

Summary: Saibra Trevelyan returns home from an exhausting mission in Orlais, as usual, when she finds out that some things have been happening in her dear stronghold. But, who is responsible for them?

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: lots of elf sass(?) None.

AO3 Link

Grammar and vocabulary corrections are always welcome.

The scream had been so shrill that had been way over Josephine’s; she had even caused an avalanche in a nearby summit.

In a matter of minutes, the candles of the War Room were lit once again, and whole group of scouts were investigating the fortress in search of a ghost. Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine were trying to remain calm as best as they could or knew, whether it was pacing or tapping with their fingers on their crossed arms. Saibra, followed closely by Cullen and Vastra, entered the room not long after. Nobody complained about the presence of the Inquisitor’s sister among them; Lady Harrington had never meddled in the issues of the organisation, although that time she herself made an exception to her own rule.

“What in the Maker’s name was that shout for?” Cassandra demanded.

That only helped her ire to grow like a furious boar. Saibra was hopping mad, throwing off sparks from her fingers and glaring with such an enraged look that none of them had seen before. She pulled the towel off the top of her head, revealing a healthy and shining wavy mane after the recent bath. Those present stilled and slowly lifted their gazes up to the source of the problem.

“It’s… blue.” Leliana was the only one able to mutter something.

‘Blue’ wasn’t exactly the right word. Her hair, silky with a beautiful shade of chestnut, was now displaying a loud cyan, so intense it was as if Saibra had been wrong and had washed with one of Solas’ paints. It was almost hypnotising, itself gifted by a talented artist that drew all the attention towards it.

“That-that…!” Everything on her was shaking: her hands, the good shoulder, even her magic. “That servant elf!”

“Which ‘servant elf’?” asked Josephine. She was as worried as if it had happened to herself.

“That one! With… with… With the arrow in her face, Dalish!”

“Dalish?” the Ambassador was terrified. “But we have been extremely careful with them since Loranil joined our ranks…”

Cassandra nodded heartily; she herself had been there during the long journey through the Plains and had witnessed the initial mistrust of the elves. The situation had calmed down after the Inquisitor had offered them their help to deal with the grudges the elves held against the Orlesians. After all, Saibra had stated repeatedly that she preferred the Dalish cooperation in the region instead of whatever the human soldiers could do for them.

Cullen couldn’t help but notice the suspicious brow Leliana had raised. It was obvious she had taken the trickster issue as a personal attack; nothing had ever escaped the Nightingale. Since it had been found out that it wasn’t Sera who had schemed Josie’s incident, Leliana had been in foul mood all afternoon, gathering what little information they had to capture the prankster once and for all. Even Jim, who wasn’t normally able to read the atmosphere, hadn’t gone to the rookery to deliver his reports. One could almost hear her grinding her teeth, although not now.

“Pffft!”

In the midst of that short silence, a muffled snicker came from behind the curtain. All of them fell completely silent, staring at the source of the wicked giggle.

“Wh-” someone muttered, but they were interrupted by one of Leliana’s hands.

The stranger seemed to understand they had no way out -or at least one that was remotely easy- as they raised the volume until it became a contagious laughter that threatened to lift the corners of Vastra’s lips. Cassandra was already unsheathing her sword when the intruder came out from their hideout.

“Hahahaha!” Her mirth filled the room like rain after a long drought, running through their spirits and lifting them, joining her. And who wouldn’t smile at the sight of such a tiny elf laughing so much she had to hold her stomach with her hands? “Amazing!”

But Saibra had turned pale. It was her. It was bloody her. Same height, brown hair and the heart of the forest in her eyes. The fact that she was now wearing a full armour with the distinctive gryphon insignia in her chestplate didn’t stop the mage to begin insulting the damned elf in every language she knew. The elf didn’t shrink at the swearings, with that grin stuck up her cheek, and only blew a childish raspberry at her when Saibra finished. Just how old was she? Had she been that wrong at guessing her age?

Taking advantage the chaos she had set in barely half a minute, the prankster made a place for herself between Vastra and Cassandra, who were looking at her astonished, and smiled mischievously from pointed ear to pointed ear.

“This is easily my favourite prank ever,” she claimed proudly. “‘Vints don’t share my point of view though. Can you believe it, Lily? It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Buscó apoyo in the spymaster, who had already recovered from the initial surprise, and chuckled softly a la vez que le removió el pelo. The stranger answered with a tender kiss on her cheek.

“Vishante kaffas, who are you?” She was so furious her voice sounded hoarse in her tongue. “And what have you done to my hair?!”

“Name’s Skadi Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden,” she winked, as if that title wasn’t that big of a deal. “But you may just call me Skadi.”

The revelation went down on them like a stew in the middle of the summer -save for the redhead. Josephine desperately needed a chair, while Cullen grasped the hilt of his sword as if it were the only solid reality close enough to him. As for Saibra, she didn’t quite know how to react. Her fingers sparked with enraged electricity, flashes well hidden inside the pocket of her nightgown. That woman had effortlessly infiltrated one of the safest fortresses in Thedas, even evading the ever-vigilant Leliana, and had been roaming freely around the hold for a week. But Saibra couldn’t blame the Nightingale for something she would regret the second after.

“And that, lady Inquisitor,” Skadi continued with a smug grin, “is one of my best recipes, mastered through the years with the only purpose of riling people up as much as possible. And looks like I’ve accomplished that! Pfft, really. A week in Skyhold gives so many ideas. I still have a few aces up the sleeve.”

“I strongly recommend you to stop it here, Foxy.” She was surprised at first to hear the Warden’s pet name from Leliana’s lips, or the tender look she gave the elf, when Saibra remembered they had been companions during the Blight.

“Yeah, perhaps I should.” Skadi theatrically stroked an imaginary beard, almost pretending to consider it. “Hm, don’t get close to the right door of the main hall in a while, then. Oh! Did you know there’s a nug statue made of gold in that basement-cave?”

“Hold on.”

The women turned their attention towards Cullen. Saibra flinched. In her own anger she hadn’t realised the increasing agitation that had been overcoming her Commander. She could easily feel how his muscles had clenched under his armour, the fur of his collar standing on end, and his breathing had taken a pace she didn’t like.

“My, my, Commander, don’t get too worked up. She has done anything to you.” Leliana was right, but Cullen couldn’t agree with her. Just like Varric had witnessed the Kirkwall disaster, Leliana was also the living testimony to the massacre of Kinloch Hold. And now she wasn’t alone; the mighty Hero who had saved the Circle -and him- was standing right before him. It wasn’t difficult to perceive the migraine that was gathering behind the cold amber of his eyes.

“I’m still waiting your thanks for Kinloch, y’know. Has he ever thanked you, Lily?” The redhead shook her head. “Bad Cullen.” And whispered, “Do you know where he keeps his smalls?” Leliana smirked and patted on her shoulder, a plan already taking shape in their roguish minds.

Cullen was about to say something when Vastra’s gentle hand laid in his forearm. His wrath cooled down if only for a little, and stepped back until he was at the same height as his sister-in-law.

“You knew all along?” wanted to know Cassandra.

“Since the Inquisitor requested me to contact her, yes. But I suspected she had come here when she put those bells on my Baron again this lunchtime.” Everyone knew the tempe that bird had, and Saibra didn’t remember seeing scratches in her skin. Was it or not a Dalish ability, she recognised her merit in silence.

“Oh yeah, that!” Skadi snapped her fingers, as if she had forgotten the main reason of her visit -and it probably was like that. She pointed to the figurine that represented Corypheus on the map of the War Table. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to fight Comeclus-”

“Corypheus.” Cullen corrected her. Skadi looked at him as if he had spoiled the ending of her favourite book.

“Cory…” she began several times, all in vain. “That guy. Good Mythal, but ‘Vint names sure are difficult to pronounce. Now I know why dwarves hate elvhen names.” Leliana subtly cleared her throat to drive her back to the point. “He’s not an archdemon though, otherwise my Warden senses would be tingling.”

“So the Calling…”

“False, pretty much. It really gives you a bad headache, whatever he does, but nothing as serious as that. Warden-Commander Clarel should’ve known better. It’s impossible that the Calling can affect a full army at the same time, or without considering the time they’ve been Wardens.”

Saibra nodded upset. When the Spymaster had told her of a remote resource to get information of the Elder One, she had been surprised that she was suggesting the lost Warden. The mage couldn’t deny she had placed some hopes in her, or in the letter she was supposed to send, but if that journey hadn’t been worth the effort…

They didn’t take much longer to conclude the meeting. The night had went on incredibly fast by the time they finally opened the doors; almost everyone in the stronghold were in their beds or doing their scheduled rounds. Cassandra and Vastra were the first ones to go back to their bedrooms, and Josephine followed them once she had obtained the apology for her exposed undergarments.

Saibra still wanted to stay for a little longer, even though Cullen had insisted to return to their quarters. She had rarely seen him as nervous as in that evening, but she wanted to hear at least one of the Hero’s stories before she would vanish down the mountain like a ghost. Leliana reassured her, without consulting the Warden, that she was going to stay there for at least a couple of days, so there was plenty of time to getting to know each other and finding the way to return the Inquisitor’s hair to its natural state.

[i-am-the-luckiest]

Stranger Places Than This, Chapter 5

It’s finally done!

AO3 links. You know the drill:

From the beginning

This chapter

Stranger Places. . .

The temple was a pile of rubble, bodies trapped in positions of pain and terror, still burning even after three days. Only his desire not to show weakness prevented Fenris from losing the meager contents of his stomach. He had seen horrors before, and they played in his mind now.

A slave being drained of every drop of blood to provide power for his master.

The bodies of Fog Warriors littering the floor of Seheron’s jungle.

Undead rising from Sundermount, wielding swords with hands no longer protected by flesh.

A bright red beam and the sounds of screaming as the Chantry was destroyed.

This was worse than all of them. The air smelled of burning flesh, and the ground was littered with huge chunks of stone. Every step left a print in the ash that lay over everything in a thick layer. Fenris frowned in distaste. He was finally grateful for the boots Hawke had forced upon him.

“This is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you.” Cassandra’s voice was quiet, reverent, as if speaking too harshly would disturb the bodies around them.

Fenris forced himself to look away from the scene before him and follow the others toward the center of the temple. The Breach loomed, seeming to devour the sky as they watched. How was he to fix that monstrosity? It was far above his reach. 

He turned from the sight to find Leliana and a small number of soldiers entering the temple behind them. Wordlessly, they moved to take up positions around the area. This had clearly been planned. Cassandra turned to him, jaw tense.

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Fenris gave a sharp nod. “Just tell me what to do.” He could feel Hawke trembling beside him. When he glanced at her, she made a valiant effort to look confident and reassuring. Were he less familiar with her moods and expressions, she may have even convinced him.

“This rift was the first. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.” Solas said, indicating the rip in the Veil in front of them. Fenris narrowed his eyes at the mage. Here was yet another theory that required the risking of his life. Well, there was nothing for it. It must be done.

They moved toward the rift, and a deep voice boomed out of seemingly nowhere. It filled the entire space, as though resounding from walls that no longer stood.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

Cassandra looked around frantically, as if expecting a figure to emerge from any direction. “What are we hearing?”

“At a guess, the person who created the Breach,” Solas said. At first glance, Fenris thought he was far too calm, but a closer look showed hands that twisted on his staff grip. He was as nervous as the rest of them.

Hawke frowned up at the hole in the sky. “Well, he sounds hideous.”

She would make jokes at a time like this. Fenris chuckled despite the worry that had been growing in him since they entered the temple. There was a chance he would not walk away from this.

He did not wish to die, but one glance at Marian restored his resolve. If he failed, she would perish, along with the rest of Thedas. She had certainly risked her life for her friends and her city. He could do no less for his world.

Fenris’ ears pricked up suddenly. What was that sou—no. It couldn’t be. Not here. He looked around at the others. They hadn’t noticed yet, which confirmed his suspicions. The sickly song was all too familiar.

“Walk carefully. There is red lyrium ahead.” Although he did not prefer to be the bearer of ill news, they needed to know.

“What? Why would it be here?” Hawke’s words were casual, but her voice was tight. She was afraid. With good reason. Red lyrium had brought them nothing but suffering.

“I hear its song. I do not read its mind.” He was aware that he was being rude, but the song was so grating. It gave him a headache after mere moments. He could feel it calling out to his markings and shrank down into himself, staying as far away as possible as they walked past it.

“How could you read the mind of something that is not alive?”

Varric shook his head sadly. “Seeker. Point. Missing it.”

They hadn’t even completely come past the mysterious lyrium when the voice boomed out again.

“Hold the sacrifice still.”

“Someone, help me!”

Cassandra blinked up at the sky. “That was Divine Justinia’s voice.”

Another, familiar voice rang out from the sky. “What’s going on here?” Everyone turned to look at Hawke. Varric was the only one who didn’t look surprised.

“Release her.” That was... himself? But he didn’t remember any of this.

“Most Holy called out to you. But...” Cassandra was staring at both him and Hawke with a sort of awe. He had no answers for her. Nor, it seemed, did Hawke. Sensing that they knew nothing, the Seeker continued on, leading them down to the heart of the temple.

 * * *

 Hawke pulled her staff off her back and dropped into a battle stance. Maker’s beard. Why didn’t they ever fight anything normal? Fenris had a hand extended toward the rift. He staggered back as it snapped open, and a massive pride demon stepped out. Shit.

Everyone leapt into action at once. Hawke hit the demon with a Fist of the Maker before anyone could even get close to it, then began pelting it with fire attacks. It stumbled, just for a moment, and Fenris closed in with a cry. Cassandra followed, and they started attacking the demon’s legs, barely avoiding each other, while Varric sent bolt after bolt directly into its face. The archers on the walls dared not shoot with fighters in so close.

The demon quickly recovered from Hawke’s initial attack and lashed out with a whip of pure electricity. Solas barely got a barrier up to protect the warriors before it came down. They both cried out and stumbled. Cassandra shook herself and jumped back into the fight, none the worse for wear, and Fenris...

Fenris was gone. Hawke was so startled she paused in her barrage of attacks. Where was he? It wasn’t uncommon for her to lose sight of him during battle, but never so suddenly. She searched the ground frantically, afraid he had fallen somehow.

A wavering beam of green light snapped her out of her search. Taking advantage of the demon’s momentary distraction, he had phased around it and was attempting to disrupt its connection to the Fade. That was. . . brilliant.

“Hey, Hawke! You gonna help us fight this demon or stare at the elf all day?”

“Sorry, Varric!” Hawke, embarrassed at her lapse, focused her attention back on the demon. The demon who was now turning toward Fenris. Her eyes narrowed as she sent attack after furious attack at the hulking thing. It never even flinched in its march toward her lover. Fine. Desperate times. . .

“Solas! Barrier! Cassandra!”

“When?”

“Now!” Hawke hurled a fireball at the demon. Solas’ barrier sprang up a fraction of a second before the flames reached Cassandra. She turned and blinked at Hawke, seemingly a little shell-shocked.

That got its attention. The demon had turned from Fenris, whose efforts had apparently been interrupted, as he was now fending off a pair of shades. Unfortunately, it had now refocused its attentions on her.

“Umm...” Hawke watched the massive figure approach for a long moment, then took off running. The pride demon followed her, paying no heed to the others attacking its flank. She could tell it was weakening, but it didn’t slow or turn away. She kept running and it kept following, making wide circles around the temple.

“Is this your idea of helping?” Varric yelled as she ran by.

“Nope!” No time for more words. She was getting short of breath. This sprint would have to end soon, hopefully without her being crushed.

Just as Hawke tripped on a rock and stumbled, she heard a loud crack, and the demon fell to its knees. Fenris had managed to disrupt the rift. She stood and caught her breath for a moment as Cassandra stepped back to allow the archers a clean shot. They sent two volleys of arrows toward the creature before it stirred.

The demon staggered back to its feet, but they were ready for it. Acting with a silent coordination they hadn’t managed up to this point, the team seemed to know what to do and when.

Solas directed a strong burst of ice magic at the thing, slowing it down. Varric shot an exploding arrow at its chest as both warriors charged and hacked at the backs of its knees. Hawke stood back, gathering all her remaining mana.

This would either kill the demon or her. Hawke figured her odds were about even. Solas, either feeling her building power or simply expecting insanity by this point, used what magic he had left to put another barrier around the warriors.

“Move!” she yelled. Fenris and Cassandra turned to look at each other, then took off in different directions, away from the demon. Hawke released a burst of telekinetic energy, centered in the middle of the pride demon. With a roar and the sizzle of electricity, it exploded.

Thank the Maker it wasn’t a living thing. The demon’s remains vaporized and filtered back to the rift. Hawke sank gratefully to the ground and watched as Fenris reached his hand up to, hopefully, close the Breach. She was shaking, and not just from exhaustion. She hadn’t forgotten Solas’ warning.

 * * *

 That infernal woman would be the death of them all. Fenris didn’t even have time to ensure she was alright. He had to close the rift.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face the gaping hole into the Fade. He lifted his hand and found he had begun to expect the strange beam that instantly connected him to the rift. It tugged him, like a cord pulling at his soul. He felt he might be dragged into the Fade at any moment.

This seemed to be taking longer than the others. Surely he had been standing there for hours. As time wore on, the outside world grew more and more fuzzy. He finally felt the end to the connection and snapped his hand back, pulling the rift closed with him.

The last thing he heard was Hawke yelling his name.

 * * *

 The next thing he felt was an ache in his back. He groaned and sat up, blinking at the light assaulting his eyes.

“Oh, thank the Maker you’re awake!” Hawke threw her arms around him.

Fenris grunted as the air was suddenly pushed from his lungs. He reached up to pat her arm in affirmation, then gently extracted himself from her grip.

“Sorry.” She backed up, giving him space to breathe. He had turned toward her and opened his mouth to speak when the door opened suddenly. An elven woman walked in, carrying a small wooden box.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake!” the elf cried, cowering from him.

“It is perfectly alright. I only just – “. Fenris was cut off by the woman falling to her knees in the entryway.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” She stood but continued speaking, not giving him a chance to respond. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’!”

“It is fine. I will speak with her myself.” Fenris turned and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“At once, she said. At once.” The elf ran out the door before either of them could calm her.

“What was that about? Why was she so nervous?”

Hawke beamed at him. “You’re a hero. Most people would get a little... skittish around the man who saved the entire world.”

“I’m... a what?”

“A hero. You closed the Breach, sort of. It’s not growing anymore. You saved our lives.” At this, her smile turned fond. “Thank you. I know it sucked.” She looked away shyly.

He chuckled and put a hand on her chin, steering her face back toward his. “I would knock myself unconscious closing a thousand rifts if it meant you were safe.”

She laughed aloud, but did not move her face away. “That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.” She closed the gap between them, giving him a soft, too-short kiss before standing.

“We’d best go see what the Seeker wants.”

Fenris grabbed her around her waist and pulled, dragging her down on top of him as she laughed. “Perhaps she could wait a little longer.”

Hawke pushed herself back up so she was leaning over him. She was beautiful. Her tunic hung loosely from her body, offering him an excellent view of her body. A lock of hair fell in her face, and he took one arm from her waist to brush it aside.

He smiled. How grateful he was not to have lost this—to have lost her. She leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to his lips. Then she stood and backed away a couple steps, even as he tried to pull her back to himself.

She laughed again. “I’m not taking the chance that she won’t come bursting through the door. Besides, you just woke up. I want to make sure you’re completely recovered before doing anything... strenuous.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but smiled. She always worried. “How thoughtful of you. Am I to assume you show this much concern for all your patients?”

“No.” She laughed. “You’re special. Now come on.” Marian grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

He willingly followed her as she kept hold of his hand, leading him out the door of the small hut where he had awakened. Outside was a throng of people, all of whom murmured to each other as they walked through. Fenris clung a little tighter to Hawke, but stood tall. He would not cower.

The entire trek to the Chantry was the same. People stared at them—at him—in awe. This was far more attention than he wished. He would rather they return to their tasks and ignore him. It was uncomfortable, all this gawking. The last time he had been stared at so openly, there had been a collar about his neck, and his master had been standing nearby, gloating.

Hawke abruptly stopped in front of him, cutting off his rumination as he collided with her, smacking his nose squarely on the back of her head. He stepped back, rubbing his nose with a sour expression.

They had, for some unknown reason, halted at the bottom of a set of stairs near the tent they had shared their first night in Haven. Hawke spun to face him, eyes wide with either excitement or fear. He could never tell which. “Shhh—” She placed a hand over his mouth.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Hawke looked at him sharply, rebuking him. She repeated her command, and Fenris nodded to placate her. She released him and pointed up the stairs, beaming. He bounced up on his tiptoes to see the cause of what he knew now was clearly excitement.

Was that—Knight-Captain Cullen? Yes, it was. He was standing in front of the Chantry, as if on guard. What was he doing here? Fenris turned back to Hawke, bewildered, to see her gathering her magic. His eyes widened. This would not go well. He almost turned and went back to the little house. He did not wish to be a part of this.

With a grin, Hawke sent a wave of force magic just over Cullen’s head. It was not strong enough to hurt anything, but did ruffle his hair terribly. The Knight-Captain immediately reached up to fix it, looking about frantically for the source of the commotion.

Fenris stood stock still, staring wide-eyed at the offended party, namely Cullen’s hair. Hawke, however, was rolling on the ground laughing.

“You should have seen your face!” She crowed, tears streaming.

Cullen rolled his eyes and sighed. He had clearly not forgotten Hawke and her antics. After ensuring that nothing else was amiss, the soldier made his way over to them.

“I see your mood has improved, Hawke.”

Fenris glanced at his lover. Had she been in a foul mood? How long had he been unconscious this time?

Cullen turned to Fenris and nodded to him. He had learned long ago of the elf’s aversion to handshakes. Fenris appreciated his consideration. “It is good to see you are well. Hawke has been almost sullen these past few days.”

At this, Hawke scoffed. “I resent that. I have been perfectly sullen.”

Fenris was at a loss. A few days? How much of his recent past had he missed? Fasta vass. He felt Hawke’s gaze on him. He turned to her, and her expression changed from one of exasperation (probably that he had not laughed at her joke) to concern. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed, saying nothing.

He squeezed back, reassuring her that he was alright. It was a silent language they had learned while on the run. The first squeeze was the question; the second was an answer. They were so well-practiced at it the Knight-Captain didn’t even notice.

Seeing that no one else would mention it, Fenris finally voiced his confusion. “Why is the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall standing guard over the Chantry of a Fereldan village?”

“Er. . . yes. About that. . .” Cullen cleared his throat nervously. “I am no longer a Templar. I left the order to serve the Inquisition.”

Fenris frowned. That raised more questions than it answered. “What is the Inquisition?”

“Oh!” Hawke practically jumped into the air beside him. “That’s right. You don’t know yet.”

“Know what?”

“It’s why we have to go to the Chantry. They’ll explain when we get there.” Hawke dragged him off in the direction of the village’s largest building before he could even start to ask who ‘they’ were. Strangely, Cullen followed them. This day continued to get more bizzare.

[mllemaenad]

Personally... I feel that WEaWH tries to remove itself from TME because it realizes that TME is fucking irredeemable garbage, and tries to make its WLW representation less appalling. So I'm entirely willing to overlook continuity errors for the sake of one relationship between women in the entire series that can go well.

I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that. I’m not going to argue with you on the merits of The Masked Empire, as you’re entitled to like or dislike any media you choose, but I don’t think Bioware is trying to distance itself from the novel. I also don’t think their motive is positive representation, or that they’re seriously suggesting a happy ending. However, even if they were I would call the choice to reunite Celene and Briala without any serious examination of the issues that drove them apart … disquieting.

1) On distancing themselves from the novel.

To begin with the obvious, several of the Dragon Age novels provide not only context for the quests in Inquisition, but also promotional material maintaining audience interest between games.

It’s hardly an accident that Asunder is a prequel to In Hushed Whispers/Champions of the Just, The Masked Empire is a prequel to Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts (as well as giving you a roundabout introduction to Solas) and Last Flight provides you with some context on why Weisshaupt is just no help at all during Here Lies the Abyss.

They do kind of want you to buy all their stuff. And if you started with Inquisition and liked what you saw, they want you to run back and buy all the earlier stuff for context. Video game tie-in novels aren’t generally considered high art, so they’d need serious reasons to want to reject the novel as part of their canon. Just in case, I checked The Masked Empire’s Amazon page, and it’s currently got 4.4 stars – so it doesn’t look like something they’d be particularly desperate to ignore. They’d rather you bought it and gave them money.

To move more to the specific, the game references the novel constantly. In addition to devoting a whole main quest to resolving its plot, it also includes cameos from Mihris, Michel and Imshael, which really serve no other purpose than to provide a bit of closure to the people who read the novel and wondered what became of them. This is actually more than it provides for, say, the characters of Asunder: Rhys and Evangeline appear only in a war table mission, Adrian doesn’t appear at all – and who knows where Shale has wandered off to.

It also references the murder of Briala’s parents directly:

Cole: She’s still behind the curtains in the reading room, watching the blood pool on the floor.

Briala pulled the red velvet curtain aside. Her hands shook as she did. There was a pool of red on the floor of the reading room, staining the rich Nevarran carpet. It had spread almost to the curtain.

At the other end of the pool were Briala’s parents.

– The Masked Empire

If they really wanted to distance themselves from The Masked Empire, they wouldn’t put that in there. If they wanted to say that that this didn’t happen, they’d have retconned the story – or at the very least not mentioned it.

In fact, the choice of words is particularly distressing. Cole senses pain. When he says Briala is ‘still behind the curtains’ he’s emphasising that the trauma and anguish are still very much with her, making a reconciliation, particularly a reconciliation that utterly fails to address a thing that they have confirmed happened, even stranger.

 I would say that one motive for their choice to reconcile the two characters is simplicity. I like parts of Inquisition, but honestly it’s over ambitious. They set up a series of continent-wide catastrophes, each one intensely political: the mage rebellion, the Orlesian civil war, the collapse of the Chantry.

Each one probably requires its own game for a satisfactory solution. I realise they were probably going for something similar to the galaxy-wide political collapse in Mass Effect 3, but the Dragon Age games are at a serious disadvantage because they lack continuity of characters.

Mass Effect 3 had its own problems, of course, but for example – I think most people have fun curing the genophage for the krogan. But what they remember is Mordin Solus and ‘There’s a reaper in my way, Wrex!’ When it worked it was able to build on characters who were present across the series.

Inquisition is faced with trying to find resolutions for groups of people that have no direct connection to each other, and whom the protagonist has never seen before (even if they player has). This is hardly the only time their attempt to fix everything in a single quest ends up making no sense.

2) On positive representation

I’m afraid I don’t think what we get in Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts is especially positive. I think it’s … kind of infantilising, really, and has a whiff of sexism about it. I mean – again, I’m not asking you to like The Masked Empire. But this:

“It would have been a locked suite in the palace for a few years, nothing more!” Celene kept her voice low, aware that Michel and Felassan had stopped planning and were looking their way. “It would have changed nothing for us.”

“Your hair still stinks of the smoke from the people you burned,” Briala said. “That is a change.”

The dead leaves crackled under Celene’s feet as she stepped forward. “How many wars can our empire survive in such a short time? I wanted my legacy to be the university, the beauty and culture that made us the envy of the world. Instead I may be known as the empress under whom Orlais fell. You have the luxury of mourning Halamshiral’s elves and holding my heart hostage. Sitting on my throne, I see every city in the empire. If I must burn one to save the rest, I will weep, but I will light the torch.”

Briala swallowed. “You’re not weeping, as far as I can tell. Nor are you sitting on your throne. She stepped away, her movements fast and jerky. “With your permission, Your Radiance, I shall go indulge myself in my luxury.”

– The Masked Empire

… is at least an argument between adults, with the details of what they believe laid out. Celene honestly believes that the empire and her legacy are worth 'a few thousand elven lives’: she believes that maintaining the strength of Orlais is worth thousands of lives in sacrifice, as is the vision she has for the country’s future. Briala is facing up to the fact that this is the bargain she’s made: stay with Celene and she might see an elven scholar graduate from the university – but she’ll likely also see elves burn every time there’s a crisis, because elves are the most expendable people in the empire.

Briala wavers throughout the novel, obviously, because there is genuine feeling between herself and Celene. But the discovery that this has all happened before, that this is not the first time Celene has shed elven blood to impress her rivals and gain power, and that her own parents were among the victims, brings her to a decision.

You don’t have to like it, but these women are serious about what they want and believe.

But in Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts we get stuff like this:

Sera: Elves-elves-elves, but it’s really a pissing match with an old lover. Don’t know the rest but that explains a lot.

It’s hardly coincidental that they chose Sera to say this. Sera the commoner, who despises the nobility. Sera the Red Jenny, with contacts in every corner of Thedas. True, Sera’s background has led her to reject a lot of elven culture, but her biggest objection is usually to ‘moping’ about the past. This:

Briala thought for a moment. “Celene and Gaspard saw an army, but that would be fighting their fight. With the paths, I could get food to alienages where elves would otherwise starve. They would let me move ahead of an oncoming army and warn the target, or move behind them and attack their supply lines.”

– The Masked Empire

… sounds more like the practical stuff she favours: she’s said getting revenge would be a preferable option, and this is getting food to the poor, terrorising the nobility and giving little people a shot at being part of something bigger. But now we can’t take it seriously, because Sera has reduced it to a lovers’ tiff.

That isn’t meant as a criticism of Sera, to be clear. They do this when they want a mouthpiece. This is the equivalent of having Cole approve of Cullen.

And as for it going well, this is their epilogue slide:

Where once war raged, there is now a shaky peace. Orlais is resurgent, the empress a patron of arts and culture.

Many attribute this recovery to her lady love, though others wonder how long their reunion will truly last.

– Epilogue (Inquisition)

I mean – maybe they’ll forget about this. They have been known to forget their epilogue slides. But it doesn’t read as though the intent was to write a strong and loving partnership. Rather it looks as though they are selling the relationship as tempestuous.

That’s one place where I am very uncomfortable. This is the revolt of an oppressed people, and the politics an empire. And there’s a sense that they’re saying ‘Oh, those women and their emotions! Today they love each other; tomorrow they’ll hate each other; the day after they’ll probably love each other again. You never know, with women.’

I appreciate that Bioware is fairly progressive, for a game company: the character choices, the romance options, the NPCs – they are trying to represent a variety of races, genders and sexualities. But it doesn’t mean they never fuck up. I mean, there’s a bit in Mark of the Assassin where Isabela tells Hawke that Gamlen has been sexually harassing her and two responses blame her (You find something inappropriate?/Break him. And wear pants.).

Given that they are already struggling to resolve a massive plotline in a ridiculous amount of time, I’m not surprised they fell back on this. It’s narrative shorthand, and that can be handy for desperate situations. But it’s still sexist shorthand, and I very much wish they hadn’t done it.

3) Removing The Masked Empire from the equation doesn’t solve the problem

I mean, it makes some of the bigger issues like Briala’s dead parents a little easier to miss, sure, but it doesn’t make the problems go away.

I appreciate that representation is important. I do. But romantic relationships between women are not the only representation issue at stake, here. There’s no single source for the elven people, of course, but it’s easy enough to see that Bioware has borrowed from the experiences of Jewish, Romani and aboriginal peoples living under empires and/or colonialism.

And have we ever established that it is shit to be an elf. The city elf origin story in Origins is an abduction/rape/murder combo. The Dalish clans in Origins and DA2 can be slaughtered. It’s terrifyingly easy to kill off clan Lavellan in war table missions, and even though this is the protagonist’s family the game doesn’t make a thing of it. There’s a whole side quest in DA2 about a serial killer who targets elves, and who keeps getting away with it because no one gives a shit. We are up to our eyeballs in codex entries on the treatment of elves.

And here we have Briala, the leader of a rebellion in Orlais – one of the nations best known for oppressing the fuck out of the elves and trying to destroy their culture.

Even without The Masked Empire this is:

a) providing only the most minimal description of the nature of her rebellion and what she hopes to achieve.

b)allowing her to be dismissed as primarily involved in a lovers’ tiff.

c) pairing her with a woman the game actually says massacred the Halamshiral elves.

d) using the massacre as evidence against her because she was sleeping with Celene, rather than as evidence against the woman who actually committed it.

That’s … all pretty shitty, even at the simplest level. The game doesn’t address any of this. It doesn’t even force the characters to discuss what happened before throwing them back together. It spends as much time tsking at Briala for destabilising Orlais as it does Celene and Gaspard. It loves the idea that they’re all as bad as each other – which allows the player to justify just about any ending.

And this is a thing they do repeatedly: they tsk at the mage rebellion as well. They seem to be very good at describing the sufferings of the elves, the mages, the casteless dwarves … but don’t approve of them actually doing anything about their oppression. At least not anything more forceful than writing a stern letter of complaint (for those lucky literate characters!) to the local lord or revered mother.

And so minimising the problems of Celene and Briala’s relationship, and waving a locket around (which, even out of context, does not seem like a forceful enough declaration of love to startle Briala) does … not strike me as very respectful of peoples who have suffered under empires, and who have had to fight tooth and nail for every sliver of justice.

It’s not that I want to exclude a healthy, positive romance between two women in order to have Awesome Revolutionary Briala. I just don’t understand why we couldn’t have both.

Couldn’t Briala show up with a new girlfriend? Do it properly: give her a codex entry and make her active and important in the quest. Show the two of them both being affectionate and working together for the cause. Make sure that at least some of the possible quest endings leave them alive, together and continuing to better the lot of the elves.

I can understand that you may not like The Masked Empire and may want to exclude it from your personal headcanon. That’s absolutely fine, obviously. But I do not believe that was Bioware’s intent in writing the the Briala-and-Celene reconciliation, and I still have serious issues with it.

[buttsonthebeach]

prompt: lucius and ashara form a loving healthy polyamorous relationship w/ laurence breadman. ellana and solas find out. GO

SO WHO IS READY FOR THIS

It’s only been 84 years since you sent this prompt but I wanted to finish Reckoning first! (Speaking of which, this has spoilers for Reckoning.)

Tagging @empresstress13 per your interest in Breadman!

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Pairing: Ashara Lavellan x Lucius Talvas x Laurence Marchand (OC x OC x OC)

Rating: EXPLICIT! The smut is short but it’s there, and it is a m x m x f threesome. You are warned.

*********

They met Laurence at the party where they themselves reconnected. His cakes were the dessert, and he had run late perfecting them all, so he was still there when they arrived. He was carefully arranging each one on a tiered display, his eyes narrow with focus. He was a big man - broad through the shoulders and soft in the belly - and he very nearly intimidated both of them when they first saw him. Then he saw them sidling up to the table, and his face broadened into a wide grin.

“Ah, pardon my intrusion. I am Laurence Marchand, the baker of these fine goods. I am simply making sure that everything is exactly as it should be. May I tempt you with something, monsieur…?”

“Talvas,” Lucius said.

“Well met, Monsieur Talvas. And this beautiful lady is…?”

“Ashara Lavellan,” she said. She flushed to hear herself called beautiful. Months of war had not left her much time to think of such things.

“Lavellan - I believe your esteemed mother is the reason I am here, mademoiselle. Unless of course it is madame?” From another man the comment might have been leering, but from Laurence it just seemed curious. Warm.

“It’s mademoiselle,” Ashara said, even as her hand drifted to Lucius’s. They’d kissed on the balcony and it had been a kiss full of meaning after two years apart, but they hadn’t tested the depth of that meaning yet. She wanted to leave the party and twine herself around him and never let go.

“Well, you must thank your mother for me again. And if you like the cakes and you want some more, you must stop by my new bakery. We open next week. I think if I have such a handsome man and such a lovely woman present, I’ll be sure to draw customers.”

Again, it was a comment that might have put Ashara back on her heels if it had come from someone else. But from Laurence it just seemed - sweet. She glanced at Lucius and saw that he had that pleased, embarrassed look he always got when someone praised him, and she wanted to kiss him at once, right there, her Lucius and his sweetness. She was pleased that someone else saw what she saw, even if it was a stranger.

“We’ll stop by,” she said, because the night was full of promise, and she was alive, and she was happy, and so was Lucius, and so was Laurence.

*

Laurence’s new bakery was quite close to the central market square, a prime location that Ashara did not doubt Mamae had helped him secure. Despite his claim that he would need a handsome man and a lovely lady to help draw in business, there was already a modest crowd. There was a selection of fresh rolls and baguettes, and some sweeter additions more similar to what he’d served at the party. He recognized them at once as they walked in, hand in hand.

“Monsieur Talvas! Mademoiselle Lavellan! I am pleased to see you. Come, sit. You must try this coffee I have just brewed and give me your honest opinion. I ground the beans myself this morning. I fear that I ground them too fine and that some made it through the press and into the coffee itself.”

Ashara and Lucius sat, held hands on top of the table, because they did that now, three weeks into this new beginning. This new version of themselves that was an us. Lucius rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand and smiled whenever she glanced his way. The coffee was good, but Laurence was right - he’d ground it too fine, and there was a siltiness to the brew, like river water. He tsked and took the small porcelain cups back.

“I shall try again, if you have the time. And you must try this chocolate croissant with the next batch.”

“We have time,” Lucius said. It was true. They had nowhere else they needed to be. There was a looseness in Ashara’s spine she had not felt in months, and it was the looseness of time.

The crowd had thinned by the time the next batch was ready, and Laurence sat with them as they enjoyed it. This one was perfect. Rich and hot and chocolatey, just like the croissant.

“You will have to tell your mother to come here,” Lucius said. “She would love this.”

“It was her suggestion, in fact,” Laurence said. “She is a very good woman, your mother.”

“She is,” Ashara said, full of pride.

“And she raised a good woman,” Lucius said. He was more bold now than before, at least with such expressions of affection. He seemed to sense how much she needed them after everything that happened.

Laurence looked between them, warmth in his hazel eyes. “We should go out, the three of us. One cannot help but to want to bask in such happiness. And I am still new in this city. What do you say?”

“Of course,” Ashara said, because she was happy, and life was full of promise and sweetness (and she wanted more chocolate croissants).

*

It was after the third time they went out with Laurence - not counting the times they stopped by his bakery, which was fast becoming a favorite among many residents of Enasan - that they first began to realize that he was interested in them. In both of them.

They’d gone out to a pub this time, and they’d drunk expensive Fereldan whiskey, which Laurence promptly declared inferior to Orlesian brandy, but it still made him giddy enough to drape one arm around each of them at different points in the night. To get a high red color on his ruddy face when Ashara leaned in and planted a kiss firmly on Lucius’s neck. They were all a little drunk.

“You are both so lovely,” Laurence had murmured then. Their legs were close to his under the table. “I cannot help but wonder if -”

“If?” Lucius asked.

Laurence looked away suddenly, waved his hand. “It is nothing.”

But Ashara knew it was something. She knew it because she’d started to feel it too, when they were with Laurence. They fit with him in a way they did not fit with other friends, like Haleir. So she decided to be bold when she and Lucius went home, still tipsy. It was a new life. A time to take chances.

“Do you think Laurence intended to ask us to bed tonight?” she asked when they were home. Lucius was already down to his smalls, getting ready to collapse into bed. He paused.

“You caught that as well?” he asked, turning to her. “I thought - well, I assumed it was just the whiskey addling my brain. But it did cross my mind that he might mean that.”

Ashara pictured it in flashes. Her own brain was still addled with whiskey but they were there. They had not known Laurence for long but he was so warm, so confident, so at ease - so different from herself and from Lucius, with their fears and anxieties and constantly moving minds. And he was handsome, and wouldn’t it be an indulgence to have both of them on her, their lips, their hands, their legs -

“And what did you think?” Ashara asked, mouth dry. “Or - what would you think, if he asked some other time, and I said yes?”

Lucius rubbed the back of his neck, cast his eyes down. There was a tenting beginning in his smalls, a rising, a filling.

“Well - I did notice other boys sometimes. In the Circle. But you know me. I was never crazy after sex. I noticed the girls too. But after those first couple of times, realizing I didn’t enjoy it if it didn’t mean anything - and with Tevinter being less open about men loving other men - I  never pursued it. But he is very handsome, and I do -”

Ashara was already in front of him, pushing back on his shoulders so he sat on the bed, kneeling between his legs, taking him in her hand. He gasped, grew to full hardness in her grasp.

“But you might like it?” she asked. “You might like him? If he did this to you instead of me?”

Lucius swore in Tevene. She pumped him, probably a little too quick, a little too rough, but she could feel him pulsing.

“Or would you want to touch him?” she asked. “Do you think he would feel good in your hand?”

Lucius only groaned, gripped the sheets tighter, flexed his hips up and into her touch. She tugged, tugged, kept everything quick and tight, and he came, loud and moaning with every burst of it, his spend hot on her hand. She licked him clean at the very end and he pulled her up, held her close.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so. I would never want anything to change that.”

“I agree,” she said.

He paused. Then: “But - I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes. With Laurence. I’m not ready for anything drastic yet. I want to know him better, first.”

“Of course. And I love you, vhenan. So very much.”

Lucius smiled, and he kissed her, and they went to bed.

*

Laurence had been serious, it turned out. He made the delicate overture again, a couple of weeks later, sober this time, while they were all relaxing in one of the parks after taking in a show at the theatre.

“I truly enjoy the time I spend with both of you. I do wonder if - you consider our time together as special as I do,” he said.

For all his bravado and confidence, there was some nervous in him in that moment. Ashara reached out and touched his knee.

“I - I think we do.” She glanced to Lucius, caught his quick nod. “Both of us. I think - I think we’d like to continue seeing each other. To get to know each other even better, maybe. If you would like that.”

Laurence beamed, bright as the coffee press he polished every morning in his bakery.

“Good,” he said.

Something in the air shifted for the rest of the afternoon. The teasing was more romantic. Hands brushed more often than they should have. Ashara kept studying Lucius, anxious for his reactions, and saw that he felt the same giddiness they did. As they prepared to part ways that evening, Laurence took both of their hands and kissed the back of them. He did not do it with a flourish or a simpering air like the Orlesian courtiers Ashara had known. Instead he did it with genuine tenderness. Genuine eagerness.

“I must admit, coming to a new city and managing to find myself falling in love with a couple instead of one person may be the most Orlesian thing I have ever done,” he said. “But for once, I think I am happy to live up to the image everyone has of my country.”

Falling in love.

Ashara and Lucius turned those words over that night, in bed. Falling in love. They made love, and they both imagined him there with them, both came panting and shivering with the force of their pleasure.

This was not what Ashara had imagined at all a year ago, fresh from the horror of Clermont. It was not something she had ever really imagined. It was a little overwhelming at times. She had a million questions about how it would work, what it would mean, what people would think (though she cared about that least of all). But if she had learned one thing in her experiences, it was that she had to take happiness wherever she could find it. And she was happy when Laurence and Lucius were smiling, holding hands with one another. She was happy when she and Lucius woke warm and sleepy and burrowed into their covers to keep sleeping just a little longer. She was happy working at the university.

She was happy, and she wasn’t going to let that feeling go for anything.

**

They waited until Lucius felt comfortable before they went any further than kissing, cuddling, wandering hands. It was worth the waiting. Ashara would never forget the sight of the two of them, naked, marveling at each other’s bodies, so similar and so different. She would never forget the way Lucius asked if Laurence would show him what pleased him, the way Laurence guided Lucius’s hand to his cock (shorter, thicker than Lucius’s own, Ashara wanted to touch it too) and showed him the rhythm he liked best. She would never forget curling up behind Lucius, pressing him between Laurence’s body and her own. She would never forget when Laurence oiled his hand and wrapped it around his cock and around Lucius’s and stroked them both together, how both of them gasped and groaned, how their kisses got more and more sloppy. She would not forget the sound of Laurence’s hand working them both faster and faster, the slick tap tap of it, the way they writhed against each other. She kissed and kissed Lucius’s shoulder, ran her hand along Laurence’s face, told Laurence to keep going, said she wanted to see them come like this.

She would never forget the way they both shuddered and groaned and rutted into each other as they came, the glorious mess they made of each other. The way they rested their foreheads against each other and just studied one another afterwards.

“Je t’aime,” Laurence said, soft, the words only for Lucius this time. They did not spark any jealousy in Ashara, though. Only joy.

“I love you,” Lucius said.

Ashara grinned. She cuddled them close. Her two men.

“I do think, though,” Laurence said. “That we are being very rude right now. Our poor beautiful Ashara has been so patient while we learn each other’s bodies. Won’t you show me what she likes best, amour?”

Lucius smiled, rolled over, kissed Ashara hard on the mouth. He sat back against the headboard and held Ashara between her legs and he told Laurence how to use his mouth to drive her wild, how to lick slow and careful all around her aching clit until she couldn’t take it any longer, until she begged him to suck on it. How to fuck her roughly with his fingers while he sucked her there, until she came, and she did come, she came so hard she keened and left marks all over Laurence’s shoulders, so that his square jaw was covered in her slick when he sat up.

“Perfect,” Laurence said, grinning. “You are both perfect.”

“So are you,” Lucius said. They were both right.

***

It was not always easy, for all that it was perfect. There were language barriers - Laurence struggling to communicate in Trade all the time, wishing bitterly that one of them spoke Orlesian, finding Lucius’s Tevene accent confusing. Laurence’s (admittedly casual) Andrastianism occasionally giving him pause, too. Lucius sometimes wanted time just to himself, and that could be difficult for Ashara and Laurence alike. There was the matter of where to spend each night, how to balance the needs of their various jobs.

And, finally, there was the matter of what to tell family.

Ashara’s parents had gone to live with Clan Lavellan, and they had not been back since. They knew she and Lucius were together, of course, and she had mentioned Laurence several times. Mamae was the one who brought him to Enasan, after all. She was pleased to hear updates on his business, and to hear that he had become part of Ashara’s life. But she hesitated to tell them the true extent of things. Neither of them were terribly judgmental people, of course - but still. Ashara did not know any other lovers quite like her and her men.

But they were going to visit them for a midsummer festival, and so soon there would be nothing to do but to tell them.

Ashara stalled and stalled - what if Papae was just as displeased with Laurence as he had been with Lucius at first? What if the more traditional elders of Clan Lavellan disapproved? - but finally her mother asked if Lucius was coming with her one night while they visited in the Fade.

“Lucius is coming. And Laurence too.”

“Oh? I am surprised he can take time away from the bakery.”

“Well, it’s important for him to come.”

Mamae arched one eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because we’re lovers,” she said. “The three of us. We’re in love.”

Mamae’s other eyebrow went up to join the first. She studied Ashara for a moment. Then she burst into laughter.

“Oh, da’vhenan. You went out and got yourself a Tevene first, and then you got yourself an Orlesian, too? What’s next? A qunari?”

Ashara’s anger was flame-hot.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Who cares if they’re both human, or where they’re from - they’re good men and I love them! Laurence is so good at living in the moment, at reassuring Lucius and I, and - Lucius has always been there for me - and we’re very happy, and if you can’t accept that, then -”

“Ashara, Ashara. Atisha. Listen to me. I don’t care at all that they are human. Your father and I both remarked recently that you seem so happy now. I’m just laughing because I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him.”

“He’d better not be mad. Or treat Laurence the way he treated Lucius.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t promise he won’t grill Laurence at least a little. But he’s taken up smoking elfroot now when he gets stressed, you know. I’ll just make sure he has plenty.” Mamae cupped Ashara’s cheek with her right hand. “And I will make sure there is enough room in your aravel for all three of you. I am so happy, da’vhenan. All I want is for you to be happy, too.”

And they were happy.

No one in Clan Lavellan raised an eyebrow at the three of them. Papae narrowed his eyes at Laurence now and then, asked probing questions about his family and his beliefs about alienages and his feelings about the Chantry and about mages. He smoked some elfroot. And then one evening when he was alone with Ashara by a dying campfire he smiled his gentle, quiet smile and said.

“I am happy for you, da’vhenan. And I think you make both of them very happy, too. Hold on to that as long as you can.”

Ashara smiled the same smile back.

“I will.”

And she did.

[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!”