#he will always paint the inquisitor as not like others of their race regardless of what you've done in the balcony scene

[magnetic-rose]

so/las stannies found my post

[sinsbymanka]

This is the final chapter of Cheating the Dread Wolf and also the only one that I didn’t build around a Rare Egg Hunt prompt. Thank you so much to all of my readers who have been SO encouraging. Your kudos, comments, reblogs, screaming at me at Discord, etc has been so nice. I honestly didn’t expect anyone to read this story and the fact that so many people have is bewildering in the BEST way. Thank you for joining me on this rare ship. Please feel free to get in the canoe anytime!! 

I want to give a shout out to my betas one last time, because without them this story would not exist.

@blarfkey​ is a gem and one of the best writers I know. This idea was hers and I've stolen it and shamelessly run with it with her blessing. If you like Soladash, she's the OG Soladash writer and is well worth checking out because she does it FAR better than I ever could. She is literally responsible for encouraging me, guiding me, and making me a better writer and I cannot rec her enough both as a friend and fellow writer.

@sharkapologists​ is the fanfic reader we all need in our life. Thank you so much for catching all my typos and shrieking along with me as I wrote this fic. Without your encouragement I would be lost. And also would have far more typos.

Title: Cheating the Dread Wolf Chapter Title: Two Princesses Cause a Panic Ship: Female Cadash/Solas/Varric Rating: E (smut chapters marked with *) Chapters: 13/13 Word Count: 42,657/42,657 (COMPLETE!)  Additional Tags:

Summary: A Story in 12 Prompts for the Rare Egg Hunt 2021 Event. Maria Cadash hung up the Inquisitor’s mantle for the Viscountess’ crown, but she’s unable to stop her desperate and impossible struggle to stop Fen'Harel from destroying the world both her husband and daughter inhabit. The fact Varric, Maria, and Solas are all madly in love with each other just means she may have enough of an edge to win this game.

Chapter Summary: Mags and her sister end up in a bit of a tough spot in Tevinter, but Mags isn't worried. They've wrecked nicer parties, after all.

Read on AO3

As far as parties go, Mags has been to worse ones.

Flickering enchanted orbs float among the party guests, changing color according to mood. The lights in one corner flicker an ominous red as a group of Magisters argue, one fingering a blade threateningly. Another throbs a dizzying pink over a couple dancing and paying attention to nothing but the way their bodies twist to the beat of the music. The one over her head shimmers a bright, beaming yellow. She’s not sure what exactly that color means, she’ll have to ask someone later, but she’s pretty fond of it regardless.

It looks like a tiny sun bobbing in the air, and Dad has always called her his Sunshine.

“My lady…” Another Magister appears as if out of nowhere, like there’s a bleedin’ rotation just waiting to throw themselves at her. “I cannot help but notice your drink is empty. I’ve brought you another.”

Her lips curl into a sultry smile, one that makes his eyes spark with keen interest. She plucks the delicate flute of expensive wine from his hand and mischievously passes him the empty one. “My thanks, serah.”

The second her fingers close around the stem of the glass, the ring on her finger goes ice cold. A warning. This wine is spiked then, either with poison or some sort of drug to get her to agree with whatever insane plot he’s got. She doesn’t show her newly gained knowledge on her face. Instead, she toasts to the simpering young man (and enchanted rings) and raises the glass to lips pressed tightly shut.

Honestly, Mags half-wishes Tevinter would treat her with disdain. Instead she’s sitting here like a prized cow at market, the juiciest heiress in the room with a crown and a fortune tied around her like stones, while Ari-

The music stutters to a bizarre, halting stop. The lights above them flicker in confusion as people look around at the sound of clanking armor approaching. Mags uses her newest unwanted companion’s distraction to slip away through the crowd, leaving the drugged drink on a passing tray held by an Elven servant who winks at her.

She doesn’t wink back, but the orb above her head glows just a tad bit brighter.

She pushes through the crowd using her elbows to send Magisters scrambling. She makes it to the front of the assembled audience just as a guard shoves one lone figure onto the tile in front of their host.

“So…” the magister drawls behind her painted fan before snapping it shut. “We’ve caught a thief prowling my home. A dwarven thief.”

“Perhaps I’m simply a small human,” the woman on the ground protests, pushing back her hood and revealing her sharp features. “Or a hornless qunari. How can you be sure?”

“The good news is all thieves bleed the same color regardless of race.”

The magister sets her wine glass down and gestures, almost bored, to a nearby guard. “Your blade.”

The thief’s eyes slide to Mags. Her lips twitch into a small, satisfied smirk that’s not even slightly apologetic. Mags can read her sister’s expression like an open book. Can hear her explanation already.

Well it was faster to get caught and hauled into the ballroom than drag you out.

[mercysought]

❝ they are your legacy ! We are your legacy ! ❞ [ for the priestess just because, even if she never really discovers her secret, i'm curious and this can be a 'what if' but that line was so perfect i had to ]

first burn ( ACCEPTING ) // @youriinquisitorialness

   “My legacy?” she says slowly, the ghosts and voices in her head rearing their ugly head and crawling into her throat. The General, Ga'rajelan, turns slowly. Birthed from the skin of the priestess that she had worn for far too long, her steps no longer heavy from having to carry a mask that had grown in weight for so long.The scars over her body burn with an intensity not felt since shedding such a skin, over dark armour she feels her muscles shake. Her short, dirty nails, dive into the soft, raw skin on the palm of her own hand, covered by old bandages that needed to be replaced. 

What did the girl know about legacy? About what she had left in this earth and what it had done with the seeds that had been laid there? Seeds that grow from pain and blood always birth crooked offspring. 

The priestess walks closer to the woman, to the Child, the disillusioned Inquisitor that at every turn seemed to be disappointed at her roots, at her People, at her Gods. It had to be fun, graceful even to only have to see one side of the story to be willing to only see one. To wash away all guilt from the acts of one man that destroyed not only and Empire but a full race of people, simply because she disagreed with the way that an empire was built, regardless of not knowing anything about it. People like the priestess were not part of the stories, of the voices heard. What did it matter that if it wasn’t for Falon’din that he madness within her skull would have taken her and everyone she had ever loved? That she found peace and stability? That it was all taken away from her because of those like her that thought they knew better than her, that their voices were worth more than hers simply because she spoke in a softer and lower tone.

   “I fought, at every turn, to prevent this.“ the words leave through serrated teeth, jaw is clenched as the nails dig deeper into the skin. Anger pours from black eyes like the rapids. The clinking of the armour is the only thing that she is able to hear beyond the heartbeat at her ears, threatening to burst with each passing moment “I watched as the People that I raised, my children were slaughtered in the maws of Fen’harel. Unable to save them.” she remembered every single one of their faces, their personalities, their voices and the way that as children they had rested against her chest, how they had fought for the home that had been given to them, thankful for the education, for the discipline. She remembered their last dying breaths, their bodies going limp and each burial, each return to the earth that had first seen them walk.

A drop of blood falls from closed palms, onto the floor and from the depths of black eyes a shade of red crawls from the edge of her eyes. A wild and irate shine consuming the deep darkness within them as her voice rose and the echoes from it grew with it.

   “I held the stones of Arlathan aloft until my bones shattered, until my blood painted and covered the gold in the streets, the bodies that could not be recovered, the rites that were not given.“ she draws in another breath, lungs threatening to tear at the seams with each passing movement. She remember every turn the failure, the tears that had fallen from her eyes as she had corrupted the only way out of the city from the temple that she had called home. The way that  the Crossroads turned and twisted, not from her presence but from the loss of life. She remembered holding Nas’taron in her hands, their body twisted from the impact that had taken their life but a smile on their lips as they began their service towards Falon’din on the other side. The priestess muscles, now a far cry from the skeletal specter that she had been when she first arrived at the Inquisition, shook “I had to watch as assault, after assault my People were taken in chains and how our culture was claimed by them, claimed as theirs.“ 

The scars at her neck and wrists burn, hidden under the heavy accessories of gold, under the armour, they are unseen but no less felt. There was shame in them, shame for the reason why they existed, shame for knowing that she had been given another chance because she had failed the first time. She should not have been given a second chance, she should have succeed the first time and with second chances always comes the shame and guilt associated with it. But what did the girl understand of that? Of surviving under heavy chains and watching the last remnants, memories of her people being used to power the Empire that held erase it. Of watching magic as she knew it die as the lights went out. 

As some of her people, the children that she had raised, chose to having to deal with the chance of never finding the path to the Beyond because of the veil instead of having to serve the shem’len.

   “I had to survive years, under the heavy chains of the shem’len, my blood used for their own purposes until-“ the words are cut short, she swallows the words that threatened to pour through, throat cleared but eyes unwavering “I watched the horrors that happened to my People and all because I could not prevent this.“

The General stops, her back straightening and lips slowly tightening into a line. The scars on her hands, face and hair glow in a dull and sickly manner as the blood that poured from her hand has now wrapped around her long hands, like a dark red glove, shiny against the light around them.

   “My legacy died when the veil was brought up by that traitorous monster. My legacy died when the first elf was born without magic in their veins, when our children no longer remembered their own tongue.“ the elf knew that these words would hurt her, that she wanted so very deeply to belong, to be accepted by those that were meant to be her ancestors, the People that she had so tightly attempted to keep within their culture. The General had nothing but pity for those like her, she held nothing but anger for what Fen’harel had done to them, the cruelty that it was to allow anyone that had come from the People to live without magic, with their tongue, their culture, their Gods.

But, but the General also knew that the girl would not see it that way. 

   “The Children are not the People.” she finally speaks, her voice lower as the blood slowly drips from her hand, releasing of its shape and slowly returning to the open small wounds in her palm. The echoes are louder, violent, growling at the air around them. They were not the People, they were their own people, the ones that grew within city walls and under the heels of Shem’len, those that grew in the trees and attempted to rebuild. They were all the same people, but not the same as her. The red glow slowly leaves her eyes, the maddening anger seeping out and leaving only the tired eyes of a woman that knew nothing other than to continue fighting “But they could be.“ black eyes hone in on the Inquisitor’s “Do you understand now?“

[firjii]

A5, C1, F1, G4, J5, L3, N2, R4, U4, Y2, and Z4! Any OC you like, mix and match, up to you.

A fine list. I had to think about these overnight.

~For Bae Lavellan~

A5. what is their most impressive talent?

She actually excels at many things, but her most uniqueskill is that she can speak backwards. She’ll do it when she’s bored, she’ll doit when she’s upset, she’ll do it to unsettle someone she dislikes. She cansustain it for quite awhile if she’s feeling talkative. Leliana thought that itwas a secret code or cipher at first. When pressed, Bae didn’t have a goodanswer for why or how she’d learned to do it. It’s especially surprising whenyou consider that she’s not fluently multilingual – she was a hopeless studentwhen it came to elven, so she mostly gets by in Common.

J5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

Interesting question. Her skills aren’t necessarily what shetakes pleasure in – they’re just things that she happens to be good at. Sheenjoys problem solving and looking for things that other people miss (it’s anuncontrollable reflex anyway), so she enjoys climbing, especially if the goalis a quiet and private spot with a good view. When she was still living withher clan, it was one of the only ways that she could really clear her head. Shecan be a bit clumsy with other kinds of movement and doesn’t have big muscles,but she’s very flexible and climbing just…makes sense somehow. She could alwaysreach heights that others didn’t dare to go to or couldn’t see a way to get to,although she rarely did it for competition’s sake and not everyone realize howgood at it she was.

~For Gelya Tabris:~

G4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

She always wanted more muscle. Life in the alienage meant alot of crime, and not just involving humans. There were few depths thatpickpockets and muggers wouldn’t stoop to. As befits a rogue, Gelya always hadfair reflexes, but no matter how much she tried to build muscle mass, she couldnever make real progress (partly because she was never exactly well-fed andpartly because she was born very prematurely and was never going to have alarge frame anyway). A man of even middling strength could have easilyoverpowered her, though luckily many elves pitied her instead and sometimesshunned her a little or even regarded her as mentally ill (which isn’tcompletely incorrect, though most of her psychological issues are directly dueto alienage life, not genetic predisposition).

She is, however, a very fast learner, and she knows it. Shecan improve greatly after making just one mistake, and once she’s learned howto do something, she never forgets it. She’s not especially skilled inanything, but it’s always been obvious – even to her – that her chances ofsurvival are ultimately better than many others’ because she understands how toadapt and adjust (even if it kills her a little inside sometimes). It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to get her through the day.

~For Mervyn Lavellan~ [y’all haven’t seen him yet since he’strapped in the PS3, but he was my first Inquisitor and first DA build]

F1. what do they do for fun?

Though he didn’t grow up playing it, he ADORES chess and anyother games that even vaguely resemble it. He’s not always the absolute bestplayer, but his strategizing skills are a perfect foundation for learning it.He frequently hounds his advisors for a chance to hone his skills and learn newmoves. He can be quite cynical about non-elves sometimes, but he greatly admiresthe other races’ board games and sees the value in applying the skills neededfor them to real life and vice versa.

~For Radi Lavellan~

C1. how do they sit in a chair?

At a formal dinner table? Tidily and carefully. Her sitting posturein front of others is so polished that you’d think she’d grown up in Orlesianhigh society.

But in an armchair by a roaring hearth? All bets are off.She usually just ragdolls and passes out because she’s very prone to worrying andlong days and basically never gets enough sleep.

L3. are there any foods they hate?

Bread pudding, rosemary, and most pickled foods. She’s alsonot crazy about most liquor unless it’s cider, beer, or wine.

N2. what have they never done that they want to do?

While she’s socially confident and isn’t particularlyinhibited, she was never in a relationship pre-Inquisition. Growing up, she sawteenaged friends and family gradually marry off or at least get involved inmatchmaking, but she never even spent private time for a picnic with someone,never mind a kiss or something more. Cullen is her first everything.

It’s not that she didn’t want anyone prior to that (she’s not ace or aro), butshe saw enough families get separated by war, feuds, etc. that she couldn’tquite commit to the idea herself. She also always focused on protecting othersin the clan, so tbh she was honestly too busy keeping track of the clan’ssafety most of the time to really step back from worrying long enough to thinkabout it.

R4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

I think she regrets that she doesn’t regret breaking rules. She’s usually done so for thegreater good and she only defies authority when its logic no longer serves agood purpose, but it’s happened often enough over the years that she waspainted as a cocky youngster early on. Some in the clan praised this and otherscalled her a traitor for it.

Now and then, she has a quiet moment of reflectionand wonders if things would have been better if she’d let others share some ofthe load. She’s not assertive by default and didn’t quite choose to be theguardian type – it sort of just happened in some moments when others didn’thave the same willpower. By the time she’d realized what she’d become, it wastoo late to change course…especially considering there was nothing actually wrongwith who she was.

U4. have they ever been doubted?

Considering she’s fairly atheist for an elf? You betcha.Plenty of people in her clan always resented her input/advice/opinions onimportant matters. Even the Keeper only let her be Second – Radi doesn’t try tostep on others’ toes and she doesn’t openly try to tell other people how tothink, but her lack of firm belief in the gods definitely meant that she waslooked down on, held back, and not always taken seriously.

Y2. what inspired you to create them?

It’s like this: my last DA OC was pretty nondescript on theoutside but basically scarred beyond recognition on the inside. I thought I’dtry the opposite with Radi: someone with a lot of literal scars but a bit lessof the “acute psychological trauma” side of things (not that there isn’t any,but it’s not the outright paralyzing sort like Bae has). She’s alsoneurotypical, so the scores of things that bother/confuse/upset Bae don’tnecessarily stand out to Radi.

I also have a bit of a hangup about making my OC’s look “tooperfect.” Granted, none of mine have horrible deformities and I’m thrilledevery time someone calls one of them cute, but mine don’t have fancy hair, alot of makeup, large eyes, flawless skin, etc. I’m not complaining becausethat’s 10000% deliberate. I spend much moretime making them look the way they do, not less.

While I definitely wouldn’t call Radi ugly, she does have some verydistinctive features which may or may not be attractive according tostereotypical beauty standards (a very angular jaw, noticeable cheek hollowsthat point to her scarily underweight tendencies rather than nice bonestructure, a cleft and sort of puffy chin, recessed eye sockets and puffy eyes that make her look a lot more squinty/suspicious than she actually is, etc.).

Furthermore, although she’s cis female, I wanted her to bean example of a woman who doesn’t necessarily get positively recognized for heroutward appearances since her features aren’t widely praised (or even widely acknowledged) for women. In fact, a fewpeople have already misgendered her. That actually makes me happy because it shows that Idid my job right.

And, of course, I loved the idea of having a character whohas very visible, very striking scars but actually isn’t that bothered by themcosmetically because they’re proof of just how tough someone can be – even ascrawny mage.

Z4. what’s their dream pet?

She’ll take every opportunity she gets to have a new pet, regardless of species, but she’s fascinated by turtles and tortoises. She’s goodaround most domesticated animals but appreciates the ones that have a quietsteadiness.