#he would have likely killed her if she asked if he was Dalish or to ask for his help

[vir-tanadahl]

I fucking love Felassan. He is so unhinged.

[yavvana]

I can't get over how fucking awful Mythal actually was.

Don't read below this if you haven't finished Veilguard, lmao.

The fact that Solas wore her vallaslin, and somehow still saw her as a friend, and trusted and loved her enough to do everything she asked of him makes me so angry/sad. Friends don't make their friends wear slave markings on their faces. Him being called her lapdog by Elgar'nan makes so much more sense.

And then Solas goes and accepts the blame for decisions that she made, and then manipulated him into agreeing to, and she fucking accepts no fault! If you confront her about the Blight when you meet her in the Crossroads, she basically just says, "not my problem."

And he blames himself for her death because he couldn't convince her to walk away from the Evanuris! But really, sorry Mythal, that's her own fucking fault?! She saw herself as above Solas, so she refused to heed his warnings, and then Elgar'nan killed her because Elgar'nan's a bitch.

And then if you pick the good ending, and Solas sees her again, you cannot tell me that his reaction to her is not one of someone who has been abused being confronted by their abuser. The way he curls around the dagger...Mythal, when I get my hands on you, Mythal...And then she says, "I release you from my service." Bitch. I wanted my Lavellan to punch her ghost with her prosthetic hand so fucking bad, lmao.

Solas was a spirit of wisdom! And she corrupted him from his purpose. If he had stayed a spirit, he would have become a pride demon because of her manipulations.

Cole has a couple of lines in DAI that I can't stop fucking thinking about.

"He didn't want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."

And, "He wants to give wisdom, not orders."

Solas gets to be himself in Inquisition. He gets to return to giving wisdom. Regardless of whether or not you're romancing him, if you're not a dick to him, he offers these beautiful stories about the Fade, and GDL does a fucking incredible job of making each of them sound poetic as fuck. And he's so kind to all the companions. Even Vivienne who has so much contempt for him, and he tries to offer her advice when he notices things about her magic that he finds...unsettling, lmao. Like their interaction about her staff's aura and him being like, "Are you sure that's the aura you want your staff to have, I can cleanse it for you?" And she's just like, "Yup." And he just lets it go.

When he leaves the Inquisition, Solas forces himself to be what Mythal made him. Which makes the line, "You are Mythal's creature now!" so distressingly ironic.

People talk about how he hates the Dalish elves, and Qunari, but that's just factually inaccurate. He's frustrated by the Dalish because he spent how many years fighting to free the elves from the influence of the Evanuris, only to wake from uthenera to find that he is the villain in all their tales, and the Evanuris are regarded as gods. And when he tried to tell a clan the truth, they tried to kill him! And he doesn't hate the Qunari, he hates the Qun. He hates that under the Qun, people do not get to make their own decisions.

Iron Bull's biggest fear is becoming a rabid Tal'Vashoth, and he expresses as much to Solas. And if you play as a Qunari, Solas points out in party banter that Inky isn't rabid.

If you have Iron Bull side with the Chargers, Solas checks in on Bull several times in party banter, assuring Bull he won't become like the Tal'Vashoth that he fought in Seheron. Because Bull has the Inquisition, and his friends, and Solas. And then they play mental chess, and if that's not friendship, idk what is.

And his interactions with Sera, who doesn't think she's elfy enough, so she makes fun of elfy things as a defence mechanism, are fucking hilarious. The way he gets her to talk about the Fade by asking her about the Breach, and what she sees when she looks at it, and you kinda see that Sera is a lot more elfy than she realizes. And then when she realizes it and gets mad, he basically tells her it's payback for her filling his bedroll with lizards. And she just fucking giggles and is like, "yeah, fair." (These two are my absolute favorite characters in DAI and I would die for either of them, lmao) But he kinda makes her connect with her heritage even though she doesn't want to, and I think that's good for her.

Solas also gets angry with Blackwall, not for lying about actually being Thom Rainier, but because Blackwall led his men into fights, and to their deaths in many instances, for nothing more than his greed. And then he APOLOGIZES for that interaction. And Blackwall tells him it's fine, that Solas was right, and he deserved it. And then Solas commends him for taking the first step towards redemption by owning his past and his mistakes.

And then there's him and Varric constantly joking about having to clean up messes made by humans, and "Why are an elven apostate and a dwarf here, again?" Their interactions are some of my favorites, and it's why I firmly believe that if there had been one more wolf statuette to find, it would have been his regret over Varric's death.

Solas deserved better than having Mythal as a "friend." She manipulated and corrupted him. And then let him take the fall for things that she did. She regrets NOTHING about what they did to the Titans. Meanwhile, it's one of his biggest regrets.

Anyway, I love the Egg, and I hate Mythal. That is all. I hope Solas and my Lavellan Inky get to have plenty of Fade-ordered therapy. They both fucking need it.

[fanfoolishness]

messy

When Elgar'nan and Solas battle in Rook's mind, she gains a new sense of empathy for Lucanis' struggle with Spite -- and Lucanis finds a new fear. Lucanis x Rook, a little angst, a little whump, lots of cuddles and conversation. 2500 words, post-"Blood of Arlathan."

---

Lucanis followed Rook and Neve, his senses muted and muffled. This was not the real world, this trap of Elgar’nan’s. He knew that much even without Spite raging in the back of his mind. The world shimmered around them, gauzy and insubstantial, as they tried path after path only to be transported back to the beginning.

“We’re wasting time,” Rook lamented, her pale eyes wide with worry. Soot and blood smudged her cheeks, remnants of their earlier battles against Ventatori and darkspawn. “We have to find the clan!” She charged forward again into the fog, then stopped suddenly, looking confused.

“Did you two hear that?” she asked, gaze fixed on something Lucanis couldn’t see. 

“Hear what?” Neve asked, giving Rook a curious expression.

There is nothing here, Spite agreed. Trapped! We cannot get out!

“No,” Lucanis said, troubled.

Rook took a few more steps into the mist, then stopped, twisting her head to one side as she had when Elgar’nan had attempted to sway them all. She rubbed at her face, her eyes darting wildly. “I just heard Solas. Tell me you heard that.”

“No,” Lucanis said slowly as Neve shook her head. Rook winced, distress crossing her face.

“I don’t know how, but I can hear him. He says there isn’t much time, that he’s going to try to distract Elgar’nan somehow. Come on. I think it’s the only chance we’ve got.” She led them into the haze, and Lucanis matched her pace to stay by her side. 

He had long ago learned to control his fear, something all Crows faced young. One could not survive as an assassin by operating from a place of fear. Fear led to exploitation by enemies, to holding back when the killing blow was at hand. He had not been afraid for his own life for many, many years.

But seeing the way Rook stopped abruptly, tilting her head with one long ear pressed against her shoulder, her grey eyes vacant -- new fear roared up within him, and he did not know how to quell it. 

He waited for her to speak, praying that she came back to him.

“They’re fighting,” Rook said, each word looking like it took great effort. “It’s nasty. They loathe each other.” She gritted her teeth. “Come on.”

“Are you all right, Rook?” Neve asked, reaching out and touching her on the shoulder. Rook startled at the touch, her eyes wide and haunted. 

“I’m fine. We’ve just -- got to keep going.”

Not possessed! Something else, Spite said urgently, and Lucanis wanted to believe him. But Spite was a normal demon, if there was such a thing; he was not a god, and he did not have the powers of one. Who knew what Elgar’nan and Solas could do to Rook?

Mist billowed around them, then a sensation of shifting, the sense that they were back on solid ground. “You led us out!” Lucanis said proudly. 

Rook gave him a wan smile. “Thank Solas, not me, and hurry.We’ve still got time to save the clan.” She broke into a run over the stonework path, staff held tight in one hand, and Neve and Lucanis ran after her. 

“She’s got this, Lucanis,” Neve said under her breath. “I don’t think whatever’s happening is hurting her, exactly. We’ve just got to hope it helps.”

Can’t see it. Can’t hear it! Spite said. I would know a demon!

And a god? Lucanis thought. But then Venatori rounded the corner, rushing at them, and he and Spite flowed together, a blur of blades and blood. Neve was right. They had this, and they would find a way to stop the sacrifice and save the Dalish. 

He parried a Venatori’s blade, then drove his own deep between the man’s ribs, Spite cackling with glee. Around the battlefield magic flew, the iron stench of blood magic, Neve’s crisp clean ice spells, the musty-sweet scent of Rook’s necromancy. The tide was turning --

“Rook! On your left!” he shouted as a Venatori knight rushed her from the side, shield raised and sword at the ready. She should have sidestepped, skimming across the surface of the Fade to reappear safely on the other side. He had seen her do it a thousand times. 

But she didn’t turn, didn’t respond at all, and his heart leapt into his throat. “Rook!” He ran to help her, Spite urging him on faster. He was nearly there when a burst of ice magic shattered against the knight just as he reached Rook, battering her with a single blow of his shield as the chill took hold. She crumpled. Lucanis’ dagger tore through the man’s throat an instant later, and he shoved the body aside, turning his attention to Rook.

Lucanis dropped to the ground beside her. “No, no --” He turned her over, his heart pounding, Spite incoherent and frantic. Relief washed over him.

She was pale but alive, dazed but conscious. His hand scrabbled at his belt for a healing potion, and he forced himself to steady his hands as he tilted it to her lips. She swallowed, coughing, the color in her cheeks looking better instantly. “Thanks, Lucanis,” she gasped, taking his proffered hand as he hauled her to her feet. 

His heart slowed again, and Spite ceased his agitated chatter. Rook. Is all right!

Lucanis scanned the battlefield. There was only one more enemy left, and with a howling blizzard conjured up by Neve, the Venatori mage collapsed and breathed her last. He let out a long sigh and turned back to Rook. “What happened? I tried to warn you, but I couldn’t get there in time --”

“I couldn’t hear you,” she admitted, nearly in tears. “They’re deafening.” She winced as he reached out to touch a slash on her head. “Never mind. We have to --” She grimaced, twisting her head to the side, one ear down toward her shoulder. “Shut up already!” 

Neve reached them, her face tight with worry. “Rook. Come on. I know you have this,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Rook said, breathing heavily. “Let’s finish this.”

Rook hurts. Help Rook!

I don’t know how, he thought, and he shoved the fear down as deep as it could go.

---

It seemed like days since the battle and rescue at Arlathan Crater, but realistically it was a matter of hours. They’d found the elves at last and gotten to safety. Somehow they made it through what happened: the hike back to the Veil Jumpers’ eluvian, making sure the rescued elves were safe, tending to injuries and meeting with the team. 

So much in such little time. Lucanis felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. He knew there was still so much more to come -- slaying Elgar’nan’s archdemon and killing the gods, aiding Treviso, Minrathrous, their team. He hoped he could manage to sleep tonight after everything.

But he knew he’d never manage it if he still feared so for Rook. The way she’d gone so distant, face empty; he’d lost her even though she was right beside him. That loss, even for a moment, had been terrifying. And the thought that kept crawling back into his head, just as terrifying --

Is this how she feels when Spite takes over?

He shook the thought away as best he could. She was here now, safe from Elgar’nan, safe from Solas doing whatever he’d done. He had to believe it, for her sake as well as his own.

He took the stairs lightly, then made his way down the narrow hall to her room. He raised a hand and rapped at the door. “It’s me. May I —“

The door swung open before he could finish the sentence. Rook smiled tiredly at him, a welcome sight. She’d traded her armor for soft linens in Mourn Watch greens and violets, and she’d let her dark hair down for the evening, hiding some of the fresh scratches on her face. “Well, well, well. I’d been getting ready to come see you. Thanks for saving me the trip.”

His face creased into a smile. “You’re all right.”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said. She smiled back at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Anyway, do come in. I wanted to say… that is, there’s some things I wanted to…” She crossed her arms, heading back to the settee. He followed her and closed the door behind him, and they sat down together. “Eurgh. I’m a mess right now.”

“A beautiful one,” Lucanis pointed out.

She snorted, then laughed. “How are you somehow the most earnest man who ever lived?”

“It is easy to be earnest when speaking the truth,” he said, shrugging with a soft smile. He hoped to have put her at ease, but as her laughter faded, he could see something dark and shuttered behind her eyes. Not all right, then.

He reached out cautiously. Their first attempt at a kiss had been disastrous, but he was growing more comfortable with the language of touch, especially smaller touches like her hand in his, a close embrace, small, still-clumsy kisses. But those had been moments of stolen sweetness, not attempts to offer comfort after dark times. He rested his hand on her shoulder, hoping this was right. 

“How are you really?” 

She looked up at him, her smile gone, her face stricken. Then she closed the distance between them, scooting beneath his arm and resting her head against his chest. He froze for a moment in surprise, then softened, welcoming her closeness. 

“Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I just — wanted to feel you were here. That I was here.”

He let his arm relax around her shoulders and pulled her closer, sighing. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He took a deep breath. Her hair smelled freshly cleaned, with faint scents of lavender and woodsmoke —

Smells like fear. Confusion!

He frowned. “So… you are all right. Only in a manner of speaking.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

”For what?” he asked, bewildered. “You led our team safely through a den of vipers. We rescued the elves. What more could you have done?”

”It’s not that. It’s… I understand better now. What it must be like to have Spite in your head, all the time.” She lifted her head, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. “Solas has been in my head since this all started, but… it’s different. The connection between us is tenuous, and he’s only been able to make contact through the Veil when I meditate and drop all other thoughts. It’s been my choice to contact him. The prison he’s in in the Fade is powerful, and it keeps him bound.” She shivered. “Until Arlathan.”

”What did you hear?” Lucanis asked gently. “Neve and I never truly heard what you did. You said that Elgar’nan and Solas fought —“

”It wasn’t just words,” Rook said, releasing her arms from around him and leaning back against the settee. She reached up to where his arm circled her shoulders, and took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. “It was all-encompassing. It was difficult to see, to fight, to walk, even to breathe. Their rage was so tremendous. Their power. I felt like an ant beneath them, and as for my own thoughts — when I could get them back — I kept thinking, And Lucanis struggles with Spite, all the time.”

We have a deal! Spite chimed. Not a struggle! Not now. Not so much.

“It is better between us,” Lucanis said. Not a struggle still wasn’t exactly true, but it was not like the early days, when he stayed awake for two or three days at a time, refusing to sleep and lose control. He shivered. “Not like a god. I think… I know how to bear him now.” He sighed. “But you, Rook… it was hard to see you like that.” He squeezed her hand, his heart aching.

“Why? What was it like?” Rook asked haltingly.

He thought for a moment. “You are fierce in a fight, you know. Your focus, your power, your magic -- you are brilliant.”

She gave him an awkward, surprised smile. It was terribly charming. “I’m sorry, was I asking why I’m so incredible?”

Lucanis chuckled. “You may as well have been.” His smile faded. “But seeing their voices in your mind, knowing I couldn’t help you -- it frightened me, Rook. And I am the sorry one.”

She reached up, laying her hand against his cheek. “What could you have to be sorry about?”

“If you -- feel as I do --” He ducked his head. “Then seeing Spite take control of me must be…” He exhaled heavily, and she looked at him, her eyes too bright. He closed his own, hesitating.

“Before, I did not wish you to see me that way for my own sake. But now I wonder if you felt this same fear as I did. Seeing the woman I--” Not that word, not yet. But… soon. “-- care about, struggling against what could not be controlled, knowing I could do nothing to save you --”

She gazed into his eyes, then rested her head on his shoulder again, drawing him close once more. “Lucanis, you never need to apologize for who you are. For what Spite is. If I worry for you, that’s mine to bear. What was it you said before? ‘I deserve better than you and your mess’? Well, it’s too late for that now. It’s our mess.”

She felt so right in his arms, solid and true, warm and close. He bowed his head over her. “Our mess. I think I can handle that.”

She laughed, warm huffs of breath against his neck. He shivered. Oh, but she felt good this way.

“Lucanis?”

“Yes, Rook?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“But of course.”

She sat up, the smile on her face fading. “Would you… stay the night tonight?”

For a moment his mind whited out, Spite curious and cackling in the background, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. Rook’s face flashed immediately with understanding, and she rested her hand on his vest. 

“Not for that. I’m exhausted, and I know you’re not ready,” Rook said gently. “I just meant, could we fall asleep together?”

He felt a smile slide over his face. To hold her in his arms for longer, to wake up beside her in the morning? That would be a fine thing indeed.

“I am yours, Rook.”

---

They did not sleep at first; there was still much talking to do of the elves, of the gods, of Treviso and the Antaam. Her determination and her clever plans were just as intriguing to him as her smile and her laugh. But when at last Rook’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing grew deep and heavy, Lucanis leaned back against the settee, finding a way for them to fit together. Her elbows nudged his ribs, and her chin was somehow dagger-sharp, digging into his breastbone. But she was warm and soft and safe within his arms, and he fell asleep beneath the Fadelight, his fears at last forgotten.

[fangsandfeels]

"Everyone gets along because there is a threat", yadda, yadda, yadda.

Bullshit. This is not how real scenarios work and it has never been.

russia is a global threat right now, but the world can't decide between sucking its dick and politely asking it to stop because the mere thought of confronting russia makes it shit its pants. The very few countries who scream into the void, warning about russia and telling people to wake the fuck up are ignored and viewed as crazy doomsayers.

This is how real crisis looks like. Nobody works together against a threat because people are spineless cowards who would rather throw their neighbors under the bus than fight. Nobody learned anything from history lessons, books or survivors.

The only difference in a fantasy game is that NPCs end up having more spine and moral principles than real people.

But in Veilguard, everyone gets along because they have NO reasons not to.

Davrin has no real reasons to beef (if you can call it that) with Lucanis because he is a Grey Warden. He knows where Grey Wardens take their conscripts from. He knows that Grey Wardens regularly recruit mages who are a lot more likely to get possessed if they're not careful. Working with an assassin who knows friend from foe isn't the worst thing ever. One subtle warning about taking action if demon takes over is enough.

Taash has no reasons to antagonize Emmrich aside from horrible writing.

Neve gets along with Bellara because writers gave Bellara a happy childhood with her family and turned Dalish artifacts into Apple store gadgets, while refusing giving Neve any nuance as the citizen of Tevinter.

Emmrich gets along with everyone because he is generally a kind and well-mannered person who doesn't like to stir the pot.

Any companion who could have had a sharp edge, got that edge ripped off and a cartoon band-aid slapped on.

Never doesn't deal with people who don't know about Shadow Dragons (and they probably shouldn't know much because when you work against a powerful government who wants to destroy you, you shouldn't show off), so she constantly has to deal with the fact that people assume she is a noble or a slave-owner because she is from Tevinter; that they don't know that she had to literally fight against being enslaved herself because in Tevinter mages who refuse to use their power to dominate others are turned into slaves as well.

Bellara isn't conflicted about working with humans, especially Tevinter humans at all. She seems to never have dealt with oppression her whole life and she is super quick to write off Cyrian as evil even though there are clear SIGNS that he was tricked and controlled by the Forgotten One. But no, she never thinks "He is still there, I can save him, I won't lose him again", she goes straight to "Oh nooo my brother is dead to me".

Emmrich doesn't get burdened by people reacting to him and his sincere intention to help with fear, because of all the sinister rumors revolving around necromancers and Nevarra. He isn't hurt by people assuming that he loves death and things dying. If even he openly admitted that he is deeply terrified of death, they wouldn't have believed him.

Harding isn't burdened by the revelation she learned and what to do with it. Should she storm her way to the Orzammar? Should she talk to fellow surface dwarves and reconnect them with their history? Should she never breach the subject because the truth hurts and it's too much pain, too much anger to live with - and maybe she shouldn't let other dwarves go through it?

We don't even have a party divided on what to do with Solas (kill or talk it out)? Even though it's logical to have companions who are convinced that Solas has to die and those who think that he is misguided and can be convinced to stop.

Also, there are NO companions whose background, viewpoints and attitude would rile other companions up. We have no controversial characters whose interactions with the crew Rook would have been forced to intervene in unless they want their team to start throwing hands with each other.

We could have had Imshael - to give EVERYONE a reason to worry, and argue, and have conflicts. We could have had an ex-Venatori Calpernia bashing heads with Neve, Bellara, and Emrich. We could have had a Qunari spy who'd make Lucanis' dagger-arm itch.

If writers didn't forget about the Architect, we could have had an intelligent Darkspawn companion Davrin could be losing his shit around.

Or heck, we could have had a former red templar who got partially (magically?) reversed from their mad state and is now not a mindless beast, but still is on a borrowed time, probably needed due to their strength, but barely tolerated by anyone.

Who is fanatical, mostly because they have to believe they made a noble sacrifice, that it all was for the greater good -- because the truth scares them to their core. Who gives Lucanis shit for being an assassin and abomination, who bashes necromancy, and mages, and talks about purity, while downplaying their own actions as "Yes, these are my sins, but they are for the better world, and I would be proud to die for that world unlike you heathens who would rather ruin it than repent for your flaws". The kind of companion you'd initially want to do nothing with, but who can reveal an entire gallery of fucked up contradictions and trauma if you decide to keep them around.

However, writing such companions takes skill, courage, and requires absence of greedy corpo "we don't want to scare away new players with all that moral nuance" thinking.

[backtofiction28]

Ar lath ma, Vhenan

“How are the knives coming?” Rook asked as she entered the pantry.

          Lucanis had been pacing but stopped when he saw her. “Rook, this isn’t going to work. They moved the moon!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the ceiling as if the moon was there. “We are in over our heads. This is not magic you can fight with a blade. You’re putting your life in our hands.” He took a shaky breath. “My hands.” He looked down at his hands, brows furrowed in pain. “All I know is death.”

          Rook stepped closer to him and gently encased his hands with her own. “These hands knew how to comfort me when I almost broke down after rescuing the Dalish. These hands know how to make the best churros in all of Thedas. And these hands will not let me down for the final fight with the gods, because I trust in them. Just like I trust in you.” She smiled, trying to reassure him. “I know we can do this.”

          Lucanis brought her hands to his lips, kissing them gently. “Optimism is your best and worst quality.” He gripped them tightly. “If I have to kill every blighted creature in Thedas to keep you safe, I will.”

          Rook smirked. “Just two will be enough. And you know you don’t have to do this alone.”

           “I’m never alone anymore,” he said, meaning he meant Spite.

          She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. I’ll be here for you.”

          “Don’t make promises you might not keep.”

          Rook was quiet. She stared at his chocolate brown eyes—eyes that stared at her with such deep fondness and worry. She was such a sucker for those eyes. How did she end up caring for him so much? This wasn’t in her plan to save the world. But then again, when have her plans ever gone her way?

          Rook could feel her heart racing. She had planned on telling him at some point after they had defeated Illario. Stolen chances and her own cowardice had gotten in the way. And now the gods had hastened their plans to create their own dagger.

          Now would be a good chance, right?

Rook steeled her nerve. “Lucanis, I—”

          “Don’t,” he interrupted.

          She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. Did he know what she was going to say? He released her hands, the cold of the pantry seeping into her skin.

          “Whatever it takes,” he said. “I won’t miss this time.”

          Rook placed her hands behind her back, trying to act casual and ignoring the stab of disappointment in her chest. “Right.”

          Inside her head, she was screaming. Why couldn’t she say it? And why didn’t he let her finish? Maybe if she had said it, it would distract him from his task. She needed him focused—she needed everyone focused. This was their last chance at stopping the gods.

          Maybe this really isn’t a good time.

          But if she didn’t say then when? And how would she know they were going to make it back from this?

          If I don’t say it now, then I’m going to regret this.

          “Rook, are you alright?” Lucanis asked, his eyes shining with concern.

          Damn. She had been staring at him for too long with nothing to say. Figures she would make this whole situation awkward.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she said suddenly. She could feel the flush of embarrassment coming on. Shit, why did she say it in Elvin?

          Lucanis raised a brow. “What does that mean?”

          “Um…it’s an ancient Elvin saying for good luck,” Rook said, scrambling for a way out. “You know, kind of like how performers say ‘break a leg’ before a performance?”

          “Does that make you my good luck charm?” Lucanis gave her a teasing smile.

          Rook blushed at his compliment. How could he say that he wasn’t good at flirting when he said it so effortlessly? She smiled. “Only if you want me to be,” she said. “I’ll see you at the eluvian.”

          She swiftly turned around and left the pantry, trying to slow down her heart rate and hoping that Spite didn’t catch a change in her scent. She was definitely going to think about that all day, but at least she told him. Granted, it was in Elvish, but that had to count. Right?

          (after the events of Tearstone Island)

          Ar lath ma, vhenan.

          Those were the last words that Rook had said to him before Solas pulled her into the Fade prison. Lucanis paced in the pantry, Spite’s voice a grating sound in his mind. No matter how many times he told him that Rook was gone, it only seemed to anger the demon more.

          There was no method to calm Spite down when Lucanis couldn’t even calm himself. He was just as devasted that Rook was gone. Emmrich had been working tirelessly to find her, but could he? From his limited understanding, the Fade was huge and seemed endless. How could Emmrich find her?

 Lucanis was getting restless. It had been two weeks since she had disappeared and the last words she had said to him plagued his mind. He tried asking Spite if he understood, but the demon did not. Rook had told him that it meant good luck, but Lucanis had a feeling that she had lied. But why? He growled, frustrated. He had to know the truth. So, Lucanis left the pantry to find Bellara. She was in Neve’s room, blankly watching the wisps fly.

          “Bellara?”

          She blinked and slowly smiled as he approached. “Oh, hey Lucanis. Don’t mind me. Just…” She trailed off, her eyes shining with tears.

          “I am sorry,” Lucanis said, “this is a bad time. I’ll go.”

          “No! It’s okay!” Bellara quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. “Was there something you needed?”

          Lucanis wasn’t sure if it was alright to even ask Bellara for anything, considering her state of mind. But, then again, after the damn island, everyone’s mood was low.

          Even his.

          “Rook said something to me before we left for the island. It was in Elvish,” Lucanis explained.

          Bellara cocked her head. “What did she say?”

          “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” Lucanis said, his accent stumbling over the words. “Rook said it meant good luck, but I have a feeling that it is not true.”

          Bellara had gone still, eyes wide and shining with tears. “It doesn’t mean good luck.”

          Lucanis frowned, noticing her body language. “What does it mean, then?”

          A tear escaped. “It means…I-I love you, my heart.” Her voice cracked at the last word.

After Rook had separated the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s body, she had disappeared. Lucanis called out her name over and over again, searching for her in the ruins. But he couldn’t find her. And neither could anyone else. Instead, they found Solas, freed from the Fade prison. Lucanis’ world had collapsed underneath his feet when the Elvin god told them that Rook was never to return. Instead, she was trapped in the Fade prison.

Now, it felt like Lucanis was falling deeper and deeper into a dark hole that he wasn’t sure he could escape. He stumbled a bit and had to grab the edge of Neve’s desk tightly, trying to use it as a way to center himself as Rook’s words once again echoed inside his mind.

Ar lath ma, vhenan.

          I love you, my heart.

          Rook had told him that she had loved him before heading to the island. Why? Why didn’t she say it to him in the language they both understood?

           Her scent. Changed. Smelled like. Roses. And hesitation.

           Is that why she had that strange look in her violet eyes?

          “I-I do not understand,” Lucanis said, his chest constricting. “Why did she say it in Elvish?”

          Bellara was fully crying, fat pools of tears dripping down to the floor. “I-I don’t know.” She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “But what I know is that Rook really did care for you, Lucanis. I-I think she truly meant what she said.”

          Bellara covered her mouth, eyes closed tight and shoulders shaking as she was wracked with more tears. In any other circumstance, Lucanis would not have hesitated to comfort her, but not this time. He could barely comfort himself. He wished he could have cried and screamed and raged or felt something other than the hollow feeling inside of his chest.

          How much more heartache could he take before he was finally broken? He spent a year tortured and imprisoned, but he, somehow, was able to keep himself sane. He was determined to set himself free and kill those responsible for his imprisonment. But this? This was not something he could solve with a knife.

          You. Should have. Told her too.

          Lucanis could never hide what he was truly feeling from Spite.  How could Lucanis hide away the feeling that he had been harboring for weeks? The feeling that he had been hesitant to say. He was an assassin. He should have known better. He was taught to never miss the moment to strike.

          But now it was too late to tell her.

          Too late to tell Rook that he loved her too.

[thedissonantverses]

The Inquisitor failed where Rook succeeded.

These games aren’t about Solas and the Inquisitor and it would actually make the story incomprehensible and worse if that was the case.

Or my breakdown of why having the elven agents would have been a no good, very bad terrible idea.

So right off the bat my first problem with this is that I don’t care about Solas’ loneliness. It’s his own fault. He killed his friends. I like the character. I understand his motivations. I redeemed him. He is compelling. He’s still the antagonist. He still committed atrocities. You can ship him all you want. I do.

But you cannot uncouple what he’s done to rationalize his actions. He willingly got a body. Sure Mythal might’ve manipulated him but he did in fact make the choice. Same with the Titans. For that alone he’s a monster. Forcing all the blame onto Mythal ignores the text and no it’s not surprising some people latched onto the nearest woman to excuse a man’s actions. She is culpable and he is culpable. They’re both Evanuris no matter how much that chafes Solas’ mythology about himself.

Solas also let the elven gods out then lied to Rook when he blamed them because it’s his whole m.o. He fucked up a ritual he shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Hell even if Solas didn’t fuck up his own ritual a second time, it’s still his fault. If he had asked for help a single time none of this would have happened. Varric would still be alive as would all of the people Elgar’nan and Ghiln’nanin killed.

Forcing in elven agents, where we would mostly likely be forced to battle and kill them, would be the worst way to handle the elves in DA. Like it’s an exceptionally bad idea. Which is why I’m so glad they didn’t do it. You cannot tell me that you like the elves and understand the lore then have them start what amounts to a holy war in retaliation for past holy wars on behalf of a man who wants to openly destroy their world. Then turn around and say BioWare hates the elves. Or that they handled the Dalish badly because they sure did a better job than you did. It’s a level of cognitive dissonance that is truly baffling.

This story is not about the Inquisitor either. The Inquisitor, oh wait another holy figure, I don’t care how much you said shem in your fanfiction. The narrative has already set up the Inquisitor to be like Solas you don’t need to enforce this yet again, it was done well the first time. The Inquisitor failed to capture him because they think too much like him. Which is what Trespasser was about.

Rook is well established in the first major scene with Solas both visually, thematically, and narratively. Knocking down Elgar’nan’s statue. Thinking of a strategy no one else did because they let Solas set the terms of the match. Varric, knows all this, and knew he was most likely going to die talking to Solas, set Rook up in his place. Varric who found the lyrium dagger and set all of this in motion. Varric who sets Rook on the board to belabor the chess metaphor. Rook, because of all this, is a much better narrative foil for Solas because they are just a mortal and all but nameless and not some mythical divine figure sent from on high for Solas.

Solas has killed and driven away all his friends including your beloved Lavellan. He sure didn’t love her enough to tell her the truth when he should have. Rook knows they need help. They could never do anything else.

A mortal willing to stand against gods? That’s what’s compelling. Good people pulling together to fight tyranny is always going to be a better story than a man who betrays the people he loves at every turn.

Dragon Age has such a rich and interesting lore and frankly at this point twisting everything to be about one character is disrespectful to almost 20 years of crafting on the part of the writers and creative team. It actually makes me angry that their hard work is being torn apart because people want to force everything to be about one character. Not only did you completely miss out on a beautiful story to force an interpretation like this, you don’t even know what universe you’re in.

TLDR: The story is called Veilguard because it’s about Rook and the Veilguard. Hope this helps.

[butchvamp]

i'm working my way through the final companion quests and i finished Bellara's last night. i feel like my criticism of her story is the same, broader critique i've already discussed which is that she's never really given any time or space to reckon with the truth of the elven gods, she's never allowed any real sympathy or a crisis of faith or even just a genuine conversation about having to literally kill her gods that she's spent her entire life studying... this quest almost gets there, but it's once again... hindered by racism.

i would have loved this quest otherwise, in general Bellara is one of my favorite companions and her character is one of the strongest in the game. plus i like a good sibling dynamic, and i loved her scenes with Cyrian and even the final funeral procession. but the context they're in is frustrating. we don't need to teach Bellara the dangers of pursuing elven history, we already know, she already knew even before this, and now the game has completely demonized the Evanuris beyond a doubt and even blamed Bellara for it herself. we don't need Bellara to "learn her lesson." it's redundant and racist, especially the final choice!

this choice (Destroy the Archive or Preserve It) should NOT be up to Rook. this is when faction and companion approval could have come into play, but unfortunately the reputation system in this game is basically nonfunctional. if it did actually matter, then maybe if Rook has high reputation with the Veil Jumpers, Bellara could ask their opinion, but otherwise, why would she leave the fate of a priceless link to elven history up to Just Some Guy? especially if Rook isn't even elven!

Dalish culture is still valuable, it's worth respect and worth preserving regardless of the Evanuris. this confrontation with Anaris should have made her even more determined to do exactly that, to embrace and protect her culture and explore the truth of their history within the Archive, to share it with her people and keep them safe, rather than just blindly destroy it. this could have been her big emotional catharsis moment, with Rook there to encourage her but otherwise let her be the one to make her own choice and ultimately stop Anaris and save the Archive. maybe Cyrian does always die, but he's her link to the Archive that strengthens her resolve regardless. and depending on how Rook approached it (insisted that she would have to kill him versus encouraging her to try and get through to him) it could result in Bellara either opening up and sharing more about the Archive or hardening and closing herself and the Archive off completely. the funeral procession could change depending as well.

i don't know how the funeral procession changes currently, if you destroy the Archive, but if you save it, i do really appreciate those final scenes with her. we even get actual acknowledgment of the Exalted Marches and the reality of the current elves and their enslavement. Bellara finally gets to express herself and participate in her culture without having to feel guilty or apologize. i just wish she was given this respect beyond this single scene, and that she had more of a voice overall and could challenge both Harding and even Solas, and that the game didn't have to punish her before we got here.

[himluv]

Determination and Benevolence

Who's ready for some more Lucanis fic?? We're going back to the start with this one!

Lucanis stood in the Lighthouse courtyard and tried to ignore the itch behind his eyes.

No! Spite yelled.  No! Get out. Out, OUT!

Lucanis sighed. “We are out, Spite.”

Nooooo. Trapped still.

The demon was reacting to Lucanis’s own unease about living in some strange corner of the Fade. This was the second to last place he wanted to be, even if it was breath-taking.

Breath. Taken. Too tight. TRAPPED. The demon flitted from one side of the courtyard to another, glaring and seething at the nothingness beyond the Lighthouse.

Behind them, the door to the library opened. Rook stepped out, barefoot in her casual Arlathan leathers. The autumnal colors lent a pleasing warmth to her pale skin, and her auburn hair shone in the warm fadelight. This elf was still a mystery to him. A Dalish, shorter than him, but standing up to her own blighted gods?

He couldn’t help but admire such determination.

“Ready for the tour?” She asked.

TOUR? Spite flickered into being a little too close to Rook, sniffing up her body like a dog hunting for treats. 

“It’s really short,” she said. “I promise.”

Lucanis gave her a weak smile. “Lead the way.”

Rook didn’t move. Instead she pointed toward a building joined to the courtyard by a twisted mix of stones and roots. “That’s Harding’s room,” she said. “Lots of plants in there, which is nice.”

Then she pointed over Lucanis’s shoulder. “That’s Bellaria’s room. She’s always tinkering with some magical artifact or another, so,” she grimaced, “maybe knock first?”

Finally, she started to walk away from the library. “This,” she said, pointing at what appeared to be a stone market stall at the center of the courtyard, “is the Caretaker’s shop.”

“The Caretaker?”

She shrugged. “It’s a spirit, the one that brought us through the Crossroads.”

Spite sniffed the air in front of the stall, then spat. Benevolence.

“Apparently it takes care of the Lighthouse, repairs things and opens new sections as we need them.”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow at her. “That isn’t strange to you?”

“Not really,” she said. “A lot of spirits have a purpose or function that they like to fulfill.”

No! Spite said. No purpose, only spite.

Lucanis ignored him. “Do you have much experience with spirits?” Perhaps she would know something that could help him get rid of the demon.

“Some,” she said. “I’m a mage, and the veil was thin in Arlathan way before Solas tore it open.”

She continued walking, and pointed to another structure on their left. “That’s Neve’s room. She’s got a lot of notes tacked up all over the place, and a bit of a wisp problem.”

No help! Spite said, suddenly at Lucanis’s side. Won’t help you! Trapped.

Rook led him up a worn set of steps and into a large dark room. “And this is the dining hall.”

Lucanis glanced around the room. It looked as if it hadn’t been used since its last occupants left. Half the furniture was broken, the hearth stood empty, and nothing about the place smelled even remotely like a kitchen.

Starving, Spite whispered. Can’t. Even. EAT!

“This is where you eat?” Lucanis didn’t want to be judgmental, but this? This was unacceptable.

“Uh. Yeah,” Rook said. “Sometimes?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Bellara’s started cooking some.”

Lucanis took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll talk to her and get a cooking rotation started.”

Rook gave him a curious look. “You cook?”

“Of course.”

She blushed. “Oh, well. Good.” She cleared her throat. “That’s, uh, good.”

Spite stood at her side, his face far too close to hers. Embarrassed. Why?

Lucanis had no idea, but was confident it was his fault. He was good at killing people, not so much at talking to them.

He winced. “I’ll make a shopping list,” he said. ”Let me know if there’s anything you want.”

Her face lit up at the prospect. “That’s great, Lucanis! The pantry is pretty empty.” She took him into the room to the right of the fireplace. 

“Mierda,” he breathed. Did these women not eat? There were two large wheels of Ferelden cheese he could only assume were from Harding. A few slabs of jerky of an unknown origin, and several jars of honey. That was it.

“As for sleeping quarters–”

“This is fine,” he said.

She stared at him. “The… pantry?”

He gave her a tiny smile. “I’ll make do.” Even this sad, empty pantry was an upgrade from the Ossuary. Plus, it only had one way in or out. In his line of work, choke points were as good as gold. 

“If you’re sure,” she said, sounding anything but. 

“I am, thank you.” And though he didn’t mean to sound dismissive, he heard it there in his voice. It had been an incredibly long and eventful day. 

“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll, uh, let you get settled in.”

Thinks you’re strange. Thinks you’re WRONG.

She wasn’t the only one. Lucanis watched her go, then leaned against the cabinet holding eight jars of honey. He’d thought killing ancient elven gods would be the hardest part of this contract, but looking around the dining hall, Lucanis sighed. 

He had his work cut out for him.

[roarrrgame]

I’m insanely patient for some things so I never hated the Fade quests in DA as much as a lot of people do. Plus I’m a mage the Fade is my bread and butter! Though I do dread going into the Fade a bit and would mentally prepare myself every time I have to go in there.

So when I played the Fade quest in Inquisition the first time and found myself in the Fade. While running around I was thinking, the Fade is tough but this time I feel much better because my friends/companions are doing this with me!

Because in previous games you either have to go in there alone, for your Harrowing, to save people etc, or have your companions betray you in there, ouch. (One reason I don’t dislike Anders or think he’s out of control is because him as Justice didn’t betray me unlike others, also presumably because Hawke is a mage she was able to stop Anders from killing the girl by telling him she’s not possessed or something).

But this time I have people I really like with me! Including my favourite mages, Dorian who also went through the harrowing (this bit is meta because my Inqy is Dalish lol) and Solas who is THE expert on the Fade.

Then it dawned on me - does Solas not feel lonely when he explores the Fade? He’s so excited about the Fade, and spends so much time in the Fade, but the Fade is a daunting place for most of us, so I naturally wondered if he’d get lonely too.

It was just a thought coming from my meta experience with the games, and because I was romancing Solas.

Then not long after, when I was carelessly looking through the writings on each of the tome stones, Solas’ biggest fear literally shocked me.

“To die alone”!

It did not make sense to me at all at that time, because I did not pick up any clue the writers left on Solas’ relationships with others (things go over my head oof). I just felt pleasantly surprised that it echoed my earlier thought and sympathetic to Solas.

It makes much more sense now I’ve played the game and the next one twice and things finally began to sink in (lol).

In one of his banters with spirit!Cole, he sounds so fucking sad when he pleads Cole to preserve his life carefully because spirits of positive intentions are so rare and prone to harm.

In “All New, Faded for Her”, I did not even notice how fucking sad he was the whole time from realising his friend was turned into a demon to grieving alone afterwards and even considering not to come back.

I also did not even realise that was the point when he soft locks commits to Lavellan or announces his respect for the Inquisitor. Because he cares deeply about friendship and spirits and people that he sees “humanity” in, and he does not want to be alone despite believing he must.

He even tells Tal-Vashoth!Bull that he still has the Inquisitor, he still has him! The Solas who so many people believe is racist against all races, especially the Qunari and Dwarfs? And people say his approval for helping people or stance against slavery is out of pity or only theoretical.

He followed Mythal and got a body even though he really didn’t want to, because he wanted to be with Mythal wherever she went. When the found the broken orb he looked so fucking sad, because he knew he’d have to kill Mythal now in order to continue their duty.

The other time he looked extremely sad was of course when he hard locks breaks up with Lavellan. If you ask are you kidding me he looks so defeated. I always jokingly think romanced Lavellan is so pathetic, now I think Solas is so pathetic too. It’s not wise to love someone undeserving, it degrades someone who has otherwise remarkable qualities to someone unworthy, and it twists these qualities into negative traits. Such is the hell that is humanity.

[weaveandwood]

The First Time

Pairing: Alistair x Female Mahariel (Ellaria, a dual wielding rogue) Words: 4.2K NSFW

Summary:

Alistair Theirin did not expect many things that had happened to him since he became a Grey Warden. He didn't expect to be betrayed at Ostagar. He didn't expect to lose his mentor. He didn't expect to be one of the only two Wardens left in Ferelden that he knew of. He didn't expect to be traveling with such an...eclectic group.

Above all of this, he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with his fellow Grey Warden, a Dalish elf named Ellaria. Could she feel the same?

AN: In my playthrough, the scene for Alistair asking to spend the night with my warden triggered after the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, which requires everyone to take off their clothes. I thought the timing was hilarious, and this one shot was born.

Read on AO3! comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Alistair didn’t know what made him start feeling this way about Ellaria. He paced around his tent - and really, pacing was being generous. It was more like turning in circles. Slowly. He was a tall man and it was a small tent, after all. 

Was it her bravery? She had been tireless, fierce, stunningly brutal every day since he met her. Whether it was leaping onto an ogre to deal the killing strike or telling off his half-sister in Denerim, she was unwavering. 

Could it have been her beauty? When she was cleansed by fire to retrieve a pinch from the urn of sacred ashes to help Arl Eamon, just hours before, he had never seen her so…exposed. He would have to be a blind and incredibly stupid man to not admit that seeing her in that state of undress sent a hot flush through him he was surprised Morrigan did not comment upon. 

Maybe it was that she listened to him. He had mentioned his mother’s broken amulet as a regret he had, in passing, never expecting her to place it into his palm with an excited smile. Of course I remembered, you are special to me.

Or was it before that? At the Circle Tower, when they passed the tortured templar she remarked to him that she was glad he was not a templar anymore. Or even the first time they spoke at Ostagar, when she called him a strange human. 

How it started didn’t matter, he supposed, just that it did. Perhaps he fell for her over time, a trickle of interest slowly turning into a waterfall of feelings that landed on him all at once. He fell in love. With a fellow Grey Warden. During a blight. And they were the only two left to end it. Perfect timing, really. 

Which is why he couldn’t wait any longer.

He left his tent knowing she was on her shift for watch duty, and found her staring into the nearby campfire while absentmindedly petting Barkspawn. The fire cast a warm glow on her, turning her white hair and fair skin almost golden. Her brow was furrowed, a sure sign she was deep in thought. Tomorrow they would journey into Orzammar and with the way their luck was headed, into the Deep Roads. He closed his eyes, pushing the thought out of his mind. Still, the Deep Roads was where Grey Wardens went to die, and he would never forgive himself if something happened with words left unspoken or actions left undone. 

He felt his heart start to race as he drew nearer to her before settling down on the ground beside her. A pit threatened to form in his stomach before she glanced over at him and gave him a soft smile that instantly reassured him. She took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like it was something easy, something instinctual she just did when they were near each other. He sighed.

“Is everything okay? Why are you not resting like all of the others? Tomorrow will be a long day of travel,” she said, her attention focused on him now instead of the images she must have been seeing play out in the flames. He thought he saw a glare from Barkspawn. 

Now or never. 

“I…I really don’t know how to ask you this,” he stammered as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, her face turned to him. Those deep green eyes he adored were highlighted by the orange light of the fire. This was not helping. He dragged his hand down his face. “You’d think it would be easier by now, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head is about to explode - in a good way! I just can’t think straight!” He felt his cheeks starting to burn hot and his resolve starting to waver. 

She laughed, the sound high and clear in the crisp night air. Oh, he loved all of her laughs, but this one in particular was his favorite - the one laugh she had when she was caught off guard by something he said or did. He loved it so much that he did everything he could to coax it out of her while they were at camp after long days of fighting darkspawn, bandits, and demons, no matter how silly it made him look. 

“You know, I feel the same way when I’m around you,” she said. Barkspawn had flopped over on his side and she was scratching his belly now. Lucky dog. He would give anything to feel her fingers on his skin, to only feel each other instead of fumbling around clothes or armor when they kissed in his tent in the evenings, away from the prying eyes of their companions. Well, friends at this point, he supposed. You couldn’t walk away from the things they had seen without being friends at least. He scolded himself internally, not wanting his mind to wander to Sten or Wynne or, Maker forbid, Zevran while he was trying to drum up the confidence to ask what he was attempting to. He turned his body to face her, keeping her hand in his. His heart now felt like a war drum, one beat away from pounding through his chest. She did the same and earned a whine from Barkspawn once her hand stopped scratching. 

“Here’s the thing, Ellaria: You are impulsive, you run headfirst into danger, you’re always putting yourself right in the middle of all the darkspawn or bandits or whoever else…being near you makes me crazy.” He saw her eyes drop and felt her starting to pull her hand away, quickly realizing he had only named negative things. He held on to her hand tighter, placing his other one on top. “You’re brave, you’re fierce, you’re protective, you’re beautiful…I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever.”

“Oh,” she said. He could see a faint flush on her cheek and the softest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth at his confession.  

“I don’t know how to say this any better so here goes. I want to spend the night with you. Here. Tonight. In camp. Is this too fast? It might be too fast, I don’t know. I know what I feel, and what I feel is that I want to be with you. We stumbled into each other, and despite this not being the perfect time, the perfect place, I found myself falling for you in between the fighting and everything else. Honestly, even during the fighting - you’re quite breathtaking.” Visions of her sweaty and panting and covered in blood flashed through his mind. He wanted to recreate it -  minus the blood. 

“I guess you really liked what you saw in the temple today?” She laughed as he stammered and flushed a bright red, rubbing his neck with his hand. “Alistair, Alistair! I am teasing you. But…are you sure? Even though I am not…I am not human? I know what people say about elves. I have heard a lot of it on our travels,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous around him. Every time someone called her knife-ear or rabbit, he saw red. He had never and would never consider her any different from any other person they had come across just because of the shape of her ears, her shorter stature, or the elegant swirling tattoo on her face. 

“Honestly, at this point I think elves are better than humans,” he smiled softly at her, stroking her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I really don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve never done this before and I want it to be with you, while we have the chance. In case…” he trailed off, fear of the Deep Roads seeping into his veins. 

“I want it to be with you, too,” she smiled up at him. “My first time. I was hoping you would ask.” 

This time, he was the one who laughed as pure relief flooded his system. He kissed her softly. “Come to my tent after your watch ends.” 

The next few hours felt like an eternity. Alistair had tidied up his meager belongings, everything folded and placed into a neat stack in the farthest corner of his tent, which was actually not that far away at all. He lay on his bedroll, willing at least a little sleep to come but it was as elusive as it had been most nights since their journey began. So he lay there, staring up at the fabric of his tent and attempted unsuccessfully to calm his nerves while he waited for her. 

“Alistair?” he heard her whisper quietly, checking to see if he was still awake. Finally. He bolted upright, glad for the darkness to camouflage his awkward movements.

“Over here, Ellaria,” he said softly, reaching out for her hand as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He should have had a candle lit. Should he light one now? Or would fumbling in the dark be better than fumbling in the light? His nerves caught up to him again as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. Her smaller hand clasped in his, he felt her kneel beside him. This wouldn’t do - he wanted to see her and decided right then and there that lighting a candle was the course of action to take. He placed the candleholder down on a book he used more often than not as a table rather than reading material, the small flame throwing just enough flickering light in the tent to send the darkness fleeing to the edges and corners. 

“You are so beautiful,” he said, smoothing her hair behind her delicately pointed ear. He brushed the tip of it with his finger, eliciting a small gasp from her lips. His eyes, instantly drawn to the source of the sound, took in their gentle curve, the full pout of her bottom lip, the slightly downturned corners that made her always look like she was deep in thought. He could no longer resist, closing the distance between them and pressing his own lips gently against hers as they had done for so many nights now since the night he gave her the rose outside Honnleath. This time, however, there was an undercurrent of something different, an anticipation of what was to come as their kisses grew more intense and their tongues danced, finding a rhythm that built and built. His hands fell to her waist, grateful more than ever for the Dalish dress style - the bare expanse of her stomach was one of the first things that drew his attention to her when she walked up to him at Ostagar, before he really knew her. Now it seemed like a bonus. In addition to the privilege of knowing her, he was also able to see those muscles flex and relax as she fought, or walked, or even laughed. 

He felt her fingers, fine and light, reach for the bottom of his shirt, crumpled from tossing and turning with unsuccessful sleep. She lifted it up, smiling against his kiss as she struggled. Impatient, he broke the kiss, pulling the shirt quickly over his head, leaving him bare chested in front of her. Obviously, she had seen him without a shirt on as he washed in rivers and streams, but this was different. Everything would be different after this. She reached out, running her hands through the fine hair that dusted his chest and left goosebumps in her path before turning around and allowing him to loosen the laces on the top she wore for sleeping. She pulled it off over her head, and he traced the faint red marks on her skin from where it had slightly dug in. She let out the softest sigh as he kissed the joining of her neck and shoulder, tilting her head to allow him more access which he gladly accepted.

She laughed softly. “I do not know why I am so nervous to turn around.” 

“I promise you will get nothing but rave reviews here,” he said, placing a kiss on her shoulder, her skin smooth and cool beneath his lips. 

She turned around and his heart skipped a beat. She was gorgeous when fully clothed, but she was without a doubt earth-shatteringly beautiful half undressed. He felt himself stir as he took her in, his eyes sweeping down to her breasts, small but perfect, nipples perked once exposed to the cool night air in his tent, before meeting her eyes again. 

“Beautiful,” was all he could whisper. 

She reached one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him to her to kiss her again while the other threaded through his hair, her nails sending delightful tingles through him. He would have to remember this, he wanted her to scratch his head for hours. Now he understood why Barkspawn was so upset when he interrupted earlier. Stop thinking about the dog, Alistair. Half naked Ellaria, right in front of you . His hand moved from her waist to her breast, fully covering it and squeezing lightly. It was softer than he thought it would be, given how lean and muscular she was. His thumb traced lightly over her nipple, feeling it grow even harder under his touch. The way her body reacted to him sent a crackling warmth through him. He crashed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply and pulling her onto his lap though he knew she could feel him growing harder for her with each second that passed. She pressed her hips against his, the pressure causing him to groan softly into her mouth. The sound made her press against him again and again, her hips slowly rocking against him. He rocked his own hips back into hers, a preview of how the night would end, if all went well. He needed her. He had never been with anyone before and yet he knew he needed her more than he had ever needed anything in his life. His fingers went to the drawstring of her loose sleeping pants, untying it, ready to cross the line from innocent flirting and kissing to something else.  

She smiled and climbed off his lap to stand before him. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants, pushing them off her hips slowly, exposing more of her fair skin than he had ever seen. He discovered lines of scars, both old and new. He discovered the patch of soft white curls between her legs. He discovered just how muscular her thighs were as he smoothed his hands over them, her pants and undergarments in a puddle at her feet. He thought he had a good idea of what she would look like from the temple, but seeing her up close, fully undressed? His imaginings didn’t come close to doing her justice. He stood up, his fingertips slowly tracing the outlines of her body - her hips, the underside of her breasts, her nipples, her collarbone, the sides of her neck. He wanted to commit every curve of hers to memory. He wanted to remember this for the rest of his life, no matter how long that life would be - days or weeks or months or, if they were lucky, years. 

“Ellaria, you…I don’t have words,” he said softly, reverently. He quickly undid the laces of his own pants, pushing them and his smallclothes down without the finesse he used on hers. He watched as her eyes moved over his body, taking him in.  He could feel himself flushing under the weight of her stare and felt the slightest tinge of shyness as he was fully bared in front of her for the first time. He had no worries about his size, having been told during his short time with the other Wardens that he should be proud of the sword he wielded - typical brotherly ribbing, but it did wonders for his confidence in this matter at least. She said earlier this would be her first time too, but he knew she was betrothed before all of…this, and he didn’t know what she had to compare against. He supposed it didn’t matter, at the end of things. He just hoped the rest of him was enough. That he was enough. That he deserved her. 

“Creators,” she whispered. “I am lucky,” she teased. 

She stood on her toes to kiss him, and he bent down as they did night after night to negate the vast differences in their heights. He stood a good foot taller than her, and he would be the first to admit it was easier to kiss her sitting down. He imagined it would be even easier to kiss her laying down. The thought sent a hum through him, settling into his abdomen. He felt himself pressed against her hip, impossibly hard for her. She reached between them, her fingers brushing against him with featherlight touches that caused him to gasp and press his hips harder into her. She wrapped her fingers around him and began to stroke him slowly, her hand moving from the base to the sensitive tip. He tipped his head back and saw stars. Never would he have imagined that someone else touching him would feel so…different. In a good way. In the best way. Better than his own hand felt when he pictured a night like tonight, with her. 

He wanted to make her feel this good. 

“Alistair, maybe we should…lay down?”

“Good -” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat while she giggled. “Good idea.”

They lay on the bedroll, facing each other, kissing each other. Her mouth moved from his lips to the corner of his jaw, then to his earlobe, lightly nipping at it because she knew it drove him crazy. The soft moan that escaped his lips was proof enough. His hand moved down her body - ribs, waist, hip, thigh, inner thigh.

“Can I touch you?” He whispered. 

“If you did not I would be very upset,” she replied softly before going back to work on his earlobe, then down his neck. She kissed him again as his fingers parted her, feeling this part of her, of any woman, for the first time. It was soft, warm, wet. And utterly foreign. 

“Show me where,” he said. He felt her hand on his, guiding him to where he assumed she touched herself at night. That was a thought to come back to later on a night spent alone, he mentally noted. He rubbed her in gentle circles, her hand guiding him before she pulled it away. Left to his own devices, he kept the same rhythm, her soft breaths acting as her approval of his technique. He sped up slightly, her hips starting to move against his hand. 

Her fingers wrapped around him again in a tighter grip than before, a groan escaping his lips when her thumb used the bead of moisture that had collected at the tip to help her stroke him. He couldn’t help but thrust slightly into her hand while moving his hand down to her entrance, a finger slowly slipping in and instantly wrapped in tight warmth. He moved in the same rhythm she did, easily able to glide his finger in and out, in and out, in and - 

Maker , the sounds she was making. If she felt this good around his finger, how would he be able to survive entering her? He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Ellaria, I want to be inside you,” he whispered into her ear. 

“Please,” she moaned softly. “I am ready. I want you.” 

She rolled to her back, looking up at him as he moved between her now spread legs, using his thighs to spread them farther. His breathing picked up, his heart racing once more. No turning back now, not that he would have wanted to. This, with her, was everything he dreamed about these last few weeks. He wrapped a hand around himself and lined himself up at her entrance. It was at this moment he had a dreadful thought that he might be uncomfortable for her. He looked into her eyes, and she nodded. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

“You’ll let me know if I need to slow down, or anything?” he asked, getting another nod in return. He pressed forward slowly, so slowly , the tip entering her at last. He breathed deeply. Keeping eye contact, he looked for any sign of her discomfort as he kept pressing little by little. Finding none, he sank into her inch by inch, feeling her give and stretch around him as he entered her. Her moans filled the tent, and he was positive whoever had the next watch could hear them. A thrill went through him as he found himself almost fully sheathed inside her, the sheer realization that he was inside her sending a jolt of lightning through his veins. He stayed there for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling. And if he was being honest, letting himself get used to the feeling as well. He was not prepared for how warm she would be, how tight she would be, how wet she would be as he found himself enveloped by her. For him, all for him, because of him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless. 

“Better than okay,” she smiled. He took her in. She was…everything. Her white hair was splayed out on his thin pillow, the flickering candlelight throwing dancing waves of light over her body. She was divine, she was his religion, she was his life now. He would swear any oath to her that she wished for, any desire she had was his to fulfill. And he would, gladly. 

He leaned over her, his arms on either side of her head, and pulled back his hips, then pressed them forward. Pulled back and pressed forward again. And again. And again. He kissed her neck, the soft skin muffling the sound of his own moans, her soft gasps landing on his ears like the gentlest of butterflies. He lowered himself on top of her, needing to feel her body pressed against his, wanting her skin against his. He wrapped an arm around her back, holding her tightly as he thrust slowly, deeply inside her, each slow roll of his hips feeling better than the last, somehow. 

“Alistair…” she whispered, “more, I want more.” 

A fire pooled in his abdomen, desire taking the lead. He moved back to his knees, his hands grasping her hips. He picked up his pace, moving faster, thrusting a little harder. Together, they lost themselves to the moment. There was no Blight, no darkspawn, no archdemon. There was only this tent, this candle, this feeling. She held onto his arms, arching her back against the bedroll. He watched her breasts move each time their hips met. He watched the muscles of her stomach flex when she rocked her hips to meet him each time he thrust into her. He watched where their bodies met, her slick arousal coating him - the image alone making him veer dangerously close to the edge. He could feel it, just on the margins of his awareness. 

“Ellaria…I…” he panted. “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”

“Just a little longer, please, I am almost...there,” she moaned. 

“As you wish,” he joked, hoping that just a little longer was not that long at all. He focused on keeping the same rhythm, keeping the same pace, and listening to the sounds she was making. He felt her start to tighten around him - a little at first, then tighter and tighter. Her body tensed up and she grew quiet. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing, and she threw her head back and cried out, his name on her lips as she found her release, her orgasm rocking through her, making her tremble and shake beneath him. The feeling of her pulsing and fluttering around him made him lose what little control he had remaining. He dug his fingertips into the one hip he was still holding and thrust into her with reckless abandon. The fire in his abdomen turned into tension, building and building, moving lower and lower. He kept eye contact with her as he drove into her one last time, calling her name as he felt his release fill her. He could have sworn for that moment that the world stopped turning.

He looked at her - she was sweaty and panting, his mental images from earlier come to life. He fell down onto the bedroll beside her, laughing as their shoulders touched.

“Why are you laughing?” 

“According to the Chantry sisters, I should have been struck by lightning by now, and here I am...suspiciously lightning free.” 

“Maybe I should be thankful for their error - I do not want to be struck by lightning. You should have mentioned that was a possibility before we spent the night together, I may have changed my mind,” she teased before rolling onto her side to face him. Maker, she was so beautiful - even more beautiful now than she was when the night began. Something swelled within him he had no hope of ever containing. Not now. Especially not now. He didn’t want to contain it. It was bad timing, a bad situation, and probably doomed, but he had to get it out.

“I love you,” he said. 

Her eyes widened slightly before she broke out into a smile. 

“ Ar lath ma, vhenan. I love you, too.”

[kestrelsansjesses]

Absolution

[[A03 link here Just a lil rewrite of Solas' final scene with Lavellan.]]

At long last, Solas was found, but by the time the Inquisitor heard, all that transpired had already fallen into place.

What came first- the letter in Lavellan’s hand or the news that Solas had killed Varric? Her chest felt cold; the fundamental question of what it meant to save Solas for himself had changed now, and not for the better.

Varric had mentored the Inquisitor, and pushed her when it seemed as if she might fall. His voice had been guidance and humor both, and though the dwarf had aged over the past ten years, it was impossible to picture life without him. There was not even time for a funeral. That was the worst indignity. All of Thedas should halt to mourn him, but there was Blight and there was famine and there were Gods that had broken loose, determined to strike down everything to rebuild a past almost forgotten.

What was the weight of one woman’s love against all of that? Lavellan, who had sacrificed a hand, who had received news of too many deaths just from a letter, was not enough to save Solas.

Yet she would continue to try.

Was he alone in his mission? For weeks and weeks, Lavellan was stuck in Skyhold. Life became even more of a fragile balancing act than it had been when she was still Inquisitor. As much as she felt that losing her hand did not mean she lost her ability to adventure, to still be out in the world, she had not counted on the continued dependence on her existence. It didn’t matter that there was no longer an Inquisition, that Skyhold had been abandoned for several years until she returned to its familiar rooms. There was blight and there was starvation, and somehow it fell onto her shoulders to help solve it. She was the only voice of neutrality, and to her so many eyes turned and so many lives depended on, but there were no answers to be found in bow and arrow, no magic left in her body to help. She no longer even had a left hand to hold her burden equally.

At least there were the eluvians. It was beyond Lavellan’s understanding how Solas had changed them so a person could travel anywhere, but they gave her some freedom. Morrigan accompanied her when she needed to go to that place between. The Fade, but not as she knew or remembered it. There were others there too- people of flesh and blood, and not just Spirits. Even as Solas threatened to tear the whole thing down, she found wonder in it all. If only she had the time to really study it!

“It should be me,” she complained to Dorian, during one of the few times she got to see him in the flesh. He was busy too, his life in Tevinter both socially and politically full. Lavellan had finally met Rook, had the chance to talk with the other young woman who got to see Solas in her dreams. Not only see but to speak with him, while Lavellan could only chase him in dreams, good hand always outstretched. It was difficult not to feel as though she had been replaced. There was a new hero now. Her time had passed. All that remained was cleaning up the mess in southern Thedas, not that she wasn’t grateful for those scraps. If she hadn’t cared, Lavellan wouldn’t have tried. Some part of her wanted it, wanted the heroism and the bravery even as she wanted the conclusion to her own story. There was nothing with Rook, and that was the worst part. The Inquisitor even liked her, another Dalish elf tossed into a situation that went beyond what she ever expected for her life. Rook was funny, charismatic, and did not seem to care for Solas overly much. Yet she asked about what their relationship had been like, even seemed to respect that Lavellan could still love a man who had done so much wrong. “It doesn’t make sense to me either,” she had told Rook with a self-effacing laugh.

Weeks and weeks of waiting followed. There was plenty for Lavellan to do, but she waited for word from Rook every day. They made good progress, from what she heard, but it was difficult to follow from where she was, so far away. She couldn’t drop everything she did to go help, much as she might want to. People depended on her, and while things may not have been as grim in the southern half of Thedas, they were still dark enough. The waiting struck her most at night, when she woke with a start from her searching dreams of Solas. He was closer than ever before, just beyond her fingertips. “Solas,” she called out to him in her dreams. Sometimes he was the Dread Wolf, many-eyed and prowling, but sometimes he was as she knew him best. At those times, he looked at her sadly, and she could see him as he was when she knew him, the man she loved. That Solas still existed somewhere, and she clung to that. She could save him, just as she saved the world. How complicated could an elven God be after the magic of the Rift?

And then the day finally dawned. Solas would move to tear down the Veil and try to undo what he had done, and Rook would try to stop him. Lavellan came along, kept behind and safe as one could be, considering all that transpired. It galled her again, to not be directly involved in the action, but what could she do? A few arrows from her bow would not help much, and she could not shoot fast enough to be an asset more than she would be a hindrance. The truth stung.

All that built-up anger and resentment in her heart that almost faded when she saw him again, not as a wolf in her dreams, nor as the lupine monster that fought the Archdemon, acidic blood spraying from his jaws.

Some part of her was too soft towards him. After all this time, after betrayals and death and learning all the elements that made Solas who he was, and Lavellan could still feel sympathy for the bruises and cuts that marred his face. She wanted to wipe the blood from him, to soothe all the injuries and watch them heal from salves applied with her own hands. But some part of her also wanted him to feel the sting; she knew they could never hurt as badly as he had hurt others. As he had hurt her.

Maybe if Solas had agreed to restore the veil to its completion without arguing. Maybe if he had not said he had to see his work through, for all those he had wronged. There was no doubt of his harm, but why did they outweigh her? Had she meant nothing to him?

“Even if those you’ve wronged ask you to stop?” The first words Lavellan had said to Solas in years, and not the ones she ever expected. She loved him in a way that was physically painful; it was not just her heart that ached, but her missing arm too, the space underneath her prosthetic that was forever a reminder of all they shared, but also all they lost between them. Forgiveness was not an easy thing.

“Vhenan…” What right had he to that word? Her right hand, the one that still could, clenched and then unclenched. He would destroy everyone she loved.

And she still loved him. She had to pull him back from the edge he stood on, because she still believed there was something there. The Solas she loved was just as real as the one now. A man could be many things, some of them contradictory, some of them evil, some of them good. A man like Solas could not be painted in black and white.

“You think you’ve gone too far to come back, but you’re wrong.” Varric. Felassan, who she only heard stories of. Others she never met and never knew the names of. Herself.

“There is always hope. You said once that I had indomitable focus. I have used that to find you. To save you. I am here, walking the dinan’shiral with you!” All that pent-up emotion. It was not directed at him, exactly, but Lavellan was not proud of how it leaked out regardless.

Something softened in Solas’ expression, though it was brief. Finally, she saw him as he was, as he first appeared to her. The strange mage in Haven, and the one who had kissed her on her balcony in Skyhold. The one who hid so much from her, yet laid so much of himself bare. “I lied. I betrayed you.” Regret, hurt.

A better woman would have reminded Solas of all he had done. A stronger one would have looked at his face and said what needed to be said. It was not just hurt he hurt. It was all of her people. The Dalish, the city elves… They all suffered. Some of them died in his name. But he stood so alone now. Wherever those elves were, it was not by his side any longer. At some point in his journey, he had done something that made them all leave and now he stood truly alone, not fully trusted by anyone, a hero to some people and a villain to so many more. There was no one left to offer him the complete absolution he needed. No one but her.

“I forgive you.” It surprised Lavellan that the words came from her mouth so true. “All you have to do is stop.” All. She knew even then that no matter how their spirits intertwined, her words would not be enough.

“Ir abelas vhenan, but I cannot.”

It was not enough. She was not enough. But Lavellan did not know about Mythal, the fragments of her that remained.

She could only watch as Rook, as the witch she knew as Morrigan, stepped forward to offer the final pardon he so desperately needed. Where she had not be enough, in combination with Mythal… Maybe. She saw the walls in him break down completely and she could not be jealous that it was Mythal’s doing. What their relationship had been, the Inquisitor did not know. Not in its fullness and its complexity. It went beyond flesh, back to when they were just spirits. It was love, but the kind of love that came from a relationship that cooled to a friendship, that turned into a devotion that became toxic. A rot and a poison, something that somehow had not seeped into what she and Solas held for each other. Even now she could feel it. He wanted her love, just as she wanted his, but he needed to feel as though he was worth it.

And Solas broke.

It was discomforting to see him kneel, to see the tears that streamed from his eyes. Discomforting, but somehow right. In their shared tongue, Lavellan offered his final grace.

“Nothing is certain. I love you. You are my heart. We are our fate.” The world could change and grow around them. Gods would rise and fall. The one thing they had was the knowledge that their hearts were true. She kneeled to his level and placed a hand on his own, gently. He did not move away, and when he was able to stand again, Lavellan stood back and waited.

A swift stroke of his dagger, and Solas’ blood came out, dripped to the ground slowly. He bound himself to the veil once again, to a life that he had not wanted. What would it mean for her own people? The Inquisitor had pushed him to this choice, but she knew too that it might mean the diminishing of her own kin; were there no easy choices? The elves would have to find a way to survive while still being cut off fully from their magic. The guilt of that would never leave her heart, but the other choice had been the death of every other person in Thedas. There was a balance that had to be found, but her part in finding it was over. She knew then with certainty that she could not leave him again, or allow him to leave her.

He was not the only one that needed atonement. For her part in this, Lavellan had her price to pay.

“But you do not have to go alone. You are not the only one who trespassed against too many.” Deaths. Failures. Lavellan had been the cause of too many, even if she saved some.

The elvhen from his lips was a song and a prayer, even as Solas sought to push her away one last time. “The path I’m following goes to darkness.”

The Inquisitor thought of nothingness. She thought of loneliness, of Solas in her dreams, forever out of reach. She thought of what awaited her, of guilt and death and sacrifice. Of the price a person must eventually pay for even the most well-intentioned deeds.

“There is no darkness if we are together as one. Allow me to journey along this path with you, forever. You are my light, just as I will be yours.” There was no illusion that this would be easy. Nothing in life had been that way.

Solas took her hands in his own, or perhaps Lavellan took his first. Maybe it was a mutual moving together of two people who had not touched in too long, who needed that touch to feel grounded again. It would not be easy to forgive all he had done. She would not forget either. But.

Lavellan pulled Solas to her, no longer able to stand the gap between them, the distance. She tasted his blood on her own lips, felt him tense and then… release Solas leaned into her and she was the rocks he clung to during the storm, the lantern that showed through all the mists to show safety. To show home. He was a wolf, but she was no halla. The lone wolf died. Only the pack survived.

They broke apart, but it was not with the finality they shared all those years before. It was a pause for air, an acknowledgement that needed no words.

There were no goodbyes Lavellan could say. There were too many. Her friends, those she loved… They would understand why she made the choice she needed to make.

“Thank you, Rook,” Solas said, and the Inquisitor offered the woman a smile. It had taken out outsider to reunite her with her love properly; without this other Dalish elf, she would have been lost.

As Solas turned to leave, Lavellan whispered in his ear, one hand cusped carefully to his bleeding cheek. “You told me once that a healer’s hands are the bloodiest. Together, we will wash away the blood.”

“From your lips I draw my absolution,” he returned to her in words only she could hear, in a language that some of those that still stood there would not understand.

Lavellan’s fingers found Solas’; with their hands intertwined, they stepped forward into the green light, down a path only they would know.

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Pt. 21

The Dread Wolf

Trespasser Masterpost Previous: Elven Ruins

The PC emerges through the eluvian alone.

PC: (Gasps.)

They make their way through a dozen Qunari mid-attack that have been turned to stone. They hear voices up ahead.

Solas: Ebasit kata. Itwa-ost.

Solas and the Viddasala stand on a hill.

Viddasala: Maraas kata!

He turns towards an eluvian.

Solas: Your forces have failed. Leave now, and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further.

Viddasala: (Disgusted noise.)

She rushes him from behind, and he turns her to stone without looking back. The PC approaches slowly.

PC: Solas.

The Anchor flares, driving them to the ground as Solas turns back.

PC: (Cries out in pain.)

Solas’s eyes flash with magic, and the mark calms down.

Solas: That should give us more time. I suspect you have questions.

Special (found all Qunari notes): You’re the Dread Wolf. [1]

General: You work for Fen’Harel? [2]

General: I came to find you. [3]

General: How did you do that? [4]

General (did not ask Solas about elves, himself, or the Fade): Not really, no. [5]

1 - Special: You’re the Dread Wolf. PC: The Qunari answered some of those questions. The information I found while traveling through the eluvians answered more. You’re Fen’Harel. You’re the Dread Wolf.

Solas (high approval): Well done. [6] Solas (low approval): You have grown clever since I left. [6]

2 - General: You work for Fen’Harel? PC: The Qunari believe you’re an agent for someone who has taken the name Fen’Harel. Solas: The Qunari reject myth and legend. If you told them of your meeting with Mythal, they would attribute it to a demon. I am no one’s agent but my own. I fear that the truth is much simpler, and much worse, than the Qunari believe. PC: You’re Fen’Harel. [6]

3 - General: I came to find you. PC: The Qunari were trying to kill you. I wanted to get here first. Solas: I know. They sought an agent of Fen’Harel. I am no one’s agent but my own. I fear that the truth is much simpler, and much worse, than the Qunari believe. PC: You’re Fen’Harel. [6]

4 - General: How did you do that? PC: How were you able to control the Anchor? Solas: In the same way as when I stopped it from killing you at Haven… although I am stronger now. The mark you bear was bestowed upon you by the Orb of Fen’Harel. My orb. PC: You’re Fen’Harel. [6]

6 - Scene continues.

Solas: I was Solas first. “Fen’Harel” came later… an insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies… not unlike “Inquisitor,” I suppose.

Choice dependent dialogue:

Not romanced [7]

Romanced [8]

7 - Not romanced Solas: You also know the burden of a title that all but replaces your name.

Dialogue options:

Pleased (Dalish PC): I know you’re not evil. [9]

Pleased (non-Dalish PC): You fought for freedom. [10]

Angry: [Attack him.] [11]

Sad: Your life sounded hard. [12]

Stoic: You’re like Mythal, then? [13]

9 - Pleased: I know you’re not evil. PC: Our legends about you are wrong. I saw the truth as we traveled the Crossroads. Solas: You saw another story, written in desperation to give me more credit than I ever deserved. PC: You were a hero, Solas. [19]

10 - Pleased: You fought for freedom. PC: The Dalish legends about the “evil trickster god” are all wrong. I saw the truth in the Crossroads. Solas: You saw another story, written in desperation to give me more credit than I ever deserved. PC: You were a hero, Solas. [19]

11- Angry: [Attack him.] PC: You lied about everything. The PC moves, and Solas’s eyes glow. PC: (Cries out in pain.) Solas: I understand your anger. In your position, I would share it. PC: You’re really him? [19]

12 - Sad: Your life sounded hard. PC: I saw the stories as we traveled through the eluvians. Are they true? Solas: They are closer than the Dalish legends, though still prone to making me into something more than I am. PC: I’m so sorry, Solas. What you’ve seen… I can’t imagine. [19]

13 - Stoic: You’re like Mythal, then? PC: Are you a fragment of what Fen’Harel once was, like Mythal? Solas: No. This is all I have ever been. PC: And the legends? [19]

8 - Romanced Solas: And now you know. What is the old Dalish curse? “May the Dread Wolf take you”?

Dialogue options:

Pleased: My people were wrong. [14]

Angry: You lied to me! [15]

Sad: Yes, ironically. [16]

End romance: What we had is over. [17]

Stoic: You’re like Mythal, then? [18]

14 - Pleased: My people were wrong. PC: Our legends about you are wrong. I saw the truth as we traveled the Crossroads. Solas: You saw another story, written in desperation to give me more credit than I ever deserved. PC: If you had just told me… Solas: Then you would carry the same burden I do. PC: I want to. Ma ghilana, vhenan. [19]

15 - Angry: You lied to me! PC: Ma harel lasa! Solas: Only by omission. PC: Ma lasa banal’ghilana! Solas: What would you have had me say? That I was the great adversary in your people’s mythology? PC: I would have had you trust me! [19]

16 - Sad: Yes, ironically. PC: And so he did. Solas: I did not. I would not lay with you under false pretenses. PC: But you lied to me. I loved you. Did you really think I wouldn’t have understood? Solas: Ir abelas, vhenan. PC: Tel’abelas. If you care, give me the truth. [19]

17 - End romance: What we had is over. PC: Whatever happened between us has ended, Solas. Speak no more of it. Solas: As you wish. You’ve earned your anger. But I am not the monster the Dalish painted. [19]

18 - Stoic: You’re like Mythal, then? PC: Are you a fragment of what Fen’Harel once was, like Mythal? Solas: No. This is all I have ever been. PC: And the legends? [19]

19 - Scene continues.

He starts to walk, and the PC follows.

Solas: I sought to set my people free from slavery to would-be gods. I broke the chains of all who wished to join me. The false gods called me Fen’Harel, and when they finally went too far, I formed the Veil and banished them forever. Thus I freed the elven people and, in so doing, destroyed their world.

20 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: The Veil destroyed the world? [21]

Investigate: Why did you form the Veil? [22]

Investigate: The elven gods aren’t dead? [23]

Investigate: How did the gods go too far? [24]

Investigate: How did they become “gods”? [25]

General: What happens next? [26]

21 - Investigate: The Veil destroyed the world? PC: How did creating the Veil destroy the world? Solas: You saw the remains of Vir Dirthara. The library was intrinsically tied to the Fade, and the Veil destroyed it. There were countless other marvels, all dependent on the presence of the Fade, all destroyed.

Solas (Dalish PC): Your legends are half-right. We were immortal. It was not the arrival of humans that caused us to begin aging. Solas (non-Dalish PC): The elven legends of immortality? All true. It was not the arrival of humans that caused them to begin aging.

Solas: It was me. The Veil took everything from the elves, even themselves. [back to 20]

22 - Investigate: Why did you form the Veil? PC: You love the Fade. Why would you create the Veil to hide it all away? Solas: Because every alternative was worse. PC: Meaning? Solas: Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world. [back to 20]

23 - Investigate: The elven gods aren’t dead? PC: You banished the false gods—you didn’t kill them? Solas: You met Mythal, did you not? The first of my people do not die so easily. The Evanuris are banished forever, paying the ultimate price for their misdeeds. [back to 20]

24 - Investigate: How did the gods go too far? PC: You said that the elven gods went too far. What did they do that made you move against them? Solas: They killed Mythal. (Chuckles.) A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment. PC: I thought Mythal was one of the Evanuris. Solas: She was the best of them. She cared for her people. She protected them. She was a voice of reason. And in their lust for power, they killed her. [back to 20]

25 - Investigate: How did they become “gods”? PC: The Evanuris were elven mages? How did they come to be remembered as gods? Solas: Slowly. It started with a war. War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Good and evil. Right and wrong. Chains of command. After the war ended, generals became respected elders, then kings, and finally gods. The Evanuris. [back to 20]

26 - General: What happens next? PC: That’s the past. What about the future?

Solas: I lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed. I woke still weak a year before I joined you.

Solas: My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration.

They walk further, and Solas stops in front of the eluvian.

Solas: I will save the elven people, even if it means this world must die.

Dialogue options:

Special (romanced): I agree with your goal. [27]

General: Why is that necessary? [28]

General: I’ll stop you. [29]

General: Don’t make me fight you. [30]

27 - Special (romanced): I agree with your goal. PC: Let me help you, Solas. Solas: I cannot do that to you, vhenan. PC: But you would do it to yourself? I cannot bear to think of you alone. Solas: I walk the din’anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become. [31]

28 - General: Why is that necessary? PC: Why does this world have to die for the elves to return? Solas: A good question, but not one I will answer.

Solas (high approval): You have always shown a thoughtfulness I respected. It would be too easy to tell you too much. Solas (low approval): You will survive this day, Inquisitor, and though I owed you an explanation, I will not give you tools to use against me.

Solas: I am not Corypheus. I take no joy in this. But the return of my people means the end of yours. [31]

29 - General: I’ll stop you. PC: You’re going to destroy this world? Solas: Not happily. PC: I’ll have to stop you. Solas: I know you will try. [31]

30 - General: Don’t make me fight you. PC: Solas, whatever you want, this world dying is not the answer. Solas: Not a good answer, no. Sometimes terrible choices are all that remain. [31]

31 - Scene continues.

Solas: It is my fight. You should be more concerned about the Inquisition. Your Inquisition. In stopping the Dragon’s Breath, you have prevented an invasion by Qunari forces. With luck, they will return their focus to Tevinter. That should give you a few years of relative peace.

32 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Is it really my Inquisition? [33]

Investigate: Why should I be concerned? [34]

Investigate: What about the eluvians? [35]

General: What about the mark? [36]

33 - Investigate: Is it really my Inquisition? PC: The Qunari said the Inquisition was unknowingly working for agents of Fen’Harel. Solas: I gave no orders. PC: You led us to Skyhold. Solas: Corypheus should have died unlocking my orb. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos. When you survived, I saw the Inquisition as the best hope this world had of stopping him. And you needed a home. Hence, Skyhold.

37 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: You gave him your orb? [38]

Investigate: What was meant to happen? [39]

General: I appreciate it. [40]

General: Thanks, I guess? [41]

General: So we were pawns. [42]

38 - Investigate: You gave him your orb? PC: You gave your orb to Corypheus? Solas: Not directly. My agents allowed the Venatori to locate it. The orb had built up magical energy while I lay unconscious for millennia. I was not powerful enough to open it. The plan was for Corypheus to unlock it, and for the resulting explosion to kill him. Then I would claim the orb. I did not foresee a Tevinter magister having learned the secret of effective immortality.

39 - Investigate: What was meant to happen? PC: What would have happened if Corypheus had died and you’d recovered the orb? Solas: I would have entered the Fade, using the mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time… the world of the elves.

43 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: But then the evil gods return. [44]

General: Truly? [45]

General: That sounds bad. [46]

General: That’s monstrous. [47]

44 - Investigate: But then the evil gods return. PC: If you destroyed the Veil, wouldn’t the false gods be freed? Solas: I had plans. [back to 43] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 45 - General: Truly? PC: I never thought of you as someone who would do that, Solas. He looks away. Solas: Thank you. [48] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 46 - General: That sounds bad. PC: So at least some of the stories about the Dread Wolf are true. Solas: I did not lead a rebellion against immortal mage-kings without getting my hands bloody. [48] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 47 - General: That’s monstrous. PC: You’d murder countless people? Solas: Wouldn’t you, to save your own? [48] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 48 - Scene continues. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Solas: You must understand. I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil. ㅤㅤ ㅤ PC: We aren’t even people to you? ㅤㅤ ㅤ Solas (high approval): Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong… again. That does not make what must come next any easier. [back to 37] Solas (low approval): The fault is hardly yours. The Veil was my creation, another of my countless mistakes. [back to 37]

40 - General: I appreciate it. PC: Whatever your reasons, we couldn’t have defeated Corypheus without you.

Solas (high approval): Your doubts are misplaced. Everything you accomplished, you earned. [back to 32] Solas (low approval): Do not thank me. Without my orb, Corypheus would have never been a threat. [back to 32]

41 - General: Thanks, I guess? PC: For whatever it’s worth, thanks for the castle.

Solas (high approval): For whatever it’s worth, you used it well. [back to 32] Solas (low approval): Enjoy it while you can, Inquisitor. it was mine once. [back to 32]

42 - General: So we were pawns. PC: You never cared about us. We were the means to an end.

Solas (high approval): You were people, and you deserved better… like all the rest I have used in one hopeless battle after another. [back to 32] Solas (low approval): You have a castle, an army, and a title that leaves every world leader quaking in fear. Be content. [back to 32]

34 - Investigate: Why should I be concerned? PC: What’s wrong with the Inquisition? Solas: You created a powerful organization, and now it suffers the inevitable fate of such: betrayal and corruption. PC: It’s not that simple.

If Bull betrayed the Inquisition Solas: Isn’t it? Perhaps we should ask your friend, the Iron Bull. Tell me, where is he?

Solas: Do you know how I discovered the Qunari plot? The plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep? The Qunari spies in the Inquisition tripped over my spies in the Inquisition. The elven guard who led you to the Qunari body, who intercepted the servant with the gaatlok barrel? Mine.

49 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Why did you help? [50]

General: Thanks. [51]

General: You set us both up. [52]

51 - Investigate: Why did you help? PC: Why bother disrupting the Qunari plot, if you’re going to destroy the world regardless? ㅤㅤ ㅤ High approval Solas: You have shown me that there is value in this world, Inquisitor. I take no joy in what I must do. Until that day comes, I would see those recovering from the Breach free of the Qun. PC: Why? Solas: Because I am not a monster. If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort. In any event, it is done. [back to 49] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ Low approval Solas: I will do what I must, but there is no benefit in allowing harm to come to innocents before it’s necessary. And the Qunari offended me. [back to 49] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 52 - General: Thanks. PC: I guess we owe you for that one, too. Solas: I hope it gives your people some final peace. [back to 32] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 53 - General: You set us both up. PC: So you let us do your dirty work? Solas: The mistake was yours to fix, Inquisitor. [back to 32]

35 - Investigate: What about the eluvians? PC: You control the eluvians now? Solas: Yes. You remember Briala from Halamshiral? For a time, she controlled part of the labyrinth. One of my agents was supposed to take it from her, but he did not succeed. I had to override the magic personally. The Qunari stumbled upon this section independently. With them gone, the eluvians are now mine. [back to 32]

36 - General: What about the mark? PC: There’s still the matter of the Anchor. It’s getting worse.

Choice dependent dialogue:

Romanced [54] High approval [55] Low approval [56]

54 - Romanced Solas: I know, vhenan. And we are running out of time.

The Anchor flares again, and the PC falls to their knees.

PC: (Cries out in pain.)

Solas: The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now.

Dialogue options:

I won’t give up on you. (The Inquisition will try to convince Solas to change his plan.) [57]

I can’t let you do this. (The Inquisition will stop Solas, even if it means killing him.) [59]

57 - I won’t give up on you. PC: Solas, var lath vir suledin. Solas: I wish it could, vhenan. PC: (Cries out in pain.) Solas kneels, and they kiss. Solas: My love… He stands. Solas: I will never forget you. Solas turns and walks through the eluvian. Scene ends.

55 - High approval Solas: Yes. I’m sorry. And we are almost out of time.

The Anchor flares again, and the PC falls to their knees.

PC: (Cries out in pain.)

Solas: The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now.

I’m going to redeem you. (The Inquisition will try to convince Solas to change his plan.)[58]

I can’t let you do this. (The Inquisition will stop Solas, even if it means killing him.) [59]

58 - I’m going to redeem you. PC: You don’t need to destroy this world. I’ll prove it to you. Solas: I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend. Take my hand. He holds out his hand and the PC takes it. Solas: I’m sorry. There is a flash of magic. Solas: Live well, while time remains. Solas turns and walks through the eluvian. Scene ends.

59 - I can’t let you do this. PC: If I live… I’m coming to stop you. Solas: I know. Take my hand. He holds out his hand and the PC takes it. Solas: I’m sorry. There is a flash of magic. Solas: Live well, while time remains. Solas turns and walks through the eluvian. Scene ends.

56 - Low approval Solas: Yes. [60]

5 - General: Not really, no. PC: Solas, have I ever wanted to hear one of your endless explanations? Solas gives them a look. PC: Ever. Solas: Well, then, briefly: I am the Dread Wolf. I fought the false elven gods, created the Veil, and destroyed my people. He starts to walk, and the PC follows. Solas: I intend to restore them. Doing so will most likely destroy your world. He stops in front of the eluvian. Solas: Also, your mark is getting worse. [60]

60 - Scene continues.

The Anchor flares again, and the PC falls to their knees.

PC: (Cries out in pain.)

Solas: Ultimately, none but I could have borne the mark and lived. Your death would cause more senseless chaos, more bloodshed. It is unnecessary.

He grabs the PC’s hand roughly and there is a flash of magic.

Solas: Though I doubt you will thank me. Live well, while time remains.

Scene ends.

Next: Fate of the Inquisition

[pisscrossiant]

Dragon Age: Origins headcanons because It's my current hyperfixation 😋

Leliana and Zevran hang out the most out of the party, if they are left back at camp while the warden is off with the others they are constantly talking to each other about anything. If they are left in denerim they will go a pick rich people's pockets and laugh about it the whole time.

Morrigan is in love with the Female warden, she knows that in the end the Warden might die however so she does not pursue any kind of relationship with her. When she sees the Warden with another lover she gets upset so she isolated herself from the rest of the tents to try to avoid seeing them.

Wynne constantly teases Zevran/Alistair/Leliana if they are in a relationship with the warden to the point Zevran and Alistair will actively avoid her when they can due to the embarrassment.

Alistair questions his sexuality alot when Zevran flirts with him.

Oghren has gotten into multiple bar fights with multiple people all because he hears them talking bad about the Grey Wardens, he gets into those fights just because his favorite person is a Grey Warden.

Sten is actually very fond of the Warden (even if he doesn't show it) and enjoys their company.

Zevran flirts with Sten the most out of anyone in the party (besides the Warden) because he loves tall men

Morrigan actually gets along pretty well with Zevran, while his advances towards her do annoy her she does enjoy his company.

When bathing Leliana will wash Morrigan 's hair for her since Morrigan didn't learn how to wash her hair properly in the wilds.

After the Goldanna incident when in Denerim Alistair will look towards Goldanna's house alot, wondering what it would be like if she had accepted him rather then casting him out.

After the encounter with Talisan Zevran will be increasingly paranoid that the crows will find the Warden and the party and kill them while they sleep.

Leliana sings songs at camp and Zevran will dance to them.

Zevran has Acid reflux really bad and even though he complains about Fereldon's food being bland he's glad that it doesn't make his Acid reflux flare up.

Shale comforts the party as best as she can when they're upset.

(my canon warden) after the encounter with Tamlen in the party camp the Warden has a breakdown realizing that if Duncan didn't find her when he did she would've turned out like Tamlen.

Zevran asks the Warden how life was when being with the Dalish, he likes to know what life could've been like if his mother hadn't left her clan and had Zevran with the Dalish rather then him being born in a Brothel.

Morrigan doesn't get much sleep, nor does she need to. She usually gets about two-three hours of sleep then stays up either reading or talking with Leliana.

Zevran has constant nightmares from his time with the crows, when he wakes up from them he is happy to be out of that situation. After this he usually stays up and just lays there staring at the stars or he'll talk to Leliana by the fire.

Leliana will have Nightmares as well from the time she was tortured in Orlais after Marjoline framed her. When this happens she'll sit with Morrigan by the fire and talk to her until sunrise, or she'll sit and talk to Zevran if he had a nightmare too.

Sten will pick up the warden and put them on his shoulders if they start getting tired from walking, this often makes the other party members jealous since they still have to walk, but Shale usually puts them on her shoulders if she notices them getting tired too.

Alistair has a irrational fear of birds, when living in the Arl's castle birds would attack him out of the blue for no reason. This happened a lot especially when the Arl married Isolde, as she came with a pet peacock that would attack him if Alistair even looked at the damn thing.

Morrigan will turn into a bird and attack Alistair because of his fear. Over time it actually helped him overcome this fear.

Zevran speaks Spanish and calls the Warden "Mi Amor" and Wynne constantly teases him about it.

That's all for now I don't want to overfill it or anything, I might make a part two if I'm up for it 😋

[scurvgirl]

Learning about my Rook through banter. Just a little self-indulgent writing.

-

Bellara: So...you're Dalish, right?

Rook: Yep.

Bellara: But...you don't have Vallaslin.

Rook: I don't.

Bellara: Did you leave before you could get it?

Rook: No. My father isn't Dalish, and I was born in a city - I joined my mother's clan later. Didn't feel like the Vallaslin would suit me at the time.

Bellara: Oh.

-

Lucanis: Rook, what foods would you like prepared?

Rook: Anything really. Dalish, Free Marches, Tevinter, any kind of sea food.

Lucanis: Good to know.

-

Rook: You know, Taash, you don't have to choose to be Qunari or Rivaini.

Taash: What, you think I don't know that?

Rook: Hold your dragons. I'm saying - I'm Dalish and from a city. I respect the Vhenadahl and the halla. I sang prayers to Andraste and to the creators...before, you know, we knew shit.

Taash: Okay.

Rook: It's all important, and...you're all of it, put together into a unique experience of yourself.

Taash: I'll think about it.

-

Neve: Alright, your accent is not Tevinter, Antivan, Fereldan, or Orlesian. You're a Marcher.

Rook: She's found me out!

Neve: Now to figure out where.

Rook: Do you want me to tell you or is it more fun for you to put the clues together?

Neve: Don't tell me.

-

Rook: Fucking Venatori!

Harding: You really hate them.

Rook: Assholes kill people and use my gods as a fucking excuse.

Harding: You made that one explode.

Rook: Yeah, well, sometimes we deal with personal shit by exploding an evil shithead.

-

Neve: I've got it.

Rook: Oh do tell!

Neve: Kirkwall - Varric recruited you, told you to keep where you're from a secret.

Rook: Good thought but nope. Not from Kirkwall, and thank goodness for that.

Neve: Dammit.

-

Lucanis: You're quite good with that blade Rook. Who taught you?

Rook: My mother. She's a very skilled swordswoman. All of her kids are mages but she insisted we all learn how to defend ourselves with weaponry against Templars.

Lucanis: Smart woman. You have siblings?

Rook: Yeah, two older brothers.

Lucanis: Why am I not surprised you're the baby?

Rook: Because I am baby.

-

Bellara: I don't understand. Why not get the Vallaslin?

Rook: My clan was informed of its true meaning. My keeper started offering everyone a choice.

Bellara: True meaning?

Rook: Slave markings, apparently. Makes sense now with what we know of the gods.

Bellara: That's horrible!

Rook: My brother decided to get his despite that. He said "Whatever they were, they are now how we find each other. How we take pride in who we are." I didn't feel ready. I don't know if I will ever feel ready.

Bellara: That...makes a lot of sense, actually. Thank you.

-

Davrin: You saw the Inquisitor, right?

Rook: Yeah. For someone who has been fighting for so long, she looked great.

Davrin: She's like you - Dalish but no Vallaslin.

Rook: There's a few of us out there.

Davrin: I wonder how she got rid of it.

Rook: Ah. Don't like Ghilan'nain's design upon you?

Davrin: Most days it doesn't bother me, but some days...it makes my skin crawl.

Rook: I'll try to ask her next time I see her.

-

Neve: Alright. You don't have Vallaslin because your clan found out information about them from ancient times. You showed an odd familiarity with the inquisitor. You said you are both Dalish and from a city. You hate the Venatori. You're from Wycome.

Rook: Huzzah! You discovered it!

Neve: You were there when the Venatori tried to take over.

Rook: They poisoned our wells. Blamed the elves in the alienage. They killed so many.

Neve: That means your mother was from clan Lavellan - the same clan the Inquisitor was from.

Rook: That would be my clan.

Neve: No wonder Varric gave you a code name and made it so hard to find anything out about you.

Rook: I was twelve when Miriel, I mean, the Inquisitor, left the clan. We were so proud of her, and so worried for her. When she came back...without her Vallaslin...there was a lot of heartbreak that day.

-

Solas: You knew the Inquisitor.

Rook: I did. And you broke her heart.

Solas: I didn't have a choice.

Rook: From what she's said - you did. You just chose wrong.

[ghostwise]

Matacuervos, ch. 6 - The friend at midnight 3.3k words - cw: death, canon-typical violence, discussion of childhood trauma, slavery, and child abuse Zevran reels from a revelation about his past. Things do not go according to plan. The night ends with an unexpected visit. Read update on AO3 - Read from ch. 1 on AO3

It was in the Brecilian Forest where Zevran first told Hamal about his parents. 

All of it. The whole sordid story. The dead whore mom with her Dalish gloves. The unfaithful father. A childhood of lice, abuse, and malnourishment at the hands of the Crows. But the telling felt right somehow, there in those groves where Clan Sabrae had brought up young Mahariel. 

If Hamal’s own troubled past was in that frigid landscape, Zevran’s legacy of sorrow could come and intertwine with it. Perhaps both would find some measure of comfort then. 

And so the pines caught up every secret in their needles. The story sank into the damp and mossy earth.

Zevran had not thought of his past since, and he didn’t plan to start now.

The payment that undid your father. 

Over the course of an hour, Gloria Amilcar betrayed every single thing she knew about El milagro’s business with the Crows, including the contract that had led to Zevran’s orphaning. It turned out that his mother needn’t have been a widow. His father had been, contrary to what he’d always believed, a good man.

Or had he?

More than likely the words were just a ploy the woman was using to throw Zevran off his guard. That wasn’t hard to believe; it had worked so well, after all, as he worried and plucked at her story over and over again in his mind.

The payment that undid your father. 

Had his past all been a lie? 

It made no difference. He shut his eyes and pushed the question away.

Sra. Amilcar sat at her desk all the while. It was not just about his parents; with a dagger at her throat, Zevran had cajoled a wealth of information from her, including Crow contracts dating back thirty years, not to mention plenty of material he could use as blackmail against powerful men throughout the country, if the need ever arose.

She looked up at Zevran, her eyes wide.

“So now I’ve told you everything I know. You won’t kill me?”

“I haven’t decided.” Zevran aimed a half-hearted glare at her. “Do as I’ve asked, then we’ll see.”

She nodded grimly and got up.

It was late, and the brothel sang with activity. Sra. Amilcar’s absence had not been noticed, for the hosts were busy collecting payment and escorting guests up to dingy rooms. Bawdy lyrics resonated as she and Zevran exited down the hall, past all the revelry. The back door was through the washroom, which was cramped, hot, and muggy even with the windows open.

The light that spilled out onto the street was golden, but the air outside was all silver, and clouds had rolled in from the east.

Zevran marched the woman towards the apartments. An uncharacteristic silence struck him as they approached. The lively voices from before were gone. Where was everyone?

“Stay here,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Don’t move. If you run, I will catch you within ten paces.”

Warning issued, he crept forward, scanning the nearby alley. There were several sets of footprints in the dirt, leading away from the apartment. An uneasy feeling gripped him. But before he could investigate, the door to the apartment opened to a darkness from which a slight figure stepped out.

“Help!” Gloria shouted, and she stumbled forward as if pulled in by the sight of that figure. “Nadia! Help me! He aims to kill me!”

Zevran whirled around. Sra. Amilcar’s voice cut off in a muffled scream, as Hamal had snuck up beside her, and clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her. 

“Now, now,” Zevran scolded. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Nadia made no move to reach for Sra. Amilcar, nor did she run for help. Instead she regarded the older woman with a loaded gaze, her eyes carrying something deeper than betrayal.

“Is it true, Gloria?” she asked softly.

Zevran looked at her.

Just a hundred yards away, El milagro stood apart, humble and self-contained, floating in a world where pain and sorrow could be vanquished—albeit, temporarily, and for a set price. But here, in the moonless night, Gloria Amilcar stood face to face with every sin she’d ever committed against her fellows in exchange for a comfortable wage. 

“How many?” Nadia asked. “How long?”

It was too much. Amilcar went limp in Hamal’s arms. 

“Shit! Did I suffocate her?”

“She’s just fainted. Perhaps she finally felt something for the children she’s delivered to their deaths over the years,” Zevran said without any sympathy. More importantly, he was surprised by Nadia; by both her unexpected appearance and her help.

“Bring her inside,” Nadia said in Antivan. “We’re not on a busy street exactly, but we are hardly away from prying eyes.”

Zevran raised a brow, looking at Hamal for some guidance.

“Long story, but I had to tell her the truth,” Hamal explained hurriedly. “Took a bit of luck and a fucking complicated game of charades, but I think I explained the situation. She made sure the children were safe. They’re not here, Zevran,” he added, as he carried Sra. Amilcar into the building. “Nadia took them away. She will be contacting the guard.”

Zevran blinked. That had not been the plan.

“Then I can only be thankful,” he said in Antivan. “To you both.”

What a mess this all was. As they entered the building, Zevran wished he could confer with Hamal in private; tell him what he had learned, plan what they should do next. He had hoped to compel Sra. Amilcar into luring the slaver into an ambush. That was becoming more difficult by the minute.

As for the apartment, it still smelled familiar, like dust and mold and absence, like the black spot in the corner of the room, which had grown in size since he’d lived here as a boy. Zevran cast a quick glance around, noting the toys strewn on the floor, and a pile of books on the table, with titles like El gato con botas and El flautista de Hamelin. The windows hosted a pair of floral curtains.

Hamal laid Sra. Amilcar on the floor, resting her head on one of the soft plush toys.

“My husband tells me you orchestrated an evacuation,” Zevran said, turning to face Nadia. He gave a curt nod, feeling strangely awkward and unlike himself. “Thank you. We… could not have done it on our own. However, I cannot help but wonder… my husband is a stranger to you. Yet, you agreed to help so readily. Why?”

“It must seem odd,” Nadia admitted. “But I suppose… it’s because I remembered the day you went away, Zevran.”

“Me?”

She paused to give him a proper look, curious and lingering. “Yes. It never sat right with me, you know. Even though we were told the orphaned children were going somewhere better—it never sat right with me! Children should not be sent off without a goodbye or a kind word! And knowing what I know now…” She sighed. “Adelmar was heartbroken. We found out you and the others were gone only when we came to read to you the next day. So what if you were orphans? You were—in a small way, you still are—ours.”

“Ah,” Zevran said, struck by the idea that he had ever been anyone’s. 

“Do you remember Adelmar?” Nadia asked.

Zevran thought about it. Nadia and Adelmar had been so kind to him and to the others—of course he remembered. Their visits were one of the few good things he experienced in those years. It hadn’t all been cruel.

“Of course I remember her,” Zevran answered. “I remember you, too.”

“That’s why I helped. Because we loved you. And you love him.” She looked at Hamal with certainty. “So we’ve never met. But we’re still kin. Of a sort.”

Such sweetness seemed out of place here. Zevran glanced up at the molded corner of the ceiling.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “Because someone is going to knock at that door any minute now. And I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything!” Nadia said earnestly.

���I need you to leave.”

She hesitated. Zevran could see her deliberate over her situation, before speaking. 

“I know what I am getting into,” she said carefully. “I know we are talking about slavers here. You think me naive? In my line of work? Violence and abuse are no strangers to me. I face danger often. And forgive me, but this very much involves me. It involved me even before I knew what was happening, right under our noses.”

“Crows,” Gloria croaked out, half-conscious, from her spot on the floor.

“Gag her,” Zevran snapped at the interruption, and Hamal pulled off one of his gloves to do so—but Sra. Amilcar spat the words as quickly as she could with all her meek strength.

“He’s a Crow, Nadia! I will not help them! He’s the dangerous one-!”

And now came a litmus test Zevran knew well. Though he wished he didn’t.

In the past, revealing his status as a Crow had been an occasional risk he dealt with by killing a person or buying their silence. Now it was a half-truth that could only hurt an already delicate situation. His shoulders tensed, and Hamal exchanged a frantic look with him—he’d do whatever he was told, this Zevran knew. But he really hoped they would not have to restrain Nadia too.

“Is that true?” Nadia asked.

Zevran looked at her evenly. “We haven’t lied to you.”

Nadia’s eyes darted low, then back to him, but each look was tenuous, as if she was struggling to keep him in her view. As if she were reconsidering all those words about kin and memories.

“You are a Crow?” she asked again.

“No! Not anymore, I swear it! And the less you know, the better, believe me.” Zevran urged her further, “But it is all the more reason you must leave! Forget you saw us! Tell no one!”

Nadia shut her eyes.

All too quickly, their time was up. Three heavy knocks sounded at the door. 

“Please,” Zevran whispered. “Run. Hide upstairs. Do anything else. You took the children to safety, you’ve already done your part.”

Zevran grit his teeth. At this rate, he would lose his chance.

“Fuck it,” Nadia said at last with a sigh. “I believe you, Zevran. But I will not leave, and you haven’t the time to argue. Let me help! At the very least we owe each other that!”

.

Fuck it was right.

Despite his best efforts here Zevran was again, helpless against the whims of fate. It wasn’t what he’d planned. But he was flexible.

He wore a placid smile as he stepped through the door to meet the man.

“Good evening, serah. You were expected.”

It was a Crow talent to read your target as quickly as possible in just a few seconds. A cursory glance told Zevran a lot already. The man at the door hesitated. He didn’t answer right away, so it was likely had had been expecting to meet Sra. Amilcar, which meant he was already on the defensive. And he was dressed in comfortable, common clothing, covered with a shawl, so it was likely he was armed.

There was no mistaking it. This was the man who’d taken him and the other children, all those years ago. 

Older and greyer, but it was him.

And he didn’t recognize Zevran.

“Good evening,” the man returned, and he eyed Zevran briefly before glancing away. “I’ve a meeting with the lady of the house.”

“She is otherwise disposed,” Zevran said warmly, knowing very well that in that moment Hamal had restrained her, and was bringing her upstairs. He would be at one of the upstairs windows in probably two minutes’ time. A lot could happen in two minutes. “I will be helping you tonight. Won’t you come in?”

“I only meet with her,” the man said, painting the words with an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry to hear she’s not available. Perhaps it’s best I come back another day. You her secretary or something?”

“That’s right,” Zevran said. “I am Amrit, her secretary. Surely she informed you of my recent hiring? She is ill, and she apologizes, but I assure you there is no need to reschedule. I am more than capable of managing our business, despite appearances. Won’t you come in?”

The man regarded him, unconvinced, but not threatened yet.

“I really do regret hearing of her illness,” he said at last. “Have her send word when she is better. I will return then.” He turned and began walking back towards the carriage.

“But our agreement!” Zevran hurried after him in the unguarded fashion of an angry man who had very little understanding of his circumstance. “Please! Sr. Rossi will have my head!”

“That so?” The man grunted, pausing at the front of the carriage. “Not my business. Anyway, I’m not walking back the deal. Just waiting to talk to the lady in charge. You understand. Delicate business, this is.”

“What does it matter who you deal with, so long as you get what you need?”

“I suppose you want me to hand all that money straight to your hands, elf?” He gave a dry chuckle. “But do not worry! If what you say is true, then we’ll talk again soon.” He paused and gave him what was no doubt meant to be a lecherous smile. “Maybe we could talk alone then, you and I. Being as you are such an enterprising young man we could work out an agreement of our own. What do you say?”

The suggestion did not escape Zevran, and he nearly bristled; once he would have leaned into it, using it to manipulate his target, but it was all too crass in these circumstances.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “that won’t work for me.” 

It was time for a more direct approach. Not willing to let his target escape, Zevran drew his dagger and aimed a kick at the back of the man’s knee, knocking him down. The man fell against the carriage and steadied himself against one of the wheels. Regaining his balance and drawing a shortsword from beneath his shawl, he stepped towards him.

“You little elven whore!” he spat.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Zevran returned, easily parrying a strike from the man’s blade. He had the advantage as far as his eyesight was concerned; every small detail of his enemy was clear as day to him. But he had no idea what Hamal or Nadia were up to. Only that Hamal would be upstairs any moment now, and Nadia, Maker willing, was flanking their position to get to the carriage unnoticed.

It was clear that the man was familiar with his weapon, but not often called upon to use it. Each strike was just ever so slightly unpracticed. He tried again and again to land a blow upon Zevran, without success, and as he was an older man, having been in this cruel business for over thirty years, he tired quickly.

After trying and failing to disarm Zevran, he made a sudden dash onto the carriage, and took the reins into his hands. But Nadia had done her part with shocking efficiency; they hung from his grip uselessly, and he looked at Zevran with wide-eyed fury.

“You’re dead, Amrit. I’ll gut you quick!”

“Try!”

“Don’t touch him!” Nadia hissed.

The rest of the pieces fell into place. Nadia appeared from the opposite side of the carriage, having climbed up to ambush the man after cutting the horse’s reins. She grabbed her enemy with surprising efficacy—clearly she knew how to incapacitate a violent man—and as Zevran disarmed him, she pinned his arms from behind, and pressed a borrowed dagger against his throat.

The man stood stock still, glaring up at Zevran.

The scuffle had been short, but not effortless. Zevran’s wrists ached from the strength he’d needed to deflect each attack. He climbed up onto the carriage in order to regard the man more closely.

Here was the beast who’d stolen so many of Rialto’s children, who had been selling them for decades, to the Crows and who knows what else.

“Clever. What now?” the man asked. “You cut my throat and rob me?”

“Ah-ah,” Zevran said. “Not so easy, I’m afraid.”

The man spat at him. Saliva landed on his cheek, and though Nadia tightened her hold on the dagger, Zevran retorted with a calm smile.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, grabbing the cut reins so as to bind his hands together. “We have much to discuss.”

He hadn’t taken him for a mage.

A blast of energy exuded from the man, briefly occluding Zevran’s senses; in that moment he couldn’t see, speak, or hear, and he certainly couldn’t move or react. 

He’d experienced something similar before, in Ferelden, only that time it had been Morrigan unleashing her magic upon their enemies, stunning them. Maker, he missed having a mage on his side.

The mage leapt off the carriage, pushing Nadia off and onto the ground on the way. He’d incapacitated his own horse in the attempt to escape, so he made a run for it, boots striking the cobblestones in a relentless pace.

Zevran came to his senses with a throbbing headache. He let out a shout as he saw the man already far down the street, headed towards the brothel. 

“Hey!” 

Nadia whimpered from where she had fallen. Hamal must have made it to the window, for an arrow zipped overhead with a characteristic whistle. Zevran did not doubt Hamal’s aim; he was a gifted archer, but that was the problem. The arrow struck with enough force to knock the man off his feet. Zevran cursed.

It gave him a feeling that the whole situation was unraveling. An ugly pit grew in his stomach—fear of retribution, perhaps an old response from growing up in the Crows—and worse still, as Zevran ran after the man, another figure rounded the corner, limping along with her cane.

“Amrit?” Rocio asked, seeing him. 

Where had she come from? She must have followed them, Zevran realized. In fact, she must have had hurried all the way across Rialto to get here. She had come, not knowing how fate had worked its mysteries in order to bring them all here: Zevran, Hamal, Rocio, Nadia, Gloria, and this loathsome man at the center of the web. But Rocio was so much like him, after all, so how could Zevran truly be surprised?

Her eyes traveled to the injured slaver, now at her feet. Her expression shifted to one of horrified recognition.

“It’s you.”

“Get away from him, Rocio!”

“I remember you,” Rocio said. “Do you remember me?”

The man looked up at her, bleeding. He didn’t have a chance to answer before she swung her cane in a shining arc, and struck him on his skull. The man cried out in pain.

Zevran urged his stunned body to carry him closer to the scene. 

Rocio had stumbled onto the ground, thrown off balance by the ferocity of her own attack. She struck the slaver again and again with her cane. The blood pooling around him did not deter her in the slightest. 

Zevran had underestimated her. He’d left a crucial clue, by omission, tipping her off to the exact location where he suspected the next group of children would be taken from.

“Bastard!” Rocio cried. She seemed to only grow angrier with each blow. “Son of a bitch! You will never—take another one—again!” 

Finally, Zevran knelt before her, watching his chance of getting answers vanish. But he could hardly be upset about it. 

Somehow in the gleaming moonlight, the sight of Rocio’s vengeance was too stark and beautiful. A well deserved victory, and a catharsis that brought tears to Zevran’s burning eyes. 

[edda-grenade]

felassan in da:i, aka a menace

can't stop won't stop, part 1 is here (also the post that inspired it by @mumms-the-word) but currently they're just floating scenes so

–––––

“Out of curiosity,” Felassan says one evening by the fire in the Exalted Plains, “what Dalish legends do you know? Other than the ones I've shared, I mean.”

Saar makes a thoughtful noise, head tilting. On the other side of the fire, Solas goes stiff as a board. Felassan smiles pleasantly at him.

“Well, the big one,” Saar starts counting on her fingers, “the great betrayal, how all the gods got locked up. Then some about Ghilan'nain, about the monsters she made—although I'm not sure if Iolain was just messing with me on that, I mean, tree-tall spiders?—and how she killed them all, to become a god.” There is a bitterness swimming in the undercurrent of her voice that surprises Felassan.

“You wouldn't have done the same, to gain that power?” he asks.

“Sacrifice what's basically my children to, what, gain the power to make different children? She could already do that.”

“Godhood, whatever it may have meant in those days, would certainly have given her opportunities that were inconceivable before,” Solas cuts in. He's watching Saar now, intent. Felassan’s smile sharpens.

“There's always more than one way,” Saar says flippantly and flicks a bit of kindling at the fire. “Not that I wanted to, but when I was a kid I wondered how it would've been if I'd been born Dalish, or a human Marcher, or in the Qun, and the vallaslin I'd get would have been hers.” She shrugs. “Until Ashuon told me the story of her ascension.”

Wordlessly, Solas gets up, turning away from the fire. Felassan watches him pace, slowly, the tense line of his back.

“Ghilan'nain would've loved you, I think,” he murmurs. He leans his knee against Saar’s. “Not sure if that's a good thing, though.”

Saar chuckles drily. “The Maker loving Andraste sure didn't save her.” She extends another finger. “Oh, and the one about Fen'harel and Andruil! ‘The Dread Wolf and the Tree’? Ashuon told me that one too.”

“Ah, yes,” Felassan says, keeping his voice light. “The Dread Wolf’s famous cunning.”

And his slow arrow being too slow to save him, even if that part never made it into the stories. Solas stops pacing. He glances back at them, over the fire flickering between. This once, Felassan can't bring himself to smile.

“Sounded more like desperation to me,” Saar mutters quietly. She's watching the fire, how the flames dance. “I mean, he's trapped, and outnumbered, and his choices are getting murdered or gettting raped. I don't think anyone's cunning under those circumstances.”

“Yes,” Felassan says softly. “I imagine he would be.” His chest aches, where the knife pierced him clean through. But the pain feels so much like an old panic, running after Solas who had gotten himself in over his head against one or more of the Evanuris. Damn him.

I was fine, Solas had said back then, and on so many other occasions. The situation was under control. But he had not resisted Felassan’s embrace, or his steadying hands.

“Stars, this is depressing,” Saar groans. She rubs her left hand across her face, stands up, stretches. Her gaze drifts from Felassan to Solas and back. “Tell me something fun? Either of you, I know you’ve got more stories packed away.”

The fire crackles.

“I did encounter a spirit of amusement, once,” Solas offers at last. Felassan suspects no one else would notice it, but Solas’ voice… it wavers, just a little. Saar grins and hooks her arm over Solas’ shoulders, then drags him to sit down beside her, with Felassan on her other side.

“The epitome of fun, huh?”

“It considered puns the highest form of humor,” Solas says flatly, and Saar laughs.

It’s a good sound. Felassan’s not gonna pretend he doesn’t like hearing it. Or that he doesn’t enjoy the way Solas’ expression fractures and softens helplessly, gazing at Saar. Serves him right.