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noire-pandora · 4 years ago

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“Midnight Rendezvous” (and “Take my hand”) for @14daysdalovers. Also on A03

Words: 3162

Pairing: Solavellan

Warnings: it gets a tiny bit steamy towards the end. Nothing too intense but just to be sure. (still not confident enough to write smut. One day!)

Before joining the Inquisition, midnight rarely found Solas wide awake, staring at the ceiling of his room, thoughts racing through his mind and refusing to bend down to his will. In his long life, he succeeded in becoming the master of his thoughts and feelings, able to switch and navigate through them as effortlessly as a seamstress spun her threads. He walked through life, taking pride in his concentration techniques, his indomitable focus not once defeated. Until he met the Inquisitor.

Her mind numbing smirk and cheerful laughter silently found their way into his mind, nestling there and slowly eroding through the barriers set to keep any distraction at bay. Her curiosity and kind nature planted the seed of acceptance in his heart, acceptance that maybe, maybe this Tranquil like world wasn't a world out of his nightmares.

Slowly, she pushed him to become curious about her life, her thoughts and her mind. There, he found a feeling he had never hoped of meeting again since Mythal's death: love. A gentle, patient love. One that accepted him as he was, without questioning and without prodding his mind to reach his deepest secrets.

And now, midnight found him contemplating those facts, turning and tossing in his humble bed, the sheets wrapping around his ankles. He could not comprehend why she willingly offered her heart to him. Her behaviour forced him to lay awake at night, rummaging on his thoughts, every calming technique he knew unable to stop his mind from thinking about her. For the first time in hundreds of years, someone succeeded in distracting him from walking the ever-changing paths of the Fade.

He turned on his side to stare at the door, punching his pillow to fluff it, as if that was the reason for his wandering mind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, in an attempt to focus. Instantly the memory of their last heated kiss came to his mind, and he groaned as heat travelled down towards his pelvis. He didn't deserve her, he didn't deserve her love or her acceptance. He should turned his back on her, but the thought of losing her, the idea of another one tasting her lips and curling their fingers into her fire like locks brought a heaviness in his stomach.

A faint knock on the door brought him back to the present, and he opened his eyes, unsure if he indeed heard it. He waited for a voice to follow it and call for him, but no sounds reached his ears after almost a minute. He closed his eyes again, ready to accept the Fade's embrace, when another knock, followed by the sound of shuffling feet interrupted him again.

This time, confident he heard someone knocking at his door, he rose from the bed, grabbing the robe resting on the back of the chair, to cover his bare torso, wrapping the sash around his abdomen.

When he opened the door, no one stood in front of it, but he spotted a petite silhouette turning around the corner. He followed it, his footsteps quiet. Soon, the red locks bouncing on the woman's shoulders gave away the silhouette's identity.

"Vhenan?"

"Solas!" she gasped, spinning on her heels to face him. "You're up!"

He hurried his pace to erase the distance between them, the smile on his face creating little wrinkles around his eyes and grooves in his cheeks. "Yes, I am. But why are you awake at this hour? Nightmares?" he slipped a hand around her waist to pull her close and kissed her head. Heat radiated through his chest as she softly giggled at his touch.

"No, couldn't sleep, so I decided to walk around for a while."

He hummed, cocking an eyebrow at her. He knew his love roamed the halls of the castle at night, but something in her cheeky smile made him suspicious of that answer "Is that so? And where are you heading?"

"Well," she started, placing one hand on his chest, raising her chin to look at his face. "Do you know Josephine will meet with a few Orlesian nobles in the morning? The type of people who keep their noses crinkled like they smell shit everywhere?"

"Yes," he patiently answered, tilting his head to the side. He took a step back, his hands living her body.

"And she asked Marin to bake sweets for them. But, the last time he did that, the Orlesians refused to eat it."

"Oh, is that so?"

She nodded. "Yeah, he told me the next day, when I went to grab some food from the kitchen. He ranted about how the Orlesians can't appreciate the skills of a Ferelden baker. After that, he mopped around for days, doubting his skills."

"Too bad. His sweets are delicious."

"Exactly. And I'm sure tomorrow they will refuse to eat Marin's sweets again, and he'll end up upset for another week. I have a plan to stop that."

"A plan?" he repeated, leaning forward to examine her face. She had excellent plans at day, but at night, her ideas transformed into various shenanigans, like stealing food from the kitchen and having a late dinner in the courtyard, under the ancient oak tree. The cooks of Skyhold learned how to hide the food they cooked for the next day before the Inquisitor's nose caught a whiff of it and devoured it at night.

"Yes. I'm going to eat everything he baked for them."

Solas caught a glimpse of pride shining in her eyes as she announced her plan. He bit down on his lip to contain a laugh. "What? Why? How would that help the poor man?"

"When he finds out that the Inquisitor snuck out at night to eat his sweets, he will be annoyed but also happy because the word will spread. And everyone will know how I, the most important person in this hold, ate his food like a glutton," a knowing grin grew on her face, a grin that was too infectious to fight.

In moments like this, when she uttered her plans with unshakable confidence, her shoulders back and chin raised high, he realised why every single soul in the Inquisition followed her without doubting her. Right now, if she decreed she planned to move the mountains, he would believe her instantly. But the idea of making a man feel better by devouring his food brought a smile on his face and reminded him how strange she could sometimes be.

"Oh, the brave Inquisitor, always sacrificing herself for the wellbeing of her subjects." he jested, offering her a bemused smile.

"But of course! C'mon, let's go, we still have a few hours until the cook's apprentice will wake up to heat the ovens."

She walked away from him a few meters, but she stopped as Solas didn't follow her.

"Are you coming?" she asked, holding out her hand for him to take it.

"Is that the reason why you knocked at my door?"

"Yes, I want to share them with you. I like to eat, but I doubt I'll be able to eat the sweets made for four people."

"Vhenan, you know I prefer not to eat at night."

She huffed, rolling her eyes at him. "A late dinner won't kill you," she muttered, shaking her head. "Oh, c'mon Solas, it's going to be fun. Take my hand and join me in this quest of keeping sadness away from my dear subjects!"

With her hand outstretched for him to grab it, and a serious frown knitting her eyebrows, Solas couldn't say no to her. He took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers to walk by her side on their way to the kitchen.

The hallways were empty, their soft steps resounding in the silence. The majority of the people inhabiting Skyhold slept soundly, a few snores and grumbles reaching Solas' ears. From time to time, he could hear giggles coming from some rooms, and he hurried his step, eager to respect the privacy of those behind the doors.

The wall sconces held large touches to illuminate their way, and, in combination with their Elvhen sight, they could clearly see the path ahead of them. The flames cast long shadows on the floors, and sometimes, their light touched Elluin's face, colouring her pale, freckled kissed skin a soft orange. He found himself staring at her as they walked, his mouth drying and his throat growing thick. An impervious need to touch her, to push her against the wall and kiss her until she moaned with pleasure took over him, clouding his mind. He took a deep breath to steady himself, annoyed she broke his indomitable focus without actually doing anything. He fixed his gaze on the floor, counting backwards from one hundred to calm himself, refusing to take another look at her.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, they reached the kitchen, one of the three kitchens in Skyhold. The smell of cinnamon and yeast tickled his nose as Elluin slowly opened the door, carefully not to announce their presence. He followed her, closing the door behind him with a low thud.

Inside, the three, tall working tables stood spotless, with no trace of flour or dough to stain their surface. The measuring cups were lined up on the tabletop, small soldiers waiting for orders. He could see the pans, plates and brushes through the cupboards display, their doors locked. He frowned, staring at the small locks, wondering why the baker decided to lock his tools so diligently.

A clay oven with a thick iron door, large enough for a person to climb inside, stood in a corner along the wall. A long flue reached outside through the wall, specially built by the baker to avoid any fumes escaping in the room. Solas admired the man's ingenuity and his ability to keep everyone safe without the usage of magic. He spent a few fascinating hours speaking with him, learning more about the art of creating functionally clay ovens.

"Well, this is weird," Elluin commented, scratching her cheek. "I can't see any tray with sweets."

He snorted. "I believe the Master Baker hid his creations from you. The man learned his lesson."

She rolled up her sleeves, revealing her toned arms. "Like that's going to stop me."

She approached one of the locked cabinets and grabbed a lockpick from her pocket, jamming it into the lock, twisting it a few times. "Let's see if Varric's lock-picking lessons will help me."

As Elluin struggled with the lock, he studied the room, one finger gently tapping his lips, his eyes analysing the potential hiding spots. He realised a man as bright as Marin would know better than to hide his food in locked cupboards. No, that was a trick, an ingenious method to keep the intruder busy until one of the kitchen workers heard the noise and came to stop them. It had to be somewhere in plain sight, a location no one would think about.

"The oven," he muttered, snapping his fingers. "Elluin," he spoke out, a faint trace of excitement in his voice. "The oven, he hid them in the oven. That door is closed to hide the tray from our view."

"The oven?" she made her way towards the oven, narrowing her eyes. "Why would he hide it there? There's ash everywhere!"

"Good question. Let us see."

The iron door made no sound as he pulled it opened, a testament of the cook's care. A faint magical barrier buzzed around the brass tray inside it, protecting the brownies from any ash or unburned charcoal.

"Magic!" she laughed, slapping the back of her thigh. " I can't believe this. He asked a mage to cast a barrier on his brownies."

"Indeed." He gave her a satisfied smile and crossed his arms, content he uncovered the cook's plans.

Elluin licked her lips as she waved her hands to cancel the spell. She reached for the tray and gulped down with gluttony, her mouth watering at the chocolate covering the brownies. She grabbed one, the tray dangerously balanced in her left hand, and bit it. A moan escaped her lips as the chocolate poured from inside it. Solas eyed her, the sound leaving her mouth causing his fingers to twitch as if pushing him to touch her.

"Vhenan," he intervened, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table. "How do you plan to eat twelve pieces of chocolate filled cake without getting sick?"

"That's why I asked you to come here with me, I need your help." she gulped down the food, hitting her chest with her fist as it refused to go down. "Those bastards don't deserve all this chocolate. It's been years since I tasted it, not gonna let it go to waste," she bit down on another, humming with pleasure and licking her fingers. "Take one, you're going to love it."

He gingerly took a piece from the trail, admiring the perfectly spread layer of chocolate, the soft texture reminding him of satin. He smelled it, the hint of vanilla tempting him to take a bite. The chocolate melted in his mouth, wrapping his tongue in a thick layer of pure pleasure. He closed his eyes, and a sigh of satisfaction escaped his throat.

"Delicious, isn't it?" Elluin remarked, smirking at him. "I knew you'd love it."

He opened his eyes and offered her a small smile. "You were right."

She winked at him and grabbed another piece, shoving half of it in her mouth. He laughed and shook his head at her, worried for the integrity of her jaw. He watched as she devoured three more brownies, baffled by her ability to swallow the food barely chewed.

A feeling of weightlessness cloaked his soul as she beamed with happiness, her cheeks rosy with delight. Her joy was contagious, and he smiled at her, grateful she chose to spend this moment with him. She picked him over the hundreds of people around her, over the men and women who craved for her love. She offered her heart and joy to him, a man who hid the truth, a man who had no right to receive this pure, untainted happiness. His shoulders dropped, and he averted his eyes from her smile.

She came closer to him, her fingers reaching for his chin, gently encouraging him to face her again. "You're doing that again," she whispered, her breath tickling his skin. "Getting lost inside your head. Don't. Stay here with me."

His gaze still avoided her face. "I apologise. My thoughts distracted me from the present."

"Is that so?" she murmured." I know the perfect way to keep you here."

Before he had a chance to ask more about it, Elluin grabbed the collar of his robe, pulling him down towards her to meet her chocolate cover lips. His lips instantly parted, as her tongue darted out to lick them, eager to explore his mouth. His muscles relaxed, hands resting lazily on her butt. She was right, he thought as his fingers curled into her hair, gently tugging it. When she kissed him, nothing mattered anymore, just the taste of her lips and the faint scent of lily of the valley coming from her hair.

Her hand moved to the nape of his neck, slipping under his robe. The touch of her skin against his sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, and he moaned, raw and insatiable lust replacing any thought. He pushed her against the table, and her knees gave out, her butt hitting the tabletop. She wrapped her legs and hands around him, as if afraid he will pull away.

He wanted her. Right here and right now. He wanted to taste her skin, to follow the path of her freckles with his lips, from the top of her forehead to her toes. To make her sing as his tongue played with her folds, to finally taste her. He wished for nothing more than his nighttime fantasies to transform into reality. And right now, he couldn't care less they were in a kitchen, where anyone could find them.

A low growl left his throat as a part of his mind screamed at him, yelled at him to stop this foolishness, to remember his real purpose, his identity. He had no right to taste her body when he gave her only half-truths. He was wrong to take her fully when he hid parts of him. She deserved more than this, more than a man who was too afraid to speak the truth.

With a draining effort, he broke the kiss, gently pushing her away from him. She whimpered as his body left hers and she opened her eyes, arousal and confusion blending in her gaze.

He shook her head when her hands reached for him again. "No. This is not right."

Before Elluin could answer, the door opened with a loud bang, and a woman entered the room, waving a cooking paddle and shouting at them. "How many times do I have to kick you out, you thieves, this isn't the place for…." she stopped in her tracks, eyes widening with shock as she noticed the two of them.

"Your Grace! And you!" she frowned at Solas, confused by his presence. He could see it on her face how the pieces clicked together in her mind, her eyebrows shooting up. "I'm sorry Herald, I had no idea you two--," she stammered, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "I have to warm the oven, but I'll come later," she left in a hurry, barely giving them another glance.

Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, his hopes for keeping the matters of their relationship private, shattered.

"Well, this was bound to happen sooner or later," Elluin nonchalantly explained, getting off from the table and reaching for another brownie. "Until morning, every single person in Skyhold will think the Inquisitor had sex with the weird elf in the kitchen."

"Venan, I," he started, but she interrupted him with a wave of his hand.

"Don't apologise. You told me months ago you aren't ready and now you weren't ready yet. I get it," she shrugged, shoving the cake in her mouth, slowly chewing it.

Solas stared at his toes, cursing his mind for not stopping him faster.

"But I did enjoy our intense make-out session," she giggled and winked at him as he raised his head to look at her.

"C'mon, we still have a few of those. Let's be fast before that lady comes back and finds us here again. "

He watched her, eyes widen, once again awestruck by her kindness. Why? Why did she accept his explanations so easily? He had no idea, but he knew one thing: this fantastic, mysterious, infuriating woman would be his undoing. And he gladly accepted it because her love tasted like chocolate and brownies.

#14dalovers #solavellan #take my hand #midnight rendezvous #solas #lavellan #elluin lavellan #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #noire writes

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years ago

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∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ hello!

For the boy and his dog:

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

*gasps!* A new friend has entered my humble abode! A friend who wishes to hear me rant and rave about two foolish fools! *cackles* Thank you for visiting! :D

Let's talk about Fane and Solas, shall we~? <3

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

So, there's a little bit of A and little bit of B for this question. There has indelibly been a positive influence on both Fane and Solas due to each other. Basically, it all stems from pre-Inquisition, aka Elvhenan/Arlathan.

Fane, as a dragon, was inherently tasked with observing elvenkind, watching the flow of which they progressed and if their machinations benefited the world in which they lived. Each dragon had this inherent task, albeit in different ways. Dragons that lived in arid regions were tasked with controlling the sandscape, preserving the ancient temples by covering them with said sand, making inaccessible areas accessible for wildlife, so on, so forth.

Fane, and the others of his specific kin, not only watched the Elvhen, they guided them, but only if it was deemed necessary. White dragons could not want for anything beyond what the world needed, and their powers of absorbing, reflecting, and understanding emotions was what made them highly sought after by the Evanuris. When the Evanuris began enslaving elves, they began enslaving dragons, too. And this is around the time Solas and Fane met; when Fane was the last of his white kin. Fane had gone into recluse, hiding; he turned his back on those who were suffering because he couldn't bear to see them be subjected to magic bending and breaking their minds, turning their eyes grey where they were otherwise a multitude of colors. Solas found him through a curious venture as we all know the dear wolf is prone to curiosity.

Their beginnings were rough. Fane tried multiple, multiple times to kill Solas. He saw him as no different than those who had thus far enslaved his kin. He held anger, rage, resentment, and pride, which warped his nature of calm observation and cool acceptance to preemptive prejudice and scornful indifference. Fane stopped caring; about everything. Solas reached out to him, wanted to help him, and for the sake of keeping things somewhat short, they grew close after constant revisits and...silence. Solas allowed Fane to watch him, learn about him, read his eyes, and in turn, Fane began to open up, rediscover his original nature, and learn about another side from a more personal view. Solas taught Fane that nothing can change or return to what they had been unless he tried, and he did, even though it ended poorly. And even though it takes him twenty-four years and a lot of hardship, Fane finally remembers that important lesson and he's forever grateful, even as they walk onto the same stage that burned before.

Now, Fane has helped Solas do something we all know the dear wolf is a bit hesitant to do, and that's show his emotions. I stated once upon a time that my interpretation of Solas a little more...personal. Basically, I'm exploring a side of Solas that we don't really get to see, and that's an emotional one. My stories encompass a lot of emotion, a lot of grey morality, so I try to do that while keeping Solas in character with how we know him. However, with this AU of mine, Solas is more in touch with his emotions when with Fane. Why? Because Fane did what he was tasked with from birth; he guided. Through silent looks and seemingly disgruntled huffs, Fane allowed Solas to open up, to feel safe when every corner held a knife.

He let him be him. Not the Dread Wolf. Not the Rebel God. Not anything more than what he was naturally, and that was a being who needed to let their emotions go as freely as the magic so intertwined with their nature. They were friends, companions, even though they were two completely different species, and for all intents and purposes, enemies. They loved each other, but couldn't say it. After Fane died, Solas locked up again, kept his emotions sealed away, but when Fane reappeared in his life, both unknowing of who the other was, it all came back so easily, so fluidly. And what you'll see in a lot of my stories of Solas and Fane's early acquaintanceship in Inquisition is that they flow, they let the other be weak even though they don't want to be weak.

As for how they change each other for the worse...well, that ties into a lot of what I have planned during Post-Trespasser arcs. My stories are 'fix-its', but again, grey morality. There's a happy ending, but not without opposition first and a lot of hard lessons. Solas and Fane will do shit that makes people go, "Why?!", but aren't we already saying that with what Solas canon-wise is doing? Why not add an Inquisitor into the mix and live the fantasy we weren't allowed to choose?

Thank you for the ask and I apologize with how freaking long it is! I get wordy when I talk about these two because I LOVE THEM. <3

#asks #oc asks #oc: fane lavellan #solavellan #dragon age #solas #reminder that this is all by own shit about the dragons XD #i just like to think of them as more sentient and important :3 #i'm not crying by the way *sniffles*#*whimpers* i love theeeeem #thank you again! <3

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dreadfutures · 3 years ago

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for the otp thingy: 6, 14, 16, 20, 27 for ixchel and dirthamen

Thanks for the ask, Bugs!

Disclaimer for Dirth/Ixchel is I haven't written this story yet so this is all me spitballing character development.

6. How do they react to the realization that they like the other character? Is it an “oh my god I’m never going to think about this again” thing, or are they pretty comfortable with it?

Pretty sure Ixchel’s going to go full teenager-in-love and flip out and feel like it’s an impossibility, that she has to swallow it all and hide her feelings and that it wouldn’t be allowed. And Dirthamen is like, “Oh. Cool, heart. Nice call.” And accepts it really comfortably. He’s an Evanuris. He’s a hero to his people. What he wants, he gets. He also has an eternity to wait, if necessary. So when he picks up on her discomfort/nervousness he’s like, “OK. Respect.” Out of all his family he’s also the least interested in adoration and lovers and sating his pride (least interested, not uninterested) so he’s definitely not in a rush and just happy to feel things.

14. What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Dirthamen, ironically, needs to be known. His life has become dangerous, his family must be maneuvered around, and the secrets he keeps will potentially shape the fate of the world. Dirth doesn’t posture the way his family does, but he certainly wears a mask and maintains a facade for the People. If he needs to be built up and feel secure and loved he probably really needs to have his trust reinforced and appreciated. So it would probably be some sort of lesson or learning experience or show-and-tell. Everything Elvhen is oblique and symbolic I suppose, and in showing Ixchel these things, she would be appreciating truths about himself, maybe.

I think Ixchel is somewhat locked out of some of the traditional Elvhen modes of experiencing the world, so she relies on things like touch and (for the Elvhen) blunt words of affirmation and focused attention, things that are usually spread out and diffuse in that society, maybe? So she’d probably want some alone time with Dirth, but asking for that of an Evanuris is daunting. I think eventually she’d be more likely in stealing those free moments when she saw them and drawing them out, rather than asking him to make the time for her.

16. If they had the ability to just spend free time with their partner, what would they do? Would they go out or stay inside?

Ixchel is going to have the opportunity in this au to really lean in to her curiosity and intellect, and she and Dirth initially bond through lessons in Vir Dirthara. When they have the time I'm sure they'd go exploring, pursuing some rumor or dream in search of new knowledge. If they had downtime but still had duties that required them to "stay in," Dirth's personal library is just an eluvian away.

20. When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

Hmm. I'm still working out my headcanons for society in Elvhenan. What does love mean when you’re both immortal? Is it a choice, is it a mode of operation, does it change anything or is it just a fact, an acknowledgement, in a society that is powered by embodied emotions? What does love look like for someone who maybe is a Spirit of x or y or z? Whatever it looks like normally, I think Dirth is saying it in his actions for a long time before Ixchel ever realizes it. I just had the thought of Ixchel finally coming around to being like, “I love you and it’s such a problem,” and him going, “Of course you love me. What does it have to matter?” and having a big old misunderstanding where she takes that as a rejection, but eventually realizes that maybe that’s the question, right? You love. What do you want that to mean?

27. Answered!

#ask #ixchel x dirthamen #dirthamen x lavellan #ixchel lavellan #au #sunbird #elvhenan au

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snarky-bee · 5 years ago

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For @mocha--writes for our server’s Wintersend Gift Exchange! Happy Hanukkah Mocha!!!

***

Morrigan wondered what could make Ephraim spring up from bed so early, today of all days. She quite looked forward to lounging, having him all to herself. Especially now that Kieran had stopped waking them every morning to snuggle between them - not that it was such a terrible thing either.

He returned to their room, from gods knew where, cheeks flushed. His ears perked up happily and his eyes were bright as he held out a simple wooden spinning top with four sides.

“What is this?” Morrigan asked. “You disappeared for… an Elvhen toy?” She turned it over in her hands. “ These symbols - they mean something… Nothing,” she read on one side, then continued turning it over, “Everything… Half, and, add? No-”

“Put in,” Ephraim supplied the meaning of the fourth symbol. “It is a game. One I have vague but fond memories of from my own childhood. I had hoped one day to share it with my own children. A dream I once thought merely a flight of fancy, never to be made reality.” He smiled and took the top back, thumb grazing over the carvings. “I have kept one among my things ever since I first held our child. And Kieran is old enough now to learn to play.”

“Mother played no such games with me. Holidays were never of much importance to her. I am glad you plan to pass on these traditions to our son now. However,” she drawled as she got out of bed and donned a robe. “‘Twas most disappointing when I awoke to find the bed cold and far too empty,” her voice softened. “A mistake I hope you will rectify later this evening.”

Her fingers trailed along his shoulder to cup his face. A faint brush of her thumb across his lips and he leaned into her touch, eyes closing in contentment just for a moment. Sweet like a purring cat.

“Father!” Kieran’s voice sounded from below. He wrapped his arms around Ephraim’s legs and squeezed tight.

Morrigan smoothed back Kieran’s dark hair from his eyes. It was in need of a trim. “Your father has a gift for you. Would you like to see it?”

“What is it? Is it a book? Will you read to me, father?” Kieran tugged on Ephraim’s clothes, eager for his attention.

“I think your mother yet has more stories in her collection that you have not heard. What I do have for you,” he kneeled down to Kieran’s level, “is a toy that is very special. This is a dreidel.”

“It’s… a top?” He looked quizzically at the dreidel, a cute notch between his eyebrows when he concentrated. “There are letters on the sides. But what do these mean?”

Ephraim of course took the time to show him each side, describing the meaning and allowing Kieran to hold the toy in his hands. Morrigan simply enjoyed watching him so attentive and patient with their son. An apostate and a circle mage, raising a child together. She could never have foreseen this and yet, now… an ache of warmth swelled her heart. Now she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Come then, little man, show us how to play. You did not rush away at dawn just for Kieran to merely look at the toy - the dreidel,” she corrected.

Ephraim’s ears went a little pink. She so enjoyed that he still reacted to her teasing nickname in such a way.

He beckoned for Kieran to join him on the floor, legs crossed on the rug by the fire. “We will need some coppers, or perhaps small stones. The item is not important so much as having enough so each player will get ten pieces. I remember I used to go outside collecting pebbles with some of the other children.”

He pulled out his coin purse and dumped a handful of coppers into his hand. “Kieran, would you like to help count out the pieces? Ten for you, ten for me, and another ten for your mother.”

Kieran dutifully followed his father’s instructions, counting aloud and making little piles to set in front of each of them. “7...8...9...10!” he proudly counted off. “What do we do now, father?”

And just as Kieran was proud of his counting, Ephraim too looked up to Morrigan with pride in his own eyes. Of course, she could mention that any boy his age should be able to count and it is simply a necessity to know his numbers as he does… but, she just smiled softly. “Good job, Kieran,” she said as she sat down on the floor with them.

“Everyone now puts a copper into the middle. This is the pot. So on your turn you take the dreidel and spin it like so,” he demonstrated for Kieran. “Then you follow whatever side it lands on. For example, it landed on ‘half’ so if it were my turn, I would take half of the coppers from the middle. If the pot runs out, we all have to add another copper to it and continue to do the same at the start of every round.”

“How do you win?” Kieran was sitting up on his knees, eager to play.

“Well you see how one of the sides says ‘put in’?” Ephraim answered. “If you have poor luck, eventually you may run out of coppers. Then you are out. The last player remaining wins.”

“May I go first?” Kieran had the dreidel in his hand already, but still asked permission like he was taught.

Morrigan smiled. “Go ahead, Kieran.”

So he spun the top, frowning when it landed on ‘nothing’ and the play passed on to Ephraim. Around and around they went. Kieran exclaimed with joy when the dreidel allowed him to scoop everything up from the pot, and laughed when Ephraim made an exaggerated groan as he had to empty yet another copper to the pot.

Morrigan was out first, but she was content to sit and watch. Kieran’s smile and childish laughter were more than enough reward for her. And Ephraim, how he smiled, like he wanted nothing more in the world than to be sharing this game with his son. Her throat tightened and she sniffed, wiping under her eye as if a spec of dust was irritating her. She was getting soft.

“Aha!” Kieran exclaimed jumping up. “Father, you only have one piece left! If the dreidel lands on ‘put in’ then you lose!”

Ephraim’s ears twitched and he frowned in concentration. “You appear to be quite the worthy adversary. But I am sure I will have luck on my side this turn. You have not beat me yet!” he made a show of bravado, raising the stakes.

Kieran stared intently at the spinning dreidel. Around and around it went before it started to wobble and waiver. It tipped over, looking for all the world like it was about to land on ‘everything’ which would win Ephraim the entire pot and keep him in the game. Morrigan caught the flick of his fingers out of the corner of her eye. Magically the dreidel turned over again and ‘put in’ was face up.

“I win!” Kieran shouted. “Father, you have to put your last piece in. I win the game!”

Ephraim sighed and dropped his copper into the center. “Alas, you have taken every copper from me. I concede defeat.”

“Again, can we play again? Mother, will you play too?” Kieran said, eyes shining. He was already counting out the coppers for the three of them.

“Of course, my son. We shall play as long as you like,” she said warmly.

A new tradition had begun.

#morrigan #emphraim surana #fic #morrigan/surana #morrigan/warden #gift fic #wintersend gift exchange #snarky writing #kieran #mom!morrigan #fluff

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jeusev · 5 years ago

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h-hewwo it’s my dragon age oc, his name is Tarenan. He is an ancient elf who went into uthenera after the fall of Arlathan. He fought with the rebeliion along with Solas ;w; im up for RP/HCs! also english is not my first language so please excuse my grammar / vocabulary errors dshsdhhsdh

Tarenan

Taren : Mind

Nan : Revenge

Renan : Voice

Taren was born in Arlathan, to healer parents, servants of Elgar’Nan. He was born conveniently attractive, wrapped in smooth, fair skin. Silky jade coloured hair draped along his shoulders gracefully, he was fit, slender built with average height. The glint of his emerald orbs were mesmerizing. He was unblemished.

However, alas, it was like the universe was trying to nerf him, Tarenan was lacking the ability to wield magic, much to his dismay. Taren had 2 older brothers, so naturally, his parents did not really mind his “defect”, however the elvhen did not took it so kindly. Slithering whispers on his back whenever he went was inevitable, and it always riled him up. The discrimination and the pity stares he received shaped him into an ambitious, prove-thirst chaotic individual. He was notorious, he’d pick a fight whenever one of his peers started to pity his inability to use magic. “I’m still better than you even if i could not wield magic.” Taren would always find a way to prove that he was indeed better than everyone, and easily enough, he realized violence solves the problem. Taren did not really care about his academic achievements, for he saw the best on academic matters would probably ended up working in the grand library doing monotone research anyways. Boring.

So he trained, ceaselessly, with a goal in mind to become Elgar’nan’s elite warriors, so no one could ever belittle him anymore. If someone without magic like him can join the elites, then who are you to belittle him, right ? Taren was not gifted in terms of strength and muscles, but his assessment were always on point. Thus, he realized something crucial – The ancient elves... DID mind about their gracefulness when they fight. They thought so highly about having to look good even when you’re about to bathe in someone else’s blood, which is… bullshit, if Taren must say. So Taren took advantage of that, and developed his own fighting style. It was definitely.... beastly, wild, its “ugly” ; according to everyone. But he won. Mostly. Him, against elves with magic.

Ultimately, his notorious achievement reached on Elgar’Nan’s ears, and so he was recruited and joined the legion. Even though Taren was still a rookie, he worked harder than most, and showed an indomitable determination. As a gift, Taren was given a chance to receive a “lyrium marking”, which enables those so called “defected” elves to use magic. Sometimes Elgar’nan would send his troops to the dwarven underground for the lyrium, and only the maker knows what Elgar’nan would do to those lyrium. (x) (I suspect the Tevinter / Fenris’s lyrium markings was a technique derived from the elvhen) Taren was delighted, and after a series of excruciating experiments, it finally happened.

Strange markings appeared all over his body. Levitation was the first thing he tried to master, he was able to phase through objects, and then shapeshift, though it requires extreme concentration to be able to keep up the transformation for a long time, and ultimately, Taren were totally unbeatable in the battlefield. He soared the sky, killed Elgar’nan’s enemies as much as he could, hoisted Elgar’nan’s flag on every landmark he could see, all he did to show his loyalty to Elgar’nan. To spat, on those who underestimate him. Pride and arrogance filled his heart, it blinded him to the bitter truth he chose to ignore. Then, Taren became an arcane warrior, one of Elgar’Nan’s elite bodyguard, appointed exclusively by Elgar’Nan himself. Tarenan did not possess the tall and bulky body like other warriors. In fact, he was probably one of the smallest elite bodyguard Elgar’nan ever had. It becomes an advantage though. People unfamiliar to him would underestimate his physique. Little did they know, Tarenan was one of Elgar’nan prized champions. Taren was deadly and impeccable. Strong, boisterous, never wavering. Naturally, having such title comes with great burden and responsibilities too. As a champion, it was one of his duty to do Elgar’nan’s dirty work. Taren understands, and he tremendously enjoyed the title bestowed upon him.

Until one day, he found a baby. Crying. Under the bed, where her supposedly parents killed by Taren. Taren had killed widows, whores, rebel teenagers, concubines, men with families, soldiers, but not…. A baby… When Taren picked her up, her crying stopped. She stared at Taren, wide eyed, curious. Using the last of his conscience, Taren decided that it was.. better that she was brought back, rather than killed. She could become a nurse, or farmer.. and so he jumped from the window, flew to the horizon, with a baby slept soundly on his arms.

It was NEVER on his thought, to actually have a kid. He did had meaningless dangles obviously, but a family ? To become a father ? Never. But there he stood, changing her diaper. The baby started to cry whenever Taren was not around, and she looked like she was the most comfy baby when sleeping on Taren’s arms. In the end Taren decided that she will be his responsibility, because she threw the biggest tantrum when she was handled with the midwives and milk mothers, and Taren did not trust those lame ladies anyways. They treat babies as if they’re fragile creatures, must be protected at all costs. For Taren, babies had to be taught the cruel world from early ages. Let them fall when they learn to walk, so that they will understand pain and refrain from doing the same mistakes again. Besides, the baby seemed to like being handled with Taren. It cried when the midwives put her in frilly dresses, she seemed to grow fond of the lame, comfy baby onesie Taren picked for her. She giggled cheerfully when Taren threw her up on the air, and snorted adorably when she was being carried upside down by him.

Taren the savage arcane warrior ? The beast who always wore armor and kept his wings visible all the time ?

It was a surprise, really. So Taren could not really blame them, he did not believe it at first either. People were worried about the girl’s future, about how Taren would accidentally sit on her or drop her. Or stab her with that stupid claw armor he wore all the time. Little did they know, Taren was actually a great father, and he loved his daughter, dearly, as a father should. Gold ain’t always golden, and he named her Minaya.

Minaya grew into a sensible, gentle woman in nature. She was his pride, she was Taren’s 80% impulse control. Taren used to teach her everything, now she taught Taren about compassion, to let go of all the hate and hatred Taren kept, to find his own happiness in the harsh world they live in. It changed how Taren saw the world. Every path Taren took, he calculated how it’d affect Minaya in some ways, he realized how his path were always against what Minaya had taught him. Finally Taren was forced to acknowledge all his past misdeeds. He realized how filthy he was by doing Elgar’nan’s dirty works. He realized how despicable the lies Elgar’nan preached to comfort the soldiers when the poor souls were about to be deployed to an unjust war. He was furious at the evanuris. He was angry at how Elgar'nan’s pride could cost innocent lives, gallons of blood spilled for unworthy cause. He was enraged, for the pride he sought turned out was an illusion. Sweet lies Elgar'nan whispered on his ears, glorifying what was horrible. Exasperated, because the most guilty had the cleanest hands.

When he came back from the battlefield, the pain changed him.

Taren could not just escaped and ran away from Elgar’nan, he could not just joined the other “better” evanuris. He could not defy Elgar’nan, he could not risked Minaya. Elgar’nan was merciless, he was utterly cruel to those who oppose him. He was called a “god” for a reason. Taren was helpless against his fate.

Minaya, of course, realized it. Taren’s pain was her own, she was always there for him during Taren’s difficult times. She gave him a reason to keep thriving for a better future, to keep the fuel burning. She turned his pain into wisdom, helplessness into fortitude. His daughter was the only light in his dark path that kept him away from being astray.

Just when Taren thought about starting over, to do things right - Mythal was killed. It was a catastrophe, the world was on fire. The sounds of the blacksmith forging metals filled the sky, soldiers kept marching day and night, the whispers of prayers were heard everywhere Taren goes. Taren had to accompany Elgar’nan, and left Minaya to her own. She was already a healer at this point and she’d be safe at the shelter, while tending those who were injured. If he kept Elgar’nan close, then Taren would knew what was his enemy up to, right ? Because Taren knew, the death of Mythal was one of many Elgar’nan’s shenanigans all along. Because Taren, was indeed, involved in some ways. Elgar’nan overthrew his own father, what made people think that he would not overthrow his own wife too ?

Mythal was justice, she cared about her people. Taren never saw Mythal soldiers being sent to an unjust war, when she waged a war it was because of a good cause. Never for her pride. Taren secretly respected her, and Mythal’s right hand too. Solas. War after war raged on, it was pointless. It never ends. Until finally Taren found out that the dread wolf led a rebellion army against the Elven gods. Taren always played the obedient pet role to Elgar’nan, so naturally, it would never occur to Elgar’nan that Taren would betray him. And so he did.

Taren joined the rebellion army, along with Minaya. He wanted a redemption, a chance to regain his dignity back after all he had done. His vallaslin was removed by Solas, for Elgar’nan was no longer his master. The path he took now was even more bloody and jaggy, but it also gave him freedom; a privilege to choose his own actions. It felt right.

Minaya married one of the healers she worked along with. He was a great, honorable man. Taren cried during the ceremony, the joy he felt was overflowing from his chest. She told Taren to not worry about her anymore, and that he should focus on his dreams, on things that made him happy. So Taren did. He worked along with Solas, they gave the freed slave sanctuary from their tyrannical masters. His people defended the valley in which the sanctuary sat, and he protected them all. Many joined him in his fight for freedom from the gods. (x)

The war did not stop though, and at this point Taren and Solas knew that the evanuris would eventually destroy the world, because their lust for power was insatiable. Taren spent most of his life serving under Elgar’nan, he knew what the gods were capable of. So Solas came up with a solution, and he needed Taren’s help to achieve it. The price for it was tremendously huge, but Taren agreed because it was necessary.

Kill hundreds to save thousands. It was judicious.

Eventually Solas sealed the elvhen gods within the veil, and for that Taren was utterly grateful, but he also felt intense despair and guilt as he watched the fall of Arlathan. His pain was so great, even Minaya could not made it better. She watched him cried all his tears. Taren succumbed into his depression, his life was now devoid of emotions, it extinguished the fire ignited within him.

So he went to uthenera afterwards, and slept for eternity.

Only to be awoken from his long slumber after the Inquisition disbanded. Confused and not knowing whatever happened to his world, he started his journey to relearn his new world, and to find out what happened to his daughter.

---

ps. Minaya is my Lavellan’s ancestor

#dragonageoc #dragon age #ancient elvhen #elgar'nan #original character #oc #dai #dragon age inquisition

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elfrootaddict · 5 years ago

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Now You Know - Chapter 5/8

CONTAINS SPOILERS - DO NOT READ ON UNTIL YOU HAVE COMPLETED DAI TRESPASSER DLC!

DESCRIPTION: Experience (my first) Lavellan’s thoughts and feelings during the final cut scene of the Trespasser DLC. Including her experience when she loses the Anchor.

Chapter 1 ¦ Chapter 2 ¦ Chapter 3 ¦ Chapter 4 ¦ Chapter 5 ¦ Chapter 6 ¦ Chapter 7 ¦ Chapter 8

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

To all those in Solavellan Hell,

I have written this to not only express my emotions but to hopefully capture some of yours, too.

After completing Trespasser, and going through the hell that is the final cut scene, I had to do something. So, to help myself work through it, I’ve written (my first) Lavellan’s thoughts and experiences down during the DLC’s final cut scene.

This is my very first FanFic, so I hope it doesn’t turn out completely terrible. *fingers crossed*

Happy Dragon 4ge Day!

WARNING: Chapter 6 contains a moment of distress and gore. Read with sensitivity and discretion.

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

CHAPTER 5

When Lavellan was still Keeper Deshanna’s First, her priority was always to her clan and to the elves. Whether they were Dalish, city-born, followed the Qun or slaves of Tevinter. She always held the deepest, most sincere hope that there would come a day when the elves could be what they once were. That there was a forgotten ruin that contained the key to achieving that dream. Surely the past was better than their present? The answer was out there somewhere.

But after being thrown into the role as Inquisitor, she saw both the true beauty and ugliness of Thedas. Even though Keeper Deshanna had an open mind about the shemlen, which helped her not be so narrow-minded like other Dalish elves, she still hadn’t really seen the whole of Thedas.

There is a vast array of beliefs, cultures and practices. So many different types of shemlen! They truly weren’t one and the same. After her years as Inquisitor, she realised how small her world really was amongst the Dalish.

This world may not be what it once was. It may not be Elvhenan. But it is still magnificent. It is my home. Everybody matters. The elves are not the one and only important race. No time is more important than another.

Lavellan wants to do right by the Elvhen and improve their lives. Solas is that missing key. He can achieve what she has been dreaming for her people. But her eyes have been opened to what Thedas contained. It cannot be destroyed.

She can also see how incredibly torn Solas is. Does he truly want to do this? Does he even have a choice?

There has to be another way. A different way. We can figure it out together, vhenan.

“Let me help you Solas.” begs Lavellan.

With his back still towards her, he rejects her assistance, “I cannot do that to you, vhenan.”

She thinks back to being in the Fade. Solas’s gravestone of fear read ‘dying alone’. He did not see her notice it. She’s kept this knowledge of him to herself. But nevertheless, she knows one of his deepest fears and this causes great distress in her heart.

With her voice shaking and desperate she cries, “But you would do it to yourself? I cannot bear to think of you alone.”

“I walk the Din’Anshiral,” replies Solas with distress. “There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.”

Crushed, Lavellan closes her yes and drops her head.

I will always love you, Solas. I will always accept you. Don’t you understand?

Turning around to face Lavellan, Solas’s tone of voice changes. He is always better at suppressing his emotions than she is. Like simply blowing out a candle’s flame.

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

With her emotions all over the place, that nearly makes her burst out laughing. Why would he suddenly care about the safety of Thedas, when moments ago he declared he was planning on destroying it? And was it really ‘her’ Inquisition? Solas has clearly been using the Inquisition to right a wrong. How many spies are there? She didn’t believe herself to be naive, but now she feels foolish. She does not like to be made a fool of.

Now frustrated, her anger helps focus her thoughts. She is still Inquisitor and is going to get as much information out of him as possible. She knows she isn’t going to get a chance like this again.

“The Qunari said the Inquisition was unknowingly working for the agents of Fen’Harel.” asks Lavellan angrily, feeling deceived.

“I gave no orders.” Solas replies promptly.

Irritated she says, “You led us to Skyhold.”

“Corypheus should of died unlocking my Orb. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos,” he pauses. “When you survived, I saw the Inquisition as the best hope this world had of stopping him. And you needed a home. Hence, Skyhold.”

“You gave your Orb to Corypheus?” Lavellan asks with disgust.

“Not directly,” Solas answers. “My agents allowed the Venatori to locate it. The Orb had built up magical energy while I lay unconscious for millennia. I was not powerful enough to open it. The plan was for Corypheus to unlock it, and for the resulting explosion to kill him. Then I would claim the Orb.”

Solas looks down towards the ground and shakes his head in disbelief. “I did not forsee a Tevinter magister having learned the secret of effective immortality.”

With a quiet and downcast voice she asks, “What would have happened if Corypheus had died and you’d recovered the Orb?”

With his face unveiling the amount of remorse in his heart, “I would have entered the Fade, using the mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time… the world of the elves.”

“If you destroyed the Veil, wouldn’t the false gods be freed?” Lavellan asks alarmed.

“I had plans.” he answers assertively.

Lavellan is picturing Solas as... Corypheus. He has indeed changed in her eyes. In her mind's eye she sees him holding the Orb and disintegrating the Veil. She can’t stomach the fact that, should things have turned out as planned, Solas would of been the one responsible for the chaos that ensued.

He is so tenderhearted, thoughtful, respectable and gentle. She can hear Varric saying, “It’s always the quiet ones.”

She knows his heart. But his mind has always been a mystery. She refuses to believe that Solas is completely alone in this decision. There has to be more elements at play here.

She can see his heart and mind battling each other. He may be good at playing nonchalant, but she knows him better than he realises. There is something he is not telling her. Perhaps if he did, he would have to admit he needs help. Her help.

Shaking her head in disbelief, “I never thought of you as someone who would do that, Solas.”

He looks away with relief, “Thank you.”

Solas attempts to convince her, “You must understand. I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil.”

Disturbed she asks, “We aren’t even people to you?”

“Not at first,” he says. “You showed me that I was wrong… again,” looking down with guilt he murmurs. “That does make what must come next any easier.”

Despite all that has transpired, Solas still stayed to defeat Corypheus. Even though it seems pointless to her now, she always prided herself in displaying her appreciation towards others. It is something Keeper Deshanna ingrained into her.

“Whatever your reasons,” says Lavellan. “We couldn’t have defeated Corypheus without you.”

“Your doubts are misplaced,” declares Solas. “Everything you accomplished, you earned.”

Lavellan feels comforted by his praise. She constantly craves for his approval in her decisions. He always had a wealth of knowledge and wisdom on hand. She thrives on learning from those around her and Solas had in abundance.

Remembering his concern over the Inquisition, she has to know his thoughts on the matter. He would clearly offer sound advice that would be imperative to hear.

“What’s wrong with the Inquisition?” she inquires.

Solas gladly bestows his counsel, “You created a powerful organisation, and now it suffers the inevitable fate of such: betrayal and corruption.”

“It’s not that simple.” says Lavellan ignorantly.

With an air of superiority he explains, “Do you know how I discovered the Qunari plot? The plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep? The Qunari spies in the Inquisition tripped over my spies in the Inquisition. The elven guard who let you to the Qunari body, who intercepted the servant with the gaatlok barrel? Mine.”

“Why bother disrupting the Qunari plot, if you’re going to destroy the world regardless?” asks Lavellan in disgust.

He answers sympathetically, “You have shown me that there is value in this world, Inquisitor. I take no joy in what I must do. Until that day comes, I would see those recovering from the Breach free of the Qun.”

“Why?” she asks bewildered.

“Because I am not a monster,” proclaims Solas. “If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort.” he pauses. “In any event, it is done.”

Lavellan feels indebted to him. He helped her and Thedas… again.

“I guess we owe you for that one, too.”

“I hope it gives your people some final peace.”

Without warning, Lavellan feels her mark starting to violently pulse in the palm of her hand. Cursing the Anchor in her mind she realises she has finally run out of time. Unlike Solas, she has never had a problem admitting she needs help. She needs his help. And she needs it now.

Trying to shake away the pain, in discomfort she says, “There’s still the matter of the Anchor. It’s getting worse.”

Solas looks away with grief, “I know, vhenan. And we are running out of time.”

And just like that, the Anchor flares up and it is the worst pain she has ever felt. It completely cripples her and she is unable to stand. The Anchor even propels her body forward. She has absolutely no control. Clenching and supporting her left forearm with her right hand, she grunts and cries with agony.

Solas slowly kneels down in front of her and says, “The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now.”

Lavellan feels she finally understands his determination and conviction. Solas is a loyal servant of Mythal. He knew the All-Mother. From the Dalish tales and what Solas has described, Mythal was clearly the voice of reason amongst the Evanuris. She was wise in her judgements and loved by all who lived in Elvhenan. Solas’s loyalty to Mythal is enduring. And therefore, Solas has to see Mythal avenged and the lives of the elves restored to what it once was.

If she was in Solas’s position, she would also most likely be making the same choice.

Their love did complicate matters. It was clearly unforeseen and something neither of them expected.

Nevertheless, their love did happen. Their love has turned into a force unto itself. You can feel it in the air around them. It didn’t diminish in the time that they were apart - if anything, it only grew stronger.

Even if Solas wouldn’t admit it to her or himself, she knows this is not the end. She knows him to be stubborn but she is stubborn, too.

I may not save you today, my heart. But I will save you from yourself. I will not give up on you.

The Anchor has almost depleted all the energy she has left in her. She can feel her mind beginning to fade. The pain is just too much.

In a desperate attempt, she cries, “Solas, var lath vir suledin!”

Looking down with remorse he says, “I wish it could, vhenan.”

Lavellan no longer holds back her tears. She has no more energy left for pretenses. Between the pain in her heart and her hand she can’t tell which one is more agonising.

Solas starts to lean in closer to her and whispers, “My love…”

Holding the side of her face in his hand, he guides her closer to him. His eyes light up with the same magic as before. Lavellan tries her best to ignore the pain of the Anchor and to just focus on him.

She has never felt more at peace than when he is this close to her. This is where she belonged. This is where he belonged. When he finally kisses her, she can feel his yearning. She can feel his heart being torn in two.

Should the Anchor kill her now, there would be no better way to die. She is in his embrace and that is all she could ask for.

It doesn’t have to be this way, my Dread Wolf! You could stay! I can see it on your face!

Solas slowly stands up. With utter despair, only for her to hear, he whispers, “I will never forget you.”

Lavellan is still on her knees. The Anchor renders her powerless. She cannot move. She cannot run after him.

He is walking away.

For whatever it is worth, she can still use her voice. She has to try.

With Solas almost reaching the eluvian, and with tears flooding down her face she cries after him, “Don’t leave me like this! Solas! Solas!”

Solas reaches the Eluvian. He stops.

And without looking back, he steps through.

#ElfrootAddict's Now You Know #first fanfic #solavellan hell #solavellan #dragon age #dai trespasser #fen'harel #dread wolf #solas #dragon 4ge day

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lavellanlove · 7 years ago

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🐬 - Avira breaking out of the Aquarium?

You know my girl too well. ;)

Freedom’s Song

Words: 2250 Cast: Solas, Avira Lavellan, Abelas, Ghilan’nain

AU in which the escaped slaves of Elvhenan fled to the seas as the titans overtook the land and the dragons ruled the skies. They took fins and gills to live free of the Evanuris and the humans who followed in their wake, becoming the Dalish. As the war threatened to overtake Arlathan, Solas sealed off the city from the rest of Thedas in a desperate attempt to save it. Though in many ways he succeeded, the Veil made their once beloved crowned city a prison, those who ventured beyond its borders losing their prized immortality. Thus, as the ages passed, they relied on humans and the younger races to bring them artifacts of the world beyond.

The first time he sees her, she is somehow devoid, lying listless and lethargic on the floor of a containment tube barely wide enough for her to extend her tail. Her dark curls and bright fins billow along with the pumping of the tank’s filtration system, iridescent scales somewhere between the color of coral and flame depending on how they caught the light. Quite a feat, making the greenish tinge of the flickering fluorescent bulbs above look anything but sickly.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Solas,” Abelas says. “She has been like this since she was collected from the edge of the Dalish reef. Doesn’t eat, won’t sleep, just lies there staring off into the distance.”

Reflexively, he presses his palm to the thick acrylic. “She is beautiful,” he remarks. Catching himself, he quickly adds, “Her...scales, I mean. She does not appear unhealthy; rather, unhappy.”

“The only happiness that matters is Ghilan’nain’s. She must be made ready for exhibition. Dalish are expensive, after all. The humans claim to have lost an entire ship bringing this one in.”

Ghilan’nain is far from sympathetic towards the creatures they bring in from beyond the Veil. Her sentinels dip their staves in the water, administering an electric shock to attempt to motivate her to move. He knows the mer do not feel the same way real elves do, but the way she braces herself against the floor, gritting her teeth as though trying to mask pain, it is impossible not to imagine.

“Stop!” he yells, impulsively extinguishing their magic with his own. Only then does she look at him, her pale green eyes penetrating.

He secures his regulator and slips into the tank. She barely moves as he descends. As gently as he can, he draws blood from her fluke, scraping film from her scales to examine back in the lab. He presses a stethoscope between her shoulder blades, listening to her heartbeat: steady, slow, and strong.

Content with his assessment, he moves to push off from the floor of the tank when with reflexes faster than he expects, slender fingers grab his wrist. His eyes widen with surprise behind his goggles as she gestures insistently at her own neck.

Abelas taps at the glass, curious whether he needs a guard to intervene.

He raises a hand, signalling for Abelas to wait. Pointing a flashlight where she indicates, he catches sight of a jagged, crescent-shaped wound just above. She has been trying to tell him: she’s been robbed of her voice.

ii.

Weeks pass before he sees her again. She has been moved out into an exhibit: a large clamshell for a bed, shelves of dead, painted coral, walls enchanted to ripple like the sea. They’ve clasped a choker of golden coins around her healing throat and thrown a chest of other treasures into the tank. They believe mer enjoy things that shimmer, after all.

Her eyes meet his from across the room, and in spite of himself he smiles, offering her a wave. He knows it is not possible, but it’s as if she remembers, swimming to the edge of the tank and pressing her palm to the glass.

He points at his throat, and she touches hers in turn.

Before he can think what words he wishes to speak, wide eyed children rush to the tank and stare back in, delighted to see her up close. The bright lights of their camera phones flash in her eyes, and she retreats into the forest of plastic kelp.

iii.

He returns at closing time when the aquarium is quiet. Without the din of the tourists, the ‘aquatic’ tones playing over the speakers are barely loud enough to cover the heavy sounds of industrial pumps and artificial sunlight. But there is something almost painfully beautiful beneath it, tugging him forward as if by the heart until he presses his ear to the tank.

He sees colors in his mind, swirling until they begin to form shapes, but the song is too faint. Wanting her to come closer, he knocks on the glass. She stops abruptly, looking up in surprise.

“I am sorry,” he says, knowing full well she cannot understand. “I did not mean to disturb you. I am only glad to know your voice is returning.”

Her smile makes something leap in his chest. “It is exquisite. In all the Fade, I have not heard another quite like it. I wish I had not interrupted so I could hear it once more.”

Just like that, her smile fades. She shakes her head. “My song is not for you,” she says firmly, pronunciation clear as the water.

Terrified, he backs away, wiping his face and hurrying out of the room. They are not real, he reminds himself. And yet, she understood.

iv.

He comes back to watch her sing; only to watch, since she wished for him not to listen. He sits in the back, studying her movements, trying not to anthropomorphize her. Had she actually told him not to listen, or was it only a dream? Hard, telling the difference. How blurred the lines are upon waking.

She spots him, of course, and points to her ears with a frown. He smiles coyly and shakes his head, pointing at the earplugs in his own. Her chest heaves in a laugh, and she swims up with a graceful arc, sitting on the highest rock of the enclosure and begins to weave a melody.

The patrons of the aquarium, usually rowdy and talkative, seem almost transfixed. They have stopped in their tracks, cameras and maps fall to the floor, and they stand, unblinking, the entire time. They cannot understand a word, but somehow the song is haunting, sad, leaves them full of longing for a place none of them had ever been nor seen.

They seem empty when she stops, some sad, some almost angry. A woman cries. A sentinel tells a particularly agitated man that the next show is the following morning. When he wants to wait there, they have to escort him out.

Solas had at first thought she had deemed him unworthy of her gift of song. Now, he takes her words as a warning.

Still, he walks up, removing the plugs from his ears, and asks her the question burning in his mind.

“May I know your name?” he asks almost sheepishly.

She considers it for a moment, then swims closer to whisper her response.

“Avira.”

Months pass, and he does his best to heed Avira’s wishes, even as her growing fame makes it increasingly difficult to avoid. All throughout Arlathan, she is painted across giant posters advertising her act. Everywhere he goes, he sees the merchandise, hears people speaking of the mermaid with the voice sweeter than lyrium’s song.

He knows Ghilan’nain is pleased by the way they praise her for her ‘creation’. Their coin lines her pockets and their prayers bolster her power. Elgar’nan grows jealous. This pleases her even more.

At her invitation, Solas goes to watch along with the other gods. They have moved her to the sonallium, now staged like a shipwreck.

“The crowd grows every day,” the white-haired goddess boasts.

In the front row, Solas cannot help but notice the same agitated man from the first time he saw her sing: wearing the same clothes, doing nothing but staring at the stage, waiting to hear her sing again.

In the sonallium, her song is not just heard, but seen and felt. She recounts the glories of the elvhen empire over its foes, familiar tales that leave the audience swelling with pride. But then the song departs from the familiar melody. Instead of following the heroes as they sealed off the city and saved the People, it follows those outside Arlathan’s borders.

Gold clad armies force them back with spear and spell off of the cliffs and into the sea. Most die on the rocks. Many drown trying to muster the magic to escape the waves. Those who survive pooled their magic to fashion themselves gills to breathe and tails to swim. Only a few survive the gruesome transformation.

Millennia of hardship unfold before them: the mer are hunted by creatures of the deep, caught in nets and taken as trophies or pets by humans, harpooned by qunari dreadnaughts who sought to reign in their territory, destroying their reefs for broader channels to sail.

She shows them the stories passed down in the backwater grottos like the one in which she was raised, the burn of thin netting on their skin and dry air in their lungs as they scream for their loved ones to save themselves.

She makes them feel how the stale water of their tiny enclosures leaves one wanting, how it stings, causing once-bright scales growing dull and shedding in splotches.

She has them hear every sound with the sensitivity her ears do through the water, every tap on the glass feeling like it threatened to shatter their eardrums, the lights of the cameras flashing leaving them nearly blind, the way electrified staves send pain rippling through their bones.

The richness of it, even without sound, makes Solas entire being ache. To feel with such depth and clarity and pain...how can she not be real? And if she is...

The song ends, and every person in the crowd of thousands feels utterly alone.

Ghilan’nain prepares to bask in the peoples’ praise and uproarious applause, but instead feels nothing.

Avira looks up and smiles.

vi.

Ghilan’nain cancels the act. Protests ensue. Every day, at the break of dawn, angry elves and humans alike stand at the gates of the aquarium, picketing in protest. Security has to be doubled and doubled again until there is a veritable army outside the gates. Every night, people try to break in, muttering mindlessly on about needing to return the mer to the sea. Even as they threaten to overwhelm the guards, Ghilan’nain refuses to let the mermaid sing.

As Solas traces Avira’s actions back, he realizes she has played them all. She is no mermaid, but a siren. The sailors who captured her likely slit her throat to keep her from singing them to their deaths. But feigning sickness to have her throat healed, building a crowd steadily until they brought her to the sonallium: each action she has taken or not taken was designed to dismantle Ghilan’nain’s handiwork.

He realizes all this and smiles. He is still a god of rebellion after all.

The protesters finally break through the sentinel ranks, tearing the locks off the tanks and freeing every mer in sight. All except the one they sought, no doubt kept in a dank basement, under dim fluorescent lights in a tank too small for her to extend her tail.

Solas walks smoothly through the crowd, untroubled by the chaos, making a line straight for Avira.

When he finds her, she bound and gagged, a weight anchoring her to the bottom of the tank. But unlike the first time, she is defiant, proud, and still somehow happy to see him.

He lifts her from the tank, removes the gag, and wraps her in a sopping towel to wet her gills before carrying her from the aquarium. His eyes flash blue as anyone dares to try to stop him, petrifying them in stone.

He does not stop until they reach the shore.

vii.

The last time he sees her, her people are being lowered into the sea by ancient elves once more, this second time far gentler than the first. The mer sing songs of triumph, tears of reunion adding to the salt of the waves.

Solas walks Avira into the water with care, trying to decide what to say.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” he says.

“For helping my people escape?” she asks quizzically, a playful bit of levity behind her eyes.

“I have been so ignorant for so long,” he admits, though the shame of the confession makes his face burn. “Perhaps willingly so. But there is so much I feel I must learn. I owe your people that much at least.”

She shakes her head forgivingly, with grace he does not deserve, spinning her fingers around her open palm until a shimmering conch has formed then offering it to him.

“Ask, and I will answer. Listen, and you will hear.”

He presses the conch to his ear, the hum he recalled from that first day warm and rich in his chest.

“Your song…” he says, promptly pulling the conch away from his ear and offering to return it to her. “You told me not to listen.”

She guided his hands back towards his chest, the conch at the hollow spot below his ribs. “Keep it. This one is meant for you.”

Then with a flash of her tail, she is gone.

#empresstress13 #lavellan love writes #this became long #lol #it was a struggle to even keep it THIS length i am sorry #avira lavellan #solas #ghilan'nain #abelas #da:i #mermay

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ladylike-foxes · 7 years ago

Note

happy dwc night!! "Who gave you such radiance?" prompt, hehe

Thank you so so much, sweetpea!! ❤❤❤ So, this is a verse convergence ficlet, that finally kinda addresses how Felassan is responsible for Halesta becoming Inquisitor? Or at least gives a vague idea. It’s mostly crap because I was more interested in self-indulgence than doing it right, so...I’m sorry? But it was fun to write, anyway!For @dadrunkwriting! ❤

Oh, and here’s what I’m using as Elvhen It’s not remotely correct, but whatevs.Garas: Come / EnterSavhalla: GreetingsHa’lethassan doesn’t actually mean shit? I mean, (Ha = old/wise/respected) + (leth[al] = family/kin) + (assan = arrow), but I just kind of made it up, cause “Uncle Fel” didn’t feel right.

Camber was eyeing him suspiciously, and he couldn’t blame her. This had to all seem…very strange. It was very strange. He had told her nearly everything up to this point, but how he would go about explaining this? All Felassan had told them was that he had received a letter from “an old friend”, and that they were headed for a rendezvous in godsforsaken Ferelden—worse yet, in Crestwood. Somber was pleased to go along, his usual chipper, unfazed self. But Camber was noticeably, ah, frazzled; much like the humidity’s effect on her hair. He sighed, nervously smoothing his hair back from his face. Felassan was unsurprised to find an attempt had been made to give the damp cave feel a somewhat more comfortable atmosphere. Torches had been fixed to the walls and, along with a small fire, were already lit when they arrived. Two desks had been brought in, covered with molding old maps, and there was an unmade bedroll spread out in the back corner. Crates of root vegetables and unleavened bread rested in scattered stacks alongside barrels of fresh water and ale. The familiarity of such hiding places brought back old memories. A soft rap at the makeshift door startled the trio, straightening themselves with quiet tension. Fel took a deep breath in, glancing quickly to confirm the twins were prepared.

“Garas.”

The door opened slowly with a creak that, to him, seemed histrionically ominous. Three cloaked figures emerged from the dark tunnel, the taller two flanking the shortest. With a quick, exasperated tug at the hood, the warm light revealed the pale face, fierce face that was hauntingly familiar. Eliana’s daughter was a near-spitting image; Felassan felt a bittersweet pride bloom in his chest. The Inquisitor herself was looking up at him, wearing a wry smirk he hadn’t seen since she was very young.

“All this covertness seems absurdly melodramatic, yeah?” Halesta looked around briefly before turning her grin back at him. “Hey, Ha’lethassan! I thought you were supposed to be dead?”

“Who says I’m not?” Fel couldn’t help but laugh, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Fair enough. You could be a ghost,” Laleal had removed her cloak and was sidling into the embrace. “You definitely haven’t aged a minute in the last two decades. Not that should be any surprise—You know, considering.”

“I missed you, da’Lala. Taking sufficient care of our Halie, I hope?” Planting a swift kiss on his pupil’s cheek before he turning back to the Inquisitor, “Who gave you such a radiance? Wait, what am I saying? It was your Mamae, of course.”

The sound of shuffling feet, followed quickly by a pointed cough, returned Fel’s awareness to his surroundings. There were three other people here who were clearly feeling awkward and confused. A tall, dark human stood behind Halesta and was regarding the reunion with fond amusement; Fel could feel the man’s magic like a tingle beneath his skin. Somber mirrored the human’s keen puzzlement and, to his relief, Camber’s expression seemed to relax slightly.

“Shit, how rude of me!” Halie perked up, looking to the twins, “This is Altus Dorian Pavus. Dorian, this is Felassan.”

“A pleasure to finally meet the illustrious ‘not-uncle Uncle’,” The mage gave a sweeping bow.

“Savhalla,” Glancing at Halesta with blatant skepticism as she squared her jaw, “An Altus of Tevinter, hm? What an interesting bedfellow for the Inquisitor.”

“—Save it,” Laleal flapped her hand dismissively, “His loyalty to Hals is so absolute, it’s borderline absurd. They’re joined at the hip.”

Uncertainty still knitting brows, he nodded to Dorian before turning to the twins. Camber had cocked an eyebrow, clearly denoting that her patience was quickly fading.

“Inquisitor, might I introduce Camber and her brother, Somber,” Halesta smiled warmly, clasping a hand with each sibling in turn.“They are from the Wastes. She, in fact, is the one who came to my rescue after Solas and I had our, ah, falling out.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” A jab aside, Halie directed her attention back to Camber; “I’d love to hear how you wound up here with Fel, when we have time. It must have been quite an adventure.”

“I have known Halesta and Laleal since their births,” Felassan smiled meekly at his companion, “Eliana, her mother, was my dear friend— And the reason we might just stop Fen’Harel yet.”

Camber’s eyes softened with understanding, she gently slipped her hand into his. He ignored Halie and Lala sharing a piquant glance, struggling to subdue their grins.

“Speaking of Fen’Harel,” Draping an arm over Laleal’s shoulder, Dorian leaned in conspiratorially, “We have quite a bit of work to do, I believe?”

“Ah, yes!” Felassan gave the group a wolfish smile, “Let’s get to it.”

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diagk · 7 years ago

Text

Unexpected.

Chapter 24 –> Before we say goodbye.

AU fanfic featuring Solas/Dread Wolf. After the Trespasser events Solas walks through the eluvian only to find himself thrown into the modern-time England. Year 2016. Yup. That’s it.

First Chapter: Read here or on my AO3 account; Read Chapter 24 on AO3

“Merde, am I doing it wrong again?” I asked frustrated after another attempt to withhold my emotions.

Solas sighed but I saw a pleasant smile dancing on his lips.

“No, this requires a lot of patience and practice and you barely have started. You’re doing well.” He pondered a moment. “Maybe… if you would’ve concentrated on a… less emotional topic you’d find the practice easier?” He suggested.

I hummed. “Ok, let’s try that.”

A tilt of his head to one side and a smirk on his lips. “Ask me questions then.”

Ah, so he agreed to my earlier request. Good. What should I ask him? What I really want to know?

“Keep your emotions close though,” he whispered leaning towards me.

Damn. Ok, I can do this.

“Will you tell Morrigan about Flemeth?”

A flash of surprise crossed his face. So, he did not expect me to ask difficult questions then.

He cleared his throat before answering. “One day… I will.”

“What will you tell her?”

He averted his eyes as if not wanting me to see the guilt and pain. “It would be pointless to deny the past. She would know sooner or later. And I need her as ally, so...” He trailed off still not meeting my gaze.

“You’re afraid of how furious she will be? About her reaction of you killing Flemeth?”

“I did no such thing!” He bristled. “It saved her-in the transition. Since her host was not ready she needed another one.”

“And somehow it coincided with your own needs,” I retorted evenly.

He met my gaze then. His was cold like ice. “And I would do it again.”

A shiver ran down my spine. How easily it was to forget who he really was. About his past and future plans. About his pain and persistent way to meet his goals.

“She was your friend. Your falon.”

“She still is,” he admitted. “I hope.”

“Do you think Morrigan will be a good vessel for her?” The coldness in his eyes melted slightly. “I do hope so. It’s not for me to judge. I just hope she’ll carry Mythal with pride and respect she deserves.”

I pang of jealousy hit me but I focused on keeping it close to me. It was irrational to be jealous of an old friend. They have known each other for thousands of years; they shared a common goal before she was murdered; and they supported each other against all odds.

Solas was looking at me closely as if trying to decipher my reactions. The slight crease on his forehead meant that he could not discern them properly. So, the change to a topic I was not so attached was beneficial to my training. Maybe, I should push my luck and ask another question.

“Will you lose your powers if you transfer Mythal’s spirit to Morrigan?”

He laughed. “Not really. I’ve been regaining my own since I woke up. It has been accelerated since I carried Mythal with me, that’s true, but I have enough of my own to carry out my plans.” He smirked and then leaned towards me again. “And if I had found another orb… well-that would be beneficial as well.”

I opened my mouth to fire another question but got frozen on the spot. Another orb? That-bastard! He knew where another one was… or he had already found one!

Looking at his relaxed form sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet in my living room, smile and mischief dancing on his lips, I realised just how little I really knew about him. I got swayed by my own emotions and desires. By what I could see without looking at him. Dismissing everything there was to know about him right there in front of me. And I thought I was clever. Such a foolish girl. Master of manipulation and a brilliant strategist. That what he was. And is. He does not stop using everything and everyone to reach his own goal. Fight the battles you can win and do nothing that would not further your goals, right?

I groaned frustrated at myself and him. Solas noticed my state of distress as I did not try to hide it and he was at my side instantly. His arms around me.

“What’s wrong, ma lath?”

I turned to him; anger colouring my voice. “You. You play and trick people all the time. You do it subconsciously even without trying. It’s the skill you mastered and use all the time.”

His hands stopped caressing my back and he leant away to meet my gaze.

“You think I have tricked you into this?” His mask dropped and I could see and feel his pain and hurt. “Do you?” He repeated quietly.

“No,” I admitted averting my eyes. “But you cannot blame me for thinking that.”

“No, I cannot. Actually, you know so much of me that sometimes I wonder why you let me live.”

I met his eyes. More blue than this morning. He was serious with that question. Oh well…

“Because… as I said before… I have a penchant for broody, sexy, and dangerous elves?” I smiled timidly.

He shook his head. “Ar lath ma vhenan.”

And then I could feel a warm blanket of energy covering me and spreading through my body. Reaching every inch of it and caressing with tender movements against my skin.

“You’re crafty with magic,” I admitted against the crook of his neck when he pulled me to him. He chuckled.

“Magic has its uses. And you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

We sat there holding each other in a comfortable silence. The time was ticking slowly and I could feel it seeping through my fingers. Tick-tock.

“May I ask another question?” He hummed in response. “What do you think of Cullen?”

He chuckled. “Cullen? Hmm… I find him being an excellent commander and a good person. Why do you ask?”

“Well… I got them together. Daeva and Cullen,” I admitted smugly. “And she married him.” I resolved myself to caress his collarbones as far as his a few-buttons-open shirt allowed me. His hands were at my back.

His chuckling reverbed through his body. “I forget too often how involved you have been in all this.”

“Oh?” I leaned back to look at him. Soft smirk at the corner of his mouth told me he was jesting. “You really shouldn’t, as you have no idea how much I wanted Cullen since his early days as a Templar.”

His eyes turned into slits. Ohhh, jealous. One for me.

Tick-tock.

“Since his early days?” He asked confused. “How?”

I laughed. “I forget that you don’t know that he appeared in Origins.” His eyebrows drew lower in confusion and suspicion. That earned him an eye roll from me. “In the first game of the series of Dragon Age, and yes, there were three of them, Cullen is a young Templar in a Circle of Magi. And,” I raised a finger at him then traced it across his lower lip, “if you play as a female Mage you start at that Circle and he is infatuated with you. So…” I shrugged.

“You played as a female Mage then.” He stated evenly only slightly distracted by my touch.

“Ha!” I snorted still tracing his lips. My eyes followed the slow movements. Yet, he seemed unfazed. “I have played every origin and scenario possible on this one.”

He caught my finger with his teeth. When he met my gaze he released it only to ask, “Every scenario? How many there were?”

“Plenty, mon chèr. You could be human, elf or dwarf. And of different background. I like that one with a City Elf who has her arranged wedding interrupted. And then she meets a charming assassin who wins his way to her heart.” I sighed.

He moved his hands tighter around me. The look of possessiveness was not absent from his gaze. Also, his jaw tighten slightly. I smiled at him innocently. I loved to rile him up. He liked to play his games so… I have every right to play my own.

“An assassin?” He inquired in a whisper.

“The one who took over the Antivan Crows. If… he’s still alive,” I admitted.

He sighed and moved his gaze to one side. Then he chuckled before meeting my gaze again. “Ah, this Crow.”

I beamed. “Oh, so Zevran is still alive! Yes!”

His nostrils flared and his fingers splayed on my back in a more possessive manner. “Yes, he is. For the moment.”

“Jealously does not suit you, Solas,” I admitted looking at him.

“Jealousy, as you find, is a new concept to me, ma lath.”

I leaned closer, only an inch from his slightly parted lips. “You have nothing to worry about, mon Loup. You’re the only broody elf I want.”

He rolled us over so I got under him. “Say it again,” he whispered against my lips. His voice raspy and needy.

I giggled while raking my nails gently against his scalp. “I want only you. I may tease you all way to Ferelden and back but… all I want is you, Solas.”

He groaned and claimed my lips with a searing kiss.

“Ma vhenan, I don’t mind you teasing me as long as I know I’m the one to warm your bed at night,” he moved a stray of hair off my face. “I love you beyond reason or understanding. I need you. As I need to breathe. Don’t forget that.”

I caressed his cheek and his ear to which he half closed his eyes. “I know. And I need you too, Solas.”

He chuckled. His gaze dark and focused. “I want to bind myself to you, Nehn. With all I have.”

I laughed but stopped at his serious expression. “What do you mean?”

He slowly caressed my cheek. “There’s no wedding ceremony between the Elvhen. When we wish to be bound to someone it is usually for life and only requires one’s willingness to do so. It has to be spoken though. And… I wish to bind myself to you, ma vhenan.”

This was not to be taken lightly. I knew that. And yet, as I was laying beneath him, comforted by the warmth of his body and soft caresses of his hand, I failed to realise the meaning behind those words. I should have known better. I should have reacted right then... but I did not. I was content and satisfied and drunk on happiness of simply being with him.

“Why… why would you do this?”

He smiled. His fingers trailing against my right cheek and ear. “Because I love you. If you have not noticed before… I have fallen in love with you from the start. I tried to supress it and deny it. Tried to keep you safe but-“ he sighed, “the Fate does want us to stay together. You know this, my love. Sometimes, I feel like I was pulled here so I could meet you. You’re my solution and more.”

“Solution?” Oh, for sake. Was I only his solution to the war and incoming battles? Wake up, Solas! I yelled in my mind.

“No, maybe I phrased it incorrectly,” he admitted averting his gaze for a moment.” You’re the one I need to help me see other ways. Your insight is more extensive than mine.”

I chuckled. “That’s one way to say that.”

We smiled at each other. Gosh, he was so- I sighed. His blue-grey eyes bore into mine and I could only sink into them. ‘Festis bei umo canaverun’-He’ll be the death of me. If I allowed him to. But it was not such a bad thing according to Fenris, right?

“You're being grim and fatalistic in the hope of getting me into bed, aren't you?” I joked hoping he would get the hint. Or not. Or maybe I was just testing things.

“I am grim and fatalistic. Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit.”

I melted and rolled my eyes. Which earned a raised eyebrow from him. I laughed. Gosh, how different and the same this was from the game? Oh my. I needed him in my bed. Oh yeah.

“Then maybe we should move into the bedroom. Before we are invaded by John and Daniel tomorrow?” I proposed. His smile was only lesser than a rising sun.

“Yes. That’s a good idea. Especially for what I want to do to you,” he whispered in my ear while leading me upstairs.

I swallowed hard only slightly anticipating the things he wanted to do. With his mouth. Tongue. Fingers. Legs. And magic.

“I know. I just don’t want to.” Maya’s voice got shaky and she looked aside. She was back at the job even with her arm in a sling; resolved to do at least some basic tasks around the house. Which meant confining herself mostly to the kitchen while her older sister was cleaning the rest of the house. I knew that leaving her in charge would be good for the house. John approved as well. I think he secretly enjoyed her stubbornness and bossiness even if he would not admit it. Ever.

“Maya, it’s just I want you to stay here with your family and whoever you feel you need, so the household is kept clean and in decent state. Any issues which may arise you’d need to forward to John who is to take the legal guardianship of the place. And if anything else fails then there’s Daniel,” I pointed at my solicitor who smiled at Maya reassuringly, “whom you can approach with any questions.”

“It’s not the same as having you around, Miss Emily,” she pointed out.

“I know,” I admitted. “But this is the way things are going to be right now. You have every right to exercise the proper behaviour from any visitors from now on, and even ask them to leave the place if you feel they do not behave. I leave you in charge. Your daughter is to have the guest house to herself to use at her own leisure as long as she pursues her education. Also, her expenses and tuition fee is to be paid under the supervision of Mr Stewart.” I nodded towards John who was sitting quietly on a stool.

I decided to have the final meeting and dispose of my assets giving the last minute instructions to the people I cared most. I was leaving the estate and all I had in the capable hands of John with Daniel Stouts acting a solicitor, which he was doing for the last 40 years. Well, at least his company, so I felt my affairs were in good hands. And John was fine with Daniel to act as a legal representative. It looked less like he was to gain anything from the trade. Which he was in truth but knowing his disposition I knew this was the simplest and more rational way to approach to leaving him all my funds. Which he had no idea of. Until an hour ago when I showed him my account. Well, one of them. He sighed and agreed for Daniel to keep his hands on that. Surprisingly, he did not turned away the offer to have his sister’s expenses covered if she ever considered to pursue higher education.

Two hours later and we were still sitting in my kitchen. Daniel was on his way back to London to make sure all the papers were corrected before sent for the final approval. John hunching over the kitchen isle; a tumbler with whiskey in his hand and a sad smile on his lips.

“Damn, I have never thought of losing you that way,” he admitted quietly.

I sighed. “I have never thought of leaving this way either,” I admitted.

Maya was supervising Solas who was kneading the dough for the bread. And she regaled him with another folk story about ghosts visiting the local cemetery once every fortnight. I rolled my eyes while glancing appreciatively at him clothed in blue jeans and tight white t-shirt. It might have something to do with my remembering him without them actually. Well, the memories of last night still lingered on my mind and body. I tried to reign a pleasant shudder at the thought of him- ohh, nope, stop. I inhaled deeply before turning my attention back to John.

He needed a refill. And since he was to stay overnight I did not see a problem to get him drunk and relaxed. His job, whatever exactly it was, did not allow him to get too much of a relaxing time anyway. So here, maybe from time to time, he would. I hoped.

I placed a new tumbler in front of him and started sipping my own. The clink of ice cubes against the glass made John to look at me. “You’re sure about this?”

I sighed. He did deserve the truth. “I am,” I looked straight into his eyes saying that. He closed his for a moment before grabbing his drink and emptying it in one go. Oh well, more whiskey for him then.

“I know I have asked this before but… are you’re certain of him? You know, the things he can do... I’m sure he’s dangerous and such… I really think you may... Maybe you could reconsider?” The hope in his eyes clenched my heart.

“John, as much as I don’t want to leave, it’s-” I sighed, “he won’t leave without me. I have explained that to you. He needs to leave and help his people.”

“God, Joy. They are only fictional people. And he is only-“ he gestured towards Solas trying to articulate the thought which had crossed my mind several times in the past.

Not real. A fictional person. From a video game. And yet, he was there, kneading the dough and talking to my housekeeper. How come?

“I know, John. It took me a while to comprehend it myself. Maybe, if we believe that something or someone is real they become real?” One of the ice cubes in my drink cracked. Tick-tock. Bottoms up it seems. “He’s real as much as I’m real. Take it or don’t. But I believe this.”

John was quiet for a moment. I refilled our glasses.

“Did he have to do anything with Maya’s recovery?”

“Why do you ask?”

He sighed. “Because the doctors were mildly confused of how quickly she recovered. Look, it’s been only two weeks and they took the cast off. It’s not what I would called normal.”

“Oh, well. Maybe a bit. He volunteered though,” I raised a finger to make a point.

“He would do anything for you, Joy. It’s clear to me. Even if he tries his best to hide how much he cares.” A smile appeared on his face. Maybe the first one tonight. Hope, it wasn’t the last one.

He was sitting quietly on the sofa holding a book in his hand and balancing the iPad on his thigh. Clearly engrossed in reading and finding references on the internet. Or, that’s what I have been convinced of for the last half an hour when I joined him in the otherwise quiet library.

“Why Cullen?” His question broke the comfortable silence.

I looked at him. “Why not?” I retorted.

A long sigh. “But why specifically him? You could have chosen anybody else, so why him?”

I snorted. “Are we really going to have this conversation?” It seems that ‘yes’ as his gaze was serious. Alright then.

“Well, I played as a female human from the circle of Magi. It was actually unusual for me as I tend to play as a male warrior or rogue first. But I guess I wanted a change. As far as to choose whom to romance… it was simply a matter of Cullen being sweet and dorky at some point. And… a bit of awkward with his stuttering and shyness. Still - more mature than in Origins,” I admitted thoughtfully.

“But shouldn’t you, as a Mage, be afraid of a Templar?”

“Why? I personally do not have any negative experience with Templars.”

“True. But as you… played as a Mage maybe you should consider her point of view?”

“Solas, I don’t think that at that time I was aware that Daeva is actually real, you know? I played this way for fun. Besides, I was curious on how their relationship would progress.”

He hummed. I waited for several moments before continuing.

“Well, I could not romance you, so my options were limited.” I announced coyly to which he chuckled. “As Deava is into men then I had options of Cullen, Blackwall or Bull.”

He hummed again. “I see. That certainly explains a lot.”

I raised from my chair and went to sit next to him on the sofa. He put the book and iPad on the side table and pulled me into his arms.

“Why didn’t you try to romance me?” He asked after a while.

“Well… because you were not available for humans. I mean for a female human Inquisitor. Only an elf.”

“Ah, so that’s why all the videos I’ve watched are with a Lavellan?”

“Yes. The game makers decided that if you were to romance anyone she’s to be a female elf. That’s it.” I leaned back to look at him. Suddenly I started laughing.

“I admit I fail to understand the reason for your sudden outburst,” he commented on my behaviour. His arms were holding me although I was laughing very hard.

“Because… imagine their faces if they could see us now! You have fallen for a human after all!”

He chuckled as I hid under his chin. “That’s-indeed- well… I suppose none of them could have predicted me meeting you.”

I calmed down after a while. His hand was caressing my back. It was nice, to sit with him, relaxed and happy, talking about normal things and forgetting about the future for a while. Breathing in his unique scent I squeezed him.

“Oh? You’re happy it seems. The vibes you’re sending me are really strong and warm, vhenan.”

“That’s because I am happy. At least for the moment.”

His hold on me got tighter. I could feel his regular breathing reverberated through me and his calmness washing over me. He must also be enjoying the quiet before the storm, as we both knew it was just a question of time.

Time we did not have.

This morning I woke up, limbs entangled with his own, my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and I realised that I knew how to make the mirror work. I have known about it for some time, yet I did not realise that.

But I was scared to tell him. Scared that we were going to lose the last moments of peace and quiet and, as stupid as it sounded, I wanted to keep him here for a while longer. Even if I knew it could not be forever.

As my thoughts got darker, his hands held me tighter. He hummed into my hair which sounded more like a question.

“No, it’s nothing Solas. I’m thinking about all of it... and I’m a bit overwhelmed. But I’ll be fine.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince, him or me, but I knew that it was not actually working.

“Something is bothering you,” he stated calmly.

“Maybe.” I admitted reluctantly.

He sighed. “Vhenan. I can feel that something is bothering you. Tell me.”

I didn’t want to and yet… I knew I had no choice.

“I know how to activate the mirror,” I whispered.

His whole body went rigid and his hands stopped their movements. He left a ragged breath as if fighting with himself. “How?” He whispered back.

#unexpected fanfic #my writing #writing #solas #emily joy cooper #modern au

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in-arlathan · 5 years ago

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The Scar

Time period: Elvhenan Characters: Solas, Mythal, Elvhen OC Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,620 words Rating: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: Driven by the desire the become one of the Evanuris, an elvhen mage summons a spirit of wisdom and tricks it into taking on a physical body to impress the all-mighty Mythal. Disgusted by what the mage had done, the All-Mother sides with the former spirit and helps him to free himself from his mistress's bindings, owning the name the mage has given to him: Solas.

A/N: This is an updated version of the fanfic I posted over @old-arlathan. Now with 50% less typos and more accurate terminology for the Elvhenan timeline. ;)

You can read this on AO3, too.

______

“He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”

– Cole

Her blood pooled around his feet, thick and dark as the night. He shuddered and stepped back, away from the dead woman who’s blood he’d spilled across the ancient marble floor. Her arms and legs lay twisted as if they belonged to a puppet rather than a living being. He dropped his hands and the spell faded away, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole in his heart.

His mistress was dead and he had killed her.

“Well, that is that, I presume,” Mythal mused.

Sitting on her golden throne, the All-Mother had watched the fight in absolute silence. If she felt disgust or horror upon the murder, he could not tell. Her face was still, her breaths long and steady.

She is justice incarnate, he thought.

Is that why she had allowed him to kill his mistress? Because she thought it was just? He wanted to believe it so very badly. Maybe it would keep the darkness at bay that grew within him with every passing moment.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Mythal asked. Her voice was soft and candid. It was a gift he did not deserve.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, wiping away droplets of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The fight had been much more exhausting than he had expected.

Slowly, the All-Mother rose from her throne and came towards him. Her rich green robes rustled softly as she descended from the dais, her steps echoing from the high stone walls of her Throne chamber.

“I remember the day she presented you before my court,” she said with her eyes fixed on the dead body on the floor in front of her. “She all but burst with pride while she told the tale of your summoning. A spirit of wisdom, eager to share his knowledge with The People, yet too kind to recognize an enemy on sight.”

He swallowed, hard. He, too, remember this tale. Remembered it all too well. It had become a part of his being, just like the body he inhabited.

“She learned everything she could from you,” Mythal continued, “and when you had finally shared all of your knowledge of the Beyond, she lured you into a body, binding you to the Waking World.”

Mythal lifted her hand ever so slightly. Still, he could feel the wave of energy flaring up around her as she drew power from the Beyond to cast her spell. Blazing fire erupted from the corpse, cloaking the body of his former mistress in flames. The air wavered and filled with the smell of burnt flesh.

Another wave of Mythal’s hand and the blood began flowing towards the tiny fissures in the marble floor and sank into the stone. He breathed a sigh a of relief as the dark fluid vanished.

They watched in silence as the flames consumed the dead woman’s body and when the fire finally died down, it was as if his mistress had never even existent. For a moment, they heard nothing but the song of birds and the sound of whispering leaves from the forest outside Mythal’s palace.

The All-Mother let out a sigh of regret. “I told her that her pride would be her undoing.” Her gaze turned to him. “Or should I say her Pride?”

A shiver worked its way down his spine. Until this day, his mistress had called him Pride, her Solas, for he was the embodiment of her strength, the manifestation of her will. For a while, he had liked that name, until he came to realize that he was but a means to an end. Now he wished the name belonged to someone else.

He raised a hand to touch the skin on his cheeks. Though he could not feel it, he knew the lines of his vallaslin by heart. His fingers traced the curved markings while he thought about the day when his mistress had presented him to Mythal and her courtiers. Back then, he was still trying to get used to his body and was too confused by the powerplay unfolding before his eyes to understand it. It was an irony, really, how little he had known about elvhen politics, even after spending years and years in friendly conversation with one of Elvhenan's most powerful mages.

“This spirit of wisdom possesses more knowledge than any other I have ever encountered,” his mistress had said to Mythal. “I devote him to you, All-Mother, as a sign of my loyalty to you, and grace him with your vallaslin.”

At that moment, Mythal had had no other choice but to accept her gift. She would have been seen as cruel or unkind by her courtiers if she hadn’t. So the All-Mother watched as his mistress ingrained the vallaslin in his skin with magic. The pain had been almost unbearable but he had been too proud to show his agony in front of the assembled elvhen. Instead, he had bitten his lips until they were bloody and kept silent.

Maybe some of his mistress’ pride had rubbed off on him when she’d help him take on a physical form.

So I truly am Solas, he thought bitterly.

“There is something you must tell me,” Mythal said. “How did she convince you to enter this realm?”

He blinked, taken by surprise. “How do you know she did not bind me like she claimed?”

A soft chuckle escaped Mythal’s lips.

“All elvhen were like you once, Solas, exisiting freely within the Beyond,” she explained. “Only those with the will to change their form were able to enter this world and manifest themselves in a physical body. Many ages ago, I, myself, was what you might call a spirit of justice, and when I saw the many wrongs that happened in the Waking World, I could not resist to enter it to set things right. That is why I know that no spirit can be bound into a body without its consent. Otherwise, it could never hold on to a physical form long enough to survive the journey to the Waking world.“

She looked him over. “But you are a person. You have a purpose. This means you came to this world by will, not by force. So tell me, what made you come here?”

He sighed. “I was curious. She had told me so much about this world and its wonders and I was … excited by her enthusiasm. I wanted to walk among The People and learn everything they had to offer so I could pass their wisdom on to other spirits. But when I’d taken my body, I …”

His voice trailed off.

“When you had taken your body, you found that you could not return to your spirit form,” Mythal said, finishing the sentence for him.

“Yes.”

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. He had never admitted his failure so openly before. The pain was simply too much to bear.

His desire to learn had made him foolish. He had been so eager to gain wisdom that he did not see the woman who had summoned him for what she really was. He’d simply assumed that she was a kindred spirit, a seeker of truth and knowledge, just like him. Learning from her had excited him and he had trusted her to guide him into his body. But then his friend used his trust to turn him into her pet to parade him around the rest of The People. Only then he realized the terrible mistake he’d made and he had regretted it ever since.

“You are not the first spirit to make this mistake and you won’t be the last,” Mythal said. “When taking on our physical form, we gain a stronger sense of self and a power that is beyond any spirit. It allows us to shape the world around us. But we also lose our ability to become one with the Fade. We can only dream of the world we have lost and try to make a difference in this one.”

Another moment of silence passed. “She should have told you about the consequences,” Mythal said. “But I wonder why you haven’t turned your back on her after her betrayal. She may have lured you into this world, but she never truly commanded you. Still, you called her mistress.”

“It was spiritual affinity that kept me by her side, though I never forgave her for luring me into taking a body,” he admitted. “I was perfectly happy as I was, back in the Beyond. But she was my friend and I thought I owed her for what she had given me.”

“I see,” Mythal said, her voice heavy with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not deserve your sympathy,” he replied.

“And why is that?”

“Because I wish to burn the vallaslin off my face. Your vallaslin.” The words came out in a rush, like a tide that had been held back for far too long. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face. He imagined the lines of the blood writing burning brightly on his skin, just like the fire Mythal had cast to get rid of his mistress’s body. “I want to take it away and leave all memory of what was behind.”

“Well, take it off then,” Mythal said with a soft smile. “No one is stopping you.”

It took him a moment to understand what she truly meant. And when the realization finally hit him, he blinked in surprise yet again. He lowered his hands to look at Mythal. “But it would be an insult to you!”, he insisted. “The People would see it as a great offense if I rejected your patronage.”

The All-Mother laughed. “It was your mistress who offended me by thinking it would impress me that she tricked a trusting spirit into taking a body. It was her who offended me in wanting my patronage, not for the good of The People, but to rise in rank and to become one of the Evanuris. That is why I tempted you to kill her, you know. To right her wrongs.”

She reached out to him and touched his cheek gently. “Others might think you denied yourself to me, but I know that is not true. I wish you to act on your own accords and honor me with your deeds. Thus, you could never offend me, Solas, even if you tried.”

The way she said his name made him shiver. It sounded so different from the way his mistress had said it. As if Mythal was proud of him, not for being a particularly powerful spirit, but for freeing himself at last.

“Go on, now”, she said and gifted him with an encouraging smile. “Take off the vallaslin and leave your past behind.”

“But I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you help me?”

“Oh, no.” Mythal shook her head slightly. “You are perfectly capable of removing the blood writing on your own. It is one of the few benefits of possessing a physical body: You may shape it to your will. But beware that you will be the first of your kind, for no other elvhen had felt the desire to take the vallaslin away. It will be a wonder to behold.”

He looked at her for a moment, baffled by her confidence in him. How could she be so sure about his power when he himself doubted it so much?

Before he knew it, she took his hand into her own and squeezed them. “Do it,” she urged. “I know you can.”

Encouraged by her words, he slowly, very slowly, allowed himself to believe in his own strengths.

She let go and he stretched out his hands before him. With every fiber of his body, he opened up to the energy of the Fade, allowing it to fill him up like wine poured into a golden goblet. Sparks of light spread from his fingertips across his palm, a flash of blue and green and white, mingled together.

He brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes. In his mind, he pictured the fine lines of the vallaslin once more. He saw it burn, bright as day. Then he traced his fingers across his face, imagining the light from his hands spreading across his skin. He felt a soft tingle and then a sting on his forehead.

When he was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did I work?” he asked Mythal, and she beamed at him, proud like a mother.

“You left a scar,” she said softly, touching a small spot above his right eyebrow. “But yes, it worked.”

She was so close to him he could feel the warmth of her body, but he did not mind.

“I’d rather wear a scar on my face then any vallaslin,” he told her, “for I created it myself.”

“You will bring glory to The People,” she said. “I’m proud to call you kin.”

And then, the tears finally came.

He closed his arms around Mythal’s slender figure and buried his face against her shoulder. And while he wept, his body shaking, she remained silent and held him like a mother would.

After a while, he ran out of tears and became very still in her arms. A part of him waited for her to push him away, now that he had freed himself of his mistress’s influence completely. But instead, Mythal waited until he himself was ready to let go.

“What happens now?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“That is up to you. With your mistress gone, you are free to go wherever you please in the Waking world. Vir Dirthara might be a good place to start. I’m sure Ghil Dirthalen will be happy to offer you guidance.”

“I will consider it,” he said. “Thank you, All-Mother.”

“You may call me Mythal.”

He smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “I could never do that.”

They looked at each other for a moment. A bond had built between them and they both knew it. Their spirits were joined for as long as they might live and they were united in thankfulness for this rare gift.

“I should leave,” he said at last. “I have taken enough of your time.”

Mythal sighed. “I’m afraid you have,” she said. “There are other matters to attend to. But I hope you will return soon, my friend, and tell me what you have learned while we were apart.”

“I will. I promise.”

And with that, he made his way to the door. When he had entered the throne room, he had been a spirit, bound by the will of another. Now he had become something different. He was scared of what awaited him outside these halls, afraid of the world and the future and his own powers, but he would find a way for himself.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Mythal spoke in a low voice but her words carried all the way to the throne room’s door without fading.

He turned around to face her once more, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, All-Mother?”

Mythal’s face lit up as their eyes met. She reminded him of the moon rising over a mountain ridge in a dark and stormy night. It was in that moment that she earned his undying devotion, his eternal love, and gratitude.

“Despite any regret or pain or guilt you might feel,” she said with a glimmer in her golden eyes, “you should be proud of yourself. Always.”

....

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #solas #mythal #ancient elves #elvhen #elvhenan #vallaslin removal #hurt/comfort #in-arlathan-FF

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silent-of-spirit · 7 years ago

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Roman AU has arrived!!!! Many thanks to everyone who encouraged me as I struggled to find the way to put it into words. Even more thanks to the amazing @tel-abelas-mofo, without whom this piece would be a grammatical mess and be sorely lacking in some areas. Check her out, if you haven’t already!!!

The Threads that Break Us - Read on Ao3

Tevinter is an empire with sights set on all of Thedas as a prize. Orlais, The Marches, and Nevarra are all under Tevene rule. Tevinter had set its sights on the city of Arlathan, the last remnant of the crumbling Elvhen empire. Its crystal spires stood tall and proud, a constant mockery and reminder of what the Imperium could not have. They are ‘allies’, as much as anyone can be allies with Tevinter- hidden meanings, sharp tongues, quick wits and political maneuvering to keep themselves apart, both rife with betrayal and greed. Prophecies speak of a wolf, woken to walk among The People again - but destined to be their downfall if he does not overcome his Pride. And now, a man, once a relic of Tevinter's glorious conquest of Andraste and her armies, is said to have returned, bringing death and destruction in his wake. Gladiators, magic, slaves, scholars, nobility, battles of mind and body, inflamed passions, forbidden love, politics and subterfuge and the price of power. And a vigilante who the whispers in the streets name the “Herald of Andraste”, bent on taking down the Empire one notch at a time.

Chapter One: Prophecy

She walks, hands bound and chin held high despite the sea of sneering faces and cruel words. She barely manages not to flinch as a stone is cast so near that it grazes her ear, a burning pain erupting where it tears the skin. She will not let them see her fear, these heathens, more monsters than men. She closes her eyes, tries not to focus on the feel of the spear in the small of her back, keeping her moving through the hostile throng of beasts who froth at the mouth and long to see her blood stain the dirt beneath their boots. She failed, the screams of the remnants of her armies reaching her ears above the din as they are slaughtered where they stand... where they continue to fight. She tried. Oh, she had tried.

She wonders at the fate of her people - the slaves she freed - the slaves she sent scattered to the winds when she heard tell of the legions bearing down upon them. She knows what will happen - though she dares to hope that they find their freedom, that all they have fought for and gained has not been for naught. A wretched cry tears itself from her throat as she falls, white-hot pain blossoming across her temple. They all cheer as she hits the earth, gasping raggedly when she feels her shoulder crunch upon impact. She is distantly aware of the blood trailing down her face, and through dim vision she sees a stone stained red from where it struck.

She is not afraid.

The one who holds the spear hauls her to her feet, cruel hands finding purchase in her hair. She cannot hold back the hiss it provokes, prompting a satisfied laugh from the assailant. He releases her when her feet find hold of the earth, shoving her through the parting masses, the revealed path's end at a stake upon a pyre, already heavily burdened with pitch and kindling. She swallows, raises her chin, feeling a drop of blood roll off of her cheek and onto the hardened leather adorning her chest. She does not flinch as they spit upon her, does not look, does not think - her gaze fixed only upon the fate that awaits - steps drawing her ever closer.

Dirt gives way to creaking wood, shackles replaced with biting rope as she is thrust against the unforgiving beam, forced to face the horde that slew her armies. She lets her gaze travel over them, harsh and proud, holding her head high. Her eyes fall upon an elf on his knees, head bowed low and arms bound behind him. She feels her heart stutter, and her lips part on a silent plea, begging it to not be so. He lifts his head, eyes of striking blue meeting hers, set into a face she knows all too well. They widen, and he jerks against his restraints, pain writ clear upon his features.

“No!” He bellows, and is stricken across the face in response, sending him tumbling sideways into the dirt. He snarls and makes to move against the one who struck him, but he sees the subtle shake of her head, the sadness in her eyes, and he relents. Her heart aches to see him - though she knows that he would have never gotten away. He is too important to them, just as she is. His sword lies broken before him, work forged by loving hands undone. She cannot tear her gaze away.

“What a delight to have such an esteemed guest!” A voice booms above the crowd, jeers and angry voices silenced immediately at the sound. A man steps from the throng, handsome face betrayed by the cruelty in his gaze and manner. She lets her eyes fall upon him, narrowing at the mantle of imperator settled on his shoulders. He steps forward with a smirk, reaching for the golden sunburst that hangs from a chain around her neck.

“The mysterious Lady of Flame,” he growls, tearing the chain from her body with a snap of his wrist. “One wonders why you do not call fire upon us now?” His smirk turns feral, and he leans close enough that she can smell his foul breath. “Perhaps your power has abandoned you, just as your Maker.” She does not meet his gaze, instead turning back towards the elf in the dirt, watching her with anguish. She closes her eyes. The imperator clicks his tongue, taking her chin in his hand. “How different life could have been had you not spurned me all those years ago,” he says, face softening. “You could have been happy. Treasured.” He pauses, face contorted in confusion. “But you chose a life of hardship, and look where it has led. A failed rebellion, crushed beneath the heel you could have served.” She tears her chin from his grasp, her eyes filled with flame.

“I preferred poverty to the chains you offered,” she spits, finding her mark on his cheek. He chuckles, wiping the spittle from his face and tossing the sunburst into the dust. She squeezes her eyes shut, wills the screams to stop.

“Do you have any last words, Lady?”

Her eyes snap open, and she fixes him with the full power of her gaze and all of the anger beneath. “This is not the end,” she whispers. “More will rise where I have fallen, and they will finish what I started. You will burn, Corypheus, you and your precious Empire.”

“Perhaps,” he smirks. “But you will burn first.” He gestures to someone behind her. “Now, let us see if the Mistress of Fire can indeed control the flames!” he roars, met with the answering din of the crowd.

She hears the torch clatter against the wood of the pyre and she feels the heat that erupts upon contact. She meets the elf's eyes one last time. Her elf.

“Andraste!” he screams.

Shartan. The breath to form his name is stolen as she is consumed.

----------------------

She woke with a start, jolting upright in her bed and trying to escape the tangle of blankets trapping her legs. She fell to the cold floor with a thump, panicking as she patted her skin now raised with gooseflesh. She was whole. Not on fire. Her shaking subsided somewhat, but the terror of it was still fresh, the melting of her skin still present at the forefront of her mind.

Not my skin... Andraste's, Liahra reminded herself, shaking her head to clear the haze of fear that had drugged her. Her legs were still bound in the blankets and she extricated herself carefully, tossing them back in an undignified pile on her bed. Her brow was wet with sweat, her hair damp as she ran her shaking fingers through the long golden locks. She tried to regain her breathing, committing every detail of the dream to memory.

She pushed herself up from the marble, inhaling the night air deeply through her nose, eyes drawn to the fluttering curtains of her balcony. She could distantly see the shimmering lights of the crystal spires of Arlathan beyond the gauzy fabric, and she looked at them for a moment before pulling on a robe draped over a chair and stepping out. The air was clearer out there, the cool night breeze a balm to her heated skin. The forest was full of life and noise despite the late hour, the rustling and chirping of crickets and other creatures sounding through the underbrush. It was peaceful, their estate disconnected from the troubles of the world, though the spires were always visible in the distance.

She could see the outline of the arena there too, out of place in the beautiful skyline - a reminder of Tevinter influence rapidly spreading. It left a sour taste in her mouth and she forced her gaze away, instead watching the water flow from the falls beneath her. Her mind was churning with unease, setting her stomach roiling. The dream, recent events, the volatile political state of the world - none of it sat well with her. Things were getting worse by the day, and she no longer knew what to expect. Her strong words fell on deafened ears. The low people suffered while the influence of the rich and powerful dwarfed them all, falling all too easily to Tevinter customs.

Why?

This was not the world Andraste fought for... died for. Were her ashes still smoldering when they undid the hard work she had wrought? Did they leave Shartan to mourn their losses before they again tossed him and their people in chains? Why had they fought at all? What good had it brought? The world was corrupt and falling to the expanding Empire, helpless in the jaws of the beast. They had all given up, content to take part in the destruction of the world as they knew instead of crushed beneath heel. Andraste and Shartan had been a statement - nothing more.

The dream weighed heavily on her heart, a wearied sigh forcing its way past her lips. That day was over a thousand years ago, long before her birth, but she was there. She was Andraste - and that unsettled her more than the rest of the vision. But was it real? How could she say? Anyone who had been alive on that day was dead and gone, and there were now only stories and legends, unknown if the truth was reflected in any of them. She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning against the balcony rail as she let the sound of the falls soothe her frayed nerves. She needed to consult Aluriel.

She turned from the balcony and returned to her rooms, the fragrance of her favored incense familiar and soothing. It was still far too early to venture to the temple, but she also knew that sleep would not be forthcoming. She paced beside her bed for a moment before restlessness spurred her steps to the corridor. She ghosted through the halls on silent feet, her path painted by the moonlight shining through the pillars. Around her she could hear the muffled sounds of slumber, the house alive even at such an hour. It was a comfort to know she was not alone, no matter how she felt it.

Her fingers idly trailed over the carved pillars, stories of a thousand years etched beneath her hand, and she wondered. Were all of these stories true? Were they events that transpired, etched to forever be remembered, or were they fabrications of a tale so distant that the original would be considered farce in the face of the glory of the new? How was one to know? The paths of time, unsteady as they were, could not be traveled or remembered save by those who lived them - so how could any one know what was real? Her mind was still trapped in the dream, the reality that she was so sure of in the moment, but now doubted. There was no glory there, no breastplate of gleaming silver or divine retribution, only dirt and dust and pain.

She paused and turned her gaze to the carvings there beneath her fingers, trying to pry what truth she could from them by will alone. There was none to be found, of course, only intricate and exquisite artistry unrivaled by anything she had seen previously. There was no life or spark in them - she could not force them to breathe and move and speak to her their truths. It was never a thing she had even questioned, until now. How much can change so quickly - things she once knew only as fact now twisted into veiled mystery.

She tore her gaze away, praying the churning of her thoughts would cease and offer her peace, if only for a few fleeting hours. She glanced down one of the darkened halls to her left, moonlight barely filtering in from the door at the far end, slightly ajar. She followed the shadowed path, the stone beneath her feet familiar. The door did not protest beneath her touch, swinging open easily to the garden beyond. Her garden. It was her sanctuary and place of comfort, a retreat when the world became too much to bear. The air was fragrant with the scent of lilies and embrium, accompanied by the more subtle aromas of Andraste’s Grace and elfroot, all flowering beneath the towering tree that dominated the center of the garden. The twining branches reached for the stars, reminiscent of the lines on her face.

She placed a hand on the rough bark, letting it center her mind and clear it of troubling thoughts. A quiet voice cut through her reveries then, low and laden with the kind of inflection that suggested the telling of a story. It sounded familiar; comfortable, even. She peered carefully around the tree, a fond smile crossing her face. Krem sat on a bench sewing in a patch of moonlight, an open book on the bench beside him, the enchanted pages narrating aloud.

“The Chronicle of Shartan?” Liahra asked. Krem startled, jerking back and very nearly dropping the needle he had just begun to thread.

“L-ladyship!” he managed to stammer, moving to stand. Liahra laughed.

“Please, Krem, don’t let me disturb you. I like watching you sew.” She paused, the corners of her mouth pulling up in amusement, “Though I have to admit, your choice of reading is… curious.” He flushed, reaching over to snap the book shut. Liahra’s eyes followed the motion, but she made no move to stop him, instead watching him with a level stare and cocked brow.

“He - uh - he helped Andraste to free the slaves,” he finally said, flushing further under the scrutiny of her gaze. She made a sound like a hum in the back of her throat.

“Well over an age ago, yes, and now Tevinter’s Empire stretches over most of the world. What did Andraste and Shartan truly accomplish?” There was no venom or bitterness behind her words, only the sort of quiet curiosity that led to sleepless nights of contemplation… as now.

“They give us hope,” Krem said simply, dropping his gaze to the fabric in his lap. Liahra’s brow furrowed.

“Hope?” she asked hesitantly, rolling the word on her tongue as though it were foreign. “Even after all this time?” Hope was not a concept she was entirely familiar with, at least not in any significant way. Her hopes were silly, petty things, usually restricted to hoping the road would not be so dusty on the way to market, or that the peaches would be ripe. She was unaccustomed to hardship, and thus the true weight of the word easily escaped her grasp.

He chuckled softly, picking at a loose thread in his stitching.

“May I speak plainly, Ladyship?” Liahra moved to sit beside him, taking one of his hands in her own.

“Always,” she said. “I would never wish you to hide your true thoughts from me. Friends do not do such.” She kissed his knuckles with a kind smile. Krem watched with fascination, cheeks burning. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze, gently extricating his hand from her grasp.

“A-ah, well, for a slave, hope is - was - our lifeblood. For someone used to the luxury of nobility, it can be a difficult concept.”

Liahra pursed her lips.

“You’re not wrong,” she said with a wry smile, which quickly faded as she tried to imagine enduring the life of a slave. She could feel Krem’s eyes on her, assessing. She met his gaze after a few silent moments. “Can you help me to understand?” She asked quietly, almost shy. “Only if it does you no harm to speak of it, of course,” she added. He looked staggered by the change.

“I can try, Ladyship,” he replied.

She watched him as he thought. She needed to know why the tale of Shartan inspired so many; why, a thousand years later, the words of his story offered hope. She felt lost - adrift in a sea of understanding she had no way to grasp, her dream and this coincidentally-timed conversation the only things keeping her afloat.

But why?

“A slave is allowed nothing, save what their dominus provides. Our thoughts, our dreams, our bodies - all are property to be used, to be broken, to be taken.” He paused, brow furrowing at some distant memory. She felt a pang in her heart for the horrors he must have once endured. “It is so easy to waver in our devotion to life when we have nothing of our own, even the sanctuary of our mind. To be made to so easily bend to the merest whim? Well, there are many who succumb to despair. Too many.”

“And yet?” she whispered. He gave a small smile.

“Every slave knows the stories of Andraste and Shartan. How a commoner and one once bound in chains nearly drove the Empire to its knees. We dream of the same retribution, whispering their names that they might give us the strength to persevere so we may, too, be free one day.”

“A name can hold such power?”

“For a slave.”

“But it is just a name.” Her brow furrowed.

“It's not,” he said with a patient smile. “It is a symbol. A small glimmer of hope that we cling to when we have nothing else. It is what's behind the name that holds the power. They rebelled. They broke their chains, and the chains of many, and nearly succeeded.”

“But they failed.”

“Yes, but they tried. And one day another will do the same, but they may win.”

“You bank your hope on a mere possibility?” she asked.

“Perhaps I do not see it as a possibility, Ladyship, but an inevitability.” There was a desperate wish for understanding in her eyes. “There will always be someone who sees the state of the world differently. Who will refuse to bow to the rank corruption and try to change it.” He watched her carefully for a moment. “You are one such person.” The words were hesitant, as though he feared her judgment. Her gaze flitted to the ground.

“Words are all that fall from my lips, Krem. I have no power to change things.”

“All due respect, Ladyship, but words hold power. Words are where change begins.” She met his eyes, something she couldn't identify glimmering in the depths. “Words can influence others, change minds, offer comfort and hope. There are those who when hearing such words find themselves emboldened and take a stand against tyranny. You think you speak for yourself, for your views, but you also give voice to those who are afraid to say the same. You give them courage to fight back, knowing they are not alone.”

“It is not the name, nor the words that hold power and hope...” she said.

“It is what lies behind. It is what they offer,” he finished for her. She let her breath out in a rush.

“Thank you, Krem,” she said, gracing him with a dazzling smile. He bowed his head, the color high on his cheeks. “I doubt I will ever truly understand, having never been in your place, but you have helped me to come much closer. And eased my tumultuous thoughts.”

He averted his gaze with a smile of his own, resuming his needlework. “I am glad to have been of some small assistance, Ladyship, though I require no thanks. I should be thanking you; I’ve never known many nobles who actually attempt to understand what they haven’t had to experience.”

“Is it truly so rare?” she asked with some bewilderment. At his hum of assent, she huffed. “Would that more people would do so, then.”

“The world would certainly be a better place, I'm sure.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sort born of contemplation. She mulled over his words, searching the enigma in her mind for a place to settle them. It was a piece for the puzzle that became only more complex the longer she pondered it.

And what a puzzle it was. She only wondered why now? What was it about this juncture in time that called for such visions, that called everything she thought she knew into question? She needed clarity, but knew she would find none on her own. Krem cleared his throat, startling her from her reveries. His eyes were upon her face, searching.

“Is everything alright, Ladyship?” His voice was soft, hesitant, but a familiar comfort that tethered her to the moment, allowing escape from her thoughts.

“I believe so. Just... many questions that I cannot answer,” she murmured. “I will need to speak with Aluriel today, I think. Perhaps we can go to market after, if you would like. I'm sure you need more fabric.”

“I - ah,” Krem rubbed the back of his neck, “That's not necessary, Ladyship. But, thank you.” She eyed him with a raised brow, a smirk pulling at the edges of her lips.

“I would think you used to receiving gifts from me by now,” she said. “Fine, then, I am buying you fabric for purely selfish reasons. I could use a few new pillows.” She grinned as he pressed his lips into a fine line, clearly fighting the urge to smile himself.

“As you wish, Ladyship.”

The cresting sun bathed the garden in morning light, the plants awash with warm color. The house seemed to come awake all at once, a brief collective breath before erupting with activity. The servants would be preparing the morning meal, she knew, rising with the sun to see the estate's needs met. The harts and horses would be getting brushed down, fresh hay and oats laid out for their consumption. Routine. Familiarity. Knowing allowed her to further tether herself to where she was. She would find no answers by lingering in her mind, only confusion. She needed the grounding. She took a breath, pushing her musings away to where she could reach for them later, rising from the bench.

“I shall ready myself for town,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder. Krem nodded.

“I will see to it that the cart is prepared for our departure, Ladyship.”

“I am forever grateful for your counsel and your friendship.” She whispered, crossing the garden to disappear into the hallway beyond. His eyes were drawn to the forgotten book lying beside him, and he traced the letters embossed on the cover.

“A name can hold such power?”

He opened it, flipping through the pages until he found his place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Liahra fell silent when they broke the treeline, as she always did. When Krem first came into her service two years ago he told her he thought she was awed at the way the city was revealed, crystalline spires reaching for the clouds, shimmering with beauty and magic. Now, he knew it was the arena that drew her gaze, a black mark on the shining city she so loved. She forced her eyes away, leaning back into the cushions of her seat as she waved her fan in lazy motions.

“You seem preoccupied today, Ladyship,” Krem said carefully, conscious of the driver. Her gaze flicked to him for a moment before returning to the sea beyond the cliff road they were upon.

“Quite.” There was a sense of finality to the word, and she surprised him when she spoke again. “My uncle says there is dissent in the Senate. More senators are turning to the influence of the Empire, those who resist dwindling in number with each passing day. He surmises that he will soon be the last to oppose Tevinter rule.”

“What of your betrothed?” he asked, brow furrowing.

“Tamlen? For now he is still with my uncle, but he and I both suspect that he will be too easily swayed when the majority turn. He is young, and has advisors that favor the Imperium.”

“Yet he is smitten with you, Ladyship, if I may be that bold.” Liahra's lips quirked in amusement. “Do you not think you could convince him otherwise?”

“I think you overestimate my ability of persuasion,” she replied with a raised brow, turning her gaze to him.

“I think you don't give yourself enough credit,”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but a good-natured smile rested on her lips.

She said no more, eyes turning forward as they approached the outskirts of the city. It was a quiet sort of day, the usual bustle muted and lacking. There had been a rise in the number of Tevinter citizens settling in their designated quarter of the city, and with them, a rise in Imperium soldiers to protect their people. It caused an uneasy air to fall over the once-lively Arlathan, fear of slavery and retribution rank in the less affluent sections of the city.

How times had changed. Once, one would hardly find a difference between those of wealth and those without. Equal opportunities for all of the Elvhen People, regardless of status, was once the shining cornerstone of Arlathan tenets. Then Tevinter, rife with greed and power, pressed them until there was little semblance of what the Elvhen Empire once was. They resembled the Imperium more with each passing year, and soon would be a part of it if Tevinter had its way. Influence was a powerful and dangerous drug, causing those who were once so proud to forget themselves and those who lay below.

She tossed some shining coins to the urchins running beside the cart, smiling at their squeals of joy and thanks. Her heart ached for them, that this was the only life they had ever known. She wished she could bring back the Arlathan of her childhood - but time would not allow it. Would that the pathways of time could be so easily called upon...

The dream - vision - pulled again at her thoughts, and she couldn't help but wonder how different the world would be had Andraste succeeded.

“This is not the end,” the apparition had said - and it had been with such conviction. How could she have been so sure? Her mind again swirled in turmoil, trying to connect the pieces she yet lacked. She felt lost.

“We've arrived, Ladyship.” Krem's voice cut through the haze, concern present in the set of his jaw. Liahra blinked heavily, the bright marble pillars of the Oracle's temple catching her attention.

“Oh,” she breathed. She took his offered hand, gathering the trails of her garment in the crook of her arm so as not to trip. “Thank you.” He nodded, but seemed reluctant to let go, and she could feel his assessing gaze. “I am well, Krem, I promise,” she said with what she hoped was a comforting look. “I am sure that Aluriel will help me to make sense of things, as she always does.”

“Of course,” he conceded, releasing her hand. “I will wait with the cart.”

She hated lying to him, but how could she explain her thoughts when she could not accomplish such a task for herself? She half-hoped that Aluriel would tell her it was nothing - that she was reading far too much into a random occurrence. But the other half? She didn't want to admit it, but she wanted it to mean something. It was too strange to be simple chance.

With each step further into the temple, she took notice of the silence, pausing to take in her surroundings with puzzlement. It was empty- vacant of those who frequently sought shelter and healing. Even the acolytes were absent, the lack of shimmering silver robes strangely unsettling. She tried to quell her unease, raising her chin as she continued on her path.

She rounded a corner, nearly screaming as she came face to face with a lanky boy she knew all too well. She paused to catch her breath, heart pounding behind her breast.

“I startled you,” he stated in that same flat voice that seemed to accompany every word he spoke.

“Compassion,” she greeted him, albeit slightly breathless.

“Knots, twisting and pulling so tightly it blurs, a need for unraveling, understanding, seeing. Aluriel can help.” The spirit tilted his head, fingers plucking at the threading of his tunic.

“Yes,” Liahra said quickly, “Is she here?”

“Panic, seizing, gripping until she can hardly breathe - why has it been so long? Close the temple, send the acolytes away until it passes. Watch. Breathe.” Liahra's brow furrowed at the words. “I helped her understand.”

“Who, Cole?” The name the spirit had chosen slipped from her lips. “What has happened?”

“The Oracle sleeps, visions flooding her mind with noise so I can't see. I cannot help her, but I helped the First. She was afraid. Now, she watches.” He fixed his wide gaze on Liahra, seeming to consider her for a moment. “I can help. I will watch so she can untangle your knot.” She opened her mouth to respond just as he blinked out of sight. She released the breath she had taken, wondering at this new turn. The timing was... uncanny. Many things seemed to be transpiring all at once, leaving only more questions.

Her heart was still pounding, anticipation building beneath her skin. It itched, pressing at her with burning insistence. It spurred her forward, clipped steps echoing off the walls and replacing the eerie silence. She rounded another corner, halting before a nondescript door. She began to reach, but paused. She was suddenly unsure if it was wise to pursue answers. Were they not veiled for a reason? Again that word pressed at her mind, leaving her frustrated and desperate.

Why?

The door swung open. Revealed was a woman clad in a garment of white gossamer with silvery curls, usually immaculate, falling instead in loose tendrils around her face and shoulders. Her eyes widened slightly, though the rest of her face remained carefully restrained beneath her usual mask of impassivity.

“Liahra,” she said simply, her voice carrying the melodic inflection Liahra had come to know as a disguise. She was worried and attempting to smother it so that no one would see.

“Aluriel.” She looked pointedly at the woman's state of disarray, a sight which, for her, was remarkably unusual. She stepped to the side, ushering Liahra into the room before closing the door soundly behind them. “The Oracle-”

“Is taken with visions.” Aluriel struck a long match, the fire briefly illuminating her features. She reached to light the incense placed within hanging bowls, extinguishing the match when the fragrant smoke began to tumble over the gilded edges. “I suspect a new prophecy,” she said at last, lowering herself to a plush cushion that sat on the stone. Liahra's eyes widened, her breath momentarily stolen.

“Why now?” she whispered. “She has not-”

“Since she spoke of Fen'Harel, yes. This will be the first.”

“She has already spoken,” Liahra said, no query in her tone.

“Some.” Aluriel's gaze was hard. “You know I may not speak of it. Ask, and I will send you hence with no insight as to the message of your dream.”

Liahra bit back the questions lingering on her tongue.

“I am only concerned,” she offered. Aluriel's face softened and she gestured to the cushion opposite.

“There is no need for such sentiment. I am fine, and so, too, shall the Oracle be when recovered.” She took Liahra's hands in her own, studying the lines of her palm. “It is you who are deserving of concern, da'elgara. You have never before sought my counsel for your dreams.”

“I've never had the need,” she said quietly. She could feel Aluriel's gaze searching her face.

“It weighs on you heavily.”

“It is... confusing,” she whispered, a hazy fog creeping into her mind and vision.

“Allow me to assist. Perhaps together we may glean some knowledge.” She sounded far away, as though across a distant field.

“What is -” Liahra tried to say, her tongue and lips too heavy to form the words.

“Hold on to me.” The words barely registered. “Do not fight it.”

She was falling, lost in a void of feeling that threatened to crush the air from her chest. She was shrouded in darkness, intermittently illuminated by brief, flickering flashes of light and memory. Panic washed over her as she tried to gain her bearings, to find some semblance of familiarity in this alien realm. There was a sort of prodding at the edge of her consciousness, begging her to permit entry. She recoiled from the sensation, feeling as though she were spinning out of control, grasping desperately for something to anchor her. The prodding returned, more insistent, and she allowed it passage.

“The dream, da'elgara. Ma ghilana. Show me.” The voice banished the chaos, and all was still - a strange sort of anticipation lingering in the air, as though waiting for her to proceed.

The... dream?

Her thoughts were disjointed and difficult to grasp, quick to flee as she scrambled for purchase.

The dream.

She summoned the words with more conviction, images blinking in and out of her mind's eye. There was a flash of gold, a sense of familiarity in the shape of it, and she reached, tumbling into the setting as if truly present.

She was not in the body of Andraste, but standing atop her pyre, overlooking the seething masses. The horde of beasts parted, jeering and calling for death - for blood and justice - vengeance. She was there, the woman herself - Andraste. How easily she could see now, the influence this woman wielded, pride in her bearing despite the crushing defeat and the inevitability of her fate awaiting her on the pyre. She moved with such purpose - embracing what was to come instead of faltering in the face of it.

There were some, Liahra could see, who would not look upon her, shame blatantly present on their features. One who reached when she was struck to the earth, arm jerked back by another with a sneering face. The throng, seemingly whole when she embodied the woman, now looked divided from where she stood. It was clear which soldiers yet held respect for a woman deemed a living legend, disapproval writ plain upon them.

Yet none stepped forward, save one, commanding, proud, cruel. Liahra remembered his face and the way his fingers felt on her flesh. It was as vivid as if she were still inhabiting Andraste, the disgust curdling in her stomach as he stepped near.

She watched in rapt fascination as the events again replayed themselves, unable to tear her sight from the woman of flame. In her eyes were unyielding steel and righteous fury, cowing those who stood too near despite the target of her gaze.

“This is not the end.” It was little more than a whisper, but Liahra felt the echo of it in her very soul. “More will rise where I have fallen, and they will finish what I started. You will burn, Corypheus, you and your precious Empire.”

The dream vanished, and she felt herself being pulled rapidly through a shadowed tunnel, the air swept from her lungs. She tried to call out, to scream, but no sound came. There was a sense of wrong and then she was tumbling again, coming back to herself with gasping breaths.

The temple.

She tried to calm the hammering of her heart, returning to the darkened room, now hazy with the remnants of cloying smoke. Aluriel's penetrative gaze rested on her face, the grasp on her hands nearly painful. She released them the moment Liahra's eyes met hers, rising in one smooth, graceful motion.

“Come,” she said crisply. “Let us see what insight we have gained.”

Liahra rose in a much less dignified way, mind reeling from the incense. “There was some to be found, then?”

“Perhaps.” Aluriel passed through a gauzy curtain. Liahra hurried after, grasping for the trailing fabric of her clothes that threatened to trip her.

“Would you care to share your thoughts, or is your aim to remain cryptic? In which case you are succeeding quite spectacularly.”

Aluriel did not even spare a glance over her shoulder.

“You need fresh air to clear your mind, first and foremost.”

“Aluriel, please,” Liahra rasped, catching her by the arm. Her gaze snapped to Liahra's hand before she met her eyes. They stood silently in the hall for several minutes. “I have to know.”

Aluriel sighed.

“It is... difficult to decipher,” she muttered, averting her eyes. “It was unlike any dream I have ever walked.” Liahra's brow furrowed.

“How?”

“In a dream, there is always a tell, something to give it away as a dream. But that...” She trailed off.

“It was real.”

Aluriel nodded.

“It muddies my interpretation. It is difficult to say whether there was a message meant for you, if it was a scene you were simply meant to see, or if it was a random occurrence with no meaning at all.”

“But you have an idea,” Liahra urged.

“I -” She paused and took a breath. “The timing of your dream is - well - it is what gives me pause. I do not believe this to be by mere chance. You were meant to see this vision, though for what purpose, I am unsure.”

“I thought the same,” Liahra said softly.

“I am sorry, Liahra. I had hoped to offer more clarity but this is beyond my realm of expertise. I would need to consult the Oracle.” It was there again, the melodic cadence. She met Aluriel's eyes.

“What aren't you telling me?”

“I have told you all I know,” she replied, voice hard.

“No,” Liahra retorted. “You ended the dream early. You saw something or -” She narrowed her eyes, attempting to summon the memory, the final words echoing in her mind. “Corypheus.” The name left her lips as little more than a breath, but she saw the reaction it provoked, quelled too late.

“Liahra -” Aluriel started, voice cautious.

“What meaning does that name hold?” she demanded. She watched the mask fall away, and was stricken by the sorrow that took its place.

“The world now walks the din'anshiral, da'elgara.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Da'elgara- little sun. An obscure reference to Liahra's canon nickname, Sunshine.

Ma ghilana- Be my guide.

Din'anshiral- A journey of death.

#ignore me #roman au #sarah writes #omgggg it's heeere

117 notes · View notes

emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years ago

Note

17, 21, and 24 for the OTP ask? 😁

Well, hello, friend! I shall answer for that is DUTY! >:D

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

I did answer this one in another ask, but I can think of a few more to share! (I got so much for these two, don't worry~)

So, another thing that reminds Fane of Solas is any kind of painting, namely frescos. Surprise, surprise! But the reasoning is mainly because Fane used to dream of frescos painted in a temple, one he always finds himself traversing in his dreams in the earlier years of his life. The style was nostalgic, impeccable, as if the hand that had held the brush was fixated on getting every line, every detail, every color, and every proportion just right. The paintings were like little anecdotes, way points trying to guide him in a direction with paint and plaster, but the story was always left unfinished, and it isn't until all the memories flood back that Fane realizes who was the artist of his dreams. *winks*

Now, I'm not usually one for 'smell' references, but oddly enough, Solas is reminded of Fane through one. Namely, chamomile. This was something I thought of one day when I was fighting with a headache and I was just watching a Twitch stream, and I was like, "Chamomile is a natural stress reliever. Fane doesn't like tea, but there are bath oils and incenses infused with chamomile, right? He would definitely be given that by someone or maybe even takes initiative to get it himself." Thus, the headcanon was established! Fane smells like chamomile, and Solas can't help but smile when he smells it from another source, knowing that his dragon is trying to help himself in some way.

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

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

Okay, so Fane's isn't what you'd think it is. You all know me, I like to go, 'You thought not! AHA! >:D'. Most people who've read my stories might think, "Oh, Fane has to forgive Solas for erecting the Veil because it's driving his kin insane." That makes sense, but it's not what Fane has had to forgive Solas for. Fane has had to forgive Solas for doubting him.

What I mean by this is that Solas tries to steer Fane away from helping him (Look! It's canon after all! XD). And mainly it's because Solas sees Fane thriving in this new life, connecting with people, seeing the world from a different perspective, and so he starts to think that Fane wouldn't want to help him. Which is complete bullshit because Fane, even when Solas tries to gently steer him away, is like, "I'm here. I'm not going to abandon you again." But typical Solas is typical Solas and is weighed down with grief and his doubts, but eventually he relents after a dragon fight. I won't say when this will occur, but...yeah. It's a bad time, and it shows Solas that Fane wasn't thriving as well as he'd thought. It takes a bit, but Fane comes to understand why Solas was trying to guide him away, and it helps when you're a stubborn dragon in love with a stubborn wolf! :D

Now for Solas, I have a little excerpt from a short story (the one I've been sharing a lot in tag games!). It kind of gives a basis of what Fane can sometimes do when he's not thinking or if he doesn't talk to Solas.

***

“F..Fane..!”, Solas growled out, a surge of heat invading his head as he felt his dragon’s dormant fury within his soul. It was thrashing, knocking, pounding against the confines of their link, wishing to be set free through him and his actions.

“This is..ugh..important, dammit!”, Fane grunted out as Solas was finally starting to push back, as well as his own minor discomfort with the magic that was slowly building around them.

“Then..ngh..speak of it!”, Solas snapped, feeling something like a pinch against his mind before that sensation ricoheted outwards, a lesser burst of magic managing to separate their bodies, but not their tethered souls. “Hiding in your mind only inflicts more harm!”, he almost yelled, his mind clouding with unusual rage. He was never ruffled this easily, but this wasn’t him, was it?

No, this was Fane, or more accurately, Fane’s mind. And it was red hot with fury.

He watched with slightly haggard breathing as Fane slid back a few feet, a grimace on his face from the smell of ozone, but shook it off easily. Now fully golden eyes glared with steamy ferocity upon him, a broad chest heaving with Veil born ire and excitement at finally having a challenge. Solas straightened himself a bit, clearing his throat as the distance between their bodies allowed him to think a bit more clearly, but he could still feel the thread that connected them intensely.

“Ma’isenatha, please--”, Solas attempted to reach the unhinged being before him, even as he could feel his own mind beginning to cloud again as Fane stalked towards him. They needed to cease this dance before one of them got hurt or insanely ill!

“Quit…”, the fuming dragon began before whipping the staff in his hand around in a near perfect arc towards him. “..talking!”, he snarled furiously, deftly hitting the other end of the staff with his wrist to cut off its intended path for a shorter route.

Solas was a bit curious by the adept usage, but shuffled that thought away quickly to block the blow that was inevitably aimed for his jaw. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate! As much as he loathed to admit it, and encourage it, there was only one way out of this foolish scenario!

“Enough!”, a cry harboring necessary command releasing from his lips, making the link between them snap like a bowstring. “Ngh..!” The heady, harsh sensation had the air leaving his lungs before he swept one end of his staff upwards without volition, missing his mark by a hair. He blinked when the sensation eased off, grimacing as he stared at the staff poised just next to Fane’s face, precisely at the point where his scar was. How ironic, but he knew what was happening now with that.

The involuntary reaction had been too planned, too memory bound. It was like when they had viciously fought as Haven burned with fire and corruption, and he had had no choice but to wound the otherwise perfect face before him - a deep scar left on his left cheek from his staff blade. His arms had been wrapped, then strung up in invisible bonds that radiated desperate heat and furious rage, guiding them to repeat the action due to a desire for something unsaid.

In simple terms, he was being controlled by emotions alone - emotions that were not his own.

“Interesting.”, Solas said, but narrowed his eyes upon the fierce man. “Emotions are your strings.”, he pointed out, more realization dawning on him as to where all these minor outbursts, sudden movements, and disorienting sensations were coming from. Fane..

...was manipulating emotions, guiding them to the destination he desired.

Fane’s eyes narrowed, emerald reappearing to deepen with rage as tufts of his hair fluttered from the air behind his swipe. “I’m intervening.”, the draconic side of his love coming out in full bloom now.

“Why?” He issued it as more a command than a true question. He was mildly miffed by this usage of abilities, but he needed context to decipher why Fane had thought this was necessary. It was unusual and worrying for him to use them like this.

“It’s necessary.”, Fane said with a flat tone, but there was fire crackling beneath its supposed embers, as well as the deep emerald gaze bearing down upon him before he twisted his staff upwards to once again aim under his chin. Solas dodged the movement by an inch, feeling the amount of force behind it with air alone.

His dragon was steadily losing his control, and it wouldn’t be long until he was truly unhinged.

“Fane!”, Solas met the glare with one that felt just as furious as he called out, but finally began to retaliate, no longer wishing to play on the defensive and draw this out longer. “Very well..”, he said lowly, gripping the staff tightly as he pressed in harder, matching Fane’s footwork step for step as their blows connected with near splintering cracks. “...if you are so..”, a harsh crack of their staves reverberating through the air. “...intent on not speaking of what troubles you, then I will make it so you have no choice but to!”

A long, muscled leg nearly knocked into one of his knees as it swept under him, its pace incredibly fast for something intended to withstand punishment. It was like a dragon’s tail as it swept aside massive boulders, and uprooted century old trees.

Fane let out a gasping laugh. “You’re still..ngh..t..talking?!”, he roared, snowy brows furrowed in growing pain as sweat began to form along a lightly flushed temple, hand trembling where it nearly snapped his staff in half.

“I am doing what you refuse to do!” A jab with his staff nearly connected with a muscled arm, but it went through the gap between itself and the toned body it was attached to. “Gh..!”, he winced as he felt a sharp yank on his mind, as well as the staff in his hands as Fane grabbed a hold of it to pull him forward harshly.

The world halted suddenly, its furious, heated pace slightly cooled as their gazes connected, all sound flushing out to where the only sound was their combined, harsh breathing. Emerald and gold swam, ebbed around each other like a phylactery did with its magical blood as the face that bore them was lax in stunned silence, sweat trickling down flush cheeks before it would disappear along a strong neck. Solas felt his face was no better, feeling how droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his face and how his mouth was slightly agape as he fought for a shred of breath.

What was...going on? This feeling, like their desires were coalescing, taking shape before them like spirits shaped the Fade around them...it was intoxicating, comforting, and serene amid the furious battle they had been engaged in moments before. Their link was still there, but it was soft, velvet against his mind as the gentle essence wrapped around it in an embrace.

It was no longer painted...red.

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a quiet sigh, breath hitching after as the blanket around him became warmer, silken. When had it shifted? He hadn’t been aware because of rage painting the world before him in crimson..

“Too...much..”, he heard Fane whisper out between pants, but it was more to himself than to Solas. “...You shouldn’t feel that like I do.. Shit..”

Solas blinked a bit to reorient himself, the softness of his mind making it hard to think before he saw Fane’s face near inches from his, the hand that had grabbed his staff now making itself known upon the back of his neck, steadying him. When had that gotten there?

“What..”, Solas started, closing his eyes for a moment as the world spun for a second before reopening to try again. “What..was that?”

“My mind.”, Fane muttered, eyes flitting across his face worriedly. “I didn’t think..”, he trailed off with a light growl as brilliant eyes turned downcast. “I fucked up… I’m sorry...”

***

So, yeah. It doesn't take Solas long to forgive Fane, but when he first demonstrates just how dangerous his abilities can be and actively uses them to manipulate our wolf gets a little miffed. Solas wants Fane to use his voice more, and these are moments in which Fane doesn't and taps into that warped perception of himself; the one that got him killed.

#oc asks #asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #sorry for how insanely long this is!#i just have so much nuanced crap for these two that I get carried away XD #and forgive if the excerpt is a bit...sloppy. it's still a wip! :3 #there's also a lot of stuff that i'm just playing with in regards to Fane and Solas but i know the basis of how they operate X3 #thank you again! <3

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calamity-writes · 7 years ago

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In Glory & Gore - 8

The Antiva docks were full of merchants, fishmongers, and whores as Rasha led the small group of Fereldens off the ship. Dressed in simple worn leather armor, the elf glanced over her shoulder to check that the others were keeping up. Eleanor, the princess had surprised her, not that Rasha would ever admit that aloud. Thespoiled and pampered shem was the man who followed.

He smelled like flowers and he seemed unable to do anything other than gawp at her or stumble through useless chatter.

Bringing the shems through the Eluvians was a risk to the entire rebellion, but the entire rebellion was about saving their people. The Elvhen. Fenlin was one of those people, one of the ones worth saving. Rasha would risk two shems walking through the Crossroads to save her sister. She'd risk two hundred, if it meant Fenlin was found safe.

"Don't expect this to remain here after we use it," she warned the Princess and the fool. "My contacts moved it to a more accessible location for today only. We'll need to wait for the ship to arrive in Quarius to return.

"Moved what?" Oran asked, hurrying to try to walk next to Rasha. She put her arm out and blocked his manouever. With an elbow to his chest, she pushed him back behind her. "Ow," he muttered, giving Rasha a small bit of satisfaction in an otherwise unsatisfactory situation.

"Shut up, we're almost there."

Leading the way to a brothel, Rasha paid the Madame for an hour with a slender androgynous elf with strawberry blond hair. The elf smiled, taking Rasha's hand and led the three up to the rented room.

"Are you sure you want me to service all three of you?" He asked Rasha, an eyebrow lifting.

"I wouldn't pay that much if it was anything less than an emergency," she said, leaning against the door frame and waving the shems inside. "Besides the male shem has his hand down his pants so often you'd think he's worried it'll fall off." At the accusation, Oran turned a rather amusing shade of red, and opened his mouth to say something. Rasha shoved him into the room instead, and closed the door behind her.

The inside of the room was... well it was a whore's room. There was a large bed with mostly clean sheets, perfumed candles to mask the smell of sex, and a giant mirror leaned against the side of the room opposite the bed. It's glass was warped and bubbled, dusky and barely able to reflect the people who now stood in front of it.

"I'm all for adventures," Oran was saying, looking at the bed. "But El's my cousin and so I'm going to have to excuse myself from this particular part and hope that no one decides to write a best selling book about it."

Rasha rolled her eyes, and pushed past him to place a hand on the mirror. She whispered the passphrase, too quiet for the shems to properly hear, and the glass rippled.

"What did you do?" El asked, stepping up to stand next to Rasha. Their reflections were gone, and Rasha's hand had pressed through, up to her wrist.

"Come find out," Rasha said with a smile over her shoulder, and stepped through the Eluvian. This part of the crossroads was beautiful, floating stone pathways that twisted and defied gravity. Trees heavy with fragrant pink blossoms grew down from an arbor overhead, and Rasha closed her eyes to breathe in the heady scent.

Behind her, she heard a gasp, and then a sudden yelp as the shems stepped through.

"Where is THE GROUND?" Oran asked, and Rasha looked over to see him with his back pressed against the now-solid Eluvian. He looked up and went pale. "Why is the ground over our heads?" he asked. Eleanor was, predictably, faring much better. She walked up to where Rasha stood and looked around with a small frown.

"I've never seen anything like this," the princess said quietly. "Where are we?"

"The shortcut from Antiva to Tevinter," Rasha said. The shems didn't seem to be able to appreciate how beautiful the crossroads were, but what could you expect from humans?

Stepping out onto one of the floating paths, Rasha started forward, steps confident and sure. Halfway up the path, she turned to see the two shems hesitantly climbing up after her. El looked a little pale and had her eyes firmly focused ahead, while Oran kept his eyes glued to his cousin, and looked like he might faint.

Rasha blinked, surprised. She'd expected she would need to drag him over the emptiness to their destination, but here he was, managing on his own. Grudgingly, she adjusted her assessment of him.

"Don't stop, please, can we just keep going until we're on the other side?" Oran protested as El and he caught up to Rasha.

Without speaking, Rasha turned and continued, leading them to a platform of shattered ruin. It was once a temple, with frescoes of the evanuris painted in brilliant colours. Mythal, Falon'din and others who must be the 'forgotten ones' only alluded to, never named.

"Don't stray, the spirits here won't appreciate the presence of humans," Rasha said.

A stairwell led them up to the second floor of the ruined temple, and Rasha froze on the top step as she saw the Eluvian. The shems caught up to her, slowing as they saw her tense. Ahead, across what might have been a library, a man and woman stood by the mirror, speaking in quiet voices. The man, tall and bald, wore armor similar to what Rasha had arrived at Highever in. The woman, simple leathers, her silver hair trimmed into a mohawk. They were standing close to each other, her hand on his arm. The look on her face made Rasha feel sick.

"Who are they?" Oran asked in a whisper. Rasha winced, watching as her mother's ears twitched and the two turned to look at them. It took Rasha a moment to realise what was so different about her mother. The purple vallaslin, gotten for a mis-gotten brother, was gone.

"My mother," Rasha said through grit teeth, taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back. "And a friend of hers."

Walking forward, nearly a full head taller than her mother, the redheaded elf stopped just beyond arm's reach from the two elves, who blocked the way to the Eluvian.

"Rasha," her mother said softly. There were more wrinkles around her eyes now. "I'm glad to see you so well." Lilac eyes looked past Rasha's shoulder and she saw momentary surprise on her mother's face before a small smile of... pride? Throat tight, she turned to Solas.

He looked tired. More than usual.

"Is she bothering you?" Rasha asked, voice rough to hide the emotion that was threatening her composure. It was with a grim, fatalistic, satisfaction that Nils wasn't here. That fucker could rot in Orlais when the veil fell.

"No, Rasha," Solas said with a sad smile. "She came to help. To get my help, but I see you have this well in hand already." He nodded to the two shems who stood behind her. "But something has happened that we were not expecting. Some ritual or blood magic from where they are keeping your sister." He frowned.

"I must ask you to bring them here, so I can try to unravel the spell that was cast. For me to walk in Tevinter is too dangerous right now."

"I came here to bring my brother home," Eleanor said, stepping forward. "And I plan to do that, even if it means going through you."

Solas smiled sadly again and looked to Milliara.

"The ritual infused your brother with some sort of old magic," she said quietly. Then looked to Rasha. "Fenlin too. But without speaking to them, I can't know what happened. We can't know what happened. Then I promise, your brother-" she looked to Oran "And your cousin, will be able to go home."

Rasha nodded and made to step around her mother to get to the mirror. Milliara intercepted, and lay a hand on her daughter's cheek. Still strong, still callused despite the woman's advancing age.

"Come back safe, Rasha," she whispered. "I can't lose you again." Hesitantly, Rasha placed her hand over her mother's and nodded once.

"Whatever happened robbed Solas of some of his power," Milliara murmured. "Be careful, please, da'len. We'll be waiting here for your safe return."

Passing through the Eluvian was like walking into an oven. Even in the dark cellar where the Eluvian and fellow agent of Fen'harel waited, the heat of Tevinter was stifling. Immediately, Rasha pulled off her cloak and pushed her hair back from her face with a trembling hand.

"Maker's breath," gasped Oran as he stepped out of the Eluvian behind her. He looked at Rasha, an expression of sympathy on his face. She wanted to punch it off. No Shem should ever look at her like that. She didn't need his pity.

Oran's face was saved by Eleanor who bumped into him as she passed through the Eluvian. Nudging him aside, she looked at Rasha, then pointed back to the dark surface of the mirror, now solid again.

"What," she said. "In Maker's good earth, was that place? And how did your mother know to find us there? Who was that man? Your father?"

"The crossroads, where roads between places meet. And my mother knows everything, apparently," Rasha said with more venom than she felt. "And no, not my father, but maybe in a different world, one where he loved her back, maybe." But he didn't. And Rasha could only give her mother credit for knowing that he didn't and that he never would. That hadn't stop her from running to his side though, had it?

"Come on, we need to find where they are. The friend in Tevinter I mentioned will be meeting us at a small Inn not far from here."

The gates of the courtyard that led to the Villa swung open, and Fenlin grabbed the fallen cloak of Rahlen's wrapping it around herself. They'd scrubbed off some of the paint in the fountain, but mostly slept since the morning. Now it was nearly noon, the heat sweltering under the cloak, but it was better than being naked in front of whoever was walking in. Aside from some golden chains, not much of Fenlin's 'Mythal' dress had survived the night.

"Ah, and how is the happy couple?" Polonius asked, walking in with Favus and a handful of other guards. "Now, now, no need to by shy little huntress," he said with a wink to Fenlin."After all, you weren't last night."

Rahlen, a sheet wrapped around his hips, stepped forward, in front of her.

"You promised she would be freed," he said, and Fenlin rested a hand against the small of his back. There were scratches there, left from her, but scars too. Some from before, but others new.

"I did, come huntress, let's get you washed and sent on your way, hm? Unless," Polonius said, peering around Rahlen's broad shoulder to look at her. "Unless you would like to stay as my guest, in the Villa of course. We could study magic together, would you like that?"

He didn't know the blood magic spell had broken, Fenlin was sure. He wouldn't intone the words like that, he wouldn't have been sure to make eye contact if he knew. Fenlin nodded, eyes wide.

How did someone look when they were bound by a blood spell? Vacant, worried? She let her fingers trail over Rahlen's skin in a silent 'it's okay' before she stepped out and walked to Polonius.

"You said you'd let her go," Rahlen growled. Fenlin looked at him, feeling his heartbeat in her own chest. She took a deep breath, trying to calm his, and the rabbit-like thump of her own.

They would figure this out. But right now-

"I said I would free her, and if she chose to leave, she would be free to go. However, she choses to stay, Ferelden." Polonius rested a hand on her shoulder, and Fenlin struggled to not throw it off. She hid the twitch by pulling the cloak around her more tightly and stared at the ground.

"Return him to the barracks and have Vela see to his aches. He fights tonight," Polonius said, steering Fenlin towards the Villa. She looked over her shoulder at Rahlen but everything went cold as Polonius leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"Now that the ritual's complete, we don't need him anymore," and placed a hand against her belly. "Dumat will rise again."

#in glory & gore #Rasha #fenlin #rahlen #Oran #Gladiator AU #bah buh BAHHHHH #or is it?#gotta wait until next chapter #but the cavalry has finally arrived

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