#hearing about clan lavellan is a distant thing

[perkeleen-lavellan]

Loviatar brings Lempo's kids to Skyhold and Cassandra sees him greet them by hugging the shit out of these two 10-year-olds in front of everyone. While the boys look embarrassed and Theron whines "daaad!", they are also clearly about to burst into tears and it's obvious they missed each other a great deal. Cassandra looks on and feels uncomfortable.

Varric asks her, "Did you think he had no life outside of your Inquisition? Does it make you uncomfortable to see that there are people who missed him, who need him as much as we do?"

[star--nymph]

Hello!

For the Character headcanons prompts, if you're still accepting them…

"concept of home and family" and "talk about your muse’s most prized possession(s)" for Eurydice? :)

OH! Thank you Arja! These are going to be so fun!

"concept of home and family"

Eurydice's conception of family and home differ because for so much of her life, they were separate. I'd argue that she never had a home not because of the Dalish's nomadic ways but because her life was never settled or safe enough. Home to Eurydice spells out to safety, to understanding. To peace and contentedness. When did she have that as a child? Clan Lavellan was her place but they never understood her enough to allow her to feel welcome. I try not to speak of the clan as a whole in an unkind way, but they did ostracize her. Eurydice was an offputting child; strange, distant, at times creepy, and seemingly disobedient. Combined with how much they trusted her parents, Lycus and Ismene, and how they spoke of her being a purposely troublesome child--and Eurydice becomes a glaring issue. If her father says she willingly a problem and if she doesn't listen, does weird things, runs off for days, then why not believe that maybe the child is at fault? I'm not excusing the many members of Clan Lavellan who bought into Lycus and Ismene's stories but I want it understood that for most of them it wasn't malicious. The said story is, child abuse can happen in even the most close knit communities; all it takes is a good story and scapegoat people already don't trust.

That said, Eurydice loves her clan. They can mistrust, dismiss her, even blame her for certain things beyond her control, but it's where she came from. Just...not where she belonged. Not her home.

So what was her home? The many forests? Her little bundle of blankets she shared with her five siblings? Their halla?

She doesn't know.

She doesn't understand home until she's older, when she's out in the world, unattached and then suddenly chained to the Inquisition. Skyhold became her home. Or, maybe it was the ruins within Skyhold--the broken towers, the crumbling underbelly, the cold undercover where she did her work, the cobweb ridden workshop she found in a hole beneath the library. Maybe it was the garden, the rafters in the tavern, a chair in Josie's office, on Vivienne's balcony. Behind a bookcase. Maybe it was Cullen's office. Maybe it was a hand reaching for hers with permission. Golden curly hair in the morning sun. The laughter that sounded like the crackle of the fireplace.

Things that made her want to come back over and over. Nothing has ever made her want to return to things. It's always wandering away, hiding, finding new things, leaving everything behind. Watching from the sidelines. Home is hearing her name and turning to it, and knowing that it is said with understanding.

Family is the same. It's being accepted and valued and not treated like an object. Not just like a pretty thing. People don't take, they ask and they give. They are patient with her questions, they wait out her meltdowns, they welcome her to the circle even when she speaks strange or doesn't act 'right'. Her siblings are family but sometimes they weren't, they couldn't be. Later, when they see her come back changed, they become her family again--but when they weren't her family, she found a new one. She made it herself, with people sometimes as 'wrong' as her and she likes it just fine.

They're a little loud, though. Sometimes she wishes they would speak softer, so she could spend even longer with them. But families aren't perfect, right?

"talk about your muse’s most prized possession(s)"

Eurydice has two prized possessions. One is a knife given to her by one of her younger brothers, Ion. Ion and her had always had a strained relationship. She and her sister Melia raised him and his twin brother Izark since their mother wasn't interested in the child-rearing side of things but he grew up listening to the things people said about her, and would blame her for some of the abuse that went on in the family. I'm not saying it's right but Ion was a young kid, scared of (even if he wouldn't admit it), and it was easier to point to Eurydice has the wrong party like everyone else did than admit that something was wrong. Because maybe if he did, his father would turn his eyes onto him.

And Eurydice did her best to deal with this but kids are messy and she was a teenager dealing with her own autism, becoming a mage/the first, and her own abuse. Eurydice's way of dealing with thing was to shut down and Ion only say that as further confirmation that she just didn't care.

As he got older, however, Ion gradually understood that what he was witnessing wasn't right and Eurydice wasn't the one to blame. Still, he grew frustrated with his distant sister, I think in part because he didn't understand why she just took and wanted her, in some way, to lash out and stand up for herself. Maybe leave for her own safety. Do something. Again, he's seven years younger than her and is a child of abuse himself, so I don't blame him for his defensive thinking. It's not right but it is the truth.

When Eurydice was chosen to go to the conclave, Ion very quickly realized that 1. there's a chance Eurydice won't come back and 2. that no one in the clan seemed to care enough that was leaving in the first place for them. She was going out there on her own and with only a staff. That couldn't do. Ion is a crafter on the side and much like Eurydice, he's a gift giver more than he is a talker. So he craved a dagger for her with the hilt imprinted with images of halla. The day she left, he placed it in her open palm and told her 'if she gets too close, cut their throat with this. Keep it on you at all times, got it'.

Eurydice said nothing. She hooked it onto her belt, nodded her head, and left. That knife never left her person. Even when she could buy or create better, more durable blades, she only uses one. The next time Ion sees her years later, she's still carrying that knife. She tells him that she cut many throats with it, like she said. It's dull now. Can you sharpen it? And he does. He says he should make her a better one but she doesn't want it. That's the best one she has--and maybe Ion smiles a little to himself when she says that.

The other of her prized possessions is, you guessed it, Cullen's lucky coin. I know. Who would have thought? The day he gave it to her, she went to Dagna and had her drill a hole into it for a chain. Eurydice had to have it on her at all times. It must be protected and held close if it's important to Cullen. If it's his comfort object, it's not her. It quickly becomes something she stims with. She often bites, it, runs the coin up and down the chain while she bites, plays with it, and feels it out with her lips. Every time, she thinks of him. When she's about to do a harmful stim like rip out her hair in stress, that's the thing she grabs to steady herself.

If she ever lost it, she would be inconsolable. It doesn't matter if Cullen would forgive her or that, logically, it's just a coin. It was his, he gave it to her, and it needs to be kept safe like he needs to be kept safe.

[andrastesflamingknickers]

Atop This Mountain; A Hero Is Born (2/4)

Duty Owed To A Cursed Hand

Obligatory AO3 Link

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If someone had asked him what had happened, Cian would have floundered like a fish, struggling to find some answer, because the truth was that he didn’t know.

He remembered the fear and worries of what would happen after the battle in Kirkwall between mages and templars. He remembered how that one night of rebellion and war spread across the Free Marches, and then further spread, like an infection left untreated. He remembered the whispers as news reached them that the Circles had dissolved, that the mages were no longer restrained, and that the templars had also broken away from the Chantry. How the battle had worsened.

He remembered the Keeper, worried about what this war would mean for Clan Lavellan. He remembered being sent out to learn more, being given what little could be in coin for safe travel. Of the month and a half of travel to Fereldan, careful to avoid being caught by either mage or templar, yet trying to learn what he could. He remembered hearing of the Conclave and heading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to find out more, to learn if the war might finally end, or if things would worsen. He remembered seeing the templars and mages both marching up the mountain to the Temple, barely restraining themselves from fighting under the fragile pretense of a ceasefire as their leaders sat with the Divine to try and find peace.

After that… there was nothing. He had vague memories that flitted about in the corners of his mind like a distant dream, half-forgotten. 

And then after all that, he had awoken in a cold, dark cell. He had been stripped of the light armor he was wearing, left in only a simple shirt and his trousers. Even his daggers were gone. Leaving him feeling uneasy, feeling vulnerable. 

Though, clearly, that was intentional, for four armored guards surrounded him. He did not recognize the crest that they wore on their breastplates, could not tell if they were Ferelden, Orlesian, or something else. Their swords drawn and pointed as if he were a demon, and they were waiting for him to move so that they might cut him down. Though there was little he could do with his hands were bound together at the wrists by thick metal shackles. And chains binding him to the stone floor. The most he could do was hit one on the head with his cuffs, but he suspected he wouldn’t even be able to get to his feet before a sword found his heart.

Cian wished he could say that was the worst of it, but then he’d be lying through his teeth.

His arm was burning, searing pain pulsating from palm to shoulder, like fire wrapped across his flesh. Every so often the pain would worsen drastically, accompanied by a violent splutter of green light that would erupt from his palm. The guards always edged closer to him, their swords glinting dangerously in the green light, ready to strike. As if he was intentionally causing it, as if he were intentionally causing himself more pain, so much more that he had doubled over the first few times, gasping for breath as the pain overwhelmed, sending his nerves aflame.

The pain never went away, but after he stayed kneeling in the small cell for Creators only knew how long, it grew easier to endure the pain. Because endurance was the only choice he had.

Suledin, the Keeper had told him whenever he wanted to give in to pain when he was younger. “Mala suledin nadas.” Now you must endure. Though circumstances were different, though the pain he felt now was different from the pain he had felt when Deshanna told him those words, Cian held them tight to his chest all the same, like a lifeline, to keep him from succumbing to the agony.

He could endue the pain, but that was about it.

Falon’Din, Cian silently prayed, afraid that if he spoke he would lose this tongue. Though there were many unknowns about what was going on, there was only one outcome he could see for himself. Ma ghilana mir din���an.

He looked to his shackles and slowly, carefully turned his hand, difficult as it was with the bruisingly tight binding, a blessing Cian supposed, that his wrists were so thin. The mark was there, like a glowing green gash across his palm, smaller, thinner lines spread across it, covering his hand, and inching up his arm, disappearing under his sleeve.

Immediately, the mark pulsed with light and the green energy erupted from his palm. Cian couldn’t help the gasp as he reeled back, as if to protect himself from what was already attached to him. His arm surged with burning pain as the invisible flames licked his skin.

The door opened with a slam.

From it walked in two women, one marched with fury and purpose with each step. The other was more graceful, moving silently, nearly gliding across the floor on light feet. One of the women were armored, the same sigil the soldiers wore presented proudly in chalky white on her leather breastplate, and she wore a sword at her hip. Yet it was the other woman, weaponless as she appeared to be, that radiated danger the most.

The sheathed their swords without even the need for a command. An instinctual knowing.. Fear ran down his spine. These were important people. Probably the ones who would decide his fate, if not had great sway over what would happen to him. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, a flickering hope that there might be some chance of survival, slim as it might be.

And it was very slim.

This was clearly a human prison of some kind, and any elf with half a wit knew what happened to elves left to the mercy of humans in human prisons. What the shemlen do to his kind. Which of these women will cut off my ears? Cian wondered, and his gut instinct told him that it would be the light-foot woman who lingered in the back, shrouded in the shadows like a ghost.

If they planned to kill him, then he would accept that that fate, would accept meeting Falon’Din, though it was far sooner than he cared for. But that didn’t mean Cian would just bow his head and let it happen. If these shemlen wished to kill him, he was going to fight back as much as he could, he’d make them work for it. Even if he was without his daggers or armor, he wouldn’t go out quietly.

Not for them.

The armored and armed woman drew closer, circling him like a predator to prey as Cian stayed kneeling on the floor. He followed as best he could with his eyes, until his eyes could move no further without pain. Eventually she stopped behind him, and he heard the rustle of fabric and chainmail as she leaned down to speak.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she asked, speaking with an accent he couldn’t pinpoint. Her breath was on his ear, the hairs on his neck rose. She was walking again, circling him again with slow steps, and speaking before Cian could even think of what to say. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.”

She stopped in front of him, pointing at him with as much accusation in her gestures as was in her voice. “Except for you.”

His heart stilled in his chest.

The Conclave.

The crowds of people, mages and templars, priests and commonfolk alike gathered together, waiting with bated breath for the decision, whatever it might be, that was certain to change everything across the lands. He remembered, vaguely, like a distant dream, the conversations, some hushed whispers, other loud and abrasive, as he snuck around, sometimes staying out of sight, evading the Valo-Kas that were hired to protect the Temple in the place of the templars who had abandoned their duties to the Chantry.

There had been so many people, the crowds packed so lightly one could scarcely move in some areas. And now this woman was telling him that they were all…

Cian swallowed hard, he didn’t want to think of it, of the corpses filling a Temple. “You’re lying, you have to be,” he breathed out feeling his body shake. “All those people, they can’t—they can’t all be dead.”

She didn’t answer him, and instead took hold of the metal bar binding his arms together, yanking it up so that his marked hand was shown to all. “Explain this!” she demanded as fiery pain coursed through the limb once more as light sparked in the darkness between them, casting a green glow on them all, before fading away once more.

Just as fast, she let go and his arms flopped heavily back to his lap. His body sagged in defeat as she began circling him again. “I can’t.” he said, knowing how pitiful an excuse that was. But what else could he say?

“What do you mean you can’t?” she demanded, her tone growing sharper, her patience thinning. Her hand was on her sword and a stab of dread shot through him. How much longer would this drag out before she began dragging the steel edge of that weapon across his flesh in punishment for a crime he had no knowledge of?

The other woman began to circle him, too. Or perhaps she had already been, and he had not noticed her and her feather-like steps, as if she was a part of the shadows, seen only when she wished to be.

Cian hated how helpless he felt, as helpless as a newborn babe. Left among armed and angry humans who had already proclaimed him guilty of murdering hundreds of innocents, for no other reason than that he had somehow survived.

“I can’t,” he emphasized with a stammer to his tone. “I don’t know what this is, I don’t know how I got it. I don’t know anything!” Oh, Mythal help him, he wished he knew more, that he could tell them more. All he knew was that whatever the mark was, it caused him unbearable pain.

Releasing her grip on the sword, the armored woman lunged forward, grabbing him the shoulders with a grip that was painfully tight, and he was sure he would have hand-shaped bruises on his skin later. It’s the left arm that was affected the most. It was already overloaded with pain, the viper-tight grip she had only worsened it, and all Cian could do was grit his teeth and try to pull free. To no avail.

“You’re lying!” she screamed in his face.

The second woman was there in a flash, pushing herself between them, pushing the other woman away from him, putting distance between them before she could hurt him further.

“Calm yourself,” she warned, “We need him, Cassandra.”

Cassandra, he noted. It probably didn’t matter whether or not he committed his soon-to-be executioners name to memory, but it helped to have a name to match a face.

Cian supposed he should be grateful for the other woman for pushing Cassandra off of him, but he couldn’t even pretend to be. She wasn’t protecting him from further harm out of any form of kindness, or even for a moral reason. She wanted to use him. For something. To wring out more information that he just didn’t have, before sentencing him guilty for a mass murder he didn’t commit and execute him.

If that wasn’t what she was referring to… He had heard enough stories of how humans used elves, he had seen even more examples of uses. Enough of both versions that he didn’t want to even try thinking of what other kind of needs they might have for him.

Bolstered by pain and fear, Cian met their gazes and straightened his shoulders. “Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent,” he said. He didn’t yell, he knew that yelling at his jailers would only make things worse, but he made his tone firm. It was doubtful they’d believe him; they’d already cast their judgement the moment they saw him. But he was not going to back down.

The cloaked woman drew closer to him, stood over him, but not towering, not trying to intimidate him like Cassandra had—like Cassandra was even now as she stepped forward to stand at the women’s side, hand on her sword, staring down at him with a frosty gaze.

“Do you remember what happened?” the woman asked, her tone was not as accusatory as Cassandras. It was almost kind, Cian dared to think. “How this all began?”

That was the big question, wasn’t it? What he remembered.

Everything at the Conclave was foggy, the more he tried to remember, the worse the pain seemed to get. There were holes in his memories, a span of nothing, where something should have been, the only proof of that being small crumbs left behind. He tried to find those crumbs, to pick them up, to grasp the echoes of memory that he might still catch.

“I remember…” Maybe it was because he wasn’t being screamed at, wasn’t being actively threatened, but he was able to focus, and by focusing he was able to find something. A place that he didn’t recognize, that left him feeling cold and afraid.

“Running,” Cian said with certainty. He had been running. Aches in his legs, a desperation to just keep running, to not stop. But—what had he been running from? There had been…something… skittering, skittering, skittering. “Things were chasing me and… a woman?”

A voice calling out to him. A figure at the top of a mountain. The only light in the darkness. He couldn’t recall a voice, or even the sound of her voice. A hand reaching down—she was trying to help him. But she was cloaked in flames and the fire was unbearably hot. But Cian didn’t pull away. He had to get to her, he had to take the hand she offered, he had to—

The memory faded like a star at dawn.

“A woman?” the woman repeated, curiosity and obvious interest in her tone and face as she leaned closer.

He could only nod. “Bright as the sun. She reached out to me, but…” Cian lowered his head, his shoulders fell once more, the heaviness of the sky itself felt like it was pressing down on him. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

He wanted so badly to remember. To know.

Cassandra stepped between them, holding a hand up to herd the other away, leading her to the door. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she instructed as both turned to watch him with expressions he couldn’t name. “I will take him to the rift.”

The rift? He wanted to ask, but he kept silent. The air was still tense, but he had noticed something had changed. Cian could only hope that change was a good one, that it might have given him more time to his life, however meager it might have been.

The other woman—Leliana—left. The guards remained on the four walls, silent, statuesque still. Cassandra had turned to face him once more and Cian flinched back. The woman felt far more dangerous without her partner at her side to hold her back. He knew the guards wouldn’t step in if something were to happen, that Leliana was likely the only one in the room who had been keeping an interrogation from becoming a murder.

But to his surprise, Cassandra knelt in front of him, procuring a key and undoing the cuffs and chains that kept Cian bound to the floor.

Swallowing hard, Cian watched her carefully. “What happened?” he asked.

The cuffs fell to the floor with a loud clatter, leaving his wrists tied only by rope. Still not ideal, but better than heavy iron.

Cassandra pulled him to his feet. Roughly, but he had a growing suspicion that might be her only mode of conduct. With him standing now, half a head shorter than her, he could do nothing but remain still as the woman stared at him, studied him. He didn’t know what she was trying to find, but it made him want to squirm, made him feel small.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra finally answered after what had felt like an eternity.

She turned and walked out the door, and all Cian could do was follow, afraid that if he didn’t, he’d be left to the mercy of her silent soldiers and their sharp swords. His steps were uneasy, his legs stiff and aching after kneeling for Mythal only knew how long. He almost tripped going up the few steps leading to the door.

When he made it out, he had to flinch from the light. The glint on the snow was almost blinding after being in the cell for so long.

Adjusting his vision, he saw Cassandra staring at the sky and slowly turned his head to follow her gaze. When he saw what she did, he stumbled back, nearly tripped, and tried to make sense of exactly what he was seeing.

A giant hole in the sky.

Clouds swirled around the space ominously, a green hue washed over it all as lightning flashed within. Light swirled around it, drifting down to the earth. Horror and dread both left his blood frozen in his veins.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said, filling the silence. “A massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only rift,” she said, and his anxiety spiked higher than he could recall it ever having before. Rips in the Veil leading into the Beyond—that was not good. Not by a long shot. “But it is the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Cian tore his gaze from the sky to her. She had a shield, now, he noted, he wasn’t sure when, had someone passed it to her while his gaze was locked on the hole? “An explosion can do that?” he asked, incredulous. Oh, Mythal, how was that even possible? How was any of this possible?

“This one did,” Cassandra confirmed as she turned to look at him again “Unless we act, the Breach will continue to grow until it swallows the whole of the world.”

That was one way to make a point of the grave severity of the situation, as if there being a massive hole in the sky wasn’t enough to emphasize how screwed everything was. Still, his gaze fell on the Breach once more. It looked every bit as terrifying as she made it sound to be. He had no doubt that a hole leading to the Beyond could do that.

Just how many demons was it letting loose? Cian was lightheaded just thinking of it.

Thunder rippled through the air as a particular powerful surge of energy flashed across the sky, and with t, the mark on his hand sparked to life in the same way. Pain engulfed all his senses as Cian cried out, falling to his knees as light and energy cracked across his skin, burning his nerves, the agony was all he could feel.

He was panting for breath when the pain began to settle back down from mind numbing agony to barely tolerable misery. When his vision focused, Cassandra was kneeling in front of him, her face severe, but he could almost see hints of concern—No. he was just imagining it due to a pain-induced muddled mind.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads,” she explained, and okay, Cian was starting to see why they had suspected him of being responsible. The glowing green hand thing was far more damning evidence than just surviving some devastating incident. Cassandra’s gaze tightened as she stared at him. “It’s killing you.”

Cian’s mouth dried up. How was he supposed to respond to that? He looked at the sky once more. It’s killing me, he repeated in his mind. Fitting, Cian supposed. The pain alone made him feel like he was dying. Might as well make it literal. He sent another prayer to Falon’Din, in hopes that it may help him in some way.

“It might be the key to stopping this, but we must hurry. There isn’t much time left.”

She reached for him, and Cian instinctively pulled his bound hands away, closer to himself. “The key to doing… what?” he asked, tentatively.

“Closing the Breach,” Cassandra answered without pause. As if that was obvious, which, sure, maybe it was for her, but he was still in the dark about most everything going on. “Whether that is possible is something we shall discover shortly. But as of right now, it’s the only thing we have.”

Things were bad. No, scratch that, things were worse than bad. ‘Bad’ was several, several tiers below whatever they were in right now. Cian wasn’t even sure if there was anything that could top the level of “oh, shit” they were at with a big ass hole in the sky.

A lot of terrible things were coming out of it, and that meant a lot of people were going to get hurt, worse than the templar-mage war had done. A lot of good people were going to be killed. Worse yet; according to Cassandra—and whatever group this was—it was clear that Cian and his cursed, magic hand, were the only things that could maybe, and a big maybe there, stop it.

Creators help him. He didn’t want people to die, not good people.

Breathing deeply to steel his nerves, Cian nodded his head. “There’s a lot going on, but even more at stake,” he said slowly. This was bigger than him, bigger than anyone. If this Breach was left unhindered, too many would be lost. His Clan could be lost. If there was anything Cian could do to help close the Breach, he couldn’t back away. “I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.”

There was relief on her face, gratitude that Cian hadn’t been sure she had the facial muscles to express, let alone the ability to feel. But it was there, and brief as it was, he was sure that it was real this time.

He offered a hand—or both, considering his bound wrist. “I’m Cian of Clan Lavellan. I suppose it’ll be nice working with you for… however long I’ve left.”

Cassandra watched him for a moment before taking his hand—and dragging him back to his feet with an easy tug. “Cassandra Pentaghast.” Saying nothing more, she took hold of his bicep and began leading him across the snow.

They walked past tents and people. Mostly human, though he thought he had spotted a dwarf or two within the crowds. They gave a wide berth and whispered, directed hateful and fearful looks to Cian as they passed. He could hear slurs and obscenities they muttered that made him flush with shame and rage, his arms trembling. Terms and words that made knife-ear sound like a compliment in comparison.

More than one weapon was pointed at him, the faces of those who carried them just daring Cian to give them a reason to use them.

Suddenly Cian was glad Cassandra was holding him as they walked, the thought of what these people might have done if she wasn’t keeping a hold on him had left him more than a little nervous.

Someone threw a rock. It brushed the tip of his nose and landed a few feet past in the snow. Cassandra ignored it, kept him walking at a brisk pace as others loudly whispered their vile opinions, and another small rock whizzed past his ear. They were all laying blame for all that had gone wrong at his feet. The scapegoat.

“They have declared your guilt. They need it,” Cassandra explained as they walked, as if that justified the hurtful, hateful things they muttered. Cian didn’t understand why they needed any of it, but he knew better than to ask. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy; Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.”

He’d known the Chantry had called for it, and it made sense that the Divine would be at the head of that. If she truly was dead… Cian supposed with that in mind, he couldn’t be too angry at the people for their anger and mistrust. They had lost their leader, the woman who united all the different lands together, and following her death was the Breach. Maybe their feelings were a little justified.

Escaping the bulk of the people, as the heavy gates leading out of the place—out of Haven—came into view. “The Conclave was a chance for peace between the mages and templars, a chance to end this war,” Cassandra continued as they walked. She spoke as if she truly believed what she said, and Cian found that he envied that doubtless conviction she had, just a little. “She brought their leaders together so that they may talk, and now they are dead.”

They approached the gate and soldiers opened it without being asked. Cian followed as Cassandra led them on across a bridge full of more soldiers, crates, and weapons. “We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, just as Justinia did,” she said, and the passion in her voice—Cian was starting to see why others would be inclined to listen to her. “Until the Breach is sealed.”

Cassandra stopped, and Cian did as well. Her hand went to her back, beneath the shield she wore, and withdrew a knife. Small, but an effective weapon. Cian’s heart stilled, the pit in his stomach dropped even lower when she turned to face him, knife held firmly in her grip. For all the talk, actions were louder.

He took a trembling step back from her, she was going to cut off his ears, wasn’t she?

That’s what shemlen loved to do to his people, right? Cut off their ears, keep them as trophies. Maybe she was going to saw off his accursed hand to see if she could take the mark and use it on the Breach without having to deal with just another knife-ear. Honestly, if she wanted that stupid mark, then she could have the hand and all the pain that came with it.

She looked him in the eyes, and Cian noted hers were an impressively deep brown surrounded by dark shadows of endless sleepless nights and exhaustion. “There will be a trial, but I can promise no more,” Cassandra said as she grabbed him by the arm to bring his hands up, effortlessly cutting through the ropes that had left him bound. Freeing him. The knife disappeared back into her belt, and she gave him another long, appraising look. “Come. It’s not much farther.”

I guess I have a few more minutes of life. Mythal save me, the anxiety of it all will kill me sooner than any executioners blade, Cian thought to himself as he rubbed at his wrists. The skin had turned red and raw from the rough hemp of the rope and the tightness of the bindings, and he knew the throbbing aches would last a short while before dying down.

A trial was a nice promise, but Cian was under no illusion of its authenticity. It’d be a farce at most, a pretend trial where the verdict was already decided upon before it began. But it was still a kind promise, hollow as it was.

“Where are you taking me?” Cian asked, broaching the question with some hesitance as Cassandra began to march onward once again. He slowly followed, still trying to calm his beating heart, still holding his hands to his chest as if it would provide some comfort.

She did not even spare him a glance back as she walked, passing soldiers who looked onward at him with increased suspicion and unease. “Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach, so that we can know if it may truly be of aid.”

That was reasonable, he could admit. They continued to walk across the bridge, and he tried to ignore the hostility of those they walked by, but he still watched it all carefully. The shemlen were using the bridge as some kind of staging ground, that much was clear. The soldiers around them were all preparing for something. Some were packing, some were praying, some were sharpening their blades, and a few were helping to coordinate care for a number of wounded and dead.

The fear in the air was thick.

Cassandra led him through another gate at the end of the bridge, and the cut stone they had been walking on turned to snow covered earth. There were still several blockades in front of them, a final line of defense—or rather the first line—between Haven and whatever was out there.

A group of soldiers ran past them, abandoning whatever was further up the mountain, bleeding and tattered, and shouting for reinforcements.

There were many dead bodies scattered across the paths, their blood turning the snow red. Burning carts and crates and equipment that fouled the air with smoke. The further along the snowy path he and Cassandra went, the more destruction, more death, more misery there was to be found.

The sky roared with another crack of lightning, and his hand surged in response. The pain was overwhelming, and Cian stumbled—then collapsed into the snow as he gripped his burning hand, gasping for breath.

Cassandra kneeled before him, and when the pain passed and he could breath, she held out her hand. Cian took it, and she helped him up far more gently than she had treated him before.

“The pulses are coming faster, now,” she said, her gaze on the mark on Cian’s hand, her tone ominous. The meaning was clear, however. What little time the mark had left for him? It was even shorter, now.

They resumed walking, their pace brisk. Cian stepped over the charred body of a soldier, still smoldering, the stench of burned flesh was sickening. “The larger the Breach grows; the more rifts appear. The more demons we face,” Cassandra said as a means of warning. All of it should have been impossible, it sounded impossible, but it wasn’t. it was their reality now, and Cian was still trying to process any of it.

“How did I even manage to survive the blast?” Cian asked, more to himself than anything as he tried to picture it. Whatever the explosion was at the Conclave, it tore open the Veil, and yet despite it all; he was still standing. It wasn’t as if he had some magical wards to protect him, or had been wearing enchanted armor. Was it a miracle? Or dumb luck that he survived when none others did?

Cassandra faltered in her step. “They say…” she hesitated, but continued. “They say you stepped out of a rift, and fell unconscious.” The snowy path curved and turned once more, and they walked under a stone arch back onto another bridge. More soldiers were running on ahead of them towards a gate at the other end.

“They say a woman was behind you, just as you recalled,” Cassandra continued, her tone no longer as certain as it had been before. “No one knows who she was.”

Cian had no words for that, and so he said nothing, he continued walking. It didn’t matter, he supposed. They were only halfway across the bridge when green lightning struck in front of them, hitting the several soldiers who were ahead of them. Cian threw himself backwards on instinct to escape the damage, but a moment later he realized the bridge beneath his feet was collapsing.

He would have liked to have said he landed gracefully onto the ice below, but he didn’t. He hit rock and stone and rolled down the rubble before striking the cold, hard ice. Had he been wearing his armor, perhaps the impact wouldn’t have hurt as much. As it was, he felt bruises all over himself.

This really just was not his day. Did the Creators just look at him and decided “That elf. We’re going to make that elfs life miserable from this day onward” or something? It was starting to feel like it.

He heard screaming from above, and then nothing. The soldiers on the bridge who had been struck by lightning had been less lucky than him and his cold, had tumble and landing. Maybe some had gotten away, but most had likely not. More needless deaths.

The ache in his chest didn’t go away.

He had barely pushed himself up to his knees when a blazing ball of green flames shot from the Breach and landed in front of them, far too close for comfort. He flinched from the explosion, from the smoke, and watched in horror as darkness bubbled on the ground and a demon rose with a roar.

Cian really could have gone on with his life without having ever seen a demon, and he would have been more than happy about that.

Cassandra was on her feet in seconds, and he was quick to follow suit. Her sword was drawn, her shield held, and she put herself between him and the demon. “Stay behind me!” she ordered, rushing for the demon with the ferocity of a beast.

Unarmed, unarmored, and defenseless in every way, Cian would have been content to do as she said and let her kill the demon. Not to mention the amount of pain he was in thanks to the mark on his hand, he really wasn’t in the best shape.

But the earth rumbled, and another swell of smoke, much like the first, began bubbling on the ice. Moments later a second demon rose with a flash of green.

It stared at him with empty eyes, it’s roar reverberating across the ice.

Cassandra was busy fighting the first one, she wasn’t going to be able to come over and fight this demon as well, and his own weapons were confiscated when he was arrested. He needed to defend himself.

Stumbling back, scanning the surroundings, Cian searched for something he could use to fight. A broken wooden plank, or a even a sizable rock would have been better than nothing! His eyes fell on a crate that had fallen down with the broken bridge, and half buried under snow; flinting metal.

Two daggers. Mismatched in size and style. Nowhere near the value or quality of his own lost ones. But a blade was a blade, he knew how to work a blade, and he was in no position to complain about the details.

The demon lunged for him, and Cian dived to the side, rolling across snow and ice to reach the crate and snatched the daggers up from where they laid.

Armed, he turned to face the demon as it locked on him once more. It was strong, he’d have to be an idiot to think it wasn’t, and it swung at him with a clawed hand. The demon was strong, but it was slow, it’s movements almost lethargic—and Cian could use that to his advantage. Despite the pain and the unfamiliar daggars, he was faster.

He ducked and wove, quick, always quick on his feet. He swung the daggers with the grace and swiftness that came with years of practice, always staying out of reach of the demons attacks, always circling.

He sunk both daggers into the back of its neck, and that was all that was needed for it to collapse and melt away. A part of him couldn’t wait to see the look on Renan’s face when he got back to the clan and told her how he killed a demon. Talk about a rare experience.

Don’t get cocky, Cian warned himself as he stepped back from the dissolving, oozing goo. Not all demons would be as easy to fight and kill. Mar sola sena mar din, arrogance oh so easily became ones downfall.

Turning back, he saw Cassandra dispatch her demon as well, and relaxed. They were in the clear, for now. “It’s over,” Cian said with a bit of relief in his voice, offering her a smile.

Cassandra answered with a sword. “Drop your weapon,” she commanded, her voice hard and her accent even sharper. “Now.”

He wanted to fight back, to stand his ground. A demon had just attacked him! What was he supposed to do? Just stand around and let it? Was he to just be a damsel, unable to defend himself when Cassandra had made it clear that things would become increasingly dangerous the further from Haven they got?

But he wasn’t in a position to argue. It’d do him no good to be belligerent, and so he lowered the daggers and slowly knelt down to place them in the snow. “All right, I’ll disarm,” he said.

Cassandra watched him before sighing, lowering her sword. “No, wait,” she said, shaking her head as she sheathed her weapon. “Keep them. I cannot protect you out here, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless,” she conceded. “I need to remember that you agreed to come, willingly.”

Good, Cian decided. They didn’t have to be at each other’s throats, and he could have something to protect himself with, that was good.

Though they were sidetracked, they continued forward. Aiming for the Temple, Cian could only guess, though he had no idea where they were outside of Haven, and that it was unnecessarily cold here. Wet, too. He was so not wearing the right kind of shoes for this terrain. Should have worn shoes with soles.

There were dead bodies scattered around here, too, though Cian couldn’t see any sign of battle outside of the fight that he and Cassandra had just been in. They were all stiff and cold, had been dead for a while, but not long enough to begin rotting. He stopped to check a few of their pockets.

Cassandra chose not to comment on it, and Cian chose not to explain.

With a handful of coins in his pocket and a slightly better dagger to replace one of his current ones, Cian turned his gaze on Cassandra. “Where are your soldiers?” he asked her. They were supposed to be at war, fighting demons and holes in the sky, right? But beyond the dead, and that group on the bridge, they hadn’t come across anyone else.

“At the forward camp, or fighting further on,” Cassandra answered as if it were obvious and started walking once more. “We are on our own for now.”

Oh. Goodie.

Eventually they reached the frozen river again. There was another flight of stone stairs that led up into the mountains. Down on the ice were more of the demons they had already fought. He and Cassandra were able to dispatch the two easily enough working together and flanking them.

Another one waited further along the frozen river, but at the top of the stairs was something entirely different. Green, wispy, almost like the light pulsating from the Breach. When Cassandra charged forward, sword in one hand, shield raised in the other, the wisp fired green lightning at her. Magic? Or the demon alternative of? It didn’t matter.

Falling into instinct and what he knew, Cian fell into the shadows, and they embraced him with open arms. As Cassandra fought against the lethargic demon and blocked attacks from the Wraith, he climbed the stairs. Careful, slow, silent.

He got behind the demon, and once he was close, he could see that there was a solid body beneath the green mist surrounding it. Vaguely humanoid. Something killable.

The daggers went into the demon, smooth and deep, and cut through it with more ease than they did cutting through the flesh and muscle and tendons of a person. It surprised Cian over how easy it was to take out when it caused so much difficulty from a distance. Glass canons, he faintly remembered Hahren Athim calling it.

Not that he was going to complain, however. The easier the demons were to kill, the better. It was just something good to know if they ever went up against these fuckers again.

Cassandra handled her demon easily, far more easily now that she wasn’t blocking projectiles hurled at her, and she joined him at the top of the stairs. No words were said, but she gave him an approving nod. Or, at least, he hoped it was approving.

They continued along the river, picking off a couple more shades along the way, until another ball of flames was dropped from the Breach, and with it came more demons.

Cassandra stopped him as they took cover behind the rocks, watching as two Wraiths and four Shades lumbered about, blocking another set of stairs leading further up the mountain. six on two, not the prettiest of odds, but not impossible.

“You can disappear?” Cassandra asked, looking from the demons too him. She had seen him do it, so there was no point to ask, but she did, so Cian nodded mutely. Stealth was a useful skill for a hunter, it let them hunt prey undetected, and let them tail and kill those who threatened the clan without being seen.

Cassandra gave a nod back. “Good. Sneak past the Shades and take out the Wraiths as quickly as you can,” she ordered. “I’ll draw their attention and handle the Shades.”

That sounded risky. Cian stared at her, fidgeting in spot, “Are you sure?” he asked. It didn’t feel right to leave someone to fight that many on their own. He didn’t doubt her ability, but having to fight four of the Shades, along with dealing with the wraiths shooting from a distance—that was too dangerous. It left his stomach twisting into knots of worry. “Wouldn’t it be better if I took out some of the Shades first? Cut down the numbers quicker?”

She gave him a stern look, “You will focus on just the Wraiths,” she said, as if that were to be the end of it. “I will not require assistance beyond that.”

There was no point in arguing.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Cian allowed the shadows to cover him once more, disappearing from sight. He rounded the rocks they took shelter behind and circled the field, trusting Cassandra to know what she was doing as he got closer to the Wraiths.

The first demon didn’t see him coming, perched higher on the stairs and too busy focused on Cassandra as she charged into battle, and he cut it down quickly. Now out of the shadows, the other Wraith noticed and turned its attention from Cassandra to him, firing blasts of magic at him from its vantage point on a rocky outcrop along the mountain wall.

Diving out of the way, Cian rolled across the snow and dashed forward. He vanished once again, and bounced from side to side as he charged forward, making it harder for the Wraith to pinpoint where his unseen form might be as it's attacks missed.

It took some fancy movements and a bit of acrobats to get from the stairs to the rocky platform the Wraith was on, jumping and diving around, eventually the demon was killed, and that took care of the ranged enemies.

Cassandra still had two of her demons left, and Cian didn’t care how confident she was or how her accent made everything she said sound like an undeniable fact. He wasn’t going to sit by and leave her to fight on her own.

With one of the Shades circling around her to try and attack from behind, Cian lunged. It took a moment to calculate the speed and distance needed, but he launched himself off from the rocky overhang and pounced, his daggers driven into the demons back as he landed. It hurt his legs a little, those kinds of landings were always bad on the knees no matter how cool they looked, but it had been effective to get rid of the demon.

Cassandra killed hers and sheathed her sword. There was a look, hard and sharp, but not so much as a thank you. She just started marching up the now cleared staircase. That’s fine, Cian supposed, he’d been treated worse by shemlen before. He could handle this one being rude.

The higher they got up the stairs, the louder the noises of chaos became. Screaming, clashing of metal. “You can hear fighting,” Cian noted.

“We’re getting closer to the rift,” Cassandra explained, her pace quickening.

There were likely soldiers there, trying to keep it clear as best as they could so that when they got there, Cian could—well, he had no idea what he was supposed to do to close the rift. He’d have to figure it out when they got there. He wanted to ask who, specifically, was fighting, but that was a stupid question. Soldiers, obviously. Maybe templars who escaped the Conclave’s destruction. Probably soldiers from whatever group Cassandra was with. It didn’t really matter who was fighting, so long as they were fighting demons.

They continue onward at a more hurried pace, coming to a stop where a glowing green wisp of energy floating in the air, crackling with lightning, looking reminiscent to the one in the sky. The mark on his hand burned and tugged, drew him closer, past the bodies of dead soldiers and ashes of slain demons.

There were a few survivors still fighting. A dwarf and an elf among them.

Cian dove into the fight without hesitation, disappearing from sight as he snuck behind a demon, clad in what almost looked like armor, and stabbed it in the back. It didn’t kill it, but it drew it’s attention off the other elf—a mage, Cian noted, seeing the staff and the ice he used. Sandwiched between the both of them, the demon didn’t last long.

The elf’s eyes were on him, recognition and knowledge, and Cian wanted to run and flee. Something itched in the back of his head that told him to bad and he didn’t know why. He didn’t have the time to act, either.

“Quickly,” the elf yelled over the cacophony of violence, grabbing Cian by his wrist, the arm that carried the mark. “Before more come through!” He dragged Cian’s arm up and all but drove it into the rift.

The pain was excruciating, and Cian bit back a scream. Up until now the pain felt like his arm had been on fire, and now he knew that was inaccurate, that he was giving the pain too much credit, for now it felt as if all flesh and blood in his arm was burning away. Starting at the palm and spiraling out, further along his arm and to his shoulder, and then spreading further across his chest and back.

And then the rift imploded. It collapsed on itself and dissolved, leaving only a pile of dust—void dust? He wasn’t sure, didn’t care, not right now—in its wake.

Did he destroy it? Or did the rift somehow go into him? That was a question Cian was uncomfortable thinking of. His arm still hurt, pulsating pain originating at his palm, but it wasn’t as bad, not anymore. He shouldn’t think of it.

All that mattered was that the rift was gone.

He turned to the elf, and tried not to let it show that somehow being near him felt wrong. “What did you do?” Cian asked, his voice hoarse.

“I did nothing,” he replied, his voice smooth as water. “The credit is yours alone.”

His alone. Cian look down at the mark on his palm, still holding his wrist, still cradling it to his chest. The mark hadn’t changed, but since that also meant it didn’t get bigger, Cian wasn’t going to complain.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” the elf explained in a tone that Cian felt meant he was happy to talk. He’d had others in the clan like that. Love to talk if they got the chance. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the wake of the Breach, and it seems I was correct.” Boy did he sound so smug about that.

Cassandra wiped her sword clean before joining them. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

The elf nodded. “Possible,” he said, and looked at Cian with a smile. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh fuck no. He didn’t like that, not one bit.

Sure, a little fun and a little adventure was fine and dandy. But savior to the whole world? Big hero responsible for saving all life from doom? Cian was not a fan. That wasn’t him. He was a hunter, not a hero. He didn’t want to be a hero. Leave that to the others. This was too much.

It was all too much. Cian just wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He couldn’t find his words, and the others seemed to accept his horrified silence as some kind confirmation.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever,” someone else chimed in before his inner panic could spiral to a visible meltdown. Cian turned and the dwarf—beardless, red hair, rather enviable chest hair—approached. He grinned with a cocky smile, but radiated gentle friendliness. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong,” he introduced, winking at Cassandra who growled in disgust.

“Cian,” he returned, trying to figure out why the name sounded so familiar—and when it did, he perked right up. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you the Varric Tethras? Author of Darktown’s Deal?” he asked.

The dwarf laughed, “I’ll be honest, I don’t hear people talking about that one as much as some of my other works. But yes, that’s one of my publications. Always nice to meet a fan.”

It was weird. Though there was a lot of weird things going on today. Still, even among all the weirdness and oddities going on, Cian hadn’t expected to meet the author of his favorite book out here of all things. It brought a kind of levity to the situation, though. “I have so many questions I want to ask, if that’s okay,” Cian said, feeling giddy as a child.

“Of course,” Varric nodded, smiling generously, “And I’ll be happy to answer them while in the valley.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra butted in. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—”

The dwarf cut her off, “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” he asked, still smirking at her, and Cian had to admit he had a lot of courage to talk to her like that. The woman was kind of scarier than the demons they were fighting. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

The way he said it was absolutely taunting, and Cassandra held his gaze for a moment before stalking off with a sharp ugh.

The elf stepped forward and offered a smile. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf said as he brought the staff to his back. Solas. A Dalish name, but he lacked vallaslin, so clearly not Dalish. The man was taller than Cian, and his staff even taller. That wasn’t unusual, staves were often taller than the mage who carried them, but—aren’t human soldiers supposed to be attacking mages? “I am pleased to see you still live.”

A weird way to put it.

Varric must have noticed Cian’s expression, because he added. “He means; ‘I kept the mark from killing you while you slept.’”

Cian spun back to Solas, and found a soft smile on his face, and he felt a rush of shame for immediately feeling uneasy about him. “Ma serannas,” Cian said, and—worried that perhaps the man did not speak Dalish, added; “You have my thanks.”

His gratitude seemed to have made the man swell a bit with pride, but he hid it well enough behind another smile. “You can thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process,” he said, and it gave Cian a wave of comfort. Even if the words were hollow, it was nice to think they weren’t all for killing him to close a hole.

Turning his attention from Cian to Cassandra, Solas continued to speak. “Cassandra, you should know; the magic involved here is unlike any I’ve seen,” he said, his voice both serene and serious, a way of talking he’d heard other Keepers use whenever their clans crossed paths. “Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage wielding such power.”

Cassandra nodded, “Understood,” and it took Cian by surprise how quickly and easily she accepted his words. Solas, an elf—an elven mage at that. Just what was going on? “We must get to the forward camp quickly, then.”

Oh. So, they weren’t done walking. Tragic.

If he was expected to keep climbing a mountain and fighting demons, then when they got to the forward camp (if it was even still standing) Cian was demanding he got some armor to better protect himself. At the very least he figured he deserved some proper boots.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Well, let's get back into it with Esti, Ena, Keeper Deshanna, and Clan Lavellan:

Clan Lavellan maintains trade relationships with the human settlements they pass by; Keeper Deshanna believes it would be to the clan's detriment to try to fully isolate themselves. She is known to be diplomatic and even-handed, balancing the clan's safety while they interact with the world. She is a traditionalist when it comes to her teachings on magic: she discourages any contact/dealing with spirits, as the Dalish do, and fundamentally distrusts all blood magic. She considers these teachings particularly necessary to keep her clan's mages safe from Templars given that, again, the clan has more frequent contact with humans, and more chances to run afoul of Templars.

Ena is Deshanna's only child. She shadowed her mother from a young age, training and studying with the expectation that she would develop magic - she and Deshanna come from a long line of mages - and succeed her mother as Keeper one day.

However - you can guess where this goes - years and years passed. Enough time to know that Ena was not a mage. She became a proficient hunter and warrior for her clan - albeit one with a deep knowledge of magic and history - but grew distant from her mother. Deshanna's greatest expectation for her was one that was impossible to fulfill.

Esti was abandoned as a baby and found, by Ena, on the outskirts of the Dalish camp, when Ena was about 10. Though the clan sent a messenger to the nearby alienage, searching for whoever had left their child, but they never were able to find Esti's family, and the clan took her in. When she was older, she was found to be a mage, and quickly taken under Deshanna's wing as her apprentice.

Esti is quite shy and lacks confidence in herself; though she loves to learn history and study magic, she struggles with the idea that she will someday lead the clan and cannot shake the feeling that she is always falling short of Deshanna's expectations. She thinks Ena, with her force of personality, would be a better leader - but by accident of birth, Esti feels she has stolen Ena's position.

Ena adores Esti and sees her as a little sister. If Ena holds any resentment, it is directed towards Deshanna, who always gives off the vibe that she is vaguely disappointed in Ena. Ena is also particularly protective of Esti, to the point that Deshanna and others in the clan worry that Ena is coddling her.

Deshanna, for her part, does care deeply for both of them, as she does the whole clan, but she does have very high expectations for them both, and she is better at vocalizing criticism than praise.

When news of the Divine's Conclave reaches the clan, Deshanna intends to send Esti to investigate and bring back word. In one timeline, Deshanna simply sends Esti. In another, Ena learns her mother's intentions and argues until Deshanna relents and sends Ena to the Conclave instead. She does not allow Ena to go with Esti - she thinks that separating the two, even if Esti stays with the rest of the clan, will be good for Esti's independent development.

And then in a version of the timeline where Esti goes to the Conclave, news reaches the clan that one of their own is being held captive by this new Inquisition, and Deshanna, after a loud "I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO" from Ena, sends her off to Haven to find out more and bring Esti home. And, finding that they've raised Esti as a prophet and also she's the only person that can fix the hole in the sky, Ena says well, I'm staying too.

(As an aside, since he's very important to both Ena and Esti: Deshanna would not like Solas. Not even for his condescending "the Dalish don't know their own history but I, some random weirdo, am offering to teach them" thing, but as soon as he starts talking about napping in ruins and befriending spirits in the Fade, she would be like, you are out of your mind. Fortunately for her stress levels, she does not know that both her daughter and apprentice, on hearing him say the same things, both go "hey that's fucking wild, tell me more".)

Sorry for the person I become when I think about my Dragon Age OCs.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Wednesday! Wednesday! I love Wednesday because I get to shaaaaaaaaare! X3

Thank you @whataboutbugs for the tag! Let me show everyone what I’m working on! 

I’ve been doing a lot of prompts on Tumblr lately to help me develop my skills and style, but I finally managed to begin working on Chapter 10 of my main fic! Here’s a snippet!

The Keeper sighed. “Avan was not the one to break a nose, Fane.”, she pointed out, more shifting sounded as a far smaller body than his leaned forward, trying to draw his gaze in some way, but he kept his glare firm, burning, as he bore holes into wood and disgusting tapestries of silent beings and pathetic pride. “He is not covered in your blood, only his own, and I need to understand why before I pass judgement on him or you. So, this discussion is not pointless if you use your voice instead of your fist, da’len.”

The room was silent, stagnant, tense as those words hung around them, permeating the air with their delivery and echoing in the exhausted, but irritated halls of Fane’s fraying mind, the distant roars from earlier gone, but not the crimson lights or the blackened curtains that shaded them so they merely flickered forebodingly. He felt his fingers dig, claw into his arms, sharp pangs of pain surging up and down them, but he ignored it, let himself feel it because it was the only thing keeping him ‘calm’ as the crimson torches occasionally brightened, grew, taunting and teasing for him to lose control again. The Keeper wanted him to use his voice, but what good would it do? Would it help to yell, to scream, to throw around pathetic words like the clan did, like Avan had?! No, he would not stoop that low! He wouldn’t give these idiots the satisfaction!

He would be silent. Just like he had to do nine years ago, magic suffocating him as it poured down his throat, burning and hot, and as metal peeled back his flesh, the bearer of the blade hissing, commanding that he remain quiet or more blood would spill! The blood drying on his face and on his hand were nothing compared to the buckets of his that had been filled! But this..this disgusting woman would ignore that, turn her back, just as she and the rest of the clan had done, narrow minded and too concerned with their pathetic history to..to..

Look up at who was looking down. 

“Pass your verdict, Keeper.”, Fane growled low, the sound warped, primal as crimson danced at the edges of his vision with blackened ribbons. “I have nothing to say to you, to anyone. My voice only matters when you want it to matter. You’re saving face in front of your sheep.” His body began to tremble, fingers twisting into leather and minor cloth to try and ground himself, to control himself. “Too bad you’re just lining them up for slaughter the longer I’m around.” It was a threat, he knew, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care!

Fane finally, finally, found himself turning his gaze away from the wall as those words fell from his lips, something urging him to look at the Keeper, to observe her reaction. He didn’t know why, though. Why should he care how she would react? Maybe he just wanted her to lash out, to prove to him that they were the same? He didn’t know. Just like he didn’t know why she was looking at him calmly, fiercely, and unperturbed as wizened fingers folded themselves over each other on the table, a few drumming a beat he recognized from clan gatherings, but not because he had been directly present before she spoke once again.

And the words had him seeing blood red. Not darkened crimson. Not ruby red like the sweet apple offered by a friendly hand. Blood. Red. Red that had painted his hand, his arm, his face as an equally as bloody body crumpled to the ground like the pathetic trash that it was! Red that had his chest heaving, face twitching with a snarl as rage so potent made his body temperature rise and his hearing go distant, near deaf with distant roars and crackling flames upon heated glass!

“You are becoming more and more like your father with each passing day, da’len.”

***

And just for another tease, here is another snippet from my ModernAU! 

“Easy, Yune.”, Fane soothed, his pointed ears twitching from the sound of his own voice, the tone unusually soft, but not so unusually deep. He reached up with a hand to give the tiny white dragon a stroke, running his knuckles along thin, but sturdy scales. “It’s just the usual aches and pains. I’ll be fine once I get in the shower and get moving.”, he assured, a small smile gracing his features as Yune let out a tiny coo from his touch. “Now, come on. Let’s get our day started. Got a lot on our plates today.” 

That’s right. Today would be a test and one Fane was mildly anxious about and one he knew the board at the University of Ferelden would not be happy about, but it was his lesson plan, his rules, his agenda. He was a draconologist, first, and a professor, second. He didn’t go to school in Nevarra and then Tevinter between the ages of twenty-one to twenty-three to cow every time a fat ass in a suit scowled and wagged their finger at him for breaking the mold. 

He didn’t spend time between the ages of eighteen to twenty just researching on his own, scraping together money and dipping his toes in any and every job that came his way to purchase the necessary supplies, about the functionality of dragons in ancient times and their significance to the world’s ecosystem, and their connection to the Fade to bend to what the masses believed dragons ‘truly’ were, and those fools believed them to be pets, servants, no more than a mabari, but not afforded the same prestige of intelligence. 

He didn’t begrudgingly adhere to the norms of propriety and professionalism in search of the truth that he knew Orlais was hiding from him to bend to them on a fallen knee whilst saying ‘Yes, yes. You’re absolutely right. I’m the fool. How dare I question you?’ 

He didn’t climb the ladder, listen to the disgusting term of ‘prodigy’, to live a life of opulence and complacency like many of the elders in his field did, most abandoning research and knowledge to simply reap the lush fields of others until they were barren, growing full off the wheat of discovery - discoveries like his.   

He didn’t do anything he did with the intent of surrendering, of breaking to placate someone else’s misdirected mind. Dragons were more than pets, and he would see them treated as they were meant to be treated; as equals, people just like the elves, the humans, the dwarves and the Qunari. They held just as much awareness and understanding, if not more, than other races and species. 

There were still mysteries he had to unravel, but again, he would unearth them so the leash on the world would be snapped like a thin thread, weak and transparent. Dragons would be able to do what they were made to do again, no matter the cost. And the only way to do that was to show people what a true dragon was like. So, yes, today’s class would be a test, a test to see for himself if people were willing to break their own leashes, just as he had.

***

Tagging under the cut! (lengthy one this time!)

@oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @shift-shaping @dreadfutures @noire-pandora @varric-tethras-editor @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age  @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share! Show me the goods! (only if you want to, no pressure! <3)

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

A short-story preview.

Set in a story where years down the line, Fen'harel has yet to destroy the Veil, but his plights are making all of Thedas weary of the modern elves.

Four Dalish elves band together to avenge a massacre. Will they inflict Justice or Vengeance on those responsible? And what secrets will they uncover along the way?

Warning: Violent acts & Character Death.

----

On the outskirts of Ansburg, a Dalish settlement had been destroyed. 

They had been camping beside the coast, where a river drained off from the ocean. 

They’d thought that the lack of freshwater would make the paths less favorable towards merchants or humans in general.  Their aravels had been pitched and their halla let loose to graze. 

They lasted three days. 

On the fourth day, when two cloaked riders closed in on where the Dalish were meant to be, the stench of death still remained, carrion birds harvested bodies, and a started fire had laid waste to everything.  

Blood ran the river red by the time the two riders reached the desolate camp.

Their movements became slow and they approached with caution; anticipating an ambush, but all they were met with was the silence that the massacre left behind. 

“Maker,” one of the riders mumbled, bringing his arm up to cover his nose.  “Who could have done this? Do you think it could’ve been Fen’harel?” 

“No,” the other rider says, his voice somber and distant. “No, these elves were not his enemies and they did not deserve his wrath.”  As he spoke, he would have abandoned his mount, an older Dracolisk, beside the river. Carrying on by foot, he would assess the carnage.  Bodies lay to waste around him, many of which were missing their pointed ears. It was sickening, deplorable, and a byproduct of fear.  “Even so, this act is unforgivable.” His voice would crack, overwhelmed by anger  and grief. “There are so few of our people left, and the only thing they have done is chosen not to take a side in this foolish war.” 

“The war that we are fighting.” 

“Yes, because even though it is foolish, it can not be ignored.  Not when innocent people are being slaughtered like this.” The second rider would crouch down, to close the eyes of an elf who was staring up at the sky. “Falon’Din enasal enaste.” 

“What are we going to do now, carry on to Tevinter?” 

“We are going to bury them, and find those responsible.” 

The first rider lets out an exasperated sigh. “Lavellan, we don’t have the time-” 

“- Then we make time.” 

The first rider says nothing more, hanging his head in silent compliance. 

They spend their evening in this way, gathering bodies and offering them final prayers. They didn’t have the means to do a proper ceremony, but they would do their best with heavy hearts.  

Nightfall had soon come and gone, and as a new dawn broke across the sky, the two men sat across from each other, swallowing down their rations despite lacking a proper appetite.  

“So you didn’t find your dalish contact amongst the dead?” The first rider would ask, his bright green eyes were growing red, as he fought the  need to sleep.  Only in his mid-twenties, and a recently freed slave of the Tevinter Imperium, he was not used to the constant traveling and combat he had to endure while shadowing the former Inquisitor.  He rubs at his face, hands running across his mutilated vallaslin.  The branches that spread over his cheeks had been cut into and burned by his former master, when he was only eighteen and freshly kidnapped from his own clan. “Perhaps he went after those responsible?” 

“No,” Lavellan would shake his head. “Ryland would have waited for us, had he still been alive and of his own free will.” The older elf  would be fiddling with a string around his neck. He clutched at the sending crystal as if it was his life line with one hand, while the other, a prosthetic, would be clutching a potion. “This group was made up of smaller dalish clans, ones that were left abandoned by their clanmates when they joined Solas. Ryland was traveling with them, to bring them to another encampment on the other side of Nevarra.” 

“That was very noble of him.” 

“Yes, and I’m the one who asked him to do it.” 

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened, and drink your potion.” 

Lavellan would stop fiddling with his necklace, taking to unscrewing the cork of the bottle in his hand. “If we had gotten here a day sooner Ma’hallian, we may have prevented this from happening entirely.”  He would down the bottle in one go, guzzling it’s dark purple liquid, looking as if he’d just bit into a lemon afterwards. “This thing could be a poison.” 

“A poison that keeps you from keeling over in pain.” Ma’hallian would remind him gently, before reaching out to take the empty bottle from the other man’s hands. “And we didn’t get here a day sooner, so we have to keep moving forward.” 

“We will, as soon as the person responsible is brought to justice.” 

The white-haired elf would lean forward, fixing the former Inquisitor with a narrowed gaze. 

The older elf was on the cusp of fifty, with silver streaks in his long chestnut hair and wrinkles overtaking his darkened skin.  These days, his hands shook whenever he lifted his sword, and his amber eyes always smoldered with conviction. “Is it justice you are after, or is it vengeance?”

“The two are not so different, when faced with a situation like this.” 

“We both know that they are.” 

Lavellan hated being shown up by his assistant, someone who could be so callous and shy towards the rest of the world. The boy had spent the majority of his life either in solitude or servitude and yet, he still managed to come out of it with a remarkable sense of responsibility and level headedness. 

“I-” He does not get a proper sentence out, as a distant sound causes his ears to twitch. Ma’hallian hears it too and they rise to their feet.  

Ma’hallian draws a dagger from his belt and Lavellan pulls free his sword from its sheath.  They approach the source of the noise with silent steps, until they are looming over the site of a destroyed aravel. It’s red fabric and splintered wood had made a heavy pile, and something dared to move beneath it. 

“Careful,” Lavellan murmurs, “it may be an abomination that’s risen.” 

Leering forward with one foot, the elf  would kick the debris away, his sword poised to strike down, but he would stop just short of skewering another elf. 

An elf also nearing his fifties, with deep red hair that was coated in soot and streaked with soft greys. His face, while well defined, was covered in laugh lines and scars alike. They danced along his vallaslin for Ghilan’nain, etched in blue to match his eyes.   This new elf stares up at them, as a cough rattles throughout his chest and past his lips.  “Well, hello your highness. I survived then? Unless you managed to finally kick the bucket too.” 

“No, Ry, you’re just that lucky.” Lavellan would put his sword away before holding out a hand, hauling his former partner from the aravel. Eyeing him wearily, in search of any wounds that could prove fatal. 

“Ah well, what can I say? The universe loves me.” Ryland dusts himself off, wincing as he does so, but seemingly unharmed save for a few aches, bruises, and perhaps a concussion after being crushed beneath one of their landships. “How bad is it?” 

“You’re the only survivor.”

 The red-head takes in a sharp breath. “That can’t be right. Where are the bodies?” 

They take him to the people who they had wrapped or covered, ready to be buried, as time permitted them.  He looks them over, with blue eyes watering, before he shakes his head.  “There were younger elves here, children, and a mage. None of them are with the dead.” 

“Perhaps they perished in the fire that ravaged the camp?” Ma’hallain offers, supervising Ryland as Lavellan wanders off to their mounts. “Or animals picked off their remains?” 

“You are  a grim young man, Ma’hallain, but no. The only scavengers in this area are the birds, and they wouldn’t be able to devour  a body within a day, let alone a dozen or so. The person responsible for the siege must have taken them.” 

“And who was responsible?” Lavellan had rejoined them, bringing a fresh pair of clothes to Ryland from his carry on.

“There’s a human settlement nearby, Ansburg? They’ve recently come into new leadership and the man appears to be terrified of us knife-ears.” Ryland would strip there, pulling his otherwise tattered shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground.  Lavellan would hand him the clean one and Ma’hallian would have the decency to look away as he took off his pants as well. “When the local militia arrived, I told them that we had no ties with Fen’Harel or the Qun. They said that they were under orders and at the end of the day, all elves were the same.” 

“Yet they would never claim that all humans are murderers, would they?” 

“Fear is bred by ignorance, highness. They’ll get what’s coming for them.” 

Lavellan would grumble, “Did you at least scout Ansburg when you first made camp?” 

“Course I did, seemed like a normal shemlen village. Smelt of rotten fish and wet dog. There weren’t any elves, but I didn’t find that odd. There aren’t many flat ears left in the smaller settlements.”  

“Did you find where this new leader lived?” 

“It was the first thing on my list, but something seemed off about it. The whole village was sort of dreary, but his estate was shimmery, almost. Like the stones were reflecting the light.” 

Ma’hallian snaps back to attention, his ears drooping just so. “That sounds like warding, and a very obvious one.  I bet he is using it to scare others away, people do that in the Magisterium. Either to scare the already fearful, or to make a spectacle out of something valuable.” 

“So we’ll need a mage?” Lavellans asks. 

“Unless warriors suddenly know how to dispel things? Rogues most certainly do not.” 

“Oh,” Ryland would croon, “Do you know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like a call to Dorian. Tell him I said hello, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know that I survived.” 

Rolling his eyes, Lavellan would turn away from the other men. Knowing that Ma’hallian was glib due to his many years living in darkness and Ryland was only using humor to cope with the carnage around them. 

[fenharel-babe]

I'm back in my Solavellan feelings and want to talk about my lavellan and Solas. I saw these prompts and decided to post that now. I'm going to answer each one (other than the nsfw ones) and here we go. Putting it under a keep reading just in case no one cares lol.

For the Fluff:

1. What are things they both find funny?

Solas and Bloom both love when Cassandra and Varric banter. They just find it hilarious because Cassandra is nice at some points but she can be angry while being funny. They just find both of them too funny.

2. If they could each describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?

Solas describe Bloom as, "A complicated woman," and Bloom describes Solas as, "A complicated man." They're both complicated on the surface and they just stick to that description. But if people ask for what do they like about each other, then OH BOY!!! They could go on a rant.

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Solas would compliment Bloom by saying how she always notices the good in people. She always tries to make people feel better, help them heal, and just help people in general. She cares for people and the way she sees the good in people, and it makes him love her.

Bloom would compliment Solas by saying she loves hearing him ramble and how adorable it is. Solas rambles and we ALL know it. He'll talk about the fade or magic for hours and Bloom loves to hear all of it and she finds his passion adorable.

4. What would be their ship name?

Blas because it's close to blast and Bloom will blast you away if you ever hurt her family. It has Bl from Bloom and as from Solas lol.

5. What activities do they enjoy together?

Hmmm...they enjoy a lot of things together. I guess the one thing they could mainly enjoy together is reading. They both like to read and find it fun. But the part they both enjoy the best is reading to each other. Like Lavellan is resting her head in Solas's lap and he's reading whatever to her or Solas is resting his head in her lap and she's reading to him. It's comfortable and that's an activity they like.

Another one is taking naps together.

6. What is/are their love language(s)?

Physical attention. I believe Solas does like it when he gets physical attention. He's like...however old and he's definitely touch starved, but only for the person he loves: Bloom. They both like getting physical attention and like holding hands, kissing, hugging, nsfw things, and they do like words. They love being told "I love you" from the other and it brings them so much comfort. They love it when they comfort each other.

7. Write a ~300 word love scene for them.

Solas was looking at Bloom again. She was resting on the couch in the Rotunda, few pieces of hair falling in front of her face, and was slightly snoring. He worked in the Rotunda all the time and she would visit him all the time. Even before they confessed to each other. They love being together, so if she was ever stressed, she would come here and check on him. He would accept the attention and he would give her as much comfort as she needed. This time, she came because she had a bad dream. She was being chased by demons and was witnessing Solas's death in the future that Alexius tried to make. He knew she suffered from the mere memory, so he would never shun her away. He would do whatever she wanted and this time she just wanted to be in the same room with him.

She groaned in her sleep and it made him worry. He marked the page he was on in his book and went over to her. He knelt in front of her and pulled the pieces of hair back behind her ear. She moved slightly and it made him freeze, but she didn't move again and he was relieved. He looked at her closer now and he got to see the sight he loved. He loved to see her at peace, something he rarely got to see, and when she slept he got to see it. It made him feel happy and he just staring at her made him feel blessed. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. He hoped she wouldn't wake, but she did.

She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw him. "Hi, vhenan."

Solas blushed at that word and decided to kiss her again to hide it.

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

Bloom found Solas as interesting and she really wanted to know more about him.

Solas found her as rude and distant. Only to realize she's just anxious and actually loves almost everyone.

For the Angst:

9. Have they made each other cry?

Have you seen the ending of Trespasser??? YES!! They have. They never used their words to hurt each other and make them cry, but their actions have. Solas leaving made Bloom cry, Bloom having a dream of Solas being dead made her cry, and seeing him again in Trespasser made her cry.

Now, Solas cried a lot. He hides it, but he does cry a lot. He cares for Bloom a lot, more than he thought he would, so seeing her hurt? It makes him upset. One time, she was knocked out for quite awhile because she used a lot of her energy, and Solas was so concerned and he cried. So yes they cry about each other a lot.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

I can't exactly do this one because they rarely argue :(.

11. What causes them to fight?

Umm...the only thing that could make them fight would be Solas telling Bloom to do something she doesn't believe in. Solas telling her that she's too kind hearted and almost implying she's weak. That would really hurt her and she would argue. It would be a short argument because she would leave since she doesn't want to argue. They would both come together soon and they'll explain their side and almost always feel better.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Yeah. I'm not good with the politics in like DA, but it's obvious they do bc he's Solas and she doesn't know the things he does, so they do have different opinions. It's why they avoid that topic lol.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

Bloom could never let him destroy the world. Like she would never help him. Does she love him with her entire soul? Yes. But she can't destroy the world.

Solas would never just forget his past for her. You can take this as in he has to destroy the world or just that he can't stop the mission of at least sharing the word of his people. He just can't forget his past.

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Destroying the world is a deal breaker for Bloom lol. Or just anything regarding to hurting people for the fun of it.

Deal breaker for Solas would have to be her hating on his old life. Like?? Excuse me?? Bloom would never but still. If he had someone do that then he'd have to leave them.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

Bloom doesn't like the way Solas is constantly not looking at other peoples POV. He just thinks about his past and sometimes needs to be reminded not everyone is like him and he needs to think about it like them.

Solas doesn't like the way Bloom is always sacrificing herself.

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

They would still love each other. They have broken up like twice already now. First in DAI and then again in Trespasser (not rlly but ya get it?? He left her once and then he did it again lol). They would still love each other and wouldn't move on. They would still believe that they are a good person (Even if Bloom's opinion of that good person is in doubt) and almost have the same opinions.

For the Depth:

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

Bloom is reminded of him when she sees green clothes. She's reminded of his clothes he would wear, how she would take them off in the heat of the moment, and how she would sometimes sleep in them. And!! Seeing wolves or animals would sometimes remind her of him. He liked animals and talked about them and since he has a jawbone, if she saw a wolf she'd immediately think about him. The smell of the woods would remind her of him.

Solas is reminded of her when he sees anything blue or ginger. Blue was her favorite color and she almost always wore blue clothes, and her hair was ginger. Seeing anything ginger would remind him of her, her hair, and how he would run his fingers through it when she was stressed or sad.

18. What would be their love motto?

"To love is to understand each other, trust each other, and want to protect each other."

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

Bloom: "You make my fire brighter and make me feel like I can do the impossible."

Solas: "You understand me and see things in me I can't see myself."

20. What is a promise they have made to each other?

To love forever. Solas knew he wouldn't love anyone like he loves her and she knew she wouldn't love anyone the way she loves him, so they made a promise.

Away from their love, it's a promise to always be true to each other...even though that promise is very sad...because you know-

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

I think they've both changed for the better. Bloom slowly learns she can't sacrifice herself and that it's okay to love someone no matter what. Solas learns that everyone is suffering in their own way, how precious people are, and how to love again.

22. If their lives were what was originally intended at birth, would they have still fallen in love?

Umm...Bloom was meant to be a hunter and stay in a clan, so I doubt they would have met. BUT if they ever did, they most likely still would have fallen in love. Bloom was still the same no matter what. He probably would adore her more because she can fight physically and also use her magic.

23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language.

They were in her bedroom, getting undressed for bed, and he finally wrapped his arms around her. Bloom felt relief when Solas wrapped his arms around her. She had been through a stressful day, so to feel his arms around her, it made her feel safe. The warmth he radiated brought her peace, and then the coolness he gave her made her feel even better. Anything involving him made her feel loved, so to just feel him made her happy.

Uhhh....I can't write just body language. I need to write dialogue so my bad. Take 79 or 80 words lol.

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

Bloom has to forgive him for trying to destroy the world lol.

Solas doesn't really have anything to forgive her for. She's always been careful around him, not overstepping boundaries, and they rarely fought. He just feels the need to forgive himself and understand why she forgives him.

Anyways yeah take this!! I might do more prompts like this. I just love them so much. I might do Cullen and Elle and Julian and Cassandra!! And there's not much proofreading so :))).

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Faded Lives (Chapter 1)

Solas/Female Reader, Solas/Female Lavellan

You are Lavellan, and Solas takes you through the memories of your many different lives together. As fate would have it, you always find him, or he finds you.

A collection of short writings, each based on an affirmation. Some are AU, others are dreams in the Fade. Minor spoilers for DAI possible. Each chapter has roughly 1,000 words.

Chapter 1: I am home, I am loved

Chapter Summary: Solas carries a blindfolded Lavellan through the forest, into the depths of his heart.

Rating: Teen

on Ao3

(picture source)

“Where are we going?” you ask, your eyes blindfolded and stumbling through the forest. The smell of the air had changed, it was distinctively fresh and clear now. You could tell there was a source of water nearby, the distant sound of it mixing with the birds chirping above your head.

“You will have to wait and see.” he answers softly, guiding you by his hand along the path.

“I do hope I will get to see eventually” you joke, taking every step slowly and with consideration.

When you stumble on what you think of as a tree’s roots on the ground, you almost fall but he catches you by a hold onto your hand and turns around to stabilize your body by his grip onto your waist. Swiftly he makes the decision to carry you through the passage that is not easily crossed.

While you are on his back, you feel his hands around your thighs intimately and he is so close that you can almost taste his skin. The masculine scent, the hint of sweat; his muscular shoulders that your hands hold onto. First you had wondered why you had even agreed into letting him guide you blindfolded through the forest but now you realize you can take in all of the sounds and scents so much more intensely and are overly pleased with the experience.

You cannot hear the noises of the village and your clan anymore. All that you hear are the sounds of nature, his steps rustling on the ground, the water, the birds. You feel like you can see the sun through the opaque fabric, how it shines in from the right side onto you and in your mind, the image of both of you in the forest unfolds.

He finally sets you down, carefully, while you still hold onto him. Only slowly your hands let go of him as you notice the sound of the water in a rippling flow.

“Are we there?” you ask curiously, your fingers already on the seam of the blindfold. His answer comes in an approving hum, and it sounds like a song to you, the sweetest song you have ever heard. Meanwhile his hands move to the back of the fabric around your head, cautiously loosening the knot.

When your eyes are unveiled, you are first blinded by the glaring sunlight that comes in as expected, but soon it reveals the scenery of a large waterfall in front of you. You gasp at the beauty of the water flowing wildly off the edge and see the drop caught gently by the pool of water below. The splashes sparkle in their fall like beautiful crystals.

“Wow. Solas... This is... this is so beautiful.” you say and lean in to his side. He wraps an arm around you and chuckles.

“Do you like it?” he asks while you stand at one another’s side, taking in the natural scenery.

“Do I like it?” you ask in an ironic tone, laughing. “I want to bathe in it!”

“We can do that later. I want to show you something else first.” he suggests and takes your hand again to guide you. As you turn around, you see that the pool from the waterfall flowing into a river through the forest. You squint a little at what you see in the back and as you approach, you notice a wooden house.

“What’s this? Does someone live in there?” you ask, pointing at the rather spacious looking hut with your free hand. It stands at the edge of the forest, a steep slope behind it captures it cut-off from the land below.

“Yes.” he answers calmly, “We live in there.”

A frown comes to your face at his words. But as you enter the house, you start to understand. There is simple furniture, a bedroom, a living room. And on top of all that you are yet still overwhelmed as you see the living room’s windows giving a view past the cliff into the lush land below.

“This is-- this is amazing. It’s so beautiful.” you say in awe and he smiles in reaction. “I can’t believe this!”

A radiant smile forms on your lips when you see the little crib in the living room and you come up to it and take your baby from it, who babbles happily at the sight of his mother. Once he is safely cradled in your arms, you see an elder woman from your clan approaching you, smiling, telling you she had taken care of him while she waited for you to arrive.

“Would you stay a while longer? We would like to enjoy ourselves and take a bath” he requests from her kindly, and she nods.

You smile at Solas, then at your son, who plays with the seam of your clothing, entirely lost in his play with his gaze firmly on the fabric.

“My lovely little boy” you say as you place a kiss to his forehead, the thin hair that is yet but peach fuzz covering the crown of his head. Then you lay him in the crib again and walk over to his father, your arms now settled uneasily into one another in front of you.

“What is it, Vhenan?” he asks when he sees your posture, a hint of worry in his voice. “Is there something that bothers you?”

“No, no! I just... I--” You sigh before getting the courage to voice your concerns. “It’s so awfully far from the settlement. I don’t know if this will be alright.”

“I have taken care of everything. Someone will come to our house daily, and we will go to the village when necessary. We will not lack a single thing.” He takes your hands from the crossed posture and holds them, continuing to speak in a soft tone. “But most of the time, I want it to be only you and me, and our son.”

The smile comes back onto your lips at his reassuring words and you let him guide you into the bedroom, the sturdy wooden bed already set up and made. It must have taken him a while to get all of this ready, and now you recall the days when he had been gone for hours and had not told you where he had been. You would have never guessed that you would have a house of your own, you were happy with the living arrangements in the settlement of your clan. This was more than you could have ever hoped for.

“Vhenan” he speaks softly into your ear as he stands behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist. You lead your own hands onto his while you watch the waterfall through the window.

“Hmm?” you hum in reply, and it comes in the similar singing tune as his hum earlier.

“They always talk about the first time being special. But I believe the first time in our home will be the most special.” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, making you blush slightly.

“Everything is special to me with you.” you breathe, closing your eyes while you feel his hands run along your shoulders and arms sensually.

“And you are the most precious gift to me. You are all I want.” he replies and turns you around to him, fingers running along the side of your face. He lifts your chin, then leans in and kisses you dearly.

[sermacsteph]

Clan Lavellan, Falon’Din Enasal Enaste

The woods near Wycome were quiet. The only sounds were the whistling of a gentle breeze amongst the leaves; the faintest sounds of wildlife: a fennec rustling amongst the fallen leaves, the distant song of birds in the trees above. It was peaceful, and in another world - another time, Estelle Lavellan would have found more joy in a walk in the woods. Had once run through the trees, with light and laughter, chasing his friend as she swung through the branches.

But that had been a time before the breach and Corypheus. A time before he had been made Inquisitor and made choices that would doom those he cared about. A time when his clan, his family, had still been alive.

Now, Estelle walked in subdued silence as they headed for the spot on their map - where Charter had marked a rough estimation of Clan Lavellan’s location before the humans fell upon them. Since they’d entered the woods that all too familiar grief weighed heavily on his heart.  Beside him, Dorian made no attempt to break the silence but remained a comforting presence. He was glad that Dorian had offered to come with him, he wasn’t entirely sure he could have done this by himself.

Originally, they’d come to Wycome to deal with the last of the Venatori in the area. One last mission together before Dorian returned to Tevinter. It had been somewhat satisfying to finally take down those who had sowed the seeds that had led to the humans turning on the Elves. Yet Estelle couldn’t just leave, not without seeing the woods that had become Clan Lavellan’s last resting place - without saying goodbye.

Though, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Over the past few years as Inquisitor, Estelle had seen far too many killing sites then he cared to count. Had seen far too many sites of massacres, of past battles across both Orlais and Ferelden. Though many of them had been recent by the time they’d reached them, with perhaps the exception of the Exalted Plains. It had been two years since the massacre that had left both the city Elves of Wycome and Clan Lavellan dead - blamed for a plague that wasn’t their fault. 

A knot of trepidation twisted in his stomach, making him stop dead in his tracks. What awaited them in that clearing? Would bones be scattered about, picked clean by the wildlife? Or would nature have claimed the area completely, wiping away any evidence of the atrocities that had happened beneath its trees.

‘Amatus?’

Estelle blinked, the sound of Dorian’s voice jolting him from his thoughts. ‘I’m … all right. I just need a moment.’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Dorian quietly, watching him with concern. ‘We can turn back if you need to.’

‘And miss the chance to explore such a peaceful wood with you, vhenan?’ Estelle replied, he tried for a smile but wasn’t really sure he’d managed it. ‘You know, our clan had this tradition that if you paired with someone outside the clan, on the first walk back to camp…’ he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. ‘Guess I never imagined it like this though.’

No, it wouldn’t have been at all like this. They would have been able to hear voices floating towards them through the trees, the sounds of laughter, the little ones chasing each other. His best friend, Ellana, would have been here teasing him, endlessly. Keeper Deshanna welcoming them with open arms and a warm smile. Estelle wondered how they would have thought of Dorian. Some of the clan might have had reservations given Dorian was from Tevinter. But Estelle had little doubt that he and Ellana would have gotten on tremendously and he’d most likely have regretted letting the two meet. But now, Estelle guessed he would never know.

His chest tightened. That horrible ache twisted inside him, stealing his breath. Tears burned his eyes and Estelle tried to blink them back furiously. He heaved a shuddering breath as he felt Dorian take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Estelle had always known this would be difficult, but the idea of leaving Wycome without saying goodbye, without saying the prayers he’d been unable to say two years ago - it didn’t sit right with him. 

‘Now, I know you like being stubborn,’ said Dorian, ‘but if you need to leave, just say the word and we’ll leave, all right?’

Estelle nodded, giving him a grateful smile. ‘Come on, let's get this over with.’

They ventured a little further into the woods. The trees were closer together here, the leaves above blocking out the sunlight above as an unseasonable mist curled its way between the trees. Estelle shivered, a chill spider walking down his spine. 

‘The veil, it's thin here,’ said Dorian, ‘you can feel the spirits pressing against it.’

Estelle could feel it too. That didn’t bode well, the veil was always thin where so many deaths had happened. He’d seen proof of that across the Exalted Plains a few years ago. But the last thing they needed right now, was to have to fight demons. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left as they entered the clearing.

Broken, burnt out aravels littered the clearing, covered in dead leaves and draping vines. The torn red sails, gently fluttering in the breeze. Desiccated remains lay strewn throughout, the barest scraps of cloth the only way to tell if they’d once been Elves or Human.

‘Vishante kaffas,’ Dorian muttered.

Estelle could only stare, unable to take his eyes off what lay before them. Whatever he had expected to find, it wasn’t this. He remembered Deshanna’s last words: “live well Da’len, you carry Clan Levallan with you. They are coming for us.” as he looked around at the carnage that had clearly happened here, it was far too easy to imagine what had happened. How the shems had fallen upon the camp. How the hunters tried to defend those who couldn’t flee or defend themselves but in the end they had been vastly outnumbered.

He raised a shaking hand to his mouth, an angry sob catching in his throat. They hadn’t deserved this. Clan Lavellan had always maintained as much of a civil relationship with the humans as possible, unlike their fellow clans. But now the humans had turned on them, caught up in a Venatori plot that Estelle had no doubt aimed to get to him. Clan Lavellan’s only crime - to be the clan of the Inquisitor. 

A spark of colour, a tiny flash in the sunlight, caught Estelle’s eye. Stumbling forwards, he fell to his knees only to fall back with a cry as he brushed aside the leaves. Beneath them: a slender pair of daggers, their blades rusted and crusted with old blood and on the withered corpse beside them was the rusted remains of a bracelet, its original colour long since dulled.

‘Amatus?’

He felt Dorian behind him, staff in hand. But Estelle didn’t turn around - couldn’t tear his eyes away from the remains of his best friend. Ellana never went anywhere without those daggers, their bone hilts skillfully engraved with leaves - Estelle would have recognised them anywhere. And the bracelet… with a trembling hand he carefully lifted the bracelet free, the metal cool against his fingers, the barest tingle of magic.

Ellana had such a knack for getting into trouble, that Estelle had spent the few weeks before leaving for the conclave figuring out how to place a barrier spell within the metal. It had taken many failed attempts and he’d only been successful when he finally caved and asked for Deshanna’s help. 

‘Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much,’ Ellana had teased, when he’d given it to her.

‘If you didn’t have such a knack for getting yourself into trouble, I wouldn’t,’ Estelle had replied with a slight smirk as she pulled a face. ‘But… if you don’t want it -’

‘Hey! I never said anything about not wanting it!’ Ellana had snatched it back then, immediately slipping it on to her wrist. ‘You better stay safe, lethallin.’

A choked sob escaped him at the memory. Ellana had been like a sister to him and now she was gone. Gone, and there was no way he could ever get her back. Gone, just like Deshanna, just like the rest of the clan and his parents before them. There was no way he could ever make it up to them, could never make it up how much he had let them down. Deshanna had asked for his help and he had sent one of Leliana’s agents to assassinate the Duke without thinking what that might look like, the repercussions that might have on the elves.

Estelle crumpled in on himself, no longer able to contain the sobs that racked him. Tears stung his eyes, slipped down his cheeks. He had made a mistake and Clan Levallan had paid for it with their lives.

‘Mythal’enaste. I’m sorry, lethallen,’ he whispered. ‘I should have been here. I should have done something - chosen differently. I’m so sorry.’

He felt Dorian’s arms wrap around him. ‘Shh, it wasn’t your fault, amatus,’ he said, pressing a kiss to his temple. ‘You did the best you could with what information was available to you.’

Estelle wished he could believe him. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Dorian’s shoulder as he felt him gently rubbing circles into his back, fingers threading through his hair. A part of him knew that Dorian was right, yet he still felt like he had let them down. That there was more he could have done to learn about the Venatori’s plot and sooner.

When at last the sobs had subsided, Estelle wiped his eyes and looked around at the scene that surrounded them. They’d already lingered here longer than was perhaps wise but … he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them like this. They deserved better, they deserved the funeral rites of their people even if Estelle wasn’t entirely sure how they could achieve that.

‘We can’t leave their remains like this,’ he said, ‘they… they deserve better than this.’

Dorian looked around them thoughtfully, before asking, ‘how do your people honour their dead?’

‘Well … remember the Var Bellanaris in the Exalted Plains?’

‘Ah, wasn’t that the one that was filled with demons?’

‘The entire Exalted Plains was filled with demons, but yes,’ said Estelle managing a small smile. ‘When one of the Dalish dies, they’re buried in the Var Bellanaris if their clan are either close by, or are able to make the journey. Otherwise, they’re buried with an oak staff and cedar branch and plant a tree over them.’ he paused, glancing around the clearing. A feeling of helplessness settled over him, he would never be able to give them their true burial rites. ‘We’re too far away to make it to the Var Bellanaris, I’m not even sure how we could even get them their if we could… and I don’t have the right things to be able to bury them …’

He trailed off, realising he was rambling. He hadn’t thought to try and find the things he would need before coming here - it hadn’t even occurred to him that he would need to perform the funeral rites.

‘Hmm,’ Dorian said thoughtfully, ‘we could light a pyre for them within one of the aravels. True, it might not be what is custom but it's as close as I can think of.’

Estelle merely nodded. Maybe it wasn’t tradition but, it was better than nothing - better then leaving their remains in the open. He owed them that much at least.

They worked in silence, moving the remains, wrapping them in the tattered red fabric of the aravels’ sails. It was grim work, and even with Dorian’s help and the use of magic, it was slow going. Estelle became far too aware once more of his missing forearm, how long they had already spent here and the spirits pressing against an all too thin veil. But he kept going. He wasn’t about to let his clan down a second time.

When they were done, they placed the remains within the least broken aravel, making sure it wasn’t near anything that would easily catch the flames. Then, after a momentary pause, Estelle reached out his hand, pulling the magic through the veil with far too much ease. With a clenched fish, flames enveloped the aravel and the bodies inside.

Estelle knelt before the pyre, watching as the flames took the last remains of  Clan Lavellan. Smoke stung his eyes, made them water, but he refused to look away. He felt Dorian’s hand come down gently on his shoulder and Estelle let that touch anchor him for a moment - reminding him that whilst his clan, his family were gone, he was not alone. With a shaky breath, he finally said the prayers he should have said two years before:

‘Ellana Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Deshanna Ismathoriel Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Clan Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Dareth Shiral.”

[elfrootaddict]

GROWING PAINS - Chapter 1/6

DESCRIPTION: Change. Growth. Hard truths. As the Inquisition’s Lady Herald, El’lana must step-up and help establish the orders’ influence. Many lessons are learnt and life-altering decisions are made.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 4

The month of Firstfall has come around once again in Ferelden and the locals of the Hinterlands are lucky enough not to experience the full-blown, snowy winters of those back in Haven. Nevertheless, the massive expanse of rocky hillside still experiences the icy chilled winds from the Frostback mountains, reminding the locals that no corner of Ferelden can ever truly escape the country’s infamous winter temperatures.

With Liliana’s scouts guiding their path, the trek to the Hinterlands was easy enough to accomplish. Lana, Cassandra, Varric and Solas were able to get to their destination with relative ease and good speed.

During the day, the conversations between the companions were sparse and polite. Each one trying to save their energy for the long journey they had to make each day by foot. By nightfall, they would quietly share their  rations over a small inconspicuous fire, so as to not get any unwanted attention, and then head straight for their tents to get a good night’s rest for an early rise.

And even though nobody wanted to stay up in the freezing night’s sky and talk, neither one of them quite knew what to say to the other in any way. With the diverse range of cultural, religious and somewhat mysterious differences between the unusual party, neither one of them quite knew how to break the conversational barrier in the first place.

Therefore, all they could focus on was the one thing they all have in common - to seal the Breach in the sky. And so it is this reason, and this reason only, that Lana the inexperienced Dalish, Cassandra the devout Andrastian, Varric the charming rogue and Solas the esoteric mage, have come together to seek out the potential help of Mother Giselle. A Revered Mother of the Chantry who has insisted on staying in the Hinterlands to help the refugees caught in the middle of the mage-templar war.

Lana and her companions eventually reach the top of a wide, flat outlier of ground just below the rocky plateau of Lake Luthias. They then catch a glimpse of an Inquisition tent nestled amongst the trees and the group simultaneously release a sigh of relief as they realise they have finally reached the Upper Lake Camp.

Lana finds herself admiring the inconspicuous camp, and feels its location is perfectly situated. As she catches her breath, Lana starts looking around the snuggled campsite and decides to take in her surroundings;

On the left, against the embankment of the plateau are massive boulders running all the way along the side and into the distant forest. To Lana’s pleasant surprise, she notices a small waterfall running into a large, shallow, crystal clear pond with lush green lily pads, and spindleweed scattered all along the water’s edge. However, on the right and several paces away from camp, lies a death-defying edge that overlooks almost all of the northern Hinterlands.

Having lived all her life amongst nature as well as helping the Keeper decide on a new place for when her clan needed to move, Lana finds herself impressed by such a good location for a camp. She even feels somewhat proud of this young, virtuous organisation spreading their influence so quickly and putting their words into action. Which isn’t something Lana is accustomed to, being Dalish.

As proud as she is to be Dalish, Lana knows that the only thing her people have ever truly accomplished is to merely talk about the past and preserve their magic. There has never been an expectation to actually do anything to improve their lives. Just simply ensure they do not forget.

And while she may wholeheartedly agree that preserving the little knowledge her people have left to remember is excruciatingly important, she has nevertheless always itched to do more than just talk and preserve the past.

Suddenly a young, plain dwarf with soft freckles to match her auburn hair, and striking green eyes, walks towards Lana and her companions cheerfully, “Lady Cassandra, I’m glad to see you’ve all made it. Welcome to the Upper Lake Camp. I’m Scout Harding.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Scout Harding,” greets Cassandra as she extends a polite bow to the dwarf. “Is it the war we’re hearing down below?”

“I’m afraid so. The mage-templar war has spread far. We believe the templar’s strong hold is just west of here, near the river. They’ve probably found a good flat area to build camp somewhere upstream which is tucked away and off the main road. The mages have been sighted directly north. I’m assuming they’ve found one of the caves nearby.”

“Maker, you seem to know alot about this area.” quips Varric with an impressed chuckle.

“I grew up here,” explains Scout Harding proudly. “As a kid I would always go exploring and I haven’t quite stopped since.”

“Well then,” adds Cassandra with a sincere sigh of relief.  “I can see why Liliana has put you in charge of these scouts. It's a pleasure to have you on board. Let me introduce the rest of the team,” and turns to face each companion as she calls out their name, “This is Solas. A mage who has proven not only to be helpful, but cooperative since the day the Breach came into the sky. This is Varric Tethras. He’s…” Cassandra pauses as she tries her best to find polite words to describe the man who has only made her life hard and strenuous. “A rogue. He’s excellent with his bow.”

“Her name is Bianca,” adds Varric defensively. “And she’s more than just a bow. Don’t mind Cassandra miss Harding, we just have a bit of history. Don’t we, Seeker?”

Cassandra groans and rolls her eyes before moving on, “And this, is mistress Lavellan. The Herald of Andraste.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Herald,” remarks Scout Harding with a respectful bow as Lana steps slightly closer to the front of the party. “I heard rumours that the Herald was an elf, but I didn’t quite believe it. Until now, of course.”

Lana’s cheeks flash to a soft pink, “Oh?”

“Please, don’t get me wrong!” cries Scout Harding apologetically. “I’m not saying that it's a bad thing. I’m just saying you’re a bit of a surprise.”

Lana releases a soft smile and laughs, “Trust me. I’m more surprised than anyone.”

Suddenly a scout approaches the party in a hurry, “Lady Cassandra, there is a letter here for you.”

Cassandra tales the letter from the young scout. “Thank you,”  and turns back around to regard her party. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Of course,” adds Scout Harding and turns to Lana with her piercing green eyes. “In the meantime, you should know that the mage-templar war is very close by. We’ve already had a few strays from both sides try to infiltrate this camp but luckily we’ve managed to hold them off.”

Lana slowly turns around to see if Scout Harding is actually talking to her. She may have the mark on her hand, which will help close rifts, but she is in no way shape or form able to handle the responsibility of making decisions regarding the Inquisition. She’s just the Dalish elf. Isn’t she?

“How eh…” mumbles Lana eventually as she clears her throat. “Bad is the fighting?”

Was that the right question?

“It’s pretty bad,” answers Scout Harding with a heavy heart. “The valley below is where most of the fighting happens, and sometimes all the way through the night. A lot of people have had to leave their homes because of it. Everything is destroyed.”

Listening to Scout Harding’s story makes Lana’s heart ache as she imagines what she would be feeling if this was happening in the Free Marches, “I’m sorry this is happening to your home, Scout Harding. This must be really hard for you.”

“Thank you for saying that,” murmurs Harding with a sincere smile. “And yes, it isn’t easy seeing this place desecrated with such violence. Forcing hundreds of innocent people to leave the homes they’ve had for generations. Luckily, we’ve got the Inquisition though, right? Hopefully we’re going to set things right again.”

“Yes,” murmurs Lana with a gentle smile. “I hope we can.”

“Would you mind following me, Lady Herald?” asks Scott Harding. “I can show you the lay of the land before you head down there tomorrow.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

Once Scout Harding turns around and heads towards the forest, Lana quickly spins on her heel to regard Solas and Varric behind her. With wide, panicked tricken eyes, Lana suggestively begs them to come along with her. The two men turn to each other and share a quick smirk amongst themselves at Lana’s reluctance to take lead, and proceed to follow along at a respectable distance. Remaining close enough to hear what Scott Harding has to say, but not too close that Harding would be addressing all three of them at once.

One way or another, Lana is going to have to realise that with her mark and divine title bestowed upon her, people will look to her not only for hope but for guidance, too. Whether she likes it or not.

Now several paces in the thickets of the forest, Harding, Lana, Varric and Solas eventually reach a clearing that looks out onto the Hinterlands below. The setting sun illuminating the sky with bright pink and orange hues.

“Do you see that hill in the east?” begins Scout Harding. “Just beyond it you’ll find Mother Giselle in a tiny village. The village is tucked away, so you shouldn’t come across any fighting,” Harding pauses and looks up at Lana with concern. “But you never know, so keep your staff close.”

“How do we get to the village from here?”

“Well, you have two ways from here but I would suggest the second; leave camp the same way you entered but stick east. You’ll pass Calenhad’s Foothold on your left which will then lead you all the way down a path that will head north, and at the end of that path will be the village. It won’t take you long to get there and this way you can avoid entering that valley below us.”

Lana looks out to the valley and hears the faint cries of dying men and the smell of burning wood, “Thank you, Scout Harding,” mumbles Lana eventually. “You’ve been really helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” remarks Harding as she offers a sincere, respectful bow. “I’m going to head back to camp. We already have a tent ready and waiting for you and your party as well as a warm meal by the fire. It’s one of my mother’s actually - the recipe - you’ll love it I’m sure.” and turns to leave, disappearing into the trees behind them.

Varric and Solas notice Lana continue staring out onto the valley below and decide to give her some space, and turn back to unpack.

As Lana glazes out, she can see small flashes of magic light up the almost dark valley below. If she didn’t know any better, she could have mistaken them for small fireworks being used in some kind of celebration. Perhaps for a wedding or—

“Herald?”

But it wasn’t a wedding or some other abrotary celebration the people commune over here in the South. The undeniable sound of battle and cries of dying men and women are just far too hard to ignore. Templars killing mages and mages killing templars.

No. Not killing . Murder. It’s simply cold, blooded murder.

“Herald, I believe there was more Scout Harding told you?”

Cassandra walks up to Lana’s side and notices her distressed and distractive gaze over the horizon, and realises that Lana is in no mind to talk strategies. The true horror and panic in young Lana’s large, lavender eyes is impossible to ignore, and Cassandra finds herself sympathising over the naive, inexperienced elf.

Cassandra takes in a large breath before exhaling, looks out towards the horizon, and changes the subject to the real matter at hand, “I have found that war usually does not determine who is right - but only who is left,” murmurs Cassandra as she solemnly turns back to regard Lana and pauses. “You haven’t killed anyone before… have you?”

“Is it that obvious?” murmurs Lana as she finally breaks her gaze and looks down towards her bare feet wrapped in leather.

“Not unless you have seen that look upon your face many times before,” admits Cassandra with furrowed brows. “I had months of training before I killed someone for the first time. When I was still a Seeker, I saw many of my fellow brothers and sisters go through the same vigorous training as I did. They were always so confident in the confines of our Order’s walls, but when the day came for them to put their training to use, they all had the same look in their eyes that you do now.”

“And... did they do it?” murmurs Lana still looking towards the ground. “When it came down to it?”

“They did. The months of training takes over your need to run in the other direction. You almost feel as if you have no control over your own body anymore, and you are simply doing what you have been trained to do many times before. Strike down your enemy or die trying. It was as simple as that.”

Lana looks up at Cassandra with fearful eyes for only a moment before turning her gaze back down, “I don’t think… I don’t think I can do it... if it comes down to it. I can’t take another person’s life,” and pauses for a significant amount of time before looking fiercely back at Cassandra with her voice trembling. “I won’t. I won’t do it.”

Cassandra drops her head as she releases a loud, heavy sigh, “Then you would rather be the one who dies? Instead of the person trying to kill you in return?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I understand that life as a Dalish has provided you some kind shelter, and I can see that your Keeper took great care in ensuring your clans safely, but you are no longer within the confines of your clan, Herald. Those mages or templars will not hesitate to kill anyone they deem a threat.”

“I know. It’s just…they’re people. Their lives matter. And I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking their life,” Lana turns to meet Cassandra’s subtly surprised expression, “Oh I know, because I’m Dalish and an elf I’m supposed to think we are above everyone else in Thedas, right? Well, I wasn’t raised to think like that. The Keeper always taught me to respect all living creatures in this world. From the worms in the earth to the birds in the sky. You humans or dwarves may not believe in my gods, and yes we have a messy history, but that doesn’t mean you don’t matter. We all matter.”

Cassandra drops her head and sighs, “While I appreciate the sentiment, Herald,” and points her finger to the valley down below. “But that won’t stop them from trying to kill you. Not everyone can afford the luxury of sticking to their morals in times of war.”

The two women break eye contact and gaze back out towards the horizon once again. The sun is almost completely set and the stars are beginning to shine peacefully above, completely undisturbed by the chaos down below.

With the posture of an experienced soldier, but with a heavy heart, Cassandra turns back to regard Lana carefully, “You are the Herald of Andraste, and only you can seal the rifts. You simply cannot die. You are far too valuable to allow yourself to be killed over your morals - however virtuous they may be,” and before walking away completely, she turns back around to meet Lana’s gaze and sternly murmurs. “If you will not kill another to save your own life, then do it to save the thousands of innocent people across Thedas who rely on you. Do it for them.”

As Lana watches Cassandra disappear into the night, she turns back around towards the horizon and notices how quiet it has suddenly fallen. There are no more flashes of magic or cries of dying templars or apostates. Just deafening silence.

Which could only mean one thing - everyone who was fighting is either dead or dying from their wounds in the cold, winter night. Praying to whomever they believe in to offer them a peaceful passage to a better afterlife, and swearing curses on those responsible for their demise.

The dying people haunt Lana’s mind as she imagines them now lying alone, choking on their own blood without a single loved one by their side. Their final resting place being a battlefield that is littered with who knows how many grotesquely cut down or burnt corpses.

Did they have a lover? Children? Parents? Surely not all of them are vicious monsters everyone claims them to be?

Lana takes a deep breath and decides to head back to camp before it gets too dark. The sound of Harding’s mother’s meal is exactly what she needs right now, and could use some conversation over a warm fire to distract her mind over tomorrow.

As Lana reaches camp, she notices the number of soldiers and scouts helping the Inquisition, and if it came to it, would perhaps even sacrifice their lives for it. They have all chosen to help close the Breach and restore order by leaving their loved ones behind. Everyone in this camp is willing to sacrifice themselves to ensure the safety of Thedas. How could Lana not do the same?

They do not have a mark on their hand to close rifts, and yet here they are. They aren’t called the Herald of Andraste, and yet here they are. For all she knows, Lana also might not be the only one here who hasn’t killed before, and yet... here they are.

Realising the extent of choices and sacrifices made by the very people surrounding her, she begins to feel less remorse over the deaths of the people down in the valley who are only spreading more chaos. Suddenly, her empathy towards their deaths begins to fade ever so slowly as she imagines the destruction they have left in their paths.

Are these not the same people who burnt down and slaughtered innocents in pursuit of their cause to seek justice? Are these not the same people who attacked innocent farmers, merchants and children who did absolutely nothing to justify the defilement of their land and home? And are these not the same people who left hundreds of others destitute and turned into refugees?

Lana’s heart and stomach begin to turn over the conflicting nature of war - who is right and who is wrong? And that is when Cassandra’s wise, and truthful words return to Lana’s mind:

War does not determine who is right - only who is left.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 

READ ON AO3

Halla & Wolf Series

[in-arlathan]

These Stolen Moments

More Solavellan fanfiction, yeah! <3  ______

Time period: During DA:I Characters: Female Lavellan (Elenara Lavellan), Solas, Leliana Pairing: Solavellan Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,971 words Rating: PG-13, Teen And Up Audiences

Summary: One night at Skyhold, Lavellan finds herself unable to rest. Trying to find peace in the Inquisition library, Solas seeks her out to offer some comfort.

A/N: Like many Solasmancers, I thought the relationship between him and Lavellan deserved at least one more cut scene. But since the game didn’t give us that I spun my own little fantasy and transformed it into fanficition. It’s much more romantic than the stuff I usually write, but it made me happy so I wrote it anyway. I hope you enjoy it. <3

You can also read this on AO3.

______

The castle was quiet at last. She couldn’t recall the last time things at Skyhold had been so peaceful. Ever since the Inquisition had taken refuge in the old edifice, the courtyard and corridors had been bustling with people. Even the gardens, a place dedicated to silent contemplation, was filled with an on-going hum of conversations and prayers.

Elenara stood in the door that led her quarters in the Inquisitor’s tower and breathed a sigh of relief. She had grown so accustomed to the noise that she almost forgot the comfort of silence.

In her youth she would often steal away from the camp of her clan to seek out the quiet places in the forest. She would look for clearings or a patch of grass by a water course where she would lay down and stare up at the lush canopy and the bright blue sky beyond. In these moments, she felt the vastness of the world that made her sorrows seem small and petty by contrast. She would close her eyes and just listen to the rustling of leaves or the distant songs of birds and allow herself to just be.

How much simpler life had been back then.

Elenara readjusted the stack of books she carried with her and began walking down the great hall.

Once, she had listened to the voices of nature. Now, all she could hear was the sharp metal shriek of blades, the commands bellowed by Cullen and his officers, the battle cries of thousands upon thousands of Inquisition soldiers. And the prayers, of course. More prayers than she had ever heard before. Even at night she could hear the faithful calling out to her. Not much else seemed to exist, but the crushing burden their words carried to her.

So, she was glad for these rare moments of silence. She enjoyed the soft hissing of wind slipping down the hall, as well as the crackling of dying flames in the fireplaces.

She reached the door on her left that led to Skyhold’s rotunda and opened it. The circular room beyond was dark, just like the rest of the castle, and a pang of disappointment hit her. A small part of her had wished Solas would be awake, still working on his mural, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It’s alright, she told herself. You’ll see him tomorrow.

At least she hoped she would. Her entire relationship with Solas – if one wished to call it so – had been a constant back and forth between them. First, she had kissed him, but felt like she messed up. When she tried to withdraw from him, he held back and kissed her in return. Much later, he would come to her, admitting to having not forgotten what had happened between them, just to walk away from her. But not until they had kissed once more and he had said the words that turned her world upside down completely.

Ar lath, ma vhenan.

Her heart skipped a beat every time she remembered this moment. She was not certain if Solas had spoken in Elvish on purpose to conceal the meaning behind his words, or if he did it because he knew she would understand. Either way, she was very much aware of the meaning behind his words.

I love you.

Elenara felt her throat go tight. Solas was a mystery to her, one she would gladly like to figure out. But it would take time and if there was one thing she didn’t have in abundance, it was just that. For now, all she knew was that, if he’d stayed but a moment longer with her on that balcony, she’d told him how much she loved him in return.

You can wonder about this some other time, she thought, chiding herself like a child. Concentrate on what lies before you.

Letting out a sight, she crossed the room and slipped through the door to her left. Her steps echoed on the stone walls as she climbed the stairs to the rotunda’s upper floor.

The library was silent as well and the candles had been put out a good long while ago. Luckily, she knew where Helisma kept the flintstone she used to light them.

Elenara placed the stack of books on the chair Dorian usually occupied during his studies in the library and hurried over to the researcher’s desk. With only soft streaks of moonlight to illuminate the room, she had to fumble around before she found what she was looking for. With the flintstone in hand, she returned to Dorian’s reading nook and lit the candles on one of the candelabras. Their golden glow was soft and subtle, but it was enough to help her read the titles.

She turned to the pile of books and picked the one on top. It was a massive tome with golden letters ingrained on its cover and spine, an old Tevinter text Dorian had recommended to her to help her understand the inner workings of his homeland. The writing was so dry and tiresome, it had taken her ages to get through the text, but it had provided some insight into the cultural shift from the worshipping of the Old Gods to the Chantry, and that was good enough for her.

Scanning the spines, Elenara searched for the spot where the book was kept on the shelves. Thanks to Dorian, all of the books at Skyhold were sorted in alphabetical order which made the task of returning them to the library much easier. When she found the gap on one of the shelves where the Tevinter tome used to be, she put it back and returned to the rest of her stack.

She had just grabbed another book when she heard something. For a second, she believed it was a soldier or a servant walking from the tavern across the courtyard, but she dismissed the idea quickly. The sound had been much closer and much softer, not like the heavy cluck of booted feet.

“I see you are still awake,” someone said.

She whirled around on instinct, her senses on alert, her body ready to fight. Only then did she recognize the elven figure that moved closer from the other side of the library.

“Solas!”, she exclaimed and let out a sigh of relief. “Good Creators, you startled me!”

He chuckled softly as he stepped into the circle of soft candle light. The golden glow covered his face with stark shadows. “I’m sorry, vhenan,” he said wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

She let out a long, shuddering breath.

“It’s alright,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where did you come from? I thought you’d already gone to bed.”

“I was out on the balcony for some fresh air,” he said gesturing towards the door through which he’d entered the library. “Then I heard footsteps and concluded that it was you, so I came to see if you’re alright.”

“You knew that it was me … by my footsteps?” she asked, baffled.

“Of course.” He said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just… something a hunter might do, not a mage.”

“You should never underestimate my tracking skills, vhenan.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “I survived on my own in the wilderness for a good long while, after all.”

For a moment, he seemed incredibly young. It made her think about a conversation she’d overheard back at the Storm Coast. She and the rest of her party had been tracking down a group of red templars that sought to gain a foothold in the area, when Blackwall and Solas had started to exchange war stories. She remembered the Grey Warden being delighted to share his experiences with another soldier, and also rather perplexed.

“For all your experience, Solas,” Blackwall had said. “You don’t carry yourself like a soldier.”

And Solas had beamed at the elder man. “Oh, you should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.”

She’d never admitted to Solas that she, too, had had trouble picturing him as a warrior in full armor. But now … with this smile …

It made her want to kiss him, badly.

“Why are you still awake?”, she asked quickly.

“There was something wrong with the tea”, he replied and pressed his lips together for a moment. “It was caffeinated and kept me awake long after dark. Well, keeps me awake”, he clarified and looked around the empty library. “I am still waiting for the effect to wear off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said and gave him a warm and soothing smile. She knew Solas found comfort in the Fade just like she used to find comfort in the old tales and legends of her people. Without it, life was much harder to endure.

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her intently.

She weighed the book in her hand and hurried to place it back on the shelves. “Couldn’t sleep either,” she admitted and was surprised by how tired she sounded. “There is just… so much to think about…”

Solas took another step towards her. Before she knew it, he reached around her with his left hand and placed it on her lower back. The faint smell of his skin lingered between them. Her heart jumped into her throat. Suddenly, she was very aware of his presence.

“If you like to share your thoughts with me, I’d be happy to listen,” he said in a quiet voice.

She coughed and looked away to avoid his gaze. His eyes were filled with such longing that it was almost too much to bare.

Studying the tomes on the shelf beside her, she said: “I’ve been reading all lot of these books lately. I had hoped to find some answers in the old text, but all it did was made me think. How can anyone do justice to this world? How can you set everything right, seeing all the bad things happening to good people?”

She sighed. “How am I supposed to do all this?” she asked in a much lower voice. Her throat went tight with grief and the crushing feeling of responsibility.

A saturnine look crossed his face. “I don’t know if I can provide a satisfying answer to your questions,” he said. “I’m not sure if anyone can. All we can do is trust in your capabilities to lead this Inquisition, for better or worse.”

Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “I was afraid you might say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, looking more troubled than she had ever seen him.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “It’s not like any of this is your fault.”

His hand on her back twitched ever so slightly, but she noticed it anyway. These days, she seemed to notice everything about him. The slight changes in his moods, the way he carried himself when he thought no one was looking. Even the expression of serene joy and delight when he was working on his mural. He was a miracle with a thousand little details and she wanted to know each and every one of them.

“Is there something on your mind?”, she asked. “You seemed to be on edge these last couple of weeks.”

That must be the biggest understatement in all of history, she thought to herself. Solas was always on edge, especially when he was alone with her.

“It is nothing to concern yourself with,” he said evasively and his gaze flicked to her lips. “My troubles will pass, one way or another.”

“Is there anything I can do to lift your spirits?” she asked teasingly.

“A kiss might be a good way to start,” he admitted after a short silence.

Elenara raised her eyebrows in surprise. Did she hear that correctly?

“Come here, then,” she said softly and turned until they stood face to face. Her heartbeat quickened, as she placed a hand on his cheek. He let his hand slip from her back to her waist, bringing up the other one to hold her tightly.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he’d said the last time they kissed. Since then, his words had made her wonder what he truly meant. She knew there was something between them, he had admitted it himself. Yet, he was determined to not give in to his feelings for her. But why?

Was it because she was Dalish, still?

Back in Haven, he had confessed to her that the Dalish had attacked him on sight and that he had no desire to get in touch with the clans any longer. His words had caught her like a kick to the stomach. Though it had not been her own clan who had attacked Solas, she knew it might has well have been them. She herself had fought off countless bandits in her time as a hunter.

Yet, she knew that the clans were only protecting themselves and more often than not, they had good reasons to be suspicious of strangers. But the thought of Solas being wounded by a Dalish arrow had left her feeling guilty and distressed. She wanted him to see the many admirable attributes of her people in the faint hope it would make him feel less lonely. To show him that there was no reason to be afraid of them.

Of her.

“My heart,” she breathed, caressing his lips with her thumb. She smiled at him, then guided his face towards hers. He allowed Elenara to brush her lips against his, while he drew long breaths through his nose. And she drank from him, relishing the taste of his mouth.

When she was out of breath, she pulled back ever so slightly, resting her forehead against his. Letting out a quiet satisfied moan, she let her hands slide down to his chest. He was breathing just as heavily as she was. His chest heaved under her touch.

“I enjoy kissing you far too much,” he said with a soft smile. His breath smelled of honey and herbs, sweet and delightful.

Elenara tilted her head to look at him. Was that regret in his voice?

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

His cheeks colored. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” he hurried to say. “It’s just... I’m not …”

“… used to it,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “I know. We should do this more often, then.” She let her lips touch his once more. It was not a kiss, not quite, but it set her body on fire nonetheless. “Besides, I enjoy kissing you, too.”

She pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His body tensed and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to flee from her, but when she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, he finally relaxed. Accepting the invitation, his lips parted and his tongue entered her mouth.

There was the passion she’d first experienced back in their shared dream in the Fade. It washed over her like a rising tide, almost sweeping her off her feet. She returned his kisses with the same fire, losing herself in the embrace. She couldn’t tell if his hunger was greater than hers or if it was the other way around. All she knew was that they both wanted more, fully aware of the fact that no kiss would never be enough.

“I want you,” he whispered.

His body was radiating heat like a bonfire. She wanted to take it all in, even if she might get burned in the process. All her life, she had waited to meet someone like him. Someone that made her feel alive.

“I want you, too,” she said and kissed one corner of his mouth. He sighed softly, his eyes half-closed. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard in her entire life – and she wanted more of it.

With the greatest effort, she let go of him.

Elenara took his hands and squeezed them gently. “Come with me,” she said, nodding in the vague direction of the Inquisitor’s tower. Up there, in her chambers, they could continue what they had started in a more private setting.

“I don’t think…”

“Lady Inquisitor!”

She flinched.

That was Leliana’s voice!

In an instant, Solas parted from her and took a step back. The lack of his warmth right next to her hurt more than she would like to admit. “Don’t…” she gasped, but Solas simply shook his head.

“You have other matters to attend to.”

She knew he was right. If Leliana needed to speak to her at this hour of the night, it must be important. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

She only hoped her face didn’t look as warm as it felt.

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Solas said in a casual tone and took another step back. He bowed ever so slightly just when Leliana reached the top of the stairs. The spymaster stopped dead in her tracks and watched as the elven apostate turned on his heels and headed in the opposite direction.

Elenara felt like her heart would tear apart at any moment, when she forced herself to look at Leliana. “How can I help you?”

Leliana stared, as if she had forgotten, why she wanted to speak to Elenara in the first place. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway through which Solas had made his exit.

“Leliana?”

The spymaster blinked, her focus returning to Elenara.

“Oh, yes! I’m sorry” she said and squared her shoulders. “I have news from Halamshiral, my lady. You should look into this.”

Right back in the mess, Elenara thought as she followed Leliana up the stairs to her office.

__________

Thanks for reading. <3

[cruelangelstheses]

to be loved

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: sera/female inquisitor words: 1.6k additional tags: canon compliant, self-esteem issues, fluff description: rana lavellan teaches her girlfriend sera how to make dalish hearth cakes. a/n: hello!! :D i wrote this for @serappreciationweek day 2: ships!!

read it on ao3

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Sera furrows her brow as she reads over the recipe. Looking back up at her girlfriend, she says, “Elfy cookies?”

Rana shrugs. “They’re the only cookies I know how to make,” she says. “Although technically they’re called hearth cakes.”

Sera sticks her tongue out and passes the paper back to Rana. “Whatever. More than I can make.”

“Not for long!” Rana says, setting the recipe down on a crate. “Besides, think of it this way. At least you can admit that you don’t know how to make cookies. That already makes you better than some people.”

Sera pretends to be uninterested in Rana’s “elfy cookies,” but she can’t stop herself from glancing over at the table where the ingredients are already set up. “How’d you get halla butter?”

“Remember that Dalish clan we met in the Exalted Plains?” Rana says as she ties an apron around her waist. “I traded them for it.”

Sera doesn’t quite know what to do, so she just watches as Rana measures the flour. She’s beautiful when she’s so focused, completely ignoring the brown hair that falls into her eyes from its messy, boyish cut. Lifting the sifter above a large bowl, she turns her head toward Sera and says, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Sera blinks a few times in surprise. “But I’m not…”

“Not what?” Rana says as she starts to sift the flour. “Not ‘elfy’ enough? Screw that. I got these ingredients because I want to bake cookies with you. I want us to make our own ‘us cookies.’ Together.”

At that, Sera gives in and allows herself a smile. “Frigging weird, you are,” she laughs, grabbing an apron of her own and joining Rana at the table, where she’s finished sifting the flour and has begun adding hardwood ash and salt. Meanwhile, Sera grabs the recipe and skims over it to find the next step.

“I’ll do the spices,” she says, grabbing a spoon. While she measures and mixes in the spices, Rana prepares the butter. It feels kind of nice, actually, being able to do something helpful and productive, but she’ll reserve judgment for when the cookies—hearth cakes—are actually finished. Maybe they’ll turn out tasting terrible, and it’ll be all her fault. That seems more likely.

“Okay,” Rana says. “Now we have to rub the butter into the mix until it all starts to look like crumbs. I recommend using our fingers; it’s easier.”

Sera smirks. “Mess! That’s fun stuff.”

Rana flashes her a snaggletooth grin, a smile reserved only for those she cares enough about. Sera counts herself lucky to be able to see it. “I knew you’d like that.”

Rana tosses the hunk of halla butter into the bowl, then presses it into the mixture. The yellow-white mush quickly covers her long, tan fingers, and after a moment, Sera sticks her own hands into the bowl and starts pushing the butter into the mix. Their hands constantly bump each other, and they giggle as their hands go from buttery to coated in thin crumbs. Sera savors her girlfriend’s giggle, another rare joy from a woman mired in bitterness and exhaustion.

When they’re nearly done, Sera takes her index finger and draws a swirly design around Rana’s right eye and down her cheek in sticky crumbs. “Now you match,” she says, referring to the black vallaslin that adorns the left side of her face, though it’s much more intricate than Sera’s last-minute crumb drawing. Rana snorts and kisses her on the cheek.

Sera handles the next step, stirring in the sugar and dried cranberries, while Rana beats the egg in a separate bowl to pour into the large one. They take turns mixing everything together until the dough actually starts to look like it’s supposed to.

Rana gets an excited gleam in her bright purple eyes, eyes that have captivated Sera since the moment she first saw them glowing in the darkness. “This is where they actually start to taste like cookies.”

They sprinkle some flour on the table and dump the dough out. Rana presses her palms against the lump and starts to knead with both hands, her movements strong and sure despite her tiny frame. She looks like she doesn’t need much help, so Sera stands and watches, admiring the subtle ripples of muscle in her arms and shoulders. Finally, when the dough is about as thin as it’s supposed to be, Rana grabs a goblet, turns it upside down, and says, “Cookie time,” before planting it firmly into one corner of the dough, cutting a perfect circle.

They fall into a pattern: Rana cuts the cookies, Sera pulls them out of the dough and sets them on a plate for the time being. When they run out of room to make another round shape, Rana rolls the remaining dough into a ball and flattens it out like she did before, until it’s so small that she can’t cut it with the goblet anymore. “What do we do with that, Inky?” Sera asks.

Rana picks up the little dough ball and rips it into two. Handing one half to Sera and popping the other into her mouth, she says, “We eat it.”

Sera laughs a little and shoves her piece into her mouth, chewing cautiously, prepared to hate it. It’s sweet and flavorful, and she likes the way the cranberries mix with the pastry dough.

Rana watches her expectantly. “Well? How is it?”

Sera shrugs and smiles awkwardly. “I...I like it.”

Rana grins again, and again, Sera feels blessed to witness it.

The final step is to actually bake the hearth cakes over a flame. Rana grabs a flat iron griddle and lets it heat up over the fire in the corner of the kitchen. Per her request, Sera tosses a pinch of flour into the griddle, and they watch as it turns golden brown, signalling that it’s ready.

Rana pulls the griddle out and sets it back on the table, while Sera carefully places the hearth cakes around the edge—“If we put them in the middle, it’ll blacken them,” Rana explains. She can’t fit them all in, so they’ll have to do a couple rounds.

They stand next to each other, watching the cookies get larger. Rana still has the crumb design on her face, and Sera leans down and rests her head on Rana’s shoulder. “You’re fun, Inky,” she says as she stares into the fire. “And you’re sweet, underneath all that ‘Grrr, look at me funny and I’ll knife you.’” They both giggle. When Sera first met Rana, she thought she’d never hear a sound like that come out of her mouth. She seemed too distant, too hostile, too bogged down with responsibility and hurt. For her to open up, to let loose, means more than Sera could ever put into words.

When the first batch of cookies is done, Sera helps pull them out of the griddle and onto the plate from earlier, while Rana replaces them with the unbaked half. Sera grabs one and pops the whole thing into her mouth, even though she knows she should wait until they’ve cooled down.

To the surprise of no one, the cookie burns her mouth, and she has to chew with it open to get some relief. “Piss!” she yells, but she’s smiling, too, and Rana shakes her head in mock disapproval.

“So? How are they?” Rana asks, keeping one eye on the griddle. “Besides the ‘burning your tongue’ part.”

Well, besides the “burning her tongue” part, the baked cookie tastes even better than the raw dough, which shouldn’t be too surprising, but it kind of is. It’s like she was still waiting for the cakes to turn bad somehow.

“They...they’re good,” she says. “I thought they’d be terrible. I thought I’d make them terrible. Not elfy enough to make elfy cookies right. Maybe that’s stupid, but ‘til now, it’s all I knew how to feel. ‘Not allowed to be elfy, Sera, elfy is bad,’ but ‘not elfy enough, Sera, try harder.’ So instead of feeling like a human or an elf, I just feel like...a failed elf.” She frowns and sighs. “So it’s good. This is good. Because now cookies make me think of you and how much I like you, instead of frigging Lady Emmald.” She grabs another cookie off the plate and takes a bite out of it, smiling spitefully. “And now I can make cookies better than she ever could. So she can eat it.”

Rana’s gaze is soft and warm, like a comforting light. “I’m glad, ma vhenan.”

Usually Sera doesn’t like hearing Elvish—her inability to speak or understand most of it serves as just another reminder of her supposed brokenness. But when Rana calls her vhenan, it’s different. It has a certain weight to it; it swells with everything Rana feels and can’t express. It’s a word that Rana shouts in desperation when Sera falls on the battlefield, and it’s a word that she whispers against Sera’s chest when they’re alone at night. It feels right for once, to love and be loved by her.

It’s Sera that breaks the trance between them when she smells the burning. “Inky! The cookies!”

Rana jumps and quickly pulls the griddle out from the flame and sets it on the table. The cookies aren’t on fire, but they’re significantly darker than the first batch.

“Ugh,” Sera says, wrinkling her nose. “See, that’s what happens when you get too lovey-dovey.”

They stare at each other for a short moment, and then they both burst into laughter.

[the-rebel-archivist]

OC Interview: Raynda Lavellan

NAME ➔

Raynda Lavellan. Or, rather, Rutherford, but you don’t have to use that, it’s still pretty weird to me too. It’s sort of like giving up part of your identity, right? But it’s also so comfy and homey.

[‘Raynda’ doesn’t seem like a traditional Dalish name, is there a story behind that?]

No.

ARE YOU SINGLE ➔

No, quite the opposite, as one might gather from the whole name thing.

ARE YOU HAPPY ➔

[She smiles and turns away before answering]

Ridiculously, stupidly happy. For such a long time after I… lost… my arm, I wasn’t.

[She traces the pattern engraved on the metal arm on her left without looking down]

It’s easier when you have someone looking out for you.

ARE YOU ANGRY ➔

I mean, I try not to be. It’s a remarkably unpleasant emotion and I’ve had enough of it. So many people in my clan were fueled by it; even I was to a large extent. I still have a short temper.

Sometimes I get angry when I think of former friends who turned out to be different from what I thought they were. Ultimately I think that people see themselves as good and try to do what they think is right, it’s just that that can conflict with what someone else thinks is good, so it’s important to look from their perspective before blowing up in anger. I don’t really know if I  even believe in an objective good, you know? Sorry, I’m a little off topic.

ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED ➔

Yes.

[She has an impassive look on her face, interrupted by amused flashes of what looks like her thinking about whether or not to say what’s on her mind.]

They’re also dead, so there’s that. But they died married, so I’m not a bastard, which is cool.

EIGHT FACTS BIRTHPLACE ➔

Somewhere in the Free Marches, I’m not really sure where seeing as I wasn’t in a state to remember the location at the time. We moved around a lot. I know we’d recently moved away from Wycome, where my father had disappeared, but I don’t know where the clan went.

HAIR COLOR ➔ 

You seem to have a working pair of eyes - they’re a nice colour, by the way - so you tell me. And don’t give me any of that ‘ginger’ or ‘’auburn’ bullshit, it’s just straight up red.

EYE COLOR ➔ 

Alright, I’ll give you this one, because people tell me that they change depending on whether I’m inside or outside. When I see them they’re blue, but I’ve heard green a lot as well. Because Cullen is fancy he sometimes goes with ‘aquamarine’ or ‘sea green,’ but I’m not particularly pretentious so I usually say ‘greeney-blue.’

BIRTHDAY ➔ 

Sometime in Drakonis, I don’t know the exact date. I’ve always liked it because it happens right when the snow is melting and spring is in the air and the birds are flying back after winter. When I first started celebrating birthdays I picked the 15th because it’s smack dab in the middle of the month.

MOOD ➔ 

My mood right now or generally? Right now I’m really pretty neutral. Generally I’m… also pretty neutral. 

GENDER ➔

Well this should be self-evident, or are you trying to insult me? Don’t… don’t mind me, I’m just going to be in the corner weeping.

I’m a girl.

[She laughs]

SUMMER OR WINTER ➔ 

Oh that’s a tough one! They really do both have so much to recommend them. I think I have to go with winter, even though I do so love the sun in the summer, since winter means curling up in blankets and drinking hot tea in front of a fire. For some reason Cullen never joins me in the blanket, but oh well, his loss, more blanket for me, and he seems content enough in the freezing cold wasteland that is the blanketless living room.

MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➔ 

Morning, easily. The sun is just coming up and it’s lovely. Plus you feel like the day is so much longer! EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ARE YOU IN LOVE ➔ 

Very much so.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT ➔ 

You know, I do. Although I’m not entirely certain that it was love at first sight as much as attraction at first sight. Helps when the person you’re falling for is easy on the eyes. Love at first speak, maybe? We had a great conversation about bows and it was the most engaging and delightful conversation of my life.

WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP ➔

I’d rather not discuss it, but me.

HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART ➔ 

This isn’t really a line of questioning I’d like to pursue. Probably a lot of people’s, probably not all romantically.

ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS ➔ 

Of the concept, no, but I haven’t really been in any place long enough to get committed. Not even to an asylum, though Creators know sometimes I think I belong there.

HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK? ➔ 

So many people. What can I say, I’m a hugger. Do you want a list? Because I can’t remember a list. If there’s a person around I’ve interacted with I’ve probably also given them a hug. Do you need a hug? You sort of look like you do.

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER ➔ 

When I was about fourteen, someone kept leaving me these really ridiculous love notes in my quiver. I still don’t know where they were from, I used to find them and laugh about them with Tam. They were the dumbest things, stuff like we can run off together, your eyes shine brighter than veilfire in the dark… He always said that we had to burn them after, I didn’t quite understand why.

It was Tam, wasn’t it.

Damn.

Well, now I feel bad.

HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➔ 

How about we change the subject? SIX CHOICES LOVE OR LUST ➔ 

Why not both? If they must be separate, then love, but the best love has some lust mixed in there. 

LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➔

Tea is hot, isn’t it? I like hot tea, though I’m not sure about how it would be cold. I should try it! So, uh, lemonade I guess.

CATS OR DOGS ➔ 

I like them both! Cats have a special place in my heart though, the way they’re social but on their own terms. They seem  solitary, but can be so good at keeping one company.

A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➔ 

A few best friends. I’d rather have a smaller number of real relationships with people who actually care about me.

WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➔ 

Night in, hands down. Although I do enjoy a good party, especially one that isn’t too crazy so that I can hear the people around me speaking.

DAY OR NIGHT ➔ 

I like them both - I mean, have you looked at the starry sky at night? Gorgeous. It’s so sparkly. But the sun is warm and bright, like a hug from the universe, so day. That’s my final answer. FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➔ 

Oh, fuck yes, do you know how hard it is to sneak out of an aravel? Pretty freaking hard. 

There was this one time at the last arlathvhen I went to when I went to meet a boy in the woods and… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell this story. It was a pretty good time until the rabbits.

Tam’s mom was so mad. She wanted to make me sleep outside, but, well, that wasn’t much of a punishment so for the rest of the arlathvhen I had to sleep closest to the wall. It was hot.

[She laughs and looks down]

Good times.

FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➔ 

It’s really embarrassing, but both, more times than I can count. It got so bad that Cullen insisted we find a house with only one floor. I had a permanent bruise on my shin from falling up the stairs at Skyhold. What, they were an awkward length and I kept trying to go up two at a time! Think of all the valuable seconds I saved. When I didn’t trip like an idiot.

WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➔

I don’t know, can you get me my arm back? Haha, I’m just kidding. Or am I.

WANTED TO DISAPPEAR ➔ 

Wouldn’t you want to if everyone kept asking you what to do and you had no sodding idea what the best path was? FOUR PREFERENCES SMILE OR EYES ➔

Smile. A smile brightens up someone’s whole face. It’s also so much fun to make someone who doesn’t smile much burst out laughing, it’s like a ray of sunshine.

SHORTER OR TALLER ➔ 

I like people to be taller than me, with at least a good five inches of clearance, but honestly it doesn’t matter much. If I truly care about someone height isn’t important.

INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➔ 

Oh, intelligence. I can appreciate a pretty man well enough and they’re good for some things, but for anything deeper I need someone who can make me think, you know?

HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➔ 

Relationship. I’ve done the hook-up thing enough and it only leaves you lonely. Plus you can work on really tailoring your in-bed experience to your preferences in a relationship, constantly iterating on concepts and what not. Lots of iteration. Yup. FAMILY DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➔ 

I assume you mean my clan, not my dead parents, but either way the answer is no. Cullen’s family is great though, they’ve really adopted me. They’re so… warm. I thought it was normal for families to be distant. But Mia’s more of a hugger than I am!

WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➔ 

Maybe once I would have.

HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➔ 

Slept in the forest, yes, but I wouldn’t have run away. When you only have familiarity with one small group it’s hard to break out of that. Like, money - what do you do when you know how to barter but barely know the value of a coin?

HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➔

Let’s just say learning the value of a coin was the easiest part of a pretty rude awakening. FRIENDS

DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➔ 

Absolutely not, if I hated someone I wouldn’t be friends with them. Sometimes people can get on my nerves, I’ll admit.

DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➔ 

Yeah, I really do.

WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➔ 

Definitely Dorian, he’s persistent and won’t let me not be his friend. He makes me laugh so hard, and my fashion sense has really gotten an upgrade from being around him. Sometimes I look in the mirror at an outfit and just think, ‘Thanks, Dorian.”

Also did I say he’s funny? He’s uproariously funny.

Sometimes I want to twist his moustache just to annoy him. I do it, but I want to too. He hates it. But I think he also secretly loves it.

On a more serious note, he has a unique perspective and I’m pretty sure he’s the smartest person I know. He probably should treat me like an idiot in comparison, but he doesn’t.

WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➔ 

Cullen. If there’s anything he doesn’t know about me it’s because I’ve forgotten about it or it’s just never come up, but he knows me like nobody else does.

[patricianandclerk]

I don't know shit about dragon age and you know that so here is a prompt that you should feel free to ignore, but if you're looking for something, uuhhh Eggman™️ and #24.

21. a song sung in a tavern after last call (x)

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

Solas didn’t think he’d ever seen so many elves in the Herald’s Rest. It was very late in the night, now, and Cabot was no longer serving, but everyone was sipping at the last of their drinks, and Solas sat in the corner beside young Cremisius, away from the crowded centre. 

There was a strange mood on the air. 

It had been a long day for all, and they had come straight to the tavern after returning - many of these elves had walked with the caravan. They were mostly from one Dalish clan, whose Keeper and First had been killed in the same attack by the Red Templars, and Lavellan had offered that they come to Skyhold and set their camp under the safety of the Inquisition’s banners whilst they contacted other clans for a new keeper.

“You say a word, Solas, I won’t speak to you for a month,” he’d hissed before Solas could even open his mouth to offer commentary, and he’d been too surprised to object when he had then become all comforting smiles, speaking with the hahrens in his easy, quiet elvish. 

And now…

Lavellan sat amidst them, a young girl in his lap, no older than four, and he was rocking her gently as he talked. She was fast asleep all ready - all of the children were asleep in their places, curled in the laps of their parents or against the side of one of the elders, but for one young boy of ten or eleven, who was sitting upon the Iron Bull’s shoulder and watching Lavellan, spellbound.

It made the Andrastians uncomfortable, seeing Lavellan amongst his people, so at ease, that much was to be certain. They saw the vallaslin all these people shared (Solas didn’t allow his fist to clench), heard them share their language, but no one had dared speak against the Dalish, not when Lavellan had led them in, when he was so plain amidst them, and yet of them. Other elves had come as though drawn to the wonder of the evening, and Solas could see the city elves who had crept in to see all of their supposed fellows in one group. There were those who were Dalish themselves - the mage that called herself Dalish; Minaeve; young Loranil - but then there were elves he recognised from the kitchens, or from the refugees, even some from the Circle.

“Do you sing, lethallin?” asked an old woman whose vallaslin marked her as property of one pledged to Elgar’nan, and Lavellan laughed softly.

“Not well, I fear, hahren,” he said. “I can carry a tune and I know well the words, but my voice is no great pleasure to hear.”

“Won’t you lead our singers, then?” the elder asked. “I shall play for you, if you will sing.”

“Suledin?”

“Suledin.”

The Dalish knew well the first verses, but Lavellan, it became clear, knew them all, and when their voices faltered his remained strong, carrying up through the tavern. He had been telling the truth - he had a voice best heard amongst a dozen others, but Solas could see the wonder in the eyes of his fellow elves, that they heard this supposed Herald sing in such easy elvish, who knew the tales and who the poetry and most of all knew the song. 

It was spellbinding.

Solas wished he could remain scornful, but hearing all those voices, raised in song… He remembered the first long walk, and how those freed people had sung, unable yet to raise their arms, so they had raised their voices instead, and oh, how beautiful a music it had been, in a language not so far removed from this one, and with much the same lyrics, at that - lath aravel ena, arla ven tu vir mahvir–

“You okay, messere?” Cremisius asked softly. 

Solas glanced at him, saw the expression of concern on his face, and he wondered what his own face had looked like, taken away as he’d been with memory.

“I am well, Cremisius. Thank you, for your concern.”

Cremisius nodded, sipping at his drink, and Solas sighed at the energy in the tavern now. Nostalgic, yes, but… full of hope. Such hope.

A hand touched his, squeezing it, and he looked up to meet Lavellan’s gaze, cradling as he was the young girl against his chest. She was such a small thing, so delicate, her face not yet marred by the vallaslin, freckles scattered on her nose and her brow. Solas’ heart ached, to look at her.

“Would you teach us a song, Solas?” Lavellan asked. “The elders would fall over themselves singing your praises if you taught them a song from long ago.”

“Appealing to my ego, Inquisitor?”

“I can call you handsome too, if you like,” Lavellan murmured. “Next on my list is petty bribery.”

Solas shook his head, though he squeezed Lavellan’s hand back, and it didn’t surprise him that Lavellan nodded his head in understanding, that he didn’t press or pressure for Solas to do as he said he would not. Solas stood to his feet, though, and he oughtn’t, he oughtn’t–

“What’s her name?” Solas asked quietly.

“Shanna,” Lavellan murmured. “Daughter of the clan’s late halla keeper.”

Solas put out his hands, knowing he oughtn’t, and the girl was such a tiny weight in his arms, her head falling forward against his shoulder, her arms wrapping loosely about his neck. The distant scent of ash still clung to her clothes, and Solas sighed, supporting her in his arms as he met Lavellan’s gaze.

“I’m not one of you,” Solas reminded him.

“No,” Lavellan said. “Look at you, prince among us mortal elves.” Solas set his jaw, but Lavellan was already sighing, and said, “I’m sorry, Solas. It was selfish of me to ask, I know you don’t like the Dalish.”

“It wasn’t selfish,” Solas said. “But it is not a request I can fulfill. Do you know Ma Vhenan, Arala?”

“My Love, Waiting For Me,” Lavellan murmured. “That one isn’t very commonly sung. I barely know the tune.”

“Will that suit you, then?”

“I suppose you have a lovely singing voice.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“So modest,” Lavellan murmured, but he was looking at Solas as though Solas was made of moonlight after a hundred moonless nights, as though he could barely tear his eyes away, he was so grateful to set his eyes on him. “You don’t have to.”

“For you,” Solas said. “And for the children. And I may well return to your offer of petty bribery, at that.”

“Your nobility in service of the elvhen people comes at the greatest of prices, Solas, yes, I understand,” Lavellan said, so carelessly that Solas very nearly made a noise in response, but he focused on the weight of young Shanni in his arms as he came to join the elves. So many of them. So many of them, and when all was over–

“This is Solas,” Lavellan said. “He has a better voice than I do, I promise you.”

“The H–” Solas started, but Lavellan turned such a pleading look on him that he remembered, long ago, a young man wearing the heavy weight of a scornful epithet on his back, the way it had grown into legend upon legend. That young man had been so young once, hadn’t he? Solas could scarcely remember what it had been like. “Mahanon,” he murmured, adjusting the weight of the little girl in his arms, and turning a serious look to the hahrens watching him, “tells me Ma Vhenan, Arala, might offer some novelty to the night’s musical interlude.”

“Oh, I haven’t sung that since I was a child,” whispered the old woman, and when she looked at Solas with her crinkling vallaslin… “There aren’t many young men who know the song of a wandering widower.”

“I’m not quite so young as I look,” Solas murmured, and gestured for her to take up her instrument to play. 

[buttsonthebeach]

The Last Game, Pt. 4

And now we reach our conclusion - Rhaella has walked away from Solas, and Solas’s plans have not changed.

I am so, so honored that @scharoux trusted me enough to commission a full fic from me. I loved writing Rhaella and Solas’s journey to this point. Thank you, dear friend!

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently CLOSED as of 7/29/19)

Other fics/commissions in this series:

1. All Things Green and Growing

2. The Same Kind of Scar

3. World Without End

4. The Last Game Pt. 1, the Last Game Pt. 2, and the Last Game Pt. 3 (contains explicit content)

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas

Rating: Teen. 

**************************

“I think we’ve found him.”

Rhaella had been waiting for those words for weeks since she returned from the Hunterhorn Mountains, and now that Leliana was saying them, she found she still was not ready.

Leliana’s agents had been acting on Rhaella’s own intelligence from her stay with Solas in those ancient woods - the techniques used on the weapons, the name Clan Lelerion and the ancient texts that referenced it, the exact shape of the sky in those mountains, the arrangement of the peaks, anything that might zero in on the exact location of the clan’s camp. Rhaella herself had spent hours helping her spymaster pull it all together into something actionable - and now it had led them to their ultimate destination. They had followed the routes that these unique weapons took, noted the hands that they were smuggled into, noted the slow but steady gathering of forces near Sundermount in the Free Marches. The place where many people believed Corypheus and his brethren had first breached the Veil.

And now this trail of smoke had led to fire. Once again, to Solas.

And Rhaella, the one who had walked away, the one who had refused to side with him, the one who had set them on the trail, still wasn’t ready to face its end.

Leliana could probably see that in her face. Rhaella knew she had dark circles around her eyes. It was harder and harder to sleep now, her whole body so swollen with child that nothing was comfortable. It was harder and harder to sleep knowing her child’s father was out there, his plans unchanged, descending further and further into a darkness of his own making.

“You do not have to come,” Leliana said quietly, her eyes shifting down to the roundness of Rhaella’s stomach.

“I do,” Rhaella said, already calculating the distance, thinking of how many weeks the midwives thought she had left before the baby came. The number had dwindled down to four.

It was enough time to get there. It had to be. The baby had not dropped low yet. First babies often came late. There was time still. Time to fix all of this - or to end it.

“I will rally everyone,” Leliana said, quiet and solemn. If she had any reservations, she did not voice them.

Cullen had enough reservations for them both, and he had no such hesitation about sharing them. He stood in her room the next morning, watching her pack, voicing them all.

“The Emerald Graves was enough. You could not stop him then. What makes you think you can stop him now?”

Rhaella folded up the buttery soft blankets Josephine had sent from Antiva. A gift for the baby. They fit in her pack right beside the lyrium potions, the daggers, the extra arrows.

“Are you even listening, Rhaella? Are you considering the risks?”

“I am, and I have.”

She heard his loud exhale, the way he paced back and forth, but did not look up.

“This is insane. If you had weighed the risks, you wouldn’t be going.” He stopped pacing. She did not stop packing. “I know - I know all of this between us has been a ruse. But my offer is as serious as ever. Stay behind. I will make the world safe for you and this child and I will come back to you and I -”

Rhaella didn’t even feel quite like herself as she added the last of the swaddling clothes to her pack and crossed the room to him, and reached out and put her hand on his cheek.

“You are a good man, Cullen,” she said.

She turned and went down the stairs, and he stopped arguing with her, and did not raise the question again. This time he did not embrace her when she rode out with her party. There was no point in the show anymore. Things were going to end this time, one way or another, and who had fathered the Inquisitor’s child wasn’t going to matter if they did not succeed. All the games were coming to an end.

*

Swaying in the dark hold of the ship that would carry her across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall must have been something like returning to the womb, Rhaella thought. All the sounds were muffled and watery. Distant. You were weightless on the swell of the sea. The hold was utterly dark. You may have been in another world.

In another world.

Why not this one?

Rhaella was past the point of crying over those words, obsessing over them. She was past the point of a lot of things.

But she was not past the point of feeling a flutter of joy when her child moved within her, so cramped inside her belly that you could see the outlines of their back, and occasionally a heel or a hand, as they shifted. Soon she would meet them, know them, hold them. Soon she would show them this world and all it promised, everything about it that was beautiful, worth fighting for.

“You’re going to love it,” she murmured, keeping her hand over the place where she’d last felt them move. “There is so much good here, little one. So much to see. I’m going to show you how the hunt just like my father did. How to tell all the different plants apart. How to use the stars to guide your way. All of it. And you are going to be so loved, little one. No matter what happens.”

She felt that love like a real, physical presence in the hold with them - something glowing and warm and fierce, like a sword fresh from the forge. Something that once forged would never be broken. Something that belonged to her and the child alone.

They stayed there, the two of them, in their world apart, for the entire journey. Rhaella let herself focus only on her child, her body, the trial that was to come for them both when the baby came. It was only when the ocean sounds faded away, when she heard the clanking of the chains that marked Kirkwall’s harbor, when the soft shush of water was replaced by the cacophony of people shouting, that she turned away from these thoughts, towards the other trial that lay ahead.

*

“So Curly didn’t want to come back to Kirkwall, huh?”

It took Rhaella a moment to pull her mind away from the maps of Sundermount spread before her and focus on Varric’s words.

“Cullen? He wanted to come. We had reports indicating that there was movement around Skyhold and didn’t want to leave the fortress defenseless. We still need a home to come back to, after all.”

The meeting room in the Viscount’s Keep where they’d convened was very quiet. Too quiet. Everywhere Rhaella went she seemed to bring silence with her. People staring at her belly, at her arm, at her face. All of them searching for something.

“That’s good to hear,” Varric said. “That you’re thinking that way, I mean.”

“Of course I am,” Rhaella said. “I have no other choice.”

They were going to have a home to come back to. She was going to raise this child. There was a great gray blank space between this moment and that moment - a great if - but she knew what lay on the other side of it. That was her strength. Maybe that was why everyone was staring at her in silence. They were trying to see the source of that strength, that future moment that they all felt so uncertain of. Let them stare, then.

“Right,” Varric went on. “To review - you’ll have the support of Kirkwall’s city guard as you navigate Sundermount. They’ll help you get through the caves that will lead you to the top. I’m going to keep a healthy reserve here in the city for the safety of our citizens.”

“And we will leave some of our forces here to support them,” Leliana said in turn, stepping forward. “While the bulk of our forces make the journey to Sundermount.”

Bulk. They had only brought one hundred soldiers with them. Twenty-five were staying behind in Kirkwall. A gesture more than anything else, but a gesture that mattered. Twenty-five people could change the course of a battle. They could. But Rhaella did not think there would be fighting in the streets of Kirkwall today. That was not Solas’s way.

Her lungs sealed up all at once at the thought of his name. Of him. She would see him today. She was sure of it. She was also sure it would be the last time.

“Sprig? You okay?”

“Yes. Fine. I’m fine.” 

It was only a little bit of a lie. She had been feeling off that day but it was nothing serious. Probably just the transition from sea to shore. Probably just exhaustion. Probably just the fact that she knew what she had to do. Her belly was tight as a drum and she’d been nauseated for a couple of hours now, but those were ordinary side effects at her stage of pregnancy. Nothing to be concerned about.

Everyone was looking at her again. Faces familiar and unfamiliar. She just wanted to be alone, as she had been in the ship’s hold. She just wanted all of this to be over.

“Right then,” she said. “Everything is settled. Give the soldiers half an hour to prepare themselves, and then we leave for Sundermount.”

The people she did not know withdrew, their voices buzzing.

“I can’t believe we would have missed this without your help,” Varric said, frustrated. “The movements of his people through the city were subtle, sure, but still. We should have noticed something was up.”

“He is a master at his game,” Leliana said. “You can’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Are we certain he’ll go through with this today?”

Rhaella snorted, a dry, bitter sound. “Are you questioning whether or not he’ll do it, or whether or not it will be today? I assure you that I am confident of both things. The spikes in magical energy that we sensed - the activity from Merrill’s eluvian, which she has proven to be linked to the same system his forces are using - the total disappearance of his agents from the city - it all adds up. We barely arrived in time. And as far as whether or not he will go through with it - after the last time I saw him…”

Do not make me go through with this, knowing you are in the world. Knowing my child is in the world. Please, do not -

I am not making you do anything, Solas. And you know that.

He had not followed her down that mountain in the Hunterhorns. The die was cast. All the games were coming to an end.

Both Varric and Leliana stood there in silence, watching her with sad eyes.

“It does not have to be you,” Leliana said quietly.

“It does,” Rhaella said. She reached out, placed one finger on the marker on the map that represented Solas. She knocked it down.

*

Rhaella was sure that Sundermount was beautiful, but she didn’t have a chance to appreciate it as they hurried through the foothills where a Dalish camp had once been. She would come back here someday. After. She would appreciate it then.

After.

There was an After out there and she was moving towards it.

She directed more of her mana towards the barrier around her stomach, already bolstered by many wards, stabilization and protection from every kind of element. She still felt tight there, with periods of greater tightness, still felt a little ill. 

All of that was for After.

They hit the first of Solas's forces - though perhaps forces was too strong a word. There were twenty of them, well trained and well armed with the weapons from Clan Lelerion. Rhaella did not stay to fight them. She dropped barriers on her own soldiers and she kept going. This was the plan. Keep moving forward, forward, forward, leaving behind only enough soldiers to keep them from being surrounded. They went through the caves of Sundermount and the same thing happened - more elves, mages and warriors who had already killed the few adventurers who had been in the tunnels before them, who were guarding various relics of power that Solas had seized in the last few months. More soldiers peeled off, went after them, set to work on destroying the relics.

Rhaella just kept moving. She kept reinforcing the barrier around her stomach. Her breath was short and she had pangs of pain now and then that made it entirely impossible to breathe.

After, she begged. After, after, after.

As they moved through Sundermount she could feel a rising energy prickling all over her skin. An energy that reminded her of the Anchor. The same bitter-bright taste on the back of her tongue, the same swirling, living chaos - entropy and force magic balanced against one another.

She pulled swirls of speed through the Fade and directed them into her feet. She had to move faster. She had to get there in time. But Solas’s soldiers looked at her and there was recognition in their eyes, and she heard one of them shout to another:

“Tell him she’s already here. He needs to hurry.”

So Solas had known they were coming. They had no element of surprise.

She killed the one who went running to tell Solas. A quick, clean clap of lightning. Painless.

She burst out of the caves and only half of her forces remained behind her. The Kirkwall guards were entirely gone, all down there in the caves, holding back the soldiers. She heard their shouts and the clang of their steel and she wished for them to see the after too, for all of them to see it.

But she had to keep going, because the energy was even stronger here, because the wind was fierce, whipping up dirt and debris against her cheeks, stinging her eyes, and there had been no wind like this at the base of the mountain. She rounded the corner, hugging the rocky cliff face. The expanse of Sundermount’s peak opened before her, green and dotted with graves and crumbling pillars. And at the far end of that peak, standing before an altar, was Solas, his arms raised high. 

The sky around them was roiling with black clouds and flashes of white lightning that seared Rhaella’s eyes. The earth began to tremble beneath her feet, bowing and bucking like she was on the deck of the ship again. She nearly fell, caught herself in time. She bolstered the barrier around her stomach one last time. She started moving forward. Lightning knifed across the sky once more - but it did not fade. It remained, a brilliant white scar. A crack in the world around them.

He had already started.

And she’d said it was all over, but standing there, seeing him, she had to try one last time.

“Solas,” she shouted above the wind.

He turned, and his eyes were glowing white, the same color as the lightning. He did not drop his hands, did not stop casting the spell. More cracks appeared in the sky.

“Vhenan,” he said, and his voice echoed with a hundred other voices. The voice of the man she loved was in there but she could not hear it. Not anymore.

“Stop this now,” she shouted, moving closer, the spell building from the tips of her toes towards the crown of her head; pure fire, the kind that destroyed and cleansed. Her stomach clenched and that pain was pure fire too, brought tears to her eyes.

After, after, after.

“You know that I cannot,” he said. More cracks, more white light spilling through, blinding her. It wasn’t green the way Fade rifts had been and even now, despite everything, Rhaella found herself questioning that, wanting to unravel why, wanting to ask him, to sit at his side and talk about the world.

“You can,” she said, raising her staff. “You just won’t.”

She slammed the staff home and fire burst forth, streaking towards him, red and angry, burning clean and bright. It hit the barrier surrounding him the way a flower would hit a stone wall. Dissipated entirely. The wind intensified. More cracks appeared in the sky.

Rhaella cast again, again, ignoring the pain in her stomach, thinking of the baby and trying not to think of the baby, trying to just survive this moment. The earth heaved beneath her and she tried not to think of her soldiers in the caves below. She tried not think of anything but the next spell. Nullify, then ice. Nullify, then lightning. Nullify, and then stonefist. All the magic flowing easily from her hand, no moment’s hesitation as it crossed the Veil.

Please, please, please let this work, let my child live to see the world I know and love -

Each and every spell bounced off the barrier. There was green light now, shining through the white cracks in the sky, and black mist rolling through.

Rhaella dropped her staff and pulled her dagger from its sheath at her waist. She lunged forward, crossing the distance between them, seeking the place Cullen had told her about - right between his shoulder blades. A place where she had rested her head when she was overwhelmed, where she had kissed him as he slept at her side. The dagger was impossibly heavy in her hand.

It bounced off the barrier uselessly too.

A wave of force hit her and she flew, landed hard on her back, and her whole body was overcome with pain - pain so solid she could feel it in her throat, so real she could taste it, coppery and sour. She could hear it throbbing in her ears, a drumbeat that would never end. She clutched at her stomach, panic rising in her as the black mist rolled towards her, pouring out of the sky, obscuring Solas where he stood by the altar. It hit her and stung every pore, every nerve, every hair on her body, and Rhaella screamed.

Please, please, please not like this, not my child too, please -

Solas was there, kneeling, his eyes blue once more, one hand on her forehead and one on her stomach.

“Be still, vhenan,” he said, and his voice was his own again. “We do not have much time.”

Pain wracked her again and she screamed, tried to push him away.

“Hush, hush. I am glad you came. I can protect you, vhenan. I can protect you both.”

The earth was shaking and the sky was opening up but Rhaella felt a sudden wave of calm, of peace, even though everything was coming apart at the seams, even though Solas’s eyes were white with power once more. There was pain but it was distant, hidden behind a white and gold glow. There was a flare of radiance - every color she had ever known, indigo and violet and spring’s first green and deepest red - and then there was nothing. Nothing at all.

*

Rhaella woke.

That was a surprise in and of itself.

She woke, and the air was cool on her face, and the pain was gone.

My baby.

Both of her hands went instantly to her stomach. Still firm, round, high. She sent out a pulse of magic. A little foot kicked back in response.

Still pregnant. Still alive.

It had all been a dream.

But she had used both of her hands to feel her stomach?

Rhaella opened her eyes. She saw blue sky. No crackles of white lightning, no black mist, no green light. Just blue, blue sky.

She raised up both of her hands. Left and right, twins again, not even a scar on the left palm where the Anchor had been. She flexed them, and sparks flew off of them, dazzling bright and brief like fireflies in autumn. The magic came easily. It did not even come to tell the truth - it just was.

What happened?

She rose, and the room that surrounded her was crystalline, unearthly, all silver glass, and she still did not believe it. She could feel the enchantments surrounding the bed where she’d been lying - the time magic, something like necromancy - and she did not have to reach out to feel them. They came to her the way any scent came on a breeze. And she still did not believe it.

No, no, no, no.

She ran through an open doorway onto a cobblestone lane and looked around and saw more crystalline houses, three of them, all empty, none larger than one room - and then three more above that - and two above that - and they were floating in the air, glittering in the sun - she looked down the cobblestone lane and saw ethereal bodies gliding there, pink and purple and orange - spirits -

She was in the Fade. She had crossed the Veil as she had in Adamant. Solas had failed. He had failed. He had to have failed.

She seemed to be up on a hill. No - a mountain. Did this part of the Fade reflect Sundermount? She oriented herself by the sun, turning this way and that, until she could see the shoreline down the mountainside, and it was still the Waking Sea, still the frothy teal waters she had just crossed. She turned, following that shoreline towards the City of Chains. Kirkwall would be there, unchanged -

She saw the city. She did. She saw the shape of its walls, the red clay of the roofs of Hightown. Even at this distance she could pick out the details -

And half the houses were skeletons. The Viscounts’ Keep - collapsed. The walls had caved inward in places. And there were other buildings, houses, objects - pieces of road - floating in the sky, caught on some perfect, invisible breeze. It was Kirkwall but it was broken. What about the people who had been there when it happened?

Rhaella was dimly aware that she was breathing too fast. That her hands were shaking. One of the spirits down the lane had turned its featureless face towards her. Rhaella wondered what kind it was. Joy. The answer entered her mind at once, unbidden. She just knew it. Something brushed against her arm. A different spirit. Curiosity.

No, no, no, no.

The baby kicked her once, twice, three times. Her breath was still coming too fast. Her belly was steadily tightening.

I promised to protect the world for you, little one. I promised. What has he done?

She had to find Solas. She must have spoken the words aloud, because Curiosity answered.

“The Wolf Who Hunts Alone is down the hill. He is trying to heal a hurt he caused.”

Rhaella was already off, already walking through a landscape that was familiar-but-not-familiar - the curve of the road was like what she remembered from Sundermount but the mountainside was a sheer cliff now, like part of it was gone. The air was warmer than it had been, and each scent sweeter, brighter. She looked over the edge of the cliff and saw a little village down there, near the seashore. Down there. He had to be down there. She needed to get there as fast as she could. She needed to find him, stop him, fix all of this -

Roots and vines and clods of dirt rose out of the cliff face, forming a delicate spiralling staircase. The Fade responded to intention, to will. That was what was happening here. This was the Fade. He hadn’t succeeded at all. Rhaella descended, flexing her left hand over and over again, feeling its familiar-unfamiliar weight.

The village had real people in it, real houses. Every last one of them was an elf. Some had vallaslin, some didn’t. Some had dazed, terrified expressions. Some were tall, broad-shouldered, like Solas himself. They wore the ancient armor of the sentinels at the Temple of Mythal and they wore the threadbare, patched-twice clothes of runaway slaves.

“Where is he?” Rhaella asked every one of them. “Where is he?”

Some spoke to her in Tevene, some in Elvhen, some in Trade. They all knew who she meant.

“He’s gone back to the city.”

“He’s trying to help.”

“When you find that fucking bastard, kill him, kill him -”

“What has the Dread Wolf done?”

The same words she’d once heard in the Vir’Dirthara. Reversed now.

Rhaella kept on walking.

She kept catching sight of things that were almost familiar - bends of road she recognized from the journey she had just taken to reach Sundermount. How much time had passed since then? She had no sense of how long she had been walking, either. Her breath came quickly again. She had to stop to calm it, her palm braced against a tree to steady herself. She looked up at it, taking in the dense needles, the color of its bark. It was purple, she realized. The deepest, most regal shade of purple, the kind that would have the lords and ladies of Orlais clambering at the doors of the tailors, demanding silks dyed to match.

I have no idea what kind of tree this is. I have lived in the Free Marches all my adult life, hunted and played in its woods, and I have never seen this kind of tree.

 If this is real - if this is how things are - I have no idea what world I am introducing my child to.

Rhaella kept on walking.

Kirkwall loomed closer and closer, shifting and changing based on her perspective, a city torn apart and flung upwards, half-intact and half-destroyed. Varric was in that city. He was.

What had happened to Skyhold? To the people they left behind? To the people who were in the mountain when it happened?

No, none of that mattered, this was the Fade. Solas hadn’t succeeded.

She passed a gash in the earth that had revealed a stone hallway. Four dwarves, members of the Legion of the Dead from their tattoos, were standing there, white-faced, looking up at the sky.

“Ancestors,” one of them murmured. “We should have been two weeks from the surface. Not two days. You, elf. What happened here?”

Rhaella approached them.

“There was a surge of power through all of our veins of lyrium two weeks ago,” the one who’d spoken said. “Our commander was tasked with figuring out what happened. You have any explanation?”

The words stuck in her throat, as thick and awful as mud. As if she’d swallowed the whole Fallow Mire.

“The Veil -” she began, and then fell silent. She shook her head. “I’m Inquisitor Lavellan. I’m on my way to find out what happened. Were any of your people harmed when the surge of power happened?”

“No. Not by that. There were some cave-ins when the earth shook, though.”

If he did succeed - maybe it wasn’t a catastrophe. Maybe he managed to protect everyone. He would do that, if he could.

“Okay. Good. I’m going to figure out what happened. I promise.”

They looked at her, owlish in their confusion and fear.

“Ancestors,” one of them murmured again.

Rhaella kept on walking.

When she reached Kirkwall, it was eerily quiet. She had entered not far from the Lowtown market and it should have been overflowing with people - people panicking if nothing else, or praying to the Maker or - something.

But she crossed paths with only a handful of humans. And they darted away from her when they saw her. The spirits looked at her curiously but did not approach. There were spirits of Rage and Grief and Mourning and Fear here, and they had other things to do. Rage was inside of burning buildings. Grief and Mourning were circling empty houses.

Rhaella kept glancing skyward at the buildings suspended in the air, her heart in her throat every time she realized one of them was above her. She did not know the laws of this world, whatever it was. If one of them fell -

Her skin crawled with static electricity. Her own magic, unbidden once again. The baby kicked and squirmed and her stomach tightened once, hard.

Mamae will figure it out, little one. She will. You’ll have the world I promised you.

The only substantial noise was coming from what turned out to be the alienage. The venadhal there was resplendent - each leaf a shimmering ruby red, the painted patterns on its trunk now moving, swirling across the bark. It was surrounded by a crowd of elves, all of their voices raised. Their elders were standing on top of benches surrounding the venadhal, trying to appease them.

“Please,” one elderly woman shouted. “We received news from the scouts we sent out. We have news from Starkhaven. We can’t share it if you can’t hear us speak.”

Without thinking, Rhaella raised a hand and cast a spell - a quick blast of force high above their heads that would create a loud sound. It worked. It worked far better than she expected it to. The crowd of elves fell silent and turned to her, and Rhaella felt it at once - how each and every one of them was bristling with magic.

“What is the news from Starkhaven,” she said, drawing on the authoritative voice she’d been forced to develop as Inquisitor.

The crowed turned, looked askance at her. The elder spoke.

“It is the same there as here. Two weeks ago the Veil was ripped away from them, and it has been chaos since. Most of the elves and dwarves of their city have survived, although not all. The humans - and any nearby qunari - half have survived.”

The crowd surged once more, shouting questions. How did this happen? What do we do now? What about outside the Free Marches?

Rhaella did know how any of them were shouting. She could barely breathe once more. Half of all humans and qunari. Dead. Elves and dwarves mostly unscathed. The power surging through the lyrium two weeks ago - the fact that every single person in the crowd in front of her was glistening with magic, vibrating with it, making little snaps of flame and sparks without even meaning to. For two weeks she had been asleep - no, not asleep, in uthenera, it was time to face facts now - and all of this had been going on.

She was already leaving the conversation, turning away, ignoring the shouts of the elders for her to come closer. He’d done it. He had actually done it. She had failed. So many innocent lives were over. How many of her companions had survived? Dorian? Blackwall? Cassandra? How many of the Avvar of the Frostback Basin? The good people of Ferelden? Humans had wronged her people over and over and over again but that did not mean that all of them deserved this - and what of the mages in their towers? If magic was stronger now, what had happened to theirs? If they had survived the initial fall of the Veil, were they now sowing unintentional chaos in its wake?

She was walking, taking quick, sharp breaths. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going. She felt that she was following something, faint as a snatch of distant birdsong. Her feet were leading her up higher in the city, into Hightown, near silent in its desolation. A large group of dwarves had congregated in what used to be the market. Glass shattered as someone broke into a stately mansion. To Rhaella, it all might as well have been a dream anyway. She was going to find him. She was going to find him and make him answer for what he’d done.

Her instinct did not lead her astray (was intent going to govern everyone’s lives now, just as it had always governed the Fade?). Solas was at the highest point of Kirkwall. The Chantry. His arms were raised and his eyes were glowing and he was not in his armor any more, the one that made him truly look like one of the old gods. He was in a simple tunic, fine blue cotton with gold embroidery. He was looking skyward, towards the buildings that had torn away from the earth and risen up.

Rhaella did not hesitate this time. She did not call his name or think of the tenderness that had been between them, the scars they shared, the understanding that ran deeper than words. She summoned ice in the form of a spear and she launched it straight for the back of his skull.

It flew at incredible speed, struck true, and shattered to a thousand glittering pieces. She tried fire next, a whirling ball of it, white-hot. It erupted around him but when it faded he stood there unchanged, arms still raised. She tried stone, pried up from the earth around them, but that shattered too. She tried lightning, force, pure arcane energy. Every spell she knew.

Still he did not move.

It wasn’t until she ran closer, tried to push him, hit him, anything she could think of in her desperation, that he at last turned. “Vhenan,” he said, surprised. His blue eyes were brilliant and clear, no trace of the glow from before. His voice was the same as it had always been. There was a faint smile on his lips. “Forgive me. I had thought you were one of the others. You are well?”

His calm tone - once the only thing she’d ever longed to hear - was like oil added to a fire.

“How could you do this? After everything you experienced, everything I said - how could you?”

“There was no other way. I saved as many as I could - I am still trying to save those who may be -”

“Fix it. You have to fix this. You have to fix everything.”

“My heart -”

She tried once more to push him. She could not even touch him. She could feel his barrier as a physical thing instead - smooth and immoveable beneath her palms. She beat her fists against it, strengthened each blow with magic. The power here was absurd - it kept coming and coming and coming. She had never been so powerful.

And still she could not even touch him.

“No. I am not your heart. You lied every time you spoke the word. This -” she flung her arm out wide over the silent, sepulchral city below. “This was all that was ever in your heart. This dead and mutilated world. This was all you ever wanted.”

“You know that isn’t true -”

“Stop lying!”

Rhaella’s voice was coming from somewhere else. It couldn’t be her, shrieking so loud, so utterly crazed with fear and fury. She tried one last attack, raw magical power alone, not channeled or twisted or braided into anything other than what it was. The power that made and unmade the world. It hit his barrier, a spray of color, indigo and violet and ruby red and vivid green. It exploded out around them, wild and free. She had to put up a barrier of her own. It snapped into place easy as breathing, as if it was always there. The baby squirmed within her.

I have failed you. I have failed you, da’len.

That thought took the last of her energy. She dropped her hands. She felt the tears on her face, though she could not remember when she started crying. Solas stood there before her, arms dangling at his sides, grief written all over his face. They stood there a while - the two of them - in silence, at the pinnacle of a city that had been ripped apart.

“Good-bye, Solas,” she said.

She turned and she walked away. She heard his voice, the sound of him moving towards her. She raised a wall of rock between them without turning. She kept walking. She would need to rest soon. Her feet and her back ached. Spirits lingered at the corners of her vision. She had no idea how to interact with them, how to tell all of them apart. Whether or not any of them could possess people as they had before. She did not know all the rules of this world. She did not know where to go. What to do. She did not know what it would look like in six months or in a year -

Solas had brought down her wall of rock, of course. He was still walking towards her. She brought up another, strengthened the barrier around her so she could not even hear his voice. She wanted to curl inward entirely, away from this strange place that had once been Kirkwall. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up somewhere else.

I have failed you. I don’t know how to be your mother in this world. How to guide you. What to teach you. I have failed.

By the time she left the city, Solas had stopped following. At least as far as she could tell. Perhaps he was a shapeshifter here, and had become one of the crows flying over her head. Perhaps he could bend the light around himself and become invisible. She could not bring herself to care.

She walked all the way back to the crystalline house where she had awoken. She figured it was the closest thing she had to home right now. She did not go inside it, though. She walked around to the back of it, to where it overlooked the Waking Sea. Was it still called that now? Maybe the name didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was water, a place she could sit and lose herself in endless blue. A place to sit while she gathered the strength she needed to go on in a world that was not her own. Rhaella would sit there as long as she needed, waiting for that strength to arrive. She had no other choice.

[tserofweald]

My Dalish Warden headcanons

I journal my headcanons about my Dalish Warden Atheline Mahariel, but my hand is seriously giving out on the heavy writing. I have two other characters in development, Lethel Lavellan (she’s the first one I worked on).

This is for the sake of documenting my current development of Mahariel, and I apologize if I get any of the DA lore wrong :) They’re not really headcanons but more so going over my characterization of Mahariel.

Atheline Mahariel, Athy for short to her friends. She was 20 years old at the beginning of the Fifth Blight. She’s a warrior specializing in two-handed weapons. 

She’s stupid strong despite her short stature even for an elf. She’s very careless in battle and is the one to set off all the traps during combat. Zevran literally trains his ass off to up his lockpicking skills to disengage all traps beforehand. 

She and Zevran eventually get into a friends with benefit relationship. She had never experienced sex, and was never really interested in it until getting to know Zevran. She was pretty eager to give it a go, and really enjoyed it with him. 

Though Zevran was really on the idea of them just being friends with intimacy involved, Atheline had developed special feelings for him, though she didn’t really understand that she had those feelings at the time. She was satisfied with keeping things between them as just “friends.” 

Atheline wanted to explore her sexual experience more through sleeping with other people. Though she was definitely satisfied at the Pearl, she ended up reserving this space solely for Zevran. She didn’t understand why, but she felt some sort of a spark with Zevran but none with her other encounters (later on, she realizes it’s because she loved him). 

Though she reserves herself to engage sexually only with Zevran, she didn’t mind Zevran engaging with others than herself.

Atheline is proud of her Dalish heritage, but not in the sense Lavellan is. My Lavellan is interested in uncovering the truth of elven lore/history, whereas Atheline focuses more on her people standing up against slavery enforced by Tevinter. She takes the most pride in her people’s bravery and fortitude, fighting against forced human religion and exploit, knowing the consequences. 

Atheline was initially not a religious person. She didn’t really care to pray to the Creators, for she knew they wouldn’t be able to hear her prayers. But when Tamlen went missing and she had to enter the shem world as a Grey Warden, she prayed relentlessly to Mythal and Andruil for guidance. 

She got the same Vallaslin as Tamlen and didn’t put much thought into actually picking a god to draw strength from. No matter what god it represents, a Vallaslin is a Vallaslin, right?

The biggest value she learns from her culture is creating a close, familial connection with everyone in the clan. This is why Mahariel is so well accustomed to welcoming anyone who wanted to join her in her journey. She was able to create deep, personal bonds very quickly and easily with those around her.

Keeper Marethari also taught her clan that yes, learning more about their elven past is important, and they should continue to find supporting artifacts that’d expand their knowledge, but no knowledge is at the cost of a clansman. Safety and well being of individuals came first. Atheline really took that to heart, though she’d often forget this lesson in place for dangerous adventures.

Despite her deep love for her clan, she also craved adventures beyond the forest. She wanted to know what the world was like beyond the Dalish, beyond the elves. She’d sometimes sneak out of camp with Tamlen and Merrill to visit a nearby village. There’d be a summer festival, with food, music and dancing. She was so intrigued to see human traditions. Tamlen would tease she’s gonna become one of the “flat-ears.” They’d regularly sneak out to nearby villages every time the camp relocated, though Ashalle had caught them at some point and scolded them for it.

Mahariel never thought she’d be “adventuring” in the outside world at the cost of Tamlen’s life and feels guilty for becoming a Grey Warden. Why was she saved in place of him?

Tamlen and Mahariel were best friends since birth, and they met Merrill when they were 10 years old. While Merrill was timid and strict with herself as she was the clan’s First, Tamlen and Mahariel would try and help her relax and engage in fun stuff together. Tamlen and Atheline would invite Merrill out on hunting together, and the two hunters would compete who had the best kill. Merrill would be the mediator during these competitions. 

When entering their teen years, Merrill and Tamlen began having romantic feelings for Atheline. Merrill and Tamlen knew that they shared mutual feelings for Mahariel, and thus their relationship became strained and distant because of it.

Merrill stopped joining in on sneaking into villages with the duo, for she felt that her relationship with them were weaker than the bond between Tamlen and Atheline. She slowly continued to distance herself from the two, and eventually Atheline confronted her about it. Merrill simply says she wanted to focus more on her training as the next Keeper, and that she shouldn’t let such distractions keep her from her studies. 

“That’s bullshit, Merr. What are you doing pulling on Fenharel’s dick for? I’m sorry if I did anything to upset you, but I can’t change if you don’t tell me.” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, you twat!” 

And there it is, Merrill blurted out the one fear she had, loving Mahariel, loving another woman. In my hc because there aren’t many Dalish people who can preserve the elven gift left by their ancestors (magic), having Merrill was a miraculous gift to the clan. And to keep the old magic alive in the clan, Merrill is expected to produce another bearer of magic. Being with another woman was not an option for Merrill. Merrill not only distanced herself because she knew how Tamlen felt and thought that she had no chance with Mahariel, but she also knew that her clan would never let her be with Mahariel. 

On Atheline’s part, I would like to think that she had feelings for Tamlen but was too late to realize it. She didn’t understand her feelings and was never really bothered to understand them, other than the fact that she cared really deeply for him, but she didn’t think it was any different from how she felt about Merrill (which is why she has a hard time understanding how she feels for Zevran). Atheline ends up rejecting Merrill’s confession, saying that she doesn’t feel the same way, but she always cares about her as a friend. This breaks Merrill’s heart and asks Mahariel if she’d instead be with Tamlen, to which Atheline doesn’t reply because she doesn’t know how to. Merrill and Atheline’s relationship become pretty strained because of it (this will be around the time Dalish origins starts).

Atheline only realizes her feelings when she sees Tamlen as a ghoul and when she was forced to kill him. 

Sadly, Tamlen and Atheline never discussed about his feelings for her. She wasn’t clueless; she knew he had something to say, but he’d just treat her the same as how he always had, and with how it ended with Merrill, she didn’t have the heart to force an answer out of Tamlen either. If he had confessed to her, she wouldn’t have known what to do. Reject him like how she rejected Merrill? Ruin the brotherhood they had together because she couldn’t sort out her feelings?

Tamlen knew how Atheline felt, which was why he decided not to speak to her about it. And they would never speak about it until he reappears into her life as a ghoul. 

“Always…loved you…”

Tamlen and Atheline wanted to go into the cave to find anything interesting to bring back to Merrill in hopes of mending their friendships, for they knew that Merrill was always delighted to discover new elven artifacts. They thought they could do the same with the mirror. 

When Atheline becomes a Grey Warden, she didn’t give up on searching for Tamlen. She made it her life mission and commitment to find him and save him. She didn’t believe Duncan and the clan when they said that Tamlen is dead. She found no body. He must be alive. And he was. 

She blames herself when Tamlen goes missing. She had let her arrogance and thirst for adventure get the better of her. The Dread Wolf had guided her this entire time. She blamed herself for Merrill’s heartbreak, for Tamlen’s unrequited feelings, and for the torture he must be going through with the taint.

Because of this, she becomes extremely protective of her party members during combat. She lets no one step into an unknown area until she examines it first. She’d take an arrow for her teammates when she can, causing her to take on the most injury out of the party. She’d tank her way through it if it meant letting her friends go unharmed.

Many of her companions thought she was arrogant and condescending because of her “I can do it myself” attitude, but when she takes that first hit for a companion, they realize it’s because she’s terrified of having any one of them injured.

It was finally during the trials to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes when Atheline finally accepts the idea of Tamlen being gone. It was when the spirit had taken the form of Tamlen and had said, “Goodbye, my friend. We will never meet again.” That she finally let herself think that it’s okay to forgive herself for this tragedy. 

But then he comes back. He comes back and she can’t save him. She regretted not telling him how she felt. She regretted letting him die without telling him how sorry she was she took too long to realize her feelings.

She does him one last favor and kills him instantly so that she may end his pain. She only feels empty. Alistair is the first to ask if she’s alright, that this was the only way and that it had been a mercy to him. She just wanted him to shut up. 

Mahariel goes into the forest by herself, with Tamlen’s body in her arms, wanting to give him a proper Dalish burial. 

Zevran followed her into the forest, and with not a single word, helps her bury Tamlen. She allowed herself to sob and cry relentlessly, and Zevran would simply wrap his arms around her.

After recovering from Tamlen’s death, she confesses to Zevran that she loves him out of the blues, completely startling Zevran and him rejecting her confession outright because an assassin cannot love. 

“And that’s fine. Just because someone loves you doesn’t mean you need to love them back. You don’t have to do anything at all, really. But I don’t want to make the same mistake I did with Tamlen. I love you, and that’s all there’s to it.”

This completely flusters Zevran and he has no idea what to do with it. He’s been growing fondly of her day after day and had become even more protective of her, but to have her tell him outright that she loves him is just….weird. Incomprehensible.