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mercysought · 2 months ago

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"I know what you are going to ask me." Asharen starts though she feels her voice running away from her, just as the warmth in her ribcage and laughter leaves when her siblings leave the small huddle that the Lavellan family had been in for the past hour.

Her father looks to her, still eating part of the orange, mid chewing. All of the Lavellan children looked like him. Red wavy hair, though his was a softer shade than any of his children's, freckles like constellations upon light skin. Often a sunburn on his cheeks and ears. Pale eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes grey. Tall, for an elf at least. He looked at her with a knowing smile, a smile that looked much like her own when she was about to be smart. She had gotten this from him too.

"Oh?" his head turns to the side as he finishes chewing. Her dad pushes himself off the Aravel to walk around the small flame and sit beside her on the chairs that her brother and sister had once occupied. There was an exact number of chairs for what they needed, she wondered how long it took for them to get the number right after Renehn. After it had become clear that Asharen herself would not be returning after the Conclave's explosion. He laughs and she cannot stop herself from smiling, closing her eyes "Since becoming Inquisitor have you also become a mind reader, da'len (little one)?"

She laughs, first pulling the right side of her shawl and then the other side. Asharen feels herself want to curl closer into the fire but unable to do it. There were some lessons that she had learnt from Josie that even now were hard to undo, even in the presence of her father. He was Keeper, after all, her father, yes, but Keeper. And it was as Keeper that he sat down.

"No." she hums, glancing in his direction, finding his eyes and then following where they looked at: the thin flames of the fire in front of them. They both sat with their backs to the rest of the clan. An image that Asharen had clear in her mind, but it was not her that often sat with him "But I don't have to be one to know what it means when Nesora and Hanin leave."

Pausing, she sees his smile falter for a moment, looking down to his own hands. Asharen does the same, finding only her right one holding a half drunk cup of tea "I used to leave with them. When you wished to talk with Renehn about clan affairs."

"It's only right, Asharen," she exhales through her nose, feeling the shawl fall from her left shoulder, and carefully grabbing it "now that you are back, that you should take place as the First. It is deserved."

The honesty in his eyes is what cuts so deeply. She feels herself reeling, wanting to flinch from them at how instead of pride she felt only sadness start to seep in. He had given it thought, it couldn't have been easier, nothing about being a Keeper was easy. Her eyes look at his face and she sees the orange, now washed with age, Mythal's vallas'lin on it. She remembered thinking how wonderfully it fit his face and that while it made no sense for her to pick Mythal for her own, that she would hope it looked as nice, as fitting as it did on his face.

"No." she hears herself say, voice cracking as she places the cup of tea down on the floor. Her eyes do not return to him "I can't."

"No?" surprise washes over her as easily as it fills his voice. Still kept leveled, leveled that it would not be heard outside of the conversation between the two. His body turns towards her, his shadow growing longer, only kept at bay by the flames in front of them and she closes her eyes "Why not? It is something to have pride in." his hand covers hers and it feels like it is burning against hers "Asharen, this is what Renehn would have wanted, what I and the clan want for you. We want you to stay home."

His hands squeezes hers and she cannot stop herself from squeezing it back. Her brows break under the weight of her bare face. He had asked her, but she had told him that she would tell him another time, that she was too tired from traveling. It had been true. It was not a conversation to have when your bones were so cold and yet she still felt cold.

"I am not going to last forever, Asharen." he says and her mouth parts but no sound comes out. Her eyes open and her head turns to him "I need to know I will leave the clan in capable hands."

She looks at the flames again. She had known this would likely be a topic. Asharen had expected to return and see a First put in place of Renehn, but for whatever reason after five years no one had been picked. She was not sure what were the current numbers of mages in the Clan but she wondered if it had something to do with that. Or perhaps he had simply waited, waited for her to come home. Her hand closes into a fist under his and, at the motion, his tightens over hers.

"I know. It is an honour. I am... I am thankful." she says, feeling herself swimming and the dull whispering in the back of her head creeping. That same headache that she had been carrying since deciding to return to the Clan. To visit it. She had never intended to stay. As much as her dad would want it to be the case, she was not a good fit. Not because she could not do it, but because she would need to mangle herself further... More and more chipping of herself to become something that they needed "I'm... I'm really sorry, babae (dad). I can't do this."

She doesn't look at him but she can hear it in the pause.

"I don't understand." he finally says, his hand moving from hers to gesticulate as he spoke "You are no longer Inquisitor, no longer bound to anything in Orlais, or Ferelden or any shem'len business. Why would you not want to?... After so long? Did you not miss it?... The Clan? Us?" his mouth hangs open when her head tilts to face him and she feels herself sink into the chair "It is important work. I know it's not the same as being Inquisitor, certainly not as glamorous, but I don't see ho—"

Lifting her hand, she feels the shawl fabric fall from her shoulders. The Keeper stops talking. Almost in the same moment, he grabs the edge of it, making sure that the fabric covered her shoulders completely. She starts feeling herself shake. The thought that he would think that it was a matter of glamour, of having had crowds clamoring for her and that the thought of being First being somehow... lessened. How long had she been away? Had it truly been so long that he would truly think that little of her?

"It is not that." she starts, softly. Sighing, she lifts her left arm, hidden partially by the sleeve she kept folded and pinned at the top, close to her shoulder. She had to put her fatigue away, the coldness of her bones, the shaking of her hand and ribcage. Put it away and do this "It's... actually to do with this."

She can hear the beginning of a smile, a chuckle as her father starts talking again "You are not the first Keeper to have lost a lim—"

"No, it's about how it happened." it was still fresh in her memory, part of it at least. Other parts were too fuzzy even now for her to untangle. She hoped she would be able to think more clearly about it now that some time had passed but she feared it had not been enough. Not enough for her to form a proper argument. Not a way that she needed to talk to a Keeper about it.

And yet, there was no other time but now "The stories you used to tell us as children are real. Partially. Elvhennan, the Evanuris. The stories are real though we... The real stories are different. They are..."

Crueler. The words hang in the air and she sees her father settle back on his chair, eyebrows arched in confusion and expectation that she should continue. It felt like having your world shattered in ways that she could not explain, not at a level where it changed the way that she walked, the way that she interacted with it but the way that she felt. That she felt about all of this. That she felt about herself. And about what she would need to do.

Even if all she wished to do was to sleep. Sighing, Asharen leans forward on her chair, the red loose braid falling from her shoulder. When she straightens her back once more, she holds his gaze. Ready for what would, undoubtedly come.

"Fen'harel is back." and it sounds ridiculous to say those words out loud. Here, of all places. Not in an Orlesian circus where everyone demanded for her blood, their pound of flesh. Not wearing an Inquisitor's garb. Not surrounded by her companions. Only her and her father. It sounded... like she had a very bad dream, and that she was relaying that dream to her father in hopes that it would soothe her back to sleep "And he wishes to tear down the Veil to return the world to how it was before he—" she falters, seeing her Keeper's expression grow more and more incredulous with each word "before he betrayed the Evanuris."

To call him that felt like a betrayal on itself. Solas came first. That had been the name that he had given her too. But the facts were these, regardless of how ugly and painful they were. Her father would not know the name Solas, she supposed that too had been done by design. That he could protect the person he had been, before he had raised the Veil and destroyed all that he had cared for.

"That..." he starts, getting up from the chair. She hears it creaking and does not follow the figure of her Father as it picks up her half drunk cup of tea. Placing it down on a table, she sees it in the way that he rubs the side of his face, his neck. When he turns her eyes return down to her hand and she feels small "Where did you hear that?"

She turns once more, circling around the fire and sitting now on her life side. He holds her arm, softly, barely there and though she doesn't flinch she does feel it crawl up her arm, her neck. It makes her want to pull away, and yet it was not the time for that too. He holds her face, pulling it so that she may look at him in the eyes "Asharen. The things you have heard while away, the stories shem'len tell about us. Was this some shem'len that told you this? Our stories are meant to be taken as fables. Warnings. Is that why you no longer have a vallas'lin? You found someone to... to remove it?!"

Her mouth opens but his empty hand motions that she should not interrupt him, and so she doesn't. Asharen's mouth closes.

"I know you never quite felt connected to our culture that way but those lies are..." exasperation pours out of her father and she wishes she could believe him. Once she had felt much of the same way and yet she had been shown, in the flesh, how wrong she had been. How wrong they all were. She pulls her limb from him and he lets her "Ridiculous."

Getting up from her chair, she pulls the shawl close to her though it falls on her left side. She leaves it as it is. Passing next to the fire, she watches as her shadow grows, flickering in the flames.

"Babae (dad), I heard it from himself." he snorts, though there is no glee in the tone. She feels herself spinning. He gets up himself, coming to meet her mid passing "It you were to just let me speak, expla—"

"Asharen." he holds both her shoulders softly, firmly and she feels the tears well up in her eyes. Stopping her from passing. His eyes on hers, they reflect the flames so perfectly. She can see it in them what she sees in hers, the deep set of long nights with little sleep, the desperate need to keep things right. She sees pity to and it makes her bite her lower lip in hopes it will keep the tears from streaming down her eyes "It's clear that you went through a lot, we don't have to disc—"

Forcefully, she takes a step back, both of his hands hang in air for a moment in the space where she had been once. Keeping her breathing leveled, her eyes fall down, her fist is cold and clammy and she feels her nails press against her palm.

"You are not listening to me!" she says and it is louder than she would like. Some of the nearest people, her mom included, look over with alarm in the eyes. She curses under her breath, looking back at her father in bewilderment and then back down "It has nothing to do with the humans! Or the Inquisition, or the outside world! It has nothing to do with you either, actually!" she looks up at him through her lashes and she feels her vision blur. His arms are down, now close to the side of his body.

She feels herself shake and is keenly aware for the first time that the voices in the back of her head, the pain at the back of her neck, they remain though around the two of them conversation has died down. Breathing in tightly, she pulls the shawl over her shoulder again, raising her eyes to meet his who look to her in worry "You are not listening, and while it... it pains me that you do not believe me I do not need your belief."

"I love this clan." and she feels her lip quiver. Yes, she had never been the model dalish but she had never seen it as something that was a requirement for them to love her and perhaps that was wrong too. "I love my family." she glances in the direction of her siblings Aravel, she can see her mother's figure start to approach the small circle. With the back of her hand, she cleans her tears with the shawl that she holds in place "I love you." pausing, another breath, her eyes facing her beloved Keeper's "But you cannot ask this of me."

She would not bend and be shaped further into something that she could not stand. She didn't wish to become Keeper, lead them. She had known upon returning that she would not be able to stay, not beyond small visits, but this was it. She knew now. There was not a single wish of her to be Keeper to them because she could not do it, there was not a single strand in her body that clamoured for it despite how much much she knew she needed them. She loved them, but she needed to love herself now. And that meant taking a step back. Stepping away.

"I don't want to." she finally says, firmly now, glancing to her mother and shaking her head as the light brown hair becomes lit by the flames. With one final glance she looks up to her father and she cannot read what she finds in his eyes. She doesn't try, her eyes lower and she walks out of the circle.

#asharen lavellan ( muses )#asharen lavellan ( headcanon )#( something something parallel between asharen and her father and solas and mythal )#( and breaking cycles and expectations )#( this got very long but here we are )

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vigilskept · 1 month ago

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inspired by @/sha-brytols' post: which oc do you think would start the most radioactive discourse if they were a canon character.

other polls are here, here and here.

#i think this one might have the toughest competition idk.

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transdreadwolf · 3 months ago

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Dragon Age Prompt Post

Hello and welcome! This post is a work in progress, please mind the dust.

All Fanfic // DADWC // Thedas Weekend

Send me a prompt!

Origins: Maura Cousland x Leliana // Maura Cousland x Alistair // Fenahn Mahariel x Tamlen // Fenahn Mahariel x Duncan // Fenahn Mahariel x Zevran // Rhiannon Surana x Leliana // Rhiannon Surana x Morrigan // Nadia Brosca x Leliana // Nadia Brosca x Alistair // Kallian Tabris x Leliana // Kallian Tabris x Morrigan // Joana Amell x Anders // Joana Amell x Leliana

DA2: Marisa Hawke x Isabela // Marisa Hawke x Merrill // Marisa Hawke x Isabela x Merrill // Marisa Hawke x Meredith Stannard // Oisin Hawke x Anders // Oisin Hawke x Fenris

Inquisition: Hanin Lavellan x Solas // Hanin Lavellan x Sera // Vunehn Lavellan x Solas // Vunehn Lavellan x Dorian // Meraad Adaar x Josephine // Karaas Adaar x Dorian // Karaas Adaar x Dorian x Iron Bull // Oliver Trevelyan x Dorian // Oliver Trevelyan x Cassandra // Oliver Trevelyan x Cullen // Eleanore Trevelyan x Cassandra // Eleanore Trevelyan x Cullen

Veilguard: Soren Ingellvar x Emmrich // Renehn Aldwir x Neve Gallus // Renehn Aldwir x Emmrich // Renehn Aldwir x Solas // Renehn Aldwir x Felassan // Syrus Laidir x Neve Gallus // Syrus Laidir x Lucanis

Other: Rhona Cousland x Anora // Rhona Coulsand x Alistair // Rhona Cousland x Alistair x Anora // Rhona Cousland x Inquisitor // Rowan Tabris x Solas // Rowan Tabris x Dorian // Rowan Tabris x Iron Bull // Rowan Tabris x Dorian x Iron Bull // Fenahn Mahariel x Solas

Prompts: All Prompt Posts // Rook Codex // Rook AUs

updated 02/21/2025

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saintlethanavir · 8 months ago

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7, 17, 21!

Thank you so much for the asks bb!!

7. If they had to choose one person most important to them, who would that be?

Tzvi Mahariel: Alistair or Merrill, honestly. A lot of their friends and clan sort of fell to the wayside after they became a Grey Warden and there was the loss of Tamlen. He's very introverted as well and prefers the company of very few. Alistair and Merrill are his best friends in the whole world.

Ophelia Hawke: They've got a top 3 I'll be honest but if they had to choose it would be a painstakingly rough decision between Fenris and Varric. Their top three includes Carver as part of that. They all know Ophelia incredibly well and they've stuck by them through the worst possible moments.

Calliope Lavellan: Aurelius would be the obvious answer but it would actually be their father, Hanin. He taught them everything and he kept them strong through every terrible thing to happen to their family. If anything would happen to his father Calliope would be devastated.

17. What were they like as a child?

Tzvi Mahariel: So depressed lmao his dad ran off and his parents died early on after that so it's a rough time for him. Ashalle did everything she could but the only thing that brought out his sunshine were Tamlen and Merrill. And being with the halla. He just felt better around them.

Ophelia Hawke: Absolutely insane, chaotic child. Their magic came early and they were the type to just be so impulsive. Definitely jumped off the roof more than once pretending they could fly and almost or did break something. They've always been very protective of their family members as well, and would beat up any bully, even the ones bigger than them at the time.

Calliope Lavellan: Very reserved and quiet, they loved to ramble on about their special interests to their brother and father though. He struggled to make friends outside of the two or three that he grew up with, and never really broke out of their shell until Inquisition forced them to do so. Calliope ran off with their twin Aurelius to play in the Temple to Falon'Din that the clan would often camp out by , it was their favourite place in the Graves!

21. What's their biggest regret?

Tzvi Mahariel: That he couldn't save Tamlen. He has huge survivors guilt about it and feels it should have been Tamlen who became the Warden and not him.

Ophelia Hawke: Both that they didn't push Aveline to go after the man who eventually killed Leandra, and that they didn't save Bethany from that ogre. It haunts them every waking moment.

Calliope Lavellan: That they never learned to control their magic as a child, it led to a lot of problems in Inquisition and may have saved their mother in the end as well.

Ask me about my Dragon Age World State!

#answered #dragon age #calliope lavellan #tzvi mahariel #ophelia hawke

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thraaaaaaaanduuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiil · 9 months ago

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6, 8, and 10 for the Inquisitor asks!

6. Where does your Inquisitor like to hang out at Haven?

Well, Leanos is a Dalish mage whose parents were murdered by Templars when he was only 3, so basically he hangs out as far away from Cullen, Cassandra, and the Templars as he can reasonably get. After he finds that little cabin while hunting down those notes for Adan, he spends a lot of time there, at least until he gets a good scolding from Josie because nobody can find him for hours one time. After that, he tends to put himself somewhere near Solas or Dorian (especially Dorian). 8. Which advisor does your Inquisitor like best? Which do they trust the most?

Probably Josie. She's the most respectful of him from the beginning and even though she only knows one phrase in Elvhen, he does appreciate that she used it when she had the chance. Leanos would prefer for there to be non-violent, diplomatic resolutions to their problems that don't directly involve demons and Fade rifts. He and Josie don't always understand each other, but they're both willing to learn and make the effort to understand, so they get along well. 10. What does your Inquisitor do with their free time? Do they have any hobbies?

I don't think he HAS much free time tbh. With the clan, he's constantly with Deshann, either learning about Keeper things or actively performing Keeper duties. Deshanna was never supposed to be the Lavellans' Keeper. She got pressed into service as First after Leanos's parents (who had been First and Second to the previous Keeper, Leanos's grandfather) and, since Hanin Lavellan was older and starting to become more frail by that point, she largely had a crash course in being Keeper in the space of about 5 years. (I've been reworking her part in Leanos's backstory a little and now I think she might even have been sent by another clan after Leanos's parents died.) Hanin started training his grandson and granddaughter, Leanos's twin sister Eliana, as soon as they showed signs of magic. Deshanna took over when Hanin died. On the plus side, Leanos (and Eliana for that matter) didn't have the rushed training she had. On the down side, this is also largely because she was determined they could both be fully independent, functional Keepers by the time they came of age if needed. Since Leanos was the one who showed the most interest in and aptitude for the Keeper's work even as a small child, he rarely had much free time because Deshanna was constantly dragging him after her while she did her work so he could learn.

When he's with the Inquisition but before he becomes Inquisitor, Leanos tries to fill his time with small but useful tasks. He isn't entirely convinced the humans won't toss him out, put him back in the dungeon, or even outright kill him if he isn't useful to them at all times. On the rare occasions he takes downtime, he's exhausted and needs a nap and to be out of sight of the humans. After he becomes Inquisitor, his fear of what the humans will do largely vanishes, and even though he's quite busy with Inquisitor duties, he finds he has some large periods of truly free time for the first time in ages. He tends to spend that time in the library with Dorian, reading as much as he can. (more Inquisitor asks here!)

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too-many-lavellans · 10 months ago

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As the years go on

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thereluctantinquisitor · 4 years ago

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👀 👀 👀

#hanin in a suit is um #it is something #ff14 #ffxiv #male au ra #reluctant does ffxiv #hanin lavellan #i am looking respectfully

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adenerimlullaby · 6 years ago

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A good evening to wallow in memories. Still like this one.

#gosh #when were the last time I forgot to eat and drink for hours because of something I love or loved once?#I mean I love many things at the moment #but I missed all of this #hanin lavellan #my art #thereluctantinquisitor #artists on tumblr

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bloodwrit · 6 years ago

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I just discovered your blog and I am living for Hanin.... I love everything about him ;;;; your art is so pretty and just wow... My crops are watered and my skin is clear, I've been blessed by the panini boy and your amazing art 💕

Ahhh thank you so much!!! I haven’t thought of my panini boy in a long time. I’m so glad you like him ; o; here’s a little doodle of him to say thanks!

#Hanin Lavellan #it's a pleasure to be asked #IM SO GLAD Y'ALL LIKE HIM #streliziafly

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reluctantwrites · 7 years ago

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One Last Chance

Part 1 - The Letter | Part 2 - Cope | Part 3 - The Arrival | Part 4 - Necessary Risks

Part 5 - Eleven Years (AO3 Link)

The final preparations take place and the infiltration begins. But first, Hanin has some things to get off his chest...

CW: mature themes re: the treatment of slaves in the Imperium (mainly physical and sexual abuse). The acts themselves are not described in any detail, but are alluded to briefly.

Hanin shifted uncomfortably, tugging down the sleeve of the black and gold uniform until it sat flat on his wrist, wishing pointlessly that there was more than just a thin layer of well-made fabric between himself and a potential blade. Grunting, he gave up trying to manipulate the uncomfortable outfit, and Cassius nodded his approval, arms folded across his chest. The man seemed far more at home in Hanin’s clothes, now that they had completed the awkward exchange. Apparently, smuggling additional sets of household uniforms might have drawn needless suspicion.

Hanin suspected Launcet just thought it would be amusing to make them swap outfits.

“Well, that was fun.” Lyrene, now clad in a matching servant uniform, sighed and twisted, glancing behind her. “Does this make by butt look as good as I think it does?”

Hanin chose not to dignify that with a response. But Daimon, who was currently sliding into Ralon’s shirt across the room, grinned and gave her an encouraging thumbs up.

“Probably the point, really,” Launcet remarked with a shrug. “Not to dampen your spirits or anything, but there’s more to it than just serving food. Talveron isn’t the worst dominus out there, but he’s far from a saint.”

The flippancy with which Launcet said those words sent a chill up Hanin’s spine. He turned to the man, gaze dark with warning. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

For the first time since they met, Launcet’s easy confidence seemed to waver. “I, ah… well, this is the Imperium. Slaves often serve… multiple purposes.” He moved, crossing the room to check the map, placing the table strategically between himself and Hanin before continuing. “I am simply saying that there are motives for almost everything. A flattering uniform is no accident, I’m afraid.”

Still scowling, Hanin glanced over at Lyrene, who took a moment to process the new information before releasing a heavy sigh.

“Well, thanks for ruining that for me.”

Shaking her head, she moved over to the table, Hanin falling into step, the rest of the Dawn Squad joining them. Cyrus, Ralon, Darren and Connors now wore the uniforms of guards, although for that night, it was unlikely they would be needed. It was simply a precaution, in case Hanin and Lyrene needed an out. As Launcet had said, it was better to be overprepared than underprepared.

For once, Hanin agreed with the man.

“Alright. Their little party should be winding down soon. Once it’s over, we’ll give it a quarter-hour, then send you two to the kitchen entrance.” Launcet, again, indicated the back area of the manor. Thankfully, it was not too far from their current building. If they were careful, they shouldn’t be spotted coming and going. “Everyone in the kitchens will be busy cleaning up and preparing for the morning banquet. It will be a special kind of chaos, so you shouldn’t have any problem slipping in.”

“Yeah, great, but what if they do?” Cyrus demanded, his brow knitted so tight it might be permanently stuck in a frown. “You got a plan for that?”

Launcet drew in a slow, patient breath. “Yes , I do, but thank you for your confidence. That, my prickly friend, is where you come in. Just in case there’s a problem, you’ll walk with them and be ready to give the excuse that they were tossing scraps to the chickens.” He leveled a pointed stare in Cyrus’ direction. “Happy?”

The Orlesian’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing, biting back a series of undoubtedly colourful suggestions about where Launcet could shove his happiness. Thankfully, the tone of the conversation changed as Launcet pulled a pouch from his belt and set it down on the table, opening it to reveal two silver discs, about an inch in height. After brief inspection, he tossed one to Lyrene and the other to Hanin. “Step two is covering up those markings of yours. Get it done. There isn’t much time.”

Lyrene groaned and wandered over to a window, plopping herself down in front of it and squinting into the glass. However, barely a moment passed before Darren sat down beside her and held out his hand, smiling as she tilted her head back and let him get to work on the markings that framed her face.

As for Hanin, he stood dumbly for a moment with the tin in hand until he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hey, Captain, why don’t you give me that? Seems our genius planner didn't think to pack a mirror.”

Launcet rolled his eyes at Ralon. “You try stuffing a mirror into your pants, Prince Charming. There was only so much I could smuggle.”

Settling into a chair and motioning for Hanin to sit across from him, Ralon just snorted. “Reckon I could do it just fine.” He flashed a grin at Hanin, popping the lid off the tin to reveal a thick looking tinted paste. Curious, he sniffed it, then crinkled his nose. “Phew. Alright, then, wish me luck! I’ll try not to make it look like you have some kind of skin disease.”

Hanin raised a brow at him, but Ralon just tutted playfully. “Nuh-uh, none of those looks tonight, Captain. You’ve gotta hold still.”

Deftly, the Antivan got to work, running his fingertip carefully along the lines of Hanin’s vallaslin, following the intricate curves that marked his dedication to Mythal. As he worked, the rest of the room dispersed, settling to speak in soft tones or otherwise preoccupy themselves. It left the two of them with a sense of privacy for which Hanin was grateful. It was odd, letting someone cover his vallaslin. A part of him felt silly for it, but it just seemed… wrong.

“These are important, right?” Ralon asked, dipping his fingertip into the pan and tilting Hanin’s head slightly up. “Like, a cultural thing?”

“Yes.” Hanin tried his best not to move as Ralon worked on the lines curving beneath his eye. “We receive them when we become an adult in the clan. There is ceremony behind it. Tradition.”

“Huh.” Ralon paused to inspect his work, then used this thumb to clean up some of the edges. “I don’t suppose you cover it for anything, normally?”

Hanin almost shook his head, but stopped himself just in time. “No. The vallaslin is something to be worn proudly.” He paused, then added, “It is a part of who I am. To hide it would be to hide my own face.”

The Antivan’s brown eyes shifted slightly, meeting Hanin’s for a moment before returning to their task. “Shit. This guy must mean a lot to you, huh?” When Hanin didn’t respond for a moment, Ralon gave a sheepish laugh. “I mean, not that the rest of this is child’s play or anything, but… I don’t know. This part just seems worse, somehow.”

Dipping a fingertip back into the pan, Hanin moved his head accordingly to Ralon’s silent guidance. So far, his squad had been kind to him. They had not pushed for answers, or even for more than what was already detailed in the plan. Despite the lengths they were going to, none of them had demanded anything personal from him to justify the risk. Without hesitation, they had just accepted it as something that needed to be done. They had just trusted that it was important enough to be worth it.

Sitting there, with Ralon carefully concealing his vallaslin, Hanin realised with a pang of regret that they all deserved so much better from him.

Perhaps it was his turn to trust.

“We were… together, for a time. Athran and I. When we were younger.” He closed his eyes as Ralon began working near them, the scent of the tinted mixture something akin to wet clay and stone. “Over eleven years ago.”

He felt Ralon’s hands pause, just for a moment. Then, as gently and calmly as before, they kept going, carefully brushing across Hanin’s skin. “Well... that explains a lot. I mean, some of us had a feeling, but it didn’t seem like a good time to go prying into your personal life.”

The corner of Hanin’s mouth twitched up slightly at that. “Impressive restraint.”

Ralon’s chuckle was quiet and fond as he patted over a couple more spots on Hanin’s forehead. “Yeah, well... we learned from the king of bottling things up. What did you expect?”

As usual, he showed a remarkable talent for delivering a compliment and an insult simultaneously, but Hanin was not one to hold such a skill against him. But before Hanin had to think of something to say, Ralon continued softly. "But seriously... thanks. For telling me. Or us, because you know I'm going to go tell the others the second you leave." Hanin just huffed softly at that. He knew. Ralon smirked slightly and continued. "I know you don't like talking about your clan, after everything that happened, and shit, that's fair. It can't have been easy to ask us for help in the first place, but it means a lot. Even more, now that we know what you're going through a bit better."

Guilt twisted like a knife in Hanin's gut. "I shouldn't have kept it from all of you. I'm sorry."

"Hey, your business is your business. We were going to give it everything we had anyway. Fact of the matter is you didn't have to, but you did. It's just... nice." A soft smile replaced the smirk on Ralon's lips. "We trust you too, Captain."

Hanin didn't know what to say to that, and in truth, there was really nothing more to add. Instead, he just remained still until Ralon finished his task, an instruction that he open his eyes and face the lantern marking the end of the arduous process. “Hm... doesn’t look like I missed anything,” Ralon murmured, inspecting Hanin’s face like a painter before a canvas. He raised his voice. “What do you guys think? Look alright?”

The next thing Hanin knew, he had twelve sets of eyes trained intensely on his face. He swore he’d had nightmares that were similar.

“Looks good to me,” said Cyrus. “I mean, weird as fuck, but you can’t see any of it.”

“Don’t touch your face,” Connors instructed sternly. “It will rub off if you’re not careful.”

Glancing across to catch Lyrene’s eye, she and Hanin nodded. It was strange, seeing the woman without the mark of June. In that moment, Hanin was almost grateful no one had brought a mirror. He had not seen his bare face since he was fifteen years old, and he had no desire to.

“Alright, if we’re done playing salon, it’s time to get moving.” Launcet was at the open door, peering through the crack. “Looks like the kitchens are coming to life. Means the fun’s over and it’s time to get to work.” Glancing over his shoulder at the group, he tossed them a wink. “Same goes for you lot.”

Breathing out a long, steady breath, Hanin stood, Lyrene and Cyrus moving to his side. He was about to leave when Ralon cleared his throat, catching his attention.

“Hey, be careful, alright? Both of you.” Ralon’s gaze passed over Cyrus to focus on Lyrene, and ended on Hanin. “We’ll get him back. Just play it safe.”

With that, the trio exited the building, Launcet joining them for a time before breaking away to head to the guard’s barracks and find a copy of the roster. Heart thrumming, Hanin and Lyrene made their way across to the manor, the once inviting cobbled path now feeling ominous and exposed; a dead giveaway. But Cyrus strode beside them, the uniform well-tailored and neat, a blade belted securely to his side, a scowl dark on his face. Hanin had a feeling his presence alone would be enough to see them wherever they needed to go.

They arrived at the kitchen entrance just as an older servant was pushing her way out with her hip, a heavy sack burdening her arms. Without thinking, Hanin reached out, quickly catching the door and holding it open. Flustered and red-cheeked, the woman glanced up, brown eyes confused for a moment as they came to rest on his face. A tense moment passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanin could see Cyrus shifting slightly, about to intervene.

“Ah, you must be one of the new ones!” The woman grinned, wrinkles drawing aside like curtains to frame her face. “So polite. Strong, too. Maker, it's about time we got someone with a little meat on his bones.” She shuffled past, taking care to navigate the single step that led down to the cobbled path. “You just head on inside. Plenty of work for a big pair of hands.” She glanced up, catching sight of Lyrene. “Ah, good, more of you! Go on inside, too. As for you...” She winced and shifted, holding out the heavy sack to Cyrus. “Be a dear and help an old serving woman. That’s it.”

Uncertain of how to back out of the rapidly unfolding situation, Cyrus just grunted in surprise as the old woman dumped the sack into his arms. He glanced across at Lyrene, who shrugged helplessly, and gave a terse sigh. “Fine. Where are we taking this thing?”

“Out to the chickens, dear. My turn to feed the poor things tonight. Come along.”

Lyrene’s eyes widened like saucepans. She turned to Hanin as Cyrus and the old woman shuffled out of hearing distance, the lady practically gluing herself to Cyrus’ side, chattering away as they walked. “Shit… good thing he kept quiet, huh?”

Nodding, Hanin opened the door wider. “It was. Come on.” Hurrying forward, Lyrene darted into the kitchens, Hanin following close behind. Almost immediately, Hanin was nearly crashed into by a harried looking servant, his hands full of vegetable scraps, a demand for them to be brought to a bin halfway past his lips until he took in the height and bulk of Hanin’s form. There was the briefest moment of calculation, during which he clearly thought better of the request and moved on. The entire interaction was over before Hanin even had a chance to mutter an apology.

It was difficult, getting through the warzone that was the kitchen. Hanin swore he had been on battlefields that possessed more order; more structure. Cooks and assistants shouted back and forth over the clamor of pots and utensils, boiling water throwing steam into the air, the floor gritty with salt and flour as Hanin tried his best to navigate the chaos without drawing too much attention to himself. That proved to be a nearly impossible task, and as he moved he found himself mechanically grabbing pots and bottles from high shelves on command, passing them down to impatiently waiting servants who would have made admirable drill sergeants in another life.

Lyrene, however, managed to slip by relatively unscathed, the woman soon finding her way to a doorway at the far side of the room. She lingered there awkwardly until Hanin was spat out by the crowd a few feet away, his dark uniform askew and dusted with flour, a bottle of salt, for some reason, clutched tightly in his hand. Before he even turned to look at it, it was snatched away by a passing cook.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.” Lyrene grinned as Hanin fired her a deadly look. “C’mon, cranky. This way.” She opened the door and slipped through. Hanin followed, tugging his uniform straight, determined to escape the broiling havoc of the kitchens. Soon, he found himself swiftly submerged in near total silence. The bright lights of ovens and lanterns disappeared behind the closing door, leaving Hanin and Lyrene in a grey-stone corridor, only the muted hum of arguments and barked instructions making it through the thick wooden barrier. “Creepy,” Lyrene whispered, then slowly set off, her footsteps softly echoing as she moved. “Kind of like dipping your head underwater, huh?”

According to the floor plan, the cellar entrance was halfway down the hall. Sure enough, Lyrene halted before a second door, less sturdy than the one they had just fled through. Its hinges creaked in bitter protest as she pushed it open to reveal a smaller room with a large trapdoor built into the floor. The entrance to the cellar.

And a guard, sitting a few feet behind it.

Lyrene froze as the guard looked up from his book and grunted, his face pulling into a scowl beneath his thick, unkempt moustache. “What’s this, then? You lot done with duties?”

Some part of Hanin immediately screamed kill him. Luckily, and possibly for that precise reason, he had not been sent alone.

Dropping into a curtsy, Lyrene bowed her head. “Yes, Ser. Apologies for interrupting.”

He grunted again, shifting, the chair squeaking beneath his bulk. “What about the kitchens, eh? Got a lot of busy-work in there.”

“Of course, Ser.” Lyrene did not hesitate. “We offered our services, but they preferred us away from the food.”

There was a long, heavy pause as the guard seemed to chew over her answer. Then his eyes slid across to Hanin, standing directly behind Lyrene, his uniform a dishevelled mess. That fact likely helped prove Lyrene's point, and slowly the guard nodded. Leaning to his right, he grabbed a key from a hook on the wall beside the chair. “Right. Fair enough.” His heavy boots scraped across the stone floor as he stood and crouched down by the cellar entrance. He slipped it into the thick padlock, turning it until the metal snapped open, freeing the doors. “Go on, then. Off with you.” Glancing up, his gaze lingered for a moment on Lyrene. “Unless you want to spend a little time with me, that is...”

Immediately, Hanin moved past Lyrene and stooped, throwing open one side of the trapdoor, revealing a flight of steep, unlit stairs. “We are under orders,” he stated flatly, nodding for Lyrene to move past him as he stood between her and the guard. “No fraternising.”

As Lyrene scampered past, the guard glowered up at Hanin. “That so? Wasn’t made aware of any orders like that, slave.”

Sensing he was racing towards dangerous waters, Hanin tensed his jaw and took a gamble. “It is a household rule, for when there are important guests.” Thinking back to what Launcet had said earlier, Hanin grit his teeth. “We are to remain... available.”

Understanding seemed to flash in the guard’s eyes, and he huffed, waving a dismissive hand towards the cellar steps. “Fuckin' perfect. Take a job like this, and for what? No perks at all.” Grumbling, he returned to his seat. “Last time I volunteer for any of this shit…”

Leaving the man to his bitter reading, Hanin took his leave, moving down the steps, trying his best to hide the visceral relief that his gamble had paid off. From what he’d seen of Talveron’s personal guards, they all took their duties very seriously, particularly with such important visitors at the estate. A rough looking man reading a book in a side room? Just because he was dressed like one of them didn’t mean he was cut from the same cloth. More than likely he was a mercenary, or a guard from a lesser noble, who had been sent to bolster Talveron’s forces for the duration of the event.

The cellar door slammed shut after a few moments, and Hanin heard the sound of a lock snapping in place.

Well… that was something new to account for.

Letting that issue drift to the back of his mind for the time being, Hanin reached the bottom of the stairs where Lyrene was waiting, shifting back and forth from foot to foot, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Oh thank the Creators,” she breathed when Hanin appeared. “What were you thinking? Don’t you remember what Launcet said? What Ralon said? We need to play it safe!”

“Are you safe?”

Lyrene hesitated, mouth still open mid-reprimand. “I… yeah. I suppose.”

“Then we played it well.” He paused, then reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You are already doing more than you should, Lyrene. Just because we are not in uniform does not make you any less of my responsibility.”

Slowly, seeming almost reluctant, Lyrene nodded. “Yeah. I’m getting that, alright? Just… don’t go throwing punches or anything. I’m drawing a line there.”

A faint smile played across Hanin’s face as he released her shoulder. “Understood.”

The cellar was about what Hanin had expected, although admittedly not quite as terrible. Stone made up the walls, floor, and ceiling, the surprisingly large space interspersed by wooden support beams to maintain the integrity of the structure. On the right side of the room, cots were crammed in tight rows, only about three feet of space between each bed. None possessed more than a blanket over a thin mattress, and while a healthy number were occupied, a significant amount remained empty. A wooden barrier split the room down the center, the other side of which Hanin glimpsed a makeshift living area with chairs, tables, and benches that, while plain, could at least be considered usable.

“It’s like a prison,” Hanin murmured. The word left a bad taste in his mouth, but there was no other way he could think to describe it. “It functions, but…”

“What gave it away? Was it the guard? The locked door? The miserable grey walls?” Lyrene’s face had twisted into a scowl. She clearly enjoyed being there as much as Hanin did. “Come on. Let’s look around. If your clanmate is anywhere, it’d be down here.”

Nodding grimly, Hanin and Lyrene split off to cover more ground. There were no guards in the cellar, so Hanin felt less worried about letting his subordinate out of his sight, especially considering majority of Talveron��s slaves appeared too exhausted to even raise their heads, let alone pick a fight. Moving about the space, Hanin was grateful for the dim light. It meant that, even though there were no more than fifty beds in the cellar, no one really took the time to scrutinise him as he passed. In fact, majority seemed more interested in picking their way through meagre meals, or engaging in soft conversations with their neighbours. At a glance, most were humans of varying ages, majority of whom appeared to be native to Tevinter. Briefly, he recalled Varlen mentioning the Imperium practice of selling oneself into slavery. Hanin could only imagine how dire their situation must have been, for anyone to even consider trading away their freedom.

With Lyrene prowling the rows of cots, Hanin found himself moving towards the left side of the room, a break in the wooden partition allowing passage at its centre. However, as he approached, the sound of a sharp conversation stopped in him place.

“...t were you thinking? Have you finally gone mad?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Then what the fuck were you doing there? That wasn’t even your area.”

“I just wanted to see them, Tellene.”

“Did you get a good look? Well, did you? Was it worth all… all of this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I had to try something. Is that so wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you pulling a stupid stunt like that, and then what? You come crawling over to me to coddle you like a damn child, that’s what. Every bloody time.”

“I’m sorry. You can go sleep. I don’t need your help.”

“... Oh Maker’s breath. Piss off with that and hold still.” A pause followed. “I swear, you’ll send me to my grave good and early. Just what exactly did you think would happen? That they’d whisk you away on the spot?”

“I--”

-- “That they’d drop everything and buy you from the dominus?”

“No, I just--”

-- “Then what?” The woman’s frustration had clearly reached its peak, her tone as sharp as a freshly honed blade as it cut the man off. “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking lately, but you’re living in a fantasy. I’ll tell you what will happen. They’ll come here, have their little meeting, and then they’ll leave. Just like all the rest. And guess who’s going to be left picking up the pieces again?”

Hanin could feel that thrum pulsing in the back of his mind, his heart hammering against his ribs as the conversation gave way to a tense, heavy silence.

“... I said I was sorry.”

The woman released a long, exasperated sigh. “I told you, Athran. I told you not to go getting your hopes up. Now… Maker, look at you.”

Athran.

Even before hearing the name, Hanin had known. Deep down, he had known. That voice, the way he spoke, the cadence of each sentence, was like a piece of shattered memory pressed into his palm, cutting deep, drawing blood. And all he wanted to do was close his hand around it. Hold it close.

Breathless, unthinking, uncaring, Hanin stepped around the barrier into the room.

Mismatched furniture littered the area, some grouped, others standing alone by the cold stone walls. It was mostly empty save for two figures sitting at one of the tables in the back corner, although Hanin could only see the face of one. The woman was an old elf, likely in her sixth or seventh decade, her shrewd green eyes narrowed into disapproving slits as she peered at the face of the man sitting across from her. An elven man with long blond hair.

Hanin's stomach dropped to its knees.

“It’s nothing a little makeup can’t cover, Tel.” That voice. Hanin took a step slow step forward, mind reeling, his throat so tight it felt like he was being choked by an unseen hand.

Tellene rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Well, doesn’t that just make it all better. You really--” She cut off suddenly, her gaze snapping across, honing in on Hanin like a hawk on a rat. “Are you lost or something?”

There was venom to the words, but also a kind of instinctive protectiveness. Like a single puzzle piece slotting into place, it set some small part of Hanin at ease to know she was there, fussing over Athran. “No. I’m not.”

Her expression darkened, jaw tensing as she lowered her hands, a cloth clutched in one, a small tub of salve in the other. “Then get lost. If you’re new, go find someone else to hold your hand. Mine are full.”

“Tellene. Don’t be cruel.” Athran rested a staying hand on the woman’s wrist, everything about him strangely slow. Strangely calm. Or perhaps defeated was the better word for the way in which he moved, like the air was thick and his heart just wasn’t quite in it. Even as he turned, it was not without difficulty, a pained tremor wracking his frame as he twisted in the seat. “I’m sorry about her. She’s just…”

Athran’s gaze came to rest on Hanin, and the rest of the world seemed to crumble to ash at his feet. Flooding in to fill the space came a deep and impenetrable nothingness so fathomless and dark Hanin feared for a moment that he might drown in it.

A beat passed.

Another.

Then, slowly, those brown eyes widened.

Athran’s expression shifted, his familiar face falling slack. The chair grated across the floor as he rose unsteadily to his feet, the sound impossibly loud, impossibly slow, as though it had been dragged out for minutes instead of seconds. That thrum in the back of Hanin’s mind slowed as well, quieting until it was nothing more than a dull, rhythmic thump, the sensation pulsing through his body until it lost its shape, melting into another rhythm. Another sensation.

The beating of his heart.

“I’m here.”

The words sounded so laughably inadequate, even as Hanin said them. Athran just stood there, his breathing short and stiff, the space between them seeming too far, too distant, even though it wasn’t. Even though they finally, finally, shared the same room.

“You’re late.” There was something odd about Athran’s voice, like in the process of speaking it had been drawn too tight. Pulled too thin. Stiffly, Hanin swallowed.

“I know.”

Athran exhaled in a sudden, shivering rush. The breaths started coming deeper, his lower lip beginning to tremble even as he fought against it, hands curling into fists at his side.

“It’s been eleven years.”

That impossible pressure rose back up, coiling at the back of Hanin’s throat, threatening to choke him.

“I know.”

He didn’t have the words. Even after two weeks of planning, of agonising, of sleepless nights building up to that precise moment, Hanin had never found them. He’d played it out over and over in his head, but none of them were right. None of them were enough . None of them could ever give shape to all the things that needed to be said.

So, he said the truth.

“Ir abelas.” Shaking his head, wishing he was better - wishing he was more - Hanin took a single step forward. “Lethallin, I...”

Hanin never had a chance to finish his sentence. He never even had a chance to finish the thought behind it because the second the first word left his lips Athran was moving. In the space of a few frantic heartbeats he crossed the distance and was in Hanin’s arms, head buried against his chest, his grip so tight it was like he was terrified Hanin would vanish from between his fingers. For once, it was nothing for Hanin to hug the man back. He held Athran so firmly that when the man's legs almost gave way beneath him he didn’t fall. Instead, Athran was caught and held by Hanin as they both stood in shock, in disbelief, in relief of eleven years of distance closed in the span of seconds. With Athran finally safe in his embrace, the pair locked together so tightly, Hanin dared the Creators, the Maker, anyone to try to tear them apart again.

Let them try.

Let anyone try.

#dragon age fanfiction #hanin lavellan #athran lavellan #the dawn squad #lyrene #cyrus #ralon #hanin angst #grand theft athran #part 5 #cw: implied/mentions of abuse

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smolpocketmonstercoffee · 8 years ago

Text

Scrutiny & Aid

The world was cool outside of the mess hall and he wished he could freeze the words that echoed around in his head at his retreat from his sister and his new comrades. He wished he could take those frozen words and shatter them to snow and leave them to the wind to carry them away and disappear.

They went on a job and didn’t come back.

Those words were still bitter in his throat.

Assan didn’t know.

And she never would.

She had only been nine, too young and too unobservant to know that he made them go after them. Too tired to notice him slipping away from her side in the depths of the night to find them.

And he found them.

To him, his family had always been so huge. So strong. So unstoppable. But even the huge, the strong, the unstoppable could be made small, made weak. Could be stopped.

There would always be someone better, Zese told him whenever Shanedan had gotten frustrated with himself at not being better. There will always be someone better than you. Better than me. And there will be someone better than that too. And until there is no one left, there will always be someone better.

Well someone better had found his family.

And the aftermath had left their bodies almost beyond recognition.

If he hadn’t known them so well.

If he hadn’t known Ore and Ghorbash’s horns. The missing fingers on Zese’s hands. The broken bit of blade lodged in Maltese’s back that had been slowly killing him by blood poisoning, too dangerously close to his spine that Katria didn’t have faith in herself enough to be able to remove it safely. The smell of magic that perpetually clung to Katria.

He had been theirs for ten years.

How could he have not known them so well?

They had saved him. Had given him a purpose, a name, a day to celebrate being alive.

They had given him something else as well.

A family.

And he had been the one to bury them.

Shanedan didn’t remember if he had wept but he did recall that Assan was so incredibly unobservant as per usual that she didn’t notice the blisters in his hands that weren’t there the night before. Ghorbash would have thumped her in the forehead for not paying attention better. But he wasn’t there anymore. Katria would have worried over his hands and scolded him for not wearing gloves. But she wasn’t there anymore. Maltese would have sighed and shook his head before telling him to go cut more firewood. But he wasn’t there anymore. Zese would have tousled his hair and said something to lighten the mood. But he wasn’t there anymore. Ore would have simply told him to keep Assan safe.

Because she wasn’t there anymore.

Assan was all he had left.

And he would die to keep her safe.

That was why he brought her here.

She wanted to fight. He wanted her safety.

And if anything happened to her, it would have to wait until after his corpse was cold as the stones of Skyhold’s wall.

Settling into the snow on the outer edge of the wall, Shanedan breathed, letting the icy air whistle past his ears and carry away his thoughts like leaves on a river, snowflakes falling clinging to his eyelashes. Melting on the bare skin of his face.

Thinking about them wouldn’t bring them back.

Thinking about his words wouldn’t take them back.

Assan was no doubt correcting the mood he had left behind with their new teammates, and he would let her.

And he let the noise of the world around him lull him into a quiet sense of serenity, a temporary sensation of stillness in his forever restless soul that went uninterrupted long enough that when he emerged from it, his broken and mended bones ached, the hot grain bag was cool, and his fingertips, ears, and nose stung from the chill.

Two hours maybe.

He was covered in powder white and when he shook himself, the wind swept in and carried it away.

The rest of it would melt off once he was inside either the kitchens or the stables. One or the other would want his help.

Is-There-Anything-I-Can-Help-With Shanedan.

The ex-merc soldier who was never satisfied by just training or screwing off like other soldiers. In the absence of an assignment, a training demand, or his sister, he had to keep himself busy. Useful. Otherwise, what was he doing with his life?

He could hear the soldiers that he passed, taller than most but never taller than any of his own kind. Runt was murmured like a curse behind his back among Qunari but at least he was no longer raas.

Ore and Zese and Katria and Maltese and Ghorbash had made sure of that.

“Shanedan.”

He blinked in surprise as he became aware of a voice not far from him, catching him off guard and directing his attention that should have been focused, and he looked back to the speaker with his brows mildly raised.

“I trust you ae not out here in the cold because the others chased you off?” His new team leader inquired, one of his meticulous brows arched. Careful. Like he was already considering actions to take place depending on Shane’s own answer.

A breath and the vashoth shook his head, offering the Dalish the barest whisper of a smile on his lips that didn’t break the rest of his stotic face. A poker face worth playing, he had heard someone describe him. He could lie and no one would know. But Assan knew. Somehow she knew. “No, sir,” he answered. “I was simply meditating.”

Hanin regarded him for a moment and Shanedan watched those green eyes of his flick over his face.

He knew what he was looking for.

The man he had heard many things about, some benign, most good, was looking for hints of a lie that was entirely absent.

A hard-ass, most said, but Cullen held him in great faith. He wasn’t as cold as some soldiers grumbled he was. The way he had handled the remainder of training that morning had confirmed it as well.

And then he nodded, glancing to the gentle snow that was still falling.

“Do you often meditate in the snow?” He asked. “The barracks are usually empty during the afternoon. If you prefer.”

A kindness he didn’t need to offer.

And Shanedan allowed a little bit of emotion to soften his expression. “The open air is typically kinder to my goal than doing so inside. Sounds have room to move. It’s less distracting,” he explained, one of his ears twitching as he heard a snicker and a muttered curse of his breeding behind his back that he ignored as he always did. Some soldiers still didn’t think fondly of a qunari among the army, especially not one with a hot-headed sister who had a penchant for disobedience.

Shanedan Shanedan, some Qunari liked to tease.

They weren’t wrong.

I-Hear-You Shanedan.

Hanin frowned thoughtfully, “Sounds have room to move?” he repeated, his voice sounding curious. “When some meditate, they aim to block everything out. I take it you… listen instead?”

Without his permission, his mouth turned upwards before he corrected it, making a smile more like a smirk appear and disappear fast enough that if Hanin blinked he might have missed it entirely. “Yes, sir, I do,” Shanedan explained, turning fully to his superior officer, folding his hands behind his back and clasping his own elbows, “It’s easier for me, like floating on one’s back rather than treading water.”

One required nearly no effort, the other demanded constant effort.

Meditation, Zese and Katria had explained to him, was supposed to be gentle. Flowing. Why struggle and risk being pulled under the water when you could simply relax and look to the sky instead?

His new team leader seemed to accept this, and even appreciate it almost.

“Very good, then. It is a wise habit to maintain. A soldier’s mind is as important as their body. Too many neglect it,” the elf said, shifting and Shanedan heard the snow crunch beneath Hanin’s feet. He saw a slight smile at the corner of Hanin’s mouth. “You are without your sister,” he noted, “Though I imagine she is not one for meditation.”

“She is not,” Shanedan agreed. Assan found it impossible to sit still for longer than three minutes let alone be able to manage to match his own meditation routine that could sometimes extend to be a few hours. She also didn’t have any particular taste for brain exercises that he did. “Assan enjoys her banter and socializing more. Speaking of which,” he noted, his meditation-addled brain jarring itself awake with the fact, “she and I grew more acquainted with our team at breakfast.” There was no point telling Hanin about a second near-miss altercation with Cyrus. He didn’t doubt that he would eventually hear about it, either from conversation with another or it would be brought up should their talk continue.

And it did.

“That is good.” Hanin sounded pleased by the news Shanedan had shared. “It will take time for you to feel like a unit, being a young squad compared to others. The more time you dedicate to anything, the better.”

“Such is the case with all things,” Shanedan agreed, his head tilting slightly with a thought, “My only hopes are that Assan will begin to follow your instructions without my reinforcement quickly.”

A smirk seemed to flit across Hanin’s lips. “Indeed. As for your sister, Cullen informed me of the… nature of her transfer. I can be lenient at Skyhold while we train but I will not be on the battlefield when lives are at stake. I hope she is a swift learner. For all our sakes.”

Shanedan wouldn’t have it any other way, as harsh as some might think that were. This place felt good, it felt like an odd sense of kindness to Shanedan, and he hoped that it would work out for her. His sister didn’t have any more chances after this squad. If she messed this up, she would be kicked out of the army and it wouldn’t matter if he liked Skyhold or not, it didn’t matter that his record was relatively unblemished and he had many more opportunities here, if she left, he would go with her and that would be the end of it.

“I assure you that I will be paying attention on the battlefield to ensure there are no repeats of that event, sir.”

Hanin watched him for a moment and then released a short breath. “There will come a time when you and Assan will need to be able to work independently. Building trust is what we try to do here.

Speaking of trust, the thought that crossed Shanedan’s mind made his expression pinch slightly in resignation with an almost withheld sigh on his breath, “I also hope that she and Cyrus might avoid going completely teeth-and-claws at each other until then.”

At the mention of Cyrus, Hanin snorted. “Those two will… clash. But while Cyrus will never admit it, he grows attached. Once the two of you have settled in, he will ease.” A pause and then a sigh that entirely mirrored Shanedan’s emotions on the matter, “Somewhat.”

“I’m honestly surprised they don’t like each other more. They are two different brands of the same impossible stuff,” Shanedan sighed.

Then a thought seized his brain so jarringly fast that it made Shanedan physically wince, his hold on his own expression laxing to restrained terror at the thought of Assan and Cyrus actually becoming friends and reigning terror upon Skyhold with the more assholish side of their personalities. “Please forget I said that, Divines, that would be bad.”

This time Hanin snorted in amusement, his arms folding across his armored chest and he shook his head. “They say people can be too similar and that in itself can cause conflict. Particularly when the similarities are combative ones.”

Wasn’t that for certain…

A smirk tugged at the corner of Hanin’s mouth, briefly drawing Shanedan’s attention to the scar that caught the edge of his lower lip before going up no higher than the bottom of his nose all before the vashoth’s eyes went back to his team leader’s face.

Ralon had a scar similar, further to the corner of his mouth than Hanin’s and it went halfway up his cheek, partnered with a small one on his nose. There was just something that drew his attention to those scars. Maybe it was the location? Mouths were so unique after all. Voices too.

Hanin had a nice one.

“But yes, I agree. The two of them would be… difficult.”

Shanedan allowed his shoulders to relax, letting out an almost nervous breath. “Hopefully the altercations will die down quickly between them. I don’t believe the rest of the team would appreciate our moving into the squad’s barracks just to end up listening to the makings of a fist-fight in progress. Although I think it would be good sparring practice for both of them,” he added as an afterthought. Let them blow off some steam, potentially work out their differences. It would have to be refereed appropriately of course, otherwise things could go badly.

His squad leader raised his chin, giving a slight hum in agreement. “A step ahead, I see why your sister would trust you so deeply.”

That is hardly a step ahead, Shanedan thought, keeping his expression trained. Assan’s trust in him came from years of devotion, not mediating her fights with whoever she happens to butt heads with.

“They will spar, and they will do it on my watch. Outside of that, well. I can only hope it will not come to that,” Hanin stated, his expression growing sterner, “I won’t have my squad turning on one another off the field. Part of being a soldier is restraint. It can be a tough lesson to learn, particularly in challenging company.”

And Assan and Cyrus were certainly challenging to each other’s company…

“I will try to make sure it never gets to that point.” A slight and very sly smile crossed his lips as amusement reached his eyes, “Jabs at them flirting with each other seem to work thus far,” Shanedan decided to share, a fact that made Hanin laugh.

“An interesting tactic. I am not one to turn down what works. Whatever keeps them in line.”

It did work, and that was what mattered.

Shanedan let out a breath, his thoughts turning away from the conversation.

It was cold and idly standing there, even if it was being spent speaking to his squad leader, made him feel rather useless. Perhaps…

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, is there anything I can help with?”

Is-There-Anything-I-Can-Help-With Shanedan, at your service indeed.

The request seem to take Hanin aback, as though he hadn’t expected it. A long moment of stillness between their eyes and Hanin cleared his throat. “I… yes,” he said, sounding a little distracted as though he was rifling through his thoughts for just what Shanedan wanted, “There is new equipment at the blacksmith’s forge that needs to be moved to the armory. I was just heading there.”

“I will help if you would like” the vashoth offered peacefully.

“By all means. Come. The master smith does not take well to tardiness.”

Wasn’t that a fact that Shanedan had become familiar with over the last month…

With a simple motion, slight bend at the waist, mild turn of the wrist, he allowed Hanin to lead on, following easily. His boots gave noise that would have been otherwise absent otherwise.

For a time, they walked in silence that both of them seemed to be mutually at home with, although it did not surprise Shanedan when Hanin decided to speak. “What are you and Assan hoping to get out of this?” he inquired when they climbed the stairs to the Great Hall. “People join the cause for various reasons. What’s yours?”

And the Qunari held his own silence a bit longer before he replied.

“Assan came because I suggested we come,” he stated. He had heard much about the Inquisition and the fight that they were leading to protect people. It paid as well. It offered a sense of security. “Assan wanted to fight, so that’s what she’s doing. My goal in joining the inquisition’s army was in hopes of ensuring stability for my sister’s life.”

His eyes flicked over Hanin.

He was his squad leader and he had asked.

There was no point in omitting facts like that.

“In case anything happens to me.”

If anything he had heard about Hanin was true, then the elvish man would not miss the weight of his goal.

“Both are fine goals,” he said after a moment, glancing over to meet Shanedan’s grey eyes. His eyes seemed soft almost, “Ones to be proud of. They will serve you well.” There was a brief pause before Hanin added, “War is a dangerous business. There are no guarantees, as I am sure I do not need to tell you. But you are under my command now albeit against your will. Your sister’s life, and yours, weigh equal to me.” Hanin pushed the door open to the storage area of the forge as he stated, “The bond of family—blood or chosen—is worth protecting. I, too, would not see it broken.” And then their eyes met, as though that would be enough for him.

And although Shanedan had faith in him and his words, there was still a part of him that wanted to see those words come into action. A part of him that wondered if they were really true.

A doubt that had he had never been able to shake in other people.

It wasn’t anything against Hanin.

Shanedan had just learned far too well what happened when you put too much trust in other people too early on.

He had scars to prove it.

“Against my sister’s will, yes, but not against mine, Hanin,” the vashoth decided to state, his voice gentle yet firm, stormcloud grey gaze absolutely unwavering with his team leader.

He was his sister’s tag-along after all. He had chosen to transfer with her rather than remain in his previous squad, a squad he could have stayed in but chose otherwise. It was not a completely awful thing to transfer considering the fact that Assan and Shanedan both thought that their previous squad leader was rather incompetent to his duties.

“I heard good things about you and what you are doing with your squad,” Shanedan continued, words calm and steady as his gaze, “Things that I was able to confirm not only during training this morning but at breakfast as well.”

But there were other things he wanted to confirm as well, things Hanin probably didn’t know Shane would be judging him on, particularly on the battlefield. Respect and compliance were different than trust and only a great few people had ever earned Shanedan’s complete trust. Warfare was Shanedan’s playground and he had hopes that this team leader might have the chance to be one of them.

“I appreciate that, Shanedan. We all do what we can for the cause and for the people we serve alongside.”

Stepping into the forge storage, Hanin and Shanedan both picked up a crate, Hanin grunting from the weight while Shanedan maintained his silence, his expressions straining for a moment and Hanin shoved the door back open, holding it open for the Qunari and then they walked to the armory.

“Before we continue further with your training, is there anything about you or your sister that it would be best I know?” the squad leader inquired.

It was hard to talk and keep his breath level at the same time and for a moment Shanedan felt a little envious at Hanin’s strength, he didn’t seem half as bothered by the weight as Shanedan personally felt he himself was. Swallowing, he said shortly, “Assan’s impatience is her main issue. She’s strong but her technique is lacking a bit. Observation as well. And her footing isn’t stable when she’s not on flat ground,” he informed his companion, reminding himself of his breathing, “As for myself, there will always be things I could be significantly better at.”

“I see. And what things do you seek to improve.”

Sweat on Shanedan’s hands weren’t helping with his traction and he adjusted his grip on the crate. “Strength for one. Stamina. Endurance. I would like to improve my hand-to-hand as well.”

His stamina and his hand-to-hand wasn’t really something that he needed to polish as they were two of his most proficient skills right alongside blocking and dodging but there was always room for improvement. What he really wanted to improve was disarming his opponent but why not improve all of it?

It wasn’t as though he had exposed all his cards to Hanin yet with that spar against Cyrus.

Only Assan knew all the tricks he had up his sleeve. Anyone could be an enemy.

“I had a feeling,” he heard Hanin say. “You are already fast and precise. Strength and stamina make the most sense.” He saw Hanin shift the crate a little higher in his arms. “Just as well you offered to tag along. As far as endurance goes, this is decent training in and of itself.”

“I could be better at those too,” Shanedan said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice as his jaw started to clench a little.

“Of course. There is room for improvement for all of us regardless of how skilled we may be. But it is also important to acknowledge our strengths or we forget we have them. Pushing yourself is well and good but punishing yourself is not. With anything, if you take it too far, you will only cause yourself pain. That will set you back.”

Those words sounded oddly a lot like the ones Ore and Maltese would tell him. Strange to think it had already been thirteen years since they died.

Shane said nothing, his attention mostly on adjusting his grip so he didn’t drop the crate, the muscles attached to his collarbone protesting this exercise and making his brows pinch together.

Pausing on the path, Hanin lowered his crate onto one of the low posts of the fence, giving Shanedan the grateful opportunity to do the same so they could stretch and shake out their muscles that had begun to tighten and burn.

“I forget, sometimes, how large Skyhold truly is,” Hanin said, sounding like a confession, “Perhaps I am just unused to walls and towers. Viewed from the outside, they always made everything seem so… confined.”

Leaning on the crate, Shane stretched his fingers out individually, knuckles cracking as he flexed each digit one by one. No doubt if he wanted to continue lifting crates and traveling distances like this he would have to get some gloves, his traction was so poor. Looking up at the towers, he remembered something absently about forts, all forts including Skyhold.

“Have you ever noticed the stairs in towers are astonishingly uneven?” he asked Hanin as he steadied his own breathing. When the elf looked, he gave a slight smile, feeling wise as he explained, “They’re designed that way so that the occupants of the fort, who are used to them, will ascend quickly while attacking foreigners will struggle against them.”

Hanin glanced back towards the towers, an eyebrow arched. “Huh. Here I just assumed time had worn them down or they had been made poorly to begin with.”

Technically speaking, they had been poorly made but as it turned out, it worked in the disadvantage of anyone who was aiming to attack. One’s environment helped evolve habits after all.

“Who taught you that?”

“I noticed it when I was young; every fort I had been in had uneven stairs in the towers,” he admitted. “Zese, my teacher, eventually asked an architect for me.”

He had been eight back then.

Assan had still been a baby.

“A keen eye for detail and the curiosity to pursue it. If only more people shared those traits.”

He sounded pleased.

And for a moment, Shanedan allowed himself to feel a little proud.

“I had the chance to ask questions and get answers, so I did.”

They picked up their crates to begin the final stretch towards the armory, walking side by side this time.

“You spent much of your time in forts?”

“Assan and I were raised by a group of mercenaries. We traveled a lot.”

“A difficult experience, I imagine. But one that made you and your sister who you are. Do you have any family other than each other?”

A smile like a wince tugged at Shane’s lips and disappeared.

“No,” he answered quietly. “We’re all we have left.”

“I see. I’m sorry.”

Shane wished people would stop saying I’m sorry.

“It was the risk they chose when they decided to become mercenaries. It was the risk we agreed to when we decided to follow in their footsteps. By being here, maybe the cycle will change for us.”

He couldn’t recall how many times he had told himself that over the years.

It had almost become a mantra at that point.

“Very well. Your point stands true, but you are still allowed to miss them.”

And he did.

Reaching the armory, Hanin shoved the door open, propping it open with his body and Shane stepped inside to deposit his crate, pushing it into place and then taking Hanin’s crate from him so as to spare his fellow soldier the trouble.

With a breath of relief, Hanin relaxed, “Some of the other squads were tasked to fetch the other crates as part of their daily chores, so we can save ourselves another trip.”

For that, Shanedan was eternally grateful.

Together, they stepped back out into the cold open air and Shanedan felt some form of mild surprise when he felt Hanin’s hand come to rest on his shoulder. “Thank you for your help. I appreciated the company.”

The Qunari spared him a smile. “I’m glad to help. If you ever need any assistance, just ask.”

There was a light squeeze and then Hanin let go. “As you were then. And if anyone gives you or your sister trouble, you can always come to me.”

The offer was surprisingly sweet. Comforting. And a thankful smile touched Shanedan’s lips.

“Thank you, Hanin, I will.”

As they parted ways, Shanedan realized with some slight annoyance that he had been too focused on the conversation and hadn’t been able to figure out Hanin’s walking pattern. Next time perhaps. And Shanedan made his ways to the kitchens where three buckets of potatoes were waiting for him to peel for today’s lunch.

Peacefully, he weathered through the cook’s scolding for not showing up sooner and then he went to work.

And that was enough for him.

He would do what he could here and then he would find Assan and they would move their things out of their previous barracks and into the Dawn Squad’s. There would be less privacy and he would be more hard-pressed to change the bandages that covered the worst of his insecurities without being spotted but he had time to figure it out. He would burn that bridge when he crossed it.

Was that the right idiom?

#shanedan has trust issues can you tell?#I also love that malaphor #my ocs #dragon age inquisition #Shanedan #Assan #history reveal #Hanin Lavellan #thereluctantinquisitor #smolpocketmonstercoffee #qunari oc #other peoples ocs #RP collaboration #thank you reluct for the RP I had so much fun

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