#ghilan'nain x andruil

[rosella-writes]

Ghilan'nain was one of those lesbians who got love aggression to the point where she told Andruil "I wanna be inside your skin" but then didn't wait for an answer

[broodwoof]

Coalesce

Andruil's death is intolerable. Ghilan'nain cannot be without her beloved. She cannot survive alone.

or: my take on how ghilan'nain absorbs the body of her beloved. very dead dove, mind the tags.

[lizzybeeee]

They say Ghilan'nain was one of the People, in the days before Arlathan, and the chosen of Andruil the Huntress. She was very beautiful—with hair of snowy white—and as graceful as a gazelle. She kept always to Andruil's Ways, and Andruil favored her above all others

[dirthenera]

So. Let me sell you on my crack ship before canon destroys it lol

We have textual evidence suggesting that Andruil and Ghilain’nain were lovers. The more I think about it the more I love them.

One makes monsters and the other hunts monsters- but if we extrapolate on this dynamic?

Imagine Ghilain’nain- white hair and black eyes, skin almost translucent from how much time she spends in the lab, something almost insect like about her posture and movements. She forgets to eat she’s so obsessed with the next creation, the next gift to her lover.

Andruil is the opposite, muscular and tan from hunting, obsessed with not the creation, but the k**l. She hunts for the joy, for the thrill, and to feed her wisp of a lover who so often forgets to eat. She coaxes Ghilain’nain with promises to tell her how the latest experiment fought, the challenges and areas this particular creature can be improved for next time.

They’re both cruel, and monstrous. But not to each other. They only care for each other- and their love language is gifts of monsters.

[missriggie]

What if Ghilan'nain did not care for her appearance as she continued to let the taint corrupt her because a dormant part of herself wanted to become so monstrous to be the ultimate prize of any hunter in the small hope that Andruil would come back somehow and hunt her down again so they could be together and now I'm crying

[liaragaming]

Watching this theory video, going absolutely feral over it, realizing the author hasn't seen ANY of the evidence I've gathered for Solas & Ghilan'nain from Inquisition.

*crying, screaming, gnawing at the bars of my enclosure*

[psalacanthea]

The Courting of Ghilan'nain

well this was meant to be a little fanfic friday dribble-drabble, but just kidding it's actually 3.8k. So I guess I should actually put it on AO3. Hang on. Ok, I put it on AO3. Here's the link.

Andruil x Ghilan'nain, Andruil & Solas, Ghilan'nain & Solas, 3.8k T

Impossibly tall and twisted trees denoted Andruil’s camp deep in the forest.

As Solas wandered the wood, a spirit-home of wild fade currents, tendrils of magic and air brought him whispers from the gathering.  They said the Mother of Halla, great benefactress of the mortals, had not deigned to greet the Huntress; there was silence from her den deep within the trees.  This wood was the home of monsters, strange creations that appeared from the dark depths, some helpful, some vicious.  Many had destroyed by the Huntress’ arrows, but some, like the proud halla, thrived among the people.

The halla did not bow her head; not even to the gods themselves.

An insult.

Even the Huntress’ lenient temper would be roused by Elgar'nan's order.  When Mythal had heard she’d demanded the Mother of Halla be captured, Mythal had bid him come and see what was afoot.  For as her husband loathed them, Mythal loved the halla, who were happy to serve her when they scorned Elgar’nan.

Perhaps a petty reason for him to leave her side, but Solas was curious, too.

What punishment had Andruil devised for the mortal who crafted beasts that defied the gods?

The grand camp, a temporary home crafted by an eager fade-sculptor among Andruil’s court, did not infringe upon the wood.  A gentle shimmer in the air kept wildlife away, each root-woven archway blending into the world around them.  But beyond that border, it was far from ordinary.

Without was autumn, but within was early spring.  The air was crisp and breathtaking, sky bright with stars and a rippling aurora stolen from a place where night and cold still reigned.  Solas gazed up at as he passed the outer court dotted with small shops and dwellings, each with their own unique design.  It was a beautiful and impressive feat, to walk a portal from autumn to spring thaw.  Wilderness to civilization.

Andruil preferred not to upset the game, her preferences visible among the ephemeral fade-sculpted fancies.  This camp had been built around what was, not replacing it.  Even the snowdrops were raised from the crude soil beyond their season rather than created, lured by beckoning magic.  Solas walked the streets of the ever-changing and ever-moving city of Andruil, listening to the chime of breaking ice and the soft sounds of conversations muffled by the harmony of the Fade.

A light snow drifted down, dusting the carved ice path leading to a central camp surrounded by twisting cherry blossom trees. They shed insubstantial petals that melted at a touch, an ever-drifting veil that led into a tunnel of constantly melting and freezing wisteria wrought of ice, their droplets falling onto tuned stones that made a charmingly random melody.  Trickles of ice-freed springs laid a soft ripple of sound underneath, rivulets of melt dripping from every surface as he passed from the tunnel to face the final ascent.

Most, if not all of Andruil’s court were within.

Solas made himself a wandering shadow, avoiding eyes and notice.  He was welcome to travel where he would, but often found it best to avoid notice unless he was required– though the habit did rouse suspicion.  Mythal had asked him to witness this moment.  It was more convenient to do so without rousing attention.  He would intervene in case of disaster, of course.

Andruil could be…impulsive.

Her followers held too much sway with her.

The path led to a hunters’ rest of filigree ice walls and woven birch pillars, a massive central fire blazing low with flames of silver and violet.  The lights matched the aurora overhead, lighting the whole space with hues of purple, green, and blue.  It was those dressed in scarlet and orange who suffered most of the choice in lighting, Solas noted.  The natural stone stair had been given more gravitas with ice-wrought railings, the moss that sprang from every crack coated in perpetually-melting frost, the delicate carpet still autumnally green and brown despite the artificial winter.

Solas wondered idly if changing the seasons out of order would do some damage to the wood, unprepared for such cold.

The moment he entered the temple-like camp, open to the sky, his eyes were drawn to not to the vista above, but to she who required all this posturing.  The Mother of Halla had been captured, herded into the presence of Andruil at last…whether she desired it or not.  Andruil did not take ‘no’ for an answer.

Alone, Ghilan’nain stood shunned by the gathering of immortal and spirit, lingering in the shadow of a twisted sapling column wreathed in sculpted vines.

Yet once the eye found her, it could not leave her.

Eyes like strawflowers stared across the room, compellingly alien, too large for her elongated face.  They were set oddly far apart, alert and wary, pupils a horizontal bar.  And that was far from where her idiosyncrasies ended.  Her face was nothing but flaws, her nose too long with a flattened bridge, her mouth too wide and too pale.  Her ears were nearly clownish, turned outward proudly.  Unforgivably flawed.  Yet she was harmonious, wholly herself by design; this curious sculptress of beasts clearly considered herself a canvas as well.  And so she drew the eye as to art, to be judged on some higher plane than mere attractiveness.

The Mother of Halla was unbound, and unwatched by the guards, ostensibly here of her own will.  But Solas knew the lie.  He could feel her frustration and distraction, her disdain for the feast, her unease with the celebratory crowd that gazed at her like she was yet another of Andruil’s bizarre trophies.

This is what he had been sent to observe.

In a sea of spring color she was wilted and faded, draped in the hues of skeletal fallen leaves.  But it suited her, the odd fragility and simplicity of her dress, the richer palette.  The truth of the world outside.  And if she was barely dressed for the occasion, well, she was a mortal and it was appropriate for her to avoid outshining her betters.

She showed no signs of discomfort with her unfashionable iconoclasm.

Mockery flitted around the room behind hands, venomous butterflies flitting from each gossiping bubble to whisper their disdain for her.  Jealousy, all of it.  The entire city of Arlathan knew of the Huntress’ obsession with the sculptress of beasts, her hunger for her attention.  To be favored by the gods was to be feared and hated.

A truth Solas was all too aware of.

Andruil’s pride was simple and fierce.  She wore it like a child, with expectation of praise and glory for her accomplishment.  And, like a child, her pride was easily wounded– she lashed out thoughtlessly when it was threatened.

He was curious to see if the Mother of Halla would survive her long-awaited first encounter with the Huntress.

When Andruil arrived, it was with laughter and shouting.

The Huntress was celebrated upon her arrival, not like Elgar’nan, whose court was silent and fawning, or Mythal’s, which was peaceful and full of gratitude.  No, Andruil’s court was a place of drinking and song, of story and boasting.  The line between fashion and armor blurred, with the goddess herself arriving in a silver breastplate and a violet sash like a peacock’s tail that spread behind her as she walked.  Her armored leggings were spattered in mud and blood, half-bared chest sporting a jagged wound that still seeped blood.

She wore the injury as proudly as her exposed scars, the armor designed specifically to show them.  One from each of her great battles in the war.  Her people knew the story of each scar, or at least her version of them, and treated the tales as their sacred scriptures.

It seemed Andruil wanted to make a show of her arrival tonight.

In the center of the magic-hewn stone dias that stood at the top of the lodge, her altar and her throne, Andruil paused.  Her boisterous, equally-wounded hunters stalled far back from her.  The noise died.  There was still a smile on her lips, arch and arrogant.  It pulled slightly from the deep scar at the corner of her mouth that arched up to her cheek– won at the final battle of the great war, the conflict that had granted her eventual godhood.

“Generally when a goddess camps within your borders, oh Mother of Halla, one does not need to be invited to pay her respects!”

Andruil’s voice rang out, drawing every eye in the place back to the strangely-sculpted mortal.  She clutched the pillar with one hand now, but she did not flinch when addressed, lifting her chin and averting her eyes.  Step by step, she approached the dias, figures moving out of her way at her approach.  The fire roared as she passed it, briefly washing her in strange, sharp shadows that made her all the more fragile.

At the bottom of the stairs, she bowed deeply to Andruil, until her knees touched the floor.

Ghilan’nain said nothing.

The silence pleased Andruil, her smile widening, shoulders rolled back.  “Bring the trophy!” she bellowed, giving no more words to the still-kneeling mortal.

Solas curiously observed the prisoner, who did not at all behave like one.  In fact, he would say she was remarkably composed, and remarkably brave.  He would admire it, were it not counter to her continued survival.  Still, there was much to be learned even in fleeting moments of those whose audacity spelled their doom.

Beauty even in melting snow.

Andruil returned, holding proudly in her hands the severed head of a halla.  It wasn’t the beast itself that surprised Solas, but the sheer size of the head cradled between Andruil’s gauntlets, its intricately carved antlers eclipsing her face.  A marvellous beast, larger than any he’d seen before.  Its blood-spattered fur was golden, dead eyes rolled up towards the rippling sky.

“Rejoice, Mother of Halla!  I have defeated the greatest of your beasts, and won our ferocious competition at last!”  No cheers broke after Andruil’s bold pronouncement, the entire court respecting the gravity of the moment.

A sob broke the breathless silence.

A gasp of shock and horror flickered around the room, shadows lengthening, air chilling.

Ghilan’nain wept.

And not with overwhelmed honor at the skill and glory of the Huntress, but in pain, her face falling into her hands, graceful body crumpling to the floor in a puddle of gossamer skirts.  Heartbroken, voice borne on the ringing silence, she sobbed, tears spilling from between her fingers and dampening her skirts.  Solas’ eyes were drawn to her, as many were, but the focus was not on the weeping mortal, but the triumphant goddess.

No; Andruil was triumphant no longer.

Her pride had been shattered by the mournful response, and she stared in shock and dismay.  Her hand fell, the proudly-displayed beast’s head falling with a thump.  There was no blood left to spill, but its mouth hung open grotesquely as it rolled down a stair, beautifully curved horns clinking against the crystalline stone.

“Why do you cry?”  Andruil asked, words blunt and fierce as ever.  But they were open, straightforward, puzzlement and pain clear.  “I have bested you at last.”  Her expression cleared, fierce eyes softening.  “Are you overcome with the honor?”

“I did not make her for you to hunt!”

The accusation rang out, so full of suffering that the spirits thrummed with the vibrations her agony rippled through the air.  The light changed, candles burning fiercely golden, banishing the violet shadows.  In the gilded light the weeping mortal glared at the goddess, her agony pure, her heart open to them all like a flower.

The room was silent, watching the challenged goddess in fear and anticipation.

Armor gleaming in the fierce firelight, Andruil took a single step down from her dias.  “Do you not challenge me, mortal?  I have hunted your great beasts of land, sea, and sky.  Why do you weep now?”

“Challenge you?”  The question was full of too much pain for offense, great tears spilling again as Ghilan’nain’s chin rose.  Her lashes trembled, gleaming.  “They were imperfect.  Flawed.  But her–”  Her voice cracked, bleeding.

The Mother of Halla reached out a dappled hand, long fingers stretching as she crawled up the shallow stairs, tears still spilling from her autumnal eyes, gown spread across the crystal like the shivering wings of a wounded moth.  She grasped the severed head of the gilded beast, hands cradling its gilded muzzle, dragging it down into the embrace of her arms.  Chest heaving with the force of her tears, she pressed her forehead to the halla’s.

“She was perfect.  Perfect!”  The last word rang like an accusation, an arrow to Andruil’s heart.  Ghilan’nain’s head lifted, her eyes wounded and hazy from her unceasing woe.  Her question, her anger was posed to the room, as if each soul who witnessed bore the burden of the desecration.  “How could you?”

The heartbroken anguish echoed.

Her sorrow was too profound and too beautiful.  Elvhen who had mocked her were now weeping for her, faces turned away in shame.  Still, more watched in fear, anticipating the displeasure of the Huntress.  

But Solas knew better.

Andruil’s eyes behind the mask of her face were full of pain and shock, a child whose clumsy fingers had crushed the butterfly she admired.

“Tell me– were they not tokens of your worship?  Challenges to my skill and might?”

Ghilan’nain laughed, the sound bubbling over miserably.  “No.  No.”  She wilted, curling in on herself like a child afraid of a blow.  The severed head was shielded from the room in her arms, as if denying them any further spectation of the beast’s demise.  When her chin jerked up and her eyes met the goddess’, full of outrage and pain, there were murmurs of shock, whispers of magic-shielded conversations.

Such defiance…

Solas tucked a hand beneath his chin, watching the scene with detached fascination.

Truly, this Ghilan’nain did not fear death.

“I have made nothing for you.”

“You say that now because I have bested you,” Andruil scoffed.  She stared down her nose, looking more bemused by the defiance than angry.  There were not many who would raise their voice to the general without a blade in hand to challenge her.  Tears were new.  “If you wished the great Golden Halla not to die, you should not have sent me so many challenges.  Can you not see that it is your failure, weeping mortal?  It was inevitable she would die– it is only a beast and you are no god.”

Andruil’s benevolence was tentative, one hand beginning to rise, but stalling before her reaching fingers could extend fully.  Curiously, the Huntress was taking far more care with Ghilan’nain than even he would expect.  She seemed utterly at a loss beneath the bravado.

When her gaze scanned the room, Solas knew his attempts to stay a mere observer would not succeed.

A voice echoed in his mind, rising and falling with Adruil’s always-wandering attention when her regard found him.  “If you must spy and pry for Mythal, at least serve your purpose.”

The viciousness of her voice in his mind did not concern Solas, though Mythal had told him time and time again that she could not protect him if he went too far.  He did not challenge Andruil, so there was no reason for her to attack him.  Her plea, while high-handed and rude, was genuine.

Andruil truly had thought the mortal was courting her attention.

And worse, she had been charmed by it.

There was a simple solution if all she wished was to please the mortal in return.  “Swear to protect all of the halla that remain.  Elgar’nan finds their arrogance displeasing, but if you demand their enshrinement, he will agree.  You are owed the boon.”

“Lower my head?”  Across the room her eyes blazed, piercing the shadows he watched from.

Solas was exposed, and eyes that previously cast past him were now fixed upon him as he stood in the shadow of a colonnade, hands tucked behind his back.  They spoke in silence, but their conversation left currents in the air that eyes tracked.  He could see the smattering of attention at his appearance.  “You have proven your skill and it does not move her.  Prove your benevolence now.”

As soon as he offered an answer she would accept, Solas was ignored.

With his purpose served in her eyes, Andruil no longer paid him any heed.  Finally she broke her stern silence, and the air began to move again, chests rising as the Elvhen were freed from the grip of her furious confusion.  The Goddess of the Hunt gazed across the room, and then down to the mournful mortal at her feet.

They had spoken in few moments, but it seemed Ghilan’nain had no intention of a response.  Her face was flat and expressionless now, tear-streaked and cold.  Even that was beautiful, the way her skirts floated down around her as she rose, the bravery of her strange reddened eyes, her lifted chin.

She was as brave in her calm as she had been in her tempest.

“Your beast was a worthy challenge.  A warrior of great grace and strength,” Andruil said with more confidence with no further argument posed.  “She will celebrated in story and song!”

There was a cheer from the court of the Huntress.  It was an honor they understood, and more than a mortal should hope for.  Solas was not surprised in the least when what followed was in fact the opposite of what Andruil intended.  

Without a word, Ghilan’nain turned away.

Immediately five hundred hands went for weapons; there was no way she would escape without the Huntress’ grace, no matter how brave he was.  But Andruil lifted a hand and waved them off imperiously.  The court stood down.  No one would question the goddess’ whims, for she was a dauntless god, and her skill in the hunt was not to be questioned.

The Huntress allowed Ghilan’nain to flee, wounded, Solas knew she would be hunted down before long.

Her reasoning simply defied Andruil’s divine confidence.

Chatter turned to feasting and laughter, making light sport of the obviously confused mortal too overwhelmed by the presence of a god.  No, it was not the tale of the night.  Instead the story of hunting the Great Golden Halla spread, making certain to highlight that the beast had been sent as a challenge to the goddess of the hunt.  Andruil’s boasting confidence could turn any wild tale into myth.

Even when they had seen the truth with their own eyes.

She, sadly, did not allow him to linger and enjoy the company of her ranks.  Once the wounded halla was gone, and the feasting had begun, she found his mind again.

“Have you seen enough, whimpering beast?”

“Mythal wishes for your success.  Shall I depart?”

“Stop.”  He watched her gilded profile in the distance, her eyes fixed upon the butchery of the rest of the beast.  It seemed she had no intention of sparing this kill from the feast.  Vulgar.  Her voice in his head was sharp, short, belying the frustration she had hidden from her people.  “No riddles, servant of Mythal.  If you are so wise, tell me what I must do.  For Elgar’nan has demanded I stop the flood of beasts that come from this wood.”

Ah.  The full scope of this ceremony was now clear to Solas.  He should report to Mythal with haste, once he had sufficiently soothed the Huntress.  As had crossed his mind before, the halla offended Elgar’nan.  But now the people depended upon the halla, revered and loved them, and seeing them forced into service would enrage them and tarnish Elgar’nan’s reputation.  So, he sought to destroy their creator, fearing the independence of beast and creator both.

He could not, and would not abide their refusal to serve, not when they flocked to Sylaise and bowed to Mythal.

A fascinating puzzle that was not for Solas to solve.

“You could kill her,” he suggested, curious to hear her reaction.

“Easily.”  In the distance, Andruil shot him a distant sidelong glance, like a dagger of emerald.  “If I wished to, I would have, you useless slave.”

The insult, like every single one before it, was ignored.  “You misinterpreted her.”

“Do you call me a fool?” She instantly retaliated, as he had presumed. “I did not misinterpret her.  She was overcome.  Why would she create such vast and terrible creatures, if not to gain the notice of the Huntress?  I thought you were wise.”

Pleased with the success of his manipulation, Solas smiled faintly to himself, turning away for an archway of skeletal branches covered in pale green buds..  Very well, he would make no further attempts to enlighten her with the truth of the situation.  If she preferred ignorance, so be it.  “Then if she is merely overwhelmed by the honor paid, as you claim, if you deigned to arrive at her home yourself she will throw herself at your feet.”

“Of course she would.”  But, much to his surprise, Andruil did not seem eager to claim the bait he laid.  “But…she seems a delicate creature.  And it seems the loss of the beast has touched her deeply.  If I appear too suddenly she may offend in her grief.”

Another truth revealed itself.

What other emotion but desire could evoke so much understanding?

“You, Voice of Council.”  It still wasn’t his name, but it was not ‘slave’.  “Go speak with her, and set her mind at ease so she is prepared for my arrival.  At the third dawn.”

“As you command,” he replied, bowing his head across the great hunter’s lodge to Andruil.  There was no point in saying no.  With a moment to report, he was all but certain Mythal would suggest he do as Andruil ordered, and so to resist would be pointless.

As he departed Andruil gave him one brief look of acknowledgement across the cold temple, then turned away to her hunters once more.  No doubt whatever tale was told of this night would be only from her perspective, and not the truth.  After all, the truth was…unflattering.

A mortal’s tears had bested the will of a god.

As he hunted for the Mother’s den, the wolf wore a smile.

Mythal would be pleased.

[thebestbobaflavour]

as the shrike to your sharp

and glorious thorn

…

dragon age drabble | DATV SPOILERS!!!

…

Edited the first draft for a part of the Veilguard epilogue scene in my Andruil AU.

Characters: Inquisitor Lavellan (Andruil), Morrigan/Mythal, Dorian Pavus, Solas

Pairings: Inquisitor x Solas (Solavellan/Fendruil), vaguely implied Ghilandruil and mention of Solas and Mythal

Tags: Angst, comfort idk I don't publish fics.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language and I have adhd so it might be that it makes no sense. I am sorry

This is just a silly drabble, but I am practising publishing my texts since its so unnecessarily hard for me + I hope this gives me courage to write the whole thing.

I am not gonna provide too much context here to appear dark and mysterious, but it's about Andruil's memories being restored by Morrigan so that Mythal and Andruil can confront Solas together.

…

The blinding light died from Inquisitor Lavellan's eyes, and for a few seconds there was only haze, like she was frozen in a million memories at once. Finally she winced, blinking and trembling with the excess of emotions. Confusion. Fury. Love. Despair. It was familiar to Morrigan. She knew the pain of reliving it all at once, even if it hadn't been as personal to her, or as raw. They clutched the small carving in white-knuckled hands, chest heaving in terror.

“Morrigan”, they whispered. “It hurts. Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Yes”, she replied softly. “I am so sorry.”

The Inquisitor felt her tongue growing thick and dry as she bent over in silent agony and drew panicked breaths. The feeling of sinking into the depths of morals, the guilt from every evil thought and act, the fierce, defiant love; bitter betrayal. It crushed her.

Remorse filled her lungs to the point where air didn't fit in. It twisted her stomach; she gagged, but nothing came out – only acid burned in her throat. After a few ragged gasps cried into the ground, her fingertips burying into the blighted gravel, she finally sobbed, her words an uncoherent litany:

“You were right. About them... about Ghilan'nain -- and everything -- I did it; as much as he. It's my fault. All of them… even Mythal. I didn't know. I didn't know Solas would do it. Not like that.”

Morrigan’s eyes mirrored her agony. For a moment, she hesitated before pulling the elf into a hug, pressing a hasty kiss over her temple. She melted into it, yearning for the anchoring comfort of her friend. But there was no safety, no escape for the living sin. It tormented her.

“Why? Why was I so terribly blind? Why didn't he tell me?”

“He thought he did the right thing. And so did you... so did Mythal.”

Indeed, Morrigan’s smoky scent felt more familiar than before, it lived in her memories, next to the consuming regret. Feathers. Scales. Ice.

“For all the good it did. I brought this upon the world. We did. I let him. And then he dragged me along while we pretended to be its saviours. The Inquisition… Varric… the mark-- It was all because of what we did. Over and over again. So many unnecessary deaths."

“The world may be broken, many of us are gone, but we are still here. ‘Tis all we have. You cannot rewrite those things, no matter how much you may want to..”

“What do I do now?” they asked, voice shattering. “How can I deserve to decide the fate of the world again? I have wrought doom upon us since the beginning. I let him burn down our empire."

"He loves you. This might just be the moment it changes everything."

“Does he? Our love for him was never enough, why would it be now? And if I could change his heart, what right do I have that is above his?”

Morrigan sighed, pulling away from the hug and cupping Lavellan’s teary cheeks. She smiled upon her friend, her beautiful, broken friend, who had to pull off the impossible yet again. Mythal’s lost daughter who never was.

“We have to try. We owe it to the people that are here now. The lives we can save. Remember, what you feel now, ‘tis who you were when you lost everything. That's Andruil. Beautiful, fierce huntress who shouldered a weight she never should have had to bear.”

Morrigan helped the elf up to their feet gently, with gentleness that mocked the horrific apocalypse all around them. Then, a set of faint footsteps echoed from the shadows, and a soft voice added:

“Now take those ten years of ours and add them to it. Inquisitor Lavellan, who did the very same. Because that's who you are, too. Your soul is still the same. And your heart is still the same, whatever name you bear.”

The mage stood in front of his friend, now in turn pressing soothing palms upon her cheekbones. Suddenly the Inquisitor looked even smaller, more weary. Her eyes met Dorian’s, and the mage flinched at their intensity. In a matter of moments, the familiar weight of immeasurable regret tinted her expression. The same desperation that fuelled Solas’ neverending crusade now darkened Andruil’s gaze, undirected, consuming.

It was a perilous force, but he was not afraid. Later he’d come to realise that he got to grasp a glimpse of that passion to forgive and heal someone that others deemed too far gone; a fragment of the devotion Lavellan harboured for the Dread Wolf.

“Dorian-” she whispered, tears flooding her eyes as soon as he pulled her into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Finding out what you are up to. I knew you were even more than you led on but, another elven god? I would never have believed that not every single one was an insufferable know-it-all or a tyrant.”

“I am worse”, she sniffled, sobbing into his shoulder like a little child. “You should not have come here. I don't want you to remember me like a monster.”

“Whatever are you going on about?”

As his hand gently cradled the back of her head, her shivering shoulders dropped.

“I… I have done horrible things, Dorian. Maybe I am not a tyrant, but I have so much blood on my hands.”

“I am sorry, love, but I don't give a single damn about that. Do you think I am pure like a dove? Tevinter Magisters who have lived for mere decades? Or even that puppy-eyed Grey Warden? No one who lives is not without sin; I can never even begin to fathom the burdens you bear, but whatever it is, it won't change a thing between us."

Lavellan could not reply, for the sobs stole the words from her mouth. The Magister held her for a long while, trying his best to remain calm and composed, but as Morrigan gestured to him and he lifted a defiant hand to stop her from interrupting, his voice dipped. He gently took her hands to his, prying them off his robes, and looked at her with softness only bestowed upon the heartbroken.

“Now, dear. I understand that you are being asked the impossible, again. With all my heart I wish it was not the case. I may not know about your pain, but what I do know is what a man in love looks like. And I finally have an explanation as to why Solas looked like someone who had been yearning for you for centuries."

Lavellan let out a pained laugh. "You're a hopeless romantic, did you know that?"

"Don't try to deny it. That bastard would throw a backflip into the Waking Sea if you asked him to. Perhaps you should do that? For me?" he tried so hard to smile bravely, but as he wiped a tear off her face, his own started falling.

"At any rate, please make him end this nonsense. Then perhaps he can finally start to try to be deserving of all of this world-saving love. If he doesn't, he'll hear from me. Nothing will save him then."

“Dorian��”

“I know. I'll miss you too."

[clavicuss-vile]

Extra people present in the Veilguard in my worldstate in order of joining, with significantly less emphasis on "here is the x expert. here is the y expert" because this isn't a business this is a bunch of people coming together for a common cause.

Sorren Surana ("Rook Thorne") - The Rook, left Ferelden on his own accord to help

Fenris Hawke - The Blue Wraith, who wasn't letting Sorren go anywhere near Tevinter alone

Asra Aemaris-Ilonveil - The Traveller, sent by Keeper Lavellan to assist Varric in stopping Solas

Isaias de Riva - The Crow, contracted from Viago to take down the Dread Wolf.

Kieran Mac Feannag - The Old God Baby, went to help with Morrigan and chose to stay

Asa'rhyiel Ghilan'nain - The Sentinel of Ghilan'nain, ancient elven child of Ghilan'nain and Andruil, joins late game after being freed of their duty

[ambrosia-vinca]

Still sad we don't get to see the entire pantheon of the Evanuris btw. Like I know 2 were bad enough but they sounded so fun and I wanted to know more about the more obscure ones like June and Sylaise

Also we didn't get the most unhinged lesbian power couple in the universe on screen (Andruil x Ghilan'nain) and that's tragic

[littlerune]

dragon age ships that got a lil kick for me lately: solas x rook, solas x andruil, andruil x ghilan'nain (all toxic - this is a very important aspect)

[rosella-writes]

grow back your sharpest teeth (you know my desire)

Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Pairing: Ghilan'nain x Andruil

Rating: E

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Necrophilia, Vore

Summary:

A grieving Ghilan'nain encounters the dead husk of her lover, Andruil, within the Blight before her escape from the Black City. She merges with it.

leave it to sleep token lyrics to solidify my plans for fucked up andruil/ghilan'nain lesbian enmeshment fic

[broodwoof]

Arlathan Era Collection

previously: Ancient Memories those which contain spoilers for the new game are appropriately tagged & have vg as the media

A Favor for a Favor Andruil/Ghilan'nain/Solas | E | 6,017 words

In Arlathan, sex is part of the Game; a means to an end, a power-play, a political maneuver. So when one of the most powerful of the Evanuris approaches him and offers him her favor in exchange for a night, Solas is inclined to agree.

Bright Silence Andruil/Ghilan'nain | T | 1,096 words

Based on a prompt: blinded by the sun reflecting off the snow An exploration of Andruil and Ghilan'nain's early relationship

Dread Wolf Rises Ghilan'nain/Solas | E | 3,162 words

Solas is taught how to shapeshift, and the first time is always overwhelming.

Intimate Discourse Mythal/Solas | T | 645 words

Based on a prompt: "they deserve better." Solas and Mythal have a conversation about the future.

One More Little Lie Andruil/Ghilan'nain/Solas | G | 263 words

Based on a prompt: "I'm a monster." Solas considers a future that cannot be.

Abandon Hope Mythal/Solas | E | 9,752 words

Solas served Mythal. Over time, their relationship changed… and then circumstances changed it again.

Her Mercy Mythal/Solas | E | 592 words

The Dread Wolf and the All-Mother have a long history. At times, he finds himself needing to yield to her, to put his life in her hands: to be returned, or to be taken.

Bond of Blood; Bond of Love Mythal/Solas | M | 806 words

The All-Mother's mark upon the Dread Wolf's face, a complication to affection.

Honesty and Impossibility Andruil/Solas | M | 529 words

Fen'Harel has plans. Plans that will change the world, plans that will stop the Evanuris from seeking their godhood. Plans that will make him an enemy of those he has long existed alongside. Mired in their court and their lives, they are part of him. He respects Andruil: her skill, her nature, her uncompromising determination. Were things different...

A Rebirth; A Second Death Mythal/Solas | M | 753

A spirit becomes a man. A man becomes a monster. A monster becomes a regret.

First Day; Fresh Breath Mythal/Solas | G | 946 words

It was always his choice.

Benevolence, Retribution: The Rise of Mythal Mythal/Solas | M | 337 words

The nature of a spirit is that of twin aspects, neither demonic. No easy dichotomy of good and evil, simply part and parcel of what an individual spirit is. Wisdom and Benevolence, Pride and Retribution, ever together.

[galadrieljones]

Author Interview

Thanks for the tag, @littlelindentree ^_^ Happy New Year!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

20

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

981,132

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I have written for Dragon Age: Inquisition, Red Dead Redemption 2, Horizon: Zero Dawn, The Last of Us, and The Walking Dead

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Lily Farm (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill, RDR2)

That he may hold me by the hand (Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason, RDR2)

The Dead Season (Solavellan, DAI)

Magnolia (Bethyl, TWD)

Yours, Sadie Adler. (Sadithur, RDR2)

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes, as often as I can. Sometimes, I forget on older fics. I'm sorry about that. If someone is rude to me in the comments though, I will respond rudely!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Teen Wolf. It's a story collection so the ending isn't really "true," but it's the end of Solas and Ghilan'nain's love story, in my mind. It's sad and bittersweet, as in the story, they are talking about building a house on the back acreage of Solas's mother's property, but I envision the very next day as being the day that Andruil invades the Weathers, kidnapping both Ghilan'nain and Solas's mother Leanathy, and beginning the Great War. In the ensuing days, Andruil's men leave Solas for dead, and when he wakes up, he goes to Mythal and begs her to free his mother in exchange for his loyalty. She accepts, rescuing and protecting Leanathy in her Blue Palace, and Solas becomes her Bodyguard. Eventually, he is elevated to her General, then he becomes her lover. During the war, after Ghilan'nain's betrayal, the Evanuris murder Mythal, and Solas, out of vengeance and grief, builds the veil and imprisons them all, including Mythal's soul, which would, over time, resurrect into her body, using special magic taught to her by Solas's mother many thousands of years before.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, most of my long fics are unfinished. I'm sorry about that. I think that The Dead Season has a happy ending. So does Yours, Sadie Adler., thought it is bittersweet.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not tons at all. I have gotten a few rude commenters over the years, mainly people being weirdly critical of my writing style in ways that are, frankly, moronic, and also some people who just want me to write more smut. But I don't write much smut anymore, and I don't think fics need smut to be worthy or interesting. If you only want a smut fic, you probably won't like my writing. Remember that tags exist so that you can see what you're getting into before you crack the first chapter!!!!

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Lol. Speaking of. I used to write much more. It was never the overly explicit kind and I didn't have any specific kinks I liked to explore, but I wrote a lot of it for DAI and RDR2. I still write sex scenes for sure, it's just that they tend to be character driven.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

I have never written a real crossover; however, I do have some crossover characters in The Lily Farm. In the later chapters, I have two main characters who are taken from other texts: Woodrow Call from Lonesome Dove and LaBoeuf from True Grit. Both are Texas Rangers, and in my fic, they owe Dutch a few rather large favors. They help Arthur and Mary Beth on the river boat job, which goes terribly wrong. They also help break John out of federal prison. They are two of my favorite characters in the fic.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. I've had plenty of art stolen over the years and I don't even keep track anymore. Mainly it just gets reposted without credit on like, Pinterest. Oh well!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of! But I am amenable.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

I don't think so!

14. what's your all-time favourite ship?

I have several though Bethyl and Solavellan are probably tied for first.

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Lily Farm. In truth there's not a ton left to write. But it's been 84 years like I don't even remember the geography of the game. I would have to replay RDR2, at least through chapter 4. I also wish I could finish Zero, my Niloy fic for HZD. I still think about them, and I still occasionally get really really nice comments on that fic. I honestly wish I could finish all my old fics. Like That he may hold, which also has maybe one closing chapter left to write. I wish I could finish As You Were, too, my TLOU fic, just so that I can save Joel's life, and as a big fuck you to Neil Druckmann.

16. what are your writing strengths?

I'm not sure. Pacing has probably always been my greatest strength.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Overwriting, getting bored. My issue is often that I start a fic with modest goals but then those goals get bigger and bigger as I go, and I can't help myself. Then, I eventually get bored and I don't finish. I view fanfic as a way for authors to express themselves and their hyperfixations in the moment. I think that the quality of being "unfinished" is, in an of itself, conventional to fanfiction; however, I still view my general lack of focus as a weakness.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Don't translate it. Just put it there. If your reader cares enough and doesn't know the translation, they'll look it up. If they don't care enough to do this, then they're not your target audience. The internet makes this sort of thing very easy.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Technically it's the boyband fandom (*NSync and Backstreet Boys, mainly) in like 1998, but in actuality, it's Dragon Age: Inquisition in 2016.

20. favourite fic you've written?

Probably Yours, Sadie Adler. It feels the most complete, and I still don't know how I managed to write that fic so quickly, when I was like three weeks postpartum with my second baby, and with very little revision. It just flowed out of me, like it was already written in my mind, and all I had to do was type it out. I have received some really lovely comments on it over the years. It seems to affect people deeply, which makes me very happy, because it came from a very raw place in my heart.

I will tag @thevikingwoman @bearlytolerant @roguelioness @gneebee @shallow-gravy @a-shakespearean-in-paris @pipergirl17 @sasusc and @im-immortal <3

[arlathanxchange]

Nominations Update

Nominations Close in Just Under 12 hours!!

✨There are currently 403 approved tags! ✨

▸nominated tags: gSheets | ao3 | autoao3app

Seven Tags Need Corrections:

Lavellan & Lavellan Clan (Dragon Age):

We require a gender for Lavellan. Please add Male, Female, or Nonbinary to your nomination, i.e. Male Lavellan & Lavellan Clan (Dragon Age).

Nonbinary Surana & Anders

This was already nominated as Anders & Nonbinary Surana! If this was your tag, you should be able to delete it and nominate another tag!

Evanuris (Freeform)

Freeform Tags are Other Tags and are not eligible for this exchange. Please provide the names for the specific Evanuris and their relationships (i.e. Andruil/Ghilan'nain or Falon'Din & Fen'harel). If your request can’t be defined with specific names easily, it may still be eligible and we’d like to discuss how we’ll tag it. Please reach out to the mods via email or discord so we can talk it over!

The below tags are all ineligible for the exchange because they do not have an elf. Please update the tags to include an elf or replace them with a tag containing an elf.

Bran Cavin/Male Hawke

Cullen Rutherford/Rylen

Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan

Nathaniel Howe/Sebastian Vael

Note: If your tags are not corrected by the time nominations close, they will be rejected.

To Make Corrections:

Go to the 2023 Tag Set.

Click the My Nominations button on the top right of the page under the menu bar.

Click the Edit button on the top right of the page under the menu bar.

Click the X to the right of the tag, and reenter the corrected tag in the text box that appears.

Click the Submit button at the bottom of the page.

QUESTIONS?

how to nominate tutorial | ask | discord | email: arlathanxchange@gmail.com

Tumblr’s asks are famously unreliable. If you don’t see a response within 72 hours please feel free to resend the ask or send an email.

[edda-grenade]

in which i make 'the dread wolf & the tree' Even Worse

been playing da:i again and i noticed not only is there a giantass wolf statue in front of the crestwood grove, but said grove has huge deer/halla statues (which are also found in ghilan'nain's grove) And a bunch of murals that are very likely about andruil

and, okay. eternity's a long time, right? maybe solas used to actually get along not just with ghilan'nain but also with andruil, back in the real early days

me, immediately: oh, i can make this awful :D